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Isaiah's Birth Story Part 3: Good Catch!

In a last ditch effort to ramp up my labour, my Doula Kirsten suggested we go for a midnight walk.  I can’t remember the last time I went for a walk in the dark, but it sounded terrifying and exciting…so Ivan, Kirsten & I headed into the cool night air.  I started strolling along, when Kirsten informed me – “Mama, this is gonna be a brisk walk” and basically started jogging circles around me like Rocky (okay, not quite – but it was less leisurely than I had pictured).  Kirsten & I are so similar, it’s amazing.  Lie again – we are complete opposites and the walk reminded me of that ; )  I was ready to walk the small familiar court we live on…while Kirsten started heading in the first direction her feet could find.  I tried to walk on the nice safe sidewalk, while Kirsten lured Ivan & I into the middle of the street with a confidence that screamed ‘come on, don’t be a wimp!’.  I almost reigned her in like a mom, but then realized that it was the middle of the night and there were no cars to be seen, and I was as big as a house, so the chances of us getting hit by a car were slim.  Kirsten chatted energetically most of the way, about things like the recurring dream she had the night before that she had missed Isaiah’s arrival, while I stayed pretty quiet aside from my contraction moans while hanging from Ivan’s shoulders.  Despite our different personalities & approaches, Kirsten & I shared the same common goal: to get this labour moving!  When we got home, I was proud that my contractions seemed to have stabilized around the 5-minute mark.  But I was still keenly aware that I had a ways to go, as evidenced by the fact that I served my team a platter of my homemade banana bread!  I wondered aloud if I should climb into my birthing pool, but Kirsten wisely suggested it might be time to rest.  Now, just because I like being right: I would like to point out that if I had gotten into the water, I’d like to think there was a reasonable chance my labour may have progressed and Isaiah may have arrived sometime that night.  But if that were the case, I may have also been completely exhausted and that is not a good way to enter active labour.  Anyway, remember when Kirsten said ‘walk’ and meant ‘marathon’?  Well I should’ve known when she said ‘rest’, she quickly clarified that she thought Ivan & I should go ‘cuddle’ with a wink.  The midwives followed her lead and gave us some alone time, but little did they know we had already checked this off the list earlier…and I had no interest in a Round 2.  So Ivan & I laid down to try and sleep a.k.a. Ivan was snoring within 2 minutes tops and I stared at the ceiling for an hour.  Needless to say, things slowed down, yet again. 

 The ladies then made some noise as they came upstairs to find us doing a whole lot of nothing.  I let them know that the rest (and probably the thinking) had slowed my contractions down to about every 10 minutes.  Theresa suggested bypassing another assessment since we all knew that things were going in the wrong direction.  I still had hope that after some proper sleep I could get things moving quickly in the morning.  I was even tempted to ask Kirsten to crash on the couch…but I also knew that if she were there, I would probably be worrying about whether she was comfortable and possibly wanting to make her breakfast in the morning ; )  I think she read my mind, because she immediately offered to make her long trip home to the other end of the city and promised to return as soon as I needed her.  So all 3 ladies left me high & dry, along with my motivation & excitement.  I was pretty spent, so I asked Ivan to make my favourite meal (chapatti & omelette) right before we both went to sleep.  I unhooked myself from the Tens machine that was helping manage contraction pain, and managed to squeeze in a couple of hours of sleep while things were still slow.  Ivan slept like a baby, while I obsessed about the one inside me, and plotted how I was going to get him out.

By 7:30am, I told Ivan I couldn’t sleep anymore and was ready to get things moving yet again.  He tried convincing me to sleep in a few minutes longer…but that was about as effective as, well…anything my husband suggests.  While Ivan reheated the water in our birthing pool, I texted a friend to let her know I had jinxed things yesterday.  I called Theresa to update her and my jaw dropped when she suggested we touch base around 6:30 that evening.  I honestly think a part of my brain said ‘but we have to pick up the girls from daycare by 4:30’.  Next, I texted Kirsten, who assured me she could zip over anytime...but the fact that she was at the zoo with her daughter reminded me that I was becoming the Boy who Cried Wolf.  Ivan and I both climbed into the pool, which was actually set up in Isaiah's bedroom in lieu of nursery decor - poor 3rd kids!  At first, I tried to stay comfortable  but Ivan reminded me that squatting would help, and I knew he was right...so this time I listened.  I got out feeling refreshed and put on my second cutest maternity dress.  Around 9:30am, I called the girls at the babysitter’s house and Mariah asked impatiently “did you push Isaiah out yet?!?” I told her I was working on it, but that wasn’t good enough “Please, please, please can you promise to push him out before we get home?”; I assured her I would do my best.  I texted Kirsten again to let her know Ivan and I were planning to try another walk to keep up the momentum.  We came downstairs where I laboured over my exercise ball and managed to plug in my phone, since the battery was dying.  I noticed on my contraction counting app that they were getting mighty close together, so I called Theresa around 10:30 to update her.  Theresa could hear in my voice that things were more intense than yesterday, so she agreed to head over with an ETA of 11:15.  I honestly think I should have screamed ‘No, I need you now, please speed!’…but I’m a people pleaser so instead I said ‘okay’ before hanging up.  My last text to Kirsten read: “I think head over please : ) Had a few close ones (2.5, 1.5, 4)”.  I told Ivan a couple of times that I thought we should move back upstairs, but he assured me I was managing the pain really well where I was so we stayed put a few more minutes.  On the last contraction downstairs, I dove face first into the couch to moan, and realized that the pain was getting more intense.  When I stood up, Ivan even commented ‘Oh, your lip is turning into a frown…I know this part of labour!’ – which essentially signified the exact moment of my ‘transition’ into active labour.  I almost went back for my phone, but Ivan assured me not to worry about it since he could come back for it.  

We quickly, but slowly, managed to get back upstairs before the next contraction hit – and I returned to my usual position over my exercise ball on top of an Ikea gym mat in our bedroom.  For whatever reason (probably because it was part of my ‘plan’ that I was desperately trying to cling to), I asked Ivan to reheat the water in the birthing pool.  He tried his best, but as soon as he could turn on a faucet or move a hose, I begged him to come back.  My contractions were now only a minute apart or less, so Ivan & I finally both simultaneously said in our heads ‘F—the pool’!  My moans became deeper, more serious, more guttural.  Midwives and Doulas often talk about this ‘singing’ stage, which instinctively happens to mamas during active labour…don’t let the name fool you: it’s not a pretty song!  The noise itself is so real though, that it has its own beauty and reminds you that even humans are creatures of survival.  To be honest, the only other time I’ve ever heard anything similar, is when people mourn a loved one's death.  The contractions began to occur ‘one on top of each other’, which is the stage most women remember vividly since you can barely catch your breath and mentally prepare before the next one arrives.  During the short moments between my deep moans, I began to whimper to Ivan (which ironically sounds strikingly similar to newborn baby noises), and half-jokingly said ‘I don’t want to do this anymore’.  That was the familiar point of feeling pain like nothing else I could ever imagine, knowing in my head that it would be over soon, but feeling like I couldn’t handle even one more second.  I’m a huge advocate of natural childbirth and homebirth, but its that moment that reminds me I would never try to pressure another woman into the experience or lie to them and tell them it’s a breeze.  It’s not…and I know that if I were in hospital and offered medication to make the pain go away, I would accept it without a doubt.  However, since natural midwife assisted homebirth offers tremendous health benefits for mother and baby and has actually been scientifically proven to be far 'safer' than hospital birth, I'm confident it is the right decision for me.  

I told Ivan I needed to move onto the bed, so he helped me up and I collapsed on my side for a few moments before the next contraction pulled me onto hands & knees.  I buried my face into the pillow during that contraction and shifted gears again into ‘this is happening’ mode.  On the next contraction, I could feel baby’s head pushing on my cervix so I moaned to Ivan “baby’s coming”.  He totally didn’t believe me!  He asked a couple of times ‘do you want me to check?’ – I didn’t even humour that with a response because I knew it, and I had already told him, so I really didn’t care whether or not he checked.  When he did start to believe me, Ivan tried to tell me he needed to get the phone from downstairs (to call Theresa), but I quickly shut that idea down, exclaiming “No!  Stay here!”.  Third contraction on the bed: my body took over and I moaned with a bit of high pitch to explain I was for real "I’m pushing".  Now this next moment is a bit comical in my head because everyone who hears the baby arrived before the midwives congratulates Ivan on skillfully ‘delivering’ the baby, with some assumption that he was calm and sure of himself.  Instead, I literally heard Ivan say to himself “Oh shit, he's really coming…what the F—do I do?!?’"  He tried yet again to inform me he had to get the phone, but I screamed “No!” and he braced himself for the inevitable.  Second push, and out flew baby, straight into daddy’s frightened but ever-capable hands.  I used to smirk when midwives spoke of ‘catching’ (instead of ‘delivering’) babies.  But it was this moment that truly helped Ivan & I understand it.  Catching honours the fact that a woman does all the hard work – her body knows exactly what to do, and if she chooses a natural birth, her body usually does it all without a hitch.  A midwife’s role during this part is to help guide mom’s pushing to minimize tearing, and to help shift or accommodate baby if he is not in the ideal position.  The role is so important and valuable, yet humbly accepts its role as mom's assistant.  

In the moments after baby flew out, I collapsed onto the pillow in front of me and got a tad concerned when I heard silence.  Little did I know that Ivan’s task went above and beyond the ‘ordinary’ catch, since our little Isaiah was born ‘in caul’ (still completely enclosed in the amniotic sac).  This type of birth is actually quite rare, and many people believe it signifies some special traits the child will have in their future.  The main character in the book I had just finished was born in caul and grew up to fulfill predictions that she was intuitive, in touch with the spiritual world, and had a sense about life that others may not fully understand.  The 'Birth House' took place in the late 1900’s, and even then, the caul was preserved and considered to be valuable.  I doubt Isaiah’s caul will serve as a dowery…but I did have it preserved and put it in his memory bin along with my copy of Amy McKay's book. Ivan later told me that the caul looked like a plastic bag with a tiny whole in it, so he tore it open and saw Isaiah gasp his first breath of air.  Ivan asked himself aloud, ‘what do I do?’, to which I replied, ‘clear his mouth, pat his back’.  He worked on those things and we could both hear the midwives walking through the front door.  Ivan shouted out ‘Baby’s here’, which was followed by the quiet of disbelief and confusion.  Then they walked into the room, and it was the first time I heard cool, calm Theresa freak out: “Oh my God, what happened?” she shouted.  Clearly, she could see what happened, but I think it still took her a couple of seconds before she processed it and then jumped into action ; )  Theresa and I had joked about the possibility during my appointments since my active labour with Mariah was 3 hours, with Kassiah 1.5 hours, and we both knew the pattern would probably continue.  She once started telling me about a recent study confirming that eating dates can speed up labour (something that women in many cultures already practiced, and now have almighty science to back-up).  But then she glanced at my previous charts and said “oh no, don’t eat dates...I want to be at this birth”.  Another foreshadowing 'sign' from my chart was Theresa's note to self (literally on a hot pink Post-It) that read “Ivan wants to catch!”. 

While wrapping their heads around what had just taken place, Theresa and Eileen instantly snapped into midwife mode.  They bundled Isaiah in towels, plugged in their heating pad, tried to get him to cry…and then negotiated with him that a cough was sufficient (I know, poor me: my baby’s not really into crying!).  They helped me onto my back and finally placed my sweet boy onto my chest for our first snuggle.  Once the umbilical cord stopped pulsing, they clamped it and let Ivan finish off his job.  This natural element of post-natal care allows baby to receive maximal nutrients from the placenta, while also promoting mom and baby’s attachment.  Kirsten walked into my bedroom just a few short minutes after the midwives, and I heard her water bottle thud to the floor as she realized what had happened too.  Theresa exclaimed “BBA” (which she explained to me means birth before arrival”).  My three ladies suddenly turned into a gang of interrogators who bombarded us with questions: “When did active labour start?”… “What time was baby born?...and finally: “How could this happen if your last text ended in a smiley face emoticon!?!”.  Ivan and I recapped it all as best we could, with the pride of a power couple that had just walked the red carpet and smiled for the paparazzi.  At some point, I interrupted storytelling hour to let Theresa know I could feel the afterbirth (placenta) coming.  We each played an important role in finishing things up: Kirsten hosed me off in the tub (she literally had to give me a handheld shower since the birth pool hose was still attached to the faucet!); Theresa and Eileen changed the sheets (and not one stain on our mattress thanks to a midwife tip of putting a shower curtain underneath in advance); Ivan snuggled his baby boy; oh…and I don’t mean to brag…there’s no ‘I’ in team…but let’s just say I had already played the leading role! 

Even as I type this out a month later, I can’t believe my own words.  We have always had positive experiences with homebirth and midwife care, but this was truly something special.  Ivan and I drive each other crazy sometimes, like normal couples, and perhaps a bit more these days due to the post-partum adjustment phase.  But I have to say, when push comes to shove (pun intended), we are a pretty incredible team!  In those crucial moments, Ivan was not only an amazing husband, but a midwife, a doula, and as it turns out, a quarterback ; )  I have never been more proud and appreciative of him than in that moment, and I’m pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

And we all lived happily ever after.  The end.  NOT!  Let the post-partum rants begin soon!!!

Isaiah's Birth Story Part 2: Early Labour; Day 1

The full Supermoon came & went Sunday night and I woke up deflated and grumpy Monday morning.  I tried to hide my frustration from the girls, but clearly the full moon had affected all of us, because they were even grumpier! For the past two weeks, I had managed to get them up & ready to drop Mariah to Kindergarten pretty smoothly, for the most part.  But today was different…we were a bunch of very cranky ladies that day.  And one tiny other factor that was affecting my mood, was a bit of anxious confusion over whether or not I could possibly be in labour?!?  When I woke up, I realized that I was feeling ‘something’ every now and then.  But once again, the feeling was so mild that I could barely distinguish whether it was even real.  This was how my labour had started with Mariah – noticing ‘somethings’ happening every few minutes from the time I woke up…which meant that they had probably been happening while I slept the night before without being strong enough to wake me (so in this case during the full SuperMoon!!!). 

I refused to call these ‘somethings’ contractions all day, because I really wasn’t sure…and was not about to jinx it.  Even if they were contractions, I know that early labour contractions can last for days before real labour starts, so I kept reciting all of this annoying propaganda in my brain, while my heart began to flutter.  Another reason it was hard to tell was because I was home alone with two angry children, remember?  Ivan had left for work in the morning, and I didn’t bother texting him because a) he’s a teacher and he was probably busy teaching b) he’s Ivan and he never checks his phone and c) in the rare chance he checked his phone, I didn’t want him to get excited prematurely.  So instead of lying down and paying attention to my body like a first time mom could do, I spent the morning chasing the other two monkeys around the house.  I can’t remember what our ‘arguments’ were about that day, but I do distinctly remember the girls being extra wild.  Getting them dressed, brushing their teeth, doing their hair, putting on shoes – everything was a bigger fight than usual.  They weren’t just being sassy little girls, they were being mean and rude…and not themselves.  My emotions had been pretty stable during pregnancy, but I got so tired of their nonsense that particular morning, that I eventually burst into tears and fled the scene.  Luckily, these little women are very sensitive and protective of their mama, so my vulnerability was far more effective than my anger.  They apologized and immediately shifted into ‘I’ll take care of you‘ mode.  After picking our emotions up off the floor, the 3 of us marched off to Mariah’s school, after which Kassiah & I took our usual 60 minute power nap before it was time to pick Mariah up again.  Before heading out (at 2:35pm), I texted a good friend to let her know that I was feeling ‘somethings’ all day…since my confidence was up to about 50% that I was in early labour.  The weather was beautiful, and the calmness of the 5 minute drive was enough to help me acknowledge that I was in early labour…woohoo!  So I did what any preggo, well trained by midwives and doulas would do, went about my day as if it were any other.  I played with the girls at the school park for a while.  And when a mom friend asked her usual question of how I was feeling today, I whispered “ummm…I think I may be in early labour…so if all goes well, you won’t see me tomorrow!”.  Oh, and then, finally, at about 3:15 I called Ivan after his school ended to calmly say “Hey bud…you may want to leave soon cause I think I’m in early labour : )”  I could honestly hear Ivan smile while he agreed not to freak out…right before we hung up and I’m sure he ran around his classroom like a chicken with his head cut off trying to finish preparing for his month of parental leave.  I watched the girls keep playing in the park for another 20 minutes and then texted my doula & midwife to give them a heads up that I had been having mild contractions about every 10-15 minutes all day.  Just saying the words aloud…and typing them into my phone was enough to give me a rush of excitement and happiness.  I knew in my heart that this baby was coming…my prediction was ‘tonight’, since both girls were born in the middle of the night (one more time here, can we say lunar forces?!?’)

We pulled into the driveway at the same time as Ivan.  He asked me if I was ‘for real’ and I told him ‘I think so!’…but reminded him the usual disclaimer – that technically early labour can last days.  I told him I wanted to go for a walk, to keep my labour moving…so off we all went.  He asked if I wanted the stroller to lean on, and my first reaction was ‘no!  I’m fine’…but then I agreed it may be useful ‘just incase’.  Sure enough, the leisurely yet somewhat brisk walk & fresh air worked their magic quickly.  When the walk began, my contractions were noticeable but not painful (comparable to menstrual cramps).  They lasted about 45 seconds and were about 15 minutes apart, on average.  Halfway through the walk, we stopped at a new ‘Freshi’ restaurant and had a healthy labour-friendly dinner, of wraps & soup.  Then, as if I needed another sign that the stars were aligning: the owners brought me, I mean the girls, free frozen yogurt with all the fixins...yum!  On the way home, we stopped at our favourite park, filled with gigantic natural stones, which are ironically just tiny pieces of our amazing nearby mountains.  Whenever I take a moment to gaze at the incredible Rockies on our horizon, I’m always met with a sense of calmness.  Maybe it’s the fact that those majestic pieces of nature remind you that you’re just a spec in this Earth, yet an important part of it at the same time.  Somehow, walking across those rocks seems to give me that same calming and humbling effect, as I breathed and reflected on the amazing things happening within me and how it was about to become even more of a spiritual journey.  All of those wonderful pieces of ‘just a walk’ combined to help my contractions start to shift into a stronger discomfort.  I got a bit of relief when I paused and leaned on the stroller bar (okay, so maybe Ivan is right occasionally : )  By around 6:30pm, they were around 10 minutes apart, lasting 45-60 seconds…I was getting there!

We came home and started the girls’ evening routine, only instead of reading stories after bathtime, they packed their little sleepover bags. Around 8:30, Ivan dropped the girls at their babysitter’s house as per the plan I had pre-arranged months in advance.  Meanwhile, I started baking banana bread in between my intensifying contractions (that I was now leaning over our gorgeous new kitchen island for).  I had recently read about the tradition of baking during labour, in Amy McKay’s “Birth House”.  Apparently, it has multiple natural benefits including keeping mama distracted, having the sweet smell aid in relaxation during active labour, and of course, creating a delicious treat to enjoy as a reward for the hard work!  I had been texting my doula and midwife now & then to update them.  My 9:30pm text said that things ‘still aren’t consistent but the last few have been 5, 8, 6, 12 & 7 minutes apart lasting 45-60 seconds’.  My midwife suggested giving it another hour or two before she and her student, Eileen, came to assess me.  This sounded like a good plan to me, since I knew I was still in early labour, but was pretty confident that the transition into active would happen quickly and without much warning.  With my first two labours, I declined the early labour assessment offer and waited until I knew I was definitely in active labour before summoning my team.  However, timing was a more complicated issue now since I had tested positive for a common bacteria called ‘Group B Strep’ a week earlier.  Essentially it’s a bacteria that cycles in & out of dormancy in most women and is not a big health concern.  However, there is a risk (1/200, I believe) of passing it to your newborn during childbirth, which can be significantly reduced if mom receives a quick dose of antibiotics via I.V. during active labour.  Now, the tricky part is that the antibiotics are ideally administered about 4 hours before delivery + during active labour – which for me I knew was an oxymoron!  My active labour with Mariah was 3 hours, with Kassiah was 1.5 hours, so this time I knew the window was small and my brain was working hard to try and figure out when that crucial transition into active labour might begin...but that part is virtually impossible to predict.

Since, I figured I was at least 'on track' to likely enter active at some point that night, I called my midwife and doula (around 10pm) to let them know I was pretty confident things were progressing well, and negotiated an arrival time of about 11-11:30pm.  Then I did what any normal woman in labour would do: I put on my cutest preggo maxi dress and maybe even some makeup, to pretend I was gonna have a baby Kardashian style.  Finally, I remembered that there probably wouldn’t be time for the most effective natural induction method later…so I summoned Ivan for (mom – close your eyes) a quickie.

Around 11:15 p.m., my doula and midwives arrived to find me far too chipper for their liking : )  I suppose our recent contact had been interpreted as ‘she thinks she’s getting there…hopefully she’ll be in active labour by the time we arrive’.  So they all looked at me a bit confused when they saw that I was clearly not there yet.  They were still all their lovely selves who went along with the charade of assessing me even though we all already knew the answer: I was only 1 cm dilated (which Theresa stretched to 2cm with my permission.  This ‘stretch & sweep’ of the cervix is yet another natural induction method…not very comfortable, and it can sometimes prolong early labour…I had planned to decline it this time around.  But in my defense Theresa asked my opinion when my reasoning abilities were compromised and I think I said ‘sure’ which really meant ‘well, since you’re all up in my grill already…you might as well try’ ; )  The awkward tension began to grow since I could read their body language and hear their internal dialogue saying: ‘is this the same Holly we know?  The 3^rd time natural birthing pro who knows her stuff?’.  This triggered my social anxiety as I became aware of the unfolding dynamic, and I even apologized for paging too early (which of course was met with lovely midwife talk reassurance that ‘we’d rather you page early than late’). 

In retrospect, I realized that I hadn’t properly communicated what I had already known in my head: I was still, very certainly in early labour.  These well trained women all knew that by looking at me: I came downstairs to greet them, I was smiling, I made eye contact, I was dressed (cutely, remember?) and most importantly, I was able to manage the pain of contractions with breathing and careful posturing.  So even before they could give me the ‘honey, you’re not quite there yet’ speech, I felt fully aware of the same…but I was also confident (or at least I had been) that I was going to get there soon.  In fact, I still believe that had I continued my efforts to move labour along with the usual tricks I had been integrating into the day (taking a bath, climbing stairs, squatting, walking, relaxing), Isaiah may have arrived within the next few hours.  But I could feel my brain turning back on at that point and knowing that the small bits of anxiety creeping into me were about to slow things back down…

Isaiah's Birth Story, Part 1: Pre-Labour

Isaiah’s official due date was October 3^rd, which basically meant that he could be expected to show up...oh, anytime between about September 12-October 17^th!  This arbitrary nature of due dates tends to leave moms (and all of their family & friends) in a state of prolonged suspense.  With Mariah & Kassiah, I was quick to share my due date with some level of false confidence.  But learned my lesson and always cushioned the due date answer with ‘so hopefully he’ll arrive late September or early October’ to help others (and myself) keep calm and carry on ; ) 

Of course that worked amazingly well…not!  In my 37^th week, my discomfort seemed to get exponentially higher to the point that I could wait to not be pregnant anymore.  Baby sat so low in my pelvis that I was penguin walking during the day and could barely move without back pain at night (although I was still sleeping for the most part).  And of course, I started to daydream about how much I wanted to meet this little creature inside me to see what he looked like and get to know him.  For some reason, because he was a boy, I had pictured him looking differently than the girls.  And maybe since I'm not a terribly imaginative person, I honestly couldn't even start to think about what he might possibly smell like or act like...I had probably forgotten a lot of that from the girls' time.  Mariah was born right on her due date, and Kassiah came 5 days late…so I decided to mentally prepare for the worst and tell myself Isaiah would be late (even though I thought & wished he would come just a little bit early).  How crazy is it to know that labour could start at any moment, while also preparing for the possibility that it could be weeks?!? 

Pre-labour

At my 38-week midwife appointment, I tried to pry the news I wanted to hear out of Theresa: “So, the 3^rd baby tends to come early, right?” to which, Theresa gave me her usual diplomatic response: “you really just never know”.  For a second, I wished she was a know-it-all doctor who would pointlessly check my cervix, tell me I was 1 cm dilated (which actually means nothing unless you’re in active labour!) and say “yup, this baby is coming any day”.  Instead, Theresa half-jokingly told me on the way out “hopefully the next time I see you will be at your house and not at your 39 week appointment”…that was just enough motivation to make me smile.  I texted my doulas later that week to complain about my discomforts and tell them I wished baby would arrive.  Although, I was scared to jinx things since they had just recently told our yoga prenatal class that “if they had a dollar for every mom who felt like her baby was going to arrive a week or two early, only to be overdue…”.  But luckily, the doulas decided to give me a bit more hope – telling me that Sunday (Sept 27^th) night was not only going to be a full moon, but a ‘Supermoon’.  

Now, I’m not a superstitious person, so at first I thought they were kidding…but then I learned more about the moon’s impact on women’s cycles, on people's mood & behavior, and on childbirth.  Doulas & midwives can tell you anecdotally that they get a lot more calls from mamas in labour during full moons…and you will probably think they’re lying since there is technically no scientific evidence to prove this theory.  But I’m starting to believe more in things that aren’t well researched, and less in things that are supported by overly confident statistics.  Like [insert judgmental opinions here], yup, I'm saying it: vaccinations.  This topic will be a whole other entry, so please suspend your comments until I have a chance to explain my complicated views...Anyway, I’m guessing the reason no evidence based research demonstrates a positive relationship between births and full moons is that most births are hospital births...and most hospital births involve some level of induction or medical intervention.  If there are any young eager researchers out there, who happen to be interested in midwifery (okay, that’s a rare combo)…I would love to see stats on natural childbirths during full moons!  

Okay, let’s start curbing this tangent (clearly my post-partum mania is still in effect after 4 weeks!).  So I suddenly remembered that Mariah was born during a lunar eclipse, which at the time I thought was just a neat coincidence but now think that moon had a powerful effect.  So I decided this was it…I was counting on this full & Super moon!  Starting Saturday Sept 26th, I started to feel ‘something’…mainly a very dull (so dull, I couldn't be certain that I wasn't imagining it) low back ache and more pelvic pressure than usual.  Sunday September 27^th both got a tad more noticeable…but still no contractions : (  I even stayed up past my 9:30 bedtime for the first time in pregnancy to try and catch a glimpse of the supposed red coloured Supermoon…but it was cloudy when I looked…and I went back to bed disappointed. 

To be Continued

For Little Miss Ashtyn

Once upon a time, we noticed a friendly-looking young family on our street of old fogies and decided to make friends.  Ivan randomly approached them on the street and introduced himself…luckily, instead of being terrified and jogging in the opposite…they were as friendly as they looked!  They said they had actually noticed our family too and had the same idea of making friends with us, so they were glad Ivan had made the first move ; )  Before we knew it, we were best buds with Rena, Uche & their adorable toddler, Anson.  Rena & I started going for walks together, the kids had some playdates, and I think Ivan even helped Uche with some plumbing once (not that Uche needed help, of course – he’s pretty much a general contractor like all husbands : ).  When we first met in the summer of 2014, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted a third child.  Ivan was trying to convince me that we would probably regret not having a 3^rd, but would never regret having a 3^rd(good argument, huh?).  I was on the fence, carefully weighing the pro’s and con’s of the financial and practical implications.  During this conversation aloud with our friends, I stuck my foot in my mouth, asking if they had planned exactly when they wanted their second child.  Rena took a deep breath, collected herself and explained that she and Uche had been struggling with fertility and losses for many years.  Maybe meeting them and seeing how much they value and appreciate their ‘miracle son’ made me realize how much I have taken my own luck with fertility for granted, because shortly after that I decided I really did want just one more. 

During one of our afternoon strolls a few months later, I let Rena know that I had come to my senses (i.e. for the first and probably last time in our marriage, Ivan was right) and I had decided to try for a third baby.  I wanted to give her time to mentally prepare for the possibility of me getting pregnant overnight, since I knew that I would be crushed if the roles were reversed.  Being the selfless person she is, Rena’s instant reaction was to congratulate me and assure me that she was extremely happy for us.  She said that her turn on the fertility clinic’s long waitlist was likely approaching soon, and they were planning to give it another shot.  Sure enough, in January 2015, I told Rena I thought I may be pregnant…and she basically said ditto!  We were having the same symptoms at the same time (except hers were more severe due to the side effects of fertility medication).  And luckily, both of our instincts were right…we had positive pregnancy tests just days apart! 

Logically, we both knew that the chances of miscarriage are high (about 1/3) and that Rena’s chances of loss were significantly higher, given her fertility & miscarriage history.  But emotionally, when you become pregnant, you quickly lose sight of the statistics and get caught up in the excitement of the new life inside you.  We began to plan our maternity leaves together – daydreaming about how amazing it would be to have a mom friend down the road for playdates and emotional support.  But shortly after, Rena & Uche’s story took an unexpected twist when Uche was offered a promotion in Texas!  We had all chatted about how we would love to give our children travel experiences in the future, so naturally they jumped at the opportunity. We were all sad to lose the future we had envisioned, but of course were happy for their new adventure.  We spent time together up until the move was near, but then found it a bit strange that we didn’t have a final goodbye before moving day.  Ivan & I figured things had just become crazy busy…but a few weeks later I got a text from Rena that read:

“It’s with a heavy heart I tell you I gave birth to our daughter, Ashtyn Ebele on May 7.  She was too young to survive…”

My own heart broke, as did Ivan’s, when I read the text aloud and we started to process what Rena & Uche must have been through.  We couldn’t even imagine it…Rena was 17.5 weeks along at that point…that’s beyond ‘miscarriage’.  It’s far enough along to have had heard heartbeats, far enough along to have seen baby in ultrasounds, far enough along to have felt baby moving...and far enough along to have fallen in love.  I still, to this day, can only imagine the excruciating pain they must have been through the day Ashtyn took her first and last breath.

The news made me feel guilty for ever having complained about petty pregnancy symptoms like heartburn & nausea, and simultaneously renewed my appreciation for the amazing little life in my belly.  Again, given the strong person and wonderful friend Rena is, she assured me that despite her tremendous grief, she would somehow be okay…and she still showed a genuine interest in how my own pregnancy was going (something I don’t know if I would have been able to do sincerely if I were in her shoes).  We’ve kept in touch over the past few months, and I figured that this time of year would be especially triggering for them.  First – with her own due date (October 14^th) arriving today, and second – having to watch our arrival with excitement, but surely as a vivid reminder of what they had lost.  As would be the case with any grieving parents, Rena & Uche have been riding the waves of grief up & down, while deciding how to go about family planning for future.  They’ve probably fallen into the deepest pits of sadness, climbed back up to grasp moments of happiness in their new home, only to slip again and have to start all over.  The cycle must be exhausting and torturous…especially since a person can never fully predict or control their emotions. 

I’ve been thinking about them even more, now that Isaiah is here.  Sometimes, when I hold him, smell him, kiss him, it kills me to think a parent could endure the pain of loving and then losing their child.  My favourite lullaby to Isaiah is a beautiful song called “Like I’m Gonna Lose You” by Meagan Trainor and John Legend.  When he was just a few days old, the song brought me to tears as I pictured Rena holding her own fragile Ashtyn in her arms, without ever having the opportunity to bring her home from the hospital.  And maybe because he sensed my sadness…or maybe because he was missing his future wife, Isaiah started whimpering in his sleep too.  Not a hungry cry, not a gassy cry…just a sad little baby cry. 

Rena & Uche are honouring Ashtyn’s loss today, which they recently learned is just one day before national Infant Loss Day.  Many grieving parents, and their support people, across Canada will be lighting candles to remember their lost babies. (http://www.october15.ca/every-baby-matters/)

So I end this blog with a poem in memory of Ashtyn, and in honour of all the parents who have loved and lost their babies far too soon…

Dear baby Ashtyn, 
please know that you’re missed;

If only you were here
to be tickled and kissed!

Your big brother, Anson
would be your best bud;

He’d teach you how to have fun, 
how to play in the mud : )

Darling little miss, 
please know that you’re near,

In mommy & daddy’s thoughts
every day of the year.

Why were you taken?  
Why lost so soon?

No-one can answer
the questions that loom.

Those that do try, 
sometimes use the wrong words.

They have good intentions
but your folks don’t feel heard.

Others say nothing
and the silence hurts too.

It feels like they don’t care
or just don’t have a clue.

While you long for each other
across time, across space;

Your parents grieve your loss
with strength and with grace.

A loss form so different; 
only few can understand;

Mourning the future, not the past...

Wanting just to hold your hand;

From your first day of school
to your walk down the aisle;

Mommy & daddy wish, more than words can express, 
That they could to be there all the while.

Forever lost are those precious moments
never to be had;

They cause a pain so raw, so deep;
a million miles past sad.

So wherever you may be,
sweet Ashtyn, baby girl,

Please know you are and will always be,

At the heart of your family’s world.

_________________________________________________________________________________

"Like I’m Gonna Lose you" lyrics (song by Meagan Trainor & John Legend)

I found myself dreaming
In silver and gold
Like a scene from a movie
That every broken heart knows we were walking on moonlight
And you pulled me close
Split second and you disappeared and then I was all alone

I woke up in tears
With you by my side
A breath of relief
And I realized
No, we're not promised tomorrow

So I'm gonna love you
Like I'm gonna lose you
I'm gonna hold you
Like I'm saying goodbye wherever we're standing
I won't take you for granted 'cause we'll never know when
When we'll run out of time so I'm gonna love you
Like I'm gonna lose you
I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you

In the blink of an eye
Just a whisper of smoke
You could lose everything
The truth is you never know

So I'll kiss you longer baby
Any chance that I get
I'll make the most of the minutes and love with no regrets

Let's take our time
To say what we want
Use what we got
Before it's all gone
'Cause no, we're not promised tomorrow

Dear Me

Here I am with just a few weeks left to go (give or take) before baby #3 arrives.  I finished work yesterday and am feeling very ready to put my feet up, in between chasing kids.  I was still feeling pretty good up until recently, and tried to tell myself I would ‘enjoy’ the remainder of this last pregnancy without wishing for it to be done.  But I guess I had forgotten how uncomfortable and exhausting the final stretch can be.  I still consider myself among the lucky preggo’s – I don’t have swollen hands or feet; nausea ended a long time ago; I’m told by shocked women around me that I generally look pretty happy and content.  But I definitely still have a constantly evolving list of complaints: I get dizzy when I stand for too long; my back aches in the evening and feels like it’s going to fall apart when I attempt to toss & turn at night; and baby’s head is pushing down so low that I kinda wish I could wear a Mumu 24-7.  The logical part of my brain is thankful my babies are not premature and are in the correct birthing position…but the emotional part of my brain doesn’t give a $#!* and misses feeling like a ‘normal’ human being. 

When I’m not consumed with all these current issues, my thoughts start to wander to the exciting and chaotic life that awaits, around the corner.  We are all getting very anxious to meet our sweet little Isaiah and I’m sure we will all love him to pieces.  But I’m also trying to mentally prepare, as best I can, for all the wild and crazy elements of life with a newborn (and in this case + two other kiddos).  I figure my post-partum self may need a pep talk from the person who knows her best, so here goes an extended note to self:

Dear Me,

By the time you read this, you will have already met and fallen in love with your little boy – how exciting?!?  I hope that your labour and homebirth were as positive as the first two experiences.  Sorry that Ivan wasn’t able to finish renovating the ensuite in time – hopefully the birthing pool worked out well instead.   Did the Doula’s help him know exactly what to do and say to be supportive?  Did the midwife follow through on her promise to let him help ‘catch’ the baby?  If it was anything like the first two, I’m sure things went smoothly and the scary painful part didn’t last too long.

Despite having your amazing new baby to bring you love, I’m sure you are also going through some rough moments that come part and parcel with a having newborn.  You may catch yourself asking “what was I thinking?”, “why did I ever listen to Ivan’s rationale for wanting a third?”, “how am I ever going to manage all of this?”.  You will probably find yourself wishing you could rewind to a time where you felt more sane and in control.  You will definitely have moments when you are so irritable that the slightest thing Ivan or the kids do, will cause you to burst into tears and feel miserable for a little while.  Given all the insanity you are dealing with right now, I thought you would appreciate some words of advice and a few small gifts…

On Ivan:

Yes – he has always snored; he has always mumbled; he has always chewed his food too loudly for your liking.  Those things are just a tad more noticeable and irritating now because you are feeling sensitive, and let’s face it: ‘hormonal’.  Try to remember that despite being the handy, kindergarten teaching, SuperDad that many wives envy – Ivan is still a man, and therefore will still drive you crazy.  He will continue to ask you what time appointments are three times before checking the calendar; he will lose his keys and wallet several times per day; and he will spend hours in the garage if you give him permission to go tinker for ‘a couple of minutes’.  As Hal once admitted on ‘Malcolm in the Middle’, all a husband can really offer you is his full obedience.  Ivan will never decipher from your body language or subtle hints that you are hungry, tired or in need of a break from the kids.  But if you tell him these things in clear sentences, along with specific instructions on how to help (no more than 2 steps at a time, of course), he will do his best to make you happy. 

On Mariah:

Your darling girl has probably become even more of a little mother hen.  She will be helpful in many ways, and unhelpful in many ways, but try to keep thanking her for her efforts – she means well and takes pride in being useful. 

On Kassiah:

Diggs will probably be following her sister’s lead in trying to do all the things for Isaiah that she is barely capable of doing for herself.  At some moments she will love him to bits, and at others she will be an angry little ball of jealousy.  Try to squeeze in some extra hugs and kisses with her as she adjusts out of her role as the baby.

On You:

You are an amazing mom!  You may not feel like it, at times, but this is one gig you are truly good at…and you need to remind yourself of that.  Be proud of the happy moments you create with the kids instead of feeling guilty about the few when you lose patience with them.  Try to congratulate yourself for the three chores you get done in a week rather than kicking yourself for the seven you didn’t get to.  When you feel frazzled and embarrassed for dropping Mariah to school late, remind yourself that her Kindergarten attendance won't count toward university…and that it’s a miracle you got yourself and three kids dressed and out the door.  When tears are rolling down your cheek ‘for no reason’, remind yourself they will pass and that it’s normal to feel upset given the physical and emotional roller coaster you are on.  Remember to tell Ivan when you need an hour by yourself – and use it for yourself…take a bubble bath, read a book, squeeze in a blog!  Your sleep deprivation plays a big role on your mood.  Baby will start to give you longer stretches soon; in the meantime be sure to nap when the kids are napping instead of trying to ‘catch up’ on the never ending pile of laundry.  Make sure you eat and drink regularly so you have the energy to keep the kids well taken care of too.  And when you’ve done everything you can and it’s still not enough – call a good friend who can validate all of your venting and make you smile. 

Some gifts from me to you (i.e. me!):

·      I’ve carefully budgeted your top-up payment from work to cover a few essentials:

o   Ivan is taking parental leave for the entire first month! 

o   You will not cancel your monthly cleaning lady during leave

o   Kassiah still has a drop-in spot at her dayhome – use it!

o   I made and froze a few meals for you to pop in the oven when you’re having a bad day.  When they run out, order pizza!

I hope all these tips and tricks are enough to keep you afloat until life feels a bit more manageable again.  That day will be here soon, I promise!

Oh Boy!

Since this is our 3^rd (and final!) baby, Ivan and I had decided to have a surprise with the gender.  I bought a bunch of yellow baby clothes and we explained to the girls that they may get a brother or a sister.  At first Mariah wanted a brother, but thought about it for a minute and said “Well, I only want one boy…and daddy’s my boy”.  She then spent the next few months daydreaming about another sister – brainstorming names, rehearsing what they would do together, and assuring Kassiah that another girl would make their games more fun.  Around the same time, the idea of 3 high pitched voices started to scare me!  We definitely weren’t ‘trying for a boy’, and truly would have been happy either way…but I kind of felt like it was a boy and we started to get curious.  By ultrasound day, when the tech asked if we wanted to know gender my response quickly evolved from “I think so”, to “I mean yes”, to “whoah, I see balls!”  Everyone asks if Ivan is thrilled to get a boy, but to be honest he almost looked a tad disappointed, probably since he is so used to little girls : )

Now that I can picture the little guy, my excitement is growing.  I’ve been folding and re-folding his new (used) blue sleepers and watching Mariah & Kassiah’s baby videos to remind myself how tiny they were.  The part that’s scaring me most though is that I’m entering my third trimester, just as we enter summer.  Calgary is already in the 30’s, which is not typical weather here – and it’s predicted to be a long hot summer.  I love summer, and will try not to complain too much…but just so you understand context – I’m a warm-blooded person even when I’m not pregnant and was sweating through blizzards during Mariah’s pregnancy.  Luckily, the program I work for closes in the summer, so I’ll just be taking some part-time shifts and can spend the rest of it at the lake or finding other creative ways to be lazy and keep cool. 

The other challenge of 3^rd trimester is that it usually comes along with some new and interesting aches and pains.  The hormonal and physical changes that loosen you up to prepare for delivery also tend to make you a bit injury prone.  Last week I went for a prenatal massage, which I loved at the time, but the next day I started having some back & shoulder pain.  The pain got more intense over the last few days and started to feel the way I imagined a broken rib so I went to the doctor and learned that it was muscle spasms in my back that were pulling on the bone.  Normally, a doctor would prescribe anti-inflammatory medications, but since those can trigger contractions in preggo's they just told me to take Tylenol and get lots of rest.  Luckily, with a super-husband like mine, that’s actually quite possible. He took the girls to a movie today and is now at the grocery store so I can put my feet up. 

Before I end, I’ll leave you with some latest updates on the girls…

Mariah:

At four and a half, Mariah has been getting a bit more mature and calm lately.  She loves life and always has something to do, so even on weekends she starts whispering ‘is it wake up time?’ around 7am.  Mariah is really good at entertaining herself, with things like drawing and playing pretend.  She is still a sensitive little creature who cries at the drop of a hat if something hurts her physically or emotionally.  But that also helps her to be a great little mommy and I can already picture her taking great care of the baby.

Kassiah:

We like to call her Captain Obvious since she likes to point things out just to hear the sound of her own voice.  She’ll often say things to Ivan like “you’re wearing a shirt, right dad?”.  She was headed out the door once and then turned around to ask me “you have thumbs, right mom?”.  We once got a parcel in the mail that Mariah was trying to determine the contents of based on the shape and Kassiah confidently explained “It lookth like a boxth”.  We try not to laugh and give her a complex, but sometimes it’s hard not to.  On April Fool’s Day, Mariah quickly caught on to the concept and made a few jokes that made sense.  Then Kassiah said “Look at the wall” and when we all looked, she said “April Fool’s” as her confusing punchline. 

Halfway There!

I’m back to the stage of pregnancy that most women love best: 2^nd trimester.  Nausea and fatigue are behind me, my belly is taking shape, and for the last few weeks I’ve been starting to feel some ‘flutters’ from baby’s movements.  Initially, I had some definite cravings – sour candy (which I never otherwise eat), iced tea (which I generally love, and always love more when I’m preggo), and thankfully – more fruit than usual (the latest are mangoes & watermelon).  I was starting to have some heartburn but decided I really don’t wanna deal with it this time, so I’ve been taking prescription medication that seems to be working so far. Usually I tend to wait until I’m massive and almost immobile before seeing a chiropractor, but this time I’ve been proactive and my hips are thanking me.  I’m 19 weeks now, so almost halfway to the finish line, and trying to enjoy this ‘good stage’ while it lasts.

Since I’ll be back in this boat soon, and since I have a few first-time mom friends who are almost ready to pop, I thought I’d finally blog about a topic I’ve been putting off for years: breastfeeding.  For me, breastfeeding has been a really positive and relatively easy process with both girls.  As newborns, both Mariah and Kassiah figured out how to ‘latch’ almost instantly, so I was lucky to just go with the flow (no pun intended).  Even with this simple start, breastfeeding was still quite painful at first – but for me, that normal soreness subsided after a week or two.  After that, the experience started to feel natural, calming, even enjoyable since it gave baby and I opportunities to cuddle and stare at each other.  Co-sleeping also made the experience quite easy since I would eventually just roll over and give baby a snack, without interrupting my own sleep too much.  But the more ease I’ve had with breastfeeding, the more I’ve learned never to take it for granted.  Some of my closest friends have had a completely different experience than mine.  For many women, breastfeeding can feel like a torture experiment in emotional and physical pain thresholds.  Their newborn baby needs milk, their bodies are ‘supposed’ to produce this milk, but for whatever reason, nature just doesn’t cooperate.  Sometimes baby can’t figure out how to latch properly, sometimes mom’s milk supply is too low or too high, sometimes there is no magic answer.  Unfortunately the cycle seems to intensify quickly since mom’s nipples can become sore and cracked, which as you would guess, makes it excruciating to nurse the hungry baby.  And all the while, everyone around them asks about the process – directly or indirectly, with the general expectation that everything is fine. 

As with almost every element of baby care, society seems to generously offer unlimited amounts of advice and judgment.  As many of my friends tried to manage their internal guilt and sadness about difficulty breastfeeding, they would be met with additional pressure from people around them.  When they broke the shameful silence and admitted that breastfeeding was not going well, many were lectured by friends, family, doctors, even doulas, about the benefits of breastmilk vs. formula.  Many women are urged to ‘not give up’ and pressured to try a range of medical or natural remedies to aid the process with the promise that ‘it will get easier’.  Now I’m not saying that it can’t – for some it does.  And I’m not saying there isn’t evidence about the benefits of breastmilk and the bonding of nursing.  But – for a new mom who is struggling to maintain her sanity and trying hard to determine whether she has the strength to continue attempts at nursing, that information starts to feel like harsh propaganda.  The stats become arrows that strike the hearts of already emotionally torn women, and make their ‘decision’ much harder.  I think the most important thing a woman can receive in this situation is the unconditional, overwhelming, non-judgmental support to do (or not do) what feels instinctively comfortable to them.  Whether that means supplementing with the odd bottle of formula to give mom a well-deserved break now and then, or switching completely to formula if breastfeeding is more painful than it is enjoyable – that decision should be up to mom. 

As someone who lucked out with breastfeeding, I soon realized I was still not immune to the criticism and opinions of others.  Even in a society where Human Rights Laws justify the natural act of breastfeeding as perfectly acceptable in public, reality will often tell a different story.  Since newborns pretty much need to nurse all the time, a large percentage of these feedings are bound to happen in public spaces.  Generally, I tried to use a nursing cover for my own comfort and preference, but sometimes this made baby too hot and often made it harder for me to see what I was doing and get them settled.  Again, just about the worst thing in that situation is being told (either overtly or just with some subtle glares or facial expressions) that what you are doing is ‘not appropriate’.  Another area I received unsolicited advice on, was about my ‘decision’ to continue anti-depressant medication while breastfeeding.  The old-school mentality was essentially to not consume anything that ‘could’ potentially harm your baby during pregnancy or breastfeeding.  This works lovely for the people around mom, who can offer their advice without dealing with the consequences.  But again, for those of us who may already be struggling with our own mixed emotions, it can be completely aggravating or hurtful, depending on the day.  I’ve had a pharmacist angrily ask me ‘do you know this is unsafe for your baby?’, while reluctantly filling a prescription that was obviously from a doctor who felt it was okay.  I think I confidently responded by telling him I was aware of the very minimal risks, and felt the tremendous benefits of being able to emotionally care for my baby were more important.  In retrospect, I kind of wish my response involved some swearing, or at least sarcasm like: ‘Oh my gosh, really? How silly of me to consider my own health important.  Let me just throw out these unnecessary pills and try to ignore the symptoms of post-partum depression!”.  A really amazing website for any expecting or new mom around informing our decisions on what substances truly do have significant levels of risk and others that may not is: motherisk.org. 

Finally, on a positive note about breastfeeding, I would just like to share that I apparently have super-lactating powers that may never disappear.  Kassiah refused to stop nursing until she was two, and a few months later she gave me a sad puppy dog look and requested a ‘drink’.  I laughed and obliged, assuming that my milk supply would be long gone and she would realize it was a waste of time.  But sure enough – after a couple minutes of trying – she was successful.  I thought it was a one-time mystery, but every few months, she has made an attempt and my milk magically re-appears for those few minutes and then seems to vanish without a trace.  I’m hoping this is a sign that breastfeeding will go just as easily with baby #3…but I guess I’ll also have to keep Kassiah at arm’s length so she doesn’t try any funny business.