Her hand rests upon his rising and falling chest as she stares into the colors of a wilting arrangement of early summer blooms. Tired isn't the right word. There is a quite maternal energy coursing through her. She listens for one son while she lifts the other out of his basket and onto her chest. Aware of the sleeping mistakes she made with the elder, she assures herself that she can still hold and sooth this thirteen day old without setting herself up for another sleep battlefield. "Surely I have three months or so of worry free cuddling," she thinks to herself.
Lifting her eyes she notices the even disbursement of toys across the living room floor. "This is evidence of a happy child who is free to LIVE here," she tells herself, wishing her husband could see the same thing.
Then she turns her gaze on the infant in her arms. She sees her nose, her husbands chin and eyebrows, and sweet sweet infant cheeks. His breathing is steady and even now, and for the moment the whole house is blanketed in stillness. The cats have found their napping spots and the sound of the bathroom fan hides the noise from the road outside.
She inhales deeply, thinking alternately about the beauty of her life and the unavoidable stress parenting causes on marriage. Outside the sun breaks out after the third rain shower of the morning. She realizes that she isn't tired, she is June with unpredictable sun and rain storms alternating to cause growth for harvest. She thinks of the blossoms on her tomato plants outside and smiles.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Tuesdays with Søren
Tuesdays are the lawn maintenance day at our apartment complex. Søren always wants to help. About a month ago we found this lawnmower for $3 at Value Village. Søren is very excited that the weather is now nice enough for him to mow more than the carpet in our home.
That's my little helper! I hope he still enjoys chores so much when he's actually old enough to do them.
That's my little helper! I hope he still enjoys chores so much when he's actually old enough to do them.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Søren's new favorite song...
It's good for mom too.
Here are the lyrics:
Have patience, have patience,
don't be in such a hurry
when you get, impatient,
you only start to worry.
Remember, remember,
God is patient too.
and THINK of all the times that others
have to wait for you!
Here are the lyrics:
Have patience, have patience,
don't be in such a hurry
when you get, impatient,
you only start to worry.
Remember, remember,
God is patient too.
and THINK of all the times that others
have to wait for you!
Friday, June 22, 2007
No Regrets
We have now known Elliot for five days. Of five days he has probably been awake for about 20 hours. He wakes, eats, stares at us, and falls back asleep. This has come as a little bit of a surprise given how very active he was in utero, and how involved he was during labor.
Real labor started at midnight's stroke to welcome in Father's Day. My tired husband had been awake keeping track of the time between contractions for a couple of hours as I did my best to sleep in between, but come midnight that was no longer a real option as I knew we would be headed to the hospital soon.
We waited the extra half hour to insure that there was enough momentum to wake everyone who needed to be involved. Thus we roused our dear friend and acting doula, Summer, from the room next door and told her it was time. We called my mother who was sleeping in her clothes at home with the cell by her head so she could come stay with Søren while we worked to introduce Elliot into the world of the breathing. We paged our midwife and told her we were headed to the hospital so that she could make the necessary arrangements and meet us there.
Upon arriving at the hospital we were informed that they did not think they would be able to admit us (due to staffing) and that we could labor a bit in a triage room while they figured out if they needed to transfer us down the road. While this could have been discouraging, it forced us to try to make as much progress as possible in a short amount of time so that they would feel good about admitting us. Due to the supplications of a nurse named Lynelle, we were admitted and she became a lovely addition to our labor team.
This labor was quite different than my first. It was far more intense because things were actually progressing. Also, I wasn't alone. Words cannot describe the difference I felt in having the devoted attention of my dear friend Summer. This was a group effort. She could tell me when the contraction was coming, peaking, and leaving. She rubbed my legs and helped remind me to breath and relax. It was actually almost fun. That might not make sense, and I'm not even sure I can really leave the word "fun" there. My husband would know a more fitting word. But for now, that's all I have.
For some unknown reason, much like with Søren, right on the brink of push labor my body started slowing down and labor began to stall. We tried things I will not describe to push me over the edge and, just as with Søren, it did not work. At this point it had been all night and into the morning and I knew Elliot and I were done. I requested a c-section. Because it was not an emergency of any sort, we then had to wait about two hours for the doctor to be available. Those hours could be a blog in itself, as I had to continue physically what I was done with mentally. I did request something to take the edge off the continuing contractions, and this is perhaps the only thing I wish would have gone differently, but I did not feel I would make it. Who knows.
My midwife was concerned I would be disappointed that it wasn't a successful vbac, or that I would regret not having just scheduled a c-section from the beginning. I am not disappointed, and have no regrets. I would make all the same decisions that led up to that moment. This time I can embrace the c-section...and in fact, don't really even think of it as I hold my dear new son.
There is more to write, but for now that's all. I am so grateful and encouraged by the community I have here in you, my readers and fellow mothers. Thank you for making me feel so loved and supported. You were in the labor room too.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Home Sweet Home
Happy Father's Day to Andrew, who received Elliot Chancy Scrivner at 12:06 pm on June 17th. Elliot weighed 9 lbs 7 ounces and was 20 3/4 inches long with a 14 1/2 inch head! Just a smidgen smaller all around than Søren. I guess we make big boys.
Much to the pleasure of the whole family, we are home today.
There is much to tell and share, but for now I must sleep.
I leave you with a few pictures from the last few days.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Hit a Nerve
A fish tank gurgles in the corner, home to 4 brightly colored orange fish. I marvel with the same wonder I had as a child at how the glass makes one fish become two when they swim near a corner. The water sound is calming as I sit anticipating the needles and electrical current about to enter my legs.
Yesterday acupuncture was an unknown to me, today I know what I am in for. The needles were barely noticeable going in but then he hooked up an electrical charge to them so that I was constantly being shocked mildly and left the room. This made it hard to ignore the six needles placed in my legs and hands. I had no idea when he'd be back. I focused on breathing. This is good practice for labor, I told myself over and over in between praying for calm. At last he entered my room and I praised God for salvation from the needles. None came. He flicked the needles a couple times, turned up the voltage, and left again without a word. Oh, the prayers started back up. So did a roundabout discussion with myself about regretting my decision to try this. That just made me more antsy to get off the table, so I went back to breathing, praying, and telling myself this was a good psychological preparation for labor. He came in again, flicked again, turned up again, and left again. I was at a loss. I figured this could not possibly last forever, and that I did trust this kind, old Chinese man. I resolved just to pray. He did come back, removed the needles, did some massage, and sent me on way with an appointment for today.
So today, I pull up preparing myself for what was ahead. I park and listen to the last stanza of an old Irish ballad and walk in taking my seat near the fish.
This time he takes me back into the same little room and lays me down on the table. He lifts my shirt to asses the baby's position and I have this fear that he is going to try to stick a needle into my belly. This does not happen. He does start wiping down more locations than yesterday. There are 10 needles today and two are right inside my eyebrows. This forces me to close my eyes and breath rather than stare at the ceiling feeling like a bug. The starting voltage is lower and I thank God for small favors. He leaves the room. I can hear happy Chinese banter and get nervous every time I hear footsteps coming down the hall - though always entering another room. He finally enters and I prepare myself for the voltage to be upped. This does not happen. He brings in more wires and hooks them up to needles in my hands creating an electrical loop from my legs. This feels less shocking but as he leaves the room and I close my eyes I feel like I am a drift on a calm ocean feeling waves pass through me. Baby Elliot seems to feel them, too, and I almost fall asleep when I wake because of the first English voice I have heard since being here. She's just another patient.
I begin to get nervous about the whole idea of electricity being involved in inducing labor. I start imagining my water breaking on the table and somehow being electrocuted by the volts and the water. I tell myself that there is probably a safety measure against that and then go back to praying that if death by electrical shock while trying to induce labor is God's plan, that I will accept it - and hope that my husband won't be too furious with me.
Dr. Wang comes in a rescues me from the needles and I am expecting the massage. Instead he asks me to stand and place my hands on the table so he can do something to my lower back. This involves four more needles with him constantly twisting or wiggling them. I jump and twitch and try my best to stay still and not cry out too loudly. It's not that painful, per se, but I finally understood the saying "hit a nerve." I realize I will never hear that saying the same way again. I apologize for my jumps and outcries, and he laughs and tells me he knows exactly what I am feeling.
After this comes some massage and a hug as I leave scheduling yet another appointment for Monday, if needed. I manage to pull out the Chinese for "Thank You" much to his delight and receive another hug (my grandmother is from China).
Now I sit at home, my water having broke at 4pm while at the hospital for another series of tests to make sure everything is okay. I type as my contractions strengthen and look forward to introducing Elliot to his Dad on Father's day. I tell myself that the acupuncture adventure was worth it because I can't help but think it is really what pushed me over the edge.
Yesterday acupuncture was an unknown to me, today I know what I am in for. The needles were barely noticeable going in but then he hooked up an electrical charge to them so that I was constantly being shocked mildly and left the room. This made it hard to ignore the six needles placed in my legs and hands. I had no idea when he'd be back. I focused on breathing. This is good practice for labor, I told myself over and over in between praying for calm. At last he entered my room and I praised God for salvation from the needles. None came. He flicked the needles a couple times, turned up the voltage, and left again without a word. Oh, the prayers started back up. So did a roundabout discussion with myself about regretting my decision to try this. That just made me more antsy to get off the table, so I went back to breathing, praying, and telling myself this was a good psychological preparation for labor. He came in again, flicked again, turned up again, and left again. I was at a loss. I figured this could not possibly last forever, and that I did trust this kind, old Chinese man. I resolved just to pray. He did come back, removed the needles, did some massage, and sent me on way with an appointment for today.
So today, I pull up preparing myself for what was ahead. I park and listen to the last stanza of an old Irish ballad and walk in taking my seat near the fish.
This time he takes me back into the same little room and lays me down on the table. He lifts my shirt to asses the baby's position and I have this fear that he is going to try to stick a needle into my belly. This does not happen. He does start wiping down more locations than yesterday. There are 10 needles today and two are right inside my eyebrows. This forces me to close my eyes and breath rather than stare at the ceiling feeling like a bug. The starting voltage is lower and I thank God for small favors. He leaves the room. I can hear happy Chinese banter and get nervous every time I hear footsteps coming down the hall - though always entering another room. He finally enters and I prepare myself for the voltage to be upped. This does not happen. He brings in more wires and hooks them up to needles in my hands creating an electrical loop from my legs. This feels less shocking but as he leaves the room and I close my eyes I feel like I am a drift on a calm ocean feeling waves pass through me. Baby Elliot seems to feel them, too, and I almost fall asleep when I wake because of the first English voice I have heard since being here. She's just another patient.
I begin to get nervous about the whole idea of electricity being involved in inducing labor. I start imagining my water breaking on the table and somehow being electrocuted by the volts and the water. I tell myself that there is probably a safety measure against that and then go back to praying that if death by electrical shock while trying to induce labor is God's plan, that I will accept it - and hope that my husband won't be too furious with me.
Dr. Wang comes in a rescues me from the needles and I am expecting the massage. Instead he asks me to stand and place my hands on the table so he can do something to my lower back. This involves four more needles with him constantly twisting or wiggling them. I jump and twitch and try my best to stay still and not cry out too loudly. It's not that painful, per se, but I finally understood the saying "hit a nerve." I realize I will never hear that saying the same way again. I apologize for my jumps and outcries, and he laughs and tells me he knows exactly what I am feeling.
After this comes some massage and a hug as I leave scheduling yet another appointment for Monday, if needed. I manage to pull out the Chinese for "Thank You" much to his delight and receive another hug (my grandmother is from China).
Now I sit at home, my water having broke at 4pm while at the hospital for another series of tests to make sure everything is okay. I type as my contractions strengthen and look forward to introducing Elliot to his Dad on Father's day. I tell myself that the acupuncture adventure was worth it because I can't help but think it is really what pushed me over the edge.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Bumper to bumper
The lovely June weather we have been enjoying - combined with my efforts to get out and walk everyday - has grown Søren accustomed to a daily visit to the park down the road. Yesterday brought a serendipitous meeting with the only other mother there and her 3 year old daughter, Hannako. She is expecting another girl next month, and like me, had a VBAC with her daughter. We were able to encourage each other and she gave me more reason to see if I can visit a acupuncturist over the next few days.
I met with a doctor at the hospital and he and I agreed to have a c-section on the books for Wednesday morning at 8. I, of course, hope that we go into labor before then, but in efforts to seem like I am working with the doctors, I agreed to put something down on paper. He was actually very nice, very understanding, and treated me like I was capable of thinking and being a part of the decision making process about my body and labor. The last 3 doctors I have seen related to this pregnancy have not been so wonderful. Anyhow, he even made it sound like they will still keep me as a patient even if come Tuesday I decide I'd like to push the date to Friday, or even later! He said it would be against his recommendation, but that they would still work with me.
Anyhow, the point of all this rambling is that on a rainy, June day like today, my dear son still desperately wants to get out of the house. Singing "rain, rain, go away", does not satisfy him. So, the next best thing in his mind is the mall. Gratefully, my son does not yet understand consumerism, he thinks each mall store is a little playground. He only sees us spend money at the grocery store (hence the familiar chant in our home of "buy them, eat them". Tell that to Nordstroms!) The mall holds untold wonders of large cushy boats to play on with 35 other kids on a day like today, escalators and large, yellow, glass elevators with movie star lights up the sides. The mall has hallways 8 feet wide for running and weaving into unsuspecting rich women who forget that there is such a thing as a 2 1/2 foot tall person. The mall is the happiest place on earth.
So we malled. The unfortunately side effect of travelling to this particular mall is the traffic. It is in Bellevue. Bellevue is for rich people. Rich people who don't know how to drive. No, excuse me, rich people who don't care if their driving creates a nightmare for the other cars on the road with them. Rich people who don't really have to work on Fridays, or at least, more certainly, their wives don't. So, add Nordstrom's half-yearly sale to Father's day weekend at the mall, and well, you can imagine there was a lot of sitting in traffic in store for Søren and me as we awaited the delights of the happiest place on earth. Disney lines, eat your heart out, you've never seen BellSquare.
What is the point of my rambling? Well, the sitting in traffic afforded me a reminder of a blog I wanted to write some weeks ago during the last time I was stuck in traffic in Bellevue - though I don't remember what for. Let's just be honest - there is a LOT of traffic in the greater Seattle metro area, so sitting in it is not so unusual, unless you are like me and try not to get out too much, and only do when you have a toddler with you to allow for carpool access.
Last time I was stuck in traffic I began to ponder the wonderful world of bumper stickers. Now, there actually are not a plethora of bumper stickers up here. This may be relative to spending the previous 4 years in Eugene. Who knows, perhaps if I was from DC or something I would think Seattle was the mecca of bumper stickers, but I know better. The witty political stickers, and sexy band logos are few and far between on the Eastside. What is not lacking though, are those lovely little fish emblems. This is what set me to pondering last time.
First, I should admit, that my first car carried a license plate cover that read "In case of rapture, this car will be unmanned". Clever huh? My next little beater was intact with a subtle little silver fish. When that little car died and was donated - for there was NO value left in it - I bought myself a little red Rodeo that drove me to Eugene and taxied me around until it was more needed for tuition that transportation - for there was some value left in it. The rodeo sported a Gutenberg College banner - but no fish...no testament to my faith. I was a bad, unbold christian. I found that people were nicer to me on the road without it and wondered if I was avoiding persecution and slipping into worldliness (note to reader: this is meant to be funny).
Really, what had transpired over the years of car adornment and Christian thinking, was that I was quite curious what true evangelism was, and how a Christian bumper sticker played into that. What is the purpose of the little fish? I have to be honest, the "My boss is a Jewish Carpenter" sticker still evokes a smile from me, but the fish just makes me curious. What are we trying to accomplish with that? Is it like political campaigning? "I vote for Jesus, you should too"? Are we peer pressuring people into Christianity (or churchianity... I am carefully sidestepping a soapbox here)? Is it more sophisticated than that? Perhaps the thinking is that people will be so impressed with what a fabulous and considerate driver I am that they will want to believe what I believe so they, too, can drive with such integrity? Or are we purposely trying to create a stone of stumbling by driving the exact speed limit - to honor and obey God by honoring and obeying the laws of the land - while everyone else understands that the left lane is meant for driving a little over the "limit" such that your sticker and speed combine to crawl under the person's skin behind you and make them hate all Christians more than they do? I am not sure.
Now, I realise there are people who just plain enjoy bumper stickers and self expression on their vehicles. That's fine with me. It is the idea that somehow a fish on the back of a car plays a part in your personal contribution to evangelism and the great commission that really irks me. Evangelism is not so simple, nor certainly so one-sticker-fits-all. If we believers are using stickers and tee-shirts and bracelets to feel like we are broadcasting the gospel into our nation, then hell has won. The gospel, though simple to be sure, is not simple to receive.
Jesus himself was quite choosy about when he would really share the message. Not because he didn't want to be crucified just yet, but because he didn't want to unnecessarily harden people against the truth if he could tell they were not in a frame to receive it. Prodding people towards truth is a delicate thing. You do not do the kingdom of heaven or any individual any good by badgering him with the truth when he is not ready for it.
If the message of the gospel is as crucial as we claim to believe it is, we ought to be very aware of how and when it is explained so as to give the individual the best chance of hearing it and truly facing into making a decision about it. We have to actually, sincerely, care about the person who is going to hear it. It should not be thrown around so haphazardly. The offense at the gospel is a very specific offense. The possibility of that offense needs to be made clear, but if there are too many other non-gospel possibilities for offense, then the actual halting before such a enormous decision (to be offended or not by the actual message) is lost. You either convert someone to a watered down spin-off of the truth (which is no longer the truth), or you harden them so thoroughly against your spin-off that they never have the opportunity to respond directly to the actual possibility of offense.
Anyhow, I still remain confused by the fish. It is certainly not evangelism. So what is it, and why have it on your car? I by no means want to condemn those who have them, but I would really enjoy an explanation of why they are there.
I met with a doctor at the hospital and he and I agreed to have a c-section on the books for Wednesday morning at 8. I, of course, hope that we go into labor before then, but in efforts to seem like I am working with the doctors, I agreed to put something down on paper. He was actually very nice, very understanding, and treated me like I was capable of thinking and being a part of the decision making process about my body and labor. The last 3 doctors I have seen related to this pregnancy have not been so wonderful. Anyhow, he even made it sound like they will still keep me as a patient even if come Tuesday I decide I'd like to push the date to Friday, or even later! He said it would be against his recommendation, but that they would still work with me.
Anyhow, the point of all this rambling is that on a rainy, June day like today, my dear son still desperately wants to get out of the house. Singing "rain, rain, go away", does not satisfy him. So, the next best thing in his mind is the mall. Gratefully, my son does not yet understand consumerism, he thinks each mall store is a little playground. He only sees us spend money at the grocery store (hence the familiar chant in our home of "buy them, eat them". Tell that to Nordstroms!) The mall holds untold wonders of large cushy boats to play on with 35 other kids on a day like today, escalators and large, yellow, glass elevators with movie star lights up the sides. The mall has hallways 8 feet wide for running and weaving into unsuspecting rich women who forget that there is such a thing as a 2 1/2 foot tall person. The mall is the happiest place on earth.
So we malled. The unfortunately side effect of travelling to this particular mall is the traffic. It is in Bellevue. Bellevue is for rich people. Rich people who don't know how to drive. No, excuse me, rich people who don't care if their driving creates a nightmare for the other cars on the road with them. Rich people who don't really have to work on Fridays, or at least, more certainly, their wives don't. So, add Nordstrom's half-yearly sale to Father's day weekend at the mall, and well, you can imagine there was a lot of sitting in traffic in store for Søren and me as we awaited the delights of the happiest place on earth. Disney lines, eat your heart out, you've never seen BellSquare.
What is the point of my rambling? Well, the sitting in traffic afforded me a reminder of a blog I wanted to write some weeks ago during the last time I was stuck in traffic in Bellevue - though I don't remember what for. Let's just be honest - there is a LOT of traffic in the greater Seattle metro area, so sitting in it is not so unusual, unless you are like me and try not to get out too much, and only do when you have a toddler with you to allow for carpool access.
Last time I was stuck in traffic I began to ponder the wonderful world of bumper stickers. Now, there actually are not a plethora of bumper stickers up here. This may be relative to spending the previous 4 years in Eugene. Who knows, perhaps if I was from DC or something I would think Seattle was the mecca of bumper stickers, but I know better. The witty political stickers, and sexy band logos are few and far between on the Eastside. What is not lacking though, are those lovely little fish emblems. This is what set me to pondering last time.
First, I should admit, that my first car carried a license plate cover that read "In case of rapture, this car will be unmanned". Clever huh? My next little beater was intact with a subtle little silver fish. When that little car died and was donated - for there was NO value left in it - I bought myself a little red Rodeo that drove me to Eugene and taxied me around until it was more needed for tuition that transportation - for there was some value left in it. The rodeo sported a Gutenberg College banner - but no fish...no testament to my faith. I was a bad, unbold christian. I found that people were nicer to me on the road without it and wondered if I was avoiding persecution and slipping into worldliness (note to reader: this is meant to be funny).
Really, what had transpired over the years of car adornment and Christian thinking, was that I was quite curious what true evangelism was, and how a Christian bumper sticker played into that. What is the purpose of the little fish? I have to be honest, the "My boss is a Jewish Carpenter" sticker still evokes a smile from me, but the fish just makes me curious. What are we trying to accomplish with that? Is it like political campaigning? "I vote for Jesus, you should too"? Are we peer pressuring people into Christianity (or churchianity... I am carefully sidestepping a soapbox here)? Is it more sophisticated than that? Perhaps the thinking is that people will be so impressed with what a fabulous and considerate driver I am that they will want to believe what I believe so they, too, can drive with such integrity? Or are we purposely trying to create a stone of stumbling by driving the exact speed limit - to honor and obey God by honoring and obeying the laws of the land - while everyone else understands that the left lane is meant for driving a little over the "limit" such that your sticker and speed combine to crawl under the person's skin behind you and make them hate all Christians more than they do? I am not sure.
Now, I realise there are people who just plain enjoy bumper stickers and self expression on their vehicles. That's fine with me. It is the idea that somehow a fish on the back of a car plays a part in your personal contribution to evangelism and the great commission that really irks me. Evangelism is not so simple, nor certainly so one-sticker-fits-all. If we believers are using stickers and tee-shirts and bracelets to feel like we are broadcasting the gospel into our nation, then hell has won. The gospel, though simple to be sure, is not simple to receive.
Jesus himself was quite choosy about when he would really share the message. Not because he didn't want to be crucified just yet, but because he didn't want to unnecessarily harden people against the truth if he could tell they were not in a frame to receive it. Prodding people towards truth is a delicate thing. You do not do the kingdom of heaven or any individual any good by badgering him with the truth when he is not ready for it.
If the message of the gospel is as crucial as we claim to believe it is, we ought to be very aware of how and when it is explained so as to give the individual the best chance of hearing it and truly facing into making a decision about it. We have to actually, sincerely, care about the person who is going to hear it. It should not be thrown around so haphazardly. The offense at the gospel is a very specific offense. The possibility of that offense needs to be made clear, but if there are too many other non-gospel possibilities for offense, then the actual halting before such a enormous decision (to be offended or not by the actual message) is lost. You either convert someone to a watered down spin-off of the truth (which is no longer the truth), or you harden them so thoroughly against your spin-off that they never have the opportunity to respond directly to the actual possibility of offense.
Anyhow, I still remain confused by the fish. It is certainly not evangelism. So what is it, and why have it on your car? I by no means want to condemn those who have them, but I would really enjoy an explanation of why they are there.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Last Moments from Life Before Elliot
Enjoying life as Gigi's sole grandchild.
Simple bath time supervision...note the wine glass in the background.
Always knowing where Elliot is,i.e. not having to keep track of two kids at the same time.
Plenty of parental attention for Søren.
A coming of age celebration as Dad brings Søren his first stick on tattoo (he was quite proud of it, but then promptly wanted it removed. I hope this means I won't have to worry about loud tattoos anytime in the near future).Monday, June 11, 2007
For those who wonder
We had our tests today to confirm that the baby isn't at risk of some terrible fate by my insistence to continue waiting. There is plenty of fluid, the placenta is fine, and the baby is healthy and developing just fine. Oh, and the ultrasound loudly confirmed that Elliot is a male, just as the spoon has assured us.
I have another mysterious appointment Wednesday - if we need it - to do some balloon thing that is supposed to naturally induce labor.
I have another mysterious appointment Wednesday - if we need it - to do some balloon thing that is supposed to naturally induce labor.
Friday, June 8, 2007
The Wisdom of Birthing
Truth be told, after my experience with Søren ended in a c-section, I had a strong feeling of failure. It seemed that nature was telling me was that I was unfit for motherhood, because without a c-section, I - and probably Søren - would not have made it. My husband thought I was being illogical and inconsistent with my worldview. Yes, I realize God allowed me to get pregnant, and did so in a time when c-sections would be available, and I and Søren are still alive, therefore, He must have it in his plan for me to be a mother. I get that. Now I even think my first c-section was unnecessary. But still, shouldn't the inability to deliver a child the natural way be some sort of indicator of something?
I dealt with those emotions and prepared myself for another attempt at a natural birth. This one has gone well. I have been far more healthy, gained half the weight, and can still wear my wedding ring.
Two weeks ago my midwife told me I was 3 cm dilated (externally) and that the baby's head was engaged, she told me the baby could come any day.
One week ago I was fully 2 cm dilated, but the head was floating. She said I could go another week, but not another two.
Then yesterday (at 4 days past due) nothing had changed in a week. Given the lack of progress, we had to talk about things like induction methods, baby stress tests, an ultrasound to make sure my placenta isn't dying, and scheduling a c-section. Not quite what I was hoping for.
I wanted to cry. I couldn't help it. All my feelings of failing as a mother came back and this little voice said "see, nature itself doesn't want you to be a mom". Yes, I could still repeat the mantra above about God and His plan, yadda, yadda, yadda, but I still felt discouraged.
Then my over thinking brain stumbled upon a frustration soapbox as I remembered several things all at once:
#1 - I am only 4 days late! (now 5)
#2 - It is not uncommon for a second baby not to drop until labor.
#3 - Søren was 25 days "late", everything was fine and healthy, and my midwife now thinks my first c-section was completely avoidable and unnecessary.
#4 - It is the statistical, bureaucratic, protocol that is forcing "informative" statistics (like that the still birth rate starts doubling every week you go past "due") on me and making me obligated to submit to a series of tests designed to ease the mind of doctors, with no concern to the psychological effects on me and thus my labor.
#5 - Women used to know how to do pregnancy.
This last one was the one that really sunk in and helped erase my fears that nature didn't want me to be a mother. My midwife thinks the baby isn't dropping because there isn't adequate stomach muscles after my birth and c-section with Søren to hold the baby up enough to let his head descend well. That's great to know AFTER I'm past due with people dangling a c-section timer over my head.
In a different time and culture, all the other mothers would have come to support me and pass on wisdom - like wrapping and swaddling my belly for the majority of my pregnancy. They would know what kind of movements and exercises I should be doing, and they could show me how. They would know that there is no such thing as a "due date", and that pregnancy can take anywhere from 8-10 months. It would be a celebration instead of this impending condition that needed to be monitored.
I know I am ranting, but I need to. I need to remind myself that there is something wrong with our official-clinical-statistical approach to everything. What have doctors and science accomplished in the last 70 years of taking over the birthing process? A c-section rate that is 3-6 times higher than it needs to be? Women who can't get pregnant without the aid of drugs? Women who don't know how to carry or birth their babies without a doctor doing tests every couple weeks to assure them? Women who are told pregnancy and birth are purely a physical condition? Women who can't nurse, or think that scientific formulas would do a better job? This is madness. This is not natural or healthy. Though I want a different paradigm for my birthing experience, I don't have one, and so I will feed the statistics. I hope to feed the statistics for the side of being able to have a natural birth after a c-section, but I know that I might not.
There was a point in my current pregnancy that I decided that if this one ended in c-section, that I won't bear any more of my children, that we would adopt from here. It is possible I will feel that way again, but for the moment I think I have really overcome the feelings of inadequacy and realized that this c-section obsession is just the condition of things now, and that it is not nature telling me I have failed.
Whatever the next weeks holds for me, the important thing is that I will be meeting (Lord willing) this new little person that God is entrusting to Andrew and I for a time. My love and delight over him will have no correspondence to the way he came into the world. C-section or not, he will be my son. Lord or Elliot come quickly!
I dealt with those emotions and prepared myself for another attempt at a natural birth. This one has gone well. I have been far more healthy, gained half the weight, and can still wear my wedding ring.
Two weeks ago my midwife told me I was 3 cm dilated (externally) and that the baby's head was engaged, she told me the baby could come any day.
One week ago I was fully 2 cm dilated, but the head was floating. She said I could go another week, but not another two.
Then yesterday (at 4 days past due) nothing had changed in a week. Given the lack of progress, we had to talk about things like induction methods, baby stress tests, an ultrasound to make sure my placenta isn't dying, and scheduling a c-section. Not quite what I was hoping for.
I wanted to cry. I couldn't help it. All my feelings of failing as a mother came back and this little voice said "see, nature itself doesn't want you to be a mom". Yes, I could still repeat the mantra above about God and His plan, yadda, yadda, yadda, but I still felt discouraged.
Then my over thinking brain stumbled upon a frustration soapbox as I remembered several things all at once:
#1 - I am only 4 days late! (now 5)
#2 - It is not uncommon for a second baby not to drop until labor.
#3 - Søren was 25 days "late", everything was fine and healthy, and my midwife now thinks my first c-section was completely avoidable and unnecessary.
#4 - It is the statistical, bureaucratic, protocol that is forcing "informative" statistics (like that the still birth rate starts doubling every week you go past "due") on me and making me obligated to submit to a series of tests designed to ease the mind of doctors, with no concern to the psychological effects on me and thus my labor.
#5 - Women used to know how to do pregnancy.
This last one was the one that really sunk in and helped erase my fears that nature didn't want me to be a mother. My midwife thinks the baby isn't dropping because there isn't adequate stomach muscles after my birth and c-section with Søren to hold the baby up enough to let his head descend well. That's great to know AFTER I'm past due with people dangling a c-section timer over my head.
In a different time and culture, all the other mothers would have come to support me and pass on wisdom - like wrapping and swaddling my belly for the majority of my pregnancy. They would know what kind of movements and exercises I should be doing, and they could show me how. They would know that there is no such thing as a "due date", and that pregnancy can take anywhere from 8-10 months. It would be a celebration instead of this impending condition that needed to be monitored.
I know I am ranting, but I need to. I need to remind myself that there is something wrong with our official-clinical-statistical approach to everything. What have doctors and science accomplished in the last 70 years of taking over the birthing process? A c-section rate that is 3-6 times higher than it needs to be? Women who can't get pregnant without the aid of drugs? Women who don't know how to carry or birth their babies without a doctor doing tests every couple weeks to assure them? Women who are told pregnancy and birth are purely a physical condition? Women who can't nurse, or think that scientific formulas would do a better job? This is madness. This is not natural or healthy. Though I want a different paradigm for my birthing experience, I don't have one, and so I will feed the statistics. I hope to feed the statistics for the side of being able to have a natural birth after a c-section, but I know that I might not.
There was a point in my current pregnancy that I decided that if this one ended in c-section, that I won't bear any more of my children, that we would adopt from here. It is possible I will feel that way again, but for the moment I think I have really overcome the feelings of inadequacy and realized that this c-section obsession is just the condition of things now, and that it is not nature telling me I have failed.
Whatever the next weeks holds for me, the important thing is that I will be meeting (Lord willing) this new little person that God is entrusting to Andrew and I for a time. My love and delight over him will have no correspondence to the way he came into the world. C-section or not, he will be my son. Lord or Elliot come quickly!
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Miles, stones, and stumbling
Life has taken me on a journey of many miles in the past 9 years. June brings me one year from my 10-year high school reunion, and affords me an opportunity to reflect on the miles and milestones these past years have held.
After my first year of college in Seattle I spontaneously decided to move to Portland with my college roommate. I was fleeing really. I was 3+ years into the wrong relationship with my high school sweetheart, 1 year into the wrong university learning nothing, and quite ready to attempt to have a life away from the chaotic habits of my family that I feared I would simply absorb if I stayed too near. I was young.
Living in Portland created many opportunities for travel. Primarily, back home to visit friends in Seattle, but also trips to the coast to hike in to see the sunrise over the beach, or meandering drives through the gorge, and plenty of adventures wasting gas while exploring a new city. I am fairly sure I have stopped at every Chevron on the I-5 corridor between Seattle and Portland, dressed in everything from an evening gown to pajamas. I have found that Chevron has the most reliably clean bathrooms, which is nice when traveling. I put 26,000 miles on my car that first year away from home (to the horror of my parents, for I didn't quite understand the concept of a car lease's mileage requirements).
There were also plenty of miles traveled without me piloting. In 2000 several friends and I decided to go to Memphis, TN to participate in "One Day" a youth gathering of prayer and worship for the nation. We wanted to hear John Piper preach, and try to change our nation through the fervent prayers of thousands of young people. Ah, youthful lusts! Three of us decided that the most affordable route would be to take a greyhound bus. Yes, a greyhound bus from Portland, OR to Memphis, TN. This is roughly 57 hours on a bus one way. Followed by 3 days of camping ("One Day" was a 3 day event...go figure), and a 57 hour return trip. Another joy of this time on the bus, was that one of my travel companions, and beau of the moment, was a VERY caffeine addicted Starbucks employee who worked the graveyard shift at a 24-hour Starbucks in Beaverton. He decided that he should take a caffeine fast for the trip, and that I should be his accountability for it. Suffice it to say the end of the trip was also the end of our relationship (for many more reasons than caffeine withdrawal, but it surely didn't help).
Somewhere in the midst of these adventures I was having disturbing encounters with the wonderful world of men. Two different classmates wanted to have affairs with me, and the apartment manager where my roommate and I lived actually asked me if I would run away with him, leaving his lovely wife and very young child behind. I was horrified and confused at these inquires, as I really did not believe myself to be that kind of girl. I was just nice. I just enjoyed people and took a sincere interest in their lives.
A good acquaintance at the time from the community college I was attending (we were both in a student ministry program there) had a quiet wisdom that I was deeply lacking. As I shared with her some of my horrors at the way men were responding to me, she calmly asked me to examine what I was doing that would communicate that they could ask such things. It hadn't really occurred to me that I could be responsible for these encounters. I wanted someone to tell me that these men were lost and reproachable, and that I was just being a good Christian and trying to love people. Unfortunately, that really wasn't true. For loving people requires acting in a way that truly benefits them, that pushes them toward facing their maker and making healthy decisions for their life.
I learned a hard lesson about men and women during that first year away from home. I learned what it is men crave from women and I learned that giving a man the things his wife might not have the time for (respect, focused attention, genuine interest, support) due to the busyness of their lives, is not appropriate because it causes temptation, no matter what my own motives are. There is a level of emotional support only appropriate in marriage and there are things (far beyond the physical) that belong only to our husbands. I learned that it's not actually flattering to have another woman's partner wish they were with you. There is a pop-song out now, "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me", and every time I hear it I am sent back to this time in my life and I cringe on so many levels at the misperception the young women in our culture have about what is truly beautiful or sexy and where to find validation that you have it.
This small conversation with my friend caused a large amount of reflection, and spilled over into other areas of my life. It was a first step toward inwardness and true awareness of the way my own actions affected my life and the lives of people around me. It was also somewhere around this time that I first read "Till We Have Faces" by CS Lewis, which only deepened my conviction to learn to see myself as I truly am.
The miles have continued. A 37-hour return flight, from Ghana to Germany to San Francisco to Portland, gave me my first real taste of claustrophobia. Miles of subway systems in New York gave me my first real taste of almost missing a flight home. Miles journeyed by a friend on the World Wide Web introduced me to a little college named Gutenberg that took my mind miles back in time through the history of western thought and continued to open my eyes further to who I am.
For the moment this journey has brought me back to a place literally 4.21 miles away from the home I moved away from 9 years ago. Full circle in space, but a more tempered woman than the girl who left.
After my first year of college in Seattle I spontaneously decided to move to Portland with my college roommate. I was fleeing really. I was 3+ years into the wrong relationship with my high school sweetheart, 1 year into the wrong university learning nothing, and quite ready to attempt to have a life away from the chaotic habits of my family that I feared I would simply absorb if I stayed too near. I was young.
Living in Portland created many opportunities for travel. Primarily, back home to visit friends in Seattle, but also trips to the coast to hike in to see the sunrise over the beach, or meandering drives through the gorge, and plenty of adventures wasting gas while exploring a new city. I am fairly sure I have stopped at every Chevron on the I-5 corridor between Seattle and Portland, dressed in everything from an evening gown to pajamas. I have found that Chevron has the most reliably clean bathrooms, which is nice when traveling. I put 26,000 miles on my car that first year away from home (to the horror of my parents, for I didn't quite understand the concept of a car lease's mileage requirements).
There were also plenty of miles traveled without me piloting. In 2000 several friends and I decided to go to Memphis, TN to participate in "One Day" a youth gathering of prayer and worship for the nation. We wanted to hear John Piper preach, and try to change our nation through the fervent prayers of thousands of young people. Ah, youthful lusts! Three of us decided that the most affordable route would be to take a greyhound bus. Yes, a greyhound bus from Portland, OR to Memphis, TN. This is roughly 57 hours on a bus one way. Followed by 3 days of camping ("One Day" was a 3 day event...go figure), and a 57 hour return trip. Another joy of this time on the bus, was that one of my travel companions, and beau of the moment, was a VERY caffeine addicted Starbucks employee who worked the graveyard shift at a 24-hour Starbucks in Beaverton. He decided that he should take a caffeine fast for the trip, and that I should be his accountability for it. Suffice it to say the end of the trip was also the end of our relationship (for many more reasons than caffeine withdrawal, but it surely didn't help).
Somewhere in the midst of these adventures I was having disturbing encounters with the wonderful world of men. Two different classmates wanted to have affairs with me, and the apartment manager where my roommate and I lived actually asked me if I would run away with him, leaving his lovely wife and very young child behind. I was horrified and confused at these inquires, as I really did not believe myself to be that kind of girl. I was just nice. I just enjoyed people and took a sincere interest in their lives.
A good acquaintance at the time from the community college I was attending (we were both in a student ministry program there) had a quiet wisdom that I was deeply lacking. As I shared with her some of my horrors at the way men were responding to me, she calmly asked me to examine what I was doing that would communicate that they could ask such things. It hadn't really occurred to me that I could be responsible for these encounters. I wanted someone to tell me that these men were lost and reproachable, and that I was just being a good Christian and trying to love people. Unfortunately, that really wasn't true. For loving people requires acting in a way that truly benefits them, that pushes them toward facing their maker and making healthy decisions for their life.
I learned a hard lesson about men and women during that first year away from home. I learned what it is men crave from women and I learned that giving a man the things his wife might not have the time for (respect, focused attention, genuine interest, support) due to the busyness of their lives, is not appropriate because it causes temptation, no matter what my own motives are. There is a level of emotional support only appropriate in marriage and there are things (far beyond the physical) that belong only to our husbands. I learned that it's not actually flattering to have another woman's partner wish they were with you. There is a pop-song out now, "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me", and every time I hear it I am sent back to this time in my life and I cringe on so many levels at the misperception the young women in our culture have about what is truly beautiful or sexy and where to find validation that you have it.
This small conversation with my friend caused a large amount of reflection, and spilled over into other areas of my life. It was a first step toward inwardness and true awareness of the way my own actions affected my life and the lives of people around me. It was also somewhere around this time that I first read "Till We Have Faces" by CS Lewis, which only deepened my conviction to learn to see myself as I truly am.
The miles have continued. A 37-hour return flight, from Ghana to Germany to San Francisco to Portland, gave me my first real taste of claustrophobia. Miles of subway systems in New York gave me my first real taste of almost missing a flight home. Miles journeyed by a friend on the World Wide Web introduced me to a little college named Gutenberg that took my mind miles back in time through the history of western thought and continued to open my eyes further to who I am.
For the moment this journey has brought me back to a place literally 4.21 miles away from the home I moved away from 9 years ago. Full circle in space, but a more tempered woman than the girl who left.
Monday, June 4, 2007
Stumped
Deanna has challenged us to write a story of a milestone in our life story. Yes, this seems easy to come up with right? I've gotten married, had a baby, graduated college, and even bought a house (and then almost lost it to foreclosure, but we won't go there). Still, none of these things seem to capture the significant sort of milestone I would want to write about. Those things seem to just happen. They were significant, don't get me wrong. But I think I'm perhaps trying to find something that reflects a milestone in my character development, something that truly changed ME, not just a change in the facts of my life.
That said, a story is coming soon.
That said, a story is coming soon.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
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