Welcoming Rhenner: A Birth Story

At my 40 week appointment, the midwife offered to strip my membranes. I asked her about the pros and cons, and if it hurt. She told me some women hardly notice it being done, and others scream through the whole thing. The idea made me a bit nervous; more than that, though, I really didn't think I needed it. I thought for sure there was no way I could go past 41 weeks since I hadn't with Axton and 2nd babies, I was promised, “Usually come around the same time as the first, if not sooner!” So when  the next week went by, and nothing was happening - no contractions, no inklings of impending labor, nothing - I was pretty disappointed. I also had to have an ultrasound done at 41 weeks to make sure my fluid levels were still okay. I was told they were happy with anything over a 5, and that my fluid levels were measuring at a 15. So, no need to worry there. They also told me he was measuring at over 9 pounds, but still had plenty of room to move and flip around. He had been flipping back and forth from face down (ideal birthing position) to face up (not as ideal, but still deliverable and tends to cause longer labors and pushing time).

The next day was my appointment with my midwife again. At this point I was 8 days overdue, one day past what I for sure thought would be the end. I was feeling quite discouraged, and I was also really starting to worry about going to 42 weeks and ending up with an induction. My midwife and I discussed things, and I told her I wanted her to sweep my membranes, and we made plans for me to receive a gel insert the following Monday if I still had not gone into labor on my own. I was dilated to a 4 and 90% effaced….how was I not in labor? By the time I got home that evening, I had already made up my mind: if sweeping membranes and the insert didn’t work, I was going to request an induction on the 42-week mark.

The night came and went with no contractions, just annoying cramps. I had  heard stories of women going into labor hours after getting their membranes stripped, and was once again disappointed not much had happened.

The next day was Friday. My mom and I went to the mall with Axton to walk - something we had been doing a lot of lately. When we came home and Axton was down for his nap, I told my mom I was going for another walk by myself. It was hot and  sunny and I was tired and sore, but I needed to clear my head. This day was the first day I actually cried about the fact that I was still pregnant at 9 days past the due date. I cried mostly because I feared having to go to the hospital and things getting out of my control and me ending up with a c-section. It was probably a bit dramatic, but the scene was a very real and scary thought to me.

So, I went walking. I walked without a destination or time of stopping in mind, and while I walked I prayed. My first instinct was, of course, to plead with God to make this baby come soon. But something stopped me and I instead found myself thanking God. I thanked Him for a body able to create and house healthy babies, for another spirit to raise on this earth, an uncomplicated pregnancy, a husband who loved being a father. I thanked Him for my mom and all her help, the support and love of other family and friends, for being sealed to my husband in the temple because this meant my children would be with me for eternity. I thanked Him for the opportunity He was giving me to practice patience and endurance during the last few weeks of pregnancy. I said all of this and more….and then I threw in a quick something or other about helping baby come so I didn’t have to be induced.

After my walk I came home and lay down on the couch. My best friend Heather called from England and while on the phone with her, I noticed that the cramping I had been feeling all morning and the day before had changed slightly - it was lasting a bit longer and coming consistently. During our 40 minute phone call, I had about 6 contractions. Every time one would come, I would check my phone - they were about 7 minutes apart. They obviously weren’t very intense as I could still talk through them fine, but I decided I wasn’t going to move from my position on the couch - I was just going to sit there and see what happened (two nights previously I had had contractions for an hour and I had gotten up to see if that would make them come closer together, but all it had done was make them stop altogether; I wasn’t doing that this time). So I lay on the couch for the next 2 ½ hours. I downloaded an App that tracked my contractions and they were consistently coming at 7 minutes apart and lasting for a minute each.

When Adam came home, I finally decided to get up from the couch, and we did our usual routines for the evening - dinner, playing with Axton, and putting Axton to bed. At one point, Adam saw me stop what I was doing and lean my weight on the counter. I was closing my eyes and taking big deep breaths, my head hanging loosely and slowly swinging from side to side.

“That’s what we like to see!” Adam told me when I was finished. And that’s when it hit me: I was actually in labor. And I was handling it. I was doing well and coping with contractions absolutely fine. Of course, I told myself, if I was still doing fine then that meant I still had a long way to go. I was trying to prepare myself for almost an infinite amount of pain, and what I was currently experiencing was far from that.

Well, I sent Adam to bed and told him to get some sleep because he was going to need it. Then I hopped in the shower and did exactly what I had imagined myself doing during labor for the previous 9 months: Leaning against the shower wall with my hands, the hot water running on my lower back. I stayed in the shower for a long time. Then I went to bed. I turned on a Hypnobirthing relaxation recording, but found myself falling asleep quicker than I had anticipated. The recording ended up just waking me up at random intervals, so I quickly shut it off.

I slept for about an hour through my contractions. I remember dreaming through them, telling myself to Take one slow deep breath and then it will be over. Well, one deep breath wasn’t cutting it anymore, and in my dream I was complaining, “But it’s still hurting after my one deep breath!” So take two deep breaths, then, Meghan! And that’s when I woke up. When I realized I wasn’t getting through them with just one deep breath anymore. It was about 12:30am at this point, and I decided to start tracking my contractions once again to see if they had started getting any closer together. I lay there for 30 more minutes, and they were coming about 4 ½ minutes apart. The midwife had told me we needed to come in when the contractions were 4 to 5 minutes apart, especially because I needed to get antibiotics as I had tested positive for Group B Strep. I didn’t believe that I had actually made it to that point, and thought to myself, “I will keep counting for another half hour to make sure they don’t slow down before I call the midwife.”

With Axton, active labor lasted so long - and there had been so many long intervals where contractions had stalled and I felt like I was reverting in my progress. I didn’t want to show up to the birth center again this time only to have labor slow back down as soon as I got there. (To read Axton's birth story, go here.)

However, it wasn’t long before, during the middle of a contraction, I felt a large amount of warm fluid on me. It hadn’t gushed, merely...leaked. So I thought that maybe my water was starting to leak. That was enough to make me move to action: If my water had broken, I definitely needed to get the antibiotics as soon as I could. I called the Birth Center Paging system and told them what had been going on. The midwife on call asked me a few questions, and then said, “I am already at the hospital with someone, so I will call Linda and she will meet you at the Center at 2am.”

I knew it was going to be Linda. I had seen her every appointment for the previous 3 weeks - which is rare and accidental, because typically they rotate who you see every appointment.

It was now 1am. Adam had woken up with me when I told him I thought my water might be leaking, and we already had packed everything we needed before going to bed. We decided to leave right then, and just be there a little early. I texted my doula and told her we were meeting the midwife at 2am. I also texted the birth photographer and told her I would let her know what I was dilated to when we got there. I had warned her earlier in the evening that my first labor was very slow so to be prepared for that and to make sure she wasn’t afraid to get some sleep.

Well this car ride is quite a bit more uncomfortable than the last time I had ridden in the car during labor, I thought.

Some folksy-type song was on the radio and Adam asked me if I wanted him to shut it off. “No, actually, it’s totally fine,” I told him. “I kinda like this song.”

“So,” Adam said, “What do you want me to say to you during contractions?”

I had warned Adam that I was going to need a lot more touching and talking than I had last time, that I wanted him present for every contraction.

“Um...you know,” I said, trying to think of the phrases I had been telling myself for the past few hours. “Tell me take in slow deep breaths, and then to let it all out. Tell me that I’m doing good, and tell me that the contraction is almost over, that I am almost done with this one. Tell me to give in to the contraction, that it is helping baby come. Tell me to relax my face and my muscles.”

We talked and held hands and laughed….and then a contraction would come and Adam would turn the radio down and I would lean my head against the headrest, rubbing my hands slowly up and down my thighs, rocking my head from side to side, and taking those deep breaths. And then it would be over and I would be able to say, “That one was a douzy!” and we’d continue on.

There was none of that in-between gloriousness during labor with Axton. I had really wanted to remind myself this time that we are given breaks between each contraction, and that I had to take advantage of them. I hadn’t been in constant pain with Axton, even though I had remembered it that way. I could not do labor that way this time.

We got to the center a little bit before the midwife - it was 1:30am - so we walked down the driveway. When a contraction would come, we’d stop and I would sway on Adam and he would rub my lower back. Soon Linda was there, and she rolled down her window to say, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to meet you here until two! I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

I finished the contraction I was on, looked up and gave her a big smile and a wave of my hand, “You’re fine! No rush. We just wanted to get here early.” We slowly followed behind her, and I made my first stop the bathroom. With Axton, I had forgotten to go to the bathroom early and eventually I couldn’t even do it on my own. I had completely lost the sense of how to work those muscles and ended up needing a catheter. I did not want to worry about that this time and had (again) warned Adam that that was another job of his: to keep me going to the bathroom often.

I got stuck on the toilet with a contraction and Adam peeked his head in on me, and then helped me up. I asked Linda for a birthing ball, but I didn’t last long on there. Linda moved me to the bed to check on things - she told me that my water had, in fact, not broken and that I was dilated to a 6 ½ or a 7. Now that I was on the bed, I didn’t want to get up. All I wanted to do was lay down and deal with contractions as I had been doing at home. I was on my left side, my head resting on my left arm.

Linda needed to start my IV because I needed two doses of antibiotics, and we needed 4 hours in between each dose. I have never been one that does well with needles, and I always request getting my blood drawn in the crook of my left arm because that’s the only place that’s ever had success. Well, I didn’t quite have the energy/state of mind to tell Linda this, so she started trying on a vein on the top of my wrist. I was closing my eyes, trying to continue to breathe through the contractions, and as soon as she first stuck me, I knew it wasn’t going to work. She started poking and prodding around, digging for a better place. I tried ignoring her and eventually she gave up and said, “Well I was just sending medicine into your arm, not your vein, so is it okay if I stick you in the crook of your arm? Will it bother you?” No, no it won’t bother me please put it there, it’s where I wanted it in the first place. She then stuck me in my upper arm and immediately I felt a warmth spread all down and over my arm - I knew I was bleeding but kept my eyes close.

“Sorry,” said Linda. “I should have warned you that I’m a messy IV starter.”

Yuck...not the words I wanted to hear. She tried to make a joke about “at least it was distracting from the contractions.” I muttered an unenthusiastic, “Yeah, I guess…” She told me that now we just needed four more hours for the second dose of antibiotics. In my head, I thought she was crazy. “Four more hours of this kind of labor? Whew. I guess I better buckle down for the long haul. Maybe that whole time warp thing that some laboring women talk about will happen and four hours will go by really quick.”

But now the contractions were coming closer together. It’s interesting to me the snippets of conversation that I caught in between them - Erin, my doula, who had shown up just before Linda had started the IV, telling Adam that he was going to have to train her husband on how to to be a good labor coach. Erin seeing my belly henna when Linda was checking on the baby’s heartbeat and saying, “Wow, I want that and I didn’t even know I wanted it. That is so cool.”

I still didn’t want to move off the bed. Adam and Erin sat on the bed right behind me. Adam rubbed my upper back and Erin placed one warm hand on my lower back, applying some counterpressure. By this point, my long slow breaths had turned into quicker inhalations and a bit louder vocalizations. Mostly just long, drawn out “ooooohs” on my exhalations. They told me I was doing great but I had long since stopped responding. My inner thighs had been a little shaky for a long time, but now the shaking had dramatically increased and I felt like my legs were clashing together and my teeth were chattering like I was freezing. Intellectually, I knew this meant I was in transition. I was coherent enough to know that in my mind, and I guess I wanted to make sure Adam and Erin knew it too, so I told them, “I can’t stop my legs from shaking!” and that’s all I could get out. Then I started to feel a little bit of pressure and I said, “I feel like I need to poop.” Again, my brain knew that that kind of pressure meant I was getting ready and close to pushing time, but I also was wary of that because I remembered feeling that same pressure when I was only dilated to an 8 with Axton and they had told me I shouldn’t be pushing yet. So I tried to have a conversation with them and kind of started babbling about “Well, maybe I really do need to poop. I haven’t pooped in awhile. It could just be that.”

Linda told me it was probably my bag of waters and that once my water broke it wouldn’t be long after that baby came. Erin said, “I bet if you went to the bathroom and pushed during a contraction, your water might break.”

So after a couple attempts of trying to get up and having to wait for another contraction to pass, I finally made it to the bathroom. I was so happy I could pee this time!! Yay! I spent a few contractions there, and pushed like Erin had suggested but nothing happened. When I walked out of the bathroom, I asked if I could get in the pool now. Linda told me that it wasn’t done filling up, but that I was welcome to get in and have it fill up around me.

I can hardly describe the relief the hot water brought to my body. It was hotter than I was expecting it to be. Everyone was asking if it was okay and I just wanted to shout, “Okay??! This is heavenly.” I got in there and I just knew it wasn’t going to be long.

I had asked Adam to text the birth photographer a few minutes (who really knows?) previously and now that I was in the pool I knew she needed to be there soon. I asked Adam if she had texted back yet and then I said, “Actually, you just need to call her. Tell her she should come.”

When he hung up with her, I already knew she wasn’t going to make it.

My body was already starting to push. “I can’t stop it, I want to push! Can I push?” I asked, almost frantic. Again, I had remembered feeling the need to push too early last time with Axton, and I wanted to make sure I had the “go-ahead” this time. I was also half-expecting the whole “push for 10 seconds, three pushes at a time” business they had had to instruct me on last time. But nope, they said, “Do what you feel you need to do” and receiving that “permission” was beautiful. I pushed and screamed when my water burst like a water balloon.

And then.

The pain. Oh, the blessed pain. I think Linda said that the baby was just behind the bag of waters and told Adam to feel for his head. I felt Adam fumbling around down there and then his fingers finding something. 

A contraction.

....And screaming. 

High-pitch, uncontrolled screaming. My brain knew I shouldn’t be screaming, so I tried to stop but instead of stopping, the screaming came out louder and harsher. I was manically scream at the very tip top of my lungs.

A contraction. Pushing.

So much more screaming, this time screaming “OW OW OW OW OW OW!!!” over and over again.

Whenever the midwife or Erin talked to me, however, I listened.
“Meghan, try using a low grunting sound instead of screaming.”
I tried.

A contraction. More screaming.

“Meghan, he is almost here. You’re doing so good.”
“He’s almost here? Really?”
“Yes.”
“He’s almost here. I’m almost done.  God…” I started to say, leaning my head back against the pool; then I got self-conscious about praying out loud, so I finished the prayer in my head. Help me do this.

SCREAMING.

A voice.

“Meghan.”

It was Linda.

“I need you to stop screaming, and I need you to slow down. This is the part where I don’t want you to tear.”

I felt my eyes grow as big as my face. Never before have I stared at someone the way I was staring at her. “Deer in headlights” is an extreme understatement. I don’t think there was any room left on my face but for my wide eyes. I was thinking You want me to do what? But somehow my brain listened. I slowed down for a second. I stopped screaming for a second. I locked on her eyes and I listened. For just a second, just long enough.

A contraction.
Screaming, and his head.

Months and months of pregnancy, and the last 10 days past my due date lasting for an eternity built up into one last raging scream:

"GET! HIM! OUUUUUUUUUTTTT!!!"

And with that, he was out. At 3:17am. Not even two hours after arriving at the birth center. Adam and the midwife caught him together.

He was out and his face was rising up out of the water towards me, and he was blinking back water and staring at me so calm and I was crying more and saying, “He’s so beautiful! I love him!” and “I did it. I’m done. He’s finally here.”

And his little arm was tucked under his chin and he was peaceful and quiet and Adam was coming around, holding me and I was telling Erin to put the camera on Auto, the green icon, not the “A” icon, and then there was vernix and then I was out of the pool and back on the bed. 

The rest of the story includes my Russian nurse Katia, grinding my uterus against my spine and me looking at Adam with eyes that say What the hell is she doing to me? Please kick her in the back of the head and we’ll run out of the door. And Adam looking at Katia with eyes that made me worry he really was going to kick her in the back of the head.

The rest is the placenta delivery, the part where Linda tells me I have two paper cut tears, but she isn’t going to stitch me and I’m rejoicing for NO STITCHES.

The rest is my birth photographer arriving at the birth center, and being grateful I don’t have to worry about taking pictures while Rhenner is weighed and measured, and her capturing precious time with our just-minutes-old son.

The rest is him latching on and nursing so easily, and me saying, “I don’t remember Axton crying this much.” And Adam saying, “Oh he did. You were just too out of it.” I was up and moving around and showering and eating and taking pictures. I was a little slow, sure, and my lower half was quite tender, but I was far from immobile. In comparison to how I felt after having Axton, I could have ran a marathon (okay, maybe only a 5k). 

4 hours later and we were on our way home. We left Rhenner in the car and walked into the house at 8am, just minutes after Axton had woken up. We had him come out to the car to “find his baby brother” and to open the gift that baby had brought him. 

Rhenner’s birth was everything I could have hoped for in a birth story. On the drive home, Adam kept saying, “I am just so impressed with you right now. I can’t believe how fast that was.” Truth be told, I was pretty dang impressed, too, though I feel like I can’t take the credit: It was all my body. I trusted my body this time. I gave in to everything it was doing and I didn’t fight against it and everything happened on its own.

Rhenner is the sweetest thing and I had no idea (NO IDEA) how much I missed little baby snuggles until he came around. I am seriously obsessed with him and he makes me want to have a million babies (almost) just so I never have to be without these snuggles again.

The hardest part so far has been feeling like Axton feels betrayed. I have had to remind myself that Axton will love having a brother and won’t remember the hard time he is having right now. He is doing pretty well with the baby and gives him kisses and asks to hold him (though it usually only lasts for about a half a second), but when I ask him to help me with things for the baby (diaper changes, clothes, etc) like others have suggested I do, he is definitely not interested. I can tell I am not quite his favorite person right now and it’s been hard to not take it personally. I am probably being more sensitive to it than I need to be, but he is definitely taking a lot of his confusion out on me.

Otherwise, we are all doing wonderful and I’m so grateful for my mom’s hard work and help with everything. I am getting around well now but will still be so lost when she leaves!

How do you wrap up the story of someone’s beginning? I guess you really can’t, except to give thanks where it is due: I am beyond blessed and know all I have comes from God.

2013 in review

I was pretty much a slacker when it came to blogging this year, but here are some exciting (and not so exciting) things I did write about during the year of 2013:

January was a rough month. We had just returned from our Christmas vacation in Arizona visiting family and I was a zombie. Axton wasn't sleeping and that meant neither was I.

In February we finally got Axton to sleep through the night! I also went sugar free this month.

In March I cut 9 inches off my hair. My dad came out to visit us and we went down to Williamsburg, VA for my birthday.

In April I photographed my first birth.

May brought me back to Special Beginnings, and the night I delivered my son. I wrote a letter to him, to wish him happy birthday.

I ran my very first half-marathon in June. Here was my play list. We went to NYC and had a blast.

The month of July I went completely vegan. I learned a lot and tried some new things, but never got around to blogging about it. Maybe I still will, because I have lots of thoughts on the topic.

In August I co-hosted my very first Harry Potter party, and in celebration, dyed my hair black so I could dress up as none other than Severus Snape.

September 5th we celebrated our 4th anniversary - oh! And also conceived our second son. So, there ya go. No post necessary.

In October we were affected by the government shutdown/furloughs and we learned how to press forward when things got tight....and how to graciously accept gifts and the kindness of others. We also learned we were pregnant and I freaked out just a tiny bit, even though it was all done on purpose.

In November, my dad and wife visited us for Thanksgiving and we took a trip to Mount Vernon. We ate the best ham and homemade berry pie ever.

We made the trek to Hawaii in December, and found out baby number two is a boy!

Oh boy, was I wrong!

We decided it would be a fun Christmas surprise to find out the gender of our baby with our parents while we were on the island of Oahu. I booked the appointment and dodged questions from my mom about whether or not we would be finding out this time.

When the time for our appointment came around, our first full day on Oahu, we spent the morning at the Swap Meet. It was hot and rained a little on us, and Axton fell asleep in the car too early. We all took turns sitting out in the car with him so he could nap and the rest of us shopped. I told everyone we had to be somewhere at 1pm. On the way from the swap meet to the appointment, I remembered that the receptionist with whom I had made the appointment had told me to eat something before coming in so that the baby would be active. I remembered when I was pregnant with Axton, how jumpy and move-y he would get whenever I ate anything sweet, so I grabbed a Rice Krispy treat and shoved it down just before walking into the Ultrasound place.

Our parents were excited when they figured out what we were doing, and as we were shown into our room, I took a poll.

"So what do you think we're having?"

Girl, girl, girl, girl. Michael, my step dad, was the only one to say boy.

I thought back over the last 14 weeks of knowing I was pregnant. Almost every time I thought about the baby, I imagined it as a girl. I thought about how different this pregnancy was from Axton. With Axton, my psoriasis went completely away - with this one, it's gotten way worse. I was sick for a much longer time, and in different ways. I thought about how I had worried about loving a girl, and wondered if it would feel different from loving a boy. My rational brain tells me, "It's your child! Of course you will love it the same!" but another part of me always wondered, "But won't it be weird to breastfeed a girl? I mean, girls have boobs, too. It's just...weird." For some reason, it felt like loving and caring for a boy in this intimate way came more naturally than it would for a girl. Anyway, it didn't make sense in my mind. All I knew was that I already knew how to love a boy, so I knew another one would be easy. And fun, to see how he would be alike and different from his brother.

But I honestly didn't think it would be a boy, so I didn't want to get my hopes up by thinking about it.

"I think it's a girl, too." I said out loud to our parents and Adam. But a tiny voice in the back of my head said quietly, "Don't forget...it could be a boy." But I didn't believe it for too long.

The ultrasound technician came in and told me to lie down on my back. I did so and pulled up my shirt. Axton wanted to be up by me on the bed, and the tech told me that was fine. I pulled him up and sat him down next to me and the first thing he did was blow a giant raspberry on my bare belly, making us all laugh. He liked the laughter and blew on me a few more times.

The tech pushed her wand against my belly and the hot gel, and swung it over my skin. She showed us his back and spine and head....and then she moved it and I caught a glimpse of something.

I saw that. I thought, yanking my head over to the technician.

"You might already know what it is...." she said with a smile. Then she brought two little legs into view, and sitting just between them was.....

"IT'S A BOY????" I shouted, tears immediately springing to my eyes.
"Yep!" she said, as everyone else oh'ed and aw'ed. I covered my mouth and cried, surprising myself with how much emotion I felt. "I wanted another boy so bad," I choked out, not knowing just how much I had wanted it until now.

Tears continued to fall as we all watched him jumping and doing somersaults.
"He so hyper!" the technician commented. I laughed and told her about the rice krispy bar. She commented several times throughout the ultrasound at how active he was. At one point, she said, "Oh my gosh, he was just twerking! Did you see that?" A burst of laughter escaped my lips. "No, I missed that," I said.

She switched the video to the 4d mode, which I wasn't expecting because we hadn't paid for it. It was still kind of hard to see all of his facial expressions since he is still so young and tiny, but it was neat to see him in something other than the black and white blobs you really have to learn to decipher.

When we were all finished up and they had given us our CD with images and video, we headed out to the car. Adam put his arm around me and said, "That was so fun!"

I said, "Yeah it was. Can you believe you're going to be the daddy of two little boys?"
He shook his head, his eyebrows raised and a look of bewilderment on his face.

Me either. 

ps We are having a REALLY hard time deciding on a name we like. Suggestions PLEASE!!

I played my best for Him

I have never really liked the Christmas song "The Little Drummer Boy." Really, the only thing I could think of when I heard it was Dwight humming the song because he knew it was Angela's favorite (see here, if you have no idea what I'm talking about).

Anyway, it just never was one of my favorites, I felt no attachment to it. But then today, this link was floating around Facebook and I clicked on it. At first, I opened the video, pressed play, and then went to another window to work on something else. I slowly found myself more and more distracted from what I was doing, and more intent on listening to the song, and eventually I clicked back to watch the video and the people performing.

This was the first time this song ever struck me as beautiful. And it wasn't just that these were talented a capella artists either; it was the lyrics. Their music made me focus on the words.

This song tells the story of a little boy who is told to go see the newborn king. "Bring your finest gifts!" they tell him. "To honor the babe."

I imagine the drop in his stomach as he hears about and sees others' gifts they are bringing to lay before the king. He is poor, and has no money with which to purchase a gift for this king. He only has one thing to offer. And yet - and here is the beautiful part to me - he goes anyway. He goes to seek the King, knowing that his gift in no way compares to what everyone else is bringing.

He shows up and in all humility and grace and pure love, he gives the one thing he can:

Shall I play for you?

He doesn't have much, and what he does have is meek and lowly, but he "played his best for Him." The little boy gave his all.

And after Christ had heard him play, as Mary, Joseph, and the animals stood round and listened too, Christ lifted His eyes and smiled at that poor little boy. He accepted His gift with gratitude.

Today, this thought touched me. I may not have much to offer Christ this holiday season, but I have my talents. I have my heart - and if I can only be humble enough to play my best for Him, and un-distract myself from the glitter and the glow of everyone else's big, shiny, perhaps expensive gifts, then maybe He will smile upon me, as well.

I love this time of year. Merry Christmas!

Finding out I was pregnant

This post was originally written when I was 8 weeks along. I wrote a few posts back in the very early weeks of pregnancy that were honest and raw and real and kind of depressing - I wasn't very excited about being pregnant, even though it was all done on purpose, and I struggled to be cheerful through the sickness (still sick, still trying to be cheerful). This post may also run along those same lines. I'll share some of those things I wrote now because I want to be real about what I've felt during this pregnancy. I am sure some people come along and read my blog and read me for what I really am: A whiney, ungrateful twit who doesn't deserve the blessings I've been given. But really, I am working on it. And in the mean time, it helps me to share. Maybe it helps others when I share, too. Who knows? So, without further ado, here is how I found out I was pregnant.

I hadn't had many symptoms that hinted to me I was pregnant. In fact, I was pretty positive that we were not pregnant this month. I knew (or at least I thought I did) when I had ovulated and I also knew we had not been lucky in love on that particular day. There were a few minor things that happened that made me stop and think, "Hmm...what if?" but all of them could have been explained away by something other than pregnancy. For example, I found an old sippy cup of milk and a chunk of it slipped out of the straw, still in straw-form, and I absolutely gagged all over the sink. Now, I'll admit that's pretty disgusting, but I had always thought I had better gag reflexes than that, under normal circumstances. Another thing was - I kept waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, when I never ever ever do that. But hey, I was just glad I didn't wet the bed this time like I did last time. Also, I had cramps. I was tired, I was cranky, I had really bad pain in my tail bone -- but all of these things are also symptoms of Period Doom, too, so I really honestly didn't think anything of it.

I tested the day my period was due. I set the test down on the sink and watched as the first line appeared - the one that said the test wasn't faulty. Then I watched as the liquid seeped over the rest of the test, clearing a bright white patch in its wake. I shrugged my shoulders and tossed that test in the trash. I wasn't really affected by it, as I had been expecting it. At this point, I started thinking, "Well, maybe we need to wait a little longer. I really don't want a middle-of-the-summer baby, and I really don't want to be sick during our trip to Hawaii. This is good. We will aim for 2 1/2 to 3 years apart instead of 2 years apart." I called Adam, told him I wasn't pregnant, and went about my day. I was happy with my new decision to put off trying for a little longer, even though we hadn't been trying for very long.

Later that afternoon, I went to the bathroom again. Unbutton, pull down, turn aro --- what. the. junk is that?
I did a double take, whipped around and snatched that test out of the garbage, pulling my pants back up with one hand.
I stared and stared.

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It was faint, but it was there.
A second pink line. 

My first thought, when my hand hit my mouth and my eyes got big, my very first reaction to the news?

Oh shi*

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry to others reading this who pray and pray for a second pink line. I'm sorry to others reading this who are offended, regardless of their own ability to get pregnant. I'm sorry to myself that I still haven't kicked my occasional swearing habit and that a curse word is an automatic response and I'm sorry to my baby. I'm sorry that those were the first words out of my mouth after finding out I actually was pregnant.

The next 30 minutes weren't much better. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I held that stick and sunk to the floor and cried with my head on my knees and just kept asking myself, "How am I going to do this?" and "What was I thinking?"
I cried harder when Axton came in the bathroom, thinking about how much I love him and knowing I would love this next baby just as much, despite how difficult it was going to be. I cried in amazement, knowing I had LIFE in me. I cried because I had done it again and the first time hadn't just been a lucky fluke. I cried because I knew it was a miracle, and how could I - me, of all people, be the recipient of a miracle for a second time?

I didn't tell Adam that night because technically you're not supposed to trust a pregnancy test after 10 minutes. So I waited until he went to bed and I tested again. The line came quicker this time, and was just a shade darker. I left it out on the sink with a note that said, "I guess I was wrong" for Adam to find in the morning.



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A second post I wrote, on how this pregnancy has been very different from my first one already (it's a mix of past-tense and present tense, sorry for the confusion):

I knew it was going to be different, even before I got pregnant. 

I remember one sunny summer day, I was jogging with Axton, thinking about how I wanted my next pregnancy to be different. I wanted to continue to exercise, I wanted to eat healthier, I wasn't going to have interventions during labor (no induction via breast pumps, water-breaking, or otherwise). As I ran, I told myself it was going to be different, mentally, too. I wasn't going to let the first-trimester-blues bring me down. I was going to BEAT IT, damn it, and I was going to win. I wasn't going to succumb to my tiredness and my ickiness, eating everything in sight (but only if it sounded good) and being lazy on the couch all day. I had an inkling that it would also be different because this time I would be carrying a girl - and when I thought about that, I got all choked up and knew I had to be a better me to show my daughter what kind of a woman she needed to be to make it in this world. I wanted her to be different from me - better than me, stronger than me, kinder than me.....but she wouldn't be those things if I didn't first show her how. 

And then I got pregnant and immediately it was different. My reaction to finding out was different. Different from last time, and different from what I thought it would be. My sickness was different.....oh, was it different. With Axton, I would be sick in the morning, throw up, and then find some relief in the evenings. I had strong aversions to specific foods, and strong cravings for other foods. And then it was gone by 13 weeks. This time around, I don't throw up and I can never guess what is going to set me gagging, but the nausea is constant and strong and neverending, regardless of what I eat. The only sure thing about it is, it gets worse when I don't eat. So I eat, whether or not it sounds good. And guess what? I'm 14 weeks now and only minor improvements have occurred. I am still crossing my fingers relief is coming.

Mentally, it has been different, too. I lacked the excitement, the drive I had the first time around. When I told one of my sisters-in-law about me being pregnant, she texted me the next day and said that she was checking on me because I had sounded bummed when we chatted the night before. It made me so sad and so mad at myself that when sharing such exciting news with my family, I couldn't even muster up a happy voice! What is my problem?

I'm a lot more emotional and cranky and paranoid. Up until about a week ago, I kept worrying everyday that I was going to find blood in my pants - I'm sure I worried about miscarriage the first time, too, but I have recently had close friends go through miscarriages and other difficult pregnancies and losses so it really hit me strong this time. The worst part? What I feared about having a miscarriage the most was the fact that I would  have gone through a few measly weeks of feeling sick and have nothing to show for it, and will eventually have to do it all over again. And also that, if I did have a miscarriage, I would carry heavy guilt and think that it was my own fault because I wasn't happy to be pregnant, and that I had somehow caused it to happen.

Do you see how selfish I am?

 I want to keep running, and have done so a few times, but I feel like I am taking another selfish risk in doing so. That I am putting my baby in harm's way just so I don't gain as much weight. (Though I also find it extremely hard to want to go running when heavy breathing makes me gag) I haven't been as faithful in taking prenatal vitamins. I don't sleep as much as I want to because I don't have time to. I feel sorry for Axton whose Mommy will soon be not everything she used to be to him because she can't handle it all - especially after the baby does come.

I told my mom that if she came out to help me with Axton after the baby is born, that I would just end up missing Axton the whole time, and that it would make me sad that he was sad because he wasn't spending as much time with Mommy. She didn't understand and laughed at me, thinking that I was somehow saying he wouldn't want to spend time with Grandma, which wasn't what I meant at all. I meant that my relationship with him will have to change, and that change scares me and makes me sad.

I had a few newborn shoots this week and I was so excited to go to them. I thought for sure that seeing these fresh new little people would push all these negative feelings about being pregnant aside, and make way for excitement and joy for this little one. I was horrified that it did nothing of the sort. In fact, it may have made it worse. I liked the babies just fine when I was holding them and posing them and sure they were adorable, but when I got back out to the car and was alone again and thought about that being me in 7 1/2 months.....it just scared me even more. I saw, with my own eyes right before me, how hard a newborn was, and the memories floated back to me. The painful first 3 weeks of nursing, the constant crying, the continuous diaper changes, the bags under my eyes, the sore body and emotions running high.

Now that I'm in the second trimester and miscarrying is less likely, now I have started to be paranoid about preterm labor. I saw a video floating around on the net of a tiny little guy, born at just 25 weeks, and I cried during the whole video. Then I hopped in the shower and cried and begged God not to have that be my burden - not just because it is scary not knowing if a baby that tiny will make it or not, but also because, and this is what I begged, "Please don't make me choose between my first baby and my second baby. Please don't make me split my time that much - to leave Axton so I can go see the other one. Don't make that my life for months. I could not bear to be ripped in half like that." And for the rest of the day, I would cry whenever I was alone, which happened to be the drive in between every single photo shoot I had that day. So I had a lot of alone time.



But then, you'll never guess what happened. You won't guess because if another woman told me what I'm about to tell you, I wouldn't believe her. I would nod my head and smile while she told me, but inside my head I'd be screaming, "Nope, don't believe you. You may think that's what happened, but really, you're wrong."

But it did happen to me, and it's not just what I think happened, it really did happen. So....believe me.


I felt that baby move.

I felt that peach-sized little tumble of a jumble inside me tickle my uterus. It was light and airy and kind of eery, and it most certainly was not gas (trust me, I've felt plenty of that lately and that wasn't it). It was different and it tickled and I felt it while lying alone in bed one night, quiet and peaceful and thinking. Of course, I cried.

I am getting more and more excited. I was sad that it took me awhile to be excited, but then I talked to one of my best friends - one that recently went through a horrific (is it okay that I use that word to describe this?) miscarriage. I was nervous to tell her, of all people, how I was honestly feeling about it all. I didn't want to offend, I didn't want to appear ungrateful. But she was understanding and told me that there was a reason we are giving 9 months to prepare for a baby - and it's not all just physical reasons. It's also so we can mentally and emotionally be ready. She told me that it was okay, what I was feeling, and that it ("it" being my excitement) would come. Then yesterday a friend wrote a comment on my post that said, "It took a lot longer for me to allow myself to be happy when I found I was pregnant the second time." Her words brought me comfort, too, knowing I was not alone. Knowing how wonderful and genuine and loving of a mother she is, and knowing she felt similar things. It made me feel less bad about myself. I also liked the she used the words "allow myself to be happy." I can give myself permission to be happy. I can give myself permission to ignore the comments I am not looking forward to, the ones that tell me I shouldn't be showing as much as I am for only being X amount of weeks. I can allow myself a chance to honestly evaluate my feelings and then find a way to change them.

If it's a girl, we already have a name picked out, and her daddy is already wrapped around her finger. And if it's a boy, and I get another little Axton only different and completely himself, well.... I'll be over-the-moon. Because awhile back I reminded myself that someday Axton will not let me kiss him on the mouth, or hold his hand across the street, or rock him before bedtime - he already doesn't let me snuggle with him anymore. And immediately the only thing I could think of was, I need to do this. I need to keep going. I need this second child. 

Alright, alright.... I'll tell you.

I'm pregnant.

And though I'm not ready to share the news with the world of Facebook just yet (so if you post anything on there I will probably delete it - you've been warned), I thought it would be a good, healthy step for me to at least share with my blogging friends.

Every time I came online to post something on here, I would get scared and back down. I would say, No I should wait until I'm in the 2nd trimester. Or I should wait until we find out the gender! Or I should wait until after the wedding I have booked. (And then I booked a birth session and I thought, I should definitely wait until after that) (though those things are in February and March, and by then I will be ginormous anyway).

It started to bug me, and I wondered why I wasn't willing to share the news with my friends who would be happy and excited for me, why I wasn't willing to admit that I am going to have another baby.

I figured it out, though, and that's why I'm overcoming it by sharing the news. I am afraid to admit that change is coming. I know the more people that know, the more the reality sinks in, and reality scares me. But I have to admit it:  my life isn't the same anymore.

I purposely told myself I wanted to carry on as normal - I was going to book as many sessions as I could, and I wasn't going to let this pregnancy slow me down. I've been extremely nauseous and of course absurdly tired, but still I kept going. I didn't want to have to change myself and my life. I didn't want to announce anything for fear my clients would see and think, "Oh she is going to be 6 months pregnant when she shoots our wedding. She is ill-equipped for the job. Just what was she thinking?" As I said above, I just booked a birth session, for which I am over-the-moon stoked about, and the only thing I can think about is, "I can't let them know I am pregnant before then. Let them just figure it out when they see me the day of their child's birth, by then it will be too late for them to change their mind."

This time last pregnancy, I had already packed away my regular clothes and was proudly sporting maternity gear, baggy as they were. Yet this pregnancy, I am clinging to my jeans and trying my hardest to cover any bump that may be appearing. This time, I don't want people to know.

And that bothers me.

So I'm telling you.

I am due the first week in June.

I am excited, I am. But I think, just maybe, I am also terrified.

Living frugally

Apparently I am not capable of multi-tasking. I cannot run a photography business and maintain a non-exciting, personal blog at the same time. All of my free time lately has been going into shooting and editing, and especially now that it is "holiday season" I have been even more busy.

I want to share a personal portion of our lives, something that has changed the way we've been living the last 6 weeks or so. It's in regards to finances. I feel the need to preface this post with a statement of acknowledgment. When I say we've been "poor" lately, I use the term lightly. We are utterly spoiled in comparison to a vast majority of the world: we have heat, we have clothes, and yes, we have food. We even have internet and two cell phones. We have a car we bought new, a home we are renting, and a job. We have health insurance and shoes, and a huge comfy couch I am sitting on while doing so.

But. 

(And this is a good 'but,' so don't take it the wrong way)

- We double-jammy our son at night because while we do have heat, we don't keep it up very high and only turn it on when necessary.
- We have clothes, but not once in the past 3 years of marriage have I paid full price for a piece of clothing. The majority of my clothes come from thrift stores, and when they come from Target, they come from the 70% off rack. I haven't gone shopping for clothes in months.
- We have internet, but it is the slowest package available and does not include cable. We don't even own a tv. We don't have a Netflix or Hulu account, and the only time we watch movies is the occassional Redbox rental.
- We have two phones, but up until last July we only had one. One phone shared between Adam and I. Now we have two, but neither of them are smart phones and neither have internet capabilities. They both are Wal-Mart, pay-as-you-go, non-contract cell phones.
- Our car may be new, but it's the only one we've got. When I need to go somewhere with Axton, I have to wake up at 6am and take Adam to work to do so.
- The couch in our living room came from last year's tax refunds. The couch before that one? A torn-up love seat we bought from Salvation Army. It was shedding leather all over the floor everytime we sat down on it. I had to vaccuum in front of it every day. And it would only fit one of us comfortably; there was no snuggling going on with that couch. No other piece of furniture in our home was bought brand new besides that couch. The bed frame we sleep on? Adam built it. Our computer desk? Adam built it. Our kitchen table? We bought second-hand and Adam refinished it. Our bookshelves and nightstands? Given to us or found in the dumpster.

These are all daily decisions that we have made together throughout our marriage. We strive to live a frugal life, making smart decisions that add up to less stress and savings.

Before we had Axton and I was nannying, most of the money I earned went into savings. We wanted a small cushion for "rainy days," as prophets and most other financial gurus will tell you do to do. But slowly, since I stopped working, we have nibbled into that cushion from time to time. Here a little, there a little, not putting much back into it. When we moved from our apartments to our current condo, little costs kept popping up and the move ended up being much more expensive than we anticipated. On top of that, the security deposit was GINORMOUS compared to our last apartment's deposit. We continued in faith, knowing we were moving to an area we were supposed to be in.

Our tickets to Hawaii were bought with the last of our savings. "We will replenish it right away! We will be okay."

And that's when the furlough hit.

I now understand the fear and the stress that comes with not knowing if you will be able to pay rent that month or not.

I started getting used to not turning lights on when I walked into a room. If it was daytime, no lights were turned on. If it was nighttime, we used a flashlight. During the random intense heat spell in September, we didn't turn our AC on and I ended up getting so hot I got ill. We didn't eat out and we didn't travel anywhere that wasn't necessary.

Our dear friends and family all told us we could borrow money if we needed to. I never thought I would be in that situation - what an eye-opener! To have my best friend from high school - in college, about to graduate, tell me she would loan me her savings, intended to get her started with life, if I needed it. I was shocked. And, 100 percent humbled. If they didn't offer us money, then friends who knew of our situation invited us over for dinner so we didn't have to use our limited resources that night.

In the past six weeks we have only gone grocery shopping for the bare minimums. And by that I mean, we haven't bought fresh fruit or produce, besides a couple bunches of bananas and 2 heads of lettuce.

Did you read that? In the past 6 WEEKS, the only fresh produce we have bought are bananas and lettuce. I am dying for the days of last summer - the days we had a fridge full of strawberries and blueberries and raspberries, green peppers and zucchini, spinach and baby carrots.

The only grocery shopping we have done in the past 6 weeks was for the daily necessities you run out of most often: milk and eggs and butter. We have been making homemade bread and homemade tortillas. We have been using every last canned item in our cupboards and are depleting the last of our frozen chicken breasts and ground beef in our deep freezer. I have learned to get creative with our meals. If we didn't have it on hand, I would either substitute something else or make it myself -- or do without.

I miss cheese.

Last week I had a friend over and I was absolutely mortified when I realized it was lunch time and I had.....not much to offer her. I fixed up the last of our head of lettuce and offered her a salad. She said she could help me chop up vegetables for the salad and I had to swallow my pride and say, "Actually, it's just lettuce. I'm sorry, that's all we have." We had just finished our last tortilla so I couldn't even offer her canned refried beans slabbed on some flour and lard. I had an apple someone had given to us because I mentioned I hadn't had apples in so long I was starting to crave them (I never crave apples), so I cut that up and placed it on the table. Axton saw her son eating a jar of baby food and asked for some. I searched our cabinets and pulled out the only baby food we had left: the prunes we bought six months ago when he was constipated.

My friend was gracious and acted kind and unaffected, but I finally just said, "Things are a little tight for us right now. I'm so sorry I don't have more to offer you."

Again, I was so humbled. To look a friend in the eye and admit that we don't have money to go grocery shopping.

And I know......I know what you may be thinking because I've been thinking it everyday for the past few months as things have gotten tighter and tighter: We are still so much more blessed than so many others. Even if things had been worse, we would have had parents and siblings help us. We never would have had to go hungry - though we might not be eating the food we want to eat or dream of eating, we are still eating. I might not have new clothes, but still I am clothed. 

In the LDS church, we can be given special blessings that warn us of trials or challenges, guide us personally, name particular talents or blessings we may be given - these are called patriarchal blessings. We hold them sacred and generally don't share them with the public; I re-read mine often, especially during times of trial. My patriarchal blessing mentions twice that, throughout my life, my physical needs/financial needs will be taken care of, and that I will not want. I have always taken those words seriously, and in times past, they have given me confidence and comfort. Whenever Adam would worry about finances I would not be affected, I had, perhaps, an almost arrogant attitude about it, an over-confidence.

But still, even after going through this and being humbled, still my physical needs have been met. I have not wanted in the ways that others want. My health and safety have never been compromised. My comfort, indeed, has, but I also know that that is part of life.

It's been, and still is, a wonderful learning process. It's good to not have everything you want. It's good to worry a little, to be humbled and to admit and accept help. I hope this post doesn't come across as 'holier-than-thou' or Look at me, look how frugal I am! In fact, it's meant to be the opposite. It's meant to be grateful and thankful and amaze-ful at the goodness of God and the absolute goodness of trials and tests, to be stretched thin, to be vulnerable, to need and to ask. I do not think this experience will be wasted; I have a feeling there will come a time when someone else will need to hear me say, I know how it feels. I've been there, too.