Adoption Gift from Katie Mohr

For Mother's Day I got a painting. It was an original. It had custom framing. It was expensive in many contexts. It cost years of tests, shots, co-pays, pregnancy tests, adoption fees, postage on paperwork, airline tickets, country fees, and international ATM fees. It cost tough conversations, tears, long runs to clear my head, eight months of my "real life", strong hugs, several hard Mother's Days, thousands of prayers, and rolls upon rolls of cookie dough. If I gave you a real dollar amount we might all throw up. However, this painting is worth it. It's that good. I would pay that "price" all over again.

It was made by two little hands. Two perfect hands. Two brown hands.

The same two hands that offered me part of his waffle on Sunday morning when Russ told him that it was Mother's Day. The same brown hands that rise in the air when he hears his new favorite song because he wants to "dance" with me. The same little hands that search through my hair to find which earrings I'm wearing each day. And the same hands that have to sign "more" because he's giggling too much to talk. The same sweet hands that blew me a kiss after I said good night to him while he was already tucked into bed tonight.

I'm in love. I'm in love with Eliot, I'm in love with being his mom, I'm in love with the Lord for creating him and "us", and I'm in love with his painting.

From Katie of More From The Mohrs.
Image via Fresh Art Photography.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

Birth Video from Jarica

I'm just now sitting down at my desk after my morning prenatal visit. All is well. I was encouraged to add more pineapple and dried apricots to my diet — apparently both are high in iron. Who knew? Plus, I got the "all-clear" for a quick trip to New York next weekend.

It wasn't exactly a St. Patrick's Day celebration, but it was still fun to be out and about and see everyone wearing green. Are you doing anything special for St. Patrick's Day? Did your kids wear green to school? I'm thinking it would be fun to pick up a box of Lucky Charms for an after school snack today.

In the meantime, I've got some great posts for you. Starting with this beautiful birth video (nothing graphic, I promise) from Jarica Madsen.

An Amazing Miracle from Jake Madsen on Vimeo.

Granted, I'm 32 weeks pregnant, but I cried the whole way through.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

VBAC story from Jodi Mockabee

Redemption: How I got my VBAC (and so much more)

My story starts back twenty-plus years. Lots of young girls dream of their wedding, their dress, the flowers. Not me. From as far back as I could remember, I dreamt of my births. I dreamt of the miraculous way each body would enter the world, I loved everything baby-related.

Fast forward to February, 2006. My husband and I were giddy with excitement over our home visit with my midwife. We were planning a home birth, which was, of course, a part of my childhood dreams... somehow this stemmed from the inspiration of my mother giving birth to my oldest brother on the kitchen table (which has been graciously handed down to me, thank you, and if you're shocked, well, you wouldn't be if you met my mother). Everything was in order, sanitized, prepared. I had candles set everywhere as naturally, a pregnant body looks much more elegant birthing in candlelight. Two days later I was given the devastating news that our firstborn son was breech. Devastating may be an intense term to describe the moment, but being that this birth was what I had dreamt of for as long as I could remember, I was devastated. My midwife would not deliver a breech baby. We tried every possible action to get our son to turn. Acupressure, chiropractic, massage, stretches, handstands, swimming, floating, and our favorite: smoking mug root on my pinky toes (the best part is it smelled like pot, so we were pleased to circulate rumors in our neighborhood). March 7, 2006, our son, Carter, entered the world via-c-section into a bright, cold, and sterile room. It was far from what I had dreamed.

Regardless, he was there, with us, and he was beautiful. Two years later, we had moved from our country environment to the "big city"... our new insurance would not allow me to have personal midwifery care, but I was informed that I could try for a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean). This news was exciting to me as it is a growing trend in the medical community to ban VBAC's. As the due date approached, I sadly felt a very familiar sensation: a head... in my ribs. My second son was breech as well. Again, devastated. I also knew this blew my chances for a VBAC in the future as two cesareans usually means your chances to give birth like a normal woman would are gonzo. March 21, 2008, our son, Everett arrived. The not-so-good news? His lungs were filled with fluid, a very common side-effect of elective cesareans...he spent four days in the NICU in which I had to sneak in like a ninja just to breastfeed him. The only word I could use to define the entire situation was unnatural. Everything about the process was completely unnatural.

We recovered, though, and eventually had two healthy, busy boys. One year later, I found out I was pregnant. From the beginning things were much different with this pregnancy than the previous two. At the end of my first trimester, we had a scare and thought we lost the baby. Come to find out, we had lost one, not both of them...that's right, I was pregnant with twins! What a shock it was, but what a relief as well to know we had "fighter" in there. We found out weeks later that the fighter was a little girl. As my pregnancy progressed, my body did as well, in a way that was foreign to me. My hips spread, wide. The pants I wore all through the pregnancy with both boys wouldn't even fit past my thighs. Something within me knew that my body was doing what nature had intended it to do, and a spark of hope stirred within me. This is when I decided to do all I could to fight for a VBAC. I'll spare the details of my journey, but in the end, I was granted the opportunity to birth vaginally. I was elated. To add to my joy, my daughter very much cooperated with my new wide hips, had nestled head down and stayed there for the remaining time of my pregnancy.



We hired a doula as my husband and mother were quite nervous about me laboring at home (there is a slight risk for uterine rupture with VBAC's). I wanted to labor as long as possible at home because I knew I would be on close watch at the hospital if I didn't progress on their standard timeline... February 23, 2010, six days past my due date, had found me a miserable, tired, and grouchy mother and wife. I did what everyone advised against... I drank castor oil. I'll refrain from all of the lovely details, but what I will say is that, by surprise, my beautiful daughter, Scarlett, was born near my bathroom floor (out of my very capable vagina, I might add), into the hands of her daddy. I held her on my chest, looked into her eyes, nursed her, talked to her, all while leaning against my husband. Her cord remained attached, her and I, still joined together for 20 minutes. My mom used chicken scissors to cut the cord, the doula delivered the placenta (which remains in my freezer to be planted--yes, you can gag, but at least we didn't' eat it), and we all sat shocked at the beauty of the VBAC that took place. Even though it took two very medical births to get there, we got the home birth I had always dreamt of...except this time, it wasn't planned by me, it was given from her.

From Jodi Mockabee of The Bee Hive
Image via Design Crush

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

Adoption Thoughts from Sarah Buttenweiser

Written for Mother's Day 2009

Just over a year ago, we adopted a baby. Already parents to three children, our family grew in a new way: we became an adoptive family.

Mother’s Day is not a holiday I have ever observed (beyond sending a card to my mother, stepmother and mother-in-law). I dislike the holiday’s marketing aspect, including the sense that “mom” does a job and deserves a day of pampering for her trouble. Being a mother, Barbara Ehrenreich wrote, is not a job (although it involves a lot of work); it’s a relationship.

It’s my second Mother’s Day since Saskia was born, and with her arrival, the holiday got more complex, because she brought another mother into our fold, her birth mother, Caroline.

The English language doesn’t possess satisfying words for “mother” in our situation. Caroline, as the woman who gave birth to Saskia, is her mother. Biology tells us so. I stood by Caroline’s hospital bed while she pushed Saskia out into the world. Giving birth is one critical way we define mothers, it being the one thing only a mother can do. But to say giving birth describes motherhood is incomplete. Caroline isn’t raising Saskia. In terms of all those things mothers do—hold you when you’re upset, kiss you countless times a day, smile at you for no apparent reason, feed you, wipe your nose and bottom, take you to the pediatrician—I am it. Saskia is too small to appreciate how two women share mothering her. The language surrounding adoption offers some words to qualify mother, such as birth mother, or first mother, or adoptive mother. At the same time, these qualifiers sound like apologies, as if there’s something murky or not quite certain about mother, herself. Add to the mix that each situation is unique and that each definition is dependent upon the mothers and the child.

Qualifiers may be helpful to Saskia as she navigates her identity as an adopted child—and if that’s the case, I’ll be very glad for them—and yet it’s also possible that she’ll choose her own words to name her reality.

After Saskia was born, Lucien, my second child, then nine, said to Caroline, “I can see you on the floor, playing a game, eating chocolate with us. You’ll be like the fun aunt.” This appealed to Caroline at the time, the idea that she’d have a role to play and would occupy a special spot in Saskia’s family. We haven’t reached games and chocolate, yet. As Mother’s Day approaches, I’m aware that Caroline revisits her decision about Saskia’s adoption—struggles with having ceded that plain-old, unqualified mother—far more often than I do.

After an extended and heart-stopping legal odyssey, and once the finalization of Saskia’s adoption occurred, relief slowly seeped into my body. If the relief had been dye, my color would have changed because it saturated me. I was exceedingly grateful to move past any need to worry that our family constellation could be changed by the birth father’s protestations. Saskia was ten months when the adoption was made legal. Cherished baby of the family, Saskia had been our daughter for what seemed practically forever (from birth).

Whether Caroline’s second-guessing her decision or reassuring herself that she did the right thing, whether she’s reminding herself that Saskia’s happy in order to feel more settled about the decision, I can’t say. Part of motherhood—her motherhood—is going to have to do with how she makes peace with her decision. I can’t make her make peace. I can’t force the “fun aunt” role upon her nor any other. For my part, what I hold as part of my peace is that in adoption, the sense of loss is greater for the mother ceding the baby and the baby having to grow into the complexity of having felt rejected by—to whatever degree, less, we hope with an open adoption, even barely at all—a mother than for the adoptive parents, because as adoptive parents, we gained a daughter. We gained this murkiness, too, these losses and our job—my job as Saskia’s mother and Caroline’s chosen mother for her daughter—is to be willing to hold this, whatever this will be. Mine’s not to judge or force my will. At the same time, mine is to somehow remain as open as possible while respecting boundaries and while remaining certain—not apologetic—that as Saskia’s adoptive mother, I’m Saskia’s mother.

So, this week when making cards to send to my mother, stepmother, mother-in-law and two sisters, I also made a card for Caroline (and sent some chocolates, too). I didn’t say much—there’s so much and nothing to say—but I couldn’t let the day go without telling her how appreciative I am. On the second mother’s day as an adoptive mother, that’s where I am.

From Sarah Buttenweiser of Standing in the Shadows.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

Belly

This is my belly.

Six pregnancies. A dozen years of baby-making. And this is the first time there's been a record of what I look like while growing another human being.

These photos were shot by the lovely and talented Tracey Clark. That's right. The founder of Shutter Sisters and keeper of the Mother May I blog. And they almost didn't happen. We were in Houston for the Mom 2.0 Summit. Tracey suggested we do a photo shoot. I explained how non-photogenic I am. She assured me it would be great. So on a busy Saturday, just after I had spoken on the keynote panel, and then shot a bunch of video interviews for Kirtsy, I changed into something form fitting (Tracey's brilliant suggestion) and met Tracey in her hotel room. We had 20 minutes before Tracey needed to speak on her own panel.

20 minutes.

And I almost canceled when I realized the time was so short. But I'm so glad I didn't.

I love how the photos turned out. Tracey said all the right things to keep me comfortable during the shoot. She was fantastic. It was a treat to spend time with her. Thank you, dear Tracey!

What about you? Have you ever taken maternity portraits? Did you bare your belly? (I didn't think I would dare, but then I went for it.) Come back later today for some lovely Tracey Clark Giveaway Goodness. In the meantime, here are some of my favorite takes from the shoot:

12 Fingers & 12 Toes — from Alli

lovely photo by Mary Ruffle

My pregnancy had started much like many others. Tired and sick most of the first half. We found out in week 20 that we were going to be welcoming a baby girl to our family at the end of the year. Check ups and appointments went well up until my 31st week.

In that appointment the doctor noticed I was measuring big and scheduled a growth ultra sound for the following week. We had an ultra sound on Thursday that week and from all things we could see we were right on track. The next day I got a call around lunch time from the nurse that my husband and I needed to come talk to the doctor at the end of the day. Being pretty scared by this point, we came home from work and waited the dreadful hours till our appointment.

The doctor saw us 5:00 on Friday night, and that was when she told us that things didn't look good. They told us our daughter's legs were not growing, her kidneys could be calcified and that they saw extra digits on her hands. They said it appeared she had some kind of syndrome, but that they weren't sure of which one. As you can imagine at this point our world was crashing around us. Words were thrown around but the one that is burned into my brain was "terminal."

Our Doctor told us that we needed to get into the specialist in order for them to determine exactly what was wrong with our daughter, but seeing as it was Friday we needed to wait till next week to get an appointment. Needless to say it was the worst weekend of our lives trying to wrap our heads around the news, let alone try to explain to our family and friends. The following Thursday we got in to the specialist and after hours of genetic counseling and intense ultra sounds, they were able to narrow the syndrome list to approximately 10 different ones, some still very bad. The good news was that they weren't seeing as extreme symptoms as the first ultra sound. Although her legs were short, they were only measuring a few weeks smaller than 33 weeks.

Of all the symptoms at this point, I can tell you our biggest worry was her kidneys, and it was rather questionable between the specialists on whether there was a problem with them. Some saw some calcification and others didn't. With only a few weeks left we had many more appointments and ultra sounds, and in week 37 the specialists gave us the best news we could get at that point. In their expert opinion, my daughter would be born with isolated polydactyl.

What is that I asked. She has extra fingers and possible toes. Really??? After all that, that is it? With a team of doctors in the delivery room ready to wisk her away to the NICU, she came out and I heard the doctor yell, Lucky number 24! My beautiful baby girl was born with 12 fingers and 12 toes! They did wisk her off to the NICU along with my husband after she was born and found that she was perfectly healthy.

We had genetic testing and all kinds of tests in the first three months and they reaffirmed that it was not a syndrome. We did find out that extra digits is one of the more common birth defects. Who knew? Shortly after she turned 6 months, we had her extra digits removed. She just turned 1 and is the healthiest beautiful little girl. Not short either (82nd percentile) :)

She will probably never believe us when we tell her about her fingers and toes later in life, but we'll assure her she is our miracle!

From Alli in California

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

How I Became a Mom — by Heather Cain

My mom with me and my brother.

When I was 3 months pregnant with my oldest son my mom died. My husband and I were out of town – my friend’s dad had died of cancer and we traveled from California to Oregon for his funeral. I remember popping my anti-nausea pill before setting out, wondering what Jenny felt like as she prepared to say a last official good-bye to her father. The whole process seemed so distant, like something that happened to other people.

Sitting in the memorial service my thoughts wandered over my own experiences of loss. I had lost a baby to miscarriage a year earlier and experienced that grief in a very real way. Though I had not forgotten the heartbreak of that time, the new baby who had just begun fluttering in my body brought a renewed sense of hope. I tried to picture my own dad dying. It was hard to do, difficult to even imagine my strong rock-climbing father succumbing to the ultimate reality of life. Then I tried to picture my mom dying. Ha – not possible! I couldn’t even fathom losing her and quickly shut the idea out of my mind.

At the reception following the memorial service we chatted about Jenny’s dad’s life and heard funny stories about things he had done. We exchanged pleasantries with strangers – yes, I threw up every day; no, we didn’t know if the baby was a boy or a girl. We ate cheese and crackers. Then the phone call came. It was my brother in California. My husband held his hand over the receiver as he said, “your mom is sick or something.” Another call came in, he answered it, and the most dreadful sentence of my life rang quietly through the room – an agonized and gut-wrenching “no.”

The rest of the day is a blur. The next thing I remember I was outside the house, had unknowingly run up the road and collapsed on the sidewalk. Jenny was seconds behind me and threw herself on top of me. She clung to me and the three of us sat there, Jenny, me and my baby, two of us sobbing at the agony of having a dear one wrenched from us too soon, the other one wriggling around as a faint reminder of new life. Two very emotionally controlled girls, sobbing their hearts out in the middle of a neighborhood of strangers, an unborn baby between them. It was a sacred moment, one that makes me tremble as I write about it.

Unable to catch a soon enough flight, we rented a car and drove home through the night.
I clutched my barely-showing belly and cried during the entire nine hour drive. The pain and sorrow were so real and overwhelming that they were scary. In the jumble of racing thoughts I kept thinking, “what if I lose this baby too?” I cried so much that I had scabs on my eyelids by the time we got home. My skin hurt.

We hugged a lot, cried a lot. Asked a lot of questions. We had the memorial service. I knew how Jenny felt.

I did not lose the baby – he grew and grew and we got ready for his arrival. We registered and read books and watched videos and took classes and painted and I somehow never felt prepared. It was as if not having a mom made it impossible for me picture myself as a mom. I had no one to answer those questions, the really important ones that only your mom knows the answer to. Who would be in the room with me when I gave birth? Who would hold the crying newborn when I was sleep-deprived and needed to take a hot shower? Who could I call when I was at my wit’s end and didn’t trust anyone else to still love me when they saw what a pitiful excuse for a new mother I really was?

And then Moses came. When they placed him on my belly I was scared that I had just been handed someone who I loved even more than my mother.

I didn’t feel like a mom as I left the hospital. I felt exactly like I had felt before I got there, only about 10 pounds lighter and beat up. Everything went exactly as I had expected it to – I missed my mom; I didn’t know what to do; I did it anyways. We didn’t sleep, I nursed all the time, he made eye contact with me and drove his soul deeper into my heart.

Three weeks later I almost died of a post-partum hemorrhage. Part of my placenta had been left inside my uterus and caused it to bleed uncontrollably. As I lay on the table waiting for the d&c and blood transfusion that would keep me alive, I thought, “Here I come, mom!”

Just before the doctors entered, I caught a glimpse of my haggard husband standing in the doorway. He was holding our 3-week-old baby, trying for the first time in both of their lives to feed him a bottle of formula. His eyes were full of fear, the baby was screaming at the insult of having something rubber jammed into his mouth. In that moment I became a mother. I looked at that helpless little baby, heard my blood splashing onto the emergency room floor, and something in me clicked. I was a mother. I didn’t need to know what I was doing. I didn’t need my mom to still be alive to validate the fact that I was a mother. I just was one. I loved that confusing screaming hungry bundle in my husband’s arms, and I was not ready to leave him.

I didn’t leave him, of course. He is 4 and his little brother is 1. That ache in my heart has faded to the background, though I still have a pile of questions I wish I had someone to ask. I still feel like I don’t entirely know what I am doing. But I do feel like a mom. And it is a pretty great feeling.

From Heather Cain of Junie None.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

Pregnancy Stories

Here's something a little different. For the 2nd pregnancy/childbirth/adoption post today, I'm going to send you elsewhere. Here are some terrific (amazing!) stories that have found their way in to my inbox, but that are a little too lengthy to post in full.

You won't want to miss these. I promise:

1) Is That My Uterus in that Taurus? It's exactly what you think. A baby born in a car. Which doesn't sound funny but will make you laugh till you cry.

2) The Story of Nella Cordelia
Every once in awhile a baby with Down Syndrome is born to parents who had no idea. This mother's reaction and story is gorgeous. (And I have to note: have you ever seen a birth made into such an event? I was delighted! Tiaras. Clothing changes. Multiple photographers. Visiting friends dressed to the nines. Love it.)

3) Nora Jayne was born in the hospital...parking lot.
Yes. Another amazing car birth. With video!

4) When Triplets Become Twins.
It will break your heart and give you hope at the same time.

5) Their oldest is 12. Their second child is 7. Here's a video of the kids finding out baby number 3 is coming. So fun!

Image via The Sweeterie. Have you typed up your story yet?

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

A Pregnancy Story from Britney R

My father once told my mother, "You've been in an unusually good mood lately. I think you might be pregnant." And guess what. She was.

While I did not get those pregnant-euphoria genes that my mom has, I must say that my pregnancy was an enjoyable time for me. I have a long torso for the baby to fit into, my hips are already wide, so none of that bone-moving stuff for me, and I am one of the lucky ones who didn't really get sick, as long as my blood sugar was boosted immediately upon waking and every hour thereafter.

Everything was smooth sailing. At week 13, I was informed by the fetal medicine doctor that I was having a boy, and my nurse told me that I could trust that opinion. At week 20 we had another ultrasound, and the prognosis and good health of the little guy were confirmed. He was a little on the small side, however, so we scheduled a follow-up ultrasound at week 30 to confirm that he was growing well.

Week 30 came, and the doctors were beginning to worry about our baby. He was still small, and his percentile was dropping. He was the right height, but just skinny. I was diagnosed with Intra Uterine Growth Restriction (IUGR), meaning my son was estimated to be in the bottom 10th percentile in weight. While 1 in 10 babies falls into this category, most small babies are born to petite mothers and fathers--something at 5'9" I am definitely not--or they are one of a set of multiples. I was told to eat 100 grams of protein a day (usual recommendations for a woman my size say to eat between 30 and 50 grams) and take it easy.

In the next couple of weeks, my doctor had worsened the order. I needed to eat 150 grams of protein and 3,000 calories a day. Ugh. My part-time job had recently ended, and not really being in the situation to find a new one, my new job was to eat. I sat on the couch, watched TV, and tried to stuff my face.

That sounds like fun and games, but when you are already 7 months pregnant with a squirmy baby, there is not much room left for food. Most days I would eat as much as I could and then wait for more room to manifest itself. And when there was more space, I would stuff it as well. I began counting calories for the first time in my life--for the opposite reason than one would expect. A sirloin burger for lunch equaled 35 grams of protein, plus cheese on the side, and a bun—but the numbers didn’t add up as fast as I would have liked them to. I pounded protein bars, protein shakes, cheeseburgers like crazy, and anything else that possibly sounded good. Told by my doctor that I shouldn't worry about fat and sugar, I began looking up restaurant meals that should be avoided and sought them out. And did you know that ice cream does wonders for heartburn?


(Click to see bigger.)

About 2 weeks before J was born, the doctor's estimate for his weight put him at about 4.5 lbs. The doctor scheduled an induction a week before my due date (the logic being that if he wasn't getting enough nutrients in there, we needed to get him out and feed him). After a blessedly easy labor, J was here--healthy, crying, and pink. And when we placed him on the scale the numbers that flashed up were better than expected.

6 lbs 8 ounces

I'd like to think that it was all of those hamburgers I ate that pumped J up in those last weeks, but I don't really know for sure. Was the doctor's estimate off? Who knows? Either way, as I saw those numbers come across the scale, I knew I had been twice blessed. Once with a beautiful little boy, and twice with his good health.

J is still a skinny little boy. At 14 months, he's off-the-charts small on weight and head size, and average height. While I still try to feed him anything he'll eat, I'm starting to believe that's just the way he is. And he is perfect.

From Britney R of Happyful.
Ice cream image via Creature Comforts.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

Brazilian Pregnancy Story from Damaris Palmer

I am Brazilian. When Brazilian women give birth they look beautiful. They get their hair done professionally and most even get their makeup done professionally AND their little friend down there gets the ultimate Brazilian wax. Women can plan this ahead of time because most of them get c-sections, like 90% of them.

I have ONE Brazilian friend that did not have a c-section. She was living in the U.S at the time and her doctor was not thrilled about elective c-sections. They compromised and he agreed to induce her labor a couple days before her due date. Her induction was scheduled at 10:00am so naturally she woke up at 4:00am to get ready. She took a long shower, blow dried her hair, spent at least an hour on her make-up and off she went to the hospital looking completely glamorous.

I'm a disgrace to the reputation of beautiful Brazilian women. After 45 hours of labor (4 of pushing) my first child, Enzo, came out to the ugliest looking mom that ever existed. I looked like a truck had run me over, multiple times.

With baby number two things may actually look a little better. I'm having a hard time falling asleep these days so I stay up soaking in the bath giving myself body scrubs. Two days ago I even waxed my legs, just the bottom half because that's all my belly will allow me to maneuver. I thought about attempting to give myself a Brazilian wax for half a second but since I haven't even been able to see that part of my body for about 3 months now I decided to put that thought on hold. I've given myself facials and yesterday I even dyed my hair. Today I might go get a pedicure, we'll see how motivated I get.

I'm not promising this baby anything. She just might come out to a very shabby looking mother. In fact I can almost guarantee it. I'm o.k with that though. I'm o.k with her starting out her life knowing that women shouldn't have to wake up at 4:00am the day that they're giving birth so they can get their lipstick on just right. But if I happen to look good[ish] I won't complain either.

Maybe I'll wear long dangling earrings this time.

From Damaris Palmer of Bebeloo.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

Miracle Birth Story from Rebecca Mudrick

My first pregnancy was an eventful one. It began with a huge oops (!!!) I’m pregnant moment and the surprises, twists and turns never seemed to stop.

Every few weeks I’d end up in the hospital for one reason or another and thankfully each visit always ended well. Contractions were stopped. Tests were reassuring. We were counting our blessings, but we were also starting to feel a bit sheepish about our frequent trips to the labor and delivery unit and I was starting to feel like it was all much ado about nothing.

Just three days after a routine OB visit and right around 33 weeks gestation, I woke in the night with bleeding. We called my OB and headed back to the hospital again. Doctors couldn’t explain the bleeding – which had stopped – and sent me home. They encouraged me to follow up with my OB the next day. I rolled my eyes and promised I would.

My OB was out of town and so my follow up visit was – simply by default - with a high-risk specialist. He was wonderfully kind, and spent a lot of time with me. He carefully reviewed my history and told me that he had no idea why I had been bleeding, but he wasn’t concerned about that so much as his suspicion that our baby wasn’t growing well. He wanted me in for a growth ultrasound the next day. Okay. Another problem. Another ultrasound. We were getting used to this. It would all check out to be fine. No problem.

The ultrasound tech was quiet as he took the measurements and the specialist confirmed that our baby was not growing. The baby was showing signs of stress and measuring very small for his gestational age. We left the office nervous but hopeful that all would be well, as was the pattern during my pregnancy. But just two days later I woke up with a sure knowledge that I would deliver that night. I went to the grocery store, made meals to freeze, caught up on laundry and cleaned the apartment. I went to my first appointment for fetal monitoring and was perfectly calm as the tech told me to go immediately to the hospital for an emergency induction. The baby's kidneys had shut down and he was experiencing serious heart decelerations. We needed to launch a rescue mission before it was too late.

The labor was precarious - the baby kept everyone on their toes. But after 8 crazy hours, I delivered a very gray 3 lb 7 oz baby boy. He was bigger then we expected and we were elated with his safe arrival. We held him for a few minutes and then he was gone. It would be many days before we would hold him again.

The nurses in the NICU wanted to know our baby's name. His name? The names we had been considering (more like arguing over, ha!) didn't fit. We struggled with the task and decided to ask God to help us choose a name that was strong and meaningful. A day later I was sitting in the NICU, talking to my half-cooked baby boy and I called him Joshua. Joshua. Hmmm ... I brought it up over lunch with my husband who said he had also thought of the name Joshua that day. We immediately looked the name up in a baby name book and learned that Joshua means "God Saves". A very appropriate name indeed.

Joshua's NICU stay was a short 2 weeks. Miraculously, all the pre-term labor had stressed the baby and as a result his lungs were well developed. The unexplained bleeding had sent me to the OB long before I was due for another check up and I have no doubt we would have lost the baby by my next appointment. Joshua is our miracle baby - our "boy who lived" and 9 years later we continue to thank God for his safe arrival.

From Rebecca Mudrick of Overexposed.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

Marta Dansie's Essay on Pregnancy

I was 5 months pregnant with my first at the time I jotted this down. (Oh, how I had no idea the love I was about to learn!) Here are my thoughts as I contemplated giving life:

Feeling a Brand New Feeling

In my experience, there aren't a whole lot of new feelings to feel after you've grown up. Sure, I believe each experience is it's own, but routinely my life doesn't have a whole lot of brand newness in it. I know how it feels to feel a lot of things. Which I have never given much thought to. Until now.

For example, I know what it feels like to hold a piece of buttered toast, I know chocolate milk in a cold glass, I know corn on the cob between my teeth. I know the ocean waves slamming against my body, I know sand between my toes, I know the hot sun on my face, I know taking a shower with a sunburn. I know what a cold slab of marble feels like against my skin, I know cool grass and sizzling cement on my feet, I know cold rain on my head, I know soap in my eyes, and lemon in my wounds. I know mud in my hair and lotion on my legs. I know unsweetened baking squares in my mouth. I know gusts of wind and feeling winded. I know what it feels like to knead bread and sink my fingers into clay, I know paint on my hands, I know dried plaster on my arms. I know gum in my hair and floss in my teeth. I know the itch of chicken pox and the fear of a nightmare. I know the hurt of a high heel and the sparkle of a diamond. I know pierced ears and glossed lips. I know New York cheesecake and mom's rice pudding. I know the hug of a friend and the loss of a love. I know butterflies of a first kiss, the ache of a sad heart, the tug of a string. I know how it feels to feel elated with joy, to be surprised, to be disappointed, to laugh until I cry, to worry until I'm sick, to blush until I am red. I know forgetting my lines on stage and I know a standing ovation. I know the smell of my grandma's perfume and my dad's shoe polish. I know flying in an airplane and riding in a train car. I know views of the Swiss Alps and I know a baby sleeping on my shoulder.

I know how it feels to feel loved and to be in love.

I didn't appreciate all of these small feelings I've felt until I felt this new feeling for the very first time.

I never want to forget how incredible it feels to feel a little kick from the inside; saying hello. reminding me of the miracle growing inside. Reminding me of the miracles that are all around me. Reminding me of the miracle of new life and the miracle of my life. And how blessed I am.

When he kicks from the inside, I smile every time at this brand new feeling. And realize all the feelings he will have to look forward to. All the feelings I will get to teach him about; like finger painting on butcher paper and rolling cookie dough into shapes and blowing bubbles in the shade and jumping into salty waves of the pacific and learning how to sound out words on the page. I imagine the newness of how it feels to swing on a swing-set and sit on dad's knee and ride a horse and run a race and spit out watermelon seeds and see snowflakes fall and build blanket forts and hear the boom of fireworks. I want him to feel all of these feelings. Because I want to give him the same thrill that his little kicks give me.

I already love him. He will always know the feeling of love.

From Marta Dansie of Marta Writes.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

Birth Video from Michelle & Zach

I'm not a great writer and can never get what I want to say out on paper, that is one of the reasons I really wanted my most recent baby's birth to be documented. I thought about hiring a photographer to come and do it for me, but when it came down to it, Oliver was born 12 days early and I just hadn't gotten around to discussing the details with other fellow photographers. But Zach, my husband, knew how important it was to me to have this documented and I think he did an absolutely amazing job with this video. You can also see Oliver's 5 day newborn photo session here.

Oliver Thomas :: Birth Story from Zach Wear on Vimeo.

From Michelle of Revert Photo and Revert Blog.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

A Bathtub Birth Story from Katie's Father

image via ffffound

This is the birth story of our second baby. It was not much different — except maybe a bit faster, and minus one hospital visit. This time it all started after lunch, but it was all over long before dinner. My wife, R, had been preparing a double-batch of gluten-free lasagna so we could eat one and freeze the other for after the birth — something she had already done with a few other meals (gluten intolerance was was diagnosed in week 26). Her mom dropped by in the afternoon to pick something up, and found that R was cooking kind of slowly because of an occasional cramp that forced her to take breaks. After some discussion with her mom, R decided to consult with the midwife team. The midwife recommend a bath.

My office phone rang at about 3:20pm, and I listened to R tell me in a tired voice that things were starting. I was all ears. I asked how fast I should come back — train (35 min) or taxi (20 min)? She figured I had some time, so she recommended the train. I emerged onto the street a few minutes later, breaking into a run with an anthology of Roald Dahl short stories tucked under my arm, and my watch still lying on my desk upstairs.

While I quickly covered the distance to the north-bound platform, the warmth of the bathwater rushed R's contractions closer together. I had barely changed my Facebook status to "Contractions" when I received a call from R's mom that they planned to leave for the hospital because contractions were coming 2.5 minutes apart.

Instead of riding the train out to our area, I would get off a few blocks from the hospital and make my way there if they didn't have time to pick me up. I was about to get off the train when I got another phone call update.

The midwife had contacted the hospital to let them know we were coming and had learned that there were no delivery rooms available, and the next closest hospital was way out in the NE part of town. Both the midwife and R had agreed that there was no time to travel so far, so they decided to deliver the baby at home.

I had been standing at the door of the train, ready to get off when I received the call. Instead of disembarking, I sat back down and arranged for a friend of ours to pick me up at the station and bring me home. As we were pulling up to the house, I saw the midwife lugging an enormous equipment bag up the driveway, and a close neighbour standing on the front step.

That was about 4:15 pm. I found R lying on the bed wearing a pair of maternity jeans, one of my t-shirts and a look of agonized desperation. Our neighbour (who goes to our church) assisted me in a prayer to bless R while the midwife dumped medical equipment into strategic locations and R's mom worked to prepare the bathroom. The neighbours whisked Scotty away to their house to play for a while and R eased into the tub. I vaguely remember doing a circuit along the midwife's trail of supplies, clearing away more room for her to work.

It could not have been more than 15 minutes from the time the midwife and I arrived and the time that Katie was born, making it about 1.5 hours of labour — if you don't count the sporadic contractions that hampered R's lasagna preparations during the afternoon. It was so short that it caught R completely by surprise. She was bracing herself for at least an hour of pushing at the end, but that part was over before she knew it and she had our new daughter bobbing peacefully in the tub.


Newborn baby Katie under the water.

Normally, when you see movie or tv footage of a baby entering the world, the child comes screeching and wailing. Our little girl had none of that. She simply squinted a lot and pretended not to know what all the fuss was about.

All the fuss was about Katie. All 6 pounds and 4 ounces of her.

From Derek of Our Sesame Seed.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

Letter to Her 15-Week Old Daughter from Chelsea Hilton

image via Mary Ruffle

Dear Zoe,

Tomorrow you will be 15 weeks old and I think it's about time I stop counting in weeks. If it's getting annoying at 15 weeks, wait until you're hundreds of weeks old. You'll be two years old and already embarrassed of your mother.

Everyone is always asking me what new developments are taking place over here and lately my answer is just one word — DROOL. A close second is spit-up, though. Your drool and spit-up are currently duking it out for first prize. Drool is winning because of the sheer volume, but spit-up is really shining in the 'requiring a change of clothes' category. However, there's another twist that keeps drool in the lead — you're likely drooling so much because you're starting to teethe and because you're starting to teethe, you're chewing on your fingers like a maniac which causes you to gag and spit up. So that makes spit-up more of a follower than a leader. That's just the way of the world.

We're still having trouble with the sleeping. You just don't like sleeping in a bed, so you're still almost always sleeping in the swing. It worries me. I'm sorry if you're grown up and reading this in a full body brace because your jackass mother couldn't figure out how to get her baby to sleep in a bed. It's not for lack of trying, though. Every night we try, and every night you wrestle around and grunt and kick your legs and swing your arms (except for when you're swaddled, of course, because you're in a burrito) and eventually scream and/or cry. So? Back in the swing you go and you go right to sleep.



You are such a happy baby, Zoe. You have started really laughing now, too. Good, long belly laughs. I love it. I do the stupidest things all day long to get you laughing like that. We are two of the happiest people around, I swear. I think about everyone else going about their daily lives and think of how lucky I am to be home laughing with my baby all day. I act like an idiot and you laugh and then I laugh and we're both smiling all the time. It's a great life. I hit the jackpot.

I love you, little bean.
Momma

From Chelsea of Mommalou and Zoe B.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

A Triplets Story from Courtney

Early in the morning of President’s Day 2004, I woke up and got ready. I was 35 weeks pregnant with triplets and scheduled to have a c-section at 7am. Before my husband, Jeff, and I headed to the hospital, I stopped in to check on Seth, my sleeping 20 month old who was very much still a baby. Like most second-time moms, I worried about how I would be able to give him the love, time and attention he would need when he was no longer my only baby. With a bit of an anxious heart, we headed out in the dark to the hospital.

As I lay in the bed in the labor and delivery triage area I was overwhelmed with feelings — excitement, discomfort, nervousness, hunger, curiosity. As we got closer to 7am and then passed it without a visit from the doctor, I started getting impatient and worried (and hungrier!). Finally around 7:30, the nurse told us that our doctor had not shown up for the delivery and they had not been able to reach him. Luckily, the doctor group I was with had two doctors at the hospital who would be able to perform the delivery I just had to wait another hour or two while they changed shifts and did rounds.

While Jeff changed into his paper scrubs, they finally took me into the operating room. Unlike birthing suites which are designed to look comfortable and homey, operating rooms are white and sterile. This was the point that I finally felt a little scared about the delivery. Luckily, the drugs were soon administered, Jeff came in and my nerves settled down.

At 9:06 Ellie was born and the doctor lifted her above the curtain so we could see her. A minute later I noticed that Jeff was no longer standing next to me but was instead lying on the floor behind me. As the anesthesiologist turned to check on him, Paige was lifted above the curtain and we met our second daughter. Unfortunately, her initial introduction was missed on video while Dad tried to recover on the floor. Even though Jeff remained on the floor, he did get the video camera up in the air in time to tape the introduction of Kate at 9:10. It turns out that Jeff doesn’t really like seeing doctors kneeling on the operating table as they yank babies out of my stomach — but as soon as the girls were all delivered he recovered enough to capture some of their first moments.



After the girls were initially checked out by the doctors and nurses, I was able to briefly kiss and snuggle each one before they placed them in a single isolette and rolled them to the nursery. If I had known I would not hold Paige and Ellie again for five days, I would have held on to them a little longer. If I had known that all three would not be together again for 3 ½ weeks, I would have made sure Jeff got a better picture of the girls squished together in the isolette.

The next weeks were spent experiencing the ups and downs of a new vocabulary — CPAP, red line, bili lights, craniosynostosis, surfactant, apnea — until a day in March when we were all together again. Now the initial anxiety of leaving one baby at home while I went to the hospital to deliver three more was replaced with the anxiety of how I was going to raise them. With four small children my time and attention were divided among them but luckily there were others to help fill in the gaps.


image by Jamie Hammond Photography

As every second-time mom discovers, a mother’s love is never divided it just multiplies with each new addition.

From Courtney of Five Under Five.
Image via Here Comes the Sun.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

A Perfect Birth Story from Katy Dill

It took me having 5 children to finally have the birth I wanted. The most beautiful, wonderful, spiritual, perfect birth:

I had visions of calling Ryan as he was in the midst of teaching a class, proclaiming my water broke and it was time. He would announce to his class that his wife was in labor, run out, tripping over chairs, leaving them all bewildered. It's always been a no-contraction-calm-drive to the hospital, first thing in the morning (except Pearl, who was born in the car, but that truly was an exception of all sorts). That's not how it happened. As we went to bed Wednesday night, I commented to Ryan that other women tended to go into labor in the middle of the night, but that's usually when my body would stop any sort of "practicing". Hope, one of my midwives, told me Tuesday she was confident my body would do this without help. Just as her name, I believed her.

2 AM Thursday, I awoke to a familiar ache, though it was enough to be bothersome and deprive me of sleep. I didn't want to wake up anyone unnecessarily, so I got up to walk around to make sure this aching was consistent. I gently squeezed Ryan's foot and told him I was having contractions. I timed them as he fell back asleep. 5 minutes apart. Yes, I wanted to go to the birthing center. I was going to have the water-birth I had dreamed of since giving birth the conventional way with daughter number one.

I awoke my parents, and while they were scrambling to get dressed, I laid some towels in the car and got in. My mom came, Ryan followed, carrying the carseat, juice for me and other odds and ends. The drive was quiet, but hurried. We were there before Sharon, but at least the baby wasn't. She checked me, still just a 3, but very effaced. Her suggestion: walk the halls. I had never been given this luxury. Yes, it was a luxury. I took off my noisy flip flops and began to walk. Up and down. A quiet cricket crossed my path. He seemed to know my need for peace. My only company. No, I didn't want any other company at this point. As I was pacing, barefoot and solo, joy filled my body. My body did know what to do. It knew when this baby was ready to join the world. 40 weeks, 41 weeks, 41 weeks and 4 days, it wasn't rushed by the measurements of time. I was grateful for a supportive husband, midwives, and parents who allowed me to do this on my own. I was surprised to be grateful this journey was taking place in the solemn hours of the morning, with no outside onlookers to invade.

4:30-Sharon checks me. I'm a 5, but as she checks me, my water breaks. I decide to keep walking until that first contraction without my water manifests itself. I quickly return and tell her I'm ready to get in the water. She says it will be 10 minutes before the tub is filled. 10 minutes suddenly seemed like a mountain of pain before me. I waited until there were three inches of water and asked if I could just get in. She turned down the temperature and helped me in. My mom peers in the room and I tell her I now need Ryan. The glimpse she sees in her words: "Then I see her slip in the back room, water running for the underwater birth, four woman, quietly getting ready for a most amazing experience. Each woman knows their task and just join in the dance like it all had been rehearsed for months. I love the way they NEVER leave her side. It is all about Katy, all about her strength and ability to have a baby without anything but her body to tell her what to do." Ryan came to my side and began to pour the warm water on this mound of life preparing to make the most glorious and painful entrance.

3 contractions later, Ryan said he watched as this baby moved from the "pregnant position" to "down, really far down". I announced that I had the urge to push. Sharon asked me to wait for the next contraction. Moments later, it came, and I began to scream and push. Sharon pleaded with me to hold back a little so there wouldn't be tearing. I held back as much as I could muster, but this baby was coming. I continued to push and then she was here, on my breast. 4:56.



I held this new life. Gratefully. Reverently. It, the birth, was perfect. My body did everything perfectly in 3 simple hours. Nothing too soon and nothing too late. I held this new body in my arms, not knowing who it was I held. After some moments of reveling in what I had just experienced, I looked to discover another daughter had been given to us. She was not late. She was perfect. She is perfect.

From Katy of No Big Dill.
Image via ffffound.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

Adoption Memories from Shanti

Have you ever woken up in the morning and wondered how you became a grown up? I think I'm a grown up now. I mean, there are 5 rug rats running around here. I cook food, wipe bums, kiss ow-ees, fasten seat belts, unfasten seat belts...fasten seat belts, unfasten seat belts...I brush hair, brush teeth, brush the toilet (with a toilet brush, of course!), and brush off minor complaints from small ones tugging on my shirt. I think that makes me a grown up. Right?

I remember one starry night when I was 6 or 7 years old, sitting on the porch of the house I grew up in. I didn't like the way my life was going...not one bit. I wanted someone to swoop down, rescue me from what I thought was a pitiful existence (and really was), and plant me in that perfect family. You know--the one that had two loving parents that would dote on me, opportunities laid out before me, hugs and kisses abounding, and more money than we would know what to do with so we could travel to exotic places walking hand-in-hand along white sandy beaches. That family. Alas, I knew it was not going to happen. So, I promised myself that I would one day rescue someone else. I don't think I planned on giving them white sandy beaches, but the love and kisses I thought I could do.

Fast forward about 20 years. My husband, my soul mate, the man I truly call my best friend, and I decide we're ready to change our lives. We have a kid...Caleb. You know, the "old fashioned" way. We're happy. We're content. We are filled with awe and wonder at this little creature the Lord has planted in our home. But soon we know we are meant for more. We know there is someone out there waiting for us to find him.

When Caleb is just 6 months old, we start the process of foster-adoption. We do classes, fill out paperwork, jump through hoops and whine about how much red tape is involved in helping a child who is waiting for a home. Right before Caleb's first birthday, we get matched with a chubby (and I mean CHUBBY) little African-American boy. He is almost 6 months old at the time. We named him Joshua. We're happy. We're content. We're done having kids (ha! so we think...) and are ready to start our life as a family of four.

A few years go by, we move a couple times, and finally settle into a cute little house in a cute little town. 1300 square feet is plenty of room for our {complete} family. We're enjoying life as our kids get a little older and more self-sufficient. But, alas, once again the Lord has other plans for us, and before we know it, we're re-doing the classes, the paperwork and all the red tape that we did before so we can add to our family yet again. After about 7 months, we're matched with a boy and a girl, Michael and Naomi, ages 3 and 1. And soon, our calm, collected lives become more chaotic and enriching. Soon after the kids are placed with us, we find out birth mom is pregnant...surprise! #5 is on the way! Seven months later, little Grace graces us with her presence at just 6 weeks old.

And now...here we are, more than a year later. Caleb and Josh are now 6, Michael is 4, Naomi is almost 3, and Grace is one. Silence is not a regular attender of our household activities. However, I wouldn't trade in the craziness of it all for anything. And so I tell people, before you step into our lives, dust off that seat, get those old french fries out of the cracks, and strap on your seat belt (if you can get it in past the sticky mess that's in the belt buckle)! You're in for a wild ride...

From Shanti of We Chose Adoption.
Adoption tee from Urban Baby.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

One Month Anniversary Letter to Her Baby from Kate Reymann

Kate Reymann writes a little post to her son every month. He’s going on 15 months next week. This is the first one she wrote:

Luke, you are one month old today. One month ago your dad and I were still reeling from a 30 hour labor that ended in an emergency c-section. The Friday night induction that turned into a Saturday morning with contractions coming every minute, the arrival of Rachel our doula, the decision to get an epidural after seven hours of contractions coming continuously with absolutely no progress on my part (what do you mean I'm still just 1 cm?) the epidural itself, which was one of the most intense and saddest moments of my life, with your father and I both sobbing as Patty Griffin sang “When It Don’t Come Easy” on the ipod, at the exact moment the epidural went in.

Then, fourteen hours of pitocin and four epidurals later a c-section, chronic dry mouth I was sure I was going to die of, and finally you, our little baby boy with your stomach and lungs full of meconium, your dad hurrying to stay with you while I got stitched up, lying there in amazement that I had a son and still unbelieving that I had had a c-section. Feeding you for the first time, finally finally getting to bed at 5.00 that morning after your first bath, done inexplicably at 4.00 in the morning, but revealing blond golden hair.

Those long days in the hospital filled with visitors and still not believing we had a baby. Your second night spent in the nursery freaking us out because you were running a temperature and not eating. Many many hours and many shifts of nurses coaxing you to latch on and feed. Finally getting discharged and going home, discovering that autumn had arrived while I had been in the hospital. The joy of being home greatly tempered by days and nights of no sleep and a very cranky baby and a freaked out mother.

And then, somehow, we got to know one another. Suddenly you were sleeping for more than 30 minutes, you were recognizing our voices and you were losing that swollen newborn look and filling out into your own. I know your face will change over and over as the months and years go by and you'll get cuter and cuter, if that it is at all possible because you are so adorable right now. Sometimes you surprise us with a smile, something you started doing around three weeks. We like to think they are real smiles, but perhaps you are just content or just gassy — both are possible.

You shake your head like a crazy person and gritch and fuss when you are really hungry, but this is all worth it when you finally sigh with content and fall asleep on our chests, your little stomach moving in and out with your tiny little baby breaths.

From Kate Reymann of Well This is New.
Photo of Luke by Winona Robison.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting advice, memories and stories about pregnancy, childbirth, adoption and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here. I'd love to hear your story or memory or advice, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.