Pride, Paralysis, and Fear

I thought all my body would need to get kicked into high gear was to have my water broken. I mean, really. A week late, lots of prodromal labor, fourth time mom, desire to be up and active. I'd have gone straight for the pitocin, but then they make you stay strapped to these monitors and machines and I was NOT thrilled about that.

So my midwife broke my water and we waited for things to really start happening. Turns out, I got a nurse who thought I needed to be strapped to the monitors for 40 min. out of every hour anyway, so there went my big plans to be ACTIVE.

I'll help you all out here by shortening this up considerably. Here's how it went:

At the midwife's office the day before: 2 cm
Upon breaking my water: 3 cm
6 Hours later: 4 cm
*started pictocin*
6 Hours after starting the pitocin: 5 cm

Yes, that's right. 12 hours after beginning the induction, I'd progressed only 2 cm.

Six HOURS of pitocin induced contractions and only 1 cm of progression, even though the dosage was increased at half hour increments.

At that point, if I hadn't already had my water broken, I'd have stood up, ripped all the crap outta my arm and off of my belly and WENT HOME. But I couldn't, really. I was on the clock, half of my go time was gone. I had 12 more hours before they started pushing for a c-section and at the rate I was going I was going to need a few more days to get the job done.

The worst part of it was that I *thought* I was really close to transition.

Nope.

Contractions every 2-3 min. lasting 60-90 seconds, controlling my breathing, concentrating on relaxing every muscle, focusing, and still nowhere near transition.

I had to stop fighting the pain, somehow.

I sat there in the rocking chair, bawling for a few seconds in between contractions, internally swearing like a sailor, when I finally pushed the call button for the nurse.

"Can I have... (gulp)... an epidural?" I squeaked out the question not really sure if I was more scared to get one or to NOT get one yet. I mean, this was ME we were talking about. It's not like I hadn't gone through this all before (well, minus the pitocin) for Waaay longer with Joshua. And there was going to be this needle.

In. My. Spine.

Who DOES that?!

"You sure can, sweetie!"

My nurse lit up like a Christmas tree. Before I could begin to second guess myself she'd called the troops in and they began to set up. Twenty minutes after I asked for it, I was beginning to feel some relief. Thanks to being short, the process itself took a bit longer than usual, but after hearing many stories of women waiting HOURS for their epi, I was really glad it happened so fast.

My blood pressure was already low to begin with and I'd set off the alarms more than once earlier in the day, but within minutes of the epi it dropped and set off the alarms again. The nurse gave me something in my IV to stabilize it, but it fell several more times over the next hour.

After that, things grew quieter, calmer, the nurses came and went, leaving the lights down so we could rest. I actually slept in between contractions, which spaced out to 8-10 minutes apart. I was discouraged. I felt like everything was out of my control now, instead of just the timing of labor coming on.

Colby went to sleep.

My mind felt numb.

I wanted to pray, but there were no words.

A few more hours drifted by.

Then the shaking began. Uncontrollable, knee-jerking spasms. I thought I was going to throw myself off the bed! I mean, usually I just puke a few times and I'm done with it, but this transition was totally different. And a lot longer than 20 minutes.

I was checked. 8 cm.

An hour later I was checked again. Still only at 8. Which, by the way, seemed to me to feel pretty much the same with our without an epidural. From transition forward I felt immense pain during contractions and pushing was every bit as painful as every other time I've done it.

Somewhere along the line I began to feel as if I were standing at the edge of a cliff. I had to jump to the other side but it seemed like a long way across. I had to cross; there was no way around it. But I didn't feel like I could.

I began to feel the pull of that irresistible current. I was drifting out to sea. The riptide had its hold on my body. I fought off the need to push, telling myself at first that I fought it because I was not fully dilated. But twenty minutes later when I was still hyperventilating and fighting it off harder than ever, my midwife began to realize something wasn't right.

I never looked at her. I couldn't break my focus away from my husband's eyes. All I could hear was his voice, trying to keep me calm, trying to help me through this fight going on inside of me.

Somewhere in my soul I watched a reel that played three scenes over and over: my little boy laying in a hospital bed with tubes and wires everywhere and a big red line down his little chest where his broken heart had been fixed; my midwife telling me I'd lost the baby and the look on my husband's face as I spoke those words to him; and pictures of our friends' precious baby lost at full term.

Bad things really do happen. I'm not immune. My children are not immune.

I was afraid.

"Lisa, you're at 10 now, you can push!", my midwife said, hoping I just needed that little bit of info to move on.

"I don't WANT to PUSH!" I huffed out in between hyperventilating breaths.

There was a flurry of activity and some unspoken communication between Colby and the midwife. Next thing I knew his hands were on each side of my face, his nose inches from mine as he said, "Hon, you need to push NOW or I'm going to have to push FOR YOU."

I stood on the cliff and jumped, not knowing where I was going to land. Not believing it was really going to turn out okay.

It only took two pushes till she was up on my chest, looking up at me with big blue eyes.



She was here. She'd made it.

We'd made it.

"Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus.", was all I could think to say.

I didn't know fear could cause such paralysis. I'd never been afraid of giving birth or the pain. I'd always trusted both in my body and the outcome.

If I were to admit it, I'd even have to say I'd had a hard time understanding those women who WERE afraid of birth and pain and complications.

This time the innocence was gone.

Every birth, I think, is a spiritual journey. For me, this one took me down a new path, one that taught me not to judge, not to make assumptions, and not to take pride in something that is truly God's and His alone: giving life.

Elayna Turns 3!

When I discovered I'd gotten knocked up for the third time while I was still nursing my 8 month old AND on birth control, I was less than thrilled.

When I finally moved past the initial state of denial (hey, 8 pregnancy tests COULD be wrong, you know) I then had to deal with the barrage of comments and questions people kept asking me.

"Wow, you guys are ambitious, aren't you?!"

"Was that PLANNED?!"

"You do know how this happens, right?"

Really, how is a person supposed to respond to that last one? "Well, I AM fairly certain I know how that works, but why don'tcha spell it out for me just so I know we're on the same page?"

I tried to bite my tongue.

Most of the time.

At first it's just the people who know you - whom you actually TELL the news to, but as soon as the bump starts to make itself seen total strangers add in their two cents.

I pretty much spent the whole pregnancy wondering if they were all... right. That maybe I'd gotten myself in WAY over my head. I mean, before I knew it I was going to have 3 kids aged 3 and under. It even SOUNDS like something a crazy person would do. Not a sane person.

By the end I'd accepted the fact I'd lost my sanity and there was nothing to be done about it but hope that in my old age my children didn't blame me too much for their nervous ticks and the outrageous bills coming in from their therapists.

I was tired.

I was grumpy.

I let them watch WAY too many videos.

But eventually we survived to see the day I went into labor.

After the quick birth of my 9 pounder, I thought for SURE this baby would be a breeze. Once I knew I was in a progressive pattern around 9 am we called the midwife and got our stuff together for a trip to the hospital.

We got there around 10:30, got through the admittance stuff and into our room... but barely. I was at a 4 and my contractions were slowing down.

"Oh well", they said, "we'll get your antibiotics in you and you'll get relaxed and we'll have a baby by 3pm!"

Oy.

It was a slow progression. Walking, getting checked, laying around while they poked my arm repeatedly for half an hour till they got a vein, sitting on the ball, and best of all.... getting WATCHED.

Seriously.

Well, at least most of those there were watching me breathe. Except ONE.

I realize there is NOTHING else to do, but when you (ahem... hubby...) turn on a basketball game and leave it on between 4 and 8 centimeters you had BETTER take the cue and MUTE the TV whenever I say I feel a contraction coming on, otherwise you just simply run the risk of having to pay the hospital for the tv I break when I throw a tray at it.

And then there was that whole issue of having to keep the hospital gown on WHILE IN LABOR. I do not like clothes of any sort while breathing deeply and concentrating on relaxing every muscle in my body.

Breathe in through the nose....(Ssssss) .... Breathe out through the mouth...(Whoooosh).... relax your shoulders..Wait. What is this?! A TAG?! Some STITCHING?! Against my SKIN?!

And then all concentration is lost.

I need to be FREE! I need to be swimming in a deep clear mountain pool letting the water rush over me, and here I am having to deal with sleeves and snaps and.... good grief. I can't do it. I just. Can't do it.

Finally I got in the shower for some peace and quiet. And to be free from the stupid gown. The hot water will relax me, I thought.

Except that it didn't. It was already almost 5:00, well after that magic 3:00 hour I was promised a baby by. I was so anxious to make progress and get on with it that the shower did pretty much nada.

"I feel some pressure!!" I said to the nurse that kept coming in to check on me every two minutes. Not that I didn't already have someone already right there watching me in case I fainted or something.

I must be about ready to push, right?!, I kept thinking. I mean I got in the shower when I was at an 8, so I must be right on the edge of hitting transition. I must be!!

"Okay! Let's get you out and check for progress.", replied the nurse.

A long, frustrating hour later I was back in the bathroom. In the tub this time, on the verge of tears, wondering why it was taking me so many long, hard contractions to get to a 10!!

And then I puked. Well, maybe it was more like... dry heaved. 'Cause by the third baby, I knew it was inevitable so why bother trying to eat or drink? It's all gonna come up when I hit transition.

TRANSITION!! Thank heavens, I'd finally hit transition. And then the typical panic mode set in. It's when the contractions are piggy-backed and double-peaking and the only thought that goes through my head is that the pain is going to make me pass out and then the baby and I are both going to die. I'm sure of it.

In that moment, I don't care who else is in the room with me. I can only hear one person's voice and the rest is just mumbled background. It is the only thing that gets me through the panic. I hear HIM. His voice, his words of encouragement, his arms wrapped around me, giving me strength.

I'm so glad he is there! What would I do without him? Oh wait. HE knocked me up, that's right, it was HIM! Oh yeah, I definitely don't feel guilty for squeezing those fingers a little tighter in that death grip.

At that point I was still in the tub. I looked at my midwife. She looked at me. I think she read somewhere in my face that I was NOT about to get up and haul myself over to the bed so I could lay there on my tailbone and give birth. No sirree. I was going to stay put in my 6 inches of hot water and do it. So she helped me breathe through the first contractions where I felt the need to push (absolute utter misery to NOT push when you need to) and by the time she signaled the nurses to come in and help it was obvious I wasn't going anywhere - the baby's head was crowning.

Two pushes later and she was out and the fuss began over some crazy lady who gave birth in the bathtub. I laid there holding her on my chest while they suctioned her and cut the cord, and as I handed her to the nurse so I could get out I couldn't help but wonder whose child that was. Didn't look a thing like my other two kids.... It was the first time I didn't feel like, Hey, I KNOW you!!, the first time I laid eyes on the little creature that had been taking up space in my body. Maybe it was because she has her daddy's chin and tippy ears.

Right about then one of the grandmas called out, "Well, you guys only have ONE pattern, don't you?"

Turns out she was kind of right. Elayna did end up with the blonde hair and blue eyes her brother and sister have. But to me she just looked... different somehow. Long and skinny, for one thing. After Emmy's 9lb. 2oz. entrance into the world at not quite 21 inches long, Elayna was a surprise. 8lb 6oz. and a whopping 23 inches long. How ironic that she is the peanut of the family, with a projected height of 5'3" just like her momma.

She is the child I wouldn't have chosen to have right then, but that God knew we needed. She is our little ray of sunshine, always eager to please, eager to help, and rarely imposing, unless it's to snuggle. It was because of her birth that we switched doctors and found Joshua's heart condition. It was rough to go through all that with a tiny baby, a toddler, and a little boy with a broken heart, but it made me realize that God has His plans and works things together in the most amazing ways.

It was exhausting to say the least, but I wouldn't go back and change a thing. She is a blessing and a joy.


Hello, Baby!



Joining the crew of Cutest Kids Ever! :D


10 months - such a happy, happy girl!


First Birthday, we knew she had a sweet tooth already, but... wow. The way she attacked her first cupcake was something to see!


2 Years Old! Still with a sweet tooth...



2 1/2 years old! Such a sweetheart.



Happy Birthday, my little Laney Bean!!

A Look Back at Emmy

Emmy joined the family 2 years and 8 days after Joshua. You'd think after the first experience I had with labor I'd be dreading those first moments of realization when the labor pains began. Nope. Not me. I was trying everything I could think of to get labor started. (except castor oil. Nooo castor oil for me, thanks.)

It had been quite the pregnancy from the get-go. You know, there was the normal nausea, exhaustion, that taste in your mouth that never goes away, all the fun things we all go through in early pregnancy.

And then the real fun started. First, it was this craving of ice that I couldn't shake off. After a while I just... gave in to it.

Just once.

Or twice.

Okay, I admit it. A few weeks after the cravings started I was known by name to the people at the gas station, who expected me on a very regular basis to come in and get a cup of ice, just ice, and walk back out with a wave.

At first they charged me a quarter for the cup.

They stopped doing that after I snarled at them a few times about how ridiculous that was. I think they felt bad for me, this very round lady with a toddler on her hip, fishing around the bottom of her purse for a quarter because the craving was so overwhelming I couldn't seem to walk back out of there and go home to make ice of my own.

Took too long, you know, to make ice in a tray.

I'd have to wait HOURS for that.

Talk about ridiculous.

Of course, most of the time I went to the grocery store and bought bags of ice and took them home all ready to eat straight from the freezer bag.

The thought of it now just makes my teeth hurt.

I talked to my midwife about the craving of ice and she wasn't too concerned about it. "Your bloodwork was fine!", she said cheerfully, and sent me on my merry way home... to chew on more ice.

Once my ice cravings were recognized and a plan of action put in place, I started realizing ice wasn't the only craving I had. On my rounds to the store and back on my little ice runs, I found I was really enjoying the summer air, the breeze through the open window, the peace and quiet as my son slept in his car seat in the back, and the wonderful smell of asphalt being freshly laid.

Oh yes. Asphalt.

Mmm... the smell of freshly laid asphalt. Sniffing the air as we drove back and forth, back and forth through the construction zones abounding in northern Michigan in the month of July...

Yeah. Weird, huh? Something was definitely off about the whole thing. At least I didn't want to EAT the asphalt though! Some women crave and EAT chalk while pregnant. Of course, I know now that cravings like that signal some sort of imbalance of chemicals and what not, but then I just took the word of my midwife that I must be fine and kept trucking on.

And eating my ice, of course.

When my mom showed up nearly two weeks before my due date ("Don't want to be late to the party like last time, dear!") she was a little shocked by the sight of me.

I admit, I was kind of... round. And big. But really, I'm not sure it warranted THAT kind of reaction.

"Lisa, your ankles are... HUGE!"

"Thanks, Mom."

"And your feet! Your feet are like SAUSAGES!! Look at your TOES!"

"Again. Thanks. I can't really see my feet down there, but I'll take your word for it."

"And why are you carrying around that cup of ice?!"

"Eh, I don't really know, but I'm almost out. Wanna go for a drive? I know of this construction site about 10 miles away we could check out..."

She was concerned. My midwife was not. I was just simply ready to be done. I was ready to be done, oh, about the time people started asking me when I was going to have that baby because "oh my goodness, you're so HUGE!" at 32 weeks.

I tried and tried to get labor started early. Nothing worked. Dilated to 3 for more than 3 weeks, one trip to L&D for a false alarm, and crying great crocodile tears of frustration at the weekly appointments when even the midwife's attempts to get things going failed to make progress.

Finally my due date came.

And then it went.

No baby. Now I was just crying in frustration in blustery outbursts at random intervals.

I woke up with contractions around 3 am and came downstairs to sit in the rocker and start timing them. They came and went, I rocked, I went for walks, I showered... and the contractions came and went and nothing fell into a discernible pattern. They went from 3 minutes to 7 minutes to 3 minutes to 20 minutes.

I was sure it was another false alarm and I'd go another week or two or maybe a month at the rate this was going.

I mean, for all I knew it wasn't really the real thing because although the pains were moderate, my water hadn't broken, which was one of the first signs of labor with Josh!

Finally, with tears of frustration, I took my midwife's advice and dosed myself with two Tylenol PM and went to bed.

Colby went to the church bonfire.

Two hours later when he came home he woke me up to check on me. I'd had contractions in between being passed out asleep, but none that were too terrible. When I got up from the bed to go use the bathroom, a contraction hit me and had me doubled over the side of the bed, trying to get my bearings and figure out how to breathe again.

"Wow." Colby said as he watched my eyes get that slightly crazy look to them.

30 seconds later another contraction hit me. I hadn't even made it around to the other side of the bed yet.

"Let's ROLL!" Colby yelled down the stairs to my mom. And ROLL we did!

I hardly had time to process anything as we went from house to truck to hospital to... yeah, I lost track after that of all that was going on. Next thing I knew I was in full panic mode, which I know now comes about 2 minutes before the need to push for me. I didn't even have TIME to think about wanting a water birth. I didn't have time to think about where and how I wanted to give birth or drugs for that matter - there was just this knowledge suddenly that I was in "the zone" and I wasn't about to move from the position I was in - even though it wasn't the most conducive to catching a baby. But we won't get into that.

Her birth was mercifully quick, despite the fact that she came out with her hand up next to her face.

They laid her immediately on my chest, cut the cord, suctioned her appropriately, and stepped back.

I looked down at my tiny little daughter. Okay, maybe not so tiny. Oh. Oh wow! She's kinda a big girl ain't she? I thought.

She looked up at me. And pooped.

On my bare skin, mind you.

And then she peed.

It was at this point I looked around for some "Help here, please!" and noticed that the nurses had ALL taken a step back from the bed.

What in the...?? I thought as I looked at the row of nurses, hands clasped nervously in front of them, looking askance at me holding my poopy baby. Well, one kind of had her hands a little outstretched as if this were excruciatingly difficult to have this 'hands off' approach.

She was the one who came rushing forward when I asked for help. Apparently they had all been warned before hand that I was a "homebirthing mama" and wanted as little intervention as possible.

Yeah. I may be a little crunchy here... but not THAT crunchy!! Please don't make me do the clean up too!

After she had relieved herself so thoroughly, they put her up on the scale.

9 pounds, 2 ounces. Everyone collectively turned and looked at me. 9 pounds?! Out of ME?!

"Did you know she was going to be THAT BIG?!" one of the nurses asked.

"Uh. No. No clue. The other midwife guessed somewhere around 6.5 lbs. a week ago." I answered.

Yeah, see?! I KNEW she wasn't a 6 pounder when I carried her around inside of me for that long! I wanted to say. Where's the phone? I'll call her up and tell her RIGHT NOW!

Ah well. At least I didn't KNOW she was a 9 pounder before I went into labor. It would have scared the bejeebers out of me.

Totally makes me have a whole new respect for our neighbor lady, who just gave birth this week to twin boys, 10 lbs. 1 oz, and 10 lbs. 3 oz. At home. With no drugs. Wow. I remember how incredibly miserable it was to carry around 9 pounds of baby inside me - 20 pounds of baby is just beyond what I can wrap my mind around!

I felt like a whole new woman after giving birth to Emmy. The relief was immense! But I finally had to come to terms with how messed up my hormones and chemical balance were when the baby blues hit me hard a few weeks later. I couldn't shake them off. I couldn't pull myself up by my bootstraps and get back to normal. It was hard, and looking back, I know it had a lot to do with all of those crazy things that went on during the pregnancy. Like smelling asphalt.

That little girl has been my challenge since before she was born, and she still is! But besides teaching me patience, patience, and more patience, she is also the bright shining light with the golden laughter and the spirit of adventure that takes us all to new places. I don't know what I'd do without her.

We survived those first few months, just in time to have another surprise thrown at us - a new pregnancy when Emmy was just 8 months old.

Oh boy.

But that's another story.

yep, she was a little chublik!


I couldn't believe all the hair she had! And then it fell out and turned blonde.

at 9 months

at 1 year old - yep, the fiery temper has pretty much always been there...

2 years old, what a cutie.

at 3 years old, my little butterfly!


Now she's 4 years old!

Joshua

A Look Back At Joshua:

So there I was, laying in bed, trying to get some rest, excited that my mom was flying in the next day to be here for the birth, when.. "pop!" ... I instantly realized it had been a very bad mistake for me to procrastinate on putting the waterproof mattress pad down under the sheet. I just, you know, never thought it would happen to me!

We called the midwife and let her know what was going on, then called my mom, whose flight wasn't scheduled to leave for another 13 hours or so. From the west coast. With two connections. She was kind of panicked.

I settled in for a considerably less than restful night of timing the contractions and writing down when they came on a little notepad next to the bed. In the morning, about when the sun came up, the contractions stalled out and we called the midwife again, who suggested we shut the phone off and get some sleep as long as we could. I napped here and there, but not much. Too excited! Little did I know!!! They picked up again 2 hours later and we got ready for the real stuff to begin.

In the afternoon we finally plugged the phone back in to call the other family members who wanted to be there, and somewhere in between the phone rang! It was a by now VERY panicked mom who was somewhere in the middle of nowhere about 20 miles from our house, upset and lost.

"My mom is WHERE?!" Apparently she had hopped an earlier flight, assisted by wonderful women who understood completely at all check in counters along the way, rented a car when she got to the airport early and couldn't get a hold of us, and started driving.. "that way" towards our house! She'd only been here once before. It's amazing what having your child in labor with her first child will drive you to do. Okay, bad pun, sorry Mom!

Of course, things were much better once Mom was there. Everyone else began arriving too, and by dinner time we were all ready to get down to business. Except me. Things were getting painful! I walked up the stairs. I walked down the stairs. I then repeated that a few times. I walked and walked and grew very discouraged at the lack of progress. "Oh, look! You're a 4!!" ... "Bite Me!" ... Okay, that's what I wanted to say, but didn't. Instead I think I just cried. They say I was funny and cracking jokes during this time, but I really don't remember. Mostly what I remember is all the mean, nasty things I WANTED to say, but didn't. Except the one time the midwife told me, for the 100th time, "Ride the wave, just Ride the Wave, dear." and I told her through gritted teeth, "I. Want. To. GET. OFFffff. THE. RIDE. now." Seeing as how that was said in the middle of a strong contraction in which I could hardly breathe, I think she caught my drift.

Somewhere about that time my clothes started to feel like they were choking me and I soon became convinced they were trying to kill me and had to go. All I could think was, "Get them OFF me before I BURN them off!!!" No one argued. The midwives' eyes got big, my best friend giggled, my husband went to his happy place in the 'zone', my mom gathered all the sheets and table cloths in the house and covered every window and door, and my mother in law retreated to the corner of the living room where she prayed. Still not sure if she prayed for the safety of the delivery or my soul. Ah, well. I'm sure both needed praying for right then.

So, pretty much everything from there starts to blur together for the next 8 hours. 8 MORE HOURS! lol. There are some startlingly clear moments, like eating some warm, comforting potato soup - and then throwing it up violently several times.

Or like when the house was dark and quiet and everyone perched around the house in chairs and beds and slept. Except me. I laid on the bed set up in the living room and tried to rest in between contractions that teetered on the edge of overwhelming me. In those moments I would stare at this certain wrinkle in the sheet that covered the big window. In our Lamaze classes they'd talk about having a "focal point" and I used to laugh. A focal point? What on earth good would that do?! They showed some picture of a beach in Hawaii and suggested finding something similar to focus on. "Pshaw! Who needs a beach in Hawaii when I've got me a wrinkle to stare at?", I thought to myself when I found that, indeed, a focal point can be VERY useful.

A few weeks after Josh was born I wrote my whole birth story out for posterity's sake. The midwife asked for permission to use it in her New Parents handout. I wondered if she were trying to scare people out of having children. My story was written in such dark and foreboding tones it almost seems gothic.

Yeah, it did get dark and blurry after that wrinkle thing, but eventually there was a light turned on at the end of the tunnel. Again, sorry for the bad pun there, people! So many moments I didn't think I could do it, a couple of panicky thoughts of believing I would soon pass out from the pain, and then what? Would my EMT sister in law then go to work and slice me open to save the baby while my RN mother in law helped? At least I had a little reassurance at that thought that the baby would live even if the pain killed me. And that was the important thing. I thought of all the things I wanted to say to people.

"Take care of the baby for me...", I tried to croak out to Raini once, but I was too tired to squeeze the air out of me and form words with my mouth. So then I retreated to trying to communicate these things with my eyes. "If I blink twice will she get it?" I wondered. "Hmm.. ah, well, if I die, I die. Guess I should have written my goodbye notes before going into labor."

When the need to push finally came it was around 2 in the morning. I had been in and out of the birthing tub, relieved by the hot water, but had gotten out again to lay on the bed and rest while everyone slept. The midwife laid on the couch opposite me. As soon as my breathing changed her eyes flew open and her gaze bore into me. "Are you... pushing?", she asked? "UNnnnnhhhOooo", I replied. Her eyes squinted back in recognition. I didn't want to push. I wanted to sleep for a while so I had the strength to push. Soon the house was alive with people rushing around getting ready for the big event. When everyone was all gathered round me to watch the grunting lady give birth, the midwife gently reminded me I had wanted to give birth in the tub.

"She's fine." I heard my mother tell the midwife.

"Lisa, remember, you want to have a water birth.", the midwife directed her comment toward me, trying to get me to make eye contact with her during an incredibly BUSY moment. Some of them exchanged glances as they wondered - How are we going to lift her up and get her in the tub if she says YES? Maybe get a chair lift...? Or the engine hoist..??? 5 women, 1 man, might still be a challenge to get her up...

All the eyes in the room shifted and soon I felt like I was just blatantly being stared at. Someone rubbed my leg and asked me if I wanted to try getting in the tub. And then... THEN.. I was MAD. "FINE!!", I thought. "You want me to get in the birthing tub, FINE!" From somewhere down deep inside I found the strength in between contractions to push everyone out of my way and waddle hugely into the kitchen and sling my leg up over the edge of the tub while everyone scrambled to my assistance. I settled into the heat and buoyancy of the water as terse laughter tinkled around the circle when it sank in that 10 seconds ago I was laying on the bed pushing.

At the end of those 30 hours of labor I found myself astounded that I had overcome myself, the pain, the fear, everything. Just before dawn on the second day I finally managed to get the job done. And then there he was, in my arms, his little wrinkly face looking up at me from his perch on my chest. He took his first breath, cried his first tiny little cry, and grabbed his Daddy's thumb.

I looked up at the midwife, standing over the birthing tub and croaked with all the strength left in me, "I AM WOMAN!" Which embarrassing anecdote I had no memory of whatsoever until I watched the video one time. Apparently I was proud of myself! lol.

I'd post a picture or two of the birth, but they are entirely too graphic. And not in a blood-and-guts sort of way, but because, as stated earlier, I get all anti-clothing when I'm in labor. And besides, my husband was wearing this thick flannel shirt and a Carrhart vest over top of it in ALL the PICTURES! Seriously, he looks like he just came in from hunting. Why not a single woman in the house told him to go change outta that getup I'll never know.

A few years later when that little boy needed to have his heart fixed through an open heart surgery that lowered his body temperature, put him on the heart/lung machine for 6 hours and drew us all to our knees to lift him up before the throne of God, I was immensely thankful for having learned through those long and difficult hours of labor that I WAS strong enough to do what needed to be done, that I was capable of handling this, and that God would provide all that we needed.
About 40 minutes after surgery - age 3 years 9 months


At 4 weeks

at one year old

2 years old

3 years old! And with his undies on his head...

4 years old trying to look like Daddy

5 years old

My boy is 6 years old now!