Baby Charlie, Part 2, the Birth Story

If you're just landing here, you may want to check out this post, which describes how we went from "Nope, we're not having any more kids," to being 40+ weeks pregnant with our fifth baby.

About 3 am Tuesday morning, I became aware that I was once again having contractions that were waking me up. I'd wake up long enough to be uncomfortable, time the contraction, and fall back asleep. After a little while of this, I realized this was different than all those other episodes of "false labor" for two reasons: contractions almost always slowed or even stopped when I laid down, and even those nights when I contracted most of the night, the contractions always stopped by 3:00 or 4:00 am. Just after 4:00 am, I was awake enough to text Morgan, who was about to board a plane back to New Hampshire with her five kids, telling her I was having strong contractions about 10 min apart. Her response? "I am so not surprised."

The contractions continued at 10 minutes apart for a while, keeping me wondering if anything was really happening. The contractions were certainly strong, required all my attention to get through, and felt different, aching deep in my pelvis, but I wasn't at all convinced they weren't going to quit on me like they had every time before. I was pacing my bedroom and would lean on the bed and rock my hips when the contractions came. By 5:30 am, though, I was having enough trouble coping with the contractions (and being quiet so I didn't wake anyone up!) that I woke up my husband.

I was grateful for the long breaks between the contractions, because as they quickly strengthened, I needed every minute of that rest to get through them without panicking. Tom started filling up the tub, which seemed a little optimistic to me, but when I hit my hands and knees on the rug in the bathroom, begging my husband to come hold my hand/press on my back/coach me through each contraction, I finally conceded that it might be time to call the midwives.

The sequence of events gets a bit blurry for me from here on out as the contractions increased in instensity and started coming much closer together. Tom tried to convince me to move from the rug in front of the bathtub to somewhere more comfortable and with more room, but I heartily refused. I liked the smaller space of the bathroom, and probably would have taken up residence in the closet if I would have thought people could get to me! Heidi arrived not long after we called, and started setting things up. Between the contractions, I kept thinking things like "This isn't real, they're going to stop." or "Why am I making so much noise with these contractions? Maybe I'm exaggerating this. It can't possibly hurt this bad when they're still so far apart and labor just started." Then as soon as another contraction started, it was all I could do to ride the waves.

I tried to vocalize what I was feeling and I don't think I was very coherent. I remember asking Heidi "these contractions aren't going to stop are they?" and starting to feel a bit panicked because everything felt so strong and powerful and painful and I was certain I still had hours to go. Soon, Laura, the second midwife arrived and she and Heidi and Tom all took turns providing counterpressure and encouragement.

Heidi and Laura kept telling me I was almost there, that this was transition and I'd be holding my baby soon, and my sarcastic inner voice kept arguing with them. "There's no way I'm almost done. Labor just started. I'm still not convinced that it isn't going to stop again. They have no idea what they're talking about." (It's funny to reflect on this now, because I felt the same way during Ashlynn's lightning quick birth, you'd think I'd remember what it feels like.) The midwives started to spread out chux pads and their equipment, and I still felt like everyone was being overly optimistic. I was trying to keep my sounds under control and labor gracefully and peacefully, but the low and loud vocalizations seemed to come of their own accord. Heidi encouraged me to "greet each contraction with relaxation," and I tried, I really did, but at that point I was holding on for dear life!

When my knees started to give out, everyone kept encouraging me to move to the tub, someone even suggesting "Let's have a waterbirth." I was a little panicky about changing positions and getting in the tub, worried that I wouldn't feel as secure or grounded in the water. They helped me move quickly in between the contractions, and I was grateful for the few seconds of relaxation the water brought before I was slammed by another contraction. It was about this point that I remember wondering (and maybe saying) why in the world I thought giving birth at home was such a smart idea, which got a good laugh from everyone.

At this point, I was pretty done. I was looking for a way to get out of this- to not finish. All I could think of was that I wanted to get out of my body. Of course the only thing I could vocalize was "This is wrong....I want out...." which led my poor midwife Laura to think I meant I wanted out of the tub, at which point she started trying to help me to get out of the tub. Finally I was able to sputter out "I just want. out. of my body," which caused everyone to laugh again.

It wasn't until, in the middle of one particularly nasty contraction, that I felt the tell-tale burning, stretching, stinging, baby-is-about-to-crown feeling that I actually truly believed that he was coming. And then I started to panic. Crowning is the scariest, most intense part of labor, and I wasn't looking forward to it. In the space between contractions, I looked at my husband and muttered, "You. Are. Getting. The. Procedure. I am NEVER doing this again." He was amused.

Two more burning, stretching, crowning, entire-body-splitting-apart contractions. Heidi encouraged me to reach down and feel his head, and I tried, but couldn't move my hand without feeling like I was losing all my stability. One more huge push and his head was out, followed quickly by the rest of his body. I opened my eyes, saw my baby and reached down to pull him up to my chest.

I cried, breathed a huge sigh of relief that I was done, and exclaimed "A baby! I had a baby!" to anyone that would listen. Everyone grabbed cameras, and I couldn't take my eyes off my sweet baby. He was quiet, breathing and pink, covered in vernix, with the thickest head of black curly hair that any of my kids had been born with. He was gorgeous and perfect and I was so blissfully happy to finally have him in my arms. Best moment ever.

My kids all came rushing in, thrilled to meet the newest member of the family. Ian immediately begged to hold him, before the cord was even cut! He was the first to climb up on the side of the tub and reach out for Charlie, and wouldn't leave his side for most of the day. Ashlynn called dibs on cutting his cord when we first told them we were pregnant, and once he was free, they bundled him up and passed him to Tom and four eager brothers and sisters. Some of my most treasured moments from Charlie's birth were watching my big kids interact with and love on their new baby sibling.

Charlie weighed in at a whopping 8lbs 7oz, and measured 20.5 inches long. He didn't love the newborn exam, but settled in to nurse quickly and proved to be a natural. My parents came almost as soon as Ashlynn called and announced "We have a baby," and after a quick look at her new baby brother, Abby ran out the door to catch her ride to violin institute.

One of the hardest parts of Charlie taking his own sweet time to make his way earthside was the conflict with violin camp, which we have been to every summer since Abby was 4 years old. This year, she had sent in a video audition to play at one of the lunchtime honor's recitals, and she was chosen to perform in front of the entire institute, a big deal. I didn't worry about her being assigned to Tuesday afternoon because I never imagined I wouldn't have a baby by then. But life goes on, and she kissed her baby brother, and went off to Institute to happily tell everyone that mom had just had a baby that morning. (I was there helping people register the day before!) Tom took all the kids and my parents to go hear her perform at the 1:00 recital, and I curled up in bed with my new baby Charlie. While I was heartbroken to miss her big performance, (I had basically taught her this piece from the beginning, we had worked on it for months, and she was playing it brilliantly,) I knew there was nothing I could do.  Tom tried to skype me in to see her perform, but it cut out just before she walked on stage. I knew the minute her performance was over though, because I got 4-5 texts from people in the audience telling me what a great job she did. The tears flowed freely as I looked at my newborn son and realized how blessed I was with all 5 of my amazing children.

Charlie has been such an amazing addition to our family, and the adjustment to having him here has been remarkably easy. He is by far the most mellow of the five, and is for the most part, remarkably easy. He's a great sleeper and has been from the beginning- I commented to Tom that it seems like his bad nights are the equivalent of my other kids' good nights. I have spent hours with him on my chest, cuddling him, memorizing every detail, and trying to absorb every moment since I know he truly is my last newborn. He is truly loved, (and fought over!) by his siblings, and I regularly have to fend Ian off and tell him that baby Charlie has had enough kisses. Within a few days, it seemed like he had always been a part of our family.

 First day at church. He was underwhelmed.

Amazing Midwives at 3 weeks old

I am so grateful for such a wonderful birth experience. While I wouldn't say it was easy, (is any birth ever easy?) it was by far the easiest and most satisfying of all 5. Straightforward, simple, fast, intense, powerful and wonderful. Within days I felt nearly back to normal, and by the time a week had passed I felt like nothing had happened. With each of my previous births, I look back and think "I should have..." or "If only..." and I feel nothing like that this time. With the exception of Morgan having to miss the birth by hours, I have no regrets, which is such an amazing feeling. It was a long hard pregnancy, but the baby at the end? Totally worth it.

Baby Charlie, Part 1

It's been a little over nine months since I last posted on my little corner of the interwebs.

Incidentally, nine months is also just the right amount of time to conceive, grow, and birth what may be the world's cutest baby.

(Pardon the huge basket of laundry in the background, just keeping things real...)

For those keeping score at home, yes, we were done after 4 kids. Two older girls, two younger boys: perfect. I was knee deep in violin teaching, managing the two older girls and all their performing, rehearsing, schooling, etc. Add two busy little boys into the mix, and I really had about all I could handle. Or so I thought. I swore that if we were to have another child, it wasn't going to come through me.

About a year ago, I got a (completely shocking) positive pregnancy test. I admit it, I cried. And flipped out. And called a friend while I was pacing around the yard, and kept saying things like "There is no way in the world that this is ever going to be okay." Then I told my husband and we both cried.

It took a few weeks for me to decide that I was okay with the idea of another baby. And then, just like that, I miscarried. It was a strange place to be in. It took me a while to even decide how I felt about it. But, when all was said and done, we decided that yes, we did want another baby to join our family. It took a surprisingly short amount of time to get another one of these.

We were 100% convinced it was a girl. We had a name picked out from the beginning, referred to the baby as "she," bought baby girl clothes, and didn't even entertain the thought of it being a boy. Until we went for the routine 20 week ultrasound and the tech started writing "boy" on the screen, the possibility of having another boy never crossed our minds. I even accused the poor ultrasound technician of lying to us. Ashlynn, who was babysitting at the time and didn't see the ultrasound, was convinced the entire family was playing an elaborate joke on her when we told her she was having a baby brother. It wasn't until I showed her the ultrasound photos myself that she was convinced. It took some time for me to get used to the idea of three little boys in a row; there were many moments throughout the pregnancy where I would look at Max and Ian wrestling on the floor and wonder what in the world it was going to be like to add another to the mix.

I'm not going to sugarcoat it: it wasn't an easy pregnancy. In fact, miserable might be a better word. This was my eighth pregnancy, and by far the hardest. In other pregnancies, I would feel nauseous, or maybe dry heave. This pregnancy, I threw up nearly every day, sometimes multiple times a day, for nearly the entire pregnancy. At 38 weeks, I texted a friend to tell her I was full term and still puking in the sink every morming. Heartburn, no sleep, aches and pains? Oh yes. Present and accounted for.

As soon as we could wrap our minds around another pregnancy, we began planning a homebirth. While being in the hospital was the right decision for Ian's birth, both Tom and I much preferred the experience we had birthing Max at home. I went into it with a certain amount of nervousness: while Max and Ian's births were both wonderful experiences in their own way, the start and stop labors were hard both physically and emotionally, and I wanted to do anything I could to avoid a repeat of that experience. The only thing that I could come up with as a reason for the weird labor pattern was that with both the boys, I had interventions, however "natural," to try and get the labor going. So, I called my dear friend Heidi, who was my doula for both the boys and had since become a midwife, and dove into homebirth planning with both feet. I made all three midwives in the practice promise not to let me mess with anything as I came close to my due date, no matter how much I begged.

The hardest challenge of the pregnancy was the near constant contractions that started around 30 weeks. At 33 weeks we ended up in the hospital for pre-term labor, a scenario that was familiar from Ian's pregnancy, but the contractions were much more serious this time around. We were all but convinced that we were going to end up in the hospital with a preemie, but as it turned out, once they stopped my labor and sent me home, I was just in for weeks and weeks of miserable, painful contractions, that did nothing but exhaust me and make me grumpy.

My due date was June 12th, and I was super convinced that I wouldn't make it to my due date. All the pre-term contractions, plus the fact that Ian and Max were both born before their due date had me convinced that he would be an early June baby, if not born in late May. Every day that passed found me more discouraged. Every night I went to bed with contractions 3-5 minutes apart, and every morning I'd wake up miserable and still pregnant. As I checked concerts, recitals, and all of the normal end of school year items off my list, I became more tired, grumpy and anxious to meet my baby by the day.

My only consolation was that my dear friend Morgan was coming to Utah to be here for the birth, and would arrive two days before his due date. I fully anticipated that he would be born as soon as she got here; that HAD to be the only thing keeping my body from going into labor. But then my due date came and went and oh, how grumpy I was about it! I felt terrible for my poor supportive husband who had to live with pregnant me, and my kids, who at that point had learned to just stay out of my way! Each day that crawled by, I was more and more convinced that I was going to be the first woman ever pregnant forever, that my body was broken and had no idea how to really go into labor, and that I was going to be stuck facing a hospital induction at 42 weeks. It really was physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausting.

Several times I gave serious consideration to "natural" induction methods. At my last midwife appointment, I begged my midwives to strip my membranes, hoping to get labor going, and they refused. While I should have kept in mind all my determination at the beginning of the pregnancy to not mess with things, it didn't keep me from being irrationally angry with them. Friday afternoon, I even went and bought a bottle of castor oil and the ingredients for a castor oil smoothie, determined to serve the baby an eviction notice, then chickened out at the last minute. I wanted a good, smooth, low-intervention birth, and was too afraid that castor oil, along with tasting awful, would screw everything up.

Then came Monday, June 16th, 3 days past my due date. Morgan was flying home with her family early the next morning, and to say that we were both upset that she had been here a whole week and was going to miss the birth is an understatement. The only time I had been pregnant longer than this was with Abby, who was induced at 42 weeks. I said goodbye to my best friend and my doula and went to bed and cried. I'm not joking when I say that when I went to bed that night, I was more discouraged than ever.

(And this is already too long, so I'll stop here and continue in another post that hopefully won't take 9 months to write...)

Is this thing on?

So this crazy insane life of mine doesn't leave much time for sitting at a computer. And while I honestly aim to blog more often than every four months, (oh my holy heavens!) sometimes you just gotta do a great big dump of photos, not even in any particular order and call yourself caught up.

So this summer that's nearly over? It has been, and forever will be forever after referred to as the summer of Swiss Miss.

These girls have performed everywhere. It turns out that preparing a singing and dancing program with 5 10-12 year olds takes a ton of time, energy, and general schlepping everywhere.

 We learned more about setting up, dismantling, and driving a float in parades than we ever thought there was to know. (Six parades down, one more to go!)

Their biggest event is yet to come when Swiss Days arrives in a few weeks.

It's a little bit like I have 4 extra daughters for the summer.

I never knew it would be so much work. Honestly. But I look at this and realize it's worth it. Every bit.

 Ashlynn even landed herself on the front page of the Sunday Newspaper after the Days of '47 Childrens' Parade.

We've had other adventures too. In May, Abby and I went on tour with Rocky Mountain Strings. It was three days of buses, performances, and amazing fun.

 

Ian wants to take after his sister.

And he got a haircut, which I fully admit to regretting immediately.

 Max's blonde locks, however, are as long and curly as ever.

June marked our yearly trip to violin institute.

Where Abby played violin approximately ten hours a day,

  And I had a solo on the tublular bells. (Don't ask. My life is weird.)

Ashlynn's 10th birthday was at the end of June. (How she is 10, I don't know. Someone will need to explain this to me at some point.) We had a giant party with 20 of her closest friends and a lot of water.

She asked for and received a bow and arrow set.

Which, as it turns out, she's really good at.

In July, we returned to Torrey for our annual Fourth of July Celebration. This time it included time with cousins, which was extra fun.

Abby gained quite a following when she played her violin on Main Street before the parade.

She earned enough money playing the violin this summer to buy herself her very own iPod. She's very proud.

We've played in the water, and I decided that little boys with swim trunks that don't stay up are my favorite.

And sometimes, we just stayed at home and ate popscicles, because what else do you do in the summertime?

  Oh. And this happened. Which shocked the pants off of me and my husband. Just as I had made up my mind that another baby wasn't going to completely ruin our lives, I miscarried. And miscarriages suck. I'll write more about this another time. 

So there you have it. The summer of Swiss Miss and all. It's hard to believe that summer is basically over and it's back to the school routine next week. We're holding on to our hats and getting ready for another year of homeschooling. And maybe a few deep breaths.

Unexpected Blessings

A year ago yesterday, I sat on my toilet seat early on a Sunday morning, staring incredulously at a positive pregnancy test. 

To say it was unplanned would be a major understatement. 

It took two years, a miscarriage, and lots of expensive and humiliating fertility drugs and treatments for me to get and stay pregnant with Max.

I wasn't supposed to be able to get pregnant.  My cycles were ridiculously out of whack, and we were under an incredible amount of stress preparing for Max's second major skull surgery in a year.  (More on that tomorrow when I do another "One year ago" post.  Sorry.  I'm feeling nostalgic.  Or something.)

So I sat there.  And stared.  And stared some more.

Then I showed the test to my husband, who claimed that because the second line was so faint, that it wasn't possible for it to be accurate.

That afternoon Tom was at Walgreens, despite the fact that it was a Sunday, buying another pregnancy test.  That one was more positive than the first.

I spent weeks saying some version of "Are you kidding me?  Now?  Seriously?"  I sat in the hospital with my swollen post-op little boy marveling at the wicked irony of the timing of it all.

It took me months to adapt to the idea of another baby.

But now.  I am completely, utterly,

In love with this little boy.

Can't imagine what we'd do without him.

And I dare you to watch this video without laughing.  Go ahead and try!  (And yes that is me in the background sounding like a complete fool.  But when you get a baby giggling, it's worth it!)

Dear Universe, Maternity Edition

Dear Universe:

Yes, I am pregnant.  No, I did not eat a watermelon, a basketball, and I'm not one of those people who is just carrying a little extra weight around her middle.

No, you may not touch my belly.  No really, you can't.  Hands off, you crazy woman!

Yes, I am going to have my hands full.  Is that you volunteering to help? Why, thank you. I have plenty of laundry that needs to be folded, and am always accepting home-cooked meals.

Yes, we do know what causes this.  Apparently, we're pretty good at it too.  Jealous?

No, I haven't had the baby yet.  And for the record, really?  Why would you even ask that?

Yes, I do feel like I'm ready to pop.  I also feel like I want to pop you for asking such an inane question.

No, we are not having twins.  Yes, I'm sure.  No, I really don't want to hear about your sister-in-law's cousin's friend who had surprise twins after having multpile ultrasounds.

No, I don't know when the baby is going to come.  Wishing I had that fortune-telling gift, though, because then we could probably make enough money to pay for this birth.

Nope, I don't want to hear your horror stories.  Or your sister's, your daughter's, or the one you just saw on TLC.   No, really.  I have some of my own.  Like how I once had a baby in my minivan on the side of the road, or how I walked around dilated to a 6 for a week before I had my son.

And no, I'm not going to go into labor while I'm standing here talking to you.  Even if I did, it's highly unlikely that I would give birth with you here watching thankyouverymuch.

So as of today, I'm putting the world on notice.  From here on out, comments on my pregnancy will be limited to "Wow, you look amazing," or "Can I bring you some chocolate?" 

(Or maybe I just need to stop going to the grocery store.  What is it about picking out produce that inspires stupid pregnancy comments?)

Surprises

This baby loves surprises.

First, there was the surprise of even being pregnant in the first place. 

Then, when my husband decided it would be fun to wait to find out the gender until the baby was born, we added that surprise to our list.

I was very surprised at 28 weeks pregnant to find myself planning a hospital birth instead of a homebirth. 

And now, just when I thought we were done with surprises, I've found myself in the hospital twice in the past two weeks for pre-term labor.

(That's what I get for thinking that I had already experienced all the craziness possible when it comes to being pregnant and birthing a baby!)

The past two Mondays, contractions hit regularly.  I tried valiantly to ignore them.  Then they started coming every 2-3 minutes, making it impossible.  Both times, I called my midwife, who said I needed to come into the hospital to have them stopped.  So for the past two consecutive Monday nights, I've made the trip to the hospital in the middle of the night to be filled with injections of terbutaline and niphedipine.  I've started dilating and effacing, which isn't great news.  But we were able to stop the contractions, which is good news.  

The new goal is to get this baby to 36 weeks- three weeks from now.  Thanksgiving would be better, but at this point, anything that ends with a healthy baby and little to no NICU time would be fantastic. 

I'm not on bedrest yet, and crossing my fingers that it doesn't get to that point.  Because while a day or two of mandated rest sounds like a fantastic idea, being stuck in bed for three weeks sounds crazy making.  Not to mention what it would do to my poor toddler, who has very little patience with a mom who wants to just hang out on the couch. 

Here's hoping that we're done with surprises.  Because while being on a first name basis with the nurses on the L&D unti is great and everything, I'd really not like to go back until this baby is actually ready to be born. 

This is what happens when I haven't had an adult to talk to in a while

Due the fact that I feel about 17 months pregnant, I have a chronic inablility to focus on something for more than about 3.2 seconds.  So a post with coherent thoughts, or maybe even a point?  Not happening tonight.  So here you have it: a collection of the minutiae that is my life right now.  (And as a side note, don't you love that word?  It makes me feel intelligent just to use it.  Despite the fact  that I just had to switch over the Word to use the spell checker so I could actually spell it right...)

My laptop is dying a slow, painful death.  It's very sad, really.  It gives me anywhere from 10 seconds to about 10 minutes of use before it goes black with absolutely no warning or provocation. There's no computer repair money in the budget right now, ("Yes, ma'am, I'll look at your computer, but it costs at least $127 to glance in its direction, and we charge by the blink.) and I'm pretty sure I'll go into a deep state of mourning when it does actually kick the bucket.  Stupid technology.

My second grader's spelling words are harder than the third grader's.  Strange.

Does anyone else hate school fundraisers as much as I do?  The kids come home from school completely hyped up about prizes, prizes, prizes  they can win from selling crappy wrapping paper/overpriced chocolates/collecting walk-a-thon pledges from everyone they know, and immediately start begging to sell/collect/whatever.  What they don't get, (and the lovely fundraising people neglect to tell them) is that everyone else they know is also selling crappy wrapping paper/overpriced chocolates/collecting walk-a-thon pledges, making the whole thing an excercise in fultilty.  You then proceed to try to explain this to your child, whereupon they collapse in a puddle of tears, proclaiming that they're going to DIE if they don't earn enough money to get the free donut coupon and the package of Silly Bands.  Am I a bad mom if I ignore the fundraiser and buy the kiddos a donut and a packet of silly bands?

And while we're on the subject of silly bands, seriously?  File that under the "Ideas I should have had so I could make a million dollars and retire" category.  Sheesh.  I have at least one in depth conversation about silly bands with a child or violin student at least once a day.   On the bright side, the morning routine is running a lot more smoothly with the added bribe incentive of silly bands for good attitudes during practice time.

I went to Babies R Us yesterday, and spent entirely too much time ooh-ing and ahh-ing over every baby supply imaginable.  You would think that this being my fourth baby that I would be immune to all the tiny cuteness and matching absolutely everything.  (Don't you know you're a bad mom if your baby's bib doesn't match her crib bedding?  Don't you need to spend an entire's months' salary so that your newborn can have a crib that she can take to college with her?)  I think there's something in the pregnancy hormones that make you completely hypnotized by impossibly tiny socks in all the colors of the rainbow.  I escaped with my checking account relatively unscathed, although I do admit to buying two little tiny newborn outfits- one with baseballs, and one with seriously cute pink flowers- that will fit the new baby whoever he or she is for approximately 2.3 minutes before they grow out of it.  But every baby needs something new to come home from the hospital in, right? 

Speaking of babies, I have given this baby official notice that he or she has exactly 38 weeks to gestate and that's all.  None of this 40 or 42 weeks crap.  My pregnancies have gotten progressively shorter, so I've decided 38 weeks is about right.  The funny part is 38 weeks puts me right about Thanksgiving Day.  Not a bad day to have a baby, right?  So 38 weeks it is.  Think it'll work?  (It'll take a miracle.)  (Bonus points and my everlasting admiration if you get the movie reference.)

Speaking of babies, again, (you would think I was an obsessed pregnant woman or something!) I have an ultrasound next week to check baby's skull sutures and monitor the marginal previa.  I'm still dying to know boy or girl.  I wondering if it would be so bad to ask them to take a quick peek?  I could just keep it a secret from my husband and everyone I know for the next two months, right?

Max is officially obsessed with the iPhone.  Frustratingly so.  In fact, in his nearly two-year-old brain, I am not even allowed to talk on it, because it is his phone.  So if you are brave enough to call me, be prepared for a lot of toddler screaming very loud protesting going on in the background.  I'm trying to decide if I'm going to try to break the addiction or just give in. 

And just because I can, a gratuitously cute picture of the little iPhone addict.

Because it's important to always be fashionable, even in the bathtub.

Change of Plans

Don't you hate eating your words?

Yeah, me too.  Which is why this has been such a difficult post for me to write.  That, and the fact that I had pneumonia last week and still need daily doses of an inhaler just to breathe.  And also the fact that I've spent cumulative hours on the phone with less than wonderful customer service agents the past few days trying to get my internet access restored.  Just for the record, my husband is now in charge of all things internet related. 

Ok, back on point.

Let me clarify a few things first. 

I am a homebirther.  I believe in homebirth.  I believe its a safe, wise, and gentle way for a baby to be born.  I believe that homebirth is as safe as a birth in the hospital when the mom and baby are low risk.

I had a marvelous experience birthing Max at home.  I've attended lots of successful, beautiful homebirths as a doula.  So when I fould out that we were expecting again, I naturally started planning for another homebirth.

Problem is, I've never felt completely settled or comfortable with the idea.  Since my wonderful midwife with Max, who also happens to be one of my best-est friends, moved to New Mexico a year and a half ago, I had to start from scratch interviewing midwives.  Nothing seemed to click.  I kept telling myself that I was only dragging my feet because I had such a great friendship with my last midwife and was having a hard time adapting to the idea of having "just" a midwife. 

I hired a midwife who I knew, respected, and had attended births with.  I had seen her in action and respected her experience and liked her style as a midwife.  I still felt unsettled.  I joked with my husband that maybe the reason I was feeling so lost and uninspired was either because I was going to have a baby so fast that it didn't matter who I hired, or I was just going to end up in the hospital anyway.   I stuffed my uneasiness and apprehension in the back of my mind, convinced that the reasons I was unsure had more to do with all our medical drama over the past year and a half than it did any inspiration or instinct about the matter.

This pregnancy, much like my others, has been relatively problem free.  I had two visits with the midwife and an ultrasound, all showing that things were progressing more or less as they should. 

But underneath it all, I couldn't deny that I was feeling uncommitted.  I was dragging my feet when it came time to make another midwife appointment.  I was having trouble envisioning, planning or getting excited about a homebirth.  Previous pregnancies have found me reading every birth story I could get my hands on, devouring birth books by the dozens, (I remember my husband asking me once, "How many birth books can you possibly buy before they all start saying the same thing?") and daydreaming about my perfect birth.  Imagining a homebirth this time around has felt as productive as visualizing a brick wall.

It all came to a head about a week and a half ago.  Out of the blue one Tuesday evening, my husband remarked, "You know, I really have a strong feeling that we're going to end up in the hospital with this baby."

"I do too."  I said, without even realizing that I was going to say it.  And just like that, everything I'd been trying to deny for the past six months came rushing to the surface.  There was a reason behind all the apprehension, the unease.  It was because, deep down underneath, despite all the denying my uneasiness and pretending everything was fine, I really wasn't at all certain about our plans for a homebirth.

We talked more that night after the kiddos had gone to bed.  We talked pros and cons, and put everything out on the table.  After our experiences with Max's birth, my husband is as pro-homebirthing as I am, and was equally wondering why he felt this way.  But I couldn't help but think that if my husband felt the same unease that I did, that it was time for me to sit up and take notice.

The next two days were filled with a lot of praying and a lot of crying.  I didn't want to give up on a homebirth.  I hate hospitals.  I know it sounds crazy to 98% of women out there, but I really do feel like my births belong at home.  I don't know that I have ever felt so conflicted about something in my entire life.

I was supposed to have an appointment with my midwife that week, and called the day before and cancelled it, telling her where we were emotionally.  She was wonderfully encouraging and supportive, asking me to keep her in the loop with whatever we decided.  She said that she had sensed hesitation from me at the very start, and kept waiting for me to come down off the fence on one side or the other.  She encouraged me to follow my gut, and let my instincts and feelings guide my decision, because in her experience, it's women who don't listen to that inner voice that find themselves in trouble.

Meanwhile, I made an appoitnment with a midwife who delivers at a new hospital nearby.  I've done a birth with her as well, (although I have to use that term loosely because we both showed up at the same time- about five minutes after the baby was born!) and she has a wonderful reputation for being as non-interventive as possible, and helping her clients get the birth they want.  The hospital is very new, and from everything I've heard, very progressive when it comes to labor and delivery.  Both Tom and I thought that we should probably start checking out all our options. 

I kept hoping and praying for revelation.  Waiting and wanting the skies to open up, a voice to speak.  So conflicted.  Caught between things I truly believe and the nagging feelings that my husband and I had been feeling the entire pregnancy.

I went to see the midwife this week, and immediately felt at ease.  She was very upfront and matter of fact, easy to talk to, and laugh and joke with about the birth community.  I gave her a brief rundown of how we were feeling, and she also encouraged me to follow my instincts, letting me know that she would do everything she could to help me acheive a peaceful, nonmedicated birth in the hospital.  From what she told me, there are no interventions I would be subjected to routinely, and that rather than forcing her patients into procedures, she would explain the risks and benefits and then let me decide.

I left the appointment feeling like a giant weight had been lifted off me.  I met Tom for lunch, and once again had the odd experience of hearing words come out of my mouth before I knew I had made a decision: "I think this is what we need to do."

So I find myself in a very weird spot.  I'm a homebirther through and through, but we feel strongly that for reasons we don't know, that we need to plan a birth in the hospital.

I don't know what that means, or why we would feel that way.  I had one friend suggest that I may not be completely over all the medical chaos that we went through with Max, and that because of that, I'm having a hard time believing that anything could go smoothly. 

I've wondered if my ambivalence about having another baby may be keeping me from making the committment to a homebirth.

But the last thing we want is to spend all the time and energy investing ourselves in a homebirth and then be forced to transfer late in pregnancy or worse, during labor.  If something is going to go wrong, (heaven forbid!) I would much rather be prepared emotionally to be comfortable in the hospital.  And the biggest nightmare driving both of us would be to look back and realize that we had been receiving inspiration the entire pregnacy, only to ignore it. 

There's also the not-so-small fact that birthing in the hospital would be significantly cheaper for us, to the tune of at least $1000, and probably more.  

I've felt like a traitor to my natural birthing mamas and friends.  I've felt like an imposter.  I've questioned my ability to receive and interpret revelation.  I've wondered if I'm just a big fat wimp.  I don't think I've ever felt so conflicted about a decision in my entire life.

But now that the decision has been made, I feel lighter.  Calmer.  Settled. 

I know that the majority of the people who read this will wonder what the big deal is, and why I'm acting like the decision of where to birth my baby is such a big deal. I know that people can and do have wonderful experiences in the hospital.  I know that there are many (most) women who can't imagine birthing anywhere else. 

I'm holding on to the hope that I wouldn't feel this strongly about something without a reason.

I'm almost 30 weeks, so it won't actually be that long until we know how this story ends. We joke that this baby is just destined to be surprise from beginnning to end. We were surprised to be pregnant, surprised to change our birth plans, and the biggest surprise of all will be finding out if we're having a baby brother or sister.



So we're hanging on for dear life for the rest of this crazy ride.

You might be pregnant if...

~The worth of an object becomes directly proportioned to your willingness to actually bend down and pick it up off the floor.

~You have a favorite color/flavor of Tums.

~Your nightly going to bed ritual includes clearing a path to the bathroom that you'll be visiting at least 47 times that night.

~You've been known to jump out of your seat or yelp occasionally because of a particularly hard kick to the ribs.

~Peeing in a cup at your Doctor or Midwife's appointment feels like an Olympic sporting event.

~You can stand in front of a very full pantry or refrigerator and then burst into tears because you can't find anything good to eat.

~After your husband makes fun of you for crying about it, you yell "Don't laugh at me!" sounding very much like a three year old.

~You then blame the whole episode on hormones.

~Your hips make more snapping and popping noises than a bowl of Rice Krispies.

~You threaten to shoot up a local fast food restaurant (that shall remain nameless) when they screw up your order and all you've been craving all day is a crisp bean burrito.  Why is that so hard people?  Come on!

~You can fall asleep standing up in the late afternoon, but wake up five hundred times later that night to pee.

~You make a nice, healthy meal that looks and smells great...until it's actually sitting on a plate in front of you.

~You could immediately tell a perfect stranger your EDD, LMP, and exactly how far along you are, (27 weeks and 2 days thankyouverymuch...) but you might very well forget your own childrens' names.

Anyone else?

Spotting

I am 21 weeks pregnant today, and holding my breath.  I started spotting yesterday.  Mild, pink spotting.  Two midwives telling me "It's most likely nothing to worry about" spotting.  But that doesn't stop me from worrying.  Because somehow in the midst of the "Are you kidding me?  Now!!??" reaction to the initial positive pregnancy tests, and the weeks of negativity that gradually led from ambivalence to acceptance to excitement, I've become very attached to this little person growing inside of me.  I can't wait to meet him or her (and find out if it's him or her!) and add their personality and prescence to our home.

I feel the baby move every day, several times a day.  I adore that feeling, and the secret communication between my baby and me always brings a smile to my face.  Ashlynn felt the baby move for the first time tonight, the first of the family to have that physical manifestation of his or her prescense. 

I've never spotted in any of my healthy pregnancies. 

It could be nothing.  It could be something.  There's nothing for me to do now but wait it out, and see what presents itself. 

We have had so many medical dramas, surgeries, trips to doctors offices and emergency rooms in the past two years that psychologically, it's hard for me to fathom that something could go smoothly, normally, or proceed without a hitch. 

I am clinging to my deeply-held belief that birth is normal, that my body isn't broken, that I know how to grow, nourish, and birth a healthy baby. 

I am 21 weeks.  I have 3-4 weeks left until the baby is considered viable, and a good 16 weeks before we're considered full term. 

I'm hanging on for the ride.  Prayerful, emotional.  Hopeful.

It's a...

Baby.

A healthy one.

And despite all my pleadings on the way to the appointment, (when I thought my husband might actually cave,) and my beggings while I was laying on the table covered in all that lovely, oh-so-warm ultrasound goo, (when I swear he almost changed his mind,) we still don't know if we're having a boy or a girl.

The great news is, though, that everything looks great with the baby, whoever he or she might be. 

According to the ultrasound, the baby weighs about nine ounces, and is measuring small, around the 30th percentile or so.  Not at all concerning considering I've had two six pound babies at term, so this little one is following in big sister and brother's footsteps.

We were able to visualize 3 open skull sutures, and although that really means nothing in terms of the wonderful world of craniosynostosis, I was happy to see a nice little round noggin.

We also found out that I have marginal placenta previa, but as of right now, it's absolutely nothing to worry about.  Even the Doctor who diagnosed it, who knew we are planning a homebirth and actively discouraged it, didn't tell us that it was a reason to worry at all. 

I'm scheduled for a repeat scan at 32 weeks, both to check on the skull sutures and monitor the previa.  I'm more worried that I'll be able to stay strong and not ask about gender than I am about a problem with either one of those. 

As we were leaving, Tom told them to make a note in my chart that I'm not allowed to ask about the gender when I'm there next.  They all got a good laugh while I rolled my eyes.

And I'm really hoping that the surprise at the end is worth it!

To find out or be surprised?

Our "big" ultrasound is scheduled for Friday.  Normally, the question on everyone's mind is what kind of baby are you having: pink or blue, brother or sister.

The other three times we've done the big ultrasound, we've gone in wanting and expecting to find out.  Twice, (with Abby and Max,) our intuition proved correct.  When I was pregnant with Ashlynn, neither one of us were certain until we saw the ultrasound.

Now my husband is pretty tolerant with some of my more crunchy habits, especially when it comes to pregnancy and childbirth.  He knows how much homebirth means to me, and lets me go along with what I think is best, with few exceptions.  And since he so rarely has a strong opinion, when he does, I know I have to stand up and listen.

Except for the fact that he doesn't want to know if we're having a boy or a girl.

He wants to be surprised!

His theory is that since this is our last, and since we have some of each, there's no reason why we shouldn't wait until the birth to find out. 

Problem is, it's killing me not to know!  And I have absolutely no intuition either way, so I really do think we're going to end up being surprised. 

The girls are dying for a baby sister.  Ashlynn's reasoning is that she doesn't know what it's like to have a baby sister, because she's only ever had a baby brother.  They ask me almost every day when we're going to know if they're having a brother or sister, and then groan when I remind them that we're probably going to have to wait until December to find out. 

When I first found out we were having another baby, I could have sworn up and down that we were having another boy.  After all, in my neighborhood, there are at least ten boys to every girl.  Over the weekend, we went for a cookout with three other families, and there were fifteen kids between us.  Only three are girls, and two of them belong to us.  It's a big joke around our neighborhood that we just don't know how to make girls.

Although the past few weeks, I'm feeling much more girly.

In the beginning, Tom was thinking girl, and now he's convinced we're having another boy. 

I keep telling him that it will just take one little peek and we'll end months of wondering.  He always laughs, and asks why we would want to miss out on five more months of these discussions.

I've been to several births as a doula where the parents didn't know their baby's gender beforehand, and they were always so fun.  Not only were they meeting the baby they'd been growing for nine months, but they also got to find out who that baby was.  And announcing the birth had the extra excitement of "It's a Girl!" or "It's a Boy!" instead of just telling everyone that the baby had been born.

But still.

I'm dying to buy teeny-tiny clothes, and I can't justify it because we have more than enough boy clothes, and I want to buy clothes in colors other than green and yellow!

Maybe not knowing will be great incentive when I'm in that "Why did I ever think a natural birth was a good idea and I just can't do this anymore" stage.   And deciding on both a boy and a girl name has given us and our families plenty of discussion material.

But I still can't help but hope that the technician slips on Friday.

How about you?  Did you know what you were having?  Did you ever want to be surprised?

This post has a happy ending

It almost didn't.

I had a routine check up with an ob/gyn yesterday.  While its not exactly normal to see a homebirth midwife and an ob/gyn at the same time, ever since my last miscarriage at thirteen weeks, I've needed to know that my pregnancies were viable.  

The ob/gyn who did my last D&C is amazingly respectful, supportive and willing to help.  After the surgery, he told my husband and me that he would help us in any way he could. He suggested when we got pregnant again that we see him for the first 12 weeks, have an early ultrasound to verify that everything was progressing normally, and then he would be happy to discharge us to the care of our midwife.   

This time around, we opted to do the same thing.  We saw him at eight weeks, had a quick (less than a minute) ultrasound showing a healthy heartbeat, and scheduled one more appointment at twelve weeks.  

Yesterday, when I went in, I was expecting to be in and out.  When the doctor came in, he offered to do another quick ultrasound.  Once on the table, I was concerned when an image didn't immediately come up on the screen.  

Several times, he turned on the sound, trying to hear a heartbeat.  There was nothing.

He searched for a few minutes, and still couldn't find anything.  I made a lame joke about the baby playing hide and seek, and he didn't answer.  My heart caught in my throat.  

"I'm so sorry," he said, "but I can't find anything.  There's very little fluid, and I can't find a heartbeat."  He pointed to an image on the screen, still searching with the ultrasound.  "I'm sorry. But let's do a quick check with the vaginal ultrasound to be sure."

He left me in the room with one of those lovely paper "sheets" to cover myself.  In the two minutes that it took me to get undressed and situated, I battled a myriad of crazy emotions.  First and foremost, I was numb.  I couldn't believe that this was happening again.  My sister just went through this exact same situation three weeks ago at her twelve-week visit, and I was incredulous that both of us were going through the same thing.  I clicked into survival mode, immediately planning the lesson cancellations, and how I would manage to have a D&C when my husband was scheduled to leave for Germany today for a business trip.   

The doctor came back in, and started the vaginal ultrasound.  Immediately, a crystal-clear image popped up and once again, the doctor said, "I'm sorry," but this time he followed it with "Its right there."

"What's right there?" I stuttered.

He turned on the sound, and there it was.  The blissful sound of a baby's heartbeat.

The doctor apologized up and down.  He said he didn't know what had just happened, and said it was the worst ultrasound imaging he had ever seen.  The baby was measuring perfect, and the image was so clear that we could see the spine, two arms and two legs moving around, the skull, the brain, and the fluttering heartbeat.  

I've struggled ever since I found our we were expecting again.  I don't think I was emotionally ready to be pregnant again, and the reality of this pregnancy has been tempered and colored with Max's surgery and hospitalizations.  I've felt horribly guilty because I haven't felt the excitement and anticipation that I've felt every other time I've been pregnant.  

It wasn't until I was faced with the idea of losing the baby that I realized how much I really do want this little person to join our family.  And while things have been complicated and difficult these first few weeks, I now know that I wouldn't go back and undo it, even if I could.  The timing definitely isn't what we would have chosen, but this little person is obviously on their way at this time for a reason.  And I can't wait to meet him or her and have them join our crazy little family. 

What's so great about homebirth anyway?

This afternoon, I had a great conversation with a friend who is considering homebirth if and when she and her husband decide to have another baby.  We talked about midwives, doulas, cost, practicality and so on, and ever since I hung up the phone, I've been reminiscing about Max's fantastic homebirth, and the other homebirths I've been privileged to attend as a doula. 

There are a lot of people who think I'm completely insane for birthing babies at home.  And I confess, I used to be one of them.  But now that I've birthed a baby at home, I know that barring an emergency or huge complication, I could never go back to the hospital for a birth.  (I spend way to much time in them as it is!)

There are plenty of studies that affirm the safety of homebirth when compared with hospital birth.  Plenty of outspoken critics on both sides of the debate.   But for me, and many other homebirthers, its not about statistics.  Sure we're glad to know that homebirth is generall as safe or even more safe than birthing in the hospital, but there are lots of other reasons we choose to have our babies at home.

1- No rushing around to get to the hospital. No fear of having a baby in the car (I did that) or at the admitting station. You don't have to have the interruption of moving to a different place with unfamiliar smells, sights, sounds, or unfamiliar PEOPLE when you're in the most active and vulnerable part of labor.

2- No being bugged after the birth. You get to hold your baby for as long as you want, and no one will take them away from you until you're ready. The baby is alwasy treated gently, and everything is done in front of you. No hard hospital beds. No monitors. No nurses waking you up at 6 am to check your blood pressure, draw blood, or give you pain meds. There is nothing in the world like being tucked into your own bed with your brand new baby after birth. It was one of the sweetest moments of my life.

3- You get to manage your own labor however you choose. I had a start and stop labor that lasted over a week. We went for a walk at 2am to get contractions moving again. I walked stairs. I slept. No one pressured me that "we need to get things moving faster" or talked about pitocin. I ate and drank freely, and felt completely comfortable being stark naked. I felt completely spoiled and cared for.

4- You choose your own birth team. I can't imagine having someone who is a virtual stranger (a nurse, an ob etc) being there for one of the most intimate experiences of my life.  The women who attended me were loving, caring, and treated me with complete caring and respect. 

5- If there is a need for something medical at the birth, midwives have the equipment and training to deal with it. Max was born blue and floppy, and we had to do a full ressucitation. But, he never left my arms and things resolved quickly.

6- People talk about the mess, but we never saw any of it. My midwife and doula cleaned everything up and then some. You never would have known there was a baby born there. They even left homemade food in my fridge.

7- No packing you and your baby up hours or days after your birth to go home.  Midwives will come to you for postpartum visits, and I was encouraged to spend the first week after he was born in bed.  It was a wonderful time to be nurtured and get to know my new baby.

8- My older girls were there for the birth and it was an amazing experience that they still talk about. They woke up as he was about to be born, and they were so excited to watch! It truly made it a family affair, and I hope planted a seed in my girls' minds that birth is normal, not something to be afraid of.

So what about you?  Are you a homebirther?  Natural birther? Do you think homebirthers are crazy?