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.

An Adoptive Birth Memory from Becca

A letter to my son's birth mom, on his first birthday:

I remembering my experience of being in the room when Asher was born. I was nervous and hopeful and excited and filled with wonder and joy and love and even a little fear. All in the space of just a few minutes. I remember holding my breath every time you would push. Thank goodness for both of us that you didn’t have to push very many times. I think I had the best type of out-of-body experience possible. As I watched you give birth, all that mattered was the miracle that your body had created and the amazing thing that was happening. Then that slippery little baby came out and his impossibly small body was all I could think about. I thought something was wrong with him; he was bluish-gray, and no one had warned me that babies don’t really come out pink like they do in movies. But everyone else in the room seemed perfectly calm, so I just waited (for what seemed like an awfully long time) for him to cry or take a breath or give some sign that I would recognize as a good one.

After the nurse took him to the little crib and was wiping him off, your Mom nudged me and told me to go over there. I was still in awe as I watched the nurse work so efficiently. She told me I could touch him, so I reached out and ran my fingers over his. He wrapped his fingers around one of mine, and they might as well have been wrapped around my heart. I immediately felt connected to this tiny boy, whom you would allow to become my son. I remember hoping that this brief moment would be symbolic of the bond that he and I would share throughout his life. That no matter where our lives might take us, we would always feel an important connection to one another.

A few months later I was living the reality of having a difficult baby. I would tell myself that it was his reflux that caused Asher to be so fussy. But sometimes he would cry and cry regardless of the position he was in, whether he was being held, or in his swing, or nestled against my chest in a baby carrier. It was at those times, when explanations and logic weren’t comforting, when I was exhausted and exasperated, that I would force my mind to relive the first few moments I shared with him. I would remember how small and fragile he seemed, and it would help me to treat him with tenderness. I would remember his fingers around mine, and it would help me to realize the crucial role I was to play in his life. I would remember the fear I felt when I thought there was something wrong with him, and I would have hope that this phase would also pass. I would remember how instantly and how powerfully my love for him came to me, and I would feel that love renewed.

It was at the same time that he learned to crawl and move on his own that it was like he became a different baby. He smiled more and even began to laugh at silly little things. I started using words to describe him that I hadn’t before, like “content,” “mellow,” “easy-going,” and even “happy.” After that I haven't needed to remember his birth so often. But as I recall it now, I realize that being there in the delivery room with you and your Mom will likely be the last time I would have such an experience until (hopefully) my grandchildren are born. The gift you have given me of a son is immeasurable. But beyond that, by sharing with me the experience of his birth, I have been able to be a better mother to him. For both of these things, I will always be grateful.

From Becca.
Image from jpgmag. Spotted on 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.

Ultrasound Memory from Jennifer Byard

I found out about my second pregnancy through a friend’s dream. I was skeptical at first. We’d only been trying for three months with this baby, and our first son took three years to conceive. But five pregnancy tests don’t lie, and I was thrilled to be pregnant with number two.

Just like with my first, I immediately starting thinking about the future…would this baby look like me? Could I love another baby as much as my first? Would this baby be a boy or girl?

My husband John and I were talking about the baby’s sex as the tech started our 18-week ultrasound. We wanted her to write down the sex of the baby and put it in an envelope for us to open at lunch. As she scanned, the room seemed really quiet. After a few minutes, she told us she had something that she needed the doctor to look at. I immediately knew in my heart what she had seen.

John and I sat quietly in that room waiting for the doctor, adrenaline pumping and praying that the tech was just inexperienced, maybe having a bad day. The specialist came in for a look, and his face confirmed my fears. He asked us to get dressed and wait outside his office. The tech came out and handed us an envelope…the baby’s sex. I remember thinking how insignificant this was. We opened the envelope while we waited. “Boy”.

The doctor called us in his office to discuss what he had seen. He had called our obstetrician’s office to get the results of our recent triple marker test. Before he said the words, I remember thinking “my baby boy has Down Syndrome”. When the words finally came, there was a tone of excitement in his voice. I knew that as a neonatal specialist, this was a “find” for him. A victory for him to catch a birth defect in-utero, and our life was changed forever in that same second.

Although it took a week to confirm the diagnosis by amniocentesis, my grief started immediately. I could already feel the baby moving in my body, and the baby that had felt so familiar immediately felt foreign to me. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that it was same baby that had been there the day before. I was 33 years old. Didn’t older women have babies with Down syndrome? What did I do to make this happen? I couldn’t stop thinking about everything that I had lost. Mostly I feared the unknown. I feared the future with a child who would never be able to live on his own, would never marry or have children, and who would always be different.

When the amnio comes back with a diagnosis of Down syndrome, you are ushered into a room with a genetic counselor. In this room you’re told the worst-case scenarios and given options. I was so thankful for our faith at the moment. Fear can cause you to do things you wouldn’t normally consider. We knew that for whatever reason, this baby was still our son.

The next five months were a roller coaster for us. Children with Down syndrome are at much higher risk of dying in utero, so I went to the hospital weekly for stress tests and ultrasounds. My husband and I grieved differently. Beyond the feelings of sadness and loss, there’s also anger…both at the circumstance and the way that others respond. When your baby has a birth defect it’s hard to hear other’s version of the “up-side”. It was hard for my husband. After the first few weeks, despite the sadness, I was able to start feeling bonded to my baby again. John had to deal with the guilt of feeling disconnected and at times not wanting the baby to be born.

At 35 weeks, I went in one morning for the usual testing, and found out that our baby was having trouble. We met with the doctor and made the hard decision to deliver him early, rather than risk the last few weeks. After an amnio to check that his lungs were developed, we arrived back at the hospital that evening to deliver our son. Five months after our ultrasound, having moved from grief to understanding and acceptance, we joyfully welcomed our son into the world on February 4th, 2005.



We named him Ben, “son of the right hand of God”. His tiny ears, his adorable little nose, his precious little hands, all created just for our family. He is our middle child, surrounded by brothers on both sides. Above all we’ve learned that the things in life that you would never ask for are the most joyful things of all. Our life is better because of Ben.

From Jennifer Byard of My Three Sons Design.
Drawing by Betsy Watson as seen on sfgirlbybay.

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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.

My Curves

Am I allowed to say I'm enjoying my new-found curvy-ness? I can't pretend I'm truly voluptuous, but when I compare my new B-cups to my usual can't-fill-an-A-cup-and-boring-hips-self, I feel like I should qualify as a lingerie model. : )

It's not that my body looks any different this pregnancy (compared to previous pregnancies), I think it's mostly that this house has a giant mirror right outside the shower so I'm seeing myself nekkid more often. (My lovely new chest caught my eye the other morning and I called out: Ben Blair, come check me out — I'm totally hot!)



This stage of pregnancy is the best for me. The sickness is 95% over. My energy is great. I haven't ballooned to an unreasonable size yet — so I can still sleep comfortably. Maternity clothes finally fit, so I don't have to jimmy my pants to try to keep them up. It's quite lovely.

Ben Blair took these photos yesterday morning while I was getting ready. He pulled out the camera when we realized the only glimpse of my baby belly that had been recorded is in the HP video. We're going to attempt to get lots of shots from now on.

Are you curvy, Dear Readers? Even when you're not pregnant? (I think I'm jealous.) Do you like the way you look when you are pregnant?

Childbirth Play-by-play from Mr. Danielle Wulf

I wanted to share my birthing story, from my husbands point of view. He wrote this shortly after we had our first child:

Someone told me I would want to write out exactly what happened when Jackson, my son, was born so one day I could tell him everything. So I started working on this close to when he came. We will see how much I remember.

Friday February 20, 2009

10AM - I am heading out to eat lunch with my brother and do some afternoon prep for a DNOW in NW OKC
10:11 - Get a text from my wife. Says the following. "Just totally lost all of my mucus plug."
10:12 - Dry heaves set in. My wife is gross.
10:14 - Get this text to follow: "I got a spoon so I could get the plug out of the toilet and look at it."
10:15 - I am now screaming how gross it is. Then she calls to see if I am grossed out. I am
11:00 - Meet my brother Kurt. He is more squeamish and weak-stomached than I am. I inform him about the mucus plug. He is quite offended. Time passes. Things are moving along. My very pregnant wife is eating dinner with a friend. Then they will drive over to hear me speak Friday night. Before she gets there, she sends me this text at around 5PM.

5:00PMish - I wonder if my water broke.

We (meaning she) decides to wait until after I speak to call the hospital and see if we should come in. We live in Newcastle. We are going to deliver at Mercy. After I speak, she calls Mercy. They ask her some basic questions. She answers honestly. They tell us to get out fannies to the hospital.

9:30PM - We get our fannies to the hospital. We are admitted. She is pushed in a wheel chair. She loves that.
9:31 - David the head ER nurse sprints away with my wife in his wheel chair. I struggle to keep up. Apparently David has had to deliver a baby in the elevator and refuses to do that again, hence the rapid pace. (after going through all the mess of birth, I don't really blame him)
9:40 - A piece of paper is brought in to confirm whether or not we are in labor. If it comes out blue, we are staying and having a baby.
9:41 - It is blue.
9:42 - I pass out briefly.
9:45 - We make some preliminary phone calls and texts. Jackson will be here by Saturday night. We are waiting for a new room.
9:50 - The wife complains about the ugly small room we are in presently, while we await the Birthing Suite.
10:15 - More complaining about the yucky, ugly room.
10:30 - We get into our room that we will be in until Sunday. Her mom and dad arrive. They are planning on staying until they have a grandson. Which means sleeping will not be happening on the love seat and foldy chair we have.
11:00 - We meet out nurse. We like our nurse. We will like all of our nurses. She explains that the wife is still at a "2." You have to be at a "10" before baby comes. "2" is a long way from "10" I think to myself.
11:30 - Apparently it is not THAT far away. They give her this medicine called pitocin. It will inflict crazy pain on her innards and help speed things along.
12:30 - The pain of contractions are now enough to merit the epidural - or Cousin Eppy. Cousin Eppy will be the second most anticipated arrival all weekend for my wife and me.
1:30 - Eppy is administered. I watch as much as my weak stomach can handle. Which is surprisingly a lot. That epidural needle...intense....getting woozy right now typing...
2:30 - She is not feeling the pain so much. Her legs are wobbly and heavy. Her feet are rather tingly. She will not be in the bed until well after Jackson comes. Apparently her legs will be all higgledy piggledy for a spell. Now she knows how I felt when I got the mucus plug text.

During the next eight hours we called brothers and mothers and family and friends. Her brother Ward made the trip home from a fly fishing retreat to be there. My brother Kurt and his family await word on when things start getting serious to come up. My mom agrees to come up after Jackson comes so she won't be in the way!? My mom is different, to say the least.

The Loveseat: Her parents curl up into some awfully uncomfortable-looking human pretzel on a little loveseat. We will find out later Saturday night that it pulls out into a full fledged sofa. Thanks to all of those nurses who came in to poke, prod and fidget with my wife who never told my poor in-laws that it expanded.

Her brother Ward arrived at about 7AM. My brother and his family made it around 10ish although my sister-in-law arrived before that. About then things speed up significantly.

10AM - People are beginning to show up. Julie, Ward, his girlfriend Reese. Some friends from church in Newcastle. My brother and his family.
10:30 - She is about a "6" even after all of that action. Nurses have changed and now we have the one who will be there when Jackson comes. Our doctor (well, HER doctor) is unavailable but not to worry, another doctor from the same office, Dr. Wayman, will be there to deliver and she is great too.
11:00 - We meet Dr. Wayman. She is small. But that size will prove to be deceptive.
11:30 - The nurse clears the room so we can check and see what number we are now. I am assuming "7" or "8" tops. HOLY COW we are a "9 1/2!" I ask her to tell the family to head to the waiting area since we are getting close.
12:00 - The nurse begins working with Danielle on practicing pushing. About that time, I am basically just window dressing. I better be there but don't say or do anything. This is the moment when most dads acquire or develop the "dad's blank stare" as we realize that women are crucial to the world, the planet, our species. They will be so involved and have to shove and sweat and bleed and move and create. My part was essentially over back in early June. So I just stare.
1:10 - After trying many different pushing techniques, all working different muscle sets, Danielle and Jackson are ready. The doctor comes in. A tech comes in. Some nursery type person comes in. I have two important jobs in the delivery. Three if my stomach holds up.
1) Cover the TV with a sheet so the wife won't see anything horrifying reflecting back at her.
2) Take pictures.
3) Cut a chord.
I am holding the camera, ready with fresh batteries. The TV was covered back around noon thirty. I am still having the internal argument over cutting the chord. A room full of woman pushing and bleeding or standing and working in all that life-giving goop. And I may or may not cut a chord. We will see. After that, maybe I can get all these ladies a tea or something. Craig = nansy pansy.

The doctor arrived. Danielle is in position. And she is shoving. Pushing. Working it like a summer job. She is a great pusher now. Her first start back around noon was not so successful. The nurse said, "Okay, Danielle. Let's practice pushing."

Danielle squints her face and pushes.

"Not so much with your face."

But now she can push. She pushes and strains for three straight ten counts. Then a rest. Then the doctor performs what I now call "The Maneuver." I saw it. Holy-God-sitting-on-the-highest-throne-in-Heaven-with-Jesus-right-next-to-him I SAW IT. And MAN was it impressive. Then she tells Danielle to push.

Danielle pushes. It was impressive. The doctor was even impressed by it. Danielle hulked out. "Whoa! What was that! That was a huge push. Okay, Danielle, a gentle push."

A gentle push. Some wiping and cleaning. A catch-all on her stomach. And there he is.

Jackson is laid out on my wife's stomach.

Some men get emotional. Some cry. Some weep. I wiped away a tear or two later that day. But when he came out I was just overwhelmed. It was really cool. And really gross.

But there is nothing like it. Nothing at all. I texted my brother-in-law to tell him he was an uncle. And that was how the rest of the world heard about Jackson Ward first. I texted Ward: "Holy cow! You are an uncle!"

Then I texted my brother the important stats and snapped a picture or two. Then I cut the chord. And kept the scissors. Cause that is how I roll.

I gently kissed my wife and told her how beautiful he was and how proud I was of her. Then they poked and prodded and did what they do to newborns. After that flurry my wife asked for it to just be our family for a bit. It was quiet. Jackson was there with us. My wife and son.

Then I was sent to get and gather up people two by two. My brother Kurt brought her some lunch. And then a few hours later Danielle would send me out to finish speaking that night at the DNOW. I thought it was some spiritual female intuition. Some insight into God's will that she possessed after child birth. Besides, I saw what she did. I am not screwing with her after that. She wants me to quack like a duck in a speedo, I am doing it. But she just wanted to guarantee that I got the paycheck. So I spoke. I ate two bean burritos from Taco Bueno to celebrate. One for her. One for Jackson.

Then I spent my first night with my wife and son and a converted love seat.

Since then? I am not exhausted. I am slightly tired. I refer to it as "an hour short of normal." But I think I have been like that my whole life. Jackson is a sweet and cute and awesome little dude. And everyone who holds him falls absolutely in love with him. That is the truth. He is the coolest person.

Now I cannot wait to hear him laugh. I know that comes later but still I hope that I get to hear his first laugh. I hope it is in response to something silly or stupid that I do for him.

And my wife? She is absolutely my hero. I think every dad feels that way, deep down. Their wives are their heroes. And their kids are their everything. At least that is how I feel. I cannot wait until Jackson wears his Beatles shirt and listens to my ipod.

Ed. note: I did get the first laugh. He was sitting on my chest and I was holding him and doing crunches and I would get my face right next to his and he would laugh and laugh on each consecutive crunch. He has never laughed at that again. I try all the time.

From the husband of Danielle Wulf.
Father & Son image here.

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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.

Three Births, One Family — by Samantha Lee

The First Birth:

Forty-one years ago this May, a beautiful twenty-one year old woman gave birth to a healthy, pink baby girl in a hospital in Durham, North Carolina. The delivery was a tough one — but not due to medical complications.

This delivery would mark the single most difficult moment in the young woman’s life. She would deliver her baby girl alone, while the father of her child was thousands of miles away fighting a war in Vietnam. She would deliver her baby girl alone, while her family in Utah was completely unaware of the pregnancy. And because she lived in a different time, when single motherhood was a public shame, after only a few days, she would deliver her baby girl alone into the arms of a social worker with a plea to “make sure the adoptive family knows I love her and have given them the greatest gift a human can ever give to another”.

The young woman who made that difficult choice so many years ago is my mother. Eventually she married the soldier after his return from Vietnam. And he is my father. But the baby girl born in Durham, North Carolina is not me.

A Second Birth:
Growing up as an only daughter sandwiched between two brothers suited me fine. Instead of boohooing about not having a sister, I chose to develop and maintain lasting friendships with women from all walks of life and embrace my seven sisters-in-law. In each of them I have found sister spirits who have walked with me along my journey.

Then one night a year and a half ago, my parents gathered me, my two brothers and our spouses together at their home for “a meeting”. They began by expressing great love and appreciation for us. Their words were carefully chosen and their gratitude was evident by the tears that rolled down their cheeks. Next, they handed each of us large manila folder, asked us to read its contents, and promptly left the house. Confused and intrigued, we began reading.

What happened next is one of those life moments that is hard to recapture in writing or even in words. In the folder were a series of remarkable letters detailing the birth, adoption, search and eventual reunion of a daughter with her birth parents — MY parents. From us, her existence had been kept a secret for forty years. The reality of this secret, of her life, became etched on our hearts as we watched a DVD filled with pictures of another daughter — one who bore a remarkable resemblance to me.

Five days later, this daughter walked through the door of OUR parents home and I knew instantly that the words on the pages, the face in the pictures and this person standing in front of me all were beautifully encapsulated in one word: SISTER. On that day, to me, (though she was almost forty years old) she had just been born.



The Last Birth:
That God would choose to give me a life with my sister after thirty-five years was a miracle I sometimes struggled to understand. Weaving her threads into the already complicated tapestry of my life took effort and was not always without pain. At the same time this all occurred, my husband and I were also dealing with a very personal struggle — three years of unexplainable infertility and miscarriages.

After exploring many options, we had finally come to the conclusion that our family must be complete despite lingering feelings to the contrary. We moved on, enjoying the three children we already had, while insulating our hearts from the sorrow, disappointment and sense of failure our decision had left with us.

Then one sunny Fall day the unimaginable happened: a pregnancy test gifted us with a pink line and even more unimaginable, the pregnancy decided to stick!

My sister rejoiced with me in the happy news. She sent me darling maternity clothes and called frequently to see how I was feeling. She even flew out to be at my baby shower. I felt prompted to ask her if she would like to be present at the baby’s birth and she readily agreed. A little less than a week before I was due to deliver, however, her grandmother passed away and we realized that our plans were not to be.

The night before my scheduled induction I went to my parents’ house for a “Last Supper”. Minutes after my arrival, my sister walked through the door surprising me. I was suddenly reminded that after missing a lifetime of ‘life events’, she would do whatever it took to be present for such an occasion.

My son was born in the early afternoon the next day. My mother, sister and two sisters-in-law were there as cheerleaders of my effort. As my husband held my hand, I sobbed tears of true joy when sweet Oliver’s tiny body was placed in my arms for the first time — thinking of how long we had waited to call him ours.

But my tears were also for my mother. The woman who had just lifted my shoulders with each round of pushing — who forty years earlier had been in a similar room doing the exact same thing in order to give birth to my sister whom she would have to let go.

For one brief moment as I looked into both of their eyes, I could see that it had all come full circle. Birth, pain, joy, sorrow, loss, grief, joy, birth, forgiveness, love. And I felt myself tied to these other two women, my mother and my sister, forever.

It is one of the greatest gifts I know I’ll ever be given.

From Samantha Lee of Compound Eye of a Dragonfly.
Copenhagen Sisters drawing by Tollipop.

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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.

IVF-ish Story from Ashley Morrissey

My son Max's birth was almost four years in the making, three years to conceive him and then another nine months until his timer went off. Those three years were long, grueling, and exhausting. After twelve months of trying to get pregnant, I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome and told that I would not be able to conceive children without the help of a fertility specialist. I was devastated. My husband, Brandon, was my rock during this time. He comforted me after our many miscarriages and had faith that we would have a child of our own.

After our fourth miscarriage, we were out of town visiting family and I was put on birth control pills and told that we needed to "take a break" for three months. I did my best to enjoy myself, but the thoughts of babies that we didn't have were never far from my mind. When we returned home, I had to do a routine blood test and received a frantic message from my fertility doctor's nurse. I was pregnant again. I was not surprised. I had dreamed several nights in a row of receiving that message on my voice mail. I knew that this baby would be healthy and that I would carry him full term.

My pregnancy was perfect. I had the usual complaints, but loved every second of it. I didn't, however, appreciate being overdue. As my due date approached, I became more and more anxious that my body wouldn't do everything it was supposed to do and that I would not go into labor on my own. I was already so used to having to use medicine to make my body work properly that I had absolutely no faith in my self. When I was one week late, I did everything I could to convince my midwife to just induce me. She said that they couldn't for another week because they had been slammed with births and literally had no room for me.

There were many a tears shed that night and the next day.



On April 4th, the first nice day of the year, I went into labor nine days late. I couldn't believe it. With every contraction, I was so relieved that this baby was coming and that I went into labor all on my own. Brandon and I started crying when my midwife said it was time to push. After everything we had been through, we were about to meet our son. He held my leg as I pushed for about forty minutes. When he came out, they saw meconium in my amniotic fluid and rushed him over to a table to suction his mouth and nose out. I had wanted them to place him on my chest, but his health and safety took center stage.

We hugged and kissed and cried as we heard our little boy cry for the first time. Brandon went over to cut the cord as the midwife took care of everything on my business end. The look on my husbands face as Max was placed in his arms is something that I recall every day. It is one of my happiest memories. I have never seen that much love and joy on another persons face.



When it was finally my turn to hold him, I couldn't hold back my emotions. At that moment, I was grateful for the trials we had to go through to get our son. I wouldn't be the same person or mother with out them. I know that he came into our lives exactly when he was supposed to.

From Ashley Morrissey

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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 Letter to My Son from Lucinda Snyder

I wrote this to my son Cooper on what would of been his first birthday, 11.27.2009. He was born with a congenital heart defect that required open heart surgery when he was 3 weeks old. He made it through surgery, but died the following morning. You can read more about Cooper, his journey and our story at my blog. I am happy to say that Cooper will have a little brother in February. A boy whose heart is perfectly normal.


My Dear Sweet Precious Cooper,

A year ago today you entered the world, stole our hearts and forever changed our lives. Oh, how i wish we were celebrating your first birthday and making new memories, instead of holding on to the memories of your short time with us.

The night before you were born, your dad and I were about to fall asleep and we told you that it would be perfectly fine with us if you wanted arrive early. I had this gut feeling that you would be born on Thanksgiving day and it would get us out of Thanksgiving dinner. You must have heard us talking and decided to indulge our wish, or maybe you somehow knew you would only be here a short while. Whatever the reason, your early arrival gave us a full 3 weeks with you and for that I am grateful.

I slept fairly well that night and woke up at 5:30 because I was uncomfortable and had to go to the bathroom. It was then that my water broke and I just smiled to myself. I woke up your dad to tell him I thought it was time and went downstairs to call the doctor. He said to make our way to the hospital. I wasn't having contractions and wasn't in any pain, so I knew we had some time. your dad made coffee and I headed upstairs to pack our bag. We had been talking about how we should pack the hospital bag, but just never got around to it. I grabbed a diet coke on the way out the door and we arrived at the hospital around 6:30.

And then we waited, and waited and waited. Since it was thanksgiving, the nurses worked shorter shifts, so we had three different ones by the time you were born. We watched a lot of football games and waited. Finally at 10 pm, after 16 hours of waiting your heart rate started to elevate and the doctor decided that it was best if he delivered you via c-section.

You were born at 10:51 pm on Thursday, November 27th, 2008. when the nurses showed you to me, I immediately noticed your blond hair and that your hairline was the same as mine, a family trait without a doubt. You reached out and touched my face, as if you knew what lie ahead and were telling me it would be ok. The nurses then took you, cleaned you up and you met your dad. I love how you held on to his finger for strength and courage. After they finished sewing me up they let me hold you while they wheeled us to recovery. I remember thinking, "I cant believe they are letting me hold my baby, I am so drugged, aren't they afraid I will drop him?"

Once we got to the recovery room, the nurse was about to hand you to me when she noticed that you looked a little blue. So they took you away and started doing tests. It seemed like an eternity before they told us that you needed to go to the NICU at strong and that you would be transported by ambulance. It felt like someone had ripped my heart out, I just met you and they were taking you away. Little did I know how my heart would shatter in the coming weeks.

All I wanted to do was get out of the hospital and get to you. When we finally were able to see you, love you and hold you, I knew that my heart was no longer mine, it belonged to you and I would do whatever necessary to keep you safe.

Cooper, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss you, that my heart doesn't ache to hold you, or wonder what you would be like on your first birthday. But I know this: by having you, knowing you and loving you, I am a better person and will be a better mother to your little brother. You changed me and for that I am grateful.

Happy Birthday Cooper Austin!

loving and missing you always. Mom

From Lucinda Snyder of Luc Ends.

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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.

IVF Story from Angela Noelle Cook

I am the kind of person who always wanted parenthood, and early. I married my dream-boat husband who felt the same way, and we felt certain we would have at least four children by the time we were thirty.

Flash-forward 5 years — to us, the couple still waiting and gritting our teeth as well-meaning folk enquire after our lack of offspring. We discovered we weren't conceiving quite as easily as those frisky teenagers would have you believe it is to do so, and so paid an awkward visit to our doc.

After some tests, we were thrilled to learn we qualified for free IVF treatment, because yup, the tests confirmed it wasn't going to be as easy for us as it is for some. There were also of course the inevitable accompanying feelings of disappointment that came with this revelation - which often resulted from comparing the new proposed method of conception to the usual and more common alternative. While IVF is very sexy, (ahem)...there's a lot to be said for the way things have been done since Adam "knew" Eve. For starters, you can be in the room when your baby is made.

We got past that. Emphasizing the positives went a very long way. For starters, we weren't going to have to pay for this miraculous aid - incredible. My heart goes out to hopeful parents who have to save money to go through what we did. Further, what a blessing to learn so early we would benefit from a fertility clinic's help! I was 24 when we turned up at their door — how many women have had 5 years marriage by then to establish what we had? Yes, I married young. Yes, I think my LDS upbringing has a lot to do with me being the youngest muchacha at the clinic. As I read through trends and statistics relating to the procedures I was about to dive into, it was reassuring to know that I belonged to the age group with the highest success rate on every table and graph.

We then took our place on a waiting list, and counted the months until it was our turn to be a part of the wonderful world of science labs, and our DNA hangin' out in them.

I made friends and enemies with a wide variety of pills, needles, and waiting rooms. I prayed a lot. I learned to believe in miracles at the same time as preparing for the possibility that I might not be the person being served one just now. That balance between having faith things will work and preparing yourself for reality is IVF's tight-rope. I believe in doing both, over and over; repeat the statistics to each other, and the possibilities (we did it out loud together), but always believing you can beat all odds anyway, and saying so.

My body did more than its part in response to the treatment. In fact, my ovaries hyper-stimulated — which, in simple terms, means the drugs worked too well; I produced too many eggs, and my body spread itself too thin; instead of 10 or so follicles coming to the party, 80+ of the fellas stood up tall and gate-crashed my reproductive system. Collection was delayed until it was deemed safe. And after the painstaking waiting and that colourful collection day in hospital, I was advised implantation would also have to be delayed until my over-enthusiastic ovaries settled back down. A few eggs had survived the overcrowded bash inside my grapefruit-sized ovaries and were successfully fertilized – becoming embryos, that were frozen until I was given another green light.

My next cycle the doctors did their best to thaw and salvage just one of those embryos. They got one. I returned to the hospital, had the implantation procedure, and resumed the waiting game.

I still remember the day one of the clinic nurses called with my pregnancy test results. A small group of my students were still hanging out in the classroom, and I was making visuals, chatting, and doing a pretty fantastic job of distracting myself until that climactic call came. I went outside, clutching my cell-phone to my ear on the stoop outside the door. I stared out at traffic as the nurse offered a flat “I’m sorry” before and after reporting my test results were negative. Attempting to focus on the future and the up ‘n’ up, she said we could always try again. I was to let them know when the current embryo made its exit (as it hadn’t yet - so I had been hopeful until that very moment), and advise them upon the arrival of my next cycle so that we could begin manufacturing a “hospitable environment” in my womb once more.

My eyes glazed over while I mimed out acceptance. I went and straightened papers on my desk until the room was empty. Then I sat fairly stationery until my husband picked me up.

We did our best to lose ourselves in each other’s company that night. It worked pretty well — the disappointment didn’t hit me until the first time I was alone. And then again when the reminder of the procedure’s failure came in the form of a late and heavy period.

And so the waiting continued for the next “time of the month”, so we could start again. We waited.

And waited.

But a “next cycle” never came.

And so it came time to pee on a stick. Which was when we discovered after 6 years waiting - including 1 year of poking, prodding, jabbing and whatnot — we had conceived naturally.



Our baby girl, nicknamed “Esky”, has just passed the 6 month mark. I know we’re not the only parents that gaze upon our little one and think, “What a miracle you are”, but I would like to think I drink in her smell and mentally record her smile and laughter with a little more fervour than I might have. And boy does she smell, look and sound delicious. I’m grateful like I’ve never been before.

From Angela Noelle of Striking Keys (See more of the story here.)

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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.

Memory of Becoming a Mom from Veeda Bybee

My little photojournalist, at age 2. All photos by Jonathan Canlas.

Oh, So My Life Makes a Difference
Former journalist becomes stay-at-home mom

Once upon a time I wrote newspaper headlines. I worked late hours in a newsroom with other copy editors, laying out pages and editing the day’s stories. We picked apart the news with a vengeance – fix a forgotten comma here, reword a sentence there. I felt fulfilled, my work made a difference, I contributed to society.

After my first child was born, I stopped working at the paper. I found my sudden introduction into motherhood completely baffling. Despite all the baby books I read, I was unprepared for the realities of parenthood. No book, or amount of formal training could tell me how terrifying it is to nurse a newborn. I never took Enduring Endless Crying 101 in college. And how could I edit out the numbers of poopy diapers I changed?

My daughter Mei, gave her dad and me a hard time when she came home from the hospital. She was a beautiful baby, but she sure liked to scream. A lot. I had this strange, 8-pound creature in my house that did nothing but eat, sleep, and cry. Exhausted by my inabilities to care for her – I wanted nothing else but to do the same. I fed my child. Held my child. Changed my child. This was my routine now, no breaking news here.

I began to wonder if my journalism degree was worth it. My full-time career was now my baby. I couldn’t see the fruits of my labor and I wondered if I was fulfilled. How could these mundane robotic motions I call motherhood change the world?

One afternoon, little Mei decided to be pleasant. There was no loud, ear-shattering siren blaring from her mouth. She was calm and quiet, and lay completely motionless on my queen-sized bed. Her big brown eyes were fixated at some non-existent object on the wall. I watched my baby’s chest rise up and down with each tiny breath. Mei was so tranquil, so silent. Not wanting to destroy the peaceful moment in the room, I slowly lowered myself next to her. She remained quiet, still captivated by the nothingness in front of her.

I relaxed next to my daughter and marveled at her perfect fingers. All 10 of her teeny-tiny toes, long and slender just like mine. She had long eyelashes, like her dad. Newborn, Mei looked very Chinese, just like my mom.

I knew my daughter would not have the ability to understand my words, but I was suddenly so anxious to talk to her. To tell her about the grandmother she would never meet. All the good food we would someday cook together. How happy I was to have her with me.

At the sound of my voice, my little baby stopped her staring contest with the wall and her face turned toward me. I continued to speak, and this four-day-old baby shifted her body towards mine. She couldn’t completely turn on her side, but she attempted to roll herself towards me. As if she was reaching, understanding.

I was shocked. She could not comprehend the conversation I was having with her, but I could tell she recognized me. And I began to recognize her. This is my baby girl. I am her mom. She is my contribution.

My journalism professors would be so proud. All my training in the newsroom and at the copy desk led to my reporting on my experiences as a mom. No coverage in any national syndication, just highlights in my personal family publications. Now today’s top headlines read, “Mei Finishes Squash at Lunch” or “Veeda Finds Recipe Success With Pad Thai!” It might not be world changing news, but it defines the events in my life. And to me, this makes all the difference.


My family, present day. My number one story.

From Veeda Bybee of White Lotus Cooks.

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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 Story from Chelsey Paul

Pregnancy for me is something I have always wanted. I love children and have known for quite some time that I would love at least four children. Who knew that each pregnancy would be an adventure in itself? When I became pregnant for the first time I had a blast nesting and just enjoying my belly — of course, I had no idea that at 31 weeks I would be giving birth!

We were visiting my parent’s home two hours West of Minneapolis in little town called Osakis on December 17, 2005. Prince, my husband, and I had met a friend for dinner in a neighboring town and right before the entrée came I knew something was up. I excused myself to the bathroom and immediately called my OBGYN because I had clearly had lost my ‘plug.’ Within the next two hours I was on a helicopter being transported back to Minneapolis, the nearest NICU, with my husband and mother left to trail in the car, worried and scared. We held off labor until January 2, 2006 and on that day we welcomed our daughter Riah Elizabeth. 4 pounds 14 ounces, big for a preemie, but we spent a little shy of a month in the NICU.

That experience alone could fill a blog, but I need to proceed... In June 2007 I found out that I was pregnant with my second child, we were beyond excited and with my previous pregnancy knew that we needed to take precautions. I began receiving progesterone shots weekly at home and started taking it easy. My biggest fear was having a premature child, little did I know I was about to start worrying about much more. We went in for our 20 week ultrasound and the technician began and then she suddenly stopped. My instinct immediately told me something was wrong and she mentioned needing to get the Dr before we switched over to 3D. All the things I didn’t want for my child ran through my head, missing organs, four legs, and worse dead. When my doctor came in he said, “Well we’ve got good news and we’ve got bad, good news it’s a boy and he’s growing well and has ten fingers and toes…bad news, he’ll be born with a cleft lip and we are not sure about the palette.” I sat in silence. What the hell is a cleft lip? Where do I learn more? What do I do? What does this mean? I made the mistake of Googleing “cleft lip” and made myself sick for days.

The problem I ran into was finding accurate, solid information on what to do , what to prepare for. How will feed this child? What should I get? I let anxiety get the best of me. So I went to my blog and wrote this letter to him:

"I vow, to my son, from this post on to be stronger. To be the mother he needs me to be and that I need me to be. This isn't the end of the world, this is the beginning of the beautiful life of my son. Things won't "look" as I had hoped (but that is me being vain) we will struggle and I will cry more (for the good and bad times.) But I vow to my son that no matter what it takes I will be there and be there with a strong force driving me. I will pray everyday not only for him but for my family that this will only make us better and that we will form a great team unit. I vow, that until you are born I won't fret as much or cry (as much) and I will enjoy every minute that you are in my womb until you are in my arms. I will be happy for you and me. I deserve that, you deserve that. I love you.

Things are uncertain about what to expect, but the one thing I know for certain is that he is my son and I am his mother who loves him...and that is all that matters."

The rest of my pregnancy was spent meeting with specialists, researching, getting more 3D ultrasounds, preparing for the best and worst. I spent time in the hospital for preterm labor and remained on medication until 35 weeks.



At 37 weeks, on February 29, 2008, at 3:08 in the morning, a leap year baby boy was born. His name is Thaddaeus and from that moment I knew that cleft or no cleft he was beautiful and he was mine. I needed to be strong for him, it no longer was about me and my fears and perceptions. Because of my research, feedings and care were easy and we went home the next day. Since then Thaddaeus has had 4 surgeries and will have his next one at the age of five. He’s healthy and active and most days I forget that he was even born with a cleft lip and palette.



Our surgeon is amazing, God is amazing. Through my blog I have posted information on our processes, methods, joys and fears so that hopefully a new parents finds community and strength by knowing they’re not alone.

From Chelsey of Chelsey Paul.

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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 Story from Jennifer Warner

I am days away from birthing my first bundle of joy so my story is more of a pregnancy story or a mommy story:

Concrete Things

I am believer in concrete things. I am skeptic of ghosts and psychics and sensing things. But sometimes something happens that makes me realize that not everything is black and white and crystal clear.

I think before my mind knew that there was a teeny tiny life in my belly, my heart understood exactly what was going on. When the wee one had been around for just ten days and we were seven days from finding out that he was on the way, my mind was going at a breakneck speed thinking about a thousand possibilities while my heart calmly decided it was time to put pen to paper (actually, fingers to keys).

And this letter of intention came to be…ignoring the minutia of my mind and simply saying what my heart truly knew was already real.

I will teach my child the best life lessons I know. I will teach them the importance of service, strength of character, deep faith, abiding compassion, intentional action, beauty of spirit, and that, in the end, it only matters that we have loved each other and cared for one another. That things, and titles, and numbers, and status are irrelevant. And that when you leave this world, whether at 9 years or 90 years, you must have made a difference.

I will be the keeper of memories for my child. I will record their milestones, their funny stories, their triumphs, their stumbles. I will take lots of pictures and write lots of clever and witty things. I will create books of memories that they will treasure when they grow old and nostalgic. And I will share these photos and videos and writings with the friends and family around us so they can be a part of how special my child truly is.

I will give my child a beautiful home with his or her own little space in our world. It will be colorful and creative. It will be a retreat that fosters fantasy, imagination, wonder, and growth. And it will be okay to be whatever and whoever you want to in that place. No apologies or excuses necessary.

I will play with my child. I will take the time to turn off the tv, close down the computer, take time away from work and errands and adult things to spend time laughing and playing and creating and living life with my child. We will be so silly together and not have a care in the world. We will make all sorts of things like toys and crafts and books and funny little keepsakes. It will be okay to make a mess. We will plan great adventures and go on fantastic journeys. And we will sing songs loudly and off key. And we will dance with no rhythm. And it will be so much fun.

I will be patient. I will be understanding. I will speak kindly. I will be respectful. I will be firm. I will guiding. I will listen. I will require good manners. I will cry. I will celebrate. I will give. I will care. I will love. And I will be a wonderful mommy.

From Jennifer of Wee Warner.

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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.

Unassisted Birth Story — from Erin Charpentier

I'm not quite sure how to begin Thomas's birth story. I'll begin by saying that in a million years, I never would have imagined his birth like this. But also, in a million years, I would never change a thing.

I called my doula at about 5:30pm on a Friday to update her and let her know that I was contracting some, but they were very, very mild. I started timing contractions, just out of curiosity. They were ten minutes apart and less than a minute in duration. I ate dinner, gave my toddler Luke his bath and got him ready for bed. My contractions were still ten minutes apart and while they were definitely noticeable, they still felt like they could fizzle. At 9, I called my doula, and followed her instructions — 30 minutes of knee to chest on the floor, and a bath for 30 minutes. At this point, I knew I was in labor, but I didn't see myself having a baby until the next morning, like around 7 or 8

At 11, I got up and filled up the bathtub, thinking I'd get in there again and relax. I got a glass of water, checked my email, and did a few other things with contractions still ten minutes apart. At 11:40, I was hit with a hard contraction that felt like my pelvis was splitting. Four minutes later, I had another. I called my doula at 11:48, and she said she'd leave and meet me at the hospital. I woke up Shane and called my midwife's emergency number, then called my mom to tell her to come over to watch Luke. I sent an email to my girls at 11:55 saying I was in labor. I hit send, started to type up one more email, and was hit with such a hard, fierce contraction that I went right to my hands and knees.

In the midst of it, I started to bear down and felt something between my legs. I don't know what went through my head at this time, but I automatically reached down and felt. This is the part where I wish I could say that I kept it together, but what I felt was not what I expected. I expected either nothing or a head. What I felt was like a water balloon, and I knew it was not a head, and my hand came up covered in blood. I started screaming for Shane, who was downstairs putting in his contacts. I asked him what he saw, and he said it was something, but it wasn't a head. I panicked. I yelled at him to call 911, then looked up as Luke appeared at the top of the stairs saying, MAMA!? I said, Mommy's okay!! Then jumped up and started to head downstairs, my goal to get to the bathroom. Shane was on the phone with 911.

I made it four steps down to the landing, when I was hit with another powerful contraction. I gripped the railing, looked down, and saw his head, at which point it hit me that my water hadn't broken, so what I felt first had to be the amniotic sac. I dropped into a squat, and his head came out the rest of the way. Luke was in the kitchen, peering down the stairs with tears in his eyes, so in the midst of this all, I was assuring him that everything was okay. I cupped my hands around the baby's head and his body corkscrewed out of me and into my hands without pushing any more.

The sac was still intact (yes, he was born in the caul, and I think that is the coolest thing EVER), so I used my thumbnail to slit the sac open, at which point the fluid broke all over my legs. I peeked between his legs and shouted up to Shane that it was a boy, then told Luke that he had a new baby brother. I brought him up to my chest, rubbed his back and said, "C'mon baby, cry for mama," and he gave me a loud cry. He was the cleanest baby I have ever seen because he was inside the completely clear amniotic fluid the entire time.



At this point, we heard a knock on the door — it was a volunteer firefighter who lives around the corner and jumped in his truck when he heard the dispatch. I should mention that this poor guy had to be younger than me and looked like he was vaguely wondering what in the world he walked into... Next thing I knew, I looked up and there were five firefighters standing in my kitchen staring down at me. Did I mention that I was completely naked? Oh yeah.

Next, two female EMTs came in, and I swear, choirs of angels sang at this point. One immediately shouted for someone to get me a blanket, while the other asked for a clean dry towel for the baby. They talked to me and helped me rub him to get him to pink up. I held tight to Thomas this entire time. The EMTs asked if I could walk up to the kitchen to get on the stretcher, and I said, Uhh, I just gave birth to a baby on the stairs, I think I can handle this.

I carried Thomas up the stairs with me and climbed on the stretcher. They got me a gown and found a little hat for Thomas, but let me lay him skin to skin with me before covering us up with warm blankets. They wheeled us outside, at which point, I realized that there were more fire fighters in the front yard and that both the ambulance and the firetruck had the lights going. They put me in the ambulance, and shortly after, my parents pulled up, both freaked out at the scene.

When we all got to the hospital, my doula ran over and gave me a hug and a kiss and said she couldn't believe it and joked that she warned me how quickly second labors can turn. I delivered the placenta and started nursing Thomas while the midwife stitched me up. My wonderful, amazing doula fed me bites of a chicken sandwich and it all started to sink in. Shortly after, my friend Beth called, and I filled her in on the whole story so she could tell everyone that this email, sent at 1:41, was not a joke:

"Its a boy, you guys. He was born on the stairs before we could even leave. No I'm not kidding!! Someone call Beth in case she's still on standby. We are at the hospital now."

There's more, so much more, but this is already so long. I've told this story more times than I can even remember, but the truth is, I like telling it. It was wild and crazy and a little bit scary at times and our first birth photos were taken with my iPhone. Still, it's so special to me. This was how Thomas John came into the world, and I wouldn't have had him any other way.



July 18th, 12:02AM (the 911 dispatcher had this on the transcript as the time that Shane told her the baby was out) 7lbs, 110z 20 inches long

From Erin Charpentier of School Teacher By Day. Superhero by Night. Note — this was edited for length. You can find the complete version here. Images by Beth Fletcher 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.

Adoption Story — from Sylvia Updegraff

That’s me.
Son Jin Shil, K80-2834. My first mug.

I was a Korean orphan until at 6 months, woosh!, I landed at LAX where my mom greeted me and promptly tucked me under her arm as she ran to catch her connecting flight back to Utah.

And now my new family: a Korean, a Korean older brother, a white dad, and a Latina mom, living in a middle-class lily white town in Utah.

Life was so good to me. The only time I ever remember being teased was in 3rd grade when a boy on my bus called me a chink. “What’s a chink?” I asked my brother later that day. Neither of us could figure it out so we shrugged it off. Junior high and high school involved a series of painfully awkward moments and braided belts, but mostly good stuff. “If you dare move out of Pleasant Grove,” I’d threaten my dad, “I’m moving in with Sarah because I have to graduate here with my friends!” Of course I wanted to be skinnier, and prettier, and more popular. Of course I wondered why the zit gods were always waving their wands over me. Of course I hated looking in the mirror for half my teenage existence. But who doesn’t? I suppose this is where I see that I wasn’t an adolescent struggling because of my Korean-ness; I was an adolescent struggling because of my adolescent-ness.

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These are the gifts my parents gave me: Unconditional love. Validation of my existence. Unequivocal inclusion into their lives, hearts, and ancestry. Their heritage was my heritage. My slobber was their slobber. It was never denying, though. You can’t really hide the fact that a white dude and Latina lady can’t make a Korean pop out. I always knew I was adopted, and I always knew I was Korean. But they made me feel pretty, and normal.

They made me feel like a person. “That brown skin is so beautiful.” “Eeesh, those teeth are going to cost me a fortune at the orthodontist’s!” “Good thing you didn’t inherit our genes for big rear ends.” It was just always truthful, honest, accepting.

And then affectionate. “You are wonderful.” “You amaze me.” “We’re so lucky.”

They made me feel two things: human, and loved.

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Their success wasn’t a formula of You’re-45%-Korean-and-25%-Latina-and-30%-White. It wasn’t a careful gameplan filled with Korean heritage camps and annual kimchi tastings at July 4th celebrations. It wasn’t about making me feel Korean, or American, or Latina. They never put me on a pedestal, or tore me down, or made me feel radically different or painfully invisible. They wove a seamless cloak of homemade tamales and Korean maps and slip 'n slides, not to teach me lessons in culture, but to live life.

They taught me to be Me. Sylvia. A person, just like them, and just like everyone else on this planet.

They taught me to be every part of myself—my long fingers, my slanted eyes, my penchant for mashed potatoes, their child. There was no classifying of parts. Only inclusion.

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My 4th baby is still baking away inside me, and I want for him what I want for my older three: self-love. Whether or not this will include a study in their half-Korean heritage is up in the air: if I’ve learned anything, it’s that every kid is unbelieveably different, and they’ll all have their own needs. How I meet those needs is TBD; I’ll have to see how the cards play out. I only hope that I can help them to understand that they are a gift from God above. That I am awed and thankful for them. That I like them, and that I love them.

Any mom can hope to do that, adopted or biological.

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God bless my parents for the life they gave me. God bless them for giving me love, and food, and a family.

Mostly, God bless them for always making sure I knew that I was the blessing.

And that, I know, is the key to their success.



From Sylvia Updegraff of Life as Five.

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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.

Childbirth Story from Amber Johnson

Hadley Johnson's Stork Report

On May 25, 2004, my daughter Hurricane Hadley graced the world with her presence. Her birth...and subsequent life have been a WILD ride (and I'm not just talkin' about them thar stir-ups....)

Monday, May 24th, 2004 — More than one week before Hadley's due date. Busy making final preps on our brand new house until late. Husband Jamie is incredibly stressed with projects at work and yearns to skip out. His final words to Hadley before bedtime: "If you come tomorrow, I'll buy you a car when you're 16." Daddy's final lesson before becoming a parent: be careful what you wish for. It may actually come true.

Tuesday, May 25th-1, 3, 5 and 6 a.m. — As usual, Amber waddles to the potty.

7 a.m. — Waddles to the bathroom. Discovers something unusually wet — her water possibly broke! Calls the doc who tells them to come in. Jamie rejoices about starting his two-week "vacation." The reality of his car pledge later hits him with great force.

9 a.m. — Meet with the doc. Performs various tests. Bag of waters is ruptured with a leak but is not broken. Evil woman sends Amber and Jamie home.

10 a.m. — Amber and Jamie go on long walk (a.k.a. waddle), hoping to kick things into motion. Steady leak continues but no real progress.

11:45 a.m. — Decide to grab a sandwich at Einstein Bagels. After eating, Amber blows her nose. Suddenly, the flood gates open. In very public booth #3 at Einstein's. At lunchtime. Amber hisses at Jamie to discreetly grab her some napkins to cleanup. Jamie obliges and brings back two napkins, not understanding that bag of waters is in actuality, plural. Meaning many.

12:30 p.m. — After operation "Cleanup in Booth 3," Amber casually strolls (a.k.a. waddles with soaked pants) to the Jeep. They rush to the hospital. Jamie drops her off with a grocery bag of personal items. He proceeds to park the car and bring in the suitcase.

12:45 p.m. — As Amber stealthily walks up to the nurse's station, she notes her appearance: soaked black sweats, unruly hair and a Wal-Mart bag for luggage: White Trash Incarnate. Jamie arrives with the rest of the luggage, announcing to the nurses: "Has anyone seen a strawberry-blonde with wet pants?" They chortle delightfully, later avowing his statement will go down as the funniest entrance in Birthing Center History. What a crackup.

1 p.m.-5 p.m. — Amber put on Pitocin (also known as "Pit") to induce labor. Later discovers it is actually the "pits." Light contractions begin but she can barely feel them and spends the afternoon watching Dr. Phil and Oprah with Jamie. Wonders what all those wimpy women have been whining about for centuries re: the "pains of childbirth."

5:30 p.m. — Discovers what those "wimpy women" were talking about. The hard way. Now wonders why women would knowingly choose to do this multiple times.

6 p.m. — Excruciating Pain Con't. Jamie compares Amber to Jekyl and Hyde. Cracking jokes and delightful…until the contractions hit. Jamie does a fabulous job as coach. Is instrumental in helping Amber Hyde maintain her composure.

7 p.m. — Amber's best friend Mimi the Epidural Lady arrives. About 7 excruciating contractions later than requested. Amber practices the Miracle of Forgiveness. But not until after the drug kicks in.

7:30 p.m. — Amber is a new woman and plays the waiting game until full dilation. Jamie and Amber have a delightful time talking travel with the doc and nurse. Amber ponders the mysteries of life i.e. why anyone would chose not to get an epidural. Equates it to the lunacy of climbing Everest without oxygen.

10:15 p.m. — Starts pushing. Ouch.

11:05 p.m. — Everest attained. With oxygen. But the views are nonetheless spectacular! Beautiful Hadley arrives pretty and pink. Mom Amber now understanding why women do this multiple times. Dad Jamie still worried about that new car he owes his obedient daughter.... And thus began our tale of living "Happily Ever After!" (or would that be sleepless?)

From Amber of Crazy Bloggin' Canuck and Mile High Mamas. Amber is 1 of 5 semi-finalist bloggers in Microsoft Office's Winter Games Contest — you should totally go vote for her!
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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.

Reflection on Motherhood from Miranda Anderson

When my six-month-old Milo was only 4 weeks new I took a few minutes to reflect on his arrival. I am so glad that I did. I posted it on my blog back then, and thought it would be fun to share with you:

Friday May 29th, 2009
One month and I can't even remember what it was like to not be a mom. The process of becoming a parent is fascinating and progressive. I remember back last May when Dave and I decided to begin preparing to have a baby. Our preparations included eating healthy and exercising to be in optimal shape, ensuring our daily, weekly, and monthly habits were intact and would not be lost in the whirlwind of a new child. Also, observing solid financial practices to allow for a comfortable transition to parenthood with all the necessary accoutrements. After a couple months we were ready, and I was pregnant. The look on Dave's face when I told him reflected the excitement, anticipation and joy that we shared at that moment, and through the remaining 34 weeks of pregnancy.

Pregnancy. Now there is an interesting process. Mine was full of new feelings, white and tan foods (like cheerios and bagels...daily for 16 weeks!), weight gain, wiggles in my belly, trips to the bathroom, Dave saying "thank you for carrying our baby," counting down the days until the next appointment and doppler, long walks, borrowed maternity clothes and wondering and waiting and waiting. I have never felt more unlike myself than I did while I was pregnant...until, all of the sudden (somewhere between weeks 20-30) I was pregnant, and I couldn't remember being anything else!

Then, at around midnight on April 30th, I awoke for a usual trip to the bathroom and I noticed a crampy feeling in my belly. Convinced that the beginning of labor would be somewhat more spectacular, I spent the next hour eating a snack, doing dishes, and taking a bath to see if these contractions would subside. When they had increased in intensity and frequency I woke Dave up and told him that we may be on our way to having a baby. I called the OB, who said to spend a few hours at home to make sure labor was real, so Dave and I watched A League of Their Own in bed, made sure the bags were indeed packed, then returned our library books and DVDs on the way to the hospital at 4 am.

After 1 hour of triage and a monitored strip showing contractions 3 minutes apart, I was admitted...I was having a baby! We walked the halls for a little while, pausing to squat against the wall and relax during contractions. I found that method not quite as comfortable as I wanted, so I opted for a hot bath in my room's jacuzzi tub. Dave sat next to me on the floor and coached me through each contraction. He held my hand and timed 30 seconds from the start of each so he could tell me when it wasn't going to get any worse. I sipped iced cranberry juice and nibbled graham crackers to maintain hydration and energy over the following 8 hours. Because I had a natural delivery, I was unencumbered by tubes and lines and was able to move around freely, which became less and less important as contractions intensified.

Labor was a dance of forced relaxation in the bathtub, on the birthing ball and side lying on the bed. About 10 am I was dilated to 6 cm and though contractions were painful, I realized that this pain meant progress. At 12 pm I was 8 cm and I felt fatigued but focused. At 1 pm when I was only 8.5 cm we decided to break the fore bag to allow a little more pressure for dilation. When Julie, the midwife, broke the bag we discovered that there was meconium in the water...and for the first time I felt anxious about the process. My concern for Milo's welfare was overwhelming. I was ready to get him quickly, and safely into my arms.

Instead of increased frequency of contractions, after breaking the water mine spread out to every 5 minutes. We needed to find a good position for direct pressure. Turns out the right position was sitting on the toilet, not a very relaxing or comfortable place to experience the most painful and intense contractions of the whole labor. Dave's role as labor coach became vital as I struggled through transition. I was able to close my eyes and listen to him encouraging me to relax every muscle and envision myself floating...just floating through the pain.

Finally, around 2 pm the contractions didn't just peak with pain, but with an overwhelming feeling to push. I felt weak and shaky but excited to be approaching the time in the labor when I could DO something rather than using all of my energy NOT DOING ANYTHING. Every muscle in my body went into those pushes, first sitting on the birthing stool, then lying up in the bed. Pushing was fun! Contractions stopped hurting and spread out to allow some rest. I have never put more physical effort into anything else...ever.

After about 30 minutes I could see Milo's head. After 29 more minutes I pushed my last push. When little, conehead, purple Milo shrieked with vigor my still worried heart settled and the specialists who had been called in case of meconium aspiration quietly left the room. Then I held my son for the first time. He was slimy, wiggly, warm, swollen, tiny, and PERFECT. I counted ten little fingers and ten little toes. He opened up those huge eyes and looked around his new world. Dave cut the cord, took some photos and then snuggled up close to Milo and me. Over the next hour I nursed Milo and talked with Dave as the midwife and OB repaired my battle wounds.

It was amazing how fast we went from two to three, and how incredibly natural the transition. I have heard that there is no way to prepare for being a parent, but somehow even in those first moments I felt like my whole life was preparation, and this was what I was made for.

I love watching Dave as a dad. He is so excited to spend time with Milo, even if it's just holding him while he sleeps. Having my husband become a father adds a whole new dimension to our relationship. I didn't know I could love him more, but I do. Every day for the last month Dave and I have been blessed to care for our little miracle. He eats, squeaks, sleeps, stretches, grunts, snuggles, and learns as he looks around with his wide eyes. I have found my joy in life, and it is being a wife and mother. Nothing could be better.

From Miranda of Mr. Milo Goes to Washington.

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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.

On Roots — by Juli Fraga

Before my mother adopted me in 1974, I came to her via letter, delivered by the postal service, along with a picture on a black and white Polaroid. My three month history was less than 500 words. I came to her as “Sun Ok Park,” but she named me “Juliann.” I traveled the ocean waters all the way from Seoul with a social worker to meet her, and was placed in her arms at the airport. She met me in Kansas City, Kansas. This was our beginning.

I grew up in Omaha, Nebraska right in the center of America. Omaha is a predominately white community, thus there weren’t many other Asian or Asian American children in my neighborhood let alone any other adoptees. My brother (also an adoptee, but not my biological brother) and I attended a small Catholic school where we were the only Asian American students, and not only that, we weren’t even Catholic and our mother was divorced. Talk about not fitting in.

My adopted parents are white. At an early age I recall my mother talking on the phone saying, “people always look at me when I go out with Juli because we look different.” As a small child I could not make cognitive sense of these words, but I felt what she was saying.

A well-known psychologist in the area of transracial adoption once talked about the concept of honorary white privilege — fitting in because one is the adopted child of white parents. Growing up, I did not feel anything honorary about this process. I felt invisible. I was envious of those who could say they had “their Mom’s eyes,” or “their Dad’s nose.” I’ve always felt like a branch without its tree. I’ve always wanted roots.

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It is Saturday, December 15, 2007. I am getting ready for a friend’s birthday party, and am decorating gingerbread cookies. I notice that I feel nauseous. “I couldn’t possibly be pregnant, could I?” To ease my mind, I decide to take a quick pregnancy test. It is positive. I call my husband and say, “You have to come home because we are going to have a baby!” And so our journey begins.

I have a relatively smooth pregnancy. At 19 weeks we find out we are having a little girl and at 20 weeks I take a trip to Australia to see a close girlfriend. Realizing this is the last international trip for awhile, I enjoy every minute of it. Each night I read all sorts of magazines. I do a lot of eating, shopping and site seeing during the day.

I share the journey of pregnancy with close girlfriends. We exchange stories about pregnancy woes, preparing for our babies, and career and identity changes. In July, three of my closet friends throw me a wonderful shower. We make a special bracelet for the baby. My dear friend Susana travels from Hawai’i with her daughter, Josephine, and seeing her before the baby’s arrival feels complete. As someone who has no known biological family and no sister, Susana is an older sister to me and her daughter a niece.

Around week 36, I begin to feel very uncomfortable. As a petite woman I can feel the baby’s feet kicking the top of my rib cage. This is not a comfortable feeling. I go on maternity leave two weeks early and hope the baby arrives early. I go to acupuncture to try and induce labor. My due date comes and still no baby.

Stephen and I take long walks to try and induce labor. We also go out to a few of our favorite kid-unfriendly restaurants knowing we won’t be returning for awhile. It feels like cramming for finals — trying to get in all the adult freedom and fun before the big day.

It is August 23, 2008, my husband and I are at UCSF hospital in San Francisco. After over 36 hours of labor, two shots of morphine, pitocin, antibiotics for an infection in my amniotic fluid, she arrives via c-section on August 24 — 8 lbs, 6 oz. Lucy Park Fraga. This is our beginning.

Lucy is my first known biological relative. It’s the first time I can look at someone and see a physical resemblance to myself. I will take Lucy with me when I go to Korea. I will go to retrace my own geographical roots, and to fill in some of the gaps to my story.

From Juli Fraga of All About Cute.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting 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, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

Birth Story from Michelle Jammes

There are few pictures of me pregnant and with good reason. I fell into that category of not happy pregnant people. My pregnancy came as a surprise two weeks after my 30th birthday and it did not suit me one bit. All those tales of a glow and energy and life inside you.....hmmmm. How about brittle hair, sciatica, heartburn, pinched nerves, morning sickness for 16+ weeks so bad that you would have given a million dollars to eat just one little saltine cracker. : )

Well, the big due date neared and Emma was clearly not interested in coming out. She never dropped and my cervix never even dilated. Since I had high levels of amniotic fluids and ‘gestational hypertension,’ (which in hindsight I believe was just “white coat syndrome”), my doctor didn’t want me to go past my due date of Sept 24th. On the night of the 24th I would be induced and on the 25th I would have my baby girl.

The designated night rolls around and we check into the hospital. I was a little upset that I would be missing Project Runway but quickly remembered that they show back to back episodes and I could catch up next week. (Priorities!) The nurse came in to explain the procedure. At midnight they would give me the first of possibly many suppositories to get my cervix soft and dilated. That would be followed by pitocin to induce labor and by this time tomorrow I would have my baby. Simple enough. The nurse even jokingly told me to turn off the TV as tonight would be my last night of proper sleep.

So I complied. Like Cinderella awaiting the stroke of midnight, I lay back and let the beeping and flickering lights of the stat machine lull me to sleep. At some point, I became focused on one particular number on this machine. I knew the numbers should stay in the range of 150-200. Anything lower than 150 was cause for concern. 150, 130, 120. Two nurses come in and in a calm manner tell to me lie on my right side and try not to move. They explained how sometimes the monitors shift or the baby moves out of range. I think to myself, 'I was just laying the wrong way', but within 5 minutes, like a scene from a movie, the lights are on and the room is filled with more nurses. There is a doctor and my anesthesiologist is back.

The numbers are low, 130, 120, 90, 80. They are not going up. After being prodded with what felt like an entire forearm, they inform me they have just called my doctor and that there is no time to induce. "Do you understand?” one nurse asks me. I think I must have looked perplexed but I knew quite well what was going on. I recognized this scene from so many movies where the doc tells the husband "I can do this procedure in my sleep, I can have the baby out in less than 8 minutes. All will be fine". So Hollywood told me all would be well and honestly I wasn't afraid. I actually secretly wanted a c-section and hoped my doctor would tell me that I HAD to have one. I went in at 1 am and by 1:15 she was out.

I did feel pain. A lot of pressure is the only way to describe it. It is as if someone is squeezing your organs. It took longer for them to sew me up than to take her out. I remember wanting to just pass out or throw up but that I needed to hear her cry. I wanted to see her, but could only make out a fleeting image of a pink, wrinkly, piglet-like creature being whisked away to be cleaned. I felt assured as the nurses joked that I had a "big baby". Emma Adela was 8 lbs 13 oz. and 21.4 inches long.

For some people I guess motherhood comes naturally, but for me it took a while. I can honestly say I didn't have an immediate connection with her. Once they handed her to me I remember thinking to myself, "Hey kid, I guess we are stuck with each other." I never had dreams of being a mother — I was always playing the big sister with my dolls. I loved, and still do love, all animals. I brake for squirrels and will get out of my car to help a turtle cross the road. To be handed this little human being who needed me more than anything or anyone ever did was both daunting and numbing. You can't just leave food and water out for this person or take a holiday from them. I knew I had to push forward for this person and embrace this new phase in my life.



As they handed her to me I quietly mourned that part of my life that I would never be able to return to. But with the passing of each day I cannot imagine a life without her. I cry each day at her advancements and feel a sense of comfort to know that she is because I am.

Emma turned one almost a month ago. The year just flew by and Emma is such a wonderful little person. She has such a joy for life that I feel blessed to be able to see the world through new eyes now, and in a way, be a child all over again.

From Michelle Jammes.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting 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, feel free to submit it to gabrielle@designmom.com.

A Pregnancy Trial from Brenna

I was 25 when my husband and I got pregnant with our first child. Several of my friends were pregnant too, and I was delighted that I would get to share this experience with them. I was so lucky at the beginning, because I didn't get sick at all. It was easy!

That was good because I was an incredibly busy kindergarten teacher and felt like I had something to prove since I was young. The first trimester passed with relatively few troubles. The only thing out of the ordinary was a small bump we had found near my collarbone. Probably lymph tissue, but no one seemed to concerned so I tried not to be. After 3 weeks on antibiotics, it was still there and starting to cause more worry. But I was busy, so it just got pushed to the back burner.

A few months later I was visiting a doctor for my eyes. His brother happened to be an ENT and when he saw my lump, he told me that I should go and get it checked out by a specialist, so I did. The specialist did a fine needle biopsy which had inconclusive results; we followed up with a full biopsy and the results were devastating. At 24 weeks along, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Cancer! I was too young for that!

Those first few weeks of diagnosis were incredibly difficult. Lots and lots of testing; some of it was quite painful. Each day we hoped for the best and we kept pushing through, but the fear consumed us in our quiet moments. No mother-to-be should ever have to wonder if she's going to be around to watch her baby grow up. As days passed we learned that the cancer had already advanced to "Stage 3." It was everywhere but my bone marrow. We had to make a choice. Start chemo right away or deliver early and start as soon as possible. We listened, we prayed, we cried some more. We decided that we would wait until I was 34 weeks to deliver and then start chemo.

The hardest part was watching all my friends — the same friends I had been delighted to share pregnancy with. It seemed things were perfect for them. I remember visiting my best friend the day she had her baby. I was so happy for her, but I was incredibly jealous of how easy things seemed. I cried myself to sleep that night, and I can still feel that hurt in my heart to this day.

But blessings came to me too, although I was still working through the trials. At 34 weeks I delivered a healthy baby boy, who we named Caleb Roy. In fact, though he was 6 weeks early he weighed 6 lbs at birth! He spent 2 weeks in the NICU, but came home as normal as can be. I started chemo the same week I had Caleb. Caleb was the most mellow, easy baby I could imagine. Though I was sick quite a bit, we managed.



Six months later I finished chemo with a perfectly clean bill of health. I've been cancer free over a year now and I am grateful for each moment I have with my husband and son. Life is a beautiful blessing.

From Brenna.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting stories about pregnancy, childbirth and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here.

A Dramatic Delivery Story from Danika Gunn

Note: Fair warning — it's a long story. Also. Times are estimated because I wasn't really looking at the clock. I just know I woke up around 2:30 AM and Lia was born at 3:15 AM.

September 15th, 2004, 2:30 AM- I woke up with really bad cramps. I thought they were just diarrhea cramps from the castor oil I'd taken to try and get labor started.

2:45 AM- I realize they are not diarrhea cramps. They are contractions. And they have now turned into super, incredible amazingly hard contractions. I had my first child without any medication and remembered that the contractions hurt pretty bad at 5 cm, so I think I am about 5 cm and go get in bed to do my hypnobirthing (a deep relaxation technique to help reduce the pain of labor). I told Matt (my husband) I was in labor and for him to start timing the contractions for me. I would tap his arm once when they started and once when it ended. Every time I tapped him it would wake him up and he would say "Oh it wasn't even a minute long" and fall asleep again. (Later he told me that he was just trying to count to 60 in his head.)

Finally the contractions are so hard I can actually feel and see my belly jerking or crunching as the muscles contract. I tell Matt, "I am in so much pain. Call the hospital and tell them to have that epidural at the door. I don't know how I can even get to the car it hurts so bad." He says "You're okay," and kinda rubs my arm a little and falls asleep again. In his defense I have to say that when I was talking it was in a very calm quiet voice, because in hypnobirthing you try not to tense up at all. Not even your eyebrows. I knew that if I lost concentration I would be in way more pain. I looked and sounded very calm, almost sleepy. So he thought I was just fine.

2:50 AM- I am ticked at Matt for not listening to me. Plus I am super scared because of this intense pain and I think I still have 6 more hours of it. I ask Matt to help me get ready to go. He doesn't move (I had false labor a couple times the week before and he just thought this was another one of those).

3:00 AM- I get so ticked off and can't control myself any longer and I say, "Fine I don't need any help! I'm only in labor and dying and I can do it myself!" and I rip the covers off and start moving as fast as I can for the bathroom. That got his attention! Again I told him to, "Call the hospital and tell them we're coming," and "I don't know how I can get to the car in this pain." I get to the bathroom and think I should go to the bathroom before I go to the hospital. I sit down and start another contraction and it is so intense that my legs shot straight out in front of me. I still think I have a couple more hours of this.

3:01 AM- I hear Matt talking on the phone saying our address and how old I am. I'm wondering, “Why he is even telling the hospital those things?” (Later I find out he was talking to a 911 operator, not someone at the hospital) “All he needs to do is to tell them to tell the doctor we are coming in.” But before I can yell at him to just get to the point, my body is overcome with this super intense pressure and I can't talk or breathe. I grabbed the side of the sink terrified. My body had never done that with Abe (my first baby). I didn't know what was going on. But then I felt "the burn." Most of the ladies should know what I'm talking about here. I realized that I did not have any hours left. The baby was coming now!

3:05 AM- I tried to tell Matt but I couldn't get my breath. He is still talking on the phone. I finally get a little voice back and tell Matt, "She's coming. She's coming out." The phone is not cordless so I hear him trying to make it over to me and telling the operator, "She says the baby is coming, but I don't think she is." Then he turns on the bathroom light and sees Lia's head starting to come through. He tells the operator that she is indeed coming and the operator says, "stay on the phone."

He can't reach me and stay on the phone at the same time. He chucks the phone and gets to me just as Lia's full head comes out. At this point I remember everything calming down a bit. I wasn't in pain anymore. So we were just sitting there trying to gather our thoughts. I asked Matt if the cord was around her neck. He said no, but then he checked a little harder and found that it was wrapped around her neck. Later he told me that due to all the pressure the cord was so, so hard to get off from around her neck that he was just pulling on that thing! He got the cord off her neck.

3:15 AM- Lia is born! And she is breathing! Hurray!

3:16 AM- I am sitting on the toilet looking at this beautiful baby in my arms, wondering what just happened. Matt gets back on the phone and tells the operator the baby is okay. We wrap her in a towel and try to figure out what the heck is going on. And just oohing and aahing over her. She was so sweet. We found out later that she was 8 lbs 10 oz. So beautiful!

3:19 AM- I am buck naked so Matt tries to put some grey sweat pants on me but the placenta hasn't come through yet so we decide no pants.

3:20 AM- The paramedics arrive. There are ambulance dudes and fireman there. Three of them cram into our tiny little apartment bathroom and stare at me. Naked and holding a baby on the toilet. They ask me if I'm bleeding. Duh. They just stare. I am still holding Lia and I am shaking. I feel like I should say something to them so I tell them, "I was just sitting here and I had a baby. Will you please take her? I'm afraid I might drop her from all this shaking." So they let Matt cut the cord and take her away.

Matt called the only friends we had, The Sanchez family, to see if Sarilu could come over and pick up Abe so we could go to the hospital. Sarilu had been an ER nurse for a long time so when she saw the baby was still not dried off and wrapped up warm she told them, "Get that baby wrapped in a space blanket," and then she had to leave. They didn't wrap her in a space blanket. I remember one of them saying "She looks kinda blue," and the next one answering, "Don't worry she'll pink up at the hospital when they dry her off and rub her a bit." I wish I could have been thinking clearly, because I would have just taken the baby from them and done it myself.

(No more time line because I have no concept of time or much else at this point).

I still have not delivered the placenta but one dude says "Well, let's get you to the hospital." I'm still buck naked and I am trying to stand up. Finally one of them notices I need a little help and grabs my arm to help me up. Then he waits for me to start walking out the bathroom door. (Sorry this gets a little gross). Problem. My umbilical cord is just dangling there dripping blood on the tile and I don't want to get blood on my carpet. So I tell the paramedics this. One of them glances around and then pulls one of my towels off the rack and says "Straddle this". I do. "Let's go," he says again.

Problem. I'm still naked. There are all kinds of lights flashing outside. "I don't want my neighbors to see me naked." One of them leaves to go find me something to wear. He returns with this dark green, really short, satin robe that I have not even seen for a long time. I put it on just happy not to be naked. And then out the door we go. No help. Just me waddling out into the cold, September Colorado night with no shoes or socks, a nighty, and a towel between my legs trying to make it down the flight of stairs to the ambulance.

If I had been able to think clearly I would have done things a lot differently. I think my husband and I were in a bit of shock and we were just doing what the guys in uniform told us to do. I had to stop 2 times on the stairs to have 2 more contractions. I was just shaking and gripping the rail. Matt was busy with the baby or else he would have been taking really good care of me. These paramedics had no idea what they were doing.

When I get to the bottom of the stairs I start to cross the sidewalk to get in the ambulance which is 10 feet away. However, the paramedics then decide it is too dangerous for me to walk that 10 feet, put me on a stretcher and then put me in the ambulance to go one block away. Ladies, you know how after you have a baby the nurse rubs your belly. Well these paramedics do that to me and they each take a turn learning how to do it. I kept telling them that it really hurt and that I needed a break. They just told me to take another breath. I wanted to hit them. I arrived at the hospital in my sexy little green robe and immediately the nurses ask why the baby is not in a space blanket and whisk her away.

I was taken to a super small room past the broom closet and was left alone there for a long time. I was covered in blood and really, really, really thirsty. Finally someone came in, and I asked for water, but couldn't have any because they were putting me on pitocin to try and get me to deliver the placenta. My doctor came in with crazy hair and I thought I woke him up so I say, "Sorry I woke you up," and he says in a dazed voice, "You didn't. This is like the 15th baby I delivered tonight." After his work is done, placenta and all, he leaves. The nurse says she'll get me some water but then leaves.

I was alone, and had patches of blood on me for a long time. Wondering how my baby is doing and what the heck just happened. Matt was with Lia and she was having a hard time. She was only around 95 degrees when she got to the hospital and was low on oxygen. She had to go to the NICU and Matt stayed with her until she was settled. I am so grateful that he would stay with her when I couldn't.



In hindsight we wish we had never called the paramedics. Matt could have done a better job, and drove us one block for free. But happily (so happily!) at the end of the story we had a healthy baby and a healthy me. Plus a really great story to tell. : )

(For those who are curious, I had my next two daughters at home with a midwife attending. With Hazel, labor started when my water suddenly broke and thirty five minutes later I held her in my arms. Olive's birth was very similar. It started with my water breaking and thirty minutes later I held her in my arms. I am so glad I was at home and not out in public!)

From Danika Gunn of LoGunns.

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Note from Design Mom: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting stories about pregnancy, childbirth and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here.

Pregnancy Story from Aimee Giese

Learning to Love Your Stomach

Whenever someone asks me about pregnancy, I just tell them it was the time I learned to love my gut. I loved people to touch it, loved that it was hard and round. Love loved loved my stomach.

Because the rest of it was weird.

I got pregnant on vacation, a business trip that we both happened to be on in Vancouver if you want to get technical, which makes Declan half-Canadian if you want to get more technical, and if you want to get really really really technical - there is only one time in one day where he could have been conceived. February 8th, 2002. Around 3pm in the afternoon. IF you want to get technical.

Have you ever told your co-workers you may have become pregnant the day before? It's weird.

Flash forward three months and we're tra-la-la-laing through the pregnancy like it we're running through a sunny meadow and the doctor suddenly puzzles over my urine. Have you ever had anyone puzzle over your urine? It's weird.

Come to find out, I was spilling sugars like crazy, so they move up my glucose test. Which I abjectly fail. Fail so badly I had to lay down after drinking the un-fizzy orange drink. Lime they had to FIND a place for me to lay down because that had never happened before. Have YOU ever had to lay down during a glucose test? It's weird.

The test results come back and my doctor is yelling at me so loud I have to hold the phone about 10 feet from my ear, then was rushed on to insulin shots THAT NIGHT and once wave after shocking wave of realization washed over me that, yes, I have been diabetic for what could have been years before this pregnancy, I thought, "this is really weird."

So, I get over my fear of needles, I get the blood sugars under control and I am back on the merry happy path that was my pregnancy. Except for Declan had other plans. He decided he wanted to come two months early in a very spectacular fashion. Not even anything related to the diabetes even. I will spare you all the details, but let's just say it involved more yelling from my doctor and some knives. Oh, and me on my hands and knees on a gurney with my booty in the air.

THAT. WAS. WEIRD.

But it all worked out. Declan was fine, I was fine. My husband? Maybe not so fine, but he could deal.

So, maybe in the end, I didn't get all huge and puffy and wobbly like some ladies who go the full nine months - which is why I loved my stomach so much.

But that's OK. It's what came out of it that matters.

From Aimee of Greeblemonkey.

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Note: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting stories about pregnancy, childbirth and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here.

Pregnancy Memory from Sarah Lemoine

At the hospital the day Abe was born.

A Bittersweet Year

Pregnancy is such a beautiful thing. Creating life — then helping to mold that life into a decent little person — is perhaps the most elevated of all callings. Sometimes the job seems ordinary. Even mundane. But in light of the bigger picture, each seemingly insignificant moment is nothing less than extraordinary.

My third pregnancy was bittersweet, as my husband, Seth, was deployed to Iraq for most of it. As a National Guard soldier, he was a weekend warrior with a different full time job. I never really expected him to go. I had a three-year-old daughter and a two-year-old son... And I was 8 weeks pregnant! Unfortunately, the military didn't deem my plight as sufficient cause to discharge my soldier. Before the end of my first trimester, I watched my dearly beloved board the plane that would take him away for my bittersweet year.


At the airport — Seth was saying goodbye to our son, Jack.

knew this pregnancy would be challenging. I didn't realize it would also be my saving grace. Determined to keep living, I vowed to create fond memories with my children and my unborn baby. Instead of counting the seemingly endless days until Seth's return, the baby gave us mini-milestones to celebrate each week... 17 weeks- it has tastebuds! 20 weeks- it's a boy! 23 weeks- he can feel me dancing! 36 weeks- full term!!! Each doctor visit was exciting and the children were intimately involved in every step of the pregnancy. The magical process of growing a baby created a pleasant backdrop during a tumultuous time. Between tears, we played a lot. We took adventure walks. We cooked. We did crafts. We webcammed with Daddy. We put furniture together and painted 2 bedrooms. We wrote letters, drew pictures, talked, and took tons of photos. The pregnancy gave us a beautiful distraction that kept us moving forward.

Early on, I decided that I didn't want Seth to come home for the birth. He was allowed 2 weeks of leave, but I knew if he came home for the delivery, I would be stuck in bed most of the time and his departure would surely send me into a postpartum depression! Because I was so afraid that labor would start unexpectedly in the middle of the night (with no one there to watch my other kids or take me to the hospital), each tiny tightening and twinge in my belly sent me into a panic. About a month before my due date, I had a false alarm. I remember praying all night that God would just let the show begin in the morning. I texted all of my neighbors and out-of-town family at two am to let them know it may be time. In the morning my phone was abuzz with calls from friends and family, worried that my 3-year-old delivered my baby and angry that I had not called to wake them. The next day my mother-in-law drove in to stay with me until I gave birth.

One week later, I awoke at about four AM with mild, but steady contractions. This time I knew it was real. By eight AM, I was in a good bit of pain, so we loaded the kids in the car and I asked my mother-in-law to drop me off at the hospital before she took the kids to mothers-day-out. Looking back, I imagine how sad it must have looked: me, walking into the hospital alone- with my overnight bag and in the throes of real labor. (On the up side, I was wearing make-up and looked prettier than I had for any other delivery, knowing my husband would only have the photos to document the occasion.)

By the time I was admitted and situated, I was eight cm dilated! And by 11:30 AM, my mother was cutting the umbilical cord. Seth called (literally) two minutes after Abe was born. Because I was 2 weeks early, he didn't even know I was in labor- and suddenly he was the proud Dad of three. That was exactly one year ago from this Saturday. Seth has been home for five months and the memory of his year away is already clouded by a nostalgic haze. I remember laughter, fear, joy and longing... but mostly, I remember love. Love for my country, my husband, my beautiful children & my blessed life.

Whatever the circumstance surrounding your pregnancy, remember the magic- the miraculous journey- is just beginning. Embrace your situation and enjoy the ride.


At the airport on the day Seth left.

Best wishes!! Enjoy the vacation at the hospital... lots of magazines, trashy television shows and sweet, sweet sleep.

From Sarah Lemoine of CocoBlu Studio.

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Note: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting stories about pregnancy, childbirth and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here.

Pregnancy Dream from Calli Taylor

When I was barely pregnant with my twin daughters, my mother in law, phoned my husband early in the morning. She had just had a dream that she needed to tell us about.

In her dream, she was in a hen house. She was standing over an egg, and although she knows you are not supposed to help a chick break out of it’s shell, she felt she compelled to help this one. She peeled away the shell. When she was done, she was horrified… there was not one, but two chicks in the shell. But the birds weren’t ready to be hatched… they looked limp, gray and lifeless. And she was filled with shock and remorse. She turned away. But after a moment, she heard a chirping sound and looked back at the shell. Inside were two yellow, healthy, darling, little chicks.

After she finished telling my husband about the dream she said, “I think it means you are going to have twins.” He had a good chuckle and hung up the phone. He told me the story of the dream and I ran to the bathroom to throw up. When I was done, I came back and told my husband “Oh no, I am not having twins… I am not the twin mom type… I don’t even like any two names that rhyme and I hate matching outfits!”

As time unfolded her dream became incredibly prescient, because I was indeed having twins. And they came early… way too early. They weighed 1 lb. 10 oz. and 1 lb. 3 oz. at birth and they looked limp and gray and lifeless. They actually looked like unfeathered baby birds with thin translucent skin and incredibly tiny limbs.

Thankfully, Kit’s dream continued to be right. My little chicks eventually fattened up, turned pink and healthy… and although I didn’t name them matching names and rarely buy matching outfits (though I love to sometimes…) I especially love having my twins.

Gabrielle, I wish you all the best with your pregnancy! I won't wish twins on you... but they are pretty wonderful.

From Calli of Make it Do.

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Note: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting stories about pregnancy, childbirth and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here.

Pregnancy Thoughts by Laura B

Carrying Andrew, my biggest baby, at 9 pounds.

Pregnancy is amazing. Truly amazing.

I’m amazed that my belly can stretch this much. And then (almost) shrink back down.

I'm amazed that I've gone through three pregnancies. That I have three beautiful children, grown in my own womb. I'm amazed that it's been over two years since I was pregnant. Time flies. And yet, when I talk to friends who are expecting, I can recall with clarity the feelings I had when I was pregnant with each of my three children. I really love being pregnant.

I love the first flutters of movement I feel when my baby starts to make his/her presence known.

I love the rolls across my belly when my baby gets bigger and stronger.

I love noticing little hands and feet punching and kicking as my baby stretches.

It’s amazing how much I endure in order to give life to a new baby: nausea, exhaustion, stretch marks, sciatic nerve pain, varicose veins, carpal tunnel, broken tailbone, peeing all the time, not sleeping well, heartburn, etc. And a new ailment or two comes along with each subsequent pregnancy.

It’s amazing that most of that can be “forgotten” so that I’m willing to do it again.

Then there’s labor and delivery. Amazing pain. Truly amazing, unbelievable pain.

But the miracle of birth follows the pain and makes it all okay. (Not forgotten, but okay.)

Me and my first baby, Connor, bonding in the hospital.

I love the first glimpse of my baby, so fresh and new and perfect. So full of trust and potential.

I love the first snuggle as my baby is laid upon my waiting breast.

I love the two days in the hospital, just me and my baby, getting acquainted. I guess it’s not really getting acquainted since we already knew each other pretty well after nine months of constant companionship. Still, I cherish those two days to love my baby, to sleep holding my baby, to teach my baby to nurse, and to just be a new mother again.

Alan, Connor, and Andrew.

The most amazing part of bringing a baby into this world is the amount of love that I can feel for another person.

The love between my husband and me as we celebrate the new life we created, with our Heavenly Father's help.

The way the love in our family multiplies, not divides, as another person joins our team.

And the amazing amount of love I feel for a little person so new to this earth-life. I know we knew each other before we came here and that our spirits were destined to help each other through our earthly journeys.

Amazing. Quite amazing.

From Laura of My Dream Job.

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Note: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting stories about pregnancy, childbirth and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here.

Adrienne Berry's Pregnancy Memory

Last year my husband Brian and I felt it was time to start trying for number 3. Knowing that I am on bed rest for the first half of my pregnancy made it one that I had to gear up to (and my husband, as he became Mr. Mom during that time). Soon after we started trying, we were successful in getting pregnant and I was in bed from week 6 (first of October) through December. From the beginning I knew baby #3 would be a boy. I could feel him fluttering around so early on, it was like a constant reminder that he was letting me know it was all going to turn out fine. I often had thoughts of how blessed we were to be bringing another little boy into our family as I lay there in bed and let my man do all the work.

As I was sick, I started to notice my 4 year old son David was not getting better from a fall cold. It went from cold, to flu, to cold, to flu, to strep. Many days we lay in bed together feeling rotten, but giving lots of snuggles. Then one day he started wetting the bed again. Rancid bad breath ensued and I couldn't put the energy into this change in angry 4 year old behavior. David became aggressive and lethargic. ER visits provided no comfort. Pediatrician visits seemed fruitless. After months of both of us being sick, I told my husband we needed to start having blood tests done on David. At this phase, baby #3 was all but a growing bump in my belly.

On December 1st, I was laying on our front couch making an appointment with our Pediatrician again, requesting blood work to be done and urine tests as well. My other line beeped in and I ignored it. Then as my husband's cell phone rang I was transported into a de ja vous. I knew my dad was calling. He was telling my husband that my mother had suffered a severe stroke. I knew she was near death. As he hung up the phone, I said "She had a stroke didn't she?" This dream had happened all throughout my pregnancy, you know those weird dreams that you have that you just ignore?

Within hours I was in the car driving to visit my mom in the neuro ICU 300 miles away. Brian was to take David to the pediatrician for the blood work.

I thought about my mom, possibly not being able to hold baby #3 or comfort my other two children like grandma's always do.

As I arrived to my mom's bedside, I received a call that David was being rushed to the ER: prognosis Type 1 Diabetes, DKA: Diabetic ketoacidosis is a complication of diabetes that occurs when sugar (glucose) is not available as a fuel source by the body and fat is used instead. David was about 24 hours away from death.

Suddenly anger and fears of caring for another child stemmed and I wasn't sure why I had the crazy idea to grow our family. How could we care for a diabetic child, a toddler and a new baby?

With the prospect of burying my mother and son in the same week, I had to make a decision. Thankfully my mother stabilized after about 12 hours and I was able to turn around to drive back home to David.

As I got to the hospital where he was admitted I was blown away with the information that I had missed out on. IVs, insulin therapy, injections, and my sick little boy - in a yellow hospital nightie. As soon as I saw him, I snuggled up to him on his bed with my now protruding belly. He then rested his hand on my tummy and told me, "Mom, I'm going to be the best big brother when I get feeling better."

There in a hospital bed, I felt two little boy spirits — one so close to death, the other so close to life — and I couldn't help but regret my feelings of anger and inadequacy. No love lacking, my sons taught me a valuable lesson that day.

Sometimes our biggest trials are a blessing in disguise.


4 Generations of boys, 4 generations of girls!

We have learned to live happily with Type 1 Diabetes. Pregnancy gave us something to look forward to, and not dwell on the past few traumatic months. My mother miraculously recovered and since Charlie was born he's been our little ray of sunshine for 2009. Happy and cheerful, he reminds us that, "When life gets you down, Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming swimming swimming!"

From Adrienne of Dingbat Press.

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Note: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting stories about pregnancy, childbirth and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here.

An Adoption Story by Jenny Newcomer

Seven years ago ovarian cancer and its treatment left me, left us, without any reproductive options. So we — my husband Will and I — opened our hearts, our minds, and adoption’s heavy door.

Whether it was our heart, our mind, fate, or a combination of all three, we adopted our daughter four years ago in what most would consider an ideal open adoption. We thank God for Sam, for her wonderful birth family, and, believe it or not, for the cancer that lead us to her.

Fear, however, did not abandon ideal. An emotional rollercoaster pulled up a chair and made itself comfortably uncomfortable in the months, weeks, and days leading up to the delivery: what if the birthmom changed her mind? Could we do this? How do we know? What if something, anything, goes wrong?

She didn’t change her mind — and the adoption went as smoothly as one could reasonably expect an arrangement that involves one woman handing a baby over to another woman to go. The emotions were many and multiple — and I vowed to cherish every moment — quiet, loud, overwhelming, and miraculous — with our little girl because I knew many of those I experienced waiting for her weren’t ones I would experience again.

Until now. We decide to try to adopt a child again.

The tearful exchange of a precious little miracle from woman to woman those four years ago isn’t as vivid as it once was. But the swell of love from and because of that little miracle certainly is. Nothing compares to that swell—and the space for love that Sam has carved out in us is boundless. More love makes more love.



In the six months since Will grinned at my mention of baby number two, it’s the social worker at the door, not the UPS man; pages and pages of application and verification documents stand in piles on the desk not ultrasound imagess; fingerprints and background checks are complete; and we are number 37 on the adoption agency waitlist. After a year & half wait, little Henry arrived into the world destined for us.

From Jenny Newcomer of LobotoME.

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Note: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'll be posting stories about pregnancy, childbirth and growing a family on Wednesdays. You can find them all by clicking here.

Happy Tuesday, Friends!

So I've got a few little notes to share:

1) Sorry for the site wonky-ness over the weekend and yesterday. In preparation for a site update (it's about time don't you think), we were messing with the server. My apologies if you couldn't access the blog. It should be good to go today.

2) It was so much fun to host all those lovely stories last week about women growing their families. So much fun in fact, that I think we should make it a tradition. My plan: for the duration of my pregnancy, I'm going to post more stories every Wednesday of every week. Starting tomorrow. For reals.

Many of you have already sent in your thoughts on pregnancy, childbirth and adoption. I look forward to posting some of those stories and inviting others to join in as well. Now we can all look forward to Wednesdays together.

By the way, to find all the growing families stories in one place, you can go here.

3) Because of the wonky-ness, I've decided to extend the J Caroline Home Giveaway for one more day. I'll republish it at the top so it doesn't get lost.

4) I've got a great Guest Mom this week that you'll love to meet. Watch for her introduction and first post in the next little bit.



5) I could not be more excited to get the house ready for Halloween! The kids pulled out the Halloween box yesterday. Remember those awesome plates (find instructions here)? The spooky branches? I can't wait to see how everything looks in our new dwelling. Fun!! What are you guys doing for Halloween decorations? Anything especially rad?

Donna McEvoy's Pregnancy Thoughts

My mom and baby me.

Navajos believe that those closest to the Spirit World are new babies, pregnant women, and the very old. That's because babies are newly arrived from the Spirit World, the expecting mother is in contact with the SW, and the old person will soon depart for the SW. (Navajo friends, correct me if necessary).

It fits. As a lady-in-waiting, you feel a Spirit close, and the new babies, well, we all arrive as Wordsworth says: "...trailing clouds of glory do we come...from God who is our home."

PS: In later years a hysterectomy gave me a new realization. The surgery made me feel cut off from the Eternities. As a women capable of bearing children, I had felt that privileged connection.

From my Mother, Donna McEvoy (who is on a mission in Russia, by the way).


Stanley Christmas card photo from 1976. Jake, Rachel, Sara, Joshua and me.

Note from Design Mom: My parents worked as teachers among the Navajo Nation for years. In fact, my oldest brother Jake, is a member of the Navajo tribe.

Julia Blair's Pregnancy Thoughts

Robert and Julia Blair with their oldest 3 kids, Margaret, Dell and Bobby.

I'm honored and delighted to remember my child-bearing days.

I'll soon be 77 and I find myself wondering how I could ever have complained about the joy and thrill of having a new baby. Of course I remember the queasiness, the awkwardness, the ordered bed-rest, etc. But mostly I am consumed with wonder and gratitude and nostalgia for the soft, helpless, beautiful babies that came through me.

I marvel how I treasure the memory and the joy of holding and nursing a new-born babe. Thinking now as a great-grandma, about the responsibility and trust placed on us naive, new and young parents, I stand all amazed! The miracle through it all is love, love, love along with faith and trust and knowing that we follow long lines of mothers, mothers, mothers! Families! Families! Families!

From my Mother-in-law, Julia Blair.

Liz Gumbinner's Pregnancy Advice

Most books have it all wrong.

Enduring pregnancy isn’t a matter of getting enough sleep, sucking on ginger candies, or kegel marathons.

Really, it all comes down to storing up a repetoire of snappy comebacks to stupid questions.

Mostly the ones I received were about my size — I was too small, too big, way too big, and should I really be eating so many chocolate chip pancakes?

In Gabby’s case, no doubt it will be about the size of her beautiful family. And while she’s far too gracious to use any of these, I would have some stock answers ready to go. Just in case.

-Yes we planned it. It seemed a shame for that last seat in the minivan to go to waste.

-Yes we planned it. I hear we get a free toaster with every sixth baby.

-Yes we planned it. Now only 12 more to go!

Those forty weeks may seem long but really, they’re a small price to pay.

After all, look what we have to show for it.



From Liz of Mom 101 and Cool Mom Picks.

Laura Mayes' Thoughts on Being Two People

Thoughts on Being Two People

I feel that I need to start by saying, it's basically insane that I'm on Gabby's blog talking about pregnancy or having children. Because, G is the first person I'd call if I had ever a question about either. In other words, you should not ask me. And if you do, I'll just ask her anyway.

But here are two things I know about being pregnant:

1. Wear a bathing suit whenever possible. Seriously. Wear it around the house. Wear it to church. Whatever. I mean, you're probably hot (temperature wise) anyway, especially as you get further along, so it helps with that. And, also, you're totally looking hot (smokin' hot wise) because a.) you're glowing, everyone is telling you this and b.) your giant stomach makes your backside look smaller. Think about it. You've really never looked better, so wear that tankini to Target. Trust me on this one.

2. Enter as many strength competitions as possible. Now's your time. Because you're not just a giant person, you're two giant people. And two giant people can kick one giant person's arse (is it okay to say arse on here?) every time. You will win every wrestling match you enter. I guarantee it. Because besides your gargantuan-ness, no one wants to say they beat the pregnant chick. Bad form. They'll totally make you feel like you won. And really, you have.



Thoughts on Being a Mother

This part gets a little more serious, because face it, there's nothing more serious than sleep loss. And here's a little preview of something that's included in the upcoming Kirtsy Takes a Bow book that's coming out late this month. Watch for it. It includes essays, photographs, tweets, ideas, and input on all of the nine Kirtsy categories (Arts & Entertainment; Design & Crafts; Family & Parenting; Fashion & Style; Food & Home; Internet & Technology; Mind, Body & Spirit; Travel & Leisure; Politics, World & Business) from more than 100 bloggers, including Mrs. Blair, here. But here's the one I submitted. You saw it on Design Mom first:


What Makes A Mother?

Someone recently asked me, "What Makes You a Mother?" And here I am coming up on my second Mother's Day as a mom, and I have no idea how to answer this question.

Because obviously there isn't an answer.

At least if there is, I don't completely understand it.

After all, it's not about being pregnant and having a baby. Because of course, you don't need to do these two things to be a mother. That said, I've been pregnant three times. I have one beautiful son. And even as I type this, I'm literally shedding tears for the other two babies I lost. Because I was their mother. And I celebrate them too this weekend.

It's also not about doing anything. Because there are a million ways to do everything, and I'm guessing at least 96% of the options are completely valid, good, and right.

So I guess being a mother is mainly about the being. And, as they say, being is mainly about being present in any given moment. But in this moment, as I sit here two days before my second Mother's Day, my precious little boy is spending two days with his grandmother and grandfather, and my husband and I are having our first-ever childless vacation at home. Which means I'm not presently being in any moment with my child. It also means I slept in past 7:30 a.m. for the first time in 19 months. I woke up on my own, without my Hurricane alarm clock. And I made coffee before I changed a diaper. It's been an incredibly lazy morning, just the kind I like.



However, as I sit here drinking that coffee (and typing), I swear I keep thinking I hear the little whimpers my beautiful little son makes when he wakes from a sleepy nap. And then, I realize he's not here right now, and I have that oh darn feeling, like when you wake up from a great dream and realize you aren't really George Clooney's girlfriend. That's what I'm experiencing.

See, even though I can do whatever I want today, I keep thinking about what he's doing. In fact, I'm seriously resisting the urge to call my mom and see what they're doing right now. And I can't wait to see him tomorrow.

Because my thoughts are always with him. And even though my life doesn't revolve around and through him (because that's pressure he doesn't need), his is a very cherished room in our incredibly way full busy, beloved, and blessed house.

And even though on any given day, I would and will daydream for a day like this and remember my open-schedule days of yesteryear with blissful longing and a rose-colored sigh...here I am.

Enjoying the eye of the storm, but really missing the Hurricane.

Because I'm no longer that person of yesteryear. My heart has added an extra room.

And whether I completely understand it or not, I'm changed.

And that's what makes me a mother.


From Laura of Blog con Queso and Kirtsy.

Isabel Kallman's Birth Day Advice

See this picture? What do you see? You probably notice me nuzzling my newly–born son. Aww. Me? Yes, I see that too. But what I remember about this photo is my awful hair stuck in a rubberbanded bun. I admit I’m vain.

Remember your wedding? Remember the painstaking decisions over photographers, make-up and hair? Why? Because that stuff is being recorded forEVER in photographs and video and then being shared with friends all over the internet and shown to generations of family thereafter.

Well, same thing with the requisite new baby pictures. That’s right. Those photos get a lot of play too. The baby may be the center of attraction, but everyone loves to get a shot of the mom.

During childbirth (whether you’re medicated or not), there will be physical exertion. You will be laboring and pushing. And sweaty blown-out hair is still much better than sweaty non-blown-out hair.

If you’re pregnant for the first-time, you’re probably wondering exactly when you will have the time. A first-time mom will labor for approximately 24 hours. Even if you plan on requesting pain medication, like an epidural, a substantial part of your laboring will NOT take place at your birth facility, but at home. If that laboring takes place during the day, distraction is your best technique for easing contractions in the early phase. And thus this is the perfect time to get a hair blow-out. Also, I hate to break it to you, it may be the last time you’ll get one for a while.



If you can’t get your hair looking all purty for the main event, then I suggest you at least look in the mirror before the bulbs start flashing. You can thank me later.

From Isabel Kallman of Alphamom.

Pregnancy Thoughts by Irene from Bloesem

Irene, 30 weeks pregnant and her son, Lode.

Congratulations Gabrielle with this very good news. Of course I wish you a wonderful pregnancy. Not too long ago I was pregnant myself and I remember clearly how thankful (and relieved) I was every time I came back from my gynocologist knowing the baby was doing great — although I kept worrying even though he had told me everything was fine.

Yes, I'm the kind of mom who worries (and is in a panicky state) the entire 9 months. Caught between this amazing feeling of carrying a child inside of me and fear of the worst things that could happen to my baby. So basically for better or for worse I spend most of these 9 months in a sort of twilight zone. Very happy and very scared. I mean BIG time scared — will everything be okay? is it normal to feel like this? is my belly too small? — people asking me in week 30 whether I'm in my first trimester certainly doesn't help : ) And having had 3 miscarriages before didn't help either.

But I guess I am rather persistent and my wish to have a family is much bigger than my fear. So a new healthy baby boy arrived in our family. (Our second son. Men rule the house now — or at least that is what they think. 1:3 ratio. A walk in the park for any mom. And all 3 of them worship me (smile).) Looking back now I can only think of the special feeling I had knowing life was growing inside of me. It truly is the most spectacular feeling and I'm utterly amazed how this is even possible. Yeah, us women know how to create life (with a little help) and we should be so proud of this!

Living in Malaysia made my pregnancy much easier compared to living in the Netherlands, this might seem strange to you, because the Dutch healthcare system is pretty sophisticated, but when it comes down to pregnancies the Dutch tend to be behind the curve it seems. I admit, pregnancy is a natural thing, but to do away with regular check-ups, ultrasounds, painkillers and the almost enforced home deliveries (that is, if you don't deliver at home there must be something wrong with your attitude) — just not my cup of tea I think. Nope. I'd rather be in a safe environment and oh boy was I right.

My second boy was born via a c-section because on one of the ultrasounds the doctor noticed the cord was strangled around his neck and didn't want to take any risks, so at 36 weeks + 4 days the c-section was planned and when he was born we discovered the little Houdini had wrapped the cord around his neck 7 times. Seven times! With no regular ultrasounds after 20 weeks in the Netherlands I don't think anyone would have noticed and if they had I sincerely doubt whether they would never have delivered him so early.

I can't even begin to think of the possible consequences, so here's my big thank you for the fantastic doctors in Malaysia!! And for all of you who are pregnant I can only say ENJOY, enjoy. And for all of you who would like to get pregnant and have difficulties, don't give up. It took me and my husband 8 years as well and the wait was definitely worth it. No fear!

From Irene of BloesemKids.

Andrea Scher's Pregnancy Memory

My favorite pregnancy related memory actually happened long before Ben was even conceived. My now husband Matt and I had been dating for about six months when I laid my head down on the pillow to sleep next to him one night.

As I closed my eyes, I saw a flash of an image: It was like a photograph, one that I had taken, of Matt wearing a hiking backpack with a wee boy in the back. They were both squinting at me in the sun (looking impatient that I was taking another photo)... and I knew instantly that Matt was my husband and the little boy was our child.



It took two more years for Matt and I to marry, and despite our best efforts, three long years to conceive Ben. But through all of that time of infertility, through endless acupuncture appointments and doctor's visits, and through all the sadness and despair that came it, it was this picture, this memory, that I held onto.



It was the one thing that gave me faith that our boy was coming. I had seen him, and he was real.

From Andrea Scher of Superhero Journal.

Liz Fuller's Pregnancy Memories

When I was pregnant with my Sylvia, I watched the corn fields near our home grow just as she was growing in my belly. As they grew a little taller, my belly got a little bigger.

I was having a girl.



A true tom boy at heart myself with two boys at home, I felt scared to have a girl. I was worried I wouldn't know how to fix her hair. And bread, I didn't even know how to make home made bread! The endless list of traditional feminine skills I never had interest in learning began to suffocate me. I worried I would not be ideal for her. That surely this gender was misplaced into the wrong family, didn't the stork know I can't even twist together a respectable French braid!? I was concerned this little girl of mine would find me a big fat disappointment in the department of any and all things female.

The corn was getting taller and that meant she was coming soon. And I still had not learned how to bake bread! I remember being at the mall one day and selecting a first purchase just for her. A little red pair of shoes. It sounds silly for a little treasure like that to change my heart, but it did. I began to realize I had a lot to offer her, after all. That no matter who she would become or interests she would have, I would do what all mothers do best. Support her in her life. From astrology to fashion, arithmetic to nail polish I will guide her in her interests just as I do with my boys and their Bakugans.



Most importantly I will continue to work at being a good person, always refining my character as I lead these children by constant example.



My favorite moments during my third pregnancy were each and every time I thought of her. What she might be like and what her interests might be one day. What a privilege it is to be her mommy. And who knows, maybe one day she'll be teach me how to bake bread.

From Liz Fuller of Backward's Attraction.

Jennifer James' thoughts on Pregnancy

The very first time I met Gabrielle was at a Disney Mom Bloggers event last year. I was immediately struck by how stylish and beautiful she was. I mean, this woman can rock some clothes! It's amazing. I was also struck by how nice and generous she was. I absolutely loved meeting her and her presence stuck with me ever since. Gorgeous. Stylish. Mother of five. And unbelievably friendly. I love her!

Fast forward to August of this year and we attended the same event in San Francisco. This time we got to bring our kids and Gabrielle brought along Ralph, the sweetest kid on the planet. I had the chance to see Gabrielle as a mom this time and she is just as I had imagined: very cool, loving, affectionate, caring. Quite simply, Gabrielle is an amazing woman and mother.

A few weeks later when I heard Gabrielle was pregnant I was beyond thrilled! Pregnancy is such a lovely state to be in. I loved every moment of both my pregnancies and look back on those months with dreamy eyes. Save the early morning sickness, I felt the best I ever had when I was carrying my daughters who continue to sprout before my eyes.



I can only imagine how delighted the Blairs are to be expecting their sixth baby. Just being around Gabrielle and Ralph for a few days I know for sure how love dwells in their home and how generous they are raising their children to be. During the event Ralph allowed my oldest daughter to use his iPod Touch. He didn't put demands on her or even stand over her shoulder to make sure she didn't break it. My daughter was amazed. So many children she comes around are selfish with their possessions. That showed me, again, how amazing Gabrielle is as a parent. It showed.

I wish Gabrielle the happiest, healthiest, most amazing pregnancy on the planet. She deserves it because of who she is and the lives she touches. Plus, I can't wait to see how she rocks her maternity clothes!

From Jennifer James of The Mom Salon.

Laurie Smithwick's Pregnancy Thoughts

Bob and I had been trying to get pregnant for almost a year and it had finally worked. Somehow I convinced him to come with me to the OB’s office because, you know, he absolutely had to be there every step of the way. It turns out my OB/Gyn performs an early ultrasound at your first visit, just to confirm a “baseline” healthy pregnancy. So there we are, staring at the underwater outer-space forms on the tiny screen, with the OB decoding all the circles and clouds for us. She finds the baby’s tiny fluttery heartbeat and Bob and I laugh, thrilled, relieved and amazed. Then she’s quiet for a minute or two and finally says, “Okay, now I’m going to show you guys something that’s going to really freak you out.”

Bob and I look at each other. Really? Is she allowed to say things like that?

“See that circle? That’s your baby. And it looks great. And that cloudy area there is blah blah blahdy blah blah.”

“Oh get on with it please,” I want to say. “What are you trying to tell us?”

And then she points to something on the screen and says, “Do you see that circle there?”

I see it.

“That’s your other baby.”

At which point Bob and I explode into maniacal laughter that lasts for two weeks. No, seriously, every time we looked at each other we started to laugh. For weeks. Two babies.

Nine hilarious inflated months later, we become the proud, delighted, overwhelmed, underslept, blissful, and terrified parents of identical twin girls.

And seven years after that, looking back on that day in the doctor's office, I believe I can see a lesson: Learn to embrace the lack of control that having kids brings into your life.

Gabby, I know you don't need to learn this lesson -- you are the guru of acceptance. But it can never hurt to be reminded of just how very little control we have over even the most major events in our lives. And when that loss of control gives way to things like this:


...which can then give way to things like this:


...it's hard to miss it too terribly much.


Super humongo congratulations to you, Gab, and Ben Blair, and your whole fantastic gang. But the biggest congratulations of all go to Baby Six, who has no idea what a dream of a family he/she has landed him/herself in. Bravo to you all.

From Laurie of Leap Design and Kirtsy.

Practical Pregnancy Advice from Jenny the Bloggess

Advice for women who are too pregnant to function anymore:

Inevitably your husband will come home to find you unable to move under the weight of this gigantic fetus you are carrying and will want to know why the house is a mess and dinner isn't made and then you'll want to stab him because this is all his fault but you don't have the energy to find a clean knife.

And you'll want to explain how completely exhausting being pregnant is but men never understand so whenever Victor would say "How can you be tired? You hardly did anything today!" I'd respond, "I made someone's ear canals today. Inside my stomach. Without even using my hands. What did you do today? Paperwork? God, how exhausting. I MADE SOMEONE'S NERVOUS SYSTEM."

Then my husband would walk away, suitably impressed. Or scared. Either way he left me alone. And this is how you have a successful marriage.

from Jenny the Bloggess.

Joslyn Taylor's Pregnancy Memory

There were all manner of magical happenings when I was pregnant with my girlies: the first kick, that sort of glowly, endorphin-drenched daze that perpetuated my second trimester, and of course the birth —oh my, nothing tops that moment when you finally meet your child after what feels like eons of waiting and hoping and wondering… But my most poignant memories were the moments spent with my oldest daughter Audrey while I was pregnant with her little sister, Millie.

I was acutely aware during the entire pregnancy that this was the end of an era with Audrey, she’d no longer be an “only”; we’d no longer be a unit of three. Everything was about to become bigger, rowdier, more complex (and I truly believed) infinitely more fun. But I wanted to be sure Audrey and I had plenty of time to savor each other before our family became four. We went on a few family trips, planned lots of special outings and adventures and, every. single. night. before bed, she and I would sit on the floor and do a little pregnancy yoga together. Mostly it was just holding hands and stretching, but it was sweet and quiet and we connected to each other and to the new life about to join us.

From Joslyn Taylor of Simple Lovely.

Stephanie Brubaker's Pregnancy Memory

During my first pregnancy (and unfortunately subsequent pregnancies as well) I experienced morning sickness the entire 9 months. As a result, I relied heavily on my husband to take care of meal preparation. At one point in the pregnancy my husband was required to leave town for an entire week to complete some work training at company headquarters.

This felt like an eternity at the time and he and I became very concerned about what I would eat while he was away. So, he did what any outstanding husband would do...he went grocery shopping and then spent 6 hours in our tiny San Francisco kitchen making meals for the entire week. He placed a few in the freezer for me to reheat and a few in the fridge to eat first.

I remember going to bed early that evening and occasionally waking up to the oven timer beeping, or sizzling food in the cast iron pan. I smiled to myself and then went back to bed feeling very loved. I count this as one of my favorite memories during our {almost} 10-year marriage.

From Stephanie of Stephmodo.

Karen Walrond's Childbirth Memory

Alex, photographed September 16, 2009.

I can't tell you how thrilled I am about Gabby's wonderful news. I've only known Gabby for a couple of years now, but in my completely unprofessional opinion, this woman is made to be a mom, isn't she? When I look at her, I always think of the mother in "Little Women" — her children are surely blessed to have her to look up to, and this little one on his (her?) way is no exception.

When Gabby asked me to share a story with you here today, I immediately thought of the day my daughter Alex was born. Alex's birth story is one of my favourite memories thus far in being her mom. It's a bit of an unusual story, since she came to us via an open adoption: in other words, we have a relationship with her birthmother. While her birthmother was pregnant, I was able to go with her to prenatal doctor's visits, and, bless her, she invited my husband and I to be present at Alex's birth. It was a really cool experience — I'd never seen a child born before — but it was actually what happened immediately after Alex was born that made the event absolutely unforgettable. And even though I suspect that most expectant mothers at the point of childbirth, are a little ...well, preoccupied, let's say, what with the whole in-the-middle-of-giving-birth-thing, I tell Alex's birth story to every expectant mother, in the hope that just maybe she might be able to catch a glimpse of what I saw, during the birth of her own child.

So anyway, to the story: the baby was born, and she was upside down in the doctor's arms, and he was cleaning all the birth gunk from her face and neck. At this point, I was sort of numb, and my first thought was that it was not possible that this little, tiny doll-like being was going to come home with us in a couple of days.

My second thought was that this baby was the most beautiful shade of cerulean blue I had ever seen in my life.

Alex's birthmother asked, "Doctor, why isn't she crying?"

The doctor replied, "I don't want her to cry just yet. The umbilical cord was wrapped around her throat. Just one second."

The doctors and nurses kept doing their thing. I wasn't nervous, because they seemed pretty calm. A few more seconds passed, and then, just as I was wondering if I should be nervous, the doctor said:

"Okay, she's going to cry ... now."

And Alex inhaled. She just took this great, big, huge, breath ...

... and she turned pink. First her arms, then her hands, and then her legs and her little face and chest. And as crazy as this may sound, I am absolutely convinced that we'd just witnessed Alex's soul, which had been waiting in the delivery room with us, flying into her body, and giving her life. Even more, I absolutely, unshakably believed, at that very moment, that this little girl was meant to be ours, and that had we not been waiting there for her — had her birthmom decided not to place her, or has there been another adoptive family in the room — a different soul would've entered her body, and she would've been a totally different person.

And then she started to bellow.

Anyway, Alex has proved me right every day since. She's just .. well, she's just like us, I suppose. She gets our senses of humour. We're such a tight-knit family. We're a team. We fit.

So, I guess the point of all of this is that when you become a parent, whether by giving birth yourself or via adoption, you have to believe that God, or Allah, or Fate, or the Universe or Whatever You May Believe In has a plan. Trust that the child you bring home is meant to be yours and yours alone. It has always been this way. It will always be this way.

Congrats, Blairs. May your family ... your team ... continue to grow as tight-knit as ever.

From Karen Walrond of Chookooloonks.

Lindsey Johnson's Thoughts on Pregnancy

Lindsey, with her third child, Babetta, born last summer.

Pregnancy is one of those things in life that no amount of reading or advice from family and friends can ever prepare you for adequately. The same goes for that first moment you hold your new baby fresh and warm from the womb.

Like many women, I have my share of funny stories about pregnancy woes. I have heartwarming moments that will forever be with me in my memory.

I spent hours talking to my belly with each of my three pregnancies. There were sappy professions of love and undying devotion to being their mommy. There were mundane descriptions of traffic along the Bronx River Parkway on my way up to monthly appointments. There was music played and hands pressing firmly into my fleshy belly in hopes of feeling the gentle (or sometimes hard) kick or poke from a developing limb.

Each pregnancy taught me a different lesson about life. My very first pregnancy ended in miscarriage at 10 weeks. That experience taught me not to take the fragile miracle of life for granted. It taught me to stop blaming myself. It taught me yearn for something more.

Over the past 5 years and three full-term pregnancies, I learned new things about myself. I'm stronger and braver that I ever thought possible. I learned patience and endurance.

I learned funny things. For instance, I will never be able to look at a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli again. Or drink another glass of strawberry flavored Tang. And that if I am going to enjoy a splash Frank's Red Hot sauce, I better follow it with a chaser of Pepcid AC and Mylanta. I also became a pro at peeing in a cup and massaging my sore sciatic nerves each night.

More than anything else though, I've learned that love knows no boundaries. Love is not divided between husband and subsequent babies — it multiplies, it matures and deepens, it blossoms and flourishes. I learned to appreciate and love womanhood and the divine roll we play as mothers and nurturers.

And it is all worth it....even on days like this.


Lilly, Fritz, and Babetta posing for our Christmas card picture...that we never sent.

From Lindsey Johnson of Café Johnsonia.

Amy Turn Sharp's Pregnancy Advice

Amy, Finn, and Joe on babymoon in Miami.

Congrats Dearest Gabby and Family
Pregnancy is such a wonderful time in a woman's life!
You are growing a human! YOU ROCK!
Life is amazing and mind blowing!
I LOVE that you are bringing another cool and kind person into the world!

Some things I remember about being prego:
*I never stayed hydrated! Drink Gabs Drink!
You have such a full life and I am sure you attend to everyone else first — but just try and remember to drink tons of water. It makes for a happy mama body and mind. Keep a pretty carafe with a small water glass by your bed and work space.

* Yoga pants are your BFF!
(Old Navy size up last a long time.) Rock out as much non maternity as you can. Buy pieces you can wear after the baby too. I like a caftan! I love a tunic. Liz Lange tight black long sleeve tees! Dresses really are so simple when pregnant. You always look chic though gal. I can't wait to watch you guide us through your mama wardrobe!

* Shoes. I like a wedge when I'm knocked up!
I give up the heel. I bring out the the trusty guns. My feet are also size 11 now. Eeeks! Like Paris Hilton! They were 10's two boys ago.

*The wish for Freedom.
We are free to do what we want! The issue with motherhood I have found is sometimes other mothers can be a bit critical of each other. I wish we all would just support each other more. We make the best choices for our families and babies and issues from breastfeeding to labor to attachment parenting to sleep techniques and we should never be questioned. We need to rally around each other as women! Go LADY POWER!

*Rest is paramount.
With a large family, you should carve out time on your calendar now to have some help that is designated for you NOT working and JUST Sleeping! Schedule sleep! Take care of you! But have fun too! Everyone should take a wee weekend away before the baby comes no matter how many kiddos you have. Ask for help when you need it. Really. Ask for help when you need it.

*Document it all.
How many of us loved this blog this year? OH MY! I was guilty of not allowing anyone to photograph me while pregnant with my boys. I wish I had not been so silly in retrospect. Take photos of your beautiful body! You should use your awesome house DIY projects as props! Belly shots on a rocker or by your new family table?

*Don't be stressed if you can't journal or write down things because your so busy!
Everyone does things differently! My second son does not even have a proper baby book! We instead make mix tapes of music that mattered to the boys, write letters to the future when we can, use flickr and blog the family now. I make up new traditions each year! Just go with the flow. Find what works for you!

Life is so amazing. Oh yeah — BABY NAMES!!! How fun is this? I must go before I get the FEVER myself!

From Amy Turn Sharp of Doobleh-vay.