Ollie's Perfect Birth

We arrived at The Farm on July 22, 2013.  I was 39 weeks pregnant to the day and hopeful we would soon meet our baby.  The first week was spent excitedly exploring The Farm, meeting like-minded people at the swimming hole, getting to know the midwife whose basement apartment we were staying in, playing board games with the kids and enjoying non-stop time together as a family of 4.

The 39th week passed.  The 40th week passed.  We were still enjoying ourselves but my husband, Taylor, and I found ourselves very much ready to be at home with a newborn in our arms rather than playing the endless game of waiting for labor to start.  Baby was not in optimal fetal position and my nightly bouts of prodromal labor complete with an aching back and hips had me doing all I could to help baby rotate out of the posterior position as fast as possible.  I spent my days doing the tricks of the trade to help baby rotate to the anterior position as I meditated and practiced deep breathing on the words “calm, safe, open, low, down, baby” and constantly visualized my perineum stretching in anticipation of my first birth without a painful 2nd degree tear.

The eighth day past my estimated due date was spent aimlessly wandering around Wal-Mart shopping for an impromptu birthday celebration for our daughter Liza’s 3rd birthday the next day.  We were happy to find the “blue scooter” she desperately wanted and I was feeling bummed that it seemed likely our baby would be born on his big sister’s birthday.  After all, they already shared the due date of July 29 so it didn’t seem too outlandish to think this baby would also hold out until August 7th to be born.

That night I organized her little pile of 3rd birthday presents on the kitchen table and prayed I wouldn’t still be pregnant for our son Henry’s 5th birthday on August 17th.

After a half-hearted attempt to watch an episode of “Are You Being Served?” and not understanding the most basic jokes, I went to sleep hoping I would wake up perkier for Liza’s special day.  I slept very fitfully that night, getting up to pee no less than a dozen times and noticing a contracted but painless belly each time I got out of bed.  At 4:00 am, my tossing and turning woke up Liza and after getting her settled and back asleep I got out of bed at 4:30 am and laid down on the couch in the living room.  I was 100% sure I was in labor as both of my previous labors started the exact same way and quickly progressed but my doula brain never stops working and I reminded myself to rest as this was early labor and I needed to save my energy.

At 5:00 am on the dot, I got off the couch and turned on my “Birth on The Farm” playlist we had worked on since arriving 2.5 weeks earlier.  Every song on the 8 hour playlist is a favorite and specifically chosen because it gave me a sense of calm and control.  The music started and I experimented with what felt best as my labor grew stronger with every contraction.  I paced the floor, leaned over the counter, dropped to all 4s and swayed my hips as I consciously enjoyed laboring alone knowing my instinct had been correct all along and our baby would be born after a very short labor.

Even with the ever-increasing power of my contractions I felt completely safe and trusted I would know exactly when I needed to wake up my husband and call my midwife.  After the first contraction that emitted a deep, low breath and required complete surrender to the powerful sensations, I knew the time had come to assemble my birth team.  

At 5:10 am I woke up my husband with a quiet “I’m in labor” and gave him time to get up as I called my midwife, Stacie.  I told her “I think I’m in labor” and then quickly changed to “I’m in labor” as she told me that it would take her an hour to get to our house on The Farm and to wake up Sharon, the midwife who lived upstairs, if we needed her.  Considering one of our main reasons for birthing at The Farm were concerns about a precipitous labor and an accidental unassisted birth, remembering Sharon asleep upstairs and her 30 years of midwifery experience was a wonderful thing.  

As we had planned, Taylor began picking up toys, folding clothes and making sure things were organized around the house.  I was still laboring on my own, enjoying finally being in labor and doula-ing myself with reminders about the signs of progress during labor.  I could tell by my breathing and low tones that labor was moving right along and at that point, I was easily handling my back labor by leaning over on the coffee table and swaying my hips during each contraction.  My doula brain reminded my laboring brain that baby would likely rotate on it’s own with an active labor and I had no need to fear a posterior birth even with the intense back labor I was experiencing.

I was hungry and ate a fried egg on toast I had to shove in my mouth and chugged a huge glass of water because I salted it during a contraction and it was disgustingly salty. But I knew that if I didn’t eat something soon I would be turned off by food and my hungry belly was telling me to eat!

Stacie and her apprentice, Laura, arrived at 6:15am and the strength of my contractions increased almost immediately.  I told Stacie I felt nauseous but was scared to throw up because it would make my contractions stronger.  She told me that would be a good thing which I knew perfectly well but I still chose to hold back the vomit because I wasn’t ready for the next phase of labor.  

Then I needed Taylor to rub my back.  Hard.  I needed him to put down his coffee, stop folding clothes, stop busying himself with the list of things I had created to keep him busy during early labor....and I needed him to know exactly what I wanted without me having to say a word.  Obviously that didn’t go  well and I ended up being very bossy about where he needed to sit, how he needed to look at me and how I needed him to affirm me.  I made a comment about being “pissy” to Stacie when she asked how I was doing and I tried to laugh about it because I knew I was being ridiculous but laughter wasn’t happening at that point.

Then things get hazy.

I needed to pee and thought I might finally have the notorious clearing of the bowels that typically occurs during early labor but as with my reluctance to vomit, I had no desire to willingly propel myself to more intense contractions.  I reminded myself that emptying my bladder was important to help reduce immediate postpartum bleeding I had experienced with my first two births.  I remember sitting on the toilet with my tippy toes on the floor desperately trying not to sink too deep into the toilet and encourage stronger contractions.

I took one step out of the bathroom and dropped to the floor in hard labor.  My back labor was intense intense intense and I instinctively went into the “polar bear” with my chest and belly on the ground, knees spread wide and butt in the air.  I have no idea how long I labored like this but my moans got lower and LOWER and louder and LOUDER.  

Transition was here although that word never crossed my mind.  This is what I remember during that point of labor....no specific order.

- Looking up at Stacie and telling her I needed her.  She got on the ground and I grabbed her hands as she reminded me I was doing exactly what I needed to do.

- Taylor became an amazing labor partner and told me all the things I needed to hear without me having to say a word.

- I asked how much longer it would take knowing perfectly well that it wouldn’t be too much longer with the way I was moaning but I really wanted somebody to tell me it was almost over.  Somebody asked if I wanted my dilation checked and Stacie spoke up and said I had already declined an exam and didn’t want to be checked.  Then she pulled my panties down a bit and checked for “the purple line” on my natal cleft.  She said it showed I was about 7cm.  I was not happy with that number and very glad I didn’t have an uncomfortable hand up my vagina to give the information.  I asked her to show Taylor the purple line and as expected, he didn’t see a thing but my butt crack.    

-Stacie asked if I could take off my underwear and I told her just to cut it off because I couldn’t move to take it off.  Taylor had spent the previous week sharpening every knife in the house so cutting off my underwear with the sharpest knife available seemed like the right idea to him.

- Henry woke up!  I heard Taylor tell him that I was in labor and our baby would be born soon.  He was so so so excited and years of preparing him to witness a homebirth immediately showed.  He knew exactly what was going on and never showed an ounce of fear or anxiety about his mama rocking on the floor with her butt in the air moaning as loudly and deeply as she possibly could.  He echoed everybody’s affirmations and told me I was doing a wonderful job.  I don’t think anybody in the room will ever forget my precious little boy saying “You can do this, Mama!  You did it with me and with Liza and you can do it with our baby!”.  

- Liza stayed asleep even though I was two feet from her bedroom door and I was LOUD!

At some point, Stacie asked if I could stand up and allow gravity to bring my baby down.  I feel sure I resisted but I soon found myself standing up holding on to Taylor’s neck and looked around to see myself surrounded by four women....two Certified Professional Midwives and two apprentices...all who birthed their babies naturally at home.  It was powerful knowing they were there to help assist me through this birth and seeing them gave me a renewed energy.  A strong female presence of women experienced in birth was a top priority during my pregnancy and even with back to back contractions, I felt the power of their support.   Taylor pointed out that one of my favorite Bob Dylan songs was playing and told me I was safe.  I repeated “I am safe” over and over again as I labored holding onto his neck....and contorted his body into the most horribly uncomfortable positions possible.  He experienced his own labor pains!

As soon as I began to feel pushy I also felt dizzy and lightheaded.  During Liza’s birth, I blamed too hot water in the birth tub for my dizziness when I began to feel pushy but maybe it’s just the way my body reacts to that certain feeling of needing to push a bowling ball out of my butt.    Stacie guided me to the bathroom to sit on the toilet and labor sitting down but that didn’t last long and we quickly moved to the couch for me to lay down.  A midwife, Sharon, said “Ahh, now that’s the waddle of a woman who has a baby between her legs” as I walked across the room to the couch.  Hearing that made me realize the end was near!  

I laid on my left side  and grabbed the back of the couch as the apprentices rolled me over to cover the couch with chux pads.  With the next pushy contraction I felt a stream of fluid and asked if I was bleeding or if it was my bag of waters.  After learning that it was my waters, I asked if there was meconium present and was quickly reassured everything was clear with no meconium present.  My doula brain turned on and I reminded myself that side-lying is an excellent way to facilitate a slow, patient pushing phase with lots of hands on support to minimize the risk of tearing.  I braced my left leg on Sharon and Laura, an apprentice, lifted my right leg with Taylor sitting by my head holding my hand. Liza had woken up at some point and she and Henry were sitting in another apprentice’s lap in a chair near the foot of the couch and I was glad they were in a good position to watch their baby being born.

This pregnancy centered around mentally preparing myself to push only with contractions, pant through crowning and not suffer through another painful 2nd degree tear.  My months of consciously telling myself that I would push slowly with my contractions and my recent weeks of intense visualizations of my perineum stretching stretching stretching became my reality as I let my body bare down without actively pushing and when I felt his head crown I panted heavily during the next contraction.  The only time I purposely pushed was when Stacie said “ok, now push out your baby”.  

And then it was done.  My baby was here at 7:55 am -- 3.5 hours after labor began.  Midwife Sharon quickly made the observation that we likely would have had an unassisted birth had we stayed home in Mississippi and she was right.  My instincts about a short labor were exactly right.

After the cord was limp and white, Henry cut the cord as he had excitedly planned for the past 6 months and Liza lifted the baby blanket and announced we had a boy with a “look at his big penis!”.  

Even with controlled pushing I had a first degree tear needing 3 internal stitches and a short running stitch on my perineum.  The consensus was that I wouldn't have torn if he hadn't had a compound presentation with a hand by his cheek and his other hand trapped under his cord which was wrapped around his torso.  His awkward hand placement explained his persistent posterior position during late pregnancy and late rotation during labor.

I’ll be honest.  I didn’t even see the wet little thing on my chest at first.  I was just so happy.  Happy the months and especially those final weeks of anticipation were over.  Happy his labor was short and straightforward.  Happy his birth was so much better than his sister’s homebirth because of all the emotional support from having 4 women present.  Happy I didn’t hemorrhage all over the couch.  Happy I didn’t have a bad tear.  Happy the time away from home to birth at The Farm was 100% worthwhile to bring my baby into this world in the safest way possible for me and my family.  

48 hours later that wet little thing was named Oliver Pace Dearman.  Just like his birth, he is 100% perfect!

Our 4th of July.

Morning of the fourth, I put on my red, white and blue dress and proclaimed it my American outfit.

My children chose orange, green and tie-dye and proclaimed it their American outfit.

Apparently, we have not instilled much patriotism.

They had no clue.

The morning was spent playing in the baby pool.

Dinner was an indoor picnic of bratwurst, garden picked butter beans, lemonade and a chocolate cake per Henry's request.

Then we went for a walk in the cemetery.

You guessed it.

Liza quickly face planted and needed her daddy's hand.

You guessed it again.

She peed on her dress.

Naked.

In the cemetery.

This one turns four next month.

And, yes. his hair is long.

A year's worth of growth will do that.

He wants to grow his out to his toes.

And, he doesn't even know about Rapunzel.

The walk in the cemetery ended when the need for baby wipes arose and they were still at home.

Yep.

You guessed it.

On Budgets and Booties:

Two things are consuming my mind this weekend:

1.  Our budget.  We are back to budgeting because when you are poor, you can't buy everything you want and you can't do everything you want to do.  Even when all you really want to buy is enough fruit to keep your kids happy for an entire week and buy cheap (cheap) cheap stuff from the thrift store.  Especially when the saddest thing that has ever happened in your life costs almost $300 in medical bills and you pay your bills in full without dipping into savings.  I promise I don't dwell on that sad event constantly in real life, it just keeps coming up on OMML.  This month is tight and even though our kids still have plenty of fresh, locally grown fruit from the farmer's market, I wish we could have more.  And, even though I cheated and charged $6 to the debit card at the thrift store because I didn't have any cash and I desperately wanted a pair of brand spanking new jeans that fit perfectly and a book I've been itching to read, I wish I could have dug through the clothes racks until I found brand new Ann Taylor Loft sweaters like I always do.

But, I can't. 

And, I won't.

Because I finally have the insight to know that this budget is more than paying bills and saving our pennies.  It is about delayed gratification -- something I hope my kids have at an early age after learning about the "Marshmallow Test for Success" -- and knowing that I don't need stuff to make me happy.  

And truth by told, maybe less stuff will make me happy.  After all, I am paying for yoga with the monies from selling unsused stuff around the house.  My biggest complaint about our house has always been the horrible kitchen storage space and these days I have more than enough room since selling off everything I don't use. 

 That's nice.  

I can complain about the budget but at least I don't have to complain about the lack of storage space anymore.  

2.  Liza has been out of diapers for 3 days.  She has only peed in the potty 3 times.  Like her much beloved pup-pups, she prefers the grass.  Can't blame her since she watches big brother pee outside all day, every day.  But, she's not a boy so it's not quite as convenient for her.  Good thing we love little girl dresses and I am laid back about things like this.

I keep telling myself that she will find the potty in due time.  And, then I tell myself again.  And, again.  And, then I tell myself that it will happen when she is ready and this is an amazing first step at 22.5 months old.  And, then I remind myself to breathe.  

Just breathe.  

And clean up the pee.  

I could be blogging about...

I haven't been blogging much.  My evenings are filled with emailing doula clients, working on my doula certification, reading birth research and blogs and oh yeah, mindlessly zoning out on Facebook.

Things will happen during the day and I think -- hmm, a few months ago, I would have blogged about this.

But, alas, no blogging is done.

Still not taking many pictures of my kids.  My camera is frustrating me and I get a case of "the wants" every time I take it out and it doesn't perform as well as I think it should.

But, I really want to thank all of my readers for being my outlet when life was hard post-miscarriage.  Blogging was my quiet place, my peace and my solace when my brain was in overload and I couldn't sort out my emotions.  I am in a good place now and honestly can't fathom the thought of pregnancy and a third baby.  Twinges of sadness and loss strike when I hear about newly discovered pregnancies and a part of me feels like every pregnancy is doomed like mine was.  But, then I think of the million of birth stories I read and all the birth videos I watch and it's hard to balance all those babies with the fact that I feel like pregnancy is a loss cause.

So....I didn't intend to write about miscarriage.....but, you know, this is my happy place and apparently this is what I want to talk about.

Maybe one of these days I'll get back to writing about all this ridiculous amount of baking I've been doing and how I've mastered the food processor for all my mixing, creaming and beating needs.

Or I could write about how Henry is a full-fledge devotee to Netflix.  Or not.  Because then I would have to take back that post about how my kids don't want television.  What?  It doesn't count when it's on the computer?  Great!

And, birth.  I can always write about birth.  I could write a bit about how I'm much more tempered on my opinions regarding birth.  Or not.  Because then I might have to take back all those highly opinionated birth posts from a while back.  But, yeah.  I still think those thoughts but I realize that some things might be better left in my brain.  Or not.  Because I still think elective induction is pretty crappy.

Liza.  She would be easy to write about.  She is one cute little cookie.  Even when she is hysterically throwing herself on the floor because I scooted her chair 6 inches too far to the left.  Or because I won't let her walk backwards on the kitchen counter.  Or because I stop her from trying to climb onto the sun canopy of the stroller while in mid-walk.

Or that I FINALLY left the BlogHer network.  It was an honor to be included because a lot of my favorite blogs are a part of BlogHer but let's get real.  I have been a mouthpiece for a bunch of crappy products I would never ever ever use and I got paid squat.  Diddly squat.  Buh-bye.

I do suppose there isn't much left to add to the "greening my life" page though.  Except when I turn that bulk box of baking soda into washing soda in my very own oven.  That will definitely deserve a blog post.

Here I am blogging about blogging....

Does that count?

Changing Perceptions on Birth

I'm a birth junky.  I like the physical reality of giving birth -- the role of hormones, the position of the baby, contractions, dilation, pushing positions, impact of care providers and support teams, statistics on cesareans and epidurals, history of birth in America.
I like it all.
It's my drug.

But, my doula work has shifted my feelings on birth.  Visiting with families about their pregnancy and birth plans and finally witnessing my first doula baby's birth has given me insight into the very personal nature of bringing a baby earthside.

The physical reality of labor isn't what matters to a woman in labor.  I'm glad to know how the motherbaby functions to give birth but what matters to the birthing couple is the feeling of support, respect , informed consent and open lines of communication.

I'm still learning this doula role but with each consultation and with each prenatal appointment, I see constants:  the need to understand hospital interventions before the possible need arises and reassurance their decisions will be respected by hospital staff.

The need to not feel a loss of control in the hospital machine, in the laboring woman's body and mind and in the emotions of the partner is paramount to having positive thoughts regarding your birth.

This could just one big fat plug for my doula business, Southern Nurture Birth Services, but it's not.  Of course, if you are local I don't mind if you get in touch with me about availability for your due date and setting up a consultation.

But, that's not what this is about.  Although more business would be nice.  It's about a woman's right to feel in control of the birth of her baby she has been growing for the past 40+ weeks.  It's about a woman's right to listen to her intuition and make decisions she feels are right.

This lesson was reinforced even more a few days ago when a friend elected for a repeat cesarean in lieu of her planned VBAC.  She got to choose the terms of the surgical birth and she has no regrets.  It was a great reminder for me that birth is more the mechanics of pushing a baby out.  When Mondria isn't busy with a toddler, a newborn, tandem nursing, changing 2 sets of cloth diapers and doing everything else a mama has to do she is going to share her story on Our Messy Messy Life.

Stay tuned....

Secret Life of (un)Schooling

Homeschool has been on my mind a lot lately.  I vacillate between going crazy with my children underfoot, being thankful we can live frugally enough to keep me at home, wishing Mississippi would stop being the bane of my existence and allow unvaccinated children to attend daycare and school and being so flipping excited at the prospect of watching my children flourish under our guidance and love.

Yes.

It's a lot of work keeping up with all those conflicting thoughts and emotions.

But no matter if our unschool plans work out or not, you can't stop the teacher in me from coming out all.day.long.  Henry is very well-versed in the natural science world of our backyard and astounds me with his comprehension of books we read.  

He refuses to say his ABC's and has little interest in identifying numbers and letters but the kid can break down the life cycle of a moth, knows exactly what plants needs to thrive, explains that baby animals that come out of eggs don't drink mama's milk but babies that are born drink mama's milk and has a firm grasp on categorizing animals into herbivore or carnivore status.  

Tonight's post-bath activity involved him wearing my cowboy boots and his cowboy hat and using my robe's belt as his lasso to drag the rocking horse into a "safe, dark place so she can have her babies".  He proceeded to rearrange the furniture so she could rest behind a chair in a dark corner and I watched as he lifted up to her tail and the announce "there is another baby!".  We could only leave for our walk once I proclaimed his job was done -- the mama was healthy and comfortable and the babies were drinking their milk.

So yeah, we are doing our little unschool thing which involves us doing whatever we want to do and knowing that our kids' lives are enriched by it all.  Our biggest little's 4th birthday is just around the corner so we are firmly planted in "preschool" mode but I can't fathom our attitude changing about homeschooling our children anytime soon. 

Of course, I can't fathom Mississippi law to change anytime soon.  Or moving our of state anytime soon.  So here we sit.

Sitting like a mama bird on her little clay eggs.

Just doing our thing.

Duality of Dealing With Loss

Two friends and I talked about my miscarriage at a "let's have drinks" get-together a few days ago.  Maybe it was the irreverent atmosphere of the bar, the fact that my one beer was long finished implying that everyone else had moved on to subsequent drinks or maybe it's just because I have really amazing friends but this conversation was completely different than any other concerning my miscarriage.

One friend told how her mother had two miscarriages and the way her mother spoke of those losses was so positive that even as an adult with children of her own, she has a hard time remembering miscarriages are emotionally difficult for women.  

Another friend speculated that our culture's obsession with abortion and pro-life vs. pro-choice debates has created an environment making it even harder to overcome the emotional burdens of miscarriage.  During Mississippi's Personhood Amendment debacle, we were asked to decide if we believe life starts at conception.  Everybody in my circle, including myself, agreed that yes, life starts at conception.  Of course, I did *not* vote for the Personhood Amendment for a vast number of reasons but that doesn't change the fact that for months the hottest topic in my state was the discussion of whether or not life begins at conception.  And, that's just my local little tip of the iceberg.

We talked about how I really am doing okay.  How I believe my baby was not compatible with life.  How I believe everything is for a purpose.  Perhaps Baby Tomas's purpose was to teach me compassion.  Maybe not.  At this point, his purpose isn't clear and maybe it never will be.  But, his short little life certainly had a purpose.

And as strange as it seemed to say out loud, it felt really good to talk about how our loss has been immensely freeing for me.  No more physical hardships of pregnancy, no more worrying about how I would take care of a newborn and still give my very needy children the attention they desperately crave, no more rushing through my doula certification just to put everything on hold for a year with a new baby, no more worries about money.  The list goes on and on.

The duality of being thankful for the benefits of a miscarriage while at the same time mourning the loss of what could have been -- a beautiful round belly, a peaceful homebirth surrounded by my family and women who love me, a precious newborn, first steps, first words -- is a tribute to the spirit of life, especially the life of Baby Tomas.  

And for those of you who are dealing with these conflicting emotions and the aftermath of infant loss, I found this speech a huge inspiration for peace in my heart.  Spoken at a "Spirit Babies Ceremony" on the winter solstice in San Francisco in which women came together to honor babies lost through abortion, miscarriage and stillbirth on the longest night of the year, I hope it will grant you the same peace and perspective it gave me.  

And now I am off to do non-pregnant activities....like mentally plan a Spirit Babies ceremony in my own little town, prepare for my first doula birth, and obsess over how excited I am to attend a CAPPA Childbirth Educator course this fall. 

And, I really am okay with that. 

Not My Words.

Excuse This House

Some houses try to hide the fact, that children shelter there. 

Ours boasts of it quite openly, The signs are everywhere!

For smears are on the windows, Little smudges on the doors,

I should apologize I guess, For toys strewn on the floor,

But I sat down with the children, And we played and laughed and read,

And if the doorbell does not shine, Their eyes will shine instead.

For when at times I'm forced to choose
The one job or the other
I want to be a housewife-
But first I'll be a Mother.
--Unknown

YuYu Makes Her Debut

Lulu or 'YuYu' as she calls her self is 21 months old.

Her favorite things are:
kissing
saying "no, Heidi!"
nursing, nursing, nursing, nursing!
brushing her teeth
making sure you do whatever she wants you to do
telling me that the chickens need all "dirty" food that falls on the ground
making art
taking walks in the stroller
pitching fits in the grocery store because she wants to walk instead of ride
playing in the parked car
carrying a purse or whatever bag is on hand that she can call a "purse"
counting 1-2-3 and 8-9-10
crying because the only words she knows to 'Ring Around the Rosie' is "ashes ashes"

I still get comments about how beautiful she is everywhere we go.
And, like my mom always said, being beautiful isn't everything but is sure does help.

Ending the Endless Snacks.

As I predicted, writing the details of our loss dramatically cleared my brain of the internal whirl of the past week and a half.  Thank you so much for the kind words on all of my sad sad posts.  What little I've read about grief said that some people are internal grievers and others are external grievers.  Apparently I'm external.  It feels good to share and it feels good to know I have prayers, positive thoughts and lots of love and light heading my direction.  I need it all and it is much appreciated.

This weekend was a big fat disaster filled with lots of tears, snotty runny noses and bad attitudes from every corner of the house.  I woke up this morning with a sore throat but I was determined to break the ugly little cycle my family has become accustomed to.

Today was day 1 of my new life with two toddlers.  Just two toddlers.  And nothing else to focus on during the day.  Just my toddlers.  And having fun.  And not going crazy.  Emphasis on the 'not going crazy'.  Pretty sure that's my current goal in life.

Since Henry was a wee little bossy boy, I've considered having meal times, snack times and ending the endless grazing.  I figured that if I was ever going to do it, today would be the day to start.  My children need reigning in after a solid 1.5 weeks of crappy parenting on my end and a previous 5 weeks of lazy pregnant parenting.

So, I did it.  And, it worked!  They didn't beg for snacks all day.  We went to the park and they actually played rather than focusing on their snacks.  And more than anything...they ate meals.  Real meals.  Breakfast.  Lunch.  Dinner.

Surely I'm not the only mama who understands how momentous this is?
Seriously.

This is what I did:

1.  I made Henry and Liza a breakfast plate.  Their plates were essentially the same but a little different. Henry had toast with jelly, orange slices, almonds, and a slice of avocado.  Liza's plate had a peanut butter tortilla roll-up, orange slices, walnuts and a slice of avocado.  Liza and I share eggs every morning so I knew I could count on that as well.  They ate and then we covered up the leftovers with a napkin and left the plate on the table.  When they asked for a snack, I reminded them they could finish their breakfast plate.  Both kids nibbled a bit more but it was apparent they really weren't hungry.  They just enjoy new snacks.

2. Around 9:45, I gave the breakfast scraps to the chickens and the kids ate a snack of a slice of cake we baked on Sunday and shared a piece of fruit.

3.  Requests for more snacks were refused with the promise of lunch at noon.

4.  Lunch consisted of tuna fish on crackers, olives and a piece of cheese.  And, they ate their whole lunch!  Well, enough of it for me to be happy.  Seriously.  My kids are snackers.  This was huge for them to eat a proper meal.  I kept the olives and cheese leftovers out until about 3.

5.  At 3, they ate another piece of cake -- must finish this cake soon!! -- and a few slices of orange.

6.  And, then they ate supper at 5:30.  They.Ate.Supper.

Amongst other notable events of the day, I pushed through endless activities the kids enjoyed but dulled my brain to the max and resisted the urge to move to the next activity that I would find more interesting.   I can't be the only mother with a shorter attention span than my children....can I?

All in all, it was a great day.  A normal day.  A pre-pregnancy day.

With the added bonus that I wasn't preparing and barely cleaning up after an endless parade of snacks.

Now if I can just get little Lulu nightweaned, life might be even better than it was......before I got pregnant.....and miscarried.

My Story of Loss - pt. 2

I need to write this out for my sanity even though my emotions are still saying no.  My brain has begged to get these words out since the day I miscarried but the task has seemed too daunting.  I'm feeling so much closer to being myself and I know this is an important part of my healing.


The afternoon of my "missed abortion" diagnosis was spent at the hospital getting bloodwork for my RhoGam shot and at the Women's Clinic waiting for the hospital to fax over the results of the bloodwork so I could actually get the injection.  I sat there for hours in a total daze thinking about my first doula client's prenatal appointment scheduled for that night and writing down everything I would need to discuss because I knew better than to trust my brain to remember any thing important.

Finally got back home and we broke the news to Henry.  He was confused.  Sad.  And wanted to get back to watching his cartoon.......the Netflix crutch began that morning.....

I wrapped my brain around no longer being pregnant.  Waiting to miscarry.  Hoping it would happen fast.  Obsessing over my achey back.  Thankful for my healthy babies.  Identifying the heavy feeling in my uterus and realizing it wasn't a pregnant feeling.  It was a miscarriage feeling.

A sweet friend brought dinner over.  We chatted. I felt normal.

The next morning, I woke up a wreck.  My back was aching.  I didn't know what to think.  Mr. Messy decided to go to work and I enlisted my babysitting co-op to find a friend to keep my kids that morning.  My instinct said the physical act of the miscarriage would happen that morning but I was so confused.

Lost.  Tired.  Sad.

As soon as the kids were gone and the house was quiet, I turned on our Mother India playlist and listened to the Hanuman and Shiva chants over and over again.  My back cramps were becoming more intense and I was starting to bleed heavier.

I googled "waiting for a miscarriage" and immediately realized googling was not healthy at this point.

So I waited.  I knew it was coming.  I chatted on Facebook.  I waited.  I cramped.  I bled.

Eventually, the cramps had me pacing the house.  I pushed the thoughts of pacing the house during Liza's birth to a far dark corner of my brain.

Bleeding.  Heavier.  Heavier.  Made sure I had my phone with me wherever I walked in the house because hemorrhage horror stories floated through my brain.

So thirsty.

Rocking on the toilet.  Cramping.  Bleeding.  Freezing cold even though I was wearing a sweatshirt.  Wanting to puke but the trash can was full of dirty nighttime disposable diapers so I held it back.

Cramping.  Bleeding.  So thirsty.

Finally.  A clot passed.  Big.  Apple sized.

Cramping.  Bleeding.

Second clot passed.  Not as big.  Plum sized.

Immediate relief.

Praying it was over.  Completely unsure of what to expect.

--------------

And that was it.  I had a miscarriage.  I was no longer pregnant and I was no longer carrying my dead baby.

I bled for 7 days and had a few more cramping episodes but nothing serious.

My body did what it needed to do.

Now.

Just sadness.  Lots of sadness and feelings of being overwhelmed with the normal pace of my life.

And tired.  So tired.

10 Unicorn Farts:

1. This is honestly the first time I've grieved a death in my life.  I'm 30.  Quite a nice run if I say so myself.

2.  People don't want to hear about your grief.  They say they do.  But, they don't.  These posts about my sadness are barely getting any hits whereas my "big news" post got many more hits than my average.  As a blogger quite enamored with the number trends of my blog posts, this fascinates me yet it's completely understandable.  I don't want to hear about your bad news.  I want to read your birth stories, read your healthy redo recipe of a chocolate cake, hell, I even want to see your new haircut.  But, read about your sadness and your grief?  No, thank you.

3.  Too bad my life is full of sadness and grief right now.

4.  I won't lie.  I think I'm doing pretty good.  Even with kids that won't stay healthy, we've been getting dressed and doing our normal things.  Still many more cartoons that I'm comfortable with but I'm slowly easing out of the Netflix crutch.  I'm finally doing the last month's worth of laundry that has piled up and proven my family has entirely too many clothes.  I'm cooking real food for meals rather than just handing out apple slices and blueberries.

5.  But, I'm sad and hollow on the inside.  I can tell my hormones are still in flux.  I still prefer to zone out during the day and find myself getting unreasonably frustrated with my children.  I want to shut down but can't.  I'm too needed.

6.  My friend, Alisha, sent me this link to a site for bereaved parents.  Yesterday I finally gathered the courage to visit the site.  Their explanation of grief was a godsend.  It made me feel normal.  Cause, you know, this grieving business is new to me.

7.  I'll go ahead and throw it out there that I haven' taken pictures of my kids in 2 months.  Seems like that bit of news fits with this depressing theme.

8.  My Jessica Seinfeld's 'Deceptively Delicious' avocado chocolate chip cupcakes were delicious.  Avocado for the fat in lieu of oil.  Brilliant.

9.  #8 was my at my attempt at a normal blog post.  Pitiful attempt, yes.  Maybe next week will be my week to write about non-depressing things.  Maybe not.

10.  And, yes, this post's title was a total bait and switch.  Forgive me.  I'm a whore for blog hits and I'm  curious to see how a cheerful title will affect the numbers.

Too Many Thoughts

Today.
I took a shower.
Put on real clothes.
Dressed my kids in non-pajamas.
Did our normal Wednesday thing.
I didn't cry once.  Kept on thinking.
My worry list is much shorter now:
Milk drying up at 20 weeks.
Three carseats in a car.
Sleeping with two.
Too tired and hot.
Tandem nursing.
Jealous kids.

Too much.

Thinking.

My Story of Loss - pt. 1

On April 1, 2012, my suspected pregnancy was confirmed.  I had implantation bleeding on March 29 but my last cycle had started on February 22 so I was very confused about my irregular cycle and why I had negative tests for the past week but no period.  With great relief and a huge sense of joy, I looked at a few ovulation calendars online and chose December 10 as our estimated due date.  We were thrilled at the thought of a Christmas baby.

But, even that day, I had an unsettled feeling.  Anxiety.  A feeling of uncertainty.

Since I had tested positive on the earliest possible day, it took about 2 weeks to actually feel pregnant.  Those waves of nausea and the sense of falling asleep in my chair was a great relief because that unsettled feeling remained in the back of my head at all times.

Around 7 weeks pregnant and the day of our town's arts and crafts festival, Mr.  Messy decided it was time to start spreading our good news.  He told everyone we saw about our Christmas baby.  I was fine with that because I felt like my paranoia was just that but my unsettled feeling was growing stronger and stronger.

Around 8 weeks, I finally told Mr. Messy about my feelings.  He was very reassuring but the nagging thoughts lingered.

A few days before 9 weeks pregnant, I had the tiniest bit of pink spotting.  Even though I spotted with Liza and I know that first trimester spotting is normal, that spot on the toilet paper was enough for me.  I knew I was miscarrying.  I went into full-fledged depression mode -- taking to the bed, crying, letting Mr. Messy take care of the kids.  I lost it.

The next day, the spotting was the tiniest bit heavier.

The day after that, I had a streak of red.

Then, a gush of brown.

I pinned all my hopes on a sub-chorionic hemorrhage.  Not a great thing to hope for but I knew it was my only hope and my bleeding lined up perfectly with the symptoms.

But, my heart already knew the truth.
I knew we weren't going to have a Christmas baby.

On Wednesday, May 9, I called my OB and left a message with him nurse pretty much begging her to fit me in that day or do anything she could so I wouldn't have to see the on-call doctor who I don't trust to be respectful of my homebirth plans and my need to be an active participant in healthcare decisions.

Within an hour of my message, I was sitting at the Women's Clinic.  I told my OB, Dr. Cobb, about my bleeding and as soon as I said that I hadn't felt sick or had any pregnancy symptoms in a week, the look on his face said it all.  He asked what I wanted to do and I said that I wanted to check for a heartbeat and follow-up with an ultrasound if he didn't find a heartbeat.

10 minutes later I was in the ultrasound room.  I saw the sac.  I saw the baby.  No heartbeat.  No movement.  It was so obvious I didn't even ask the technician what she saw.  I watched her measure the sac at 7 weeks and 2 days.  Exactly 2 weeks prior.

Immediate grief.  But, also a strange sense of relief.  My heart already knew the bad news and now my brain saw for itself.

I really was at peace immediately.  This baby wasn't meant to be born.  At least I knew for certain now.

Dr. Cobb saw me a few minutes later.  He instinctively knew I wouldn't want a D&C unless it was medically warranted so we talked about the risk of infection and he told me that if I emotionally needed to be done with it all, he could schedule a D&C whenever I wanted.

I called my midwife a few hours later.  She told me what the physical aspect of the miscarriage would likely feel like and gave me firm instructions to call if I needed support or had questions about the bleeding.

To be continued.......

THE DAY I WENT VIRAL...or something like that

Since I've been nothing but doom and gloom for the past several days, I would like to share a funny story.  A true story.  A story that was quite embarrassing almost one year ago.  A story that is finally funny.

Last summer I wrote a guest blog for my friend Imogen at Alternative Mama.  She was looking for guest posts, I had a topic I wanted to write about so I ignored my kids for about an hour one morning and wrote out my thoughts on choosing to let Liza wean from my breast whenever she is ready.  No great revelation for my readers but it was perfect for Imogen's blog.  

But, there was a problem. At the end of my post, Imogen included a picture of, ahem, an unattractive woman sitting on an ugly couch with a cute toddler girl nursing her baby doll.  I fully approved of the toddler nursing her doll but I just couldn't get past the thought of people thinking I  sitting on that ugly floral couch.  Shallow.  Yes.

It really bothered me.

So, I assigned Mr. Messy to take a picture of me nursing Liza.  And, he didn't even cut my head off.  Amazing.  This picture was emailed to Imogen with a little note that I would loooove if she would remove the original "couch" picture and publish my post with a picture of me.

Problem solved.

Until.

This picture went viral.  

Okay.  You are right.

Viral, I was not.

But, it was as close as I have ever gotten to going viral and here is the Facebook thread to prove it. 

And, I was oh so very much embarrassed.  And, violated.  And, disturbed about what other people were doing to my images that were floating around the interwebz.

But, now I like it.  Still not sure who this guy is but I like it.  Or.  I'm okay with it.

*Apparently, Imogen switched my picture with a picture of a woman nursing twins.  I'm definitely okay with this as long as it's not that unfortunate floral couch picture.   

**And, this has been a much better day.  I actually slept last night and although my kids are sick with a fever and we are still watching endless cartoons, I don't feel like my world has been turned upside down anymore.  At least not at this moment.  Thank you for your thoughts and kind words.  They mean more than you could ever know.

grief

It's been 4 days.  Plainly said, I'm a mess.  I'm shutting down when my kids need me.  My stomach is already flat so I assume that means I'm not eating enough.  I haven't cooked in a week.  We've been eating out a lot and I'm not really sure what my kids have been eating.  All I want to do is sit on my bed by myself,  zone out on Facebook and work on my doula certification.  I feel like myself when I am distracted.  I am now fully informed on accupressure points and rebozo techniques to use during labor and aromatherapy is my next topic to tackle.  Let's just say distraction is my new best friend.

My brain is having lots of recurring thoughts.  Mostly good but I think that's just because I'm pushing away the bad thoughts.  My friend Elizabeth helped me realize that even though I would have preferred to appreciate the beauty of pregnancy and birth, my body was also designed to take care of a baby that wasn't meant to grow.  And I have to admit, it gives me even more respect for the female design seeing first hand how my body knew just what to do when the time came for the release.  After Liza's birth, I had a strong feeling of kinship with women through the ages and that feeling is very strong now as I grieve my little lost baby and know most mothers have experienced a similar grief.

My logical brain is telling me to write out the story of Baby Tomas' loss to help process my grief but I'm not ready to feel that much sadness yet.

I'm grieving.

Processing.

Since the inception of OMML, I've processed life's events by blogging and I know our miscarriage will be no different.  I will need a chunk of time to myself and readiness to cry my eyes out but I feel this baby's story deserves just as much love and attention as the births of Henry and Liza.  I'm not ready to write it all down but it is important for me to honor our little baby that wasn't born because he matters too.

Yes.
He.

Mr. Messy and I, independent of each other, decided this baby is "Baby Thomas" because Henry was insistent we were going to name our Christmas baby after that whiny ass train I can't stand.  It is the least we can do for our biggest little boy.

So, his story is important and I know it is important for me to get it out of my mind and through my computer as a part of my grieving and healing process.

To be continued...

Sad Sad News.

Without going into the details, an ultrasound confirmed our baby will not be joining our family in December.  At this point, all I can say is that I even more appreciate my two children and the everyday miracle of their healthy pregnancies and births.  And my friends who support me and are taking care of those little miracles today.  And my ob who intuitively understands my appreciation for my body's design.  And that I do have that appreciation, understanding and perspective to understand that these things happen and while I am sad sad sad, I know it will be okay.

Two out of three isn't bad.

I suppose.

Back to blogging and our VERY BIG NEWS!

The last week of March 2012 was a very big deal.

I turned 30. 

I officially began my Birth Doula certification.  

I found out I am pregnant with baby #3 and due this December.

A big deal in deed.

Turning 30 was easy.  Being pregnant is fairly easy for me.  At least easy enough where I can't complain.  The sweet little thing was eagerly anticipated and our happy juices are still flowing at the thought of adding another precious face to our bunch.  The Doula certification was exciting but not easy in the beginning.  Especially considering Birth Arts International requires 5 births for certification and my plan is to finish everything up before I take my BabyMoon break at the beginning of November.  So, I began frantically working.  Working.  Working.  I have to admit, I impressed myself.  I knew there was much to do before I could open up for "business" and I did it.  At least enough to actively search for clients.  Much of the certification is incomplete but my paperwork and documents are ready for clients.  And of course, all this working working working took up my brain space during the day and my time at night so no blogging.  But, I am hoping now that the frantic rush to get ready for clients is over that I will be able to find balance and go back to my blogging ways.  It does seem that I will have to let go of my compulsion to gain new readers and break the previous month's number of site hits 

But, balance.  I am searching for balance.  And some things will have to be released.  But, blogging is not one of those things.  I have too much to say.  And, it's killing me keeping it all to myself.

So...if you are in the area, I am a doula!  It's official. 

And we are expecting a baby.  And planning another homebirth.  And indulging in copious amounts of dairy now that Liza has outgrown her dairy sensitivity.

Life simply doesn't get any more exciting.

Seriously.

****Like my doula business' Facebook page!****

https://www.facebook.com/SouthernNurtureBirthServices

Treasure Map and a Mississippi Giveaway!

*Giveway details at the end of the post*

A few months ago, I attended a "Treasure Map" workshop on a whim.  All I knew is that the morning would be focused on thinking about my goals and plans, I would bring home a finished product and the kids were going to stay with Mr. Messy.  As I felt an unexplainable urge to participate the night before the event, my heart told me I needed time to focus on myself any way I could get it. 

 The 4 hour long workshop consisted of sitting around a tight little table with a dozen women, most strangers, and the workshop leader, described by a friend as a "mystic".  We quickly got down to business discussing goals and obstacles holding us back from those goals.  I talked about how I wanted to write but was having internal conflict knowing  I didn't have the energy and I didn't want to find the time to dedicate myself to writing the way I envisioned.  Within the first hour I quickly realized it was okay to use blogging as my writing platform for now.  My writing career can wait until the kids are older and I am able to carve out more chunks of time during the day.  

That day I learned it is okay to wait for the future.

Several of the women had participated in Treasure Mapping in the past and all spoke of how their map helped to shape their immediate future.  I'll admit, I didn't think that was me.  My map was more about embracing the future and understanding the future doesn't have to start today.  Yet, as of 2 days ago, I have begun my doula certification through Birth Arts International and I really and truly feel that without my Treasure Map morning, I wouldn't have a clear picture of my life goals to guide me. 

So yeah.  I am a believer.

My treasure map:

The lines between the picture segments are dashed because even though each segment is an individual concept, there is fluidity between my present and future goals.  

I see the map as 3 columns:  lefthand, my "now"; center, my "forever"; righthand, my "future".

My family.

Too important for words or pictures to describe.

My blog.

My desire to leave Mississippi with the understanding I will always be a Mississippian.

The importance of female friends.

I will write and  I hope to honor the long literary tradition of Mississippi with my writings.

Serving women and babies.  

I honestly didn't think it would happen so soon but I am ready!

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Just because life, present and future, is SO GOOD and I am embracing Mississippi for everything it means to me,  I want you to embrace Mississippi too!  

Three winners will win a rocking Mississippi themed mixed disk made by Mr. Messy.

To enter:  Leave a short comment on this post telling me about your perception or thoughts on Mississippi, good or bad.  Just one word or a phrase is fine!

Bonus entry:  Share my Facebook status about this contest and leave a comment telling me you shared the status.

Contest ends on Monday, April 9, 2012.