Realizations of a Full Time Mom

It has been almost a week since I worked my last shift outside of the home, and I have noticed a few things in the last week about myself and our family.

1.  It takes 0.7 seconds of the 2 year old shrieking at "that frequency" to immediately put my stress level to an 11.  You know "that frequency," moms.  The one that you think is going to make the windows shatter and your eardrums rupture.  This shriek is usually brought on by her big brother or sister messing with her.

2.  It is very easy for me as the stay at home parent to resent the time that John gets to spend outside of the home now that I don't have work or other obligations in the evening.  It's very easy to be resentful when he wants to go out for a drink after work or go to golf league when I've already spent many, MANY hours non-stop taking care of these kids.

3.  It's also very easy for the work out of the home parent to take the stay at home parent for granted or to wonder what the stay at home parent did all day.  So much of the day to day work in the home is "invisible" in a sense.  There is so much time spent picking up or doing dishes or doing laundry or cleaning bathrooms or just keeping kids from killing each other that there's not much time left to devote to "getting ahead" on the organization or what have you.  I have many projects that I want to accomplish over the summer, but I'm trying to get us all into a routine at this point.  Which leads me to.....

4.  I have to have a routine or the day gets away from us.  Right now we try to all be up and dressed and fed by 8:00 am, outside play between 8:00 and 10:00, errands or indoor fun (library, housework, etc) between 10:00 and 11:30, lunch from 11:30 to 12:00, naps from 12:00 to 2:30 or 3:00, outside play again from 3:00 to 4:30, dinner prep at 4:30 and dinner by 5:30.  Then evenings are family time or time for me to do my "work" and craft projects or catch up anything that I couldn't get done during naps.  It's not perfect, but it's a start.

5.  No matter how good the routine is, there are still not enough hours in the day.

6.  Taking 3 kids out in public can be a challenge when only 1 adult is involved.  For instance, the library this week was a good reminder of this.  I only had 24 minutes on the parking meter, needed to find some books for the kids, and wanted to just quickly get it done.  I told the two oldest to watch the two year old and play with her in the play area.  Two minutes later, the children's librarian was walking toward me with my crying toddler who was mad (and a little scared) because she had been thwarted from walking out the front door to the busy street.  So much for the big siblings helping out.  Then on the way out, with my hands and arms very full, I tried counting all 3 kids and couldn't find the toddler again.  My friends who were walking out at the same time giggled as the older two said, "Mom!  You're holding her!!!"  Apparently I can't count to 3 under stress.

7.  I need to save money in my grocery budget weekly for cheap wine or really good rum.  Either one.  I have no shame.

8.  I need to have a few hours each week to do something by myself, that doesn't include grocery shopping or running errands.  Preferably it will include going to Adoration or taking a walk BY MYSELF.  When the school year starts up again it will definitely include helping the RCIA program again.  It really feeds my soul.

9.  John and I need date nights at least once a month.  Even if it's just a "wine and cheese" night at home when the kids go to bed.  We need that time to reconnect at least a few times a month.

10.  And finally, we know we made the best decision for our family.  What we should have known, however, was that we would be tested immediately.  Not even a week out from me leaving my job, we just found out yesterday that John's truck needed over $2100 in parts and labor.  I told him we should have known this would happen since we were set to pay off one of the credit cards this month.  So much for that, I guess.  He likened it to digging a hole in quicksand.  I think that's about right.

The Agony of Motherhood

I've been thinking a lot about motherhood recently.  I'm at a strange place in life right now.  My kids are growing up, and I don't like it.  I've got one half-way through elementary school, one getting ready to enter kindergarten, and one toddler who is trying very hard to potty train herself.  I'm not taking any of it well.  And it's because I'm not ready to be done with babies and diapers.

My head knows that in our financial situation and with my health issues that are exacerbated by pregnancy that it wouldn't be prudent to have another child.  But what the head knows and what the heart desires are often two very different things.  John likes to remind me that I should be grateful for the children we already have.  Believe me, I am so grateful.  I absolutely know how blessed we have been.  So many women struggle to conceive even one child, and we have conceived three, practically without even trying.  I am so, so grateful for these three beautiful blessings, but that doesn't take away the pain of an empty womb.

30-something weeks with Lydia.

 The pain shouldn't surprise me, though.  Motherhood is the only vocation that seems ordered toward agony.  I have cried more tears in the almost 8 years I've been a mother than I've probably cried the rest of my years combined.  I shed a tear of thanksgiving when I saw that first positive pregnancy test, and more tears of thanksgiving when each of my kids were born.  Tears of pain and frustration learning to nurse a newborn, and tears when they decided they were done nursing.  I've shed more tears when I've watched my kids battle an illness, and when I've bandaged their skinned knees.  I've cried tears of sympathy when I've watched them be rejected by a classmate, and I've cried tears of pride when I've watched them do brave things like singing in front of the school or trying out for a talent show.  Tears at night wondering if I'll ever get better at this mothering thing, tears wondering if we'll ever be out of debt, wondering if we'll ever be able to start saving for their college funds.  Tears of frustration every time I work on the grocery list, trying to make my very limited budget stretch as far as it can so I can feed my family nutritious food, and tears of frustration when they refuse to eat it.  Second guessing everything, wondering how I can best serve my family, to work or not to work, and on and on it goes.

2 1/2 kids in Mom's lap.

But I think the majority of my tears have come as each new stage arrives.  There is excitement with every new development and every new stage, but also grief for the end of the previous stage.  Every end a new beginning, as they say.  The newborn stage ends and the infant stage begins.  It's so fun to watch them learn to smile, learn to sit, learn to crawl, walk, and run.  But there is still sometimes the grief that the tiny, sweet smelling, fuzzy little newborn is gone.

Lydia, fresh out of the oven.

Lydia is trying to potty train herself, I suppose because she detests the thought that her brother and sister can do something she can't.  The nerve of them.  I'm not objecting to her goal, I know it will make life easier and cheaper to not have to find diaper money in the budget each month.  But it's sad to think of a life without diapers after so many years having at least one child in them.

I'm not ready for my babies to grow up.

How quickly things change with each new development.  How quickly time flies.  The sleepless nights spent nursing a newborn turn into the sleepless nights waiting up for a teenager to return home.   One minute they are just minutes old.  You blink and they are having babies of their own.   Years spent trying to teach them right from wrong and how to treat others turn into years wondering where you went wrong and crying as you watch them make bad choices.  It's been said that the mother's heartbeat is the first sound a baby hears in the womb.  How appropriate since that same heart that beat for them so many times is the one they will break just as many times.

So glad Daddy got this really attractive photo of us napping together.  Anything to sleep.

As the mother you spend their whole life raising them up to be independent, loving, caring people, all so they can go and leave you in the end.  And then what?  Well, I guess, hopefully they give you a gaggle of grandchildren to dote on.

Yes, motherhood is a vocation of agony.  And sometimes it feels more like the agony of defeat.  But it's a beautiful agony born out of the great love of a mother for her child.  It's a visible manifestation of the love between a man and wife--a love that created a beautiful, unrepeatable, sweet little human being.

It's an agony I would choose over and over again.  And I wouldn't have it any other way.

The kids who break my heart daily.

How could I say no to this agony?

One Year Out

Last year on Mother's Day we paid our respects to one of the world's most amazing women.  It was a bittersweet day.  Not only was it Mother's Day, but it was also her birthday--her first birthday in Heaven.  I guess you could say it was probably her best birthday ever.

One year later, we still miss Grandma Rose like crazy.  Every holiday and family gathering is not the same without her.  The last few years, when she was her most disabled, it was easy for her to get lost in the crowd during Thanksgiving and Christmas.  When there are over 50 people in the house, it is easy to get lost.  But now with her gone, her absence is palpable.  What we wouldn't give for her to be sitting quietly in her blue chair, enjoying watching all of the chaos of her large family.

The birthday where she told everyone, "I'm three-quarters of a century old!"

I asked her once if she ever imagined when she and Grandpa got married that they would end up with such a huge family--4 kids, 14 grandkids, and 19 great-grandkids.  She said, "No, I never could have imagined.  But I love it."  Every pregnancy announcement was met with as much excitement as a first time grandmother.  Even the years when there were several babies born close together.  I asked her one day if she thought our family would ever grow too large.  She said, "There could never be too many babies.  There will always be enough love to go around."  She was so proud of her family, and let every person she met know about it.

Her favorite thing to do--holding the newest baby.  In this case, Thomas.

I am so blessed to have called her Grandma.  Not a day goes by that I don't miss her and wish she were here.  I still walk into the house and expect to see her sitting in her blue chair.

Meeting Lydia, two days old.

Every time I hear this song, it makes me think of her.  She suffered physically for so many years, I imagine this song is about her.

There's a peace I've come to know
Though my heart and flesh may fail
There's an anchor for my soul
I can say "It is well"

Jesus has overcome
And the grave is overwhelmed
The victory is won
He is risen from the dead

And I will rise when He calls my name
No more sorrow, no more pain
I will rise on eagles' wings
Before my God fall on my knees
And rise
I will rise

There's a day that's drawing near
When this darkness breaks to light
And the shadows disappear
And my faith shall be my eyes

Jesus has overcome
And the grave is overwhelmed
The victory is won
He is risen from the dead

And I will rise when He calls my name
No more sorrow, no more pain
I will rise on eagles' wings
Before my God fall on my knees
And rise
I will rise

And I hear the voice of many angels sing,
"Worthy is the Lamb"
And I hear the cry of every longing heart,
"Worthy is the Lamb"
And I hear the voice of many angels sing,
"Worthy is the Lamb"
And I hear the cry of every longing heart,
"Worthy is the Lamb"
"Worthy is the Lamb"

And I will rise when He calls my name
No more sorrow, no more pain
I will rise on eagles' wings
Before my God fall on my knees
And rise
I will rise
I will rise

Happy Mother's Day, Grandma.  I hope it's a beautiful one.  I hope you're playing the organ and singing with the Saints.  Grandma Rose, pray for us.

15 Months

It's hard to believe, but Lydia is 15 months old today.  I can't believe that this crazy, hilarious, sweet little girl has been in our family for 15 months now!

Lydia has quite a sense of humor these days.  She will pretty much do anything for a laugh.  Some of her favorite things are "jumping," imitating her brother and sister, "washing" her hands when I wash mine, giving hugs and kisses (wet, open mouthed kisses), clapping when Who Wants to be a Millionaire comes on, dancing along to Just Dance, and getting really excited whenever Daddy turns on the Xbox.

She is most definitely a Daddy's Girl.  When Daddy walks in that door at the end of the work day, Mommy is nothing more than chopped liver. 

On this her 15 month birthday, she has now gone 3 days without nursing, and I must say, I have mixed feelings.  While I am glad to no longer be so completely physically attached to her as I had to be when she was an infant, I really miss that cuddle time between just her and me.  I miss looking down at her sweet little face as she would lie there nursing to sleep while playing with her hair and looking back at me.  I don't miss getting kicked in the head, having my hair pulled, or having my lip ripped off by her sharp-fingernailed hands.  I don't miss engorgement, clogged ducts, and not being able to go to bed without a bra on. 

But I am going to miss the daily nursing sessions, for sure.  Probably because I don't know if we'll ever have another baby.  I don't know if I'll ever again have a chance to nurse a baby.  I don't know if that chapter of life has come to a temporary end or a permanent end.  Honestly, it makes me sad to think that I may never nurse another baby, or carry another baby in my womb.  All I can do is trust that no matter what, God knows what is right for our family, whether that is the three children we have, or whether there is another one he is hanging onto for us.  He knows better than we do.

Post-Partum Depression

This morning while drinking my coffee I came across this article in which a mom was writing about her experience with Post-Partum Depression.  I have to admit, I felt a little like I was reading my own story.  This post-partum period after giving birth to Lydia has been the only one of my three pregnancies that didn't involve soul-crushing PPD.  Thank God.  Seriously, praise God.  Post-Partum depression is like a monkey who won't get off your back.

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a mother.  Not just have a baby because babies are adorable and snuggly and wonderful little creatures, I wanted to be a mom.  I never have had any desire to be a career woman, whatever that entails.  I wanted to get married, have babies, and stay home to raise them.

I got the married thing done in 2005, and the next year we got the pregnancy thing figured out. :) In 2007, Amelia Jean arrived on the scene.  The first few months were rough, physically mostly, as I adjusted to round-the-clock care of this sleepless, constantly eating, demanding little princess.  Aside from the sleepless nights, the constant nursing, and my constant eating trying to keep up my calories to produce enough milk for this ravenous beast, things were going fine.  I would find myself crying sometimes when she wouldn't stop crying, more out of sleep depravation and frustration than anything.  Sometimes they have eaten and been changed and attended to and they still just cry.  But as a new first-time mom it was confusing, frustrating, and exhausting.

When Amelia was 6 weeks old, I unfortunately had to return to work.  I cried about it for weeks leading up to it.  We were in a financial position that demanded I return to work, or you know, not be able to eat or keep the lights on.  I was so upset about it though.  All I'd ever wanted was to have this baby and be able to stay home and raise her, but unfortunately I was going to have to hand off some of that responsibility to my mom and our wonderful daycare provider.  The day arrived when I had to take her to daycare the first time and surprisingly I didn't cry when I dropped her off.  To be honest, I think I kind of felt a little relief that I wasn't going to be the one trying to console her when she would inevitably start crying for no reason.

At about 4 months post-partum I changed jobs, and shortly thereafter noticed that suddenly none of my clothes were fitting me anymore.  I had lost 30 pounds within two weeks after giving birth, and suddenly when I stepped on the scale, I had gained 30 pounds in a month.  I was unable to stay awake past 7:00 pm anymore, even though the baby was sleeping through the night.  I could barely stay awake through work, I wasn't really that hungry or eating that much, and I was cold all the time, which was out of the ordinary for me.  I called my doctor and asked if she would give me a physical to see what was wrong.

I arrived at her office and explained my symptoms.  She noticed my puffy face, my thinning hair, and the bags under my eyes in addition to my other symptoms I listed and immediately sent me for lab work.  In less than a week I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism.  She sent me to the endocrinologist who looked over the lab results with me.

"As you can see on your lab results, Mrs. Ihle, the normal range for your results should be between 0.25 and 4.0.  Your results are at an 84.  It's no wonder you feel so awful!"

She put me on a higher dosage of Synthroid and it took about 4 months to get my test results into the normal range.  The doctor had told me at my appointment that once we got the test results into the normal range that I should start feeling much better, be able to more easily lose weight, and everything would be wonderful again.  That's not exactly what happened.

My test results were finally okay, but I still felt horrible.  I could barely drag myself out of bed most mornings.  I wanted nothing but to go straight to bed when I got home from a long day at work, but instead I had to care for the baby and try to keep some semblance of order in our home.  I felt no connection with the baby, and really couldn't have cared less if John and I were ever intimate again at that point.  I just wanted to crawl in bed and be left alone.  Everything made me feel anxious, or tired, or stressed, or just plain exhausted.  I couldn't have made a decision if you had put a gun to my head.  I wanted to run away from this life that I had so desperately wanted all those years.

At my wit's end I called the endocrinologist's office and set up another appointment to discuss things with her.  On the way up to her office, I told John that I was desperate for her to help me.  I still felt so awful.  I blurted out, "If this is how I'm going to feel for the rest of my life, then I'd rather be dead.  I can't live like this anymore."  I think he was scared for my health and for my life. 

The visit with the endocrinologist was awful.  We got off on the wrong foot immediately when she walked in and said, "I thought I told you I didn't need to see you for 6 months?"  Well, excuse me, you also said that if things weren't improving that I should come back.  They're not improving.

She listened to my explanation of how I was feeling and told me that based on my lab work it didn't seem like it was thyroid-related.  She told me that she thought I had depression.  I left her office furious.  The next day I called my primary care doctor who had diagnosed my hypothyroidism and made an appointment with her.

When we met the next week I told her how furious I was over the other doctor's rude treatment of me.  She said that she was surprised at the other doctor's rudeness, and that she would be more than happy to manage my medication with me instead.  I told her what the doctor had said about the depression, and in a much gentler conversation, she told me that it was possible.  She gently asked me how I was feeling, physically and mentally, and determined that maybe we should try starting me on a small dose of anti-depressant.  It was 10 months after Amelia had been born at this point, and she told me that since it had been less than a year after Amelia's birth that it was considered to be PPD, not necessarily clinical depression.  She gave me a prescription for the lowest dosage of the anti-depressant and asked me to seek out therapy to help me work through things.

I started taking the pills and didn't notice much difference at all for the first month.  After much hounding from John, I finally sought out therapy through our workplace assistance plan.  They found me a local, Christian-based therapist and I was able to have five free therapy sessions with her.  After those five sessions, if we still thought I needed to come back, it would go through my insurance.

My first session was a getting-to-know-you kind of session.  We talked about my history, what was going on in my life now, what medicine I was on, etc.  She could tell just by talking to me how broken I was at that point.  She suggested that I call my doctor and ask her to increase my dosage a little, just to try and give me a better jump start.  The difference was amazing.

After five weeks of sessions, and the increase in dosage, I felt like a different person.  I had been able to go and honestly talk about my feelings about things in my life and my relationships without fear of judgment, and I had finally found the right dosage for my depression.  At our fifth session she told me she didn't think I needed to see her anymore, unless I needed to come back later for a "tune-up," if you will.  She told me she could see a huge difference in how I was feeling, and I could too.  I no longer felt like the walking dead, and I no longer felt like I wished I was dead.  I could finally enjoy being a mother and want to come home and be with my husband and my daughter.  I no longer wanted to run away.

I stayed on the anti-depressant until we started weaning me off it in order to conceive again.  After Thomas was born, things were fine for a few months again.  But then they had to adjust my thyroid medication again and I was back to the hypothyroid-induced PPD.  Luckily, this time we knew what to look for and things didn't get out of hand.  My doctor told me that if I even remotely thought that I was getting to that place again to call and she would see me right away.  At five months post-partum I felt that same walking dead feeling again so I called and we had an appointment and she got me back on the medicine and back on track. 

I no longer need the medicine at this point, but I am not opposed to going back on it someday if I need to.  I have been on anti-depressants at three points in my life--the two episodes of PPD, and when I went through my divorce 11 years ago.  I have experienced situational depression and chemical-imbalance depression.  The situational depression was much easier to come out of.  The PPD didn't ease up until we got the chemical imbalance fixed.  I am just thankful that when I needed it, the medicine and the therapy were there to help me.  If they hadn't been, I may not be here today.

If you or a loved one are experiencing PPD, or any other type of depression, don't be afraid to seek help.  Depression doesn't mean you are weak. 

Lydia's Birth

It's a rainy, crappy day in Iowa, so why not finish my last birth story to brighten things up?


On August 16, 2012 we were in for the surprise of our lives—we found out we were expecting baby #3!  It came as a complete surprise to us, and we really didn't know what to make of it.  It took at least a month for the shock to wear off for both John and me.  Once the shock wore off, we gradually became very excited about our future arrival.

As expected, I once again developed gestational diabetes, as I had in the other two.  I was put on insulin around 14 weeks, and as with my Thomas pregnancy, it really helped to keep my glucose in check.  Also as with my Thomas pregnancy, I only gained 12 pounds because of the restricted diet.  Sure helps with the weight loss afterward!  This pregnancy also turned out to be my easiest pregnancy to date.  I had no nausea or morning sickness at any point, I really didn’t have any food aversions, and I craved pretty healthy foods.  I was just more tired than the last two times, probably because I already had two kids to chase around and a full time job!

Because of the gestational diabetes, and this being the third time around with that, we knew that we would once again be facing an induction.  We also knew that I would want to have another natural labor.  I did it the first two times so I really couldn't see any reason to need an epidural when I have such short labors anyway.

38 weeks!

Twas the night before Lydia's arrival.....

So, on April 22, 2013 we woke up early and finished putting all kinds of unnecessary items into the hospital bag while we waited for Mom to arrive to watch the older kids.  As we were getting close to time to leave I realized that I had forgotten to make a birth plan so the nurses would know what I did and didn't want.  We woke the kids briefly to tell them goodbye and remind them that when they came to see us after school got out that their new sister would be here.

We hopped in the van and my nerves started dancing.  My stomach did a few flops and I just kept trying to remind myself that we would meet our new baby in a matter of hours. Halfway to Davenport I quickly wrote up the world's shortest birth plan.  I kept reminding myself I had done this twice before so this was just going to be more of the same.  John talked about all kinds of other things to distract me.  He knows the unknowns of labor and delivery always make me a little nervous.  What if I need a c-section?  What if there are complications?  What if something goes wrong?  I have never taken for granted the fact that I have always had complication-free deliveries and healthy babies.  And I know those are things that can change in an instant.

We arrived at the hospital just before 7:00 am and they sent us up to our room in labor and delivery.  We had the sweetest nurse, Kris, who was so nice and hilarious.  She got us all checked in after about 3,000 questions and set about putting in my IV.  After blowing two veins she called in another nurse who was finally able to get the IV set.  Man, my arm was sore for two days, and it took over a week for the bruises to go away.  IV's and my veins don't get along.  Our midwife Beth came in and did a cervical check and found that I had made a little more progress from the final visit 4 days before, so she felt confident the Pitocin would do its job beautifully.

After the IV was set, somewhere around 9:00 am, they started pumping me full of saline and Pitocin.  Within 20 minutes I started having small contractions.  They monitored the baby's heartbeat and my contractions for about 20 minutes and then allowed me to walk the halls to try and get her to drop into place.  John and I spent the next few hours wearing a path into the hall carpets, sitting on the bouncy ball, walking some more, "enjoying" a clear liquid diet, fighting with the belts on the monitors that kept sliding around my belly, breathing through the contractions, and walking and bouncing some more.

At 1:00 pm our sweet midwife, Beth, who delivered Amelia almost 6 years earlier, came back to the room having already delivered 5 babies since midnight, and proceeded to check my cervix again.  I had progressed some more and she felt comfortable breaking my water and getting the party started.  Almost immediately the contractions picked up in intensity and speed.  They monitored me for about 20 minutes again to make sure that the baby didn't go into any distress due to breaking my water.  She was performing beautifully on the monitor, so they let me relax in the bathtub to help relieve the pain from the contractions.  I think it's my favorite place to be during labor.  With Amelia I relaxed in the tub for at least an hour which really helped me to progress, and Thomas was almost born in the tub because I stayed in there so long!  The heat from the water and the nice jets really helped relax away the pain.

We had told the nurse and the midwife that Thomas came in two hours, so they were both very concerned about leaving the room and having me spontaneously deliver in the bathtub.  It was kind of nice to have them stay close, because I was concerned too that they might not get to me in time if the baby decided to come too quickly. 

As I was laying there I was starting to get concerned that maybe things weren't progressing very quickly and that maybe this was going to take a really long time (ha, I should have known better!).  At some point Beth checked my cervix again and told me I had dilated another centimeter.  I started to feel more discouraged, like maybe she wasn't going to come out.  It's kind of funny the tricks your mind plays on you when you're in pain and you can’t see the clock.

After what felt like quite a long time in the tub, my bottom was starting to go numb from the way I was laying in the tub, and I felt like something was keeping the baby from moving down properly.  Nurse Kris and Midwife Beth had stepped out of the room for a few minutes and I asked John to help me roll over onto my hands and knees in the tub.  I wanted to try to change positions but didn't want to get out of the tub in case it made things worse and I wanted to lie back down in the water.  He helped me get turned over and I asked him to put the nice warm wet towel on my back to keep me warm, and keep from giving everyone a really embarrassing view of me!  Somehow it confused him and he tried to put the towel across my back like one would put a saddle blanket on a horse!  I informed him that that was not exactly what I had meant and that I wanted it to cover my WHOLE back and bottom if he didn't mind.  Light bulb!  With my towel situated I could focus on the next contraction. 

About that time Kris and Beth made their way back into the room to see how I was holding up.  "Oh, we've changed positions, huh?" Kris said with a smile.  Beth came in and said, "Oh, looks like you're shaking a little bit, that's a good sign!  Would you like to get out of the tub and come to the bed?"  She could tell already that the time was getting close and didn't want me to have the baby on the way to the bed.  I told her I would come to the bed, but that I wanted to use the toilet first since I'd been drinking tons of water and getting pumped full of fluids for several hours.  I used the toilet between contractions and told her I was ready to head to the bed.  While I was in the bathroom they had messed with the bed and set it up in such a way that I could continue to be on my hands and knees and give that position a chance to work. 

After a minute or so and another contraction I was ready to leave the bathroom and finally head to the bed.  Beth and Kris helped me to get onto the bed and wrapped a warm blanket around me to keep me nice and toasty.  I had one more contraction almost immediately upon getting onto the bed and breathed through it.  After that contraction Lydia decided that she was ready to make her debut.  Beth said to me, "If you start to feel any pressure let me know and I'll make sure I'm ready."  No sooner had the words left her mouth than a new contraction started and I immediately felt the pressure of the baby dropping into place.  Through clenched teeth I stage-whispered, "PRESSURE!!!  LOTS OF PRESSURE!!!"  Beth kind of chuckled and said, "That's good, we're all ready so whenever you're ready you can start to push!"

I've never really been in the hands and knees position before during labor, so I guess I kept expecting them to tell me to turn over to the sitting/reclining position to deliver the baby.  To my surprise, they didn't.  They let gravity take over and with every contraction I could feel Lydia pushing toward her final destination. 

Beth told John to get a pair of gloves on and she would allow him to "catch" the baby.  John seriously couldn't have been more excited.  He got his gloves on and took his place behind me as I started to push.  I must have pushed about a half dozen times or so.  Even though it was my third time doing this, it took me a few pushes to get the hang of it since I'd never pushed from this position before.  Once I got the position figured out though, it was only a few more pushes and she was on her way out.  Beth helped John to get himself properly positioned and at exactly 3:00 pm he proudly caught his newest princess with his own two hands, while I said, "Thank you, God!"  I was so glad that was over and she was finally here.

About that time I heard Beth telling John that I would probably want to turn around then so there were two ways they could get the baby to me: either they could pass her between my legs to me to grab, or they could hold the baby and let me turn while I brought my leg over her.  After expending all of my energy, I decided that I would rather do the latter.  I started to turn and Beth said, "Okay, I guess we're doing it this way!"  I got settled in and they placed my sweet baby on my stomach and wrapped her in a towel while she practiced using her lungs.  She was still attached to the cord at that point and I was unable to see her face, but I could see her dark hair and her tiny fingers and toes that were flailing everywhere.  After about twenty minutes they cut her cord and I was finally able to see her precious little face.  She was sucking on her hands so I decided to see if she would attempt to nurse.  She immediately latched on like a champ and nursed for about twenty minutes.  I told John I felt like I had just run a marathon.  And I was so happy.

Another one, fresh out of the oven.

 Even though I really didn't have a birth plan, I still got everything that I wanted and more.  They had allowed me labor the way I wanted.  They didn't push drugs on me.  They let me take my time delivering her, even though she was out in a matter of minutes.  They didn't cut the cord immediately, instead allowing her to get all of that wonderful cord blood into her system.  They let me nurse her immediately and didn't even attempt to take her from me for bathing and examining her for over an hour.  It was wonderful.

7 lbs 8 oz of sweetness and screaming.

Lydia Irene was a surprise, to be sure, but the best kind of surprise.  I can’t imagine our family without her.  Not a day goes by that she doesn’t make me laugh.  She has been an incredible blessing, and I am so happy that I get to spend every day at home with her. 

Proud big sister.

These kids couldn't imagine life without this baby sister either.

Thomas's Birth

He's only 4 1/2 years old, but since I wrote up Amelia's birth story awhile back, I figured I should do the other two as well!


In January of 2009, John and I decided that we were ready to give Amelia a sibling.  We decided we would wait about six months because I was on some medications for the severe post-partum depression that had been left in the wake of Amelia’s birth and my doctor was weaning me off of them.

In February, I had to go to the gynecologist’s office for some unrelated tests, and was scheduled to return in 2 or 3 weeks to go over the results.  The Sunday of the week that I was to return for my test results, something just felt “off.”  As a woman of child-bearing age, I of course had a few pregnancy tests sitting in my bathroom cabinet just begging to be peed on.  So I figured “what the heck” and took a quick test while getting ready for church that morning.  I went to the kitchen to make my morning coffee and almost forgot about the test on my bathroom counter.  I went back into the bathroom to check the test and almost choked on my coffee.  It was positive.  What?!  That wasn’t supposed to happen!  At least not for another 4 months! 

John, who was completely unaware of my covert peeing mission, was a little thrown off when I came out with my test stick and demanded that he tell me if he saw one line or two.  “Oh, I don’t know, I can never read these things,” he said.  I remembered that I had one more test left in the pack and that it was a digital test, the kind that actually says “pregnant” or “not pregnant” when you pee on it.  So back to the bathroom I went after I finished my coffee to try again.  Five minutes later the answer was clear.  I was definitely “pregnant.”

I was in shock.  John was cool as a cucumber.  “Well, we were going to be trying for this in a few months anyway, we’ll just have our baby a few months sooner than we would have.” 

“Yes,” I said, “but we were going to try and pay some more bills off before then.  And your job just changed and your paycheck took a huge hit.  The timing could really be better.”

“It will be fine.  Everything happens for a reason,” he said.

When I returned to the gynecologist’s office a few days later, the doctor gave me my test results and asked if I had any questions.  “No,” I said, “but I did just get a positive pregnancy test a few days ago.”  She congratulated me and told me to set up a prenatal appointment on my way out.

It was a rough pregnancy.  The gestational diabetes came back at around 11 weeks.  By 14 weeks I was on insulin to help control it.  At 37 weeks my blood pressure was inexplicably out of control and I was forced to go on modified bed rest for the remaining two weeks until my induction. 

30-something weeks pregnant.

I was to be induced on Monday November 30^th, just days after Thanksgiving.  Thanksgiving was long, uncomfortable, and exhausting for me.  I remember sitting in the recliner at my father-in-law’s house, worn out but laughing with the in-laws over the visible movements of the baby rolling around in my tummy.  He was such a mover and you could really see every movement as he rolled from one side to the other.

Saturday November 28^th I had to go to the hospital for my final non-stress test.  We had to do it at the hospital since the doctor’s office was closed for the holiday.  I was hooked up to the monitor, as well as the blood pressure cuff.  My blood pressure was high again, so the nurse told me that she would have the on-call midwife come in and check on me.  Kim came in and asked me how I was feeling.  I told her that I had been having contractions off and on, including some strong contractions the previous morning for about an hour.  She checked my cervix and found that I had made some progress from the previous appointment and said, “I think we’ll go ahead and admit you and get this party started.”  John and I looked at each other in a slight panic.  We hadn’t made any arrangements for Amelia’s care.  We didn’t have my bag.  We were expecting to have two more days to get things in order.  John said, “Well, I guess we won’t be making it to Thanksgiving dinner at your grandparents’ tonight.”  Kim said, “Oh, well in that case, just come back in tomorrow and we’ll do it then.  There’s no emergency, we can wait until tomorrow!”  That was a relief!

Sunday November 29th was a very busy and special day for our family. I didn't sleep much at all the night before in anticipation of this baby’s arrival. John and I woke up at 5:00 am to get everything loaded up for the hospital and get on the road. Nana came over to stay with Amelia, and we made the drive up.

At 7:00 am we arrived at the hospital to check in and went on up to the labor and maternity ward. They got me all checked in and started my IV so that they could get the Pitocin drip pumping. A little while later, our midwife Kim stopped by to check in and let us know she was there. She checked me to see what my progress was and found that I had made a little bit of progress from the previous day. She said we needed to keep the Pitocin going for awhile to get the baby dropped down in place before we could break the water. Her concern was that if she broke it while he was still up in there too far that he would come down on the cord and then we’d end up in an emergency situation.

We walked around the halls for awhile, trying to keep the contractions productive.  We walked so many laps, and our LD nurse thought it was so funny because she would watch the monitor that showed her my contractions and she couldn’t believe I was still walking.  Apparently they were registering quite large on her monitor, but I was able to walk through them for quite awhile.  She commented as we walked another lap past her station, “Do you not feel that?!”   I also rolled around on the birthing ball for awhile to try and coax the baby down into the proper position. That seemed to work pretty well, because not much after that, Kim came back to check on me again and said that he had finally come down into a great position and we were ready to break my water. So at noon, after a few hours of very mild and totally manageable contractions, Kim broke my water and that's when the fun got started.

Almost immediately my contractions started to pick up in intensity and speed. They made me stay in bed for about an hour to keep a close eye on my blood pressure and the baby’s heart rate. I did my deep breathing and did really well with getting through each contraction. They had to turn down the Pitocin a few times to slow the contractions down a little because they were coming right on top of each other. At around 1:00 they finally allowed me to get out of bed and they filled up the whirlpool bathtub so I could lie back and relax away some of the contraction pain.

The bathtub helped my pain a lot and I continued to relax in the tub for about an hour. Right before 2:00 I told Kim that the pain was changing and that I was pretty sure it was time to get out of the tub and back into the bed. I got light-headed and needed to rest after one final contraction, and then I tried to get up. As soon as I stood up in the tub, the next contraction started and I was immediately sure that standing up had been a mistake. I knelt back down in the tub and Kim told me to stay right there while she went to round up some gloves, because she thought I might have the baby right there in the tub. When the contraction finally passed, Kim told John to grab my other arm and they were going to rush me back to the bed. They threw a blanket around my shoulders and rushed me as quickly as they could across the room. Good thing they did because as soon as I got back into the bed the next contraction started. Kim told John to go ahead and put some gloves on because she was going to let him do a little more than just cutting the cord, but about that time she went to check me and see how dilated I was and found instead that this baby was already on his way out. She told John to push the orange button to get the nurses in the room and they immediately rushed in. On the next contraction Kim told me I could push slowly, so I pushed slowly and his head came right out.  Kim yelled a quick, “Okay, stop for just a minute, we have a little problem.”  The problem was that the umbilical cord was wrapped TWICE around the baby’s neck!  His heart rate had been strong and steady all day, so that was completely unexpected.  Once she moved the cord from his neck she told me I could push again. I gave one more push, and at 2:04 pm Thomas Richard quickly entered the world. They immediately put him on my tummy and the first thing I noticed were his huge Hobbit-like feet!  He had good strong lungs and used them for quite awhile as they got him cleaned up, but he relaxed quite quickly after they gave him back to me.  I was immediately in love with him.  The End.

 

Fresh out of the oven!

 

Meeting our little prince.

 

Tiny fingers holding Daddy's finger.

 

Angry about his first bath.

 

First full day home.