The end of a season

Today was our church's last Sunday. I'm pretty emotional about it. This is really the only church Derek and I have ever attended together. It's the only church Oliver's ever known.
We came to New City, which was Soma at the time, as children - newly married, newly returned to America - we came riding on some pretty tough failures. We were hurting, fumbling, needing healing in ways I don't think I even realized at the time. This church has been family. It has taken us in, grown us, taught us. There was never any judgment not from anyone. No matter how many times I shared those failures that I carried with so much guilt, no one ever condemned. They just LOVED. They just welcomed. They spoke Jesus and they spoke healing. We have been challenged to seek Christ more, to love others more, to pursue knowledge and holiness. This body has strengthened our marriage, supported us as we started our family, prayed for our son before he was born, and every day since. They have stood by us though our struggles - they have advised, challenged, listened, prayed, and hugged. For these things, I am eternally grateful. The impact they have made is beyond what the talent of my words could express.
This is what the church is supposed to look like, guys, and this body does it so well. When we came here four years ago, I was a mess. We've changed a lot in 4 years we've moved twice, changed jobs, we're parents now - I'd like to say we've matured (maybe). There've been changes for the better and for the worse, but it's because of this body, and its people, I'm a bit less of a mess. It's going to be hard to find a family like this again. It might be impossible.

I firmly believe that God has a plan for every, single person who has sat in the chairs at this church. Our time together has been a moment, a glimpse of God's Story. God is here, in triumph and in glory and He is calling all of us out into the midst of it. Maybe for some, the closing of these doors is the last push they need to walk the path God is leading them down, perhaps a path they have been scared, or nervous to follow.

New City has been a stepping stone for us. It has held us up, balanced us, offered a solid surface beneath our feet. But it is only a way point. And God is moving us on. Maybe, He has things for us we have not even thought of yet, maybe He wants us to bring the love, and grace, and discipleship that we have found here, and show it to others who desperately need it. Whatever His plan is, I am firmly beliving it is the best road we can walk down.

New City will always be part of my story. It will always have a place in my heart. And I will always love the family I have found here. I hope they realize the instrumental effect they have had on my life.

We are all still the church, whether God leads us together or separate, we will always be family.

Where do I go from here?

What do you do when you feel like God is calling you to something, but you don't know where to start? What do you do when you feel that tug on your heartstrings to go, to do, to move, but no resources to work with? How do you talk to your husband about a dream that would spin your life in a completely different direction when all you have is a rough picture of what that dream may be? What do you do when you have an 8 month-old, and own a business, and life is just starting to settle down for the first time in years?

What if God calls? What if God says "do something crazy"? What if God says "walk on water", but you can't figure out how to get out of the boat?

At our women's gathering this past week and family camp, the lady who was speaking asked this question: "If I gave you 10 million dollars and you had to spend it on God's dream for you, what would you do with it?"

I've never sat down and tried to define God's dream for me. I've never tried to pinpoint exactly what I thought HE wanted me to do with my life. I've always just had this vague idea of what it might be. Really, just assuming that when the time came, a door would open, and I would walk through it. Like my purpose would just fall into my lap one day the path would be clear. Maybe it happens that way sometimes, but sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes you have to move first. I've always wanted to be a part of a lot of different things; which is maybe why I've never really been a part of anything. But, what if, all the doors were open, and I had to walk though one. 

Which one would it be?

So I sat down; I made a list. Of my strengths, of my weaknesses, or the things that tear at my heart, of what I want. And I've got this little idea. A tiny inkling of a thing that might one day be huge. A thing that might one day be insane. And I don't know what to do with it.

Where do I start?

An Open Letter to the Mom Who Told Me I Wasn't Cut Out to Work With Kids

I had a nanny job, years ago, that I struggled a lot with. I had a lot of parenting/teaching differences from the parents. I always try to respect and follow the wishes of the parents that I work for. I did my best, but I didn't feel like they backed me up. They set rules, and then when I enforced them, and their kids complained - it was my fault that they weren't happy. I felt I had no back up, even though I was following THEIR guidelines. One night, the mom of this family pulled me aside and we had a long conversation about how her kids weren't happy and how I was the sole reason for that. This conversation ended with the words "maybe kids just aren't your thing."

Dear __________,
I want you to know that I have carried those words with me for YEARS. I'm still not over them. Kids have always been, will always be, my ONLY thing. The one desire I have had for longer than I can remember. The one passion I truly feel like God Himself planted within me.
I was talking to this older lady at a coffee house a couple weeks ago and she, as so many do, complimented me on my mild-mannered, friendly, smiley little boy.
"You know what that tells me?" She asked. "It tells me he's got a great mommy."
I gotta be honest. I almost burst into tears. In the middle of this public place, right in front of this complete stranger. I wanted to crumple, to bury my head in her shoulder and bawl.
I thought I had forgiven you. I thought I had moved on. Blocked it out. I thought that all the comments to the contrary, comments like I received at the coffee shop, had been enough to bury the hurt caused by your words. But they weren't. I still hurts. I still, every time I lose my patience while trying to get my baby to settle down and sleep, or snap at him when he bites, or pulls my hair, even though I know it's not on purpose, I wonder if maybe you we're right, and I'm not cut out for this.
I know there will be more negative comments. All my life, every where we go, there will be people who question my parenting choices. People who tell me I'm doing it wrong. I hope that I can learn to let their words mean less than yours did.
You know what I'm discovering? I am a fabulous mom. I am not a perfect mom, I won't ever be, I'm still learning (even after all my years of childcare experience) and I will spend the rest of my life wondering what I could have done better but i'm pretty good at this thing, and I've got a pretty fantastic kid.
You know what else? You are a fabulous mom, too.
I want to apologize to you. For all the times I questioned your parenting methods - Even silently. I apologize for being less than you desired for your kids. I apologize for not making them thrive. For making you feel like you had made the wrong choice in hiring me. I know firsthand now how nerve-wracking it is to leave your kids in the care of someone else.

All the best,
Abigail

Mommies,
Let's stop judging each other for their choices. Raising kids is hard. We encounter hard choices every day. And both sides of the arguments are full of reasons why their way is the perfect, and even ONLY choice worth making. We are so concerned with making our points and defending our decisions, that we do it at the expense of everyone who has taken a different path. Not everyone can breastfeed, not everyone wants to co-sleep, not everyone wants to vaccinate their tiny babies. Not spanking doesn't automatically mean your kids will be spoiled rotten. Spanking doesn't automatically mean you'll have a rotten relationship with your kids when they are teenagers.
Shaming goes a long way. Support goes further. We're all in this together. We're all fighting the same fight to give our kids the best we can. Let's fight together. Even if our weapons look different sometimes.

Turning Point

So a couple weeks ago I wrote about our frustrations with Oliver night sleeping. I hoped that things would get better when we got back home and back into a routine, but they didn't. In fact, for several days after we got back, he wouldn't even nap in his bed, which he's never had a problem with. At night he was up every three hours to sleep. I might have been a little frazzled.

Now, I know the Cry It Out method works. I've used it before with the kids I've nannied. And, in using it, determined that, while it may work, I don't think it's the best way to teach a child to sleep. Or maybe it's just not good for this Mama's sanity. Whatever. I decided a long time ago that I would use it as a last resort only. Getting up and feeding my 6-month old every three hours, every night, is not the worst thing in the world. Having said 6-month-old sleep in my bed and kick me all night because he refuses to go back down in his own bed, is not the worst thing in the world either. I can lose some sleep. It's one of the things I signed up for when I embarked on this whole motherhood journey. If Oliver is hungry, because he's not eating enough solids during the day, and needs that feed every three hours, i will deal with that. That being said - if he DOESN'T need that food, that sustenance, if he is just waking up because he's trained himself to do so, I think that is something that - for both his father and my sanity, as well as not wanting this to be a habit he maintains for a couple years - it is my job, as his mother, to help him learn to sleep better.

We hadn't resorted to CIO for a couple of reasons:
1). Oliver has been teething, and I do not want him to be in pain, and needing comfort and feel like I am not there for him.
2). The addition of solids to his diet is going very slowly, he is not interested for long and he is not actually consuming much of the food that I give him. If he really is hungry that frequently at night, because he is not getting enough during the day, I do not want to refuse him the food that he needs.
3). Derek has been working insane hours and I don't want Oliver's crying to keep him up at night. He needs what sleep he can get.
4). I just can't listen to my baby scream. I honestly don't think I've gotten that desperate.

So, at every noise, every fuss, I've been running to pull my sweet baby out of bed, hush him so he doesn't wake his father, and latch him as quickly as possibly so that he can go straight back to sleep.

Until Friday. Friday night we stayed at my Godparents house. We set up the pack'n'play in the other room so that I could only hear Oliver if he was really all out crying (instead of waking up with every shuffle), and maybe I would get better sleep. We had a late night Friday and Ollie didn't go down till midnight. I woke up a couple of times thinking I heard him, I lay awake straining my ears to listen, but was met with only silence, so I went back to sleep. When I finally woke up for really just after 8am, he was STILL sleeping. I think he would have kept sleeping, but when I went in to check on him he stirred, and since I was painfully full, I woke him up to feed.

There goes my theory that he is really just hungry.

So, Derek and I had a conversation. We decided that I would stop getting up and pulling Oliver out of bed the moment I heard him. I would wait until he was really crying. Like, standing up on the side of the crib, struggling to catch his breath between sobs, crying. I am not ready to let him cry it out, but I do think he is at the point where he needs to be given time to try to learn to sooth himself back to sleep. We are going to try and give him that time. If Derek loses too much sleep, he can go get ear plugs. He has given me permission not to worry about it.

Saturday night I remember Oliver waking up once after we put him down around 10:30. Just before 2 in the morning. he fussed for a while. I got out of bed once to give him he pacifier. He was still laying down, eyes closed, under his quilt. Just fussing. So I let him be. I went back to bed and listened to him. Every time he would start to really fuss and I'd think I should go get him, he'd get quiet again. It felt like forever before he went back to sleep - it was probably ten minutes - but he went back to sleep. By himself. I heard him move around a couple other times during the night, but never cry. I had to wake him up at 7:30 so that I could feed him and then get us all ready for church on time.

Last night, he did get to full out crying once. But it wasn't till nearly 5am. I got him up, fed him, and 20 minutes later he was back asleep in bed. He slept till 8.

Also, I think learning to sleep through the night in his own bed is helping him sleep during the day. He is sleeping SO much during the day. He finally seems to be giving up the infant cat-naps and transitioning to an actually schedule and regular naps throughout the day. As I write this, he has been asleep for close to two hours, I've done the dishes, folded the laundry, and managed to sit down and write. Now I am about to have to go wake him up to eat before we go see his cousin.

There may be a growth spurt happening here also.

Colorado Highlights

We've been back almost a week now, but it's taken a while for me to get this post done. It's been a pretty packed week of unpacking, recuperating, and some family stuff thrown in. But, better late than never.

Derek and I (and Ollie, of course) left on the first with our teardrop trailer, the new-to-us truck we bought in Dallas on the way, and suitcase full of baby stuff (along with some clothing for Papa and I) for almost three weeks in Colorado. We spent the first six days at my grandparents house in Montrose, and then set off with our camp gear for 12 days of exploring up the mountains. We basically covered the entire southwest quarter of the state.

Discoveries I made during our three week road trip:

1). The Biyast (our new truck)  does not have off road tires. When you camp in the dirt, and it rains all night, you get stuck... The first night after we left my grandparents house, we parked up on this backcountry ski road in the middle of nowhere. It was completely deserted because, well, no one skiis in July. At 5 o'clock in the morning when you realize your wheels are stuck in mud, you kind of start to wish your campsite was a little less deserted.

2). The mountains are cold. Even in July. We knew this, but when I was packing, in Texas, in near 100 degree weather, it just wasn't something I thought about. I packed ONE blanket for our bed. The second morning (after we got the truck unstuck) we made a trip to Walmart for cold weather sleeping bags.

3). My husband is a durn good cook. (Okay, so this is not a new discovery, but at home I do all the meal planning, shopping, and cooking. I don't mind. Derek works, I don't. It makes sense for me to handle food). I don't hate cooking but I definitely don't find the same joy in it that some people do. So, since this is my vacation, and Derek is not working everyday, he's done pretty much all of it this trip. It's been lovely. And it's made me enjoy the meals I have cooked a whole lot more.

4). Ski towns are over rated. Maybe not for everyone, but they sure weren't our cup of tea. Too busy. Too expensive.

5). My son is quite the charmer. He's everyone's best friend, and he's gorgeous. I don't know how many times we got comments like 'Oliver, I think you need 20 brothers and sisters'  or 'you guys are gonna have a bunch more of those, right?'

6). All you people who rave about the Texas sunsets are wrong. Sorry, but you are. Texas ain't got nothing on a mountain sunset. Here's proof:

7). Ron Howard is super cool.

8). Colorado has fully embraced the legalization of weed. It's everywhere. And it stinks.

9). You can take a shower at a truck stop for $3-6 dollars. They're pretty gross. For $10-12 dollars, you can buy a pass to a rec center and have as many showers as you want, and have all day access to their indoor, heated pools. When it's in the 50s and raining and you've been camping, it's totally worth the extra few bucks for the pools.

10). Cloth diapering on the road is not nearly as inconvenient as I imagined it would be. Which leads me to the next:

11). This whole 'infant potty-training' thing has actually made life easier. I only changed maybe 6 dirty diapers this trip (Oliver generally poops 3-5 times a day), and all but 2 those were on the way up when we were in the car for REALLY long stretches of time, and I wasn't bothering to get him our and take him potty. It's been really nice, when we get back in the car after stopping to nurse, or whatever, to know that we're not going to have to stop again 15 minutes down the road to clean tush.

13). I can totally breastfeed while wearing Oliver in the Ergo. This is really nice when you're hiking and there are no comfy chairs to nurse in.

12). My little Monkey ADORES his daddy. I mean, I know Oliver loves Derek, but let's face it - with the hours Derek has been pulling the past few months - he's just not around as much during Ollie's wakeful hours. This is by far the most time they have spent together. Oliver thinks his daddy is THE BEST. I'm just old potatoes at this point.

14). I'd much rather live in Colorado than Texas.

15). However, I don't think Colorado is my dream home. 

I feel like we're backpedaling...

  Since a few days after he was born, Oliver has been a champion sleeper. At night anyway. During the day? Not so much. He’s pretty much a cat-napper. But I never had an issue with that because he was happy during the day and slept great all night. I found myself wondering why so many people complained about losing sleep with a newborn. I certainly didn’t feel like I was sleep deprived.
 
  Within a week of his birth, Oliver would regularly sleep 5-6 hour stretches at night, wake up to feed (which he mostly slept through) and then go back down for another 4-5 hours. Giving us 10-12 consecutive hours in bed with a maximum of 2, 30-minute, barely awake feeds. I seriously think my quality of sleep improved from pregnancy to mama hood. By about 4 months old he was sleeping from 9:30-6, eat, and then go back to sleep for another two to three hours. It was fabulous. I know, I know, all you mamas with babies who like to get up and play for two hours in the middle of the night hate me. Trust me, I don’t envy you.

   The past month or so, our sleep schedule has gone drastically down hill. It’s just been one thing after another. Oliver out grew his swaddle wrap and now he flails about and wakes himself up; then there was the teething; then traveling; and so on. Lately he’s up 2-3 times a night, and I’m lucky if he goes till 3am before his first feed, most nights it‘s closer to 2. He was sleeping later than that the week he was born! He still goes straight back down after he eats, but he’s up again two or three hours later, and then sometimes even a third time before he’s ready to really get up. Last night, he went down at nine and then was up at 12:30, at 2, at 5, and at 7:30. He didn’t get up “for real” till almost 9am. He just woke, fussed till I put him on the breast, ate for ten minutes or so, and then fell back asleep. We’re still getting 10-11 hours in the bed every night, so maybe I shouldn’t complain.

  Here’s the thing: he still sleeps in the bassinet next to our bed, and usually by 6 am or so has migrated into the bed with us. Sometimes I fall asleep nursing him during that first feed, but even though I thought I wanted to co-sleep before he was born, I have discovered that my quality of sleep is far better is he stays in his own bed most of the night. The child kicks and squirms and every movement has me waking.  Right now, if I fall asleep during that first feed, it is usually not for more than ten minutes and I can just lay him back in bed when I wake back up.

  But all that will change when we get back home next week. The first thing on our to do list is getting his crib built and putting it on the other side of the room. Now that he is pulling up, it is only a matter of time before he manages to flip himself over the low walls of his bassinet. He’s outgrowing the tiny thing anyway.

  I do not look forward to him being all the way on the other side of the room. It means I will have to actually wake myself up enough to go pull him out of bed, carry him back to our bed, nurse him, and then go lay him back down. Three times a night. This mama is entirely too lazy for that nonsense. It would be really great if he could get his schedule back to normal before we make the bed switch. Then again, it’s been so long, I wonder if maybe this is normal from here on out. Maybe we were just blessed the first few months.

  I’ve tried everything I can think of to get him to sleep longer. We make sure it’s not too cold in the bedroom. We keep a fan on for ambient noise. I throw a blanket over him for weight. I’ve tried to get him to sleep on his front so that maybe he won’t flail around as much, but he wakes as soon as I put him down if he’s not on his back. I thought (and still think) maybe he just isn’t getting enough milk to last him 8 hours anymore, so we’ve started introducing solid foods, but he won’t eat enough that it seems to make any difference. He’s really interested, he just seems to get bored after the first few bites. I am at my wit’s end. I welcome any and all advice. 

Halfway to a birthday

  Oliver is 6 months old today. 6 months ago (plus about 20 minutes) this tiny little human entered my life and I can't imagine how I ever lived without him. *Warning: this is going to be a lovey, gooey post all full on mama brags, if you are not a proud grandparent, aunt or uncle, or just crazy bored with your life right now because you've run out of things to binge watch on netflix - your time is probably more interestingly spent elsewhere.

  This kid has changed my life, y'all. He's turned me into a blubbering fool. I literally just burst into tears sometimes because of the smiles he makes while he's asleep. Or bust out laughing because he giggled, again, even though he's done it a thousand times and you'd think I'd get used to the noise. I have spent my ENTIRE life caring for children, strangers' children, friends' children, my own siblings. I thought I loved all of them, and I did, I loved them as deeply as I knew I could love. But that love pales in comparison to what I feel for my son. Which kind of makes me feel like I cheated all those other kids; like I was holding back.

  Time is passing too quickly. I miss the little baby I brought home from the hospital. Oliver is practically a toddler already. He's SO busy; the boy is all go. He crawls - for real now, not the weird, floppy, legs-only crawl he was doing a couple months ago - he stands up, he will pull up on any stationary object or person that will let him (although, I have yet to get a proper video of this, because every time I pull out my camera he wants to play with it instead =P). He tries to stand up in the middle of the floor. He's gotten close a couple of times. I swear, if his balance was better, he could just take off walking - in true overachieving-first-born fashion.

  He's got two teeth. Which he's enthralled with. He's tried a multitude of new foods this month. Including, but not exclusively: Butternut squash, potato, watermelon, grapes, apples, banana, avocado, apricot, yogurt (made with coconut milk because we're waiting to introduce dairy into his diet). So far the only thing he's shown a dislike to was the avocado (clearly, we'll have to fix that). Oh, and banana, which was the first thing we gave him, and it constipated him for a day and a half so we haven't tried since. His favourites have been apricot and yogurt. =) I know all the books say not to start with fruits because they'll never come back from the sweet, but we bought this thing http://www.amazon.com/Munchkin-Fresh-Feeder off amazon (it's fabulous by the way, i love being able to get a side of fruit or cooked veggies at any restaurant we go to and let him go to town on it while Derek and I enjoy our meal), because he's eating in such small quantities and it's a pain in the butt to steam and puree and thin veggies with I can just pop a slice of apple in here and let him have at it. Plus, so far he's loved every veggie we've given him, and he other day he went straight from watermelon to potato without even batting an eye. If anything, he was more interested in the potato. So I'm not really worried about it.

  He loves books, and animals, and his favorurite toys so far are blocks, cups and spoons, and the tag of anything. Seriously, if it has a tag, he'll find it. He's figured out that our couch pillows have tags on one side, and when he get a hold of a pillow he'll kick it around till he finds the tag. He's taught himself how to play peek-a-boo. With anything. Burp rag, pillow, the back of the couch (see video at the bottom), He'll pull a blanket or some such over his head, wait a few seconds, and then throw it down - and of you don't play back, he'll yell at you until you do. It's basically adorable.

  He's a far cry from that little 8 pound, 7 ounce, 21.5 inch baby. He's at least 17 lbs (we haven't weighed him in nearly a month, but he was 16, 5 last I checked, and he's got to be between 27-28 inches long. He'll be taller than me by gradeschool. I miss the newborn. I miss the coos, the newborn cry, the tiny fingers that used to grab mine, the little half-smile. But I love watching as his personality develops. He's got SO much personality. He's independent, and expressive, and inquisitive. He watches everything and everyone. He's so focused sometimes. He loves people. Especially men. Especially men with beards. He's got a thing for beards. And he's so happy, all the time. Always smiling and laughing and flirting. Except when he's not, and almost always there is a very clear, very tangible reason for it: he's over tired, or over stimulated, or hungry, or hurt. Almost all of these upsets are cured in the same way. Boob. We nurse A LOT. in fits and spurts. He'll crawl up to me, latch for 3 or 4 minutes, and then move on. He's always on the move. Always exploring. Always trying to figure everything out.

  In three days we will be up in the mountains, on a little slice of property, somewhere in a national forest. No floor, no concrete, nothing but mountain ground to crawl on. For over a week. Not sure how well that's going to work.

  I miss the baby. But I am so excited for the child that he is becoming. I think we'll have to have at least 8 more.

Babies on the way, babies getting bigger.

No, I am not pregnant again (Not yet, anyway. ;)), but three people close to me have announced their pregnancies in the past week. All babies due in January '16. Just days after Oliver turns one. Which leads to this freaky but inevitable line of thinking: Oliver is going to be one! This mama is not ready for that. But by the time I am welcoming these babies into the world, by the time I am seeing their faces for the first time, and sharing in their parents joy - my own baby, who was such a tiny little thing just a blink of an eye ago, will have a whole year of life under his belt. Is it possible that I have baby fever again already? Maybe, just a tad. ;)

Part of the reason may be the stage that Oliver is at right now. In the last 2 weeks he has pushed from one milestone to another. He started rolling from back to front the day before he hit four months. A couple days later, he was pushing up on his hands and knees for the first time. Now, he 'knee-crawls'. It's this adorable half-crawl thing. See, he's figured out how to shuffle his knees back and forth in order to accomplish forwards movement, but he hasn't yet gotten the hang of moving his arms while still maintaining a hands and knees position. So he moves his legs, pushes forward, and then throws himself flat onto his tummy to pull his now-trapped arms out from under himself, then he gets back up on all fours and starts over. It's super cute, and pretty effective. He gets where he's going; and he's getting FAST. We have an area rug in our bedroom, it's the only part of the house that isn't hard floor. The rug is about 6 1/2 x 5 ft. I can't keep him on it. I am constantly moving him back to the center (he won't crawl on the floor, I don't know if it's because it is slippery, or cold, or hurts his knees, but he won't do it. He gets to the edge of the rug and then gets pissed).

I have mixed feelings about this boy getting mobile. It's nice in a way, because he's happy playing on the floor for quite a while now, which is a nice change after 4 months of "How dare you put me down! I must needs to be in your arms at all times!'. On the flipside, though, now he always wants to be on the floor. He is so restless now that he has discovered he can get around. Sit on the couch and play in my lap? Fuggedaboutit. We went to the Texas coast this weekend to see Derek's grandparents and he was down on the floor pretty much the whole time. He loved it, but it wore him out. Of course - there's no telling him that. Naps are for babies, guys. 

He still has no interest in learning to sit up on his own. He's got the balance for it, but he immediately tries to either stand up, or lean forward to get onto his hands and knees. (You can't move while you're on you're hiney, see.) Both result in a pleasant looking face-plant.

Oliver had his first tastes of lemon and avocado this week. He was pretty into the lemon. The avo? Not a fan, although he got really excited about the spoon. He also was not too interested in the banana we tried a couple weeks ago, so I think we'll be waiting a while longer before taking the plunge to foods.

Also, we pulled out the convertible carseat before we left town. His infant carseat was used when I got it and expires the end of this month. Plus, it's ever so heavy, now that the weather is warm I am never pulling the whole carseat out anymore. So we decided to graduate to the one that will grow with him. He loves it. He sits up higher in the car in this one and I think he can see more out the window. The only downside is that I don't have a handle to hang toys from anymore which, it turns out, is fine because his current favourite toy is a water bottle.

I'll leave you with this cuteness and let you get back to your holiday weekend.

Quarter of a Year

Oliver is three months old (actually, he was three months old a couple weeks ago. I'm late. Oops.), and he's HUGE. 26 inches and 14.5 pounds the last time I managed to weigh him. He can roll over, scoot backward on his tummy, sit up for a few moments by himself until he tries to stand up and only manages to not-so-gracefully face-plant between his legs. He poos in the potty (almost exclusively). He sleeps 10 hours at night, with one feed usually around 5 am. He loves books, hanging out in the Moby wrap, and elephants. I think he is working on his first tooth because GOOD LORD the child wants to gnaw on everything.

And he smiles. 

He smiles ALL the time. He's had a cold this week and been sniffly and stuffy and not sleeping well, but still, always with the smiling. I don't think I've ever seen such a happy kid. It is so hard to remember that I am sleep deprived, and caffeine deprived, and my house is a mess, and my work is past due, and my back is killing me from carrying around his almost 15 pound self all day when I am constantly getting to look at that grin. I'm gone. 

^That one. See? There's no saying no to that smile. 

I've only been a mom for three and half months. I feel like I've been doing this forever. I have great difficulty recalling life without my sweet little boy. At the same time, I feel like I'm fumbling though this mama thing with a blindfold on and nothing but thumbs. I've worked with babies for years, but I find myself second guessing everything I've done and known. I call my mom for everything. Funny how adulthood can make you need your parents more than you ever would have wanted to admit while you were a teenager. 

In three months I have managed to poke my son in the eye, let him get bit by a rosebush, and poisoned him with the cream I used to get rid of a diaper rash because it took me nearly a week to realize he was allergic to it and it was making things worse. Just to list a few of my many blunders. 

I constantly wonder if I am doing right by this tiny life that has been entrusted to me. I mean, one day he is going to be a real-life, grown up person, and the things I do for him now and over the next several years will have a significant impact on what kind of person that might be. That is serious stuff, guys. This is so much bigger than silly faces and 'This Little Piggy'. It terrifies me to think about it. For real. I can barely handle being responsible for my own life. The fact that God would give me one so fragile to take care of quite frankly blows my mind. And makes me wonder if He's mental a little bit. 

The thing is, God loves Oliver more than I ever could. And wants the very best for Him. And has fantastic, incredible plans for his life. He chose to include me in those plans. That makes me feel super awesome. So I must be doing something right. Cause this face guys. The way this kid looks at me. He doesn't look at anyone else quite that way. 

He does this thing lately where he puts his hands on the side of my face and stares at me really intently for a few seconds before he breaks into the biggest smile you ever did see. It's the most precious thing. I swear, if hearts could melt... 

I wouldn't trade this job for the world. I think motherhood is the single greatest gift anyone could give me. 

Oliver's Birth Story

  Oliver was due to arrive on Christmas Eve, 2014, but I knew he was going to be late. In fact, I had informed him (yes, while in utero - I wanted him to get a jumpstart on understanding the chain of command around here) that he had better be a few days late. Let’s be honest: nobody wanted me to be in labour on Christmas, least of all me. We had family in town, places to be, things were busy ‘round here. Better for everyone if he just hung out where he was comfortable, bided his time, and waited till all the festivities were over.
  I’ve got me one agreeable child, you guys.
  Christmas came and went. No baby. New year’s came and went. No baby. Extended family headed back to California on the 3rd of January, disappointed - still no baby. Not only that, there were no signs baby was coming anytime soon. I was having 0 contractions. Not even Braxton Hicks. Oliver was still riding high as a kite in my abdomen. Which, lemme tell you, is all kinds of uncomfortable when you are a very large 41 weeks pregnant. Nothing. Was. Happening.

  Let’s back up, at 6 days overdue I had had a midwife appointment and we started talking about what the plan would be if I didn’t go into labour within the next week or so. They can only let you go so long before it’s considered malpractice. Not a conversation I wanted to have. I had a plan. I wanted a home birth. We had it all set up. I was going to have this baby in my bathtub, drug free, at home, in peace. I had a plan. The last thing I wanted to talk about was a medically induced birth in a hospital. I went home from that appointment angry, afraid, and not a little bit stressed (good emotions to promote a happy, gentle birth) This baby was coming out my way, and I was going to do whatever it took to get him there! I tried EVERYTHING. I spent hours bouncing on the yoga ball. I had countless ridiculous looking dance parties in the living room. I did a million squats to encourage him to drop. I used the breast pump to try to stimulate contractions. I made Derek go for walk after walk with me in the cold, rainy, January weather. Nada.

  Saturday, January 3rd, 10 days overdue, the sun came out. It had been raining all week, Derek had been working. Family had been around. I was done. I was stressed. Over tired. Overwhelmed. I needed a distraction. So we ran away for the day. We turned our phones off. We went for a hike. We went swimming. We went book shopping. We test drove a Chevrolet Corvette, just for fun. We had a date and did everything we could think of that had nothing to do with being pregnant or having babies. It was a blast. It was tiring.
  Saturday night around midnight, exhausted and fully confident that I would be fast asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, I prepared for bed. Then - I had a contraction.  A tiny, light, painless contraction. 5 minutes later, I had another contraction. Then another, 5 minutes after that. So we called the midwife. She advised me to try and sleep before things got more intense and to call and update her in an hour if I was still awake. Yeah…I didn’t sleep. I was wired. I clock watched. I timed every contraction. I wanted to cry with excitement. The contractions continued. They were light, not painful, and only about 30 seconds long, but they were consistently 5 minutes apart. Around 1am I went to the bathroom and discovered I had started spotting. A few minutes later I passed my mucus plug. So at about 1:30 in the morning, we talked to Monika (one of my midwives) again and she decided to head out to the house. We also called my fantastic Doula, Sharon - Mamas, get a Doula. don’t think about it. Do it. I don’t know what I would have done without mine - and told her to pack up and come out also. Then we texted my mom and Derek’s mom and told them to be on standby. ‘This is happening.’ I remember telling Derek.  ‘We are having a baby today.’
   We didn’t.
  Monika arrived near 4 in the morning. Checked me and reported that I was NOT, in fact, in labour. Irritated uterus, she called it. Baby seemed to have dropped a little…maybe…but contractions were not strong enough cause any progress yet. Sharon arrived shortly after Monika had finished her exam and we decided that Monika would go home, but Sharon would stay the night in case things picked up in the middle of the night. Monika advised I get some sleep and that after resting I would probably wake up in labour. She told me to take an Ibuprophen, have a bit of wine, put some heat on my back, and sleep. I was going to need my energy later.
  I was more than a little shattered. I slept for about three hours and when I got up around 9, my contractions had stopped. Sunday was the longest day. Sharon stayed out with us for the day, all of us still thinking that “real” labour would start at any minute. I had irregular contractions throughout the day, but nothing happened.
  We talked to the midwife Sunday afternoon and she decided she wanted to see me in the office on Monday. (I had an appointment Tuesday, but she didn’t want to wait). She also called and schedule a sonogram for Monday afternoon, just to make sure baby was doing good and my placenta was still functional and to measure my fluid levels.
   Sunday night, around midnight, I started having contractions again. Every 5 minutes. But they weren’t any stronger than they had been, so we decided not to bother the midwife. I don’t know how much sleep I got that night, but it wasn’t a lot. It might not have been any.

   The plan was to go to the sonogram first on Monday afternoon, and then meet the midwife at the office afterwards. But about 2 hours before we were supposed to go in (1ish in the afternoon), my contractions picked up again. I gotta tell you, this was all kinds of frustrating, folks. Still not painful, but slightly longer and stronger than they had been. So we called Debra (my other midwife) and she said she’d meet us at the office on our way in for the ultrasound. Once again, my exam showed no progress. Still just pre-labour. Ultrasound tech said baby was good, and we headed home. Debra called in to check every couple of hours throughout the day and I continued to have contractions every 5 minutes. Finally around 9 she decided she would come out to the house and see if anything had changed. It hadn’t. I was still not dilated. At. All. And we were back where we’d been two nights earlier. Take a bath. Have some wine. Get some sleep. You’re going to need if you wake up in ‘real’ labour.
   Sleep. Yeah. That didn’t happen. I tried everything. Laying down made it hard to breathe through contractions, so I tried sleeping sitting up on the couch. That didn’t work either. My contractions went from every 5 minutes, to every 3 minutes, and back. There were a few I may have dozed off in between, but not many.
  At 6 am Debra called to check in. I told her I hadn’t gotten any sleep and she recommended I get up, make some thing to eat, take a walk. So I showered, ate, walked, read. And then eventually laid back down and actually managed to get about an hour of sleep.  I called Debra again around 9 and she decided she was going to head out and bring some things to naturally encourage progression. If I wasn’t getting any respite, we needed to kick things into gear and get labour going before I got too weary.
  Once again, we called Sharon and told her to head out, and put everyone else on standby.

  Debra and Sharon arrived around 10. Debra examined me a found that I had dilated to 4cm! Yay, progress! My horrible restless night hadn’t been for naught! They hooked me up to the breast pump for an hour (off an on) and gave me some grotesque tasting herbs to try and strengthen my contractions. It worked.
   After an hour on the breast pump they let me labour an hour. Have some food. Hangout on the yoga ball for a bit. Then they checked me again. Still 4. Back on the breast pump I go. Except, then I had this horrible, insane, four minute long contraction. It just wouldn’t end. It built and then started to die, and then went straight back to peak again. I was not doing that. That was the end of the pump. Time to try something else.
   So we went for a walk. It was gorgeous outside. We called my parents and my best friend around 3 and told them to head out as soon as my dad got off work. I spent some more time on the ball. I tried to lay down in bed with Derek for a while. That didn’t last long. We filled the tub and a soaked in the warm water for an hour or so. Water is the greatest during labour, folks. I highly recommend everyone have a tub. It was so relaxing. Pretty sure I started to fall asleep at one point (good thing Derek was in the water with me!).
   My mom and dad and my friend, Hannah arrived as I was getting out of the tub (around 6:30 pm, I think), and Debra checked me again. No progress. None. At this point, I had been having contractions off and on for almost 3 days; regularly for 30 hours, and I had been at 4 cm for at least 8 and probably more like 12+ hours. Not cool at all.
    I remember Debra looking at me and saying ‘We’re not ready to throw in the towel if you’re not, but…’ And I knew. It hit me in that moment: I was not going to have my home birth. Oliver was not going to be born in the water in my bathroom in my house with only the people I love around us. They were going to take me to a hospital, and hook me up to machines, and make me labour flat on my back, and a stranger - a stranger - was going to be the first person the see my son’s face. ‘But’ she said “you’ve been at this a long time, you’ve got a lot more to get through, and at some point we may have to accept that you just need a little bit of help’. This was NOT what I wanted. And I was not handling it well.

   Derek and I asked everyone to go across the street to his parents’ house while we discussed our options. And I fell apart. My husband is amazing, you guys. Not once did he doubt my strength. He was fully committed to stand by me no matter what I wanted to do. He believed I could do it. I didn’t. I was tired. I was defeated. I just wanted to go to sleep. I just didn’t think I could keep going.
   So we called in a transfer to Seton Main. We packed up and loaded into 5 different cars, and we caravanned to downtown Austin. Around 11 pm, we checked into Labour & Delivery.
  Debra explained to the doctor that I wanted to deliver as naturally as possible but that the ultimate goal was a vaginal delivery. Mostly, I just needed some sleep. We were hoping if I could get that, my body would get it’s Sh-- together and I could continue to labour relatively drug free.
  The people at Seton were amazing, and understanding, and supportive. They started me on an I.V. drip and then gave me a dose of Fentanyl, which is a mild pain killer, administered intravenously, that they said would give me about 2 hours of pain relief so I could get some sleep. I got 45 minutes. Then I tossed and turned for another 2 hours.
   Around 2:30 am the Dr. came in to check my progress (there was none, still 4) and discuss our next option. She recommended we try breaking my water to see if we could get the baby to drop lower into my pelvis and maybe that could get things going. We decided if we were going to do that, I wanted to get an epidural first so I could continue trying to get some rest if things got more intense.
   So - Epidural at 3. Bag of waters broken at 3:30. The next few hours passed excruciatingly slowly. I slept some. Ate very little. Talked a lot. I don’t regret the epidural, I needed the relief, I needed the rest, but lord, labouring flat on your back is BORING. I counted way too many of the minutes. I stared at the monitor just to make sure that I was still having contractions because at this point I couldn’t feel anything, which is the most frustrating thing when you’ve been stalled in early labour for 20 something hours. I had this weird paranoia that I would just be in perpetual labour and this baby would never come out. Can’t imagine where that fear came from.
  Around 5:30 the on-duty nurse came in, woke me up, stuck an oxygen mask on my face, and flipped me onto my back. She told me baby’s heart beat had started to dip lower than they would like it to during some of my contractions. It was coming back up again immediately and they weren’t too concerned, but wanted to be sure that the baby was getting enough oxygen.
  About an hour later the Dr. came in to discuss the next steps with us. She checked me again and I was at 4 cm still. Breaking my water had not gotten the baby to drop at all, and so his head was still not putting enough pressure on my cervix to get it to dilate, and my contractions were still not strong enough to push the baby down. The Dr. expressed some concerns with starting on Pitocin since Oliver’s heart rate was still fluctuating so much. She told us she was going to go talk to the other resident’s about our options.
  They decided they would start me on the Pitocin at the lowest dosage possible and slowly increase it, provided Oliver’s heartbeat stayed stable enough. They started the Pitocin at 7am, which is when the doctors and nurses have shift change. My new nurse (Roni) was AMAZING. She had had a homebirth herself and kept telling me how sorry she was that I wasn’t getting the birth experience I had dreamed of. She was super sweet and supportive, and I am immensely grateful for her. She told me that the new on-shift doctor was going to give me four hours on the Pitocin and let me rest and let the meds do their stuff and that she would come in to see how I was progressing at 11. Roni came in every hour and bump up my Pitocin and help me roll from one side to the other (we discovered that if I changed side periodically it help to get blood flow to the baby and stabilize his heart rate.)
   The doctor came in about 11 to check on me. I was praying for any kind of progress. I knew that if I couldn’t move forward in labour even with the drugs, that our only option left would be a cesarean. I don’t know that I’ve ever prayed for anything harder. We had everybody in the room when the doctor came in. My parents, the midwives, the doula, Derek’s mom, my friend Hannah.
    The doctor, Kimberly, examined me and pronounced “I have good news.” She paused, and checked me again, nodded. I’m pretty sure those were the longest moments of my entire labour. Then - She told me I was complete. 10 cm, and Oliver had finally dropped all the way down. I had slept straight through transition! She said they were going to let me ‘labour-down’ for an hour and then Roni would be back in to prep me for pushing. I’m not gonna lie, I bawled like a baby. Derek did too.
   I started pushing at 12:25 pm, (They set up a mirror so I could see while I was pushing, which I thought would be kind of weird until I saw my baby’s head and then I decided it had been the greatest idea ever),  and with the awesome support and coaching from my doula, midwives, and husband, Oliver was delivered less than an hour later a 1:21pm. Nearly 48 hours from when labour had started, and 14 hours after our arrival at the hospital. 8 pounds 7 ounces, and 21.5 inches long.
   When they had broken my water it had been meconium stained, so Oliver was immediately whisked away to the corner of the room by a nurse practitioner from the NICU to have he lungs checked and make sure all was well. They brought him back to me for a few minutes before the nurse practitioner declared “This baby is too hot”. And he was pulled away again. It would seem that he and I were both running high temperatures. (103 and 102, respectively), and they were concerned that he might have picked up an infection on his way through the birth canal. They wanted us both on antibiotics. They let me nurse him (he latched immediately and ate like a rockstar!) and then they were going to take him upstairs to the NICU and administer antibiotics through an IV. I would get the same antibiotics in my IV. Derek was able to go up with him, and  I could go nurse him again as soon as I was transferred and settled into the postpartum ward. That took them four hours. FOUR long, excruciating hours before I was able to see my baby again. Those four hours took longer than 48 hours of labour had. I hated everyone of those nurses.
   Once he was through the initial NICU evaluation and first round of antibiotics, they moved him down to my room and he was able to stay with us except for going up for his meds every 12 hours. But he was only on the meds for 36 hours before his blood test results came in and showed he didn’t have an infection at all! We were released from the hospital less than 48 hours after he was born.



So, if you’ve gotten all the way down here, let me just say, kudos! I wasn’t going to write the birth story down. Which is why Oliver is almost 3 months old and I’m just now finishing it. I wasn’t going to write it down because it wasn’t the story I wanted, it wasn’t the birth I had planned and prepared for and dreamed about. I didn’t want a written reminder of how I “failed” at birth. I’ve had a lot of shame. A lot of what-ifs. A lot of regrets since Oliver’s hospital birth. But in writing this I’ve realized - it’s all bull-shit. I didn’t fail at anything. I was tired. I fought my way through a long, hard few days, and my body was weary. I wanted an unmedicated, peaceful, water birth in my home. But those were just my desires, and not one of them mattered in the face of doing what was necessary to make sure my baby was delivered healthy and protected. I gave up a lot of things I wanted and made decisions based on what I believed was best for my child. While I do hope that we can have the home birth we desire next time, I refuse any longer to feel like we couldn’t have it this time because I was not strong enough, or prepared enough, or gave up too quickly. So, if you made it all the way though this, congratulations, but I didn’t write it for you, I wrote it for me. To remind myself of how beautiful and fulfilling the birth of my son was.