I was thinking about something last night as I was rolling over for the zillionth time trying to find a comfortable position to fall asleep in (I use the term "comfortable" here loosely). For those of you who don't know, I'm 30 weeks pregnant (for those of you who have never been pregnant and this whole "weeks" thing is confusing, that's about 7 months pregnant). This is my 3rd kiddo, and he seems to demand more space than his sisters did (although I might be wrong; there are certain things you forget about being pregnant--it's so you'll have more kids later).
As I lay there, my brain spinning, a little voice said, "You really shouldn't complain. There are people that have it harder than you." Instantly I thought of friends who struggle to get pregnant, struggle to stay pregnant, or have pregnancies infinitely harder than mine (I'm looking at you HG, you miserable blighter). And then a kinder voice said, "Yes, there are people who have it hard, but it's all hard. Infertility is hard. Pregnancy is hard. Motherhood is hard. Life is hard. That's the point."
It's not a contest of who has it worse off. Thinking of these sweet friends and their struggles did help pull me out of my pity-party, and be grateful for what I have, but guess what? My groin, my back, my sides still ached and were just as sore as they had been before. "Someone has it worse than you" doesn't relieve the stress, worry, or pain that we are experiencing. All it does is add guilt to the mix. It is important to recognize our blessings, to be grateful for all we are given. It's also important to allow ourselves to feel. It's okay to be upset that sleep is so elusive. It's okay to cry. It's all okay, because guess what--life is hard. Life is pain, but life is also really beautiful.
Like I said, this is my 3rd pregnancy, and every time around, I am reminded of the incredible life lessons I learn while pregnant; for me, the biggest two are 1) that things hurt, and then they hurt worse, and then you're so incredibly blessed that you know you would do it all again. 2) Everything changes. Nothing stays the same. You don't stay pregnant. Your newborn will not stay a newborn. Your 3-year-old will not stay a 3-year-old. And even though you will always be a mother, how you mom, and who you mom won't stay the same. My mom isn't nearly as involved in my everyday life now as she was when I was 6 months old, or 6 years old, or even 16 years old. She "moms" differently now than she did then; and that's okay. It's all hard. It's all a blessing. Take a deep breath to survive the hard. Soak up the blessings. Give yourself a break. You're doing great.
Friday, July 27, 2018
Saturday, July 7, 2018
Tender
When I was a kid, I was once described by my mom as "tender-hearted." I don't remember where or why she said it, but the phrase always stuck with me. As I grew older, I learned that the world had another name for it: sap. There are considerably more negative connotations with the word "sap"; however, I embraced it and considered it one of my many flaws. I tried to laugh away how I cry at so many things (ASPCA commercials, Bambi, Dumbo, basically every Disney and Hallmark movie, the list goes on and on).
Then I had a daughter; that didn't fix my sappiness. If anything, it increased. It had this whole new world of motherhood to tap into. But here's the thing about my daughter (well, I actually have two, but it's the one daughter I want to focus on right now), I see her tender heart. I understand her tender-heartedness. It is not a flaw. I understand it now, and I'm terrified. The world will tell her that she needs to be hard. That her tenderness is a flaw. The world will show her that strength is hard and tenderness is the same as weakness. It will teach her that, especially as a woman, she must be strong; tenderness is weak. I know these things because I've seen them and felt them. But they aren't what scare me. The world is a hard and mean place. I know it will try to change her. What I'm scared of is ruining her tenderness before the world even lays a finger on her.
I worry that my overly-tired self will snap one too many times, and teach her to be hard. I'm worried that my too-easy-to-flare-temper will scare her into hardness. I worry that I will ruin her. I worry that she will learn hardness from me. That she, too, will one day label herself "sap," consider it a flaw, and laugh at it with the world. I worry that she won't see her tenderness for the strength that it is.
I pray for my sweet girl that her heart will stay tender. That she will forever be gentle. That she will forever be soft.
I read once that the world has enough hard women. I believe this to be true. There is not enough tenderness in this world; however, I live with some in my home. I hope I can protect it, so that someday she might be able to bring more tenderness to this world and help it embrace soft, and gentle, help it to see tenderness as strength. I hope to protect her so that she might help save us all. I know she's already saving me from hardness.
Then I had a daughter; that didn't fix my sappiness. If anything, it increased. It had this whole new world of motherhood to tap into. But here's the thing about my daughter (well, I actually have two, but it's the one daughter I want to focus on right now), I see her tender heart. I understand her tender-heartedness. It is not a flaw. I understand it now, and I'm terrified. The world will tell her that she needs to be hard. That her tenderness is a flaw. The world will show her that strength is hard and tenderness is the same as weakness. It will teach her that, especially as a woman, she must be strong; tenderness is weak. I know these things because I've seen them and felt them. But they aren't what scare me. The world is a hard and mean place. I know it will try to change her. What I'm scared of is ruining her tenderness before the world even lays a finger on her.
I worry that my overly-tired self will snap one too many times, and teach her to be hard. I'm worried that my too-easy-to-flare-temper will scare her into hardness. I worry that I will ruin her. I worry that she will learn hardness from me. That she, too, will one day label herself "sap," consider it a flaw, and laugh at it with the world. I worry that she won't see her tenderness for the strength that it is.
I pray for my sweet girl that her heart will stay tender. That she will forever be gentle. That she will forever be soft.
I read once that the world has enough hard women. I believe this to be true. There is not enough tenderness in this world; however, I live with some in my home. I hope I can protect it, so that someday she might be able to bring more tenderness to this world and help it embrace soft, and gentle, help it to see tenderness as strength. I hope to protect her so that she might help save us all. I know she's already saving me from hardness.
Wednesday, June 20, 2018
Refinding Me
So I may have mentioned before (on FB and whatnot) that I've recently been listening to a podcast called Better Than Happy by Jody Moore (It was called Bold New Mom); anyway, she's an LDS life-coach, and she does a bunch of podcasts (she's been doing them for a while now, and there are over 100) on different topics. Sometimes it's about being a parent, sometimes it's about setting personal goal, but it is ALWAYS about how our mindset determines our outcome.
Here's the thing, a year ago, I would have said "Yeah, right. Okay, sure" and brushed it off as new-age nonsense, but the way she describes it makes 100% sense. It's not sitting in a room, repeating "I am a millionaire" 150,000 times a day. That would be insane, but that's always how I had understood it. I had heard of "abundant mindset" before, but what I previously described is how it had always come across to me: totally nuts. What she says the difference between abundant and scarcity mindset isn't what you're telling yourself, but it's what you actually believe. She gives the example of time. If I'm constantly saying (generally unwittingly), "I don't have enough time." Then my tendency will be to panic, procrastinate, and then no, I won't have enough time to accomplish the tasks I wanted to. She says that if you have an abundant mindset, you say "I have enough time." There is no sense of panic, no sense of a looming clock tick tick ticking in the background; you do the things on your list because they're not overwhelming (because you have enough time, remember?), and then, yes, you do have enough time. Now she also warns that you can't just jump from scarcity to abundant because you won't believe it. You can't spend 20+ years telling yourself you don't have enough time, and then expect 20 minutes of repeating "I have enough time" to just change everything over night. You have to move to neutral territory before you move to abundance. So the move goes from "I don't have enough time, " to "Time will come." The concept of "I'm not there yet, but eventually, we'll get there."
Why am I telling you all of this? Well, time, money, love, patience--these are all things I've struggled with feeling like I have enough of (I mean, I have enough love, but do I dole it out enough??). I've been practicing "____ will come." Time will come. Money will come. Love will come. Patience will come. The other thing Jody Moore talks about is human's natural tendency to have an "All or nothing" attitude; basically, if I set a goal (say I want to work on my book for 2 hours), then the only way I succeed is by fulfilling that goal 100%. If I work on my book for 10 minutes, I've failed, but REALITY is I didn't fail because I did something. AND if I can only put in 10 minutes, then why bother at all. So either I work on it for 2 hours (all) or I don't work on it (nothing). If I work on it for 10 minutes, I may not have gotten it perfect, I may not have achieved exactly what I set out to achieve, but I did SOMETHING. Life is not all or nothing; every effort counts. Knitting is where I see this most clearly: If I'm knitting a sweater, and I only knit 3 stitches today, that's still 3 stitches closer to being done than I was at the beginning of the day. That's progress. Progress is success. Moving in the direction of your goal, even if it's just baby steps.
So when it comes to moving towards abundance, especially in the time and patience areas, every effort counts.
Again, why am I telling you all of this? Well, because you might see some changes I'm making, and I'm making them with my happiness and my family's happiness in mind. I fully understand that life is supposed to be hard, it's supposed to be a test, but that doesn't mean we have to go drudging through it, and if there are things we can take off our plate that lead us more toward that abundant mindset where we can say "I may not have been perfect today, but I sure tried, and that makes me happy," then I think that's a good thing. Every effort counts. Every stitch counts.
Here's the thing, a year ago, I would have said "Yeah, right. Okay, sure" and brushed it off as new-age nonsense, but the way she describes it makes 100% sense. It's not sitting in a room, repeating "I am a millionaire" 150,000 times a day. That would be insane, but that's always how I had understood it. I had heard of "abundant mindset" before, but what I previously described is how it had always come across to me: totally nuts. What she says the difference between abundant and scarcity mindset isn't what you're telling yourself, but it's what you actually believe. She gives the example of time. If I'm constantly saying (generally unwittingly), "I don't have enough time." Then my tendency will be to panic, procrastinate, and then no, I won't have enough time to accomplish the tasks I wanted to. She says that if you have an abundant mindset, you say "I have enough time." There is no sense of panic, no sense of a looming clock tick tick ticking in the background; you do the things on your list because they're not overwhelming (because you have enough time, remember?), and then, yes, you do have enough time. Now she also warns that you can't just jump from scarcity to abundant because you won't believe it. You can't spend 20+ years telling yourself you don't have enough time, and then expect 20 minutes of repeating "I have enough time" to just change everything over night. You have to move to neutral territory before you move to abundance. So the move goes from "I don't have enough time, " to "Time will come." The concept of "I'm not there yet, but eventually, we'll get there."
Why am I telling you all of this? Well, time, money, love, patience--these are all things I've struggled with feeling like I have enough of (I mean, I have enough love, but do I dole it out enough??). I've been practicing "____ will come." Time will come. Money will come. Love will come. Patience will come. The other thing Jody Moore talks about is human's natural tendency to have an "All or nothing" attitude; basically, if I set a goal (say I want to work on my book for 2 hours), then the only way I succeed is by fulfilling that goal 100%. If I work on my book for 10 minutes, I've failed, but REALITY is I didn't fail because I did something. AND if I can only put in 10 minutes, then why bother at all. So either I work on it for 2 hours (all) or I don't work on it (nothing). If I work on it for 10 minutes, I may not have gotten it perfect, I may not have achieved exactly what I set out to achieve, but I did SOMETHING. Life is not all or nothing; every effort counts. Knitting is where I see this most clearly: If I'm knitting a sweater, and I only knit 3 stitches today, that's still 3 stitches closer to being done than I was at the beginning of the day. That's progress. Progress is success. Moving in the direction of your goal, even if it's just baby steps.
So when it comes to moving towards abundance, especially in the time and patience areas, every effort counts.
Again, why am I telling you all of this? Well, because you might see some changes I'm making, and I'm making them with my happiness and my family's happiness in mind. I fully understand that life is supposed to be hard, it's supposed to be a test, but that doesn't mean we have to go drudging through it, and if there are things we can take off our plate that lead us more toward that abundant mindset where we can say "I may not have been perfect today, but I sure tried, and that makes me happy," then I think that's a good thing. Every effort counts. Every stitch counts.
Monday, June 18, 2018
3 years and 1.5 kids later...
Well, I don't know how many of you noticed, but I kind of fell off the blogging bandwagon after I had Julia. Mommy-dom consumed all. Hahaha.
So for those 3 readers of you I have....well, had....(assuming we're not friends on Facebook or in real life--if so how did you find me??) I've had another kid--Ginny. We call her "The Bean." Like jellybean, but Ginny-bean. (I'm not original...watch Practical Magic and you'll see what I mean). Anyway, she has added a whole new dimension to our life, love, and chaos. Coming in October, we'll be adding our first little boy into the mix: Edmund (yes, like from Narnia. No, we don't like Peter more.)
I've thought about jumping back on here and starting up again probably a million times, but life has a way of getting in its own way. I came to the realization (last night while watching Escape to the Country with Jake on Netflix--if you haven't watched it, you really should) that our kids should never be our excuse as to why we didn't do something (except sleep, because that's legit); I know people who don't want to travel until after their kids are all grown, and I just don't understand why. Why wouldn't you want to teach your kids that more than your tiny corner of the world exists? Why wouldn't you want to open their minds to new cultures and peoples? Why wouldn't you want to be there to see the wonder in their eyes? I mean, don't get me wrong. Traveling with toddlers can be a nightmare--believe me, I know--but no one is saying that traveling has to mean Europe or Asia. Traveling just getting out of dodge. We're in Pocatello, Idaho. Traveling is going to Salt Lake City.
Anyway, I digress.
Kids. I wanted kids. I have kids, and I'm not using them as an excuse (Seriously, you don't want to know how many times I had to get up while writing this post just to tell them to stop fighting long enough so Mommy could finish what she had to do).
These past couple of years have been a whirlwind of crazy love and adventure, but not much of it is documented--which makes me sad. Basically, I'm back, and I'm hoping to get back into documenting our life. If you're interested in our adventures, join us. If not, that's cool too. :)
So for those 3 readers of you I have....well, had....(assuming we're not friends on Facebook or in real life--if so how did you find me??) I've had another kid--Ginny. We call her "The Bean." Like jellybean, but Ginny-bean. (I'm not original...watch Practical Magic and you'll see what I mean). Anyway, she has added a whole new dimension to our life, love, and chaos. Coming in October, we'll be adding our first little boy into the mix: Edmund (yes, like from Narnia. No, we don't like Peter more.)
I've thought about jumping back on here and starting up again probably a million times, but life has a way of getting in its own way. I came to the realization (last night while watching Escape to the Country with Jake on Netflix--if you haven't watched it, you really should) that our kids should never be our excuse as to why we didn't do something (except sleep, because that's legit); I know people who don't want to travel until after their kids are all grown, and I just don't understand why. Why wouldn't you want to teach your kids that more than your tiny corner of the world exists? Why wouldn't you want to open their minds to new cultures and peoples? Why wouldn't you want to be there to see the wonder in their eyes? I mean, don't get me wrong. Traveling with toddlers can be a nightmare--believe me, I know--but no one is saying that traveling has to mean Europe or Asia. Traveling just getting out of dodge. We're in Pocatello, Idaho. Traveling is going to Salt Lake City.
Anyway, I digress.
Kids. I wanted kids. I have kids, and I'm not using them as an excuse (Seriously, you don't want to know how many times I had to get up while writing this post just to tell them to stop fighting long enough so Mommy could finish what she had to do).
These past couple of years have been a whirlwind of crazy love and adventure, but not much of it is documented--which makes me sad. Basically, I'm back, and I'm hoping to get back into documenting our life. If you're interested in our adventures, join us. If not, that's cool too. :)
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
I turned a quarter of a century old a few months ago...
Six years ago, I was nineteen. I was freshly tattooed,
sun-kissed, perpetually covered in sand, and I smelled of sunscreen and salt
water. I spent more time wet than I did dry, and I loved every moment of it. My
biggest fear was getting nipped by a baby tiger shark—there was a nursery a few
miles out of my favorite surf spot. My biggest worry was being late to class
because I had had to catch one more wave. During the week, I went to class and
lay on the beach doing my homework assignments. During the weekend, I
lifeguarded and surfed.
Now, I’m 25.
I have been for almost 3 months. My skin hasn’t seen the sun since last August,
and if the sun saw my skin now, he wouldn’t recognize it. It’s not only pale,
but it’s also been stretched and scarred. I haven’t stepped in sand or salt
water in years, and I smell of sour milk. My biggest fear is losing the piece
of my soul that I grew within me and pushed out into this world. My biggest
worry is that somehow I’ll mess up; she’ll have a cough that I should have
known was more than just a cough. She’ll have a fever that I should have felt.
Something will happen—something I should have sensed or seen—and just like
that, she’ll be taken from me. Some days I tame this fear. Some days I live in
its constant shadow. It’s amazing what six years will do.
Monday, January 12, 2015
I made a person, and she's here!
I still have a few pregnancy pictures I never posted, and honestly, I
probably never will because who cares now, right? I mean I had Julia, and she’s
really what we’ve all been waiting for (plus she’s way cuter than I am).
While I’m sure everyone has heard that Miss Julia River Contor was born, not everyone has heard my birth story. I’ve been wanting to write it for a while now (well, almost exactly a month), but I either didn’t fully have the words yet, or the time was not yet available to me. With my almost one-month old napping next to me, I think I’ll take a moment to try and tell you what happened. (Pictures included, thanks to the very wonderful talents of Andrea of Andrea Jo Photography). Heads up, this is a record for myself as well, so I might get a little more detailed than you're comfortable with. Also, it’s super crazy long, so I hope you’re in for the long-haul.
Saturday, December 13th, 2014
06:00
I got up to pee (for the zillionth time), and as I was wiping, I noticed some pink. It was that kind of pinkish blood that you get right at the beginning of your period. You know, the stuff that makes you say, “Dang, it’s back. Wasn’t it just here last month?” Except, when you’re 41 weeks pregnant, it makes you say, “Finally some progress!” Which is exactly what I said (well, almost). I had read about the shedding of the mucus plug and how it can either be in one snot-looking pass, or it can be a gradual bloody discharge. I had also read that it could mean that labor was anywhere from a few days off to a few seconds off; so, I went back to bed and debated with myself whether I should wake Jake up or not. If it was a few days, or even hours, off, Jake could sleep a little longer—and I figured that labor probably wasn’t a few seconds off just because everything else had been going so slow (at my doctor’s appointment the previous Thursday—only two days prior—I had been told that I was not only not dilated, I wasn’t even softening up. My doctor’s exact words were “Well, that just isn’t budging, is it?”).
Before I could really decide one way or another, Jake woke up to use the bathroom. Because he was already awake, I told him that I had some blood and that that was a good thing (he looked a little nervous when I first told him). I told him that it meant we were finally moving in the right direction. I was pretty excited. (I had really wanted to go into labor on my own, but since I was 41 weeks and not softening at all, my doctor had scheduled me to be induced the following night—Sunday, the 14th.)
06:15
So Jake went to the bathroom, and then he came back to bed. I felt like I still needed to go even though I had just gone (welcome to the world of pregnancy), so I did. As I sat there, I kept wiping and wiping, but the fluid just kept coming. It wasn’t a gushing, so I wasn’t sure right away that my water had broken, but I had also read (and been told) that sometimes when a woman’s water breaks, it’s more like a trickle than a gush (in fact, it’s very rarely a gush, unless it’s medically induced—meaning the doctor uses a big crotchet-needle-looking thing to tear the bag). Because I was on the toilet, I wasn’t making any effort to hold anything back, and I just kept leaking. From our toilet, you can look into our room and see the bed. I told Jake to call his mom (who was previously a labor and delivery nurse and who is now a NICU nurse) and ask her how much blood constitutes “holy crap, holy crap, we should go to the hospital now”? So, he called and the very short conversation went something like this:
Jake (laying down in bed): Hi, Mom. This is Jake. Danica is bleeding—(he sits bolt upright) okay, we’ll there soon.
Like I said, it wasn’t a very long conversation. I put on the only pad I had in the house (I hadn’t had a period in 41 weeks, and prior to that, I had only had periods for two months because before that I had an IUD, which meant no periods, for 3 years).
07:00
After making sure that cat would have enough food, double-checking that we had everything we would need and slowly waddling out to the car (I waddled. Jake walked—just in case you were confused), we left for the hospital.
On the very brief walk from the car to the hospital, I told Jake that my water had definitely broken—or at least it was in the process of breaking. I could feel all kinds of leaking. It honestly felt like a period—a gush that makes you wonder if you peed your pants, but you know you didn’t pee because you tried to stop it, and it wouldn’t stop.
Jake and I went up to the second floor and down the hall to Labor and Delivery.
I was shown to my room.
I changed into a hospital gown and sat down the on the bed. The nurse, Maggie, had lain out what I call a puppy-pad (you know those absorbent pads you use to potty-train a puppy? It was one of those, only for me and not a puppy). Maggie explained that she needed me to leak on the pad (that was not a problem) so she could test what I was leaking and make sure I really was leaking amniotic fluid and not something else. She said that if I wasn’t leaking amniotic fluid (and provided I wasn’t leaking something life-threatening), then I would probably be sent home. She asked me a bunch of medical history questions (and up until I had Julia, my medical history was incredibly boring—which it turns out was a good thing. Doctors like boring medical histories). Eventually, after many questions (some to see if I had Ebola, which of course I did not), I was finally tested. She had this tiny strip of paper that she rubbed against the mess I had left for her on the puppy pad. It turned the magical color of purple that meant I was leaking amniotic fluid, and I could stay!
07:55ish
I was officially checked into the hospital. Maggie checked my cervix, and I was dilated to a one (she did tell me she was being a little generous). I was poked in preparation for an IV should I need it, and I was told to hang out and wait for the real fun to start. I was also informed that, unless my contractions started for real (I had the beginnings of contractions; they didn’t really hurt. They were more uncomfortable than painful—they felt just like period cramping) and I started to dilate, I would probably have to be put on pitocin and induced anyway, but I was also told they’d wait a few hours to give my body a chance. Now, poor Jake was still essentially in his pjs and a full beard. His mom was just finishing her shift at the NICU (which is just down the hall from labor and delivery), so she told Jake she’d hang out with me so he could go home, shower and come back feeling like a person instead of a zombie. I was fine with that. While hanging out with Jake’s mom, my contractions started. They were uncomfortable, and I could talk through them.
10:15
By this time, the contractions were definitely more than uncomfortable, but I could still talk through them. They were about three minutes apart. Maggie checked me again—I was still at a one. She told me that she and the doctor (Dr. Cox) might put a little pill right next to my cervix to soften things up. It also started to look more and more like they were going to have to put me on pitocin. Jake was back by this time and we’d all had some breakfast (I was told I could eat because pushing was far off, and labor was probably going to be long). Jake’s mom went home to get changed and get some sleep (she had just gotten off the night shift).
12:25
The contractions were getting stronger. I could no longer talk through them, but I could still breath through them. The resident, Dr. Mayo, and Maggie checked me again. I was still at a one. Maggie and Dr. Mayo said they were going to talk to Dr. Cox and see about getting me started on pitocin. Jake napped when he could. I was still able to manage the contractions on my own, so I let him sleep because I knew I was going to need him later, and he’d need all the energy he could get. At this point, I still wanted to have Julia as drug-free as possible. It wouldn’t be easy, but I was confident I could do it.
13:05
I was put on pitocin (for those of you who don’t know, pitocin is a drug—technically called Oxytocin—that is an artificial version of the hormones a woman’s body produces to start labor. It causes contractions to become stronger, longer, and closer together). I really hoped that I’d only need the pitocin to get going, and then I could do the rest of labor without it. My hope was in vain. The pitocin kind of worked: my contractions definitely got stronger, longer, and closer together, just like they’re supposed to.
The contractions were terrible. I needed Jake for these, and he was there. He helped me breath. He helped me focus, and I needed to focus. I knew they would be bad. I didn’t know they’d be that bad, and the worst part was that it was only the beginning. Maggie gave me a few tricks: she raised the bed so I could stand next to it and lean into it. She said squatting would help in two ways: it would help me manage the pain, and it would help the contraction do what it was supposed to—move baby further down and soften my cervix (and hopefully dilate it as well). The only problem with doing this was that I would lean forward which meant that the monitor that was keeping track of Julia’s heartbeat went offline during the contraction, and it’s during the contractions that they really need to watch her heartbeat. Luckily, Maggie was pretty awesome. She said that as long as I made sure I leaned back so the monitor could pick Julia up again after a contraction, she’d only need Julia’s heartbeat during a contraction once or twice every half hour or so. If she could see that Julia’s heartbeat was essentially the same before and after a contraction, she could tell that Jules was doing just fine.
During these contractions, I moaned. It seemed to be the best way to try to manage the pain. I would use the bed to get through a contraction, and then when standing became too exhausting, I would sit on an exercise ball and rock and moan my way through the pain there. Maggie said I was textbook. I was doing everything I should be. I was doing everything exactly as I should be. I was perfect. Except for one thing.
14:30ish
Maggie said they were going to check me again soon. I told Jake, after a particularly nasty contraction that I couldn’t manage because I had to stay on the bed so they could watch Julia’s heart, that if I wasn’t at least at a two, I couldn’t do it. I had already been in labor for eight hours, seven of which were accompanied by contractions that were only getting more painful. If I was dilated to a two, I could do it. It meant that there was a purpose to my pain, and we were going somewhere. During each moment of relief, I told myself that I could do it. I could have this baby without any kind of pain-alleviating medication, but during the contractions, I had a much harder time convincing myself of that. They were getting to the point that I was sure I was just going to burst into tears, but I kept telling myself to hold it together. Maggie finally came and checked me. I could tell by the look on her face that it wasn’t good news. Not only was I still at a one (she said I had a little wiggle room), but they were going to have to increase my dose of pitocin, meaning the contractions were only going to get more intense and much closer together, meaning less recuperation time between pain. I almost cried. I looked at Jake and told him I couldn’t. I looked at Maggie. I just couldn’t do it. I was already exhausted. I didn’t have the strength physically, emotionally, or mentally to make it through nine more centimeters, not if they were all going to take this long and definitely not if the doctor was going to have to up the pitocin, which he was. I told Maggie I couldn’t do it. I told her I wanted to do it, but I couldn’t. She told me that getting some pain management medicine would be a wise decision. She also told me that, based on the level of intensity and frequency of my contractions, I was experiencing the contractions that are typical when a woman is dilated to a five or six, but I was only at a one. She said that the contractions were only going to get worse, and that I would still need energy to push once I finally made it to ten. Maggie also explained that while I was doing everything I was supposed to and everything I could to get myself to relax during the contractions, there’s only so much that we can control, and my body wasn’t relaxing enough to let the contractions do their work. My body was staying too tense during the contractions and was fighting them. This was why I was having contractions that should have been dilating my cervix but weren’t. She said the epidural would help my body relax enough to let the contractions do their job and get Julia down.
The anesthesiologist came into the room shortly after this (probably on request of the nurse), and I had just had a particularly bad contraction, so when I saw him, I said, “Are you the angel of mercy?” He thought that was funny, but I was actually pretty serious. He asked me if I needed anything, and I said the epidural. I had so wanted to have Julia without the medication, and maybe if I didn’t have to be on the pitocin and could have worked up naturally and gradually to the contractions I was feeling and would feel leading up to that ten, then maybe I could have done it, but that wasn’t an option. My amniotic sac was punctured, which meant Julia was no longer safe in a sterile environment. Every minute I didn’t have her, every moment I wasn’t closer to that ten and to pushing her out was a minute and a moment bacteria could be invading. She was at risk—not a high risk, not yet, but we were getting closer.
15:20
Angel Paul (the anesthesiologist), as my sister called him, started me on the epidural. Holding still during a contraction while someone sticks a big needle in your back is not easy, but I had Jake, and I had Maggie. Paul was also really good at his job. He waited until my contraction was over and immediately started the process. Each time he had to do something that required me not to move, he would warn me. I was then able to tell him whether it was a green light or red. When he was actually putting the epidural in, he had started right after a contraction, but the process took long enough that the next contraction started before he had finished. I wish I could tell you exactly what that was like, but part of me doesn’t have the words and the other part doesn’t fully remember (which is probably for the best, I’m sure). There were a few terrible contractions in between getting the epidural put in and the medication actually kicking in, but once that medication kicked in, I was much happier. I could still feel a tightening, but it wasn’t the intense pain it was before. This epidural allowed the doctors to turn up the pitocin, and it allowed me to finally rest (not sleep, mind you, just rest).
Maggie came in later and told me that I had made Paul’s day by calling him the angel of mercy. Her exact words were “He’s walking around this hospital like he owns the place.”
Around 16:15ish
I was checked again. I was finally at a two. Maggie had been right. Within one hour of being on the epidural, I had dilated a centimeter. If my tolerance for pain was higher or if I was more mentally capable of handling that pain, who knows how long it would have taken to finally get that two. At the end of the day, though, it was still only a two, and I had eight more centimeters to go.
20:15
Sometime during this whole thing, my mom and sister had driven up from Utah. They had been there for when I received the epidural, but I don’t remember exactly what time they came. I also don’t remember what time they left. I just remember essentially kicking them out because I needed sleep and for sleep, I needed quiet. And while they were doing their best, Palmers aren’t exactly known for being quiet. Sometime after they left, I asked Jake to call the nurse in. I was really shaky. I had noticed it earlier, but it came and went, so I hadn’t thought much of it. At this point, I was almost constantly shaking. The nurse came in (there had been a shift change, so this was a different nurse. Her name was Louisa). She checked me, and I was dilated to a three (yes you read that right. I’d been in labor for fourteen hours, and I was at a three); I also had a temperature of 101.2 F. Dr. Mayo was informed, and he came in to talk to us. He said that because my water had broken so early in labor, I was at risk for infection. To see if I had an infection, they looked for three things: whether I had a temperature (which I did), what my heart rate looked like (good), and what Julia’s heart rate looked like (also good). Because I was only one of three, I wouldn’t need any antibiotics. If I became two of three, they’d need to start me on the antibiotics.
Sometime shortly after 20:40ish
I wasn’t really sleeping as much as I was dozing. Louisa and Dr. Mayo returned. Julia’s heart rate was getting tacky, and I still had a temperature. They started me on two different antibiotics intravenously that would continue to be administered all through labor until Tuesday morning. Sometime after this—I’m not sure exactly when—I called Louisa and asked her if the epidural could be turned up. Angel Paul came back and explained that I was supposed to feel pressure; I told him that I was feeling more than pressure. I was okay being uncomfortable, but the whole point of the epidural was that I would be able to rest and sleep, so I would have energy to push, and the pressure I was feeling was enough to make that rest and sleep elude me. I told him he only needed to turn it up a hair. He did. That wonderful Sainted man.
23:55
I told Louisa I was feeling a lot of pressure. She asked if it was all the time or only with the contractions. I told her it was only with the contractions. She told me I’d know when it was time to push. Dr. Mayo came in to check me again. I was at an eight. Louisa said it was no wonder I needed the epidural turned up a bit; my body had finally gotten the message that we were having a baby. As much as we had all hoped Julia would be born on the 13th (so her birthday would be 12/13/14), at 5 minutes to midnight it was close but no cigar.
Sunday, December 14, 2014
02:00
Louisa and Dr. Mayo came back in to check me—they had to wake me up because I had finally fallen asleep. It was finally time to start pushing. Well, it was time to get everything ready so then I could start pushing.
02:08
I started pushing.
While I was pushing, I had a temperature. I don’t know how high it was. I also must not have been getting enough oxygen because Louisa gave me an oxygen mask to wear between sets.
I pushed for everything I was worth. Jake held one leg, and Louisa held the other. The leg Louisa held was completely numb. I couldn’t feel it at all, but I could feel Julia. It was an intense pressure. My first few pushes were terrible. I had never done this before; I didn’t know what they wanted. Louisa and Dr. Mayo were very helpful. They told me where to focus. Jake was perfect. There were a few pushes when Louisa and Dr. Mayo had stopped counting, and I needed the counting. The counting told me how much longer I needed to go for. I couldn’t push indefinitely, but I could push for ten, breath, push for ten, breath, and push for ten more. All I had to do was say, “count” and Jake would. Eventually, I got a push where Dr. Mayo and Louisa both said “good push. That was a really good push.” So, I focused on making them all like that one. I focused on that feeling.
And I pushed.
They could see her head.
Dr. Cox came. And I pushed.
03:19
After 21 hours of labor and an hour and ten minutes of pushing, Julia River Contor was born. 8 lbs 0 oz. 21.5 inches long
At some point earlier, they had noticed in my waters had a color that meant meconium (baby’s first poop) was mixed with my amniotic fluid. I saw Julia briefly. Then they took her to the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) to make sure she hadn’t swallowed any meconium.
Jake went with her to the NICU, and the doctors surveyed the damage done to
my nethers. I had only torn in two places. I did need stitches, but Dr. Cox and
Dr. Mayo were both impressed with how much I had not torn. They said it went
surprisingly well for a first-time mom. Right after Julia was born, Jake saw
her. He cut her cord. They showed her to me, and then took her to get cleaned
up. During this, Jake said to me, “Well, she’s pretty cute. I guess we’ll have
to keep her.” Dr. Cox looked at him and said, “Well, I’m glad you’ve decided to
commit at some point in this process.” It was pretty funny.
They brought Julia back from the NICU. She hadn’t swallowed any meconium. Grandma Tea (Jake’s mom) got to do her footprints, and then I was finally allowed to hold my little girl skin-to-skin.
I wish I could say that the story ends here, that 24 hours later, I was home with my healthy baby girl, but then that wouldn’t be what happened.
I held her skin-to-skin for about half an hour. Then, a very reluctant nurse came back and told me that Dr. Cox had ruled corio for this case. Basically, that temperature I spiked earlier in labor meant I could have had an infection, and he was saying that I did have an infection. I would need to stay in the hospital for an additional 48 hours, and my darling little girl would have to stay as well, but she would have to stay in the NICU.
Around 07:00
I didn’t get to see her again until they were taking me to my recovery room down the hallway marked “Moms and Babies” or just “Mom” in my case. I saw her, but I don’t think I held her. She had a bruise on her hand from where they had tried to put an IV but failed because her veins were just too small. Instead, she had an IV in on the left side of her head. I was taken to my room where I tried to sleep. Jake had gone home to shower and change and get a little sleep.
Around 10:00
Jake and his mom came back around 10 to give Julia her first bath. She had to occasionally be put on oxygen when she first got there because she would fall asleep and wouldn’t breath as much as she needed to. The nurse said that it was mostly to bother her nose enough to remind it to do its job.
Epilogue
Julia had her first visitors on Sunday. My mom and sister, Becki, went to the NICU to see the very first grandchild on my side. Jake’s Grandma Julia (Our Julia’s namesake), Uncle David, Uncle Bryce, and brother, Drake, saw her as well. On Monday, some of Jake’s hanai family came to see her. On Tuesday, some more of his hanai family came.
Julia and I both received antibiotics until Tuesday, December 16th. Neither of us needed our last round (I never spiked another fever, and Julia’s cultures came back negative, which was a huge relief because that morning, her IV had leaked when they rinsed it, and they had to take it out. Provided her cultures came back negative, they wouldn’t have to put a new one in; they did, so they didn’t). Julia passed her car seat test (she needed to sit in her car seat for an hour without anything terrible happening), which she needed to do because she had been on oxygen, even though it was only very briefly.
Despite some initial worry that I would be going home alone, I was discharged with my brand new baby at 19:00 Tuesday, December 16th, 2014.
Motherhood has proved more intense than labor, I think. But every time I think I can’t do it, I think that I must be doing something wrong, I just remember that Heavenly Father would not have sent this amazing little spirit down to Jake and I if he didn’t think we could take care of her.
While I’m sure everyone has heard that Miss Julia River Contor was born, not everyone has heard my birth story. I’ve been wanting to write it for a while now (well, almost exactly a month), but I either didn’t fully have the words yet, or the time was not yet available to me. With my almost one-month old napping next to me, I think I’ll take a moment to try and tell you what happened. (Pictures included, thanks to the very wonderful talents of Andrea of Andrea Jo Photography). Heads up, this is a record for myself as well, so I might get a little more detailed than you're comfortable with. Also, it’s super crazy long, so I hope you’re in for the long-haul.
Saturday, December 13th, 2014
06:00
I got up to pee (for the zillionth time), and as I was wiping, I noticed some pink. It was that kind of pinkish blood that you get right at the beginning of your period. You know, the stuff that makes you say, “Dang, it’s back. Wasn’t it just here last month?” Except, when you’re 41 weeks pregnant, it makes you say, “Finally some progress!” Which is exactly what I said (well, almost). I had read about the shedding of the mucus plug and how it can either be in one snot-looking pass, or it can be a gradual bloody discharge. I had also read that it could mean that labor was anywhere from a few days off to a few seconds off; so, I went back to bed and debated with myself whether I should wake Jake up or not. If it was a few days, or even hours, off, Jake could sleep a little longer—and I figured that labor probably wasn’t a few seconds off just because everything else had been going so slow (at my doctor’s appointment the previous Thursday—only two days prior—I had been told that I was not only not dilated, I wasn’t even softening up. My doctor’s exact words were “Well, that just isn’t budging, is it?”).
Before I could really decide one way or another, Jake woke up to use the bathroom. Because he was already awake, I told him that I had some blood and that that was a good thing (he looked a little nervous when I first told him). I told him that it meant we were finally moving in the right direction. I was pretty excited. (I had really wanted to go into labor on my own, but since I was 41 weeks and not softening at all, my doctor had scheduled me to be induced the following night—Sunday, the 14th.)
06:15
So Jake went to the bathroom, and then he came back to bed. I felt like I still needed to go even though I had just gone (welcome to the world of pregnancy), so I did. As I sat there, I kept wiping and wiping, but the fluid just kept coming. It wasn’t a gushing, so I wasn’t sure right away that my water had broken, but I had also read (and been told) that sometimes when a woman’s water breaks, it’s more like a trickle than a gush (in fact, it’s very rarely a gush, unless it’s medically induced—meaning the doctor uses a big crotchet-needle-looking thing to tear the bag). Because I was on the toilet, I wasn’t making any effort to hold anything back, and I just kept leaking. From our toilet, you can look into our room and see the bed. I told Jake to call his mom (who was previously a labor and delivery nurse and who is now a NICU nurse) and ask her how much blood constitutes “holy crap, holy crap, we should go to the hospital now”? So, he called and the very short conversation went something like this:
Jake (laying down in bed): Hi, Mom. This is Jake. Danica is bleeding—(he sits bolt upright) okay, we’ll there soon.
Like I said, it wasn’t a very long conversation. I put on the only pad I had in the house (I hadn’t had a period in 41 weeks, and prior to that, I had only had periods for two months because before that I had an IUD, which meant no periods, for 3 years).
07:00
After making sure that cat would have enough food, double-checking that we had everything we would need and slowly waddling out to the car (I waddled. Jake walked—just in case you were confused), we left for the hospital.
On the very brief walk from the car to the hospital, I told Jake that my water had definitely broken—or at least it was in the process of breaking. I could feel all kinds of leaking. It honestly felt like a period—a gush that makes you wonder if you peed your pants, but you know you didn’t pee because you tried to stop it, and it wouldn’t stop.
Jake and I went up to the second floor and down the hall to Labor and Delivery.
I was shown to my room.
I changed into a hospital gown and sat down the on the bed. The nurse, Maggie, had lain out what I call a puppy-pad (you know those absorbent pads you use to potty-train a puppy? It was one of those, only for me and not a puppy). Maggie explained that she needed me to leak on the pad (that was not a problem) so she could test what I was leaking and make sure I really was leaking amniotic fluid and not something else. She said that if I wasn’t leaking amniotic fluid (and provided I wasn’t leaking something life-threatening), then I would probably be sent home. She asked me a bunch of medical history questions (and up until I had Julia, my medical history was incredibly boring—which it turns out was a good thing. Doctors like boring medical histories). Eventually, after many questions (some to see if I had Ebola, which of course I did not), I was finally tested. She had this tiny strip of paper that she rubbed against the mess I had left for her on the puppy pad. It turned the magical color of purple that meant I was leaking amniotic fluid, and I could stay!
07:55ish
I was officially checked into the hospital. Maggie checked my cervix, and I was dilated to a one (she did tell me she was being a little generous). I was poked in preparation for an IV should I need it, and I was told to hang out and wait for the real fun to start. I was also informed that, unless my contractions started for real (I had the beginnings of contractions; they didn’t really hurt. They were more uncomfortable than painful—they felt just like period cramping) and I started to dilate, I would probably have to be put on pitocin and induced anyway, but I was also told they’d wait a few hours to give my body a chance. Now, poor Jake was still essentially in his pjs and a full beard. His mom was just finishing her shift at the NICU (which is just down the hall from labor and delivery), so she told Jake she’d hang out with me so he could go home, shower and come back feeling like a person instead of a zombie. I was fine with that. While hanging out with Jake’s mom, my contractions started. They were uncomfortable, and I could talk through them.
10:15
By this time, the contractions were definitely more than uncomfortable, but I could still talk through them. They were about three minutes apart. Maggie checked me again—I was still at a one. She told me that she and the doctor (Dr. Cox) might put a little pill right next to my cervix to soften things up. It also started to look more and more like they were going to have to put me on pitocin. Jake was back by this time and we’d all had some breakfast (I was told I could eat because pushing was far off, and labor was probably going to be long). Jake’s mom went home to get changed and get some sleep (she had just gotten off the night shift).
12:25
The contractions were getting stronger. I could no longer talk through them, but I could still breath through them. The resident, Dr. Mayo, and Maggie checked me again. I was still at a one. Maggie and Dr. Mayo said they were going to talk to Dr. Cox and see about getting me started on pitocin. Jake napped when he could. I was still able to manage the contractions on my own, so I let him sleep because I knew I was going to need him later, and he’d need all the energy he could get. At this point, I still wanted to have Julia as drug-free as possible. It wouldn’t be easy, but I was confident I could do it.
13:05
I was put on pitocin (for those of you who don’t know, pitocin is a drug—technically called Oxytocin—that is an artificial version of the hormones a woman’s body produces to start labor. It causes contractions to become stronger, longer, and closer together). I really hoped that I’d only need the pitocin to get going, and then I could do the rest of labor without it. My hope was in vain. The pitocin kind of worked: my contractions definitely got stronger, longer, and closer together, just like they’re supposed to.
The contractions were terrible. I needed Jake for these, and he was there. He helped me breath. He helped me focus, and I needed to focus. I knew they would be bad. I didn’t know they’d be that bad, and the worst part was that it was only the beginning. Maggie gave me a few tricks: she raised the bed so I could stand next to it and lean into it. She said squatting would help in two ways: it would help me manage the pain, and it would help the contraction do what it was supposed to—move baby further down and soften my cervix (and hopefully dilate it as well). The only problem with doing this was that I would lean forward which meant that the monitor that was keeping track of Julia’s heartbeat went offline during the contraction, and it’s during the contractions that they really need to watch her heartbeat. Luckily, Maggie was pretty awesome. She said that as long as I made sure I leaned back so the monitor could pick Julia up again after a contraction, she’d only need Julia’s heartbeat during a contraction once or twice every half hour or so. If she could see that Julia’s heartbeat was essentially the same before and after a contraction, she could tell that Jules was doing just fine.
During these contractions, I moaned. It seemed to be the best way to try to manage the pain. I would use the bed to get through a contraction, and then when standing became too exhausting, I would sit on an exercise ball and rock and moan my way through the pain there. Maggie said I was textbook. I was doing everything I should be. I was doing everything exactly as I should be. I was perfect. Except for one thing.
14:30ish
Maggie said they were going to check me again soon. I told Jake, after a particularly nasty contraction that I couldn’t manage because I had to stay on the bed so they could watch Julia’s heart, that if I wasn’t at least at a two, I couldn’t do it. I had already been in labor for eight hours, seven of which were accompanied by contractions that were only getting more painful. If I was dilated to a two, I could do it. It meant that there was a purpose to my pain, and we were going somewhere. During each moment of relief, I told myself that I could do it. I could have this baby without any kind of pain-alleviating medication, but during the contractions, I had a much harder time convincing myself of that. They were getting to the point that I was sure I was just going to burst into tears, but I kept telling myself to hold it together. Maggie finally came and checked me. I could tell by the look on her face that it wasn’t good news. Not only was I still at a one (she said I had a little wiggle room), but they were going to have to increase my dose of pitocin, meaning the contractions were only going to get more intense and much closer together, meaning less recuperation time between pain. I almost cried. I looked at Jake and told him I couldn’t. I looked at Maggie. I just couldn’t do it. I was already exhausted. I didn’t have the strength physically, emotionally, or mentally to make it through nine more centimeters, not if they were all going to take this long and definitely not if the doctor was going to have to up the pitocin, which he was. I told Maggie I couldn’t do it. I told her I wanted to do it, but I couldn’t. She told me that getting some pain management medicine would be a wise decision. She also told me that, based on the level of intensity and frequency of my contractions, I was experiencing the contractions that are typical when a woman is dilated to a five or six, but I was only at a one. She said that the contractions were only going to get worse, and that I would still need energy to push once I finally made it to ten. Maggie also explained that while I was doing everything I was supposed to and everything I could to get myself to relax during the contractions, there’s only so much that we can control, and my body wasn’t relaxing enough to let the contractions do their work. My body was staying too tense during the contractions and was fighting them. This was why I was having contractions that should have been dilating my cervix but weren’t. She said the epidural would help my body relax enough to let the contractions do their job and get Julia down.
The anesthesiologist came into the room shortly after this (probably on request of the nurse), and I had just had a particularly bad contraction, so when I saw him, I said, “Are you the angel of mercy?” He thought that was funny, but I was actually pretty serious. He asked me if I needed anything, and I said the epidural. I had so wanted to have Julia without the medication, and maybe if I didn’t have to be on the pitocin and could have worked up naturally and gradually to the contractions I was feeling and would feel leading up to that ten, then maybe I could have done it, but that wasn’t an option. My amniotic sac was punctured, which meant Julia was no longer safe in a sterile environment. Every minute I didn’t have her, every moment I wasn’t closer to that ten and to pushing her out was a minute and a moment bacteria could be invading. She was at risk—not a high risk, not yet, but we were getting closer.
15:20
Angel Paul (the anesthesiologist), as my sister called him, started me on the epidural. Holding still during a contraction while someone sticks a big needle in your back is not easy, but I had Jake, and I had Maggie. Paul was also really good at his job. He waited until my contraction was over and immediately started the process. Each time he had to do something that required me not to move, he would warn me. I was then able to tell him whether it was a green light or red. When he was actually putting the epidural in, he had started right after a contraction, but the process took long enough that the next contraction started before he had finished. I wish I could tell you exactly what that was like, but part of me doesn’t have the words and the other part doesn’t fully remember (which is probably for the best, I’m sure). There were a few terrible contractions in between getting the epidural put in and the medication actually kicking in, but once that medication kicked in, I was much happier. I could still feel a tightening, but it wasn’t the intense pain it was before. This epidural allowed the doctors to turn up the pitocin, and it allowed me to finally rest (not sleep, mind you, just rest).
Maggie came in later and told me that I had made Paul’s day by calling him the angel of mercy. Her exact words were “He’s walking around this hospital like he owns the place.”
Around 16:15ish
I was checked again. I was finally at a two. Maggie had been right. Within one hour of being on the epidural, I had dilated a centimeter. If my tolerance for pain was higher or if I was more mentally capable of handling that pain, who knows how long it would have taken to finally get that two. At the end of the day, though, it was still only a two, and I had eight more centimeters to go.
20:15
Sometime during this whole thing, my mom and sister had driven up from Utah. They had been there for when I received the epidural, but I don’t remember exactly what time they came. I also don’t remember what time they left. I just remember essentially kicking them out because I needed sleep and for sleep, I needed quiet. And while they were doing their best, Palmers aren’t exactly known for being quiet. Sometime after they left, I asked Jake to call the nurse in. I was really shaky. I had noticed it earlier, but it came and went, so I hadn’t thought much of it. At this point, I was almost constantly shaking. The nurse came in (there had been a shift change, so this was a different nurse. Her name was Louisa). She checked me, and I was dilated to a three (yes you read that right. I’d been in labor for fourteen hours, and I was at a three); I also had a temperature of 101.2 F. Dr. Mayo was informed, and he came in to talk to us. He said that because my water had broken so early in labor, I was at risk for infection. To see if I had an infection, they looked for three things: whether I had a temperature (which I did), what my heart rate looked like (good), and what Julia’s heart rate looked like (also good). Because I was only one of three, I wouldn’t need any antibiotics. If I became two of three, they’d need to start me on the antibiotics.
Sometime shortly after 20:40ish
I wasn’t really sleeping as much as I was dozing. Louisa and Dr. Mayo returned. Julia’s heart rate was getting tacky, and I still had a temperature. They started me on two different antibiotics intravenously that would continue to be administered all through labor until Tuesday morning. Sometime after this—I’m not sure exactly when—I called Louisa and asked her if the epidural could be turned up. Angel Paul came back and explained that I was supposed to feel pressure; I told him that I was feeling more than pressure. I was okay being uncomfortable, but the whole point of the epidural was that I would be able to rest and sleep, so I would have energy to push, and the pressure I was feeling was enough to make that rest and sleep elude me. I told him he only needed to turn it up a hair. He did. That wonderful Sainted man.
23:55
I told Louisa I was feeling a lot of pressure. She asked if it was all the time or only with the contractions. I told her it was only with the contractions. She told me I’d know when it was time to push. Dr. Mayo came in to check me again. I was at an eight. Louisa said it was no wonder I needed the epidural turned up a bit; my body had finally gotten the message that we were having a baby. As much as we had all hoped Julia would be born on the 13th (so her birthday would be 12/13/14), at 5 minutes to midnight it was close but no cigar.
Sunday, December 14, 2014
02:00
Louisa and Dr. Mayo came back in to check me—they had to wake me up because I had finally fallen asleep. It was finally time to start pushing. Well, it was time to get everything ready so then I could start pushing.
02:08
I started pushing.
While I was pushing, I had a temperature. I don’t know how high it was. I also must not have been getting enough oxygen because Louisa gave me an oxygen mask to wear between sets.
I pushed for everything I was worth. Jake held one leg, and Louisa held the other. The leg Louisa held was completely numb. I couldn’t feel it at all, but I could feel Julia. It was an intense pressure. My first few pushes were terrible. I had never done this before; I didn’t know what they wanted. Louisa and Dr. Mayo were very helpful. They told me where to focus. Jake was perfect. There were a few pushes when Louisa and Dr. Mayo had stopped counting, and I needed the counting. The counting told me how much longer I needed to go for. I couldn’t push indefinitely, but I could push for ten, breath, push for ten, breath, and push for ten more. All I had to do was say, “count” and Jake would. Eventually, I got a push where Dr. Mayo and Louisa both said “good push. That was a really good push.” So, I focused on making them all like that one. I focused on that feeling.
And I pushed.
They could see her head.
Dr. Cox came. And I pushed.
03:19
After 21 hours of labor and an hour and ten minutes of pushing, Julia River Contor was born. 8 lbs 0 oz. 21.5 inches long
At some point earlier, they had noticed in my waters had a color that meant meconium (baby’s first poop) was mixed with my amniotic fluid. I saw Julia briefly. Then they took her to the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) to make sure she hadn’t swallowed any meconium.
They brought Julia back from the NICU. She hadn’t swallowed any meconium. Grandma Tea (Jake’s mom) got to do her footprints, and then I was finally allowed to hold my little girl skin-to-skin.
I wish I could say that the story ends here, that 24 hours later, I was home with my healthy baby girl, but then that wouldn’t be what happened.
I held her skin-to-skin for about half an hour. Then, a very reluctant nurse came back and told me that Dr. Cox had ruled corio for this case. Basically, that temperature I spiked earlier in labor meant I could have had an infection, and he was saying that I did have an infection. I would need to stay in the hospital for an additional 48 hours, and my darling little girl would have to stay as well, but she would have to stay in the NICU.
Around 07:00
I didn’t get to see her again until they were taking me to my recovery room down the hallway marked “Moms and Babies” or just “Mom” in my case. I saw her, but I don’t think I held her. She had a bruise on her hand from where they had tried to put an IV but failed because her veins were just too small. Instead, she had an IV in on the left side of her head. I was taken to my room where I tried to sleep. Jake had gone home to shower and change and get a little sleep.
Around 10:00
Jake and his mom came back around 10 to give Julia her first bath. She had to occasionally be put on oxygen when she first got there because she would fall asleep and wouldn’t breath as much as she needed to. The nurse said that it was mostly to bother her nose enough to remind it to do its job.
Epilogue
Julia had her first visitors on Sunday. My mom and sister, Becki, went to the NICU to see the very first grandchild on my side. Jake’s Grandma Julia (Our Julia’s namesake), Uncle David, Uncle Bryce, and brother, Drake, saw her as well. On Monday, some of Jake’s hanai family came to see her. On Tuesday, some more of his hanai family came.
Julia and I both received antibiotics until Tuesday, December 16th. Neither of us needed our last round (I never spiked another fever, and Julia’s cultures came back negative, which was a huge relief because that morning, her IV had leaked when they rinsed it, and they had to take it out. Provided her cultures came back negative, they wouldn’t have to put a new one in; they did, so they didn’t). Julia passed her car seat test (she needed to sit in her car seat for an hour without anything terrible happening), which she needed to do because she had been on oxygen, even though it was only very briefly.
Despite some initial worry that I would be going home alone, I was discharged with my brand new baby at 19:00 Tuesday, December 16th, 2014.
Motherhood has proved more intense than labor, I think. But every time I think I can’t do it, I think that I must be doing something wrong, I just remember that Heavenly Father would not have sent this amazing little spirit down to Jake and I if he didn’t think we could take care of her.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Pregnancy: So I may have missed a few weeks...[a coconut to a honeydew to a winter melon]
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| Consider this my 35 week picture. :) While I looked (and felt) like a pumpkin, Julia was closer to the size of a coconut. |
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| My "Ha-Ha, very funny, Jake" look. :) |
Surprisingly--at least up until now--my biggest fear has been labor itself. Even then, I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm really afraid of it; more than anything, I would say I'm nervous about it, and that's mostly because I've never done it before and have no idea what to expect. So, I'm doing what I've been trained to do: prepare for/expect the worst, hope for the best. It's what I did for pregnancy itself, and so far it's worked in my favor. I was expecting to be puking and just be miserable for 9 months. Well, I wasn't. In fact, the only time I puked throughout my whole pregnancy (I figure I can say this now since I'm practically done--of course, that's totally going to jinx everything but oh well) was when I had to not puke during my 3-hour glucose test.
Back to my original point: I'm nervous about labor. I don't know what to expect because I've never done it. So far, I've been more nervous about the labor part of this than I have been about the Mommy-aspect of this. A friend of mine pointed something out to me that is both comforting and nerve-wracking: labor will eventually end. However many hours it lasts, however much pain there is, it will all eventually end. Motherhood will not. The moment that second little line showed up on my pregnancy test, I started on a journey that will never end. I should be nervous about this--and I'm sure I will be--but the more I think about it, the more I think that labor is a condensed shot of motherhood. (Like I said, I've never experienced labor, but I've read a ton of birth stories, so I'm basing my observation off my limited exposure to labor through the stories of others). Labor is like a super condensed shot of motherhood. What I mean is there is discomfort, embarrasment, and intense, undescribable pain, but there is also insurmountable joy that cannot be defined as anything but the love of a mother.
I don't have any experience--yet--of motherhood, but I've watched friends become moms. I've watched my own mom--I've been her child (trust me, there was pain; my teenage years ensured that). Anyway, I mostly just made this observation and thought I'd share. If any of my mommy friends want to comment on how totally wrong I am, go for it. Like I said, this is from a completely outside, third-party point of view...
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