My water this afternoon is being guzzled from a Ball mason jar that once housed tomato. My parents almost always have an amazing tomato crop and last year was no exception. My mom and I spent an entire afternoon preserving their, seemingly endless, supply of fresh off the vine tomatoes. I LOVE tomatoes, so much, in fact, that I have been known to eat them like apples. My Grandma D likes hers sprinkled with a little sugar (trust me, it's worth trying), while my Grandma B always makes cucumber tomato salad in the summer.
Having a family is the one single thing I have always known I wanted out of life. Should my life amount to nothing else, I will be able to say I was the best wife and mother I could be.
Back in high school we used to watch a show on TLC called A Baby Story. The show would highlight a couple different families, their pregnancy stories, then be in the room during the birthing experience (no explicit views). I say we because Ben would even watch with me, then we would discuss the episode afterwards (he's always been a keeper).
Saying I'm a bit of a planner would be a severe understatement. I am a major planner, you know, the kind that really doesn't like it when things don't go her way. I'm getting better at letting go and letting God do His thing - which is always the best, despite how well organized and prepared I attempt to be.
I had what you might call an "easy" pregnancy. I did not suffer from morning sickness, I did not have any weird cravings (I wanted doughnuts and cheeseburgers, weird for me but welcome compared to others I've heard of), I did not gain a ton of weight, I wasn't moody (yes, Ben agrees with this statement), I did not break out, I did not suffer from lack of bladder control, etc., etc...
* I did suffer, and I mean suffer, from round ligament pain. There was a point where I was in so much pain I ran to the bathroom to make sure blood wasn't gushing from my side where I was hurting. I felt as if I had been stabbed. I would all but pass out from the pain, and I came close several times.
After entering the third trimester I began to feel very uneasy about the delivery process. Honestly, I was completely terrified. I began to pray for peace, knowing that all the planning in the world wouldn't matter in the end. That being said, I did have a detailed birth plan that included not being given any drugs/pain medications unless requested, no episiotomy, skin to skin immediately, Ben cuts his umbilical cord, no binky, no bottle, etc., etc. The staff we were blessed with followed my every request, as best they could anyways, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
I would try to envision my birthing experience, and couldn't, not the way I wanted to. Every single time I tried to relax and think about delivery I was instantly transported to having a blue sheet draped in front of my face and people swarming all about. Believing in taking every thought captive, I would open my eyes and say "no, I'm not having a c-section, I'm doing this the right way, the natural way. I rebuke that fear in the name of Jesus". I could have taken them captive all day and still all I could envision was laying on an operating table.
Due dates are funny things. After our first ultrasound I was told we were seven weeks along, with an estimated due date of September 21st. After our second ultrasound this date was pushed back to October 1st. So, when I started going into labor at the end of August, there was room for concern. We followed the instructions given by the on-call nurse (they started at 10:00pm on a Friday) and after several hours they finally started slowing and eventually stopped.
I had been experiencing Braxton Hicks for months, like, literally since entering the second trimester. After making labor stop, all contractions stopped, and never came back.
As we approached our due date I was more than ready to have my baby out of my tummy and into my arms. He had run out of room, I had run out of room.
I stayed active throughout my pregnancy but the last week of September walks became longer and included more hills. I felt as good as a full term mommy in an Ohio September can. I was sure he would be here any minute.
My last Dr. appointment came and, to my great disappointment, I had made no progress. I looked at my Dr. in great surprise as he said, "Well, we're still just at 1cm Amanda. Come in on your due date and if you've not made any progress we will discuss our options from there. I bet you go into labor right on your due date. Let's get you in for another ultrasound to see how baby is doing."
I had made it very clear that I wanted to have this child as naturally as possible, so being induced was out. Simple as that. Right?
Our third ultrasound was amazing. He was such a little person! Always moving, not sucking his thumb - thank God, and still a boy (yes, Ben did ask that they double check, haha). As our ultrasound tech took the many measurements to approximate weight and length, I was glued to that screen showing my perfect little boy. "Looks like he is right around 8lbs" she said after all her measurements and calculations were completed. My face must have given away my concern, as she quickly stated "but they can be off by 2lbs, and you're not that big, so I'm sure he's no more than 7lbs".
*A note about my Doctor. Three weeks before my due date the Dr. that I had been seeing, that I trusted, that Ben trusted, had an event in her delivery room that resulted in her discontinuing her practice. I knew very little about my new Dr., except that he was a HE and I wasn't all too comfortable with that idea. He was exactly what we needed though, and did a wonderful job.
Well, October 1st came and still no baby. By this point I was downright frustrated. I had tried everything but caster oil (I do not enjoy being sick to my tummy), and nothing, not even a cramp. I was sure I had made progress when I went in for my check up, I was sure of it. "You're still just barley past 1cm Amanda. I see your latest ultrasound results are saying he's right around 8lbs. That can't be right, you're not big enough. You can handle an 8lb baby, I just don't think he's that big". I ventured into scary territory, "the tech said that the results can be off by 2lbs, both ways. What if he's 10lbs?" My Dr. replied, "it's not impossible Amanda, I just don't see how a baby over 8lbs would be fitting in your belly. You're perfectly healthy, your baby is perfectly healthy. I'd like to wait until the 6th to induce, are you OK with that?"
"Yes, but I hope we don't make it"
The last several weeks of my pregnancy I turned to the song "Light of Your Face" by Kim Walker Smith and Jesus Culture. This song was on repeat almost all day, bringing me comfort. I started focusing less on how my child would enter the world and more on the fact that my perfect little boy would be here soon. I stopped rebuking the idea of having a c-section and instead started praying that I would have a peaceful delivery. Peaceful for me, for Ben, for our son. Why peace out of everything that I could have been praying for? Because fear and peace cannot coexist. I needed to be strong. I needed to be brave. I needed to be able to handle whatever was thrown at me, not just for me, for my son.
On October 6th, 2013 at approximately 8:00pm I entered the birthing center, accompanied by Ben and my sister, Julia to be induced.
"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your heart be troubled and do not be afraid" - John 14:27
... to be continued
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