Baby BB - Part 2 - Birth Story

I had a definite vision for how I'd like my home birth to go: I wanted Baby A to be sleeping peacefully while I labored and then to be woken up right before Baby BB was born, or to go into labor during the day, so her sleep wasn't impacted. I wanted Brad by my side every second. I wanted the doula that I had for Baby A to be at my birth. I wanted my team of midwives to be there. I wanted my parents to be there. I wanted my mom and Baby A to make a birthday cake for Baby BB the day he was born, so we could all sing "Happy Birthday" to him. I wanted Baby BB to come out easily and quickly. I wanted Baby BB to be strong and healthy. I wanted to have a quick labor. I wanted everything to go smoothly and to not be transferred to the hospital. I wanted everyone to be COVID free (that was a HUGE concern for me). I wanted Brad and Baby A to see Baby BB be brought into this world. I wanted to go into labor after 37 weeks, so I could have a home birth. 

Well, my vision ended up being pretty darn spot on. There were only two things that happened that didn't go as I was hoping for - my doula ended up getting COVID a couple days before my water broke, so she couldn't be there, and I ended up needing a shot of Pitocin later on in the day after Baby BB was born because I had some extra bleeding and we wanted to play it safe. 

It started on Friday, 1/21/2022. That day, Baby A and I went for a walk to a nearby park. When we got there, Baby A asked me if we could have a picnic there - I couldn't turn her down. We walked back home, packed up a picnic, hopped in the car, and drove to the park. We ate and played soccer. We connected. She sat in my lap and we talked. Then, we went to Amazing Athletes and enjoyed the rest of our day. It was a peaceful day - no rushing around like it had been for so many months prior. That night, at 10:10 p.m., I got into bed to continue reading one of my books. As soon as I hit the mattress, I felt something coming out of me. I quickly jumped out of bed and water started gushing out. My water hadn't broken with Baby A, so I didn't know what to expect. I called for Brad (he hadn't come to bed yet). Brad is the calmest person I know in a stressful or unknown situation. He never panics and always thinks rationally - he is absolutely perfect for me. He told me to text Heather, our primary midwife. She called me right away. She had just gotten home from a home birth. I explained what happened. She told me to start timing my contractions once they started and to try and get some sleep. Brad cleaned up the floor and helped me get back into bed. I started shaking uncontrollably and was cold - I felt excited and nervous - it was beginning. I called my parents and let them know.

Around 11:00 p.m., I started feeling contractions. I started logging them on my contraction app. They weren't very strong and I could definitely breathe through them. I can't remember how long I stayed awake, but it was for quite some time because I wanted to keep track of each contraction. I talked to Heather and she said to stop tracking and try and get some rest. I remember feeling relieved that I didn't need to track any longer and I drifted off to sleep. I was woken up every 10 minutes or so with a contraction that I remember breathing through but not completely waking up (that sounds strange). At 6:00 a.m., my contractions were stronger. Adeline came into our bedroom at 6:45 a.m. and we explained to her that labor had started. She curled up next to me and held my hand while the contractions came and went. I was so grateful that she was able to get a good nights sleep. Brad made me breakfast and I stayed in bed experiencing each contraction. I looked at my birthing affirmations banner hanging up in our room (Adeline even made some birthing affirmations for me) and I focused on controlling my thoughts. Adeline recited an affirmation that she had learned, "there's nothing here for you to fear, you're safe and well protected." That affirmation stuck with me throughout the entire day and is something I recite daily to Baby BB, too. 

At 8:30 a.m., my contractions had slowed and didn't have a consistent pattern. I was still in bed because I felt tired and didn't want to get up yet. Heather told me that it was normal for contractions to slow down when the sun rose. She suggested that I walk around and enjoy the beautiful day. She said to do whatever my body told me to do. I talked to my mom on the phone and told her I'd call her when I needed her to come over. I decided to get up and walk around in the backyard. As soon as I got up, I started getting a strong contraction. I walked down the hall and another contraction came by the time I made it to the kitchen. I continued to get stronger contractions and they became closer and closer. At 10:00 a.m., Brad and I spoke to Heather and she said that she'd have Andrea, her assistant midwife, come check on me, since she lived really close by. I stood in the living room and looked out at the backyard - I never made it outside that day. The contractions continued to grow in strength, I started feeling pressure on my pelvic bone, and I wanted to get into the birthing tub. Baby BB was coming. 

While I was busy with my contractions, Brad and Baby A got everything ready for me. They filled up the birthing tub and grabbed towels. Brad is my planner and he had everything ready to go. Baby A watched me with a close eye ready to help in any way. Once Andrea showed up - I'm not sure of the exact time but it must have been by 10:30 a.m., I was not able to talk too much. I was riding the waves of the contractions as I walked around the house, stopping to lean on something while a contraction peaked, and then continued to walk some more until the next one. I told Andrea I wanted to get into the birthing tub. She told me I should and Brad and Andrea helped me get in. I remember Andrea talking to Heather over the phone telling her to come over asap and that she might not make it in time - Baby BB was ready to come out. Hearing that definitely excited me. I was nervous about the labor taking as long as Baby A's did. Kaleen, the other assistant midwife, was called to come over, too, and my parents. 

Getting into the tub was such a relief. I remember noticing that the intensity of the contractions were still strong (I was hoping that they'd subside a bit with the water like they had with Baby A while I was laboring at home with her), but the warmth of the water wrapped me up like a blanket and instantly comforted me. The contractions kept coming and I yelled out in pain not holding anything back. I didn't want Brad leaving for any reason and I wanted Baby A to leave the room, so I didn't scare her with the sounds I was making. I remember thinking those thoughts, but when I tried to say them, only one or two words came out. I called out for my mom - she came and took Baby A out of the room and the bedroom door was closed. Heather and Kaleen showed up. The three midwives were so quiet and had everything under control. They set out all the things they needed - each one had a task to do. They were calm and confident - they were in their element, which made me feel at peace. The natural sunlight was coming through out french doors and I saw Baby A on the tree swing in the backyard. Oh, how that brought me even more peace. Brad was by my side encouraging me every step of the way. Everything was unfolding perfectly. 

I felt the urge to push pretty soon after I got into the tub, but I didn't want to push too early. I started pushing too early with Baby A while I was in the hospital, which caused swelling, which caused a longer labor. I didn't want that to happen again, so I waited until it was an undeniable feeling to push. I remember feeling scared about pushing because of my past birthing experience. It was really hard for me and I didn't quite know where to push. I asked if I was strong enough to push and everyone in the room told me I was. The midwives and Brad surrounded the birthing tub. Heather was behind me and she massaged my back. She never told me what to do - she offered suggestions for a position to be in in the tub. I got into the runners start position, and pushed with all my might. I don't know how many contractions I pushed for, but I know it wasn't too many. I heard words of calming encouragement. I was in the zone. I felt safe. I felt ready. I felt strong. I never once thought of Baby BB getting stuck, which was my number one concern going into the birth. I pushed and his head came out. I pushed again, and the rest of him came out. He slid right out into Heather's arms under the water and she gently pushed him to me under my legs. I scooped him up, pulled him to my chest, leaned back and sat against the tub yelling "oh my god, oh my god." Brad and Baby A were right at my side. He was born at 11:37 a.m. Per my request, my mom and Baby A had been called in right before Baby BB was born so they could be a part of his birth. Brad calmly explained everything to Baby A as each question arose. 

It was an incredible experience pulling Baby BB up from the water and into my arms. The feeling of relief, joy, and unconditional love that rushed over me was intense. I was so relieved that I had done it - I gave birth to Baby BB. He didn't get stuck. We didn't need to go to the hospital. We crossed the finish line. Brad, Baby A, and my mom got to see Baby BB come into this world (my dad was in the backyard - I felt his presence). I did it. We did it.  

I didn't know it at the time, but Baby BB was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Heather quickly removed it. We have the birth recorded and the way she communicated with the other midwives about everything was amazing. She was always calm - she never alarmed me about anything. I was in a state of birthing bliss. After he was born, he didn't cry right away, which I didn't notice either. Heather was watching and after a minute, she took him real quick and rubbed him and he started crying. He was placed right back in my arms - one of my hands never left him actually. If I had known the umbilical cord had been around his neck, or that he wasn't crying yet, I would have panicked. Heather knew exactly what to do, and Andrea and Kaleen worked perfectly as a team with Heather. They were beyond wonderful.  

After Baby BB was born, I stayed in the birthing tub to await the delivery of my placenta. I had big plans for that thing. Ha! With Baby A, I had a placenta specialist pick up my placenta and incapsulate it.  She also took the umbilical cord and shaped it into a heart, which was then dried as a keepsake. I took the placenta capsules daily for a couple of months. In theory, eating your placenta after birth can help with milk supply, regulate your mood. give you energy, etc. Unfortunately, I had terrible postpartum depression after Baby A was born - her going to the NICU was a huge factor in that. And I couldn't take the capsules right away because they needed to be made.  I can't say if the placenta capsules helped me with Baby A or not because of the postpartum. With Baby BB, I wanted to try out the route of eating the raw placenta by making placenta smoothies on the day he was born and the weeks after. I also wanted Baby A to get a little school lesson about the placenta by examining it with the midwives.  

I birthed the placenta about ten minutes after Baby BB was born. The amniotic sac came out first - it looked like a white jelly fish and was attached to the placenta. Then, the placenta came out and was placed in a bowl. Baby BB couldn't be too far from the placenta because he was still attached to it via the umbilical cord. I wanted delayed cord clamping to ensure that he got all of his blood from it. After the placenta was out, I continued to hold Baby BB against my bare chest soaking in all the skin to skin contact. Baby A and Brad were right by my side. We had become a family of four and we enjoyed getting to know our newest addition. 

Honestly, I don't remember the exact detail of everything that unfolded next. It all happened so quickly. Everyone was busy working around me tending to Baby BB and my every need. We were oh so well taken care of. I had help getting out of the birthing tub and was guided over to the bed around noon. It was so nice getting into my own bed. Baby BB nursed for the first time. We had our golden hour of family bonding time. We were all in awe of this new miracle that had been born. Baby A got to cut the umbilical cord to separate him from the placenta and then Kaleen gave a lesson about placenta. She went over all the parts of it. Baby A watched and listened. After the lesson, Kaleen took the placenta out to the kitchen, cut it up, and put it into ice cube trays for me and then made me a smoothie with it. 

At 3pm, the midwives helped me get up and walked me into the bathroom for a shower. They had the shower set at the perfect temp. I was beyond spoiled. Heather never left my side. I showered and then was dried off by Heather and Andrea - I told you I was spoiled. Ha! My body was sore and tired, but I didn't feel exhausted. I had an energy high from the experience. The sheets on my bed were changed out, I put on a robe, and then laid back down on the bed. 

I did have some tearing, which required some stitches. That was definitely my least favorite part. The numbing shot was huge - you would have thought that I wouldn't have minded it because I did two rounds of IVF, but seeing the size of that shot was a little unnerving. All three midwives helped out - Heather did the stitching. Brad was on the bed next to me helping me to stay calm. I had a little extra bleeding at the time of stitching, so Heather suggested that I have a shot of Pitocin, just to be cautious. I agreed. Baby A and my mom were out in the kitchen at this time because I didn't want Baby A to see the stitching part. While they were out in the kitchen, they baked a birthday cake for Baby BB, which was part of my original vision/dream. It actually happened! 

Once the stitching was done, Kaleen brought me the placenta berry smoothie (no, you can't taste any placenta). My mom, dad, and Baby A walked in with the birthday cake and we all sang "Happy Birthday." I still can hardly believe that it all unfolded the way I had imagined. 

We ended the day with a newborn exam. Baby BB was 8 pounds 8 ounces. Honestly, I was a little disappointed that he was so "small". Ha! I was prepared for a big boy, since Baby A was 9 pounds 11.5 ounces. He was 13 days early, though. Heather had the cutest little bag that Baby BB curled up in while he was weighed. Baby A never left her baby brother's side during the exam. 

After the exam and after the midwives assured that we were in good condition, the team of midwives gathered their belongings and left. You couldn't tell there had been a birth there that morning, other than the obvious postpartum things - pads, peri bottles, perineal spray, homeopathic womb recovery drops and essential oil roller, postpartum tea, and the hanging birth affirmation banner. I had entered into the 4th trimester. 

My experience of home birth was magical. I know that I'm blessed that it unfolded as it did - it could have turned out so differently, and I don't take that for granted. I held my breath a little before the birth because I knew of the risks of a home birth. I knew the what ifs and chose the path that felt right for us. I feel like it was an educated guess, too, which is what I strive for with any decision - it has to feel right and I like to have as much info as possible. I'm so grateful that Heather never pressured me to make a choice of home birth or hospital birth until the final days. Because of the placenta pool of blood that was found (see previous post for that), I just didn't feel comfortable with making a final decision for where to give birth until I had the right feeling and information. And I'm so grateful that Brad supported whatever decision I made, too. 

There is absolutely no comparison between Baby A and Baby BB's births. Both births led me to my miracle babies and unfolded as they were meant to. I still have work to do on accepting everything that happened with Baby A's birth - the NICU specifically, but I ultimately know that it was for my benefit. Everything is for my benefit. The lessons, the experiences, are all there to make me stronger and are there for me to grow and learn from. These polar opposite births were what I needed in some way. And I'll tell you what, I definitely learned that I am strong, oh so much stronger than I gave myself credit for. My mind, my thoughts, they are so powerful. My body listens to my mind and follows suit. I'm in awe of what my body did. Birth is a miracle. 

 

 

Baby BB - Part 1

I started this blog, Climbing to the Top with Lots of Sparkles, to document my personal and spiritual growth many many years ago, and to show how I incorporated what I was learning in my own life, into my classroom. It was before I became a mom to two beautiful souls. It was before I traded my professional teaching career for a home maker and entrepreneur title. It was before so many things. Over time, it transformed into an infertility blog where I documented my journey of becoming a mother. It became a form of reflection and processing the abundance of varying thoughts and emotions that I experienced throughout my IVF journey. I needed to blog - I needed to share what I was experiencing so I didn't feel so alone. The blog served it's purpose once Baby A was born. I felt fulfilled and I chose to spend the time that I used to use for blogging, on my time spent with Baby A. 

As time passed and Baby A wasn't so much a baby anymore, Brad and I started to discuss the possibility of another child. It seems crazy to me, as I'm typing this now, to say "possibility of another child," when I thought for the longest time that we wouldn't have a child at all. We had been trying naturally ever since Baby A came along, but I never ended up getting pregnant. We had embryos frozen from our first egg retrieval and one of them was a boy. We talked about transferring the boy embryo for quite some time, but there never seemed to be the right time and we didn't know how to navigate a second round of IVF. Many questions arose, but the primary concern was we were worried that Baby A would feel like she wasn't enough for us if we tried to have another baby. All we ever wanted and had hoped for was her, and once we had her, we couldn't imagine wanting more children - our wishes had been fulfilled. But, we continued to talk, especially to Baby A about another baby and we ended up deciding to go through another embryo transfer. 

Honestly, I didn't think the transfer would work. We had one shot at transferring our boy embryo and I thought to myself, there's no way this will work the first time around because Baby A worked the first time and what are the chances we'll have two successful IVF rounds that both worked the first time. I know that the negative thinking was not helpful, but deep down, those thoughts were a form of a shield protecting my heart from disappointment it the embryo transfer didn't take. I didn't want to get too excited or allow myself to feel too much of anything going into the transfer for fear that it wouldn't be successful. I wanted to protect Baby A from the possible disappointment, too.

This second round of IVF wasn't documented on my blog like it was for Baby A. Like I said earlier, it served it's purpose for me after Baby A was born. I definitely felt guilty for not documenting everything, but my time was spent elsewhere  - mainly on the child that I had currently with me. We reached out to our original doctor, Dr. Norion, and told him of our plans. He said I'd have to stop breastfeeding Baby A before starting the round because of the hormones. That made me put the transfer on hold for a bit because I didn't know if that's what I wanted to do, but once she turned three, I decided to end our breastfeeding journey. We reached out to Dr. Norion again and we got started right away, minus the egg retrieval since we had embryo already frozen from the first egg retrieval back in 2017.  

I vividly remember driving to HRC for our first appointment and getting teary eyed because all the feelings that I had experienced with Baby A came flooding back. In my opinion, the feelings of being infertile haven't left me. The thoughts don't consume my life like they had before Baby A, but they're very much there in the background. There are triggers that pop up - when I hear about people getting pregnant so quickly and easily, when I watch a movie or tv show that talks about infertility, etc. I feel healed by having Baby A, but I will never forget that part of my life, nor will I forget to think about other couples' infertility journeys. You'll never hear me ask a newly married couple, or any couple for that matter, when they're going to get pregnant. I even word things differently with Baby A - I don't say, "when you're a mommy," or, "when you get pregnant," instead, I say, "if you get pregnant," or, "if you want to become a mommy."  

I wanted to repeat the same things I did to get pregnant with Baby A when we transferred our boy embryo, but I quickly realized that couldn't happen. I wasn't in the same place in my life. I couldn't dedicate my life towards getting pregnant like I had with Baby A. I gave up that unrealistic thought and focused on what I could do. I could use the same doctor. I could use the same acupuncturist. I could eat and exercise and prepare the best I could. I could use the boy embryo's score/grade to be his nickname, Baby BB. 

Going into this second round of IVF, Brad and I wanted Baby A to be a part of everything we did. She couldn't go to the appointments at HRC because they don't allow children, but she was a part of everything else, this amazing three year old, from helping with my daily IVF injections by holding my hand while Brad administered them, to being there by my side the day of Baby BB's transfer. She actually got to see Baby BB be implanted in my uterus - it was such a special experience and one that I'll cherish forever. That isn't the norm, but she's definitely a unique three year old. 

The night before the embryo transfer

The day of the embryo transfer  -
in the transfer room 
right after the transfer happened 

Once we found out that the embryo had successfully implanted and that I was indeed pregnant, I remained guarded. In fact, I still didn't think it would be successful. I was prepared for the disappointment and a failed pregnancy - I hadn't really taken the time to think about what would happen if I actually did get pregnant and have another baby. I was scared. I was worried about the "loss" of the special bond that Baby A and I had. And worst of all, I felt oh so guilty about these thoughts. I felt like a terrible person for not feeling the same things that I had experienced with my pregnancy with Baby A. 

For the 1st trimester, I had pretty bad morning sickness. I wasn't physically able to be the same mom I was to Baby A and that saddened me. For the 2 trimester, I found out I had a pool of blood on my placenta that could lead to an early pregnancy or a  loss of the baby because of inadequate nutrition due to the pool. The thought of having another NICU experience brought on anxiety and fear. For the 3rd trimester, I got covid, which only added to the anxiety and fear. It was a wild ride, and I carried so much guilt for being anxious and fearful because I knew those were bad things that I was passing onto Baby BB. You're not supposed to stress. Baby feels everything you're feeling. Hearing those things made me feel like I was already failing my unborn child. I finally had to accept that I was doing the best I could with what was being presented to me, and to offer myself grace. The journey was unfolding perfectly even if I couldn't see it or didn't believe it. 

Throughout being pregnant, Brad and I wanted to do a home birth. We had wanted to do that with Baby A, but decided on laboring at home for as long as I could and then transferring to the hospital with our doula for an unmedicated birth. Baby A ended up going to the NICU and I ended up having pretty bad postpartum for over year, so a home birth this time around sounded appealing. We also wanted Baby A to be a part of the birth and not have to leave her while I went to the hospital to deliver. She has so many thoughts and emotions - we're hardly ever apart as is and the thought of her not being with us on such a special day didn't feel right to us (I in no way judge how other people choose to birth their little ones, though). Having the placenta pool put a little hiccup in the home birth, but the specialist I saw in Irvine for the pool actually gave us his blessings for a home birth at my last 3rd trimester appointment with him. The pool didn't stop Baby BB from growing - he was always in the 90th percentile in his size throughout the entire pregnancy. The specialist was a little worried about Baby BB getting stuck because of his size, but he said he was well proportioned, so he wasn't too worried. My midwife reassured us with informing us about what they would do if he were to get stuck, so we ended up making the 100% commitment to the home birth in the 3rd trimester. 

Our midwife's name is Heather. I could write a whole blog post about her. I was first introduced to her from one of our neighbors at the time I was pregnant with Baby A. My neighbor told me about a massage therapist that was wonderful for pregnant moms. I booked an appointment and found out that my massage therapist was actually working on becoming a midwife. As she massaged me on the table, she introduced me to home birth, elderberry syrup, and so so much more. She was/is definitely an important person for me to have met in this lifetime. The things she taught me aligned with my beliefs and values, I just didn't know about them until she informed me. I'm so glad she did. She's a true gift to all that meet her.

My due date was 2/2/22. I felt like he'd come early, but I wasn't sure. He ended up being born on 1/22/22 - still a bunch of 2's - 12 days early. Now, I'm ready to share the birth story...

   

My Birthing Story - Part Two

After Baby A was born, the first night in the hospital was what I had thought it would be. Brad and I barely slept. Brad "slept" on the guest bed in my hospital room, which was the window seat. I "slept" in the hospital bed. Baby A "slept" in her little plastic box in-between us. All I wanted to do was grab her and put her in bed with me, but when I asked the nurse, she said that I couldn't. In hindsight, I know that I could have, but I was mentally and physically exhausted and didn't think about challenging the nurse. Brad was amazing and did all the diaper changes throughout the night. I had a difficult time getting in and out of bed because of my stitches, and I was really, really weak from labor. My legs felt like noodles because of the leg cramps during pushing and my arms were sore from pulling on the scarf for three hours. Baby A had a lot of spit up throughout the night that I think was her body cleaning out the liquid from being in my uterus. Brad got up each time I heard her making spit up noises and he used that blue sucker thing to suck out her spit. I was so worried that she was going to choke on her spit up. Because of her large size at birth, she had to have her blood sugar level checked a total of three times throughout the night. They did that by pricking the bottom of her heel. She hated that (who wouldn't) and I kind of felt like she was being punished for being a healthy size. Each time the results came back, she had perfect levels. The nurses were surprised that I didn't have gestational diabetes during my pregnancy because of her size, too.

The day after Baby A's birth, all the usual hospital happenings occurred, which didn't have usual outcomes (at least in my opinion). She had her hearing screening done and she didn't pass. I of course awful-ized and thought that she was deaf (I thought Bailey, our eleven year old dog was deaf when she was a puppy, too). The person that did the screening said she probably had fluid in her ears. She showed us how to massage her ears and then she came back a couple hours later. Her second time around, she passed! Phew! She had her pediatrician check done and we were informed that Baby A had a tongue tie, one of her hips was out of socket, and she was at risk for jaundice. The tongue tie really scared me! I texted my doula and a friend of mine from Kissui and asked them what I should do. They both said that I should have it treated right away. The pediatrician said that there were about six other babies on the floor that had tongue ties too, and that a doctor would come by later on in the day and cut them if we were okay with it. I struggled with the thought of Baby A going through a procedure at such a young age, but her tongue tie could have negatively impacted her ability to latch for feeding and impact her speech down the road. The pediatrician told me that it didn't really hurt (although I don't know how she knew that since she couldn't ask any of the infant patients that had the procedure done) and that it was a simple procedure. She said that the babies stayed awake and a small bit of skin was snipped. Brad could go with her and stay with her the entire time. We decided to go ahead and do it. When Baby A came back from the procedure, she seemed okay to me. Brad said she didn't cry much. I didn't let my mind dream build what it must have been like for her - I just didn't go there. A nurse gave her a syringe of sugar water to help if she was experiencing any pain. I wasn't a fan of her having sugar, but it was better than an antibiotic.

By late afternoon, we were both cleared to go home. However, Baby A's pediatrician suggested that we stay because of Baby A's jaundice numbers. She said that since it was a Saturday, if we went home and woke up the next morning with Baby A having jaundice, we'd have to take her to the Emergency Room for treatment. But if we stayed one more night in the hospital and we woke up with her having jaundice, they'd simply bring us a warming blanket and treat her in my hospital room and she wouldn't have to leave my side. As badly as we wanted to go home, we decided that it'd be best to stay one more night.

During the second night, as I watching Baby A, I noticed that her breathing seemed a little strange. I wasn't sure if I was seeing something that wasn't there due to my lack of sleep and extreme exhaustion. Brad suggested that I call in a nurse. A nurse came and checked her out. She noticed something a little off and said she'd monitor it throughout the night. Around 3:00 am., she came back and noticed that it was still there. She called the pediatrician. She ordered a chest x-ray, which was done in the old nursery. Gone are the days of newborns sleeping in the nursery (thank goodness!). I didn't think I'd ever step foot in the nursery, but we did. They brought in a portable x-ray machine. While I was in the nursery, I started getting really shaky. The nurse checked my heart rate and said it was really high. They had me sit and drink some water. I was told to calm down, but between the tongue tie, the hearing screening, the hip diagnosis, the jaundice, the long labor, and now this - the breathing issue - I was having a difficult time calming down. It was as if all that I had learned over the years had gone out the window. I was a nervous and anxious wreck! After a couple hours in the nursery, we were sent back to our room with Baby A to wait for the pediatrician.

When the pediatrician finally came in, she told us that Baby A could possibly have an infection and that they'd like to send her to the NICU for 48 hours. I could hardly believe what I was being told. The NICU? How could my baby end up in the NICU? The pediatrician said that there was a small chance of an infection, but if they didn't treat her now with antibiotics and the possible infection started spreading, we'd have a difficult time treating it. There was a spot on her chest x-ray that the pediatrician said was possible fluid, which was even more of a reason for observation in the NICU. They said they'd be back in a bit to take Baby A down to the NICU.

My birth wish list had worked out pretty darn well, but I hadn't even thought about what could happen after the birth. I didn't have time to research any of the things that could happen after birth, although I don't think I could have researched the exact thing that she was diagnosed with. I knew I could challenge things the doctor/nurses said during labor, but after labor, all I knew how to do was trust what they were saying. After all, isn't that why I was in the hospital? In case something went wrong, we were in the "right" place, right? Brad said that we were doing the right thing by having her go to the NICU. He had to make the decisions for me because I was in some sort of a fog. I cried uncontrollably and Brad held me in his arms telling me that it'd be okay. I called my mom after the pediatrician left and I bawled. My parents left their house and came over to the hospital. They walked through the hospital room door just as Baby A and Brad were leaving with the nurses to go to the NICU.

Before Baby A left, I held her in my arms, tears streaming down my face, whispering into her ear that she was safe and that mommy loved her. I could hardly believe that I was sending my baby away when I had tried everything I could to have her right next to me from the time she was put onto my stomach to after birth. Brad assured me that he'd stay with her while they took her to the NICU and got her all set up, and then they said I could come down in about 45 minutes. My mom helped me get a little put together while we awaited the call that I could come down and see my baby.

Brad called and said that I could come down. My parents went with me and helped me walk. I was still very weak, and I had decided that I didn't want to take the pain medication that had been prescribed to me for pain from labor (advil) because I didn't want anything getting into my breast milk, so I was in a lot of pain, too. A little side note on pain medication, I prefer to feel the pain because then I know when it's really gone away, as opposed to taking pain medication and thinking that it's really gone when it isn't. Then, I overdo things because I'm feeling better and the pain ends up coming back worse. Plus, I'm not a fan of medication. My parents left me at the entrance of the NICU (only two family members could be in at a time) and Brad met me. Upon entrance, I started sobbing again. There were so many babies in there and they were all so sick. I was still in shock that my baby was in there in the first place.

I had to wash my hands and arms up to my elbows for 60 seconds, put on a hospital gown, and put a plastic cover over my cell phone before I could go over to see Baby A. Those 60 seconds seemed like an eternity. My heart pounded, my anxiety at it's peak. Brad walked me over to our daughter. I wanted to run, but I didn't have the strength. She was in the cubicle at the end of the NICU where the healthier, older babies were. She was in a box next to a window, which I was grateful for. The minute I saw her, I started crying uncontrollably. She had an IV in her small, tiny hand and cords stuck to her chest monitoring her oxygen and heartbeat. She was crying and swaddled up in a little blanket. I started thinking about how much pain she must have been in when they put the IV in her hand. It looked horrible! Her hand was taped up, too, so she didn't pull on the cord. The nurse taking care of Baby A must have been watching my reaction because I ended up getting taken to the side with Brad, and being told that I needed to calm down. She asked me how much pain I was in (physical or emotional? I was experiencing both). I didn't realize my physical pain was noticeable. I told her that I was in pain, but I was okay. She asked me if I was taking my pain medication and I told her I wasn't. She asked me why and after hearing me, she assured me that the advil wouldn't hurt Baby A. She pretty much ordered me to go back up to my hospital room, which I had until 11:59 p.m. that night, take my medication and take a nap before I could come back to the NICU. She said that my face was pale and gray and that I wouldn't be able to help Baby A if I kept on going the way I was. She also told me that I my milk supply would be negatively impacted by my emotional state, which only added to my anxiety.

Brad called my parents (they were waiting in my hospital room) and told them what the nurse had said. They came and got me. I felt helpless and completely out of it. I didn't want to talk. My parents got me some food, had me take my medication, and then stayed with me for an hour while I attempted to take a nap. My baby was supposed to be with me. She was supposed to be skin to skin in my arms nursing on demand. My baby was supposed to feel safe, secure, and loved wrapped in my arms. My baby was supposed to hear my voice and feel my hand stroking her chubby little cheeks. My baby was supposed to be calmed and soothed by me (although Brad was much better at that than me - he was a natural with her!). But instead of all those things, she was in the NICU with nurses. Yes, Brad was there with her, but I wasn't. I had to pull it together for her.

After a little rest, Brad called and said that I should come down and feed Baby A. My parents walked me down again and Brad met me at the door. Again, I went through the same washing/cleaning procedure before walking over to Baby A. I heard crying and wanted to shout out to her from the sink telling her that mama was there and coming, but I knew I couldn't do that. I walked as quickly as I could over to her. Brad helped me pick her up. The cords were difficult to maneuver. There was one leather reclining chair next to her bed container. It was really painful for me to sit because of the stitches, but I hid the pain from showing up on my face. The nurse said my skin color looked better. I held in the tears the best that I could. I held Baby A and whispered into her ear. "Mama's here, mama's here."

Breastfeeding was difficult for me sitting in a chair (and because of all the anxiety/emotions I was feeling). Baby A was picking up on my accelerated heart rate and was having a hard time latching, which made me cry. My body would contract during feedings because I knew that it was going to be hard to get her to latch. Our nurse helped me a ton! It's crazy having someone grab your boob and stick it in your baby's mouth, but I was so grateful for her doing that. Brad ended up getting the hang of how to help me, and he took over with the set-up each time I fed her. I had to pump during my time in the NICU in order to have some bottles for Baby A while we were gone at night. It was nice having experts train me in how to pump. I was told that I needed to pump at home at 3:00 a.m. before we came back to see Baby A at 5:00 a.m.

We stayed with Baby A until around 11:00 p.m. Our nurse asked if they should use formula or donor breast milk in case Baby A drank all the milk I had pumped throughout the night. I couldn't believe I was facing another tough decision again. Formula or donor milk?? Neither is what I wanted to say. I wanted to say that I'd stay there the whole 48 hours that Baby A was in the NICU, so I could feed her, but that wouldn't have been good. I needed to lay down (my feet were swelling from sitting up and not recovering in bed with my feet raised) and shut my eyes for a couple hours in order to keep my milk supply up. And Brad needed to sleep in order to take care of both his girls. I was also extremely scared that Baby A would have nipple confusion from being offered a bottle so early. I had so much fear. We decided on donor milk, which we later found out isn't something most hospitals offer because of the expense, so I was grateful for that.

We left the NICU around 11:30 p.m. Before we left, Brad held Baby A and told her we'd be back soon. Then I held her and whispered to her that she was brave and safe. Brad swaddled her up and placed her in her box bed. He became a master swaddler, which didn't surprise me (he's pretty much good at everything he does). I immediately started sobbing upon exiting the NICU and waiting for the elevator to take us down to the lobby. Brad comforted me the best he could. I will never forget that feeling of walking out of the hospital together not being pregnant any longer and not actually having our baby in our arms. We were supposed to be leaving together as a family. We were supposed to be putting her car seat in the back of the car and driving home together as a family of three, but instead, we were leaving our angel with strangers (yes, I know they were nurses, but still, they didn't love Baby A like we did). I couldn't stop thinking about what Baby A must be thinking and feeling. "Where is my mommy? Why am I here?" Was she scared? Did she think we abandoned her? Did she think the nurses were her family?

I longed to be able to stay another night in the hospital, so I could have fed her whenever she was hungry, but we weren't allowed to. I understand that the room was for me and since I was cleared to go home, insurance would no longer cover it, but it just didn't seem right to kick a new mom and dad out while their baby was still in the hospital. I even asked the hospital staff if I could pay to keep the room one more night.

The drive home was so sad. I remember looking out the window wondering how life could still be going on while my sweet angel was in the NICU. It didn't seem real. I wondered if I would suddenly wake up and realize that all this was a nightmare. At home, our sweet doggies met us at the door. They brought me comfort. I took a shower, which was much needed. Brad set up my breast pump for me on my side of the bed so I wouldn't have to do it at 3:00 a.m., which was only a few hours away. We went to bed and I tried to fall asleep but I could think about was my angel. What was she thinking right now? Was she crying? Was she being held? Did she have to drink the donor milk? I must have fallen asleep because I awoke to my alarm going off at 3:00 a.m. I pumped listening to the little pump machine. I swore it was saying, "Bring me home, bring me home, bring me home," over and over again. I was heartbroken and exhausted. The alarm went off again at 4:45 a.m. and we quickly dressed and left to go see Baby A. I didn't brush my hair. In fact, I don't think I brushed for four days. The last thing I wanted to do was waste valuable seconds on my presentation when I could have been with my angel instead.

When we got to the NICU, we washed up and walked as quickly as possible to see Baby A. We grabbed her out the box she was in and held her not ever wanting to put her down. I took off my top so we could be skin to skin, which Brad did as well, and I fed her. When she wasn't skin to skin with me, she was skin to skin with Brad. I couldn't have done it without him. I asked if they used donor milk, and they said they had to use 1 ounce of it. They said that she had a good night - no breathing problems.

We had to leave at 6:30 a.m. and couldn't return until 8:00 a.m., because all the nurses change shifts and talk about their patients (HIPPA laws). The same happened from 6:30-8:00 p.m. Brad and I went back home and Brad made me breakfast while I tried to get a little rest. Brad talked me into staying at home until 9:00 a.m. to get some sleep. I was in poor condition for sure. My mom picked me up from home and took me back to the NICU. When I got there, Brad was holding her and she was hungry. I fed her. The day passed slowly as we watched the monitors and took turns holding our angel. Luckily,
the NICU nurses were okay with continuing to use the cloth diapers we had sent down with her and the water wipes. We got to change her diaper and I loved seeing her in those cute cloth diapers. The only thing I didn't like about diaper changes was smelling the antibiotics in her pee. It was such a strong smell.

The day passed and night came. I almost didn't leave because I didn't get a good vibe about the nighttime nurse. She was in charge of Baby A and of the baby next to her. We got a chance to know all the nurses that took care of Baby A since we were in there so much, and this nurse wasn't very nurturing. I didn't like the way she took care of the baby next to us, nor did I like the way she responded to me when I had questions about the antibiotics. In my opinion, I think the nurses that work in the NICU should be the sweetest, most nurturing beings. I also think they should have patience for the parents because of what they're going through. Most of the nurses were, but this particular nurse made me nervous. I begged Brad to stay the night in the NICU. He said he would. However, after talking more, we realized that us not getting any sleep at all wouldn't benefit Baby A the next day, the day we should be able to take her home. We left closer to midnight that night and returned the following morning at 5:00 a.m.

The next day we waited anxiously to hear if Baby A could come home. The pediatrician on duty had to make that call, and he was in charge of looking at the charts of all the babies in the NICU starting with the sickest babies first. We found out around 1:00 p.m. that we'd finally get to take her home. I can't describe the relief and joy I felt! I cried, but this time it was because I was so overwhelmed and happy. I think my favorite part of that day was getting to hold her without any cords attached. It felt like an eternity since I'd been able to do that. We had to watch a CPR video and sign some papers before we could leave. My dad was so sweet and met us at the exit of the NICU. He took pictures of us leaving the NICU and coming outside with our sweet angel for the first time together as a family.

When we got home, our sweet neighbors were there to take a video of us walking into our house for the first time (my dad had called them and asked them to do that) and my mom was cleaning the inside of our house. And our new chapter of a family of three plus two dogs began then.

The NICU experience messed me up mentally. I still can't drive by the hospital on my way to the farmer's market on Saturdays without tearing up and thinking about that ordeal. I have talked to Baby A many times and told her why she was in the NICU, but I still can't shake the experience and the feelings of what she must have gone through without her mommy and daddy there with her. She was supposed to be under my protective care from the minute she was born. I struggled with feeling like I had failed her and let her down, but I've overcome those feelings. I know that Brad and I did what we thought was the best for her at that time. I learned so much from the experience. And I learned that my sweet baby is so very brave and strong. The NICU experience was obviously not part of my plan, but we survived it and it's all okay. Honestly, it has taken me four months to come to terms with most of it, but if I let my thoughts get away from me, I can easily go back to that time and all the worry, sadness, fearfulness, vulnerability, and sorrow come flooding back. Once again, I've been given an experience that has given me more compassion for others. I can truly say that I know how moms and dads feel that have experienced the NICU. It is scary. It is heartbreaking. And it is something that stays with you. Looking back, I can hardly believe all the decisions Brad and I made from the time labor started to the time we took Baby A home. A ton was thrown at us and we did what we had to. I'm so grateful that the NICU is in the past. Having our family of three at home brings me so much happiness, joy, and love. I am a mom. I have a daughter. And my dream has come true. This is the end of Baby A's IVF story. Now we are enjoying the story of our new family and what a story it has already been.

My Birthing Story - Part One

Our little miracle, Baby A, was born on Friday, March 9th at 10:54 a.m., a day after her actual due date. She weighed in at 9 pounds 11.5 ounces and 19.5 inches long! I couldn't believe how big she was when I first heard, especially since I had pushed her out of me. Labor lasted for 19 1/2 hours, about 7 hours of it being at home and the rest at the hospital. The last 3 hours of labor were spent pushing my angel out.

The week of Baby A's due date, I had a check-up with my OBGYN's office on Monday, a prenatal massage and acupuncture appointment on Tuesday, and saw the chiropractor on Wednesday to help get labor moving along. I elected to not have my OBGYN doctor do any vaginal checks during my 3rd trimester to see if I was dilated or not, so I don't know when I actually started dilating. I didn't want to take the chance of a membrane being stripped or my water being accidentally broken during a check. I also knew that knowing how far dilated I was wasn't necessarily an indication of when I'd be going into labor and could psych me out mentally if I wasn't making progress throughout the passing weeks. I used the weekly OBGYN checks solely to check Baby A's movements and heart rate - they were quick five minute appointments. Honestly, the appointments stressed me out more than anything else, and I only saw my actual OBGYN doctor two times throughout all my check-ups. I normally saw his NP. For delivery, my OBGYN doctor wasn't there either. I ended up going to see a midwife two weeks before my due date because the NP said she thought that Baby A was sunny side up and told me that delivery was going to be very painful and hard, which got me all worked up. The midwife I saw spent a full hour with me answering all my questions and putting my mind at ease. She also said that Baby A wasn't sunny side up. I'll never know if she was or not, but at the time of delivery, she was not sunny side up. I did have some back pain during labor, so my doula had me do some labor positions to help change Baby A's position if she was sunny side up at that time.

On Tuesday, my prenatal massage was amazing! I met my massage therapist through my next door neighbor that had been given a prenatal massage as a gift from her mom the previous year. I started going to see her during my 2nd trimester (or maybe towards the end of my 1st trimester) and I owe her so much! She was/is so much more than a massage therapist! She is going to school to become a midwife, so she knows everything I could have needed to know for an unmedicated birth. She also gave me the name of the amazing doula we chose. While I received a wonderful massage, we would chat it up about all things baby like vaccines, baby wearing, breast feeding, home schooling, pregnancy symptoms, birth, etc. She is a fountain of knowledge and I know that the Universe put her in my path for a reason. I had an acupuncture treatment the hour before my massage. My massage therapist recommended both the acupuncturist and chiropractor I went to see (fountain of knowledge for sure!). I've always enjoyed acupuncture, but I didn't know I could have it throughout pregnancy. This acupuncturist was wonderful! I had acupuncture two times in my 3rd trimester.

On Wednesday, the chiropractor rubbed sage oil on my ears and did a little ear massage, along with making sure my pelvic bones were in alignment so Baby A could pass through easier. I saw him three times during my 3rd trimester, the last time being the day before I went into labor. He specializes in chiropractic services for pregnant women and babies/children. Baby A has already had a visit with him. Towards the end of the day on Wednesday, I lost my mucus plug and had some spotting. I texted my doula and she said to go out to a nice dinner with Brad and to get ready for labor to come soon (she knew what she was talking about).

I went into labor on Baby A's due date, Thursday, March 8th, at 3:30 p.m. That day was Brad's first day of vacation for maternity leave. He used 3 weeks of vacation time to be home with us. Brad and I were in our room laying on the bed talking about how we should try and rest while we could before the baby arrived. I started feeling some reoccurring cramping that I hadn't felt before while we were talking, so I decided to keep track of how far apart they were using a contraction app I had downloaded. The contractions ended up being about nine minutes apart. Once we decided that I was indeed having contractions, we started doing the things on our "once contractions start" list. Brad was rushing around getting dressed and grabbing things like we were going to be heading to the hospital within five minutes. It was cute. I told him that we probably wouldn't be going to the hospital for a couple of hours at least because I wanted to labor at home for awhile. Regardless, we got ready. He made peanut butter and honey sandwiches, packed the labor aide and red raspberry leaf tea ice cubes that I had made earlier in the week, filled up our water bottles, packed one of the labor balls, put our bags in the car, and grabbed some last minute things. I made the cloth diaper wipe concoction (tea tree oil, lavender oil, and water), so they'd be ready when we came home with our baby, and grabbed some last minute things. We texted our doula and she said to get into the bathtub to help with contractions. The plan was that she'd come over to our house once my contractions started getting closer together.

The bathtub was a lifesaver for contractions! Brad ran the water and I sat in the bathtub while he pushed start and stop on my phone for each contraction. He sat in the bathroom with me for hours bringing me whatever I needed. He made me oatmeal and tea. I ate a couple labor aide ice cubes. We tried once to have me get into the shower instead of the tub to see if that would feel good, but as soon as we let the water out of the tub and I lost the feeling of weightlessness from the water, I knew that the tub was the way to go. I wish I could have brought it with me to the hospital because it helped that much! I think the intensity of the contractions were cut in half with the tub. I remember calling my parents and talking to them while I was in the tub telling them I was having contractions. While in the tub, I looked at the birthing laboryth I had made, recited some birthing affirmations, talked to Brad, and listened to some music. Around 9 p.m., my contractions got to around 2-3 minutes apart and I was experiencing a lot of pain. My doula face timed me and saw my face during one of the contractions and said she was coming over. Before she arrived, she called to check in and she heard me cry out in pain during a contraction and said that she'd meet me at the hospital instead. Brad helped me get dressed and we got into the car and headed to the hospital, which was a little before 10 p.m. I had a couple contractions in the car. I'm so grateful that the hospital is only about six minutes away from our house.

Our doula met us at the hospital. She walked me up to the labor and delivery floor while Brad parked and grabbed our things. I got checked in and then Brad traded places with our doula. I had to be checked to see how far dilated I was. The check was pretty painful, so painful that I screamed out with pain. I was told that I was five centimeters dilated qualifying me to be admitted to a room. It wasn't a busy night, so I didn't have to wait long. I was given a room that had wireless monitoring, which was wonderful. Our doula and my mom met us in the labor and delivery room. A nurse got me set up - a heplock in my arm, in case I needed fluids from an IV. Unfortunately, it took three times before a nurse was able to successfully put the heplock into my arm - ouch! I ended up having some pretty bad bruising from the attempts. After the heplock was in, I changed into a nightgown I had bought for delivering in and the wireless monitoring was hooked up. Having the wireless monitoring allowed me to walk around the room during labor and not be confined to my bed. The nurse asked for my birthing wish list.

The lights were shut off, expect for the entrance light and we were left to labor. A few nurses came in from time to time to check in and help out with what they could, but it was pretty much just our doula, Brad, my mom, and I. My dad even popped in for a bit, but he didn't stay long. He was uncomfortable seeing me in so much pain. I asked him to take care of my girls (my dogs) because I was worried about them. Knowing that they were taken care of, brought me a huge sense of relief. He also went and got the labor team much needed food/nourishment. My doula coached me giving different birthing positions to get into throughout the night and early morning. I remember being on all fours, sitting on my birthing ball, leaning over my birthing ball, sitting on the toilet, standing up and hanging on to Brad, sitting on the bed, and laying down on my side. Every time I switched to a new laboring position, the next three contractions would be more intense, which was always in the back of my mind when changing. My doula had many tricks up her sleeve to help get my mind off of the pain of labor. I remember her asking me about each bracelet I was wearing and it's significance. She had different essential oils for me to smell, and yummy candies to suck on. She knew how to talk to me and who to get me to listen. My mom kept me hydrated by giving me water or whatever else I needed like my labor aide and raspberry leaf tea ice cubes. She rubbed my back and consoled me whispering words of encouragement in my ear. Brad was my rock and was there every step of the way. He gave me strength by merely being next to me. He was always so calm and collected ready to help out in any way. Just seeing him calmed me down.

My mind was aware of everything that was going on in the room, but I wasn't focused on my surroundings - only riding the wave of each contraction. If someone asked me a question, I remember answering in my head, but I'm not sure if the actual words came out or if they were just my thoughts. I was stuck at 8 centimeters for quite some time. We were all so exhausted. We would try and steal a couple minutes of shut eye between each contraction - me slumping over in exhaustion onto whomever and whatever was next to me. There was one point when all of us were surrounding my bed after one of my contractions ended that we all shut our eyes and fell asleep, only to wake three minutes later to get through the next contraction. It is difficult for me to describe how the contractions felt. I asked what contractions would feel like, so I knew what to expect before I went into labor, but people said I would just know. They said they'd feel like really bad period cramps. Yes, they felt like cramps, but it was a surge of feeling that started off with a dull discomfort that increased with intensity until it reached a peak and then would die down until the pain went away. With each centimeter more that I dilated, the intensity increased.

A nurse checked me and said that I was still at 8 centimeters. My water had not broken yet, so it was suggested that they break my water. That was against my birth wish list, but I was exhausted physically and mentally, and I honestly didn't want the labor to go on longer because of my water, so I agreed to have it broken. I had read that if your water had not broken when you went into labor, your contractions would not be as intense, which was true. The water sack provided a cushion. I was a little nervous about the pain increasing once my water was broken. A nurse broke my water and I immediately felt a warm liquid rush out and soak the bed. I don't know when my water was broken, or how long after my water was broken that I was given the clear to push, but I do remember having soaked sheets up until Baby A was born. It was a little uncomfortable.

I started pushing a little earlier than I should have, which caused my cervix to swell a little. Before labor had started, I thought that I'd be pushing the entire time. It wasn't until everything started that I learned that I wasn't allowed to push until I was ten centimeters dilated. A nurse checked me early in the morning and said that I was ten centimeters, but because I my cervix had swelled, I'd have to hold off onto pushing until it went down.

Once the swelling had decreased, I was finally given the clear to push. I pushed for three hours. It felt the best to push laying down and pulling a scarf during each contraction. I pulled one end while Brad or my doula pulled the other end. My arms were spent by the end. My legs kept cramping throughout the three hours. My dad went to Clark's and bought magnesium spray to put on my legs to help with the cramping, which it did. A nurse put coconut oil on my perineal to help with stretching, so I didn't tear as much. I had a difficult time getting the whole pushing thing down. It was quite painful. I knew that once a contraction started, I was supposed to hold my breath and push for ten seconds, but I couldn't quite hold my breath without yelling out in pain. My doula was amazing and counted to ten for me each time telling me not let any breath out by yelling. The yelling was taking away the force from my pushing. The pushing took everything out of me. I remember saying some choice words and begging to have Baby A taken out of me. I asked why did I do this (not unmedicated part) and said I couldn't keep going. I had reached my limit, but some how, I found the strength to keep going. Brad, my mom, and my doula were my cheerleaders and encouraged me the entire time.

After pushing for quite some time, everyone got excited and said they could see Baby A's head. They were all so excited. A nurse put a mirror down there for me to see her head, which helped me know where to direct my pushing. I could feel her coming out a little with each push, but then go back up again. I felt discouraged, but kept going. Once I was getting close, a nurse went and got the doctor. I kept pushing. I felt like my eyes were going to pop out of my head. Once I got the whole pushing thing down and realized that I would have to hold my screams in, Baby A started making nice progress. I knew I was close when I felt her head stuck even after the contraction was over. I kept pushing. The doctor said that there was maconium, so the NICU team would need to come in and be on stand by if they needed to take fluid out of her lungs. There were a total of eight people in the room. I did end up needing some IV fluids after about an hour and a half of pushing because I was getting dehydrated. I also needed some oxygen.

After a big push, Baby A's head came out and then her shoulders. I honestly thought that I'd be pushing much longer to get her shoulder's out, but they came out right after her head did. She was immediately put onto my chest. Baby A was warm, wet, and wiggling around just like she had been when she was in my belly. I could barely believe she was out. I was overjoyed with emotion and couldn't stop crying. Shortly after, the NICU team took her (they were right next to me) and removed some liquid from her lungs. Brad was with her the whole time. I kept saying, "that's my baby, that's my baby." My mom stayed by my side while Brad was with Baby A. I told her that I was a mom, and I wept. I was finally a mom. After I passed the placenta, which wasn't bad at all, the doctor said I had a lot of bleeding and needed some pitocin. I agreed to the shot of it in my leg.

Baby A was given back to me and put onto my chest. I ended up having second degree tearing and needed eleven stitches. They stitched me up while I was holding her. It was painful, but nothing like labor and I was too excited about Baby A to focus on what going on down there. It all seemed to go so quickly after she was born. I'm sure that some of the events I just described were out of order, but that's not important.

Baby A had some bruising from the experience of birth, so I agreed to a shot of Vitamin K. I asked the nurses to make sure that it was the preservative free version, and it was. They even showed me the box. I said no to the eye ointment and Hep shot, which was part of my birth wish list. Baby A was weighed and I was told that she weighed 9 pounds 11 1/2 ounces! Wow! I could hardly believe it! I had given birth to a huge, healthy baby girl! I was overjoyed!

Brad and I had our Golden Hour. During that time, my doula helped me with breastfeeding, and Brad and I marveled at how wonderful our little girl was. It felt like reaching a finish line and getting first place. Brad often told me that this pregnancy and labor were like my Ironman, and I couldn't agree more. I had carefully "trained" for months for my big "race", and once race day had finally come, I was ready for it (as ready as I could be).

I didn't know what labor was going to be like. I only knew from what people and books told me. After actually going through it, I can honestly say that it was nothing like I thought it would be. I thought I'd be able to look at my birthing affirmations banner, trace the birthing laboryth I had made, meditate, etc., but I didn't. I focused on one contraction at a time, listening to my doula, Brad, and my mom. They were my birthing affirmations and laboryth. They told me the things I needed to hear and they created the perfect birthing environment for me, so that I could have the perfect birth for Adeline and I. It was a beautiful birth, one that I have no regrets about. I felt safe and well taken care of.

Having an unmedicated birth was important to me because I wanted to feel every part of birth. I wanted to experience what my body was made to experience. It was not easy and it was painful, but unlike any pain I've ever experienced before. I was pushed to the max mentally, physically, and spiritually, but I survived and I'm so grateful for my story. It is my own story and I can't wait to share it with Baby A. I am a mom. I am strong. I am brave. Everything unfolded perfectly and beautifully. Brad and I have a daughter!

(Baby A ended up needing to go to the NICU for a couple days, which I will write a post about next. She's completely fine and we are all adjusting to our new life).

Almost Time

Infertility changed me. IVF changed me. Experiencing pregnancy has and is changing me. And once our Sweet Baby A arrives, she will most definitely change me. My life is ever changing from day to day, from experience to experience. Experiencing the infertility journey for so many years left bruises  and scars on my heart and soul that are slowly fading away, although I know that some of the larger scars will remain for an eternity, tattooed permanently onto my heart as if saying, "don't ever forget how much you wanted this baby, and don't ever take being a mom for granted." Those permanent scars are the ones that consumed my daily thoughts while going through infertility, cutting into me like a knife. What if I never have a baby? What if I never become a mom to a human? What if IVF doesn't work? What if I'm not meant to be a mom? What did I do wrong? Why can't I be normal? Becoming pregnant didn't instantly erase any of the feelings that I experienced during infertility, but that positive pregnancy test did give me hope that I could achieve my life long dream of becoming a mom after all.

Just like many young girls do, I started dream building about being a mom from a very young age. Mothering/nurturing came naturally to me. I enjoyed taking care of my younger brother and cousins (they may say otherwise :)). I enjoyed taking care of our family pets. I enjoyed playing with my Barbies and playing mom and daughter with them. It was never a question in my mind that I wouldn't be a mom when I grew up. It was part of my plan - becoming a teacher, a bride, a wife, and mother. So saying that I've been waiting for Sweet Baby A for over six years isn't completely correct...I've been waiting for her for over thirty.

There's something to be said about dreaming about something (becoming a mom), finding out/mourning the loss of that dream (infertility), and then actually achieving that dream (becoming pregnant after all). I watched my becoming-a-mom dream slowly slip through my fingers as Brad and I tried each month to become pregnant without success. I watched what it did to me. I watched what it did to Brad. And I watched what it did to us as a couple. It ate away at me until I grew numb. Then, we met Dr. Norion, and were finally given a reason for our infertility, and were given hope of achieving our dream after all. What an exciting, nerve-wrecking time that was! Now, I have about two weeks until Sweet Baby A's due date, and all the past pain seems like something that was so long ago.

I can honestly say that there have been some months throughout my third trimester where I haven't thought about IVF. Getting to experience the things that I didn't think I would and had blocked from my mind, like going to breakfast with other moms, talking to other moms about being pregnant and about labor, having a baby shower, buying baby clothes, etc. took up my thoughts and pushed IVF aside. I actually get to do those things now! And don't even get me started on how I feel every time I look in my rear view mirror and see an infant car seat in my car, or how I feel when I hear John Mayer's "Daughters" song on the radio. Things that used to bring me to tears of great sadness and loss, now bring me to tears of overwhelming disbelief, gratitude, and joy. It is hard to believe that not so long ago, I was having daily injections, multiple medical procedures, and frequent trips to an infertility clinic.

It all came back to me last week when I put together a little IVF scrapbook for Baby A including the injection calendars, pictures, and ultrasounds from our time at HRC. I want her to be proud of her creation and to not feel different, rather, to feel special about the process. No, her mom and dad can't tell her a story about how she was created by mom and dad having an intimate night together (that's probably not something that is shared until kids are adults anyway, ha!), but we can tell her a story of two people that were deeply in love that wanted more than anything to have a child, but couldn't without a little help from science. I actually just finished writing Baby A a letter that I'm going to give her when she turns 18, which includes that story. Seeing all of the IVF memorabilia brought back all the feelings I had during that time.

I never thought that I would forget any part/detail of IVF. It was so much a part of my identity and life. It consumed my daily thoughts and was an intimate part of my life and marriage. Now that IVF is over and I'm not having daily injections, I feel like a "normal" pregnant woman. It feels strange to identify with infertility and pregnancy, two polar opposites, though. If I'm not careful or mindful, those infertility thoughts/emotions about things like baby showers and pregnancy announcements can make me wince in pain from remembering what it was like not so long ago. Those feelings of not wanting to go to showers because they were a time of joy for everyone attending, but for me, they were a time of sorrow and pity for myself; those feelings of they got pregnant so fast, while I can't pregnant at all upon the arrival of a pregnancy announcement - they can come back so quickly.  In fact, those are the first feelings I automatically feel until I snap back to reality and say that's not my story any more. I will never forget the feelings of infertility, and will always be sensitive to other peoples' stories of infertility. We all have our own stories. No story is exactly the same. I am in awe of the process I have gone through, and will be forever grateful for every experience - my experiences have made me who I am today.

And today, I'm super, super, super excited about things like cloth diapers and how cute Baby A's little booty is going to be in them. I'm excited (and nervous) about laboring at home for as long as possible with Brad and my doula and then delivering at the hospital. I'm excited about feeling all the labor feelings that so many women before me have experienced. I'm excited about seeing Brad look into Sweet Baby A's eyes for the first time. I'm excited about the Golden Hour with Baby A and Brad right after she's born. I'm excited about getting to breast feed. I'm excited about learning how to be a parent with Brad. I'm excited about reading Baby A her first story out of my womb. I'm excited to have Baby A sleeping next to me in the bassinet that Brad made for her. I'm excited about going for walks as a family and getting to wear Baby A. I'm excited about the future. I know that many of the things I'm excited about may not go the exact way I have imagined them, but that's okay. Everything will work out. And as I always say, everything is unfolding perfectly.

And how crazy is it that my first post about our infertility journey was almost exactly one year ago?!? I just not noticed that. It was on 2/20/17 and today is 2/23/18...wow!!!!!!! A lot has happened in one year....

co-sleeper bassinet Brad made  

1st Trimester - IVF

Having gone through six years of not getting pregnant, I had mentally prepared myself for things like not ever being a mom, adopting, or going through infertility treatments. I had wrapped my head around those options always knowing that I would try all the avenues of becoming a mom that felt right to Brad and I before choosing the not being a mom route. The thing I hadn't prepared myself for, though, was becoming pregnant and staying pregnant.

IVF seemed like a whirlwind. There was always something to do. Always an appointment to go to, always an injection to have administered, always research to be done, always chatting with friends who had gone through similar experiences, always a next step, etc. The days passed by quicker than I had thought, and being busy helped keep me from thinking too much. Since I had planned for IVF mentally (as much as one could), I think I handled my emotions about it all pretty well. I enjoyed blogging about my experience, in hopes that I could help someone else going through infertility, and I liked the comfort and peace I felt from my family and friends knowing the details of our journey.

After finding out that I was actually pregnant (wow!), I struggled emotionally with the following weeks. Honestly, I was more prepared for not getting pregnant from our first round of IVF, than I was for getting pregnant. With each passing day after the first positive pregnancy test, I grew more and more scared that I would lose the baby. I wasn't my peppy, cheery self. I was much more fearful about the experience and Googled more than I should have. I was grateful for the congratulations from my family and friends, but I never truly felt like congratulations were in order since I feared that at any second, I would lose the baby. I had heard and read too many IVF journeys about other people. I think I took their journeys on thinking that their stories were my stories. If I read that someone had a miscarriage after their first ultrasound (which I did read on an IVF blog), I feared that that would happen to me. I actually felt sad before my first ultrasound because I remember thinking that I would have a miscarriage after it, since that had happened to someone else. I was in a strange place. Once I realized I was doing that, I would tell myself, "that is not my story." I didn't want to hear or read about anyone else's stories because I knew I wasn't mentally strong enough at that point in my life to not allow a bad ending to scare me.

The core of who I am - the me that believes so much in the power of positive thoughts and affirmations, meditation, deep breathing, controlling your thoughts, trusting that my path is unfolding perfectly - was challenged. I thought I was strong and ready for IVF. Maybe I was ready for IVF, but I definitely wasn't ready for pregnancy and all the "scares" that came/come along with it.

I've had a few scares since my first positive pregnany test. At week 5, I had some spotting when I went to the restroom. I was at lunch with a friend. I remember being shocked when I saw the blood on the toilet paper, and then I instantly began mourning the loss of my pregnancy. My thoughts spiraled out of control. Within seconds, I was already thinking about the next possible date I could try another round of IVF. I pulled myself together, told my friend that I needed to leave (it was right at the end of lunch, so the timing was perfect - although using the word "perfect" when talking about this story seems strange...), and we walked out to the parking lot. As soon as I got into my car, I called HRC. I wasn't crying when I called, but I started to when the receptionist told me that the nurse I had asked for wasn't available. When I started crying, she transferred me to another nurse, Cynthia. I explained what had happened, expecting that she'd say to come in for an ultrasound right away. Instead, she said that I was probably okay and that it could have been implantation spotting, that I should go home and put my feet up for a couple days, hydrate, and come in for an ultrasound at week 6 (two days after the spotting). She calmed me down and didn't say anything that scared me, which was good since I was in a fragile state. For the next two days, I rested and rarely got up. I didn't know what the spotting meant, but I knew that I would do exactly what the nurse had told me to do. I watched a ton of TV and distanced myself from the social media world and from Google.

The week 6 ultrasound was our first one since two positive blood pregnancy tests. I was extremely nervous. I rocked myself back and forth on the exam bed while we waited for Dr. Norion to come in. Brad tried to distract me, but I had lost control of my thoughts and they were running wild (in a negative direction). Dr. Norion walked in and said that I was six weeks pregnant and due on March 8th. That didn't mean too much to me...I just wanted to know if my baby was still alive. He did a vaginal ultrasound and explored with the camera for hours before saying anything - okay, it wasn't hours - it was only a couple of seconds, but that's what it felt like because I was holding my breath the entire time waiting for him to say something. When he finally did speak, he said there the baby was and asked if we wanted to hear the heartbeat. I was shocked that there was a baby in my belly, AND that we'd be able to hear the heartbeat! I read that people can sometimes hear the heartbeat at week 6, but often it's too early for that. When I heard the heartbeat, I felt a wave of emotions, mostly of relief and then absolute amazement. I looked over at Brad, and his mouth was hanging open. I had dreamed about the day that I would hear my babies heartbeat, and I finally was! It was incredible! Dr. Norion said he didn't see anything that could have caused my spotting, so that was good. We set up another ultrasound for the following week. He told me to take it easy. I was a high risk pregnancy because of the spotting (not the best thing for me to hear).

After the ultrasound, Brad and I were happy, but we were still on edge (or maybe that was just me). I felt much better about everything after I heard our babies heartbeat, but almost immediately after we left HRC, I started feeling like I was going to lose the baby again. I was happy that everything was okay at the time of the ultrasound, but I wanted a way to know 24/7 that 6AA was still alive. I didn't feel like blogging about our first ultrasound. I didn't feel like sharing good news that I was sure would turn into bad news. I was in a dark place during a time that very well "should" have been exciting, happy, and good. Fear took over much of me. I put "should" in quotation marks because I don't believe in "shoulds" when looking at the past because that is regretting something that has already happened. I rarely use the word "should" (except when I'm in a dark place) and it feels strange when I do use it. I almost always correct myself when I say it. That dark place was where I was meant to be. It was a part of my journey that was unfolding perfectly.

Throughout week 6, I started feeling really nauseas and developed some pretty intense food aversions. Going to the grocery store was an interesting experience for Brad and I during that time. The contents of the cart were very unlike me. I walked down the aisles while Brad followed me. I grabbed things I'd never normally buy - cinnamon toast crunch (okay - it was organic and wasn't your normal cinnamon toast crunch because it was from Clarks, but it was still a box of cereal), plain white bagels (no seeds!), salted crackers, pretzels, and ginger ale. It was a cart full of carbohydrates and no color. Where were the fruits and vegetables? Where was the raw milk and raw cheese? Nope, I wasn't feeling any of it. I thought I'd eat perfectly if I ever got pregnant, but once I experienced "morning sickness", that went out the window. And really, "morning sickness" is so very misleading! I felt sick all day. No, it was not like the movies (which is where I got my idea of how morning sickness would be) - I wouldn't throw up in the morning and then feel better for the rest of the day. I never threw up and still haven't. I remember waking up early in the morning begging Brad to go get a box of cereal for me. I ate some cereal and woke up hugging the box closely to my chest a couple hours later. Week 6 was strange.

At week 7's ultrasound, Brad and I decided that we wanted to know if 6AA was a girl or a boy. Originally, we had wanted to find out at the time when "normal" pregnant women find out, which is week 16 (I think??), but we talked about how we weren't "normal" and that we might as well take advantage of that perk of genetic testing. After hearing 6AA's heartbeat again at the week 7 ultrasound, and getting a good report back from Dr. Norion, we asked the gender.....we're having a girl! Honestly, I didn't care about the gender (or so I had thought), but after hearing it was a girl, I was really excited! I allowed myself to think about cute girl clothes and going to the princess tea event that my friends took their daughters to this year. Brad was excited about a girl, too! I had wanted to do a small gender reveal, since I had seen so many gender reveals of Pinterest over the past six years, but when it finally came down to it, I wasn't feeling up to a party. I ended up ordering a golf ball from Amazon and had Brad hit it in the backyard. Pink exploded out of it! It was a Kodak moment for sure.

Weeks 7-9,  I still felt poorly and had no interest in my favorite restaurants (no La Volata?????). I just wanted to sleep all day so I didn't have to feel sick any longer. Oh, and I was still getting daily injections into my booty. I felt bad for myself and still let fear take over me, even though things were going well with our little girl. I still wasn't in the place where I would allow myself to think too much about what life would be like with our little girl because I was so fearful of losing her. If I didn't think about the fun we'd have, I wouldn't hurt as much if I lost her (that's what I told myself). Being nauseas and fearful, and then getting a daily injection was more mentally challenging that I had thought. I often cried at injection time because I couldn't handle the pain any longer and I was feeling down. When Brad was gone for business, one of my wonderful personal nurses - Jill, Kirsten, or Dana (okay - they're not my personal nurses, but they might as well have been because they dropped everything and helped give me my injections at 5:30 p.m. on the days I needed them) came over and gave me my injection. I made myself be stronger when they were there, so I never cried in front of them (sorry, Brad).

At week 9's ultrasound, Dr. Norion gave us another good report. Our baby girl was making nice progress. I started back at school during week 9, which I was nervous about because I didn't know how my nausea would be and I didn't know if I was going to overdo it. I'm used to giving 110% of myself to teaching, but when I wasn't feeling 100%, I wasn't sure if I could do it. I did get to share at our back to school staff meeting that I was pregnant. I have been teaching for twelve years, and I can't tell you how many times we've come back from summer break, and a teacher reports that they're pregnant. I always longed to be that person. When someone would write, "guess who is pregnant?" on the whiteboard before the meeting, people used to guess me, but as the years passed by, I wasn't one of the popular candidates. Well, this year, I got to share that I was indeed pregnant! The majority of the staff knew of my infertility journey, so everyone was happy for me. I felt more confident about my pregnancy that week, too, so that was nice.

Last week, week 11, I had a little spotting Sunday night. I didn't cry that time, but I did immediately get sad. Brad reassured me that everything would be okay, and even Googled it for me, but spotting when you're pregnant is scary and the only thing that would have made me feel better at that moment would have been an ultrasound. I had started decreasing my hormones since Thursday night, so that could have caused the spotting, but I was worried that maybe I was losing the baby since I had decreased the hormones and maybe my body wasn't making enough hormones for our baby girl on it's own. I went to bed early that night and called HRC the following morning. I spoke to Cynthia again, and she said that I should be okay. She said to stick to the original plan of coming in for an ultrasound on Wednesday. Brad was gone last Wednesday for work, so my mom went with me.

At the week 11 ultrasound, my mom and I got to see an active little girl. Dr. Norion said she was like a Mexican jumping bean! She was moving her arms and legs all around. I instantly asked if that was okay, worrying that maybe I was too anxious which was causing her to move around too much, but he said it was good that she was moving around. He said that her heartbeat was at an ideal heart rate and that she was at an advanced size her her age (which was good, too). Dr. Norion said that I could officially stop all my IVF medication (wow!) and that I would graduate that day. One of the nurses brought me a baby blanket, and everyone hugged me. I still can't quite believe that I graduated. It honestly seems like just yesterday that Brad and I were meeting with Dr. Norion for the very first time. It was a wonderful experience getting to share my graduation day with my mama! I would have loved for Brad to be there, of course, but having my baby girl's grandma with me, was quite special!

Although this journey is still very much active and no where near the end, I am so very grateful for all the people that have helped me through it. I have been quite self absorbed lately, and my family and friends have loved me unconditionally throughout it all, and have been there for me every step of the way. This isn't a journey I'd want to go through alone, and I'm forever grateful for the support that I have been given. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Looking back over this post, I see so many words that I don't normally use (scary, scared, worried, down, dark place, should, struggling). It is no surprise that I have been struggling over the past month or so. However, I honestly believe that I was doing the best I could. I am letting myself off the hook and not feeling bad for the feelings that I had. I was challenged in a way that I wasn't expecting, which I think is how challenges normally go. I may have not learned all the lessons that I was presented with, but I did learn from some of them. I am feeling much better now - I think stopping the medication helped a ton with that (Brad would say that it has ;)). I'm also giving myself permission to think more about our little girl and the life that we'll have together. I talk to her often. I place my hand over her and tell her how much fun we'll have together. This morning, on my walk with the girls, I told our baby girl that she's going to love the walking routes we go on. I told her that we'll protect her and love her unconditionally. I told her that she's perfect in every way. I told her that she's our everything.

Today, I am 11 weeks and 3 days pregnant. I am almost three months pregnant! Our baby girl is the size of a fig (I bought one at the farmer's market yesterday in her honor) and she owns my heart. I know that I could lose her, but allowing that scared, negative thought, to keep all the positive, happy thoughts at bay, is not fair to her or me. I am a mom and this new love I have for my baby girl is something that I don't want to keep hidden away any longer. Being pregnant is indescribable. I'm carrying a beautiful living thing inside of me and it is a true honor. Now, when I walk around and see all the mamas, I don't think about how I wish I was them - instead, I think about how strong they are. How strong they are to have carried and given birth to their baby, or how strong they are to have gone through the adoption process or whatever process they went through to get their little angels. I have a new found appreciation for moms (thank you, mom!). Sweet Adeline - I am so proud to be your mama and can't wait to meet you in March! I'll love you forever, I'll love you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby girl you'll be...