A Birth Story: Just call me ‘Precipitous’

Maybe you’re pregnant, maybe you’re not – Whatever the reason you’ve found yourself interested in a version of a labor and delivery story, I welcome you to read all you can, especially if you’re expecting your first baby or are a support person for someone who is. Before I had our baby I read and read, and even watched birth story videos all I could. I wanted to hear all of the first hand accounts available, to know what I could expect. The best piece of knowledge I gleaned from all of that reading and watching, is that every single experience was completely different. Not one was the same at all! So keeping that information in mind, I give you, my detailed, and some would say extreme, birth story:

(*Disclaimer: If you are a male who knows me, I strongly discourage you from reading the personal and intimate details below. Thank you!)

Precipitous Labor:
“The term precipitate or precipitous labor has been defined as a labor that lasts no more than three hours from onset of regular contractions to delivery.” (uptodate.com)

This is the term that describes my delivery in my discharge hospital report.
Thankfully, we live in a small town with an amazing hospital, so it takes us less than 5 minutes from our home to drive there. If I would have planned on driving to San Antonio from our home for delivery – I for sure would have had our baby on the roadside.

While pregnant, I wondered if I could do labor without needing an epidural. I wondered if I was strong enough. You can’t know what your pain tolerance is until you have experienced that pain before, and I also think that pain is relative to not only what you have experienced before, but also to each person.

I can’t say I ever got to the point of impatience with waiting as so many other pregnant people have complained about – but I also kept myself extremely busy with my work up until baby decided to come… and he also came three weeks early – but he was so ready to come!

H15A0319
Taken on January 20, 2018 when I was 34 weeks pregnant, 3 weeks before our baby was born.

On Tuesday, February 6th, I woke up at about 6AM and needed to go to the bathroom. While in there, I thought that I had lost my mucus plug, but wasn’t sure. (As I had only read about this pre-labor sign in my google searches.) Coincidentally, I was rescheduled to have my doctors appointment that day, instead of my original appointment day of that Friday. I was so thankful I had been rescheduled and waited the whole day in impatient anticipation for my doctors appointment. It was also my first appointment back with my doctor, since she had been out on maternity leave with her sweet baby she had had 6 weeks prior. At that appointment, we decided to do my first pelvic exam to see if I had dilated at all. To my absolute shock I was dilated to THREE centimeters and was about 60% effaced.

That is when the panic set in.
(I won’t type what I said as a reaction to her telling me how dilated I was.)

Continue reading “A Birth Story: Just call me ‘Precipitous’”

Protect The Mama’s

I’m not yet sure if it’s new motherhood specifically or motherhood as a continual journey that finds us at the point of needing to protect ourselves, spiritually, physically, and emotionally, from the struggles of the demands of life that pulls at all angles, but I can tell you that so far in my 9 months of being a mother, I have found this to be evident.

I almost have to argue with myself, to protect me from running myself ragged.
Whether that is giving myself some slack for not having the dishes or laundry done,  encouraging myself to eat more, start exercising, or to set aside the time to pray and be alone, I seemingly have to protect myself from me and  the world that constantly pulls from every direction, including online pretenses.

Go away, Pinterest-perfect, absolute shams and façades of a perfect life, Facebook and Instagram posts I see from my friends.
Go. Away.
I KNOW you also are struggling.
I have seen where you live and have met your family – and things are not always what they appear.

I see through your perfect photos and filters and I refuse to try to hold myself to an unachievable pinnacle of Stepford Wives domestic perfection.

What is a magazine-worthy home, with children addicted to phones and iPad’s, a commonly absent spouse to support the cost, and an anxiety-ridden mother run ragged trying to keep up with the next issue’s subliminal pressure of perfection anyway?

I see the photo of your combination Hello Fresh/ Papered Chef/ Le Crusét meal in your beautiful kitchen… But I know you’re eating alone at your counter with dishes in your sink, tracking the likes and comments on Facebook, while your children eat on TV trays or not at all. (And that’s okay, because we’re all in the same broken world just trying to make it.)

I love Jesus, but I cuss a little.
I love eating, but I hate cooking. (or rather planning to cook)
I’ll wear makeup, but have 3-day-old-hair.
I love my little family, but I am also tired.
I love people, but the general public can be taxing on a soul.

Every extrovert needs their re-charge time – and I have to protect me, from me! So help a mama out and be real. We can share in the joy and beauty of life – but also addressing the mundane and relatable struggles we all face are imperative to our friendships and relationships. Whether we see it or not, our social media presence is a form of camaraderie and fellowship. Take away the smoke and mirrors sometimes and be real, for the sake of the tired mama’s out there at least.