A friend of mine posted this link on facebook this morning, and it truly is worth the read.
From Small Bird Studio's; When You Lose A Baby
Memory tree
Holding the blossom on our Memory tree, a Pink Dogwood, to always remember the tiny life we lost.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Friday, April 20, 2012
In The Arms Of My Children
Children are such an amazing gift. As a parent we are told we are to be there for our children, to help them walk, talk, ride a bike and make friends. To hug away each broken heart and tenderly kiss every boo-boo.
Children love in the only way they know how, unconditionally. They love me at my best, they love me at my worst. Papa built it in to them. They love like He loves. They forgive and forget with such ease and grace that I am often humbled at seeing Papa's grace in them.
One morning, just a day or so after I found out #3 was coming, I woke up one morning to wet sloppy kisses and snuggles from my girl. I had been struggling with how we would make it with another baby. How *I* would handle being a mom of 3, because at times I can't handle 2. I looked into the eyes of my child and saw a love like Papa's. Tears welled up in my eyes at the realization that children truly are a gift. I was going to get to have and hold another precious life that would love me like that. To wake up to kisses, and have 3 sets of waving hands yelling "Hi Mom!" with each turn of the carousel. I forgot the cares and fears the baby would bring and realized how truly blessed I am by my children. I fell madly in love with the tiny life within the safety of my womb.
Yesterday, just the 3rd day after saying goodbye to the baby we lost, my son did not want to go to school. He said he just needed to be here with me. How could I possibly argue with that? All day long he did sweet things for me. He helped me pick up the house, drew me a picture of our family, 5 of us, so I didn't have to miss the baby anymore. I am falling in love with my son all over again. He is so precious, and loves and cares so deeply. We've had our share of struggles with each other over the last few years, and I began to lose sight of how wonderful he is, and what a gift I've been given. To think that I, unfit as I feel I am, have been chosen to love and teach this precious boy......
Yesterday my children ministered to me. They have not been "trained" in ministry. They have not been told how to love. They simply do it. They come to me with extra hugs and kisses. Bring me a glass of water unlooked for. Draw me pictures to make me feel better, and honor the picture I drew in return. They love with everything they are, because that is the only love they know.
Right now, in this moment I understand my calling as a parent deeper than I ever have before. What Papa has called me to do, is to learn to love as He does, and see that my children never learn to love any differently than they do right now. With the true, unconditional love of the Father.
I am truly, deeply blessed.
Children love in the only way they know how, unconditionally. They love me at my best, they love me at my worst. Papa built it in to them. They love like He loves. They forgive and forget with such ease and grace that I am often humbled at seeing Papa's grace in them.
One morning, just a day or so after I found out #3 was coming, I woke up one morning to wet sloppy kisses and snuggles from my girl. I had been struggling with how we would make it with another baby. How *I* would handle being a mom of 3, because at times I can't handle 2. I looked into the eyes of my child and saw a love like Papa's. Tears welled up in my eyes at the realization that children truly are a gift. I was going to get to have and hold another precious life that would love me like that. To wake up to kisses, and have 3 sets of waving hands yelling "Hi Mom!" with each turn of the carousel. I forgot the cares and fears the baby would bring and realized how truly blessed I am by my children. I fell madly in love with the tiny life within the safety of my womb.
Yesterday, just the 3rd day after saying goodbye to the baby we lost, my son did not want to go to school. He said he just needed to be here with me. How could I possibly argue with that? All day long he did sweet things for me. He helped me pick up the house, drew me a picture of our family, 5 of us, so I didn't have to miss the baby anymore. I am falling in love with my son all over again. He is so precious, and loves and cares so deeply. We've had our share of struggles with each other over the last few years, and I began to lose sight of how wonderful he is, and what a gift I've been given. To think that I, unfit as I feel I am, have been chosen to love and teach this precious boy......
Yesterday my children ministered to me. They have not been "trained" in ministry. They have not been told how to love. They simply do it. They come to me with extra hugs and kisses. Bring me a glass of water unlooked for. Draw me pictures to make me feel better, and honor the picture I drew in return. They love with everything they are, because that is the only love they know.
Right now, in this moment I understand my calling as a parent deeper than I ever have before. What Papa has called me to do, is to learn to love as He does, and see that my children never learn to love any differently than they do right now. With the true, unconditional love of the Father.
I am truly, deeply blessed.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Planting our Memory Tree
I don't have much to say today. We planted a Pink Dogwood to remember the babe we've lost.
Pictures are worth a thousand words.
After we planted our baby tree, we ate the last half of the pumpkin pie.
Pictures are worth a thousand words.
After we planted our baby tree, we ate the last half of the pumpkin pie.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Pumpkin Pie For Breakfast
Please note, this post is about going through a miscarriage, both mentally and physically.
I've always adored the idea of having a true birthday cake after the birth of a baby. The idea of loved ones baking and frosting a cake while mom labors is just warming to the very core of my soul. Birth is, afterall, something to be celebrated.
Should we celebrate loss?
Yesterday, as we went to the general store in the town 10 minutes from us to get some half and half for my husbands coffee, I ran across canned pumpkin. It looked so good. I had some pie crust in the freezer, and we decided to bake a pumpkin pie for dessert.
Just as dinner was ready, nature had taken its course and I was still in the bathtub grieving and saying good-bye. I immediately felt much better, the cramps stopped almost instantly. I even went outside to play with the kids and the puppy. We came in, and I worked the crust for the pie. My husband already had the filling made and ready to pour in. The house began to fill with the smell of pumpkin pie.
After the kids were asleep in their beds, we each had a piece. It was not exactly like a "birthday" cake, or a celebration. But it felt like celebrating the short life of the little one gone to be with Papa. I think the pumpkin pie felt so right because this little one would have been born within a week of Thanksgiving. Even if that was not a conscious thought at the time.
This morning, when the kids were up and hungry we had pumpkin pie for breakfast. Is it specifically because of the loss that we ate pie for breakfast today? Perhaps. It is comforting in a way I can't perfectly articulate. This tiny life touched us so deeply. To celebrate that life, and how we are growing as a family through this is..... worthy of something out of the ordinary. Like eating a fall dessert, for breakfast, in the first bloom of Spring.
I've always adored the idea of having a true birthday cake after the birth of a baby. The idea of loved ones baking and frosting a cake while mom labors is just warming to the very core of my soul. Birth is, afterall, something to be celebrated.
Should we celebrate loss?
Yesterday, as we went to the general store in the town 10 minutes from us to get some half and half for my husbands coffee, I ran across canned pumpkin. It looked so good. I had some pie crust in the freezer, and we decided to bake a pumpkin pie for dessert.
Just as dinner was ready, nature had taken its course and I was still in the bathtub grieving and saying good-bye. I immediately felt much better, the cramps stopped almost instantly. I even went outside to play with the kids and the puppy. We came in, and I worked the crust for the pie. My husband already had the filling made and ready to pour in. The house began to fill with the smell of pumpkin pie.
After the kids were asleep in their beds, we each had a piece. It was not exactly like a "birthday" cake, or a celebration. But it felt like celebrating the short life of the little one gone to be with Papa. I think the pumpkin pie felt so right because this little one would have been born within a week of Thanksgiving. Even if that was not a conscious thought at the time.
This morning, when the kids were up and hungry we had pumpkin pie for breakfast. Is it specifically because of the loss that we ate pie for breakfast today? Perhaps. It is comforting in a way I can't perfectly articulate. This tiny life touched us so deeply. To celebrate that life, and how we are growing as a family through this is..... worthy of something out of the ordinary. Like eating a fall dessert, for breakfast, in the first bloom of Spring.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Birth rights of passage.
Please note, this post mentions the loss of pregnancy.
We've all been told, becoming a mother is a "right of passage." When you give birth, you've joined countless other women that have gone before you. You feel you've joined an elite club, and graduated into being a mother.
While you're pregnant, nearly every woman you see that is, or has been pregnant wants to ask you about your swelling form, touch the precious life growing inside you, and tell you of their own experiences. It is a way they re-connect with becoming a mother for the first time, and remember what it felt like to have a child within the protective boundaries of her womb. To see your pregnant belly, to remember her own experiences connects her with you in a unique and astonishing way. Something as a pregnant woman, you don't quite understand, and in fact tend to get annoyed with. But after you've given birth, you understand deeply, and may even look back fondly on the times you were asked about your precious babe, still safely nestled in your womb.
Giving birth and becoming a mother is far from the only "birth right of passage" moms go through. As you may have read in My Son's Birth Story I went through something few women do. I became a mother without experiencing birth. A c-section birth is difficult to overcome in the best of circumstances, but as I was put under a general anesthetic, I don't even remember it. I remember being wheeled to surgery covered with a sheet as if dead to keep me from having a stroke, having a mask put over my face and 100...99...98....and then I woke up. I was no longer pregnant. My baby was taken from me. "Is it over? Is the baby alright?" Later I discovered that since my condition was so fragile, coupled with the general anesthetic, my husband was only allowed to stand in the door way and couldn't answer my question as to wether or not our precious child cried when meeting the world. I felt completely robbed of my right of passage into motherhood. For years afterward, I could not say "when I had my son" or "when I gave birth" all I could say was "when they took him."
Altho I did not "give birth" in the normal way, I did give birth. I gave birth to my son via C-section. I did not however, join the ranks of the countless number of women that went before me. Instead I joined the ranks of a far smaller group. A unique bond of those that gave birth, but did not "give birth" Through the years, mostly in online forums, I've "met" others that gave birth as I did. A handful of women, that were not awake to see or hear their childs first cry. I joined the ranks of those with premature infants. A far larger group than I ever imagined. A special bond develops between mothers of preemies, with those who have gone before and those who come after. Instead of birth stories, you share NICU stories, fears, how hard pumping was and how to establish breastfeeding. A different birth right. I AM a mother, even tho I do not remember my childs birth.
In my daughters birth, I carried her to full term, and remained healthy even tho at times the back pain made me drag my foot when walking. I went through 32 hours of back labor, and close to 2 hours of pushing before she entered the world. I was exhausted, but I challenged labor and it could not defeat me. I was determined to feel and know every contraction and sensation involved with birth. To feel what it was like to birth my baby naturally. To hold a sticky, wet squirmy newborn, and even get pooped on as soon as she was out. I relished her first cry. In fact, altho the last 2 hours were a terrible struggle, I felt I labored for both my children in one long, slow labor. I was happy to be in labor. I was happy to feel that pain. I was utterly amazed at the feeling as she emerged from my body. I had succeeded in achieving the birth right of a normal, healthy birth. It was as invigorating as it was exhausting. I felt a bigger connection with the women that came before, I was thrilled to share my birth story with anyone who would listen. A story of healing instead of pain.
5 weeks ago tomorrow, I discovered baby #3 would join us in November. We were surprised. Shocked would be more accurate. We were not trying, and in fact were attempting to prevent. Nevertheless, it didn't take long, just a couple of hours really, and I was already day dreaming of a new birth story. Blissfully looking ahead to the newborn smell, how to install a 3rd carseat in the mini-van, and terrified of figuring out how to afford the things this baby would need. Going through the different emotions expecting a new baby brings.
Not ever ones to keep a secret, we announced the news almost immediately. It was becoming real, and more exciting. We attended an orientation at the new birthing center in Albuquerque, and while beautiful it didn't feel like where we were to have our baby.
Almost immediately I had a "baby belly" I joked, rather frustrated at times, at how fast #3 was showing. I was not having symptoms as strongly as with the other two, but the sense of smell was there. My husband had to clean up dinner several times because I couldn't stomach cleaning up what I had just eaten. Still, I had to wonder why I wasn't as sick, or as tired as I remembered being before. I shook it off thinking that since my diet is healthier, so was my body and I was just handling it better.
I found a Mid-Wife, had an appointment and scheduled a sonogram to exact a due date. Going off my LMP (Last Menstrual Period) was not accurate, as my daughter, now almost 2 1/2 is still nursing. I was very surprised that the sonogram showed the baby at 5weeks, 5 days. According to my calendar, the baby should have measured closer to 7 weeks, 2 days. But there was the tiniest little flicker on the screen. You could barely make out a yolk sack, and a fluttering heartbeat of 125. It seemed so slow compared to my other 2, but they always say you can't compare pregnancies. The Mid-Wife told me everything looked normal, and the dates were in range. That was exciting enough. I had purchased a Beautiful new-born sleep sack, with matching booties and a hat in some of the softest wool available. I was already picturing my tiny new born babe bundled in a dinosaur print new-born fitted, in his sleep sack, sound asleep in a co-sleeper attached to my bed.
I sketched "pregnancy" and was amazed at the depth that poured through my finger tips. I checked out "Birthing From Within" from the library, and was devouring it. Even if it is on the extreme end of the "Hippie" scale, even from my point of view. I've learned through the years to take what God wants to give me and leave the rest. And that's what I did in this book.
We left on vacation for our sons spring break, and went to the Dallas, TX area to visit my in-laws. We had a nice visit. It's the perfect time of year there, humid enough to heal the sores in our nose from living in the desert highlands, but not yet hot enough to be miserable. The company was superb, and I sat for a few hours with my Mother-In-law and we designed the quilt she would make for the baby. It was so easy....
We left on Tuesday to go back to my family, about at the halfway mark between home, and my husbands family. That night, I discovered I had started spotting. It was slight, I had no cramps. The mid-wife was reassuring, and told me that if it stayed as it was, all was most likely fine. The spotting stopped the next morning. We were relieved, but cautious. Friday, we went to the zoo. It's a small zoo, but I noticed the walking induced some slight cramping. I took it easy that night, and had one small spot.
Along came Saturday. My husband had just finished loading the van to come home, right down to the kennel and dog food for our puppy. We were saying goodbyes, and I went to the bathroom. I had started bleeding. We immediately left for the ER, taking all of our stuff with us, not even leaving my parents with a pair of shoes for our daughter. We were bumped to high priority, and given a room almost immediately. They were not busy. The lab work, and then the sonogram. The tech kept the screen away from us, and could not tell us anything more than we would have an answer as soon as we got back to our room. We stared blankly at the ceiling.
After we were taken back to the room, the waiting started. I guess the doctor was waiting for the labs to come back before talking to us. I slept and my husband watched the small TV. Then the news, we already knew, but it was confirmed. There was no longer a heartbeat. The baby had grown and even measured a couple of days big compared to the previous ultrasound. There are no answers as to what happened.
It is devastating to go through a mis-carriage. It truly is losing a child. Our child. We were already a family of 5. I was dreading having to tell anyone what happened. To un-live the excitement. I've always felt a kind of kindred-ness with those that have lost babies. Tho I'd not lost one, my mother lost 2. One of my best friends lost 2, and never had a biological child, tho she has adopted 3 beautiful children and is a mother in every sense of the word. Just 2 weeks ago, a dear friend from the online world lost her 3rd in less than a year. My heart broke with each of their losses, and they are now a comfort to me.
A birth right of passage.
Years ago, mis-carriage was not thought of as the loss of a child. A grieving mother was given a few days, and expected to go about life as normal and not talk about what happened. I believed until a few days ago, that this was still the case. I am happy to say, that it has not been so for me. The out-pouring of love and hope we've received from family and friends, and even complete strangers, has been amazing. If there is a bond between mothers, there is an even stronger bond between mothers who have lost a baby. The deep sense of loss one feels at the loss of a child, is shared by all who've tread this path before. I have been bathed with virtual hugs sympathy from an online world of friends I've never met face to face. Its deeper than that, because not only have they expressed sympathy, for us, they have cried with me and are grieving the loss of my baby too. Living where we do, we don't have many friends close enough for a hug. So virtual hugs become as close as the real thing.
The ranks of those who've lost a child are not one anyone wants to join. I wouldn't wish this pain on anyone. I am happy to say, that we have been embraced and allowed to grieve and weep openly for the precious wee one we won't meet until we see Jesus face to face. Altho I deeply miss and am mourning the loss of my baby, and indeed physically am still in the process of doing so, I feel treasured and deeply loved by my family and friends that have been so available to comfort me and let me cry. I also feel deeply loved by my Papa, who is holding my precious child in His hand, to love and nurture him where he belongs. With those that have gone before, playing in open fields of wild flowers, face to face with the creator that gave him to us for such a short time.
For Isaiah. My son, you are loved, and will never be forgotten.
We've all been told, becoming a mother is a "right of passage." When you give birth, you've joined countless other women that have gone before you. You feel you've joined an elite club, and graduated into being a mother.
While you're pregnant, nearly every woman you see that is, or has been pregnant wants to ask you about your swelling form, touch the precious life growing inside you, and tell you of their own experiences. It is a way they re-connect with becoming a mother for the first time, and remember what it felt like to have a child within the protective boundaries of her womb. To see your pregnant belly, to remember her own experiences connects her with you in a unique and astonishing way. Something as a pregnant woman, you don't quite understand, and in fact tend to get annoyed with. But after you've given birth, you understand deeply, and may even look back fondly on the times you were asked about your precious babe, still safely nestled in your womb.
Giving birth and becoming a mother is far from the only "birth right of passage" moms go through. As you may have read in My Son's Birth Story I went through something few women do. I became a mother without experiencing birth. A c-section birth is difficult to overcome in the best of circumstances, but as I was put under a general anesthetic, I don't even remember it. I remember being wheeled to surgery covered with a sheet as if dead to keep me from having a stroke, having a mask put over my face and 100...99...98....and then I woke up. I was no longer pregnant. My baby was taken from me. "Is it over? Is the baby alright?" Later I discovered that since my condition was so fragile, coupled with the general anesthetic, my husband was only allowed to stand in the door way and couldn't answer my question as to wether or not our precious child cried when meeting the world. I felt completely robbed of my right of passage into motherhood. For years afterward, I could not say "when I had my son" or "when I gave birth" all I could say was "when they took him."
Altho I did not "give birth" in the normal way, I did give birth. I gave birth to my son via C-section. I did not however, join the ranks of the countless number of women that went before me. Instead I joined the ranks of a far smaller group. A unique bond of those that gave birth, but did not "give birth" Through the years, mostly in online forums, I've "met" others that gave birth as I did. A handful of women, that were not awake to see or hear their childs first cry. I joined the ranks of those with premature infants. A far larger group than I ever imagined. A special bond develops between mothers of preemies, with those who have gone before and those who come after. Instead of birth stories, you share NICU stories, fears, how hard pumping was and how to establish breastfeeding. A different birth right. I AM a mother, even tho I do not remember my childs birth.
In my daughters birth, I carried her to full term, and remained healthy even tho at times the back pain made me drag my foot when walking. I went through 32 hours of back labor, and close to 2 hours of pushing before she entered the world. I was exhausted, but I challenged labor and it could not defeat me. I was determined to feel and know every contraction and sensation involved with birth. To feel what it was like to birth my baby naturally. To hold a sticky, wet squirmy newborn, and even get pooped on as soon as she was out. I relished her first cry. In fact, altho the last 2 hours were a terrible struggle, I felt I labored for both my children in one long, slow labor. I was happy to be in labor. I was happy to feel that pain. I was utterly amazed at the feeling as she emerged from my body. I had succeeded in achieving the birth right of a normal, healthy birth. It was as invigorating as it was exhausting. I felt a bigger connection with the women that came before, I was thrilled to share my birth story with anyone who would listen. A story of healing instead of pain.
5 weeks ago tomorrow, I discovered baby #3 would join us in November. We were surprised. Shocked would be more accurate. We were not trying, and in fact were attempting to prevent. Nevertheless, it didn't take long, just a couple of hours really, and I was already day dreaming of a new birth story. Blissfully looking ahead to the newborn smell, how to install a 3rd carseat in the mini-van, and terrified of figuring out how to afford the things this baby would need. Going through the different emotions expecting a new baby brings.
Not ever ones to keep a secret, we announced the news almost immediately. It was becoming real, and more exciting. We attended an orientation at the new birthing center in Albuquerque, and while beautiful it didn't feel like where we were to have our baby.
Almost immediately I had a "baby belly" I joked, rather frustrated at times, at how fast #3 was showing. I was not having symptoms as strongly as with the other two, but the sense of smell was there. My husband had to clean up dinner several times because I couldn't stomach cleaning up what I had just eaten. Still, I had to wonder why I wasn't as sick, or as tired as I remembered being before. I shook it off thinking that since my diet is healthier, so was my body and I was just handling it better.
I found a Mid-Wife, had an appointment and scheduled a sonogram to exact a due date. Going off my LMP (Last Menstrual Period) was not accurate, as my daughter, now almost 2 1/2 is still nursing. I was very surprised that the sonogram showed the baby at 5weeks, 5 days. According to my calendar, the baby should have measured closer to 7 weeks, 2 days. But there was the tiniest little flicker on the screen. You could barely make out a yolk sack, and a fluttering heartbeat of 125. It seemed so slow compared to my other 2, but they always say you can't compare pregnancies. The Mid-Wife told me everything looked normal, and the dates were in range. That was exciting enough. I had purchased a Beautiful new-born sleep sack, with matching booties and a hat in some of the softest wool available. I was already picturing my tiny new born babe bundled in a dinosaur print new-born fitted, in his sleep sack, sound asleep in a co-sleeper attached to my bed.
I sketched "pregnancy" and was amazed at the depth that poured through my finger tips. I checked out "Birthing From Within" from the library, and was devouring it. Even if it is on the extreme end of the "Hippie" scale, even from my point of view. I've learned through the years to take what God wants to give me and leave the rest. And that's what I did in this book.
We left on vacation for our sons spring break, and went to the Dallas, TX area to visit my in-laws. We had a nice visit. It's the perfect time of year there, humid enough to heal the sores in our nose from living in the desert highlands, but not yet hot enough to be miserable. The company was superb, and I sat for a few hours with my Mother-In-law and we designed the quilt she would make for the baby. It was so easy....
We left on Tuesday to go back to my family, about at the halfway mark between home, and my husbands family. That night, I discovered I had started spotting. It was slight, I had no cramps. The mid-wife was reassuring, and told me that if it stayed as it was, all was most likely fine. The spotting stopped the next morning. We were relieved, but cautious. Friday, we went to the zoo. It's a small zoo, but I noticed the walking induced some slight cramping. I took it easy that night, and had one small spot.
Along came Saturday. My husband had just finished loading the van to come home, right down to the kennel and dog food for our puppy. We were saying goodbyes, and I went to the bathroom. I had started bleeding. We immediately left for the ER, taking all of our stuff with us, not even leaving my parents with a pair of shoes for our daughter. We were bumped to high priority, and given a room almost immediately. They were not busy. The lab work, and then the sonogram. The tech kept the screen away from us, and could not tell us anything more than we would have an answer as soon as we got back to our room. We stared blankly at the ceiling.
After we were taken back to the room, the waiting started. I guess the doctor was waiting for the labs to come back before talking to us. I slept and my husband watched the small TV. Then the news, we already knew, but it was confirmed. There was no longer a heartbeat. The baby had grown and even measured a couple of days big compared to the previous ultrasound. There are no answers as to what happened.
It is devastating to go through a mis-carriage. It truly is losing a child. Our child. We were already a family of 5. I was dreading having to tell anyone what happened. To un-live the excitement. I've always felt a kind of kindred-ness with those that have lost babies. Tho I'd not lost one, my mother lost 2. One of my best friends lost 2, and never had a biological child, tho she has adopted 3 beautiful children and is a mother in every sense of the word. Just 2 weeks ago, a dear friend from the online world lost her 3rd in less than a year. My heart broke with each of their losses, and they are now a comfort to me.
A birth right of passage.
Years ago, mis-carriage was not thought of as the loss of a child. A grieving mother was given a few days, and expected to go about life as normal and not talk about what happened. I believed until a few days ago, that this was still the case. I am happy to say, that it has not been so for me. The out-pouring of love and hope we've received from family and friends, and even complete strangers, has been amazing. If there is a bond between mothers, there is an even stronger bond between mothers who have lost a baby. The deep sense of loss one feels at the loss of a child, is shared by all who've tread this path before. I have been bathed with virtual hugs sympathy from an online world of friends I've never met face to face. Its deeper than that, because not only have they expressed sympathy, for us, they have cried with me and are grieving the loss of my baby too. Living where we do, we don't have many friends close enough for a hug. So virtual hugs become as close as the real thing.
The ranks of those who've lost a child are not one anyone wants to join. I wouldn't wish this pain on anyone. I am happy to say, that we have been embraced and allowed to grieve and weep openly for the precious wee one we won't meet until we see Jesus face to face. Altho I deeply miss and am mourning the loss of my baby, and indeed physically am still in the process of doing so, I feel treasured and deeply loved by my family and friends that have been so available to comfort me and let me cry. I also feel deeply loved by my Papa, who is holding my precious child in His hand, to love and nurture him where he belongs. With those that have gone before, playing in open fields of wild flowers, face to face with the creator that gave him to us for such a short time.
For Isaiah. My son, you are loved, and will never be forgotten.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Fresh Thoughts
After Finally writing my birth stories, One and Two, I just wanted to write a few thoughts about life.
Life takes turns that no matter how hard we try, we cannot prepare for. Every one says it, but you don't really think anything can or will happen to you. It can. I learned that in the birth of my son. I learned that seeing a dear friend grieve for her 4 month old angel girl lost to SIDS. I learned that it doesn't matter what we do, sometimes there is no changing or stopping circumstances. I've also learned how truly amazing Papa is. When we lose hope, when we give up, He is still there, loving us. In all that we've been through since becoming a family, Papa has always been faithful. He's not left our side. He's been an ever present, faithful provider and protector.
I'd like to tell you that I wake up everyday and live in a happy peaceful world full of perfect children and a clean house. Most of the time I live in a delicate balance of chaos and dirt. Between the food allergies that follow us, the temper tantrums of my 5 year old and the toddler that adores to empty cabinets and drawers, some days I quite literally want to pull the hair out of my head. Honestly, I've tried. It hurts, and I don't recommend it.
What I've come to understand about Papa, is that He will never, ever leave me. It is His very nature to be faithful. He provided when we didn't have enough money left after bills to buy groceries. He gave my mom, and others, dreams and burdens to pray throughout both of my pregnancies. I am here today because Papa is faithful.
When I am despairing, depressed and hurt, Papa is faithful. He has never left me to sit in my filth and suffer. He picks me up, cleans me off and sets me back on my feet. I can imagine that sometimes He smiles as He does it, just as I do when I watch my toddler wander off to get into another mess. She's learning the world around her. I am learning the world around me.
Life takes turns that no matter how hard we try, we cannot prepare for. Every one says it, but you don't really think anything can or will happen to you. It can. I learned that in the birth of my son. I learned that seeing a dear friend grieve for her 4 month old angel girl lost to SIDS. I learned that it doesn't matter what we do, sometimes there is no changing or stopping circumstances. I've also learned how truly amazing Papa is. When we lose hope, when we give up, He is still there, loving us. In all that we've been through since becoming a family, Papa has always been faithful. He's not left our side. He's been an ever present, faithful provider and protector.
I'd like to tell you that I wake up everyday and live in a happy peaceful world full of perfect children and a clean house. Most of the time I live in a delicate balance of chaos and dirt. Between the food allergies that follow us, the temper tantrums of my 5 year old and the toddler that adores to empty cabinets and drawers, some days I quite literally want to pull the hair out of my head. Honestly, I've tried. It hurts, and I don't recommend it.
What I've come to understand about Papa, is that He will never, ever leave me. It is His very nature to be faithful. He provided when we didn't have enough money left after bills to buy groceries. He gave my mom, and others, dreams and burdens to pray throughout both of my pregnancies. I am here today because Papa is faithful.
When I am despairing, depressed and hurt, Papa is faithful. He has never left me to sit in my filth and suffer. He picks me up, cleans me off and sets me back on my feet. I can imagine that sometimes He smiles as He does it, just as I do when I watch my toddler wander off to get into another mess. She's learning the world around her. I am learning the world around me.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
My VBAC birth story
If you've read my son's birth story you will fully understand the depth and healing in this one.
After my sons traumatic birth and the difficult year that followed with a preemie, we were scared to say the least of ever becoming pregnant again. It was a desire deep within me, but after my body rejected itself while pregnant another baby wasn't a good idea. I researched, I sought answers as to a cause for the severe Pre-Eclampsia and H.E.L.L.P Syndrome that almost cost me and my son our lives.
Answers were few and far between. There is no known cause or test for what happened. Pre-Eclampsia, or Pregnancy Induced Hypertension happens in roughly 20% of pregnancies. H.E.L.L.P syndrome accompanies about 2% of those. Another pregnancy would be considered high risk. There was a 30% chance of the same complications, and that was enough. The fear of going through that again, or leaving my husband with two children to raise alone if I didn't make it.... haunted me. It caused me to decide that I would ignore the desire for another baby.
When my son was 3 1/2 I went with my parents to church. I don't go often, but when I hear Papa say "go" I go. I don't remember much about the service, but I will never forget what happened after. There is a couple there that ministers prophetically, my dad said "you should go talk to them" Papa said "go" so I went. They were ministering to someone else, so I waited. Others came to talk to me, but I said "no, I'm supposed to talk to them" When I got to speak with them Papa had a lot to say through them. After some time of prayer, we were just visiting. My son ran across the stage chasing his pa-paw. I smiled and said, "He's mine, he's my miracle baby" The reaction from them was immediate. Their heads snapped to attention like soldiers awaiting orders from a general. They waited for more. I told them that he had been a preemie, born 9 weeks early and only 2lbs 11 oz. Christine looked at me and asked if it was Pre-Eclampsia. She KNEW. It was deeper than prophetic insight, they had been through it. Their daughter was then 8 years old and had dealt with complications throughout her life.
Christine told me that when she was hurting she would ask God "Why? Why are you doing this to me? Why won't You help me? Can't you see me hurting?" I knew those feelings well. It was 3 years after my sons birth and I still couldn't look at pregnant women or women with healthy babies without jealousy and anguish. Christine told me something Papa had revealed to her, that when she had been hurting He was never up there in Heaven allowing her to hurt. His love isn't like that. When she was despairing and in pain He hurt too.
God was hurting for me?
It was a paradigm shift that changed my entire outlook on life. As a parent, when my child is sick or hurt, I ache for them. When they are in the hospital and being held down for every needle stick with wires attached, it hurts me on a deeper level than if it were me. There is something deep in the heart of a parent, a protective instinct to keep your child from harm. When your child is sick or has special needs and you have to stand aside, or even hold them down while they receive medical care you feel like you are ignoring that instinct. They are looking at you with eyes that say "Why are you letting them do this to me? Why won't you make them stop?" And with everything in you, you want to make it stop. But you can't. God's love for His children is no different. He is not some aloof priest sitting in a throne room un-touchable. He is Papa. Abba. Daddy. Father. In every way He is a Father. When His children hurt, He is not "up there" allowing us to hurt. He is with us, loving us and hurting because we are hurting.
As this realization took hold in my spirit on that February day, the couple I had been talking to prayed with me. I prayed with them. I had to let go, and tell God it was okay with me if He wanted me to have another baby. That statement, aloud in that room was the hardest thing I had ever done. It was also full of healing.
For the next year the healing continued. My marriage was healing, I was walking with Papa, learning how to be the wife and mother my family needed me to be. It was time. It was Papa's time. Before we ever got the positive test, we knew we were having a little girl. One day, Papa told me her name was Abigail.
We were not in the least surprised to see the positive pregnancy test, nor were we surprised when the 20 week sonogram said girl. Again I dealt with the nausea, sciatica and back pain, but it was different. I was quite happy with normal pregnancy complaints. I was actually excited to see my first stretch mark. This pregnancy was progressing beautifully. My body was doing what it was created to do. Growing a miracle.
I read all the books again, this time reading all of the "what if's." I researched online about VBAC's, and knew that I not only wanted a VBAC, I didn't want any interventions or medications.
As I sought for information on birth, and later cloth diapering, I was introduced to Diaperswappers. An online forum for cloth diaper trading and forums about life in general. I joined the discussion group of other women due in the same month I was. I found mama's there that have become true friends. I found the support there to believe in my body's ability to give birth naturally.
In discussions with my new OBGYN I went over what I hoped for the birth of our daughter. He always listened carefully and answered my questions. Validating my concerns and easing my fears. I was not convinced that he was totally on board with my drug free VBAC wishes, he was just very laid back and had a "wait and see" mentality. I was ok with that. I worked on my birth plan. Wrote it, re-wrote it, trashed it and started from scratch, then touched it up. I didn't finish it until about 6 weeks from my due date. It was straight forward, simple and flexible. I didn't want an Epidural, but understood that if my blood pressure was sky high again, I would accept one. I didn't want to be continuously monitored, but giving birth in the hospital, I figured I would be.
As each week passed I was further relieved. Especially around 28 weeks. I wasn't sick. I could barely walk, but I wasn't sick.
31 weeks came. I had made it. I was farther along in my pregnancy than I had made it with my son.
32 weeks. Not sick
33 weeks. Blood pressure was behaving.
34, 35, 36, 37.
Thirty-seven weeks. I was full term! I could breathe. I had made it! My body had arrived at what is medically accepted as full term. Sweet peace. Strangely enough as the baby began to drop the pressure on my sciatic nerve and coccyx lessened and I could walk normally. I felt pretty good! I was huge, pregnant and miserable from heartburn but I was 37 weeks and elated that I was STILL PREGNANT.
That week I finally got around to packing the hospital bags, sterilizing the breast pump, setting things in order. I felt settled, peaceful.
38 weeks
39 weeks, it was Thursday and I woke up full of energy. I had to clean. I scrubbed the kitchen cabinets. All of them. When I got to work that night I cleaned everything I could find. I was quite obviously nesting! Saturday came and it was my last day at work, a short shift. I walked around like always, my due date less than a week away. I had a couple of contractions that were different than the others. They were the real ones, the kind that started in the small of my back and wrapped around to my lower abdomen and felt crampy. They made me stop and take notice.
After work I went to my parents for dinner, I laid on the couch eating fresh pineapple and then had Pepperoni pizza. We headed home and I was noticing a few more sporadic contractions. By about 9 PM they were more intense. We headed to bed but I was waking with contractions so I got up and started to time them. This was IT. I could rest between the contractions, they were 3-7 minutes apart but not completely regular, and I couldn't sleep. Finally about 2am I had taken a shower and woken my husband. I was having back labor. The contractions weren't terribly painful in themselves, but the back pain was quite noticeable.
Around 3am I thought I was closer to going to the hospital so I called mom and dad. They came over, we sat around and waited. I fell asleep, but still woke with contractions, now 10-15 minutes apart. 7am came and there was the sunshine! I knew I'd meet my girl on November 15th. A good day to have a baby! Finally around 10 I called the nurse, and she told me to go ahead and go in to be evaluated. I had lost some of my plug through the night. I was only a 2 when we got there, but I was a 2! I walked the halls for a couple of hours and got checked again. A squishy 2, I was making SLOW progress. We went home, I had some soup. I had to signal my husband with every contraction for counter pressure on my back. I was resting after having been up all night. I still wasn't really sleeping, but dozing between contractions. At about 7:30 I was really working to get through contractions, but I was handling them with counter pressure. My husband said "lets go" So back to the hospital we went, I was a 4 1/2. More progress, but SLOW progress. They admitted me, and I sat in the rocker for an hour or so and rocked and breathed through my contractions.
After the rocking chair I sat on a birthing ball and bounced lightly, swaying my hips. Still needing counter pressure to help cope with each contraction. My nurse was fairly quiet and content to let me do my own thing. I allowed the monitors while I was sitting close enough for the cords to reach. I was very pleased that my nurse and the doctor on call for mine, who was out of town, were working to follow my birth plan to the letter. They made sure I understood the risks of proceeding with a VBAC, I assured them I understood.
I was controlling my own hydration since all I had was a Hep-loc in case of a true emergency. The nurse was reluctant to give me much water at first, but complied every time I needed a refill. At some point I was a bit more than a 5, and decided to sit for a while in the jacuzzi tub. That in itself surprised me a bit, as I had been told that particular hospital didn't allow you in the tub after a 5. It was nice in the tub, and I stayed for quite a while. It was 3 or 4am when I got out of the tub and decided to lay down for a bit. I was exhausted. I was about a 7 1/2 by that time. An hour later I was an 8, and sleeping between contractions. It was about an hour later and I was only an 8 1/2. Moving very slowly. I was still having the back pain, and my mom was using counter pressure and massage to help me cope.
After being "stalled" for a while the nurse mentioned rupturing my membranes, and that it "might" help the last of my cervix to "melt away" I was so tired at this point that I decided to let them do it, even tho I had previously decided I didn't want that. It was an hour later when the doc came and checked me and broke my water. I was still an 8 1/2. Very very soon, as in minutes after they broke my water I needed to push. The urge was over whelming. I was checked again, 8 1/2. They had me turn on my left side, it was extremely hard not to push. In fact I was pushing, but not bearing down. I couldn't help it. The only thing they ever told me in class was to blow if you need to push, but aren't complete. So I blew. I blew to the point I finally got oxygen between contractions because I was hyperventilating. In all I fought the urge to push for an hour and a half or 2 hours. During each contraction I was holding onto the railing for dear life and blowing to try not to push. I remember asking God to let me push!
FINALLY I heard the word, "complete" I could push!!!! I would push!
I was pushing! The nurse offered to bring the squatting bar in, and I declined because it felt so good to not fight my body. So there I was, pushing in the typical hospital position, but by my choice. The nurse was following my plans and stretching my perineum while I was pushing. I pushed for a long time. I pushed when my body told me to, and that was even more than they were telling me to. My mom and my husband were holding my hands and helping me through it. I pushed, and pushed. I pushed. After nearly an hour of pushing the baby was no longer travelling back up the birth canal, and she called the doctor in for delivery. I pushed and pushed some more. She was crowning. It was in this moment, I realized that a miracle was coming out of me. I wasn't just giving birth, I was part of a miracle. My body was bringing forth a tiny little person.
She was here. The doctor waited for the cord to stop pulsing, my husband cut it. I had expressed my wish to hold her immediately after birth, and so he asked me if I wanted her, all naked and gooey. Indeed, I wanted her. She was crying the most beautiful newborn cry you can imagine. I laid her on chest and spoke to her, she immediately calmed down. With the help of the nurse from the nursery, she was latched on and nursing beautifully within minutes of being born. She nursed on both sides, and then they checked her out, by my bedside. I did tear a little, but not on my perineum. My baby girl was born at 6:48am, November 16th 2009. After 34 hours of labor, she was here. She was healthy. I did it! I had no drugs, and little intervention. In a hospital proud of its 98% epidural rate, and wing built for C-section recovery, I had a successful, drug free Vaginal Birth After Cesarean.
Are there things that I could've done differently? Yes. I could've said YES to the squatting bar, and NO to them rupturing my membranes. But I was so tired at that point, I didn't care. In the end, my body was left to do what it is supposed to do. Labor and birth a baby. My body took it's time in doing so, but looking back now I am almost thankful for the long labor. I got to treasure it. I never got the chance to labor with my son, and as hard as it was, it was a very healing experience. My body grew, labored and delivered a healthy, full term baby girl.
My baby girl, was 8lbs even, 20 inches long and perfect.
After my sons traumatic birth and the difficult year that followed with a preemie, we were scared to say the least of ever becoming pregnant again. It was a desire deep within me, but after my body rejected itself while pregnant another baby wasn't a good idea. I researched, I sought answers as to a cause for the severe Pre-Eclampsia and H.E.L.L.P Syndrome that almost cost me and my son our lives.
Answers were few and far between. There is no known cause or test for what happened. Pre-Eclampsia, or Pregnancy Induced Hypertension happens in roughly 20% of pregnancies. H.E.L.L.P syndrome accompanies about 2% of those. Another pregnancy would be considered high risk. There was a 30% chance of the same complications, and that was enough. The fear of going through that again, or leaving my husband with two children to raise alone if I didn't make it.... haunted me. It caused me to decide that I would ignore the desire for another baby.
When my son was 3 1/2 I went with my parents to church. I don't go often, but when I hear Papa say "go" I go. I don't remember much about the service, but I will never forget what happened after. There is a couple there that ministers prophetically, my dad said "you should go talk to them" Papa said "go" so I went. They were ministering to someone else, so I waited. Others came to talk to me, but I said "no, I'm supposed to talk to them" When I got to speak with them Papa had a lot to say through them. After some time of prayer, we were just visiting. My son ran across the stage chasing his pa-paw. I smiled and said, "He's mine, he's my miracle baby" The reaction from them was immediate. Their heads snapped to attention like soldiers awaiting orders from a general. They waited for more. I told them that he had been a preemie, born 9 weeks early and only 2lbs 11 oz. Christine looked at me and asked if it was Pre-Eclampsia. She KNEW. It was deeper than prophetic insight, they had been through it. Their daughter was then 8 years old and had dealt with complications throughout her life.
Christine told me that when she was hurting she would ask God "Why? Why are you doing this to me? Why won't You help me? Can't you see me hurting?" I knew those feelings well. It was 3 years after my sons birth and I still couldn't look at pregnant women or women with healthy babies without jealousy and anguish. Christine told me something Papa had revealed to her, that when she had been hurting He was never up there in Heaven allowing her to hurt. His love isn't like that. When she was despairing and in pain He hurt too.
God was hurting for me?
It was a paradigm shift that changed my entire outlook on life. As a parent, when my child is sick or hurt, I ache for them. When they are in the hospital and being held down for every needle stick with wires attached, it hurts me on a deeper level than if it were me. There is something deep in the heart of a parent, a protective instinct to keep your child from harm. When your child is sick or has special needs and you have to stand aside, or even hold them down while they receive medical care you feel like you are ignoring that instinct. They are looking at you with eyes that say "Why are you letting them do this to me? Why won't you make them stop?" And with everything in you, you want to make it stop. But you can't. God's love for His children is no different. He is not some aloof priest sitting in a throne room un-touchable. He is Papa. Abba. Daddy. Father. In every way He is a Father. When His children hurt, He is not "up there" allowing us to hurt. He is with us, loving us and hurting because we are hurting.
As this realization took hold in my spirit on that February day, the couple I had been talking to prayed with me. I prayed with them. I had to let go, and tell God it was okay with me if He wanted me to have another baby. That statement, aloud in that room was the hardest thing I had ever done. It was also full of healing.
For the next year the healing continued. My marriage was healing, I was walking with Papa, learning how to be the wife and mother my family needed me to be. It was time. It was Papa's time. Before we ever got the positive test, we knew we were having a little girl. One day, Papa told me her name was Abigail.
We were not in the least surprised to see the positive pregnancy test, nor were we surprised when the 20 week sonogram said girl. Again I dealt with the nausea, sciatica and back pain, but it was different. I was quite happy with normal pregnancy complaints. I was actually excited to see my first stretch mark. This pregnancy was progressing beautifully. My body was doing what it was created to do. Growing a miracle.
I read all the books again, this time reading all of the "what if's." I researched online about VBAC's, and knew that I not only wanted a VBAC, I didn't want any interventions or medications.
As I sought for information on birth, and later cloth diapering, I was introduced to Diaperswappers. An online forum for cloth diaper trading and forums about life in general. I joined the discussion group of other women due in the same month I was. I found mama's there that have become true friends. I found the support there to believe in my body's ability to give birth naturally.
In discussions with my new OBGYN I went over what I hoped for the birth of our daughter. He always listened carefully and answered my questions. Validating my concerns and easing my fears. I was not convinced that he was totally on board with my drug free VBAC wishes, he was just very laid back and had a "wait and see" mentality. I was ok with that. I worked on my birth plan. Wrote it, re-wrote it, trashed it and started from scratch, then touched it up. I didn't finish it until about 6 weeks from my due date. It was straight forward, simple and flexible. I didn't want an Epidural, but understood that if my blood pressure was sky high again, I would accept one. I didn't want to be continuously monitored, but giving birth in the hospital, I figured I would be.
As each week passed I was further relieved. Especially around 28 weeks. I wasn't sick. I could barely walk, but I wasn't sick.
31 weeks came. I had made it. I was farther along in my pregnancy than I had made it with my son.
32 weeks. Not sick
33 weeks. Blood pressure was behaving.
34, 35, 36, 37.
Thirty-seven weeks. I was full term! I could breathe. I had made it! My body had arrived at what is medically accepted as full term. Sweet peace. Strangely enough as the baby began to drop the pressure on my sciatic nerve and coccyx lessened and I could walk normally. I felt pretty good! I was huge, pregnant and miserable from heartburn but I was 37 weeks and elated that I was STILL PREGNANT.
That week I finally got around to packing the hospital bags, sterilizing the breast pump, setting things in order. I felt settled, peaceful.
38 weeks
39 weeks, it was Thursday and I woke up full of energy. I had to clean. I scrubbed the kitchen cabinets. All of them. When I got to work that night I cleaned everything I could find. I was quite obviously nesting! Saturday came and it was my last day at work, a short shift. I walked around like always, my due date less than a week away. I had a couple of contractions that were different than the others. They were the real ones, the kind that started in the small of my back and wrapped around to my lower abdomen and felt crampy. They made me stop and take notice.
After work I went to my parents for dinner, I laid on the couch eating fresh pineapple and then had Pepperoni pizza. We headed home and I was noticing a few more sporadic contractions. By about 9 PM they were more intense. We headed to bed but I was waking with contractions so I got up and started to time them. This was IT. I could rest between the contractions, they were 3-7 minutes apart but not completely regular, and I couldn't sleep. Finally about 2am I had taken a shower and woken my husband. I was having back labor. The contractions weren't terribly painful in themselves, but the back pain was quite noticeable.
Around 3am I thought I was closer to going to the hospital so I called mom and dad. They came over, we sat around and waited. I fell asleep, but still woke with contractions, now 10-15 minutes apart. 7am came and there was the sunshine! I knew I'd meet my girl on November 15th. A good day to have a baby! Finally around 10 I called the nurse, and she told me to go ahead and go in to be evaluated. I had lost some of my plug through the night. I was only a 2 when we got there, but I was a 2! I walked the halls for a couple of hours and got checked again. A squishy 2, I was making SLOW progress. We went home, I had some soup. I had to signal my husband with every contraction for counter pressure on my back. I was resting after having been up all night. I still wasn't really sleeping, but dozing between contractions. At about 7:30 I was really working to get through contractions, but I was handling them with counter pressure. My husband said "lets go" So back to the hospital we went, I was a 4 1/2. More progress, but SLOW progress. They admitted me, and I sat in the rocker for an hour or so and rocked and breathed through my contractions.
After the rocking chair I sat on a birthing ball and bounced lightly, swaying my hips. Still needing counter pressure to help cope with each contraction. My nurse was fairly quiet and content to let me do my own thing. I allowed the monitors while I was sitting close enough for the cords to reach. I was very pleased that my nurse and the doctor on call for mine, who was out of town, were working to follow my birth plan to the letter. They made sure I understood the risks of proceeding with a VBAC, I assured them I understood.
I was controlling my own hydration since all I had was a Hep-loc in case of a true emergency. The nurse was reluctant to give me much water at first, but complied every time I needed a refill. At some point I was a bit more than a 5, and decided to sit for a while in the jacuzzi tub. That in itself surprised me a bit, as I had been told that particular hospital didn't allow you in the tub after a 5. It was nice in the tub, and I stayed for quite a while. It was 3 or 4am when I got out of the tub and decided to lay down for a bit. I was exhausted. I was about a 7 1/2 by that time. An hour later I was an 8, and sleeping between contractions. It was about an hour later and I was only an 8 1/2. Moving very slowly. I was still having the back pain, and my mom was using counter pressure and massage to help me cope.
After being "stalled" for a while the nurse mentioned rupturing my membranes, and that it "might" help the last of my cervix to "melt away" I was so tired at this point that I decided to let them do it, even tho I had previously decided I didn't want that. It was an hour later when the doc came and checked me and broke my water. I was still an 8 1/2. Very very soon, as in minutes after they broke my water I needed to push. The urge was over whelming. I was checked again, 8 1/2. They had me turn on my left side, it was extremely hard not to push. In fact I was pushing, but not bearing down. I couldn't help it. The only thing they ever told me in class was to blow if you need to push, but aren't complete. So I blew. I blew to the point I finally got oxygen between contractions because I was hyperventilating. In all I fought the urge to push for an hour and a half or 2 hours. During each contraction I was holding onto the railing for dear life and blowing to try not to push. I remember asking God to let me push!
FINALLY I heard the word, "complete" I could push!!!! I would push!
I was pushing! The nurse offered to bring the squatting bar in, and I declined because it felt so good to not fight my body. So there I was, pushing in the typical hospital position, but by my choice. The nurse was following my plans and stretching my perineum while I was pushing. I pushed for a long time. I pushed when my body told me to, and that was even more than they were telling me to. My mom and my husband were holding my hands and helping me through it. I pushed, and pushed. I pushed. After nearly an hour of pushing the baby was no longer travelling back up the birth canal, and she called the doctor in for delivery. I pushed and pushed some more. She was crowning. It was in this moment, I realized that a miracle was coming out of me. I wasn't just giving birth, I was part of a miracle. My body was bringing forth a tiny little person.
She was here. The doctor waited for the cord to stop pulsing, my husband cut it. I had expressed my wish to hold her immediately after birth, and so he asked me if I wanted her, all naked and gooey. Indeed, I wanted her. She was crying the most beautiful newborn cry you can imagine. I laid her on chest and spoke to her, she immediately calmed down. With the help of the nurse from the nursery, she was latched on and nursing beautifully within minutes of being born. She nursed on both sides, and then they checked her out, by my bedside. I did tear a little, but not on my perineum. My baby girl was born at 6:48am, November 16th 2009. After 34 hours of labor, she was here. She was healthy. I did it! I had no drugs, and little intervention. In a hospital proud of its 98% epidural rate, and wing built for C-section recovery, I had a successful, drug free Vaginal Birth After Cesarean.
Are there things that I could've done differently? Yes. I could've said YES to the squatting bar, and NO to them rupturing my membranes. But I was so tired at that point, I didn't care. In the end, my body was left to do what it is supposed to do. Labor and birth a baby. My body took it's time in doing so, but looking back now I am almost thankful for the long labor. I got to treasure it. I never got the chance to labor with my son, and as hard as it was, it was a very healing experience. My body grew, labored and delivered a healthy, full term baby girl.
My baby girl, was 8lbs even, 20 inches long and perfect.
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