To all the mothers

May 11, 2014. Mother’s Day.

Terror. Disbelief. Awe. The words I had were few at first as only the tears flowing from my eyes conveyed the overwhelming fear that had began to consume me while we stood there staring at a tiny pale plus sign. So much was going to change, things that I wasn’t sure I was ready to let go of would be gone before I knew it. For a brief moment I sat and cried, nestled in the arms of my beloved. Then I quickly found my words. I vocalized my fears as best I could, the reality being that there existed a fear of talking about some of those fears. I wasn’t even a mother yet and I knew there was a stigma associated with admitting less than joyful feelings at the arrival of the pitter patter of little feet.

From May 11, 2014 until January 15, 2015 at 9:31 in the morning I carried the weight of that fear in my heart. This isn’t to say I was never happy or excited because I was, but those joyous feelings were so fleeting. I spent the better part of 40 weeks feeling disappointed, ashamed, and afraid. That is until 9:32 in the morning on a foggy January morning when I saw him for the first time.

The saying “love at first sight” has always seemed like folklore to me, it’s a fabulous detail to sprinkle over a fairytale but highly far fetched for reality. Yet there I laid after 27 hours of labor and wept at the mere sight of my baby boy. From that very first second I loved every single part of him.

All the fears I had didn’t wash away instantly but rather they slowly subsided day by day as my confidence in myself as a mother began to grow. I began to trust my instincts more and I learned that being a mother is truly remarkable innate experience. Its as though a switch deep within myself had been flipped into “mother mode.” I would see the amazement in Tycen’s eyes when I tended to Hayes and knew exactly what he needed, almost like autopilot. I wasn’t sure how I knew what to do, I just knew it.

I have been blessed with such a happy little boy, although I should use the term little lightly as he seems to be a rather giant baby. He has such a zeal for laughter and storytelling. That smile. Nothing makes me feel more loved by my sweet little Hayes than when he flashes me the face consuming, ear to ear grin and I get a glimpse at the single trait he got from mama, his dimples.

A mother’s love is unlike any other. I remember when I was younger, being a teenage brat and fighting with my mom, a common quip from her was always, “I can’t wait until you’re a parent, then you’ll know!” I’m sure she was cursing me with bratty teenagers but the saying is no longer falling on deaf ears. I am a mother now mom, so I do know. I know what an endless love feels like and the true capacities of the human heart. I know what it means to love someone completely. I know what it like to mourn the loss of my tiny baby every single day yet at the same time feel overjoyed and ecstatic about the new discoveries he’s making. I love watching him grow and learn. To know that my own mother loves me in this same way fills my heart with even more love.

I feel that today isn’t just about appreciation, although there is a mountain of things we can appreciate our mom’s for. Tycen knows, he played mister mom yesterday, it was doozy of a day so I hear. To me today is a celebration for all of us mothers, for the growth and understanding we gain as a result of heading forward on this crazy journey known as parenthood. It is a day we can reflect on where we started and how far we’ve come. The struggles we have endured, from messy diapers and spit up, to late night homework assignments and broken hearts. No matter the strife I think all of us can say that it was all worth it just for the opportunity to love someone this much.

Nearly a year ago to the day I was frightened, crying, and unsure of myself. Today I am a mom. I’m still crying quite a bit these days but for all the right reasons.

 

 

To my own mom I wish a happy Mother’s Day and the sincerest thank you for helping me become the mom I am today.

Breast is best and you're the worst

Breast is best. Why not? It’s kitschy, it rhymes, and it states a well known scientific fact. I can’t speak for all mom’s but I can speak for myself when I say that I absolutely hate this saying to the very core of my being. If I had been given a dollar for every time that stupid phrase was uttered to me as if it were some sort of miracle solution to my problems, then I’d have Hayes’ first year of college tuition paid for already. Had I actually been paid then I likely would have welcomed the little ditty verses my knee jerk reaction of grinding my teeth and pretending to thank whoever offered up the quip.

I personally believe that as moms we all strive to give our kids the best in life. I’ve only been a mom for a short time but I can’t even begin to describe some of the lengths I’ve gone to already to make sure my baby is getting the very best and I know that I’m not alone in this endeavor.

How many moms before me have sat and researched car seat brands and studied any recalls for hours at a time? How many moms have overpaid for a top of the line baby swing because reviews claimed it was the best one out there? How many moms have taught themselves using youtube videos and pinterest pins how to prepare and store baby food that packed full of nutrients? The very essence of motherhood is going above and beyond measures we ever thought possible and digging down deep within ourselves so that we might give our tiny little loves everything that life has to offer.

I have spoken very candidly about my travails with breastfeeding. I know in my heart of hearts that I fought relentlessly to breastfeed my sweet baby boy. For me to fail at it, this little saying “breast is best” is a reminder that I haven’t done the very best for my child. I have failed him and doomed him for life with the silver medal of infant nourishments. Because of my weakness and my inability to push through the pain he is the one that will suffer the consequences…. no wonder some mom’s fall so quickly into postpartum depression.

Oblivious to all the self loathing that is already taking place, well meaning moms love to share facts and statistics about breastfed babies which is great but it somehow gives me the impression that deep down they themselves believe that I just wasn’t trying hard enough. I can only gather from their persistence that they picture me being just too distracted or busy to devote the kind of time it takes to breastfeed my baby. Perhaps they think that by sharing this tidbit of information about my baby’s brain development or my own weight loss will be just the ticket that sends me over the edge and motivates me to try harder to breastfeed. I mean you know because that whole wanting to give my baby the very best thing in the whole world wasn’t motivation enough.

In all sincerity I applaud any mom that has struggled with breastfeeding as much as I did and were still able to carry on nursing in spite of the torture. Some moms don’t experience that kind of pain at all and I am envious of that. I envy the moms that don’t get blisters on their nipples and the ones that don’t bleed. But I resent anyone who offers up that thoughtless blanket statement, “breast is best,” to me because they don’t know how disciplined I am and how strong willed I can be. Simply put, they don’t know me. If they knew anything about me and they truly understood how much love I have for my sweet boy, then instead of giving me unsolicited advice and repeating information that I’m all too aware of, they would pat me on the back and congratulate me for hanging in there as long as I did.

My Hayes baby is doing marvelously. He is the least picky eater, eats generously and rarely spits up. So he’s not strictly breastfed, so what? He’s as healthy as can be and growing like a weed. That’s all any mom can really ask for.

it isn't always bliss

“I’m like so happy and my life is like so great. I do fun things all the time and like everything is totally perfect for me ALWAYS.”

Scrolling through my never ending feeds on Instagram and Facebook there is an all too common theme of optimism and bliss. Is it really so that all the world around me are living such perfect lives? Could it be that everyone is really that happy and everything is always that great? Or just maybe it is a facade. We all wear social media masks to hide our vulnerabilities and moments of weakness, I’m no different. My blog has always been different however.

Posting smiling selfies on Instagram or a cheery status update on facebook is the norm, yet in my blog I find it easier to be more authentic. In my darkest hours I would spin the pains of my soul into words and pieces for others to read and perhaps find relief or comradery. Now that I’m a mom I have felt an unprecedented desire to keep up with all the other moms. It feels incredibly taboo to ever admit even for just a second that this motherhood thing ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. This fear has spilled over into my blog where I’ve mostly shared mushy lovey gooey feelings about being a mommy. I feel the need to talk about some things that have been on my mind in an effort to quash the belief that admitting dissatisfaction is somehow synonymous with loving my child less.

I miss my freedom. This isn’t to say that I feel like some sort of caged animal plotting and planning my escape but I do miss my life feeling like it was mine. I can’t just throw on some clothes and take off on a jog whenever I want. I can’t run to the grocery store to pick up some toothpaste without the miniscule errand being a big production. I need to make sure that the baby’s bag is ready, the base is in the car, he’s buckled in his car seat and he’s dry and he’s fed and he’s hopefully not fussy, just so that I can lug his car seat out of the car, into the store to buy one stupid tube of toothpaste. Or there’s the other option of finding a sitter, usually my mom or dad, in which case I have to make sure he is dry, fed, and hopefully not fussy before I can even run to the store. Even then it seems ridiculous to have them sit him for me to just buy a tube of toothpaste. So then I have to think, okay what else do I need to buy? How much grocery shopping can I get done? Is this something I really need to buy now or am I buying it just because I don’t know when the next time I’ll have the chance to do this will be?... see how quickly its become a production? Running to the store to buy one thing is no longer something I can do.

I HATE my body. It doesn’t matter how many times I am reminded or reassured by loved ones that my body created, housed, and birthed a miracle, I still hate my body. For the miracle that came out of my body, it sure looks like hell for it. I’ve always struggled with body image issues which might explain why I am always working so hard on making my body look the way I want. Right now my body looks and feels like nothing I have ever wanted. I don’t recognize my breasts, they used to make me feel womanly, feminine and attractive. Now… now they just make me sad. My body feels soft and jiggly everywhere, when I run I can feel my flesh flopping around. Since when is floppy flesh something I’m supposed to be happy about? I’ve already started training again. I have started a lifting schedule and am trying to find a way to fit in some cardio, I have almost completely cleaned up my diet. Once upon a time I trained like this and I lost a pound every week for 12 weeks… its like my body doesn’t know how to lose weight anymore. I feel defeated when I glance down at the scale and see I’ve not only not lost weight, I’ve gained it. Which is normal, it could just be water weight. I also hate being told to get used to it.

Finally, motherhood isn’t always blissful. The stock photos used in all the marketing geared toward ‘mom’s like me’ would have me believe otherwise. The pictures would have me believe that my baby is always going to be happy and staring up at me with wonderment. Or that my baby is going to be sleeping like a sweet little angel whilst I ooo and awe over him. At 4 o’clock in the morning having finally gone to bed at 2, my sweet little angel is up once again. I’ve changed him, fed him, and burped him and yet he’s still screaming in my ear.. where is the wonderment in this scenario stock photos? Where is it then? Where is the stock photo that is supposed to include me and the struggles I’ve had with breast feeding? I’d also like to know for one thing, how on earth does a baby know the difference between me sitting and holding him verses standing up and holding him? Why is standing up so much better for him? I’m still bouncing him, I’m still making all the same noises, what gives? What is so great about me having to stand up??? I’ll never know.

I know that it is the darkest times that make the sweetest times all the more sweeter. It is for that very reason that we encounter hardships in the first place. When that sweet little boy smiles up at me, a smile so big his eyes are almost closed and all his dimples are all accounted for, I quickly forget the sleepless night I just went through and how tired I am. In that moment it all becomes worth it. I love my little baby with all my heart but that doesn’t mean I have to love all the hardships that go along with being a mommy. Admitting that there are things I don’t love about this new stage of life doesn’t mean I love him any less, it just means I am human and admitting that seems pretty fine by me.

Three weeks and two days

Short wispy hair falling in my face, plopping down on pristine white carpet as was in good taste in the early 90’s. It was bright and early on December 25th when I opened up a gift from Santa. It was a water baby, you guys remember those right? I wonder if they still make them. At the ripe age of six I had myself a little baby doll to tote around and pretend to mother. The joy of this gift was short lived as my little brother was opening Hot Wheels racer tracks and Domino Rallies, his gifts were way cooler than my dolly that just sat there. I mean you could put warm water in the doll and it was supposed to feel like a real baby, that was kind of cool I guess. Quickly my little dolly was cast aside as my brother and I began setting up the battery fueled race tracks that we could start spitting cars through.

I’ve never been a big girly girl or the mothering type so to speak. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to an educational path that could make up for what instincts I sincerely felt I was lacking. Some people have Bachelor’s degrees in business or marketing, health or English. Me? My degree was Child and Family Studies. My degree sounds fluffy but the coursework was grueling, so much so that I took a step back and questioned whether I would continue on to my graduate. I learned a lot about relationships and families during my four year stint but no amount of statistics and research, exams or group projects, could have ever prepared me for this crazy thing called parenting.

I have been a mommy for three weeks and two days now. There are a lot of things I didn’t know before hand that I wish I had known so I’ll share some of my experiences.

Recovery is hard:

Being pregnant wasn’t very difficult for me. I side stepped nearly all of the most dreadful symptoms. I wasn’t afraid of being pregnant. Most fears come from the unknown, being pregnant I had books and apps to guide me through each symptom as they occurred. “Feeling a lot of heartburn this week? Here’s why and what you can do to help it!” Likewise I was surrounded by friends, family and coworkers that warned me constantly about how hard the transition to parenthood would be. While their words were terrifying it helped me to mentally prepare myself for the coming sleepless nights, or at least I was able to kid myself into thinking I was prepared.

The one aspect I hadn’t thought over too much was my recovery. I don’t know how I glazed over this “4th Trimester” so easily in my thoughts. It was as though I really thought I would waltz into the delivery room, pop out a baby, and dance back to the car with my bundle of joy and begin my crash course in parenting. What I didn’t consider is the pain. I didn’t realize that I would desperately need those three days in the hospital and that coming home was going to be the scariest thing yet. I see so many new parents expressing excitement at coming home but I had to leave the comfort of the hospital. I would no longer have a call button on my bed and a nursing staff waiting to take care of whatever need I had, no matter how small.

I had severely underestimated how out of shape I had gotten during my pregnancy. Couple that with fresh stitches, a uterus trying to shrink back to normal size, and lack of sleep from hanging out with a newborn 24/7 and I was starting to get the sensation I would never feel well or normal again. I was so tired of being pregnant that I had developed this idealistic image that pushing out the baby would solve all the discomfort I had accumulated while being pregnant. The reality is I was a hell of a lot more comfortable at 40 weeks pregnant than I was 2 weeks postpartum.

I could tell when my four hours was up and it was time for another dose of my pain meds. My prescription was small, no refills. I had assumed that meant by the time my pills were gone would be the same time I no longer needed them… oh how wrong I was. I tried to push it and make the pills last longer, maybe I could go six or eight hours… by the eighth hour it was as though my body were shutting down and the pain would consume me. I’d get the chills like I had the flu and start trembling all over. It is downright impossible to take care of a fussing baby at 4 o’clock in the morning when it feels like you are going to die. Finally I decided to call my doctor and ask for one refill. I was so afraid that I was going to come off like a junkie but the pain simply wasn’t manageable. She granted my wish and I feel like it saved my life because by the time I ran out of my refill I no longer needed them, or at least I felt like I wasn’t going to die anymore without them.

Here at 3 weeks I’m feeling a lot better, definitely not normal yet, but I’m feeling better. I’m still not healed but I finally feel well enough to get out on walks which leaving the house for a walk at this point compared to how I felt just a few short weeks ago is nothing short of miraculous.

Breastfeeding is hard:

Much like recovery I had this illusion that breast feeding just happened. I mean, its nature, its what us mammals do, whip out a nip and let the babies suckel. I thought it would be that simple for me even though I had heard stories of women struggling with it, for hells sakes women close to me had expressed their hardships with it. I was foolish and arrogant enough to believe that wouldn’t happen to me.

The thing about breastfeeding for me is there was little I could do to prepare for it. The lactation specialists kept telling me that I would get “used” to it and that my nipples just had to toughen up. It was so incredibly difficult to go from zero to sixty in such a short amount of time. Literally, no action and then biting, chomping, and sucking every few hours. Three days in and I’m bleeding and blistering, to which the nurses could only tell me I’m not doing it right, that he isn’t latching on properly, but then they would observe me getting him to latch on and they would tell me it looked perfect… if it was perfect then why did it hurt so bad?

At home I continued my efforts to breastfeed. I was determined to get over this hurdle, I had those voices still nagging, “you just have to get used to it,” “its not supposed to hurt,” or “your nipples will toughen up,” but I was failing… I couldn’t do it. For any inquiring male minds find yourself a couple clothespins, clamp down on your nipple till it hurts, release, then clamp that sucker down again, repeat process for ten to fifteen minutes every 3 hours and if you think that hurts, wait until your nipples start bleeding and you still have to clamp a clothespin down on them.

My body was already in so much pain but the babies don’t wait, when they are hungry, they are hungry. I would brace myself for him to latch on because the latching always seemed to hurt the most. The pain was mind numbing and shot through my whole body. I could feel myself tensing up every single muscle in my body as I suffered through nursing. One week after being home I had actually pulled one of my glute muscles from tensing up.

The physical anguish was only half of it. My parals in breastfeeding lead me to my first experience of mom guilt. It hurt so bad to feed him that it almost made me angry. What kind of mother was I? I was resenting my sweet little baby boy because he was hungry. That line of thinking of course made me the worst kind of mother that could possibly exist. I was so upset with the world and all these images of women blissfully nursing their newborns and bonding with their sweet babies, meanwhile there was me crying quietly in the rocking chair trying to let him feed as long as possible so that he could get the nourishment he needed.

I started telling my mom about how much it was hurting and I burst into tears. I was afraid to feed him because it hurt so bad and I knew I wasn’t bonding with him. Finally we gave him a bottle of formula which some kiddos hate, but not my baby boy. If its food, he’ll take it, so long as its not cold. The relief I felt that for one feeding I could take a break. Of course the mom guilt remained because then I’m told that my milk could dry up because I’m not breastfeeding and that once again, I am doing it wrong. A week into parenting and I’m already making the wrong choices. Mom guilt is awful.

Finally I decided to just pump my breast milk. This was no easy task. I set up an alarm on my phone to go off every 3 hours to remind me to sit down and pump some milk for him. I’m sure some specialist out there somewhere is reading this and thinking that I did it wrong. But wouldn’t you know it, at his two week check up he gained nearly a pound, so my sweet little boy was doing just fine and getting plenty of food.

The pump was so much more gentle and after taking a week or twos break from nursing him, all my sores healed up and I was able to breastfeed him the other day without being in excruciating pain, which felt miraculous as well.

The only hardship I am facing now is that it seems like my supply is diminishing. I’ve looked into foods I can incorporate into my diet to help pump up the supply but I am to a point that if I dry up then I dry up. It is so incredibly hard when it feels like everyone around me is an expert at this breastfeeding stuff and everyone wants to offer me advice, the likes of which I have already heard over and over and over again. To any well wishers, whatever tips and tricks you think you have that I haven’t heard, I’ll stop you there, I’ve heard it and while I appreciate the intentions behind it I can say that the advice only makes me feel worse, not better.

There is no going back to normal:

What I knew as my normal no longer exists and the way things were before never will be again. Life is rather fluid anyhow, always changing and evolving, there is always a new normal to get used to right around the corner. I had a bishop that always used to say there was no parking in the comfort zone and there really isn’t, because just as I get used to this new phase of life my little boy will continue to change and grow, and I will have to change and grow with him.

Even though I have been with my sweet boy all day and all night, it hadn’t quite settled in that he was mine and that I was his. That is until the pediatrician’s office called me and the girl on the other end asked, “Is this Hayes’ mom?”... yes… yes it is. Its kind of like when you’ve just had a birthday. For a whole year you’ve told people you’re 27 and now all of a sudden you have to remind yourself that, oh yeah, I’m 28 now. Maybe that’s an odd way of describing it but that’s sort of what it feels like. Oh yeah, I’m a mom now.

We were watching the superbowl last week, Tycen and my parents and I gathered around a flat screen eager to see a good game and of course the highly anticipated commercials. History has proven to have hilarious commercials in between game play. I can say that I don’t remember a single funny commercial because I was reduced to fits of tears as a result of the mushy advertisements designed to tug at your heart strings. I felt blind sided. I’ve always been kind of tenderhearted and have been known to tear up a bit, there isn’t a Disney movie out there that hasn’t brought me to at least one or two tears. I’ll never forget that superbowl. A softened acoustic version of that 80’s song, a sweet little puppy befriending a clydesdale. It was a freaking beer commercial for hell’s sakes! The commercial was meant to make you feel, but I felt way WAY too much! Tears were streaming and before I knew it was bawling. I wish I could say that was the only commercial that did that to me but the truth is I had an emotional break down seven times that day… I guess that’s part of my new normal.

My new normal means sleeping a lot less. My once coveted 9 hours of sleep is now reduced to 4 hour stints, if I’m lucky. It means I no longer put myself or my needs first. Showers take a back seat, eating takes a back seat, laundry and cleaning, relaxing, watching tv, writing blogs… all take a back seat when that little guy needs me. My new days drag on and yet are moving incredibly fast at the same time. My new body feels like a nightmare. I’m soft and squishy and my dreams of fitness and the stage seem so far away. My new normal is really really hard… but it isn’t bleak, in fact it is far from it.

My new normal means a sweet little human that hears my voice and will crane his neck just to see me. I have a tiny person that is soothed when held in my arms and snuggles into me until he drifts off to sleep. My new normal has me loving in ways I never knew possible. My new normal is so full of love that there isn’t anything I would ever trade to have my old normal back, as hard as my new normal is, it is the best normal I could ever hope for. It is a normal that will only get better.

Sweet baby Hayes

One whole week ago my life became more beautiful and complete in a way that I never could have imagined. I fretted over responsibilities and sacrifices leading up to the birth of my baby all the while trying to dream of the tiny little being that I was told would be worth all of it.

January 13th, 6:30 AM

I had been feeling some severe pains on my right side. I was certain it wasn’t labor pain because of the location of the pain but that knowledge didn’t make it hurt any less. There wasn’t a position I could lay down in that would alleviate the pain and walking or standing was near impossible. I text Tycen and told him how much I was hurting and he took it upon himself to look up possible diagnoses for my predicament. The thing about looking up ailments on WebMD is all the answers are death and destruction. I told Tycen that although I was in a lot of pain that I thought it was normal and the pain I was experiencing wasn’t one of the “3 reasons to go to the hospital” that my doctor had described.

He produced the possible diagnosis that I had a potential rupture or a tear in my placenta which would mean the baby would be losing oxygen and could suffer irreparable harm or worse, death… yeah, that was enough to get me out of bed and on my way to the hospital. I woke my mom up and had her drive me there. Tycen cut out of work an hour early to meet us. I had already had a false alarm visit to the hospital a week or two before so I was really hoping this visit would prove to be the real thing and not another oopsy.

We got all checked in and the nurse hooked me up to the monitors and there it was, my baby’s heartbeat, going strong as ever. In all honesty I really didn’t think I needed to be there. The pain I was feeling was something the doctor told me to expect, all those abdominal walls being stretched out can and will cause some sharp, shooting sensations. After all the scary things Tycen had read online though I was still pretty relieved that everything was okay. The good news was my baby was healthy and doing just fine but the bad news was my cervix hadn’t budged a centimeter in the two hours I was there so they wouldn’t admit me. Once again I would make the walk of shame out the hospital and have gotten my family all worked up again for no reason, embarrassing...

All the more frustrating was that I had my final appointment with my doctor later that morning. I had hoped my little surprise visit to the ER would mean I would be exempt from another invasive check up but alas my doctor still wanted to see me, protocol I suppose. Because of all the running around that morning I never got much sleep, I was so exhausted, that and I had been experiencing braxton hicks contractions all day…

January 14th, 4:00 AM

I woke up to some serious pain in my hips, lower back, and groin. The pain was very reminiscent of the pain I had felt a couple weeks before, it was a pain that had me convinced I was in labor but alas I was sent home from the hospital that time as well. I let Tycen know that I was hurting because hey, dads need to be informed of that kind of stuff. I was able to move around a little bit and get back to sleep.

9:30 AM

I couldn’t sleep any longer. The pain was radiating and it was getting to be rhythmic. I could expect moments of reprieve but then the pain would come back. I hurried and downloaded a contraction timer app and began timing the waves of pain. My intervals were all over the place. Sometimes the pain would come in 10 minutes, followed by more in 8, then again in 7, then next up to 15, then back down to 8, ect. Allll over the place. Since the timing wasn’t exact I didn’t want to make much of a fuss, especially where I had already gone to the hospital for a false alarm the day before, so I went about my business that day.

I got a phone call from my doctor’s office letting me know that they had scheduled an induction for me for the following week on the 20th, inwardly I laughed. There was no way this kiddo was waiting until then. I spent most of the day in bed pretending that I wasn’t having contractions, I resented and refused the humiliation of being sent home again. I did get brave enough at one point to go to Walmart with my mom, luckily I got to push the cart so whenever the pain came I had something there to help me stand.

I told Tycen about the pain I was in, his level of concern mimicked mine. He asked if my water had broken and I told him it hadn’t, but I kept praying it would because the pain was getting harder and harder to deal with.

7:30 PM

My mom had had it. Where all afternoon she had thought me to be napping as I silently endured each wave of excruciating pain, by that evening I had begun to whimper and cry through my torment. She insisted I get in the car with her and go to the hospital. I pleaded with her that  I couldn’t handle one more painful yet fruitless pelvic exam. I had begun to doubt my cervix would ever let my baby out. My mom reasoned that our first trip to the hospital was my call and the second trip to the hospital was daddy’s call, well this third trip to the hospital was her call and she didn’t care if it came on the heels of a visit the day before.

I told Tycen that we were headed to the hospital fortunately he wasn’t at work at the time so he met us there. Once he saw how much pain I was in I think he started taking this little trip to the hospital more seriously. Things were so tense. I was worried about being sent home, my mom was worried about being the reason for dragging me to the hospital, and Tycen was worried about whether or not he would have to try and get his graveyard shift covered that evening. All our spirits were dampened even more when the nurse came in to check my cervix and I was still sitting at a lousy 2 cm, just like I had been the day before.

“And your water hasn’t broken?” She asked. I shook my head because I thought it hadn’t. From what I knew about the water breaking is it is gooey and thick, not like the actual consistency of water. I was in pain but I hadn’t had that fail proof sign I was in active labor, which was lousy because if my water had broken they would admit me regardless of my stubborn cervix.

The nurse was so sweet and she felt my plight, I was obviously having contractions and I was clearly suffering some serious pain but their policy would not allow them to admit me unless my cervix dilated one more centimeter. We had gone through this motion before, two hours of sitting there waiting for something to happen, only to be checked again to discover that nothing was happening. After how the two previous visits to the hospital went Tycen was visibly frustrated and I don’t think it helped that he had to watch me suffer in so much pain.

“Can’t you guys just induce her?”

The nurse explained that since this was my first pregnancy that hospital protocol prohibited them from inducing me prior to 40 weeks gestation… her explanation sent us all into a near rage, my due date was the next day! Literally, 3 more hours and I would be 40 weeks gestation! It was maddening to know that there was nothing they could do. The nurse suggested we go for a walk.

Tycen and I were determined to get this baby out. They unhooked the monitors, gave me another gown, and we walked. In circles we walked and walked and walked. The walking had helped regulate my contractions. Like clockwork every 4 minutes I would stop, grab onto the railing and get really quiet, just breathing, once the pain subsided we would continue walking. I mostly talked about food. I was so incredibly hungry but with all the pain I had been in throughout the day I just hadn’t managed to sit down and eat much. I talked all about the things I wanted to eat and it didn’t help that every so often on our rounds we would pass the nurses station where they were eating something that smelled incredibly delicious. Periodically Tycen demanded I stop and do some deep squats, which lets be honest, at 39.6 weeks gestation was not fun, but whatever it took.

The moment of truth came when we had arrived back at my room and the nurse had come back in to check my cervix. It was silent as each of us were praying that this was it. One single tiny insignificant metric system centimeter was all that was standing between my relief and my humiliation… SUCCESS! We were at a 3! WE WERE GOING TO HAVE OUR BABY!

11:45 PM

They escorted me to my new room, the room that I would be delivering my baby in. Even though the contractions were still coming on very strong, I felt so much relief knowing that I wasn’t going home and that soon I would get the epidural and could get some rest. After all the past 48 hours I hadn’t gotten much sleep. The room was massive and I mean, MASSIVE. I asked if all their birthing suites were that large and they told me they only had two rooms that big, I was lucky enough to get one of them.

The pain was getting worse and I was aching for that blessed epidural. At one point during my pregnancy I had entertained the idea of going naturally, but we had done little to prepare for that. I applaud any woman who has delivered naturally because the contractions alone were killing me, I couldn’t imagine how much worse the pain could be to feel everything as you push a baby out… uhg.

We sat there listening to the heartbeat on the monitor and they began hooking me up to IV’s when there was a knock on the door, I was so excited because I thought it was the anesthesiologist. Oh the disappointment I felt at seeing my mom, although I know Tycen was glad to see her, she had returned with his food. He got Del Taco and I got ice chips…. yay…

I got my epidural shortly thereafter but even with a numb lower half I still couldn’t sleep. How could anyone sleep really? Well actually, Tycen slept, but for only about an hour or two. I laid there just thinking about how much everything was going to change. I wondered if I could handle it. I kept thinking of this little human inside me that I was finally going to be able to meet.

Every other hour a nurse would enter the room to check on my vitals as well as my baby’s. There were a couple times the baby’s heart rate dropped which was another reason I couldn’t sleep, I wanted to make sure everything was okay. The nurses changed my position and that seemed to fix the problem. From there on out it was just a very anxious waiting game.

January 15th, 5:00 AM

I was exhausted and my voice had become raspy. I’m so glad I had made the decision to get the epidural because had I not I think I would have been in labor for 3 days and I’m certain when it came time to push I wouldn’t have had any ounce of strength to do so. All I wanted to do was sleep. The nurse came in to check me and measured me at 5 cm, it seemed as though the petocin was working its magic and moving things along nicely.

6:00 AM

The nurse came in and checked me and measured me at 10 cm. I’ll never forget the look on Tycen’s face, it was a mix of terror and panic. The nurse calmed him and by letting him know that while I was at a 10, the baby was only at grade 1 or something to that effect. Basically the baby hadn’t quite dropped into full blown birthing position yet which meant more and more waiting. Although occasionally they would have me do some practice pushes in order to get the baby to drop down into a more “ready” position for when my doctor arrived.

8:45 AM

A nurse I hadn’t seen came in with a table full of instruments followed by a rolling vessel for my baby… my heart was racing because I knew it was going to happen soon. That breathing and pushing, I’d seen it on movies and TV shows, I’d heard about it from family and friends, and now it was my turn. I felt anxious and excited but I felt scared and unsure. There is no going back, this is going to happen and I hope to high heaven I can do this.

9:00 AM

My doctor had arrived. She joked and laughed about how she had a feeling that scheduling my induction date would help move things along and sure enough it had! I asked her how often babies are born on their actual due date and she estimated roughly 5% of the time. Wow. What a lucky little babe!

9:15 AM

My doctor was all ready to go. Tycen was by my side, coaching me as was my doctor, to bear down and push through each contraction. I held my breath and did what I thought was pushing, honestly, I couldn’t feel anything so I had no idea. This was it. The nurses all knew that we didn’t want to know the gender of our baby so they all promised not to say anything and to just have my doctor hold our baby up and show us so we could see for ourselves. A second contraction came, I held my breath and pushed and pushed and pushed. My baby’s head was coming out at a weird angle which was slowing things down, but my doctor was certain that this third contraction we would have our baby out. Three more big pushes and I heard a cry.

9:32 AM

In my doctors gloved hands I saw a bloody, messy, screaming baby… a little boy. I sobbed.

I had hired a photographer to capture all these moments in the delivery room and bless her for doing what she does because I cherish all the pictures. In my head I was going to have perfect hair and make up and I would have a serene look on my face. Instead I had bags under my eyes from three sleepless nights, a sweaty messy bun, and in nearly every picture I’m ugly crying. Not blissful tears, oh no, I was sobbing like a little baby that whole morning. Tycen wasn’t fighting off the tears either, he wanted a little boy so bad and there he was, our little baby boy. He was swollen, bloody, and had a cone shaped head, but he was perfect there laying on my chest as they cleaned him up. January 15th, 9:32 AM, 8 lbs 1 oz, 20 ½ inches, Hayes Bryan PoVey made his way into this world.

In an attempt to quell all my fears and anxieties about motherhood I would often dream of the little person that resided in my belly. The perfect little person I dreamt up doesn’t even come close to how wonderful my sweet little baby boy is. My baby is so much more than perfect and somehow the word love as powerful and encompassing as it is, seems to fall short of expressing what I feel for this tiny human. I watch him sleep and I cry when I think about how much I love him. My whole world is forever changed. Its incredibly challenging right now. I’m running on fumes most days and I’m still trying to recover from the trauma that is delivery, but I would never in a million years go back to the life I had before him. I feel so lucky that I was picked to be this little boys mommy… I am not just someone's mommy, I am his mommy. Now it finally is a happy mothers day.

Finally feeling ready

I can feel it, the end is nigh. That is to say the end of this pregnancy anyhow. I haven’t felt an overwhelming feeling to nest. I’ve collected things, gathered items, and rearranged my room, none of which was frenzied and all took place sporadically. Tonight it hit me though. I was overcome by this feeling that I didn’t have enough baby clothes. Luckily for me and my credit card the feeling has come late at night, prohibiting me from hitting up all the baby apparel shops. Although if I wake up feeling this same way I don’t know that my money will be safe.

It is this overwhelming sensation that has me believing I am in my final nesting stages and that this baby is coming soon. I am torn between the part of me that is so ready for this baby to be out of me and the small part of me that doesn’t feel ready for the undertaking that is motherhood. I have had many women tell me to enjoy this special time when baby is nestled safe in my tummy, cautioning that I’ll miss it when its over.

Sometimes it feels impossible to enjoy being pregnant, especially at 38 weeks. I miss feeling like my body was my own and like I have control over it. There seem to be a lot of things my body does these days that all I can do is shrug my shoulders at. I miss exercising and I mean real exercising, not this whimpy walking crap. I can’t wait to start seriously lifting again and pushing my body to the limit. I miss being able to shave my legs and put on my shoes without a struggle, hell I miss being able to actually wear most of my shoes. I miss fitting into my clothes, my cute clothes. Buying clothes and dressing up used to be fun, lately it just kind of feels like, “well this is as good as its gonna get.” I miss sleeping on my tummy and I miss being able to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. And sushi… oh how I have missed sushi.

If I had to think about the things I would miss about being pregnant… hmm… Well I will miss all the junk food. I’ve been pretty strict with what I’ve eaten for years now. I limit the amount of times that I partake in scrumptious high caloric delights, but being pregnant? Suffice it to say I can eat a whole package of Oreos and not feel an ounce of guilt. I feel a lot of this guiltless eating is due in part to the other thing I’ll miss. Right now is the only time in my life it is socially acceptable for me to gain weight. Seriously. I pack on the pounds and no one even bats an eye. I get told all day how cute I am or how small I look, the fact I’ve steadily gained weight for 9 months and I’m still getting compliments is astounding!  While I’m talking about food and gaining weight, I am going to miss midnight snacks. Nothing has helped me sleep better than a full belly right before bedtime. I am not looking forward to going to bed hungry. Oye, dieting.

I’ll miss my little baby moving around in my tummy. I remember moments laying there and worrying because I hadn’t felt a movement in a while, right on cue my little wiggle worm would stretch, kick or punch. The first movements were so distinct and Tycen couldn’t feel them at first. I would always reach for his hand when I felt the baby moving, hoping he would finally feel it. For weeks he couldn’t feel anything and was convinced I was making all the movements up. One morning I grabbed his hand before he could say anything and put it right on my tummy and he felt it, he felt the baby kick.

I bid a fond farewell to all the aches and pains, the weight gains, and the constant need to pee. Adios to hot flashes, breathlessness, and unrelenting heartburn. Sayonara runny nose, itchy skin, and swollen feet. I will probably miss being pregnant, like all the other pregnant women before me have warned me about, but I will gladly say goodbye to being pregnant because that means I get to finally meet this little person that I have known all along. I’m ready sweet baby, I’m finally ready… at least until my water breaks, then I’m sure I’ll fall back into terror!