This past week has been a WHiRLWIND.  CrAzY!  We’ve been trying (to no avail) to get the house cleaned up and ready just for Sir to leave again.  A little frustration came when 2 out of 3 of my Pampered Chef parties canceled very last minute, but I guess that’s how it goes.  In hindsight, it may have been a blessing in disguise.  Either way, it became one less thing for me to DO DO DO.

Last night, I had the Pampered Chef I’ve been looking forward to for weeks.  -Full of lovely women and hosted by my aunts, it was all sorts of awesome!  I experimented with more of a SHOW AND TELL approach, rather than an INTERACTIVE COOKING SHOW and just let them sip wine and mingle.  AND, it was one of the best parties EVER!  Yay!  And, not all of the orders are even in yet…so I’m super excited about it!

With good news, comes bad news…

The girls are sick.  Both of them.  As much as we tried to wash our hands and stay germ free, it just didn’t happen.  We brought home a nasty souvenir from our St. Louis trip – Gigi got it first, then the girls, then Pa (Gigi’s Pa), then Sir…and then we successfully gave it to Mimi!  The good news is that we’re pretty sure it’s just a cold.  So far, it looks like God is showing me some real mercy and not letting my symptoms progress quite like everyone else’s.  –Which shows just how much God takes care of the details because I’m going to have my hands full playing a almost-but-not-really-single-mommy-for-two-weeks.

Yesterday, the girls had a previously scheduled well-child appointment and I was SO THANKFUL.  Our pediatrician is awesome, and because of this, the wait can be LOOONG.  But, we already had appointments scheduled MONTHS AGO.  So, we got a quick diagnosis and a lot of questions about growth and development and how to keep the girls comfy answered.  He very patiently gave us TWO HOURS of his time, one of which was just to talk to me because I had some concerns.

Over a year ago, I decided that vaccination wasn’t for our family RIGHT THEN.  Lala had had her several shots and a nasty reaction (not the nastiest that they can get, but enough to worry me), and I had begun to do a lot of research.  Sir and I decided we’d stop and then constantly re-evaluate, especially when different sicknesses made their way near us.  I have reasons for not loving vaccines – including the ingredients (and I’m not just talking about thimeresol), how many are given at once and the ages they are given.  I also don’t love knowing that MAYBE I could have kept my child from getting a disease they can’t get rid of.  Then again, I don’t love the idea that I may be loading them up on harmful drugs, or known carcinogens.

A few weeks ago, whooping cough came back on the local radar.  So, at our appt. I asked the doctor about it and after a very lengthy conversation, we decided to selectively vaccinate.  For NOW.  We’ll skip certain vaccinations, and the others we’ll do on a special time schedule made JUST FOR MY GIRLS.  And, if they have an awful reaction, we’ll slow it way way way down.  I couldn’t help but rethink our decision as I held Lala in my arms, her tear-filled eyes looking up at me with the most desperate look of utter betrayal.  I did what I could to not break into tears, myself as I held her in my arms, forcing her to stay still.  Then again, as she refused to walk all night and would sob as she let her legs give way underneath her, I couldn’t help feel NOT SO SURE again.  Then, when baby Rora broke out with a 101.5 fever that wouldn’t respond to tylenol in the middle of the night…I began to wonder if I’d made the right decision.

To be very honest… I DON’T KNOW.  All I know is that I’m doing my absolute best to be their mommy, their advocate.  And, I hate that I can’t do my own scientific research just to know that I would have 100 percent reliable information that hasn’t been twisted or bent for one purpose or another.  I love the idea of vaccines, I just can’t wait for the day that they become everything we need them to be for our children.

So, when you see us out and about and my babies look feverish and tired…it’s the shots.  The sniffles and sneezes?  That’s the cold.

Welcome back!

Dear Rora and Lala,

Your daddy and I couldn’t imagine our lives without you both in them.  You are both growing so much and we love watching you both develop into your own little persons.

Lala, you are about 2 1/3 years   You are learning about MINE – but, you’re also learning that not everything is yours.  You still love to share with others, especially when you’re wanting to share MY COOKIE.  (But, that’s okay.  I couldn’t think of anyone better that I’d like to share my cookies with.)  You finally figured out how to jump, and have become quite the gymnast with all of your jumping, rolling and dancing.  You have a servant’s heart and are constantly just wanting to help, whether it’s chores or making someone else’s “boo-boo” all better.  Unfortunately, your favorite food right now is hot dogs with mustard and ketchup and nothing else.  That, and crackers.  You would eat crackers all day long if we let you.  Your favorite song is… P-p-poker face (by Lady Gaga).  You ask us to turn it on the radio often, and luckily we haven’t bought the cd for you.  Can’t you learn to love amazing grace or something?  You know…wholesome song and lyrics I actually can sing to you?  You are beginning to really make outside relationships now.  Besides Mimi and Pa, you’ve really taken to “Aunt” Amanda.  She’s one of the first adults I’ve seen you take to in this degree.   We’re working on your ABCs  and  numbers (1-10) and learning  (and drawing) CIRCLES.  You love swimming in the pool (or bathtub) and you still love reading.  You love your 80 bazillion baby dolls (although I think it’s time we thin your collection out a bit) and like to “cook” for them with your mini set of pots and pans.  You adore your baby sister and are such an excellent helper.  Occasionally you get in trouble, but for the most part you are wonderful and sweet.  (Thanks for that.)

Rora, you’re 3 1/2 months old and besides eating and sleeping, you are one giggly and smiley baby!  You love to squawk and grin as you try to stand up.  You hold your head up really well and love practicing.  You don’t spit-up anything like your sister did as a baby and I’m convinced it’s the difference in what we’re feeding you (breastmilk vs. formula).  You love being held and at times seem a little more fussy than your sister did at your age, but I think that has a lot to do with situational things.  Like, with Lala, she was already in her own crib by now.  And, with you, we realized time goes by WAY TOO FAST…so you get to stay with us for a while longer.  – That, and I really don’t think I could walk through the land-mine that is your sister’s room and safely breastfeed you and put you back to sleep by morning.  And, I do love watching you sleep.  You are a big cuddler and I love waking up to you snuggled up to me, your tinyness fitting snuggly against me, with your arm thrown over your face or behind your head.  Gosh.  Can you please stop growing so fast?

Girls, things are about to change in some pretty huge ways.  And, while it may not turn out quite like we’re hoping it will, I hope you can look back and just know we’re trying our best.

I love you – to infinity and beyond.

Mama

At BlogHer…

I met Edward and became his Queen.  Or something.

And then, I had a baby and grew really long pink neck hair.  I mean, feathers.  (Must’ve been the flamingo I ate.)

Then, we happened upon some people with alcohol and cheeseburgers and didn’t want to piss anyone off, so we took a burger.  Or three.  And, hats.  Er…bags.

Even Baby Boss…seeing as how she’s about to get her own blog, too.  Because you know… we’re cool like that.

(More to come later.  Must go be a Pampered Chef and pretend to cook …or, not burn anything.)

Yesterday, I gathered vegetable scraps, leaves, and lawn clippings, filling our compost almost 3/4 of the way.  Together, Lorelei and I took turns dumping the matter into the bin and then took a stroll through the garden in an attempt to teach her how to not trample the produce beginning to make its way up.  Then, we sat on the brick patio as I filled our bird feeders and Lorelei investigated the fallen seeds against the bricks.  We practiced counting, numbering each flower and shoe and bug that lay in our path.  We laughed and giggled and tickled and made faces til our cheeks hurt.  And soon, it was naptime.  I changed her from the cloth diaper to a night time diaper and tucked her beneath her pink strawberry sheets.

There was a thump from another room, and as I kissed Lorelei, I wondered what it was the cats had gotten into.  I could hear Aurora as she began to cry and my chest began to hurt, letting me know it was time to feed her again.

Smiling, I opened the door from one child’s room to the next.  Adjusting my eyes to the light difference, confusion embraced me.  Aurora’s cry was louder now, but it wasn’t coming from the middle of the bed where we’d left her nestled in a Queen sized space.  It sounded almost like it was coming from beside the bed.  My heart stopped – and then, it proceeded to fall out of my body.  The blanket that had covered Aurora no longer held the shape of her little body and lay a little too flat against the bed.  I pushed the nausea and panic back as I rushed around the bed.  She lay on her side, too close to the bedside table, her arms and leges flailing and her little cries penetrating my soul.

I scooped her tiny body into my arms and she immediately stopped crying as she snuggled her head into my neck, pulling me closer with her tiny arm.  I looked her over carefully, taking note of her eyes, nose, mouth, ears, and focus.  I wiggled her arms and legs carefully, making sure everything moved smoothly without pain.  Although everything seemed fine, I couldn’t push the gruesome thoughts lurking behind my brain – What if she has a brain bleed?  What if it’s an internal bleed?  What if it’s something I can’t see right now and we think she’s okay but she isn’t.  What if I’m holding her now but what if …

I dialed the physician’s number and exhaled, realizing as I pushed “3″ by the voice menu prompt that I had been holding my breath.  There was no answer.  Just an answering machine.

Cradling Aurora in my arms, I rocked her back and forth as I nursed her.  She’d stopped crying long ago, but it was me who needed the comfort.  Babies weren’t supposed to roll and crawl, yet.  At 4 weeks, they’re supposed to be fairly immobile.  4 week old babies just aren’t supposed to fall off the bed….

****

(NOTE:  Aurora is fine.  The nurse called back and after answering a checklist of questions about her physical appearance and reactions, she told us we’d just need to watch the soft spot for bulging (a sign of bleeding and swelling).  But, she is fine.  Praise God.)

Yesterday was Steven and my 4th wedding anniversary.  We had considered all sorts of options for “what to do,” but nothing we came up with was really appropriate – at least not with a $0 budget.  And, on Wednesdays in a small town…there’s just not much going on.  Originally, we’d wanted to go to St. Louis and visit the zoo with the girls, science museums, etc – but even though the admission to those things are relatively cheap, they weren’t cheap enough and that didn’t even figure in gas or a hotel.  So, we trashed that idea.

Instead, we took Aurora to her first doctor visit.  After waiting over an hour in our new pediatrician’s waiting room, we found out that not only had Aurora gained weight (she’s now 7lbs 3oz!), but she also grew about an inch!  He prescribed her some Levisin (or Levison??) to help relax her tummy which may or may not be the cause for the colicky episodes during the wee hours of the morning.

Afterwards, Steven asked me what I’d like to do with the rest of our day.  My vote was dropping the girls off with mom (who had taken a half day to watch the girls for us) and then sneaking away to take a nap.

Instead…mom bought us a lovely lunch at Flamingo Row, followed by a frantic search for a bathroom for Steven after he refused to go at the restaurant.  In case you wanted to know…Old Navy does NOT have a bathroom for the general public.  Next, we headed over to Books A Million and spent a couple of hours flipping through an assortment of magazines and books (and, Steven taking a 30 minute nap)  After that, we headed back to Old Navy to find Steven a pair of inexpensive shorts since he only had one pair and even those were ripped.  Then, we headed toward the pharmacy where we spent over half an hour arguing with our insurance about whether our newborn should be covered or not, and ultimately ended up paying in full for her medicine.

Once we’d collected the prescription, we headed off to my parents’ home where a feast had been prepared for us.  Except I didn’t feel good, so I dozed off on the couch.  At 9 pm, I opted for a couple of plain strawberry Kashi whole grain waffles and a huge glass of water just to keep from passing out.

Yeh…We probably should’ve just stuck with taking a nap, looking back.  It was a pretty good day, though…considering.

We’re totally having a redo this Saturday.  And, that’s that.

Wow. I can’t believe how incredibly busy I’ve been – the kind of busy where at the end of the day you aren’t even sure you “accomplished” much else than feeding yourselves and changing diapers and trying to keep the toddler from accidentally falling down the stairs or ON the baby. Besides updating my facebook, I’ve pretty much broken up with the internet. It’s not that I mean to, I’m just THAT busy…and I’m needed elsewhere, so that’s where I am.

Even though it hasn’t been that long – only a couple of years – since I last had a newborn in my arms, I guess I had forgotten some things…

You know, like the fact that you can go through an entire package of 84 diapers in TWO WEEKS! And, that 4+ po0py diapers a day was normal…and, the um…fragrance and consistency of it all. Mmm. And, I think I forgot the random fussiness where you THINK it’s one thing but then you’re totally wrong and after you’ve spent 2 hours changing the baby, singing to the baby, walking with the baby, rocking the baby, trying to persuade the baby to take a pacifier, covering the baby and then uncovering her when she screams in protest….then, it’s time to eat again…and by the time you’ve decided it MUST be gas, they fall asleep for 30 minutes. How I forgot that bit, I’ll never know. Or…how they just want to be held and will not be tricked by fancy swings that play them music and rock them with actual consistency and won’t fall asleep and stop in mid-rock…and how you become virtually useless when you have a floppy newborn in your arms who doesn’t really like to stay in one place…

Ahhhh…love it. (Really, I do.)

This time is a little different though…Because not only am I the personal poop disposer, but I’m also breakfast, lunch, and dinner – and the 80 snacks in between (it seems). I didn’t realize I’d be sleeping on towels, wishing for pain relievers and numbing gels (during the first week), or mostly topless – but it’s been a good experience and I’m FINALLY to the part where it begins to be enjoyable. Except for the towels. Steven has been super supportive although I think he was a little disappointed when he figured out that the nursing camis with snap-down boobie pieces was not lingerie, but for nursing. That, and he now realizes that not only is he glad to have been born a male, but is also glad that men can’t nurse babies. Wuss.

May has been full so far – A being born, checkups, baby blessing, recovering, catching up on chores, the wonderful baby shower that a few beautiful ladies threw for me (thanks!)… Then, tomorrow is the 2 week check up for Baby A AND Steven and my anniversary. This weekend is Memorial Day Weekend and a special lunch for our church’s seniors… and my dad’s birthday… And, so much more on the to-do list.

So, tomorrow we plan to wake up at the crack of dawn (oh wait, we do that anyway…sort of) and then go to A’s appointment. Mom is taking the day off tomorrow to watch the girls so we can have some “date” time. We still have the movie gift card that my parents gave us for Christmas and MAY be able to grab something to eat if I have enough on a different gift card we were gifted for Christmas by my parents. If all else fails, we may hide away at the library or in books a million and read. Because we’re nerds. And broke. Then, on Friday my mom has ordered us a DEEP FREEZER for our anniversary gift from her and dad and Grams! I’m super excited. A freezer has been on our wish list for a couple of years, now and we’re finally getting one! I never thought I’d be this excited over an appliance but our freezer is packed and we could shave off a little more of the cost of food if we could cook larger quantities and then freeze for later. Saturday, we’re planning on taking the girls downtown for some festivities and then, of course, church on Sunday …and, Monday, a cookout! Woo! Super excited though.

In other news, still no news on the job front. Well…a lot of “No’s” it seems. It’s really frustrating and I have “freak out periods” where I have to be reminded that just because I don’t see HIM working, He’s there. There are a couple of free lance jobs that are possibilities, which would last us about a month or two. And, then we’re also looking at the possibility of Steven going back to school and contracting with ROTC — BUT a few things have to be accomplished before that can be a possibility, and time isn’t on our side. So, please pray for us on that one. It’s really important.

So, that catches us up, I think…All over the place, but I felt like I needed to write.

Oh… and the magical garden that got confused and grew upside down (died)… we replanted it yesterday… both of them.

I was beginning to wonder if perhaps I’d been tricked and my baby wouldn’t be coming for another year or so.  It certainly felt like it, anyhow.  I’d scoured the do-it-yourself “natural” induction lists and had tried all but a few.  And, although I’d promised myself that I would under no circumstances drink castor oil – I began doubting that, too.  Fortunately, some very great people persuaded me against that idea seeing as how it could end up doing more harm than good and stimulating some awful contractions, something I had been trying to avoid by NOT inducing with pitocin (and, at least with pitocin I could not be nauseous or sick).

By Sunday (May 3, 2009), I had stocked up on books in an effort to keep my brain busy and relaxed – all at once.  I had also done my best to come up with ideas for things to fill my days until labor came on its own.

We’d just left the church picnic, and I was exhausted.  It was only 2:30 PM, but it felt like 9PM.  I’d been overly tired for a couple of days and figured it was just par for the course – that, and I was tired of getting my hopes up only to be nothing.  But, by 7:30 PM I felt sick – without any castor oil, thank you – and by 8 PM I had back cramps and contractions pretty regularly.  We ate a Stouffer’s lasagna for supper around 9 PM and then headed for bed.  The contractions were still regular, but weren’t getting very intense yet, so I wasn’t banking much on them.  The night was filled with on and off again sleep and a lot of me asking Steven to wake up to rub my lower back.

And then at 2:00 AM, I noticed it.

She wasn’t moving.  Actually, I couldn’t remember her moving for HOURS.  Slightly panicky, I shook Steven’s shoulder, trying to get him to wake up.  He groggily got out of bed and poured the rest of the cranberry juice into a glass for me – which, was such a small amount of juice that it could have probably easily fit into a medicine dropper.  I laid on my side and drank the juice, waiting and ready to count baby kicks.  But there were none.  I kept replaying the nurses telling me that during contractions and labor, you SHOULD feel the baby moving…my contractions were steady, and she wasn’t moving…was something wrong?  I dialed the hospital nursery and was advised to drink more juice or Sprite – both items we didn’t have.  Heck, we didn’t even have brownies!  (Although, looking back – I guess I could have eaten straight sugar!)

We packed the remainder of our bags and headed for the hospital, calling my mom on the way so she could meet us there to pick up Lorelei.

On the way, I felt the baby move once (within an hour) and felt my contractions resume the intensity they had been earlier.  Possibly slightly stronger.  They weren’t hard contractions…they were just uncomfortable and made me slightly breathless as they came and went (yet I could still talk and walk through them, easily).

Once we arrived to the hospital, we were immediately led upstairs and I was hooked to monitors as Steven found a comfy corner with a chair and began to doze off.  The baby was okay, just probably asleep.  My contractions, on the other hand, were showing up even more consistent than I had thought.  So, at 3:00 AM, the doctor on call decided to keep me for observation.

I watched the clock, waiting for a semi-decent time to call my doula.  I hadn’t wanted to call her too early just in case it was nothing (again) and figured at least if I looked like a fool with no witnesses, I could pretend it never happened!  6 AM FINALLY rolled around and I made the call.  She arrived in record time and even brought breakfast for both Steven and I!  Up until this point, I had declined any bloodwork or routine IVs, since I didn’t know whether I was progressing or if I’d be staying.  I was given the chance to walk without the monitors for an hour, and Stephanie and I walked the halls as Steven tried to rest.  The contractions were still steady, although it felt better to be able to walk.  We walked each of the 8 floors and then went back to my room to see if my doctor had come in yet.

She hadn’t, but a nurse checked me and found that I was now 4 cm dilated (an entire cm than before)!  My doctor was called and I was given 3 choices:

1.  I could be induced with pitocin at this point
2.  They could break my waters and I could lay in bed with an IV (so the baby’s cord wouldn’t get in the way)
3.  Or, I could go home

I asked if maybe there could be a compromise – if, perhaps I could be monitored at the hospital for another few hours and walk and if my contractions got stronger LATER…like, by 2 pm but I wasn’t progressing enough if THEN we could talk about inducing…just so I wouldn’t be in labor for 2 days straight.  My doctor said NO.  Induce now or wait until 6 AM the next day.  She said she had plans with her husband that evening…and it’d just be unfair to shove it all on a different doctor.

“But…I’m IN labor now.  So, even if it takes me forever, the possibility that I’ll be here LATE tonight on another doctor’s watch is pretty high.  What’s the difference between them delivering THEN vs. delivering at a decent time with pitocin?”

My doctor was convinced that I wasn’t actually IN labor yet, though and didn’t really think it mattered much.  She wasn’t budging.

So, by 10 AM, I’d signed the discharge papers and we left the hospital to rest and shower at my mom’s house while Steph did some things she needed to.

At mom’s, I soon figured out that resting wasn’t really going to work.  The contractions had picked up a little and laying down made them feel more intense.  At this point, my doctor had already called, concerned by my question to a nurse about whether another hospital would deliver my baby if I didn’t have a doctor, since mine wouldn’t be on call anyhow, and the doctor that WOULD be on call was a man who I didn’t have a positive experience with in the past – the same man who undoubtedly had saved my life 8 years ago, but had also managed to make me feel scared and alone in the process.  My doctor told me to come back in and she’d give me lots of choices, but I’m fairly sure she still didn’t grasp exactly what I wanted….  A birth with few interventions (unless necessary) and preferably no pitocin, no epidurals.  Just the chance to let my labor progress on its own.

Finally, around noon (ish), I decided I couldn’t lay down any more.  I planned to eat lunch at McAllister’s and walk around the mall  ( air conditioned and with MANY distractions) to see if my contractions would pick up some.  We had no sooner entered the parking lot before the contractions had picked up even more, and I was ready to just eat in the car.  With a little prodding, though, my mom and Steven had me at the counter ordering my meal.

“For here or to go?” the cashier asked.
“We’ll start with here, but we’ll probably end up ‘to go’”
He just looked at me funny…and confused.
“I’m in labor.  Things might get interesting.”  I said, holding onto the counter
“OH.  Umm…”

(That’s right, buddy.  Be scared.  Very scared.  Bwahahahaha)

I asked mom to find a booth with lots of padding and away from PEOPLE.  She found a booth…right next to people.  (In her defense, there weren’t any away from people and the booth was bolted down, so moving it to the bathroom would’ve been near impossible.  Unfortunately.)

The contractions kept coming, each one lasting a little longer and harder it seemed.  I had been timing them just right so I could eat a bite in between…but apparently I misjudged one and found myself with a mouthful of basil chicken panini and trying to ride out a contraction.

“Just Breathe in through your nose and out your mouth” my mother cooed.

I eyed her, annoyed, wondering if I should “breathe” out the chicken sandwich in her direction but instead clamped my mouth shut as I tried to breathe in and out of my nose.

That’s when the manager chose to stop by our table to ask if everything was okay.  My mom and Steven tried to nod him hurriedly away, but he didn’t look so sure as he looked at my red face and bulging eyes, my white knuckles grasping the table.  I would guess I looked like an angry bull …or like I was choking and nobody was helping.  He walked away a lot faster than he came.

Suddenly, the entire restaurant seemed to be aware that something weird was going on.  The pregnant chick in the corner was acting really really weird…and so, naturally…they all wanted to look…stare…and see.

I gave up on the sandwich.  I’d eaten half and waited just long enough for a to go box for the other half (for Steven) and half ran out the door…as much as a huge pregnant woman could run/waddle, that is.

Back inside the car, I noted how stupid of an idea it was to walk the mall.  So, we headed back to mom’s house – I thought maybe we could put a movie on (which I may or may not watch) and use the birthing ball and maybe even the tub and such.

I made it up the driveway and inside…and barely to the bathroom and back.  The contractions were MUCh stronger now.  Requiring me to stop and hold something and these brought either moans or tears (or both) with them.  Mom and Steven outvoted me and decided we needed to go back to the hospital.  So, we called Steph again about our 3rd change in plans and she met us there.  Upon arrival, I was 5-6 cm dilated.

Then, I kind of lose concept of time.  I know we sat together watching my contractions on the screen, while Stephanie and mom and Steven held my hands and rubbed my feet as they got more and more intense.  I remember them playing my music, and getting Stadol which made me feel goofy and the contractions slightly less intense.  I remember changing into different positions: kneeling, squatting, sitting.

By 6pm, I was 7 cm.

My doctor had already left and the on-call doctor, Dr. C came into the room.  He made it very clear that he didn’t “DO” birth plans and wanted to know what my plan was.

Um…to have a baby?  What else do you say to that when you took the time to write out some of the specific things you wanted and didn’t all in a handy and somewhat humorous format?

He suggest we break my water to get things going…

6:50 pm, they broke my waters.

The contractions began to get even MORE intense and I asked for another round of Stadol.  This time, though, it didn’t make things funny – it made me confused.  The contractions came hard, one on top of another and I barely found time to breathe and couldn’t stay grounded in my thoughts.  In fact, my thoughts began fleeting and I couldn’t keep up with conversations to or around me.

“Ooooooooh.  No.  I can’t do this anymore…” I moaned.
“You can.  You will.  You have to, Ash…”  Steph said, her hands around my face and hair.

I was ready to be done, begging to be finished.  My concentration kept going in and out like waves.  Words bounced through my head, not sticking together, losing their meaning.

The baby.  Her heart rate.  Something was wrong.  Turn this way.  No, that way.  This way again.  Move.  Breathe.

My mind slipped in and out as everyone but me watched the screen with Aurora’s heartbeat waxing and waning through my contractions.

An oxygen mask was fitted over my nose and mouth in an attempt to slow down my breathing.  The pain was intense and I no longer had any control.  The waves of contractions were drowning me and as much as I tried to fight through the pain, it overwhelmed me and my body began pushing against my will.  I struggled to keep up with it, and to stay awake and coherent.

By 8 PM, I was 8 centimeters.  My entire body tightened with each contraction, unable to relax.  I could feel my legs trying to cross themselves, trying to hold off.  My teeth clenched together through each surge.

Then, Dr. C came back in.  He told me I had 2 choices.  I would either receive an epidural or I’d get a C-Section.  Period.

My body and mind were too tired to fight.  I hadn’t wanted an epidural, I had been SO against it – but I hadn’t imagined labor lasting for so long or my baby being in possible danger.  And, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could deal with the pain.  So, I chose epidural.

By 8:35 PM, I was still 8 cm and the epidural was being prepped.  At that point, I was allowed only one person in the room and I chose Steph, my doula.  Everyone else had seemed to fade into the background for the most part.  Bob, the anesthesiologist had me sit, regardless of whether I was experiencing a strong contraction AT THAT MOMENT or not.  Then, move to the edge of the bed….

Soon, it was finished, and I lay back, waiting for the medicine to be adjusted.  Waiting for the numbness to take over my body, forcing it to relax.

Within minutes, I was fully dilated and told to push.  And, besides the fact that I could feel NOTHING, I did my best.  I asked for a mirror as the nurse tried to coach me through pushing towards a place I couldn’t even feel and I gritted my teeth, hoping to God that I was pushing at all, much less in the right area.  I watched their faces as they got excited and would take another deep breath and grit my teeth some more.  I’m still not sure I was even doing anything, but something worked.

At 9:39 PM, Aurora Madeline Grace was born.

6.75 lbs  and 19.5 in long

Welcome sweet girl…we’re so glad you’re here.

*Note 1:  I have decided that men should be required to first grow a vagina as a prerequisite to become an OB/GYN or to be allowed to be an anesthesiologist for laboring women.
*Note 2:  I am so thankful for my mom, Steven, and Steph – without you, I would have still probably had Aurora…but I’d probably have gone crazy first.  Thanks for keeping me sane and for making me feel like the most loved lady on Earth.  I love each of you.
*Note 3:  Thanks dad for watching Miss L.  I appreciate it.

I would like to introduce…

Aurora Madeline Grace

(More to come later, I’m too busy kissing pudgy cheeks!)

I’m still pregnant.

That, and the whole “she’ll come when she’s ready” thing?  It’s getting old.  Like a geezer in plaid pants and suspenders old.

That’s all for now.  I’m going to go sit on a ball and read now.

I remember my very first car-ride as a new mom – we were on our way home from the hospital, and it was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life.  For the first time, my baby was not only outside of me, but we were leaving the confines of a well-protected area and venturing out into the “big world” with cars and reckless drivers and such.

That was the longest 50-minute ride home I have ever had.

As I held her hand, my over-active imagination saw each and every possible calamity that could happen from our starting point to our home.  I’m not sure how I maintained by consciousness during that ride home because I’m pretty sure I held my breath almost the entire way.

I smile as I remember back to holding her little body in my arms.  I remember how she was tiny and we were scared to hold her at first, scared we’d break her – my brother and dad took a while to warm up to holding her while not sitting down, even.  And, then I look back at motherhood in general during those days, and forward…and I can see the changes.  For me, being a new mother has been much like a dance, where I’m continuously learning the next steps and becoming more confident with my abilities as a mom.

During Lorelei’s first few months of life, I was terrified to just leave her.  It took weeks before I would leave her for a few hours, and then even more time before I finally left her for an entire night.  I actually remember that night.  My parents wanted to keep her for the night, and I wanted them to – yet, the fear of WHAT IFs just wouldn’t leave my head.  WHAT IF SHE NEEDED ME?  WHAT IF SHE DIED FROM SIDS OR SOMETHING AND I WASN’T THERE?  WHAT IF?  WHAT IF?  After about 30 minutes of rehashing “the plan” for almost any conceivable emergency, I walked out of their door with tears running down my cheeks.  “You don’t have to do this, and you don’t have to do it tonight, you know,” my mother said.  “I know,” I replied, “but, I have to do it sometime.”

The second time was not quite as hard and the third got even easier.  After that, I missed her before I even left but things were much easier and I was finally able to enjoy the free couple time that came with your child being watched by someone else you trusted dearly.

But, the dance went on and I began to grow in other ways as I came face to face with situations that I wasn’t entirely sure how to handle.

As a child, I had HORRID allergic reactions – and, while most of my reactions were environmental rather than food (with a few exceptions), I knew that if Lorelei were to get my allergies, it was possible that they could show up in any form and with even worse consequences.  So, for the first 18 months of her life, she was carefully introduced to new foods and I was set against offering her candy, soda, or any other junk food just yet.  This was something that not everyone agreed fully with me on.  I’m still not entirely sure those who disagreed fully understood my reasoning, but their actions against my wishes infuriated me.  I felt that she was too young for junk food, and since we hadn’t introduced it yet, she didn’t want it.  Of course, she’d take it…but she wasn’t asking FOR IT, specifically.  She still preferred healthier things – like juice and fruits.  Furthermore, I couldn’t see the reasoning behind giving my child foods that were simply not good for her and could only further damage the resistance her immune system had built up, making her more prone to allergies.  As a new mother, I made it clear where I stood on the issue, and with every too-early offering of a finger dipped in peanut butter or a spoonful of chocolate ice cream or a swig of soda while they thought I couldn’t see, I became angrier and felt more and more like my own ideas about parenting MY CHILD were not only not being taken seriously, but were also being all-together ignored.

There was also the season of parenting where I was extremely picky with whom Lorelei was allowed to spend the night with.  To be frank, I took parenting seriously and my mind reeled at the notion that children were mostly indestructible.  I realize that sometimes children live in spite of their parents, but those weren’t necessarily the people I wanted in charge of my child’s health and well-being – especially while she was at the fragile age of having to depend on everyone to decode every cry and whimper for her.  In particular, I remember a suggestion to let my infant daughter sleep on pillows on a chair and I remember my breath sucking up through my chest.  I’d read the baby books and SIDS terrified me.  I countered the suggestion with what I’d read, only to be laughed at told that they’re children turned out just fine.  But, that wasn’t good enough for me.  It wasn’t a chance I was willing to take with the miracle that I’d fought so hard for, the life that had been entrusted to me.

Then, there was the season of parenting  where I cared so much about everyone thought.  I sifted through views and ideas about things from toxins in our environment to vaccination to organics, and I had to choose where I would stand with each.  At first, each time I was met with a conflicting view or a disapproving glance, I’d run back to the information, just to read it again.  Each time, I’d feel like the most awful parent for choosing something that was perhaps not “main-stream” thought and practice.

There were other seasons too…seasons of feeling like I wasn’t good enough, seasons of feeling like certain people didn’t have time for us in their busy lives, seasons of learning to dance my dance around other people’s dances, seasons of good, and seasons of bad…all seasons of learning.

Soon, we’ll be the blessed parents to yet another beautiful daughter, and while I know this time will be different, I believe it will be much the same.  My dance has evolved, but it is still much like the one I began with, only more refined and a little less clumsy.

This time, I won’t have to close my eyes with dread on the way home, fearing the worst.  This time, I’ll be able to let my little one spend the night with her grandparents and walk out the door without having to focus on moving forward just to keep from running back to her.  But, this time… I still won’t let her have soda and I still won’t let her have foods before I believe she’s ready.  Her intake on junk food and chocolates and possible allergens will be limited, just the same.  This time, I’ll stand strong in my beliefs and demand respect for MY parenting skills, too.  I don’t disrespect other’s beliefs, nor do I try to change them, but when it comes to MY child I want my ideas and wishes to be respected.  This time, I’ll still be a little leery letting her spend the night out and will probably need to go over “just in case plans,” but I’ll be able to do it.

And, this time?  I’ll realize that no matter how involved I want people to be in our lives -or how I think they should be, it’s ultimately their choice.  This time I’ll try to remember that not everyone will want or be committed to having a close relationship with my daughters, and that not everyone will bond with them the way I think is best…but, it’s their way.  And, as long as I’m being respected and my daughters are safe, I’ll let go a little more.

Because the dance will be fabulous one day, I’m getting better and better each and every day…