Pain, Puddles, and Praise: Elise's Birth Story Part 2

Back at the doctor's office, I was hooked up for a non-stress test, so they could track the baby's well-being and my contractions.  By this time, the contractions were beginning to ramp up, so I was completely uncomfortable.  Added to that, the air conditioning had broken in the building, and the little exam room where they had us was stifling.  I begged the nurse to send the midwife to check me and get me out of there.  She came, and she said I had progressed to four cm.  That was not what I wanted to hear, but her exam seemed to set the labor into serious mode.

The contractions began to come every 3-4 minutes, and I had to stop and work through them.  I wasn't ready to check in yet, though, so the midwife recommended that we go for another walk, and she would expect me in an hour or so at the hospital.  I wanted to try for a water birth, so she called to let them know to set up the room.

The next hour was golden. We went back to the little winding path that I had walked earlier in the day by myself.  The afternoon was humid, but the temperature was surprisingly mild for the end of June.  The shade from the trees covered most of the pathway, but occasionally the sun would pass through the leaves in a glorious cascade of rays.  We slowly walked a couple of laps hand-in-hand, stopping every 2-3 minutes till the contraction passed. Towards the end, I began to moan and want counter back pressure.  Ben recognized this from past labors and recommended that we check in. It was around 6 o'clock.

Just before we checked in!

We arrived in the room, and the nurse checked me and said I had progressed to 5 cm.  With the midwife's blessing, I got into the portable birthing tub.  The warm water felt wonderful, but it was very shallow, maybe eighteen inches, and I couldn't get comfortable.  My favored positions during active labor are on my feet with Ben providing counter back pressure, and the tub did not accommodate that.  Looking back now, I think I should have gotten out of the tub, since I could not stay on top of the contractions. I was clearly transitioning, and I had mentally checked out.

I decided I wanted an epidural, so an IV line was started, and I was told the anesthesiologist would be called once the liter of fluid was infused.  This took well over an hour, so I moaned, groaned, and cried through the contractions, The midwife, the student, the nurse, and Ben all tried to help me.  They infused essential oils, rubbed and massaged my hands and neck with oil, pulled my ponytail really tight (a mental distraction for pain relief), and offered me much encouragement and praise.  Really, they were an amazing team.

I did not know a single hour could pass so slowly. Once the anesthesiologist was called, it took another half hour for him to show up, and I think it was about 8:00.  The midwife asked if she could check me again, as I was having bloody show.  I told her I didn't care what my dilation was, I wanted a epidural, for pete's sake!

I was 7 cm, maybe 8, and the midwife, the anesthesiologist and the nurses all encouraged me to hold out.  I couldn't.  I wanted pain relief, and I wanted it two hours ago.  I told the doctor to shut up, to which he retorted that he was the one that held the key to pain relief, and I ought to be nice.  I suppose that would have been funny to me if I hadn't been in labor, but circumstances as they were, he just made me mad.  I had to be completely still while he inserted the epidural and spinal block, and unfortunately, the contractions were so close and intense, that stillness was impossible for me.

Ben studying the Bible, hoping for a little name inspiration.

Sitting up on the side of the bed, I squeezed Kristen, my nurse's hips, so tight during the contractions, I was afraid I was going to hurt her. Later, she told me I had given her the best cardio exercise she'd had in a long time. Apparently, I still moved, and the needle punctured my dura, and spinal fluid began to flow into the needle.  He said he would have to try again and asked me if I still wanted it.  I wanted to scream at someone by this point, but I resisted and tersely insisted that I did.

He tried again and was able to place the needle where it was supposed to go.  After he completed the procedure, I lay down, waiting for the pain relief to wash over me.  And waited. The only waves I was feeling were contractions, and they were not pain free.  He gave it a few more minutes, trying the wet and sensation tests to check success. Failure--I felt everything.  However, my bottom became numb, and my legs felt tingly, the way your hands or feet do when they've fallen asleep. The anesthesiologist asked if I wanted to try another one, but I declined. I'd had enough of him.

Look at all that hair!

The midwife checked my cervix, and this time, she asked me if I felt the urge to push.  I did, but I hate pushing, so I denied it.  I was just not ready. I laid on my side, clutching the bed rail and secretly pushing with each contraction.  Finally after fifteen minutes of contractions and secret pushes, I worked up enough courage to tell her that I was ready to push.

The epidural did accomplish one thing.  It numbed my nether regions enough that I had the best pushing experience I had ever had.  I couldn't believe it; I was actually excited and enjoying it!  I asked for a mirror to watch the progress of each push.  The student midwife was attending, and within just a couple of pushes, the baby crowned.  My midwife said she crowned so fast they weren't quite ready for it.

With the next push, she was out!  They all collectively held their breath, as they waited for Ben and I to see the gender.  Both of us were still a bit dazed from the birth, so it took a few seconds for us to register what we were seeing.  Another girl!  We all laughed at our perfect score of four girls!

They let the cord stop pulsing, then Ben cut it.  Since we had a student attending the birth, she demonstrated the different parts of the placenta and cord, which was a neat little bonus.

Elise Magdalen was born on Wednesday, June 25, weighing 7 lb. 12 oz. and measuring 20.5 inches.

Pain, Puddles, and Praise: Elise's Birth Story Part 1

I suppose this story began last fall when I realized that the Lord had chosen to bless us with another child. Anne was 10 months old, and while I felt decidedly unready for another pregnancy and delivery, the anticipation of a sweet, soft baby is always joyful. I tend to worry during pregnancy, but this was my first completely uneventful pregnancy, and it was a blessing to fully enjoy those precious kicks and hiccups.

As my due date neared, I was again dreading labor and delivery, but Modern Modesty shared a great post of verses on fear that I read and meditated on each time I felt that nagging panic. Since we decided to keep the gender a surprise, our family began to revel in the excitement and mystery of the new baby's arrival as we counted down the days.  The girls were unified in their desire for a little sister, and Leah had already settled on the name Cinderella.

My due date was June 26, just five days before our insurance year restarted. Our plan has a high deductible which we would have to pay again if she arrived on July 1 or later, so we prayed that this little one would arrive in June. My forty-week appointment was scheduled with my midwife on June 25 at seven in the morning, and her office is thirty-five minutes from home. Now showing a presentable face before the sun does has never been my specialty, but with three little girls to arouse and dress, I knew leaving the house at 6 a.m. was bordering on the impossible.  So we asked the ever-so-accommodating grandparents to keep the girls overnight, which was a delightful arrangement for everyone. Grace was so excited, she packed their backpack with clothes and (necessary!) toys two days early.

Wednesday the 25th dawned rainy and cool.  Ben was leaving for work at the same time as I was leaving, so we walked to our cars together, and he gave me a parting hug and kiss and reassurance that God is in control.  I was a brimming cup of emotions and tears, and his reassurances made  a few of the tears slip over the rim.

I arrived on time for my appointment, and I waited anxiously for the midwife.  She is a bustling whirlwind of confidence and realistic positivity, and morning hours did not seem to dampen her enthusiasm.  She brightly asked if I was ready to have this baby; while I most emphatically did, I was none too excited about the process of  arrival. I lay on the table, willing her to find me much further progressed than I had reasonable hope for. No sooner had she begun the exam than my water broke, and it was no mean trickle. It was more along the lines of a gushing spring.   At my last exam, she had stripped my membranes and pushed me to 2 cm, and today she said I had progressed to 3 cm.  She sent me home to walk and wait, giving me an adult diaper, her cell phone number, and instructions for encouraging contractions to begin.

As I got in to the van, the tilting of my pelvis made a small river rush down my leg, and I felt an intense gratitude for the morning rain that hid the puddle I just made on the black top.  I called Ben, and asked him to come home from work.  He wanted to make one more stop in Cleveland, but I insisted that I needed his moral support.  Behind the hospital and the midwife's office is a lovely wooded walking trail.  It is a small area, but the path circles and loops, making the most of the area. I took a lap around it, hoping that maybe contractions would start right away, and I wouldn't have to walk home.  I was really hoping for a repeat of Anne's birth--surprisingly quick, but it wasn't following that pattern.

I got into the van and headed home.  Ben met me there about 10:30, and it felt so good to have his presence.  We laughed as I cut up Leah's night-time PullUps to use to collect the flood of amniotic fluid that continued to gush.  A sweet friend stopped by, leaving me encouraged by her fellowship. After some lunch, a call to the midwife, and a little rest time, Ben recommended that we drive to the park and go for a walk. It was a great suggestion.  Except for the whole labor and gushing puddles part, it was a lovely date.

As we neared the end of our walk, the contractions began to fall into a more regular five to ten minute pattern. It was about 2 o'clock, so we decided to drive to Westlake where the hospital is, since the midwife had asked us to check in at the office at four.  Halfway there, we realized this was probably going to end with a hospital admission, so we turned around to switch vehicles with my father-in-law, so they could have the car seats.

We still had some time to kill before the appointment, so we went to Volunteers of America, one of our favorite secondhand stores in the area, and nabbed a few deals.  Ben found a box fan, and I found seven hardback Bobbsey twin books for the girls and a hardback edition of Oliver Twist. Score! Pushing a cart down the aisles, breathing through the contractions and praying that I wouldn't make a puddle or a scene was a little awkward, but the shopping was a great diversion.

To be continued....

Why I Don't Take Selfies With My Husband

Dialogue that accompanied this montage:

"Honey, will you please take a picture with me? Just turn your head towards me and smile."

"Honey, c'mon, look normal and smile."

"OK, you don't have to smile, but could you please look normal?"

"Ben, C'MON ON!  Open your eyes, and take a nice picture!"

"Benjamin, I said a NICE picture. You could at least look pleasant."

"You better take a nice picture or you will have to pack your own lunch for work tomorrow."

Pregnancy Progression: 9 months in Photos

18 weeks

19 weeks

 20 weeks

20 week 3D scan

22 weeks

24 weeks

27 weeks 

32 weeks

 34 weeks

 35 weeks

37 weeks 

39 weeks 

The Raging Mama

We had been reading through the kindergarten science textbook, the girls and I, and we came to the chapter on animals.  We read the page about insects and spiders, and the text noted that insects have six legs while spiders have eight.  We talked a little bit about this, counted the legs on each, wrote down 6 and 8 next to the respective bug, and then I attempted to review, the book still open in front of us.

I start with, "How many legs does an insect have?"
She replies offhandedly as if we hadn't just been talking about it, "I don't know."
I try again, pointing to the number 6 jumping up and down on the page, "A spider has eight legs, how many does an insect have?"
She counters again in the same casual manner, "I don't know."

I can feel the steam building, my armpits sticky and my face blushing.  I'm half-amazed that she could not remember two numbers that we had just spent 5 minutes discussing and writing. The other half of me is irritated that my daughter is not taking me seriously. My voice is starting to grate, and I feel a lump form in the back of my throat.  I tell her I am in earnest, and now is no time for fooling around. I continue to question her, unwilling to just move on.

By the end of the incident, I am red-faced and ticked off, and she is in tears.  I am  a n g r y.  ANGRY.  The temper that I didn't think I had rears its ugly head.  I have it.  And not just that time.  When a sweet gift from a dear one, just received, is broken by careless hands.  When the milk is accidentally spilled for the second time in five minutes.  When the older ones make the youngest cry from unintentional roughness. When sisters provoke and agitate repeatedly. When I have been up countless times in the night and I am oh.so.tired, and little faces and hot, sticky hands will not even let me eat my breakfast in peace. In the heat of the moment, I feel so controlled. So controlled by my emotions.  I say hurtful things, barbed words that stick in the soul, unfiltered by the Spirit and dictated by the demands of my passion.  I'm exactly what I had purposed never to be--an angry, yelling mama.

Five years ago, as my belly swelled with the beauty of new life and dreams that I had thought might never be mine, I had pored over child-rearing books, and all of them agreed that anger has no place in the home.  I knew it, mentally assented, and for the first few years, never struggled.  Now, three precious bundles later, I still agree, but now I labor to live truth, stretched thin by the relentless onslaught of dirty dishes, clothes, and diapers, and the demands of loving, teaching, and caring for three little ones who take, but give little at this point. I've asked for help from friends and mature mothers, sought God's Word, and counseled with my husband.  I'll share with you what I have been learning.

• In the moment, just stop.  Step back long enough to rationally respond, not instinctively react. You make the choice to allow anger or truth to determine your reaction.

This was the beginning of small victories for me.  I began to pray for the Spirit to give me an awareness of when I was about to blow up.  Often, I was so caught in the moment, I had already reacted before I was even cognizant of my decision.  The Holy Spirit is so good to me, and He has given me a real consciousness of my mental state.  Proverbs 29:22 says, "...a furious man aboundeth in transgression."

• Choose humble gratitude. 

As I name my blessings one by one, out loud, it is much harder to maintain an angry heart. Remembering that what I have is more than I deserve serves to humble my offended, proud heart. 
I love the following thought by Nancy Leigh DeMoss--
"One of the fundamental qualities invariably found in a grateful person is humility. Gratitude is the overflow of a humble heart, just as surely as an ungrateful, complaining spirit flows out of a proud heart. Proud people are wrapped up in themselves. They think much of themselves and little of others. If people or circumstances don’t please or suit them, they are prone to whine or become resentful." (quotations are mine)

• Actively forgive.  

Many times my anger was not based on the singular incident in which it happened to appear, but it was the climax to a series of events.  I had been saving my anger from the last run-in, nurturing my irritation.  My frustrations were just piling up in my heart until I just exploded either in ugly, quiet tones or loud, uglier words.  I was in the midst of this battle when I read Matthew 18 in my devotions one morning.  I read the passage in verses 20-22 where Peter asks Christ how many times he should forgive his brother, and he thought 7 times was a reasonable limit.  Christ's response really struck me. He wants me to forgive my little hedonistic children countless times.  Even when they aren't sorry.  Even when she gets in to my purse and eats gum and breaks my chapstick three times in the same day.  Till seventy times seven.  Forgive. Again. And again. And again. 

• Find joy.

I asked an older mother about my situation, and she encouraged me to enjoy my children and cultivate times of fun and bonding.  Often I feel like I can't take time to do this, because hellloooo, the laundry pile has reached epic heights and dinner doesn't feel like making itself tonight.  Regardless, having those moments when they flash a smile of appreciation and they bring you bouquets of flowering grass and wrap their chubby little arms around your neck are priceless.  Writing down their adorable pronunciations and delightful words make the hard times more palatable.  Watching them sleep, catching them doing right (even if it's momentary), and treasuring their artwork are all ways that I have found to create joy.

Anne {6 Months of Bliss}

1 month:

2 months:

3 months:

4 months:

5 months:

6 months:

A side-by-side of all three girls at 6 months:

Answered Prayer: Anne's Birth Story

Before experiencing childbirth, I didn't know it was possible to experience the opposing emotions of absolute dread and heartfelt desire simultaneously.   In the weeks leading up to Anne's birth, I literally lost sleep as I worried  about how I would manage another labor and birth.  I would likewise daydream wistfully  about the sweet little one that wiggled and hiccuped within my womb, wondering whom her tiny features would resemble and which of her parent's personality quirks she would exhibit. Both of my previous birth experiences had been long, hard, and Grace's birth had been just plain awful.  Ben and I began to pray early in this pregnancy for a faster labor. As we approached my due date, we asked everybody--our church, family, friends, the postman and the lady at the cash register--to pray for a quick delivery and a healthy baby. A verse that I memorized and clung to both before and during labor was Isaiah 41:13, For I the LORD thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee.  I am still amazed at how our good God answered those prayers and confirmed the truth of His Word.

My due date was December 10, which came and went as uneventfully as if no one was sitting on pins and needles waiting for a baby's arrival.  My sweet mother arrived that evening to be my personal slave to help out once baby arrived.   Ben really wanted the baby to have a birth date of 12-12-12, but I just wanted her to come NOW. On Wednesday, the 12th, I awoke, contractionless and disconsolate.  With the other two girls, my labor had started about three in the morning and progressed from there, so I figured if this baby was coming that day, I'd already have known it.  I spent some time with the Lord that morning, and I told Him that if this baby was born today and the labor went quickly, it would be so obvious that He had answered prayer and His fingerprints were all over this event.  Honestly, my faith was pretty weak at that point.

I had an appointment with the midwife at 8:30 that morning, so at 7:45 a.m., my mom, the girls and I were all out the door.  Since I was now past my due date, I had to have a non-stress test done.  While I sat, strapped down and monitored, my midwife stopped in and offered me some hot tea, apologizing that she couldn't offer me a pitocin cocktail.  We laughed together, but she did offer to do a thorough exam and hopefully jumpstart some contractions.  After the exam, she said that I was 3 cm dilated, but that she had probably pushed me to 4 cm. She sent me on my way, jokingly adding that she was on call that weekend.  As we walked out into the parking lot a few minutes later, I felt a contraction and then another.  They were about three minutes apart, so I told my mom that maybe we'll have a baby today.

Since we were close to a Jo-Ann's, I asked my mom if she would mind if we stopped in so I could feed my crochet addiction with more yarn.  However, the contractions continued, and my mom asked me if I was sure that I wanted to go.  "Of course!" I replied.  I planned to labor at home as long as possible anyways, so I figured if this were the real deal, we could go somewhere and get my mind off the contractions.  As we walked in the store about 10:00, I told my mom I had to go to the bathroom, but I'd meet her in the yarn department.  I began to feel very no-nonsense like, so as soon as I finished in the bathroom, I bee-lined for the yarn, picked it out, and headed for the check-out line, but not before I felt the need to go to the bathroom again.  At this point, I needed to stop and concentrate to get through the contractions.  My mom started getting a little nervous, so we checked out directly and headed home.  About this time, I decided that we were past the point of no return and labor was definitely progressing.

As we drove the half-hour ride to our home, I called Ben to come home from work.  I began to make the mandatory calls to those who needed to know that labor had started, but by then (around 10:30), I was deep breathing through the contractions, so the phone calls were abbreviated.  We arrived home, and my mom ran in to get the girls' overnight bag to take to our pastor's house.  She left me at home and ran the girls to the Royalty's house, where they were staying.  In the meanwhile, Ben got home and quickly transitioned into his "awesome labor coach" role.  About the only thing I remember saying to Ben at that time was, "If this baby arrives today on 12-12-12, then I get Anne with an E!" We both liked the name Anne, but Ben preferred it without an "e".   I figured I'd better get my dibs in right away.

Sharing the news and savoring the moment

I sat on the exercise ball for a while, but I quickly opted for the bathtub.  The warm water felt awesome, but the small size of the tub made labor a little awkward.  I lost sense of the time, but Ben started getting concerned and called the midwife.  The contractions were about 1-1/2 minutes apart by this time and lasting about a minute.  My mom was getting really antsy (mother knows best), but I was convinced we had hours left.  I asked my mom to make a strong brew of red raspberry leaf tea about that time.  Very shortly thereafter, I felt like I just could not go on.  The labor had become so intense, close and painful, that I decided I was just going to have to go the hospital and have an epidural.  I was sure that I was probably only 5 or 6 cm, and I couldn't figure out why I couldn't handle the labor better.  As we ran out the door, I remember looking at the clock and seeing 12:30.  I told Ben that my mom was driving, because I needed him to help me get through the contractions. We ran to the van, where I kneeled on the floor and immediately started yelling for Ben to push on my back as another contraction hit. I'm sure we must have made a comical picture had anyone been watching.

My mom had never driven the 25-minute route to the hospital before, so Ben was trying to tell her how to get there from the back of the van as well as help me get through these monstrous contractions.  It wasn't a good combination. I was kneeling on the floor of the van with my head buried in the back seat, moaning not-so-quietly through each contraction. I wasn't being very nice by this time.  I remember snapping at Ben, "Quit sitting down!"  I wanted him to kneel behind me, so that he was ready to push when my next contraction came.  I also started pushing a leetle bit, because it felt so much better.  But I wasn't about to tell my mom or Ben that, as I had a feeling they might not be too excited to hear that.  Neither of them had studied up on home delivery as far as I knew.

We arrived at the hospital, where a wheelchair magically appeared.  They wheeled me over to the admittance desk and started the preliminary questions.  As I began to moan...ok, yell, they asked what number baby this was.  I yelled, "Three!"  and they quickly had a nurse come to wheel me to the labor floor, leaving Ben to finish answering questions.  I just wanted Ben, and the nurse insisted he would be with us soon.  I remember her repeatedly telling me to sit back or I would fall off the chair.  I didn't listen or care.  We got to the room and she immediately checked my dilation.  I was 8 cm, almost 9.  I was shocked to hear I was that far along.  I still wanted an epidural though, thinking I still had a while before this baby arrived. Everybody else thought differently, and the room began to buzz with activity.

All dressed up to go home

One of the midwives in the practice, Susan Dornan, arrived and said she was there just in case baby arrived before my midwife got there from the office.  Two or three nurses showed up with all kinds of gear.  Colleen, my midwife, showed up a minute or two later, checked me again and said, "Do you feel like pushing?"  "Yes," was my loud, anguished response.  The nurse was still setting up to get the epidural, but my midwife told her she was wasting her time. She said, "She's not getting an epidural, she's gettin' a baby."

Honestly, pushing has always been an awkward phase of labor for me.  I mean, who ever thought telling a hugely pregnant woman in outrageous pain with a monitor or two strapped to her stomach to "roll up in a ball, grab your legs behind the knees and push!"  obviously has never been in that position before.  It is impossibly uncomfortable and never feels right to me.  I pushed a few times, but I was a little half-hearted because I was just not with it. I was overwhelmed with the contractions and the speed with which everything was happening.  My mom, Ben, and the nurses were all telling me, "C'mon, you're doing it, push harder, keep going..."  After three or so pushes, Colleen said, "All right, if you don't push this baby out with the next contraction, we're going to have to insert the IV and do something different."  At that point, I suddenly realized that the baby must be right there, and avoiding an IV was incentive enough for me.  With the next contraction, I pushed with every ounce of my body.  I remember Colleen telling me, "Little pushes, April, little push, little push." And then she was born.  Her cord was wrapped around her neck, so they unwrapped it, and the rest of her body came out easily after that.

An alien?  Nope, just a blue little baby.  She pinked up a little while later.

They asked me if I wanted to hold her, so they placed her on my chest, totally untouched and fresh from the womb. It was that birth moment that I had always hoped to experience, but as yet had not.  Amazing.  As our eyes met, I was overcome with the beauty of this new life and birth.  A miracle of God-sized proportions that I could hold in my arms.

The only snafu was that I had a retained placenta.  The midwife tried to remove it twice, but eventually they gave me a strong dose of morphine and a doctor came in and delivered it.  After things settled down, I could not get over how quickly and smoothly this labor was.  From first contraction to birth, the whole thing was no more than 4-1/2 hours.  Only about 2 hours were intense labor.  That was a huge answer to prayer and confirmation of the truth of God's faithfulness.

Deborah Anne was born on December 12, 2012 (12-12-12!) at 2:07 p.m.  We are calling her Anne.  She weighed 7 pounds, 7 ounces and was 19 inches long.

Crochet Crazy {Nesting Syndrome!}

The countdown to the expected arrival of our latest addition is now in the single digits.  I have been stressing a bit about labor and delivery, and crocheting has been a great tension reliever for me.  As the queen of cheapo, I never pay for a pattern, so all the patterns listed here are available for free on the internet.

I was comforted greatly when I found this verse in Isaiah 41:13, "For I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee."  I have quoted that verse a lot in the last few days!

Here is the majority of my recent projects:

 Owl Pattern

Newborn Hat: no pattern

 Gray Hat pattern

Pink ribbon hat: no pattern

 I gave this one to a friend who is battling a second round of cancer and chemotherapy.  Another made-up-as-I-went, so no pattern for this one.

This was my inspiration, but I'm too cheap to buy a pattern.  I just eye-balled it. 

Mary Jane slippers

 No pattern, but this one was my inspiration.

Queen Anne's Lace scarf pattern (requires free sign-up with Ravelry.com) 

 For my niece, and again no pattern

 For my nephew, and no pattern, but here's something similar!

For my oldest nephew, who is consumed with airplanes and flying right now.  No pattern for this one either.