We are Blessed

With baby number two on the way, Tony and I have been keeping an eye out for a bigger space for a reasonable cost. Doing so is much harder than it sounds when you live in the Northern Virginia area. For our approximately 900 square feet we are paying more than half of my monthly earnings.

I really wanted a second bathroom and a third bedroom for our growing family. It would be great to have a space for Tony to study and even a playroom for Liam! However, I resigned myself to the impossibility of such luxury in this area at my current salary. I even admitted to myself that my prayers and hopes for a larger house were selfish. We could make do with what we have--which is a lot compared to many.

But, as has happened many, many times previously in my life, something came up!

We have a wonderful opportunity to house sit in exchange for an extremely reduced rent for the next two years. We are moving to a house! A big, beautiful house in a quiet, lovely neighborhood. It has three bedrooms, 2.5 baths, a den in the basement, and even a fenced in backyard! We will be paying approximately the same amount of rent for new place that is more than three times the size of our current apartment. Our family really is blessed, and I am recognizing that more and more lately!

It is so easy for me to get caught up in my daily tiny problems and frustrations:

• my house is messy
• my work clothes are kind of crap
• all my shoes are worn out
• we really should be eating more vegetables
• did we really use that much gas this week
• will I ever get the time to read a book again
• the laundry is never caught up (nor are the dishes for that matter)
• I would really love an extra hour of sleep
• do I have to cook tonight
• I have absolutely nothing to pack for lunch
• Liam has once again manged to get his goldfish spread all over the living room floor
• when will I ever be able to see a movie in the theater again

Just to name some off the top of my head. 

But honestly, these are the things that, in the long run, absolutely do NOT matter. I will make do with what I have, worn out shoes and hem half unstitched shirts and all! I have every important thing that I could possibly ever need. My life is rich and full, even though my bank account is far from it! 

It is kind of funny how the sudden arrival of a large blessing in my life makes me realize that things were really never that bad at all. Something always works out. Even if it wasn't an opportunity for a better living situation, things always work out in the end. Life really is good!

Christmas time is here

Since it is now officially December, I finally got down that copy of A Charlie Brown Christmas (a book version) that I had received for part of Liam's library. Although we whined through the entire book (he knew that he would be going to bed as soon as I was finished), I really enjoyed reading it.

Then, coincidence of all coincidences, I walked into the living room where I had been watching Jeopardy before I put Liam to bed and guess what is playing on ABC? That's right, A Charlie Brown Christmas. It was a great way to start off my Christmas season. I think on this Cyber Monday, fresh off all our scores from Black Friday (or is it Black Thursday now?), it is good to take the time to stop and remember what Christmas is really about. I am talking about Christmas. Not the Holidays or the Season, but CHRISTMAS. Christmas, as we are reminded by Ebenezer Scrooge, The Grinch, Linus Van Pelt, and most important the New Testament, is not about the presents, the trees, the boxes or bags or tags.

I am truly disgusted at things like this. And I definitely cannot support trends like this. I mean, are our children really happier or more loved because $271 was spent on their Christmas gifts? I bet not. In fact, from what little I have witnessed many children who come to expect a large quantity of gifts with high price tags do not really appreciate what the receive. Do we really want to be the Petunia and Vernon Dursley to our child's Dudley?

"Thirty-six. That's two less than last year"—Dudley[src]
Dudley celebrated his eleventh birthday on 23 June, 1991. His presents included a new computer, a second television, a remote control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games, a gold wristwatch, a video recorder, a cine-camera, a remote control crane,and a racing bicycle[2] (which Harry found odd, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise if it didn't include punching someone). When Dudley counted his presents, he was mortified that he had two fewer than his last birthday; he was slightly cheered up when his mother showed him the present from his Aunt Marge, but then he realised he still had one less present than last year. Before he could have a tantrum, Petunia promised that when the family went out, she would buy him two additional presents so he would have more than last year. Satisfied with this, Dudley did not throw a fit.

For Christians, Christmas is and should be centered on celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ. And I firmly believe that can be properly done without a single present, turkey, strand of lights or even a Christmas tree. Of course, I plan to have these things in my family's Christmas celebrations, but I never, ever want my children to lose sight of why we are celebrating.

So, if you want to know, yes I did do a little black Friday shopping. Tony and I spent approximately $200. We got presents for each other (a combination of things we wanted and things we needed): a Gameboy for Tony and a mattress pad, crock pot, and glass Pyrex containers for me, as well as a couple DVDs for both of us . We got Liam's presents: A puzzle toy, sorting shapes toy and Christmas PJs. This money also included a few odds and ends that we needed such as a memory card for our camera and two bottles of orange juice because I got thirsty while standing in line. We were in Wal-Mart for approximately three hours total. We went hours after we had finished our Thanksgiving meal with family. Afterwards we returned to my aunt's house and had a leftover dinner together and helped clean up before we went back to our cabin where we spent the rest of the evening with my parents. We also spent the better part of Saturday (and Sunday morning) with some of my favorite people.

Don't get me wrong, I am not one of those people that has this idea that I can teach my children the true meaning of Christmas by depriving them of everything remotely commercial associated with Christmas. My children will have (a reasonable amount of) presents, cookies, turkey, a tree, etc.

But we will also have Christmas carols, scripture reading, opportunities to serve others, time set aside to spend with family and other loved ones, church services and time to remember how blessed our lives really are. And those blessings extend way beyond how many games came along with our new X-Box One under the Christmas tree (just an example, we don't actually have nor are we getting an X-Box One).

"And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, 'Fear not: for behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.' And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.'"

That's what Christmas is all about Charlie Brown.

Welcome to the club

Becoming a parent is like being initiated into a secret club that has been all around you your whole life but you never took the time to notice. All the sudden you have something important in common with people who you barely know or have been out of touch with for years. And even those who are close to you become even closer when you have the common bond of parenting.

This post is not meant to be a glowing warm fuzzy review of the wonderful common bond of parenthood though. Even though it is pretty cool. This is more of a thank you to everyone who has helped me along the way so far. For everyone who felt compelled to help a new parent out because they know just how tough being a new parent can be. In these first almost 11 months of being a mom, Tony and I have received an outpouring of love and support from so many people. For this we are truly grateful. It has been such a blessing. The months leading up to and after Liam was born, I was newly out of grad school. Tony was in school. I did not have a real full time job yet. I was substitute teaching mostly full time and making a glorious $900/month. We were living with my parents.

Preparing for a baby costs some money. When we went to register for my baby shower, I really began to realize how much everything would cost. And this was just to get set up. I was quickly beginning to feel overwhelmed.

Then we had my baby shower. I felt much better afterwards. Liam had a wonderful start to his library, enough diapers to last for at least a month or so, at least enough clothes to get by with, a bath and we are still to this day barely beginning to make a dent in all the baby shampoo and lotion we received. Chances are we have enough to make it though at least another year (with both babies) before we need more.

My mother bought us a beautiful bedroom set that Liam could potentially use until he moves out of our house. Or we could pass down as we have new babies. With the new crib safety standards buying a used crib right now is hard and new ones are so expensive. The help was very appreciated.

My cousin, who is a mother of two little boys, gave me several giant diaper boxes full of clothing her sons had outgrown. We are still using clothing that she gave us, and because of her we have had to buy very little clothing for our son.

Tony's parents bought me a breast pump and Liam a crib mattress.

By this point I had realized that I am a lucky girl. Help always seemed to be there when we needed. Any time I have begun to worry about something that we needed or something that I really wanted for Liam, something has always worked out to get what we needed for an affordable price. Or for no price at all. Below (and above) are some of the many kind gestures Tony and I have been shown. I guess what I am trying to say is thank you to you all. Thank you if I did not include you here. Also, thank you to everyone who has given me good advice, words or encouragement or just been there to listen.

A wonderful woman from church took some baby pictures of Liam for free! I was so grateful for these beautiful pictures that I will always treasure. We could not afford a full, professional newborn session and I think she knew this when she made her kind offer. She even came to our house to take the pictures.

One of the beautiful baby pictures. Liam was about three weeks old.

My mother and best friend Jessica always bring something new, either to wear or play with (and sometimes both), when they come to visit.

A onsie from auntie Jessica.

My friend Michael took the family pictures I uploaded in a previous post for us right before we left Tennessee to move to DC.

Family picture fail. 

When I had to begin formula feeding we had recently moved to the DC area. It is expensive here. Our rent costs more than half of what I make each month. Add diapers, food, gas, insurance and bills on top of this, and formula seemed like another heavy burden. Tony has a friend from high school who is also in the DC area now. We had been spending some time with them. When she sound out we were formula feeding, she offered to give me all the formula she had in her house. She had received samples and cans as baby gifts that she never used since she exclusively breastfed her daughter. She happily gave us every single can she had been given. It was enough to last us for several months. She also sold us her bumpo seat with a tray for $20 (and I think she only took the money because we wouldn't take the seat for free) because our bumpo did not have a tray. It was also purple. We also could not afford a high chair yet.

Liam in his yellow bumpo enjoying one of his baby shower gifts.

Another wonderful girl from work has two children. Her youngest daughter is 4, and a lot of her baby items were still around the house. We eat lunch together most days and often talk about our children. I mentioned something about Liam not having a high chair one day, and she offered to sell me her daughter's old high chair. It is an awesome high chair and has made our life around here much easier. She would not even take the amount I tried to pay her for it and gave me part of the money back. The same girl has also offered to sell me her daughter's second (the non-girly one) convertable carseat when she outgrows it since her and Liam are both close to outgrowing their current carseats. Just yesterday, my friend sent me home with a bag of books her daughter had decided she was too old for.

The high chair I got for cheap! And Liam enjoying brownies.

This book was adorable:

Another friend from work, when he found out I was expecting another baby, connected me with one of his former bosses who was giving away her old double stroller. She, like many of the others mentioned above, would not take a dime for this stroller. I did some research, and the original asking price for a stroller similar to the one she gave me is somewhere between $350 - $600.

This model is similar to the one I was given. Ours has different fabric.

I am so thankful. I am so blessed. Thank you all for making parenthood a little easier for Tony and I. I hope I can return the favor some day!

Rachel and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Experience with Breastfeeding

Breastfeeding was very important to me. I knew before I even became pregnant that it was something that I wanted to do. The more I read, the more I knew that breastfeeding was definitely the way to go for me. My goal was at least a year before I even started weaning. Maybe we would go longer!

I read that breastfeeding was tough for the first little bit for pretty much every first time mom, but that it got infinitely easier. It would even become enjoyable! I even read stories of people who were sad when their baby self weaned.

What not a one of these books, articles or personal experiences prepared me for was that for some people in never gets easier. It never really did for me.

I started trying to breastfeed Liam within the first half hour of his life. He did great. He fed on the left side for about half and hour. Then I decided (since it was past 3 a.m. at this point) that I should probably let my family, who had patiently been sitting in the waiting room for 12 plus hours, see the baby. I later realized that this was my very first breastfeeding mistake. From day one, Liam never fed as well on the right side (the side I did not feed him on when he was first born) and every single breastfeeding problem I had occurred on the same side.

The first few days were exhausting (meaning they were just like they should be). There were no complications with breastfeeding at first. I knew it was normal for your milk to take a few days to come in and that it is usually uncomfortable at first. Pretty soon, unfortunately, we moved past the point of uncomfortable. For weeks, when Liam would first began feeding (on the right side) it hurt so badly that it was all I could do to keep myself from screaming out loud, and sometimes I couldn't do anything to stop myself from screaming. (So the bad experience with the resident during birth might have been the most pain I had felt in my life up to that point, but I would take that again over this pain any day.) Tears would spring into my eyes and tears would roll down my face. I dreaded this pain, but still compelled myself to go through it every 2-3 hours (and sometimes even closer together than this) because I knew that breastfeeding was the best thing for Liam. Not to mention the money it was saving our family--money we did not have at the time. I got scabbed, blistered and was bleeding on multiple occasions. I still persisted because I wanted to breastfeed AND it was going to get easier, right?

I had my first clogged duct when Liam was less than a month old. I started running a fever, a warm pink spot developed on my right breast and my entire body ached. I called the doctor, just to check that the fever was nothing to be concerned about. It wasn't. So I took an ibuprofen and kept on breastfeeding. It went away within a day or two and I felt much better.

At this point (around the one month mark) breastfeeding was still difficult. In the evenings Liam would sometimes want to eat every 45 minutes for four or five hours. Then every 2-4 hours all night. This isn't so bad and actually pretty typical. Except for he would want to eat for 45 minutes to an hour during the night feedings. It seemed like by the time he was done eating and I laid down and relaxed, he was ready to eat again. Also, pretty normal. The pain had somewhat subsided at this point. It was more of a wince at this point--no more tears!

Then I had to go back to work when Liam was a few days shy of 3 months old. This is the time when things are supposed to get routine, feedings space out and it's smooth sailing from there. No such luck. I found it very hard to even make time to pump at work since I was a new employee still in training. I also did not feel like my breast pump was really doing its job all too well. The first few weeks went ok. I was uncomfortable and exhausted, but I was pumping enough to meet Liam's demand.

Then things got terrible. Work was so busy I was lucky to pump two (and on rare occasions three) times while working. First I got engorged. Then I developed a plugged duct. I kept pumping and breastfeeding as much as possible. Then Liam started mostly refusing the right breast.

I tried every trick I could find on the internet: cold compresses, warm compresses, massage, warm showers, dangle feeding (which is incredibly weird in my opinion), always starting on the right side, pumping after feeding, pumping before feeding. Nothing worked and by this point I felt incredibly sick most of the time and had even thrown up a few times. I finally went to the clinic at work and was proscribed an antibiotic. It made me feel a little better . . . for about two days. Then I started feeling even worse. I went to a walk-in clinic where a physician's assistant told me it was "probably just clogged ducts". She then went and printed some stuff off the internet and sent me home with a stack of papers and a new prescription. I glanced at the paper and recognized each site she had pulled the info from. I had already read and tried everything contained in the papers she gave me. It was very frustrating trying to explain that something more than just a clogged duct was going on because it would not go away. At this point it had been several weeks. I took the antibiotics and hoped maybe it would work. It didn't.

Liam was completely refusing the right breast at this point and when I tried to pump I was extremely lucky if I could get an ounce. And I felt absolutely terrible. Tony was so wonderful during this time. I would come home feeling so sick and so tired that it felt impossible to do anything. It was all the strength I could muster to continue breastfeeding Liam and pumping. By this point we were having to supplement with formula since I was basically only producing milk on one side. Tony took care of Liam by giving him his baths, changing his diapers, feeding him his formula and putting him to bed at night. Plus he was taking care of me too! He would cook us dinner, help pack my lunch (or just pack it for me), drive me to work some mornings and keep the house clean and my laundry done. I don't think he really knows how appreciative I was of all his help during this time.

My parents were coming up one weekend, and I came home so miserable that Friday that Tony said it was time to go to the doctor again. I called our insurance's advice nurse and when I told her my symptoms and how long it had been going on, she immediately sent me the the emergency care facility. From the emergency care facility they sent me to the hospital's emergency room to get an ultrasound since their department had just closed. As soon as the ultrasound was taken they hooked me up to an IV, gave me some fluids and pain medication, called a surgeon and prepared to admit me for surgery that very night. The simple "clogged duct" I had been diagnosed with was either at the time or very soon there after developed into severe mastitis and then into a massive abscess. Tony and I decided, while I was laying in the ER, that it was time to call it quits with breastfeeding. Liam was about six months old. I was disappointed. I felt like crying. I was so disappointed in my body and so frustrated that all the pain and sickness that I had been through had led us here. I kept thinking it would eventually get easier and that I would grow to love breastfeeding, I never really got that chance.

So from leaving the house til lying in the OR probably took about 5 hours. It was a blessing my parents were coming up this weekend. They were able to watch Liam so Tony could stay at the hospital with me. Tony only left me for about an hour (maybe less) to meet my parents at our apartment and leave Liam with them.

The doctor told me the next day after surgery that basically my entire right breast (anything that wan't tissue) was infected. He originally planned to make one small incision to drain the infection, but turns out it took two to make sure he got all of it. He told me that when they do these surgeries they always leave the wounds open, pack them with gauze and let them heal from the inside out. The original dressing would work for a few days, then I would have to visit his nurse at his office every day for a week to remove the old gauze and repack the wound with new gauze. I took approximately three percosets over the weekend and one before the first day I had my gauze changed. So I was in some pain, but not too much. Except for that first gauze change. That definitely hurt . . . a lot. Even though I experience some pain, I did not feel sick at all starting from the moment I woke up from surgery.

It really is such a miracle when you have been sick for a long time (at least two months for me) to finally feel normal. And realize how wonderful normal feels. I could take care of Liam again. I enjoyed and looked forward to coming home from work and cooking and playing with my baby.

I later realized that for quite some time when I was so sick and weak, I was not being a good mother to Liam. I was definitely not being the mother he deserved. In the end, giving up breastfeeding was probably the best thing I could have done for both of us. I was too scared to subject my body to the possibility of another bout of mastitis or an abscess to continue breastfeeding after the surgery. Liam had his healthy mother back that could give him the time and attention he needed. It really was a win, win. We were both happy and healthy.

I am still disappointed that breastfeeding did not work out for me. I know there are some breastfeeding advocates out there who would say I should have kept trying. I have even read stories online about people who kept breastfeeding even after similar surgeries and I commend them for their commitment. This is even what the information I read from La Leche League (an organization I respect very much) seemed to suggest. And there are others who would probably say I was crazy to keep trying as long as I did. In the end, I absolutely 100% know that I made the right choice to stop. Here is a collection of some other stories (on a comment board) if you are interested.

Breastfeeding is very important to me and I realize how beneficial it is to baby and to myself and to our family's budget. I have every intention to breastfeed baby number two, and I have high hopes that things will be much better this time.

However, I absolutely cannot agree that continuing to breastfeed is more important than the combination of the many other aspects of motherhood that I was unable to perform because of the sickness. Liam deserved a mom more than a milk machine, and I have absolutely no regrets about my decision.

And for sticking it out for this long you get a treat. Family pictures from forever ago:

This is not a family photo. This is from Easter.

 This is after Tony blew a dandy lion in my face.

In which Christopher Robin and Pooh come to an enchanted place...

When I went to London way back in 2009, for some reason it was very import for me to find a good, illustrated version of Winnie the Pooh while I was there. The man at Covent Gardens tried to pretend he was giving me a steal at 15 pounds, even though we both knew he was not. I tried my very best to haggle him down, and I did  a little since he originally wanted 25. However, I think he saw in my eyes or heard in my voice how much I wanted that book, and he wasn't going to let me get away too cheap. I suppose we both came away happy that day though. I got my book and he made some cash. I took that book home with me and left it at my parents house. I didn't read it, despite how desperately I had wanted it while in London. It collected dust almost four years before we  assembled Liam's book shelf prior to his birth. I found that copy of Winnie the Pooh, and I suppose I knew all along why I wanted that book so badly. I dusted it off and added it to his large collection of children's books we had amassed at my baby shower.

(The book isn't actually in this picture. It took me awhile to actually find it.)

Boy does that A. A. Milne know how to write a bittersweet ending. I feel like the end of that book was written more for the parents reading it than the children listening. None of the residents of the Hundred Acre Wood know why or even how they know Christopher Robin is going, but they all know. C. R. comes to tell all his friends (toys) goodbye. He saves the most important for last. He and Pooh go for a walk to an enchanted place. All the while C.R. is going on about all the things he has learned so far in school: Factors, Knights, Brazil, suction pumps, Europe, Kings and Queens. Of course, all of this was lost on the "Bear of Very Little Brain."

C.R. then ask with Pooh not to forget him "when I'm not doing Nothing." Pooh promises to never forget about C.R. Even when C.R. is 100 and Pooh is 99. 

"So off they went together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest a little boy and his Bear will always be playing."

(This is my version, minus the box. I didn't get a box, and now I feel a little ripped off.)

You should probably just read the book. My description does it little justice. The original version is SO much better than the Disney recreations. I don't think I ever quite realized how wonderful Winnie the Pooh was when I was growing up, even though I grew up with him since my large birth weight inspired the nickname Pooh soon after I was born. I watched the T.V. shows, had the stuffed animals, and of course the print screen shirts. I highly recommend exposing your children (or at least yourself) to the original books. The animations are more endearing, the characters are more interesting, and the adventures are more exciting (and I think this is because of how much joy they get out of the ordinariness of it all). It is a good reminder of how exciting and scary childhood can be, and how much of our wonder and imagination we have really lost. Here is a really good short article about the book, and the last chapter specifically, that says it a lot better than me I think. Definitely read it! I saw this on Facebook the other day, and although I have never seen the Russian version I think this is probably true. It is true because the Russian versions seem to actually follow the books.

So . . . we have been slowly chipping away at this book until a few nights ago when we finally reached the end. It took us 10 months to do it and that last chapter hit me like a ton of bricks. The enormity of just how much my little dude has changed in just these short 10 months really struck me. He is growing up right before my eyes, and fast. We have already left the beginning phases of his life, and obviously those times do not come back. He has gone from a helpless cuddly newborn to an independence-seeking baby who will seldom hold still quite long enough to get a proper cuddle--no matter how much I want one.

These days he mostly refuses to eat anything unless he can feed himself, with the exception of at restaurants when he will let you give him a few bites off your plate. He tells me wonderful stories that sometimes I feel like I almost understand. Pretty soon I am sure all those sounds will turn into real words. He has been walking around the furniture for months, so I know he will take his first steps very soon. He puts himself to sleep in his own bed (usually in less than 5 minutes) and most times will then sleep through the entire night. I cannot even recall the last time changing a diaper didn't resemble a wrestling match. He is comfortable being out of our sight. He bravely ventures down the hallway (with the doors closed of course) by himself even when the lights are off. He has 6 teeth, and I have resigned myself to the fact that he will never eat those last few packets of Happy Baby food we got for him. With a small twinge of my heart, I perform my almost weekly ritual of adding yet another piece of his clothing he has outgrown to the giant tub that is now filled to the brim. Every kitchen cabinet is baby proofed as are all the electric sockets. His first birthday is just around the corner, so is his first haircut and come May 2014 he will be a big brother.

My little dude is growing up, and I feel like every time I blink something has changed. It is truly amazing how much a baby changes in their first year. Even more amazing is how imperceptible those changes are to me. Only when I look back at the pictures can I really appreciate how immense those seemingly subtle changes have been. 

Some of the best things about the age he is at right now:

• He recognizes me, usually with a giant toothy grin.
• He reaches for me when he wants up or out of his car seat.
• He smiles at almost every stranger who takes the time to smile at him.
• If I am out of Liam's sight when Tony leaves for school, he will crawl towards the door as fast as he can and cry when he realizes Tony is not coming back. He feels instantly better when I go get him.
• He pulls every plug he can get his hands out of its socket, and then kindly tries and fails to put them all back.
• He will try any kind of food we will give him. 

I catch myself sometimes saying, "I can't wait until Liam...". But you know what? I can wait. While I could not slow time down even if I wanted (and I don't), I definitely do not want to speed it up. I want to take it all as it comes. While every stage of parenthood comes with its own unique challenges, I also know they all come with wonderful, priceless experiences. I am enjoying where we are right this very minute. I loved yesterday, and I am sure tomorrow will be great too!

A Birth Story

**Note there are a few negative experiences included in my birth story. I chose not the leave them out and not to sugar coat them because they shaped my birth experience and I still to this day have a bad taste in my mouth when I recall them.   I have learned from them and hopefully someone else can too! However, that being said, what is really important is that in the end I had a beautiful, perfect baby. I was healthy. He was healthy. Everything else is just a side note really.**

It sounds like a total cliche, but it really is true that in a lot of ways a birth plan goes out the window when you go into labor. I had actually written one up. I didn't even take it to the hospital.

I woke up around 2:30 a.m. on December 31st with back pains that quickly turned into contractions that were already every 5-7 minutes apart. They were far from painful so for the first 45 minutes or so I sat on my yoga ball at the edge of the bed and rested my head on the bed hoping it would stop soon and I could get some more sleep. After all I was still 9 days away from my due date, and from what I had read (which was a lot) chances are I would be late with my first baby. I finally realized that the contractions were only getting more regular and stronger and this was probably the real thing.

For some reason it was really important to me to not wake anyone up at 3:30 in the morning. So I quietly gathered up my yoga ball and a blanket and headed to the living room. I put on a movie and alternated between the yoga ball and the arm chair. I put This Means War (an incredibly silly movie) on onDemand and proceeded to watch the clock and ride out the contractions that became a little stronger and closer together as I sat there. Finally I heard the rustlings from the back of the house that meant that someone else was finally waking up a little after 7. I was still feeling pretty good, but as soon as my mom and Tony heard contractions they KNEW it was go time.

I convinced them to wait a while, and we finally headed to the hospital around 8...a little before I think. Of course they sent me back home, as I figured they would. Turns out it was an amazing blessing they sent me home because, although I did not know the full extent of it at the time, it was going to be a VERY long day, and that   Chick-fil-A I picked up on the way home was a life saver. I ate my food in the bathtub when I got home and actually felt pretty great! Contractions are really much easier in the water. I was starting to feel a lot better and it was getting close to lunch time when I laid down to try and get a short nap. I had just gotten comfy and right on the very edge of sleep when the most painful contraction yet hit me like a shock wave and my water broke. I started crying after this. It honestly had nothing to do with the pain and I wasn't scared. I was mad and frustrated that my hopes for a nap were now dashed because, as I had read (in my aforementioned previous lot of reading) that when your water breaks you go to the hospital. If you had been doing the math you would see that I had already been in labor for about 9 hours so I was already exhausted and the nap would have been a much welcome relief. Oh well, trip number two to the hospital!

Contractions, the full fledged kind I was now having, are NOT fun in a car. We finally arrived at the hospital only to learn that I had not really dilated much more since they sent me home at 3 cms. earlier. However, since my water had in fact broken they went ahead and admitted me. I was very committed to a natural labor so it was extremely frustrating to me to be forcibly attached to IVs and constant fetal monitoring. I felt trapped. I could not move without the monitors losing baby's heartbeat, and honestly I just wanted to rip the things off and throw them at someone by the time it was all over. I had read over and over that most hospitals were not conducive to natural labor, but I thought with determination on my part that I could do it anyways. And I came pretty darn close.

Then the 15 hour mark hit.

The nurses at this point basically would not take no for an answer when I told them I did not want the pitocin. I said no. I was on the verge of tears telling them I did not want it, but they just kept insisting. They knew I did not want it. They had to have seen the concern in my eyes and heard it in my voice as I tried to tell them no without being rude. When I finally acquiesced, I was literally in tears because I knew that the pitocin would likely lead to more unwanted interventions (which it did). I was in so much pain at this point, that I could not get the rest I needed in between contractions with the constant pestering. I knew it was getting close to the point that if I did not accept the interventions, they would start saying the dreaded "C" word. As much as I did want a natural birth, I did NOT want an unnecessary C-section even more. So I agreed to a light dosage of pitocin.

The pitocin kicked in full swing and I was really feeling the contractions now. Waves of pain every few  minutes. My hips felt like they were breaking. I was doing it though. I could handle it. Then they checked me again.  I was still only about 6 centimeters. Then they began ramping up the pit every time a nurse came in the room. They didn't ask. I don't think they even told me they were doing it. They just walked in and clicked it up a few more levels every time. I do not remember what all the numbers mean, but I know they started with what they referred to as a "whisper" of pit, then they slowly ramped it up to where at this point it must have been a 10 or 12...whatever those numbers mean.

Then the resident came in. I do not remember her name. Honestly, if I ever saw her again I would more than likely not even recognize her. I probably couldn't even pick her out of a lineup. Despite the lack of these details, I have been trying to forgive her for the past 10 months, and I am still not quite sure if I am there yet.

I was in serious pain at this point, and I was SO SICK of not being able to even move without those stupid monitors losing the heartbeat. I finally agreed to get the internal fetal monitor--a decision that I regret and was really in no condition to make at the time. They asked the first doctor that came round to put in the monitor. She was it. She came in right at the top of the now really painful contractions. She asked how I was handling the pain. However, she did not ask me. She asked the nurse. By the time she was ready to actually check me I was starting another contraction. I begged (and am even pretty sure I screamed at her) not to lay my bed back during the contractions because laying down flat made them hurt 100 times worse. She ignored me, laid my bed back despite my begging protests, and checked to discover that I still had not progressed much. She made an off hand comment that my water was still not completely broken (I'll get back to that later), and then proceeded to put in the internal monitor. She then remarked (to the nurse, not to me of course) that I obviously wasn't handling the pain well. After this terrible experience of at least two painful contractions flat on my back, I asked for some pain medicine. I just wanted a little something to take the edge off for a bit. Demerol of maybe stadol. Then she did what I am still trying to get over.

She finally acknowledged me. She looked me straight in the eye and told me, in a voice that I usually reserve for children  that are badly misbehaving, that it wasn't going to get any easier and if I couldn't handle that then I just needed to get the epidural already because I wouldn't be able to do it. At this point I had probably been in labor for at least a good 18-20 hours. I was tired, exhausted, frustrated. And this woman thought she had the right to tell me I was not good enough. I could not handle it. She literally broke me with that statement. She said the most cruel words she could have possibly said to me after she inflicted the most pain I have experienced in my life upon me despite me begging her to just wait until the contraction was over.

The reasons thi really makes me upset is because this was MY birth. It was not hers. She was NOT my doctor. Incidentally, my actual doctor was out of the country at the time. I realize that she probably goes through the birthing process so many times with so many people in the week she can't even count how many she had seen anymore. And yes, I realize that the vast majority of those are medicated births with epidurals. That is what she is used to. That is what she is comfortable with. My birth was just another birth to her. My pain and my experience did not matter to her. I was not unique nor was my experience special in any way. And that makes me furious. A birth should NEVER, EVER be just another birth. This was supposed to be about me and my baby and what I wanted for us. And the part that really gets me going is, why did it even matter to her? She was not my doctor and I never even saw her again after this. She was in the room for approximately 10 minutes and in those 10 minutes she basically caused me to throw my entire 9 months of preparation for a natural birth out the window.

 Yes, I know there are many who will read this and say that the real responsibility here rests on me. I made the decision. It was always in my control. To which I say, yes you are absolutely right. It was my choice, and I do certainly deserve some of the blame for my decisions. However, that does not excuse treating a woman during a vulnerable stage of labor with no respect and no kindness.  Looking back I am pretty sure I was in transition at this point. It is hard to think straight during so much pain and exhaustion and I now know that you absolutely need and only need encouraging words from both your loved ones and your health care professionals while you are going through labor--especially transition. It is very easy to doubt your own ability and it makes it that much easier to doubt when a doctor doesn't says you are not capable. I never saw her again. She was not there for any of the rest of the labor or the birth. But her unfeeling attitude towards me and her unkind bedside manners were there with me for the rest of my birth. They were reflected in the decision I made because of her. It forever altered the birth that I wanted and ultimately did not get.

She was there when I finally broke down and said just give me the epidural. Her words were still in my head when after I got my epidural my blood pressure suddenly dropped and I started uncontrollably shaking for at least half an hour. She was still there in my head when I realized that the epidural had numbed the entire left side of my body, from head to toe. Apparently even my eye and mouth were drooping on the left side. She was there when I also realized that I could still feel everything perfectly in the right. I was told to lay on my right side and it would even out, but it never did. That was my compromise I guess. Maybe you could even call it a silver lining? She got her epidural on one side and I got my natural labor on the other. She was still there in my head when some time later the doctor on call (who was amazing by the way!) came in and I briefly mentioned the off hand comment she had made about my water not being completely broken. Rather than shrug it off as she had, he almost immediately checked and saw that there was a part of my water that had in fact remained intact. He broke the remaining sac of water (long after the initial discovery by the other doctor) and within the hour I was ready to push. I do not know if this is based in fact, but I believe if she had broke my water when she had been there hours earlier (or even thought to suggest it to someone who would have done it), I would have already had Liam at that point.

Pushing was hard and noisy but honestly I kind of liked it. I felt that I could finally actually DO something rather than just sit and wait. It was good being able to at least feel everything in my right side. While I am sure it was painful, I just remember feeling the wave of pressure and knowing that I could push as much as I could from right when the wave started until it completely stopped. The longer the wave (which was probably more akin to my right hip being dislocated from the inside out now that I think about it) the more I could push and the quicker baby would be here. That was a good thing in my book right then!

I believe I may have reenacted some scene from a TV sitcom birth at the one point where I remember very clearly screaming, "GET IT OUT!" at my doctor. (Is this from something? I feel like it might be, but I do not know what.) And in testament to his impeccable bedside manners my doctor had the kindness to tell me after it was all over that I was probably only at about 40% volume compared to his loudest mother, and that I did a good job.

Baby was born at 1:58 a.m. on 1 January 2013. 7lbs 2 ozs and 20 1/2 inches. He was perfect. Ok maybe he was a little cone headed, but close enough!

Just one more bad experience then I promise I'm all done. Really, I promise!

After Liam was born the doctor said I had barely torn at all. I probably only needed a stitch or two. I was very happy about that! Then all the sudden his face went red and all the nurses looked concerned and there was an immediate flurry. I tried to see what was going on in the reflection of his eye glasses (I have a tendency to do this with doctors for some reason) and I saw a whole lot of blood. Tony was getting very pale. There was so much poking and shaking going on that I went ahead and let them take Liam over for his clean up and weight and whatever else they do over there. I was then given two shots in my legs and they kept pushing and squeezing on my stomach while the doctor kept inserting clean which gauze and pulling them out of me soaked and dripping in bright red blood. By this point I think Tony was about ready to fall over so I told him to go be with baby. I felt fine and I didn't want someone to have to pick him up out of the floor or anything. He wouldn't leave me. Later he admitted to me that there was so much blood he was genuinely concerned I was going to die. I never felt faint and therefore luckily remained very calm during all of this. I was actually just feeling guilty that no one was over there with baby while the nurses were checking him out. Turns out I had a cervical tear (which that is surprisingly little information about online) which while uncommon is one of the leading causes of hemorrhage after birth. At least that's what I gather from the bit of research I was able to do. So that one or two stitches I thought I would get turned into a lot more. I still do not even know how many I got because they were all internal, but the doctor was definitely stitching for quite some time. They said I lost as much blood as a C-section. I passed out the first time I tried to stand up the next day--thank goodness I had a nurse on one arm and Tony on the other or I would have hit that floor hard. I bled after for much longer than is usual and I was still sore if I stood up too long even three months later. I later read that this could have possibly been a side effect of the pit. (This I do believe had nothing to do with my decision to get the epidural and therefore nothing to do with the resident who cannot be named.)

But baby was here. In the end I suppose it really is true that the how does not matter all that much. He was here. We were a family and I was so happy to meet him! I had put his car seat in the car a few weeks before this and every time we went somewhere together, I would turn and look at the empty car seat. I would then announce to Tony, "Baby Liam will be back there pretty soon." I think he got sick of hearing it, but seeing that empty car seat for some reason made me so excited for him to come and it was wonderful to put his tiny little body in it for the first time and drive him home to the room we had been preparing for him for months. He has been the greatest blessing and the most daunting challenge I have ever been given. My life has been truly blessed by his presence. It may have took me 10 months to get this all finally down, but I have actually been working on this post since he was about a month or two old. For some reason tonight seemed like the right time to finally sit down and finish it. Perhaps that had something to do with us finally wrapping up the last chapter in the second (and last) Winnie the Pooh book tonight. It kind of broke my heart a little. More about that soon!

So my take away from all this, besides this beautiful baby of course:

• be very clear with your health care provider up front about what you want
• discuss what you want with your partner so they can be your advocate when you are unable to advocate for yourself (Tony was great at this!)
• Have a third support person to do the tough stuff for you (Thank you Jessica!!!)
• Hire a doula (that is just my personal take away that I am planning for baby number two)
• Wait it out at home as long as possible
• DO NOT be afraid to make demands in a respectful way. I should have done this!
• I was very happy I made the decision to only have myself and my husband in the room during the labor. I still stick by that today and plan to keep it that way.

A couple of other fun notes that did not fit in my story because I honestly cannot recollect a clear time line of how it all worked out:

• The IV was no fun because it made me have to pee a lot. A lot as in often and in large quantities. 
• A high school friend was my triage nurse which was both mildly awkward as she had to check my cervix, but also very comforting to see a friendly face. Thank you Laura!
• I watched both The Help and Mission Impossible 2 during labor which was a great distraction. However, I did not listen to any music oddly enough.
• The Popsicles were great. The slushie was gross!
• Liam was the first baby born in UT hospital on Jan 1 so he came with a free gift basket! See the above picture!
• That first sandwich after Liam was born was literally the BEST thing I have ever eaten. It had been a LONG time since that Chick-fil-A.

Updates

So it's been nine-ish months since I've posted anything. Life has taken some crazy turns since then as most people reading this will already know. However, I feel compelled to organize my thoughts about events anyways. So since I last posted in April my small little family has:

1. Moved to Tennessee . . . namely speaking in with my parents instead of Nashville as originally planned.
2. Started school (for Tony) and became a mostly full time substitute teacher and revisited my swim lesson instructor days (for me)
3. Went to a ridiculous amount of festivals including the fall, muscadine grape, and pumpkin.
4. Oh, and  increased by one! Yes, we had a baby. Way to bury the lead, huh?
5. Decided we are moving to Virginia for a job sometime in the next several months. 

Life seems very surreal right now. It feels like we are on the edge of an exciting adventure that is just about to begin. We just had a baby, and we are just about to move and start our new lives in a new place as a relatively new little family. Right now life is mostly a waiting game with one obvious BIG bonus. I get to spend my time waiting for the new adventure to begin while having one of THE biggest adventures--becoming a new parent. So far the journey has been wonderful, hectic, exhausting, frustrating  and, even though it's only been three weeks, the most rewarding experience I've ever had! 

Now that I'm a temporary stay at home parent, I plan on blogging more often (cross those fingers for me please). I want to record these fleeting, precious moments I'm experiencing not just for others but for myself as well. Baby is growing and changing every day, and I want to look back someday and recall at least of a few of those moments.  Time obviously isn't going to wait for me so I need to get to writing, photographing, and posting! Here goes!!!

After the muscadine festival where I mostly got to live my dream of stomping grapes

Me, at 38 weeks

Right after we forgot about New Year's because I way busy being in labor

Baby Liam is here!

Almost 3 weeks old photo