The Birth and Breastfeeding Adventures of Evelyn Aliese

Like all birth stories, this one begins with pregnancy. However, in an effort to avoid this entry being much longer than necessary, I will summarize my pregnancy with Evelyn by saying that it consisted of an out of state move at 34 weeks, and a hardship on my marriage that my husband and I nearly didn’t make it through. Perhaps it was Evelyn that acted as the glue that held it together until the broken pieces were mended. Not even earth-side, and she was already changing my world.

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Fast forward to her birth, I was planning to have a Vaginal Birth After Cesarean (VBAC). Emerson, now 2, was born via C-section. The official reasoning for his C-section was “failure to decent” although in my heart I never knew if he truly couldn’t make it through the birth canal, or if the hospital staff simply grew impatient and resorted to fear tactics to talk me into having the procedure. My suspicion has always been that the labor simply needed more time, and had we waited, my son could have been born vaginally. I’ll never know. Regardless, this brought me to seek a VBAC with my second baby. While in Missouri I was working with a midwife that I absolutely adored and trusted whole-heartedly. I also loved the doctor that would be overseeing my baby’s birth. I was also working with an amazing woman named Lauren who was a Doula and a prenatal yoga instructor. Lauren also taught Hypno-Babies – a method of pain relief during labor using self-hypnosis.  I used self-hypnosis with my first baby and loved it, so naturally I studied the practice again with my second. Although I loved Lauren and my doctor dearly, the downside of moving meant leaving them, and starting all over with a brand new doctor, doula, and midwife. 

Once I moved to Michigan I searched and searched and search for a hospital that would take me, but no one would take a 34 week brand new VBAC patient. Since I couldn't go with a hospital on my wish-list, I decided that I would go with the hospital that had sentimental value and I chose the hospital Dave was born at. I may have settled for this hospital in the beginning but in the end I was deeply and utterly grateful that Evelyn was born there. They were beyond wonderful to me. I still get choked up every time I drive by there just thinking about it.

And as it turns out, I secured the hospital in just the nick of time because Evelyn decided that she wanted to be earth-side two weeks before my due date. At midnight on Saturday January 10^th, shortly after leaving Dave's grandmas 85th birthday celebration, I felt my first contraction. It was mild enough to keep me calm, but intense enough to make it evident that this was it. Wanting to avoid the hospital as long as possible, I labored at home until Sunday afternoon. Since I was very aware that these were real contractions and that the baby would be coming soon, I instinctively began cleaning my house. At 1:00 in the morning I was doing dishes and my poor husband, unwilling to question my logic, joined in and helped me clean up other rooms in the house. We finally went to bed although I only slept for about two hours before the contractions woke me up again. I got up around 3:00am and moved to the couch. I turned on the TV and began timing my contractions. Five minutes apart with increasing intensity. I remained calm and tried to keep myself as relaxed as possible. I started to feel hungry, but unfortunately I had a very specific craving for eggs, and I knew that nothing else would satisfy my hunger. And we were out of eggs. I held out until 6:00am and I couldn’t take it anymore. I woke up Dave and told him that I was hungry… for eggs… and I needed him to make me some… and we didn’t have any in the house. (Side note: This was the one and only time during my pregnancy that I asked him to make an irrational food run for me, and I was in labor, so I figured I could use my irrational-pregnancy-craving card). So, being the wonderful man that he is, Dave got out of bed at 6:00am, went to the store, then came home and made literally the most amazing omelet I have ever eaten. Contractions continued and Emerson woke up around 8:00am and Dave made us all waffles, and I ate again. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to eat once I got to the hospital, and I didn’t know how long I would even have an appetite so I wanted to eat while I could. We continued on with our low key morning. Contractions began to get more intense but still bearable. When they got a little harder I jumped in the bathtub with my toddler, focusing on him playing while I tried to relax. Finally, around noon the contractions were getting pretty intense and Dave and I knew that it was time to go. We called our doula, the midwife, and my mother in law. Dave's mom came over to watch Emerson and off to the hospital we went. I could barely stand saying goodbye to my little guy, and cried all the way to the hospital, knowing that the days of just the two of us had finally ended.

I was in triage when my water broke. The staff moved me to the labor and delivery room as quickly as possible. I was fully dilated and it was time to push. My midwife, who I had only met once, was there and to my surprise she was wonderful. She was positive and encouraged me to try different positions. The nurses were wonderful as well. At no point was I ever asked if I wanted an epidural and no other interventions were suggested. I pushed for two hours with amazing support from my husband, midwife, and hospital staff when it became apparent that I was not making progress. With every push the baby’s heart rate dropped and my midwife became concerned. I could hear in her voice that she did not want to suggest it, but seeing no other option she suggested that I have a C-section.  The very fact that I could see on her face and hear in her voice that she too was heartbroken over this reality told me that we had done everything in our power to have the baby naturally, and it simply was not going to work that way. I asked my midwife and the hospital staff to leave the room so that I could talk to Dave and our doula alone. I asked my doula if she believed that we had done everything possible, and that a C-section was in fact necessary. She agreed. I could see the panic in Dave's face; I imagine both in remembrance of my traumatic C-section with our first baby, and in fear of how devastated I would be at having another C-section. I told him that I really believed that we had done everything possible, and that a C-section was simply necessary at this point. I felt calm and confident with what was happening. I felt that my midwife and the hospital staff wanted a natural delivery just as much as I did. I felt so supported, which is all I could ask for. So we proceeded to the OR.

Fortunately, I would be able to stay awake for this C-section. Something I didn’t get to do when Emerson was born. Dave and I were ecstatic about this. The next thing I knew the curtain was up and within moments my midwife was standing by our side holding our beautiful baby girl in front of us. Soon they cleaned her up and laid her on my chest. She was on my chest for quite some time when we heard the doctor ask for urology. Not knowing what to think we didn’t pay attention to this. Then again, and with more urgency in her voice, the doctor asked for the urologist. Something was wrong. Dave and the baby were sent away and I was placed under general anesthesia. During the C-section my bladder was cut and additional surgery had to be done to repair the laceration. Six hours later I was reunited with my panicked husband and beautiful newborn.  At this point I didn’t even care about the complication, I was just so happy with my birth experience. I was so happy that I was able to attempt a VBAC and that my team of people was so incredibly supportive of me. I was so at peace with the C-section, knowing that we had done everything in our power to deliver my baby naturally. It was never the C-section that I opposed with Emerson; it was the never knowing that we had tried everything we could. It was not being confidant that the people helping me were on the same page as me. It was the feeling that my birth plan was being changed to fit the needs of the hospital staff. This time things were different.

The next morning I learned that because of the surgery on my bladder I would have to wear a catheter for four weeks. I also learned that the medication I was on to prevent bladder spasms would hinder breastfeeding (something I couldn’t do with Emerson, and something I wanted to do more than anything in the world). Finally, after meeting with the doctor to discuss what exactly happened during the C-section, she delivered news that I would never be prepared to hear, news that still haunts me to this day. After explaining the complications that occurred, I thought that she was about to advise me not to attempt another VBAC. Instead, she told me to never get pregnant again, because it would be too dangerous to carry out another pregnancy after what I had just been through. My heart sank through the floor and has not stopped falling since that moment. We weren’t done having children. I lost my breath and instantly began sobbing. Dave rushed over to me, crying himself, trying to comfort me. Our doctor is one of those doctors with underdeveloped people skills. She was so matter-of-fact when she delivered the news, and it was apparent that she was taken aback by my reaction. Trying to back pedal she reassured me that nothing was set in stone. I recall her words in that moment actually were “it’s not like I tied your tubes while I was in there.” Yeah, let that one sink in for a moment. I digress. So here I was, so in love with this beautiful, healthy thriving baby in my arms, simultaneously grieving the fate I had just been delivered. I don’t know that I will ever be able to describe that feeling.  All in all, it was time to go home.

Breastfeeding

While still in the hospital breastfeeding already took a turn for the worst. Evelyn was hurting me while she was nursing, causing bruising and chapping, and she was not gaining enough weight – an indicator that she was not getting enough at the breast. I met with the lactation consultant, Jeannine, and before we left the hospital she set me up with a Supplemental Nursing System (SNS). If you know what SNS is or have ever used one – bless your heart. The whole time I was using the SNS I felt like a failed science experiment. It's not exactly the beautiful bonding that they sell you in the breastfeeding pamphlets. The medication I was on for my bladder was causing my milk ducts to not work properly. At 4 weeks when I had my catheter taken out I was finally able to get off the medication – relief! Evelyn had a more mature suck by this point so she wasn’t hurting me as badly. I was on fenugreek and Reglan to help increase my supply, but I still wasn’t making enough. To ease some of the stress from all the work I was doing the lactation consultant said that I could stop doing to SNS and just top Evelyn off after each feeding with a small bottle. Between week 4 and 6 Evelyn was getting fussy while nursing. Well, more like hysterical. It was really stressful. Every feeding I was basically wrestling her.  We were both stressed out and definitely not bonding. I had started a new medication called Donperidom to help increase my supply. Some days I would see an increase and get excited that we would be soon exclusively breastfeeding, only to pump again the next day and get almost no milk. At week 6 I went back to the lactation consultant, praying that Evelyn would get more during our weigh-and-feed so that I could start exclusively breastfeeding her. I had no such luck. She still wasn’t getting enough, and I would still need to supplement. The Domperidom was our last option for increasing my supply. There was no end in sight for supplementing while feeding from here. Devastated, I went home and nursed for another week, hoping to see an increase in my supply, again to find fluctuation with no consistent supply that was ample to exclusively breastfeed her. Between nursing and supplementing it was taking almost an hour to feed her each time. This was draining me and taking quality time away from both her and Emerson. I kept going back and forth with not breastfeeding anymore and I would just sob thinking of quitting. I think a lot of moms reach this place. I was heartbroken and didn’t know what to do. I felt the desire to quit, but hated myself for it.

Here is where a few things became clear to me through this experience.  I hated my body for failing me. I couldn’t do the two things that every woman is born to do: birth and breastfeed a baby. Of course, as soon as this thought ran through my mind I reminded myself to be grateful that I had a healthy thriving baby in my arms; some women will never know what that feels like. And here is what I think about that thought process. It is often tempting to compare our situation with the situation of someone else for the purpose of gaining new perspective. I understand this, and I do think it can be an effective exercise. However, the danger in doing this is that we invalidate our own pain. When we invalidate our experiences, we are hindering the process of grief. By comparing myself to other mothers I am invalidating the trauma that I experienced. I don’t think this is healthy. I think as mothers we need validation for our experiences. It is possible to grieve through the pain of our own experiences, while simultaneously being aware of our blessings and empathetic towards mothers who have been through bigger challenges. And the truth is my body hasn’t failed me. While crying to Dave one night over everything I have been through he said to me, “How can you look at those two beautiful babies and think that your body failed you? You made them, and they are perfect.” Thank you for the humbling reminder.

The truth is that pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding and motherhood is a spectrum of peaks and valleys. We cannot deny the presence of the valleys by choosing to only see the peaks. The valleys are what help us to grow what makes an otherwise ordinary scenery into a beautiful masterpiece. My children, my marriage, and motherhood are my masterpiece. To honor my masterpiece I hereby give myself, and every other mother, permission to grieve and mourn the valleys. I want to embrace my humanness and celebrate the miracles in my life. By giving ourselves permission to grieve we are not denying the presence of miracles in our lives, we are simply making the experience of them deeper and more fulfilling. 

 

Regarding Donald Trumps Nomination to the Presidency....

I’m not sure where to begin. I woke up on Wednesday morning to the news that Donald J. Trump is the President elect of the United States of America. Upon reading the news on my phone I felt nauseous and dizzy. I felt completely and utterly devastated. I have stayed silent on social media until now because I wanted to be sure that when I was ready to speak my peace, that I would be speaking from a centered, thoughtful, loving place. I am going to try now to do my very best to share my experience without belittling the position of those who support him.

I will start by saying that on Wednesday morning I was having a hard time functioning. My husband, trying to be supportive, innocently said to me “this does not change anything with our family. We have to keep moving.” My response to this statement was that the fact that our life is not affected by this nomination shows our privilege. A privilege that my gay, transgender, black, Muslim, Hispanic and “other” friends do not have the luxury of hiding behind for the next four years.

To my family and friends who voted for Trump, I congratulate you on this victory, and I want to be clear that this post is not intended to bash or shame you. My intention here is to share my experience in hopes to give you perspective and understanding, and to open myself to you so that you may do the same for me.

First, I want to be clear that this devastating feeling has nothing to do with the fact that a Republican won the election. This is nothing to do with the fact that we will have to wait even longer for our first woman president. This has nothing to do with Republicans leading the House and the Senate. Please allow me to illustrate this for you. When George W. Bush was president, I was politically at odds with him, but I respected him. I respect him. When George W. Bush was elected president I was a freshman in high school and just starting to really solidify my political beliefs. I remember there being a time where I would always have really negative, awful things to say about Bush. And then I realized that my complaining and gossiping was only hurting me. I also realized that this man that I was complaining about was the President of the United States. That was the moment I realized I could disagree with someone politically but still respect them as a person and respect the office they hold. I made a promise to myself as a 15 year old girl that I would always respect the President of the United States, even if I did not agree with them. I spent the rest of George Bush’s presidency respecting him.

When he ran for re-election in 2004 I campaigned for John Kerry (I wasn’t 18 yet). When my candidate lost, I felt briefly disappointed, and then I went back to respecting my president and leading my best life. In 2008 when Obama ran against John McCain, when I reflected on how I would feel if John McCain won, it was the same feeling from 2004. If Obama lost I would have been disappointed for a short period of time, but I would have gotten back to work leading my best life and respecting my president. I carried the same feelings in 2012 during the Obama/Romney election.

This is different.

For the first time in my life, I cannot keep this promise to myself.

I cannot respect a man that so casually describes sexual assault, and then waters it down as “locker room talk.”

I cannot respect a man who is openly supported by the KKK, but will not denounce their support. Or a man who thinks that “inner city” and “black” are synonymous terms.

I cannot respect a man who drools racist rhetoric about all people of Muslim faith.

I cannot respect a man who flashes around a gay pride flag as a prop, while choosing a Vice President who supports conversion therapy and who has passed legislation in his home state allowing business owners to refuse service to people they perceive to be gay. The LGBT community is not a prop to be used to gain votes. They are human beings.

I cannot respect a man who has openly mocked a person with disabilities. My brother is handicapped and I have witnessed firsthand the cruelty of intolerance and ignorance. It’s devastating, and unacceptable.

Trust me when I say I want to respect him. Please believe me when I say I pray that he ran a reckless campaign and that his presidency will be different, that his presidency will be, as he says “for all the people.”

The problem is; I am deeply connected with the people he is hurting.

I have a friend who couldn’t marry her soulmate until her government gave her permission to. That friend fought for her right to marry the love of her life. And the two of them have a beautiful marriage and a precious baby girl. I care so deeply for them, and I am afraid for them.

I have two handsome, stunning nephews who are young black men. It hurts how much I love those boys. And I am afraid for them.

I have coworkers who are amazing, wonderful people who happen to belong to the Muslim faith. Their culture is rich and vibrant and I am grateful every day that I get to experience it through them. I am afraid for them.

I have friends who have had to go through the deeply painful process of transitioning their gender identity so they could feel at home in their own skin. I am afraid for them.

I have heard people say in the past 48 hours, “nothing is changing, you still have to raise your own kids the best you can and teach them wrong from right.” Here is my problem with that. I can filter the music my kids listen to. I can filter the movies they watch. I can filter their internet exposure. I cannot filter their president. 

Again, this is not a matter of having differing opinions. I never felt like I needed to filter my kids from George Bush or John McCain or Mitt Romney. But if I am going to teach my children right from wrong I have to filter our President. That is heartbreaking for me.

If you are a Trump supporter, I thank you for reading this far, and I apologize if I have fallen short on my initial promise to you. This is my experience with Donald Trump, now I would like to talk about my experience with you.

I realize that the people who burned down a black church and vandalized the building with Trumps name are in the minority. I pray that the acts of violence we have seen in the last 48 hours in the name of Trump are also the minority of his supporters. Here is what I need from you. If you do not agree with what Donald Trump has said about women, or black people, or Muslim people, or Hispanic people, or disabled people or people of the LGBT community; I need you to denounce those things. I need you to be clear that you voted for a man that you believed could rely on his career as a business man to turn our economy around. I need to know that you value diversity and equality, and that you will not stand for bulling and violence.

As for my part, I want to tell you that I see you. You have some deep needs that I am guessing were not met during Obama’s presidency. I’m guessing it was pretty painful for you to go so long without feeling heard. I’m guessing that pain was so deep, you were willing to look past the character deficiencies of Donald Trump. I’m guessing you are feeling some fear about our political system, and about the threat of terror, and you were casting a vote that you believed would keep your family safe. I see you. I honor your struggle and I want to know more. In the words of Glenn Beck, “we have got to find our way to each other.” We have to start listening to one another. I am listening to you now. I’m not saying it will be easy, but it’s necessary and I want to show up and be seen and I want you to show up and be seen and will we navigate the turbulent waters together. It will be painful. There will be tears shed, but we have to be willing to show up and listen. I am listening to you now.

To my friends that have been ostracized by this campaign: I see you. You are valuable. You are worthwhile. You are a blessing. I will stand with you, always. I will do better to speak up when I see injustice. I will do better to be an ally. And I will take more important steps in getting involved in my community and supporting the causes that support you. I will do better and I will be better for you. Thank you for all of the ways that you have made my life richer by being unique and authentic and powerful and amazing.

God Bless America

Emerson's Birth Story

Dear Emerson,

This is your birth story. By the time you are old enough to read this, you will have a better understanding of how important the “birth story” is in the Keele family. When I was growing up, Uncle Sean always made my mom tell him, me, and Auntie Nicki the story of the day we were born. This was not a tradition that could ever be skipped, even though by the time we were older we all had each others birth stories memorized by heart. That didn’t matter. It was tradition and it was imperative that this story be shared year after year. When I was pregnant with you, I dreamed about the kind of birth you would have. Your dad and I prayed a lot, meditated a lot, and said a lot of affirmations during my pregnancy. I wanted to have a natural birth with you and I believed with all of my heart that my body knew what to do. I believed that with every little twist and turn during labor, your dad and I would be able to make decisions that were aligned with our intentions, and that were in the best interest of you and your safety. Well, as life would have it, I ended up needing a C-section to give birth to you. A day or so after you were born, when you and I were both safe and sound, and I was settling in to this new life with you; I thought about your birth story and was so heart-broken about how things had unfolded. I thought that because I didn’t give natural birth to you, that your story wasn’t actually a “birth” story. I thought my body had failed me and that I had succumbed to the pressure of having surgery to give you birth. I was devastated and I had a lot of healing to do. So much so that it has taken me three years to finally write your birth story, and here it is.

On Monday October 1^st 2012, I went to the doctor for a regular check-up. You were already 6 days overdue, but I was planning on keeping you in my belly until you were ready to come out, and I wouldn’t have done anything to make you come a minute sooner. When I arrived at the doctor’s office, my regular doctor was unavailable, so I had to meet with the other doctor in the practice. At the time I had preeclampsia, which means that my body was swollen all over because it was retaining water. Preeclampsia can be dangerous for the mother and baby if the swelling gets too great, so my doctor wanted me to get induced to start labor. I did not want to get induced. I did not want any medical interventions that were not necessary, and I knew that I could manage my preeclampsia to keep us both safe. I told the doctor that getting induced was not an option, and I asked her what alternative she could offer to avoid or prolong induction. I wanted to buy myself more time so that you could come on your own. The alternative she offered was spending the night at the hospital and doing a 24 urine test. Although this was not ideal, it was my only option available, and I took it. I went to the hospital that morning, and I knew that once I checked in I wasn’t going to leave there until I had a baby. It made me sad because I felt like I didn’t have much choice in the situation, but I was still so happy that you would be here soon, and I knew it was still possible to have my dream birth. Fast forward to 22 hours later (2 hours before the 24 hour urine test was complete) and my doctor came into the room and matter-of-factly told me that the staff was going to prepare a labor and delivery room for me, and soon I would be moved there and we would begin induction. As you can imagine, I was not okay with this. First of all, I was all by myself. Daddy had gone back to work because we didn’t think anything was going to happen that day. I told the doctor that number one, we needed to complete this 24 hour urine test because that was the deal, number two I needed to call my husband because I am not making any decisions without him, and number three, as I told the doctor before, I was not going to be induced. I told the doctor that once the 24 hours was up she could move me to a labor and delivery room, but I was not going to be induced. Luckily by this time I had started having mild contractions on my own, so we both knew that I was going to begin labor soon anyways.

I was moved to the labor and delivery room, where I was transferred from the care of my regular doctor to the care of the on-call hospital doctor; a man I had never met before. It was the early afternoon by this point and in his first meeting with me, it should be no surprise by this point, he said we would begin induction soon. To which I replied, no, I will not be getting induced today. He told me that my labor needed to start progressing because my preeclampsia was getting worse and I needed to have this baby. He said that he would come back in an hour, and if I had not started dilating, he would give me Pitocin to start the induction process. I agreed, and he left. The doctor came back in an hour later and my dilation had reached his mark. Again, he told me that my labor needed to continue progressing, so he gave me a new dilation that I needed to reach, and he would come back in an hour to see if I had reached it. The rest of the day went on like this. He would give me a mark to reach in my labor, with the threat of starting me on Pitocin if I had not reached this mark, and every time he came back, I had met his mark. Every time he left the room, Daddy and I focused our thoughts on progressing my labor naturally, and that’s exactly what happened. This went on until about 10:30pm when the doctor came back and said “okay, you’re fully dilated; now I need your water to break. If your water does not break on it’s own by midnight, I will break it for you”, then he left. Both of your grandma’s were in the room with us and we asked them to leave so that we could focus on the task at hand. After we were finally alone, Daddy led me through a guided meditation and I fell asleep. I woke up at 11:45 screaming “I’m leaking” because, you guessed it, my water broke. This is when the hard labor began. My doctor came back to see me and gave me the green light to continue with labor naturally without any interventions.

My nurse started working with me as the contractions grew more intense. The nurse was kind, but I could tell she didn’t believe in me. She had a vision in her mind of how my birth would go, and although she entertained my birth plan, it was evident that she had a plan of her own. The night proceeded like a teeter totter between her and I. She wanted me to lay on my back hooked up to a monitor and IV, and I wanted to move freely and listen to my body. I kept having to fight her just to do things like stand or sit on a yoga ball. Finally, she was adamant that I get in the bed so that she could secure a monitor around my belly. I agreed, but I told her that I wanted her to attach the bar to the bed so that I could hold onto it while I labored, rather than labor on my back, which was in excruciating pain. I had to really fight her on this one. She was incredibly reluctant, but she finally got the bar and attached it to the bed for me. I pushed and labored all night and through the morning, and unfortunately, you wouldn’t budge. By the morning, your heart rate was beginning to drop and the doctors and nurses were growing concerned that the long labor was putting a strain on you, and something needed to be done to move things along. My nurse suggested giving me an epidural to relax my muscles since I had been laboring for so long and my muscles were tense by now. I agreed. The anesthesiologist came and inserted the epidural needle in my back, and told me that I would have four more contractions, and by the fifth one I would not be able to feel them anymore. Four contractions came and went, then a fifth, then a sixth and I could still feel everything. I told the doctor that I could still feel everything, so he increased the amount of my epidural. Five contractions came and went again and I could still feel everything. 

The doctors were growing concerned, so they sat us down for a talk. I was in bed and Daddy was sitting next to me and Grandma Bern and Grandma Sue were in the room with us. The doctors told me that they were concerned that you had not moved into the birth canal, and your heart was being put under a lot of strain from the long labor. They needed you to be born soon, and since my labor wasn’t progressing, they suggested having a C-Section. We asked the doctors to leave the room, we prayed about it, and we decided to proceed with the surgery. The doctors came back with the consent forms for me to sign before going into surgery. The doctor went over the form with us and methodically listed all of the risks associated with having a C-section, ending with “complications from the surgery could lead to the death of the mother and/or baby.” We collectively started sobbing, and I signed the papers.

The staff transported me to the Operating Room (OR) to get me prepped for surgery. Once there, I sat on the side of the bed while they stuck another huge needle in my back to numb me for the surgery. The contractions were non-stop at this point and the most intense that they had been thus far. Despite this, I had to hold completely still while they put the spinal in my back. This was so hard to do. I thought I was doing a good job, but the staff kept yelling at me to hold still. I’ll never forget the nurse that was with me at the time. Her name was Joy, and she was my angel. This was the scariest moment of my life. I was confused, exhausted, in pain, distraught, and trying to sit still through tsunami contractions so that they could stick a giant needle in my back. Joy stood right in front of me, firmly grasped both of my hands in hers, rested her forehead on mine, looked me in the eyes and whispered, “you can do this.” I didn’t believe I could find peace in that moment, but thanks to Joy, I did. After they had successfully administered the spinal I laid on my back, a curtain was hung over my belly, and the doctors and nurses got to work. A moment later my doctor (now my actual doctor) said “Danielle can you feel this? What am I doing?” I said yes, you’re pressing a blade against my skin. She told the anesthesiologist that I needed more anesthetic, and he increased the anesthesia in my IV. A few moments later my doctor asked again, “Danielle, can you feel this? What am I doing?” I said yes, you’re holding a blade against my skin. At this point, it had become evident that my spinal wasn’t working either, and that I would need general anesthesia to proceed with the surgery. This would mean that I would not be awake when you were born. I started sobbing and asked for my husband, and the next thing I knew an oxygen mask was coming down on my face and I was out.

I’ll side step for a moment to share what Daddy was experiencing during all of this, because it’s important to this story too. Daddy was waiting in the labor and delivery room and the nurse had told him that they would only be gone for about 15 minutes to get me prepped for surgery, and then she would come back and get him and take him to the OR. Thirty minutes had passed and Daddy hadn’t heard from anyone. He was panicked. The nurse finally came back and said “there has been some complications, we had to put her to sleep, and that means that you can’t be in the room for the surgery.” To which your dad replied, “absolutely not. I am not missing the birth of my baby. Who do I need to talk to?” The nurse said that it would be up to the anesthesiologist and she walked back to the OR to ask, and Daddy followed close behind. The nurse got permission from the anesthesiologist for Daddy to come in the room, so Daddy put on some hospital scrubs and sat right by my side while they cut open my belly and pulled you out. They announced that you were a baby boy, and Daddy got to see you and hold you for the first time. Before I went in for surgery, I made Daddy promise that when you were born that he would hold you skin-to-skin since I wouldn’t be able to. Even though the nurse scoffed at this, Daddy promised me that he would, and he did just that. He took you back to the labor and delivery room while I was being stitched back up and he held you on his chest for the first hour of your life. He was so in love, and so overwhelmed by the whole process that he didn’t even know what to say to you. So he went with his gut and told you the first thing that came to his mind; he taught you how to hit a curve ball J

As for me, after they put the oxygen mask on my face, the next thing I knew I was waking up in the labor and delivery room with Daddy holding you close to me saying “Danielle, it’s a boy! It’s a beautiful baby boy!” That moment was so foggy and I so wish that I had a clearer memory of the moment I first met you, but you were finally here, safe and sound, and I was so in love. That was also the moment I began my healing, and even though it’s taken me three years, I am finally able to write your birth story, and here is the important part.

For years, I felt devastated over your birth. I was frustrated that I had to fight with the doctors and nurses every step of the way – it shouldn’t have been like that. And your C-section wasn’t an “emergency C-section”, it was just an unplanned one. So I never felt completely confidant that a C-section was the absolute most necessary step to take at that point in my labor. I felt like I was the victim of the doctor and hospitals agenda, and they didn’t care about me as a mother or an informed, intelligent, thoughtful adult. At one point, when we were discussing having a C-section around 9:00am, my doctor literally said to me, “if you want a C-section we should do it now because there is an opening in the OR at 10:00am and if you wait too long we don’t know when we’ll be able to get you in.” Wait, so was she saying that if I had a true C-section emergency at say, 12:00pm they wouldn’t have been able to perform emergency surgery on me? No, that’s not true, which is why it’s clear that there is at least some truth to the notion that the doctor and hospital’s agenda was prioritized above my wishes and needs as a mother. So for all of these years I have been stewing over your birth. Feeling like I had an unnecessary C-section, and that I didn’t do enough to protect the birth that I had worked so hard to have.

That is until I met January Harshe. January runs an international support group called Birth Without Fear, and it’s all about empowering mom’s to have positive, supported birth experiences – whatever their birth preferences may be. In 2014 I attended a Birth Without Fear seminar, and January gave a talk. She told the birth stories of her five children. Her first two children were born via C-section. After her first C-section she felt surprisingly okay with it all. Her doctor had signed off on her birth plan and made sure that all of the staff respected her choices. So even though her birth resulted in a C-section, she felt at peace with it. Her second C-section was not such a positive experience. She tried laboring at home and transferred to the hospital when complications arrived. This doctor was not as caring and respectful, and after the surgery she was left feeling depressed and grieving her birth.  Wondering what the difference was between the first birth and the second, she realized that the doctors and nurses were kind, supportive, and uplifting in her first birth. They took her wishes very seriously and did their best to give her the birth she wanted. And when it was determined that a C-section would be necessary, they were extremely compassionate and still tried to fulfill every birth wish she had such as holding her baby skin to skin before the baby was examined by doctors. This is when she realized, and I realized when she was telling this story, that a C-section doesn’t have to be a negative experience. Just because that’s the way we gave birth to our babies doesn’t take credit away from actually giving birth. It doesn’t make what we did any less valuable, and it doesn’t make us any weaker as mothers for having to choose it. After January so graciously shared this epiphany with me, I looked back at my birth with you and here’s what I realized. I did fight hard for the birth I wanted. If not for me, those doctors would have induced me a week sooner, and I still probably would have ended up with a C-section. I am powerful, you know why? I was given an ultimatum, and I used my inner strength to move my body. I used prayer and affirmation and jumpstarted my own labor, without any interventions. I believed in my body so much that I turned down every intervention and willed my body to do what it needed to do anyway. I labored 24 hours with no epidural, and I’m proud of that. And whether the C-section was necessary or not, I just have to let that go. So what, they finally got the best of me. I had just labored for 24 hours while continually fighting with the hospital staff, having no food, water, or sleep, and no drugs of any kind. They took advantage of me when I was at my most vulnerable place in my life, which says more about them than it does about me. And, as they say, I got a beautiful, healthy thriving baby out of it, so I couldn’t possibly stay upset forever.

So my baby boy, this is your birth story. To be proudly proclaimed and repeated for the rest of your years with me on this planet, because if I have learned anything from having you in my life, it’s that shame does nothing but bring us down, and when we’ve done something incredible in this life, we ought not to let that thing be watered down by fear and regret, but rather be thrust into the air like a bright firework proclaiming for all the world to hear; I am powerful, no matter what.

Giving Grace

This week was a bittersweet week for me. I turned my son’s car seat from rear facing (RF) to forward facing (FF) because he reached the weight limit of the seat in the RF position. To a lot of moms, this switch isn’t a huge deal, but for me this was a bittersweet transition for a lot of reasons. It was bitter because I actually wanted to keep him RF longer and, why is my 2.5 year old so big?? It was sweet because keeping him RF this long is only one of my many mommy victories. I chose to do Extended Rear Facing (ERF) with Emerson. I’m not going to use this post as a PSA for car seat safety, although I obviously am passionate about it. And I never expected that car seats would be my platform for so many other mommy issues, but here we are, and it is. You see, ERF was a choice I made as a mother, for my child, and like many choices that mothers make, I was questioned and judged for this choice. But thank goodness I chose to follow my mothers-intuition instead of caving to the pressure of other mothers, family, and strangers – all of whom are not in my immediate family, and while they may have some guidance to offer from time to time, don’t know what is best for us. Before you get offended by that last bit, let me clarify.

We Are All Doing the Best We Can

I think being a mom is an incredible job, and motherhood looks different, and holds a different experience for each of us. Being a mom is not a job that is to be taken lightly, and none of the moms I know are treating it that way. No mother that I know is doing exactly what I am doing as a mother, yet I know with total certainty that each mother I know is doing the best she can with what she knows and the resources she has. When I know that another mom is doing the best she can, I can’t have anything but love in my heart for her. I can’t do anything but uplift her for doing the best job she knows how to do. I can’t feel anything but tenderness in my heart for her for the hard choices she has to make for her family. When we know that mothers are doing the best they can, how can we feel anything different?

What Moms Face

Moms always have to make decisions for their families on display for the world to see (and thus, critique). So many times moms want to make a decision for their family and end up choosing differently than what their intuition is guiding them to do. Whether it be due to well-meaning family who is just crossing the “giving advice” boundaries, or social media bombarding moms with unrealistic expectations of motherhood, or just complete strangers sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong; moms are flooded with opinions and judgements about the choices they are making for their family and, unfortunately, this often leads to moms making choices for their families that they might not be completely comfortable with. I have been hit with this force multiple times, over multiple choices I have made as a mother and I finally just had to find my mommy voice and say enough!

And to be clear – I’ve been on the other side of that coin too, judging mothers for doing something that they “clearly” could have done better. It’s not easy just to eliminate those thoughts. Sometimes I can prevent them from popping up in my mind in the first place, but sometimes they enter my thoughts uninvited, and I have to give myself the grace to politely ask them to leave. Or even worse, not only do they sometimes enter my thoughts, sometimes they manifest into ugly gossip, and that’s when I really need to do some introspection and ask myself how this is benefiting anyone, because it’s not.  It’s a work in progress for all of us. I don’t ask that any of us change who we are overnight, I just ask that we make an effort to recognize this behavior and to choose to do better.

Mothers-Intuition

The day my son was born, I was born too, and I was born with mothers-intuition – a gut feeling, a maternal instinct, and an innate knowing that guides me to make choices for my family that will grow us into the best humans we can possibly be. Moms were given mother-intuition for a reason; we shouldn’t ignore it for the comfort and convenience of others.

When I was judged for keeping Emerson rear facing for longer than others thought he should have been, I had a choice to make. I could cave into the pressure of the voices around me, or I could silence those voices and follow the only voice that matters; the voice of my intuition.  I chose to follow my heart. I chose to let love guide me, even at the cost of being judged by others, and there aren’t many greater feelings than having confidence in yourself, knowing that you made a choice that was intuitive and authentic.

How to Treat Moms

If I could reach out to social media, strangers, and people in my life who have questioned my choices as a mother and tell them how I would like to be treated (wait, is that what’s happening here?), this is what I would say:

I am smart. I am a conscious, thoughtful, loving mother, and everything I do for my children is what I believe is in their best interest. I read a lot. I read a lot about parenting, I read a lot about politics, and I read about things I think might help me be a better person. I am intelligent, and when I read things I thoughtfully consider how this idea or concept might apply to my family, and how it could work for us. I don’t apply everything I read to my family, and I don’t apply things I’ve read about to my family without consciously considering if this would be a good fit for us or not. I also have a lot of original ideas and instinctive choices that I have made for my family that are not influenced by anything I’ve read. Please know this and consider this before judging or questioning the choices I am making. Sure, some choices are different than the “tried and true” way, but that doesn’t make it wrong. This goes for all mothers. We don’t all need to be making the same choices to be amazing parents to our children.

Every Parent, Every Kid, Every Family

Since becoming a mother, this has become my motto. I never realized how poorly mothers were treated until I became one myself. It’s like as soon as you become a parent suddenly the way you live your life is everyone else’s business. Nope, sorry, it’s not. And obviously there are family and friends who love our kids almost as much as we do and they don’t mean be critical but they just want the best for our little ones, I get it. Guidance from family and friends is WONDERFUL, but it also has boundaries. Welcomed wisdom is okay, unsolicited advice is not. And as a loved one, you have to accept that the mother might choose differently than what you would choose, and because you love her, you have to give her the grace to make the choices she needs to make, even if those choices may be different from yours. The truth is, it’s just not your choice to make. Additionally, even if you have been through a similar scenario as a mother and you want to tell her how you “got through it”, you are not THAT mother, to THAT child in THAT family. Even with the experience you may have, you still don’t know what the best choice is for that family. So give wisdom when it’s welcomed, be unattached to the outcome, and support the mom and family no matter what.

Our Right as Mothers

We were made mothers for a reason. Our children chose us for a reason. We have all the wisdom and resources to be the parents we were destined to be. We were given this job for a purpose, and it’s our right and our responsibility to parent as we see fit – which includes making mistakes! I will be the first to say that I know that not ALL of the choices I am making as a mother are “the best”. I once told my kid I would give him a Popsicle if he let me put pajamas on him. CLEARLY that was not my best parenting moment. But I look forward to the “poor choices” just as much as I look forward to the “good choices”, because when I don’t make the best choice then it’s an opportunity to grow, and I’m thankful for that. The downfalls give me a chance to introspect on how this particular situation panned out, what I learned from it, and how I might handle it differently in the future. Moms are entitled to this just as much as they are entitled to watching their kids succeed. We deserve to learn and grow authentically in our little families.

Making Choices

Many of our big moments in life are really just small moments when everything unfolds with perfect beauty. This happened for me one morning when I yelled at my dog for barking (yes, you read that right). My husband and I are really conscious of how we discipline our dog in front of our toddler because he doesn’t understand it all. So this one morning I wasn’t being careful and I yelled at my dog because he was standing on the couch barking at the mailman. Then my 2 year old joined in the yelling and started to tell our dog that he was a “bad dog”. I (immediately thinking a trillion years into the future) panicked at the thought of my kid resenting our dog, so I explained to him how I saw the situation. I said “Emerson, Chance isn’t a bad dog, he’s just making bad choices” - and ever since this has been our parenting philosophy. My husband and I are constantly reminding our little guy to make good choices and we give him opportunities to identify whether his choices are good or bad. I want to use this philosophy with my kids because I want to empower them. I want them to know that they have a say in their little world, and that they are intelligent, capable people. And that’s how mothers should be treated too. Sometimes moms have to make hard choices, and I think it’s important for all of us to give mothers the respect and grace to make choices for her family. Even if it’s not what we would choose, that doesn’t mean that the mom is bad, it’s just the choice that she needed to make for her family. It’s not up to us to evaluate and understand every single choice a mother makes for her family; it’s only our job to love her through it. Period.

All You Need Is Love

In conclusion…

Moms, you rock. You make hard choices every day and you should love yourself for it. Love yourself for the opportunities just as much as you love yourself for successes. Love yourself in the moments when you teach your kids valuable life lessons, and in the moments when you bribe them to do something they shouldn’t be bribed to do. Give yourself grace, and celebrate each and every mommy victory!

Outsiders, you have an important job in raising these kids, and that job is to uplift their mothers. Empower, support, love, and encourage mothers to keep making the important choices, and give them grace when their choices are different than yours. Above all else, just give them love.

Disclaimer: This article doesn’t apply to clearly bad parenting choices like abuse or neglect. This only applies to healthy parenting and everyday choices like breastfeeding vs formula, crib vs co-sleeping, organic vs non-organic, etc.

Disclaimer 2: Although this article was worded to be towards mothers it applies to all parents and guardians.

Letter to Lack

Dear Lack,                                                                                                                                           

I am writing to let you know that you are not welcome in my life anymore. Please, pack your baggage and leave my life; promptly. You and I have had a long-term relationship, and I know that you will not want to leave, but this relationship is simply not serving me anymore. What I’ve realized is that the only reason I have kept you around for this long is for the fear of what my life would look like without you. I know that letting you go will mean that I will have to come face to face with some of my fears, I will have to be vulnerable, and I will have to be accountable. I have reached the point where the fear of those things is no longer greater than the desire to have you in my life. You have just become manipulative and cumbersome. You are always in my head, trying to persuade my thoughts and honestly, it’s just getting old. Enough is enough. You see, as I look at my balance this morning and I see that I have $$$$ in my checking account, and then I look at my bills and I see that I owe over $$$$, I know that it is true that I owe more than what I have. It simple math. But this is not the Truth. The Truth is that I am a beloved child of God, and God is my source. God is infinite therefore I am infinite. God is abundant, therefore I am abundant. God is prosperous, therefore I am prosperous. There is no end to God and there is no end to my supply of good. The Truth is that God has given me everything I need to be a thriving, vibrant spiritual being having a human experience and by keeping you in my life, I would be living under the illusion that this isn’t so. The Truth is that you are an illusion. I can no longer allow the length of our time together dictate our relationship. Things just aren’t working out, because I know better now. So, if you would please, pack up your anxiety, fear, and stress and leave the premises of my life immediately.

Additionally, I would like to thank you for the role that you have played in my life, because what you did for me was present me with an opportunity to know my Truth. You gave me an opportunity to surrender and trust my source. And now that I know my Truth, you will have to leave.

Regards,

Danielle

Breath of Heaven

12.18.2012

This time of year the Christmas songs are buzzing everywhere you turn. My very favorite Christmas song is Breath of Heaven by Amy Grant. I have always felt such a strong connection to that song, and to Mary, and now that I am a mother, the words could not ring more true for me.

Reflecting on the story of Mary, I feel an overwhelming presence of strength and humility; two things that I am quickly learning define motherhood. While not all mothers give birth to the messiah, each child is just as important in their mothers eyes, and to the mother, the job of raising, caring and nurturing for them is just the same.

In the past 11 weeks of my life, I have stepped upon the foot of the mountain of motherhood. Just like Mary, my short life of motherhood has been consumed me with strength and humility.

I have always heard the sayings about motherhood... "It's the hardest job you'll ever have" "There is no love like the love of a mothers", but these statements always proved to be vague and uninformative. Motherhood being a "hard" job is an enormous understatement. Starting with labor and the unspeakable things that go on in that delivery room. There are so many things that you are not forewarned about in books, the internet, and already established mothers. And once the baby has arrived, you are abruptly thrown back into society as just another number. From the red tape of hospitals, insurance, and employment and the mile high hoops that you are forced to jump through, to breastfeeding, sleepless nights, and yet another round of hormones changing - its a wonder that there are so many wonderfully functioning mothers in society.

When I think of Mary, I am comforted by the strength and perseverance she had. Mary was afraid of being a mother, especially to the messiah. When she is praying to God she asks him if he is sure that he has chosen the right person for this task. I don't know if every mother feels this, although I imagine that they do, but like Mary, on a daily basis I am faced with fear of raising my beautiful baby boy. Am I doing this right? What if I over feed him? Underfeed him? Don't give him enough tummy time? Am I interacting with him enough? Is there such thing as too much time in the car seat? Is he the right temperature?  What if he over heats? But what if he gets cold? I don't think I need to explain that this is the list that never ends. Being a mother is a constant balancing act between one extreme and the next.

As if monitoring his temperature isn't scary enough, then the mother has to let him go. From the first time he goes to a babysitter, to the first time she returns to work, to the first time he sleeps over at grandmas house, to the dreaded day when he stops nursing, motherhood is a constant struggle of letting go. I can vividly remember learning that I had to return to work sooner than I thought and looking at my beautiful baby and just saying to him "well, here starts a life time of always letting go."

And as if letting go isn't scary enough, then the mother must raise her child to be a happy, safe, and thriving person in a world full of distorted values and a love of violence. Now I can really start to put my feet in Mary's shoes. Jesus was born to bring change to the world. He was brought to this earth to teach unconditional love, inner peace, and unwavering faith. And it was Mary's job to see that he had the love, guidance, and protection to do so. Like the mothers of today, she also had to do these things in a world of distorted values. As a mother, this is the scariest thing I have ever known. Especially after events like the elementary school shooting that took place last week. How does anyone know such evil? How do I raise my son to repel evil and violence and embrace love and peace? Can I really do that? Me? Are you sure God??

Every day I go to work wanting to sob because I miss my son SO much. I just want to be with him and hold him. I think to my self, this is only going to work, how will I handle it when he goes to school or makes friends? This is when I am reminded that motherhood is a constant wave of letting go. A perpetual pull on my heart strings. And at this time I only have one child. When I have a second child I will be starting back at square one. And then I wonder, how do mothers do this? How is it possible to endure so much hardship and still have enough love left over to kiss your little baby so much that you run out of breath? I don't know how, I just know that it is. And perhaps the "how' is not what is important.

And the last, and maybe hardest lesson that I am learning (emphasis on the present tense) from Mother Mary is unconditional gratitude. Unconditional gratitude is by far the most humbling experience of motherhood. Mothers endure so many bumps in the road, yet, we must always be grateful above all for our healthy, thriving children. Life itself is a perpetual reminder that "things could always be worse." So although it hurts my heart to leave my son at his babysitters while I go to work, and I have been through one run around after another with the hospital, insurance, work, and school, and things like the labor and breastfeeding did not pan out as beautifully as I imagined in my mind - after all I am humbly and utterly grateful that I have a beautiful happy and healthy son, and that I have all of the resources available to me to "raise the messiah."

As a mother this holiday season and always, I am abundantly grateful to have Mother Mary as my light and my guide to help me along the way as I shepard my little boy into this world and nourish the love, peace, and faith inside of him. So; breath of heaven, hold me together, be forever near me. Breath of heaven, light to my darkness, pour over me your holiness, for you are holy. This is my daily prayer.