7 Surprises of Childbirth

As I prepared for the birth of my first child, I started researching exactly what I should expect. I visited blogs, read online forums, and read all the books. Even with all of my efforts to prepare, there were still plenty of surprises. I am all for helping others, so I thought I'd compile a list of surprises that I and a few women I know encountered while giving birth. 

1) Your epidural might not work. 

Admittedly, this one is probably my fault. As I've said before, I am a rule-follower, so I did as I was told when the nurse told me to shift from one side to the other to keep the medicine distributed evenly. While shifting, I inadvertently shifted the catheter and quickly learned the error of my ways. The pain came back, up one leg and down the other, and stayed until after my boy had made his grand entrance. I told my husband to get the nurse, I knew I was much too big of a wimp to handle the pain of childbirth, but all the nurse could do was give me bad news. It took half an hour to get the anesthesiologist back up to see me and by that time I was in too much pain to sit up on the bed patiently waiting for him to reposition my line. The good news is that the body-breaking pain magically stops immediately after the baby comes out. 

2) You will not care about a birth plan. 

I did not have a formal birth plan, but I did have an idea of how I thought things would/should go. All of my ideas flew right out the window when we got down to the nitty gritty of childbirth. I had planned to get my epidural as soon as possible and we all know how that turned out. I also planned to get skin-to-skin immediately afterwards, and we did actually get to do that. My sister planned to have her son vaginally, but she was forced to change her plan when the doctor came in and explained that a c-section was necessary for both her health and the health of the baby. Point being you don't know what is going to happen. If you're a planner, make a plan, but know that you may need to veer from that plan. 

3) A c-section is not the 'easy way out'.

This is secondhand information since I have never personally had a c-section, but from what I could gather by watching my sister after her son was born I'm thinking c-section isn't as easy as some people make it out to be. I mean, she had major abdominal surgery and immediately had to begin caring for an infant. There was no 'recovery time.' She also struggled with breastfeeding and I'm convinced that at least part of the reason why was that she was separated from her son for a long while after he was born. She was separated from everyone after he was born! At a time when your child needs to be held the most, she wasn't able to pick him up by herself.

4) Even the most modest people lose their modesty on the moment.

I'm modest. I'm probably one of the most modest people I know, but I no longer cared when it came time to get that baby out. It may have more to do with the pain I was in, but I actually wanted to be naked during labor. I didn't care who saw me either. The nurse asked "Can she stay?" right before I started pushing and I said "Sure, why not?!" without the slightest clue who the nurse was talking about. Looking back, it's comical how naive I was. I was actually going to buy a cute little delivery gown to wear while giving birth. Psh! That thing would've been ruined.

5) You shake uncontrollably afterwards. 

This completely caught me off guard. I was dutifully carrying out my skin-to-skin duties while the doctor was completing all of the necessary repairs to my nether region, and I began to convulse uncontollably. I was trying to enjoy the first of many moments of snuggling my baby, but I couldn't because I was shivering so badly. At first I thought I was shaking because the doctor was still sewing me up but it continued through the night until the next morning. Come to think of it, I think it happened for a couple of nights after J was born. I'd shiver myself awake in the middle of the night in the hospital, as if I wasn't already missing enough sleep my body had to sabotage what few hours of sleep that I was getting.

6. Your previous labors mean nothing. 

This information comes from a few mommies and nurses that I know. I know women who have had a completely uneventful labor with their first child and had to have an emergency c-section with their second. There are women who labored for more than twenty-four hours with one child and less than two with the next. My nurse friends have told me stories about women who think they're experts on childbirth because they've had one child. These women quickly learn that each birth is unique and should be treated as such.

7. You really do forget the pain. 

During labor, I looked at my grandmother who had five children without any pain medicicine and not-so-kindly explained that she must have been an idiot to voluntarily go through that immense pain more than once. She just smiled and nodded. After my baby was born and I got to hold him, she came up and whispered in my ear, "This is why I did it," and I completely understood. That pain is all consuming, but the lifetime of rewards that you reap after it is all said and done is so much greater than those few hours of pain.

John 16:21

A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world.

What surprises did you have during childbirth? 

Why I (finally) chose to post my kid's pictures on social media

It's a touchy subject to some people. I remember being against the idea of posting pictures on social media. I was about 8 months pregnant and I decided to have a talk with my closest friends and family about my choice to keep J's pictures off the internet. Unbeknownst to me, I was opening myself up to a much bigger debate among my friends. I had J a couple of years after some of my close friends started having babies. These educated (and opinionated) women had all already been putting their kids' pictures on some type of social media for years when I made my request, and I feel like some of them took it as if I were saying that it is a bad idea to put your children's pictures online. I wasn't. Actually, I could have cared less how many pictures of their own kid that they posted. 

That's the thing though. They were posting pictures of their own kids. Not mine. That's where my opinion on kids' pictures on social media comes in. I believe that it is up to the parents. I don't care what your stance is, but I believe that you are the deciding factor on when and what pictures of your children are shared on social media. 

I asked for my friends and family to keep my boy's pictures off the internet until I was ready to share him with the world.I had a caveat. I did not mean that I would never post his pictures. How on earth could I keep him to myself forever? He's just too cute! I meant that we wanted to keep him to ourselves for a little while before we posted. I just believed, and still do believe, that we should respect the intimacy and sanctity of some experiences..even in a world that revolves around likes, comments, and shares. The birth of a child falls under that category for me, and I was adamant that I wanted to only share that experience with family and close friends. 

I believe that it is the parents' right to decide whether or not to share their child's picture on the Internet. My request was met with opposition when I mentioned it to a few of my friends. "You know his pictures will be on there eventually!" "Why does it even matter?" "You can't protect him his whole life!" I also inadvertently offended some with my request to keep J's pictures offline. "Well, I have to put my kid's pictures online so my relatives can see him." "What's the big deal?" "It's not like I let the whole world see my pictures. I know how to use my privacy settings." 

Yes, yes, and yes! I knew all of that. I was aware of the beauty of having your relatives who live hours away be able to see your child grow through pictures. I understood that a lot of people don't see the point in taking a stance on social media. I see futility in the efforts of others to fight the technology revolution, too. I understand that I can't protect him his whole life. I just didn't want anyone to post pictures of my son on the Internet before I was ready. I felt as though the people who wanted to see him would bring theirselves up to the hospital and everyone else could wait. I'm a firm believer in the whole face-to-face communication thing. 

Weeks after J was born I finally decided to share his birth announcement on Facebook. I had kept him to myself for long enough, and I wanted to share him with my old friends, old classmates, and far away relatives. Pictures of him started as a trickle into social media and are now at a steady stream. Sometimes I just can't keep the über cuteness to myself. I still have relatives asking whether they can post pictures of him on social media; I always say yes, but I am ever grateful that they respect my authority as his mother to continue to ask.

Do I think we should keep our kids' pictures off of social media? Heck no. I'd probably never even glance at Facebook or Instagram if it wasn't for all of my friends' babies. I also don't think it's a poor parenting choice to put your brand new, fresh-out-of-the-womb baby's picture out there for the world. That was just a decision that I felt strongly about. 

I'm sure most of my readers fell in love with Miracle Molly the same way I did. Many of us would have known her and her story without the added benefit of regular updates via social media, but the fact that her mother shared their story with all of the world brought us all together in a way that would have never been possible before this technological age. She touched more lives than anyone will ever know, and she was able to do so at such a grand scale because of social media. I am grateful, as I'm sure many are, that her parents made the decision to share their story. Knowing what little that I do about them, I'd assume it wasn't a decision that was not reached lightly of without its fair share of prayer. It was a decision that they knew would bring glory to God and one that they knew was right for their family. 

That's all I'm saying. Whether you think it's right or it's wrong, it is the right decision as long as you are making it for the good of your family. So post those babies' pictures, or don't, whatever. 

2 John 1:12

Though I have much to write to you, I would rather not use paper and ink. Instead I hope to come to you and talk face to face, so that our joy may be complete.

Why I'm scared to have another baby

Before you read this, I want you to know that this is a very personal, very true account of my pregnancy. I tried to keep it classy, but sometimes I just had to put it out there. Okay. If you're still interested, read away.

All you mamas out there are probably well aware of the question that you get when your first child is approaching his or her first birthday. 'When are you planning on having another one?' As if handling that one wasn't hard enough, as if your body is even close to 'normal' again, and as if you have been able to forget the pain you went through to bring this one into the world. I tend to answer this question in a variety of ways, but the most frequent answer is 'I don't know.' Don't get me wrong, I love being a mommy. It's just the journey that you have to take to become a mommy that I'm not too sure about. The truth is I'm not at all scared to have another baby, I'm scared to be pregnant again. I'm nervous for many reasons, the scariest of which being the amount of complications that I had during my first pregnancy. 

I was nine weeks pregnant when the first 'episode' happened. I just went to pee. As I finished up, I knew this wasn't the same. The tissue was soaked with blood. This was not 'spotting' - this was bright red, terrifying blood and a lot of it. I didn't know much about pregnancy yet, but I did know that bleeding is a bad thing. A very bad thing. I panicked. I'm the type of person that automatically assumes responsibility when things go wrong, so I just knew that I had inadvertently done something to hurt my baby. I'd only been carrying this tiny person for about nine weeks and I already loved him more than I could have ever imagined. The thought of losing him broke me into a million pieces. (Notice I said 'losing him' and not 'losing my pregancy.' I'd never demean a miscarriage that way. A miscarriage is the loss of a child-a little person with his own personality that he would grow to develop one day.) The thought of losing my baby was horrific, and the thought that I might've done something to cause it was unbearable. 

First thing I did was call my mother, and she instructed me to call the doctor. The doctor's office was closed so I decided to go to the emergency room. I knew that if I were actually having a miscarriage that there was nothing that the ER could do, but I needed to be told whether my baby was alright. I couldn't wait. I spent the better part of four hours in that emergency room. They finally did an ultrasound and I was flooded with relief as I heard that quick little 'whoosh-whoosh' of his heartbeat. I'll never forget that feeling. It felt almost as if warm water rushed from my head down. The ER doc told me that he couldn't explain the bleeding but the baby looked fine. I scheduled a follow up appointment with my regular doctor and he sent me on my way. Relief. 

At my follow-up, my regular doctor did the whole gambit of tests. I got to see my sweet little baby yet again on another ultrasound, but they still couldn't tell me why I was bleeding. I was sent home on 'pelvic rest' and told that I should take it easy and the bleeding should stop in a few days. Being the strict rule follower that I am, I did as I was told and waited patiently for the bleeding to stop. While I can't say the exact number of days that I kept bleeding, I'm thinking it was around five days, but the bleeding did finally stop. 

For the next two weeks, I lived my life as a carefree pregnant lady. I blamed the bleeding on my strange body and let it go. Until it reared its ugly head again sometime near the end of the first trimester. This time I was at school. I ran to the restroom between classes one day and there it was. And again, of course, I panicked. I ran to my classroom and called the doctor. They said to come in immediately, so I cleared it with my boss and hightailed it to their office. Again, I had an ultrasound and heard that glorious little 'whoosh-whoosh' of his quick heartbeat. The baby got the all-clear. Again, the doctor examined me, and again he found no explanation for my bleeding. I was sent home on prolonged 'pelvic rest' and told to take it easy. This time the bleeding continued for a couple of weeks but did eventually come to a stop. I never had any cramping, but I did pass what looked to be blood clots a couple of times.

As my baby (and belly) grew, I became more and more anxious about everything. I was neurotic about my diet and my activity level. I believed that even if I did the smallest of things wrong that I'd hurt my baby. I was borderline obsessive compulsive. Literally. My entire second trimester was spent simultaneously obsessing over every detail of my life and also trying to enjoy every second. It's hard to enjoy something when you're scared. 

As I approached the third trimester, I grew more and more relaxed. We had learned that our healthy and growing baby was a boy. I hadn't had any bleeding episodes in weeks, and I was beginning to think that I could have a normal pregnancy after all. I was so comfortable, in fact, that I agreed to go camping about two hours away in our new camper. 

Because we knew we wouldn't be able to get away by ourselves for a while after the baby was born, we decided to go away as a couple for the weekend. The trip would have been interesting enough just with the dogs locking us out of our own vehicle, but that's a story for another post. After we solved the dog problem, we went shopping for groceries for the weekend. While we were shopping, I felt what I thought at first might've been me peeing on myself. Yep. There. I said it. I thought I peed on myself. Anyway as I walked to the bathroom, I felt what could only be described as a flood of something. The bathroom in the store had a floor length mirror and I saw what I definitely did not want to see as soon as I passed it to go into the bathroom stall. Blood. It wasn't just some stained toilet paper this time either. This was so much more. It looked like I had peed my pants except it was a dark red. The room started spinning and I was sure that I would pass out. No. Not here. I'm so far from home. This can't be happening. I'm only, what, thirty-two weeks? He's not ready! When is the last time I felt him kick? Please kick?! Knowing that I had to make it out of the bathroom, I gathered my strength and went to find G. I searched through the small crowd of people at the checkout for him. We're both pretty tall, so it was easy to find him. I could tell that he knew as soon as he saw me. He knew something was wrong.

We went straight to the emergency room, which by some crazy coincidence (or, as I like to think about it, divine intervention) was right across the street from the grocery store where we were shopping. I waddled into the hospital, partly because of the blood but mostly because of the belly, and they sent me to L&D as soon as they saw me. I can't really explain my thoughts as they wheeled me up. I was somewhere between denial and disbelief. As I rode up the elevator, I started praying. God, I trust you. I know you have a plan, but please, please let this baby be okay. Please let me feel him kick.

Then, he kicked. As I rolled out onto the labor and delivery floor I felt him, two little kicks like he was just in there trying to get comfortable. There was that feeling again, relief rushing over me like warm water from my head all the way down. I looked at G and said, 'He kicked', and I could see the same relief in his eyes. 

The nurses in that hospital were amazing. They comforted me and calmed me but they were never dismissive or condescending. They showed me my sweet boy on ultrasound and hooked us up to a monitor so we could monitor his heart rate. I'm not completely sure how long I was in that hospital, but I do know that I was told yet another time that they could not explain the bleeding but the baby looked great. 

I stayed on bed rest for a few days after the last 'episode' until my regular doc gave me the all clear. I resumed life as usual afterward. This time, I continued to bleed until the baby was born. I worked until two days before he made his grand entrance into the world and I only quit then because I no longer had shoes that would fit my swollen feet. He was born eight weeks to the day after the last bleeding episode, and he was as perfect and as healthy as I had prayed for him to be. I knew from the moment I saw him that being his mommy would be worth all of the fear and pain that it cost me to have him. 

Each time I bled I was given the same story, no explanation for the bleeding but the baby looks great. I was, at once, both  overjoyed to hear that my baby was perfect and disappointed that I still had no cause for the bleeding. Maybe that's the real reason I'm so unsure about getting pregnant again. Maybe I'm scared because I still don't know what cause all of my problems the first time. 

Now that I've told you about the fear that I lived in for 30+ weeks before I gave birth to my (very) healthy, almost nine pound baby, I want to add that I am not in anyway saying that I understand the grief that I'm sure accompanies a miscarriage. I know the fear that you have leading up to it. I know the hope that you'll feel your baby kick any second now. I know the feeling of dread when you go for a routine bathroom break because you're terrified of seeing the tissue stained with blood. I know all of that, but God also blessed me with knowing the complete and utter relief of hearing my baby's heartbeat on the ultrasound machine. I was blessed with that little kick I got while rolling into L&D eight weeks premature that let me know that he was still with me. I'm not trying to say that I've been in your shoes, I haven't. I don't ever want to be.

 It's just that I remember googling 'bleeding at 9 weeks pregnant' praying that I would run across stories of women that had been through the same thing and their babies all were born perfectly healthy. I'm just sharing my unique experience and trusting that it will find someone one day that is going through similar circumstances and maybe that this post will help her in some way. 

The Truth About Breastfeeding

I knew I would breastfeed long before I ever even thought about getting pregnant. I mean, why wouldn't I? Isn't that how God intended? Of course I'd breastfeed! I was even pretty judge-y of women who chose to feed their babies formula from a bottle. How could they?! I mean it's not like it's hard or anything. (Apologies all the way around, ladies!)

So in true Emily fashion, I began researching as soon as we found out I was pregnant with J. I read blog posts, journal articles, and online forums about the many benefits of breastfeeding. I spent hours on Pinterest weeding through pin after pin about tips to establish and maintain a successful nursing relationship. I watched YouTube videos teaching me how to achieve a proper latch. I learned the breastfeeding jargon. I knew it all....psshh. I knew nothing. NOTHING.

As soon as Baby J popped out, we got skin-to-skin as my 'training' had suggested. I was half covered by a hospital gown with half of my family in the delivery room, but I was too determined to care. He latched immediately and nursed very well. He was a natural. I, on the other hand, was not. I learned very quickly that there are situations in which preparation means nothing. Breastfeeding is one of them. I thought it would come completely naturally to me...it did not. It was awkward and painful and stressful and embarrassing at times. I was not at all prepared for the journey we were about to embark upon, but we figured it out. We succeeded, and we learned a few things along the way.

1) It does hurt...at first. Pre-baby, I read at least ten different articles or blog posts explaining that breastfeeding shouldn't hurt if you're doing it right. I believed them, but they are wrong. It can hurt. Even if you're doing it right. I had three different lactation specialists come check J's latch while we were in the hospital because I was sure something wasn't right. It just hurt SO bad. And bleeding, surely there shouldn't be bleeding. Each of the specialists that watched him latch said that he was doing it perfectly, but it still hurt. And, it continued to hurt until J was about 6 weeks old. I'm not sure if I just got used to it or if J got better at it. Either way, it was a much needed relief. 

2) It's not easy. I thought it would be. I mean, no bottle washing, no buying formula, no late night runs into the kitchen to make a bottle. Easy breezy, right?! Wrong! The part I didn't really think about was the fact that I was going to be my baby's sole source of nutrition for at least four months. That's a lot of pressure! It's also a full-time job. When baby wakes up at 2:00 am, it's definitely not daddy he wants! I remember resenting G for sleeping peacefully beside me as I struggled to stay awake while nursing our two month old. And if you plan on going to work while breastfeeding, it only gets harder. You'll now have to block out a couple thirty minute blocks of time for pumping during your already jam packed work schedule.

3) It's not really accepted in public. People pretend to support breastfeeding, but you'll quickly see their real opinion on the matter when you have to feed your hungry baby in the middle of a Chuck E. Cheese. If you expect to have a social life with a breastfeeding newborn you will eventually have to nurse said newborn in public. It's unavoidable. I have nursed in restaurants,  while shopping, in waiting rooms, in parked cars, and in public restrooms. (Admittedly, not my favorite place.) I've been given dirty looks and I've been praised. I didn't want or ask for either. I was only trying to feed my hungry baby. I had numerous people ask me why I didn't just pump before we went out. You know, because having a newborn is so easy that you should just throw a completely needless and slightly difficult task in there just to complicate things. Did I mention that I hate having to pump? I never quite figured out why people expected me to go through that much extra effort just to make them feel more comfortable. It seems to me that people are extremely supportive of the idea of breastfeeding...as long as it doesn't affect their everyday lives or make them uncomfortable. Breastfeeding is one thing while you're still in the hospital but something else entirely when you're in public.

4) It requires teamwork. People assume that the act of breastfeeding involves only the mother and baby because those are the only two active participants, but success relies heavily on the support of your husband. At first, G was super supportive of my choice to breastfeed. I had educated him on the benefits and he had agreed that it what was best for J, then we had to reenter that land of the living. Nursing in public was a big hurdle for G to jump. I'm not sure if he was uncomfortable with the actual nursing in public or if he was just worried about whether my nursing J would offend someone. Eventually he came around and he has been amazingly supportive ever since. He brings me the things I tend to always need but forget to grab before J and I settle down in our chair. He's understanding when he knows I've been up with a fussy baby half the night. He knows how much I hate pumping, so he takes the burden of washing and assembling everything off of me. If it wasn't for his support and help, I'm positive that we'd have never made it this far.

5) It doesn't help lose all that much weight. Yeah, it burns a lot of calories, but your body tends to try to make up for lost calories. And do you know how it makes up for those calories? By making you a hungry, hungry hippo. Yes, my post-baby weight is the same if not lower than my pre-baby weight, but it's not like the fat just fell of as I ate to my heart's content. I held on to a good ten pounds until I decided to make a conscious effort to cut calories. But, you have to be careful when dieting while breastfeeding. There's a sweet spot in your calories intake. Too many calories and you won't lose weight, but too few calories and you'll really cut into your milk production. It is definitely not worth breastfeeding if the only outcome you are hoping for is a smaller jean size. You'll never succeed if you aren't in it for the right reasons. Dieting and exercise is just too easy.

6) It's a choice. It's a great choice, but it's still just a choice. You make so many choices on the journey of raising a child; how to feed them is just one of them. Breastmilk is very beneficial to a growing baby, but it's not some miracle elixir. I decided that I would breastfed my baby because I thought it was the best choice for our family. It will not make your baby superhuman. It will not ward off all illnesses. It will not make him a genius. There is research to show that it benefits children in all kinds of ways but so does proper prenatal care and a loving, safe home. There are plenty of ways to raise your children to be smart, healthy, and secure. I know women who were driving themselves crazy trying to breastfeed. Your child doesn't need a crazy mama who is fighting the urge to cry at every turn; he needs a loving, nurturing, caring mama who responds to him with love. A happy mama trumps a crazy mama every day no matter what the child has in his bottle.

7) It is not a superpower. I've seen shirts that say "I breastfeed. What's your superpower?" That's dumb. God gave all women the physical ability to breastfeed their children. That would be the equivalent to saying we are superhuman because we can give birth. No. It is amazing. It is awe-inspiring. It is humbling. It is a gift. It is beautiful. It's not a superpower.  #getoveryourself

I've learned so much along this journey. Much of it may be specific to our lives, so maybe this is my truth about breastfeeding. It hasn't all been easy or effortless, but it has definitely been worth it. I'm so proud of my happy, healthy baby boy, and I'm delighted that we've made it this far. I contemplated quitting more that a few times during those impossibly difficult first weeks, but I look back and pity myself. I had no idea how effortless it would become after we figured it all out.

I'm looking forward to getting my body back after he weans. I'll be able to drink coffee without worrying about the last time J nursed. I can cut calories without stressing over a dip in supply. I can quit timing parent conferences and make up tests around my pumping schedule. But, I'd be lying if I said that I don't get the slightest twinge of sadness when I think about. I'll be all too happy to pack that pump up though!

How did you choose to feed your baby? What have you learned along the way? Would you have done anything differently?