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J’s Birth Story
I am realizing as the weeks race past and J get older and older that little memories, especially of labor and delivery, and fading out of my brain. Whether I am subconsiously blocking them out or its a result of the dreaded “baby brain”, we will never know.
So I am writing it down.
J was due on August 10th 2016. But like most other first borns, he was late. I did SO much research during pregnancy on every little aspect of birth, babies, and beyond. An absurd amount of research. Specifically, I delved very deep into the pros and cons of induction. (Warning: Apparently, there are a large number of mothers out there, as well as random opinionated single women, that act as though your child ceases to be human if you induce.) After reading all sorts of articles and listening to very passionate opinions, the august heat, jupiter-sized belly, and months of waiting trumped all. I scheduled an induction for the first day that I could.
August 17, 2016 at 10 AM: Still no baby boy. The doctor walked us through the procedure. We would come in at 10 AM for an initial procedure then return at 7 PM for the pitocin. We went in at 10 AM, had the procedure, and left.
At 12 PM: Jon and I went out to lunch with his mom and brother to just get our minds off everything and to make time go by just a little bit faster. 7 PM felt like an eternity away.
At 1:30 PM: It was like a switch had flipped. My contractions came on hard and fast. They tell you that when you enter early labor, your contractions can be as long as an hour apart. You’re not supposed to leave for the hospital until they are 5 minutes apart. Mine were 2 mins apart and oof. That’s all I have to say: oof.
At 2:00 or 2:30 PM: We grabbed out bags and headed back to the hospital.
At this point, it was just a blur. A mix of impatience, excitement, trepidation, and joy.
After about an hour or two, they moved us to a labor and delivery room. My oh-so-arrogant and non-contracting self had decided to wait as long as possible for my epidural. I wimped out. The minute the anesthesiologist was free; I was ready for it.
And oh! Sweet relief. My legs got warm and heavy and the pain gradually faded. Jon and I decided it was time to try to rest for a while. I closed my eyes, but you don’t think about how hard it is to sleep with the heart rate monitor on your belly, all the tubs and wires coming out of your hands and arms, a bed that shifts every so often, your uterus tightening every few minutes, and the explosion of feelings that are having a rave in your brain.
It did feel peaceful though. The room was dark. A HUGE full moon outside our window rose above the buildings, casting a warm yellow tint into our sterile room. An epic thunderstorm had rolled in and the thunder and lightening were magnificent.
It became clear that I was not going to sleep at all. I needed to find a way to amuse myself. The night nurse that was caring for me was this crotchety old woman who acted like every little question, comment, or request was going to absolutely ruin her already terrible evening. The game: to get one smile out of her. I got it somewhere around 2 AM. Its the small victories.
My labor started to slow down. They ended up giving me pitocin after all. It sped everything up for a time, but eventually Dr Shuja (the OB on call) had to break my water. Everything plodded along smoothly.
At one point, while happily dozing to the sound of the rain, 3 nurses and the doctor came rushing in. They had me turn from side to side (incredibly difficult when your legs feel like they are filled with lead) and adjusted the monitors on my belly. They had lost Js heart beat. Thankfully, everything was back to normal. Jon sat by my bed and watched the fetal monitor to ease my mind.
Then the fun part began. I could start feeling contractions regardless of the epidural. They were intense and felt like they lasted forever. After an hour or so, I had an intense urge to push. I called our grouchy nurse (this woman had quite the disappearing act - she would literally go MIA for hours). She examined me and said “Whoa! You are 10 cm. Lets start pushing.”
With her on one leg and Jon on the other, I pushed. It gave a new and intense meaning to the term labor. It was the most intense pain I have ever felt or even imagined. That all sounds hyperbolic, but its true. However, amidst the pain, I never felt like quitting. I wanted to be done, but never to quit. I kept thinking, “the only way all of this is going to stop is when he is out.” So I pushed with everything I had and just whimpered between contractions.
I pushed for an hour. Jon excitedly kept cheering me on saying that he could see his head and there was A LOT of hair! Finally, Dr Shuja urgently told me to look down. There he was. The most wonderfully beautiful baby boy I could have ever hoped for. They put him on my chest while Jon cut the cord. He was born 9 LB 1 OZ and 20 IN long at 5:45 AM.
So surreal. I was so overwhelmed. Trying to process everything that had just happened over the last 15 hours and was now happening was too much. All I knew was that I had reached the finish line. As I held J, I could not feel or think about anything else. All the pain and fear had been swept away. Jon was holding him now. Tears were in his eyes.
Ill never forget that picture. Jon holding J. The sun was rising and golden light was filling the room. The moment felt almost tangibly joyful. Jon looking deeply into his sons face, studying it intently.
After J and I were all cleaned up, we welcomed the grand parents into meet him. It was around 7:30 AM. My mom looked at me crying and said “he is so beautiful, Mel.” Aunt Rachel, Aunt Emily, and Uncle Timmy came in to meet him.
When it came time to move to the mother/baby unit, they handed him to me to hold as the wheeled me out of the delivery room. Looking at my brand new son, I just thought about how unique the whole labor experience is. I am hard pressed to think of another situation where you struggle for 10 months with all sorts of discomfort and unpleasantness, ramping up with the most intense pain and, let be honest, suffering that a human can endure, and then culminating in life and joy and beauty and love.
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Cliche #85: Stay at home mom starts a blog
So I say start a blog, but really I am just reentering the blogisphere. This time with less photos of hipster life and more writing.
Why now?
I figure now that J has arrive (and more to come hopefully) I should start writing things down so they have something to read when they are older or when I am gone. The operative word is read. I would journal all of this in a lovely leather-bound book, but with handwriting like mine, I risk all of these thoughts being barely legible.
Reason #2: I need a hobby. Its far harder to indulge in a photography, design, or crafting hobby when your two month old needs his diaper changed that very second or the world might end.
But here is the question that I have been mulling over during this new chapter of our life:
When do you stop dying to self in order to take care of yourself?
This theme keeps recurring with every change we undergo. Its a question that people are pretty sympathetic to when its something hard or tragic. Like with a miscarriage or healing from labor, the question is always “how are you doing? Are you taking care of yourself?”. When it is something less intense, others rarely ask. Like adjusting to being a stay at home mom with a part time job after being a fairly independent, active, and professional wife.
Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE taking care of my son. His dimples and coos pretty much make it all worth it.
I’m realizing more and more (and especially as I’m writing this) that the problem isn’t finding the right balance or carving out the right amount of “me time”. Even though those things are important, the problem really is the intense self focus and measuring my current life, productivity, and fulfillment by pre-baby standards.
Before I would have measured my life by my effectiveness at work, the number of trips to the gym, or how many things I was involved in at church. Not that any of those things are bad, but certainly more complicated now.
Its easy to assume that when God calls you into a new chapter that it will be a seamless and effortless transition. Im realizing that these new chapters, although often full of so much joy and blessing, are usually accompanied by times of concentrated refinement. Refinement that cultivates in you the capacity to look past yourself and to focus on what God is calling you to in this chapter of life, holding onto it loosely since He might decide to close one chapter more abruptly than expected, but open a new and better one.
Trying to keep this in mind is a daily discipline especially in the midst of diaper blowouts, multiple loads of milk-stained laundry, and a tiredness that I never thought was possible.
Conclusion: God constantly is moulding me and refining me especially through the transitions from one chapter to the next. These chapters feel like they last forever when you’re in the middle of them, but when they have passed and I’m in the midst of that next uncomfortable refinement, they feel like they passed far too quickly.
“Lord, help me to be fully present, observant, and joyful during every chapter and refinement you ordain for me. Give me the grace to focus on you and on serving those around me rather than on my self. Fulfill me as I strive to live for you.”
And on that note, baby J is crying for lunch.
