When your eight year-old (yes, even the same one who the very same day accused you of attempting murder by schoolwork) tells you with genuine admiration that you're gorgeous.
When your six year-old exclaims, "Wow, Mom, your eyes are sparkling - just like in the books and movies!"
When your four year-old asks you to marry him, and then when you explain that you're already married, he offers, "Well then, will you dance with me?"
When your two year-old throws his arms around your neck and squeezes. Have there ever been such hugs as the kind Chase gives!
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The Definition of Frustration
Things that could make a person really, really frustrated:
Popcorn. I can't even think of anything else to say about that.
Dogs (strictly OUTSIDE dogs) who have developed a bad habit of coming inside whenever the back door is opened. And a two year-old who thinks it's delightful to open the door every 30 seconds. "Champ inside!"
A third-grader's sudden memory loss. "A verb? I don't know what a verb is." (Not as in, "I actually can't remember anything I've learned in 2 1/2 years of First Language Lessons and the almost daily drills of parts-of-speech definitions therein," but rather, "I'm not even going to process what you're saying to me. Must I even exert the energy to care?")
Seeing the abovementioned two year-old walk by with a handful of one's credit cards.
Still not being able to find some of those credit cards...
Popcorn. I can't even think of anything else to say about that.
Dogs (strictly OUTSIDE dogs) who have developed a bad habit of coming inside whenever the back door is opened. And a two year-old who thinks it's delightful to open the door every 30 seconds. "Champ inside!"
A third-grader's sudden memory loss. "A verb? I don't know what a verb is." (Not as in, "I actually can't remember anything I've learned in 2 1/2 years of First Language Lessons and the almost daily drills of parts-of-speech definitions therein," but rather, "I'm not even going to process what you're saying to me. Must I even exert the energy to care?")
Seeing the abovementioned two year-old walk by with a handful of one's credit cards.
Still not being able to find some of those credit cards...
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Happy Birthday, Chase!
For Ryan's second birthday, I gave him a brother (and a Bob the Builder tool set).
It was completely unintentional - the brother, that is - another case of "It's probably safe...", and, when I began to suspect I was pregnant for the fourth time, I was almost appalled to realize that the dates were going to be exactly the same as my previous pregnancy. (It turned out I was just one day off, with my baby due on Ryan's second birthday.) But we were in a much better place than two years before, and once I recovered from the shock, I found I was actually thrilled, although I still had Dave deliver the news to our families! I already knew what kind of birth I wanted, and I had already discovered Carolina Waterbirth, the nearby birth center. I immediately called Sandy, the midwife there, and arranged a tour of the birth center, and we were instantly sold after meeting her.
I had terrible morning sickness, and often Dave would come home needing to plow a path through the mess in the house just to get in the door. Those were certainly some chaotic weeks, but on the whole it was a happy pregnancy, and I loved going to appointments at the birth center. We all loved Sandy, and when we spent an hour there, it was all with her - even the kids were allowed to be involved. The bittersweet note for me was the feeling that I was cheating Ryan out of some of his babyhood, a feeling that sometimes creeps up on me even now. Nursing him during pregnancy was not easy for me, for one thing, and I had to reduce our nursing sessions in both duration and frequency. Ryan wasn't happy at all about this development, and it was a struggle for us. But I promised him, even though I knew he couldn't undestand the concept of time, that he could have as much as he wanted again when the baby came, and I had visions of an idyllic tandem nursing experience.
Another glitch was that I had some unexplained bleeding from my defective right ureter all throughout the second half of my pregnancy. I had had severe pain and other complications from my kidney on this side in my previous pregnancies, but never any bleeding - and this was a very significant amount. My midwife had never seen anything like it, and the OB I saw had only vague theories, so it was a concern. In fact, it's still unresolved, which is rather troublesome. But other than that, I had a healthy - and predictable - pregnancy. I informed Dave and our family members that I was very likely going to deliver right around my due date, and that it was going to be a good long labor, so I didn't want anyone to hound me with questions or speculations about the timing. Sure enough, I made it all the way to the middle of February. The week before the magic day, I had sporadic contractions, some enough to make me wonder, but it wasn't until the morning of Valentine's Day that I was awakened at about 4:30 am by some particularly strong and regular ones. They seemed intense enough to indicate the "real thing", and after making breakfast a few hours later, I called Sandy to tell her what was going on. I was determined to labor as long as I could at the house, and of course, she agreed it was a good idea. Around mid-morning, however, my contractions petered away to almost nothing, and by noon I was crying in frustration in the shower. Sandy called around then and suggested I go for a walk, so Dave and I left the kids with my mom, who had come up the day before, and we walked together for an hour, which did in fact stimulate regular contractions again. After that, I was afraid to sit down again, so I paced the backyard furiously until about 3, when I decided to call Sandy again to ask if we could go to the birth center and just have her check things out. She agreed, and when we arrived, she found I was at 6cm and definitely in active labor. She thought if my contractions grew any stronger, I would very soon be in transition (only she had never seen any of my labors!), so we thought it would be good to stay. I worked on the squatting bar and walked...and walked, and walked and walked...and got some good contractions going, but after a couple of hours, they still weren't strong enough. Sandy gave me an herbal tincture that worked better than any dose of Pitocin I had ever had, and by around 10 that evening, I was in such a good pattern that she thought it was safe for me get in the huge clawfoot tub I had been waiting for my entire pregnancy. I labored there for a couple of hours, thinking the whole time I was making great progress. My sister brought Aimee and Drew over, because we thought it had to be soon, and I have a great picture (curses on that scanner again!) of Drew holding my hand while I was in the tub. But Sandy didn't tell me, mercifully, that I wasn't really making much progress at all. She told my mom that I was simply going in and out of transition, and when she checked me, she found that the baby, who was posterior (again - the other boys were, too), was still very high. She thought my semi-upright position was hindering his downward progress, so she had me slide down as far as I could in the water, but after we tried it for a few minutes, she said that while it was helping him to move down temporarily, he was going right back up in between contractions. On top of being tired and discouraged, I was devastated when Sandy told me that I had to get out of the water. I had so hoped to experience a waterbirth, and that was going to be impossible. A more immediate concern was that the water had muted the contractions, as it were, and as I soon as I stepped out of it, I felt the difference. Exhausted, I wandered over to the bed and labored there for awhile, but soon Sandy told me I needed to walk to try to work the baby down. I had my first pang of real fear, wondering what would happen if I couldn't make any more progress. I wondered I would be able to stand an ambulance transfer. Reluctantly I rolled over from the curled up position on my side and inched out of bed. Each contraction sent me to the floor on my hands and knees, but I did feel some downward movement. But I was tired - oh, so tired, and I felt like I had been in the "I can't stand it anymore" mode for a very long time. At some point I made it back to the bed, and I heard Sandy say quietly to someone that we still had a ways to go. Each contraction was a higher, more powerful wave, and I felt more in danger of losing it with each one. When, at last Sandy I could try pushing, the relief I felt was the greatest feeling in the whole world, and I can't describe how wonderful pushing actually felt. Actually, I could, but it might be indecent - my mom and sisters were snickering at me, I discovered later. The relief didn't last, however, because rather than the almost immediate progress I had felt with all three of my previous deliveries, pushing out a baby with my efforts felt as likely as pushing out a watermelon, which prompted my second pang of fear. The only thing that saved me was the fact that there actually WERE breaks (what a difference between the real thing and the continuous crushing wave of Pitocin-induced contractions!), and I had a few seconds of rest in between each contraction and push. I pushed for a long time (probably only about an hour, but it seemed like forever!) until finally, I felt the head (a very big head!) emerge. He made a noise, which made me think he was all the way out, but a few more pushes were required - and at last, at about 2:15 am, an 8lb. 6oz. Jeffrey Chase came into world and was placed immediately on my chest. He went straight to my breast and nursed for no less than an hour and a half, burping contentedly in conclusion. Sandy examined him while he was in my arms, and waited to cut the cord until after it stopped pulsing. It was all so gentle and natural. The kids came in at some point - they had been sleeping on the couches in the lobby since I had been in the water - and were mildly interested. (Drew was more excited about getting to see the placenta than the baby!) They were very tired, though, so Dave took them back to the house, and after the baby and I were examined and everything was cleaned up, my mom curled up in the bed with me and Chase and we all slept for a few hours. The next morning, Dave brought Aimee and Drew to come get us, and by lunchtime, we were home, where I gave Ryan his first birthday present of the day. He was happy, but the tool set later was even a little more exciting!
It was completely unintentional - the brother, that is - another case of "It's probably safe...", and, when I began to suspect I was pregnant for the fourth time, I was almost appalled to realize that the dates were going to be exactly the same as my previous pregnancy. (It turned out I was just one day off, with my baby due on Ryan's second birthday.) But we were in a much better place than two years before, and once I recovered from the shock, I found I was actually thrilled, although I still had Dave deliver the news to our families! I already knew what kind of birth I wanted, and I had already discovered Carolina Waterbirth, the nearby birth center. I immediately called Sandy, the midwife there, and arranged a tour of the birth center, and we were instantly sold after meeting her.
I had terrible morning sickness, and often Dave would come home needing to plow a path through the mess in the house just to get in the door. Those were certainly some chaotic weeks, but on the whole it was a happy pregnancy, and I loved going to appointments at the birth center. We all loved Sandy, and when we spent an hour there, it was all with her - even the kids were allowed to be involved. The bittersweet note for me was the feeling that I was cheating Ryan out of some of his babyhood, a feeling that sometimes creeps up on me even now. Nursing him during pregnancy was not easy for me, for one thing, and I had to reduce our nursing sessions in both duration and frequency. Ryan wasn't happy at all about this development, and it was a struggle for us. But I promised him, even though I knew he couldn't undestand the concept of time, that he could have as much as he wanted again when the baby came, and I had visions of an idyllic tandem nursing experience.
Another glitch was that I had some unexplained bleeding from my defective right ureter all throughout the second half of my pregnancy. I had had severe pain and other complications from my kidney on this side in my previous pregnancies, but never any bleeding - and this was a very significant amount. My midwife had never seen anything like it, and the OB I saw had only vague theories, so it was a concern. In fact, it's still unresolved, which is rather troublesome. But other than that, I had a healthy - and predictable - pregnancy. I informed Dave and our family members that I was very likely going to deliver right around my due date, and that it was going to be a good long labor, so I didn't want anyone to hound me with questions or speculations about the timing. Sure enough, I made it all the way to the middle of February. The week before the magic day, I had sporadic contractions, some enough to make me wonder, but it wasn't until the morning of Valentine's Day that I was awakened at about 4:30 am by some particularly strong and regular ones. They seemed intense enough to indicate the "real thing", and after making breakfast a few hours later, I called Sandy to tell her what was going on. I was determined to labor as long as I could at the house, and of course, she agreed it was a good idea. Around mid-morning, however, my contractions petered away to almost nothing, and by noon I was crying in frustration in the shower. Sandy called around then and suggested I go for a walk, so Dave and I left the kids with my mom, who had come up the day before, and we walked together for an hour, which did in fact stimulate regular contractions again. After that, I was afraid to sit down again, so I paced the backyard furiously until about 3, when I decided to call Sandy again to ask if we could go to the birth center and just have her check things out. She agreed, and when we arrived, she found I was at 6cm and definitely in active labor. She thought if my contractions grew any stronger, I would very soon be in transition (only she had never seen any of my labors!), so we thought it would be good to stay. I worked on the squatting bar and walked...and walked, and walked and walked...and got some good contractions going, but after a couple of hours, they still weren't strong enough. Sandy gave me an herbal tincture that worked better than any dose of Pitocin I had ever had, and by around 10 that evening, I was in such a good pattern that she thought it was safe for me get in the huge clawfoot tub I had been waiting for my entire pregnancy. I labored there for a couple of hours, thinking the whole time I was making great progress. My sister brought Aimee and Drew over, because we thought it had to be soon, and I have a great picture (curses on that scanner again!) of Drew holding my hand while I was in the tub. But Sandy didn't tell me, mercifully, that I wasn't really making much progress at all. She told my mom that I was simply going in and out of transition, and when she checked me, she found that the baby, who was posterior (again - the other boys were, too), was still very high. She thought my semi-upright position was hindering his downward progress, so she had me slide down as far as I could in the water, but after we tried it for a few minutes, she said that while it was helping him to move down temporarily, he was going right back up in between contractions. On top of being tired and discouraged, I was devastated when Sandy told me that I had to get out of the water. I had so hoped to experience a waterbirth, and that was going to be impossible. A more immediate concern was that the water had muted the contractions, as it were, and as I soon as I stepped out of it, I felt the difference. Exhausted, I wandered over to the bed and labored there for awhile, but soon Sandy told me I needed to walk to try to work the baby down. I had my first pang of real fear, wondering what would happen if I couldn't make any more progress. I wondered I would be able to stand an ambulance transfer. Reluctantly I rolled over from the curled up position on my side and inched out of bed. Each contraction sent me to the floor on my hands and knees, but I did feel some downward movement. But I was tired - oh, so tired, and I felt like I had been in the "I can't stand it anymore" mode for a very long time. At some point I made it back to the bed, and I heard Sandy say quietly to someone that we still had a ways to go. Each contraction was a higher, more powerful wave, and I felt more in danger of losing it with each one. When, at last Sandy I could try pushing, the relief I felt was the greatest feeling in the whole world, and I can't describe how wonderful pushing actually felt. Actually, I could, but it might be indecent - my mom and sisters were snickering at me, I discovered later. The relief didn't last, however, because rather than the almost immediate progress I had felt with all three of my previous deliveries, pushing out a baby with my efforts felt as likely as pushing out a watermelon, which prompted my second pang of fear. The only thing that saved me was the fact that there actually WERE breaks (what a difference between the real thing and the continuous crushing wave of Pitocin-induced contractions!), and I had a few seconds of rest in between each contraction and push. I pushed for a long time (probably only about an hour, but it seemed like forever!) until finally, I felt the head (a very big head!) emerge. He made a noise, which made me think he was all the way out, but a few more pushes were required - and at last, at about 2:15 am, an 8lb. 6oz. Jeffrey Chase came into world and was placed immediately on my chest. He went straight to my breast and nursed for no less than an hour and a half, burping contentedly in conclusion. Sandy examined him while he was in my arms, and waited to cut the cord until after it stopped pulsing. It was all so gentle and natural. The kids came in at some point - they had been sleeping on the couches in the lobby since I had been in the water - and were mildly interested. (Drew was more excited about getting to see the placenta than the baby!) They were very tired, though, so Dave took them back to the house, and after the baby and I were examined and everything was cleaned up, my mom curled up in the bed with me and Chase and we all slept for a few hours. The next morning, Dave brought Aimee and Drew to come get us, and by lunchtime, we were home, where I gave Ryan his first birthday present of the day. He was happy, but the tool set later was even a little more exciting!
Monday, February 16, 2009
Happy Birthday, Ryan!
Actually, yesterday was Ryan's birthday, but we had family over all day, and I never had a chance to post. So this is a homage to Ryan's 4th birthday on February 15.
I was almost completely surprised when I discovered I was pregnant for the 3rd time. (Almost, because I should have known better. "It's probably safe" are infamous last words!) I admit I was not altogether thrilled, because our financial situation was grim, and we lived in a much too small rental house. So at first Dave was a good deal more excited than I was, and I let him deliver the news to our family, who accepted it with more enthusiasm than I thought they would, to their credit. In my heart, of course, I still believed that God creates babies - people - at just the right time and in just the right place - there are no mistakes - but in the first half or more of my pregnancy, I struggled with applying that to reality, and I tumbled into a very dark place that was a bewildering mix of depression and a particularly severe manifestation of my OCD (one of a few major "episodes" of the kind that I've experienced in my life). I think hardly anyone knew what was going on, and certainly only Dave knew the severity. But he was merciful and patient, as he always is in times like those, and the Lord was so good in holding me in that time, as well as protecting our family, so that I was still able to take care of Aimee and Drew - I think they were largely unaware of everything, and as unaffected as they could be. I was, of course, often worried about my unborn baby, wondering how my stress would affect him.
But eventually I emerged from the depths, and I was able to prepare for his arrival. I was still paranoid - but I think more in the normal pregnancy kind of way! - about when he would come, though, and whether or not all the important family members would be able to be there, particularly Dave, who was often working out of town. So while I had hoped to go the "natural" route, and had promised myself that I would never be induced again if I could help it, my resolve wavered as my due date of February 14 approached. My week-40 visit was that day, and I was in such a panic that when one of the nurse midwives casually mentioned that it would be no problem to induce me the next day, I readily agreed. I was so incredibly relieved for the rest of the day, and probably as relaxed as I'd even been the entire pregnancy, and sleep came easily that night. But of course I had to wake up and go to the bathroom at about 1:30am, and just after settling back into bed, I felt something...unusual. I woke Dave up and announced that I thought my water had just broken. The panic returned full force, as I was practically convinced the baby would just fall out at any moment - never mind the fact that neither of my previous two labors had been under 12 hours. I called the midwives, and they told me to head over to the hospital, so we immediately woke up the kids, put my bags in the car, and eagerly made the 10-minute drive. We settled in a room, spoke to the midwife on call, and met the doula, Vicki, whose services were offered free by the hospital - and then we waited. But by then I had developed a sense of peace and a new resolve. My labor beginning on its own reminded me that my body really could do this without help, and I determined to let things continue without intervention as long as I could, refusing the offered epidural or even IV. My parents arrived at some point, and took turns caring for the kids, who had quickly grown restless. I had been 3 cm. dilated upon arrival, and I progressed to about 5 cm. with little difficulty in the first few hours. My doula proved to be fantastic through the contractions that got me there, calmly knowing what I needed almost before I knew I needed it, the nurses were very supportive, and my midwife was calm and unhurried. Altogether, things were moving along beautifully, and everyone was speculating that we would probably have a baby around lunchtime. But the morning came and went, and for hours I alternated walking the halls and bouncing on the birth ball as I listed to music in my room - but 5 cm is where I stayed. As the afternoon wore on, I had periods of hard, regular contractions, but then also periods of hugely disappointing lulls (I was very tired by that point), and I was progressing only very slowly. Occasionally someone would suggest Pitocin, and I would adamantly refuse, but eventually even my doula began to suggest it might not be such a bad idea. When by 4 pm, the midwife's exam revealed I had only reached 6cm after all those hours, I hestitantly agreed to a very little Pitocin. I was very unhappy about needing the IV and monitoring, but the midwife assured me that I could still move around a little, and that I wouldn't be confined to bed. In about thirty minutes after receiving the Pitocin, my contractions definitely changed in intensity, and I was working the birth ball very seriously. My volume and distress level also increased signifigantly, and this scared 4 year-old Aimee, who had been brought back in to watch the impending birth. My mom whisked her out to my dad, before returning to help me - although because of my doula's tireless help, my mom and Dave were able to be simply supportive spectators through most of my labor. We all agreed later Vicki was the main reason I was able to do it without pain medication.
At any rate. I soon reached the "I can't take it, anymore" stage, at which point the nurses began to smile infuriatingly and assure me that it meant I was almost done. At the time this seemed like very little consolation! They also told me it was time to get off the birth ball and into the bed so that I could push, and I was VERY resistant to this notion. But they were more insistent, and they coaxed me into the bed, where things took a turn for the worse as far as I was concerned. If I couldn't stand it before, I felt like I was in danger of being swept away by the contractions. Actually it seemed like one huge wave, with barely imperceptible dips, and the only thing that kept me on top was being able to rock on my hands and knees.
In only a matter of minutes after getting into the bed, it was time to push, the nurses hurried to get someone "qualified" to come catch the baby. My midwife was with someone else who was also pushing, so they brought in the doctor on call. At that point I didn't care WHO was at the other end of the table! But I did care that they asked me to roll over onto my back, which I felt would kill me. I thought I would definitely lose myself underneath the waves - correction, the ONE BIG RELENTLESS wave. One of the nurses kept telling me to rest in the breaks, and I nearly bit her head off. "There ARE no breaks!" My one sustaining thought was that I had no choice but to stay on top of the wave. I felt like I going under, but I knew nothing would happen if I did - no one could "rescue" me, so what else was there to do? So I stayed just above hysteria, and just when I really couldn't take anymore, I was allowed to push. My first push brought insane relief, but also searing pain, as the baby began crowning almost immediately. After a couple of pushes delivered the head, I irrationally refused to push anymore, but the nurses and my mom informe me that I had to get his shoulders out, so I dug down deep, and just one or two more pushes, Ryan O'Rourke Meester was born. It's not enough to say it was the most amazing feeling in the whole world - I don't think anything can match the contrast between such unbelieveable pressure and pain and the immediate relief and ecstasty that follows. The transformation takes only seconds, and I don't believe it's possible to have the one without the other, not in such quantities, at any rate. It doesn't take anything away from my first two births, and I'm not diminishing anyone else's birth experiences, but the facts are quite tangible in this case. And there was no denying the differences in alertness between my first two babies, both medicated to some degree, upon their entrances in the world, and Ryan, my first unmedicated baby. Everyone in the room noticed how astonishingly alert he was - and he looked so intelliegent and aware on top of that. (And if my scanner were working properly, I could show you!!! Grrr...) One of the first things my mom said about him, in fact, was that he looked so "knowing," and even from those earliest days, he always looked as though he wanted to tell you exactly what he was thinking. And he was Ryan right from the start - placed on my chest after his birth, he immediately quieted, and each time he was taken away, he began crying, soothed only by being in my arms again. Someone mentioned how attached he was to me already, and sure enough, "attached" didn't even begin to describe his feelings for me for the next year or so!
There are so many feelings surrounding Ryan's pregnancy and birth, that this could go on forever. All struggles and doubts from my pregnancy aside, Ryan became one of my dearest treasures, of course, and even when he drives me crazy, he is my "heart walking around outside my body." And his birth gave me something I could talk about forever without adequately describing its importance or impact. I really didn't think I could handle the sensations of birth, but I did it, and experiencing that was a priceless gift to me as a woman and a mother.
I was almost completely surprised when I discovered I was pregnant for the 3rd time. (Almost, because I should have known better. "It's probably safe" are infamous last words!) I admit I was not altogether thrilled, because our financial situation was grim, and we lived in a much too small rental house. So at first Dave was a good deal more excited than I was, and I let him deliver the news to our family, who accepted it with more enthusiasm than I thought they would, to their credit. In my heart, of course, I still believed that God creates babies - people - at just the right time and in just the right place - there are no mistakes - but in the first half or more of my pregnancy, I struggled with applying that to reality, and I tumbled into a very dark place that was a bewildering mix of depression and a particularly severe manifestation of my OCD (one of a few major "episodes" of the kind that I've experienced in my life). I think hardly anyone knew what was going on, and certainly only Dave knew the severity. But he was merciful and patient, as he always is in times like those, and the Lord was so good in holding me in that time, as well as protecting our family, so that I was still able to take care of Aimee and Drew - I think they were largely unaware of everything, and as unaffected as they could be. I was, of course, often worried about my unborn baby, wondering how my stress would affect him.
But eventually I emerged from the depths, and I was able to prepare for his arrival. I was still paranoid - but I think more in the normal pregnancy kind of way! - about when he would come, though, and whether or not all the important family members would be able to be there, particularly Dave, who was often working out of town. So while I had hoped to go the "natural" route, and had promised myself that I would never be induced again if I could help it, my resolve wavered as my due date of February 14 approached. My week-40 visit was that day, and I was in such a panic that when one of the nurse midwives casually mentioned that it would be no problem to induce me the next day, I readily agreed. I was so incredibly relieved for the rest of the day, and probably as relaxed as I'd even been the entire pregnancy, and sleep came easily that night. But of course I had to wake up and go to the bathroom at about 1:30am, and just after settling back into bed, I felt something...unusual. I woke Dave up and announced that I thought my water had just broken. The panic returned full force, as I was practically convinced the baby would just fall out at any moment - never mind the fact that neither of my previous two labors had been under 12 hours. I called the midwives, and they told me to head over to the hospital, so we immediately woke up the kids, put my bags in the car, and eagerly made the 10-minute drive. We settled in a room, spoke to the midwife on call, and met the doula, Vicki, whose services were offered free by the hospital - and then we waited. But by then I had developed a sense of peace and a new resolve. My labor beginning on its own reminded me that my body really could do this without help, and I determined to let things continue without intervention as long as I could, refusing the offered epidural or even IV. My parents arrived at some point, and took turns caring for the kids, who had quickly grown restless. I had been 3 cm. dilated upon arrival, and I progressed to about 5 cm. with little difficulty in the first few hours. My doula proved to be fantastic through the contractions that got me there, calmly knowing what I needed almost before I knew I needed it, the nurses were very supportive, and my midwife was calm and unhurried. Altogether, things were moving along beautifully, and everyone was speculating that we would probably have a baby around lunchtime. But the morning came and went, and for hours I alternated walking the halls and bouncing on the birth ball as I listed to music in my room - but 5 cm is where I stayed. As the afternoon wore on, I had periods of hard, regular contractions, but then also periods of hugely disappointing lulls (I was very tired by that point), and I was progressing only very slowly. Occasionally someone would suggest Pitocin, and I would adamantly refuse, but eventually even my doula began to suggest it might not be such a bad idea. When by 4 pm, the midwife's exam revealed I had only reached 6cm after all those hours, I hestitantly agreed to a very little Pitocin. I was very unhappy about needing the IV and monitoring, but the midwife assured me that I could still move around a little, and that I wouldn't be confined to bed. In about thirty minutes after receiving the Pitocin, my contractions definitely changed in intensity, and I was working the birth ball very seriously. My volume and distress level also increased signifigantly, and this scared 4 year-old Aimee, who had been brought back in to watch the impending birth. My mom whisked her out to my dad, before returning to help me - although because of my doula's tireless help, my mom and Dave were able to be simply supportive spectators through most of my labor. We all agreed later Vicki was the main reason I was able to do it without pain medication.
At any rate. I soon reached the "I can't take it, anymore" stage, at which point the nurses began to smile infuriatingly and assure me that it meant I was almost done. At the time this seemed like very little consolation! They also told me it was time to get off the birth ball and into the bed so that I could push, and I was VERY resistant to this notion. But they were more insistent, and they coaxed me into the bed, where things took a turn for the worse as far as I was concerned. If I couldn't stand it before, I felt like I was in danger of being swept away by the contractions. Actually it seemed like one huge wave, with barely imperceptible dips, and the only thing that kept me on top was being able to rock on my hands and knees.
In only a matter of minutes after getting into the bed, it was time to push, the nurses hurried to get someone "qualified" to come catch the baby. My midwife was with someone else who was also pushing, so they brought in the doctor on call. At that point I didn't care WHO was at the other end of the table! But I did care that they asked me to roll over onto my back, which I felt would kill me. I thought I would definitely lose myself underneath the waves - correction, the ONE BIG RELENTLESS wave. One of the nurses kept telling me to rest in the breaks, and I nearly bit her head off. "There ARE no breaks!" My one sustaining thought was that I had no choice but to stay on top of the wave. I felt like I going under, but I knew nothing would happen if I did - no one could "rescue" me, so what else was there to do? So I stayed just above hysteria, and just when I really couldn't take anymore, I was allowed to push. My first push brought insane relief, but also searing pain, as the baby began crowning almost immediately. After a couple of pushes delivered the head, I irrationally refused to push anymore, but the nurses and my mom informe me that I had to get his shoulders out, so I dug down deep, and just one or two more pushes, Ryan O'Rourke Meester was born. It's not enough to say it was the most amazing feeling in the whole world - I don't think anything can match the contrast between such unbelieveable pressure and pain and the immediate relief and ecstasty that follows. The transformation takes only seconds, and I don't believe it's possible to have the one without the other, not in such quantities, at any rate. It doesn't take anything away from my first two births, and I'm not diminishing anyone else's birth experiences, but the facts are quite tangible in this case. And there was no denying the differences in alertness between my first two babies, both medicated to some degree, upon their entrances in the world, and Ryan, my first unmedicated baby. Everyone in the room noticed how astonishingly alert he was - and he looked so intelliegent and aware on top of that. (And if my scanner were working properly, I could show you!!! Grrr...) One of the first things my mom said about him, in fact, was that he looked so "knowing," and even from those earliest days, he always looked as though he wanted to tell you exactly what he was thinking. And he was Ryan right from the start - placed on my chest after his birth, he immediately quieted, and each time he was taken away, he began crying, soothed only by being in my arms again. Someone mentioned how attached he was to me already, and sure enough, "attached" didn't even begin to describe his feelings for me for the next year or so!
There are so many feelings surrounding Ryan's pregnancy and birth, that this could go on forever. All struggles and doubts from my pregnancy aside, Ryan became one of my dearest treasures, of course, and even when he drives me crazy, he is my "heart walking around outside my body." And his birth gave me something I could talk about forever without adequately describing its importance or impact. I really didn't think I could handle the sensations of birth, but I did it, and experiencing that was a priceless gift to me as a woman and a mother.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Surviving "Days on End"
At the beginning of the week, I was planning to offer a somewhat philosophical response to a comment on last post. I have no special skills or graces that help me navigate through a week (and then another, and yet another) flying solo, but we manage because we have to, and while I myself wouldn't have thought it possible, somehow it's all worked out okay, and we've more than survived.
But then Monday night Chase woke me at four in the morning with sounds that I dread more than just about anything else, and we added a stomach bug to our week. By the end of the week, with school continuing to spiral out of control (the week before we hadn't done much of anything, either, but I had a week to spare, so I didn't mind so much), the washer running almost continously, disgrutled kids who had to miss a few highly anticipated events because of our contagiousness, and several nights with less than adequate sleep, I was feeling like the Wicked Witch -certainly not very admirable or inspiring. I had had more than a few moments where the "I don't want to do this anymore!" feeling was almost overwhelming, and in the end, I just hoped that this tired and snarly creature wouldn't become a habit, and certainly wouldn't be the mom my kids remember when they're grown.
Ok, ok, so it probably hasn't been quite so bad as that - everyone did survive the week, they were all fed and bathed (and even read to sometimes!). But no one should feel awed. I feel like I've been failing on so many levels, in some ways maybe I could have helped, and in others that I probably couldn't do anything about, but altogether, it's been very difficult to keep up normal routines and happy, produtive attitudes. We have a few more weeks of this to go, though, so after a boost from this weekend (hopefully), I'll need to pull myself together and keep at it!
But then Monday night Chase woke me at four in the morning with sounds that I dread more than just about anything else, and we added a stomach bug to our week. By the end of the week, with school continuing to spiral out of control (the week before we hadn't done much of anything, either, but I had a week to spare, so I didn't mind so much), the washer running almost continously, disgrutled kids who had to miss a few highly anticipated events because of our contagiousness, and several nights with less than adequate sleep, I was feeling like the Wicked Witch -certainly not very admirable or inspiring. I had had more than a few moments where the "I don't want to do this anymore!" feeling was almost overwhelming, and in the end, I just hoped that this tired and snarly creature wouldn't become a habit, and certainly wouldn't be the mom my kids remember when they're grown.
Ok, ok, so it probably hasn't been quite so bad as that - everyone did survive the week, they were all fed and bathed (and even read to sometimes!). But no one should feel awed. I feel like I've been failing on so many levels, in some ways maybe I could have helped, and in others that I probably couldn't do anything about, but altogether, it's been very difficult to keep up normal routines and happy, produtive attitudes. We have a few more weeks of this to go, though, so after a boost from this weekend (hopefully), I'll need to pull myself together and keep at it!
Saturday, February 7, 2009
A Jumble
"How could a four year-old (albeit with his two year-old accomplice) make a grown woman practically storm out of preschool Sunday School class vowing never to return? How could one hour of such an innocuous pastime as said class be so difficult? It's just an hour! It's just a four year-old! But it's not just any four year-old, and not just any hour - it's Ryan, in a classroom setting where there are RULES.
So began the last post that I wrote here. It was very long, a little rambling, but very philosophical, and pretty good - but then it vanished before I could post it. So now I'm stuck here feeling a need to post something worthwhile, but having none of the resources left required to do so. Dave has worked the past two weeks in Charleston, coming home on the weekends, and my brain is fried at this point. We did have a Sunday School crisis this week, and it was very revealing for me. Ryan has issues with the demands made of him there - namely the rather strict classroom rules, and very particularly, the ordinary rectangular rug on which he is often supposed to sit (oh, that rug!!!) - and because he dislikes being left there without a parent, I have had to watch it all and struggle with the blurred and conflicting emotions surrounding whether I needed to insist on him following the rules or...well, not. And on Sunday, while he and Chase were, in all likelihood, destroying my reputation as a mother in front of their Sunday School teacher, those emotions were swirling frantically. I could hardly tell who or what I was most frustrated with, and we had to leave the class early. But as I cooled off and the boys played in a room elsewhere in the church building, I realized that I was not willing to make a discipline issue out of something that isn't an issue for me most of the week. Here, the boys run and play - and sometimes even climb on the table - while learning is going on. Sometimes they sit to have a book read to them, but most of the time, our learning atmostphere is one of mostly controlled chaos, and I can hardly expect them to conform immediately to something much more structured (even if it makes me look like a bad mother). And I'm okay with that!
The rest of the week, though crazy and exhausting, had some great moments. We went to Denny's on Tuesday for our free breakfast. We had to wait thirty minutes for a table, but the kids were terrific as they waited patiently in the cold, eager for their eggs and pancakes. And we had such a happy time eating our breakfast - one of the best parts was letting them pour their own syrup from their own little pitchers.
Wednesday we met with some friends so that the moms of our group could have our first book club meeting (The Secret Life of Bees) and that the kids could play - of course.
And Friday, tonight - Dave came home. Joy for everyone, relief for my nearly shattered nerves!
This is the best I could come up with. There's so much more, but there's no way I can get it out now, and no one should expect anything clever or even very informative in the next couple weeks!
So began the last post that I wrote here. It was very long, a little rambling, but very philosophical, and pretty good - but then it vanished before I could post it. So now I'm stuck here feeling a need to post something worthwhile, but having none of the resources left required to do so. Dave has worked the past two weeks in Charleston, coming home on the weekends, and my brain is fried at this point. We did have a Sunday School crisis this week, and it was very revealing for me. Ryan has issues with the demands made of him there - namely the rather strict classroom rules, and very particularly, the ordinary rectangular rug on which he is often supposed to sit (oh, that rug!!!) - and because he dislikes being left there without a parent, I have had to watch it all and struggle with the blurred and conflicting emotions surrounding whether I needed to insist on him following the rules or...well, not. And on Sunday, while he and Chase were, in all likelihood, destroying my reputation as a mother in front of their Sunday School teacher, those emotions were swirling frantically. I could hardly tell who or what I was most frustrated with, and we had to leave the class early. But as I cooled off and the boys played in a room elsewhere in the church building, I realized that I was not willing to make a discipline issue out of something that isn't an issue for me most of the week. Here, the boys run and play - and sometimes even climb on the table - while learning is going on. Sometimes they sit to have a book read to them, but most of the time, our learning atmostphere is one of mostly controlled chaos, and I can hardly expect them to conform immediately to something much more structured (even if it makes me look like a bad mother). And I'm okay with that!
The rest of the week, though crazy and exhausting, had some great moments. We went to Denny's on Tuesday for our free breakfast. We had to wait thirty minutes for a table, but the kids were terrific as they waited patiently in the cold, eager for their eggs and pancakes. And we had such a happy time eating our breakfast - one of the best parts was letting them pour their own syrup from their own little pitchers.
Wednesday we met with some friends so that the moms of our group could have our first book club meeting (The Secret Life of Bees) and that the kids could play - of course.
And Friday, tonight - Dave came home. Joy for everyone, relief for my nearly shattered nerves!
This is the best I could come up with. There's so much more, but there's no way I can get it out now, and no one should expect anything clever or even very informative in the next couple weeks!
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