Selective Memory

We had a VERY busy day today. My mom came over this morning and we took the kids to the big consignment sale. V, of course wanted to touch everything and move everything and pretty much get into all sorts of trouble. M just wanted to be held the whole time so I stuck her in the sling and called it good. When I was about halfway done (I found ONE shirt for V, but more than enough stuff for M to make up for what I didn't spend on V), I saw a friend of mine who sells slings/wraps/etc. She had a mei tai that she let me use while I was walking around because my sling gets uncomfortable after a while. I was in heaven. I was able to shop, nurse, sort, all while M was happy and I had my hands. FABULOUS! I promptly ordered one :)

After the sale, we came home for a quick lunch and then the kids and I were off to a birthday party. At the party, V was of course a handful again and then we came home for dinner. H has been helping a friend remodel his bathroom so I had the kids alone today and for dinner and bed. I got V fed, both kids changed, and got V in bed. M wouldn't sleep and then as soon as I got her down, V was up. It has been a long day.

All that to say though, that selective memory is the reason that in 5, 10, 15, years, I will miss having an infant and a toddler. I won't remember the hectic days or the sleepless nights. Instead, I will remember seeing the joy on V's face as he realized he got himself dress all by himself (he really did too! I was impressed). I will remember how sweet M looked when she looked up at me while she was nursing. I will remember the good parts and forget the bad.

Selective memory also comes into play with birth (come on, you didn't really think I could do a blog without mentioning something birth related, did you?)

Today I saw the videos of my labor for the first time(one of my doulas was at the party and she gave them to me--she had told me that she didn't want to give them to me right away because they are pretty negative. I knew that when we first got to the hospital, it was not a fun time, but this is also where selective memory comes into play). I wish I had video of my labor at home to compare, but all I have is my memory of it.

When I was young, I often heard women say if they remembered how much pregnancy and labor sucked, no one would have more than one child. I feel like pregnancy and labor were amazing though. I often say that I don't so much want another baby right now (M is still little, you know) but I want to be pregnant and give birth again. Now, this I don't think I can blame on selective memory. Even during my pregnancy and labor, I remember saying how much I enjoyed it. To me, pregnancy and labor were a gift that not everyone gets to experience. I felt blessed to be able to do it.

Back to the videos of labor at the hospital though. So much I don't remember. When we first got there, there was a bustle. That I remember, but I don't remember the details. The video does though. I told them I didn't want an IV and the nurse told me to rollover and when I said I can't (I am pretty sure I was in the middle of a contraction), she said "well, we're going to have to. We have to get you ready." Umm, I am pretty sure millions and millions of women gave birth without an IV AND without laying on their backs. Just sayin'.

I asked again if we could just not do all this and they just went on with their jobs like I didn't even exist (except of course to poke and prod). Then my midwife lifts my leg (I was laying on my side on the bed) and starts doing something to me (I don't remember this happening and there is a nurse in the way so I can't see it on the video). I asked what she was doing and she ignored me. I again said (not as nicely) I want to know what you are doing. She again ignored me and told me if I just push my baby out and I'd be done. Then she told me to start pushing. I said that I didn't feel the urge anymore and I wanted to wait until I felt the urge and had a contraction (I think my labor really slowed when I got to the hospital because of all the stress--I think if we had stayed at home I would have had her much much sooner). She told me just to push. I then had a contraction and screamed at her to move her hand TWICE (which leads me to believe she didn't move it the first time). She kept telling me to push and I kept telling her I didn't want to because the urge to push was gone (I do remember saying that I didn't have the urge to push once we got to the hospital even though I did in the whole car ride there).

Once I wanted to push again, I tried pushing on my side, the I got on all fours and I was pushing and chanting that I couldn't do it. Maybe this was transition and not what I had been thinking was transition (at home right before we left). I don't know. It could have just been my fear that I would make it to pushing and then end up sliced open again. Anyway, H told me that I could do it and I was doing it. He was so amazing during my labor, telling me I was doing a good job. I really didn't give him enough credit when I was pregnant.

A funny part (funny now, probably not then) is that while I was pushing I said it hurts (that was also something I remember repeating a lot during labor although I don't remember it hurting. Maybe I just like saying it, or maybe that is selective memory again?) and H said "I'm sure that is normal." Such a man thing to say, but super cute!

After pushing on all fours for a bit I think I said I wanted to squat, or maybe the midwife asked (it is hard to hear on the video), but I moved to the floor to squat. I think the said they couldn't use the paper I had crawled over to get to the floor because it wasn't sterile anymore. I thought that I pretty funny too. At this point I also ripped my shirt off saying I was got so I was totally nude. Very unlike me!

While I was squatting I asked the nurse to get the monitor off my belly because it was very distracting. The midwife also asked me to reach down and feel my baby's head which I totally don't remember happening either.

I also didn't remember how amazing my doulas were. I mean I know I couldn't have done it without them, but I didn't realize all they did for me. They kept cool cloths on my neck, fanned me, held my hands while I was pushing, they were amazing. Honestly, truly, amazing. Every women should have a doula. They truly are worth their weight in gold plus some!

And H. He is my rock. Really, he is. I just wanted him to touch me. He made me feel safe. He told me over and over that I was doing a good job and that I could do it, even though I don't remember him talking at all. To me, the room was silent. I was in my own world in that moment, but I really appreciate the support I received from him. He is my hero.

So, selective memory: I don't remember all of that. Even watching the videos, I don't remember a lot of it happening. It is crazy.

It also makes me wonder if I have made myself only remember the negatives about V's birth. Like, maybe it was so far from what I wanted, what I envisioned, that I don't want to remember the good. I will never know.

It is really pretty interesting to me. I am thankful for selective memory though because I still remember M's birth in a positive light.

And I am glad that in 5 years, I won't remember V waking up 3 times tonight just because he "wants me". Or maybe I will remember that he wanted me, but not the waking up :)

Making Dave Proud

First, I think I mentioned in an earlier post that H and I started Dave Ramsey's plan in July 2006. In December 2008, I wrote the last debt check, bringing our total debt paid off to $70,488.46 (yea, we had a LOT of stupid tax). We fully funded our emergency fund over the next 6 months and I felt like we were finally in a good place financially.

Over the past few months, H has been mentioning getting a new car. He said he is older now and too old to drive the "race car" we bought 5 years ago. I told him we are not buying another car unless we pay cash for it. So save save save we did for a new car.

Now, obviously, we haven't had a car payment in quite a while, but we have never paid cash for a car. Not a real car anyway. We did have a couple of POS cars we paid cash for, but they were 2k or under so I don't really count those.

Tonight, I wrote a check and paid cash for a car. As I was writing out the check I thought about Dave Ramsey. I thought about how hard we worked (each of us worked THREE jobs when I was pregnant with V and after he was born even--I am blessed to have been able to work for my dad and bring my baby to work with me) and how good it felt to know that H wanted something and we saved for it and paid for it. Delayed gratification. What a grown-up thing.

So, H didn't get to drive his new-to-him cherry red Mustang home tonight (I will bring his old car in Saturday and pick-up the 'stang--maybe it will even be nice out and I can ride with the top down!), but I think he is still pretty proud. We went in with a number in mind, ready to walk if they wouldn't meet it (plus I hadn't transferred any more cash than we were willing to spend into our checking account, so that helped), and we walked out, owners of a new (to-us) car.

The most fun part of the deal for H...our salesperson was J.T. Thatcher. Now, I will admit I had (okay fine, I still pretty much have) no clue who J.T. Tatcher is, but H thought it was pretty cool. And he gave V an autographed picture so he thought that was pretty cool too.

The most fun part for me...the manger said when our kidlets are in school I should get a job there because I am a good negotiator. Straight to the point. I'd like to thank Dave Ramsey for that. Although I didn't walk in with a suitcase of cash, I'd still like to think that I made Dave proud :)

The woman I love to hate

Is Jillian Michaels. Really, I do. Sometimes I hate to love her too, but mostly I love to hate her.

She and I have been having five dates a week for about a month now and I am really noticing some changes. Actually, I am not so much noticing changes on my body (I do notice that I can pull my jeans up and down without unbuttoning them), as I think H is. The other night we were cuddling on the couch and he said something about how skinny I am getting. Now if those aren't words I love to hear, I don't know what are!

Then today, I saw a guy H works with that I haven't seen in a month or so and he said I was looking really thin. It made me feel really good (and make a wise choice at lunch--black bean burger with a salad and fruit). It makes me feel like all my hard work is getting me somewhere.

It also makes me want to re-evaluate my weight loss goals though.

When I was in high school I used to run cross-country and track and I was pretty fit. I was running 13 miles a day at least 6 days a week and usually at least 5 on the 7th day. Well, then I got hurt and stopped running but I kept eating. And eating. And eating. I didn't realize I was gaining weight though because I was shopping weekly and just kept buying new clothes. (Those were also the days when I had a pretty good paying job-for a 16 year old-and no bills.) I can distinctly remember thinking that the sizes on the clothes I was buying were changing, but it must just be the clothing manufacturers changing them.

It was not until around high school graduation when I went swimsuit shopping with H (he was not my husband then though) that it hit me. I couldn't buy a juniors size swimsuit because juniors sizes didn't go that high. That was my turning point.

Although it should have been when I overheard someone else who was looking at prom pictures point to H and I and say "there's a fat couple in every group, huh?" Nope, that didn't do it. That just sent me to the ice cream.

That summer though, I decided to join Weight Watchers and lost 47 lbs. I kept that weight off until I got pregnant with V. I didn't gain much with his pregnancy, but it was HARD to get that weight off after he was born. Really really hard. I did it though and was back down to my pre-pregnancy weight when he was about 3 months old (which was actually 4 lbs more than I weighed when I hit my goal, but still a comfortable weight for me).

Then I got pregnant with M and started following the Brewer Diet http://www.bradleybirth.com/PD.aspx. I gained about 5 lbs more with M than I did with V, but the weight came of faster at first. The last 5 lbs or so were a fight though. A knock down drag out fight, but they are gone now and they took 3 more with them. Thank goodness.

I have been working my rear off following Weight Watchers food plan and working out though. And I sort of just want to sit down and eat a gallon of ice cream, 2 dozen chocolate chip cookies, a bag of M&Ms, and potato chips dipped in sour cream. That would be my heaven. But I also want to lose another 2-7 lbs.

But heaven sounds so delicious, that maybe I am okay where I am. I can't decide. I am also sort of afraid that if I lose more, I will just have more flabby loose skin. Especially my belly skin. And then there is my shelf (what I not-so-affectionately refer to the flap of skin above my c-section scar) that keeps getting bigger as I get smaller. And I would have to buy new clothes. That is a good and a bad thing.

I am just torn I think. And I think it is going to be hella-hard to lose more weight since I have been toying with the same couple of pounds for a couple of weeks. But I have also not been so faithful (like eating a handful of M&Ms and not counting the POINTS).

Maybe tonight I will eat ice cream and tomorrow I will worry about my waist...

How I earn my keep

Since I stay at home with the kidlets, we often joke that H earns the money and I spend it, but I sort of look at what I do as a job too. Since I don't bring any money to the table (or not enough to really count anyway since I do work a bit for my dad), I try to save where I can. I hardly ever buy anything for myself (save 2 more nursing bras after M was born), I buy the kids clothes on clearance, and I coupon. I mean really coupon. This is my coupon box.

(that says "IF FOUND PLEASE RETURN TO: my name and phone number". This thing is so imporant to me. Shortly after V was born H left it in the cart at the store and I was infuriated with him. Like the maddest I have EVER been. A few days later this kid called me and said that he found this box with coupons in it and asked if I actually wanted it back! Of course I did! H thought that was pretty funny)
I have all my coupons organized so it is pretty easy to find what I am looking for. Each "divider" is labeled with something like "Baby", Bread","Drugs", etc all in alphabetical order. Then, behind each divider are envelopes labeled as well. For drugs, I have envelopes labeled deodorant, feminine, lotion, make-up, medicine, soap, and toothcare. Inside each envelope are the coupons in alphabetical order by brand and then by expiration date.

H used to be a little more than embarrassed when I would walk into the grocery store, coupon box in hand an spend an hour looking for "deals". Now, I don't have an hour at the grocery store unless I am going after the kids are in bed, and even then, I feel like I am on borrowed time since if M wakes up and is hungry, H can't feed her. So I do much of what I used to do at the store at home, but I still save a ton.

Let's take this weeks shopping trip for example. I got:

10 boxes of Kellogs cereal

1 box of popcorn

2 hot pockets

1 box of Boca burgers

10 pears

1 bag of chips

5 boxes of oatmeal

2 rolls of sausage

1 carton of ice cream

grand total: $14.86 PLUS the register printed of coupons for FOUR free gallons of milk! So basically I got all of that PLUS 4 gallons of milk for less than $15! Pretty darn good if you ask me!

Now, let me add that we don't NEED 10 boxes of cereal this week, but I put them in the pantry so I don't have to spend $4 a box on cereal when we need some. We just go shopping in the pantry.

I also want to add, that that was not the only grocery trip. I also made another trip for perishables (fruits, veggies, milk). The reason though, that I don't have a list like most people do, is that I can plan my meals around what is in my freezer, fridge, and pantry.

I honestly think we could live for 6 months and only buy milk, fruit, and veggies. It is sort of scary, but most of the stuff I hardly paid anything for, got for free, or even better got PAID for.

My favorite thing is when I get paid for stuff. Yesterday I got toothpaste (not that I NEEDED it, I probably have 20 tubes of toothpaste) but, it was on sale for $3.99. I had a $1 coupon and so I paid $2.99. The store also had a sale where if you bought it for $3.99, they would give you $3.99 towards your next purchase. I shop there weekly, so I will definitely spend the money, but they essentially paid me $1 for my toothpaste. It nearly makes me giddy!

I also got the kids entire Fall/Winter wardrobe for under $50 and it was all new at the Children's Place (so nice stuff) and JC Penney. When we were in Texas they were having a crazy good sale at TCP and I got pretty much everything M will need there and about 1/2 of V's stuff for $30-$40 (the boys stuff was pretty picked over) and then at JC Penney I finished V's shopping for about $10. Now I just have to hope that I got the right sizes!

So, all that to say that even though I don't earn much of a paycheck, I think I definitely earn my keep around here :)

Spring Break

I was really nervous about Spring Break this year. Normally, V goes to "school" two days a week so I go to work one day and run errands the other. This week I had no breal all week so I knew I would be doing all my work from home and groceries just might not get bought. I was also really worried about what we were going to do all week, but we found something to do each day.

Monday we went to a toddler aerobics class at the library and V and his friend A had a blast. Tuesday, we went to see Irish dancers at the library and again V had so much fun. That was also the day that V didn't take a nap and instead decided to poop in his bed. Poop was everywhere and I had him (and me since I had gotten poop on me while picking him up) in the shower when all of a sudden we had no water. No water at all and poop everywhere. It was disgusting. Eventually though, we got our water back and got cleaned up so he could go see the dancers.

Wednesday we went to storytime at the library and then met H for lunch. After lunch I stopped by the shop to pick up my work and V had all sorts of fun running around up there.

Thursday was Rhythm Babies at the library and then Friday we had a birthday party at Chick-fil-A. Let me just say, they were fabulous at Chick-fil-A. They were so accommodating (the birthday boy's mama said she just went in 20 minutes before the party and told them what she was planning) and they set up tables for us and put little protector things on the table for the kids. The manger also got all the kids ice cream and a little cow doll. They were fabulous! The cow even came out to see the kids, but V was terrified. And by terrified I mean latched on to my leg hiding (thank goodness mama has big thighs, right?).

Today, H isn't feeling well so we all just hung around the house, but it was a fun spring break. I feel like I got a lot done and we had a lot of fun, so I consider that a success!

guilt leads to passion

So, yesterday V and I were alphabetizing the DVDs (I know, you do what you can to stay busy when you SAH :) ) and I came across the DVD the hospital gave us of his birth. I asked him if he wanted to watch it and he did so in it went. The first part of it they put to music, so we watch H cut his umbilical cord (and by that I mean the dr cut it from me to V, but H cut it shorter), V get his footprints done, get weighed and measured, etc, etc.

Then I realize that I am not there. I am not in the video of his birth. Like I wasn't a part of it at all. At the very very end, it shows H bringing him to me so I could kiss his cheek, but he was all bundled up in a blanket with a hat on so I could only see part of his little face.

It broke my heart that just a few nights earlier I watched the video of M being born and she doesn't leave my arms during the whole video (about 15 minutes long--well, except when I had to get off my hands and knees and onto my back so I could look at her). In V's video I am not even there.

After the part they put to music they have the "uncut" part. Ours is still somewhat "cut" because they show the dr handing him to the nurses after they took him out of my uterus and then it stops until they got him breathing. Watching that brought me to tears. His birth was so violent. Even after H cut the cord, the nurses literally pushed him out of the way. It makes me so sad to think of how scary that must have been for V. To be all happy and warm inside mama and then all of a sudden being yanked out into this cold room where all these strangers are touching him and poking him and putting things in his mouth and nose. How terribly frightening for him.

I sat on the floor with the video playing holding my son and crying. I wanted so badly to tell him how sorry I am that I let them do that to him, that I did that to him. I want to go back and change it. I want the first day of his outside life to be a peaceful, happy one. I want him to have felt love, not fear in his first moments. I feel like that was my first failure as a mother. That is guilt I will take to my grave.

At the end of the uncut version, I am laying on the gurney holding him and shaking so badly V asked me what was wrong with me. Then the nurses took him off down one hall and I was wheeled down another. It just makes me sad.

Today, I was getting dressed and he saw my c/s scar. He asked me what it was and I told him that is how he came out of Mama. He looked at me with curious eyes, so I explained to him as delicately as I could that he used to be in my belly like M was and then the doctor cut Mama's belly open to get him out. He said "Oh, then she put me back so I came out your 'gina." "No, baby. Then you were out."

It's like at almost 3 the child knows that babies are made to come out of vaginas (that may be because I am his mother and that was a hot topic around here for a while and once a month we have a VBAC Support Group meet at my house where we talk about it for hours, but still he gets it!).

I sort of expected a VBAC to heal my c/s pain, but it didn't. In some ways it actually made it worse because I now know what I could have given him that I didn't.

That leads me to my passion, though. I have never really had a passion. I mean I liked stuff, sure, but never really had something I was passionate about until V was born. I think I have found my life's purpose. I want to prevent other women from needlessly going through births like I did with V.

my road

So, Dani got me thinking with her reply in my last post. I started thinking about when V was younger and we were just getting to know each other. When I was pregnant with him, I knew I wanted to breastfeed, but I only wanted to do it for 12 months. People who nursed longer than that were weird. And really, what was the point? I mean they can eat food.

I wanted to breastfeed because I knew it was what was best for baby and it was free. I had no idea about the emotional side of it. I had no clue about the bonding, for both of us. I didn't realize that I would use it as a parenting technique. I didn't know how much I would love it.

Late nights nursing my baby when everyone else was sleeping was so peaceful. Seeing his milk drunk half smile melted my heart. Being able to use nursing as a "snooze button" to get a few more minutes of sleep was fabulous and I was often able to turn a bad mood into a good one with just a few minutes of "boobies."

I often said that I didn't know how to mother without nursing and I really didn't. If V was having a fit I would bring him to my breast. If he fell down and was hurt, right to the boob. I didn't know what else to do.

Since he isn't nursing now, I have had to expand my bag of mommy tricks, and we are managing, but I have to say that I often wish I could just nurse him because it would be so much easier.

That brings me to why we nursed for as long as we did. I am a lazy mom. I really am. We co-slept so that I didn't have to actually wake up at night to nurse him. I could just get him latched on and fall right back to sleep. I couldn't even tell you how many times at night he woke up on most nights because I didn't fully wake up (either that or I just couldn't count that high!). We cloth diapered because I didn't want to have to buy diapers (and really, if you're doing 10 loads of laundry a week, does 2 more really make a difference?). And I nursed because it was easy. I didn't have to wash bottles, I didn't have to mix formula, it was easy. And when we got to the 12 month mark of nursing, it was easier to keep going than to stop. Same goes for 18 and 24 months. I just felt like nursing wasn't doing anything bad for him (and really it was doing a lot of good--he never got sick until this year and I don't know that it was a coincidence that it was also after he stopped nursing) and it wasn't worth the fight to stop. I could either nurse him for 3 minutes, or listen to him scream for 30. On the boob was easier, so on the boob it was. At some point though, he stopped asking and I stopped offering and that was that. It was easy. It was painless.

Sometimes, though, it makes me sad that he doesn't nurse anymore. We still get lots of cuddles in, but I miss the way he looked at me when he was nursing. Like I was the best thing in the world. Like I was his everything and he knew that he was mine.

reassurance

I am very pro-breastfeeding to say the least. V self weaned, and I won't say at what age, but he nursed longer than most people in the US let their kids. We'll just leave it at that. It often makes me sad that I don't remember his last nursing. I remember the one that I thought was the last one, but I know it was not.

I know that some people say that children will be scarred for life if they nurse past whatever age they deem inappropriate, but I truly feel like I did the best I could do for my kids with nursing them. When V and I had food poisoning when he was 18 months old, the only thing he poor guy could keep down was breastmilk. I was so thankful he was "still nursing".

The other day V, M, and I were playing on the floor, when V all of a sudden got up and said "Baby needs boobies. Now." He proceeded to lift his shirt and nurse his baby.

Now, this might seem odd to most, but to me it was a sweet sweet picture. He is mimicking what he sees and I think it is precious. It melts my heart when he goes up to M when she is crying and puts his hand on her back or belly and pats her saying "it's okay Little Sister. I'm right here. I'm staying right here."

Children pick up on everything. They really are like sponges, and when I see him doing the sweet things he does it reassures me that even though I am not anywhere near perfect, I must be doing something right.

you're kidding me, right?

My mom called me this afternoon after her annual womanly exam. Her GYN is my old OB. She said the OB/GYN asked about me and she told her that I had another baby and I had her vaginally. She told her my whole story and the OB/GYN said that she was amazed that I did it without drugs. Seriously? You're an OB for goodness sakes! Strike one.



My mom then asked how she likes the new hospital (they recently moved the maternity part of the hospital across town from the OB office when it used to be across the parking lot). She said she really likes it and that she is only delivering babies on Tuesdays now. Each OB in the practice has one day that they deliver babies. They induce or schedule c/s for their day. Are you freaking kidding me? My mom asked her what she does if she has a patient who doesn't want to be induced. OB said if they want her to be the doctor, then they will be induced or schedule a c/s. Strike two.



She also said that she would *LOVE* to deliver babies VBAC, but her insurance won't cover her. I think this is the biggest cop-out ever. If you want to, then you find insurance that will. You would rather induce and do c/s so that you can be home for dinner at 5. Please don't kid yourself. She then said the did deliver a baby VBAC once, but the woman came in with the baby crowning. She said it was an "emergency VBAC". Strike three.



I just don't understand how doctors can be so, so selfish. I mean they are manipulating women to make their jobs easier. It honestly infuriates me. I don't think they realize the long term ramifications to what they do (or if they do, they just don't care). I mean after they slice a woman open from hip to hip and take out her baby who was not yet ready to be born and is now doped up and unable to breathe, they go home and eat dinner with their family. Meanwhile, the baby is struggling to figure out what just happened and how he went from happy and warm and safe in mama's uterus to outside in this cold operating room with the one person he has known for his whole life somewhere else and mama is in unmentionable amounts of pain from being sliced open. It makes me sick.



I think my passion for this stems from my horrible c/s recovery which I didn't really mention in V's birth post. The day after he was born, the nurses wanted to remove my bandages and have me take a shower. This is when the real pain started. As the nurse started to remove the bandage, she realized I was allergic to it and it had burned my skin. We went into the shower because she said the cool water would help it come off.



Nurse and I were in the bathroom while H stayed in the room. He said my screams were nearly unbearable. He said it sounded like she was beating me. She took off the bandage and I seriously just screamed and cried. It was some of the worst pain I have ever felt in my life. The area around my incision looked like someone had taken a lighter and burned my skin. The nurse went on to tell me that a lot of people are allergic to the bandage they used on me. So why do you still use it?



On discharge day (4 days post c/s), I was told I couldn't lift anything for 2 weeks. Not even my baby. I spent the next 2 weeks in bed with V in a Pack-N-Play next to my bed. I would sit in bed and hold him all day and if I needed to go to the bathroom/get something to eat/whatever, I would have to put him down and slowly slowly slowly maneuver myself around. H had to sleep on the couch because if he moved in bed it caused me severe pain. Riding in the car was the worst. Tiny bumps felt like huge potholes. It felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside.



As much as a year after my c/s, if I moved the wrong way or if V kicked me in the right spot, my abdomen hurt. It breaks my heart that I have such a negative feeling surrounding my son's birth. I want to remember the day of his birth as a happy one, and it was, but every time I see my scar, I am reminded also of how painful it was.



One of the sweetest things H ever said to me was shortly after M was born. We were getting dressed and I told him I hated my scar. It is ugly and reminds me of what I did to my son by not fighting for him. He told me to instead let it remind me of what I did for M. Because of my experience I knew I had to fight the second time.



I have often thought that if I didn't have the experience I did with V, I surely would be a women who was terrified of labor. I would have labored on my back and been in excruciating pain with V and even if I had him vaginally, I don't think I would view childbirth the way I do now. And I certainly wouldn't have fought for M the way I did.



I suppose that in some ways my traumatic birth was a blessing. Because of it, I have met some of the most amazing people. Because of it I was able to have an awesome birth. Because of it I hope that my children will have a healthy view of birth. Because of it I have 2 totally cool kids.

Daddy's birthday gift

Photo by Tavia Redburn--she's amazing!

We tried for 14 months to get pregnant after we had V. My periods were very irregular and I probably took at least one pregnancy test each month. It was hard. In November 2008, the day before Thanksgiving, I woke up feeling nauseous. My first thought what that I might be pregnant! I was ecstatic to be sick if that's what it meant! I was in the bathroom, when H walked in and said V was throwing up. I thought "crap. I'm not pregnant" V and I had food poisoning and it was pretty bad. Made not overeating on Thanksgiving pretty easy though!

Well, little did I know, that I was in fact pregnant. Our little one was conceived on H's birthday.

In December, I went out for my monthly girls night and I said to the girls that I was either pregnant or I needed to lose some weight because my pants weren't fitting. The next morning I took a test and low and behold there were two lines. I didn't believe it! I was pregnant!

This pregnancy was very similar and very different all at once. I never got sick and the only real sign of pregnancy (other than my ever expanding belly of course) was that in the first trimester food in general was disgusting to me. If I cooked something there was no way I was eating it. I lost a few pounds in the first few months, but I quickly gained those plus plenty more back.

When I found out I was pregnant I was so happy, but I also knew I was in for a lot of work. I had decided I was not having another c-section and throughout the past 19 months, I had done a lot of research on birth and c-sections and VBAC. I was educated this time and I was in control. I interviewed midwives and decided I was taking charge this time. I was not going to put my faith in someone else and I was calling the shots.

I chose a midwife and I TOLD her what I was doing. I was having an un-medicated VBAC. I was going to continue to nurse my son. I was not having an IV. I was not going to be stuck in a bed during labor. I was going to come to the hospital only to push my baby out. It was going to be my way.

She was very understanding and I loved the difference in a midwife and an OB. She seemed to really care about me, not just my belly. It was fabulous!

I loved being pregnant and I felt so blessed to be able to go through the journey towards VBAC with a very dear friend of mine who was VBA2C four months before I was due.

I talked H into taking REAL childbirth classes and we signed up for Bradley classes. I loved them and felt energized and ready for labor at the end of each class. I was looking forward to contractions. I was looking forward to labor. I was looking forward to pushing a baby out of my vagina. I was ready.


Here is the birth story I wrote a few days after M was born:

At 4:15 am on Tuesday, I woke up to go to the bathroom. I got back in bed and laid down for a bit and then felt something warm between my legs. I looked at
the clock at it was 4:33am.

Funny side-note about this is that the first Tuesday of the month (which it was) is girls night. A group of friends and I get together the first Tuesday of each month. We've been doing it for a long time and it is our tradition. Well, 4 months prior (also the first Tuesday of the month) one of my girls went into labor. Her water broke at 4:30am and her son was born at 10:40pm that same night. She had him naturally after 2 c-sections and she was and is a HUGE inspiration for me. The night before my water broke she said something about how funny it would be if my water broke the next day. We laughed about it and she jokingly said she would be thinking of me at 4:30!

So, back to 4:33am and the warm feeling. I went back into the bathroom and the shorts I was wearing were quite wet and I had some bloody show. I also had some cramps that I thought were constipation, so I just went to lay back down and see what was going to happen. Well, I laid in bed for about 30 seconds when I realized there was no way I was going back to bed. I was too excited! So I went to lay in the living room. H asked what was going on and I told him that I was having some cramps and my water might have broken so I was going to go lay in the living room. After about 30 minutes I started trying to time the cramps (which at this point I realize are in fact contractions) and I can't do it. I go back into the bedroom and H and I time them together. We laugh and talk between them and even during some of them because they are not too bad. At 6am, I decide to call the doulas (T and A) and see what they think. While I am on the phone with T, I really have to breathe through contractions. She says it sounds like labor and she will call A and they will be on their way after they get breakfast and whatnot. Contractions get harder and stronger pretty quick, but they are still manageable. I was doing laundry and folding diapers and would just get on all fours during a contraction, and have H put his hand on my back. At 8:30am V woke up and T and A arrived shortly after. V was eating breakfast and we all stood in the kitchen talking and laughing and I would just get on all fours during contractions. Around 9am my mom came to pick up V and at this point
contractions were painful enough that I really had to breathe and think myself through them. The support I got from H, T, and A was amazing! It was really stressful for me to hear V crying (he was scared because I was on all fours moaning) and I just really wanted him and my mom to go. They left around 10am (the carseat in my mom's car was not installed right and H couldn't get it right so he was trying to install our extra carseat in her car while T was with me. I remember telling her that I needed H, but I didn't want her to leave to get him. Then I would tell her to get him, but stay here. I am fairly sure this was transition for me. After they got the carseat installed and my mom and V were gone, contractions got hard and strong. T and A said it was probably time to go and I just didn't want to get up and walk. I also remember asking T if she was sure this was labor! They said we could either get in the car and leave or call an ambulance. T and I got in the backseat of H's car and A followed us in her car. I rode to the hospital, on my knees facing the back of the car screaming at H's driving the whole time while also screaming that I needed to push. I wanted nothing more than to push. We finally pulled up to the hospital and someone got me a wheelchair (which I had said I didn't want prior to labor, but wanted so much once we got there!) I am sure I was a sight to see because I also sat on my knees, facing the back of the weelchair and had H push the wheelchair backwards
so I could go forwards. I should also add that I was wearing one of H's shirts, an adult diaper, and a pair of H's boxers. H later told me that the shirt was tucked into the diaper so I am sure that just added to the amusement!

We got on the elevator to go to the 4th floor and then they realized it only goes to 3. FABULOUS! The whole time I am screaming that I need to push and everyone is telling me not to. The poor physical plant worker who was in the elevator with us is scarred for life I am sure. He tried hard to help though and got us into the right elevator and up to the right floor. But then no one knew where to go, so they were just pushing me and pretty much screaming for help.

This is when we passed the resident eating a candy bar in her office. She rushed us over to triage (I am fairly sure she thought I was just a crazy laboring woman dilated to a 2 and thinking it was bad). We got into the triage room and they made A and T wait outside. The resident told me to get on the bed so she could check me and I just told her I really wanted to push. She told me not to push because I might not be dilated yet and she needed to check me and I needed to get on the bed. I told her no because it hurt so much and she could check me where I was (I was leaning over the bed with my feet still on the floor). She said fine and started to check and it hurt so badly I screamed (T later told me she heard me scream in the hall) so I got on the bed and she checked and said I was a 10 and then said that there was a tiny lip of cervix still left so I shouldn't push. The urge to push was nearly unbearable and all I wanted to do was to push my baby out! They wheeled me on the bed into a delivery room (which we later learned was a high risk room because there were no regular rooms available). I was on the bed on all fours with my lower half nude, so
lady-like. At this point, the resident asked me what drug I wanted for pain management! I told her nothing.

Anyway, on the way to the delivery room, I kept asking if L was on her way and the man said that if we didn't bring L with us she wasn't coming (I don't think he knew L was the midwife and A called on the way to the hospital to let her know we were coming). So we get into the delivery room and someone tells me to get on the other bed. I said I really didn't want to since I was in the middle of a contraction. She was quite rude, but when the contraction was over, I scooted over onto the other bed. Then someone said they were going to start my IV and I told them I didn't want an IV. I was told it was hospital policy and I said I didn't care, I didn't want it (although I didn't say it that nicely). They then said they wanted to do a Hep-Loc and I said no to that too. That really made them mad, but I just didn't care. L later told me that she got yelled at twice because I refused the IV and the Hep-Loc (my birth plan stated that I would have a Hep-Loc, but in the moment I just didn't want one). I also heard a nurse call that we needed Pitocin (why, I don't know, routine I thought, and L later agreed). A nurse kept trying to get the baby’s heartbeat on a monitor and I just kept pushing her hand away. It was really irritating to me to have her touching my stomach. There were so many people in the room that I finally just yelled that everyone needed to leave and surprisingly everyone but L and one nurse left (the 3 people I brought stayed though, which is what I wanted).

At some point they told me that they could not differentiate my heartbeat and the baby's because mine was high and baby's was low so they wanted to do an internal fetal monitor. I said no and L said that I really needed to get the baby out because they couldn't make sure baby was okay. She said if I didn't start pushing more effectively, I would still be pregnant in an hour. At this point I thought they were sending me in for a c-section and I got a burst of pushing energy. I not so nicely, told her to think positively. I kept switching positions, squatting, standing, and laying on my side and baby's head was just not coming down. I could feel the head come down and after a push, suck back up. It was so frustrating.

Finally, I got back on all fours and leaned on H (he said I was choking him) and pushed and pushed and pushed until I felt baby's head crowning. At this point I feel the nurse drop the monitor off my belly and I hear her yelling for L (apparently she had left the room to get yelled at by the doctors for my lack of IV). L rushed in as I was pushing the baby's head (and the hand that she had by her face) out and at 11:47am our 7 lb 15 oz, 19.25 in long beautiful baby girl was born (She even pooped on my hand as I was pulling her out). I called that it was a girl, but then had to look again to make sure since the cord was covering her genitals. She was in fact a girl, and once the cord stopped pulsing, H cut it and we were able to cuddle our sweet baby. It was an amazing experience. She didn't get suctioned or taken away or anything and we just got to hold the baby we had been waiting so long for. I had only a tiny little “flap” of a tear that
didn’t even need a stitch.

Having a med-free vaginal birth after a scheduled c-section was such an incredible difference. I felt amazing and even mentioned that I would do it again within an hour of her birth. M was alert and active and responsive and I felt like I could do anything! It was amazing! About 2 hours after she was born, L asked when we had planned on leaving and H said as soon as we could. She said we could leave then, but I really didn't want to have to cook dinner that night so we stayed overnight.

When we were leaving the hospital, I was being wheeled out and I was talking to the lady wheeling me and I said something about how they need bigger signs on the elevators that don't go to the 4th and 5th floors. Then she said "You're the one! You came in labor yesterday and almost pushed your baby out in the elevator with my friend! Was it a hand or a foot hanging out?" I told her that was me, but nothing was
hanging out. That's just how rumors get started...

I remember commenting to H after M was born that I was looking forward to a year without doctors. We got about a month. When M was 4 weeks old, she stopped breathing. She had done it a few times before, but never long enough that it really alarmed me. This time was different. I was holding her and she just stopped breathing. I know CPR, but I just started at my baby for about 30 seconds until she started breathing again. I was in shock. Our pediatrician (this is the old one still) wanted me to put her on meds and a monitor that would monitor her heart and lungs. I agreed to the monitor. After a few weeks of toting around this big and all its cords AND having to have my child plugged in all the time, I decided enough was enough and we switched pediatricians. The new pediatrician said that what happened to M is very common and we took her off the monitor. She has been fine ever since.

Now she is a healthy, happy baby and I never knew I could love someone else as much as I love V. Her smile seriously lights up the room. I would have waited forever for her.

My best birthday gift

I had a very easy pregnancy with V, never got sick or anything, and actually wouldn't have known I was even pregnant except for the expanding belly. I did everything by the book. I stopped drinking caffeine, alcohol, artificial sweeteners; gained weight exactly as the dr said; everything. But I still felt like something was wrong. I refused to buy anything for the baby. I didn't want a house full of baby things if something happened and I was sure something would. At my 20 week ultrasound, H and I were still arguing over if we would find out if baby was a boy or a girl (he wanted to know, I didn't) so we agreed that if I would agree to names before the u/s we wouldn't find out and we could find out the sex of the next baby--although I fully expected H to love not knowing so much after we did it that he wouldn't want to know next time. So we had the u/s, tech said everything looked good, baby was spread eagle, but she didn't tell us boy or girl. I still felt like something wasn't right.

At my 35 week appt (also the first appt I went to alone), my OB did a vaginal exam to check for dilation. She then said "that's not a head I feel. It's either fingers or toes" and ran out of the room. She came back in with an u/s machine and confirmed that our little one was breech. Double footling breech, which is said to be the most dangerous breech position. Fabulous!

Before I left, she made sure to tell me to check for the baby moving a lot since baby's position was so dangerous. She also told me about a patient she had who was about 35 week pregnant when she didn't feel her baby move all morning. She had an appt that afternoon so she waited until then to see the dr and by the time she got there here baby was gone. Scared the shit out of me, especially because I hardly ever felt my baby move (the whole time I was pregnant, I felt baby maybe half a dozen times).

Now, prior to this appt, I had planned on having a vaginal, drug-free birth. We took the hospital birthing classes and everything! In our classes they actually gave us these little pieces of paper that said things like "vaginal" on one side and "cesarean" on the other, or "boy"/"girl" or "medicated"/"unmedicated" and we had to put all the cards on the side for the way we wanted our birth to go. Then we had to turn 2 over, then 2 more, then 2 more and so on until all but 3 of the 12 cards had been flipped. Our last three were "vaginal", "unmedicated", and "husband present".

The OB then said we would schedule a c-section for 38 weeks. Schedule a who for what? I thought. I walked out of her office and called H on the way to the car. I couldn't speak. I just cried. I finally told him we would not have the birth we wanted. I cried.

At my 36 week appt, I told my OB that I had researched about footling breech babies and I read that they can turn if I get into different positions. She said that that hardly ever works but if I wanted to waste my time I could.

I trusted my OB. I mean she was my DOCTOR. She CARED about ME, right? She only wanted what was best for me and my baby, right? I decided trying to turn my baby was pointless.

At my 37 week appt, I asked about external version. She said she would try it, but chances were that I would end up with an emergency c/s and my husband wouldn't be able to be there. Still, I had hope that my baby would turn.

I had another appt at 37 weeks, 6 days. She did one last u/s and confirmed my baby was still breech, but had pulled one leg up. (side note here is that while she was doing the u/s she was telling us where arms and legs and whatnot were and she said and here is the scrotum-I mean foot. I didn't tell my husband she said that so at least he could be surprised). She said baby was stuck and I scheduled my c/s for 2 days later, the day after my birthday.

I cried. I cried a lot. This was not what I wanted for me or for my baby. I didn't want to be sliced open. I didn't want the drugs. I wanted to breastfeed. I wanted something totally different. Totally and completely different. I was scared.

I didn't sleep the night before my baby was to be born. I couldn't sleep. I was hungry (no food after midnight) and thirsty (nothing to drink either) and scared. I was really scared. I was scared for me and I was scared for my baby. I felt like no one cared.

We got to the hospital and I had them check one more time to make sure my baby was still breech. Baby was, and I was wheeled down the hall to the operating room. I cried the whole way. Sitting on the operating table in a cold cold white sterile looking room, I cried while the anesthesiologist tired 3 times to get the spinal in. H said they had told him they would come get him in a few minutes after they had me prepped and it was close to 30 minutes. Finally he was standing by my head and the surgery began. I remember H standing up and watching the whole thing. It was very surreal for me. I remember the OB saying baby was really stuck and H said they had to keep putting baby in and pulling back out before I heard H say "I see a penis! I see a penis!" I said "we have a son!" and we both cried. They had told me after baby was born they would lift him over the curtain for me to see. I waited for this, but it didn't happen.

My baby wasn't breathing. My OB had told me he might not be breathing because of the position he was in (I later found out that babies born by cesarean often having breathing problems). All of a sudden, I saw a swarm of people rush to one side of the room. H ran over there and was trying to see what they were doing to our son. He wasn't breathing, not crying, nothing. Medical records say he was blue. After a few minutes (which felt like hours) I heard a meek little cry and then a full-blown cry. After some oxygen he was breathing on his own. Thank God.

I got stitched up and the three of us left the operating room as a family. We announced to our families that we had a son and everyone went off to the nursery with the baby. I went with the anesthesiologist to recovery. I felt alone. Terribly alone. Then the anesthesiologist left and I was completely alone in the room. About 15 minutes later, my sister came in and said everyone had just realized that no one was with me.

I should also note that when V was born, his head and his left foot were very misshapen. The doctor said it was just the position he was in for so long and it would fix itself.

About 2-3 hours later, the nurses brought me my baby. We tried to get him latched on to nurse (I made everyone except H, my mom and the nurse leave--my mom said soon I would be nursing everywhere, and I said not me. ha!). Nursing was hard. Really really hard. He didn't know how to latch, I didn't know how to hold him and I just hurt. It was hard to hold him over my incision and I felt helpless. If I wasn't so angry, I think I would have given up.

I decided that the medical people took my birth and they were not getting breastfeeding.

The second day of his life, while the pediatricians were checking him out, they heard a heart murmur. Later that day they did an ultrasound of his heart and I forced myself to walk down to the nursery to be with him. They took him in the nursery and I rested outside and when they came out the doctor told me that they found 3 holes in my baby's heart. I went to pick him up out of the bassinet and they told me I couldn't hold my baby in the hallway, only in my room. My room felt like miles away (and probably a good 15 minute walk for my in pain 24 hour post cesarean self) and I cried. I cried for my baby and I cried for me.

We took V home and got settled. I made an appt with a pediatric cardiologist who ran a bunch of tests on my 6 week old son and decided that we would just keep an eye on the holes. He thought they might close on their own (which they did just before he was 12 months old).

When V was 4 months old, H and I decided we wanted another baby. We figured we got pregnant with V right away so we would this time too. We started TTC in October of 2007 when V was 4 months old and even though I was menstruating (despite EBF), I did not get pregnant until November 2008, but more on that later.

When V was about 6 months old, the pediatrician noted that his head was still misshapen. She thought that maybe he had craniosynostosis which is premature closing of the cranial sutures. Basically that he didn't have a "soft spot" like he should. Off to more specialists only to find that some of the minor sutures in the back of his skull had actually closed prematurely. We opted to just leave his head alone.

The pediatrician had also worried about V's weight gain, or lack thereof since he was a few weeks old. He lost more than 10% of his body weight at the hospital when he was born and they urged me to give him formula. I refused, so the pediatrician had us coming in for weekly weight checks because he was not gaining fast enough for her. When he was 11 months old, she told me that he was "off the charts" and she was diagnosing him with Failure to Thrive. FTT??? That is for kids who have no will to live. Not happy, playful boys like mine. Not children who are taken care of and loved more than life. I felt like I was branded. I had this huge sign hanging around my neck that said "I suck as a mom."

I should also add that I had told the pediatrician time and time again that something wasn't right with his digestive system. He spit up every single time he ate and he screamed bloody murder while pooping even though he had normal stools. He was always gassy and he just cried all.the.time. She said he was fine for a long time, but finally after much insistence from me, she scheduled us to see a pediatric gastroenternologist.

The GI told me my son was not gaining weight because he wasn't getting enough calories and he was crying when he pooped because he was constipated. She prescribed pediasure and miralax.

At the same time the pediatrician was threatening me with hospitalizations where I wouldn't be able to nurse my child and insinuating that I was starving him. She threatened that if something didn't change my child could be taken.

He also had some developmental delays in his gross motor skills (he didn't start crawling until he was 11 months old and didn't roll until he was 12 months old) and communication (he had no words at all until about 15 months old, but he started signing at about 10 months).

All he could keep down was breastmilk. If I gave him food, he either threw it up, undigested, even hours later, or he pooped it out looking just like it did when it went in. It was horrible. I kept logs of how often he nursed and for how long and how much solid food he ate down to counting out cheerios. She looked at my logs and said he was getting more than the number of calories he needed, but he was just not gaining weight. Something was wrong.

Eventually, he started eating better and stopped the screaming when he pooped. He still cried sometimes, but it was not as bad as it had been. I figured he just outgrew whatever was hurting him.

He also always got horrible horrible diaper rashes that we treated a million different ways but they would not go away. The pediatrician finally said he just has really sensitive skin and the only way to get the rashes to go away was to get him out of diapers.

At about 31 months old, he stopped wearing diapers, but the rash was still there. He had also started screaming when he pooped and saying his penis hurt when he peed. I talked to the new pediatrician about this and we finally, went back to dairy. The old pediatrician had told me when he was 3-4 months old that it couldn't be a dairy allergy, but mama instinct brought me back there at 31 months. I cut out the dairy in his diet and within days the rash was gone, the crying when he pooped stopped, and the crying when he peed stopped. My son is allergic to dairy.

Now what aggravates me most about this is that the poor child has been suffering for over 2 1/2 years and all I had to do was stop the dairy in his diet (and mine when he was nursing). It makes me mad at myself and mad at that pediatrician.

Now, V is 34 months old and so bright. He speaks in sentences and walks and runs and everything. He has completely caught up developmentally and I am fairly sure that in a few months he will start putting some weight on since he is off dairy (he weighs about 25 lbs now).

This child has changed my life in so many ways. He is certainly a handful, but he is so worth every second. I can't thank God enough for bringing my sweet boy into my life. I feel so blessed to get to be the one he calls Mama.

all because two people fell in love

So, it is naptime in the hizouse and both children are actually sleeping at the same time (yay for mama) so I can update!

I think my journey really started when I moved my sophomore year of high school. At the time it was the worst.thing.ever, but now its not so bad. I met my H in November 1998, three months after I moved. I was actually hanging out with his best friend, and said best friend came to my house to wake me up because it was a snowday. He bought H with him, and they did indeed wake me up. I had not even brushed my teeth yet when I first saw H. My first thought was that he was the funniest looking person I had ever seen (he had gotten back from Marine boot camp the day before and he was so skinny and bald). I'm sure his first impression wasn't much better, considering.

We became friends and I often set him up with friends of mine because I really liked hanging out with him. One night, around Halloween 2000, we were on a double date (my boyfriend and me with H and a girlfriend of mine) and we went to a haunted house. Now, let me add here that I LOVE scary anything (movies, houses, stories, whatever) until I actually start seeing the scary stuff. I was freaking out and my boyfriend ran ahead of me. H stayed with me through the haunted house and that is the night I realized I loved him. Shortly after that boyfriend and I broke up, but still hung out as friends since we had the same group of friends (H was always in this group too). Soon after, H and I started hanging out just the two of us more and more and he called me on New Years Eve 2001 and we talked and talked. A few weeks later, we were hanging out at his place and he kissed me. It was the sweet, corny, awkward kiss but it was perfect. And so began our relationship.


We got engaged a year later and married two years after that. About 2 1/2 years into our marriage we decided we were ready for babies. We went on "our last baby-free vacation" in July 2006 and also started Dave Ramsey's get out of debt plan. I stopped birth control in July and we figured it would take awhile to get pregnant, but in September, I told him I felt pregnant. I took a test 2 weeks after my missed period and it was negative. I sat on the couch and cried over losing something I never had, but I told him I still felt pregnant. Two weeks later I took another test and saw a faint horizontal line and a dark dark dark pink vertical line. It took us about 3 hours to realize that it didn't matter how light or dark the horizontal line was, it was the vertical line that only showed up if you were pregnant! (and really it doesn't matter with either line, but didn't want to get excited over nothing).

I hear children waking up, so more on our first love later...

For Starters

So, I decided to jump on this bloging bandwagon. First, I have no technological skills at all, so getting this far is amazing to me!

Anyway, so much has changed in my life in the past 6-ish years and I want to make sure I don't forget the important stuff. I feel like I have had some very defining moments, but with two kids to chase after (yes, I have to chase after BOTH of them now!) I am quickly losing brain cells. I am afraid that in 5 years I won't remember some things that are so important now and I want to be be able to tell my kids about them in the future.

So, basically, this blog is for me to keep track of our lives and maybe vent a little (okay, maybe a lot) about all my "crunchy" ways.

This leads me into the title of my blog. I do things my way. I have always sort of marched to the beat of my own drummer, but since I got pregnant with V, I have sort of taken things a little farther. But I will write more about that later...