Every day is busy, but some days are exceptional. Here was today's calendar:
5:30 Alarm goes off. Hit snooze and go back to sleep because there's not enough time to go to the gym anyway.
6:10 Wake up. Pack multiple bags for all of the day's activities.
7:15 Talia's orthodontist appointment
7:45 Eli's orthodontist appointment
8:05 Drop Eli off at school
8:15 Drop Talia off at school
8:20 Swing by home to pick up Annika, Brooklyn, and Brooklyn's cello
8:29 Drop Annika off at school
8:45 Drop Brooklyn off at school / Go to work. (Brooklyn has a late start on Mondays. )
8:45 - 2:20 Relax at work because let's be honest, crazy as it is, it's a much slower pace than home.
2:20 Suddenly remember an unfinished work project. Work feverishly to get as much done as possible.
2:45 Leave project unfinished
3:00 Pick up Talia and Annika
3:15 Talia's violin lesson. Help Annika with her homework at the same time.
4:00 Skedaddle home to pick up Eli and Brooklyn. Drop off Talia.
4:30 Drop Eli off at swim lessons (ten minutes late)
4:40 Drop Brooklyn off at orchestra (fifty minutes early)
4:45 Pick up a four for $4 meal deal at Wendy's. Order it To Go but take Annie inside so she can get changed into her leotard.
5:00 Drop Annika off at gymnastics and reconnect with Eli.
5:05 Change into workout clothes. Discover you forgot your tennis shoes.
5:10 Bike 5 miles on a stationary bike in socks. Discover that hurts.
5:30 Bike 7 more miles in loafers.
6:00 Meet Annika after her gymnastics. Get changed into swimsuits.
6:10 Swim with Eli and Annika.
6:40 Get changed yet again.
7:00 Pick Brooklyn up from orchestra
7:20 Pick up grocery order from Smith's Click List
7:40 Arrive home famished. Put away essential groceries.
7:45 Sit down to dinner, thanks to Jason reheating Sunday leftovers
8:20 Gather together as a family to briefly study "Come Follow Me."
8:35 Family prayer, followed by some grimaces when we realize that not only did Spark poop on the carpet, but Annika sat on it, mashing it all over.
8:40 Read Annika "If You Give a Pig a Pancake" and put her to bed. Convince Eli to set aside his legos and practice piano for a few minutes
9:00 Pick up house, fold laundry, and other assorted chores.
Whew! No wonder I'm tired. Here's hoping for a more laid-back tomorrow.
Monday, February 25, 2019
Sunday, February 24, 2019
January Stuff
Back to our regularly scheduled programming, in January we did Stuff. (Profound thoughts by Kara.)
Some of it was a bit unusual. Instead of completing a typical science fair project, Eli got to construct a simple machine. If I remember correctly, he had to use a pulley, lever, wheel, screw, wedge, and inclined plane to do something--in this case, push the button on the top of our red ornament to make it speak.
Since the projects weren't judged, outside help was welcomed. Good thing too, since the project definitely became a family affair.
The projects were displayed at Emerson's STEM night. The school does a phenomenal job of inviting outside groups to help the students explore engineering and science. My favorite was this father and son team teaching all about chemistry.
Other January fun: pack meeting. Even though our church is pulling back from scouting, we will look for a way for Eli to continue because he loves it.
Annika started gymnastics. Apparently she's learning because at parent-teacher conferences her teacher mentioned that she does handstands on the rug during circle time...
Believe it or not, she's doing what she's supposed to in this picture. You're actually looking at a debut performance of "Once There was a Snowman" at a Senior Center. Accompanied by Talia on ukulele, Annika melted. Brooklyn and Eli sang "I Will Be What I Believe."
In January our family went ice skating for the first time in a while.
Annika was in definite need of a refresher course.
In general, she does better skiing, navigating most blue runs quite well.
Of course, every once in a while she insists on riding the magic carpet just for the heck of it. (For the record, this is one run she hasn't mastered. She tumbles at the top every time.)
One of our night skiing adventures was a little less successful. Annika was being a nudge while Jason was trying to load her onto the lift, so his pole got caught in the chaos. When he tried to get it free, it sprang back and hit her in the face, making her bite a hole in her tongue. It was a long lift ride to the top with Annie wailing and spitting blood the entire way.
Fortunately hot chocolate can make anything right.
A few more pictures from the slope. Here are Jason and I playing hooky from work for a few hours on a snowy day.
Talia skiing with Jason's office mate, Nicole.
In general, we hop on up the mountain any chance we get because with vistas like these, why wouldn't we?
Back on the home front, Eli is a master double tasker. Isn't this how everyone spends their Sunday afternoon?
Hanging out with family is the very best.
On a sadder note, Jason's Uncle Merlen Mix unexpectedly passed away on January 3rd. We have such fond memories from when he came to stay with us in France.
Always cheerful, Uncle Merlen loved to travel, take photographs, and make friends with everyone he met. A high school French teacher, he wasn't wealthy by the world's standards, but rich in the ways that really matter.
Uncle Merlen's funeral service was held in Twin Falls, so we took a quick trip to see the home where Grandma Susie was born.
Here's Susie again with Grandpa Hansen in Rupert. Aging is hard, but the tender love that is shown through caregiving is heartwarming.
In one sense, funerals may be sad occasions, but I love how they pull families together. Here we have Grandpa Hansen with Charles, Susie, and all of their kids: Jason, Justin, Christy, and Lance.
Last but not least, it wouldn't be January without a bout of the flu--stomach flu, in our instance. Talia and Eli went down hard. Fortunately they were quite considerate and didn't share.
Some of it was a bit unusual. Instead of completing a typical science fair project, Eli got to construct a simple machine. If I remember correctly, he had to use a pulley, lever, wheel, screw, wedge, and inclined plane to do something--in this case, push the button on the top of our red ornament to make it speak.
Since the projects weren't judged, outside help was welcomed. Good thing too, since the project definitely became a family affair.
The projects were displayed at Emerson's STEM night. The school does a phenomenal job of inviting outside groups to help the students explore engineering and science. My favorite was this father and son team teaching all about chemistry.
Other January fun: pack meeting. Even though our church is pulling back from scouting, we will look for a way for Eli to continue because he loves it.
Annika started gymnastics. Apparently she's learning because at parent-teacher conferences her teacher mentioned that she does handstands on the rug during circle time...
Believe it or not, she's doing what she's supposed to in this picture. You're actually looking at a debut performance of "Once There was a Snowman" at a Senior Center. Accompanied by Talia on ukulele, Annika melted. Brooklyn and Eli sang "I Will Be What I Believe."
In January our family went ice skating for the first time in a while.
Annika was in definite need of a refresher course.
In general, she does better skiing, navigating most blue runs quite well.
Of course, every once in a while she insists on riding the magic carpet just for the heck of it. (For the record, this is one run she hasn't mastered. She tumbles at the top every time.)
One of our night skiing adventures was a little less successful. Annika was being a nudge while Jason was trying to load her onto the lift, so his pole got caught in the chaos. When he tried to get it free, it sprang back and hit her in the face, making her bite a hole in her tongue. It was a long lift ride to the top with Annie wailing and spitting blood the entire way.
Fortunately hot chocolate can make anything right.
Talia skiing with Jason's office mate, Nicole.
In general, we hop on up the mountain any chance we get because with vistas like these, why wouldn't we?
Back on the home front, Eli is a master double tasker. Isn't this how everyone spends their Sunday afternoon?
Other Sundays we get lucky and Grandpa Charles and Grandma Susie will come down from Hyde Park for a visit. You can tell the kids all love it!
Hanging out with family is the very best.
Always cheerful, Uncle Merlen loved to travel, take photographs, and make friends with everyone he met. A high school French teacher, he wasn't wealthy by the world's standards, but rich in the ways that really matter.
Even if Brooklyn can't remember, I'm grateful that their lives intersected in such a special place.
Uncle Merlen's funeral service was held in Twin Falls, so we took a quick trip to see the home where Grandma Susie was born.
Here's Susie again with Grandpa Hansen in Rupert. Aging is hard, but the tender love that is shown through caregiving is heartwarming.
In one sense, funerals may be sad occasions, but I love how they pull families together. Here we have Grandpa Hansen with Charles, Susie, and all of their kids: Jason, Justin, Christy, and Lance.
Last but not least, it wouldn't be January without a bout of the flu--stomach flu, in our instance. Talia and Eli went down hard. Fortunately they were quite considerate and didn't share.
So how did you spend your January?
Friday, February 22, 2019
Annika's Birth--One in a Thousand
According to Blogger, this is the 1000th blogpost for What's Up With the Wheelers. That's a lotta writin'!
I started this blog fourteen years ago while bored to tears working as a secretary for the College of Engineering at the the University of Illinois. Brooklyn was just an infant, as evidenced by the very first picture posted.
Over the years, this blog has become an important part of our family's identity. To commemorate 1000 posts, I wanted to do something more than toss up photos. I thought about sharing 1000 tidbits (too much work) or even some lesser known facts about the blog author. In the end, I've decided to gather the courage to write about something that I've wanted to share for the past six years: Annika's birth story.
Annika's birth story? Isn't that kind of old news? Hasn't that already been shared? Well, yes and no. I cannibalized Papa Kay's version for our announcement, and rather intentionally left the perception that Annika's homebirth was an unexpected surprise.
Since this blog is pretty much our family history, I think it's time to share the whole truth. I worry that by concealing the full story, we might lose track of what actually happened. While that's okay when processing negative memories, Annika's birth was something too beautiful to forget.
This story is deeply personal; sharing it makes me a bit vulnerable. This seems appropriate for post number 1000. For the few who actually read this blog, I hope it will not only share the casual "Wassup?" but also become a space to reflect on what's really up--the good, the bad, and occasionally the ugly.
One last trepidation: conversations surrounding birth are difficult. While I have had relatively easy pregnancies and deliveries, I am extremely aware that this isn't the case for everyone. My sister has her babies via c-section, my sisters-in-law struggle with fertility, and my best friend from high school recently became a mother via adoption. Far from seeming "natural," our straight-forward path to parenthood feels more like the exception than the norm. I hope to be sensitive to all those for whom the journey involves more twists and turns, and ask for forgiveness when I muddle it up.
***
Annika Mae Wheeler. Born January 29th, 2013 in the master bedroom of our small starter home in St. George, Utah: 703 North 1050 West. Born in the very same bed where I am now perched with a laptop on my lap. Born with only two people in attendance: me and my husband Jason, in the very same place where it all began.
It's kind of ironic. It's my very favorite story to tell, yet one that I mostly keep quiet. Even now, years later, I intentionally color the details to avert any judgmental stares. I apologetically describe how Jason's company was struggling financially: they couldn't pay the insurance premiums. I laugh about how my Scotch roots came through: we had her at home to save money. I explain that she came quickly: the labor was only three hours from start to finish. I recall how her older sister was practically born on the hospital doorstep: we didn't want to go through that again. I reassure my listeners that we were only a five minute drive from the hospital: we could just hop in the car if things got bad.
Technically, all of these things are true. When I tell the story, I speak quickly, peppering it with these details to keep it light-hearted. Each time I emphasize how my prior deliveries were easy, how I knew my body, how this was right for me in my particular circumstance, but I would never presume to recommend it for anyone else. The overall message: my unassisted home birth was no big deal.
Yet one glance at the night stand next to my bed reminds me of the truth. This home birth was a big deal. Far from being unexpected, Annika's birth was planned from the moment I knew I was pregnant. For months, the night stand was stacked high with study materials--everything from a textbook on neonatal resuscitation to Ina May Gaskin's Spiritual Midwifery. The funniest title? A book called How Big is a Placenta Bowl, checked out from our local library. For months, I channeled my inner midwife and diligently prepared for this birth. I read everything I could get my hands on, poured over online birth videos, ordered home birth supplies, and even made checklists to cover various scenarios. (By the way, Jason wasn't the slightest bit interested in any of these lists until my water broke, at which point he started to study them feverishly.)
***
It's hard to pinpoint when I became interested in home birth. At BYU, a friend named Marie invited me to a birth class. I remember appreciating her proclamation that mothers are the ones who actually deliver their babies. My jaw dropped as she explained how her mother (a midwife) assisted the births of two grandbabies within a single hour when Marie and her sister went into labor at the same time, giving birth in adjoining bedrooms of their California home. I left feeling secretly sympathetic with Marie's husband Mike, who had initially proclaimed that his kids were going to be born in a hospital. Several years later, Christy introduced me to her friend Rixa, a birth guru who delivered her first daughter all by herself on the bathroom floor. To be honest, the story of her unassisted home birth initially struck me as slightly bizarre and dangerous. After many months of reading her blog, my perspective shifted and I began to warm up to the idea. If Rixa's blog snagged my interest, it was Peggy Vincent's delightful memoir Baby Catcher that got me hooked. I was in love. If I couldn't be a midwife and deliver other people's babies, gosh darn it, I could at least deliver my own.
At the same time I was learning about midwifery and home birth, I was becoming slightly disenchanted with hospital births through my own experiences. Now please don't get me wrong. All of my birth stories are beautiful: I cherish the births of each of my children and don't wish to diminish them in any way. However, my hospital birth experiences are each clouded by a thin veil of disappointment. With Brooklyn, I was young and naive. I had no idea that an epidural would both require a catheter and prohibit me from rolling onto my side until after I'd already received one. After the epidural, the baby's heart rate dropped and labor ceased to progress. I suspect that the only reason they didn't start pitocin is because it was the middle of the night and all the doctors had gone home. Once it came time to push, it never occurred to me that I could question the authoritarian mandates of my obstetrician. Nearing retirement, Dr. Gamette had delivered thousands of babies. When he told me I needed an episiotomy, I didn't think twice. Overall, I remember feeling like a cog in a well-oiled baby factory. Aside from the fact that Brooklyn had a mop of strawberry blond hair, my birth was just like any other.
By the time Talia came along, I was looking for a more intimate experience so I chose a certified nurse-midwife, Christy Hinton, at Christy Clinic in Illinois. As the only midwife, her wait times were horrendous, but she was compassionate and I enjoyed our appointments. As veteran parents, Jason and I were a little too sure of ourselves and skipped the hospital tour, a mistake we deeply regretted when Talia's labor was lightning fast and we couldn't find the entrance. After finally getting into the hospital, I was definitely feistier and more assertive than the first time around. I refused the wheelchair and insisted on walking myself to labor and delivery. Not only was it more comfortable, I wanted to be in control of my birth. Once we got into a room, I remember holding onto the edge of the bed and dropping into a deep squat. It felt so natural, so right. Instead, I was immediately chastised. The nurse snapped, you are NOT going to have this baby on the floor. I remember thinking, why the heck not? Surely the hospital floor is clean. I argued, but was literally forced into bed where I was told I had to wait to push until the midwife arrived because she had never missed a delivery. So whose birth experience was this all about? Hers or mine?
Even though the tale of Talia's speedy delivery was fun to tell, it left enough of a sour taste in my mouth that I switched to a different clinic for Eli's birth. With multiple nurse-midwives, the wait times were far better, plus I got lucky and had Eli during Ray Spooner's shift. Generally speaking, Ray was the favored midwife, although you might call him a "midhusband" due to his gender. Believe it or not, this soft-spoken, hard-core cyclist from England was married to a woman named Rae who was also a midwife. You can't make this stuff up. I wish I could make up a different ending to his life. In 2016 Ray died from ALS. He kept an insightful yet wrenching blog that captures his intense passion for life. It reminds me so much of my Uncle Jay that it is painful to read, but intimately beautiful.
It sounds silly, but I feel like I've come to know and understand Ray better posthumously through his words than I ever did as his patient. I feel like if we had ever had a chance to really sit down and talk, our hopes for birth, life, and even death would have aligned beautifully. We had much in common, but in the context of a hospital birth, these commonalities were never explored. Overshadowed by the imbalanced patient/provider relationship, what I really remember is this: I desperately wanted a waterbirth and it it didn't happen. I totally get that births rarely go as planned, but what made this birth disappointing was feeling like nobody listened. Knowing I labor quickly, I called the hospital in advance and asked them to start filling a tub: they didn't. I asked them again as soon as we got to the hospital: they wouldn't. Instead of summoning a midwife right away, they wasted precious time filling out multiple forms and asking dozens of meaningless questions. By the time Ray came, I was 8 cm dilated and it was too late. I was equally bothered by the lack of privacy. At one point I bellowed super-loudly while pushing. A strange nurse came barging in just to see what was going on. Even in the middle of labor, I remember feeling embarrassed, not only to be so exposed, but to feel like I was doing it "wrong." More than any other moment, I knew then that if I ever had another child, it would be in the privacy of my own home.
Despite the undercurrent of powerlessness that I felt in a hospital setting, each birth experience shaped me; each one more closely approached my ideal. I wasn't the only one learning, however. With Brooklyn's birth, Jason learned how challenging it is to cut the cord (he likened it to a tough cut of meat). With Talia, he learned how to listen to a bossy woman in labor. His best tutorial, however, came during Eli's birth. The physical mechanics of how to support a woman during birth--supporting her perineum, turning the baby's head to release the shoulders, even holding back the lip of a cervix--he learned all this from observing Ray. I wish Ray were still around so I could thank him.
***
The honest truth? My home birth experience was amazing. I wish I had the words to describe it, but then again I feel selfish trying because it seems unfair to hog the joy. It was difficult, it was painful, it was frightening, but it was empowering. And the moments after? Afterbirth pains excepted, these first hours were magical. I will never forget the joy of bringing the girls upstairs to meet their new baby sister. It is so much easier to bond with your babe from the comfort of your own home, completely undisturbed by blood tests and other hospital protocol. My postpartum recovery was by far the quickest and best, both physically and emotionally. Delivering on all fours was gentler than delivering on my back. With no episiotomy and no tear, I was out trail-walking the same day she was born. I struggle with baby blues when confined to a hospital bed, but surrounded by red rocks and sunshine, my spirit felt renewed.
The honest truth? My home birth experience was also a bit lonely. While birthing at home allowed me to escape rigid hospital procedures, I never felt free from the grasp of litigation and insurance companies. Insurance policies still dictated my birth experience. The primary reason I chose an unassisted home birth was because insurance would only permit my midwife to deliver in a hospital. Since my insurance refused to cover any services whatsoever surrounding home birth, I felt compelled to remain completely mum about my birth plans. Knowing how poorly hospital transfers are received, I felt like I our home birth needed to appear accidental, as if we simply didn't make it it in time. To this day, the only regret I have about Annika's birth involves this deception.
Moreover, I fretted about the social condemnation should anything go wrong. Home birth, particularly unassisted home birth, is quite stigmatized. Forget about granola strange, it its generally viewed as risky, even irresponsible. No matter how compelled I felt to birth at home, I didn't want to constantly engage in debate with those concerned that I was endangering both mother and child. I chose home birth because I am a private person who felt judged within a hospital setting; I certainly didn't want to be judged without.
And so, with the exception of Jason, I didn't tell a soul. Not my mother, not my sister, not a friend, no one. Yes, home birth was lonely. It wasn't until I had the happily-ever-after assurance of Annika's safe arrival that I finally felt safe enough to gradually open up.
The final honest truth? Annika's home birth was unifying. Since Jason was the sole person in whom I could confide, I relied upon him utterly and completely. No matter how much I wanted to be strong and independent, the truth is that my birth was not unassisted. Jason was there supporting me, both literally and physically. After watching Annika's birth video, these are the words I wrote:
Congratulations, Baby Girl! Welcome earth-side, to the wonderful, wild, and slightly wacky world of the Wheeler family.
I absolutely love birth stories. And yet, in writing my own, I'm always a bit sad to finish. After all, it signals the end of such a miraculous and beautiful time of life. In your case, I feel particularly nostalgic about the completion of not just one pregnancy, but likely an era--my childbearing years. Born at home, your birth was so special and unlike all of your siblings. I'm just not ready to wrap up all of that preparation and emotion.
So today's post is not intended to be a well-crafted birth story--far from it. (It's a good thing, too, considering how fuzzy-brained I feel from sleep-deprivation.) Instead, these are simply the notes capturing the raw experience as best I can before memory starts to shade the moment.
So enjoy the first, but not final story of your birth, in stream-of consciousness fashion.
***
The Beginnings:
On Thursday, January 17th, I saw our midwife, Katie Gubler, and learned that I was already 3 cm dilated and 70% effaced. And so, it was with a bit of nervous trepidation that I sent Jason off to New York late Monday, January 21st. Even so, we spent a beautiful Monday together (Martin Luther King Day), hiking four plus miles along the remote City Creek trail after playing at Pioneer Park.
Fortunately, I felt great while Jason was gone--energized and extremely motivated to get things done. In addition to staying active at the gym, I shopped, prepared, and started ticking things off the to-do list that have been there for years, such as finally getting around to baby books and scrapbooks (Eli's, not yours...). When Susie wanted to come down from Hyde Park on Wednesday, I was mostly glad but also a little bit sad because I knew I'd need to adjust my focus a little bit to entertain. In retrospect, I'm so grateful she was there.
Because...on Friday the nesting instinct went into overdrive. I did a really intense class at the gym (nothing like mountain climbers when you are nine months pregnant) and went hiking in Snow Canyon with Susie and the kids, toting Eli on my shoulders on the way back. Instead of relaxing when we got home, I cleaned the house, vacuumed out the minivan, swept the garage...I even raked the leaves that have been there since fall. Looking back, it's not very surprising that when I finally paused for a moment while dining at the Pizza Factory, I noticed some strong, real contractions. Standing up, it seriously felt like my bag of waters was hanging out, just waiting to burst. And Jason was still in New York.
Distracted at dinner, I texted Jason and asked him to contact the airline to see if there might be any earlier flight back. When we got home, I let Susie know that I really needed to rest. She took care of the kids for me so that I could relax completely. I truly feel like it was a miracle--a tender mercy--that I didn't go into labor that night. I can't tell you how disappointed I would have felt. Even so, it was a great comfort to know that Susie was there to watch the kids if I was left without a choice.
Saturday afternoon, Jason made it home, and Monday morning we discovered exactly how close I'd been to going into labor when we saw the midwife: 4+ cm and 90% effaced. They put me on the baby monitor for at least 20 minutes, and we listened to her heartbeat while tracking fetal movement and contractions. I contracted some, but didn't think much of it since I've been contracting on and off for literally weeks.
Monday evening, we ate tomato dumplings and enjoyed a brief family home evening. After getting the kids tucked in bed, Jason and I headed off to bed ourselves at 10:30. We were talking with each other, joking about whether or not we dared enjoy any intimate time together because it might send me into labor. Okay, we really weren't joking... We were seriously debating whether or not we'd rather enjoy a good night's sleep over an FHE delivery.
Down to Business:
Well, I guess God made the decision for us because right in the middle of our discussion, my water broke. I came back from going to the bathroom, and thought that the baby's head must have been blocking my bladder since all of the sudden I peed again. Nothing like incontinence to keep you humble. But then I wet myself again--and again. Even though I wasn't feeling any labor pains, it became quickly apparent that much more was going on. The next hour was rather comical as I bustled around the house trying to get things ready--changing sheets, vacuuming, straightening up, organizing birth supplies, taking last minute belly shots--all while leaking profusely. I stuck a chux pad in my undies to try and hold back the flood, but still to no avail. I probably changed my pants four times in an hour.
At 11:30, Jason gave me a beautiful blessing and I tucked into bed, uncertain as to whether or not I could actually manage to sleep while so soggy. Well, Jason started to snuggle just a teeny bit, and that was it. By midnight, labor started for real. At first I lay perfectly still in bed, listening to music, just letting the contractions wash over me. Before too long, however, I decided that I'd be more comfortable in the tub. For a time, the contractions were quite manageable and it was really quite pleasant with the dimmed lights, candles, and warm water. Just what I'd dreamed a home birth should be. Jason napped while I soaked..
After a time, the contractions became intense enough that I needed more distraction. I asked Jason to put on a conference talk for me. Half in seriousness, half in jest, he put on President Eyring's April 2012 address on adversity: "Mountains to Climb." Phrases such as "many of you are now passing through physical, mental, and emotional trials that could cause you to cry out" certainly become ironically relevant during childbirth. His reflection that "one of the characteristics of trials in life is that they seem to make clocks slow down and then appear almost to stop" was oh-so-true. And when he said, "I cannot promise an end to your adversity in this life," I wanted to scream. And yet, his reflections on faith were so inspiring, particularly since we have long considered you, baby girl, to be our Faith Baby.
By the time President Eyring's talk was finished and the Sustaining of the Church Officers began, things began to get really serious and I asked Jason to turn off conference. The next hour falls into that endless abyss that President Eyring talks about where time stands still. I remember being so shocked by the intensity of it all. I felt so strongly that if I'd remembered how incredibly hard labor is, I never would have chosen to give birth at home. Why would anyone knowingly forgo an epidural? I moaned, I cried, I fretted, I feared. And through it all, Jason was there--ever so supportive.
You know, it's absolutely true that in the midst of a trial, the suffering feels like it will linger indefinitely. Yet once the pain is past, it's amazing how quickly the memory fades. It's been only 72 hours since our baby girl was born, and yet even now I'm having trouble recalling the physical and emotional struggle, even though I know it was completely overwhelming at the time. The intensity of childbirth really does parallel the atonement on some micro-level in that you have to submit yourself completely to the experience. “Which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit—and would that I might not drink the bitter cup, and shrink" (Doctrine and Covenants 19: 18). "Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done." (Luke 22:42)
In the end, birthing this baby required surrendering myself completely. As hard as I tried and as much as I pushed in the tub, I simply couldn't get her out. I gave up all dignity and hollered, but still she wouldn't come. Ever calm, Jason stayed by my side, supporting me through his presence. Quietly, he suggested that I move to the bed so that he would be in a better position to help. Moving out of the tub was torturous--it probably took 20 minutes to work up the courage to finally let go and do it. On the way to the bedroom, I remember crumbling into Jason's arms and saying something like, "O God, I just can't do this." I wasn't swearing--it was a prayer. I'd realized that despite my fierce independence and determination and hard work and preparation, I could not do it alone. I needed help.
Once on the bed, I stayed on my hands and knees. After hearing my roar during a contraction, Eli woke up and called from his room, "Mommy, what's happening?" Fortunately, he chose to stay there--another tender mercy. Shortly thereafter he called, "Mommy, tuck me in." Jason offered to go tuck him in, at which point I pleaded, "No! Don't go." Knowing it was time, I mustered every last ounce of courage, and pushed with everything in me. Jason applied olive oil, helped spread the skin apart, and caught her tiny head. Her body followed with a second push about five seconds later. She immediately began to cry, and Jason passed her underneath my leg so that I could hold her. It was 3:10 am, and quite possibly the most beautiful moment of my life.
It's a remarkable paradox: how can such complete and utter surrender be so remarkably empowering, even transformative? In giving up everything, we received the greatest of gifts in return.
And, she was beautiful. Beautiful in that wrinkled newborn, smeared in waxy-white vernix, funky conehead sort of way. Hideous from one perspective, but incredible and glorious from another. Those tiny ears--perfectly formed! Ten tiny fingers and ten dainty toes, all curled up with miniscule fingernails. Look at that little mouth, and who knew that nostrils could ever be so cute? And oh, that mop of dark hair. It was love at first sight. The first words out of my mouth? "I'm euphoric."
***
After:
The hour following Annika's birth was much more difficult than I anticipated. With all of our other children, I've delivered the placenta almost immediately, thanks to a shot of pitocin. This time around, the unparalleled high of childbirth was broken after about fifteen minutes by another series of really intense contractions. As the contractions became more painful, I was forced to physically and emotionally distance myself, handing my newborn daughter off to Jason so that I could labor in the bathroom. Jason had already cut the cord, but I was nervous to tug on my end, for fear of hemorrhaging in case the placenta hadn't separated. About an hour after the birth, I finally felt inside me; the placenta was clearly right there. One good push (by this time, I was plumb tired of pushing), and I delivered it in the tub. What joy and relief--now the entire process of labor was finally complete. The placenta was whole, and to be completely honest, really fascinating. Not that I want to examine anyone else's--but I'm grateful for the chance to appreciate the lifeline that nourished my child for the past nine months. Silly as it sounds, delivering and inspecting the placenta helped me absorb and experience of childbirth in its totality. Our hospital births have certainly been tidier, but this homebirth was richer.
It took time to get everyone cleaned up and the bed remade. It was about 5:00 am when Jason, Annika, and I all snuggled into bed once more for some cuddling, nursing, and sleep. Oh, the bliss! Around 6:30, I roused long enough to throw breakfast in the oven--a baked french toast that we fortuitously prepared the night before. A little after 7:00, the girls woke up and dressed for school. After having them wash their hands, I invited them upstairs for a lovely surprise. You can imagine their delight to discover their Daddy napping with their baby sister in his arms. What a precious moment! Eli had already seen his sister right after her birth, but hadn't really understood what was happening. The girls, on the other hand, were at a delightful age to appreciate the joy of a new baby. I'll forever be grateful for the sweet moments that followed. Surely heaven was there.
Reliving the Moment:
One of the most special parts about giving birth at home was the opportunity to videotape the birth. While I've certainly had the most experiential, intimate role in birthing each of our children, I've always felt a twinge of jealousy for the "spectators" who witnessed these births from a more comfortable distance. In planning a homebirth, I wanted to see my daughter's entrance into this world--to relive the miracle again and again.
Marvelously, the video worked. It's incredibly personal and private, as clothes became completely optional with the privacy of a homebirth. Since I'm generally a rather modest person, I surprised even myself by opting out. Even more embarrassingly, you can see a smear of poop on my rear on the video. Even though it's quite common, one of my greatest fears in giving birth is the worry that I will push out a turd instead of a baby. Well, it happened. As bothersome as this would have been to me in a hospital setting with nurses, doctors, and midwifes all around, in the privacy of our own home with just Jason at my side, I honestly didn't care. Instead of humiliating, it instead became just a natural part of the process. But even so--brown streaks on video? I'm certainly going to keep that private.
While I haven't watched the video in its entirety (I had Jason switch it on when I thought our daughter was about twenty minutes away from arriving--instead, it stretches out for a whole hour), I'm amazed by the intense feelings of love that it inspires. Love for my daughter, yes, but mostly love for my husband--his soft words, the tender touches, the attentive gestures. His presence is so grounding in this moment of trial--calm, patient, supportive. Jason may not have a medical degree or any formal training in midwifery, but there is no one else that I trust more completely and implicitly. While the experience was intimidating for both of us at times, I'm so glad that we worked together to bring our daughter into the world. After all, it was just the two of us in the beginning--there's a beautiful sense of completion in seeing this miracle through to the end as a couple as well.
The Recovery:
Believe it or not, this birth has been my easiest recovery to date. I didn't tear--barely a scratch--and have felt fantastic "down South" as the euphemism goes. Whether it was Jason's miracle hands, soaking in the tub, or pushing over an extended period of time, I have been extremely blessed. Annika is eight days old today, and the only reason I didn't go the gym this morning is because I didn't want to endure the commentary about coming back too soon.
The exception: afterbirth pains. Oh my goodness, they were horrible--as bad as labor pains--truly. It's hard to bond with your child when nursing her feels like being stabbed by a knife. On a couple of occasions, I actually nursed Annika while soaking in the bathtub to help ease the discomfort. I feel grateful that both Jason and I have felt strongly that this daughter completes our family. For me, the afterbirth pains have become worse with each successive pregnancy; the idea of enduring even more--well, I just can't handle it.
Postpartum Care:
Since Annika wasn't born in the hospital, we've made more trips to the doctor than we probably would have otherwise. The afternoon following her birth, I went to check in with my midwife (and apologize for being a no-show), and Annika went to see the pediatrician. We had to run over to a different office for a Vitamin K shot, come back in the morning for a bilirubin test, and even prick her heel once more a couple days later since they forgot to do a newborn screen. Sitting with a newborn in a waiting room full of sick people is terrifying--we kept a huge distance. Even so, not being under "house arrest" at the hospital was delightful. I loved being near my own children, eating my own food, sleeping in my own bed. The freedom to go where I wanted and when was liberating. I soaked in the sunshine with my daughter on my chest while strolling along the Chuckwalla trail instead of fighting boredom and the baby blues from a hospital bed. And not being poked and prodded all night long for this, that, or the other? Delightful.
***
The decision about how and where to give birth is far too personal for me to ever presume to counsel another. So while I would never advise anyone else to have a homebirth, particularly an unassisted homebirth, I am so grateful that we chose to have Annika in our home. We invested a lot of time educating ourselves about childbirth and preparing for her arrival, but it was well-worth the effort. While some may dispute the idea of an ideal birth, Annika's arrival brushed this dream. True, there may have been a few surprises, but to me, her birth felt, well, perfect.
I started this blog fourteen years ago while bored to tears working as a secretary for the College of Engineering at the the University of Illinois. Brooklyn was just an infant, as evidenced by the very first picture posted.
Now here's the most recent picture taken. At first glance, you might not know who's older--Brooklyn or my cousin Alesia.
Over the years, this blog has become an important part of our family's identity. To commemorate 1000 posts, I wanted to do something more than toss up photos. I thought about sharing 1000 tidbits (too much work) or even some lesser known facts about the blog author. In the end, I've decided to gather the courage to write about something that I've wanted to share for the past six years: Annika's birth story.
Annika's birth story? Isn't that kind of old news? Hasn't that already been shared? Well, yes and no. I cannibalized Papa Kay's version for our announcement, and rather intentionally left the perception that Annika's homebirth was an unexpected surprise.
Since this blog is pretty much our family history, I think it's time to share the whole truth. I worry that by concealing the full story, we might lose track of what actually happened. While that's okay when processing negative memories, Annika's birth was something too beautiful to forget.
This story is deeply personal; sharing it makes me a bit vulnerable. This seems appropriate for post number 1000. For the few who actually read this blog, I hope it will not only share the casual "Wassup?" but also become a space to reflect on what's really up--the good, the bad, and occasionally the ugly.
One last trepidation: conversations surrounding birth are difficult. While I have had relatively easy pregnancies and deliveries, I am extremely aware that this isn't the case for everyone. My sister has her babies via c-section, my sisters-in-law struggle with fertility, and my best friend from high school recently became a mother via adoption. Far from seeming "natural," our straight-forward path to parenthood feels more like the exception than the norm. I hope to be sensitive to all those for whom the journey involves more twists and turns, and ask for forgiveness when I muddle it up.
***
Annika Mae Wheeler. Born January 29th, 2013 in the master bedroom of our small starter home in St. George, Utah: 703 North 1050 West. Born in the very same bed where I am now perched with a laptop on my lap. Born with only two people in attendance: me and my husband Jason, in the very same place where it all began.
It's kind of ironic. It's my very favorite story to tell, yet one that I mostly keep quiet. Even now, years later, I intentionally color the details to avert any judgmental stares. I apologetically describe how Jason's company was struggling financially: they couldn't pay the insurance premiums. I laugh about how my Scotch roots came through: we had her at home to save money. I explain that she came quickly: the labor was only three hours from start to finish. I recall how her older sister was practically born on the hospital doorstep: we didn't want to go through that again. I reassure my listeners that we were only a five minute drive from the hospital: we could just hop in the car if things got bad.
Technically, all of these things are true. When I tell the story, I speak quickly, peppering it with these details to keep it light-hearted. Each time I emphasize how my prior deliveries were easy, how I knew my body, how this was right for me in my particular circumstance, but I would never presume to recommend it for anyone else. The overall message: my unassisted home birth was no big deal.
Yet one glance at the night stand next to my bed reminds me of the truth. This home birth was a big deal. Far from being unexpected, Annika's birth was planned from the moment I knew I was pregnant. For months, the night stand was stacked high with study materials--everything from a textbook on neonatal resuscitation to Ina May Gaskin's Spiritual Midwifery. The funniest title? A book called How Big is a Placenta Bowl, checked out from our local library. For months, I channeled my inner midwife and diligently prepared for this birth. I read everything I could get my hands on, poured over online birth videos, ordered home birth supplies, and even made checklists to cover various scenarios. (By the way, Jason wasn't the slightest bit interested in any of these lists until my water broke, at which point he started to study them feverishly.)
***
It's hard to pinpoint when I became interested in home birth. At BYU, a friend named Marie invited me to a birth class. I remember appreciating her proclamation that mothers are the ones who actually deliver their babies. My jaw dropped as she explained how her mother (a midwife) assisted the births of two grandbabies within a single hour when Marie and her sister went into labor at the same time, giving birth in adjoining bedrooms of their California home. I left feeling secretly sympathetic with Marie's husband Mike, who had initially proclaimed that his kids were going to be born in a hospital. Several years later, Christy introduced me to her friend Rixa, a birth guru who delivered her first daughter all by herself on the bathroom floor. To be honest, the story of her unassisted home birth initially struck me as slightly bizarre and dangerous. After many months of reading her blog, my perspective shifted and I began to warm up to the idea. If Rixa's blog snagged my interest, it was Peggy Vincent's delightful memoir Baby Catcher that got me hooked. I was in love. If I couldn't be a midwife and deliver other people's babies, gosh darn it, I could at least deliver my own.
At the same time I was learning about midwifery and home birth, I was becoming slightly disenchanted with hospital births through my own experiences. Now please don't get me wrong. All of my birth stories are beautiful: I cherish the births of each of my children and don't wish to diminish them in any way. However, my hospital birth experiences are each clouded by a thin veil of disappointment. With Brooklyn, I was young and naive. I had no idea that an epidural would both require a catheter and prohibit me from rolling onto my side until after I'd already received one. After the epidural, the baby's heart rate dropped and labor ceased to progress. I suspect that the only reason they didn't start pitocin is because it was the middle of the night and all the doctors had gone home. Once it came time to push, it never occurred to me that I could question the authoritarian mandates of my obstetrician. Nearing retirement, Dr. Gamette had delivered thousands of babies. When he told me I needed an episiotomy, I didn't think twice. Overall, I remember feeling like a cog in a well-oiled baby factory. Aside from the fact that Brooklyn had a mop of strawberry blond hair, my birth was just like any other.
By the time Talia came along, I was looking for a more intimate experience so I chose a certified nurse-midwife, Christy Hinton, at Christy Clinic in Illinois. As the only midwife, her wait times were horrendous, but she was compassionate and I enjoyed our appointments. As veteran parents, Jason and I were a little too sure of ourselves and skipped the hospital tour, a mistake we deeply regretted when Talia's labor was lightning fast and we couldn't find the entrance. After finally getting into the hospital, I was definitely feistier and more assertive than the first time around. I refused the wheelchair and insisted on walking myself to labor and delivery. Not only was it more comfortable, I wanted to be in control of my birth. Once we got into a room, I remember holding onto the edge of the bed and dropping into a deep squat. It felt so natural, so right. Instead, I was immediately chastised. The nurse snapped, you are NOT going to have this baby on the floor. I remember thinking, why the heck not? Surely the hospital floor is clean. I argued, but was literally forced into bed where I was told I had to wait to push until the midwife arrived because she had never missed a delivery. So whose birth experience was this all about? Hers or mine?
Even though the tale of Talia's speedy delivery was fun to tell, it left enough of a sour taste in my mouth that I switched to a different clinic for Eli's birth. With multiple nurse-midwives, the wait times were far better, plus I got lucky and had Eli during Ray Spooner's shift. Generally speaking, Ray was the favored midwife, although you might call him a "midhusband" due to his gender. Believe it or not, this soft-spoken, hard-core cyclist from England was married to a woman named Rae who was also a midwife. You can't make this stuff up. I wish I could make up a different ending to his life. In 2016 Ray died from ALS. He kept an insightful yet wrenching blog that captures his intense passion for life. It reminds me so much of my Uncle Jay that it is painful to read, but intimately beautiful.
It sounds silly, but I feel like I've come to know and understand Ray better posthumously through his words than I ever did as his patient. I feel like if we had ever had a chance to really sit down and talk, our hopes for birth, life, and even death would have aligned beautifully. We had much in common, but in the context of a hospital birth, these commonalities were never explored. Overshadowed by the imbalanced patient/provider relationship, what I really remember is this: I desperately wanted a waterbirth and it it didn't happen. I totally get that births rarely go as planned, but what made this birth disappointing was feeling like nobody listened. Knowing I labor quickly, I called the hospital in advance and asked them to start filling a tub: they didn't. I asked them again as soon as we got to the hospital: they wouldn't. Instead of summoning a midwife right away, they wasted precious time filling out multiple forms and asking dozens of meaningless questions. By the time Ray came, I was 8 cm dilated and it was too late. I was equally bothered by the lack of privacy. At one point I bellowed super-loudly while pushing. A strange nurse came barging in just to see what was going on. Even in the middle of labor, I remember feeling embarrassed, not only to be so exposed, but to feel like I was doing it "wrong." More than any other moment, I knew then that if I ever had another child, it would be in the privacy of my own home.
Despite the undercurrent of powerlessness that I felt in a hospital setting, each birth experience shaped me; each one more closely approached my ideal. I wasn't the only one learning, however. With Brooklyn's birth, Jason learned how challenging it is to cut the cord (he likened it to a tough cut of meat). With Talia, he learned how to listen to a bossy woman in labor. His best tutorial, however, came during Eli's birth. The physical mechanics of how to support a woman during birth--supporting her perineum, turning the baby's head to release the shoulders, even holding back the lip of a cervix--he learned all this from observing Ray. I wish Ray were still around so I could thank him.
***
The honest truth? My home birth experience was amazing. I wish I had the words to describe it, but then again I feel selfish trying because it seems unfair to hog the joy. It was difficult, it was painful, it was frightening, but it was empowering. And the moments after? Afterbirth pains excepted, these first hours were magical. I will never forget the joy of bringing the girls upstairs to meet their new baby sister. It is so much easier to bond with your babe from the comfort of your own home, completely undisturbed by blood tests and other hospital protocol. My postpartum recovery was by far the quickest and best, both physically and emotionally. Delivering on all fours was gentler than delivering on my back. With no episiotomy and no tear, I was out trail-walking the same day she was born. I struggle with baby blues when confined to a hospital bed, but surrounded by red rocks and sunshine, my spirit felt renewed.
The honest truth? My home birth experience was also a bit lonely. While birthing at home allowed me to escape rigid hospital procedures, I never felt free from the grasp of litigation and insurance companies. Insurance policies still dictated my birth experience. The primary reason I chose an unassisted home birth was because insurance would only permit my midwife to deliver in a hospital. Since my insurance refused to cover any services whatsoever surrounding home birth, I felt compelled to remain completely mum about my birth plans. Knowing how poorly hospital transfers are received, I felt like I our home birth needed to appear accidental, as if we simply didn't make it it in time. To this day, the only regret I have about Annika's birth involves this deception.
Moreover, I fretted about the social condemnation should anything go wrong. Home birth, particularly unassisted home birth, is quite stigmatized. Forget about granola strange, it its generally viewed as risky, even irresponsible. No matter how compelled I felt to birth at home, I didn't want to constantly engage in debate with those concerned that I was endangering both mother and child. I chose home birth because I am a private person who felt judged within a hospital setting; I certainly didn't want to be judged without.
And so, with the exception of Jason, I didn't tell a soul. Not my mother, not my sister, not a friend, no one. Yes, home birth was lonely. It wasn't until I had the happily-ever-after assurance of Annika's safe arrival that I finally felt safe enough to gradually open up.
The final honest truth? Annika's home birth was unifying. Since Jason was the sole person in whom I could confide, I relied upon him utterly and completely. No matter how much I wanted to be strong and independent, the truth is that my birth was not unassisted. Jason was there supporting me, both literally and physically. After watching Annika's birth video, these are the words I wrote:
I'm amazed by the intense feelings of love that [this video] inspires. Love for my daughter, yes, but mostly love for my husband--his soft words, the tender touches, the attentive gestures. His presence is so grounding in this moment of trial--calm, patient, supportive. Jason may not have a medical degree or any formal training in midwifery, but there is no one else that I trust more completely and implicitly. While the experience was intimidating for both of us at times, I'm so glad that we worked together to bring our daughter into the world. After all, it was just the two of us in the beginning--there's a beautiful sense of completion in seeing this miracle through to the end as a couple as well.
And now, in honor of 1000, I present the completely unedited ramblings of Annika's birth, published February 9th, 2013, 10 days after she was born. Fair warning--birth is inherently graphic. You probably shouldn't continue if you can't handle poop and placentas.
***
***
Congratulations, Baby Girl! Welcome earth-side, to the wonderful, wild, and slightly wacky world of the Wheeler family.
I absolutely love birth stories. And yet, in writing my own, I'm always a bit sad to finish. After all, it signals the end of such a miraculous and beautiful time of life. In your case, I feel particularly nostalgic about the completion of not just one pregnancy, but likely an era--my childbearing years. Born at home, your birth was so special and unlike all of your siblings. I'm just not ready to wrap up all of that preparation and emotion.
So today's post is not intended to be a well-crafted birth story--far from it. (It's a good thing, too, considering how fuzzy-brained I feel from sleep-deprivation.) Instead, these are simply the notes capturing the raw experience as best I can before memory starts to shade the moment.
So enjoy the first, but not final story of your birth, in stream-of consciousness fashion.
***
The Beginnings:
On Thursday, January 17th, I saw our midwife, Katie Gubler, and learned that I was already 3 cm dilated and 70% effaced. And so, it was with a bit of nervous trepidation that I sent Jason off to New York late Monday, January 21st. Even so, we spent a beautiful Monday together (Martin Luther King Day), hiking four plus miles along the remote City Creek trail after playing at Pioneer Park.
Fortunately, I felt great while Jason was gone--energized and extremely motivated to get things done. In addition to staying active at the gym, I shopped, prepared, and started ticking things off the to-do list that have been there for years, such as finally getting around to baby books and scrapbooks (Eli's, not yours...). When Susie wanted to come down from Hyde Park on Wednesday, I was mostly glad but also a little bit sad because I knew I'd need to adjust my focus a little bit to entertain. In retrospect, I'm so grateful she was there.
Because...on Friday the nesting instinct went into overdrive. I did a really intense class at the gym (nothing like mountain climbers when you are nine months pregnant) and went hiking in Snow Canyon with Susie and the kids, toting Eli on my shoulders on the way back. Instead of relaxing when we got home, I cleaned the house, vacuumed out the minivan, swept the garage...I even raked the leaves that have been there since fall. Looking back, it's not very surprising that when I finally paused for a moment while dining at the Pizza Factory, I noticed some strong, real contractions. Standing up, it seriously felt like my bag of waters was hanging out, just waiting to burst. And Jason was still in New York.
Distracted at dinner, I texted Jason and asked him to contact the airline to see if there might be any earlier flight back. When we got home, I let Susie know that I really needed to rest. She took care of the kids for me so that I could relax completely. I truly feel like it was a miracle--a tender mercy--that I didn't go into labor that night. I can't tell you how disappointed I would have felt. Even so, it was a great comfort to know that Susie was there to watch the kids if I was left without a choice.
Saturday afternoon, Jason made it home, and Monday morning we discovered exactly how close I'd been to going into labor when we saw the midwife: 4+ cm and 90% effaced. They put me on the baby monitor for at least 20 minutes, and we listened to her heartbeat while tracking fetal movement and contractions. I contracted some, but didn't think much of it since I've been contracting on and off for literally weeks.
Monday evening, we ate tomato dumplings and enjoyed a brief family home evening. After getting the kids tucked in bed, Jason and I headed off to bed ourselves at 10:30. We were talking with each other, joking about whether or not we dared enjoy any intimate time together because it might send me into labor. Okay, we really weren't joking... We were seriously debating whether or not we'd rather enjoy a good night's sleep over an FHE delivery.
Down to Business:
Well, I guess God made the decision for us because right in the middle of our discussion, my water broke. I came back from going to the bathroom, and thought that the baby's head must have been blocking my bladder since all of the sudden I peed again. Nothing like incontinence to keep you humble. But then I wet myself again--and again. Even though I wasn't feeling any labor pains, it became quickly apparent that much more was going on. The next hour was rather comical as I bustled around the house trying to get things ready--changing sheets, vacuuming, straightening up, organizing birth supplies, taking last minute belly shots--all while leaking profusely. I stuck a chux pad in my undies to try and hold back the flood, but still to no avail. I probably changed my pants four times in an hour.
At 11:30, Jason gave me a beautiful blessing and I tucked into bed, uncertain as to whether or not I could actually manage to sleep while so soggy. Well, Jason started to snuggle just a teeny bit, and that was it. By midnight, labor started for real. At first I lay perfectly still in bed, listening to music, just letting the contractions wash over me. Before too long, however, I decided that I'd be more comfortable in the tub. For a time, the contractions were quite manageable and it was really quite pleasant with the dimmed lights, candles, and warm water. Just what I'd dreamed a home birth should be. Jason napped while I soaked..
After a time, the contractions became intense enough that I needed more distraction. I asked Jason to put on a conference talk for me. Half in seriousness, half in jest, he put on President Eyring's April 2012 address on adversity: "Mountains to Climb." Phrases such as "many of you are now passing through physical, mental, and emotional trials that could cause you to cry out" certainly become ironically relevant during childbirth. His reflection that "one of the characteristics of trials in life is that they seem to make clocks slow down and then appear almost to stop" was oh-so-true. And when he said, "I cannot promise an end to your adversity in this life," I wanted to scream. And yet, his reflections on faith were so inspiring, particularly since we have long considered you, baby girl, to be our Faith Baby.
By the time President Eyring's talk was finished and the Sustaining of the Church Officers began, things began to get really serious and I asked Jason to turn off conference. The next hour falls into that endless abyss that President Eyring talks about where time stands still. I remember being so shocked by the intensity of it all. I felt so strongly that if I'd remembered how incredibly hard labor is, I never would have chosen to give birth at home. Why would anyone knowingly forgo an epidural? I moaned, I cried, I fretted, I feared. And through it all, Jason was there--ever so supportive.
You know, it's absolutely true that in the midst of a trial, the suffering feels like it will linger indefinitely. Yet once the pain is past, it's amazing how quickly the memory fades. It's been only 72 hours since our baby girl was born, and yet even now I'm having trouble recalling the physical and emotional struggle, even though I know it was completely overwhelming at the time. The intensity of childbirth really does parallel the atonement on some micro-level in that you have to submit yourself completely to the experience. “Which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit—and would that I might not drink the bitter cup, and shrink" (Doctrine and Covenants 19: 18). "Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done." (Luke 22:42)
In the end, birthing this baby required surrendering myself completely. As hard as I tried and as much as I pushed in the tub, I simply couldn't get her out. I gave up all dignity and hollered, but still she wouldn't come. Ever calm, Jason stayed by my side, supporting me through his presence. Quietly, he suggested that I move to the bed so that he would be in a better position to help. Moving out of the tub was torturous--it probably took 20 minutes to work up the courage to finally let go and do it. On the way to the bedroom, I remember crumbling into Jason's arms and saying something like, "O God, I just can't do this." I wasn't swearing--it was a prayer. I'd realized that despite my fierce independence and determination and hard work and preparation, I could not do it alone. I needed help.
Once on the bed, I stayed on my hands and knees. After hearing my roar during a contraction, Eli woke up and called from his room, "Mommy, what's happening?" Fortunately, he chose to stay there--another tender mercy. Shortly thereafter he called, "Mommy, tuck me in." Jason offered to go tuck him in, at which point I pleaded, "No! Don't go." Knowing it was time, I mustered every last ounce of courage, and pushed with everything in me. Jason applied olive oil, helped spread the skin apart, and caught her tiny head. Her body followed with a second push about five seconds later. She immediately began to cry, and Jason passed her underneath my leg so that I could hold her. It was 3:10 am, and quite possibly the most beautiful moment of my life.
It's a remarkable paradox: how can such complete and utter surrender be so remarkably empowering, even transformative? In giving up everything, we received the greatest of gifts in return.
***
After:
The hour following Annika's birth was much more difficult than I anticipated. With all of our other children, I've delivered the placenta almost immediately, thanks to a shot of pitocin. This time around, the unparalleled high of childbirth was broken after about fifteen minutes by another series of really intense contractions. As the contractions became more painful, I was forced to physically and emotionally distance myself, handing my newborn daughter off to Jason so that I could labor in the bathroom. Jason had already cut the cord, but I was nervous to tug on my end, for fear of hemorrhaging in case the placenta hadn't separated. About an hour after the birth, I finally felt inside me; the placenta was clearly right there. One good push (by this time, I was plumb tired of pushing), and I delivered it in the tub. What joy and relief--now the entire process of labor was finally complete. The placenta was whole, and to be completely honest, really fascinating. Not that I want to examine anyone else's--but I'm grateful for the chance to appreciate the lifeline that nourished my child for the past nine months. Silly as it sounds, delivering and inspecting the placenta helped me absorb and experience of childbirth in its totality. Our hospital births have certainly been tidier, but this homebirth was richer.
It took time to get everyone cleaned up and the bed remade. It was about 5:00 am when Jason, Annika, and I all snuggled into bed once more for some cuddling, nursing, and sleep. Oh, the bliss! Around 6:30, I roused long enough to throw breakfast in the oven--a baked french toast that we fortuitously prepared the night before. A little after 7:00, the girls woke up and dressed for school. After having them wash their hands, I invited them upstairs for a lovely surprise. You can imagine their delight to discover their Daddy napping with their baby sister in his arms. What a precious moment! Eli had already seen his sister right after her birth, but hadn't really understood what was happening. The girls, on the other hand, were at a delightful age to appreciate the joy of a new baby. I'll forever be grateful for the sweet moments that followed. Surely heaven was there.
Reliving the Moment:
One of the most special parts about giving birth at home was the opportunity to videotape the birth. While I've certainly had the most experiential, intimate role in birthing each of our children, I've always felt a twinge of jealousy for the "spectators" who witnessed these births from a more comfortable distance. In planning a homebirth, I wanted to see my daughter's entrance into this world--to relive the miracle again and again.
Marvelously, the video worked. It's incredibly personal and private, as clothes became completely optional with the privacy of a homebirth. Since I'm generally a rather modest person, I surprised even myself by opting out. Even more embarrassingly, you can see a smear of poop on my rear on the video. Even though it's quite common, one of my greatest fears in giving birth is the worry that I will push out a turd instead of a baby. Well, it happened. As bothersome as this would have been to me in a hospital setting with nurses, doctors, and midwifes all around, in the privacy of our own home with just Jason at my side, I honestly didn't care. Instead of humiliating, it instead became just a natural part of the process. But even so--brown streaks on video? I'm certainly going to keep that private.
While I haven't watched the video in its entirety (I had Jason switch it on when I thought our daughter was about twenty minutes away from arriving--instead, it stretches out for a whole hour), I'm amazed by the intense feelings of love that it inspires. Love for my daughter, yes, but mostly love for my husband--his soft words, the tender touches, the attentive gestures. His presence is so grounding in this moment of trial--calm, patient, supportive. Jason may not have a medical degree or any formal training in midwifery, but there is no one else that I trust more completely and implicitly. While the experience was intimidating for both of us at times, I'm so glad that we worked together to bring our daughter into the world. After all, it was just the two of us in the beginning--there's a beautiful sense of completion in seeing this miracle through to the end as a couple as well.
The Recovery:
Believe it or not, this birth has been my easiest recovery to date. I didn't tear--barely a scratch--and have felt fantastic "down South" as the euphemism goes. Whether it was Jason's miracle hands, soaking in the tub, or pushing over an extended period of time, I have been extremely blessed. Annika is eight days old today, and the only reason I didn't go the gym this morning is because I didn't want to endure the commentary about coming back too soon.
The exception: afterbirth pains. Oh my goodness, they were horrible--as bad as labor pains--truly. It's hard to bond with your child when nursing her feels like being stabbed by a knife. On a couple of occasions, I actually nursed Annika while soaking in the bathtub to help ease the discomfort. I feel grateful that both Jason and I have felt strongly that this daughter completes our family. For me, the afterbirth pains have become worse with each successive pregnancy; the idea of enduring even more--well, I just can't handle it.
Postpartum Care:
Since Annika wasn't born in the hospital, we've made more trips to the doctor than we probably would have otherwise. The afternoon following her birth, I went to check in with my midwife (and apologize for being a no-show), and Annika went to see the pediatrician. We had to run over to a different office for a Vitamin K shot, come back in the morning for a bilirubin test, and even prick her heel once more a couple days later since they forgot to do a newborn screen. Sitting with a newborn in a waiting room full of sick people is terrifying--we kept a huge distance. Even so, not being under "house arrest" at the hospital was delightful. I loved being near my own children, eating my own food, sleeping in my own bed. The freedom to go where I wanted and when was liberating. I soaked in the sunshine with my daughter on my chest while strolling along the Chuckwalla trail instead of fighting boredom and the baby blues from a hospital bed. And not being poked and prodded all night long for this, that, or the other? Delightful.
***
The decision about how and where to give birth is far too personal for me to ever presume to counsel another. So while I would never advise anyone else to have a homebirth, particularly an unassisted homebirth, I am so grateful that we chose to have Annika in our home. We invested a lot of time educating ourselves about childbirth and preparing for her arrival, but it was well-worth the effort. While some may dispute the idea of an ideal birth, Annika's arrival brushed this dream. True, there may have been a few surprises, but to me, her birth felt, well, perfect.
Wednesday, February 13, 2019
Rounding out the New Year
Oh my goodness folks, I am so tired.
Most of the time I feel like this whole working mom thing is working out okay, but periodically I feel like I'm sinking. Tonight I feel completely sunk. It's only 9:07 pm and I've been home for less than an hour, but I'm already hanging out in bed with my favorite flannel jammies. Thank heavens that we wrote Annika's class Valentines yesterday and that Eli is old enough to finish his own.
Before signing off on the day completely, I'd at least like to post enough pictures to catch up to the new year. Rewind. Rewind. I remember that night, I just might...wait a second, no regrets here! On December 26th, the entire Wheeler clan went sledding up Logan Canyon at the Sinks .
Somehow we managed to forget Annika's coat. Fortunately Aunt Christy generously shared her sweater.
Brooklyn basks in the glory of winter.
Thanks so much for the fantastic ending to Christmas, Grandma Susie and Grandpa Charles. We sure treasure the memories we make together.
Inside the house, Annika was excited to introduce her new dolphin, Pink Spring, to the existing pod.
She also reintroduced herself to Spark.
Eli will probably murder me for posting this, but it was just too cute to resist. You know that your k'nex are good when they are taller than you are.
Jason took on a building project of his own--insulating our back storage room.
It temporarily turned our garage into a disaster, but if the pipes stop freezing it will definitely be worth it.
As nice as it was to be home, we spent plenty of time outside the house during the finals days of 2018. Skiing at Brighton is a personal favorite, especially when we can include our uncles.
Warming up with some card games in the lodge.
On the 31st, we hopped over to the Natural History Museum for their noon-year's eve celebration
The new Mayan exhibit, complete with stelas, was also fascinating.
Last but not least, we rounded out the year with fondu and Italian sodas at Brianna and Justin's house. It was the perfect celebration for Wheelers and Stokers alike.
Add in a dance party and really, what more could you ask for?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)