June 19th on June 15th

While planning for Hazelanne's birth, I learned that I wasn't very good at being vulnerable.  I'm a stuffer.  I don't like crying in front of people.  I find my own emotions overwhelming, and suffocating.  It's been easier for a long time to just push things away to process later. Then it always just felt awkward and clunky to process it later.  So I've made a concentrated effort since 2014 to be better at expressing myself.  Here goes some of that.

June 19th is going to be amazing day for me.  It's a day for me to celebrate Father's Day for my amazing husband, and it's my awesome bonus daughter's birthday.  I want to just BASK in the glory of all that greatness on Sunday.  It's going to be amazing.

So, I'm taking some space here - on June 15th - to talk about something else that June 19th means for me.  In a separate space from Cameron's Father's Day, or Kassidy's 15th birthday.

You guys, this Sunday, June 19th, 2016 - marks FIVE YEARS since my brother passed on.  I have lived through 4 of these annual anniversaries so far, but this one feels a little harder.  For one, five years just seems like a milestone.  We celebrate five years of employment, five years of marriage, five years of age - it's considered a memorable chunk of time.  So when it's been five years since a death, you have that itch to mark five years as something significant, but it feels pretty lame.

And the big hitter, I have a distinct memory of being in a fight with my brother when I was around 6 or 7.  I shouted at him that he was going to be sorry when I was older than him one day.  He laughed at me, and said that he would always be older than me.  I was crushed.  I felt like I was doomed to be in 2nd place.

Well, how could we have known that I would outgrow him.  You see, my brother was 5 years older than me.  Born June 25, 1979.  His last birthday was his 31st, in 2010.  Days after his death, would have been his 32nd birthday.

You guys, my 32nd birthday is next month.

You guys, I am going to be older than my brother for the first time in my 32 years of life.  It is as strange and disorienting to me as walking upside down on the ceiling.  Each year my identity as Tom's sister slips further away.  My brother being older than me, was the last firm stance I had on that identity.  People have stopped associating me as his sister.  He's not my kids' uncle.  My youngest kids don't even know him.  There whole lives have taken place in a world where my brother isn't.

And each year that passes gets stranger because of all those reasons, and 1000 more.  It doesn't get easier, it gets different.  There are less tears, but I still have a gut ache.  I still have this undercurrent of unrest during this time.  It's hard to talk to people about it, because the idea of imposing my emotions on others is painful.  And I can plan out everything they will say to make me feel better, and I already know the answers.  And I know the most important answer that most people are too polite to say: there is no happy ending.  Most hard things we have to experience have some kind of resolution, or ending.  Death is the exception.  Just when you ache, and you're like: UGH, have I endured enough?  Is it almost the end??  It's an instinct.  At least it is for me.  My brain searches for the hope that this yucky feeling will be gone soon, and this is the unsolvable problem.

Yes, yes - I understand that I'll see him in Heaven.  That is so impossible to conceptualize.  It gives me some amount of comfort, but it's not complete.

My brother and I didn't get along.  I think of two things often though, and without a proper ending to this I'll just close with them.

First, when I brush my teeth and am brushing in the back, it tickles me and I laugh.  Every time I brush my teeth.  One day, when I was asking my brother if that was normal, he said, "No, that means you're retarded." It cracks me up.

Next, my brother and I were teenagers and having one of our horrific fights.  Screaming, yelling, throwing things, slamming doors - we went AT IT.  Well, I must have been winning that round because my brother snapped and screamed at me that he hated me, and wished I had never been born.  It really hurt my feelings surprisingly; it was a lower blow than we usually took.  I ran to my room like the epic teenager I was and started to cry.  He came in a short time later and sat on my bed, it was a strangely intimate moment for us.  We were always either ignoring each other or in some bitter war.  He said, "We are not the same kind of people.  We will fight, and probably will continue to generally dislike each other.  But I love you."  We hugged, and that was that.  My Mom wasn't home, it was just this rare moment of peace and kindness.

If I could say something to my brother today I would say this:

It's nice to  belong to you, as your sister.  I'm glad I have you.  Sorry I'm always such a shithead.  Nerd.

Co-Parenting is Hard

When I became a mother, I never dreamed I would be splitting my parenting duties between 4 people.  My ex and I divorced in 2010, and both of us pretty quickly fell in with our new life partners.  So since the relative beginning, it has been me, my husband, my ex and his wife raising our kids.

Add to that, I married a man with his own ex.  So we have my husband, me, his ex and her husband.

In the mix of all that, we have new babies being born from each household, and relationships that extend and influence the decisions being made in the other two households.  Holidays, school breaks, weekends...they all have to balance the schedule of three relative households.  It's exhausting.

What's great is that my kids are SO loved.  They have the love of their Dad's family, their step-moms family, my family and their step-dad's family.  Their family tree is broad and beautiful, and full of love.

I would be remiss not to mention they get like, quadruple the presents.

Their school functions and sports events all have a bleacher full of supporters.  Their school conferences have four adults squatted on tiny little chairs oohing and ahhing over their progress.

What's hard about this, is there are 6 adults involved in the raising of these kids.  Christmas presents are compared, vacations impact the schedules of everyone, rules and behaviors flow from one house to another and sometimes clash family cultures.  We can't have our kids when we want them.  We can't just do what we want with our kids when we want to.  Relationships with ex's are curt at best, and pregnant with inexpressible frustration at it's worst.  Realistically, our relationships with our ex's are strained and yet, we have to have a constructive relationship for the kids.  It's hard.

Sometimes I feel like I'm only 50% a parent to my older kids because I only see them half the time.  I feel guilty, and grieve the mundane events I'm missing not having them every night.  I feel out of the loop with their homework, or what's happening at school because they've already moved on to new things to talk about.  I feel like there are pieces of them that I don't know, and important little pieces I am missing out on not seeing them every day.  I've calculated that I am missing 2,372 days as their parent.  THAT'S SIX YEARS.  Ugh, it's so crushing.  But in other news, that's 45 weeks and if I spend a 2 week vacation with them every year for 22 years after high school, I'll be all caught up.  You're welcome kids!  But seriously, when you only have your kids 50% of the time, it makes all the little parenting slips and mistakes seem all the more agonizing.  After a tense school day morning, I sometimes have to wait a long days before I can hug my babies and tell them I love them.

This was a vent post, I've started and stopped this post many times over the years.  It's not anything negative about my ex, his wife, my husband's ex or her husband.  We are all doing our best, and dealing with our own life in the midst of raising these kids in this dysfunctional village scenario.  I don't have any advice or insight to offer, either.  Co-parenting is hard. 

The end.

No Exit Here

I was raised as a cesarean baby.  My mom had a cesarean, and my grandma had horrible stories of being left alone to labor in a white, sterile hospital room alone.  I remember hearing stories about how my cousin looked like a bloody alien coming out (Hi Tori!).  I was grossed out.  I had no experience with a healthy, natural labor being the "natural" way.

I remember seeing my mom's cesarean scar on her mama belly growing up, and hearing stories about how the doctor lifted me out of her.  There was no pain, just peaceful emergence into this world.  It sounded lovely.  I never questioned what I wanted when I grew up.  I was going to have my babies cut out of me like my Mama did.

The gift of that mindset, is that I didn't mourn a birth experience after either my cesareans.  The only thing that made me look into doing something different with my third is because I didn't want to schedule a cesarean, I wanted to go into labor and then have a cesarean.  I stumbled upon the concept of "Gentle Cesarean", and then ultimately fell down the rabbit hole of VBAC and it was a strange realization when I allowed myself to wonder, "What if I could do that?"

Months into my third pregnancy, I remember looking down at my growing scar and idly wondering if a baby would come through there again.  For the first time in my life, I had expectations about my birth.  I worried how I would take it, if I ended up with another cesarean.

Of course, as the story goes, I've had two vaginal births since then.  The first was scary, the second was wildly empowering.  It was month's after my first VBA2C that I even started to really absorb the fact that I'd pushed a baby out of my vagina.  It's hard for me to explain this, but I'd had a preconceived notion of women that push babies out, and it was something separate from me.  It was like a complete shift in my identity that I was someone who pushed babies out, too.

Even with having achieved the goal of VBAC, I found that as I planned my next birth as unmedicated, I still had a deeply rooted insecurity over what my body could do.  In my mind there were now three categories: women that had cesareans, women that had vaginal births with epidurals, and super-hero women that had natural births.  Even with the strength I'd gained, I still found ways to tell myself I wasn't good enough.

It doesn't take anything away from mom's that have cesareans.  I still believe those are some of the bravest women out there.  They are willing to lay down and get their body cut open in order to protect their baby.  Society really minimizes just what a crazy big deal that is.

It doesn't take away anything from a woman that chooses an epidural.  I believe there is a place for epidurals.  I also know that I didn't use one because I chose to, I used it because I was afraid not to.

I am five months postpartum for my unmedicated birth with Hazelanne, and I still have moments where I want to high-five myself.  For me, the gift isn't that I had a baby come out of my vagina.  On it's own, that's just natural.  I think the gift in this was my experience in taking control and ownership of my body.  In believing I could do something that I had never, ever, truly felt capable of doing - and then actually doing it.  And God gave me my triumphs in small, manageable steps.  I don't believe I would have had the courage to try for a vaginal birth after cesarean, if I hadn't had a concerns with my 2nd cesarean's timing.  I don't think I would have had the courage to go for a natural birth, if I'd hadn't had a vaginal birth first to know what to expect.  God, in all of His knowing glory gave me exactly what I needed, when I needed it, to bless me with the confidence of my capable body.

I stepped out of the shower the other day and casually caught my scar in the mirror.  Without prompting, I thought to myself, "That's not an exit anymore."  And it was so clear to me in that moment how far I'd come in my confidence as a woman, that it almost made me cry.

I'm hoping this doesn't sound anti-cesarean, or anti-epidural.  It's not even pro-natural.  What I'm for is letting yourself dream that you can do something you never thought possible, and trusting God to give you what you need, exactly when you need it.

Snapshot of a Day

My life is BUSY.  It's chaotic.  It's full of priorities that have to be constantly re-evaluated to address what's on "fire" at the moment.  Sometimes I tell the kids to go to their rooms, just so I can have a moment of personal physical space.  I'll tell them they can't read a book with me because I just need to be quiet for a few minutes.  I'll take an extra long shower because sometimes it's the only free moment I have where someone isn't touching me.  I'll tell them they can't help me do something, because I know it'll take too long with their help.  I put Little Einstein's on for Milo more than I should, because it's the only thing that keeps him still for 20 minutes.  I watch the clock, begging time to speed up before bed time so the house is quiet again.

But whenever I start to get stressed, or overwhelmed I am almost immediately struck by the thought, "These are the best days of your life."  I know that the feeling of being over-touched, and when I'm so tired of people saying, "Mom"... that I will miss these things one day.  I will sit and fret by the phone, wishing my children would call me and need me for something.  I will crave their unrelenting affection when they are teenagers and pushing me away.  I will be bored sitting in a quiet, clean house with no one to clean up after.  My body will ache for the weight of children on it.  I loved being a wild 20-something, drinking and dancing with girlfriends all night.  I will LOVE being in the post-children phase with my husband, where we can spend all of our days and nights together like best friends.  But I know that when I am in my final moments in life, it will be these years of young children that I find joy in.  It's a fleeting time that comes and goes, and you can never get it back.  I will have my sweet husband by my side, hopefully until the day I die, and we can keep making new memories and doing life together up until our last breath.  But I only have my children with me for such a small time, and every day they get older and need me in different ways.

So for my own sake, more than anyone else's, I wanted to capture a day in the life of my family right now.  With 5 kids, from a baby to a 13 year old. 

It's hard to find a good time to start recounting my day, because it never really ends or begins.  I spend my nights co-sleeping with Hazelanne, who is 4 months, nursing, and still waking up every 2-3 hours.  I feel like I haven't had REM sleep in months.  But we'll start around 6AM, when after a night full of nursing Hazel we hear a loud call from Milo's room.

"MOMMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAA!  DAAAAAAAAAAAA-YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"  He doesn't say anything else, really, just calls loudly for us at the top of his lungs until one of us rolls out of bed.  Usually my sweet husband does this, because I have just fallen back asleep with Hazel.  Cameron takes a pull from his vaporizer by the bed, checks his phone and then rolls out of bed.  I hear him tap on Milo's door, which is their secret code for it being Daddy at the door.  Milo screams and yells and "DAYEEE!!"  I hear Milo jabbering enthusiastically while Cameron changes his diaper.  He's usually singing something loudly like the Happy Birthday song, or the ABCs. 

Whichever one of us gets up with Milo, the next step is always the same.  Get Milo milk, and plop him in front of Little Einstein's on the couch, so that we can make coffee and try to wake up for our day.

On the days that our big kids are with us, Andy will get up with Milo.  We hear Milo wake up with , "ANNNN-DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" and find Andy and Milo cuddled under the blanket watching cartoons when we wake up.

Elyse and Kass are the last ones up, usually.  Both girls will always try to bring out their comforter and pillows to the couch to "wake up" while watching cartoons.  Cameron and I are constantly telling them to take their pillows/blankets back to their room.

Mornings before school are the most hectic.  Dirty kids that skipped showers the night before have to shower.  I am reminding everyone to brush their teeth - EVERY DAY.  Girls are trying on 2-3 outfits, and being told that things are too tight or too short or too cold or too hot.  Kids can't find shoes.  Kids don't have the clothes they need for P.E., or "Wacky Wednesday", or class presentations.  The girls both have very specific ideas on how they want their hair, but don't know how to do it yet so I spend a good chunk of my morning on the couch, with a girl cross-legged in front of me, while I braid her hair.  Andy does his own hair, but often forgets a tuft of hair in the back so I have to help him wet his whole head, and then brush it down.  His hair is thick and grows fast, so he seems to always look shaggy.  I have to remind Andy not to wear the same jeans every day, because he just does not care.

We keep easy things around the house for breakfast because NO ONE has time to make breakfast in this kind of morning chaos.  Our fridge is always stacked with blueberry waffles from Trader Joe's.  The kids will make a waffle for Milo and put him in his high chair while they eat if Cam and I are getting ready.  Which is probably a mixture of them being cool, responsible kids and them wanting Milo to stop shouting for a bite of their food if they don't give him his own.  All the kids are endlessly patient with Milo, as he is endlessly obsessed with them.  He is always saying, "Uppa, uppa" or wanting them to chase him, or wanting a bite/drink of whatever they have, wanting to take over the TV when they are watching it.  In his world, everyone loves him and shows him kindness.  His is lucky and we are lucky to have kids that love each other, and I promise to you I see that and value it on a daily basis.

The big kids are pretty autonomous so beyond reminding them to do everything, they can actually do it themselves.  By around 7:30AM, everyone is dressed, fed, hair-brushed, teeth-brushed and getting their shoes on.  At this time, we get wiped down from breakfast and dressed.  I have usually been up and fed Hazel somewhere around this time, and am getting her dressed.  We ask the big kids to watch the little kids for 15 quick minutes so Cameron and I can finally get dressed and ready to leave.  By 8AM, everyone is ready to go in their 5 different directions all over the valley.  Kass goes to school in Anthem, Elyse and Andy go to school in North Phoenix, Cam goes to work in Scottsdale, the babies go to daycare near our house and I go to work in downtown Phoenix.

Over a page of text so far, and I'm only to 9AM.  No shit.

After school, it's a flurry of homework, "OMG YOU GUYS ARE SO FILTHY AND CAN'T PLAY UNTIL YOU CLEAN", taking showers, making dinner, cleaning up after dinner, putting away laundry, doing devotionals, listening to stories from school, and trying to spend quality time together as a family.  We won't even mention the several times a month that I have ICAN or Cam has a night work function.  Pepper that with about 750 questions that start with "Mom?", 4-5 dirty diapers, and at least one person crying because they are mad at someone else.  At one point, Cam usually takes a shower with Milo, which is now the easiest/fastest way to keep him clean since he is ALWAYS dirty.

Hazel goes down first.  After being passed around arms and bouncey seats in between nursing, she gets sleepy around 6:30PM.  If I'm lucky, we can eat after this so that I don't have to hold her while I eating.  Milo goes to sleep next.  He still takes a bottle (shameeeee I know), and likes to cuddle before bed.  When it's time to go, he says "Night night!" to everyone in the house.  Once we are in his room, we sing "I love you goodnight", which is those words sang to the tune of "Happy Birthday to You".  In the last several months we have added several stanzas, and now the song has about 10 verses.  The first is the whole song sang to I love you goodnight.  Then we sing, "Mama" to the same tune, then Dada, Mimi, Papa, Gra-ma, Kass, Elyse, Andy, Cat ("meow"), Puppy ("woof"), and sometimes inanimate objects like "Rocket" and "Milk" get their own stanzas.  It takes about 10 minutes but then he willingly lays down and shouts, "Night-night!  You tooooo (which means I love you too)".

Around 8:30, we get everyone in bed to read.  We have learned to start this at 8:20 because there will always be a cascade of having to use the bathroom, emergency homework they forgot, needing water, starving for more food, and having a serious problem that they need to talk to a parent about IMMEDIATELY.  More teeth have been pulled during this 10 minutes than you would even believe.

Most weekends, the big kids ask to sleep together.  They will stay up until 11 or so watching movies, and will fall asleep all cuddled up with their 8000 blankets and pillows.  On week nights, everyone still wants to be tucked in.  The girls like to gab when we go in there and ALWAYS after we say, "Okay, goodnight, go to sleep" will say, "Mom??" or "Dad??"  There is literally a last-minute question or statement every single night after we say goodnight.  And it's always like, "Can we go to the park this weekend?" or "I want a Barbie for my birthday" or "Do you think pink and purple go together?"

Andy is usually sleeping when I get in there, but he always wants the closet door shut.  When he's awake, I'll tell him I love him, he'll say he loves me more, I'll say "I love you bigger because I'm bigger and I've known you longer", and he says, "Impossible."  I shut the door and tell him to look at his Spiderman light on the ceiling because he's kind of afraid of the dark.  Sometimes I hear Milo try and talk to him at night (they share a room).  Milo will whisper, "Andddddd-eeeeee" and Andy whispers, "Go to bed Milo, night night.  Lay down, Milo.  Quiet."  Always patient.

Cam and I curl up at this point, and will try to stay up at least an hour or so after bedtime.  Sometimes we don't make it.  Most of the time we are quiet, but still like to be in the same room.  We'll stay up until Hazelanne starts crying because she's hungry again (every 2-3 hours, remember?).  Then we climb into bed, Cam gets me water for when I nurse at night, and we cover up, butt to butt, and whisper I love you after several minutes of zoning out.

Then begins my 2nd shift of parenting which is feeding Hazelanne all night.  CAN'T WAIT for this period to be over, too, but again wonder if I'll miss it when she doesn't need me so much.

So there it is.  Probably not very interesting for those on the outside, but it's my full and lovely life, every single day.  And as ridiculous and crazy busy it is, it is soooooo joyful, really. 

I wouldn't change a thing.

Hazelanne's Birthday Story

In the previous edition of this story, I had only included in the timeline so I get it out and on "paper" for my memory.  I know too well that memory of birth is fleeting and I reallllllly wanna remember this one.  So with the help my handy dandy timeline, here is my birth story with the emotional milestones plugged in.

09/13/14 - Excerpt from my journal
"I am so over being pregnant.  All of my preparation about my body knowing what to do, did not prepare me for going over my due date.  I cry almost every day.  As of today, I have officially been pregnant longer than ever before."

I was overrrrr it.  I'd had start and stop labor for weeks, and in the last week it had calmed down completely.  I spend a living telling women to trust their bodies, avoid induction, and reminding people that the average gestation RANGES up to 42 weeks.  But there I was on 40 weeks exactly and had resigned to being pregnant for the rest of my life.  I wrote, "This is just my new way of existence.  I'll be pregnant forever, I'm sure of it."

Before I start my birth story, it's important to touch on Milo's for context.  You can read it here, but here is the summary:  it hurt much more than I expected, I was not prepared mentally for labor, I felt like I sucked at it and it was traumatizing.

I knew this was my last birth and I really wanted it to be an experience.  I carefully chose my OB, not for their willingness to accept my vba2c birth but for their philosophy on birth.  I see a lot from my vantage point of chapter leader of ICAN, and I knew the two providers I wanted to try.  I spent 35 weeks with the first OB, but at the last minute knew that they weren't right.  At 36 weeks I switched to Dr. Gary Newman and was so impressed that I told him I wanted him to be my birth husband, which I defined as a marriage where all we do is talk about birth stuff.  I loved him.  Loved the hospital and was really excited about the birth.

Just like before, I knew I didn't need technical help birthing a baby.  I just needed the right people around me, and an  OB to catch the baby.  I spent the lion's share of the pregnancy preparing my mind.  Neutralizing the fear I had of labor, and trying to absorb the advice and knowledge I give to others about trusting your body and trusting the process.  I went and told my birth story in a special birth story sharing session and through talking it out, realized that my greatest fear was that was that I wasn't "normal" and wasn't "strong".  I felt like I was feeling pain so much stronger than everyone else, and felt like a wuss.  In trying to describe it to my husband I said, "Imagine running a marathon.  You finish, but the whole time you bitched and whined and thought you were dying.  It kind of takes the wind out of your sails of success."  That's how I felt about Milo's birth.  I could hardly be proud of myself.  I felt like I pushed out a baby, despite myself.

Towards the end of pregnancy I took a "Birthing Again" class with the amazing, Alejandrina Vostrej.  It was four weeks of diving deep into your thoughts and feelings of birth.  We talked about women in the wild that go to their safe place to have a baby, and she'd ask "What does your safe place look like?"  We talked about those women shutting down the labor process biologically if they saw a tiger in the wild, "What is your tiger?" she'd ask.  We practiced pain coping techniques, which helped me find and practice how to mentally sustain the pain when my mind was no longer willing.  I read the Birthing Within book and read all kinds of wonderful stories of calm, strong women having babies.  I read all kinds of affirmations that reminded me that I was made to do this.  Mostly I convinced myself to remember that I can't let myself worry about what's happening next, I'd have to remind myself:

You're already doing it.
You move mountains a stone at a time.
You can let go because God has this.

I thought a lot about animals.  In the book it talked about how animals that give birth in the wild aren't thinking about how far apart their contractions are, or what is going to happen next or if it will happen "in time".  They just breathe, keep their feet on the ground and take it moment by moment listening to their body.  I just had to be an animal giving birth.

Nothing special happened the day before I gave birth.  I went to church, laughed about being pregnant longer than ever and had really tried to stop obsessing over being pregnant and just live.  Just go about your daily life, and forget about the pregnancy was my motto.

09/15/2014
2:30AM:
I woke up to a strongish contraction. Not painful but intense enough to wake me. Less tightening feeling, more a lower cramping pain around my round ligaments.  I didn't automatically know I was in labor, but I knew that the contraction was stronger than I'd had before.  It woke me up enough that I started to read in bed and tried to fall back asleep.

15 minutes later I had another contraction.  I noted the time on my phone and kept reading.  15 minutes later I had another one.  The next one came around 8 minutes later.  Ultimately, I ended up reading in bed watching contractions that grew from 15 minutes to 4 minutes apart from 2:30am to 4:00am.  They were not painful at all, but intense enough to focus my breathing.  I wasn't the least bit afraid.  I woke Cameron up around 4am, told him I was having contractions and that I was going to take a shower to see if they would go away.

Minutes into my shower they were coming every 2 minutes.  They didn't hurt at all, truly.  Just a tightening.  I cried into my hands with relief in the shower.  I knew that God had made me wait so that I would feel gratitude instead of fear when my labor started.  He had the perfect plan.

After my shower, it was understood I was in labor but we believed it was still super early.  I'd had no bloody show, and I'd never really lost my mucous plug.  I figured I was having early labor pains with no cervical change yet.  We let Milo sleep, texted Jane that Milo would be coming over soon and watched Dane Cook (old, funny Dane Cook, not new, angsty hostile Dane Cook) while I bounced on my ball.  We laughed, and I continued to breathe through contractions that didn't hurt at all - they were just a feeling of tightness and intensity.

I called my doula around 6am, I obviously sounded fine because I wasn't in pain.  We both thought it was weird that I hadn't had any bloody show.  She was worried I would go to the hospital too early, but I was worried about going too late since it was almost 45 minutes away.  I wanted to avoid painful labor in the car.  We had been debating going over the 2 hours, but around 6am I had a pretty strong contraction that made me hold on to the counter.  I had a fear pass through as fleeting as a butterfly's flap of wind, I told myself immediately not to be afraid.  That I was doing it, and to just worry about one contraction at a time.  It was the last time I felt fear.  We left to drop Milo off at Jane's.

At Jane's I stayed in the car because the doctor called.  I told him the scoop: Contractions since 2:30am, around 3-4 minutes apart, very little discomfort and no bloody show.  He recommended I come in based on the pattern, and that's the only encouragement we needed to leave.

6:15AM
Left for the hospital.  It was a 45 minute ride in.  I made a very normal sounding call to my Mom to let her know the scoop.  I got off saying, "Gotta run, a contraction is coming.  I'll call you later."  The contractions were steady, and they were intense but not painful.  I had my headphones to listen to Sara Barellies and I would pop in my music when they would start, close my eyes and focus on relaxing every part of my body.  In between contractions, Cameron and I would laugh and talk and talk about the pretty drive.

7:00AM
Arrived at hospital.  My contractions were intense, but I wasn't suffering.  Cameron had to push hard on my lower back during the contraction and then I was fine afterward.  I was having a weird emotional reflex after each contraction.  My eyes would well up and I'd get a little chest sob, and I'd laugh about it because I didn't feel emotional.  I'd apologize to whatever medical staff I was talking to, "Sorry, I'm not really crying..my body is just doing this weirdly after each contraction."  We'd carry on the conversation.  I was answering all of my own questions, Cam would take over during contractions.  At some point during a contraction the nurse asked what the pain plan was, Cam said, "Un-medicated."  In my mind it had put the nail in the coffin that there was no chickening out now, but I felt a pride.  I felt the pride in his voice as he said it.

I wanted to stand the whole time because the sensations were more manageable that way, but Cameron had to push harder and harder and I couldn't get through a contraction without him pushing on my back.

7:45AM
We are finishing the triage process and she says it's time to check me.  We wait until after a contraction and I lay down for an agonizing moment while she checks and proclaims me...WAIT FOR IT...

A 7!!!!

Lord Jesus knows what a relief that was for me.  I cried in relief.  I had been so afraid that I would be a 2.  They grabbed a gown and we headed for a room.  I walked myself and joked that I felt like a dog on a leash with all of the tummy monitors I had being dragged by the nurse with equipment.

When I got in the room, literally after walking in, I got another contraction and this one was pretty intense. Cam was putting the bags down across the room and wasn't there to put counter pressure on my back. I spat out a try-to-be sentence using only the important words:

I can't.......fuck bags..........HANDS Cam!

The nurse had to put a heplock on me and told me I should sit on the ball while she did it so Cam could apply counter pressure easier.  The ball contractions were super intense and I was getting less than a minute between them.  For a moment or two I thought that this was going to be hard if it went on long enough, but I was so busy focusing on staying in the moment that I didn't have time to continue down that path and it quickly passed.

She wanted to check me and somehow checked me on my hands and knees after I crawled sideways into the bed. She said, "She's complete! Don't push! I have to call your doctor!"

Contractions were back to back at this point. My body had taken over and with every contraction I pushed and screamed.  I didn't recognize my own voice, and had never heard a scream like that come from me.  It wasn't a desperate scream, I wasn't in pain.  It was just helping me pull energy to use for pushing.  Pushing felt good, like a relief from the pressure of the contractions and something purposeful to do with the energy.

They kept telling me to get on my back between contractions but there was no break and it felt unnatural to get on my back.  Nothing in my body was telling me to move in that way to get this baby out.  I didn't cognitively think that, but I resisted moving because I felt like I was in my best position.

I could feel her moving down. I tried to not push unless I needed. It was really a worthless sentiment because I wasn't deciding to push anyway and the sensation to push was nearly consistent with my back to back contractions.

Cam said at this point he had a major adrenaline rush because he didn't think there would be an OB in time to catch. He described an earthy smell to the room, intrestingly enough.  They were paging the OB to come stat and the OB nor my doula was there.  When the nurse ran out, he thought for a moment he might have to catch her.

Through this time I was never afraid. I was frustrated they were telling me to get on my back, but I wasn't afraid of what was happening, what I felt or what I was about the feel.  I was in labor land.

Hazel was crowning/coming out. My doula still wasn't there. My doctor was "5 minutes away".  They had called over the intercom for any available OB to come to my room stat. The hospital OB and my sweet doula got there at the same time, as Hazelanne's head was coming out.

The OB immediately wanted me to get on my back but I just kept saying no and kept pushing involuntarily.  My doula's presence felt like she was curled around my head cuddling me. She wasn't but that's what her presence did for me.  I grasped her hand and held it to my face. She whispered sweet positive things in my ear.  She told me I didn't have to get on my back.  She told me how strong I was.  I was so comforted.

8:08AM:
The resident OB ended up catching Hazel while I pushed her out on my hands and knees. The nurses told me after the fact that she is a very old-school doctor and said before leaving that she'd never caught a baby that way.  It was very awkward getting her into my arms.  Right as she came out, the shakes came on from all the adrenaline.  I was shaking uncontrollably and in a lifted position on my knees and still wearing my dress.  They were trying to push her under the dress into my arms and I needed help.  We managed to get her into my arms and on my back.  I was truly in shock but felt such intense joy that I thought I was shaking from happiness.

Cameron had to fight off the old-school OB from clamping the cord. She kept trying and he kept holding her back. I'm so thankful for that because I was not even thinking about that.  That cord pulsed until it was completely finished; I'm so grateful.  I even got to see the cord connected to us before it was cut.  The doctor arrived while it was finishing up pulsing.  Cam cut the cord.

When it came time to push out the placenta, I was resistant.  The after-birth time was truly the worst part.  I was sore and really sensitive and people were poking and prying me.  When he wanted me to push for the placenta, I told him I didn't want to push anymore but he convinced me to push just once more.

I declined the post-birth pitocin and they just watched my bleeding. I successfully avoided any medication and synthetic hormones. It was amazing.  My doctor gave me a couple stitches where I tore a small bit. It was all over! I felt so amazing. It was such a high.

I spent weeks after the birth just riding the birth high.  Cameron and I felt like we had gone through the most amazing experience, and just couldn't stop talking about it.  Remember that time you pushed out a baby, un-medicated like a bad ass?, Cam would say to me.  Remember that time you had to stop the nazi OB from cutting my cord like a birth ninja?, I would tell him.  It was so awesome, truly.  I told absolutely everyone that would pass into my presence.  I had an un-medicated birth and went from 7 to birth in 23 minutes!

There aren't words for how grateful I feel to have had exactly the birth experience I wanted. Down to every detail. I felt strong, and present. Cam was with me 1000%. God saturated us with peace and gave us everything we needed, exactly when we needed it. 

Mostly, I am so excited to tell my daughters about this as they grow up so that hopefully they can go on to have perfectly normal and strong birth experiences.  Even if they don't want their bossy mama in the room.

I am so grateful to ICAN for educating me that vaginal birth is possible after two cesareans.  Alejandrina Vostrej for helping me prepare my mind, and my partnership with Cameron going into this birth.  I'm grateful to my best friends for listening to me bitch about pregnancy at the end.  I'm supremely grateful for Cameron for being my calm pillar of strength through all hard times.  I wouldn't want to stand next to anyone else in life.  And I'm grateful mostly to God for having the supreme wisdom to give me exactly what I needed over my 4 births so that I could cross the finish line with this amazing, life-completing birth.  God is good.

To my kids, here is what happened in my 20s.

There is something sobering about completing a decade in your life. It reminds me that I'm IN it. This is life. Each moment that passes can't be re-lived, and I am slowly but surely approaching death. I don't mean this in a negative way, it's actually enlightening to me. I have never been someone afraid of getting older, and turning 30 feels exhilarating. Like I get this whole new decade to make whatever I want with.  It does however bring to light all of those "Who am I?" questions that accompany thoughts of mortality.

Is my job how I want to spend the majority of my adult life?

Am I good wife?  Am I good mother?  Am I appreciating these fleeting years?

How can I make my life meaningful? What can I give to this planet that will outlast my short life?

It is also staggering how much I've grown into my own skin in the last 10 years. I've had SO much life.  It's been on my heart to document what it's like to be me, right now in this moment, to give to my daughters one day.  Teaching them is one thing, but mostly I want to leave a piece of me for them to relate to. I know what happens as we grow, our hair turns gray and we see things so differently that to our children it may seem like somehow we were born at that age and never lived through the same heart aches and struggles of youth.

So as an au revoir to my twenties, here are the events that shaped my core being and the kind of woman I am now, as written to my daughters.

Leaving the Nest

I was eager to be on my own and actually moved out right after high school when I was 17. I'll be okay if you want to do that too, I understand the drive for independence.  There were several hard lessons included in this season, but I'll list my two big - let's call them - "learning curves":

1. Living with your friends is fun, but also dramatic. Well-selected stranger roommates live their own life, do their own thing, buy their own food and basically keep to themselves. When you live with your friend there is a lot of sharing clothes, borrowing money, stealing food, forced company (friends of friends) and in general next to zero inherent boundaries. That said, I lived with my best friend, Mia several times over my early 20s and although there was usually drama, I wouldn't trade the amazing memories. Lots of drinking, lots of boys, lots of hiking and outdoorsy stuff, lots of spontaneous California trips, lots of secret adventures that I wouldn't dare post on the internet, but promise to tell you one day...in person and probably after drinking. 

2. Money and other grown up stuff. To this section I'll give you my straight advice which you can infer I learned from doing the opposite: 

Credit matters. Learn how to really make a budget, I'll help you.  Don't hide from your money problems, dig deep and figure out what you're working with so it's not so stressful. Read leases carefully. Include spending money and food costs in your budget. Use cash so you don't overspend. Put money in your savings before spending money. Get a job, find your little niche in life before buying a house. You may want to live in the cool bohemian side of town this year and may want to move to San Diego next. Minimize commitments during these early years so you allow yourself space to stretch and grow. 

Love

Oh boy.  I've learned heaps and heaps about love in my 20s. To protect the innocent and the guilty (that's me), I'm going to skip itemizing mistakes in this section too, and jump straight to what I learned. 

Don't settle on who you love, and the kind of love you deserve. Love yourself first, it's the best way to catch the right guy. Sex doesn't have to be a BIG deal, but you are giving away something amazing each time so love yourself enough to be choosy.  Boys respect a girl that doesn't give it up to just anyone. They may go home with the girl that gives it up easy, but it's the girls that keep their cards close that drive them truly crazy. USE BIRTH CONTROL.  You can and will get pregnant if you're flippant about it. Avoid any long acting birth controls like injections because if you have a crappy side effect you have to ride it out (we call this the hurricane season of my life called Depo Provera.) But USE BIRTH CONTROL.  If you get pregnant, don't feel like you have to have an abortion. It's hard and scary, but there are millions of great people who can't have their own babies.  It's hard to know when love is for real and I can only speak for myself here but look for someone who feels like your best friend, that you also can't keep your hands off of. There should be lots of laughter and fun. Love should come easy. You should feel like a better person for having known them. They should know how to call you on your shit, while also lifting you up. Don't settle, my little loves. When you find it, it's so worth it. And in love and friendship, never be afraid to say when it's been enough. Some relationships are there just for a season to teach you something about yourself, never forget that the only person you ever need is you.  That said, take marriage seriously. You can't be ready until at least 25, I'm a firm believer in that. There is so much that changes within us leading up to your mid-twenties. You will be a completely different person with different goals, different desires, different priorities than when you first stepped out on your own. So, go to college. Date a lot of boys (keep your legs closed!), learn what you like and don't like in a relationship, practice breaking up, date yourself, spend time with your friends, and just figure out who you are. After college, get a job and start your life. That way whoever you meet will always know you as that person and won't be surprised. Plus, you tend to meet people going in the same direction when you start your path.  But above all else, love yourself first.  Accept nothing but love and respect from all of your relationships. You should never have to give more than you receive until you're a mother.

PS. Pay attention when everyone hates your boyfriend.  They can usually see something you don't and only want your best.  Alternatively, just because everyone likes your boyfriends, doesn't mean he's "the one".  You can be like someone, and they can be "nice", but not the one that is going to keep you strong, engaged and refined for the rest of your life. 

Career

Life is short, if you're not happy, it's not worth it. You may fail but you have one chance at life, and how awesome would it be to really make it doing what you love! You're going to spend a lot of time away from your family going to work, so if you're not happy, do something about it. My favorite quotes about change are:

I crossed the street to walk in the sunshine. 

Just when the caterpillar thought it's life was over, it became a butterfly. 

Don't be afraid of the unknown.  Listen to the whisper of your heart, it's God telling you where to go. Stand under His umbrella and follow his pushes.  I promise you can feel it if you quiet your own thoughts. It's a sense of "Ahhh this is right where I'm supposed to be". When you don't have that, pay attention and make changes.  There's no excuse not to. 

Fly Away Little Bird

Before you get rooted by careers and families, live somewhere else for awhile. Go somewhere you've never been. Live on your own in a new place.  Find new grocery stores and make them home. Meet new friends. Practice being self sufficient. I prefer you come home after, but I understand if you don't. The world is a big place and it would make me so proud to see you go explore it. 

Feelings

It is an on-going struggle for me to learn how to be vulnerable with other people. I don't expect anyone else to fill my emotional void or fix my feelings, and as a result I've kind of sucked at even talking about it with others. Every single day I work to make a better example for you, but it's a struggle for me.  But I've learned the value of being better at this. You can share your vulnerability without the expectation that others will fix it and it's so important to get that stuff processed and out of you. Always have some good girlfriends that you can unload on without judgment. I promise to always listen and I'll try really hard not to tell you how to fix it. Emotions don't make us weak, they can be our strongest features. 

Mostly daughters, I want you to feel deep in your bones that you are strong.  That you are worth everything, a valuable little piece in this big world.  Through mistakes, and heartache, and lots of changes I want you to feel rooted in yourself and secure.  You are beautiful creatures that God knit together, stitch by stitch.  There is none like you.  You can run places, you can explore, you can bring home crazy boyfriends or decide you don't want to get married or have kids.  I will always love you.

~~~

I'll end this on my favorite part of my 20s, which was like the rainbow to the hardest part of my 20s. Meeting Cameron. He was like the icing on the decade cake of my 20s. He was the gift of true love. His love gave me wings and the courage to keep discovering myself and who I wanted to be. My ultimate wish for my kids is that after finding themselves, they'd find their Cameron. A best friend that will make life and parenting fun, so their life feels like an adventure, even at it's most mundane. Someone that laughs with them during love and looks at them like they're their best friend.

~~~

So happy birthday to me!  Cheers to 30!

Becoming an ICAN Chapter Leader

I used to get my confidence, and my self-esteem from my position at work.  I was really proud of my reputation at work, and it ultimately gave me the assurance that I was smart, capable of anything and valuable in a professional setting.

I decided to take over as Chapter Leader of ICAN of Phoenix shortly after Milo was born, I think March 2013.  At the time I had the smallest whisper inside me telling me that I wanted to be more involved in this "vbac movement".  I had planned on just volunteering, but at the exact moment I was taking that step, the previous Chapter Leader decided to step down.  I was confident in my management skills from my day-job and so I decided to take the leap and just go for it.  I felt terrible under-qualified.

I wanted to badly for this to become my thing, but I was so insecure in my abilities to pull this off that I regretted doing it almost immediately.  The previous Chapter Leader was so established, people loved her and I was so different from her.  I knew how I planned my birth, and I was really confident in the leading people to information, but my strength has never been consoling the emotions of others, and ICAN came with a lot of women needing to share and digest their feelings.  I felt awkward and I like I could make things worse for these poor women, and so many times I wanted to quit.

It's been almost a year now, and I don't even know how to transition this post into how I feel now.  I've realized there is no real art form to helping women process their emotions.  You just have to listen, and acknowledge that their feelings are valid.  It's not as scary as I thought.  As my confidence has grown, so has my willingness to reach out to women and offer my help and there has been at least 50 women in the last year I have helped that went on to have empowered birth experiences.  I know I'm not changing lives, but I can tangibly feel that I'm making a difference.  Even if it's just helping them start their journey of motherhood on an empowered note, I really believe that can make such a difference in how someone experiences their first months and years of motherhood.  The pride I get from this position is so different than the pride I get with my "day-job" at work.  The pride from my day-job was self-serving; a desire to be the best at what I do and for people to recognize me.  This pride is fed by the feeling of humility and gratefulness I have in having a part in women's births.  The warm feeling I have when I see their "I DID IT!" posts on facebook, and see what empowered awesome mamas they become.  Most of these women go on to have their babies, and I may never get a thank you but truly the only reward that's meaningful to me is watching them carry on as strong women.

I am so thankful that when I was insecure and on an unknown path, that I didn't turn back.  I didn't quit just because it was scary and I was afraid of failure.  My experience as Chapter Leader for ICAN in the last year has made me a better person in so many ways.  I'm more confident in my body, and feel like part of a team with my care providers instead of just a patient.  I'll be a better mother to my children, especially when they go on to have children of their own.  I have so much more to offer them in this important piece of their life.  I'm much better at being there for people in an emotional capacity.  I've learned how to pay attention to what someone needs based on how they ask for help instead of just shoving birth facts down their throat.  I've learned that opening up my time and my life for other people, is a lot like tithing at church.  If you give your last dollar, or your last precious moment to help someone else; somehow you are paid back and often with interest.