believe

My mom gave birth to four children. Three of those birth's were natural. No medication. No epidural. Just my mom and her Lamaze training and breathing techniques. I often heard my aunts and mom discussing childbirth growing up. One of my older cousins who just had her first son asked my mom in shock, "but how did you give birth without meds?!"

 "I loved feeling the babies come out" my mom responded calmly, sending the women in the room gasping.

Growing up, "all natural" was common for us. My mom began studying homeopathy after her first was born. She became immersed, reading all she could, practicing, attending seminars, becoming friends with well known Harvard graduate homeopathic doctors, starting a study group in town meeting once a month at the local library. When we were sick, we would ask for a remedy. If my mom couldn't prescribe us the right one, or if we needed antibiotics my dad would be the one to take us to his friend who was a doctor, knocking on the side door of the building so he could check our throats and ears. My mom would always say she could have found the right remedy, but it was good that we got checked.

When I was pregnant with my first, my mom went in the attic and brought down all of her childbirth books. Most written in the 70's, I read them and giggled at the pictures. I brushed over them, reading only what interested me, always knowing that I would be able to get an epidural. I didn't need to study the different birthing positions, or the focal points needed to breathe through a contraction. I was just fine with getting an epidural.

My son, Finn, was eleven days late. I was induced and the induction was long. After 36 hours and complications with my blood platelets being low, I was able to get an epidural with a consent that my husband had to sign that said I could be paralyzed. He signed it, and later told me he went out in the hall and cried. Was this the right thing to do? I was able to sleep, and although I couldn't feel my legs, my husband reassured me I was moving my feet and that I was fine. I hated the sensation. I was tied down to the bed, and although the pain was gone, I was scared and nervous and uneasy.
After almost two days, I pushed for 25 minutes and my son was born. Healthy, strong and much bigger than the nurses expected.

After birth, my mom came in the room and cried. "Check your phone" she said, "I was hiding across the hall in an empty room. I was sending you power text messages the whole time!" Forgetting until I looked at my phone hours later, I saw over 40 messages from my mom. I read them smiling and laughing: "You can do this, Carly! You can do this! You're pushing. I hear the baby! Never mind, that was a baby down the hall. Keep pushing! He's here. I love you. You did it." She was so happy to be a grandmother. Never once did she say she was disappointed I got the epidural, and I truly knew she wasn't.

Three years later, and I'm pregnant again. The second pregnancy and it's completely different from the start. Sick, back pain, sciatic pain. We opted out of finding the sex this time. We checked my blood platelets throughout the pregnancy. They were dropping, and I knew if they continued to drop that maybe this time I wouldn't be able to get the epidural. I didn't think about it much. I didn't have time to, chasing around a three year old. 

And then one afternoon, while lying in bed with my son trying to get him to nap, I sat up and my water broke. Stunned, I looked over and told him what had happened. "The baby is coming!!!" he screamed and jumped up. After some calls and my mom coming over to be with Finn, we were off to the hospital.

It was confirmed my water broke but my contractions were not consistent. They needed to start me on pitocin to get them to speed up, and to get me further dilated, as I was just two centimeters. We checked my blood platelets, they had actually gone up since the last time. I was clear for the epidural and felt a sense of relief.

"Do you want the epidural right now?" the nurse asked. I declined with the fear of losing feeling in my legs again, I wanted to walk around to start.

The pitocin kicked in quickly as it does. Contractions coming quicker and stronger. They checked me and I was at 4 centimeters. " I think I need the epidural soon" I said to our nurse who told me the anesthesiologist was in with a c-section patient and that they would come to me next. An hour went by. I was on my hands and knees, I was using the peanut ball they have in the room you place between your knees to help open your pelvis, I was using my husband as a crutch, standing with my hands around him, him holding me up during the strongest point of the contraction.

Another hour passes. Another emergency c-section keeps the anesthesiologist. And then another hour, and another c-section. Three c-sections and no epidural yet. I couldn't believe what was happening. The feelings, the emotions, waiting, and the pain. "Where are they??" I started screaming at one point. WHERE ARE THEY?! I looked at my husband for help.
I thought of the books in my mom's attic.  I thought of my mom who had done this thirty years ago. I thought of the baby I would meet soon. I thought of my three year old sleeping in his bed, waking up in the morning to meet his new brother or sister. I could feel the baby moving down. I could feel everything.

Still no epidural, and all of a sudden, the intense need to push. The doctor on call not even making it to the hospital on time, I found myself with three nurses and my husband surrounding me, and I'm ten centimeters and I'm about to push whether they are ready or not. It was happening. I was giving birth without an epidural and I couldn't believe I was strong enough. I couldn't believe I was able. I couldn't believe that after only five minutes of pushing, after bursting blood vessels in my face and my right eye, after gripping my husband's shoulders as the nurse said the baby's head was out and I needed to get the shoulders out, and with one last push, I felt the baby come out just as my mom had. And then I could not believe when the doctor said "she's here" and I looked and saw my daughter, new and wet and crying. My daughter, yes, there she was. And when they placed her on my chest and that feeling of euphoric bliss and happiness melted through my body in such a way only giving birth can, I didn't believe it again and asked my husband if I was dreaming.

Later, my mom told me that when my husband sent the last group text out saying it was too late to get an epidural, my mom felt a little sense of pride. She said she knew I was strong enough to go without it. She said she believed I could do it.

Just like I believe now for my own daughter.

She can do anything.

 

 

Inside

The rolling happened around 30 weeks.
A foot in the rib cage. A fist in the pelvis. A little back pressing out of my side, like a tiny hill forming beneath the earth.
The stretching.
The creaking of our wooden floors when I walk up and down the steps now. I make more noise with each step. This new gained weight. The weight of it all.
The giving starts as soon as the growing.
That pang of exhaustion that can not be compared to anything else. 2pm and the strain to keep my eyes open. The identity changing- I don't feel like myself. I don't look like myself. But I'm still here.
I'm still me.
The sciatic pain that catches me like a flash of lightning. Down my back and leg with such force.
The upper back pain. How different it is this time around.
But wait- there's that fist. Or a foot. Who are you?
What are you doing in there?
I imagine you. Different days in different scenarios.
A wild little boy, long hair. I can't picture you as a baby but I can vividly imagine you as a toddler. Chasing your older brother. Finding sticks for the camp fire. Fighting over toys and then laughing together.
And then some days, I see a baby girl. A chubby baby girl with a little button nose that I kiss after birth. Big, delicious thighs.  Those ten tiny toes with the wrinkles on the bottom.
I'm out of breath now so easily. I was once strong. Now walking up the stairs and I'm winded. Reflections in the passing windows each time catch me by surprise.
I'm even stronger now.
Sleepless nights starting already. Waking and the flooding of thoughts and worry and wonder. The emotions. "I've never met anyone who feels as much as you do" James says.
But there it is. Your heartbeat while I'm lying on the table at the doctors. The goo spread across my belly. I don't care that it got on my shirt or my jeans with that ugly band at the top. Let me hear that heartbeat one more time, please.
Keep growing, little one. Take what you need from me.
The rolling of that little body inside my body.
You can have it all.

he's always known

it's still one of my favorite parts of motherhood. finn waking up right before the sun comes up, still tired and ready to sleep, coming into our bed and falling back asleep in between the two of us. the three of us fitting on that little bed, and, with surprise, somehow comfortably. he talks now when he first comes in. he asks questions about what we've been dreaming about or what that noise was, or what day it is. and then, like this morning, he turns over, grabs my face with his soft little hands, and falls back asleep.

i stared at his face this morning. the nightlight that we use  when he comes in our room shining behind me. there's still nothing sweeter than a sleeping baby. or little boy.

and he is a little boy now. everyone says the two's are terrible. but no one warns you about the threes. james and i stare at each other and try not to laugh at times. he can be so tough. he can argue like a grown man, and debate like he's been practicing his entire life. he doesn't give up easily. he doesn't like to be helped when he's learning something new, most of the time, but gets frustrated when he isn't quite sure what to do. he is persistent and doesn't forget a thing. and he can hurt your feelings in a second, and then the next realize what he's done and come and wrap his arms around you and kiss you.  and then he's sweet. and sensitive. and understanding. and full of emotions and ideas and theories. his imagination always surprises me and his sense of humor always right on. he's natural and intuitive.

intuitive in the way he knew. i took that pregnancy test a couple months ago to find a positive plus appear in the little box. it was five am, on a weekend vacation with our family, and i crawled back in bed and woke up james, who smiled so big in the dark i could see it. and the next night back at home, i pulled finn out of the bathtub and he looked me in the eyes and said, "there's a baby in your belly".

he just knew.

yes

"She wasn't doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together."

-J.D. Salinger 

When

He's calling me "sister" now. At random times throughout the day. He'll walk into the kitchen while I'm cooking dinner or washing dishes and shout "hey sistor!" in his mini voice that I told James we need to record. I don't ever want to forget the tininess in his voice. I laugh and play along with him, calling him brother, running into the living room chasing him.

Or when we're in the car and he says softly, " I wish someone was back here. They can sit right there" and points over to the empty seat next to him. I almost want to ask him who will sit there, but I'm worried that he'll respond with a brother or sister and so I selfishly keep quiet.

I watched him with his baby cousin a few weeks ago. Asking to hold her. Talking into her face, making his voice sound even higher than it already is, thinking that's the right way to appeal to babies. He asked to feed her, putting her bottle into her mouth and carefully tipping it back. He laughed when she sneezed. He really laughed when she talked in that baby talk that I almost forgot. The babbling and the driveling with spit and slobber. It wasn't until I saw it up close that I realized I missed it, and that I realized Finn will be a great big brother.

But when? We've tried not to rush, relishing in the time that belongs to just the three of us. Bike rides into the evening sun, the three of us. Camping in tents and pop-ups, the three of us. Boat rides and road trips, vacations and adventures, the three of us.  Finn just now reaching a point of new self independence, of becoming this little person filled with opinions and notion. James and I sat the other night in our backyard as we watched him running and playing on his own. He is needing us less. He's sleeping through the night. He's spending some evenings with his grandparents allowing more date nights for me and James. We've had two and a half years with this special boy and us. Just the three of us, growing and learning and I wouldn't have changed or tried to rearrange one second. We've gotten to put our energy into our son. And our marriage. And our new life the three of us. And really, really enjoying it.

And now the time has come when I spot a pregnant woman at the grocery store and can't take my eyes off her belly. The way her hands graze her stomach, the way my hands were always finding my belly when Finn was inside.

Or when we're at the park and I notice a mom with two. The way she's pushing the older one on the swing, while holding a baby on her hip. And then grabbing puffies out of her overflowing diaper bag, while keeping one eye on her toddler about to run down the slide. Am I ready for that? Are we ever ready?

I think of growing up with three brothers surrounding me. I was four when my parents had their youngest. I remember them bringing him home. Telling me to sit on their bed, the August sun shining through their window. I was wearing a blue and white sailor outfit. They placed my little brother in my arms and my mouth fell open. This new baby doll. Still today, my baby brother, my best friend.

I write things down so I'll remember. The months of Finn, the milestones. His first crawl across my parents kitchen floor. His first steps a couple weeks before his first birthday. The first pedaling on his tricycle in the June heat, his hair sticky with sweat. I have them written down. Words that fall off my pen and onto the page so I won't forget. But I find myself wanting to relive it all. I want it all back. Every blessed part. 

We have to try.

dear james

Dear James,
you're away. on business. the first trip that you have had to go on in months. before, you were traveling often around this time of the year, and you kept telling me it won't always be like this. i remember you leaving for a week when finn was a month old. everything still felt so new with finn, i was shaking when you pulled out of the driveway. leaving the two of us standing by the front door of our new little house, i was so nervous watching you go.
now you go away and finn and i fall into our routine. we've been keeping ourselves busy. especially with the opening of the studio, finn has been such a trooper. getting dropped off with your parents, then picked up and dropped off again with my parents. he has such a good spirit, going along with flow, and usually crying each time he has to leave somewhere. he's just like me, terrible with saying good bye. i looked at him in the rearview mirror this morning and could tell he was thinking about something, he makes the same face you do when you're deep in thought. your eyes narrow and your get a little crease between your eyebrows. "mama" he said softly, "dada will come back to you. he will come back to you."
finn has been doing something new the past few days. he's been very concerned about how i am feeling. driving in the car a slow song came on and he asked, "does this song make you sad, mama?" or last night after we got off the phone with you he came up to me and said "you can't kiss dada. are you sad?" it's a new thing with him, asking about how i am feeling. i kind of love it, too. you know how i always like to describe my feelings. you said i'm the only person you know who thinks about the way they are feeling as much as i do. i can't help it.
i've noticed something else with him the past few days. he's turning more into a little boy and less like a toddler. last night i kissed him good, i really pressed my lips hard into his smooth little cheek, and squeezed him. he pulled away and i watched him wipe the kiss off. and you know about him wanting to do everything on his own. this morning, while rushing to get out of the house, he had to walk down each step on his own. every time i held my hand out for him to grab it he pushed it away. in the midst of trying to run out of the house, he made me slow down and watch him, foot by foot, make his way down those twelve steps. he doesn't want to hold my hand more often now. it's kind of a shock.
but then there are times when he still seems like our baby. like early this morning, when he came into our bed at four, and moved in close to me and whispered, "snuggle me, mama" and i wrapped my arms around him and pulled him even closer. he fell asleep and when i looked at his face i pictured him when he was just a couple months old. his little belly rising and falling slowly.
it's hard to believe he'll be three years old in a few months.
i hear him waking up from his nap now. any second he'll start to yell for me. over and over until he hears me close to his door. i haven't told you, but each time he wakes up, unsure of what day it is, he's asked if you are home. "is dada back home now?" he says, his eyes wide and serious. "not yet, but soon" I tell him. we can't wait.

crib talk

lying with finn, inside his crib, has now become a mandatory part of his sleep routine. we snuggle together on the little mattress and i repeat myself telling him to be quiet and close his eyes until he falls asleep and i somehow climb out of the position i was forcing myself in and sneak out of his room, tip-toeing around the creaky floorboards that i have mentally marked.

and he does the same thing at bedtime now. he says loudly, "ok, i have to make my choice" meaning he has to decide if it is going to be me or his dad who is going to lay with him that night. he usually picks me, but some nights he picks his dad and i give them both a kiss goodnight because i know that james will without a doubt fall asleep in his crib and I'll have to sneak in and wake him up the try not to laugh loud while he pulls himself out of the tiniest bed he's mastered sleeping in. i don't know how he fits. but when i see them on the monitor, james wrapped around finn, the blanket over the top of them, finn's head pressing against j's cheek, it almost looks like that bed was made for the two of them to share. they actually look comfortable.

this afternoon inside the crib, finn turned over and looked at me, his eyes big and a darker shade of blue, and quietly asked, "mama, can we talk about stuff?" he then went on a ten minute ramble;
"where did this bed come from actually? who made this? it sure is hard... i don't want my snowman to melt...  if a dog jumps on me, will you protect me? will dada protect me? will all my peoples protect me? what does protect mean? oh yes, yes, yes, yes, right. remember fishing?" and then he turned over, closed his eyes while hugging his little stuffed dog, boo, and fell asleep.