So, there’s a funny little quirk about the house we’re renting.

You know how dryers have that giant slinkyish metal tube thing that connects to outside so that the air from the dryer can vent out or whatever? I don’t really know the logistics of it, but hopefully you know what I’m talking about.

Anyway, normally there’s a little cover/filter thing that goes on the end of it, on the outside of the house. You know, to protect stuff from getting out or in– just letting air go through. However, that cover was taken off before we moved in because it kept getting stuff in it and causing more problems than solutions. Or something like that.

So long story short, we have birds that live in our giant slinkyish metal tube thing.

Like, they just live in there. I often hear birds chirping while doing laundry. And yes, it’s cute.

However, we’ve done our best to try to keep it clear of birds nests. I mean, it’s our dryer. Not the best place for them to build their nests. So a couple of times, Mark has had to take out the tube and shake out all the twigs and stuff outside.

Mark went to do that today while I was nursing Jake in our bedroom.

A few minutes later, Mark comes upstairs with his hands cupped together, hiding something. I thought he was pulling a joke on me, like he was going to open up his hands and there would be a little bird or something cute, but then there would be nothing and I would be sad.

He opened up his hands to reveal 6 little baby bird eggs.

“What have I done…” Mark mourned.

After googling the impact of humans messing with bird nests and eggs and stuff, he went back to the laundry room with the tube and started trying to put the eggs and everything back. Then I hear a gasp of despair.

He had dropped one of the eggs.

Luckily, it was still just an egg… but it still broke our hearts to think that the mama bird is going to come back and find her home disturbed, and a baby gone.

Mark has since referred to himself bitterly as “The Bird Murderer.”

The moral of the story?

… I don’t know. But it was pretty dramatic. So I thought I’d share.

And in other news, our little family is doing well. We are absolutely in love with Jake. He fits right in.

He’s also a super good baby (knock on wood). Like, he sleeps anywhere from 4-6 hours at a time. It’s pretty awesome. And he’s just so pleasant. And perfect.

And we’ve figured out the feeding thing for the most part. He’s taken to breast feeding, thank goodness. I was a little worried since we only used formula the first week. We still supplement with formula some, but he has no problem breastfeeding, and somehow it just all works out, which is a relief.

Recovery sucks, but it’s getting a little better. Mark has been such a huge help, as well as some friends from church who brought meals and paid us visits. We are very blessed and very happy.

Now, I’m going to go try to rouse Jake from his like, 4 hour nap. Because it’s midnight. And at this rate, he won’t go back to sleep until like, 3am. Welcome to parenthood, right?

 

Jacob Arthur McCann arrived May 13, 2014 at 11:46 PM.

7 lb 8 oz, 19 inches long.

He’s basically perfect. It’s a learning curve for sure, but it’s one we’re absolutely loving.

Here’s the birth story for anyone who’s interested:

I was in the hospital all weekend due to a bladder infection. I had thought that the aches and pains I was feeling were just pre-labor symptoms, but when we checked my temp and it was almost 101, we headed for the hospital to see what was going on, and to make sure baby was ok. I ended up being there for about 36 hours while they did various tests, and they put me on antibiotics and whatnot. The contractions I was getting while there never quite picked up enough, so we ended up coming home.

We were home for Sunday afternoon and Monday, but I had a feeling on Monday that we were in for another long night as contractions picked up. I informed Mark that he was taking me out on a date that night, since it was probably gonna be our last date night for a little while. We went to a salad bar and went to see the Lego Movie at the cheap theatre, and my contractions picked up. We walked around Target and Walmart, and contractions got worse. We went home, and around 1:30pm went to bed. Well, Mark did.

I was back and forth between the bath tub and bed, trying to soothe the cramps, but these were different. When you’re pregnant you think you KNOW what contractions feel like, and every Braxton Hick you get is like “Wow, this must be it!” But these were so much more intense. Around 3am, I urgently woke up Mark and said “Now. We’re going. Now.”

They picked up in intensity, and we made it to the hospital. They got me in a gown, put monitors on me, checked me, all that stuff. I was 2 cm dilated and 100% effaced, which was good, but I was nervous it wasn’t enough to admit me. Finally the nurse came back and told me they were going to get me up to Labor and Delivery. Yay!

We got in our room, and I was informed that I would get my epidural soon. Woot! They put me on Demerol to help take the edge off the contractions while we waited, and to help me relax. It didn’t take the pain away, but it sure helped. Around 6am, I got the epidural. And let me tell you, it was AMAZING. I remember about a minute after it was in, I asked the nurse what happened to my contractions, and she was like “Oh honey, you’re having one right now.” Ha! Life’s awesome.

Long story short, I chilled in bed having “contractions” for like, 15 hours or so. I took 3 naps and just let my body rest. I am convinced that the epidural was created by angels.

However, around 7:30 things started changing. I started noticing more pressure and pain. They checked me around 8pm, and I was fully dilated and ready to push.

I started shaking pretty bad. All of a sudden, this was it. Like, I was about to push a baby out.

I’ll spare you the details, but pushing was no joke. Although I still had the epidural, I could feel pressure, and people will try to tell you that pressure is different from pain, but NOPE. The three hours I pushed were incredibly intense. I can’t explain the desperation and frustration of having nurses telling you to “Push harder!” “Don’t yell it only takes away from your efforts!” “Come on, one more!” when you are already trying your hardest and feel like your body is being ripped apart. The only thing that kept me anchored to reality was Mark staying by my side and telling me how much progress I was making. And eventually, one really intense push and the weirdest, floppiest sensation, and he was out. Jake was born.

I was expecting them to put him right on my stomach, but he pooped on the way out, so they had to get him cleaned up. Meanwhile, the doctor did her thing to get my placenta out, which wasn’t easy since the cord broke or something, and she stitched me up, and was just doing all kinds of things down there while I laid there, wanting to slap her away and say “I just had a baby!! Leave me alone!! Give my poor privates a break!!!”

Mark took pictures of Jake while all that was happening, and was able to capture those first moments, which I am so grateful for. He had low blood sugar, which is common for babies to have when the cord is cut from a mom with gestational diabetes, so they gave him a little formula to raise it. And then finally, I got to hold my son.

You know how they say that the pain of childbirth goes away when you see your baby? Yeah, that’s totally true.

Things have been great for the most part. Breastfeeding has not gone down that way I had hoped, though. Because his blood sugar was so unstable that first day, he had to have formula here and there. I tried breastfeeding, but he would not latch on or stay on because his little body was weak from the blood sugar deal, so it was just a weird cycle of wanting him to eat, and him not being able to because he needed to eat. Then, the doctor informed me that the medication I was taking for my anxiety and OCD was ok for pregnancy, but not for breastfeeding. So, Jake has been on formula since he was born. I am going to the doctor Monday to talk to him about my options of switching medications, and meanwhile I’m just “pumping and dumping” to get my supply going. Hopefully we will get all that resolved, and Jake will be able to breastfeed, or at least bottle feed with my milk. Not ideal, but we’re doing our best, and I’m choosing not to beat myself up over it. I’m doing the best I can, and although it makes me sad that my anxiety issues have kept us from having an ideal breastfeeding experience, we’ll get it all figured out, and life will go on.

Mark and I are completely in love with the little guy. He completes our home in a way we didn’t anticipate. Nine months later, and this is real. We have a son. How sweet is that?!

Now, I’m gonna go kiss his little face.