Final Birth Remarks

So he was born!  My husband and I tucked into the king-sized wooden framed bed (I emphasize this so as to mark the difference from a hospital gurney), and we fell asleep as dawn rose on the 4th of July.

 Here's the bed, and the fiberoptic panel of twinkling stars--there is a panel above the birthing tub as well.

We had settled on a first name, but the middle name was a hang up.  I had so many patrons I wanted to honor!  How could I choose just one?  As the days of birth drew nearer, and my need for heavenly assistance grew dearer, I honed in on one word: Mercy.  (You probably got that by now:)).

"O Clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary", I would pray at the end of our family rosary.

"Clement".  It means "merciful".  The Year of Mercy, the hour of mercy.  In honor of His Mercy and all of His merciful saints.  Deo Gratias!

"Two much Talking"

Eowyn:  "I love him"

(baby fussing)

Mom: "I think he wants to nurse".

Eowyn:  "I think he wants me."

The Birth of my Mercy Baby

When you're the 9th child in a family, you have NO personal space issues!

I asked my husband to pray the Divine Mercy chaplet with me as we drove to the birth center.

We arrived at the birth center at about 1am.  I was ushered with smiles to the birth room of my choice.  The rooms all have large, state-of-the-art jacuzzi tubs with "ozonators" that changes the ph of the water from 0-two to 0-three, which prevents bacteria from even being able to form.  The rooms also have fiberoptic panels on the ceilings that twinkle like stars, which serve the scientific purpose of helping the cervix dilate as your eyes dilate in the dim lighting.  Cool.

I was given a birth ball, a large glass of ice water, and a "pager" to call for anything I needed.  After checking vitals, I was left to labor in peace with my husband.

After about...30 minutes?...I was in heavy labor and ready to get in the tub.  So I got in.  I hoped it wouldn't slow things down.  My midwife said (with a twinkle in her cheery eyes) that she thought it would speed things up.  Alone again, my husband helped me labor.  I get back labor every time, so he pushed on my back with each contraction, and put a cold washcloth on my forehead after every contraction.  I asked my husband to pray the rosary with (for) me.  30 more minutes?? I was ready to push.

I usually get my babies out in two or three pushes.  Well, I pushed.  I pushed harder.  I focused and really started doing my best pushing.  I just didn't feel the descent.  I didn't feel crowning.  What the heck?!

The midwife got me handles to hold onto and push on with my feet (they suction to the tub).  Still no.  She got a rebozo blanket and had me pull against the student-in-training (bless that girl!), but my feet would slip from the handles...so, she had me turn from length-wise to width-wise in the tub (placing the foam back support behind me).  I pushed the side of the tub with my feet and I pulled with my arms against the rebozo--now he was coming!

Three more pushes?  So so hard.  So hard.

And he was out.

Then I could know: I had pushed out his arm and his head.  "Double presentation" is what they call it (and there can be triple, with both arms and the head, so it can be worse!)...and he was 9 pounds to begin with, and my kids have big heads.

But he was out.  And it was 3:28am on the 4th of July.  The Hour of Mercy.

This boy is crying now--I'll give my closing remarks in the final installment! xoxo

The Birth Story, Part I

I think the reason I needed such a "prep" to this story (see previous post) is because, like Ana, I dilate early, I dilate a lot, and I don't go into labor.  Another way of saying it is that I'm in labor for a month.   So, my story takes time to unfold (but is a fast ender).

This time I also had had a "false alarm".  I didn't blog about it (did I?) because I was totally discouraged, and of course, you kinda feel dumb.  But here's the thing--go read my #7's birth story--I've delivered at home, unattended because I had a baby so fast my midwife couldn't get here.  Fast, as in, within an hour of realizing I was really in labor.

It puts pressure on a girl.  I lay awake at night just wondering if that twinge, that hot flash, that contraction was labor.

Well, now you know it never was.  Not Saturday night when I was counting contractions 3 minutes apart for an hour before they quit and I went to bed.  And not that Sunday, either, when my sweet friend said I should try a pedicure (apparently, the pressure points on your feet are hit during a pedi, so it can really trip labor).

I was at my wits end, entirely in His Hands, and ready to call the midwife for an induction on Monday morning...except that was the 4th of July, and a holiday, so I'd have to wait until Tuesday...

except that I had begged and begged Our Lord, our Mother of Mercy, St. Maria Goretti  "Little Saint of Great Mercy", Alessandro her assassin, and then St. Anna, for mercy: please.  Please!  And I had a lot of family and friends praying for me too.

So the labor story is really short and sweet.

12:28 am July 4th, I am woken from sleep with a "popping" sensation--I caught my breath: "Could it be?"  "Oh please, Lord, yes! Please!"

I stood up--the tell-tale "leak" turned more "gush" as I tried to make my way to the bathroom.  I called breathlessly to my sleeping husband, "my water broke!"  I kept saying "oh yes, oh thank you Jesus! Thank you!"  I, cradle Catholic, made all of my born again friends proud in that moment.  I was all praise and worship!

My husband called the midwife.  I got myself as dry as possible and we hopped into the van!

Not-the-Birth Story

A Path of Mercy

Last October the major relics of St. Maria Goretti went on tour of the United States for the first time.  I blogged about that here.  I had just recovered from a miscarriage at the end of August, and brought my fertility as an intention before the relics, twice.  I didn't exactly ask for a baby, I just prayed for God's will, and the possibility of a new child, if it was His will.

The next week I found out I was pregnant.  I "knew" it was a girl, and I'd name her "Maria" in honor of St. Maria Goretti, "Little Saint of Great Mercy".   Until we found out it was a B-O-Y!  And then I was not sure what to name him!  (Alessandro? Alexander was a family name.  Something with "Maria" as a second middle name? I went around and around wanting to honor this Saint, while having a boy).

Thanksgiving hit at the peak of my nausea, and my sweet sister gave me a Christmas ornament with an angel holding a lamb, with the name "Philomena" written on the bottom.  I might have cried my way through that holiday.

Was I six or seven months pregnant when we journeyed to the southwest--a three day journey with 8 kids, our labradoodle, and this baby in utero!

My Mother-in-Law predicted June 24th, the feast of John the Baptist as the day I'd deliver.  I wrote about that here.  I thought I could use "John" as a middle name.

That day came and went, as did my due date, as did a week beyond my due date.

And I began to seriously beg God: For Mercy.  I prayed the Divine Mercy Chaplet, I meditated on the words "Jesus, I trust in You", and I tried (I tried!) to trust.

It's hard to go "overdue".  It's hard to have your membranes stripped, to try acupuncture, electronic stimulation, pumping and pressure points and walking, walking, walking, counting contractions only  to have them stop---It's all so emotionally and physically draining.  As I started in on my 42nd week, I began to lose what "cool" I had left,

In the end, there was nothing--nothing but to abandon myself to His Mercy.  And it came.  In small, beautiful consolations at first.  An encouraging word from a loving sister or friend.  A friend at church who had gone 42-weeks telling me to skip the breast pump and opt for a nap, a bath, and a pedicure (God bless that woman!).  And a text from my Mother-in-Law telling me that her priest told her to tell me to "pray to St. Anne, and be at peace".  I ran upstairs, grabbed my daughter's patron Saint icon from her wall above her bed, and lit a blessed beeswax candle, placing both on the mantle next to my statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

Grace saw me through that final day.  My water broke at 12:30 am on the 4th of July.  Story to follow.

an old old post

****I never did publish this last fall. I made reference to it in my next post, so I dredged it up from the past.   Feel free to skim and scan, I know you really want the bitrh story!*****

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I don't know why this post has been so very very hard for me to write.  I can't even think of a title for it!

Somehow, after my miscarriage last summer, and blogging about it, because of course I had shared our good news...well, there's something about blogging that sort of makes this "big."

I post a picture of our Christmas tree, and suddenly the whole world is free to see it.  Now, I probably have all of three readers, but the theory is there.  And I feel a little shy about sharing things that are especially near and dear to my heart.

But then, if I'm blogging, there is a certain amount of sharing that is required.

And one wants it to be shared in a way that is beautiful, if it's something special.

So if you'll bear with me, I have a little story to tell.

Last October, our neighborhood Church was especially blessed to receive the relics of St. Maria Goretti which were on tour in America for the first time ever.  Her bones are preserved in a wax figure of St. Maria and lay in a glass reliquary.  For two days they were open for veneration.

I knew what I would be praying for before I even went.  Actually, it was for two intentions.  But one of them, following my miscarriage, was simply that, if it were God's will, I might conceive another child.

I wasn't asking for a miracle.  I didn't know if God would bless us with more children, but it certainly wasn't medically impossible.  I was just asking for a special blessing, if it was His will.

I think I really wanted to take on St. Maria Goretti as a special patroness.  I haven't ever been to Rome, or really anywhere, where there are first class relics of the saints.  It was very special to me to have this opportunity to venerate such a courageous young martyr for purity.

It's funny (well, not really) I was dreaming of being pregnant over the holidays and thinking of how sweet that would be (I'm praying for a sister and a sister-in-law to conceive as well).  I imagined a warm glow and joyful hearts full of expectation.  I totally failed to factor in sickness!  The first trimester?  Holidays?!

So, I've been sick.  Super nauseated and ridiculously exhausted.  Face plastered into sofa.  Dry heaving.  Well, I'm getting there.  I'm not there yet, but hope is on the horizon.  My husband has been a super-hero.  I think he's been running the household for the past couple of months.  I'm not sure.  I haven't really been off of the couch.  Unless I'm looking for food--you know, scouring every inch of the cupboards and refrigerator in hopes of finding something that sounds like it might sit well?!  Well, I rarely find anything, so I make my husband drive me somewhere to buy things that I don't buy.  Like coke and chips.   I think I could live on coke and chips.

Sorry for that digression.

So, this is my really bad attempt to share our news in a beautiful and graceful manner.  It's that, plus the reality check that is the first trimester.  We're due right before St. Maria's feast day in July.  I'm really, really looking forward to her feast day!

Announcing...

We added the ninth member of our "fellowship" on the 4th of July!  We'll call him "Sam" (Gamgee) here on the blog.  Birth story will follow when I get two hands!!  Thank you for your prayers (there was a baby in there after all!!)