So with babe number two only a few months away I'm starting the process of getting myself pumped up again. For me, since I find the child birthing process amazing and have a toe in the hippie pond this involves reading lots of Ina May Gaskin, and looking at pictures of women giving birth in a plastic blow up tub in their living room. This sort of thing is encouraging to me, it makes me excited. The other day I was looking through a bunch of beautiful birth and breastfeeding photos on facebook and I "liked" several of them. Then I freaked out cause I'm a mega people pleaser and I didn't know if by "liking" these photos they'd pop up in your news feed and somehow offend you. Maybe you had a c-section. Maybe you wanted to breastfeed your baby and you couldn't. And seeing those photos was a painful reminder. Maybe you're 17 and all this stuff is freaking you out. Or maybe, and what I think is often the case, by seeing me "like" those photos you immediately feel a judgement being placed on you by me, or a collective group, or something even more abstract because I, we, it made different choices than you. And People Pleaser Meg does not want you to feel judged because I want us all to gather round the campfire of motherhood and snuggle. But I also don't want you to feel judged because I'm not judging you! I don't actually spend any energy thinking about the decisions other mother's make for their labor and delivery unless they are a friend and have invited me into that decision making process. And I hope and pray that my life and words and actions reflect that. But I have lots of momma friends that I only interact with on facebook. Who may only see the Granola Hippie Earth Momma pictures I've "liked" and that's the whole of their impression. Which is then filed away with all the other positive or negative interactions they've had from that camp. Or vice versa.
I'm feeling a mixture of sadness and frustration over this phenomenon, particularly in the realm of social media. I do realize that there are actual battles worth waging for women's rights in birthing and I'm thankful that there are people out there to fight them but I'm just the girl over here wanting all the momma's I know to calm to heck down a little when speaking to one another. Cause I think our words to one another as mothers are some of the post powerful tools of support or discouragement available to us. And people have strong words and strong opinions about this stuff. You have people staging breastfeeding flash mobs that actually do involve a great deal of intentionally flashing as a reaction to the people who hunted down my sweet momma while she was breastfeeding me in a dark corner with a cover to make sure she knew they thought what she was doing was disgusting. You probably all justly think both these scenarios are a bit ridiculous, but these are the stories that make it onto ecards with witty blanket statements and a dramatic photo and that's how we form our opinion of nursing publicly.
I have been very blessed to have felt nothing but love, support and helpfulness from the mother's in my community who have a variety of perspectives and experiences regarding child birth. It was because of this support that helped me make the decisions I did about my birthing experience, which was a good one. I've shared that story in an earlier post, but I'd like to share the journey to getting there.
I had never even heard of "natural childbirth" until the year before I got pregnant. I didn't know that you had the option to have a baby without being hooked up to anything, that is was possible to just do it with your body. What I did know is that an epidural was a giant needle inserted into your spine which rendered you committed to a bed for unknown hours. I hate needles more than anything in the world, and if you've spent more than 5 mins with me you know I am the most fidgety person alive. So the thought of having to deal with a needle in my back, an IV in my hand and maybe some tubes up my pee pee hole all the while not being able to move sounded like my own personal version of hell. But I didn't know I didn't have to do it that way. Thankfully the first nautral birthing momma I met is maybe the most laid back lady on the planet and simply let me ask questions and explained to me why she wanted to have a natural birth and I did not feel stress or pressure or judgement of any kind. What may have also been helpful is that I was not pregnant at the time, nor was I thinking about being pregnant anytime soon so that relieved a layer of pressure as well. I'm thankful I was able to start thinking through these decisions and learning about the birthing process well before conceiving a child. When I first learned the work involved in having a natural child birth I didn't think I could do it. It sounded kind of like torture that you only survived if you mastered meditating while standing on your head on an excersize ball, or were really good at yoga or something. But being stuck in a bed sounded equally awful. Ok, so I get to choose between two terrible options. awesome. But the more I talked to women about birth I heard the excitement and joy in their voices when telling their stories. Even through the hard parts. That it was work and painful and exhausting but it was good and fulfilling work. I don't like working hard. I like the easiest means to an accomplishment. So breaking down some of my fear issues was a really good and healthy process for me to take in regards to childbirth. It helped me grow in other areas of my life. It was the right choice for me, and I had a great birthing experience. I also gave birth in a hospital with an obstetrician. I think midwives are the bomb but my insurance and the state of Kentucky prevent me from using a midwife so I decided to find a really awesome supportive ob. And I did. She is my hero. So when I hear people talking about all ob's like they're evil scalpel hungry control freaks I get really upset cause have you met every ob in the history of the world? I didn't think so. I also get mad when people think of midwives as being uneducated or inexperienced, which is equally ignorant. I chose a hospital over a home birth, not because I think home births are inherently dangerous but because frankly, I'd like my blood clots and amniotic fluid to fall on someone else's floor. I was thankful to have the postpartum care at the hospital (even though they are loud, unattractive and you have to deal with an occasional mean nurse) and return to my clean cozy home. Now a birthing center? That would be my jam right there. Sigh, one day I hope!
Similarly with breast feeding I had not only an awesome lactation consultant and awesome helpful nurses but I had mom friends calling and texting me every day for the first several weeks asking me how I was doing and if I had any questions. I had friends come over and watch me nurse and help me find a good position and watch to see if my daughter was latching correctly. And telling me I was doing a great job. I needed that every day!!!
While I have been amazingly blessed by encouragement, I have also experienced the sting of hurtful words as well.
"oh, you're giving birth at Norton Suburban? Oh gosh...well, I mean you know everyone is going to be really awful to you since you're going natural right?"
"you're going natural? that's so crazy, you know how bad that's going to hurt and how miserable you'll be afterward that you wont even want to hold your baby right?"
"I mean, that's great you wanna breastfeed but you know your boobs will be gross when you're done and you'll probably never enjoy your husband touching them again."
Talk about someone popping your balloon. Thankfully I had enough knowledge and support to combat these negative thoughts, but many people don't.
So, I bring to you my quandry. I feel passionately about this stuff. I don't feel as passionate about who you vote for frankly, but I feel passionate about mothers being empowered to make choices regarding their births because they had education and support. I want to show you these pictures of a mom's face finally seeing her baby after 27 hours of labor and say look how beautiful that is!! And not have all this grouchy subtext of you wondering if she had an epidural or not before you decide its beautiful. But lately I've been driven to hold my tongue more often because I'm afraid of offending someone. And like I said, I'm no activist. I'm not going to call any hospital CEOs (are there CEOs at hospitals? I don't even care) or my senator to try and do a thing. But I care about the way we talk to each other. As mothers. Because that's powerful. As someone who is pro-natural birth I want to be able to dialogue with expectant mothers who invite me to about what their options are. I want to tell them that the woman's body is this incredible life giving vessel that was created by God to bear children and that they can go into their labor with that mindset and be at peace regardless of what medical intervention is or isn't used. And while these bodies we have are amazing, they are also affected by the curse and because of that, birth is not always this beautiful experience we want it to be. Sometimes it is survival and thank God it is 2013 and there are life saving procedures we now have access to.
How does our desire to educate and support turn into prideful combative mommy wars? How can we better serve the expectant mothers in our community? How can we be honest and bold with our passion for childbirth and still be sensitive to women who have either chosen to, or had to have medicated or surgical births? What have you found helpful and hurtful? This is me opening the dialogue.
Tell your story.
Ask your questions.
Share a fart joke so we can all lighten up.
Encourage a sister.
mark.set.go.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Awake you Sleeper...you have a kid
Ah Sleep. Remember when you and I would have long blissful uninterrupted intimacy for like, 10 hours in a row? Me too.
In fact, before having a child, I was a bit of a sleep worshiper. Often, shortly after my day had begun I would think longingly of curling up with my down comforter and snoozing till my heart's content later that evening. You can call me an old lady but I don't care. I like sleeping. I have a comfortable bed.
I've also dealt with a bit of anxiety in my time, which often robs one of sleep. There's been many a night I have lain awake, heart pounding over who-knows-what, counting the minutes as they slipped through my fingers. Which made me a little possessive and regimented with my sleepy times. (didn't know you would get an inside look into my crazy control freak tendencies with this blog post did you? Bonus points for you.)
Then I got pregnant.
I feel like one of the biggest topics among the Already-Have-Kids people and the About-To-Have-Kids people is the baby-induced insomnia you will have to endure, and the 400,000 different systems and 5 step plans and books that will help you escape that insomnia as soon as possible.This all really freaked me out. Not only because I didn't know how well I would function on this new level of sleep deprivation, but also because I knew I would have to lay down my golden calf of repose and learn to let the Lord be my rest. And I was afraid because I'm a rule follower. Rules make me feel safe. If I follow systems and rules I feel like I'm winning. But in reality, God is in control not me and his approval of me is not based on how well I follow rules but rather based on the merit of Christ who bestows epic amounts of mercy and grace upon me. Really, an all around better deal than me freaking out about following rules. Keeping this in mind, I knew if I read a book on how to get my baby to sleep through the night it would become law in my heart and I would be frustrated and embittered toward my child for not following these sleep-laws to a T. This was obviously, the opposite of what I desired to feel toward my child.
So I decided not to read books. We were gunna wing it. We also hadn't decided what our sleeping arrangements would be. This is another hot topic in the parenting world. I knew I wanted to nurse, so I figured my kid would be in a bassinet or co-sleeper or sock drawer for the first couple months and then we'd see what we felt like doing then. One step at a time. I can handle that. I heard that newborns like to nurse every 5 seconds so I sort of prepared myself that my body and rest would not be my own for 2-3 months. I would be sharing them with my child. And I prayed that the Lord would replace my anxiety and selfishness with joy. I didn't want to look back on those first months and only remember frustration even if it was the hardest thing I ever did.
And then my daughter arrived! And...it...wasn't as bad as I thought. She nursed well, but not too often, and nursed quickly. She never had her days and nights mixed up. She had "The Witching Hour" cry time, but no all night scream fests. And she was sleeping for 5, 6, sometimes 7 hour stretches pretty soon. I couldn't believe it. I also wanted her to be with me every second. She slept in my arms, or on my chest every night for the first two weeks. Not because she wouldn't sleep anywhere else, but because I didn't want her to. My physical touch love language was overflowing. I'm pretty sure a unicorn burst out of my heart at some point. And so two months past and both my husband and I couldn't imagine her sleeping in another room. She slept great in her bassinet next to our bed and we slept great and everything was great. And once you're out of the newborn stage you're out of the woods right? Well...maybe for people in books.
All of a sudden at 5 months she started waking up more. I was bewildered but not completely undone. Teething had begun. Teething is bad business, and there's just no other way around it. So we cut a tooth and then went back to sleeping good. But there was this place in the back of my mind that was sort of tickling me with shame. She's FIVE months old. Shouldn't she sleep in her own room now? What will people think they knew she still sleeps with you in bed sometimes? Am I ruining her for life? No one was telling me these things out loud but you just hear them whispered in the wind of the mommy dogma we make for ourselves. In a facebook status, or a blog post, or a commercial, or even a conversation with a stranger at the grocery store. "How's she sleeping?" Don't you dare answer "not great" because then you will probably get unsolicited advice or possibly feel like a failure even if you don't. So because of the voices of shame in my head I decided to put my daughter in her crib for the first time around 5 months. She did fine. I did not. I sobbed. I hated the monitor. I was so used to her little noises right next to me they sounded bizarre and exaggerated on that awful machine. I tried for 3 nights. I was getting less sleep than when she was next to me because I was wide awake and sad. So I had a melt down at my husband
"I just want to go get her and bring her in heeeeeeerrrreeee" (snots all over husband's shoulder)
"well then go get her and bring her in here."
"but I caaaaaaaan't"
"um, why?"
"becaaaaaaauuuussseeee" (very sound logic, right?)
"...babe, if you wanna go get her, go get her. I'm happy for her to sleep in here with us."
"really? ok."
So she moved back into our room in her bassinet. And sometimes just for fun she would get in bed and snuggle with us. However this is still not the end of this tale. My baby was still not sleeping through the night consistently. Sometimes she would, sometimes she wouldn't. And of course there's about 457 transitions you travel through that first year... teeth, gas, growth spurts, unswadling, teeth... so I kept reminding myself not to lose hope and not to feel like a failure. Around 8 months my daughter started sleeping in her crib, in her room. We were all ready. And it was not a difficult transition at that time. But still, we would go through these periods of good sleep and bad sleep. But she wasn't a year old yet so I wasn't worried about it. Then she was a year old. And she was still waking up a few times a night. And after a particularly bad string of nights I went through the teeth-tummy-fever check list in my brain and upon realizing none of those applied I kinda unraveled. I don't know why I was holding onto that First Birthday as a beacon of hope but I realized I was. This was suppose to get easier, not harder right? And all those voices crept back in. Your baby is a year old and doesn't sleep through the night? You're still NURSING her at night?! Oh sister, your baby will never learn to sleep on their own. Here, let me give you this book...
So, after talking to my husband (who sleeps through everything including hurricanes, rap music blaring from cars right outside our window, and screaming daughters) we decided to try letting her cry at night. I am not planning to wean in the near future, but I had heard night weaning was a thing, so I thought we'd try. I told myself to give it a week. You can survive anything for a week. The first night she screamed off and on for hours. And as I lay awake listening to her scream I realized that if I was committed to sleep training her I would need to give up co-sleeping altogether for a season and possibly forever. No more morning snuggles. No more naps together. I felt very sad. So I prayed that the Lord would search my heart and give me wisdom. And I realized that I felt compelled to let my daughter scream because of shame. I did not feel so sleep deprived that I could not function. I did not feel resentful toward my child. It is not easy to get up 2-4 times every night to nurse and rock a baby for over a year but it is something that I have decided to do because its what is best for our family. So if you wanna label us, you can call us part time co-sleepers. We're cool with that. We're also cool if that's not what you do. Cause everyone's family and babies are different. Maybe you're a momma who's 9 month old wants to nurse 5 times a night but you don't realize other people's babies do that too. Or maybe you're babies sleep like its their super hero power and you think I'm a weirdo. That's fine. Just don't recommend a book to me. I share this particular journey with these particular details because there can be a hideous value system that mothers build around each other's parenting decisions. And for mothers with babies, SLEEP is a big one. There are many shoulds and should nots out there that can be very discouraging. But our righteousness is not built upon our ability to get our babies to sleep. Or where they sleep or how long they sleep. It is ok if your baby does not go to bed instantaneously and independently at exactly 8:03 each evening. And it is ok if you did not cross stitch your baby to your bare bosom so they can nurse continuously until they are 17.
"Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us..." Galatians 3:13
I am not bound by living up to other's expectations of me and my child. Even greater still, I am not bound by living up to my own expectation of me or my child. Neither are you. If you had asked me when I was pregnant if I was planning on co-sleeping I would have said "I have no idea, but probably not." But this is where our journey took us. And I'm glad of it. I'm still taking one step at a time. Maybe we will night wean, maybe we'll co-sleep still she's two. We'll see. One day my daughter will be in high school and I'll be dealing with boys and alcohol. This is the hardest thing I've ever done. But dear goodness have I been gifted with undeserved joy over it. For these few, fleeting, sweet and difficult moments of my daughter's life, I will drag my ass out of bed at 2:37am (and, midnight, and 4:17) and stare at her perfect sleeping face. And listen to her tiny breaths. And feel her hands absentmindedly smack me in the face. And lean in to the Lord to sustain my sore and tired body through one more day.
With a cup of coffee.
And then my daughter arrived! And...it...wasn't as bad as I thought. She nursed well, but not too often, and nursed quickly. She never had her days and nights mixed up. She had "The Witching Hour" cry time, but no all night scream fests. And she was sleeping for 5, 6, sometimes 7 hour stretches pretty soon. I couldn't believe it. I also wanted her to be with me every second. She slept in my arms, or on my chest every night for the first two weeks. Not because she wouldn't sleep anywhere else, but because I didn't want her to. My physical touch love language was overflowing. I'm pretty sure a unicorn burst out of my heart at some point. And so two months past and both my husband and I couldn't imagine her sleeping in another room. She slept great in her bassinet next to our bed and we slept great and everything was great. And once you're out of the newborn stage you're out of the woods right? Well...maybe for people in books.
All of a sudden at 5 months she started waking up more. I was bewildered but not completely undone. Teething had begun. Teething is bad business, and there's just no other way around it. So we cut a tooth and then went back to sleeping good. But there was this place in the back of my mind that was sort of tickling me with shame. She's FIVE months old. Shouldn't she sleep in her own room now? What will people think they knew she still sleeps with you in bed sometimes? Am I ruining her for life? No one was telling me these things out loud but you just hear them whispered in the wind of the mommy dogma we make for ourselves. In a facebook status, or a blog post, or a commercial, or even a conversation with a stranger at the grocery store. "How's she sleeping?" Don't you dare answer "not great" because then you will probably get unsolicited advice or possibly feel like a failure even if you don't. So because of the voices of shame in my head I decided to put my daughter in her crib for the first time around 5 months. She did fine. I did not. I sobbed. I hated the monitor. I was so used to her little noises right next to me they sounded bizarre and exaggerated on that awful machine. I tried for 3 nights. I was getting less sleep than when she was next to me because I was wide awake and sad. So I had a melt down at my husband
"I just want to go get her and bring her in heeeeeeerrrreeee" (snots all over husband's shoulder)
"well then go get her and bring her in here."
"but I caaaaaaaan't"
"um, why?"
"becaaaaaaauuuussseeee" (very sound logic, right?)
"...babe, if you wanna go get her, go get her. I'm happy for her to sleep in here with us."
"really? ok."
So she moved back into our room in her bassinet. And sometimes just for fun she would get in bed and snuggle with us. However this is still not the end of this tale. My baby was still not sleeping through the night consistently. Sometimes she would, sometimes she wouldn't. And of course there's about 457 transitions you travel through that first year... teeth, gas, growth spurts, unswadling, teeth... so I kept reminding myself not to lose hope and not to feel like a failure. Around 8 months my daughter started sleeping in her crib, in her room. We were all ready. And it was not a difficult transition at that time. But still, we would go through these periods of good sleep and bad sleep. But she wasn't a year old yet so I wasn't worried about it. Then she was a year old. And she was still waking up a few times a night. And after a particularly bad string of nights I went through the teeth-tummy-fever check list in my brain and upon realizing none of those applied I kinda unraveled. I don't know why I was holding onto that First Birthday as a beacon of hope but I realized I was. This was suppose to get easier, not harder right? And all those voices crept back in. Your baby is a year old and doesn't sleep through the night? You're still NURSING her at night?! Oh sister, your baby will never learn to sleep on their own. Here, let me give you this book...
So, after talking to my husband (who sleeps through everything including hurricanes, rap music blaring from cars right outside our window, and screaming daughters) we decided to try letting her cry at night. I am not planning to wean in the near future, but I had heard night weaning was a thing, so I thought we'd try. I told myself to give it a week. You can survive anything for a week. The first night she screamed off and on for hours. And as I lay awake listening to her scream I realized that if I was committed to sleep training her I would need to give up co-sleeping altogether for a season and possibly forever. No more morning snuggles. No more naps together. I felt very sad. So I prayed that the Lord would search my heart and give me wisdom. And I realized that I felt compelled to let my daughter scream because of shame. I did not feel so sleep deprived that I could not function. I did not feel resentful toward my child. It is not easy to get up 2-4 times every night to nurse and rock a baby for over a year but it is something that I have decided to do because its what is best for our family. So if you wanna label us, you can call us part time co-sleepers. We're cool with that. We're also cool if that's not what you do. Cause everyone's family and babies are different. Maybe you're a momma who's 9 month old wants to nurse 5 times a night but you don't realize other people's babies do that too. Or maybe you're babies sleep like its their super hero power and you think I'm a weirdo. That's fine. Just don't recommend a book to me. I share this particular journey with these particular details because there can be a hideous value system that mothers build around each other's parenting decisions. And for mothers with babies, SLEEP is a big one. There are many shoulds and should nots out there that can be very discouraging. But our righteousness is not built upon our ability to get our babies to sleep. Or where they sleep or how long they sleep. It is ok if your baby does not go to bed instantaneously and independently at exactly 8:03 each evening. And it is ok if you did not cross stitch your baby to your bare bosom so they can nurse continuously until they are 17.
"Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us..." Galatians 3:13
I am not bound by living up to other's expectations of me and my child. Even greater still, I am not bound by living up to my own expectation of me or my child. Neither are you. If you had asked me when I was pregnant if I was planning on co-sleeping I would have said "I have no idea, but probably not." But this is where our journey took us. And I'm glad of it. I'm still taking one step at a time. Maybe we will night wean, maybe we'll co-sleep still she's two. We'll see. One day my daughter will be in high school and I'll be dealing with boys and alcohol. This is the hardest thing I've ever done. But dear goodness have I been gifted with undeserved joy over it. For these few, fleeting, sweet and difficult moments of my daughter's life, I will drag my ass out of bed at 2:37am (and, midnight, and 4:17) and stare at her perfect sleeping face. And listen to her tiny breaths. And feel her hands absentmindedly smack me in the face. And lean in to the Lord to sustain my sore and tired body through one more day.
With a cup of coffee.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
I resolve to have a very boring year
From Life's First Cry to Final Breath, Jesus Commands My Destiny...
So I was gunna do Christmas cards. But then I realized I had 3 people's addresses and barely had enough time and brain space to get gifts together for my immediate family. So I thought I'd do a new years card. Then I realized I still only had 3 addresses and didn't really feel like spending 100 dollars on postage. But ALOT happened in 2011 that I feel compelled to write about. So call me cheap and lazy but here is your Christmas Card/New Years Letter. Blog style. Keepin' up with the trends.
I have seen the full spectrum of life in a very compacted amount of time. I can scarcely take it in. Thank goodness it is not my responsibility to completely untangle the mess of my heart, and I can rest knowing that Christ has me all figured out. He knows my needs, and he suplies them. 2011 started with losing my daddy to cancer. At Christmas we had no idea he even had cancer, and by mid January he was gone. His diagnosis to his passing was less than two weeks. I was also 36 weeks pregnant when my daddy died. To this day my greatest heartache is not getting to see him hold my daughter. But through these heartaches God was faithful. My dad was in pain for less than two weeks. His greatest end of life fear was wasting away in a nursing home, and he spent almost every last moment of life living it. At home, with his family. I got to say goodbye. I got to tell him the names we had picked out for our child, something no one else knew ahead of time. I got to witness him face death with confidence and peace. But this is still a painful, horrible loss. It fills you with the kind of saddness that crying does not satiate. Its such a deep pain that you cannot bear being its sole carrier. And God provided again with hundreds of calls, texts, and facebook messages pouring out sympathy, encouragement, fond memories, prayers. Meals were provided, visitors came.
My pastor's entire family (4 small children under the age of 10 in tow) came to the hospital with homemade pictures and cards and giggles and shennanigans. My aunt and uncle who happened to stop by as my father was taking his last breaths, stayed with us so we wouldn't be facing that difficult moment alone. Dear friends happened to show up moments after my dad had passed and sat on the floor with us, and cried with us, and prayed for us. An out of town friend drove in for the funeral, and followed me around making sure I ate, had a chair to sit in, and helped me get into my shoes (since I couldn't reach my feet at this point) and then had to drive several hours immediately after the service to be at a bridal shower. Later that week Justin spent time with a close friend/fellow musician. My dear husband asked our friend if he would sing to him for a while. That it would be a comfort. And he humbly replied by singing songs about the Lord being close to the brokenhearted.
In the middle of all this, our church, Sojourn Community Church was recording a album of Iassac Watts hymns. Justin and I were going to be a part of this project, but the studio time was booked the same weekend as my dad's funeral. So we had to step back. We felt dissappointed but knew there would be other records and other opportunities. However, somehow things worked out that the following week I had one last shot to sing on this record. The songs I happened to sing were about, well... death. That death for those who have a saving relationship with Christ is a victory. In this world we are subjected to sin and sickness and heartache. But God promises us there is an end. That we get to be healed. And that in the meantime he will not abandon us. So here I am, now 37 weeks pregnant, hoisting up my belly and gasping huge breaths and hoping that my baby will move off of my diaphragm so I can belt out words that my daddy is now experiencing.
"I go where God and glory shine
To one eternal day
This failing body I now resign
And the angels point my way"
"And though the hosts of death and hell
All armed against me stand
No more will terrors shake my soul
secure within your hand."
These songs were always a part of my story, because Jesus made them a part of my story when he died in my place. But they are now even more intimately entwined in my heart because of facing loss, and then recieving hope in the midst of that loss.
And then, less than two weeks later: I have a daughter. The second most life changing event of my life within weeks of the first. And this little babe, this tiny, delicate pearl somehow fills my heart up with so much joy I feel like my rib cage may explode from the pressure. A joy that is a much needed change of pace from our grief. A reminder that the Lord makes all things new. That he gives us wonderful gifts in the middle of all this brokenness. There have been many moments where I feel that deep ache of loss sneak up and just when I think I may not be able to get out of bed and function a tiny person snuggles up to my bossom, or pats my face. Even when she screamed without end during those newborn "witching hours" I felt in those moments my soul screaming LOOK! There is life!! There is an itty bitty person who's lungs are sucking in air and pushing out sound! Inside there is an itty bitty heart pumping blood through fragile veins that make tender muscles squirm! Thank you Lord. I don't want to give some romanticized picture of my motherhood. But frankly I'm just grateful for this daughter friend God has blessed me with, even if she wakes me up 17 times a night on a regular basis.
Because of where these events landed on the calendar we had a whole calendar year of firsts ahead of us. First's without Daddy, and first's with daughter. I've struggled through each of them how I am supposed to feel. My intellect tells me it is possible and acceptable to be happy and sad at the same time but when experiencing that on a practical level, frankly its a clustercuss. I've spent many hours on the phone repeatedly asking my friend who is a counselor "am I compltely crazy? am I doing some weird repression thing where if I don't feel like a basketcase at present I will eventually without warning become a homocidal maniac because I didn't process my grief with some 5 step plan I read out of a book?!?!?" And she lovingly reminds me that the gospel is not a 5 step plan, and that all I'm meant to do is to cling to Jesus during sadness and joy and anger and confusion. He has completed the work that was required to bring freedom from this MESS. There is no need to find the proverbial bootstraps to pull up. I don't even know what a bootstrap is. I've also been blessed with a community of friends who when they ask me how I am doing, dont have a mental tally of how many times I can answer "shitty" before they start to become impatient. I am eternally grateful for the people in my life who continue to step into my life and share my highs and lows and point me to truth.
2011 was intense. And these are just the highlights. We have seen job changes, financial stress, broken marriages, babies born and babies lost, friends and family suffer with chronic illness, and friends come to know the Lord we had all but given up on. I'm officially a grown up. Where's the sticker for my star chart? Oh right, I'm promised more then just a temporary accolade for "toughing it out". I'm promised eternity in the perfect home I was always meant for.
"Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them and they will be his people and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eye, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away." Revelation 21:3-4
What will 2012 bring? I'm not really one for making resolutions but this year I've decided to watch lots of tv, eat junk food and snuggle as much as possible. But whatever comes, I can rest in the promises of my good and true savior, Jesus.
Look I even included a photo! This is a legit Christmas Card.
So I was gunna do Christmas cards. But then I realized I had 3 people's addresses and barely had enough time and brain space to get gifts together for my immediate family. So I thought I'd do a new years card. Then I realized I still only had 3 addresses and didn't really feel like spending 100 dollars on postage. But ALOT happened in 2011 that I feel compelled to write about. So call me cheap and lazy but here is your Christmas Card/New Years Letter. Blog style. Keepin' up with the trends.
I have seen the full spectrum of life in a very compacted amount of time. I can scarcely take it in. Thank goodness it is not my responsibility to completely untangle the mess of my heart, and I can rest knowing that Christ has me all figured out. He knows my needs, and he suplies them. 2011 started with losing my daddy to cancer. At Christmas we had no idea he even had cancer, and by mid January he was gone. His diagnosis to his passing was less than two weeks. I was also 36 weeks pregnant when my daddy died. To this day my greatest heartache is not getting to see him hold my daughter. But through these heartaches God was faithful. My dad was in pain for less than two weeks. His greatest end of life fear was wasting away in a nursing home, and he spent almost every last moment of life living it. At home, with his family. I got to say goodbye. I got to tell him the names we had picked out for our child, something no one else knew ahead of time. I got to witness him face death with confidence and peace. But this is still a painful, horrible loss. It fills you with the kind of saddness that crying does not satiate. Its such a deep pain that you cannot bear being its sole carrier. And God provided again with hundreds of calls, texts, and facebook messages pouring out sympathy, encouragement, fond memories, prayers. Meals were provided, visitors came.
My pastor's entire family (4 small children under the age of 10 in tow) came to the hospital with homemade pictures and cards and giggles and shennanigans. My aunt and uncle who happened to stop by as my father was taking his last breaths, stayed with us so we wouldn't be facing that difficult moment alone. Dear friends happened to show up moments after my dad had passed and sat on the floor with us, and cried with us, and prayed for us. An out of town friend drove in for the funeral, and followed me around making sure I ate, had a chair to sit in, and helped me get into my shoes (since I couldn't reach my feet at this point) and then had to drive several hours immediately after the service to be at a bridal shower. Later that week Justin spent time with a close friend/fellow musician. My dear husband asked our friend if he would sing to him for a while. That it would be a comfort. And he humbly replied by singing songs about the Lord being close to the brokenhearted.
In the middle of all this, our church, Sojourn Community Church was recording a album of Iassac Watts hymns. Justin and I were going to be a part of this project, but the studio time was booked the same weekend as my dad's funeral. So we had to step back. We felt dissappointed but knew there would be other records and other opportunities. However, somehow things worked out that the following week I had one last shot to sing on this record. The songs I happened to sing were about, well... death. That death for those who have a saving relationship with Christ is a victory. In this world we are subjected to sin and sickness and heartache. But God promises us there is an end. That we get to be healed. And that in the meantime he will not abandon us. So here I am, now 37 weeks pregnant, hoisting up my belly and gasping huge breaths and hoping that my baby will move off of my diaphragm so I can belt out words that my daddy is now experiencing.
"I go where God and glory shine
To one eternal day
This failing body I now resign
And the angels point my way"
"And though the hosts of death and hell
All armed against me stand
No more will terrors shake my soul
secure within your hand."
These songs were always a part of my story, because Jesus made them a part of my story when he died in my place. But they are now even more intimately entwined in my heart because of facing loss, and then recieving hope in the midst of that loss.
And then, less than two weeks later: I have a daughter. The second most life changing event of my life within weeks of the first. And this little babe, this tiny, delicate pearl somehow fills my heart up with so much joy I feel like my rib cage may explode from the pressure. A joy that is a much needed change of pace from our grief. A reminder that the Lord makes all things new. That he gives us wonderful gifts in the middle of all this brokenness. There have been many moments where I feel that deep ache of loss sneak up and just when I think I may not be able to get out of bed and function a tiny person snuggles up to my bossom, or pats my face. Even when she screamed without end during those newborn "witching hours" I felt in those moments my soul screaming LOOK! There is life!! There is an itty bitty person who's lungs are sucking in air and pushing out sound! Inside there is an itty bitty heart pumping blood through fragile veins that make tender muscles squirm! Thank you Lord. I don't want to give some romanticized picture of my motherhood. But frankly I'm just grateful for this daughter friend God has blessed me with, even if she wakes me up 17 times a night on a regular basis.
Because of where these events landed on the calendar we had a whole calendar year of firsts ahead of us. First's without Daddy, and first's with daughter. I've struggled through each of them how I am supposed to feel. My intellect tells me it is possible and acceptable to be happy and sad at the same time but when experiencing that on a practical level, frankly its a clustercuss. I've spent many hours on the phone repeatedly asking my friend who is a counselor "am I compltely crazy? am I doing some weird repression thing where if I don't feel like a basketcase at present I will eventually without warning become a homocidal maniac because I didn't process my grief with some 5 step plan I read out of a book?!?!?" And she lovingly reminds me that the gospel is not a 5 step plan, and that all I'm meant to do is to cling to Jesus during sadness and joy and anger and confusion. He has completed the work that was required to bring freedom from this MESS. There is no need to find the proverbial bootstraps to pull up. I don't even know what a bootstrap is. I've also been blessed with a community of friends who when they ask me how I am doing, dont have a mental tally of how many times I can answer "shitty" before they start to become impatient. I am eternally grateful for the people in my life who continue to step into my life and share my highs and lows and point me to truth.
2011 was intense. And these are just the highlights. We have seen job changes, financial stress, broken marriages, babies born and babies lost, friends and family suffer with chronic illness, and friends come to know the Lord we had all but given up on. I'm officially a grown up. Where's the sticker for my star chart? Oh right, I'm promised more then just a temporary accolade for "toughing it out". I'm promised eternity in the perfect home I was always meant for.
"Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them and they will be his people and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eye, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away." Revelation 21:3-4
What will 2012 bring? I'm not really one for making resolutions but this year I've decided to watch lots of tv, eat junk food and snuggle as much as possible. But whatever comes, I can rest in the promises of my good and true savior, Jesus.
Look I even included a photo! This is a legit Christmas Card.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
BiRtH StOrY
Every time I tell the story of my first born's journey from my womb to my arms it is a little different. While in labor, you are partially in a haze. Certain things around the edges disappear, while other things are brought into sharper focus. While laboring, I found that I had a degree of control over this. I could move things in and out of my peripheral.
It's a Saturday morning, I wake up and go pee for the 157th time in the past 5 hours. Lo and behold, plop goes my mucus plug. I rush back to the bedroom and grab my Birthing the Bradley Way book and flip to the First Signs of Labor Chapter: "do not get excited if you're mucus plug drops as this is the most uncertain sign of labor beginning." Yeah, too late, I'm excited. But I push that away into the "undelt with emotions" box (I don't handle disappointment well) and decide to go about my day as normal....that is after I rush around like a crazed woman cleaning every inch of the house *just in case* I go into labor today. I know I will be distracted by a mess- the neurotic third trimester nesting stuff is FOR REAL you guys. I tell Justin of aforementioned mucuspluglossage and tell him he needs to stay close today. He has a habit of "going to the record store" and not returning for 8 hours because a train drove by that he decided would be superbly romantic to follow to the next little town.
Around lunch time I start to get these curious sensations. They feel a little like menstrual cramps, or constipation...which is a very real option, pooping is hard when you're 9 months pregnant. No, um...pun intended. I read in my book again what a contraction is supposed to feel like, and these sensations don't seem like contractions. I'm only feeling vague discomfort below my belly in my pelvic area. Like CRAMPS. How many times did people tell me "It's not like period cramps". This is a falsehood. So like every good First Time Bradley student, I go through the eat, sleep, walk routine. These ambiguously vague not-contrationy like sensations continue all afternoon. They form a regular rhythm. They increase in intensity. They are still not painful, but enough to make me take notice.
"It says my belly is supposed to get hard, I can't feel my belly getting hard!"
I make Justin sit behind me and place his hands on my stomach. I give him a play by play of the rising and falling of these vague- and starting to get a little annoying lower abdominal something-or-others. He can't feel my belly getting hard or soft either. Maybe its Braxton Hicks? Who knows. All I know is first time pregnant people have lots of: "starting & stopping, nope just kidding" labor deals and I just cannot be bothered to get all worked up if this is going to be nothing. It's still 9 days till my due date and first timers aren't early, they are late.
I continue to putter around trying to ignore the party going on in my lower abdomen. Its unseasonally warm for February. Justin and I spend alot of time outside, and have what I didn't know at the time was to be our last tender moments just the two of us. It was a lovely day. But these pesky weirdo crampy things are getting more intense. I need a distraction. I send Justin out to retrieve Nanny McPhee 2. A good British children's movie always does the trick. While he is gone I start tracking these I-am-now-in-denial-are-contractions. 10 mins apart, 7 mins apart, 6 mins apart. After 2 Redboxes and a Blockbuster, Justin returns with said kids flick. 10 minutes into it we have to turn it off. I am starting to have to concentrate. The movie feels overwhelming. I need darkness and quiet. Then I suddenly remember Laura, my doula, made me a lavender rice bag. Even if I'm not in labor, that sure would feel good on my belly right now. So Justin calls her.
Laura walks in to find me on all fours, bent over the arm of our couch. She cocks her head to the side and sagely states "I'm pretty sure you're having a baby today."
It is now 9pm.
Ok, I'm convinced.
I am in labor.
I am having a baby.
I am super pumped.
It is now officially game time in my brain. Cups of tea are made, buckets and towels are brought near. Pen and paper are retrieved for tracking progress. We are still camped out in the living room. I am able to have conversation and sit up between contractions, but I have to focus and relax my body during them. I try different positions and Laura tries different counter pressures but because the contractions are still bumping and griding UNDER my belly, I find that being on all fours and letting my giant baby carrying tum tum hang freely is what feels best. Unfortunately my arms are already getting tired from holding myself up. Time passes more quickly than I expected. It is now about 11pm. I get in and out of the bathtub, more tea is made, and the lavender rice bag from heaven is continually heated up and stretched over my aching lower belly.
Then the puking starts.
What? I am NOT in transition. Not even close. Oh, I get to puke off and on the whole time I'm laboring? Swell. I *love* puking. Strangely enough though, vomiting is somehow a relief from contraction pressure. It causes those tight muscles to spread upward as I heave. Momentary relief, followed immediately by an even more intense contraction. I'm starting to feel tired. But just as if they read my thoughts, Justin and Laura tell me what a good job I'm doing. How awesome and productive my contractions are. How strong I am. How exciting that we get to meet the baby soon. A mighty roadblock is erected on my mental path toward doubtfulness. More time passes. More baths and showers, more cups of tea, more puking. I really want to poop. The house remains dark, quiet and peaceful. Justin stays glued to my side, whispering sweetly in my ear how proud he is, holding my hand when needed, giving me space when needed. I am tired. I feel like I could actually sleep. I lay
down in bed and fall into a quasi-nap. Briefly losing consciousnesses between contractions. Laura continues to track as she listens to my faint groanings from the living room. As I lay I ponder the journey to the hospital. It is starting to feel insurmountable, moving is so painstakingly difficult. Riding in the car seems like torture. I know that I am not nearing the pushing stage, but I feel its time to go. It is 4am. It is a great effort to get dressed. Had it not been February I probably would have begged to stay naked. Yeah, I was a naked laborer. It baffles me how you could even distinguish whether or not you are dressed while laboring, it is so insignificant.
The car ride is not so very torturous thanks to an excellent husband chauffeur. However, I lose track of relaxing and become very stiff on that car ride, which is uncomfortable. I am wheeled up to L & D and we pull up to the registration desk.
"MY NAME IS MEGAN SHAFFER, I AM IN ACTIVE LABOR AND I AM PREREGISTERED!"
Desk lady is nonplussed. Apparently there is more paperwork to fill out. This is an outrage. I am ready to get settled, I am ready to get this baby out, how the HELL do you expect me to fill out damn papers?! Oh...my husband can do it while I go to triage? Oh, ok.
I have now reached the part of labor I have been most dreading: the hep lock. Really? I know, I know- I'm about to push a human out of my vagina and I'm FREAKING OUT about a needle in my hand. Fortunately my triage nurse is kindhearted, around my age and also pregnant. She does not look at me like I have a third head when I start to sob about the hep lock and hysterically beg her not to put it in. She has to. I knew it. I turn my head and my juicy veins spray like a Quentin Tarantino movie. There is SO MUCH BLOOD in your body when you're having a baby. Like triple the normal amount. Apparently you need a metric shit ton of blood to have babies. Justin almost passes out at the blood
spraying round the room. And then it's all done, and I now have the horribly distracting thing in my
hand. My vitals and baby's vitals are checked. We are doing awesome. Internal exam (bleck HORRIBLE) reveals I am 5 cent and 100% effaced. I forget my station. I never really remember what that is anyway. Sorry Dr. Bradley.
I am a little surprised to only be at 5 cent, but I know that doesn't mean anything since dialation is an unpredictable road. I'm super pumped about my effacement. We fiiiiiiiiinally get to the room. My first nurse is wonderful. She is super excited I'm laboring naturally, brings me a birthing ball, tells me to roam around freely and essentially leaves me alone to work. She offers me a Popsicle. I consider this a moment. I know that a hospital popsicle is probably toxic waste, but something cold and wet and sweet sounds nice so I accept. It was the best high fructose corn syrup red dye number 5 artificially flavored popsicle I've ever tasted. I feel refreshed, and settled. I think its time to poop. I've wanted to for hours, but pooping brings us to my second biggest labor fear: hemorrhoids. Ok people- I realize my labor fears are kinda silly but when you have that much stage fright about pooping, you have a lot saved up in there and I wanted to be cleared out at this point. Long story short, there is success. Moving on...
Horribly, there is a shift change. In walks Debbie Downer nurse. Friendly Nurse tries to hang around to meet the baby, but I still have just a few hours to go. Debbie Downer nurse is very uncomfortable with the fact that I am going natural and am not constantly hooked up to the fetal heart monitor. I am vaguely aware of her awkwardness but I choose not to receive it. Which is funny to me. I am a people pleaser and am very affected by how everyone feels around me and yet I could care less if Debbie Downer nurse existed or knew who I was or if she was pleased or not. I take a delirious moment to thank God for his grace. Being hooked and unhooked to the monitor is really taxing. I actually enjoy hearing baby's heartbeat and hearing Laura tell me how baller and huge and productive my contractions are but I am having to completely focus on not tensing up through my contractions which are now only giving me a few moments rest in between. Having to move back and forth from monitor chair to wherever else I was in the room is too much at this point. So I end up planted in a hospital armchair for the remainder of my labor. I realize this is not really a great position but I'm too effing tired and contractions are too strong to keep moving. This is one of those "next time I'll do differently moments. While sitting in this chair, my water breaks. It doesn't hurt, and its not as much water as I thought. I am now 8 cent. I feel so thankful that my bag of waters stayed so strong this whole time. I know I am nearly there, that my labor will now speed on to the finish. And boy does it. If I thought I couldn't move before, I am now paralyzed to this horrible chair because my contractions are non-stop wave upon wave. Close to no relief between. Maybe 10 seconds. I am beyond exhausted. I start to feel really weak, and the thought "I don't know if I can do this" finally enters my mind. I am scared to say this out loud because then it would seem more real. Justin and Laura are on either side of me, holding my hands whispering praise. My mom is there too, sitting quietly across the room. She got there at some point...who knows when. Hi mom! My head is falling back in between my now epic contractions. Its hard to stay awake yet I certainly could not sleep right now. But I want to so badly. Just a nap. The pain is intense but not unbearable.The hardest part is its so energy consuming. Is there something I could take that would allow me a 45 min power nap? I do NOT want an epidural, I know its not an option but maybe there's some lesser drug that would just take the edge off? Maybe Laura has some magical herb in her pocket? Hey everyone, Meg is in transition! Meg is completely unaware that she is in transition! Which is also a sign she is in transition! I can't take it anymore, I look imploringly to Justin and Laura and voice my concerns. They are prepared for this. They do not offer drugs, but offer sympathy, encouragement and resolve. This is far more valuable. They also notice that I strategically wait to voice these concerns till after Nurse Annoying has left the room. I also strategically do not look at my mom when I beg for drugs. I know it will be all over then. She will not be able to resist my pitiful and weepy demeanor and I will not be able to resist her motherly care. So I just look at Laura and Justin and shoot their pep talk into my veins and get over the hump. I am impatient. I want to be DONE. I want to meet my baby. Another horrible internal from Nurse Annoying (also referred to as Debbie Downer Nurse. Same lady) who is NOT gentle. I should have had more resolve to say no to internals- another "next time" realization. 9 cent. I decide to do some practice pushes. I am really uncertain of what is means to push. What it will feel like. (Its basically like pooping, expect you're pooping a baby out your vagina. weird, I know) So I'm essentially just grunting and flexing my upper ab muscles but I am doing nothing of the sort close to pushing. Negative Nancy Nurse freaks out and tells me to stop. I decidedly ignore her. Finally, after what seems like an eternity it is announced that we have arrived at 10 cent and I can begin the process of poppin' this kid out!
This gives me new resolve. And I'm happy to finally DO something besides sit in a chair and breathe through contractions. I will say this: as much as I desired a midwife and unfortunately that didn't work out for me this time, my obgyn was awesome. She was completely supportive of me working with my body. She never told me when to push, only helpful tips on how to push effectively, and LOTS of encouragement. She even put Nurse Annoying in her place a couple times. heheh. Laura and Justin are still on either side of me, holding my hands. I could not do this without them. I look into their faces for the first time in what seems like years and I see pride. I look at my husband positively beaming at me, tears running down his cheek. I can do this. I'm going to have this babe in my arms soon. Pushing feels productive. And painful. Some people are blessed with glorious hormonal numbness of the vag during pushing, I was sadly not possessed with this gift. I could feel that ring of fire. And frankly I didn't care. The doctor tells me how impressed she is with my babe's strong and courageous heart beat.
"We see hair! Lots of hair" *so* glad all that heartburn had a purpose.
"Just a few more pushes!"
And finally, after what seems like years, and yet minutes, I have a child on my belly, rather than in. This babe is so warm, and more sturdy than I imagined. Perfection. But we STILL don't know the gender! I have to ask- it's a girl. A daughter! I laugh because no one, not a soul, thought I was having a girl. A grand surprise indeed. All agony is forgotton, but I am tapped out. All the capillaries in my face are busted. I probably has vomit in my hair. I need someone to invent a new word for exhausted to describe the state of my body. But I feel euphoric. I feel I could dance. No, not really. I feel I could not move, but my heart was dancing. I love her. I love her. Its a love I've never experienced before. It's a love beyond description. My heart feels cramped in my cheast, like it needs to spill over and be shared. My sweet daughter, can I share my heart with you? I long to give you some of this love, for you to know it. They say she's not breathing as well as they want, and I need to be stitched up but I am at peace. That beautiful God given peaces that goes beyond understanding.I know she is fine. Justin whips his shirt off to give her skin to skin while my battle worn jay jay is repaired. She immediately starts to root on daddy. Smart girl. My Ireland Ruth. I think of my dad and how proud he would be of her. How proud he would be of me. I have a moment of sadness, but nothing can stop this moment from being absolute bliss. I feel empowered. I just did that. I don't particularly want to do it again soon, but man, I actually did it! I feel at home, at ease. I am a mother. It's like my calling has been realized. I never thought about it before, but this is what I want to do the rest of my life. Which is good, since children are a permanent fixture.
Ireland Ruth Shaffer: 8 pounds even, 19 inches long. Born at 10:20am February 20th after a full 23 1/2 hours of labor. Welcome home little one, welcome home.
It's a Saturday morning, I wake up and go pee for the 157th time in the past 5 hours. Lo and behold, plop goes my mucus plug. I rush back to the bedroom and grab my Birthing the Bradley Way book and flip to the First Signs of Labor Chapter: "do not get excited if you're mucus plug drops as this is the most uncertain sign of labor beginning." Yeah, too late, I'm excited. But I push that away into the "undelt with emotions" box (I don't handle disappointment well) and decide to go about my day as normal....that is after I rush around like a crazed woman cleaning every inch of the house *just in case* I go into labor today. I know I will be distracted by a mess- the neurotic third trimester nesting stuff is FOR REAL you guys. I tell Justin of aforementioned mucuspluglossage and tell him he needs to stay close today. He has a habit of "going to the record store" and not returning for 8 hours because a train drove by that he decided would be superbly romantic to follow to the next little town.
Around lunch time I start to get these curious sensations. They feel a little like menstrual cramps, or constipation...which is a very real option, pooping is hard when you're 9 months pregnant. No, um...pun intended. I read in my book again what a contraction is supposed to feel like, and these sensations don't seem like contractions. I'm only feeling vague discomfort below my belly in my pelvic area. Like CRAMPS. How many times did people tell me "It's not like period cramps". This is a falsehood. So like every good First Time Bradley student, I go through the eat, sleep, walk routine. These ambiguously vague not-contrationy like sensations continue all afternoon. They form a regular rhythm. They increase in intensity. They are still not painful, but enough to make me take notice.
"It says my belly is supposed to get hard, I can't feel my belly getting hard!"
I make Justin sit behind me and place his hands on my stomach. I give him a play by play of the rising and falling of these vague- and starting to get a little annoying lower abdominal something-or-others. He can't feel my belly getting hard or soft either. Maybe its Braxton Hicks? Who knows. All I know is first time pregnant people have lots of: "starting & stopping, nope just kidding" labor deals and I just cannot be bothered to get all worked up if this is going to be nothing. It's still 9 days till my due date and first timers aren't early, they are late.
I continue to putter around trying to ignore the party going on in my lower abdomen. Its unseasonally warm for February. Justin and I spend alot of time outside, and have what I didn't know at the time was to be our last tender moments just the two of us. It was a lovely day. But these pesky weirdo crampy things are getting more intense. I need a distraction. I send Justin out to retrieve Nanny McPhee 2. A good British children's movie always does the trick. While he is gone I start tracking these I-am-now-in-denial-are-contractions. 10 mins apart, 7 mins apart, 6 mins apart. After 2 Redboxes and a Blockbuster, Justin returns with said kids flick. 10 minutes into it we have to turn it off. I am starting to have to concentrate. The movie feels overwhelming. I need darkness and quiet. Then I suddenly remember Laura, my doula, made me a lavender rice bag. Even if I'm not in labor, that sure would feel good on my belly right now. So Justin calls her.
Laura walks in to find me on all fours, bent over the arm of our couch. She cocks her head to the side and sagely states "I'm pretty sure you're having a baby today."
It is now 9pm.
Ok, I'm convinced.
I am in labor.
I am having a baby.
I am super pumped.
It is now officially game time in my brain. Cups of tea are made, buckets and towels are brought near. Pen and paper are retrieved for tracking progress. We are still camped out in the living room. I am able to have conversation and sit up between contractions, but I have to focus and relax my body during them. I try different positions and Laura tries different counter pressures but because the contractions are still bumping and griding UNDER my belly, I find that being on all fours and letting my giant baby carrying tum tum hang freely is what feels best. Unfortunately my arms are already getting tired from holding myself up. Time passes more quickly than I expected. It is now about 11pm. I get in and out of the bathtub, more tea is made, and the lavender rice bag from heaven is continually heated up and stretched over my aching lower belly.
Then the puking starts.
What? I am NOT in transition. Not even close. Oh, I get to puke off and on the whole time I'm laboring? Swell. I *love* puking. Strangely enough though, vomiting is somehow a relief from contraction pressure. It causes those tight muscles to spread upward as I heave. Momentary relief, followed immediately by an even more intense contraction. I'm starting to feel tired. But just as if they read my thoughts, Justin and Laura tell me what a good job I'm doing. How awesome and productive my contractions are. How strong I am. How exciting that we get to meet the baby soon. A mighty roadblock is erected on my mental path toward doubtfulness. More time passes. More baths and showers, more cups of tea, more puking. I really want to poop. The house remains dark, quiet and peaceful. Justin stays glued to my side, whispering sweetly in my ear how proud he is, holding my hand when needed, giving me space when needed. I am tired. I feel like I could actually sleep. I lay
down in bed and fall into a quasi-nap. Briefly losing consciousnesses between contractions. Laura continues to track as she listens to my faint groanings from the living room. As I lay I ponder the journey to the hospital. It is starting to feel insurmountable, moving is so painstakingly difficult. Riding in the car seems like torture. I know that I am not nearing the pushing stage, but I feel its time to go. It is 4am. It is a great effort to get dressed. Had it not been February I probably would have begged to stay naked. Yeah, I was a naked laborer. It baffles me how you could even distinguish whether or not you are dressed while laboring, it is so insignificant.
The car ride is not so very torturous thanks to an excellent husband chauffeur. However, I lose track of relaxing and become very stiff on that car ride, which is uncomfortable. I am wheeled up to L & D and we pull up to the registration desk.
"MY NAME IS MEGAN SHAFFER, I AM IN ACTIVE LABOR AND I AM PREREGISTERED!"
Desk lady is nonplussed. Apparently there is more paperwork to fill out. This is an outrage. I am ready to get settled, I am ready to get this baby out, how the HELL do you expect me to fill out damn papers?! Oh...my husband can do it while I go to triage? Oh, ok.
I have now reached the part of labor I have been most dreading: the hep lock. Really? I know, I know- I'm about to push a human out of my vagina and I'm FREAKING OUT about a needle in my hand. Fortunately my triage nurse is kindhearted, around my age and also pregnant. She does not look at me like I have a third head when I start to sob about the hep lock and hysterically beg her not to put it in. She has to. I knew it. I turn my head and my juicy veins spray like a Quentin Tarantino movie. There is SO MUCH BLOOD in your body when you're having a baby. Like triple the normal amount. Apparently you need a metric shit ton of blood to have babies. Justin almost passes out at the blood
spraying round the room. And then it's all done, and I now have the horribly distracting thing in my
hand. My vitals and baby's vitals are checked. We are doing awesome. Internal exam (bleck HORRIBLE) reveals I am 5 cent and 100% effaced. I forget my station. I never really remember what that is anyway. Sorry Dr. Bradley.
I am a little surprised to only be at 5 cent, but I know that doesn't mean anything since dialation is an unpredictable road. I'm super pumped about my effacement. We fiiiiiiiiinally get to the room. My first nurse is wonderful. She is super excited I'm laboring naturally, brings me a birthing ball, tells me to roam around freely and essentially leaves me alone to work. She offers me a Popsicle. I consider this a moment. I know that a hospital popsicle is probably toxic waste, but something cold and wet and sweet sounds nice so I accept. It was the best high fructose corn syrup red dye number 5 artificially flavored popsicle I've ever tasted. I feel refreshed, and settled. I think its time to poop. I've wanted to for hours, but pooping brings us to my second biggest labor fear: hemorrhoids. Ok people- I realize my labor fears are kinda silly but when you have that much stage fright about pooping, you have a lot saved up in there and I wanted to be cleared out at this point. Long story short, there is success. Moving on...
Horribly, there is a shift change. In walks Debbie Downer nurse. Friendly Nurse tries to hang around to meet the baby, but I still have just a few hours to go. Debbie Downer nurse is very uncomfortable with the fact that I am going natural and am not constantly hooked up to the fetal heart monitor. I am vaguely aware of her awkwardness but I choose not to receive it. Which is funny to me. I am a people pleaser and am very affected by how everyone feels around me and yet I could care less if Debbie Downer nurse existed or knew who I was or if she was pleased or not. I take a delirious moment to thank God for his grace. Being hooked and unhooked to the monitor is really taxing. I actually enjoy hearing baby's heartbeat and hearing Laura tell me how baller and huge and productive my contractions are but I am having to completely focus on not tensing up through my contractions which are now only giving me a few moments rest in between. Having to move back and forth from monitor chair to wherever else I was in the room is too much at this point. So I end up planted in a hospital armchair for the remainder of my labor. I realize this is not really a great position but I'm too effing tired and contractions are too strong to keep moving. This is one of those "next time I'll do differently moments. While sitting in this chair, my water breaks. It doesn't hurt, and its not as much water as I thought. I am now 8 cent. I feel so thankful that my bag of waters stayed so strong this whole time. I know I am nearly there, that my labor will now speed on to the finish. And boy does it. If I thought I couldn't move before, I am now paralyzed to this horrible chair because my contractions are non-stop wave upon wave. Close to no relief between. Maybe 10 seconds. I am beyond exhausted. I start to feel really weak, and the thought "I don't know if I can do this" finally enters my mind. I am scared to say this out loud because then it would seem more real. Justin and Laura are on either side of me, holding my hands whispering praise. My mom is there too, sitting quietly across the room. She got there at some point...who knows when. Hi mom! My head is falling back in between my now epic contractions. Its hard to stay awake yet I certainly could not sleep right now. But I want to so badly. Just a nap. The pain is intense but not unbearable.The hardest part is its so energy consuming. Is there something I could take that would allow me a 45 min power nap? I do NOT want an epidural, I know its not an option but maybe there's some lesser drug that would just take the edge off? Maybe Laura has some magical herb in her pocket? Hey everyone, Meg is in transition! Meg is completely unaware that she is in transition! Which is also a sign she is in transition! I can't take it anymore, I look imploringly to Justin and Laura and voice my concerns. They are prepared for this. They do not offer drugs, but offer sympathy, encouragement and resolve. This is far more valuable. They also notice that I strategically wait to voice these concerns till after Nurse Annoying has left the room. I also strategically do not look at my mom when I beg for drugs. I know it will be all over then. She will not be able to resist my pitiful and weepy demeanor and I will not be able to resist her motherly care. So I just look at Laura and Justin and shoot their pep talk into my veins and get over the hump. I am impatient. I want to be DONE. I want to meet my baby. Another horrible internal from Nurse Annoying (also referred to as Debbie Downer Nurse. Same lady) who is NOT gentle. I should have had more resolve to say no to internals- another "next time" realization. 9 cent. I decide to do some practice pushes. I am really uncertain of what is means to push. What it will feel like. (Its basically like pooping, expect you're pooping a baby out your vagina. weird, I know) So I'm essentially just grunting and flexing my upper ab muscles but I am doing nothing of the sort close to pushing. Negative Nancy Nurse freaks out and tells me to stop. I decidedly ignore her. Finally, after what seems like an eternity it is announced that we have arrived at 10 cent and I can begin the process of poppin' this kid out!
This gives me new resolve. And I'm happy to finally DO something besides sit in a chair and breathe through contractions. I will say this: as much as I desired a midwife and unfortunately that didn't work out for me this time, my obgyn was awesome. She was completely supportive of me working with my body. She never told me when to push, only helpful tips on how to push effectively, and LOTS of encouragement. She even put Nurse Annoying in her place a couple times. heheh. Laura and Justin are still on either side of me, holding my hands. I could not do this without them. I look into their faces for the first time in what seems like years and I see pride. I look at my husband positively beaming at me, tears running down his cheek. I can do this. I'm going to have this babe in my arms soon. Pushing feels productive. And painful. Some people are blessed with glorious hormonal numbness of the vag during pushing, I was sadly not possessed with this gift. I could feel that ring of fire. And frankly I didn't care. The doctor tells me how impressed she is with my babe's strong and courageous heart beat.
"We see hair! Lots of hair" *so* glad all that heartburn had a purpose.
"Just a few more pushes!"
And finally, after what seems like years, and yet minutes, I have a child on my belly, rather than in. This babe is so warm, and more sturdy than I imagined. Perfection. But we STILL don't know the gender! I have to ask- it's a girl. A daughter! I laugh because no one, not a soul, thought I was having a girl. A grand surprise indeed. All agony is forgotton, but I am tapped out. All the capillaries in my face are busted. I probably has vomit in my hair. I need someone to invent a new word for exhausted to describe the state of my body. But I feel euphoric. I feel I could dance. No, not really. I feel I could not move, but my heart was dancing. I love her. I love her. Its a love I've never experienced before. It's a love beyond description. My heart feels cramped in my cheast, like it needs to spill over and be shared. My sweet daughter, can I share my heart with you? I long to give you some of this love, for you to know it. They say she's not breathing as well as they want, and I need to be stitched up but I am at peace. That beautiful God given peaces that goes beyond understanding.I know she is fine. Justin whips his shirt off to give her skin to skin while my battle worn jay jay is repaired. She immediately starts to root on daddy. Smart girl. My Ireland Ruth. I think of my dad and how proud he would be of her. How proud he would be of me. I have a moment of sadness, but nothing can stop this moment from being absolute bliss. I feel empowered. I just did that. I don't particularly want to do it again soon, but man, I actually did it! I feel at home, at ease. I am a mother. It's like my calling has been realized. I never thought about it before, but this is what I want to do the rest of my life. Which is good, since children are a permanent fixture.
Ireland Ruth Shaffer: 8 pounds even, 19 inches long. Born at 10:20am February 20th after a full 23 1/2 hours of labor. Welcome home little one, welcome home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)