Looking back

I didn't want to come. I mean, really didn't want to come.  I am expecting my eighth child and I homeschool all of them.  Summers are my break.  I love home schooling, but I think everyone needs a summer.  I wanted to garden, to hang out in my yard with my sisters and their kids, to eat popsicles, and to completely revamp my home school room for the next year.  The room needs to be repainted (it's been five years and I hang a lot of artwork up, so...the tape and all.  I wanted to reorganize my bookshelves. I wanted to organize curriculum.  But...well, I have this family on the other side of the country that loves us and really wants us to be with them.

Was I justified in my desires? Sure.  But...well, life is only so long, and people--relationships--trump my  illusions of control.  Let's face the facts, a bookshelf can be reorganized in October.  I can order my pristine workbooks and have them all set up by the first day of school.  We can paint when we paint.  But my husband's father is over 80, his mom turns 75 this year.  Realistically, how many more of these summers do I think I will have?

So I came.  We came.

We have gone to daily Mass with my Mother-in-law and to her house for breakfast every day. We have had dinner together every night.  (We come home for naps in the afternoons to the house we sleep in while we're here--not my in-law's house).  My husband has golfed twice a week with his dad.  I hit the pool a bunch of times with the kids, bought more slushies than I can count,  ate ice cream wayyyy more  often than I should have, and we even got in some swimming lessons.  It hasn't been the worst of summers.

I could have done better.

I could have skipped the tantrums and embraced more whole-heartedly the idea of spending my summer with my in-laws.  I could have been more generous and more loving.  God has given me too much, really...and I'm pretty stingy when it comes to giving in return.  Oh sure, I was here...but...I could have done better.  A good lesson in humility.  I did try, and I did stay. I'm pretty sure I could have been a brighter ray of sunshine, if you know what I mean.

In my better moments I embraced my surroundings.  I napped, because I didn't have to make dinner--ever.  I brought home 5 kittens from the farm, just to brighten my days with cute and cuddly friends (who ended up being very scratchy and gave me allergies, even though I am not (or was not??) allergic to cats).  They did go back to the farm, even though I really wanted to keep one.  The scratches actually welted up on my arms...so I figured it probably wasn't going to work long term.

When things got really desperate, I shopped for flip-flops.

I learned that a mom who's used to running a large family household has a very very hard time dialing it back...and just learning...to do...not much.  But I think it was good for me.  I rested a lot, and I prayed. I  have almost forgotten what all of that "stuff" was I wanted to get done this summer.  I cleared my mind a bit...and I made tons of baby name lists!

It's time to go home.  I'm ready.  I'm excited. And a little daunted at what it will take to get this large family household up and running again.  I have a little Goddaughter that I want to see for the first time! It's time to go.  But I'm glad I came.

Lucky #7

I'm blasting through these birth stories. I am determined!

Luckily #7 is a synch to tell:

8pm: brother asks if husband wants to play poker

I say yes, but no way is my husband leaving me this pregnant (I am 4 days overdue). Poker games last late.

8:30pm brothers and brother-in-law + sister (and 2 month old sleeping in a car seat) arrive for a night of fun.  I chat with sister as menfolk play cards.

10pm: I have one good contraction while chatting with sister.  I yawn.  Sensitive and intelligent sister suggests I go to bed and she get her man to leave soon.

10:27pm: big contraction in bed, urgent need to use restroom (use your imagination, I'll spare the details here)
10:30 pm: brothers and all leave.

10:35 pm:  husband comes to bed, I hesitate, but suggest to him that I am in labor and get out of bed.

I panic, start to shake. Loving husband calms me down. I note that I have not had another contraction and doubt whether or not I am in labor.  I decide to return to bed.  BIG contraction.

I panic and tell my husband to call the midwife immediately.  Poor husband cannot locate our phone book. I am having more contractions, running the bath (you know me and tub deliveries), and ...still "stuck in the bathroom", as it were.

I hear thrashing downstairs. I go to rescue my distracted husband by showing him where I had secreted the phonebook away to (the kitchen desk, near the phone).

11 pm we convince the midwife to come.
11:05 pm Husband calls my Mom to give her a heads up in case of emergency.
11:06 pm contraction on stairs as I return to our bedroom. I suggest I go to the hospital for an epidural. I am not kidding. I do NOT want to do this.

Return to bathroom.  Attempt the hot bath.  Big contraction. The water isn't helpful. I am miserable (not in pain, but full of self-doubt and fear of the impending labor).

Blessed husband suggest I just lay down on our bed (already!) and let him push on my back (I always get back labor).

11:20 on bed, water breaks.  11:20.30: I feel the head.
11:20.31: someone shouts "Call 911! Call 911!"

Dearest, beloved, and intelligent husband calmly declares he will "call the midwife".  (Puts a new spin on that BBC series, doesn't it).

I hear words like "Do you see the head?"; and "I see the head".  "Catch the baby and hand him to his mom".  "The baby needs to be warm and dry; I repeat, warm and dry".

At some point all of that became background noise.  Again, I noticed the quiet glow of the room in the middle of yet another stormy night.  Once it occurred to me that the life of my child was going to depend on myself and my husband, I became very very calm.  I also knew I needed to help my husband out (he's not the type, guys! Not the type for this!). I looked at him (in a very unlike-myself-during-moments-of-delivery way) and said "I'm fine".  And I was.  He looked back at me blankly for one moment, and then we both were brought back by the voice of the midwife on speakerphone.

The moment my 9 pound 1 ounce baby boy was delivered, I knew he was fine. He was screaming lustily. He was bright red.  I know what lethargic babies with cords wrapped around their necks look like.  This boy scored 10's on his Apgar's!

Time: 11:27pm

I strongly reassured my husband of my baby's health.  I am not sure why my husband didn't pass out at this point.  Instead he put tons of blankets around me and the baby (he took the "warm and dry" directive seriously).  We waited in the quiet warmth of our bedroom, delighting in our seventh child, praising God for the miracle we had just shared in, just the two of us.  I fell in love with my husband that night in a new and powerful way.  For days, my husbands hands held a magical power over me. I would look at them and marvel at what they had done: deliver our child!

The midwife arrived in time to deliver the placenta.  She checked me and the baby, tucked us in, and by 2am said goodnight, with a promise to come back in the morning.

The great fun was the children coming in the next morning to find a new baby snuggled in next to me.


At risk of making this post longer than necessary, I will now state what is admittedly giving me a bit of trouble this pregnancy.  My beloved does not wish to repeat the above performance, and I will admit that while it was a blessed gift, it doesn't necessarily seem prudent to choose an unattended delivery.
My husband suggested it be best to return to a hospital for the birth of #8.  Please stay tuned...

Birth #6

I took a good break, but I'm determined to write about my last two deliveries before baby #8 requires one of his/her own.

After my traumatic return to hospital birthing, following the two home births, I threw up my hands once more and returned home for the birth of my sixth.  Once again, I figured it couldn't be worse than the hospital, and I knew for a fact certain negatives would be ruled out.  One huge negative that I did not mention in the post about baby #5 was that after he was safely delivered, they took him from me (as is usual) to place under the warming lights and put plastic i.d. tags on and give shots to [Vitamin K and the eye goop for protection from STD's] (though I declined them).  The nurses left my screaming and naked baby under the lights as they chatted nurse-gossip.  I was too shy to demand my baby be brought to me.  It is common sense that a baby, snuggled into his mother and nursing, will be right warm and toasty...and not naked, screaming and alone during his most precious first moments from the womb.

Anyone who has experienced the peaceful calm of a baby delivered into a dark bathroom, in a warm bath of water will be as horrified as I was.

At 2 am I awoke with contractions.  It is important to note that until this sixth baby, I had never allowed myself to go into labor naturally.  It was a long path of trust, mine.

By 6:30 am my Mom came to pick up my waking (and very excited) children and whisk them off to early Mass and a day of spoiling.  My midwife had arrived moments earlier.  I rested in my bed until about 8:30, at which point I was at 9cm!  My water had not broken, and my labor was very very slow.  I had contractions ten minutes apart! I was able to rest, walk to the bathtub, return to bed, and even eat a yogurt.  But that little baby didn't seem to want to come!

It was a stormy night, and the day was dark and rainy. It was so warm and peaceful in the glow of my bedroom and bath.

I got impatient, and less comfortable.  At 12:30 I got in and out of the bath one last time, lay down in my bed...and my water broke.  My plump and dark haired daughter was born two contractions later.

After soaking in her beauty and praising God for her, I watched my midwife swaddle her in new clothes, diaper, and blanket right on my bed. I nursed her for a good long time as my midwife checked me out and whisked away plastic bedding.  When she fell asleep, I handed her to my husband and took a shower and put on new pajamas.  The midwife reminded us to eat.

We made the exciting phone calls and that evening, after a dinner alone, the children returned to meet their new sister.  One by one they came in, sighed, ahhed, and held their little baby.

I felt that I was finally given the gift of a labor (not induced) and delivery that was pretty much exactly how I wanted it.  [For the sake of full disclosure, I will not hold back the moment in which I said "I can't do this"...as the baby came out.  Right before then the midwife had told my husband to hold my leg in place. I looked at my beloved and said "do not touch my leg!"...poor man looked haplessly at my midwife.  She told me I would have to keep it back (or whatever she said).  Anyway, the baby was moments from arrival, so I don't count that as too big of a detraction from the above story.  I just would feel guilty if I didn't admit that not every single moment of labor was fun and games.:)]

Yea! 6 down, 1 to go! (would it be too much to ask you to "bear" with me?! haha! Rapier wit, I tell you. Rapier.)

link

http://angelinainlouisiana.blogspot.com/2012/05/homeschooling-makes-me-better-parent_16.html

My links never work. But if you can track down this article, I liked it. It's not long or exhaustive, but it makes a simple point that holds true in my life. If you have the time or interest...you could check it out.

Father's Day, a day late

I feel compelled to write despite the circumstances, so forgive a pretty poorly composed post.  I have to speak to the importance of fathers.  You can't parent without them! Of course, some women do. My husband's grandma was widowed with an eleven year old, a thirteen year old, and a sixteen year old.  She raised them all and did so beautifully.  But even at that, the legacy that man had laid before his too-early death had paved the way for obedient children whose hearts were already docile to the parenting of their mother. He had been a strong disciplinarian, but my mother-in-law also still treasures the bag of marbles her dad would get out on the floor and play with them. 

My sister had to, also, for 6 years. And her girls are also wonderful. But my sister lived across the street from my father and three grown brothers, all loving and attentive uncles, who had no qualms about supporting my sister in her authority and disciplinary role.  Neither did they have qualms with cuddling, telling stories, or taking her girls on special outings.  There was a special support group there that held a place in the lives of those girls until a new father was given to them in God's providence.

I am not going to tell you about my husband because no one wants to hear me brag about him. Everyone thinks their husband is the best father, which is as it should be, because it is only that man who is given as the father to his particular children.  But I am going to state a little list of things that I think make a great father. First, he has to be 100% in love with the mother of his children.  Following this, he must support her 100% as regards his children. He must make them respect and obey her. Second, he has to be a good disciplinarian. The Dad is the ultimate authority in the home, and his word is law.  Along these lines, the mother must obey (as she has vowed) perfectly, and the children will soon understand that it is futile to whine or whimper once the father has spoken.  There is room for mom to "talk with Dad" about things...a child's final hope...but it is still the father whose decision stands.  I believe discipline must be extremely strong, not saying it must be corporal.  It must be consistent and have 100% follow through, or as close to that as possible.  Obedience is one of the most important virtues for a child to learn (along with honesty), and mothers are often just too soft, or too tired, to follow through. Dad's are the pinch hitters. (Pitch hitters? What is the phrase?) It's up to them. I blame the fathers if the kids are out of control. Mothers are supposed to be soft. Not saying we get a pass on discipline, but it's different. A child must obey, but of course, mercy is greater than justice, and a father shows his greatness in his magnanimity.  A child who learns that his father can be merciful is likely to show mercy himself.  In fact, a child should be held to display of mercy (especially toward younger siblings) and be specifically reminded of the times he was shown mercy.  But a child should know he has received mercy, while obediently acknowledging that strict justice was not delivered.  And this is different than not following through on a threat.  It is something that seems to happen more if a child understands and acknowledges his mistake and, perhaps, does not need to lose dessert as well.

I'm sure that's too much in one paragraph, but I want to drop this thought bomb because if I don't, the thoughts will not be recorded...for what they're worth.

So, first his wife; second, discipline. My final point should possibly not have been saved for last, but it's the love. A father has to be able to demonstrate his love in many ways, but certainly physically and certainly verbally.  A dad needs to be able to get on the floor and act like whatever animal his child requests. He needs to give a goodnight kiss.  He needs to comfort injuries, physical and emotional.  He needs to give every spare moment of his free time to his children (even if that's always too limited)...because they are just that important to him.

That's it. That's what makes a great dad.  (Well, spiritual life is the unstated "given"...and a child needs to see his father who is man enough to get on his knees before the Almighty, and His Mother...but in a nutshell, that's what I think.)  

And that's why I love fathers and Father's Day! 

A must read

Check out my sidebar for the link to Anima Christi: Soul of Christ by Mother Mary Francis.


I'm not finished yet, but this is a spiritual powerhouse.  I love Mother Mary Francis (now deceased, formerly the head of an order of Poor Clares in New Mexico).  This would be a perfect Lenten read, but don't wait.  Buy it and make it your summer spiritual read.  I find myself gasping with the power of her insights, and laughing by turns.  I think I'm going to do a book club on this book in the fall if I can manage the time.  It's just that good.

Back to Births: Number 5

It's hanging over my head, so I'm going to launch into my fifth birth story, whether or not I'm feeling a little winded.  Then you, my readers, can read these birth stories at your leisure. Now that I've fallen behind, you'll have to scroll to find them, but hopefully they'll all be here at some point.

After my less-than-perfect (second) home birth experience, I thought I should head back to the hospital.  
I just thought that my midwife here wasn't what my first one had been, and also, I was closing in on 30.
Somehow it seemed that once I was in my 30's (even if only for three months) I should be in a "safer" environment.

Keeping in mind that I still had never not induced, once again I pushed to induce early.  I seriously wish I had not been so traumatized by my 9 pound first baby and had the courage to trust and wait for natural labor. But I didn't. And this baby, induced a week early, was a 8 pound 12 ounce boy...so, I still felt justified.

I had spoken with my doctor about having fast labors and big babies and she was more than happy to schedule an induction.  I told her that pitocin did not work on me or my sister (did I say this in birth story #2? I was on pit for two hours, my sister was on all day, neither of us went into labor until they broke our water).  I told her I wanted them to break my water. She was fine with that. I also mentioned that I had had two water births and that I thought it helped. She said there was a jacuzzi tub at the hospital.  I was happy.

The morning of induction my husband and I arrived, ready for a baby. The nurse said she was going to start the pitocin.  Except we weren't planning on that kind of induction. We said the doctor agreed to breaking my water. She called the doctor (who wasn't there yet) and she got permission to break my water. I went into the halls to walk. The nurse came out a few minutes later (fifteen) and said that if I wasn't in active labor in a half an hour (from induction, so, in fifteen minutes) they'd be starting pitocin. There are many reasons why that's ridiculous, but I agreed.  30 minutes after induction I was on my side, with heavy back labor, my husband dutifully counter-pressuring my back with each contraction. I was at 7cm dilation, and felt like I was "getting there".  The nurse checked my progress and announced that the baby was in anterior position.

I had never had a baby in anterior position before, so I asked if this was ok.  She said yes, but it could cause labor to be much slower and more painful.  Thankyouforthat. Honestly, at 7 cm dilation, in active labor, those kinds of helpful tips aren't so helpful.  I asked what might help. She suggested I change positions. I sat on a birthing ball. I put my head lower than my rump. I was in pretty serious labor and wondering how I could get my baby to flip (which was unnecessary, and never happened).  I asked if I could get into the jacuzzi tub.  She said "I could see if I can get an order for that...usually it's not allowed if your membranes are ruptured...and we need the fetal monitor, so you'd have to come out to get readings..." (I would dearly love to know just how many times those tubs have been used, ever!)  I said to skip it.

Finally, I sat up one last time and a nerve in my back tripped. A "zing" of pain surged in my spine, and remained. I asked for IV drugs. I had never used them before and thought I might get through by just "taking the edge off".  The drugs stopped my labor.

An hour later the drugs wore off, my back pain was still there, and I headed into transition labor (these are the contractions that get that baby out!)  I was struggling to manage the contractions since the drugs left me woozy.  I asked the doctor to check me and I was at a 7 and a half.  One half centimeter in an hour, but that was because of the drugs slowing progress down.  At the time, I didn't think of that. Apparently neither did my doctor.  She said I might need pitocin to get my contractions to be strong enough to deliver the baby.

I knew one thing: I was "ok" now, but I could not handle transition strength contractions plus pitocin.  I
panicked and tried to figure out if I should get an epidural to handle the extra pain that pitocin would bring.  The anesthesiologist was called in.  The nurse checked me: I was at a NINE! (For those less schooled in labor, you push at 10 cm.)  Instead of saying "girl, you are so there! This baby is coming, give it one more contraction!" I was looked at in the eyes and very seriously and intensely told "This is the absolute last minute if you want an epidural!"  I got one. The pain was instantly gone. And my blood pressure dropped. Drastically.  My less-than-collected nurse had a distinct note of "concern" in her voice as she read my blood pressure numbers to the anesthesiologist.  They began giving me fluids. I felt sick, I felt faint, the numbers kept dropping.

At this point I looked at my husband, seated next to me with his head in his hands and through his fingers he raised his eyes to me and mouthed "I love you".  He had done this once before in an extremely scary plane flight into Denver, where the turbulance was tossing our plane to and fro and children were crying and I was praying desperately that we'd land safely.  In other words, I thought that death was a distinct possibility.  I thought "I'm going to see Jesus" and tried to collect myself to make an act of contrition.  How bad is this?

Well, they stabilized me and my son was born alive and well in about a minute.  That birth experience wasn't really what I had hoped it would be.  Number six was back at home.  Stay tuned.