Officially a SAHM!

For those who aren't familiar with the alphabet soup that is online Mommyhood, SAHM= Stay-at-Home Mom.   I've been home with Cam since he was first born, of course, but the first 12 weeks were maternity leave, then came summer when I would have been off anyway, but this week was back-to-work for my teaching colleagues, so this is REALLY the first week when I would have been putting Cam in day care of some sort if I had to go back. Let me tell you, it's weighing on my heart.  I feel tugs this week, it's been a tough week.  I feel the pangs of not going back to work, doing something I am GOOD at, and watching the days and weeks and months stretch out ahead of me without much shape to them, that's tough.

But, the BIGGEST thing that tugs at my heartstrings and brings tears to my eyes is when I think of what it would be like to leave Cam in daycare. To not be there to hold him if he fusses, to not be able to nurse him during the day, to sing to him and smile to him, to not be able to go to him if he misses me...I know babies do it all the time and that they learn to LOVE their daycares, the other babies there, and most importantly the wonderful adults who care for them in love all day. However,  I am pretty sure I am missing whatever gene it takes to be able to leave a baby all day, any woman who can is my hero.  I am pretty sure it would shatter me into a million little pieces and I would never recover.

I have wanted it MY WHOLE LIFE!  I remember in college, a guy I was in choir with found out I waned to stay home with my kids and was SO disappointed in me! He thought I was capable of so  much more and that I was more ambitious than that.  Really?  First of all, it was so incredibly much none of his business that it boggles the mind.  But, if we are GOING to dignify the inappropriateness of his having an opinion about this topic, let alone expressing it to me, with a response/explanation, anyone who REALLY knows me and knows how I am wired understands that I am fully aware of what I am capable of, what I am wired to contribute to the world, that I am chock full of ambition, and staying home with my children is a PART of that, not a conflict to it.  I am wired to want to care for others and to make their lives better.   I became a teacher because I wanted to be a part of helping as many kids grow up whole as possible.   So, wanting to be able to make my own kids my full-time job is a "duh!"  Now, I'm not saying that anyone who HAS to or CHOOSES to work is NOT devoting their lives to their children.  We all do the things in life that make the most sense in terms of who we are and the circumstances we have, and this just happens to be the thing that makes the most sense in terms of who I am and our circumstances.  I didn't step aside from my life's path to do this, I'm just moving into a new phase of it that makes perfect sense.

And let me tell you, I am blessed beyond measure to be able to do it and I know it.  I even feel a little guilty about it because I know so many other moms who would love to be in the position to be at home with their babies and kids, but their circumstances just don't allow for it.  There is nothing about me that makes me "deserve" this. I don't believe for a SECOND that I have "earned" this and others have not. Yes, I planned for it. I prayed for it, made financial decisions in my single days to allow for it, married a guy to whom it was important as well and we have worked our tails off as a couple and built our lives around it...but, really, how many other people can say the same and have had a different outcome?  How many others have planned and saved, and the something has come between them and being able to stay home with their kids?  A million things could have happened, ESPECIALLY considering the twists and turns our economy has been through lately.  It is through God's Grace, and Grace alone that I am home with Cam rather than working today. 

Pure, unearned Grace.  Blessings have flowed through our families, we have been protected and shielded, it is TOTALLY God's Grace.  I wish there were a way I could pay it forward...some way I could ease someone else's burden and heartache surrounding this issue the way mine has been eased.  I'm sending a message out to all my working mom friends: if you ever get in a pinch, if daycare is closed and you have to work, if your sitter is sick and you can't afford a day off, I'm your girl. Call me, drop your kids off and they can play with Cam and we'll bake some cookies, watch Disney movies, and go over to the playground nearby.  And now, here are some recent pics of Cam:

Well, we think Mister Cameron Lauren is teething.  We have thought he was teething before, he's been drooling and biting an chewing for the better part of two months now.  However, the past two nights, he hasn't been able to sleep peacefully antwhere but in bed with us, right next to Mommy. It started about 10:45 pm night before last, when he woke up crying.  Cam does not wake up crying.  He will wake up, fidget, kick, roll, grunt, and it my escalate to "COME GET MEEEE! I NEED SOMETHIIIIIIIIIIING!!!" whines, but he NEVER all-out "WAAAAH! WAAAAH!" cries.  And I really do mean NEVER, as in not at all ever, until that night.  When he's really worked up, it becomes a choppy, "Nyah, nyah, nyah" and that is when we know he's really lost it. 

Well, that night, he was doing that and Jeff got in there and picked him up only to learn that he was still sleeping, crying in his sleep. So, he brought him into Mama where he was instantaneously fine and nursed himself back to sleep in under two minutes.

Jeff cleaned out his bassinet in the corner of our room, we put him in there, and it lasted about ten minutes. Crying again, still fast asleep. Bless his heart. And this was not "I'M IN MY CRIB AND MAAAAAAAAAAD" crying, this was for reals, something was wrong, "I'm by myself and something is not right, I really need my Daddy and Mommy" crying. So, he spent the night with us.  He cried a few more times, but I could soothe him back to sleep very quickly.

Last night, he couldn't even go down in his crib.  He was  just sooooo, sooooo not having it. Again, not mad, just sad and done.  So, he slept with us again.

We have been very blessed in that our nightime routine fell into place VERY easily and we generally have no tears at bedtime. I know we are really endangering that by allowing him to sleep with us right now and not continuing to try to stay in the routine as much as possible.

But, here's the thing.  He's five stinking months old and something is not right. We think he's teething and he hurts, this is a telltale sign apparently, but even if that' not it, something is not right.   I would much rather be there for him and meet whatever his little needs are and pay the consequences later (if there even are any) than keep him at arm's length in order to keep our routine established lest we regress too far. 

He CLEARLY needs us right now.  He lays next to me, flops over on his back, but still turns his head so his nose is buried next to Mama, and he inevitable ends up rolling on his side again and scooting himself and nestling into me in his sleep, just like he used to do when he was a newborn and would scoot across his bassinet up next to the bed where I was.   There have been times in the past few months where he has slept with me for one reason or another and has been much more independent, even times he's been happier when NOT up against me, having his space to stretch out.  This is not one of those times.  He needs Daddy and Mommy, so Daddy and Mommy he shall have.

His latest milestone is trying to sit up.  Well, I'm trying to get him to sit up, he doesn't really know he's supposed to do it. :-)  I know other babies his age who are sitting up on their own and I know he will just LOVE it when he can have that independence and sit up in the tub, sit up to play, sit up to eat... so, we practice every day.  This is as far as we've gotten:

This was last Friday and he couldn't stay in that position without toppling over for more than five or ten seconds, but now he can do it indefinitely! Now, he just needs to sit up straight so the fun can begin!

Our Birth Story, Part 3 (The Final Chapter)

I have forgotten to mention until now that our nurse told us that I was the most polite laboring mother she’d ever been around.  All of my requests were “Please” and their responses were met with, “Thank you.”

“Would you like some water, Tori?”

“Yes, please. And could I have some help rolling over please, I’m having a hard time with this big ol’ belly. Thanks!” ***smile***

Apparently, that’s not normal.  Who knew?

I should begin this part by letting y’all know that I have no pain memory from the waist down of Cameron being born. You will not be regaled with “And then I felt a RIP as I pushed a WATERMELON out of a KEYHOLE.” I don’t remember any of that, even though there was no epidural.  It was a combination of things contributing to this, not the least of which being the Lord’s hand GRACIOUSLY shielding me. I’m not complaining, however.  I'll take it.  Here’s how that part of the story unfolded. 

The Big Guns Nurse who had checked my cervix had told me I was done but Sarah, our regular L&D nurse who had checked me in the first place, needed to check me herself.  She told me I was actually only about 9, but it wouldn’t be long (and it wasn’t, minutes maybe) and so preparations should begin.  I had Jeff put on my playlist of my songs I wanted for labor, the songs were my favorites from church (I will share that list later) and, of course, “He Will Rejoice” by Trevor Morgan (please excuse the video for the song, it was made by someone else for their parents but I haven't found another one that works. If  you let it play in the background while you read this, it will be a good musical background for what it was like for me).  That song is an arrangement of Zephaniah3:17, the scripture that has been on my heart for Cam the moment I knew he was coming.   God taking delight in Cameron…rejoicing over him with singing… if there was one thing I would want him to know, it would be that. God delights in him, and so do his parents!  I sang along with that song and tears streamed down my face.  The contractions continued to come, but I just sang right along with the songs I had chosen, my cheeks soaked with tears (and now again as I write this).  

I felt so blessed... I was about to meet my baby boy!  I had waited my whole life for this, I felt God there in the room with us.  I couldn't believe it was HAPPENING!!!!

There was hustle and bustle as everyone got ready. My doctor was off at the coast for her anniversary weekend, but the doctor who was there to deliver Cam was someone we had seen before when our doctor had gotten called out on an emergency C-section right before one of our checkups.  They got me all appropriately arranged, and she checked me out. Baby was down, my cervix was all opened up, and we were ready to rock and roll!

The pushing part was the part I was most nervous for because it seemed like the most important thing I had EVER done in my life, and yet I had no experience. There was no dress rehearsal, I didn’t know if I’d know how to do it right…and yet it was the most important thing EVER!  Everyone just says, “And then you push” as if you just know how to do it.  Well, I did, so that was good. In our birthing class, they told us that the baby would press down on a bundle of nerves that would give me the urge to push. I never felt that, at least not that I remember.  I just started pushing with each contraction once they told me I was ready and everything went fine, so I know they weren’t leading me wrong.

My mom was stroking my head, Jeff was holding my hand, and there was a team of the doctor, Sarah, and one other nurse down by my business getting ready to catch that little guy when he came out.

“PUUUUUUUUUUUUUSH!” They told me, so I did.

“Oh, Tori, you’re SUCH a good pusher!” the doctor and nurses told me. “Oh, you’re GOOD AT THIS!”  I was in immense pain and that sounded like the most generic $h*t I had ever heard in my life, so I tuned them right out so I didn’t get all annoyed and smack somebody and lose my status as Most Polite Laboring Mother Of All Time. 

“Tori, honey, this is only temporary.  This is a little bit of pain for what we’ve been waiting our whole lives for,” Jeff dutifully recited.  We had planned the things I wanted him to say, but now, in the moment, it sounded rehearsed and I wanted to smack him so I had to tune him out as well. Besides, that was what he was supposed to say to get me through contractions, not through pushing. I should have told him to sing “Eye of the Tiger” when I was pushing, THAT would have gotten the job done

The back labor continued throughout the pushing. They told me it would subside as the baby moved down, but that didn’t happen for quite awhile, I don’t even remember the point at which it stopped hurting…it might have hurt the whole darned time for all I know.

I yelled, just like they do in the movies. I couldn’t help it, the pain of the contractions kept overwhelming the pushingness!!! The doctor told me not to yell, it was keeping me from pushing as hard as I needed to and I needed to channel that energy into pushing. She was right, of course, butI couldn't help it because I was in enough pain from the back labor that there were times I wasn’t TRYING to push, I was just trying to get through the contraction.

I turned to Jeff one time, mid-push and declared, “WE’RE ADOPTING THE NEXT ONE!!!!”

They told me they could see his head and they asked me if I wanted a mirror.  Heck no, I hadn’t wanted a mirror when they’d talked about it in our birthing classes…but I also hadn’t wanted an epidural and had asked for that (even though it didn’t end up happening), I hadn’t wanted anyone in the room with me but Jeff and now I had 3 out of the 4 grandparents standing over my right shoulder.   So, I figured I was probly wrong about this one, too, so I told them to bring in the freaking mirror.

Best thing I ever did. I think that’s largely why I don’t remember any pain, because I was SEEING him moving down and coming out, and that was my primary source of input about what was happening, so I wasn’t focused on how it FELT.

I looked in the mirror to see if I could see his head…and it just looked like darkness to me. Well, turns out that was because Baby Boy had one heck of a head of hair.  “He’s got SO MUCH dark hair!” the doctor said. I couldn’t believe it. MY BABY HAD HAIR!!!! First of all that, was miraculous because I WAS SEEING MY BABY’S HAIR! AND HE HAD IT!!! “I’LL BET HE’S EVEN GOT FINGERS AND TOES, TOO!!!” I thought to myself. Second of all, I was bald as a cue ball from birth though the better part of my first year and I STILL have about half as much hair in terms of volume as do most other women. That my baby should have a good deal of hair at birth was thoroughly a shock, seemed like it had to be someone else's baby. 

They guided my hand so I could touch his head for the first time. Woah.  What a trip!!!

It got really hard to push through the contractions, probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  It seemed like I pushed forever, but in reality it was probably only about ten or fifteen minutes. 

But, seeing him helped.  I could see more and more of his head with every push.  It also helped because, like I said, I had tuned out the annoying doctors and nurses.

I finally heard the doctor say that his head was crowning, one more push would do it.  It was a really hard contraction and there is no way I could have pushed through it if I hadn’t been able to see him, but I could and I did! I could SEE that he was almost there and if I gave it just a little more, I’d be able to hold him AND WOULDN’T HAVE TO PUSH ANYMORE!!!

So, I did.  I gave it ONE! MORE! BIG! PUSH! And out he came… at least part way.

“OK, stop pushing,” the doctor told me calmly, and grabbed some scissors.  I couldn’t see it, but apparently our little gymnast had gotten the umbilical cord wrapped around him in a five-point safety harness.  Around his waist, an x across his chest, and around his neck.  He wasn’t in any distress, mind you, everything was fine. However, that bad boy (the cord, not the baby) was not getting unwrapped, it required doctorly intervention, so she snipped it.  She told us she snipped it low enough that Jeff could still cut again and officially "cut the cord" if he wanted, but he'd been on the fence about that anyway, so he was OK with having that be it.

I must have pushed a little more to get him the rest of the way out, but I don't remember because THERE! HE! WAS!  

The little life we had see on the monitor so many times... the legs that had kicked me...the elbows that had poked out (yes, the was throwin' them 'bows left and right in there)... the precious little perfection that had been knit in my womb from one little microscopic speck of Jeff and one little microscopic speck of me.  Mind = blown.  Heart = filled.

Not only did have hair and those fingers and toes I had marveled at the possibility of, but he had ARMS! AND LEGS! AND EARS! AND A TINY LITTLE BITY NOSE…which was pushed off to the side… BUT IT WAS STILL THERE.  They ripped back my hospital gown (as they were supposed to, I knew they would), put him on my chest, and wrapped us both in a blanket.  And there we were…our family of three…

Sometime during the first few moments after he was born, the grandparents made their exit.  This was undoubtedly my mom’s doing, she always knows exactly what to do in the right moment somehow.  So, it was just the three of us.

“What’s his name?” Sarah asked.

I looked at Jeff, questioningly. We had a name, we had picked Cameron very early on in the pregnancy and nothing else even came close.  But, we were both committed to not finalizing it until we saw him, especially Jeff who had played enough baseball games over the years to be a tad superstitious. 

“Is he Cameron?” I asked.

“Yes,”  Daddy said, beaming.  “He’s Cameron.  Cameron Lauren Rask. Lauren, after my Grandpa.”

And Sarah wrote this on the board.

They weren’t done with me yet, I still had to pass the placenta and I had a “small tear” and so she had to stitch me up.  That, I remember.  That was ouchy.  She also asked if I wanted to see the placenta. I wanted to know what this thing my body had produced to sustain my baby looked like.  It was veiny-looking,  that’s all I remember. 

I just wanted to be DONE with the  pain of contractions, but they needed to hook me up to a Pitocin drip to encourage my uterus to keep contracting, because of the quick birth I was bleeding more than usual.  That hurt, too.  All you women who are given the full dose of Pitocin to induce labor… hats off to you ladies, that is some mean stuff. 

But, we had our baby. Our sweet little man.  After awhile…30 or 40 minutes, maybe, they took him over and bathed him and cleaned him up, they were able to do everything they needed to do right there in the room. Jeff went with him while the nurse tended to me.  The grandparents and Jeff’s brother and his girlfriend came in and everyone got a chance to see and hold Cameron. Pics here:

Then, everyone headed out…and we were a family.

So ends our birth story.  The saga doesn’t end here, the hard part was actually just beginning.  Cam didn’t latch that night. Or the next day, or the next day. We went home with a non-latching baby and so began a long, tearful, and arduous journey to establish nursing, which I will get to writing about eventually.  It all turned out OK, but we had to fight for it. Long and hard we fought, I think Cam was 2 months old before the nagging fear that we wouldn’t be able to nurse finally slipped quietly away.  Lactation appointments, pediatrician appointments, weeks and weeks without a day with no tears for me… but Cam stuck with me, and Jeff was behind us 100% all the way… but that’s a story for another time. I have to be emotionally ready to revisit those scary, painful, and visceral moments and I’m not quite there yet.  

For now, I’ll just say another prayer of thanksgiving for all of this.   God is good. Even if this hadn't gone as wonderfully as it did, He would still have been good. Even in the dark, painful moments of the days and weeks that followed, He was still sovereign in our lives and was still good.

And we now have Mister Cameron Lauren Rask, he may be our baby, our little man to hold and raise and love, but he is God's child.  And, even in the years to come when we have scary moments (which are unavoidable when one chooses to raise a child), He will always be sovereign and good.  May we never lose sight of that!

Our Birth Story, Part 2

This part will take us from our arrival at the hospital  to the "it's time to push..." In this installment, you learn that I dilated very rapidly and we had BOTH of my parents AND my mother-in-law in the room when I delivered. I know, right? Bet you're DYING to hear how that went down. Read on...

We arrived at the hospital and the very flustered father-to-be was trying to convince me to let him drop me off and go park the car.  I told him that I was the one in labor, I knew how I was doing, and I would be fine to walk in with him. I would much rather have walked the extra steps than been up there without him wondering where he was. I needed my hubby there with me.  We gathered our things and headed in, Jeff looked like a pack mule.  I remember feeling my belly as we walked across the street, it felt so different without all the amniotic fluid in there and I wondered what it was like for the Beavlet.  I knew he could notice the difference, I wondered what he thought of it!

We got inside and rode up in the elevator, they were expecting us because I had dutifully called ahead as soon as I knew we were going.  I was surprised that the nurses were not more trusting when I told them my water had broken.  “Was it a trickle or was it a gush?” They asked, “Well, we’ll check you before we formally admit you.”  I felt like informing them that I wasn’t some ill-informed teenager, my frickin’ water had frickin’ broken already so they could skip the conservative protocols and just settle us in for the long haul already!  But, I dutifully humored them.  It wasn’t long before Sarah, our nurse said, “Well, your water did break!”  Ever heard the phrase, “No @#$%, Sherlock?”  That applies.

I changed into a gown and they hooked me up to the monitor to hear our little boy’s heartbeat. We were SO relieved when we heard him in there, no distress, just as strong and calm as he could be.  Our little man, unphased by his impending entry into the world and all the changes going on around him in the only world he'd ever known.  She checked my cervix and told me I was 3 cm dilated, 100% effaced.  I was disappointed, I had expected to be further along.  I resigned myself to a looooooong journey ahead.

Then, the poking and the prodding commenced.  They tried to take blood, they gave me antibiotics (Group B strep, you know), they tried to take blood again…it was all very uncomfortable.  Add to that the fact that my contractions had changed.  Remember that pain I described from my birthday? Well, it was back.  It appeared that I was going to be one of those unfortunate women who had what is known as back labor. Just the mention of the words “back labor” evoke groans and winces from those who have had it or been close to someone who has. It isn’t fun, and I couldn’t BELIEVE it was happening to me.  But, it was happening. To me. I was way less than thrilled.

I couldn’t get comfortable. My back hurt even BETWEEN contractions, which now sometimes seemed to be right on top of one another.  Jeff turned the Timbers match on, the previous spring they had gotten me through the feverish first night of strep throat, they were going to get me through labor as well. But, it was not to be.  Things disintegrated really fast.  Not in terms of the baby or me being in any danger, it was always clear that we were both fine. I just hurt a lot and wasn’t having those breaks between contractions to rest and relax and change position like they told us in our birthing classes. Plus, they hadn’t been able to draw my blood so there were two more nurses trying two more times, poking me in the arm and hand repeatedly, while I tried to breathe through contractions.

Per my request, Jeff texted my mother to tell her I wanted to see her when she got there.  We had originally thought we wanted nobody in the room but us, but when a girl hurts THAT MUCH, she needs her Mommy!!!

So, in my parents came, both of them. I didn’t mind having my dad there, he’d always been so matter-of-fact about my “female stuff” throughout my life, treating things like periods and pap smears and cramps as just another part of his daughter’s health, not any grosser, scarier, or of less concern to him because he didn’t have the same equipment. So, I wasn’t worried about having him the room with me. My mom prayed with me and over me, it was exactly what I needed and right then, I decided that I needed her in the room with me when I delivered him. 

The contractions were SO BAD, I thought I might pass out.  I went into labor with very little fear, my family history is of quick and easy labors so I hadn’t grown up hearing horror stories, and I also knew it was a very natural process, which women had been doing successfully since the beginning of the human race.  The one thing that did scare me, however, was the potential for me to pass out. My early experiences with an overactive thyroid meant that I had gotten lightheaded quite easily during some very formative years and at the outset of pregnancy, my blood pressure had tanked and I got lightheaded very easily that time as well.  The pain I could handle, but with each successive contraction, the pain got more intense and realized that I wasn’t going to be any good to my baby boy unconscious.

My mom said to me, “What would be so bad about getting an epidural?  You need to take care of yourself.”  I REALLY wanted to do it without one, and there were two main reasons:  the first was that I had been enormously protective of my baby boy throughout pregnancy, and I felt the same about delivery. The idea of being numb, of not being able to FEEL what he was going through as he exited my body, that scared me more than the pain.  Also, call me weird, but I was also more scared of a needle going into my spinal area than if pushing a small human out of my body.  Birth? Natural.  Needle in back? Not natural.  Scared me.

At this point, however, I had only been in labor for about three hours, it had only been about an hour and a half since my first cervix check had revealed that I had only dilated one centimeter since the previous WEDNESDAY…the back labor was too much, I couldn’t do this for nine or ten more hours. If I’d had breaks between contractions with no pain, fine, but that wasn’t happening.  I was no good to my son unconscious, so I had the nurse call the anesthesiologist.  He was  a few rooms away, and I remember feeling so much relief and praying with my mom to thank the Lord for pain meds and that I was going to get some relief from this pain.

Jeff was so supportive the whole time.  He knew how much I wanted to give birth with no pain medication, but he was also totally supportive of me deciding I couldn’t take it and that the best thing for baby and me would be to get the epidural.  How he walked that line so perfectly between pushing me toward what he knew I wanted but then gracefully stepping aside from that and supporting me through what I now felt was necessary…amazing.

In the meantime, they had been asking me all evening “Are you nauseous, are you nauseous.” The answer was always, “no.” I felt like I was having a hard time on the OTHER end of my digestive tract, but nauseous I was not.  While we waited for the anesthesiologist,  I was asked again.  No, I told them, I still was not nauseous.  And I wasn’t. Not at all, not even a little bit.  That did not stop me, however, from INSTANTANEOUSLY throwing up.  I mean, zero to puke in less than 5 seconds.  Never experienced anything like it. It was like the exact opposite of my first trimester when I would go days on end, nauseous as could be, and yet never throwing up.

There were two nurses in the room, our L&D nurse, Sarah,  and another, higher-ranking nurse who had come in because nobody else was able to successfully draw my blood and she was, as they say, the big guns.  Well, the minute I threw up, Sarah went about cleaning me up (I think I puked on Jeff, my mom, and my dad’s shoes) and she and The Big Guns Nurse exchanged knowing glances, and The Big Guns Nurse said, “Honey, I don’t think you’re going to be needing that epidural.” 

Huh?  What the heck did she mean?  Just because I threw up?

The anesthesiologist was in the room, setting up his equipment.  “Hold on!” she told him, “Let me check her cervix.” So, she checked me.

“Yup,” she said, “Just as I thought. You’re completely dilated, no epidural, it’s time to push.  Call the doctor in!” 

 I was flabbergasted.  Fully dilated is ten centimeters.  I had been only three centimeters dilated less than two hours earlier. My mom, she of the three hour labor, shook her head knowingly.  “Yep, that’s what happens in our family.”  Sarah had told me that at 100% effaced, it was likely that I would, “Go very quickly,” but I don’t think she meant THIS!

As the anesthesiologist left the room, there was a flurry of “Wait?  7 cm in less than 2 hours?”  “You’re kidding!”  “No wonder she was about to pass out!”  Those, of course, were mostly coming from my parents and Jeff, while I’m sure progressing that quickly is not common, I imagine the team of doctors and nurses had seen it before.  If I’d known I was progressing that quickly, I could have dealt with the pain.  It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle for the length of time I’d had it, it was just something I knew I couldn’t have handled for hours and hours and hours on end. 

They told us in our birthing classes, “A quick labor is not necessarily good. It means a lot of pain in a really short amount of time.  Personally,” she said, “I’d rather have a longer labor.”  I can’t say I agree with her on the second part, but the first part sure made me feel better about my wimpiness!!! J

Preparations began for the actual birth of our little boy, and I felt once again that same rush of excitement, joy, and fear.  It was only a matter of MINUTES now, barely a heartbeat in comparison to the past 39 weeks and 1 day.  However, it was going to hurt.  I knew that for sure now, because I was going to be completely unmedicated. 

At that point, I made a decision that shocked the heck out of me. I decided to let BOTH of my parents stay in the room, and have Jeff go get his mother from the waiting room. I know, right?  First of all, I was in so much pain that modesty completely deserted me. Also, they’d all been there before. But,more importantly, I knew even in my pain-muddled and overwhelmed state, that their joy in being there for the birth of their first grandchild would be far greater than my desire for modesty.  I knew they would all be “above the sheet,” so to speak, and I trusted all of them implicitly. I told my dad later, “When you’re matter-of-fact and not scared or intimidated or grossed out by all of your daughter’s female stuff growing up, you get to see your grandchild born.” J

So, Jeff went to go get his mom, the nurses bustled around busily as we waited for the doctor to arrive, and thus ends part 2 of our journey.  To follow shortly, the third and final installment in which we meet Mister Cameron Lauren Rask and his perfect self.

Our Birth Story, Part 1

It is now August and our little Beavlet has been born, has a name, and is five months old. Cameron Lauren Rask was born on March 12, 2012 at 10:06 pm and weight 7 lbs, 1 oz and was 21 ¼ inches long. That extra quarter inch is quite important to his father, who has already asked our pediatrician how tall he’s going to be ***rolls eyes*** I haven’t been good about updating this blog (obviously), partly because I’ve been busy with Cam, but more because my computer has been having internet connectivity problems. Just as mysteriously as it stopped working, it has started again, so now I can update y’all of the goings on of Cam’s life. Let’s start at the beginning: the birth.

We'll do this in parts because I'm going to tell the whole, long story with details to preserve the memories for myself and our family as much as to share them. If you haven’t learned it yet, be careful what you say in front of women who have given birth because if they see any opportunity, you will find yourself being regaled with the epic saga which was the birth of their child. It was, after all, the most important and interesting birth EVER, so why wouldn’t they do you the service of sharing? And, ladies and gentlemen, I am no exception. But, of course, Cam’s birth was unique and special among births and of particular interest to EVERYONE I am sure so it’s OK for me to do it, right? Hee hee hee.

 I was told, however, by our Labor and Delivery nurse that we had one of the most special births she’d seen because of how there was so much love and support in the room, how everyone worked together, how POLITE I was (more on that later), and OF COURSE how adorable Cam was. She may say that to everyone, but I don’t care. She said it to us, so I’m going with it.

We will begin our story at the beginning of March, about 2 ½ weeks before Cam was due. It was March 1st, I was 37 weeks along and was elated to learn that I was 1cm dilated and 70% effaced and baby was at a -2 station . My doctor said to me, “Well, I’m on call this weekend! It would be a great weekend to have a baby!” I left feeling in my heart of hearts that I would not be going back to work on Monday, and I was ready! I had been having some serious pain through my whole pelvis as the baby moved down…man, it hurt. Also, I was tired, moving around being that big all the time! If I didn’t have to waddle around the halls of school anymore, I wouldn’t have been brokenhearted.

 But, the weekend passed, Monday rolled around, and I rolled my enormous self out of bed and dutifully headed for school. And I did it day after day after day after day, each day preparing as if I would not be back the next day. But, I always was.

 Friday, March 9th rolled around and with it came my birthday. I headed for school that morning and about halfway there, I started to have THE! WORST! BACK! PAIN! I! HAD! EVER! HAD! It wasn’t coming in waves like contractions would and wasn’t associated with any other pain or pressure or anything else that would have indicated to me that I was in labor, but something was WAY different and I was WAY uncomfortable. I even pulled over a time or two to adjust my pants, seatbelt, jacket, anything I thought would help. By the time I got to school, I was in tears. It was seriously the worst pain I’d ever had. I pulled it together and got out of the car and walked into the school, telling myself that if the pain continued I would call my doctor because SOMETHING wasn’t right. At the very least, it would get me out of school for the day. The pain subsided, however, and I could still feel Baby Boy movin’ around in there plenty, so I knew he was fine. I’d get a twinge of that familiar back pain off and on throughout the day and BOY did hit act up again when I sat in the car, I wondered if I would be done driving for the duration of the pregnancy, but it never got bad enough that I called the doctor. My 34th birthday passed, so did the weekend, and still no baby.

 Monday the 12th arrived and dutifully, I got up to start my day and what I was sure would be a grueling four days. My last day with the kids was to be Wednesday with the teacher work day on Thursday to be my last day for work and on Friday, my long term sub would have her first day, doing meet-and-greet open house conferences with the families. I really, REALLY didn’t want to make it to Wednesday to avoid what I knew would be a tearful goodbye, but I figured that I’d make it, since nothing had happened yet. Time was getting short, so I did take the time to move our packed hospital bags into the trunk of my car, JUST IN CASE. My family has a history of short labors, so if my water broke at work I wanted to be ready.

However, the day passed with no active labor manifesting itself. The Braxton Hicks contractions which had befriended me sometime in my second trimester and never were too far away were VERY present throughout the day, never enough to warrant a call to the doctor (longer, stronger, and closer together, they told us) but juuuuuuuuuust enough to render me EXHAUSTED by the end of the day. My ankles and feet had swollen to their most epic proportions yet, so I took off early to go home and put them up!

 I got home, threw on sweats, grabbed a blanket, and flopped myself dejectedly on the couch, firing off a text to Jeff informing him that there was no way I could pull off cooking that night, if he wanted to bring home take-out or cook himself, that was up to him because I was NOT equal to my usual kitchen duty that evening (he got a lot of those texts in my third trimester…). My one consolation was that the Timbers’ opening match of the season was going to be on TV, which would be a great distraction for me!

I was texting with my friend Kristin, waiting for the match to start, and we got to talking about when she went into labor, and how I was afraid I wouldn’t know when I was in labor. She told me that her water had broken and if felt like a rubber band snapping somewhere in her abdomen, followed by a GUSH! I told her that only 10% of women have their water break as their first sign of labor, so I was sure that wouldn’t be me.

 Famous. Last. Words.

Jeff got home and took some chicken out of the fridge to start cooking. I rolled over to see if I could get a few Zzz’s before dinner was ready. All of a sudden, I felt a “ka-thunk” in my lower abdomen. I remember thinking, “Oh, man! THAT’S all I need, for my intestines to act up!” That thought lasted about a split second before all of a sudden, I felt the telltale “GUSH!” “Uh…honey,” I said to Jeff as I headed for the bathroom, “My water just broke.” I was too busy worrying about what was going on with my body to really notice what Jeff did next, but I do remember it was very fast, very furious, and involved at least four trips up and down the stairs at full tilt, frantically trying to put together nothing in particular. We’re seriously lucky he didn’t end up as a patient down in the ER himself. We called parents, gathered the last few of our belongings, and headed for the hospital.

My contractions changed the minute my water broke and lemme tell ya, they hurt. Nothing I couldn’t handle though…although I knew that part was coming later. The traffic on the way to the hospital that cold and rainy evening was mercifully cooperative. We didn’t have any freeway driving to do, but we knew from experience that the particular route we had to travel could be quite snarly and slow during evening commute time, which was when we were having to make the trip. But, we were blessed and made it to the hospital in about as quick a fashion as could have been expected. I’m quite glad, if we’d been waiting at stoplights or behind slow drivers, I’m pretty sure Jeff’s blood pressure would have done something really bad to him.

 I remember being so…nervous, scared, excited, everything all rolled into one. I was so excited that FINALLY our baby was coming and couldn’t FATHOM that I was about to see him and kiss him and hold him, but at the same time I was really SCARED because…well, let’s be honest, this was gonna HURT!!! It already did hurt, and this was just the beginning. I DESPERATELY wanted to do it unmedicated so I knew I was in for A LOT because even if I didn’t make it through, it would have to get REALLY BAD before I hollered uncle. So, there was going to be a baby soon, but in the meantime there was going to be pain. Epic, legendary pain. Talk about mixed emotions. Thus ends part 1 of our Birth Story. Part 2 to come shortly!