A year ago this weekend: bumps, boy parts and beers

While Mr. Max just reached the 8-month mark on Friday, a year ago he was just a 20-week old fetus. And Mr. KK and I headed down to Augusta for the monumental event: ultrasound and measurements and finding out he was, well, a he.

Since no one besides our parents and a few close friends even knew Baby M existed, our trip was somewhat clandestine, done in as few hours as possible to minimize time out of work (gotta save those days for my non-existent future maternity leave!) and lies to innocent bystanders.

Oblivious to how stressful this one-day trip will turn out to be.

It was surreal to see our surrogate in person, baby bump and all. When she greeted us at the airport I just about lost it. Sure, she had been sending up bump pics all along, but to see it live – and touch it! – was pretty amazing. Her bump was small and round and perfect, and as I looked down, my stomach appeared equally as large from my airport dinner. 

At our ultrasound appointment the next morning, we watched, eyes glued to the monitor, as the tech pointed and clicked and called out body parts and measurements. We had never made it this far in the process before, so we were cautiously optimistic.

"Yo, Mom and Dad!"

Just to be clear: we're having a boy.

We met with the doctor afterwards and that's when everything sort of went downhill. 

To summarize: he unprofessionally scared the shit out of us saying horrible things like "not viable at 20 weeks" and "specialist" and "amniotic fluid levels", then referred us to a high-risk specialist, whom I disliked the minute I met (I have good instincts) and whose laissez faire beside manner earned her the name Dr. Earthy Crunchy Kookpot. 

Dr. ECK talked about the kidney issue, signed us up for monthly monitoring, and said, "I wouldn't worry about it until after birth."

The we found ourselves rushing to the airport to make our flight home, thunderstorms threatening all around us (gotta love the south!).

A nice layover in Charlotte provided us an opportunity to enjoy one of our favorite IPAs (stress drinking).

Hey NoDa brewing, you got us through some tough times.

Care to send us a case of this goodness???

Longest.Day.Ever.

Saturday night we had 4 anxious and excited parents over for the big gender reveal.

They thought they were getting the necklace reveal, but instead it was hidden in what they thought was my dad's birthday cake.

And here we are, one year later, with a happy and healthy baby (with one perfect and one not-so-perfect kidney), four infatuated grandparents, and two parents who couldn't be happier, or luckier.

Part 3: Three Long Days

Sunday, October 5, 9:15pm

We’re in the nursery watching Baby M have his first bath and check-up to make sure all of his parts are working when we hear the commotion coming off the elevators.

The Clampetts (aka: the grandparents) have arrived!

It’s been a long 6-year journey not for only Rob and me, but for our parents as well. They’ve watched their friends become grandparents, dodged many “Any grandchildren yet?” questions and have been in on this process since day one. 

Finally, finally, finally Rob and I can happily tell them: your grandchild is here. And he’s perfect.

The grandparents, proudly wearing their "It's a BOY" stickers

11:15pm

Our brand new bundle of joy is about to start his first adventure: the Special Care Nursery. They've been watching his breathing and it appears very labored. 

"He's 'singing'," the nurse tells us. "Or we call it 'grunting'. It just means he's working extra hard to breath."

The little guy probably had some fluid leftover in his lungs. This could be because of two reasons: 

1. He was 3 weeks early 

2. He had a ‘quick trip’ through the birth canal (um, ew).

“We’re going to get him set up,” the nice nurse tells us. “Come by in an hour and ring the bell and you can see him.”

We both stand there helplessly watching her wheel our son away. He's only been here in the world for a few hours and they were already taking him away from us.

Monday, October 6, 12:30am

On what is quickly becoming the longest day of our lives – and quite possibly the most hours I’ve been awake consecutively – we ring the bell for the NICU. We’re buzzed in and instructed to wash up before entering. Because these teeny tiny patients are so sensitive and susceptible to germs, everyone must wash their hands for three full minutes before entering. Have you ever washed your hands for 3 full minutes? It’s an eternity. 

Have you ever washed your hands for 3 minutes anticipating seeing your little newborn baby? It’s an eternity times a million.

The NICU is filled with little incubators covered in quilts keeping the smallest babies you’ve ever seen warm and safe. There are machines everywhere, beeping and whooshing and clicking. And there, in the corner, is our sweet boy: wearing only a diaper and lying spread eagle under a heat lamp. I would laugh at his pose if he wasn't covered in wires, didn't have a breathing tube taped to his face and the littlest IV I’ve ever seen in my life.

 “You have the biggest baby in the NICU!” one of the nurses cheerfully tells us.

But he just looks so…little. And helpless.

Do we look exhausted, or what? Oy.

We’re allowed to visit as much as we like. By the next afternoon, he’s off of his oxygen and the nurses start to reduce the baby’s fluids and we get to feed him for the first time from a small bottle. Monday night, we’re allowed to change his diaper and feed him even more. The next morning he’s off of his IV. The grandparents scrub in and visit him two at a time. Not exactly how we imagined them seeing him for the first time up close. They weren't even allowed to hold him, just watch him in his little bin.

So. Freaking. Small.

Our sweet boy stayed in the NICU for only 36 hours before getting a clean bill of health and being released to the Well Baby Nursery.

And those 36 hours were the longest of our lives.

Monday, October 6, 10am

Baby M is officially named Maxwell James and makes his debut on social media!

Tuesday, October 7, 2:30pm

A nurse wheels Maxwell into our room. Thank god! Up until this point, Rob and I had just been sleeping in a hospital room for no reason; Rob on the pull-out bed and me on the Craftmatic hospital bed. 

It was such a strange experience, that I kept calling our room our 'hotel room'. Every time we'd leave the room, I'd ask Rob if he had the key. He had to keep reminding me that we were in a hospital and there were no locks on the door. And somehow, even with the knowledge that anyone could come into our room at any point even while I was in bed, I was able to sleep.

I have to say, for brand new parents, we had gotten two awesome nights sleep.

Tuesday, October 7, 9pm

Our parents have gone back to their hotel, the nurses have left, and it’s just us and Maxwell and our first night together.

“What do we do next?” I ask Rob, over a sleeping Maxwell.

We haven’t had anything to eat most of the day, so Rob heads down to the food court to get us some dinner. Only in the south is there a Chick Fil-A inside the hospital.

I force myself to eat through the nerves that have taken over my stomach. I can’t believe the nurses just left the baby with us. How do they know we’re qualified to take care of him? I haven’t even mastered the swaddle yet! 

Everything was still so surreal. The last two days felt like we were just visiting a baby in the hospital…now we’re responsible for one.

It’s cool to sleep with the lights on, right?

 My first swaddle attempt. Max is saying, "Ma, really?"

Wednesday, October 8, 7am

Our first night in numbers:

11: the decibel and strength of Max’s cries at 3am (on a loudness scale of 1-10)

27: the total number of minutes I slept all night (not bad for a first night, no?)

314: the number of times I got up to check and make sure Maxwell was breathing

65: the number of times I “accidentally” poked Max to make him move to verify he was still alive

654: the number of times I whisper-asked Rob if he thought Maxwell was breathing

4,739: the number of times I questioned my abilities as a mother

Wednesday, October 8, 10am

Nurse: “You’re being discharged today!”

WHAT???

But Max just got out of the NICU!

But he’s only 3 days old!

But we only had one night of practice!

But he’s so small!

But we’re not ready!

But I still can’t swaddle!

When hospitals make the decision to discharge you it’s no joke.

I believe their exact words were, “You are free to go. Take your time and let us know when you’re ready to leave and we'll walk you out.”

What they meant was, 'You have to leave. Now. I will SAY ‘take your time’ but what I really mean is: Scram. I’ll call and come by every 20 minutes to ‘gently’ check on you to see if you’re ready. But you need to be ready. We’re done with you now.'

Rob and my parents headed downstairs to pull the cars around and I walked with the nurse wheeling Maxwell in his plastic bassinet to the nurse’s station where they would cut off the anti-baby-theft alarm tag on his foot before sending us on our way.

The nurses at the station congratulated me and wished me well. I put on my best ‘I totally got this’ face and smiled.

One of the nurses looked me up and down suspiciously.

“He’s YOUR baby?”

Me, “Yes. Well, I obviously didn’t give birth to him, but yes, he’s my baby.”

I let those words wash over me. He’s my baby.

“Well, I was gonna say: damn, girl, you look GOOD. That’s how you do it!”

And with that, we walked out into the warm Augusta day to start our life together as a family.

Strapping Maxwell into his car seat for his long journey home!

*****

Next up: the road trip home!

Part 2: One Very Special Delivery

Sunday, October 5
12:45pm

It was warm and sunny in Augusta as we made our way towards the hospital. 

"We're having a baby today," I say to Rob, then reach over and squeeze his hand.

I can't remember exactly what I was feeling. 

Excitement for the day ahead. 

Relief that we made it to Georgia before his arrival.

Anxiety that everything would go well.

But most of all, everything felt surreal. It's hard to explain. It was almost like we were going to visit a friend who was having a baby. It didn't even occur to me that after our visit we were taking that baby home with us. That he would be OURS.

Our parents were due to arrive on later flights into Augusta at 8pm.

The Women's Hospital was quiet when we arrived. I guess there aren't many babies who want to make an entrance into the world on a Sunday (day of rest and all that). 

"Lordy, Lordy!" the woman behind the desk at the nurses'  station hollered when she say us. "Y'all made it! Y'all made it! Woo hoo!"

And that was when we realized that we were a big deal. Well, a big deal in the Women's Hospital in Augusta, Georgia, anyway.

"Nancy, they're here!" she shouted over to another nurse walking by.

"We've all been waiting for you to get here!" Nancy smiles at us.

You have? Us? Do they have the right people?

"She's right this way," another nurse ushers us towards a room. "We've been waiting for you so we can get things moving!"

The warming unit is all set up and waiting for Baby M to make his arrival!

Our surrogate smiled when we walked in, probably relieved that she could start to get our little creature out of her body.

"Let's jack up that pitocin now that the parents are here," our nurse said. "And get this show on the road."

Now that we were getting this 'show on the road', I started to panic that we weren't quite ready for this show to begin. Or end.

2:30pm

Still 4 centimeters.

Rob and I head outside to our rental car with our surrogate's husband to install our car seat, that they have so kindly been keeping at their house for this very day.

Nothing like installing the car seat for the first time into a rental car!

3pm

Still waiting!

Because the hospital was so empty, our nurse set Rob and I up in the delivery room next door to our surrogate.

"After the baby is born, we'll walk him next door to this room and I'll do everything I need to do to him in here with you. That will give your surrogate some privacy and allow you guys to be a family for the first time and to bond with the baby," she tells us.

Only in the south, where people are nice and accommodating, does this happen. I tried to imagine Yale Hospital saying, "Hey, we're going to give you this room for free to use and do everything we can to be nice to you and give you the best experience possible." 

And they would realize that they were from north of the Mason Dixon line and take everything back.

Our "delivery room" for the day.

6:45pm

7 centimeters!

Our parents are just getting ready to board their flight from Atlanta to Augusta.

We see our doctor coming down the hall. He's finally here!

"How much longer?" I ask him.

"Oh, I'd say about 15 minutes or so."

FIFTEEN MINUTES???

Any chance 'or so' is code for 3 more hours???

Wait! I want to scream.

We're not ready yet!

It is then that we realize that our parents aren't going to make it to the hospital before our baby's birth. We decide not to tell them, so they don't worry about it for the entire flight over. 

When they ask for an update instead we say: "Things are moving along!".

 The latest in post-birth 'skin to skin' fashion: the double Johnny coat.

Don't be jealous.

The very last picture ever taken of just the two of us.

I'm pretty sure we're both thinking, 

"Do we have time for one last quick beer before this show???"

6:46-7:11pm

Have you every been in a delivery room? Well, I hadn't. Everything I knew about delivery rooms I learned from the movies.

Screaming women in labor. Husbands being told it was all their fault. Mayhem. Bright lights. And incompetent doctor and a jokester nurse.

Funny thing…it's not like that at all.

The room wasn't that big, but the cast of characters was assembled:

• The doctor (probably the second most important person in the room) who was suited up in what resembled a Hazmat suit (including booties that went up to his knees – what exactly was he going to be stepping in???). It seemed his primary role was to stand back and observe our surrogate's nether regions and say things like, "That's it" and "Good job" and "Keep it up".
• Our nurse (whom it seemed had the most vocal role in the room), who SWORE she was going to deliver this baby before her shift ended at 7pm. Her primary goal was the count. "10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. PUSH! Great! Do it again! 10, 9…"
• A second nurse who watched the monitors. Every once in a while giving updates and maybe handing something over. Monitor watching and staying out of the way seemed to be her forte. Oh, and making sure the incubator was warm.
• Our surrogate, who was being quite the trooper.
• Our surrogate's husband, who stepped in as birth coach/hand holder/motivator.
• Rob, who stood north of the action near our surrogate's head, holding the umbilical cord cutters and providing blockage for his lovely wife.
• Me, the lovely wife, who was plastered up against Rob, arm wrapped around his, head facing the back wall continually asking "What's going on now???" and "Can you see him???"

The room was very calm and very quiet. In fact, I think I heard chatter about the weather in between pushes, and I think our surrogate was laughing at jokes. But I still didn't look. I just couldn't.

7:12pm

One big push and Baby M made his way into the world.

I think I looked because I could have sworn I saw the doctor holding him up and thinking, "Did she just give birth to a toddler???" because he was so round and plump.

I heard things like, "Big boy!" and "Rob, come around here – watch your step – and cut the cord". (I believe Rob described the experience of cutting the cord as "weird" and "squishy".)

I remember being asked to come around the incubator to see our son, squirming and squawking as the nurses cleaned him off. I stared at him in awe. 

You are mine, I kept thinking. You are mine.

Shortly after the birth we were whisked next door, to start our life as a new family.

Our very first family photo

8:15pm

My cell phone rings.

"We just landed," my mother in law said. "We're here!"

"You're not the only one who's here," I tell her, smiling.

And as if on cue, Baby M lets out a howl to say hello to his grandparents.

*****

to be continued...

Part 1: The Marsolis went down to Georgia

Saturday, October 4, 8:35pm

The minute my phone rang Saturday night, I knew.

"Don't hop on a plane just yet," our surrogate tells us. "Let's see what the hospital says and I'll call you back."

I hang up the phone and look at Rob.

"Let's pretend we're getting on a plane in a few hours," I tell him. "Because we probably are."

I just know it in my gut. Mother's instinct? Maybe.

So we do all of the things we were going to do over the next two weeks: 

• Finish packing suitcases (packing = throwing anything we could get our hands on into the suitcases. "I don't even know if I have enough pants!" from Rob and "Are white jeans are still weather-appropriate in Georgia?" from me)
• Get Vito's stuff together for the kennel
• Do my time sheets for work
• Freeze and save all of the groceries we had purchased that morning

Then the moment of truth: we check out the flights for first thing Sunday morning.

"Slim pickins'," Rob sighs, scrolling through the flights.

Awesome.

"Maybe we should leave now and drive?" I suggest.

Rob shoots me the 'are you crazy, woman??' look. 

Guess that's a no.

Saturday, October 4, 10:30pm
phone call from surrogate

"I'm progressing a bit. They said they can keep me here overnight to monitor me. If I continue moving in this direction, then we'll know."

"Stay put! And keep us posted!"

After a few hours of the 'What centimeter do you think she is now?' game, we give up and head to bed.

Sometime around 1:30am, we miraculously fall asleep.

Sunday, October 5, 3:38am

"Hello?" 
It's amazing how you can be in a deep sleep but the minute your phone rings you can answer in a voice that's totally normal. 

"Good morning," our surrogate replies. "How would you feel about your baby having an October 5 birthday?"

And that, my friends, is when shit got real.

3:39am-4:30am

Scramble out of bed.

Book a 7:30am flight out of Bradley, via Atlanta, landing in Augusta at 12:11pm.

Change our rental car reservations.

Call the grandparents-to-be.

4:47am

Holy shit, we're having a baby today.

5:00am

My dad arrives to pick us up. 

First stop: drop Vito at my in laws so they can bring him to the kennel. 
Second stop: airport!

5:15am

Last family photo of just the three of us.

Rob's face says, "I can't believe this is happening."

KK's face says, "Let's get this show on the road!"

Vito's face says, "Why the hell are we up this early?"

7:30am

Take off!

12:11pm

DING! "Welcome to Augusta. It is now safe to use your cell phones."

Text to surrogate: 'Landed! On our way! Hang in there!'

a blue ribbon on our suitcase for our baby boy!

****

to be continued...

Ultrasound FAIL

This past week, the stars aligned and my work travel coincided with an ultrasound appointment for my surrogate! Hooray!

I hadn't seen our little munchkin in 17 weeks, so it was wonderful to see how big he was getting.

The ultrasound appointment was at the high-risk OB's office, someone our surrogate has been seeing monthly since our 20-week ultrasound when they noticed a little something with one of the baby's kidneys. The doctor is one of two high-risk OB's in the area and supposedly very smart.

I don't like her.

There's just something about her that rubs me the wrong way. She's very earthy crunchy, always reading medical journals and suggesting new things for our surrogate to try. More fish! More vitamin D! Less fish! Baby Mozart! More Fish! More vitamin D!

Between the doctor and ultrasound tech, I started to wonder just what has happened to bedside manners in the medical world.

The fun went something like this:

as soon as we walked into the room:

TECH (to me): "You're the mother."
KK:  "Yes!"
TECH (to both of us):  "I have an adopted son, so I'm all for these 'group things'."


TECH (to me):  "Where do you live?"
KK:  "Connecticut."
TECH:  "Where in Connecticut?"
KK:  "New Haven area."
TECH:  "I have family in Groton."
KK:  "Oh, that's nice. Groton is a nice area."
TECH:  "My uncle worked in New Haven at Pfizer. He's dead."

reviewing the ultrasound photos:

TECH: "Left kidney is really small. Right kidney is a beauty. Don't worry, you can live with one kidney. You just can't play football."

What the???

KK:  "Um, is there a chance the baby is only going to have one kidney???"
TECH:  "Well, he has two now."

And then Dr. Kookpot came in the room:

DR:  "The left kidney now looks like…" BEEP BEEP. "Oh, excuse me, that's my daughter texting me."

She then stops talking to us to text her daughter.

DR:  "My daughter is moving to Charlotte for two months and wants to know if she can take my bread maker."
KK:  "Really? How much bread can one person make in two months?"

DR:  "Do you have a pediatrician up north?"

KK:  "Yes."

DR (to surrogate): "When you get to the hospital, don't elect the POW – the Pediatrician of the Week. Instead, ask for Neonatal Services and you'll get one of those doctors."

DR:  "Pediatricians don't go to the hospitals anymore. You know why? They don't get paid. Why should they work for free? These insurance companies are awful. I was on the phone with one the other day and I was in tears talking to them. Why should I go to the hospital and work for free? I work to get paid."

Hey, lady, I work for free all the time. I'm salaried for 40 hours a week, and I work well over that…for nothing. And how did we get on the subject of insurance companies???

DR:  "So the kidney. It used to be larger but now it's smaller. I'm not sure why, we'll have to check it out after birth. I've never seen anything like this in my medical journals. It must be rare. Maybe we'll write up your baby in the National Enquirer."

OMG. Please.Stop.Talking.

DR:  "You know, if I didn't know your history of the enlarged kidney, and I was just looking at this ultrasound, I would say the left kidney is a normal size, not too small."

((exasperated sigh))

KK:  "So the baby's kidneys might be fine?"
DR:  "Well, I'm not an expert. You'll have to have neonatal services do an ultrasound after he's born. This isn't my specialty so you can't go by what I say."

The Sunday Dinner Tradition

If you're Italian, you probably grew up going to "Sunday dinner" with your family. 

There was macaroni, wine poured into juice glasses, crusty bread for mopping up sauce. You'd eat a big meal early in the afternoon and then, there was probably napping of some sort.

For me, Sunday dinners were spent at my grandparents' house. I would run up the stairs and burst into my grandmother's kitchen, shoes scraping on her linoleum floor. The entire house smelled amazing, a mixture of garlic and tomatoes. She'd be at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, wearing her apron. I'd rush to her, throwing my arms around her legs and just breathe everything in. And when no one was looking, she'd sneak me a fried meatball and send me on my way to play.

Sundays meant time with family.

They still do, but it's so hard to find the time to dedicate an afternoon to cooking and relaxing, and just enjoying each other's company. 

There's always an errand to run, a load of laundry to be done or a chore to be finished.

But I want Baby M to grow up surrounded by family and traditions. I don't want him to ever feel we're too busy to do something, or that weekends – the time we'll really get to spend with him – is for rushing around and mindless tasks. I want him to feel like that time is all about him. Spending time with his family. I want him to know family traditions, so we have to start now.

This past Sunday, I hosted a Sunday dinner. 

I was up early at the grocery store, buying the cans of crushed tomatoes and the meat for the sauce.

My father-in-law made two big batches of homemade pasta.

I fried 50 meatballs and made the most delicious meat sauce with pork, sausage and braciola.

We had two servings each and bottomless red wine.

We played bocce.

And it was a perfect afternoon to bring back tradition.