Drew's Pregnancy & Birth Story *Part 2*

So, we left off with me on Tuesday afternoon, contemplating a dinner of juiced veg and waiting for Eric to come home. And then, a contraction.

I'd had Braxton Hicks contractions loads of times before.  In fact I got them for two hours every day while I was running.  But this contraction was longer and a bit painful.  I didn't even give a thought to this possibly being the beginning of real labor.  But when Eric came home, we decided that the frozen Costco combo pizza was a better-sounding dinner than juiced veg (don't get me wrong, I love juice dinners, but can you imagine having to birth a child on only juice?! Eeek!).

Post delicious pizza, I had had two more contractions.  I wasn't keeping track of them, but I can remember thinking that I was thrilled that I hadn't juiced for dinner, juuuuuust in case.  I really wanted to go walking, which calms fake contractions or strengthens real ones, but because we live on the surface of the sun, we had to go someplace inside.  We chose the AZ Mills mall because it was close and shaped like a track, a nice big loop.  Upon arrival my contractions were about 40 mins apart.  Eric was keeping track since I was convinced this was fake labor. We walked a lap and in a leap of faith I purchased some weird supplement that is supposed to induce labor. Maybe it's just the act of purchasing it? Ha! By the end of the next lap, my contractions were 8 minutes apart and I was hopeful, but not convinced. On top of it I was tired of walking and wanted to go home without having a contraction in the car. Yeah, that didn't happen.  We made it home and I called my mom when the contractions were 5 minutes apart (within 30 mins of leaving the mall).  At this point it's about 9PM.

My mom tells me that I'll just KNOW when I'm in labor, meanwhile by the end of our phone call Eric is frantically packing some hospital essentials and I am insisting that my 4-minute-apart contractions are really just colon-related.  "Eric, I just have to poop, that's all!" I can remember telling him.  My mom told me later that after hanging up with me that she rushed off to go to bed figuring we'd be calling her in an hour or so and wanting to get some solid sleep in before then.  Eric finally convinced me that we needed to go to the hospital when I could no longer stand during the contractions and they were lasting a full 90 seconds or more.  Good call, babe.

Off to the hospital we go.  We delivered at Banner Gateway because that place is like a flippin' palace, you guys.  They have prime rib - PRIME RIB in their cafeteria. Eric dropped me off outside the door and went to go park the car.  I get out of the car (mercifully contraction-free) and see two other pregnant women clutching their bellies and heading for the same door.  Judge me if you want, but this was my moment of truth!  This was what I had prepared for with all that running!  I sprinted (in my best I-weigh-fourteen-pounds-more-than-I-normally-do-and-am-wearing-a-watermelon-in-my-shirt sprint) right past those women and got to the check in counter moments before them. It was both not-my-proudest-moment AND my proudest moment.  Judge me if you will.

And it's a good thing I did, because I got the LAST BED in triage, people, the LAST ONE. Apparently that storm business makes the pressure change a whole bunch and can send people into labor, myself included.  In the 12 hours before Drew's birth and the 24 hours after, THIRTY-SIX babies were born in that hospital.  Apparently that was legendary.  I don't know what happened to those two women I ran by, but I can't say I regret the choice.  Aaaaaanyway...  Cut to me, bent over the check in desk, clutching the counter, begging the nurse not to send me home (for those of you who don't know, if you're not in advanced enough labor, they won't let you stay), and she laughed at me.  "Oh honey, you're not going home.  You'll leave here with a baby."  And then all of a sudden, in my head, you-know-what got real.

Off I went to a triage bed where I immediately made sure to take care of the really important things... DRUGS. I think I might have asked for an epidural before the nurse said "hi." So, I know what's important, ok? She told me that I wouldn't see the anesthesiologist until I had left triage and gotten a delivery room.  I politely (I think? ;)) informed her that I would be requiring an epidural immediately pleaseandthankyouverymuch, and she paged the anesthesiologist (whose name was Todd and reminded me of Scrubs the WHOLE TIME). See? Ask and you shall receive.  Also it helps to be in a ludicrous amount of pain. Side note: good thing I didn't wait because I was in triage FOR-EV-ER.

Five relatively pain-free (the epidural only worked on my left side - anyone else had this?) hours later... I was STILL in triage! When I had arrived to the hospital I was 100% effaced (yay!) and 5cm dilated, with only 5 more to go. After 5 hours in triage, I had progressed a whole 1cm.  *insert sarcastic "Yee haw" here* The good news now was that a delivery room was ready for me!  The bad news? My blood pressure was falling...fast.  I'm not sure what happened because it's all a little blurry for me.  I went really cold and sleepy and all I remember is people hurrying and something cold going into my IV.  Apparently they shot me full of something that raises your blood pressure, and also makes you horrifically nauseous. Consequently, I remember little but a barf bag about my journey from triage to the delivery room.

Once in the delivery room, I talked to my nurse for about 3 minutes before she rushed off and Eric and I were left to wait it out in the dark (this sounds terrible, but was actually delightful).  Come to find out that during the next 3 hours (from 3:30AM to 6:30AM) that I didn't see her, she was assisting in three other births - holy babies! People have all sorts of opinions on how birth should be done, and that's A-OK, but I have to tell you, an epidural is FANTASTIC, or at least it was for me, even thought it never really worked properly.  Eric and I just sat there in the dimly lit room, so peaceful, dreaming about what the next few hours would hold, and enjoying our last few moments as just us two.  No screaming, very little pain... it was lovely.

When the nurse came back in at 6:30 (by this time we had called our family who had arrived and were hanging out in the room with us), she apologized for being gone so long and decided to check on my progress. "At least 7cm, at least 7cm..." I kept repeating aloud, hoping my labor wouldn't be long and drawn out (contractions started at around 5PM, got serious around 8PM, and we arrived at the hospital at 10PM, so at this point I've been at the hospital for 8.5 hours) and that I had managed to dilate at least another tiny bit. "You wanted to be at a 7?" asked the nurse, "How about a 10! Let's have a baby!  I'll go call your OB." YES!  I was shocked/thrilled/scared to death.

When doctors and nurses start rushing around opening plastic packages and setting up the room with all manner of tarp-like things, you know things are about to get real.  And in that moment, at least for me, all of my fears came to the surface... Would I be a good mom? Am I fit to be a parent? Did we have kids too soon? Am I going to tear? What if I have to have an emergency C section?  Will it hurt? This is the most dangerous time for my baby, what if something happens?  Fortunately, things went SO FAST that I didn't have time to worry.  My OB arrived at about 7:15AM and started getting ready.  Let's not forget that  had been in his office not 24 hours before this asking him how to get labor started, so as soon as he walked in (he has a good sense of humor), he joked with me "WHAT did you do?  Did you take castor oil like I told you not to?"

At this point the nurse ordered all of the family but two people out of the room.  This actually really sucked.  I know some people want just their spouse to be in the room, but our family was so good at just observing and being supportive that I didn't mind if the whole group (my mom, dad, sister, and eric's parents) stuck around.  But we had what we found out later was a BRAND new nurse who was all about hospital policy. Womp womp. My OB said later that he usually doesn't care who is in the room, but ultimately it's up to the nurses, since they are the employees of the hospital, and the OBs are just contracted.  At this point, some of you are wondering, your DAD and FATHER IN LAW were there?! This is how I feel about nudity when having a baby: who cares.  I know some people are shy about it, and honestly I thought I would be too, but it's so amazing, bringing a life into the world!  I wanted my dad and father in law to be able to share it, if they wanted.  It's not like they haven't seen it before. ;) So, I was pretty bummed that my dad, sister and in-laws didn't get to be there, but what can ya do? My mom stayed to take pictures and Eric stayed because, duh.

We got all set up and the nurse turned down my epidural (Eeeeek!), so I could feel to push.  At this point it's 7:30AM on Wednesday morning. I told the doctor randomly, "I'm a little frightened." To which he kindly replied, "There's nothing to be scared of, now let's have a baby." Weirdly, that's all I needed.  For those of you who have had a baby, I don't know if you'll agree, but pushing is pretty great.  In stead of just existing through the pain of a contraction, you're working against it, and it actually feels better to push.  Normally you push 3 times per every contraction (which come about every 3 minutes and last about 90 seconds, leaving you with about 90 seconds of down time to recover and get ready again), but I wanted this baby OUT! So, I asked if I could push 4 times per contraction.  It was EXHAUSTING, but in 19 minutes, and 6 contractions...

Andrew Emory Cylwik was born Wednesday August 20 at 7:48AM, weighing 6lbs 8oz and was 19.5 inches long. It was a relatively short labor, an extremely fast birth, and very uneventful for Andrew and myself physically.  I was so overwhelmed when I saw him.  I now completely understand what people mean when they say they would throw themselves in front of a bus for their kids if they needed to.  Yep, for sure.  So, there's my birth story (ugh, that term!). We are soooo super thankful that it was relatively easy and uneventful, and that we were surrounded by our family and a great staff of doctors and nurses the whole time. Shout out to Todd, the anesthesiologist - you made my life liveable for those 10ish hours. Thank you wherever you are!

So, here are some stats for a brief fly over:

• Total time in labor: ~12 hours
• Number of unlucky women I bum-rushed to the door: 2
• Hours spent in triage: 5
• Number of times I saw my nurse: 2
• Epidurals received: 1 GLORIOUS 1
• Number of times the epidural had to be adjusted because, according to Todd I am "small everywhere with teenie vertebrae": 5
• The cost of my epidural if we hadn't had insurance: $4500 
• What we actually paid for the epidural: $55
• The WORTH of my epidural: Priceless (someone call MasterCard, I'm ready for that commercial)
• Number of times I almost passed out: 2
• Bags of IV fluid received during my stay: 11 (What?!)
• Total pounds gained for pregnancy: 14
• Total pounds lost upon returning home from hospital 36 hours later: 0 (Thanks, IV fluids, lol)
• Time pushing: 19 minutes
• Number of contractions until he was out: 6
• Vitals: 6lbs 8oz, 19.5 inches
• Agpar Score: 9.5
• Number of times he picked up his head, held it up on his own, looked at his mom and freaked the living daylights out of her: 1
• Number of nights stayed in hospital: 1

So there you have it!  Hope this was fun for all of you who like this sort of thing.  Notice I stopped the story where it gets gory - trying to keep it PG.  But for all of you who will ask, my recovery has been CAKE.  I am so thankful I got to deliver traditionally and didn't have any crazy tearing. We had some fun adventures when we got home, which I will probably end up writing about later (or not, as I would like to forget them), but as for our birth, this is it! Hope it was as fun/enjoyable for you to read as it was cathartic for me to write. =)

Drew's Pregnancy & Birth Story *Part 1*

Before getting pregnant with Drew, I had NOOOOO idea of all of the "lingo" now associated with babies.  And I have to say, the term "Birth Story" still irks me.  Kind of like people who don't like the word "moist." It's just a thing with me.  Nevertheless, I am going to brain dump all of this here (those of you who love birth stories, read on and rejoice!) so I can remember it for next time... IF there is a next time...

The reason that IF is so big is that I despise being pregnant.  I know, I know, string me up now.  You'll say, "But, pregnancy is so special!  It's such a wonderful season! Savor it!"  All of those things are true, and I know them in my head, but pregnancy MESSED WITH MY HEAD.  Well, at least it did in the end.  Maybe this is going to turn into a pregnancy story? This might have just become a two-part post (goes back to change title).

Eric and I have been pretty open with friends and family (so why not the internet at large?) about losing our first baby.  Last summer (summer 2013), we were SO excited to find that we were expecting, and it was EXACTLY when we had hoped.  I was hoping to go back to work, but I do get 3ish months of maternity leave, making March the ideal time to have a baby.  Win!  A week or two later, I headed back for the first day of school.  It was a fantastic day!  I was sure it was going to be a fantastic year (cue foreboding music)! And then the next day... it was all over.  I wasn't quite sure, so I had to add insult to injury, and miss the second day at school so that I could go to the doctor to have my blood drawn and confirm: miscarriage.

Since I'm not one of those girls who has wanted babies since childhood, I was SHOCKED at how quickly I had become attached to the thought of our child.  And losing him or her was horrific.  Anyone who has been unfortunate enough to go through this once or more knows the pain I'm talking about.  You can't believe it's all over.  You wonder, was it a boy or girl? What happened? Was it my fault? Am I broken? Will I ever be able to do this? And then you have to go back to work the next day.  And seeing as how I worked in a school full of beautiful children (some of whom will read this), it was next to impossible.  I would excuse myself from my classroom to cry MULTIPLE times a day.  But my dad once told me wisely, that grief is like a paper tiger, it looks awful and frightening and large, but in reality, it's only made of paper, so run straight at it and you will bust right through. This point of view doesn't make grief easier, but it steels you for what you're going to face. So, I let all of those feelings wash over me whenever they did.  I embraced them, cried about them, prayed over them, and in time, I began to cry less, and I started to smile (not the fake one) again...

Fast forward to December when, overjoyed, we once again saw two little pink lines on the pregnancy test.  In my head I was SO excited.  But also PETRIFIED. Once you lose a baby, you don't forget that it can happen at any time. And in some ways this was good.  I knew that short of any ridiculous behavior (taking up smoking, starting a drug habit, getting drunk), there was basically nothing I could do for or against this pregnancy.  God is in control.  But instead of finding PEACE in that I became STOIC. The two are not equals.  Peace would allow you to enjoy the season you're in for what it is.  Stoicism removes any emotion about it whatsoever - it's robbery of joy.

We can add to this constant fear about losing the pregnancy a crippling case of morning sickness for which I was nearly hospitalized and suffered from until 23 weeks, and the most stress-inducing employment situation I have EVER had the privilege burden of being part of.   I'm talking blood-boiling, nail-biting, I-want-to-quit-my-job-but-I-can't-because-the-kids-in-my-class-would-not-be-safe kind of stress.  So, yeah... pregnancy and I did not get along.

I will say one thing about my understanding of pregnancy... It's very freeing.  *DISCLAIMER: I am NOT a doctor, I am NOT dispensing medical advice, I am NOT saying this should be what you do just because it was right for me. Haters gonna hate, and that's fine, but please don't do it in my comments, KThanksBye* And by freeing, I mean that I didn't feel like I had to follow every silly stipulation that anyone has ever dreamed up.  I ate sushi (from legit places - no gas stations, ha!) probably 12 to 15 times. And it was delicious.  I had the occasional single glass of wine. And I enjoyed it. Later on, when I was less sick, I ran 5 miles every day. I did NOT enjoy that as much ;) I traveled across the world in my third trimester. And I wouldn't trade that wonderful trip for anything. I didn't read a single baby book (with the exception of BabyWise - highly recommend it!) or anything about pregnancy. And I am SO GLAD. I had a stressful enough pregnancy without thinking about every tiny thing that I could do to mess it up (when in actuality, I think most of that is bogus anyway).

At the end, I found pregnancy very mentally challenging.  I would say I had PRE-partum depression.  I felt like all I was was an incubator, a job-less incubator whose only purpose was to take care of the little alien who was inside me.  Just being honest.  I KNEW that wasn't true, but it sure FELT true.

This brings me to week 38.5 (out of 40, for those of you who aren't as familiar with pregnancy).  I was pretty much at my wits end.  Thankfully I had planned for that afternoon to go and get a pedicure (manna for the soul), with a friend who was getting married later that week.  That morning was the "Storm of the Century," to quote Channel 12 News (oh Arizonans and rain...).  It was Tuesday Aug 19, did I mention that yet? I had my 38 week check up that day, and I can remember asking my doctor if there was anything I could do to speed things along.  He told me about all the rumors out there and said I was welcome to try them (with the exception of castor oil - ew!), but that no medical research had ever substantiated any of those claims.  So, I went home to await my pedicure, sad, but still trying to be hopeful that I wouldn't have to do this much longer.

After a delightful pedicure and a coffee with my friend, Sam, I was once again at home, waiting for Eric to come home from work so we could juice our fruits and veggies for dinner, and then the first contraction....

Part 2 coming soon!

Transitions...and sin...yeah, mostly sin.

 This week I am NOT going back to school for teacher's prep-week.  I'm not going to lie, after 6 years, it feels a little strange. Don't get me wrong, I had a HELLACIOUS (<- word? not sure), year last year and I'm in no rush to have a repeat.  But, a big part of me grieves the experience that I thought I'd be having right now.  That being said, God truly does work in mysterious ways.  Even though it's what Eric and I had always spoken about, I'm not sure that I would have had the guts to walk away from my dream job and raise a family if it hadn't ceased to be my dream job.

I miss my kiddos, I miss summer running with my cross country team (no, I really do!).

{Last year our high school ladies team took second place at the state meet! We were small, but mighty!}

I miss the first day when all the kids come in so excited and the year is brand new.  I miss buying school supplies. I miss getting to know all of the little humans that populated the seats in my room.

But more than all that, there's something deeper at play.  I miss who I was as a teacher. I know that as a Christian, I ought not to find my identity in my career, my spouse, my kids, my hobbies, ANYTHING but the Lord... But that kind of sin sneaks in really quietly.  It slips under the doorways that you guard and into the thoughts you try to push away.  And without realizing it, I have found that teaching and having a career (the kind for which you go to college and earn a degree), had become the majority of who I was, and what I liked about myself.

And now it's gone.

Funny that you often only see your sin when you're looking back upon it (insert cliche about hindsight here). I could market this whole situation to you as me just "making the transition to full-time motherhood."  And I won't lie, it's quite a process.  But for me, I have to call it what it really is, a sin, a sin of pride.  I am proud of what I did as a teacher, I am proud of what I accomplished, and if that was all, it would be OK.  But mostly I'm proud of myself as a teacher.  I took pride in my self-sufficiency and how good I was at it (and no deprecation here, I was pretty good at it). I took pride in my constant improvements, and even how I looked doing it. That's the parts that I'm missing, the parts that should have never been.

Sin, as it always does, steals your joy.  Do I look back on the past school years and fondly reminisce about the great experiences I had?  For the most part, no. I just miss and mope about the lack of that season in my life at this time.  I'll eventually get over this, and be able to look back fondly, that I am certain of; the Lord always makes a way for forgiveness.

But for now, as I repent of my pride and ask God to tear those parts of me away and replace them with more of him, it hurts.  I lie awake at night (hello, pregnancy insomnia!), and think about what my purpose is.  How many times can I clean my house?  And why is laundry NEVER DONE?! It's tempting to wallow and wish that things were different.  It's tempting to minimize the job I am about to take over: mother to a baby boy. This I KNOW is not from God, and needs stripping away immediately.

As I move forward, and closer and closer to the birth of our son, I know God will keep up the good work he started in me.  Sometimes, though, I wish it didn't hurt so much.  I've started collecting children's books for Andrew, and one of my favorites so far is called "You Are Special," by Max Lucado.

It's the story of a world of little wooden people who give one another stickers for their achievements, gold for good things, grey for bad things.  One particular wooden boy, Punchinello, is covered in grey dots and very discouraged.  He meets a girl who has no stickers whatsoever and she tells him she stays like this because she daily visits the woodworker, Eli who made them.  Punchinello decides to go and see the woodworker as well, and the following are the last two pages of the book (spoiler alert, haha!)...

"Every day I've been hoping you'd come," Eli explained.

"I came because I met someone who had no marks," said Punchinello, "She told me about you. Why don't the stickers stay on her?"

The maker spoke softly, "Because she has decided that what I think is more important than what they think.  The stickers really only stick if you let them. They only stick if they matter to you. The more you trust my love, the less you care about their stickers."

"I'm not sure I understand," questioned Punchinello.

Eli smiled, "You will, but it will take time.  You've have a lot of marks.  For now, just come to see me every day, and let me remind you how much I care. Remember," Eli said as Punchinello walked out the door, "you are special just because I made you. And I don't make mistakes."

Punchinello didn't stop, but in his heart he thought, "I think he really means it." And when he did, a single grey dot fell to the ground. 

I pray that as I go along daily that God will keep removing my dots, and reminding me that he doesn't make mistakes.  Thanks for listening in to the whirlwind inside my head, maybe you can identify with this, or maybe not.  If you can, come along with me to visit the maker every day.  Someday we will be dot-free. =)

Welcome

For those of you who are coming from my other blog, A Kitchen Table for Two, welcome! For those who are not, welcome to you also! =) I'm starting a new blog in hopes of making my direction and focus (or lack there of) a bit more clear.  I started my previous blog as a place to list recipes, which grew into DIY, which grew into personal topics, which grew into travel... And then our family started to grow! We no longer have a kitchen table for just two - we are nearly three (only 5 weeks left!), with a dog and a full full life that can't really be nailed down into a specific type of blog.  Enter this site...

I intend to chronicle anything I want to right here.  I'll write about everything from DIY to motherhood, from pet-peeves to recipes and restaurant reviews, from travel to finances.  Basically I get to do what I want and not feel bad about it.  I like that.  Join in if you want, or don't, it's up to you.  If you choose to stick around I promise that you will see the following things

• Parentheses  - If you don't like them (who doesn't?!), you should head out now.
• Words that aren't really words - Ohmygosh, they are so perfect for certain situations.
• My warped sense of humor - It's best not to hide the crazy, just embrace it.
• My opinions - I think this goes without saying?  I welcome dialogue as long as we are all kind.
• Mostly proper grammar and spelling - Oxford commas will be a thing here. I'm just saying.
• Posts with pictures  - They're so much more fun to read, aren't they?
• Posts without pictures - They're easier to write and I am going to be a new mom. Deal with it.
• Posts about whatevertheheck I want.  Including but not limited to everything mentioned above (food, travel, mommmyhood, DIY, people who pick their nose, etc.).

What you will NOT see here:

• Any advertisements for my business, should I ever choose to have one.  This is a place for friends, and it irks me when people try to sell you stuff (See?  Here come my opinions and parentheses!)
• Graphic or inappropriate content. Unless my ranting about a visit to the DMV qualifies as graphic or inappropriate... There's a chance.
• A cute website, at least for now. I'm working on it behind the scenes, but it's low on the priority list.  Somewhere between running a new 20amp electrical line to my microwave and painting my toes again before I give birth.  So, be patient. Suggestions (or offers of your free web-design services) are welcome. 

I hope that I've given you realistic expectations.  I would love to update here daily.  Is that likely?  Maybe not (new motherhood is hard, at least that's what I hear), but since I can post whatever I want, it does make me more likely not to feel overwhelmed by posting (a problem with my previous blog). 

This is our real life, and you can watch it happen in all its craziness and glory right here. We live on a large plot of land in the middle of a densely populated college town, hence the name: An Urban Acre.  All of our adventures living here will be right on this little blog. If you're choosing to stick around, then great, click "follow" or "join this site" off on the right sidebar and I'll see you soon!