Home Birth

I don't think I ever really discussed my home birth experience with my first son. The closest I got was here. And that was a year after I gave birth. Considering the traumatic postpartum experience I had last time, it makes sense that I: 1. was not emotionally able to discuss anything to do with this new transition, and 2. I did not have the ability to write anything because of a colicky baby. So to briefly recap my last birth I offer the answers to these FAQ I get when people find out I had a home birth:

How big was your baby?
Big (9lbs 11oz)

Did you have him naturally?
Yes

How did you do that? Why would you do that?
Well there are no drugs available at my home, so that is how I did it naturally. I absolutely would have agreed to an epidural where I in a hospital. In a way, I think I took the chicken's way out because if I were in a hospital I would not be strong enough to say no to drugs. So I chose a home birth where that would not be an option thereby hedging my bets that I would have a natural birth. Just playing the odds, folks, playing the odds. Oh! and I have a phobia of hospitals, so that is really the last place I would want to be ever for anything. As for the why, well, this is just something I wanted to do for my children. This is a difficult question for me to answer, because I don't want people to think that I am judging them, because I am not. I think birth is crazy intense, and we mamas do what we need to do to make sure that we have healthy babies. All mamas are amazing warriors! All mamas! And I am so grateful for the medical advances we have made to protect the lives of babies and mamas that previously may have died or been seriously injured during birth. But other than those rare cases, I believe birth not to be a sickness/illness and am not fond of the hospital models of treating pregnancies and birth as such. If you know me at all, then you know how I strive to live a natural and raw/pure lifestyle. I have a long way to go on this journey, but this is why I chose to labor and birth my babies at home, in their natural habitat if you will.

Was there a mess?
Um, yeah, birth is messy, no matter where you go. But my midwife and her team took care of it all so I didn't have to, just like they do at a hospital.

Did you have a water birth?
Yes! I love me some birthing tub!!! It was the closest thing to an epidural. Really did help with the pain! Big thumbs up!

How long was your labor?
Long (21 hours), though my midwife said I was well within average for a first time mom.

How was it?
Intense, tiring, long, beautiful, surreal.

Would you do it again?
Oh Yeah! and I did.

Why?
For the same reasons I chose to the first time. In a nut shell, I believe it is what is best for my children and for me.

Was it what you expected?

Not really. Have you seen The Business of Being Born, the documentary by Rikki Lake? If not I highly recommend it. It helped me to view birth as a beautiful and sacred event, very different from what I previously thought, thanks to the media. There is this one woman who looks focused and serene as she is having a contraction. And that's what I wanted instead of all the screaming you see in movies. Only I ended up sounding exactly like the movies. J jokes that he couldn't believe the neighbors didn't call the cops on us. It was intense and the fight or flight instinct took over in my body. It was in this primal place that I lived for most of the labor. But since I was at home there were key details in place that were crucial to my success in reaching my birthing goal, namely food and not having to have my labor follow any pre-established progress timetable (basically being left alone to allow my labor to unfold in its own way). I had complete trust in my midwife and she in turn had trust in my body. So, it was not the serene experience I wanted but it was an affirming experience that changed me in many ways, many important ways. 

Fast forward 2 1/2 years and I was in the same place with the same birthing team (mostly) in labor once again. Prior to that day I had to work through the fear I had of how difficult it was the last time. For the most part I did, but on that day I had to face the fears that were quietly taunting me ever since I found out I was pregnant. 

My biggest fear was not doubting my body's ability to give birth, I knew I could, and birth a large baby at that. No, my biggest fear was the pain and how long I would have to suffer and how drained it would leave me. Throughout my pregnancy I was assured that this time would be quicker because my body would remember, plus the baby felt smaller. 

In a nut shell, my labor was longer and when I reached the 21 hour mark and still no baby I had a choice to make, lose hope and doubt my body, or persevere and laugh at the ridiculousness that once again I was having another long and difficult labor. I chose to laugh and settle in for the long haul. I was going to meet this baby and I wanted to meet him at home. The only way to do that was to breathe deeply, stay positive, and get to the other end of this labor. Turns out that would be 7 more hours.

Things that I learned this time around

My body makes big babies, and I have long labors. Good to know if I ever find myself here again. Also, I labor best in solitude- my labor slowed almost every time my midwife or her assistants were around.

Things that were different

I was quieter this time focusing on using my breathe to help rather than only reacting to the pain. I had high spirits throughout. My midwife's assistants showered me with praise and affirmations and oh my! how powerful their words were to me. They gave me strength and courage and confidence with each push. It was amazing. They may never know how powerful their words were. I needed them! God knew. 

Things that were better this time

Well this might be TMI but I didn't tear which is in large part due to how slowly my son made his way out. I was more rested after 28 hours of labor than I was after the 21 of last time. I think this is because my pain management techniques were more efficient, and also I just let myself rest and nap when I needed to because I knew I would need energy for the pushing and the postpartum recovery. And the pushing was shorter this time so I wasn't completely wiped out this time. But the best thing of all, I was actually able to catch my baby!!! J wanted to do it, but I needed his support in the tub once again. Last time I was way too tired to do it, I just wanted the baby out. But this time after pushing out the head my midwife told me with the next push I would be able to reach down and catch my baby. And I did! And it was amazing! My hands were the first to touch him on the outside of my protective womb. And it was love at first sight! Love and kisses and giggles. Thanks to that gorgeous oxytocin rush, another thing that was better this time. 

I could go on and on but this post is already too long. If you have questions about home births or my labors, feel free to ask. I love this topic. And hopefully I have demystified home births a little. 

P.S.- I didn't even go into how amazing my dogs were during the whole process. It's like they knew I was entering their world and they held the space for me. Plus it pretty amazing to see moments of the dogs meeting the new pack member and welcoming him in.

Second Time Around

Where to begin? There are so many things this time that mirrored my last pregnancy/motherhood journey. I had the same excellent prenatal care. I had the same midwife and assistant help bring my son into the world in my same cozy home. Once again I had a giant belly, a giant boy, and a long labor. During labor I had my blessingway candle lit reminding me that I was not alone, like last time. I had my dogs remaining vigilant and serene as I became my most primal self and the wall between our worlds thinned for the second time during those transitional hours. And while so so much was the same, things were very different in the most essential ways.

My last labor and postpartum experience was a dark and difficult time for me. There was a lot of guilt and sorrow I had to work through. It was so difficult that I was not sure whether I ever wanted to be in that place again. Half of me was sincere when I said I was done having babies. I certainly wasn't ready to start over when we found out we were pregnant again. That was more of a shock than a surprise. I mean it took us more than a year of intentional trying to conceive, so how could we possibly be pregnant on accident with how little we actually had sexy time?!?! But here we were, unprepared and pregnant. 

This time around I was not nearly as attentive to the nugget in my womb. I chased my toddler around the house, juggled working full time and parenting my little tornado, was just beginning to be able to carve space out for myself to tend to my soul and spirit, and with only 24 hours in a day I just couldn't be as on top of things with this pregnancy as I was with my first. Things slipped through the cracks. I forgot to take supplements, I stopped tracking how much protein I was eating, I didn't have time to listen for that special song that would be ours: baby's and mine. The guilt I felt during postpartum with my first, I felt during the actual pregnancy with the second. I had to remind myself to actually tell the baby and, if I'm honest, myself that I did love the baby and that his life was cherished and desired, even if unplanned.

What taking a nap in the first trimester looks like with a toddler in the home

Everyone's promise to me was that this baby would be easier. Maybe it was said just to set my heart at ease and to quiet my fear, something I never really tried to hide. But whether on not that was the case, one thing was true- I was not the same person as last time. My tribe of friends and mamas reminded me of this. For as much as I suffered through my first experience, I was also changed by those experiences, refined by the fire of hard truths and inescapable realities: living with a baby is hard, and some babies are really really hard (read: my son). And so with much more healthy and realistic expectations I braced myself for the hell that I anticipated would come, all the while hoping the promises made to me would become my truth. 

I'm happy to say that, for the most part, those promises have come true. I was told that my labor would be shorter, especially after giving birth to such a large baby last time, that my body would be well prepared to push anything out quicker than last time. Well that was not the case. This second labor was in fact 7 hours longer, totaling 28 hours. Ugh! But somehow, it was easier. More on that in another post. But aside from that missed promise, my postpartum experience has indeed been easier. This baby has been easier. He's still a sparkler- apparently, the Divine must want me to prepare for some kind of weight lifting competition in the future since I keep getting practice with giant babies that MUST be carried/held at all times. But he is closer to what a typical newborn experience is. It is hard, being yelled at/cried at, getting little sleep, losing freedoms as you become chained to a tiny person thanks to your leaking boobs, but all this is still so much easier than last time. It really truly is, and I actually am happy, and so head-over-heels in love with this little man. Now, I get it, now I understand what all the fuss is about, why women ache to have a baby, the smell, the cuddles, the staring and staring at a cherub-like face- moonstruck...I get it. 

My sweet little cherub, he makes me so happy

This experience has redeemed those terrible days of my last experience. For all the ways that the two stories mirror each other, they are different in the most important ways. Where there was darkness, now there is light. Isn't that how love works?

Thank you little Bear for choosing me to be your mama, and for letting me love and care for you. This is my favorite job EVER! You are the Best. Surprise. Ever.

XOXO

Attachment Parenting by Accident

I'm not going to go into great detail defining AP but in a nut shell it includes the 7 B's:

Birth bonding

Breastfeeding

Babywearing

Bed close to baby (co-sleeping)

Belief baby's cry is communication

Beware baby trainer

Balance 

When I was pregnant I was curios about this. Mostly I thought it was too much but I didn't really know anyone who parented this way so I thought maybe I wasn't being fair and that I should research this. After my first baby was born, I read a few books and found that this form of parenting is flexible. You don't have to do it all, just what works for your family. In that light I bet there are many more people who are attachment parenting (AP) who don't even realize it. I also found that I was already parenting this way and didn't know it. I was doing what I needed to survive and it turns out that meant AP.

Here are the ways I found myself in the AP community:

First moments with my second son

Birth Bonding- When my son was born we did skin to skin, both my husband and myself. This is a very common practice in hospitals now as well, and I'm glad it is so. Those first few moments are so special and surreal.

Post-nursing coma. I cherished those sweet moments

Breastfeeding- My goal was to breastfeed. How long was not clear in my vision. I really wanted to make it to 12 months, but since I was going back to work at 5 months, I was prepared not to make it. Pumping on a teacher's schedule makes it hard to keep the milk supply up especially as I would not be able to pump as often as my little one was demanding at home, plus the pump just isn't as powerful at expressing milk as the baby. But I came home everyday for lunch to nurse and I believe that was a huge factor in helping me make it to 12 months and beyond. After twelve months I had no real plan as to when we would finish. Breastfeeding was such a special time of bonding for me and my boy, it forced us both to slow down and cuddle and just be in each other's presence. I was in no rush to end this special time. I was fully prepared to go until my little boy decided he had enough, even if that meant to 3 or 4 years old. Have I completely shocked you/grossed you out? You know, before my baby this would have grossed me out too, but I can't explain how much I loved the time I spent with my boy nursing. So judge if you must, but in my mind it was a truly beautiful time that I was not going to force to end. Only I kinda did on accident. I got pregnant when my boy was 18 months. He still nursed but my milk must have changed because by the time he was 27 months he had completely weaned on his own.

This is how we do chores in my house

Babywearing- Ugh! This one! I was interested in wearing the baby, I mean, heck, I even registered for a ring sling and woven wrap, and I already owned a buckle carrier, but boy did this one completely take over my life. My baby, HATED with a passion all things that made him recline on his back: the bouncer, the swing, the rocker, the car seat! And my baby was HUGE! I needed to get things done at home, like feed myself, and the carriers were my only way to do this. He basically lived in the carrier until he was able to go in the jumper. Both my husband and I became experts at tying a mei tai. Truth be told, if I had the option of wearing the baby all the time or not, I would choose the latter. Our backs have paid the price of carrying a baby nearly constantly. But, the carriers did provide a freedom that we greatly needed. and sometimes strollers are more of a pain and a carrier is ideal (hiking, airports, stairs, any place that is super crowded). And this time around, with this baby, well let's just say we were well prepared for this one because of the rigorous training our first put us through (I'm wearing him now as he naps and I type).

This sweet moment, brought to you by co-sleeping

Co-sleeping- This one has a wide range of appearances. Baby can share the bed with parents, or sleep in a co-sleeper attached to the bed, or sleep in a crib/bassinet/cradle/etc. in the same room as the parent. We did the first. I actually had a crib, but my son nursed every 1 to 1.5 hours, and I was exhausted. I could not take getting woken up that often, and so a sweet mentor came and taught me how to nurse lying down (side-lying nursing) and changed my life. And then I grew accustomed to this arrangement, and then I grew to love it. It is one of my favorite things to open my eyes in the morning and have my son's peaceful, sleeping face be the first thing I see.

I think this baby is communicating how much he loves the dinner I made him...or not.

Belief that baby's cry is communication- The word that sticks out to me is cry. Oh boy, did my kid cry. He had colic for the first 3 months. He never stopped crying until we held him (hence the babywearing). But I think that he trained us to respond to him, and that in turn taught him to trust that we would always be there for him. A lesson I hope he carries with him forever.

My mold-breaking boy

Beware the Baby Trainer- Not really sure how this one applied to us, except that every time I read or heard someone describe what is a reasonable expectation for a baby,  I could not relate because my sparkler broke the mold, and still is breaking molds. So I have basically given up trying to set expectations for who my kids should be and how they should behave. I will let them show me for themselves who they are.

Balance means making time to dwell in sacred moments that fill up my cup

Balance- This is the mantra of my life. At the beginning of my parenting journey I completely surrendered my needs and desires to meet those of my son. That was not healthy for me, and I am learning to take care of myself, to fill up my cup when I need it, so I am better prepared to be the best parent I can be. But don't look too closely right now, I have an infant and they take over for the first few months no matter what.

How about you? How many of the 7 B's do you see in your parenting journey? You might be more of an AP parent than you realized.

The Magic Blanket

A few years ago I started working on a blanket for myself. I realized that everything I made I gifted to others. I love making things out of yarn and giving them to friends and family and since I'm slow at EVERYTHING, including crocheting, I never had time to make something for myself. So I decided to make a blanket for our bed. This was also around the time that I had become aware of my infertility issues.

Crocheting has always been a great release for me. The rhythm of the patterns and stitches is soothing and relaxing. And so perhaps I threw myself into such a great project at that time in an effort to distract myself. Perhaps. Sounds like something my subconscious would do. About a year after starting this project I found out I was pregnant. Joy of joys, and wonder of wonders! And what better gift to myself than to finish this blanket that I was SLOWLY working on (typical Susanne). So I challenged myself to finish this beast before the birth on my first son.

I tried. I really did, but I failed. And the following two years found me overwhelmed by the chaos of raising my sparkler child (this is how La Leche League refers to a child like mine, as opposed to the titles that have crossed my mind like "monster" or "demon child,"- way more P.C. and gracious). But I would try from time to time to pick up my blanket and get a row in. Then my son would scream, cry, get into/climb on/put into his mouth something he was not supposed to, and that was that.

So when I found out I was pregnant again, I challenged myself to FINISH THE BLANKET! Because if I didn't get it done now, I probably never would. So I enlisted the help of my husband and figured that if I completed two rows a week I would be done three weeks before the baby was due. And with my plan in place I made great progress in the beginning, but old habits crept back in and I found myself more and more behind schedule.

I found a surge of motivation the last month and a half of my pregnancy. I was so close to finishing, it would be down to the wire and so very close to my due date. And then, with only two more rows remaining, I went into labor 5 days early. My labor was long (again) and when 12 hours came and went I decided I needed to be distracted. Enter the nearly finished blanket to the rescue!!! I sat on my birthing ball and worked, focusing on my stitches as the contractions began, breathing through the contractions, and picking up the stitches when they passed. The imminent arrival of my baby pushed me to work quickly and diligently (only his arrival really wasn't as close as I had imagined, and I would be in labor for much longer than I had ever expected for this, my second time around). And I finished!!! I did it!!!

The only thing left is to hide the tails in each row, but I still think this counts as being done. (I hate hiding tails, and I have no idea how long it will take me to finish that- years I suspect). I love the way it came out, and I love that I have this story that goes along with this blanket. It will forever remind me of that sacred and primal time when my body and my son worked together so I could hold my baby in my arms and look into his precious eyes- Magic. The magic blanket.

Postpartum Body

So I gained 50lbs during my pregnancy. Yes you read that right. My 5' and 105lbs body gained 50lbs in 40 weeks. Some doctors might have warned me to avoid gaining so much weight but my midwife never worried. She knew I was keeping a healthy diet, I was active at work and practicing yoga at home. She also knew I was married to a Viking and thus was baking a Viking-sized baby. There wasn't anything to worry about, she and I believe that (in most cases) the woman's body will be able to birth the baby it makes, no matter how big he may be. And so, my belly stretched to ridiculous proportions, but all that weight stayed focused in my mid-section. And when my son made his entrance into this world, he left behind his big, comfy home.

It took me by surprise how deeply I grieved the loss of my body. Pre-pregnancy I spent way too much time criticizing the minor imperfections, when I should have been living it up! Wearing a bikini at every possible opportunity. At times I think I may have even resented my baby for "ruining" me, as I write this now I realize how terrible it sounds, but it was my truth at that time. A dear friend comforted me, reminding me that most women fluctuate in their size, and with each new size they have to learn to love their new body. This was something that I had never had to do, and I was not doing it well.

When my son left my body he left behind all that stretched out skin used to protect his home inside me. There is nothing I can do about that skin, short of surgery. I am already back to my pre-pregnancy size, in fact I am even smaller, but on my stomach there still remains a flab of empty skin (not to mention the plethora of scars). It has been a SLOOOOOOOW process learning to accept this new skin, but believe it or not, I am much more comfortable in my body now than I ever was pre-pregnancy. Pre-pregnancy, I wasted time scrutinizing the imagined imperfections in my body, trying to meet some ridiculous and unrealistic standard meant to objectify me. Post-pregnancy I have learned to see the body in a more functional way and I marvel at its beauty.

The body is truly one of God's greatest masterpieces, and all the variety and designs we are blessed to manifest that handiwork. My pear-shaped body with its strong legs and short height are delicately designed to carry the weight of my son as he climbs up in my arms. Beauty. My small breasts are bountiful enough to nourish my growing toddler. Beauty. My small hands fit perfectly into my husband's large and protective hands. Beauty. My eyes can look up to the moon as my arms cradle my son and my legs spin us under its moonlight. Glory. We are all wonders. And our bodies reflect just a sliver of the beauty we manifest through these vessels.

This body, my body, is beautiful. I understand it better now that it has been "ruined" by love and light. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find my mom-jeans, because those are seriously comfortable, and I finally get it!

PS: This video was a huge help to me on this journey. I hope it blesses you as it did me.

Giggles, and Going Back to Work

Since I had been TTC for a while before we met R, I was able to save enough money to take 5 months off from work. I'm SOOOOO glad that I did. I needed that time to bond with R. As I have mentioned before, the first three months were spent just trying to survive my postpartum depression and the colic. And then somewhere in between the second and third months giggles happened. Giggles that I caused! My son was starting to bond with me and I with him. The 4th and 5th months were spent strengthening that bond, which I desperately needed because I wondered daily if I had what it took to make a decent mother. My biggest fear was that I did not, and my lack of bond/connection played into that fear. But giggles happened, and smiles at me, and belly laughs, and naps in my arms, and reaching for me. Sitting up, touching grass for the first time, and tasting and making faces at food. It was in these mundane daily acts that I started to feel connected to my son.

It was also at this time that I had to go back to work. Ah the irony...when all I wanted to do was get away I had to stay at home with the baby, and just when I was starting to feel like my place, purpose and joy were wrapped up in being with my little chunky monkey that is the exact time I had to go back to work. That last week at home was tough. I cried at everything. I hated that I was going to miss all those firsts and all the cuddles and giggles but I knew this was part of the deal.

When I found out that it wasn't going to be easy for me to get pregnant I felt an urgency to start trying. The original plan was to wait until my husband could financially support us himself. But with the uncertainty of when or how long it would take for us to get pregnant, we took the leap. I know it hurt my husband to see me moping around the house as my return to work date neared. I know he wished he could give me my heart's desire, but he also reminded me that this was the risk we took when we started trying ahead of schedule.

I had to remind myself that as I was TTC I had asked for god's timing in it all and that I would learn to surrender my sense of control in exchange for trust that god would provide (a baby, or if no baby then the healing and courage to embrace my new life path) and in the right time. And here I was with the prayed-for-baby, questioning god's timing. How could I leave him?

An army of working moms reached out to me, sympathy in their eyes, offering me their strength and courage. My mother was one of them. She was sad, and, I imagine, relived those painful days when she had to leave me and my brother as I cried to her. She affirmed my grief, and conceded that it is hard, but it would get easier, and it would be okay.

My greatest comfort was that R would be staying with his papa. J adjusted his schedule so that he could watch R the majority of the time I was away. But there was still guilt and fear. Now a year has gone by and the fear (of R not wanting/knowing me) has all but disappeared. The guilt, however, that lingers and somedays it wells up and lands heavy on me, and all I can do is stand in it and wait for it to settle back down. Days like when my husband confessed that he saw our son take his very first steps but he didn't tell me right away because he wasn't sure how I would take it. Days like when the sitter is leaving and my son cries and reaches for her. Days like when my son figures out how to say, "Xbox" and I wasn't there to marvel at his genius. I know more days like those lie ahead. I also know that I am working, not because I don't love my son, but because I do! I love him so so so much! And this is the sacrifice I have to make for our family, for him.

Going back to work definitely has its challenges, but THANK GOD for giggles and cuddles and special times like these!

Colic

So colic is one of those words that most people aren't really sure of the exact definition. In fact, even in the medical field there is a lack of consistency in defining colic. It is one of those words that becomes the catch all to describe a baby crying because of a belly ache. And so it is pretty common for people to tell you that their baby had colic.

The first few times people shared this with me, I was eager to commiserate with them over the horror that is colic, only what they described was worlds apart from what I was experiencing. Then one day at church a sweet mama saw my face and heard me mention colic, she approached me with genuine concern and gently tried to encourage me that this would pass and she knew what I was going through because her first born was the exact same way. It was the sympathy in her eyes, and heart break in her tone that convinced me that she truly understood what I was living.

Colic, as our pediatrician explained, is when there are spasms in the digestive system (intestines, or stomach) as the baby continues to develop this important system. These spasms are not always painful to all babies, but for some they are very painful. We were the lucky winners of that crap shoot. Now that my boy is past that painful phase and I can feel what gas bubbles moving through intestines feels like, I am more convinced that our pediatrician's definition is spot on, because gas bubbles feel different than what I would feel in my baby boy's tummy. It felt like a spasm. Like a cramp was spasming in his belly. Poor baby :( He was suffering, and, by proxy, so were we.

The colic lasted for about 13 weeks, and coincided with my postpartum depression. I think the lack of sleep was a huge factor in my depression. For thirteen weeks my son cried and screamed in pain. He slept very little and when he did it was only with pressure and heat on his stomach. So we ended up holding him in the "magic hold" (look it up if you ever find yourself with a restless, fussy baby, it was a life saver for us), or we wore him. I had intended to wear him, but with the colic there was no other option if I wanted to get anything else done. He HATED the car seat (and still isn't really a fan) so driving around was not an option, he hated being on his back so the swing or bouncer didn't help much during that time. He basically lived in my carrier on my or my husband's chest, like a baby kangaroo. (BTW I would highly recommend the Becco Gemini carrier for folks who want to wear newborn babies!)

R slowly outgrew the colic. A woman commented to me once that she believed that babies aren't done developing when they come out of the womb and the she considered the first six months to be a continuation of the enormous changes that occurred in utero. That perspective really helped me during this time. I can't exactly explain why, but it did. My baby who was in pain, and who was making me miserable, was himself miserable and scared by all the changes and sensations he was feeling, and he was helpless to stop it, and all he wanted was to be held chest to chest with his momma or papa. At times I was so tired and irritated I resented being wanted so extremely, but then I reminded myself of his developing pains and I wore him because that was the only thing to give him comfort.

So, we had the colic. It suuuuuucked!!! I had not prepared for that. I did not handle it well. My husband was the champ, the hero, the rock. And those were the first 3 months. Every week of those months I wondered how long I would be in that hell. Those were dark times for me, remember? No one could ever give me a definitive answer. A few moms had some wise words: things never really get easier, they just get different. I liked that. It has that hopeful, slogan feel doesn't it? And I am sure it is true for most moms. But my husband and I were just talking about this the other day, and so far every phase past the colic has definitely been easier. Teething, easier. Night terrors, easier. Night nursing (which he still does at 13 months), easier. Growth spurts, easier. Pre-milestone-grumpiness, easier. ALL easier. Not easy, but easier. So far anyway.

Let's just get this over with

My last post ended on a bit of a somber note. Before I explain, let me first make it clear that I LOVE LOVE LOVE my son so so so much. Parenthood may not be for everyone, and I respect and applaud those who have recognized that it might not be for them and have decided not to pursue it. This gig isn't for the faint of heart. I am daily in awe that I was allowed to journey this road and with such a precious companion. I am so grateful to be a mother (my heart breaks for those who seek this and are denied it), and humbled that I have been entrusted such a priceless gem. I love him more than I expected, more than I knew I could love at all.

Now with that said, I am ashamed to admit that I had a hard time feeling this way when I first met Little. I held him, fed him, and cared for him as any responsible parent would, but I didn't feel love. In fact I felt regret. I often joked about this with others, but it was, unfortunately, all very true. I hate myself for having had those feelings. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself. I had honestly wished I had never gotten pregnant and given birth. Before me was a stranger that screamed at me all day long (the colic drama to come later), ripped up my nipples, refused to be put down causing incredible pain in my arm and back muscles (did I mention he was nearly 10 lbs???), refused all the comforts offered him (swaddles, pacifier, crib, car rides, etc.), and basically was just "take take take" with not a smidge of "give," not even a smile or an hour of silence so weak mom could rest.

Most of that is pretty normal for parents of newborns, but I had the added insult of postpartum depression. My hormones were so out of balance. That coupled with the lack of sleep and I was basically a zombie. I felt empty inside, hopeless. I wanted to run away. Leave the baby and my husband behind. They seemed content with each other after all, they would be fine. But I was drowning. I couldn't breathe and I just wanted out. I knew then that these were horrible feelings to be having so now I had guilt to add to my depression.

My mom also had struggled with postpartum depression, so she could tell immediately that I had it. She stayed with us for that tiresome, first week and witnessed my emotional madness as I would swing from anger and rage over the silliest things to fits of tears as I gazed at my screaming son. When she left we all cried. She told my husband to keep an eye on me, and tried to encourage him, because now he had the burden of taking care of our colic-y babe and me. In this story my husband is the hero. He is my hero. He is my son's hero. He is the this small family's hero. His perseverance and enormous heart rescued me, and sheltered my son. I praise god greatly for putting him on earth so he could fulfill this crucial role.

So many people surrounded me during this dark time, friends, family, strangers, childhood friends. They may never know how deep and profound their time affected me. The simplest phone call, or visit did wonders to lift my spirit, to remind me that I was still me. I put all my energy in making my outward appearance look as strong as possible. I was ashamed of my own thoughts and I did not want others to witness them. But I was not well, even if I looked it, and your time had a powerful impact, even if you thought it was not necessary, to me it was.

After about 13 weeks, I finally started to feel like myself again. Well not exactly. Nothing has ever been exactly the same, and it could never be, because now I am a mother, forged in the fire of trial and despair, but I came through, I survived, and I bear the the scars of that darkness both physically and emotionally.

I have this picture as my background on my phone. It isn't the cutest picture of my son. And it certainly isn't the most recent. But it is from that dark time. He was only a couple of days old. I look at it and speak to that tiny baby. I tell him how sorry I am for those first 13 weeks. I look at it and hope that my darkness did not leave scars on his spirit. I look at it and tell that baby "I love you" because I wasn't able to when he was actually  that small. I don't know how long I will keep this picture up, reminding me of that time and my terrible weakness. But for now I keep it there. I am not ready to forgive myself yet, but I am getting there.

More Than a Year Later

Welp, it's been a year since I stopped blogging regularly, and I am sure you are all (all 2 of you who actually read this blog) wondering what happened, so here it is: I had a baby at home with no complications. He is a big, beautiful, and healthy boy.

But the reason I haven't been posting is that things have been CRAZY this last year. So I would like to spend the next several posts reflecting on this past year, catching you up to life in our messy messy home.

First, off, let me respond to the last post I made while pregnant. The one where I rant about feeling like an ugly heffer. I would like to respond with this video:

Now that a year has passed I can look at these pictures and I understand the shock and surprise that greeted me everywhere I turned at the very end. I was GINORMIC!!! But I also watch this video and am transported back to that very tender and innocent time. That woman in that video had no idea what lay ahead, and if she did I wonder if she would have still smiled as much? Or if she would have spent more time sleeping, or gone to the movies more, or cuddled with her husband more (boy do I miss that),  but I am glad she had no idea what lay ahead, because what lay ahead was not pretty, was rough, and was sometimes was even dark and scary, but then eventually it was ok, then normal, and then funny and sweet. I'll share more about those early days in posts to come now that I am far enough away from it all.

One year ago today

One year ago today I finally met Little. Ten minutes later my husband and I came out of the haze of wonder and asked our midwife what we had, boy or girl. A boy. A beautiful, healthy, and big big boy!

Above are pictures of that intense and miraculous day. 

The other day our doula sent a birthday card for him. I have been laboring over how to describe that day, but I think her words are better than any I have tried to compose:

"Dear R

Happy Birthday sweet boy. It's hard to believe a whole year has passed since you were born. I remember that day well. I remember how strong and determined your mom was, even when things got beyond tough. She never gave up. Also I remember how loving and supportive your dad was to your mom. It was really beautiful for me to witness. Even though your birth was not easy (most amazing and valuable life experiences aren't) I feel it made everyone stronger. It's true that good things are worth the wait.

Love,

Your doula"

My son, your birth was tough, not easy, and you did make us wait (21 long hours), but you were worth it. 

It was one of the most amazing and valuable life experiences your father and I have shared together. Your entrance into this world empowered me in a way that I have yet to find the words for. You are changing the way I experience the world. I laugh and smile daily because of you. My life is full of wonder and joy. So much joy. Happy Birthday.

Well said

In just a few days my son will turn one year old. My husband and I will have been parenting and not sleeping for one year!?!?

The beginning was really hard for us, me especially, and I honestly felt like I would never make it this far. But here we are. Time has zoomed by these last six months. Things are easier now. Still a ton of work, and life has never been the same since R's arrival, but it is easier now. Not sure if this is because I have simply given in to these times, or if I have adapted to the new pace of life, or if R is indeed easier, but I think it's a combination of all of these. There are days when I feel like R may be an only child, and days when I can't wait to have a small army of kiddos.

The first year has been such a roller coaster! I am too exhausted to adequately describe this year's ride, but this video nails it! Every single word. Every. Word. rings true for me.

"I wasn't ready, but then you were here...Big fat love. You've made me rethink my sanity. You've made me want to fall on my mother's feet and tell her that I get it. But then you smile. And you say my name...We're growing. Together."

We've come so far. And we've got so far to go. Happy birthday little man. You've been the best ride of my life!

Bulging and Beautiful???

So I was talking with a friend recently about how much like a heifer I feel. She had great insight to share. There is this window of pregnancy when you just look so cute! You are that really cute pregnant lady and people can't get enough of how cute you look. Before that time is the awkward transition time when you know you are pregnant (hello?!?!? I never had a pooch like this before! It is so obvious that I am pregnant!) but no one else is brave enough to ask you. This is probably for the best. Because I would hate to be that woman who was asked if she was and she wasn't! 

Then you enter the blessed window of beautiful bulging belly. You are the cutest preggo lady! Everything you wear is super cute! You are glowing, you feel great, the baby is moving. Life is great!

But that is just a period. A good long period, but a period nonetheless. And as you get closer and closer to that much anticipated due date you leave that wonderful period and enter the world of cows. Yup! Bovine. That is what you begin to feel like. When getting in and out of cars is a struggle. When bending down to pick something you dropped is a chore. When you can NOT find anything to wear that is both comfortable and cute. So you have to make a choice: comfort or fashion. And if your midwife tells you that your baby is breach and it is better to not wear maternity pants to encourage him/her to flip then all that is left to you are dresses that used to look cute on you, but now just look like muumuus on you. And that is where I am right now. And I feel ugly.

I hate to complain. I mean, I tried for a long time to get pregnant, doubting my bodies ability to even be able to conceive. What right do I have to complain? I should be rejoicing at the wonderful miracle that my body is doing something I doubted it was even capable of. But I am still a woman. Still trained to judge myself by exterior beauty, even by my hippie, care-free standard of beauty. There it is- I am a product of this society that places way more value on outward appearance than inner strength.

So what is a girl to do? I don't know. I've never been here before. And not many have shared this experience with me, so I am wondering if I am just bigger than most women get when pregnant? I mean, I am a small frame, and my belly is something to marvel at. I suspect people are wondering at the physics of how it is I am able to actually stand with this ginormous belly! Still something must be done. Because I need to remind myself that I am beautiful. That what is happening in my body is beautiful and marvelous because I do not want to spend the last few weeks of this pregnancy bitter, but rather I want to relish in it, because who knows if I will ever be here again.

And so I found myself putting on eye liner these last two days. And making myself get dressed in the nicest outfit I can put together, even though I am on maternity leave and rarely leave the house. But I do this because when I walk into the bedroom and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, it makes me feel better. And better is much preferred over bitter.

And one last thing that I have done, I asked my partner in crime to take pictures of me so that I can remember this time. This amazing and special time.

I know that this is no Demi Moore or Brittany Spears level of beauty.

But it ain't no cow either. 

It is a miracle. A beautiful miracle. 

I am a beautiful miracle.

I Hate Finishing Books

Confession, I have purposely not finished reading a book series that I love because I hate it when books end. I have all the books in the series, and my husband has read them all and said that it was a good end to the series. But the fact that it is the end is enough to keep me from reading it... for 3 years!

I do this with allot of things. Like TV shows. I will watch nearly an entire TV series and when I get near the end will suddenly feel compelled to find some other show to watch. It will literally take me months and months to finish watching the last 3 episodes of a series. I just hate endings. I get so sad. Like I am saying goodbye to a dear friendship that I don't want to end. And while I know that all things on this earth have an end, I like to live in willful ignorance and ignore that fundamental detail.

Here I am at the end of this pregnancy, and I am sad. Isn't it funny? Most women are eager for their little one to come out, to be born, to give their bodies relief and to finally meet the beautiful baby. Don't get me wrong. I really do want to meet my precious Little, but I have enjoyed this pregnancy.

A friend recently asked me how this pregnancy has been treating me? Have I liked being pregnant? No one had ever asked me that in the 36 weeks I was pregnant. I needed a moment to reflect on this. I think I came up with a simple short answer for her, but later that I night I really thought about that question. And my answer is that I have LOVED being pregnant. My body has changed in so many ways, and it has had its challenges, but for the most part this has been a beautiful experience! I know that I am lucky, that things could have been much worse. That I was graciously spared the dreaded morning sickness. But I was spared of it and of so many other challenges. I am so blessed to have had such a wonderful time. I love feeling the little one inside me move, and how the movements have changed as the space inside has changed. I love having a beautiful big belly. I love how people are compelled to reach out and touch it. And I love how I make people laugh with my disproportionate belly size.

Today is my birthday, it is the last one that I will ever have where I can be selfish and make it all about me. It is, in a sense, an end, which makes me sad. Also, this week I am considered to be full-term. Another end. Another pang of sadness. I want to meet my baby, but I don't want this beautiful experience to end. If I am blessed to have another child, I know that I can look forward to this experience again, but it will be different. My husband and I were talking about this. This is the first time for us. It is full of first time surprises and joys. Next time there will be joy, certainly, but it will not be like the first time. It will be different.

So here I am, at the end of several things, trying to relish and savor the last of them, especially since in this situation I cannot simply ignore the event and spread it out over several months. The end is coming, no avoiding it, and with it a new beginning full of new joys I am sure. But an ending is still and ending, and my sentimental self is sad to loose such sweet a friend.

Brutal/Beautiful Holidays

Every year my church has a Living Nativity for the community to enjoy. It is really a beautiful event. There are sheep and a donkey, high schoolers dressed as angels and shepherds, elders dressed as the wise men. It is a bonding time for the church family, and a blessing to be able to share the wonder of the season with the neighborhood.

Last year (December 2011) my husband and I were asked to play Mary and Joseph. The Living Nativity had a twist that year in that Mary sang a song, and the shepherds also sang a song. The song I sang was the Magnificat, the prayer and praise Mary says in response to learning that she was chosen to be the mother of God. It is a beautiful prayer and one that shows the wisdom held deep within this young woman. 

So there I am holding a baby doll, sometimes I was handed a real baby to hold when one was available, but holding a baby and looking down at it in the iconic pose. And the whole time I held back tears, wondering if I would ever be blessed to hold my own baby. At that time I had been trying to conceive for about 6 months with no luck. And I was waffling between hope and despair. Trying to keep my focus on the miracle of the birth of my god, I struggled not to dwell on my own trials. I remember seeing a family come up and approach me, and they had a toddler with down syndrome, and my heart ached to see how much love that family poured on that cute little boy. I was jealous for that. For the opportunity to pour out love, no matter the circumstances. Yes, he had down syndrome, but it didn't matter because he was their baby, and I wanted that... a baby. It was all I could do to keep it together. 

On our way home, Jonathan told me that he could tell I was having a hard time. He reached for my hand and told me that we would be okay, that we would have a family one day. He was so confident and calm about it. I couldn't argue with him. The Holidays are brutal for a woman TTC!

Fast forward a year to December 2012. My husband and I were asked to be in the Christmas Musical at church. Guess who we were asked to play??? That's right, Mary and Joseph. In the musical, Mary sings a song about the hope of the world growing within her womb. It was perfect, because my own womb was growing and my own hope was and is being fulfilled within. 

Yes, I was holding another doll, but that bump under the doll is real. And this time I fought to hold back tears, but tears of gratitude and tears of joy. A year ago I had nearly thrown the towel in, tired of trying to do something that so many do accidentally. I never would have guessed that in a year's time I would be so close to realizing my dream of being able to pour out love on my own baby. Yes, tears of joy and excitement were indeed in order! The Holidays to a woman who has struggled with TTC can be overwhelmingly beautiful. So so beautiful.

To a Young and Hopeful Me

The story behind this shirt: When I was in high school my aunt handed me this shirt, knowing that I love all things Maya and traditional (proud of my Maya roots, just like her :).  She said that she didn't fit in the shirt and that she wanted me to have it until the day she could. At the time, I also couldn't fit in it. Too big. But I thought it was too beautiful to give back. I also thought that if I was ever pregnant this shirt would fit. Fast forward 15 years- this is the first time I am wearing this shirt.

That day I couldn't help but reflect on the naive and innocent thoughts of a freshman in high school. How simple it all seemed to me then. How little I new about the trials that would lay ahead. And yet, how beautiful to see the world with such assured hope. 

To that freshman I would like to say, "Well, we did it. We are wearing that shirt that you faithfully kept year after year anticipating the moment when your belly would be full of baby to fill it out. The path here took longer than expected, but I can't thank you enough for planting that seed of hope. At times, that seed was my rock. Thank you naive, and innocent me. Wearing this shirt was a triumphant day for us! Yes, it was!"

PS: The bananas are for a project my husband and I are working on. This was the only picture I could find that showed the front of the shirt. 

Target, Babies R Us, or..

I debated whether I should have posted this now or not, or even at all. But since I have no filter, or a very tiny one, I decided to just go with it.

You know when you get married there are the staple places that people register at: Target, Bed Bath and Beyond, Macy's, and occasionally Pottery Barn. The same thing is true for baby registries, only the list is much smaller: Target, BabiesRUs. That's it.

It is a frustration of mine that these two stores have the monopoly on this market. I decided to go with Babies R Us just because I thought that it might have more things than Target. I have no idea what I based that on. No real research was done before coming to that conclusion. Maybe it is just that the baby section of Target is a only a few aisles, while Babies R Us is an entire store building. Who knows. But upon my very first visit to Babies R Us for my own baby I was disappointed. Deep down I knew I would be, but I still had hope, naive though it was. Walking around that store, my baby daddy and I were nearly immobilized by the overwhelming number of "stuff" for a baby. The sheer quantity is daunting and immediately makes one question their ability to parent. "There is no way I can afford all this stuff! How can I ever be a good parent to this baby???" We certainly had a little spat while in the store. I wonder how many times a day that occurs- hormonal mom, irritated father trapped in an obnoxious store. And when we left, my husband was so grumpy; he just couldn't get over the audacity of the registry attendant telling us what we absolutely needed, and that we didn't have enough stuff on our registy. Sigh.

In the end I added only another 10 items to our registry. That is all I wanted. From there. There are other stores that I wanted stuff from, and I decided that I was going to take the gamble and register at those smaller, less known stores. Because they actually have the kind of things I am looking for. Remember me, the granola mama. Cloth diapers are definitely on the list. Baby wearing-check. Organic materials-check. And they have an online option, so people could just order the stuff online and avoid having to drive to Anaheim. So convenient, right? Not to mention that it is the exact stuff that I really want, which they do NOT carry at Babies R Us. Yup, convenient and useful, right?

I thought so anyway. But I am starting to fear that the only store I will get gifts from is Babies R Us. That damn store! Even when I try to limit my exposure to you, it seems that I cannot escape you. I haven't had my baby shower yet, so who knows, I may be pleasantly surprised. But I am not hopeful. It was a gamble registering at Babies R Us, a gamble that no one would even visit the online registries for the other stores. But when you play with fire, you should expect to get burned.

Yes, I totally compared Babies R Us to fire. Did I mention that I am hormonal??? So here's to me learning, yet again, to trust in the Great Designer, that all I need will be provided for, and to let go of that silly illusion of control.

Really?!?!?

So there are a few things I expected to eventually hear when I found out we were pregnant. They are as follows:

1.) Your belly is so big/cute.
2.) You look great!
3.) I can tell you are having a boy/girl just by the way you are carrying the baby.

So far, I have heard all of these, and I welcome these comments of excitement with open arms.

But then there are the things I never never NEVER anticipated people would say to me. They are as follows:

4.) Wow! You are so big! Are you sure there is only one baby in there???
5.) Your butt has definitely gotten bigger.
6.) So, whose the father?

Just kidding about the last one. No one has ever said #6 to me (yet) but the other two...yup, and on more than one occasion. Admittedly, I do look big, but I would never have the guts to tell a woman that she looks so big she must be having multiple babies. In the wise words of Stephanie Tanner, "How rude". And this comment (#4) is made to me at least once every few weeks. In fact my mother-in-law started making these comments to me as early as 14 weeks. Thankfully my midwife says that my uterus is measuring at the normal size, so really I am not that BIG, but I just carry the baby differently, i.e. sticking way out.

And the comments about my butt?!?!? Really?!?!? Even though I am pregnant, I am still a woman people. Think to yourself, is this the kind of comment a woman would appreciate. Or better yet, ask yourself, "Would I like someone to tell me that by butt looks bigger?" then decide not to ask the question. Sheesh!

In summary, keep comments 1-3 coming. Me love those! And the rest, those are the ones you say in your head but never to a mom-to-be.

FYI :)

Due Dates

The two most frequent questions I have been asked since people found out I was pregnant are:
1. What are you having?
2. When are you due?

The answer to the first question is "I don't know. We want to be surprised?" and I explained my reasoning here. But the second question is a bit more tricky. Because, you see, I do have a date that, according to the date-wheel-thingy and my doctor, says when this baby is due. Also there are websites where you can enter the first day of your last cycle, and/or your conception date if you know that and it will spit out a due date. Oh! And even my midwife uses an app to predict my due date based on my cycle history, date of my last cycle, and date of conception. So there is a science behind all this. I can with reasonable assuredness answer that second question with, "Little is due February 3rd". But that due date is more of a suggestion.

This baby can come whenever it wants to come. Some babies come early, up to a few weeks early is considered full term and safe for delivery. Some babies come late, up to a few weeks late even. So with a few weeks before and a few weeks after, there is at least a 6 week window when this baby can come safely. I hesitate to hold fast to February 3rd because first time moms tend to go past their due date. Also, I don't want to get too set on February 3rd because I am afraid it might cause me anxiety if that day comes and goes and nothing has happened. And finally, this is a great exercise in learning to release that tiny planner in me that likes to control all things, and to surrender to nature, to my body, and to trust in the design built into my body more than in calculations and formulas.

I have heard that in times past, before these fancy due-date-wheely-things were created, women would answer the question like this: "The baby is due sometime in early spring/late fall/mid-summer/etc". This was as specific as they could get. There is something quaint and romantic about this. I envision women during the late 1800s, think Anne of Avonlea, in long dresses with lace, and their hair up in intricate buns that I can only dream of doing myself, well... like this

And as they gather for their tea to gossip, chit chat, and bond (as women have done since the beginning of time, I'm sure), the topic comes up, "So Susanne, I hear you have some news to share" 

"Well, indeed I do! I am happy to tell you that come late winter Jonathan and I expect the arrival of a little one!"... yup, that just sounds so right to me. That is the way to do it, at least to an old soul like mine. 

But, today, that answer just doesn't work for people. So when people ask me when the baby is due, on the outside I am saying "Early February" but on the inside I am saying "Late winter".  :)

Do you know what you're having?

So I am at the point in my pregnancy where it is possible that I might actually know if I am having a girl or boy. But we have chosen not to find out. Our midwife doesn't like to prescribe ultrasounds unless she is concerned about something and it is necessary for her to check on the health of the baby or myself. If I really wanted to I could just ask her for one, and she would send me to the technician that she uses. But I don't really want one.

I've always been old fashioned in my heart, an old soul, and so when I thought about having a baby in the past I knew that at least once I would like to be surprised just like generations of women were before me. I wasn't necessarily adamant that I needed to be surprised for every child, but at least for one. Well, since it took me so long to get pregnant, I have to be honest, I am not confident that this will happen for me again. Lots of people tell me how the second time is easier, and that may be true, but as I've mentioned before, life has taught me that it is unpredictable. So rather than falling into the same routine of planning with the second, I will embrace the joy of this first experience fully. If this is the only child I am blessed to bear, I would like it to be in the old fashioned way.

Do I ever wonder what the baby is? Of course! Am I dying to know? Sometimes. My husband seems to struggle with this more than I do. But it also feels like we are on an adventure, a journey to get to know this life, and the suspense is thrilling!

There is a video blog that I follow, and this week's episode was about baby gender. I had intended to write about this topic before I had seen the video blog, but I think it is really interesting that we both had similar topics. In case any of you were interested here is the video blog episode:

Her question of the week reminded me of a conversation that I had once with my husband about baby gender. We haven't settled on how many kids we would like exactly (I think once we actually have one, we might be more prepared to answer this) but I did ask him "What if I have 3 or 4 girls in a row? Would you want to try for one more to have a boy?" His answer surprised me, "Yes..." at this point I got mad, how can you be so chauvinistic?!? Is having a male offspring really that important?!? Are men more important that women?!?, but then he continued "...but if it were reverse and we had all boys, I would want to keep trying for a girl. I just want to know what a you-me combo would look like if it was a boy and a girl." He is a great man and I love him so much! He values both genders equally, and shows them the same honor. I know that whatever Little turns out to be, this daddy will be the best daddy for him or her. And that settles my heart and my curiosity! :)

I know, you think I'm crazy...

So most of you who read this already know what I am about to say. But there may be some out there who don't know, and I find myself nervous to say it for their sake. I guess I am dreading the judgement about to come. It's not like I haven't already received my share of judgement. In fact, all but maybe 2 people that I have told have totally passed judgement, with their eyes, their silence, and sometimes their words. So here it goes...

My intention is to meet this child for the first time in my own home. Translation = I am having a home birth.

When you tell people this, their response is usually... well, here, Jim Gaffigan nailed it:

Best line = "I wanted a home birth, but I wanted my baby to live." Hilarious. The truth in this line is so great. When I tell people that I am doing a home birth, the look in their eye tells me that they think I am crazy, and clearly I do not love this child because if I did I would not endanger its life by doing something so risky.

Are there risks, yes, but no more than I would face if I had the baby in the hospital. The risks are just different. In order for me to be considered for a home birth I had to take all the initial tests that any pregnant woman would. In fact I did take those tests at my Ob/Gyn's office. And all was well. If there were any serious concerns I would not be able to have a home birth.

I guess the main reasons for my decision are that:

• I want this experience to be a sacred one, and I have a phobia of hospitals so that would be difficult for me to find in hospital.
• I believe in the miraculous design of the woman's body and its ability to bring life into this world.
• I try to live a natural lifestyle, meaning, I try to limit the amount of processed and institutional influences in my life, in what I eat, in how I care for my home, in they ways I treat my ailments, etc. So it seems that having the baby at home was the most natural place to do this, at least to me.
• I think natural births are beautiful, and I would love to be part of that beautiful tradition.
• I trust my body. I am very in-tune with my body. I try my best to listen to it when it speaks to me, and I am excited to hear it speak to me as it prepares to open up and make room for life.
• I was really disappointed when I was told that I would probably only meet my Ob/Gyn on the day I delivered the baby. I want a bond/relationship with the person who is going to be there for this unique moment.
• It feels right in my soul. My heart is at peace with this idea and plan, so I will proceed until I feel otherwise.

Just because I was on board did not mean that my husband was on board. I had read books, and articles, and described to him the birthing experience that I wanted and how a home birth or a birthing center were the best way for me to have those experiences. He had started to come around, but what sealed the deal was watching "The Business of Being Born".

In this documentary there is a woman who is filmed having her baby and she looked serene. It was a beautiful birth, she looked relaxed, at peace and beautiful. She pushed out the baby with hardly a grunt and there was no fuss, no anxiety, just love and peace. When he saw that, he was amazed. "I want you to have that kind of experience" he said. And so do I.

So that is why my intention is to have a home birth. I know that something may happen that may prevent a home birth from happening, so I am trying to remain open minded, and thankful for hospitals. Yet, I would be lying if I denied that I really really hope I have, and I really really want the birthing experience I have dreamed of. For now, I am just doing the best I can to take care of myself, and my little one. I am following the directions and guidance of my midwife, and I am trusting in the one who made this all possible.

So, yes, I know you think I'm crazy, but you know love makes us do crazy things, and for me this is one of them.