You Changed Me

Before there was you, there was hot coffee and uninterrupted lunch dates. There was time to clean the house and put on make-up - do homework, go to work. I could stay up late, sleep til noon, leave without telling anyone - whenever I wanted to. I was basically a rockstar.

And now I speak of the lines, the stretchmarks that are etched deep, hard into my skin that read of a time before we began. I now can run on very little sleep, make it through a day with no solid meals and find a way to bounce, sway, rock back and forth - sitting down, standing up to help you fall asleep. I am able to just look at you and know you're sick, you're tired, you're hungry - calling for me to nurse life into you. Liquid gold, my body now makes that. We're talking superhuman trumps the rockstar.

I've been broken down, made wide, pulled thin all at the same time. I've cracked and bled; processing pain I've never known, riding a depthless ocean of hormones that bind me closer to you through the tears, the laughter, the explosive kind of love I knew when your heart beat next to mine - skin on skin - for the first time.

You changed me.

I gave birth to you, but you also gave birth to me as a mother, and now we are bound up in this lifelong story of growing together. And all that stuff that happened before there was you - before there was us - pales in comparison to the adventure we now know.

I love how God chose me for this; how He chose you for me and me for you. All to draw us deeper into communion with Him, His plan, eternity. We are here to sharpen and refine one another in our domestic church, our mission for sainthood. And somehow that makes the cold coffee and early wake-up calls golden because they have purpose - they drive us deeper into the mystery of life given for life; a holy, maternal sacrifice. And it is all so alluring, addicting - like we are tasting a sliver of the love God pours out for all of His children.

You changed me.
He changed us.
And it is good.

I Am Not Broken. A Birth Story.

My Bella Jane. Talk about fashionably late. Even at 12 days past her due date, she came slow and
steady into this world. Apparently my uterus is like the Taj Mahal of uteruses - so why leave?
I guess the "all you can eat" milk buffet just doesn't compare.

41 weeks //

All my people from far and wide were sending me every trick in the book to induce labor. God bless 'em!
Check. Check. Check. Did it all. 3 or 4 times over for good measure. Yea about that whole pineapple I ate
- all I got was a couple cankers, thank you very much. My favorite was a message from a friend
reminding me about how "funky town" from Parenthood would totally work. Anybody?!

Totally did NOT work. But again, we did our best. Wink.

I am so thankful that my doctors were willing to let me take this pregnancy to 42 weeks.
Since I have had a C-SECTION, most OB-GYNs in my experience are not too comfortable with such
ideas. But knowing that I have one successful VBAC under my belt (funny, right?!), I was confident
that I could do it again. I just needed time. And time was given.

I wrote a whole post about my "non birth plan" plan, but at 10 days past my due date I looked my doctor
in the eye for the last time before we would meet in the hospital and told him...

"I told you that I have NO plan, but that's a lie.
I am going to VBAC and you are NOT going to cut me open."

To that he said, "That's right!"

Again, thankful for supportive doctors. I felt like they believed in me and were so open
to all the little alternatives that I requested. If anyone in the Chicago-area is looking for
some solid Catholic OB-GYNs - I cannot recommend this practice enough. I love them.

Two days before my scheduled "light induction" (no promise of a VBAC, but at least a trial of
labor), I decided it was time. CASTOR OIL. Yes, I did. My doc actually said to give it a shot -
so I followed my cousin's midwife's directions (because midwives are so cool) and later that night...

contractions woke me up. They were tolerable, but I could not sleep through them.
2-3 minutes apart for hours and hours. I woke my husband and told him I was jumping in the shower,
but encouraged him to keep sleeping because I had been having "fake outs" for many days and was
sure this was just another round of fun.

I then checked in with my doctor, and he asked me if my bags were packed.

But by the time I got to the hospital those beautifully consistent contractions were fading. I was
instructed to "WALK!" Round and round the labor and delivery floor. 3 hours later it was determined
that I was NOT in actual labor. Another fake-out. Technically I could go home.

Since I was 12 days overdue, dilated to 3, with a scheduled "light induction" less than 12
hours away, we decided to stay at the hospital and let the doctor break my water. Once I felt
that initial gush, I got that "HOLY COW THIS IS IT" feeling! In less than 24 hours we are
going to have a baby in our arms!

You would think that a 10 and a 1/2 pound baby would just fly out after the water had been
broken, but no. Hours later I found myself hooked up to my BFF, pitocin. That's a joke.
The BFF part.

Every hour or so they would bump up the dosage and my contractions would become stronger,
more consistent. Once I was dilated to 7 the doctor came in and turned off the pitocin;
thinking that my body would do the rest on its own. 5 minutes - 7 minutes - 10 minutes -
the contractions started drifting off to nothingness.

This was my panic moment. I asked every nurse that came in, "is my body broken?"

I cried. Partly from the pain, but more so from the fear and frustration of my body not responding.
I began to repeat in my head, "I AM NOT BROKEN. I AM NOT BROKEN. I AM NOT BROKEN."

My doctor came back in and said he was sorry, but that they were going to turn the pitocin back on
at the highest level safe for my condition (c-section scar). He asked if I wanted the epidural
first. I said, "NO" - determined to overcome the situation, thinking "I've got this."

10 minutes later, back on pitocin, I paged the nurses 2 times and eventually sent my
husband out in the hall with instructions NOT to come back without the anesthesiologist.

The pain subsided to the level of bearable and I just laid there on the hospital bed.
Feeling defeated. Crushed. Beaten by the woes of induction. My breathing slowed and I held
my husband's hand as the box fan whirred next to me, blowing away the tension and my furrowed brow.

Finally, I could feel the baby descending with that great rush of pressure. It's time. I knew it
was time. 30 minutes of pushing, deep breathing, chanting in my heart, "I AM NOT BROKEN!" ---
and then LIFE. I pulled myself up to see the doctor turning the baby over, hearing the nurse
ask, "is it a boy or girl?!"

GIRL. It's a girl.




Nathan got to cut the umbilical cord right before they rushed her over to clear out her lungs
(meconium). So surreal. Tears filled my eyes and no words came. No words. It was like being a
first-time parent all over again. A daughter?! The awe of it all - felt so different.

Her daddy got to hold her first. In fact, I'm pretty sure Nathan got to hold all of our children
before I did due to complications with each delivery. I guess the universe didn't get the memo that
the I was pregnant for 40+ weeks and probably should have dibs on holding the baby first! HA.

But it was wonderful. Happiest of memories. Nathan handed her to me, and even though I had planned
to breastfeed RIGHT AWAY -- I just stared at her; completely overcome with newborn baby bliss,
drowning in a sea of hormones and emotions. It's one of those SURPRISE OF YOUR LIFE kind of moments. You know?

We prayed for her. We waited for her. We are celebrating her.
Lady Bella Jane, welcome to our family!!! We love you more than you will ever know!

So You Want to Normalize Breastfeeding?

I get it, I get it. I'm just as irritated by the double standard as the next lactating woman.
It's perfectly acceptable for the media to the local mall to throw images that glorify cleavage,
airbrushed skin and all, in our faces. Supposedly they're trying to sell a "pair of blue jeans",
but apparently jeans don't sell well without boobs. Who knew?

And this activity is seen as "normal". I'd say it's even "expected" and "applauded."
The shocking amount of skin, in public, in general, to be seen is blessed and forgiven.
People just smile, chat, maybe steal a glance or two, and move on. It sells.

But throw a breastfeeding woman on a public park bench and I can guarantee the smiles
will fade into quizzical eyebrows, the chatting will turn to gossiping, and suddenly everyone
forgets what their momma taught them about STARING.

Call me Feisty Pants, but if you're going to stare at me, I'm going to stare right back.
I breastfed my two babies, shamelessly. I'm not a woman of the "cape", but I know enough
to be discreet, modest.

And then you have the people posting pictures all over social media.

"NORMALIZE BREASTFEEDING."
(I don't even think that's the official name, but you catch my drift.)

I know you know what I'm talking about. Women with good intentions, showing more skin than
I think they honestly would if sitting in a public setting, demanding that the world look at them
and "ok" the situation... "because if you're cool with Victoria's Secret ads then you
better be cool with this, gosh darn it."

I grew up in a community where it was rare to NOT see a woman breastfeeding.
My mom breastfed me and my four siblings and bottles were basically "toys" for
baby dolls or completely taboo.

This isn't coming from a boob-o-phobe or anything (remember I don't use capes or duck
into a dressing room when breastfeeding), but I don't think I'm ok with the approach the NORMALIZE
BREASTFEEDING movement is taking. Honestly, I think they're coming at it all from the wrong angle.

Here's why:

The images and attitudes I see on social media typically (not always) come across as harsh,
offended, and "in your face." In most cases, I'm just shaking my head, sarcastically thanking
that woman in my head for shoving what is and should be "normal" into the face of the world -
MAKING IT NOT NORMAL, awkward, and uncomfortable for all.

Breastfeeding is NORMAL *cheer*.
I'd go as far as to say that I believe it's a SACRED EXCHANGE between a mother
and her child - one that brings life. It's a HOLY EXPERIENCE to nourish and be nourished through
the sacrifice of the body; a woman's body - doing what it was made to do.

And that's why I think they're coming at it all from the wrong angle.
We don't need the images in our Instagram feed to remind us that breastfeeding is normal -
keep that HOLY EXPERIENCE, that SACRED EXCHANGE, as your precious secret or memory.
Not to be all covered up and tucked away from the eyes of the world where you just
happen to be in that moment, but to be done, enjoyed, lived out... like breathing.

Breathe. And maybe then, people won't feel so guarded, but invited in to your normal.

It's a BIG BATTLE to undo what has been done in regards to the way people have been
programed, trained, invited to view breasts. I mean, because they are obviously there to
sexualize any situation and sell blue jeans. NOT to feed your baby.

It's more involved than just normalizing breastfeeding via social media.
It's about changing the hearts of a culture.