I just have to share this.....
After high school I spent 2.5 years doing full time volunteer work. My home was in Oxford, MI but I/we travelled all over the place all the time. I lived with other volunteers and women who consecrated their lives to Christ and building His Kingdom. We worked with groups of junior high and high school girls doing retreats, leadership training, pilgrimages, and various other activities. I loved it! I absolutely loved it. I formed life long friendships with the women I worked with. I acquired lot of "little sisters" whom I continue to pray for and are in contact with. And the parents we worked with were amazing!....some of the most inspiring examples of motherhood, marriage, and service. I really am so very grateful for having spent that time with such wonderful people.
One of the regular activities I was responsible for was a monthly trip to Toledo, OH to meet with a rather large group of girls there. Myself and a very dear consecrated woman would spend an entire weekend meeting with the whole group, putting on some really fun activities, meeting with the girls and their families, etc. And of course we needed a place to stay. One particular family opened up their home to us almost every single month. It was so wonderful to have a regular place to stay. And there was something particularly special about this home. It was the home of Bob and Fran McCartney, the grandparents of a few of the girls we worked with. Now, Grandma and Grandpa McCartney (Grandpa insisted we call him that instead of "Mr. McCartney") were a slice of heaven to stay with....to KNOW. Mariana (my teammate) and I would talk about them all the time. The love they had for each other was most amazing. There was this unspoken, tangible, heart melting joy and happiness that they held together. And I am honored to have known such a couple.
A few weeks ago Grandpa passed away. Though my heart was sad, I rejoiced in the knowing that he must be in heaven as a soul such as his would only bring joy and glory to God. Truly a most amazing man. He was such an example for me. An example of the virtue, the respect, the uprightness and true masculinity that I sought in my future husband. Bob and Fran shared the kind of love that every single married couple ought to seek. And with pride I can say that I have found such a man and I can only pray that in 60 years we will be as in love, Christ-centered, and blissfully happy as Grandma and Grandpa were/are. How grateful I am to have known and loved such wonderful examples.
Thank you Bridget for sharing this beautiful post about your grandfather.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Winter's Goodness
Just when I think I can handle everything and I can do all I set out to do, I am humbled. And gratefully so. My mother came a few weeks ago to help me can. I honestly didn't think we'd actually do anything more that visit and clean up the garden. But when she walked in the door, along came a gust of busy-ness and motivation. The woman came prepared! I mean ready.to.go. She wasn't even here 10 minutes and my kitchen was piled high with canning supplies, apples, frozen berries, treats for the kids, and much more. I'm pretty sure she knew how things would go. I had every intention of canning all the apples myself...AND berries into jam/jelly. But the smart lady she is, she wasn't really counting on a whole lot of my help. She came to work. She came to help. She came to SAVE ME. And save me she did. The night she arrived we cooked down and juiced gallon bags full of concord grapes for jelly. The next morning the applesauce canning began. She went about her saucing while I tried to help in the middle of my daily duties of mothering, wifing, cleaning, chauffeuring, etc. And quite honestly my attempts were good, but the success was fleeting. Just as I'd get my hands washed and a few apples peeled I'd hear a "Mom, Wyatt stinks" or "Mom, dad is on the phone" or screaming and fighting or meals needing to be prepared, etc. It was a whirlwind. By the end that day we she successfully canned 30+ quarts of applesauce, 9 jars of raspberry jelly, 5 quarts of grape juice (for jelly), and 7 jars of grape jelly. The next day I don't think she canned anything, but we did play outside for a while and dug up three 5 gallon buckets full of yukon gold potatoes, picked pumpkins and squash, and packed her things and she left before 2pm. Did I mention that she made breakfast (french toast, bacon, and eggs) for everyone. Seriously, the woman is SUPER WOMAN. And I am so so so grateful for her. Here are a few pictures of some of our canning from this season. I say "some" because most of what isn't pictured is stored in boxes on shelves in the basement.
50 quarts of peaches
30+ quarts of applesauce
18 jars of jelly
70 quarts of spaghetti sauce
50 quarts of stewed tomatoes
60 pints of salsa (needing to be made)
As my mother would say, "Winter is going to taste SO good!"
50 quarts of peaches
30+ quarts of applesauce
18 jars of jelly
70 quarts of spaghetti sauce
50 quarts of stewed tomatoes
60 pints of salsa (needing to be made)
As my mother would say, "Winter is going to taste SO good!"
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Yvette's Birth
A little prelude to Yvette’s birth. From the time we found out we were pregnant to the day she was born and after was quite possibly the most stressful and rocky time in our marriage and just life in general. It was NOT because of the pregnancy. Quite the contrary, being pregnant with her helped keep us grounded, together, and hopeful.
My youngest brother passed away in a car accident when I was 29 weeks pregnant. Actually, he died on our wedding anniversary which really seemed like the candle on a very volatile cake. It wasn’t good. And so the grieving process was a bit hard. Steve and I were on the mend from a pretty nasty fight. So you can imagine the things left unsaid, undone were weighing on me. On top of that, John and I were in a very sensitive “stage of reconstruction” (so to speak) in our marriage. And being that pregnant and wanting to grieve without restriction was difficult. Everyone (including myself) reminded me to “stay calm, rest, don’t hyperventilate, eat, etc”. When really all I wanted to do was scream bloody murder at the top of my lungs until I felt like the whole world could hear me. I wanted to beat something I was so angry. I wanted to curl up and forget everything…everyone. I wanted to march into church and spit, curse, give God a piece of my mind. Everything in me wanted to burst. And holding it in seemed to make it worse. But I managed to put on a face, stayed as collected and “calm” as possible, and counted the weeks until I could explode.
We couldn’t afford to pay out of pocket for a homebirth. We had moved back to central Minnesota and were able to use my childhood doctor as our baby doc. I trusted her and was comforted to know she was fine with everything we wanted for our birthing experience. But as the weeks went on I became more and more anxious. I begged her and pressured her to induce me. And finally she told me we’d give it a try with a date set just before my 39 week mark. I was relieved. John, though he didn’t like my decision, tried to be supportive. All I could think about was being done so I could grieve. All John could think about was me and what an induction would most likely mean. I listened to him but reassured him that I could handle it. I was scheduled to arrive in the evening and they’d induce me with a patch that would bring on labor and then it could be removed once I reach a certain point. The thing is, when the doc went to insert this patch on my uterus, I wasn’t quite dilated enough which made things a bit uncomfortable. Finally the patch was put in place and I was monitored. All night. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. No progression. No hard contractions. My doctor came back in the morning and sent me home. I was mad. I was embarrassed. I was frustrated. And I was impatient. Clearly my body was not ready…..my baby was not ready. And so I waited for another week. Eight days later we went back in determined to not leave without baby in arms. I had progressed a little bit more making it easier to insert the patch again. This time contraction came on strong! So strong in fact that a few hours after placing it, they decided to remove it thinking my contractions would keep up. Not the case. With the patch I reached 4 or 5 centimeters and stalled for the rest of the night. We walked. I bounced on the ball. I labored in the tub. I tried to sleep (with no success). Nothing. I was far enough along to be mildly uncomfortable and unable to rest though I was not progressing despite my efforts. My doctor came in early morning to check me and suggested pitocin. I was exhausted and game for anything. I was hooked up to pitocin and about 2 hours later they broke my water. By that point things were really going. Oh my was I in pain! The pitocin was causing contractions….HARD contractions that I wasn’t geared up for. These contractions felt worse that the contractions you’d feel during transition…and I was hardly 5-6 centimeters! I was not ready for that. Plus having my water broken forced things even harder. I understood why women demand the drugs at that point. I beared with it for a while. Laboring in the tub and mostly on the bed. I forget all the details that led up to this next part, but I reached a breaking point. I completely lost any control/calm/focus that I had had. I was breathing through a particularly hard contraction and leaning on John and someone (I can’t remember if it was John or my doctor) said, “Theresa you are doing so good. Keep going. Breath through it. Offer it for Stephen.” I broke. I mean hyperventilating, body spasms, burst into tears breaking going on. It was like I couldn’t do it anymore. The focus had shifted and everything that I had pent up inside came barreling out PLUS the contractions. What the heck is a laboring woman to do?! The only way they could calm me down before another contraction came was to strap on some breathing mask and give me a small dose of some sort of sedative. It took the edge off but it wasn’t enough. I was exhausted and too far along to quit and too grieved to focus. That small dose of painkiller turned into a full blown epidural shortly after. Oh that thing felt good! Wow. I managed to get a 4 hour nap in while my body finished dilating. The doctor came in and told me I was ready to push. I didn’t feel anything so I just took her word for it. Now, I KNOW what that “uncontrollable urge to push” feels like and since I didn’t have it and I couldn’t feel anything down there I had a hard time pushing. Apparently I was kinda pushing. But how does one know?! Baby was still high, my pushing efforts were not doing much, and we were going on 12 hours since water break and 24 hours since onset of labor. By that point I had submitted to everything that I didn’t initially want. I was frustrated too. I pushed and pushed and about 1.5 hours later my doc tells me that either we turn off the epidural and kick up the pitocin so I can FEEL when to push or we start getting the forceps or vacuum out or we discuss surgery. None of those sounded nice at all. I knew what the pitocin would do. I’d turn into a crazed lunatic with no energy to handle it if we opted for that. The instruments were NOT going to happen. And after some tears and some reassurance from my loving doctor, I consented to surgery. John was so worried. I was completely exhausted. And my doctor, though not liking the surgery decision either, saw it as our best option by that point.
*note: baby was fine. I was fine. Neither of us was in distress or under any health concerns. My doctor said that my body had been forced into labor and was working so hard that it was swelling making it harder for the baby to move down. Plus the time factor.
It was a matter of 15 minutes between giving my consent and being strapped onto the operating table. It went fast. And it was a bit of a blur. I remember John sitting right next to me, both of us a bit teary eyed. I remember feeling some pulling/tugging and then less than 15-20 minutes later I was being stitched up and wheeled back to my room. John went with the baby and met me back in my room.
Yvette Mariana Backowski was born on Thursday, October 18, 2007 at 9:21pm. She weighed in at 8lbs 9oz and 21.5 inches long.
I was wheeled back to my room where John and Yvette greeted me. She was beautiful! And John was relieved to have us both in the room. I couldn’t hold her for several hours because my body was reacting to the drugs I had. I had the shakes really bad followed by severe headaches. I was worried I’d drop her because I had no control over them. All I wanted to do was cuddle her and nurse her but I couldn’t. I couldn’t. So her first 24 hours she was fed by the nurses and held mostly by visitors. I was too weak and shaky to. We stayed in the hospital until that following Sunday.
Recovery was harsh. Because I had labored so hard to the point of pushing before ultimately having surgery, I suffered from both vaginal and abdominal recovery from labor. It wasn’t fun. It took almost 10 weeks before I finally started feeling like things were getting better.
Though we were both a bit disappointed with how things went, I suppose it could have been expected. I’ve had several friends and family members who have gone through similar birth experiences…
Wanting to try to do it naturally…getting anxious and opting for induction…which in turn usually (not always) leads to epidurals, vacuums, forceps, and/or surgery.
It’s a common pattern. And it works for people. It just wasn’t how we desired things to go. But in the end we went home with a healthy beautiful baby girl - which is what we wanted. Is there anything better than that?
My youngest brother passed away in a car accident when I was 29 weeks pregnant. Actually, he died on our wedding anniversary which really seemed like the candle on a very volatile cake. It wasn’t good. And so the grieving process was a bit hard. Steve and I were on the mend from a pretty nasty fight. So you can imagine the things left unsaid, undone were weighing on me. On top of that, John and I were in a very sensitive “stage of reconstruction” (so to speak) in our marriage. And being that pregnant and wanting to grieve without restriction was difficult. Everyone (including myself) reminded me to “stay calm, rest, don’t hyperventilate, eat, etc”. When really all I wanted to do was scream bloody murder at the top of my lungs until I felt like the whole world could hear me. I wanted to beat something I was so angry. I wanted to curl up and forget everything…everyone. I wanted to march into church and spit, curse, give God a piece of my mind. Everything in me wanted to burst. And holding it in seemed to make it worse. But I managed to put on a face, stayed as collected and “calm” as possible, and counted the weeks until I could explode.
We couldn’t afford to pay out of pocket for a homebirth. We had moved back to central Minnesota and were able to use my childhood doctor as our baby doc. I trusted her and was comforted to know she was fine with everything we wanted for our birthing experience. But as the weeks went on I became more and more anxious. I begged her and pressured her to induce me. And finally she told me we’d give it a try with a date set just before my 39 week mark. I was relieved. John, though he didn’t like my decision, tried to be supportive. All I could think about was being done so I could grieve. All John could think about was me and what an induction would most likely mean. I listened to him but reassured him that I could handle it. I was scheduled to arrive in the evening and they’d induce me with a patch that would bring on labor and then it could be removed once I reach a certain point. The thing is, when the doc went to insert this patch on my uterus, I wasn’t quite dilated enough which made things a bit uncomfortable. Finally the patch was put in place and I was monitored. All night. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. No progression. No hard contractions. My doctor came back in the morning and sent me home. I was mad. I was embarrassed. I was frustrated. And I was impatient. Clearly my body was not ready…..my baby was not ready. And so I waited for another week. Eight days later we went back in determined to not leave without baby in arms. I had progressed a little bit more making it easier to insert the patch again. This time contraction came on strong! So strong in fact that a few hours after placing it, they decided to remove it thinking my contractions would keep up. Not the case. With the patch I reached 4 or 5 centimeters and stalled for the rest of the night. We walked. I bounced on the ball. I labored in the tub. I tried to sleep (with no success). Nothing. I was far enough along to be mildly uncomfortable and unable to rest though I was not progressing despite my efforts. My doctor came in early morning to check me and suggested pitocin. I was exhausted and game for anything. I was hooked up to pitocin and about 2 hours later they broke my water. By that point things were really going. Oh my was I in pain! The pitocin was causing contractions….HARD contractions that I wasn’t geared up for. These contractions felt worse that the contractions you’d feel during transition…and I was hardly 5-6 centimeters! I was not ready for that. Plus having my water broken forced things even harder. I understood why women demand the drugs at that point. I beared with it for a while. Laboring in the tub and mostly on the bed. I forget all the details that led up to this next part, but I reached a breaking point. I completely lost any control/calm/focus that I had had. I was breathing through a particularly hard contraction and leaning on John and someone (I can’t remember if it was John or my doctor) said, “Theresa you are doing so good. Keep going. Breath through it. Offer it for Stephen.” I broke. I mean hyperventilating, body spasms, burst into tears breaking going on. It was like I couldn’t do it anymore. The focus had shifted and everything that I had pent up inside came barreling out PLUS the contractions. What the heck is a laboring woman to do?! The only way they could calm me down before another contraction came was to strap on some breathing mask and give me a small dose of some sort of sedative. It took the edge off but it wasn’t enough. I was exhausted and too far along to quit and too grieved to focus. That small dose of painkiller turned into a full blown epidural shortly after. Oh that thing felt good! Wow. I managed to get a 4 hour nap in while my body finished dilating. The doctor came in and told me I was ready to push. I didn’t feel anything so I just took her word for it. Now, I KNOW what that “uncontrollable urge to push” feels like and since I didn’t have it and I couldn’t feel anything down there I had a hard time pushing. Apparently I was kinda pushing. But how does one know?! Baby was still high, my pushing efforts were not doing much, and we were going on 12 hours since water break and 24 hours since onset of labor. By that point I had submitted to everything that I didn’t initially want. I was frustrated too. I pushed and pushed and about 1.5 hours later my doc tells me that either we turn off the epidural and kick up the pitocin so I can FEEL when to push or we start getting the forceps or vacuum out or we discuss surgery. None of those sounded nice at all. I knew what the pitocin would do. I’d turn into a crazed lunatic with no energy to handle it if we opted for that. The instruments were NOT going to happen. And after some tears and some reassurance from my loving doctor, I consented to surgery. John was so worried. I was completely exhausted. And my doctor, though not liking the surgery decision either, saw it as our best option by that point.
*note: baby was fine. I was fine. Neither of us was in distress or under any health concerns. My doctor said that my body had been forced into labor and was working so hard that it was swelling making it harder for the baby to move down. Plus the time factor.
It was a matter of 15 minutes between giving my consent and being strapped onto the operating table. It went fast. And it was a bit of a blur. I remember John sitting right next to me, both of us a bit teary eyed. I remember feeling some pulling/tugging and then less than 15-20 minutes later I was being stitched up and wheeled back to my room. John went with the baby and met me back in my room.
Yvette Mariana Backowski was born on Thursday, October 18, 2007 at 9:21pm. She weighed in at 8lbs 9oz and 21.5 inches long.
I was wheeled back to my room where John and Yvette greeted me. She was beautiful! And John was relieved to have us both in the room. I couldn’t hold her for several hours because my body was reacting to the drugs I had. I had the shakes really bad followed by severe headaches. I was worried I’d drop her because I had no control over them. All I wanted to do was cuddle her and nurse her but I couldn’t. I couldn’t. So her first 24 hours she was fed by the nurses and held mostly by visitors. I was too weak and shaky to. We stayed in the hospital until that following Sunday.
Recovery was harsh. Because I had labored so hard to the point of pushing before ultimately having surgery, I suffered from both vaginal and abdominal recovery from labor. It wasn’t fun. It took almost 10 weeks before I finally started feeling like things were getting better.
Though we were both a bit disappointed with how things went, I suppose it could have been expected. I’ve had several friends and family members who have gone through similar birth experiences…
Wanting to try to do it naturally…getting anxious and opting for induction…which in turn usually (not always) leads to epidurals, vacuums, forceps, and/or surgery.
It’s a common pattern. And it works for people. It just wasn’t how we desired things to go. But in the end we went home with a healthy beautiful baby girl - which is what we wanted. Is there anything better than that?
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Get Dressed!
Attention Stay At Home Moms!!!
What is the “Get Dressed!” Challenge? It’s a one-month motivotional (motivation + devotional) where you are encouraged to go from “frumps” to “pumps” in the everyday. Why a month? The goal with “Get Dressed!” is to help you build into the habit of getting dressed and looking nice everyday.
Are you ready? Let’s get dressed!
Miss Sarah Mae from Like A Warm Cup of Coffee is hosting this challenge. It sounds like the kind of thing I need given the cold weather coming in. It is so easy to stay in my warm jammy pants, slippers, and hoodie until I feel like getting dressed, which to be honest with you, is sometimes closer to lunch time than I'd like to admit. "Puddling" is what we call it here....puddling around in comfort. I know I feel more put together, ready for the day, and prepared for the occasional visitor if I am dressed and ready for my day before everyone else. And when I do manage that it is usually jeans and hoodie. I've got some cute maternity clothes that are just sitting in a box so I really have no excuse. Here's to stepping it up a notch. Everyday "visitor-ready"......
Join me! Grab a button on Sarah Mae's page.....
What is the “Get Dressed!” Challenge? It’s a one-month motivotional (motivation + devotional) where you are encouraged to go from “frumps” to “pumps” in the everyday. Why a month? The goal with “Get Dressed!” is to help you build into the habit of getting dressed and looking nice everyday.
Are you ready? Let’s get dressed!
Miss Sarah Mae from Like A Warm Cup of Coffee is hosting this challenge. It sounds like the kind of thing I need given the cold weather coming in. It is so easy to stay in my warm jammy pants, slippers, and hoodie until I feel like getting dressed, which to be honest with you, is sometimes closer to lunch time than I'd like to admit. "Puddling" is what we call it here....puddling around in comfort. I know I feel more put together, ready for the day, and prepared for the occasional visitor if I am dressed and ready for my day before everyone else. And when I do manage that it is usually jeans and hoodie. I've got some cute maternity clothes that are just sitting in a box so I really have no excuse. Here's to stepping it up a notch. Everyday "visitor-ready"......
Join me! Grab a button on Sarah Mae's page.....
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Daily Bread (part 1)
I love to cook. And for the most part I am fairly successful at it. I don’t usually try to make a recipe up…I’m not that creative. However I have been known to try a new recipe a few times and tweek it a little before settling on a version that suits us best. I love to try new things. New recipes are awesome and fun. However, I have been an utter failure at 2 things:
1. Pie crust
2. Bread
The thing with the pie crust is that it works when I do the recipe WITH someone. But never when I’m going solo does it actually turn out to be edible. Figure that one out.
And bread. Oh, the lost art! My mom wasn’t a bread maker. And my great-grammy wasn’t one either, at least not in the years that I noticed her cooking. Apparently Grammy baked bread daily for her brood of 9.……years and years slash generations ago. ;-) How I wish I could be a fly in her kitchen when she was in her prime. What an experience that would have been.
Anyway, the extent of my bread making has always been with a bread machine. Sure bread in the bread machine is homemade, but there is just something about bread “the old way” that makes a heart melt and a tummy satisfied. Every single time I’ve tried handmade bread it either doesn’t rise, turns out too flaky and dry, it’s a brick, or it tastes like nothing. Not one single time do I remember a loaf that was successful. And believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve tried different techniques like in which in theory works. I know it has worked for my parents. It has worked for friends of mine. But me? Nope. Or of course there’s my good old friend Betty Crocker who always pulls through for me. Except in the bread department. I’ve tried the old church cookbooks. I’ve watched tutorials. No success.
Until today. I decided it was time. Early this year John’s Aunt Maralene came for a visit and brought me a Sam’s Club sized package of yeast, some bread making tips that work for her, and this cookbook I was grateful and I tried a couple recipes but they didn’t quite work out for me so the cookbook has been sitting on my shelf for months. Today I thought I’d give it a whole hearted try. I literally “slaved” over the very first recipe all day. I spent this morning following the recipe step by step. I was patient and loving in my attempt. And guess what. The most yummy, perfectly golden, evenly shaped, moist and not crumbly loaf of bread came out of the oven early this evening. Just in time for dessert. Yup. Homemade bread for dessert. And the kids loved it! I’d share a picture but…the camera has disappeared. (Yvette likes to roam around when she is supposed to be napping and I’m certain she was playing around with it and won’t fess up because it was next to the computer before naptime and after naptime it was gone. Hmmm….) I’m sure it will turn up soon.
And when it does, I will share a pick. IF of course I can do this again. Big IF...
1. Pie crust
2. Bread
The thing with the pie crust is that it works when I do the recipe WITH someone. But never when I’m going solo does it actually turn out to be edible. Figure that one out.
And bread. Oh, the lost art! My mom wasn’t a bread maker. And my great-grammy wasn’t one either, at least not in the years that I noticed her cooking. Apparently Grammy baked bread daily for her brood of 9.……years and years slash generations ago. ;-) How I wish I could be a fly in her kitchen when she was in her prime. What an experience that would have been.
Anyway, the extent of my bread making has always been with a bread machine. Sure bread in the bread machine is homemade, but there is just something about bread “the old way” that makes a heart melt and a tummy satisfied. Every single time I’ve tried handmade bread it either doesn’t rise, turns out too flaky and dry, it’s a brick, or it tastes like nothing. Not one single time do I remember a loaf that was successful. And believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve tried different techniques like in which in theory works. I know it has worked for my parents. It has worked for friends of mine. But me? Nope. Or of course there’s my good old friend Betty Crocker who always pulls through for me. Except in the bread department. I’ve tried the old church cookbooks. I’ve watched tutorials. No success.
Until today. I decided it was time. Early this year John’s Aunt Maralene came for a visit and brought me a Sam’s Club sized package of yeast, some bread making tips that work for her, and this cookbook I was grateful and I tried a couple recipes but they didn’t quite work out for me so the cookbook has been sitting on my shelf for months. Today I thought I’d give it a whole hearted try. I literally “slaved” over the very first recipe all day. I spent this morning following the recipe step by step. I was patient and loving in my attempt. And guess what. The most yummy, perfectly golden, evenly shaped, moist and not crumbly loaf of bread came out of the oven early this evening. Just in time for dessert. Yup. Homemade bread for dessert. And the kids loved it! I’d share a picture but…the camera has disappeared. (Yvette likes to roam around when she is supposed to be napping and I’m certain she was playing around with it and won’t fess up because it was next to the computer before naptime and after naptime it was gone. Hmmm….) I’m sure it will turn up soon.
And when it does, I will share a pick. IF of course I can do this again. Big IF...
Thursday, October 6, 2011
All In A Day's Work
Remember those corn fields I posted just the other day? Well, this is what they look like now...
What my husband spent the day driving...
The kids love a visit to the tractor...
Wyatt is in heaven when he is near the tractors. I thought Hayden had a tractor obsession!...nothing compared to Wyatt
And of course the combine not too far away...
And you wanna know what makes me melt?....
seeing this man.....with our kids......
*sigh* how can I resist him?! He works harder than anyone I know. He knows how to drive heavy machinery. He can split almost an entire winter's worth of wood with just a splitting maul (and not mind!). He absolutely loves being a dad! He's extraordinarily easy on the eyes. And he loves me to pieces. I could go on and on and on........but I won't (today). How the heck did I get so lucky?! God knows I don't deserve him. But I thank Him for such a man every single day!
What my husband spent the day driving...
The kids love a visit to the tractor...
Wyatt is in heaven when he is near the tractors. I thought Hayden had a tractor obsession!...nothing compared to Wyatt
And of course the combine not too far away...
And you wanna know what makes me melt?....
seeing this man.....with our kids......
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
View of the Farm
Last night we went on a little trip around the property. It really wasn't very long but I did enjoy it. Our little 10 acre piece is surrounded by miles of crops/fields, which I love.
Here are afew bunch of pics.....
view from the western boarder (facing north). It isn't much to look at...it's old and kinda messy right now, but it is home and we LOVE it.
turning to the right (facing east)
and another right (facing south)
and another right (facing west)
and the kids......
They like to pick up the cobs of corn that the combines miss so they can have food for the geese at the park, a treat for Kevin, and the alpacas like a few sweet snacks every now and again.
Wyatt was mad at me because I wouldn't hold him. He's still so much the baby. *sigh* I should probably work a little harder on that before March.
Yvette and Hayden chasing after the trailer trying to jump back in...
and, of course, John saying "hi" to the alpacas. Can you count them? Yup...there are 7. We got 2 more this year (prego females). More about that in another "Alpacas 101" post.
and Fiona. She's a brute and huge and usually knocks the kids down just to love on them. Isn't she pretty? For a dog, I mean. We love her. We really do.
and the kids one more time....
Can't a mom get a decent group pick? Apparently not. This is the best they'd do for me. I guess I'll take what I can get.
Here are a
view from the western boarder (facing north). It isn't much to look at...it's old and kinda messy right now, but it is home and we LOVE it.
turning to the right (facing east)
and another right (facing south)
and another right (facing west)
and the kids......
They like to pick up the cobs of corn that the combines miss so they can have food for the geese at the park, a treat for Kevin, and the alpacas like a few sweet snacks every now and again.
Yvette and Hayden chasing after the trailer trying to jump back in...
and, of course, John saying "hi" to the alpacas. Can you count them? Yup...there are 7. We got 2 more this year (prego females). More about that in another "Alpacas 101" post.
and the kids one more time....
Can't a mom get a decent group pick? Apparently not. This is the best they'd do for me. I guess I'll take what I can get.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Fall on the Farm
It has been such beautiful weather lately that I can't help but spend most of the days outside. I truly love this time of year.
Just a fraction of what is still out in the pumpkin patch. Gosh I hope we can get of them before it freezes again. Aren't they beautiful?!
This is the first year we haven picked edible fruit from out super old apple tree. All the other years they have been too tart to eat or no fruit at all. This year we have only about a 5 gallon bucket full but the apples are large and very yummy. Perfect pie apples....tart yet juicy and a little bit sweet. I hope it produces more next year.
Part of a winter's worth of wood. John is still working on the pile, though it is about 1/3 of what it was about a month ago. He's pretty great.
Meet Kevin, our lone guinea hen. He has quite the character. More about his story later.
Anyway, life on this little farm these days has been busy, beautiful, and fruitful. Hope y'all are enjoying your fall too.
Anyway, life on this little farm these days has been busy, beautiful, and fruitful. Hope y'all are enjoying your fall too.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Hayden's Birth
My due date was October 26th. That came and went! Our midwife was calm and reassuring. She gave us a list of labor inducing activities. ;-) A warm bath and a small glass of wine was nice. Raspberry leaf tea, black cohosh, long walks uphill, dancing, scrubbing the floor on all fours, spicy foods, etc. All of which we did. And then some. November came. Days passed. On November 3rd in the morning I called my midwife and told her I was going grocery shopping for the last time before the baby came. I also informed her that I was going to pick up a bottle of Castor oil. She laughed and suggested 2 ways of taking it, but that I needed to make sure I called her as soon as I took it. And then to keep her updated on any progress. You know how nerve racking that was?! Trying to induce my own labor like that! All I could think about was my mother. She was 10 days late with me and took Castor oil. Three hours later she was in hard labor and called her doc. 45 minutes of labor and I was out. I stared at that bottle and tried to decide how ready I was for this. And then I took it.
I went about my day finishing up laundry, cleaning up the kitchen, vacuuming, etc. Nothing was happening. Hours later and nothing happened. Apparently I was either going to be sitting on the toilet for days or I’d go into labor or both. Nothing happened. I called my midwife about 4 hours later and she said to take another ½ dose. Great. Power shitting here we come. But at 9 days over due I was ready and willing to suffer anything to get this baby out. So I took the second dose late afternoon. And waited. John got home, he ate supper (I didn’t want anything more in my stomach, thanks), we showered and crawled into bed early expecting something to happen soon. Nothing. We went to bed about 7:45pm. And at that point I had felt nothing. Not one contraction. I started to doze off when it all began. Around 8:15pm I began feeling contractions. I didn’t wake John, I just stared at the clock and timed them. Right away they were 30-40 seconds long and about 6 minutes apart but they weren’t too strong yet. That changed quickly. By 9:30pm they were 4 minutes apart and a solid 45 seconds long and I had to breathe through them. I could still walk and function but they were getting strong. We called the midwife and her doula. The doula came over shortly before midnight, checked me, and said I had a bit to go before Monica would come. We walked and talked and swayed and moaned through the contractions. By 1am Monica (the midwife) was there. She checked me and said I was about 6cm and had some work to do yet. I was okay. It was hard. But I honestly can’t say it was terribly painful at that point. Everyone stayed calm and focused. John massaged my back as I was having terrible back pain. That hurt more than the contractions. By 3am I was getting tired and anxious and it was starting to really get difficult. Monica checked me again and said I was close and suggested that I do the stairs a few times to speed things up. “Are you kidding me?!” I yelled at her. She just laughed. John walked with me. During the 1 minute between each contraction I quickly went down the stairs, braced myself for the contraction, then ran back up the stairs. I am certain it was quite the site. But it did the job. A few time of that and I was almost a 10. At that point I could barely stand up but Monica kept telling me that there was a “lip” of cervix left and I shouldn’t push yet. She kept trying to push it aside during my contractions but I could hardly take her doing that. Oh my goodness I felt like I was going into shock. Apparently it was transition (the point between full dilation and pushing). Eventually I was ready. Monica suggested trying a couple different position for pushing. I pushed on all fours. That was NOT comfortable for me. I pushed standing up. My legs almost went out from under me. Finally I just laid down on the bed and John was behind. That didn’t work either. Plus he wanted to watch and I needed to SEE him to keep myself calm.
Note: John was absolutely amazing during my whole labor. He never left my side. Not once. He massaged my back, he held me, he was my rock. Every time I thought I was going to lose it, I focused on him and held eye contact and I’d find my way back to a calm breathable state. I know labor was difficult for him too. I remember looking at him during a particularly difficult moment and he was teary eyed. Helpless yet THERE, which to me meant everything.
Women say there is a relief in pushing. I’m not so sure. Pushing was almost more difficult that dilation (for me). It took 3 hours….3 hours! To push him out. I remember at one point probably half way through pushing Monica says to me “Theresa, you have to focus and really push as hard as you can or we’re going to have to get in the car and head to hospital.” Apparently his heart rate had dropped a bit. It wasn’t terribly low but if he didn’t come out soon, she was concerned he’d go into distress. Well, I wasn’t about to walk my laboring self to the car and be driven to the hospital. No way. And I wasn’t going to risk my baby’s well-being by not giving my all. I mustered up the strength and energy to push a million times harder. Oh my goodness! Talk about empowering. Talk about strength! From there on out I don’t remember pain or difficulty. I remember pushing and the burning from his head crowning. And then his head came out and his slippery little body came out in the next push. 9:26am November 4, 2005 Hayden was laid on my tummy….pink, cone headed, and screaming. I burst into tears. As John said, “there were four of us in the room all night and now there is five.” He cried too. Nobody said anything more for several minutes. I delivered the placenta and they cut the cord. Finally after about 5 minutes of staring and soaking up my baby the doula says, “Well, ya gonna look to see what you got?” It hadn’t occurred to us that we didn’t know if it was a boy or girl. BOY. All 10lbs 4oz and 21.5 inches of him. He was perfect. And I lay there staring into his eyes. We had a few moments of complete perfection.
The midwife did her tests and weighed Hayden. John stayed with him while the doula (Jana) helped me into the tub to get washed up. When I returned to the room, our bedding had been changed, everything was cleaned up, and John was standing in the corner ogling our son. I crawled into bed, cradled Hayden, and we all fell asleep. Monica and Jana threw the bedding into the wash machine, filled out their paperwork, packed up their stuff and left before I could even say thank you.
We spent the next couple days in bed together, all of us resting. It was awesome. Truly awesome. Our families came a couple days afterward. Of course John’s parents were shocked and concerned about him being born at home, but ultimately they were excited and happy. My parents came with Steve and Isabell (Betty had to work) and we spent the afternoon together. They were all so proud and happy. I’ll never forget those first few days of bliss. Tired, exhausted, loving bliss.
FYI and TMI: Did I end up with an episiotomy? Nope. It took me so long to push him out that I gradually stretched and didn’t tear. What a relief! Oh, and the pain afterward was almost worse than the whole labor. It was so hard for me to get out of bed to use the bathroom. John had to literally lift me to a standing position because my whole bottom half was so exhausted and sore.
Was it worth it? ABSOLUTELY! And the crazy thing was that I was anxious to do it again. I can’t even begin to tell you the high I got from labor. Oh my goodness! It was a total rush! Like climbing a mountain and then the freedom of jumping off and flying. It was truly awesome. It was way more intense than anything I had ever experienced…EVER. I understood right then why women would want to do it again, why they would talk about it as “wonderful, mind-blowing, a high”. It is absolutely that and then some.
Labor is mostly mental. If you can train yourself mentally to focus, breath, almost meditate during contractions, you’ll have the birth experience of your life!
p.s. I have a disc with picture from Hayden’s birth but I can’t seem to find it. I will post them as soon as I find the disc.
p.s.s. stay tuned for Yvette’s birth story soon. Hers is completely different in every way…failed induction, second induction, long labor, drugs, etc. Details to follow….
I went about my day finishing up laundry, cleaning up the kitchen, vacuuming, etc. Nothing was happening. Hours later and nothing happened. Apparently I was either going to be sitting on the toilet for days or I’d go into labor or both. Nothing happened. I called my midwife about 4 hours later and she said to take another ½ dose. Great. Power shitting here we come. But at 9 days over due I was ready and willing to suffer anything to get this baby out. So I took the second dose late afternoon. And waited. John got home, he ate supper (I didn’t want anything more in my stomach, thanks), we showered and crawled into bed early expecting something to happen soon. Nothing. We went to bed about 7:45pm. And at that point I had felt nothing. Not one contraction. I started to doze off when it all began. Around 8:15pm I began feeling contractions. I didn’t wake John, I just stared at the clock and timed them. Right away they were 30-40 seconds long and about 6 minutes apart but they weren’t too strong yet. That changed quickly. By 9:30pm they were 4 minutes apart and a solid 45 seconds long and I had to breathe through them. I could still walk and function but they were getting strong. We called the midwife and her doula. The doula came over shortly before midnight, checked me, and said I had a bit to go before Monica would come. We walked and talked and swayed and moaned through the contractions. By 1am Monica (the midwife) was there. She checked me and said I was about 6cm and had some work to do yet. I was okay. It was hard. But I honestly can’t say it was terribly painful at that point. Everyone stayed calm and focused. John massaged my back as I was having terrible back pain. That hurt more than the contractions. By 3am I was getting tired and anxious and it was starting to really get difficult. Monica checked me again and said I was close and suggested that I do the stairs a few times to speed things up. “Are you kidding me?!” I yelled at her. She just laughed. John walked with me. During the 1 minute between each contraction I quickly went down the stairs, braced myself for the contraction, then ran back up the stairs. I am certain it was quite the site. But it did the job. A few time of that and I was almost a 10. At that point I could barely stand up but Monica kept telling me that there was a “lip” of cervix left and I shouldn’t push yet. She kept trying to push it aside during my contractions but I could hardly take her doing that. Oh my goodness I felt like I was going into shock. Apparently it was transition (the point between full dilation and pushing). Eventually I was ready. Monica suggested trying a couple different position for pushing. I pushed on all fours. That was NOT comfortable for me. I pushed standing up. My legs almost went out from under me. Finally I just laid down on the bed and John was behind. That didn’t work either. Plus he wanted to watch and I needed to SEE him to keep myself calm.
Note: John was absolutely amazing during my whole labor. He never left my side. Not once. He massaged my back, he held me, he was my rock. Every time I thought I was going to lose it, I focused on him and held eye contact and I’d find my way back to a calm breathable state. I know labor was difficult for him too. I remember looking at him during a particularly difficult moment and he was teary eyed. Helpless yet THERE, which to me meant everything.
Women say there is a relief in pushing. I’m not so sure. Pushing was almost more difficult that dilation (for me). It took 3 hours….3 hours! To push him out. I remember at one point probably half way through pushing Monica says to me “Theresa, you have to focus and really push as hard as you can or we’re going to have to get in the car and head to hospital.” Apparently his heart rate had dropped a bit. It wasn’t terribly low but if he didn’t come out soon, she was concerned he’d go into distress. Well, I wasn’t about to walk my laboring self to the car and be driven to the hospital. No way. And I wasn’t going to risk my baby’s well-being by not giving my all. I mustered up the strength and energy to push a million times harder. Oh my goodness! Talk about empowering. Talk about strength! From there on out I don’t remember pain or difficulty. I remember pushing and the burning from his head crowning. And then his head came out and his slippery little body came out in the next push. 9:26am November 4, 2005 Hayden was laid on my tummy….pink, cone headed, and screaming. I burst into tears. As John said, “there were four of us in the room all night and now there is five.” He cried too. Nobody said anything more for several minutes. I delivered the placenta and they cut the cord. Finally after about 5 minutes of staring and soaking up my baby the doula says, “Well, ya gonna look to see what you got?” It hadn’t occurred to us that we didn’t know if it was a boy or girl. BOY. All 10lbs 4oz and 21.5 inches of him. He was perfect. And I lay there staring into his eyes. We had a few moments of complete perfection.
The midwife did her tests and weighed Hayden. John stayed with him while the doula (Jana) helped me into the tub to get washed up. When I returned to the room, our bedding had been changed, everything was cleaned up, and John was standing in the corner ogling our son. I crawled into bed, cradled Hayden, and we all fell asleep. Monica and Jana threw the bedding into the wash machine, filled out their paperwork, packed up their stuff and left before I could even say thank you.
We spent the next couple days in bed together, all of us resting. It was awesome. Truly awesome. Our families came a couple days afterward. Of course John’s parents were shocked and concerned about him being born at home, but ultimately they were excited and happy. My parents came with Steve and Isabell (Betty had to work) and we spent the afternoon together. They were all so proud and happy. I’ll never forget those first few days of bliss. Tired, exhausted, loving bliss.
FYI and TMI: Did I end up with an episiotomy? Nope. It took me so long to push him out that I gradually stretched and didn’t tear. What a relief! Oh, and the pain afterward was almost worse than the whole labor. It was so hard for me to get out of bed to use the bathroom. John had to literally lift me to a standing position because my whole bottom half was so exhausted and sore.
Was it worth it? ABSOLUTELY! And the crazy thing was that I was anxious to do it again. I can’t even begin to tell you the high I got from labor. Oh my goodness! It was a total rush! Like climbing a mountain and then the freedom of jumping off and flying. It was truly awesome. It was way more intense than anything I had ever experienced…EVER. I understood right then why women would want to do it again, why they would talk about it as “wonderful, mind-blowing, a high”. It is absolutely that and then some.
Labor is mostly mental. If you can train yourself mentally to focus, breath, almost meditate during contractions, you’ll have the birth experience of your life!
p.s. I have a disc with picture from Hayden’s birth but I can’t seem to find it. I will post them as soon as I find the disc.
p.s.s. stay tuned for Yvette’s birth story soon. Hers is completely different in every way…failed induction, second induction, long labor, drugs, etc. Details to follow….
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Why Did We Chose the Natural Way?
I thought I’d begin my many upcoming natural childbirth posts with Hayden’s birth story. It really set the pace for my/our passionate view on the subject. And I say ours because my husband John may just be more passionate about the subject than I am. If it were up to him, I’d give birth outside with only him attending. Seriously. He’s pretty hardcore.
Anyway, a jump back in time……
We found out we were pregnant with Hayden shortly after Valentine’s Day 2005. We were ecstatic. A little stunned like most first parents get, but so happy. I remember we were watching The Last Samuri, eating pizza, and drinking beer. I suspected perhaps I was pregnant but I wasn’t quite late yet and I figured that a possible last night of beer sounded like a treat. We paused the movie for a bathroom break and John says, “Well…you gonna pee on the stick or not?” He was just a little anxious. I was nervous. I came back with the test screaming “pregnant”. John beamed ear to ear for about a week. I was happy and filled with so many questions. The next day I spent hours in Barnes and Noble picking out about 3 different pregnancy books, I perused the maternity section at Old Navy, and picked up some ice cream. As I read through the books I began to get more nervous than excited. Reading about labor and delivery made me scared. Like seriously scared. And episiotomies?! Geesh! I was ready to opt for a c-section instead of risk tearing or being cut. Actually, the more drugs the better. I was convinced. There was no way in hell I was going to be able to handle what was inevitably going to happen to me.
I asked the few friends I had who had had babies already and their birth stories were horrendous. Not one single friend I talked to told me about a wonderful birth experience. Not one. I figured I was destined to suffer tremendous amounts of pain, my body was going to get the beating of it’s life, and if I didn’t use the drugs I would probably die (sarcasm here) or never have any more kids.
I resigned myself to this mentality and accepted the inevitable. Until about half way through. I became aware of a rare syndrome that John has. I can’t even tell you the name but it has something to do with his body not being able to absorb pain medication normally. Apparently when he had his tonsils out he stopped breathing and his heart rate dropped. That is when they discovered his sensitivity to certain anesthetics and pain meds. I’m not a doc so I can’t really say anything more than that with certainty. Anyway, this scared me. What if this rarity was passed on? What if this baby had a similar sensitivity? All the books said that those laboring drugs don’t effect the baby, but to me that didn’t make sense. If I couldn’t drink or smoke during pregnancy because of the alcohol and tobacco in my bloodstream being passed right to the baby, then what about those drugs that are directly squirted into my veins. Why would they be exempt from being passed too…even in miniscule amounts. This was my logic. And to this day it makes sense to me. But apparently I’m probably just over thinking it.
Anyway, this was where my mind went. This made me more scared then the physical pain, abuse, and ripping that my body would take. We began to research natural laboring techniques. The Brady Method took front stage. We wanted to talk to other people who sought natural childbirth as well. There weren’t any classes. Our doctor laughed at us and told me I shouldn’t try to be super-woman because most woman can’t handle it. He totally disregarded our medical concerns. Plus, John made the point that woman gave birth without drugs for centuries, what makes women nowadays any different. ? Good point. I was getting close to my 28 week mark and I still hadn’t signed up for a birthing class or even found one that I wanted to take. That’s when someone suggested looking for a doula or maybe a midwife to attend the birth to help keep things natural and calm. I was open to that. The first one I called was super sweet and invited us to attend her birthing class that started that same week. Just our luck!
Our first birthing classes were so awesome and motivating! Who knew that women could do this most spectacular thing!. And walk away not only alive but empowered, happy, and wanting to do it again! Who knew?! I certainly didn’t. But then I remembered a particular family I babysat for in high school. They had like 5 kids…all at home! That to me was crazy. It was crazy then and it sounded crazy still but somehow my mind started wondering… “could that be the answer? Can I really do that? They talk about it so lovingly. Should we talk about it?”
In early September we decided it was time to tour the birthing ward at the hospital. I knew that if I was going to successfully give birth without drugs, being relaxed and calm was of the utmost importance. And comfort. Not being distracted by my surroundings, being able to focus, not being disrupted or pushed to hurry up, etc. These were important and I understood that. After touring the birth ward, asking questions, and pretty much being laughed at again by the nurses, I looked at John as we walked out and said, “I can’t do it there.” It was then that we openly discussed the possibility of a homebirth. He was concerned about my pain tolerance. I was concerned that the midwife wouldn’t be available and what our families would say. Well, the midwife was available and coached us during those last weeks, I knew that if I could mentally prepare myself then physically I could do it, and we told no one of the homebirth except a couple friends we knew would be supportive and not question us. My mother knew simply because I needed to tell someone close. She had her reservations and we talked about it. But ultimately she respected our decision, trusted that everything would be fine, and supported us wholeheartedly. I love her. I’m pretty sure my dad knew too as she can’t keep too many things a secret from him. J
And so it was final. We were doing a homebirth. And we were excited! A bit naïve about the whole thing, but aren’t all first time parents?
This is how the whole natural childbirth passion came about for us. It was a sort of “have to” in our minds. When in actuality it wasn’t…at all. But that’s okay. Because having a successful homebirth the first time around set the pace for the rest.
The actual birth story in the near future.
Anyway, a jump back in time……
We found out we were pregnant with Hayden shortly after Valentine’s Day 2005. We were ecstatic. A little stunned like most first parents get, but so happy. I remember we were watching The Last Samuri, eating pizza, and drinking beer. I suspected perhaps I was pregnant but I wasn’t quite late yet and I figured that a possible last night of beer sounded like a treat. We paused the movie for a bathroom break and John says, “Well…you gonna pee on the stick or not?” He was just a little anxious. I was nervous. I came back with the test screaming “pregnant”. John beamed ear to ear for about a week. I was happy and filled with so many questions. The next day I spent hours in Barnes and Noble picking out about 3 different pregnancy books, I perused the maternity section at Old Navy, and picked up some ice cream. As I read through the books I began to get more nervous than excited. Reading about labor and delivery made me scared. Like seriously scared. And episiotomies?! Geesh! I was ready to opt for a c-section instead of risk tearing or being cut. Actually, the more drugs the better. I was convinced. There was no way in hell I was going to be able to handle what was inevitably going to happen to me.
I asked the few friends I had who had had babies already and their birth stories were horrendous. Not one single friend I talked to told me about a wonderful birth experience. Not one. I figured I was destined to suffer tremendous amounts of pain, my body was going to get the beating of it’s life, and if I didn’t use the drugs I would probably die (sarcasm here) or never have any more kids.
I resigned myself to this mentality and accepted the inevitable. Until about half way through. I became aware of a rare syndrome that John has. I can’t even tell you the name but it has something to do with his body not being able to absorb pain medication normally. Apparently when he had his tonsils out he stopped breathing and his heart rate dropped. That is when they discovered his sensitivity to certain anesthetics and pain meds. I’m not a doc so I can’t really say anything more than that with certainty. Anyway, this scared me. What if this rarity was passed on? What if this baby had a similar sensitivity? All the books said that those laboring drugs don’t effect the baby, but to me that didn’t make sense. If I couldn’t drink or smoke during pregnancy because of the alcohol and tobacco in my bloodstream being passed right to the baby, then what about those drugs that are directly squirted into my veins. Why would they be exempt from being passed too…even in miniscule amounts. This was my logic. And to this day it makes sense to me. But apparently I’m probably just over thinking it.
Anyway, this was where my mind went. This made me more scared then the physical pain, abuse, and ripping that my body would take. We began to research natural laboring techniques. The Brady Method took front stage. We wanted to talk to other people who sought natural childbirth as well. There weren’t any classes. Our doctor laughed at us and told me I shouldn’t try to be super-woman because most woman can’t handle it. He totally disregarded our medical concerns. Plus, John made the point that woman gave birth without drugs for centuries, what makes women nowadays any different. ? Good point. I was getting close to my 28 week mark and I still hadn’t signed up for a birthing class or even found one that I wanted to take. That’s when someone suggested looking for a doula or maybe a midwife to attend the birth to help keep things natural and calm. I was open to that. The first one I called was super sweet and invited us to attend her birthing class that started that same week. Just our luck!
Our first birthing classes were so awesome and motivating! Who knew that women could do this most spectacular thing!. And walk away not only alive but empowered, happy, and wanting to do it again! Who knew?! I certainly didn’t. But then I remembered a particular family I babysat for in high school. They had like 5 kids…all at home! That to me was crazy. It was crazy then and it sounded crazy still but somehow my mind started wondering… “could that be the answer? Can I really do that? They talk about it so lovingly. Should we talk about it?”
In early September we decided it was time to tour the birthing ward at the hospital. I knew that if I was going to successfully give birth without drugs, being relaxed and calm was of the utmost importance. And comfort. Not being distracted by my surroundings, being able to focus, not being disrupted or pushed to hurry up, etc. These were important and I understood that. After touring the birth ward, asking questions, and pretty much being laughed at again by the nurses, I looked at John as we walked out and said, “I can’t do it there.” It was then that we openly discussed the possibility of a homebirth. He was concerned about my pain tolerance. I was concerned that the midwife wouldn’t be available and what our families would say. Well, the midwife was available and coached us during those last weeks, I knew that if I could mentally prepare myself then physically I could do it, and we told no one of the homebirth except a couple friends we knew would be supportive and not question us. My mother knew simply because I needed to tell someone close. She had her reservations and we talked about it. But ultimately she respected our decision, trusted that everything would be fine, and supported us wholeheartedly. I love her. I’m pretty sure my dad knew too as she can’t keep too many things a secret from him. J
And so it was final. We were doing a homebirth. And we were excited! A bit naïve about the whole thing, but aren’t all first time parents?
This is how the whole natural childbirth passion came about for us. It was a sort of “have to” in our minds. When in actuality it wasn’t…at all. But that’s okay. Because having a successful homebirth the first time around set the pace for the rest.
The actual birth story in the near future.
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