The Tranmer Family Scrapbook » snapshots of our daily life, in words and photos

12-10-2012

Joe’s Typical Day at 6 Weeks

 Little man, I love you so. If I say nothing else, I wanted to get that down. It’s hard to find time to do all this digital scrapbooking, but I know how quickly memories fade – even the best ones – and so I want to do for you what I’ve done for your sister, to keep a record of your life. A record to help me remember when you’re all grown up and don’t depend on me the way you do now. A record for you to read and discover some details of the part of your life you won’t remember otherwise. I hope you get to know me a little bit by reading it someday, to know how I felt about you. I hope it gives you a sense of your history, and gifts you with a sense of security knowing that you are wanted and so loved. It’s funny. I already want to moderate my tone a little differently, knowing that I’m writing to a boy now. Some things I talk about will inevitably be TMI. You are going to think your Momma is one big sappy ball of cheese. But you’ll love me anyway I hope.

So, you are 6 weeks old. It has flown by. I just finished writing the story of your birth and NICU experience. It seems at the same time so long ago and just the other day. You are growing up and changing every day. That sleepy, docile little newborn is transforming into a vivacious, alert little boy with his own personality. Six weeks is such an exciting time developmentally. And you didn’t make me wait for those sweet social smiles. I think you were smiling by about 4.5 weeks. But I wasn’t absolutely positive those smiles were for me until yesterday, the day before your 6 week birthday. The past couple of days you have been throwing them at me by the handfuls. Oh goodness. Seriously one of the absolute best milestones. It’s when you transform from a mysterious little newborn into bona fide little person. It’s when I know for sure *you* are in there. And it’s one of the best moments of raising children I’ve had yet.

Your sister smiled right at 6 weeks too, just like she was supposed to. Let me apologize right now in advance for all the inevitable comparison between you and Adela and my experiences with the two of you. I won’t be able to help it. And neither can everybody else. So many people keep telling us how much you look just like your sister. I think you definitely look similar. You decide. 🙂

The other major milestone you reached? Rolling from front to back right at 4 weeks, same as sister. You and her both have been super sturdy babies. Neither one of you was ever especially floppy. You’ve been able to hold your head up for a few seconds since your first week. Now, you can hold it up pretty much indefinitely if you want to. You can also support your entire weight on your legs for up to about 5 seconds and have been able to for a couple of weeks now. If your baby muscles are any indication of your grown up physique, I’d guess you’re going to end up being one buff guy.

Your personality is still in the process of revelation, but I still think you are much more mellow than Adela ever was. You love being held, and you will cry for it. You like to be held upright, either with your arms over my shoulder or in a little ball on my chest with your head under my chin. So sweet, so cuddly. You are almost always extremely easy to pacify. My arms are enough to do it most times. And you don’t really care for a binky. You demand the real thing most times, unless you’re really desperate. And I have to convince you to take it from me. Mostly you refuse it when it’s me trying to put it in your mouth. Of course, I’m fine with that. I don’t want you to have a binky. But it’s nice for the other people who love you to have a backup when I’m not around to provide a suckling alternative. Adela was a binky junky. You don’t ever sleep with it. You fall asleep without it and never cry for it at night. That is GREAT. I hope it stays that way. We spent a lot of energy replacing binkies in Adela’s mouth in the middle of the night. Of course all this means that I have less use of my arms a lot of the time, being as they are taken up with holding you. But that’s okay. I know this won’t last forever and I’ll miss it when you don’t need me as much anymore. And it’s wonderful to usually KNOW what it is you want when you’re fussing. So far you aren’t nearly as confusing as your sister was. Some of that probably has to do with us being wiser second-time parents. A lot of it, I think, is just your personality. If you’re belly is full, your diaper is changed and you’re being held, you’re usually content.

And if you’re not, it’s gassiness. You had the hiccups multiple times a day in the womb. You get them after every feeding now. For some reason, you tend to swallow a lot of air. You burp a lot. You fart a lot. You spit up a lot. You are such a little boy. I love it. But it is terrible to see you with those gas pains in your belly. I have to be religious about burping you. Once you get them out, you go back to being your sweet, mellow little self.

You just started truly finding your voice in the past couple days. You’ve been cooing and “talking” to me with happy sounds. And your voice is so boyish! Deeper than I would have imagined. The one exception is when you’re eating and I switch you from one side to the other before you’re done. You tend to exhibit a not-so-manly moment of panic and squeaky whine that could break glass.

As for your looks, you are one  handsome dude. Photos don’t do justice. I’m remembering how difficult this age is to photograph. I’ll keep trying. Your eyes are dark blue, but I’m positive they’ll turn hazel by your first birthday, just like Adela’s. We’ll see I guess. Your hair is a kind of medium brown, like mine. But your eyelashes are really light. Again, we’ll see.

Your sister is an amazing. She loves you so much. I can’t wait to watch the two of you become friends. Here’s a few in the order they were taken. You were just a few days old in the first one, almost 6 weeks in the third one.

You’re sitting upright sleeping on the boppy on my lap as I write this. It’s amazing the things one can do while holding a baby, with a little patience and practice.

I love you, Baby ‘Siah. You are the son I always hoped I’d have and you are even better than I imagined.

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12-09-2012

Joe’s 3 Week Headshots

I’m going to try to do this periodically, a series of simple headshots as you grow, a quick reference for how your sweet face is changing. I also showcase this as my evidence that you were smiling at 3 weeks old. 🙂

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12-07-2012

The Birth of Josiah – Part 2 (the NICU)

Before I delve into trying to remember the blur that is our NICU experience, one thing I forgot to mention in Part 1 was how great I felt. Physically, after delivery, I mean. I didn’t find my second labor and delivery to be any easier than the first (maybe veeeery slightly in some ways), but man oh man, the recovery? SO MUCH easier. From immediately after, to the first couple days after, to the first few weeks after. Way, way easier. I was miserable for weeks after delivering Adela. I sat on her boppy for meals. I couldn’t sit down normally on a chair. I was so, so bruised and swollen and in pain for weeks. Everything took so long to heal. This time, I was pretty sore for about 2 days. Kind of sore for another 5. After that, I was home free. This was a good thing considering all the walking I ended up doing the week Josiah was born.

So let me back up. I ended the story with us being told that Josiah had elevated CRP levels and that he needed to be admitted to the NICU. At that point, that was all we knew. Our nurse warned us that 7-10 days was standard in terms of our potential stay. I was SHOCKED. Seriously, shocked. Even the thought of a day or two more in the hospital was hard to swallow. When I heard that phrase “7-10 days,” my jaw literally dropped, as did my heart, to the floor. Thud. I cried so much. I was exhausted for one, having not slept more than a handful of hours in what was now 3 days. I was shocked. I was confused. I was so disappointed. I was scared.

They wanted to move him immediately. It happened really fast. There was a very serious sense of urgency. Nobody wanted to be responsible for not getting this “sick” baby to the NICU before something terrible happened. The nurse literally stood there with a wheelchair for me waiting while I tried to pull myself together enough to figure out what I needed to bring with me given that the NICU is right by L&D on the exact opposite side of the hospital, literally a mile of walking away. I grabbed the Starbucks paper bag left over from my muffin the day before and threw in my chapstick, my phone, a pair of socks, some gum. That was mostly it. My brain wasn’t working. I hadn’t even showered.

So when we arrived, nobody knew who we were or what was wrong with our baby. They took us to the back row, with all the critical cases. I noticed a lot of incubators. That I didn’t notice more was probably a blessing given my mental state at that point. I was all wrapped up in our own baby’s well-being. The pediatrician met with us right away, but had no idea who we were or what was wrong. Somebody, one of the nurses, said something about a heart murmur. Craig and I looked at each other cross-eyed and waited while all the medical staff talked about Josiah’s hypothetical heart murmur. Then, both of us piped up at the same time that we hadn’t heard anything about a murmur. It took a few minutes, but something actually listened to his heart at some point and determined that he in fact did NOT have one. Another thing that was NOT wrong with him. Great news of course. But still, we were wondering why we were there. Then he pediatrician looked at the x-ray films and pointed out his heart and lungs and said that everything looked great, normal and healthy.  Then he asked about blood cultures. They hadn’t drawn any blood for those, so that was the first thing they did, result to be checked at 3, 5 and 7 days. After that he talked with us a little bit about the elevated CRPs. He didn’t give us much more information than we already had. He told us that they would draw blood over the course of the week (again confirming a mandatory 7-10 day stay) and watch to see if those CRP levels went down (indicating improvement) or up (indicating infection.) And then he said something that really set loose the waterworks on my end. Josiah’s CRPs were a 3.6 if I remember correctly. The doctor told us if they got above 4, they would do a spinal tap so they could run more tests. That was the closest to a freak out I had our whole hospital stay. I didn’t say anything. I just cried and cried. The thought of them putting a needle in my newborn’s spine was more than I could handle at that point. But I did stay relatively quiet, and everyone seemed to give me a pretty wide berth. In fact, I remember the pediatrician looking at me and matter of factly, but also kindly, saying “now is the time for tears.” It was kind of a weird thing to say, but I knew what he meant. He was validating my feelings and I appreciated it.

And then, Josiah’s first NICU nurse put his IV in. She looked at me and asked me pointedly if I was sure I wanted “to stay for this.” I must have looked a wreck. An IV was the least of my worries, however. Of course I hated seeing him stuck over and over again. But honestly, he never cried when they did it. He maybe whined a little once. It doesn’t seem to bother the babies much, and I don’t have a big fear of needles. So of course, I told her that I did want to stay. It was still unpleasant to watch that first IV searching for his microscopic veins. I learned later on that the kindest nurses use a special light to help visualize the veins so they don’t have to go rooting around for one. This first nurse did it by eye and feel, and although I’m sure she’s a good nurse, she bruised the entire top of Josiah’s hand blowing out whatever veins she found. Luckily, Josiah only had to have his IV replaced one time after that. So at least she got a good vein in the process. A lot of the other babies around seemed like they needed replacement IVs much more frequently. Also, later on in the week I asked one of my favorite nurses from our stay there (her name was Donna) why they always ask the parents if they want to stick around before they draw blood and replace IVs. She told me that she’s been body-blocked, that she’s had her hands grabbed and ripped away, that she’s been screamed at and threatened when attempting to place IVs and draw blood. Crazy. You don’t get between a Momma bear and her cub.

Once they determined what we already knew, that Josiah’s heart and lungs were fine, they immediately moved us to the front row – the non-critical cases. We got the end of the row in the far corner in a long line of other parents and babies. It was nice to have a corner. It was the most privacy (of which there was none) one could hope for given the way things are set up in there. But the light sucked. Big time. a few dimmed fluorescent lights. An incandescent desk light here and there. No windows, no natural light. It made taking photos really difficult. A small thing perhaps, but still, I’m a photographer so it mattered to me. No beds for parents. No sleeping of any kind allowed. They actually woke Craig up and scolded him that first day when he dozed off once. (He can sleep ANYwhere. Me not so much.) Breast-feeding is done behind movable screens. I think it must be a liability thing (in case you end up being photographed by other parents with your good bits showing, or just because there’s video surveillance) but they are crazy strict about those screens going up. They didn’t scold me for not putting them up, but whenever it was feeding time there was always a frenzy to put them in place, covering every possible angle. I found it amusing because I’m not especially shy about that. It’s a completely asexual thing in my mind. I guess it was nice to be taken care of though.

Sometime after they moved us, I left Craig with Josiah so that I could go back to the recovery room and pack my things. They were discharging me so we had to get our stuff out. So I did that and talked to the postpartum nurse about the Hanson House. She was kind enough to call for us while we were getting settled in the NICU and they had reserved us a room, the LAST available room. What a huge, huge blessing that room turned out to be! I’m so, so thankful that it was available, that it worked out the way it did. We were able to stay on the hospital campus in a beautiful room a short, five minute, walk to the NICU for the entire duration of Josiah’s stay. So I got the paperwork we needed for that, took a shower, packed our things, called my Mom and mother-in-law with updates, and waited for Dr. Sehwani to visit me and give the final discharge orders. She was so sympathetic when she arrived. Of course, I cried a lot more telling her what had happened. It was nice to have another sympathetic ear listen to my frustration. She promised me that it was all going to be alright.

Then, I headed back to the NICU to swap with Craig. It took a while for us to be assigned to a new nurse, and for a little while I felt like I didn’t really know what was going on. I felt lost. I didn’t know who to ask things for, who would answer my questions. And we were beyond exhausted. I had been up for literally 3 days with maybe 3 or 4 hours of interrupted sleep total. I felt delirious. Everybody was really nice, but things didn’t start falling together until the night shift came on. The NICU closes twice a day for an hour and a half during shift changes, 6:30 to 8:00. When I came back in at 8pm, Josiah’s new nurse, Riama, initiated me into the role of NICU mother. I didn’t know that’s what she was doing. She did it gently, but she did it well. And by the time midnight rolled around, she had educated me about the newborn schedule they like to keep (feeding every 3 hours, 30 minutes max per feeding, then as much sleep in between as possible) and convinced that I need to go get some sleep, eat something, rest, that Josiah was going to be well-tended. I don’t know if I would have left that first night had it been a different nurse. She was just what we needed at that point. So I made sure they had plenty of pumped milk so that I could skip a feeding and get some sleep. Those 6 hours of slumber are probably the most refreshing I’ve ever had. I was a NEW WOMAN when I woke up the next morning to visit my baby before the NICU closed again at 6:30am. I must have looked truly terrible when I left the night before because when Riama saw me walk in, her eyebrows went up and she told me how great I looked (I’m sure I didn’t actually look great, just in comparison to the train wreck I was when I’d left several hours previous.)

After that, we fell into the routine. I was there for at least an hour, every three hours, for feedings. I’d arrive, take his temperature, change his diaper, breastfeed him and then swaddle him up and put him back to bed after some cuddles. A lot of the time I would stay through until the next round. Those first couple of days Craig usually came with me. When he didn’t, sometimes I’d leave to meet up with him for a meal or head back to the room to shower or take care of other things. I walked back and forth from the Hanson House to the NICU many, many times every day. The weather was gorgeous. I’m glad this didn’t happen in the middle of Palm Springs 125 degree summers. Small mercies. We ate at the cafeteria a lot. Over the course of the week we found several great new restaurants for dinner nearby. My parents visited. Adela wasn’t allowed in.

Adela joined us on Sunday night, after spending 3 nights with my parents. It was good to have her back even though she, of course, wasn’t allowed into the NICU. Having her also meant that Craig and I could never go into the NICU together since one of us needed to stay on the outside with her. Craig did an awesome job keeping her entertained since, being the food source, I had to spend a considerable amount more time in the NICU than he did. The grounds are really beautiful, and she had a good time exploring, picking flowers (despite our efforts to stop her), and carting Cinderella around with her everywhere she went. One time when I was hanging out with her on the lawn on the back side of our room the sprinklers came on, shocking and soaking her, and I just so happened to be video-taping the whole thing. Total America’s Funniest Videos moment. 🙂 I can’t believe I got it on video.

The whole experience was an awesome bonding time for our whole family, even though Josiah and Adela didn’t get to spend any time with each other. We did our best to keep them connected, talking to Adela about him, preparing her, helping her be patient until the day she’d get to hold him again. She swaddled everybody during those days of waiting – Cinderella, Mickey, Baby Lady, “napkin baby,” hehe. For some reason every extra clean napkin she could find became a “baby” after she rolled it up and she’d take care of those babies  just like the rest of her stuffed ones. Craig and I both showed Adela pictures and videos of Josiah we’d taken on our phones. And one day I sent Craig and Adela to Michaels, on a mission to pick out stickers and supplies to make Josiah a name sign for his NICU bed. I cut out the letters. She glued them, colored the paper, and stuck all the stickers.

My parents were a great support during the whole process as well. My mom did our laundry and carted things back and forth up the hill. They watched Adela for the first 4 days (my Dad and Tia Carmen took care of her when my Mom was helping me). I don’t know how people go through something like this when they don’t have extended family around. I felt really blessed to have all the bases covered by the people who love us.

I’m not even going to try and do a day by day breakdown of what happened in the NICU. It was a long 7 days, but it was a sweet 7 days. It was waiting. It was bonding. It was sweet. It was heartbreaking. It was a learning process. It was an experience. And I’m grateful for it on some level. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t disappointed, upset still even, that we had to go through it. Many good things came of it – our family drawing closer together, feeling the love and support of all the people praying for us, so much one-on-one bonding time between me and my son, time that would have been much more divided had that first week taken place in our home. It was special, a time for just me and him to fall in love, with no responsibilities but feeding him and loving him. That part was a blessing.

The nurses were mostly awesome, and always proficient and nice. I mentioned two of my favorites. Riama was just really nice easy to talk to. I always felt comfortable leaving  Josiah with her, which was awesome because she mostly worked the night shift. Donna was so, so knowledgeable about EVERYthing. She had an answer, detailed and informative, about anything I asked. She was also very kind. Lisa was the lactation specialist, and although I had no problems in that department, I really appreciated her extra efforts to help heal Josiah’s poor little bottom that was so raw from the antibiotics. She actually made a sort of blast shield (hehe) that allowed us to keep him on his tummy with his bum bare and in the air, trying to keep it clean and dry and hopefully get it on the mend. Another nurse, Amber, also took special care with Josiah’s bottom, giving him an extra bath and rinsing him with water rather than wiping with wipes when she changed his diaper. There were many more nurses, but those were the ones that stood out to me. I left the experience wanting to go back to school and become a NICU nurse. Seriously. I just might at some point.

As for Josiah’s CRP levels, they went down every time they tested him. But they didn’t get back to a “normal” level until I think, day 4 or 5. The blood cultures came back negative at 3 and 5 days, which pretty much put him in the clear. We had a real issue at this point with continuing to give him the IV antibiotics for another 2-5 days. We wanted to go home and we didn’t want Josiah getting any more medicine than was absolutely necessary. Craig and I seriously discussed leaving with our son against the doctor’s recommendation. At this point we were convinced that we didn’t and maybe never had needed to be in the NICU in the first place. We had several conversations, with the pediatricians, and with a couple of nurses as well. Donna finally explained it to me in a way that made sense. The blood cultures only checked for infection in his blood. There was still an indication of possible infection (because of those elevated CRPs) that could be hiding out somewhere else, his nervous system for example. And as we’ve all been trained, you never stop your course of antibiotics when you start to feel better or you risk recurrence of the infection. So, we toughed it out and followed Doctor’s orders, just in case that improbable worst case scenario was trying to break the surface of our reality.

All week long they had been talking about a possible release on Sunday (which would have left us in the NICU Sunday to Sunday.) Craig had a really long and patient discussion with the Pediatrician about how that was NOT seven days, but in fact eight days. My husband, the diplomat. I’m so proud of him for handling it so nicely, but firmly. He wanted to get us that extra day at home so, so badly. The next time I saw the Pediatrician on my own, he smiled at me, introduced himself and quipped, “I’m the one with the twisted arm,” alluding to Craig’s conversation with him, convincing him to okay a Saturday, rather than a Sunday release. It worked. We got to go home on Saturday morning after Josiah’s last dose of antibiotics. Another note about the nurses, they were really on top of making sure we were ready to go home. I so appreciated that! I was worried that we’d be cleared to go and then there would be some formality we’d forgotten that would hold us back. But without our prompting, they made sure we had all our papers in order, that Josiah’s mandatory testing was done – another hearing test, which he passed and the breathing test in the car seat to make sure he didn’t have any apnea. And Craig and I made sure we took the baby CPR training that was required of us before we could leave with our “NICU baby.” So, when Saturday morning rolled around, the release was almost immediate. I’d been prepared for a day of waiting around. I think we made some “friends” in there. I felt liked and as though they genuinely cared about getting us out of there as soon as possible.

No parent was in the NICU more than I was. There were a couple other sweet parents (one a young couple of twins that were there almost as much as I was and a couple of other moms.) But I could tell I gained the respect of the nursing staff being there as much as possible, never missing a feeding (aside for one or two at night to sleep for a few hours) and pumping enough extra milk to feed half the nursery. A couple of them joked with me that they wished I could educate the other moms about how to successfully breastfeed, about the commitment it takes (pumping after EVERY feeding, bleck) to increase milk supply the way you need to when you’re in the NICU. There were many great parents and a few other breastfeeding moms, but I was surprised how many of them didn’t even try (they just answered “no” when the nurses asked if they planned on breastfeeding, or tried for a day or maybe two and then gave in to letting the nurses give formula because it was too hard or they weren’t producing.) I wish I could have encouraged more moms. So many people think that they’re the exception, just for lack of education of how it all works, or a little bit of encouragement. I did get to have a long conversation with one girl who sought out my advice in the pumping room. Hopefully it worked out for her. She was really despondent about the whole thing.

I guess the other thing I haven’t talked much about, before I wrap things up, is the star of the show himself, Mr. Joe. I am in love with this kid, I tell ya. I really didn’t know what to expect having a boy, or a second kid in general. It never becomes really real until it becomes reality. Of course I was excited to meet him and I knew the feelings would come, but it is crazy how intensely they hit you once you actually see your baby and get to hold him. Those first few days were incredibly powerful. I would actually get butterflies when I was about to see him. Ah! Babies are so great. My mom has told me many time that when she had Kristy she worried that she wouldn’t be able to love a second child as much as she loved me, then out came Kristy and her heart grew to accommodate another just as powerful love for her second born. And that’s what happens. Love doesn’t split or divide up between them. Your heart grows and increases in capacity to love another one just as much. It’s awesome. He is so, so sweet. That first week especially he was incredibly mellow. He would squawk a little when he was hungry, but that was about it. In general, he was really content, peaceful, sweet. And his eyebrows would go up whenever he saw me. He figured out right away who his Momma, or at least who is food source, was. And he loved me most right away.

Bringing him home and letting Adela hold him again, after a week of waiting, was a blessed experience. The day we came home is a day for the books. It was a great, great day made so much sweeter because we had to wait for it.

Every day I am thankful. I am stressed. I am tired. I’m living in a bit more chaos than I care for, and it does get to me every now and then. But I knew this time around that control goes out the window with the arrival of a newborn, and I’ve embraced it much more this time. I’m still in my PJs today, and I’m not ashamed to admit that’s how it’s been most days these past several weeks. Life will get back to normal, but I’m not in any hurry. It’s already going by too quickly.  And I’m so grateful that even though the experience didn’t play out the way I would have chosen, ultimately we got to come home with a healthy baby. And he is perfection. A whole lot of high-maintenance, sleep-depriving, adorable perfection. I can’t wait to love him for the rest of my life.

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11-28-2012

The Birth of Josiah John

As I sit down to write this post, almost 6 weeks have passed since the events I’m about to try and catalog took place. Too long! I feel it all starting to slip away from me which is a good reason to make time to do it right now!

I guess I’ll start with the week before. I had my weekly doctor appointment I think on the 30th or the 28th. I can’t remember. What I do remember is that when she checked me, I was a “tight 3cm” and about 70% effaced. I wasn’t surprised to be showing some progress since I’d been having contractions on and off for about 2 weeks. There were even a couple of times I thought maybe things might progress early, but then I’d go back to feeling nothing.  Having the pain of those first few centimeters spread out over a couple of weeks instead of hours, like they were with Adela, was a pleasant change. Getting to 4 centimeters (where I was when I arrived at the hospital before delivering Adela) was really tough. But then they say that the second baby is easier. In some ways it was true for me (but I didn’t find it to be entirely true.) Those first few centimeters were anyway. More thoughts on that later…

They scheduled me for an induction at that appointment as well. I cried about it when I got home. I agreed to put it on the books to avoid a long discussion with the nurse practitioner. I’m aware of the dangers of inductions when you’re body is not ready as well as the dangers of NOT inducing when baby might be in danger because he’s been baking too long.

Let me digress here for a minute and speak to natural childbirth. The practice I go to is supportive, although not enthusiastic, about natural childbirth. Like most healthcare professionals I’ve come in contact with during my 2 pregnancies (I’ve been pregnant 3 times, but never made it to the first doctor’s appointment with my second), they are guarded. Suspicious? I’m not sure what the right word is. They’re always ready for a fight. Defensive. Yeah, that’s a good word too. And always a little dubious. It makes me wonder what the typical “natural birth” mom is like. I’ve heard horror stories from my Mom (who worked in L&D for over 20 years.) She uses the word “militant.” My mom tells stories of women whose babies were in distress and still completely unwilling to consider any interventions, and women who would come in after laboring at home with a midwife for 3 days, with spiked fevers, babies in distress, infection.  (She also has lots of stories of doctors who would push Pitocin at ungodly levels on every patient, even when they weren’t ready and there was no need for it, just to be able to go home on time. Anyway…) Not to say that all at home births are bad, or that all natural birth moms are crazy. (Or that all doctors abuse Pitocin for their own personal benefit.) Of course not. And we considered it. Delivery at home, I mean. We just decided, for us, whatever small risk there is delivering at home outweighs the inconvenience of going to the hospital. Just in Case. Anyway, I consider myself somewhere in the middle of the natural birth debate, i.e. NOT militant. I believe in interventions when they’re necessary and that modern medicine is generally a good thing to have at one’s disposal. So it’s always a little funny to try and gauge the reactions of the healthcare professionals I come in contact with who are ready to do battle with me over “what is best for the baby.” There is always a process of convincing them that, duh, that’s what *I* want too! It’s not about control, or proving something (maybe a little, if I’m completely honest), but the main goal is and always has been the health of the baby, doing what’s best for him. And I’ve educated myself as much as I could so that I can make sound decisions to that end. I have always known and accepted that ultimately I am NOT in absolute control of what happens. So many things can happen during the course of labor and delivery that are beyond our control. I’ve always known what I wanted, prayed for it, prepared for it (classes, books, exercises, general health, knowledge, support system, etc.), and known that I had to go into it with a willingness to be flexible if need be. And once the nurses and doctors know that there is a flexibility, I’ve generally found them to soften up. More on all this later…

So back to my appointment. The practice I go to will only let you go 1 week past your due date before induction. They’re willing to do a non-stress test and push it one or two days past that if all looks fine. But that’s it. So, they got me on the books, even though I hadn’t reached my due date, just in case. I figured it was unlikely that I would go much past my due date, given all the contractions I’d been having, the dilation, and the fact that I delivered so close to my due date last time. But it was still scary. I know natural birth moms who have delivered on Pitocin. (For the record, you can receive pitocin and still have a natural child birth. Pitocin is just oxytocin, the same thing your body produces during labor. What pitocin does is intensify contractions, and most of the time, although not always, speed labor.) Those women are hardcore. Contractions are excruciating enough without them being turned up synthetically. I’ve always figured that there was a much greater chance I’d accept the pain management drugs if I had to be induced because of those Pitocin-intensified contractions. I didn’t want to find out if I could handle a level of pain that our bodies are not designed to handle.

At any rate, we didn’t have to find out. My due date came and nothing happened. A few people were disappointed that it looked like our little man was not to arrive on Daddy’s birthday. All that week, after they scheduled me for the induction, I did what I could to naturally induce myself. I did pelvic rocks and squats trying to let him drop and position himself.

Another digression… my mom – who knows everything 😉 – also says that walking does NOT induce labor. Save your energy! Walking only helps progress labor when it’s already begun. But walking and wearing yourself out during false labor only tires you out for the real thing. I’ve taken her advice both times and relaxed while having contractions early on. False labor never turns into real labor. If you lay still, drink cold water, rest, and the contractions go away, it’s false labor. Real labor doesn’t go away no matter what you do. Just sharing her wisdom because I think it’s worth sharing. So grateful for her incredible knowledge base, experience, and support.

Then, we did the other thing people recommend to get things going. Yeah, that worked. October 17th (due date), I went to bed but never fell asleep. I started having contractions right away. By about midnight, I thought maybe it was really going to happen. I laid still and tried to relax. About 2am, I was sure this was it. I got up, took a shower, got all my stuff together and labored some more on the couch watching Netflix while my family slept. By 4am, I got Craig up and told him to shower. We called my mom about 6am to come and get Adela. Craig and I woke her up and I labored in her bed for a few minutes while I said goodbye and explained to her that baby brother was on his way. During this period, 2am-6am, my contractions were strong enough that I had to stop moving and talking through them, but in between I was able to function pretty much normally.

After Adela left with Mimi, I loaded the car. Yes, I did. Craig was still getting ready. My silly husband takes forever to get ready. Then, he decided to install both car seats in the back of the car. I don’t know why. I remember telling him that it wasn’t necessary. But he just had to get it done. One of the car seats was as stubborn as he was. It took 15 minutes. I sat in the car and waited for him. Not going to lie, I was irritated. But we got past it. Now, it’s funny. He was just so excited about the whole thing. It was seriously like something out of a movie, the frazzled Dad on the verge of mania while his laboring wife calming waits for him to pull it together. And he did. His mania only lasted those first couple hours. Then he showed up in a big way when he needed to, of course.

We got on the road sometime after 7am. I remember feeling really calm. Again, I wasn’t afraid at all. And I would have stayed home longer to labor if not for the being GBS positive. For those who don’t know (I didn’t until being pregnant), every woman is now tested for the Group B Strep bacteria late in her pregnancy. It’s something that is a natural part of our flora and it doesn’t harm adults at all. You can test positive in one pregnancy and not in another (I was negative with Adela.) It’s NOT a hygiene thing or an “infection.” It’s perfectly normal and 25% of all women have it during their maternity. But if it’s transmitted to baby during delivery, it can cause major problems like sepsis and even death. It used to be a big deal when they didn’t test for it. Now, with testing, transmission is completely preventable when the mother gets antibiotics during delivery. So, I had to make sure I got there in plenty of time to receive 2 doses 4 hours apart before breaking my water. I was upset when I found out I was positive just because of this. I wanted to stay home and labor as long as possible. It’s more comfortable and there’s less chance for the medical staff to “intervene” unnecessarily. But I didn’t have much choice, and I definitely wanted to make sure that baby wasn’t exposed to anything potentially harmful. So, we headed in before I would have chosen otherwise. Turns out we timed it just right. More on that later…

So we arrived at the hospital and I was able to walk up to the L&D department. I remember the nurse looked at me and asked how she could help me. I told her I was in labor and she looked at me kind of dubiously. I guess I didn’t look like I was in labor. After that a couple different nurses told me that they’d help me out in triage and determine whether or not they would admit me. I guess they must have a lot of women come in when they’re not really in labor. I wasn’t confused about whether or not I’d be staying. I was sure I would be. But we let them do their thing. Eventually, without much waiting, they hooked me up to the monitor, checked on baby (he looked good), checked me, and informed me that I was going to be admitted. I was somewhere between 4 and 5cm. They asked if I was going to want an epidural. I said no. I didn’t even bring a birth plan with me this time. Last time I kept it really brief at my mom’s suggestion. Another nurse thing, she warned me that women who come in with pages of birth plan are generally scoffed at and it puts the nurses on guard, again, ready for a fight about everything. This time I kept it to a verbal disclosure, “We want to try to do things as naturally as possible.” After all, they all know what that means. They don’t need a birth plan to spell it out for them.

I guess things did progress a little more quickly than they did with Adela at this point. I’m not sure what time I actually got to my room. I’ll have to look at the photos. But I didn’t have a lot of time to think about anything at that point. It seemed like things got serious right away. I didn’t have any time to walk around the halls or set stuff up in the room. I was pretty much right away on the bed laboring. I had 2 nurses. The first one, I didn’t care for much. She didn’t introduce herself and she didn’t ask me any questions or seem concerned about my well-being at all. I mean in a professional, medical way, she was of course. But not in an emotional or mental way. I’m not sure if it was just her personality, or if she was dubious about my natural childbirth, or if she was just having a bad night. Luckily she was orientating another nurse who was new to the department (not a new nurse, just new to the department.) That one was super nice. She did some special things for me like keep a hot towel behind my back. At one point she whispered in my ear, “I had all 3 of mine naturally too. I KNOW how hard it is.” Funny enough she did it when the other nurse wasn’t around, which seems to be the rule when it comes to discussing natural childbirth. It seems like the nurses are usually pretty divided on the issue, but under the surface. The ones who are wholehearted supporters of it whisper encouragement in a sort of secretive way. The other ones aren’t NOT supportive, they just don’t say anything. It’s never talked about in the open. One of the supportive nurses during my stay, talked with me, again in a sort of secretive way (same thing happened after Adela was born) about how much more alert the babies who get no drugs during delivery are, and how much better in general they do. It felt good to hear that again.

The one super annoying thing about having 2 nurses, one learning the ropes of L&D (even if she was the nice one), was that everything had to be done twice. Maybe that wouldn’t make a difference to somebody with an epidural, but being moved around, forced to lay back and being checked over and over again was miserable. And the not nice nurse didn’t seem to care at all whether or not  I was having a contraction when she moved me around. I know that sometimes they want to check you during contractions in order to better feel what’s going on. It was more than that. She  never warned me when she was going to try and move me, for whatever reason. She never waited for me to finish a contraction before asking me to fill out paperwork even. She was just really unconcerned about my pain in general. It was like she had the attitude, “you’re the one who decided to do it without drugs. It’s not my problem.” I remember Craig a couple of times stepping in and saying, “Hold on. She’s having a contraction,” in a protective way. Thanks, Honey. But kind of odd that my husband would have to remind the nurse that I was actually in labor and feeling pain. Maybe I’m way off base about her. I was in intense pain during this time so my judgement may have been clouded. I’m just really glad that I’m not all that impressionable, that I’m determined, and that I had a great support system. A more impressionable person who wanted to labor naturally, lacking proper support, with a nurse like that … I can see how it would be really difficult, and much easier to give in and ask for some pain management help. It could have been disheartening, I can imagine. Me, I was just irritated. And if anything, when I run into people like that, it gives me something to prove. I’m stubborn like that.

For some reason, I guess because of how Josiah was positioned during this time, I wasn’t allowed to labor sitting up. The first couple of hours they made me lay on my side, which was awful. For some reason, for me, laboring is always most comfortable (if I can use that totally inappropriate word since there is NOTHING comfortable about labor) when I’m sitting up. Laying down is the WORST, especially on my back. On my side wasn’t much better. But for some reason, that was the only way that Josiah wasn’t showing decelerations. And I trusted their judgement because my mom was in agreement with them. So, I toughed it out, miserable, until something shifted and I was finally allowed to sit up.

Craig and my mom were an amazing help to me. So supportive, so encouraging. Rubbing my back and shoulders, keeping me informed of the peak of every contraction so I could mentally survive long enough to get a rest in between. They were my anchors and I couldn’t have gone through it without them. And amid all their helping me labor, they also both (especially my mom) took a ton of photos for which I am so, so grateful! I cherish the very few I have of Adela’s birth. This time, I didn’t want only a handful. I wanted a true photographic record. My family helped me make it happen.

A couple hours passed. It hurt. A lot. They checked me again. I was at 6cm. I labored for another hour or two. It hurt. A lot. They checked me again. Still 6cm. I remember the same thing happening with Adela. And it is the MOST disheartening and difficult time of laboring without drugs. It’s so frustrating to be in that much pain, thinking that every contraction is bringing you closer to the end of the agony, closer to meeting your baby, only to find that… hmmm.. nothing changed? After all that?! So, so hard, that particular moment. I cried. Just like last time. And then, the contractions kept coming and I kept taking them one and a time. And breathing. I remember the breathing this time. I really concentrated on it, much more than last time. It is the only way to get through labor. Your natural reaction to mind-blowing pain is to not breathe. Not breathing is bad for you, bad for baby, and it makes it hurt worse. It takes every mental faculty, concentration, discipline, to keep breathing when your body is being wracked by unimaginable pain. Somehow, with a lot of reminders from my Mom and Craig, I managed. And it was easier this time, mentally. It hurt just as bad. It wasn’t even faster. My labors ended up being almost exactly the same length. About 12-14 hours of real labor (not counting lots and lots of early labor, which doesn’t technically count.) But practice does make, maybe not perfect, but definitely better. I felt more in control this time, even though the pain was the same.

About this time I remember everyone start looking at the clock a lot. I was almost through my first round of antibiotics. I needed to complete a second round after four hours to ensure Josiah’s protection from any Group B Strep. We all knew that once I actually made it past that 6cm hump and entered transition, things would probably go quickly.We were all hoping my water wouldn’t break prematurely, before I got that second round of antibiotics.

Transition was an odd time for me. Super intense contractions (to put it mildly) followed by almost a delirious, sleep-like state until the next contraction would hit me seconds later. I remember thinking how odd it was that my brain could go from a hyper alert state to an almost sleep-like state over and over again so rapidly. At one point, my mom looked at the monitor during a contraction and said, “these look like Pitocin contractions.” I remember one lasting almost 3 minutes. Right after my mom said that, the nurse came in the room, looked at the monitor and said the exact same thing! Luckily that part didn’t last too long. My water broke right around 6 or 7 cm with Adela. This time I made it to 9cm+ before my water broke. I had just finished my second round of antibiotics. And within minutes, all the hospital staff had gathered in the room.

They were still setting up when I had that undeniable urge to push. There was no stopping it. They barely had things ready, when Dr. Sehwani told me to go ahead. This time I was mentally fully aware and remember all the pushing and delivery. With Adela I was really out of it and don’t have a lot of memories of that particular part of delivery. I feel like I truly experienced it this time. I didn’t remember any pain, just relief, from the pushing portion of Adela’s delivery. This time I remember the pain, and I remember the process. I remember the doctor counting for me through two contractions. I pushed and pushed and pushed through those two contractions and out he came.

Josiah John made his debut at 2:45pm on October 18th, 2012, weighing 7lbs 2oz and measuring 19.5 inches long. Healthy and perfectly gorgeous.

Some time right after I heard him cry, and saw my mom and Craig crying and exclaiming how beautiful he was, I remember asking the doctor, “How many pushes was that?” just to make sure I counted right. “TWO!” she said with raised eyebrows. I love Dr. Sehwani. She’s young and hip and super nice and she always smiles and shakes her head at me when I talk about natural childbirth. But there’s no judgement in it. It’s more like awe. It makes me feel good. She told me before she left the room that she could never do what I just did.

They put Josiah on me right away, but only for about 10 seconds. Then they whisked him away to suction and clean him. It was hard waiting to get him back while they tended to him and I separately. I remember being super antsy to see my son. I just wanted to look at him! It took forever for them to clean him off. I tried to sit up best I could to see him while they cleaned him off, stitched me up (smaller tear this time), and cleaned me off. I nearly jumped off the bed when the lady who cleaned me up sprayed the cleaner on me. It was the temperature of ice cubes, and she gave me no warning. She looked completely shocked that I reacted that way. I guess she’s used to ladies who’ve had epidurals. I had to remind her that I could feel everything going on down there. I was hyper aware of everything in general. I had a total surge of energy. I actually felt pretty great after he came out, pretty much immediately. I was really out of it after Adela was born. This time there are actually photos of me smiling right after delivery. Pretty great to get that high after all that hard work and agony.

Another digression, because natural childbirth is a passion of mine and I believe in preparing people who might attempt it. If there’s anything I can say to give somebody else a better chance at it, I’ll say it. A few things that other moms who had delivered naturally said to me before I attempted it really helped get me through. They didn’t candy coat it. I feel like I knew what to expect. (Find like-minded people by taking a natural childbirth class. Like the Bradley Birthing classes, which was a commitment of once a week for 8 weeks I think? We did it and the couples we shared the experience with were great. All of six couples ended up delivering naturally with healthy babies!) And now I’ve done it – natural, drug-free, intervention-free childbirth – twice, by the grace of God. I know there are a lot of people who plan on a natural childbirth that doesn’t happen. There are so many things that can go wrong, or get confusing, so many ways control can be stripped away from you. I’m grateful that it was an option for me, both times. And I realize that there is no guarantee that it will be an option again, if we have another baby. I’m grateful that those scenarios where interventions would have been necessary didn’t unfold. But I also find myself getting defensive – or maybe protective is a better word – about the experience. Let me see if I can explain. I’ve talked to a lot of people about natural childbirth. Some who have done it, some who have planned on it and not done it, some who think I’m completely insane for attempting it, some who wonder at me for doing it. I don’t judge anyone for their childbirth choices. I realize anything that anybody has gone through could have just as easily been me. And personal choice is personal choice. What’s best for me may not be what’s best for another person in another situation. But for me and my family, I’ve done the research and I believe in natural childbirth. I believe it’s the best option for me and for baby. I believe there’s evidence to support that opinion. And I believe that being prepared, mentally and physically, gives a person the best chance of accomplishing a natural childbirth, if that is their goal. It’s not something one can wander in to thinking you’ll give it a try and see how it goes. It takes commitment, resolve, certainty, knowledge about what to expect, and a support system. Because of all that, because of the commitment it takes, it’s frustrating to feel like what we (me and my coaches) have accomplished is being minimized. We can’t help but compare, to gauge and classify our experiences relative to others’. I get that. But, to put it bluntly, other labors didn’t hurt worse than mine did. Labor is agonizing. My labor wasn’t shorter or easier than most. It was excruciating. It was difficult. It was long. And yes, I had back labor. Labor feels like your body is being ripped apart. It’s the hardest thing, physically, I’ve ever done. By a mile.  It can be done and it’s incredibly worthwhile, but it takes serious commitment, preparation and endurance. I think the reason that natural birth moms get so defensive and, sometimes even judgmental, about natural childbirth is that we don’t feel like our experiences are validated. Sometimes it seems like there’s an assumption that we had some kind of golden ticket labor and delivery, that it wasn’t as difficult or as long as the one experienced by somebody else. I think what we all want is really just a pat on that back and a, “good job!” To be able to revel in our success for just a moment. To know that we are tough. Nature cooperated and I then did what I planned to do, as difficult as it was. I triumphed over my fear, exhaustion, and agony. I kept my resolve. I want my victory lap. A moment without comparison or downplay. I earned it. That being said, the majority of people (and all my friends) are incredibly supportive and encouraging. And I certainly have gotten my share of pats on the back.

Back to it…

Finally, finally I got to hold my son. Elated. Wonderful, wonderful moment. He was perfect. Eyes open and calm, just like his sister was. I gave everyone else a turn and then breastfed him. He latched right on, first try, just like his sister had. Breastfeeding is like bicycle riding, once you figure it out, you don’t forget. And this time I didn’t need the nurses to try and explain to me how to do it. They hovered for a moment (every nurse for the next several days did), until they realized we had it. And then they left us to ourselves. I didn’t pass out this time. I didn’t sleep at all. I was actually kind of wound up. It all went by so quickly.

Before we knew it they moved us to the recovery room, at the opposite end of the hospital. My mom headed home to get Adela and the rest of the family. We had a room by ourselves again, despite the 4 extra beds next to us. We got settled and Craig left to get us Panda Express, again what sounded best (same meal I requested after the birth of Adela,)

Then Dad, Tia and Adela arrived with Mom. Watching Adela meet Josiah was THE BEST, other than meeting Josiah himself. So awesome. She was a little shy at first, giggling and excited, but unsure about holding him. That didn’t last long. She’s been smitten ever since.

Wow, this is s long story…

Anyway, after all the introductions, cuddles and congratulations, the family left Craig and I with Josiah and we settled in to try and get some sleep. We managed a couple of hours, not much. The next day was a lot of waiting, but it was pleasant waiting. We thought we might get to go home. All was well. My mom came to visit and brought us Starbucks.

Josiah had his first bath and he squealed like a little piggy the whole time. He had his PKU test. Then, he napped and took a few photos of him. Then he passed his hearing test. The pediatrician came and checked him out and he passed with flying colors. But the pediatrician informed us that it’s his policy to recommend staying another night because of my GBS positive status. “Even though I got the antibiotics in time?” I asked. Yep. We were bummed, but okay. Mostly I missed Adela. I wanted her to get to be a part of the experience. She stayed in Yucca with my parents. We planned on leaving as early as they would let us the next day.

That night was rough. For some reason, Josiah was really fussy. More fussy than just newborn baby fussy. For hours and hours he wouldn’t sleep for more than 15 or so minutes at a time. About 3am, I finally called the nurse and asked if I could give him some gas drops since he was burping and farting a lot. She noticed his respirations were a little fast, and that observation set in motion what would result in another 7 days in the hospital for all of us. She got out the pulse oximeter and his oxygenation looked good. He had no fever. His heart had no murmur. But because she had suspicions, to be cautious, she called the pediatrician who ordered labs and an X-ray. Again, setting in motion the next 7 days. In retrospect, I wish I hadn’t called the nurse in. I’m 99% convinced we would have been fine, discharged the next morning with a healthy baby if I hadn’t. But, for whatever reason, that wasn’t the way it played out. Because of that small potential that Josiah could have contracted GBS (even though the chances were close to nil, especially since I got all the antibiotics needed during labor) everything was treated gravely, like we were on the verge of an outbreak. Even though chances were that nothing was wrong, everything that happened after that was based on a hypothetical worst-case scenario. I see it clearly now, in retrospect. While we were going through it, it was like an unstoppable current. We could barely keep up, and it seemed as though we had no control over any of it.

They drew his labs, and then gave him 2 injections of antibiotics (just in case, even though chances of him having contracted anything were extremely low) while they waited for the results. I was getting upset at this point. Starting to worry, about Josiah, but also about him getting unnecessary drugs. After all, I had just gone through labor without any meds for that very reason. To protect him. But sick newborns are very serious. They don’t play around. They are overly, overly cautious. So, then they came to take his X-ray. Again, I was sick to my stomach. I didn’t want him exposed to X-rays. He was just born, for Pete’s sake. I wanted to tell them to let him be. But they suspected that he might have a pulmonary embolism. In retrospect, again, I realize they had no evidence of it. His breathing was a little rapid, but not irregular or labored, and his blood oxygenation was fine. But we let them do it. We were scared our son had a hole in his lung. So they x-rayed him. Then, an hour later another x-ray tech showed up to x-ray him again. The technician couldn’t read the first image because Josiah had been turned in it. Then, a bit later, the X-ray tech showed up a THIRD time and told us that he had STILL been turned and they need to take another image!! I almost freaked out. I did cry. And I asked them through my tears if they could PLEASE make sure to get it right this time, that I didn’t want my kid exposed to all these x-rays, that it wasn’t good for him. He told me he’d make sure he got it, and he did. That was a definite low point of my hospital experience. I was really upset. I’m getting upset thinking about it now. Nauseous, even. I had done my best to protect my son from “the system,” and here he was getting swept up in it. Control was being ripped out of my hands. It was hard. And that feeling was mixed with real fear that there could be something truly wrong with him (although I never fully believed that because he seemed fine.)

When the labs finally came back, his CRP levels were high and we were informed that  Josiah needed to be admitted to the NICU to continue his antibiotics for 7-10 days. Devastating.

Another digression… In retrospect we understand what “elevated CRPs” means a little better than we did when we were going through it. Of course, I had never heard of them before. All they told us is that he Josiah probably had some kind of infection that was elevating the levels of this certain protein. One of the NICU nurses later explained it this way – just like we send men to war first and then the boys when we run out of men, the body sends mature white blood cells to combat infection first but when resources are low, immature white blood cells are sent instead. Those are the CRPs. They are the “boys” being sent to war. And they indicate “something” is wrong. They just have no idea what. Later when we got to the NICU, the pediatrician himself told us that “anything” can elevate CRP levels. A bumped elbow, any kind of trauma or sickness, the HEP B VACCINE. Yes, he told us that. We had declined getting the Hep B vaccine (we vaccinate our kids fully, but on a conservative timeline.) So we can infer that babies end up in the NICU sometimes because they’ve gotten a vaccine that everybody says is completely safe? Interesting.  Obviously he didn’t mean for us to take it that way. But obviously, deducing from what was inferred, it’s happening. Also, later on in the week, one of the nurses mentioned that most of the time when CRPs are elevated we don’t know and it never amounts to anything, because it’s not something they normally look for. Interesting. All this information begins to make one feel like perhaps the NICU is a bit of a money-making factory for hospitals. They look for an elevated protein that can mean anything or nothing important, and then admit you for a minimum 7-day course of antibiotics,  just in case? How many babies are ending up in there for no good reason?? This is a whole other long topic I realize. Too long for this post. But as I sit here now, I’m upset. Truly upset. Upset about the whole thing we had to go through with, what I believe to be, a healthy son. Argh. Okay, more on that later…

We got swept away to the NICU, and a whole other part of our story began. But I’ll save that for the next post. But here’s the preview, not to spoil the end of the story, but the ending is good. We did make it home eventually, with a healthy son. And we are so in love with him. He’s the perfect missing piece to our family puzzle. So blessed, so grateful to the Lord for his most precious gift to us.

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Angie - What a wonderful birth! I love birth stories! Thanks for sharing! The pictures are FANTASTIC! Big pat on the back for your mom! I am so happy you had a good birth experience. Sorry about the after part. I was positive for group B for the last two kids. When I had Blake the whole sars outbreak caused the hospitals to not allow children in. And since I tested positive with Blake, I was in the hospital for 3 days without seeing them! I missed them so much! You and I have very similar views on natural birth, immunizations, and the x-ray thing! Poor mama! I would have had a heart attack. 🙁 But, when looking at the end result: you have a healthy, thriving, beautiful baby boy at home. Even if your intuition (a mother’s intuition is pretty much always spot on) told you he was fine and all of the precaution was unnecessary, you did the right thing. “better to be safe than sorry” right? I would have done the same thing. BIG hugs and BIG pat on the back for your natural birth. I never got to have the natural birth that I dreamed of. I was lucky my oldest wasn’t a C-section. My midwife had to drive me to the hospital after 42 hours of dysfunctional labor. I happened to be sick with a nasty cold/flu when I gave birth to the other 2 and knew I was too weak (mind and body) to fight the labor fight. Such a bummer. I did go the furthest with Blake, though. While being induced(something I never thought I would go for, but with both girls being born with meconium, 3 days early didn’t seem too bad). Looking forward to part two!!! =)

Brittany Marie Carter - This was beautiful. You have a very blessed family. Thank you for the read. Very cute.

Manda - Well I for one think your cleanup crew was just stupid or insensitive because even with an epidural both times I remember how amazing the *warm* water felt when they were cleaning me.