Hi Folks! A lot has happened since last I posted here, and it's high time we caught up. So here it is: I graduated college, I married the awesomest nerdiest most musically talented guy in the universe, and we now live in Iowa with our two beautiful boys. The whole reason I have come back here is to post our second and most recent birth story. I did not have the foresight to hire a photographer for our eldest son's birth and I have never written down his birth story, because, quite frankly, I don't have anything interesting to say about it, other than "My eldest son was born and I learned a ton of what not to do." Don't get me wrong: his birth was as miraculous as every human birth is, and I cherish and  bless the day I first held him in my arms and saw his precious face. It just did not happen the way my instincts were telling me it should have and I feel that both he and I were robbed of a sacred rite of passage together. So, today, I write my second child's birth story. This one is uplifting and powerful and I want to share it with the world. Willie's birth story is one that gently proves the well-placed faith we can put in God's perfect design of birth. 

Be aware, I am sharing some very personal photos and feelings with whomever decides to read this. Please proceed appropriately, especially where young children are concerned. I do not mind at all if my birth photos are used to help introduce home birth to your child or to help normalize natural birth to a curious partner; but please show respect and let the sacred intimacy of our birth experience touch you heart with awe for our Creator. I hope you enjoy! 

***photography courtesy of Oh Snap! Photography. clicky here ----> http://www.oh-snap-photography.com

The Birth Story of Our Second Baby

I had wanted to have all my babies at home since I was a young girl-- it was my dream. Like so many dreams in life, that one took a back burner when I conceived my eldest child. He was born in a hospital birth center, and I, exhausted from such a long arduous labor and completely ill-at-ease because I did not want to give birth there, succumbed to the pressure of charts and numbers and got the epidural. Our son was born with no complications whatsoever, and my husband and I set to work healing from the difficult birth and researching to make sure we could have our next child at home. I interviewed two midwives who lived near me, and learned a lot from both of those amazing women. The more I learned, the more I hungered to learn. We conceived again, and I knew exactly how I wanted this birth to go: according to God's plan and baby's needs and my desires. And yes, all three are not only possible, but those three aims are indeed knit together into the beautiful and perfect design of birth. By this time in our life, I had researched so much that I felt inclined to pursue an unassisted birth with just me, my husband, my 21 month old son, and maybe a couple supportive family members. But my husband was not quite ready to make that decision in confidence, so we agreed to hire a midwife to attend. I was fortunate to hire a life-long family friend who knew me and understood the way I function, and who had birthed two of her own babies unassisted. She even bartered with us on the price and let us do a music project in lieu of monetary payment. We felt very secure in her skills and our own ability to birth the way we were created to: together in sacred peace and respect. 

Our midwife (whom I will refer to as "Molly" to protect the identity of my friend) gave me invaluable knowledge during each of our three prenatal visits (yes, only three). She focused on total body health and mental preparation during our talks and was never flippant about answering my many and deep questions. :) She taught me how to palpate my abdomen to feel for baby's position. She taught me how to use the doppler (I will use the fetoscope for future pregnancies) to identify the sounds of each my baby, placenta, and cord. She taught me stretches to help safely strengthen my core and to relieve those persistent back aches. She taught me to use my body's signals of pain and discomfort to identify where I was nutritionally lacking, and not to run to the pharmacy to cover them up with drugs and ignore the message. 

She reaffirmed my belief in the woman's body to birth her baby safely with dignity, and encouraged me to continue my own research. By the time, the ninth month of pregnancy began, we both (my husband and I) felt that we had gained a forever friend in our midwife, and were completely surrendered in peace to the ebb and flow of the pregnancy/birth journey. 

Little Squish's "due date" (we all know how inaccurate those are) was August 26th, which came and went with nothing spectacular to show for it in the way of contractions. Then the questions started rolling in... "You're STILL pregnant??" or "You look huge! Maybe you should take a walk to get things going." (because, you know, I was sooooo lazy with a house to baby prep, a two year old to chase, and a family to care for). Here's a funny one: "They let you go that long??" (apparently, "they" are giving birth to my baby instead of me...). I started ignoring the general populace after a couple days of that, and just focused on reading my birth affirmations daily. It helped. My mom called and asked if maybe I would like her to come indefinitely and do whatever I needed done around the house. My mom is the most supportive and positive person in the world and I knew she would only uplift and encourage me, so I wholeheartedly accepted. Gender neutral onesies and sleepers were clean and folded, newborn diapers stacked by the changing table, my white fairy lights were hung around the living room for ambiance, my birth tote was filled and ready for use-- we were ready to meet our baby face to face. We were in a very healthy place emotionally and spiritually those few days before he was born. I went about doing life as usual with my two year old, and my mom pitched in when I needed to rest or visit the chiropractor.

 I can not really tell exactly what day or time I began labor-- it just grew within me gradually until, without, realizing it, I had to pause during my housework to breathe through a rush or two. My husband wanted to call the midwife on the afternoon of September 4 but I put it off because I secretly hoped to call too late and birth my baby alone. That evening, my instincts told me to go ahead and light my candles and diffuse some lavender and lemon essential oils, so I did. Everyone was hungry and I felt like I wanted to do something proactive, so I made some stir fry with steak, and we enjoyed a relaxed supper together. (Releasing that oxytocin!) I remember pausing several times while cooking to breathe through some really good contractions, and saying at the end of each, "Ooo, that was a good one". The photographer arrived after we cleared away the dishes; that's when it hit me that this was the real deal. 

When the rushes were about 2 minutes apart, I decided to let my husband call Molly and her partner, since they were staying a fair bit of a drive from our house. He then texted his mom and grandma, both of whom I had invited to be present during the birth, and they sat around our kitchen table chatting over coffee while I walked around the house enjoying the feeling of my baby drawing ever closer to me. 

Contractions were quite regular and I breathed and hummed them out sitting backwards on the toilet, in the shower, draped over my pilates ball, and on all fours rotating my hips. I knew I'd be in transition soon, because that "calm before the storm" came over me and I was able to lay down on my bed and sleep nestled up to my husband.

 I awoke when Molly arrived and she talked to me to read my expressions and observe my emotional state. I was feeling so confident and ready and we laughed together in excitement at the prospect of meeting our Little Squish. 

Then transition came roaring in like a lion-- and I needed a tornado fan blowing on my face, and a cool cloth around my neck. 

The sensations were so intense, I started to scream; as I screamed high pitched, my mind ebbed into fear, and my body tensed as if trying to escape the sensations. But I remembered that birth is not to be feared: it is to be embraced. 

And I lowered my pitch to become roars, howls, powerful singing; my mind surrendered back into the flow of labor, and my body relaxed into acceptance. 

My husband saw our baby as his head was born, bursting his bag of waters as he came. I took several deep breaths to relax again, and Baby turned himself to finish coming out, and out he came with a woosh! Molly helped me turn around to retrieve my baby (I had birthed him while kneeling and leaning against my bed so he came out behind me). 

I held my birth warrior baby close to my heart and howled in triumphant happiness at our accomplishment. I rubbed his back and pointed his head down for a bit to help the rest of the fluid out of his lungs and he began breathing and making all those adorable baby noises. Then, completely and incandescently happy, my amazing husband and I leaned back against the bed and beheld our brand new son, William Alexander. 

 

I hopped into the shower after a  bit to rinse off before snuggling into bed with Willie, so Michael held him for a minute.