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"called to build the kingdom first through the romance and adventure of our home..."

 

Post 56 | Summer's Birth Story

"This is a holy moment now,
Something of heaven touches earth..."

I had four “prayer requests” I was sending up to heaven. I sometimes struggle, a bit, with prayer. I know it’s mostly the formal title for simply talking with God. I know that even the practice of presenting requests brings peace, just like telling Caleb what is on my mind brings peace — even if there are no “fixes” or “answers” at the moment. The hesitation for me can come when I feel that “going through the motions” script come up. I don’t like seeming fake, even (or especially?) with God.

But I prayed. Or I asked. I took the things on my heart and spoke them, and wrote them, and thought about them and gave them words and said “Here God. Here’s what I care about right now. And I don’t exactly know how to handle not being in control of these cares. But here they are. Here I am.”

My four requests were:

1) That I would have a clear start to labor. (With Rowdy I didn’t and it was all very confusing and I probably didn’t need to be in the hospital as soon as I was, but looking back with the knowledge I had then I don’t know what I would have done differently. My “bag of water” was leaking but hadn’t broken. Yet throughout labor we received varying reports: It is broken. It’s not broken, just leaking. Looks like it is in fact broken! Ah! With that push your water finally broke. I had to be on IV’s for antibiotics and I hated hated trying to labor with an IV in. I didn’t prefer being in the hospital for 34 hours before giving birth. I felt like I never got emotionally or mentally comfortable, and I think my “stress” contributed to labor being so slow. A vicious cycle that began with uncertainty about me being in labor or not.)

2) That we would make it to the birth center, and that I would not have a baby or be in transition in the car. (The birth center we chose was 50 minutes from where we live, which isn’t that bad. But in between us and the center are two highways that house some of the worst traffic in the nation. Once it took 2.5 hours to get to an appointment. So depending on the day and the time we could be sitting in a parking lot while working through contractions in the back seat. And Caleb’s big fear was that I’d deliver on the road.)

3) That there wouldn’t be any complications for me or her. (I guess this is the cry of every mother’s heart. It’s real. I wanted, of course, for everything to just work. For it all to go right. For neither of us to be in danger or to have an emergency arise.)

4) That I would “feel it.” (I don’t ‘feel emotional’ very often. I mean, I’m not a robot. I have a heart. But I’m just not the type who gets overwhelmed or overcome with emotion on a daily or even weekly basis. Throughout the last few years I’ve worked to really make a point of doing things — like writing or reflecting — to help me. If I do feel the urge to cry, I try to remind myself “Go ahead, you don’t have to be tough and hold it back.” My natural self tries to suck it up. I like being strong. I like being able to handle things. I like “putting my mind to it” and not being stuck because of feelings. But I need them. I need the highs and the lows. I need to cry just as much as I need to belly laugh. You can’t spare yourself from “negative” feelings without removing yourself from “positive” ones, I’ve learned. So I try. And I asked. Let me feel it, Lord. I want to experience it in full. My first labor since losing mom. My first daughter. My “dream” birth center birth. All my people I’ve asked to come. The contraction pain. The surety that I’m about to die. The relief. The “falling in love bonding.” The sadness and the joy, the pain and the pleasure.. Help me have the gift of emotional presence.)

“I wanted to really know what the full cycle of this miracle felt like.
It was THE most intense thing I have ever gone through.
After months of studying and preparation it was
everything and nothing like I thought it would be. 

It is said that women in labor, leave their bodies, travel to the stars,
collect the souls of their babies, and return to earth together.

It was primitive, anguished, and incredible all at the same time.
It was completely primal in the most beautiful and unflattering of ways.
It is the most empowered and the most vulnerable I have ever been.
I feel like a war veteran of sorts. 

In the end, having now experienced both types of births, I know one thing for sure,
no matter who you are, or what kind of birth you have,
there is absolutely nothing like bringing a human being into this world.
Being a women, being a mother, is soul fire.”
Cosette Skaggs

On Friday, March 4, three days before my due date, I went to dinner with my sisters. Caleb’s mom had sent us a card and money to do something all together on the anniversary of losing mom. We finally got our schedules lined up and we went! As I was getting ready to leave, and then again at the restaurant, I noticed very clear, very slippery fluid. Both times it was about dime-sized and certainly no gushing, rushing, or leaking feelings. I noted it, but didn’t think much of it.

When I got home that night I told Caleb about the little bit of fluid and that I’d been a little crampy, but nothing intense, nothing trackable, nothing lasting, and, in fact, nothing even necessarily labor related. “I can’t tell if I’m just digesting food or if these are Braxton Hicks or if they’re early contractions or if I’m getting another round of the stomach flu.” A (sometimes) benefit of being such a “thinker not a feeler” is that I’m very convincing to myself. And I was convinced this was nothing. Caleb wondered if I should call the midwife and just ask her thoughts and I practically laughed out loud. “You’re getting too excited. This is nothing. I could do this for weeks.” I went to sleep with no wondering or “hmmm…” in my head. 

Caleb says I was tossing and moaning all night long. I woke up the usual 4-6 times, and went to the bathroom twice, and he’d ask me “Is something happening? Are you okay?” “NO. Nothing is happening. I just have to pee.” “Well you’re making an awful lot of noise.” “I am?” “Yes. Are you sure it’s nothing?” “I think I’m just uncomfortable because I’m nine months pregnant with an entire baby. It’s nothing.” ("Darling Lamb Wife" Award goes to me. Thanks for the phrase, Jen Hatmaker.)

When I woke up for good at about 8:00 am it felt like there was coconut oil smeared all over my thighs. This was the first time I had a passing thought that maybe, maybe, we were in the early beginning of something. I then jumped out of bed for an exciting bathroom moment with “the runs.” (As I was hustling in I accidentally bumped Rowdy’s Mickey Mouse training potty, which sings a tune when motion-activated. “Dun dun dun dun DUN. Yay! *applause*” Yay, indeed.)

Now I have to set the stage. I’m not Type A, though I have a growing appreciation for a well-made plan. I like change, I like to “go with the flow,” I like to figure it out and make it work. So, I was as surprised as anyone else that I had arrived to this weekend in March with all my ducks in a row. I had officially finished all photography-related work that was due. I had washed the sheets. Dusted and disinfected the room. Scrubbed the floors on my hands and knees (which was adorable considering I couldn’t even put socks on without help.) All of our laundry was done, and also folded and put away. Baby Girl’s clothes were ready, her blankets were rolled in a little box, the “side of bed station” was stocked. My nails were painted. My hospital bag was packed. The carseat was in the car. And it was the weekend, which was ideal for almost everyone who was going to be coming to the birth. It was a little too good to be true. And, of course, I convinced myself that things never happen “too good” and this was nothing.

But since clear, leaking fluid is what got me admitted to the hospital with Rowdy, I figured I might as well text my midwife and just give her a heads up. 

She called me quickly and mostly just asked what I wanted to do. “Do you want to come in and see if it is leaking water? See if your water has broken? Just wait a few more hours and see if more happens? What sounds good to you? I’m here to do whatever you’d like.” I really didn’t want to drive two hours roundtrip to be told nothing was going on, and I didn’t want to be “checked in” too early and have to sit there for as long as I did Rowdy. I told her I wanted to wait a bit longer and just see what happened as I went about my day. She said she was just fine with that, and to stay in touch.

About ten minutes later, though, she texted me and said “Hey, do you want to just see what the leaking is so you have information to work with? You don’t have to stay. But we can just see what’s going on for your sake?” It turns out that after we got off the phone she went and re-read my birth plan and saw two of my biggest concerns: not knowing when labor was starting, and getting stuck in traffic. Since it was 9 am on a Saturday traffic was non-existent. And if there was any information she could give me about labor, she had a hunch it might be helpful.

For some reason when I got her text, I felt peace. And I showed it to Caleb. We both agreed: let’s just pack Rowdy up, see what’s going on, and then we can go walk around the mall and get lunch. Have a family day. Rowdy was starting to stir in his little toddler bed at this point and I called him to come over and get in bed with us. Holding him under the sheets, scratching his crazy blonde hair, I started to cry. It was like my heart was starting to understand before my brain was. We ate, loaded up, I had Katie braid my hair for me (“nothing is happening”), and we were off. I didn’t tell anyone we were going.

As we were driving I tried to explain to Caleb the weirdness of what I was feeling. I would feel a sharp/stabbing pain once, then nothing, then about a minute of bloated rumbly-ness, then three sharps stabs all in a row, then something like gas, then I would fart, then I’d feel what could maybe be considered a period cramp?, then a pulling sensation (like a rope was tied to my uterus and someone was pulling it out), then nothing, then a nerve pain in my upper hip that would make me hunch over, then two stabs, then some gas, then nothing. It wasn’t timetable “waves” of contracting and they didn't "hurt." It didn’t wrap around to my front from my back. It didn’t feel like “a cramp” each time, or even many of the times. Caleb kept saying “I’m pretty sure these are contractions, baby.” And I kept saying “Well, if they are, they’re nothing like what people describe. And everyone tells me ‘When they’re real, you’ll know.’ And I don’t know.” I thought this was likely a mix of Mama’s Sicilian Chicken Soup making an escape and Braxton Hicks. 

We arrived to the birth center and I met Nancy, the student midwife who was actually on OB changing careers to midwifery. She ended up being crucial to my whole labor experience and I’m SO glad she was there! We went back to the exam room to check the ol’ body out. They swabbed me and the test-stick turned vibrant blue in only a few places. This indicted to both my midwife, Jo, and Nancy that my bag of water was leaking slowly but still in tact. They asked me if they wanted me to check dilation while I was there. I hadn’t been checked at all at any appointments, and I kind of didn’t want to know? I was expecting to be one, maybe two centimeters. With Rowdy I had been dilated three centimeters for over two weeks before he was born. I just don’t think knowing numbers early on is actually much useful information. But, hey, I’m here. They’re… there. Why not check. “Okay, yeah. I’d say 6. Could be 7, but I’ll say 6 to be conservative.” I kid you not, the first thing I said was” “Six what?” Nancy laughed and said “Centimeters!” I thought surely she must be doing something else or referencing a different form of measurement or… there’s no WAY I’m “6 or 7” centimeters dilated. I’m not in labor, guys! While I was on the table I had about three or four contractions (I didn’t even realize it — they just could tell from the shapes my stomach was making and how my cervix was moving). I was just shocked.

“Everyone” had warned me that second babies come out much faster than first babies. And every single one of my personal friends who have had second children had that experience: the second babies really did seem to fly out for them. So given that I was this dilated and wouldn’t even consider myself in pain, just uncomfortable — but what’s new when you’re nine months pregnant — I was starting to get a little hopeful! Maybe this will be much easier and faster than last time!

We decided to go get some lunch, walk around, and wrap our minds around what was happening. We went to Red Robin and I got a milkshake and bowl of chicken soup (theme?). I was feeling a little bit panicky because my sister Shannon was in New Jersey for the whole weekend at a soccer tournament. I felt irrationally unable to just “have her miss it” for many reasons. But I had no idea how we could get her the three and half hours from New Jersey to this Virginia birth center. Sitting there at the booth, almost shaky, I sent a Hail Mary text to friends in Pennsylvania (about 90 minutes from the soccer fields) asking if there was any chance they might be able to do the HUGEST, most unfair favor. Before hearing back from them I called my dad and told him our update, and how much I wanted Shannon to be back for this. He told me that I needed focus on the task at hand, and to get my mind ready for what I was about to do. Then he said “Don’t worry about who’s not there.” Immediately my mom’s face flashed into my mind and I started crying over my empty bowl. The ultimate one “not there.” I thanked him and told him I’d try to focus.

We then went over to Target to let Rowdy pick out a special treat “from Baby Sister!” and walk the aisles. It was so surreal. Caleb and I kept saying “I can’t believe we’re really going to have a baby soon. It’s happening. Huh?! THIS is it?!

We made it back to the birth center around 3:00 pm and at this point I was starting to be able to pick up on contractions better. They still weren’t “painful,” just achey and gurgly and occasionally sharp. A general uncomfortable feeling. Becca and Janet and my sister Lauren arrived right around when we did. We all went back into our birth room where I started bouncing on the ball and pacing the floor. Nancy came to check the baby’s heartbeat and immediately they noticed she was lower than she had been when I left. For the next hour I felt distracted thinking about Shannon, but around 4:00 pm I found out she was on her way and that my friend’s were bringing her. I felt SO relieved and grateful, and like I could start focusing on having this baby. My sister Katie and friend Courtney got to the center at some point early evening.

“Birth is big and it is wonderful and it will probably bring you to your knees. Don’t go into it with a head full of fairy dust. Be prepared. Be real. Learn everything you can. Accept that some pain and unpredictability is a part of the biological process. Respect birth enough to recognize the awe inspiring power that it yields.”
Sarah Clark

As evening settled in, I was dueling face to face with myself. I started having a lot of fear — not of the pain, and not of having the baby, but about the speed of labor. I “realized” things were going pretty slowly. It had been about six hours since I’d been checked and told I was 6 cm, and I could tell contractions weren’t picking up pace at the intensity needed to get the baby out. I know, I know: every contraction is one step closer. Every little thing is doing something. I just felt this daunting and overwhelming fear that I was going to be in labor until Wednesday (and it was Saturday). I kept telling Caleb and the other people in the room that “it’s not hurting enough” and “I can tell not much is happening.” They all told me they could see a difference in how I handled contractions and could tell they were more painful than earlier in the afternoon. “I mean, they are more painful than they were… But they are nowhere near what I know has to come before she’s out. This is going to take forever.” At one point I asked everyone to leave the room so I could just be with Caleb. I felt so flimsy and mentally stuck. I cried. I vented everything to him. He did his best to reassure me, calm me, and encourage me. 

It kind of becomes a blur in my mind the next couple of hours. I know I ate a steak-cheese-and-rice Chipotle bowl like some picky seven year old. I know I started to burp a lot. I know contractions were hurting more, though still not bad enough to satisfy me. I know Shannon got there around 8:15 pm. I know my dad was in and out a couple times which I thought was sweet and funny. I know they checked me and I was only 7 cm dilated but hearing that actually didn’t make me feel too discouraged because that’s what I thought based on the contractions. They didn’t seem like “8-10” types. I felt validated, I guess. I know I went for a walk outside briefly. I know I took a short nap. I know I got in the tub for a little bit, and then got out. I know, after a few jokes from Becca about how we should just find a staircase (walking stairs always made some BH/contractions start for me), that we set up a circle of stools around the bathtub and I walked up and down, up and down. I know that’s when contractions started to hurt more and I did have to focus much harder on really relaxing.

I obviously don’t know what anyone else’s pain tolerance is, and I’m not sure if I have a high or low one. I don’t know if I was handling things well physically or if they just really weren’t that intense. But in my head, I like to make categories for things. So, if there is such a thing as a “pain scale” I was keeping track. Let’s say 1 is something like “Ouch! That hurts!” and 10 is something like “I’M DYING THIS IS THE END TELL ROWDY HIS MOM LOVED HIM I’M NOT SURVIVING THIS.” For most of the day, I wasn’t even on the scale. I was just in the uncomfortable range where I didn’t feel pleasant but I was “fine.” Then it started to eek up to the 1-2 range, with a handful of “Eh, not my favorite but not painfuls” mixed. I said many times “I’m so glad I’m here because if I was at home, I know I wouldn’t have come in for this. Or maybe not even called. It just doesn’t hurt bad enough.” Walking the Circle of Stools I remember thinking for the first time “3” and “This would have made me call. This hurts.”

And then, we reached a breaking point.

It starts to get fuzzy to me from here, but I’ll do the best I can. I was not doing well with my opinionated little head. I think my doubt that this baby was ever going to come was actually impacting the baby from coming. And I even knew I was the one “messing” with myself, but I didn’t know how to stop it. I remember both Becca and Caleb asking, or imploring me, really, to listen to my body. “What do you want to do?” “I want to take a nap, but I’m afraid if I take a nap it’s going to slow things down. It seems like I should be moving and staying upright.” “Kristen. Not what are you afraid of. What is your body telling you to do? What do you really want to do right now?”

“I really want to take a nap.”

Caleb and I climbed into the big queen bed again and I fell in-and-out of sleep. And the best thing happened. (Because, who knew, maybe your gut instinct and “body” actually do know what to do). Sleeping made my brain turn off. It hushed all my doubting thoughts. Apparently I was tossing and moaning, just like I had been the night before, but I was sleeping through most of it. Finally it got hard enough that I couldn’t sleep through it anymore. This was about 10:30 pm. And the game had changed. These were the sorts of contractions I was “waiting” for. Three to four minutes apart. This was happening, and my mind was finally at peace and not fighting the reality.

"Positive mindset, affirmations and relaxation are important tools, but don't rely on them to lessen the intensity of birth. 

A few nights ago I was helping a new mum shower a couple of hours after her birth and she looked me square in the eyes and said 'Wow. That was...intense! There's nothing that can prepare you for that.' And she's right. But what we can do is prepare our bodies for very hard work, and our minds for a very big journey. You can do this!”
Tina Ziegenfusz

Becca, my “friend with doula benefits,” took notes for me during the whole day and here’s her timeline after the nap:

11:35pm “Can't relax. Just can't. Doesn't work." -- Restless but leaning into or onto Caleb while someone applies counter pressure help in the moment.

11:55pm lots of “Oh gosh" and contractions are low versus feeling like they're in your stomach only.

12:30am Hitting the wall-- “Too tired, too much left.”

1:30am [A lovely little curse word]

(I have no memory of getting back into the tub, or deciding to, or anything. It’s one serious blur for all these hours.)

2:19am In the tub "I need to stay calm. I just need to stay calm." -- The tub doesn't slow things down this time. Contractions maintain.

2:55am "This is just too hard. She needs to come. She needs to come now."

3:00am Ready to be done.

3:10am "I can't do this anymore. I want to be done. I don't want to do this anymore."

“My friend Kathy is the only person who'll be halfway honest with me. 'Did you ever see a cowboy film, where someone has been caught by the Indians and tied between two wild stallions, each pulling in opposite directions?' she asked. I nodded mutely.' That's a bit what giving birth is like." Marian Keyes

Since I’m, you know, me, I like analogies to explain myself. Reflecting on this labor, particularly the final hours, I associated my experience with hiking. Here’s the scene. A gorgeous, red rock state park. Probably somewhere in Arizona or Colorado. Cloudless blue skies and oppressive hot sun. The hike begins with a walk across the flat ground to the base of the mountain. Arriving at a subtle incline on a walking trail the “hike” gets harder. Three or four or eight hours of walking later… you’re three or four or eight hours more tired and hot and sweaty. But it’s still “just” an incline on a walking path. And then you take a water break (or nap in a queen bed) and wake up to needing to rock climb, and it’s also a race now. So you’re going fast, trying not to stumble and fall, arms are burning, calves are burning, abs are burning, hands are slipping. You’re working, man, you’re working. Once you’re up that rock wall (or into the tub) you find yourself in front of a flat, vertical enormous piece of stone with a one-inch ledge to tip toe across while bear-hugging the wall and grasping white-knuckled onto any fathomable textured surface. 

That’s where I was for an hour. Knees buckling, skin ripping, body squeezing itself out like a lemon to find any bare last drop of “humph” left. You are hanging on with your soul-pinky-fingers and big toes, at the highest edge of yourself. Intense IS the word. I remember snorting and flapping my lips like a horse trying to breathe through those transition contractions. I remember the pure bliss of a contraction ending and knowing I had a little bit of time off, and then quickly trying to get mentally prepared for another while my head was thinking “No no no no no no please not yet. Oooooh here it comes.” Relaxing through (or trying to) certainly doesn’t take the pain away, but fighting it and just “going crazy” absolutely makes the pain worse. It’s an awful “rock and a hard place” to be in, but the answer is clear: you have to just keep trying to breathe, relax, and stay calm. Which seems nearly impossible. But you can’t give yourself over to the “freak out” side simply because it hurts sooooo muuuuuch mooooore.

Around 3:00 am my crew started recommending I push if I could. Nancy had asked a few times if I was feeling pressure low or in my bottom (I wasn’t). I tried a couple times, but I was not even close to pushing in the right place or way. I started to have flashbacks to Rowdy’s birth. I was in the same “10 out of 10” pain scale and had nothing left to give. The nurses had asked a couple times if I “felt the urge to push.” I didn’t. I’ll never forget my mom coming over and whispering to me and Caleb that after seven natural births she never once “felt the urge to push” and each time had to be told “You’re ready, start pushing.” She encouraged me to try to push with contractions and see if I could figure it out, because she was sure I was ready to get him out. Remembering mom's words coupled with the advice of everyone around me was helpful. So I tried a couple times to push. But here was the problem: contractions hurt so bad that I needed to be actively relaxing to make it through them… unless I was actually pushing her out. Since I didn’t “feel the urge” I was having a hard time finding where/how to push. Once it was more of an abdominal crunch, another time was more in the sphincter region. It seems silly, but I couldn’t find that “vaginal canal” muscle. And pushing the wrong muscles through contractions is significantly more miserable than “breathing through” them. So first I got too scared to push — I didn’t want to keep trying the wrong places and having it hurt worse! And then I came up with a “Kristen brain fact.” The reason I couldn’t push her out must be because she just wasn’t low enough yet. I convinced myself I still had hours and hours left, and that she was nowhere near the position to come out

3:24am "Oh Caleb. Oh Caleb. This child needs to come out." -- Pretty much begging for death and scaring Lauren ;)

3:35am Starting to push with effort. Like very obvious you were trying to find her. [I decided to give it one more last ditch effort because somehow the pain kept getting worse, even though I was sure each time it was maxing out the human capacity for pain-sensation.]

3:40am Puking. A lot. Probably signaled your body was doing whatever the last thing you needed to do to be "ready." [I felt my water break while throwing up, but I was too tired to even open my mouth and tell anyone. I hate throwing up — though have somewhat gotten used to it thanks to pregnancy — and I was really bummed to have spent my whole “contraction break” vomiting, only to have to jump into another contraction.]

I think at this point Nancy was starting to really sense the desperation and done-ness I was experiencing. And I think she knew my body was ready… I wasn’t “prematurely losing it.” She suggested to the lead midwife that we check me and see exactly what was going on. They asked my permission and I think I just said “Sure, but not during a contraction.” They waited for one to finish and then, at 3:56 am (almost an hour and forty minutes after getting into the tub and transition starting) Nancy got busy. She said I was 10 cm “with a lip, but you can push through it” and that baby was engaged and ready to go. I was shocked! And then… I felt a contraction coming again. I told her I needed her fingers out of me but instead, in an award-winning, life-saver move, she told me to push her fingers out. BRILLIANT. This was just the help I needed to “find” my pushing spot. It hurt (duh), but I did push her fingers out, the contraction finished and it dawned on me: Wait. This can really all be over? I’m 10? She’s totally effaced? We’re just waiting on me to push her out? Holy cow, let’s get this over with! At 4:03 am another contraction started and she was in my arms at 4:05 am. I was ready to be DONE. I think one of the most fierce and precious feelings on planet earth is feeling your baby's head move down through your body, burst out, and then have her whole body follow.  It's a feeling like none other. A human gutter with a bowling ball rolling down. In a matter of seconds to have that entire person in you, then out of you, as you look at each other face to face. It's big.

For a solid five minutes I think the only thing I thought in my head was “I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe I did that. Holy cow. I can’t believe I did that. I’m so glad it’s over. I’m so glad she’s not in me anymore. I can’t BELIEVE I did that.” 16 hours was better than 34, but still long for this girl! Haha

My three sisters and Courtney burst into tears behind me, and I remember hearing their gasps and happiness. I remember thinking my baby girl looked beautiful. I remember that God-blessed feeling of the placenta coming out and being totally empty. Oh it feels good. I remember being so happy that Shannon (the one who wants to be a nurse, maybe a midwife, just like my mom) got to cut the cord. I remember Rowdy coming over and meeting her while we were still in the water — his crazy hair, sleep eyes, and rosy cheeks. I remember feeling Caleb’s strong arms around us and hearing him say over and over “You did it, baby. You did it!” and “She’s so cute!” At the hospital you sit in the bed you deliver in for quite a while while the nurses clean up and watch bleeding, etc. and then you move to a wheelchair followed by bed again. But since she was born in the tub we needed to move to the bed pretty quickly. It was weird standing up so “soon”! I felt like a bowl of jello! It was a "one of a kind" feeling.

The four of us piled into the queen bed and I was instructed to hold Summer myself, skin to skin, for the next hour. She nursed immediately and well; I was so proud of her! I was exhausted but couldn't sleep. After both births I've experienced a definite adrenaline and hormone "high" where I just feel buzzed, a little loopy, and yet extremely aware. Those minutes are cemented into my head. After the initial hour of clean up and checks, all the visitors and staff left so we could bond as a family. Before long both boys and the little lady were snoring, and I just laid there watching each of them breath while the sun started to rise. Our first morning of, Lord willing, thousands of mornings together. Every one healthy and happy and so "belonging" here.

We made it to the birth center without a traffic care in the world, because I was clearly in labor.  There were no complications -- not a single "bad" heartbeat or scary moment. I felt so weak, and yet I did it. I felt support and deep love. I cried more in one day than I did in the entire pregnancy (almost ;) haha). I felt bonding and butterflies in the early hours holding my baby. I felt it all. I went to the edge of the earth with myself and returned to Summer. With Rowdy’s birth I learned how intense birth is physically, and with this birth I learned how intense it is mentally. The mind has power over the body, that is for sure. Four cares of my heart, turned into joys in my life. I feel very aware of God’s hand in this birth. I’ve learned well that it isn’t helpful to point out God’s goodness only when life goes how you wanted. But, man, what an experience it is to truly have a big thing, like birth, go so well and so “how I wanted.” (I mean, it could have gone a *little* faster ;) But. Overall. Very good birth.) I’m tucking away those answered prayers and heard-cares and thanking God for this “easy-to-see” good experience.

The Thank-You's
- Becca, who was eight-and-a-half-months pregnant, was amazing and the best 'doula' around. During the 13 hours she was there she didn’t sleep or “rest” once. She watched me, “learned” me, comforted me, affirmed me. She gave us space and she gave us support. I really cannot imagine having a baby without her being there because her presence gives both Caleb and I so much peace. Thank you, Becs, for doing that all night long despite your physical discomfort. It meant the world to me.

- Janet, who came with five-month-old Minnie, was also such a help. She took care of her baby in a new place all night while being totally involved. She took all the pictures for me (THANK YOU!). She put heat and pressure on my back, kept me hydrated, and helped the “slow, easy” part of labor be much better with her sense of humor and comments. Thank you for making the effort and dropping everything to come be with us.

- Courtney came ready to help me, especially, with back labor should that happen again (it didn’t) but in the meantime she was encouraging AND the official food-runner with her fiance, Joey. There’s basically nothing better you can do for a new mom than to bring her a cheese-steak bagel sandwich ;) Thank you for being there and sharing in our joy!

- My sisters. Katie, thank you for watching Rowdy all night. He was struggling, I’m told, and didn’t fall asleep. I so appreciate you taking him under your wing and being with him when we couldn’t be. Lauren, you’ve officially cried both times you met my kids and I love you for it. Thank you for your sweet, big heart for my family. Shannon, thank you for coming all the way from New Jersey, and then going back for a second game a few hours after Summer was born. I felt so weepy at the thought of you not being there, and I know you made sacrifices to make it happen. Also, thank you for cutting the cord! That will always be a very special memory to me. There is so clearly someone missing when all “the Snyder girls” are together, but we each carry a piece of her in us. I love being with you, and I think it’s very fitting and special that labor signs started when we were out to dinner together, the four of us. I’m so glad I have you.

- Bethy and Caroline: THANK YOU for being the kinds of friends who I can ask ridiculous things of, and for actually considering it. Getting Shannon to Virginia was no small thing and I’m not sure you’ll ever understand what that meant to me. I’m scheming ideas to really thank you ;) 

- Dad, thank you for helping get Shannon to and from the birth center and back to her tournament. And thanks for popping in a few times to see me. Mom would have been proud and happy that you did that ;) “Your girl” is going to love her Pa very much.

- The NOVA Birth Center Staff. There are five midwives and throughout my time at the practice I had appointments with four of them, but somehow missed ever meeting with Jo. “Of course” she’s the one who was on call when I went into labor. But it worked out so well. She’s a very laid-back and non-intrusive type. She has a blunt yet casual vibe to her. I appreciated how she just let things roll without being domineering. She very much trusted and respected “my body” and “the system” and never wanted to or suggested speeding things up, breaking my water, etc. She was very comfortable letting the process unfold just as it needed to. She also sat with us while we ate breakfast after Summer came and just talked, hashed out details from the birth, and made us feel very welcome and “not a bother.” Plus, our daughter shares part of her name. So many cool things. Nancy, the OB-turning-midwife, was the one more hands-on and involved in my labor and made some crucial and helpful suggestions/decisions along the way (as I mentioned earlier). I’m SO grateful she was reading me the way she was, and that she had the wherewithal and grace to let me be most of the time, but to also speak up at the right times. She was my lifesaver! And to all the other midwives I met with along the way, Mayanne, Natasha, Kelly and Kate: thank you for your time, attention, detailed meetings, “coaching” and cheerleading through this pregnancy. I felt significantly more healthy, prepared, and educated thanks to you.

- Mom. I missed you. Thank you for everything you gave me. I wish we could have shared this together, but I know we have lifetimes ahead to enjoy. You would love this little girl.

- Caleb, my number one. Thank you for believing in me. This entire pregnancy you’ve been so vocal and affirming about “how I was doing.” You told me time and again that you can tell I’m more prepared, more ready, that I’m doing great, and that you know I’m going to deliver so well. While I was starting to lose it in labor I only wanted you, needed you. Thank you for not letting me quit, for helping me relax, and for letting me almost wring your arms off during the worst contractions. You don’t “annoy me” or bother me during labor, you really really aid me and make me feel safe (unless you’re eating Nacho Doritos in my face. Which, thankfully, you didn’t this time! *smooch*). You make motherhood such a joy because you shoulder so much in your fatherhood, without fuss, fanfare or complaint. Thank you for being by my side this whole pregnancy, the whole labor, and now in the newborn stage. I love that you’re the one who does all of this with me. I adore you. And I love having our babies together. So much.

Becca sent me her timeline she kept with a little note at the end. It meant a lot to me and I wanted to save it with this post:

"You were amazing. Tough. Impatient. Strong and determined. You did everything you needed to bring her safely and as quickly as your body allowed. Without your mom it was almost as if you became her. I just could see her *in* you. The way you labored and paced and did it 'yourself'--though you and Caleb share a connection and he supports and understands you in unique ways."

Welcome to your life, Summer Jo Lee. It was the greatest challenge and greatest joy to grow you and get you outside into our arms. But I've loved you for a very long time, and dreamed about you even longer. You're my girl and you will always belong here. As my mom wrote in my baby book: "I hope you never feel like you need to prove yourself to me, or earn my love. You have it, unconditionally. I pray you never doubt that." With all my heart, Mama.

Ps. At a further date I'm going to post a few thoughts I have about my different experiences doing natural-with-midwives at the hospital and natural-with-midwives at a birth center. They really were so different! And both mostly very good. But different.

Post 55 | Welcoming Summer

SUMMER JO LEE
“Season of Warmth, God is Willing”

"At the name of Aslan each one of the children felt something jump in it's inside. Edmund felt a sensation of mysterious horror. Peter felt suddenly brave and adventurous. Susan felt as if some delicious smell or some delightful strain of music had just floated by her. And Lucy got the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and realize that it is the start of the holidays

or the beginning of Summer.” 

In February 2011, on the day my mom was rediagnosed with breast cancer, with a “matter of time” death sentence, I wept on the couch in the night eaves. I can remember true weeping only two or three times in the past half-decade. I don’t cry easily or often. But that night I wept. To distract myself I started scrolling through Pinterest and in my feed was a baby mobile my mom had pinned a few days before. The caption said “I will be making this for my granddaughter. Someday.”

Though we “missed” some parts of newlywed life by having Rowdy so quickly, what we gained I wouldn’t trade for anything — even a few more months or years of “just the two of us.” One of the best parts of getting pregnant six weeks after our wedding was that I was able to share motherhood with my mom for half a year. I’ll never get to do that again, and none of my siblings will ever have that experience in their whole lives. Six precious months of asking advice, of being three living generations, of enjoying a baby boy together, of sharing in “the big stuff” of life.

Before she died she and I worked together to make sure all the children had letters from her for important dates in their life. But she was going to take care of my letters herself. She ended up passing much faster than we all expected and she never finished my letter. She did start it, however. And in that one paragraph, written in pen in her handwriting, she told me how much she’s loved me my whole life. She told me that watching me give birth and become a mother was a highlight of her life, and that she was so proud of me. And she said she would be cheering me on, wishing she could be by my side, when I have other children.

Growing up in and near The Golden State, mom spent summers camping in Yosemite, swimming in Lake Tahoe, running through her grandparent’s peach orchards, tanning at the pool, playing neighborhood games until well after dark, and visiting some of the world’s best beaches. She grew up barefoot and prided herself in developing “calloused feet” so she could walk on the black pavement without it hurting. Her hair turned white in the sun and freckles popped up around her nose. As a grown woman and mother, her love of summer perhaps only increased. She loved to sit on the sidelines of soccer and baseball games with her sleeves rolled up and shoes off. For most of my childhood, between June and August, I remember leaving the house around lunchtime and coming home around dinnertime after spending the entire afternoon at the pool. Mom had a “pool bag” of magazines and homeschool planning and bills, but she mostly just carried it back and forth. She never really got things done she felt like she should. Instead she chatted with us and the other pool moms, or just sat in the sunny silence with her feet hanging in the water. Our family vacations were always centered around Disney or getting to a beach, and no one in their right mind goes to Disney in the summer, so we always found ourselves near the water. Rehoboth Beach, Virginia Beach, Myrtle Beach, The Outer Banks, Kiawah Island, Aruba and Costa Rica, La Jolla, Coronado Beach, Lake Tahoe. Sandcastles and driftwood forts and mermaid contests and crab hunting and boogie boarding and tanning and going for walks to the snack bar and sand in our hair and ears and toenails.

My dad didn’t grow up visiting the beach, doesn’t know how to swim, is a bit paranoid about sharks, and doesn’t like being hot (he’s the guy who opens the windows when it’s snowing outside for “fresh air.”) But even he grew to love being at the beach, thanks to mom’s insistence that their family spend time there. His favorite time is first thing in the morning. On vacation he wakes up early with whichever kids are up, gets coffee, and strolls the empty shoreline while the white noise of waves and clear morning sunlight casts a spell.

We lived in San Diego for 15 months and mom said it felt like a 15 month vacation. “Reality” never hit. More often than I can count, and certainly more than she reported to the homeschool supervisor, we would take off to the beach for the afternoon. “Just because we can,” she’d say. When they moved to Florida in 2010 she found herself with the same motto.

Mom shaped the magic of summer for me. Sunshine, blue skies, hot air, late nights, fresh food, cold desserts, no school, special trips, lots of water, chlorine, sand, blackened feet, berry picking, naturally highlighted hair, activity, excitement. She made summer feel and be the highlight of the year, where everything was happiest. We had the most fun as a family during those sunny months, and it was obvious that mom’s soul was at it’s best. 

Caleb and I were born in August, and we married in August too. We fell in love in the summer, somewhere between frozen yogurt walks and the county fair, and grill dinners on the deck, and 3 am. Our first child was born the first month of summer, and last summer, the day after we officially decided to have Caleb change career paths, there was a plus sign on a pink and white stick letting us know about a new little one.

“All in all, it was a never to be forgotten summer — one of those summers which come seldom into any life, but leave a rich heritage of beautiful memories in their going — one of those summers which, in a fortunate combination of delightful weather, delightful friends and delightful doing, come as near to perfection as anything can come in this world.” L.M. Montgomery, Anne’s House of Dreams

Suzanne Lee is the wonderful woman Summer Lee was named to honor and remember, highlighting the best parts of the golden days of our conflicted lives. The grandmother in Summerland she will meet. Someday. 

“In those days, and at the right time, I will restore the fortunes taken from you.” Joel 3:1

While Caleb and I were dating we talked about names we both liked. The name “Jolee” was mentioned, and we were both convinced one of our daughters must have it in honor of her uncle. Caleb’s brother, Joel Caleb, went to the Summerland when he was only three years old. He’s the sunshine boy that was taken.  Talking through the details of his memories of Joel’s cancer battle, Caleb cried in front of me for the first time. Caleb spent many nights walking around with his twin brother, Daniel, while they each had a baby twin for “the twilight shift.” They paced and bounced and loved their little brothers. It was clear very quickly, I’m told, that Joel was just full of spunk. He was silly and energetic and known for his bright personality. He had a big round head of blonde hair, and full bread roll cheeks. As parents, he comes to mind on a nearly daily basis. “Life is so precious. Loss is so horrid.” Joel has given both of us an especial awareness of how good it is to have our children, and to spend as much time and energy and mental space enjoying their presence, their aliveness. He’s a reminder to sing songs loud, to laugh easily, and to be a little weird. He’s yellow and shining. “God is willing. He will restore. All will end well. The best is yet to come.”

Neatly enough, Joel and Caleb’s mom is another “summer adorer.” And Caleb has similar memories of the happiness of his household during the sunny months. Everyone coming alive, working in the garden, spending hours upon hours outdoors, volleyball games, state fairs, tan bodies, easy spirits, lake days at Paps’ house, red dirt sweat, climbing trees, homemade iced tea. There is something undeniable and sown into our hearts about the hope, light, and goodness of the summer months. And there is something “full of weight” to miss, love, and learn from two dear ones gone ahead. We pray our Summer Jo Lee is as carefree, full of light, and happy as Joel, and is as peaceful, strong, and warm as her grandmother.

“O the bliss of life eternal! 
O the long unbroken rest!
In the golden fields of pleasure,
In the region of the blest;
But, to see our dear Redeemer,
And before His throne to fall,
There to bear His gracious welcome,
Will be sweeter far than all.

On the banks beyond the river
We shall meet, no more to sever;
In the bright, the bright forever,
In the summer land of song.”
Fanny Crosby

Ps. As a special added note, the midwife who oversaw Summer’s birth is named Jo. The entire experience of getting to deliver her at my “dream” birth center, with the experience I was craving in my heart, is such an answer to prayer and joy to me. But I’ll have to share that whole story another time…

 

Post 54 | Snowstorm 2016

“Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,
At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,
When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,
And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.”
CS Lewis

We had a cozy time during the 2016 East Coast Blizzard this year. Our house was FULL (I think more than 20 people the whole time), and sometimes the "cabin fever" got to certain ones, and there was a plumbing issue that caused all the water to be shut off but our streets weren't plowed so we all hiked down the road to helpful friends who met us in warm cars at the first clear area. And Caleb and I both were sick most of the time. A few threw-up. It was a memory. It was... cozy. ;) But it was also a very very fun first snow. It was magical to be snuggled up by a window and watch the snow fall for hours. It was fun to watch Netflix, and listen to music, and eat up that pantry, and make cookies, and watch the kids play in the snow, and know that the area was doing the same things.

I like for there to be a "reason." I like to reason, but I also like reasons. For those who naturally love coldness and winter, they might have to look harder for "reasons" summer is nice. And I get to spend a lot of winter finding goodness in what would "naturally" be a very harsh, dead, painful, cold time for me. One of the reasons I think winter is so hard on earth is because I think it will be such fun to experience the contrast in heaven. Not "summer vs winter." But Earth Winter vs. Heaven Winter. Winter without bad memories, winter without hurting, winter without anything dead, winter without being cold physically or emotionally, winter without, well, the hard parts of winter. I imagine somehow it will be chilly, but not anything that makes us uncomfortable or is prickly-bite-y to our heaven bodies. I imagine we'll still get to experience that great sensation of being "nestled in" and coming into a crackling fire room. The feeling of being thawed. The feeling of bunkered and tucked away. The feeling of riding a sled, but no bits of ice sneaking into the wrist gap between your gloves and jacket. The winter sunsets. My mom thought that in heaven snow would be all different colors. Like, wouldn't it be neat to see a world covered in gold snow? Or to watch people snowboard down enormous orange and red mountains?

One thing I do like about Earth Winter is how *bright* it is the day after the first snow. When the sun comes out, and the sky is clear, and everything is a shade of blue or grey. It's very enchanting. Winter takes endurance, but, especially when you have little children around, it takes just a bit of pixie dust.

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Post 53 | Morris Family Update

"I'm not gonna state
Obvious observations everybody makes
But baby, be prepared to be surprised.
It's all I know."
Sondre Lerche

"You'd better be prepared to be surprised" is a lyric that has just kind of 'stuck' since I heard it when I was 18. It comes to mind often. And is true.

Not that I feel like I "have" to keep up the details of our lives on the internet, some of the way the world simply works now is to keep in touch with people you care about through social media. And a mass e-mail seemed a little... silly. We have many dear friends (and even family!) and caring folks who have asked recently "So, what are you guys up to now? I saw you were selling your house? What happened? Where do you live?" and other very good questions in the same vein. This probably will be a big-blah post for many, but for those who have been wondering what we're doing and why we're doing it, this is the post for you! It's also a post for us to have as a Remembering Stone in our lives. The end of the year is such a great time to reflect and refocus.

To begin this post I jotted down the Majors of our last almost-four years. Dating was just... bliss. We were fully on the proverbial Cloud Nine and life was easy. There was nothing new/huge/awful happening with either of our families and though a few friends were in some sad seasons, overall "our world" was pleasant! Our families met for the first time in Florida and spent Christmas together at my parent's house. It was at the turn of that year, January 2012, that we say "we got on the hamster wheel" and feel like we've been running ever since. 

Caleb and I together have talked back through these years many times, and we notice how the "highlights" don't cover all the nearly-as-big small details like postpartum recovery, relational tensions with other people, deciding to live with my family as newlyweds and not "in our own little place," having a single, widower dad, trying to or trying not to get pregnant, one sibling leaving a family holiday because of a fight with another one, all the time time spent at basketball, one sibling struggling with deep depression, another with anger issues, another with social anxiety, not being able to "make it better" for everyone, the 24-hour each-way drives to and from Oklahoma/Maryland, bleeding and previa scares in pregnancy, shooting, editing and producing for clients (and feeling like a failure of a "business woman." "If you can't do it right or the best, you shouldn't do it at all."), hiring a moving company who came three days late and then tripled the quote, leaving us to pack and drive our own moving truck in 48 hours, the bitter cold and building in a house with no heat, trying to lose and gain weight, wanting to be generous and present and close but feeling like nothing is making a difference, new sadnesses and death and stress in friend's lives, having a "blank-eyed" tired husband, falling asleep with vomit-acid in your nose for the ninth month, having $900 in our joined bank accounts at one point, working 18 hour days, starting a baby clothes shop for a hot second, watching mom suffer, being in the hospital with Roo the week she died, offending people by accident, feeling numb, trying to be more orderly, mastitis. 

It doesn't cover all the outstanding things of wonder and goodness we've experienced, either. I read a quote on a plaque outside Barnes&Noble yesterday that said "Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards." (Soren Kierkegaard) I think it's another line that will stick for me. Because, to be honest, I don't *feel* like the last four years have been *that* hard. I feel like we've been supported, comforted, loved. I feel like these things are just a part of life ("adulting"). I feel like it's not supposed to be easy and I people who I esteem to have "easy lives" seem to get overwhelmed by their "big things," even if those seem awfully simple to me. I figure if that's the case, how many others could look at my life and feel the same? I have a very strong sense that I KNOW my life has been good, and I am doing a disservice to those who have suffered in ways I've never known to act like I've been through hell. I'm kind of picky about words and saying things like "miserable" or "that was so so hard" or "hardest thing I've ever done" or "worst thing ever" or "suffering" or "season of trial" because they matter. I'd say most things in my life aren't SO HARD. They can challenge me, or put me in a bad mood, or be disappointing or tiring or annoying. I certainly battle personal motivation and inner fears. But I think everyone does that. And I think we all know that feeling. However, there are feelings I completely do not know, and there are words that should be reserved for the people who do.

With that said, I feel as if I'm understanding life backwards. And that it's okay to say "Hm. Yeah. This has been a lot. Not the most any person has ever endured, but... it's been a big four years. I'm  a bit tattered, yet full of hope. Different, but glad for the change. And, well, a little... in need of a deep breath." Here's the rundown:

WINTER 2012
Mom was rediagnosed with breast cancer
Caleb and I got engaged

SPRING/SUMMER 2012
Flew back and forth between Florida and Maryland for mom’s chemo treatments
Planned a wedding
Caleb took biggest renovation project in his business to date, I was shooting weddings
Helped my family move back to Maryland in June
Got married in August

FALL 2012
Found out we were pregnant
Mom had lung surgery and tough recovery
October-December I was horribly sick and nauseous

WINTER 2012/2013
Mom started chemo again

SPRING/SUMMER 2013
Went on a one-month work trip to Oklahoma to put the roof on our house
Hosted a workshop seven months pregnant
Continued with mom’s chemo
Had our first baby!
Shot three weddings the month he was born, and eight more the rest of the season

FALL 2013
Mom had cancer in her brain and radiation to treat it
Her health rapidly declined, chemo continued
A second Oklahoma work trip to install windows and build staircase

WINTER 2013/2014
Mom was given 6-8 weeks to live
She died on January 22, 2014
Found out I was pregnant on February 28, 2014

SPRING 2014
Was horribly nauseous and still breastfeeding our eight-month-old
Flew from DC to Vancouver for a friend’s wedding, then went to Santa Barbara for a month
Began to miscarry our last night of the trip
Baby Ryan was “born” a few hours after a flight to Texas in a friend’s bathroom

SUMMER 2014
Our boy turned one!
Took a two-month long work/fun road trip from Maryland to California and back with my little sisters
Decided to start aggressive saving for final push to move into our Oklahoma house

FALL 2014
Packed apartment in Maryland
Both of us worked 12-15 hour days to make enough money to finish building
Passed due-date milestone for our second one
Moved all our belongings to an unfinished house in Oklahoma

WINTER 2014/2015
Spent most of October, November, December, January building in the cold
Moved out of everyone’s houses we stayed in and moved into our own liveable (but very unfinished house)
Homeschooled youngest sister in Oklahoma for second semester

SPRING 2015
Caleb took the current biggest renovation project of his career (for an amazing client/friend we love!) But life had caught up with him and was quite anxious, lethargic, ‘depressed’ and overworked

SUMMER 2015
Our boy turned two!
Took another two-month work/fun road trip mostly for my weddings all over the country
Found out we were pregnant for the third time
I spent all of July, August and September in bed and throwing up. Finally went to the hospital for fluids and meds.
Put our unfinished house up for sale. Had 12 showings in two weeks and accepted a cash offer before changing our minds and deciding to keep the house (Aren’t we fun?)

FALL 2015
Caleb stopped taking construction jobs
Drove from Oklahoma to Maryland for a month of work in October (I had 14 clients between families/weddings that month),
Drove back to Oklahoma in November, 
Fourth “work trip” on our Oklahoma house: finished the exterior! 
Drove back to Maryland in December

WINTER 2016
Caleb began trying to make a living doing music in Maryland
Living in a bedroom in my dad’s house in Maryland, 
(where we’ll hopefully stay until we have our baby in March)
Record album/s for Caleb

SPRING/SUMMER 2016 PLANS
Produce project I started two years ago
Have a baby!
Shoot a Maryland wedding in April
Drive to Oklahoma for a brother’s wedding
Drive to Minneapolis for a best friend’s wedding
Drive to San Diego for all of May and June for Caleb to play music
July-ish come back to Oklahoma until my next Maryland weddings

FALL 2016 PLANS
Finish the kitchen in Oklahoma house
Finish the flooring
Finish the staircase
*Maybe* finish the inside trim

When Caleb and I were engaged, we invited his twin brother Daniel to come be with us in Maryland. He was coming from a YWAM trip in Australia where he had just been reignited with passion for music. Both Caleb and Daniel spent their childhood and teenage years playing the heck out of the instruments they loved (piano and violin). They wanted to be the next Joshua Bell's and dreamed of doing music as a career. They were offered full-ride four-year music scholarships, but they were at a fork in the road of life, and decided to start a family construction business with their dad and younger brother instead. This was not a bad decision by any means, but looking backwards Caleb, at least, sees a lot of fear in his choice: fear of 'secular' eduction, fear of not being able to provide for a future family, fear of all the people who said "You can't make a living in the arts." Music was still played at home and in church, and they even produced their own hymns album, but their energy turned to buying land, building houses and a construction business.

It was a big deal for Daniel, six or so years later, to be turning back to his first love. As soon as he arrived we began supporting his excitement and trying to figure out ways to make money through music. Through a missed 10K race, a field and a chance meeting, we connected with a favorite wedding venue and created a photography-music package to offer couples. We set up a blog and youtube channel, created business cards, and the boys played on the streets and sidewalks as often as they could (though Daniel did more given he was single and not in the middle of running a construction company and planning a wedding). A year later, and after Dan had worked through a number of his own personal struggles, he was back at it and music was his largest passion in life. (He'd text us pictures of himself eating dinner alone saying "Eating with my girl!" and his viola was sitting on the chair across from him ;) It was funny.) At this point we had a new baby and my mom was in her final months. Caleb's construction was going great! And while Dan was making lots of connections and even a decent living for a single guy, his life was late nights, crazy schedule, spontaneous freedoms, optimistic ideas, driving from city to city, and lots of gusto. At this point he approached Caleb a number of times almost begging him to quit construction and do music with him full-time. They did weddings together, and occasional "gigs" but to take it to the next level, they would both need full-time commitment.

We discussed it so much, but it was just not the right time for Caleb. And it couldn't have been more perfect for Daniel. It wasn't that Caleb didn't want to, or that it didn't sound like an amazing life to live! it was just that his world was very sweetly tied to his wife's -- and her family -- and between adjusting to having a newborn and being there for my family, we didn't have the flexibility we did when we were single. And we didn't want to be anywhere else. Caleb said "No, but you go for it, buddy" with music-sadness in his heart, but knowing it was right. Honestly, he said no for me and for my brothers and sisters. It was one of the most eagerly sacrificial choices he's ever made for me.

Now fast forward two more years, and we're at last summer with a whooooole lot of life lived in those 24 months. Caleb and I did so much soul-searching and question-asking and calculating and imagining and running into conversational brick walls and having break-throughs. We were in Oklahoma, living in our unfinished house, with Caleb teetering on the edge of taking over the family company completely (as his dad was wanting to go different directions in life). He had acquired two incredible clients, with calls coming in daily from their peers. It was the sweet spot of the renovation industry, and exactly where you'd want to be if building was your career. Things were on the move! He was making good money! He was getting a bit of a name as the master craftsman builder he is! And... he was despondent. Emotionally and spiritually he was face-to-face with many "inner demons" since living back in Oklahoma. Physically he was worn to the bone, and mentally he was an anxious mess. I felt so bad for him, and knew he couldn't go on like this. My heart had that "dull ache" for him, and I started to dread seeing those weary eyes come home (not that I didn't want them home! I just didn't want them weary! And it was awful to not be able to cheer him up).

We had a long summer trip planned from Mid-May to Mid-July where I had 10 weddings (literally all over the country: from Boston, Minneapolis, Austin, California, and on). We combined some sight-seeing, some friend visiting, and some family gatherings into our time and we used it to think HARD. We must have talked for 10 hours a day about "What are we doing with our lives?!" and trying to pull from all the wisdom we've heard from other married couples 10, 20, 30, 40, 50 years ahead of us, while also thinking about how we could utilize our very new "internet world" that all generations up until this time have never had access to. What do we want together? What is it that we care to build? When it really comes to money and financial security, how much does it matter (because let's be straight: money is so helpful and great)? What risks are we personally okay with, but not okay with as parents? What in our life is restful and what is stressful? Who do we want to become and where do you want to push ourselves? What's worth giving up, and what's never or rarely worth giving up?

In the meantime, we attended Daniel's wedding (yay!) in Southern California, and we got to see and hear about their lives. The years Dan had spent single were pivotal in creating a foundation for him as a musician, and as a newlywed he was absolutely killing it! Working hard, but certainly living a "dreamy" life with great schedule and income and doing what he loves everyday. Caleb kept saying "I wish I was so happy about my work. I just don't know if I can keep doing construction." I, personally, thought taking over the family business would be amazing for our futures and thought he could do it! But I told him I wouldn't even consider it if he felt like this weariness wasn't "just a phase." If he couldn't get excited about building. "I don't know what this is. And I have no idea how long it will last." he'd say.

Though we have always discussed this in our relationship, we walked away from the Big Summer Trip of 2015 with a very, very clear target: Togetherness, Generosity, and Peace. We wanted to make decisions that would allow us the most time as a family to live day-in and day-out together -- me and Caleb, Caleb and Rowdy, Rowdy and me, the three of us, etc. If possible, and as a long-term goal, we are so moved by the thought that "For how you spend your days is, of course, how you spend your life." And if we spend most of our days apart, we'll spend most of our lives apart. Without question there have been and will continue to be seasons where we might be away from each other for 12 out of 16 waking hours (or whatever). We have God-given responsibilities we can't neglect for the sake of (even a meaningful) idea. But, if possible, can we choose paths that sacrifice something else more than our time spent side by side?

This even taps into so much valuable history and the principal of "The Village." Most people have lived in clans, tribes, groups, villages, peoples, dwellings, or whatnot for the whole lives. I've read much about women and mothers, in particular, in those cultures. There wasn't much of that "I'm alone all day with these kids and my husband comes home too tired to help and I'm so overwhelmed and lonely and need an adult conversation" feeling. Women, typically, worked together all day. I'm sure they got tired and were scared and experienced depression. But their kids played with the other village kids, and worked together, and midwives cared for them after births, and there were no cars to drive up and down the highway, and the world was small, and no one was responsible for "everything," but everyone was responsible for something. Not to over-glorify these hundreds and hundreds of years, because there were downfalls. People stuck in a lifestyle they could never escape, personal vision often marginalized and squashed, shame for going out on your own or trying something new, etc. But with the technology, ability and first-world passion for independence, we've done something quite brand new the last 100 or so years (in some parts of the world, but certainly in America). You marry, leave the 'clan,' live alone, work sensible jobs, buy a house and get into a mortgage, have some kids, raise them, retire, and... enjoy the grandbabies and cruises and heritage of old age! (To note: these things are not bad!!) But in the past few generations, you see the effect of sending a man away from his family all day, and a woman being left "alone" with kids all day, or women having to fight to be able to work, or being pressured with financial debts to have both work... And, at least from what I can tell, it's a dangerous cycle. It's not a death sentence or necessarily bad, but it's had effects and we'd be foolish to not note them. Some families have done "this way" so well. With incredible intention, care and relational closeness. My parents, even! They worked so hard to not have dad be MIA in our lives, or to have mom be left to do "the woman's things."

Regardless, we are curious if there is another way? We don't claim to know anything. Or have any of this figured out. We're completely in the middle of it all. But what if I die from breast cancer like my mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother did? What if most of my life is behind me? What if we don't get as much time as we would have picked? Do we have to be strung-out, financially stressed, lonely, and "dead inside"? Or what can we do to at least put the odds in our favor? Knowing that life doesn't really ask you what you want, and tragedy strikes far far outside our control?

Well, at least at this point here's what we know: we're happiest together, we're happiest when we're open-palmed and not tight-fisted, and we're happiest when we are, well, peaceful (I know that sounds stupidly obvious, but we've had some of the best moments in our lives during the saddest events because we experienced that special-peace. It was dramatic and wonderful.).

So, with that said, Caleb decided to walk away from construction and the commitment it would require of him to build, and to experiment with playing music first (with a nice-sized list of other income options should music not "work"). We joke that we've been saving all our money in the bank of The House, and since we really weren't sure *what* or *where* we wanted our life to go, Caleb especially loved the idea of selling what we had, putting the cash into a no-touch-savings, and trying to just make our monthly bills/live within our means until we figured it out. (Turns out we both LOVE active, urban places and aren't as much "country people." Another realization of Caleb over the summer. So it didn't seem to make sense to keep putting money, energy and time in a house way out in the country when it just didn't seem like "us." We thought we would far rather have a smaller, simpler house in an area that we could walk/bike to most of our life. We lived like that in Santa Barbara last year for a month, and we both thrived. We LOVED spending so little time in cars, and so much time outdoors.) I told Caleb it was his call -- I could continue the vision of a "home for our great-grandkids to come back to" and make the Oklahoma house be a huge part of our lives, or I could walk away from it. Whatever he thought was best. And he wanted to sell. So there it was: music-trial, very simple living, selling most of our stuff including the house, and focusing on a slower, simpler speed where we could be together.

And then... right as we came to this decision, we found out I was pregnant. Ta-da!

This didn't necessarily change our plans completely at first. An amazing friend came out to Oklahoma and helped us get rid of about 60% of our stuff and clean the blazes out of the house. We took pictures and posted the house on Craigslist. We instantly had enormous response and showed the house 12 times in about 2.5 weeks! It was exciting! We had a few offers and accepted one from a completely wonderful family with adult and teenage children, ready to settle down into their next stage of life. We adored (still do!) them. But that night Caleb couldn't sleep. Something wasn't right. We were both awake at 5:00 am and talked for six or seven hours straight. I said he should go take a walk, think and pray, and really push into what feels most peaceful to him. He returned and said "I just can't sell it. I don't know why. It doesn't feel right and I don't want to make decisions out of obligation or fear. Especially one this big." So he made an awful (but graciously received) phone call, and we decided that morning to keep the Oklahoma house! With the vision being: it'll be our home-base. We don't have debt on it, so if we leave it it doesn't "cost us." Caleb can still go to Southern California and play music, or we can go to Maryland/wherever for my weddings, and it will be there waiting. In the meantime, we have some new ideas about using the house and property, and making it fit us better. 

We still don't know what we're doing ;)

But there is something about feeling like if I died tomorrow, I don't have a regret for how I tried to live. We really are trying to take advantage of opportunities as they come, to not live in fear, to be willing to try new things or keep old things if that's better, and to most of all: enjoy. Enjoy each other, enjoy the people we get to know, enjoy the places we get to be. And maybe we'll get burnt out from all the back-and-forth (though right now we do love it. A few months in a place, then off to the next! is so perfect for us. We love change and suitcases and another adventure to look forward to. But we are growing to appreciate enough time to create some sort of routine and rhythm that's not total-chaos.)

So: short answer. Caleb is playing music on the street, and hoping to book weddings/events throughout the year. I'm completely proud of him, and no one loves seeing that shine back in his eyes more than me. So far it's going better than expected and the response from passer-by is exhilarating. He's so happy and it's contagious to our whole family! I'm still doing photography and making plans to finish a project in the works for two years. We are in Maryland right now and will be until April (I wanted to have this first baby without-mom with my sisters/people nearby. It just felt right.) And then we'll be off to San Diego for two months to see what music is like on the west coast vs the east coast. After that we'll reevaluate and see what life looks like, but our hope would be to finish the kitchen, downstairs flooring, and staircase this summer or fall in Oklahoma. If we aren't a case-study in "millennials," I don't know what we are ;) But this little system means we get to see both our families and closest friends a lot, we get to be together, and we get to try our hand at things we love to do. We assume this type of lifestyle won't last forever, but it's very neat to get to try now. And who knows what will happen! #whentwopeoplewhoarenttypeAgettogether

I wanted to end this post with something I mentioned in the middle of it. Togetherness. Generosity. Peace. Mostly: generosity. We need this to be center candle in our life choices, not because we are just so charitable and full-of-character and spiritual, but just the opposite. We have been given to o frequently and so joyfully these last four years. With no exaggeration I can talk in length about every state we've visited, every house we've stayed in (some overnight and some for months or years), every person who has made themselves available to us. Whether it's Caleb's mom inviting us over for soup and hot rolls, or my dad offering to run our business accounting in his "free time," or the extraordinary memories my mom's closest friends made for our family in her final months, or the meals, or the rides, or the families who have had my little sisters sleep over (over and over and over), or the texts (heavens the texts and emails and notes from people who simply care!), or the people who my teenage brothers can just call and ask for some very inconvenient favor from that typically a mom would do, or our Oklahoma neighbor coming over and doing dishes with me because she knows I hate doing dishes, or a basement full of mementos when Ryan miscarried and we arrived home for the first time, or an aunt who worked so hard so quietly and in many ways held us together those years. Do you know how much a tin-foil pan of chicken-and-rice can change your life? Do you know what it means to let me come into your world and take, because you so warmly offered? Do you know what a bed waiting, or a ride from the airpot, or a picture text of pink sky means? It means you are not alone. It means there is hope. It means love lives and has not died.

I literally can't even cook meals without images of the faces who have come to the Snyder Home. How often we returned from Lord-knows-where and the meal was left on the counter with a note? How often we were taken care of when we asked, and before we even asked? 

I don't know if there is anything I (or we) could mean more when we say: Thank you for all you've done; you've changed our lives. When I look backwards, my night sky is filled with stars. They seem so small, and "one missing" might not seem like it makes much of a difference... but every single one adds to the outstanding sight. And the more I look, the more I see, and the brighter they shine.

I've been hesitant to post this update because I don't want to sound whiny, or know-it-all-y, or entitled, or like a melodramatic sob-story. I have had a good good life. And I hope the most that gets sensed when reading is that I am so grateful. I love knowing and being married to Caleb. I love being a mom to our kids. I love all of our brothers and sisters, and our remarkable parents. I love getting to travel for work and for the clients who trust me again and again. I love my friends and how I 'need' them. I don't love the struggles, but I do love seeing what they did in me. I love thinking about the relief we'll feel when we're finally done with this Dangerous Place; when we'll finally be able to look backwards and understand the supernatural. And I love getting to participate in the Great Song, one little life in a handful of places in this dizzyingly large universe. I'll sing my note, probably out of tune, and feel the thrill of hearing the voices around me. I love the surprises. And I love that the best IS yet to come!

Well, that's what has been happening in our brains this year. We're crazy. But the perfect fit for each other -- all three of us. It just works. Our little family wishes you and yours a very Merry Christmas!

Caleb, Kristen, Roo, and New Baby <3