jonathan's birth story, part 2

Welcome back for round two of long labor story. You can read part 1 to catch up if you want...

There were times throughout labor that I would get a fleeting thought of What if this doesn't work? What if he won't come out? What if I have to transfer to the hospital? And then things would smooth out and I would forget those thoughts. But then seeing the midwife starting to get concerned really made me wonder what was going to happen. Finally, she actually suggested that we transfer. She was pretty sure his head wasn't going to turn, and since my contractions were slowing down, she wondered if maybe some Pitocin would ramp things back up and hopefully force him into the right position. 

I remember feeling so defeated. So helpless. A transfer? That's not what we had planned for. Going to the hospital? How much is that going to cost? How long will we have to stay there? Will they care for us how the birthing center cared for us? We didn't even have anything packed - at the birthing center you go home a few hours after the baby is born. Really, we have to go the hospital? 

At this point, it was about 4 or 5 in the afternoon, around 20 hours of active labor. All that work. For nothing? I felt so confused. So sad. So angry. 

When we got to the hospital, the plan was to administer Pitocin, start an epidural, and give the meds a few hours to see if anything changed. Then we would try pushing again to see if Jonathan had turned at all. When the new doctor came in, he basically recommended a c-section right away. We were like, Oh no you don't understand. We are not here for a c-section. We are just here for some help in getting over this bump, and then we will have a regular birth. No c-section for us, thank you. We are birthing center people. We don't do surgeries. 

So a few hours passed, and then I tried pushing again for another 30 minutes or so. Nothing. Still stuck. The doctor came back in and again recommended a c-section. It looked like that was going to be our only option. We resigned ourselves to this fact, and the preparations for surgery got under way.

Jonathan was born at 8:17pm on Monday, May 30 - Memorial Day - via c-section. I was a bit reassured of our need for the surgery when the doctor said something along the lines of Here he is! - wait - move his head around that way - no, turn it the other way - ok now pull him out - Now here he is! Turns out he was indeed posterior, and also somehow crooked, so that his forehead was jutting up against my pelvic bone and couldn't get past. 

First family photo. All looking our best.

He cried vigorously right away and was perfectly healthy. Jon announced to the whole operating room It's a boy! I was so proud of my boy for hanging in there during that long and hard labor. All throughout, whenever they checked his heartbeat, he was perfect, just hanging out wondering when we would realize he was stuck. Just like his disposition a year later, he started out life acting pretty chill. Meeting Jonathan face to face for the first time was exhilarating. Even after all that we had just gone through, love immediately welled up in me from places I didn't know I had. After he was born, I was shaking and sobbing and shouting I love him! I love him so much which you can hear in the background of the video of Jonathan's first moments. 

Once we got home, Jon and I admittedly had a hard time coming to terms with our birth story. We knew that birth never goes "according to plan," but we definitely were not prepared for such a drastic detour in ours. If we were honest, we kind of realized that we had been natural birthing snobs, looking down on procedures like c-sections when they are utilized for the wrong reasons. Even though ours was for the "right" reasons, it was still hard to accept that it was the right thing to do. I was embarrassed. We racked our brains in the weeks after, trying to figure out "what went wrong." We were mad at God - where the heck were You? Why didn't You warn us about this? Couldn't you have changed things up a bit? 

As I relayed our story to a friend, she asked me something along the lines of Why does it matter how it happened as long as the baby is healthy? Isn't the outcome the same either way, and isn't that the important thing? The simple answer is, of course, Yes, what matters is having a healthy baby (and healthy mom). The more complicated answer, though, is that a birth changes you. It is a rite of passage in the most complete sense of the phrase. After a birth, a mom is never the same. Not just because now she has a baby to care for, but because whatever the process, whatever the experience, this was the time that you faced your most vulnerable, raw, foundational place. Birthing is what we were made to do. Our bodies were built for it. Going through a labor means turning inwards and standing eye to eye with your most essential self, and emerging on the other side means your eyes have been opened to parts of you that you never knew were there. This happens, I think, whether you have a labor that is long or short, natural or medicated, unexpected or routine. Whether you pop into the hospital to be induced and then sit for eight hours connected to wires and don't feel a thing, or you labor for three days working hard through every contraction your body produces, every woman has a story. Her birth story. And it is a story that changes each and every one of us. For better or for worse - which hard for me to say, but I really think that it's true. Some women are scarred by their birth stories, while others are transformed, themselves being "birthed" into newness along with their baby. 

Processing my birth story has been as essential as going through the actual process itself. Jon and I found that we each had to ask different questions and needed different answers. I needed to know that I hadn't let him down. That I hadn't let anyone down. That I was a good mom and had what my baby needed. That my body is made for this and that I didn't do anything wrong. That requiring medical intervention during birth did not mean I was a failure (or worse; post-birthing hormones can tell you all kinds of elaborate lies). 

At our six-week follow-up, back at the birthing center, Jon and I both got some much needed closure and assurance. Sarah, our midwife, confided that she knew we would have to have a c-section when she first brought up the idea of transferring. She also knew, though, that Jon and I were not yet at the point of accepting that, so she framed the transfer in light of getting some rest, using Pitocin, and trying to push again. She said in all her years of midwife-ing, all the labors that looked like mine had resulted in a c-section. She said that she knew I wasn't too tired, that I actually had a lot of steam left in me, and that my being able to do it or not wasn't a factor in her decision. I needed to hear that. I didn't feel too tired at the time of the transfer. I did feel like I could keep going. But Sarah knew best, and knew that it wasn't going to happen the way we were trying to make it happen. It was good for Jon to hear from her that we needed a c-section; even six weeks later he was still trying to figure out what could have been done differently, and he needed someone to lay his mind to rest. I did, too. 

I was also asked, by another friend, if I would have done anything differently throughout the whole pregnancy leading up to the labor. Like, would I still use the birthing center, would I have gotten any other interventions like more ultrasounds, etc. The answer was easy for me: No, I wouldn't have changed a thing. I loved being pregnant, and I think that our prenatal care experience at the birthing center had a lot to do with that. I am comfortable now with the very real probability that nothing we could have done would have changed our outcome of a c-section, and so, I wouldn't have changed a thing. 

So what's next for the future Buck babies? Since I had a c-section, my next labor will be considered higher risk because of the chance for uterine rupture, so I can't have my babies at the birthing center. We found a group of midwives, though, that treats pregnancy and birth in a very natural way, but they deliver babies at a hospital. This group has a very high VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) rate, and are huge proponents of women having VBACs. We aren't thrilled about the hospital part, but we realize that being higher risk means I need to have quick access to interventions if anything goes wrong. We still hope to have a natural birth. I freakin hated that epidural - it made me come out of my laborland zone and get all emotional and I hated having to sit still in one position while my body continued the work of labor unbeknownst to me - so I hope that I don't need one of those again. This hospital offers birthing tubs and water births and wireless monitors - yipeee! - so we are thankful that there is a good alternative to our beloved birthing center. 

Alright so that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Hope it was an enjoyable read for you, if you managed to make it all this way. Don't we women just LOVE a good birthing story? I know I do. 

For your reading pleasure, you may want to look back at this post I wrote about labor. Or rather, my thoughts about labor. I hadn't actually experienced it yet, but I think I had some good things to say. Oh how much I've learned since then, though! 

dear new mommy

Drumroll please....

Ladies and gentleman (well, probably only ladies).....

Today my very first (and quite possibly last) guest post is appearing on the lovely E's blog.

She asked us to write a letter to a new mom, which is probably my favorite topic ever 1. because I am a new mom and 2. because being a mom is maybe my favorite thing to be, talk about, and write about.

I am choosing not to freak out about my letter being posted today. I am choosing not to think about the fact that there have been five other fabulous ladies (who are talented writers and legit bloggers) who have gone before me this week. I am choosing not to think about the fact that I am E's BFF and that is the only reason why she asked me to write it. I am also NOT analyzing the fact that she put me on Saturday and really does anyone read blogs on Saturday?

Aren't you impressed by my calmness and coolness over the situation? Because I sure am.

Ok so go over to E's blog to read my letter. I was told by another legit blogger that I shouldn't put my letter here on my blog but should link you over there. Hope you enjoy it!

Happy Saturday!!!

on blogging

Now that I've crested the two-hundredth post mark here on buck buck goose, I've been thinking back about the past fifteen months and how blogging has affected me, taught me, changed me... I've come a long way in so many areas since my first post.

We started this blog, originally titled "The Buck Family," (creative, yes?) to document our journey into parenthood. I used it to post belly pictures for my mom and to journal my pregnancy process. Then when Jonathan was born, this blog served as the point of connection for all of our far away relatives. I loved that they could be part of our journey and "get to know" Jonathan even though we don't live close.

For a long while after J was born, I literally just posted pictures of him, with or without any words at all. Yes, often it was a series of virtually identical pictures, but we won't go there. I wanted to write about motherhood, all that I was learning and feeling, but I was too darn tired. I couldn't think coherent thoughts let alone write them down for someone else to comprehend, so for several months the pictures served as the best documentation I could muster. I am thankful that this blog will serve as Jonathan's baby book, since no other baby book exists for him--ha!

I wasn't really sure what my vision of this blog was for the future. I am really really really reeaalllly bad at sticking with things, so I figured I would go strong for a few months, and then just post here and there. But I've stuck with it. I've continued to post reguarly. And I've learned a lot of things along the way. Do you want to know what they are? I thought you'd never ask...

1. I have something to say. Really! I do! I have a unique perspective that no one else in the world has because no one else sees the world through these eyes. Do I think I have the only thing to say? Or the best or most right thing? Nope. But finding my voice and putting it out there is a right-of-passage in a sense. It was a BIG deal for me to start this blog. I had to overcome hurdles of fear and self-doubt. "Who am I to start writing a blog?" "No one cares what is going on in my life." That may be true, but I've actually found that...

2. Other people like what I have to say. This has been a fun discovery of blogging. I'm funny. I'm smart. I am a decent writer. These are things I have known to some extent before, but it is fun to learn them in this format. The biggest thing that I have learned from blogging, though, is that.......

3. It doesn't matter if other people like what I have to say. I can still say it. And it doesn't mean that people don't like me. It doesn't define my value as a person. I've mentioned a couple times that my need to be needed and my need to be liked have had quite a hold over me in the past. But I have let go of a lot of those things in the past few years, and I truly believe that blogging has been part of that process. I like blogging, and in order to do it, I have had to get over any worries of what other people will think. The close correlation of my blogging time with my new-mommying time has been a huge asset to me learning this lesson. Mommying is a time of cutting the crap, getting over yourself and your silly little worries, and getting down to business. I can't afford to care what other people think because I have to take care of my son. Mommying is a cool time. Which leads me to...

4. Mommying is a time of needing other mommies. And blogging is a great way to meet that need. We are all in this together, and it is ok to need support and encouragement and advice from those who have been there and done that, or who are in it right now. This part of blogging was one that I didn't know would happen, so it's kind of like an added bonus! I started blogging just for me and my family, but in the process got to "meet" so many other moms who can relate to me in a lot of ways simply because we share that one commonality. Don't you just LOVE being a mom? I am so glad I get to be one for the rest of my life.

5. I can stick with something if it is important to me. This kind of frees me up to not stick with things that aren't so important. Now that I know that I can commit, that I actually have the capability to do so, I don't need to prove to myself with any new endeavor that I can stick it out. If I hate it, if it doesn't work, if it's not life-giving, it's ok to let it go. I know now that I'll stick with the good stuff.

Sure, these life lessons would have evolved eventually anyway, but it has been fun to learn them in this context and while interacting with all of you!

Here's to another two-hundred posts!

And for all of you that only look at my blog for pictures of my baby, I will not disappoint...

lent 2012: my journey

For Lent, I gave up being manipulative.

This may sound weird. Usually I give up chocolate or something. But this year was different.

In the month or so preceding Lent, I had felt pressed to maintain a state of vulnerability with those around me. Vulnerability looked like this for me:

It meant that I would be honest. Isn't that a hard thing to be? To really be honest. With myself and with others. At church during confession time, I needed to confess. Even if it wasn't anything "big," I needed to let people see that I wasn't perfect; heck, I needed to see that I wasn't perfect.

It meant that I would be quick to listen, and slow to speak. Interesting to think about vulnerability and listening being related, eh? Usually we think about vulnerability being expressed through talking. Telling people how you feel. But for me, and I think for a lot of us, listening can be just as vulnerable of a place as talking. Listening means we are sitting back, letting someone else control the situation with their words. Listening means taking the time to tune into ourselves and those around us, rather than assuming we know the right answer and blurting it out.

It meant that I would get over myself. I would take less offense to things that weren't worth taking offense to. Which would also mean I would feel the need to defend myself less often. Again, not typically on the list of things called "How to be more vulnerable," but a biggie for me. Getting over myself would mean that I could be more present. In the moment. Not worrying about who likes me or doesn't, or what happened yesterday or what will happen this afternoon. Getting over myself put me at ease with the now, and that is the most vulnerable place I know.

So enter Ash Wednesday. I hadn't quite figured out my Lenten fast. I sensed there was something I needed to do, but couldn't put my finger on it. That weekend, a friend told me she was giving up lying for Lent. And then it clicked for me: I had to give up being manipulative. It's a form of lying, for sure, but comes with some strings attached to my ever-encompassing need to be needed. Manipulating people and situations is essential for maintaining the world how I like it. But, when the spirit nudges, you better move. The manipulation had to be moved.

It was fun at first. I would catch myself in conversations with Jon, admit that I caught myself, and we would laugh. But it got harder. Ugh. It got harder. I had to think twice before I said almost anything. "What are my motives here?" I for sure wasn't perfect at keeping my fast this year, I admit. But consciously thinking through the ways I get what I want was eye-opening to say the least. Humbling to say the most.

Enter Easter Sunday. 40+ days of attempting to be vulnerable. Method of choice: fasting from manipulation. Just like the resurrection we celebrate on Easter is the culmination of what Jesus came to do, a conversation I had this Easter seemed to be the culmination of my Lenten fast. It was a hard conversation. One that would not have gone well a few years ago (or even 40 days ago). The other person had some hard things to say to me. I had some hard things to say back.

But it was beautiful. I didn't need to defend myself. I didn't need the other person's approval. I didn't need to manipulate. I felt free to apologize and accept forgiveness, and also to accept apologies and offer forgiveness.

It was beautiful.

welcome to my life

My house is a mess.

That's J in the middle of the mess playing with my library books. Cool.

Today in particular this fact is bothering me. I don't know why. Sometimes when it is a mess I start to feel irrational and emotional and like I am paralyzed. I can't clean it up because I don't know how. I don't know where everything goes. Because everything doesn't have a place.

The problem is, it's not that messy. It's not a total dump. It's just right on that line of "lived-in" and "cluttered." I don't mind lived-in--I've come to terms with the fact that my house will always have that look. But I do mind cluttered. Not picked up. MESSY.

Why did I not inherit the pick-up-your-towel-after-you-shower gene? My parents are so clean and organized. They have never left a towel on the floor or a bed unmade their entire life. When I was little, I just assumed that part of my maturation into an adult would include a magic transformation into Type A organizational genius.

It didn't happen.

Part of my problem is that I am indecisive. Where does this piece of paper go? Well, it is mail so it could go in the mail pile. But it's a catalog so it could go in the catalog pile. But I really should put it in the recycle bin. But maybe Jon wants it on his desk to look at first? But if I want to order something it should really go on my bedside table to look at later.

See what I mean?

Most of the time I appreciate my Type B-ness (there is one aspect of adult maturation that did happen as expected: learning to accept who I am). I like that I am laid back, go-with-the-flow, fine with gray areas instead of all black-and-white. Yesterday our housemate and I were talking about when Jon and I moved to Denver, when we didn't have jobs or a place to live and all our stuff was packed in a moving van parked in a church parking lot for a week before we found an apartment. "Did that stress you out?" she asked. "Not really," I answered matter-of-factly.

The trouble is, my mind refuses to think in an organized fashion, but my mind desperately wants a clean and organized house. If my mind looked around and was satisfied with its surroundings, there would be no problem. But I envision how things could be and I just can't find a way to get there. (I don't envision the particulars, of course, but rather the generalized clean-floors-labeled-baskets-good-smelling visions. These are the kind of visions that happen alongside dreams of perfect hair, tailored clothes, and the desire to cook dinner every night.)

Marrying another Type B does not help achieve my clean house fantasies, either.

So, earlier this week, I "confessed" that I don't want to invite the organizing gurus into my house for fear of their scolding. But I need to get over myself. We need their help. We need a vision, a plan, someone to make decisions for us.

The company that we have the gift certificate for is called "Major Moms." I like the mom part of it. But the major part scares me. Will she be barking out orders like a drill sargent? Yeesh. I'm a little scared. If she arrives wearing camo, I may start crying.

But we gotta do it. Now is the time. I'm hesitant to say something bold like "This is the year of organizing/decorating/changing-the-foundation-of-who-we-are." But maybe it is. Maybe whether I say it or not, since I am having such a crisis about the whole situation, this is the crossroads. The time to change our ways. The point of no return.

(Ok, Ok, I realize all I am talking about is cleaning up our living room, not planning to sail across the Atlantic. The melodrama is all just for blog effect.)

Major Moms: we need your help. Please come into our home and set us straight. And please don't make me cry.

19 days of being a mommy

Let's take time for some reflections today... don't worry, pictures will still come later.

This is probably the first time in 19 days that I have been sitting quietly, by myself, baby sleeping, feeling awake enough to actually write a post, rather than just post pictures. Am I showered? No. Have I had enough to eat today? No. But those things are not requirements for sitting down and thinking through what these past few weeks have taught me.

Where do I even begin?

You may remember that heartfelt post I wrote several months ago (seems longer) about motherhood being a process of letting go. I thought through that concept a lot during pregnancy. It was a major part of my motherhood self-preparation. Personally, I am not naturally one who thrives off of letting go of anything. So I knew that it was important for my personal growth, and in order to be the best mommy to Baby Buck, to think through what letting go would mean as a mother.

I honestly think I did a pretty good job of thinking and praying through that idea. And as much as I could have prepared myself for motherhood and all the emotions that come along with it, again I would say I think I did pretty well.

Then Jonathan was born.

Whoa.

The whole letting go thing took on a whole new meaning, with each day bringing new dimensions and layers to the process. I have found it hard to let go of Jonathan in so many ways already: him sleeping in his nursery while I am in the living room, letting others hold him and bond with him. Lots of these tangible, physical ways that we have become two separate beings. But it is in the emotional sense that I have been surprised at my difficulty in letting go. During a cry session with Jon a while ago, I realized that I have this huge need for Jonathan to know that I love him. And if he is crying, it somehow means that he doesn't know that I love him, so I better go in there and make sure he knows it. Jon reassured me that he does know I love him. And that sometimes loving him will mean letting him cry. And that it is my need, not the need of my boy, that I am trying to fulfill when I have this insane need for him to feel my love. Talk about not letting the kid go. I was feeling a pull toward the opposite of letting go--constant smothering.

I was surprised by a few things about being a mom, but one thing in particular stands out. I thought that my "maternal instinct" would be a bit more obvious to me. I thought I would be much more in tune to what my baby needs. It turns out, I am in tune. But I was surprised how little I could trust that instinct when Jonathan was first born. I realized that my instinct had to be tailored to this person, who I had to get to know. I am getting to know him so well. I know most of his cries now. I know when he is tired and when he is hungry. I know he often takes a 6 minute post-milk nap when he is actually not quite finished with his feeding. I know what things he likes to do during his "play time." I know when he just needs some Daddy time. But these things took time for me to learn, and my instinct was honed as I took the time to learn them. It seems counterintuitive to describe an instinct as being learned--I mean isn't that the opposite of an instinct? But motherhood has taught me that this is true.

As that instinct has been developed, I have been better able to trust the letting go process. Since I know my boy better, I can trust that I am loving him the best I can even when it means doing something he doesn't like (eg. letting him cry it out like I am doing right now... yikes this is hard!!). I don't have this irrational need for him to know I love him because I am more secure in my mommy role and more confident in my love for him. I guess we mamas can only release our children to be themselves when we are confident of our own self, our own place in their lives and in the world. Yikes that sounds impossible--to be secure in who I am--but surprisingly motherhood is teaching me just that.

Some thoughts on labor

I've had another reflective week. I'm thankful I've had time to sit, listen, learn. I'm re-reading Ina May's Guide to Childbirth. One of my favs. Goodness that woman will make you want to give birth right here right now, pregnant or not!

She talks about pain in ways that are quite useful to a pregnant woman anticipating entering labor. How pain in childbirth is not the same kind of pain as anything else. We cut our finger while chopping veggies, and the pain signals our brain to put down the knife, stop the bleeding. There is nothing productive about that pain other than to signal us to step away from the painful stimulus. But in labor it's different. The pain signal isn't for the purpose of telling us to run away. It's producing something. Changing our bodies to complete a process. In labor, it's the act of giving in to the pain, rather than fleeing from the pain, that makes all the difference.

...Sidenote: this is all of course an abstract concept in my mind. I have no idea what labor is like. But you knew that already...

I've been drawing some parallels between labor and life. Earlier this week I had a soul-stirring chat with a good friend about vulnerability. How vulnerability means being who you are, not who you want to be or think you need to be. How it means facing the struggles, not running to escape them. How it means allowing others to see you where you're at, not producing a facade just to make them comfortable. I think it means giving in to the situation, not trying to manipulate it in any way. I want to do that in labor. I want to give in to it. Accept what my body needs to do. I think it will be the ultimate act of vulnerability. I told God that I expect to meet him there.

During this conversation with my friend, we talked about the numbing process - how, to escape the hard stuff in life, we so often numb ourselves to it. And realizing that we cannot selectively numb: if we are seeking to numb the bad, inevitably we numb the good. I asked her why she thinks this is the case, and she humbly yet profoundly answered that it seems that is God's design. That's what Jesus's deal seems to be: the ultimate sacrifice producing the ultimate gift and invitation of love. Ohhh.... I thought. Yeah.... That makes sense. In a not-able-to-comprehend-it kind of way. God modeled for us the necessity of being vulnerable - giving in to the struggle to allow ourselves to be brought to the other side.

Ina May talks about the natural cycle of hormones that play out during labor. And how, when that cycle is allowed to happen without manipulation, it ends in an almost euphoric state of pleasure, satisfaction, love. The bonding hormone (oxytocin) makes a huge surge once the baby is born to complete that complex labor hormone cycle. But the only way to get there is to walk through the stuff leading up to it.  It makes sense that when we numb the bad (pain) we also numb the good (oxytocin). I want that oxytocin. I want it bad!

Now, I know I will not remember that I want it when I am at 7 cm and entering transition. Jon and Mom, you can try to remind me if you like. If I tell you to go to hell, I'm sorry in advance.