Hey, Jude! The day I met my son.

I was facebooking today and came upon a birth story recently written by a friend of mine. Her story was incredible and told of her three day un-pain-medicated labor and all that she went through to usher her son into the world. It reminded me that I should write down Jude's birth story before I forget, and that I am a total wimp in comparison.

Here's my story.

I do not like being pregnant. There was one day during this last pregnancy, only one day, where I felt really super amazing and thought, "This is actually pretty cool". I had so much energy I felt like I was on drugs. I stayed up all night painting the inside of a playhouse in my backyard, even though there were tons of beetles sneaking up on me and totally getting in the way of my art project. But seriously, it lasted one day. The rest of the time I felt tired, big, and generally annoyed. For me pregnancy is a means to an end, and I mostly wanted it to go by quickly and get on with my life.

Besides feeling blah while taking care of two toddlers, I was carrying baby J veeeery low. Right away he made his nest on my bladder and stayed there the entire time. Many of my maternity clothes didn't fit because the waistline (or, more appropriately, the "girthline" since there was no waist to speak of) couldn't stretch far enough and low enough to accomodate the baby that was doing his best to hang out with my knees. By about 30 weeks my Braxton Hicks contractions were strong and frequent. By 35 weeks I had them nearly every three steps that I took. I wish I were exaggerating. My belly was constantly hard and uncomfortable. By 38 weeks I was in full "barter with God" mode. "Dear Jesus, if you make the baby come today I will dedicate him to the church, full-on Hannah style. I'll even name him Samuel, pleeeeeeease?"  I begged and pleaded with the baby to just come out already. I was so tired, so exhausted, and so uncomfortable that I almost wanted them to say "Oh! We have to induce you. Right now." Sounds silly. It's how I felt.

Thank God for the Olympics on tv 24 hours a day. I needed distraction.

My BH contractions got stronger every day, and since I didn't know what contractions felt like I was always wondering if my labor was starting. With the girls my water broke and I was having a c-section a few hours later. I had maybe three mild contractions. This was all new to me.

Friday August 24th- I wake up in my usual TOTAL GRUMP state. This morning though, I am not having it. I'm not dealing with toddlers, I'm not making everyone food, I'm not cleaning up, I'm not doing anything. Deal with it. Chad took the girls out. I rested. And was grumpy.

I had an OB appointment at 1:00. At this point I am 5 days overdue and ready to kill everyone. I stopped by Whole Foods on the way and noticed that my usual contractions were pretty strong and starting to develop a pattern, about every 10 minutes. I had experienced this probably fifty times before in the past four weeks, so I brushed it off. It was clear that the baby was never coming out and I was going to be enormously pregnant for life. I was coming to terms.

At the appointment my midwife once again pointed out how low the baby was. His head was so low that it was in the way of her getting to my cervix to check it. Like, she had to physically push it out of the way from the inside (NEAT-O). I was only 1-2 cm. Sigh. But my contractions were still pretty regular and she noticed that I broke out into a sweat with each one. She guessed that I would be in labor within 24 hours, and I nodded and smiled to make her feel good even though I knew he was going to stay in there indefinitely. I went home.

Per her suggestion, I took a bath. I was still not entertaining the idea that "today's the day!" but my contractions were so darn regular! I knew they were tricking me. I sat down with Chad and the kiddos and watched Ellen for an hour. Man, I love Ellen. Anyway I called out "write it down" every time I felt one start, and Chad would then obediently check the time and write it down. Throughout the whole show they were five minutes apart. Eh, not that painful, can't be real. I'm going to sit here, watch Ellen, laugh at her wit, and they will stop. See? It's been 5 minutes and...oh. Write it down.

Unfortunately Ellen came to an end and NOTHING comes on tv at 5:00 if you don't have cable. I was not about to count contractions to Judge Judy so we went on a walk.The contractions were still coming but I could walk through them, and gosh darn it if they weren't about every three minutes. By the time I waddled back to the house I was thinking, "Ok, self. It might be time to entertain the idea that you may, possibly, push a baby out tonight. Just give that thought a test-run in your brain and see what happens. No freaking out." And I immediately started freaking out.

I spent the next hour on the toilet. I was timing my contractions and they were two minutes apart. I was noticing that they were getting longer and starting timing that too. They were two minutes apart lasting a full minute each, some longer, for an hour. I came out of the bathroom and went into the kitchen where Chad was attempting to get our girls to eat dinner and said, "So, they're two minutes apart. How much longer should we wait?" How about NO MUCH LONGER YOU IDIOT! Oh self, how in denial you were. We did call my parents and told them to lazily make their way over to our house to watch the girls, no rush. We pulled out the suitcase. And then things got bad.

The next few contractions had me on the floor. I literally was crawling around my room trying to pack stuff into the suitcase while Chad was gathering power cords and batteries and tripods for various electronic devices that were absolutely necessary to bring with us to the hospital. Each contraction was stronger than the last, and eventually I was on my knees by the front door waiting to see my parents car drive up so Chad and I could leave. I was making crazy animal noises. I was crying. I was one enormous hot mess.

Listen, folks. I read all the books. I fully expected to have a long, drawn out labor with candles and massages where I knew what was happening and could center myself and connect with my baby and blah blah blah. It would be 18 hours and I would have relaxing music playing amd it would be awesome and spiritual and calm. Natural childbirth! I can do this! I'm a strong woman!

But this was not awesome. The ride to the hospital was nearly unbearable. I cried a lot. I had three contractions walking from the car to the front door, and we had a good parking spot. Are you LITERALLY going to make me sit in this lobby chair and sign this form right now? I SOUND LIKE A DYING ANIMAL, HELP ME! They finally got the hint and wheeled me to the room. Contraction after contraction was barrelling me over. I was loud. I kept apologizing. I was embarrassed. I was confused. Why is my body not giving me a break? Why won't it stop? Can I just have one full minute to gather myself? I know what you're all thinking. It's because she's in transition! She's 10 centimeters and the baby is crowning! The baby was halfway out and she didn't know it! No, my friends. I was not ready to push. I wasn't even close.

The miwdife checked me. I was three centimeters.

And in that moment, "epidural" went from a no to a YESSSSSSS!!!!! in my brain.

Why, why, why was I having so many very close contractions and was still only 3 cm? I will never know. I had practiced my "please don't offer us pain medication" speech in my head so many times, but now I was saying "YES!" every time she offered me anything. I couldn't imagine doing this for potentially hours to come. How long will it take to go from 3cm to 10cm? I did not want to find out unless I had something to help me. I felt totally and completely out of control, and here my midwife is telling me it could be a while. I agreed to the epidural, no second thoughts.

After forty minutes and twenty contractions, the epidural man came. He was beautiful. He was an angel. I had many, many contractions while he was giving me the epidural. It was absolutely terrible trying to sit still, but 15 minutes later I was in a land of bliss. I smiled, chatted with Chad, and watched Jimmy Kimmel. By this point they had broken my water. In not too long I was feeling a lot of pressure with each contraction. I knew it couldn't possibly be that I was ready to push, (I was 3 cm like an hour ago!) but I told the nurse anyway. She looked at me like I was an idiot and told me that it's just the epidural wearing off and to push my little button for a little extra surge of meds. I did. I still felt like I was going to poop all over everywhere with each contraction, and I told her so. She agreed to get the midwife to check me, and glory of glories I was 10cm! I was expecting the epidural to slow things down but no, when Jude finally decided it was time to come he came hard and fast.

The midwife came in, the lights were dim, and everything was really calm. I was glad to not fight the urge to push and very happy that this all was almost over. Jude's heart rate was more stable when I was on my side, so I pushed from that position. In about 40 minutes (I was an awesome pusher, for real! At least I didn't suck at everything), my little man came into this world. They laid him on my chest and I felt his little wet and warm body for the first time. That moment was the whole reason I fought for this VBAC instead of a repeat cesarean. I will never forget the feeling of his skin under my fingers or his 7lb 8oz weight on my chest. He was calm but very alert. He was perfect. He was mine.

Just like everything else in life, this labor and delivery did not go as planned. I had wanted a homebirth, but no midwives were taking VBAC clients. I had hoped to not be overdue and I was. I thought I was going to be in control of my labor and would have a while to warm up to the idea and to the pain, but in an hour my contractions went from bearable to incredibly intense and one after another. I had wanted it to be drug-free but choosing an epidural was the right thing for me in that moment. I had hoped I wouldn't tear or need stitches and I did. But really, none of that matters anymore. Now, it's just a story. It's the first chapter in Jude's story, and now we're onto chapter two. Chapter two is where the cutest baby in the world has an obsessive mommy who watches him sleep and cries when he smiles at her. Stay tuned for chapter three :)

Milking It

This blog is not intended to be solely about breastfeeding, but that's what is happening in my life right now so that's what I'm going to talk about. If you're not interested in the goings on of my boobs, I would skip to the next blog post.

Guys, you won't believe what I'm doing right now. It's something that I said I would NEVER EVER EVER  do again, no matter what. I swore up and down that it wasn't going to happen, no way no how. But here I sit, in this chair....pumping (the boobs, not iron). For a little background, I started pumping the day after the girls were born. I pumped every single day, many times a day, for eleven months.

Eleven.


Months.



I'm just giving that a minute to sink in.


In the beginning I would feed both of them, then pump for 20 minutes. Do you know how often you feed newborns? Like 10 times a day. So that means I fed each baby ten times a day, and then pumped. Ten times a day. The lactation consultants terrified me about not having enough milk for two babies, and I was NOT going to fail on this one. So I pumped. A few months down the road we figured out that the girls both had a tongue tie and my supply was going down, so eventually I pumped and fed the milk to them in bottles. It was terribly time consuming and often very inconvenient. My few minutes of rest time were spent hooked up to a machine that makes my nipples look like turtle heads poking in and out of their shells. Many, many times a baby cried out for me and I had to unhook myself and run down the hall leaving a milk trail behind me. It was terribly not fun, but it's what I had to do. What I chose to do.

And here I am again. I'm looking at Medela Pump In Style, and I'm realizing that it is no longer my enemy. It never was really, but I loathed it completely. That stupid little black bag that all zipped up looks pretty harmless. A tote bag? What are you toting around? Library books? Your groceries? Some fresh scones? 

Oh, this? No. It's a torture device that sucks the milk out of me.

Medela Pump In Style, you are, more accurately, my frenemy. You help me to feed my baby, how helpful! You help to keep my milk supply up, what a delight! But I wish I didn't have to use you, ever. I wish I wasn't going to see you 5 times a day for the next few months (possibly ten...). You remind me of what I wanted to do, so badly, and couldn't. You remind me that once again, feeding my baby isn't going as planned. But Medela Pump In Style, it's not your fault. You're just here to help. And I appreciate that.  I'm going to make a real effort to not hate you so much.

You see folks, feeding Baby Jude has been a struggle. At first it was awesome, but from allergies to reflux to my overactive letdown which literally drowns the kid in milk, it's been one struggle after another. Jude has, quite frankly, had enough. My lactation consultants and doctors visits have basically confirmed the fact that it's not Jude, it's me. It just comes out too fast and he can't handle it. It hurts his tummy, gives him gas, aggravates his reflux, and makes him upset. There is nothing worse than a baby crying and pushing away from your breast. Absolutely nothing worse. But I know that he isn't rejecting me, he is just rejecting the raging river of milk forcing its way down his throat. He would prefer a bottle please, preferably something a little less...aggressive. And that's okay, because he is my baby and I am going to listen carefully to what he needs, not to what I want.

So Medela Pump In Style, I'm sorry for wanting to throw you off of a building or for saying that I was going to break you apart with a sledgehammer. The truth is, I need you. I needed you two years ago and I need you now.

Truce?

If I Cannot Fly...

Being a parent to young children is an adventure, it is thrilling, it is hard work, it is hilarious it is...so many things. But there is one characteristic of young children that is incredibly intense, and the younger they are the more intense it is: neediness. Babies are one tiny ball of need- they can do absolutely nothing on their own. They need to be fed, changed, bathed, put to sleep, comforted, snuggled, and held for hours on end. Toddlers need some of these things too, but less intensely. They also need emotional support, guidance, boundaries, encouragement, and play. Besides all of this are their basic needs: a suitable home, healthy food to eat, and someone to keep them from killing themselves. So, who does all of this for these needy little creatures?

Me.

To be fair, my husband is incredibly helpful and I am blessed beyond measure at how much he does. But for much of the day I am the one providing for my needy ones. There is not a moment in the day that does not have a need to be fulfilled by me. I am, very truthfully, constantly needed. Maybe when they're all asleep it is the laundry that needs me, the floors, the dishes. But I am always in demand.

To be so intensely needed is at times incredibly rewarding. I know what my children need, meet their need before they ask for it, and keep the day going smoothly. I am in control, one step ahead, and creating a happy home for these three people that I love so much.

But sometimes, it is a cage.

I can almost see the bars on the windows keeping me close. They all need me, and I can't leave. I maybe can escape for an hour or two here and there, but especially as a breastfeeding mama I know that I need to be available and physically present. Sometimes, when I realize the extent to which I am indispensable, I feel a heavy weight on my chest instead of feeling valuable. Sure, if I really wanted to arrange some time to get away, I could...but truthfully, for now, I am a bird in a cage.

In the show Sweeney Todd, the character Joanna sings an iconic song to her birds, asking them how they can sing in their cages because she, too, feels like she is living her life in a cage.

 

Green finch and linnet bird,
Nightingale, blackbird,
How is it you sing?
How can you jubilate,
Sitting in cages,
Never taking wing.

Outside the sky waits,
Beckoning, beckoning,
Just beyond the bars.
How can you remain,
Staring at the rain,
Maddened by the stars?
How is it you sing
Anything?





In Joanna's case, someone else was keeping her closed up and away from the world. In my case, my choices to have children, stay home with them, and to be always present are keeping me at home. Having a baby can inspire a deep feeling of wanderlust, and I think it's because our human instinct is to flee from restriction. Babies keep us at home, and they can tie our tethers tightly. So for me, the challenge is to look at my cage not as a place of restriction, but as a necessary and precious space. A place that my husband and I have created that is full of love, little voices, laughter, and imagination. It is without a doubt the perfect place for my children to dream, it just maybe feels a little small for all of mine.

Even though Joanna's birds are caged, they sing. Even though my dreams are on hold, and the need for me at home is so great, I can sing. Because really, I have so much to sing about.

Green finch and linnet bird,
Nightingale, blackbird,
Teach me how to sing.
If I cannot fly,
Let me sing.

What I did for love....

Bread. Just typing the word is making me cry.

Please dear Lord, grant that my child will not remain sensitive to wheat. Because if I ever walk by a bakery and smell a whiff of rising, yeasted glory then I will burst through the window (the door is nowhere near dramatic enough) and push my face into whatever bread is around and I. WILL. EAT IT.

Food sensitives in newborns are apparently "uncommon", but lucky me, my kids have them. My girls were highly sensitive to dairy so for eleven long months while I was breastfeeding and pumping I avoided anything with even a hint of butter, whey, casein, and obvious cow's milk products. It was tough but I had been a vegan for nearly two years, so going dairy-free was nothing new. This time around, however, I have been on a journey to figure out why my little guy was gassy, reflux-y, and green poop...y. First I eliminated dairy and saw improvement, but I knew there was more. After doing some research online (do new parents do anything else besides take care of babies and look crap up on the internet?), I realized that I needed to do a type of elimination diet to figure out the real problems here. So, as recommended by the ever-awesome Dr. Sears, for a few days I ate only turkey, rice, potatoes, and squash. ONLY that. Seasoned with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Water to drink. Done.

By day two I was dying.

No coffee? Not even tea? You're talking to a mama of two toddlers and a newborn. Sleep is a luxury, a rare occurence, a sweet and precious gift from Jesus that only comes every once in a while. Mama needs caffeine and she needs it to pass her lips roughly thirty seconds after awakening.

Coffee reentered my life on day three.

Thank you Jesus it did not seem to affect J's reflux. I had one of my vices back and it felt so good. I did one week on the diet and then since his poop was normal, I decided to try and reintroduce foods and see what happens. I thought to myself, "I bet he's really only allergic to dairy and it's just not out of my system yet. I'll be able to eat everything else." I probably said that to myself as I was eating an enormous bowl of popcorn for dinner while watching The Voice. And definitely that next morning my baby had mucousy green poop with blood in it...
Hold the phone. CORN? He can't tolerate corn?? Does this include corn tortillas, corn syrup, cornstarch, and my beloved near-nightly bowl of popcorn? How will I live without eating a whole bowl of corn chips when I go to a Mexican restaurant? Corn is in everything!! But alas, the corn I ate was wreaking havoc on his sensitive little intestines and thus, I am now corn-free.

That HAS to be all. Dairy and corn, done. I can handle this.

And then I had a delicious soy latte one afternoon. The brisk fall air coupled with the warm drink in my hands while I listened to my children scream and complain about everything made me feel like Life Was Great. Sure I have really tough days with my three monsters but hey, I can get a pumpkin soy latte from down the street and caffeinate my troubles away. And exactly 24 hours later the green poo monster returned, and my poor baby felt the negative affects from my soy latte. SOY?? No way. Soy, like corn, is in everything. How can I do this? I can't eat anything!! Sigh....Another one bites the dust.

And so the next of my tests is wheat. There is a history of wheat and gluten sensitivities in my family, and I fear the worst. I did a mini-test the other day which was basically me eating my children's leftover toast out of sheer starvation, and there was a bad poop reaction but I'm not 100% sure it was from the wheat. In a few days I'm going to THROW IT DOWN with bread of all types and see if my carbo-loading has an affect on Baby J's system. If it does, you're looking at a dairy-soy-corn-wheat-free mama who adores her baby so much that she's willing to eat pretty much fruits and vegetables until he is weaned. Breastfeeding is so special to me this time around (with the girls it was one problem after another) and there is a 0% chance that I'm going to stop and switch him to formula because of his food sensitivities. Plus, formula is pretty much made of dairy, corn, and soy. The only kind of formula he would likely be able to tolerate is a hypoallergenic type that I've heard costs, wait for it, $200 PER. CAN. I did not type that wrong. Boobies it is.

We all have made crazy sacrifices for our kids, whether it be with food, sleep, money, but in the end we never regret it...what have you done for love?

Welcome to the New Blog

Welcome friends (i.e. myself and no one). I've thought so many times about starting a blog to tell funny stories, air my dirty laundry, and express the joys and frustrations of being a parent to young children. It can be isolating to be at home all day with three littles, so I wanted to reach out to people like me and remind us all that while this life can be so incredibly difficult, isn't it great?? Even if it's hard to remember sometimes, it is.

Allow me to introduce myself. I have three kids under three years old. I know, right? What in the crap was I thinking? Well, the first two were a surprise and came barrelling into this world together, and they have changed my life more than I ever knew children could. They are identical twins Evangeline (henceforth known as E) and Hazel (henceforth known as H, you get it) who are currently two years old. And "cute", they would have you know.

The third addition was totally planned, my sweet little two month old named Jude. I have always been one to choose the more painful but also quicker approach, as opposed to a long and drawn out but less intense option...hence my decision to have my children close together in age and just get it done already. Though painful it sometimes is, I know that I will be happy to have them all close in age...eventually. For now it is CRAZYPANTS. And I love it.

As a young mom I find that I have a lot of friends who are still unmarried and childless, doing things that seem incredibly glamorous and fun. Like showering. Wearing skinny jeans. And not driving minivans (just kidding I feel bad for them that they aren't driving minivans, because minivans are awesome). It's hard to relate to someone who can go shopping by themselves for HOURS at a time and not have to stick their boob in someone's mouth. Parenting is such a unique and, let's face it, insane thing that some of us are doing that it can separate us almost totally from everything else. It also completely changes our mindset about life in general. For example, I attempted to suck snot out of my baby's nose yesterday WITH MY MOUTH. I hardly thought twice about it. No bulb syringe? No problem. Lung power to the rescue! I can imagine the look on my childless friends faces if I told them this. Actually, I think my friends with children may feel strongly about this one, too...

My point is, being a parent is a gamechanger and the more we can laugh about all of the crazy stuff that we do to make our kids happy (and the stuff that they do to make us crazy) the more we can try to not sweat the small stuff and enjoy the journey.