Hugh's Birth Story - Part Two

Hugh's impending arrival all became very real on the morning of May 16th. It was a Sunday. For a few days prior I'd been feeling some contractions, but they were never consistent and still left me unsure if I was in labor, which was a good sign that I wasn't. But that Sunday morning was different. When Marc came home at 8:30am from his early morning church meetings to pick up Ben and me, I casually mentioned that in the previous hour I had felt four contractions. I still wasn't convinced it was the real deal, but even if it was I knew it was best to keep moving around like normal, so off to church we went.

During that first hour of church, the contractions continued. They got closer together and lasted a bit longer. By the end of that first hour of church they were about 7 minutes apart and lasting about 30 seconds or so. I clearly didn't get much out of my church attendance on that particular day. Ben needed to be fed during the second hour, so Marc and I hung out in the gym. We were just a bundle of nervous energy anyway, so there was no point in trying to sit through a Sunday School lesson.

After feeding Ben, I called my midwife, Claudette, to let her know what was up. Since she lives more than an hour away, we wanted to make sure she had plenty of time to be forewarned. As she asked me questions about the length and strength of the contractions, I started to feel like this was really it. My baby was coming! With excitement running through my veins, we decided to ditch the third hour of church completely.

We headed home to get all the last-minute things done and prepared ourselves as much as we could for the unknowns of Hugh's impending arrival. Since I was focusing my thoughts on positive outcomes, I was very unprepared for the eventual outcome that was just around the corner. But things started off smoothly enough that I had no reason to worry about any of the possible things that could go wrong.

We got home at around 11am. I remember changing the sheets on our bed and changing into more comfortable clothes to labor in. I made sure all of our birthing supplies were all together and within easy access for Claudette and her assistant.

At around 1pm my parents came over with lunch - salad and chicken. By this time my contractions were all over the place. Marc was trying to time them with an application on his iphone, but I would think that I was having a contraction and he'd start the timer and then a much more convincing contraction would interrupt the first and I'd have to tell him to start over. Some were 7 minutes apart and lasting 45 seconds, while others were 4 minutes apart and lasting about a minute. I tried not to get overly excited when Marc's app told us we were already in the Transition Stage. I knew it had to be too good to be true.

I don't remember much about the time line after having lunch. I remember Marc trying to start a movie, thinking that it might help me relax, but I quickly asked him to turn it off since it made me feel distracted and annoyed. It must have been around 3pm or so that my parents went home, taking Ben with them. We didn't have much packed for him, convinced they'd be bringing him back home to meet his little brother in just a few more hours.

At some point, Marc set up the birthing tub in our kitchen. Sometime after that Claudette and Dana arrived. After setting up their stuff - dopplers and blood pressure cuff and oxygen mask and just about everything you'd see in a hospital-like setting - Claudette checked my progress, just after my water broke. I think it was about 4pm and I was dilated to a 4. When I got to a 7, a couple of hours later, they let me get in the birthing tub.

Time was a blur. I don't know if it got dark early or if I just remember it being dark because I had my eyes tightly closed. But, I do remember that once I got in the tub, I did not want to get out. It was as close to heaven as I was going to get with the contractions as intense as they were. Marc fed me ice chips and kept me hydrated. By 10pm I was at 9cm and Claudette encouraged me to try to push a few times to see if that would help speed up that last centimeter.

While I pushed, they monitored the baby's heart rate and soon discovered that it was dipping dangerously low during some of my pushes (though they didn't tell me that right away). At that point they helped me out of the tub and had me try some different positions, hoping that might make things better for Hugh. They even turned him so he was in a better position, but within minutes my little stubborn Hugh had turned himself back. That was when they nicknamed him Houdini.

At one point I heard some whispers between the midwives and understood enough to know that they were on high alert and our plans were about to change. I was laboring in the bathroom with Marc and I asked him directly if they were transporting us to the hospital. His look of apology said it all. They told Marc that the baby's heart rate had dipped down below 110 and highly suggested transporting and Marc agreed. By this point, nearly 16 hours of labor, I was just ready to meet my baby and was on board with whatever would get him to my arms quickly and safely. Once the decision was made, we were all rushing around like crazy. I got dried off and dressed - in one of Marc's t-shirts and my bath robe. We had planned for everything except a transport. We didn't have a hospital bag of any kind ready.

By this point the contractions were coming fast and were so intense I had to stop everything I was doing and brace myself while they passed. It felt like it took forever to get from the house to the car. The midwives told me to climb onto the back seat of our car for the drive to the hospital, on my hands and knees to try to get the baby to move from his posterior position, which was not helping things progress. Marc drove. The midwives followed in their own car. That half mile was the longest half mile of my life.

We arrived at the hospital just before midnight. Since Claudette had called ahead, the ER nurses were expecting us with a wheelchair all ready and we passed right by the paperwork at the front desk (thankfully) and all the people in the waiting room (I'm sure we were quite the site for that little audience!) and Marc wheeled me down the dark corridors to the Labor and Delivery wing, me begging him the entire way, "please just hurry, please just hurry!"

Hugh's Birth Story - Part One

Just after Hugh was born I tried to write out his birth story, but it was just too hard to do. Now that it has been a year, I've decided it's time whether I'm ready or not. Everything went so differently than how I hoped or envisioned. After having such a traumatic experience with the twins' birth (and death), we worked so hard to try to ensure that Hugh's birth would be a different experience.

I suppose the early beginnings of Hugh's birth story actually started a couple of years ago. After hearing both my sisters talk about the hypnobirthing classes they had taken to help them have natural births, I liked the idea of having a natural birth experience without any unnecessary interventions. Plus, there was something even inviting about allowing my body to labor purposefully while being fully aware of every movement, every contraction, every feeling of bringing this new life into the world.

So, in February, when I was six months pregnant, I found out that a friend of mine who lives here had just started teaching Bradley natural birth classes (which, after attending, we highly recommend). We knew that if we wanted to have a natural birth we needed to learn about it - how to communicate with each other, how to cope with the laboring, and have the necessary tools and knowledge to respond to the different stages of labor. We signed up for the classes and started to feel excited and convinced that it was the right path for us. We learned so much about proper nutrition, relaxation, and how to avoid unnecessary interventions, just to name a few.

My entire pregnancy was shadowed by haunting memories of how we were treated and how things were handled with the twins' birth. As I tried to sort through some of those feelings, I paused one day to envision exactly what I wanted from Hugh's birth. I knew there were certain things I really wanted and certain other things that I really didn't want. After a lot of consideration, long talks with my OBGYN and her CNM, counseling with Marc, and some urgent prayers, we made some drastic changes to our birth plan... when I was about 33 weeks along.

At first I was a little (or maybe a lot) nervous about making big changes so far into my pregnancy. One night, in fact, I was so stressed about making such big changes so far along that I broke down in tears. After pleading for heaven's approval, I came away with a very clear reassurance that our little boy's life would be preserved, regardless of the details of our desired birth plan. All would be okay with our new direction. We met with a Certified Professional Midwife who was a lot more supportive of our desire to have a natural birth and after learning about her extensive experience (25+ years and attending over 1200 births), we immediately felt confident in her care.

Besides deciding on a natural birth, we also went with the choice to have a home birth. The more research we did of all our different options, and after weighing the pros and cons of each option, I really wanted the simplicity and beauty of a home birth.

Part of our comfort with that decision was the reassurance we felt from Claudette, our midwife, that she wouldn't hesitate to transport us to the hospital if it became necessary. Plus, the fact that we lived within a half mile of the hospital made us feel more comfortable with any possible "what ifs" that might come up.

So, we planned. We prepared. We bought a birth kit. We washed the towels and receiving blankets. We stocked our cupboards. We rented a birthing tub. We got our home ready to be turned into its own little birthing center, for one special little arrival.

Looking forward

This week, with all of its extreme ups and downs, I'm actually really glad tomorrow is Monday.

But, first off, I have good news - Hugh's bruises from his accident last Sunday are completely gone. Although he does have some new ones, but luckily not any nearly as frightful. He hasn't slowed down a bit this week and I'm so relieved.

I was a little surprised, though, by how much Hugh's little collision with our end table on Mother's Day seemed to cause bruises on my heart. I couldn't look at him without feeling like I was looking at the poorest reflection of myself. And, while Hugh's bruises healed with amazing speed, I kept poking at mine. After an exhausting Tuesday, I came across this quote on my niece's blog:

"Occasionally discouragement may darken our pathway; frustration may be a constant companion. In our ears there may sound the sophistry of Satan as he whispers, "You cannot save the world; your small efforts are meaningless. You haven't time to be concerned for others.' Trusting in the Lord, let us turn our heads from such falsehoods and make certain our feet are firmly planted in the path of service and our hearts and souls dedicated to follow the example of the Lord. In moments when the light of resolution dims and when the heart grows faint, we can take comfort from His promise: 'Be not weary in well-doing . . . Out of small things proceedeth that which is great. Behold, the Lord requireth the heart and a willing mind."

- Thomas S. Monson

As I read it, the burdens I'd been carrying suddenly felt noticeably less heavy. And, I was reminded that these days, even with the bumps along the way, are the most sacred days of my life. And, even when I get overwhelmed by discouragement or inadequacy, I know I can ultimately decide how much I allow those feeling to linger. Plus, I'm guessing that life with boys is going to be full of accidents and stunts that won't end well. While I will do my best to protect and keep them safe, maybe what's even more important is how I respond when they fall.

***

The week got progressively better and since Thursday we've been eating this:

Marc requested yellow cake with chocolate frosting for his birthday cake. I had been eying my choice - Banana Split ice cream cake - for at least six months (during the period I was going dairy-free and craving ice cream like a true addict with insane withdrawals).

We ended the week with a visit from my dear friend Sarah and her son Noah, and the return of my parents (from their month-long hiatus) just in time for my Dad's birthday today, which also brought my sister and her two little ones, too. With visitors like that, only good things to come this week.

A complicated Mother's Day

As Mother's Day approached this year, I had a flood of conflicting feelings come surfacing...

Gratitude for my own mother, for the blessing of being a mother myself, for those in my life who make me want to be a better mother.

Guilt for not measuring up.

Joy that comes from having two boys as mine.

Heartache for those who are still faithfully seeking out motherhood and might be having an extra hard time.

Satisfaction at where we've been and how far we've come in our own journey.

Inadequacy in falling short so often.

To name just a few.

And, with the day before Mother's Day being Birth Mother's Day, I was working on a couple of gifts to express our love and gratitude to Ben's birth mother, Tracey. I am in debt to her for the role she played in making me the mother to the sweetest blue-eyed boy.

As I was going through photos and videos from the last year, I inadvertently came across the video of Hugh's birth, which holds its own powerful emotions that still overwhelm me. Two miracles, each coming to us in their own unique way.

Sometimes I just shake my head in disbelief, not quite sure how we got to this place. But, here we are with more joy than we know what to do with. And, I feel guilty about that. I really do.

That's when I realized Mother's Day is really a complicated holiday. (Am I the only one who feels this way??) I've had years when I've disliked it so much I've wished I could cancel it somehow or skip over it or plaster it with Nutella (but, I wish I could plaster everything with Nutella). Then, last year I finally had a baby in my arms, living proof that I was indeed a mother, which obviously made it a much more festive holiday than years past. This Mother's Day, I figured, was bound to be even better, having both my arms filled with my two boys.

That was until at roughly ten to eight in the morning. I was cracking an egg into the pancake batter when I heard a crash. There was my little Hugh lying on the floor with our end table laying on top of him. We think he was reaching for the clock that was sitting on the table (which normally is up on top of our bookshelf) and in his reaching he brought the table down on himself.

I felt awful! He screamed, and I mean screamed like nothing I've ever heard. Then the bloody nose started. I was trying to stop the bleeding, but he would jerk his head from side to side trying to keep me from touching any part of his nose. We were worried that he might have broken his nose. The lump on his forehead was already starting to form, so I was trying to ice it with a bag of frozen corn. Oh, and I was shaking like crazy, wanting to fall into a puddle of my own tears. I tried to have Marc take over for a minute while I composed myself, but that made Hugh even more upset. It was high-adrenaline for about a half hour. Then, the crying slowly stopped, we offered him some Tylenol, and he fell asleep cuddled in my arms.

I was relieved that later, after a good, long nap, he was happy and seemingly oblivious to the trauma of the morning -

I am grateful beyond words for the blessing of being a mother, with all the ups and downs. I love my days with Ben and Hugh more than any other way I've spent my days previously. I just hope one day they'll forgive me for all the ways I'm surely going to mess things up.

And, I'm realizing that somehow I've got to figure out how to celebrate Mother's Day without all the conflicting and complicated feelings that seem to come with it now. I have to believe there are others out there who feel the same. Anyone?

Memories made in the Sun

The big highlight of our time down with our friends was an important ceremony; a ceremony where my friend Christy became a U.S. citizen. It was a unique opportunity to experience. Feelings of patriotism mingled with spiritual feelings in such a way that I wasn't sure where one began and the other ended. It was such a privilege to be there for such a big moment for my friend.

I just love this photo! Aren't they the cutest family?!

** The photos above were done professionally by Christy's friend - she got some really incredible shots. Go here to see them for yourself. If you live in the area, you might just find an excuse to hire her for a photo shoot. She's good at what she does and was super nice! **

That day is really one that I won't ever forget. I'm so glad we found a way to be there and so grateful for the initial phone call from Dan that started the whole adventure. And, then to spend a few days in the sun, hanging out with their family was awesome and long overdue.

I'm sure it'll be obvious from the following photos that my boys were in heaven. They had so much fun! Of course, it helped that heaven was just outside their sliding glass door - the backyard held its own little park and playground. One day we'll have to get ourselves a backyard like theirs.

Ben fell in love with this Tonka dump truck (these two were pretty much inseparable)...

Ben found his own little version of pushing toys around like he does with his cars at home, this time at the window sill...

we laughed A LOT (Christy's three are some of the most genuinely hilarious kids I know - after just a day with them, you'd be convinced, too, I promise!) ...

we cleaned up messes (this was just after my two schemed together to get a bag of goldfish open and then proceeded to eat them off the floor) ...

we ate good food...

we cooled off...

we lounged...

Hugh learned from Dan how to play Super Mario Brothers...

and learned from Sorority Girl Elsie how to properly shout "Woo-hoo!"...

we played with Bella, the dog (and learned that my boys LOVE dogs, or at least this particular dog)...

we welcomed Daddy with big smiles when he arrived...

These photos give just a quick glimpse into our time together, but I wish everyone could have the chance to spend a day in their home, among their family. There is love in their actions and expressions, there is joy, there is calm even amid the moments of chaos, there is patience and temperance in moments of teaching (I'll never forget Levi's first experience with ebay!). Dan and Christy have both overcome their own personal Mount Everests, and dare I say on multiple occasions. They have their own stories that uplift and inspire and make the world a better place - well, at least my world. It truly is a blessing to call them friends.

The Best Neighbors

Eight years ago (this week, in fact) Marc and I made our first big move as a young, married couple from our little duplex in Springville to an apartment in a little suburb of Portland. Tigard was home for just a little over a year, but we loved our time there. Some of our favorite memories all stem from the first big decision we made upon arrival - where to live.

After walking through at least a couple of dozen apartments, we finally ended up at Cross Creek. It wasn't even on our list of places to check out, but somehow we ended up there. I still remember walking up to the manager's apartment, looking around at the lovely setting of the complex, and already feeling like we had found the right place for us. When Christy (the manager) and her almost-one-year old daughter, Maddy, showed us one of the open apartments we felt even better about living there. There were some specific things that happened that finalized the decision and made it very clear to us that it was a good choice. I just didn't realize at the time how much such a decision would affect my life.

After living there for just a couple of short months, Christy echoed my squeals of excitement when we found out we were expecting our first baby. And, then just a couple of weeks later she was waiting as we returned home from the hospital with nothing but tears, broken hearts, and news that we had lost our baby. I remember being so touched by the tears she shed right along with me. I didn't expect compassion that deep from such a new friend.

We became fast friends. One of those friendships that doesn't take any effort. It was an added bonus that our husbands liked each other, too. And, over the last eight years, even with long distances separating us and visits that are much too infrequent, we've managed to keep our friendship as strong as it was when we were neighbors at Cross Creek.

~~~

A couple of weeks ago we were able to spend a little over a week in the sun with our all-time favorite neighbors. The boys and I squeezed ourselves into the back seat of my parents' Civic, as they were headed to my brother's house which was conveniently right on the way. I'll admit the boys weren't super pleased with my traveling arrangements that included waking them at four in the morning and them being strapped in their car seats for an insane amount of time... but we survived. Thanks, in part, to moments like this:

(We had to leave Marc behind to finish up some urgent work projects, but he joined us for the last couple of days.)

Once we arrived, I think the boys thought they were in heaven. And, I felt exactly the same way, though for different reasons.

More to come...

Happy Easter!

My good friend, Jelaire, wrote the music and lyrics to this song. It is too beautiful not to share, especially on a day like today.

"He's not waiting for us to be perfect. Perfect people don't need a Savior. He came to save us in our imperfections. He is the Lord of the living, and the living make mistakes. He's not embarrassed by us, angry at us, or shocked. He wants us in our brokenness, in our unhappiness, in our guilt and our grief." - Chieko Okazaki

For the rest of this quote and more background on the song and how it came about, go here. It's definitely worth your time.

Happy Easter!

Life changes and eating an elephant

We spent all day Friday moving into our new home. Fortunately we had lots of strong and able men with big trucks who helped make it just a two-trip move, which was completed within three hours. We had a small group of women who helped me make everything sparkle at the old place, making it look pretty darn fantastic. We also had two doting grandparents who were happy to entertain the boys at their place for the day, so as to shield them a bit from as much of the chaos and confusion that can come with a big change like this.

By the end of our very long Friday and coming home to boxes stacked so high that it felt like we could have opened it up to the public as a cardboard maze and charged a small fee for entrance, I had come to the end of my frazzled rope and declared with more gusto than I knew was in me - "I hate our new place."

I didn't, really.

I was just exhausted. I was telling Marc later that I had never felt more tired than I did by the end of that day... except for maybe the day I labored to bring Hugh into the world. And, I felt even more exhausted just thinking about the task of unpacking everything, while still taking care of my little family. But, I think I was mostly overwhelmed with fears of how I would help my little boys adjust to their new environment when I felt so sapped of all energy and optimism myself.

I had to remind myself of the answer to that silly riddle - How do you eat an elephant?

I'm guessing you probably know the answer.

So, that was exactly what I did. I focused first on the most important priority - getting my boys settled safely and peacefully in their new (shared) bedroom for the night. Then, I tackled the boxes. One at a time. I couldn't look at the entire house filled with boxes. It just made me want to cry, if I did. I had to force myself to focus on the one box in front of me. One at a time.

And, before the end of the night on Friday our cardboard maze was completely unrecognizable and I was slowly seeing our home becoming more recognizable.

We went to bed much too late, which turned out to be a bad idea since Hugh ended up having a really rough night. He was up three times and ended up asleep on my chest twice when I got the feeling his lack of sleep had more to do with not feeling well than anything else. My intuition turned out to be correct when all day Saturday he was fighting a fever.

But, last night went so smoothly. Both boys went down for bed so easily - in bed by 6:30pm - AND they both slept through the night, though 5:30am will probably always feel just a bit too early for me.

Today I found myself thinking of all the things I like about our new home - the sound of the morning doves and other birds singing throughout the day, the park across the street where kids today were out playing baseball with their dads, the random cat wandering the very quiet neighborhood, the secluded feeling of living on the outskirts of town, the view from our kitchen of the hills. I really liked our other place and had felt quite sad about leaving it, until I realized what we were getting in its place.

(Our other place was smack-dab-in-the-middle of downtown, with the near-constant sound of traffic, sirens, airplanes, with the "drug-dealing" park down the street and the random transient wandering our neighborhood. Not to mention our neighbor's raging outdoor parties during the summer that commonly started at midnight and ended about four hours later. Definitely won't miss those.)

We're not completely settled in yet, but we're getting there. And, after a weekend of General Conference, I'm feeling encouraged and renewed. I'm anxious to go back and, in my studies, gather my own list of little personal prophetic epistles, as referred to by Elder Holland. Lots of gems that I want to hang on to and live by. Sometimes it can feel overwhelming to work on areas of weakness and inabilities, but I suppose personal improvements, just like settling from our move, require the same answer to that silly elephant riddle.

Taking just one day at a time. And, that's exactly what I'll do.