For my birthday, I had a son

(This will be long, and hard...feel free to skip it. I just want to log it while it's fresh in my memory, and this is pretty much the only place I write...)

Wednesday July 6th, I went in for my 19 week OB exam. I was vaguely worried, because I'd been feeling the baby move for a few weeks, and the last 4 days or so I hadn't. I'd also noticed that suddenly things were too spicy...and impossibility the week before. I pushed these things out of my head and walked through the office doors. A half hour later, the fear I'd refused to acknowledge was confirmed as my doctor fruitlessly searched for the baby's heartbeat. She wheeled in an ultrasound machine, keeping it turned away from me, then took me to a bigger ultrasound machine and showed me my little baby, and its missing heartbeat.

I was given a few minutes to collect myself and call Tim, then was given an insane amount of information about how to proceed, most of which bounced right off of my ringing ears. I came away with the understanding that one way or another, I was delivering our tiny beloved baby on Friday.

Thursday afternoon I was given laminaria, a seaweed based induction agent. I went home to let the process start overnight. Friday morning, Tim and I checked into the birth center, were put in a secluded room (they were sensitive to keep us apart from evidence of live births) and introduced us to our nurse, Evie. I began sobbing as soon as the nurse entered the room, so she gave us some time to come to terms with the reason we were there. Soon after that, my OB came in and removed the laminaria and started me on cytotec, which would continue my dilation and kick start labor. For the next several hours I experienced increasingly stronger contractions while Tim and I researched names with beautiful and hopeful meanings. We tucked prospective names in the back of our minds, and read Psalm 139 for comfort. We discussed God's grace upon unborn babies, and our faith that He was already holding this little one I was cherishing in my womb.

Tim's parents brought Charlie in to see us, since it had become clear that this wouldn't be a quick process, and we would be spending our first night away from her. Unfortunately, this time was when my contractions started getting more painful, and I had to stop everything when I had one - about every 4-5 minutes. I hung in for awhile, but could tell I was grouchy and impatient, so we called for an epidural and said goodbye to Charlie and Tim's parents. It was about 4:00. The epidural was given around 4:45, and it hurt. A lot. I said "Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow," which surprised Tim, because I tend to be silent in my pain, but as soon as the medicine started I completely forgot that there was ever pain. Pretty soon I felt no pain, just a lot of heaviness in my legs. I was completely paralyzed, and my feet were hanging heavily off the bed (this is one time that long legs was not a blessing). I continually made Tim shift my leg to a more comfortable position, and was amazed that he could lift those 1000 ton things.

At this point I was given another dose of cytotec, and told how I was progressing. My dad came to visit after this exam, and just sat with us for a few hours. We talked a little, watched some How I Met Your Mother, and just whiled away the time. He left around 7, and Tim and looked at names a little more. Our nurses switched. Maria tended to my every need, almost seemed to know them before I told her. My blood pressure had been low and inconsistent ever since the epidural, so she called the anaesthesiologist in the adjust my dosage, and she checked on me constantly. I was given meds to bring my blood pressure back up, and then I tried to sleep, and Tim fell asleep immediately. A few hours later I felt the pressure shift, and I new I was about to deliver. It was about 11:00, and I started saying, "Tim." Nothing. "Tim. Tim. TIM. TIM!" Finally, he woke, and called the nurse, trying to explain what I had told him, ending with "but you should probably come talk to her, cause I'm half asleep." Maria came in, and saw that the water bag was coming, called the doctor and told me just to breathe.

My doctor came in, explained what she was seeing, and then told me she had an emergency c-section to do, and asked me to fight against the urge to push, she'd be back in a half hour. Another doctor was made aware, and a few minutes later I woke Tim again (he was tired) and told him it was time, and get the nurse now.

Maria, a doctor and another nurse came in. Despite my not pushing, the intact water bag holding the baby had slipped out with the help of contractions. I pushed to get the placenta out, though I couldn't feel if I was pushing, so I was constantly apologizing and asking if I was doing it. Eventually the doctor opened the bag, and the baby was cleaned.

The nurse told us "It's a little boy," and Tim began sobbing. They brought him to us, and Tim held him first. He was the size of my hand, not fully formed, but his tiny face already had similarities to Charlie's face, his hands, smaller than dimes had all their fingers, and the smallest fingernails you can imagine. His feet were the same way, tiny and beautiful.

I held my son in my arms just after midnight, as the day became my 30th birthday. He looked so peaceful, like he was sleeping, cradled in my hands. I looked at Tim, and, in my post delivery haze, I said, "I know we haven't talked about this name, but what about Isaiah, since we've found such comfort in the Isaiah 139 passage?" Tim immediately agreed that it was perfect, and seconds later we realized that the passage was Psalm 139, but we didn't care. His name was Isaiah. It came out of nowhere, but fit better than any of the other names we'd discussed.

We passed him back and forth between us, took pictures, touched his tiny hands, and talked with him. I told him I loved him, that I was so sorry he couldn't stay with us, and that we would always miss him.

Eventually we gave him to the nurse, sobbing. She carefully took hand and footprints, made a mold of his footprints, and called the photography company to schedule an early morning session. They told her that they only do pictures for babies 20 weeks or older, so this amazing woman bought a disposable camera, dressed our baby and took pictures in the studio for us. She was amazing, going above and beyond in every way.

It was about 2 am, and Tim and I went to sleep. I woke a few hours later, and Maria changed my bedding and whispered, "Next time, He will have a happier ending for you." She then told me Isaiah's measurements, 9 ounces, 7.9 inches. She told me she'd taken the pictures, and we could get them developed when we were ready, and put a fabric keepsake box on my bedside table, telling me to open it later.

In the morning I opened the box and found cards from the whole nursing staff, the mold of his footprints, cards with his hand and footprints, a tiny blue teddy bear, a journal, a sachet and a few other trinkets.

A few hours later we were discharged.

I was dreading sharing my birthday with this event. But, as it unfolded, I found it to be so much more peaceful and healing than I expected. If you can only hold your baby one time, it should be on a momentous and memorable day...I love that I share my birthday with him. It can't be overlooked or forgotten, it's a part of my life.

He will be missed and longed for every day, but we know that the Lord is holding him close. Isaiah's name means "Yahweh is my salvation," and that is where our comfort lies. His accidental name is perfect.

Psalm 139:13-16

For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there were none of them.

Made By Me Monday

Easter was a huge deal in my house when I was growing up. A lot of planning went into the outfits, particularly my mom's and mine. Every year we would go to the craft store together and pick out two dress patterns and one fabric, and my mom would proceed to make us coordinating dresses. And, of course, I would get an Easter bonnet.

So, this year as I wander through stores and see all the Easter items, I'm tempted by every tiny hat and frilly dress. To put an end to the temptation, I decided to make a bunny hat for Charlie.

Then Tim called and told me one of his co-workers was having a baby shower, so I tried out a bear hat.

I had to adapt the ear patterns a little to meet my level of know how, so they're not as polished as you might find at Baby Gap, but I think they're cute just the same.

Here's Charlie modeling the bunny hat (which barely fits her. I need to switch to larger needles.) The bear hat is too tiny for her big head, so no modelling was done for that one.

Somewhere In Time...

I worked on a slide show for my Grandma's memorial service and really enjoyed seeing so many pictures of her with my grandpa when they were dating and newly weds (they met and married within a few months). this was taken at a restaurant/live music show with friends
at the beach. I love her swim suit...Grandpa's is a bit too skimpy though :)

A picnic lunch

Isn't this the sweetest?

Easter Sunday...complete with an Easter bonnet

I'm so glad to know they are now reunited in Christ.

My Birth Story - a planned C-section

FYI - this includes details of what my C-section felt like and may not be for everyone. I thought it may be helpful to people who are expecting and may have to have one. Consider yourself warned.

We knew early on that a C-section may be necessary to bring Charlotte safely into the world. I found out at my second ultrasound I have a heart shaped uterus - essentially, my uterus is misshaped, causing there to be less room for Charlie to grow and move in. It wasn't severe, so while I was labelled "high risk", the odds of her suffering from it were very low. But, it did mean that once she settled into her upright position, she probably wasn't going to be turning around any time soon. Or, as it turns out, at all. She was completely breach, with her upper body in one side, or horn, of my uterus, and her legs in the other. So, with many many many ultrasounds performed to check for unbreaching (for lack of a better word), we planned for a C-section on September 29th (my doctor was leaving for Italy that night, so she fit us in when I was 39 weeks exactly).

The week prior to her coming, Tim and I frantically tried to get everything ready. The night before we were vacuuming, organizing, packing, etc. We ended up staying up really late, despite the fact that we had to be at the hospital at 5:30 the next morning. When we woke up the morning of, (around 4:30), I showered, put on mascara (so necessary before surgery), dressed in yoga pants and my "I'm so crafty, I make people" t-shirt, and headed out the door with our empty car seat and jam packed diaper bag. I felt vaguely anxious, but the coming surgery, and ultimately the arrival of this little baby we'd been loving, and praying for, for so long seemed somewhat abstract. We got to the hospital, then drove around for awhile to find the birthing center. Once we got in, I changed into the hospital gown, got my IV, had blood drawn, a last ultrasound to confirm she was still breach, and then was checked for contractions, which, it so happens, I was having. I had just thought she was moving around a lot, so I was surprised to hear that. Then, my doctor came in, looking like a model despite her scrubs and pumas in place of her usual designer clothes. (I won't lie, as I got increasingly rounder and my wardrobe got more limited, I also was increasingly more jealous of her tiny body and adorable clothing.)

They took Tim and me to the C-section room and introduced me to the anesthesiologist. He then proceeded with the spinal block, starting with a shot to numb me (PS - this isn't bad. And I hate shots.) then the block itself. It felt warm, and similar to yolk or, I now know, spit up, running down my back. Then I was numb. Beyond numb, I couldn't have moved the lower half of my body if my life depended on it. I was told that the second I felt any nausea I had to tell him so he could give me something to stop it. That's when the shakes came in. Ugh. Some people experience shaking from the spinal block, and I was one of the lucky ones. I was shuddering violently, and felt extremely cold. In the meantime, they had laid me down and were prepping for the incision.

My wonderful doctor kept me informed of everything that was going on, so I knew when the surgery started. Nausea came immediately, and I was given drugs through my IV to help. Tim was alternating between trying to calm me down - the shaking was really upsetting me - and watching what was happening, when he suddenly got sick. He says it was the smell of the iodine, not the blood and guts, but either way, he was throwing up. I started feeling a lot of pressure - no pain - but pushing and pulling, and the intensity of it made me sick. The anesthesiologist gave me a bed pan and I dry heaved into it for a while. Then, suddenly we were told to look up, and above the little curtain separating the whole me from the cut up me were two purple little feet, and then a piercing wail. I immediately teared up, knowing that Charlie was here, and I was listening to the world's most beautiful cry. I was handed a wad of gauze to wipe my face with, and then Tim was told to go with the nurse to the corner of the room where they cleaned Charlie and swaddled her.

In the meantime, I was feeling very faint, and very sick. It took less time for them to get Charlie out then it did to put me back together. I could feel every tug and shove as, I can only assume, my insides were rearranged, and I was eventually sutchered together (I was scared of staples, so my doctor opted for sutchers). In the midst of this, Tim brought Charlotte to me. It was a strange moment for me. I think it must be true that the act of labor helps you bond with your child, because when he brought her to me, I thought, "I don't recognize her." She wasn't what I'd imagined and it threw me for a loop. Not to say I didn't love her, or think she was amazing, I just didn't expect her to have dark hair, no eyebrows, and her lower lip firmly tucked under her upper lip. It doesn't help that I was exhausted in every way at this point, and very close to passing out.

Finally they finished with me and wheeled me (on the bed, I don't remember how I got there) back to my room. My dad and mother in law were in there, stocking it with snacks, so they got to meet Charlie briefly and learn her name. I still hadn't held her, due to the shaking, and was eager to breast feed her, so they were shooed out pretty quickly. She was given a quick sponge bath, and shots, and then given to me to feed. That was when the bond formed for me. She latched quickly and wonderfully, and then fell asleep in my arms. The things I thought were odd when I first saw her weren't any more. Brown hair because her dad has brown hair. No eyebrows because I have fair pale eyebrows. Her lower lip had been hidden because she had been sucking on it, something she still does. She was beautiful, perfect, and mine.

I won't tell you my hospital experience, because it was, in many ways, really terrible and no one has that kind of time to commit to reading a blog. But, to finish the story of the C-section...because of the spinal block combined with my inability to move, they put compression sleeves on my legs, that squeezed them continually to keep blood clots from forming, 12 hours after my c-section (7:30 pm) they made me get up. I was not given the drugs I had been told I would get, so this experience was extremely difficult, and so painful the wind was knocked out of me. I fell back to my bed three times. My recovery was slower than I had anticipated, it took several weeks for me to get up or down without wincing. Thank goodness Tim was off work for two week and could do a lot of the physical work. By six weeks I was back to normal, only experiencing the smallest pangs now and then, just above my incision.

So, the moral of the story is:

C-sections are rough. If I don't have to have one for any future children, I won't. But, remember, if you do have to have one, they are the most commonly performed surgery for women in America, and though uncomfortable, they are extremely safe and relatively quick.

If you don't bond immediately with your baby, don't panic, don't feel guilty, just give it a little time. You will be more bonded, connected, and in love with your baby than you could ever have imagined so soon.

Utilize your spouse to help. Bending is not an option after a C-section, so Tim changed every single diaper for at least a week. He also did all the burping, and was on crib duty, checking on her every sound.

No matter the means you have to go through to bring your baby into this world, it's so worth it. Charlotte has brought us so much joy, I can't imagine my life without her.

Four Years

Four years have gone by since my tiny, hilarious, scrappy, amazing mom went to be with the Lord. I'm excited for the day we'll be reunited. She is so missed.

4th of July

I hope everyone had a great 4th! Ours was spent hearing an amazing sermon at church, then Tim went off to work, and I went to my dad's to say happy birthday to Tim (Burns) and eat lots-o-food. When Tim got off work, we headed to Jonathan and Laura's for some s'mores (with Reeses cups, none of that ordinary Hershey's business), Wii, and sparkler fun. All in all, a sucessful day.

Anyway, I was reminiscing on 4ths of the past, and remembered a story from when my cousin Danny and I were about 3. All the adults and "big kids" were out setting off fireworks, which left Danny and I to improvise (this was in the day that two three year olds could be left unsupervised, evidently). Naturally, we were jealous that we weren't allowed to play with 3000 degree sparklers and set off fireworks, so we opted for making our own. My grandma always had off brand cheesepuffs in the house, which are a fantastic, perma-staining neon orange, so these obviously caught our eye. We gleefully threw them all over grandma and grandpa's floor and proceeded to jump on them until they were nothing but orange and yellow dust. They crunched just enough to compete with the fireworks noise, so we were happy as clams. Thankfully, by the time the adults came back in and discovered us, the floors, and everything we'd touched orange, they just found us hilarious, so we somehow managed to avoid getting in trouble. Win-win, if you ask me.

Three Years Ago Today...

...was the last time I spoke with my mom. Today is my parents anniversary - I believe it would be their 33rd. At this point we knew that she was dying, although the doctors had given us hope that she would be with us for a few more months. Tim and I headed down to Kent after work that day to drop off an anniversary gift - tulips, See The Morning CD by Chris Tomlin, and Lady in the Water by M Night Shymalan. Tim (the other Tim) and Chie had cooked dinner for my parents and when we came in they were eating in the dining room. Mom seemed to be doing really well that day. She was walking, talking, even eating a small amount - something that had been getting more and more difficult. We stayed only briefly, wanting them to have time together, and headed out. Three days later she went Home. By the time I got to her she was unresponsive. The whole family was there, which could have only been by the hand of God, and we held her hands and tried to comfort her until she was with Him.


I really miss her. The silliest things set me off, like not being able to remember a recipe at the grocery store and knowing that she'd be able to tell me what to get if I could just call her. I know that she's finally well, and happier than I can imagine, and that we will one day be reunited, but it's hard. I still cry myself to sleep every so often, but the pain is becoming less sharp, and I know it will continue to lessen as the days go on.


I apologize that my first post is ages is so unhappy, but that's just what I'm feeling right now, and this seemed like as good a place as any to get my thoughts out. Signing out.

Dear Santa,

So, because I seem to be completely out of creativity and inspiration for this blog at the moment, I am posting my letter to Santa from last year...after all, he has yet to answer it.

How are you? I'm fine. Can you believe the big day is only 2 days from now? I figured it was time to tell you what I want. But let me preface it by saying, I've been very good. I have been in zero fist fights this year. For that matter, I've only been in one fist fight in my life (except with my brothers, which, as I'm sure you know, can't be avoided), and I didn't throw any punches, so I think that should be stricken from my record.


You see, I was at my kindergarten best friend Monica's house, and we were playing a highly competitive game of Mempry. I was, as is usually the case, winning like crazy. So, words were exchanged, and after a certain point, Monica said, "If I punched you in the stomach, you would cry." I declared that I would not. So, naturally, she punched me in the stomach. And, though I wanted to cry, I held it in. As it happened, her dad came into the room during the aftermath of this punching, and so I asked him to take me home, and Monica and I were no longer best friends. But, I want you to know that I have forgiven her. So, please, don't hold this against me.

I have also not stolen anything this year. Again, I have only stolen once in my life - at the tender age of ten. I was in K-Mart in Yakima, and ate one of the candies from the 5 cent candy bins. I immedietely regretted it, and was terrified that the alarm was advanced enough to sense the candy in my belly (it wasn't). I eventually confessed this to my mom (by eventually, I mean around 23 years of age) so, since I punished myself with guilt and later repented, I think this should be stricken from the record as well.

I have not put a snowball down anyone's neck this year. This has only happened once - when I was about 13 and Chris was about 10. I paid dearly for that already, when Chris immedietely turned so red he almost burst into flame, and he screamed so loud all the icicles fell from the roof. So, since the punishment has already occurred, let's pretend this strike against me didn't, okay?

So, now that the formalities are done, what I would really like for Christmas is for Bill Watterson to come out of retirement and begin writing Calvin and Hobbes again. Is this too much to ask? I mean, I've been really good, and I really miss Calvin and Hobbes.


Thanks in advance,


Your friend,


Erin

On the time I was supposed to disect a pig

I managed to get through junior high and high school without disecting anything grosser than a flower. I was feeling fairly triumphant, disection is something I am more than happy to do without. But then I took biology lab in high school. It seemed inevitable. I was doomed to pass out while taking apart a smelly dead piglet. Well, far be it for me to allow a syllabus to take away my dream of a disection free life style. I cleverly planned my absences so I would have to miss that class. Smart, no? So, instead of heading to bio lab that evening I beelined for the cafeteria and ate with my friends, inwardly rejoicing in the success of my scheme.

Fast forward two weeks. I hadn't counted on my professor having an evil scheme too. But, as I was taking my midterm, I noticed students disappearing into the adjoining room for a few minutes and then returning to their desks. Suspicious, I thought. Thats when I turned the page of my exam and saw directions to go into said adjoining room and label parts of a disected pig. Oi. My plan backfired. If the question hadn't been worth multiple points, I may have skipped it. But my not so great grade wouldn't allow it. So, I mustered up my courage, held my breath and walked resolutely into the room. There, a teachers aid was pulling little pig organs with tweezers and asking us to identify them. Blech. Gross. But, I didn't have to cut anything open, so besides some mild revulsion I was none worse for the wear.

Until I got to dinner that night...pork was on the menu. Blllleeeeecccchhhh!

The Girl I Mean to be...

...on halloween.

While contemplating my costume I took a walk down memory lane...meet the Barbie's I played with growing up. These were the favorites of my (vast) collection:

My first Barbie was given to me by my Grandma in Maryland. It was Dream Date PJ, in 1983.

She was lovely. Her skirt twisted into all sorts of different styles.
Then came Astronaut Barbie, complete with helmet!
No Barbie collection is complete without Barbie and the Rockers. I loved the huge plastic earrings.My first Skipper - before she "matured". I remember that roll up towel really well, I didn't realize it came with her.
Sorry this is sideways, I can't make it turn. The is the Heart family. You can't really tell from the picture in the corner, but Midge had the option of being pregnant. She had a hard plastic removable belly that a baby fit in. Just click it on to her otherwise unrealistically thin waste and she's ready to pop!Here's the same concept sold alone. I think I may have had her too.
Anway, these are the dolls I remember best. Did you have any of them?

Halloween 1983

Awesome. I love that you can only see one of Tim's eyes. As you can see, my flair for creativity started early. Dad's hat? Check. Dad's shirt? Check. What more could you need? (By the way, I did have an alternative costume - Mickey Mouse - but the mask terrified me, so this was plan B.)

Fondue

Some of our favorite memories with friends and family have been at the Melting Pot. In honor of those memories, here is an Etsy salute to fondue.

Mid Century Mod Fondue Set by tawnillia

MOD Enamel Pot by sweetshorn

SALE TIME NOW 30.00 Gorgeous Copper Craft Fondue Pot with Pedestal Server and Cups by
ivylanevintage
green vintage fondue pot with white and fuschia floral design by crabvilleinautumn
Vintage Red Fondue Set by laurahardie

vintage 1970s mustard yellow fondue pot with lid and wood handle by milkglassandmetal

Wouldn't it be fun to have a vitage fondue collection? I love all the bright enamels.

Reflection reflections

I've noticed that pretty much every time I catch my reflection lately I see my mom. I've always resembled my mom (often due to matching outfits), but now it's getting crazy. Like, spitting image. In a way it's kind of nice, almost as if I get to see her every day. But it's not really the looking at her that I miss. It's the talking, the crafting, her surprise notes, being able to call from the grocery store and confirm a recipe, her competitive (which is an understatement) nature, the unexpected sayings (Stick it! etc.), the hugs, the laughter...so much. I love knowing that this is temporal, and that I will see her again.

8 Years

Where were you 8 years ago? I was in bed in my Oaktree dorm room, in my sophomore year, when I reluctantly woke up to a lot of noise. First I heard the distorted sounds of the radio from the living room. Then my roommate came in a said that New York had been bombed. It was a very confusing way to wake up. Since we didn't have TV's in our dorms, it took some time for me to fully grasp what was happening. I got to campus and saw people crying, our classes consisted of prayer and then dismissal, and the library was crammed with people trying to get info off the internet. What a horrifying day. I'm so sorry for those that lost loved ones. I'm so grateful for those who fight to keep us safe. What a sad and sobering day.