Same As Mine

I was painting in my studio a bit ago when I heard my daughter - now a whopping 7 months old! - crying so I went to comfort her. I picked her up out of her crib, and she immediately wrapped an arm around my shoulder and laid her little head on my chest.

It made me think of how different my relationship with her is than the one I share with my son.

Perhaps it is because Liam is so much like me. Liam is a part of me, a piece ripped out of my heart, born of strife and adoration. My relationship with him feels like a necessity, like there was never a choice. Even though I never wanted a son, and I would have stopped at one kid had my first been a girl, he still would have been an integral part of my life. Our relationship is symbiotic, like lichen growing on a rock. He is so much like me, both in temperament and looks.

Maybe it's because she is so unlike me, but I feel like Cambria chose me, as opposed to having always been a part of me to begin with. She chose to be mine and she continues to choose me, every time she reaches to hold my hand, nuzzle my cheek with her nose (something she does to express her love; she does this to very few people), or smile at me until her big round eyes get squinty. In that moment I know she is truly mine, all mine, because those eyes are the same as mine.

Freight train

It's funny how you can feel an episode of depression building like a cold.

And by funny I mean absolutely terrifying because it's like watching a freight train barreling towards you and you're stuck on the track and there's nothing you can do to stop it. All you can do is wonder how long this will last, and what damage it will do to your marriage, your children; what bridges you will burn and how many friends will disappear from your Facebook friends list by the end.

Sometimes it feels like depression is just a physical weight in your head that you could remove if you just tried hard enough. Sometimes it feel like it's just something you use as an excuse to treat others and yourself badly. Sometimes it feels like a film over your eyes that you should be able to blink away but somehow you can't.

* * *

Today wasn't all that bad. It actually started really good. The kids and I got out of the house and did something fun which is really a rare occurrence. Seems like since we moved, life is about nothing but chores and errands and desperately trying to get the minimum amount of sleep necessary to sustain life.

So today wasn't all that bad, but like I said, this "cold" has been building. Suddenly, probably after my soda - my last toxic addiction - wore off, I felt like I wold explode if I didn't get away. The past few days I have been obsessed with the beach. Lying there in a cool breeze with my kiddos. Breastfeeding in the ocean with dolphins and sting rays swimming close by. The cold in this land locked state is doing bad things to my soul, and my body. Sometimes I get to feeling like my bones are vibrating, itching, and when the kid's start screaming it's just all that I can do NOT to leave. 

When I started feeling like this, I made a soft nest for Cambria on the floor with a bucket of toys, and I turned on Gilmore Girls and sat down on the couch with a warm cup of tea to share with Liam. I got to feeling a little better. I asked my mom to call me just so I could have some adult conversation. Then both kids started screaming again and just didn't stop until Patrick came home and a that point I excused myself and left to take a bath. While I was bathing, I had a good stress release cry. Then I thought of a friend who hasn't appeared in my newsfeed much lately. I searched for her on Facebook and saw that she had deleted me.

This person isn't a close friend, but we travel in the same circles and see each other at least once a month at VBAC support group meetings. While she and I have wildly differing opinions on most things, we haven't had any sort of altercation nor do we ever have conversations talking about these things. So I really don't know what I did to upset her, especially to the point that she had to delete m instead of just unfollowing me. She and her family are moving to Germany in May, but in the mean time all of the meetings we go to etc will be incredibly awkward. In fact, I probably won't go, and quite frankly I am upset that she would put me in this position.

Quite frankly, I am upset with people in general.

* * * 

By nature, I am a giver and a servant. I won't pretend this is altruistic. In fact, for the most part I don't believe in altruism. I do things for others because it makes me feel better about my own crummy self and my pitiful existence.

When people have babies I bring them food. I offer emotional, financial, and whatever other support I can.

When people move I help pack, clean, paint. 

When people need to run errands or have appointments I watch their children.

When people are sick I bring them food and medicine. 

I do, do do. And I don't do it so people will do things for me. But at the same time, when I am in need and there is absolutely no one there to offer me support, even if only in the form of a shoulder to cry on, then I get pretty upset.

I don't understand why people think I am good enough to accept help from, but never good enough to give help to.

I am tired of feeling like a second rate citizen.

I usually try to make happy posts. I try to focus on beauty and on joy.

Today I can't see those things.

Acceptance + Happiness

I've been having a lot of big AHA moments recently. They are sort of intertwined, and I think they can all be traced back to Kelly Rae Roberts and Vitamins.

I talked about KRR, one of my favorite artists, a while back. I recently started taking her online class. It's really helped me explore new mixed media materials and also helped me tie up the loose end in my paintings. They feel more complete now. Not totally perfect, but much better. Below is the favorite I have done so far; I actually added in some more details after I snapped this photo, but you get the idea.

As I've been taking this class and following along with the videos, I've adopted a similar style to Kelly Rae, I think. That wasn't intentional, and I am really trying to find my own voice in all this. For now, my intention is to create happy, inspiring art.

This has really always been my goal, but it felt phony in a way, because I am not a happy person in general. I suffer from chronic depression and anxiety disorder. This is in large part due to malnutrition, as crazy as that sounds. Even though I eat extremely well, I have nutrition absorption problems, so I just don't function like I should. Not to mention I am always angry because I feel like I am starving 99% of the time. I recently started taking some high quality vitamins and that has helped a lot. I feel like a new person. But the art has helped too. I was in a fake it until you make it situation. I wanted to be happy, so I made happy art. The happy art made me happy. I hope it makes others happy, too.

When I was younger, I always fancied myself a very accepting person. Not in a hey you abuse your kids and that's okay with me sort of way. Just in a we are different and lets embrace those differences sort of way. Over the past 6 years or go I have become very rigid in what I will accept. Not necessarily in a person, but more in the way of art, style, and personal creative expression. If art didn't fit in a perfect mold of what I considered "good" (including my own art!) I couldn't find any positive value to it and mostly wouldn't even consider it art!

I've recently discovered Alena Hennessy. The image below is one of her pieces. A year ago I might have thought this piece was rubbish. A third grader could do it. But do you know how much abandon has to go into a painting to be able to paint like a third grader? That's a major accomplishment. It may not be photo realism, but it definitely has its own merit. It speaks to me so deeply. My soul responds to this piece and many others of its kind with acceptance, awe and gratitude.

It's simply beautiful.

 In a similar vein, I am learning to let go of all the things that cause me distress, like a dirty house, and focusing instead on the things that bring me joy. Like "wasting" the kids' precious nap times watching my favorite artists paint on youtube. This is a tough hurtle to over come for me. But in a way, looking at all the clutter and the mess in my house right now - which was sparkling clean two days ago! - makes me feel really good. Because it reminds me that instead of performing - albeit, sometimes necessary - labor that would only be undone in a day or two, I did things that helped me grow as a person, as a mother, and as an artist. And that is something priceless.

Can you say, AHA?

Intentions

I've been feeling really restless since we moved to OKC in late June. Though we have been living in our house since early July, in many ways it still feels like a hotel. So much of our furniture was ruined in the move, doesn't fit right, or doesn't even exist (Cambria doesn't have much to her name at all) that everything feels empty and disorganized to me.

I am the kind of person who feels very panicky when things aren't in their place. It truly causes me anxiety, and I hate that feeling brewing inside of me. I hate how it surfaces in the form of anger and discontent, and that I don't set a good example for my kids.

I struggle to create a place called HOME for them, where they are deeply rooted and feel content, because I never had that. Granted, my kids are 2 and 4 months, and there is time for that yet.

Every day is a battle between wanting to let things lie and not seem so crazy, and the deep need to clean clean clean.

My other issue is utter boredom. If you know me personally, you know how bored I am as a stay at home mom. However, I won't leave a babe to go back to work until they are at least one. To combat my boredom, I often go into a cleaning frenzy. It's like an endless circle though, because when I am cleaning instead of spending time with my kids, I end up feeling all this guilt, like I am neglecting them. I recognize that everyone has to do chores and get things done and can't hold their baby 100% of the time.

But mommy guilt still gets me.

If I am not cleaning, the boredom... I don't even know how to describe it. I don't want to move. I don't want to take care of my children. Each day I watch my husband leave with despair and envy. No, I don't have Post Partum Depression. I am just struggling to find joy in this season of my life.

When Liam was little, we were out every day doing things and having adventures. That is a rarity now. I am not sure where that got lost a long the way. I do know that I have anxiety attacks almost every time we leave the house, and it keeps sending me home to sit in boredom again.

I am ready for all of this to change. I am ready to be more intentional about how I spend my time, and especially how I raise my children. I feel like I've set an awful example, and instead of raising Liam, I am merely allowing him to grow up in my house.

Here's to being more intentional.

There is a time for cleaning. A time for relaxing. And most of all, times for adventure.

An End

It seems strange to be writing this post after my birth story. Going from talking about the birth of one beautiful soul to the death of another, equally beautiful soul.

My good friend Syble has been fighting brain cancer for about a year now. She has an awesome fiancé, who has sacrificed everything to take care of her and their beautiful 2 year old girl, and an angel baby that was lost at 28 weeks due to treatment. She is only 24 years old, and yet she is living out the last of her days.

Syble and I met in 6th grade and fell in love instantly. I practically lived at her house and we would stay up all night watching Night At the Roxbury and laughing our butts off. Then she moved away, and I moved away, and poor col change their number often and we were both that... so we lost touch. 5 or so years later we found each other again thanks to Facebook,  and next thing I know she is diagnosed with stage four brain cancer. Prognosis one year.

These are the kinds of things you see in movies and read about in those books that tug at your heart strings so much. It's always that one person that touches so many lives in such  positive way that gets sick, that has to suffer, and whose candle is snuffed out way too soon.

I firmly believe that if I were to get sick and die, not many beyond my immediate family would mind much. People would not be banding together by the hundreds to talk about what a positive influence, what a great person, what a happy should I was. They would remember how often I complained and how easily stressed I was. I heard Syble complain about cancer maybe 3 or 4 times. She never moaned and groaned or demanded to know why. I am sure she had her moments in private, but she didn't want to affect others with this kind of talk. She didn't want or need pity. She was and is strong in her last remaining days.

We al have regrets. We have moments we handle so awfully that we don't think anything could ever be worse.

My regret is not spending time with Syble outside of Facebook these last few months, when I still had the chance.  Last October, she didn't even know she was sick yet, and I was visiting Oklahoma from Florida. I was a mere two hours away from her, but I wouldn't go see her when she asked me to because Liam was being so fussy and I didn't want to do the 2 hour drive with him.

In June, we were house hunting in Oklahoma for the weekend and she was having a second operation done in Oklahoma City, and she asked me to visit and I just didn't have the time. I couldn't make the time.

In July, we moved back to OKC and Syble was still here, recovering. We set up a day to get together, but I had been whining about howI didn't want to bring Liam, and she never got back to me about where she was staying because she didn't want me to stress so much about the visit. Then she went back to Tulsa, and I didn't want to do the 2 hour drive with 2 kids.

Well you know what? I did that 2 hour drive with 2 kids on Tuesday. I approached with a positive attitude, I was on a mission, and it was fine. It was something I should have done months ago. When I thought it was more important to paint my new house, obsessively scrub floors, and whine about how tired I was. Instead of visiting my very sick friend who would not always be there.

When I finally did visit her, she barley looked like Syble anymore. She was a lot more lucid than I expected, although I was told today her communication skills are fading fast. She loved seeing my kids, and the first thing she said was "set the baby up here by me." She cuddled Cambria and kissed her and she wanted to snuggle Liam but Liam was scared. Her momma bear instincts came out, and she couldn't even have her own kids there with her. I am sure she was reminded of them then. She talked to me about breastfeeding, and asked me if it hurt. She loved my tattoos, and kept stroking them. She always wanted a hand to hold. When I kissed her good bye and told her I loved her, she said, "Love you, girl."

Just like the same old Syble.

But she is not.

And it's a damn shame.

Vaginal Birth After Cesarean: My VBAC Journey

I had a c-section with my first born, Liam, in 2012. I've always had mixed feelings about it, knowing that cesarean surgery is an awesome, life-saving procedure when necessary, but always wondering if mine had been, in fact, necessary.

Before my husband, Patrick, and I even decided to try for a baby I knew what I wanted in a birth. I knew I could never give birth in a hospital, that I'd want a natural birth, with a midwife, and I wanted it to be in my home. I'm pretty sure I had my midwife picked out before I even got a positive pregnancy test! (Shout out to the midwives and assistants at Community Midwifery Services in Norman, OK). I wanted to cover all my bases, so I also interviewed midwives at the OU Medical Center, but their outlook was too clinical for me. Ultimately we decided to hire a team of homebirth midwives that worked on rotation.

I felt like I did everything right during that pregnancy. I had excellent nutrition, was obsessed with eliminating toxins from my life to the point that I didn't even wear make up (I couldn't afford the natural kind at the time), took Bradley Birth classes with Patrick, and was adequately, but not too adequately, informed.

Things did not go as planned, however, because Liam was posterior. Late term chiropractic care did not help, I had exhausting prodromal labor for months, and my placenta stopped functioning optimally.

In a last ditch effort to birth at home and labor naturally, I underwent acupuncture induction, which ripened my cervix enough to allow for a stripping of my membranes (which, surprisingly, I did not feel at all). This finally strengthened my contractions enough to dilate me. I had horrendous back labor and could not sit down throughout it. I labored at home for 15 hours, dilated to a 4, and then got "stuck". I was extremely tired from the months of prodromal labor and being at 40+12 weeks did not help. My midwife suggested I go to the hospital for an epidural, which she hoped would relax my joints enough to allow Liam to enter into my pelvis (I didn't know she suspected he was in posterior arrest at this point).

I went to the hospital and received the epidural and later pitocin. I even had my water broke. Everything I had hoped to avoid was happening. I dilated to an 8 until they broke my water, at which point I went back down to a 4 and didn't budge anymore. Liam's heart rate was going into decelerations and nothing was helping to calm him. I ultimately made the decision to have a C-Section before it became an emergency. After laboring for 26 hours, Liam was finally born.

All in all, it was a fairly positive experience, although I did question everything that had happened. I didn't understand what had gone wrong, especially after I felt like I did everything right. I experienced a lot of post partum blues and always looked back on his birth with regret. I didn't think I'd want any more kids, but if we did end up having another I'd want it to be a VBAC.

I became pregnant 16 months later. Initially I thought I'd want an OB since I felt like hiring midwives had been a waste of money before. I did not want a home birth. I was still fairly careful with my nutrition, water intake, and tried to remain as active as possible (which was made difficult by sciatic nerve pain), but I didn't make my life miserable with guilt like I had with Liam. If I wanted a whopper, I ate it. I even had soda!

I hired a doula (Shanna Wright) and began to see a chiropractor at about 30 weeks. He told me my hips were misaligned, which causes posterior babies and also makes it hard or impossible for babies to enter the pelvis and engage. Finally I had an explanation for Liam's birth! He was the third chiropractor I had seen, and no one ever mentioned my misaligned hips or the connection to my C-Section (I still have misaligned hips when I am not pregnant, which causes pain throughout my body, so we know it wasn't a new issue). I saw my chiropractor )Dr. Walker at Family Wellness Chiropractic in Corpus Christi) 3-4 times a week, and it made a huge difference in my sciatic nerve pain and well being over all. Most importantly, it gave me hope for a VBAC!

My supposedly VBAC friendly Dr. turned out not to be so VBAC friendly after all when she pulled the big baby card on my at my first visit and told me I would need an induction, the earlier the better, because it would increase my chances of having a VBAC if the baby was smaller. Anyone who educated themselves in the slightest about VBACS knows this is complete BS and the last thing you want to do. Induction increases the risk of uterine rupture, and unless the mom really does have a very small pelvis, a "big" baby is not a problem (Liam had been 8.9 at almost 42 weeks gestation, not really all that big anyway). After much back and forth a tax return that came just in time, I ended up firing my OB and hiring a midwife at 32 weeks. Having settled on a home birth, I finally felt a sense of comfort and confidence in this pregnancy. I finally felt like nothing was standing in my way anymore.

I'd started having very strong Braxton Hicks contractions starting at about 16 weeks. They included pelvic pressure and lower back pain, so definitely more than a simple tightening of the belly. I was convinced the baby would come early, although my midwife didn't think so.

Mu due date was May 18th, and I began to have stronger contractions about 12 days before that. Strong enough that I would have to stand through them. I also had a cold so was pretty miserable over all. My midwife didn't think I'd go into labor until I got over the cold, and my last cold earlier in the pregnancy had lasted a month, so I was pretty discouraged. Contractions were irregular and not getting any stronger, but nothing would stop them either. Bathing, resting, drinking water - nothing helped. They were especially bad at night, which is common with prodromal labor, but I had been practicing Hypnobirthing with this pregnancy and my body would automatically enter a state of deep relaxation during the contractions so that I hardly woke. I was very uncomfortable, however, and especially discouraged since this labor was already looking so much like Liam's. This time, however, I made sure not to try to walk the baby out but to rest rest rest. I also read lots of prodromal birth stories to remind me that this was common.

 The night of May 13th we had a big thunder storm, which caused contractions to intensify. I spent much of the night in the bathtub, and I definitely didn't get any sleep. The next morning I messaged Shanna,  my doula, : I think today is the day.

I called my midwife to complain and get some advice. I was so tired I was ready to go to the hospital for a repeat cesarean. She recommended we try to stop the contractions and had me drink tea made from Camino seeds (which is what Cumin is made of). It was disgusting, like drinking liquid fajita seasoning, and did nothing to stop contractions. I was also doing lots of hands and knees, rotations on the birth ball, and getting daily chiropractic adjustments.

Shanna came over around 11am and we went to see my midwife. As soon as Sue saw me she said I was not having a baby that day. I asked her to go ahead and check me and I was high and tight. Baby was not pushing on my cervix, and the contractions, though painful, were ineffective. Sue decided that since we weren't having any luck stopping contractions, we would try to help them along. She mapped out a dosage of caulophyllum for me (blue cohosh - I can't remember the exact dosage, but I believe it was one pill over thirty minutes for 4 hours). I also made an appointment for acupuncture for the next day.

Shanna, Patrick and I hung around the house for a while. Liam went to stay the night with a wonderful friend, Mandie, and I did some inversions on the couch. I could immediately feel baby slide down, and the contractions began to change. We decided to go out for lunch around 1. We went to my favorite Thai restaurant and at this point, I would have to stop eating and breathe through the contractions. We went home and I wanted something to laugh about, to loosen up, so we put on Step Brothers. At some point Shanna made protein balls, which are now my favorite food group.

I was putzing around the house, talking to the baby, feeling pretty positive and happy. I had read Ina May's Guide To Childbirth and attempted to utilize some of the techniques found in it, like low moaning. I remember at one point I was standing at our back door, swaying my hips, making those low guttural sounds, and untangling the string on the blinds, which was strangely cathartic. Concentrating on the tangled made me not notice the pain anymore. When I turned around both Shanna and Patrick were standing there watching me and we all three cracked up. Patrick made a comment about how I had looked and sounded like a zombie. The atmosphere was really great at this point and I was super glad to be laboring at home.

(Side note: I am a firm believer that childbirth does not have to be painful. I'd highly recommend "Hypnobirthing" by Mongan and "Unassisted Childbirth" by Shanley for more info on this. I am someone who gets way too caught up in my thoughts and emotions to let my body relax enough for labor to not be painful, but I think, standing at that window, I actually managed it. When I let go completely, and didn't think about what my body was doing, I didn't feel any pain.)

Around 7pm I called my midwife and asked her to check me again. I was scared that nothing was happening and needed some reassurance. I could tell Sue was reluctant to check me and have to tell me I wasn't dilating. I wasn't sure what that would have done to my resolve, but luckily when Sue came over she found I was 100% effaced and 3cm dilated. I was so happy!

I expect Sue to leave, but she made herself comfortable on our couch and settled in for the night.

Funnily enough, after practicing Hypnobirthing for months, I completely forgot to use any of the techniques in labor. Instead, Patrick and I reverted back to our Bradley Birth training and the techniques we had learned for Liam's birth. For several more hours I labored easily and happily. I smiled, caressed Patrick's arm instead of clawing at it like last time, and felt very in tune with the baby. We were laboring together.

At some point Shanna and Patrick set up the birth pool, and I labored in it off and on. I was watching and singing a long with The Flight of the Concords, which is excellent labor material. Laughter helps relax the body, and relaxation helps dilation!

At some point things changed. Contractions were no longer coming and going. I was having one continuous contractions, with a large peak and then an ebb, but never an end. I was having atrocious back labor again, and the best thing for the pain seemed to be to walk around (when I was laboring with Liam I was doing squats for hours on end, and I was glad not to feel that urge again!). I would not let go of Patrick's hand and insisted he walk around with me and be in physical contact at all times. I was moaning like a fool and flapping my lips like a horse (another Ina technique) and feeling very very tired. Shanna and Sue repeatedly tried to persuade me to sit down to rest but every time I tried I was in sheer agony. I managed a few minutes on the birthing ball, would occasionally jump in the pool, but over all forgot all the techniques I was planning on using (such as childs pose).

Around 11pm I asked Sue why the contractions would not stop and she and Shanna looked at each other and said, "We think you are in transition." This got me really excited, but when Sue checked me again I was "only" at a 6. At that point I lost it. Even though I knew the numbers were meaningless I felt like labor was never ending. I said I wanted to go to the hospital, and Patrick probably would have loaded me up and taken me but Shanna was able to coax me down. She reminded me that by the time I got there and checked in etc. it would be too late for an epidural anyway. So I tried to calm down and continued laboring as I had been before.

The lights were off, my favorite scented candle was lit, Shanna and Sue attempted to nap on the couch while I labored around them. I'd work a circuit through the living room and kitchen and end in the bathroom attempting to pee, which is really difficult in labor, as it turns out. At one point we went outside, saw that the moon was full, and enjoyed some fresh air. But being so exposed made me feel self conscious about the noises I was making, because I didn't want to bother the neighbors. We went back inside but since Shanna and Sue were trying to sleep I felt uncomfortable there as well. This was really a very difficult part of labor.

I think it was around 12 or 12:30 when I woke Sue pleading for help. I was not managing labor well at all anymore. She placed her hand on my hip and prayed over me and I felt the pain ease as she prayed. She reminded me of my hypnobirthing exercises and had me breathe in deeply through my nose and belly, and exhale through my mouth. It helped. The pain became background noise, while I sat in the birth pool and breathed. I was able to lose myself completely to breathing and the rhythm. But anytime there was a noise, such as my doula adding more water to the pool, or anytime Patrick shifted his touch on me, it would knock me right out of my trance and the contractions would come back ten fold. I found a position resting back on my bottom with my knees bent and hands and knees flat on the on the ground that would completely stop the contractions, for whatever reason. I was able to get a few moments of rest that way. I thanked the baby for working with me and giving me a break.

At this point I began to lose my mucous plug. Sue told me to watch for pressure in my bottom, because that would mean that it time, or almost time, to push. I didn't think I was anywhere near that but when I stood up to get out of the tub I shouted, "I need to poop!"

Feeling that pressure suddenly terrified me. I had labored before, with Liam. I had never pushed before, had never delivered vaginally. I didn't know what to expect and no amount of reading can prepare you. I remember whining, "I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do!" Sue grabbed her kit of supplies and put down some towels for me. by the pool in the living room. I sat on them and relaxed back on my hands but even though I felt pressure, I didn't feel an urge to push. Also, my birth plan indicated that I did not want to push, but to labor/breath baby down. Let my uterus expel the baby naturally, as it is made to do.

I continued to labor on the floor and in the pool while we all waited for me to feel like I actually needed to push. I don't know how long it took or what changed, because at this point I was deep in labor land, but I remember Sue guiding us to the bedroom and asking me to lay down on the bed because she wanted to check me. I was so out of it, when we got to the bedroom I asked, "Is this really happening?" I felt like I was on some very strong drugs.

Sue checked me and found I was indeed at a 10 but that I had a lip. I now know that you really shouldn't push if you have a lip, because it can cause swelling, causing the baby to get stuck. Sue held the cervical lip aside and I attempted a push. I found that it felt really great to push, but only if she was holding the lip aside. If not, it was incredibly painful! She told me not to push with my head, but to let my body do it. I remember having one really good contraction where my body did all the work, all the pushing, with no guidance or intention from me at all, and I loved that feeling. We tried different positions, such ad laying on my side, to get the lip to go away (apparently this had helped Sue in one of her own births) but nothing worked. I tried pushing in a squatting position, which I had imagined would be my preferred position, but hated it. On my back was actually the most comfortable position. I held one leg back and Patrick held the other.

Periodically, Sue would check on the babies heart beat and discovered that it was dipping a little. She brought out the oxygen tank and had me inhaling between contractions. I don't know if it was because I was so tired or just in a trance, but I was able to fall asleep between contractions. I have no idea how much time passed between contractions, but I don't think it was very much.

Sue was oiling me with evening primrose oil, olive oil, and I believe on other oil, to help me not to tear.

Once the babies head moved past the lip, pushing became much easier. Shanna, Patrick and Sue were able to see the babies head and to everyone's surprise she had dark hair! I had wanted a dark haired baby and no one believed it would happen. Sue told me to touch the babies head and I could not believe how soft and squishy it was. It didn't feel like a head at all. I didn't think I was touching the right part but they told me I was. Sue asked Patrick to come around the bed so he could see better but I wouldn't let him move.

Finally, finally, finally at 4:14 am, after 2 hours of pushing, Cambria Ann Davey was born.

I did it! I had my VBAC!

Cambria weighed 8 lbs 2 oz. She was 22 inches long. She was born with a nuchal hand (hand by her face), which was why it had taken so long and been so difficult to push her out. We waited until the cord stopped pulsing, and then Patrick cut it. Contractions continued and were extremely painful. I was starting to lose it again, thinking something was wrong and wondering why I was still in so much pain. I wanted them to leave the damn cord alone and help me instead! The placenta finally delivered and I began to feel better.

Shanna drew up an herbal bath for us and Cambria and I bathed together. Patrick and I were both convinced I was bleeding to death when we saw how much blood there was, but apparently it was a normal amount of blood. I couldn't stay in the tub for long, because I was too sore and tired to hold Cambria in the water. 

 I still don't know why, but Sue did quite a bit of wrenching after the head was born to pull Cambria's body out. It caused quite a bit of damage to Cambria's spine, which we are still working on correcting 3 months later. She is seen by a chiropractor several times a week and has been since day one. We first noticed that she wasn't moving her legs much, they were curled up close to her body at all times. 

edit: after reading this post my doula told me that the cord was wrapped around Cambria's arm and was fully compressed. She was too blue for comfort so that was why she needed to be delivered quickly! 

 After her first adjustment she began to move her legs. The change was immediate and immense! She was also having trouble nursing on the right side because she couldn't turn her neck properly and her palette had dropped. This has improved significantly as well. She also had pretty severe reflux, which went away almost completely after a few weeks of adjustments. 

I tore quite a bit (severe 2nd degree, mild 3rd degree) so the recovery was tough. I declined stitches, wanting to heal naturally. I staid on top of my pain meds (ibuprofin) so didn't feel too much pain but lots of pressure. I think the mental part of tearing was a bigger pain than the physical part. I was very scared to move, to use the bathroom, to walk, etc. Thanks to the tear, the recovery was much much harder than I had expected, but definitely better than a c-section. I am so thankful that I got to have my homebirth, rest and recover in my own bed without nurses waking me every hour. Our breast feeding relationship got off to a great start with very little soreness. 

Cambria has a lot of food allergies and digestion problems but is a happy, well loved and loving baby. She is perfect! 

Did I mention I did it? I DID IT! I had my VBAC, and so can you!

Trying. Failing. Trying Again.

Yesterday was a struggle. After my blog post from the previous day about becoming a possibilitarian, about positive mental attitude, I'm convinced yesterday was a test. I woke up in a foul mood for no apparent reason. Every little mischievous, inconvenient thing Liam or the dog did made me furious. I did a lot of yelling. Yelling + angry expression is something I struggle to remedy on a daily basis. It's not a good way - or an acceptable way - of communicating, but it's the only way I know. The only way I was taught to express myself. That doesn't mean it has to be permanent, though. We are constantly changing, evolving; if we want, we can be better.

For so long, I didn't want to be better. But now I do. So I took the opportunities I saw to respond differently, to create new habits, new forms of communication. I was able to make light of frustrating situations, games out of toddler behavior where I really just wanted to shout "Obey me! NOW!".

That's not to say I didn't fail too. I failed plenty. I was ashamed of myself and I wanted to cry with remorse and apologize to Liam for being stuck with such a poor mother. But, really, I think it's not a perfect mother he needs. He needs one who is willing to admit she is flawed, and willing to make a change.

Love, love. Here we are.

On Becoming A Possibilitarian

I first came across the the term "possibilitarian" in the summer of 2013, when I came across the art + blog of Kelly Rae Roberts through one of my favorite artists, Flora Bowley. We had just made a small but life altering move from Pensacola to Milton, Florida, about 40 minutes North. The house we had moved into was one of about 200 nearly identical military houses just outside of base. Tiny and extremely outdated, - think pink tiled bathrooms - it's only perk was the enclosed porch where we could sit and enjoy the breeze without being eaten by mosquitoes. I would spend hours there every evening after Liam had gone to bed, pouring over Kelly Rae's blog, amazed at her journey from thirty-something officer worker who had hardly any experience with art to hugely successful artist and author and inspirationalist in the span of just a few years. All because she believed in possibilites + following her hear and doing what felt good and right and true.

I've never much believed in the manifestation of thoughts. I've never much believed in anything other than my families curse of bad luck. I've been a pessimist my whole life, almost delighting in the irony when yet another bad thing happened to me or my relatives. We've learned to laugh about it, bitterly, and accept that we don't deserve any better than the worst of what life has to offer.

I hadn't heard the term "possibilitarian" yet when I met my husband in 20120, and neither had he, but I recognize now that that is what he is, even though he calls it something else. I think his version of it is less romantic, less spiritual, but it works just the same. He calls it PMA - Positive Mental Attitude. When I met Patrick he was blooming with abundance of good fortune in every aspect of his life. Since then, I have watched my family curse infiltrate our relationship and overshadow all of his PMA, causing ill health, debt, and a string of unfortunate events ranging from a hit and run to a cesarean section. All because I believed bad things had to happen to me.

But the truth is that they don't/ I don't deserve bad things. I am not a perfect person by any means. But most days I don't even believe that I am a good or decent person. I've spent a lifetime conditioning myself to this thought process, and perfected it over the years. I've trained in toxicity and negativity, chosen darkness and depression where others chose light and happiness. To the point that I can't even rejoice in the success of others or celebrate + acknowledge their beauty because it's too painful in the face of my own short-comimgs and failure.

It stops here.

No more.

I've watched this kind of behavior in certain friends of mine, recognized it for what it is and seen it destroy their lives + joy, and have been able to see that their pain and struggle is completely unnecessary. But I was never able to acknowledge the same attitude in me.

But now is the time for honesty. For possibilities. Because it's not just me anymore. And it's not even just me and a husband anymore. We have a child to raise in beauty, love + light. And I am growing a daughter who deserved much better than to be formed in the depths of negativity.

It's time to believe in the possibilities of our lives. To embrace the truth that we deserve good things. To see the possibility of beauty even in our dark moments. To surround ourselves with things that make us happy and let go of those things that don't - even if, on the outside, ridding our lives of negativity looks like a bad decision. Even if, at first, it hurts.