Category Archives: Family Life

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.

Harper_naptime

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

Hi! I was just born

Home Stretch

More than likely I will be welcoming our third baby in the next two weeks.  For most pregnant women this is a difficult part of pregnancy and indeed I’m struggling to stay upbeat.  I am a woman who labors for weeks. On and off contractions that are uncomfortable all the time and painful some of the time and rarely productive.  I’m trying to find my “happy place” or at least come to peace with these last couple of weeks. I want to enjoy this last little bit of time I have before my little girl arrives.

I took time today to go back and re-read all my posts about my miscarriage.  The disappointment, the pain and the months of indecision and uncertainty that followed. As miscarriages go mine was pretty easy.  It happened early before we ever saw or heard a heartbeat.  I never had to suffer through the physical pain of actual miscarriage since I had a D&C days after discovering that the pregnancy was a failure. It was all very medical and clean and uncomplicated. Sort of. The emotions that were left behind though and the anguish of knowing my body had failed me was hard to reconcile.  And yet now, well it doesn’t really matter now. Because in less than two weeks I’m having a baby.

It is funny how all those meaningless platitudes that people say; “it is for the best”, “God will send you another”, “there is a reason for this” all make sense now.  It was good that we had more time to think about this last baby. I do feel ready, or at least as ready as anybody feels for a baby.  I’m excited and I have a feeling that this little girl, this little dawdler of mine who is delaying her arrival, well, I suspect she has a wicked sense of humor like her Daddy.

I recently had a student say to me, after hearing me complain about labor pain, “I NEVER want to get pregnant. I don’t know how you did it three times.”  Yep, we women, we’re crazy like that aren’t we?

This New House

In two days we will vacate our home forever and move into our new house.  This is our new house:

new house

We are going from 2200 square feet to 3300 square feet. We are going from four small bedrooms with even smaller closets to four large bedrooms with walk-in closets. I’m going from one triangular shaped useless linen closet to each bathroom having its own linen closet; from no storage closets to four storage closets. You get the idea.  We are upgrading in almost every regard.

Currently my life is filled with boxes and paper and trash and laundry.  I’m busy preparing both myself and the kids for this new change in environment and it seems unbelievable to me.  I’m excited, I’m nervous, and I’m stressed.  For the time being this is a bit of farewell.  After Wednesday I won’t have internet access again until Saturday and even if I did I’ll be too crazy making sure that every last bit of Barbie accessories and Star Wars action figures makes it into new bedrooms.  Wish me luck and let’s hope I don’t go into labor!

I Think I Know What I’m Doing, But Ask Me Again In Three Months

Jen at Conversion Diary asked for words of encouragement for a new mother. Well, as I come crashing in at the end of my third pregnancy I’m feeling rather smug regarding my parenting knowledge and thought I would share what my experience has taught me.

#1 DON’T SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF

Now, I know everybody tells you this from the moment that the first pregnancy test comes back positive, but I will tell you that this is the hardest lesson to learn but also the most important. Every grandparent or ‘retired’ parent will tell you; “spend less time cleaning and more time playing”.  You know what? Listen to your elders.  Is my house a mess? Yes. Most days my sink is full of dishes, my laundry back-loaded, and toys in my family room. In exchange for that I have well-adjusted children who get to experience a mentally sane mother (on most days).  Some day I will have children old enough who can do the dishes, vacuum and make their own beds.  In the meantime, they clear their dishes, put their laundry in their hamper and do the best they can.  And you know what, I no longer care if my house is clean. I reject the idea that cleanliness is a sign of a successful mother.

#2 DON’T CRY – LAUGH

Motherhood is filled with the most ridiculous moments and indeed most “mommy blogs” are filled with tales of such silliness. In my case I can recount stories of spilled paint on carpet, exploding poop on visiting relatives, puke in the middle of the mall, etc, etc. If you thought child delivery lacked modesty and was embarrassing, well, that is only the beginning.  You must learn to laugh at yourself or you will find yourself crying far too often.

#3 ASK FOR HELP

At 39 years old and approaching the arrival of my third child I have learned this lesson.  I cannot do it all, and I’m not going to martyr myself in an effort to somehow garner praise and appreciation from some invisible entity.  Let me fill you in on a secret, your children will not appreciate you more for killing yourself and neither will your spouse.  They won’t appreciate you, they will resent you. I pay for a housekeeper to clean my house every two weeks. I pay for babysitters when I need a break or assistance to get things done.  Motherhood is a hard job and it is a 24 hour job – you cannot do it all the time

#4 CUT YOURSELF SOME SLACK

You are not going to be a perfect parent all the time.  You will snap, yell, scream, throw a grown-up tantrum, let them watch tv, eat popcorn, processed foods, sugar, soda pop, etc. None of these things make you a terrible parent.  One of my best friends is a family therapist and she has said to me on more than one occasion that unless I’m beating, purposefully neglecting or feeding my kids drugs I’ve got a long way to fall to become a bad parent. Most of us are consciously trying to read to our kids and provide a well-balanced diet in a loving and supportive environment.  It is just that that environment is hard to maintain 365 days a year. Some days you are going to be lucky if the kids spend the day watching PBS and eat macaroni and cheese for dinner.

#5 YOU KNOW NOTHING

When I was pregnant with Lucy I was terrified of the unknown.  What was it going to be like to be a parent? How was I going to handle it? How hard was it going to be? When I got pregnant with Max I had confidence and arrogance that was most definitely a mistake.  Max came out and was NOTHING like Lucy. It was as if I was a first-time parent all over again.  Now, pregnant with my third I recognize that I know nothing and there is peace in that.  No use in preparing for this child because it won’t matter. Whatever I anticipate or plan for will be wrong.

Finally, my mother-in-law has a sign on her desk that says “children grow to become the love they know”.  No matter how crazy my day is, or how much my children drive me crazy if I can end the day with a hug, kiss, snuggle and the knowledge that my kids know that they are loved, well, that is a successful day.

Gratitude

Sometimes an argument over a toy can lead me to say ugly words, causing my bottomless patience to vanish in a flash

Sometimes the simple sound of Max’s heavy breathing at night can awake worry and concern

Sometimes the smell of Lucy’s hair as it is nestled tightly under my nose can be comforting

Sometimes the non-stop prattle of school day stories from the back seat can disappear into the air with little acknowledgment from me.

Car pool, packing lunches, homework, breakfast, lunch, dinner, play time, clean up, stories and the days bleed together.

And then you hear it, read it, see it

Big eyes, small hands, sometimes with a look of fear, a look of resignation. Each story tells of loss, heart break and a child yearning for the love and comfort of a home like mine.  And then the feeling starts to spread. You suddenly are reawakened to the subtle noise of craft projects, sibling squabbles, and the noise of your own children.  The sounds of love, security and comfort. Sounds that these lost children, the children with no family or parents or future can only dream about.

I don’t worry about whether or not my children will eat.

I don’t worry about how safe it is for them to go to school.

I don’t worry if my children will be kidnapped or if bombs will destroy our house.

I’m grateful that my children won’t ever have to face the fear of an unknown future, go to bed hungry or worry about being cold at night. That gratitude, that sigh of relief we all release when watching the latest news story, is fleeting. We breath it, we mean it, but it is always short-lived. Perhaps this Thanksgiving I’ll try to be grateful for feeling more gratitude.

Once again, I am inspired by Scribbit’s Write Away Contest.

Swine Flu: From The Trenches of Texas

I live in Dallas. We are widely considered ground zero for Swine Flu.  Dallas is one of the first cities identified with the Swine Flu and it was originally tracked back to the I35 corridor which runs straight through the heart of Dallas right to Mexico. The first deaths from Swine Flu were reported in Texas.  As a result I know many, many people and students who have had the Swine Flu.  So, let me tell you a little secret about the Swine Flu, it isn’t that big of a deal.  Oh sure, we’ve had deaths, and it isn’t something that should be ignored if contracted, but mass hysteria is definitely not warranted.  I’ve had a variety of students contract and recover from the Swine Flu.  Most of my students get the illness and spend about two days at home with Tamiflu and then they are on the mend. Most confirm that it was a horrible cold, but that is about it.  I’m in the highest risk category of people to contract Swine Flu.  I have two small children in school, I’m a teacher and I’m pregnant.  I could not be higher risk if I tried. Am I concerned? Nah, not really.  I haven’t had the flu shot or the Swine Flu vaccine.  I’m not against the vaccine and indeed if offered it I probably will take it, but getting the flu shot or the Swine Flu vaccine has been nearly impossible and so I haven’t worried about it. The biggest and most important thing to look for is a quick onset of a high fever.  Although everyone in the family has been sick this cold season we have yet to experience fever.

We have not had any school closures even though many schools are facing high absentee rates.  I have not kept my children home nor would I.  My only worry, as of this point, is Max and that is simply because every cold he gets aggravates his chronically swollen tonsils and makes everything worst for him.  However, my precautions pretty much entail monitoring his temperature closely when he doesn’t feel well and keeping him home from school when I can.

I know many of you are concerned about this illness and are struggling with whether or not to keep your children home from school.  I can’t make that decision for you but I hope hearing about what it is like in one of the worst parts of the country for Swine Flu will put your mind at ease.  Remember, the media only reports the worst cases, but the majority of cases are just a really bad cold.

Let Me Present Hell In A Handbasket

Ever have those times in your life when everything feels like it has been put on fast-forward?  Oh sure, kids sort of make you feel like that all the time, but there are times, special times, when it feels even faster than that?  Well, that is where I am. Every morning I feel like my life has taken a hit of crack cocaine and forgot to share the goods with my body.  My life is moving faster and yet my body and mind have slowed down to a pace that resembles the mental capacity of a retarded puppy.  I know all you moms out there who have been juggling multiple kids in school for a long time now will feel no sympathy for me, but DAMN it is hard and why the hell did nobody tell me?

Three days a week my day resembles this:

5:45: wake up as quietly as humanly possible so I can shower and dress without interruption. This works 50% of the time

6:45: wake Lucy up (if not already awake). Cartoons, chocolate milk and the morning soothing of Max who routinely wakes up crying for no apparent reason

7:00: Lucy gets dressed and we pack to leave for school (both her and I must prep for school.  I rarely get breakfast since I take my Thyroid meds at 6:00 and we’re out the door by 7:15 – no time for breakfast)

7:15: leave for school

7:30: drop Lucy off at school

8:00 – 2:30: I teach, grade papers, prep for class, meet with students, etc, etc.  If I’m lucky I get to eat lunch. Lunch happens about 50% of the time

2:45: I pick up Lucy from school

3:15: I pick up Max from school

4:00: back home and if I’m lucky I get a 20 minute cat nap.

5:00: dinner and pre-dinner snacking mixed with homework, cleaning out lunch boxes, etc.

6:00: dinner

7:00: PJ’s, bedtime movie. etc

8:30: kids are in bed

9:00: pack lunches for tomorrow, lay out uniforms, pack backpack and prep for school for the next day

9:30: dishes, and clean up from dinner

10:00: 1 hour of TV for mommy (this is a luxury, in reality I should be grading papers, but I’m mentally dead by this point)

11:00: bedtime, which usually looks like me falling asleep on the couch and David waking me up to remind me that I own a bed and I may want to use it.

On the days I don’t teach it looks slower but I’m so desperate to get caught up from the days that I do teach that most of the time I spend the day overwhelmed and paralyzed with the tasks ahead of me. My ability to manage even the most simplest of tasks is absent.

I don’t know if it is my age with this pregnancy or just that every pregnancy is different but this time around, well, my mental capacity is gone.  I’m experiencing huge mood swings, and an inability to focus my thinking or concentrate. I cry, laugh, get angry, have little patience and frequently feel overwhelmed by something as simple as the dishes. As soon as I feel the slightest bit caught up I have a day when I land in bed and I slide right back to where I was.  I know I probably should have been reaching out to my blogging network for support, but somehow that has felt like a luxury that I haven’t been able to afford.

On the positive side I have a husband who has no problem making himself a sandwich or a plate of eggs for dinner. David has tried to be understanding of the emotional wreck of a wife that has somehow showed up for this pregnancy.  There are days when he looks at me like I’m an alien but has done his best to not say anything. There are days when he seems as confused as I do. There are days when we both just collapse into a heap of emotion and just cling to the nine years of history we have built with each other knowing that it will float us through.

Physically I feel fine. I have chronic indigestion and a cough that won’t go away but honestly, I have only gained about 7 pounds and feel great.  It is the mental, hormonal, emotional impact that I’m not weathering nearly as well as I have during other pregnancies. Even this blog post seems to ramble with no real point.  Please tell me this is normal and then hold me and tell me it will all be okay.