A few weeks ago, I came home to find Redbook magazine’s Mom’s Survival Guide on my doorstep.   I’d been having “one of those days” as a mom and the Mom’s Survival Guide seemed like it could be the answer to my prayers.  Below are a few of my favorite segments from the book:

• on bullying
• “Maybe you have a pet theory as to how this woman [mom of a bully] has managed to raise that big bully of hers.  Forget all that.   “If you go into the conversation with a negative opinion of her–and the attitude that you’re a better parent than she is–she’ll smell it a and won’t want to help you,” cautions Rosalind Wiseman, author of Queen Bee Moms and Kingpin Dads: Dealing with Difficult Parents in Your Child’s Life . . . Try, “I’ve got a problem that I hope you can help me with . . . I’m a little uncomfortable talking to you like this, but I feel it’s important.”  When you describe the situation, leave out words like “bullying and “mean.” Thank her for her time and add, “I hope you’ll tell me if my child ever does something you think I’d want to know about.”  This conveys a feeling of goodwill and makes her kid less of a villain by acknowledging that all children need adult guidance at times.

• on healthy eating for kids
• It’s no secret that a healthy diet helps kids grow strong and improves their mood and brain function.  But how do you actually get kids to eat well?  Think small.  ”You can make little changes to how, what, and when your child eats for big nutritional payoffs, ” says pediatric dietician Marilyn Tanner-Balsiar, a spokesperson for the American Dietetic Association.
• and “Real Advice from Real Moms”:
• “Everyone at our table gets at least 5 minutes to talk about their day.  The kids know they will have this chance, and they wait for it anxiously without getting up, in our family, once conversation gets started, it’s hard to stop it!”

• on learning to let go
• We all want to keep our children safe from harm–it’s arguably our number one job as parents.  But it’s easy to go overboard because those precoius bundles are so vulnerable.  After 9/11, Sue Donas was convinced that someone was going to pipe bomb her daughter’s day care near Hillsdale, NJ, because it was housed in a Jewish Community Center.  She used to circle the building looking for suspicious characters.  Once she even had an abandoned car towed away  . . . “You can raise your child in a bubble but you can get reassurance that she’s in responsible, protective hands.”  For example, instead of patrolling the day care grounds, Donas could inquire about the school’s security policy–and it might just set her mind at ease.

• on helping your child deal with fears
• Don’t brush off your child’s emotions.  ”I often hear parents say, ‘Why is my child acting so afraid? It doesn’t make sense,’ says Fred Penzel, PhD . . . “They try to minimize the situation by telling the child that his fear is nothing to worry about. That strategy usually backfires,”  he says.  But do use a matter-of-fact tone.  ”Acknowledging fear is important, but ‘you don’t want to go in the opposite direction and excessively reassure your child . . . That sends the message that there is something to be afraid of.”

*******

Redbook magazine’s Mom’s Survival Guide is jam pack full of information that could benefit all kinds of moms on topics ranging from behavior and emotional health to education and getting involved in enrichment and community programs.  Written in a style quite similar to Redbook magazine with many experts in fields of child development, diet and nutrition, psychology, and more, including quotes and advice from real parents, the book is a quick read and great for reading from topic to topic as opposed to cover to cover.  As with any parenting book, I found that some advice resonated with my intuitive parenting style while other tidbits did not.  That said, over all, I found it to be a pretty helpful book especially since everyday I am facing parenting challenges where I know that I do not have the answers.

I am giving away a copy of Redbook magazine’s Mom’s Survival Guide.  Simply leave a comment on this post sharing why you think this book could help you and your family.  I’ll put the book in the mail, though I will ask that the winner cover postage costs.

So, what kinds of parenting issues have you been dealing with lately?

The other night while having dinner with a friend, I mentioned blogging, almost in a reminiscent way.   “I wish I could write more,” I told her. “I want to write about the kids more, about postpartum depression, yoga, learning to cook and eat healthfully, gardening, photography and digital processing, and parenting.  I wish I had more time.”  She nodded.  I’m guessing she understood.  It’s hard to do it all; making time for everything that we want in our lives is not easy.  My outlook has shifted though; once upon a time, I thought that if I directed all of my energy at just one or two areas, that those areas would be shining parts of my life . . . that I could succeed in those areas because I had enough time and energy to do a good job.  What I’ve discovered in recent months (and perhaps years) is that it is okay to have many interests; wanting to be a good parent and a good wife does not mean that I can’t be a good writer, teacher, photographer, or friend.  

When I look back on my life, almost a decade ago now, I remember a time when I worked so much and studied so much that I had little time for friends or relationships.  It was a sad and hard time.  I think I kept so busy because I wanted to avoid confronting the feeling that so many of us experience in our early twenties . . . the feeling of being lost . . . not knowing which direction to move in . . . a virgin to the world.

When I quit my first teaching job and was faced with the prospects of no income and no productive way to spend my time, I remember feeling so angry.  Anger at myself, anger at my job situation, anger at the public school system, anger at everyone who I loved or who loved me because no one could tell me what I should do.  Faced with time on my hands, I decided to return to graduate school, volunteer, and work part-time.  I earned pennies.  I am lucky that my then fiance, soon-to-be spouse decided to hold my hand and help me through this time.  It was rock bottom (perhaps even worse than my more recent experience with ppd?).

In any case, with time, I discovered that I loved to teach, I just did not enjoy teaching adolescents; so I taught adult education, English to speakers of other languages, and yoga.  I spent much time studying, writing, and beating myself up.  I felt a great deal of guilt for being financially dependent on my spouse and for putting him through what I consider my quarter life crisis.

My energy and time were directed towards many things: my students, my professors, my spirituality, healing, my husband, and my family.  Slowly, slowly, I made friends too.

When I gave birth to Annabelle, two and a half years later, I know that my life changed and improved.  Suddenly, I had a great purpose: motherhood.  I was going to be the best mother I could possibly be.  My husband and I decided that I would stay home.  I spent little time doing anything but caring for my daughter.  I breastfed around the clock, carried my baby with me wherever I went, exercised with my baby, read her stories,  played with her, and started to meet many, many people.  Again, I felt some guilt that I wasn’t earning any money, but I felt so much pride that I was the sole individual responsible for raising my child.  In many ways, my ideals were in the right place, but being an overachiever, I threw so much of myself into motherhood, I think that I started to lose sight of me, of who I was . . . I don’t think that in the first year of Annabelle’s life I could conceive of there being more to my identity than that of “Annabelle’s mom.”

Of course, she grew older.  She needed me less and less.  She took her first steps.  She talked.  She learned and played.  She struggled with herself and with other children.  She made friends.  And she needed me, just not to the extent that she once had as a newborn.

I decided to volunteer again.  I wrote my Green Mamma blog.

Then I purchased my first SLR, the Nikon d90.  Photography. Ahh.

While I was pregnant with Levi, I think that I threw myself back into that early motherhood phase; again, guilt got the better of me . . . I felt as though I were betraying Annabelle by having another baby, so I made sure that I devoted special time and created activity after activity for her to show her my love; I’ve since learned that I gave her and her brother the greatest of gifts: another person to love.

We then welcomed Levi into our lives, a great blessing that in many ways helped me get through the despair of postpartum depression. Annabelle started preschool.  She branched out further.  She took ballet, she took art classes, she made new friends, but still, at night, for five minutes before bed, she needed me.  She has nursed almost every night since she was born.  She still nurses.  It is our time.  Even though Levi doesn’t nurse, I’ve continued to nurse my 3 year old because she wants to, she needs too.  I hold each of them against my body, one in each arm; Levi nurses on his bottle and Annabelle nurses on me.  I feel so complete during those moments, especially when Toby lays beside us purring and my hubby is there too, flipping through the newspaper or watching t.v.

Meanwhile I garden.  I am starting a photography business.  I want to teach yoga to pregnant and postnatal moms.  I want to volunteer.  I want to spend time with my kids and be good friends with my husband.

My energy is all over the place, directed in so many areas; I may not be famous, I may not be the best, but I am thriving . . . all these parts of me, scattered though they (I) may be, thrive, because they help make my life spicy, make me want to get up in the morning.  Make me want to see what is going to happen next.

Just a little visual chart I made for myself so that I can keep track of it all, :-)

So we’re back, :-)  This past week we visited Siesta Key Island in Florida, a tiny place that is sort of like home away from home.  I took so many pictures (thank you honey, thank you Annabelle, thank you Levi, thank you Nikon), caught up on sleep, rolled around in the sand with my kids and my hubby, wore lots of sunscreen, walked among flamingos and petted sting rays (so soft), and sipped wine while watching the sun set each night.  Let’s just say that it was a very much needed vacation.

And now . . . we’re home.  Which I really am happy about.  As much as I love the adventure and restoration that is vacation, I thrive on ritual, routine, my real day to day life.  Though coming back to reality after a break is a whirlwind (a much welcome one); I am currently trying to sort out:

a) how to manage a fully mobile Levi; little man is crawling and climbing at 8 months old; he’s even pulling up to standing . . . I know this guy is going to really make me work, really keep me on my toes . . . my little boy is a bruiser.  With Annabelle, she always wanted to be with her mom, always nursing, never to pulling open cabinets and banging things around.  Levi is definitely his own person, that’s for sure.

b) how to manage a 3 year old who is going on 13.  Phew!  I really didn’t think I would have to deal with hormones, mood swings, and attitude until my kids reached their teen years, but suddenly, my baby, my toddler, my preschooler, knows far more than her dear old mom.  And she’s so smart, she really is . . . so I find myself picking up parenting book after parenting book trying to find the answers, the formula, the instructions that were supposed to come with my kid but didn’t.  I find myself praying that I don’t screw up, that I don’t screw her up, that she turns out okay even though her mom doesn’t know what the heck she is doing.

c) keeping up with myself.  I have a wide range of interests: if you follow my blog, you know this . . . I kind of wander around from subject to subject (which I’ve read is not very good for a blog’s traffic, ah, oh well), delving head first into whatever is fascinating . . . which means that my interests sort of pile up, and even though they all add to my life and make me more interesting (at least I think so), it can be sort of overwhelming.  Yes, I am actually complaining that I have too many good things in my life.  Currently I’m trying to figure out how to organize my time so that I can pursue photography, keep up with my blog (it is so good for my soul to write it out), practice daily yoga, learn how to cook healthy veggie/omnivore meals for my family, make one on one time for each of my loved ones, keep Toby healthy (he just returned from his yearly physical and we learned that Toby is obese and at risk for things like heart disease and diabetes . . . I am putting him on a prescription cat food and then we’re going to have his teeth cleaned (poor kitty also has gingivitus)), stay on top of my leadership duties for Attachment Parenting  as well as starting up a postpartum support group, and then on top of it all, stay connected with family and friends (near and far).

Meanwhile, Levi is teething.  Ouch (for all 3 of us . . . Matt and I are up all night long).

But life is good . . . I list all the parts of my life that both enrich who I am and tire me out; isn’t it that way for most of us?

Today, Levi, 6 months ago, I gave birth to you, upstairs, in my bed.

You surprised me.  I couldn’t believe how broad, how big, how full of joy you were.

It wasn’t an easy birth.  Hard work. On my hands and knees.  Wondering why and how

I had let myself find myself in such a place.  Hard work.  An amazing place.

I pulled from within, deep from within, and you were born.  My first baby boy.

Today, Levi, at 6 months old, you inch forward, pressing your toes into the floor.

You press your chest and head up and reach for your toys.  You smile at me.

When we part, you now cry.  It didn’t used to be that way.  I guess separation anxiety is setting in.

Because your zest for life and discovery is so strong, I am surprised when Kristina tells me you refuse to eat while I am away.

I guess we are still just as connected, just as attached to each other, as your sister and I . . . even though I bottle nurse you,

even though . . .

I am so proud that we made it to this day.  I am so proud of you.  I look at you and feel joy, gratitude, and amazement.

These 6 months with you, have been, an amazing adventure.

And so, I get it.  I understand why, while washing the dishes, and listening to this song, I feel tears in my throat.

*********

Grandma, Nanna, and everyone else, there are more photos here, of Levi, at 6 months old.  Can you believe we made it?

Just a quick note:

No more bronchitis. Annabelle started preschool. It’s too soon to say “how it’s going.” She likes it and she doesn’t like it. We’ll see . . .

Levi is attached. Seriously. He is always in a baby carrier. He let’s other people (read husband) hold him when they place him in a baby carrier and move, move, move, move, move . . . I’d write “move” again, but that would just be redundant, :-)

I thought Levi had colic. Whoa, that was a rough week. I discovered he doesn’t feel so hot when I eat dairy foods and chew sugar free gum. No more dairy. No more gum. Happy Levi.

Thanks to Levi, we are getting to know our neighbors. Sure, we knew them before but my baby boy may have the heart of an outdoors man . . . he likes to be outside, so we go outside. I bought a tailgating chair (which my husband says is oh-so-classy) and I sit in the parking lot in front of our house nursing my baby. Annabelle and the neighborhood kids draw with sidewalk chalk, ride their bikes and trikes, and run races around the lot (which is something of a cul-de-sac in our townhome community). Of course, the kids are more than a little interested in a new baby, so Levi has something a fan club. Annabelle doesn’t mind this; she announces her status with pride, “Oh yeah, well I’m his big sister.”

And I’m doing great. Really, I am. I try to shower everyday. I wash my hair. I even manage to apply make up and get dressed. This is a little tricky though. Levi likes to watch me do this from a front row seat. I wear him in the ergo while getting ready, so this little man is going to know a thing or two about a woman’s beauty routine. He doesn’t seem to mind, so far . . .

We go places. I reward myself with trips to Starbucks. I have only had one awful, awful outing and this happened when I brought along our stroller. After removing Levi to place him back in the baby carrier (what was I thinking by trying to put him anywhere but the carrier?), the double stroller lost its balance and Annabelle nearly tipped over backwards; fortunately, my sharp mommy skills let me move swift as a fox . . . I swooped in and came to her rescue, balancing the stroller and encouraging her to hop in the stroller’s other seat (she likes to ride in the back seat where the smaller, lighter weight kid is supposed to ride). Anyway, my point is, we’re making our way outside of the home. And it’s good. But, it’s not without mom learning something new now and again.

Like . . . Levi hates riding in cars. He yells a lot. A lot. I’ve learned that my best bet for riding in cars with a Levi is to nurse him, wear him, and have him fall asleep and then slide his big old baby self into the carseat where I quickly snap him in and instruct his sister, with a whispering voice, to hop into her seat. That works. Guess what doesn’t? Rushing. Poking Levi in his face (that would Annabelle) and shouting, “Hi Levi!” This upsets him. A lot.

What else? I miss blogging. But, I also like spending these moments admiring my baby. Staring at his tiny fingers and toes, his chubby cheeks and double, double chins. Hearing his little heh-heh sighs and nursing him before he even completely rouses as he lays beside me each night. It is wonderful to have a newborn again. Oh and it is so much work too. Which is why I think it is ambitious of me to say that I would like to try and blog once a week. Again, we’ll see . . . I am not a superwoman. But again, we’ll see . . . writing is my outlet; I need it, so maybe I’ll be around more than I think and then again, maybe now is the time for living, for finding out what to write about next . . .

See you when I see you.

Take care,

Jessica

Over these past two weeks, as much as I’ve been in awe (and in a state of delirium) with my new babe, I have wondered, “Will I ever blog again?” Putting together a coherent sentence while simply talking with other people has been something of a challenge, so you can only imagine how hard it is to translate thoughts to words on a written page. I’ve revised and revised the last few sentences because even though I am highly caffeinated (thanks to Starbucks black tea), I just can’t think straight. There goes blogging, huh?

Well, I don’t think so. I think what I’ll do today since I’ve really been wanting to write is simply share words as they flow into my mind; here is what’s happening:

bronchitis. yuck. I always seem to get bronchitis when I’m going through a change . . . a good change, a difficult change, an inversion of one’s existence kind of change. A welcome change.

preschool. Annabelle met her teacher yesterday. I deal with letting go by getting angry. I feel all sorts of angry (guilty) about sending Annabelle to school at age 2. I feel all sorts of guilty about not being able to craft, read, run around with her as much during these past 2 weeks. My husband (my other half) tells me that preschool will be good for Annabelle, good for me. We’ll see . . . I feel jealous of her teacher. Her teacher told me about all these neat crafts and activities planned for Annabelle and 5 other kids. I want to be able to do these things with her. I want to be able to do everything. I realize this is leading to another word . . .

expectations. I need to pair down. I need to not have expectations. One foot in front of the other . . . it’ll all get done, the laundry will get folded, the baby will be fed, Annabelle will be tickled and cuddled with; it all just happens slower; walking from the front door to the car now takes about an hour . . .

weaning. my stomach turns over. guilt again. I don’t think I can keep up with nursing two kids. the bronchitis again. I wonder whether my body is able to support 3 immune systems and feed a big, big baby boy. He gained one and a half pounds in these past 2 weeks . . . I’d worried that I wasn’t producing enough milk; apparently baby boys in my family grow big and grow fast . . . so different from nursing a wee baby girl, who didn’t reach 9 lbs. until she was somewhere around 3 or 4 months old; Levis has already grown an inch and reached 9 lbs. 8 and a half oz. He’s always hungry . . . and then Annabelle looks up at me with big eyes wanting to nurse and I feel awful because I want to keep big growing baby boy happy and still meet Annabelle’s needs for comfort and bonding . . . I tickle her instead . . . I squeeze her and make her laugh . . . I pretend to eat an Annabelle-foot sandwich with ketchup and mustard. She loves that . . .

laundry. oh there is always more laundry. always. thank goodness my husband seems to be on top of it. Annabelle, Levi, and me? We just create it.

camera. snapped photos twice. viewing them on the camera? done. viewing and sharing them with friends and family . . . well that’s another story.

baby carriers. praise the creators of baby carriers all the world round! My goodness, I have 2 arms again! . . . and sometimes just one but heck, I’ll settle for one arm! I can, when Levi lets me, sit down and do this thing known as blogging . . . it’s amazing! When Levi isn’t nursing or begging to nurse, he’s snug against my chest either in a carrier or laying down. I don’t think I could eat, use the toilet, or have a conversation (with that guy who lives with me (the one who folds laundry)) if it weren’t for baby carriers. I cannot say enough good things about baby carriers. Love them all! Though I’m looking forward to Levi filling out my Ergo. Always had a thing for structured carriers.

Pre-pregnant me. Yeah I wonder whether I’ll ever see her again. Nope. I doubt it. I am forever changed. Mentally, physically, spiritually. My heart is now split between 3 . . . I get all weepy just thinking about it . . . I will never again not worry about my 3 loves: Annabelle, Matt, and Levi. I will always want to know that they’re all okay, well, healthy, happy, safe, doing no harm and out of harm’s way. And then there’s my rear end. I wonder whether it’ll ever go back to how it was. Doubt it. A friend told me she just went out and bought a new wardrobe after baby #2 . . . it’s been 2 weeks. I think I’ll wait on wardrobe splurges for a while . . . besides, my baby is nursing around the clock and I’ve already lost more than half my pregnancy weight . . . between the constant movement he seems to like (require) and all the nursing, I imagine my physical self will resemble something of its pre-pregnant form . . . and so what if it doesn’t? My inside self is changed too and I just rambled about that and I’m not revising this so well, I’m wondering about other mamas, did you feel yourself change inside and out when your baby(ies) came?

Gotta go. Need to walk with Levi a bit more, :-)

Hugs, peace and love,

Jessica

So I think I’ll call this the first draft of Levi’s birth story. Here is what happened (in a nutshell):

On Tuesday morning my husband and I drove 40 minutes to my midwives’ office for a 41 week stress test (though I was just 40 wks and 4 days pregnant); we were also curious to find out how my care would continue should my pregnancy go beyond the practice’s 42 week window (at which time I would need to transfer care and likely be scheduled for a hospital induction). My heart was in my throat because I’d been hoping to give birth to Levi at home . . . with each passing day I worried that I, my husband and my baby would find ourselves in a similar situation as we’d experienced for Annabelle’s birth (let’s just say that my birth plan at Annabelle’s birth was ignored . . . her arrival into the world was not the peaceful one my husband and I wanted for her). With so many emotions, so many fears swimming through my mind (our minds), our car ride to the midwives’ office was intense; I felt as though the silence in the car could be cut with a knife . . . looking back on it now, I think my husband and I just didn’t know what to say (to each other) or what to expect (from our midwives) . . .

When we arrived at the office I learned that I’d missed my appointment. Fortunately the midwives were able to let me stay for the hour long stress test and a midwife would be able to see us for our regular care visit. I have to say that though I’d made up my mind in the car that I would accept whatever my midwives recommended we do, I was anxious to give birth and anxious to let my pregnancy be at its end (I wanted them to help me have my baby). And yet, though I felt so many emotions, felt so much fear, and had so many thoughts running through my mind, I found myself silent . . . no words would come to me as I lay there during my stress test; I did feel angry at one point because a substitute midwife who I’d seen the week before and confided in that I felt so miserable and so ready to have my baby happened to be at my stress test. She commented at one point, “So you still haven’t had your baby, huh?” with what seemed at that moment to be at my expense (though I was feeling extremely tender and much like a caged animal with no options . . . I was feeling similar to how I’d felt the night before Annabelle’s induced birth . . . just a “patient” who would be told how to proceed by her caregivers). I felt afraid, I felt so afraid, and I felt so angry . . . I simply wanted someone to help me . . . I wasn’t believing in myself and I wasn’t believing that my body could do it (give birth) on its own.

After the stress test, I met with another midwife for my baby’s regular care appointment; she listened to his heart beat, measured my womb, and asked me whether I wanted her to check my progress (my cervix had been dilated to 3-4 cm. for about 3 weeks and all the midwives were wondering when I would “go”.). We talked about the natural ways that I could attempt to go into labor (evening primrose oil, raspberry leaf tea, sex, nipple stimulation, and castor oil) and a prostaglandin gel that could be applied to my cervix to help with thinning and dilation. I explained to her that another midwife thought I ought to wait to try anything until after my 41 week sonogram, which had been scheduled for the coming Friday. My midwife (who I was meeting with at that moment) looked at me and asked me whether I wanted to attend that sonogram; I nodded my head and told her that I did . . . I wanted to make sure that my baby was healthy. She then asked me whether I wanted to try castor oil (I had joked that cousins in my father’s family swore by castor oil but that I wasn’t sure whether it was safe). She explained to my husband and me that castor oil’s association with meconium being passed during or prior to labor and delivery tends to happen because many post due babies pass meconium on their own (without an agent like castor oil). She also shared that one of her own labors had been brought on by castor oil and that if my body were not ready for labor, I’d have an upset stomach and need to rehydrate (and do so within the 3 days I had until my sonogram appointment that coming Friday). I left her office with 2 bottles of castor oil; one she told me to take that afternoon and if that did not work, I was to take the second bottle after attending my sonogram.

On the car ride home my husband and I talked about it; I wanted to take the castor oil, I wanted to have my baby. My husband said he felt more comfortable with castor oil because we’d talked with my midwife about its effects on me and the baby (if my body were not ready to labor, I would simply have an upset stomach and the baby would be okay). Once home, I ate lunch with Annabelle (I only ate a piece of bread to keep my stomach empty), read Annabelle her midday stories and then snuggled with her; I felt that these would be our last moments together as just us two . . . I looked in her eyes as I nursed her (my milk likely was not in, nor had it been for much of my pregnancy, but I’d continued to nurse her for comfort) and told her that her brother was going to be born soon and that once he arrived he would not leave our home. I told her that she was always going to be my baby (even when she declares herself a big girl) and I always would love her . . . perhaps because I am an oldest child, I could foresee how she might cope with the huge change that was coming to our family of three (the arrival of a baby can completely rock the older child’s world). She looked up at me with wide eyes (and I realize she is just 2 1/2 and may not understand everything we say to her) and something in her eyes let me know that she could feel what I was telling her.

A little while later I sat down at my kitchen table with my husband and mother-in-law. I sipped hot tea, spooned castor oil, and drank orange juice. Five minutes later, I had finished the castor oil; I looked at my husband and mother-in-law and told them I wasn’t sure it would work, but just in case it did, I wanted to be well rested. I headed upstairs and lay down. Three hours later I woke up with a bit of an upset stomach. I decided I needed to walk so I got dressed, headed downstairs and invited my husband on what would turn into a 3 hour long walk. Thank goodness my mother-in-law was there to play with Annabelle; while I would not describe the 3 hours that my husband and I walked as “painful,” I will say that I needed to focus all of myself on my labor and my husband gave his everything to helping me do that (had we needed to also keep Annabell occupied during this time, I’m not sure how I would’ve coped with labor). He timed my contractions, made me laugh (again and again), and would hold me up when a strong rush/surge/contraction/wave would move across me. After an hour he wanted to call the midwives (I did not because I still was not believing in myself and thus was not believing that I was in real labor).

My midwife and birth assistant soon arrived and I told them about having taken castor oil and not being entirely sure that I was in labor; they assured me that I was and that they’d set up their supplies inside our home (we’d already acquired many of the supplies like the cord clamp, birth pads, oxygen tank, etc. at 36 weeks) while I continued walking. We walked for 2 more hours on perhaps the hottest night of the summer. My husband draped a large wet towel around his neck and carried a bottle of water that we filled up again and again on our “labor loop” around my neighborhood. At the end of 2 hours I felt that I was ready to go inside my house and have my midwife check me.

Inside, my midwife told me that she wasn’t sure why my other midwife had given me castor oil (apparently my midwife who I’d met with earlier in the day had informed another midwife who was supposed to be on call around the time they expected me to go into labor but we had waited too long to call for that midwife; the midwife who’d been called to my house had not communicated with either of the other 2 midwives. I have to say that in the moment I felt so vulnerable and afraid that I “was in trouble” with the midwife who was attending my son’s birth . . . it took me several days and conversations to arrive at a place where I am now that understands that she was not criticizing me or my decision but that she was telling me what was going on for her). She told me that she would check my progress but that if I had not progressed far enough that she and my birth attendant would need to leave and get rest for the night. I wanted to shower before she checked me (I was completely soaked from having walked outside in 90 degree weather for 3 hours); while showering I started to worry again that I wasn’t labor; I prayed to God to help me keeping going, I talked with Levi and asked him to help his mamma keep going, and then I nearly fell over in the shower with a hard contraction. When I came out of the shower, my midwife checked me and told me that I’d dilated to 6 cm, though my cervix was behaving oddly . . . one side was entirely dilated and the other side was partially there (I later learned that my cervix dilated this way because of Levi’s positioning his hand against the side of his face). She told that I would be pushing soon.

I asked for my birthing ball and knelt on the floor beside my bed. My birth attendant coached me to make low moans through the hard contractions that I would come to feel and know as transition. It didn’t take long before I was fully dilated and ready to push. My midwife asked me if I wanted to lay down on my side. I crawled up to my bed and got ready but I felt the most intense feeling in my pelvis and what I thought was an urge to pee. I walked to our bedroom’s bath but sitting there on the toilet, the pain continued and I knew it wasn’t that I needed to pee but that I was fighting the work I needed to do, which was pushing.

I found myself back at my bed and just leaned into the bed rail vocalizing everything that my physical body was enduring; I could not believe I was there in the moment (later I would confide in my birth attendant that I now understood why women want pain relief during labor . . . though I have to say that it is such a short moment that I’ll do natural birth again when the time comes . . . ). Again I lay down on my side and my midwife coached me to tuck in my chin and put all of myself into pushing my baby out; she asked me whether I wanted to feel his head moving down; I nodded yes so she told me to place my hand inside myself and feel Levi’s head pressing against my water bag. I tucked my chin in again and pushed and my water broke all over my hand; Levi’s head moved down onto my hand but I was not finished pushing. I had to push slowly and wait and wait and wait while my midwife and birth attendant applied warm rags against my perineum and suctioned Levi’s nose and mouth (there had been a small amount of meconium in the water). I later learned that what had caused me so much pain was Levi’s holding his hand against his cheek with his elbow sticking out to the side; for some reason, my boy decided to move his hand to the other cheek and this relieved a great deal of discomfort for me and I was able to push him the rest of the way out with greater ease. Seven minutes later he was lying against my stomach letting out a soft cry.

For the next hour my husband and I lay in our bed with Levi. I nursed him and stroked his back. My mother-in-law came upstairs to meet Levi while Annabelle continued sleeping on the futon downstairs (she never woke up during the birth; my mother-in-law later told me that despite the sounds I thought I’d been making, my labor had been a fairly quiet one). After checking Levi’s vitals, my midwife and birth attendant cleaned up my bedroom and headed downstairs to give us some time alone with our baby. Perhaps 2 hours later we had completed his birth certificate, weighed and measured him, and were saying goodnight. I fell asleep with Levi tucked in my arm and my husband’s arms around me . . .

So, hello there. Gosh, I wish I’d stopped in earlier this week . . . I’m finding that every spare moment I have I am either making stuff with Annabelle or stealing away to my bed, where I am savoring every second of rest that I can get. With 9 weeks to go, I find myself having moments when I wonder, “Am I ever not going to be pregnant again?” Yes, I realize the logical answer to this is that the light at the end of my tunnel is giving birth and welcoming my beautiful baby to the world, and I also recognize that I am lucky that my baby is healthy (to my current knowledge) and that I am healthy and for the most part experiencing an easy pregnancy. Still, the more that I expand, the more I begin to think about what my toes look like and when again I’ll be able to see them, :-)

Meanwhile, I am nesting. Last week my husband and Annabelle (with my supervision) assembled our baby’s dresser, a fine piece that we picked up at that fancy Swedish furniture store. Another mommy told me a bit about this store’s environmental policy, and this knowledge (along with the fact that my husband will probably freak out if I try to refinish another piece of second hand furniture) swayed me to purchase a new piece for my coming babe. Since we’ll be cosleeping for the first year or so, my son’s “room” consists of his dresser, a nursing chair, end table (which I did refinish and was scolded for doing so by an unnamed person, :-) ), and train table (to keep his big sister entertained). I thought I’d show you all what my boy’s space looks like:

This is where the booby action will happen.  I found the “transportation” theme lamp at the Goodwill.

The dresser, in my opinion, is gigantanormous, which actually helps with storage since his “space” is actually our loft, a room that currently is without its 4th wall.  Eventually, we’ll construct a wall and a closet, but in the meantime, we’re going to make do with his large dresser and some borrowed space in his big sister’s room.

Over the dresser, I (okay, my husband really) hung a shelf with knobs so that we’d have easy access to onesies and a bit of cuteness too.   I found the shelf at the Goodwill too.

On the shelf, I placed 2 wooden craft boats and our baby’s initials (just 2 of them . . . we’re not announcing the name til the day he arrives).

Meanwhile, setting up the baby’s space has meant relocating Annabelle’s awesome art room to one half of my husband’s billiard room (we live in a townhouse, so it’s not like we’ve got a blue, red, or yellow room; it’s just that well, pool is very important to my husband).  Anyhoo . . . this is what Annabelle’s art space looks like these days:

A toy chest (not pictured here), her easel, and a supply shelf make up her art space.

I organized her paints onto one shelf.  The second shelf is full of my parenting and kids’ crafting books.

And on her other shelves are collage materials (glue, scissors, scrap papers, cutout shapes and greeting card images), crayons, markers, construction paper, and cardstock.  I do ask that she ask for permission to play with her clay and stamps, but aside from that, she’s free to create to her heart’s content.

Last, we also finally replaced our futon mattress (remember how I shared that my cat Toby had a bit of an accident on it?) so that grandparents and midwives (potentially, should we have a homebirth) will have a place to stay during the time of birth.

I apologize if this post bores you to tears . . . you can only imagine what my husband is feeling as I go through each room of our home rearranging furniture, hanging new pictures, and just being, well, a crazy pregnant woman.  But this is what consumes me these days, this is where I am, and I thought it just might interest you . . .

What are you up to this week?  Is anyone else rearranging furniture and hanging new curtains?

Talk more soon,

Jessica

Before I start rambling on about anything else, I want to say thank you to everyone who has either e-mailed me privately or left a comment, to show their support, in response to my “Birth” post.  Believe me, it wasn’t easy being so damn honest about what I am going through, emotionally, in this second pregnancy.  I really, really, really want for my baby, my husband, and myself to experience a beautiful and safe birth; I also want to respond to the many words of wisdom (including book recommendations) that have been made.  I’ll save that for another post.

This post?  Well, it’s basically just me touching base to let you all know that I am hear, checking e-mail every couple of days, and staying busy as anything trying to get my ducks in a row for our baby boy, due in just 10 1/2 weeks.  Can you tell I’m counting down?  :-)

Over the last 7 days, I’ve had a routine visit with my now former midwifery practice, who offered me a great deal of encouragement and well wishes for my coming home or birth center birth.  I also traveled about 40 minutes (and a bit more because I get lost whenever I have to travel somewhere else in the D.C. metro maze) for a second routine visit with my new midwifery practice.   For the most part, I am feeling like the universe is answering my prayers . . . I learned on Thursday that my insurance will fully cover a homebirth, which I had thought quite impossible just 4 weeks ago.  My husband, who is still digesting information and reading through our thick birth preparation folder (a requirement of our new practice), even seems to be warming to the idea of a possible homebirth.  For those who may feel concerned for my delivering at home, I have to share this with you: I live 1.7 miles from an excellent hospital with one of the best neonatology units around, whereas, in comparison, the birth center is about 3 to 4 miles from a hospital whose reputation I am unfamiliar with.  My home, should I deliver here, will also have the same medical equipment as the birth center, and I will be attended by two midwives (which is how much of the rest of the world, including much of Europe, approaches labor and delivery).  I will also say this: as a healthy pregnant woman with a healthy baby and no (known) complications, I feel that a homebirth (and a birth center birth) are safer options than a hospital birth (let me emphasize: for me).  That said, I know of many women who have had beautiful, unmedicated hospital births; in my experience, that is not what happened for me the first time; it seems that with the advances in technology, hospital nurses and doctors are far more comfortable with pushing a laboring mother to do birth their way . . . in my experience, time was of the essence, and rooms fill up . . . laboring my child was a matter of making room for another laboring mother.  It is not my desire to condemn or judge another woman’s choice for where to birth; I am simply sharing what I feel is best (and safest) for me.  I believe all women are entitled to the right to choose where to birth.

Last, and somewhat related, I have also been super busy this week caring for Annabelle as my husband has successfully researched and purchased a new car that will accommodate our growing family.  He bid farewell to his firebird, :-( and has opted for a Toyota Camry Hybrid.  Right now, he is getting used to a quiet engine that does not rev up or even change gears . . . but overall, he’s pretty happy with his new set of wheels.

And while all of this has been going on, I suspect that Annabelle has had hand, foot, and mouth virus; she fought off an awful fever between Wednesday evening and Saturday morning . . . since we are still nursing, though with less frequency, she wanted to full access to the “nummies” as she calls them.  Oh my do my boobies hurt!  I’m glad she’s feeling better, because I was having lots of Braxton Hicks after nursing her so much.

Well, I’ve got to go now and help out with my little one . . . she’s gotten a lot of daddy attention since Saturday because I’ve been exhausted recovering from this week . . . I have to much more reading, planning, and interviewing (of birth attendants) to do, not to mention I still don’t have a dresser for this little guy.  I’ll be back soon as I can though.

Happy Sunday,

Jessica

“Once upon a time, there were lots of little pigs . . . ”

Can you tell we’ve been listening to lots of Laurie Berkner in our house?  (thank goodness Britney Spears is a forgotten selection on our jukebox . . . I’d been praying for that for months now).

Over the weekend we stopped in at the farm to see a kids’ vaulting show (gymnastics on horses), and I noticed these beautiful snoozing baby pigs and their mamma.  I’m wondering what this mamma’s secret is . . . just 2 stalls down, the baby pigs were lively, playful, and tuggin’ on another sleepy mamma pig.  All I could think, to myself, when I saw her was, “Oh, mamma, do I understand what that feels like.”   (I’ve experienced my daughter’s nursing gymnastics for the last year or so now).  This time around, I’m praying that I’ll spend more time like the mamma pig pictured above, snoozing in the hay and snuggling with my calm baby, :-)  Mamma can hope, right?