[another] birth story

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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dear Evelyn

November 19, 2013

Dear Evie Darling, 

Thirteen days. That's how long you've kept the whole world waiting to meet you so far. It's not that I can blame you, however, as the weather is turning cold and the leaves are falling off the trees and sometimes this world can seem like a big, terrifying place.

But oh, daughter. I am so ready to meet you and hold you in my arms and show you the beautiful things this place has to offer--like your big, crazy, wonderful brother and your handsome Papa who is going to melt into a puddle as soon as you look at him. Or your grandma and grandpa, and ah-ma and yeh-yeh, and aunties and uncles and cousins, and all the other people you will call family even though we don't share any DNA. And Christmas, baby girl. Christmas is coming, and there is almost nothing better than the world lit up with sparkling lights while the snow falls and you're surrounded by everyone that loves you. There are a million things more, my girl, but you have to come out to experience them.

My heart is waiting to grow, waiting to see your strands of hair, and your rosebud lips that take their first breath and the color of your eyes. You have been so unexpected in so many different ways, and being pregnant with you has been so different than being pregnant with your brother was--harder in many ways, sweeter in others, but mostly just it's own completely new experience. You have carried me through many days when I did not think I could keep going, and you have forced me to stop and evaluate the things that truly matter in life. I wasn't ready for you, but the Lord was, and now that I'm about to meet you I am continually reminded that He sees and He knows. Always.

There are things that terrify me about becoming your mother. Fears that I've never had before, because girls are different than boys and I've spent my world immersed in boy-thinking, and mess, and simple logic for the last 2 1/2 years. But now I'm diving head-first into a world that I know well, but that I also know nothing about. A mother's relationship with her daughter is completely different than that of her son, and I want to get it right with you, my girl. Females are mysterious and complicated creatures, but also simple and straightforward if you have the key. But sometimes no one has the key, and that's what scares me. 

I wish so many things for you, daughter. I want you to know the Lord and love Him with your whole heart, and your whole life, and your whole self--so much so that nothing this world has to offer will even sparkle in comparison to Him. I want you to know how valuable you are, how equal you are to your own opinion and your own thoughts and desires. How strong you are, and how you are just as capable as anyone else to do what you want and go where you want to go. I want you to know that you are beautiful, not because of your skin or your eyes or the number on the tag in the clothes you wear, but because you are a person, a human being, and there are no ordinary humans, love. I want you to find your worth in the Lord, and in yourself, but also realize how freeing it can be to be vulnerable with the right person. How a man cannot complete you, but he can come alongside you and show you pieces of yourself that you thought you had hidden forever.

So, darling. I know the world seems big and you are so very comfortable folded up inside of my ever-stretching belly. But life is so much better on the outside, surrounded by the people that love you--and believe me, there are a lot of us that love you. So come and meet your family. We're waiting to catch you and we promise to be ready when you decide to show up.

I will love you forever and a day.

-Momma

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this time around.

Being pregnant with baby #2 is a completely different experience than with baby #1.

I was so excited and anxious the first time around, reading everything I could get my hands on in order to try and understand what was happening inside my body, writing little love letters to that bean in my belly and making sure I was taking care of myself as much as I possibly could.

This time around, bebe was a complete and unexpected surprise and (brutal honesty coming up here) I didn't want to be pregnant again. Jameson has reached new heights of toddlerhood and I am exhausted--so when I found out I was going to have to do all of this over again, while continuing to manage the screaming caveman that runs around our place, I kind of wanted to cry. My nausea has been off the charts this time, lasting all day and making it hard to eat ANYTHING, let alone a healthy paleo diet that consists of lots of eggs and vegetables, two things I can't even look at right now. I am even more tired than I used to be (how is that possible?!) and I am getting fat.

It's been hard, friends. It's been really, really hard. I have struggled with wanting this pregnancy and WANTING to want this pregnancy. I have close friends who would give their left foot to be pregnant right now and I start to wonder why God would bless me with this when I was so not ready or even wanting it yet. I also think that, because I've been struggling with all of this, it's made it even harder to soldier on--because soldiering on wasn't something I had planned on. When we got pregnant with Jameson, I was ready and willing to be hunched over a toilet all day and able to sleep whenever I needed it. I don't really have that luxury this time around--I've got an office job that requires me to be at my desk, not sleeping underneath it or camping out in the bathroom. I've already got an outside kid that needs his mom as soon as she gets home and a husband whose face I barely remember because we only see each other when we lay down to go to sleep at night.

I've been trying to find ways to connect with this bebe, trying to get myself into a place where I was handling all of this a little better and really trying to be excited. I scheduled an ultrasound at nine weeks, hoping that seeing my little baby would help. Instead I found out that I'm two weeks behind and was only about seven weeks along--giving me an extra two weeks of misery before my wanting to throw up on everything goes away (we hope). The light at the end of the tunnel finally came when I went in for my first midwife appointment and she found the heartbeat with the Doppler. It was a moment of clarity--a realization that there is a baby growing inside of me who I will love just as much as Jameson by the time they are born. Another baby that I get to hold and smell and be a momma too, just like I did once before. Another person that came from Hubs and I, and is a tangible example of how I've found someone to love me through anything.

This is starting to make it all worth it. Even though I still hate eggs.

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It's true.

Baby #2 is coming!

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one week (and a birth story)

(This was supposed to be published yesterday, but I got sidetracked, so it's going up a day late. Oh well.)

My baby is one week old today.
I cannot believe it.
I've already got "bittersweet momma" moments going on as I realize that he looks different than he did a week ago--his cheeks are filling out, and he actually put weight on after being born instead of losing it, like most babies.

Words cannot describe all of my feelings about being a momma.
There are so many emotions wrapped up in this small, 7lb, 14 oz baby boy that I'm not sure I could even begin to dissect them if I wanted too.

Suffice it to say that I did not know it was possible to love another person so completely, simply because they exist. Not only that, but all of those fears I had about meeting my son and wondering who he was going to be have faded into the background as I look at him and realize, "I know you." There are moments when I feel like my heart is going to explode because I am so overwhelmed by him and everything he means. He is the most tangible answer to prayer I have ever gotten, and I feel so blessed and so unworthy all at once.

*Disclaimer: birth story to follow. If you don't want the details, it's probably a good idea to stop reading. I won't be offended, I promise. :)

On June 28th, when I was six days overdue, my midwife came over to do another check and see if I had made any progress. I had been examined four days earlier and was pretty much closed tight, with the outcome looking kind of grim. She let me know that an induction would be scheduled, but only until I was fourteen days overdue (unless there was a medical reason that we needed to get that baby out).

So, when she came on that Tuesday, I was preparing myself for more bad news, and had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that it was looking like I had an induction (and two extra weeks of pregnancy) ahead of me. However, when she performed the check, she found that I was 2cm dilated, 50% effaced, and Jameson had moved his head all the way down (even though he was still back-to-back). She performed a membrane sweep, and said that she would hold off on scheduling the induction because she felt like, "This ought to get things going."

A few hours after she left, I began having some irregular contractions that lasted throughout the rest of the day, all that night, and into Wednesday. Although I was getting excited, I also knew that this was called the "latent phase" of labor and could last anywhere from 24 hours to a week. By Wednesday night, however, my contractions were becoming a bit more painful, and a bit more regular. Hubs and I went to bed around midnight, and at 12:30 am, I started to feel this little trickle of liquid coming out, but being the people-pleaser that I am, I didn't want to let anyone know that my water had broken until I was sure...I think I ran into the bathroom about four times before I was convinced that I wasn't just accidentally peeing myself. When I decided that, yes, my water had broken, I got in the shower while Hubs went and woke up my parents to let them know that we were going to head to the hospital.

By the time we got into the labor ward, my contractions were getting stronger and much more regular than they had been. However, the midwife on-call decided not to do a check because she didn't want to introduce an infection, so she told us to go home and come back when my contractions were 2 minutes apart for at least an hour. But by the time we made it home, my contractions were a minute and a half apart, and coming on strong. Hubs put the TENS machine on my back, which helped for a bit, but about fifteen minutes after we got home, we decided that it was time to head back.

This time around, we went straight to the delivery suite, where the midwife on-call checked and found that I was 3-4 cm, which equaled active labor. I asked to labor in the birthing pool, and somehow managed to crawl in about 45 minutes later. Half an hour after getting into the water, the contractions were so strong that it literally felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside. I threw up from the pain, and began to panic--I had only been in active labor for an hour and a half, and there was no way that I was going to be able to make it through another few hours with contractions like these (or worse). The gas and air that I had planned on using to help me cope was doing nothing except to make me more nauseous than I already was. I started saying, "I can't do this. I cannot keep going like this. I need drugs. I want BIG drugs." The midwife tried to calm me down, saying that I couldn't have an epidural until my dilation was checked again, but they had a policy of not checking before four hours had passed from the previous check. She offered me some codeine, which I took, but knew that it wouldn't kick in for at least a half hour.

By now the panic was overwhelming and I was getting desperate. I could feel a lot of pressure, and (what I figured) was the sensation that I needed to start pushing. Hubs suggested that I have the midwife check how far along I was, even though it had only been an hour and a half since my last check, just so I could get my own bearings. So, although she didn't think that I had made much progress, she agreed to take a look. I managed to get out of the pool and back into my room, even though it seemed almost impossible to move. The midwife checked my progress and, come to find out, I was 9 centimeters. Yeah. 9. (No wonder I was panicking...I was going through transition and didn't know it.) Clearly surprised, she tried to reassure me with the fact that I was going to have a baby soon, and (unfortunately for me) drugs were not an option any more. With every contraction, the need to push got stronger, but I was told to breathe through it and fight that urge as much as possible. I needed to dilate to a 10 before pushing Jameson out, otherwise swelling could occur and that would make pushing him out that much longer (and more difficult). I asked when I would know that I could start pushing and she said, "When your body won't let you hold back anymore. Your body will take over and you won't be able to stop."

The back of the bed had been raised, and I crawled on top of it with my arms thrown over the back, in a kneeling position. Eventually, I started to push and couldn't stop. This was the stage that felt like forever, as I could feel his head moving down sloooowly with each push, but after I physically couldn't keep pushing, he would move back up. It felt like I was making absolutely no progress, and even though I knew that it was important for him to move down slowly in order to stretch everything out, it was frustrating. I finally felt him move down and stay there even after the contraction had finished. I knew his head was going to come out soon, and I geared myself up to push harder than I ever had. The next contraction hit, and the amount of energy it took to push his head out was unreal. It's almost hard to explain--it was a superhuman moment where I am sure that the Lord helped, because there was no way that I did that on my own.

After I felt his head come out, I tried to wait for the next contraction, but the delusional thought in my head was "I can't just leave him hanging there!" and so I decided to just push the rest of him out. It was almost like he slipped out on his own, and the midwife kind of jumped up to catch him. I had only been pushing for a half hour, but it felt like eternity.

After he was out, I started saying, "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh." I picked him up off the bed, slippery and crying, and thought to myself, "Who is this little person that just came out of my body? I don't know who you are!" I stared at his face and couldn't believe that this was my son. My son, that had just been inside my body five minutes earlier. He looked just like his dad, and the first thing I said to Hubs was, "He has your nose!" Jameson only cried for a few minutes, and (after pooping all over me) we just stared at each other. The midwife left, and it was just the three of us in that little room. My two guys. My family.

--------------------------------

Although I spent most of my pregnancy trying to prepare myself for a natural birth, I don't think that there is anyway that I could have known how I was going to react until labor began. I truly did not want an epidural going into this whole thing, but by the time I hit transition (the puking and panicking stage) I was ready to try anything. 

To be honest, I felt like a bit of a failure asking for one, since I had just spent the last nine months gearing up to do this without pain relief, but I knew that (had I not actually been 9 centimeters) there was no way that I could have made it through another few hours with contractions as strong as they were--I was physically and mentally exhausted, and it was more important to me to get Jameson out safely than to save face. 

All of this to say, I think I'm grateful that everything went as quickly as it did, even though it meant that the pain became so intense so fast. It was only seven hours from my water breaking to actually pushing Jameson out, which is pretty unheard of for a first-time mother. Giving birth naturally is an experience I would not have wanted to miss, and I think my recovery has been quicker because of it. However, I understand completely (and have no judgment against in any way) why women opt for pain relief. Childbirth is something that words literally cannot describe and no one can prepare you for until you're actually going through it.

So there you go. 

If you made it all the way, thanks for hanging in there. 

This past week has been the biggest journey of my life, and we are simply getting through it day by day. 

I am a happy woman, a blessed woman, and every time I look at my son, I am overwhelmed with the fact that God chose to let Hubs and I take care of this beautiful boy.

The end.

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overdue

Today is June 27.

Jameson baby was due on June 22.

However, as of now, he has decided that he likes his current accommodations, and will not be joining the outside world for awhile.

Unfortunately for me, England has decided to get it's one week of summer now, which means that it is currently 90ish degrees and we don't have an air conditioner.
Despite wandering around in nothing but the smallest amount of clothing possible and drinking ice water, I am so hot and miserable that I'm not sure words can do it justice.

Also, my stretch marks appeared over night, which is a whole new battle to fight.
I think that I figured since I had gotten this far, maybe I had dodged them. Had my son come out on time, maybe I would have.
However, this is not the case, and so I am the proud new owner of a body that is completely unfamiliar.

Pray for me (and my husband).
I'm trying to remember what the finish line brings with it, and how much all of this will be worth it when I get there.
Plus, I will only be pregnant for nine more days at the most, since they'll induce me if I go fourteen days overdue. It might sound pessimistic, but I am trying to ready myself for this, since the midwife did not make my situation sound very promising at my last visit.
She comes tomorrow to check things over again, but I don't really think much progress has been made.
Again, I'm just reminding myself that he will come out eventually, even if it's July 6.

Sorry for the whining...I just had to let it out somewhere.

-C

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preview

So, I've been wanting to take maternity pictures for ages (especially before my face puffs up and I start to look like Marshmallow Man).

However, there was no way that we could afford to pay for a shoot in a studio, so Hubs and I decided to host our own. On one of our neighborhood walks, we found a shortcut back to this random field, and figured that it would probably be a great place to take some shots.

*Cue us packing up camera equipment (and even a change of clothes!) and trekking through the forest to get there.

Hubs did a fantastic job and we even got some shots of the two of us (with the help of our self-timer) and I am pretty darn happy with the way they turned out. I've got some editing work ahead of me, but here's a peek at the few that I've managed to work on.

So there you have it.

I'll put a link up to the rest as soon as I finish them up.

What do you think?

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a letter.

May 29, 2011

Dear Jameson,
Although there are still 24 days left until your due date, I can't help but wonder if I'm going to meet you a little sooner. At the moment, you've got your bum stuck way out on my right side while you kindly jab your heels into my left kidney--clearly you are running out of room. Not only that, but we're nearing you're favorite time of day--1 am, which means you're about to get a dance party started in my belly.

It's a strange thing, being pregnant with you--knowing that you're in there growing, thinking your own thoughts with your own personality already. To be honest, even though I know that I made you, you feel like a stranger in so many ways. You are already your own person, who does exactly what he wants to. This scares me in some ways, since it makes it difficult for me to picture your life--who will you be at five? Fifteen? Twenty-five? Will you still love me, or will you look at me with eyes that only see a failing human being? Your dad says that worrying about these things is pointless, but I can't help it. You are my son, my firstborn, the child I dreamt about while I was still a child--and I love you so much that it scares me. I think I am afraid you will break my heart.

Whatever you do and whoever you become, I hope you know that I'll love you forever. You are my greatest accomplishment, my best work. I could go on to write a hundred books and sing a thousand songs, but you will always be my most beautiful creation.

My hopes for you are small, but important. I hope you love the Lord with all your heart and follow Him always, even when you don't think you can. I hope you find a woman who loves you, and takes care of you, but also puts you in your place. I hope you love her more than yourself and cherish her more than anything on this earth. I hope the regrets you will have in life are not so big that they become insurmountable, but not so small that you fail to learn from them. I hope you are like your dad, with a bit of me mixed in, and that you embrace exactly who you are with abandon.

My baby, my son, my answer to prayer--
I love you more than any words can say.

Mom

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a percolator.

My brain is stewing things around right now, but none of it is coherent enough to craft into sensible sentences.

So, for now, here's a picture of me and my giant 36-week-pregnant belly (can you tell that he's dropped? 'cause I can. Ha.):

Also, my "What To Expect When You're Expecting" app has just informed me that my baby is the size of a watermelon.

Whoa.

It's no wonder I have to lift my stomach up when I roll over in bed at night.

Although I am the crankiest person on the planet right now, due to the ridiculous amount of uncomfortableness I am experiencing, God keeps whacking me on the head with the fact that all of this (including the heartburn, nausea, backache, grinding hips, sciatica, insomnia, exhaustion, pelvic ligaments that are too loose, and electric shocks that occur when Jameson stabs me with his heels) is a blessing and I need to treat it that way. 

I have a healthy baby growing inside of me, and I am just a few weeks away from meeting him.

I couldn't ask for anything more than that.

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nesting

First of all, let me apologize for the haphazard appearance of my blog right now.

I started the redesigning process, got frustrated with the template I was working in and haven't had the energy to wade through all of the HTML and other things since. However, it's driving me crazy to look at, so it will get done soon.

Secondly, I now fully understand what pregnant women mean when they talk about nesting.

Our American friends over here, Erica and Zac, just had their baby boy, Clive Weatherly, yesterday. He is a beautiful 8 lbs., 7 oz. and 21 inches long. Hubs and I were lucky enough to be able to visit them in the hospital and it was such a surreal experience. Ever since I got over here, Erica and I have been pregnant together, moaning about all of the aches and pains we were going through and speculating about what labor was really going to be like.

But now that she's had Clive (and she actually does know what labor is like), I'm the lone pregnant ranger. It seems that the reality that there is actually a real baby in my belly who will be making an appearance sometime in the next seven weeks has truly sunk in, and I am like a crazy woman on a mission.

I had a mini-panic attack last night, thinking about all of the things we have left to do before Jameson gets here, and the first thing I thought about this morning was "Lists. I've got to make lists."
So, suffice it to say that I have a "Nesting List" broken down into three categories with the things to-do underneath each heading.

(When I get stressed, my OCD tendencies start to really show themselves. Ha.)

I have this sudden burst of energy now, and my husband has actually said that he is afraid of me.

Let the fun begin.

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three months

My third trimester starts today.

Jameson Jia Sheung Ho is due three months from yesterday.

I'm not sure that I've even really got my head wrapped around this quite yet. I think it still feels far away, but at the same time it is drawing imminently closer and I am trying not to run around in a panic about all of the things that I would like to have done before he gets here.

Although this has probably been the most trying time in our lives (for many reasons), I look around and I see the fact that we have still been given all of the things we need to bring our son into the world and take care of him for the first few months of his life.

I'm not too sure about the months afterwards, but I am doing my best to rest in the knowledge that at least the "now" is taken care of.

To tell you the truth, I am so in love with my son, that three months almost feels like an unbearable amount of time to wait to meet him.

I want to be a mom now, and time is ticking by.

Although I am still dealing with the realities of labor and birth, when I think about my baby, it's almost like an afterthought.

The little person I have waited for my entire life is almost here, and I am as ready as I will ever be.

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son.

It's a boy.

That tiny little "it" I've been carrying around for the past twenty weeks has always been a boy.

My boy.
My son.

I cannot even begin to describe what it is like to type those words, let alone see them and know that I wrote them.

I'm going to be honest and say that I was kind of disappointed when the ultrasound tech said that he was "300% sure" that our baby is a boy.
I've been walking around with visions of ballet, and lace, and sequins for the past few months and to have that replaced with dirt, and frogs, and mayhem was an...adjustment.

However.
That boy in there is still that baby that I have been falling in love with, that I have been feeling kick and wiggle in my belly, and he is still mine.

I'm scared for this, yes.
I feel like I've got a handle on girls, I know what to do...but when it comes to boys, I feel slightly lost.

But he's my boy.

My son.

And I'm his mom.

And that's it.
That's all there is.

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