I’d Like To Buy The World A Coke
I’m not a person who likes drama. I’m not a person who likes change or turmoil or chaos. On the contrary, I’m a planner, a plotter, a person of routine. We’ve moved, we’ve had a baby and now that baby is asleep in a hospital bed next to me. The lack of routine and order makes me twitchy and itchy and makes me dream about running away to Costa Rica. Although Harper is beautiful and appears to fart rainbows she has contracted the RSV virus, which although not serious is a royal pain in my butt. She is wheezing, and coughing and vomiting.
When I talk to my friends I feel as if I have turned into a drama queen. Every conversation seems to start with me sharing some life-altering news.; “we sold our house”, “we bought a house”, “we moved”, “we had a baby”, “we’re in the hospital”. I never thought I would long for the days when my conversation would revolve around whether or not I should be forcing Lucy to eat hot lunch at school. I actually dread talking to my friends right now because I feel as if all I’m doing is lamenting the chaos, anxiety and stress that surrounds me. And yet, in this most crazy time I have never felt so supported and loved. I cannot think of a single moment before that I have had more people rally to my side to lift me up, carry me along and ease my burden. I’m feeling the need to take a moment and acknowledge that help and support.
My Students
Over the years I’ve made some dear friends out of former students. Young men and women who have grown up, moved on and become amazing people. Many of them have sent me messages and notes of encouragement over the past six months but a few have made a real difference:
Lindsey: Thank you for your prayers, visits, care, and encouragement. Your unabashed love and kindness has been a soft cushion during a hard time
Taryn: As always, thank you for feeding me, but also for your open-hand of help.
Micah: I appreciate you moving heavy furniture for me, but also for making me realize that asking for help (and taking it) is not a sign of weakness.
Micki: We couldn’t have survived without you. You have dropped everything to run to our house to watch our kids, and care for them as if they were your own. Every mother dreams of a babysitter who loves her children as much as she does and I am so blessed to have found that in you. Words don’t go far enough
My Friends:
Like so many people I have reconnected with dozens of my old high school pals through Facebook. It has been amazing to see how the people I liked in high school, I still like. Some friendships have grown stronger and some have felt like no time has passed at all. The numerous notes and messages of encouragement have meant everything to me during these past six months.
Laura: It is nice to know that I still have a friend with whom I can make tasteless jokes during the most trying of times and who doesn’t think I’m a bad person. God bless you.
Tim: Your words of encouragement over a long distance brought me more comfort than you can imagine.
Kym: You have always been one of my biggest cheerleaders, and supporters. Thank you for all that you do, which is more than I can acknowledge here.
My Church Family:
I’ve never gone to a church long enough, or been involved enough to ever truly understand what people meant by the term “church family” but now I do. I get it. At a minimum I haven’t had to cook for weeks but the best part has been feeling the love of so many people praying for me. FOR ME? So many people from our church have called, written, stopped by, sent notes to tell us that they are thinking about us, praying for us and offering to help. People we barely know – people we have just met. I have never been the recipient of such charity and kindness and although at times it was hard to humbly accept I couldn’t have survived without it.
My Family:
There truly is not enough space. To thank my family properly would take an entire blog post. However, I need to give the biggest thank you to my in-laws, Carolyn & Max, who have basically lived with us for the past three weeks and without whom my family would have surely fallen into crisis. They have done dishes, bathed kids, unpacked, cooked meals, assembled furniture, done car pool, gone grocery shopping, babysat, dressed kids, moved furniture, hauled trash, etc, etc – you get the idea. They have been angels supporting David and I and letting us know every step of the way that we are not alone.
My Partner, My Friend, My Love
Stress like this can either bring a couple together or tear them apart. When faced with a heart-crushing, mind-boggling amount of stress David has a tendency to take that out on the person closest to him — me. When I’m stressed and feeling the weight of the world I get stubborn, prideful and controlling. We’re lovely. So you can only imagine how conversations have been going in our house. Let’s just say that far too many of them ended with me saying “you’re an ass” and David saying “why are you being so stubborn?”
There was something rather cathartic about my unexpected natural childbirth. The physical pain, screaming and my complete dependence on David allowed us to release all the stress, anxiety and frustration that had been swirling around us for months. When labor was finished and Harper was welcomed into the world David and I stood there once again united. Look at what we had done? We knew that this past six months was going to be hard and even though it ended up being more stressful than we anticipated we did it and we now stand on the other side.
A strength of a marriage is not measured when times are good but when they are bad – not in health but in sickness. I cannot imagine facing the trials and challenges of life with anybody else by my side. The greatest gift David and I have for each other is forgiveness. All the mean things said and hurtful actions over the past six months I forgive, and I know David forgives me. None of it matters. What matters now is that we have a family of five, a new home that our children can grow up in and my best friend is standing by my side sharing it with me.
The Birth Story (Because Everybody Has One)
The date was set. We had a plan. I was to check into the hospital on February 8th at 9:00pm. The doctor was going to insert a “wafer” that would soften my cervix overnight. On February 9th at 7:00am the doctor would start the Pitocin and by dinner the baby would be born. Textbook. A Plan. We all know how much I love my plans. A plan is safe, it is comforting, it provides the illusion of control.
At 9:00pm David and I arrived at the hospital only to find out that they didn’t have room for us. Yes, like Mary and Joseph there was no room at the inn and we were left to wander the city waiting to hear if an empty manger was available. At 11:45pm the hospital called the house to tell us to come on in, they had space. By the time the nurses had us checked in, the IV administered, orders given by the doctor and the “wafer” inserted it was 3:00am. The pain started quickly. First, it was a sharp throbbing in my IV. I have tiny wrists, tiny veins, and although these things don’t make me look any better in a bikini, they do prevent me from being a very good recipient of an IV. Then the burning started. The “you’ve got to be kidding me, my cervix is on fire” kind of burning. David snored and I tossed and moaned in discomfort.
At 6:00am the day nurse arrived and quickly ascertained that the IV was not functioning properly and was about to “blow out”. She removed the IV and the relief I felt was so immediate I seriously considered french kissing the nurse. She removed the “wafer” and the burning slowly faded. Things were looking up. The Pitocin would come and then shortly after that the epidural and then nap time for Beth. Again, THE PLAN. We had a PLAN.
The Pitocin began and the contractions that I had been having for weeks returned but with more regularity. FINALLY, I could tell I was making progress. David and I chatted in between, called friends, checked Facebook and joked with the nurses. At 10:00am the doctor arrived, checked my cervix and announced that I was only 3cm dilated. I still had a long road ahead of me. She said I had 30 more minutes before she would approve the epidural. The ramifications of that decision could not have been forseen by anyone.
The contractions got stronger, more painful and more frequent. I quickly went from uncomfortable to cussing. By 10:20am I was begging for the epidural. The anesthesiologist was quickly dispatched and in my room. However, the pain, the pressure, the mind-blowing pain was blocking everything else out. Tears were streaming down my face and I was using every breathing technique I learned in every Yoga class I have ever taken. I was pleading for it to stop. The nurse (Kendra, to whom I will forever be indebted) and David held my hands, rubbed my shoulders and told me to not stop breathing. And the epidural? Well, they couldn’t get it in. This is not a surprise (for those horrified at reading this) because I had the same problem with Lucy and Max. I have small joints – even in my back. After what seemed like an eternity, and multiple tries between contractions, and me dropping the f-word like I use it everyday, the epidural was in. My body flooded with medication I felt instant relief. I breathed deeply and told David I just couldn’t do it any longer. I was exhausted. My body worn out. I didn’t have it in me. Kendra checked my cervix again – I was fully dilated and ready to push. The epidural came too late. I dilated 7cm in thirty minutes.
The doctor was called and we waited. The pressure and the instinct to push getting more acute by the second I finally declared that I could wait no longer. Doctor or not I was pushing. My spirits lifted because I knew this was the short part. I had pushed for twenty minutes with Lucy, less with Max. I knew that the end was so close. In the meantime, the epidural only dulled the pain but did not erase it. Unlike my previous deliveries I could still feel everything. I pushed. Nothing. I pushed again. Nothing. I pushed a third time. Nothing. Now, keep in mind that by this time Lucy had crowned and Max was out. The pain and pressure gaining in intensity. The doctor arrived and I continued to push. However, nothing seemed to be happening and I was getting tired. Finally, I could feel her crown. The pushing came closer together and I became focused on getting her out. The doctor, trying to pace me so I wouldn’t wear out, told me to “let the baby do all the work” but I was at the end of my rope. I wanted this baby out and I wanted her out now. In what I can only describe as instinctive I screamed “I NEED TO GET HER OUT! I NEED TO GET HER OUT NOW!” In one motion I pushed hard off the stir-ups pushing my head back against the wall and I felt Harper enter the world with a chorus of shouts and the soft crying of a newborn.
Harper was born at 12:30 on the nose. And although it felt like an eternity to me I pushed for less than thirty minutes. Harper, like her older sister, also suffering with breathing issues was quickly taken to the nursery to clear her lungs of fluid, but not before I had a chance to hold her and recognize the tiny little spirit that had been living within.
Although this was not the birthing experience I had PLANNED it seemed appropriate that my last birth experience should be done with a certain amount of flair and finality. David felt far more a part of the birthing experience and later described that he felt “more in the moment”. As he held his baby girl and quietly cried and giggled at her perfection I was happy he could share in the emotion that I alone was able to experience the previous two times.
As God has a way of doing, I’m recovering faster and feel better than I have after either of my previous births. I’ve had less pain, less swelling, less everything. I feel fantastic and outside of some simple Motrin I have been able to come home and pick up where I left off. I love this little girl and am so glad that this part of our life experiences together is behind us.
A Rose By Any Other Name
I was 16 when my English teacher assigned us “To Kill a Mockingbird”. I tentatively opened the pages and fell into that book. Dill and Scout and Boo Radley were like neighbors. The soft tones of the words and the narrative pace that lulled me into a hot, sweet, southern world where black people were compared to Mockingbirds and scary neighbors were friends left an indelible mark on my soul. To this day I love both the book and the film.
When David and I discovered we were going to have a girl I quickly volunteered Scout as a possible name. David quickly shot it down. It was too masculine, too odd, it was a name somebody gives a dog. But I loved it and wouldn’t let go of the idea of paying homage to one of my favorite books.
I then suggested Jane. Jane Erye is another one of my favorite books and Jane Austen a favorite author – it seemed right. This time David agreed. He liked the name and with it also being his grandmother’s name felt that we should somehow give that to our new girl. However, pairing something with Jane proved to be far more difficult than we thought.
We went through countless variations. We tried Jane both as a first name and as a middle name. As the delivery date grew closer and closer we began to worry that we would have the first nameless baby born into this family. And then we settled on something – a name that we felt was both unique without being weird. A name that gives a nod to my literary interests and has meaning. A name that she could grow into over the years.
Please welcome Harper Jane Morley
