90/10

It's maybe not a great idea to blog in the midst of my Baby Blues. But I want to be honest about this time in my life. As great a thing as euphoric recall is, I don't want to look back and think, "Oh, having a newborn is nothing but PERFECTION!" Because...it IS perfection...plus or minus a whole lot of hormones. 

90% of the time I'm doing great. Because Derek's mom was able to be here the first few days, and Derek has been home since, I've actually been extremely well rested compared to most new moms. Yes the baby gets up every hour or two during the night...and sometimes he STAYS up for an hour or two in the middle of the night...but I've been able to take plenty of naps. And actually, the last few nights, Kimball has given me several 3 hour stretches. Those have been heavenly! 

Having Dee Ann here helped in more ways than just getting naps. Twice I took Kimball to her in the middle of the night when I couldn't get him back to sleep for a while. All day long she cooked and cleaned and shopped for us and played with Palmer. She is a saint, and I don't know what we would have done without her!

The night before Dee Ann left, Austin came up. He got to stay until Monday morning, and that was a huge help too. Everyone--including himself--was worried that having so many visitors would be too stressful for me, and while it is a little stressful to have company, it does me so much good. Feeling like people want to celebrate this monumentally special event with us just boosts my heart, and Austin is some of the best company there is. We had such a fun weekend hanging out with him and I'm so grateful he came. 

My recovery has gone really smoothly for the most part and I feel great. I was actually shocked at how well it's gone because I felt like it wasn't even bad the first time around--and this time it's going better AND faster!

Palmer has done even better than expected. He loves his little brother and beams with pride every time he holds him. He's constantly fetching binkies and blankies and alerting us when he cries (and only occasionally throwing balls "to" the baby's face...). He doesn't seem to be jealous at all, and has even done really great with his normal naps and bedtime for the most part--although we've had a bad night here or there. He's doing awesome, and I'm so proud. 

And I feel like I was so much more prepared this time around. More prepared for the lack of sleep, yes, and for the constant feedings and oh-so-necessary burpings and diaper changes, but even more I feel grateful that I kind of knew what to expect when it came to baby blues, as opposed to being blindsided by it like I was with Palmer. That knowledge has definitely come in handy. 

But...

Then there's the other 10% of the time. 

10% of the time, my body is completely exhausted from what it just went through and the effort it's exerting to heal itself. (By the way, after-pains are no joke. I know my labors are atypical in their progression and relative painlessness--so maybe this is revenge?--but the after-pains for the first three days as my uterus contracted back down were so much worse than the contractions during either of my labors! For those few days I HAD to have a heating pad on my back and ice on my stomach every single time I nursed, and once I actually burst into sobs because the pain was so bad I almost threw up. Luckily they've finally subsided. But what the devil.) And nursing hurts. And even though I'm doing GREAT comparatively...I did just have a baby. My body isn't exactly in perfect working order, and that's hard. 

10% of the time I'm filled with guilt and stress over my boys. Palmer may be doing awesome with this whole change--but I'm not. I expected him to be a little needy and constantly wanting my attention, but instead he seems less interested in my company than ever before. I have to beg him to sit and read with me, and the only cuddling I get in is when he's already passed out for the night or we're watching some Little Einsteins. The hormones have made this really difficult--I've shed countless tears over the "loss" of our special relationship, even though I actually know that things will be fine and that we'll find our new rhythm soon. I know these things. But it doesn't stop me from hurting. 

I've also felt an incredible amount of guilt and worry over the fact that my bond with Kimball wasn't as instantaneous as with Palmer. I always thought that when my second child was born I would automatically understand how it is that you can love two children equally, despite the fact that you've had two years of loving just the one, more than you love anything in the world. And...I was wrong. That understanding hasn't been automatic for me. It's been confusing. I've really struggled with the difference in their births as well as their first days of life. When Palmer was born, all the emotions were intense and extreme. Lots of HIGHs, and lots of LOWs. With Kimball, everything has been more in the middle of the spectrum. This has been good because the lows haven't been as bad...but I feel guilty that the highs haven't been as high, either. Everything is just calm, and smooth--which sounds ideal! And yet it depresses me sometimes. 

And then there are the random thoughts and fears and worries, that I always know right away are due to hormones. Knowing helps--it really does--but it doesn't make the fears feel any less real. I worry about always being lonely. About always being depressed. About feeling like the day-in and day-out of caring for little children is pointless. I worry about how this is going to be my whole life...and then I worry because I know it won't. Someday this will be over, and then what purpose will I have? I worry about just plain old boredom, which I know from experience is sometimes the plague of a SAHM. I worry about how bad days are inevitable. 

But keep in mind--this is just the 10%. When it comes, I pray. And then I talk to Derek. I cry. I express my concerns. And he comforts me, and I realize why I don't really need to worry about any of those things. And I move on. 

I've also learned to combat it in small ways. While righteous living by no means makes us exempt from hard times, depression, etc., I know that the spirit can still do a LOT for us in the midst of those experiences. On the days when I begin with a prayer, listen to a talk, read the scriptures, turn off the tv and turn on the Mormon Channel for my entertainment, I do so so much better. Having the spirit in my home is a protection against these bad moments for me. It makes them less frequent and less impactful. It doesn't make them disappear. But it makes them bearable. 

This is life during the postpartum period. I told Derek last night that I'd like to make it through just one day without crying. I know I will soon. And I'm grateful to be living a 90/10 life and not a 50/50...or a 10/90. To all my friends who have struggled with depression, postpartum or otherwise, my heart goes out to you. I pray for your healing and happiness. Also...this should help:

Kimball's Birth Story

I think I'm breaking all sorts of records by posting this just ONE WEEK after Kimball's birth! The truth is that I kind of feel like there's not much to tell, but I want to tell it anyways. Blogging is ever-increasingly my only form of journaling, and writing has always helped me process things. So I wanted to come here and share my thoughts on my sweet boy's birth. 

I have to start by saying that I'm still working on accepting Kimball's birth for what it was, and not being sad about what it wasn't. It wasn't the same as Palmer's birth. And that fact has gnawed at me a little, because Palmer's birth was so perfect. I had hoped for the same feelings to be there this time around, but the fact is that it was different. 

I'll start with the "stats". At 36 weeks I was 70% effaced and dilated to a 2. At 37 weeks I had progressed to a 4 and was 90% effaced. As with my first pregnancy, all of this was happening without me feeling any painful contractions. This is such a huge blessing, but the downside to it--and to the fact that I was induced with Palmer--is that I had no idea what to expect out of labor. I didn't know if I would go into labor that day or be sitting at a 4 for the next three weeks. Either was possible. But as anxious as I was to have he baby and have the pregnancy be OVER, there were conflicts. Derek was still in school and would be pretty much until my due date. His mom was in Connecticut, my mom was camping, and our in-town babysitters were out of town! So I was told not to have the baby, basically every day for the next two weeks. At 38 weeks I hadn't progressed at all and although that isn't unheard of by any means, I truly believe it was only because we were praying this baby in. But I had a feeling--and so did Derek--that he would make an appearance at the beginning of the next week. 

At my 39 week appointment I was 5.5 centimeters dilated, and the amniotic sac was bulging, ready to burst. Still hadn't felt a thing, other than frequent Braxton Hicks (non-painful) contractions. My doctor told me to be ready for anything--and not to wait an hour before going to the hospital if my water broke or if I started having contractions. 

That night around 9:30 I felt like my BH contractions were getting even closer together, so I timed them for a couple hours. They went something like 3 minutes, 7 minutes, 2 minutes, 10 minutes. Around 11:00 they started to become really uncomfortable, but only every thirty minutes or so. At 12:30 I decided that if I had three more "painful" ones within the next half hour, I would wake Derek up and see what he thought about going to the hospital. Those three contractions came roughly nine and a half minutes apart, barely making my deadline. When I woke Derek up we decided to call our babysitters and go. 

As Derek got things ready, I went into Papmer's room, picked him up out of his crib, and rocked him one "last" time, before things changed. It was really emotional for me, and Derek came in to find me sobbing that I still wasn't ready. He comforted me and I put Palmer back in his bed, and we headed off to the hospital. 

Truthfully, I felt stupid as we drove through town. My contractions had slowed down again and I was 90% sure that we'd get there and they'd tell me that nothing had changed and I was just another woman who'd gone in for false labor. 

The sweet nurse who checked me said I was still at a 5.5, but that I was having contractions much more frequently than I thought--I just wasn't noticing because they weren't painful, except every twenty minutes or so. She called my doctor and he told her to have me walk around for an hour before admitting me. 

So here I am, "trying to walk it off" as a funny old man in the hallway commented:

Also, yes, I'm huge, and yes, Kimball was sitting LOW. Every nurse who checked me had to comment on that and wondered how on earth my water hadn't broken yet. 

After an hour of walking--and snacking, thanks to Derek's McDonald's run--I was at a 6, and officially admitted to the hospital. 

Paperwork and getting settled in a delivery room took us to 5:30 am and 8 centimeters. I had had a few majorly painful contractions by this point, albeit fifteen to twenty minutes apart, and so I requested my epidural. I got it around 6:20. 

The post-epidural glow. Hospital lighting may also have had something to do with it. 

My doctor was slated to come break my water around 7:00 but actually didn't make it until 7:40. The epidural had (predictably) slowed things down a little, so I wasn't much past an 8. I continued to rest as well as I could over the next hour or so, and then my nurse said, "Um, I think it's time." She seemed in a rush, but my epidural was working so well that I could barely feel the pressure of Kimball bearing down. Luckily my doctor made it in plenty of time, and as soon as he sat down I started to push. 

Pushing this time around was so different. Everyone was confident that it would only take me a few pushes and we'd be done. But my epidural was stronger than with Palmer, and it was harder for me to gauge things. I actually had to watch the monitors for my contractions so I would know when to push, and my contractions were still very inconsistent. I was doing really well though, and my doctor said, "One more push and we're there!"...and then I didn't have another contraction for SEVEN minutes. It was so strange and honestly, awkward. Everyone was just...waiting. We had to make small talk. Small talk during the delivery of your child is very weird. But eventually the contraction came, I used all the strength I had in my "haven't slept in over 24 hrs" body, and Kimball--my boy with THICK, BROWN HAIR--was here. 

Madison Memorial is a great hospital, and they immediately set him on my stomach for skin to skin as they cleared his airways, cut the cord, and cleaned him up a little. I had some tearing, right over my scar from Palmer's birth, so Dr. Watson stitched me up while we cooed at Kimball and marveled at his size. 

So now we come to my thoughts on his birth. I've been processing all week. The truth is, I have so much to be grateful for. Kimball's birth was relatively painless. The entire experience was calm and peaceful. And most importantly, my beautiful boy got here without any complications, whole and perfect. What more could I ask for, really?

I think we have a tendency in our society to glorify birth just a little too much. Don't get me wrong--it is absolutely the most beautiful thing I've ever been through. It's incredible. There is so much that goes into this experience--so much feeling, so much work, so much spirit. 

But birth--like motherhood--was never meant to be nice and neat and perfect. In some ways it is perfect--and I can't think of anything more perfect than Palmer's birth, so I have a hard time not comparing the two. But I think we do ourselves no favors by setting up enormous expectations for our labor and delivery experience. It's easy for me to blame the natural birth "community" for this--and please don't hate me for saying that. Natural birth has become more appealing to me than ever in the last few months, and don't be surprised if I go that route with my next. But I find it's often the natural birth "junkies" who are the proponents of the idea that birth must be on our terms, that everything must point to this moment and that this moment must be our crowning glory (pardon the terminology). 

In an ideal world, it would be. But what about the women who end up with emergency c-sections? What about the woman whose baby is born with a terrifyingly low pulse, or an inability to aspirate immediately? Or the woman who hemorrhages so badly that they have to immediately attend to her and she doesn't get to hold her baby for hours? I think by setting up all these expectations for a beautiful birth, we really hurt the mothers who don't get that. They spiral into postpartum depression because from the moment their baby came, things just didn't. go. right. 

I was dissatisfied by the lack of focus in the delivery room. I was surprised to not feel my heart about to burst with love for him, the way it was with Palmer. We didn't cry. We kind of just said, "Hey, little guy! You're here!" I was disappointed and confused that it wasn't an ultra-spiritual experience. 

I think the fact that I had been praying every day not to have this baby yet--that Derek was so stressed in the last few weeks before he came--and that I still didn't really believe I was in labor when we left my house that night all played into my feelings that morning. I also think that I expected to be struck with awe at the miracle of childbirth like I was the first time--and as beautiful and great as it all was, it didn't AMAZE me the way I thought it would. 

But as time passed that day, and in all the days since, my love for Kimball has really blossomed. And I think I needed to have this experience so that I could sympathize, on some small level at least, with all the women whose births didn't go as planned, and who didn't feel an instant connection to their baby, and who felt incredibly guilty about all of that. 

Don't you worry though--Kimball has stolen my heart. He is growing on me, every single minute. I love this dear little boy and feel so complete with him in our family. It doesn't matter how he got here--he's here and he's ours and he's perfect. What more could I ask for?

To Palmer

I snuck into your room to hold you one last time before everything changed. 

Truth be told I've been doing this a lot lately. My heart has ached during this pregnancy to know the changes that we're facing. I've never had a doubt that you would be the best big brother in the world. But I have to acknowledge that we're losing something here--even though we're gaining so much more. 

I want you to know. I want you to know that my love for you is so unique. It has filled my heart for these 22 months. No one else has shared it. We have such a special bond, and I'm scared that when you grow up you won't know how crazy I am about you. I'm scared you won't know that you are special to me in a way that no one else ever can be. 

I know that I'll love all my children equally. And sometimes that's actually what bothers me. How could I ever love someone as much as I love you? It wouldn't be right. I've come to realize that my love for each of my children will be individual. It will be equal, but it will be different. 

So instead of saying I love you most, I have to say I love you different. 

But before he comes...I still get to say I love you most. So I've taken every opportunity I can lately to do that. I've ended every day hoping I'd have just one more day with just the two of us. And I've snuck into your room countless times to hold you and tell you that you're my baby, and that I love you more than you'll ever know. 

And this was the last time. When my contractions started picking up at 1:00 in the morning, I had your dad call the babysitters and finish packing our suitcases. I pulled you out of your crib and into my arms and I held you and just sobbed for the next twenty minutes. I just kept thinking, "I'm still not ready. I'm not ready to lose my baby." Even though I knew I wasn't losing you...it was the end of an era. 

I suppose this all seems incredibly dramatic. Maybe it is. But I long for you to know that these two years have been the best of my life. There is a reason that you came into our family first, and part of it is that we both needed these special years together. 

Thank you, my sweet son. My sweet Palmer. Thank you for filling my life with joy. We're both losing something now, but we're gaining so much more. And even though I didn't feel ready that night, we are ready now. Our family is growing, and as it grows, our love for each other will multiply. 

And it's going to be better than we can imagine.