Max's Birth Story

My labor with Max started with 3 days of early labor. On Thursday the 21st, I started with light contractions about every 8 minutes. I noticed them and they showed up on my non-stress test in the doc's office, but I didn't really have to concentrate through them at that point. Overnight into Friday, they got more intense and frequent, but would taper off when I took a bath...which was an indication that things were not yet underway. All day Friday, they continued at a little higher intensity than they were on Thursday. I went to the chiropractor, and to the play gym with my mom and Amy. Overnight into Saturday the scenario of the previous night played out again. I really wasn't getting a whole lot of sleep, since the contractions would amp up during the night. Saturday, I started having to concentrate through a few, but toward the evening they started spacing back out.

Saturday evening, I talked to my doula, Kay, who was just getting back into town from a conference in Atlanta. She told me to remember that every woman is different, and active labor might not be the textbook 4-1-1 (4 minutes apart, lasting 1 minute, for at least 1 hour) for every woman.

Around 10pm Saturday night, the contractions were getting and staying stronger, after they had lagged and faded somewhat through the afternoon. They were still about 10-12 minutes apart though, so I didn't think much of it. I had a late snack and tried to go to bed. Around midnight, I had to wake George up to start counterpressure on my back during the contractions. They trucked along at 5 minutes apart for about 50 minutes, and then spaced back out to 10 minutes. I was really annoyed by that, because I had started thinking we were finally getting somewhere! So we decided to try and get some more sleep. I woke up to every contraction for the next couple hours, and finally around 3:30 they were getting so intense I had to get up and sit on the birth ball with George applying counterpressure again. Once again, we trucked along at 4 minutes apart for 50 minutes, and then they spaced back out again. This time, though, they were 10 minutes apart but the strongest I had had so far. I decided to call Kay and see what she thought. She reminded me again that it's different for everyone, and asked what my gut was telling me. I said I thought it was time to go to the hospital. So that's what we set out to do.

At this point I was starting to feel very nauseous and got sick before we left.

We arrived at the hospital around 5:30, and when they checked me I was relieved to hear that I was 6.5 cm dilated! That was huge for me, since I never made it past 4cm with Amy.



Once at the hospital with Kay and George, we walked, I used the tub, and I got doses of antibiotics since I was Group B strep positive. God provided the best of nurses for me, Heather, who had just finished studying to be a midwife. This was a huge blessing, because not many other nurses would have been so patient over the next several hours. Labor kept intensifying, my water broke in the early afternoon, and for a long time I didn't dilate any further, even though my body was changing in other ways. My cervix was moving from posterior to anterior, I was effacing, and Max was moving down. I'm so thankful I had Kay there to explain to me that dilation isn't the only progress to be made. It was fairly discouraging to hear 7cm after several hours, and I was starting to block myself mentally from getting any further. Kay and George encouraged me to stay upright, which was really tough because the contractions were ridiculously painful that way, and I would sometimes have as many as 6 in a row with almost no break in between. Finally, after about 45 minutes of vertical positions, I couldn't take it anymore, and asked for an epidural. It was hard for me to go that route, because I desperately wanted a natural childbirth, but after almost 4 days of contractions and 20 hours of active labor, I was more exhausted than I had ever been.

Heather checked me before the epidural, and I had made it to 8cm! I was relieved that all those awful contractions during the previous hour had done something!

Once the epidural was in place, I could finally get a little rest. And it only took another 30 minutes for me to be complete (10 cm)! Kay and I discussed it later, and she said she was glad I got the epidural. She suspected that a lot of my emotional and mental blocks from Amy's labor were slowing things down, and that once my body (and my mind!) could relax, everything could move along more quickly.

Heather wanted me to labor down (where they have me sit upright to help the baby come down even further) before trying to push. So we did that for a while, and then the nursing shift changed, and my new nurse wanted me to start pushing. I was having "hot spots" of pain through the epidural, and I could definitely feel pain in my belly while pushing, but fortunately none below that. I felt like it hurt everywhere in between pushes. It was definitely the hardest thing I have ever physically done.

After almost 2 hours of pushing, my doctor delivered Max at 9:24pm. He told me later he was impressed and glad that I had managed the VBAC, and I thanked him for being so willing to wait so much longer than usual for Max to come on his own.

God provided us with so many graces along this road, not the least of which was finding the right doula in Kay (and that Max waited until she was back in town to be born!!). We would not have had the confidence to get through all those hours without her, and she and George made the perfect team. I really owe this VBAC to her. :)

Heather was another grace. She was willing to let me go on intermittent monitoring, which they don't like to do with VBACs, and I knew she wanted that VBAC for us as badly as we did. When I saw her the next day, I thanked her profusely, and she gave me a huge hug and said how badly she had wanted to be there when Max was born, but that she was so excited for us that we had been able to have the VBAC.

This recovery has been a totally different experience. I felt so free and relaxed even the next morning after Max was born. I am SO thankful that God allowed us to have this experience. Even though I didn't manage a natural childbirth, there isn't anything I regret or question about Max's birth. It was just what I hoped for.

Cherishing these moments

Time. When it comes to kids, it always seems to be speeding by. My daughter is almost two years old. She amazes, challenges, and amuses me every day. She is hilarious and smart, and ends up in timeout at least 20 times a day (usually a lot more!).

And yet, I find myself feeling so bittersweet about these last few weeks before her brother is born. While I'm so excited to begin our lives as a family of four, I feel her babyhood slipping further and further away. And every day that we get to spend just the two of us feels like a little treasure that I'll get to hold in my heart forever.

I know she probably won't remember much about this summer, just because she's so young, but I hope she knows and feels how much I love this time with her. I hope we can create memories that I can keep and recount to her when she's older.

People keep telling me to relax and take it easy. But I don't want that to be how I spend this time. We go to the pool, to open gym time, to the park, and we are out and about every day. We talk, and giggle, and cuddle. These are our last days when she will be my "only", my baby. And I'm loving each and every minute.

Healing from a c-section...more than just physical

When I talk to people who have never had a c-section about the emotional healing I've had to do, there is usually some look of confusion or even disgust. I get the "well, your baby is here and healthy, so what else matters?" attitude. Make no mistake, having emotional scars from my c-section doesn't mean I am any less grateful for my beautiful daughter, or the fact that she got here safely. I am grateful not to have encountered anything dangerous during or after her birth. But that doesn't erase what was lost. It doesn't minimize the feeling of failure.

In my particular situation, my body never progressed past 4 cm. I never contracted well on my own, and my body didn't even really respond to pitocin. Sure, I spent 24 hours "in labor", but nothing happened. I was labeled "failure to progress" and have spent the better part of the last 2 years trying to understand why that happened. Why my body failed at the most basic and essential job it was designed for. It made me feel like less of a woman. To not be capable of bringing my child into the world? Failure.

I saw my daughter's first hour of life in pictures. There was no squirming baby placed on my chest, no looking into her face as she took her first breaths. I heard her first cry from behind a curtain. There was no watching my husband cut the umbilical cord, or getting to count her fingers and toes. I was paralyzed and cut open, staring at the ceiling of an operating room. I wasn't the one to change her diapers in the hospital, I wasn't the one who got to be with her during her newborn tests. I had to have someone hand her to me, I couldn't go to her.

Physically, it's hard for other women to understand what a c-section means, too. Having someone you barely know shave you to prep you for surgery, being naked on a table in front of a team of strangers, staying in bed until you can feel your legs again, someone having to help you shower. I couldn't get out of bed in the middle of the night to pick up or change my daughter. It leaves a physical scar that never goes away, and will have an effect on every single birth you have after that.

All of those things most people take for granted. I would have given anything to be able to have all of those moments, even the poopy diapers. I was embarassed by the physical challenges.

So no, for me a c-section is not "just another was to give birth" or "no big deal". It comes with a lot of emotional and physical baggage, a lot of why's and why not's.

When I got pregnant with this baby, I found a lot of those emotions welling up again. Those same feelings of failure came flooding back, along with fear. Fear of another potential surgery, fear that my body would fail again, fear of trying to VBAC.

I realized I had to come to terms with Amy's birth, and get past these things...I had to heal emotionally. And for me, that meant learning. I threw myself into learning as much as I could about VBACs and c-sections. I educated myself about the risks of both a VBAC and a repeat c-section. I learned things about the state of our medical system today, and how most doctors don't even follow the recommendations of their own organization (ACOG), when it comes to what they recommend to their patients for birth after c-section. Our society has gotten so sue-happy that doctors are afraid to allow women to try VBACs, even though it is regarded as the safest method of birth after c-section. I learned about the benefits of vaginal birth for the babies themselves, and about the importance of the baby's position during pregnancy and labor. I learned more about labor and the textbook "definitions" applied to it. I read, and absorbed, and asked questions.

I thought I was prepared for labor and birth with Amy, and now I feel more than that...I feel informed. I feel like I can make choices and decisions regarding my prenatal care, and even the treatment I receive in labor. I read my operative report yesterday, and found out that Amy was posterior (or "sunny side up"). Having the understanding I do now about fetal positioning, I know that many more of these babies are delivered by c-section, and many are labeled failure to progress because they can't move down into the pelvis well enough to help with dilation. But I've also learned that posterior babies can be helped to turn during labor, that women don't always experience back labor, and that the common "interventions" used in labor these days are not always necessary.

More than anything, I finally feel like I didn't fail. And that was the biggest hurdle of all.

I still want this VBAC. I still want to have all those experiences of a vaginal birth. I still want to know that my body can give birth the way God designed it to. But I also know now that if it doesn't go that way, it's ok. I have truly done everything I can to prepare myself. I will not feel as though I didn't do enough. I will not feel like I failed.

Frogs and Snails, and Puppy Dog's Tails...

We had our 20-week ultrasound today. I watched nervously as the tech scanned all the important parts and functions of our baby's little body. I never can quite breathe a sigh of relief until the tech visibly relaxes and I know all is well with our little one.

All things seem to be in order, and developing right on schedule! We also took a peek at the gender of our newest family member...it was several peeks actually, because the cord was in the way, right between the legs. But in the end, the tech confirmed that we are having a BOY! And yes, she's sure it wasn't just the cord. :)

He's measuring just right for my due date of July 13th. There are no cysts to be seen, and the placenta is attached in the posterior position. I'm hoping to try for a VBAC, so the location of the placenta is a big deal. It's a little closer to the cervix than they'd like, but it tends to migrate upward as pregnancy progresses, so they'll recheck at 32 weeks to make sure it's out of the way enough to try that VBAC.

It still feels kind of surreal to call this baby a "him". Before we had Amy I would have been totally content to have a house full of boys! But after having her, I had a hard time imagining having anything but girls! Funny how that works!

Most of all, I know God is designing our family in just the way He intends it. I'm excited to have a whole new set of firsts with a whole new member of our family, and to raise a brand new human being to honor and serve his Creator.

Family

I don't know how a lot of people classify their college experiences, but I do know how I remember mine...it was a home.

Our music department was so much more than a branch of our college, it was a genuine family. The bonds we formed, the trust we placed in each other as we worked and struggled and gave so much of ourselves in our performances, and the caring we felt from so many sides have all made a huge impact on me. I have often recounted how blessed I felt to attend a small, close-knit college like Simpson, and be a part of a department with such a rich history and reputation.

This morning, I found out that my voice teacher, Maria, is entering hospice care and is not expected to live much longer. For those of you unfamiliar with voice studios, I can only describe them as your home base. The place you seek encouragement, feedback, and honesty. Where you know you will be pushed beyond what you feel you are capable of, but will also have your teacher and studio-mates right there with you. Your teacher guides you in your professional choices, and you trust him/her to direct you wisely. It's an intense relationship, but one that serves for your betterment.

Maria has been a part of Simpson's Music Department for many, many years. She has always been quite the style icon at Simpson, and well-known for her remarkable taste in shoes :) There isn't a day that I can recall when she wasn't dressed to the nines. When I was there she was the Chair of the department. After my freshman year, when my first Simpson voice teacher left the school, I had to try and figure out which studio would be a good fit for me. I was blessed in that first teacher, in that I learned a lot about what I needed in a teacher, which was someone who would push me, and not allow me to give only half, or be content to be on the sidelines. That was Maria. My first year in her studio, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was remarkably resilient, and by the following year, was on the mend. A couple of years ago, I heard that her cancer had returned, but that's all I really knew.

While I was in grad school, another of the Simpson voice teachers passed away after her own battle, and she also had been a faculty member for several years. So to now know that we will likely lose Maria too feels a little like our family is falling apart. It's the way of the world, and the relentless march of time, but it's still very hard. So much has changed there in the last 6 years that I'm not sure I would recognize my home, but those familiar faces of the faculty were what made it enduring. I can only hope that I will be able to go to Iowa for a funeral, and celebrate this remarkable woman...wearing my very best high heels.

What I Love About Toddlers: Sarcasm Edition.

1. I love when my toddler shrieks as loud as she can - and at the highest pitch imaginable - when she is frustrated. Such a sweet, sweet sound.

2. I love that if I have to leave the room, she goes straight for the wipes, climbing over any obstacle in her way, so that I can return to the room with a huge pile of individual wipes to put back in the container. She knows how much I love to do that.

3. I especially love #2 right after I have refilled the wipes container. It makes for maximum cleanup. She's so considerate.

4. I love that I have to put my toddler in timeout 80 times a day for throwing heavy toys onto the floor. While staring straight at me.

5. I love how my toddler eats her food one crumb at a time. She's so dainty.



There will be a sincere edition. But not today.

Why?

Today started out really well! Its a great day...the sun is shining, its a decent 50 degrees outside, but then I made a mistake. I asked for help.

Why do people who are always saying they "just want to help" make it so, SO hard for you when you actually take them up on it?

George and I work really hard to be independent, that's true. We want to be self-sufficient, and not have to depend on others for help. It doesn't mean we want to be above needing help, just that we know we should be able to do a lot of things on our own, and not develop a habit of never dealing with our own stuff.

I'm firmly in the camp of "Sometimes you've got to put on your big kid pants and DEAL with it". But that doesn't mean there won't be times when we need a favor. We try to make those times rare, so that we don't take advantage of anyone, and we offer our help and services to others freely and without expectation of having the favor returned.

But maybe we've gone too far to the extreme in our independence. I guess the fault could lie with us, too. I don't know.

It just...wasn't a great encounter this morning. But I think I should put on my big girl pants and just enjoy the rest of this day! :)