A New Year

January 1, 2013 at 1:25 am (Uncategorized)

The end of another year. So much has happened, it feels like at least 5 years.  This time last year, I was heavily pregnant, about 27 days from giving birth.  I felt awful, really.  I felt trapped inside my whale of a body, and I was dealing with depression.  I was so embarrassed about my hugeness, and I was saturated in the fear that I was doomed to be overweight from that point forward.  I let my personal dreams evaporate and didn’t even know what to feel or plan at that point.

Depressing, huh?

Well, that was my lowest point, I’m happy to say.  Once Benjamin was born, things rapidly changed.  It was unclear whether if it was for the better or not at the time, but they changed nonetheless.

Benji’s birth was great, and adjusting to 2 children wasn’t the hell that I’d been told it might be.  I prepared myself for the life of a semi-stay-at-home mom, with the option of quitting work altogether.  But the week after I gave birth, Gabriel was injured and lost his job.  I may never forget that day.  My children and I had been a paid a routine visit by a social services nurse to make sure we were doing okay, and after she left we waited for Gabriel to come home from work.  I knew something was wrong when he came home early.  I remember his face as he walked in and said “I got fired.”  So many emotions were wrestling in me and I had to choose which one would win.  Finally, after a moment, I decided peace would win, and I said, “Well, everything happens for a reason,” and we proceeded to work out that Gabriel would focus on school, taking the most precious opportunity to spend more time at home with our sons who need their papa.  I would go back to my profession, one that allows me the flexibility to create my own schedule while still providing for my family.  I like to believe there was divine guidance in my choice of occupation for such a time as this.

And that’s what we’ve been up to: Gabe diligently working away at his degree, I working (and making the decision to change locations recently – very stressful for me who does not like that kind of change), the boys growing rapidly and repeatedly amazing me, changing me, bringing me joy and revealing my faults.  It’s not the life I pictured a year ago, and it’s the opposite of the life I pictured 10 (or even 5) years ago.  But it’s a good life.  The best life for me right now.

That extra weight ain’t weighing me down anymore because I remembered that at my core I am a disciplined, stubborn girl who is much too vain to let myself stay overweight.  The depression is gone as I learned that I am indeed more fragile than I thought and must handle myself with care.  And my children are my joy, a joy I never knew I needed.  Until now.

Now there is the joy of motherhood.
Now I have respect for myself.
Now I know a little more of who I am – and who I am not.

I enter this new year with joy and with brokenness.  Joy because God is wiser than I and is the Sovereign Guide along my journey, bringing me blessings I didn’t know I had a need for. Brokenness because I am human, I love and I hurt, and I struggle to embrace humility and forgiveness.

I struggle to let go of the past.  I worry about the future.  But this year I’ve learned that I must learn to be present. 

So, 2013, I don’t have any major resolutions to keep.  No weight to lose.  No new distances to run.  But I do intend to grow.  When I was thinking about this upcoming year and tried to concoct a vision for it, “SURVIVE” was the only word that came to mind.  And I’m here to say, I will do more than survive.  I’m going to GROW.  Keywords I want to remember and grow in:

  • humility
  • long-suffering
  • selflessness
  • strength
  • kindness

If I can grow in but one of these virtues, raise my children to know without a doubt that I love them, and walk side-by-side with my helpmate, I will be successful.

Leave a Comment

56 pounds off, 9 months.

November 12, 2012 at 3:34 pm (Health, Pregnancy)

It’s been a while since I updated, and I’ve had a few people ask me the same questions so I thought I would just write a post.

I’m proud to announce that as of a few weeks ago, I’ve lost all my pregnancy weight.  Not just 2nd pregnancy weight – ALL my pregnancy weight, plus a couple.  That’s a total of 56 pounds since January.  It took me 9 months total, but it wasn’t until I got serious about my fitness (about 4 months ago) that I actually began to see the changes I wanted.

I’m writing this to, yes, self-centeredly celebrate my success, but also to answer the question that I’ve been asked at least a dozen times already:

“What’s your secret?”

Honestly, there is no secret.  It’s the same answer that has existed since the creation of man – because it’s how our bodies are made to respond:  calorie deficit.  In other words, diet and exercise.  I haven’t followed any fad diet; I’ve merely counted calories.  Literally, I’ve counted, not estimated, every calorie that enters my body.  Estimating got me nowhere because I’m prone to cheating, especially since I am an emotional eater.   I found a website to help me (there are several to choose from), and logged every single thing I ate/drank, as well as all my exercise sessions.  I’m still breastfeeding my youngest, so I always factor that in to insure that my supply doesn’t suffer.  I make sure that I take proper supplementation, including vitamins, minerals, omegas, and eat fruits, veggies, and healthy fats.  One thing I’d like to mention here is that not all calories are equal in value (some are healthy, others are empty), but every calorie counts.  I have an anonymous relative who is also an emotional eater, and they like to say “Oh but these calories don’t count” when referring to a “special” meal or snack.  But, I repeat, every calorie counts.

Exercise

As a dancer, I naturally gravitated towards dance as my chosen form of exercise.  Unfortunately, I badly sprained my ankle in just my second class.  My joints were weak from inactivity and I was overweight (hint: be careful! Know your limitations!)  I didn’t let that slow me down, though.  In the weeks of injury recovery to follow, I wore out the recumbent elliptical machine (the one I’ve only ever seen elderly folks use) and still lost 7 pounds that way.  No excuses!  When I was able to return to other forms of exercise, I discovered that I could suddenly jog further and longer than I ever had, thanks to that good ol’ recumbent elliptical.  I decided to start training for my first 10K.  I picked a training program off the internet and took off.  This morning, I successfully ran my own personal hilly 10K in good time, despite the rain and hills.  In 5 days, I will run my very first 10K race and I’m very excited.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I lost all my weight.

No excuses!  I have 2 jobs and 2 kids (one of whom is still breastfed), and I made it work.  I am healthier and more fit than I have ever been – even my dancing days.  If I can do it, you can do it.  56 pounds in 9 months, safely.  It’s possible.

1 Comment

Childhood songs that still make me smile

October 10, 2012 at 1:52 pm (Uncategorized)

With a Smile and a Song
-Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

With a smile and a song
Life is just a bright sunny day
Your cares fade away
And your heart is young

With a smile and a song
All the world seems to waken anew
Rejoicing with you
As the song is sung

There’s no use in grumbling
When the raindrops come tumbling
Remember, you’re the one
Who can fill the world with sunshine

When you smile and you sing
Everything is in tune and it’s spring
And life flows along
With a smile and a song

A Dream is a Wish your Heart Makes
-Disney’s Cinderella

A dream is a wish your heart makes
When you’re fast asleep
In dreams you lose your heartaches
Whatever you wish for, you keep
Have faith in your dreams and someday
Your rainbow will come smiling thru
No matter how your heart is grieving
If you keep on believing
the dream that you wish will come true

Leave a Comment

Words of Life

September 29, 2012 at 9:28 pm (Uncategorized)

A song of Ascents.

Blessed is everyone who fears Yahweh,who walks in His ways.
You will indeed eat of the labor of your hands;
you will be happy and it will be well with you.
Your wife will be like a fruitful vine
within your house.
Your children will be like olive shoots
about your table.
Look, for thus a man shall be blessed
who fears Yahweh.
May Yahweh bless you from Zion,
that you may see the good of Jerusalem
all the days of your life,
and that you may see your children’s children.
May peace be upon Israel.

Psalm 128

LEB

Leave a Comment

Love You.

August 16, 2012 at 4:14 pm (Health)

“Never stop being a bride for your husband.” -words of wisdom from my Pilates teacher.

This is just a brief post to share something I think is important for parents everywhere:

Don’t give up on yourself.

Since there was only one other person in Pilates this morning, my teacher was more conversational while we tortured our abs.  In essence, she said, “Many people give up on themselves once they become parents.  But you can’t do that.  Never stop being a bride to your husband… Also, go out and do things for yourself, spend time with your friends.  Your children are your world, but don’t let yourself go.”

I didn’t realize how important this is until now – now that I’m making an effort to better myself.  Taking care of myself (for me, that means eating delicious, healthy food, exercising everyday, spending a little time outside with my boys) and working towards my personal goals in the past few weeks has truly lifted my spirits and helped me be a better mom.  When you love you (take care of yourself), you love others better.  I have more energy, more motivation, more joy because I know that I can be a healthy individual and a more joyful parent.

Does that make sense? I hope so.  It does to me. 🙂

Leave a Comment

Skinny on the Inside

July 17, 2012 at 5:07 pm (Health)

Here is me as I type this blog post, with my snuggly assistant:

Image

I’m in week 4 of getting serious about my fitness.  The more I work at it, the more I enjoy it.  Psychology is 90% of it for me, I’ve learned.  If I think I’m chubby, I act like I am; I eat poorly, I speak negatively of myself, I become inactive… in short, I undermine myself and any progress I’ve made.  Therefore, my biggest effort is being concentrated on my mindset.  My weight loss had come to a screeching halt a few months ago, and I was initially discouraged because as I started exercising I actually gained weight instead of losing it, despite daily workouts and impeccable diet.  But I kept at it and began noticing positive changes in my body even though the scale was cussing at me.

I love exercise.  Except when I’m out of shape, then I hate it.  Following the advice of a friend who is a personal trainer, Sarah Gillis (check out her business here), I decided to find something I enjoyed.  I started taking group fitness classes like Zumba, yoga, and Pilates, which made me look forward to my other cardio work (jogging, cycling, weights) even more because my body is remembering that it loves to workout.  Unfortunately, I reinjured my bum ankle in Zumba because I wasn’t being careful, but I haven’t let that stop me, thanks to semi-recumbent elliptical machines and recumbent bikes.  I’ve been diligent and I’m beginning to feel my fitness addiction getting reawakened.  I’m so excited.  I feel like me again, even if I don’t look any different.

My Pilates teacher has been very encouraging.  She looks like the picture of fitness perfection, though she must be at least in her forties.  I thought to myself, “This woman has never had children or known what it must be like to have to come back from a pregnancy.”  Well, today she told me that she had THREE kids, one of them by cesarean.  I almost fell over.  Never had it occurred to me that it was remotely possible for woman to have washboard abs after a c-section.  I’m a little bit in awe.  She verbally encourages me every time I come to her class:  “You’ve got it, it’ll come back. You’re strong.  You’ll find it.”  I do NOT feel strong, but she says I am, so I decide to believe her.  If she can do it after 3 pregnancies and having her abs cut through, I can do it too.  And I will.

Another thing I’ve been doing is watching ballet on my computer.  Watching the dancers reminds me of what it feels like to be doing that myself, and I begin thinking of myself as a dancer again.  It makes it feel like it’s not so far off.  I got my ballet shoes out and did a little barre in my kitchen.  My body remembers and I can do it.

No matter what I look like on the outside, I feel skinny on the inside… strong, graceful, and powerful.  And because I can feel that, I know that someday I will look like it.  Just keep on keeping on.

2 Comments

In Search of a Rock under which to Crawl

July 5, 2012 at 10:52 pm (Uncategorized)

It happened.  Today was the day.  Those dreaded words every un-pregnant woman cringes to hear….  I heard them today.  Out of all of 15 months of post-partum life I’ve lived after having Isaiah, and then Benji, I only just now got asked:

“When’s your baby due??”

Punch me in the gut.  Which is apparently oversized.

I couldn’t make eye contact when I broke the news. “5 months ago.”

She didn’t apologize, but just said, “Don’t take it personally.”

DON”T  TAKE  IT  PERSONALLY????

I’ve been going to the gym and sweating it out 4-5 days a week, I’ve been counting calories and watching pounds.  The amazing puzzle of it all is that I’m actually gaining weight, and at still 20 pounds more than pre-Isaiah, that’s pretty horrifying.  I comfort myself with the reminder that I have more muscle now than I did back then.  But being mistaken for pregnant, especially after a particularly successful jog on the treadmill, is just devastating.

“Defeated” adequately described my mood for the rest of the day.  I spent my remaining time at work going back and re-counting my calories for the day, subtracting the calories I burned at the gym, adding in how many I lack for healthy breastfeeding, subtracting how many are supposedly burned during breastfeeding…. and on and on, and it didn’t add up.  I toyed with the idea of just not ever eating again, but that’s retarded (with a history of an eating disorder, this is dangerous territory).  As it is, I’m eating healthier than I ever have, remaining faithful to my thyroid medication, etc.  So what the heck is going on??

To nurse my wounded soul, I went to buy some new clothes I’d been setting aside money for, because I don’t have hardly anything that fits.  But I found myself despising the process, a process that I used to love.  I don’t know how to shop for myself nowadays because I don’t really know how to dress my current body type.  It was not the best day.

To channel my frustration constructively, I put the baby to bed and searched for my Pilates DVD – a yard sale find from years ago that I’ve never humbled myself to check out.  It wasn’t half bad.  Oh but I was half bad.  More than half.  Pretty bad.  But afterwards I felt much encouraged.  My body still instinctively knows my ballet form and I almost look like I know what I’m doing, even if I can only hold a position for a few seconds.  I swear I was 2 inches taller and 2 sizes thinner after working on my core.  My crippled self-esteem started regaining its strength a tiny bit.

The moral of this story (if you’ve continued to read my very self-centered blog post) is never assume a woman is pregnant.  Just don’t do it.  Because if you’re wrong, you may have only put your foot in your mouth, but she has had her confidence smeared on the pavement.

Thank you and Good night.

5 Comments

On Depression and Redemption

June 13, 2012 at 2:08 pm (Uncategorized)

Lately, well for the past couple of years, I’ve had some struggles that I’m beginning to clearly name and recognize, though I didn’t know what was happening toward the beginning.  Today I think I’ve discovered that my inability to recognize my struggle initially was because of pride.  But now I feel that I’ve been brought so low by it and made so weak, that I can call it what it is.

Depression.

I’ve always had an underlying belief that I am a strong person.  My very name means “strength”.  I used to wear a necklace that had that word engraved on it: strength (which Benjamin later ripped off my neck and I’ve been unable to fix it – how symbolic. ha.). Even through personal struggles, I knew that I would eventually be victorious because under all my shortcomings and weaknesses, I was a strong person.  Because of this belief, admitting that I had an issue that was beyond my strength to overcome alone was an impossible idea.  Whatever I was going through, I thought that I could be the winner if I only ran a little harder (literally), changed what I ate, lost a few pounds, even try to alter my personality a little.  “Depression” was a sign of defeat, of giving up on myself, of weakness I could not afford.

However, I follow a God that refuses to let me be all-sufficient, and recently I’ve been realizing that I’ve become too weak to overcome this by myself.  Before, I could focus primarily on myself and muster up whatever it took to “fight” for personal victories.  But now, my attention is spread across two young children, a husband, and a growing business.  No longer can I fake my “strength”.  This struggle, this weakness, is bringing me to a place of helplessness apart from God.  He is using it for my sanctification.  I cannot be my own savior anymore.  It’s just too much.  I’m just too weak.  Over and over, recently, I’ve become so frustrated and discouraged with my inability to pull myself to together.  Saying that out loud helps me realize how contradictory that mindset is to what I have claimed to believe.

My depression, specifically, is related to chemical changes in my body, which is a big reason why I couldn’t force myself to get better.  There is a healing that needs to take place that is bigger than my own mind – a healing in my whole self.  It comes in waves and isn’t present all the time, which I am thankful for.  It makes me more grateful for the good days, especially because I never know when the switch will happen.  When it does happen, I feel completely useless, powerless against my feelings (emotionally and physically).  I don’t believe it is impossible for God to heal me without medical intervention; in fact, I am in the process of deciding to pursue that healing more fervently, though “fervency” is something I feel a great lack of.  But that’s where mercy comes in.

All of these thoughts came together for me today while I was putting the boys down for their nap while home on my lunch break.  I was sitting in their room as they slept, my Bible in my lap along with some words I’d written down a few years ago about some things God was showing me about myself.  I started out by reading Psalm 34, and I was praying for a young mother who recently lost her 4-year-old son to cancer.  I was praying verse 18: “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”  Then my Bible fell open to Psalm 103, verse 4: “who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy.” After praying this for her, it suddenly dawned on me that the words I was reading exactly echoed something I had written in my journal just 2 days ago.

(Me) “I can’t get myself out of this pit… I’m stuck.  I know I could somehow have something to give if I could be whole again. I want to feel love again.” Etc.

(Psalm 34:18, 103:3) “The Lord… saves the crushed spirit….The Lord forgives your iniquity (weakness), who heals your diseases (chemical imbalances), who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, who satisfies you with good so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.” (parenthesis added by me)

That’s it.  He spoke right to my place of complete insufficiency and need.  While I feel like an utter failure, completely helpless in my struggle, without an ounce of strength to fight, He allowed me to get to this place so I could see how I cannot save myself.  I had to become 100% unarmed and dependent on Him.  In my youth, I had become too strong for my own good – or so I thought.  Now that my “strength” and self-sufficiency is gone, I might actually realize what it’s like to be redeemed from the pit.

Depression leaves you empty.  It creates a void, a vacuum that sucks everything in that could possibly provide any kind of relief (I don’t think I need to expound, you get it).  But this verse says God “satisfies with good”.  He fills that void, He satisfies it.  So that all this premature aging of the soul could be replaced with new life, “so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s”.

What does it mean to be “crowned with love and mercy”?  Personally, that phrase speaks such relief to my heart for a couple of reasons.  First, I feel very un-beautiful lately, especially in spirit.  And I’ve felt very ashamed of that ugliness, not wanting anyone to see it and feeling deeply sorrowful that my own husband has to witness it.  To be “crowned” speaks of being given something that you didn’t already have, and a crown is usually a thing of great beauty, becoming the focus of a person’s appearance.  Secondly, as a mother and a wife, depression breeds self-hatred because of your inability to minister with joy to your children and spouse.  To be crowned with love and mercy is exactly what I long for – a love and a mercy placed upon me that I didn’t already have, and from that place to minister love and mercy to those in my charge.

I long for this.
I pray for this.
I am promised this.

And that is what I learned today.

Leave a Comment

Fast & Furious Miracles – A Birth Story

April 24, 2012 at 10:28 pm (Pregnancy)

Benjamin Charles Paduganan.
Born on January 27, 2012 at 11:12pm, weighing 7lbs 11.5 oz, measuring 20.5 inches.
Benji

For those of you who read my epically long birth story after I had Isaiah, this birth was shorter but the story is just as long (sorry, I just want to remember every detail).  Instead of 63 hours from first contraction to baby’s first breath, this time there was only 21 – and most of that time I didn’t even take it seriously.  For everyone else’s sake, I’ll offer a shorter version, but if you want to know more you can continue reading.

SUMMARY:
I went into labor the night after my due date, but I was in denial.  I thought it was false labor.  I had contractions all the next day but nothing very serious.  By the evening time I was sick of it and tried to speed it along.  Eventually, we went to the hospital, though it didn’t feel like I was progressing.  Once there, things got super intense and accelerated.  3 hours later, Benji was born after only 3 minutes of pushing.  Incredible!  All natural and very different than my first birth.

Here’s the FULL story…

Due Date
due date
Though the “experts” predicted I would give birth sooner than I did, and I tended to share that information to whomever made “fat” comments to me while pregnant, I knew in my heart that I would make it at least until my due date (January 26).  Remembering the misery I was in when Isaiah’s due date came and went, I made fun plans for my due date and celebrated the day almost as if it were my birthday or some other special occasion.  I didn’t feel miserably lardtastic, so I made a point to enjoy myself and be immensely thankful that my baby made it full term.  My due date included a mommy date with Beka that included my favorite lunch menu item from Rivertown (a black bean wrap with a side of curry corn chowder), followed by some “me” time (a.k.a. washing my hair and sitting quietly).  Then my mom and I went to Trowbridge’s and had chocolate milkshakes while talking about the baby who would be here soon.  Mom kindly drove me around to complete some necessary errands, finishing up with a cup of coffee from Rivertown (yes, I was there twice in one day).  Everywhere I went (except for Rivertown because they’re cool), people were smiling at my pregnant-ness and freaked out a little when I said “Yes ma’am, I’m actually due today!”  I found it hilarious how they would suddenly change from “Aw, you’re gonna have a baby,” to “Oh my lord, get out of my store before your water breaks, you crazy woman!” I loved every second of it.  The day came and went without so much as a single contraction, but I wasn’t surprised.  My hands and feet weren’t even swollen, nor did I feel like I had a bowling ball threatening to fall out of me – all feelings I’d had for weeks before Isaiah arrived – so I didn’t expect this little guy to show up for at least another week.  Until…
I awoke that night with some particularly annoying Braxton-Hicks (or so I thought).  I’d been having them almost constantly for a couple weeks by then, but they were rarely painful.  This time was a little different.  After a few coming close together, I realized that I wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep, so to ease my midnight boredom I decided to time how far apart they were.  6 to 8 minutes.  Wow, okay, I thought, that’s cool I guess, but I really wish I could go back to sleep because I really don’t think this is it, it’s just another “false labor” like I had with Isaiah.  I was hungry so I got up and made peanut butter and honey toast, followed by a Benadryl to try and knock myself out.  If this by some chance happened to be the real thing, I did not want to do this on no sleep. Even after I went back to bed, though, this contraction thing kept coming about every 7 minutes for at least 4 hours, then I finally conked out to get an hour of sleep.  Gabriel got up for work around this time and I let him know what was happening.   He kindly informed me that this would be a convenient day for me to have the baby because of his work and school schedule.  We both chuckled, myself still being very skeptical.  Still, I spent a little extra care in soaking up my time with Isaiah that day, sensing that our time alone together would be getting shorter soon.

I was scheduled for an ultrasound that day, just to make sure everything was fine to continue waiting past the due date.  Contractions were still coming, but only about every 15 minutes (I didn’t actually time them so I’m not sure), which made this outing more interesting.  Waiting in the exam room, I heard the nurse tell the doctor about me possibly being in early labor “… you can see it in her face.”  I thought that was funny, because I was fully expecting to be pregnant for another week.  After examining me, doc said “You’re at a 1 1/2, so at least something’s changing!”  That was, I guess, mildly encouraging because I’d been showing NO signs of progress in the days/weeks leading up to it.  She said “I can’t make promises, but this could be it.”  I expressed my doubt but continued along that strain of conversation, discussing a “what if” situation since the weekend was fast approaching and my doctor was not on call – in fact, the doctor I like the least was on call and I was NOT okay with her delivering this baby.  And even though doc had given me her personal number to call under such circumstances, she told me she was planning to go out of town that weekend, making me even more concerned if this happened to be the real deal.  Sensing my distress, she said she would try to delay her trip for a day.  Have I mentioned that my doctor is awesome?  We sat there contemplating options as I waited out another contraction.  She offered to strip my membranes to try to speed up the process.  After talking through the possible scenarios I agreed to let her do that, and by the time I left I had dilated about 2.5 and she had touched the babies head (exciting! so close!).  She instructed me to go home and enlist Gabriel to make a contribution of prostaglandins to speed things along.

I left the clinic and went to my parents’ house to pick up Isaiah.  He was playing with my mom while my dad was home on his lunch break.  I sat and rested, still having occasional contractions, still in denial that it was real labor.  Brandice (my doula) called to check on me and I gave her a report.  In retrospect, it seemed like everyone knew I was in labor except for me.  I was so sleepy and thought maybe I’d try to get a nap, so I loaded Isaiah into the car and drove home.  By the way, there are many things that I learned are difficult to do while have contractions (i.e. bathe a wiggly toddler, wrestle a wiggly toddler into a car seat, carry said wiggly toddler up/down rickety stairs, etc.), and the only thing worse than riding in a car while in labor is DRIVING one – safely.  Thankfully it wasn’t a long drive, but I decided I would never do that again if I could help it.  I put Isaiah down for a nap and Gabriel came home from work, at which time I enlisted him for the activities the doctor prescribed – which was quite hilarious, in my opinion.  I was even sleepier at this point and tried unsuccessfully to take a nap, but I was very happy that Gabriel was now home in case things progressed.  I got up after a while and was getting irritated about these stupid contractions that just would not go away, so I started cleaning the apartment to get my mind off them.  Gabriel will tell you that I became very irritable and crabby at this point, where as I’d been relatively cheerful earlier.  I cleaned, did the laundry, and ordered my husband to wash the dishes (and I wasn’t very nice about it – sorry, dear).  By around 6pm I decided I’d had enough of this crappy discomfort and this better be the real thing, so I started working with my contractions to try to make some progress.  This made me even more uncomfortable and mean, so Gabriel took Isaiah over to my parents’ house because the little guy was getting upset that I was seemingly in pain.  I timed my contractions and told myself to give it an hour then call Brandice.  I called her around 7:30pm, whimpering “I just want it to stop.”  She said, “Well, it sounds like you’re in labor.”  I told her maybe, but I still didn’t think it was real, and then I said my contractions were about 3 minutes apart (I’m such an airhead to think this wasn’t real).  We agreed to meet at the hospital just to have them check me.  So Gabe loaded up the car after returning from my parents’, and had a lovely chat with a neighbor, after which he told them I was in labor and the neighbor urged him to get me to the hospital (ha ha).

That short drive was ever so much more intense than the 40-minute drive we’d had to the birth center when I had Isaiah.  When we pulled into the parking deck I started to cry and say, “I’m at a hospital, I have to have this baby in a hospital, I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to do this…”  Our birth center experience had been SO wonderful with our first baby, and my midwives had been angels in my life, so I felt trapped here by the fact that I didn’t have that choice this time.  Midwifery is still illegal in this state, though there are some wonderful people trying to change that law.  I have nothing against hospitals, my own dad works at one, but I feel helpless that I can’t birth the way I want to here.

At 7:50pm we got checked into labor and delivery and they got me in a hospital gown.  Brandice met us there.  The nurses checked and said I was 3-4 cm dilated, and made me lie down (grrr, very uncomfortable) while they asked me a thousand annoying questions.  I couldn’t believe how ridiculous it all was.  I couldn’t understand how all this was necessary, like how I had to specify which grandparent had which form of heart disease, or how many piercings and tattoos I had and where – all of this while I was going into active labor.  The room was very bright, cold, and crowded with nurses bustling around.  I was getting very emotional and discouraged about this environment.  Then the head nurse gave me instructions to “walk for 2 hours”, at which time they would check me again to decide if I was really in labor and whether or not to admit me for delivery.

“Walk for 2 hours” actually turned into moan and whine for 2 hours.  As soon as the nurses left me, Gabriel, and Brandice alone, I started barking orders: “Turn down those lights! Turn on my music! Gabe, get over here, I’m having a contraction! Brandice, RUB MY BACK!!  AAACCKKK!!”  Yeah. I was freaking out a little.  Or a lot.  The contractions were MUCH more intense now and very irregular, which was disheartening because I thought I must not be doing it right.  I wasn’t relaxing enough, I was fighting too hard, but the pain caught me off guard because my first labor was nothing like this.  My first birth was very long and drawn out over a couple of days, so the contractions weren’t nearly as intense.  But this baby hadn’t even dropped before I went into labor, so he had a long way to go in a short amount of time, making my contractions much more productive.  Sometimes I felt that my contractions were coming on top of each other, and other times I felt that they were 20 minutes apart.  Instead of “hanging” on Gabriel’s shoulders like I had with Isaiah, I was clenching onto to him for dear life while Brandice dug her fists into my back.  I had bad back labor.  I could easily handle the pressure, but my back and hips were contracting so hard like a charley horse with every contraction, I thought I couldn’t handle it.  But most of all, I was freaking out because I thought we’d only begun, since my first experience with labor was nearly 3 days long.  I thought I’d have at least another day of this intense back labor and I wanted someone to knock me out.  Even with all that intensity, though, between contractions I fell into this exhausted stupor and sank into the beautiful songs I had recently added to my birth playlist.  I concentrated on the comfort of  my husband’s touch and the soft voice of my invaluable friend and doula telling me how great I was and that I could do this.  That “walk for 2 hours” felt like an eternity.

The nurses finally came back and the room began to feel cold and impersonal again.  They made me lie down on my back, which infuriated me because that is the MOST uncomfortable position when in labor.  They strapped on the monitors and started asking more silly questions.  Much to our shock, they checked me and announced that I was 7-8cm dilated!!  My words were, “So I can’t have an epidural, can I?”  Ha ha!  I had dilated 4 cm in 2 hours – CRAZY.  My doctor finally came in and I was so very relieved to see her.  True to her word, she had waited for me before she went out of town.  I pouted to her about my discomfort and told her I didn’t think I could handle much more of it, and could I please have an epidural.  Of course, if you know anything about epidurals, you know that this labor was not a good candidate for it because I was already too far along and it was progressing too quickly to have time for it.  But instead of flat out telling me no, Dr. Robbins helped explain my “options” in a way that made me feel like I was making the decision rather than being forced to finish this way.  She offered to break my water, saying that it would make this happen quicker.  But as I laid back down it broke on its own!  I instantly dilated to 9cm, so they began to get the bed ready for me to push the baby out.  I had requested to push him out while sitting in a squatted position so they were preparing for that.  In the mean time, they had me lie on my left side because the baby’s heart rate had dropped briefly. Suddenly I had the overwhelming urge to push and I announced it fairly loudly, so they checked to make sure dilation was complete – and it was! This all was happening very very fast.  Brandice was standing at the side of the bed as I gripped her hand and the bed rail with all my might.  I couldn’t wait for the bed to be adjusted completely to allow me to change into my requested pushing position.  I started pushing as hard as I could, just hoping that someone was down there to catch the baby.  It was coming fast and furious and I couldn’t stop it – I didn’t want to stop it, I just pushed as hard as I could to get this over with.  I felt like I was going to tear, which I didn’t want, but I didn’t care at this point.  I was willing to endure anything to finish this.  I felt like I was roaring like a lion right in Brandice’s face, though she says she doesn’t remember that (I think she’s trying to be nice).  I felt him come down so quickly, thank you God, and in 3 intense minutes he was OUT!  Gabriel was now standing at the side of the bed behind me (I was upset because there were so many nurses in there that he had to stand at the other end of the room when I needed him most) and we received our healthy 7lb 12oz son into our arms.  “There’s my son! Here you are! My baby!”

I didn’t recognize him because he didn’t look like he had in the dreams I’d had about him.  He was beautiful with dark brown eyes, dark hair, and fair skin.  The birth had happened so quickly that his head was perfectly round instead of pointed.  I struggled to get that stupid hospital gown unsnapped so I could immediately nurse him, but I couldn’t get it, and after what seemed like only a brief moment they took him from me.

3rd stage didn’t take very long, and they finally got my IV going (there hadn’t been time) to start on the pitocin I would have all the rest of the night to prevent hemorrhaging.   My 2nd degree tear got patched up, and I thanked my doctor over and over again for being there.  She said, “You made it easy on me, I only had to be here for 20 minutes! I haven’t even had time to do the paper work yet!”  It felt strange to not be completely sleep-deprived like the first time.  We weren’t quite zombies yet because it happened so quickly.  But my hips and back muscles were already sore from all the spasms of back labor.  They took the baby out of my room saying his temperature was too low.  This angered me because I knew if I could just give him skin to skin contact I could fix it – God made a woman’s body to be able to adjust to the baby’s temperature needs immediately after birth.  I told Gabriel not to let the baby out of his sight, so he left too.  I asked the nurse to check my left foot because there was something sharp poking my heel.  She pulled back the covers and nothing was there.  Apparently, the baby had pinched my sciatic nerve on the way out since I was lying on my side.  It was sore for a while.

The nurses asked me what the baby’s name was, and I told them I didn’t know because I hadn’t gotten to really look at him yet.  Gabriel came back in to check on me and told me his name is Benjamin.  I wouldn’t fully agree with him until I could see for myself, considering I’d been calling the baby “Charlie” in my head.  But he was right.  Benjamin it was.  My happy little Benji baby.  I got to hold the baby for a few minutes and my mom came for a little while to meet him.  Chalyn, another doula, also came by and it was lovely to see another smiling face.  Everyone went home because it was getting late, so I was left alone in the delivery room for a while.  Eventually, the head nurse came in to take care of me and take me to my new room.  I was amazed at how suddenly these nurses who had seemed so irritating and inconvenient to me before were transformed into my best friends who I was so glad to have take care of me.  Labor does crazy things to a woman’s sense of perception.

Once settled into my new room, a couple nurses helped bathe me and get me into bed.  They were so sweet to me.  I sat up and waited for my husband and new son to come to me.  I waited for a long time.  I was exhausted but I forced myself to stay awake, hoping that I’d see my new baby soon, knowing that he needed me.  It feels so unnatural to be away from your baby so fresh from the womb.  After what felt like hours (2, in fact), I called the nursery and said, “Where is everyone? I’m all alone.”  So Gabriel came to see me.  He told me everything they’d done, but it only made me angry because even though I had specifically written my newborn care preferences, they still disregarded them.  I was very upset, and I still am.  This is MY baby and I couldn’t even hold him now, AND they were doing things to him I’d asked them not to.  I NEVER want to have another baby in a hospital again after all this.

I spent much of the next couple days feeling lonely because Gabriel couldn’t be with me the whole time since Isaiah couldn’t stay.  I finally got to bond with my baby after what seemed like a worthless day away from him, and I started to really miss my Isaiah.  I just wanted to go home.  I hated those times I was lying in that room alone, especially at night.  The nurses kept waking my every 2 hours to check my vitals and try to give me pain meds.  I didn’t feel like I needed pain killers – I wasn’t very sore at all.  But they kept bugging me so much that I finally took something, though regretted it because it made me feel fuzzy and worry if it was passing into my breastmilk.

Miscellaneous Thoughts
I’m thankful for the visitors that came to see me after that first day, and for the chocolate milkshakes and BBQ they brought (the hospital food wasn’t exactly awesome).  My friends are so precious… Steve & Diane Rickman, Beka, the Ledfords, my family… there was so much joy when they were there to visit. 🙂  Those were fun moments of celebration to help offset the loneliness I felt when I was left alone.  I saw my first episode of Hoarders, which I never want to see again, forgetting that the Pro Bowl was on.  The heplock made my hand really sore, and the fundal massage made my tummy really sore.  My little baby was so sweet and slept so well.  The weather outside was gorgeous.  My tummy didn’t look gigantic anymore like it did the first time.

Coming Home
When we finally got to leave, the hospital looked like a completely different place to me than we had first arrived.  I was so happy to be leaving.  There was a sweet old lady that stood and talked to me and the baby while Gabriel went and got the car.  I had brought a super sweet little outfit to take Benji home in, which he promptly vomited on (oh well).  When we pulled into our parking lot, it was midday, the sun was shining and the weather was perfect.  The world felt so beautiful and I felt so joyful.  Our downstairs neighbors were sitting outside on their porch and we smilingly introduced them to our newest member of the family.  I didn’t know that would be the last time I saw those neighbors because they moved out of town that same week.  It made me sad.  I’m glad it worked out that they got to see Benji before they left.

We settled little Benjamin into his bed and I made phone calls for follow-up appointments so I wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore.  Then I rested while Gabriel went to fetch my firstborn.  When they came home, I felt complete.  Our beautiful little family of four all together in our own home.


1 Comment

My List, continued

December 19, 2011 at 4:59 pm (Uncategorized)

I’m behind on my “list” I started several months ago (read it here: part 1 & part 2).  Here is part 3, the 8 months pregnant edition.

You know you’re [very] pregnant when:

13.  you will walk in freezing temperatures at night just to get to the nearest Subway for a BLT.

14. you have to wear a back brace just to wash the dishes.

15.  your doctor says to cut back on the carbs and all you can do is cry.

16.  you realize it won’t be a white Christmas and you cry.

17.  you find out it will be a white Christmas and you cry.

18.  a cashier at the grocery store looks at you funny and you cry.

19.  “You have really blossomed” feels like a horrible insult.

20.  you think of food groups as construction materials for human anatomy (milk = bones, scrambled eggs = muscles, fish = brain…).

21.  three different laxatives are required for any resemblance of regularity.

22.  you think it’s okay to even mention “laxatives”.

1 Comment

« Older entries