Birth Stories: Second Child

Because my second child was conceived by "basting," we had the treat of two early ultrasounds at the fertility clinic. I have decided that an ultrasound at ten weeks is the most fun. I loved being able to see the whole baby (instead of the typical, "This is the head, this is a foot..."). My child looked like a squirmy little Kewpie Doll and he/or/she was absolutely adorable.

I assumed pregnancy the second time around would be easier. After feeling sick for most of the first half of the gestation, I had given up on the nausea giving up. Thankfully, at twenty-two weeks, it started to subside. At that point, I wanted to eat everything in sight because food finally looked good again.

I had an appointment with the midwife on my due date. There weren't any sure signs of the baby coming soon, so she told me to come back in a few days. The contractions started early in the morning the day after that. They came every seven minutes, so at 3:00 a.m. I got up to take a shower. I french braided my hair while I timed contractions. A little after 4:00, the contractions seemed to stop and I felt tired. Because I had learned my lesson from the last time, I decided to go back to bed. The contractions woke me up every fifteen minutes, but I did manage to get a little bit of sleep (or should I say some little bits of sleep?). My three-year-old daughter joined me in the bed around seven and I told my husband he might as well go to work and I would call him if I needed him. So he did.

My daughter and I snuggled and snoozed until about 9:30. After I was up and moving, I tried to do some housework. I talked on the phone. I wrote down how far apart my contractions were and how long they were lasting. In the afternoon, the contractions were still between ten and fifteen minutes apart. However, by this time, the contractions were so painful that I had to get on the floor on my hands and knees to make it through them. Noticing my strange behavior, my daughter started to mimic me, blowing out slowly as she swayed on her hands and knees by my side.

By 2:00, I couldn't take it anymore. I called my husband to come home. He still had one class left to teach, but someone covered for him. He arrived home and anxiously gathered the bags, the laboring wife (who was trying to finish the dishes), and his little girl into the car. Within the hour, our daughter was playing at a friend's house, and we were on our way to the hospital, almost an hour away.

I hadn't predicted how uncomfortable that car ride was going to be. Each contraction threatened to send me through the roof. I wanted to get into the back seat, but I knew it would be impossible to get my swollen body back there without stopping the car--and there was no way were were stopping the car!

When we got to the hospital (about 4:00 p.m.), my biggest fear was that they were going to send me home because my contractions were still ten minutes apart. When the nurse checked my dilation and declared in a somewhat surprised voice that I was already to an EIGHT, I almost let out a happy squeal.

The nurse called my C.N.M., who was just on her way out of town. She arrived a short time later, checked my dilation and accidentally broke my water. While I was on the monitor, my husband entertained me by going through the bag to see what I had packed. Among other things, there was a bag of Western Family jerky for him. He read from the package: "Inside awaits the most tender beef jerky you'll ever eat!" Then he opened it and tried to bite off a piece. His head vibrated as he applied all of his tooth pressure to take a bite. I laughed so hard it hurt. Maybe you had to be there, but it was one of the funniest things I've ever seen. I guess it was just meant to be because every piece after that first one was tender.

When they were finished monitoring the baby, I got up to walk around the room. Labor became quite difficult. I was disappointed I could not get into the bathtub (because my water had broken). As I transitioned, I rocked in a rocking chair, with my husband holding one hand and my midwife holding the other. The rocking chair was obviously not a good place for me because I was in so much pain that I wasn't breathing correctly and my hand started to go numb.

They put an oxygen mask on me. By 7:00 I was fully dilated. I was helped onto the bed. Although it seemed like an eternity, I only had to push for eleven minutes. My midwife guessed I was going to have a big baby boy, so when she saw a nice round head crowning, she encouraged me to push HARD. I did, and the feeling of my baby passing through me in one sweep is indescribable.

I listened to hear if it was a boy or a girl. My midwife said something like, "Boy, look at how short this cord is!" In a small voice I asked my husband, "It's a boy?" He then looked at the baby, and the midwife said, "I forgot to look!" (I don't think doctors or midwives are used to announcing the gender anymore because most parents find out before birth.) She looked at the baby and said it was a girl. Then I said, still breathless, "It's a girl?" (At least I didn't ask if it was a baby!)

She had a nice loud cry and a perfect round head. And fat rolls on her legs. A baby sister (I couldn't wait to tell my daughter)! Seven pounds and fourteen ounces of pure sweetheart (Coincidentally, she was also born at 7:14). My labor (from the start of the contractions) was seventeen hours: five-and-a-half hours shorter than with my firstborn.

When I replay that night in my memory, the only word I can find to describe it is LOVE. Love multiplied by infinity. Instantly, I was able to love TWO children with my whole heart, and that love expanded out into the world: I felt love for all of the infants (every one of them as pure and holy as my new baby). I loved them too, and I cried when I remembered that many of them were cold and hungry and unloved. I kissed my baby girl on her soft head, clothed her, wrapped her tight, and promised her I would try to be all she deserves. And then I said a prayer for all the mothers on the planet. I know that is a big prayer, but I also know that God heard it.

I missed my oldest child all night long. I couldn't wait to see her again. When she came quietly into the room the next morning, with pigtails and a gentle smile, I was so happy to see her. Thankfully, even though my baby had been born the night before, they let us leave the hospital by early afternoon. My mother-in-law had sent matching fleece blankets, and the girls slept under their soft comfort the whole drive home. When we arrived, we carefully took them out of their carseats and laid them on the warm floor of the front room, covered them with their new blankets (what good sleepers!), and ran for the camera.

Birth Stories: Third Child

Third time's a charm. And it was. Everything about my third child was easy. Well, pretty close to easy anyway, when compared to other pregnancies/births/babies, not when compared to things like pie or pieces of cake. During pregnancy, morning sickness paid a short visit, heartburn was kept at bay by my fruity friend, and I had loads of energy. What a blessing that was, since I was in the process of chasing my daughter who had just learned to walk.

We had moved to a new town with a hospital (and an OB clinic) within walking distance of my house, which was a nice change. Many days I put my daughters in the double stroller and walked to my appointments with the doctor. I was a little apprehensive about having to switch doctors, especially after all the attention I had received from my excellent midwife. But I decided that I could be big (no pun intended), and do this whole pregnancy and childbirth thing pretty much by myself.

I liked my new doctor a lot. He was friendly, patient with my girls (who came to most of my appointments), and efficient. He used my name when he spoke to me, and was supportive of my personal preferences. When I saw the doctor on Monday, five days after my due date, he told me to make an appointment for a couple of days from then. When I talked to the receptionist to make the appointment, I asked her if I needed to cancel this appointment if I had the baby before then. She said no, that she would automatically do it if I had the baby. Even though there weren't any signs of the baby coming soon, I think I knew then that I wouldn't be making that appointment.

My bags were packed. I had a little pink and a little blue, and unfortunately, a whole bag of cough drops. I had a head cold that I was hoping to kick before the birth of my baby, but it didn't seem to be working out the way I had planned. The next day, my contractions started at 2:00 in the afternoon. This was unexpected, since my contractions began in the early hours with my first two children. I waited until my husband was done teaching school before I called him. I set things up with my close friend who was planning to watch my girls. I tried to put my house in order.

At 8:00 that night, I brought my girls to a sleep-over at our friends' house. I laid by my eighteen-month-old for almost an hour before she finally fell asleep. My contractions seemed to be getting closer together, but I couldn't time them while I was laying in the dark. When I got home, I continued to time them, surprised at how close together they were. I didn't tell my husband how close together they were because I really wanted to finish the dishes (déjà vu?). By 10:00, I decided I had better let him in the loop.

We then had a conversation about when to go to the hospital. I knew that if I went to the hospital before midnight, I would be charged for the entire day. I told my husband I thought we should hold off until after midnight. I could tell this was difficult for him. I had never felt contractions this close together before while still being at home. But, I didn't feel like the baby was coming yet, so we waited.

We got to the hospital at 11:45 because I wasn't sure if they would count the time from when I checked in at the front, or when I was actually in my room. The receptionist said they count it from when I sign in at the front, so we sat in the waiting room until midnight. My contractions were less than five minutes apart.

After checking in, my husband and I both realized how tired we were. By this time of night, both of our girls had already been born. We tried to get some rest, but this is very difficult to do in a hospital room. My contractions would not let me sleep or lay down, so I walked laps around the OB wing, sometimes alone, and sometimes with my husband. I was only dilated to a three or four at check-in, which was disappointing to be sure. I was anxious for my labor to progress so I could be done. Time seemed to be moving in slow motion. The labor music I had spent hours preparing was of no use because my MP3 CD player decided to croak right there in the hospital room.

By 3:00 a.m., I found walking to be too painful. The most comfortable place was on the floor with my head on my husband's lap. He would stroke my hair as I breathed. After a while, I found that sitting forward on the birthing ball helped also, but as exhaustion settled in, I was on the verge of falling asleep while perched upon it. I decided I would try to lay on the bed so I could at least rest in between contractions. My husband helped me onto the bed. When the next contraction came, I screamed in horror, "HELP ME!" over and over. My husband tried to give me a comforting hug, but I yelled, "Stop! Stop! You are smashing me!" As soon as the contraction was over, I was off the bed and back on the ball as lickety-split as an overdue laboring pregnant woman can. The nurse said she had talked to my doctor on the phone and he had said that he would come in at 7:00 and break my water. My husband and I looked at the clock and then the floor. 7:00 felt as far away as truly owning your home does when you sign papers on a thirty-year mortgage (I know, because I've done that twice).

Somehow I survived. The contractions were very painful, but I was having little breaks in between. I told the nurse that I was worried about transitioning and not having that relief in between contractions. She assured me that I could very well go through transition without feeling that my contractions were right on top of each other. I don't think she had any idea the hope that gave me. The doctor arrived right on time. When he broke my water, I felt the baby drop down in an instant. The doctor said that the baby was ready to come, so he and the nurse began to convert the hospital bed into a birthing bed. Because I was already on the bed, my husband was holding up one leg while the nurse held up the other.

The bed did not want to convert.

I'm sure the nurse did not realize how much she was moving my leg around in the air while she jiggled the bed parts. This would have been very funny to me at that moment if I hadn't been about to give birth. All I could say was, "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow." (I have decided that if I ever give birth again, I would like to be more eloquent.) After they got the bed set up, the doctor and the nurses told me I could push. It was only a few pushes when the baby's head was out, and I was done. At least I thought I was. The doctor told me I needed to push again and I remember thinking, "AGAIN?" With my girls, once the head was out, I was done pushing. With a little encouragement, I pushed again and a NINE pound (and three ounces) baby BOY was born! He was born at 7:07, seventeen hours after labor started (just like last time!).

Some who read my birth stories may wonder why I chose unmedicated childbirth every time. There are actually many reasons. I am always filled with a happy exhilaration right after my babies are born and it lasts for days. From the process of natural labor and childbirth I gain humility and power both at once. I feel closer to my husband than at any other time, and closer to God. Plus I don't like to feel numb (and it costs less to have a baby without anesthesia). All of these reasons make it worth it to me.

After my son was born, he only wanted to sleep. I didn't get to hold him as much as I wanted because I was coughing and sneezing and sniffling so much. He had bruises on his eye and cheek where he had rammed into my bones when my water broke. When I told my dad about that, he sort of chuckled about how my son had come into the world with a punch in the face for a welcome. The baby had also swallowed a lot of amniotic fluid, so it was about ten hours before we could get him to eat. But he was oh, so sweet. Because I grew up with sisters and began motherhood with daughters, I was worried I wouldn't know what to do with a boy.

But I figured it out quickly: I am completely, unashamedly in love with him!

I Could Have Sworn

I could have sworn that box of markers said "washable" on it!















This is after three washes!

An After-School Obstacle Course

I don't know what it was about the bus ride home from school that made me need to use the bathroom, but it seemed to happen a lot when I was young. On one such day, my sisters and I hurried home from the bus stop only to find we were locked out of the house and no one was home. This happened often enough that we stored a butter knife on the outside windowsill of the bathroom so we could use it to pry open the window. This window was one of three windows that actually opened in our house, and it was the easiest to get through. I, being the oldest, would open the window and crawl through, or lift one of my sisters to climb through. The inside person would then open the front door for the two of us.

So on this day, I was in quite a hurry (see first two sentences). I wasn't sure if I was going to make it in time. I opened the window as quickly as I could (while doing the potty dance), and chose to go through the window myself (the TOILET was in there!). Relieved to be through the window and almost there, I jumped from the window into the bathtub...but it was full of cold water from someone's morning bath. My sisters heard the splash and began to laugh. I also laughed (so hard I couldn't breathe), and just so you know:

I didn't make it.

Lullabies

I remember three songs my mother sang to me when I was little.

The first was her own version of "Rock-a-bye Baby." I have seen other censored versions of this song, but I still like my mom's the best:

"Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetop
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
When the bough swings, the baby will too
And she'll keep on sleeping all the day through."

She also sang "Brahms Lullaby," but because she didn't know the words (I don't either--are there words?), she would sing:

"Lullaby, and good-night. Won't you please go to sleep?" Over and over until the song was over. This makes me smile now as I sing it the same way to my little ones.

The last song I remember comes from a Korean folk song called "Doraji." She learned it in elementary school. These are the words:

"Toraji flower of light
What makes you climb so high?
Do you say that I should be a cloud
And then I'd know why?

(Chorus:) Hay-yay-ya (repeated three times)

Toraji flower of light
What rings your little bell?
Do you say that I should be the wind
And then I could tell?

(Chorus)

Toraji flower of light
What makes your fragrance grow?
Do you say that I should be a bird
And then I would know?

(Chorus)"

It is has a lovely melody. I found the original version HERE (the song called "Doraji") that has the same melody for the verses (the first two lines), but a different melody for the chorus (the original version doesn't have a chorus), and different words.

One more thing about lullabies: my husband is usually the one to sing our children to sleep. His wonderful singing voice and strong, firm arms have always made him the preferred parent for bedtime rocking, for all of my children. His concerts always begin with, "Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam," and "Jesus Said Love Everyone." Then he branches out into songs varying from Finnish Christmas songs to "Ave Maria."

It is hard to describe how it delights me to see and hear this ritual. I think St. Francis de Sales said it best when he said, "Nothing is so strong as gentleness, and nothing is so gentle as true strength." Amen.

The Princess Who Became the Queen

I was laying next to my 2-year-old daughter at nap time with my long hair falling over the side of the bed. When my eight-month-old charming prince used my hair to pull himself up to stand, I realized how much I am like Rapunzel.

Every time I do a load of laundry, I lose the match to at least one pair of socks. So even though I don’t own a pair of glass slippers, I can sympathize with Cinderella.

Sleeping Beauty’s awakening kiss didn’t have anything on the slobbery kiss that pulls me from my two-minute accidental nap on the playroom floor. Especially when it is accompanied by a firm bite on the nose with six sharp baby teeth. That would wake up any princess, no matter how strong the sleeping spell!

This life is my dream come true.

Running in Circles

I have three children who have the same age differences as my parents' first three children. As I watch my little ones, I am often reminded of my childhood with my sisters: when play was our main occupation, summer was a time to be bored, and the calendar was just a paper with squares on it.

My dad drove a track into the weeds in our back yard so we could run races. I was the oldest, but my sister (who was 3 ½ years younger than me) was actually hard to beat. The youngest of our trio was always trailing behind, calling for us to "WAIT!" This sister wasn't fun to play "tag" with either. If we ran away too fast, she would cry. If we tagged her, she would cry. If we didn't tag her, she would cry.

But she was very sweet. When I was five and she was a plump baby she would snuggle with me. I remember holding her and wishing I could always remember how good it felt. I always have. This is saying a lot because I only remember a few things from when I was five.

Our Grandfather's funeral brought us together recently. After the luncheon, my sister and I headed down a dirt road to play badminton with our family. The sun was shining on our backs, the fresh mountain air tasted good, and we all felt at peace about Grandpa. All of a sudden, our younger sister was pretend-running up the road behind us, calling "WAIT! WAIT!"

It's funny how a moment like that can warp me back in time twenty-five years.

Only this time, we laughed, waited for her, and then walked together.