I have tried writing this blog post more times than I can count now. At this point, I barely want to think anything through, and just write with no holds barred.
It’s currently snowing, the longest snow we’ve had so far. It’s been a really mild winter – not as mild as last year, but no where near as aggressive as the year before. My daughter is down for a nap – the fifth(?) try, I believe. She’s been sleeping well but this afternoon nap has eluded her for a little while. I’m heating up leftover potato soup. My husband forgot to take some with him to work tonight, so he’ll have to have his when he comes home. He isn’t there until 10, which is nice.
Make that six tries. One moment.
Well, looks like it’s just not nap time, yet! lol That’s okay. Sometimes you just aren’t sleepy. She seems happy to be chatting away in her swing.
I’ve been a mom for ten weeks, today. Ten whole weeks. It feels like longer, but not in a bad way. My labor, and the birth of my daughter make for quite the memory – one that I will never forget, and one that I will never relive. It was a unique experience, I don’t think I can relate it to anything. When people ask what it was like, it’s hard to come up with a quick answer.
I had a 25 hour, pain medication free labor. I had wanted to have a natural birth for as long as I can remember. I never thought to be afraid of the pain. As I’ve grown, and walked with the Lord, and believing that He created my body to carry and birth a child, I’ve always felt that there’s no reason to think my body can’t handle it. The Bible says that there’s pain in childbirth. I don’t know…I guess I’ve just always assumed it was going to hurt, but it’s what my body was made to do, so why worry? And I went into pregnancy chubby, with an inconsistent exercise routine. Even when I was labeled high risk, and the anesthesiologist acted like she knew I would want drugs because it was my first child, and I hadn’t experienced labor yet, and even my midwives I think didn’t think I could do it…even then, I knew I could. And I knew I wanted to. And dangit, I was going to, just to prove that even fat women with “high BMIs” can have successful natural births, geez.
I was really exhausted throughout labor. It started at 11:27 pm on Sunday night, the 27th. I labored through Monday until 12:02 am, when my daughter wiggled into the correct position thanks to some pitosin, and came out with a few pushes. She was cockeyed in my pelvis, at 8cm. My water had broken by then, but contractions weren’t escalating the way they should have, because my body was so tired. The midwives gave me the option of pitosin, to see if it would jumpstart contractions, or to get a C-section. For a few minutes, the idea of more pain, and more work was so overwhelming, I considered the surgery a little bit. The question one of my midwives posed to me was: “When you wake up in the morning, how will you feel about the decision that you make?” That helped me regain focus a little, and I went with pitosin. Thank God, it worked. Everything up until I started to push becomes a kind of blur.
When I got through that final wave of contractions, and my body wanted to begin to push, there was almost a tangible chemical change in my body. Suddenly, there was no pain. The entire day before these moments just washed away in adrenaline, and oxytocin: she was coming. My baby was almost here. All of that work was paying off. The commotion in the room, everyone was so excited. The midwives were giddy – I was doing it! I was having the birth I had determined to have. I’m replaying it all in my head as I write, and it brings me to tears. When she told me to grab my baby…there’s nothing to compare that to. Marathons don’t offer up the same kind of reward as taking your child from your own body, that you’ve carried them in for 40+ weeks. Feeling them from the inside. Seeing their form on a screen. Suddenly she was in my arms, and I could feel nothing except awe. Adoration. Disbelief.
The midwife who delivered my daughter was thrilled. She was never happier to be wrong, and she couldn’t believe that she had entertained any doubts about me having a natural birth. The three midwives that saw me, two from the hospital, one not, literally could not get over my delivery. It’s like I got all As on my report card.
It’s almost weird how excited they were for me. My delivery went the way it did because 1) God went before me, and had His hand on me and my baby, and we were all trusting Him to take care of us. My pregnancy was a breeze. Any red flags they thought they saw were all shut down. I never even had high blood pressure during labor (the main concern my whole pregnancy.)
Pregnancy, labor, and delivery have such a reputation for just being BAD. Being HARD. Being PAINFUL. All these negative adjectives. If women were taught that their body was made to do this work, and that the pain is worse when you focus on it, and if they were taught to pay attention to their bodies, and listen to their bodies, things would be so different. At one point near the end of my pregnancy, they were worried about fluid levels in the uterus. I delayed their monitoring of it because I felt that everything was fine. She was moving the same amount, there was no negative change. I was the one carrying the baby, I would know if something was wrong, right? When they did check the fluid levels again, they had actually increased. Which was an answer to a very specific prayer of mine.
Moral of the story? In hindsight, pregnancy, labor, and delivery was the most incredible, humanizing, humbling experience I’ve ever had. God created man by breathing life into dirt, and He gave me the honor to carry life within myself. He could have just done it Himself, it wouldn’t be hard.
idk. God taught me a lot by being pregnant. Even labor is a sign that His Word is true. The Bible says it’s going to hurt. It is too much for my small mind to make sense of. All I know is that there’s a 10 week old baby in the other room, sleeping, growing, becoming. I don’t know what lies ahead for her, but we get to help her get there. We get to watch as she becomes her own person. She came out of my body. And is just here. That’s amazing. She went from drinking in and peeing out amniotic fluid, and now breathes air, drinks milk, chatters, and cries.
She’s amazing. She’s funny. She’s intelligent. She’s sweet. She’s always taking in the world around her. She’s fascinated by her hands. She dislikes being on her tummy. She likes cuddling. She’s her own person, and it’s the best.
Ugh. I hope I didn’t sound too braggy. I’m proud of myself. Every woman should be proud of their labors and deliveries. They are unique to each of us. They aren’t for all of us. Women should be proud of each other. There’s no place for insecurity among women. We are each our own person, with our own path to walk. The only thing the same about all of us is how much God loves us.
Life is incredible. My husband is such a blessing. I pray that every woman who desires to be married marries a man who fits them as perfectly as Tim fits me. He’s worth waiting for, please keep waiting. If you’ve been waiting long, please wait just a little longer. God’s timing is not imperfect. He is making you into the woman you are meant to be, and when it’s time, it will be right on time. And it will be amazing.
Life is life. The hard parts don’t change, but they don’t run the show.
Well, as usual, I’m not sure if I wrote everything I intended to, and I’m worried someone will be offended, but oh well. If I keep going, I’ll just do something I’ll regret.