categorically kate

Tag: family

  • Goodnight 2015.

    Goodnight 2015.

    I’m sitting in bed, sipping wine and watching Star Wars as the clock winds down on 2015. Occasionally, I glance at the monitor on my nightstand and watch our sweet, sweet Holland sleep peacefully. This year has been hard, yet wonderful. 
    It started with sadness. I miscarried our first pregnancy and my sorrow was deep. But soon, I learned I was carrying a new, precious gift and my heart, though still healing, was light again. But with pregnancy, came extreme sickness and I spent the first 18 weeks of my pregnancy more sick than I had ever been in my entire life. As my sickness finally waned, I enjoyed a beautiful summer with Adam. We worked on the yard. We painted shutters. We generally enjoyed life together. 
    Then, sadness struck again as my grandmother was suddenly taken from us. One month later, as the family was still mourning, my cousin was tragically killed. It was a hard, hard two months. I cried so many tears for my loss, for my father’s loss, for my aunt’s loss… for loss in general. 
    But with sadness comes joy and with our loss, came gain.  In October — after 42 weeks of pregnancy and 47 hours of labor — we gained our precious Holland. I will be the first to admit it wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine at first. I spent many nights rocking her in tears… wondering how we could have made such a grave mistake! Why would we have ever wanted to give up our easy, parentless lives? 
    But tonight, as I rocked that same little girl to sleep, I cried for a different reason. I cried because I can’t imagine saying goodbye to the year of her birth. How is it possible that it shall never be 2015 again? I love her so. There aren’t words for how much that little soul moves mine. 
    This year has been a year of both tragedy and blessings for my family. I suppose, in some sense, all years are. Right now, I have some balls in the air and I’m not quite sure what 2016 holds. The thought is both scary… but exciting. Life can take us anywhere… at any time. 
    I won’t make it ’til midnight. Soon, I’ll give the baby monitor one last glance and then I’ll lay down my head knowing that I’ll wake up in the early hours of 2016 to feed our precious girl and rock her back to sleep. It will be a honor to spend my first moments of 2016 in quiet connectedness with her.
    So for now, I guess I’m saying goodbye to 2015. Goodbye to the year that I said goodbye to people I loved dearly and said hello to one precious little girl that I love deeply. Never again will it be the year that I welcomed her into this world… the year that I grew her in my belly. But soon, it will be the year that she learned to walk.. learned to speak. I have so many firsts to look forward to and I will rejoice for that as I close my eyes tonight. 
    Goodbye 2015. And goodnight. 

  • Newborn Photos

    Newborn Photos

    Holland turned two months old recently but I’m just now getting around to sharing a few of her newborn photos. Opps! That probably makes me a bad blogger, but oh well. Life is tough with a newborn and you learnt to roll with the punches and not be so hard on yourself. As always, all pictures by the amazing Niki Zimmerman of Niki Zimmerman Images. Without further adieu, here’s our little girl at her newest.

  • A Birth Story: Part III

    A Birth Story: Part III

    This is Part III of a three part birth story. (Click here for Part I and Part II) It’s taken me a long of time to come to terms with how our daughter, Holland, was brought into this world. Sadly, it was not the joyous occasion I desperately wanted. I know though, that we are incredibly blessed to both be healthy and safe and nothing I write is meant to dismiss that major blessing. Additionally, nothing is meant to discount the birth experience of other mothers. This is simply my account of Holland’s arrival. 

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    After the epidural and pitocin, I was able to hit 7 cm and I felt well on my way to becoming a mother. I had already gone through three shifts of nurses and the fourth shift of nurses who arrived that morning assured me that I’d have a baby by the time their shift ended that evening at 7 p.m. In fact, they all predicted that I would have the baby WELL before then. So did I. Adam and I started talking about having the baby before noon. As the morning progressed, I kept changing positions in bed and doing what I could to move the process along. At the next check however, I learned that I had not made any further progress. I was very disappointed. They turned up the pitocin and assured me that things would get moving again. By noon, I had progressed to 8 cm but they were a bit worried because I no longer felt 100% effaced. I wondered what that could possibly mean and they explained that my cervix was likely swelling a bit. As a result, I started to run a fever and they had to put me on IV antibiotics. 
    As the afternoon progressed and I was continually checked, I was told that I was no longer dilating and that my cervix was continuing to swell. They decided the only thing they could do to help was to ice my cervix. Yup. ICE my cervix. Trust me, that process is about as fun as it sounds… in other words, it was incredibly awkward and strange. But, I tried to keep a positive attitude because I felt SO close to having this baby. By this time, I had been in labor for over 40 hours and had been bed ridden for 15 or so. As a result of being in the bed so much, my body was sore. I was in a LOT of pain, even with the epidural, and was once again feeling my contractions. As we waited for word of whether the “icing of my cervix” worked, I cried. I was so exhausted. I had been on a rollercoaster of emotions over the last two days and I was so ready to just meet our baby.
    At the next check, it became apparent that I was still only 8 cm and my cervix was still swollen. My doctor came in and had a frank talk with me. She said she had never seen anyone with that much swelling deliver vaginally. She was willing to let me continue to labor for a few more hours, but by 7 p.m., my water would have been broken for 24 hours and she honestly believed that a c-section was going to be necessary. I cried. A lot. I called for my mom and she joined me in the labor and delivery suite and we cried together. Adam held me. Tia held me. My mom held me. It was so scary and I was more disappointed than I can convey. A c-section was my own “worst case scenario” and here it was… my only way out. After mourning the vaginal birth I wouldn’t get, I told me doctor they could proceed with the c-section. Sadly, she wouldn’t be able to perform the surgery herself and I got passed on to another doctor in her practice. The fourth shift of nurses I began the day with were also going to be out the door soon. It felt like everyone was leaving me behind. The doctor I got switched to was delivering another baby so I had to wait. Waiting made my nerves worst and I continued to cry. I waited…and waited. 
    All pictures by the amazing Niki Zimmerman of Niki Zimmerman Images

    At last around 7:30 p.m., they wheeled me away to the O.R. and I cried harder than I think I have in my entire life. I was so scared and so angry at how the entire process had happened. When I got to the O.R., the anesthesiologist began administering medicine to numb me further. Before I knew it, my fingers on one hand were numb. I told him this and he said that was an “abnormal” reaction. Soon, numb fingers turned into a numb arm… and a numb arm turned into a paralyzed neck and a paralyzed neck turned into slurred speech and labored breathing. By the time they let Adam in the O.R., I was panicked. I couldn’t move my right arm, turn my head, and I was struggling to take every breath. I kept saying (or attempting to) “I can’t breathe” but the anesthesiologist would just respond, “Your O2 stats are fine.” 
    There must have been panic in my eyes because I could see Adam panicking for me as well. He tried telling the anesthesiologist that I was having trouble breathing but he would only mutter “Her O2 stats are fine.” They didn’t feel “fine”…. I honestly believed that the “abnormal” reaction I was having was going to kill me. Perhaps that’s why, when they pulled our child out of me and into the world at 7:51 p.m., (nearly 47 hours after my labor began) I did not feel immediate joy. They announced that she was a girl and that she had hair and dimples….but I was still terrified. I was happy she was safe of course but I was worried she’d grow up without a mother. I still couldn’t breathe normally. It felt like someone had a plastic bag over my head. My entire body began to shake uncontrollably. They tried to hand Holland to me to hold, but I couldn’t hold her because I couldn’t move my arm or head and I was shaking too hard. At last, they quit trying to balance her on my shaking body and they handed her to Adam. Adam held her with one arm and stroked my face with his other hand and assured me that things would be okay. 
    Adam was seated behind me and since I couldn’t turn my head, I couldn’t see him or her. So, as he held her, he told me what she looked like. He told me that she had my dimples and dark hair. He told me that she was beautiful and that everything would be okay. I continued to shake uncontrollably from the medicine and the anesthesiologist threatened to put me under entirely so that they could finish the surgery and sew me up. Our doula, Tia, heard his threat and rose from her allotted chair and threw her body over mine in an attempt to warm me up. Her body heat must have helped because the anesthesiologist didn’t follow through with his threat. They finished the surgery without further complications. As they moved me to the gurney to be taken back out of the E.R., my ability to breathe easily again slowly returned. I still couldn’t move my arm or my head so they had to help me “hold” Holland as they wheeled me back to my room. They laid her on my chest and for the first time since she was born, nearly an hour before, I got to look into my beautiful daughter’s eyes.
    Back in our room, I slowly began to regain feeling and movement in my neck and arm. After about an hour, I had a full range of motion again and could properly hold Holland. It felt fantastic. We did some skin to skin and started breastfeeding. Family came into visit and my heart was full.
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    I did not get a medication free birth. I did not get to do immediate skin to skin with my child. I did not get delayed cord clamping. I did not get to cry happy tears and see her emerge into this world. In the weeks after Holland was born, I recalled her birth with a sense of fear and failure. Since that time, I’ve learned there were likely some problems with my placenta and her umbilical cord that caused her prolonged labor and eventual c-section. A vaginal birth would have likely ended with severe trauma to her, including a possibility of death or brain damage. Knowing these facts helps me accept what happened a little better and feel “proud” that my body protected her from that fate. But I must admit that I still struggle to say that I “gave birth” to her. I don’t feel like I did… I feel like she was ripped from me instead in a moment where I believed my life was in danger. I know that not all c-section mommies have that experience or feel that way but I do. I hope that with time, and further reflection of how traumatic a vaginal birth might have been for us both, I’ll feel differently. For now though, I take solace in knowing that without modern medicine, Holland and I would probably not be here. I still mourn for the birth I wanted, but I joyously celebrate the healthy, happy child I received. 

  • A Birth Story: Part II

    A Birth Story: Part II

    This is Part II of a three part birth story. (Click here for Part I) It’s taken me a long of time to come to terms with how our daughter, Holland, was brought into this world. Sadly, it was not the joyous occasion I desperately wanted. I know though, that we are incredibly blessed to both be healthy and safe and nothing I write is meant to dismiss that major blessing. Additionally, nothing is meant to discount the birth experience of other mothers. This is simply my account of Holland’s arrival. 

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    After discovering I was still only 4 cm dilated, I decided to do everything I could to move the process along. Tia prepared a hot bath for me and it was divine. The contractions were still incredibly painful, but the water was soothing. I sank a little deeper in the tub with each contraction. Adam and Tia kneeled beside the tub (probably was aching knees) and held my hand. My contractions never seemed to let up at all and before I knew it, the water had gone cold. I got out of the tub and proceeded to try other things to help my body relax and dilate naturally. 
    I bounced on the birthing ball. I laid on my side in the bed. I had my lower back massaged. I leaned against the wall. Once every hour or so, the nurses would come in and insist that I get back on the monitor for a few minutes and check on the baby’s vitals. Each time baby was doing fine but I was quickly becoming even more exhausted. My contractions had become stronger. Even worse, I started to have something called “rolling contractions.” This meant that instead of each contraction peaking and then winding down to a stop they just continued to go up and down without ever stopping. My contractions were lasting 5-6 minutes long and I barely had 30 seconds in between them. It was the most painful thing I had ever experienced. 
    Because of the strong nature of the contractions, everyone was hopeful that I would have some great progress. After my initial check, the nurses would re-check me every 3 hours or so. With each check, I would hope that I had progressed at least a centimeter. Sadly, the next three checks (9 hours) revealed that I was still only 4cm dilated! With each announcement after the check, I would cry. Why was I not progressing? I had been in labor for nearly 24 hours and my contractions were SO strong and SO consistent. It didn’t make any sense!
    All pictures by the amazing Niki Zimmerman of Niki Zimmerman Images

    Around 7 p.m., after yet another cervical check announcing me to only be 4cm, I decided to ask for IV pain meds. I was exhausted and even though I knew the meds wouldn’t stop the pain, I thought they might help me relax a bit. The meds kicked in and honestly made me feel like I was drunk. I still felt the pain of each contraction, but it was a bit like stubbing your toe while drunk… it hurts, but you can ignore it a little easier. Adam stayed by my side, brushing my hair out of my face and rubbing my back with each contraction. He was a champ. After my second dose of pain meds, my water broke. I was so happy and assumed that it meant I had made progress! I insisted they check me again once the pain meds wore off. They did and I was STILL at 4 cm!
    To say I felt defeated is an understatement. I felt like my body hated me. I wanted a natural, medication free birth more than anything, but it had been 24 of constant contractions and I hadn’t made a single centimeter of progress. I tried to get out of the bed and move around again, but my legs collapsed beneath me. I was just too tired and too weak after so many hours of strong contractions. The nurses and my doula, Tia, noted that I might be too tense to dilate because of how strong my contractions were and obviously, my body was worn out. I knew an epidural would help me relax and would give me some much needed rest, but I also knew that I didn’t want one. I struggled so, so, so hard with my decision to get one. I cried. A LOT. Adam held me in his arms and I told him about how much of a failure I felt. I apologized to him… to our baby… to myself for not being able to labor like we intended. It honestly broke my heart. 
    But once the decision was made, I just wanted it to be done. I remember asking how long it would take the doctor to get there and place the epidural. I was insistent it happen quickly. If my dreams of a natural birth were going to be shattered, I just wanted them to be shattered quickly. I didn’t even feel the epidural go in but I remember being shocked that the pain of the contractions did not immediately cease once it was in place. It took several minutes and several painful contractions before the pain faded entirely. Once it did however, I took several deep breaths and enjoyed the first few minutes of a pain-free existence I had felt in over 24 hours! It was a relief. 
    I still wanted to actively labor and since I could still move my legs, I changed positions in the bed several times over the next hours as suggested by the nurses and Tia. We would monitor the baby and move positions to help it descend. At my next check, I was finally 5 cm dilated and I could have thrown a party right then and there. At the check after that, I was 6 cm dilated! I finally felt like we would get to meet our baby soon and I was thrilled. I was still disappointed that I had to have the epidural, but I was happy that I was still on track for a vaginal birth. As the early morning hours faded away though, so did my consistent contractions. In short, the epidural had helped me relax and begin dilating, but it had slowed my very consistent contractions. Around 4 a.m., the doctor insisted that I start pitocin to help my contractions become regular again. I compiled even though pitocin was something else I had really hoped to avoid. 
    At my next check though, I was 7 cm so I decided the pitocin had been worth it. Everyone from the doctors and nurses to our doula, Tia, was sure that we’d have a baby soon! But they were all wrong… very, very wrong.

  • A Birth Story: Part I

    A Birth Story: Part I

    This is Part I of a three part birth story. It’s taken me a long of time to come to terms with how our daughter, Holland, was brought into this world. Sadly, it was not the joyous occasion I desperately wanted. I know though, that we are incredibly blessed to both be healthy and safe and nothing I write is meant to dismiss that major blessing. Additionally, nothing is meant to discount the birth experience of other mothers. This is simply my account of Holland’s arrival.

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    On Monday, October 12th, I went to my doctor’s appointment and learned that finally — after being nearly TWO WEEKS  (41w,5d technically) overdue, there was some real progress. I was 4 cm dilated and 80% effaced. My doctor went ahead and stripped my membranes and I practically danced out of the office, convinced that labor would begin any moment. Adam and I had been fighting against an induction for weeks so I was over the moon with the news that things might get started on their own soon.

    That night, around 9 p.m., things started with a bang. I felt what I knew to be a contraction. I always wondered what they felt like and had been frustrated with people who said, “Oh you’ll know it when you feel it.” But they were right — as soon as it happened I knew it was a contraction. My contractions started at 5 minutes or less apart and lasted anywhere from 30 seconds to a minute. Adam and I sat up and timed them (and breathed through them) until around 11 p.m. I texted our doula, Tia, and informed her of the progress. Knowing that I was already 4 cm dilated, Tia said it was likely that things would ramp up during the night or in the early morning so she advised me to get some sleep if I could.

    All pictures by the amazing Niki Zimmerman of Niki Zimmerman Images

    Adam went to bed and I attempted to sleep. My contraction though were already pretty painful so sleeping soundly just wasn’t possible. I could fall asleep in between but pretty much woke up every 5 minutes throughout the night as labor progressed. By morning, when Adam’s alarm went off, I was exhausted. I called Tia and she listened as I worked my way through a few contractions. They were starting to come a little closer together and each was becoming stronger than the last. Tia decided she needed to head to our house and she asked me to try to eat before we went to the hospital — knowing they would likely cut me off food-wise.

    I crammed back some food and worked my way through more contractions as we waited for Tia to arrive. Once she got to our house, it became apparent that we would be heading to the hospital pretty quickly. My contractions were becoming increasingly painful. Each would leave me doubled over in pain and struggling to catch my breath. I was convinced that I would have the baby before lunch so we decided to load up and drive to the hospital around 10 a.m. after laboring at home for a little over 12 hours.

    Getting to the hospital was relatively easy since we live so close, but getting IN the hospital was a different story. It was a VERY long walk and at this point, my contractions were only 1-2 minutes apart and they were lasting 1-2 minutes. The whole walk I was in terrible pain and I kept having to stop and breathe through yet another contraction. Everyone we passed kept offering to get me a wheelchair but I was determined to stay on my feet as long as possible so I politely refused.


    Once we FINALLY got to the labor and delivery ward, I was super excited to see how much I had progressed. After all, I was 4cm the day before and I had just undergone over 12 hours of very steady (and STRONG) contractions. I was certain that I would be at least 6-7cm dilated. After getting checked in and doing a mandatory monitoring session of the baby’s heartbeat, the nurse finally checked me. She delivered what she thought was happy news: “It looks like you are already 4 cm dilated and about 80% effaced!” I wanted to cry. Tia had to explain that I was 4 cm the day before at my doctor’s appointment because the nurse was clearly at a lost as to why I wasn’t jumping with joy at the news of my dilation. Everyone assured me that I would dilate more soon because of the consistent nature of my contractions.

    So, I set out to do everything I could to help the process along… 

  • The Littlest “Florken”

    The Littlest “Florken”

    If you follow us on Instagram, you know that on October 14, 2015, we finally welcomed the Littlest “Florken” into our home. Little Holland joined our family after 47 hours of labor and an emergency c-section. To say that labor and delivery was traumatic for me would probably be an understatement. I’m still working on my feelings related to how everything happened. It was not the joyous event I had prepared and dreamed of… instead it was hard, scary, and at times, even terrifying. I hope to share her “birth story” soon but I know that to do so, I will probably need to first sort through all of my own fears and sadness related to those 47 hours.
    In the end though, our little Holland joined us. Of course, we think she is beautiful, but we know she is also strong, adventurous, and stubborn. She never sleeps, she eats constantly, and she loves bath time. We cannot wait to learn more about her… to mold her into a strong and independent woman. Our family has forever changed and we are still wrapping our heads around that fact. It’s weird to go from a family of two to a family of three but we are slowly making the transition. 
    Please stick with us while we take a bit of a blogging break in order to sort our way through all the new challenges in our lives. We’ll be back… promise! 
  • The High Dive: A Pregnancy Metaphor

    The High Dive: A Pregnancy Metaphor

    When I was younger, I would sometimes go to the public pool in my hometown. A grand pool it was not, but it did have a rather terrifying high dive and deep end. I’m sure that if I saw the pool today the high dive would not seem so high and the deep end would not appear so deep — but at the time, both were scary.  Along with all the other kids my age, I would occasionally test my bravery out by choosing to climb the tall ladder to the platform and then linger at its edge with my toes curled over. Once you climbed the ladder, there was no turning back. Too many eyes were upon you. Too much was on the line. You had to jump… the only question was how long it would take you to build up the courage. 
    via Wiki
    I’m past my due date and much like little ten year old me, I find myself standing at the edge of the high dive with all eyes upon me. Everyone asks, “Now when were you due again?” and “What? No baby yet?!” Everyone has advice. “Have you tried castor oil?” “I hear that you can get that baby out doing the same thing that put it there!” 
    I am teetering on the edge. There is no turning back even if I wanted to. The only way out is down…Overlooking the water, I’m not sure I can manage the deep end below. It will involve treading water at a pace I’ve never accomplished before… But you know, it’s got to beat just standing here at the end of high dive with all eyes upon me. 
    When I was a kid, when I jumped was entirely up to me. Sometimes I stood there, full of anticipation and fear for what seemed like an eternity. Other times, I would just barely finish the climb only to sprint to the end and jump before the fear could creep in. Either way though, I made the decision when to leap. 
    Now, the decision to jump isn’t mine. It belongs to this little being inside of me. I don’t know what rhyme or reason it has for delaying my descent into the deep waters below, but I know that I’m tired of waiting. The anticipation is killing me. The comments and stares are killing me. Thoughts of how cold and cruel the waters below might end up being are killing me. I know there is a very real possibility that I won’t be able to handle this particular deep end and that I’ll need a life preserver to pull me to safety. At this point though, that’s a risk I’m willing to face because I cannot just stand here on the edge with all eyes upon me any longer. It is maddening. 
    But stand here I will because the jump is not my call. I hope I’m allowed to jump before I go mad entirely. And I hope that when I do jump, I don’t drown. In the meantime though, I have made a vow to never, ever stare and gawk at the overdue woman on the platform waiting to jump. I now know that she’s creeping towards the edge and those deep, scary waters just as fast as she can… so I’ll let her have a bit of breathing room before the water below overtakes her.
    So for now, I’ll just stand here and breathe. 
    Breathe in… breathe out… 
    Breathe in… breathe out… 

  • All the Things I’m Not Supposed to Say

    All the Things I’m Not Supposed to Say

    This child is due Wednesday. 
    Wednesday.
    Everything I read tells me that I should be anxious to meet the little one. Everything I read tells me that I should be head over heels with excitement. Everything I read tells me that to be the perfect mom, I need to be so sure of my undying love and devotion to this little soul I’ve carried for 40 weeks.
    Everything I’ve read scares me because that’s not how I feel.
    I’m terrified. Absolutely terrified. I have so many fears about becoming a parent. The whole process is  overwhelming. One day, I’m a regular (nearly) 29 year old with a stable job, good friends, a nice house, and a man that I love. Then suddenly, I’m a MOM on maternity leave, with friends I might have to struggle to make time for, a house that is overrun with baby products, and a man who is as lost in the deep-end as I am. That’s my fear. 
    I know I’m not supposed to say it out loud, but what if I resent this kid? What if I wake up one day, longing for my pre-baby life, and decide that having a kid was a terrible mistake. Hell — I still FEEL like a kid most days myself. How in the world am I even capable of raising one? 
    I’ve always wanted to be a mom but it isn’t the only thing I want to be. I want to still be a lawyer. A wife. An animal lover. A friend. A daughter. A sister. An activist. A free spirit. A political junkie. A brunch eater. A late night movie watcher. A nap taker. 
    I don’t want to be defined by motherhood. I just want motherhood to be a part of my overall definition.

    I feel like I’m watching the clock. I’m counting every “last”… the last time Adam and I eat out together without a child. The last time we go for a walk as a family of two. The last time we stay up late watching movies and talking about nonsense in bed. The last this… the last that. 
    I really, really hope that soon I’ll start counting firsts and that each of them will hold deep joy and satisfaction for me. The first time we all sleep through the night. The first time we all go on a walk together. The first time baby smiles or makes us all laugh uncontrollably. 
    But I guess until then I’m just savoring all these lasts and trying not to get too overwhelmed by the thought that everything can change within hours…. and at any moment. I’ve read all the books. I’ve taken all the classes. I’ve listened to all the advice. Now I just hope and pray that I am cut out to be a parent… a mom… and maybe, at the end of the day, I’ll somehow manage to be a pretty decent one. 

  • Our Birth “Plan”

    Our Birth “Plan”

    As I sit down to type this post, I wonder if the Fates are already laughing at me for even daring to make a plan. After all, birth is just so unpredictable. You don’t get to pick when you go into labor or even how your labor goes. I do believe however, in having goals and being as prepared as possible. That said, Adam and I have spent a lot of time preparing for the birth of this child. One of our first, and probably smartest decisions, was to hire a doula. Don’t know what a doula is? You aren’t alone. Check out this resource, or this one, or even this one. 
    Our doula is named Tia and I love her. She is so kind, smart, and reassuring. I feel like regardless of what happens, she will be this calm presence in the room that will bring me a lot of comfort and a deep sense of security. We’ve spent the last 4-5 months getting to know each other and she texts me daily to provide me with motivation for the birth process. I absolutely love having her on our “birth team”.

    In addition to having Tia along for the ride, Adam and I have set a few “goals” for birth. I say “goals” mainly because they are what we “want” but I also realize that I’ve never experienced labor or birth before (at least being on this side of it) and I do not want to set any hard and fast rules of things that would be completely unacceptable for me. Why? Because if I do, and then due to circumstances beyond my control I’m forced to go down those paths, I’ll feel like I “failed” at my plan. The last thing I want to feel like on the day I welcome my child into this world is a failure. Hell — I want to feel like Superwoman regardless of how this all goes down. So, I only have “goals” for birth with the complete understanding that shit happens and not everything is within my control.

    1) Labor at home as long as possible — If possible, I’d like to stay in the comfort of my own home for awhile. We have a giant tub with massage jets, a kitchen with a full fridge, and I don’t have to worry about any strangers hearing me making funny sounds. That sounds like a pretty stress free environment if you ask me.

    2) Get to the hospital before transition — Luckily, Adam and I only live about 5-10 minutes from the hospital where I will deliver. I’m hoping the short drive will give us plenty of time to get to the hospital prior to transitioning. I do not want to walk into that place with the baby crowning so there will be a fine line to walk between laboring at home and getting to the hospital in time. Thankfully, Tia is capable of conducting cervical checks and will be able to let us know when things are getting serious.

    3) Use chemical free pain relief — One of the BIG reasons we brought Tia on board is because she has intensive knowledge of pain relief techniques. If I have to have an epidural I will get one but it certainly isn’t my “goal” to have one. I fully believe that women were designed to give birth and in most cases they should be able to naturally if they are fully supported both physically and emotionally. Now, I understand there are an entire host of reasons that drugs, including epidurals, get brought into the process and if those happen to me, I’ll be glad I live in the 21st Century and I’ll accept them. However, I’d really like to use Tia’s vast knowledge and experience and avoid those things if I can.

    4) Have immediate skin to skin with baby — I’m a pretty squeamish person overall but I’m hoping that I’ll be able to look beyond the goo and the blood and get immediate skin to skin with our son or daughter. This also depends on baby’s health at birth obviously so we are keeping our fingers crossed that both Baby “Florken” and I fare well enough in the process for this to happen.

    5) Delayed cord clamping — After doing a lot of research, Adam and I decided that we’d like to delay cord clamping until all pulsing has stopped. This ensures that Baby “Florken” gets all the extra blood and nutrients from the placenta before they cut it loose.

    6) Bonding time before visitors — At our hospital, baby stays with mom and dad in the labor and delivery room for about 1-2 hours before everyone is transferred to recovery. Adam and I have decided that we’d really like to have that time alone with our child for immediate bonding. This decision has not made everyone in our family happy but we honestly feel it is the right decision for us. Everyone will be more than welcome to visit us once we transfer to recovery, but we’d really like to keep those first few hours with our child as quiet and serene as possible.

    So there it is — our birth “plan”. Baby “Florken” is set to arrive one week from today (Eeek!) so we will soon know how much (if any) of our plan translates to reality. I will say that a LOT of time, energy, stress, and even tears have gone into crafting our plan. We’d dealt with some pushback from people who wouldn’t necessarily chose to do it like we are and that’s fine. In the end though, this is our birth and our child so we really have to stick with the decisions that make us the most comfortable. After knowing how much thought we’ve put into this plan, I’ll never again question the in’s and out’s of someone else’s birth plan. It is just SUCH a personal process and I fully believe all decisions should be respected even if they aren’t fully understood or appreciated by the masses. So long as the goal is a healthy baby and a healthy mom, everyone else should just be supportive.

    Did you have a birth “plan”? If so, go ahead and tell me how far your actual birth deviated from it! I’d love to know.

  • Two Fabulous “Florken” Years

    Two Fabulous “Florken” Years

    Lately, it has felt like Fall in central Arkansas. Everyone has unpacked their football team gear and welcomed tailgating season in all its glory.
    As much as I love the crisp air that often comes with September, I will always have a pleasant fondness for another type of September… a September that was tough and hot, but amazing. You see, a week ago today, Adam and I celebrated being married for two years.

    Same Spot. Same Couple. Two Years Apart.

    It was not the cool, crisp outdoor wedding I had envisioned. It was sweltering. I remember watching Adam standing at the end of the aisle in his all black ensemble. He was handsome as hell but also sweating profusely. Everyone was. As the night wore on and the sun went down, Mother Nature provided some relief but we still swatted at mosquitoes and wiped our brows as we sipped cold wine and beer.

    More than the weather has changed in these two years. We bought a house. We got big kid jobs. We got pregnant. We lost family members we loved. More than once. We’ve had ups and we’ve had downs. We’ve fought and we’ve made up. We’ve struggled and we’ve triumphed.  In short, it’s been two full years and we’ve come out all the better for it.
    Since we had our anniversary off work this year (Thank you Labor Day!) Adam and I stuck to the tradition we created last year by revisiting the spot he proposed and opening the message bottle from our wedding. (At our wedding, we had bottles for Years 1-5 and then Years 10, 15, 20, and 25. People were encouraged to put messages in the bottles that we would open on each anniversary.) As we opened the Year 2 bottle and read messages predicting a little “Florken” or hoping for one, we both laughed and rejoiced in how far we’ve come in only two short years.
    Here’s to a life of goofy looking, off-center selfies, with this handsome man…
    I know that we aren’t in deep enough to really start handing out marriage advice. However, I will say that marriage can be easy (or at least easier) if you marry the right person. Adam is my person in each and every way. It has been an amazing two years and I cannot even describe how fortunate I feel for finding Adam, somehow convincing him I wasn’t the crazy person I am, and then being lucky enough they he chose to love me unconditionally for the rest of our lives. Here’s to another year of “Florken” fun!