Isaac: The Birth Story-Part Two

So here I was…an uncertain and potentially dangerous diagnosis and a slightly unpredictable plan.  

One of the challenges that the change of plans posed was with regards to my parents’ plans.  My mom is 3 for 3 on making it to my births and being a fantastic “doula” (not formally trained but quite effective and helpful nonetheless).  They had planned their annual trip with my aunt and uncle the second week of November because I am never early and it felt like a safe bet they could do the vacation and also be at the birth.  

And since I was going to attempt “natural” induction, the birth-date was still not entirely known.  If I opted for a hospital induction we could pick the date and make sure she could be there but we were both wanting to go the natural induction route if possible.  

Long story short, they graciously decided to cancel their trip and then booked a flight to Indiana with only a few days notice.  

So, natural induction.  You might be asking yourself what this means or how one goes about it.  

Well let me preface with: this is not medical advice.  Don’t try this at home, unless under the care and guidance of a medical professional…etc. etc. etc. Also, it is not advised to induce labor at 37 weeks unless there is a medical reason to.  Babies are best when baked in that oven as long as possible =) 

My midwife told me that I was a good candidate for pushing my body into labor because this is my 4th child, and I was already about 2.5-3 cm dilated.  She said at this point I could probably just sternly tell the baby to come and he would just pop out!  

Anyway, natural induction includes things to prep my uterus/cervix for birth (drinking Red Raspberry leaf tea and taking Evening Primrose Oil).  Pressure point massages with Clary Sage essential oil (prompts uterine contractions).  Curb walking (what it sounds like, one leg up on the curb, one on the street).  Breast Pumping (with an strong-suctioning breast pump- this encourages uterine contractions as well).  Membrane sweep (done by the midwife where they manually separate the bag of waters from the cervix and irritate the uterus).  And the granddaddy of them all…Castor oil.  Now, there are many many mixed messages about the prudence and usefulness of castor oil to induce labor.  Technically it is an external-use oil (seriously, I had to find it in the skin care aisle).  It acts as an intestinal irritant (basically poison to your body *gulp*).  When your intestines and stomach contract, it causes the uterus to contract and can prompt labor.  Most people who take it report digestive struggles such as nausea and vomiting, cramps and diarrhea.   But it IS quite effective.  

Back to the official story.  

My parents flew in on Tuesday night (November 7th).  I had told them I wouldn’t do the more drastic techniques until they landed so on the off chance they worked really well, they wouldn’t miss the birth.  Wednesday I did the mid-level techniques which resulted in sporadic contractions, general discomfort and no active labor.  Thursday we decided to hit it hard.  At 11 am, I took my first tablespoon of castor oil, pumped a bit and then my mom and I went to do some walk/squatting.  We strolled Wal-mart and Goodwill for a bit, I did a lot of curb walking outside, and it actually was producing some uncomfortable contractions…as long as I kept moving.  

I took my next tablespoon of castor oil and kept it up.  By 3 pm I had taken 3 tablespoons and didn’t feel much of anything.  I was just telling Ben that it wasn’t working and I didn’t even have digestive issues when there was a grumbling deep down low and I made a quick stop in the bathroom.  I won’t go into many details, but the digestive issues began.  Thankfully they were minimal and I had no nausea or vomiting at all.  And boy did it work.  All the sudden I noticed I was having regular contractions.  Not strong or long ones, but definitely at regular intervals.  

I decided to start timing them and they were 1.5-2 minutes apart.  Now my track record has been that I have putsy, low-key labors until my water breaks…and then it gets intense and fast.  So while my contractions weren’t painful, their regularity had me a little concerned.  If my water broke at home there was a good chance the baby would be born in the car.  After about 45 minutes of regular contractions, I called the midwife on-call.  I hadn’t seen her in a while (they rotate during prenatal care) and had to get her up to speed on where I was at.  She didn’t seem overly concerned about birth imminence until I told her I took castor oil.  Then she told me to get ready to come in and meet her at the BC in an hour-getting us there around 6 pm.   

Oh, side note.  For several months, Asher had expressed interest in attending the birth.  At the birth center, they encourage any members of the family that want to be present to come.  Given Asher’s maturity level and interest we decided to move forward to letting him attend.  We prepped him with how it might go, things he might witness or noises I might make. We talked about the physiology of birth, what is happening during labor and how it is hard work that might take a long time, so he had to be patient, quiet and out of the way.  I checked in with him one more time before we left and he enthusiastically said he still wanted to come, grabbed his packed bag of activities and jumped in the car with us!

On the way to the BC, my contractions slowed a bit and still weren’t intense (didn’t have to stop/breathe through them).  We arrived and did a non-stress test, which is a 20 minute monitoring of the baby’s heart rate, especially through contractions.  I was really worried things had slowed down too much and they would send me home.  I tried to relax, but as Erin (the midwife) prepared the birth suite, I could feel myself getting nervous/anxious with anticipation.  My body was shaking and I couldn’t settle down.  Erin checked me and I was dilated to about 5 cm.  She told me to hop in the shower, and stay in there and labor for about an hour doing squats and relaxing.  

I took a 45 minute, hot, steaming shower and it was amazing.   My contractions definitely increased in intensity but weren’t unbearable.  The nurse arrived at that time, which meant we were actually going to do this!  

After an hour, they checked me again and I hadn’t dilated too much more, but she could tell that if she broke my water, things would pick up.  Even though I value a low-intervention birth, when she offered to break my water I jumped on it, with only slight apprehension.  I remembered the intensity of my labors after my water breaks and had to mentally prepare for that.  It was 7 pm when my water was broken and I got into the tub.  Asher was the designated documenter, and began taking some pictures.  He was really excited until he realized it might still be a while…then he went back to watching his show until the actual action started.

Within a few contractions, things got much more intense and required more concentration and breathing.  Over the next 45 minutes, the contractions came one on top of another, with barely a few seconds between them.  I was determined to stay present though and not let the pain get the better of me.  It truly was a mind-over-matter situation.  At one point, I was leaning on the edge of the tub, staring into the water, repeating to myself in my head, “Don’t say you can’t do this. You can do this.  The pain isn’t going to take over.  Stay focused.  The baby is coming.”  I pictured waves or surges of pain instead of never-ending pain.  I gave a few test pushes and felt the baby drop lower.  

Unbeknownst to me, the midwife and nurse had been waiting outside the birthing room and apparently there was a change in how I was responding, and they could tell from out there.  They made their way in the room and told me to let them know when I was ready to push.  I told them I was ready and got on my knees.  They grabbed a mirror to hold under me so they could keep an eye on the progress.  I was able to reach down and feel his head and within two pushes, he was out.  I caught him, brought him out of the water and it was such a surreal moment.  With my other births, the intensity and quickness caught me off guard and I was not mentally in a place to remember those moments as it all happened so fast.  But this…this I can remember clearly.  I was in a much more prepared and controlled state of mine, and much quieter too, apparently.  

Asher had come in just before I pushed and when I pulled Isaac out of the water, he immediately became emotional, crying and saying over and over, “Wow, that was so amazing!  He is here!  I can’t believe it, that was so cool!”  Ben gathered him up on his lap and just held him as we all marveled over the whole experience.  The moment was so sweet and I’m truly grateful he was there to witness it.  

They got me back into the bed, delivered the placenta and Asher got to cut the cord.  He was a little worried it would hurt me or the baby, but they told him it didn’t and he was then excited to participate.  

Isaac Joseph was 6 lbs, 9 oz. and 21 inches.  His stats were all perfect, with no issues due to the cholestasis or being 2.5 weeks early.

At that point, Papa Klotzle was on his way back from the cousins house (it was about 9:15 pm) and was able to swing by and pick up Asher to take him home to bed.  It worked out perfectly!  We settled in, I was able to nurse Isaac right away, we ate some food and just hung out bonding, resting and comparing notes of how it all went!  

They sent us home 4 hours after Isaac was born.  We made it to our house and Ben and I got settled in the apartment above our garage, while my parents stayed with the boys in the house.  It was a perfect set-up for a few days of *mostly* quiet, postpartum recovery.  

I am not unaware that this was truly a best-case scenario given the circumstances.  The “straight paths” that God led us down were very smooth and happened to align with what I had hoped for.  This isn’t always the case, and I am humbly grateful for the experience and give all glory and credit to God for orchestrating it despite all my apprehensions.  

You may wonder why I share such detailed stories (and below, pictures).  I have become increasingly passionate about the birth experience and have encountered many people who don’t know there can be more than one way to give birth.  Maybe you are someone who had a scheduled C-section.  Maybe you wanted an epidural.  Maybe you’re most comfortable in a hospital with all the resources immediately available in case something goes wrong.  None of that is bad or wrong.  We live in a country that gives us so many choices.  

Maybe you had some really hard circumstances, medical emergencies or last minute adjustements to your birth experience.  I have had a traumatic birth and know the feeling of it not going how you expected, not being respected, lots of pain and frustration (especially after the fact).  

But there is another experience too. And I want to bring awareness and celebration of that kind of birth.  The one where things are healthy and on-track.  Where you might choose low-intervention, allowing the body and process to progress in an unhindered way.  The way you get to know your body and the birth process in a deep way.  How to advocate for what YOU want and having providers who hear you and respect you.  How to build a relationship with a provider so that when they DO suggest intervention, you are able to trust that they are doing it with respect to your desires and also an understanding of the circumstances.  

I’ll leave it at that, but if you’re curious about the less main-stream ways to give birth, I’d love to chat more and answer any questions you might have!  It can be a lovely experience and isn’t always represented fully as a viable, safe option.  

Okay. Pictures.  (disclaimer: Some of these may feel like "too much" to share.  But Ben and I are both comfortable with me sharing them.  I tried to choose ones that were fairly modest considering. Again, I do so for those who aren't familiar with how this kind of birth can go.)

I was in the Mother Mary Suite.  They are set up like a bedroom in your house might be.

This is the bathroom.  There is a large birthing tub and then a full walk-in, stand-up shower around the corner (made large enough for several people to be in it, if that is where delivery ends up happening)

The bed; also an option for delivery, and where we hung out for recovery

After the shower laboring (couldn't find a picture that I was comfortable sharing online), I did tub laboring.  It mostly looked like this with me leaning over the edge, and Ben or my mom putting cool cloths on me. 

Meanwhile, during the more "boring" times, Asher stayed occupied 

Before things got intense, we were able to chat between contractions. 

Asher was documenting and decided to capture his excitement with a selfie...I just happened to be mid-contraction ;)

I only pushed for 2 minutes and Ben happened to grab the phone just in time to see him born!  

He had more "frosting" (vernix) on him than any of my other kids.  

All wrapped up

The Team!  

The other part of the team!  These ladies were a fantastic nurse/midwife team.  Calming, confident and encouraging.  

How we spent most of the 4 hours post-birth

Asher doing skin-on-skin later at home

Toby loves Isaac snuggles!

Gabe probably asks to hold Isaac the most out of everyone.  And needs a bit more supervision! 

If you made it this far...thanks for sharing in the journey with me!  

Isaac: The Birth Story : Part 1

It is clear I don't update this blog much anymore.  But writing out the boys' birth stories is one thing I like to document in this space.  As I've said in the past, I will give a relatively detailed account of the birth...mostly for my own records, but also because I know there are people out there who enjoy reading detailed birth stories! 

I am going to start a few weeks before the birth to give some context.  

One night around 34-35 weeks, I was laying in bed and out of nowhere my neck and shoulders began itching.  And it wouldn't stop.  It isn't uncommon for there to be itching in pregnancy, but mine had been localized to my stretching stomach.  My neck and shoulders didn't make a lot of sense, since that skin wasn't really stretching too much.  Within about half an hour, my arms, legs and back began itching.  Insatiably.  It is a really strange feeling to itch so intensely with no relief.  I, of course, Googled what might cause intense itching in pregnancy.  The list included the regular culprit of stretching skin, as well as double checking things like new soaps, laundry detergent, lotion etc...  But then I came across a "less common, but more serious" condition:  Cholestasis of Pregnancy.  

In short, this is where the liver isn't processing bile, and bile acid builds up and spills into the blood stream, causing potential toxicity to me and the baby.  Worst case scenarios were preeclampsia for me and stillbirth for the baby.  But they said that the itching is usually concentrated to the palms of the hands and soles of the feet.  I breathed a slight sigh of relief because mine didn't itch at that point.  

Eventually they did, though, and I began to get concerned that maybe I had this condition.  Long story short, I asked my midwife to do the blood test to confirm.  Even though I could tell she didn't think I actually had cholestasis, she was very respectful and kind and very readily agreed to do the test to rule it out.  I am grateful for a provider who took me seriously and was willing to check into it.  Unfortunately, the test takes a long time to get back results.  My midwife got back an initial liver enzyme result, which was in normal range, and said she would be surprised if my bile acid levels came back abnormal.  

But then several days later they came back and were elevated.  Ideally the number would be below 8.  Mine was at 26.  More severe cases are above 40, with numbers in 90s-100s being quite emergent.   So I didn't have a severe case, but enough to trigger induction protocol.  Baby needed to be out between 37-38 weeks.  This completely changed my birth plan, as induction usually means pitocin, which can only be administered in the hospital...which meant I couldn't birth at the birth center.  

I was disappointed.  After 3 babies, I had finally felt like I was confident and was even looking forward to this baby’s birth.  The Holy Family Birth Center aligns with so many of my preferences and philosophies surrounding birth and the providers are truly top-notch in my experience.  But these feelings were also mingled with concern and fear of what this meant for the safety of baby and myself.

I should mention that the clinic and birth center are owned by a husband/wife team.  He is an OBGYN who delivers babies at the hospital, and she is a midwife who delivers babies at the birth center.  They work together to provide the kind of birth that each person wants and can transfer care seamlessly if need be.  So I would still be under the care of the midwives, with the same mission and goal and care just with a hospital delivery.  

The plan felt a little vague for a while because the timeline and severity of cholestasis is really difficult to pin down.  It could get bad, but maybe not for a while.  It is hard to know where the line is that it turns detrimental, and there are also risks with taking a baby earlier than absolutely necessary.

 I was finally able to have a straight-forward conversation with the midwife who owns the birth center and we laid out a plan.  She told me that she knew how much I wanted to birth at the birth center so they were going to offer me some choices.  Basically, she told me I could still give birth at the BC if I was a minimum of 37 weeks and if I was able to kickstart my body into labor without Pitocin (they do not utilize medication induction at the BC).  Then she said that if that if I was not able to do that before 38 weeks, they would schedule a hospital induction, since time was of the essence.  I found out later that some rules were generously interpreted for me to be able to do this, and I was grateful they were willing to work with me to get the kind of birth I was hoping for.  At that point, I also just wanted the baby here safely and was pretty willing to do whatever that took.  

I should mention here that this whole experience was stretching and growing me in some important ways.  Each step of the way, I had to keep holding my plans loosely.  I was able to use a word picture that I learned years ago:  If I’m honest, my plans were fairly tightly gripped in my fist.  I knew how I wanted things to go and I didn't want to let that go.  But as each change came, I could feel those plans getting pried from my tight grasp and it was painful (as pried things often are) and my anxiety and fear would spike.  So in the spirit of trusting the Lord and leaning not on my own understanding, I decided to open my fist willingly…with the plans laying in my open palm. And then I would intentionally lift my open hands up to God where I then dumped those plans into his open hands.  He takes them with the promise that he cares more for my desires and plans than I could ever imagine.  He then reaches down and grabs my open hand, void of my carefully laid plans, and walks alongside me down the path that now lays before me.  One I didn’t necessarily want.  One that feels unknown, foreign, scary etc.  The promise is that if I place my trust in him, he will make the path straight.  The promise isn't that it will be easy, but that he will faithfully guide me on the way forward.  This combined with the promise that he works things together for my good (and his glory) was comforting.

This is how I had to picture it, and when my anxiety would tend high, I kept coming back to this because giving plans over to God is rarely a one-time thing.  We I like to try and snatch plans back, or offer God some suggestions on how to perfect the plan because I think I know better.  But gripping his hand instead of the plans has served me much better through the journey.  

That was longer than I intended initially, but felt like a relevant back story!  

I am going to write out the actual birth in a Part 2…so check back in :) 

The Middle

Disclaimer: The following includes some experiences that were very impactful and formative.  I am not going to sugar-coat how it made me feel, or some of the details.  I won't explicitly name the people involved, but the point of this is not to make them feel bad, or to lay blame or accusation.  Thank goodness none of us are the same people we were in high school. Therefore, if you are reading this and are one of the people alluded to below-or were aware of these happenings...just know that I have long since worked through these experiences, and only hold respect and love for you all now.  I'm just recording this as my experience of a tumultuous time in my life and what I learned from it all.    

________________________________________________

"It just takes some time, little girl you're in the middle of the ride...

everything, everything will be alright..."

[the middle-jimmy eat world]

Today I was driving in the van by myself and played a nostalgic playlist.  This song came on and after the first lines, my eyes welled up with tears as I was immediately transported back to an emotionally vivid day.  Isn't it amazing how music does that to you?  You may not think of an experience for months, or even years...then one song (or smell, or sight, or...)  and you can't even help the feelings that bubble up, uncovering a memory that had been long-ago archived. 

It was circa 2006-07.  I was around 16 or 17.  The height of all rational thought and uncomplicated relationships.  Ha.  I was at a church function with a bunch of other young people. We weren't supposed to leave the house we were gathered at.  But the Fab 5 liked to live on the edge.   I had just been hesitantly invited and then tersely uninvited to an exclusive sneak-away outing to Starbucks.  I was shattered.  

Okay, pause.  That may seem a little dramatic.  Allow me to give a little sneak peek on my history with the Fab 5.  It was a self-named group of (you guessed it) 5 individuals...3 boys and 2 girls.  Whether it was borne of similar interests, crushes, good looking peeps or a combination of the above, it was tight knit.  And I wasn't a part of it.  I was related to 2 of the individuals, and attended church with 2 of them.  Individually we were buddies...but if the group was all together, they were inseparable and pretty exclusive.  It always confused me why we could have such good conversations and be friends if it was just one-on-one.  I was older than all of them by a little bit, and apparently just plain not "cool" enough for the group.  I didn't like the same music, I wasn't into the "zero trans fat" boycott and "lite" food fad they were. I wasn't very fashionable.  I hadn't yet gotten into bougie coffee shop drinks.  I definitely wasn't Hipster.   Not sure if this is how they defined themselves, but this is how I viewed them.

Since we were all part of the same small church or family circles, we crossed paths frequently enough that being around them was sort of unavoidable.  To be honest, though, I didn't want to avoid them.  I wanted to be one of them.  They had so many funny inside jokes.  They wore cool clothes and seemed to know a lot about coffee drinks.  They seemed unapologetically confident in who they were individually and as a group. I wanted them to like me so desperately that it stung when it was made clear that I wasn't part of the group.  

One time they all got together in LA.  They wanted to see the sights and miracle of miracles, they invited ME to go with them!  I was elated.  Truly.  I wanted to hang out with them and be part of the inner circle. Since they couldn't drive yet (or didn't want to in LA), I drove us all in my parents' Astro van.  There were a few comments made on how my taste in music was too "mainstream" and "lame" but I brushed it off.  As the day went on, however, it became glaringly clear that I was pretty much invited to drive them and take photos of their group at various cool places.  Their inside jokes went on without me, and I was an afterthought in a only a few of the pictures taken that day.  It stung.  

There were many other small interactions that kept making me feel on the outs.  And as time went on, I'm sure each negative interaction felt magnified.  I would never be cool enough to be part of their group.  They didn't want me to join.  Individually I was actually good friends with several of them, but as soon as 2 or more of them were together, I was left in the dust.  

Which brings me to the event that I began with.  One of the guys said, "Suzy you should come to Starbucks with us"  (Like I said, it was a hesitant invitation).  I responded, "Yeah that's probably not a good idea, not sure if the group wants me there."  He said he would tell them and that I should just come. Being the masochist that I apparently was, I agreed to go.  I'm not sure why I thought it would be fun.  Maybe I kept holding out hope that they would finally actually WANT me there.  That being their friend individually would finally make them be okay with me as part of the group?  That we might become the Super Six?!  

Anyway,  the group prepared to leave and he casually mentioned to them that he had invited me.  I wasn't standing right there, but was close enough to overhear one of the girls ask why he had invited me, and he said because he wanted me to come.  She responded with, "But I don't want her to come."  

He looked at me and shrugged apologetically.  I put on a brave face and gave a dismissive wave with my hand as if it didn't bother me at all.  I bit back my tears until they had pulled out of the driveway and then got as far away as I could from the house, quickly dialed the first person I could think of, my brother, and burst into tears.  I sobbed to him on the phone lamenting what had just happened, feeling so deflated, left out and discarded.  

Being the totally wonderful, cool and collected older brother that he was, he listened.  He asked me a few questions and then said (paraphrasing since the details have blurred a bit), "Suz...why would you want them if they don't want you?  You're a great girl and they are the ones missing out if they are excluding you.  It may seem like no one wants to be your friend but what about all the other people at the event that DO want to be your friend and hang out with you?  Don't let these guys catch you up.  This dynamic and friend group is for a short season of your life.  Invest in friendships that last and who care about you."  Obviously that isn't word-for-word but that is the message I remember receiving from my conversation that day.  I believe he also mentioned the above quoted song.  I listened to it. Over and over.  It became a mantra for me.  

Two things happened that day.  First, I realized my brother was so wise and I was forever grateful he picked up the phone and handled me and my sobbing gently and with patience.  

Second...I finally zoomed out to the big picture of these relational dynamics.  This wasn't forever.  If they didn't want relationship with me, then why was I wasting emotional and mental energy trying to make it happen?  I had so many others that DID want to be friends with me.  Besides, I actually LIKED mainstream music.  I didn't want to wear skinny jeans or have moody bangs.  Sour Cream was much more delicious with full fat than the "Lite" version.  

Guess what?  The Fab 5 isn't a thing anymore.  In fact I'm not even sure they keep in touch that often, if at all.  Their lives have gone in separate directions with marriage, kids, spreading out across the country.  And just to clarify, they too grew out of whatever tumultuous time high school was for them and are now wonderful individuals I would have the pleasure of spending time with.  

The point is...whatever bound them then didn't turn into the deep lifelong friendships I thought I was missing out on.  And when I turned my focus from trying to fit in with them to investing into other friendships, I found people who liked me for ME.  I could be myself around them and didn't need to do or be or say anything in particular and wasn't ever labeled "lame" or "outdated".

It was a valuable life lesson...and one that is still being put into practice in a variety of ways even into adulthood. Turns out, it doesn't all go away after high school =)

Hey, don't write yourself off yet

It's only in your head, you feel left out

Or looked down on

Just try your best

Try everything you can

And don't you worry what they tell themselves

When you're away

It just takes some time

Little girl, you're in the middle of the ride

Everything, everything'll be just fine

Everything, everything'll be alright, alright

Hey, you know they're all the same

You know you're doing better on your own 

So don't buy in

Live right now

Yeah, just be yourself

It doesn't matter if it's good enough 

For someone else

Gabriel: The Birth Story

 This is a bit (read WAY) overdue, but I'm finally getting around to typing out Gabe's birth story.  As I have said in the past, I enjoy sharing fairly comprehensive tellings of my births...not only for the curious reader out there, but for my own archives so I can look back someday and have it recorded as accurately as possible.  

Therefore, if birth stories aren't your jam...feel free to navigate away from the page :)

5 days before my due date (9/22), my mom flew into town as she always does for my births.  My mom has attended all my births so far and has miraculously planned her trips so that occurs!  Anyway, we spent the week nesting, grocery shopping, and generally hanging out.  We went walking, lunging and squatting all over the neighborhood, Costco, Target and various parks.  My mom is a fantastic pre-labor motivator.  

But this baby wasn't particularly motivated, unfortunately.  I would get some cramping and Braxton Hicks contractions while I was moving, but the moment I stopped, they stopped.  I was frustratingly comfortable.  I mean, I wasn't sleeping great, my left hip was killing me as it had been throughout the whole pregnancy...but labor-wise, nada.  

Finally, my due date arrived (a Tuesday).  I had an appointment with my midwife to get a membrane sweep (quick re-cap for those who might not know, a membrane sweep is when the midwife manually separates the amniotic sac from the cervix in hopes of releasing a labor-inducing hormone and generally causing discomfort, all to hopefully kickstart labor!)  The midwife who did this was quite...gentle.  In fact, I had to ask her when the procedure was done, because I couldn't tell any difference.  I was surprised, but figured she knew what she was doing.  Unfortunately there was no labor-inducing discomfort at all.  

That day, we went to a park and I did all the park things.  Went swinging, rode the see-saw, did squats with the pole and climbed up and down the playsets.  I was really uncomfortable and had several contractions. And yet every time I sat down to rest, everything stopped.  It was quite frustrating.  And all I succeeded in doing was looking pretty ridiculous... 

That night we hung out, went to our favorite lookout over downtown St. Paul and the Mississippi River and got ice cream.  Nothing.  

Not even sure what happened Wednesday.  But Thursday, things were getting more uncomfortable, although not stable.  However that night, we sat around playing cards and I got a few regular twinges.  Hoping not to jinx it, I began timing.  They were SO putsy.  I kept willing my body to feel more.  This is how it happened with Toby, though...and seemed to be an indication that this is just how I labor.  I did squats, bounced on the exercise ball and timed.  Around 10, I sent my mom and Ben to bed and I laid on the couch on garbage bags covered by towels.  I was able to doze, but definitely got increasingly uncomfortable.  No real pain...just discomfort.  Finally around 3 or 4 am, I decided they were regular enough that we should head to the birth center.  Mostly because I was scared that if my water broke we wouldn't be able to get there in time (Toby was born within 45 minutes of my water breaking).  

Ben's parents arrived and we headed out.  I had some contractions on the short drive to the birth center.  We got settled in and as soon as we did, everything stopped.  I was SO annoyed.  I had woken everyone up to get to this point and it looked like my body just wasn't in active labor.  The midwife told us to get some rest and she would check back in in a bit.  We fell asleep (sort of?) and I only had a few contractions every hour until about 10 am.  I was embarrassed, frustrated and exhausted.  There was to be a switching of midwives at around noon.  They told us that if nothing happened between 10 and noon that we should head home and could come back in if things picked back up.  The last thing I wanted to do was go home.  That felt like defeat.  

Side note: We had a midwife-in-training that was helping the on-call midwife.  However, the on-call (Lori) let the midwife in training (Abby) take the lead.  It was the best decision.  Abby's instincts, demeanor and mix of professionalism and friendliness were top notch.  She was so easy to get along with, and so knowledgeable.   

Anyway...We were told to go walking up to the coffee shop about 10 blocks north.  The midwife said she had advised that often and never had a couple successfully make it without going into labor.  I joked that I would be the first.  And ta-da!  I was!  We walked all the way up and back...no labor.  

Be warned...it gets a little TMI here... but labor isn't always glamorous, eh?  As we were walking back to the birth center, I felt a trickle down my leg.  and then a gush.  I thought for sure my water was breaking.  I stood in one spot as the ground got wet all around me.  I was SO excited.  But nothing changed in comfortability, which isn't normal for me.  Turns out, when one's baby is putting lots of pressure on the nether regions, and one is walking, one might wet one's pants and not even be able to tell, thus confusing it with water breaking *insert eye roll*

Just add one more embarrassing thing onto my ever-growing list.  This was my third kid...you would think I would be a little more in tune with my body... 

Anyway.  I was starting to get testy and snappy at Ben and my mom.  Definitely nothing they were doing.  I just so didn't want to go home.   At this point we talked to Abby about my previous membrane sweep and she said that it was possible the first one a few days before didn't actually happen.  Apparently some midwives don't want to be too aggressive and end up not actually accomplishing much.  We decided to have Abby do another one.  She warned me that her approach was thorough and less comfortable.  Twas true. =)  But it definitely got me crampy and I felt things shift.

 So we went on another walk.  This time we went south to the river.  We said that if this didn't do anything we were officially going home.  I did squats, lunges and marching.  We made it to the river and that same favorite lookout spot we had visited a few nights earlier.  And miracle of miracles, when we stopped to enjoy the view, my contractions DIDN'T!  

I cautiously told Ben that things might have changed.  So we made our way back to the birth center.  And I actually had to stop a few times to breathe through contractions.  THIS WAS IT!  

From 12-3 I had regular contractions.  I got into the warm tub to labor in there for a while and it was lovely.  My mom, Ben, Abby  and I chatted about all kinds of things.  During a contraction, I would pause, and then continue chatting.  I wasn't ever comfortable in any one position for too long so I went from my knees to sitting to leaning on the edge of the tub and back again every few contractions.  I could tell that Abby, though encouraged by some progress, thought this was going to be several more hours.  When I got pruney, I got out and tried a few different laboring positions...Ben used a cool scarf thing to help support my belly.  I laid in bed for a bit.  Finally Abby came in around 3 and said that we had a few options since it didn't seem as thought my labor was very intense.  She offered to check my dilation and break my water if I seemed far enough dilated.  Or we would go home and come back again when things got more intense.  I think her and the others assumed I wasn't as far along as I had hoped, but she didn't want to be to pessimistic  She checked me and her face brightened with delighted surprise and she immediately broke my water.  Apparently all of that laboring was doing more than they realized and I was already at an 8.  As was the same with Toby's birth, as soon as my water was broken, labor picked up BIG time.  Like almost immediately it got SO intense.  She suggested I go to the bathroom.  Contractions while trying to use the bathroom is no fun...just FYI.  Next she asked me to have about three contractions while standing, holding on to Ben's neck.  I made it through one and said that I had better get back in the tub because the baby was coming soon.  Abby commented to my mom that I was "there" meaning that I had dilated to 10 and was transitioning to the pushing stage.  

Abby was thinking we had about 20 minutes or so at least, but after I got in the water I had about 1 contraction before I started pushing and then he was out in the next contraction.  She told us later that from when she said that I was "there" to when he was born was about 1 minute.  It was one of the fastest transitions she had ever witnessed.  (She also hadn't really seen someone in non-medicated active labor who was able to carry on conversation between contractions like I was while my body was in active labor dilating from 3-8.) 

I remember feeling like I couldn't stop my body from pushing but it also felt overwhelming and like I couldn't do it.  I think I was crying, but I'm not entirely sure.   It was a super intense birth at the end but was over very quickly.  Time felt super elusive.  It seemed like moments had passed when they finally cut his cord but it was almost a half hour.  During that time, we never said his name-the adrenaline was still wearing off.  Finally my mom asked if we were going to tell what it was.  I thought Ben was going to say, and he thought I was so we sat in silence for several minutes.  After realizing we were waiting on each other, we laughed and then I said, "His name is Gabriel Thomas."  We hadn't told anyone the name or that we were giving him my dad's name as his middle name.  It was a surprisingly emotional moment that left all of us misty-eyed.  

To make it even more special, my dad was flying in and landed right about when Gabriel was born.  He came to the birth center and even though he wasn't able to come inside, he met Gabe through the window, Covid style, with more tears.  As he walked away he lifted his arms in praise to God.  For some reason it was one of the most impactful moments of the whole day.  The high emotions, the decision to honor my dad by using his name, my dad (as always) acknowledging and praising God for the joy of a new life.  Grateful Gabriel's name represents a man who has always pointed to God in every moment-what a legacy.  

And to add to the joy and grandfatherly representation, Gabriel was born on his grandpa Dill's 60th birthday!   It was a neat way to be connected to that side of the family as well.  

My parents went and got us an amazing post-birth dinner of Mexican food-chilaquiles for me, and a big burrito for Ben.  Post-birth dinners are some of the most satisfying.  Within 6 hours, we were back home and settling in to go bed.  Exhausted, grateful and happy.  Once again, our experience at the birth center was amazing, our midwife being so supportive and informative and fantastic.  I can't tell you how affirming it was to be in a place that values a mom's perspective, experience-and approaches birth from the perspective that birth is natural and normal and encourages me to be in tune to my body and trust my instincts.  Having Abby be so willing to answer my questions and encourage me as I was feeling disheartened was such a gift.  

Here are some pictures!

Resting during the not-much-happening time.  Love how the birth center feels like your bedroom.  It was so comfortable and peaceful.

The cool scarf thing that Ben used to help support my belly during contractions and get the baby into an optimal position.

Chatting with my mom in between contractions.  That is the tub I birthed him in.

a variety of laboring positions throughout the day

Daddy with a fresh baby!  (The pictures of me with the new baby weren't entirely appropriate for the blog...)

Rockstar Mimi who stuck it out all night and all day with us!  We love having her as part of our labor/delivery support team! 

Meeting Papa for the first time through the window!

Sweet boy. 

Going home!

Classic picture we take after my births.  Every time I've told a midwife that my birthing team is my husband and mom, I always get, "Are you sure? Are you going to hire a doula?"  And my response is always, "They are awesome.  The most supportive and they work so well together."  

And it is true. No one I'd rather have there.  

Retreat

A few Christmases ago, Ben's parents gifted us an overnight stay at our favorite retreat center in Wisconsin.  Circumstances and timing never quite worked out until a few weeks ago.  We have kids we can confidently leave overnight, no newborn babies, and a desperate need for some time away.  

So we retreated.  

That word always sounds like defeat or cowardice to me.  In the context of war, it is often a sign that the enemy is too strong, your forces are depleted and retreat is needed in order to keep your last soldiers alive or because you are scared.  But I guess the truth of the matter is, it isn't cowardly to see that you are overpowered and need to take a step (or a very far run) out of harms way in order to regroup, assess the damage and boost morale.  

And such is this season of life for us.  We didn't retreat because we are running or hiding from something.  It wasn't about being cowardly and not wanting to face the hard things.  It was an acknowledgement that we needed to step away.  Figuratively and literally.   Ben turned his phone off when we left and didn't turn it on until the evening after we returned.  I only used my phone for a few google searches on baby names and some rules to a game we were playing =)  

So we went.  Retreated into the beautiful wilderness of Wisconsin.  Into a little "prayer cabin" on the grounds of The Wilderness Fellowship Ministries.  Their mission is:  To provide a place of refuge, peace, restoration and hope, dedicated to help people establish intimacy with Jesus Christ and those they love.  

And it was just that for us.  We agreed ahead of time, this wasn't a place to hash out any "tabled" topics we had been avoiding.  It wasn't about seeking concrete answers or making monumental decisions.  It wasn't about hard talks, intentional learning/growing, or current events.  It was about solitude.  Being with each other.  Listening.  Praying.  

Right now, in our life, we both feel a bit unsettled.  We talked through why that might be, the causes and some possible solutions.  We mused over how to hear what God has for us...Spirit-led directives vs. selfish motives.  We shared desires and dreams, as well as apprehensions and confusion.  It felt vulnerable without being heavy.  It indicated the level of comfortableness and trust that we have.  We removed the pressure of needing answers and just let the conversation go where it naturally went.  And I credit that to the physical stepping away from life as we know it.  Work, home, kids...all things that fill our minds and prevent us from this kind of interaction on a day-to-day basis.  

And then we just enjoyed each others company.  Sat in silence, listening to the breeze in the trees.  Took a few walks through the woods.  Played so many games, laughing and enjoying some friendly competition.  We hit a minor speed bump in communication, but worked it out.  We looked at pictures of our kids.  We browsed baby names...and came up with very little.  

It was exactly what we needed.  And we didn't even know how badly we needed it until we actually just took the time to do it.  It led to emphatic agreement that this was something we need to make more regular, not only for our marriage, but for our individual selves as well.  

Ben found a quote on a plaque in the cabin that said this: 

There is a rest in God so potent that the enemy fears it.   Rest is a weapon against evil.  

(author unknown)

Amidst the turmoil of the world and our country today, with so many people calling us to step into the hard things, hard conversations and hard places...don't forget to rest.  

Settling our hearts before God, listening for His voice...it is powerful and we need not underestimate that.   

Thankful that our arsenal is refilled, our spirits bolstered and we are ready to advance back into the fray.

Kiss the Wave

I think we would all agree that our already-polarized society got even more-so since the word COVID-19 so thoroughly entered our everyday vocabulary.  As someone who studied sociology, it has been fascinating to watch it all play out.  And by fascinating, I mean in that kind of way where you know it's about to be a train wreck, but you can't tear your eyes away because you have to see what happens next.  

And as fascinating as it has been, it has been even more discouraging.  Because real people who I really care about are on opposite sides of a spectrum, feeling things quite passionately.  And with that passion comes opinions and thoughts that are deep-seated and really solidify the ways these thoughts and opinions are manifested in their daily life.  And like any deep-seated and solidified belief, there comes judgement, fear, accusation, justification and many more nasty side effects hurled at anyone who tips the scale in the other direction.  

To be honest, it has all felt yucky to me.  And I've struggled to find my footing with God in all of it.  While I can see both sides of things, I have done tons of reading, research, soul-searching and verbal processing to land in a place that feels at peace for me and my family.  (As a side note, I have to say I am so thankful to have a husband who sees things pretty much the way I do...I know many couples/families where this isn't the case.)  

And even though I've come to be more settled internally about where I land, some piece was missing still.  Most of my settling has come in the form of choices we as a family make in how we outwardly live in the midst of this pandemic.  But inwardly, I still have felt like I am balanced on the edge of a deep abyss of fear, anxiety, loss of control and panic.  As I stated in a previous blog, I am a questioner.  I love taking in information and using it to help inform my worldview and choices.  It makes me feel empowered.  But another thing I think we can all agree upon is that in this instance, the information available is anything but reliable.  

It is being updated, changed, manipulated, and withheld.  It is from biased perspectives of the medical field, economists, politicians, sensational journalists, faith leaders, your everyday story-loving Sally.  Fact checkers are out in force.  Links are being removed and debunked.  It is hard to know what is the real deal.  Some people (probably wisely) tune most of it out.  Some people narrow down their news sources to ones they feel most confident trusting and just double down on those perspectives.  Some people (like yours truly) just keep taking as much in as possible in the hopes that we can weed through it and begin categorizing it and maybe find some threads that feel truthful to grasp on to.   

Fastfoward to being two months into this mess and I finally read an article that "pinged" with me on a deeper, spiritual level.  (And I don't even want to tell you how much info I've waded through the past few months).  I've kept reminding myself that I want "faith over fear" but couldn't really tell you what that meant.  The article (which I will link here) reminded me that I have built up idols of safety and security in my life.  

*Quick disclaimer about the linked article: I don't know much about the site it is published on-this is not a plug for their perspectives or theology in general.  I don't intend this to indicate that choosing caution and following government directives is bad or wrong.  Please actually read the article and not just the title. *

Okay, back to why this convicted me.  Idolatry.  Something that I have placed at higher priority in my life than God/Christ.  We have all done it.  It is human nature.  It is the Enemy lying to us telling us, "Sure, sure, God loves you but YOU BETTER DO SOMETHING TO FIX THIS!"  Usually it is something we try to control.  Or something we feel makes our life better.  In this situation, I have been idolizing security and safety.  I don't want my life turned upside down.  I don't want to be restricted.  I don't want my health/medical choices made for me.  I want assurances that me, my kids, my husband, my unborn child and my extended family and friends will be okay.  

But this was never promised to me.  Especially as a believer.  But instead of that solidifying my faith in Christ, it has driven a wedge between us.  I have been taking in information, making practical decisions for my family and trying my darndest to escape that suffocating feeling of fear and anxiety by fixing it myself.  I have repeated "Choose faith over fear" without actually doing that myself.   I have told myself to just calm down and think logically and it will all be okay. 

The author of the above article says this, "Aside from whatever physical and emotional scars the coronavirus might leave upon the body of Christ, we can be sure that, in time, this event will produce wonderful fruit. As backwards as it may sound, Let’s welcome this reality...Let me say this as plainly as I can: Christian, COVID-19, in ways that we may not fully understand in this life, is making you mature and complete in Christ; it is for your good. "  

But this applies, not just to COVID-19, but also to anything that threatens those idols.  When that happens, do I press into Jesus?  Do I look around and keep scrambling to pick up the pieces but miss the opportunity extended to me by the Father to look to Him first and foremost?  

The author also quoted Charles Spurgeon here: 

"I have learned to kiss the wave that throws me against the Rock of Ages."  

Wow.  Just go back and read it again.  Let it sink in.  That quote has been repeating like an anthem in my mind ever since I read it several days ago.  How could I possibly be grateful for these trials?  How could I be grateful for something that could cause me or my neighbor harm or death?  I'm not sure I am grateful for it in those terms.  But I want to be grateful that it is pushing me, urging me back to Jesus.  He is a lighthouse, shining his beacon in hopes that my toiling ship will seek safe harbor in Him.  I could keep cursing the waves, and miss the invitation of how this is pushing me toward Christ.  Or I could grasp the opportunity to press into him and walk through the unfolding with Him.  It is how I believe he "works all things together for good" (Romans 8:28).

Choosing faith doesn't mean blindly saying "God will take care of me, no need to do anything myself."  But it does mean reexamining those things we do to see if they have crept up to idol status and been erected in fear and with a sense of control.  

I know that as Christians (and especially as a country at large), we may never fully see eye-to-eye on how things are being handled.  We still need to make practical decisions for ourselves and our families.  That will look different.  And the tension will still exist.  But I hope that learning to kiss the wave that throws us against Jesus will be the way we can become more mature and complete in Christ--As that IS the goal of being a CHRISTian.  The results of that shift will be a church that rises up with love, grace, community, servanthood and compassion during this tumultuous time.  And I can pretty much guarantee (Well, God guarantees it-I just second it) that it will be with more astounding, and impactful results than we could ever muster from our own hearts governed by erected idols of fear-based control. 

Empowered.

So a while back, I wrote about facing my fears when it comes to speaking out when it comes to potentially touchy topics.  Today I'm going to share a few thoughts about what is driving that desire to face those fears and engage in tough conversations.

In the past year or so, I have become more passionate on people becoming more empowered.  (More on that word in a minute).  But basically I was done feeling stuck by one or more expected points of view.  Or wrestling with needing to fit a certain mold to make others comfortable, at the expense of my own personal growth and personal beliefs.  This often comes up as it pertains to me being a mom. But it is definitely applicable to basically any human in any stage of life!

Okay, to address this word.  Empowered.  It actually isn't my favorite word.  It feels too loaded and too connected to some things that don't represent who I am.  But at its core definition, it is what I'm going for.  "To give someone the power and authority to do something.  To make someone stronger and more confident, especially in controlling their life and claiming their rights."

I am a researcher.  It is who I am by nature.  I have curiosities and I pursue them.  Whether it is a search on the internet, or finding a person who I believe has knowledge on a particular topic.  Unfortunately I am also an Enneagram 9.  For those of you who may not be familiar, it is a personality assessment, and the number 9 personality is a peace maker.  I mentioned this in my last post as it pertained to me not wanting to cause tension in relationships.  In this post, being a 9 means that I understand multiple points of view and can see where people are coming from on a multitude of topics and perspectives.  This has allowed me to be friends with a myriad of people from vastly different walks of life.  But it also makes it difficult to nail down what I truly believe about something.  I can truly see all sides. I feel pulled to and fro by any well-articulated, logical perspective I stumble across. 

So instead of getting into the nitty gritties of the things I HAVE taken a more definitive side on.  I'm going to zoom out and just give you the why behind my researching, questioning ways.

NOTE: if you are not a researcher by nature, that is okay. This still applies.  In fact, maybe even more so since you might not naturally see the point of pursuing knowledge.

Knowledge is power.  It is a fairly known adage, but applies particularly well to this topic.  I believe God gave us our minds to be used.  Not to replace His role in our lives, but to help understand and interact with the world he has placed us in.  And when I talk about taking control, it isn't to imply that we have any ultimate control over our lives or the outcomes of our decisions.  Anyone who is currently existing in the world right now knows that is true.  But we still have decisions to make nonetheless.

As a human, and especially as a mom, I have had to wrestle with all the millions of decisions I do have control over every day.  And in a world with millions of perspectives, it can feel daunting.  Lots of people claim the "authority" on a topic and others follow it hook, line and sinker.  Usually because it is easier than "shopping around" for another perspective.  Many of us aren't quite willing to hear one thing and be okay with it. We like to seek second opinions on just about everything.  We want to know all the differing perspectives and weigh pros and cons and decide what works best for us.  (This is why I always find it particularly insulting when people assume I'm only a Christian because I was raised in Christian home or went to church my whole life.  As if I haven't weighed all my options...but I digress...)

The thing I have found to be empowering is being able to make those decisions for myself and my family.  And to find something that feels right to me, in my gut and my heart and before God.  (And why I use "my" in this post, assume Ben is on board...because while I am the main researcher in the family, we make the ultimate decisions together and are pretty much on the same page).

Newsflash: You don't have to do the current trend for any given parenting or lifestyle choice just because it is trending. (and if you DO choose to do a current trend, it should be because you want to).
You don't have to believe everything your favorite news source is telling you.  You don't even have to do/agree with what your doctor is telling you to do.

Now before all my medical friends and family bristle too heavily at that...hear me out.  Medical professionals have my respect and commendation at taking on a field and service that I am nowhere near qualified to.  Everyone I know who is in the medical field are hardworking, honest and amazingly brilliant people.
But like any field, it is a service.  They are a provider of a service.  And not every doctor is the same or will mesh with every patient.  And *lowers voice* there are even some shady doctors who may not have you or your family's best interest in mind.   I know, I know. Hard to believe.  Paint me cynical.

  I have a reason for this (besides my own personal not-so-great experiences with several doctors). I went into a "helping" field for work assuming we were all banding together for the betterment of children- and I had my naivete completely obliterated. I was being trained by a man who had been in the field for 25 years.  Tons of experience and supposedly a great trainer. Only to find out he regularly lied on legal documents, manipulated the futures of children based on his whims and preferences, and admitted he only was in the job so that he could have a steady government paycheck and benefits-and he was training me to follow the same practices.  I was disgusted.  But enlightened. And promptly removed myself from his training tutelage.  Every field and area of life has those kind of people.

So if your doctor doesn't jive with you and there isn't mutual respect, it's okay to find a new one.  If they don't answer your questions respectfully and empower you as an individual or parent, it's okay to find a new one.  They work for you.

If you read a blog or article or Instagram post that feels way out there, but intrigues you, feel free to entertain those ideas and pursue those curiosities.  If something makes you wonder, cringe or doesn't feel right on, that's okay too.  If your firmly held beliefs are challenged, it's okay to ponder why the challenge felt hard or made you bristle and lean into it.  And it's even better to find the reasons you hold those beliefs so strongly to begin with and defend them if they truly matter to you.   It's okay to seek wisdom and counsel from your regular go-to's.  It is okay to find someone totally new with a wildly different perspective.

This also applies when it comes to faith.  Questions and doubts aren't sinful in and of themselves and they don't scare God.  If you can truly say your entire walk with God has been question and doubt free, that is a red flag.  Faith is substance and evidence (Hebrews 11:1).  It doesn't say blind and unquestioning.  And if you read the rest of that chapter, it mentions patriarchs of faith.  Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses and others.  All of them wrestled and struggled in some intense ways.  Makes my questions like, "Hmm, I wonder if creation actually was 7 literal 24-hour days" not seem so earth-shattering, to be honest.
Asking questions can actually deepen your faith and allow God to cement in you the truths he has for you by proving his character again and again.  It has for me, anyway.

The point is, give yourself permission to ask questions, to challenge the "status-quo."  Even if it is just YOUR status-quo!

In this day and age, we are so afraid of the other point of view that we can barely even have a civil conversation that has differing opinions.  We don't even want to entertain the possibility that someone else might have a very different, yet valid point.

My challenge to you is to use the mind God gave you to ask questions, ponder different points of view, allow yourself to be stretched.  It doesn't even mean you have to change a single thing about yourself.  You might not.  But what if it does change you.  Would that be so bad?

I have eaten many an arrogantly-exclaimed statement from my pre-children years.  Things I said I would always or never do.  Humbling as it is, my ability to be flexible with what works for us has greatly helped me continue growing into the parent I want to be. (With lots of room for continued improvement, of course).  And if I'm being honest there are some of the arrogantly-exclaimed statements that I actually followed through on.  Because they were important to me, fit with our family, and felt like the right thing for us to do.  I've been working to adjust the attitude from arrogant to "this is what works for us" and "you do you, boo" without the judgement on parents who do it different.

I can guarantee that you have people in your close circles who have differing opinions and perspectives you had no idea about.  They might be too scared or timid to say something.  Scared of repercussions, reactions or just feeling uncertain themselves.  And it isn't always guaranteed that your close friends and family will give you the space to let you hold your own perspectives if it differs from theirs.

If you are that person, who gets defensive and patronizing or belittling to those who share differing opinions, consider listening with respect, pushing back with gentleness and validating what the relationship means to you despite differences.

If you are that person who is scared of alienating people close to you, I get it.  I don't always share my thoughts.  I have shared them and gotten burned.  I have shared them and been supported.  Either way, my brain is always thinking, comparing perspectives, challenging my views and adjusting my own opinions. You don't have to post all over social media or bring up your ponderings at every family/friend event.  But that also shouldn't stop you from continuing your own pursuit of knowledge or trying out a few "what are your thoughts on..." conversations to test the waters.

May you be empowered to discover who YOU are and what YOU believe.  It might mimic someone's perspective perfectly, or it might be a beautifully complex combination of all the insights you gather when you pursue your own perspectives.