Reevaluating our OB world...

I am a nurse.  A postpartum nurse.  I have been a postpartum nurse for my entire career, going on 13 years this fall.  I have seen a lot and experienced a lot in those years, and I change and learn and grow with every shift I work.  The way I practice nursing and my attitudes and opinions have evolved and changed so much I feel like I'm not the same girl that graduated years ago.  And I'm not.  Thankfully. She was young and immature, but she was skinny.

There is one thought that has stayed in my brain for all those years though.  It rolls around in my head and grows and changes shape like a snowball or a rock in a riverbed.  But it has stuck with me from night shifts as a young nurse through three pregnancies and deliveries, from full time to part time and back and forth through every shift and area of my Mom/Baby practice.

We need to change OB.

This is a very sensitive subject, I know.

But I think it's time we, and I mean Americans, reevaluate our OB world.

People, when you can get matching monogramed patient gowns and pillow cases to wear while you are groaning and sweating and leaking all kinds of fluids in labor, you have gone to far.

So hear we go, let me just step up onto my soap box here...ahem.

Attention pregnant women:

When you give birth in a hospital (and if you choose to home birth please make sure you have fully researched it, that is a whole subject I will not discuss here), rather it's with an OB or a midwife, epidural or hypnobirthing, c-section or vaginal, you are a patient.  Let me make this clear: you are being admitted to a hospital, you are not checking into a hotel.  Yes hospitals are trying really hard to remodel or build and look beautiful, and I will tell you I do love the nice clean crisp look of our new lobby at the hospital I work at.  But please people, pick a hospital based on the quality of nursing care you are going to receive, not on the way it looks.

No seriously, pick a hospital for it's nurses.

I almost want to go so far as to say be more concerned about the nurses than the docs.

I love our docs, they are AMAZING, I have seen them in action and I respect them and love working alongside them.  The care team is a wonderful thing, everyone working together.  But really, nurses spend twelve hours with you, your OB will show up for a few minutes at a time and when the baby is crowning or the spinal is kicking in and be gone before you've finished the first feeding. They check on you daily during your hospital stay but depend on the nurses to be their ears and their eyes and provide quality care for their patients.  They trust us, so you need to too.

Your nurse will stay by your side while you endure painful contractions, help you into positions to move the baby down, teach you how to push and cheer you on, teach you how to breastfeed, how to care for yourself and your baby, and keep you and your baby safe.  The slightest hint of danger brewing and she jumps to attention to protect you and your baby.  When you choose a hospital pick one that has you and your baby's safety and health at their core, not one that focuses on anything, ANYTHING less.

Having said that I beg of you, pregnant women, to talk to your nurses and the whole care team.  We are there to care for you, be honest with us, trust us.  If you're afraid, let us know.  If you don't know something, let us know.  We can't read your minds.  And I have learned that there are so many different  types of families out there.  There are scared new parents, who have never changed a diaper before, there are introverts who are overstimulated by everyone in the hospital, there are patients who need the nurse to advocate for her with pushy family members, and so many other kinds of patients.

And if you are more concerned with the decor in the room or you're upset because the TV doesn't have ESPN than you need a complete overhaul of your priorities.  You're a parent now, it's not all about you.  So turn off the TV and stop texting while I'm trying to show you how to swaddle the baby.  Use your hospital stay to bond with your newborn, answer your questions and rest up as much as possible before you are discharged and off into the real world and adjusting to your new life.

And don't forget to thank your nurses.

It's a Boy!!!

I have to admit, I was super excited about the new little prince born yesterday! Ever since I flipped the calendar to July I've been watching my computer to see if there was any news of Kate, new pictures of her pregnancy and so on. So much of my life involves children and childbirth and pregnancy and postpartum that it's kind of hard to get away from it.

They look happy, motherhood suits Kate. And from what I can see of the little prince he's cute. That fair, soft baby hair and those wrinkly little fingers. Babies are so cool. I'm happy for them. My husband doesn't get it. Yesterday when I was all excited about the baby he said something along the line of, "you're not even British, so why are you even interested?" Well, I may not be British, but I am a mom, and I was a first time mom once, cradling my newborn in my arms and taking her home.

I'm glad I didn't have to appear in front of cameras and crowds the day I took Abby home from the hospital. I don't think my hair looked as good as hers. But I had the same tired and overwhelmingly emotional smile. I remember my heart feeling like it couldn't swell any bigger. 

As I type this, I imagine what it must be like in their apartment or her mother's home or where ever they are staying right now. Baby in a bassinet next to the bed. Lanolin and a burp cloth on the bedside. Are there royal Tucks pads? They seem like down to earth parents. Maybe she asks her mom for advice, maybe she just looks at William in the middle of the night and says, "do you think he's still hungry? I tried burping him and his diaper is clean, why is he still crying?"

I care for newborns and their parents everyday I work. I'm there the moment they take their first breath and cry, I get to swaddle them and bathe them and teach their dads how to change a diaper. I try my hardest to remember that even though this is no big deal to me it really is a big deal. Each and every baby is a miracle, someone who didn't exist last year at this time. A complete and total life changer. A mommy maker. That's true whether the baby is the firstborn for a nurse in America or third in line for the throne of England.

Congratulations to the Royal family. And congratulations to all the other new Mom's who had their babies yesterday. They are all blessings.

Abby - December 8, 2005

Elijah - October 24, 2008

Hannah - July 28, 2011

Carpe diem, Carpe the good ice cream...

I've been reading a lot of other people's blogs lately and I realized how much I missed writing on my own blog.  But then I was overwhelmed, feeling like, "where do I start?"  So much has happened and maybe I will write all about various events from the past several months but for now I just have to write about today.

A typical summer day for the Gregg household:

5:15am ish (I'm not sure because I'm sleeping): Jeremiah's alarm on his phone goes off.  I roll over and re-tuck the covers around me while I adjust my pillows.  It sounds mean, but there is something so wonderful about being the person who gets to go back to sleep when the other person has to get up.

6:45 ish: tap, tap, tap on my head, "Mommy, I'm hungry" and/or "Mommy, Hannah has a poopy diaper  and it smells really bad/she is playing in it."  Ugh.  The days of sleeping until 10 are such a distant memory they seem like a lifetime ago.  Well, actually they are a lifetime ago, Abby's lifetime.

Breakfast time: check blood sugar, distribute vitamins, pour cereal and glasses of milk, measure cereal and dose carbs, turn on the coffee maker - oh yes, soon I will wake up, oh man is that good coffee, clean up spilled milk, "sit down Eli," pick up Hannah's bowl and spoon off the floor, clean off sticky hands and faces.

Sometime after breakfast I hear "Moooommm, come wipe me!"  Oh yes Eli, I did tell the world.  His timing is impeccable, I'm usually in the bathroom myself or am changing Hannah's poopy diaper (yes another one, the baby eats a lot of fruit) or I am in another room as far from the door as I can get and I have to hurdle toys and clothes and couch cushions and who knows what else and I only have about 4.6 seconds to get to him before he starts going ballistic.

While I'm making my bed/sorting laundry/doing my makeup, Abby comes in to recap the episode of Full House she just watched with a real time replay only it takes longer than the actual show because she keeps getting distracted by stuff.  Hannah will toddle in and out, steal someone's water bottle and spill it on the ground.  Eli keeps begging to play Angry Birds on my iPad.

Lunch is mostly uneventful.  Sweep up bread crumbs and pb&j crusts off the table and floor.  Pick up Hannah's sippy cup.  Eli poops again, so does Hannah.  I'm serious, these kids are more regular than a Japanese commuter train.  Nap time for Hannah.  Oh this is heaven, I snuggle with her and read her a book and sing to her and she kisses and hugs me.  I melt.  Every time.

The witching hours start when Hannah wakes up from her nap.  It's then that she struggles with the little things that come between us, like molecules of air.  I'm trying to make dinner, keep Eli from running over my feet with Hannah's car that he's NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ON ANYWAY!  No Abby, you may not have a snack it is almost dinner.  You're NOT going to starve to death in 30 minutes.

I love dinner.  Eli sit down, Hannah don't throw food.  Abby tells us all about the games the neighborhood kids are playing, in detail.  Eli just try a bite before you tell me it's gross.  Clean up spilled water.  Pick up Hannah's plate and fork off the ground.

Bedtime takes forever.  Who knew three little sets of teeth needed so much maintenance, I mean, they're all going to fall out anyway.  And really, can you just put on your pjs already!?  No, don't put both legs in one hole.  Three books, eight songs and at least two, "it's time to go to sleep, yes you are tired, just stay in your bed, GOOD NIGHT"s later I get to slink down the stairs.  This is when I get to eat ice cream.  Secret ice cream, the good kind that's hidden in the freezer behind bags of peas and broccoli.  I mean, what ice cream?

By the end of everyday I am EXHAUSTED.  I am worn out, tired, finished.  I don't want to hear anyone say "Mommy" for awhile.  And yet, I wouldn't change any of this for all the money or mani/pedis in the world.  It's true.  The days are long, but the years are short.