He Gives And Takes Away

Hitting “publish” on this post is going to be extremely hard. And I'm shaking as my fingers type these words. But ever since I started this blog, sharing this has weighed heavy on my heart. It’s not going to be easy, but I feel lead to share…

 

Initially, let me just say, I am not posting this for attention. I am not posting this so people feel bad for me, or show my pity. I have grieved. And yes, I still have my moments of grieving. But enough time has passed and instead of grieving I choose to celebrate this moment of my life. This was truly a turning point in my life and in my walk with God. So, I’m posting this because I want to help other women who have gone through this too, or for women who may go through this in the future. I wish I had known about posts like this when I was at my ultimate low. I know they were out there, I just hadn’t found them. So here is another to add to the bunch. If it helps just one woman, I’ve done my job.

 

December 13^th… To most people this is just another day on their calendar. Nothing significant. Nothing special. But to me it is. Today, two years ago, was my first baby’s due date. Yes, today, my first baby should be turning two years old…

We were newlyweds. We had a plan. But God has other plans. Bigger plans.

Two months after our wedding. I knew something was up. I didn’t feel like myself. On a Saturday morning, just an hour before I was supposed to head into work I took a pregnancy test. And there they were. Those two little lines.

Shocked. Scared. Confused.

This was not the plan. We had only been married two months. We were not ready for a baby.

But inside my belly, a tiny little human was forming. God put him/her there for a reason. I just did not know why yet…

As a woman, after the shock settled, I quickly became excited about the idea of being pregnant. Of course this was not how I wanted it to go, but I had always dreamed of being a mommy. It was just happening a little faster than I had wanted it to. Ok, a lot faster. Like years faster. But my tears and fear, quickly turned to smiles and joy. And within days I was picking out baby names…

But for men, it takes time. Babies aren’t formed in their bellies after all. That immediate instinct of love just isn’t there. And it was hard for my husband to accept this new normal. As to be expected.

Still, life went on. We told close family, but that was it. We’d wait until the end of the first trimester to announce our news to the world. I continued to work. John was in the process of changing jobs. Life was going to be okay.

But in the blink of an eye, everything changed.

April 29, 2014. I was 7 ½ weeks. My first ultrasound was just days away… The reality that I was going to be a mom had completely sunk in at this point. And I was happy as can be! John was also slowly warming up to the idea. And we were finally at a good place. Both of us. Together.

It was evening. I had had a very long, stressful day at work. I was working in the city for a design firm. Commuting 3+ hours a day. I was exhausted. Very nauseous, as my morning sickness was very severe with this pregnancy. I went to the bathroom and saw spotting. Immediately I started to freak out. I told John and sat on my phone the rest of the evening googling if this was normal. (I have learned since to never do this, as it just leads to more anxiety and does not help one bit!)

I went to bed, but could not close my eyes. I had consistently been spotting all evening. It was not stopping. I tried to keep my thoughts positive, but it was impossible to stop the negatives… Am I going to lose my baby? I couldn’t help but think it. I think deep down I just knew, but I couldn’t bear the thought of it.

Then the cramps started.. That’s when I really knew something was not right. I went into the living room and laid on the couch. And I cried. Tears from the pain. Tears from the reality that was settling in my head. I think I’m losing my baby…Our baby

But I did not give up hope. Even when the bleeding was at its heaviest and the pain was at its worst. I never once gave up hope that my baby was still alive. Safe inside my belly. I prayed, and prayed with all my heart that my baby was going to be okay.

Morning came. We had barely slept. But John had to go to work. It was only his 3^rd day on his new job. We had no choice. He had to go. We called my mom at 5am and she came and sat with me. We called the Dr. around 6am and got an appointment at 12pm. And we waited. Some of the longest hours of my life. I laid on the couch, the pain coming and going. I did not realize it at the time, but I was having contractions. It was as if I was in labor. I was in labor. My body was delivering my 7 ½ week baby. And I can say now that I have gone through labor to deliver my son. Both felt the same. But at least when I was in labor with my son, I knew there was a prize at the end of the painful road. But on this day, all I’d be left with was an empty belly and an even emptier heart.
But still, I never once gave up hope.

April 30, 2014. 11am. We got in the car to go to the doctor. “Overcomer” by Mandisa came on the radio. I clearly remember singing along. God, your timing is perfect…

“Everybody’s been down, hit the bottom hit the ground. You’re not alone. Just take a breath, don’t forget. Hang on to His promises. He wants you to know. You’re an Overcomer. Stay in the fight till the final round. You’re not going under. Cause God is holding you right now. You might be down for a moment. Feeling like it’s hopeless. But that’s when He reminds you. You’re an Overcomer.”

I was down. I was at my ultimate low. But God was holding me. No matter what happened at my appointment. It was God’s plan all along. And that comforted me. It kept me calm during the biggest storm in my life.

We got in quick. They put us in the ultrasound room. And there I sat, next to the ultrasound machine. Hoping. Praying. This was not how I had envisioned my first ever ultrasound going. The doctor came in. Said some comforting words. And then he checked me. I saw his face. And in that moment I knew. I had lost my baby. I looked at my mom. I looked at the doctor. And that’s when he said the words I had been dreading all night long…

“It’s passing. Your baby is right here. You’re miscarrying”

And I wept. Tears knowing I was no longer going to be a mom. Tears knowing my baby that I had already fallen in love with in just these few short weeks was gone. Tears because I’d never be able to meet him/her. See their face. Kiss their cheeks. I felt numb. Empty.

At the same time though, I felt relief. I had an answer. It was finished. All night long I had wondered what was happening. And now I knew.

My doctor still did an ultrasound to check to see if there was anything left of the baby inside me. There was not. My womb was empty. And so was my heart. 

Those next few days were very rough, to say the least. Some of the roughest of my life. I laid there, on my parents couch. Still in physical pain, but even more so emotional. I had no desire to move. I was depressed. I was at my ultimate low. Nothing mattered. The shock was still too new. I was still grasping the fact that I was no longer going to be a mom. 

Why me? Why my baby? We had just finally gotten over the shock that we were actually having a baby. We were excited. And just like that our baby was taken away.

The emotion came in waves. Sometimes I was okay. And other times I felt like my heart had just been ripped out of my chest. And I’d cry. There aren’t too many times in my life where I can say I truly cried. Of course I shed tears often, but I mean really cry. The kind of cry where you feel it deep in your soul. Where your heart just aches. This cry physically hurts. And you can’t control it at all. Nothing and no one can comfort you. It’s the most awful feeling in the world.

We spent that first night at my parents’ house, because I couldn’t go back home. I couldn’t go back to the place where I lost my baby. Seeing all the reminders of the night that had just passed. I couldn’t bear the thought of it. So John graciously let us stay. And I can remember lying next to him on my parents’ living room floor. The emotions still so raw and in an instant they swept over me and I cried that true cry. And he held me. He put his arms around me and we laid there, together. Just the two of us. And oh how I wished it were three. That was the moment it completely hit me. It was no longer three of us. It was only two. And I felt empty. A shell of the person I had been just a day ago. I can still recall that feeling to this day. And every time I think about it, I have to hold back tears. My baby was gone. And in that moment, even John’s loving arms could not comfort me. My soul ached for my child. My child that I would never get to meet.

Still, life went on.  It has a way of doing that, but even weeks after I still did not feel like myself. I felt empty. It’s a strange thing, pregnancy. At only 7 ½ weeks, I could not feel my baby move. I had zero belly. But somehow I felt full. Fuller than I had ever felt before. My little pea-sized baby was growing in my belly and we already had a connection. A mother-child connection. So beautiful. A miracle. Truly a gift from God. And of course, I wanted to feel that connection again. And soon.

That was my first question, after the doctor finished my ultrasound.

“How soon can I get pregnant again?”

He advised we wait 2 months. Just to make sure my body had time to clear everything out and heal.

Okay… So the end of June. Which means I could potentially have another baby next April.  There was no waiting in my mind.. But that thought calmed me. It gave me hope. Hope for the future. I now wanted to start a family more than ever. My baby fever was officially at an all-time high..

But we needed time. Yes, that thought comforted me in the moment, but after multiple (and I mean MULTIPLE) conversations with John, WE decided it would be best to wait a little longer. We needed time to heal. Our first 3 months of marriage had been challenging to say the least. First, we got well, married. That’s hard enough. Living with a new person, in a new place. Second, we both had just started multiple new jobs. Third, John lost his mother, my new mother-in-law, a month after we were married. She had been fighting a tough battle with cancer for a few years and we were just blessed she was able to attend our wedding. Fourth, we found out we were having a baby just a couple weeks after her funeral. Fifth, one month later we found out we lost our baby. Trial, after trial, after trial. We were emotionally drained to say the least. So we needed time. Time to heal from all we had lost. Time to actually enjoy all we had gained. Time to enjoy being a couple. Learn about each other. Learn about marriage. Live a somewhat normal, peaceful life for at least a little while before adding another person to our family.  

And yes I still had my moments (many moments) of tears. Lying on our bed. Sobbing that I wanted to be a mother and I couldn’t wait a moment longer. But now that I’ve been through that time I can honestly say I’m glad we waited. I was not emotionally ready. I needed that time, as hard as it was. And through it I learned a very valuable lesson.. Wives, listen to your husbands. God placed them as the head of your relationship for a reason. No it’s not easy, but you will be blessed by it. My husband is a wise man.

And here we are. Almost three years later and God has blessed our family so richly, sometimes I cannot even believe it. To think where we were just a couple years ago and where we are now. It is unbelievable. I do not deserve this life!

There’s a saying. I don’t know the exact words, but it goes something like “After every storm, there is new life” Well…

On January 22, 2015 (John’s Birthday!) we found out we were pregnant with our SECOND child. When that pregnancy test showed up positive I fell to my knees and wept. God is so good. His timing is perfect. His blessings are ever flowing! And today I am a mommy to a beautiful boy. My little, Luca John.

But I truly believe, even before my precious Luca was born, that I was already a mommy. That little pea-sized baby, who would now be two years old and running around my house, is still just as much my baby as my son, who is sleeping peacefully in his crib while I write this now. I don’t care what people say about whether or not a baby is truly a baby until it takes its first breath. That little ball of cells was my child. No, I never got to hear his/her heartbeat, but I know with all my heart it was there. I am just as much that baby’s mommy as I am Luca’s. The love I felt and still feel for that baby is the same. How can anyone tell me differently? That baby was my baby the moment he or she was conceived. And although I only carried him or her for a short while, I will carry that baby in my heart forever.

So I am writing this first of all as a testimony to God’s grace. Yes, it would be very easy to look back on this trial in my life and be mad at God. He is the one who took my baby’s life after all. But he is also the one who gave that baby life. He gave Luca life. He gave me life. He gives us all life. Without Him, we would be nothing.

“The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” Job 1:21b

So I choose to thank God in ALL things and bless his holy name. Not just in the good times, but also in the trials. And I choose to never take for granted all the blessing he has given me. I need to remind myself of this more. And I choose to look at my trials in a positive light as best I can and see them as blessings. Because, if I had carried that baby full term, yes I would have that baby, but it would not be my Luca John that I hold today. We need to try to see that there is good in all things. Because He is Good!

So I am writing this to encourage those who may be going through the same thing right now, who have gone through the same thing in the past, or who may go through something like this in the future. You are not alone!

Before I miscarried, I knew that miscarriages happen, obviously. But what I didn’t know is how common they are. My doctor told me that close to 80% of all first pregnancies end in miscarriage! 80%! A lot of women don’t know they are miscarrying because it happens so early in the pregnancy, but some, like mine, happen later. Also, about 25% of all pregnancies, no matter what the number, end in a miscarriage! These statistics blew my mind! They didn’t seem real. And it wasn’t until weeks after my own miscarriage that I realized why these numbers seemed false. It’s because miscarriage is not talked about nearly as much as it happens. Why do you think everyone waits to announce their pregnancy until after the first trimester? Because their risk for miscarriage drops significantly. What I don’t understand is why everyone keeps their early pregnancy a secret?  If the first trimester is the most fragile and scariest part of the pregnancy, why do we keep it hidden? This is the point in pregnancy where the woman and her child need to be lifted up most! Not only because of the risk of early pregnancy, but if a woman has morning sickness this is when it’s at its worst! We need to be praying for and encouraging women at this point in their pregnancy, but how can we do that if it is all a secret.

We can’t.

And if a woman ends up miscarrying her child, why must that be all hush hush as well? I can say this, because I have gone through both: miscarriage feels exactly the same as losing a loved one. Because you are losing a loved one. Yes, a loved one you have only known for a very short while, but a loved one just the same.

Over the past two years, I’ve had many conversations about this topic with different women. Every single time I am completely shocked when I come to find out that they have suffered a miscarriage in their lifetime, if not multiple miscarriages. And I, as well as the rest of the world never knew. Miscarriage is much more common than we all realize and my hope and prayer is that someday it would not be looked at as a trial in our lives that needs to be kept secret, but rather a trial that was made easier by prayer and encouragement from others. But this can’t happen unless we open the door and allow ourselves to be more transparent. Don’t be embarrassed. Use your experiences to help others and give God the glory for getting you through.

I have noticed recently, the door opening slightly. Women are being more open about their miscarrying experiences. Again, like I said in the beginning… Not to get attention, but to show other women that they are not alone. And this is my hope..

My hope is that this post can reach the eyes of many women who have experienced this trial or who will experience this trial in the future. May it open the door just a little further. May it show us that, yes, God gives us trials, but we can overcome them. We are given every trial for a reason and God will always be there, holding us and guiding us through.

"Give thanks to the Lord for He is good! For His steadfast love endures forever!” Psalm 118:29

The End of an Era

The time has come. My little boy is officially going to be completely independent of me. He no longer needs my body to support him. Our nursing days are coming to an end. He’s growing up. His little wings are beginning to take flight. He’s becoming his own little person. And I’m scared.

I did not think breaking this tie between us would be so difficult. When he was born I was just hoping I would be able to nurse him. I had heard of so many women who had difficulties or struggled with breastfeeding that I didn’t want to fully get my hopes up. But just minutes after Luca was born, he immediately tried to nurse. How do babies know to do that? It just blew my mind. And he nursed perfectly from the beginning.

Of course this made me very happy, but to be honest, I wasn’t super excited about breastfeeding him. However, I knew if I was able, I was definitely going to nurse him exclusively for at least awhile. I wanted to give my baby the best that I could. And he thrived. Oh, did he thrive! Those chubby little rolls! There was no denying my little boy loved mommy’s  milk. Every two hours, on the dot for those first couple months, and nursing him soon became a huge part of my life. It consumed me. Every decision I made throughout my day was impacted by the next time he needed to be fed. Was it annoying sometimes? Yes. Did I care? Absolutely not. What mother doesn’t want multiple reasons throughout the day to cuddle with their baby? To satisfy them the way no other person can? It is such a beautiful thing and I soon grew to love it more than I ever thought I would.

A year. That’s how long I would nurse him. It seemed normal, average. But the longer I nursed him, the more I didn’t want to stop. Every day I noticed my son growing more and more independent. Needing me less and less. But those quiet, peaceful moments when he first woke up in the morning and right before I tucked him into bed. When he cuddled with me the exact same way as he did when he was a newborn. In those moments I still had my baby. And it’s hard knowing those moments are no longer going to be a part of my day.  

So here we are, a month after his first birthday. Every part of me wants to keep it going. My original plan of a year soon turned to a year and a half in my head. Just something inside me did not want to stop. He still wanted to. I still wanted to. Why end a good thing?

But it’s time. I don’t know if it’s that mother instinct. But I just know. I can tell it is time for my little bird to jump out of the nest. He doesn’t need me like he once did. My little independent son needs to spread his wings and fly and I don’t want to be the one holding him back. I love him too much to do that.  

Over the past week or so I came to the realization that I was only nursing him for selfish reasons. I wanted my baby and it was the only time during the day that I got my baby. But I have to realize, Luca is no longer a baby in physical terms. Yes, I know, because I’m his mom, Luca will always be “my baby”, but that doesn’t mean I am supposed to treat him like one for the rest of his life. In every other aspect of his life Luca is growing up. He is becoming his own little person, independent of me. And that is ok. It’s normal. And I have to learn to accept it.

Over a year ago, my body was his home. He could not live outside of me. He needed me to keep him safe until he was strong enough to enter this world. And then he did. That was step one. But he still needed my body in other ways. And this past year, my body has given him the nourishment he needs to grow big and strong, but now he no longer needs that. We are at step two. That tie that has held our bodies together these past almost 2 years now is breaking. He is coming into his own and now it’s time to watch him fly.

To some I may have nursed him too long. To others I may not have nursed him long enough. But I know in my heart, 13 months is right. It was perfect for us. Oh how I will always cherish those 13

months in my heart. The best 13 months of my life. But who’s to say the next 13 months won’t be as good. They will be. And I know it. Because our bond will always remain strong. For I am the only person in this whole world whom he will ever call “mommy”, and that my friends, is a beautiful thing.

Luca's "Trendy" Jungle Party

Over a week ago now, we had a small, little family get together to celebrate our little boy turning ONE year old! A jungle themed birthday party for our crazy monkey of a son. Of course, designer me could not just throw him a "typical" jungle party. It had to be different. Hello Pinterest. Hello jungle meets metallic! It turned out super cute! Thank you to all the family who helped bring my vision to life! And a special thank you to my brother-in-law Kyle who brought me and my sister Starbucks and went out to the store approximately 540320392 times to get all the last minute stuff I forgot <3

 

The Spread

 A closer look at the cake and metallic animals. Found these in the toy section of Wal-Mart for $1, spray painted them with left-over gold paint from our wedding and Voila!

The Cake Pops! Tried my hardest to make them look like zebra and tiger stripes..

 Party, party party! Had to have one of those trendy gold balloons. Streamers done by Kyle and Laura. They are pros. We also had a slideshow gong of Luca's first year. Only 500 pictures... And that's not even close to all of the pictures I've taken..

Luca's one year old facts board. I spent way too long writing this out, but it turned out just how I wanted so I don't even care.

Trying to take pictures of a one-year old... impossible! He would not stand still! Hence.. I'm in the picture..

Another attempt. Luca, "Mom, why are you making me wear these ridiculous socks!?"

*Side note: I am totally in love with Luca's birthday outfit. I found the shirt and overalls on Etsy. The fox socks are from Etsy too and I just adore them!!

Eating his mini cake.

The inside of Luca's birthday cake. Not the best picture (sorry it's a little messy)! But I tried my hardest to make the inside of Luca's cake look like a zebra! I think it turned out pretty well!

Luca's Birth Story: Part III

 

That feeling. Knowing that soon you will be holding the baby you’ve been carrying for 9 months in your arms. Indescribable.

 

Sitting in the passenger’s seat while John drove, oh so calmly, to the hospital felt like a dream. The best dream ever.

I don’t remember much, other than thinking, “wow, if these are contractions, this doesn’t feel so bad” (haha, haha, haha) But seriously, in the car, my contractions eased up a ton. They were more like 10-15 minutes apart and not even as bad as a period cramp. I was a little concerned that we were going to the hospital only to be sent home, but I kept my hopes up as high as I could, yet still low enough that if we got sent home I wouldn’t be a sobbing mess again. And hey, at least I knew tomorrow I was most likely getting induced no matter what… and this was a good sign that I just might be able to have this baby on my own, or at least no C-Section! Oh please, oh please, oh please!

So we got to the hospital and had no idea where to go…

You know how first time parents are supposed to be all prepared. Take a bunch of classes. Get a tour of the hospital, etc.. Yeahh, we didn’t do any of that… No real reason, other than we were probably just a little bit lazy, combined with the horror stories my nurse sister told me of all the over-prepared parents whose labor went horribly wrong. So we decided to be the opposite. Preparation level: Zero.

So John, again oh so calmly, drove around the hospital. And in the end we decided our best bet was just to go to the ER. We parked right in front of it, John walked in to make sure this was okay to do, I got a thumbs up, he went to actually park the car and I walked in. Super pregnant. Super chill.

“Aren’t all the ladies in the movies like screaming hysterically. Am I doing this wrong?” Seriously though. That’s what I thought…

I stood at the counter. Gave them my info. John walked in carrying our 500 bags. Then they made me sit in a wheelchair…

“Do I have to?” I felt like an idiot. My contractions still weren’t super bad. I could totally walk to Labor and Delivery. But nope. I had to. It was so weird.

And it felt like forever. I think the ER and L&D were on opposite sides of the hospital.

When we finally made it, I gave the nurses my info and explained to them what I had been feeling. Then one of the nurses asked if this was our first?

“Yes.”

Crazy look, followed by, “Normally, we don’t have first time parents come to the hospital this soon. I don’t know why the nurse on the phone told you to come so fast.”

Uhhhhhh… What!?

“We might have to send you home for a few hours to finish early labor at home.”

Uhhhhhh…. No. It’s almost midnight. And my contractions were close an hour ago! Put me in a hospital bed. I’m not going home for 2 hours just to hop in the car and come back…

 *I was thinking all this. I didn’t actually say it…

Then they asked me who my OB was. I told them…

“Oh, it looks like he has you scheduled to come in for an induction tomorrow at 5.”

Yes, yes he does! So no matter what I’m coming back anyway. Please don’t make me leave!

The nurses looked at each other… “Let’s take you to a room and see where you’re at.”

They didn’t sound too hopeful. I think I was getting off on pity, but I did not care one bit…

So they gave us a room. I put on a hospital gown. This was too good to be true. Oh how I hoped my contractions would pick up again and that I would be dilated!

They hooked me up to the machine to measure the contractions and the baby’s heartrate. And there I sat. Watching. Waiting. Please line, MOVE! And it was. A little. I was definitely having contractions. But I could barely feel them.

Wow, this is labor!? This isn’t so bad.. Ha!

Then, slowly, I started to feel them again. And the line was getting a little higher with each one. The nurse came in to check me. This was the real test. Come on body, please be doing what you’re supposed to be doing!

“Oh wow, you’re at 3 cm!”

Yes!!!! I. was. Elated.

“Looks like you can stick around.”

I was on cloud nine. Come on contractions. Keep on keepin’ on.

But pretty quickly my hopes reversed. I stopped wishing for contractions and contrarily wished for longer breaks in between them. Seriously, after the nursed checked me, the contractions started again in full force! They quickly turned from 5-10 minutes apart to 2-3 minutes apart, and we had only been at the hospital an hour or so at this point.

And now I know why the ladies are screaming in the movies… I think I did a pretty good job of holding it together. Ask John though, I may be making things up. But I never screamed, I don’t think I cried. I just spent a lot of time heavy breathing and staring at that screen praying for the line to go down and stay down.

“Are you getting an epidural?” the nurse asked.

If you would have asked me a month before, I would have told the nurse no… I hadn’t closed my mind to it completely, but I wanted so badly to try and experience the whole process naturally. Not so I could boast to the world that I had a natural labor and delivery, but because I wanted to feel it all. Every contraction, every push, every pain, every ounce of every feeling that existed while bringing my baby into the world. And I explained that to my OB. But at one of my final appointments he told me that I was going to want it. My baby was big and I was going to really want it. So I should open my mind to it now and be okay with it.

I respect my OB a ton. And I believed him whole-heartedly. If he thought it was a good idea, I would listen to him… I didn’t want to at first, but I can honestly say now I am so glad I did!

So when the nurse asked me, I said Yes! And since I was going to get it for sure, my thought was, give it to me as soon as you can. No sense in wasting time being in pain when I can be pain-free and resting.

She said I could get the epidural once I reached 5 cm. And at 3 am I was there! I was a little nervous about having a giant needle shoved into my back, but I just hugged a pillow and prayed and it was over before I knew it. And it literally felt like a pinch compared to those contractions that had been so close for the past 3 hours…

Ahhhhhhhh! It kicked in pretty quick and I was finally able to rest. And John did too. That cocktail had really made him sleepy… It was the wrong night for a drink hun!

So we slept.. Well, John slept. I closed my eyes and tried, but I was just too dang excited about the fact that I was meeting my baby in a few short hours and I could not fully commit to the shut-eye. So I laid there, watching the line go up and down. And I wasn’t feeling a thing! Best decision ever.

At one point, I started feeling the contractions again, so they gave me a boost of the epidural. Holy moly, talk about heaven. After that, I couldn’t even move my legs. Weirdest feeling on earth, but I was thankful for it.

So I laid there. Daydreaming about my little one that I would soon be holding in my arms. Boy or girl? I was so excited to find out.

My contractions continued on. And the baby’s heartrate was steady, perfect. All that worry about how and when this baby was going to arrive and here I was, in labor all on my own! Grateful doesn’t even begin to describe how I was feeling. God is good.

Around 10am the next morning the nurse was checking me again and that’s when my water finally broke! And I was numb. So I never got to feel what that feels like, but I’m not too worried about it…

And I was at 9 cm! Finally! That meant my Dr. was going to be there soon! I can so vividly remember him walking through that door. I was literally beaming. So proud. “I did it! ALL on my own!”

“Yes, and you are really pushing out these contractions. You are going to have this baby very soon” he said.

We did some practice pushes. And again, no class, zero preparedness. I had no idea what I was doing. But he said I did excellent and now it was just a waiting game to get to 10.

Man oh man, that last centimeter felt like forever. All night long every time they checked me there was change, but the last couple hours it seemed to slow down. I don’t think it actually did, I was just tired from being up all night and so so anxious to meet my baby!

Around 12:00 my epidural started to wear off again. And it was too late to give me another boost. But I was at 10 cm!

“It’s a little early for you to start pushing. I’d like the baby to drop more, but since the epidural is wearing off, we’re going to have you start. It might mean you are going to have to push a little longer, but hopefully that’s not the case.”

I was so excited. It was time! I didn’t even care about the fact that I might be pushing for a while. I get to start pushing!! This was the final stage. Baby I can’t wait to meet you!

At this point, I was very thankful for the epidural, because I was starting to feel the contractions again. There I was, no sleep all night, having been in labor for over 15 hours. I couldn’t imagine having to deal with the pain of those contractions that entire time and now have the energy to push!

But to be honest it worked out perfect. I was a little nervous about pushing while being completely numb… Because how do you know if you’re pushing right? I could feel every contraction now and I knew when I needed to be pushing. My Dr. had me do three, ten-second pushes each contraction. My made up technique was push pretty hard on the first two, and then give it everything I had on the last one. And it worked. My doctor couldn’t believe how fast the baby was coming. Especially since we started pushing early.

I was exhausted. But all I could keep thinking about was the fact that in probably minutes I was going to meet my baby. I was going to find out if my baby is a boy or a girl. I was going to find out if I was meeting Luca or Felicity (The two names we had picked). I kept repeating them in my head, over and over. It helped me get through those final pushes that were so incredibly hard.

I don’t know if this has happened to anyone else, but during my final minutes of pushing I was experiencing the most horrible heartburn. So bad, I was eating Tums in between pushing…

“You can see the head! There’s a ton of hair! And it’s dark!” John said.. And I threw my head back and laughed… What!? I’m supposed to have all bald children… But then, I was also supposed to have a C-Section. And here I was. God knew what he was doing. This was his plan. And I was just along for the ride.

Contraction, push 1, push 2, push 3 and I pushed with all of my heart and strength. And then it happened. The head was out and the next contraction my Dr. would guide out the body. All I had to do was push a little and then keep breathing.

Time Stopped. The moment was here. All those months of waiting and dreaming of the moment I get to meet my child and here I was. It was happening.

One final push and then breathe. Breathe. Breathe. And then I saw him. My baby. MY baby. The doctor held him up and I heard John say the words I’d been waiting to hear….

“It’s a boy!”

And I cried.

 

A flood of emotion swept through my entire body. I have a son. He is my son. I am a mommy.

 

“And what is HIS name?” My doctor asked…

“Luca… Luca John”

 

Then my doctor handed him to me. So tiny. So fragile. The most perfect little being I had ever laid my eyes on. I laid him across my chest as the tears rolled down my cheeks. I don’t even remember how long we laid there. My son and I. Time had completely stopped. I was in heaven.

 

When I finally came back down to earth I really really looked at him. He was so beautiful. Can a boy be beautiful? Then, I remembered all those appointments. The measuring, the worrying…

He does not look huge. In fact he looks tiny. And I asked the nurse to weigh him. I wanted to know so bad.

I handed him to her and my doctor guessed Luca's weight… “8 pounds 1 ounce.”

I laughed. “Wasn’t he supposed to be a giant?”

“Oh, those measurements aren’t always super accurate. And I always measure large.”

Thanks… Thanks for telling me that… wow! And I rolled my eyes.

The nurse put him on the scale… 8 pounds 1 ounce!

My doctor was exactly right. Man was he good. But I guess he’s had a lot of practice…

 

And again I say… All those crazy thoughts and all those crazy plans in my head, pointless. All along I had expected a huge baby, 9+ pounds, and completely bald. But Luca, he was completely average in size and his hair. His HAIR! It was dark, long. The nurse had to wash it and comb it! Who was this child? He was nothing at all like I had imagined. He was better. He was God’s design. And he was perfect. Perfectly made in His image. And perfectly made for me.

 

 

Looking back on my labor and delivery, all I can think about was how perfectly it went. All the worry. All the fears. All the tears. Thinking I was going to have him early. Thinking I would have to be induced.  Thinking I was going to need a C-Section. Thinking there was no possible way I was going to have this baby on my own. And there I was. 16 hours of labor and approximately 40 minutes of pushing later and I was holding my baby. My son. My little Luca John.

After reflecting on Luca’s birth story, my mind immediately goes to one of my favorite scriptures. Matthew 6:27 “And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life?” I had worried. I had been anxious. And all of that worrying did me no good. Worrying about when Luca was going to enter this world was utterly pointless. God knew when he was going to arrive. God had a perfect plan. Nothing I did or thought made any difference at all.  

Through all of this, God truly taught me about patience and trust. I did not want to wait for my baby that extra week, but I did and I made it. I thought I knew how everything was going to go and what my baby was going to look like, but I am only a human and I was wrong. It was God’s plan to have me go into labor the day before my induction. It was God’s plan that my baby weighed only 8 pounds, and it was God’s plan that my baby have a head full of hair. Small things to most people, but huge in my mind. Those things were God’s way of telling me… You may think you know it all, but just remember, I am in control...

 

 

Luca, I love you, more than words can describe. Happy First Birthday, my son.

Luca's Birth Story: Part II

Part II of III. Yes it's wordy, yes it's long, and probably way to detailed. But how can it not be when you're documenting the precious story of how your child entered this world...

"I have prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him." 1 Samuel 1:27

Photo by: Today Everlasting Photography

So there I was… 39 ½ weeks pregnant. Hormonal. Exhausted… (Because for the last month I had not gotten more than 3 hours of straight sleep due to a huge baby whose huge head was sitting directly on my bladder and I, just like I’m sure every other pregnant woman out there, had HORRIBLE heartburn that kept my up at night.) So let’s just say I was not in the state of mind to be making such a huge decision.

I felt like I had a little angel and a little devil on each shoulder. You know, like you see in the movies? One was telling me, “You’re tired, you’re done, just have a C-Section tonight and be done with it! You want to meet this baby don’t you!?” The other, “You are strong. It’s only 1 week out of your whole life. The baby is not ready to come yet. Give it time. Be patient.”

I was literally sweating. Upset. Anxious.  

I looked at John with the most pitiful look I could muster, but I could tell he wanted me to wait.

I did Not want to.

But I did.

Eyes watering, I walked out of the Ultra-sound room. I went to the front desk and made an appointment a week from then… October 12^th. Are you kidding me? I was supposed to have this baby days ago and here I am making an appointment for mid October!

*Side note: I forgot to mention earlier that my initial due date according to my cycle was September 29^th. But after our first early scan at 8 weeks, my Dr. told me the baby was measuring at 6 ½ weeks and changed my due date to October 9^th. So keep in mind during all of this that I actually felt like I was 41 weeks pregnant. I know were talking days here, but to a pregnant lady a week and a half is a long time!

I almost felt embarrassed. Why was my body not doing what it was supposed to!? Why…

John and I got in the car and I broke down in tears. And they did not stop. We stopped by my parent’s on the way home and I remember feeling angry as we walked through their door.

“He (The dr.) is making me wait. I have to wait a whole ‘nother week!” I told my mom and then plopped down in the living room and I cried and cried and cried…

Thinking back, it’s kind of embarrassing how I acted. Ok.. A lot embarrassing! But I was upset. For the past month I was told I was going to have this baby early and here it was, October 5^th, almost my due date and my body was acting like I wasn’t even close..

I don’t even remember getting up from that chair. I must have eventually. We went home and I think I just went to bed.

I woke up the next morning, still upset, but in a much more rational state of mind. Any other time in my life I would be loving this. I had a week, A WHOLE WEEK of nothing to do. I wasn’t working anymore. I had no responsibilities other than keep the house in order and get ready for a baby. I can do this. But it felt like torture…

So I kept myself as busy as I could. Fixing up the nursery, visiting my family, sleeping, watching every daily talk show known to man, cuddling with my dog… Rough life..

But in my mind, it was. All I could keep thinking about was the fact that I was basically sitting there, waiting to have a C-Section, when I could have had one days ago and be holding my baby right then and there.

I can so vividly remember going to church on the 11^th … Two days after my due date. Everyone asking me, “Why are you still here?” “Where’s the baby?” Again, I felt embarrassed, and horrible me didn’t even want to go to church that morning because I knew I would get asked those questions over and over. Not okay…

This is the point in the story where it is so evident that I am a sinner in need of God’s grace. And deep down I knew how I was feeling was wrong, but I didn’t even care. I just wanted my baby and I wanted him or her now!

John and I came home from church and decided to have a relaxing day. My appointment was at 11 o’clock the next morning and it was almost a guarantee that we would be going to the hospital soon after that.   So we just wanted to spend time with each other, resting and preparing for the crazy, exciting days ahead of us!

Around 8:00 pm we decided to put in a movie. We had been re-watching the Bourne movies and were on the last one, The Bourne Ultimatum. John and I have a joke about this movie… I’ve watched it multiple times and I have seen the entire movie, but never straight through. I always fall asleep at some point and a couple times I’ve woken up to see the end. Just something about that movie, I cannot make it through…. And to this day that still holds true…

Well, at about 9:00 o’clock I went to the bathroom… woohoo, made it a whole hour! While I was in the bathroom I noticed some spotting… My. Heart. Dropped. Was this a labor sign? I had read it could be. Oh please, oh please, oh please. I went back to the couch, told John, and kept on watching the movie… That’s when they started. I was getting what felt like nothing more than period cramps. They would last for less than a minute and go away. Then come back 10 or so minutes later… Were these contractions!? I had no idea what to expect them to feel like. Like I said earlier, I had only experienced a couple what I think were Braxton Hicks Contractions earlier in my pregnancy. And those didn’t hurt, it just felt like my entire stomach was tight and hard like a rock.

After I experienced a few of these “cramps” I told John I was going to go upstairs and lay on our bed. He was like “Ok..” And continued to watch the movie while drinking his cocktail he made for himself, so that he would get a good night’s sleep that night to prepare him for the next day… HA! HA! HA!

So there I laid. I-phone in hand, timing these, what I hoped with all my heart were contractions. I still have the note in my phone..

9:48

9:59
10:06
10:11
10:18
10:25
10:33 (small)

10:36

10:49

They were close right from the get-go! Not as painful as I expected, but it was early. So I was questioning myself. Is this real? Am I just overreacting? “John!?! What should I do!?!”

We decided it would be best to call the nurse. So around 11:00pm I did. I explained everything to her and to my surprise she said we should head right to the hospital! What!?!?!

It was the end of the day. My hair looked like crap, my make-up was half gone. I wasn’t ready for this!

Just like a week ago, I had it all planned. I was going to get up, shower (shave my legs, haha) curl my hair perfect so it would look good for a couple days, do my make-up… Can you tell I was way too worried about the non-essentials. Always planning, planning, planning, but my Creator had a different plan… And that was… You’re having a baby right now. Get in the car. It’s time to go!

So I re-did my make-up as fast as I could, while John packed himself up. Not my best work of art in the world! Also, all that planning and packing bags ahead of time, and we forgot to pack a bag for John… hence he was mad dash packing!! Learned that lesson for the next time around… He barely had anything at the hospital for himself…

And just like that we were in the car, on the way to the hospital, to have OUR BABY! I still couldn’t believe it. I kept second guessing it. Trying not to get my hopes up. But it was real. I was in labor. I was going to meet my baby very very soon…

Luca's Birth Story: Part I

A whole year later, and I am  just now writing this, but I want to remember it as best I can. One of the best days of my life! I wrote a short version in Luca’s baby book, but it just doesn’t do it justice. So here is the long version. Probably the very long version. Not sorry at all....

 

I’m going to start this story at the doctor’s office when I was 36 weeks pregnant. A routine check-up. Weight, Blood Pressure, Ultra-sound, measure the baby (and remember, I did not know the gender!). “You’ve got a big baby.” Every Appointment, my OB would scare me half to death. Jokingly, but in all seriousness. He would measure the spine, the legs, the belly. Always in the 80-90^th percentile. And the head, don’t even get me started on the head… Always at least the 90^th percentile. I was so scared. “How on earth am I ever going to bounce back from this… Can I just have this baby now? Please I beg you” Of course I couldn’t be induced at 36 weeks, but my doctor did say since my baby was measuring so large I would probably have he/she early and if I didn’t naturally, he would most likely induce me a week early. “Ok, ok so October 2^nd. That’s the latest I’ll go.” (My due date was October 9^th). So from that moment on I had it in my head that no way on earth was I going to have this baby later than October 2^nd… He also checked to see if I was dilated at all. And I was… 1cm!  Not much, but still a good sign. No doubt in my mind. This baby was coming early!... Boy was I in for the biggest let down of my life…

Fast Forward to the 37 week checkup… Finally full term! First words out of my mouth at the appointment, “You can induce me now right?” My Dr. laughed. Ultrasound. Measure the baby. “Holy Moly this kid is a giant.” Check to see if I’m dilated… No change.

38 week appointment… Doctor: “It’s looking like your baby weighs over 8 pounds already!” Me: “Why am I cursed!? Induce me already!” Doctor: “Let’s wait one more week.” Checked to see if I’m dilated… No change. The doctor said be active and walk a lot. Try to get labor started.

I was bound and determined. That week John and I went to the Morris Corn Fest three times! It was hot..  And every time we went, we walked what felt like 10 miles. I think I maybe had one Braxton hicks contraction on the last day we were there. The second of 2 I ever got my entire pregnancy… Later that week I painted our master bedroom, almost all by myself! (John helped too, but I did the majority) I was standing on chairs, on my hands and knees.. Talk about a labor inducer.. Ha, nope!

So then came the 39 week appointment. October 5^th, 3 days after I thought this baby was going to be out! I had it all planned in my head. John was getting off work early to come to the appointment with me. I did my hair and make-up all cute because of course my doctor was going to send me to the hospital right away to get induced, and I HAD to look good during labor. (Cause that’s the biggest priority when it comes to the whole process.. wow! Ha!) Bags had been packed since week 37, so we were all good there. I took some bump shots because these were going to be the last ones I ever took. John got home from work and off to the doctor’s office we went…

Talk about excitement. I was so ready. I was going to have this baby tonight or tomorrow, for sure!

We were the last appointment of the day. Doctor walks in, happy as can be. “You’re next on my list! Let’s see where we’re at!” Ultrasound: HUGE! And I mean measuring over 9 lbs huge! I legit almost cried. I remember picturing my baby as this chubby, bald kid (because I was a bald baby. Who cares that John had lots of hair as a baby. All our kids in my mind were going to be bald.. ha!) with rolls on rolls and an abnormally huge head. Kind of Michelin Man-ish, just bigger head. I remember telling myself “Every mom thinks their baby is cute, don’t worry…” I was worried.

Next up.. check to see if I was dilated anymore. In my head: “Of course I will be. I walked a marathon and painted a huge bedroom this week.  We’re all good.” Checked. 1.5 cm.. so basically no change. Now the tears did start flowing. I knew what that meant…

In the simplest terms I can use.. My doctor wanted my body to be a little more ready before he induced me. He explained ever so thoughtfully to us that if he tried to induce me that night I would probably end up needing a C-section. Now he told us if I was just really done he could call the hospital and I could either A. Try to be induced with probably no results and then C-Section tomorrow. B. He could just do a C-Section tonight. Or another option would be C. Wait one more week and then no matter what I will be induced, but hopefully my body will have progressed more by then.

Of course in my crazy, 39 ½ weeks pregnant, hormonal state of mind I wanted either A. or B. But then my doctor continued to explain that since I hadn’t progressed really at all on my own, if I ended up with a C-section, I would probably end up having C-Sections with all of my children, because my body will not know how to start labor…

“Are you kidding me!?” This is not what I wanted, at all!

He then continued to tell me that, after seeing how big the baby was measuring and again, “simple terms” how small I was measuring, I should probably prepare myself for what was most likely going to end up a C-Section no matter what. Basically, he didn’t think the baby was going to fit…

Obviously, he wanted to try to see if I could do it, but I should prepare my heart and mind for a very different scenario than I had thought these past 39 ½ weeks…

My heart was broken… Literally I felt like someone had just taken a knife to my chest. I was crying, sweating, overwhelmed.

Both John and the Doctor were encouraging me to wait it out another week because of that small chance that I could do it on my own. But of course I, all caught up in emotions thought, “If I’m going to end up with a C-Section no matter what, why wait? End my misery, please.”

I can so vividly picture that moment in time: John and my doctor both looking at me waiting for my decision.

What was I going to do? I was so torn. This is not what I wanted.

Little did I know, God had a plan. A perfect, beautiful plan for how my little Luca John was going to come into this world. And this was just Him setting the stage. It was God’s way of telling me, “You may think you know it all, but remember, I am in control.”