One month down.

alex-2I don’t know how much time I’ll have to write this. Currently I’m sitting in my office, still in the clothes I slept in, my t-shirt soaked in breastmilk. Alex is sleeping (!) in his crib, and I’ve got the video monitor next to my computer. I’m on tenterhooks, almost constantly. Awaiting a peep or a cry. Luckily, for the time being, he seems to be out.

So I want to talk about what the past month has been like.

First of all, parenthood takes an enormous about of courage. I don’t mean to build myself up too much, but it’s true. You sort of understand before you become a parent that your life is going to change in a gargantuan, unknowable way, but there have been several times since Alexander was born that I’ve thought My God, what have I done? You don’t really think about how little you’ll really sleep, and there is no end in sight on the sleeplessness that occurs. I often contemplate that it’ll be years and years before I can get a decent night’s sleep again.

Because even though he generally will sleep all night (6-7 hours usually), I never achieve a deep sleep, because I’m on alert; always ready. When I’m feeding him at night or early in the morning, I just think as soon as this is over I can close my eyes again. Oh how sweet those little vacations in my brain are.

But there are more serious observations I’ve made, that I wanted to share with you (and parents will probably already know this).

Everything about prenatal and postpartum care in America seems designed for privileged women. In nearly every country in the world, there is state-subsidized maternity leave. In the more enlightened countries in Scandinavia, there is mandatory year-long leave for mothers and fathers. Alan got three weeks off from work, and that was pooling together the last of his PTO and sick time and some of it was unpaid. The amount of stuff I couldn’t do for myself in those first few weeks meant that having him there was a huge lifesaver. It was too painful to sit in the car so I couldn’t drive myself anywhere. I could barely walk 30 feet without peeing myself a little. They recommend taking four baths a day. Without Alan going to the store or running errands or getting me everything I needed for those 3 weeks I don’t know how I would’ve gotten by. The burden of being the only food supply for a tiny helpless infant was already so great and at times unbearable. There have been many tears out of frustration and feelings of futility when feedings became hard or long or Alex was clearly hungry but being uncooperative. Painful latching, feedings bleeding into each other… Everything about this is difficult and the fact that there isn’t more support for women in these early days is criminal.

We also got the hospital bill recently. Without health insurance, we would’ve been looking at a year’s worth of private college tuition. alex-4

Alex is a difficult baby. He’s temperamental and finicky. What works to get him to sleep one night (like mimicking his crying, which confused and hypnotized him immediately and he conked out), won’t necessarily work the next. I’m actually shocked he’s sleeping right now. I didn’t even have to put him in the car seat or his bear suit! Everything about him is unpredictable. People ask me questions all the time: is he hungry? he seems hungry. does he need a nap? is he too cold? God, I DON’T KNOW. I barely know this little guy. Most people don’t begin intimate lifelong relationships with people the first day they meet and move in with them and suck on their boobs for sustenance.

Babies are hard. Did that need to be said?

BUT. Alex is also wonderful and beautiful and he’s cuddly and he smells good. He’s got the cutest little face with no eyebrows and I even don’t mind changing his diapers. Even though I think about how I won’t be getting sleep for the next 5 or 6 years, I also think about what he’ll look like in 3 months, or 1 year, or when he’s running around on his own, with his own interests and personality. I get to raise him. I get to share with him all the traditions I love — like cutting down our own Christmas tree and listening to Charlie Brown, or going to the cabin every summer! Even when he’s being difficult, I can still somehow find a way to giggle at the way he searches for food like a little rabid wolf, or his sweet little cries (which sound like he’s trying to say his dad’s name).

So yeah, holy hell, the first month is now behind us, and I have no delusions that things are about to get easier. Maybe they’ll get better in some departments, but there will be new departments introduced every day. But, we got through the first month. I’m going to celebrate. Maybe by loading Alex in his car seat and taking him to the Starbucks drive thru for a SCM for me. alex-1

The Birth of Alex Royce

alexbirth-10Consistently, one of my biggest issues is my high expectations. Despite understanding that there are some circumstances where I have zero control, I still become unbelievably frustrated when things don’t go the way I want them to. This problem typically manifests while on vacation, but I had set some extremely high standards for giving birth, an event which most people seem to agree: you just have to let it happen the way it’ll happen.

This wasn’t satisfying to me. I felt convinced that if I read books, hired a doula, saw a chiropractor, did exercises, extensively prepared, I would have the all-natural birth I wanted. I’d decided way back in the first trimester, after my midwife told me birth would be easy for me because I was tall (I’ll come back to this in a bit). I thought, hey, if my body is truly built to do this, I’m going to lean all the way in. I would scoff at women who told their stories on /r/babybumps (a wonderful forum for mothers and soon-to-be mothers), saying they had designs on a natural birth but got the epidural in the end and ladies, get the epidural!! NO, I thought. You won’t pressure me into an epidural!

After our first birth prep class, I walked out even more confident I wanted a drug-free birth. There are natural ways to cope, and plenty of women before me have done it. The epidural is scary. It numbs your entire lower half, which seems tempting, but you’re confined to your bed afterwards, hooked up to a bunch of machines. There’s a greater risk of your labor ending in a C-Section. It can slow labor down. There’s the (miniscule) risk of paralysis. Sometimes it doesn’t work and you deal with the pain of labor anyway. My plan was to accept that there would be pain, but to get in front of it and try natural comfort measures to cope. I had full confidence in myself.

As you’re probably surmising at this point, I did get the epidural.



On October 25, I was 41 weeks and 4 days pregnant; 11 days overdue. I was becoming anxious at the thought of having an induction. It didn’t sound pleasant, and I heard Pitocin can make labor much more intense. I really wanted to be able to labor at home until active labor started, and then make our way to the hospital where our doula Jennifer would join us.

After determining that I wasn’t progressing in any sort of meaningful way, the doctor gave me a few options for inducing. The hospital we were planning to birth at only had midwives Monday through Thursday and as I had done most of my prenatal care with a midwife, I wanted to try to stick with that, so I chose Thursday the 27th, thinking that I would go in right at 6am, be started on Pitocin, and deliver that day. There was some concern that my cervix wasn’t “ripe” enough yet, and that maybe I would need to go in the night before to get started on a cervical ripening agent (if your cervix isn’t deemed ready yet, Pitocin can have harmful effects and lead to a C-Section). The doctor I saw on Tuesday talked to the Midwife I would see on Thursday and together they decided I would just come in Thursday morning. I saw this as a good sign that labor could be swift and we would have a baby on the 27th.

The night before we went to the hospital I slept terribly. I wasn’t nervous or scared, but it was impossible not to be anxious about what was going to be happening in a matter of hours. That morning I got up, showered and got dressed. I noted that I felt like I was getting ready to go into battle. I had a breakfast of avocado on toast with a fried egg, and we drove in darkness to the Mother Baby Center at Abbott Northwestern. We arrived, a little nervous but excited, and got brought back to the room where we would eventually meet our baby.

“So what’s the plan today?” the nurse asked.
“Uhhhh, we don’t know? I think we’re getting started on Pitocin?” Weren’t they supposed to know what the plan was?alexbirth-4

We settled in to our room, and I got hooked up to some monitors that would stay on me the entire time (and would more or less confine me to the bed, something I adamantly was against). Because of a shift change and an early morning birth, we didn’t see the midwife on duty until almost 8:30am. She decided that I wasn’t ready for Pitocin and would need to be started on Cervidil, which needs to be left in for 12 hours. And the midwife would be off duty at 8PM.

You kidding me?

It was the first of many disappointments. Why didn’t they have me come in the night before? All this momentum came to a screeching halt. I tearfully texted our doula with the plan and she confirmed it was a crappy situation, and that I could tell them I wanted to go home and come back at a different time to start the drug, since I had expectations of laboring with a midwife. I didn’t want to do that, because it felt like going backwards even more. I thought about how Alan was starting his paternity leave that day and the more time we were not having a baby was time off wasted. I thought about the cat guiltily because it meant we would be away from her for longer. I just felt sorry for myself.

After 12 hours on the Cervidil, even though I had been having contractions, which was encouraging, I was still stuck at 1 cm dilation as I had been for weeks. The new doctor now on call suggested we try a balloon catheter, which manually stretches the cervix out. Discouraged yet again by my lack of progress, Alan called our doula Jennifer to ask about it, as I was too distraught. I was tired, I was feeling urgent for a lot of silly reasons, and it was scary to be alone in the hospital trying to make difficult decisions. We didn’t know the right answers. alexbirth-26

So we tried the catheter. The pain of insertion was excrutiating and I had to opt out. I was so grateful that Alan was by my side for all of this, treating my concerns with the utmost seriousness, and advocating for me when I felt too weak or scared to stand up for myself. I hated feeling so feeble, but we’d been thrown a lot of curveballs already.

That night I wasn’t on any medications and my contractions stopped cold. The next morning we were met with a kind and compassionate nurse, who encouraged me to take a long shower, eat some breakfast, and we would meet the new doctor and make a game plan. The doctor turned out to be one I’d seen before at a routine prenatal visit. She was cool, confident and encouraging.

I would be put on Cytotec, another cervical ripener, which can take effect very quickly. They thought I might have a strong reaction to it, so I needed to have an IV port established in case I needed fluids. 3 failed sticks and they had to bring in a fancy IV specialist who used an ultrasound to find a vein. I was overwhelmed at this point by all the interventions my intervention-free labor and birth was having to take. alexbirth-2

After round two of Cytotec was looking not so promising, the doctor came in and recommended a balloon catheter plus Pitocin to get labor going. I practically had PTSD from trying to have it inserted the night before (seriously, it was so painful). I broke down in tears for what felt like the hundredth time since we arrived at the hospital. I tried to use the time to rest before we would know for sure if that was the path to take, but I was a ball of anxiety. The kind nurse gave me some lavender aromatherapy and gave me a foot massage with lotion. Later on, the doctor came back and said that if we really wanted labor to get going, the best option would be the balloon + Pitocin. I explained my concerns, and she said my cervix was probably much better suited than it had been the night before to have this done, but she also wasn’t pushy, and respected that I had reservations about everything.

So we called the doula again. She stressed over and over that we didn’t have to take any action, but if we truly wanted to get things moving, I could ask for Fentanyl to take the edge off during insertion. It was a drug, and I wanted a drug-free birth, but by this point, wasn’t I kind of already not having the birth I envisioned? The 45 minutes I was on Fentanyl were some of my chillest and happiest moments of the entire hospital stay. The balloon catheter went in with little effort. Alan and I had some toast and jello and gatorade as I wouldn’t be able to eat anymore on the Pitocin. I met the new nurses would went over my birth plan and respected my wishes to not push any pain medication on me. I would be dictating if and when I would need it.

alexbirth-28Contractions came on slowly at first, and I thought Ok, I can handle these. I tried a comfort position that worked great but unfortunately interfered with the dumb monitors that were strapped to my belly. As I was so late in pregnancy, I was told I needed to be on the monitors that measured baby’s heartbeat and my contractions the entire time. I had the monitors and IV of Pitocin at this point. Suddenly I felt a much more intense pain that coincided with having to go to the bathroom. On the toilet I felt my water break, and from there the contractions came fast and furious and it was finally time to call the doula in. The contractions were coming faster than I could manage them, so I got into the shower and had Alan spray water on my lower back. I’d hoped that the white noise of rushing water would soothe me, as it always does, and the hot water on my back would act as a compress of sorts. I was in agony though. I told Alan it was time to start thinking about pain medicine.alexbirth-25

The first thing he suggested we try was the Nitrous Oxide, or gas. This was an appealing pain intervention because it leaves the system very quickly and is self administered when you need it. I had to lie on the bed for this part and hold the mask to my face. The Nitrous smelled weird and it was difficult to breathe deeply with it on. The contractions were essentially happening on top of each other, so I kept breathing in the Nitrous and I got too high, and then I vomited. I had the shakes. I was essentially in transition, which is the hardest part of labor, but I wasn’t even 4 cm dilated.

It’s difficult now to remember this part, being in so much pain and feeling defeated and knowing I wouldn’t be able to continue without the epidural. So I asked for it. I demanded it. They said it could take another 20 minutes for the anaesthesiologist to arrive, but he was mercifully quick. I had to sit up and lean over a table and try to manage the contractions while the guy – who was super capable and reassuring – got me all set up. I remember so clearly hunched over the table, moaning through the contractions, that I just no longer cared how this baby came out. It took nearly 48 hours, hell, 42 weeks, to just let go and let it happen.

The relief was almost instant. I could finally, fully relax after all this time. Shortly after, the balloon catheter fell out, meaning I was at least 4cm. I was put on my side to rest with a big peanut ball put between my legs so they could get the baby into optimal position. The room went dark, and Alan went to sleep, and the doula went to sleep. An hour later a nurse came in to turn me over to my other side. Then they came back in because baby was in a bit of distress so I had to be moved back. Not too long after that I felt pressure in my… Well, my butt. I was told that when I felt this I should call up the nurse. Shortly after, they came in with all the birth stuff. Whoa! Was this really happening already?

She checked me and I was at 10cm finally. The epidural had worked so beautifully that I relaxed that baby all the way down and I was nearly ready to start pushing. I suggested they wake Alan up. He went to sleep in one universe and woke up about to be a dad.

I tried a practice push. They stressed that it could be a couple hours of pushing, and that just because I was far along now, didn’t necessarily mean baby would be coming out any time soon. I was so mother effing determined to get this baby out of me, though, so I used all my focus and concentration on pushing him out.


I wanted an all natural birth because I thought it would empower me. But what hadn’t really occurred to me until this point was that the entire process of growing a human was empowering. It didn’t matter how I birthed him – what mattered is that I made him. After hearing encouragement from the nurses and Alan and the doula, I kept pushing with all the strength I could muster. I was crazy sleep deprived, I was hooked up to a million different machines and medications, and I was also kind of thinking “who actually takes the baby out?” Because, the thought of actually pushing this baby out sounded so impossible, even though I was doing it.

After 48 minutes I felt like I was close. With every contraction I would push hard 3 times with 3 big breaths. For the last one I just thought he was ready to come out so I pushed a 4th time and against the bright lights shining down on me I saw this little body come out of me and he was put on my belly. I broke into sobs. Alan did too. Finally. Finally, after the longest pregnancy, and what felt like an eternity in the hospital, we had our little boy.alexbirth-7I didn’t know what Alex looked like yet, because he was on my chest for the first 45 minutes or so. I just held his little butt and kissed his little head. Everybody in the room was in awe of how big this baby was. The most recent ultrasound I had had estimated him at 9.5 lbs, though with a margin of error of 1.5. The doctor had felt my belly and guessed maybe in the 8 range. But he was 10 freakin pounds. When my midwife had said so long ago that being tall would be advantageous, I guess this is what she meant.

Pushing was the most empowering part of birth. It felt like action. It was active participation. And I didn’t find it painful. It was hard, certainly. But I barely felt any pain. And plus, I couldn’t believe that I had actually produced a baby. The idea of giving birth was always so abstract, even as I was actively giving birth. alexbirth-9alexbirth-12If I’m being perfectly honest, when I finally did see his face, it was all squished up and puckered from the pressure of being pushed out of the birth canal. His head was so strangely cone-shaped. I thought he looked like an alien. It was certainly emotional but I can’t say definitively that it was love at first sight, and that’s OK. I mean hey, I was exhaustedalexbirth-13alexbirth-14alexbirth-33They’d turned all the lights on in our delivery room post-birth. The entire time we’d been in there, it was dim and quiet. With all the drugs and changes that had happened so quickly, and then the whirlwind delivery, it suddenly felt like we had been teleported to a different room. A different Universe. We were parents all of a sudden. Once we got ourselves fed and I went to the bathroom for the first time (a slightly horrifying ordeal), we got taken to our postpartum room, which was cozy and calm. I held Alexander in the wheel chair and really looked at his face for the first time, now that he was asleep and cleaned up. I thought he looked like an adorable little gnome. His rosy cheeks and Royce eyes were very familiar to me.alexbirth-15alexbirth-17The first night with him was brutal. He wasn’t a talented feeder right away (some folks want to tell you that breastfeeding is totally instinctive and babies know what to do. That was not quite our case). So we had a howling newborn all night with no respite and when they came in early the next morning to take him away for some 24-hour tests, I was like, yes, please, take my baby.

I still don’t totally feel like “a mother.” I expect once we fall into a routine and Alex’s habits are a little easier to pick up on, and I can actually do stuff with him, instead of just feed him and try to get him to nap, I will feel like I’m a mom. For now it’s all about survival. My survival, Alan’s survival, Alex’s survival. alexbirth-23Very shortly after he was born, I started to think “Would I actually do this again?” And if I had to make the decision right then and there? I would say probably not. If I had to make the decision during the first wave of cluster feedings? I would say probably not. But they’re right when they say these phases pass. It does get a little easier day by day. You do heal. You remember the good parts of your labor experience. You forget the truly terrible parts of pregnancy. The privilege of being there for the start of someone’s life is incredible and indescribable.

Plus, I would have a thousand babies just for that first shower post-birth. Oh my god it was amazing.


Welcome To Your Life

Friends, by now I’ve shared the news far and wide on social media (which is where 97% of you are reading this from anyway), but I had to make it blog official. Our beautiful little son, Alexander Richard Royce was born on Saturday October 29 at 6:58am. He was a whopping 10 pounds and is 22.5 inches long. That’s what happens when you’re 2 weeks overdue. 

I had a long induction – 48 hours – until I was finally able to push, which took 48 minutes. I’ll take pride in these figures until my dying day. I love a good birth story and will share ours soon. For now, this is a simple way to say hello to Alex. 

Thank You


Just a little thank you note to everyone who responded so positively to my tale of depression and pregnancy from Friday. I got so many really awesome messages of support from people — and a lot of messages from people who have similar experiences (not necessarily related to pregnancy). Social media has a tendency to force us to put our best selves on display constantly. There’s been SO. MANY. TIMES. I’ve wanted to just go on Twitter or Facebook and just say “Guys I am so lonely and sad” but have feared that it would severely turn people off. That’s probably why so many people with depression become comedians; people don’t mind hearing about your sad life as long as they can laugh at it.

I’m glad we’re breaking down the stigma. While I like this blog to be a happy place full of things that totally don’t matter, it would be a disservice to myself and to many others to try and mask who I am and what I’m going through from time to time.

So thank you for reading, and for your kind words, and for your solidarity. ♥


(image via Pinterest)

Inbetween Days

Note: This is a post I’ve been meaning to write for a couple weeks now, but I’ve had no idea how to approach it. I really believe in minimizing the stigma of “mental illness”, and in the interest of keeping it 100, I have no issue talking about my history with depression on this blog. But this has been such a difficult subject to broach, for reasons I don’t really understand myself. But my therapist encouraged me to write about this, and if I wait too much longer, I might lose my nerve. 

Almost daily for the last 4 months or so, I have struggled profoundly with a form of depression. We could call it situational or prenatal or just regular depression. It all applies. Pregnancy has changed my circumstances so dramatically, from being a generally social, full time graphic designer who does stuff to an unemployed woman who now finds it difficult to interact with people. Not that I don’t know how to relate to people anymore, per se, but all the old tricks I would have for “hanging out” usually included going out late at night, drinking, etc… You can’t really do that when you’re pregnant.

So I’ve been alone. More or less for half my pregnancy.

Here and there I would do the occasional lunch with a close friend or attend my old trivia night, even once or twice going out after 10 to dance with people. And the buzz you get from seeing people who you like and who like you sustains you for a short while, but eventually I slip back into a deep despair, where I feel guilty that I have all this free time, and no earthly idea of how to enjoy it. I think back to what I would do with days off from work, and the answer was usually along the lines of lunch, movie, shopping, errands. If every day is a day off, those once enjoyable activities become tedious, almost an obligation (i.e. “Maybe I should go see a movie but I don’t want to, ugh“). Then I start to think how pitiful it is that I can’t come up with anything other than going to the mall again to spend my time.

Who am I trying to impress? What does it matter if I want to go to the mall? Who cares? I know, I know. It shouldn’t matter. But for some reason it does, and I feel pathetic, and I feel sorry for myself, and then I cry, and then I cry some more because I’m sad that I’m sad. Then Alan comes home and I can’t explain what exactly is so upsetting and he can’t fix it and I feel more alone than ever.

I’m trapped between my old life and my new life. It’s about to change in ways I have no way of understanding and that’s scary but also exciting. I’m just totally stuck in this inbetween, but after a summer of no job and no social life, waiting for my life to have purpose again.

Did other mothers feel this same way? Alan and I have indulged in dinners out and movies we weren’t super stoked about, and dates with friends. I’ve indulged in shopping trips, long drives and sleeping in late (mainly out of necessity, because the morning is when I’m finally exhausted enough to ignore the pain in my hips). But I also feel like I’m the only woman in the world who has spent many of her days leading up to birth sobbing at her desk at home, sometimes over very small things, but other times, and more frequently, over the suffocating isolation and lack of creativity in her life.

I guess my goal here is not to send you on a big ol awkward guilt trip, but more to just show you, hey, when I was posting all those mood boards and photos of my house, I was also struggling silently with depression and I just want to talk about it.Processed with VSCO with j2 preset

Some months ago I recognized that I was struggling and having always had a fear that I could be afflicted by Postpartum Depression (PPD), or even in an extreme case, Postpartum Psychosis, I began to see a therapist. Seeking help has long been my biggest hurdle in my fight with depression and anxiety. It can be overwhelming to find a therapist, and then you have to hope that you have a good rapport with the therapist. Last fall I had a therapist who helped me in some ways but who I didn’t feel at all connected to. Luckily this time around I found a woman who is gentle and compassionate and who specializes in depressive disorders unique to women.

Because of the lessening stigma surrounding these types of issues people have, I’ve learned of a ton of my friends who suffer in similar ways, or other ways I can’t imagine. It’s hard to remember when you’re being whipped around the maelstrom of sadness that there are others struggling in their own way too, so let’s all just try a little more to look out for each other.

I’m looking forward to this podcast which will hopefully help me and others to feel even less alone in the journey. Because while I’m so glad this pregnancy is almost over, I don’t know about what the next wave of strange body changes will bring. All I know is I want to be a strong and happy mother for my baby.

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