My Deployment Baby

A couple of weeks before I found out I was pregnant with our first child we found out my husband was most likely going to Iraq. So when I saw those two beautiful pink lines I danced around, so excited. "I'm going to be a Mommy!" Then I immediately started crying, I wasn't sure I could do it all without Dust. A few months into the pregnancy it was confirmed that my husband was going to be in Iraq "For the duration of 12 months or until the mission is deemed complete". I didn't know many people in Kansas where we were currently stationed and I decided it would be best if I moved home to be with family for the pregnancy and birth.
Four days before he left we found out we were having a daughter! We decided to name her Zoey Mae. The day he left he kissed my barely showing belly and told Zoey how much he loved her.

 Shortly after he left I moved back home. I found a great doctor and we started planning when Dust should come home for R&R (a two week break from deployments that are 12 months or more to visit family) we found out his deployment was extended to 15 months, and he was going to meet Zoey when she was 3 months old.

During one of my appointments we found out Zoey was breach, my doctor could try to turn her or we could schedule a c section. The way she was sitting we decided to just go ahead and schedule the C section for June 21st ( a combination of my birthday and her Dads) we also got permission from the hospital to Skype the birth to Iraq, and Dust got it all set up on his end that he would be there for our call.

 

Well, Zoey had other Ideas, as she always does. On June 14 about 9pm I started contracting, my doctor had mentioned earlier that day at my appointment that I had a "bulging bag" and may go into labor soon. I'd been trying to call Dust all day, but of course he wasn't answering. I took a nice warm bath to try and calm them, but when I got out of the bath my water started leaking, I went and woke up my mom. We got in the car, picked up my sister, and headed to the hospital. When I got out of my moms car my water REALLY broke. It was running down the hospital driveway. Ha ha. I called my In laws and told them what was going on, and asked them to keep calling Dust for me. I also had a friend on Myspace waiting to see if he logged in.
We headed up to Labor and Delivery, where my mom and sister worked. They were so busy that night that My mom and sister clocked in and got to be my nurses! It was so much fun having only family in the room for the first little while. I was told the OR was booked, and the anesthesiologist was busy so I had to wait for my epidural, I was already dilated to a 7. When the OR was ready, they wheeled me down the hall and prepped me for delivery, and finally gave me some pain medication. It was all rather uneventful, they numbed me then got Zoey out. Not a very interesting story, but births are better when nothing too interesting happens in my opinion. :)

I was laying there waiting and when I heard her little cry, it was the most beautiful thing in the world. It felt like forever until I got to see her, but when I did, wow. I can't even explain the love. She was gorgeous, she was so special, and she was mine. I couldn't ask for anything more. She was born June 15 2007, 1:03 am, 6lb 5oz 19 1/2 inches of pure love.

Throughout the night I kept waking up my mom and asking her to hand me Zoey. I couldn't stop staring at her! We called the red cross to tell Dust that she was here, but I also had a friend message him saying she was born, and my sister emailed pictures. He said that he got on myspace, saw my friends message and thought it was some kind of cruel joke. Then he signed into his yahoo account, saw pictures labeled "Zoey" and ran for the phones.

 In his words: I ran in and yelled "I  need to use the phone, my wife just had a baby!" He found out approximately 9 hours after she had been born. We were both so excited, he said I sounded a little drugged, and I probably was. But he heard her little baby sounds over the phone thousands of miles away, isn't technology amazing!? And he fell in love with her too.
Three months later he finally got to come home and meet her, he held her almost constantly for those two weeks, he was amazed by her. He kept saying things like "look how little her hand is" and "I don't want to leave her" it was the best two weeks of my life up to that point.

 Zoey is now six years old, Daddy got home when she was 10 months old and we later went through a second, shorter deployment. Then added another little princess to the family. But those two are inseparable. She wants to marry him when she's older, I asked her what Mommy would do then and she replied "We can share". I'm so grateful to have a family that loves each other as much as we do.

 Zoey on her sixth birthday. :) She's such a sweet and funny little girl who brings so much joy to our family.

Momma Mia!

Unfortunately this is nothing like that movie.....at all!

I remember laying in my hospital bed after enduring 22+ hrs of labor that ended in a c-section to deliver my twins and the first thought that came to my mind was “God gave me two at once, because He knew I couldn’t do this again.” That thought plagued my mind for months after having the twins. Could I really not do this again? Is my body incapable of delivering a baby the “normal” way? I ended up with a c-section with the twins because I had what MANY women suffer from and many actually die from during child birth. Failure to Progress. I was prepared for this. During my many doctor appointments the doctor would always say “Your body is perfect for carrying them, but I’m not so sure it’s shaped for delivering.” Guess we can’t have it all, right?

So after the twins were born I was convinced that my dream of a large family just wasn't going to happen until……

The twins were 9 months old and I started having dreams of a little red headed girl who wanted to join our family. Even if we were meant to have more children and my dreams of having a large family really weren’t squashed it was a CRAZY idea to already want another baby. WHAT?!?! I had two babies still! I kept brushing off the thought. The dreams went on for a couple of months before I finally told my husband, Jonathan, about them. He agreed that it was "absolutely crazy" for us to have another baby right now.

One night Jonathan woke to the sound of a newborn baby cry.  He sat up in bed and listened, but it stopped. He told me about it in the morning and I completely laughed at him and told him he was crazy......all the while the thought of another baby in my arms was completely pulling on my heartstrings.......but then I would also tell myself that I was crazy for even thinking it.

The next night, the same thing happened to me. The sound of a newborn baby cry made me sit up straight in my bed. I knew I heard it, but I also knew that there was obviously not a baby in the house to cry like that so I brushed it off and went back to sleep. I told Jonathan about it in the morning and again we just laughed.

For the next few weeks we kept teasing each other about the thought of having another baby around and though it didn't even make sense to us, through prayer, we knew it was the right time. We agreed that if this baby was to join our family, then we would try for a month, and that if it didn't happen then we would put off the notion for a couple of years. Well it obviously happened.......pretty much immediately.

I remember calling my friend as soon as I took the pregnancy test. I was in absolute shock. I didn't know whether to cry and feel overwhelmed, to rejoice, or to praise God. I was so full of mixed emotions that all I could say was, "OH CRAP!” And boy did I say that over and over and over with my friend laughing at me. After calling Jonathan while he was at work and telling him the news I knew that everything was going to be okay. I thought he was going to be kind of upset, but he was so calm about it. He said, "Okay, that’s great, I love you." And the tone of his voice was so reassuring. He couldn't talk at that moment so he kept his response short and sweet so that I would know everything really was going to be OKAY!

On March 20, 2011 my husband had to take me to the emergency room. I was 18 wks pregnant and suffering from horrible contractions. I thought I was going to lose our baby. Test after test revealed that everything was fine and they couldn’t figure out why I was having such terrible contractions. I was given pain medicine and hooked up to a fluid IV and admitted overnight. I woke up the next morning feeling amazing!. Looking back at that experience I knew I was dehydrated, but the doctors wouldn’t listen to me. During that hospital visit we had several ultrasounds and that little stinker decided to show us who SHE was! We found out on March 21, 2011 that we were indeed having a girl and we knew immediately that her name was going to be Mia. I knew without a doubt that it was the right timing for her to join our family. It scared me to know that I would have three under the age of two years, but our family had already been so blessed because we listened to the promptings given to us by the Holy Ghost. I am so grateful that we listened.

We decided to name her Mia, because our daughter Anna would run around the play room yelling, “Mia, Mia, Mia” long before we ever thought about having another baby. When she did that we decided that it would be a cute story if the next child we had was a girl.

Mia’s birth was a scheduled c-section. I was prepared for it, but not. I kept having nightmares that something bad was going to happen. That I’d end up with an emergency hysterectomy or that something would happen and Mia wouldn’t make it. It was awful. I was a nervous wreck the entire morning before heading to the hospital. My husband accompanied me to the hospital and my parents stayed home with the twins. I cried as I hugged and kissed the twins “good bye” hoping and praying it wouldn’t be the last time I saw them.

Getting ready for the big day!

I went in early for blood work, then they took me to the prep room where I changed into my operating room drape, got hooked up to monitors and was given the epidural. I have a love/hate relationship with epidurals. The one with the twins was amazing, didn’t feel a thing! However, I let a resident administer the epidural this time and well….I shouldn’t have. She had to do it twice and even the second time it didn’t work well. Once I laid down the epidural only worked on my right side so they propped up my right side with pillows so it would distribute to the left side too. Well, HELLO I’M HAVING A C-SECTION AND I’LL BE LAYING ON MY BACK YOU IDIOTS! Fast forward to the c-section. I was incredibly nervous. I was transferred to the operating table, the drape was put up so I couldn’t look down. Then my husband was brought into the room where he sat right next to my head. He put his hand on my shoulder and stayed quiet. His face was pale and he looked scared. Once they cut open the incision on my previous c-section scar it all happened so fast. I felt them bear down on my rib cage to push Mia out as the doctor pulled her out. The next thing I knew the doctor said, “Her uterus won’t clamp down” and then an assistant put a pill under my tongue. Then……

The epidural wore off and I felt EVERYTHING! I started gurgling and thought for sure this was it. I was going to die. I yelled out and said “IT HURTS! I CAN FEEL EVERYTHING YOU’RE DOING!”  The next thing I knew I could see a nurse escorting Jonathan and Mia out of the OR. I didn’t even get to see my baby and Jonathan had no idea what was happening.  Everything went black and the next thing I know my bed was being wheeled into the recovery room where I saw my sweet husband holding our beautiful baby girl.

 I asked him to take off her little hat so I could see her hair. She had red hair and she was perfect.

Since my epidural had worn off, the time I spent in the recovery room was extended so they could get my pain under control. I wasn’t given any pain meds because they weren’t sure how much of the epidural was still in my system. I wanted to jump off that bed and sock a nurse in the face every time they pushed on my stomach to check my contractions and bleeding. It hurt so BAD I wanted to scream! The woman in the recovery room next to me was “Ooohing” and “Awwwing” about her baby and I wanted to yell and scream at her to “shut up!”. I cried and cried. Why couldn’t I have a beautiful experience this time around? I felt robbed.

Despite all that I even tried feeding my daughter while in recovery. She latched on perfectly and then the pain got worse and I had to stop. It was awful. I wanted my Mom by my side to hold my hand. My head was spinning and I thought I was going to lose my mind because the pain got so bad. And then……then the morphine pump came. Holy Moses there was sweet relief. Once my pain was under control they took me and our sweet new addition up to our hospital room. I’m so grateful for my sweet husband. I don’t remember anything else from the rest of that night. Our sweet Mia stayed in the room with us and my husband slept next to me in the guest fold out bed. He changed her first diaper and fed her some formula until I was able to try feeding her again myself. He always picks up where I can’t.

The next day I felt good. The morphine pump was taken away and I was given motrin which surprisingly was strong enough to cut the pain and I could get up and walk. Once I was able to walk I felt so much better. Even though I didn’t get the full effect of the epidural, I think not having it for the full 24 hrs actually helped me recover faster because I was able to get up and walk sooner.

The next battle: introducing Mia to Joaquin and Anna. My husband went home to get the twins and my Mom came up to the hospital to be with me for a few hours. When Jonathan finally came in with Joaquin and Anna I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. The twins looked like GIANTS! When I left them at home they were my sweet little toddlers and here they were in front of me as GIANTS! I couldn’t believe how OLD they looked. It made me cry. They grew up all of a sudden and I felt like I missed something.

Their reaction to Mia wasn’t really what I had hoped for. I hoped that both of them would be so excited to see “the baby” as they so affectionately called her when they would pat my belly. Nope. That’s not at all what happened. Joaquin wanted to explore the room. He didn’t want anything to do with me or the baby and it broke my heart. Anna on the other hand wanted to hold the baby. She thought it was a new toy and she just grinned from ear to ear.

It was complete chaos and it wore me out. They only stayed for 30 minutes. It was too much for me and for them. I felt like I had done something horrible and that they would never forgive me for it, especially Joaquin. How was I going to do this?

Even though the twins are 3 ½ yrs old and Mia will be 2 yrs old in August, it is still complete chaos….sometimes its fun, controlled chaos, but most days its just chaos and I still can’t believe I’m actually doing this.

Giving birth is scary, it’s unpredictable, sometimes gross, but it still amazes me what the body can do and can withstand. I fought hard for my baby girl that day. I will never let someone tell me that a c-section is a piece of cake….its obviously not….and neither is a vaginal birth for that matter! I wanted to share this story so that those of you who have or will have to endure a c-section will know that you will fight just as hard for your baby as anyone else will. Your journey of giving birth is just as valid and just as hard and difficult as the next person’s. Write it all down now and share it with your child when they are grown so that they will know that you love them so much that you fought for them….no matter how it happened.

Parlez-vous Mommaaay?

Bienvenue! I always wanted to learn French. I remember the first French class I ever took was in the 7^th grade. I don’t remember much of the class except that I wish I could’ve learned more French. It was all Greek to me (insert bad joke drum rim shot right about now). In French class, the teacher might as well have been teaching Organic chemistry, as I was as lost as a person who would miss a few episodes of Lost and had no idea what the heck was going on in that dang show, if you catch my drift). I’m not sure if it was due to my pre-adolescent brain frequently malfunctioning at the time or what, but French never really “clicked” in my brain back then.

Along with French class and being 12 years old, learning about where babies came from and how they magically got placed in their mommies’ arms were also things I never “got”. (What?!?  There is NO stork flying in with a baby?? How could Dumbo lie to us?!?)

I was one of “those” kids whose parents wouldn’t sign the permission slip to watch the Miracle of Life with all the rest of the cool kids. Yes, not only was I a late bloomer physically, but mentally as well.

While I wasn’t in the dark all of the time (thanks to the ever-so-enlightening MTV of the 90’s and to the movie Clueless- no pun intended), part of my mental “late-bloomerness” carried even much later into my life. Like try 25 years old.

To explain, take a walk with me back down memory lane. The year was 2006. I was catching up with a lovely friend from college who had just had a bouncing, beautiful baby boy. I, being the naïve girl that I was, made the mistake of asking her what birth was like…she looked up at me and with her “innocent” smile and knowing eyes, proceeded to tell me about the birth of her son. The words coming out of her mouth were surreal to me and with every juicy detail, I felt like I was watching a horror movie being played in slow motion. Did she make some of this stuff up, I thought? Why would we as women want to suffer such physical atrocities? Mother of pearl!

For many women, birth stories are similar to war stories. They are stories we share at our kids’ play dates like we’re camp fire legends. Birth is rite of passage of which many women are all waiting to experience. The stretch marks, varicose veins and stretched, saggy skin are evidence of war wounds of a battle well fought and won.

Before I joined the ranks of motherhood, I would sometimes be present in these mommy-war-story-pow-wows as different women shared their experiences. After a while, there would be an awkward pause and some of the moms would look up and notice the deer-in-headlights look in my eyes and would sweetly smile in my direction as if to say: “Parlez-vous mommaay?” (Do you speak mommy?) To which my eyes would sweetly reply: “Mais non! Je ne parle pas Mommay."  (No! I don't speak Mommy).

Years later, it was finally my turn to enter the birthing battleground and meet Mini-me. Maybe now I could, how do zee French zay it? Je parle mommaay? (I speak mommy?) Naturally, my first labor-experience was nerve-wracking. In my opinion, no amount of book-scouring or story listening can prepare a mom for the birthing venture. After seventeen hours, which included the merciful epidural and 2.5 hours of pushing, I finally was able to hold my first daughter in my arms and for an instant, all of the hardship of labor, melted away. I CAN do hard things, I told myself.

After that first birth, I had a grand epiphany…

It doesn’t matter where you are from or what language you speak, experiencing birth is something that speaks only to your heart. My daughters’ birthdays were and will always be, some of the best days of my life. 

I realized that whether I would’ve had a c-section or vaginal birth, natural or epidural birth, giving birth to my children was my unique experience and albeit difficult, has now became sweet, precious memories in my mind.

And of course, the memories of those moments after birth when I could finally eat again. Those memories are pretty fabulous, too. Bons bons and croissants au chocolat, s'il vous plaît!

Baby Got VBAC

This week has been tough.  Not Earth-shattering horrible. Not unbearable. Not entirely miserable... but definitely tough.  I suppose having a newborn is always tough? But like childbirth- the bad memories fade (although not always completely) and soon the good ones are left like shining monuments.  I guess that's the only way we'd be crazy enough to ever do it all over again.

Between sleep deprivation, toddler/baby simultaneously orchestrated screaming, an awesome two-day mastitis-enduced fever, residual epidural back-pain, and (kind of) unpacking our across-town move, I've barely been able to scrape together a coherent sentence... much less a decent blog post.

I had planned this week to write about my experience having a VBAC delivery compared to my first birth via Csection.  But I feel like I've started this post about a thousand times... and I keep starting over.  Xander is 3 weeks 4 days old- and I've yet to record his birth story.  I just- don't know how.

This week is really a tough assignment for me.  I've written, told, summarized, detailed, and analyzed Graham's birth story about a thousand times as I've shared with friends, family, and just recorded it for my own sake... and it's been different every time.  Different parts have jumped out at me at different points of my life- different moments have meant more depending on my current thoughts and experiences.  Different things have come back to me from both births as I've recovered, and other things have already started to drift away- hopefully filed somewhere in my memory, but not readily accessible.

I didn't think much about birth with Graham. People would ask me if I was afraid and I told them the truth- I figured, it's going to happen when it happens, and there's not much good I can get done by worrying about it.  Knowing that I have anxiety- I knew it would just make things worse if I dwelt on the scary parts, so I decided to focus on my pregnancy and enjoy that sacred time of closeness.  I was blessed with an essentially perfect pregnancy, no excessive sickness or pain; so enjoying pregnancy was blissfully easy.  I felt such a sweet, close bond with the little life growing inside me.

This turned out to be an incredible tender mercy that I didn't fully appreciate until recently.  As my due date came and went, I ended up having a CSection with Graham.  Like my pregnancy- the CSection was essentially perfect.  I had no complications and Graham was born healthy and screaming at a whopping 9 pounds 4 ounces.  We learned that he was not only big- but lodged in my pelvis and sunny-side up.  (something we couldn't clearly see on the ultrasound with him so big and squished in there)  Inducing would have been a long unsuccessful process eventually leading to a CSection anyway.  We had made the right choice. But that definitely did not change the fact that the whole thing was easily the most terrifying moment of my life.

I didn't know what was going on, I was certainly not relaxed, and most importantly- I was absolutely NOT mentally prepared.  A combination of what was a tramatic experience for me, the pain medications, and feeling like I had failed to birth my child "normally"- led to difficulty trying to initially bond with my first born.  Friends and family members who had positive experiences with Csections told me how lucky I was. (...really. They told me this immediately before and after I endured the most difficult trial of my life.)

They told me I should feel grateful I didn't have to go through labor.  They made me feel like a failure for not jumping up on my feet the next day and skipping through the halls belting lullabies with my baby in my arms.  They told me how easy it was for them- and how I was never going to get better if I didn't get up.

I now know they were trying to help... but what they didn't realize is that was a real legitimate fear I had.  That I would never get better.  The pain would never go away.  I would never feel alert, energetic, and happy ever again.  I felt selfish for being concerned with my own pain and my own exhaustion.  They made me feel silly for cringing when my clothes brushed against my stomach... like I was imagining that steel-wool scraping sensation.  I can only guess that they had a higher pain tolerance, drug tolerance, or their memories of the pain of recovery must have just faded.  But no such thoughts came to me at the time.  All I could think was that I was an utter failure as a mother. Soon, I was plagued with PPD  and I found myself struggling to adjust to life in my new body, with a new baby, and with these new feelings.

When I talked to my OB at my check-up appointment, she prescribed me some Xanax and explained the "pump and dump" process. My mom came into town to help take care of the baby that first week and she filled the prescription for me.  I remember looking at the bottle- and feeling absolutely hopeless.  I couldn't birth my child properly, I couldn't bond with him properly, and now I couldn't breastfeed him properly.

I suppose somewhere in my head I logically knew this wasn't the case- but when you're full of hormones you don't exactly think logically.  You have all these feelings- and those feelings are very real.  I decided I didn't want to feel that way anymore. I didn't want to feel like I didn't have a choice. So many things were suddenly different- out of my control.  I wasn't against taking medication, but I when there was so much I suddenly had no say in, how I birthed my son, how I was feeling, I didn't want someone to take away how I fed him.  I decided not to take the Xanax.

I don't know if that was the best choice.  It took a long time for me to feel better. And it was really tough on Brandon having to help me through that time period, he had to take on a lot of the baby "duties" when I was feeling to sad or tired.  I never ended up taking the Xanax, but I never got rid of the pills either. I'm not sure why.  I told myself it was just in case- that it was easier to be "strong" knowing that I had a way "out" if I needed it.  But in reality- I think it was a reminder.  Especially after a few months when I started to feel better. A reminder of what I went through for my baby. That I earned my mother's "wings" just as much as any other mother- even if I didn't have labor pains, push him out, or immediately hold him on my chest.  I was still his mother- and my baby didn't know or care how he was born. All he knew or cared about was that I was his mama and I loved him.

When Brandon and I decided to have another baby, I was excited but also nervous.  I decided to go for a VBAC, but I kept having flashbacks and nightmares that I had to have a CSection again.  And when I wasn't terrified of surgery, I found myself dreading vaginal childbirth in a way I hadn't let myself consider the first time around.  I would wake up in the middle of the night and realize "Oh my gosh there's a baby in me and one way or another he's going to have to come out!" I knew there was no "easy" way for that to happen and I was scared.  I did NOT enjoy my pregnancy the way I had the first time. And I most certainly did not bond with my second son during pregnancy the way I had the first time.

I could write a novel on how the actual process went down.

How I researched relaxation techniques, how I came to terms with a repeat CSection literally the night before I went into labor, how I resented the people who assumed I was going to have another CSection, how I resented the people who offered me free advice on how I could be doing more to actively "fight" for a VBAC, how nervous, excited, terrified, and thrilled I was all at once when I started having real contractions and I was admitted to the hospital, how angry and scared I was when the nurse anesthetist messed up my epidural and it had to be redone, how relieved I was when the epidural kicked in and I could sleep, how shocked I was when they told me it was time to push (What? Already? Now?... Isn't this supposed to be a bigger, scarier deal?), how surprised I was with how casual and relaxed the actual birth was, how bummed I was when I wasn't able to hold him immediately even though I successfully achieved a VBAC, how surprised I was that having a vaginal delivery wasn't magically more "meaningful" than a Cesarean, how grateful and relieved I was to not be in nearly as much pain, and in the end how amazing it was that even though the births of both my sons were so completely differently- I love them both the same.

With Graham I had my bonding secured before I held him in my arms.  We had a tough time for awhile, but he is my sweet tender loving boy and even with the onset of the terrible twos I love him to bits.  With Xander, the journey was rough, but our end destination was one of joy and happiness, and like his brother, even with tear-filled sleepless nights- I love him more than my heart can stand.


Birth is a threshold between two worlds. It's an experience and an adventure unique and special
each time.  I feel blessed to have endured two separate adventures- and now whatever happens I know I can endure.

Every mama is a warrior who has fought an honorable battle by bringing a new life into this world. Putting your life on hold for someone else is one of the biggest sacrifices anyone can make.  I hope that my post can help mothers realize that  there's nothing wrong with feeling sad, feeling exhausted, and complaining every once in awhile.  No matter your circumstances- you earned your mother's wings and the only way you can go from here is up.

Au Naturale

This post was written (on my personal blog) a few hours after our sweet Aaron's birth in March. 

Enjoy!

_______________________________________

It’s 4:30 in the morning, just a little over 3 hours since our sweet Aaron was born. I can’t sleep, even though he is peacefully sleeping on one side of me while Brandon rests on the other.

My mind is filled with so many thoughts, and I just might burst if I don’t write them down right now.

I feel such peace, relief, and amazement at what has transpired in the last eight hours. I did it. I gave birth “naturally”. It was SO painful! But it was also incredibly fast and I am already recovering far quicker than I ever have. I went from 6cm to 10cm in less than 20 minutes, and I barely made it into the bed before our baby came out. My doctor didn’t even make it to the delivery! I had the most wonderful nurse, though, who encouraged me the whole time.

More so, though, I had Brandon. He was my rock. I will forever be grateful that I have someone with whom I can trust so much and who loves me so much. In the moment, things were tough and at the end I was literally screaming in agony, but he kept calm; he believed in me. I think he also realized that this was moving far quicker than I realized, so he was able to be hopeful.

Tonight was a sacred experience. I felt things I never knew I could feel. I did things I never do I could do. I was so that lady that yelled like a primate and stood naked with no thought about who walked in the room.

such RELIEF when he was delivered!

The night started when my water broke, as a big gush, at around 9:15pm. Brandon was at school but immediately left class when I emailed him. My surrogate mom here in Texas came over to stay the night with Payton and Derek. We arrived at the hospital around 11pm, and tiny Aaron was born at 1:05am weighing 5 lbs 12 oz, and he was 19 inches long.

While I waited for Brandon to come home I started contracting every 6-8 minutes. They hurt but weren’t bad at all. By the time we got to the hospital I was 4cm and contracting every 4-5 minutes. Still the pain was manageable. However, the room with the birthing tub was being used!  Best laid plans… The moment that I learned this I started doubting my ability to proceed with a natural birth, but decided to just see how the night went. My hope was that it would be a fast delivery and I simply wouldn’t have a choice. (My other two births were complete with epidurals).

I got my wish.

I first began by walking, but as I found myself squatting in random hallways with each contraction I decided it was time to move to my room. From there, I tried a birthing ball—which helped a lot. But for only a little bit before I told Brandon I needed the nurse to check me now because the pain had intensified so much. I felt like my hips were being pried apart violently. It was the most insane, intense, overwhelming feeling. I couldn’t help but constantly bear down with each contraction, and I found it best when Brandon rubbed my upper back to give me something else (a different sensation) to focus on. Regardless, things were getting intense.

My nurse checked me and I was only at 6cm! What?! I thought for sure I was closer. She recommended though, based on my pain level, that I get in the shower. Sweet blessing! The shower had a chair and multiple jets that we were able to spray directly on my hips. The next few contractions were so much better and, for a moment, I thought “if I can just labor the rest of the way in the shower I will be okay.”

However, the contractions ended up intensifying to in an indescribable level. I started moaning a lot. And then I was yelling. I got nauseous. I was shaking. I was transitioning.

I begged Brandon to tell them I wanted an epidural but I was told it was too late for any sort of pain meds. For a moment, that thought sent me into a panic, but before I could even comprehend the fact that there was no going back, contraction after contraction was taking place. At one point I stood up in the shower and yelled “he is coming!”. Two nurses and my husband were then helping me out of the shower, towel drying me and telling me I had to get into bed ASAP. Honestly, I couldn’t understand their rush—even if I had just yelled at them! My doctor wasn’t even at the hospital yet, and I wasn’t allowing myself to hope that it would all soon be over.

It just hurt so badly. I kept trying to breathe, to look Brandon in the eye, but all I could think about was the fact that I literally felt like I had an elephant sitting on my hips and I was going to break in half. It did not feel good! Before I could even make it into the bed I was pushing…and peeing and bleeding {and, ahem, possibly pooping--labor is gross} all over the floor and Brandon’s shoes. Poor guy! Nurses were scrambling and everything was a blur, but I clearly remember being told Aaron's heartbeat had dropped with the last contraction. He needed out!

I finally was able to get in the bed, which ticked me off. It hurt to lay down. And I was yelling. Boy was I yelling. My body took over and there was nothing I could do but surrender to the urges to push. Within a moment (maybe only two pushes) my nurse delivered my baby, and he was placed on my chest.

He was so, so tiny. Smaller than my other babies. He also smelled so sweet. Breath of Heaven. I was able to have skin to skin right away, which I have never had with my other boys. It was priceless. All the nurses were cheering, and Brandon just kept telling me "You did it!!!" I would say, "No, WE did it!" But he refused to take any credit. I couldn't have done this without him though. Seriously, I am so in love with my husband. 

Immediately I knew his name was Aaron. It is the name I’ve loved my whole pregnancy, a name I’ve studied and pondered greatly. I softly whispered his name to him, felt him pee on my belly, kept thinking “your brothers are going to love you”, and just enjoyed the moment while I delivered the placenta.

He is a miniature version of his brothers, with the same nose and lips. But he has brown hair. I’d been telling Brandon it was time I got a brown haired baby! He squeaks constantly and is just so sweet and tender.

I am in love. In love with Brandon. In love with Aaron. In love with my Father in Heaven.

I did it. I delivered naturally. But I didn’t do it alone. The forces of nature—of God—assisted, as did my wonderful husband and nurse. I am grateful for this night.

A Failure to Plan

Birth. The final frontier. These are the voyages…okay, I’ll stop. It was just what popped into my mind when I thought about this week’s topic, “Birth Stories”. Birth is one of those words that sounds like it should be followed by a clap of thunder or a “don don donnnnn”, or insert other ominous footnote.

It’s the thing that pregnant women fear, probably due in large part to its gross misrepresentation in the media. Women, in general, associate birth with chaos, frantically trying to make to the hospital before the child wiggles its way out and goes running down the sidewalk, screaming and pain. Lots of pain. It’s no wonder we all dread labor.

Me? I don’t dread labor. I actually never really have. Actually, I take that back. Someone told me that she always knew she was about to go into "real" labor because she would throw up right before…and that was scary. I then found out that most women don’t throw up so my fears were abated. Being ripped in half by a nine pound critter pushing out your ladyship? Psh. Throwing up? HOLY CRAP!

But honestly, I really didn’t worry much about delivery, especially after I’d done it a few times. My labors have been blessedly easy. The usually begin with Pitocin and end with a baby with an epidural somewhere in between. I’ve never really had a birth plan, other than going to the hospital pregnant and coming home with a baby. Even this plan hasn’t worked out for me every time. If motherhood has taught me anything about plans, it’s that no one really cares about my plans.

Birth plans get a lot of attention these days. There are so many options. You can have your baby at the hospital, at home, in a bathtub, in a birthing center, in a box with a fox. You can deliver sitting up, lying down, on your side, on your stomach, squatting, bending or doing zumba. You can have an epidural, you can smell lavender and listen to Mozart, you can have an IV or rub oils on your feet. There’s a huge amount of debate surrounding all these things. We all have our ideas of what we want our birth to be like, and that’s great. But it doesn’t always go as we planned, and that’s okay too. My friend, Amanda, has referred to these issues as “first world problems”. And they are. The truth is, it doesn’t matter if we have a c-section or a vaginal delivery. It doesn’t matter if we go natural, or get an epidural. We are blessed to have choices and to have the safety net of living in a great age of medical technology and in a place where that technology is readily available.

So I typically spend most of my dreading energies on morning sickness (or, as I like to call it, “progesterone poisoning”) instead of labor.

My last pregnancy was a challenge. When I was seven and a half months pregnant, our family moved twelve hours away, from Richmond, VA to Orlando, FL. This move took place four days before Christmas. Did I mention we had five children and two of them had the flu? My husband drove the moving truck accompanied by the dog and the cat, hauling his car. I drove our van (affectionately known as “the hoopty”), filled with children, tissues and Motrin, hauling a trailer.

The next month and a half were filled with long days and lots of tears. While I had never really been afraid or anxious about labor, I suddenly found myself far from home with a doctor I barely knew, in a hospital that I had not so much as visited (unless you count internet surfing). Suddenly, I was very afraid and anxious about labor.

I try not to compare any of my deliveries to their predecessors, but something you need to know is that I never dilate prior to induction…like…ever. Oh wait, I did dilate about a fingertip with my fifth child. Have you met those women who walk around for weeks at 4cm and, by the time they reach the hospital, they are 7cm? Yeah…I want to step on their toes…just a little. Cause, ya know, it’s not fair.

Well, imagine my surprise when I was 4cm at my final check-up. My doctor actually had to call a nurse in to mop my jaw off the floor since I was way too pregnant to bend over and get it myself. I had an induction scheduled for the next day. When I got to the hospital, I was 5cm. A FIVE! That’s halfway. It was a miracle. We all fully expected that I would start Pitocin, sneeze and have the baby in our arms. Of course, that is not exactly what happened. It took a long time to progress from 5…a really long time. My contractions increased but were very irregular. I would have two back-to-back and then none for six to seven minutes. This had never happened to me. Golden rule of childbirth #1: Expect the unexpected.

I had epidurals for six of my seven deliveries. I love epidurals. They provide the perfect excuse to be lazy. Oh and did you know that they make you not feel like your abdomen is being chewed on by a great white shark? I repeat, I love epidurals. My epidural with number six, however, did not work. It localized in my leg. FYI, babies are not born in legs. Leg-epidurals are useless. Golden rule of childbirth #2: Things don’t always work the way they are supposed to.

When it was almost time to deliver number six, they got me ready for pushing. I was anxious to push. Pushing hurts less that sitting. No really. But when I started to push, it felt all wrong. I felt like I was doing all the work. Usually you feel the urge to push, but I didn’t. My contractions were still completely irregular and I was getting frustrated. I told the nurse that I wasn’t ready to push. They checked me (again) and said that I was actually only a 9, not a 10, which is what they said I was before I started pushing. I told them it wouldn’t take me long. The doctor left the room…and then I started yelling because it was time to push. They said it was probably just the baby moving down. I yelled louder. They checked me…number six’s head was coming out. Seriously, no one listens to me. Luckily, the doctor made it in just in time to get gloves on and catch the baby. Golden rule of childbirth #3: Timing is everything.

When all was said and done, number six made it here safely.

Childbirth rarely goes the way you envision it in your mind but what really matters is not the method. After all, who cares if Amazon ships your order with UPS or FedEx (okay, my husband might care, since FedEx signs his paychecks), as long as you get your package? What really matters is that the baby and mama make it through the whole ordeal in sore, but happy, pieces. Golden rule of childbirth #4: All’s well that ends well.