Baby Story Part II

Part I

I specifically didn't write a birth plan in the event that things didn't go as I imagined. I felt like writing out a plan for something as unpredictable as child birth would only cause extra stress if things got complicated. Despite this precaution, I still had a strong mental image of how I wanted things to go. 

18 days til due date 

I wanted to be doing something completely typical of daily life - watching a movie or making dinner - when I felt the first contraction. I wanted to tell Spencer I thought I might be going into labor, and he should pack the bags as I called the doctor. I pictured getting to the hospital and pushing and grabbing Spencer's hand for dear life. I liked to think I would be one of those women who toughed it out without an epidural, though in reality I knew I wouldn't get too far. I wanted that spiritual moment of pure joy when I first heard my baby cry and I held him against my chest. I wanted a picture of my little family sitting on the hospital bed, me looking like I had been through a war, but it wouldn't matter because I had just given birth to a beautiful baby boy. I imagined I would leave the hospital a breast feeding professional. My mental birth plan was the most typical of hollywood scenes, and though I didn't want to admit it, my heart was set on it. 

The nursery coming together. So many hours were spent on that couch imagining the little boy who would occupy that room

Things started to go awry a few days before my due date when I went in for an appointment only to be told that I was nowhere near going into labor. Not only that, but my doctor was going out of town for a week and a half and another doctor would be inducing me on the 27th (a week after my due date) if I hadn't gone into labor before then. I was so disappointed that a different doctor would be delivering my baby, and I was pretty discouraged that I was showing no signs of going into labor. My one ray of hope was knowing that my baby would be here at least by the 27th, it was the thing keeping me going. 

That was soon to change. When I came in to meet with the new doctor, he informed me that he wanted to wait until my doctor got back on the 30th to induce me. I was so discouraged. Three days may not seem like a big deal, but when you're 10 days past your due date it's just about the biggest deal in the world. I sat there in the doctor's office and cried. I was so frustrated. I was sick of being pregnant, I was sick of telling people the baby still hadn't come, I was mad that I wasn't going into labor on my own, and I just wanted to meet my baby!

As I sat there trying to get my emotions under control, I asked if I could be induced. Based on family history and the way things were going, there was no way I was going to go into labor on my own, and I figured as long as I was going to be induced in a week I might as well be induced now. The doctor was very clear in his answer: a resounding "no." With my body being so far from going into labor on its own, he told me an induction would be a sentence to a c-section. Not only that, but it was against their policy. 

I was amazed at how emotionally draining it was to go so far past my due date. Every time someone asked about my pregnancy I had to fight back tears. To add to my stress, my sisters had come to town to help with the baby, and they were scheduled to leave in a few days. I had been so dependent on the thought of having them here to help once the baby had come, the thought of trying to figure out life with a new born without help from someone who had been there before was so overwhelming.

I went in for my next appointment expecting to set up an induction date on the 30th. Instead I was told to come back and meet with my doctor on the 31st. I freaked out. I was so beyond frustrated at this point. Despite my feelings, I sat there patiently until the doctor was done speaking, and then asked if I might be able to be induced on the 31st instead. I would, after all, be 11 days overdue. Having been turned down once before, I was beyond nervous that I would be turned down again. However, after a short pause, he simply said, "sure."

On my way to have a baby!

So the night of the 30th came and we set our alarms, not fully realizing that in the morning we would be on our way to meet out little boy. 

Once we were settled into the hospital, the nurse asked about a birth plan. I told her we didn't have one, only that Spencer wanted to cut the cord and that I wanted to hold my baby as soon as I could, those were the only things I had allowed myself to count on. 

And so it began. They gave me a pill to kick-start labor. They broke my water. They gave me an epidural. They started pitocin. And that's when the complications began. Every time I had a contraction, baby's heart rate would drop significantly. It became clear that there was meconium in my water. I had developed an infection, and I was freezing cold and shaking despite running a fever. They backed off the pitocin to help with baby's heart rate, they switched to internal monitors to get better readings, they started antibiotics, they made sure there would be a NICU nurse present for the delivery, they tried adding fluid back in, they put me on oxygen, they did an ultrasound, they turned me from side to side. They tried everything they could, but baby's heart rate was still going down. 

Twenty hours later I was dilated to a 10, and my doctor was able to tell that baby's head was in the wrong position. He wasn't posterior, he was in something called Brow Presentation, the least common infant position. He had his neck craned too far back and he was set to come out forehead first, which simply wasn't going to work. She tried physically moving his head, but it was no use. After 22 hours of labor, she told me she thought it was time for a c-section. 

As the nurses explained the procedure to me, they said that a c-section typically takes 10 minutes, and then another 30 to sew mom back up. I went into a panic. 10 minutes? I wasn't ready to have a baby in 10 minutes. I don't know what I had been expecting, seeing as I was in labor, but 10 minutes seemed shockingly short and I wanted more time to prepare. I was so tired, I at least wanted to be able to sleep for a few more hours before becoming a mother. 

But it turns out things like emergency c-sections don't wait for mothers to get in one last nap. They prepped me for surgery, made sure Spencer had his scrubs, and wheeled me into the OR. 

I don't fully know how to explain how I felt. I was so tired. I was exhausted. I couldn't open my eyes for more than a few seconds, and when I did everything was so blurry. I couldn't focus on anything. I kept trying to open my eyes for a solid three seconds, or at least to bring something into focus, because I wanted to be able to focus on my baby when I saw him. 

I was also freezing. I was shaking so violently that I ached. I tried putting my tongue between my teeth to stop them from chattering and my jaw from aching, but they were going too hard I was afraid I would bite through. I was afraid that if I didn't stop shaking they wouldn't let me hold my baby, someone shaking as much as me wouldn't be able to hold onto anything. Eventually I heard the anesthesiologist state that I was "shaking like a maniac," and something needed to be done about it. They ended up putting some sort of blanket that circulated heat over the top half of my body. I tried to look to see what exactly it was, but I was too tired to concentrate on it. 

The next thing I remember is hearing the doctor say that the cord was wrapped around his neck three times. The nurses repeated this information to each other in tones of shock, and so I knew it was bad. I also knew that I couldn't hear my baby making any noise. I was so tired I wasn't even sure if he had been born yet, but I very aware of the lack of crying. 

I heard the word NICU, I heard someone speaking to Spencer, and I was vaguely aware of the fact that he was leaving. Then I sat there, being stitched up on the operating table, not fully aware of the fact that my baby had just been born and I hadn't been able to see him. 

What happened next is Spencer's story to tell. He had to watch as our pale, silent, immobile baby was rushed from the room, as he had tubes attached and cuts made, as the NICU staff worked to make him breath, to make him live. He had to come back to the OR well after the alloted 30 minutes only to find out his wife was still in surgery, that there had been complications. He had to tell the family what had happened, and then repeat it to me after I had been returned to the room. He had to wait to find out if his wife and child were going to be okay without anyone there to help him through. 

Once I had come out of surgery and was a little more lucid, they wheeled me into the NICU to see my baby boy. When Spencer pointed to him as we entered, I just started to cry. I was so overcome with emotion at seeing my son for the first time. Also, I cried because it was harder on me than I ever thought it could be. 

Before anything else, I have say how lucky we are, and that I know how lucky we are. A five day stay in the NICU is almost nothing compared to some. Our baby was not premature. We were able to hold him the same day he was born. We were so blessed in so many ways to have such a quickly-recovering baby. 

But it was still hard. It still broke my heart to see my baby for the first time from a distance, to simply hold his little foot, tell him that I loved him, and then have to leave. It was impossibly hard to be a floor away recovering from surgery, not able to go see him, and have visitors come and tell me how much they enjoyed seeing him. It was impossible to feel like his mother when the nurses knew him better than I did. It was so frustrating to finally make it out of bed, into a wheelchair, and all the way upstairs only to be too exhausted to stand up and look at him because of all the blood I had lost in surgery. It was so sad to me not to be able to breast feed. 

It was so hard. 

Meeting my baby boy for the first time

Dad holding Carter for the first time

Mom holding Carter for the first time

And it continued to be hard. Breast feeding was a challenge that brought me to tears each time I tried. Feeling connected to my baby was hard. Coming to terms with having a hard time connecting was hard. All around I had a hard time, and I felt guilty because of it.

Things went slowly. Feeding is still hard and we are still working it out. But feeling connected to my little Carter? I couldn't love him more. It took a while for it to stop feeling like I was watching someone else's baby, like I was actually the mother. But when it came, it came fast and hard, and since that moment I have known without a doubt that this is my little boy, and that I would do anything for him.

My perfect little family. I love them with all of my heart. 

40 Days of Dating: What marriage is really about

There is this project going on called 40 days of dating where these two friends decided to date for 40 days and they're documenting it online. Here is a quote from the guy:

"I was thinking about some of my buddies who are in a relationship that doesn’t completely stimulate them. So many men and women accept this standard, it’s no wonder why half of all marriages end in divorce. Are we so desperate for companionship that we’ll compromise our happiness? Are we afraid to go after what we really deserve? And why don’t we realize this until it’s too late?"

His reasoning made me so mad. I don't even know why. But like, the purpose of the universe and the people in it isn't to make you happy. If you are looking for a relationship that is going to make you 100% happy 100% of the time then you are the most selfish human being. Have you ever thought that maybe sometimes you'll have to sacrifice to make your partner happy? Did you ever think that maybe your selfish attitude is what leads to all of those divorces? The people who stay in marriages aren't the people who are happy 100% of the time. They don't wake up every morning on cloud nine. They don't see sunshine and butterflies all the time. They still have problems, they have relationship issues, they sacrifice, they put up with the other person's emotions. "Are we so desperate for companionship that we'll compromise our happiness? Are we afraid to go after what we really deserve?" I hate the use of the word desperate. Are we so desperate to have a successful marriage that we stop thinking about ourselves for a moment? Yes, what a terrible thing to do. How terrible to have to learn to be selfless. How terrible to stop thinking about ourselves for a moment to try and figure out how to make someone that we love a little happier. And deserve? Are we afraid to go after what we really deserve? What makes you think that you deserve to be happy all the time? You don't deserve anything unless you've worked for it.

It's just such a contract marriage view. I'll give my 50% and the second I feel like I'm giving more into this relationship than I'm getting back, I'm out.

So so so so so so so so so so so so STUPID!!!!!!! What if you had that opinion about everything in life? Man, I am giving way more time and effort into this homework than it's worth. I guess I'll just quit. You know what? My job takes up so much of my time but it doesn't make me feel happy all of the time. I guess I'll quit. My religion is a full-time commitment but I don't always see the results. I guess I'll stop going to church. No. It doesn't work that way. You have to work for it. You might not always be seeing the results, but in the end the hard times are what make the successes so sweet.

You are never going to be truly happy if all you want is something that will simply make you happy. What if you went to your friends to vent after a long day and they were super supportive and helped you through it, but then when they came to you you thought "hmm, this conversation is kinda a downer. This friendship relationship isn't completely stimulating me right now. I want out." How could you ever expect to keep any relationships?

I don't know why people have this crazy thought that marriage is going to be the one friendship/relationship where you are happy 100% of the time. You're human, your partner is human, things are not always going to be perfect. The fact that this is enough to cause a 50% divorce rate sickens me. Have we really been raised so selfishly that we think we deserve everything?

Marriage is wonderful. Marriage is the best thing I have ever been a part of. But if there weren't challenges then our relationships would never grow. We as individuals would never grow. Nothing would ever change.

Sometimes it's about service. Sometimes it's about the other person. Sometimes you have to accept the fact that life isn't a fairytale and you might actually have to work to keep your relationship strong. Sometimes you might even feel less than completely stimulated.

...

P.s. you should read the comment Katie left on this post. That girl has a gift of saying all the things I wanted to say but couldn't quite figure out how to word.

p.s.s. I've been thinking about it since I originally posted this and I just want to clarify. I didn't mean to personally attack this man, and I'm so sorry if it came off that way. With my major this topic is something I'm (obviously) passionate about, and that particular comment set off thoughts about things we discuss in my major regularly. I'm really grateful for Katie's comment which truly said everything else I was thinking. I understand everyone is on different parts of this journey and everyone has different ways of understanding and seeing things. I just wish that more people could go into marriage knowing that it isn't the cure-all, that it was going to take work. Anyway. I hope that clears up my thoughts a little.

A frame for every occasion

It's not a secret, I like to make fun of things. I'm not talking relentless bullying, just a friendly "wait, you're not serious...?" when I feel it is fully deserved. Like this picture frame:

via

Five generations? Really? How often do you have your child, you, your mom, your grandma, and your great grandma all alive/in one picture? Is this a common enough occurrence that we need a special frame? If you happen to fall into this category couldn't you like, make your own custom frame?

I guess I just don't have that much faith in people's lifespans. Or maybe it's the fact that I only have two generations I could take a picture with so five seems absurd and a little far-fetched.

Is it just me? Do you have five generations still kicking? Am I the odd man out because my grandparents died young(ish)? If you happen to have five generations hanging out send me a picture so I can build a shrine to you in my home. Also so I know to stop mocking this frame.

The biggest differences between Spencer and me

1. The way we watch TV

I have noticed that I am unique in my TV watching habits from a young age. I remember spending my days at the Perry's, occasionally finding ourselves scattered in front of the TV. Diana, being the oldest,  always had remote privileges. We would stop on one show and watch it until a commercial came on, then we would channel jump until she sensed it was time to go back. I was always amazed by her abilities to predict when commercial breaks would end. 

I have to admit, this process always gave me a bit of anxiety. I had liked what we were watching. What if she found something else she was more interested in and I never got the sappy message at the end of Full House? What if she turned back too late and I missed a funny post-commercial joke, or worse, a post-commercial plot twist? The possibilities were endless and terrifying. 

Do I have anxiety issues? Am I too lazy to hit buttons on the remote? Was I not blessed with the gift of discerning the length of commercial breaks? I may never know, but I definitely know that I never change the channel during the commercials. I even get a bit of anxiety when people fast-forward them on DVR. 

I know I'm weird because not only did the Perry family watch TV this way, but all of my roommates have watched TV this way. Whenever I've been watching with random people they watch this way. And Spencer? Spencer definitely watches this way. I worries me that I need to take a deeper look into TV watching habits. 

2. The way we make a PB&J

One morning in junior high I made a PB&J as my mother watched from a distance. When I was finished she chimed in, "well, I guess I'm the odd man out." I was thrown off, but she continued to inform me that I made my sandwich like my dad and like my mother's childhood friend, Marilyn. She said that she once watched Marilyn make a sandwich, spreading both the peanut butter and jelly out to the very edges of the bread before putting the pieces together. My mother watched this process in awe, wondering why she made her sandwiches so oddly. 

My mother, you see, did not spread the toppings to the very edge, nor did she spread them evenly over their respective pieces. It wasn't until she got married and noticed that my dad made his sandwiches like Marilyn, and when they had children and they said they liked Dad's sandwiches better, that she realized she was the odd-man out.

I haven't informed her yet, but I have found her a partner in crime. The first time Spencer made me a PB&J I looked at it in awe, wondering how someone could manage to make something so similar to the way my mother would do it. 

Mother's Day

My mother always encouraged my creativity. She taught me how to sew. She was eager to help me learn. She signed me up for everything she possibly could. She let me explore the world and decide the person I wanted to be.

She selflessly home schooled me. She gave so much of her time to make sure I got the best education I could. She found the greatest writing class, an amazing math tutor, she found classes to teach me more about the world than I ever could have imagined. She planned activities to get me really involved in the learning process. She encouraged me to read the classics. Through all of my complaints she patiently pushed on, helping me learn to love learning. And through it all we were able to laugh. We formed inside jokes about our ridiculously Christian grammar books. We tried to hold in laughter as my first (unsuccessful) math tutor had me perform "exercises." We were able to form such an amazing relationship. She gave me the opportunity to travel the world, learning about peoples and cultures.

The amazing quilt she made me

I have watched the way she opened her home to others. Those who are friends, those who were strangers, or those who needed a helping hand. And as I've gone through my major, learning about the family, I've learned how truly knowledgeable my mother is. She did such an amazing job raising her family. I have never met a stronger woman. I have never met another person who has been met with so many trials and who has come out stronger and smiling. I have never met another woman like my mother. 

She has given me an amazing example of what a woman should be. She is hardworking and caring. I honestly have never seen a person more dedicated to their goals than my mother. She never, ever, pressured me to be "beautiful" in the sense of the world. She never put an emphasis on clothing, looks, or weight. She gave me an example of the importance of caring for your body. I never heard my mother make a negative comment about her appearance, and that has influenced me more than she will ever know. She always reminded me of what was most important. What matters is how you treat others, how you prioritize your life, how you serve those around you. She has always encouraged me to be my own person, and she has always celebrated and embraced who that person is. I love my mother.