An Honest Look at the Postpartum Period

Postpartum: of or noting the period of time following childbirth. It is a time of change and adjustment, a time of ups and downs, a time of all things new, yet full of predictable sameness. It can be ugly, and it can be beautiful and special and wonderful at the same time.

It is a difficult time to get dressed. Nothing fits quite right: maternity clothes hang limp, while regular clothes are too tight, and the little bulge that was cute to show off at four months pregnant is not so cute when it's no longer a baby. Thanks to nursing, shirts are too tight and too short, and nursing pads become a required part of getting dressed if one wants to avoid embarrassing leaks. At times my body feels like a leaky, dripping mess all over. Other times, I find a cute nursing tank top or an early pregnancy shirt that actually fits, and I feel comfortable for a little while.

Without the structured demands of homeschooling and regular chores and outings, the days at home are long. Accomplishments for the day are generally limited to showering, making the bed, and feeding everyone something with a shred of nutrition every few hours. (Who says leftover mashed potatoes and peanut butter spoons aren't a meal?) Left to their own devices, the older children are - at best - zoned out in front of PBS, and at worst, dumping out every puzzle piece and train track while they rearrange the living room and argue over who had it and who did it. The baby routine consists of constant nursing, burping, changing, and consoling between unpredictable naps. When the older ones are finally tucked in bed, baby time continues, with moments of sweet snuggles intermixed with wide-awake 4am cries and occasionally pacing a cold tile floor while the rest of house sleeps. Sleep is often broken, and filled with vivid and bizarre dreams. Yet some precious afternoons include naps with newborn and perhaps toddler cuddled close beside.

Emotions are messy. Delight over the gift of a new life mixes with fatigue and frustration. I get choked up reading The Giving Tree to my children. I fall in love with my baby's coos and contented sighs. I take my husband's off-hand comments personally, but treasure our (often-interrupted) times of closeness. Some moments seem insurmountably painful, while in others, I realize that I am abundantly blessed

The camera is always close at hand for capturing the sweet sibling moments and first hints of smiles. After all, with the exception of her three older siblings, this is surely the cutest baby in the universe, and these early days must be documented before they quickly fade away. And quickly they do. I may wish the days away to speed the recovery of my body, but I am in no hurry to give up the sweetness of a warm, sleepy newborn snuggled up on my chest. All too soon, I will be looking back at her baby pictures and vaguely remembering when she was so tiny and new.

And during this time of contradictions, I realize more than ever how much I don't have it all together: as a mother, a wife, a teacher, a housekeeper. How I desperately need God's grace in my life. How without his Spirit working in me, I am an emotional basket case subject to the whims of hormone surges and sugar cravings. How without a daily dose of His Word and continual turning to Him in prayer, it is easy to be overwhelmed or just plain caught in the day-to-day routine without producing any spiritual fruit. Yet God is so gracious, to give me strength for each day when I remember to turn to Him and ask for it. In the midst of changing schedules and new additions, I must call on Him and seek His face. And whether rocking or reading or resting, I must choose to speak words of praise. He is with me through every trial and joy of motherhood, and when I choose to praise Him instead of dwelling on my troubles, the trials of this world seem to pass as quickly as these fleeting postpartum days.

The LORD is righteous in all his ways
and loving toward all he has made.
The LORD is near to all who call on him,
to all who call on him in truth.
He fulfills the desires of those who fear him;
he hears their cry and saves them.
The LORD watches over all who love him,
but all the wicked he will destroy.
My mouth will speak in praise of the LORD.
Let every creature praise his holy name
for ever and ever.
Psalm 145:17-21

The Father's Joy: Not a VBAC Story

A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world.
John 16:21

(Disclaimer: This is a birth story. Some details may not be appropriate for men, children, or the squeamish. :)

On the afternoon of Sunday the 9th, my husband and I dropped the children off at my parents' house and drove to the hospital for my pre-op appointment. I was having some contractions, enough to make me somewhat uncomfortable and even require the occasional deep breath, but then again, I had been having sporadic contractions for a few weeks. As expected, the pre-op included signing paperwork, having blood drawn, and going over every detail of the morning's scheduled surgery with the nurse. When our questions had been answered, Don and I went to dinner at our favorite steakhouse to enjoy one more date before baby came (and so that I wouldn't have any dishes to wash). We came home to a strangely quiet house. I folded the last scraps of laundry, emptied the trash, and double-checked our bags to ensure that everything was packed. We were as ready as we could possibly be to bring home a new baby.

Before heading to bed, I quickly looked up some information on "irritable uterus." Apparently, the term refers to frequent, irregular contractions toward the end of pregnancy that - unlike true labor - do not cause the cervix to dilate. With the frequent tightness and contracting I had recently experienced, I suspected that my uterus was, in fact, irritable. Don and I stayed up too late talking, and when he went to sleep around midnight, I found myself lying wide awake. I finally got to sleep after an hour or so, only to wake up sometime after 3am with continuing contractions. These were strong enough that I couldn't sleep through them, and found myself wanting to change positions instead of lying still. After several had come and gone, I started glancing at the clock at the start of each one. They were four minutes apart. For anyone else, that would signal time to head to the hospital, but I knew my body. Since we had to be there at 6am anyway, I figured that I probably could just wait. So for two hours, I quietly drifted through steady contractions every four minutes. Finally, it was 5am and time to get up.

"So, if we get there and I'm at, like, 2 centimeters, we'll go ahead with the C-section as planned," I proposed to Don, "but if I'm in active labor, maybe we can wait a few hours and see if she comes out?" "We'll see," he replied, as we drove through the silent darkness. It was too early for anyone else, or even the sun, to be up, and since I had hardly slept, it felt like it was still night. We arrived at the hospital a little before our 6:00 appointment, and I mentioned that I was having a lot of contractions. The first nurse I saw, ironically, was a friend of a friend whom I had gotten to know at our mutual friend's party several months ago. She seemed excited that I might be in active labor and asked if I wanted to be checked. Since we know each other, she called in another nurse to check me. I wasn't dilated. "I can barely get a fingertip in there," the second nurse said. Yes, several hours of painful contractions every four minutes had done absolutely nothing to push this baby out.

As frustrating as this news could have been, it actually brought me a lot of peace. I couldn't help but laugh at God's timing, to send me this mock labor just hours before my scheduled surgery. If the contractions had started just a few days earlier, I'm sure I would have been back and forth to the doctor's office several times waiting for my cervix to dilate, all while having painful contractions, and it probably would have ended much like Lydia's birth - with a baby that wouldn't come out. Instead, the Lord gave me just enough contractions to feel like I was doing something good for Abby's health. (Statistically, C-section babies who experience labor before birth have fewer breathing problems than those that are taken straight from the womb without experiencing labor contractions.) And He gave me peace in knowing that a natural, uncomplicated delivery was not His plan for this baby - beyond a doubt, submitting to my husband in scheduling the C-section had been the right thing to do. In fact, we had even picked the right day, because with the intensity of my contractions, I would have been heading to the hospital on the 10th either way! I knew that God would work everything out in His perfect timing, but He arranged the details even more perfectly than I could have imagined, so that I was fully, completely ready to have the C-section at 7:30am that morning.

Like when Lydia was born, inserting the IV was a failure due to my wiggly arm veins. When my nurse friend missed (and felt terrible about it), another nurse came in to start my IV and get me completely prepped for surgery. My contractions slowed down significantly as Don and I waited in our hospital room for the process to begin. After meeting with the doctor and anesthesiologist, it was finally time to walk down the hall to the OR. Don wasn't allowed to come in yet, so I had to sit on the edge of the table and lean against a nursing student for what seemed like a very long time as I waited for the spinal needle to be inserted. As soon as the discomfort was over, I felt somewhat sick and lightheaded. They laid me on the operating table as my lower half slowly fell asleep. I realized one advantage to an emergency Cesarean: everything happens so quickly, there is no time to realize how unpleasant it is. Lying sprawled out, drugged, and unable to move as doctors prepped every last detail seemed to last for ages this time. Finally, my sweet husband was allowed to come stand by my head and comfort me. I was concerned that I didn't feel numb yet; it was more like my legs were asleep. In fact, during the procedure, I was sure that someone or something was repeatedly poking me in the same spot. When Don looked, however, I was apparently cut wide open and nothing was touching the area where I was feeling pressure. It was strange and unpleasant, but apparently the discomfort was all in my head!

The details are fuzzy, but at some point during the procedure, I really didn't feel well. According to the anesthesiologist, my heart rate fell to something like 50 beats per minute and he had to give me medicine to get my heart rate up. Later, I felt tugging and knew this meant baby was coming out! "Guess what was around her neck two times?" Don asked. Like her brothers and sister before her, this baby had likewise strangled herself in the umbilical cord. Thankfully, in a C-section, a cord around the neck is not the problem in can often be during a vaginal delivery. (Both of my boys were fine within a few minutes of birth, but it certainly scared their Daddy to see them come out blue.) And soon after the tugging sensation, there was some very pronounced crying: our baby girl was born!

Of course, the nurses immediately took her to the side of the room to clean her up, examine, and weigh her. They were blocking my view, so Don took a picture and brought it back to show me. "Does she look like an Abigail?" he asked, knowing the name I was leaning towards. I said I needed to see her, not just a picture. Finally, after another long wait, they brought the naked baby over to me and placed her right on my chest. After having two babies whisked away after their vaginal births, I have longingly wished that I could hold my newborn against my chest immediately after birth, instead of seeing them for the first time swaddled in hospital blankets. This time, despite the wait, my first contact with my baby was a precious skin-to-skin bonding opportunity. She was so tiny: 5 pounds, 9 ounces, wonderfully perfect, and definitely an Abigail. When I noticed her tiny mouth rooting around on my chest, I asked for some help (not being able to move much, as I was still being sewn up) and allowed her to nurse. Right on the operating table, my little Abigail was nursing, and I was as happy as someone undergoing surgery could possibly be.

To complete my operation, the doctor stitched me back together on the inside, and then used superglue to seal my incision. I had no idea that superglue was a medical product, but supposedly it will heal with a clean scar, and no stitches to remove. The doctor had also cut around and removed my old scar, so this way I will only have one scar line from the two surgeries. Don and I asked him whether my uterus looked thin; after all, that was the reason an elective Cesarean had been recommended to me by the last doctor. No, he said, it didn't look unusually thin. The next day, in fact, he said he didn't see any reason it shouldn't hold up for another pregnancy, and that labor would even be possibility if I wanted to try it. Praise God for His healing hand on my womb!

The rest of the day was spent resting, recovering, and introducing Abby to her grandparents and siblings. Even after feeling returned to my legs, I couldn't get up because the medication from the spinal left me lightheaded and queasy. Still, I was able to snuggle with Abby and nurse her almost continually - for the first 24 hours, she was either sleeping or sucking. My sister-in-law noted that Don looked better than he ever had after the birth of one of our children. Certainly, this had been the easiest and least traumatic for him. Everything had gone smoothly, and sweet little Abigail was perfectly safe and healthy.

The name Abigail means "father's joy," so it fit her perfectly. Abigail Joy, our double joy, had brought joy to her earthly father with her smooth and predictable birth. And I trust that her Heavenly Father, who knew every heart conflict that led up to the day of her birth, was filled with joy as well. I will always be a supporter of the amazing miracle of natural labor and birth, and I would encourage other C-section moms to consider trying a VBAC with their doctor and husband's approval. But for Abigail and me, the scheduled C-section turned out to be the best plan. I am feeling better emotionally than I ever have in the postpartum weeks, and my physical discomfort is much than I experienced with my first C-section. Truly the Lord has been faithful to answer our prayer that this sweet baby, this gift from His own hand, would be received into the world with an abundance of joy.

A Perfect 10

The Lord has blessed us with another beautiful baby girll! Abigail Joy arrived by C-section this morning, 10/10/11. She weighs 5 pounds, 9 ounces and is 19 inches long. I am nauseous and sleepy, but otherwise doing well. Abby is healthy and nursing eagerly. I will share her birth story and more pictures when I am feeling up to it. For now, thank you for your prayers, and for rejoicing with us over this precious gift from the Lord!

Listen to me, you islands;
hear this, you distant nations:
Before I was born the LORD called me;
from my birth he has made mention of my name.
Isaiah 49:1

39 Week Anticipation

It's hard to believe that just two days from now, Lord willing, I will be holding my newborn baby in my arms.

The pregnancy went by quickly, in some ways, yet in other ways it seems like I have been pregnant forever, and it's almost strange that soon I won't be. Soon the awkward baby bump will be exchanged for a recovering body and a precious little distraction to nurture. My hideous veins will shrink back to something resembling a normal lower half of a body, while a new scar forms at the site of the doctor's careful incision. Eventually I won't feel so short of breath when I walk up stairs (assuming I get back into a workout routine!) or lightheaded when I delay breakfast for more than half an hour after rising. The delightful kicks, stretches, and hiccups of a growing fetus will be exchanged for the intimacy of nursing and night wakings. Overall, I love being pregnant in many ways, but I am happy to exchange it for a new addition to our family!

This pregnancy has been fairly uneventful, yet slightly different from others. I have had occasional insomnia; if I wake up in the middle of the night, it takes an hour to fall back asleep. I often feel that God is keeping me away during these times to pray, and I try to take advantage of that precious time with Him. I have not gained much weight - only about 18 pounds. With my first pregnancy, I gained almost 30 pounds, and my little Donny turned out to be only 5 pounds, 5 ounces! It will be interesting to find out how big (or small) this baby is. Certainly she seems to be a calcium-craver, because I have been consuming chocolate milk, yogurt (which I formerly hated), and milk-based smoothies on a daily basis. Earlier in the pregnancy, I suspected that she would be shy and mellow, because ultrasounds showed baby holding an arm over her face, and it seemed that she didn't move much in the second trimester. See the little arm covering the face on this 12 week ultrasound photo?

Now that I have been watching my belly twitch and contort for a few months, however, I have no doubt that this little one will be as active as her sister and brothers. I have had Braxton-Hicks contractions for a few minutes each day since 27 weeks, but the past few weeks have brought frequent, more uncomfortable contractions, especially in the evenings, that imitate early labor and then disappear. With my history of long labors, I don't expect to have to rush off to the hospital at any moment, but the contractions do serve as a reminder that baby is coming soon!

And on that end, I am finally feeling prepared. In the past few weeks, I have checked a satisfying number of items off of my nesting to-do list. Baby clothes, blankets, and diapers are freshly washed and put away. Cupboards and drawers are organized. Shopping, baking, and miscellaneous appointments are done. Babysitters and birth plans are in place. The Pack 'N Play and new Moses basket are waiting for a sweet little bundle of dreams to be nestled in them. If only for a day or two, the house is clean, ready for our family to return home.

The "big kids" are ready too. Their fall clothes are unpacked, new shoes purchased, summer things are washed and put away. Lydia sleeps in the boys' room now (for part of the night, at least) on her own trundle mattress, while Hayden gets the full-size bottom bunk and Donny has his own special top-bunk space. The boys have been plugging away at their first grade work, so we will have only two weeks of curriculum to finish up after we settle in with baby. Lydia is excited to be a big sister, and eagerly tells how the baby will wear pink jammies, and "After the baby comes out of Mumma's belly, Daddy will help me pick up the baby and give her a big hug!" Even now, she gives my belly sweet hugs and kisses, and since one of her favorite lines is, "What can I do to help you?" I trust that she will be a great helper to me. The boys are looking forward to meeting their new sister, too. Donny even made a card to give to the new baby:

It is reassuring to know that even though I technically picked the date of my scheduled c-section, this baby, like any other, will be arriving in God's perfect time. He is the one who allowed the conception to occur in just the right time to bless us with the first October birthday in the family. Don just mentioned, as he decided to procrastinate on his Sunday School lesson, that perhaps the Rapture will happen tonight, and he won't even need a lesson. I replied that it is also possible, and slightly even more likely, that the baby will come tonight! Though we don't know the day or the hour when Jesus will return, it is the sweetest anticipation to know that He is coming again. And while we wait here on earth, there are blessings to look forward to, like the tiny miracle I am anticipating on Monday.

Yes, LORD, walking in the way of your laws,
we wait for you;
your name and renown
are the desire of our hearts.
Isaiah 26:8

Living Sacrifices

Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—
this is your spiritual act of worship.
Romans 12:1

I am 38 weeks pregnant today. With two weeks left until my due date, and a mere 12 days until my scheduled C-section, I have finally realized that baby is coming soon - perhaps any day now. This pregnancy has not exactly flown by, but for much of it, I was distracted by other things: showing the house, trying to move, homeschooling and training the three blessings I already have. Only now, in these final days, has my focus turned inward to the wiggling, hiccuping creature whom I am soon to meet face to face.

And because I was distracted, and didn't even know which state we would be living in, for a long time I put off any serious discussion of this baby's birth. After my long and unsuccessful labor with Lydia ended in a Cesarean section, the doctor recommended that any future babies be likewise delivered surgically. Reportedly, my uterus was "unusually thin," and therefore at a greater risk of rupture. Uterine rupture, while not quite the internal combustion that it sounds like, is a serious health threat to mother and baby, and can end in blood transfusions, hysterectomy or occasionally death. While the risks of rupture for VBAC (vaginal birth after Cesarean) are generally only around 1% or less, it is entirely possible that my personal risk may be much higher.

On the other hand, for most mothers who have had successful vaginal deliveries, VBAC is a good option. Recovering from natural childbirth is a much faster and less painful process than recovery from major abdominal surgery. And having numerous C-sections, for those of us who hope to be blessed with many children, carries risks of placenta previa and other problems caused by excessive scarring. So when I switched to a different obstetrical practice and said I would like a VBAC, all of the doctors and midwives I saw were very supportive. "You've done it before," one doctor said, "So why not?" They reviewed the risks of both options with me, as well as the precautions that would be taken with a VBAC (a doctor present in the hospital at all times, continuous fetal monitoring, etc.). Not once did they recommend elective surgery. And as someone who loves (in a strange way) the amazing sensations of natural childbirth, hated the painful recovery from a surgical birth, and hopes to bear many more children, I was prayerfully hoping to avoid another Cesarean.

The only problem? My loving husband, who watched me pass out after Hayden's birth and saw both of our boys born strangled in their umbilical cords, firmly believed that surgery is the safest option for me. After reviewing the paperwork and talking with one of my doctors about my history, his opinion was unyielding. My doctor reminded me that ultimately it is my body and my choice; I am the one who must give consent for elective surgery. While her advice seems logical, the Bible often contradicts our culture's idea of common sense, and this is no exception. Consider these words:

The wife’s body does not belong to her alone but also to her husband. In the same way, the husband’s body does not belong to him alone but also to his wife. - 1 Corinthians 7:4

In fact, my body does NOT just belong to me. It belongs to my husband, and to fight against his wishes for my body (as well as for our unborn child) is to fight against God's command for me to submit to my husband's authority (Ephesians 5:24). Even more importantly, my body belongs to the Lord. Despite my firm belief that birth is a natural and beautiful experience that many mothers have missed out on because of unnecessary medical interventions, I cannot claim that there is something holier about fighting for a vaginal birth over a surgical one. I may wonder why I, a willing laborer, am denied the opportunity to experience birth when so many other women want to avoid it, but then the Lord gently reminds me of my selfishness. How many women have suffered the pain of barrenness? Or of loss, to repeated miscarriages, a stillbirth, or the death of a child? How many suffer intense complications during pregnancy that steal their comfort and threaten their lives? In light of this, who am I - already a mother of three healthy babies - to complain if I don't get to choose the method my infant's delivery?

As I struggled with these thoughts, the Lord faithfully reminded me of Romans 12, one of my favorite passages of the Bible because its advice is so practical. "Offer your bodies as living sacrifices," Paul writes. Not, "Don't let anyone mess with your body." Not, "Protect your body and keep it healthy." But offer it as a sacrifice to the Lord, as an act of worship to Him. How beautiful! By choosing to submit to my husband, I can not only honor him, but also present a beautiful sacrifice to my Lord. The drugged aftermath of surgery, the weeks of abdominal discomfort, and the loss of any victorious birth I may or may not have experienced are tiny sacrifices to make. In God's mercy to me, He allowed His own son to suffer and die a humiliating death on a cross. When Jesus sacrificed everything for me, how selfish am I to resist any minuscule sacrifice of my own body for Him?

And so, I scheduled the C-section. Being a planner, there is a part of me that actually likes the stability of knowing the final possible date of baby's arrival. And being someone who loves interesting dates, I was very happy that the week of opportunity (it had to be scheduled sometime after 39 weeks) allowed me to choose 10/10 as this little one's birthday. Don and I agreed to schedule the surgery for the 10th, two days before my due date, but to allow a trial of labor if baby decides to come earlier and everything looks normal. And now we wait. I have had enough contractions in the past week to make me think that labor is imminent, but I also know that I am likely to meet this baby at a scheduled time and place. Either way, I know God is in control, and that my faith in His perfect timing will be tested in the next two weeks. Will I really trust Him to deliver this baby in His time, in His way? I pray that whenever and however this baby is born, that my actions will be holy and pleasing to God. May I bear children not for my own glory, but for His.

Showered with Blessings

I will send down showers in season;
there will be showers of blessing.
~ Ezekiel 34:26b

I thought I was going to a ladies' dinner at my mom's house.  I was looking forward to the time of fellowship with Christian friends, despite having to leave the children at home with a reluctant husband.  I called on my way to let Mum know I was running about 15 minutes late. When I pulled in, there were a few more cars lining the road than I had anticipated - including one that bore a striking resemblance to my sister-in-law's minivan - but I didn't think much of it.  Then my mom met me in the driveway and told me, "There are a few extra people here....because it's a baby shower."

"For whom?" I asked.  (Okay, I said "who," but "whom" is correct.)

Had any thought run through my head before I spoke, I would have realized the obvious: it was for the pregnant lady who just arrived!  Yes, for my fourth baby, my dear mother planned and executed my first-ever surprise party and baby shower.  Since Donny was conceived so shortly after my wedding and we were blessed with ample hand-me-downs for him, I never had a baby shower.  When Hayden came along two years later, we had everything we needed for a baby boy.  Even when Lydia was born in 2009, generous friends and relatives provided all the girlie hand-me-downs and sweet new pink things we could imagine using.  It certainly wasn't a thought in my mind that anyone would plan a shower for me at this point in motherhood, but it was a wonderful surprise! (Oh, and my husband's reluctance to watch the children was all part of the cover-up!)

I was happy to see my good friend Audra there, who is due exactly one month before me.  This is the second time we've been pregnancy buddies - both times while expecting girls - so we of course had to get a baby bellies picture.

I savored a delicious catered dinner of lasagna followed by homemade apple pie (my favorite!) from another dear friend.  I also had the fun of opening precious little girlie outfits (including some with a matching dress for Lydia!), toys, gift cards, and even some books and movies for the older children to enjoy while I'm busy with the new baby.  We were even blessed with this adorable handmade quilt!

Thanks, Mum, for a special night, and for being a great mommy to your own two girls! I love you!

Seven Days of Grace for the Weak

Our mid-March taste of spring was apparently nothing more than a tease, because we had flurries and hail the following week, and - no joke! - a few inches of snow on April 1. In addition, after a blessedly healthy winter, everyone in our family now has a cold, which has only added to the list of daily concerns. In fact, last week was full of appointments and errands, sickness and showings. There were many little challenges, and yet through it all, there were glimpses of God's grace.

It was on Sunday that Lydia woke up with her nose running like a faucet - a faucet that continued to drip for several days, and needed to be chased with a tissue in order to prevent her from leaving a trail of mucous smears through the house. We had a showing right after church, which meant that the house had to be in perfect order before we left. My dear husband obligingly helped me by vacuuming the floors, but in the process, somehow managed to stop the agitator from functioning, effectively crippling our vacuum cleaner. I guess that's what I get for asking for help!

Since we could not go home right away, we tried something that is commonplace for most Americans, but not for our family: visiting a fast food drive-through. While we will occasionally stop to get something for Don, this was the first time that the whole family was part of the operation. Picky Donny had a nutritious lunch of French fries, while the only meat that was safe for allergic Hayden turned out to be some extremely sticky boneless chicken wings drowned in a leaky container of sauce. Despite the potential for disaster (and the lack of feedback from the home buyers) it was a nice afternoon, and I don't think we even left any French fries behind to pollute our vehicle.

Monday morning I took Hayden to a three hour long appointment at the allergist for an egg challenge. The purpose was to see if despite testing positive for egg allergies, he could tolerate small amounts of egg in a baked good. Over the course of three hours, the boy who has never tasted a trace off egg ingredients ate one and a half cookies that I had baked with egg in them. He had no reaction whatsoever, which led to the joyful proclamation: he can eat foods with baked with eggs! While he still has milk and nut allergies to beware of, and omelets are off limits, this will expand his dietary choices in exciting new ways. He was thrilled to be able to eat regular cookies!

Tuesday was an OB appointment to follow up on some minor bleeding I had a few weeks ago. I was not only relieved to know that the baby is alive and well, but it was incredible to see all the tiny features via ultrasound on a 2 1/2 inch long person. I am so thankful for the technology that allows us to have that glimpse into God's amazing Creation - truly He does knit us together in the womb!

Not all of pregnancy has been smooth-sailing; there is the regular first trimester fatigue and nausea to deal with, and in addition, my varicose veins are already showing their ugly selves. Many days this week, I had minor pain in my leg that made me long to get off my feet (a difficult task for busy mothers, as I'm sure you know). Wednesday we went for our weekly chiropractic adjustments, which have been immensely helpful for Hayden's breathing, but thanks to Lydia's cold, he still started to wheeze that evening. After the boys had gone to bed and I was figuring out how to set up Hayden's new humidifer, we got a call for a showing: tomorrow at 10:30am. Any delusions I had of getting to bed early were quickly swept away as I realized that I needed to get to work tidying, baking, and doing something to exterminate the pesky ants that kept crawling though our dining room.

The next morning was our typical pre-showing routine: rushed breakfast, quick clean-ups, putting away anything remotely personal or cluttery, turning on all the lights, and the boys playing Angry Birds on Don's phone to stay out of trouble. I baked some delicious chocolate chip cookies (thanks for the recipe, Di!) and had every crumb, dish, and speck of visible lint cleaned up just in time. The children's rough-housing left Lydia screaming and bleeding just minutes before departure time, but even so, things were (relatively) under control. The boys were in their boots waiting for me by the door when the phone rang: the showing was canceled. Apparently, the Lord wanted my house clean that day! And thanks to the lack of buyers, my sweet husband and I got to enjoy the cookies ourselves. We turned off the lights, put the cookies away, and breathed a mixed sigh of frustration and relief.

Friday is usually my grocery shopping day, but because we were already dressed to go out and snow was in this Friday's forecast, we made our weekly excursion a day early. Grocery shopping with three little ones has become a rather exhausting task which seems to suck up most of the day. That left Friday for homeschool. Did I mention that we are now doing five days of school a week? Since we took a year and a half to do kindergarten, I had planned to use a similar schedule for first grade, so that Donny would complete first grade at the same time his public school counterparts do, and we could have plenty of time for errands and outings with a 2 to 3 day per week school schedule. However, Don recently expressed his desire for the boys to learn as much as possible, and accordingly, we are now doing five days of school in one week instead of two. So far, the boys have not even seemed to notice the adjustment. I am so thankful that they are both eager learners who can master new material quickly!

By Friday, Don and Donny had the cold too, and I had a headache, so we missed our small group meeting of church friends. I ran to the pharmacy to pick up Hayden's nebulizer medication: has hasn't needed it for months, praise God, but this cold triggered his reactive airway disease. I had forgotten that our insurance does not cover the medicine up-front (they reimburse us for a portion of it instead), so the initial bill was for $300! I asked to only get one box instead, cutting the cost down to $154, and meanwhile Don came home from a dentist appointment with a similar bill. Good thing we have insurance!

Lydia apparently napped for far too long while I was running errands, because she was wide awake even past 10pm that night. Don and I finally had to turn out all the lights and lie down with her in bed to convince her that it was bedtime, and even then, she continued to crawl on our heads, ask for her Cheerios and water, and hog my pillow for far longer than I wanted to be awake. Then late in the light, my head still throbbing with a migraine and my legs in a more minor discomfort, Hayden woke up coughing. As I gave him his inhaler and his water and rubbed his back, running through my mind were the words "God's grace." How can I get through this difficult night, with my own tired body in pain and my son struggling for breath? Only by His grace. By His grace Hayden fell to a peaceful sleep, I got back to my own bed, and morning came with the headache pain gone.

Saturday was a day of waiting for Don to finish a work project so that we could enjoy an outing to a maple sugar house. He finally finished in the afternoon, and we were able to complete our field trip in time for a family birthday party in the evening. We enjoyed our time with family despite a few sniffles and sneezes.

When Sunday came again, we were all sick (with the possible exception of Lydia, whose nose has finally dried up), so we stayed home from church. I waited for many minutes to drop off our vacuum cleaner at the repair shop, and thanks to a faded receipt, they almost couldn't find our information in the system. I thank God that we bought the five year warranty (not the three year, as I had thought) and that at the last minute, He allowed me to remember our old phone number, which retrieved our information and assured that the repair would be covered. Thank you, Lord!

And now it is Sunday again. Our house is for sale, everyone is sick, I have no vacuum cleaner for ten days, and a new crop of ants are marching one by one into our home. And yet, there is grace. I sent the coughing, sniffling boys outside to play for a few minutes before dinner, but soon Hayden reappeared at the door.

"A sign of spring!" he exclaimed, holding out to me a small, tired-looking dandelion. Even as bits of Friday's snow clung to the neighbor's lawn and we shivered in the chilly wind, Hayden was right: it was first flower of spring. A sign of hope. A tiny yellow reminder that in spite of each day's trials and challenges, there is grace. There is a God who takes weak and broken people like you and me and lifts us up out of the muck and mire. I do not need to wallow in today's pain or fear what tomorrow may bring. He will hold my hand, and each new day, if I have eyes to see it, there is evidence of His overwhelming grace.

For I am the LORD your God
who takes hold of your right hand
and says to you, Do not fear;
I will help you.

Isaiah 41:10

Wordless Wednesday: This Year

He will love you and bless you

and increase your numbers.

He will bless the fruit of your womb...

Deuteronomy 7:13a

The Long Journey of Lydia Faith: A Birth Story

Today is Wednesday, just six days after the birth of my third child and first daughter, Lydia Faith. As part of Wednesday's Walk Down Memory Lane hosted by Lynnette Kraft, I would like to share the long story of her journey into the world.

With my first and second pregnancies, I wrote out a birth plan well in advance to communicate my desires surrounding childbirth to my doctors, midwife, and nurses. This time, I finally got around to composing my birth plan the night before my 39 week appointment. As with my previous deliveries, I hoped for a natural birth with minimal interventions. I planned a waterbirth in the same hospital room where Donny and Hayden were born. Though I knew there was a good chance this little girl would be tangled in her umbilical cord like her brothers were, I hoped that maybe I would actually be able to hold this baby immediately after her birth.

My birth plan also included a list of things I wished to avoid: medication, continuous fetal monitoring, pitocin or other medical induction/augmentation of labor, episiotomy or excessive tearing, cesarean delivery, and passing out after delivery (snce I passed out twice after Hayden's birth and gave my dear husband quite a scare). I have often said that I am not afraid of the pain of natural labor - since I know my body is just doing what God intended it to do, and I think it is amazing to experience the sensations of childbirth - but I am afraid of medical interventions. I hate the side effects of drugs, am concerned that one intervention will lead to another, and the idea of being numb for such an exciting moment is completely unappealing. Despite the nervousness that inevitably surrounds impending labor, I looked forward to once again bringing a tiny little person into the world.

On the night of Tuesday June 9, just after finishing my Almost Ready post, I had trouble sleeping. After lying awake for much of the night, I woke up in the morning with contractions - contractions that indicated real labor. Though I did not have any other signs of labor, the radiating pains in my lower back every five minutes were enough for me to ask Don to stay home from work. I packed the boys' overnight bags, and Don dropped them off at his sister's house so that I could labor at home in peace. I planned to wait until the contractions were very intense and close together before heading to the hospital in order to enjoy the comforts of home and avoid any unnecessary hospital interventions.

By noon I had showered, tidied up the house, packed the last few things for the hospital, and done a load of laundry. The contractions continued steadily, but lacked the intensity I was waiting for. After lunch, I took a short nap, figuring I might as well rest while I could. Don and I went for a walk and timed my contractions, which were about three minutes apart. I could still walk through them, but by the end of our excursion, it was more comfortable to stop during each contraction. They lessened a bit when we returned home, leaving me wondering how long this early labor would continue.

In the late afternoon, I decided to check in with the doctor just to see what was happening with my body. I called to make an appointment with my midwife, Linda, and brought our bags along in case I was far enough to stay at the hospital. Judging by the frequency and intensity of my contractions, I expected to be about 4cm dilated. As we drove to Linda's office, though, the contractions slowed down. When Linda came in to check me, she concluded that I had dilated...all of one centimeter. Knowing this, and remembering how long I was in labor with Hayden, I had a sinking feeling that this could be another long labor stretching over several days. Though I hoped we would be returning later that night to check in to the hospital, only God knew when Lydia would actually be born.

I had no desire to go home and cook dinner while in labor, so Don and I went to the nearby Olive Garden, and ate soup and breadsticks while I quietly braced through contractions every five minutes. Back at home, I took a bath and tried to rest, getting a few hours' sleep before contractions woke me up at 3:30am. These were stronger, and seemed to be coming on top of each other, growing in intensity. After a half hour or so I concluded it was time to wake Don up and make the 30 minute drive again. We checked into labor and delivery at the hospital around 5am.

After getting settled in the familiar waterbirthing room, it was time to be checked out. Imagine my surprise to find that despite the intense contractions I was having at home, I had dilated to only 2 or 3 centimeters. I was not even considered to be in active labor yet! "Should I just go home then?" I asked. But Linda and the nurses encouraged me to wait a while and see if anything happened. Don and I walked around the maternity ward, and at my next check, I had progressed to 4cm dilation, so Linda decided to officially admit me to the hospital. She noted that the baby's head was not all the way down, and suggested that I try resting on my side to encourage her to move into the correct position.

Around 7am, the obstetrician Linda works under, Dr. M, came in to check on me. She felt the baby's head, estimated that I was at 5 or 6cm, and wanted to break my water to get things moving. Although I wanted to let labor progress naturally without intervening, the doctor was convinced that the baby would be born in a few hours after breaking the water. With a bit of reluctance, but a desire to get things moving, I agreed. Soon I was leaking fluid, waiting for the contractions to pick up speed and intensity. After all, breaking the bag of waters makes labor move quickly. At least in most cases. In mine, it seemed to make no difference at all.

The morning passed as I walked, rested, and bounced on the birthing ball. I knew it was still too early to get into the birthing tub, since the relaxing water can actually stall a slow labor. I walked as much as I could to keep things moving, but the varicose veins in my legs soon left me sore and longing to sit down. The best part of labor occurred when my husband wondered if he could blow up a non-latex examination glove like a balloon - and he did. We passed time batting the fingered balloon back and forth in an impromptu game I dubbed "High Five," until we finally lost our toy behind the bed.

All of our friends and relatives were waiting for the news that Lydia was here, but we didn't seem to be getting any closer, despite the continued contractions. At noon I thought about calling my mom just to check in, but decided to wait, lest she think the ringing phone was a birth announcement. My self-employed father-in-law insisted on doing his work from the hospital waiting room because he was so exciting about his granddaughter's birth. He kindly offered to go out and get me some soup, and even after he got delayed in a traffic jam, I had plenty of time to enjoy my lunch. My nurse, who started her shift shortly after we arrived, checked me and said I was still dilated 6cm, but she could stretch me to 7. When her shift ended, the next nurse thought I was at 7, but she could stretch me to 8. It appeared that progress was being made - very slow progress, but progress nonetheless.

At one point, I asked for my Bible and opened randomly to Psalm 103. I love that I can always find comfort in the Psalms. I was reminded to praise the Lord, that He satisfies our desires with good things, that He has compassion on His children, and that He knows how we are formed. The afternoon wore on, but I knew that God had a plan for this birth, and that I simply needed to wait on Him.

When the second nurse's shift started, the hospital policy was for me to spend a short time on the electronic fetal monitor, just as I had when we first came in. The nurse noticed a pattern of the fetal heartrate dropping during contractions. Although baby's heartrate always returned to normal, the significance of the drop was cause enough to keep me on the monitor - one of the interventions I had wished to avoid. With the use of telemetry, I was able to walk around the room, but I could feel the pressure mounting to hurry up and have this baby. Dr. M arrived back on the scene and checked my cervix. In her estimation, I was still at 6cm - no change from the morning. Her pronouncement: "You need pitocin, my friend."

I did not want pitocin. I wanted this baby to come out, on her own, in her own time. My sweet husband was prepared to advocate for me, knowing that I wanted to avoid interventions, but the doctor was not easily persuaded. After some discussion, Dr. M finally agreed to let me try natural methods for an hour; if that did not get things moving, we would start pitocin at 5:00.

I paced tearfully in my room, weighing the options. Would I protest the pitocin? I did not want a medically managed birth, yet I seemed to be on the road towards that very thing. The options of running out of the hospital or screaming a refusal of the synthetic hormone, though tempting, obviously would not help the situation, and would also cause stress for everyone. Don encouraged me to talk through my thoughts and emotions, but it was hard to put them into words. I did not like the way Dr. M had spoken to me; she seemed more concerned about getting the birth over with than about how I felt. The nurse was much more sympathetic, but admitted that ultimately she had to follow the doctor's orders.

More than anything, I was deeply regretting that we had come to the hospital so soon. Hadn't my plan been to labor at home for as long as possible in order to avoid this very situation? Why had I experienced those intense contractions that pushed me out the door at 4am, but now at 4pm the doctor claimed nothing was happening? One of the verses I had printed out for encouragement, Isaiah 66:9, ran through my mind: "Do I bring to the moment of birth and not give delivery?" says the LORD. "Do I close up the womb when I bring to delivery?" says your God. I trusted that God would bring this baby forth in His time. But how long would the Lord - and the doctors - allow this labor to continue before bringing me to the moment of birth? Would He grant me the delivery in time to avoid unnatural interventions?

Though Dr. M. was technically on call that day, Linda had been keeping tabs on me and had left instructions to call her when things picked up and I was ready to get into the birthing tub. While I was pacing the room, Linda called at Dr. M's request to explain things in her more gentle way. Pitocin, she said, is just a synthetic version of oxytocin, the hormone my body was already producing. She felt confident that I would only need a small amount, and that with ten to twelve good solid contractions, the baby would be on her way out. She also offered to stay with me until the baby was born, which was a much more comforting prospect than having the pushier Dr. M. attend my delivery. In addition, the nurse assured me that I could be in the tub even with the IV and fetal monitors required when administering pitocin. By the end of our conversation, I agreed to start a small dose if Linda would be there, so she said she would finish with her patients at the office and then join me at the hospital.

I was shaking - a sign of transition for some, but by the nurse's estimate, I was still less than 8cm. Don and the nurse started filling the deep birthing tub, and then it was time to insert my IV for the pitocin. The nurse tried to insert it in my left arm, but the vein kept rolling away, and even a second nurse could not get it to work. After a few painful jabs, they inserted it in my right wrist instead. Don assured me I was doing the right thing, and soon the tub was filled with hot water, ready for us.

As usual, Don put on his bathing suit and climbed into the tub with me. I am surprised to learn that most fathers do not get in the tub; for me, having my husband there to put counter pressure on my back is what makes contractions bearable. It was a bit awkward to get settled, with the IV hanging from one arm, the fetal monitor around my abdomen (continuous monitoring is required while pitocin is being administered), and frequent blood pressure checks (another requirement for pitocin). I managed to find a position where Don could push on my back during contractions, and my body remembered the familiar feeling of laboring in the water. Despite the intensity of the contractions, I could tell I was not close to the end yet - as I said to Don and Linda, I know that when I feel like I cannot possibly endure any more, that means that it is almost time to push. I had not yet reached that point, which told me I was not yet in transition. In addition, I found it strange that my stomach kept growling. I had read that once in active labor, most women lose their appetite. But as Don pointed out, my body was not following the books.

Between contractions, when I had to stop to close my eyes and breathe, I chatted with Don and with Linda, who was seated beside the tub, just as she had been for Donny and Hayden's births. Don commented that he and I should teach childbirth classes, since now we had done everything. I silently hoped that we would not actually experience everything in the realm of childbirth possibilities...after all, I still had never used pain medications or had a cesarean birth, and I was happy to keep it that way.

The warm tub water was soothing and freeing, but the monitors kept sliding around, forcing me to basically stay in one position so that my contractions and baby's heartbeat would register on the machine. Finally the nurse was having trouble finding the baby's heartbeat in any position, a problem that was reminiscent of my labor with Donny, but this time I didn't have a baby crowning. I did not mind getting out of the tub; I figured that I could always get back in later when it was time to push. Once I had dried off and was wrapped in warm blankets, Linda checked me. I was still at 6cm.

And according to Linda, instead of thinning like it normally does during labor, my cervix felt thicker. Baby's head was not pressing against it as it should have been, and without the pressure from baby, the cervix was not going to dilate enough to let baby through. A 10cm opening is required for birth, but for whatever reason, my body seemed to be stuck at 6. Linda thought perhaps the umbilical cord had tangled in such a way as to prevent baby from descending any farther. Knowing our children's history of umbilical cord entanglement, Don and I agreed that could be possible. I laughed when my gymnast husband suggested, "She's practicing the aerial silks with the umbilical cord." Meanwhile, the baby's heartrate continued to drop during each contraction. We decided to give it one more hour, but in the meantime, I breathed through each contraction as we all discussed and prepared me for the likely possibility of a C-section.

I had been in labor for two days, and there was no end in sight. With my membranes ruptured, there was an increased risk of infection as time wore on. I was stuck on the bed, hooked up to monitors and IVs, because it was the only way to make sure baby was safe. There was a good chance that the stress of continued labor could cause fetal distress. As much as I had never wanted to have a C-section, I was ready. The week when she was in breech position had given me a chance to, in some way, mentally prepare for this possibility. And now I wanted to be done with the painful contractions that were getting me nowhere. Don and I were sick of labor; we were ready to hold our baby girl. And we wanted to make sure she was safe. So I agreed to the cesarean, knowing that it would be the best - and possibly the only - solution for baby and me.

Even more than the thought of being cut open, the idea of an epidural always scared me - and of course, that was the anesthesia of choice for this operation. Thankfully, the anesthesiologist was friendly and reassuring. Sitting up to have the epidural inserted (and still contracting every few miutes) was the most difficult part for me, but it was not long before my legs felt warm and fuzzy. The anesthesiologist administered some anti-nausea medication, gave Don his scrubs, and by the time I was wheeled into the operating room, I was completely relaxed. When someone asked me how I felt, I could only reply, "Sleepy." In fact, when we got to the OR and all the people dressed in blue were introducing themselves and bustling about, I asked, "Can I go to sleep?"

The operation itself was painless. Dr. M performed the surgery, while another OB, Linda and several nurses assisted. Don stayed by my side, peeking over the curtain to watch his wife being cut open and his daughter lifted out of the womb. Within a few minutes, a newborn cry told us that Lydia was here. Finally. The little girl who was tangled in her cord and "sunny side up" was born at 9:36pm, right on her due date - June 11, 2009.



Don took pictures of our baby girl while the doctors sewed me up and congratulated us. Soon we were recovering back in the waterbirthing room, the room where both of our boys were born. I was still sleepy, but I stayed awake long enough to call my parents with the news and to nurse my sweet newborn. She latched on right away, and I rejoiced that finally, something was going right!

We had planned to name her Lydia Joy, using Grace as the middle name for our (Lord willing) second girl, and possibly others like Hope and Faith in the future. Yet in the hours and day following her birth, I was unsure. I still loved the name Joy and thought it sounded pretty with Lydia, but another name kept coming to mind: Faith. Honestly, the end result was the only part of this process that really involved joy. And even then, in the first few moments of life, Lydia was already scowling at the nurses - not exactly the perfect picture of Joy!

On the other hand, it was faith that brought us through this trial: Faith in a loving Father, faith that Lydia would be born in His perfect time, and in His way (which in this case, certainly was neither my time nor my way!). Afterwards, Linda told me that when they cut me open, my uterus was so thin that they could almost see through it. Had I continued to labor for many more hours, it could have ruptured, causing a life-threatening emergency for Lydia and me. No one had suspected this problem, nor would they have known about it if a C-section had not been performed, but God is His wisdom worked everything out for good. Though the method of birth was not what I would have chosen, it is clear that God's hand was in it - perhaps even holding Lydia back from the birth canal in order to spare our lives.

I thought I needed to trust God to persevere through the pain and intensity and unknowns of labor. And armed with a printed sheet of Bible verses, I was ready to do so. I never expected that He would test my faith in other ways; instead of just seeing how patiently and long I could endure regular contractions, He forced me to face my fears of medical interventions. Instead of trusting my body, and knowing that I wouldn't trust doctors, I had to place my hope in Him alone. And in the end, the Author of Life, the One who forms us in the womb, carried me through, and placed Lydia Faith safe in my arms.

Shortly before Lydia's birth, I read the birth story of Mrs. Parunak at Pursuing Titus 2, a similarly long and intense labor with a different ending. In her story, she mentioned 1 Peter 1:7, and it was snippets of this same verse that came to my mind in connection with Lydia's birth:

These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.

Despite my best laid plans, in the end, I got most of the things on my "wish to avoid" list. (I obviously avoided tearing, since I never got to the pushing stage, though I certainly was cut open! And I did not pass out after delivery, probably because it was a full day before I felt well enough to even attempt standing.) Maybe it was not fire, but this labor was certainly an exercise in faith. I am so thankful that the Lord protected both of us and blessed Don and me with a beautiful, healthy daughter. May the praise, glory, and honor be forever His!

She's Here!

After a long and unpredictable labor, Lydia Faith was born on Thursday June 11, 2009 - right on her due date! She was 6 lbs. 15 oz. and 19 1/2" long. I'll share the lengthy birth story when I get a chance. For now, we are resting and recovering at the hospital and all are doing well, praise God!

From birth I have relied on you;
you brought me forth from my mother’s womb.
I will ever praise you.
Psalm 71:6

Almost Ready

In case you were wondering, I don't have a new baby yet.

Instead, I have been busy getting ready for the new addition, keeping up with chores, and resting in preparation for the days to come. My due date is now two days away, but other than some Braxton-Hicks contractions in the evenings the past two weeks, I have not experienced any indications that labor is near. I wonder if this may be my first "late" baby, since Donny was born right on his due date and Hayden the day before. At the same time, I am not in a rush. I know my life is about to become much more busy and challenging, so I am enjoying this time with just my two boys - and my full nights of sleep.

Last weekend, I finally packed my hospital bags and overnight bags for the boys, completing one of the final steps of necessary preparation. I checked it off on the paper that has been hanging on my fridge since early spring, an ambitious list of projects that I hoped to tackle before baby's arrival. It is nice to feel a sense of accomplishment when looking over the items I have been able to complete, including:

- make doctor and dentist appointments for the boys and transfer the appropriate medical records
- organize hall and office closets
- dust window sills and corners (this was my limited attempt at spring cleaning)
- vacuum behind and under things (I vacuum exposed areas regularly, but once in a while it is a good idea to make sure nothing is growing behind the couch)
- rake front yard
- start seedlings for garden
- prepare garden area
- start compost pile
- get pool repaired and opened
- buy (and borrow!) maternity clothes
- research and purchase newborn diapers
- organize boys' clothes; put away winter and get out summer clothes
- write out birth plan (I finally did this just in time for my 39 week appointment!)
- sort, organize, and wash baby clothes
- get baby things out of attic; set up Pack N Play bassinet
- acquire vehicle to fit three car seats
- read Honey for a Child's Heart and The Duggars: 20 and Counting
- go to the zoo

I still have plenty of projects to keep me busy if I have the time: filing papers, sewing, freezing meals to eat after baby is born, organizing digital photos, working on my little garden. There will always be projects to do, but for now, I am feeling content. For the most part, we are ready for this little girl to arrive anytime in the next couple weeks. And then I will have many more things to add to my daily list...like snuggling a sweet newborn dressed in freshly washed pink clothes.

Baby Praises

On Tuesday morning, Don went in to work early so that he could get home just in time to drive to the hospital. We planned for him to meet me at our house after my OB checkup and take me to external version appointment, since I was uncertain whether the medications and discomfort would prevent me from driving.

In the afternoon, I dropped the boys off at my sister-in-law's, not knowing when I would return. I drove 30 minutes to the doctor's office and went in for another ultrasound to check the baby's position. Immediately, the technician said, "Well, the head's down." Apparently, without any attempts from me at special exercises, luring with light or sound, or physical manipulation, our little girl found her way to the right position in time. Praise the Lord!

According to the technician, she still has room to wiggle, but my midwife thinks that at this point, baby probably will not flip over again. I am so thankful that she did turn in time, just like her brother before her. As I drove back to pick up the boys that day, I wondered why God should be so good to me. There I was, driving a nice new vehicle (more on that another time), to my very own house, full of new things that Don and I have been able to buy - all material things, but recent blessings nonetheless for which I am grateful. I have had three healthy, relatively easy pregnancies. I had just a few days to worry about complications instead of the lifetime some people have to live with them. The Lord has given me so much.

Even the afternoon was a gift. I got to relax at home with my children (I had finished all the day's chores that morning, not knowing what time we would be home). My husband came home early, and instead of driving together to an uncomfortable hospital procedure, I enjoyed some rare moments of intimate conversation with the man I love. Again, I am thanking God for the abundance of blessings He has given me.

My hope, of course, is that baby stays in a proper vertex position until she makes her arrival sometime in the next few weeks. With only two weeks until my due date, I know that labor could come any day, or delay for nearly a month. Today I have been feeling pokes and pressure in places I had not felt them before, which I hope is a good sign that baby is settling into place.

And while I do pray for a smooth and easy natural labor and delivery, I can thank God for the short-lived trial He allowed in letting me wonder about having a breech baby. Those few days reminded me to trust Him completely, with my body, my baby, and my desires surrounding childbirth. Apparently I did not learn this lesson well enough last time, when we had the similar scare with Hayden!

Again I turn to the Psalms to express my thoughts:

But as for me, I will always have hope;
I will praise you more and more.
My mouth will tell of your righteousness,
of your salvation all day long,
though I know not its measure.
I will come and proclaim your mighty acts, O Sovereign LORD;
I will proclaim your righteousness, yours alone.
Since my youth, O God, you have taught me,
and to this day I declare your marvelous deeds.
Even when I am old and gray,
do not forsake me, O God,
till I declare your power to the next generation,
your might to all who are to come.
Psalm 71:14-18

Another member of the next generation will be joining us soon, and as she grows, I will tell her of the marvelous Creator who brought her into the world. In the meantime, I am praising God for a healthy pregnancy and a lack of complications. I am thankful for friends who loaned me their maternity clothes, so that I have something to cover my bulging belly. I enjoy sleeping, undisturbed, in my comfy bed, or running errands easily during this time before a needy newborn joins our family. I am blessed by all the clothes that has been given to us and the extra items that we have been able to purchase for baby.

And I am rejoicing that God has not forsaken me, but continues to show His power and love and grace in my life. Though I know not the measure of His goodness, may I declare, like the Psalmist, "I will praise you more and more!"

Heads Up

At my weekly prenatal visit last Wednesday, I saw the obstetrician in the practice instead of my usual midwife. At my 36 week appointment, my midwife thought baby's head was down, but at 37 weeks the OB felt my abdomen and suspected that I may have a breech baby. After an internal check where no head was felt, she sent me for a quick ultrasound that confirmed her suspicions: baby is breech.

I'm not completely shocked, since we had a similar situation with Hayden. An OB thought he might be breech, but thankfully an ultrasound at 37 weeks showed that he had turned vertex. Of course, as I mentioned in his birth story, Hayden came our completely tangled in the umbilical cord - probably the result of his last-minute gymnastics!

Our prayer is that this baby will turn on her own without getting as dangerously tangled as her brother did. If she is still in a breech position tomorrow afternoon, the OB will perform an external cephalic version to try to manually flip the baby. While I would rather avoid the procedure, I certainly think it is worth trying, and because this is my third pregnancy and baby is not too big yet, I am a good candidate for the version. Statistically, there is a 60-70% that the version will help baby to turn (and only a 15% chance that she will revert to breech if the version is successful).

There is also a small risk that the procedure could cause complications such as fetal distress, so I would certainly appreciate your prayers tomorrow. In spite of the temptation to worry, it is a great comfort to me to know the One who formed this baby girl will also control how she comes into this world - whether head first, foot first, or through necessary surgery, my baby girl is in the hands of the Lord.

This is what the LORD says—
he who made you, who formed you in the womb,
and who will help you:
Do not be afraid...
Isaiah 44:2

Where You Might Find Me

I have not been blogging much lately, but like most homemakers, I have certainly been keeping busy. These days, you might find me...

Drinking red raspberry leaf tea in the morning while I read the book of John from the MacArthur Study Bible...
Getting dressed, a process that has become quite daunting with the large belly to cover and the necessary support stockings to squeeze into, even as the weather gets warmer...
Planning, preparing, and cleaning up the aftermath of three meals and two snacks a day...
Attempting to teach two small boys to share, be cheerful helpers, refrain from screaming, eat their food without complaining or playing at the table, and sleep at the appointed times...
Flying through Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons with Donny...
Packing six-course lunches for my hardworking husband to take to his new job...
Tracking down our new insurance numbers to make several appointments and getting the appropriate record transfers and referrals...
Driving an hour roundtrip, once a week now, for an "Any questions? Everything looks good" prenatal visit...
Online shopping for sandals for the boys, diapers and a carrier for the new baby, and a body fat monitoring scale and coffee maker for my husband...
Checking out books on gardening from the library, for children and myself...
Watering and the little garden we planted and wondering if anything will grow...
Reminding Hayden to go potty, and washing little hands that can't quite reach the sink...
Organizing children's clothing by gender, size, and season, and making trips to the attic to store it all...
Stepping over the puddle in our slightly flooded basement to get to the washer in order to do a dozen loads of laundry a week...
Folding said laundry in the morning, afternoon, and late evening...
Visiting with family and friends on weekends and at church, and managing the social calendar inbetween...
Watching my husband fell trees in order to allow more sunshine to reach our newly remodeled swimming pool...
Budgeting, paying bills, and tracking every penny spent...
Thinking and praying about acquiring a new vehicle that will fit three car seats...
Checking the bird's nest outside our door for new chicks, and watching the birdfeeder to see if my cardinal friend is out there...
Enjoying the sensations of a wiggly unborn baby, and brothers who like to touch my belly and say, "She's playing peek-a-boo!"
Finding it hard to squeeze my regular weekly bread baking and floor cleaning into the schedule...
Changing the sheets and washing pillowcases for the four pillows I am currently sleeping with...
Sleeping an impressive seven hours a night (okay, maybe 6 1/2)...
Feeling slightly overwhelmed by my complete inability to do it all...
Knowing my Lord has much to teach me, and that these busy days must not become a distraction...
Trusting in my Maker, that every detail of my life is in His perfect hands.

But I trust in you, O LORD;
I say, "You are my God."
My times are in your hands...
Psalm 31:14-15a

Hayden's Birth Story

Last Wednesday, I shared Donny's birth story. For this Wednesday's Walk Down Memory Lane, here is the story of how Hayden was born!

My due date was November 10, and I was hoping he would be born on the 11th. Donny's birthday is 12/12, and I thought it would be so cool if our next child was born on 11/11. Such a birthday did not seem likely, though, when I started having contractions late in the evening on November 5th. I had been having Braxton-Hicks contractions frequently, but these were different, and I could feel the pain in my back. I slept undisturbed that Sunday night, but on Monday morning, I was still having frequent contractions, and they continued into the afternoon. After hearing from doctors and experienced mothers that second children come quickly, I expected labor to progress rapidly, so I called Don to come home from his work an hour away.

When he arrived, I didn’t feel like we needed to leave for the hospital right away; my contractions were about three minutes apart, but not very painful. We stayed home for a while, waiting for labor to grow more intense before calling the doctor. Finally, after we put Donny to bed, we decided to start the 35 minute drive towards the hospital. We went out for a light dinner at Panera and then walked around the mall until all the stores were closing. I still didn’t feel like I needed to be there, but I also did not want to go back home, only to return in an hour. So we went over to the hospital to have me checked out.

After monitoring me for a while, the hospital nurse checked me and said I was 3cm dilated. I said, “So I can probably go home then?” But she said they would check me again in an hour. While we waited, Don and I did a LOT of laps around the hospital maternity ward. I was still having lots of contractions, but they didn’t seem to be getting any more frequent or more intense. When we finished walking at midnight, they stuck me back on the electronic fetal monitor, and the nurse was supposed to come back in 15 minutes to check me. I was sleepy, so I dozed off a bit, feeling annoyed that I could possibly be at home while I was stuck in an uncomfortable hospital bed. At 12:45 I noticed the time and wondered if they had forgotten about me. Finally at 1am, after leaving me on the monitor for an hour, a different nurse came in to turn the monitor off and check me. I was still at 3cm, so they finally let me go home. Don and I got home around 2am, and although my contractions were gaining intensity, I slept through the rest of Monday night.

Don stayed home from work on Tuesday. I was still having contractions, but no worse than the day before. In the middle of the day, we took a long walk to the local elementary school to vote, hoping the walking would move labor along. We were walking for at least an hour, but to no avail. I continued having contractions up until I went to bed on Tuesday, and then I slept through the night. Since nothing had progressed, Don and I agreed on Wednesday that he would go back to work. The morning continued the same as the day before. Then Don returned home in the early afternoon because his boss said he could telecommute until the baby was born, instead of having to race home when I called. Shortly after he arrived, I decided to lie down while Donny was napping, figuring that I might as well rest while I could. I ended up being very glad I took that nap!

I woke up around 3, and at 4:00 I noticed my contractions were more intense than they had been, so I started timing them. They were about 3 minutes apart, so I told Don that it was really time and I called the doctor. I was thrilled to find out that my midwife - the same one who delivered Donny and would have delivered me if she hadn't been on vacation that week - was the one on call. Because there were 2 OBs and 2 midwives in the practice, I knew it was a blessing from God that I should be so fortunate to have my own midwife there for my second late-night labor.

I checked into the hospital at 6:00pm. Around 6:30 I was 4cm dilated. I said, “Great, it took me 2 days to get one centimeter!” Don and I did some more walking around the hospital, and at 8:30 I was at 5cm. We continued walking until my contractions were getting strong enough that I had to stop frequently and have Don massage my back. But at 10:30, I was only at 6cm. I was starting to wonder if Hayden would ever come out! I sat on the birth ball and played cards with Don for a little while, and then I spent some time lying on my side, since my midwife thought the baby’s head might be transverse, and this would help him get into a better position. Around 12:30 I was finally at 8cm, with incredibly painful contractions, and my bag of water was still intact. Thankfully, both my nurse and midwife were really great about letting the labor take its course instead of trying to push unwanted interventions on me.

Around 1:00 on November 9th I finally got into the waterbirthing tub. Don got in with me and pushed on my back during the contractions. I was so glad to have his support, and the midwife even admired how well we worked together. In between contractions I was fine, but during them I was in so much pain…I knew it had to be almost over! My water finally broke at about 1:45, when I suddenly started pushing. His head was out with a couple pushes and at 1:51, Hayden Israel was born!

I was on my knees in the tub, and when Don and my midwife went to pull him out, the cord was wrapped around his neck twice and around his arm, too. They had to quickly cut it so they could untangle him and get him stable, since he was completely limp. Fortunately with a little oxygen he was fine, just like his big brother who also came out tangled. Soon we had some time to bond with Hayden, and he nursed, too. I was so glad that my little waterbaby had finally, in his own sweet time, come out in the world!

Donny's Birth Story

With the busyness of this year and season, I have not devoted much thought to this pregnancy. Somehow the weeks have passed until now my due date is a mere six weeks away. As I begin to think ahead to the arrival of this little one, I am also reflecting back on my previous birth experiences. As any mother knows, the day my firstborn entered the world stands out vividly in my mind.

Donny was due on December 21st, 2004. My original due date had been the 12th, but my mid-pregnancy ultrasound indicated a later date, and the doctors told me to be prepared to go late because it was my first child. With those suggestions in mind, I expected to be in the hospital sometime around Christmas. In fact, on Thanksgiving all of my relatives made guesses about when the baby would be born, and several family members chose Christmas Day as the potential date.

But the second week of December, just a few days after I stopped working as a nanny, Don and I stayed up too late one night. Around 1 or 2am he suddenly became violently ill with some kind of stomach flu. I stayed up with him and tried to be helpful, but finally at 5:00am I decided that my very pregnant body needed to get some sleep. (Plus I really didn't want to catch whatever he had!)

I got up around 11:30am the next morning, December 11th. I was having some Braxton-Hicks contractions - at least that's what I assumed they were. It was only in the last three weeks of pregnancy that I had experienced any of these "practice" contractions, and at that they were nothing more than mild cramp-like feelings for about five minutes each day. These contractions continued throughout the day, so around 3 in the afternoon I started writing down how close they were, and they ranged from about four to ten minutes apart. I thought it was odd having so many Braxton-Hicks contractions in one day. This pain was more intense in my lower back, which I knew was a sign of early labor, but I didn't have any other symptoms to indicate that baby was near.

Don slept on the couch nearly all day. I tried to get some things done around the house, including scrubbing the bathroom, and even went to the store to get some gingerale and soup for my sick husband. Towards 6 or 7pm I noticed that I was really sleepy, and the contractions were still coming every five to ten minutes. I eventually tried to take a little nap on the couch, remembering that Braxton-Hicks contractions are supposed to go away when you change positions. Still the pains continued, so I didn't get much sleep.

At 8:50 I started timing the contractions with a stopwatch. They were only a few minutes apart and were getting more intense. I found myself getting on my hands and knees for each one to try to encourage the baby to turn over. (At the last prenatal visit, the doctor thought the baby might be head down, but face up, and rocking is supposed to help babies turn over.) Don woke up and I finally told him, "I might be in labor." In between contractions I tried to finish packing our hospital bag, but I found myself stopping very frequently.

After an hour of having contractions three minutes apart or less, I finally called my midwife and got ready to head to the hospital. Since Don was still sick and could hardly stand up, nevermind drive, I called my dad and step-mom and asked them to give us a ride. I also called my mom and step-dad, who had gone away for the weekend. They interrupted their weekend getaway to start the two hour drive to the hospital. Don and I sat in the backseat together, me bracing myself through each contraction while he tried not to get sick. And of course, when we got in the car my gas tank was on empty, so we had to stop and fill up first!

We arrived at the hospital at 11pm. On the way upstairs, I thoughtfully pointed out trash cans to Don in case he needed to throw up. Once I was checked into the waterbirthing room, they had me on the electronic fetal monitor for a while. I ended up being on it quite a bit actually, though I would have preferred not to be. Fortunately, my nurse was very kind and helpful the whole time. She and another nurse did internal exams and estimated that I was 4-5cm dilated. Shortly after that I was lying on the bed when my water broke - or more accurately, popped like a water balloon. What a strange feeling!

Since things were progressing slowly, I walked around the maternity ward a little, and told all my parents they could go home and get some sleep. I waited a while before getting into the waterbirthing tub because I had heard that getting in too soon could slow down labor. I finally did get into the tub; although the nurses still wanted to keep me on the monitor, they were able to do it underwater. I kept moving around in the tub trying to find a more comfortable position, but I never did. The water was uncomfortably hot, too, but the temperature needed to be that warm for the baby to be born in the water. I had no other other birth experiences to compare it to, but I thought I was definitely having "back labor."

Don slept the first half of the time I was in the tub, but my nurse and midwife were very helpful. I finally had them wake him up when the pain was getting unbearable and I needed someone to put pressure on my back. He did, and that helped a little bit. I was starting to worry that I was going to be all up all night with no sleep, and remember I had very little sleep the night before. The nurse reminded me that they could give me some pain medication if I wanted (I had said in the beginning that I didn't want anything) that might help me get some rest, but I still wanted to give myself and my baby a drug-free birth.

Finally, just when I thought I could not stand the pain anymore, I went into transition. I thought I had to go to the bathroom, but it turned out it was the baby coming! I got out of the tub for a few minutes, but got back in for the pushing. I was supposed to call my parents when I started pushing, but there was no time, and we were all in or around the tub, not near a phone! After a little while, my midwife was having a hard time finding the baby's heartbeat. I did a little more pushing, but he wasn't quite ready to come out yet. They decided I needed to get out of the tub, so I actually climbed over the high tub walls, with a baby's head practically poking out between my legs. I don't think I'll ever forget that feeling! I reached down to touch his head, and exclaimed, "It's all wrinkly!"

I got on the bed and in a push or two, my little man was here. They cut the cord and whisked him away immediately – I guess the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck. Luckily "away" was just the other side of the room, but I couldn't see him at all. A crowd of NICU staff rushed in while I recovered on the bed, but thankfully, the baby was fine.

I got to hold my firstborn son a few minutes later, at 4:00 in the morning. The baby only weighed 5lbs. 5oz., so they were concerned about his body temperature and his blood sugar level. He ended up spending some time in the nursery because of that (while I got a little some sleep), and he received a couple sips of formula later on to help his blood sugar. I wasn't happy about either of those things, but otherwise, it was a positive birth experience. I was so glad I was able to do it all naturally and feel all the sensations of my baby making his entrance into the world.

I think the way God designed the female body - to conceive, carry a baby, give birth, and breastfeed – is one of the most amazing things in nature. He is an awesome God, and I am so thankful for the beautiful baby he blessed me with on December 12, 2004!



To read other blogger memories, visit Wednesday's Walk Down Memory Lane, and be sure to check back next Wednesday for Hayden's birth story!