I have one regret today: I regret not getting pictures of every single thing we've done the last couple of weeks. It has been such a whirlwind and in moments where I wasn't totally exhausted or at my wit's end, I was living the moments to the fullest and just being present as much as I possibly could at the time. So no photos. But let me just tell you!
Last week was just the busiest! Monday we had a get-together to celebrate Kaitlyn's birthday over dinner at our house. It was a mess of I-can-come, I-can't-come, I-can-come-again, changes of plans regarding time for this dinner party, location for this dinner party, what to serve at this dinner party, crisis over the cake, and Chad was even told at the last minute that he'd be working that night! Talk about throwing a wrench into all of those plans. It felt like such insanity and I think -- I hope -- it all came together in the end and I really feel like Kaitlyn, at least, had a wonderful evening with the family members who were able to attend!!
Normally after big events like that, we like to take the next day to just relax and take it easy. This particular Tuesday, we couldn't relax at all! We would be helping our dear friend Betty move to Virginia very early Wednesday morning, so we picked up the moving truck, packed the moving truck, then went home to pack our own bags and get a couple of hours of shut-eye.
One AM Wednesday and we're up and already on the road! A few last-minute additions to the truck hold us up, and we aren't even out of town until 3:30. We arrive in Richmond, VA around 10am, unload the truck, have a few moments of goodbye with our sweet friend, then back on the road. Can you believe we were home by 11pm, meaning we did all of that moving and driving in about 20 hours?! Now can you blame me for not being able to take a second to take photos of all of the beauty that we passed?? We've already decided we're going back to visit and give Virginia the time and attention it deserves. Kaitlyn is so excited for our next adventure.
This "weekend" was a lot more low-key. We celebrated Kaitlyn's actual birthday Monday with cookies after breakfast, a trip to the park, and the zoo, and dinner out together as a family. It was still a full day out, it seemed like, so today we did nothing except stay home, play games, tickle-fight, and laugh together. It was such a joyful day.
Caleb's birthday is now less than a month away, and mine is a couple of days before that. Chad's already hinted that he's got plans up his sleeves to celebrate mine, but I don't know what to do for Caleb. Chad's said that a party isn't necessary, but understands why I like to have them. Truthfully, despite given my social anxiety, I love having get-togethers to celebrate the lives of the people I love. If it's silly to have a big dinner party for a one-year-old, then let it be silly: I relish the idea of getting photos and making memories for them to hold onto and cherish years down the road. This time, though, I feel like I'd rather we make some really amazing memories than have a party, but what do you all think??
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Some thoughts about birth
Allow me a few minutes just to get this out. It's something I've been holding on for almost a year now .. almost a year. Caleb turns 1 on October 15. So it's been almost a year, and friends, family, I confess ... I am still so deeply hurt by the experiences during my labor with him and the days following his birth.
Labor started on my birthday. I sat on my bed, breathing through hard, regular contractions, and I thought: This is exactly how I wanted this to happen. I felt so relieved and so blessed that my body had started labor on its own, that maybe things would be different, this time, maybe better this time. And I guess it was then, right in that moment, that I was setting myself up for failure, disappointment, and months of beating myself up over things I probably had absolutely no control over.
As I type this, I am sobbing. I feel this lump forming in my throat coming up from this sick feeling in my stomach. I hate that I'm saying this. I hate feeling this way. I hate not counting my every single blessing, every single day, because I am so very fortunate. I can feel sick about this labor but who am I to complain? Mom of three, pregnant each time so easily, no struggle, easy pregnancies. Who am I to complain?
But still, this pain is so real. After labor began on my birthday and I had those wonderful feelings of accomplishment so early on, going to the hospital too early and being sent home, and waking up the next morning to my water breaking on my bedroom floor and meconium in the fluid.
What did I do wrong? Should I have insisted that I be kept at the hospital? What could have changed this??
At the hospital, I could sense the worry in the nurses. I delivered with my midwife group before and I saw the midwife so often during that labor. This time, I saw her hardly at all. What was the difference? Was she worried, too? Was she frustrated that my contractions weren't picking up on their own, and that we'd use pitocin, and that after not being able to get equipment to work properly, I'd give into my own frustrations and ask for an epidural? Did I disappoint her? Was she just having a bad day?
Caleb was born and had complications. Everyone left the room, including my husband .. I sat in the room in utter shock, completely paralyzed with fear. What was happening with my baby? Would he be okay? Did I do this to him? Could I have prevented this?
And I sat in that bed, unable to move because of the epidural, because of all of the wires still attached to me, and no one was there. My baby was just taken from me and I sat there entirely alone, empty and alone.
And I guess, ultimately, what I am saying here is that I still feel that way. I still feel damaged, I still feel like I did something wrong, I still feel like I could have prevented it and like the 13 days he spent in the NICU hooked up to wires hearing one conflicting story after another were something that, as his mother, I should have been able to foresee and prevent. I dropped the ball, it's my fault. I should have fought harder, I should have insisted that things be done differently. I should have been his advocate and my own advocate.
I can't feel these things without the guilt following it. Why am I even complaining? I did bring my son home eventually. His little room in the NICU sat beside incubators with tiny babies who spent much longer there. I can't think these thoughts without also recognizing how very lucky we have been with Caleb. I get to see him grow and learn and smile and I get to hear his laughs, his beautiful, infectious laughs.
He is still with me and his magnificent laughter is for me. Maybe I did fail at his birth somehow, but I will not fail here.
Labor started on my birthday. I sat on my bed, breathing through hard, regular contractions, and I thought: This is exactly how I wanted this to happen. I felt so relieved and so blessed that my body had started labor on its own, that maybe things would be different, this time, maybe better this time. And I guess it was then, right in that moment, that I was setting myself up for failure, disappointment, and months of beating myself up over things I probably had absolutely no control over.
As I type this, I am sobbing. I feel this lump forming in my throat coming up from this sick feeling in my stomach. I hate that I'm saying this. I hate feeling this way. I hate not counting my every single blessing, every single day, because I am so very fortunate. I can feel sick about this labor but who am I to complain? Mom of three, pregnant each time so easily, no struggle, easy pregnancies. Who am I to complain?
But still, this pain is so real. After labor began on my birthday and I had those wonderful feelings of accomplishment so early on, going to the hospital too early and being sent home, and waking up the next morning to my water breaking on my bedroom floor and meconium in the fluid.
What did I do wrong? Should I have insisted that I be kept at the hospital? What could have changed this??
At the hospital, I could sense the worry in the nurses. I delivered with my midwife group before and I saw the midwife so often during that labor. This time, I saw her hardly at all. What was the difference? Was she worried, too? Was she frustrated that my contractions weren't picking up on their own, and that we'd use pitocin, and that after not being able to get equipment to work properly, I'd give into my own frustrations and ask for an epidural? Did I disappoint her? Was she just having a bad day?
Caleb was born and had complications. Everyone left the room, including my husband .. I sat in the room in utter shock, completely paralyzed with fear. What was happening with my baby? Would he be okay? Did I do this to him? Could I have prevented this?
And I sat in that bed, unable to move because of the epidural, because of all of the wires still attached to me, and no one was there. My baby was just taken from me and I sat there entirely alone, empty and alone.
And I guess, ultimately, what I am saying here is that I still feel that way. I still feel damaged, I still feel like I did something wrong, I still feel like I could have prevented it and like the 13 days he spent in the NICU hooked up to wires hearing one conflicting story after another were something that, as his mother, I should have been able to foresee and prevent. I dropped the ball, it's my fault. I should have fought harder, I should have insisted that things be done differently. I should have been his advocate and my own advocate.
I can't feel these things without the guilt following it. Why am I even complaining? I did bring my son home eventually. His little room in the NICU sat beside incubators with tiny babies who spent much longer there. I can't think these thoughts without also recognizing how very lucky we have been with Caleb. I get to see him grow and learn and smile and I get to hear his laughs, his beautiful, infectious laughs.
He is still with me and his magnificent laughter is for me. Maybe I did fail at his birth somehow, but I will not fail here.
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