I cried like a baby when I dropped him off, which the lovely lady working that miserable job was quite sensitive to. This was the epitome of logical decisions, something I am infamous for rarely making, and at the very end my impulsive, emotional side wanted to snatch him back and drive home with him coddled in my arms. But I didn’t. I just drove home crying, and drowning my sorrows in an iced coffee from Dunkin Donuts (they never taste as good down here) which I ordered via the drive-in window with my sunglasses hiding my tear-streaked face.

I gave him a home for the past seven years until our love/hate relationship eventually soured to the point where he needed a new forever home. For the first few years I was fine cleaning up after him daily, but then we got a dog that was actually more low-maintenance than our cat, and I started to reconsider his place in our family. And then we had a baby. No matter how hard I tried she still shoved chunks of cat fur into her gullet every day, and I dreaded the day she learned to crawl.

I have lived 28 years and only four of them were lived without a cat. Ok, a few more than that, but only four where I actually had to clean up after myself. And it was in college, during which I was certainly not very tidy. Yesterday and today I have been scouring our home cleaning up the cat fur from every imaginable surface, and reveling in the thought that in the future I will merely be cleaning up dust… not clingy white fur. I can wear black again. I can sleep at night without a ball between my ankles. I can stumble to the bathroom in the middle of the night without stepping on a fresh, wet hairball.

In other words… I could get used to a cat-less existance.

If I can ever get over my guilt.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my daughter isn’t sleeping for the second week in a row! Last week it was constipation, this week it’s teething. She is so miserable, and my heart breaks for her. Orajel doesn’t seem to do anything since I’m guessing the pain is deep in her gums. So last night I started her on infant Tylenol and some homeopathic thing which is like The! Best! Thing! Ever!!!! And we both got a little bit of sleep. The timing of it all, in the midst of holiday fun and business, is really almost comical, and I keep telling myself that if this stress continues much longer the inevitable upswing is gonna rock my face off. I mean, eventually things are going to get So! SO! GOOD! Right!?

Post cut short. She’s crying, and I’ve gotta go.

But I love the supportive community of motherhood so much, that I very much want to share what I’m thinking or learning through the process. So when I hesitate to write these blog posts I push through it imagining that those same idyllic mothers do not take recycling seriously. Idyllic non-recycling mothers, I JUDGE YOU. SEPARATE YOUR PAPERS AND PLASTICS!

I also hesitate to write openly about my spirituality because I have a vast audience of Catholics, Protestants, Jews, Buddhists and Atheists. Perhaps there is a Muslim out there in the crowd!? Wouldn’t that be wonderful! Not only do I want to be very respectful of where YOU are coming from, I also have a personal rule of drawing certain lines. Despite the fact that I might seem to over-share in certain ways, my spirituality is the core of who I really am, and I tend to only share that with a select few people. Typically offline. In fact, most of those people don’t even read my blog. They don’t know what blogs are. By not sharing my spiritual beliefs online, I get to preserve that very beautiful and intimate part of my life and share it only with the realest and truest of my friends.

But I’m tossing all of that aside for this post because I haven’t slept in days. And yesterday I had Taco Bell for lunch even though I am on a diet. Rules!? What?! I’ve thrown them all out with yesterday’s bathwater in which Penelope peed.

We had a marvelous Thanksgiving. For five days straight I ate somebody else’s food, dirtied somebody else’s house, and took long showers while somebody else played with my kid. It was extraordinarily relaxing.

And then we came home.

At first I thought Penelope’s strange and fussy behavior was because of our red-eye flights and lack of sleep. Then I thought it was because she missed all the action and attention (“Grandparent Deprivation Syndrome” as my mother refers to it). And then I thought it was because of the strange balance of solids and formula and breastmilk that I’m trying to feed her in order to get her enough calories to sleep at night. And then yesterday it dawned on me that she hadn’t pooped since Sunday.

Come to find out, rice cereal and bananas and formula, all things that she had been eating over the past few days, lead to constipation. And every mother out there will understand what I mean when I say that I melted down with guilt. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN! I SHOULD HAVE GOOGLED THIS!

I read that pears would help with the constipation, and providentially I had picked up organic pears while at the grocery store on Monday that were just now perfectly ripe. (Yes, I’m only giving her organic fruits and veggies right now because it’s the one thing in a million that I can actually control… a little bit.) In the past 20 hours or so she has devoured an entire pear and loved every bite of it. And just a few hours ago finally pooped, had some milk, and is napping soundly.

All of this to say I was melting down yesterday with exhaustion and frustration and the realization that motherhood is SO not for perfectionists. And even though I am only one half of a percentage point perfectionistic, that one half was screaming very, very loudly. My house is a mess. Literally, there are leaves and pine needles and mud all over my floors from the Christmas tree and the dog. And if there is one thing I am anal about it’s my floors. My kid was crying constantly even when I danced around singing Christmas carols in my best Burl Ives voice. I could do nothing right.

And then it hit me like a ton of bricks that I hadn’t once sat down to pray about my frustration. And so I did. And I got back to square one.

I think everyone has a square one – the one thing that drives all of their parenting. The one thing they hope to accomplish with their kid. Perhaps they want Judy to become president, or to marry a nice guy, or to not get knocked up in high school. Whatever it is, their battles and the way they choose to fight them comes back to square one.

I decided my square one a few days after Penny was born and I was riding high on the spiritual and hormonal journey of childbirth. I decided that the ONLY thing I wanted for Penelope was that she intimately know God, and that her life would reflect Him. I realized I couldn’t control if she was diagnosed with something, or became a convict, or God forbid was taken from me. And the only thing I wish to do is to create an environment in which she can observe a life that is driven by knowing God.

So yesterday when I sat down and got back to square one I realized my floors were ridiculous. And my Googling was ridiculous. And my attempts at making all the right decisions were ridiculous. And I just prayed til I was blue in the face that God would please help my baby poop. That He would take away her discomfort. That the pears would work.

Another rough night with very little sleep, another rough morning with a fussy baby and a face full of pears. And then one heck of a poopy diaper.

This post is ridiculously long. I’ll wrap it up by saying, why, oh why, does it take me so long to get back to square one? Why do I spend so much effort stressing and researching and trying to make the best parenting decisions all on my own when the answer is right in front of me? The answer being that the only strength or wisdom I could ever have with which to mother my child comes directly from my Creator… when I ask for it. That the only way I can hope to show her a life that is driven by intimately knowing Him is to let my faith be proven despite the circumstances.

I am so humbled today. Ironic as it’s the beginning of the Advent season, and I have been thinking a lot of how blessed Mary must have felt to be the mother of Jesus. How blessed I am to be Penelope’s mother. How blessed I am to receive grace from God. And how blessed I will be if she knows Him intimately.

I knew you would understand.

We have roots. The kind that get into your septic pipes, not the kind that make Jimmy Fallon think he’s actually kinda cool. So there goes a few thousand dollars.

And Matt shot his finger with a nail from his nailgun, so we were in the ER last night. He barely winced, which started a whole conversation about what a great EMT he would make. Guy’s made of steel. Meanwhile I was shaking like a leaf.

But before he was maimed he did this:

From Daily Daguerreotype

Which, frankly, is the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. I spend a lot of time in my kitchen because cooking (and subsequently eating) is my favorite hobby. So I’ve spent a lot of time bent over this sink gazing into the ugly and dusty window gaps that are now beautifully covered!

When his finger has healed, and he feels up to picking up that nasty wasty nailgun again, he’ll add the top of the window trim that looks something like the top of these doors:

From Daily Daguerreotype

And then we’ll caulk, prime & paint her up, strip the window hardware, repaint the window, and it will be ready for the little curtain I plan on making.

It’s been a helluva weekend, but somehow just typing about these home renovations and our future plans has cheered me up.

That’s sick.

I don’t know if this is the four month growth spurt or just something that happens when a kid turns four months old and suddenly they’re all “You can’t force me to sleep, Milk Lady!” We are just in a stage where my daughter is getting more complex and harder to read. And I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks.

My darling turtle who used to sleep through the night and take a few solid naps during the day despite the fact she was the salty sea captain of the Crappy Napper, has been waking up many many many many times nightly out of hunger. And angst. And playfulness. And now she is taking nearly as long to go down for her naps as they wind up being in length. I am trying to switch things up to make it easier on her, while still keeping some semblance of the routine she’s used to. We’re trying to bump back her bedtime to make her more tired during the day. We’re trying to bond her with her snuggly wuggly lion in hopes that he can calm her down, or at least entertain her in her crib. And sometimes I just give up altogether, throw her in the Ergo and take a fourty-five minute walk so that she’ll sleep all the while considering that a mighty fine nap and a good way to eventually fit into my favorite pair of jeans.

I feel like I have the mental strength to tackle these new challenges, but what is really puzzling me is the lack of energy I suddenly have. It’s taken four months, but my body is finally back to normal – in the sense that I no longer ache along my incision, I have regained feeling in my stomach, and all those ligaments that moved around during pregnancy seem to have gone back to their normal places. I am working out more than ever before, but am not getting all the energy I’m supposed to with that. I think my exhaustion is a combination of saying goodbye to those marvellous pregnancy hormones that make each new mom into a veritable Superman, and the lack of sleep that is finally catching up with me.

Sleep.

And so I’m trying to slow down on the booking of fun things and amp up my time at home with hopes that Penny and I both can get a bit more rest. I’m also trying to just let go and follow her lead during this time of change. It makes sense that she is having trouble sleeping now that she can nearly sit up on her own and wants to constantly be petting the dog or throwing toys on the ground. Life awake has become much more fun. For her and for me.

But how do I survive until the waters calm and we fall back into a new routine? What are your tips, seasoned moms?

This past weekend we finally got around to buying a piano – our Christmas ’09 gift to each other. We had hoped to find a cruddy old thing on Craigslist that sounded good but needed a facelift so we could paint it bright yellow. Don’t ask – something about our passionate love for Elton John. But instead we found a great deal on a nearly new (10 years old!) piano in great shape, so on Saturday we drove down to Murfreesboro with the very helpful Roberts brothers and moved the piano into our living room.

The look is a bit more formal than what I’m going for in the living room, but I can make it work. Having the piano has finally lit the fire under my butt to get the room looking a bit better, so I have ordered my curtain fabric online and can’t wait to get my drapes made. Yesterday while out browsing with Penny I fell IN LOVE with a clearance upholstered armchair and ottoman at HomeGoods which sparked the typical reaction that happens when I fall in love with things.

I couldn’t pass it up. And I wanted to buy it to replace Matt’s chair (The Dragon Throne) which we bought on the cheap under false pretenses a few years ago, and I have nearly-hated ever since.

But anyone who has ever tried to replace a man’s Dragon Throne will tell you that it is worse than pulling a cat’s teeth. It’s worse than having your house burn down. Nay, even worse than seeing an enormous cricket on your cutting board on the countertop. (Yes, the horrors belong in that order.)

Typically Matt doesn’t put  up much of a fight with my design choices. He might roll his eyes or give me a dubious glance, but he has learned to trust me and, in the end, be amazed. But replacing his Dragon Throne with this lovely, shapely, Danish modern chair was not going to happen. Regardless of the ottoman and my puppy eyes.

Even so, I made the purchase and spent last night moving furniture around in the room to see how we could accommodate both chairs as a compromise. I tried. I tried really hard. And I love having two armchairs as well as the sofa for extra seating.

Except I don’t want one of those armchairs to be Matt’s current Dragon Throne. I want the Dragon Throne to live upstairs in the den… and…

Now I want to get another chair.

With a few more aches, pains and divorce papers, I hope to have our living room up and running in the next month or so. Just in time for us to have to move everything around again to put up a Christmas tree.

Because… CHRISTMAS!

Don’t believe me?

Visual proof:

Penny did a great job flying and being in a new place all weekend, and handled the festivities well with only minor meltdowns. I was awfully proud of her. But frankly, I was proudest of myself.

You see, on Saturday night we left her with my mother-in-law and sister-in-laws so Matt and I could go out to dinner to celebrate our six year anniversary. It was my first time leaving her with anyone other than Matt and for longer than two hours or so. Fortunately, she was in the very capable hands of an allergist’s nurse, a pediatric nurse practitioner, and a therapist for the criminally insane. Which really gave her maniacal alter ego free reign to go all Winnie the Pooh on the nearest jug of peanut butter, should it wish.

I got a little verclempt walking out the door, but as soon as we were in the car listening to some Genesis, I relaxed and proceeded to thoroughly enjoy the company of my best friend at the restaurant where we celebrated our very first wedding anniversary. I ate all of the sinfully delicious delicacies that I swore off during pregnancy including clams and oysters on the half shell and a filet mignon still mooing. Penny only came up in conversation briefly, but other than that we had a great time just being with each other alone.

I’m glad I did it. I’m glad I can be away from her for a few hours so early in her life without turning into a basketcase. I want my daughter to be independent and confident. I consider this first night out as the first step towards making sure she never moves home after college.

Letting go has hit me with full force in another way this week. My special friend has returned. I suppose it is the price to pay for a little nugget who sleeps well at night, but I was not at all ready to welcome it back into my life. And I was not at all ready for the shakeup it would cause to my milk supply. I’m desperately pushing through it to make sure I can continue breastfeeding, but since Thursday I have had to give Penny two bottles of formula.

Yes, the first bottle had me sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor crying.

I’ve already mentioned that I’m not outrageously passionate about breastfeeding, but I guess I expected to be able to wean her when I wanted and how I wanted, not to be stuck in a moment with a hungry baby and nothing to give her. I should have known better.

I could be a purist and just make Penny feed every thirty minutes or so until things kick back into place, but I hate seeing her hungry. So I have resolved to give her formula when I don’t have enough milk for her and to pump 24/7 instead. And you know what? It’s not going to kill her even though it’s killing a teeny tiny little piece of me.

Because I know this letting go is good for me, because I want to be a chill and laid-back mom, I am choosing to roll with the punches and keep smiling.

But that doesn’t mean I didn’t totally reorganize my linen closet and kitchen cabinets today to have something I could control. Boo-ya!

Having a child is similar to that, except I’d say it’s more like watching old home videos of you from years past. I don’t really know what this is like since my parents were both too cheap to purchase video equipment and also too technologically inept. But I have seen many home videos of Matt as a kid because his parents recognized the importance of having his future wife see him playing the trumpet and looking like a total nerd in junior high. They knew that he would one day grow up to be too hot to handle, and that when he brought home his girlfriend, who felt far too dorky to be dating such a stud, she would be encouraged to know that at heart, he was just as dorky as she was.

That is all neither here nor there. What I am saying is that Penelope is just like me. And she is just like Matt. And of course, she’s got her own smattering of plain old wonderful Penelope. But I have recently been smacked in the face by how similar she is to me, and how I need to compensate for that.

The kid doesn’t like to nap. She just doesn’t. She loves sleeping at night, and does it beautifully. But she is so absorbed with the busy life around her that she doesn’t want to take the time to sleep. She wants to keep on taking it all in.

At first I tried to find her internal schedule which barely exists. Because she’s like me. She’d rather fly by the seat of her pants and roll with the punches than have any sort of schedule. So I just ran with that. And I’d drag her shopping and to coffee with friends and she would enjoy it all, but be a basketcase for a few hours afterwards. Because at two months old, she’d be awake for three, four, sometimes five hours with just a fifteen minute snooze nestled somewhere in there.

I thought this was great! And she was oh, so flexible! And don’t I want my kid to be flexible!? Except, I never knew what to expect from her, and she never knew what to expect from me. There was absolutely no structure except at going-to-bed time. And then I realized I am raising a kid who has all my tendencies to live a completely un-structured life, and that will lead to her dating men with chemical dependencies.

So today I instituted a nap training routine. All in the name of saving Penny from men with chemical dependencies.

What I have learned from Matt is that structure isn’t all bad. Routine can be good. Especially for kids. Matt is a person who really enjoys routine and predictability. Keeping his word means everything to him. And I absolutely love that about him.

As I’m home all day with Penny, I have realized I need to be for her what Matt is for me. I have to be predictable. And when she knows what to expect from me she will trust me. And that can only be good.

Sure, I want my kid to be as flexible and happy as any other well-rounded kid out there. But she isn’t gonna be able to enjoy flexibility if she never ever naps.

I am four hours into this day of nap training, and I have had two wins and one loss. Which means it’s time for more coffee. And no, Penny, your mama isn’t chemically dependent on coffee. I mean…

In the past year we gutted our kitchen, updated the outdated electrical, knocked down a wall and put up a header, drywalled, installed new cabinets, new countertops, new appliances, ripped out the old floor, sanded down the wood floors and painted them, installed a tile backsplash, installed crown moulding, built out new door trim to match the original trim in the house. In the laundry room, we tore down old wallpaper, put up beadboard on the walls and ceiling, installed chair rail and crown, ran electrical and plumbing to make it a functioning laundry room, installed new washer and dryer, installed a new flooring, put up wallpaper.

I painted Penny’s bedroom three times. We breathed new life into the original rope & pulley windows.

In our bedroom we built a headboard and I made new curtains.

Matt installed a new gas fireplace.

We had the tiles in our bathroom reglazed, installed a new light fixture, and had the rotted floor joists and subfloor replaced, updated all of the plumbing, and installed a new tile floor.

Our upstairs was drywalled and carpet was installed.

And we painted. Everywhere. With lots of painting yet to do.

We have a lot of finishing touches to do on the inside of the house which will occupy us until next spring. When we’ve completed all of these projects we hope to move on to the exterior of the house – repaving our driveway, putting up a basketball hoop in the backyard, doing a ton of landscaping… a TON. Tearing down the unsightly awning above the front door and perhaps building out a new doorway. Eventually our roof will need to be replaced.

Yesterday, I will admit, I was pretty down. The HVAC guy came by to look at our broken air conditioner and told us that we need to replace the entire system including the furnace. We can do it anytime between now and next spring, but it will mean dropping another five grand. I’m not gonna lie, it’s been an expensive year. We’ve spent a lot on the renovations we’ve already done, although considerably less than if we had hired them all out. We bought a new car. We had a baby and paid for my week-long hospital stay. We’ve done some very necessary traveling. Matt has bought a lot of new tools. It all has added up.

I’ve really been hankering to take a little family vacation, just a week away to a dog-friendly beach condo where the four of us can just hang out in the sun and sand and do some playing. When we have free weekends, they are typically spent tackling one of the many remaining projects, not getting out and doing some playing. I’m itching for the latter.

But when our HVAC friend dropped the bomb yesterday, I realized that little family vacation just ain’t happening this year. And maybe not next year either with all of the remaining projects we have yet to do. Instead we’ll keep spending our weekends painting and nailing and fixing things up. And I suppose I’ll just revel in our AC, do laundry in my new laundry room, and gaze up at the crown moulding.

Yeah, we could have bought a newer house with paint already on the walls and kitchen cabinets just ready to fill. But heck if I don’t love our house like another member of our family. The more sweat we put into it, the more we love it, and the more we can’t imagine living anywhere else. It’s the only debt we’ve got, and one day we’ll pay off this daggone mortgage and go on one heck of a vacation.

Nothing I ever write will ever be able to accurately capture the fourty-four hours that I spent in the hospital laboring for Penelope. While the day of her birth was only a short week ago, it’s already a blur except for a few moments that are cemented in my brain more vividly than I can explain. I’ll try to do the best in this birth story to explain Penny’s story, and I forewarn you in advance that I will likely get very weepy and very spiritual when I discuss this experience – the pinnacle of my life thus far.

For those who know me well or have followed this blog for some time, you will know that I chose to use midwives because of their hands-off approach to labor and delivery. I very much wanted a natural vaginal delivery with as few interventions as possible. The biggest challenge of my pregnancy was to reconcile myself with the fact that my all-powerful God had a plan that very well might differ from the plan that I had for Penny’s birth. Ultimately, He was in control, and with the strength he equipped me, I was able to face my greatest fears and accept the many interventions that were necessary for Penny’s health and wellbeing.

I will take this moment to say that I still believe a woman’s body is meant to deliver a baby without medical induction and intervention, and that nine times out of ten that is the best thing for mama and baby. I believe that Penny’s birth was the exception to the rule, and never once have I been disappointed in the way things played out because I believe we only chose those interventions for her safety when everything else had been tried. While I wound up having a C-section, I will adamantly state that there are far too many C-sections being performed in America. After experiencing every possible intervention myself, I would encourage women everywhere to try to avoid them unless your child is at risk. It’s neither fun, nor the way your body was meant to deliver a baby. As for me, I am hopeful that next time around I will be given the gift of a natural vaginal delivery, and am thankful for the health practitioners who made it possible for me to hope for a VBAC in the future.

And I’ll say what I have believed all along, just altered a bit now. Friends don’t let friends use OBs. Unless they’re young, quirky Jewish OBs.

Monday, June 28th

9:45 am – We arrived at the Imaging Center for an ultrasound to check Penny’s fluid levels. Before heading out for the test, I noticed my bloody show had arrived, and excitedly called my doula with hopes that I would naturally go into labor that day, twelve days late, and not need to be induced. Unfortunately while Penny looked great in the ultrasound, her fluid levels were low, so we were sent to the midwife’s office to discuss options.

At the office, our midwife informed us that yes, we would need an induction for Penny’s overall well-being. She was very flexible with us about the time of day when we should head to the hospital, but wanted us to go that day as we needed to “get this baby out.” We scheduled the induction for 7:30 that evening.

Matt and I went home to prepare ourselves for the hospital. We spent a few hours finishing our packing, feeding the cat, calling our relatives and bringing the dog to the boarder. We lay down for one last nap where we both had a very necessary breakdown. I was so disappointed with the induction and very scared of the road ahead of us. We spent a good bit of time in prayer, and I called a dear friend to pray with me. Then we tried to sleep – a hard thing to do with such a big event looming in front of you. We threw together one last dinner, scrambled eggs and toast for me – the one thing I had craved throughout my whole pregnancy – and we headed to the hospital.

7:30 pm – We arrived at the hospital and registered in Labor & Delivery. The midwife on duty, Elaine, came out to tell us that they did not have enough beds for us yet. It would be a bit of a wait, and we should grab dinner if we hadn’t eaten yet. As we had already eaten, we stared vacantly at the people walking in and out of the L&D lounge. I don’t know how else to describe the wait other than totally surreal. Like waiting on death row.

8:30 pm – Finally we were brought back to our L&D room to prep for induction. I was hooked up to the fetal monitor so the nurses could watch Penny’s heartrate and get our vitals. I was given an IV, which for me is always an event. It felt like the IV took about a half an hour since they had to stick me twice, what with my bum veins and all. During this time Penny’s heartrate was higher than Midwife Elaine would have liked, and there was concern that Penny might not be able to handle induction.

Tuesday, June 29th

12 am – 50% effaced, 0 dilation

For a few hours we watched and waited to see if Penny’s heartrate would lower to the 140s or 150s. Eventually it did, but only when our doula arrived at the hospital, and I started to calm down and lay on my side instead of my back. Late in the evening Elaine decided to do a Pitocin test to see how Penny would do with the drug. After 30 minutes of handling Pitocin well, I was taken off of it, and they prepped for cervical ripening.

3:30 am – Induction with Cytotec was begun. All I have to say here is Google Cytotec. It’s the drug for cervical ripening that you DON’T want your practitioner to use. It’s also the “cheaper” option, and the only one that is used at my hospital. All said and done, this is the only beef I had with the entire hospital in my week-long stay there, and I intend to write a letter to the hospital administrator begging that they switch to Cervidil for the sake of women and their uteruses everwhere.

7:40 am – 80% effaced, 1 cm dilated. Cervical ripening requires that the mother remain horizontal, so during these hours Matt, Doula Annie, and I were able to rest and try to catch some Z’s. At this point, my cervix was soft enough that it was determined I wouldn’t need another dose of Cytotec and that we would move on with the induction. It was also time for Midwife Elaine to switch shifts, so we said hello to Midwife Linda.

10:30 am – 80% effaced, 1 cm dilated. Before starting a Pitocin drip, Midwife Linda decided we should attempt a Foley bulb which manually dilates the cervix. Linda inserted the Foley bulb, a rather uncomfortable procedure, and while they were adding the sterile water to inflate the bulb, Penny’s heartrate started to drop. She clearly was not a fan of our friend Foley, so Linda set me free to walk around the L&D floor in hopes that contractions would start naturally.

Of course because my body was not ready for this labor, contractions did not start naturally, so we headed back into our room for a second try at the Foley bulb. This time, Penny handled it well, so Matt and I got back up to waddle around the L&D floor, now with the bulb in place and the first sign of contractions. I will say that my nurse, the lovely and gracious Mary, mentioned to me that she had never seen a woman get a Foley bulb without an epidural. I found this preposterous. Let me tell you now, if you ever need a Foley bulb inserted, you can do it without an epidural. It’s really not that bad. IVs are worse. So that’s just an aside…

1:00 pm – 80% effaced, 5 cm dilated. After a few hours of walking with Mr. Foley, I burst into exuberant tears when I heard Midwife Linda tell me that I was 5 centimeters dilated. Now it was time to get my body up to the labor level that the Foley bulb had gotten me to. I was high as a kite and very certain that I would be able to have this baby, and have her as naturally as is possible… with Pitocin that is.

1:30 pm – Pitocin induction started. It took hours for the contractions to get to a level that Midwife Linda felt was strong enough to make progress. Because of the Pitocin, I needed to stay in my L&D room hooked up to a fetal monitor and blood pressure cuff. I shifted positions every half hour and tried a number of things to deal with the pain. I found the pain easiest to manage while upright, although I spent some time on my side to try to get some rest.

6:00 pm – 80% effaced, 6 cm dilated – as in five and a half hours laboring on Pitocin and only once centimeter of progress.

6:30 pm – Midwife Linda breaks my water. I was very nervous about this because I had heard it was a painful experience to have your water broken without an epidural. I honestly can’t remember what it felt like. It was painful, but the contractions were pretty darn bad at the time, and because Penny was posterior I was having intense pain in my back which kinda took away from the pain of having my water broken. It really wasn’t any worse than just getting checked to see how far dilated you are, I guess.

For the next five and a half hours I continued to labor on Pitocin without pain medication. Everyone says these contractions are worse than normal labor contractions, but I obviously have no other experience to compare them to. Doula Annie, Matt, nurse Mary, and the newest midwife, Margaret did tremendous work to help me deal with the pain. They gave me water, jello, cold washcloths and stood around me praying through the contractions. Laboring naturally is everything that I read it would be – hard work. I felt myself get into a zone where I could focus and groan through the pain and envision Penelope in my arms. I also remember finding great relief in repeating over and over again in my head “Put it on Me” and visualizing passing the pain I was feeling off to Christ on the cross. His pain was so much greater than my own, and knowing that I could pass that off to him really took the edge off. I also asked Matt to repeat the lyrics to a song that I love, “Land me safe on Canaan’s side, bid my anxious fears, bid my anxious fears goodbye.”

At one point there was a glitch in my IV where the Pit came flooding in all at once creating back to back contractions with very little break in between. Suddenly Penny’s heartrate dropped drastically and the room filled with nurses who flipped me on my side, turned off the Pit and wound up giving me a shot into my uterus to instantly stop the contractions. As agonizing as the pain of those back to back contractions was, nothing was as scary as hearing Penny’s heartrate halve. That moment was the first time that I really understood I might need to have a C-section, should the situation arise again, and I braced myself for that out of concern for Penny’s safety.

At one point the contractions were very intense and I wound up vomiting. I remember saying to the people in the room, “Someone please tell me I’m in transition!” After being checked, I heard the devastating news that no, I was still at 6 cm. So it was time to discuss…

Wednesday, June 30th

12:00 am – Epidural. After nearly 10 1/2 hours laboring on Pitocin and only dilating one centimeter, Midwife Margaret recommended that I get an epidural. She thought that it would relax me enough to dilate the rest of the way, and would also give me some time to rest. After discussing it with Matt and Doula Annie, we decided to go ahead with the epidural.

Y’all know how petrified I am of needles, and yet I was absolutely ready for not only the pain to end, but also a chance at progressing farther in labor and the possibility of getting to push soon. One of the hardest parts of labor was waiting the fifteen or so minutes for the anesthesiologists to show up and numb me. I can’t say enough great things about the staff over at Vanderbilt. These guys somehow gently knocked out the feeling in the belly and legs of a woman who would rather die than ever see the needle they used. Matt was a trooper and sat in front of me holding my hands. At one point he had to take off his wedding ring because I was cutting his hands by squeezing them so tightly. I heart you, Matt.

With the epidural and spinal in, I was able to lay on my side for a few hours and sleep through the contractions. Midwife Margaret noticed that my water was not completely broken, so she re-broke my water. We knew that Penny was posterior and so I did the “pretzel” flipping from side to side every few hours. Matt and Doula Annie were able to rest as well, although they were always quick to jump up and help me when I needed some water or someone to move my totally limp legs.

10:30 am – 100% effaced, 10 cm dilated. When I woke up Midwife Lauren, my all-time favorite midwife, was there for her shift. She was my fourth midwife as they take 12 hour shifts. She checked me and saw that I was fully dilated and ready to push. I was so excited to get the pushing underway, to meet my daughter, and for Lauren to be the midwife to deliver her. We pushed for two and a half hours. The highlight was Matt being able to see Penny’s full head of dark hair while I was pushing. The lowest moment was finding out that Penny was unable to turn and had only moved a centimeter down the birth canal in those two and a half hours. My proudest moment, perhaps of the entire labor and delivery was when my doula suggested I push on hands and knees. Lauren didn’t think I could do it as I had no feeling in my legs from the epidural. But I pulled myself up and pushed for a half an hour on hands and knees. When asked how I was able to do it, I remember responding, “I AM NOT HAVING A C-SECTION!” About an hour later, it was time to discuss surgery.

1:00 pm – Midwife Lauren and the Obstetrician on call advised a Cesarean section. I cried. Matt cried. And then we started praying harder than we’ve ever prayed before. I asked to speak with Anesthesiologist Shane who assured me that he could give me a little something to take the edge off, although he was concerned I might forget some important moments of the surgery, such as seeing my daughter for the first time.

1:36 pm – We opted for the C-section. I opted for Shane’s cocktail to take the edge off, despite the warning that I might not remember much of the experience. Matt prepped for surgery. I felt an overwhelming calm come over me – the prayers of my family and friends, the presence of the Almighty who was bidding my anxious fears goodbye.

3:00 pm – We went in to surgery. Midwife Lauren sat next to me while Anesthesiologist Shane hooked me up phat. Lauren put in my ear buds and turned on Ben Harper’s “Live From Mars” (Disc 2) and I wafted into a blurry haze listening to “Waiting On An Angel.” I had waited and labored so long for my angel, and she was right around the corner.

This is what I remember. I remember groaning during the pressure of the initial incision. I remember the feeling as the fiesty Jewish female OB in her thirties tugged forward and backward to dislodge Penny’s head from my pelvic bone. I remember hearing a nurse say “Baby is out.” I remember hearing Penelope cry after they fixed her up. I remember Matt carrying her to my side and asking for my glasses so that I could see her. I remember how beat up her face looked and thinking she was far more beautiful than I had dreamed. I remember thinking how undeserving I was. I remember saying, “Oh my God” over and over and over again. I remember telling everyone in the operating room that they were incredible, and I would kiss them all if I could. I remember Midwife Lauren holding my hand and praying for me while they put my insides back inside of me. I remember when Matt had to leave to be with Penny and asking for my nurse Mary who came to hold my hand.

And then I was wheeled back into the L&D room and saw my beautiful doula. Shortly after my daughter was brought in and placed on my chest and doula Annie helped me nurse her for the very first time. And even though I felt like I had been beaten, raped, and left for dead in an alleyway, I looked at Penelope and all of the pain was totally gone.

Penelope Caitlyn was born at 3:42 in the afternoon. She was so stunned from her difficult journey that she scored a 1 on her one minute Apgar but later a 9 on her five minute Apgar.

She was and is a miracle. Her arrival was proof that my God exists, that He lives, that He dwells with me, that He comes when I call out for him, that He provides strength to the weary, and that He can bid my anxious fears goodbye.

Today is July 7, 2010. A year ago today I lost my first baby. It is only fitting that I celebrate the life of my second baby, my beautiful Penelope Caitlyn who has taught me so much about the grace of God, on this day which to me will always be a reminder of the fragility of life. Her birth has shown me that the best things in life come through the greatest hardships.

And so we spend another day living spontaneously and pretending we’re in back in college where Today! Just! Might! Bring! ANYTHING!!!!

That’s how we spent our weekend, and I can’t tell you how spontaneous and doting Matt was. He bathed the dog, hung curtain hardware (his least favorite task in the whole world), mowed the lawn, took me shopping and for water ice, took me out for pad thai, and suggested we rent the first two Twlight movies because “I’m interested in it since you’re so infatuated.” While we were in TJ Maxx, I suggested we pick up a gift for his coworker who has an upcoming baby shower, but he only wanted to do spontaneous things – not check things off a to-do list.

Then yesterday afternoon my sciatica was bothering me, so I flopped on the bed to spoon Berlin. Matt sat down with his guitar and played all of my favorite George Harrison songs over and over again until I ceased whispering “Again! Again!” He painted my toenails despite much guffawing, and he complimented me on the strange cream-of-every-kind-of-vegetable-imaginable-and-wild-rice-soup that I concocted. Soup for lunch on a 95 degree day.

As we were laying in bed last night, Matt’s first dog, Toby, was referenced, and I asked for a reminder on how Toby died. “He died of heat stroke.” And that’s when I remembered the tragic story and broke into hysterical tears at the thought of poor Toby getting so excited to see his owners arrive home from vacation that he wound himself up into such a mess he died of heat stroke. I was laying there weeping leaving Matt very confused with my spontaneous outbreak, but when he realized the extent of my hysterics, calmed me down and made a mental note to never ever bring up Toby’s death ever again. Just store that memory in the silent box in the back of his brain where he also keeps the death of the Crocodile Hunter – another devastation I cannot bear to relive.

I know that I must be nearly unbearable to reside with at this point, as I’d imagine most pregnant women within are within days of their due date (see above hysterics). But my best friend and lover has taken such good care of me these last few days, that I cannot complain about the nagging aches and pains, the endless waiting. He has stepped in to walk me through this crazy time of my life and to face my fears right beside me. I am reminded again just how lucky I am to have him, and likewise how important it is to protect my time with him. He is and always will be the most important person in my life, the love of my life, and my soulmate.

So thankyou, Matthew, for making this weekend, possibly our last weekend alone, so much fun. For caring for me and making me slump over in laughter.

And for being taller and hotter than Robert Pattinson.