Post 32 | One Year Anniversary

To my Human, my Knower, my Knowee, my Warm, Happy Place and my "With You."

Happy One Year of Being a Family.

Thank you for all that you have been for and to me.

You are adored and treasured.

1 /// Thank you for being a human with me. 

"all the jazz you've heard is true
love is patient and love can burn
and it won't ask to be excused
and it won't ask if it can please return

some will tell ya that it's a myth
try to say it don't exist
well, shake her hand to help her place
it's finally standing in our midst."

Toe sock-fuzz, stubbly armpit hair, crotches that smell like cheese, gunk in teeth, greasy hair, ruffled eyebrows, puking, hang nails, gaining weight, chin hairs, stretch marks, burps&farts, blisters, snores, cracked lips, ear wax, blood stained underwear.   You don't get married and stop having (terribly) bad breath mornings (and neither does he.)  You still have bad hair days, and everything-is-dirty-gawd-we-need-to-do-laundry days, and bloated days.  Sometimes you wake up just feeling off.  Sometimes you're tired, or hungry, or overheated.  (Don't underestimate the power of a good meal/nap/air-conditioned-building to make things happy again.)  Sometimes you have an overwhelming and mind-bending desire to have sex and roll around making-out, and sometimes you'd rather re-watch episodes from Season 1 of The Office or hack away at your inbox or take shower (by the way, unless you have an expensive fancy double-headed shower, someone is left standing in the cold!  I never thought about that before I got married.  Showering together turns out to be a more practical-conversation thing than a throw-yourself-against-the-wall-thing.  Plus, let's be honest, pregnant girls need help shaving - among other things.)  It's not actually all that comfortable to fall asleep in each other's arms - elbows and shoulder blades and clavicles and rib cages and necks and the tingly-numb-falling-asleep-thing.  I prefer touching toes and holding hands for the actual falling asleep part.  Or even facing opposite directions - with the back-bum touch because hot pillow breath exists  I love being so human with my Caleb.  It's less-edited and less-shallow than "pretty" life - it's beautiful life.  There is absolutely no part of my self or my body that I am ashamed to be with you or share with you. 

2 ///  Thank you for knowing me...

"To know and be known..." "I am scared of me. But I want to be known and loved anyway. Can you do this?...I am giving myself to you, and tomorrow I will do it again. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love." Donald Miller

He knows my exact order at Chipotle.  That may have been the best part of our anniversary day for me - I opened up the foil top and saw not one ingredient missing, or one extra.  It was exactly how I would have ordered it.  I would have eaten anything - extra toppings or not.  But he knew.  I don't think any other man in the world could walk into Chipotle and order my order.  Breast-feeding and baby-holding and pregnancy-recovering has been killing my back, so before anniversary dinner he surprised me with a deep tissue back massage at a swanky spa.  Usually I would have opted for getting my nails or hair done.  But right now? New Mama Me? Back rubs back rubs back rubs.  And he knew.  At dinner he gave me gift card to get five more "whenever you want!" We ate dinner at a place that isn't fancy, and isn't really even romantic, but I've been wanting to try it for over a year now.  No man would pick it for a "special anniversary dinner" in a line-up of MD/DC/VA restaurants.  But Caleb picked it because he knew.  When we were dating I knew I liked him, but his personality was so different than "what I thought I wanted."  He was different.  And I was nervous.  But one of the things I so vividly remember falling for was his special attention to me.  In the sweet, planned things, like anniversaries, yes.  But mostly in the daily things.

You know my eyes and what they're saying, you know my laughs and how to make me laugh, you know what I'm saying and then what I mean (at least you work really hard to.) You know that I love to "argue" and debate and hash-things-out and that it's not because I'm mad or divisive or trying to win, but because that's how I figure things out and connect to people.  You know that I'm messy and unorganized and don't punish me for that.  You know I love to read outloud and then talk about it.  You know I love eating and finding "new" good food and cooking - and you let that be a big deal for us, even though you'd be happy with a less diverse menu.  You know that I like making money and making creative things and being challenged, so I do photography and coach basketball and out-of-the-blue start an IG baby clothes shop.  I love you - I do - and I'm in love with you - I am - but you're so much better at "giving yourself up for me." At considering me.  At doing for me and asking and expecting nothing in return.  You love me better than I love you.  It's been the privilege of my life being loved and known by you.


3 /// ... and thank you for letting me know you.

You've let me in, and given me your trust.  And I treasure that with my life.  You've cried vulnerable tears for me that I know no one else has ever seen.   You laugh your biggest, best laughs when we're tucked under the covers like children at a sleepover.  Just with me.  You're still quiet, but not because you're stupid or empty or blank.  I know you hate when people say "You don't have much to say, huh?" because I know you're letting them talk, and you're listening.  I know you're content and don't care to be the center of attention.  I know you're much less quiet than you used to be, and I know your mind is a jungle of a place.  When we were dating I used to pray that you would really laugh with me - not joking ha-ha silly goose laugh, but let-loose, put your guard down, get tears in your eyes, and lose yourself in the humor.  Now I feel like it happens daily.   I know how you like your head-scratched, and your meat peppered, and your underwear soft.  I feel like I "get" you, and even with all the fascinated learning I've done, you keep me on my toes and surprise me.  (Like, yesterday you went into the gas station to get "a treat" and came out with caramel?! I loved it.  You've never bought caramel.  You always get somesort of chocolate candy bar or maybe a gummy-sour snack.  But you were in the mood for caramel.  Cool?) Thank you for telling me lots of stories about the first 23 years of your life, the years I wasn't there for.  Thank you for being the first person I go to when I have something to say, and thank you for coming to me first when you have something to say.  Thank you for making me feel special by being the one-and-only.  I love knowing you.

4 /// Thank you for teaching me through your life that the blog posts and books are wrong: marriage is about our happiness.

"every single broken heart will lead you to the truth
you think you know what you’re looking for
til' what you’re looking for finds you

in a cold world, it’s a warm placewhere you know you’re supposed to be
a million moments full of sweet relief
when the right one comes along."

I forget the first-time we had the conversation, but it's become one of those that keeps cycling around for us.  "If marriage is supposed to represent the relationship between Christ and His church, the King and His Bride, then it should be a place of joy, safety, delight, feasting, freedom, and, yes, happiness."  Being a Christian doesn't mean that you'll never cry stinging tears of sadness, but it means when you do, you have somewhere to go... you have hope to assure and brighten your soul... you have Christ.  As Christ makes His Church holy and molds them into creatures of glory, He's making them happy.

"...the goal of marriage is not happiness. And although happiness is often a very real byproduct of a healthy relationship, marriage has a far more significant purpose in sight." RELEVANT MAGAZINE

It's just not true.  There is no more significant purpose that we can have than to be wholly holy and happy in our Groom.  The purpose of our union with Him is perfection and satisfaction and real joy forever (because that glorifies Him.)  It's wrong to say marriage is about holiness, but not happiness.  There is no such thing.  If you are being made more holy, you are truly being made more happy.  And I don't say this lightly, or forgetting the dangerous, abusive, heart-breaking, disease-stained, divorce-headed, bad, unhappy marriages.  I know them personally, and I know the grief is so strong it can make you shake.  Marriage isn't about getting your way every time.  It's not about owning a servant to do what you want, when you want.  It's not about life being easy, and every single day being boatloads of "Fun fun fun!" But the goal of the marriage should be to make each other happy, so far as is in your ability, doing what is best for the other person, and thereby being filled with joy to watch the other filled with joy.  It should be about together becoming happier and happier in God, as He makes you happier and happier together.  Holiness isn't rigid and cold.  It's welcoming, warm and delightful.  Commitment and promise are meant to weather the most grievous of storms - faithfulness through unhappiness is extremely respectable.  Please don't hear me say that you will always be happy and exhilarated the whole time you are married.  But please believe that a purpose God made in earthly marriage, reflecting the heavenly union, is indeed your actual and tangible happiness.

Caleb, thank you for wanting and expecting our marriage to be a place of very real joy.  Thank you for being a safe place for me in the darkness and storms.  Thank you for wanting to make me happy - in the way you butter my bagels, talk to to me, talk about me to others, rub me, provide for me, get'it'on with me, compliment me, and be *with* me.  I so want to make you happy.  I love watching you get better at the things you're good at, and also get better at things you're not-as-good at.  I love helping you, and hoping with you, and being yours.  It does make me happy.  I'm happy doing unhappy things with you because I believe in the purpose behind them, even if I don't feel the emotion in the very moment.  I'm happy that even when I am unhappy, I know the goal and prize is still hope and happiness.  We'll keep fighting for this family to be happy and joy-filled, because we are married to Christ, Joy Everlasting.

5 /// Thank you for making our life together one where we are really together.

"you and i, we're not tied to the ground. 
oh, and when the kids are old enough 
we're gonna teach them to fly.  

you and me together, we could do anything, baby 
you and me together yes, yes."

He makes it clear by the way he lives, talks, and acts that he prefers being with me the most.  He'll go out of his way to be with me.  If that means sitting in a car for a couple hours with our baby so I don't have to drive to photoshoots alone, he's there.  If that means sitting (sleeping?) on a friend's couch while I package up baby clothes, he's there.  It means making arrangements to drive in the same car when it'd be more convenient to take two.  It means that we've seen each other every single day (that we've been in town together) since he moved to Maryland in May 2011, and we've slept together every night of our marriage (even though that sometimes meant he laid at my nauseous, miserable feet on couch cushions so I wouldn't be alone on those long, sick nights.)  (This is where I can't help but shout-out to the military and other families who have no choice but to be apart.  I'm VERY grateful.) It means guys night is fun, but wife-nights are better.  I don't think he's ever even implied that he'd rather be alone than be with me.  Of course there are nights where I'm on my phone looking through instagram, and he's on the laptop going through e-mails, and we're not saying much of anything.  But those are sweet times, too.  I think it's the consistency - looking back over a year and remembering how much of that year was spent side by side.        The last year has been painful and scary in some of the most serious ways, but Caleb has been "one with me" through our shared life.  (He swore and his eyes filled with tears when I told him my mom's cancer had come back.)  Marriage has been anything but lonely and I couldn't possible explain what peace and hope that has given me.  Because I know it's just the representation of my God, just the analogy before the real wedding feast.  Thank you, my sweet Caleb.  For everything.

My Weird, Natural, Prodromal, 'Induced,' Pitocin, Drug-Free, Long, Beautiful Birth Story | Part 1

THE BIRTH STORY | PART ONE

the most dedicated, difficult, wonderful, supported experience i've ever lived through and accomplished

Preparation + Expectations 

Both Caleb and I come from families who really support and affirm natural childbirth.  His mom had many homebirths (including a set of twins! and carried another set of twins 42 weeks without induction!) and my mom took Bradley classes, labored

mostly

at home and then delivered at a now-closed area birth center.  The dads were always very and eagerly involved in the entire process.  Because this happened to be "normal" and "what we were used to" growing up, it just seemed natural (ha.) to investigate this option first, and was also what we both automatically desired - more out of familiarity than anything else.

Movies like "

The Business of Being Born

," friends who delivered naturally, our moms, Bradley classes and the book "

Husband-Coached Childbirth

" were all brilliantly helpful in educating us and helping us talk through what we hoped, wanted and expected out of "the birthing process."  

We learned more about the "domino effect" of medical intervention in healthy women and babies, the approach most hospitals take, what birthing has been like in history and in most places around the world, what l&d medicine has been in America the past 100 years (actually quite scary...

chloroform and twilight sleep

?!), the biology of the body, the details of natural and synthetic hormones used in labor, animal/mammal instinct in labor, benefits of laboring in a "home/home-like" environment, definitions of all things "birthing," etc.

"Comparing birthing to swimming, the doctor is the lifeguard.  Both swimming and birthing carry irreducible and minimal risk, and doctors and lifeguards are necessary, but only for complications.  Good swimmers and good birthers need them to be present, but just in case problems arise."

"Their happy chatter as they strolled together in the early stages of labor would be rhythmically interrupted by contractions... Whenever a contraction occurred, the same calm pattern of relaxation, abdominal breathing and affirming talk would be automatically repeated.  The couple performed their respective tasks calmly - observers were impressed by the obvious fact that here were two people, who knew each other well, happily working together.  The close relationship between husband and wife, the total trust and dependence on each other, was heartwarming to see... even seemingly trivial acts reduce the tasks of nurses, and instead direct the gratitude of a mother to the one she loves: her husband."

We really think mamas and couples need to make decisions for themselves, and we think being educated is the best way to make decisions.  The goal is healthy mama, healthy baby.  It really is.   And there are lots of ways to get there, and no matter what you "want" life seems to throw change-ups like a Hall of Famer.  There is no "right" or "wrong" and there is mostly no judgement.  Every story and birth and mama is so different.  As it should be.

We spent time figuring out what was best for us - and we really enjoyed the process!  I, personally, wanted not just Caleb's

help

, but for him to not be

helpless

.  I hated the idea of him standing there, watching me suffer, with no idea what to do and no idea what was going on or with nearly noway to practically help.   I would struggle being tossed into a traumatic situation I knew

nothing

about!  I didn't want him to feel like a bystander or observer.  I wanted to have

our

baby

together.  We both also wanted to do everything we could to let my body do what God made it able to do by itself.  We both WHOLEHEARTEDLY wanted medical help and intervention if my body wasn't able to do it on it's own.  We are so grateful for drugs, hormones, needles, surgeries and procedures that can protect, keep and save life.  But unless those were

necessary

we didn't want to take 'advantage' of them.  We felt like this was the healthiest and best 'plan' for me as a woman, and also for our little BorisMorrisBoy.

We learned in our Bradley Class about the reasons medical intervention should be used.  We talked about - to the best of our ability - "what if ______ happens?"  We knew it might not be possible for us to have a totally natural birth - heck, Dr. Bradley's own daughter had an emergency (life-saving!) c-section!  These things are not evil or something we were trying to avoid.  It was more of a mindset: we want to

pursue

these other things first, and go to those grace-of-God medical interventions if we

needed

to. 

I've heard/read/seen women say something along the lines of "I'm too wimpy for a natural birth/I have a low pain tolerance/I don't need to be the hero!/We have the drugs for a reason!" and truly: I'm too wimpy too

not

try a natural birth ;)  I'm a tough woman, I really am.  But I'm terrified of needles and drugs and "the works" (really, I get cavities drilled without novacaine... Because I'm more afraid of the shot than the drilling.  I'm weird.)   I'm more scared of epidurals and c-sections (and the recoveries after them) than I am of the pain of natural birth.  Again, proof that eeeevery mama is different! Haha! So as natural as possible was the plan :)

The Back Story

Most of the 20 Morris and Snyder children were late.  Caleb, a twin, was 14 days late and I was 11 days late.  My mom's last baby was 14 days late.  Basically, I was expecting to pass my due date with a baby inside me ;)

I shot a wedding on June 1, and made it to due date - June 6 - with very, very nothing exciting to report.  The "craziest" thing to happen was just so.much.mucus. Like. SO. much.  Enough that I was almost daily wondering if my water broke, but instead of the liquid being clear, unscented, and watery it was always slippery, yellow and smelly.  I called the office two different times to ask

"Should I come in? Not sure what's going on..."

but from my descriptions I was reassured: nope, just sounds like your body is getting ready - when your water breaks, you will know!  At my midwife appointment on June 6 I found out I was 3cm dilated and about 70% effaced.  Encouraging news - yes!  But not all that exciting - I know women can be 3-4 cm dilated for weeks before going into labor.  I carried on with my week, waiting for something to happen.  On June 10 I discovered two different super-leaks in bed.  But it was all slippery mucus, as usual, and not watery.  I felt no burst or pop, and it didn't keep "leaking" throughout the following hours or day.  

My body is just getting ready

, I told myself.

On June 12, around 1:00 pm I started having consistent, trackable, painful contractions.  They were about 8-10 minutes apart, with varying degrees of pain.  It felt like everyone said: bad menstrual cramps.  I went out with my mom to run some errands.  Maybe once an hour I had a "strong" contraction (had to stop and focus and breath through it).  Caleb started timing them around 4:30 pm and they were happening about every 2-3 minutes, lasting a minute each.  It was confusing because I couldn't usually tell when one contraction would start and another would end.  It kind of always felt tight and crampy and then it would just "peak" and I could say

"Oh! Okay! Yeah, something just happened!"

but I couldn't predict when it would happen.  The hard, churning was just sort of "there."  I texted a few friends to give them a heads-up.  Did some laundry.  Went to the grocery store with C to walk and get a few last minute hospital items.  After 7:00 pm things were still moving and grooving.  The painful peaks hurt more and more.  This seemed very likely to be "it."  And then all of a sudden, right after 8:00 pm, everything stopped.  EVERYTHING.  No more tightness.  No crampy-ness.  No peaks.  Nothing.  One good hard painful peak, and in a *snap* it was all gone.

I was confused and a little discouraged going to bed that night.  

What the frick

was

that?  That was not a few Braxton Hicks.  No way.  

I did some googling and came across the term "

prodromal labor

."  Not false labor, not pre-labor - no, no, prodromal labor is it's own animal.  REAL labor that takes place over days or weeks, not hours.  The analogy used was one of running a race.  Many labors have a distinct (ish) start.  Looking back a woman could say

"I started active labor contractions here, and ____ hours later the baby was born."

 Start, run, finish. 30 minutes. 8 hours. 36 hours.  Whatever the length of time, it is definitive "active" labor.

But prodromal labor is apparently more like a race that begins, and you have no idea how long the race is, mile-markers are prohibited, and you are forced by a race official to sprint for as long as he says so, and then forced to stop racing and sit and wait until he says so, and then to walk when he says so.  You're really "in the race" and can have genuine, intense, even transition-esque contractions for a full day, only to be told

"Okay, sit down and stop now."

and be left sitting on the side of the track for two full days, waiting all over again.

It's quite mentally, emotionally and physically grueling.

And I read all kinds of blog posts and testimonies of mom's who experienced this kind of labor, getting my mind around the idea that this was probably going to be me as well.  I was relieved to know I wasn't a dramatic or stupid first time mom: I was feeling something more than "false labor."  I fell asleep assuming I had a solid few days ahead of me before I'd be checking into the hospital to deliver.

The Curve Ball - Hospital Day 1

I had a pre-scheduled appointment with my midwife for June 13 - one week past my due date "just in case" I was late.  Caleb and I left for our 10:00 am appointment and on the ride over discussed where we wanted to stop for lunch on the way home.  Long story short, while I was there I told the midwife about the night before and I repeated the "SO MUCH MUCUS" story I always tell them when I'm there ;)  She seemed somewhat head-pat-y and polite, and not even slightly rushed or curious or "intrigued."  After chatting I laid down to hear baby's heart, be measured and see what dilation was looking like.  As soon as she "took a look" the midwife said, I quoth,

"Oh wow, there IS a lot of mucus down here."

 I trriiiied to tell you!  She ran over and grabbed one of those paper-strips to see if this was amniotic fluid (from a broken water bag) or just above-average-lady-part-scuzz.  

"If it turns blue, it's amniotic fluid,"

she said as the strip turned a brilliant shade of deep royal cobalt.  

"Hmmm. We're going to need to send you to the hospital to do another test.  I'll let the midwife on call there know you're coming.  And I can't check your dilation here because if this really *is* amniotic fluid, then we don't want to risk infection."

And with that, we were off to the hospital.  A few things were going through my head, but mostly that "24-hour-rule."  I knew that aside from the odd-case, most hospitals wanted babies out no later than 24 hours after broken water (because of, yes, infection and the chance of risking the baby's health.)  But

if this was

amniotic fluid, I was fairly sure it had started coming out three days ago... at least!  Maybe longer!  I was just praying that I wouldn't be rushed into an emergency c-section.  Interestingly enough, as we walked back to the car, contractions started up again.  They'd been ALL TOTALLY NOTHING since 8:00 pm the night before, but now they were rearing up, roaring in my nice-sized middle.  I breathed and counted and instructed Caleb to

"drive gently!"

We checked into the hospital a little before noon, scooted over to triage, had a more "official" test done and it was confirmed: this was amniotic fluid.  My water bag had broken or ripped enough to leak and I wasn't leaving without a baby.  It was weird laying there in my gold hoop earrings and cotton wrap dress trying to understand what was happening as they started strapping arm bands and stickers on us.

(one

very

excited daddy... precious thing.)

By the time we were in our room, the contractions had

totally

stopped again.  We sat there and kind of laughed - it felt like we were checking into a Holiday Inn Express or something.  It didn't feel like... well... what I was expecting to feel at this point: nearing transition, after laboring most of the time at home!  My mom and sisters met us and helped bring our bags (which have been in the car for weeks) into the room.  Katie braided my hair, the little girls took our order for Chipotle, oh... and a tornado hit.  In very movie-esque evening-medical-drama form, a blue summer day turned green and quiet in hot stillness.  And then *blam* a storm moved in.  Nurses were RUNNING up and down the halls, with beds of women moving them from "window rooms" to "middle rooms."  Lights flickered.  Computer systems shut down. "Code White, I repeat, Code White" was being monotonously spoken over the speakers.  And we just kept walking the halls... excited when contractions picked up, and then always bummed when they stopped for five... ten... fifteen... shoot... twenty...twenty-five... DARN... minutes.  At this point it was 4:00 pm and I had gotten an IV in which fed me a stinging, cold dose of antibiotics, to help protect BabyBorisMorris from infection.  My midwives had no problem with me laboring naturally - even though it appeared that the water had been broken for days - as long as my heart, his heart and my temperature remained healthy.  I even asked

"So, if I'm still here in 24 hours...would you feel like 'Okay, times up! We're getting the baby out!'?"  

The midwife - very helpfully - promised that there was no timeline.  As long as all my information and baby's information came back "healthy," they'd let me labor as long as I needed.  Loooooad of concern off my back with that answer!

(smiling is not a 'good sign' in natural labors ;) a clue that... i wasn't even *close* to the intense stuff yet. haha! it felt hard, but little did i know...)

So Caleb and I walked.  And walked.  And walked.  And squatted.  And walked.  And contracted sometimes.  And then stopped.  And then contracted! Yay!  This must stick around this time! Walk! Walk! Walk! DOH. WHY DID IT ALL STOP AGAIN? (Reminder: I'm not talking spaced out contractions, I'm talking contractions on a 7-9 on the pain scale, every 2-4 minutes, lasting a minute each, for 45 minutes... then nothing.  Not so much as a twingy cramp.)

At 9:00 pm I had "witnessed" quite a few mamas arrive, and deliver their young.  We heard the grunts and pushes and first yelps over and over.  I wanted to know how far along we were.  I had been 3cm for over a week,  and these contractions must be doing SOMETHING.  My midwife checked and said hesitantly

"Mmmm, thr... eh, maybe, yeah, I'd say four."

Four?  Double-You-Tee-Ateshe, body!  We kept walking and visiting the friends who had come to cheer me on in the waiting room (the were like a spring in the desert lands.  SO hopeful and motivating and happy to see them all.  Shared joy is addicting.) and snacking and eating ice and feeling

slightly

more confident because the contractions seemed to be getting harder and sticking around.

(Becca was SO happy to see me in labor.  It was adorable. "KRISTEN.  You're having a BABY.  You're SWAYING!")

(remember? smiling = bad. waaaay too happy-go-lucky during my contraction breaks ;) but, hey, i'm glad i wasn't a total crab for my family and friends?)

At 10:00 pm I fell asleep briefly and the monitors showed that I was still contracting, but they weren't intensifying during my snooze.  I, I'm told, appeared much more tired and far less social at this point.  For the next few hours Caleb and I worked on the birth ball, walked SOME MORE, and the peaks in the contractions started becoming 10 on the 1-10 scale... every time. Intensity was actually building and

lasting

.  So we WORKED. HARD.  We buckled down, focused f'real and concentrated every part of ourselves on helping this baby work his way

out

.

(mama bear took over for a bit so daddy angel could re-group and refresh.  i needed him to have plenty of energy to last the long haul with me, and i

needed

mom to help me while he rested. i could not have done it without her. she's the best.)

(the time stamps on these photos are painful.  i scroll through and watch 10:00 go by... 10:30 go by... 11:00 go by... 11:30... midnight... 12:30... 1:00 in the morning... 1:30 in the morning... TWO O'CLOCK... TWO THIRTY...! Makes me tired just thinking about it!)

But when 2:30 am arrived and, once again, all signs of labor seemed to stop, we decided to take a break.  The friends had left to go home, mom and my sisters (who were still there, waiting and helping away!) were so sleepy.  Caleb was worn out.  I was frustrated. So we went to bed with a plan.  My midwife said we could either try castor oil or breast-pumping to get contractions

staying

and really going.  We decided on pumping.  

The Next Day - Hospital Day 2

After sleeping on and off until 6:30 am, Caleb and I embarked on the Great Pumping Adventure.  15 minutes on the machine, 15 minutes of walking, repeated four times.  This two-hour process finally wrapped up around 9:00 am.  I knew things weren't happening the way they should be.  I was also emotional because every four hours I had to get the antibiotic through the IV and I

hated

the way it felt.  So burn-y and uncomfortable.  I HATE needles.  And I hated being "hooked up" or having something stuck in me.  I couldn't grab or hold or move freely with an IV port in my hand.  And it hurt.  And I just didn't like it one bit.  I would always get a bit teary when that four-hour mark came again.  Every time I'd hope I'd be close to pushing - or maybe even with the baby! - by the time the next antibiotic shoot-up was scheduled.  But over and over I had to get it, sometimes right in the middle of a bratty contraction.

At 9:45 am, after all that pumping!, my midwife checked me: 5cm.  Almost 13 hours had gone by, and I had progressed one.tiny.centimeter.  And! To top it off, the midwife said

"I feel a bulging bag of forewaters."

 The nurse quickly asked

"Wait, I thought this was the patient who has had a broken water for three days?  That's why she's on the antibiotic...?

"

That's why I am HERE

, I thought ;)  The midwife talked about how a water can break, but then the baby's head can plug it up like a cork so it's "there" but open.  My mom and I were confused by that, but believed them.  Just.  Didn't quite know what to think.  5cm.  My water still needs to break (or needs to break again).  Okaaaay? 

In the meantime, the hospital was still going bonkers.  Babies babies babies.  The tornado babies.  The heavy, barometric pressure babies.  Firing off like a shooting squad.  The nurses and midwives were very, very busy.  And I was now on my third or fourth shift with a new midwife.  I rarely saw them because they had SO much going on (surprise twins! mother almost dying! baby getting stuck! crazy and scary.)  Meanwhile, I was the slow one over in Room 3, with an involved husband and doula-mama.

It wasn't until 11:00 am that my midwife kind of laid down the law for me, in a gracious, smart way.  She, for the first time in 24 hours, said the dreaded 'P' word: Pitocin.  I didn't want pitocin for a number of reasons.  If you don't particularly care why I didn't want pitocin, skip these bullet points and continue on with the story ;)  The best is yet to come.  But, if you are curious about what my train of thought was, have at it: 

1) I hate IV's and needles.  So enough said. 

2) Being on IV that drips would mean I couldn't be as mobile and free to do anything I wanted (like walk the halls, take a shower, etc).  I'd also have to be strapped into the continuous fetal monitors - another limiter for my positions and ability to move about.  My midwife did assure me I could move around the bed and my room as much as I was able and wanted.  But still.  I didn't like being limited in options ;)

3) I know that

most

women who use pitocin end up getting an epidural.  The pit contractions are a force working "outside" your body, as opposed to the "natural" oxytocin contractions that are triggered by baby's brain and mama's brain and working "with and within" your body.  I had been taught that pit contractions are harder, faster and more intense, with longer "peaks" and shorter breaks.  Overall it seemed to be a much more painful experience than natural labor, which seemed painful enough to me!  And I didn't know if I'd be able to do it without an epidural. (

4) The side effects of pitocin on mama was exactly what I was hoping to avoid (and why I did not plan on being induced to begin with).  Anything from mild to severe allergic reaction, nausea + vomiting (I was working hard to keep my body fueled and hydrated... I did not want to start losing my 'energy source'!), rupture of the uterus, premature separation of the placenta, dropped blood pressure and slow/fast/uneven heart beat, headaches, seizures, pelvic hematoma, increased swelling and engorgement (pitocin is an anti-diuretic so the body retains more fluids), etc.  Of course I could experience none of these side effects.  And, of course, these things could happen 'on their own' without pitocin!  But, like I had said before, I wanted to avoid adding risk and medical involvement

unless necessary

.  

5) Worse than potential effects of pitocin on me were the potential effects on my little boy.  Just a month before my due date, on May 7 2013, The American Congress of Obstetricians and Gynecologists released the findings of a study specifically directed at pitocin and

the baby

.

 "

Induction and augmentation of labor with the hormone oxytocin may not be as safe for full-term newborns as previously believed. 'As a community of practitioners, we know the adverse effects of Pitocin from the maternal side,' Dr. Tsimis said, 'but much less so from the neonatal side.'"

In keeping with many past techniques used in hospitals for labor&delivery, the research showing harm to mother/baby doesn't come along until after they have been using said technique for years or even decades.  Slow/fast/un-even (dangerous) heart-rates, limp and poor muscle tone, low APGAR scores, increased likelihood of jaundice, bleeding in the eyes and/or brain, poor reflexes (including sucking), etc are the known potential side effects.  As a mom I did instantly become protective and careful/aware of my baby's well-being and safety when I found out I was pregnant.  No alcohol, or tuna, or processed deli meat, or soft cheese!  Take the prenatal vitamins!  Have prenatal care!  Hydrate hydrate hydrate!  No contact sports (aka: no scrimmaging with my basketball team)!  No sleeping flat on your back! No roller-coasters! All for the safety of the baby! That same protective mama-bear came out when "pitocin" was said.  I wanted to be

so careful

what I was exposing my little guy to.

6) I didn't want the pitocin to cause an 'emergency c-section' scenario because the BorisMorris' heart rate was dropping.  He had been remarkably stable and healthy, with a strong, dependable heartbeat, the entire labor.  And I was willing to work through labor longer if it kept him in a safer situation.  It was 'okay' with me if he and my body needed more time.  And if he simply wasn't ready, I didn't want to 'force' him out and exasperate his sweet little heart.

That being said, Caleb and I talked and we had a couple other choices: castor oil and breaking my water (again? or whatever.)  Our midwife affirmed and supported those other two options, but we ultimately decided based on our midwife saying:

"Castor oil

could

help contractions get consistent, breaking your water

could

help get things moving, but pitocin

will

make this happen.  Pitocin is really a great tool when used right, and we are not using it to try to start your labor.  You

are

in labor.  You are having active labor contractions.  Your body might just need an extra little nudge to fall of the edge, so to speak.  You've been in real labor for over 24 hours, and I want you to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and have enough energy to do this.  We would start you on the smallest does possible, and only increase it if we needed.  We're not about to pump you with pit."

 My midwife knew what we wanted for our birth, we had talked many times, and I trusted her.  She said she believed this would be best, and she was confident it would help, not hinder, us in having the birth we wanted.  So.  We went for it.

Interestingly enough, I had written on my birth plan that I didn't want any students present at the birth, but a nurse asked me while I was there if I would allow the student following her to come in and observe.  For some reason I said

"Sure! No problem!"

 God knew.  The student came in as they were hooking me up to those two bags full of clear fluid.  I was a bit teary.  She came right over, looked me in the eyes, and said "

You are

so

strong.  What you've done so far is incredible.  I

know

you can do this

."  I pathetically muttered "

I really don't want an epidural or a c-section

."  She got very serious and told me that she had two vaginal deliveries with pitocin and with

out

an epidural.  "

You'll be just fine.  Really.  You've got this.  I know you can do it

."  During contractions she would encourage me ("

GOOD Kristen! GOOD.  You are so relaxed.  GOODJOB.  Gooooood

.")  I didn't know this woman from Adam, and after this conversation I don't remember seeing her again, but wow: she was an angel from God sent into Room 3.

Around noon I was all hooked up, with the Powerful Synthetic Oxytocin dripping into me.  I tried to gear up mentally for what was impending.  Hopefully harder, faster, stronger, BETTER.  Hopefully closer to the end than the beginning.  Hopefully ready for... whatever it was that was about to happen.  Some "labor verses" came to mind - ones I'd written down, prayed through, and enjoyed before labor started, hoping they would help in my sure-to-come-time-of-need:

"Run with endurance the race set before you."

hebrews 12:1

"You will not labor in vain... How joyful we are! We

will

enjoy the fruit of our labor!"

psalm 128:1

"He increases the power of the weak!"

isaiah 40:29

"He enables me to negotiate the rugged terrain."

isaiah 59:1

"

The Lord is in the midst of her, she shall not be moved."

psalm 45:6

Funny story: on the playlist we had in iTunes there was a Johnny Cash rendition of "

I Shall Not Be Moved

."  We laughed that this was BorisMorris' anthem ;)  

"I shall, I shall, I shall NOT be moved!"

But when I think of the labor, almost immediately those lyrics come to mind.  From here on out this song will take me back to that dimly lit, beige, clean hospital room.

"Though all hell assail me, I shall not be moved

Jesus will not fail me

, I shall not be moved.

Just like the tree that's planted by the water

I shall not be moved.

Though the tempest [or uterus ;)] rages

, I shall not be moved

On the Rock of Ages, I shall not be moved.

Just like the tree that's planted by the water, 

I shall not be moved."

{Part Two to follow...}

picture credit: Becca + Janet + Lydia

Pregnancy Is Funny | Post 25

I've always been curious about how I'd like/handle/enjoy/feel/process being pregnant.  I had no doubt that I would love my wee small babe (mothers seem to agree on that one), but across the board there are such clashing reviews of the whole "being pregnant" thing.

I genuinely hated the first two months.  And would like to never do that again.  And I genuinely adore the rest of the months.  And want to do "this part" again, a lot.  So.  I'm considering how safe/healthy it would be to be knocked out for a couple months.  If it's possible to have some sort of big-brown-bear-hibernation-medication?  To finally unlock the powers of time-travel?  Forget going back in history or traveling 100 years into the future, I would - NO QUESTION - choose to fast-forward first trimester.

But maybe - in the sense that it made me more compassionate, more amazed at the capacity the human body has for pain, more aware of the physically hurting around me, and SO HAPPY TO THE LORD OF HOSTS FOR RELIEF - I'm glad I went through it.  And it probably helped me have a more laughable, delightful experience now... I'll take heartburn or kicked-in-the-crotch-with-a-steel-toed-boot-pain or swollen, stubby ol' body parts over nausea.  Especially if I can feel the babe of mine moving - that cures a multitude of sins (even if he's exploring my rib cage, which is as uncomfortable as everyone said it would be.)

I wanted to record a few of my "favorite" and I-never-could-have-known moments/parts of pregnancy because I think they're hilarious and part of what I'll miss... in their weird, inconvenient way ;)

- Burping like a preteen boy showing off to his mangy friends at a fast food joint after downing a pint or two of Cherry Coke. 

I'm not obsessed with manners (I do eat with my hands all the time) but I'm certainly not one of those girls who is all "dudebroyaPAAASSSSGAAASSSShahahahHILARIOUSpottyhumor!"  I'm conservative when it comes to bodily sounds.  Or I used to be.  I still feel this "pit of terrible" when a spontaneous wind breaks.  Everything goes into slow motion - it all starts before I even have chance to stop it, gaining speed and smell with every passing nano-second, and then BEEEELCCCCHHHH.  I'm left standing there with my mouth wide open, and my mother's heart, for some reason, wherever she is, a little bit sadder.

Grocery store clerks, "...Uhm debit.  And yes, I'll need threeBEEEELLCCHHHH!!!!! Excuse me, I'm so sorry."

People at church, "... we ask these things in Your loving name, amen." "AmenBEEEEELLLLLLCCCCCCCHHH!!! Excuseme, I'msososorry."  

On the court, "HEY!  COme on!  This is WEAK.  This is lazy.  Pick up the BEEEEEEELLLLCCCCHH. ExcusemeI'mverysorry."

- Going from "you don't look pregnant at all!" to "Are you due any day?!" "Nope, not until June!" "WHAAAT? Are you SURE you aren't having twins?" "Yup. Pretty sure." "Wow.  Well.  You are HUGE.  I've never seen someone so big who has two whole months left with just ONE baby! WOW." 

Thank you, thank you very much.  I'm looking into state fairs and circuses who need an extra act.  I really was bummed, at first, when people would tell me they couldn't see my bump.  I was obsessed with it growing and "popping" and was sure the world could see what I saw when I stood in the mirror!  I'll never forget the first stranger who saw me in public, looked at me, and said "Oh! Are you expecting?"  I wanted to cuddle her in my arms.  "Yes! Why, yes, I AM.  I am expecting."   And then it feels like I had about 72 hours before I, apparently, turned into quite the shock-and-awe.

An enormous beasty of a creature, shaking the ground with every step, a blonder King Kong, a modern-day Goliath, a portly half-female half-hippopotamus.  I'm surprised the government hasn't whisked me away for security and lab testing...! ;)  "Huge" is never a word that I've longed to b described as.  I do feel it - trust me - I feel heavy, large and not so cuteandtiny.  But in case I forgot, a discerning handful of folks remind me daily.   And when I insist that, no, I'm not having twins and that, no, I'm not due this week, some people argue with me...!  Questioning my doctor/midwives.  Questioning my health.  Questioning my timing.  "Are you sure you didn't get the date you conceived wrong?" "Aren't there stories of people who didn't know they had twins until they delivered?" "Are you sure everything is okay?"  "Yes, my midwife says I and the baby are measuring perfectly.  She has no concerns.  And happiest of all, we are both very healthy.  Thank you for your thoughts, though."

So, lesson learned:  keep my opinion on the size of a person to myself, pregnant or not.  And feel free to comment on how much I love a lady's bump, or how lovely I think she looks.  And to women all over, who I'm sure I've said "You look SO small!" or "Oh, man you're huge!" - I apologize.  I didn't know.


- Growing out of clothes

Bellies grow suddenly, and there is nothing quite like catching a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of a window out in public, or putting your hand under your bump while talking to someone... and discovering that about two inches of your round midriff are undressed.  One day a shirt is perfectly long enough, and the next: it's not!  Grace and charm, always.  That's the motto in my head.  But my torso often disagrees.

- Bladder control and "where the *bleep* did my mind go?" 

This duo is best explained by a recent story.

On our way to Oklahoma, I had a fairly easy time with the whole drink-lots-of-water-yet-not-use-the-restroom-every-20-minutes thing.  I could last for the length of a tank of gasoline.  For the most part.  On the way home, it was an entirely different experience.  One month of Hungry Hungry Growing Hippo in me, and all of a sudden I couldn't wait - or give much warning.

So somewhere on route 40 in the middle of Arkansas, I panicked.  "Baby, we need to stop somewhere. Right now. Ohmygosh.  Hurry.  Ohmygosh."  Because the Lord is kind and good, there was an exit within seconds of my announcement.  We peeled off the highway ("Not too fast!  It hurts!" "Ah! Don't brake too hard! It hurts!") and pulled up to a podunk, tired and greasy, pathetic gas station.  Up until this point we stopped at very WaWa-esque gas stations.  This was not a WaWa and probably the home of weekly crimes.  The bathrooms were across the lot, on the opposite side of the snack shack.   It was a small, square cement (cinder block?) building, with a flat, weak roof.  I giddy-up-ed into the Promised Land of Soothing Comfort.  One of the faucets on the sink was taped down with a clear scotch tape "X" and a wrinkled and faded "sign" was taped to the grey, blocked wall: "Out of Order."  There were paper towels, brown and moist, all along the perimeter of the space but none in the old dispenser on the wall.  The toilet seat was yellowing, the water was cloudy, the room was cold, the trash can stank.

And I didn't care one tiny bit.  I made it.  Off the highway, to the station, INTO THE RESTROOM.  It was a Tony&Maria blur movie moment.  "Toilet.  All the beautiful sounds of the world in a single woooord. Toilet toilet toiiiileeeet..!"  I ran, sprinted, leaped, slammed, raced, rushed over to sit.  And I pulled down my pants.  And expected to be rejoicing.  But instead I had a weird de-ja-vu to sleeping over at the cool girls house in second grade.  It was her birthday and the whole class of girls was there.  And I wet the bed.  And I'll never forget the warm, terrible feeling when I woke up and realized what I had done... in front of MY WHOLE CLASS.  And in that moment in Arkansas I realized: I forgot to pull down my underwear.

This created a bit of a garden-house effect when you put your thumb over the spout to make the water come out faster and harder.  I didn't know what to do, but I couldn't stop.  Eventually I walked into the middle of the bathroom and stood on my fake Ugg slippers while I shimmied my yoga pants off and slung them over my shoulders like a sweat towel on a March Madness athlete during a time-out.  I think I had kept them from getting sprayed, and needed to keep them safe out of harms way - harm, at the time, was the drips coming down my leg and anything in the entire cement bathroom.  I somehow stayed balanced while I took off and tossed my soaking peach panties into the trash.   I stood there with a giant sweatshirt barely covering me, and I nervously pulled out my phone to call Caleb.  He didn't answer.  I scooted to the bathroom door, hid behind it while I opened it, peaked out and called him.  He didn't hear me.  My brother did though.  And he yelled at Caleb.  At the same time Caleb returned my phone call.  "I need help.  Quickly."  I shut the door and resumed my new yoga pose - the Standing Fountain.  Husband Dear flailed around the parking lot trying to locate the bathrooms.  He was preparing himself to deliver our child.  To use his pocket knife to cut the umbilical cord.  To wrap up Little Son in a pillowcase.  He was red and heart-race-y when he found me.  "What's wrong."  "I forgot to pull down my underwear and I wet my pants." "......" "Can you go get me some new clothes out of the car?"  "Kristen."  "I know. Trust me.  I need a towel or something too." "How...? Okay.  Yes.  Just a second."

Before long I was cleaned up, and needing some trail mix and sour rope to enjoy.  Don't worry.  I managed to lose my wallet during the 48 seconds I spent in the snack shack.  The wrinkled, course young lady was very kind and helpful.  The boys didn't know what to say, but they looked diligently.  We found it, and after waaaaaaay too much time, we set off on our eastbound highway - empty-bladdered and thouroughly amused.  

 It's a beautiful, odd, gross, delightful thing to be involved with.  And, like any person I love dearly, despite its flaws and issues, I love being pregnant.  It's high, sweet, bizarre honor to be a part of it.  Cheers to pregnancy! And our favorite kiddo! And getting stuck "in" the couch! 

"Liberty Tree Tavern" | Post 22

"no one's gonna love like I do,

someone should have warned you."

Since my creative-cute-make-the-internet-jealous-and-not-nearly-as-great-as-me-ideas (only partially joking) for the husband + the house have been on strike this winter (I blame pregnancy, dreary un-inspiring coldness and coaching... but we all know this just happens in life.  Sometimes you're on your A-game, and sometimes you're not.  These days, I'm not.) I have to document our "One Year of Being Engaged Iversary" dinner!

Right before he presented me with a ring and a request at DisneyWorld, we ate dinner at my favorite Liberty Tree Tavern.   That dinner was the one where I talked all day about "THE GREEN BEANS!" but Caleb was too distracted to remember, the one where I cried and the waiter had to awkwardly stop pouring water mid-pour because I was so hysterical, the one where I caught Caleb up in the bathroom hallway talking to Lydia about photographing the impending proposal (but didn't think anything of it...?).  It was a good dinner.  I tried to re-create the menu to the best of my ability.   Caleb said my roast was better (Martha's version + one package of ranch seasoning), but their potatoes won.  Game on, potatoes.

The night we got engaged I ate three platefuls (not servings) of green beans, and asked for my own gravy boat.  I would eat their beans + gravy on a daily basis if possible.  

With some classical "Main Street" Disney music playing from the laptop, and a chocolate cake bought from Safeway waiting in the fridge, we dined like we were kids again.  (Full disclosure:  Caleb told me he'd be home at 6:00.  I cook a real-meal so rarely that it never really matters when he gets home, but he's always home when he says he'll be.  I didn't tell him about our dinner plans in the Magic Kingdom, and at 5:30 I got a text saying he wouldn't be home until 7:30.  Shoot.  I turned the oven and stove off, blew out the candles and waited until 7:00 to get things going again.  At 7:00 I turned everything back on... and he walked in the door.  My first response was "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!" Good to see you, too, sweet wife.  

I covered his eyes and made him sit on the stairs for half an hour hahah.  My sisters brought him his outfit - the same J. Crew button-up and khaki shorts he was wearing last year, and I rummaged through my closet to find my floral dress and blue cardigan and neon yellow purse. He changed, but still had sawdust in his hair from work.  

It was cheesy.  And us.  And it's always great fun to see his teary excited/blessed eyes.

After dinner he rubbed my back until I fell asleep and then he stayed up for two more hours drawing architecture plans for our roof while "The Mentalist" kept him company.  

Just an evening I want to remember. It was one of my favorites as a married person.

:)

February 25, 2012 | Post 20

I had no idea that it was going to be the best day of my life.

I had no idea he'd been shopping for a ring.

I had no idea he'd bought a ring.

I had no idea he'd asked for my dad's hand in marriage.

I had no idea he'd had a few foiled attempts at this day already.

I had no idea he was sweating hotdogs during this picture because I told him to take his North Face off, and when he did I tossed it on the ground in front of the glow-in-dark alien toys.

I had no idea this was in the pocket of his North Face.

 

I had no idea that he had been secretly saving money.

I had no idea he'd been deleting all of his phone calls with the jeweler, then "calling" about 25 different people after he deleted the jeweler call.  To fill back up his iPone "all calls" feed.  Because he knew I'd be suspicious if I saw an empty que. 

I had no idea he had had meetings at my friend's houses to make sure I'd like the ring.

I had no idea he was in touch with my best friend Lydia - all day long.

I had no idea Lydia was in Orlando, Florida, too.

I had no idea my mom was in on it - because I pressed her and hinted at it, and she shut down my guesses ;)

I had no idea that he knew me so well.

 I had no idea WHY he was so squirmy and quiet before the fireworks started.
I had no idea the situation I caused when I asked to wear his North Face because I was cold.

I had no idea how my heart would race, and my body would fall-apart, when he asked me to be his forever.

 

I had no idea the amount of feeling and capacity my heart had for pure happiness.

I had no idea a heart was capable of thudding so hard, so quickly, so long, without a person dying.

I had no idea that getting engaged was going to feel so different from talking about and "knowing" we were going to get married.

I had no idea I could possibly love a symbol of love so much.

I had no idea I could love another person so much.

 I had no idea.

 And I have a feeling, I still don't, really.

But he is my best decision.

And I have no idea how I get to be his,

and how he gets to be mine.

It's a very good thing.