>> 12.06.2014

The Christmas tree is glowing in my dark living room, I'm in sweatpants and my favorite lounging shirt, and I've got a glass of Bailey's next to me. It's my favorite time of year, and I'm doing my damndest to soak up what I can.

We've seen the lights downtown, gone to storytime and listened to "The Polar Express" (my favorite Christmas book). We decorated the tree, remembering the story behind each special ornament and collectively "awwww"-ing when we turned the lights on for the first time. We're spending time together, which is such a stark contrast from the hell that we were fighting through last year, and I'm enjoying it all, truly.

(Here it comes...)

But I still feel lost. Like I'm going through the motions and scrabbling to grab hold of something that will strike a chord deep within me and remind me of who I am and help me figure out where I went. Because I just don't know. I feel like I'm treading water while being rushed down a river and my life is whizzing by me on the shore. I can't find anything of substance to anchor myself to, and I don't have anything solid on which to plant my feet and say, "Yes. This is it. This is where I need to dig in and stay."

I remember hearing something once about how it's better to pick one thing you're good at, and work really hard at it and become excellent, rather than dabbling in a hundred things and being mediocre at all of them. And I kind of feel that way about my life, except I don't know who I am or what I'm good at to even know what to invest my time in (other than the obvious and inescapable things that I MUST do, like being a mother or a wife). I feel like my time is already so limited and rare, that I want whatever I choose to be worth it. It needs to be worth the sacrifice of all the things I WON'T do, so that I can do that one thing instead.

Is that even coherent?
(Maybe the Bailey's is kicking in.)

I look around me and I see all these women living out their talents and their gifts and achieving the dreams they talked about for so long. It digs at my heart and envy rises up in my throat before I even realize that it's there, and I start to think that maybe I should chase after their dream, when in reality all I really want is to fulfill MY purpose here. But then this leads me back to the fact that I don't even know what that is.

Do I write?
Do I take pictures?
Do I cook?
Do I take on women's ministry?
Do I lead?
Do I teach?
Do I find a "real" job?

A friend told me that I needed to start doing something just for me, something that fed my soul.
My response?
"I don't even know what that looks like anymore."

I feel like I used to know. I used to live in this space of being a "creative" person that surrounded herself with art and music and words and emotions. I used to write every day, and carry my camera everywhere I went, and wander museums, and cry and laugh and scream and run and live in this sensitive space close to my heart. Then I got older and our life changed and the worst year of our lives came upon us and I closed up that space to try and block off some of the emotional nerve-endings that just kept getting ripped apart. I began to realize that there is no guarantee that life will get better. That the definition of "long-suffering" is long, and that God is under no obligation to ever give me that idyllic life I once dreamt of that involves me being successful at whatever it is I decided to invest in.

And now the battle doesn't rage quite so loudly, and the immediate trauma is over, but I'm still left in this aftermath of a hardened heart and a pile of rubble where my soul used to be. I miss that girl. That naive, careless, stupid, emotional girl that felt everything and shied away from nothing and believed that the things that made her cry were important and worthwhile.

Where'd you go, soul-girl? And will you ever come back?


rust and dust and dry bones

>> 11.23.2014

It's been too long.
(I feel like I'm always saying that.)

I don't know where writing fits into my life anymore, or even where it should fit.
It was a part of my identity that I clung to for so long, doling it out whenever I could help it.
"What do you do?"
"I just want to write."

And now that feels...still true, and also not true.
For so long writing was air, it was breathing, it was life.
But then I started living without it and realized that I could.

Now I'm back from the experiment and I don't know if I've learned that I can live without it, or if I've learned that just because I can doesn't mean I should. I think I get stuck inside my head too much, and I censor myself before I've even had a chance to unravel what needs to be said and what needs to be put forward. I can't figure out who my audience is or should be and so I never know what to say because I don't know that (the proverbial) you need to hear.

And lately all I can think about it purpose and meaning.
Do I matter? Does my story have a place in this world? Is what I'm doing enough? Does what I do make any sort of difference? And if it does, to who? And are they enough to keep going?

Motherhood has taken over my identity. It has usurped any sense of "woman" that I used to have. Now, before I am a woman, or a wife, or a writer, I am a mom. And I don't think that this is the right order. It's not supposed to be that way, but how do you tell yourself that when it's 1 am, and your daughter is clinging to you while your son snuggles himself into the curve of your back and it's going on 24 hours that you've literally had someone touching you at all times and you just need to breathe for. one. second. How do you hold onto your sense of self in those moments? Who are you? Who am I? Who am I supposed to be?

There are a hundred and one blog posts out there in internet world telling us that yes, motherhood matters, and don't worry about the crumbs on the floor because there is glory and purpose in the mundane, and just look in your child's eyes and see the purpose that God has put there, and just hang on sweet momma because this will be over before you know it--but what happens when it's over and you've lost yourself in the process and your kids leave and it's just you and God almighty left. Who are you then?
I don't want that to be me. And I don't want this to be one more page of words in the internet world talking about glory in the mundane and purpose in the dirt on the floor. Because all of that is true, but isn't it also true that we were created for more than this? We were created to live, and we were all gifted with the ability to do something that makes our souls fly and our hearts sing. So what do you do when you can't find it and all you've got left is the dirt? And those children, those two beautiful children with the chocolate brown eyes, and the chubby fingers, and the dimples, that will suck every last bit of you out of your body if you let them--what about the moments where your soul is doing the opposite of flying when you look at them and your heart is dying a slow death instead?

Dear God, give me back a piece of myself. Show me what to run towards, instead of trying to force my life into the picture I think it should look like. Because I know myself. I run towards shiny objects, and a life that looks full of happiness and perfection, but when I get there (IF I get there), it's never what I thought it was going to be. I'm tired of running for fool's gold. I want the real life, the full life, the God-life. I want the fulfillment that comes from knowing that I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing exactly where I am supposed to be doing it. I want the peace that comes from being filled and then turning around and filling others. I need that peace. I'm dying for it. If ever there was someone parched for Living Water, dear God, it's me.


The new thing...

>> 5.05.2014

You guys.

I'm not a salesperson.
I'm an introvert.
I hate random phone calls and talking to strangers. It makes me nervous.


Now I am a salesperson?
Actually, I kind of hate that word. It sounds shady.
I'm a business owner, and independent distributor of some amazing healthcare products.

There. That's better.

Here's the low-down:
My friend Sarah, has been posting on Facebook lately about this company called ItWorks! I've been seeing pictures and comments from all over the place about this company and their products and could not hold my curiosity back. I'd first seen these products over a year ago when I was living in England, but didn't really have access to them, and had also just gotten pregnant so I wasn't able to try the wraps (which is what I was really interested in).
But then they popped back into my life and I just could not. let. it. go.

I finally broke down and messaged Sarah one night, asking all of my skeptical questions, just so I could prove to myself that it was a scam and way too good to be true and finally get some peace back in my head.
But then she answered all my questions, and it started to make sense, and it was stuck in my brain even more strongly.

So I took the leap, and I am sooo glad that I did.

For the longest time, I've felt stuck in this place in my head. I've not had a lot of hope, I've not allowed myself to dream (because they've all sort of disappeared over the last few years), and I had started to just give up on any chance of things changing. I KNEW that in order for things to change you have to actually, you know, change, but I was just stuck. I didn't know how and I didn't know what to do.

Enter ItWorks, and Sarah, and my own business. The first hour after I signed on to do this thing, I was elated. Then the dread set in, because I started to realize how much out of my comfort zone this was going to push me. And now, I am in this incredible head space of having some DRIVE again and a place to channel it into, and this burning desire to succeed and do this and use this to change my family's life.
I want to do this. I NEED to do this. I need this victory, I need this freedom, I need this change.
As cheesy and drama-filled as it may seem, this may be the thing that changes my life. I'm going to work my tail off to make sure that it does.

So, before I go off too far down the rabbit trail, can I tell you a little bit about these amazing products I now have access to? Thanks a million.

First, there's that crazy wrap thing. This is our first-to-market, one-of-a-kind product that is literally taking the world by storm. It's been included in grab-bags at the Emmy's and Oscars, used on movie sets, and helped thousands of people get the jump they needed to get their lifestyle back on the healthy track they were looking for. It's a non-woven cloth filled a botanically-based cream that helps to tighten, tone, and firm your skin. You can put it anywhere on your body from the neck down (and we make a specific one for your face, so you can attack those wrinkles!) and you will start to see results just 45 minutes after using it, and continuing for up to 72 hours. I used one, and the next day I was able to button up my pair of pre-pregnancy jeans with a minimal amount of muffin top. I was so excited I jumped around the house and laughed.

You guys, I cannot talk these products up enough. They're natural, effective, and so much cheaper than the treatments you'd pay for at a spa. The company is phenomenal to work for, and I've been so blessed by the people I've talked to in the short time that I've been a distributor.

So, to end this, I would LOVE to talk to you and help you find the products that are right for you. I'd love to help you take your own giant leap of faith and set up your own business so that you can start changing where you're at. Please, please get in touch with me if you're interested. It'll be amazing! or buy products from


lost and found

>> 2.16.2014

I feel like I spend an abnormal amount of time writing and talking and thinking about motherhood, but I guess that makes sense considering I am swallowed up in it literally 24 hours a day.

With the addition of a second child, I am finding more and more that I feel like I've completely lost any sense of who I am outside of changing diapers, sweeping crumbs, and trying to come up with creative activities that don't involve any sort of screen or animated character. I forget that I was once a person with autonomy, someone that had talents outside of being able to carry a screaming toddler, carseat with infant inside, AND diaper bag all at once. I used to write, and read books, and have friends, and stay up late talking with my husband just because we could.

Now, I write about my kids, I read about things I need to do so I am better for my kids, I have friends with kids, and I stay up late talking with my husband because it's the only time of day we see each other without being climbed on, puked on, or cried at (unless its me, crying at him).

I'm trying desperately to regain some of myself, but in doing so, I'm realizing just how much of myself has changed. I look back on that twenty-one year old that flitted around Chicago and I cannot help but wonder at how self-absorbed and so incredibly naive I was. Obviously some of that is normal, since you only change and grow by going through life-altering events, but it also makes me feel like I'm on shaky ground, because I don't know just how much of that silly girl to reclaim. My children are my life, my job--being a mother is what I want to do, and who I want to be. But it's not everything. It can't be everything, because if I lose myself in that, I put the burden of my identity on my kids, and that's something that they should never carry or be responsible for.

So for now, I'll sit here and try to scrape the rust off my fingers, and pick up a book that has nothing to do with parenting in any sense and I'll try to remember that I am capable of creating things outside of human life (even though they have been my best work yet).


trenches and ugly hearts

>> 2.07.2014

I yelled at my son tonight.

I'd been fighting the black pit of rage for the better portion of an hour as he screamed, bit, punched, kicked, and generally created havoc around him while letting me know that he was absolutely not going to go to bed peacefully. Then he woke up his sister, asked to nurse for the thousandth time, and got mad when he didn't think he'd accomplished a certain task to his satisfaction.
And that is when I just snapped and screamed from deep down inside, right in his face.
And then his heart broke, and he cried despair, and my heart broke, and I immediately hugged him close and said, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Jameson, I'm so sorry. That was wrong, and I am so sorry."
And I was sorry, and heart-broken, but there was this part of me that was still so angry and full of rage, and it battled with the Jesus-portion of my heart that was screaming for me to see past the noise and the emotion and just love on my poor, confused, exhausted two-year old, because he wasn't doing this to me on purpose.

And once again, I was faced with the reality of just how ugly my heart is.


I am a mess of emotion lately.

I've had a few trusted people ask me how I am doing, in regards to PPD, and being on the watch for signs of it to arrive, and I've had to step back and say that I'm really not sure if how I'm feeling has to do with the hormones from giving birth or if it's all just the outcome of circumstances for the last year.
I know this past year was a hard one for many, and it seems that our family was no exception. We've faced storms that I never thought we'd see, and have been barraged on all sides by an enemy trying to absolutely destroy us. We've come close to destruction, and despair, and I have spent more nights than I care to remember crying out to the Lord to just spare us. Just once, dear God, spare us this heartache.
And He has answered--in some ways that are satisfying, and others that are not.

So we continue to hold on, and ride through this hurricane, and pray that it ends one day soon.


My mantra lately has been, "This will not last."

Most of the time, I'm using it to try and remind myself to seize the moment and embrace the sweetness of holding my children tight, or listening to them laugh, or watching them learn and explore. But other times it's simply a chant to make myself hold on, to keep battling through, because this insanity cannot last forever. 
I am deep in the trenches of motherhood, sometimes so deep that it's difficult for me to see the sky. I have minutes where I find such an incredible joy to have the privilege of staying home with my children and serving my family that I am satisfied deep down into my bones. And then the pendulum will swing, and I find myself wondering why I had children, and questioning if perhaps I am one of those women who only *thought* she should be a mother, but really should never have procreated at all.
I love my children so much that my heart often feels like it's going to burst from the emotion of it all, but I would by lying if I didn't admit that there are many hours I spend missing the time when it was just Hubs and I, and dreaming about what I am going to do with all my free time once my children are grown. Humiliating, but true. 

I am still as selfish as ever. 

In short, every day is a battle, and I give you permission to spend too much money at Chick-Fil-A so that your kid can play behind glass while you drink sugary tea and almost relax for the first time in 24 hours.


[another] birth story

>> 1.03.2014

It feel appropriate to be writing this post to Perry Como crooning Christmas songs in my ear. I have an insane amount of anticipation and excitement for Christmas this year, and those were the same things I have been feeling for the last few weeks while waiting for my daughter--anticipation and excitement.

42 weeks and 1 day. That's how long this girl curled herself up inside of me and waited to be born.
I went into this pregnancy expecting to go past 40 weeks, but I absolutely never expected to go past 42. This girl is already teaching me things like patience, and endurance, and sticking to your guns. But, I digress.

When we found out we were pregnant, after moving back from the UK, I knew immediately that I would not be birthing in a hospital. I'd had an excellent experience with midwifery care while I was pregnant with Jameson, and in the time since his birth, I've become an even stronger advocate for letting birth be a natural process, not a medical procedure. So, we started looking around and eventually settled on a birth center for this pregnancy. My prenatal care was fantastic, I loved hanging out in this renovated Victorian house at each appointment, and couldn't wait to give birth in a really fancy tub and crawl in that King sized bed afterwards. 

When we hit 40 weeks, my midwives and I began discussing what I wanted to do about letting the pregnancy progress naturally, and exactly how long I wanted to wait before we started to try some natural induction procedures. I honestly did not think she'd be much later than her brother (41 weeks and 1 day), so I said that I'd really rather hold off on anything until at least 41 weeks. I'd have a baby by then anyway.

Well, 41 weeks came and went, and I'd had not even a hint of a contraction. No signs of labor at all. At my prenatal appointment we began to discuss induction a little more. According to state law, if a woman hits 42 weeks in her pregnancy, a physician has to be notified and consulted. If she continues and gets to 43 weeks, her care then must be transferred to an OB at a hospital, which essentially means that they'd hand you a Pitocin drip as soon as you walked through those doors. Keeping this in mind, we decided to go ahead and see if I made it to 42 weeks. If I did, we'd do a membrane sweep as well as some homeopathic remedies and start trying to get this girl out before the 43 week mark. But really, there's no way I'd make it to 42 weeks, because who actually is pregnant that long?

And then I actually did hit 42 weeks, and I was pregnant that long. Go figure. So, at my appointment on that 42 week mark, I had my first check (2 cm dilated, 50% effaced) and a very aggressive sweep and stretch, as well as a few different homeopathic remedies to take every hour. I was nice and crampy on the way home, and finally started seeing some interesting things every time I'd go to the bathroom, and I just KNEW that labor was imminent. Contractions were highly irregular, but they were there and I decided there was no way that I could just sit at home and wait for things to pick up. So, Hubs and Jameson and I went out to run a few "nonessential" errands to get my mind off of things and also give us something to do. I put Jameson to bed that night thinking that it was going to be his last night as an only child, and then Hubs and I watched a pretty awful movie while I continued to try and do a few things to keep contractions going. Around 11:30 I decided it was time to try and get some sleep before labor really picked up, which I figured was going to happen sometime in the next few hours.

I woke up the next morning around 8 am with a sore uterus, but no more contractions or labor signs. The frustration and disappointment was so overwhelming that I laid in bed and just cried for awhile. I was supposed to have a baby by now. I'd held out as long as I possibly could and tried to be patient and let her take her time, but this was the last straw. I felt so defeated at that moment that I just wanted to give up. Thankfully, Hubs knew how upset I was and we decided that more distraction was in order so that we could get through the morning and afternoon before I had to be back at the midwife (at the "just in case" appointment that we'd made the day before, which I was totally not planning on showing up for). So, we went to my favorite breakfast place, I ate a lot of pancakes and just generally tried to enjoy being a family of three for a little while longer.

I called my mom to drive me to the midwife that afternoon, as contractions started to become irregular again but painful enough that I didn't want to be driving on the freeway and trying to get through them. As soon as we walked in the door, my favorite midwife looked at me and just shook her head. "How are you still pregnant?" she asked. I couldn't even say anything and just shook my head back at her. I had another check and found out that I was now 5cm dilated, 60% effaced and all those sporadic contractions the night before had forced her to roll over and get into the right position for birth (she had flipped back-to-back just a few weeks earlier). When I heard all of this, I wanted to start singing Hallelujah. The night before had actually served a purpose, and 5 cm was already halfway there, which meant that I was actually going to get to have this baby before Thanksgiving. Amazing. They did one more sweep and stretch and I started having irregular contractions pretty much as soon as we walked out of the office. I was hungry, and knew that I needed something in me before labor really picked up, so mom and I decided to finally go order the 'labor-inducing' pizza that everyone had been telling me about, just in case this girl still needed an extra push.

I remember getting into the car and leaning forward because the midwives had told me to watch my position so that Evie wouldn't roll back over, and then as we were driving, I realized I had a death grip on the upper door handle and was leaning forward to try and help control the pain I was in. When we got to the restaurant, I couldn't sit still and rocked my way through lunch, feeling contractions and trying to focus on the conversation I was having with my mom. I ate about half my pizza and then looked at mom and said, "Okay. I need to go home, put on some sweatpants, and start timing contractions." She sort of gave me this look and said, "Are you sure you want to go home? Do you want me to just take you straight back to the birth center?"
"No. I want to go home. I need my sweatpants, and I need to time these for just a little while to make sure that things are really happening." I think I was almost afraid to believe that it was all finally starting, and I also didn't want to show up at the birth center and labor there for seven hours, or some ridiculous amount of time, when I could have been at home with my family for a little while longer.

I called my dad on the drive home and told him that things were happening, but he definitely didn't need to leave work right away. He, however, had been waiting a good two weeks to finally get the 'I'm in labor' phone call, and so he jumped right on it and said that he'd leave now and meet us at my apartment. By the time I got home, contractions were about 3 minutes apart and almost a minute long. I rolled around on my birthing ball for about a half hour and they continued to get stronger and closer together. I was doing my best to keep my face loose and relaxed as well as making sure my throat stayed open--I wanted to try and stay in control of my emotions as much as possible this time and I knew that I had to make sure that I relaxed and focused through each contraction. Finally, about an hour after we got home, I went to the bathroom and it's like a switch went off. 'It's time to go. We need to go now.' I thought. I called the midwives to let them know that I was definitely ready to come in and I'm sure they were overjoyed to hear that they were finally, FINALLY going to get to deliver this baby. I told them I'd be there in about a half an hour, and they said that they would be waiting.

It was such a weirdly emotional place when I was telling Jameson goodbye--I missed him already and my heart was so full of how much I loved him, but at the same time I could only half focus on that moment as I was starting to try and really get into labor and concentrate on bringing this girl into the world. I gave him a hug and a kiss and he was all sorts of mature and in control as he left to go to grandma and grandpa's house. My big boy.

The drive to the birth center was one of the worst parts, and I knew it would be. I sat on the edge of the front seat and held onto the dashboard and back of the seat like they were a lifeline. I could not have been happier to see the "Better Birth" sign and pull into that parking lot. By now it was around 6:30, only three hours after we'd left from my appointment. As soon as I walked in, the midwives told me to go ahead and go straight upstairs while they finished up with a client. Finally, finally, I was getting to use that gorgeous tub I'd been dreaming about! I had a few contractions in the bedroom while the tub was filling, and they checked Evelyn's heart rate to make sure she was handling things okay. Harmony, my favorite midwife, asked if I wanted them to check me or if I just wanted to get in the tub and I practically ran past her as I stripped down and got in that pool. "I just want to get in NOW, please."

The tub was as amazing as I'd remembered with Jameson, and I sunk into that hot water and did my best to relax and focus on the fact that I was now in the place where I'd be bringing Evelyn into the outside world. From this point on, time became sort of a blur and everything I did was out of instinct, rather than focusing on the clock. I remember the contractions feeling different in the tub. It's a more, sort of focused pain, rather than all over. Each time I'd feel one coming, I'd try and talk myself through it mentally. 'Remember it's like a wave--you have to dive into it instead of fight it. Let it take you over.' When I'd start to get panicky, I had Hubs read me a list of verses that I'd found a few days before and the power of Scripture was overwhelming to me in those moments. It was one of the most amazing experiences--I'd hear promises from the Lord coming out of my Husband's mouth and the contractions in those moments almost turned into this amazing sort of worship. My body was doing exactly what God had designed it to do, I was birthing this child that was 'fearfully and wonderfully made' and God was there, seeing me through it all, taking that fear and tension and giving me His peace. It seems strange to think back on it now, that contractions and pain could become worship, but it was amazing at the time and I will hold that in my heart forever.

At some point our birth photographer arrived, and I was coherent enough to say hello and smile. I started to hear her camera click, and soon enough it became just another noise in the background. I remember getting out of the tub a couple of times to pee (I'd read a friend's birth story where her bladder became too full at the end and she ended up having to have a catheter before she could start pushing, and I was NOT going to let that happen to me!) and feeling so lightheaded and dizzy. I kept saying, "I'm going to throw up. I feel like I'm going to pass out." I'd been drinking Gatorade to try and keep myself hydrated, but I needed more calories/sugar. The midwife suggested I have some sort of juice or honey and I remember being so annoyed that the stuff I'd bought specifically for labor wasn't doing the job. Ha. They finally got me to start drinking some cranberry juice and a little while later I realized that I wasn't actually going to black out while pushing out this baby--this is why I trust the professionals.

Eventually I hit transition. My mental talk became, "Natural birth?! Why in the hell would anyone want to do this naturally? They need to give me something for the pain NOW!" Then the rational side of my brain would remind me that as soon as I started talking that way, I was closer than I'd ever been. But then the irrational side would start to pipe up and wonder if I was REALLY in transition, or if I was just trying to hippy-voodoo myself into believing it. I started having to really breathe through each contraction and focus on keeping my body as loose as I could. I remember having flashbacks to Jameson's birth and the panic and terror I had felt then, and reminding myself that this was different and I was in control of this. I was restless in the tub and couldn't find a comfortable position. I squatted, I knelt, I sat cross-legged--everything had something that bothered me about it. I kept telling myself, "You won't remember this. You won't remember how bad this is!" I have no idea how long this period lasted. I wanted a clock and a cervical check so badly, but I knew that neither of those things were going to help me out in any way. Finally, FINALLY I started feeling a small urge to push with each contraction. I was afraid that it was just me wanting to push and not actually being ready, so I told my midwife, "I think I'm feeling pushy. I'm trying not to push, because I don't know if I really need to or if I just want to." She was so encouraging and gentle, and just told me to listen to my body and follow it's lead. I began to feel something coming down and thought, "Wow, that feels way smaller than a head, but maybe I'm just really relaxed!" I reached down to see if I could feel any hair and right at that moment my water broke--it was like a shot had gone off and I felt this blast of water pushing past my hand. So bizarre!

The next contraction hit and all of a sudden I realized that Evelyn was THERE, crowning and ready to come out. I could not believe it. With Jameson it had taken twenty minutes to get to this point and I was so prepared to try and take this slowly so that I could try and control it as much as possible. Apparently, my body and my daughter had different ideas. I was so shocked by the sudden pain and the pressure that I lost all sense of keeping my face relaxed and breathing her out--instead I gritted my teeth and yelled like the devil. She slid back up after that contraction, and it took two more before her head was out. At one point I had to fight against this insane urge I had to keep pushing after the contraction was over, even though it was pain like I'd never felt to try and stop. Finally, the right contraction hit. I pushed and her head was out and into my hand. I felt her wrinkly skin and her hair and that was the only thing that managed to keep me calm enough to finish the job. I remember asking Cheryl if she was okay and everyone telling me that she was fine, but I had to stay under the water. Harmony had me flip over onto my back so we could catch her, and with one more contraction and a total of eight minutes of pushing, Evelyn Darling was born at 9:23 pm on November 21, 2013.

I held her in my arms and was hysterical with relief and love for this sweet girl, and so overcome with how awesome her birth experience had been. Evie latched on like a pro a few minutes after birth, and eventually we moved from the tub to the giant King-sized bed I had been dreaming about. The hours after that are a blur of being stitched up (the worst. Yikes.), getting her newborn exam done, Jameson meeting her for the first time, and finally getting some real food. The midwives and post-partum staff were amazing, and the whole time I kept thinking, "This is exactly what I wanted!" We got to go home five hours after she was born and spent the first night cuddled up in our own bed with our newest family member. Absolute bliss.

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