The final birth story

It's been ten days and six minutes since my son was born.

It did not happen how I was hoping, but it happened. He's here, and he's beautiful. He's also the calmest baby I have had, and that's saying something because my babies have historically (both? :P) been pretty chill.

OK, no more avoiding. Time to dive in.

I felt the first contractions shortly after my doctor's visit, around 3pm on Wednesday the 7th. They were very light, just some cramping. But they kept happening, each one bringing a flutter of excitement, although I tried to calm myself, aware that they could stop at any moment and either way it was probably a long journey ahead. Trailing four little ones, I walked to a small park near my friend's place and let them play while I paced. Sure enough, mild contractions every 5-10 minutes. I was sure around 4:00, and counted my labour beginning there. Called people, got all excited, and went home to be unusually grumpy with my children until my wonderful cousin came to help distract them.

Nothing much happened that night. I went for a long walk, contractions shortened to every five minutes. I sat down, then lengthened to every ten to fifteen. I walked, and walked, and finally decided to sleep. Contractions stretched to every twenty minutes, then dropped off almost entirely, giving me two stretches of about an hour and a half, before picking up to every twenty minutes, then around 4am they became consistent ten minute intervals. I thought that was it, the baby would be making an appearance today.

I got up and walked again. Walked, and walked. Had a couple much stronger contractions, had the consistent every 3 - 5 minutes. Picked some mushrooms, got home and sat down, they stretched out to 7 - 10 minutes.

Eleah came to get me that morning, after I walked for another hour or so, and we visited some thrift stores and then went for another power walk. We hit steady 3 minute intervals while I was walking, but 5 - 7 minutes apart when I was sitting, or if I'd recently been sitting. Finally I was sick of it and we headed to the hospital to check my progress. God knew what He was doing, because at that time in the afternoon, they were sending women all the way to Burnaby, because all the spaces were full. Lots of babies born that day! By now I'd been in labour by my reckoning for 22 hours. *sigh*

The nurse was optimistic, I was technically no closer to a baby than I'd been 24 hours before at my appointment, but she said things looked favorable, and she was expecting to see me soon.

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Thus my original post ends. This entire experience was very difficult for me, and I have not, in 3 years, brought myself to complete this blog post. The story is simple enough, but I have a history of avoiding unpleasant emotions, and they well up in me as I write already Fear, shame at the state of myself, (although I know I wasn't at fault), and some disappointment that my final labour went so poorly, and that I hadn't the presence of mind to request the tubal removal while there, and ended up back in hospital in 6 months for an operation that would not have been necessary, had I thought to expect a C. The following will be more vague, but I appreciate myself for writing the above.
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We walked all afternoon. Grocery shopped, hit Mill Lake Park, walked and walked. I was determined to walk this baby out of me. I don't remember if I ate, but I have the strangest feeling I had a sandwich? As the evening approached, we found ourselves at the hospital. I sent Eleah home, assuring her I would text both her and Phil as soon as something changed. The nurse there checked me over, and said again that I was close but not ready to be admitted. It sounded dishearteningly like the previous visit, now 3.5 hours ago. This nurse though was fun and friendly, making jokes. She gave me a sweep and sent me on my way.

Walking up and down the hill on the side of the hospital in the dark, I stopped tracking them. The night was beautiful and I came to a place of odd calm, probably at least in part due to my lack of sleep. Contractions came and went, but nothing changed. I walked. I took a picture of the moon, which was full, or was close enough that my simple thoughts believed it so. The light of the hospital was pretty. The stars were pretty, and the clouds drifting past them. Little ones. I remember thinking I could hardly feel my legs from all the walking and that maybe that would make "real" labour easier.

It was almost 9pm that I went back up for another sweep. 28 hours. We smiled at each other, and I told her I knew we were almost there, because I'd almost hurled. One more sweep and she sent me on my way.

I made it outside the hospital before I puked, thank God! I've never been happier to see regurgitated food in my life, and who cares who saw me puke in the garden bed, I'm at a freaking hospital and obviously preggers. Here we go baby! Stage 2 labour here we come!

I texted the pertinent people as I made my way up to triage. The contractions were stopping me now, and I had to ask for a dish when I got there, but oddly I don't remember puking again. I don't know if it's just blocked out, or if it's because things were different this time.

They were different. My last labours were characterized by self-deprecating humour, lame puns and jokes between puking in dishes. Obviously I got the point where talking sucked and I was crazy grumpy, but for the beginning hour or two of stage 2 I was still all there. This time I couldn't talk. Even between. I was crying already as I saw that Phil had texted me back, I hardly heard the nurse when she told me to follow her from the triage to a room. I don't remember getting to the room.

I remember being on the bed. I remember I wasn't wearing anything, and I didn't care. Was I in a gown? I remember them asking me to move, and thinking how? How do I move right now? "We can't hear baby, you need to turn" I turned.

That part is all a blur. I knew Phil was there, I knew when Eleah showed up, but I couldn't open my eyes. I don't know now if I had moments of ease, if I did manage to smile at them, attempt a joke or a welcome. I don't remember, it's all been overcome with memories of pain, and blackness.

I was screaming. Not high-pitched, but a loud, monotonous cry. I remember it coming from me, and I didn't know how to stop it; didn't care. Our pastor's daughter had just finished her labour. She and her mom told me they heard me being wheeled past.

The words: "Baby's crashing."
The bed moving, quickly.
"Doctor, we don't have consent!"
"We don't have time for that."
"...I consent...: It was a hoarse croak, but he heard me.
"Rebekah consents, now let's go!"

The next thing I remember, I was opening my eyes in an unfamiliar place. The NiCU? I don't know, I don't think so... I just remember one room with three incubators, two empty. One held my baby. A boy, and he was doing fine, needed no intervention. My sister-in-law had made it out, and been able to take some amazing pictures. Lee and Phil were both there, both happy to see me OK. I wonder now if I must have woken up earlier and been brought there, but I only remember being there with everyone. They handed him to me, and he ate. He was so perfect, and I knew, with a deep and profound sense of satisfaction, that I was done.

My cousin found me the next day with a gift and some information, she worked in the lab. They were doing tests on the placenta, but there was never an explanation. It had calcified, which usually happened when someone was overdue, which we were not (except by 3 days, once all was over). It was tearing apart inside of me.

Apparently one nurse was in tears. They had him out 4 minutes after the doors closed to the ER. I was under a general anesthetic because I only spent about 30 minutes in 2nd stage labour, so there was no time to get tired and ask for an Epidural. The recovery was longer this time, I assume that completely exhausting myself had a little to do with that. The entire labour time clocked in at 30 hours.

Asher David Isaiah Duprey, 7lb 2oz was born at 9:59, October 9, which I think was a nod from him to my original plan. I'd wanted him either on the 8th so I'd have an 8, 18 and 28, or on the 10th so he'd be 10/10/14. Little rebel. His name means "Happy/blessed" and every Thanksgiving I know that I have something to especially be happy about, blessed by, and thankful for.

D Day, final edition....

So this is my last due date.

I think we are ready.... we have car seat, snap and go stroller, bigger stroller, double stroller, swoopy bouncy-chair for sleeping beside my bed, playpen for sleeping in big sibs' room once we have him down through the night, I have wraps for wearing and swaddling and clothes and a hospital bag all ready that even includes some things for me... although I didn't think of a change of real clothes, I should pack that. And a toothbrush.  Oops. maybe shampoo? so not quite ready...

I have a team of people on standby to step in and cover my littles while I'm in the hospital, and I even have up to two sisters and a friend willing to come and keep me company during labour, depending on the timing of everything. I can crack lame jokes at them between vomiting, it'll be like a party!

I'm doing this for the last time, and it feels as good as it does sad. My emotions occasionally well up in my throat, but I just remind myself that I'm not going to be waddling again, or violently turning from smells and food, or wincing as I get out of a car and get back into a car, or sit or stand or walk... It's nice that at this highly hormonal time, the worst aspects are the freshest, so I'm not so easily upset over my truly final trimester of pregnancy.

And while there are many things I won't miss, I know of the things I will miss, and I've been doing my best to cherish them. kicks and wiggles, but also the smiles of other people when I go out... the world is such a friendly place when you are an obviously pregnant woman. People hold doors readily, and offer to carry things, smile in sympathy when your 2yr old outruns you, rather than frowning with concern. They smile all the time, in fact. Every time someone catches your eye, they smile, acknowledging the "glow" that generally manifests in aches and pains, but we need to celebrate it somehow! I like that smile. I'll miss this friendly world, although having a tiny infant with me will extend many of those smiles for a good long time.

Today's quest: Take the kids for a good long walk/bike ride, tidy the house, finish packing my hospital bag apparently, and write out simple bedtime routine for sitters. I have a few worksheets to finish with Rosie, but other than that we've done our homeschooling things already :) tutoring tonight... a regular day, which seems dissonant when I think of how long I've been anticipating this specific date. It's finally October 6th. Wow.

Contents under pressure

I feel HUGE! And I know that's horrible, because everyone keeps saying how small I am, but this little tyrant is growing in there, because I feel like I'm going to burst, and not in that good, downward-motion, labour-ready way... I just feel like I'm about to split at the seams. At any moment!

Today I somehow managed to grocery shop, put in/switch three loads of laundry, and drive hither and thither, again and again AND I arranged my storage room and closet downstairs. Thank God I rethought my original plan to empty the medium-height but definitely sturdy cabinet and move it into the corner... I think that would have been a bad, bad plan.

Heave.... Pop!

:P Asher is very active. I'm very tired. Micah is very active. I'm very tired. Thank God Rosie is a little more chill, and that I was lent Micah's idol to entertain him for a good part of the afternoon... "My Yanna!!" may well be his favorite person in the world right now. She keeps charming him, and today they kissed in the shopping cart... it was too cute. I'm losing my little boy already! Good thing I like her family ;) I wonder when he'll realize that's she's 16 months older than him, and if that will ever matter...

Anyway, now that I truly feel hit with pregnancy, FINALLY some might say, it's not just the stretched-to-the-limit, exhausted and sore feeling, it's also cravings. Last night I had some leftover stir-fry veggies at a friend's house, and I luxuriated in them! I ate them cold from the fridge (not unusual for me) and I finished off all of them, which must have been about 4 or 5 servings.... strangest thing was there was pizza in the fridge and I had no interest whatsoever. All I wanted were those veggies, and they were delicious.

Of course, I enjoyed the cheesecake afterwards very much as well... but man, VEGGIES! And then I ate the cheesecake really quickly, which is so not like me. I'm laughing how pregnant I am right now, and it's so close to the end! Two weeks yesterday. Nuts!

I'm excited for it to be over, and I'm relishing every kick and alien-esque undulation (except the ones that make me gasp in pain, not sure what he catches exactly, but sometimes it really hurts!) and I'm still kinda thinking that the 8th would be perfect, fitting in with Rosie's Nov. 18 and Micah's March 28. Two days isn't too long to wait after a due date, and it would just match so well. I know he'll fit in no matter what though, this baby was made just for us. <3 and="" br="" cuddle="" get="" him="" i="" m="" soon="" the="" thrilled="" to="" toes="">

The end is near...

I'm 37 weeks along.
And have not posted here nearly as much as I want to or should have... There are excuses. My laptop keyboard, ravaged by children, was uncomfortable to type on, until it died recently. My spring and summer seem to be a series of children being sick, followed by life being busy, then I get sick, then the children, then vacation, then me n the kids sick again, then busy some more. And so this blog has been floating in the lake of intention that seems only to grow on the edge of my day-to-day life....

It's nice sometimes to scoop a bucket or two out of the lake and water my conscience.

Asher David Isaiah... I've felt him moving since 15 weeks. He's not shown any preference for or notice of music, unlike his siblings when they were in the womb, but he tends to wake up when I'm telling or reading the kids a story. I think he especially likes it when I make silly voices... or maybe I'm misinterpreting. It's possible that he doesn't like it, and he's actually protesting. Violently. In the only way he knows how. "MOM!!! Stop it, that's embarrassing!"

He wakes up every night around 10:00 or so, and we play with him. Phil especially likes to poke and prod, and he obligingly pushes back. I love how responsive Asher is... when we are poking at him he freezes, and then if you wait a moment or two, when all is quiet, he experimentally reaches out and pushes, as if checking to see if someone is really out there.

Makes me think of the picture with unborn twins, one says "Do you really believe in a 'mom'?" the other replies "Yes! I don't know how, but I'm convinced there is life after birth."

Micah and Rosie take very much delight in pestering their baby, and often fight over hand-space on my belly (which really isn't necessary, there's belly to go around!) Rosie commonly asks throughout the day if we can wake Asher up and play with him, and Micah never fails to smile and find my belly if someone mentions baby. "A-Her, my baby A-Her" he says. They are more than thrilled to welcome this little one. Rosie told me today "Mama, when I Asher comes out and I'm grown up, Micah and I will babysit him and you can sleep as much as you want." I hadn't the heart to remind her that Asher would be growing up along with them. I just smiled and said that would be lovely.

Sleep. And food. ah, bliss, what more can I say? Lately they are all I want. The moment I wake I want to be sleeping again, and when I'm finished eating I wonder if there's anything else delicious around... there's nothing in particular I crave, and my weight is still up and down... I'm within 15 lbs of my pre-pregnancy weight still, but I'm not losing weight consistently anymore. Most of my last dr. visits have shown me gaining. Still I think when all's said and done I'll be at my thinnest after he's born, especially if he eats and grows like his siblings did.

 I'm sore, and beginning to waddle when I'm not careful and/or completely exhausted. Did I mention sore? Nothing unusual... just achy by the end of the day from occasionally carrying around my 35+lb 2 year old... Otherwise things are going well. Asher is head down, ready for October 6 or somewhere around then, and I'm more excited and nervous every day. Bring it on, baby, bring it on.

(picture of me at 30 weeks, getting more recent ones soon)

Born to be...

I've been thinking lots lately about this being our final baby. We know we are happy with three of our own, and I know I don't want to be pregnant a fourth time... but I don't feel like my family is complete. Not really, I feel like God's going to be sending more... sooner or later. Little ones with lighter or darker skin, with someone else's eyes and genes... but there will be more.

And I wonder if I really am crazy.

You see, I always felt that I was born to be a mom. Whenever people asked me what I wanted to do, I came up with something more impressive. Usually acting or writing or nanny-ing... I told my best friend once when I was 12 that I just wanted to be a mom. He said I was crazy. (He didn't want kids) Maybe I am, but it's what I wanted, from about my tenth or eleventh year. I read my first parenting book when I was eleven, and I planned lists of what I would and wouldn't do with my children... I know most little girls did the "name game" when they were six and seven, like me... imagining what I would name them. My favorites were twins. I wanted at least two sets, and used to come up with the "best" names for them... Stephen and Stephanie, Eric and Erica, yes, I was exactly that lame.

Not much has changed, I'm still lame. And I'm still dreaming of my family getting bigger. Not just through Asher, but also fostering. I feel like this is my calling: kids, chaos, learning and teaching... I feel like God designed me and raised me for it. Like he sent me a husband just outside the box enough to go along with it, one who needs the challenge and finds that he unexpectedly loves the experience. But whenever I try to express this, I feel my own niggling doubts. I hear myself starting to say that it's who I'm meant to be, and it sounds pretentious. It sounds downright arrogant even! I shy away from owning this life calling, motherhood and nurturing, because to speak it out loud gives the impression that I am somehow amazing at it. Or that I think I am.

I have no illusions. I'm not.

I can barely have my counters wiped and all the dishes done each 24 - 48 hours.
I routinely forget to do laundry for over a week and then have to play catch-up and inevitably re-wash the load that I've left mildewing in the machine for the second or third time.
I vacuum once a week, except when I don't.
My kids usually get lots of fresh veggies and balanced meals, but sometimes it's McDonalds, or chicken nuggets from the oven with micro-waved frozen peas.
I haven't baked a loaf of bread in two months.
The other day I screamed over Micah when he was blasting my eardrums, shocking him into silence, then proceeded to close him in the guest room with some toys that he ignored, so I could have two minutes to finish my tutoring assessment.

So why motherhood?

My cousin recently shared a writer's perspective on trying to write in the midst of the chaos of life and motherhood. She did it because she had to, because if she didn't, it would always be there, straining to burst out of her. One of my best friends is a writer, and she's shared that sentiment with me in various ways, again and again through the years of waiting, of disappointment, of rewrites and criticism and tearing it apart over and over again. No matter how she wanted to stop, she couldn't.

I'm not that kind of a writer, but I think I am that kind of a mother. I know in my heart that I have love, and yes, even skills, that other kids need. That God can and will use. Could he use them in other ways? probably. I'm tutoring right now, and I know I'm making a difference in the lives of these boys. I know I have in the past and will again affect children for good, even if they never enter my home. I want to counsel someday, when I'm a little older. That will be good too, I think.

But fostering... I can't shake it. Can't get it out of my head. It's what I feel will burst from me if I don't work toward it. Even just baby steps, knowing I'm on my way, gives me a sense of calm. Thinking about how long I've waited and how much longer the waitlist is stirs quiet desperation that I need to just pray away. I will do this, I have to.

I wonder about my little ones, will they feel cheated? The answer is probably yes. But as I look back at my own childhood and see how living in a busy foster home shaped me, the good and the bad, I want that for my kids. I'll do my best to avoid the bad, of course, but that's never entirely possible, no matter who you are or what kind of home you run. There will always be bad, reasons for resentment and hurts that your babies will hold onto as they grow up. All parents are human, thus bound to make mistakes. I don't know if it will be 'worse' because of the path I choose, but I think, what if that bad is for a really good cause? Might that elevate it a little?

I'm born to be a mom. Not a "great" mom, not one who has it all together, or takes everything in stride and comes out on the other side with her hair intact and her kids perfectly dressed as they all play with homemade playdough after baking cookies and completing a Pinterest project. But I'm born to have these babies, and to hold more and love more, and maybe straighten out some twists and untie some knots in the lives of a few little ones who come and go before I see any results. I'm born to deal with extreme behaviors, be spat on without flinching and ignore pinches and slaps while I look at the bigger issue. I can do that. Most of it will wait till my kids are older and won't be as affected, but I can do it. I was born to do it, and with God's help I will. Someday.

Another son....

I'm not going to pretend. I was a little bit disappointed when I heard it was a boy. He's going to be amazing, I know, and I always wanted boys... but there was something about having another baby girl to dress and having a little one named Lilly to go with my Rose....

That's what I get for over-imagining the future! I set myself up.

Let it go... and instead, welcome another little man. Another slightly olive-skinned heartbreaker, with deep brown eyes and sweet, soft hair. A little guy to wear the skulls n snakes my mom so dislikes, and I for some reason can't get enough of on a tot. I little man to wrestle with his brother and confound his sister... who knows? This one might be a gamer, he might be an introvert, he might be a poet or a dreamer, he might take after his Pepere and be a serious little mite, or take after his sister and I and be more unpredictable. I wonder if he'll love sports and cars and motorcycles like Micah already does... or if he'll be artistic or shy... he can and will be anyone.

He's kicking me as I write and I can only smile. He won't be anyone. He's going to be himself; a blend of us and our families that produces something new, a never-before-known person. He might be an Asher, or a Malachi, but whoever he is, he will be loved. And overwhelmed by his siblings. And dedicated to the Father of creation. And encouraged to really LIVE as himself, embracing all he loves and all God made him to be, and using everything to serve others and serve The Lord, living a life as full as we can encourage him to live. He will play in the sunshine and splash in the tub, he will laugh and love and make friends, and he will complete our family. At least till God sends me other people's babies to love. Then he will learn to love them along with the rest of us, and we will all move ahead together.

It seems fitting that in this week full of sun, I've learned that I will have, and anticipate having, another son. Bring it on! Summer fun, September homeschooling, October baby boy!

19 weeks already??

This is me at 18 weeks... apparently baby nearly doubles in size between 17 and 20 weeks. I can definitely tell!

I've been feeling flutters since about 15 weeks, but it wasn't till almost 18 that I'd say I could feel full-fledged kicks... awake times are at night (typical baby!) and also during church I felt quite a bit of movement yesterday, looks like I have a third involuntary dancer on my hands. Yay!

I'm 19 weeks now, and feeling quite neglectful of this poor blog... I'm wondering if I'll even hit 25 entries this time... that's my goal with each pregnancy.

Mother's day.... sure feels special when you are pregnant... I had my little mothers' day gift with me all day long. God is so good to us!

My Nausea has totally calmed, except when I have a bad taste in my mouth (like after I eat cereal and before I brush my teeth) or when I'm very hungry. It was kind of a kick in the pants that my worst two weeks of nausea were weeks 14 and 15.... right when everything was supposed to be clearing up! We made it through, however, and I'm proud to announce (so far) my second vomit-free pregnancy!! I know I'll more than account for that during the delivery, but for now I get to relax and enjoy the ride.

I'm tired all the time, but I'm sure that comes from having two other active little ones, and too much to do. My schedule has calmed now without papers (BIG sigh of relief) but I've taken on more tutoring, and I'm hoping to also do some writing for a friend.

The most exciting thing this week is that my ultrasound is THIS MORNING!!! I've double and triple checked the time, and I'm gearing up to drink about half the water they recommend (there's no way I can drink a litre of water, it's nearly impossible even when I'm not pregnant!) and go find out the sex of my baby! Well, I might not find out this morning, but my sweet doctor has given me his cell number so I can text him and ask near the end of the day.... oh how will I wait until 4pm? He did say that often the techs have been giving parents hints, and he's had quite a few show up already knowing.... here's hoping I get one of those techs! The one in Ontario just told us outright, but I understand why they're a little more cagey here.

Micah and Rosie are as transfixed as ever by all the babies at church, and Micah's playing with dolls enthusiastically, tucking them in and rocking them and giving them bottles. Not to the exclusion of much else, or for any prolonged periods of time (he is a boy), but he does love them. I think we have two great big siblings gearing up! And with their best friends about to officially have their little sister home, Rosie and Micah will have some great examples, and maybe even a little practice.

This little family is thrilled!!