Post Category → childbirth

chatty

First, this: a long, lanky boy who climbed onto my lap and just wanted me to hold him.

It’s snowing. Not snowy, but snowing, seemingly every day. This is a long winter, for sure. But as eager as I am to just smell some fresh air and ditch the snow gear, I’m also appreciating a few extra weeks of the quiet that winter brings. Soon enough, I’ll add yards and gardens to cleaning muddy kids to my to-do list. For now, we just enjoy each other inside, and I focus my attention to the domain within these walls.

William went on a get-away with Daddy. Every single photo Ryan sent was of a beaming little boy. Every moment was super special and super exciting, and he came home with his little love-cup brimming to the top — and splashing over. What a special boy.

I was just made aware of the book “Ten Boys Who Changed the World”. Has anyone read that book, or any of the related books? I’d love to hear some feedback. Earlier this year, I read the boys a children’s biography of Amy Carmichael, and it was the best read-aloud yet. There hearts were so evidently stirred to love Jesus and believe in His power. Missionary stories were my favorite growing up, and Mama read several to us besides the ones I read myself, but I can’t think of too many that were particularly 4-year-old-friendly. So any feedback on the above title, as well as any other recommendations, would be appreciated!

I was reading a thread on Facebook last night, started by someone whose worldview is vastly different than mine. It just made me ponder again how thoroughly our worldviews inform our perspectives and values. We literally can’t see past them. Another’s worldview just seems ludicrous and impossible for us to really empathize with. So, in a world full of intelligent people who seem to have connected their dots in a completely different way than I have mine, how can I be so sure I have a leg to stand on? Is it really just a battle of wits, and popular vote? Or can you build your worldview on something altogether True? (Take a listen. It’ll take a few loads of laundry or a couple commutes back and forth, and it’ll be worth it.)

I’ve struggled with diastasis recti since post-William (or maybe even pre-William, but unaware?) Even after William, I didn’t really understand what it was, and when I couldn’t get rid of my baby belly, I did what anyone would do: more crunches! Little did I realize that I was making it even worse. Slowly, I’m learning more and finding exercises that require much diligence, but will hopefully lead to a mended abdomen after this baby. Do any of you have experience/knowledge to share?

Maybe it’s the snow, maybe I’m just a bit tired and behind, but we’re finally getting our sights set on Easter Sunday. Last night, Ryan talked to the boys about Resurrection, and why Jesus couldn’t just stop at Good Friday. Crucified and resurrected; sin and death beaten. We are forgiven, and we will live with Him.

On that note, maybe I can pass this along, too, for more listening material. Don’t spend your love on knowledge, morality, or activism: love and live for Jesus.

beatrice’s birth

Beatrice was born 5 days after her due date; this was her giving us a clue, I suppose, that something was different this time (Jameson was born hours before his due date, William hours after.) Everyone who’d been guessing “girl” all along was even more sure, I suppose. I still didn’t have a clue about gender. All I knew was that I was overdue, and there was no telling how long I would be pregnant for. I settled in for the potential long haul.

Tuesday morning Ryan announced that I would have the baby that day. “I can feel it in my bones!” he declared. I don’t know why he thought that, but it was true that there were signs of labor — though I didn’t worry too much about them, knowing it still could be days or weeks away.

We dropped Jameson off for a tent overnight at Papa’s house, then drove to Kevin and Liz’s house for dinner. Somewhere between bites of yummy pork loin and sweet corn, I began having contractions that felt legit — not too intense, and spaced far apart, but worth noting. After walking downtown for ice cream cones, I finally said something. I knew I needed to get home and go to sleep, just in case this was for real.

Mom was already here when we pulled in the driveway, washing dishes and straightening things up and telling us to get to bed. I got to read a bedtime story to William, hugging him tight and enjoying one more “baby” William moment. Then I headed to bed.

And, oddly, my contractions started getting farther apart. I had never experienced that before, and didn’t know what to think of it. Rather than worrying too much about it, I just tried to sleep.

At 11:30, a very intense contraction woke me up completely. Ryan immediately noticed the difference in my breathing. We timed a few (still not very impressive, I thought), and he called Regina to let her know things seemed to be intensifying.

And that’s when time sort of stopped. Just like with both boys, as soon as labor began in earnest, it went into overdrive. I tried to walk around more than I have in the past, though I have no idea how long that lasted for. It seemed that in no time, the contractions were longer than the space in between. I became aware of people arriving, lamps being switched on, candles being lit, and equipment being arranged, but mostly, I was just aware of waves of pressure, Ryan, and my mom.

It was so intense. I know that goes without saying, but then again, what else is there to say? Labor is so much work on so many levels, but for me, the most important work of labor is staying on top of my thoughts and attitude. Relaxing is so important, but it would be impossible without first getting control of my thoughts. This time around, as I’d prepared for the birth by re-reading some favorites, I was impressed by a story of one rather scared first-time mom, who overcame her fears by realizing her body was incredibly capable of making way for this baby. She chanted to herself, over and over, “I’m going to get huge.” I thought of her as waves of tension rolled over me. It feels like everything in you is being squeezed and compressed, but I know that what I need to concentrate on is opening — relaxing completely and willing my body to open stronger, faster, more efficiently. There were a few peaks when I just wanted to lose it — scream and yell and curl up in a ball and be done. And I had to tell myself to just hold on, or I’d waste a perfectly good contraction, and why on earth would I prolong this agony when I could actually help it along?

And so, wave after wave, with Ryan gently touching my jaw, my shoulders, my palms — reminders to me to relax — and my mom pushing so hard on my lower back through the worst of the contractions, I just pictured OPEN.

I could feel the baby moving down, and the pressure on my spine mounted. My third baby, and still, I could not believe how ridiculous that pressure was — but then again, even as I was thinking that and wanting to be a bit angry, I realized a little body was pushing against my spine, trying to make its way out, and you know what? Suddenly the pressure makes sense. (I’m pretty sure that’s when I started moaning “ba-by”, and Ryan thought I’d gone coo-coo.)

Wary of premature pushing, I laid on my bed and just endured as much of that as I could before finally being sure that, yes, it was time. We’d planned on kneeling at the end of the bed, but Regina really wanted me to try laying on my side — a gentler option for someone who has a tendency to bleed too much. She must have seen worry on my face, because she gently reassured me that she didn’t think it would mean more work for me. I trusted her completely, and suddenly there was a little flurry as everyone got ready for the big arrival — and I silently wondered if I could remember how to push. For the first time, Regina took control, coaching me clearly through that climactic and somewhat crazy finale. I utterly amazed myself by being able to not push at her command, something I thought I would never be able to do. My waters broke, the head crowned, a pause, then the head, and finally — oh, the most wonderful feeling in the world! — the last push, and a baby. “A girl!”, Ryan announced.

A girl! I sank into my pillows in utter exhaustion, overwhelmed by a wave of thankfulness for making it through, and wanting to weep with joy over this new wonder — all in the circle of excitement and joy of sisters and friends, mom and midwife, and of course, Ryan. What a welcome to the world Beatrice had!

4:52am. Slivers of pink were lighting the sky outside the bedroom window. She cried immediately, and then nursed like a pro. The birth “party”, who had all watched so quietly, now sprang into action, bringing me Shepherd’s Purse tea, juice, warm towels for my shaking legs, wool socks, a hat for the baby, watching timers for the apgar scoring, massaging my stomach, and cheering me on for that last stage. They were amazing. It was amazing. My body delivered a baby! Isn’t that just amazing?

I couldn’t say enough about my experience with Regina. This delivery was, by far, the most gentle on my body, and it’s all thanks to her. She had me pumping iron-rich foods and Floradix for months to prepare my body for a blood loss, and, between that and her hard work after my delivery, what a difference it made! Twelve hours after giving birth, I was standing in a shower by myself, shampooing my hair. I have never been able to even come close to that before. And thanks to her wisdom regarding delivery positions, and her coaching, I didn’t tear at all. I was amazed by how phenomenal I felt. I was walking back and forth to my living room the very next day!

And of course, I can’t say enough about giving birth at home. I am so thankful to have found Regina. Laboring in my own house, being surrounded by supportive friends and a capable midwife, and feeling no pressure to do anything other than follow my body’s cues — it’s just so amazing. No cakewalk, of course, but amazing.

A healthy delivery, a healthy baby — blessing on blessing. I am so thankful.

today

Today, I am three weeks from my due date. So, so soon, our family will change forever. We’ll meet someone we’ll love instantly, and who will change the shape of who we are.

Today, I am folding towels and sheets and washcloths and sealing them up, labeling them “clean”, and checking one more thing of my list of preparations. I am digging through a newborn box and finding receiving blankets and hats and tiny socks. Into the wash they go, too. Soon, a corner of my room will house these and other birthing items. Crazy.

Today, we did a few chores in the morning, then donned suits and packed pb&j and headed to the beach. I’ve been happy to just do pool time this summer, but the boys love sand — and since they needed baths, anyway, why not? When we left, I thought, we need to do this more. So fun.

Today, there is so much to do, so many piles — of dishes, of doorknobs in boxes, of crown molding, of tools, of books… But today is not the day for that, not really. And so I do what I can, put my feet up for a bit, and decide that we’re okay. (And tomorrow, I think I’ll paint my newly-finished closets and start putting away some piles as soon as the paint dries! Excited!!)

Today, I read Hello, Baby to my two boys, and watch as their eyes take on awe, wonder, and sparkle. A baby being born — even these little guys understand how amazing it is. Jameson volunteers in a hushed voice, “We will help you, Mama, when the baby is born.” William just smiles.

Today, I peek into their bedroom as I pass by and have to stop, just for a minute, to take in their sweet sleeping faces. Pink cheeks, fair eyelashes bleached by sun, parted lips, and little bodies that aren’t so little anymore. Today, I want to cherish these little lives. How precious they are.

in bullets

Thinking about…

:: God being this kind of God, and not just a god of my own imagination, the importance of the family table, and other really good Dad sermons.

:: how, when we’re at the end of our rope and can only hold onto one thing, we choose fear instead of hope, worry instead of peace, death instead of life. Why not hold onto Jesus?

:: fleeting days. Summer days, winter days; baby days, boys days — they’re all fleeting, and I don’t want to waste them or wish them away. Today is the day the Lord has made, today is the day of salvation, today is what I’ve been given to sow my life into.

:: a baby coming, and how much I can’t believe it. A baby. A real, live baby. And how amazing this process is. Does it ever cease to be amazing? (I think not.) We’re all so excited.

:: how, as I approach the birthing event, I derive so much confidence from knowing that God made me to do this. Actually, pretty much all of my confidence. Belief in a creative, loving, wise God makes all the difference in how I live and approach my life’s callings. Because God said.

:: the fun weekend I just had with Ryan, celebrating our anniversary. Just a couple days away, but so fun to spend it walking, talking, eating, and just being together. It was such a treat.

baby news

Baby #3 is growing — fast! There are so many kicks and wiggles these days, and my belly is huge already! Before I know it, summer will be in full swing, and it’ll be time to dust off the Moses basket and wash the teeny tiny diapers.

Since moving back to upstate NY last year, I’ve had my ear to the ground regarding birth options, knowing I’d have to cross that bridge sooner or later. A few weeks after this baby made himself known, I started looking for real — and wasn’t very encouraged. I followed every lead I had. I scoured the internet, using every search engine and forum I could find to locate an upstate midwife. I really, really wanted a homebirth. I just kept holding out hope, but by week 18, it was getting pretty hard.

I was trying to come to terms with what seemed like the only option: finding a cooperative doctor and hoping for the best in a hospital. I knew I could trust God in that scenario. But I was so disappointed.

Finally, realizing that if I didn’t act soon, I wouldn’t get accepted by anyone as a patient, I started making phone calls and scheduling preliminary appointments.

And then Ryan had a brilliant idea: “Why don’t you call your old midwife down in NC and see if she knows of anyone who’s running under the radar?”

Sure enough. After searches that said the closest licensed homebirth midwife was in Ithaca, I found out there’s one in Canton, NY. My jaw dropped.

Too good to be true?

We tracked down her phone number (Ryan did, because she’s no where on the internet), and just a brief chat — her mellow voice, her pace, her no-nonsense brand of friendliness — made me jump up and down a little.

And when she came — because all of her visits are house calls!! — I almost cried. The first time we heard the baby’s heartbeat, I was laying on my own couch, with Ryan and the boys and this incredibly easy-going woman who just sort of slipped into the family room like an old friend.

She dots her i’s and crosses her t’s. She’s careful and cautious and courageous. She’s incredibly informed. She’s been through the wringer. She’s everything you expect from a lifelong advocate of natural childbirth.

And most of all, this has the distinct fragrance of gift from the Lord, dropped right into my lap. Really. A little miracle, just for me.