Oh, pregnancy (or, don't believe everything they tell ya)

This was my third pregnancy.  And it was different in every way from my previous ones. 

Charlie's was easy.  No sickness, no pain, just some aversions to food (chicken) and smells (everything).  We went straight to our 39 week schedules C (breech) without any problems, and not even a hint of a contraction, despite my working until the day before.

Isaiah's, if you know the story, was the same as Charlie's except I couldn't get enough spicy food, but he was heartbreakingly taken from us at 19 weeks, when I delivered him VBAC, stillborn, tiny and beautiful. 

Because of my loss, this pregnancy was under the microscope from day one.  Or, I should say, week three, because that's how early I found out.  We waited two full years for this to happen, and made a decision not to wait to tell people. 

We know first hand that the a pregnancy can end in a moment, and we'd waited until almost 17 weeks to tell people we were pregnant with Isaiah, and he was gone two weeks later.  Because of this, not everyone understood just how intense our loss was, thinking we were just barely pregnant (which, in and of itself is a big deal...), and we felt robbed of time celebrating with others.  So, as soon as I had an ultrasound to confirm, we told the world. 

Like my other pregnancies, I never got sick (Thank the Lord,) but I was constantly nauseous.  I had my food and smell sensitivities again, and anything spicy was intolerable.  I also wasn't big on sweets, which I was with Charlie.  Bland fast food, please!  What was really different about this pregnancy was:

1 - The fear.  I was crippled with anxiety that this baby would be snatched away.  As every week ticked by toward 19, I became more and more scared.  The day week 19 finally hit, I had a huge rush  of relief, still feeling the romping going on in my womb.

2 - The doctors.  I love my doctor.  I would recommend her to anyone.  But, because of Isaiah, she wasn't comfortable doing just the routine OB checks, she wanted me to see specialists.  By the time I was three months along, I'd had 10 ultrasounds and endless blood work, and was now heading to a Maternal Fetal Medicine clinic at least once a month to have intensive ultrasounds and lots of screenings done.  I wish we hadn't. 

First MFM ultrasound revealed a baby in one half of my uterus (I have a heart shaped uterus, basically confining the baby to one side.), and something unknown in the other.  Hmmm...the techs/doctors thought it was a twin that didn't thrive.  Great.  Then, they realized it's the Weston's hand.  Thanks for that.

Then there was the down's screening.  I had markers!  Cue ridiculously long ultrasound.  The ultrasound was clear, but in my blood the markers are low, but they're there, so they suggested we do an amnio.  (Side note, I'm way against amnio treatment for myself.  I've already had a one in 1000 miscarriage, I'm not going to do anything with those odds willingly.)  No.  Because I refused the amnio, I was offered the option of a Maternity21 test.  A blood test, just from me, no risk to the baby.  I agreed to that.  I scheduled that for the same day as the anatomy scan. 

Anatomy scan.  Two techs, two hours, regular and internal ultrasound reveals: Girl?  Girl.  we think it's a girl.  Probably.  80%.  Go ahead, tell everyone its a girl.  So, I told everyone it was a girl, had my blood drawn for more screenings, then waited a week for results.

(Now, about it being a girl - I knew in my bones that I was having a boy.  Tim thought it was a girl, was thrilled he was right, but even after the ultrasound I found myself referring to the baby as him and he.  I couldn't wrap my head around him being a girl - even though it would make preperations SO easy, since we already had everything we could ever need for a girl.)

A week later I got the call, the Maternity21 test came back clear for all forms of Trisomy, including Downs (the test checks for 21 different chromosomes, and is incredibly accurate, second to an amnio.  It also checks for X and Y chromosomes.)  But, hmm...they are seeing boy chromosomes in the blood work.  There is almost zero chance that this is wrong, so I need to schedule another ultrasound to confirm that it's a boy.

Next ultrasound:  Two hours, two techs, one doctor, one genetic counselor.  There was something between the baby's legs.  But, they had no idea what.  I saw what they were talking about, and I agree, it wasn't clearly a boy part, and it wasn't the lack of parts you look for with a girl.  It was an orb, just hanging out where something else should (or shouldn't) be.  This was when they started throwing horrifying suggestions at us.
Horrifying suggestion #1 - We have a baby with "ambiguous gender."  Externally, neither boy nor girl, we will have to wait and test to see if the reproductive system reveals what the baby is supposed to be, and if not, wait and see what the child identifies with waaaayyy down the road.  Either way, expect extensive surgery.
Horrifying suggestion #2 - Adrenal gland gone wild, causing girl parts to swell uncontrollably, resulting in much treatment and surgery down the road - possibly life threatening.
Horrifying suggestion #3 - Terminate the pregnancy.  Really?  Because this tiny human has a bit of mystique, we should end its life?  I look at my beautiful baby now, and am even more disgusted by the idea now than then.  How can someone do that over a perceived inconvenience?  Moving on.

Next ultrasound:  We found boy parts!  Measuring a little bit small, but we'll take it.*  But, wait, his heart was measuring too big.  So, naturally, the doctor jumped to the absolute worst possible conclusion - The baby might have Smith–Lemli–Opitz syndrome - basically extreme brain damage.  Again, an amnio was suggested, but since nothing could be done even if it confirmed it, we declined.  Instead, we got a fetal echo. 

Fetal echo:  His heart was measuring very slightly large, with nothing to cause it.  No visible holes, no structural issues, pumping exactly right.  Finally a doctor gave us good news, that the Smith-Lemli-Opitz suggestion was more than likely "much ado about nothing."  She had us schedule a follow up just to make sure it didn't grow more.

Next ultrasound:  Hmmm...One kidney is dilated.  Want to see a fetal urologist, or wait till he's born?  At this point, we're so over appointments we decided to wait.  (We had it done today.  Waiting for results, but not sweating it.) 

Fetal echo #2:  Same as the first.  She suggests we have an echo done after he's born. (We had it done yesterday, his heart is just right,)

I never had my last ultrasound, on account of the baby coming, and I'm so glad.  They probably would have "found" another "problem," and we were over it.  I think I'm even forgetting some of the things they warned us might be wrong with our son.  It was a non stop scare-fest.

I'm putting this here for a few reasons.  First, we're still frustrated by the emotional turmoil that was inflicted on an already emotional pregnancy.  Second, we discovered some doctors communicate the worst case scenario without telling you it's the worst case scenario.  There are a lot of reasons for a slightly enlarged heart.  SLO syndrome is insanely rare, and has a TON of other symptoms recognizable on ultrasound - none of which Weston showed.  This was the only thing he presented us with.  The only one.  It's ridiculous and angering that he put us under more stress than we were already under - then billed us for the "consultation."  If you're in a similar situation, get second opinions.  Ask questions.  We spoke with the genetic counselor after talking to the doctor, and she told us she didn't agree with him.  Ultrasounds are very open to interpretation.  It's not an exact science.

I'm not totally sure how to wrap up this post, but I felt that I needed to write it.  Carrying a baby within you is a wonderful thing.  I don't want anyone to have the joy of it stripped from them the way that Tim and I sometimes felt we did.  If we're blessed with another baby, we will not do  additional screenings.  Its too much strain for zero reward.

Despite All The Things doctors tried to stack against him, our tiny boy is very healthy.  And we are so grateful.

*There is a reason for the hard to read ultrasound, and its not ambiguous gender.  Weston has hypospadias, (the doctors never mentioned this as an option) which will require surgery, but its fairly common and routine.  And he is definitely a boy. 

And then my water broke...or, Weston's birth story

(Yes, I realize its been two years.  No, this isn't necessarily a return to blogging.  I just want to record Weston's birth story, and this seems like a good place to do it.  Maybe I'll blog more...we'll see.)

I was nearing full term in a ridiculously complicated high risk pregnancy.  35 weeks and 5 days, I had my routine OB appointment, the first of the every week appointments.  Everything was normal, and Charlie and I headed to Costco.  Two days before Thanksgiving...brilliant.

We got the few things we needed, ran into a friend, and got into the check out line.   When I was getting ready to pay, the Costco guy told me that something was leaking in my purse. I went to check and discovered my water bottle had opened and was pouring everywhere.  I closed the bottle, apologized, and turned to go back to the counter...and slipped in the water.  Naturally, I grabbed the first thing I saw, a little old lady.  Of course.  Amazingly she managed not to fall with me (thank goodness,) and I was suddenly surrounded by very concerned people.  I'd landed on my knee, my stomach spared all impact, so I assured everyone I was fine, apologized profusely and tried to make myself invisible as I paid.  I heard a Costco employee in the next line ask, "Um, what is that?" and realized it probably looked like my water had broken. "Ha ha," I thought, "Scheduled C-section, my water's not going to break."
 
We went home, put away the items we'd picked up for Thanksgiving, had lunch, and I considered packing a hospital bag.  This was quickly dismissed.  Maybe do laundry...nah.  The day proceeded normally, nap time, dinner, TV, bed.  For some reason, I decided to put a towel on the bed, just in case the impossible happened, but as soon as I laid down I realized it was uncomfortable, and threw it on the floor.

About an hour later, it happened.  An intense amount of water was pouring out of me.  I was immediately awake, and without thinking sunk to the floor where I knew the towel was and started yelling for Tim to wake up.  Eventually, he found me ( I was invisible from where he was, since I was huddled on the floor,) and we tried to figure out what needed to be done so we could leave.  He got my dad and set him up to take care of Charlie, I pulled dirty yoga pants from the hamper (why didn't I do laundry? why didn't I pack a bag?) then sat on the bed shaking for awhile.  The shock was overwhelming me, and I was terrified for the baby.  It hadn't occurred to me that he wouldn't follow Charlie's footsteps and go straight to 39 weeks without so much as a contraction.  We headed for the hospital around 11:30.

We entered the hospital through the ER - and no one was there. It was a ghost town.  I had to call the baby center to find out where to go.  We checked in, and went to triage, where the told me they had to confirm that the torrent of water still coming from me wasn't just pee.  In the meantime I was strapped to all sorts of monitors, an ultrasound was done to confirm the baby was still breach, and we were introduced to the doctor on call.  Now, let me just say, I'm sure this doctor is great.  I'm sure she's super experienced, and can do a c-section in her sleep.  But, we were tired, stressed, and scared.  So, Tim asked if my doctor could be called.  Well, this offended the doctor who was there so completely that I thought there was going to be a brawl.  She lectured, scolded, yelled...and finally agreed to call my doctor and see if she could do the surgery.  When she was unsuccessful and getting through to my doctor, it was clear she had washed her hands of us, so she told us we could just wait until the morning and try again.  We confirmed that there was no risk to the baby, and agreed.

We spent a long night monitoring the baby, my temperature, and waiting.  Around 9 am, a different doctor came in, and told us that my doctor wouldn't be able to be here until Friday, and would we like to wait?  It was Wednesday morning.  Obviously, waiting two days was not the best solution, so we told her we'd be happy to have her do the C-section.  We weren't trying to be unreasonable, we simply wanted to know if Dr. Brown could do it, and if not, get the party started.  We were going to have the baby that afternoon.  It was settled.  I was nervous, but we were happy with the situation.

A little bit later, my phone rang.  It was my doctor!  She'd rearranged her whole schedule, and would be there at noon to do my C-section.  Amazing!  We were more than thrilled, she'd done my C-section with Charlie, been there for most of my delivery with Isaiah, and I'd been seeing her for 4 years.  It meant a lot that she would do it.

We kept getting pushed back as emergency C-sections kept cropping up, but eventually we made it into the OR.  I was very anxious, remembering the last time I'd had this done.  Thankfully, this time around, I didn't react to the spinal block like I did before, and I didn't feel all the pressure and pulling that I did with Charlie.  And, at 1:41, on November 27th, Weston Peter was born.  A NICU doctor took him to the corner of the room to examine him, and Tim went with them, but it was positioned so that I could see him.  I stared, crying, and the tiny baby while they put me back together.  For some reason, I couldn't stop sobbing.  I was so relieved to hear him cry, see him wiggle, see that he was, indeed, a boy (something that had been up for debate at my later ultrasounds).

Weston tipped the scales at 4 pounds, 15 ounces, and they measured him at 17 inches, though we later found out it was closer to 19.  He had a lot of brown hair, dark blue-grey eyes, and the longest fingers you ever did see.

I was transferred to a hospital bed and wheeled back to my room.  I passed my pastor and his wife in the hall...since our C-section kept getting pushed back, they arrived before it was done, and as a result were sent away since I had yet to meet Weston, and the nurses were eager for me to start recovering.  Then my tiny boy was placed on my chest, we had our first feeding time, and he was whisked away to be evaluated.  His blood sugar was extremely low, so they started giving him formula, without my consent, which bummed me out, but I assumed it had to happen.  The rest of the hospital stay, I struggled to get him to latch, only succeeding about 4 times in three days, so I pumped and pumped and pumped, and we supplemented with formula as needed.

Charlie came to meet her brother, and received a special gift from him, and enormous Lambie doll from Doc McStuffins.  She got to hold him, and spend time with Tim and me, and was happy as a clam.

We left the hospital the day after Thanksgiving, despite Weston's low weight, and thankfully, as soon as we got home, Weston started latching again.

He's been here for about 5 weeks now, slowly putting on weight, slowly kicking jaundice, quickly stealing all our hearts.  We love our tiny tiny boy, and can't imagine life without him.

 Now, off the put the toddler down for a nap and feed the wee one again.

In a parallel universe...

...I would be getting ready to go find out I was having a boy, instead of getting ready to pick our car up from the shop.

...I would be meeting my friend Meghan there, and she would play with and distract Charlie.

...I would be heading to the store to buy this, and putting it in a box with a blue balloon that would float out when opened.

...I would be driving to Tim's office to surprise him with said box.

It was going to be a great day.

Truthfully, I don't always have the holiest outlook on this situation.

Yesterday I sat down with my coffee, looked at Tim and burst into tears, complaining that my "human" summer clothes (read, not maternity) were out of style. He offered to take me shopping for new clothes, and I got even weepier, saying, "But I don't want to wear regular clothes! I want to be pregnant!" Poor guy. He couldn't win.

I wish, much to frequently, for a mulligan. Just a little trek back to a few weeks ago, and everything could go differently.

I continually scold myself for having complained about anything pregnancy related, and for worrying about logistics instead of enjoying the life within me.

Grieving is an unpredictable process, one I sometimes handle with grace, and other times with petty selfishness and whining.

If I'm being honest.

There's no real point to this post, just thoughts running through my head, needing an outlet.

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

A week before Charlie arrived my office threw me a potluck shower. I felt funny not contributing, so I made some little "cigars" for everyone to have.

These were made with:
10 packs of Rolos
Slightly sparkly brown and gold paper
Glue
Pink yarn
Paper Tags
Pink Marker

I just wrapped the Rolos in the brown paper and glued the seam, then cut out a little band from the gold paper and glued that on too. Then I tied a piece of yarn with a paper tag saying "It's a Girl!" around the middle and put them all in a cigar box. Presto! Inexpensive festive shower treat.

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.

My Baby Shower

My amazing friend Laura threw me the worlds most beautiful baby shower. Everything was color coordinated and custom picked to match the branch and berry paper Laura found. She even had her dad handmake this lollipop tree.

All the desserts were carefully selected to match...and they were delicious!

Most everything at the shower was handmade...Laura made a memory book that matched the invitations. All the girls wrote a memory they had with their mom for me to draw inspiration from. We also made the poms to hang among the streamers (Laura knows my motto is "It's not a party without streamers".) All the door prizes were also hand made...stamped tea towels, cards, jewelry, jams...they were awesome.

We had an amazing time...playing non traditional games, catching up with friends, and of course opening mountains of baby items!

It was the best party ever. Thanks Laura! We love you! (Also, most of these pictures are ones she took, as well as all of the ones on the previous post)

Dreaming...

Now that I'm so advanced in my pregnancy (15 days to go!), I'm starting to day dream about things I can do after the baby comes. I've been letting Tim know the meals I'd like to eat so he can make sure he knows how to make them. :)

I miss egg yolk. Like you wouldn't believe. I had no idea this would be the item that I wanted the most, but I have made Tim swear that the first meal I have will be a perfectly poached egg on toast with asparagus, prosciutto and feta cheese. My mouth is watering. Yum.
I'm also missing my clothes. Maternity clothes were fun for awhile, but how many times can you wear the same 5 outfits before you are just plain bored?

I'm most looking forward to wearing:

My suede boots! Yes, they fit, but walking with any extra height is an extremely dangerous game when 1) you're clumsy to start with; and 2) you're pregnant

My leather motorcycle jacket...so pretty, so soft, so small...
My favorite jeans ever.
My pretty detailed tops.

As well as so many others...oh clothes (and egg yolk). How I miss you.
(All the clothes are of the recently deceased Martin + Osa variety. Hence, no links.)

A Shower

On Sunday, some of the wonderful women I grew up under threw me a shower. It was such a great time to spend time with these women who knew and loved my mom so well, and who watched me grow up and helped shape who I am.

Although Debbie couldn't be there, she sent a prayer that she wrote for Tim, me and the little one to come.

Lord Jesus, we bring before you your precious child, Erin and her new little baby girl. What a wonderful and amazing miracle this is. We know that you have knit this little one together, and you already know every hair that will be on her head, the color of her eyes, the tilt of her chin. You know her hopes and dreams, her gifts and talents, her strengths and weaknesses. You have formed her amazing little personality to your precise specifications (which Erin and Tim might need some reminding of as the years go by).

Lord, Thank you for the awesome gift you are about to place in Erin and Tim's hands. May you give them the strength, love, wisdom, joy, peace and sense of humor that they will need as they raise this little one in your magnificent love and faithfulness.

We place this precious baby girl in your hands knowing that you will never leave her, that you will be beside her all the days of her life. Thank you for this promise from your word.

And Lord, I want to thank you for Erin's loving mom, Ellen, who was such a great role model for a mother that faithfully loved, nurtured, guided, and taught your promises to her children. Thank you for the friend she was to all of us and the way she touched each one of us in her unique way. If possible, let her know how much we love her and miss her, and will be seeking her again one day.

I pray as her friends, we will take seriously the task of encouraging and loving her daughter Erin, her son-in-law Tim and this new little life that is about to come into the world.

Thank you for the blessing of new life.

In your name we pray, Amen.

What an amazing start to a wonderful day. I am so grateful for these wonderful women.

What an amazing day. I am so thankful for these godly women in my life.