Monday, November 5, 2012

The Day She Was Born

It provides no small amount of amusement when people see me after having Delilah and ask "How was it? Was Darron there?" like because he missed one of my births it's kind of fifty-fifty him showing up for any others. For those who can't stand the suspense...he was. Darron made it.

I spent the first three months of my pregnancy feeling fine. Very little nausea, which I attribute to all of the baths I'd been taking with epsom salts before I got pregnant. No, I do not plan on explaining that theory. I found out I couldn't handle exercise (sad!) or yoga (actually sad) but that it felt really good to lay on the couch. Good news because I would spend the next three months there. And then when the couch stopped being bed for the final two. Remember when I said that I enjoy pregnancy? I'm sorry about that. I now amend that statement: "I enjoy pregnancy in my twenties". I don't know what happened in those five dormant years. But it is obvious that time off for a uterus does not "refresh" and "rejuvenate".

Did you know that at the beginning of my pregnancy I swore to myself-- swore to myself-- that I would not complain? I chose this. I was thrilled for this. So many other women would give anything to be in my shoes. I was not going to be a wimp. I did fine for most of it, but towards the end I just dreaded people asking how I was...I knew I couldn't bite my tongue fast enough to stop the dreadful whining from pouring forth. Ohhh how obnoxious I was!

I know a lot of people want to have their baby early and are induced or use natural induction methods to try to get things going sooner. I'm not neurotic about many things, but this is one of them. I worry about the what-ifs. What if I bring her out too soon? What if she really needed that extra week or day to finish cooking just so? What if she ends up with asthma or bowel troubles or knock-knees? All my life I would have to wonder if it was because I wasn't patient enough and took her out too early. Weird? Maybe. Maybe not. (Side story: During my pregnancy with Tommy, I would have dreams that I'd take him out through my belly button and secretly play with him for a little bit then put him back in.) Case in point: one of my daughters, who was born two weeks early, has a lazy eye and less than perfect vision in the other. She also struggles with allergies. Coincidence? I will never know. Fortunately I went into labor spontaneously with her so I don't have guilt. Still I do wonder... So I hesitate to really try to induce labor before my due date. But ohmygoodness did I want to be done with this one. I tried to enjoy and appreciate and savor it being my last one, I really did, but I wanted to be able to function, too. And my kids needed a mom again, not just a big grouchy couch slug moaning orders from her bed. Someone who would get up and hunt them down when they took to hiding in the basement. They knew I wouldn't go down those stairs, little twerps.

But the day before baby's due date dawned and my mom had already been in town for a week and she was bored and I was antsy and my kids had started school and if ever there was a time to have a baby it was now. So I woke up and began telling myself that tonight was the night. I was going to have a baby the next day. I did some nice visualization, packed my bag, and started an internet search. That evening I began to experiment with my findings and was able to get contractions started. I'd been having them in the evenings for about a month so it wasn't that big of a deal until later that night when they evened themselves out and became nice and regular. I stayed in bed until I had to get up and get in the tub for comfort at about midnight. I was in for maybe an hour, just breathing and finding my groove, when they came to be just a few minutes apart so I woke up Darron and called my midwife to meet us at the hospital. My birth plan, if you could call it that, was to get there late enough in my labor that I wouldn't have time for an epidural. Epidurals are icky and really not my favorite but labor is hard, you know, and I doubted my ability to stay strong if given the choice. Birth plan was a success. I was admitted at 2:45am at 8 1/2-9 cm so there really wasn't time to get an anesthesiologist. Hooray for the passive road to success!

My midwife was so sweet. She was very young and not super experienced, but had a very calm manner. She just quietly let me do my thing-- squeezing Darron's hand and breathing. She asked me if I wanted any counter pressure and I said no so we continued as we were. Later, she asked if I wanted to have her break my water. I thought about it for awhile, because in the past that has brought on my contractions hard and fast almost instantly, and though everything had been so easy up to that point, I wasn't sure I was brave enough. But I wanted to have a baby, not to labor indefinitely, so I told her to go for it. She did, and nothing changed. Now comes the part where I learned just how serious a people pleaser I am. I was starting to feel anxious for my midwife. I'd made her get out of bed in the middle of the night and here she was sitting on a stool with nothing to do but watch me labor. Keep in mind we had only been here for about 45 minutes at this point. But I didn't want her to feel useless so when she gently asked me again if I'd like her to give me some counter pressure on my feet I said yes. Stupid. Almost immediately my contractions went from manageable to intense. And then from intense to unmanageable. My mind screamed for me to have her take her hands off but I didn't want to hurt her feelings or make her think she wasn't doing a good job. So I didn't. I was perfectly aware of being a MORON, but I just could not make myself do it. We quickly moved to transition and I started screaming. I know for a fact I scared the bejeebers out of Darron. He had never seen me give birth without an epidural, remember. My midwife and nurses helped me yell the right way and shortly began helping me push. It's so funny to me that I forget how to push each time I have a baby. When I finally remember "push like poop" out they come. That's gross. Was that gross? Pushed for a few minutes and out she came, big head, beefy shoulders, wild dark hair. Perfection.

Absolute stunning perfection.

Do I really need to tell you how sweet she is? How perfect? How worth every second of discomfort times infinity billion? She is the best baby, the most beautiful, the most angelic. They always are. No, she doesn't sleep through the night and really isn't anywhere near it. No, I'm not getting sleep. No, I haven't lost the baby weight. No, I really don't care. Well maybe just a leetle, but not too much. I bought my first Spanx, to be completely truthful. But it's more to reign in the smooshy around my middle that refuses to accept that it's function is now obsolete.

And now...lots and lots of pictures.

Welcome home, Delilah Renee
It's kinda nice to be the center of someone's universe again.

Monday, February 6, 2012

What's All This?

You want to know a secret?

I think there's five babies in here.

Don't tell Darron.

Because really. I look offensively similar to a picture I took six months pregnant with Hinckley. Except this belly isn't cute. Not cute, not perky, and definitely not full of uterus. Kinda smooshy, hanging over my waistband, and full of bean dip and grapenuts.  It's not something I want to show off and yet I don't fit into my regular shirts anymore. Have I mentioned I'm TEN weeks? That's two months. My baby is the size of a pea. Or some sort of smallish legume. I don't know what's going on in there but it is NOT medically necessary, I can tell you that.

Other things going on around the house: Hinckley is playing basketball. Darron I think has finally accepted the fact that his children will not be athletic phenoms. Sigh. Shoulda spent a bit more time scrutinizing my genetic offerings, rather than my backside, huh, pal? But he (Hinckley) is having fun and has gained a lot of confidence. I think basketball is a good one for that. He's also testing my mothering. And it's not holding up so well, truth be told. He has always been my hard one. Please someone tell me that they have a child like this. And that it gets easier when they turn 11 in two weeks.

Halle is just Halle. I wish to death that she could have a little best friend move in next door. She has lots of school friends, but they live so far far away and it's such a production to plan a play date and it really only works on a Saturday that we don't have anything going on. She needs someone she can have over at the drop of a hat. Someone that gets her, someone she can be with for hours on end and never run out of stuff to do and talk about. She's kind of funny. She loves having friends, but is pretty quiet at first and a little hard to get to know. I think it's a struggle for her to break the ice with girls at church that live close by, but that she only sees for a hour or two once a week. I probably feel this more keenly than she does and need to realize that she's only eight and probably has a good eighty or ninety more friend-making years in her.

Ava, as many of you know, has been patching her right eye for 10 months, in order to reverse a lazy eye in the other one. Between that and regular bouts of eye infections and paying $60 every six weeks for check-ups and keeping track of those darned glasses, I cannot wait to be done! For 8 months, it's been right around the corner.

Tommy is still beautiful. And addicted to the Wii. He allegedly only gets one hour of screen time a day. Which gives me time for either a yoga practice or a shower. Some days I want to do both and I "forget" to tell him his time is up. Some days I want (not really) to do laundry and I "forget" again. Sometimes things are so peaceful and quiet and I know he will whine if I tell him his time is up and I deliberately let him play indefinitely. Again, nothing Darron needs to know.

Sorry to sound so morose and incapable. I kind of just complained for five paragraphs. In retaliation, I'll write down five things that are AWESOME about life. Then I'll be done. Promise.

1) Sunday's Downton Abbey episode waiting for me on my DVR. I save them for Darron's bishopric nights.

2) Junk food makes me sick this pregnancy. What a horrid disguised blessing!!

3) I just read two of Shannon Hale's books for the first time. First time reading Shannon Hale, I mean. I found out in a completely embarrassing and quite stalker-like manner-- so obviously involving facebook--that two of her books were on sale for really cheap as ebooks so I bought them and read them and loved them. Read one during the Superbowl, in fact. Best Superbowl ever.

4) People who say nice things. If there is anything sweeter than someone giving a compliment or being kind or showing compassion out of the blue for no good reason, I can't think of what it might be.

5) Praying. Those days when I'm just a mess? And totally overwhelmed or misunderstood or wronged or alone or whatever?! It's a complete miracle to me every time that I can cry or complain or question or rage-- so weak and needy and pathetic. I can dump it all on Him and He sorts it out with me. And gives me peace. And even sometimes a game plan, if I'm ready for it.

Saturday, January 21, 2012

But Didn't You Just Say....

I do. I realize this will mean eating an awful lot of my words, but the good news is I am pregnant. I am eight weeks along and since my cowardly stomach muscles abandoned ship four weeks ago, I feel I need to hurry and make the declaration before things get awkward.

I feel great, like the best out of any of my pregnancies. Not a whole lot of nausea-- what a nice little surprise for the woman who was pretty freaked out to get pregnant at *gasp* 35. What I do feel is hungry. And also real lazy. Which, you know, pretty much described me before, but now it's a symptom, not a character flaw.

If I had ANY motivation, I would write a little about my feelings and such and the pact I had to make with the dev--DARRON, I mean Darron, to get this baby going but seriously this pregnancy induced laziness is so bad I just don't think I feel like it. It is so hard being me.