Adding Another Girl to the Crew

Growing up, I always wanted a pet.  My first choice would have been a golden retriever, but my mom is allergic to (read: dislikes) dogs, and my dad always went along with my mom.  I think deep down, he wanted one, too, but they always backed one another up. Despite the mind-blowing frustration their unwavering solidarity caused me any time I thought I might get just one of them to take my side, it's something that I really admire about their relationship. Anyway, the closest I ever got to a dog was a stuffed golden retriever under the Christmas tree one year.

My childhood friend, Erika, had a bunny named Floppy.  Floppy was white and lived in a hutch in their garage.  I was envious.  I thought maybe, just maybe, I'd be able to convince my parents to get me a rabbit.  They're quiet, small, and live in a contained area. It was a no-go.

Knowing how crushed I was by the "no dog" rule, my mom told me that when I grew up and got my own house, she would buy me my first dog.  She probably thought that this was very clever because there's no way I would remember such a promise.  She was wrong-- it was seared into my memory as if she'd made a G-D blood oath.  Of course, now I am grown up (sort of), and I have no desire to get a dog anytime soon.  With three kids under the age of 5, I don't really have any desire to take on that responsibility.  Plus, I think I might be allergic.  Maybe it runs in the family.

Over the past several years, Joel and the girls and I have had a fish and three hermit crabs.  Our beta fish, Gladys, was a beloved member of our family (for quite awhile, I might add) until his demise.  We didn't realize that Gladys was a male beta fish until shortly before his death.  I've always wondered if it was his identity crisis that did him in.

Then we thought maybe we'd try our hand at hermit crabs, so we bought Gladys (II), Gertrude, and Gus.  Sadly, they are no longer with us.  Gladys was the first to go, and I have a theory that the name may be a bit of a black hammer.  The other crabs, of course, were too heartbroken to go on without her (or him, I can't be sure).

Not long ago, we started tossing the idea of a bunny around.  My fond memories of Floppy resurfaced and I started to think a rabbit may not be such a bad idea.  Let's review: small, quiet, contained.  I began researching breeds, how to care for rabbits, and so on.  I was hoping to adopt from a shelter, but the woman I emailed with was not eager to adopt out to a family with children.  I did, however, find a couple farms in Rhode Island that breed Holland Lops, which was just the kind of bunny I was looking for!  Holland Lops stay small, make great pets, and are totally adorable.

Hippity Hop Rabbits in Exeter had one Holland baby bun left.  On Monday evening, we pulled up to the farm in the cold rain and were greeted by Tracy.  A labor and delivery nurse with a passion for natural birth and rescuing animals, Tracy was a pleasure to be around.  She showed us all her animals, told us their stories, and even let the girls go into the chicken coop and get an egg that had been laid earlier that day.  All of her animals were well-loved and very friendly.  The bunny she showed us was just about 8 weeks old, small, black, and very sweet.  We decided to take her home.

Since Joel had come straight from work, we had separate cars.  Once we were on the road, the girls and I started discussing names.  Aislinn suggested "Eloise," which I LOVED. Raia wasn't a fan until I told her that we could call her "Weezy" for short.  I dialed Joel's cell and told him we'd decided on a name and that it was Eloise.  Silence.  Then he said, "That is beyond creepy.  When I got into my car, that's the name that I thought of and I haven't been able to come up with anything else."  Weird, right?

Eloise is settling in nicely here.  She's still a little nervous when we try to take her out of her cage, but once she's out, she loves playing and exploring.  She seems particularly fond of Aislinn.  We love her very much and hope that she'll be with us for many years to come!

Note: Hippity Hop Rabbits does not breed bunnies for profit.  All sales go to sustaining the farm, which is home to many rescued animals.

You Can't Spell "Easter" Without "ER"

This past weekend, I hit a parenting milestone: our first-ever trip to the ER! (Do you get bonus points if emergency room visit coincides with a major holiday?)  Raia, who I have lovingly dubbed "Klutzy McGee," fell on my aunt and uncle's walkway and sliced her hand open on our way in to Easter Brunch.  She screamed, as any 3-year-old would do, and I did my best to clean it and bandage it, but there was just too much "stuff" under the skin.  We watched it for a couple hours, realized that it was getting red and swollen, and so, myself, my dad, Joel, and my nurse-in-training cousin tried to tag-team the situation, to no avail.

My father strongly suggested we take her to get checked out somewhere, just to be on the safe side. Of course, there were no walk-in clinics open, being Easter Sunday and all, so we headed for Hasbro Children's Hospital.

We were greeted by a friendly woman upon arrival, who took our information and told us to take a seat.  As we sat down, I looked around the waiting room and noticed how cheery and kid-friendly it was.  Bright artwork everywhere, televisions playing cartoons, and some crazy game in which kids do different activities on a screen projected onto the floor.  We waited for an hour or so before we were taken to a room.

We were ushered into room 16, a small room with two-toned blue walls, two chairs, and a gurney.  Our nurse, Oscar, was great.  Friendly, kind, gentle- everything you could want in a pediatric nurse.  He made a little bubble bath and told Raia to soak her hand until the doctor could come in to see her.

As in any ER, we waited for what seemed like forever for the doctor. Dr. Wylie was young, charming, British, and took excellent care of my baby.  To make a long story short(ish), he numbed Raia's hand with a topical anesthetic and then scrubbed it really well.  It was determined that she did not need stitches (phew!). [Funny side note: when Dr. Wylie came back to give us our discharge papers, I was nursing Nola.  He got all flustered and wouldn't make eye contact with me...and then left the room with the papers he was supposed to give us!  You'd think a doctor would be comfortable around a nursing mom.  I digress.]

But, this story isn't really about Raia's hand.  As I sat in that tiny room for three hours, I realized how lucky we were to have made it almost 5 years into our parenting career before needing to visit the hospital.  On top of that, it was something SO minor that I almost felt silly for being there.  Not every family can say the same.  I left Hasbro feeling very thankful for the health of our girls and thinking of those children and parents who are regular patients at the hospital, who are constantly being faced with major medical problems, decisions, and all the emotions that go along with such things.

And so, I'd like to leave you with this: http://rhodybloggersforgood.com/2013/02/21/meet-belle/.  An amazing group of women has put together a sit-a-thon for Belle, a two-year-old girl with leukemia.  If you are able to stop by this weekend, please do.  It is sure to be lots of fun, and you will be supporting a great cause!  For more information, go to http://rhodybloggersforgood.com/.

P.S. Title cred goes to my very witty husband. :)

Getting Healthy!

This isn't a regular post, but I wanted to share a couple other blogs with you.  Jennifer at Savoring the Thyme is doing a Backside Challenge and Tera at Girl Gone Healthy is doing a Squat-A-Thon, and I'm joining them!

I'm ready to get back into shape after having my three babies so close together, and hopefully this will help (and just in time for summer)!  In addition to these challenges, I've been eating a mostly plant-based diet (more about that another time) and adding in some crunches and cardio.  It's been a long winter and I'm excited to get active again.  Who's with me?

Teaching Our Children that No Means No

As I sit here on the window seat, watching my little girls ride bikes, pick the first flowers of spring, and dig in the dirt, I'm brought to tears.  They are so young, so beautiful, so pure.  They don't yet know the harsh realities of this world they live in; they see only the good, the magical, the endless possibilities that life has in store for them.  I desperately wish I could freeze time and keep them this way forever.  But that isn't how life works.  Motherhood has made me acutely, painfully aware of that.

This morning I read about a new line that Victoria's Secret is launching.  It's called "Bright Young Things," and will be targeted towards middle school-aged girls.  These bras and panties will be lacy, bold, and say things like, "Feeling Lucky?," "Wild," and "Call Me."  I'm not sure what bothers me more- that VS is willing to put their bottom line above the well-being of our daughters, or that parents will be purchasing such items for their 12-year-olds.  A father wrote an open letter to VS, asking that they reconsider the line.  His words are eloquent and straight from the heart, and they got me thinking about my own girls and about how Joel and I, as their parents, will teach them to respect themselves and to demand the same from others.

I know what it's like to grow up in a culture that objectifies and defines girls and women by their appearance.    It was not long ago that I was a teen, trying to love myself despite the many messages from society telling me that I was not, and would never be, good enough.  But there's more to it than scantily clad women on billboards and in magazines.  Take the recent Steubenville rape, for example.  A group of boys took advantage of a drunk, barely (if at all) conscious girl, brutally raped her, and documented the horrific event with pictures and video.  Many people are blaming the victim.  Why?  Does a 16-year-old girl deserve to be raped, humiliated, and now harassed simply because she made the mistake of drinking too much?  How many of us ADULTS have overindulged?  Do we, too, deserve the hell this poor girl has gone through?  Of course not, because no one "deserves" to be treated that way.  That girl, who could be my daughter or yours, will never be the same.  She will live with that trauma for the rest of her life.

This is a complex issue, and one that I could not possibly cover in one post, but there are a few thoughts that have been bouncing around in my head for awhile now, and I'd like to share them with you. We live in a rape culture.  For reasons I can't fathom, the victim is often blamed.  "She was drunk."  "She didn't scream loudly enough." "She was asking for it in that outfit."  Statements like this make my stomach drop and my fists clench.  I want to scream, cry, shake the people who think this way.  Have we been so conditioned to believe that women are sex objects and men are incapable of moral behavior that we justify this despicable act?

My girls are young, but I live in fear that they will someday be the target of sexual abuse.  I feel like a broken record, constantly reminding them that their private parts are their and theirs alone.  I assure them that they can tell me anything without fear of getting in trouble.  They're only 3 and 4, so I don't get too crazy about it. I don't want them to be afraid or even to know why they need to know these things, but I do want to instill a sense of self-respect and personal boundaries so that they feel confident saying "no," should they ever need to.

I think most parents have this conversation with their little ones, just as our parents did with us.  Lately, though, I've been struggling with the fact that, in the next breath, we tell them, despite their protests, to go give hugs and kisses to grandma and grandpa.

Anyone that knew me growing up could tell you that I was the least affectionate child ever.  I hated to be hugged, kissed, touched.  I was shy, and I needed boundaries.  For some reason, no one was willing to respect that.  I was constantly being forced to accept unwanted affection from well-meaning family members, despite the fact that it made me incredibly uncomfortable.  Anytime someone has tried to make my girls hug or kiss them, despite clear signs that they were not interested in doing so, I've felt anxiety.  I could never really put my finger on why until I read a blog post by a mom who was able to put my visceral response into words.  I wish I could remember where I found it so that I could share it with you.  Basically she said that when we tell our children that they must tolerate unwanted physical affection by relatives (99.9% of whom mean no harm of course!), we're teaching them that their bodies are not their own, that their personal boundaries are not important, and that they should just suck it up and deal with it so they don't hurt Aunt Susie's feelings.

I want to be clear: the scenario I've just described is not synonymous with abuse of any sort.  I know that, and I would never compare the two, but I want to challenge you to think about the mixed message we're sending our children, boys and girls alike.  Unwanted touch is okay in some cases, but not in others.  Sometimes you should say no, but other times you should just tolerate it.  As adults, it's easy for us to separate these ideas and respond appropriately to various situations, but for a young, developing mind, this must be rather confusing.  And so, I've been teaching my daughters to say no.  If someone asks for a hug or tries to give one and they aren't in the mood, I tell them (oftentimes right then and there, in front of the adult) that it's okay for them to say "No, thank you."  To some of you, this may seem silly, but I feel that it's a simple way to plant the seed in their minds that their body is their own, and no one has the right to do anything to them without permission.

I practice this at home, as well.  If Joel or I does something that they don't like, i.e. tickling, they can say "No, thank you" or "Please stop doing that," and we stop.  End of story.  The other night, I was putting the big girls to bed, and because Joel wasn't home and Nola was fussy, I couldn't lay down with them like I normally do.  Raia really wanted some snuggles, so I suggested that she snuggle with Aislinn (they sleep in twin beds pushed together).  Aislinn made it quite clear that she was not in the mood, at which point Raia covered her face and cried into her little hands, saying that she loved Aislinn and that her feelings were hurt.  My instinct was to tell Aislinn to suck it up and cuddle with her sister, but I stopped myself.  Instead, I took a deep breath, told Aislinn that I respected her decision, and reminded Raia that it was Aislinn's body, and therefore her choice to say no if she did not want to be touched.

Some of you are probably rolling your eyes and calling me a stupid hippie or something similar.  That's okay.  I believe that using opportunities like this to reinforce the ideas that they own their bodies and that they get to make the rules about who touches them and when, is effective and will serve them well in the future.  I wish I didn't have to do this.  I would love to live in a world free of molestation, abuse, and rape.  I know that, despite these lessons, bad things can still happen.  I understand that teaching my girls to say no does not ensure that they will never be victims, because again, the victim is never at fault.  For that reason,  I hope that other mothers are teaching these same lessons to their sons.  Our children need to be instructed to respect themselves, each other, and the word, "no."  No means no.  Always.

In an ideal world, society would get on board and stop objectifying girls and women.  Victoria's Secret would forget about their own profit and consider the ramifications of their actions.  Kids wouldn't grow up so quickly, girls wouldn't feel like they needed to wear risque clothing with suggestive words across their bums, and boys would see their female counterparts as human beings rather than sex toys or objects over which they can exert power (for as most of us know, rape is often more about control than sex).

Unfortunately, things seem to be getting worse rather than better, so it's up to us, as parents, to initiate change.  Love your babies, hold them close, and teach them to love themselves and one another.  Let's break the cycle.      

 

I Ate My Placenta

Yup, you read that right: I ate my placenta.  Some women make smoothies, others cook it and eat it, and still others, myself included, choose to have our placentas encapsulated so that we may ingest it in pill-form.  

Consuming one's placenta isn't new--most mammals, upon giving birth, do so.  There are several theories as to why, but the general consensus is that placentophagia, regardless of the reason, does have important maternal benefits. "For one, the placenta contains vitamins and minerals that may help fight depression symptoms, such as vitamin B6. For another, the placenta is considered rich in iron and protein, which would be useful to women recovering from childbirth, and a particular benefit to vegetarian women" (placentabenefits.info/medicinal).

Though it's possible to encapsulate your own placenta, many women choose to hire a placenta encapsulation specialist to do it for them.  My good friend and placenta guru, Stacie Mandeville, came to our home shortly after Nola's birth and prepared and encapsulated my placenta in our kitchen.  It's a two-day process, but she was only here for a few hours each time and was extremely clean and professional (for those of you concerned about have a blood spattered kitchen- no need to worry). When she was done, I was left with over 200 pills, a beautiful placenta print, and dosage instructions.  I took the pills regularly for the first several weeks postpartum, and on an "as-needed" basis since then.  They have no taste and you would never know where they came from by looking at them. Those of you that would like the benefits associated with placentophagia but are unwilling to take a fork to it: this is for you.  

Before

The Cord (which I still have, dried into this lovely heart shape)

During

After!

Placenta Print!

I didn't encapsulate my placenta after I had my first two babies, because I didn't know about it.  I wish I had. I had some mild postpartum depression with Aislinn, which was remedied fairly easily.  After Raia's birth, however, I suffered from severe PPD and anxiety.  Even though I have a history of depression and knew what I was experiencing, I was too ashamed to really do much about it.  I didn't feel anything towards my beautiful new baby. I kept telling myself that I must love her because I was taking good care of her, but I just didn't feel a bond.  It tore me apart.  Eventually, I got the treatment I so desperately needed, and I fell in love with my sweet girl, but it took time.  Too much time that I could never get back.

I knew when I got pregnant with Nola that I needed to have a plan.  I could not live through another bout of PPD.  My midwives and I discussed my options, and as one component of my postpartum care, I decided I would try placenta encapsulation.  Nola arrived, my placenta was transformed, and I...felt great.  After the initial recovery, I had more energy than I've ever had after giving birth, I was head over heels in love with my new daughter, and the only time I cried was about a week after she was born and I kind of missed having her in my belly.  While I can't prove causation, I would definitely say that the placenta pills played a significant role in my postpartum adjustment this time around.  

For more information on placenta benefits, visit placentabenefits.info.  If you're interested in encapsulating your placenta, check out http://www.innerwisdombirth.com. 

                                     

Worth the Wait: Nola

My pregnancy with Nola was close to perfect.  Aside from being very sick during the first trimester, I felt great.  I loved my belly, her kicks, the anticipation of our first home birth...

Every morning, the girls would "play" with their sister (who we thought was a brother).  They talked to my belly, poked her little feet, and sometimes pretended to check her heartrate.  Every evening, I'd snuggle with them in their bed, and they'd put their hands on my growing belly as they drifted off to sleep.

I ate well, stayed active (I especially loved prenatal yoga with Kaeli Sutton at the Motion Center), received regular chiropractic care (thanks to the wonderful Kelly Frye), and got as much rest as you'd expect a mom of two little ones to get.  Knowing that life would be busy after the baby arrived, we made a special effort to spend time as a family and do some fun things.  Over the summer, we traveled to Ohio with my mother-in-law, sister-in-law, who was also pregnant, and nephews to visit Joel's grandmother and celebrate her 90th (!) birthday.  We went camping in New Hampshire, hosted a Spanish exchange student for a few weeks, and celebrated our anniversary, Aislinn's 4th birthday, and my 24th birthday.  

Towards the end of my pregnancy, my doula friends hosted a beautiful blessingway ceremony for me.  They put flowers in my hair, concocted an herbal foot bath for me, read beautiful birth poems, and created a labor necklace with a bead from each of them.  My dear friend, Lisa Gendron of Agroterra Birth, took pictures of that evening and then, a few weeks later, came to my home and did a maternity photo shoot.  Jessica Fuss, my doula, came over one day just to rub my tired, sore feet, and Emily Howell, my "sister wife/soulmate" had my favorite chai mix shipped to me.  I will never be able to express how beautiful and special these women, among others, made me feel during that time.

I enjoyed my pregnancy so much that I didn't want it to end.  Apparently, Nola didn't either.  As my due date came and went, I began to worry that my dream of a home water birth was going to remain just that--a dream.  I was torn between wanting the baby to come when she was ready and wanting to avoid medical induction and hospital birth.  Finally, at 41 weeks and 6 days, my labor began:

          "On Friday, October 12^th, I woke up and discovered that I’d lost my mucus plug.  I was feeling a little crampy and having some contractions, but they were so mild that Joel and I decided to bring the girls to school and head to the coffee shop for some time together before my labor really got going.  On the way to school, I texted my birth team to let them know that I would need them later that day.  Everyone was very excited (and relieved), since I was 41 weeks 6 days and facing the possibility of needing to move the place of birth to the hospital.

(Side note:  Michelle, one of our midwives, had come to our house for my 42 week appointment the previous day.  We’d discussed natural induction methods, she stripped my membranes, and she encouraged me to do the tiger exercise from Birthing From Within, which I did- that evening, to release any fears that could possibly be holding me back.  She told me I should hold off on any induction attempts for another day or so because she had a feeling I was going to go into labor very soon.)

                Once we were at the coffee shop, I began contracting every few minutes.  They were regular and stronger than what I’d previously been feeling, so I texted Jess to give her the heads up, just in case things started to move quickly.  She called and we chatted a bit about how exciting it was that it was finally happening, what the plan for the day should be, and so on.   Joel and I picked the girls up from school and decided that we would bring them to my parents’ house so that we could go down to the beach for a little while.

 It was a chilly day and the sky looked beautiful.  We walked up and down the beach.  I took pictures of the sky because I knew our baby was on her way and I wanted to remember what the day was like.   I felt so at peace there, as I always do when I’m near the ocean.  Had it been warmer, I would have gone for a swim. By this point, my contractions were few and far between.  I think it was around this time that I told Joel my labor probably wouldn’t really start until 7:30pm, the time at which my other two labors had begun.

  

                After a little while, I got tired of walking, so we went back to the car and drove around.  I had one very strong contraction that took my breath away and reminded me of the hard work I was going to have to do.  I told Joel that it was time to go back and get the girls ready for bed so that we could go home.  I knew that if I wanted to have the baby, I needed privacy and I wanted Aislinn and Raia to be asleep before the real work began.

                Sure enough, at 7:30, I started contracting every 3-4 minutes. They were very intense and I panicked a little.  I kept telling my body to slow down; I wasn’t ready for this.  I spoke with Kristina, Jess, and Lisa and told them that I was really in labor now but that I didn’t need them just yet.  For some reason, Joel and I had thought it would be a good idea to order Chinese food.  I made him wait for the end of a contraction before he left and told him to hurry.  In retrospect, I should have taken this as a sign that I had no business eating Chinese food.  When he returned, we moved down to the basement and I ate crab rangoon and tried to pay attention to Project Runway.  It was not long before I started shaking and the TV annoyed me.  I was nervous and told Joel that I wanted him to call Jess and the others and tell them to come over.  Jess knew that I needed support, and she called me back once she was in the car and reminded me to breathe, that everything was okay, and that we’d be meeting our baby soon.

                Lisa was the first to arrive.  I had moved to the living room and was laboring on the birth ball with the Ben Harper station playing on Pandora in the background.  I was so relieved to see her.  She sat down behind me, rubbed my back, and offered encouragement.  I think Kristina showed up next, and then Jess.  Kristina, who I’d seen for almost every prenatal visit and developed a great relationship with, took my vitals.  Everything looked fine, so she and Joel went upstairs and began filling the pool and getting everything set up.  Jess sat on the couch and held my hand.  My contractions were strong but had spaced out a little, which was a huge relief.  Michelle arrived a bit later and I knew when I saw her that everything was okay.  When she walked in the front door, I looked up and asked her how she had known (that my labor would start that day) and she just replied with a smile.  I was so glad she was there—I’d felt a strong connection to her from the beginning and had really hoped she’d be on call when the time came.

 

                After this, my memory gets a bit blurry. I know that Jess, Joel, and I moved upstairs so that I could lay in bed and try to rest between contractions.  I remember that this position was uncomfortable.  My hips hurt and it was hard to cope while laying down, but during one contraction I felt the baby move down, which was both cool and encouraging.  I wasn’t getting any vaginal exams, so any sign of progress was incredibly important to me.

 At some point, I decided I wanted to get in the shower.  I sat on the birth ball under the water with the music playing (Feist, I think).  I told Joel to go take a nap, and he did.  Jess stayed with me.  My contractions were very far apart and much more manageable sitting on the ball with the water spraying my back.  I stayed there until there was no more hot water.  We woke Joel up, and I sat on the ball in our room for awhile.  Jess and Kristina both felt that I should get up and move around to bring my contractions closer together.  It was just after 2am and I was exhausted, so I resisted but ultimately decided that they were right.

 

I walked around the kitchen and leaned on the counter during contractions, which were coming closer together- about 2 minutes apart.  I was pretty grumpy about it and told Kristina that when she had her baby, I’d be there telling her to get up and move, too.  Lisa and Michelle were resting in the living room when I made my way in there.  I sat on the ball again while Joel held my hands and Jess rubbed my back.  Michelle asked what was holding me back.  I told her I didn’t know.  We all bounced some ideas around, and it felt good to voice some concerns I had: fear of transition and pushing, mostly.  Michelle told me she thought it was time for me to go get in the pool.  I had been waiting for this, because I knew that when they told me to get in the water, it would mean I was getting close to the end.

Joel and I went upstairs and I got in the water.  It felt great.  The room was dark, the water was warm, and my belly cast and birthing necklaces were on the dresser next to the pool.  I was in transition.  It was so intense, and all I kept thinking was “Your contractions cannot be stronger than you, because they are you.” I knew it was time to have my baby, and I let go and let it happen.  Transition took awhile.  I’m fuzzy on the exact time, but I think I probably got in the water around 3:30or 4am.  As my sounds got louder and more “growly,” everyone made their way into the room.  Jess called my mom around 5:30am and asked her to come so that she’d be there when the girls woke up.  I think she arrived at 6am, which was lucky because Raia woke up a few minutes later.  Around the same time, I started pushing.  It felt strange because my bag of water was still intact, but Michelle told me it was okay.  They could see the bag of water bulging after a few minutes.

 

As I was pushing, Kristina monitored the baby’s heart rate and it was too low…far too low.  I got on my left side, then my hands and knees…still too low.  I was terrified.  A million thoughts ran through my head: I need to get this baby out, even if they call 911 it will be too late, maybe a home birth was a bad idea.  I pushed with every ounce of strength I had.  I didn’t understand why it was so difficult and why it was taking so long.  Finally her heart rate stabilized and she began crowning.  Jess yelled to my mom to bring the girls in.  A few pushes later, the baby’s head was out.  I relaxed, thinking that the shoulders would be easy, but I was wrong.  It took a lot of effort on my part and Kristina’s help to get them out.  (Poor Kristina was basically in the pool with me and soaking wet.)  I reached down to catch my baby.  I pulled her up onto my chest and cried with relief when I saw that she was alert and breathing.  I rubbed her back and spoke to her until she cried.  Since we didn’t know what we were having, everyone was anxiously waiting for me to announce the sex.  I held her up and yelled, “It’s another girl!”  Someone asked what her name was.  Joel and I looked at each other and agreed that she was Nola Claire.

 

My placenta detached but was not coming out, and I began bleeding heavily.  They moved me from the pool to my bed.  I just remember seeing blood everywhere and thinking “Oh god, this was my biggest fear and it’s happening.”  I finally delivered the placenta after a shot of Pitocin, but there were some membranes that Michelle and Kristina needed to remove manually.  I was bleeding a lot and I was scared, even after they got it under control.  Michelle gave me some Methergene to help with the bleeding and to make sure that any membranes still in my uterus would find their way out.  Throughout this ordeal, I held and nursed Nola and looked to Lisa and Jess for support.  Aislinn and Raia were taken out of the room so that they wouldn’t see all the blood.  After I was cleaned up, my mom and the girls came back and watched as Nola was weighed.  None of us could believe it when Michelle announced that she was 10lbs 10oz and 21.5 inches!  (No wonder pushing her out was so difficult.)

After everyone else left, Michelle stayed with us to make sure that I was okay, physically and emotionally.  I was exhausted, shaken up, and weak, and I felt much better knowing that she was nearby.  My mom took the girls back to her house so that I could rest.  After Michelle left, Joel, Nola, and I laid in bed together all day.  It was wonderful just holding her and loving her after such a long wait and a difficult labor. 

Over the next two weeks, I made a very slow recovery.  Though I only had a small first degree tear (no stitches), I did injure my pubic bone and needed physical therapy, plus I was physically and emotionally drained.   Luckily, Joel was home with us for several weeks, both of our moms helped out, and doula friends delivered meals.

 

The birth was more difficult than I’d imagined it would be and it had its scary moments, but being at home, surrounded by people who loved and believed in me, was such a gift.  I was so proud of myself for allowing labor to being on its own, for following my body’s natural cues, and for pushing out such a large baby.  My big, sweet Nola was worth it."

Nola is a joy.  She is calm, sweet, and incredibly loved by all of us.  We are so blessed!  Here are some pictures from the blessingway, my maternity shoot, and the birth.  Please check out Lisa's website at http://www.agroterraphotography.com if you're looking for a great photographer.

Doulas at my Birth Blessing

Jess and Paulette 

 

Leah and Emily, during the Maternal Lineage/Birth Bracelet part of the ceremony

My belly the day I went into labor

Labor walk on the beach

Lots of support

Almost time!

Bliss

                    

Losing Control: Raia's Birth

As previously mentioned, the decision to have another baby a mere 6 months after Aislinn was born was totally insane.  I'm still not quite sure where my head was at.  I was a young, unmarried mom and college student who had already been through the "you're ruining your life" ringer once, and here I was doing it again (willingly!). 

When we announced the pregnancy, we pretty much got the reactions you'd expect:  "Oh. Good for you...I guess."  "Are you going to get married now?  You really should, you know."  "You're crazy."  "Don't you know how that happens?" Blah, blah, blah.  I'll admit that even I struggled with conflicting emotions.  Was I taking away from Aislinn by adding a sibling?  Was it fair to her? To the baby?  Would the financial pressure on Joel be too much?  Was I ready to be a mother of two?    

Well, you're never really ready to have a baby, whether you think you are or not, and whether it's your first or your fifth.  Every baby is different, every new addition rocks your world (at least for awhile), and at some point after you become a mother, you realize that you need to relinquish control. For me, that realization didn't really take hold until after Raia was born.  

The pregnancy itself was uneventful, but life was tumultuous.  My dad was hospitalized unexpectedly, Joel took a huge pay cut  and family drama seemed like it was at an all-time high for awhile.  As I approached my due date, my fears grew.  I was nervous about labor (when you have them that close together, you remember what it's like all too well), and I was feeling tremendous guilt about cutting Aislinn's babyhood short.  My emotional hesitation became physical hesitation and I experienced some prodromal labor leading up to the birth.  Thankfully, we had decided to birth in the ABC (Alternative Birthing Center) at the hospital with a midwife this time, so I was "allowed" to let nature take its course.  Here's the full story:

"The night after I was due, I had 12 hours of regular, painful contractions. We arrived at the hospital after 8 hours of laboring at home, but since I was only 3cm they sent me home and said they'd see me in a few hours. We went home, and I laid down on the couch to rest. At some point I fell asleep and when I woke up I was no longer contracting. This was so frustrating...12 hours of "labor" for nothing!

The next day, I had some contractions but nothing consistent. On Wednesday morning, I had an appointment. I was just over 3cm dilated (still), and she stripped my membranes.  About 3 hours later, I started contracting. They were pretty painful, but not regular, so I went about my day as usual. Around 7pm they became more frequent and regular, but after the Monday night ordeal, I wasn't very optimistic. I went to bed at 10pm, but was only able to sleep between contractions because they kept waking me up. Finally at 5am I couldn't take it anymore (they were two minutes apart and pretty painful), so I hopped in the shower while my husband got everything ready to go. At 7:30am this morning, we were admitted to the alternative birthing center at the hospital. I was 5cm. The baby wasn't reacting at all to the contractions, so they had me sit and drink some juice while they monitored me for awhile. Finally she perked up, so they let me get in the tub. I alternated laboring in the tub (wonderful!), on the birthing ball, and walking around the room. 

At 11:30am they checked me and I was only 6cm, so I agreed to let them break my water. Things got intense very quickly. The pain went from tough but manageable to almost unbearable within seconds. I was very vocal during this time, which was a little scary for me because it made me feel out of control.  (Looking back, I now feel that that was what I needed to do in order to get her out.  It was instinctual.) Very shortly after she broke my water, I had my midwife check me and I was 8cm. The next time she checked me I was 9.5. A few contractions later I was finally 10. I'm not sure exactly how long I pushed, but my guess is about 40 minutes. She was in an odd position, so it was slow going at first. I couldn't find a comfortable position to push in, and she was so low that I had a lot of back pain. Finally, though, she made her grand entrance, and once her head and shoulders were out, I reached down, pulled the rest of her out, and held her in my arms for the first time." 

8lbs 13oz and 20.5 in

Getting to know each other

Aislinn meeting "Yaya" (she wasn't able to pronounce Raia. The nickname stuck.)

Baby kisses!

Life with two babies was crazy and chaotic at times, but I maintain to this day that Raia was the greatest gift we could have given Aislinn (and now, of course, the same is true about Nola).  It's incredible to witness the bond form between them and evolve as they grow.

That Time I Had Scurvy: A Birth Story

I am a different person now than I was before I had kids.  I am stronger, more independent, more driven to succeed, and more in love with life.  My world changed in ways I never imagined it would when I gave birth to my first daughter, Aislinn.  This happened again when I had Raia, and then a third time when we welcomed Nola into our family.  Because the arrival of each of our daughters has morphed me into the woman I am today, I'd like to share their birth stories with you.  Each experience was so unique, so beautiful, and so empowering that in order to know who I am, you must first hear the stories of my daughters' beginnings.  

Note: I will be posting their stories separately, and sharing my accounts as I wrote them after each baby was born, not as I remember it now.

Let's backtrack a little to the fall of 2007.  I was a sophomore at Boston University.  After unexplained exhaustion, nausea, and headaches for a few weeks, I began googling my symptoms.  There was only one plausible explanation: I had scurvy.  Clearly I was in the early stages and I needed to binge on vitamin C, STAT!  Joel gently explained that this was nearly impossible;  simply walking past an orange would probably have provided me with enough vitamin C to avoid scurvy. Hmm.  I figured he was right and that I should look for an alternative diagnosis. 

So, I called my doctor, who suggested I take a pregnancy test.  I didn't really believe that was a possibility (I think deep down I was still rooting for scurvy), but early one Sunday morning in November, I decided to pee on a stick, just to rule it out.  Joel and I waited the two minutes in his room, and then crept to the bathroom together to read the results.  Two pink lines.  Crap. 

I always wanted kids, and I even wanted to have kids young, just not THAT young.  We were both overwhelmed with lots of emotions.  Things were complicated during this time, and although  I could write a novel about everything that went on, I won't.  Suffice it to say that we received a mixed bag in terms of support.  Anyway, I finished the school year at BU, grew a big, healthy baby (whose sex was unknown, but I would have bet my life that I was having a boy), moved into an adorable one bedroom apartment with Joel at 6 months pregnant, and then waited for her to arrive.  Here is my recollection of that day:

At around 7:30pm three days prior to my due date, I began having contractions and back pain.  The contractions were 5 minutes apart right away, and I wasn't able to get comfortable, so my husband and I went for a walk. While we were out, the contractions became stronger and closer together, and we decided it would be best to go to the hospital.  After calling the doctor, we packed up the car and left.  I was excited, but I wasn't sure if it was "the real thing"- we even stopped to return a movie on the way there!

Once we got to the hospital, we checked into Triage and were ushered into a tiny room.  Within minutes I was hooked up to the monitor so they could see how often I was contracting and keep an eye on the baby's heartrate.  The contractions were very strong and regular, but when they did an internal exam they found I was only 3cm dilated.  In order to be admitted and moved upstairs to Labor and Delivery, you must be 4cm, so they stretched me from 3 to 4.

About an hour after I was admitted, the on-call doctor came in to check me.  I was still at 4cm, and she gave me two options: get the epidural and sleep through the night, or let her break my water in the hopes that my labor would progress more quickly.  Since I was hoping to have a natural birth, I chose the latter.  My contractions did become more intense, so I sat in the shower and let the warm water run over my back.  Most of the pain I was feeling was in my lower back because the baby was in the posterior position (with the back of her head pressing on my sacrum), so warm water, counterpressure, and changing positions helped a great deal. 

I was only 5cm dilated when the doctor came in to check me again, so she started a pitocin drip.  Over the next several hours, they kept increasing the dose. By this point, I was confined to the bed so they could monitor the baby, and my contractions and back labor were very intense.  I was exhausted, and asked for something for the pain.  They gave me one shot of Stadol- a narcotic used to take the edge off.  Unfortunately, it did not work.  I was still able to feel everything, but I could not keep my eyes open.  Luckily, it wore off after an hour and I continued to labor naturally as before.  

Finally, after 17.5 hours of labor, I started to feel pressure and knew it was time to push.  On the first push, the baby turned so that she was no longer "sunny side up."  Thirty-four minutes later, Aislinn Hayes Henry entered the world.  

Welcome to the world! (Holy crap, you're a GIRL!)

8lbs 10oz and 20in

Love at first sight

Hey, I just met you...and this is crazy...but you're my mama...so nurse me maybe?

Snuggling with Daddy.  

(The dates on these pictures are incorrect.  She was born on July 20, 2008.)

Beautiful. Love. Awe. I couldn't believe that Joel and I had created such a perfect little being, and that I had pushed her out of my body!  My "birth high" lasted for weeks.  It was at that point that I threw out any ideas I had about being a writer because I knew that I wanted to pursue a birth-related career.  But more about that later... 

It's All Relative

Ever since I had Nola, I've been ruminating on how different it is, parenting the third time around.  When you have your first child, it's a HUGE adjustment.  Your world is turned upside down by this tiny person, you're overwhelmed by how much you can love another human being, you don't sleep (either because the newbie won't let you or because you just can't stop staring at that sweet face), and you're worried that you'll somehow screw it up--which you will (at least a little), but life will go on...only you don't know that yet.

Then baby #2 comes along.  This usually happens when baby #1 is two or more years old, unless you're insane like us.  (Those people probably aren't reading this blog, though, because they're too busy changing diapers and/or crying.)  Again, there's an adjustment period.  You have to learn the balancing act of caring for two kids.  Any guilt you had about adding another child to your family dissipates as you watch your babies bond.  Life is good.

And then comes numero tres.  Let's just say that things are more lax with the third child.  

My first baby took a bath every. single. day.  My third baby never gets dirty. She bathes...occasionally. 

My first baby wore really, really cute outfits.  My third baby wears pajamas 99% of the time.  If it's one piece and doesn't require socks, it's a winner.  Convenience>cute.

My first baby took regular naps.  My third baby has not had a single uninterrupted nap since her birth.  Someone is always kissing or poking her.                                                                     

My first baby began her solid food experience with rice cereal.  My third baby was forced to sample a piece of her sister's toenail. True story.                                                                                             

My first baby was an overachiever.  Okay, not really. She was just my only babe, so we spent a lot of time working on rolling over, sitting, crawling, learning sign language, memorizing the periodic table, etc.  My third baby has mastered the art of...nursing?  Being worn?                                                                                              

My first baby was never sat on or loved too aggressively.  My third baby is often mistaken for a pillow or plaything by her siblings.

My first baby was constantly being blinded from the flash of my camera.  My third baby will someday wonder if she was adopted when she realizes there is little documentation of her early years. 

And so on, and so forth.  I'd imagine by the time you get to baby #4, any ideas you had about being a mom prior to having children have totally gone out the window.  There's a learning curve to this parenting thing.  As soon as you think you've got it figured out, something changes and you have to readjust.  It's a challenge, but it's also part of the beauty of motherhood.  There are no rules.  Nothing is set in stone.  We're all just doing the best we can with what we know, regardless of whether we're parenting our first child or our sixth child.  It's all relative.

Have any good "first vs. subsequent child" stories? Feel free to share in the comments section. I'd love to hear them!

Here Goes Nothing

Three babies, check.  Husband, check. Bachelor's degree, doula certification, check.  Help launch a research study, apply to grad school? Yup, done.  This is my life.  It's beautiful, chaotic, and I'm incredibly blessed...but sometimes (always), I wonder if I'll ever be able to live up to the impossible standards that society has for us modern mamas.  The answer, of course, is no.

Cue Quarter Life Crisis.  My days consist of getting up with the kids, getting them to school, cleaning the house, doing laundry, chanting the phrase "use your words" over and over with no results, breastfeeding, and so on.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  It's exhausting, boring, and not very fulfilling.  I love my daughters more than words can express, and I know how lucky I am to be a mom, but I feel like I'm running in place.  I work all day, every day, and I have little to show for my efforts.  The house will never be clean enough, the kids will never be well-behaved enough, and I'll always feel guilty about something.  If I'm cleaning, I feel like I should be playing with the girls.  If I'm playing, I feel like I should be doing something productive. You get the idea.

I can't remember a time that I wasn't working towards a particular goal, be it trying to earn straight A's, get into college, or finish a degree or certification.  At the moment, I'm in limbo.  My research study gig is up, and I'm still waiting to hear whether or not I've been accepted into the 2013 GEPN program at Yale.  Aside from the pressure I put on myself to always be "achieving," social media adds to the inadequacy that I (and many other moms) feel on a daily basis.  It's no longer enough to "just be a mom."  You also have to have the perfect house, cook Pinterest dinners, do fun crafts with the kids, have a successful career...and look good doing it.

I recognize that this is impossible, and yet, I struggle with the fact that I just don't measure up.  Enter "Raising Hell."  Here, I will write honestly about my joys, accomplishments, frustrations, and failures.  I will share funny stories about my kids (and maybe my husband), and I will get through this Quarter Life Crisis, dammit!

A little humor to close (thanks Jenny Gruslin!): Unworthy