You'll remember from this blog post that I struggled with confession. I used to see it as a good tool, but just couldn't wrap my head around the fact that it was necessary. That was back when I was making my own rules and had made myself my own god. Anyway, there came a time when I fell in love with confession (what a weird thing to say, right?) and I was hoping I could share that particular story here.
I know that confession, or the Sacrament of Reconciliation, is something that Protestants don't get. I know that a lot of Catholics don't get it because I was a Catholic for 26 years before I really got it. I will address (quickly and incompletely) a few of the main objections.
1. Confession isn't in the bible: "21 Then said Jesus to them again, Peace be unto you: as my Father hath sent me, even so send I you.
22 And when he had said this, he breathed on them, and saith unto them, Receive ye the Holy Ghost:
23 Whose soever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them; and whose soever sins ye retain, they are retained." (John 20:21-23 --that's also the King James Version which I know that alot of Protestants use)
2. Confession is something the Catholic Church made up along the way: Some of the earliest Christian writings (dating back to the first century) make it clear that the sacrament goes back to the beginning of the Church. In 1215, Confession was reaffirmed and emphazised in the Fourth Lateran Council and maybe that's why people think it was "created" later.
3. I can go straight to God with my sins.: "When it is 'just me and God' it is all too easy to project my own qualities and biases upon God. Then, rather than being created in the image of God, we begin to create God in our fallen image." "Catholics who use this argument tend to not be in the habit of confessing directly to God either. Too often it is used not to justify a different form of confession, but as an excuse to avoid confession altogether." (Rediscover Catholicism by Matthew Kelly)
These points are incomplete, but I wanted to give a little rather than nothing at all in case someone reading this just doesn't understand confession at all. You can use the above as a jump start to learn more if you're interested! It's not my intention to change your mind about confession or to say that I'm right and you're wrong. I only to hope to address some serious questions and misunderstandings that maybe you've only ever had the question to, but were never presented an answer.
So, we all know I struggled with the concept of confession. I didn't understand why I couldn't just go straight to God (which -like said above- I never actually DID). Remember how I read and read and read and read? Well, I read about confession, and I learned something frightening. I had never made a good confession in my life. Not ever. Not once. I'd been to confession. I'd confessed my sins, sometimes completely, but without an ounce of sorrow, sometimes withholding the ones that I was too embarrassed to say to an old dude, sometimes I didn't confess things that I didn't deem sinful (but that clearly were). Anyway, never. Not once. That's scary. So, after I freaked out for a hot minute, I decided to do one, big, all encompassing confession for the 26 years I'd never taken it seriously.
I decided the next day would be devoted to prayer and fasting and my first real confession. I set apart some serious time to examine my conscience, and, when the next day came, I was ready. It was a weekday, and there were no scheduled confession times at my church this day.
I couldn't get to confession fast enough. Really. Imagine finding out that you have been exposed to a deadly strain of the flu. How quickly would you run to the sink to scrub your hands clean? You might even hop in a hot shower. Anyway, that's how I felt. So, I called my church office asked if Father would be able to hear my confession. The secretary told me she would ask him and get back with me. Pure agony. I had to wait and wait and wait. She called back. Father was very sorry, but he was leaving to go on vacation and wouldn't have enough time before he left town. My pride yelled from inside "Wow, some priest he is! This is his JOB. Here I am chilling with mortal sins on my soul and he's going on VACATION? How badly would he feel if I died today!! This is serious!"
I caught myself. "Wait. Maybe God has a purpose for this! I don't know what's going on in Father's life or day. Calm down."
I took a chill pill and told Marvin. He suggested I go to confession before 5:30 mass at a different church that afternoon, and I could even go to mass after. Perfect. I would be able to receive Him. It would be the first time I did so with an understanding of what that really meant. It would be the first time I did so while in a state of grace. I couldn't wait. I wanted to make sure this counted. I continued fasting and praying and really preparing.
The time came for me to make it to confession and my heart was pounding. I walked into the chapel, and sitting on the altar was the Blessed Sacrament. My heart dropped into my toes and my stomach did a flip. I got in line. I prayed that I would feel sorrow for my sins and that I would make a good confession. I prayed and prayed and prayed and waited for my turn. It was my turn. I walked towards the confessional and an old dude walked out. "Hey, can I catch you after mass? I don't want to be late starting mass!" My eyes looked panicked. I looked at him as if to say "WAIT! NO! I reaaaaaaally need this!" I said nothing. "Would that be ok," he asked. I said sure. I turned around and walked back to the pew and sat down and tears streamed down my cheeks.
And then, out of nowhere it hit me like a 50 pound weight. How I felt in that moment was a small, small piece of how I made Jesus feel the majority of my life. This is how it felt to Him knowing that I was walking around with all of these sins and therefore separating myself from Him. This sorrow that I felt. This terrible feeling of being separated from Him and this longing to be near Him and open to His graces. I've been aware of this for only 48 hours and it was killing me. He's felt this way most of my life. This deep desire to be connected with Him is something He's felt and I've ignored. I've never even given it thought. Wow. How awesome is God? Had all the things worked out perfectly (according to my plan), had I been to confession when I wanted to go, I would have never had this epiphany. That was totally the Holy Spirit. I sat through mass with an ache in my body. I didn't want to be separated from Him for one more minute. This sucks.
Mass ended and the priest came to me and asked if I was ready. As an extra stab at my pride I had decided (before arriving to the chapel) that I would make this big, fat, ugly confession face-to-face.
I walk in to the confessional and sit down across from the priest. He starts chatting about how he's sorry that he had to make me wait, but blah blah blah one time when he was hearing confession before mass he kept letting people come and he missed the entire mass and blah blah blah funny story that's taking a long time. I tried to pretend like I was listening. JUST LET ME SAY MY CONFESSION. Ok, his story is done. It's time.
"Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession, but I have really been learning about our faith and praying and I learned that I have never in my entire life made a good confession, so, I would like to make a big, all encompassing confession now."
"Ok, but you're not going to remember..." I cut him off.
I pulled out my five pages of paper full of all of my sins (front and back on composition paper). "Ummmm. I wrote them down."
His eyes get big. "Uh. Ok. Go ahead."
I go through my sins. I cry. I finish. I look up at him. He's smiling.
"Wow. Ok. It sounds like God sent you a wake up call, and you got it."
We talked for a bit. I said my penance in front of the Blessed Sacrament and I prayed in thanksgiving for a while.
That's how I fell in love with confession. I go pretty often now. I wish I didn't have to go, but for some darn reason I make the same mistakes OVER and OVER. It's exhausting. Thank goodness we have a loving and merciful God!
Similarily, recently I walked into confession with my chest puffed out. I was all proud of my itty bitty venial sins. I mean, I'm a mom and a wife. My sins aren't all that crazy. I thought I would be in and out. Nope. This priest was awesome. He really knocked my off my high horse. He spent a good deal of time talking to me about how damaging and sinful gossip was. He chastised me. It was great. My penance was spending FIVE DAYS off of Facebook. I wish I could confess to this priest every time. My pride could use some stabbing at, and this priest is the man for the job. Make sure you confess to a priest who challenges you! You could stand to be pushed every now and then.
God's plan is so much better than mine or yours. When I needed to go to confession so bad that it hurt, I was forced to wait so that I could learn something. When I walked into confession feeling like I wasn't that bad, I was scolded. We get what we need at the time. Had the two situations been flipped (the tough priest for the big confession and the other one for the "little" confession), who knows what would have happened. It's good to be uncomfortable! Get uncomfortable!
Vallette Family
Friday, August 29, 2014
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
"Mom, I'm hungwee."
This won't make sense to many of you. If you have zero children or only one small, non talking child, or if, by some miracle, your child doesn't do this (or you are a more patient person than I am) then you'll wonder why I'm getting my panties in a bunch over something so insignificant, but it's real. It's a thing. I know it is because I've seen my friends gripe about it.
Kids ask to eat. ALOT. Now, duh, we are human and we need food to survive. But, it's something so much bigger than this. It's something so infuriating and annoying. It's something that unless you have experienced it, it will make no sense to you.
You have a baby and the baby has instincts. Your baby cries when she's tired or when she has a dirty diaper or when she's HUNGRY. You nurse or bottle feed the baby. The baby drinks until she is no longer hungry. The end. It's really a beautiful process that you don't have the forethought to enjoy properly. Then a monkey wrench gets thrown in. Your world gets rocked. The kid grows up and TALKS (trust, this is not a good thing) and asks for food TWENTY FOUR SEVEN. Constant. No matter what you're doing. No matter where you are. Your child is starving at all times. They are going to die if you don't stop what you're doing NOW and get them food. Then you go through the process that is feeding a kid. And, trust me, it's a process. It's not like when your baby is hungry: get bottle, mix formula, sit down and put bottle in baby's mouth. Nope. It's not like that. You have to go to the kitchen (which you JUST FREAKING CLEANED) and play "what do you want to eat" with the kid. You offer 3 healthy options which you KNOW your kid likes. Your kid asks for the thing you didn't offer. You redirect and reoffer the 3 things again. The kid reasks for something not on the list. You go 'round one or two more times before you have the "these are your options, you can have one of these or nothing" talk. Your kid rolls their eyes at you because they're your kid and payback is funny. Your kid resigns and asks for one of the three approved options.
You search for a kid friendly plate. You prepare the food. You put the food in front of the child who is now seated at the dinner table. The child asks for a drink. You prepare a drink for the child. (I could take some time to go into the mess that is "the special cup", but I won't because of time purposes and because I don't know that I can handle my blood pressure shooting through the roof.) So, your child is seated with their food and their drink and they take one bite of whatever it is you gave them and then they get up and go about their business. One bite. That's it. The kid that was starving is now full. One bite. This happens roughly 15 times a day. Your child literally enjoys seeing you fall apart when they ask for food. They think it's hilarious that you have conversations with them about "not wasting" and "finishing everything on your plate first until you ask if you can have something else" as if ANYTHING is ever going to change! This is what you do all day long. All. day. long. Now, if you had nothing to do all day besides prepare, serve and clean up food all day this would be no big deal (if we take the waste factor out), but you have things to do and so this rocks you to your core.
WHY MUST THEY. WHY. I told Elaina the other day that I die a little inside every time she says the words "I'm hungry". Yep. I told that to my not-quite 4 year old. Am I proud of it? No, but it's exactly what happens. A piece of me dies every time I hear that sentence come out of her mouth. If I were to offer up the physical pain that it causes me to hear "Mom, can I have a snack?" for the souls in purgatory, heaven would be flooded. Ha. That's how big it feels to me. Truly.
It's not just about having to DO STUFF for your child. It's not just about having to stop what I'm doing to cater to the kid I birthed. It's about the LIE. YOU ARE NOT HUNGRY, you small dictator. You aren't! Because if you were you wouldn't waste so much darn food. All day. Every day. It's the same. Always. "I will not waste my valuable time preparing food for you that you are not going to eat. It is a slap in the face to me. It says that you do not value my time. It infuriates me," said Diana to her kid. And, with a blank stare and a sneaky freaking grin the kid responded, "so, I can't have a stawberry is what you're saying?".
(Disclaimer: I like to find humor in kid things. I hope to write things that you relate to or that you find funny or that prepare you for the crap you're about to go through. Please know that I KNOW I am lucky! I truly do! But, if I sat here writing every day about how beautiful and fulfilling and magical my life is (and it is!!) then it wouldn't be my blog! Please keep this in mind when you read my posts. If you don't know me in real life, then it's hard to read things in Dianaese, but just know, it's all in jest, my friend.)
Kids ask to eat. ALOT. Now, duh, we are human and we need food to survive. But, it's something so much bigger than this. It's something so infuriating and annoying. It's something that unless you have experienced it, it will make no sense to you.
You have a baby and the baby has instincts. Your baby cries when she's tired or when she has a dirty diaper or when she's HUNGRY. You nurse or bottle feed the baby. The baby drinks until she is no longer hungry. The end. It's really a beautiful process that you don't have the forethought to enjoy properly. Then a monkey wrench gets thrown in. Your world gets rocked. The kid grows up and TALKS (trust, this is not a good thing) and asks for food TWENTY FOUR SEVEN. Constant. No matter what you're doing. No matter where you are. Your child is starving at all times. They are going to die if you don't stop what you're doing NOW and get them food. Then you go through the process that is feeding a kid. And, trust me, it's a process. It's not like when your baby is hungry: get bottle, mix formula, sit down and put bottle in baby's mouth. Nope. It's not like that. You have to go to the kitchen (which you JUST FREAKING CLEANED) and play "what do you want to eat" with the kid. You offer 3 healthy options which you KNOW your kid likes. Your kid asks for the thing you didn't offer. You redirect and reoffer the 3 things again. The kid reasks for something not on the list. You go 'round one or two more times before you have the "these are your options, you can have one of these or nothing" talk. Your kid rolls their eyes at you because they're your kid and payback is funny. Your kid resigns and asks for one of the three approved options.
You search for a kid friendly plate. You prepare the food. You put the food in front of the child who is now seated at the dinner table. The child asks for a drink. You prepare a drink for the child. (I could take some time to go into the mess that is "the special cup", but I won't because of time purposes and because I don't know that I can handle my blood pressure shooting through the roof.) So, your child is seated with their food and their drink and they take one bite of whatever it is you gave them and then they get up and go about their business. One bite. That's it. The kid that was starving is now full. One bite. This happens roughly 15 times a day. Your child literally enjoys seeing you fall apart when they ask for food. They think it's hilarious that you have conversations with them about "not wasting" and "finishing everything on your plate first until you ask if you can have something else" as if ANYTHING is ever going to change! This is what you do all day long. All. day. long. Now, if you had nothing to do all day besides prepare, serve and clean up food all day this would be no big deal (if we take the waste factor out), but you have things to do and so this rocks you to your core.
WHY MUST THEY. WHY. I told Elaina the other day that I die a little inside every time she says the words "I'm hungry". Yep. I told that to my not-quite 4 year old. Am I proud of it? No, but it's exactly what happens. A piece of me dies every time I hear that sentence come out of her mouth. If I were to offer up the physical pain that it causes me to hear "Mom, can I have a snack?" for the souls in purgatory, heaven would be flooded. Ha. That's how big it feels to me. Truly.
It's not just about having to DO STUFF for your child. It's not just about having to stop what I'm doing to cater to the kid I birthed. It's about the LIE. YOU ARE NOT HUNGRY, you small dictator. You aren't! Because if you were you wouldn't waste so much darn food. All day. Every day. It's the same. Always. "I will not waste my valuable time preparing food for you that you are not going to eat. It is a slap in the face to me. It says that you do not value my time. It infuriates me," said Diana to her kid. And, with a blank stare and a sneaky freaking grin the kid responded, "so, I can't have a stawberry is what you're saying?".
(Disclaimer: I like to find humor in kid things. I hope to write things that you relate to or that you find funny or that prepare you for the crap you're about to go through. Please know that I KNOW I am lucky! I truly do! But, if I sat here writing every day about how beautiful and fulfilling and magical my life is (and it is!!) then it wouldn't be my blog! Please keep this in mind when you read my posts. If you don't know me in real life, then it's hard to read things in Dianaese, but just know, it's all in jest, my friend.)
Friday, August 22, 2014
A Conversion Story
The following is my personal conversion story. I'm writing it mostly because I've been asked to share it at a retreat for college students (and what better way is there to gather my thoughts?). It would be awesome if someone could relate to my story and felt inspired to dig deeper. I know that, generally, any time people speak publicly about their religious beliefs to a random audience one of two things happen: 1- people with differing views feel insulted and judged or 2- people make fun of the person who "just talks about God all the time." I'm 100% ok with being made fun of in this arena (for reasons I'll discuss later), but I would absolutely hate it if someone read this and got insulted. Please know that this is my story. I'm not writing my conversion story AT you. I'm just sharing it with you.
I grew up "Catholic". Catholic is in quotes because I'm not sure the Church would agree that what I was doing -or wasn't doing- was Catholic at all. I received the sacraments, and went to weekly mass only because we went during school. (I went to a small Catholic school in Ville Platte.) I lived my life trying to be a good person. I decided what constituted a good person. I ran decisions by my conscience (which I spent exactly zero amount of time forming in any meaningful way). My conscience said that confession was a good tool, but it wasn't NECESSARY for the forgiveness of sins. Therefore, I went to communion when I went to mass-no matter what state my soul was in. My head told me that Jesus wasn't REALLY present. My conscience also told me that mass wasn't necessary. I didn't "feel" close to God at mass and, you know, Christianity is ALL about how we "feel", right? I thought pre marital sex was only wrong if I felt it was wrong. In a committed dating relationship it didn't feel wrong to me. I didn't see how birth control could be wrong? What did the Church want us to do? Have a million babies? We all know those Catholic families who have soooo many children. That's great for them, but, ummm, no thank you. Obviously NFP doesn't work. I took a strong stance on a social issue that is close to my heart (and remains close to my heart) and shouted from the rooftop how unloving and angry Christians were to not allow everyone to do what they pleased. I don't think I ever said the word "atheist" in reference to myself, but if I really took a long, hard look in the mirror, that's EXACTLY what I was. I was fairly certain there was no God. Or, if there was, I got to decide what he was like and what he did or didn't approve of. I made up my own rules. I would loudly and passive aggressively mock how "everyone thinks THEIR religion is the right one" and "God is like Santa for adults". I was lost. I didn't know I was lost. I had a great life. I was (and am) in an extremely healthy and happy marriage. I had two children who were healthy and happy. My husband had a great job and was able to provide for our needs and all of our wants. We are surrounded by an extended family that loves us (and our kids) emphatically. There was nothing missing. Or so I thought.
Since I've been with Marvin, he's always suggested we go to mass. I've always told him I'd go if he wanted to, but that I didn't think mass was really NECESSARY, and plus, I don't feel close to God there. During Lent of this year, Marvin suggested we make it a Sunday family tradition to go to mass and then to have lunch at a restaurant. Wait, there's lunch involved? Ok! Sign me up! We began going to mass every Sunday (and to lunch after--don't forget lunch!!). Apart from showing up to mass once a week for one hour, I did exactly zero things to grow closer to Christ. I didn't spend any time thinking about Christ, actually. I lived my life normally and went to mass once a week. Then, one day after we had gone to mass for several Sundays, I realized two things were changing: 1- I had an inner peace I'd never had in my life. Things that would have previously bothered me, were no big deal. I never felt like my life was turbulent, and I'm not sure it was, but all of a sudden there was peace. Peace that I didn't even know I was lacking. And, 2-I realized just how flawed I was. And I wondered why I was so quick to judge EVER-Y-ONE if I was so flawed. I was SOOOO full of myself and had such a sanctimonious and entitled attitude. My eyes opened up and I saw my sinfulness. I literally did nothing to warrant these two changes. I didn't pray. I didn't desire to grow closer to Christ (at least not a desire that I was aware of). I did nothing. I showed up to church, sat in a pew, tried to get Elaina to whisper, tried to keep Dane from crying and then we left. The end. And yet, I realized two pretty big things had changed within me. (I now recognize this was the Holy Spirit, but at the time if someone had suggested that to me, I would've been extremely uncomfortable.) I started to think, if I could change (with zero participation and minimum effort) what would happen if I actually CARED?
I began learning about the Church from the craziest source...... the Church. I read the Catechism. Cover to cover. There was pretty much nothing in it that didn't make sense. Wait, so Catholicism isn't silly? I read alot. Wait, religion wasn't just something that dumb people do? One thing that I read during my discovery really stuck out to me (and has remained with me since): There are things that you and I cannot wrap our heads around. For example, can you LOGICALLY think of a way that your little feeble brain can wrap its head around the fact that Jesus was both God and man? I know I can't. Maybe my faith is lacking, but that's something that's pretty difficult for me to understand. But, guess what? We're not going to understand everything. I realized that expecting to understand everything is silly. I realized it was vain of me to categorize things as lies simply because I didn't understand them. It's like telling a 7 year old that the Earth is round. He can look WITH HIS OWN EYES and see that the Earth is, in fact, flat. There are probably very few 7 year olds who can conceptually grasp the fact that the Earth is round even though everything they see looks flat. We can tell them that the Earth is round, and they can take our word for it, but understand- probably not. That's how faith is. We aren't the pinnacle of intelligence. We aren't the end all be all. We are human and that means flawed. We can't expect to understand everything and we can't say something is a lie simply because we cannot understand it. It's unrealistic. I mean, Quantum Physics is a thing, and I don't get THAT.
I knew there were two pretty fundamental teachings that would be challenging for me: birth control and homosexuality. We weren't ready to have another baby just yet (and adopting the Church's teaching meant changing and trusting and that's HARD) and my strong views on homosexuality made me nervous to dig too deeply into either arena. I "knew" that what the Church taught was pretty polar opposite to what my heart said, and so I avoided these two topics. I prayed that God would be patient with me. I read books about Church teaching. I started praying. I went to confession. I participated. I thought the Catholic church was just one (of many ways) to grow closer to Christ. It wasn't necessarily the "right" religion. Such a thing didn't exist, I thought. People picked the faith that worked for them--the religion that "felt" (there's that word again) right. The Catholic church was all I knew so that's where I began. And then, I read Scott Hahn's books. The way he explained the mass brought tears to my eyes. I read and read and read and read. Someone suggested I read Christoper West's "Good News About Sex & Marriage". So, I did, and I learned (for the first time, really) what sex was. Sex is a physical expression of love between a married man and woman in which the couple is open to the gift of children from God. So, sex should be unitive and open to children. I learned how man desires to separate sex from marriage and children. How man desires to have all the feel good parts of sex without the responsibility part of sex. I learned how, since the popularization of birth control, adultery -and by proxy divorce- has been on the rise. Sex, in our culture, means something that is supposed to feel good. We've made sex into something that is about US, not, as it should be, about giving fully of yourself to your spouse. I came to the realization that the Catholic Church is right. Not every church. Not whatever you want to do. Not however I choose to do it. Not wherever I "feel" I should be. There is an authority, and I'm not that authority. The Catholic Church is the authority. We have somewhere to turn when we don't understand something. There is a uniformity that is beautiful and unique to the Church. Our faith isn't case by case. You can visit a Catholic Church in Ville Platte, Louisiana and a Catholic Church in San Francisco, California and in Brazil and in France and the same thing is happening at each of these churches. Again, please remember that this is my conversion story. It's what happened to me. I do not judge you. Truly. I'm too busy being grossed out with my own sinfulness to even pay attention to yours.
Reading the Church's teachings about sex made. so. much. sense. I mean, it isn't easy to change. It was difficult, actually. But that's one thing I've learned through this process (and something I'm constantly trying to remember) that just because something is RIGHT doesn't mean it's EASY. Being a Catholic is HARD, but it's worth it. I learned through my journey (which I'm still on, and will always be on--the journey never ends) that NFP does work! God created a woman's body in a way that she is only fertile in phases. It's amazing how little I, and I'm going to assume alot of women are this way, knew about my body. Some Catholic families have a lot of kids, yes. But, I know now that, generally, that's because their view of children is different from the mainstream. A big family is not a sign that NFP doesn't work. A big family is a sign of being open to God's love and gifts.
I began saying the rosary daily. I took some meaningful time at the end of each day to examine my conscience and pray. Confession became something I scheduled in my calendar. My faith grew. When you put your time, love and energy into something that area blossoms, and my love of Christ blossomed. I hope that no one is reading this thinking I'm the pinnacle of holiness because.... just, no. I'm so, so, so flawed. I'm going to just go ahead and put myself on blast: One area that I really struggle with is gossip. I think alot of women can relate. Sometimes I am so eager to bash my neighbor it's embarrasing. Sometimes I am with a group of friends and I feel that I have to join in so I'm not silent in the conversation. Sometimes I feel like I have absolutely nothing to talk about if I don't gossip. That's sad. And, it sucks, but I'm real and I struggle. The closer you get to God the more visible your sinfulness is to you. All I have to say is: the poor Saints! I annoy myself and let myself down daily- hourly.
I learned alot about suffering-- little, small sufferings and big sufferings and how wonderful they can be. I know that sounds crazy, but it's true.
I'm going to share something personal with you. When I began on this road, I had a hard time believing that God existed. I mean, isn't that the very center of all things faith? The most central teaching upon which all other teachings are built and I wasn't even certain it was legit. So, I prayed. I generally pray with the help of a prayer journal. The prayer journal helps to keep my mind from wandering. When I would take some time to pray, I would ask that God increased my faith. Then after a while I decided that I would make a promise. I would be obedient even if my faith was lacking. I would respect and follow the Church's teaching even if it's not what I would do if left to my own devices. I prayed that prayer for a while. And then time passed and one day it was apparent to me that God had answered my prayers. I know God exists now. I doubted God was real. I prayed to God to help me believe. I believe in God now. There wasn't an explosion. The world didn't end. An angel didn't come to me while I slept. I asked God to increase my faith. I told him I would obey his Church even when I didn't understand and then one day my faith increased. I've had SO MANY experiences like this (answered prayers) throughout the past several months that it would take all day for me to list them here. I think it's so beautiful how I sometimes pray for something and then one day, randomly, I realize that God answered my prayer and I didn't even notice. If you've never had this experience, I know it's hard to understand, but it's real. I pray now that God's will be done in all situations. There was a time I was scared to resign myself to God's will. I was scared to pray "your will be done". What if his will meant my life would get hard? So instead I prayed for the strength and trust to pray that God's will be done, and then one day, I trusted! I'm rambling now.
Anyway, I've changed. Yes. It's not an insult. It doesn't hurt me if you tell me that you see "I've been getting into the holy stuff". It's a compliment. It's 100% ok if what I post on Facebook (about motherhood or God or my walk with Christ or whatever) annoys you. It's ok if you think it's silly. It's ok if you think that faith is all good and fine, but I need to keep it to myself. It's ok. Because my pride-o-meter could stand to be lowered a few million degrees. It's all ok. We're only on this world for a short time and there is forever waiting on the other end of death, and I've decided I'm not wasting my time any longer!
I grew up "Catholic". Catholic is in quotes because I'm not sure the Church would agree that what I was doing -or wasn't doing- was Catholic at all. I received the sacraments, and went to weekly mass only because we went during school. (I went to a small Catholic school in Ville Platte.) I lived my life trying to be a good person. I decided what constituted a good person. I ran decisions by my conscience (which I spent exactly zero amount of time forming in any meaningful way). My conscience said that confession was a good tool, but it wasn't NECESSARY for the forgiveness of sins. Therefore, I went to communion when I went to mass-no matter what state my soul was in. My head told me that Jesus wasn't REALLY present. My conscience also told me that mass wasn't necessary. I didn't "feel" close to God at mass and, you know, Christianity is ALL about how we "feel", right? I thought pre marital sex was only wrong if I felt it was wrong. In a committed dating relationship it didn't feel wrong to me. I didn't see how birth control could be wrong? What did the Church want us to do? Have a million babies? We all know those Catholic families who have soooo many children. That's great for them, but, ummm, no thank you. Obviously NFP doesn't work. I took a strong stance on a social issue that is close to my heart (and remains close to my heart) and shouted from the rooftop how unloving and angry Christians were to not allow everyone to do what they pleased. I don't think I ever said the word "atheist" in reference to myself, but if I really took a long, hard look in the mirror, that's EXACTLY what I was. I was fairly certain there was no God. Or, if there was, I got to decide what he was like and what he did or didn't approve of. I made up my own rules. I would loudly and passive aggressively mock how "everyone thinks THEIR religion is the right one" and "God is like Santa for adults". I was lost. I didn't know I was lost. I had a great life. I was (and am) in an extremely healthy and happy marriage. I had two children who were healthy and happy. My husband had a great job and was able to provide for our needs and all of our wants. We are surrounded by an extended family that loves us (and our kids) emphatically. There was nothing missing. Or so I thought.
Since I've been with Marvin, he's always suggested we go to mass. I've always told him I'd go if he wanted to, but that I didn't think mass was really NECESSARY, and plus, I don't feel close to God there. During Lent of this year, Marvin suggested we make it a Sunday family tradition to go to mass and then to have lunch at a restaurant. Wait, there's lunch involved? Ok! Sign me up! We began going to mass every Sunday (and to lunch after--don't forget lunch!!). Apart from showing up to mass once a week for one hour, I did exactly zero things to grow closer to Christ. I didn't spend any time thinking about Christ, actually. I lived my life normally and went to mass once a week. Then, one day after we had gone to mass for several Sundays, I realized two things were changing: 1- I had an inner peace I'd never had in my life. Things that would have previously bothered me, were no big deal. I never felt like my life was turbulent, and I'm not sure it was, but all of a sudden there was peace. Peace that I didn't even know I was lacking. And, 2-I realized just how flawed I was. And I wondered why I was so quick to judge EVER-Y-ONE if I was so flawed. I was SOOOO full of myself and had such a sanctimonious and entitled attitude. My eyes opened up and I saw my sinfulness. I literally did nothing to warrant these two changes. I didn't pray. I didn't desire to grow closer to Christ (at least not a desire that I was aware of). I did nothing. I showed up to church, sat in a pew, tried to get Elaina to whisper, tried to keep Dane from crying and then we left. The end. And yet, I realized two pretty big things had changed within me. (I now recognize this was the Holy Spirit, but at the time if someone had suggested that to me, I would've been extremely uncomfortable.) I started to think, if I could change (with zero participation and minimum effort) what would happen if I actually CARED?
I began learning about the Church from the craziest source...... the Church. I read the Catechism. Cover to cover. There was pretty much nothing in it that didn't make sense. Wait, so Catholicism isn't silly? I read alot. Wait, religion wasn't just something that dumb people do? One thing that I read during my discovery really stuck out to me (and has remained with me since): There are things that you and I cannot wrap our heads around. For example, can you LOGICALLY think of a way that your little feeble brain can wrap its head around the fact that Jesus was both God and man? I know I can't. Maybe my faith is lacking, but that's something that's pretty difficult for me to understand. But, guess what? We're not going to understand everything. I realized that expecting to understand everything is silly. I realized it was vain of me to categorize things as lies simply because I didn't understand them. It's like telling a 7 year old that the Earth is round. He can look WITH HIS OWN EYES and see that the Earth is, in fact, flat. There are probably very few 7 year olds who can conceptually grasp the fact that the Earth is round even though everything they see looks flat. We can tell them that the Earth is round, and they can take our word for it, but understand- probably not. That's how faith is. We aren't the pinnacle of intelligence. We aren't the end all be all. We are human and that means flawed. We can't expect to understand everything and we can't say something is a lie simply because we cannot understand it. It's unrealistic. I mean, Quantum Physics is a thing, and I don't get THAT.
I knew there were two pretty fundamental teachings that would be challenging for me: birth control and homosexuality. We weren't ready to have another baby just yet (and adopting the Church's teaching meant changing and trusting and that's HARD) and my strong views on homosexuality made me nervous to dig too deeply into either arena. I "knew" that what the Church taught was pretty polar opposite to what my heart said, and so I avoided these two topics. I prayed that God would be patient with me. I read books about Church teaching. I started praying. I went to confession. I participated. I thought the Catholic church was just one (of many ways) to grow closer to Christ. It wasn't necessarily the "right" religion. Such a thing didn't exist, I thought. People picked the faith that worked for them--the religion that "felt" (there's that word again) right. The Catholic church was all I knew so that's where I began. And then, I read Scott Hahn's books. The way he explained the mass brought tears to my eyes. I read and read and read and read. Someone suggested I read Christoper West's "Good News About Sex & Marriage". So, I did, and I learned (for the first time, really) what sex was. Sex is a physical expression of love between a married man and woman in which the couple is open to the gift of children from God. So, sex should be unitive and open to children. I learned how man desires to separate sex from marriage and children. How man desires to have all the feel good parts of sex without the responsibility part of sex. I learned how, since the popularization of birth control, adultery -and by proxy divorce- has been on the rise. Sex, in our culture, means something that is supposed to feel good. We've made sex into something that is about US, not, as it should be, about giving fully of yourself to your spouse. I came to the realization that the Catholic Church is right. Not every church. Not whatever you want to do. Not however I choose to do it. Not wherever I "feel" I should be. There is an authority, and I'm not that authority. The Catholic Church is the authority. We have somewhere to turn when we don't understand something. There is a uniformity that is beautiful and unique to the Church. Our faith isn't case by case. You can visit a Catholic Church in Ville Platte, Louisiana and a Catholic Church in San Francisco, California and in Brazil and in France and the same thing is happening at each of these churches. Again, please remember that this is my conversion story. It's what happened to me. I do not judge you. Truly. I'm too busy being grossed out with my own sinfulness to even pay attention to yours.
Reading the Church's teachings about sex made. so. much. sense. I mean, it isn't easy to change. It was difficult, actually. But that's one thing I've learned through this process (and something I'm constantly trying to remember) that just because something is RIGHT doesn't mean it's EASY. Being a Catholic is HARD, but it's worth it. I learned through my journey (which I'm still on, and will always be on--the journey never ends) that NFP does work! God created a woman's body in a way that she is only fertile in phases. It's amazing how little I, and I'm going to assume alot of women are this way, knew about my body. Some Catholic families have a lot of kids, yes. But, I know now that, generally, that's because their view of children is different from the mainstream. A big family is not a sign that NFP doesn't work. A big family is a sign of being open to God's love and gifts.
I began saying the rosary daily. I took some meaningful time at the end of each day to examine my conscience and pray. Confession became something I scheduled in my calendar. My faith grew. When you put your time, love and energy into something that area blossoms, and my love of Christ blossomed. I hope that no one is reading this thinking I'm the pinnacle of holiness because.... just, no. I'm so, so, so flawed. I'm going to just go ahead and put myself on blast: One area that I really struggle with is gossip. I think alot of women can relate. Sometimes I am so eager to bash my neighbor it's embarrasing. Sometimes I am with a group of friends and I feel that I have to join in so I'm not silent in the conversation. Sometimes I feel like I have absolutely nothing to talk about if I don't gossip. That's sad. And, it sucks, but I'm real and I struggle. The closer you get to God the more visible your sinfulness is to you. All I have to say is: the poor Saints! I annoy myself and let myself down daily- hourly.
I learned alot about suffering-- little, small sufferings and big sufferings and how wonderful they can be. I know that sounds crazy, but it's true.
I'm going to share something personal with you. When I began on this road, I had a hard time believing that God existed. I mean, isn't that the very center of all things faith? The most central teaching upon which all other teachings are built and I wasn't even certain it was legit. So, I prayed. I generally pray with the help of a prayer journal. The prayer journal helps to keep my mind from wandering. When I would take some time to pray, I would ask that God increased my faith. Then after a while I decided that I would make a promise. I would be obedient even if my faith was lacking. I would respect and follow the Church's teaching even if it's not what I would do if left to my own devices. I prayed that prayer for a while. And then time passed and one day it was apparent to me that God had answered my prayers. I know God exists now. I doubted God was real. I prayed to God to help me believe. I believe in God now. There wasn't an explosion. The world didn't end. An angel didn't come to me while I slept. I asked God to increase my faith. I told him I would obey his Church even when I didn't understand and then one day my faith increased. I've had SO MANY experiences like this (answered prayers) throughout the past several months that it would take all day for me to list them here. I think it's so beautiful how I sometimes pray for something and then one day, randomly, I realize that God answered my prayer and I didn't even notice. If you've never had this experience, I know it's hard to understand, but it's real. I pray now that God's will be done in all situations. There was a time I was scared to resign myself to God's will. I was scared to pray "your will be done". What if his will meant my life would get hard? So instead I prayed for the strength and trust to pray that God's will be done, and then one day, I trusted! I'm rambling now.
Anyway, I've changed. Yes. It's not an insult. It doesn't hurt me if you tell me that you see "I've been getting into the holy stuff". It's a compliment. It's 100% ok if what I post on Facebook (about motherhood or God or my walk with Christ or whatever) annoys you. It's ok if you think it's silly. It's ok if you think that faith is all good and fine, but I need to keep it to myself. It's ok. Because my pride-o-meter could stand to be lowered a few million degrees. It's all ok. We're only on this world for a short time and there is forever waiting on the other end of death, and I've decided I'm not wasting my time any longer!
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Life With Two
I haven't updated this in a while. My last entry was about Dane's birth and now he's a toddler who waddles around yelling. I haven't updated partly because two kids rocked my world and partly because I have nothing witty to say. Y'all know I think pregnancy sucks. It's hard. I feel ugly and fat. I could go on, but I have several blog posts dedicated to complaining about pregnancy which you can reference (if you feel the need to hear someone complain about the greatest gift women are given). Pregnancy was easy to write about and make funny. Life with kids. No. I distinctly remember a time when if ONE person in our family got a bath it was a good day. My kids went days without taking a bath. Literally. Because I could not wrap my head around the mechanics of getting both kids (happily and safely) clean. Two kids was..... a transition. Elaina was a normal human being when we decided to introduce a non-normal human being into our family. She used the bathroom on her own. She used words. She slept when normal humans sleep. She ate normal human food. She drank out of normal human cups. It was a breeze. We were living the life. And then we threw a baby in the mix.
I don't know if most people have their world rocked when they introduce a new baby into their already-kid-infested home, but I did. Dane drank out of nothing that was not a breast. Nothing. For 11 months. Let that sink in. NOTHING. So, I had two options: stay inside my 1100 square foot house with two kids like a hermit or go out into the world and nurse in public. I know that someone out there is thinking that I must not have tried. I know you're thinking YOU could have had him taking a bottle. Let's pause here for a moment and discuss. Do you have one or less children? If so, I was you. I was SO you. I thought I knew everything. I was Judgy McJudgerpants. You probably know this from reading my blog. I truly thought I could solve all problems, and then I had a second child and McDonald's became an acceptable meal. I offered Dane a bottle at 9 weeks to see how he would do. He took it. Then, around 4 months, my best friend decided to have a bachelorette party in New Orleans. I tried to give Dane a bottle before I left, and he took it fine. And then I left him with his dad for 24 hours and he went on a hunger strike. Literally. He did not drink a thing for the entire time I was gone. Now, think about this, the kid is 4 months old, and for an entire day refused to drink anything. So, the theory about "if he gets hungry enough, he'll take a bottle" is completely thrown out the window. He didn't drink out of anything. It was hard.
Elaina had a rough time transitioning as well. She was never unkind or angry towards Dane. She loved him from the very beginning, but she hated me. Truly. For 2.5 years it was just she and I and she was accustomed to life where she was the center of my world, and then Dane was born. There was a while at the beginning that I cried to my mom or Marvin about how she hated me, and, at the same time, I didn't want her to like me. It's weird, and I'm not sure everyone experiences it, but the best way to explain having two kids (to me) is: You spend your entire pregnancy worried that you won't love the new baby as much, worried that your older child will feel left out, trying --at every moment-- to include the older child in things so they don't feel excluded, and then your second child is born and you want to lock yourself and the baby in your room away from the older child and just rock and love and be away from irrational children who purposely yell and ruin naptimes. You want to scream when you're nursing a baby to sleep and a toddler needs something to eat NOW! Anyway, it was a transition. It was hard. A baby and a toddler both needing my attention and love and needing, needing, needing.
How is life with two now? E-A-S-Y. I know I've played the "Being a SAHM is such a hard job" song a time or two, but not anymore. Life with two kids is easy! Truly. I don't write this to be all "my life is so easy, you must be doing it wrong if yours isn't", but more for those of who you who may be in the trenches of the two kid transition and you're wondering if you can trade in your older child for a different model. I've been there, but it gets better. I'm going to go as far as saying two kids (in our house) is easier than one kid. The kids play. They laugh. They eat together. They watch movies together. They sleep at the same time. Elaina loves her little brother. She is always kind to him (me? that's another story for another day). She helps me. If he's sad she cheers him up. She teaches him things. He looks up to her. He follows her around like a little puppy. He lets her ride him like a horse. He thinks everything she does is amazing and funny. It's a breeze. Truly. They spend the majority of their day playing with one another, and allow me to clean and cook and all that jazz.
Apparently, I'm a glutton for punishment. I decided that my life was moving so smoothly that I should teach 5th grade CCD classes, teach Spanish to preschoolers and get a career coaching job at a local high school. So, I'm going from 100% SAHM to a SAHMish who works and needs the help of her wonderful in laws for childcare. So, here's to a new chapter. Here's to a challenge. To an adjustment. I'll keep you posted on how life is with two kids and three jobs. Should be interesting.
I don't know if most people have their world rocked when they introduce a new baby into their already-kid-infested home, but I did. Dane drank out of nothing that was not a breast. Nothing. For 11 months. Let that sink in. NOTHING. So, I had two options: stay inside my 1100 square foot house with two kids like a hermit or go out into the world and nurse in public. I know that someone out there is thinking that I must not have tried. I know you're thinking YOU could have had him taking a bottle. Let's pause here for a moment and discuss. Do you have one or less children? If so, I was you. I was SO you. I thought I knew everything. I was Judgy McJudgerpants. You probably know this from reading my blog. I truly thought I could solve all problems, and then I had a second child and McDonald's became an acceptable meal. I offered Dane a bottle at 9 weeks to see how he would do. He took it. Then, around 4 months, my best friend decided to have a bachelorette party in New Orleans. I tried to give Dane a bottle before I left, and he took it fine. And then I left him with his dad for 24 hours and he went on a hunger strike. Literally. He did not drink a thing for the entire time I was gone. Now, think about this, the kid is 4 months old, and for an entire day refused to drink anything. So, the theory about "if he gets hungry enough, he'll take a bottle" is completely thrown out the window. He didn't drink out of anything. It was hard.
Elaina had a rough time transitioning as well. She was never unkind or angry towards Dane. She loved him from the very beginning, but she hated me. Truly. For 2.5 years it was just she and I and she was accustomed to life where she was the center of my world, and then Dane was born. There was a while at the beginning that I cried to my mom or Marvin about how she hated me, and, at the same time, I didn't want her to like me. It's weird, and I'm not sure everyone experiences it, but the best way to explain having two kids (to me) is: You spend your entire pregnancy worried that you won't love the new baby as much, worried that your older child will feel left out, trying --at every moment-- to include the older child in things so they don't feel excluded, and then your second child is born and you want to lock yourself and the baby in your room away from the older child and just rock and love and be away from irrational children who purposely yell and ruin naptimes. You want to scream when you're nursing a baby to sleep and a toddler needs something to eat NOW! Anyway, it was a transition. It was hard. A baby and a toddler both needing my attention and love and needing, needing, needing.
How is life with two now? E-A-S-Y. I know I've played the "Being a SAHM is such a hard job" song a time or two, but not anymore. Life with two kids is easy! Truly. I don't write this to be all "my life is so easy, you must be doing it wrong if yours isn't", but more for those of who you who may be in the trenches of the two kid transition and you're wondering if you can trade in your older child for a different model. I've been there, but it gets better. I'm going to go as far as saying two kids (in our house) is easier than one kid. The kids play. They laugh. They eat together. They watch movies together. They sleep at the same time. Elaina loves her little brother. She is always kind to him (me? that's another story for another day). She helps me. If he's sad she cheers him up. She teaches him things. He looks up to her. He follows her around like a little puppy. He lets her ride him like a horse. He thinks everything she does is amazing and funny. It's a breeze. Truly. They spend the majority of their day playing with one another, and allow me to clean and cook and all that jazz.
Apparently, I'm a glutton for punishment. I decided that my life was moving so smoothly that I should teach 5th grade CCD classes, teach Spanish to preschoolers and get a career coaching job at a local high school. So, I'm going from 100% SAHM to a SAHMish who works and needs the help of her wonderful in laws for childcare. So, here's to a new chapter. Here's to a challenge. To an adjustment. I'll keep you posted on how life is with two kids and three jobs. Should be interesting.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Dane's Birth Story
In order for this birth story to make
any sense you need to know that Marvin and I took a 12 week Bradley Method Class to prepare for this natural childbirth. Marvin knows very,
very little about the technical details of labor and the main thing he
got out of the class was "say no to everything". I just wanted to
be left alone and I didn't want anything done to me. I didn't want
cervical checks. I didn't want pitocin. I didn't want my water broken. I didn't want any of the things doctors do to "speed" labor along. His
role was to support me and speak up when I couldn't speak for myself.
He took his role VERY seriously.
This is a birth story. Birth isn't a neat or clean thing. There's blood involved. A baby comes out of your body. If you have a problem with the word "vagina" you should stop reading now. I'm going to tell you the story exactly as it happened because I'm Diana and it's how I tell a story: unnecessary details added. Dane was born on May 30th at 3:13 AM. I "knew" I was in labor every single day beginning on May 20th when I had some slight spotting and started to lose pieces of my mucous plug (remember the disclaimer about birth not being neat?). "Knowing" I was in labor and then waking up pregnant was a real blasty blast. It made life drag by SO slowly. I won't spare you the details of all of those days, but just know that waiting for labor is harrrrrrd!
So, on Wednesday May 29th I wake up pregnant....again. I was so sure that he would be born before this point that it was making me slightly crazy. I wake up around 5AM because of a contraction. I've had random contractions all week. I roll my eyes. I shift and try to get comfortable. I try to ignore it. Blah. It's not working. Whatever. I accept defeat and surf Facebook. Marvin wakes up for work and asks me why I'm not sleeping. "My stomach hurts," I say. I don't even want to say the word 'contraction' at this point. I figure that a stomach ache is as close to telling him why I'm awake as I can get without flat out lying. We both are so tired of hypothesizing when labor will begin and trying to figure out if "this" is real that I decide to at least spare him. Marvin goes to work.
I get up to pee and there's some bloody mucous on the toilet paper. I've had blood. I've had mucous. I have NOT had bloody mucous. Maybe that means something? I continue having contractions but they are not lasting long and they are sporadic and not getting closer together. I have a feeling this might really be it. Maybe? Probably not, though. I decide to alert the pregnant ladies in our secret Facebook group and tell no one else. I mostly go to them so they can all tell me about the time that they had blood tinged mucous and it meant absolutely nothing. I don't need to get my hopes up for the millionth time. I decide to do my normal morning cleaning and ignore these contractions that way when they go away in an hour I will at least be happy that I have a clean house. I refuse to look at the clock when they come. I don't want to time them.
The house is clean and I'm still having contractions. They still aren't getting closer together. Sometimes I have to move through them, but mostly they are just slightly uncomfortable, sort of like a period cramp. A normal person in maybe-labor would stay home and, ya know, labor. I'm so done with being in fake labor that I decide to go run errands and ignore these stupid, pointless, annoying contractions. This will probably fizzle out anyway, and I would rather not notice when they do.
Elaina and I go to the bank and then we decide to walk around K-Mart and waste time. We spend about two hours running errands, and by the time we come home it is Elaina's nap time. My contractions haven't died down, but they haven't really picked up either. They come randomly and with no pattern. I never experienced false labor with Elaina and I'm so over this whole thing. I decide to google "prodromal labor" to see how long this junk can last. Bad idea. The answer is: forfreakingever. This fake labor is for the birds! Elaina is napping and the house is clean, I may as well take a nap. I lay on the couch and am unable to sleep. Boo. My sister-in-law, Dee, comes to stay with Elaina while I go to my doctor's appointment. She arrives and I head out. My doctor's appointment is at 2:45, but it always takes at least an hour until I'm seen. Marvin doesn't get off of work until 3:30, but we're sure he'll make the appointment with time to spare. At precisely 2:46 I get called back. Wowzers. They are actually on time? This is THE FIRST time they aren't running behind. Typical. I text my mom to come hang with me at the appointment since it looks like Marvin won't make it and she works right next door.
The nurse listens to Dane's heartbeat and I have a contraction while she does. It's a strong one and she looks at me like I'm crazy. "Maybe he'll tell you to go to the hospital," she says. I think to myself: He may, but I'm not going. I ask her how Dane's heartbeat responded to the contraction and she says it went up. Not a decel! Good to hear! The nurse leaves. My mom and I spend our time waiting for Dr. Brown laughing and cracking jokes. I think my water breaks while I'm sitting on the table because some..... stuff comes out. I contemplate not mentioning it to Dr. Brown because if it did break he's going to make me head to the hospital, and start pitocin and I am not about laboring naturally on pitocin, plus I'm not crazy about what pitocin (and the unnaturally strong contractions it causes) could do to Dane's heartrate. Pitocin = stronger than normal contractions = possible stress on baby = c-section. That's how it works in my head. One intervention leads to another and then another etc. etc.
My mom thinks I'm crazy at this point. I decide to mention it to Dr. Brown so she doesn't freak out. I decide I'll just ignore him if he tells me I have to go to the hospital. "So, my water either broke or I peed myself while I was sitting here 3 minutes ago, but if it did, I don't want to go to the hospital until labor has a chance to establish naturally," I say. "If your water broke, it's not negotiable," he says. He checks and it turns out my water didn't break. He gives me a speech about how IF my water breaks I need to come to the hospital immediately. I agree when he tells me that he will give me 12 hours from the time my water broke to let labor begin naturally before beginning pitocin. I can always fib the time my water broke, too. Ok, ok, I agree that if my water breaks, I'll come in!! I am 3 cm and 90% effaced. Dr. Brown says the way I'm contracting he thinks it will be very, very soon.
I go home and Marvin is home at this point. He, Dee and Elaina are in the play room visiting. I tell them about my appointment and have a few contractions that are painful enough that I have to change positions. Dee leaves and Marvin suggests going out to dinner. Why not? I'm still contracting, but I still haven't timed them. I am in major denial at this point. We drive to Mongolian Grill and when we get out of the car I have a contraction so strong that it makes me sweat and I have to REALLY focus through it. I wonder if having dinner out was such a great idea afterall. Throughout dinner I am contracting and they are coming rather frequently and they're getting more painful. I'm having dinner at a restaurant and I'm in maybe-labor. Am I dumb? I'm trying to play it off for the onlookers, but the sweat, big pregnant belly and swaying may be giving me away?
Marvin decides we should rent some movies and then we head home. Marvin is in denial, too. At this point no one is talking about the contracting-regularly elephant in the room. Marvin and Elaina lay in bed and watch a cartoon movie and I go to take a bath. My contractions are pretty intense at this point. I need to move through them. I can't lay down in the bathtub, it hurts too badly. I sit in the tub sideways and rest my head forward against the side of the tub. Marvin asks me to do something and I snap at him, "I'm in labor here, can you handle it?!?". He looks confused: "Wait, you are?". "Yes, duh!! What do you think is going on?". "I don't know," he looks confused. He gets a big smile on his face and comes and kisses me and tells me we are going to get through this labor with no problem and to let him know if I need something I'm saying the words "I'm in labor" out loud, but I don't really, truly believe them. I still keep waiting for things to fizzle out. I'm so worried that everyone will have been alerted for nothing and I'll look stupid.
After I get out of the bathtub, I decide it's a good idea to text my mom and let her know I'm in labor and, since she will be taking care of Elaina while we are at the hospital, that she should be on alert for our "it's time" phone call. It's about 7:40 PM.
I decide to start timing contractions. They are coming every 4 minutes and are lasting about a minute. That's the time frame that we are taught to go to the hospital in our class. I decide that we're going to have to ignore that and go by the intensity of the contractions because it still feels too early to me. I spend the next hour packing Elaina's bag. It takes that long because I have to focus through the contractions. I put Elaina to sleep and Marvin and I decide to watch a movie. He keeps telling me to lay down, but the contractions are roughly 378 times harder to manage while laying down. I watch the movie rocking on the birth ball and walking when I get the urge. I officially know that I am in labor now. No ifs ands or buts about it. This hurts too bad and too often to be a tease. I've been having contractions since 5AM, and they haven't died down once. This is labor. Wow. Ok, so, this is labor. They are now strong enough that each one needs my concentration and I have to breathe through them and focus on relaxing.
When the movie is over I tell Marvin that we should finish packing our bags. We pack through my contractions. When the bags are packed we put on music and work through labor together. The contractions are really strong now. Talking is not allowed during the contractions and in between contractions I am not my lively normal self. I start to notice that I'm nauseated. In my Bradley class we are taught that nausea can be a sign of transition. I know this can't be transition because it's too soon, and it doesn't hurt like I imagine transition will, but the nausea coupled with the intensity of the contractions makes me think we should head to the hospital now. I definitely don't want to be on the road when transition comes. I tell Marvin to let my mom know it's time. It's about 11:00 PM.
At this point Marvin is the world's best husband. He times the contractions, packs up the vehicle, helps me sway through them and keeps praising me. So far, he is allowed to be awake (remember Elaina's labor?). "You are doing so good!! I know it's not easy, but you are making it look so easy." I worry that when things REALLY get hard and I start acting like a crazy person I'll let him down. "It's still early, though," I say. "Don't judge me later when it's harder."
We head to the hospital. My mom reminds me to wear my seatbelt. Yeah, right. No seatbelts will be worn tonight. I cannot sit in the seat in the conventional way. I lean the seat all the way back and face the back of the vehicle. Picture: my ass facing the windshield. I have three contractions on the way to the hospital. I want to get into the room and not have to move again. Traveling through labor is stupid and I hate it.
We arrive at the hospital and I have a contraction in the parking lot. We get to the ER entrance and Marvin goes to handle the paperwork. He is still allowed to be awake and I still love him at this point. A woman comes to me and asks me if she needs to send for someone from Labor & Delivery to come and get me. "No, thanks, I'm good," I tell her. She responds that she just wanted to make sure because she's never been in labor before. A contraction comes and I lean over the desk and breath and sway. I am not making any noise, just breathing through it. The same woman comes back. "Miss Diana, I need to put this bracelet on you," she says. I'm having a contraction and it effing hurts so I do what any woman in labor would do: ignore her. She doesn't get it. "Miss Diana? MISS DIANA? MISS DIANA". Yep, she definitely hasn't been in labor before. Is she effing serious?? The contraction is over and I look up at her like she is the dumbest human being alive. She doesn't notice. It's about 12:00AM.
We go on our merry way upstairs and I have a contraction in the elevator and the elevator starts to beep because I'm not getting off. I force myself to walk out of the elevator. Someone meets us in our room. It's the huge L&D room reserved for mothers laboring naturally. There's a tub in there. I have never seen something more beautiful in my life.
A nurse comes in and tells me to change into the gown. I tell her that I am going to be laboring in my own clothing. She tells me that it will make checking me and delivery very difficult, and they really need something more loose on bottom. They are already challenging the things in my birth plan. I'm not being polite! I'm going to get what I want. I've been ready for this fight all along. Try me, woman! "Dr. Brown signed off on my birth plan. It says I can labor in my own clothes." A contraction comes and I close my eyes and sway. The nurse says, "That's fine, but you..... Oh, are you having a contraction? Ok, you can wait till it's done to answer me or tell me to shut up if you want." Instantly I love her. I trust her. That's all it took. This woman is my friend and she gets it. I take off my bottoms and put on the oober sexy mesh panties she gives me.
It's hospital policy that they get a "strip" on you. Meaning they have to monitor your contractions and the baby's heartbeat on the monitor for about 20 minutes. I'm ok with this and was prepared for this part. They hook me up and I sit on the birth ball. They have some questions to ask me. The nurse asks the questions in between contractions and she is completely silent during contractions. On purpose. Like, she takes her time asking these questions waiting for my contractions. Wow. Thank you, God, for this nurse. Dane's heartrate goes up during contractions. No decels. All is good.
Now it's time for my initial cervical check (the only one I plan on having, apart from when I'm ready to push). Brittany, the nurse, waits for the contraction to be over to check my cervix. (Have I mentioned that I love her?) I am 6cm and Dane is at 0 station. I'm done with all the intake stuff and it is tub time. Brittany, also known as God's gift to laboring mothers, runs the water for me and I cannot wait to get in the tub. It's about 12:45AM.
The tub is a magical, magical place. We have the music going. Brittany dimmed the lights (I know, right?). At this point, my contractions are bad enough that I have to really, really focus on them. They feel like they last a really long time. Our birth photographer, Annie, walks in during a contraction. When the contraction is over I say hi to her and tell her it's nice to meet her. "Y'all don't know each other?!," Marvin asks as if I'm crazy. I don't even notice Annie is there after that. She is so quiet and out of the way. She is now on the "I love these people" list along with Brittany and Marvin. For clarification purposes, the intake lady who has "never been in labor" is NOT on this list.
The contractions get out of control. Making noise feels good. Up until this point I have been silent. They are double peaking. Meaning, they start off dull-ish and reach I'm-going-to-die levels and then become less intense and then reach I'm-going-to-die levels again before dying off. They last about a minute and a half. There is no comfortable position during the double peak contractions. The contractions are coming close together now and while I do have a break in between it is short. The noises coming out of my mouth are getting more Cristina Aguillera-ish and less cow-ish.
I have a few more double peaking contractions and feel alot of "down below" pressure. I know it's not time to push yet because I haven't reached the "I can't do it anymore, give me meds" irrationality that transition brings. I say nothing. I have two more contractions and I feel like I am going to poop in the tub. I decide to mention it to Marvin. Brittany comes in to listen to Dane's hearbeat on the doppler. After the contraction is over I tell her that I feel like I need to poop. "It's too early to push, though, right?" She suggests I go through two more contractions and see how they feel. During the next two contractions Marvin suggests I "put a little pressure" behind the contraction to see how it feels. He says this twice in a row and it pisses me off and I tell him to "shut the fuck up". Oops. I go through two more and I want to be checked NOW. I think I need to push! In my head it feels too soon, but my body isn't on board. I tell Brittany I want to be checked. Marvin interrupts, "No! You said you didn't want to be checked." I tell him I feel alot of pressure and need to be checked. He argues with me. "No, you're ok. You don't want to be checked." I lose my patience: "MARVIN! Don't argue with me when I'm in labor! I didn't want to be checked because I didn't want to get disappointed by the number. If I feel like I need to push I need to be checked. I don't care what the number is. I won't get disappointed." Brittany checks me while I'm in the water. (Pause and remind yourself how much I love this person.) "You're a 9. You have a little lip left on the right side. Lean on that side. I'm going to call Dr. Brown. If you start having an uncontrollable need to push, come get me. I have no qualms with catching a baby if I need to. When you can, it's time to get out of the tub."
I lean on the side Brittany suggests and have one more contraction before hurrying along to the bed. It really doesn't feel real. It's time to push already? But, I didn't go through transition yet! I don't feel self doubt yet. The Bradley class said I would feel self doubt.
I get in the bed and get on all fours and stick my naked ass in the air for all to see. You're welcome, guys. Brittany comes back and tells me Dr. Brown is on his way and I have an irrational conversation with her about "is it really time to push?". I can't get over it. This is really it? Are y'all sure?
Dr. Brown walks in. "That was fast," I tell him. Brittany says, "You don't want your water broken at all?". "NO!," Marvin answers. Brittany says that she's just asking because pushing may be easier and faster if Dane doesn't have the water cushioning his head. "NO!!!," Marvin answers again. No one is talking to him, but he is on a mission. "Well, should we break it now or wait?," I ask. "NO!," Marvin says. I take a break from birthing our second child to explain to Marvin that the reason I didn't want my bag of waters artificially broken is because laboring is easier with the water intact and I didn't want to be put on a timeframe to produce the baby because of the fear of infection, but now we're pushing and if it'll speed things along, I'm all for it. He explains to me that I told him I didn't want my water broken. He says I told him I wanted it to happen on it's own. Note to self: next time you're in labor teach Marvin the WHY behind saying no. A contraction comes and the water talk stops. I push with all of my might. It feels EXACTLY like your pooping. Like, the same way you would "push out a poop" is EXACTLY how you push out a baby. It literally feels like I'm going to poop on the table.
The contraction is over. "Ok, is this going to be like 2 hours of pushing? Because if so, I will die," I ask Dr. Brown. "No, the baby is coming this contraction or the next." A contraction comes and I close my eyes and push. They tell me they see the head and he has hair and it's DARK. Oh my. I can't wait to see!! I push and I feel a gush of fluid. My water broke! "What was that," Marvin asks. "It was my water," I answer. Marvin looks at Dr. Brown with a seriousness I rarely see. "Did you break it," he asks Dr. Brown. Dr. Brown nods and Marvin gives him a "look" and then looks at me. Uh oh. Marvin is angry.
A contraction comes and so does a burning sensation known as "the ring of fire". Brittany is a magical human being so she knows that I'm feeling the ring of fire without me saying anything and tells me to push through the burn and I'll meet my baby. This woman is a goddess. I push through the burn and it feels like I ripped my urethra open. Dane's head is out.
Soon after his body is born and I am in disbelief. "He's here," I say. I keep saying over and over how I can't believe he's really here. That's it? That was so much easier than I thought. They tug him and move him in a weird way and I can feel them pulling the cord. Weird. They immediately put him on my chest and I am in awe. I can't believe this is really happening. We stimulate him and suction him. Dr. Brown says it's time to birth the placenta and to give a push. I push and the placenta comes out. I have never felt more relief in my life. "That felt so good. I can breathe," I say. I put Dane on my chest to nurse him and he latches on right away and sucks like there's no tomorrow.
"You're bleeding more than we like to see. Is it ok if we give you some pitocin," Brittany asks me. "NO!," Marvin answers. "Yes, if I need it to stop from hemorrhaging." I say. Marvin looks at me and reminds me that I don't want pitocin. I kindly let him know if my choices are bleeding out and pitocin, I'll take the pitocin. Dr. Brown suggests she massage my fundus more and wait and see. She does, and we end up not needing the pitocin. Marvin is no longer mad at Dr. Brown.
Dane lays on my chest and nurses and I just keep talking about how I can't believe he's here and it's done. We lay there and he nurses and eventually I get up and shower and bathe Dane. Yep, that's right, I bathed him myself. Brittany, my BFF for life, brings me Honey Nut Cheerios and they tell us what recovery room we are in. I put Dane in his isolette and start to push him to our room. Brittany finds me and starts busting out laughing and trying to hide me from the other nurses "you can't go by yourself, crazy!". Oops.
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I still cannot believe it went down like this. Was it hard? yeah. Was it doable? totally. It was honestly easier than I thought it would be. My first labor was a million times harder than I expected and my second was significantly easier than I expected. It's all because of Charisse Campbell, our Bradley method instructor. We were both SO prepared, and we knew relaxation was key. I owe it all to her, Brittany and Marvin. My husband was so sweet and supportive (even when I told him to shut the f up). And, thanks to Annie Robert Hammons I have these great pictures. Click below to see Annie's work (and Dane's birth story: the visual version).
Dane's Birth
This is a birth story. Birth isn't a neat or clean thing. There's blood involved. A baby comes out of your body. If you have a problem with the word "vagina" you should stop reading now. I'm going to tell you the story exactly as it happened because I'm Diana and it's how I tell a story: unnecessary details added. Dane was born on May 30th at 3:13 AM. I "knew" I was in labor every single day beginning on May 20th when I had some slight spotting and started to lose pieces of my mucous plug (remember the disclaimer about birth not being neat?). "Knowing" I was in labor and then waking up pregnant was a real blasty blast. It made life drag by SO slowly. I won't spare you the details of all of those days, but just know that waiting for labor is harrrrrrd!
So, on Wednesday May 29th I wake up pregnant....again. I was so sure that he would be born before this point that it was making me slightly crazy. I wake up around 5AM because of a contraction. I've had random contractions all week. I roll my eyes. I shift and try to get comfortable. I try to ignore it. Blah. It's not working. Whatever. I accept defeat and surf Facebook. Marvin wakes up for work and asks me why I'm not sleeping. "My stomach hurts," I say. I don't even want to say the word 'contraction' at this point. I figure that a stomach ache is as close to telling him why I'm awake as I can get without flat out lying. We both are so tired of hypothesizing when labor will begin and trying to figure out if "this" is real that I decide to at least spare him. Marvin goes to work.
I get up to pee and there's some bloody mucous on the toilet paper. I've had blood. I've had mucous. I have NOT had bloody mucous. Maybe that means something? I continue having contractions but they are not lasting long and they are sporadic and not getting closer together. I have a feeling this might really be it. Maybe? Probably not, though. I decide to alert the pregnant ladies in our secret Facebook group and tell no one else. I mostly go to them so they can all tell me about the time that they had blood tinged mucous and it meant absolutely nothing. I don't need to get my hopes up for the millionth time. I decide to do my normal morning cleaning and ignore these contractions that way when they go away in an hour I will at least be happy that I have a clean house. I refuse to look at the clock when they come. I don't want to time them.
The house is clean and I'm still having contractions. They still aren't getting closer together. Sometimes I have to move through them, but mostly they are just slightly uncomfortable, sort of like a period cramp. A normal person in maybe-labor would stay home and, ya know, labor. I'm so done with being in fake labor that I decide to go run errands and ignore these stupid, pointless, annoying contractions. This will probably fizzle out anyway, and I would rather not notice when they do.
Elaina and I go to the bank and then we decide to walk around K-Mart and waste time. We spend about two hours running errands, and by the time we come home it is Elaina's nap time. My contractions haven't died down, but they haven't really picked up either. They come randomly and with no pattern. I never experienced false labor with Elaina and I'm so over this whole thing. I decide to google "prodromal labor" to see how long this junk can last. Bad idea. The answer is: forfreakingever. This fake labor is for the birds! Elaina is napping and the house is clean, I may as well take a nap. I lay on the couch and am unable to sleep. Boo. My sister-in-law, Dee, comes to stay with Elaina while I go to my doctor's appointment. She arrives and I head out. My doctor's appointment is at 2:45, but it always takes at least an hour until I'm seen. Marvin doesn't get off of work until 3:30, but we're sure he'll make the appointment with time to spare. At precisely 2:46 I get called back. Wowzers. They are actually on time? This is THE FIRST time they aren't running behind. Typical. I text my mom to come hang with me at the appointment since it looks like Marvin won't make it and she works right next door.
The nurse listens to Dane's heartbeat and I have a contraction while she does. It's a strong one and she looks at me like I'm crazy. "Maybe he'll tell you to go to the hospital," she says. I think to myself: He may, but I'm not going. I ask her how Dane's heartbeat responded to the contraction and she says it went up. Not a decel! Good to hear! The nurse leaves. My mom and I spend our time waiting for Dr. Brown laughing and cracking jokes. I think my water breaks while I'm sitting on the table because some..... stuff comes out. I contemplate not mentioning it to Dr. Brown because if it did break he's going to make me head to the hospital, and start pitocin and I am not about laboring naturally on pitocin, plus I'm not crazy about what pitocin (and the unnaturally strong contractions it causes) could do to Dane's heartrate. Pitocin = stronger than normal contractions = possible stress on baby = c-section. That's how it works in my head. One intervention leads to another and then another etc. etc.
My mom thinks I'm crazy at this point. I decide to mention it to Dr. Brown so she doesn't freak out. I decide I'll just ignore him if he tells me I have to go to the hospital. "So, my water either broke or I peed myself while I was sitting here 3 minutes ago, but if it did, I don't want to go to the hospital until labor has a chance to establish naturally," I say. "If your water broke, it's not negotiable," he says. He checks and it turns out my water didn't break. He gives me a speech about how IF my water breaks I need to come to the hospital immediately. I agree when he tells me that he will give me 12 hours from the time my water broke to let labor begin naturally before beginning pitocin. I can always fib the time my water broke, too. Ok, ok, I agree that if my water breaks, I'll come in!! I am 3 cm and 90% effaced. Dr. Brown says the way I'm contracting he thinks it will be very, very soon.
I go home and Marvin is home at this point. He, Dee and Elaina are in the play room visiting. I tell them about my appointment and have a few contractions that are painful enough that I have to change positions. Dee leaves and Marvin suggests going out to dinner. Why not? I'm still contracting, but I still haven't timed them. I am in major denial at this point. We drive to Mongolian Grill and when we get out of the car I have a contraction so strong that it makes me sweat and I have to REALLY focus through it. I wonder if having dinner out was such a great idea afterall. Throughout dinner I am contracting and they are coming rather frequently and they're getting more painful. I'm having dinner at a restaurant and I'm in maybe-labor. Am I dumb? I'm trying to play it off for the onlookers, but the sweat, big pregnant belly and swaying may be giving me away?
Marvin decides we should rent some movies and then we head home. Marvin is in denial, too. At this point no one is talking about the contracting-regularly elephant in the room. Marvin and Elaina lay in bed and watch a cartoon movie and I go to take a bath. My contractions are pretty intense at this point. I need to move through them. I can't lay down in the bathtub, it hurts too badly. I sit in the tub sideways and rest my head forward against the side of the tub. Marvin asks me to do something and I snap at him, "I'm in labor here, can you handle it?!?". He looks confused: "Wait, you are?". "Yes, duh!! What do you think is going on?". "I don't know," he looks confused. He gets a big smile on his face and comes and kisses me and tells me we are going to get through this labor with no problem and to let him know if I need something I'm saying the words "I'm in labor" out loud, but I don't really, truly believe them. I still keep waiting for things to fizzle out. I'm so worried that everyone will have been alerted for nothing and I'll look stupid.
After I get out of the bathtub, I decide it's a good idea to text my mom and let her know I'm in labor and, since she will be taking care of Elaina while we are at the hospital, that she should be on alert for our "it's time" phone call. It's about 7:40 PM.
I decide to start timing contractions. They are coming every 4 minutes and are lasting about a minute. That's the time frame that we are taught to go to the hospital in our class. I decide that we're going to have to ignore that and go by the intensity of the contractions because it still feels too early to me. I spend the next hour packing Elaina's bag. It takes that long because I have to focus through the contractions. I put Elaina to sleep and Marvin and I decide to watch a movie. He keeps telling me to lay down, but the contractions are roughly 378 times harder to manage while laying down. I watch the movie rocking on the birth ball and walking when I get the urge. I officially know that I am in labor now. No ifs ands or buts about it. This hurts too bad and too often to be a tease. I've been having contractions since 5AM, and they haven't died down once. This is labor. Wow. Ok, so, this is labor. They are now strong enough that each one needs my concentration and I have to breathe through them and focus on relaxing.
When the movie is over I tell Marvin that we should finish packing our bags. We pack through my contractions. When the bags are packed we put on music and work through labor together. The contractions are really strong now. Talking is not allowed during the contractions and in between contractions I am not my lively normal self. I start to notice that I'm nauseated. In my Bradley class we are taught that nausea can be a sign of transition. I know this can't be transition because it's too soon, and it doesn't hurt like I imagine transition will, but the nausea coupled with the intensity of the contractions makes me think we should head to the hospital now. I definitely don't want to be on the road when transition comes. I tell Marvin to let my mom know it's time. It's about 11:00 PM.
At this point Marvin is the world's best husband. He times the contractions, packs up the vehicle, helps me sway through them and keeps praising me. So far, he is allowed to be awake (remember Elaina's labor?). "You are doing so good!! I know it's not easy, but you are making it look so easy." I worry that when things REALLY get hard and I start acting like a crazy person I'll let him down. "It's still early, though," I say. "Don't judge me later when it's harder."
We head to the hospital. My mom reminds me to wear my seatbelt. Yeah, right. No seatbelts will be worn tonight. I cannot sit in the seat in the conventional way. I lean the seat all the way back and face the back of the vehicle. Picture: my ass facing the windshield. I have three contractions on the way to the hospital. I want to get into the room and not have to move again. Traveling through labor is stupid and I hate it.
We arrive at the hospital and I have a contraction in the parking lot. We get to the ER entrance and Marvin goes to handle the paperwork. He is still allowed to be awake and I still love him at this point. A woman comes to me and asks me if she needs to send for someone from Labor & Delivery to come and get me. "No, thanks, I'm good," I tell her. She responds that she just wanted to make sure because she's never been in labor before. A contraction comes and I lean over the desk and breath and sway. I am not making any noise, just breathing through it. The same woman comes back. "Miss Diana, I need to put this bracelet on you," she says. I'm having a contraction and it effing hurts so I do what any woman in labor would do: ignore her. She doesn't get it. "Miss Diana? MISS DIANA? MISS DIANA". Yep, she definitely hasn't been in labor before. Is she effing serious?? The contraction is over and I look up at her like she is the dumbest human being alive. She doesn't notice. It's about 12:00AM.
We go on our merry way upstairs and I have a contraction in the elevator and the elevator starts to beep because I'm not getting off. I force myself to walk out of the elevator. Someone meets us in our room. It's the huge L&D room reserved for mothers laboring naturally. There's a tub in there. I have never seen something more beautiful in my life.
A nurse comes in and tells me to change into the gown. I tell her that I am going to be laboring in my own clothing. She tells me that it will make checking me and delivery very difficult, and they really need something more loose on bottom. They are already challenging the things in my birth plan. I'm not being polite! I'm going to get what I want. I've been ready for this fight all along. Try me, woman! "Dr. Brown signed off on my birth plan. It says I can labor in my own clothes." A contraction comes and I close my eyes and sway. The nurse says, "That's fine, but you..... Oh, are you having a contraction? Ok, you can wait till it's done to answer me or tell me to shut up if you want." Instantly I love her. I trust her. That's all it took. This woman is my friend and she gets it. I take off my bottoms and put on the oober sexy mesh panties she gives me.
It's hospital policy that they get a "strip" on you. Meaning they have to monitor your contractions and the baby's heartbeat on the monitor for about 20 minutes. I'm ok with this and was prepared for this part. They hook me up and I sit on the birth ball. They have some questions to ask me. The nurse asks the questions in between contractions and she is completely silent during contractions. On purpose. Like, she takes her time asking these questions waiting for my contractions. Wow. Thank you, God, for this nurse. Dane's heartrate goes up during contractions. No decels. All is good.
Now it's time for my initial cervical check (the only one I plan on having, apart from when I'm ready to push). Brittany, the nurse, waits for the contraction to be over to check my cervix. (Have I mentioned that I love her?) I am 6cm and Dane is at 0 station. I'm done with all the intake stuff and it is tub time. Brittany, also known as God's gift to laboring mothers, runs the water for me and I cannot wait to get in the tub. It's about 12:45AM.
The tub is a magical, magical place. We have the music going. Brittany dimmed the lights (I know, right?). At this point, my contractions are bad enough that I have to really, really focus on them. They feel like they last a really long time. Our birth photographer, Annie, walks in during a contraction. When the contraction is over I say hi to her and tell her it's nice to meet her. "Y'all don't know each other?!," Marvin asks as if I'm crazy. I don't even notice Annie is there after that. She is so quiet and out of the way. She is now on the "I love these people" list along with Brittany and Marvin. For clarification purposes, the intake lady who has "never been in labor" is NOT on this list.
The contractions get out of control. Making noise feels good. Up until this point I have been silent. They are double peaking. Meaning, they start off dull-ish and reach I'm-going-to-die levels and then become less intense and then reach I'm-going-to-die levels again before dying off. They last about a minute and a half. There is no comfortable position during the double peak contractions. The contractions are coming close together now and while I do have a break in between it is short. The noises coming out of my mouth are getting more Cristina Aguillera-ish and less cow-ish.
I have a few more double peaking contractions and feel alot of "down below" pressure. I know it's not time to push yet because I haven't reached the "I can't do it anymore, give me meds" irrationality that transition brings. I say nothing. I have two more contractions and I feel like I am going to poop in the tub. I decide to mention it to Marvin. Brittany comes in to listen to Dane's hearbeat on the doppler. After the contraction is over I tell her that I feel like I need to poop. "It's too early to push, though, right?" She suggests I go through two more contractions and see how they feel. During the next two contractions Marvin suggests I "put a little pressure" behind the contraction to see how it feels. He says this twice in a row and it pisses me off and I tell him to "shut the fuck up". Oops. I go through two more and I want to be checked NOW. I think I need to push! In my head it feels too soon, but my body isn't on board. I tell Brittany I want to be checked. Marvin interrupts, "No! You said you didn't want to be checked." I tell him I feel alot of pressure and need to be checked. He argues with me. "No, you're ok. You don't want to be checked." I lose my patience: "MARVIN! Don't argue with me when I'm in labor! I didn't want to be checked because I didn't want to get disappointed by the number. If I feel like I need to push I need to be checked. I don't care what the number is. I won't get disappointed." Brittany checks me while I'm in the water. (Pause and remind yourself how much I love this person.) "You're a 9. You have a little lip left on the right side. Lean on that side. I'm going to call Dr. Brown. If you start having an uncontrollable need to push, come get me. I have no qualms with catching a baby if I need to. When you can, it's time to get out of the tub."
I lean on the side Brittany suggests and have one more contraction before hurrying along to the bed. It really doesn't feel real. It's time to push already? But, I didn't go through transition yet! I don't feel self doubt yet. The Bradley class said I would feel self doubt.
I get in the bed and get on all fours and stick my naked ass in the air for all to see. You're welcome, guys. Brittany comes back and tells me Dr. Brown is on his way and I have an irrational conversation with her about "is it really time to push?". I can't get over it. This is really it? Are y'all sure?
Dr. Brown walks in. "That was fast," I tell him. Brittany says, "You don't want your water broken at all?". "NO!," Marvin answers. Brittany says that she's just asking because pushing may be easier and faster if Dane doesn't have the water cushioning his head. "NO!!!," Marvin answers again. No one is talking to him, but he is on a mission. "Well, should we break it now or wait?," I ask. "NO!," Marvin says. I take a break from birthing our second child to explain to Marvin that the reason I didn't want my bag of waters artificially broken is because laboring is easier with the water intact and I didn't want to be put on a timeframe to produce the baby because of the fear of infection, but now we're pushing and if it'll speed things along, I'm all for it. He explains to me that I told him I didn't want my water broken. He says I told him I wanted it to happen on it's own. Note to self: next time you're in labor teach Marvin the WHY behind saying no. A contraction comes and the water talk stops. I push with all of my might. It feels EXACTLY like your pooping. Like, the same way you would "push out a poop" is EXACTLY how you push out a baby. It literally feels like I'm going to poop on the table.
The contraction is over. "Ok, is this going to be like 2 hours of pushing? Because if so, I will die," I ask Dr. Brown. "No, the baby is coming this contraction or the next." A contraction comes and I close my eyes and push. They tell me they see the head and he has hair and it's DARK. Oh my. I can't wait to see!! I push and I feel a gush of fluid. My water broke! "What was that," Marvin asks. "It was my water," I answer. Marvin looks at Dr. Brown with a seriousness I rarely see. "Did you break it," he asks Dr. Brown. Dr. Brown nods and Marvin gives him a "look" and then looks at me. Uh oh. Marvin is angry.
A contraction comes and so does a burning sensation known as "the ring of fire". Brittany is a magical human being so she knows that I'm feeling the ring of fire without me saying anything and tells me to push through the burn and I'll meet my baby. This woman is a goddess. I push through the burn and it feels like I ripped my urethra open. Dane's head is out.
Soon after his body is born and I am in disbelief. "He's here," I say. I keep saying over and over how I can't believe he's really here. That's it? That was so much easier than I thought. They tug him and move him in a weird way and I can feel them pulling the cord. Weird. They immediately put him on my chest and I am in awe. I can't believe this is really happening. We stimulate him and suction him. Dr. Brown says it's time to birth the placenta and to give a push. I push and the placenta comes out. I have never felt more relief in my life. "That felt so good. I can breathe," I say. I put Dane on my chest to nurse him and he latches on right away and sucks like there's no tomorrow.
"You're bleeding more than we like to see. Is it ok if we give you some pitocin," Brittany asks me. "NO!," Marvin answers. "Yes, if I need it to stop from hemorrhaging." I say. Marvin looks at me and reminds me that I don't want pitocin. I kindly let him know if my choices are bleeding out and pitocin, I'll take the pitocin. Dr. Brown suggests she massage my fundus more and wait and see. She does, and we end up not needing the pitocin. Marvin is no longer mad at Dr. Brown.
Dane lays on my chest and nurses and I just keep talking about how I can't believe he's here and it's done. We lay there and he nurses and eventually I get up and shower and bathe Dane. Yep, that's right, I bathed him myself. Brittany, my BFF for life, brings me Honey Nut Cheerios and they tell us what recovery room we are in. I put Dane in his isolette and start to push him to our room. Brittany finds me and starts busting out laughing and trying to hide me from the other nurses "you can't go by yourself, crazy!". Oops.
*-*-*-*-*-*
I still cannot believe it went down like this. Was it hard? yeah. Was it doable? totally. It was honestly easier than I thought it would be. My first labor was a million times harder than I expected and my second was significantly easier than I expected. It's all because of Charisse Campbell, our Bradley method instructor. We were both SO prepared, and we knew relaxation was key. I owe it all to her, Brittany and Marvin. My husband was so sweet and supportive (even when I told him to shut the f up). And, thanks to Annie Robert Hammons I have these great pictures. Click below to see Annie's work (and Dane's birth story: the visual version).
Dane's Birth
Sunday, May 19, 2013
So Ready
I'm now at the "I'm VERY ready" point of pregnancy. Every morning when I wake up still pregnant it's like waking up and realizing Santa Claus hasn't passed. It's a bummer.
I haven't gotten many "anything yet?" text messages from friends. (I guess they read the blog after all? Either that or they don't care. Ha!) The few I have received have come with the "I know this is annoying, but I gotta know" disclaimer, and for some reason, that actually makes it not annoying. My mom texts me everyday with "How are you?". I know this REALLY means "are you in labor?".
I'm starting to get irrational. I look back at pictures a few days before Elaina was born and I was really, really swollen. So, I've been taking selfies and examining them to see if I'm swollen (because the naked eye lies to you-- self preservation). I'm not swollen. In my irrational brain this means I will be pregnant until July.
Dane isn't low. He's hanging out high and he seems content. I'm 2cm dilated and about 70% effaced. This means nothing (I know), but I like to pretend like it does so I don't go completely insane.
I'm in that annoying just-waiting period where there's nothing left to prep or do. Nothing left to buy. Nothing left to wait for. Except the baby. It's driving me bananas. I'm ready to meet this little boy. I'm ready to see if he has his sister's where-did-this-come-from hair or if he'll come out with black hair. I'm ready to see if he'll be petite like his 6lbs 1oz sister was. I'm ready to tackle labor drug free. I'm ready to go through the challenge!! I'm ready to bring him home and nurse him and love on him and introduce him to his sister. I'm even ready for the hard parts. I'm READY!
I had a dream way back that he was born on the 23rd. That would be a really nice early birthday present. I'm ready, Dane. This week sometime, please.
I haven't gotten many "anything yet?" text messages from friends. (I guess they read the blog after all? Either that or they don't care. Ha!) The few I have received have come with the "I know this is annoying, but I gotta know" disclaimer, and for some reason, that actually makes it not annoying. My mom texts me everyday with "How are you?". I know this REALLY means "are you in labor?".
I'm starting to get irrational. I look back at pictures a few days before Elaina was born and I was really, really swollen. So, I've been taking selfies and examining them to see if I'm swollen (because the naked eye lies to you-- self preservation). I'm not swollen. In my irrational brain this means I will be pregnant until July.
Dane isn't low. He's hanging out high and he seems content. I'm 2cm dilated and about 70% effaced. This means nothing (I know), but I like to pretend like it does so I don't go completely insane.
I'm in that annoying just-waiting period where there's nothing left to prep or do. Nothing left to buy. Nothing left to wait for. Except the baby. It's driving me bananas. I'm ready to meet this little boy. I'm ready to see if he has his sister's where-did-this-come-from hair or if he'll come out with black hair. I'm ready to see if he'll be petite like his 6lbs 1oz sister was. I'm ready to tackle labor drug free. I'm ready to go through the challenge!! I'm ready to bring him home and nurse him and love on him and introduce him to his sister. I'm even ready for the hard parts. I'm READY!
I had a dream way back that he was born on the 23rd. That would be a really nice early birthday present. I'm ready, Dane. This week sometime, please.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Unmarried and (gasp) Pregnant
Elaina was a surprise. I think it's safe to say she is the best surprise Marvin or I ever received. I won't go into the events that led up to the surprise pregnancy because that's a whole story in itself. When I found out I was pregnant I was shocked! I called Marvin at work. I was flabbergasted. He seemed cool as a cucumber. I'm sure he wasn't, but it's how he seemed. I really couldn't believe that I was pregnant. I just kept staring at the test and repeating "I'm pregnant" over and over again. I'm not sure that my reaction had anything to do with my marital status; I think any time a woman is pregnant (planned or surprise) for the very first time it takes some..... time to wrap her head around the idea of it all. The idea that there is really a BABY in there is hard to adjust to.
What surprised me most about being pregnant in the beginning? The reactions. I was pregnant and not married and apparently that's taboo? Marvin and I were pretty ecstatic right away. Other people (whose lives would not be affected whatsoever by this news): not so much. I didn't get it. I mean, I was 23 years old and had graduated from college, I had a full time job and was independent in every way (specifically financially). Anyone who knew me would've definitely said I was responsible. I was dating a 26 year old guy who was quite fabulous. We lived together. He had a full time job and was extremely responsible as well. We had a very healthy and happy relationship. And yet, people reacted like I was 15 years old, alone, irresponsible and pregnant. It was weird.
The people you'd expect to have a hard time adjusting to the news (parents) really kind of just rolled with the punches. My parents were living in Florida at the time so I had to tell them over the phone. I can remember that phone conversation like the back of my hand.
I called my Mom's cell and she answered and I asked her if she was busy. She said she wasn't and I asked her if she could go into a room because I needed to talk to her about something privately. "Sure," she said.
Me: I'm pregnant
Mom: You arrrrrrrrrrre?
Me: Yes
Mom: Are you freaking out?
Me: YES!
(at this point she begins to cry and hands the phone to my Dad)
Dad: Baby, you're PREGNANT?
Me: Yes!
Dad: That's so awesome! I'm going to be a grandpa? Wow, man!! Your mom is so happy she's crying.
Now, if anyone was going to be upset (and, really, why in the heck SHOULD anyone be upset??) you would imagine it would be my parents, right? Well, in all fairness my parents are..... different. I remember in High School I was the President of the Students United for Abstinence Club (pause and allow the irony to sink in) and I came home all proud and excited to tell my parents. My mom was all "oh, cool" and my Dad launched into a speech about how "that's great if it's what you want to do", but sex is a natural, normal thing that we shouldn't be ashamed of. It's not scary, he'd say. It's not shameful. Not your typical parents.
So, my parents were ecstatic. They moved back to Louisiana so they could be close to their grandchild. I was ecstatic too. I couldn't believe how lucky we were to be having a baby. I started reading and learning and researching immediately. I was already in love with my little bean! I didn't feel like the pregnancy was anything secretive, so I didn't keep it a secret! I let all of our friends know. We told our families and Facebook. It wasn't a secret by any means. I was PREGNANT and I was HAPPY and I wanted to shout it from the rooftops!!
I called a group of women who were close to me (individually), excited to share the news with them and their reactions surprised me and really hurt me. I considered these women role models my entire life and I was always aiming for their acceptance. I heard "what am I going to tell my kids?" (Umm, that I'm pregnant, duh! What do you mean?), "Well I guess if you're happy then I am" (Gee try to reign in your enthusiasm) and "Are you going to get married? You need to get married. You have to put yourself aside and get married now because it's what's right for the baby. Raising a child out of wedlock isn't stable. The baby needs stability." (whaaaaa?). I got really mad. How dare they make this extremely HAPPY time for me negative. I got super defensive and that was that. I kind of closed myself off from them. I didn't have room for anyone's negativity. A BABY was going to be born and Marvin and I were beyond-words happy.
After those negative conversations, I realized something: you set the tone for how people react to you. Had I kept my pregnancy a secret, people would've slowly found out and whispered and gossiped about it. Had I acted like it was something depressing or sad, people would've felt bad for me. But, if I was open and happy (the way I truly felt inside) about it publicly people could either get on board or look dumb. Do you know how dumb you look when someone is all "We're expecting, we're so excited!!" and then YOU (the person who this does not affect) are upset by the news? You look dumb. I decided I'd set the tone for this. I wouldn't allow others to treat this as anything but HAPPY and AWESOME news, and if they did, they'd be alone in their sorrow; I wasn't going to entertain it.
My grandma (my mother's mom) was so happy. This woman was the most Catholic person in my family. She had such a pure heart. She was extremely religious and yet, she was happy! I've never been as close to my mom's family as I've been to my dad's (purely a proximity thing, my mom's family lives in Puerto Rico), but they all seemed to be so happy for me! My aunt (my mom's sister) sent me care packages of baby books that she found helpful. She sent a little note in the package that I kept in Elaina's baby book. She called me and had excitement in her voice. She was so happy for me, she said. It's such a wonderful gift and she couldn't wait for me to experience it. Call her if I want any advice or have any questions. It's awesome, she said. (She has no idea what that conversation and note meant to me. It came just when I needed it.) Wow. The people who I personally called to tell (because they meant so much to me-- I thought they'd be SO happy) reacted terribly (and continued to be less than supportive throughout my entire pregnancy), and the people who got the news via my mom were my biggest supporters. It was crazy to me.
I had some pretty infuriating conversations during the pregnancy. Certain people kept trying to get Marvin and I to get married before Elaina was born. We were good, but thanks. They said that it would cause problems logistically if Elaina and I had different last names. (All those divorced moms out there seem to be handling it just fine.) They said I would regret this one day when Elaina started asking questions. I would have a hard time explaining to Elaina that we weren't married before we had her, they said. These people didn't get it. Had they met me before? I had (and to this day I still have) zero anxieties or worry about Elaina asking questions about this topic. She was 4.5 months old when we got married. She's in the wedding pictures. It's not a secret. It didn't feel wrong at the time and I wasn't about to "hurry" and get married in an effort to cover up the fact that we got pregnant before we got married. I didn't even feel like this needed covering up. It happened how it happened. The order was of no concern to Marvin or I.
These same people who were outraged that I was pregnant with Elaina were ecstatic when they heard we were pregnant with Dane. Hypocrites. What's the difference? A piece of paper? It's no longer "a sin"? Really, I don't get it.
Anyway, I don't really know what the point of this blog post is. I guess it's just to share my experience. It really surprised me how insensitive and ignorant people are. And, I guess my advice is if you're going through something that OTHER people may find taboo, but you're feeling wonderfully about it.... SCREW THEM!! Hold your head up high and be excited. It's your life. They can either follow your lead or look stupid.
What surprised me most about being pregnant in the beginning? The reactions. I was pregnant and not married and apparently that's taboo? Marvin and I were pretty ecstatic right away. Other people (whose lives would not be affected whatsoever by this news): not so much. I didn't get it. I mean, I was 23 years old and had graduated from college, I had a full time job and was independent in every way (specifically financially). Anyone who knew me would've definitely said I was responsible. I was dating a 26 year old guy who was quite fabulous. We lived together. He had a full time job and was extremely responsible as well. We had a very healthy and happy relationship. And yet, people reacted like I was 15 years old, alone, irresponsible and pregnant. It was weird.
The people you'd expect to have a hard time adjusting to the news (parents) really kind of just rolled with the punches. My parents were living in Florida at the time so I had to tell them over the phone. I can remember that phone conversation like the back of my hand.
I called my Mom's cell and she answered and I asked her if she was busy. She said she wasn't and I asked her if she could go into a room because I needed to talk to her about something privately. "Sure," she said.
Me: I'm pregnant
Mom: You arrrrrrrrrrre?
Me: Yes
Mom: Are you freaking out?
Me: YES!
(at this point she begins to cry and hands the phone to my Dad)
Dad: Baby, you're PREGNANT?
Me: Yes!
Dad: That's so awesome! I'm going to be a grandpa? Wow, man!! Your mom is so happy she's crying.
Now, if anyone was going to be upset (and, really, why in the heck SHOULD anyone be upset??) you would imagine it would be my parents, right? Well, in all fairness my parents are..... different. I remember in High School I was the President of the Students United for Abstinence Club (pause and allow the irony to sink in) and I came home all proud and excited to tell my parents. My mom was all "oh, cool" and my Dad launched into a speech about how "that's great if it's what you want to do", but sex is a natural, normal thing that we shouldn't be ashamed of. It's not scary, he'd say. It's not shameful. Not your typical parents.
So, my parents were ecstatic. They moved back to Louisiana so they could be close to their grandchild. I was ecstatic too. I couldn't believe how lucky we were to be having a baby. I started reading and learning and researching immediately. I was already in love with my little bean! I didn't feel like the pregnancy was anything secretive, so I didn't keep it a secret! I let all of our friends know. We told our families and Facebook. It wasn't a secret by any means. I was PREGNANT and I was HAPPY and I wanted to shout it from the rooftops!!
I called a group of women who were close to me (individually), excited to share the news with them and their reactions surprised me and really hurt me. I considered these women role models my entire life and I was always aiming for their acceptance. I heard "what am I going to tell my kids?" (Umm, that I'm pregnant, duh! What do you mean?), "Well I guess if you're happy then I am" (Gee try to reign in your enthusiasm) and "Are you going to get married? You need to get married. You have to put yourself aside and get married now because it's what's right for the baby. Raising a child out of wedlock isn't stable. The baby needs stability." (whaaaaa?). I got really mad. How dare they make this extremely HAPPY time for me negative. I got super defensive and that was that. I kind of closed myself off from them. I didn't have room for anyone's negativity. A BABY was going to be born and Marvin and I were beyond-words happy.
After those negative conversations, I realized something: you set the tone for how people react to you. Had I kept my pregnancy a secret, people would've slowly found out and whispered and gossiped about it. Had I acted like it was something depressing or sad, people would've felt bad for me. But, if I was open and happy (the way I truly felt inside) about it publicly people could either get on board or look dumb. Do you know how dumb you look when someone is all "We're expecting, we're so excited!!" and then YOU (the person who this does not affect) are upset by the news? You look dumb. I decided I'd set the tone for this. I wouldn't allow others to treat this as anything but HAPPY and AWESOME news, and if they did, they'd be alone in their sorrow; I wasn't going to entertain it.
My grandma (my mother's mom) was so happy. This woman was the most Catholic person in my family. She had such a pure heart. She was extremely religious and yet, she was happy! I've never been as close to my mom's family as I've been to my dad's (purely a proximity thing, my mom's family lives in Puerto Rico), but they all seemed to be so happy for me! My aunt (my mom's sister) sent me care packages of baby books that she found helpful. She sent a little note in the package that I kept in Elaina's baby book. She called me and had excitement in her voice. She was so happy for me, she said. It's such a wonderful gift and she couldn't wait for me to experience it. Call her if I want any advice or have any questions. It's awesome, she said. (She has no idea what that conversation and note meant to me. It came just when I needed it.) Wow. The people who I personally called to tell (because they meant so much to me-- I thought they'd be SO happy) reacted terribly (and continued to be less than supportive throughout my entire pregnancy), and the people who got the news via my mom were my biggest supporters. It was crazy to me.
I had some pretty infuriating conversations during the pregnancy. Certain people kept trying to get Marvin and I to get married before Elaina was born. We were good, but thanks. They said that it would cause problems logistically if Elaina and I had different last names. (All those divorced moms out there seem to be handling it just fine.) They said I would regret this one day when Elaina started asking questions. I would have a hard time explaining to Elaina that we weren't married before we had her, they said. These people didn't get it. Had they met me before? I had (and to this day I still have) zero anxieties or worry about Elaina asking questions about this topic. She was 4.5 months old when we got married. She's in the wedding pictures. It's not a secret. It didn't feel wrong at the time and I wasn't about to "hurry" and get married in an effort to cover up the fact that we got pregnant before we got married. I didn't even feel like this needed covering up. It happened how it happened. The order was of no concern to Marvin or I.
These same people who were outraged that I was pregnant with Elaina were ecstatic when they heard we were pregnant with Dane. Hypocrites. What's the difference? A piece of paper? It's no longer "a sin"? Really, I don't get it.
Anyway, I don't really know what the point of this blog post is. I guess it's just to share my experience. It really surprised me how insensitive and ignorant people are. And, I guess my advice is if you're going through something that OTHER people may find taboo, but you're feeling wonderfully about it.... SCREW THEM!! Hold your head up high and be excited. It's your life. They can either follow your lead or look stupid.
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