Nathan's Story: Part I - Birth

Before Nathan's birth, I read everything I could get my hands on about the things that happened to Luke and I that I didn't intend to repeat. I searched high and low for a midwife that would attend a home birth. At the time, it was illegal to have a home birth in Wyoming (it is legal now!). I had two options. Have an unattended home birth or go to the hospital. Since I wasn't comfortable being unattended, I decided I really only had one option.

For several weeks I had been willing my body to go into labor. I had a separated pelvis for the last few months of my pregnancy and it was excruciating at times. Having that kind of constant pain and a toddler were just about all I could handle. I was so frustrated with my body for not starting labor 10 days early like Luke's labor that I worried I would end up being induced again.

About two days before Nathan's due date, I decided to give all my troubles up to God. After I had done that, I felt so much better! I was relaxed and didn't feel this cloud of worry hanging over me. I was able to enjoy my last days with Luke as an only child. I also realized how blessed I was to be able to carry a baby to term and that we were both healthy. Little did I know what the very next day would hold!

Around two in the morning, Luke woke up. I picked him up and took him to my bed and sang him back to sleep. When I was sure he was sleeping, I carried him back to his crib. As I laid him back down, I had a pretty strong contraction. I didn't think much of it - I'd been having contractions off and on for several months. I went back to bed, but couldn't sleep. I got up and started walking around the house, thinking the contractions would stop if I was moving as they had in the past. It didn't take long for me to realize this wasn't a drill, it was the real deal.

I started counting through the waves of contractions (one one thousand, two one thousand) as a way to focus my mind and "time" the contractions. Not wanting to alarm my mom, I called my friend Cindy. I didn't have a clock with a second hand to time the contractions with and I asked Cindy to time them for me. They were already only four minutes apart and lasting nearly a minute! Cindy came over to my house for support. I was determined to stay home as long as possible - the less time I spent at the hospital the less chance there was of medical intervention. Even though my contractions were close together and long, I didn't feel any pain unless someone interrupted my counting. That was my focus and as long as I was focused, my body did what it needed to.

I called Phyllis, my midwife. She told me to stay home as long as I was comfortable and it would probably be a while before I needed to head to the hospital. She thanked me for the heads up. I also called my doula since she had to travel about 60 miles - I wanted her to have plenty of time.

Within an hour, I felt that I needed some air. I went outside to walk down the street. I had to stop along the way twice to vomit. Now I know that is a sign of transition. I was also starting to confuse my numbers, counting some twice and skipping others. Confusion is also a sign of transition. I suddenly had to use the bathroom and waddled back to the house as fast as I could. Once there, my water broke. The fluid was clear and smelled sweet, a good sign! Cindy kept telling me I needed to go to the hospital, but I insisted it wasn't time. I had only been in labor 3 hours.

Around 5:30, I found myself on my hands and knees on the living room floor over a bucket. The contractions were making me extremely nauseous, but I continued to count through them. They still weren't really painful, but they were exhausting and by the time I counted to 50 I had to remind myself, "Okay, it's almost over, it won't last 'till 60". Most of the time, that was true, but some of them lasted long enough for me to count to 75! I went between the floor and the toilet for an hour or so - all the while SD (who finally woke up) and Cindy begging me to get in the car.

At 6:50, I finally decided to go to the hospital. Cindy let us use her SUV as I didn't think I could get into my little car. The drive to the hospital was the worst part of the night - I was unable to walk, sway or otherwise move my body in the way it was telling me to. When we got to the hospital, I walked past admissions to the elevator. The secretary asked if I wanted a nurse to bring down a wheelchair and I wasted no time in telling her (probably a little rudely) that I didn't have time for that. I had two contractions in the elevator.

When I got to Labor & Delivery, Phyllis was there behind the desk, knitting. She came to give me a hug and I used her support to get through the next contraction, still counting. As Phyllis and the nurses debated about what room to put me in (like they didn't know I was coming), I realized they had no idea how close I was to delivering. Finally a nurse showed me to a room and held up a specimen cup. "Just a little tinkle" she insisted. I tried to tell her I couldn't do that right now, I really just needed to make myself comfortable and regain my focus! I was starting to panic and the contractions became extremely painful when I wasn't counting through them. The nurse began to help me out of my coat and noticed I was counting and told me to stop. The computer would count the contractions once I was being monitored. I felt like biting her head off, but I said nothing - I didn't want to lose my focus over something so petty. I went into the bathroom with the cup and shut the door. I took off my shoes and pants, threw them into a corner and sat down. Oh, the relief! The pressure on my pelvis was gone as my legs supported my weight and it felt so much better. It was 7:05am.

Nearly ten minutes passed (so I'm told) before a nurse knocked on the door and asked if I was okay. I told her I was fine. I started to feel my whole midsection tighten - tight enough to make me involuntarily grunt. Then Phyllis came in and I noticed that my mom and sister, Jessie, and my doula had arrived. Phyllis sat down on the shower and said, "Tell me what you feel." I said, "Phyllis, I feel like pushing." Her eyes widened and she pulled a pair of gloves from her pocket to check me. I must have been ready to go because she said, "Ladies, suit up!" The nurses shuttled back and forth, talking under their breath about moving me to the bed. I prayed they wouldn't push the issue.

I closed my eyes and blocked everything out. I imagined being in the sun, the warmth of it on my shoulders. I remembered watching my mare, Rosie, having her first little foal. She didn't panic. She didn't fight it. She simply lay there and let nature take it's course. I was still counting, but I was also listening to my doula, Christi, tell me what a great job I was doing. I opened my eyes to see Phyllis sitting on the floor in front of me, patiently waiting to welcome my little guy into the world. It was right at shift change for the nurses, and there were four of them standing in the doorway along with my mom, sister, SD, and Christi. I looked at Phyllis and said, "I want to sleep." She just smiled as I closed my eyes. I really do think I dozed - even if it was just for a minute.

The next contraction brought renewed energy and I was ready for it. I could feel Nathan's little body moving and turning - then suddenly, I felt his head making it's way out. I started to panic a little, remembering the pain of Luke crowning, but I quickly got my thoughts under control and returned to counting. I stood up as Nathan's head slipped out into my hands and the rest of his body soon followed. I just looked at him for a bit - all 7 pounds and 8 ounces of him. After four hours of labor and only 20 minutes in the hospital, this was THE single most amazing moment of my life! I lifted my shirt and brought him to my chest. He didn't cry, but took a few gurgley breaths and blinked in the bright light. Then he turned his head and began to search for my breast. I just can't get over how amazing that moment was - it was as if I was being told I'd struggled enough and this little guy was going to heal the hurt from Luke's birth.



I was given a towel to dry him off, but I rubbed as much vernix into his skin as I could (rubbing it in prevents baby's skin from peeling in the weeks following birth). SD cut the cord once it stopped pulsing and I snuggled Nathan even closer. My work was not over, as the placenta had yet to make an appearance. Phyllis applied traction to the cord (basically, she pulled on it) and I could feel it on the inside - it didn't occur to me at the time, but even farmers and ranchers know that pulling on a cord can mean leaving a newborn motherless as she would likely bleed to death. The placenta did come out in it's entirety, but the bleeding was serious.

I moved to the bed with a towel between my legs (my pelvic pain was miraculously cured!) and the movement and gravity made the bleeding worsen. A nurse came at me with a loaded syringe and prepared to jab it into my thigh when I grabbed her wrist. "What do you think you're doing?!" I was not happy about not being asked or even told what was going on. She said it was pitocin, to make my uterus contract harder and try to stop the bleeding. Remembering my previous experience with pitocin, I said absolutely NOT. Phyllis came then and told me it was either that or get an IV with a pitocin drip but the bleeding had to be stopped. I agreed to the injection.

Nathan was left skin to skin with me for the first three hours of his life. No one else touched him aside from Phyllis holding him while I walked to the bed. He was not poked, prodded or bathed. I didn't even allow them to use a suction bulb to clean out his nose and mouth as he seemed to be breathing just fine. He was not vaccinated, given eye antibiotics, or injected with vitamin K. He was not circumcised - yet (but that's another post). The nurses just about had to sit on their hands after I had refused for him to be weighed and measured three times. Did they think he would shrink if I held him too long? The weight of his little body sleeping on my chest helped me immensely in the hours ahead.

The next few hours were miserable. The nurses came in every ten minutes to push on my uterus and when they did, not only was it excruciating, the blood just gushed. I had started to shiver from the blood loss. I was given two cytotec pills (a drug that causes such powerful contractions it is used for abortion) to help stop the bleeding by contracting my uterus. It was awful. I was ready to ask for an epidural and I'd already had my baby! When Nathan was nursing (which was pretty much constantly) it made the cramping worse. Fortunately, the bleeding eventually started to let up however; the effects of the cytotec lasted for days. It wasn't something I'd wish on my worst enemies.

We weren't even in the hospital 24 hours. With a clean bill of health, we went home the next morning. Nathan was a champion nurser and never lost any weight. When my supply came in on the third day after his birth, I was overjoyed to hear him greedily gulping down the milk. Sometimes I thought he was drowning he was swallowing so fast! I praise God for allowing me to have the healing, empowering birth experience I needed to help heal the hurt of the past.

If I had it to do over, I would have stayed home and had an unattended home birth. If the placenta had been left to detach on it's own, I would have had no problem delivering Nathan by myself  as I wouldn't have had the excessive bleeding.  But, lesson learned. I am thankful for the experience I had and for my healthy baby boy!

I love to read birth stories. It can be a healing and enlightening experience to write out your birth story and if you would like to, you're more than welcome to put it in the comments!

Luke's Story: Part II - Struggles

It was 2:30am. I was sitting in the dark in a rocking chair holding my tiny, screaming, two-week-old baby. My mind was totally blank. I was paying no attention to the baby in my lap - his screams had become such a part of everyday life I had sadly started to block them out. No one I talked to believed there was anything wrong with my baby - he was just "colicky".

After two weeks of fighting not to have him readmitted to the hospital for jaundice, I refused to let anyone else prick his poor little feet. He had band aids on both heels and they looked so awful I couldn't bear to look at them. I stopped taking him to appointments as they never told me anything different than the last time and it seemed to take so much out of Luke to have his clothes taken off, be weighed, measured, checked, and poked. I was being pressured to have him vaccinated (my children are 100% unvaxed, but that's another post) and because I was refusing I caught a lot of flack from the doctors at the clinic we were sent to by the hospital. I was madly searching for someone new.

In the mean time, I had started to notice that where he was once round and pudgy, Luke's skin was becoming loose and thin looking. At first, I thought the yellow of the jaundice must have made it appear that way. By the time he was 4 weeks old, he was still wearing newborn clothes and diapers and I could see his ribs. I finally found a doctor who would take on an unvaxed baby but she couldn't see him for two weeks.

During the entire first six weeks of his life, Luke screamed. I don't mean crying to be held or changed - I mean blue faced screaming. 24/7. When he wasn't crying, he attempted to nurse. These sessions were limited to about two minutes before he was screaming again. Sometimes I wondered what would happen if I just put a pillow over his face. I was so depressed and so sleep deprived that I considered harming my own child. As shameful as that is to admit, post-partum depression is very real and is not often addressed. Mine was never diagnosed and I praise God for getting me through the rough times.

When we finally got in to see the doctor, Luke had lost 8 ounces. He was dehydrated and starving. He was diagnosed failing to thrive. The doctor was not interested in addressing the problem; her solution was, "Just give him formula. He'll be fine." I wasted no time in telling her I would NOT be giving my child formula and I wanted to know why he was not gaining. Obviously there was a problem; wasn't it her job to help me fix it? After much conversation, she finally sent me back to the hospital to do a pre and post weight with a lactation nurse. First Luke was weighed, then he nursed, then was weighed again. After 40 minutes of breastfeeding, Luke had only taken one ounce of milk. A healthy baby should have been able to take at least four. Back to the doctor we went. I finally agreed (after much debate and lots of tears) to give him formula. Obviously there was a problem, but until it was resolved, Luke had to eat.

I tried with all my might to pump enough milk for my poor baby. For six weeks my supply had not been stimulated as much as it needed to be and I struggled to express even one ounce. I still pumped faithfully and mixed what little I got with the formula. Even with a bottle, it took him nearly 20 minutes to get down one ounce.

The first night on formula was an even bigger nightmare than the previous six weeks. My baby vomited constantly and had so much diarrhea I feared he would need IV fluids. I sobbed while bottle feeding him. I stopped giving him formula and called the doctor who told me to come in right away. She checked him over and discovered he'd lost even more weight. She put him on soy formula. This was the pattern for three weeks. After 16 (yes, sixteen!) different kinds of formula, she put him on a by-prescription-only-hypoallergenic-dairy-and-soy-free-$60-a-can formula. It caused the worst reaction. I had never before or since seen a peeling, bleeding diaper rash like my baby had from that awful stuff. At this point, I started making formula from scratch. I used organic rice milk, flax seed oil, protein powder and a few other ingredients to try to put weight on my little guy. It did work, but it was very slow and I kept looking for something better.

A friend told me about La Leche League. At first I thought, I've already seen lactation consultants - what else can seeing another one do for me? She finally talked me in to going to a meeting saying she would come with me. And it was there that I met Joy, my Godsend. She saw Luke and I privately, at her house. She took special care in examining Luke's mouth for problems like tongue tie or cleft palate. She watched him latch on and counted how many times he sucked and swallowed. A normal suck/swallow ratio is two sucks per one swallow. Luke was sucking 15 times before swallowing. He was working so hard to eat that he was just burning more calories than he was taking in. She told me that the little piece of tissue inside Luke's upper lip (called the labial frenulum; it ties your upper lip to your gums) was short and thick. This condition could definitely cause a problem. She also noticed that it appeared Luke's skull plates were on top of one another. She suggested a CranioSacral Therapist might be able to help. Joy also told me about the Mother's Milk Bank. Breastfeeding moms with an oversupply were carefully screened and then donated their milk to the bank where it was flash pasteurized, frozen, and distributed to people in need. The catch? It is by prescription only and the baby had to be failing to thrive.

I took Luke to two local Ear/Nose/Throat specialists to try and get his upper lip addressed. I gave all of the Milk Bank information to Luke's doctor and begged (to no avail) for her to write a prescription. I felt so helpless. I finally made Luke an appointment at a Children's Hospital 100 miles away.

Joy did quite a bit of research on my behalf and discovered a CranioSacral Therapist 70 miles away who would treat a baby. I wasted no time in arranging an appointment. Luke screamed all the way there. After ten minutes, the therapist informed me that no less than five of Luke's skull plates had been displaced by his face-up birth. He also had a dislocated jaw from being born with one hand next to his face. I cried. My poor, poor baby. All this time he'd been in so much pain and no one noticed! He was nearly four months old and not one "medical professional" had taken note of his pain. After one session, Luke slept all the way home.

If you look closely, you can see the ridge in Luke's head a little above and in front of his ear. This is after being treated once by a CST.

After a couple weeks, I finally secured an appointment with a pediatric ENT at the Children's Hospital. She confirmed what I already knew; Luke's labial frenulum was short and tight. She assured me this could not affect breastfeeding. She instead told me he probably suffered from acid reflux and had a sore throat thus making it painful to swallow. I thanked her for her time and sent her no less than a dozen links to scientifically proven research about how a labial tie DOES affect breastfeeding. She didn't thank me.

About a week later, Luke's doctor finally agreed that maybe it would be best if he was fed breastmilk. As Luke had been failing to thrive since the age of six weeks, we had already met that requirement. I got a shipment of milk from the bank frozen on dry ice. Luke drank 10 ounces in one sitting! I was SO happy! He normally took about four ounces if I was lucky! He was six months old when we got the breast milk and he gained four pounds in three weeks. Hallelujah!

 

                                                                                        Before breastmilk                                             After breastmilk!

These pictures were taken just four weeks apart. I will never be able to express the level of gratitude I have for the women who made it possible for my baby to be healthy!

Problem solved! Well, sort of. I still had to solve the problem of his lip tie. I ran across an article in my research about dentists knowing more about how the mouth has to function to effectively breastfeed. I immediately made an appointment with the dentist at the Children's Hospital. She also happened to be a breastfeeding mom and wasted no time in telling me Luke's lip absolutely was the issue and it needed taken care of. A topical numbing agent was applied to the lip and a laser was used to precisely cut the tissue, cauterizing the wound as it cut. There was no bleeding and it didn't seem to cause Luke any pain. For the first time in his life (only minutes after surgery) Luke was able to latch on and nurse as babies were intended to.

My battle was not lost! Praise God!

However, at the time, I was already pregnant with Nathan. I had virtually no milk. We still relied on the Milk Bank for nearly all of Luke's nutrition. When he was nine months old, he was no longer failing to thrive and the Milk Bank informed me that he no longer met their requirements. At their suggestion, I began using organic goat milk and we never looked back.

That first year was so hard, and at times I thought Luke and I would never make it through. But today, as I look back, if putting my story out there helps just one mom, it will all have been worth it.  

Luke's Story: Part I - Birth

I know that my topics have been all over the place lately, but please be patient with me as I build up my archives with whatever I can think of!



I want you to know this is the first time I've written out Luke's birth story where anyone could read it. I know it's not as bad as some, but it was traumatic for me and for Luke and I refuse to let people make light of our trauma because "it wasn't that bad". To help you understand this story, you should know that I am terrified of needles and the smell of a hospital makes my blood preassure skyrocket.



The night I went into labor, SD and I had both been sick. He took several doses of Niquil and went to bed. I stayed awake for a bit thinking about all the things I had to get done before Luke made his appearance, but eventually I drifted off.
       
I woke two hours later (about 1:00am) to go to the bathroom. As I walked to the bathroom I had the fleeting thought that I was going to pee my pants! I made it, but I heard a little gush as I sat down. I wrestled with myslef for a few minutes ... was that my water breaking? Or did I just have to pee *really* bad? I finally decided it wasn't normal and went to wake SD. He was in a Niquil induced coma and rolled over.

I had been diagnosed with Group B Strep the week before and was scared into going to the hospital at the first sign of impending labor to be treated with IV antibiotics. I was told that waiting too long could have life threatening consequences for me or my baby.

I flew around the room packing things and making phone calls; I called the midwife, my mom and a few friends. I read through my carefully prepared and many times rewritten birth plan; it suddenly seemed like such weak defense against all that could happen - but I took a deep breath and stuffed it in the bag. SD finally got up and put some clothes on and just sat there at the end of the bed.

My house suddenly seemed so messy! I had nothing prepared! Luke's due date wasn't for 11 more days! (In hind sight, I should have just stayed home, slept, and done some cleaning.)

I was so nervous. I remember saying as we were heading to the hospital, "This is going to change our lives. We will not get back in this car the same people we are right now." SD responded with a grunt.

When we got to the hospital, first things first, they wanted to do an internal exam. The resident on call was a young man and I was not comfortable with him. I didn't know enough to say so. The exam was super painful and seemed to take forever. The resident said it probably wasn't my water breaking because I was only dialated to one. I argued with him. He said something to the effect of, "Well, you're just a first time mom." I argued with him some more. He finally ordered an ultrasound to measure the fluid. 

In the two hours we waited for the ultrasound, a lab tech came in to draw blood and a nurse to start an IV. I wanted neither. I finally made a deal with them - they could stick me one time; if they missed, too bad. So they called someone from ICU who was very good at placing an IV. He was very kind and studied my hands thoroughly before deciding where to quicky place the little plastic catheter in the back of my hand. I was thankful for him.

The ultrasound tech came and was very grouchy. The tired old lady pushed the ultrasound cart into my room while muttering to herself about being overworked. She pushed and poked and prodded with the machine's wand while scrutinizing the screen. Finally, she said, "Don't know why those damn doctors call me in here for this nonsense. Ain't one ounce of fluid in there. That baby is comin' today and he's comin' sunny side up." With that, she wrapped the wand cord around the machine and pushed it back out the door.

The doctor came back and told us we would be staying but that I'd had no documentable contractions. He suggested walking. So I walked. For 3 hours. It was five in the morning when I asked the nurse if I could please sleep. I wasn't having any contractions and I didn't see any reason why I shouldn't be allowed to sleep. She said I could and showed me to a room (after much persuasion) with a more comfortable bed (if you've ever been in a labor & delivery bed without at epidural and tried to sleep, you understand!).

I slept for one hour before being startled awake by a nurse saying I needed to be "checked". There was no change in my cervix. Phyllis, the midwife, came to talk to me about induction. She told me we had to get things moving before the risk of infection got any higher. She also said if I waited too long to start labor I could have a dry birth which is said to be exceedingly painful and possibly damaging to mother and baby. I consented to the pitocin.

Once the pitocin was started, I was more or less tied to the bed. I had to be constantly monitored. The straps for the monitors were making my skin red and itchy and the pitocin in the IV was making the back of my hand burn. The automatic blood pressure cuff was making little bruised lines on my arm and causing my arm to turn purple. I was tense and scared and wanted to be anywhere but where I was.

 I insisted on sitting on a yoga ball instead of being in the bed. Within twenty minutes, I went from having no contractions to contractions so intense I couldn't breath through them. I started crying for pain relief. The nurses pointed out in a rather mocking manner that I had requested no pain medication be administered in my birth plan. The nurse smiled at me as she shot Demoral into my IV. I wanted to slap her.

The Demoral affected me almost immediately. It looked like the floor was coming up to meet me and I felt like I was going to fall off the ball. I grabbed whatever I could reach. I felt like puking. Like the worst drunk I'd ever been. It did nothing for the pain. Between the bed spins and the contractions I began to hyperventilate. A nurse put an oxygen mask on my face and the constrictive feeling of it on my skin made me panic even more. I lost all sensation in my arms and legs because of the lack of oxygen. It took a good deal of mental effort to calm myself down - fortunately the Demoral wore off quickly and I was able to regain a little bit of sanity.

Durning this time, SD's parents had arrived. I don't know who called them but I was  not impressed. My mom had been sitting behind me for support but was quickly getting tired. SD's mother offered to take her position. I was not okay with that. She sat down behind me and I said the first thing that came to my mind, "Stop breathing on me!". She moved. People came and went all day and I don't really remember who - I do remember my friend Kyla being there - pretty sure I yelled at her but I don't remember what about.

By 3pm I had asked to move from the yoga ball to the bed. I asked that the squat bar be attatched and it seemed like it took days for the nurses to figure out how to put it on. When it was finally secure, I climed into the bed to try it out. Big NO! There was so much more pain when I squatted I just couldn't do it. I ended up on my hands and knees as it took all of the pressure of the baby off my back. My tail bone hurt like it had been crushed and I was becoming very discouraged. I wanted so much to walk! Like my body was telling me if I could just walk I'd be fine. But they would not let me take the monitors off.

Around 5:30, I asked for more pain relief. They gave me Stadol instead this time. It was worse than Demoral. I had to put my head in my hands and close my eyes because the room was spinning so fast and I just knew I'd fall off the bed. I couldn't feel my calves from sitting on my knees for so long but by that point I didn't care. I remember telling Phyllis I couldn't do it. I begged her to make it stop. The pitocin was running wide open at this point and I remember seeing black durning every contraction.

Phyllis checked my cervix again. She said I was at a 9 but couldn't push without causing damage until I was at a 10. She said she could hold that remaining 1cm out of the way if I wanted to push and I said yes. On the next contraction, she pushed my cervix back and it was the worst pain I have ever felt. I screamed for her to stop. She did. I told her we were not going to try that again.

At 8:30, I remember looking at the clock. Phyllis told me the baby's head was visible during the contractions but then went back inside. I decided I'd had enough and began to push so hard I couldn't see. I had almost become numb to the pain and though it made my back scream when I pushed, I had to get it over with.

At 9:19pm, after 22 hours of labor and 3 hours of pushing, Lucas Robert Jones was born into the midwife's hands.  His first sound to me sounded angry. He just screamed. I had to be very careful as I turned over on my back because his cord was so short he had to stay close to my body. My first impression of his face was that he wasn't very happy about being evicted from the only home he'd ever known. His eyes were wide and dark and his cheeks plump and rosy. His cord was so short I couldn't even hold him until it had been cut. I'm pretty sure SD cut it, but I don't remember.

Luke did try to nurse, but never really latched on. With everything that was going on I didn't really notice how much he was struggling. I got to hold him while the placenta was delivered. It didn't take long to get cleaned up - I had no stitches; just a little skid mark.

Suddenly everyone was in the room wanting to see and hold him. The nurses took him to administer medication and shots and check his vitals. Someone ordered pizza. I was starving!!!

When everything settled down and I finally got to hold Luke again, he had been poked, prodded, jabbed, weighed, measured, bathed and swaddled. He was hurting, scared, drugged and exhausted. The nurse placed him in the cradle next to the bed and he began to cry. It was so quiet and so heart breaking - I quickly scooped him up and carefully unswaddled him. I put him inside my hospital gown and we slept.

Luke slept for nearly 18 hours straight. I tried to wake him to nurse, but his little eyes just wouldn't stay open. I saw two lactation consultants that told me I just needed to make him uncomfortable and he'd wake up. They wanted me to make him cold by taking his clothes off and blowing on him and keep him alert by flicking his feet. I refused. How could I intentionally inflict such discomforts on my precious newborn? Hadn't he had enough? And flicking his feet?! His poor little heels had already been jabbed enough times; I would not cause him more pain. And besides, I wouldn't be able to eat if I had someone blowing cold air on me or flicking my feet.

The doctor came to get him to be circumsized. I had a really hard time letting him go and looking back, I should have trusted my mama instincts. I wish I had held on to him. Of all the things I researched, circumcision was not one of them and that is probably the biggest regret of my life. SD went with Luke. When he came back, he wasn't crying. He was just staring. Not blinking, just looking straight ahead. He was in shock from blood loss and pain and I didn't even know it. His arms and legs were bluish and cold. Not one doctor or nurse told me the risks of that unnecessary surgery - nor did they come back in a timely manner to check for signs of shock. I shudder to think what could have happened if the shock had been anymore serious.

So I was sent home without any nurse actually seeing Luke breastfeed successfully. He was constantly crying and slept in long stretches. The wound caused by circumcision looked awful and seemed to cause him a great deal of pain. But everyone went about their business as if they had done me some kind of huge favor. I felt like a failure because I'd had pain meds that didn't work anyway. I had some excessive bleeding that was never addressed. I had developed post partum depression before even leaving the hospital and nobody noticed.

So I took my hurting, screaming baby and his super helpful SD and went home.


....Stay tuned for Part II!

Toddlers: Life's Little Teachers

 

             I was walking back and forth in front of the back doors of the church on Sunday, attempting to quiet my cranky two year old, when I saw a father with a little girl about the same age. He had her by the arm and walked her roughly outside. I heard him raise his voice to her and then she began to cry as he swatted her twice. He then said, “Knock it off! Not another sound!” When they came back in, the little girl was overly compliant – but I saw the silent tears, the broken child. She wasn’t being “good” because it was the right thing to do; she was being “good” out of fear. Fear that the people who love her most in the world would hurt her if she expressed her feelings. It wasn’t okay for her to cry when she was upset, but when daddy was upset it was okay for him to yell. It wasn’t okay for her to hit her brother when he took her toys, but it was okay for her daddy to hit her when she tried to tell him she was tired of sitting still. It broke my heart.

                I am of the opinion that children’s feelings are discounted because they are little. Not only do I find that heartbreaking, it worries me. What kind of people will these children become? These children who have learned it’s not okay to express your feelings while your little, but when you’re big enough to harm someone your feelings will be important. I know, I know what you’re thinking – that an undisciplined child becomes a spoiled brat. But let’s take this apart – was the little girl being disciplined? Or was she being punished?

I know those words are often used interchangeably, but they are very, very different. Discipline is derived from the word “disciple”, as in Jesus’ Disciples. If you look up the word “disciple” in a Latin dictionary (the original language of the Bible) you will find that it means “learner”. “Discipline” in the Latin meaning is “to teach, to guide”. “Punishment” by definition means penalty for doing something wrong: a penalty that is imposed on somebody for wrongdoing.

  Also, if you were to look up “rod” in Latin (as in “Spare the rod, spoil the child”) you would find that it means “A staff or stick used to guide a flock”. A shepherd would never use his rod to punish his sheep, lest they come to fear him. He used it gently, never intending harm, to guide them on their way to greener pastures or the nearest watering hole.

In my mind, that translates to this: in order for us to effectively discipline our children, gentle guidance is needed – no; required.

I wasn’t always of this opinion – no, I had my poor moments (and still do!). When Luke was nearly two, it seemed he could not behave no matter what I tried. He screamed in church. He intentionally agitated his brother.  He threw food. He threw tantrums. He broke things. I was at the end of my rope. I spanked him often but he got to the point where he didn’t even cry, he just screamed his protests at having been violated in such a way. He began hitting everyone. Me, his brother, his grandparents, kids at the park, and himself. How was I supposed to teach him that hitting is not how we deal with people who’ve frustrated us, if that’s how I handled him when he frustrated me?

At the same time, I had started a new job as a 911 dispatcher. It is the toughest job I’ve ever done – not just because the work is hard, but incredibly stressful and the training; intense. On my last day of training, I had been employed there two weeks shy of 10 months. I learned a lot about myself during those months – and a lot about how I want to teach my children. It was hard for me to keep my feelings contained when I had done something wrong and was chided for it. At times, it made me feel small; like a failure. I felt like rebelling – like telling them off and quitting because I was trying so hard but it wasn’t good enough. It also made me think. Was this how my children felt when I admonished them for acting out their feelings? They are so little and words just don’t hold the meaning they often need to express when feeling something big. Did I make them feel like giving up because they aren’t good enough? I was determined that I would do everything in my power not to make my children feel like I felt during some days of my training. But how?

The answer came to me at about four in the morning on a Wednesday. I had been so sick. I was in the bathroom, attempting to throw up my guts, and as I sat back on the edge of the bathtub, there was Luke, standing in the doorway. He didn’t say a word, but climbed up on his step stool to the counter and got a Kleenex. He came over to me and gently wiped away my tears and threw his arms around my neck. I was unaware until that moment how capable he was of understanding me and my feelings! He then took my hand and led me back to bed. I was moved to tears. I had to do something different.

I started out by mentally counting to ten before reacting – spanking was something that I did so quickly as my anger surfaced in about 1.6 seconds. Spanking was how my mom had reacted when we had done something wrong and I can remember her gritting her teeth as she squeezed out angry words between swats of the flyswatter. I can remember it making me feel so small and so violated. When I was older and big enough to overpower her, I went wild. What was she going to do? Yell? Ground me? By then I had become hardened to both and didn’t care. I did what I wanted, as did my brothers. I don’t ever want to have to be on the receiving end of the teenager I once was (which is not to say I won’t, but I’m going to do my best).

My second step (after my Mommy timeout) was to address the cause. Was he angry? Tired? Hungry? Needing a diaper? Just needing me? I couldn’t always put my finger on it, but I’ve found the best way to start is to say, “Do you need Mama to hold you?” The first time I asked Luke this, the fight was immediately gone from his eyes, replaced with disbelief. Once he recovered from my unusual reaction, he ran as fast as his little legs could take him into my arms, silent tears falling down his face. It was such an emotional reconnection that I am tearing up just telling you about it! I began to think about how it must feel to have your feelings so grossly overreacted to. To try and tell someone in the only way you know how that you’re tired/hungry/over stimulated only to have them shush you, yell, hit, or ignore you?

Let’s put this in perspective. Let’s say you’re a toddler out with your Mommy at her friend’s house. You’ve been there an hour or so and need something to drink! You babble to your Mommy, but she just smiles and turns back to her friend. You try again. This time, Mommy gets up and plunks you down in front of the TV. And so it begins. It might start out with some clinginess – progressing to fussiness. But Mommy is talking to her friend and takes you to another room to play with the other kid (one you aren’t really familiar with). You just need a drink! Listen, Mommy! You run after her, now crying. She looks at you and puts her finger to her lips and says “Shush! Stop that!”, all the while smiling at her friend. Now not only are you thirsty, your diaper is starting to chafe, you’re tired from crying, and you just want to go home! You throw yourself at Mommy’s feet and continue to scream. Why won’t she listen? Now Mommy’s under pressure from her friend to get you “under control”. She picks you up, spanks you, and puts you in an unfamiliar room and shuts the door. How could she?! You bang on the door, scream and cry, but nobody comes. Finally, you’re so worn out, you give up. No one is coming. Mommy left you. Your little body is exhausted from crying and your little brain so stressed from the situation, you succumb to sleep right there on the hard wood floor behind the door. All over a drink of water.        

It has taken time, and I’ve had to work on my own feelings more than I thought I would, but my children and I generally understand each other now. That’s not to say life is a bed of roses! We still have our moments! I have to dedicate myself to being in tune with them and their feelings – which isn’t easy, but so worth it!

Of course, this post doesn’t even begin to cover all of the ups and downs of parenting a toddler. I intend to write several more on the topic, so stay tuned!

DISCLAIMER:  This method is NOT for the faint of heart. It is NOT easy, nor is it a “quick fix”. It takes time. It takes repetition. It takes trust on the part of everyone. It takes research. It takes dedication. It takes lots and lots of prayer. It takes humility to admit you are wrong. It takes patience, wisdom, courage, and love.

Do you think you have what it takes? No? Well, that’s what the prayer is for.  

<3 SMF

Courageous.

Tonight there is something weighing heavy on my heart that I feel I must share with you.

I know life as a single mom is not easy without worrying about the outcome of your children in 20 or 30 years. Some days, it is all I can do to keep up with laundry and dishes and changing diapers - but I have realized, these are such small matters! I have recently purchased the movie "Courageous" and have watched it several times. Each time I see it, I come away with something different and perplexing.

These words are not mine, but they are powerful and I believe every one of them and I hope you come away with the same profound sense of responsibility as I have.

"While so many mothers have sacrificed to help their children survive, they were never intended to carry the weight alone. We thank God for them.

Research has proven that children also desperately need a Daddy.

God desires for every father to courageously step up and do whatever it takes to be involved in the lives of his children. But more than just being there and providing for them, he is to walk with them through their young lives and be a visual representation of the character of God, their Father in Heaven.

 A father should love his children and seek to win their hearts. He should protect them, discipline them, and teach them about God. He should model how to walk with integrity and treat others with respect. He should call out his children to become responsible men and women who live their lives for what matters in eternity.

 Some men will hear this and mock it. Or ignore it. But I tell you that as a father, you are accountable to God for the position of influence He has given you. You can’t fall asleep at the wheel only to wake up one day and realize that your job or your hobbies have no eternal value – but the souls of your children do.

Some men will hear this and agree with it, but have no resolve to live it out. Instead they will live for themselves and waste the opportunity to leave a Godly legacy for the next generation.

But there are some men who, regardless of the mistakes we’ve made in the past, regardless of what our fathers did not do for us, will give the strength of our arms and the rest of our days to loving God with all that we are and to teach our children to do the same and whenever possible, to teach and mentor others who have no father in their lives, but who desperately need help and direction.

In my home, the decision has already been made. You don’t have to ask who will guide my family – because by God’s grace, I will. You don’t have to ask who will teach my son to follow Christ, because I will. Who will accept the responsibility of providing and protecting my family? I will. Who will ask God to break the destructive chains in my family’s history? I will. Who will pray for and bless my children to boldly do whatever God calls them to do? I will. I accept this responsibility and it is my privilege to embrace it. I want the favor of God and His blessing on my home. Any good man does. So where are you men of courage?!  Where are you Fathers who fear the Lord?! It’s time to rise up and answer the call that God has given to you and say, “I will! I will!” ~ from Courageous the Movie

Obviously, we are single moms because there is not a man in our lives who is willing to step up and be all that God has called him to be. For now, we have to be the ones to guide our children. We have to be the ones to teach them to follow Christ. We have to be the ones to break the destrucive chains in our family's history. We have to pray for and bless our children to boldly do whatever God has called them to do. We must accept this responsibility. We must not take it lightly. We are shaping our children to be the men and women they will be for the rest of their lives, and it is terrifying. But, by the grace of God, we are not alone in our struggles. We are not alone in this fight. We have been called to raise up these children in their fathers' absences. If you do not stand up for your children, model integrity and respect, and bring them up in a way that is pleasing to God, who will?

If you are fearful, as I was, that you are not strong enough or are not smart enough or are not faithful enough to do what God has asked, don't be. He is there for us. All you need to do is ask.

We are big on music in our house, and I'd like to leave you with the lyrics of a song by Casting Crowns, also called "Courageous":

"We were made to be courageous, we were made to lead the way. We could be the generation to finally break the chains - We were made to be courageous!

We were warriors on the frontlines, standing unafraid. Now we're watchers on the sidelines, while our families slip away. Where are you men of courage?! You were made for so much more! May the pounding of our hearts cry "We will serve the Lord!"

We were made to be courageous and we're taking back the fight! We were made to be courageous, and it starts with us tonight! The only way we'll ever stand is on our knees with lifted hands! Make us courageous, Lord make us courageous!

This is our resoulution, our answer to the call. We will love our wives and children - we refuse to let them fall. We will reignight the passions that we've burried deep inside. May the watchers become warriors, and the men of God arise!

We were made to be courageous and we're taking back the fight! We were made to be courageous and it starts with us tonight! The only way we'll ever stand is on our knees with lifted hands! Make us courageous, Lord make us courageous!

Seek justice, love, mercy. Walk humbly with your God.

In the war of the mind I will make my stand. In the battle of the heart and the battle of the hand. In the war of the mind I will make my stand. In the battle of the heart and the battle of the hand ...

Seek justice, love, mercy. Walk humbly with your God." ~ Casting Crowns  

Good night for now, Mamas. These words gave me hope, courage, and strength. I hope they do the same for you.

<3

~SMF~

Do not judge lest ye be judged ...

Nothing peeves me more than people who don't even know me underestimating me.


Recently I was at the grocery store and a woman came up me and said "If I had two little boys that close together, I'd just die. You must have help at home." BAH! So I told her, "No, I don't have any help. I am a single mom. And I manage." The look on her face was a mix of embarrassment and surprise and though she walked away without another word, it reminded me of a time when I didn't think I could do it either.


Until today, actually, I didn't even realize I AM doing it. I am working. I am paying my own bills. I am buying my own groceries. I am being a mother to my children. And I am doing it on my own! (Well, not totally - I'm absolutely certain the Big Man upstairs has a lot to do with it!)


I paid for my children's doctor appointments today. With MY money that I earned - does that mean I'm rich? No. It means I'm going to have to watch what I spend for the rest of the month. But I did it - I was able to get my kids the level of care they need.


Is it easy? No. Is it what I imagined for my life? Absolutely not. Do I like it this way? Well, not especially. But I am going to be thankful for every day I have a roof over my head and I'm able to put food in my babies' mouths. I will be grateful for my job, however stressful.


And, I will keep praying. Praying for strength, for wisdom, and for guidance. For my babies' futures - that somewhere out there I will find a man willing to step up and be the father they need.


In the mean time, I will be the best mother I can be with the knowledge that I have.


Thanks for listening,

<3 ~SMF~

Happy New Year!

Hello there, blogging world! Sorry it's been such a long time since my last post but it's been so busy!


As I reflect on the past year, my babies and I have been through so much - and have so much to be thankful for.

In January I was still having this internal battle about whether or not I had made the right choice in leaving my children's SD. It didn't take long to come to the conclusion that I had. Even so, it was heart wrenching. Just because he treated us poorly didn't mean I had no emotional investment - it was still very hard to leave.

By February, my mom and I were ready to kill each other and the job hunt had been unsuccessful. I was going to pull my hair out. But God is always watching out for me and the restaurant I had worked at in high school needed help and they called me - and just like that I had a steady job. We celebrated Nathan's first and Luke's second birthday and it was a little bit tense with both sides of family there, but my kids had a good time and there was cake!

March. I was still putting my applications in everywhere I could think of. I was filing for child support and starting to get divorce papers in order. Working at the restaurant was my lifesaver - I took comfort in the mundane tasks that I was confident in doing and had enough money to pay my phone bill and have gas money.

April and May brought good news and bad. I was selected to go through the 3 month interview process to be a 911 dispatcher. I was so relieved to have this prospective job! On the other hand, I had gone to court for child support and SD was ordered pay me, but he refused. So I had to go back and get the court to take it out of his paycheck.  I spoke with a lawyer about the divorce papers and she walked me through the process - it seemed easy enough until we got to the custody part. I still have not come up with a custody arrangement that I am comfortable with.

June. June brought so much excitement and anxiety all at the same time. I started training to be a 911 dispatcher, but I had to find care for my children as my mom started working as well. It was a day to day battle to find someone reliable and trustworthy as I couldn't afford daycare. I was working 12 hour night shifts and finding little time to sleep. It was hard, but fortunately I'm stubborn and I took on the challenge.

July, August, and September are a blur. I found a reliable babysitter in the same town where I work. She is fantastic and my kids love being at her house. Score one for Mommy! I looked and looked and looked for a place to rent but so far had turned up nothing I felt safe having my kids live in. By this point, my mom was ready to kick me out because there are some things we just don't see eye-to-eye on.

In October I found a wonderful apartment with a fenced yard and a garage that is only five minutes from my sitter and about 5 minutes from work. Yippee! We moved in at the first of November. But meanwhile on the job front, I was ready to quit! The training is so disorganized and what is expected of the trainers would make anyone grouchy! Some days I really had to talk myself into going to work because the mental strain was almost more than I could handle - but still I pressed on.

December brought family and thankfulness. This year has been rough, but I am so much stronger for it. I was able to provide my babies with a great Christmas all by myself and I was making my way in a few short months where in two years of marriage, I had not been able to. I have proven to myself that if I just keep at it, I can accomplish whatever I put my mind to and it is liberating!

Looking back, the year doesn't seem so long and all those things I thought I might not make it through? Well, I made it. Happy New Year!