A year ago, one of my dearest dearest friends passed away. He was so young, and losing him was devastating for me personally. But after going to his service and seeing all the lives he touched over the course of his lifetime, I became more and more contemplative about life. That event was pivotal in my growth as a person. You see, my life was go go go, rush here, be there, do this and that. But when he died, my world turned completely around. I slowed way down. I took time to feel, to think, to experience. His was the first death that I allowed myself to grieve in the way, and the time, and the space that I needed to grieve. And you know what? It was devastating, and yet so healthy. Healthy in the sense that I cried harder than I ever cried-but that was exactly what I needed. My body was in so much pain after his memorial service. You know how much your head hurts with a bad /headache? My whole body, each limb, each muscle felt like a headache. AND a massive headache of course. I took 5 Advil that night and was incredibly grateful after about 40 minutes when I felt a little relief. But it was okay to feel that, because I think for me it was necessary to the grief process.
I haven't been the same since then.
My priority on relationships has been present at the forefront of my mind. And with the birth of our second (and probably last) child, it's been an ever present thought that people are the only thing in this life that I care about. I don't want stuff, I don't want things, I want relationships. I want a hug from a friend that asks me how I'm doing with postpartum stuff, and doesn't judge when I tell her I today was too much for me. I want to pour into both of my kids, being present with them and valuing their uniqueness and beautiful God-given personalities. I want to care for people-my parents, grandparents, a friend who found out she has cancer. I want people. And I will not let the moment pass me by, only to regret that I never spent time with incredible people. Because the truth is, you think you're invincible, or you're young, and you don't expect to die until you're old. But, what if that's not the plan for your life? What if that's not the plan for your loved ones, your friends, your incredible partner...what if they won't live to the standard of 70 or 80 something? People matter. They matter a lot.
So I take a lot of time to think these days.
I think about how much I want my kids to know I love them--that I would give my life for them in a heartbeat. I think about how to approach the homeless differently, with more compassion and a deeper understanding. I think about how my messy house is more an indicator that we have a good time each day and are blessed with so much, instead of let it be a stressor...okay, that one I continue to work on...but you know what I mean. The truth is, I'm not good at small talk stuff. I think that's because I hate it. I hate the surface. I immediately desire to plunge to the depths of who a person is at their core, because that intrigues me. And there's nothing worse than, "Hey! How are you?" "Good! How are you?" "Good!" I hate it. And yet, I say it all the time. But my heart so deeply wants relationship. And when my heart is satisfied with that, wow does it feel incredible.
So what do I do with that? Well, so far the answer to that question has been to completely change my career to be more flexible with time. I'm making more room for people, because that's what I want so that's what I'm going to pursue. And while I'm only at the beginning of this new season, I can already see how God has been orchestrating the events to this point all along. Don't worry, there's more explanation of that to come. But for now I revel in the awesomeness of this God I serve, and how incredible it is that I can have a relationship with him. Super excited to see how that relationship will begin to transform in the coming months. To people, life's journey, and a God who models perfect relationship in so many ways.
Tuesday, July 21, 2015
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Vay-cay!
My life this past week has been crazy. Actually, I take that back. It should have been crazy, but actually it was really nice. My parents came to CA to visit for the weekend, and it was my dad's first time meeting Emerson. At the last minute I found a friend to drive back to CA with me and my two boys (I love saying that :) so I drove back to AZ with my parents. No down time. Parents here in CA, then we leave together for AZ. I really had one purpose this trip: to make sure my grandparents meet Emerson before he's too big. And let's be honest, he was born too big, so time was not on our side :) Plus, I'm functioning more like a human being right now, so what other time can I just pick up and go to AZ whenever I want? Maternity leave of course! So I did. Spent a few days in AZ. OH! And both boys were AMAZINGLY good the entire way to AZ. There was one little "incident," but it was more like a fond memory :) We basically made one stop for lunch. Both myself and D ate lunch, then we both went to the bathroom. Grandma was holding E. Everyone enjoyed their Panda Express (although after eating healthy on a more consistent basis, I struggled a little with fast food), and we loaded up the car. I decided to feed E before we took off, so we all sat in the running car while I fed E. Burped him, put him back in his car seat. We didn't even leave the parking lot and D said he had to poop. For some reason, I thought it would be better if he used the little potty instead of driving back to Panda Express. Don't ask. So I took out the potty, undressed the lower half of my two year old, and sat him down on a potty in a parking lot...that was extremely humid and pretty dang hot. He was such a good sport. He went poop (which makes things more complicated than just peeing), and then I cleaned everything up, including the toddler. Finally got him back in the car all buckled up, and my mom said, "Umm, I'm pretty sure Emerson just pooped too." I unbuckle him and sure enough, baby poo everywhere. We're still in a parking lot, so I change him in the car. Of course there's no room anywhere so I change my 9 week old on the driver's seat. It's work to do that-just saying. Especially with him, because he's so big and requires more room. Anyway, we made due, and were on our way an hour and a half later. So it was a long stop, but we only stopped once more after that for gas, and both boys slept through the stop. They were A-MAZ-ING I tell you.
So AZ was wicked hot-for me, not for the record temperatures. It was less than 110 degrees the whole time I was there, and believe you me, that is a miracle for June and July. But I was sweltering. The moment I opened my car door, I remembered why we moved to CA. But I went for my grandparents, and they were so grateful I made the trip. I was glad I went too because they aren't getting any younger, and health concerns are getting a little iffy these days. Plus, everyone could use a baby to cheer up their spirits. I was so glad they got to meet him. I also had extra help since my brother, and mom, and dad were there. Plus, I had an opportunity to have a girls night with no kids. Well, as "no kids" as possible. My incredible friend Stefani treated me to a pedicure, then I went back to nurse Emerson. Then we left for Postino and enjoyed a little vino and delish food, just the two of us! It was amazing. Then I went back to nurse him again. I don't think I'd been away from my kids that long since before E was born. It was exactly what the doctor ordered! The very next day, we packed up, I picked up Stefani at her house, and we made the trek back to CA. She left her two children (one was in TX) with her in-laws the entire day, and drove back with me! Stefani, you get the friend of the year award!!!!!! So we drive and drive and make it to Blythe. Then we stop for lunch, do the whole potty charade with both, and we literally did not stop again. My kids are amazing at road trips. Well, either that or God was looking out for my sanity. I expected it to be WAY worse. So we made it home, and Stefani caught the last flight out on standby. What a pal. And we got to spend the day together. How lucky am I?!
This was the past Wednesday that we got back home. Thursday I repacked and got ready for Lake Arrowhead, where we were going to spend the weekend. Thankfully, the drive was much much less than it was to AZ. Although I laugh because we made 2 stops on this less than two-hour drive. Once for gas and to change a poopy diaper, then a second because E HAD to eat and was making it known to all people in the car. But we made it up the mountain and both kids went to bed pretty well. The whole time in Arrowhead we relaxed, took our time with everything, and just enjoyed one another's company. My vacations look very different these days. Now, it's mostly this: wake up, breakfast/getting ready routine, do an activity in the morning, lunch, nap, and sometimes a little something in the evening if nap didn't go too long. There isn't a lot of time to pack in activity the same way we did when little Joneses weren't in the picture. But I'm convinced there's just no other way to vacation when kids are little. It's not worth it to rush around everywhere and have crying and mess and screaming...no thanks. So we spent time together, went for a few walks/hikes, shared a few meals, and went into town. For the fourth we watched the fireworks in the best spot ever, near the lake. D only lasted 5 fireworks before he begged to go home (they were too loud). So Patrick walked him back (and said later he clung hard to him the entire walk home, poor guy). I stayed with Patrick's parents, and saw the incredible show. I love fireworks. There's something about fireworks that just make the world stop, and require you to focus on the simplicity, the beauty, and the wonder that is a firework. Maybe that's silly, but I truly LOVE fireworks. Especially a good show, and Lake Arrowhead does a fabulous firework show! We finished the show, then walked back to the house. It was E's first firework show, but he slept through the whole thing, so whatever :P This morning we packed up and headed back home-again, angelic children the whole way home. Lord, thank you for loving me specifically in that way this past week!
Sleeping in!
Goofy girl time!
Pedis
More silliness
D and grandma
Hiking in Arrowhead
A couple of short hours after we got back, we went to a friend's house to watch the women's soccer game. WOW! What a game! Then we rushed home and Patrick headed out to his out of town job.
The past week has been glorious, but I'm pretty excited to be sleeping in my own bed tonight. What a precious time it's been with my family. I can't wait for the next little trip we do, because memories like this are near and dear to my heart.
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
Waaaaaaaah!
Let's talk about crying. Because my 2 year old is doing it right now, and I really want to join him.
I can't handle my child crying for more than like 30 seconds. My body becomes physically ill when my child cries. It's not quite as strong when it's another child, but still my body reacts-a physical reaction. This is not a statement of judgment, it's just a fact-I can't handle crying in a leave-it-alone kind of way.
You know what's really bad? Both of my children crying at the same time, and me being the only one around. Or another adult helping me, but they are unsuccessful in making one child stop crying. It makes me want to scream. On the inside it feels like I might explode. Like I want to scream at the top of my lungs. Not really out of anger, just out of I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO! Is that an emotion?? And if the houses weren't so close together here, I actually might do that. But can you imagine the headline, "Foster care social worker's kids taken by DCFS." Yeah, that would be awesome.
I actually remember a moment a couple weeks back (when I felt a little more frazzled than I do today) when life was a tornado. Both kids crying, I hadn't slept in God knows how long, and I looked at Patrick--clearly at the end of my rope--and said, "This is why kids are in foster care." Now wait, before you start sending me your PPD drugs and numbers to a great therapist (I already have one, lol), hear me out. I have everything I need to be a "successful" parent. I have a job, a partner who is extremely involved as a parent-who also has a job, a house, a yard, a dog, food, clothes, happiness...it's all there. And I still feel like this. Imagine if the stress of having *only* two children was compounded by homelessness. Or unemployment. Or the feeling of being unsafe. What about being a victim of violence in your home? Can you imagine? I can't. I really can't.
It was in that moment after I said that to Patrick that I realized the power and the weight of what I just said. There was a huge shift in my heart in that moment. Instantly empathy poured out of me for all the parents that I've dealt with in the foster care system. I mean, I have to believe they're doing the best they know how. Are they frustrating to deal with? Ab-sol-ute-ly. No one likes being cussed out, or threatened. And it's pretty easy to think, "Well parent, you're upset, but you put yourself in this situation." But for me, I realized quickly that parenting is hard. It's fucking hard. Can I say that? You know it's true. Some put on a better face than others, and some are just dealing with a whole set of circumstances people like me (read: privileged, middle class) know nothing about. What I do know though, is that I have a whole new appreciation for the fellow parent-the drug user, the can't-keep-a-job, the has-thirteen-kids-because-it's-her-identity-now-and-maybe-she'll-be-able-to-keep-the-next-one...I can empathize with the fact that parenting is hard. But it can be done...with support. So maybe we just help one another up out of the depression. Maybe we tell one another, "You can do this" or "I'll watch your screaming kid for 30 minutes while you go grab some lunch by yourself," or "I'll clean your kitchen tomorrow." We need one another. And we certainly need each other in this parenting gig. So let's be less judgy and more empathetic toward the fellow parent. Let's help each other when the little ones are a little too much, and a lot when the teens go bananas. Parents...UNITE!
**I want to thank the friends and family who have specifically helped me as I start over in figuring out parenting with two instead of one. Some key people have been encouraging even just by saying, "I know you said you feel off, but you were acting very normal tonight," or "Tell me what I can do to help," or have made meals, have given hugs, told me to see my therapist again. EVERYTHING has helped me get through this rough patch day by day. All of it. Thank you, a million times thank you. And thank you for understanding that I need community-we need community-to thrive and live healthy lives. So blessed by you all.**
(Didn't realize I posted this under Patrick's profile. Sorry husband. You put up with a lot, but I won't make you take the fall for all this emotion :)
I can't handle my child crying for more than like 30 seconds. My body becomes physically ill when my child cries. It's not quite as strong when it's another child, but still my body reacts-a physical reaction. This is not a statement of judgment, it's just a fact-I can't handle crying in a leave-it-alone kind of way.
You know what's really bad? Both of my children crying at the same time, and me being the only one around. Or another adult helping me, but they are unsuccessful in making one child stop crying. It makes me want to scream. On the inside it feels like I might explode. Like I want to scream at the top of my lungs. Not really out of anger, just out of I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO! Is that an emotion?? And if the houses weren't so close together here, I actually might do that. But can you imagine the headline, "Foster care social worker's kids taken by DCFS." Yeah, that would be awesome.
I actually remember a moment a couple weeks back (when I felt a little more frazzled than I do today) when life was a tornado. Both kids crying, I hadn't slept in God knows how long, and I looked at Patrick--clearly at the end of my rope--and said, "This is why kids are in foster care." Now wait, before you start sending me your PPD drugs and numbers to a great therapist (I already have one, lol), hear me out. I have everything I need to be a "successful" parent. I have a job, a partner who is extremely involved as a parent-who also has a job, a house, a yard, a dog, food, clothes, happiness...it's all there. And I still feel like this. Imagine if the stress of having *only* two children was compounded by homelessness. Or unemployment. Or the feeling of being unsafe. What about being a victim of violence in your home? Can you imagine? I can't. I really can't.
It was in that moment after I said that to Patrick that I realized the power and the weight of what I just said. There was a huge shift in my heart in that moment. Instantly empathy poured out of me for all the parents that I've dealt with in the foster care system. I mean, I have to believe they're doing the best they know how. Are they frustrating to deal with? Ab-sol-ute-ly. No one likes being cussed out, or threatened. And it's pretty easy to think, "Well parent, you're upset, but you put yourself in this situation." But for me, I realized quickly that parenting is hard. It's fucking hard. Can I say that? You know it's true. Some put on a better face than others, and some are just dealing with a whole set of circumstances people like me (read: privileged, middle class) know nothing about. What I do know though, is that I have a whole new appreciation for the fellow parent-the drug user, the can't-keep-a-job, the has-thirteen-kids-because-it's-her-identity-now-and-maybe-she'll-be-able-to-keep-the-next-one...I can empathize with the fact that parenting is hard. But it can be done...with support. So maybe we just help one another up out of the depression. Maybe we tell one another, "You can do this" or "I'll watch your screaming kid for 30 minutes while you go grab some lunch by yourself," or "I'll clean your kitchen tomorrow." We need one another. And we certainly need each other in this parenting gig. So let's be less judgy and more empathetic toward the fellow parent. Let's help each other when the little ones are a little too much, and a lot when the teens go bananas. Parents...UNITE!
**I want to thank the friends and family who have specifically helped me as I start over in figuring out parenting with two instead of one. Some key people have been encouraging even just by saying, "I know you said you feel off, but you were acting very normal tonight," or "Tell me what I can do to help," or have made meals, have given hugs, told me to see my therapist again. EVERYTHING has helped me get through this rough patch day by day. All of it. Thank you, a million times thank you. And thank you for understanding that I need community-we need community-to thrive and live healthy lives. So blessed by you all.**
(Didn't realize I posted this under Patrick's profile. Sorry husband. You put up with a lot, but I won't make you take the fall for all this emotion :)
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
It's my turn
I love my child. I love them both. But I'm ready for something easy. Because the truth is, everything has been hard lately. It's hard for my back to catch a break when my kid demands to be held. It's hard to wake up when my eyes are closed. It's hard to sleep. It's hard not to yell, or cry, or just not care out of a feeling of just being overwhelmed. It's hard to not shower all day, having been thrown up on at least once every other hour, draw a bath, get in, only to have your baby cry 7 minutes later. It's hard to feel so isolated and disconnected from friends. It's hard to not snap at my husband. It's hard to pick between napping and cleaning something, anything, in this place I call a home. It's hard to nurse all day long. It's hard to see my husband go out as much as he wants and I'm limited in what I do for a myriad of reasons. It's hard to not be on a predictable schedule. It's hard to be creative with meals. It's hard to get my infant to sleep in the evening. It's hard to not neglect my 2.5 year old. It's hard to hear crying, again, from anyone. It's hard to figure out my work situation before my maternity leave is over. It's hard to figure out childcare. MY. LIFE. IS. HARD. So I'm ready for something easy. Please no cliches here. I know your life is hard too. I know we all struggle with a variety of obstacles, battles, whatever. I guess I'm just writing out my prayer tonight, because I'm tired. I'm emotional. And I want to be done with hard stuff. At least for a little bit.
Thursday, May 14, 2015
A Beautiful Disaster
Let me set the scene for you...
Patrick called around 4pm and said he couldn't pick up Denzel from school, and I had to go get him. There was an emergency at work and he had to stay really late tonight. I picked up Denzel, ordered a pizza, dinner was fabulous, both kids had jammies on. I can totally do this two kid thing.
Fast forward to bedtime. We had read 4 books...no 5, because Denzel is the king of negotiation and I just *have* to reward him for asking so nicely. I put Denzel down to bed, and it begins. He needs a drink of water, he is scared of the dark, he wants his rubber ducky, he wants to sleep on the couch, now he wants milk, his throat doesn't feel good, Moooooooooommmmmy....Mooooommmyy!! I ignored most of it, or gave explanations for why we don't drink a ton of liquids before bed, blah blah blah. But it went on and on and on. Also, Emerson, not quite 3 weeks yet, is usually fussy between 7pm and midnight. I don't know why, but he needs constant attention in a way that he doesn't at any other point during the day, or middle of the night for that matter. So it's getting later and later and later...we're going on 9:45pm, and we started going to bed at 7:30pm. Denzel is crying, so I'm holding Emerson and sat on Denzel's bed. I don't remember what happened in the 20 seconds between me sitting on his bed and the next moment, but all I remember is my head spinning, and both kids screaming their lungs out. Seriously. Seriously this happened. Emerson in my arms on the right side, frantic for something--milk? just wants to suck?? gassy??? only Lord knows, and Denzel sitting on my left screaming, "Mommy! I want you to hold me!!!" Denzel is sick, he's exhausted, and I'm not loving him the way he wants to be loved. I almost cried, and almost laughed at the same time. That was my emotion of What in the world am I supposed to do?! I only have two arms, and they can't help both kids right now. "Mommy, I need you to hold me!" So I looked at Denzel and said-not even in a frustrated way, just totally unaware of how to make this situation better, "How am I supposed to hold both of you? You're both crying." "Put Emerson down and hold me," he said through huge tears. My heart was breaking, but both kids were still needing Mommy. I remembered a friend said this was the hardest part of going from one to two kids-choosing who to give attention to when both need it. I sat there for a couple of seconds, then I put Emerson down on the bed and tried to pick up Denzel. It wasn't working, Emerson wailed even harder. So I put Emerson in a little baby rocker and gave him a pacifier, knowing he wouldn't keep it in more than a minute. I went back into Denzel's room and calmed him down. He was scared, he wanted to sleep in my bed, etc. etc. Somehow I explained to him that his bed is special because it's made just for him. He immediately snapped out of the crying and was totally into what I was saying. He said all those animals (stuffed) in his bed are special for him, and mommy and daddy's bed doesn't have that. The whole conversation turned around, but time was still ticking for pacifier man in the other room. "Hold me, Mom," he said so calmly. I picked up Denzel and said, "Okay, but only for 5 minutes" (with full intentions of it being 5 seconds-I know, that's terrible). I held Denzel in my arms and said, "Sweetheart, Mommy is doing her very best. Both you and Emerson will have to share me sometimes. Sometimes Emerson will have Mommy time, and sometimes you will, and I need you to be understanding...okay? But I will always love you. I love you very very much." "Okay Mom," he said, then we counted to 5 together (our 5 minutes). He got down on his own and climbed into bed. "I love you sweetheart."
"Now you go take care of Emerson, Mom."
Time stopped in that moment. I was shocked at what he said, and what that means for a 2 year old. He understood that I was trying, and after he had his need met for the shortest period of time, he was ready for me to take care of his baby brother. What a selfless act.
I could not have been more proud of my son. I could not have been more in awe of the beauty and love in him. He is two years old. Two.
I nursed Emerson for 15 minutes, then put him down for a second. I went back in Denzel's room to tuck him in. I put a big blanket on him, and kissed him. "I love you sweetheart." "I love you too, Mom," and he closed his eyes to go to sleep.
There's so much I want to teach my kids. But today, my 2 year old taught me what incredible love is. I really needed that perspective change in caring about others, loving, and being selfless. Thank you, Son, for teaching your Mommy what it means to think about others by putting yourself aside. I could not be more proud of you.
Patrick called around 4pm and said he couldn't pick up Denzel from school, and I had to go get him. There was an emergency at work and he had to stay really late tonight. I picked up Denzel, ordered a pizza, dinner was fabulous, both kids had jammies on. I can totally do this two kid thing.
Fast forward to bedtime. We had read 4 books...no 5, because Denzel is the king of negotiation and I just *have* to reward him for asking so nicely. I put Denzel down to bed, and it begins. He needs a drink of water, he is scared of the dark, he wants his rubber ducky, he wants to sleep on the couch, now he wants milk, his throat doesn't feel good, Moooooooooommmmmy....Mooooommmyy!! I ignored most of it, or gave explanations for why we don't drink a ton of liquids before bed, blah blah blah. But it went on and on and on. Also, Emerson, not quite 3 weeks yet, is usually fussy between 7pm and midnight. I don't know why, but he needs constant attention in a way that he doesn't at any other point during the day, or middle of the night for that matter. So it's getting later and later and later...we're going on 9:45pm, and we started going to bed at 7:30pm. Denzel is crying, so I'm holding Emerson and sat on Denzel's bed. I don't remember what happened in the 20 seconds between me sitting on his bed and the next moment, but all I remember is my head spinning, and both kids screaming their lungs out. Seriously. Seriously this happened. Emerson in my arms on the right side, frantic for something--milk? just wants to suck?? gassy??? only Lord knows, and Denzel sitting on my left screaming, "Mommy! I want you to hold me!!!" Denzel is sick, he's exhausted, and I'm not loving him the way he wants to be loved. I almost cried, and almost laughed at the same time. That was my emotion of What in the world am I supposed to do?! I only have two arms, and they can't help both kids right now. "Mommy, I need you to hold me!" So I looked at Denzel and said-not even in a frustrated way, just totally unaware of how to make this situation better, "How am I supposed to hold both of you? You're both crying." "Put Emerson down and hold me," he said through huge tears. My heart was breaking, but both kids were still needing Mommy. I remembered a friend said this was the hardest part of going from one to two kids-choosing who to give attention to when both need it. I sat there for a couple of seconds, then I put Emerson down on the bed and tried to pick up Denzel. It wasn't working, Emerson wailed even harder. So I put Emerson in a little baby rocker and gave him a pacifier, knowing he wouldn't keep it in more than a minute. I went back into Denzel's room and calmed him down. He was scared, he wanted to sleep in my bed, etc. etc. Somehow I explained to him that his bed is special because it's made just for him. He immediately snapped out of the crying and was totally into what I was saying. He said all those animals (stuffed) in his bed are special for him, and mommy and daddy's bed doesn't have that. The whole conversation turned around, but time was still ticking for pacifier man in the other room. "Hold me, Mom," he said so calmly. I picked up Denzel and said, "Okay, but only for 5 minutes" (with full intentions of it being 5 seconds-I know, that's terrible). I held Denzel in my arms and said, "Sweetheart, Mommy is doing her very best. Both you and Emerson will have to share me sometimes. Sometimes Emerson will have Mommy time, and sometimes you will, and I need you to be understanding...okay? But I will always love you. I love you very very much." "Okay Mom," he said, then we counted to 5 together (our 5 minutes). He got down on his own and climbed into bed. "I love you sweetheart."
"Now you go take care of Emerson, Mom."
Time stopped in that moment. I was shocked at what he said, and what that means for a 2 year old. He understood that I was trying, and after he had his need met for the shortest period of time, he was ready for me to take care of his baby brother. What a selfless act.
I could not have been more proud of my son. I could not have been more in awe of the beauty and love in him. He is two years old. Two.
I nursed Emerson for 15 minutes, then put him down for a second. I went back in Denzel's room to tuck him in. I put a big blanket on him, and kissed him. "I love you sweetheart." "I love you too, Mom," and he closed his eyes to go to sleep.
There's so much I want to teach my kids. But today, my 2 year old taught me what incredible love is. I really needed that perspective change in caring about others, loving, and being selfless. Thank you, Son, for teaching your Mommy what it means to think about others by putting yourself aside. I could not be more proud of you.
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
The Birth Story, Vol. 2
The newest member of our family has arrived. Emerson Xavier Jones was born on 4/25/15 at 12:58pm. We are all so in love with this little guy, and I find it amazing how he perfectly completes our family. So here is the story of how Emerson joined us:
Friday, April 24, 2015
I went to my scheduled OB appointment, and at that point was 3 days overdue. Not a big deal for me--I was overdue with Denzel so I was sort of expecting it with this little one. My doctor said he looked great, there was plenty of fluid still, but he wanted to measure him again. Got an ultrasound measurement, and the doctor kept saying what a large baby he was. But it wasn't in a joking way like every time before. He was genuinely concerned, and he's not one for scare tactics or getting worried. He's socially awkward, research-based, anything but outwardly emotional-my doctor, that is. He put in the measurements of baby's torso, femur, and head, and the ultrasound spit out this ungodly number: 11lbs. 11oz. I'm sorry, WHAT?! I'm very research-based when it comes to birth, Immunizations, and all things relating to my children. Everything I know about ultrasounds this late in pregnancy says they're highly inaccurate-and doc also confirmed this is true. But the worry just got worse. He started telling me that he's concerned about delivering this baby vaginally because of his size. He told me every risk in the book: shoulder dystocia , Erb's palsy, a clavicle break. He told me about every maneuver we could do to deliver a baby with shoulder dystocia and honestly the only one I remember in my emotional state was...ready for this...pushing the baby back in and doing an emergency c section. I'm sure there were others, but my mind only remembers that one. He talked to me about a myriad of other things, including death, but do you know what my decision maker was in the end? Rectal incontinence. Meaning I would no longer be in control of my own pooping. You have got to be kidding me!! See because tears that serious (from my large baby) would be a big deal. He said *if* I could even deliver vaginally I would be guaranteed some sort of tearing. That didn't scare me, the rectal incontinence did. I mean, for God's sakes I just barely turned 30! He said if he were making the choice, he would walk me across the street to the hospital and have the c-section that day. I was devastated. I started crying, in a tears-falling-only, quiet sort of way. Doc didn't know at all how to handle that so he said he would give me a minute and stepped out. I immediately started texting Patrick thru my tear-filled eyes. I could hardly see if what I was writing made any sense. I felt like my dream of VBACing was shattered, and this idea of a beautiful, natural, reasonable-amount-of-time-in-labor childbirth-the one I didn't get the first time-wasn't going to happen...again. The fight in me blew away with the gust of the door closing as my doctor left me alone, crying, and totally devastated. I have to stop for a moment just to say that my OB is a good doctor and a good man. I just recognize that he doesn't have the social ability to help me cope with what I was going through. I'm not bitter, and you shouldn't be either. He's not a bad person, his specialty is medicine. But what I was going thru was not something you deal with alone. I'm a social worker, a pregnant, emotional social worker. I could care less about statistics and the objectivity of medicine at that point. So a couple of minutes go by and he comes back in. He said, well, what do you want to do? I told him I have to talk it over with Patrick (who by that time was blowing up my phone with missed calls and texts) and want the weekend to think about it. He was pretty insistent about scheduling a c-section for Monday, and when I asked for Tuesday, he said canceling is far easier than setting up a time. I felt stuck. If this baby didn't come over the weekend, how was I going to cancel a c-section when the office is closed on the weekend. I felt so stuck, but still so devastated. I didn't fight it like I normally would have.
He kind of motioned for me to follow him out of the room, and then went up to the front desk nurse and quietly said, "Will you schedule a c-section for her for Monday?" The nurse loudly said, "You want me to schedule an ELECTIVE c-section for Monday?" Bulls-eye. She hit my button and down went the tears. All the nurses just sort of looked at me. They didn't understand at all why I was crying. In their mind a c-section was a way better choice. Why deal with the pain? If that's your view on childbirth, great. It's not mine. Empathy is not pushing your own views on someone else. Its understanding what the other person values, and taking their perspective, regardless of what you believe. There is NO empathy in that office, particularly with those nurses (whom I loathe, and I could write a whole other post on). Not good people. So they went on and on, as I'm crying, about how at least I'll get my baby (as opposed to giving him away?!), and c-sections are way less painful (Recovery time? Complications of major surgery??). Then one nurse started telling me details of what time to be at the hospital, when to stop eating, blah blah. I heard nothing, so I asked her to write it down for me. Who's going to remember details in a moment like this, come on. This other nurse said, "Yeah she's in denial, better write everything down." Let's just take a moment of silence here for all the a-holes out there who verbally kick someone in the back **WHILE THEY ARE CRYING IN FRONT OF YOU** Truly heartless. Well jerk, if you knew anything you would know that denial is denying something. It's saying, "No, this isn't happening." My tears are indicating that I'm starting to accept it but I'm going through loss of what I had planned. So not only are you the most insensitive person I've met, you're clearly the dumbest. Moving on.
Friday, April 24, 2015
I went to my scheduled OB appointment, and at that point was 3 days overdue. Not a big deal for me--I was overdue with Denzel so I was sort of expecting it with this little one. My doctor said he looked great, there was plenty of fluid still, but he wanted to measure him again. Got an ultrasound measurement, and the doctor kept saying what a large baby he was. But it wasn't in a joking way like every time before. He was genuinely concerned, and he's not one for scare tactics or getting worried. He's socially awkward, research-based, anything but outwardly emotional-my doctor, that is. He put in the measurements of baby's torso, femur, and head, and the ultrasound spit out this ungodly number: 11lbs. 11oz. I'm sorry, WHAT?! I'm very research-based when it comes to birth, Immunizations, and all things relating to my children. Everything I know about ultrasounds this late in pregnancy says they're highly inaccurate-and doc also confirmed this is true. But the worry just got worse. He started telling me that he's concerned about delivering this baby vaginally because of his size. He told me every risk in the book: shoulder dystocia , Erb's palsy, a clavicle break. He told me about every maneuver we could do to deliver a baby with shoulder dystocia and honestly the only one I remember in my emotional state was...ready for this...pushing the baby back in and doing an emergency c section. I'm sure there were others, but my mind only remembers that one. He talked to me about a myriad of other things, including death, but do you know what my decision maker was in the end? Rectal incontinence. Meaning I would no longer be in control of my own pooping. You have got to be kidding me!! See because tears that serious (from my large baby) would be a big deal. He said *if* I could even deliver vaginally I would be guaranteed some sort of tearing. That didn't scare me, the rectal incontinence did. I mean, for God's sakes I just barely turned 30! He said if he were making the choice, he would walk me across the street to the hospital and have the c-section that day. I was devastated. I started crying, in a tears-falling-only, quiet sort of way. Doc didn't know at all how to handle that so he said he would give me a minute and stepped out. I immediately started texting Patrick thru my tear-filled eyes. I could hardly see if what I was writing made any sense. I felt like my dream of VBACing was shattered, and this idea of a beautiful, natural, reasonable-amount-of-time-in-labor childbirth-the one I didn't get the first time-wasn't going to happen...again. The fight in me blew away with the gust of the door closing as my doctor left me alone, crying, and totally devastated. I have to stop for a moment just to say that my OB is a good doctor and a good man. I just recognize that he doesn't have the social ability to help me cope with what I was going through. I'm not bitter, and you shouldn't be either. He's not a bad person, his specialty is medicine. But what I was going thru was not something you deal with alone. I'm a social worker, a pregnant, emotional social worker. I could care less about statistics and the objectivity of medicine at that point. So a couple of minutes go by and he comes back in. He said, well, what do you want to do? I told him I have to talk it over with Patrick (who by that time was blowing up my phone with missed calls and texts) and want the weekend to think about it. He was pretty insistent about scheduling a c-section for Monday, and when I asked for Tuesday, he said canceling is far easier than setting up a time. I felt stuck. If this baby didn't come over the weekend, how was I going to cancel a c-section when the office is closed on the weekend. I felt so stuck, but still so devastated. I didn't fight it like I normally would have.
He kind of motioned for me to follow him out of the room, and then went up to the front desk nurse and quietly said, "Will you schedule a c-section for her for Monday?" The nurse loudly said, "You want me to schedule an ELECTIVE c-section for Monday?" Bulls-eye. She hit my button and down went the tears. All the nurses just sort of looked at me. They didn't understand at all why I was crying. In their mind a c-section was a way better choice. Why deal with the pain? If that's your view on childbirth, great. It's not mine. Empathy is not pushing your own views on someone else. Its understanding what the other person values, and taking their perspective, regardless of what you believe. There is NO empathy in that office, particularly with those nurses (whom I loathe, and I could write a whole other post on). Not good people. So they went on and on, as I'm crying, about how at least I'll get my baby (as opposed to giving him away?!), and c-sections are way less painful (Recovery time? Complications of major surgery??). Then one nurse started telling me details of what time to be at the hospital, when to stop eating, blah blah. I heard nothing, so I asked her to write it down for me. Who's going to remember details in a moment like this, come on. This other nurse said, "Yeah she's in denial, better write everything down." Let's just take a moment of silence here for all the a-holes out there who verbally kick someone in the back **WHILE THEY ARE CRYING IN FRONT OF YOU** Truly heartless. Well jerk, if you knew anything you would know that denial is denying something. It's saying, "No, this isn't happening." My tears are indicating that I'm starting to accept it but I'm going through loss of what I had planned. So not only are you the most insensitive person I've met, you're clearly the dumbest. Moving on.
So I walk out of the office, tears still running down my face, get in my car and start sobbing. Big sobbing. I called Patrick and could barely talk I was so upset. I was at a loss for what to think, what to do regarding c-section or trying for a VBAC, but one thing I was for sure- I was infuriated at those jerks some call nurses. Infuriated is a polite word for it. I'll try to keep my cussing to a minimum :) Patrick instantly said, "Do you want me to meet you somewhere? Where? I'll come to you." Somehow I made it home and he walked in. Water works again, and a rehash of the conversation I just had with the doctor. Patrick just listened, just reassured me that everything would be okay, and our baby is in no immediate danger so we don't have to make any decisions right now. I didn't like that answer-I wanted to figure out what we were going to do so I could be okay with our decision over time. You see, I need time to get used to an idea. It was that way with getting married, with changing my name, with deciding to get pregnant, with being pregnant the first time, with being a parent for the first time...it's who I am. If you want me on board, tell me your fabulous idea, give me some time to think it over and then I'll be 100% with you.
We decided to "shelf" this decision and just go spend some alone time the two of us. We ate a delicious meal at a new restaurant we'd been wanting to try in Long Beach, then walked around Second street to have fun (and maybe start labor). I did a tiny bit of shopping, and we went to my favorite coffee place. I splurged and got a decaf dirty chai, Patrick got tea, and we shared a beautiful little raspberry tart. We sat outside on the patio, and just took in the scenery. It was a gorgeous day, and we had alone time-just the two of us. We talked a little about what to do about the birth again and came to the conclusion that we would let labor happen on its own but keep a very open mind after that point. That felt so much better to me than to schedule a c-section. At least that way I would feel like baby is ready to be born if labor happens on its own. Be flexible Andrea. Be flexible. That's what parenting is really all about. I enjoyed the rest of the afternoon with my love, then I went to pick up Denzel from school. I remember praying throughout the day, "Lord, what do I do? Tell me what to do about this. I don't want to be so stuck on this VBAC that I risk my baby's health or my own, but I don't want to just listen to medical advice if it doesn't feel right. What do I do. Give me wisdom." And you know the only response I got? "I will be with you." Doesn't that sound sweet? I will be with you. Well, not really. More frustrating than anything else (in my short-sidedness). "That's nice, Lord, I appreciate that you will be with me, I know that, I believe that...but tell me what to do." Didn't get any more than that though.
Saturday, April 25, 2015
1:45am
I was literally kicked awake. Baby kicked me so hard I thought someone punched me, and then a pretty strong contraction followed. I was hopeful, but not anxious because I'd had contractions for literally a month on and off. Obviously none of them strong enough to start labor, although a few felt like they should have. Well, this was actually it. Contractions started five minutes apart, then quickly went to three. They were strong, and it was clear this labor was progressing much faster than Denzel (42 hours). Hallelujah! Amy, Patrick's sister was going to be my doula and she came over at some point. Don't ask me what time. She was soooooo helpful. Amy helped me relax more, massaged me, and was a presence and huge encouragement all the way. Patrick was also helpful...but he started cleaning :) ...I think he was gearing up to last another two days like was our first experience. Around 7am, Denzel woke up, and ate breakfast. Patrick got him ready and took him to his parents' house, then came back home. Amy and Patrick switched off being with me, and around 10? labor got serious. I was in the bathtub and just remember "this might be it." But it wasn't. Patrick asked me a couple of times if I wanted to stay home or go to the hospital. I think we finally decided to go around 11 or so. I also remember very specifically telling them both that if I get to the hospital and I'm dilated 8-9, I might let labor play out. If I'm only 5-6, I WILL be getting a c-section. They both said its fine, and helped me to the car. It probably took me 10 minutes to get in the car because I had to stop for every contraction. Then the car ride-always my favorite part...not. Is it just me, or is riding in the car torturous when you're in labor?
We get to the hospital and they offer me a wheelchair. My instinct says walk so I try and get like ten steps in another ten minutes. Every other hospital employee offers a wheelchair and finally I take one. Again, sitting down, torturous. My eyes were closed the entire time but I was well aware of what was being said all around me, pillow in face trying to breathe thru each blasted contraction. Why isn't this baby coming now?? I get in a room and they ask for a pee sample. Are you f-ing kidding me?! This is not a doctors appointment. I'm in heavy labor. Check my cervix you wretched woman! These were only thoughts thankfully. So I say, no pee, and climb on the bed. They strap me to two monitors-why they pull those bands so tight I'll never know! Baby looks good-duh. Baby always looks good, it's me who's a hot mess. So she checks my cervix and I feel like it takes forever. FOR-E-VER. Have you done this before?! Finally I hear, "5-6 and the head is way up there." DONE. I'M DONE. I'M DONE I'M DONE I'M DONE. "I'd like a c-section please." Yes, I recall saying please. Patrick and Amy both look at me. They let me choose, and I did, and I told them I would. The nurse seemed a little confused because I just got there. Patrick explained about my doctors appointment the day before, and nurse wacko suddenly went into hyperactive mode. I wasn't sure if we were having an earthquake and she was panicking, or what was going on. Everything became, "I'm going to do paperwork later your in pain, I'm going to prep you!" Then like a flurry, she got my IV started, jammed a catheter in me (which later I recall being forcefully unnecessary), had me sign waivers-which again-really?! I get it's a legal thing, but geez. We were just waiting on the doctor, which wasn't going to be my doctor, his partner was on call. I asked when she'd be here-contractions still strong and still every minute or two apart. They kept saying she lives close. That's code for, she'll get here when she gets here. Finally doc walks in (during a contraction) and she's chipper. She's cheery. I want to punch her in the face. No happiness in this room, thanks. I made my decision, get this kid out. I recall feeling that way with Denzel too :) It's like, once you've crossed the line, you're attitude totally changes from "I can do this natural childbirth thing." to "Let's get down to business and get rid of these contractions." Finally they wheel me into the operating room, and attempt to do my spinal. Always difficult, not because of the needles (that is by far the easiest part of any of the process). It's difficult because I'm having contractions the entire time, and I can hardly sit on both butt cheeks (required for your spine to be straight, and the needles to go in). So I lean on nurse wacko, and the anesthesiologist explains every little thing he's doing. This is one situation where I actually don't need informed consent, dude. Just do it, and hurry up. Doctor on call comes in again to say hi in her cheery voice, but I was faced away from her. At this point, I haven't even seen the doctor that's going to slice me open. Meh. They put the spinal in and practically slam me down on the bed-I'm assuming they were afraid I'd go limp right away and they'd be left with deadweight to move. Patrick eventually comes in, and like he does, starts joking around with all the people in the operating room. But its okay now. I've got my spinal, can't feel any more contractions, I'm ready for baby. I make small talk with various people, including my doctor who decided to come in and assist ::ha ha:: See, he's a good guy. It was the weekend after all.
So they get past a few fleshy layers, and Patrick tells me that when she broke the bag of waters it was like a geyser, going up above the sheet they set up in front of my face. I did remember her apologizing at the end to everyone she squirt-after Patrick told me the story it made perfect sense. Then I was told while they take the baby out it would feel like someone stepping on my chest. Ok, no biggie. So it did. And it kept going and going and going. I remember this being the quick part last time. I look at Patrick, who is watching the whole thing. "Is everything ok?" "Huh?" "Is everything ok? Why is it taking so long?" "It's fine." Later I find out the two doctors together had a really hard time getting him out. They used a vacuum and it just popped off. Then they couldn't get a hold of him, he was just too big and too wedged.
Finally, FINALLY they got him out and took him to the warmer. Emerson was all cleaned off, and right in my sight which I appreciated. I said, "How big is he?" My doctor said, "That's the question we all want to know." Everyone kind of laughed. I said, "No one more than me!" After what seemed like forever, the numbers appeared, again where I could see...what was that...the nurse said, "11 pounds 13 ounces." "Are you sure your scale is right?!" I said. Again, everyone in the operating room sort of chuckled. Then we proceeded to talk for the next several minutes about how a non-gestational diabetes pregnancy resulted in an enormous baby! Particularly because Patrick and I are such large people ha ha. My doctor (remember socially awkward and sort of nerdy as far as research and that stuff goes) says with great satisfaction, "Oh good, I made a good recommendation." Then he talked to the other doctor about all the risks he informed me of, and the ones he was really concerned about. She agreed with him, and a couple of the attendants confirmed that I made the right choice to c-section. I knew I had. Somehow.
Things started to slow down as they patched me up, and Patrick asked if Emerson could do skin to skin with me. The nurse said it was fine, and they put him on me...for a long time. I didn't get that with Denzel. It was amazing. I didn't even pay attention to what they were doing behind the curtain. Then they were about done, and Patrick asked if Emerson could be in recovery with me. The nurse was hesitant in a way that was like well, I've never done that before, but I have no reason to say no...and she said, "um, yeah I guess that's fine." Excellent! He really hasn't been away from me since :)
Recovery has been a little challenging, and life with two kids has been a little challenging. But I really feel incredibly grateful for my little family. It's amazing how you can look into the eyes of your children, and your spouse and think there is nothing better than this-this right here. No doubt we'll come across tough days and seasons in life. But in this very moment, I relish in the life that God has blessed me with. Welcome to the family, sweet Emerson :)
We get to the hospital and they offer me a wheelchair. My instinct says walk so I try and get like ten steps in another ten minutes. Every other hospital employee offers a wheelchair and finally I take one. Again, sitting down, torturous. My eyes were closed the entire time but I was well aware of what was being said all around me, pillow in face trying to breathe thru each blasted contraction. Why isn't this baby coming now?? I get in a room and they ask for a pee sample. Are you f-ing kidding me?! This is not a doctors appointment. I'm in heavy labor. Check my cervix you wretched woman! These were only thoughts thankfully. So I say, no pee, and climb on the bed. They strap me to two monitors-why they pull those bands so tight I'll never know! Baby looks good-duh. Baby always looks good, it's me who's a hot mess. So she checks my cervix and I feel like it takes forever. FOR-E-VER. Have you done this before?! Finally I hear, "5-6 and the head is way up there." DONE. I'M DONE. I'M DONE I'M DONE I'M DONE. "I'd like a c-section please." Yes, I recall saying please. Patrick and Amy both look at me. They let me choose, and I did, and I told them I would. The nurse seemed a little confused because I just got there. Patrick explained about my doctors appointment the day before, and nurse wacko suddenly went into hyperactive mode. I wasn't sure if we were having an earthquake and she was panicking, or what was going on. Everything became, "I'm going to do paperwork later your in pain, I'm going to prep you!" Then like a flurry, she got my IV started, jammed a catheter in me (which later I recall being forcefully unnecessary), had me sign waivers-which again-really?! I get it's a legal thing, but geez. We were just waiting on the doctor, which wasn't going to be my doctor, his partner was on call. I asked when she'd be here-contractions still strong and still every minute or two apart. They kept saying she lives close. That's code for, she'll get here when she gets here. Finally doc walks in (during a contraction) and she's chipper. She's cheery. I want to punch her in the face. No happiness in this room, thanks. I made my decision, get this kid out. I recall feeling that way with Denzel too :) It's like, once you've crossed the line, you're attitude totally changes from "I can do this natural childbirth thing." to "Let's get down to business and get rid of these contractions." Finally they wheel me into the operating room, and attempt to do my spinal. Always difficult, not because of the needles (that is by far the easiest part of any of the process). It's difficult because I'm having contractions the entire time, and I can hardly sit on both butt cheeks (required for your spine to be straight, and the needles to go in). So I lean on nurse wacko, and the anesthesiologist explains every little thing he's doing. This is one situation where I actually don't need informed consent, dude. Just do it, and hurry up. Doctor on call comes in again to say hi in her cheery voice, but I was faced away from her. At this point, I haven't even seen the doctor that's going to slice me open. Meh. They put the spinal in and practically slam me down on the bed-I'm assuming they were afraid I'd go limp right away and they'd be left with deadweight to move. Patrick eventually comes in, and like he does, starts joking around with all the people in the operating room. But its okay now. I've got my spinal, can't feel any more contractions, I'm ready for baby. I make small talk with various people, including my doctor who decided to come in and assist ::ha ha:: See, he's a good guy. It was the weekend after all.
So they get past a few fleshy layers, and Patrick tells me that when she broke the bag of waters it was like a geyser, going up above the sheet they set up in front of my face. I did remember her apologizing at the end to everyone she squirt-after Patrick told me the story it made perfect sense. Then I was told while they take the baby out it would feel like someone stepping on my chest. Ok, no biggie. So it did. And it kept going and going and going. I remember this being the quick part last time. I look at Patrick, who is watching the whole thing. "Is everything ok?" "Huh?" "Is everything ok? Why is it taking so long?" "It's fine." Later I find out the two doctors together had a really hard time getting him out. They used a vacuum and it just popped off. Then they couldn't get a hold of him, he was just too big and too wedged.
Finally, FINALLY they got him out and took him to the warmer. Emerson was all cleaned off, and right in my sight which I appreciated. I said, "How big is he?" My doctor said, "That's the question we all want to know." Everyone kind of laughed. I said, "No one more than me!" After what seemed like forever, the numbers appeared, again where I could see...what was that...the nurse said, "11 pounds 13 ounces." "Are you sure your scale is right?!" I said. Again, everyone in the operating room sort of chuckled. Then we proceeded to talk for the next several minutes about how a non-gestational diabetes pregnancy resulted in an enormous baby! Particularly because Patrick and I are such large people ha ha. My doctor (remember socially awkward and sort of nerdy as far as research and that stuff goes) says with great satisfaction, "Oh good, I made a good recommendation." Then he talked to the other doctor about all the risks he informed me of, and the ones he was really concerned about. She agreed with him, and a couple of the attendants confirmed that I made the right choice to c-section. I knew I had. Somehow.
Things started to slow down as they patched me up, and Patrick asked if Emerson could do skin to skin with me. The nurse said it was fine, and they put him on me...for a long time. I didn't get that with Denzel. It was amazing. I didn't even pay attention to what they were doing behind the curtain. Then they were about done, and Patrick asked if Emerson could be in recovery with me. The nurse was hesitant in a way that was like well, I've never done that before, but I have no reason to say no...and she said, "um, yeah I guess that's fine." Excellent! He really hasn't been away from me since :)
Recovery has been a little challenging, and life with two kids has been a little challenging. But I really feel incredibly grateful for my little family. It's amazing how you can look into the eyes of your children, and your spouse and think there is nothing better than this-this right here. No doubt we'll come across tough days and seasons in life. But in this very moment, I relish in the life that God has blessed me with. Welcome to the family, sweet Emerson :)
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
My love, part three (that's you!)
Emerson,
You made quite an entrance into this world as a 11lb. 13oz. baby! I still feel a little in shock about the whole thing. Since you've made your entrance, I've felt deeply drawn to your gentle spirit, your go with the flow attitude, and your snugly little loving body. Seriously, the way you curl up in my arms or on my chest-there is absolutely nothing better. Welcome to our family, my love. We love you more than words can express, and can't wait to see the man you will become.
Love, Mom, Dad & Denzel
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