The time I spent laboring at the birthing center was actually quite pleasant, or as pleasant as an experience can be while experiencing labor pains.
When we got there, the midwife checked me and found that I was 5 cm dilated. Not bad, but not quite where I ought to have been for arriving at the center. I worried that we'd gotten there too early and should have held out a bit longer, but I was experiencing a weird pain in my side that told me we should stay under the watchful care of the midwife. Every time I had a contraction, a strong pressure emerged from just above my hip, making it feel like baby was trying to make her exit the wrong way. It hurt a lot more than I would have thought for only being 5 cm dilated, but I figured I'd never been in labor before, so maybe this was normal.
I decided to take a walk on the nature trail outside of the birthing center, hoping some fresh air and exercise might help keep me calm. My husband notified his parents and my parents about the status. I was hoping to wait for company to arrive until we were closer to the pushing stage, but I think a miscommunication led my in-laws to arrive almost right after we did at the center. I was glad to have family there, but felt like a watched pot, adding to my anxiety.
For the rest of the afternoon I continued to labor at the birthing center, with contractions getting a little bit stronger, but not much. I tried to eat some dinner but didn't have much of an appetite. We did another check and I was still at 5 cm. I tried not to get wrapped up in the number, knowing anything can change and I could go from 5-9 in no time. Or I could stall at 5, but I didn't want to think about that.
The rest of the experience is a bit foggy in my mind. I think that's nature's way of helping us cope with trauma, because details make it harder to move past the painful experience. I'm sure my husband would recall the rest of this story differently, but I'm going to tell the version that my brain has decided to hold onto because that's what I've got to work with as I sort through this postpartum journey.
At one point I got in the shower to use warm water to help through the contractions. We did another check and I was still at 5cm. I walked around. I draped myself over a birthing ball. Still 5cm. The midwife mentioned the idea of breaking my water, an intervention that is only used as necessary, so I knew she wasn't offering it lightly. Frustrated with how slowly things were progressing, I agreed to the procedure. It hurt a lot. Especially since baby was still sitting high and the midwife had to be a bit more aggressive than she usually would be. If nothing else, this mentally gave me the encouragement that things were going to happen now that the amniotic fluid had departed.
I got into the birthing tub, which was simultaneously the most wonderful and exhausting part of the night. I managed to sleep in the water in between contractions which was heavenly. But then the wave of pain would come on, still throbbing from above my hip, not from my who-ha like I would have expected. I threw up at one point, the first time I'd ever done so in front of my husband.
I got out of the tub and tried to lay on the bed, but no position felt right. Somewhere around 2am, the midwife saw me giving in to fatigue and suggested the drug Nubain as an aid. We did another check and I was still at 5cm, so I thought perhaps the drug could help me relax and allow further dilation. It didn't seem to help. Somewhere around 3am she offered the nitrous oxide, which I tried for maybe a minute and decided it wasn't for me.
And then at some point, I looked at my husband and said, "This isn't working." I was experiencing too much pain from that spot above my hip and after about 23 hours of stalled labor, I wasn't willing to see how far I could push it. I asked to be transferred to the hospital. At this point, I didn't care about my birth plan. I was too exhausted to fight for those ideals I'd had. I just wanted baby to be safe and the route we were going did not feel safe to me.
We packed up and my husband drove me to the hospital, as I muttered several expletives, clutching the car seat as the contractions started to stack up on top of each other.
The midwife met us there, although the admissions staff was confused, thinking she was the one being admitted since she was about 8 months pregnant herself. I still don't know how she had the stamina to stick with me all night.
And then they rolled me into the hospital through the Emergency entrance because all the other doors were locked. We got to the labor and delivery department and I sucked in a deep breath, thinking of the handful of times I'd walked through those doors as a chaplain, saying a prayer as I headed to care for a family who had just experienced a tragedy. This time I prayed that would not be my story.
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
The Birth Plan Part II
I really didn't intend to tell my birth story during this Write 31 Days challenge, but I'm finding myself struggling to talk about the transition to motherhood, without telling this part of the story. My experience with labor and childbirth got me questioning whether or not I was cut out for this motherhood gig, since it appeared my body was not doing what it was built to do. So it seems important to share this bit of the story to help explain the struggles and fears I had during those first few weeks and even still 6 months into this new role.
One of the best pieces of advice, and like most pregnant women I got plenty of (unsolicited) advice from people, was to make a birth plan and then tear it up. The idea being don't set your mind on how your labor and delivery will go because there is a lot out of your control and it isn't going to go exactly how you plan.
It seems more often than not, childbirth does not go as a woman planned on at least some level. Perhaps something relatively minor went ary like her labor went too fast for her to experience laboring in the birthing tub like she'd hoped. Or something major like she wanted to have her baby vaginally without the assistance of drugs, and wound up with a C-Section.
The latter was my situation.
I had done all the research, prepared for months using pain coping techniques, and felt very ready and confident to have my baby at the birthing center without any help from an epidural. As I said in my last post, I don't believe this is the superior way to have a child, but it was the way I wanted to have my child.
Everything seemed to be shaping up nicely with my relatively low-drama pregnancy. I did have a few fibroid tumors, but the midwives kept a very close eye on them with monthly ultrasounds, a more invasive form of prenatal care than they typically give. The standard practice at the birthing center is one ultrasound at 20 weeks for an anatomy scan, one later in the pregnancy for a positioning check, and if necessary, they will do more after 40 weeks to make sure baby is doing okay. My monthly scans were a bit unusual, but all looked well and I felt confident in the care I was receiving.
40 weeks into pregnancy came and I officially went on maternity leave, ready to have the baby any day. I felt really good and managed to weed the entire front yard and assemble birth announcements that got more elaborate as I put them together. 40 weeks went and baby was still comfy cozy.
41 weeks came and I was still quite energetic, able to make daily hikes up Mt. Bonnell, and doing my best to stay calm and avoid people asking, "Is baby here yet?" I went to my prenatal check up and things looked really good. But at that point I realized I needed to start thinking about the "what-if" situations in case my birth plan didn't go as hoped. I even asked the midwife what I should expect should a c-section be necessary. She told me not to worry, those are rare instances for birth center clients. So I didn't worry. But they did send me to get a biophysical profile at the hospital, just to see what baby was up to.
At 41 weeks and 2 days, we ventured to the hospital where the scan would be done and ended up with the first sign things were going to happen differently than I'd hoped. According to the ultrasound measurements, baby was weighing 10lbs and my amniotic fluid was very low. The doctor nonchalantly offered to schedule me for a c-section, saying it would be best since the baby was so large. This is when the tears began to flow. All of sudden I was going from peaceful labor and childbirth in the birthing center which looks like a bed and breakfast, to the opposite extreme of surgery and removal of my baby.
I didn't respond to the doctor and said I'd have to consult my midwives.
Through tears, I called the birthing center and told them what happened. They told me to come over immediately and they'd talk me through a plan of action. They told me to chug some water, thinking maybe I was a bit dehydrated and causing low fluid on the scan. At the birthing center they did another ultrasound and determined that my fluid level was just fine, but must have been low earlier because it was first thing in the morning and I hadn't had much water yet. So that wasn't a concern. We talked about the baby's size and they reminded me that women have large babies all the time. Even tiny petite women can heave 10 pound babies out, so I thought surely my larger than average hips could handle it. They told me to go home to rest and come back tomorrow to try some labor inducing techniques. Nothing invasive, just some methods to try and get things moving.
I went home and did manage to get some good rest. I was tremendously comforted by the midwives who cared for me that day, and decided to trust that things would turn out fine. The next day we spent a few hours at the birthing center, doing rounds on the breast pump and drinking a rather disgusting herbal concoction. It was perhaps one of the weirdest experiences, but I was ready to try any natural techniques to get baby out.
Saturday was a day of rest. I went for a long walk, did my best to relax. Went out for eggplant parmesan, in hopes that my it would be the old wives' tale that actually worked.
And then, at 4am Sunday morning, the contractions started. Labor had begun on its own!
They were strong enough that I couldn't sleep through them, so I wandered out to the living room to watch a few movies and let my husband get more sleep, knowing he'd need to rest up for what was about to happen.
By mid-morning we called the midwife to give her a heads up of what was happening. She said to hang tight and wait until the contractions were 4 minutes apart. That time came around 3pm, when we called her up and headed to the birthing center excited for what we were about to embark upon.
One of the best pieces of advice, and like most pregnant women I got plenty of (unsolicited) advice from people, was to make a birth plan and then tear it up. The idea being don't set your mind on how your labor and delivery will go because there is a lot out of your control and it isn't going to go exactly how you plan.
It seems more often than not, childbirth does not go as a woman planned on at least some level. Perhaps something relatively minor went ary like her labor went too fast for her to experience laboring in the birthing tub like she'd hoped. Or something major like she wanted to have her baby vaginally without the assistance of drugs, and wound up with a C-Section.
The latter was my situation.
I had done all the research, prepared for months using pain coping techniques, and felt very ready and confident to have my baby at the birthing center without any help from an epidural. As I said in my last post, I don't believe this is the superior way to have a child, but it was the way I wanted to have my child.
Everything seemed to be shaping up nicely with my relatively low-drama pregnancy. I did have a few fibroid tumors, but the midwives kept a very close eye on them with monthly ultrasounds, a more invasive form of prenatal care than they typically give. The standard practice at the birthing center is one ultrasound at 20 weeks for an anatomy scan, one later in the pregnancy for a positioning check, and if necessary, they will do more after 40 weeks to make sure baby is doing okay. My monthly scans were a bit unusual, but all looked well and I felt confident in the care I was receiving.
40 weeks into pregnancy came and I officially went on maternity leave, ready to have the baby any day. I felt really good and managed to weed the entire front yard and assemble birth announcements that got more elaborate as I put them together. 40 weeks went and baby was still comfy cozy.
41 weeks came and I was still quite energetic, able to make daily hikes up Mt. Bonnell, and doing my best to stay calm and avoid people asking, "Is baby here yet?" I went to my prenatal check up and things looked really good. But at that point I realized I needed to start thinking about the "what-if" situations in case my birth plan didn't go as hoped. I even asked the midwife what I should expect should a c-section be necessary. She told me not to worry, those are rare instances for birth center clients. So I didn't worry. But they did send me to get a biophysical profile at the hospital, just to see what baby was up to.
At 41 weeks and 2 days, we ventured to the hospital where the scan would be done and ended up with the first sign things were going to happen differently than I'd hoped. According to the ultrasound measurements, baby was weighing 10lbs and my amniotic fluid was very low. The doctor nonchalantly offered to schedule me for a c-section, saying it would be best since the baby was so large. This is when the tears began to flow. All of sudden I was going from peaceful labor and childbirth in the birthing center which looks like a bed and breakfast, to the opposite extreme of surgery and removal of my baby.
I didn't respond to the doctor and said I'd have to consult my midwives.
Through tears, I called the birthing center and told them what happened. They told me to come over immediately and they'd talk me through a plan of action. They told me to chug some water, thinking maybe I was a bit dehydrated and causing low fluid on the scan. At the birthing center they did another ultrasound and determined that my fluid level was just fine, but must have been low earlier because it was first thing in the morning and I hadn't had much water yet. So that wasn't a concern. We talked about the baby's size and they reminded me that women have large babies all the time. Even tiny petite women can heave 10 pound babies out, so I thought surely my larger than average hips could handle it. They told me to go home to rest and come back tomorrow to try some labor inducing techniques. Nothing invasive, just some methods to try and get things moving.
I went home and did manage to get some good rest. I was tremendously comforted by the midwives who cared for me that day, and decided to trust that things would turn out fine. The next day we spent a few hours at the birthing center, doing rounds on the breast pump and drinking a rather disgusting herbal concoction. It was perhaps one of the weirdest experiences, but I was ready to try any natural techniques to get baby out.
Saturday was a day of rest. I went for a long walk, did my best to relax. Went out for eggplant parmesan, in hopes that my it would be the old wives' tale that actually worked.
And then, at 4am Sunday morning, the contractions started. Labor had begun on its own!
They were strong enough that I couldn't sleep through them, so I wandered out to the living room to watch a few movies and let my husband get more sleep, knowing he'd need to rest up for what was about to happen.
By mid-morning we called the midwife to give her a heads up of what was happening. She said to hang tight and wait until the contractions were 4 minutes apart. That time came around 3pm, when we called her up and headed to the birthing center excited for what we were about to embark upon.
Monday, October 5, 2015
The Birth Plan Part I
During pregnancy, I spent a ridiculous amount of time reading and researching childbirth. It was a topic that fascinated me, and since I was going to go through the experience in a few months, I figured I better read up on it. It occurred to me that the decisions I made for childbirth were some of the first important decisions I'd be making as a mother. I got a bit anxious about this, not wanting to mess up my child because I opted for a certain treatment or declined another. It doesn't help when you read the internet comments that blast women for just about everything.
From the start I never thought there was a superior way to approach childbirth. Sure, there are healthier ways to go about it, but this idea that one way is better than all others is absurd. It seems to me that the fact that a woman carries a child inside of her and then that child leaves her body and survives is nothing short of a miracle. Seriously. It is the weirdest and most amazing thing I can fathom.
But, I did believe that there was a best way for me to go about childbirth.
For me, giving birth in a hospital was the last thing I wanted to do. I don't have anything against hospitals, I think they're pretty great. I just had a hard time viewing myself as a "patient" in need of treatment. My primary experience in the hospital is as a spiritual care provider, tending to the spiritual pain of those who are ill and dying as well as their families. My understanding of the hospital may be a bit skewed, but I view it as a place where people go when they are sick. I didn't see myself as sick while pregnant, and I was told I was a low-risk pregnancy, so it didn't seem necessary to give birth in the hospital. The comedian Jim Gaffigan has a poignant joke about his wife choosing to give birth at home, partially because she didn't want to give birth while wearing a hospital gown that someone probably died in. I totally get that.
So I was hesitant to give birth in the hospital, plus I had two experiences to further steer me away.
The first was my experience with my OB/GYN. Nice person, but super busy and I never walked away from appointments feeling like a whole person. Maybe it was the fact that she'd have her hands up my who-ha while talking about her morning commute, or maybe it was the fact that I'd ask a question and before I finished she'd spout out some generic answer that didn't really have to do with what I was asking. The whole experience felt very impersonal and it made me hesitant to continue with her services once I got pregnant. I know not all OB/GYNs are like this, but if the hospital experience was going to be anything like that, I wanted none of it.
The second experience was hearing stories from other women who gave birth in the hospital and felt like their decisions weren't honored or they were pressured into actions that they didn't want to take. I knew I didn't want to be strapped down to the bed with a fetal monitor, because being able to move around is comforting to me. It helped me get through those nearly 42 weeks of pregnancy, as I hiked Mt. Bonnell over and over toward the end. I also knew I didn't want drugs to numb the pain because I believed I could do it on my own. I've heard some women say they'd rather give birth again over running another marathon, after having experienced both. I'd completed a marathon before, and it was the most grueling physical experience I'd had so far. If other women said childbirth was more doable, I thought I could handle it.
So I didn't want to have the baby in the hospital, but home birthing was a bit too granola and risky for my husband to agree to. Having her at the birthing center was a lovely negotiation.
I have friends who had their babies at the birthing center and had phenomenal experiences there. Even the ones who had to transfer to the hospital in the end spoke about how thankful they were for the care they received. The prenatal care goes above and beyond what I'd heard about elsewhere, as they take their time with each family, going over physical, emotional, and spiritual elements of their pregnancy experience. I was fortunate to participate in a Centering group which added to the experience and gave me insta-friends in the other mamas who were expecting around the same time. I'm a sucker for community building, and so I can't speak highly enough for the opportunity.
All this is to say, the birthing center experience felt like home to me, with the added bonus that once baby was born we could go our own home and not have to clean up after the birthing experience. I look back on that prenatal care as one of the most formative experiences for me thus far.
And then I became one of those mamas who rave about the birthing center, even though I didn't get to have baby there in the end. More on that tomorrow.
From the start I never thought there was a superior way to approach childbirth. Sure, there are healthier ways to go about it, but this idea that one way is better than all others is absurd. It seems to me that the fact that a woman carries a child inside of her and then that child leaves her body and survives is nothing short of a miracle. Seriously. It is the weirdest and most amazing thing I can fathom.
But, I did believe that there was a best way for me to go about childbirth.
For me, giving birth in a hospital was the last thing I wanted to do. I don't have anything against hospitals, I think they're pretty great. I just had a hard time viewing myself as a "patient" in need of treatment. My primary experience in the hospital is as a spiritual care provider, tending to the spiritual pain of those who are ill and dying as well as their families. My understanding of the hospital may be a bit skewed, but I view it as a place where people go when they are sick. I didn't see myself as sick while pregnant, and I was told I was a low-risk pregnancy, so it didn't seem necessary to give birth in the hospital. The comedian Jim Gaffigan has a poignant joke about his wife choosing to give birth at home, partially because she didn't want to give birth while wearing a hospital gown that someone probably died in. I totally get that.
So I was hesitant to give birth in the hospital, plus I had two experiences to further steer me away.
The first was my experience with my OB/GYN. Nice person, but super busy and I never walked away from appointments feeling like a whole person. Maybe it was the fact that she'd have her hands up my who-ha while talking about her morning commute, or maybe it was the fact that I'd ask a question and before I finished she'd spout out some generic answer that didn't really have to do with what I was asking. The whole experience felt very impersonal and it made me hesitant to continue with her services once I got pregnant. I know not all OB/GYNs are like this, but if the hospital experience was going to be anything like that, I wanted none of it.
The second experience was hearing stories from other women who gave birth in the hospital and felt like their decisions weren't honored or they were pressured into actions that they didn't want to take. I knew I didn't want to be strapped down to the bed with a fetal monitor, because being able to move around is comforting to me. It helped me get through those nearly 42 weeks of pregnancy, as I hiked Mt. Bonnell over and over toward the end. I also knew I didn't want drugs to numb the pain because I believed I could do it on my own. I've heard some women say they'd rather give birth again over running another marathon, after having experienced both. I'd completed a marathon before, and it was the most grueling physical experience I'd had so far. If other women said childbirth was more doable, I thought I could handle it.
So I didn't want to have the baby in the hospital, but home birthing was a bit too granola and risky for my husband to agree to. Having her at the birthing center was a lovely negotiation.
I have friends who had their babies at the birthing center and had phenomenal experiences there. Even the ones who had to transfer to the hospital in the end spoke about how thankful they were for the care they received. The prenatal care goes above and beyond what I'd heard about elsewhere, as they take their time with each family, going over physical, emotional, and spiritual elements of their pregnancy experience. I was fortunate to participate in a Centering group which added to the experience and gave me insta-friends in the other mamas who were expecting around the same time. I'm a sucker for community building, and so I can't speak highly enough for the opportunity.
All this is to say, the birthing center experience felt like home to me, with the added bonus that once baby was born we could go our own home and not have to clean up after the birthing experience. I look back on that prenatal care as one of the most formative experiences for me thus far.
And then I became one of those mamas who rave about the birthing center, even though I didn't get to have baby there in the end. More on that tomorrow.
Sunday, October 4, 2015
The Liturgy of Baby
Call to worship: The little one cries from the crib, ready to be picked and start her day.
Prayer of Adoration: Those first snuggles of the day seem to be the strongest. Baby tightly clings to momma's neck, thankful to be rescued from her crib. Mother takes a deep breath and hopes this feeling will linger throughout the day.
First hymn: "Oh, good morning, good morning! Sunbeams will soon shine through, good morning, good morning to you!"
Call to confession: Diaper smells dirty. Mama and baby acknowledge the need to be cleansed of that poo.
Prayer of confession: Dirty diaper is removed and disposed of.
Assurance of pardon: New diaper is placed on. Fresh, clean start.
Passing of the Peace: Baby offers a sweet smile, thankful for the fresh diaper.
Prayer for Illumination: "Oh please, oh please let me figure out what this weird new quirk about breastfeeding is all about. Just when I think I have it down, something changes or hurts or doesn't work. Amen."
Scripture Reading: Chapter 3 of Ina May Gaskin's Guide to Breastfeeding.
Sermon: Nursing the baby. There are a few rough patches, like all sermons, but in the end grace is proclaimed and baby's belly is full.
Prayers of the People: "Dear God, don't let this baby choke on anything or stick her finger in an outlet or fall off of something or crawl into something or anything that will endanger her in anyway. Amen"
Offering: Mama decides to play with baby rather than watch more Netflix. A noble sacrifice, indeed.
Closing hymn: "Rock-a-Bye Baby"
Charge and Benediction: "Ok, dear child. You are clearly tired. Please take a nap. And let it be more than 20 minutes. In the name of the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit. Amen."
Prayer of Adoration: Those first snuggles of the day seem to be the strongest. Baby tightly clings to momma's neck, thankful to be rescued from her crib. Mother takes a deep breath and hopes this feeling will linger throughout the day.
First hymn: "Oh, good morning, good morning! Sunbeams will soon shine through, good morning, good morning to you!"
Call to confession: Diaper smells dirty. Mama and baby acknowledge the need to be cleansed of that poo.
Prayer of confession: Dirty diaper is removed and disposed of.
Assurance of pardon: New diaper is placed on. Fresh, clean start.
Passing of the Peace: Baby offers a sweet smile, thankful for the fresh diaper.
Prayer for Illumination: "Oh please, oh please let me figure out what this weird new quirk about breastfeeding is all about. Just when I think I have it down, something changes or hurts or doesn't work. Amen."
Scripture Reading: Chapter 3 of Ina May Gaskin's Guide to Breastfeeding.
Sermon: Nursing the baby. There are a few rough patches, like all sermons, but in the end grace is proclaimed and baby's belly is full.
Prayers of the People: "Dear God, don't let this baby choke on anything or stick her finger in an outlet or fall off of something or crawl into something or anything that will endanger her in anyway. Amen"
Offering: Mama decides to play with baby rather than watch more Netflix. A noble sacrifice, indeed.
Closing hymn: "Rock-a-Bye Baby"
Charge and Benediction: "Ok, dear child. You are clearly tired. Please take a nap. And let it be more than 20 minutes. In the name of the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit. Amen."
Saturday, October 3, 2015
Two Bedroom Airbnbs From Now On
Three days into this 31 day challenge, and I'm already behind. Traveling has thrown me through a loop, and unless I want to go sit in the hotel bathroom to type (I don't), I have no choice but to write later and backdate the post. Cheating? A little bit.
Here's the thing. We'd gotten baby on a great routine and she was finally putting herself to sleep. It was a thing of beauty. And then we had to go travel and completely destroy that routine due to sharing a hotel room. Worth it? Yes and no.
When it comes to things like traveling and attending weddings and in my case officiating at weddings, I'm torn between loving these opportunities and dreading having to care for baby at the same time. When I'm at home doing the day-to-day routine, I don't really notice that my life has taken a major shift. It's just the new norm. But when I'm presented with the opportunity for something out of the ordinary, I'm blatantly reminded that I once had the freedom that comes with being child-free and am no longer able to enjoy that freedom.
Like this weekend as we traveled out of town for a family member's wedding. This is one of those activities that we've done before, a few times. Without baby, we could fully jump into the fun that comes with weddings and hanging out with family. We could stay until the bride and groom make their grand exit, and even stay for the after party if there is one. We could drink without much of a care. We could sleep in the next morning and take our time getting back home.
But with baby in tow, all of that changes. While part of me wants to dive head first into the festivities, the mother side of me says "Nope, you've got a little one to care for. If you stay out too late, you'll be in for a world of hurt when baby wakes you up several times before the sun comes up." And so I hold back. I play the responsible parent who refrains from fully engaging in the fun and I sit in a dark hotel room at 9pm, trying to make as little noise as possible while baby sleeps in the pack n play. Meanwhile the rest of the family is out having a blast.
There's part of me that longs to have that old life back. But then my feelings are overridden by joy for this little creature that has entered my life and changed everything. Suddenly sitting in a dark hotel room trying not to wake that little creature doesn't seem like such a bad gig.
Here's the thing. We'd gotten baby on a great routine and she was finally putting herself to sleep. It was a thing of beauty. And then we had to go travel and completely destroy that routine due to sharing a hotel room. Worth it? Yes and no.
When it comes to things like traveling and attending weddings and in my case officiating at weddings, I'm torn between loving these opportunities and dreading having to care for baby at the same time. When I'm at home doing the day-to-day routine, I don't really notice that my life has taken a major shift. It's just the new norm. But when I'm presented with the opportunity for something out of the ordinary, I'm blatantly reminded that I once had the freedom that comes with being child-free and am no longer able to enjoy that freedom.
Like this weekend as we traveled out of town for a family member's wedding. This is one of those activities that we've done before, a few times. Without baby, we could fully jump into the fun that comes with weddings and hanging out with family. We could stay until the bride and groom make their grand exit, and even stay for the after party if there is one. We could drink without much of a care. We could sleep in the next morning and take our time getting back home.
But with baby in tow, all of that changes. While part of me wants to dive head first into the festivities, the mother side of me says "Nope, you've got a little one to care for. If you stay out too late, you'll be in for a world of hurt when baby wakes you up several times before the sun comes up." And so I hold back. I play the responsible parent who refrains from fully engaging in the fun and I sit in a dark hotel room at 9pm, trying to make as little noise as possible while baby sleeps in the pack n play. Meanwhile the rest of the family is out having a blast.
There's part of me that longs to have that old life back. But then my feelings are overridden by joy for this little creature that has entered my life and changed everything. Suddenly sitting in a dark hotel room trying not to wake that little creature doesn't seem like such a bad gig.
Friday, October 2, 2015
Commencing Motherhood
When is the moment motherhood starts? When the positive sign appears on the pregnancy test? The first time she sees her baby and holds her? The moment CPS drops off the foster child and wishes you luck? When the adoption papers are finalized?
I suppose the beginning of motherhood is as ambiguous as the beginning of life. And it probably various for everyone.
For me, the first time I realized I was a mother was when I was five months pregnant. It sort of felt real before then, but it wasn't until I was in a minor car accident that it dawned on me that I was responsible for this little being inside me. Not only was I pregnant, I was a mother.
Like I said, the accident was rather minor. Another car turned in front of me as I was going down a busy road here in Austin. Fortunately, I'd already slowed down because I knew people had a tendency of turning there without being able to see oncoming traffic. So the incident really was minor and the damage to my car was pretty small.
But in that moment, as I sat there in the road after the collision, my brain was telling me that we were in a serious car crash and that the car was totaled and my baby was injured. It was the weirdest experience. The other driver signaled for me to pull into a nearby parking lot and all I could think was how ridiculous he was for believing my car could still operate. I took a few breathes and frantically clutched my belly waiting for baby to kick and show signs of life. She finally did and I was able to come back to reality and pull off the road.
I remember getting out of the car and feeling furious toward the other driver. "How dare you endanger my child!" I thought. I wasn't even worried about the damage to the car or myself or the other driver. It was all about this baby whom I was supposed to be protecting.
As I got back in my car to drive home, it hit me that I was now a mother. Not just a pregant woman, but a mother. All of the responsibility and challenges that come with that role began to swirl around my head.
And I realized this feeling of abundant love and anxiety wouldn't cease for as long as I live.
I suppose the beginning of motherhood is as ambiguous as the beginning of life. And it probably various for everyone.
For me, the first time I realized I was a mother was when I was five months pregnant. It sort of felt real before then, but it wasn't until I was in a minor car accident that it dawned on me that I was responsible for this little being inside me. Not only was I pregnant, I was a mother.
Like I said, the accident was rather minor. Another car turned in front of me as I was going down a busy road here in Austin. Fortunately, I'd already slowed down because I knew people had a tendency of turning there without being able to see oncoming traffic. So the incident really was minor and the damage to my car was pretty small.
But in that moment, as I sat there in the road after the collision, my brain was telling me that we were in a serious car crash and that the car was totaled and my baby was injured. It was the weirdest experience. The other driver signaled for me to pull into a nearby parking lot and all I could think was how ridiculous he was for believing my car could still operate. I took a few breathes and frantically clutched my belly waiting for baby to kick and show signs of life. She finally did and I was able to come back to reality and pull off the road.
I remember getting out of the car and feeling furious toward the other driver. "How dare you endanger my child!" I thought. I wasn't even worried about the damage to the car or myself or the other driver. It was all about this baby whom I was supposed to be protecting.
As I got back in my car to drive home, it hit me that I was now a mother. Not just a pregant woman, but a mother. All of the responsibility and challenges that come with that role began to swirl around my head.
And I realized this feeling of abundant love and anxiety wouldn't cease for as long as I live.
Thursday, October 1, 2015
Transition to Motherhood...written over 31 days
My first time running after giving birth was rough. I'm not even sure you could call it running, more like fancy limping. My body had completely transformed thanks to pregnancy and the aftereffects, so my stride was not what it used to be. Everything felt odd and different. My belly was still super squishy and I'm not sure my organs had returned to their proper locations yet. My legs were carrying 30 fewer pounds than they were just two months before, yet they were somehow weaker than they were two months before. But I was determined to get back out and do something I loved to do pre-pregnancy.
I opted for the cushiony track at the local middle school, hoping it would soften the impact on my oh-so-sore body. There were several other people out there and I tried not to feel self-conscious. But I was slightly mortified to think about how I looked. Almost to the point where I wanted to tell everyone who passed me (including walkers who were walking faster than I was "running") that I had just had a baby 6 weeks before and I was still recovering. Surely they need an explanation for why I looked so ridiculous out there.
By lap 3 I was exhausted and looked at my watch to see if I could head home without feeling like it was a complete fail. I decided if I'd been at it for at least 20 minutes I could call it good. Just as I was about to check the time, a guy came running behind me. "Don't worry about your watch. You're looking strong, runner. Keep at it," he said. He then cruised past me, looking like a gazelle with his built-for-running-and-never-carried-a-baby-body.
At first I was offended. "How dare he!" I thought.
But then I caught myself smiling. I actually felt encouraged by his remarks. He wasn't being offensive. He wasn't sexually harassing me. He must have seen me doing my fancy limp around the track, looking rather dejected and ready to quit. So he spoke up and gave me the encouragement I needed to stop thinking about how I looked. Stop worrying about the clock.
I decided to put one foot in front of the other and do a few more laps. They weren't pretty, and I was sore for days afterward, but the experience was exhilarating. I was finding my new stride with this postpartum body. And I was reminded that I shouldn't compare myself to others or worry about what others think. Because I was just doing the best I could on that track.
The gazelle-man has no idea how much he helped me that day. His words still stick with me whether I'm running, or doing the motherhood thing, or being a pastor. I find myself repeating his words when I feel discouraged:
"Don't worry about what all the parenting books say. You're looking strong, mama. Keep at it."
"Don't worry about the church. You're looking strong, pastor. Keep at it."
This transition to motherhood has been hard. So I've decided to write about it in hopes that someone else doing their fancy limp through motherhood might relate and say, "You too?"
I've taken the Write 31 Days challenge and will be spending a bit of time each day this month reflecting on the transition to motherhood. I'm going to do my best not to talk about my kiddo, although she will inevitably come up given the topic, rather I want to focus on what the past few months have been like for me as a new mother. My aim is to write about my experience.
I hope I won't offend anyone, but I inevitably will. I loathe the so called "Mommy Wars" that seem to dominate all internet forums related to pregnancy and parenting and children. I don't want this to be a blog touting my superior parenting decisions and why someone doing it a different way is ruining their child. Because I don't believe that's the case. I'm not doing things the right way because there is no one-size-fits-all right way to do parenting and motherhood. I think we're all just doing the best we can for our particular situations and we should all just stand back in awe that anyone survives childhood.
So, thanks for tagging along with me this month as I Brene Brown my way through this vulnerable experience. It's going to get messy.
1. Transition to Motherhood
2. Commencing Motherhood
3. 2 Bedroom Airbnbs From Now On
4. The Liturgy of Baby
5. The Birth Plan Part I
6. The Birth Plan Part II
7. The Birth Plan Part III
8. The Birth Plan Part IV
9. A Few Hours of Freedom
I opted for the cushiony track at the local middle school, hoping it would soften the impact on my oh-so-sore body. There were several other people out there and I tried not to feel self-conscious. But I was slightly mortified to think about how I looked. Almost to the point where I wanted to tell everyone who passed me (including walkers who were walking faster than I was "running") that I had just had a baby 6 weeks before and I was still recovering. Surely they need an explanation for why I looked so ridiculous out there.
By lap 3 I was exhausted and looked at my watch to see if I could head home without feeling like it was a complete fail. I decided if I'd been at it for at least 20 minutes I could call it good. Just as I was about to check the time, a guy came running behind me. "Don't worry about your watch. You're looking strong, runner. Keep at it," he said. He then cruised past me, looking like a gazelle with his built-for-running-and-never-carried-a-baby-body.
At first I was offended. "How dare he!" I thought.
But then I caught myself smiling. I actually felt encouraged by his remarks. He wasn't being offensive. He wasn't sexually harassing me. He must have seen me doing my fancy limp around the track, looking rather dejected and ready to quit. So he spoke up and gave me the encouragement I needed to stop thinking about how I looked. Stop worrying about the clock.
I decided to put one foot in front of the other and do a few more laps. They weren't pretty, and I was sore for days afterward, but the experience was exhilarating. I was finding my new stride with this postpartum body. And I was reminded that I shouldn't compare myself to others or worry about what others think. Because I was just doing the best I could on that track.
The gazelle-man has no idea how much he helped me that day. His words still stick with me whether I'm running, or doing the motherhood thing, or being a pastor. I find myself repeating his words when I feel discouraged:
"Don't worry about what all the parenting books say. You're looking strong, mama. Keep at it."
"Don't worry about the church. You're looking strong, pastor. Keep at it."
This transition to motherhood has been hard. So I've decided to write about it in hopes that someone else doing their fancy limp through motherhood might relate and say, "You too?"
I've taken the Write 31 Days challenge and will be spending a bit of time each day this month reflecting on the transition to motherhood. I'm going to do my best not to talk about my kiddo, although she will inevitably come up given the topic, rather I want to focus on what the past few months have been like for me as a new mother. My aim is to write about my experience.
I hope I won't offend anyone, but I inevitably will. I loathe the so called "Mommy Wars" that seem to dominate all internet forums related to pregnancy and parenting and children. I don't want this to be a blog touting my superior parenting decisions and why someone doing it a different way is ruining their child. Because I don't believe that's the case. I'm not doing things the right way because there is no one-size-fits-all right way to do parenting and motherhood. I think we're all just doing the best we can for our particular situations and we should all just stand back in awe that anyone survives childhood.
So, thanks for tagging along with me this month as I Brene Brown my way through this vulnerable experience. It's going to get messy.
1. Transition to Motherhood
2. Commencing Motherhood
3. 2 Bedroom Airbnbs From Now On
4. The Liturgy of Baby
5. The Birth Plan Part I
6. The Birth Plan Part II
7. The Birth Plan Part III
8. The Birth Plan Part IV
9. A Few Hours of Freedom
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