The beginning.

So, it's pretty much official now that I'm not going to be able to afford my certification class this year since our friendly local natural gas company has decided after four generous months of $15/month budget that we can afford to pay $172/month (I'll make it happen, but I'm not sure what we'll be giving up just yet). I wasn't expecting that. I'm more than a little upset about it. Such is life, I'm not going to whine about the financial woes because I do stupid things from time to time that I end up paying for for months and years. I put myself in this hole and I'll find a way to dig out of it! I am however sad that I'm not going to meet my goal for this year... my goal was to be at least working on the certification process by June, which is only a few days away.

Despite all of this I am still thinking constantly about teaching. I want to teach women and their partners about birth. I'm not just talking about that weak hospital kind of teaching either. I dream about it at night. I daydream about it when things are quiet in the cubefarm. Sometimes I daydream about it when it's not so quiet in the cubefarm. I think about it constantly when I see pregnant women on the street. I think about it when I hear women tell horror stories about how their labor was soooooo awful and traumatic. I think about it when I hear about a homebirth that went peacefully as planned. I think about it when I hear that the national rate of C-sections is growing. I think about it when I hear that the rate of homebirths and VBACs-at-home is growing (but not fast enough). I am fortunate though to have a friend who is just as rabid about birth education as I am.

So. We're working with a mutual friend and outstanding birth-worker to develop our own Out-of-Hospital CBE program... and maybe even our own certification process.

I'm ready to teach for folks who want an out-of-hospital experience. I also want to teach teen moms-to-be. I want to talk to hospital birthers. I want to make sure people know that birth is safe, that doctors and other attendants do not in fact lessen one's chances of 'something bad happening'.

I have ideas for what I'd like to teach... but my brain's in a blender right now and I need to think some more, so that's in a future post.

drawn.

So, world, what's a girl to do when she's called to do something and has been treading the same path for so long she's in a rut up to her eyeballs? More than anything, I'd like to teach about birth. I obviously couldn't do it full-time, I do have a family to support. I crave it though. I read about birth, I read about birth options, I pester my pregnant friends and family, I cry when I hear about unnecessary interventions, I yell at the TV when I watch TLC's birth story shows, I get emotional. It's where my heart is.

By day I'm a crazy, policy-lovin', paperwork filin' banker. By any other time, I revel in the new beginnings of birth and longing for an outlet.

I could take the money out of savings for my certification, but I'm afraid if I do that I will be shorting my family in case of an emergency. Also, my husband is not in school this summer... the VA did not renew his Vocational-Rehab funding, so we're going to have to button down and tighten our belts around here. (easier said than done) When he's in school there's a little extra cash flow with his school stipend.

Since savings isn't an option, a second job for me is not an option, I feel stuck right now. I can't seem to do more than I am doing. I guess I'll have to settle for an informal education from the likes of Henci Goer, Dr. Sears, Michel Odent, Ina May Gaskin, and my friends in the local birthing community. I'd like to teach people that homebirth is safe, and that birth in general is nothing to be afraid of.

I like banking, but I love birthing. I love new moms with their pink and squeaking newborns. I love the raw and overwhelming power of birth, the surrender of mere womanhood to motherhood. I need students.

-L.

Mother's day.

It was my first mother's day today. I never really believed I'd have one, but I have. I must say, it was awesome.

Not only am I completely in awe of this small child I so wholeheartedly love, I am completely thankful to the loving God who brought him into my life. Thankful for the husband who helped me bring him into our life to bring us from a couple to a family. Thankful for every smile and tear we've shared since.

I've said before that I am addicted to my child. I still maintain that I am.

Motherhood is something far, far, far greater than I ever thought. It's a feat of strength. It's a test of courage. It's an exercise in problem solving. It's a test of tenderness and thresholds. It's high-level multitasking. It's so big I can scarcely wrap my brain around it. It's love greater than I have experienced in my life previously. It grows every day with my little guy.

I used to worry about whether motherhood would interfere with my work. I have worked since I was 12, so it's obvious that I'd have my concerns about work. Work was my life. Now my son is my life and work still works... I think motherhood has actually made me a better worker. Now I have a reason for the work. Now I have a reason to be the best person I can be, because I am now not just accountable to myself, but to my son, who is learning how to be a human from my husband and I.

Have I mentioned I'm so very thankful? I am. Happy Mother's Day to all of you mothers out there, present and future.

Motherhood: 1st Quarter, year one.

Originally posted to Facebook January-March 2010:

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Month One. (January 2010)

For thirty days now I’ve been party to a miracle in progress. My world is vastly different than it once was now that he’s here with us and we can watch him unfold into the person he will someday become… and the worries associated with that process.

This is my fourth week as a mother. I’ve become one of those people I used to dread: I eat, sleep, dream, and live parenthood. I will unwittingly hold people hostage while regaling them with tales of my amazing baby’s adorableness. I am consumed with the mundane life functions of a tiny human, my life revolves around his nap-eat-change schedule. I’ve become fascinated with cloth diapers, and have become pretty good at using them effectively. I spend hours nursing him. I co-sleep, something I NEVER thought I’d do, but actually enjoy sharing my bed with my infant. I sit for hours with only one arm available to do anything because I’m either nursing the baby or the baby is asleep on my lap. I’m not going to forfeit a single moment with him.

The first week was complicated. Elijah spent his first week adjusting to a world full of lights, sounds, and unfamiliar experiences such as wearing clothes and being touched. There were tons of things for him to experience for the first time, and it was likely overwhelming. He did a lot of screaming when he wasn’t nursing or sleeping… and learning to nurse was a challenge for him. For me, the first week was difficult because I couldn’t move around freely without feeling like my entire body hated me. I used muscles in labor I never even discovered in my bike tours years ago. I had bruises on my legs from where I’d braced against them with my hands while pushing, my tailbone felt like it was in the wrong place, and simply making a trip to the bathroom was a fresh new hell every time. Labor was actually easier than the first week postpartum.

The second week was better. Elijah got to meet aunts, uncles, cousins from his daddy’s side, and I ventured down the stairs to survey the mess my house was in. There were things on my to-do list which I had planned to finish before he was born, like dishes and laundry, which were still undone and overwhelming since it hurt to stand for any length of time still. I also decided after a brief conversation with my grandparents that we needed to make use of my time off and take the long drive to Kansas. 14 days after he first made his appearance, we loaded up the car and made the epic journey to introduce him to more family, including a brand-new set of grandparents and great grandparents. This helped me out on many levels… first to be back with my own people, and to have some of the pressure of running a household off my shoulders for a week. For Elijah, it was an opportunity to be held and loved and held and loved… oh, and held and loved.

Week three was of course quietly spent back here at our own home, continuing to get to know one another and learn how best to function as a family unit. For me, I also began to focus on getting a milk supply up in the freezer for him to use once I return to work, as well as how to get things done while also taking care of his needs. I’m also learning how to share him with Barry, which is hard to do. Generally when he’s awake, he wants to nurse. That’s fine by me, it’s one of the best things I can do for him, and it gives me hours of closeness and time with him which I’m going to miss later.

This week, week four, we’ve spent in and out of the house with appointments, a visit to a store, and one foray up to Human Resources to drop off paperwork to make him an official part of my insurance package. We’ve also been spending more time enjoying him as he’s been awake more. Those big blue eyes have been wide open and surveying everything. He’s begun to hold his head up and look around more, to push up off his chest when he’s on his belly, and for over two weeks he’s been able to roll up onto his side. Simply brilliant. No one had to teach him these things, he just instinctively did them. I know we’re all programmed with this stuff, but it’s still amazing to watch him do it.

Elijah is a month old, which makes me a little sad because time is passing so quickly, and in four more very short weeks I’ll return to the cubefarm and leave the little guy at home with his daddy during the day. Hard to believe it was this time last year when we decided that we definitely wanted to be parents, and that so much has transpired between the discussion where we decided we could do this, to finally be putting it all into practice. With our first month now behind us, I can hardly wait to see what tomorrow and all the tomorrows behind it have in store for us.

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Month Two. (February 2010)

As always, the last four weeks have been a learning adventure- not just for us, but for Elijah as well. Here we are in our eighth week as a family.

Sunday, Elijah will officially be a full two months old, headed into month three. He’s huge. He’s 13.5 lbs, 25 inches long, and becoming more and more independent.

He wants to use his legs more than anything, and pushes off with them to stand as often as he can when we hold him. He’s not yet mastered the art of rolling over or pushing up onto his hands when he has tummy time, but he’s working on it.

He has learned to smile as an actual response to us, and is working on learning to giggle. It's adorable. He has a dimple in each cheek and a big one in his chin. He now smiles when he first makes eye contact with me in the morning. Makes it worthwhile to open my eyes early.

He had his first round of vaccines today, 2/10, and I cried. I hated that I was the reason he was in pain, even though it’s for a good cause.

He’s learning how to swallow better with the bottle. He still chokes since every slow-flow bottle still runs too fast. He’s still not a big fan of the bottle even though he’s going to get a crash course in bottle feeding starting 2/15 when I go back to work.

Ah, yes. Going back to work.

I’ve spent eight crazy weeks here at home with the little man. 1,344 hours of concentrated motherhood to last me the next few years. It’s been amazing to watch him blossom from curled up and sleepy newborn, squinting in the light, to inquisitive infant with eyes open wide most of the day. I enjoy the quiet moments nursing him. I never thought I’d enjoy it as much as I do. I’ve also become a bit of a hermit since the weather’s been so incredibly awful the last two months, so I’m nervous about my return to my old routines. I worry about how the two roles will fit together. I know it can since so many of my coworkers are also mothers, and I have the added benefit of a stay-at-home daddy instead of strangers watching my baby… but at the same time, he’s not me. I worry that he’s going to be less interested in me when I come home since daddy’s the one who is there when he needs someone during the day.

It’s going to be hard to go back to the office and have to wait a full nine hours a day to see him, hold him, cuddle him. I’m also going to have to overcome my nervousness about carrying my pump around with me since every two hours or so I’m going to have to go take care of business or risk my milk supply dropping. Yeah, that’s one of those things no one really talks about in the open… but I really think we as women need to!
The experience I’ve had so far is that lots of folks seem to expect that I will just give up on breastfeeding in favor of formula for the sake of ‘convenience’. I’ve had about a dozen people tell me it’s what’s best for me, but what about what’s best for him? What about what I can afford? I’m not knocking the women who’ve made that decision. It’s what worked best for them, and I’m cool with that. For me, I’d rather just continue to do as I’ve been doing. Just have to do it a bit differently.

As for my husband and his new role when I return to work, he seems excited. I’ve never seen a man so ready for the challenge of daytime solo parenting even though it’s not as widely accepted that he be the stay at home parent.

Here we go into our third month as a family, and all the adventure therein.

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Month Three. (march 15, 2010)

Month three has had some milestones and some challenges. Elijah is now 14.8 lbs, 26.5 inches tall, alert most of the day, and has mastered the art of drinking from a bottle without choking (took him all of 11 weeks to figure that one out, they all flowed too fast). He has learned to laugh and to smile when he sees someone he knows (mostly mom and dad). He babbles off and on, sometimes even while latched on to the breast or bottle. I can already tell he’s going to be ‘that kid’. You know, the one who has to be told at least once a meal to not talk with his mouth full? That kid. Most of his reflux issues have calmed down and I no longer have to exclude all the good things I love from my diet (as long as they’re in moderation) for fear of giving poor little E heartburn… though at least once a day he gives an epic spew of partially digested milk all over whomever may be holding him at that point in time.

He has also discovered that he loves to stand. Elijah will stand for as long as someone can hold his hands for him. He even tries to walk while doing this. At least once a day when I’m home I let him play in his jumper- it hangs from the door frame so I can move it to whatever room I’m working in, turn on music, and let him go. He usually squeals and spins, though bouncing is something he’s trying to figure out. He hasn’t gotten the muscle coordination down yet for that!

On top of all of these developments, we’re discovering that Elijah has a sense of rhythm. It’s uncanny to watch him keep time to something. We first noticed it last Sunday afternoon, when at the end of the movie Barry and I had been watching (Elijah was playing on his gym mat at the time) a song came on that neither of us had played for him before. He began kicking both feet into the floor in time with the percussion in the song. We hit pause on the movie, he stopped. We hit play, he began again. Interesting.

Barry has been handling daytimes like a champ, even though we can set a clock by Elijah's cranky hours- 11:00 am, 3:30pm, 5:30pm, 7:00pm- which only fail to occur if he's asleep. He brings Elijah to lunch for me every day that he can so I can spend a little quality time with him, and Barry can take a nap while I get my quality time. It works out well.

As for me, I’m adjusting pretty well to being back at work. I can't say I'm not jealous of my husband getting to spend all day with our little package of awesomeness. There's alot I miss during the day, and I come home to the tired baby, tired husband, housework, and tired self. There's still some tweaking needed to make this new life blend with the old life.

Post-partum.

My postpartum weeks were hard. Not in the sense that things were bad, I loved the early days of mothering. I loved waking up every two hours like clockwork to nurse and change little E's diapers. I loved knowing that the tiny bundle of amazing laying next to me was mine to keep. I hated that it felt like my body was put together wrong as my pelvis and legs healed from the incredible workout we gave them on December 14. I hated that I would have to go back to work and be separated from my little guy. I'm not kidding, I'm addicted to my kid. The idea of spending eight hours in a place where I wouldn't see him nearly allllll day was very sad. I didn't write much regarding that period in time, but here's what I had to say as of my six-week checkup.

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from January 25, 2010 posting:

I had my six week checkup at the midwife's office. I'm physically healed up from giving birth. Mentally, I guess the chemicals are coming back to normal though the ups and downs are not fun.

I haven’t felt like myself lately. I guess that’s understandable since myself has been replaced with a new focus, a little other self, that little boy I’ve fallen so madly in love with over the last five weeks. I’m moving into week six with him and the hours slip away so quickly, whether I’m enjoying those moments when he’s calm and alert, or asleep on my lap, or enduring what I’ve now labeled ‘afternoon grumpy time’ where he screams relentlessly between naps and nursing sessions. Sometimes he even screams while trying to nurse… which makes it a challenge to keep faith in the idea that I’m doing things right as a mom. It’s hard to feel like it’s right when the little guy doesn’t want to calm down for anything.

I’ve been riding the waves of hormones as I return for the most part back to the person I was pre-pregnancy. Some days that can be rough, since I can’t seem to collect my thoughts or focus my attention to complete a task. I have three projects I’m simultaneously attempting to find the focus to complete- researching a childbirth educator certification, plotting out the 2010 garden, and keeping the house together (bills, etc.). Most days it’s easier and less exasperating to simply sit in the basement living room on the couch, baby in my lap, laptop on the table in front of me and set to facebook where I can watch my friends’ facebook updates scroll up while Elijah naps or nurses- occasionally using a toe to navigate or type. I watch a lot of discovery channel and history channel during the day because the lower channels are mostly mind-sucking crap (soap operas and courtroom shows). Aside from random trips to wal-mart or the grocery store… or runs out to Babies R Us for more bottles to try out on him, I don’t go many places and haven’t really wanted to.

Friday I broke with my usual routine since Barry didn’t have class or appointments that morning, and took Elijah for the requisite Tour de Bebe at work… that way all the ladies could ooh and ahh over the darling infant (even though he’s about twice the size of the average infant they get to see when someone brings in a newborn). It was good to get to see everyone again, though it also sent icy fingers of panic through me since in all my quiet time in my house I’d forgotten how big, bright, and noisy the office can be. I felt completely disoriented and overwhelmed while we were there. My desk is still as I left it. Everyone is as I remember. The real world is apparently still waiting for me to return out there in cubeland. I miss my old routine, but love my time with Elijah. I wish I had a way to do both at the same time, but I can’t. It makes me incredibly sad to think about soon passing the daytime feedings and changings and milestones off to Barry five days and 40 hours a week.

Of course, with the transition of me back to work and Barry into my role, we’ve hit some snags. Sure Elijah loves him, and when I can’t calm him down, Barry is often the only one he wants. Unfortunately, I’m the only one who can feed him. It’s not for lack of trying… he’s not unwilling to try a bottle. It’s just that every freaking baby bottle has about an inch long nipple that gags him, or the ‘slow flow’ isn’t. Poor little guy either chokes on the nipple or nearly drowns on the milk flowing from it. Quite often he’ll give it a good shot, but once the choking or gagging commences, GAME OVER!!!

After a failed attempt with a bottle, he clings to me as though he thinks I’m never going to feed him again. So far we’ve tried the adiri natural nurser- too fast, the breastflow bottle- too fast, nuk- too long, soothie-too long and too fast, avent-too fast and too long, dr. brown- too fast, too long, Playtex ventaire- fast but almost okay. Next up are the drop-ins. There’s no doubt he’ll master it sooner or later. If he doesn’t, then I guess we try an SNS attached to Barry’s finger. It’s sooo stressful though.

Counting this week, I have three weeks left as a domestic engineer.

-L.

The Birth Story.

Originally published Friday, 18 December, 2009

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I’m still at a loss for words regarding all that has transpired this week. One word alone fairly sums up the experience: AMAZING. I still sit here looking at this beautiful baby and am in awe that he’s ours and we get to keep him. Ten years I’ve been waiting to be a mother and now I finally am. Three losses, and several moments during this pregnancy when I thought all was lost or at least in jeopardy, but now he’s here and sleeping on my husband’s chest and all seems mostly right in the world… at least at the moment while they’re both sleeping, but that’s another story for another time. Right now I just need to put down the story so I don’t forget.

Monday, 14 December was just another day in the life. I had two more days of work until vacation was to begin, and the baby wasn’t due for another six days. I hadn’t really given any thought to whether I’d go to my due date or over because there really hadn’t been any signs of a change other than losing part of my mucous plug, which I knew could happen even weeks before labor actually starts so I certainly wasn’t hanging my hopes on that one little sign. I hadn’t had any stronger contractions, just a little achy feeling in my pelvic bones which I figured was just the awkward way I was carrying all this weight. Honestly, I really hadn’t had any of the practice contractions in a day or so that I could feel, so in my mind, it was all good to go. I was going to work two days and have three days vacation, maybe a baby over the weekend, two more days of vacation, then maternity leave. It really was a good plan. It seems however that my plan and God’s plan were not written on the same piece of post-it note or the same calendar.

Monday morning passed uneventfully. I went about my routine at work with hardly any interruptions other than the occasional run to the bathroom (which I have my 32 oz mug to thank for getting such great exercise these last few months). I did my daily paperwork, answered phones, answered questions from curious folk who wanted to know when I was due. I ate lunch like every day, checking email at my desk and looking up a few things while I ate… still not a single contraction. Not a hint of anything. I even started making my post-it note list of things I needed to do after work: Go to Y to swim, finish dishes from weekend, lay out birth supplies, label boxes, clean bathroom upstairs, prep half.com items to ship out Tues morning (yay! Sales!).

At 1:00 I came back from lunch and went back to entering teller offages into the offage file for the day, and all was well until around 1:35 or so, when upon returning from a pee break I was suddenly hit by a weird wave of nausea and a HUGE cramp. “Different.” I thought, but figured that different didn’t amount to anything and kept entering numbers. Five minutes later another one hit harder than the first (while I was on the phone with one of the branch folk) and rattled me a little. I sent a text out to one of my friends to not count today out as a possibility after all. After about the fourth one I finally made the trek across the aisle to let a supervisor know that I needed to go home. Something was different, definitely different. I was having trouble concentrating on work because I was trying to mentally prepare to ride the next wave. I still didn’t totally believe that this was ‘it’, but luckily instinct is stronger than ego sometimes and I made the call for Barry to come get me. Fortunately I did that when I did… because after the walk from the back of the building to the car, I was struggling through another one and on the verge of tears.

As I lowered myself into the car, face white and trying not to cry, Barry asked if I was okay. “Relative
to what?” I responded. “Let’s just go home. I need to be in the shower or something.”

“Oh, crap. We need gas. Are you okay enough that we can stop for gas on the way home?” Barry asked.

“For the moment.”

“Okay, we’ll stop for gas, then go home.”

While Barry put gas in the car I dialed our midwife to let her know what was going on. She said it sounded like things were still early but to keep her posted if there were any changes and to try to time the contractions for an hour to see where we were. It sounded good to me, so that was the plan. The first one I timed came five minutes after the last one ended, and lasted a full 57 seconds. That is also about the time I began to lose track of time and the world around me a bit. As we came off the bypass and were a few blocks from home, Barry thought it might be wise to make one more stop for a source of caffeine for himself, just in case, and maybe some Gatorade for me. I was still doing okay, so I decided to stay in the car while he stopped at the convenience store near our house.

This is where different once again changed… so while he was making his purchase, I suddenly couldn’t handle sitting through the contraction. I had to get out of the car. I even considered walking the rest of the way home, but figured that would only hurt more and decided instead to get out of the car and walk around in circles and move my hips to deal with it. I may have looked weird to passers-by (but in our neighborhood, weird is also a relative term), I really didn’t care much. Things were spinning out of control and I was quite positive by this point that this was indeed ‘it’. Not just ‘it’, but OHMYGODITSMOVINGTOOFASTICANTKEEPUP!!!

A little background here. I was born in about four hours from water breaking to screaming infant according to my mom. I did not learn of this until the day before all of this happened, so I was prepared for the endurance race. I had mentally prepared myself for days of contractions before labor officially happened. I was ready to be walking for hours up and down the stairs at home, laboring on my ball, taking naps between contractions in the early stages, sitting back and enjoying relaxing to the playlist I had created. The present scenario had never presented itself in my thought process since the first baby is usually the one who takes its time to arrive, seeing as the first baby is the one who has to pretty much blaze a new trail and move the bones and muscles around. It’s supposed to be a slow process! Of course, if I’ve learned anything this year it might be that ‘supposed to be’ and ‘is’ are two totally different realms of existence and they rarely run parallel, and even more rarely do they intersect in my life.

As I was saying… while Barry picked up his version of birth supplies- four large bottles of Pepsi, Cherry Pepsi, Coke, Cherry Coke, as well as some Gatorade for myself, I was quickly beginning to understand why everyone I asked said the same thing: “when it’s the real thing, you’ll just know.” I was still trying to cognitively grasp what was going on and attempting to think my way through the process (like you can think your way through an instinct-driven process… ha ha ha) and behave like a civilized human even though as I stood moving around next to the car I had an overwhelming urge to start vocalizing through the contractions. Luckily Barry came out just about that time and we quickly continued our epic journey of two blocks to home. I kept asking if he’d just let me out of the car to walk the last block because I didn’t like sitting. I even distinctly remember telling him that I hated chairs. As soon as he pulled to a stop in front of our house I hopped out yelling “it’s okay, I have keys too. You can meet me in the house eventually. Need in the shower NOW.”

I bounced into the house and up the stairs to the bathtub leaving behind a trail of clothes and accessories, quite certain that I was still in the ‘early stages’ and would be fine as soon as I got my body into water. In the early stage, contractions can slow down if you get into the tub or shower, which I felt confident would work and give me the opportunity to mentally catch up to what was going on and be able to relax through things a little better. It would allow me to prepare better and get through it better. No such luck. I filled the tub halfway and settled in. Momentary relief- followed by things picking up speed.

Barry came in to see how I was doing, and I’m sure hoping that his kinder, gentler wife had been restored from the short tempered and pain wracked beast he’d dropped off in front of the house not ten minutes previously. I was sitting in the bathtub and attempting to relax to the playlist on my laptop which was giving me the red battery icon of death.

“are you okay?”

“Okay is a relative term. I’m okay, but relative to what, I don’t know.”

“Should I fill the birth pool?”

“I think things are still early. Maybe we should call the midwife.” *contraction hits, I try to climb the tub walls*

“Call her now?”

“Yes. Tellherweneedhernow. Now. Please, now.”

Then I entered another time warp. I heard Barry in the other room on the phone with our midwife, then I heard him scurrying around to set up the birthing room- putting the hose in place for the pool, stretching out plastic on the floor, running downstairs to get my water mug and a new straw, changing out of his nice clothes into something he could stand to get a little messy, coming into the bathroom to rub my back and give me a hug. At some point the music died off when my battery croaked. I felt like I left my body for a bit but always returned just in time to experience the next wave of a contraction rising. It seemed like an eternity until our midwife walked through our front door, at which point I was clutching the countertop in our bathroom in a full-on moaning, writhing, shivering, sweating, dancing spectacle of a woman in labor. Hearing my moans from the front door prompted our midwife to call her birth assistant before even coming up to check on me because she could tell from that that things were progressing well and fast. She checked me quickly to see how far I was dilated… 4 cm and a VERY thin cervix by 3:30 (notice, this all began around quarter to two in the afternoon). Our midwife took over helping to hold me together so Barry could continue the manly work of finding things when the birth assistant came in.

By a little after 4PM the birthing tub was full of warm enough water to just add a very uncomfortable me and it was magic. After two hours of laboring on land, to suddenly be surrounded in the warm embrace of the water was pure heaven. It was also a very nice distraction from the fact that every muscle seemed to be tensing without my help. I could float. I could stretch out. I could change positions without my very cumbersome 39 weeks pregnant body getting in the way of itself. Even more awesome- I could rest my head on the soft inflatable sides between contractions and let myself fall into a sort of trance.

I was telling myself over and over again that this wasn’t ‘pain’. This was merely discomfort and would pass. It would pass quickly and bring me a beautiful baby. I kept asking out loud why it had to be like this, and how much longer. My awesome midwife just kept reminding me that my body is doing something beautiful that it was meant to do, and that I just needed to let it do this… and that it would be over as soon as I had that baby… so I just needed to let go and let it happen. Again things got fuzzy. Around 4:30 my water broke. She checked me at around five and I was fully dilated and starting to involuntarily push. Sometime after that I reached down and felt the baby’s head starting to peek out. Then the discomfort of ‘crowning’ began. Shortly thereafter I felt the head come out the rest of the way and felt him start to move around. Then came shoulders, and a whole baby. The huge relief of the pushing stage ending was unbelievable. Almost euphoric.

At 6:30, I was holding my very own child. I was amazed that this tiny squealing thing had come from me, which is mine and I get to keep. The next few hours were a blur again as vitals were taken on both of us, Barry began the post-birth cleanup of the pool and contacted the agency we’d donated the placenta to, and I sat in my newly rearranged body trying to come out of the trance from birthing a nine-pound baby into the world. My main focus was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen, my little Elijah.

I’m not sharing this out of some need to gloat about having a natural home birth. I feel strongly that every woman should have the right to choose whether to have children, but where and how to have them without criticism or insult. I also don’t feel it’s a badge of honor of some sort…but it is the single most amazing, powerful, stunning, and life changing thing I’ve ever done, and I can look back on this moment ten or so years and say “Well, I might have been crazy while I was giving birth, but at least I got to be my own kind of crazy.” Maybe somewhere, somehow, it’ll help another woman in choosing her own kind of crazy.

L.

Dedication.

Saturday, 8 May 2010 was a pretty big day for us. Not only did we have our usual bi-weekly grocery scramble (more on that later) and epic battle against naps, we also had a Children's Dedication at church which we signed little E up for.

Along with our church family and about 100 kids, we took our little guy to be dedicated to the Lord. How amazing it was for us to be able to say before God that not only are we grateful for his grace and generosity in giving us this child, but that we will take responsibility for raising and loving this child in His image and in His ways. It's a challenge for us. We weren't really raised that way. We don't really have great examples in our own families of how to grow our son in God's love so we have to look outwardly. God has been a faithful provider though. He always provides just enough that we might learn joy but also know self-sufficiency. He has placed us with amazing people who do amazing things in His love. He has given us the tools, now we have to do the work.

L.