Have you ever read the book, Socks by Beverly Cleary?  It was one of my favorites when I was younger.  The story is basically told from a cats perspective about what happens when his owners end up with a new baby and start neglecting him.  It made me cry every time I read it.

I think it was that book that was making me nervous for the transition Maxx was going to go through when little baby came home.  I read a few articles which suggested wrapping up the baby in a blanket and bringing it home prior to baby for the dog to smell and making sure that I entered the house first, played with Maxx for awhile and then Jim brought the baby in.  We tried these tricks but passed on the ones that would've made us look crazy like-carry a baby doll around the house so the dog get's used to you and baby and go for walks with the empty stroller and the dog so he get's used to how to walk with a stranger.  I can just imagine the neighbors rushing out to meet our little bundle of joy-and me introducing them to Sammy the Cabbage Patch Doll.

Because we are huge nerds, we took a little video of Maxx first meeting baby Lucas:

After this, Maxx went downstairs looked at us and promptly peed on our area rug.  As if saying, "Well that's what I think about that." or "That baby might have the kitchen, but I'm in charge down here."  Since then he's actually been calmer than he was pre-baby.  The first few nights, he would get up with us and check out the nursery while Jim and I sat bleary eyed watching the baby eat......again.  By night number three, he was like, Eff that, I'm going back to bed.  So now Maxx is the only well rested member of the family. 

I think Maxx has been pleasantly surprised by the number of new and improved variety of bodily functions he can smell.  He loves to lick the outside of diapers and has renewed his interest in people crotch sniffing.  He's always been more of a foot odor type of dog with socks and shoes being his treat of choice.   However since I've come home from the hospital, he's gained a new interest.  (This is kinda gross so you might want to stop reading...)  My underwear.  I think this is because of the excessive amounts of discharge that you continue to produce post baby.  But it is like ambrosia to little Maxx.  With socks, he would grab them, run up stairs and crazily rip open holes with his giant doggie teeth.  With my underwear he's different, he grabs it almost delicately and prances away with it as if it is a prize that could easily be broken.  By the time I caught up with him, I found him in the corner-licking the crotch part lovingly-not chewing on it-just savoring the taste I guess.   And even more disturbing is the fact that he also has developed a fondness for the crotch of my pants as well.  Which means that the smell is permeating.  

After being scolded that my labor pain would be ten times worse before it was productive, I decided to hightail it out of there in search of a good pizza.  Also, I was kinda hopin' that Nurse Bummer would be off shift before we ended up coming back. 

In retrospect, the five or so contractions I had while making it from my hospital room to the car should have given me pause.  But again, I'd just been told that I was being a big baby about my back pain (see how quickly I changed her comment into an insult?  I am not rationale at this point in the game.)  I figured I was just imagining that things were getting worse-although I did decide against going out for pizza.  Folks at the local Broadway Pizza should be thankful for that-I'm pretty sure I would've been disturbing your dinner.

After a way too bumpy car ride home, I'd already decided that a bath would take too long and ran downstairs flinging clothing this way and that on the way to the shower.  The hot water felt fantastic on my back and the contractions seemed to subside while I bathed.  Jim was upstairs calling relatives and heating up some Sloppy Joe mix when things really seemed to start to get moving. 

I was glamourously sitting naked on the ol toilet when they started coming in waves.  I mean it was ridiculous-I would stand up, bend over to pull up the old panties and BAM-a contraction would hit and send me flailing on the floor-underwear wrapped around my knees.  I had pictured myself snug in a hospital bed-being coached on good breathing and patiently awaiting my epidural at this point of labor-Not being held hostage by increasing frequent contractions while laying next to the crapper.  This was the low point-the point where I knew that it hurt-and I wanted my pain medicine-but that it would still be another ten-fifteen minute ride to the hospital before getting any relief.  And that was assuming I was able to get dressed first.  So I cried out in desperation and basically lost all the good relaxing energy that is supposed to help in these situations.

Poor Jim hardly knew what hit him when he came downstairs to find me thrashing about half naked in the basement.  It took about a half hour (or so it seemed) to get me dressed and back in the car headed towards the hospital. 

I managed to pick up some type of "Hoo-hoo-hee-hee" breathing pattern for the car ride back which I was practicing outside of Unity Hospital when the security guard came running out and paged for a wheelchair.  In baby birthing class, they were pretty clear that you should avoid the wheelchair and just walk up to delivery but at this point in time I'm pretty sure my eyes had rolled up into the back of my head I'd forgotten how to shake my head yes or no.  In fact, two different sets of orderlies came out and ran in different directions to find me transportation to the birthing floor.  One even came back with a stretcher.  Clearly, I was their excitement for the evening.

It had been a little over two hours since I left the hospital stalled out between 2-3 centimeters.  The nurse assured me that if I was over 4 centimeters they would let me have my precious epidural.  So what was I at?  8.  By the time the anesthesiologist had gotten into the room, I was pretty much fighting off the urge to push.  Also, if you remember, I needed to have four hours of IV antibiotics prior to sending little Chedda down the birth canal in order to reduce his risk of contracting Group B strep.  Sadly, neither the epidural or the IV antibiotics had enough time to get completely into my system as I was pushing out the baby less than an hour after arriving at the hospital.  Still I think that they should come up with some last minute pain reliever like a Tequila IV for those woman who are just laboring too fast.  I mean once the baby's in the canal, how much will a couple of liquor shots hurt him?

The pushing part is counterintuitive-the more you push-the better it feels, because it is taking away most of the pain of the contraction.  But I spent most of the time trying to avoid the contractions and the whole pushing that comes with it.  Also, Nurse Bummer Bad News was back with helpful advice such as, "No, no talking or screaming, just close your mouth and push through your butt."  (birthing is like taking the biggest poo of your life.)  And "Hey, relax your face when you are pushing."  This is physically impossible-I can practically feel how purple my face is getting and I'm fairly certain that I will have a stroke before getting the baby out and into the world.  However, the thought of possibly spraying her with some nasty body fluid kept me going for a good half hour of pushing.  (sometimes passive-aggressiveness can be more productive than you would think.)  I thought I would cry when they placed him on my belly-but I wept when I heard his healthy cry and saw his little face.  I'll admit that most of this weeping was just gratitude that the darn back pain was over.  Daddy Jim decided last minute to the cut the cord-and thanks to a quick thinking nurse we have photo evidence of the deed.  (I think I'd shown the picture to three people before I wondered what that hairy thing was in the corner-and then I was like, Oh gawd, I can't believe I was showing my mom and dad a picture of my hoo-hah.)  Ironically, the song "Push It" came on my Ipod mix about ten minutes AFTER little Chedda was born.

Overall, I have to say I was lucky in my labor.  Sure I would've liked (LOVED) a little pain medication to go with the whole experience, but I ended up with a healthy baby boy, no episiotomy, no stitching down there and a relatively short (three hours once at hospital) labor.  We ended up staying at the hospital an extra day so they could monitor our little one which gave us an extra night of sleep (once we realized that it was best to send little baby-unnamed til the very end-to the nursery at night so we could get some much needed shut eye in prior to bringing the baby home.  And the craziest part is how quickly you start to forget what labor is actually like.  Even now, the whole experience seems kind of like a dream to me.  I know that it was the hardest thing I've ever done-but I don't remember actually how hard and difficult it felt at the time. 

Anyhoo, Baby Cheddar-now named Lucas Gary Hungaski (Gary-cause he was born on his Grandpa's birthday) was born on September 14th at 11:14 pm, weighing 7 pounds, 10 ounces.  Special thanks to everyone who sent well wishes to us-we appreciate it so much.  I'm including some pictures of Lucas and us at the hospital (no worries-I left the crotch shot out of the photos.)

My expectations are frequently different from the reality.   Especially with something so difficult to imagine as childbirth.  For instance, mesh underpants didn't play any role in mental images.   I figured that we'd get to the hospital and order the doula.  She would appear with an Indian accent, wearing all white and smelling like incense-but not as smelly.   I would stoically handle the beginning and middle of labor by focusing on my breathing patterns and complex multiplication problems.  Eventually, the pain would increase and I would order a shot of Epidural straight up-and continue the whole lengthy process somewhat numbed.  The crying and screaming didn't really play much of a part in my fantasy birth.  When the time came for little Chedda to pop out of the oven, I would look into the mirror to see his little bald head coming out,  Jim would cut the cord, and I would cry when they put him on my belly.  For those of you who've given birth, please stop laughing and get back in you chair. 

Contractions started Saturday night around 10:00 pm.  A-ha, I realized that the contraction's I felt before were mere gas pains-this was the REAL deal.  After letting Jim know that I might be going into labor, he calmIy got up from the couch, and said, "well we'd better go lay down and get some rest.  Seriously?  You're wife is in labor and you let her stay up to watch a movie while you go to bed?   Spent a restless night waking up every hour or so with a particularly strong contraction while he just snored away.  On the other hand, Maxx was supportive and managed to position his furry little body right on the spots where it hurt.   A little doggie heating pad.  In a sleepless state, I decided to make Maxx my labor coach instead of Mr. Toosleepytostayupwithhispregnantwifeinlaborpants.  The excessive nounage makes me realize I may have been a bit irrational at that time. 

By morning the contractions were coming more frequently-between 5-10 minutes apart.  They hurt, but there was enough time in between for me to do strange tasks prior to baby birthing.  For instance, I balanced my checkbook, let Jim know where all of our financial records were and finished all of my thank you notes from my last shower. 

When contractions were about six minutes apart, Jim called the doctor's office to see what they recommened we do.  He was afraid that I might not be in REAL labor.  He actually asked the receptionist if he should plan on going to work.  She gets a raise for answer:  "Yes, sure.....if you want your wife to KILL you."   By 12, the doctor agreed that it was time for us to go to the hospital.  We packed the bags and then I spent another thirty minutes or so making a sandwich.  Remember, I am very afraid that I will be HUNGRY and denied food during labor.  After eating a leisurely lunch, I got checked into the delivery room to determine that my cervix was dilated to drum roll please............................................................................................one.

We were told to walk the halls to see if the cervix would dilate more.  We took the time to call friends and relatives and I spent my contractions freaking out other members of the hospital who kept telling me that I needed to go back to my room and have that baby.  I should mention here that I was lucky enough to have BACK LABOR.   Too bad Total Eclipse of the Heart didn't make it to my Ipod mix.  

At five, the nurse suggested that we consider going home-or having my water broken-I was still only between a 2-3.  Her actual words to me were:  "I know you THINK this is painful, but believe me, the pain will be ten times worse when you are in active labor."  Thanks.  Nothing like a little pep talk to get you motivated to give birth.  I call her evil, but she was also the one that taught Jim how to put pressure on my pelvis to take away some of the pain so I kinda forgiver her.  So at six o'clock, Jim and I headed back to the homefront.  The plan was to get some more food-maybe some pizza, and take a warm shower/bath to help alleviate some of my back pain. 

Stay tuned for Part two: involving a frantic car ride back to the hospital, the birth of Cheddar biscuit, some photos and of course the actual  name of Chedda (which thankfully, doesn't involve any type of baking references whatsoever.) 

Do you ever just want to throw a full on-beating your hands against the floor tantrum?  It's funny because we tell kids "no" all the time-and expect that they will take it with a reasonable amount of calm-and not throw a tantrum.  But what happens when we as adults get told, "no."  Do we accept that with grace and dignity-or do we feel like throwing a little tantrum.

In my defense, the tantrum was completely deserved.  My doctor is on vacation this-the 39th week of my pregnancy.   When I spoke with him (after waiting 45 minutes for them on Friday-grrrr) he told me to just make an appointment for Monday the 15th.  Because I am saintly, I overlook the late in the game unannounced Va-kay.  I get the scheduler on the phone, who lets me know that they cannot possibly schedule me until the 18th.  Which is MY DUE DATE!!!!!  She then informs me that it's no BIG DEAL to miss these appointments that every baby book and website tells me to expect to go to weekly.  Isn't it funny how it is imperative that you go to the office weekly-well imperative unless scheduling doesn't allow it, in which case it's fine-no biggie, right?

I plead my case-first time mom, don't really know what to expect, feeling anxious regarding this whole birthing a giant head out of there, but there is no swaying her.  She is going to make me wait from week 38 to week 40 without seeing the doc.  In a spectacular feat of overwhelming patience, I am able to problem solve and make an appointment with a sub doctor for this week.  (because apparently I want everybody to take a tour of the ol' vaginal canal-but I wasn't really thinking at this point of the game.)

Be careful what you wish for.  I get to the clinic today, and meet my sub doctor-Doogie Howser.  Okay, he's got better hair than Doogie-BUT he has braces.  I am all for straight teeth-and if I'd known him when he had buck teeth I'd probably understand-but today I am thinking that this thirteen year old is going to go for a little cervical tour in my body.  But this is NOT the worst part.

Nor is the fact that he knocks on the door before my pelvic exam and asks if I am "Ready, Freddie?"  And finished up the session with an "Okey-dokey."  Although I realize that I am not a big fan of the rhyming game when someone is going to be putting their hands up my private parts.  This is interesting to me only because I chose my general practioner based on the fact that he treated my foot warts by both setting them on fire, burning them with acid, and then screaming at them to "Die warts die!"  I've always wanted a doctor with a sense of humor, but I guess I don't think of "clever" rhymes as humor.  Or maybe I'm just a grumpy pregg.

The worst part is when we are talking, I am suddenly distracted by the little golden boogie that is swinging in and out of his nostril.  That's right-he's got a bat in the cave.  At first I try just making a subtle wiping of my nose-to see if this makes him check his own nose.  Nothing.   I want to be one of those people that's gonna let ya' know-but can you let your doctor know he has a booger hanging out?  During all of this I am missing out on good doctor advice about labor and delivery and Group B strep.  I decide to take the plunge-I interrupt him and let him know he's got a little something hanging out of his nose.  These are, in fact, the actual words I use.  He quickly wipes at his nose and then double checks in the mirror.  For a few horrified moments I wonder if he will remember to wash his hands before the ol' gyno check.  I picture his nose treasure being transferred to down there.  But then I remember that they wear gloves-except for in the Hand that Rocks the Cradle-so I am able to relax slightly.  What would you have done?  Ignore it or let them know?  Or like me, ignore it for a bit, let them know and then write about it in a blog? 

I've been colonized.  Not in the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria kinda way-although if you like to picture your bacteria in little pilgrim outfits-I'm certainly not going to try to stop you.  But in a Group B streptococcus (GBS-not to be confused with GPS-this bacteria isn't giving me directions anywhere soon.) kinda way.  Remember the dreaded vaginal-and anal swab from a week ago?  Well, it came back positive.  Turns out between 15-40% of the female population has a bunch of strep bacteria partying down in their privates at any one point in time without any bad symptoms.  But when you're about to send a baby down the old party chute it can become a problem.  Luckily for me, IV antibiotics decreases the odds of baby Chedda getting this disease from 1 in 200 to 1 in 4000.  Unfortunately, I'm allergic to the drug of choice-penicillin, so my doctor is waying the benefits of two different drugs (one of which can cause hearing loss and is hard to administer-the other which has a 10 percent chance of setting off an allergic reaction in Mama Chedda.)  But I figure, if you have to go into anaphylactic shock-what better place than in a hospital?  But it's more likely that if I were to be allergic, I would just get big itchy hives all over.  I figure either the hives would distract me from the contractions OR the contractions would distract me from the hives so either way I should be fine.  I told the hubby about it-and he was a bit concerned about getting strep throat from me.  (that's the TMI part)  But GBS is not sexually transmitted-nor is it related to strep throat. 

****speaking of STD's, my work just revised their consent to release info. form to include a big paragraph on how we might release info to someone about their hepatitis, gonorrhea, syphyllis, AIDS or other STDs.  The parent company provides services to adults-I treat little kids.  But in typically big company fashion, they refused to alter the form for us-so now I have to pass out consent forms that not only talk about how we can provide info to funeral homes but also talk about how we're gonna share info. about little baby Johnny's raging case of Herpes.  Fabulous.****

Okay, enough of STD's and bacteria explorers...I also wanted to share my car ride from the other day.  It started off like a normal car ride, but then I turned on an Evanescence CD and started rocking out.  Window's down, sunroof open-the breeze was making me giddy.  I started thinking about how AWESOME it would be to get a tattoo.  I wasn't sure what-prob'ly something with dolphins on it.  I was contemplating that when I realized it would be even COOLER if I got my nose pierced with a cute little fake diamond stud.  Then as I made my way into downtown Minneapolis, I remembered the bridge collapse and started to cry.  Hmmmmmm.....do you think someone has a problem with their hormones?