Cooper James: the birth story

I was pretty vocal about the fact that I wanted to go into labor by myself if there was any way possible. With Rory I was induced several days overdue and had only progressed to a 2 so I was really trying to help my body along through exercise, stripping membranes, etc etc. Needless to say, nothing helped. I'm beginning to think that maybe it's not possible. I mean, my mom was induced at least a week overdue with all her children... so it's not out of my realm of possibilities.

Because I had a relatively smooth (and quick) induction with Rory, my OB office was willing to let me choose when I would like to schedule an induction starting as early as 39 weeks. Still, I wanted to give my body the full 40 weeks to do what it could before I made that call. At this point, I had also made a very careful and thought-through decision about wanting to do natural childbirth (no epidural) and I knew that decision was going to be much harder with piton contractions vs natural contractions. So we were in in for the 40 week long haul at minimum.

I scheduled induction for my due date for several reasons, but turns out God was in the details on that decision. We arrived at the hospital just after 6:15 on a Monday morning, neither of us having slept well the night before. After miscarrying last summer, I struggled with a good amount of anxiety this pregnancy and was anxious to have my baby boy in my arms and know he was ok. They had me set up in a room by 7 o'clock, but before the doctor would break my water, he wanted to finish a c-section so that he could be with me in the case of any mishaps.

So he broke my water around 8:45 and the contractions started coming here and there for a while. They checked me at 10am and I had progressed to a 4, which I was pleased with, but at the next 11am check I was still at a 4, which was disappointing. The 12 noon check was where things started getting wild. They measured me at a 5, but after they left the contractions started to come really strong and close together. At this point I told Jay "I'm not sure if I can do this" because if I continued at this pace I would be having stronger contractions than this for the next several hours- and they were already verging on unbearable.

By 12:30 I had to go to the bathroom for the umpteenth time. Jay came to help me out of bed and get my cords situated, but I didn't make it out of bed before another contraction hit. As soon as the wave of pain was over, I got up and didn't quite make it to the bathroom before another came and I had to hunch over and grab the counter for support. That bathroom break I had the urge to push, which came as a complete shock to me. I thought maybe it was a fluke (I had an epidural from 7.5 on with Rory so the urge to push was faint at best) and got back to bed. The next contraction came on strong and the same urge to push came back, but undeniable now. I told Jay to call the nurses and they came rushing. By this time it was around 12:40 and the contractions were brutal and so close together I could hardly relax between. They measured me at a 7, and said they guessed the baby would be here in the next thirty minutes. The doctor was called, came quickly, and by 1 o'clock I was pushing.

After his head was delivered several things happened. First, the doctor told me to stop pushing for a minute and try to rest my body between my contractions. Second, he commented that "this is a big baby!" and asked the nurses if I had gestational diabetes, to which they responded no. (Gestational diabetes increases the likelihood of having a bigger baby)

Next I was told to pull my legs toward me as I pushed and a nurse and Jay stood on each side to help push them back with me. After maybe two pushes this way they laid my perfect, healthy baby boy on my chest, which will always and forever be my favorite part. It's a moment I dream about the whole pregnancy. Being relieved of the pain of labor, released from the discomfort of pregnancy, and having that baby placed on your chest. The nurses placing a warm blanket over the two of you. Nothing matters in that moment.

Turns out his shoulders had been stuck (thus, the pushing of my knees) and the doctor was shocked I was able to deliver Rory 5 days late without complications. He suggested I be induced at 39 weeks with all my subsequent children to prevent a much worse outcome. I now strongly feel that my long, skinny firstborn was a blessing in disguise as was my decision to be induced on my due date and no later.

Cooper came in weighing just under 8 pounds, but was only 19 inches, which made him almost two inches shorter than Rory. Stocky little guy!

The doctor had given me a second degree episiotomy, but I tore past it during labor. He called it "a really bad two" with the caveat that they "don't prefer calling it a three", but the nurses all just called it a 3. As he stitched me up, he mentioned that I was losing a lot of blood and gave me some (super fun) cytotec to help stop the bleeding. At the next check (you know, the fun one where they push really hard on your newly very squishy and tender stomach..) I was still losing too much blood and they administered another dose of cytotec and a shot in my leg as a last resort to stop the bleeding. They told me not to eat and warned me that if it didn't stop they would have to take me back for some more invasive probing of/surgery on my nether regions. None of this sounded ideal to me. They weren't sure what was happening, because my placenta was delivered whole and my uterus seemed to be firm.. so they were guessing that it may be a tear which I guess can happen when labor goes so quickly.

Regardless, after a few checks the bleeding slowed and they continued to give me the stomach press every fifteen minutes for the next two hours to monitor me before I went to recovery. The doctor also ordered that I receive three extra bags of pitocin to help me contract and make sure the bleeding stayed under control. (pleasant, to be sure)

Neither of my birth stories were completely without a measure of trauma, but I just feel so grateful to have been a part of bringing these two beautiful healthy babies into the world. So so grateful for them and that handsome guy by my side who supports and stands by me at all times, but especially in times like these.

Miscarriage: A Sorority of Strong Women

I was exactly 11 weeks pregnant on the day of our first appointment.

We were so so excited, and were planning to announce the happy news to our family the next week on vacation. We had braced ourselves for staying home for Christmas, because I was due in early January. We had Rory watch the Daniel Tiger episode about his baby sister to prep her to tell her she was going to be a big sister. My sister just had a baby in March, and our babies would be less than a year apart. Rory was so ready, we were so ready, our world seemed so ready for our growing family.

I had Rory in California, so I'd never met with an OB in Utah before. I'd done my research and read really good things about the OB we were meeting with and in the first two minutes, I knew I'd done a good job. He was gregarious and kind, and had incredible bedside manner. We wouldn't have made a different choice if we could've. My pregnancy had been relatively easy, and I hadn't been nearly as nauseous as I was with Rory. I chalked it up to being at home (instead of working full time) where I could rest more often and graze with a whole pantry of options at my disposal. Jay chalked it up to the baby being a boy. I'd been taking better care of myself and going to the gym 4 times a week wanting to keep that up as long as possible, and wanting to run a race with Jay's family in October if I could. It had really been a breeze, and I was feeling great. I had spotted a little here and there, but I spotted quite a bit while I was pregnant with Rory so I didn't think anything of it. The morning of my appointment, I bled ever so slightly. Jay asked me on the way to the appointment, "on a scale of 1-10, how worried does that make you?" I said a 5- I honestly wasn't worried. 

But the moment the ultrasound started I knew something was wrong. He kept searching and searching for what I knew from having a Rory should have been relatively easy to find. He couldn't find the baby, and when he did- he couldn't find a heartbeat. My reaction then was the same as it is now, almost two months later as I write this. My breath started coming rapid and shallow and I tried with all I had to hold back the tears. I pressed my cheek into the seat and tried to slow my breathing, but it didn't seem to matter what I did. By the time he told us out loud that our baby had no heartbeat I was sobbing. The kind of sobbing where you can't speak, and you can't move. He gave me a hug and told me he was so so sorry. That sweet, sincere man was an angel. He left the room and told us he would be back in a minute so we could talk about what happens next. What happens next is for another time, but giving birth to a baby no matter how small is a terrible thing to have to do if there's no screaming, pink, chubby-cheeked love on the other side. 

There was so much kindness shown to us those few days after and the subsequent week which I will never be able to adequately repay. 

Before this all happened, I really feel like God had prepared all of these tender mercies for me. Months before, I was painting my friend's nails and somehow her two miscarriages came up and she shared her experience. A friend in my neighborhood had a second miscarriage in a row and was brave and vulnerable enough to post what had happened and a public thank you to all of those people who helped her with meals and support. Family members had told me they had experienced miscarriages, and I knew they were not uncommon.

In all the pain of miscarriage, of losing a tiny person that I held and loved and planned for for months and years- I never felt alone. I'll never, ever forget sitting in the car after that appointment with Jay, just crying together and wondering what to do now. He turned to me and said, "You're joining a sorority of strong women". It resonated with me. It spoke truth to my soul. In all this heartache, there was this sorority of women who knew what I was going through and had gone through it before. There's something about standing together, even if it's only symbolically. 

And that's why I share these things that are hard and vulnerable and close to my heart. Every time I go to write things like this, I almost don't, because I don't want to bring undue attention or pity or judgement on myself. I share these things because somewhere out there there's somebody who had a heartbreaking miscarriage and felt all alone. And I want them to know it's ok, and it's painful and it hurts. But you aren't alone. And if you need someone to reach out to, I'm listening. Come join this sorority of strong women who have survived the pain you are feeling right now, and they will stand behind you and succor you. And instead of alone you can feel validated and strengthened. 

Because if we aren't all here on earth together to to that for one another, why are we here?

A picture our happy family of three. Because although I long for the day when there's more of us, we are really happy to be a family.

The sea and my soul

After the last trip to grandma's house I thought it was bad, but this trip really sealed the deal. I now have a two year old that dreams of California, and in all her games of pretend tells me she's going on a plane to California. And every time I answer the pretend phone she says it's "California" on the other line.

My California-born heart has been a little weepy over the whole thing. I don't think Jay and I will ever end up back in California (But you never know, fate may make me eat my words) but that state really is something to behold. And I feel like I've been spoiled to spend my time on the central coast and in the foothills, where my girl CA really shines bright.

This happens to have been one of my favorite family beach trips on record. Although the flu hit us hard starting with Rory the night we arrived and subsequently hit almost everyone (whyyy did it have to be the flu!?) we really did have a good time. The flu kept us fairly cooped up, but whoever was well at the time spent their days playing cornhole, walking the beach, and building sandcastles with the babies. Jay is always the master fire-builder and we had lots of good bonfires and watched fireworks on the 4th from the sand.

My soul mostly is home in the mountains, but there's something calming about the sea.

Back home

Gosh, I love my grandma's house. It's the one place from my childhood that is still ours and still the same, and there's just something so comforting about that. 

Our trip was full of simple magic and nostalgia. We stayed at grandma's house, ate cobbler made from fresh peaches, went to the zoo, spent quiet mornings on the porch, and Rory romped around with Ginger (the dog) and the new kitten as often as we'd let her. Ginger passed away and went home a few weeks after we left: I like to think she went home to be with grandpa when his year anniversary of being called home came. Rory still talks about Ginger often, and I still think of all that's different these days.. and hold tight to all that remains the same. 

Grandma still gardens, she still loves books and read to Rory every night, she still makes the best tortellini soup and sourdough pancakes on the planet. She still sends me home with homemade jams and cinnamon raisin bread, and she still has impeccable taste. On that note, I think every time I'm there I find a new piece of timeless furniture I love and haven't noticed before. 

We went home because i needed my people. And I needed them to know my baby. We moved when Rory was just three weeks old and with everything happening in my own family, we haven't come back for more than a few days for funerals in over a year. So these people who came to my graduations and made me dinner more times than I can count and were in the temple on my wedding day didn't know this tiny person who made me a mom. And I just couldn't live with that for another year; so I went home. 

Because I went home, I will always chuckle thinking of Rory jumping off the couch onto Uncle Ty's lap yelling "Uncle Pie!", and I will always remember bathing my baby in the claw footed tub where grandma used to bathe me, and I will remember Rory asking for weeks and weeks after (ok, she's still asking) if we could "go to California mommy". I will remember how sweetly she asked if she could help grandma put flowers on grandpa's grave in my favorite sweet little cemetery, and how much she obsessed over her cousins (especially baby Ruth: pronounced Roof). There's just something about being home that grounds me and reminds me what I actually want and who I want to be. So for today we will keep chugging along from far away grateful that there's always holidays and eternities where we get to be with all our people. If you have a chance-- (even if that chance involves 13 hours of driving by yourself with a toddler) go home.

Our first Christmas home

How it got to be February I'm unsure. But all I know is I don't want time to keep going by without documenting the Christmas of 2016. We hosted Christmas and somehow made enough room for all 10 bodies to sleep in beds and be generally comfortable (aside from that nasty flu that hit 8 of us, of course). It was more of a magical Christmas than we could have reasonably hoped for. We woke up to piles of snow and happy babies, took said babies to church in their Christmas nightgowns, ate our traditional creamed eggs breakfast, and opened presents lazily all through the afternoon. Rory happily chomped on the mints from her stocking and wore her new mittens and glittery kitten shoes the better part of the afternoon. If you don't get through all the pictures at least scroll down to the last. She's my favorite. 

As for this blog in the new year, I have a lot I have floating in my brain that is itching to be written. Some of it scary, some of it mundane. But write I will. It's my goal to write some of my more vulnerable, scary narratives this year. For no reason aside from that my heart somehow itches to write them down. It's a hankering I'm not sure how to explain. 

Sometimes during the day my brain will latch onto a thought and write in paragraph form. And I let them go unwritten more often than I like to admit. So here's to putting yourself out there with abandon. If a million people or no people read, I think it's good practice not to care.