Before I say what I really wanted to say, I need to give you a little background on what my morning was like today.
We had to wake up early so that Stephen could get our car, which had died again, into the shop before heading off to work. We prayed that the fix wouldn't be too expensive and that we would still be able to take our much-needed-get-away to Rexburg this weekend. I told Stephen that I was going to run away if we ended up not being able to take that trip. He encouraged me to. Anyway, so we got Benjamin up and discovered that he had soaked his pajamas over night -again- and scrambled to get him into the tub.
See, our mornings are always crazy. Always. Both boys wake about the same time and demand that their needs be taken care of first, oblivious to the needs of their brother and their parents. Of course this is pretty typical at their young ages, but it sure makes getting everyone up and going difficult and stressful.
After Benjamin is bathed and both boys are fed, Stephen leaves for the shop and my day as stay-at-home mom begins.
I actually really love being a stay-at-home mother and I am convinced that nothing else in the world could be as fulfilling for me, but sometimes I find myself wondering what life would be like to be able to shower and get ready in the mornings again. It seems like an impossible dream right now...
So both boys are fed and generally pretty happy, so I'm happy. Benjamin gets down on his hands and knees, looks back at me, and says "Please!" This is code for "Mom, I would love it if you got down on your hands and knees too and chased me around." I thought about the bruises and carpet burn on my knees from previous chases that were finally healing, but of course I couldn't tell him no. While down on the floor chasing Benjamin, I became acutely aware of the need my kitchen has of a broom and mop and wondered when I'd have time to clean it. Probably not for another week, if we were being honest. My play time with Benjamin ended too soon when Ian started crying to be fed again. Of course Benjamin started crying, and for the millionth time since I became a mother I felt loads of guilt. I wondered if my short spurts of quality time with Benjamin would be sufficient to communicate to him how very much I loved him and prayed that it would, but still worried it wouldn't.
After I got Ian fed and down for his morning nap, my stomach reminded me that I hadn't had breakfast yet and I felt more guilt as I sat down to eat. And there I was in my oversized, stretched out pajamas, my hair matted and gross, and old makeup smudged under my eyes, eating a bowl of cereal. Benjamin came over begging for my food. The selfish part of me wanted to say, "You just ate. It's mommy's turn, so go away," but of course I didn't. I offered him some. As I watched my little boy crawl around on the kitchen floor taste-testing the crumbs, my heart was once again suddenly heavy with my responsibilities as his mother. I was overwhelmed with the thought about all the things I needed to teach him.
I thought about how he had tried to throw a toy car at Ian earlier this morning and wondered how I could teach him about kindness and compassion towards his brother. How do I teach him about love? How do I teach him about selflessness and consideration of others? How do I teach him how to dress himself? How to clean up after himself? How to share? How do I teach him which things he can touch and which things he cannot? How do I discipline him? How do I show him how to eat neatly, to use manners and be polite? How do I instill in him a love for learning? How do I teach him about respect? How do I teach him how to protect himself physically and spiritually? The questions went on and on and I felt more and more overwhelmed. And deep down, a quiet fear stirred inside me. A fear that I was inadequate.
The thought then occurred to me that I hadn't prayed yet that morning and I
sighed at my failure to have made that a priority. I've been trying to
figure out how to get a sincere morning prayer in with our crazy
mornings and I haven't been able to figure it out yet. My brain is still
too asleep to do it right when I get up and before I get the boys going.
I've tried to shut myself in the bathroom, but Benjamin always finds me
and pounds on the door until I open it. Sighing again, I prayed there
at the table, eyes opened to make sure Benjamin didn't inhale anything
detrimental to his health.
I quietly prayed that all of my efforts to teach my children and to show them that I loved them would be magnified and be made enough.
I have a firm testimony that the Holy Ghost, when we live worthy of it's companionship, has the ability to bring things to our remembrance that are needful for that time, and that is what happened to me this morning while I was at the table. Ever so gently and quietly, I remembered a talk I had heard long ago about the importance of teaching children. The thought that had stuck with me the most was this: the most important things you can ever teach your children is about their identity as a child of God, the love of their Savior, and the gospel. The Holy Ghost testified to me that that was my most important responsibility, and that if I do all I can to teach my children those things, then everything else they need to know will fall into place. I felt immediate relief and peace.
Of course all of those other things are important and will help to shape the character of my children and they should therefore not be neglected, but God reminded me this morning of what was most important, and that if I made the most important things my focus, He could help me do the rest. He also reminded me that all He requires is my absolute best, even if that best doesn't look like much and changes from day to day. How grateful I am to know that I am not in this parenting business alone, and because of God's grace, any imperfection I may have in raising my children can be compensated.
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Ian's Birth Story
Most people already know that my delivery experience with Benjamin was horrific, ending in a very painful cesarean and long recovery. Upon discovering that we were again expecting, I was determined to make this delivery experience more positive- however the baby actually arrived. After many months of research, we decided to try for a VBAC, or vaginal birth after cesarean, as well as to hire a doula.
Along with hiring our doula, Marcie, I wanted the right doctor for us and was willing to spend time hunting around and switching clinics where I received maternity care to find one, which is exactly what we did. We settled on a group midwifery practice in Pleasant Grove and loved our choice. I especially resonated with one particular midwife, Claudia, and went out of my way to schedule my appointments with her. She believed in the body's ability to birth, and most importantly believed in my ability to birth. She was extremely encouraging, unbiased, and was willing to listen to my ideas and concerns. I just knew I HAD to have her with me come delivery day and asked her about the probability of being on call around the time I was due. She pleasantly surprised me by giving me her cell phone number and the instructions to call her personally when I believed I was in labor and she'd see what she could do.
Well, I had been dilated to 3 cm for almost 2 weeks when I had my routine weekly check-up on July 9th and discovered that I was now dilated to 5 cm- all without any regular contractions. This was very surprising to us since with Benjamin I was at the hospital with an epidural in place at this point in my labor with him. Still, we tried to wait patiently at home for things to get going. On July 11th at about 2 pm, my water broke at home, but still no contractions. I notified Claudia and Marcie and continued to wait. Despite the inactivity, Stephen decided to come home early from work anyway as Claudia warned us that labor would probably progress rapidly for me once things did get going.
Once Stephen got home, we made sure our hospital bags were ready and then loaded up Benjamin and our stroller in the car to go for a walk around the track at the BYU campus. Once we got walking, contractions came almost immediately. I spent a good chunk of time on the phone with Marcie as she coached me through some contractions and told me what to be looking for with intensity and frequency before heading to the hospital. Although contractions were only 2 minutes apart, some even less than that, they were only lasting as long as 30 seconds or less. Since I was determined to labor outside of the hospital as long as possible and was afraid of going in too early, and my contractions weren't yet nearly as long as the "textbooks" say they should be, I refused to believe I needed to go into the hospital yet, even though Claudia advised going in. Yea, not smart, I know.
I gave my mom the go-ahead to head on down from Salt Lake so she could pick up Benjamin, confident that we still had plenty of time at home for her to make the 45 minute commute down to our place. I was wrong. Stephen and I got home from the track and got dinner on the table (I was going to eat before we go if it was the last thing I did!) when I had this urge to push. This frightened me enough to realize that maybe I should have listened to Claudia after all, go figure. I started yelling "We need to go! We need to go!" and frantically ran around. Since my mom was not yet here, Stephen ran Benjamin over to a neighbor's, told my mom where to find him, and we took off.
We opted to deliver at the American Fork hospital even though there are 2 other hospitals closer to us, so we had an at least 15 minute drive ahead of us. We chose American Fork because they had the most friendly reputation for VBAC's and mother and newborn comfort.
Once on the freeway, Stephen was going 95-100 miles an hour, weaving in and out of traffic, once completely running a red light. My contractions were now very painful and close together, so I was hollering pretty good as a result of the pain and fear with Stephen's crazy driving. Once we got to the hospital, we rushed into the main entrance and I scrambled into a wheelchair, still vocalizing my discomfort. The cute little receptionist at the information desk flew out of her seat to rush over to help us. The scene was seriously like one of those dramatic and falsified scenes of labor that you see in the movies, which was, later on, actually pretty funny since it was real.
We got up to the labor and delivery floor where the hospital staff guessed at who I was; Claudia had called and had given them a heads up that I was coming in. One said, "Are you that gal whose water broke at home?" Everyone seemed so laid back and relaxed and I couldn't help thinking, "This is serious business! I feel like I'm dying here. Quit the small talk and let's get going!" Thankfully those thoughts never made it passed my lips.
Once in my room, I was given one of those super flattering gowns to change into. Since everyone in American Fork was in labor that night (it's about 6:30 pm at this point), the hospital staff was super busy and no one came in to see me for a bit. Marcie arrived shortly after I got changed, and thank heaven she did. She says I was coping really well, but I certainly didn't feel like I was. Marcie worked her doula magic and jumped right in and started coaching and helping Stephen coach me through each contraction, as well as applying counter-pressure to my lower back and hips. She helped remind me to relax when I'd tense up at an oncoming contraction, was quiet through my contractions (Which I really appreciated! I wanted to yell at the nurses and doctors who kept asking me questions and such when it took all I had to make it through each contraction), and encouraged me in between contractions. Her support was amazing and convinced me to hire a doula with each subsequent pregnancy. What I appreciated most, however, was how she enabled Stephen to be my main source of comfort and support. He was truly incredible. If he were ever unsure, nervous, anxious, or tired I never knew it. He sole focus was guiding me and he'll never truly know how very much I needed that.
By some miracle, Claudia was able to come in to be my nurse midwife that night (I could have burst into singing, I was so happy and feeling so blessed to have the perfect support team) and came in to check on me. I was dilated to 6 cm, which was slightly discouraging since I was already in so much pain and discomfort and had hoped it meant I was closer to the end. Although planning on an epidural, I wanted to labor without one as long as I could and felt like I could go a little longer. Around 8:00 pm I was ready for that epidural; I had made it really close to transition (7 cm) without medication! To those amazing women who go all the way without medication, that maybe doesn't seem like a great feat, but for me it was very empowering. I certainly got farther than I ever thought I could! And that was exciting for me.
About 9:00 pm, Ian's heart tones are beginning to drop at alarming rates and the OB (Dr. Allen) who is backing up Claudia has entered the room to closely monitor things. I was just anxiously waiting for the talk of a cesarean to start. I would have been okay with another cesarean had my baby have really needed it, but I just wanted that fair chance of looking at other options, if safe, for a natural delivery. Thankfully, I never had to have that conversation with my doctors.
Ian's heart tones continue to do this little dance where they stabilize then drop. Claudia wants to put a fetal scalp electrode on Ian's head so she can more accurately keep track of his heart tones, and I agree to it. She also wants to try an amnioinfusion (or, increase the uterine fluid levels) to see if that will help stabilize Ian's heart tones. I have complete confidence in her and her judgement and agree to this as well. An oxygen mask is placed on my face also in efforts to help Ian, but I think it ends up helping me more instead. In any case, it helps keep me from hyperventilating, which was a problem with Benjamin's delivery, and I am extremely grateful for this fact alone. None of this appears to make much of a difference in Ian's heart tones, but Claudia is encouraged that they at least come back up, so I am allowed to continue to labor.
About 9:30 pm, just a few short hours after entering the hospital, I am fully effaced and dilated and ready to push! Claudia and Dr. Allen are both pleasantly surprised by my quick and efficient progress and I am highly encouraged by this. Both have examined me and say that they don't understand why doctors have been discouraged in the past about me delivering vaginally. They are both very confident I can birth this baby naturally and this excites and encourages me. I am relieved that finally someone believes that I an do it.
Each time I pushed, Claudia would exclaim with excitement how well Ian was moving down the birth canal and asked if I wanted to see it. Originally, I didn't want a mirror within 10 feet of me, but I was so excited and encouraged and actually did want to see. And I'm so glad I said yes because it was WAY cool! Being able to see my progress as I was pushing helped me to see that my efforts were paying off as well as allowed me to gauge how much more I had to go.
Ian's heart rate starts dropping even lower with each contraction and he starts to struggle recovering after. This becomes very alarming and my room suddenly fills with a ton of people. Claudia explains to me that the resuscitation team is there by precaution and tries to keep me calm, but it's not working. I am now absolutely scared out of my mind that something bad is going to happen to my baby. Dr. Allen assesses the situation and determines that Ian is too far down the birth canal for a cesarean now and briefly mention the possibility of using forcepts to help Ian out quicker. Getting Ian out the fastest becomes the goal, but forcepts is not mentioned again. Instead, everyone starts telling me that I have got to give pushing my everything now, that this baby needs to get out fast. It's about 11:00pm now and I am spent. I have been giving my all to pushing for an hour and a half and feel that I have no more to give. I have never felt more worn out in my entire life! Feeling like I could not go on and just wanting desperately for this to all be over, I looked to Stephen and just cried. I told him over and over, "I can't do it anymore. I'm so tired." He and Marcie did a fabulous job at continuing to try to encourage me, but I wasn't having any of it. Since my epidural was a "lighter dose" epidural (I wanted to still be able to feel the pressure so I could better direct my pushing) and it had worn off some by now, I was also in crazy pain. It was horrible and unbelievably hard.
Ian's head is finally crowning, but he's no longer going anywhere and his heart rate is continuing to drop. Claudia says she thinks an episiotomy is our best bet and I am relieved to hear this and gladly consent to one. I have the nurses take the mirror away (There was no way I was watching that) and they very next push, I suddenly feel complete relief from all pain and pressure, and hear a cry; he made it!
Everything seemed so completely surreal that I could hardly grasp what was going on. My little boy was placed on my chest, given a brief rub-down, and we were virtually left alone. I was crying pretty hysterically by now, but this time because I felt unbelievable happiness; not only was my VBAC a success, but more importantly my boy was perfectly healthy (they still don't know what caused the dips in his heart tones). I felt so much elation and an incredible sense of empowerment; my body COULD do this! The healing I had hoped to find here was immediately there. I got to spend a blissful few minutes with my son- no one whisking him away, no passing out, and no feelings of confusion and sadness. Just love and happiness and so much gratitude to my Father in Heaven for blessing me with such an experience. It was unbelievably difficult at times, but it was also so perfect.
Along with hiring our doula, Marcie, I wanted the right doctor for us and was willing to spend time hunting around and switching clinics where I received maternity care to find one, which is exactly what we did. We settled on a group midwifery practice in Pleasant Grove and loved our choice. I especially resonated with one particular midwife, Claudia, and went out of my way to schedule my appointments with her. She believed in the body's ability to birth, and most importantly believed in my ability to birth. She was extremely encouraging, unbiased, and was willing to listen to my ideas and concerns. I just knew I HAD to have her with me come delivery day and asked her about the probability of being on call around the time I was due. She pleasantly surprised me by giving me her cell phone number and the instructions to call her personally when I believed I was in labor and she'd see what she could do.
Well, I had been dilated to 3 cm for almost 2 weeks when I had my routine weekly check-up on July 9th and discovered that I was now dilated to 5 cm- all without any regular contractions. This was very surprising to us since with Benjamin I was at the hospital with an epidural in place at this point in my labor with him. Still, we tried to wait patiently at home for things to get going. On July 11th at about 2 pm, my water broke at home, but still no contractions. I notified Claudia and Marcie and continued to wait. Despite the inactivity, Stephen decided to come home early from work anyway as Claudia warned us that labor would probably progress rapidly for me once things did get going.
Once Stephen got home, we made sure our hospital bags were ready and then loaded up Benjamin and our stroller in the car to go for a walk around the track at the BYU campus. Once we got walking, contractions came almost immediately. I spent a good chunk of time on the phone with Marcie as she coached me through some contractions and told me what to be looking for with intensity and frequency before heading to the hospital. Although contractions were only 2 minutes apart, some even less than that, they were only lasting as long as 30 seconds or less. Since I was determined to labor outside of the hospital as long as possible and was afraid of going in too early, and my contractions weren't yet nearly as long as the "textbooks" say they should be, I refused to believe I needed to go into the hospital yet, even though Claudia advised going in. Yea, not smart, I know.
I gave my mom the go-ahead to head on down from Salt Lake so she could pick up Benjamin, confident that we still had plenty of time at home for her to make the 45 minute commute down to our place. I was wrong. Stephen and I got home from the track and got dinner on the table (I was going to eat before we go if it was the last thing I did!) when I had this urge to push. This frightened me enough to realize that maybe I should have listened to Claudia after all, go figure. I started yelling "We need to go! We need to go!" and frantically ran around. Since my mom was not yet here, Stephen ran Benjamin over to a neighbor's, told my mom where to find him, and we took off.
We opted to deliver at the American Fork hospital even though there are 2 other hospitals closer to us, so we had an at least 15 minute drive ahead of us. We chose American Fork because they had the most friendly reputation for VBAC's and mother and newborn comfort.
Once on the freeway, Stephen was going 95-100 miles an hour, weaving in and out of traffic, once completely running a red light. My contractions were now very painful and close together, so I was hollering pretty good as a result of the pain and fear with Stephen's crazy driving. Once we got to the hospital, we rushed into the main entrance and I scrambled into a wheelchair, still vocalizing my discomfort. The cute little receptionist at the information desk flew out of her seat to rush over to help us. The scene was seriously like one of those dramatic and falsified scenes of labor that you see in the movies, which was, later on, actually pretty funny since it was real.
We got up to the labor and delivery floor where the hospital staff guessed at who I was; Claudia had called and had given them a heads up that I was coming in. One said, "Are you that gal whose water broke at home?" Everyone seemed so laid back and relaxed and I couldn't help thinking, "This is serious business! I feel like I'm dying here. Quit the small talk and let's get going!" Thankfully those thoughts never made it passed my lips.
Once in my room, I was given one of those super flattering gowns to change into. Since everyone in American Fork was in labor that night (it's about 6:30 pm at this point), the hospital staff was super busy and no one came in to see me for a bit. Marcie arrived shortly after I got changed, and thank heaven she did. She says I was coping really well, but I certainly didn't feel like I was. Marcie worked her doula magic and jumped right in and started coaching and helping Stephen coach me through each contraction, as well as applying counter-pressure to my lower back and hips. She helped remind me to relax when I'd tense up at an oncoming contraction, was quiet through my contractions (Which I really appreciated! I wanted to yell at the nurses and doctors who kept asking me questions and such when it took all I had to make it through each contraction), and encouraged me in between contractions. Her support was amazing and convinced me to hire a doula with each subsequent pregnancy. What I appreciated most, however, was how she enabled Stephen to be my main source of comfort and support. He was truly incredible. If he were ever unsure, nervous, anxious, or tired I never knew it. He sole focus was guiding me and he'll never truly know how very much I needed that.
By some miracle, Claudia was able to come in to be my nurse midwife that night (I could have burst into singing, I was so happy and feeling so blessed to have the perfect support team) and came in to check on me. I was dilated to 6 cm, which was slightly discouraging since I was already in so much pain and discomfort and had hoped it meant I was closer to the end. Although planning on an epidural, I wanted to labor without one as long as I could and felt like I could go a little longer. Around 8:00 pm I was ready for that epidural; I had made it really close to transition (7 cm) without medication! To those amazing women who go all the way without medication, that maybe doesn't seem like a great feat, but for me it was very empowering. I certainly got farther than I ever thought I could! And that was exciting for me.
About 9:00 pm, Ian's heart tones are beginning to drop at alarming rates and the OB (Dr. Allen) who is backing up Claudia has entered the room to closely monitor things. I was just anxiously waiting for the talk of a cesarean to start. I would have been okay with another cesarean had my baby have really needed it, but I just wanted that fair chance of looking at other options, if safe, for a natural delivery. Thankfully, I never had to have that conversation with my doctors.
Ian's heart tones continue to do this little dance where they stabilize then drop. Claudia wants to put a fetal scalp electrode on Ian's head so she can more accurately keep track of his heart tones, and I agree to it. She also wants to try an amnioinfusion (or, increase the uterine fluid levels) to see if that will help stabilize Ian's heart tones. I have complete confidence in her and her judgement and agree to this as well. An oxygen mask is placed on my face also in efforts to help Ian, but I think it ends up helping me more instead. In any case, it helps keep me from hyperventilating, which was a problem with Benjamin's delivery, and I am extremely grateful for this fact alone. None of this appears to make much of a difference in Ian's heart tones, but Claudia is encouraged that they at least come back up, so I am allowed to continue to labor.
About 9:30 pm, just a few short hours after entering the hospital, I am fully effaced and dilated and ready to push! Claudia and Dr. Allen are both pleasantly surprised by my quick and efficient progress and I am highly encouraged by this. Both have examined me and say that they don't understand why doctors have been discouraged in the past about me delivering vaginally. They are both very confident I can birth this baby naturally and this excites and encourages me. I am relieved that finally someone believes that I an do it.
Each time I pushed, Claudia would exclaim with excitement how well Ian was moving down the birth canal and asked if I wanted to see it. Originally, I didn't want a mirror within 10 feet of me, but I was so excited and encouraged and actually did want to see. And I'm so glad I said yes because it was WAY cool! Being able to see my progress as I was pushing helped me to see that my efforts were paying off as well as allowed me to gauge how much more I had to go.
Ian's heart rate starts dropping even lower with each contraction and he starts to struggle recovering after. This becomes very alarming and my room suddenly fills with a ton of people. Claudia explains to me that the resuscitation team is there by precaution and tries to keep me calm, but it's not working. I am now absolutely scared out of my mind that something bad is going to happen to my baby. Dr. Allen assesses the situation and determines that Ian is too far down the birth canal for a cesarean now and briefly mention the possibility of using forcepts to help Ian out quicker. Getting Ian out the fastest becomes the goal, but forcepts is not mentioned again. Instead, everyone starts telling me that I have got to give pushing my everything now, that this baby needs to get out fast. It's about 11:00pm now and I am spent. I have been giving my all to pushing for an hour and a half and feel that I have no more to give. I have never felt more worn out in my entire life! Feeling like I could not go on and just wanting desperately for this to all be over, I looked to Stephen and just cried. I told him over and over, "I can't do it anymore. I'm so tired." He and Marcie did a fabulous job at continuing to try to encourage me, but I wasn't having any of it. Since my epidural was a "lighter dose" epidural (I wanted to still be able to feel the pressure so I could better direct my pushing) and it had worn off some by now, I was also in crazy pain. It was horrible and unbelievably hard.
Ian's head is finally crowning, but he's no longer going anywhere and his heart rate is continuing to drop. Claudia says she thinks an episiotomy is our best bet and I am relieved to hear this and gladly consent to one. I have the nurses take the mirror away (There was no way I was watching that) and they very next push, I suddenly feel complete relief from all pain and pressure, and hear a cry; he made it!
Everything seemed so completely surreal that I could hardly grasp what was going on. My little boy was placed on my chest, given a brief rub-down, and we were virtually left alone. I was crying pretty hysterically by now, but this time because I felt unbelievable happiness; not only was my VBAC a success, but more importantly my boy was perfectly healthy (they still don't know what caused the dips in his heart tones). I felt so much elation and an incredible sense of empowerment; my body COULD do this! The healing I had hoped to find here was immediately there. I got to spend a blissful few minutes with my son- no one whisking him away, no passing out, and no feelings of confusion and sadness. Just love and happiness and so much gratitude to my Father in Heaven for blessing me with such an experience. It was unbelievably difficult at times, but it was also so perfect.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Vegas, Grad-school, and Doulas
We just got back from a weekend in Las Vegas (or, more accurately, Henderson, NV). We were there for a family reunion on Stephen's side of the family and it was a good time!
We car-pooled with Jen and Clint (Stephen's sister and her hubby) and their two little girls, which worked out fantastically! Benjamin was fascinated by his little cousins, and Jane did an especially wonderful job entertaining him and trying to make him happy and comfortable. We managed to make it there and back with only one very minor melt-down, which is a blessing beyond my wildest dreams.
While there, all the Palmer siblings and their families stayed together in a cluster of hotel rooms, which was super fun. Stephen and I had our own room, which turned out to be a handicapped room. It was a blessing in disguise as we had tons of room to set up Benjamin's pack-n'-play in the bathroom for him to sleep (he is an incredibly light sleeper and has a miserable time trying to sleep in the same room with others, which results in a miserable time for everyone). It was really kind of funny, actually. Stephen and I would stumble, half asleep, down the hotel hallway to the lobby bathrooms in the middle of the night. I'm sure the lady running the front desk thought we were crazy.
At the reunion, I had a great time visiting with some of Stephen's cousins whom I don't know well. I felt like I had known them for forever and it just felt warm and comfortable talking with them. It is often difficult for me to open up quickly to people I don't know well, so this really meant a lot to me.
I am pretty sure I was much more excited for that Easter egg hunt than Benjamin was... With Stephen doing his no-sweets-deal with my brother, and Benjamin being too young for much candy, I got the lot to myself! AND because Stephen and I intentionally did not cart junk food along on the trip, I didn't feel guilty eating it either. Score!
Also while in Henderson, I got to visit a bit with my college buddy, Sara. It had been a little over a year since we've been able to see each other, so that was a lot of fun. She had not been able to meet Benjamin yet and it was fun to watch her with him. He loved her :)
The night before we headed back to Salt Lake, the Palmer siblings and spouses got together for a group date out to dinner at one of the many casinos around. I believe it's the first time we got to do something like that and I LOVED it. We spent the evening (child-free! The older nieces babysat) together laughing and enjoying each other's company. I married into a wonderful family... I had, while single, hoped that I would one day marry into a warm, strong, close-nit family, and that is exactly who the Palmers are. I love them.
Stephen has just recently finished his first year in grad-school and is wrapping up finals (as we speak even). He has been working so hard to do well and I am proud of him.
The poor guy has had a bit of a rough time this last school year with trying to manage all of his responsibilities and trying to balance his time. He's up most mornings at 4 am so he can go to work to provide for our little family, then he goes to school/works on homework for most of the day so he can provide us a more stable future, and then he comes home, exhausted and worn, and provides me some relief. We have an hour or two together in the evenings after Benjamin is down, and it starts all over again. He never complains. He never lets on how hard it is for him (though I know it is). He is always thinking of Benjamin and I first and does his best to show it. He is the strongest, most selfless person I know and I feel so blessed to call him my husband. I love him...
We have hopes that this next year will be easier since he's dropping his 4 am job in lieu of his paid internships. Only one more year to go!
About two months or so ago, Stephen and I decided that we were not going to hire a doula to aid in the birth of our second child (which we had previously been planning on) because we ran into some unplanned needed car repairs. We had found a doula we felt great about and had a wonderful consultation visit, but just could not make it work at that time.
For those who may not know what a doula is, she is a non-medical person who can assist with the physical, emotional, and spiritual support of a laboring woman. She typically educates on child birth, helps you make informed decisions, helps you explore your birthing options, teaches you relaxation and laboring techniques, and helps support you in your decisions. She is there through labor, delivery, and partial post-partum period to assist you in any way you need. We had decided on hiring one for the birth of our second baby because we felt we needed extra support this time around.
Recently, we've been blessed with an unexpected grant that could cover the cost of a doula and then some, so we've started considering hiring one again. After running across this message from the woman we were looking at, I felt strongly about hiring her again (she is the ICAN chapter leader for Utah County):
"I want everyone in this group to know that no matter the type of birth you have, there is always a place for you here. If you have an elective repeat cesarean, I will support you. If you have a vaginal birth after cesarean, I will support you. If you have a cesarean birth after a trial of labor, I will support you. This is a judgement free support group. No matter the type of birth you have, there is always a place for you here.
"You are not a failure if you have a trial of labor that becomes a cesarean. I (and I hope everyone else here) will never think of you as a failure if you have a repeat cesarean. I want everyone to feel welcome no matter what!
There is never one "right" way to birth. No one decision is right for every birthing woman or birth situation. This is why information is so important. Having all the information to make an informed decision that is right for you and your situation, is what is important. Feeling cared for and supported no matter your decisions is what is important.
"There has not been any incidence of judgement within the group thus far (thank you for this!!!). I just need each of you to know where I stand as the chapter leader. Too often I hear women say "I feel like I failed" in reference to having a cesarean. I do not want any of you to feel this way! I want you to feel like you did what you needed to do to have your baby. We do the best we can with the information we have at the time. We do what we need to do to have the outcome we believe to be the most beneficial. Sometimes birth requires us to make difficult decisions. Making those decisions in critical moments makes you a strong woman, not the way you birth.
"There is so much I wish I could express to each of you who have had a cesarean birth. I just don't have the words to express this love and admiration adequately. I want you to know that I have a great love and admiration for women who have cesarean births. Birthing women are amazing, not because a baby comes out of their vagina, but because they grew a human inside of their body and now they must birth the baby in whatever way that baby needs to come. Sometimes that means being cut open for the baby to be born. A cesarean birth is still a birth and not any less difficult (or courageous or amazing....) than a vaginal birth. I believe there is a moment during (almost every birth, it probably doesn't always happen) birth when the woman has a feeling of helplessness and despair and somehow we come out of that. We gather our strength and move above the helplessness and despair to bring new life. It doesn't matter how you birth, somewhere you find that strength. Sometimes it doesn't come when you need it, sometimes the helplessness and despair stays for a long time. If you feel this helplessness and despair, I want you to know I am here for you. Please lean on me. Please come to me. I will support you. I will help you. I will not leave you alone."
To someone who may not have suffered from a traumatic birth experience, this might sound cookey (I would probably think the same, if I hadn't experienced what I did with the birth of my first), but for me, these words were a healing balm. After that, I knew I just had to have this woman's help. Lucky for us, she still had an opening in July! I firmly believe that God knew what I would need to be able to have a better experience this time around and helped me to cross paths with this woman. His hand is ALWAYS in the details of our lives.
We car-pooled with Jen and Clint (Stephen's sister and her hubby) and their two little girls, which worked out fantastically! Benjamin was fascinated by his little cousins, and Jane did an especially wonderful job entertaining him and trying to make him happy and comfortable. We managed to make it there and back with only one very minor melt-down, which is a blessing beyond my wildest dreams.
While there, all the Palmer siblings and their families stayed together in a cluster of hotel rooms, which was super fun. Stephen and I had our own room, which turned out to be a handicapped room. It was a blessing in disguise as we had tons of room to set up Benjamin's pack-n'-play in the bathroom for him to sleep (he is an incredibly light sleeper and has a miserable time trying to sleep in the same room with others, which results in a miserable time for everyone). It was really kind of funny, actually. Stephen and I would stumble, half asleep, down the hotel hallway to the lobby bathrooms in the middle of the night. I'm sure the lady running the front desk thought we were crazy.
At the reunion, I had a great time visiting with some of Stephen's cousins whom I don't know well. I felt like I had known them for forever and it just felt warm and comfortable talking with them. It is often difficult for me to open up quickly to people I don't know well, so this really meant a lot to me.
I am pretty sure I was much more excited for that Easter egg hunt than Benjamin was... With Stephen doing his no-sweets-deal with my brother, and Benjamin being too young for much candy, I got the lot to myself! AND because Stephen and I intentionally did not cart junk food along on the trip, I didn't feel guilty eating it either. Score!
Also while in Henderson, I got to visit a bit with my college buddy, Sara. It had been a little over a year since we've been able to see each other, so that was a lot of fun. She had not been able to meet Benjamin yet and it was fun to watch her with him. He loved her :)
The night before we headed back to Salt Lake, the Palmer siblings and spouses got together for a group date out to dinner at one of the many casinos around. I believe it's the first time we got to do something like that and I LOVED it. We spent the evening (child-free! The older nieces babysat) together laughing and enjoying each other's company. I married into a wonderful family... I had, while single, hoped that I would one day marry into a warm, strong, close-nit family, and that is exactly who the Palmers are. I love them.
Stephen has just recently finished his first year in grad-school and is wrapping up finals (as we speak even). He has been working so hard to do well and I am proud of him.
The poor guy has had a bit of a rough time this last school year with trying to manage all of his responsibilities and trying to balance his time. He's up most mornings at 4 am so he can go to work to provide for our little family, then he goes to school/works on homework for most of the day so he can provide us a more stable future, and then he comes home, exhausted and worn, and provides me some relief. We have an hour or two together in the evenings after Benjamin is down, and it starts all over again. He never complains. He never lets on how hard it is for him (though I know it is). He is always thinking of Benjamin and I first and does his best to show it. He is the strongest, most selfless person I know and I feel so blessed to call him my husband. I love him...
We have hopes that this next year will be easier since he's dropping his 4 am job in lieu of his paid internships. Only one more year to go!
About two months or so ago, Stephen and I decided that we were not going to hire a doula to aid in the birth of our second child (which we had previously been planning on) because we ran into some unplanned needed car repairs. We had found a doula we felt great about and had a wonderful consultation visit, but just could not make it work at that time.
For those who may not know what a doula is, she is a non-medical person who can assist with the physical, emotional, and spiritual support of a laboring woman. She typically educates on child birth, helps you make informed decisions, helps you explore your birthing options, teaches you relaxation and laboring techniques, and helps support you in your decisions. She is there through labor, delivery, and partial post-partum period to assist you in any way you need. We had decided on hiring one for the birth of our second baby because we felt we needed extra support this time around.
Recently, we've been blessed with an unexpected grant that could cover the cost of a doula and then some, so we've started considering hiring one again. After running across this message from the woman we were looking at, I felt strongly about hiring her again (she is the ICAN chapter leader for Utah County):
"I want everyone in this group to know that no matter the type of birth you have, there is always a place for you here. If you have an elective repeat cesarean, I will support you. If you have a vaginal birth after cesarean, I will support you. If you have a cesarean birth after a trial of labor, I will support you. This is a judgement free support group. No matter the type of birth you have, there is always a place for you here.
"You are not a failure if you have a trial of labor that becomes a cesarean. I (and I hope everyone else here) will never think of you as a failure if you have a repeat cesarean. I want everyone to feel welcome no matter what!
There is never one "right" way to birth. No one decision is right for every birthing woman or birth situation. This is why information is so important. Having all the information to make an informed decision that is right for you and your situation, is what is important. Feeling cared for and supported no matter your decisions is what is important.
"There has not been any incidence of judgement within the group thus far (thank you for this!!!). I just need each of you to know where I stand as the chapter leader. Too often I hear women say "I feel like I failed" in reference to having a cesarean. I do not want any of you to feel this way! I want you to feel like you did what you needed to do to have your baby. We do the best we can with the information we have at the time. We do what we need to do to have the outcome we believe to be the most beneficial. Sometimes birth requires us to make difficult decisions. Making those decisions in critical moments makes you a strong woman, not the way you birth.
"There is so much I wish I could express to each of you who have had a cesarean birth. I just don't have the words to express this love and admiration adequately. I want you to know that I have a great love and admiration for women who have cesarean births. Birthing women are amazing, not because a baby comes out of their vagina, but because they grew a human inside of their body and now they must birth the baby in whatever way that baby needs to come. Sometimes that means being cut open for the baby to be born. A cesarean birth is still a birth and not any less difficult (or courageous or amazing....) than a vaginal birth. I believe there is a moment during (almost every birth, it probably doesn't always happen) birth when the woman has a feeling of helplessness and despair and somehow we come out of that. We gather our strength and move above the helplessness and despair to bring new life. It doesn't matter how you birth, somewhere you find that strength. Sometimes it doesn't come when you need it, sometimes the helplessness and despair stays for a long time. If you feel this helplessness and despair, I want you to know I am here for you. Please lean on me. Please come to me. I will support you. I will help you. I will not leave you alone."
To someone who may not have suffered from a traumatic birth experience, this might sound cookey (I would probably think the same, if I hadn't experienced what I did with the birth of my first), but for me, these words were a healing balm. After that, I knew I just had to have this woman's help. Lucky for us, she still had an opening in July! I firmly believe that God knew what I would need to be able to have a better experience this time around and helped me to cross paths with this woman. His hand is ALWAYS in the details of our lives.
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Our Little Monkey has Turned One!
This last year has flown by much too quickly. I have been extremely excited about Benjamin's first birthday and have also been dreading it. Hopefully as I try to take lots of time to appreciate all the small and simple things about his development and growth, time will slow down a little. My biggest fear is that I'll wake up tomorrow and will be sending my boy off to college, wondering where the time went and regretting it.
Anyway, so I have totally been that crazy mom I swore I wouldn't be -the one who throws an elaborate, time-consuming party for a one year old who wont remember a thing (much less care about it). I freely admit my hypocrisy. I will say this though; I LOVED it. I had been thinking about and planning all of the details of Benjamin's first birthday party for weeks (Stephen did a fabulous job at trying to be attentive and match my excitement as I went over ideas with him again and again. He's pretty much the greatest.). With the help of one of my sisters (who pretty much saved me from insanity with her ability to be practical), I made all of the decorations for the party, which was easily one of my favorite parts about the whole planning ordeal. It was way fun for me to use my "elementary school teacher creativity" in creating and organizing said decorations (a stay-at-home mom's education is never wasted, but that is a blog post/rant for another day).
I also branched out of my comfort zone and learned how to sort-of make a decent looking cake. It wasn't too bad for a first attempt. I just found this adorable picture of a monkey cake (for Benjamin) online and knew I had to give it a shot. Stephen was my hero and ran all over creation to find me the candy bananas I wanted for the cupcakes (for everyone else). He was my hero many times, come to think of it...bless that man. Only he could be married to a woman like me. Love him <3
Of course I cried as we sang happy birthday to Benjamin, and he cried too (he's not a fan of sudden, loud noises). It took him a little while to warm up to the idea of smashing cake in between his fingers, but once he did, that poor monkey was demolished within minutes. The cake smashing was easily my favorite moment.
Despite the Palmer clan being miserably sick, the party was a success! Benjamin got some much needed new clothes and some fun toys, thanks to all his loving family members and friends.
Some fun one-year facts about Benjamin:
Anyway, so I have totally been that crazy mom I swore I wouldn't be -the one who throws an elaborate, time-consuming party for a one year old who wont remember a thing (much less care about it). I freely admit my hypocrisy. I will say this though; I LOVED it. I had been thinking about and planning all of the details of Benjamin's first birthday party for weeks (Stephen did a fabulous job at trying to be attentive and match my excitement as I went over ideas with him again and again. He's pretty much the greatest.). With the help of one of my sisters (who pretty much saved me from insanity with her ability to be practical), I made all of the decorations for the party, which was easily one of my favorite parts about the whole planning ordeal. It was way fun for me to use my "elementary school teacher creativity" in creating and organizing said decorations (a stay-at-home mom's education is never wasted, but that is a blog post/rant for another day).
I also branched out of my comfort zone and learned how to sort-of make a decent looking cake. It wasn't too bad for a first attempt. I just found this adorable picture of a monkey cake (for Benjamin) online and knew I had to give it a shot. Stephen was my hero and ran all over creation to find me the candy bananas I wanted for the cupcakes (for everyone else). He was my hero many times, come to think of it...bless that man. Only he could be married to a woman like me. Love him <3
Of course I cried as we sang happy birthday to Benjamin, and he cried too (he's not a fan of sudden, loud noises). It took him a little while to warm up to the idea of smashing cake in between his fingers, but once he did, that poor monkey was demolished within minutes. The cake smashing was easily my favorite moment.
Despite the Palmer clan being miserably sick, the party was a success! Benjamin got some much needed new clothes and some fun toys, thanks to all his loving family members and friends.
Some fun one-year facts about Benjamin:
- He walks with both arms raised above his shoulders, next to his ears, with his hands in tight fists (it's hilarious). He took his first independent steps at 11 months old and has just recently started toddling around completely on his own.
- An absolute favorite thing of his is bath time. He will stand eagerly at the side of the tub, and bounce up and down, squealing with excitement while we fill it up.
- Another favorite thing of his is reading. The kid is one of my own and loves books! I once watched him (while he was in the tub) try to "read" one of his bath-books to a toy frog. SO stinking cute.
- He says "Mama" and, occasionally, "Dada." He even once swatted at Stephen and told him "No!" That was only a one-time occurrence, but we suppose it's only a matter of time...
- He is a very spirited little boy and loves to discover and explore things. He is also quite the "talker" and is almost constantly babbling to himself or to Stephen and I. He is a happy little guy.
- Favorite foods are bananas, cheerios, bread and peanut butter, and carrots. He absolutely hates peaches, peas, and the skins on grapes and mandarin oranges.
- He dislikes being restricted in his explorations, like when we have to pull him out of the dishwasher after he's climbed inside while we were loading it, or when we have to take him out of the bathroom after he's gone fishing in the toilet. He gets quite upset.
- He is terrified of the vacuum cleaner. Just pulling it out of the closet will cause Benjamin to shake like a leaf and cry. Confession: Sometimes, when I am particularly frustrated with Benjamin, I think about pulling it out and turning it on (don't worry, I'm not mean enough to actually do it).
- While a total Mama's boy when he was younger, he now can hear his daddy come home from a mile away and all but run to him, squealing with excitement along the way. It's probably the cutest thing I get to see every day.
- He will become a big brother in July, and likely a great one :) He has a little baby doll that whenever it "cries" (we make a soft crying sound), he stops what he's doing, goes and finds the doll, and (most of the time) gives it "loves" (sometimes he'll suck on it's face...maybe that's a kiss???).
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Tender Mercies: The big things ARE the little things.
I have been thinking an awful lot lately about tender mercies. Probably because my little family has been in desperate need of them and we have witnessed countless lately. My heart is bursting at the seams with witnesses of God's love for me-so much that I felt a great need to dump it all out (excuse the disorganization. The purpose of this post is to "dump," not necessarily to create the world's best journal entry).
This last Christmas Eve, Stephen and I took Benjamin to my father's graveside to leave a poinsettia. The entire cemetery was covered with a sheet of ice and a foot of snow (in some places 2 or 3 feet), but we wandered within the general area we knew my father's headstone to be, hoping we'd find it anyway. After a while of digging and searching, I started to feel discouraged and even a little heartbroken. How on earth could we possibly find it?! I couldn't even explain why it mattered so much to me that we do find it, I only knew that it just did.
I silently said a little prayer (as did Stephen, though at the time I didn't know it) and wandered around some more, doubtful. My sweet and determined husband began digging with his bare hands and after another few minutes, I said, "We're not going to find it. Let's just go."
Just then, a car pulled up next to ours and two women got out. They began digging and searching in the same area we were and I overheard one of them mention that "The Gillette's are over here somewhere."This especially caught my attention: my paternal grandmother's maiden name is Gillette and she and my grandfather were buried right next to my father. I went over to the women, introduced myself, and learned that one of the women is a cousin of my father's. She knew where my father's headstone was and said that we were looking too far back. We started digging in the area she suggested and almost immediately uncovered my dad's headstone.
There is a God in heaven and He does hear us. The tiny, silly things that matter to us matter to Him and He is always looking for ways to bless our lives with the knowledge that He cares and loves us, that He is aware of us. We just need to be still and quiet, and watch and learn. I believe that with every fiber of my being.
As I've mentioned before, when we found out we were expecting our second child, one of my many worries was being able to have the strength and energy to still thoroughly enjoy my firstborn's stages and growth. Well, God didn't bless me with a sick-and-fatigue-free pregnancy, BUT He did (and still is) blessing me with the ability to see and appreciate the small moments. Like when I'm in the bathroom, throwing up the breakfast I had just managed to choke down, and my son comes crawling down the hallway after me, peering around the door frame to give me one of his melt-your-heart smiles. Or when I'm so tired I can barely move, so I curl up on the couch with Benjamin and a pile of books and get to hear his squeals of delight as we turn the pages (this only lasts for a few minutes, but they are a blissful few minutes). Or when I randomly get a spurt of energy and we dance in the kitchen while attempting to get something together for dinner; I feel like I want to die five minutes later, but the cheers and grins from Benjamin make it worth it. Or when I'm unbelievably exhausted and just can't chase after him, I get the chance to sit back and watch Benjamin discover his world (his favorite is currently emptying the tupperware drawer in the kitchen), both of us fascinated. Those small and simple everyday moments are what hold me together and help me to feel like I'm not "missing out" on the joys and wonders of the first year.
Tender mercies.
I've become somewhat of an obsessed researcher as I've been trying to do EVERYTHING in my power to have a better experience with labor/delivery with this second baby (for those of you who don't know, my delivery with Benjamin was pretty horrific). Anyway, Stephen and I have been looking into hiring a doula to help us achieve this. The doula we're considering gave us some information that led us to think about switching clinics where we were receiving prenatal care to optimize our chances of having the delivery experience we're hoping for. After looking at the new clinic's web page, we learned that they did not accept our insurance. I was pretty discouraged. One morning I had the thought to call the clinic, just to see. To my great surprise, they actually were taking new patients with our insurance! I immediately made an appointment and they got us in the very next day. Tender mercies. After visiting with two of the doctors there, I was already feeling hopeful and excited (something I did not feel at our previous clinic). They made my concerns feel valid, took into account my thoughts and opinions, and helped me to feel positive about attempting VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean). Tender mercies.
Throughout this pregnancy, Stephen and I have had experiences and feelings that led us to firmly believe that we were having a daughter. We were convinced. When we went in for a "fun ultrasound" (as they called it, since the primary purpose was to just let us see the baby and potentially discover the sex of the baby) I found myself very anxious. There were a LOT of people banking on this baby being a girl (Stephen and I included), and I was worried that if it wasn't, disappointment would override excitement. I loved watching my little black and grey blob wiggling around on the ultrasound screen, trying to hide from the poking and prodding. I immediately felt a new sense of attachment as I made out little hands and feet on the screen, which is another tender mercy for me considering I had been having a hard time accepting this pregnancy to begin with. I was in love.
I knew the baby was a boy before the technician announced it. Instead of feeling my heart drop with disappointment like I thought it might, I felt a surge of gratitude. I was unbelievably grateful for the blessing of having a body that could even create this miracle, grateful that I was a mother, grateful that I was finally happy and excited about this new baby, and grateful that Benjamin would have a little brother to play with.
Tender mercies.
This last Christmas Eve, Stephen and I took Benjamin to my father's graveside to leave a poinsettia. The entire cemetery was covered with a sheet of ice and a foot of snow (in some places 2 or 3 feet), but we wandered within the general area we knew my father's headstone to be, hoping we'd find it anyway. After a while of digging and searching, I started to feel discouraged and even a little heartbroken. How on earth could we possibly find it?! I couldn't even explain why it mattered so much to me that we do find it, I only knew that it just did.
I silently said a little prayer (as did Stephen, though at the time I didn't know it) and wandered around some more, doubtful. My sweet and determined husband began digging with his bare hands and after another few minutes, I said, "We're not going to find it. Let's just go."
Just then, a car pulled up next to ours and two women got out. They began digging and searching in the same area we were and I overheard one of them mention that "The Gillette's are over here somewhere."This especially caught my attention: my paternal grandmother's maiden name is Gillette and she and my grandfather were buried right next to my father. I went over to the women, introduced myself, and learned that one of the women is a cousin of my father's. She knew where my father's headstone was and said that we were looking too far back. We started digging in the area she suggested and almost immediately uncovered my dad's headstone.
There is a God in heaven and He does hear us. The tiny, silly things that matter to us matter to Him and He is always looking for ways to bless our lives with the knowledge that He cares and loves us, that He is aware of us. We just need to be still and quiet, and watch and learn. I believe that with every fiber of my being.
As I've mentioned before, when we found out we were expecting our second child, one of my many worries was being able to have the strength and energy to still thoroughly enjoy my firstborn's stages and growth. Well, God didn't bless me with a sick-and-fatigue-free pregnancy, BUT He did (and still is) blessing me with the ability to see and appreciate the small moments. Like when I'm in the bathroom, throwing up the breakfast I had just managed to choke down, and my son comes crawling down the hallway after me, peering around the door frame to give me one of his melt-your-heart smiles. Or when I'm so tired I can barely move, so I curl up on the couch with Benjamin and a pile of books and get to hear his squeals of delight as we turn the pages (this only lasts for a few minutes, but they are a blissful few minutes). Or when I randomly get a spurt of energy and we dance in the kitchen while attempting to get something together for dinner; I feel like I want to die five minutes later, but the cheers and grins from Benjamin make it worth it. Or when I'm unbelievably exhausted and just can't chase after him, I get the chance to sit back and watch Benjamin discover his world (his favorite is currently emptying the tupperware drawer in the kitchen), both of us fascinated. Those small and simple everyday moments are what hold me together and help me to feel like I'm not "missing out" on the joys and wonders of the first year.
Tender mercies.
I've become somewhat of an obsessed researcher as I've been trying to do EVERYTHING in my power to have a better experience with labor/delivery with this second baby (for those of you who don't know, my delivery with Benjamin was pretty horrific). Anyway, Stephen and I have been looking into hiring a doula to help us achieve this. The doula we're considering gave us some information that led us to think about switching clinics where we were receiving prenatal care to optimize our chances of having the delivery experience we're hoping for. After looking at the new clinic's web page, we learned that they did not accept our insurance. I was pretty discouraged. One morning I had the thought to call the clinic, just to see. To my great surprise, they actually were taking new patients with our insurance! I immediately made an appointment and they got us in the very next day. Tender mercies. After visiting with two of the doctors there, I was already feeling hopeful and excited (something I did not feel at our previous clinic). They made my concerns feel valid, took into account my thoughts and opinions, and helped me to feel positive about attempting VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean). Tender mercies.
Throughout this pregnancy, Stephen and I have had experiences and feelings that led us to firmly believe that we were having a daughter. We were convinced. When we went in for a "fun ultrasound" (as they called it, since the primary purpose was to just let us see the baby and potentially discover the sex of the baby) I found myself very anxious. There were a LOT of people banking on this baby being a girl (Stephen and I included), and I was worried that if it wasn't, disappointment would override excitement. I loved watching my little black and grey blob wiggling around on the ultrasound screen, trying to hide from the poking and prodding. I immediately felt a new sense of attachment as I made out little hands and feet on the screen, which is another tender mercy for me considering I had been having a hard time accepting this pregnancy to begin with. I was in love.
Tender mercies.
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