Post-pregnancy and Body Image

I posted several months ago about my experiences with body image in pregnancy and how I loved the body I was in. I came across this Scary Mommy post ("The Luxury of Not Giving a Damn" - read it!) on my FB feed recently, and it struck a chord really strongly in the midst of a lot of changes. I realized there was more to this mommy thing than just figuring out a baby - it's also figuring out yourself.

Every since grad school, I have known that time is a cruel metabolism killer. The older you get, the slower your metabolism and the harder it is to lose weight and change your body. The older you get, the more your body has trouble doing normal things, too, so the fact that we all get fat and fall apart as we get older is not new (being very general here). But learning this as a young, relatively in shape person is a lot different than actually experiencing it as an adult where it starts to become reality. Sure, I counsel people everyday on how to eat well, exercise, reach their weight loss goals, but that's always been their problem. I've never had to deal with it myself and am realizing now the amount of compassion needed to really tackle the underlying issues of body image and weight.

Pregnancy was great because I could be "fat" without being self-conscious that I should look some other way. Once Avery was born, I quickly, and I mean really quickly, lost the baby weight. I did some form of nursing for first 6 weeks, and that combined with not eating or sleeping much helped to keep my weight steady. I fit into old stuff! People said how great I looked! I felt odd about their compliments because (1) I didn't do anything except have a baby, and (2) I knew that some women wish they looked that great post-partum but how do you say thanks with saying I don't know how I did it? It's just genes maybe?

Once I stopped nursing, however, I experienced a flare-up of the autoimmune disease I was diagnosed with at age 18. My doctors had told me this might happen, but it still sucks. My left eye/sinus started hurting, we tried some medications, they didn't work, we decided I needed to do IV infusions, but in the meantime (read = 1 month, the approval process takes forEVER because it's super expensive), I wasn't getting any better. My nurse then suggested what I knew was coming but was hoping to avoid: prednisone.

There are few things in life I can honestly say I have a love/hate relationship with, and prednisone is one of those.

Prednisone is a steroid. Not pump-your-muscles steroid, but another kind made in your adrenal glands. It makes me fat. It causes me to gain water weight. My face gets big and my shoulders and upper body gain weight. It increases your appetite so all you want to eat is CARBS CARBS CARBS and all the things all the time. It also gives you crazy energy, which turns out is a really helpful thing when you have a 4 month old who's congested and needs a paci re-insertion every 2-3 hours. And I did start to feel better. But I hated how I looked. In fact, I still kind of do.

One day I was putting on my scrubs for work, the same ones I work before busting out the maternity scrubs, and I just felt so uncomfortable. The pants were too tight in places they hadn't been before, and I constantly was adjusting them during the day. I didn't want to go out and buy more because that would be admitting I was fat. I work in a fitness facility and I can't be fat telling other people not to be. So, after much debating, I decided I needed to start working out again, and the time that would occur would be 4:00 am each morning.

Working out is one of my things. I love it. It's therapeutic for me. It helps me focus, destress, and re-orient my day. It also makes me feel REALLY GOOD which is what I needed. And thanks to the prednisone, I had the energy to go to bed at 9 pm, wake up at 4, exercise, and make it to work on time by 6:45, all while taking care of my baby somewhere in there.

I'm not perfect. I don't even know how long it will take to lose this extra weight with working out, weaning off the prednisone by middle of December, and trying to eat healthier. When I came across this line in the Scary Mommy article, I copied and pasted it into my reminders app.

It’s a gift not to give a damn how my body and face compares to others.

I need to remember this. I need to know that yes, the goal is to be a healthy weight and feel good, but ultimately I need freedom from comparison and looking at other moms. I need freedom from other PEOPLE looking at me and feeling the need to comment whether I look great or keep to themselves that that's what a new mom's body must look like after having a baby. I need the freedom to not worry if others are drawing conclusions about my character because of what my postpartum body looks like. I need the freedom to BE MYSELF, wear the clothes I want to wear, and know that my body is pretty dang amazing.

I had a baby, and I don't care what you think my body should or does look like. It's mine, it did some amazing things, and I hope you find the freedom to love yourself the way I'm learning to. If each of us women starts to love ourselves more and not judge other moms silently, we all just might be a little more kind and happy and understanding and not waste time comparing. We are mothers - we don't have time for that!

Nursing Avery, Part II

The Breaking Point

So we were going to try EBF for the week, and I was somewhat anxious about whether it would really work, cautiously excited it might actually be the breakthrough we were praying for. That week was SO hard. I was stressed out from family visiting out of town and Brent being at work and me at home by myself trying to entertain and take care of my newborn who I didn't know much about. Avery picked up on the stress and developed some bad gas which made her super fussy. She didn't sleep too well, either. I began cutting things out of my diet to see if it helped, which it didn't. I noticed one morning that I wasn't engorged like I usually was in the morning, but passed it off as my supply just regulating. By the time family left, it was time to go to another weighed feeding.

The Friday that she turned 5 weeks old was the worst day. She wouldn't sleep for more than 45 minutes at a time from 2 am on, and I was beside myself in how to get her to sleep - I tried everything we had done so far - swing, momaroo, shushing, but nothing worked and she was crying bloody murder. I fed her, then put her in the sling so she could at least be calm. She did sleep, and I ended up calling the pediatrician and explaining she just wasn't actually normally. I already was planning on doing a weighed feeding that day, and after making the appt had a realization that I would have a plan or at least answers by the end of the day. I was ready to put the week behind me and take a step forward.

I had a friend meet me at the weighed feeding, and once I got there, I just knew she wasn't going to be taking in as much. Talking to my friend really helped put all that was happening in perspective - she also encouraged me by saying that no matter what happened, I had tried EVERYTHING and done everything to make this work. There would be no shame in switching to another feeding method.

When we weighed her after 30 minutes, she had taken in only 0.8 oz, but more importantly only gained 4 oz since the week before, which wasn't enough. It was time to go to the pedi appt, and on my way over, I realized the plan was going to change. There needed to be something different. The pedi couldn't point to anything specific, but did stress she needed to gain more weight. On the way home, she fell asleep in the car, which was one of the first times that day I had peace. Peace physically because she was sleeping, but peace emotionally because I knew what we had to do.

When I got home, I fed her a bottle of half pumped breast milk and half formula, then she took a nap. After that nap, she was HAPPY. She didn't fuss during the feeding. She had a good playtime. She was back to normal. When Brent got home I told him I needed a break from EBF and was going to do the bottle thing for the weekend then reassess. The weekend was glorious - she slept well, ate well, and peace was restored after a hellish week. I extended the bottle feeding through the next week and was amazed at how well Avery was doing. Little things I noticed, too - like the blocked tear duct she had since birth was cleared up. She also would put herself to sleep once we laid her in the crib, whereas before we had to shush her to sleep in between cries. It was like I had a NEW baby. I couldn't ignore the fact that the bottles were doing wonders for her AND me.

I kept up pumping several times a day, but eventually it got to be difficult, especially when she wouldn't go down for a nap. It also was becoming much less efficient - I had to pump longer and longer to get the same amount. I eventually weaned myself from pumping and as of last weekend, Avery is now exclusively formula fed. I've never felt better about any parenting decision I've ever made.

During the week of bliss, I came across this blog and series of posts from a mother who EBF her first, but then had the same difficulties I did with her second - wasn't efficient, switched to pumping, but eventually went to formula. I cried the entire time I read her posts. After reading them, I knew formula was the best option. It was the healthiest for ME emotionally and physically, and it was the healthiest for AVERY emotionally and physically. I could've pushed through and gone crazy all for the sake of EBF, but in the end I knew I couldn't go on. It was done.

I particularly liked this quote from one of her posts:

"Some people who nurse want to nurse because they absolutely love having their baby right there any time they want for however long they want.  Some people who nurse don't actually like nursing, but they want the benefits of breastmilk for their baby.  Some other people only nurse because it costs zero money.  Some people who nurse love it for all the reasons and wish they could nurse forever. 

Some people who pump just aren't into the idea of breastfeeding.  Some people who pump would rather have the option of other people feeding the baby.  Yes, they're tied to the pump - but they'd rather be tied to that than the baby.  Some people who pump tried every blasted thing possible to get their baby to nurse, but the baby just couldn't get the swing of it.

Some people who use formula had an extremely hard time with their milk supply/nursing/etc., and always worrying about their baby's weight gain wasn't worth it.  Some people who use formula just genuinely prefer the convenience of anybody anywhere feeding their baby.  Some people who use formula never wanted to breastfeed in the first place.

This list of reasons is not exhaustive and could go on.  Bottom line:  we're all different and we're all OKAY. "

The next week I went to postnatal yoga class with a friend, where moms do yoga along with interacting with their babies - kind of a fun mom's group. Some babies were asleep and some were playing - and some were hungry. Several moms would at times nurse their little ones, and I thought to myself, "that's great!" It was then that I realized I had NO GUILT and shame about my choice to formula feed. I was happy for those who could nurse, and content with my decision to feed my baby as I felt was best. Simple as that. It was a great moment.

We've been bottle feeding for awhile now, and while it still has it's challenges (like when to switch to a different size nipple, do these bottles work well?, how do I get her to not choke?) it is tons better than the struggle that was EBF. When I think about our future children and whether or not I will try nursing again, I don't know that answer. I know that babies are different, and I also know by the time the next one comes, I may be in a different place where I could try nursing again. All I really know is that this process has made more compassionate, understanding, and tolerant of the struggles moms go through in making decisions for their babies. It's not just limited to feeding - it's everything. The amount of decisions we mothers make in a day is astonishing. It's tiring! And I completely understand the need to be kind to one another in talking about our babies and how we are raising them. I hope in my conversations with other mothers that I can tone down the judgment and pride and tune up the focus on their well-being as a mom. We're all struggling with knowing if we're doing the right thing, anyways, why do we need someone else to point out we might not be? Be nice, and those around you will be too.

Nursing Avery, Part I

The Problem

This is my journey. Whether you don't know much about breastfeeding or have struggled yourself with it or even been successful, please read. I was ignorant of the BIG DEAL it is to feed your baby; and now that I have one, I totally understand the stress of having a newborn has the least to do with sleep deprivation.

Avery Joy was born at 6 lbs 2 oz, a tiny little baby that only took 20 minutes of pushing to welcome into the world. At first, I was pleased she was so small and I didn't have much pain or extended healing afterwards. Now that I can look back, I kind of wish she was a little bigger! You'll see why soon. After she was cleaned off and they let her chill on the center of my chest, she started to bob her head to the left side. The nurse noticed and said, "she might be ready to eat!" Oh yay! I thought. I just pushed a human alien out of my body and now comes the part where she bites back on to my body in the weirdest and most foreign way possible? Let's see what this is all about.

Her little mouth made its way over and she tried a few times to grab onto my flesh. Apparently, I have flat nipples. Could be due to the fact that I was on an IV for 12+ hours, had an epidural and pitocin, but I think there was a little genetics involved, too. That combined with her tiny mouth, it didn't go so well. The nurse brought a nipple shield to see if that would help; not much improvement. I don't think she technically "latched" but we tried for about 10 minutes and then decided she was good and we could always try later.

We stayed in the hospital for about 48 hours after her birth. The first night was a daze - I was so freaked out about this thing that I was supposed to love, but had no idea how to take care of, and Brent slept the whole night! The nurse was helpful and told me to wake her every 2-3 hours to nurse. Each time, I called her in so she could help me with latching. Avery was so sleepy, too, that it took forever to get her awake and keep her awake. Added to that was the frustration that she never really was latching correctly. Again the nurse tried using a nipple shield but Avery didn't seem to like it. The nurse said she would request a lactation consultant to come by in the morning.

The next day I was still bewildered and out of my element. The lactation consultant didn't come by until the evening, and by then I was super frustrated and worried. It all seemed on my end - she couldn't latch because I had flat nipples. The LC was somewhat helpful, but I could tell she had been working all day and wanted to go home, wanted me to be a quick last patient. The second night's nurse was the worst - she was a great nurse per se, but she came in several times to remind me to feed Avery, and very urgently - "she's lost too much weight and you need to feed her!" I was doing the best I knew how! It was really frustrating. The last day we were in the hospital, I started crying. I just wanted to be a good mom! I wanted to do a good job! I understood she needed to gain weight but what else was I supposed to do? Fortunately, a kind and younger LC came in that afternoon - and by the grace of God, I think could tell I had been crying and was frustrated. She was super nice and helpful, and we pumped some colostrum, just enough to feed it to Avery through a syringe. I felt better knowing Avery had at least eaten something, so we opted to go home that evening.

Our first pedi appointment was the next morning, and it was the first time we met the doctor who would be taking care of our daughter. I remember being so nervous - what if she cried while at the appointment? Was I supposed to know immediately what to do? The pedi said she needed to gain more weight, and since my milk hadn't come in, we should supplement after each nursing with 2 oz formula. (First of all, that's a huge amount for a 4 day old! And secondly, we had no formula, so they kindly gave us some samples of ready to drink formula). We got home from the appointment, and it was time to nurse. As I was about to have her latch, I felt something wet on my stomach. I looked down and there was a milky substance coming out of my boob! My milk had come in! That was exciting. That afternoon, after she was done nursing (and asleep by this point), we tried to give her some formula. She spit it up, so we decided not to do the supplementing, mostly because my milk had come in.

That first week was rough. Her nursing sessions sometimes lasted up to an hour! I couldn't believe this was the way it worked. I was so tired. But I pressed on. We visited with a LC at a clinic and she gave some helpful advice, again with a nipple shield. She said Avery was tiny and she would get stronger and better as she grew, but couldn't promise me that would actually happen. My tiny baby just wasn't strong enough, and that was hard to hear. The clinic was located inside a specialty maternity store, and she told us you could come and weigh your baby for free anytime and also do a weighed feeding if you wanted to. We decided to come back a week later to see if she was gaining weight appropriately.

(I feel like I should also interject that I was going crazy and my hormones were all over and I had no idea what I was doing or how we got here or why was it really this hard? That makes the feeding part more stressful when you dread each feeding session!)

The next Tuesday (she was 10 days old), we did a weighed feeding and found out that she only took in 0.7 oz in 30 minutes of nursing. I was devastated. The week before at the LC appt, she had taken in 1.2 in the same amount of time. Luckily the LC was around at the time we were there, and she suggested nursing for 30 minutes and then supplementing with 1 oz formula while I pumped to get my supply up. Brent was still home from work for a few more days, so with all the moving parts we came home with a new plan. Although it was tiring, we got used to it. I wondered how long we had to do it though - was all this mess worth it if someday she would be more efficient? We did another weighed feeding that week and still the same - 0.7 oz in 30 minutes. Brent encouraged me to keep going, and I did but was so exhausted, emotionally and physically.

I talked with a lot of my friends and got all their tips for increasing my supply - power pumping, fenugreek, blessed thistle, pineapple juice, mother's milk tea 3x/day, steel cut oats for breakfast. I threw myself into it and was determined to try everything. On her 4 week birthday,  we did another weighed feeding and she took in 1.7 oz in 20 minutes. I was so excited! She was getting more efficient and I was going to be able to feed her! We decided to try exclusively nursing for the next week and then reweigh. Little did we know that week would be the hardest of this journey so far.

Uncomfortable-ness

If you ever want to jump outside your comfort zone and be completely disillusioned and disoriented some days, then you should have a baby.

If you ever want to keep your schedule, have a routine, and know exactly what to expect, then you shouldn't have a baby.

I was having a rough day yesterday. Sometimes the bad days are because the baby is having a bad day and either fussy, won't sleep, won't eat, or simply just being a baby by changing up everything she does. (Like refusing to go to sleep one day and then falling asleep the moment I lay her down the next day. What?!) Sometimes the bad days are because mom is emotional and struggling with her expectations of what mom/newborn life is like and needing to cry and let go of the ideal that she is holding so dearly.

Yesterday was one of those days.

We have a bedtime routine for Avery, and it includes getting a bottle around 6:00 and then going to sleep right after. Lately she hasn't been to fond of going to sleep then, and it could be for ten thousand reasons I will never know, so we end up either rocking her to sleep or having her sleep in the sling on me, which isn't ideal but hey, she's sleeping. I consider sleeping the first priority, then if you fall asleep on your own the next, then sleeping in your crib. I'll take what I can get. Anyways, yesterday was one of those nights when she didn't want to sleep and I was having trouble with my expectation of a nice evening with my husband vs. getting the cranky baby to sleep. After we finally got her to go down, I was laying on the couch in frustration and said aloud, "I just don't like being uncomfortable!"

What makes me uncomfortable? Not knowing what to expect. Not having a plan or a schedule or a reasonable idea of what will happen. I used to consider myself pretty flexible, but lately, I've realized I really need to work on that. Babies are babies. She's not always going to do these things, and eventually I will forget that sleeping was a problem and will be focused on the next thing, like how on earth to dress my baby for daycare because she's always just hung out with me in semi-naked in a diaper or swaddled. Big things ahead!

I'm slowly learning how to take each day for what it is - a gift. And I'm also learning to look at Avery that way - as a gift. There was a time that our fertility doctor said, "So let's get you in touch with our egg donation team and go from there." We politely declined, and the Lord blessed us with not only a healthy baby, but a healthy mom! It truly is a gift that we have healthy daughter and I'm doing well.

Taking each day for what it is helps me also to see what the Lord is doing in my heart. If I focus on the past or future, I lose what the present is trying to teach me: patience and grace. Sometimes she will behave in a way I can't "fix" or help, and sometimes she will surprise me by exceeding what I thought she could do. Each moment with her is precious, each day is an adventure, and I am learning that she will never be 7 weeks 4 days old again. This is the only time that will happen.

Eventually it will get better, and I hope that I still remember what a precious time it was, and not that is was hard all the time. I want to come out of this with a grateful heart and a balanced perspective on her newborn phase. She'll only be this tiny and unpredictable for so long.

Mother Knows Best

Six weeks, y'all.

We made it six weeks!

The first week that Avery was home with us, I had another first-time mom friend come by to visit. She answered all my crazy, hormonally-driven and anxious questions, with tears from me. She also said, "I've told other moms this - just make it to six weeks. You can do crazy for six weeks."

Now, at not even one week old, the prospect of making it one more week sounded awful let alone 5 more weeks. But here we are, and we have made it. So what's the deal with six weeks?

I would say the biggest difference is that I'm "used to" having Avery around. I'm used to the routine - feed, play, nap every 3 hours, used to our method of feeding her (more on that later), can kind of understand her temperament and know when she's being unusually fussy - but not always why. We have become accustomed to staying home most nights and really only venturing out with Avery to church, small group, and appointments. We run errands alone on the weekends with the other one staying at home with her. We are not necessarily fully used to it, but it is definitely easier than it was the first week. We have found our lifestyle groove and while there's still things to work out, we get it now.

But as with all things parenting, the only constant is that things will always be changing!

I only have two more weeks of maternity leave left, and Avery will start daycare when she is a mere 2 months old. In some ways, I'm excited to get back to work that I love, have break from taking care of an infant all day (can be boring, can be exhausting), and starting our routine with both parents working and Avery at daycare. But I'm also bummed because I know I'll miss her and she's so young and small, I'll worry about her all the time. It will be hard to know it will take a few weeks to adjust to being in a brightly-lit room all day and trying to nap without a swaddle (eek!).

But I also want more time to get to know her. As of now, she puts herself to sleep within 15-20 min of me laying her in the crib. I love watching her fall asleep because I learn so much about how she soothes herself, her movements, which undoubtedly helps me at 2 am to know if she's awake or just passing from one REM cycle to the next. I also know that once they grow out of the newborn stage at 3 months, they begin to do a WHOLE lot more. I love playing with Avery and watching her interact more and more with the world - and learn new sounds besides crying!

I love researching and reading and I can probably say I've read most of the books on babies. It has helped me some - but what I really will miss is developing my mother's instinct. I know I will still be working on this for some time, but I really wish I could be there for all the moments she does something different and I have to react and make a decision on how to help her best. I want to make those mistakes, cry, and learn from them. My journey to motherhood has been mostly the Lord breaking me of being so by-the-book and learning to be flexible and go with the flow. And while I know I'll still be doing that in the times I have with her, I am missing out on a chunk of her life.

I'm pretty confident I will enjoy being a working mom. But I'm beginning to see why it's hard, why it's a sacrifice, and why America needs better maternity leave policies (ugh, don't get me started!). I just hope the next two weeks go slow enough to enjoy them but fast enough that they don't drag on.

And in another six weeks, I'll be looking forward to the next milestone: babyhood.

Becoming a Mother is...

Warning before you read: sleep deprivation is real, y'all. My thoughts are golden, but they make not be arranged cohesively.

Sometimes being a first time mom sucks. It just does. It's not that I don't love my baby - she's the cutest thing I look at all day (besides my husband). It's not that I don't enjoy being home and being productive. It's just that being a first time mom is lonely. It's hard. It's mind-numbing at times. Eat, awake, sleep. Repeat. My life is lived in 3 hour increments.

You come to a point where you can't give any more. You don't know if you can really go on because who can keep giving when you're empty? You give your full attention and time to your baby, then your husband has a bad day, then your baby cries at an unusual time or you don't know what's going on with her. Once you figure it out, there's something else to give your attention to. What's this new thing that's going on? It's continual adaptation. It's continual selflessness and laying down EVERYthing you ever expected about this new stage in life. It is giving more than I even knew I could give.

I know it gets better. Everyone says that, and honestly, I'm almost 4 weeks into this deal and I can see how this week is SO MUCH better than the first week. But I feel like I'm crawling - crawling instead of walking and progressing well. I know it's slow, and I'll miss these days, but right now I don't. I'm stuck in between wanting it to be 4, 6, 10 months ahead but also knowing somedays are pretty easy compared to what may come. Stuck between wanting the days when she'll interact with me and knowing I'll also miss the days I could carry my baby with one arm.

I think it's okay for me to have bad days; days where I don't want to do this anymore, where I come to the end of my reserve. Those are the days I learn just how far I can reach and what I am made of.

Yesterday I was crying in the kitchen because I realized I am the only one that can love Avery like I do. That statement was comforting but also brought a lot of weight with it. Of course, I've always wanted to be a mom in a very loose sense, but a lot of times our picture of what that looks like is a little skewed. Acknowledging that I'm Avery's mother is a huge deal. There's a lot of responsibility but also joy in that statement. I get to experience the highs and lows, and each make the other that much more tolerable.

This blog post was my go-to yesterday. I read it at least 20 times and cried each time. If you're a first time mom or about to be, please read it. It's so spot on and encouraging:

"I know how hard those beginning months of motherhood are. Keep in mind as you are there that you are doing God's work. The difficulty of it all can really turn you to the Lord like little else. It is a growing time for you spiritually. You will come out more kind, empathetic, loving, patient, selfless, and much, much more. 

Hang in there. You will look back soon and find certain aspects of what it was to be a first time mom quite desirable. You will long for time to just be at home with no where else to be. You will fondly remember those quiet hours at home with just you and your babe. As in any stage of life, try to focus on the good aspects before you. There are always good and bad to each situation and walk of life. Focus on the good of what it is and you will make it through happier and more content. "

How I Lost 25 Lbs in One Day

AKA Avery's Birth Story :)

Before I was pregnant, I always wondered why moms posted their birth stories or shared them, as if it was a "thing" that was normal to share. I though it was odd that you'd want to share something so intimate but also gross. What's the deal?

But now I get it. It's a badge of honor, a way of saying, "this is how you came into the world," and something to remember for years to come. It's a unique and precious time, the moments before you meet your child.

On June 1, I rushed from work to my OB appointment, hoping to get out in time to make it to yoga class. I never made it to yoga - in fact, I was instructed to walk straight over to the hospital and check myself in for observation. I had preeclampsia, and thus began my 4 weeks of waiting on the couch. Towards the end, my OB mentioned he'd like to make it to 38 weeks in order to allay any complications from pre-term labor. So, we set a date of Friday, June 26 for induction.

The night before, when Brent got off work, we decided we should go on a date. At this point, we only  knew a few things about being parents: you will be sleep deprived and you will never go on a date again. Or maybe once/month. (This is funny to me now). So we went out to eat. Then we bought a new car. (Long story, but glad we did because the next week found out our old car had a broken axle and couldn't drive!)

So on the morning on June 26, we show up to the hospital to have a baby. It was so surreal. You know it's coming, but you don't know exactly what's coming. Once I registered and got to our room, I changed into a hospital gown and they hooked up an IV with saline. My OB came in an hour later, broke my water, and started the pitocin at 8:30 am (I was at 2 cm coming in). Let me tell you, breaking your water feels like you are peeing all over yourself. Except your in a bed so you just sit in it. It's gross. I got up a few times to pee, and they would change the sheets, but still, gross. Every time I moved in bed, I "peed" again. Yuck. Can't imagine what that would be like happening while I was at work! Eek.

I didn't really start to feel much until 10:30, when I'd have small twinges like I needed to go pee. (Again with the bathroom analogies). The contractions felt like someone was sitting on my bladder. Not having experienced a lot of pain in this area before, it was new to my body and mind. Over the next few hours, they got closer together and more intense. My OB checked on me again around noon and upped the pitocin because I "wasn't making a scrunchy face yet." In other words, they weren't bad enough. But soon after that, they became crazy. I started closing my eyes all the time. I couldn't talk in between. I moved to the birthing ball, and had Brent press on my lower back whenever I had a contraction.

By 4:00, I was SO OVER it. Contractions are like waves, they KEEP COMING. There are no breaks and there are no breathers. They don't stop. I have a high pain tolerance, but as I was reminded, a low mental endurance. So at 4:00 when he checked and I was only at 4 cm, I cried for the epidural. There was no way I would labor for hours and hours only to get 1 more cm.

Best decision ever.

After they put it in and it started working, we took a nap. And it was awesome. I was so much more happy and able to enjoy the process. Around 7:30 pm, I began to feel "pressure" like I had to pee, but it was NOWHERE near the pain before. I told the nurse and she said she would page my OB to come check me. I also started shaking at this point, uncontrollably, and the nurse said that was normal - it was the adrenaline I was going to need soon! My OB checked me at 8:00 and yelled "she's complete!" and then the ruckus started. Carts and trays were wheeled in, orders called out, people shuffling in the room. I had no idea what to expect! The pressure was getting stronger and then I felt my bones start to have pressure on them too. She was coming!

After about 20 minutes of pushing (which really just feels like you're trying to poop), Avery Joy Bassett was born at 8:24 pm. And seriously, my life has never been the same. Once she came out, I remember my OB laying her on my chest, all covered in goo and crying. My first thought was, "what is this?! That was in me?!" Some mothers have an instant connection with their baby, I was just freaked out about the whole thing! They whisked her off after a few minutes to the warmer and were trying to get her to cry more to get the amniotic fluid out of her lungs, meanwhile I'm not really sure what's going on - my OB is trying to show me my placenta (who cares?), then stitches me up, I start crying because it's all so overwhelming, and finally after several minutes they bring her back, a little cleaner and calmer. Honestly, I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what to expect, but it was all so surreal I couldn't react clearly. Looking back it was a relatively easy labor, but nothing could have prepared me for what was going to happen when she came!

If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change anything. I'm glad I labored as long as I did, and I'm glad I got the epidural. It was all worth it, and I couldn't have asked for a better story!