I am toying with the idea of doing the open adoption interview project. I really want to get more into the swing of things, but I'm worried that if I commit, I won't be able to find the time that I need to do it.

Taking care of 2 kids and moving 500 miles is kicking my butt. Everything is getting done, and the kids are doing well, but I mostly walk around feeling like no one is getting everything they need from me. Everyone is getting short changed, it feels like, including myself. 90% of the time I remember to tell myself that it's temporary, Will is only 2 months old - we're still in the thick of it, that we'll find our groove, that everyone is ok. But sometimes, like last night, I feel like a big fat failure. I stood in the kitchen last night, walking a fussy baby and singing my standard Irish lullabies, and wept. Not out of exhaustion, or frustration, or want of anything to be different. I was just plain sad that I couldn't tuck Jeb into bed, that my husband is desperate for some attention, that Will's experience of being a newborn is so unlike Jeb's. I wish, that when I'm tending to one of them (Jeb, Will, or Bennett), that time would freeze for the other 2 and that way they all get more of my time. Ah, well, the balance will come.

I really need to post some pictures. Will is such a chunk, and Jeb is perfection. Overwhelm and crazy shit aside, life is good.

Quick Takes.

I don't have much time for, well, much, lately. But I hate that so much time is flying by without recording any memories.

1. Will is 8 weeks old. Holy shit. This newborn period went by so much faster than with Jeb. I must admit, I'm happy it's going by fast right now. Confession: I don't love the newborn thing. Sorry.

2. We moved to Virginia! We lived here, in this house, and then moved to Massachusetts, and have now moved back. It's a looooonnng story, but suffice to say, we are thrilled to be back.

3. I've gone running a few times since Will's birth. It feels amazing, and I really want to keep it up. I may run my first road race in almost a year in a few weeks. We'll see.

4. I don't have a job yet and I am LOVING it.

5. Jeb is adjusting really really well, but I still feel like I don't have enough minutes in the day to make sure I'm giving him enough of myself.

6. I have no idea how to balance 2 kids. There is no groove, no routine, no sense of the new "normal". Esp since we just moved 500 miles, and one kid was only 6 weeks old. Crazy.

7. We are going to State Fair tomorrow. Heaven.

Most delayed birth announcement, ever.

William Scott was born 8.11.11 :) He weighed 8lb13oz and was 22 in long. He looks just like his big brother, but is a much more chill baby. (Thank you, Jesus!)

He was born via c-section, of all things. I labored at home until I stalled at 9cm. After 4 hours "stuck" in transition we went to the hospital and I got an epidural. After 12 hours at 9 cm, I agreed to a section. Will's head was in a really jacked up position, and would NOT descend. It was long, hard, and disappointing in the end. Laboring at home was awesome, and everything I'd imagined. Had he been in the right position, I know he would have been born at daybreak, after 6 hours of labor. But he wasn't. It is what it is. The recovery was very hard. Being in the hospital for 4 nights and days away from Jeb was very hard. Coming to terms has been hard, but not the end of the world.

So, I now have three sons, and couldn't be happier. I'm tired, but ok. I've had so much help; I have yet to do an entire day with just the kids by myself. I'm really scared to be alone with them all day! We'll find our groove though, I know.

I'll try to get some pics... but I don't have time for much these days, besides nursing/rocking/playing/managing/making snacks. You know, the stuff of mothering small children.

Life is good.

41w(almost)2d

In an hour, I'll be 41w2d.

I can't even describe how hard it is to be this pregnant, in August, while caring for a 3 year old. In all honesty, I've had a ton of help with Jeb, but I'm still the mom. You can't EVER turn off the "mom" button.

I can't move.

The heartburn brings me to tears.

Everything brings me to tears.

I have painful, regular contractions that get my hopes up almost everyday... only to fizzle out. It is a total mindfuck.

I have insomnia. Most nights I get 4 or 5 hours of broken sleep. You'd think mother nature would help pregnant women sleep BETTER since, you know, we'll soon be in newborn sleep deprivation hell.

My husband is AMAZING. Thank you, Lord, for such a good man. But? He's tired of watching me be miserable. I can't blame him.

I WANT TO KNOW IF THIS BABY IS A BOY OR A GIRL.

That's all.

Due Date

Due today. No baby. Colin was the only baby of mine who was not "late".

I am desperate to give birth.

That's all I have to say right now.

tiny little check in

38 weeks. No baby. Going to resist the urge to complain about late pregnancy in late July...


So, on to something totally unrelated, but that I've thought many times when coming to my little blog. I LOVE the posts by other moms with young children along the lines of "we've been too busy for me to update..." I love reading that people are enjoying their lives/children so much that the blog has collected some dust. It's happened here more than a few times, and it's just life. It's awesome.


Another totally unrelated topic? Today is the annual FIA picnic. It's the first time I haven't been there since 1998!!! I was going to try to make it, but regular daily life is difficult right now, and I made the decision to stay put. I'm really missing my first born, but I think we'll have a visit soon after this little one is born.


So, I think I'll go reminisce...

One More Shift

Tomorrow is my last shift at work. I could do jumping jacks. I'll be 37 weeks tomorrow. I was originally going to work up until my due date, like I did with Jeb, but somewhere around 30 weeks I made the decision to go out at 37 weeks. Physically, this pregnancy is so much harder than my last 2. I think taking care of Jeb and working nights has a lot to do with it. When I was pregnant with Jeb, I slept whenever I wanted. I was starting to get scared that I'd go into labor after a night shift, having been awake for 24 hours already. NO THANK YOU!! I want better for me and this baby. I want to start mother him/her feeling good and rested, not exhausted and in pain from work. Also, these are my last days/weeks of just me and my Jeb. (tears)

I want to cherish these last days of just the two of us.

I want to start mothering this baby feeling rested and ready.

I want to spend these last quiet evenings talking with my husband, not my co-workers.

These might be my last days of pregnancy, ever. I want to savor the sacredness of it.

I want to listen to my body, and it's telling me to slow down.

These Are The Days

I've had this thought drift through my brain almost daily for the last several months "... these are the days...", and then I get the Cranberries' song stuck in my head ;)

My Grandfather died 2 weeks ago, and we had to up and fly to Michigan for 5 days. I was 34 weeks pregnant, flying (with delays and complications) with a 3 year old and all the fun that entails. I had to see my father from whom I've been estranged for years and years. It was loaded and draining, to say the least.

I'm miserably pregnant at this point. I'm sick of hearing myself talk about heartburn and insomnia. I'm withdrawing from friends and family because, well, I'm sick of hearing myself complain. I'm ready for this birth, but know there could still be weeks left of pregnancy, and I'm still a little terrified of the reality of 2 kids.

Bennett is in a state of career crisis, and about to make YET ANOTHER gigantic shift, which has the potential to cause some major upheaval in our lives. So there's that.

And still? This song keeps popping up in my head. These are the days, to remember...

I am having the time of my life. These are the best days of my life, the days I'll miss. I love them. I love the day to day routine of raising a family. I hear my aunts, and "older" women whose kids are grown talk about the days when their kids were young, and how much they miss those times. This season of life is intense, for sure, and it's only going to get more intense in the near future. Some days I lose my cool, and longingly think back to B's and my carefree, child free Fun Days, but I truly enjoy my life more now than I did then. I'd like to live ONE of those days every now and again, but I'd already love to go back and live these three and a half YEARS over again.

Late pregnancy is a tough place to be. I'm big, hot, tired, heartburn-y, short on patience, ready but scared, and uncomfortable. But it is thrilling and amazing, too.

Life is sometimes messy, and nothing ever seems to line up into some semblance of "normal and predictable"... but whatever. These are the days, and I'm really loving them.

... and with that? My son wakes and calls for his mama. I'm it, I'm the only one who'll do right now. And quite frankly, I think that's pretty awesome right now.

Birth

No, the baby is not here. I'm 34 weeks, and although I am getting to the point of NOT wanting to be pregnant anymore, it is still early yet. I'm hoping for a 38 week-ish delivery, but obviously I have very little control over such things.

Birth in general has been a passion of mine, starting with Colin's birth. Unfortunately, I didn't know much about birth (hell, I didn't know much about anything when I was 18) when I was pregnant with Colin. I took the "Lamaze" classes at the clinic, but I can't say I was very engaged in learning about the process. His birth was a typical in the hospital, mom knows nothing, doctors dictate everything, pitocin, epidural, forceps, blah blah blah, healthy baby is the only important thing, blah blah blah, birth. About 1 week after he was born, I decided I wanted to be a midwife. I learned that I had to become an RN first, so my major changed from Math to Nursing.

RN-ship had never, not once, not ever crossed my mind before.

Long story short, I hated working on an L&D unit because it was the polar opposite of what I had developed as my birth "philosophy". I was turned off to the entire field, as a career, and went to learn the specialty of Critical Care. Personally though? I knew my next birth would be different.

The week after I found out I was pregnant with Jeb, I found a midwife, and committed to a natural birth. My plan included going to a hospital that was not "in network" and knew it was going to cost me thousands of dollars out of pocket, vs $10 for the whole shebang had I delivered at my place of work. I didn't care about the money; it was that important to me. I hired a doula, took classes, read books, and taught Bennett all that I knew. The result? We had an amazing, beautiful, natural birth in a hospital with a terrific midwife, and I could not be happier with that experience.

This time? We are staying HOME. That's right! I am planning a HOMEBIRTH and I am thrilled. Obviously, if anything at all looks outside of normal, we'll transfer to the hospital less than a mile away. What an awesome safety net!!

I love birth so much. I still think about midwifery school. Bennett bugs me about it periodically. This passion for birth is in my blood. I have all my supplies ready. My midwife is amazing. I am going to do this awesome thing.... and then take a nap IN MY OWN BED. Ahhhhh... the thought is absolutely intoxicating. I'm sitting on my birthing ball as I type this, and fantasizing about when it's Time.

If something comes up, and we have to abandon our plan, so be it. I'm not so addicted to the idea of a HB that I am going to risk safety. This is the plan as long as everything remains normal. The best part? If pregnancy and labor progress within normal ranges? Homebirth is the SAFEST choice, according to the research. Not only has this become my preference? It's the SAFEST option for me and my newest precious babe. Score.

I love talking about birth, and homebirth, so if anyone has any questions, fire away!!

RI May Unseal Records

Apparently the RI state legislature has, in the past, voted on bills to give adult adoptees access to their sealed records. According to the P.rovidence J.ournal, the bills pass the House, but not the Senate. Currently there is a possible compromise in the works that may pass both chambers, and allow adult adoptees over the age of 30 to obtain their records.

Hmm.

First of all, as a member of an open adoption triad, I am obviously in favor of the free flow of information, especially for the adoptee. I do recognize, however, that the level of openness my adoption family has been able to achieve is not always possible. I understand the many valid reasons why some adoptions are closed, or at least not fully open. I'm not sure if those circumstances extend to the adoptee's right to know their info as an adult. What I mean is, I get why some birthfamilies can't have visits with the adoptee; but what does that have to do with the adoptee just plain KNOWING their own info once they are grown?

The opponents of unsealing the records all claim to be advocating for birthmoms' privacy rights. I was pretty shocked to read this. Again, mine has always been an open adoption, but I can promise you, no one seemed concerned with my privacy post placement, or even brought the subject up when I was pregnant, before the openness had begun. The whole argument of someone worrying about my privacy 18 years post placement makes me laugh out loud. This argument is a big giant PC bullshit argument.

So what is the real reason some people want to deny adoptees access to their information? I saw one tiny little quote that mentioned adoptive parents' privacy and feelings, and I think this is where the truth is: not to sound harsh, but adoptive parents do seem to sometimes be the most considered, the most protected members of the triad. (APs, call me out on this one if I'm wrong.)

One comment really burned me up. A member of the assembly spoke in reference to the age at which adoptees deserve to know their info: "I think 18 is too young. It's a tender age. I want them to be able to find their records in an appropriate and meaningful way, not because they want to get back at their adoptive parents." Um, huh? Wha? Well, thank you, Mr. Member, but it's not up to you to decide why an adoptee wants their info, or what kind of experience it will be. Talk about controlling! The issue is centered around their rights, not their feelings, or their parents' feelings, or whether or not it is "meaningful".

Another very bizarre quote was in reference to birthmoms. One lawyer said, "The parent that gives up her rights, they're in a sense making a contract with someone. That contract is essentially: I am going to give you an opportunity for another life, but I am going to back away from your life. And that's the last thing I'm doing for you or with you." Wow, that's not what I said to Colin, thankfully. I am kind of a naive type of person, and this kind of jibberish blows my mind. I really thought we were past this kind of old school thinking. Also, even if that quote were universally true, what in the world does it have to do with the adoptee getting to see their records 18 years later?! I really, truly do not understand.

To me, it's a no brainer. The info is theirs. Apparently many many people are threatened by the possiblity that they get to see it.

Adoptees had the least amount of control at the time of placement. When Colin was a newborn, it blew my mind that we were all setting a course for his life and he was unable to give us his input. (I know this is true for all newborns, adopted or not, but it feels especially heavy in adoptions.) How can people justify continuing to have control over them in this way?

My Mother Voice

I've been surprised and a bit confused by how much I'm looking forward to birthing this baby. Then the other day I had a thought: this is the first pregnancy where I've not dreaded having the baby on some level. With Colin, birth = goodbye, so obviously I was not really looking forward to delivering. With Jeb, I was just plain terrified. I was terrified of being a mom, I was terrified that I wouldn't like it. This time? I am looking forward to all of it. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just having amnesia, and if that's the case sobeit.

A few weeks ago, I was having some quiet time in my bed, and started talking to the baby. I heard myself talking, and I started weeping on the spot. I heard a mother's voice; I heard my Mother Voice. When I used to talk to Jeb pre-birth, I was akward and timid and unsure. This time? I knew what to say. I knew how to say it. I knew what the baby needed to hear. I could recognize the mama-love I was offering. I felt secure and calm and happy.

I used to think that having your first baby must be the most special, spiritual, and amazing experience. I am finding this pregnancy to be all of those things, so much more than my other 2. Every time I look at Jeb's face, I know exactly what I have to look forward to, and I have an internal "squee!". At least once a day I think to myself I GET TO DO THIS AGAIN!!! I get to do this again. What a beautiful, perfect thought. I love this baby in a way I couldn't love the boys when they were on the inside. I'm a mother now; I know how to love this baby better than I could before. I've been waiting for this baby my whole life.


I love you, baby. This family is so ready for you.

I love having a Mother Voice.


(ps. Is it wrong that I'm really really hoping that my being in such a great emotional space will encourage delivery before 42+1 weeks like Jeb went to? lol!)

At the same time...

At the same time...

... this pregnancy is physically the hardest, but emotionally the most wonderful.

... 10 weeks feels like an eternity, and not nearly enough time.

... I am struggling to stay patient with my 3 year old, and cherishing our days together.

... reveling in the sacred experience of growing a baby, and longing for it to be over.

... terrified of what life will look like with a newborn + a 3 year old, and completely relaxed and confident that we'll all figure it out.

... loving and adoring my family of 3, and cannot wait to become a family of 4.

... really really really looking forward to labor and birth, and can't believe I'm even saying those words having been through it haha!


Thank God my beloved therapist from my early 20s taught me that I can feel 2 opposite things at the same time :)

precious moments

Lately I linger as I tuck Jeb into bed. I am so mindful (and weepy) of the fact that his time of only-ness is winding down.

There is something magical about those moments just before your little one drifts off to sleep. Their innocence, perfection, and sweetness bring you to your knees in prayers of thanks. And, dang, but their hair smells so good post-bath.

Last night I found it extra hard to walk back downstairs. We snuggled a little longer. I gave a few extra kisses. I was sad that he didn't want to listen to one more story when I offered. I was secretly excited when I heard his little voice call me back upstairs to help him pee. As I tucked him back in, he asked:

If I need help, I can call you, and you will come?

Yes, baby, always.



/weep

FiveOneFour

It's 514!! My first born turns 13 today. He's a TEENAGER. Holy smokes.

Jeb picked out a Batman card for him. I talked to him on the phone for a while. Regular stuff.

I worked last night, so I got to look at the clock at 0159, the time he was born. It was very cool. I smiled to myself and remembered, and didn't feel the agony that this day used to bring me.

I'm so happy he's him; that he was born 13 years ago. I'm so happy for all the work we've done. I'm so happy to be happy this fivefourteen, and not sobbing on the floor. I'm so happy to be in a place of true celebration this birthday. It's like Grief is across the room at the party, and I gave him a wink, and then got back to smiling and chatting.

Happy Birthday, my boy, I love you so freaking much.

Gah, 4 months.

First, I wasn't sure how to write about pregnancy stuff without being one of those "X weeks!!! Baby is a carrot!! I don't miss ANYTHING because I am so perfectly pregnant!!!" types. Which I'm not. But anyway.

Then, the pregnancy kicked my butt up and down the block at the same time that we had the snowiest winter EVER and husband was NEVER home and Jeb was (is) in the HORRIBLE THREE's and and and....

And then it had been so long that I didn't know exactly how to come back, but I so wanted to, and promised every week --- I will write a post no MATTER WHAT this week... but that was somewhere around late March....

And now it's early May (Birthmother's Day!), and I'm in my third trimester, and I want to be back.

There are so many things I want/have wanted to write about. How physically hard but emotionally wonderful this pregnancy has been compared to my others. How this baby fits into the "adoption" part of my brain, since I'm already parenting. Colin is becoming a teenager next week-- hello! -- and my thoughts as he approaches the age I was when I got pregnant. You know, run of the mill kind of stuff that makes you start a blog ;)

Siblings.

When Colin was a toddler, his parents attended a workshop about how/when/why to adopt a second time. They shared with me afterward that they were surprised (and comforted) to get the advice: the question is not so much whether you want to adopt again, the question is whether you want more kids. I thought that was pretty neat, and a very tidy and academic way to simplify the whole thing. I liked it. I liked that it had a nice "normal" ring to it. (I had no real feeling on whether I wanted them to adopt again. I felt about it like I feel about my neighbor having more kids: it's their family, I'm sure they'll make the best decision for them. I didn't feel strongly one way or the other about C having siblings, if I had I probably would have placed him with a couple who was already parenting.) In the end, they chose not to pursue another adoption, and we all went about our business.

Fast forward almost a decade, and to Jeb and me playing in his room.
Jeb (handing me a small toy dump truck): Here, mama, this is for Jeb Baby. (he's convinced the baby's name will also be Jeb.)
Me: Oh, thank you! What a great big brother you are!

I went in the next room to put some clothes away, thinking about what a cool moment we'd just shared, and the Whether To Adopt Again Workshop experience came flooding back.

Whether or not you want to parent more children is SO NOT the only or biggest concern when you are thinking about another adoption. I know I've never been there, but I know how I feel about Jeb. And I know adoptive parents feel that same way about their children. And I know it would have been a much more involved decision between husband and me than just "let's go for it!" one night in November.

I know I wouldn't be talking to Jeb about a baby joining us in the Summer, even if we were matched.

I know I wouldn't be weaving the baby in and out of our play and chat, slowly getting Jeb used to the idea.

I might have to choose between giving Jeb lots of preparation to share his time and space with mommy and daddy, and protecting him from getting his hopes up.

I would have to think about whether I was willing to turn his world upside down on very short notice.

I know there are so many more heavy and complicated emotions I'd be having that I can't even fathom here.

Even if I were to lose the baby right now, that conversation with Jeb would be ten times easier than a conversation about a failed match. Life and death seem a lot easier to explain to a child than potential adoptions and last minute decisions to parent.

For a moment, I put myself in the position of having this desire to give Jeb a sibling, having the excitement of a possibility, and trying to exercise caution by holding that excitement back. What a wild place it was, even for a hypothetical moment. And even in a hypothetical place, I can't imagine what it feels like to put his emotions and hopes on the line, and possibly see them dashed. What a horrible experience that must be.

So, I know this is all terribly awkward, but it was such a powerful "a ha!" moment for me. One that brought me to my knees with gratitude.

I don't know what it's like to be an AP, but I'm pretty sure the decision to adopt again goes far beyond whether or not you simply want more children.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas, everyone! Hope your day is filled with peace, joy, family, and laughter :)

Climbing the Mountain

A couple of weeks ago, I was so overwhelmed looking at my Christmas To Do List. I'm making progress climbing that mountain, thankfully, but I can't say I've been knocked down with the spirit of the holidays like I was last year. I'm enjoying in in a different, quieter way this year. A few Christmas carols make me cry every single time I hear them. Sitting in the dark looking at my Christmas tree is my favorite activity most days. Laying on the couch to watch A Christmas Carol sounds like the most festive thing I'm up for. I've been thinking about Mary and her Baby more than matching wrapping paper, which is more appropriate I suppose, but man! I was so excited about my wrapping paper last year! This year the baking got done, but it felt a bit like a chore. The cards went out, and I was happy to see them go, but I'm not rushing to the mail box everyday to gather in ones received. The shopping is done, and I only have Jeb left to wrap for, but even the thought of all that wrapping left to do makes me tired. Last year I enjoyed wrapping so much, I was actually disappointed when it was done. It's not that I'm not happy, or enjoying this Christmas Season, I'm just floating on the water instead of playing in the waves.

So, my list now looks like:

1 throw a birthday party -- big giant check.
2 buy and finish Christmas cards -- done.
3 shop for everybody -- done.
4 wrap everything -- 75% done.
5 bake 6 dozen cookies for a cookie-trading-thing at work -- never baking another cookie, aka DONE.
6 get a Christmas tree -- check.
7 decorate the tree/house/etc -- everything looks fabu.
8 work more than I want to -- yawn.
9 all the other regular shit that has to get done in a household -- ongoing, double yawn.


I have to work Friday night AND Saturday night (growl), so I told Jeb that Santa is coming Sat night and we will have our Christmas Sunday morning when I get home. I'll then sleep for a few hours and family will come over in the late afternoon for a relatively simple holiday meal.

Simplified, that's the word for my feeling this year. It's working for me.

Coming Out

I'm pregnant. There, I said it. I'm 7w5d today, due July 30.


I've been debating how to come out about it here, as I know pregnancy announcements are a sensitive subject in the adoption community.

I'm not going to get obnoxious about it, I promise.

Jeb's birth story. (long)

Jeb will be 3 tomorrow. My baby. Three. (sigh)

I wrote this years ago, but thought it was a good time to post :)


I never thought I'd make it to my due date, let alone go 15 days over. Having been an L&D nurse, I was all too aware of the risks of induction, and of hospital birth in general. I chose a midwife for my care, and specifically chose a hospital that was natural-friendly even though it would cost considerably more than going to a different facility. So, at 41 weeks I was getting really nervous. I started trying my own "induction" methods: walking, sex, spicey food, eggplant, evening primrose oil, relaxing, talking to the baby, bouncing on the birth ball, castor oil, enema, and even cohosh. Nothing worked. I had been contracting on and off for weeks; it felt like I could kick into active labor at any minute, but I didn't. By 41w5d, I was so deflated, exhausted, nervous, and uncomfortable. I agreed to come in for a cervidil induction at 42w, as I didn't feel comfortable going past that. It was such a hard decision; I knew how quickly the cascade of interventions could happen, and in the back of my mind was a tiny voice wondering what if my body just won't labor? I had been preparing for a natural birth for months, I'd had such faith in my body and the birthing process, why wasn't it happening? What if it just wouldn't? I hated the doubt. I hated that my faith was being shaken.

Somehow I got some sleep the night before we went in for the induction. Clothes, music, snacks, and cell phones were packed and ready to go. The car seat was in the car. I had a little moment of panic standing in the nursery before i went to bed. We would be bringing a BABY home in a few short days! It didn't last long though, being on the cusp of 42 weeks, I just wanted to not be pregnant. We woke up at 5 the next morning, and i took my last pregnant shower. For days leading up to this one, I had wondered is this my last pregnant shower? Now I knew: this was the last one. I spent an extra moment washing my belly and imagining my babe out of my body and in my arms. On our way out, I had bennett take one last picture of me pregnant, we loaded the car, and left. It was still dark as we drove, both of us so full of anticipation. I stared out the window and felt sad that things were already going differently than i had planned, or hoped. During my pregnancy, I had fantasized about laboring at home before going to the hospital. I pictured myself in the nursery, in the tub, breathing and moaning through contractions on the birthing ball. I pictured bennett and I walking through our neighborhood, leaves crunching beneath our feet, stopping on the sidewalk during contractions. I wondered what drivers-by would think, and imagined reassuring bennett that i was ok, that this was all normal. And here I was driving in for an induction.

We arrived on the L&D unit with all of our bags and Important Things. 2 nurses got us settled and admitted in record time. I mused about how nurses help each other with a 6am admission: no one wants to be stuck there late after a night shift. I tried not to let on that I was a nurse, let alone that I had been an L&D nurse. My midwife came in, and placed the cervidil noting that my cervix was still only 50% and 1cm. I thought the cervidil would surely put me into labor as I had continued contracting all night and had even passed some pink mucous. So we began waiting. I made sure to drink fluids regularly. Bennett paced. We watched tv. We each took a short nap. My contractions were showing up nicely on the monitor, but were not very painful. Around 11am, the baby started having some late decelerations. They were the kind you see in the text books: very little variability, the decel starts as the contraction is ending and takes awhile to recover. A nurse came in the room just as I was expecting. I changed positions, which helped. Bennett was hopeful that the tracing looked better, but I was nervous. The baby was having trouble tolerating these contractions and I wasn't even in labor. I kept thinking about my "old" placenta. At that time I honestly believed I had about a 50/50 chance of getting sectioned.

The day dragged on. The baby would occasionally have some nasty looking decels, but always recovered with position changes. I could tell that the nurses were nervous. at 4pm Nadine (midwife) came to check me. I was 2cm, but I think she was being generous. She offered to do another cervidil, or rupture my water. She assured me that the head was well applied, so I opted for the rupture. She had to be somewhere late morning the next day, and I really wanted her to deliver me because I felt the covering OB would surely not be as laid back as Nadine about some decels. So she broke my water, which was pretty uncomfortable, but I wanted so desperately to get into labor. After the my water was broken, I got out of bed and sat in the rocker. my contractions got more painful pretty quickly. We called my doula and agreed that she should come in within the hour. I filled her in on some of the heart rate issues, and she said to me "it's time that you stop being the nurse, and start being the laboring mother". I took those words to heart and didn't look at the monitor again. She got to our room around 7pm and I was having to breath through the contractions, but they still weren't difficult. We walked for some time, bounced on a birth ball for some time, and she showed bennett how to give me some acupressure. At first i thought the acupressure was kind of lame, but it really worked. So much so that during one contraction I pushed Bennett's hands away. We continued alternating between walking and bouncing for several hours. I kept up with my fluids and sneaked snacks. I hated going to the bathroom, as the following contractions were always more intense. We listened to Donovan, and reminisced about being teenagers together. I went on the monitor for 15 min out of every hour, and the baby was cooperating beautifully. I was constantly checking in with the baby, reminding him that he was safe, and that we would work together to have a beautiful birth.

The contractions started demanding my attention around 9pm and I was so glad to see nadine at 11pm to check me. I was terrified that there would be no change. I could handle the pain as long as I knew it was doing something. I was 90% and 3-4. I was elated! From my first prenatal appt, Nadine maintained that "once you get effaced, your labor is going to fly." That cervical exam brought on a wave of contractions that I had to moan through for the first time. I remembered to make low pitched noises; it was one of the only things I remembered from class. The baby's heartrate went to the 80s with a few contractions, but again recovered with position changes. I agreed to stay on the monitor for some time. I spent the next 2 hours in the bed on the monitor moaning with contractions. I visualized an eggplant with each contraction. I pictured holding it in my hands with my thumbs on the top of the fat part and my fingers on the thin part and pushing the bulk through the smaller "neck" while pulling back the skin. Tt's a hard visual to explain, but it seemed similar to pushing down on my fundus and pulling my cervix up and back, allowing the baby through. I focused on staying soft and limp and allowing each contraction to do its work. I concentrated on keeping my mouth loose and relaxing completely in between contractions. I got that "woozy" laborland feeling. At 1am Nadine came back to check me, and I was anxious to get in the water. I was 4-5 cm and completely effaced, so I headed to the tub.

As i lowered myself into the warm water, I thought I was in heaven. I could handle anything in there! It was bliss! Bennett sat next to the tub through a few contractions that were starting to push me to the edge. He remarked that Melissa (doula) and Nadine were commenting on how awesome I was doing. I said "really? because I feel like any one of these might make me lose it." My stomach was starting to feel uneasy, and my gatorade-water mix no longer sounded good. I wanted small sips of water. Ice cold water. The nurse did some intermittent doppler-ing, and it took all of my concentration to stay in control and not bat her hand away. I don't know why, but her touching me made EVERYTHING hurt more. I asked "is it going low?" she said no and I almost yelled "then get your freaking hands off of me!". I had been in the tub for maybe 15 minutes when I started having that I-can't-do-this feeling. I got on hands and knees in the water, but it didn't help. I started saying over and over that I couldn't do it, that I didn't care about going natural anymore, I just wanted it to stop. Melissa tried bargaining with me: just 5 more contractions and then I would get out of the tub. It worked in the sense that I needed something to fight against, I needed to argue with someone. Then I started throwing up. Bennett brought me a tiny spit basin and I looked at him and threw up all over his chest and extended arm. None made it into the basin. I threw up all over Melissa's arm and felt terrible about it. Finally she put a pile of towels in front of me which was exactly what I wanted but couldn't say with all the puke coming out of my mouth. I threw up into the towel pile and was just pummeled with wave after wave of crazy contractions. I didn't know when one was ending and the next starting. I thought I was dying, and then realized I wasn't, but wanted to. I was panicking, but also knew it was normal. I looked at Bennett and mustered all of my strength to gather the control to "check in" with him. I aked him if I was scaring him and he said no, but his eyes said yes. I told him I was going to be okay, and then I was sucked back down. I was terrified of thinking I was in transition. What if this hell wasn't transition? The thought was too scary. I started begging for a new plan. Something, anything. Nadine showed up and I told her I wanted a gun. She said with a big smile "oh! when women ask for a gun they are usually 8-9 cm!" She told me to get out of the tub and into bed and she would check me. I agreed, only on the terms that if I were anything less than 8 cm, I would get drugs. I even commanded them to get the OR ready. "call anesthesia! intubate me! I don't care!"

Somehow I made it to the bed. Being upright was much easier than hands and knees. I got into bed and Nadine checked me, sure enough, I was 8-9 cm. I got a huge smile and actually laughed. I looked and Bennett and said "oh my god, I'm going NATURAL!" I knew there was no turning back and was elated, but also frightened: there was no turning back. By this time it was 2am. I went from 4/5 cm to 8/9 cm in one crazy, intense hour. I spent the next 40 minutes working on that last cm or two. Not one position helped. The contractions spaced out a bit (they had been every 2-3 minutes for hours), but when one hit, I screamed to Jesus for dear mercy. Melissa tried everything. They told me to surrender and give in to my baby's descent. I told them I didn't care about a baby. They told me to relax and stay soft. I told them I was already doing my best and that everything was involuntary, I had no control anymore. Finally I got into a position to push. The position that felt the best was actually on my back, pulling my knees back. I didn't feel any great urge to push, I just wanted to get this over with already. Although, when I started a push, my body would then take over. It took me a few contractions, which were now a good 4 or 5 min part, to organize a good pushing groove. I was out of my head by this time, I felt like I was going to pass out. All of a sudden, my mouth was bone dry, and I couldn't talk. Melissa wiped my head with a cold cloth and i thought she was a genius. Never in my life had I had a need fulfilled so perfectly without asking. She gave me ice chips, and Bennett stroked my head. When a contraction would come I would whimper and dig down for strength I didn't believe was there, but it was. I was holding back a bit though, it felt like I would break in two if I pushed the way they were telling me to. Finally, with one contraction, I made the decision to push with reckless abandon, and POP his head came out. I looked up at Melissa in sheer terror, it was the most unnatural feeling I have ever experienced. A few seconds later I felt someone adjust my bed, Nadine was looking at the monitor, and the vibe in the room changed. Nadine looked at me and told me to get this baby out, now. I thought there was a stuck shoulder. It was a tight nuchal cord. I gave one last heave, and he came out. I thought for sure i had ripped from my meatus to my anus, but I was actually somehow completely intact. I fell back in bliss and just said over and over I did it, I did it. Bennett leaned into my face with tears in his eyes, and said "it's a boy!". I did it. I did it. They put Jeb on my chest for a moment, and he was blue. His first apgar was a whopping 5, so they took him to perk him up a bit. I sent Bennett over to take pictures and meet his son. I was suddenly more concerned with Bennett getting to see him than anything else. I felt like I'd had the pregnancy and birth, and these first moments were for him. I birthed the placenta, which hurt more than I was expecting. Jeb was brought to me and latched on beautifully. We made phone calls and revelled in our son. He was born at 3:19, and by 4:30, I was up to the bathroom and putting my own clothes on. I felt a little sore, but so great, so high. I did it. I did it. Bennett fell into a deep sleep around 5. The nurses were done with me for a while, and the room was cleaned up and calm and quiet. A glowing mama, and wrinkled newborn were the only evidence that birth had just happened in that very space. I held Jeb and we gazed at each other for over an hour as the sky changed from night to dawn. The sun was rising on a new life. His new life and mine. I declined the erythro ointment, and I am so glad I did. He was wide eyed for hours, and we just poured our souls into each other. It was the most perfect, sacred hour of my life.

For several days I didn't know what to think about natural birth. I felt a little bit traumatized, and couldn't remember why I had wanted to do this thing. Looking back, I'm so glad I did. I really believe I would have been sectioned if I'd had an an epidural and couldn't move around. I also believe it absolutely gave us a unique bond . I'd already been to the darkest, most miraculous place for him, before we'd even met. And the fast recovery was awesome. I am so proud of myself, and look forward to doing it again, hopefully at home next time:)