L-O-V-E

I keep thinking about that "devastating" news I got a year ago today. About how I felt so desperate and scared. About how I was sure that everyone would call me a fool. About how I knew I was ruining not only my life, but his, too. About how it all seemed to matter so very much.

If only I had the foresight then to imagine today--this moment where I feel overwhelmed with gratitude for the baby sleeping in the other room. If only I knew how different Christmas would be as I dreamed up our traditions. If only I knew how that baby would write love into my life.

What if I knew then that every little thing really would be all right? What if I knew that the word that would come to mind when I reflected on the last year would be "love?"

Love. That's it.

The story

When I was pregnant, I couldn't read enough birth stories. It helped me to feel less fearful knowing that so many other women were doing the same thing--in their own ways. If you're not the birth story type, you've been warned...time to move along :) Here's mine:

Monday at around 5:00, Kimberly and I were at the grocery store (laughing about how all of the junk food looked so good to our gross pregnant appetites), and I mentioned that I was having lots of contractions, but they didn't really hurt. She tried to convince me "this was it," and I was feeling a little giddy.

I went home and pulled up an online contraction timer and realized that they were somewhere between two and four minutes apart. They were short, though, and didn't feel painful enough to get me to the hospital. I texted my always-on-call nurse (Breanna) and asked her what she thought. She told me that there was no reason to rush to the hospital. I then called my mom and told her I thought I was in labor, so she better come over.

The contractions were getting stronger and were mostly three minutes apart, but they were still short. At this point, I was tearful and scared, rather than excited, because I was worried about the timing with the hospital. I didn't want to go too soon, but I definitely didn't want to get there too late. Why didn't my experience just fit into the guidelines my doctor (and everyone else) gave me for "when to go to the hospital?"

My mom and I went on a walk (more of a sidewalk pacing because neither of us wanted to venture too far from home), and then I asked her if we could go on a drive. By the time we were in downtown Livermore, sitting in the car was really painful (the contractions had moved to my back at this point), and I told her that she needed to turn around so we could pack the car and be ready to go to the hospital if we needed to.

We decided to watch a movie (8 Seconds, one of my go-to comfort movies), but I was hopping off the couch every few minutes to walk through (or bend over the counter through) contractions, so watching a movie wasn't exactly working out. I hit a point emotionally where I knew it was time to go to the hospital, so we got in the car and headed out at about 10:30.

Within a few minutes of checking into our room, the nurse assured my mom that I would not be going home at this point, and it was a safe bet to get my things from the car. I was full of energy and excitement again, knowing that it was actually going to happen! Then she checked me and told me I was only 1.5 centimeters, and I almost cried. She assured me that this wasn't the only way to mark my progress and I was, indeed, making good progress.

Because the contractions were in my back, I couldn't sit or lie down, so I stood and swayed--all night. I would close my eyes and silently go somewhere else to make it through the contractions. I found that I needed silence (which everyone was so intuitive about!) and to feel unwatched (I did so much better when the monitor was off) to have the most success. At one point, my mom offered me my iPod, and within three seconds of having the ear buds in my ears, I ripped them out because the music was NOT helpful. I just needed silence!

The nurse who cared for me during the longest part of my labor was amazing. She knew that I wanted to avoid pain medications if at all possible, and she was so supportive. She kept telling me how wonderful I was doing and how peaceful I seemed. When I hit a wall at seven centimeters and felt like I wasn't going to make it through, she sent me to the shower. I came out relaxed and ready for the rest of my labor. I can't thank her enough for that suggestion and expertise that told her it would help me. It was definitely a turning point that could have gone in a completely different direction.

When the nurses changed shifts, I cried to my mom that I couldn't do it without my nurse, Cortney. Cortney promised me that the next nurse, Tiffany, was just as wonderful, and she was, indeed, wonderful. She was more no-nonsense, but she knew her stuff, and I was glad she was there when they had concerns about Klara's heartbeat later on.

After a few contractions that I thought would do me in, I was really discouraged and feeling like it would never be over! I told my mom, "I need a shot of something!! I can't do this!!" and she said, "You can. You're doing great." Tiffany kept checking me and telling me that I was almost completely dilated (what she was calling a 9.5) but that I wasn't quite ready to push. I was stuck, for what seemed like forever. I kept asking her what I could do to make this be over, and she suggested Pitocin. I couldn't imagine harder and stronger contractions, but she waited for me to come to the conclusion that Pit was what I needed and wanted (with no pressure from her). I agreed to be hooked up to the IV and get that Pitocin. Before it had time to kick in,  I told her I HAD to push, so she let me push once to see if it would dilate me the rest of the way. Between the Pitocin and that push, I was finally fully dilated!

Let me tell you, pushing was the most rewarding part of labor. Finally, I could DO something about my contractions. They kept complimenting me on what a great "pusher" I was (which I attribute to the lack of pain meds, so I had complete feeling). After an hour of pushing and feeling like I was in the Twilight Zone, almost feeling like I was drifting in and out of consciousness, Klara was born Tuesday morning at 11:14.

They handed her to me for a brief second and then swept her away to make sure she was breathing okay because they had some concerns. Her brief period of silence left me in a panic, but then I heard that cry I was waiting for. While they were suctioning her and checking her and getting her on track, I sobbed. I just wanted that baby in my arms. When she was finally back on my chest, I just couldn't believe it.

She was here.

Fear

As the days inch closer to the "let's talk about induction" appointment, I become more and more fearful. I know that it may be necessary to protect this baby and me as my blood pressure also inches higher and higher, but it's not what I'd envisioned. Little Klara's teaching me a lesson about the unpredictability of parenthood, and I'm trying not to get discouraged. Come on, little girl.

Anticipating.

I'm trying to breathe in these last few days (hours?) of independence.

I don't really know how, though. The truth is that, even though I can go to the movies and a leisurely lunch "footloose and fancy free," I'm not independent. My life is now tied to yours in a way that makes me want to meet you way more than I want to take advantage of this time.

I've done independent and selfish, and I think I'm ready for this next chapter.

Your cringes have become my cringes.

Because I got so much flack for it, I was really reluctant to write a birth plan, but then I decided that it's important to me, so I'm doing it (simple though it may be). I've decided it's something I need to feel "ready." I promise it doesn't include anything about the ambiance of the room or what I'm going to wear, and it's not even a page. I'm not sure why I feel apologetic and high maintenance and embarrassed, but I'm choosing to ignore those feelings and do what I feel I need to do. So there.

TMI

As I was throwing up in the shower this morning, all I could think about was how I was messing up my clean shower.

I think it's time to have this baby.

Ready or not.

On days when my feet are huge and I'm throwing up and I can barely keep up at the store, I just want this to be over.

I know, though, that I'm going to miss this.

Dear Baby Girl,

In some ways, we will never be closer. We have a connection that is so visceral. I love that you are safe and warm and I don't have to do much to insure that that is true. I love that I can feel your every move.

I love that I know what to do. So much is black and white right now. I read the books, they tell me how to help you grow healthy, and it's that simple. Not much is subjective--how comforting.

I love that strangers have shown an interest in us. The roundness of my belly has opened us up to advice and love and intrusion. It makes me feel like we're more connected to humanity as a whole. People care about me because they care about you. It's really beautiful, as our village is large.

I will miss this enormous belly. It's evidence of love. It's evidence of your growth. It's evidence of life. Although it gets in the way, I love it because I love you. The bigger it grows, the closer I am to having you in my arms--right where you belong.

I'm trying to cherish this time. I'm trying to remember what I love about it, but I also just want to kiss your cheeks. I don't know whether to tell you to take your time or to hurry up!

Love,

Mama

Every little thing...

During the first few months of my pregnancy, I found myself saying, countless times, "It's going to be okay. It has to be okay," when I told people my news. The truth is, though, I didn't believe it. I went home and sobbed to my mom on the phone almost every night, and when she told me, "It's going to be okay," barely comprehensible through my sobs, I would say, "How? It's not going to be okay. There's no way it's going to be okay." I just couldn't imagine how all of the loose ends could be tied up to make a stable place for this baby to nest.

The other day, I was telling someone about how those first few months seem like ancient history now--how everything feels more than right. I was telling her about how I delight in the life growing inside me and how I dream about the great joy of being this baby's mom.

As I near the end of my pregnancy (about four weeks to go), those early feelings are back. I'm overwhelmed and panicked. I told myself, "We have time. We don't have to figure it out now." Now it's time, though. I'm scared to death of labor, of my first few weeks alone with her, and of figuring out how to parent as a team.

I know that "It's going to be okay. It has to be okay," but it's still a lot.

And, now, for my mantra since December:

Churchy

The VBS program seemed benign enough, so I tagged along for the cute-factor. There were pokes, hugs, belly rubs, and loving smiles. It always feels like coming home.

I grew up in a church filled with the most amazing people. They were my family when my own family failed me. They were my employers when I spent summers babysitting their children. They were my counselors when I had nobody else to talk to. They were my mentors when I struggled with what I read in the Bible. They taught me what the church looks like. In turn, I hope I served them well, too.

I'll never forget Easter this year when I went to church "so the baby could hear the music." So much was still in limbo, and not much felt right about this pregnancy. It only took a few sincere hugs and sweet conversations to know that it would be okay and that we're surrounded by truly remarkable people. I wasn't going to be doing this alone, and these people believed in me. I left feeling different about my role as a mama. They restored me.

I wish "church" didn't make my skin crawl because I want Klara to know the rest of our family.

Your heart is mine.

I feel deeply connected to my identity as a woman. If I were to make a list starting with "I am," the first thing to come to mind would be "a woman." It is my most intimate identifying mark. It is not only what I am, but who I am.

In Abraham Verghese's Cutting for Stone, one of the doctors explains to the young boys observing a group of pregnant women at the clinic, "'Look at them! All happy and radiant. In a few weeks, when labor starts, they'll be yelling, screaming, cursing their husbands. They'll turn into she-devils. You won't recognize them. But now they're like angels.' She sighed. 'A woman is never more a woman than in this state.'"

It's true. Pregnancy has helped me to feel more fully feminine. I have never before felt more sure of my role in the universe. My task is great. It is miraculous. This, this is so right, so unexpectedly right.

As I have lived with the heart of a mother who had empty arms, those women who long to be mothers have always been a part of my soul. Now I feel that so much more intimately. The overwhelming joy of pregnancy is met with the deep sorrow I feel for those who have lost babies, who cannot conceive, or who are waiting.

I am a woman. I feel your pain. I connect to your joy.


We are women. We're in this together.

Like when...

I have these funny little pregnancy moments--moments when I'm not sure if I'm thankful I'm alone or if I desperately want to share them with someone else so we can also share the laughter that would surely accompany them.

Moments like...
When I'm doing my 80s pregnancy workout video and laughing at the cheesiness of the whole affair.
When I'm reading in one of my childbirth books, and the author touts lotus birth, and I just can't believe what I'm reading.
When I lie in bed like a beached whale, contemplating whether or not to strip off another layer because it's just so hot (when it's not really that hot at all).
When I'm attempting to take my prenatal vitamins, even though the doctor keeps telling me to just take the Flinstone's variety, and then I throw them right up--a wasted effort.
When my belly is hanging out of the bottom of my tank top, and I look like a mess.
When I'm sitting at the bottom of the stairs looking up, thinking, "Why are there so many?"

In these "embarrassing,"everyday moments, I feel the most alone in this.

Little Klara Jean

We've been singing "Little Liza Jane" to Klara quite a bit lately. We substitute "Klara Jean" for "Liza Jane" and sing it with much gusto. By "we" I mean my mom, Papa, and I. Everyone else just rolls their eyes.

When I'm feeling blue or out of touch with my sweet growing baby, I sing to her before we go to sleep.  I'm preparing her for my not-so-lovely singing voice.

I think she likes it. At least she can't roll her eyes at me, yet.

Spent.

Today was one of those days.

I woke up realizing that my hint of a sore throat from last night developed into a full-blown cold. Then I threw up. A lot. After I was done emptying my stomach, I decided to eat something and sliced my finger with my fork, followed by settling in to grade for the third day in a row and realizing that I didn't have what I needed to grade today.  So I gave up--tearfully.

I've been having lots of those days lately. Maybe it's the stress of wrapping up the end of the school year;  my newfound absentmindedness; those four boys who are working really hard to make my life very difficult; or, maybe, it's just that little things become very big things when my emotions seem so out of control.

When I hear, "Eight more days of school," it's not so much a comfort. Eight days seems like a lot, especially when I'm sick, overwhelmed, and crying nearly every hour.

I've accomplished nothing today, so I'm just going to go to Target. Yeah, that should work.

Birth Day

I've been thinking about childbirth.

Sometimes, I cry tears of joy in anticipation of bringing Klara into the world to meet the lovely people waiting for her. Other times, I get anxious--because everyone has different ideas of the "right" ways to do this and because I'm not really sure what's "right" for us because this is an entirely foreign experience for me.

I would like to give birth in a birthing center, but I don't think I will, for no other reason than it's "one more thing to figure out." I'll most likely have Klara in the hospital, and based on the reading I've done, I would like to give birth with as few interventions as possible. My greatest fear is that I will have a vision (the often taunted by medical professionals "birth plan") that I will feel powerless to ask for. Not that it can't happen, or shouldn't happen, but that it won't happen because of my "don't go out of your way to do things differently for me" nature.

So what's the solution? Doula in the hospital? Have my mom read books along with me so she can help to advocate for me? Go the birth center route? I just wish that hospitals were more supportive of alternative methods (or that I lived in Berkeley. Ha).

Nesting

I'm having fun putting together Klara's room. It's really similar to the way it was before, but I'm adding "baby touches."

I'm looking forward to getting her forward-facing book shelves (really $4 spice racks from IKEA, spray painted white) on the walls, and I'm eagerly awaiting the delivery of her dresser (hopefully some time this week)! Little by little, it's coming together!

I'm paying attention.

Pregnancy is a powerful state of being--I'm learning. This is what pregnancy has taught me so far:

Just when I think I have "this" figured out, it changes.

Everyone has advice, and most of it is obvious or annoying. The annoyance is worth the extra patience it requires because, every once in a while, I actually get really insightful advice.

It's possible to be fat and very, very happy. It's much more difficult to be fat and feel cute.

Affordable maternity clothes are ugly. Motherhood Maternity is a store created for masochists. I've never left that store with dry eyes.

Someone is always going to think I'm doing it wrong, and I don't have very thick skin.

And, most importantly and most poignantly, growing a human is an immensely fulfilling task.

This is love.

I absolutely love feeling my little girl move; it's so life-affirming. Sometimes, when I feel her start to move, I lie completely still because I'm afraid that if I move she will stop. I put my hand on my belly and wait for her to finish her acrobatics.

The little things.

To Purple Listerine With Love:

Thank you for keeping me from puking more times than I can count. Yummy minty freshness, I'm forever indebted to you.

Love Always, 

Your biggest fan, Sherry

:)

When people complained about the woes of pregnancy, I always had an inkling that I would love being pregnant--I was going to be the anomaly. As I spent the first trimester puking, I was so frustrated that I found no pleasure in pregnancy. The "unplanned element" made it extra difficult, but I also just hated feeling so awful. I was tired, sick, scared, lonely, and overwhelmed. I couldn't figure out how women could convince themselves to go through the horrors of pregnancy again. I was miserable!

That changed. Most awful things are just for a season.

The last few weeks, I have been filled with joy at the prospect of carrying a human being. I suddenly love being pregnant. Sometimes, my heart does a little skip of joy thinking about the truly miraculous process I'm playing a role in. Second trimester is the trimester when most women claim they feel great, and this has been more than a little true for me.

I'm just so honored.

What's mine is yours.

Each time I take a bite, I think about how my food intake impacts my baby. Sometimes, I just need a cookie or some ice cream, so I ignore what I know to be the "right thing." I take great comfort in knowing that Baby takes what he/she needs, and I get whatever happens to be leftover. I'm much more concerned with Baby's development than I am with my health, even though I know they're synergistic.

This has been one of my first "real" glimpses into what it means to be a mother. So many of my friends have opted for pampering birthday gifts for their moms because "she never does anything for herself, and she would never choose to spend the money on her own."

That's the way moms are. We make sure our babies have what they need first--even our bodies know that that's the way it's supposed to be.