Whole Wheat Pumpkin Spice Muffins Boyyyyeeeee

I had a pie pumpkin. This morning, I roasted it and puréed that puppy. That's as far as I got.

I started looking for recipes for muffins, and kept finding recipes loaded with sugar, oil, and a billion eggs. Pumpkin is so nutritionally dense, it seemed like a sin to load up the muffins with crud.

I found a recipe, but decided that I needed to put my own spin on it. Not because I'm a particularly good baker or creative, but because I only have blackstrap molasses and would end up with battery-flavored pumpkin muffins.

Also, I have about a quart of applesauce frozen in cubes in my freezer from last month's domesticity spree. I'd intended to feed it to dear baby Marty. However, applesauce apparently halts the boy's digestive tract. Completely stops him up. Yep, here's me talking about baby poo next to that photo of beautiful fresh pumpkin puree.

Sure I could have replaced the vegetable oil with the applesauce, but I was a bit worried about water content with the fresh pumpkin. Plus, I liked how this recipe included both coconut oil and the applesauce, ensuring they'd remain moist and light.

First, assemble your kitchen staff and ply their cooperation by feeding them spoonfuls of pumpkin puree.

Next, assemble ingredients. Do people actually do this in real life? Food bloggers always take a photo of all the ingredients in a happy little family, but I take things out and put them back as I use them. You can't change me, internet. I will pretend. At least the ugliness of this image really shows how clear it is that I'm pretending.

 Throw all that stuff in a bowl and mix it up, and toss it into a muffin tin.

And viola:

Whole Wheat Pumpkin Spice Muffins

Adapted from

I Thought I Knew Mama

1 2/3 cup of whole wheat flour

1/4 teaspoon of baking powder
1 teaspoon of baking soda

1/2 teaspoon of nutmeg
1 teaspoon of cinnamon

1/8 teaspoon cloves
3/4 teaspoon of salt

1 cup of pureed pumpkin (NOT CANNED)

1/2 cup of coconut oil
3/4 cup of unsweetened applesauce

1/3 cup pure maple syrup

1/2 teaspoon freshly grated ginger
2 large eggs
1/4 cup of water
1/2 teaspoon of vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.

Mix dry ingredients. Make a well, then add wet ingredients. Spoon batter into mini muffin tin, regular muffin tin, or both. Bake mini muffins for 20 minutes, or until a tester comes out clean. Bake regular muffins for 30 minutes, or until a tester comes out clean.

Yield:

24 mini muffins

OR

12 regular muffins

OR 

12 mini muffins and 9 regular muffins

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Marty and the Meninges

Wouldn't that be a great band name? Settle in folks. It's time for the story of Marty's battle with viral meningitis.

I haven't blogged in a while. Adjusting to two with a touch of the PPD had me feeling more introverted. After a few weeks of medication, I was starting to feel more like myself. I started to make more of an effort to get out and about. Zoo, Please Touch Children's Museum, library story time, playgroup, trips to the store. I can draw a map of everywhere we've been in the past two weeks... it's fairly limited. And I will now look at all those places with so much caution. Thanks to the past six days, I have been transformed from a "it will build his immune system!" mom to a "where the hell is the Purell" mom.

A week ago today, Marty went from his happy little self to being fussy and inconsolable. I knew he was getting sick. His fever went up that night to 100.3 at 4:00 am. We decided to give him Tylenol.

FYI: they really say not to give tylenol to a baby this age for a reason. Call your doc if this ever comes up. The recommendation is to go to the hospital if the fever is 100.4 or above if the baby is under 8 weeks. This just seemed so extreme. I decided to watch and wait.

Throughout Wednesday, he slept a lot and his fever stayed below the 100.3 mark. In the afternoon, I read a news article about a baby who died because his (neglectful) parents didn't take him to the doctor. I decided to take him in. The doctor sent me home and said to take him to the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia if it went to 100.4, and of course, it did.

I really thought it was nothing-- a cold coming on or something. He had no other symptoms but this slight fever and his fussiness.

The CHOP ER is a pretty terrifying place at night. The waiting room is in a multi-story glass atrium, and bored, sick child whines and screams bounce and reverberate.

They rushed us back and the doctors and nurses came in after maybe a 5-minute wait. I'd settled in with a book, expecting a typical ER wait. First was the catheter. All that screaming and they barely got a drop. Four tries before they got a blood sample. He was scared, fevery, and being poked and prodded. Then the lumbar puncture. This was actually the easiest part-- he fell asleep while they were taking the fluid.

The doc came in and told me the extreme unlikelihood that anything was actually wrong while we waited for preliminary test results. They were looking for bacteria in the blood and urine, and checking the white blood cell count in the spinal fluid.

Waiting. The nurse offered to sit with Marty if I needed a minute. I went out into the hall and heard voices of children wailing in pain. Dozens of sick, hurt screams. The worst sound I've ever heard in my life.

An hour passed and the fellow tells me that a normal white blood cell count in the spinal fluid is 8 and under. Bacterial meningitis would have counts in the hundreds. Marty had 55 white blood cells in his spinal fluid, leading the doctors to believe that it was likely viral meningitis.

They brought us up to a room at 1 am. A large cage stood in the middle of the room. The turquoise, polished floor reflected harsh procedure lights. The nurse came in with a gown and a mask, and explained that Marty was on contact and droplet precautions. We were put in a special room behind double doors that prevents air circulation. I'm still in denial at this point that it's serious.

Days go by. A blur of vital signs and spiking temperatures. 102.7, 104.4. Tylenol, cooling blanket. IVs, antibiotics, beeping monitors, screaming fluid pumps. His temperature goes down, then up. Marty crying in pain, sleeping too long. I pumped like crazy, he nursed for shit. Feeding tube. His breathing was labored, his little chest and neck pulling in. Doctors rush in. Specialists. His heart rate was sky high. Three days of this.

His test came back that he picked up an enterovirus. Bastard of a bug. It was explained to me that babies systems are big sacks an all their organ systems are permeable. The virus got into the fluid surrounding his brain and spinal cord (the meninges), causing the viral meningitis. Eventually, bacterial infections were ruled out.

Once he started having more wakeful periods, the nurses noticed that he was having staring spells, where he'd sort of look at nothing and wouldn't react. A neurologist came in and decided he was fine. Then another neurologist decided to give him a 20-minute EEG to be safe and everything looked fine.

Yesterday. We got back from the EEG and the doctors cleared us for discharge. Everyone bid is goodbye at rounds. I posted on Facebook that we'd go home. Kyle came by and I packed up all our stuff.

The doctor came in. Neurology changed their mind and decided to do a 24-hour EEG. Apparently a staring spell from the day before happened at the same time as a bradycardia event. We were here for one more day, and honestly, it's been the hardest day so far.

They super-glued electrodes to my little baby's head and wrapped him in gauze. I've been on camera with him for 18 hours now (the neurology department is seeing a lot of nipple). And we wait. I really hope my baby is okay. In all this trial, this part has been the worst. Waiting to find out if this illness hurt my perfect little baby's brain.

I don't want this to be our life. CHOP has treated us very well, but I want to take my healthy, normal baby home.

UPDATE: I'm sitting on my couch with my healthy baby. The nightmare is over and neuro gave him a clean bill of health. Man. I am done. DONE. with health scares and these kids. Parenting will break your heart and then explode with love.

Here are some photos from the last six days. I will let them tell their own story:

Birth Story of Martin Thomas Lloyd!

A friend of mine, Kat, told me that to have a successful natural birth, you need four things: desire, preparation, support, and luck.

Those forces came together this time, and Martin Thomas Lloyd was born on March 3, 2012, 10:18 am, at 7 pounds 1 oz, and 19 3/4 inches, an unmedicated vaginal birth after cesarean.

I got to have my moment of holding my newborn seconds after he entered into this world. I looked in his eyes before they'd been medicated, and welcomed him on my skin. It was all I'd hoped it would be.

I started having contractions the Saturday before Martin's birth. His due date was February 22, and even though I was just a few days past my due date, I was beginning to worry that I'd lose my opportunity to labor. On that Saturday, contractions were coming regularly at 4 minutes for a good 5 hours, but they were mild and never picked up. I was devastated and then proceeded to mope for days.

My body continued to go into prodromal labor (false labor as they say) every night for six more days. It was this serious mental trip where every night, I thought it was going to be THE night, and every morning, I woke up disappointed. At my 41 week appointment, I had to talk about plans for a scheduled cesarean and I began to accept that it might be a reality. That day, I was almost 3 cm and 80% effaced, and my amazing doctor assured me that my body was fully ready. We had to make a contingency plan, but that he believed I'd go into labor any day. He joked that Friday night would be the way to go, so he could deliver me on Saturday morning when he was on call. Apparently my desire to have him deliver my baby was nature's best induction method. Lord knows I tried everything else under the sun.

Friday night, the contractions felt different. They were stronger, more productive. I went to bed, and got really uncomfortable at around 1. At 1:30, I felt a pop (it was a totally alien feeling) and my waters broke. It was time. I was so giddy with excitement.

Kyle, my husband and I, had a nervous shuffling of child care arrangements. My parents live about an hour and 45 minutes away. My contractions were coming every minute and a half to two minutes, and I didn't feel like we could wait. Luckily, one of my neighbors happened to be up when I called around. She came over and we headed out, Molly Jane secured. The contractions slowed down some, thank goodness, and were every 3 minutes when we arrived.

The nurse asked me my plan for pain management after they'd confirmed I was in labor. She told me that no one "ever got an Oscar" for pain tolerance and that the anesthesiologist would be available if I changed my mind. The doctor on call gave me a run down of possible VBAC complications again and gave me one last chance to change my mind, should I wanted surgery. But I had desire. I had preparation. I could do this.

Kyle stepped up to the plate right away. He'd read the Birth Partner in the weeks prior (the first bound book I've ever seen him read our entire relationship) and started applying techniques he'd learned. We found a comfortable position and a rhythm and got to it. The nurse came in and reminded me that I could have an epidural every 2 hours or so.

But I was okay. I could do this. The contractions rolled in and out, and I pictured the sun setting over the ocean. That day, my internet mom forum, filled with the 32 most amazing women in my life, had a photo posting theme of "my happy place." Ligia had posted a photo from a vacation, and every contraction, I went to that beach. I thought about the energy of the ocean, of tides, of the rising sun, of eternity... of this ancient dance that my husband and I were wordlessly experiencing.

Ligia's Happy Place in San Diego

Active labor passed in a slow fog. I looked up to the clock and was shocked to discover that it was already 8 am. A shift change happened, and we met our new nurse. She was excited that I was attempting a VBAC and seemed just on my side. I had support.

I had my first cervical check, and I was 7 cm and fully effaced. The resident told me that she'd let Dr. Gerhart know that I was getting close and he'd be in shortly.

Well. They leave, and about 2 minutes later, I have the contraction of all contractions. It was about three back to back, and I felt something just completely change in my body. Where I'd been sort of moaning quietly with each contraction, I howled like an animal. I couldn't have NOT made that noise.

The nurse and the resident race in. I tell them I can't do it... that I need an epidural. The nurse tells me that she suspects I just flew from 7 cms to complete and it may be time to push very shortly, and then the pain will be different. She encourages me to hang on, but I tell her to call anesthesia anyway.

And now: luck. Anesthesia is in an emergency caesarian. They will be another 1/2 hour. The resident checks me, and I'm a whopping 9 cm and fully effaced.

Two more contractions. I feel his head moving down. There is no comfortable position. There is no coping. I sort of leave my body and exist somewhere else. I scream, I have to push!

Dr. Gerhart races in, along with the nurse, the resident, and an OB intern who looks about 16. Pediatrics comes in. Holy shit, this is happening, like now. I don't want to push!! I'm scared!!

Dr. Gerhart suggests we set the bed up like a chair and I start pushing in a squat, facing the back. It takes a couple of tries to focus my energy. Then, I push so hard that I can't hear anything, and they say that I've got it down. The nurse keeps saying words of encouragement while she helps support me in the position. Kyle has no idea what to do with himself at this point -- i don't blame him. I didn't know what to do with myself either.

The doctor then sets up a bar at the end of the bed and tells me to use that to push off instead. It doesn't feel stable and I don't like it, but in one push, I feel burning. I reach down and touch my baby's head.

Another push. The doctor reaches for scissors, but I don't feel anything. He tells me, one more push and you meet your son. And in one great push, he was here.

They help me sit back and place him on my chest. He is purple and bloody and his eyes dart around and he sees my face. It's mommy, I say. I'm so glad you're here. Nothing else exists.

Our Moment

---

I delivered the placenta easily within a few minutes. Marty latched and nursed for a little while. I ended up needing a pretty extensive "repair," and it was lovely to hold him while the pediatrician attended to him and the doctors attended to me.

The episotomy was very minor, and I had a 2nd degree lateral tear. Most of the repair was internal. They were stitching me up for about an hour after his birth. It hasn't been the easiest couple of days in terms of recovery, but it's worlds better than surgery.

Kyle cuts the umbilical cord with my amazing doctor.

While I was making my way out of Labor and Delivery and into the postpartum unit, I had a spell of being very faint. As I was trying to come to, I was talking to my nurse, Kirsten, making small talk to try to get my mind off of passing out. She told me that she was in school to be a midwife and she wanted to work at a birth center one day. She will be fantastic, I'm sure. But that little fact just showed me how my VBAC was meant to be.

Desire, preparation, support, and luck. Welcome to the spinning world, little Marty. We are so glad you're here.

Some days... This kid...

...makes me melt over and over again. Other days, not so much. Today has been a day when I have just swooned over this kid 100 times.

1) She wakes up, and calls me into he room, then asks to go cuddle in my bed upstairs. We get settled and she is just sitting there, staring straight ahead.

"What are you thinking about, Molly?"
"I'm just feeling happy," she says.

2) We have ants in our kitchen. In February. In Pennsylvania. They ate slowly driving me to madness. Molly, however, thinks of them as pets.

"Look, Momma! It's a baby ant! I love her!" (I'm in the process of murdering the intruder.)
"I see it, but we can't be friends with ants. They're pests inside."
"Oh I do love her. I love her, I love her, I love her so so much."

3) Made popcorn for a snack. Now she will say her tummy hurts for the following reasons: she is full, she has to poop or pee, or her pants are too tight. It isn't an indication of illness. So laughter here was appropriate.

"Mommy, my tummy hurts. I ate too much cockporn."

Gearing Up: Looking Back, Looking Ahead

I am now 36 weeks pregnant. I have 23 days until my due date. And three days ago, I started thinking about delivery for the first time. I'd talked about how I would aim for a VBAC but I just sort of assumed that Baby Boy wouldn't go into position or something would happen that would take the decision out of my hands. I didn't want to be disappointed, so I didn't set my heart to it.

It seems impossible to prepare for a new birth without revisiting your previous life experiences. I had a rather traumatic pregnancy with my daughter. I'd always assumed that when I had a baby, I'd have an unmedicated, natural birth like my mother had for both my sister and me. But something far different was in store for us.

Timeline:
9/08- Positive pregnancy test. I call to make my first appointment to find out that the doctor I've been seeing for years (and adored) has left practice to pursue research. I take my appointment with whoever, pick up a couple books, and innocently and trustingly enter into the world of maternity care.

12/08- First ultrasound. Provider sends me to general radiology. First scan is with a sonographer who is used to scanning tumors, not babies. Even though I'm certain of my LMP, my due date is pushed back two weeks.

Following the next appointment, I get a call from my provider saying, direct quote, "Your baby tested positive for Downs syndrome." Devastation. Of course it took me about four hours to figure out that it was the biggest overstatement of all time, but worry sets in. We opt out of an amnio.

1/09- Next ultrasound at the perinatologist. No markers for Downs detected. We leave knowing we will have a baby girl. She measures two weeks behind the re-adjusted due date, putting her growth approximately one month behind my LMP.

2/09-4/09- I switch my care to The Birth Center in Wilmington, DE, hoping for more compassionate care. I meet with wonderful midwives and feel truly cared for and embraced. But, I am small for dates and the baby is transverse, a position incompatible with vaginal birth.

5/09- At 30 weeks, my midwife sends me to get an ultrasound. I opt to not return to the practice I was in before transferring to the birth center and instead go to a more prominent OB ward in Philly.

My daughter is diagnosed with Inter Uterine Growth Restriction (IUGR) and the doctor notes that she "doesn't have a nasal bone," a marker for Downs.

I make an appointment for an amnio. We are terrified at the sudden, unexpected prospect of having both a sick baby and a baby with big issues. Goodbye joy. Hello fear.

The perinatologist talks me out of the amnio while I'm sitting on the table with my stomach prepared, needle in hand. He tells me that if the amnio causes preterm labor, I will DEFINITELY have a sick baby. He says, "The unknown is far, far worse than the known." This becomes my mantra as I cope with the uncertainty over the next two months.

5/09-6/09. At 34 weeks, The Birth Center declares that I'm officially too risky and sends me off. I enter the hospital practice. They send me for non-stress tests twice a week and biophysical profiles once a week.

They encourage me to schedule induction for 36 weeks. But Molly was still transverse, and I want to try to get her to turn. They allow me two weeks, provided that the NSTs are perfect. And they are.

I get acupuncture and Molly turns.

6/22/09- I arrive at the hospital at 9:00. An ultrasound shows that she turned back transverse over the weekend. They book an OR.

11:21 am, my beautiful, perfect, healthy, 6 pound 1 oz baby is torn from my body with such violence that the OB broke her collar bone. We have no trouble with breastfeeding, a gift after all we went through.

Newborn days are very difficult. She cries for 6+ hours a day. I am convinced something is wrong with her. For months, years, we worry about her size. She gets the Failure to Thrive stamp. But here we are, 2 years, seven months later, and I have a perfectly healthy, petite, thriving, sassy, smart, beautiful little girl.

My birth story with Molly is less a story about the birth and more about the events that surrounded it. I spent a lot of time thinking about what I could have done differently to make her entrance into this world more graceful. What if I stuck with my original providers? What if I ate better? Taken more iron supplements? How could it be that it was all one grand false alarm? There must be something wrong with me.

Sometimes I feel completely okay with what happened, and then someone will say something that implies the reason for high c-section rates is a mother's lack of education, and I'm furious and defensive.

I haven't really thought much about Molly's entrance into this world over the past nine months, hoping to let go and let whatever happens happen.

When I became pregnant this time, I called an OB and midwifery practice that came highly recommended. Since I'd had a 15-week pregnancy loss and a previous IUGR baby, they assigned me to the OB team, who are very pro-VBAC. After a very early spotting scare, an ultrasound tech dubs me with a possible bicornuate uterus. I brace myself for another pregnancy from hell.

But it has not materialized. Every test comes back clean. The perinatologist says I may have a BU, but it's not clinically significant. Baby Boy gets into position. We are ready to go. I realize it's time to explore those childbirth books I never cracked last time after the reign of terror set in.

I was expecting Ina May Gaskin's Guide to Childbirth to be a primer on everything I did wrong. But you know what? She gave me a great gift:

Page 207. "There are legitimate medical reasons for induction. These include cancer, hypertension, diabetes, kidney disease, a small for dates baby..."

WHAT? Even the crunchiest midwife in all the land would have booted me from her midwifery practice? I've read elsewhere that the position Molly was in was incompatible with birth. So these two things together... It really was not my fault. It really wasn't my choice in doctor or anything in my control or anyone else's. It was programmed into my baby's genetic code. There was nothing I could have done differently for any other outcome.

So now, it's time to start looking forward. To look at this birth as a new experience. Not as a chance to do it right, but to give this child the most dignified entrance into this world that I can.

The one lesson that I will take from my experience with Molly is that no matter what happens, it's probably not going to be perfect. It doesn't mean that a peaceful, unmediated birth isn't worth trying for, but there is nothing wrong with me as a woman if that doesn't happen.

Not getting the birth you envisioned doesn't necessarily mean that you are a victim of the system either. Sometimes, it's just the way things go. That may be the hardest thing I've had to accept. Why that is, I'm not so sure.

To the future.

Communing with Primates

I'm getting really pregnant now. People say to me, "Any day now!" This roughly translates to, "You are looking like you have put on 40-50 pounds and I can't imagine you getting any bigger." In fact, I have a good month and a half until I meet this little guy who kicks so hard, I'm convinced he's trying to escape.

But I have been very tired. I don't remember this exhaustion with Molly, but that may be selective memory. Luckily, my husband contracts for a bank, so he had off today in honor of Martin Luther King Day. We decided to head to the oft-requested Philadelphia Zoo despite very cold temperatures and my complete lack of energy.

We spent most of the time in the indoor exhibits, especially the primate house. We have a membership and have especially enjoyed watching a baby gibbon grow up. Leo was born April 2011. The first time we saw him, he was a teeny infant, nursing from his mom. We've watched him venture away from his mom, who now keeps a watchful eye while he plays and toddles around the habitat.

Today, something kind of amazing happened. MJ was doing her monologue explaining the family structure (typically she's 100% wrong and is just obsessed with mommies and babies, but happened to be correct today).

Leo came over to Molly and started checking her out. He was touching the glass, reaching for her. She put her hand on the glass and he batted her. He played in his branches and showed off for her, then inspected her again. It was the coolest thing. I'm no animal behavior expert but it seemed like this creature was inviting my daughter to play with him!

I never want to forget this moment. Made waddling out of the house worth it.

Here is a pic of Baby Leo the White-Handed Gibbon from the Philly Zoo website when he was a newborn. I wish they had a more recent shot. He is the cutest.