a fierce warrior

Rowan has been resisting sleep lately. you'd swear we were trying to put her into a crib filled with hot lava, for the anger she emits when we lay her down for naps. of course, it doesn’t last more than a few minutes before she’s fast asleep. however, what used to be two or three hour naps are now forty-five minutes, tops.

this mama misses her alone time.

night time isn’t much better. she sleeps through the night no trouble {thank you, Lord!}, but getting her to go down is almost as difficult as putting drops into my eyes. you can ask my husband {he’s the one who has to try and get them in if I need them}, it’s a task.

last night was no different. she actually went down easily enough at bedtime, which had shifted from 6:30pm to 7pm-ish with daylight saving time. she awoke, however, after her first sleep cycle [forty-five minutes] and was very obviously upset with being alone in her room. I went in once to do some soothing, but when I laid her back down in her crib, she came out of her half-asleep, dopey state and started whining again. I left the room quietly, hoping she would settle down after a minute, but soon accepted the fact that it wasn’t happening.

I sent Joey a quick text, asking him what to do. I didn’t want to just leave her crying in her room, but at the same time, we want her to be able to soothe herself and learn to put herself to sleep. he told me that when he puts her to bed, he always prays over her and her room for the night. I usually pray “with” her -- simple words that she will hopefully pray soon enough at bedtime. but I figured it couldn’t hurt, and when I sat down with her in her rocking chair, I began interceding on her behalf.

I prayed over the room; that it be protected from darkness, a dwelling place for the Spirit while she slept. I prayed for her heart, her mind, her body; that she feel the fullness of His peace + rest. I paused when I felt her body go limp and her breathing even out, her little hands curled at her side, mouth open, knees tucked up toward her belly; I took a minute to kiss everything I could reach without moving + waking her. then I kept praying a few minutes more. {I'm beginning to understand how fleeting these baby moments really are.}

as I paused to breathe a thank you for God’s covering in her space, I felt a cool breeze and got chills all over my body. I experienced God say six words that I will be praying over her life from this day on:

up

most mornings, I wake before the rest of the house opens its sleepy eyes.

especially since daylight saving time last weekend, rowan has been going down at her usual bedtime, but waking an hour later. my body is still accustomed to waking at 5:30 or so in anticipation of her little voice, talking to herself and letting out long, loud calls to us to come and get her after a long night of sleep.

many days, I stay in bed, tossing and turning and trying to get back to sleep [I rarely succeed] until I hear noise in the monitor. I then roll out of bed and into the bathroom, splashing water on my face and praying for grace for our day.

on the best mornings, I get out of bed shortly after my internal clock alerts me of the day's beginning. I make a cup of creamy coffee and quiet myself for a few moments in the stillness before the sunrise.

on days like today, my bible is opened and my pen is poised above the page, waiting, eager for the words to fill its white space. my homemade planner and catch-all notebook sit at the ready for quick inspiration or half-forgotten to-dos.

and then I hear her.

she moves quickly [note the blur in the photo]; her excitement for the new day is infectious and we laugh together as I say good morning, pulling her close for big hugs.

she's eight months old today. eight months too old for the fresh newborn I see in my arms. 

no matter the months that pass, I'll always see the same girl.
the one who greets me in the morning.

in the lacking

the world of mommy-blogging [though I don't really consider myself a part] is full of guilting + shaming. every mom believes their choices are best for their family, otherwise they [hopefully] wouldn't make them. however, many moms believe their choices are the best for everyone. I've gone back + forth on whether or not to post this, fearing the response from mothers who don't agree with my decisions. in the end, these are my decisions for my family, and this is my heart, so I'm going to share it anyway.

you may or may not have noticed that I haven't been overly present this past week.

I wrote a bit, but didn't read much, despite my desire to get through + comment on all of the Influence Network meetup posts. I scanned through twitter each day, but didn't add much to the conversation. I left emails unread in my inbox for a time when I could actually devote the energy required to dealing with them.

part of this lack has to do with the extraction of four wisdom teeth last wednesday. I had a pretty easy go of it -- no extreme pain or infection thus far, and I was able to eat solid food the next day -- although the sedation didn't work and I remember every last bit of it. my mother came down to spend the rest of the week with us, to help out with rowan while joey continued working, and it was lovely to spend time with her + watch her love on her granddaughter. I am so grateful to have parents who are willing to drop pretty much anything to help out; when rowan is involved, they'll drop work so quick it would make your head spin.

but the dental surgery has played a bigger part in a way I wasn't expecting.

I've been forced to make the very tough decision, in an extremely short amount of time, to wean rowan from nursing. up to this point, other than the addition of a meal or two a day of solid food the past two months, she's been exclusively breastfed. we were blessed with a great latch and a good supply from the beginning, without so much as a day of trouble. I actually really like nursing.

it's easy [for us -- I know this isn't the case for everyone!].
it's free.
it's always available.
until it's not.

a week or so before my surgery, I started pumping some extra milk, once a day, to amass enough to bottle-feed while I was on pain medication. I had enough in the fridge and freezer to last nearly a week, just in case I needed extra drugging to deal with excess pain. I pumped + dumped while I was still in the 24 hour window for the sedation to wear off, and while I was taking the tylenol 3 I had been prescribed.

when I tried nursing again, however, it was clear that my supply had dropped. significantly enough that rowan would still take almost a full bottle after I fed her. it has been a frustrating couple of days, to say the least. I attempted to build my supply back up with extra feedings and tried [unsuccessfully] to force rowan to stay on longer, to increase the demand. she wasn't having any of it. she didn't want to stay at my breast, getting nothing, when there were toys to be played with and floors to army-crawl on.

exclusively pumping hasn't seemed to work either. as much as I try, my supply is definitely decreasing. what used to be a 7-8oz pumped bottle in the morning is now down to 3-4oz, and decreasing each day. other than the first pump of the day, I can't pump more than an ounce and a half before my body gives up on me.

so, faced with an empty breast, a hungry child, and a can of formula I received in the mail [seriously: how do these people find out a woman is pregnant?!], I made the best choice I could, through tears, for our family at this time.

am I disappointed that I wasn't able to continue nursing throughout rowan's first year? absolutely. am I frustrated with and feeling betrayed by my body? um YES.

but I'm taking things a day at a time.
still trying to pump and give rowan all the breastmilk I can.
selfishly looking forward to not being the only person who can feed her.
weeping at the thought of doing life without that time together.
insanely grateful for the eight months I have been able to spend with her.

a weekend c/o instagram {+ lots of hyphens}

our weekends are typically pretty quiet. we're still getting used to the whole having-a-baby-while-still-living-in-a-university-town-with-pretty-much-all-university-minded-friends thing. while it means a never-ending supply of {free!} babysitters, it also means a strange kind of isolation, even if we're in the thick of the noise.

on friday nights, unless there are very strange/emergency circumstances, we have someone come to the house right around Rowan's bedtime + we head out to LIFE for the evening. we aren't usually out late + it's certainly not a date-type-situation, but it's a night out we've been blessed with since Rowan was just three months old.

this past friday night, our longest-standing friend in our community offered to come + babysit {aka watch criminal minds on our couch while Rowan slept} so we could go out. we worshipped, we ate poutine + mozza sticks + we came home before midnight.

to this.

yes, that is a post-it note stuck to our toilet.
yes, there is a bad word written on it.

obviously Joey photographed the offense + uploaded it to instagram.

this is Joey's weekend off, so saturday was spent in our pjs. the only one who got dressed was rowan. 

and that's only because she spit up on her pyjamas.

after an awfully cute sleep.

on sunday morning we went to church -- Joey heading out an hour earlier than Rowan + I, as he was playing with the worship team. Rowan + I arrived at the church {already late} with our crockpot full of chickpea curry, and as I attempted to be supermom + carry all the things into the church in one trip, I spilled half of the curry. all over the interior of my car. so bad. I had to put Rowan back into her seat for a minute while I used two receiving blankets to try + scoop most of the mess off the passenger seat. 

my sunday afternoon was spent hunched over the passenger seat with a bucket of hot water + rags + a toothbrush. 

but it's all good, guys, because we made pizza for dinner + I drowned my crankies in fluffy dough + diet pepsi. 

and this girl.

the goat drum.

someone {ahem: sandy stearns} left his goat-skin drum at our house on friday night after LIFE was finished.

so of course, on saturday morning, we had a jam session.



in true seven-month-old fashion, after I stopped recording, Rowan tried to eat the drum.
but we say no! to eating goats in this household, so I redirected her + she banged a bit more instead.

in which rowan clicks.

this girl.

she started clicking a couple of weeks ago + thinks it's the coolest thing ever.

honestly?
we do too.

she is seven months old as of today
+ we think she's pretty much the best thing that exists. period.

after watching that video, I daresay you'll think so too.

six months in

twenty six weeks.

half a year; but it doesn't feel that long.

more than half of a pregnancy. But the days have gone by much faster.

photo courtesy of katie draper

from the first time I held her, I knew this would be a wild ride -- having a daughter must always be. wild, but sweet.

the first night I really cried with her in my arms, I was overwhelmed with my new baby and all that had come along with her, my healing seemed to be taking forever, and I was so frustrated with my insomnia. as I began to sob {because let's be real, when you're overwhelmed, exhausted, and haven't peed without it hurting in oh. so. long, it's not just a few tears escaping from your eyes. it's a full-on ugly cry}, my fussing baby quieted right down and nuzzled in closer. as if to comfort me in the only way her tiny, three week old body could.

sweet.

photo courtesy of katie draper

she's not that little three week old baby anymore. she's grown bigger, more intelligent, and impossibly funnier in the past five months. she's still as empathetic as ever + loves everyone she meets. I hope she never, ever outgrows these qualities.

she's rolling all around the living room + trying her best to crawl [but only managing to shimmy herself backward on the rug]. she loves when there's music playing -- any + all kinds -- but especially loves dancing with daddy to Bryan + Katie Torwalt.

she's slept through the night [at least eight hours] since she was about eight weeks old, and currently gets about twelve to fourteen hours each night. while she's awake, she talks nonstop. sometimes she even talks in her sleep. {she gets that from her father.}

she's begun eating some solid food [sweet potato, rice cereal, apples + lots of avocado so far] + nursing is still going incredibly well. she latched on perfectly the very first day [even after we were separated for her first 11 hours of life] and hasn't had even a day of trouble eating since. she's going to have food issues like her parents.

it's been six months of oh so much prayer for our sweet girl. prayer that her heart be protected. prayer that she grows to know + trust the One who knew her before even I did. prayer that we love + guide her in the ways she needs love + guidance. prayer that she would be known as one whose mind is stayed on God.

here's to six more months.
+ then years upon years after that.

stuff > toys

{don't worry: I took the paper from her before she got a good mouthful}

oh, my dear

A year ago today, I drove the four hours from my home to my parents' by myself.
Well, kind of.

She was there.

Of course, she was merely the size of an apple seed + I wasn't entirely certain of her presence. [I was pretty darn sure -- I had been for more than a week -- but I had yet to take a test + see the physical answer in my face.]

When I arrived at my parents' house with a Costco-sized box [because everything is better when it's Costco-sized], Joey + I hurried to the quiet basement, where we could be alone for a few moments. Where the biggest change my life has ever known was confirmed.

+ confirmed again.

+ she grew. [Although I called her "it" since we didn't know she was, in fact, a "she".]

The past 366 days [leap year, what!] have been filled to the brim.
With uncertainty.
With joy.
With unspeakable fear.
With immeasurable love.

That little apple seed is much bigger now.

Her smile makes me catch my breath + her heart is already so beautiful.

I'm anxious to see the strong woman she grows up to be.

But I can wait.
For just a bit longer.
Hold her tightly while she'll let me.
And then for just a bit longer.

Oh, my dear,
I've already known you a year.
And I can't wait to know you more.

the post-birth story

I had a baby.

Three months ago today, in fact. Time goes by awfully quickly.

It has taken me this long to get back to writing. The easy way around it would be to blame how busy things are -- because life with a baby is certainly busy. But that's not the reason. I would have found the time to write if I had been able to write.

I wanted to have my birth story written down while it was still pretty fresh in my mind. I know I will treasure that story for the rest of my life, but I've got to admit it: I was basically forced at gunpoint to write it. Joey poked + prodded me along until finally I sat down to write [+ write, + write], but I had no desire to do it.

I had no desire to do anything, really.

Yes, you've guessed it by now, I'm sure.

Post-partum depression.

Of course, given my past, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

And despite my continued promises otherwise, I kept it bottled up as best I could while living with two people who know me as well as my husband + Alyssa. Alyssa was out a lot from the time the baby was born until the end of September, so I didn't have to do much pretending there. Joey was more aware, I'm sure, than I give him credit. I myself tried to stay as unaware as I possibly could.

The truth is, I felt cheated.

Cheated out of the most precious time a mother can spend with her baby.

Cheated out of the instant love + bond I was supposed to feel.

When Rowan was taken from me, moments after she breathed her first raspy, grunty breaths, at first I thought it was kind of a good thing. I had a few moments to myself to process what had just happened, for my introverted self to recharge after five hours spent in a room with people + one hour of intense labour + twenty-five minutes of pushing.

In the days that followed Rowan's birth, I came to know that despite the extra sleep I was able to get, those first eleven hours my baby spent in an incubator were not good for me. Not good in the slightest. I struggled for weeks to really bond with my little girl, some days not even feeling as though I'd had a child -- and if I had, this one in my arms certainly wasn't mine.

If I'm being completely honest, I've got tears streaming down my face just thinking about it all.

On top of my battle to bond with this child, I was dealing with an immense amount of guilt. Guilt for not being able to get the housework done or cook meals. [Even now I find myself doing the vast majority of the housework simply because I feel too guilty about asking for help.] Guilt for spending time doing the bit of housework I was able to do instead of spending that precious time with my baby. Worst of all, guilt for sometimes not even caring that I was spending time doing other things instead of wanting to cuddle this little girl.

Three months later, I'm doing much better.

I'm able to admit that I've been dealing with these issues, despite my deep shame in feeling the way I have toward this tiny, beautiful being.

I'm able to get up in the morning, excited to see the girl I've missed through the night.

I'm able to look at her all day long, no matter her disposition, and tell her that I love her -- and mean it from the deepest part of me.

I'm able to write.

Rowan's story {part three}

{in case you missed them, you can read part one + two of Rowan's birth story here + here}

As the obstetrician came to me + suggested oxytocin to progress my slowed labour, the feelings of disappointment and frustration with my own body overwhelmed me. {Pitocin [artificial oxytocin] was pretty much the last thing I wanted to be involved in my labour + delivery process. I'm no expert, but have read + heard + seen enough to know that can be a gateway to all kinds of other interventions during the birthing process. I would have been too far along at that point to receive an epidural, but many women who receive Pitocin ask for an epidural because of the intensity of the contractions. These newly severe contractions can also cause undue stress to the baby, which heightens the possibility of the use of different extraction tools, and even c-sections. I didn't want to take my chances, especially since the baby's heart rate was already elevated.} I asked if they could just break my water at that point, and we would reassess after an hour, at two o'clock.

My mother had told me numerous times throughout my pregnancy that labour happened quickly for her, and that if my water broke at home, not to wait the 24 hours they say you have before heading to the hospital. I had to get there right away. Boy, was she spot on! Once my water was broken [which took a few tries, but thankfully wasn't too uncomfortable], things moved quickly. Almost immediately after the midwife broke my water, the OB checked me to find that I had already hit 8cm dilated, and she was confident that things were picking up speed + pitocin would be unnecessary [thank you, Lord!].

Transition came on like a beast, and my calm, quiet contractions were no more. Even though I still had two centimetres to go, I was feeling the urge to push big time. With every contraction, I was trying my best to breathe through the urge need to push, using every ounce of my mental + physical strength to keep from pushing. {Pushing the baby further down at that point could have irritated my cervix, causing it to swell + making it more difficult to dilate fully.} The time ticked by slowly, every minute feeling like an hour as the contractions came harder and faster, leaving me with very little time to breathe and regroup in between. When I told them I wasn't sure I could go on, Nicole looked at me and told me I just had to [this was exactly the kind of straightforward personality I needed while giving birth!] and asked if I would like to try the nitrous oxide. I said I would give it a try, and gave the mask a few good sucks before throwing it aside, as it wasn't providing any amount of relief -- it was really just a distraction as I tried to breathe as deeply as possible. Marie checked me just before two o'clock [although I had no idea what time it was + I felt like I had been in transition for ages] and I must have been dilated to a large 9cm, although I have no recollection of her announcing exactly how far along I was at that point [I'm sure she must have let us know, because she had been all along!].

Ten minutes later, Marie + Nicole could tell I was starting to lose steam; I wasn't able to help pushing with the contractions, despite my best [although waning] efforts. Joey had been applying pressure to my back the entire time as I laid on my side [even when I lost control of my bowels -- sad day], and even this didn't seem to help any longer. Marie decided to check again, and at 2:10am, told me I was ready to start pushing. I was going to meet my baby.

{this would be a great place to stop and leave the rest of the story for another post, but I just can't do that to you -- you're getting the full meal deal today!}

I will spare you the grisly details, but I rolled onto my back and held my own legs for leverage as I pushed while Joey held my head forward. Marie applied counter pressure and instructed me to push just a little bit at a time as the baby's head crowned, so as to hopefully avoid any tearing. I don't remember too much, although I know my contractions slowed down a bit, giving me a moment of sweet relief between pushing. I also remember asking at one point if the baby's head was fully out, as I thought I could feel it just kind of dangling there. [It was, in fact, out.] With one last push to get past the shoulders, the baby kind of slithered the rest of the way out [there really isn't any other way to describe it; even Joey said the same thing] and was placed on my chest at 2:35am.

What followed certainly wasn't the beautiful mess of tears you see when a baby is born in a movie. Marie + Nicole both moved very quickly and quietly as they cut and clamped the umbilical cord [they apologized to Joey for not allowing him to do it as we had requested], and wiped the baby off a bit. I was in a bit of shock and still am relatively unaware of what all happened and in what order, but I do know I asked Joey at this point whether we'd had a boy or a girl; he looked at the baby, who was being wiped off by another nurse, and she opened the baby's legs quickly for Joey to see. His face and voice were dripping with confusion as he told me we'd had a girl. [He had been certain throughout my entire pregnancy -- even though we didn't choose to find out the sex -- that we were having a boy.]

Our daughter was whisked away to the warmer on the other side of the room while the obstetrician, who had just reentered the scene, checked me out. [I had only a very small tear -- so small they normally wouldn't even have bothered stitching it -- but since I am redheaded and very fair, they decided to suture it to be on the safe side.] Nicole was explaining that the baby had swallowed some meconium and they had to make sure she was breathing properly.The baby was very grunty, having let out only a few little cries, and Nicole said they wanted to hear "big, lusty cries!" Even after attempting to suction the gunk out of her mouth, they still weren't able to get lusty cries out of her, so after giving me a few more minutes with her, Joey followed her into the nursery, where she was put into an incubator and given oxygen.

At this point, although I'm sure it wasn't on purpose and Nicole was horrified when she returned, I was left alone in the room. I had been cleaned up, Joey had handed me my phone before he left with the baby, and I was so thankful for a few moments to myself. It sounds ridiculous, but other than holding my baby, which was obviously not possible at that time, the only thing I would have wanted was to be alone for a few moments. As an introvert who had been surrounded by people for hours during what was already an exhausting experience, I just needed some time to recharge.

Shortly before 4am [about twenty minutes after they took the baby to the nursery], Nicole came back into the room with a wheelchair to take me to see the baby. I felt lightheaded after only a few minutes seated upright, but I took my time staring at the little being we had brought into the world.

Eleven hours after she took her first breath, she was finally able to come out of the incubator and into our room. By this point, she had a first name: Rowan. It felt like I was really holding my baby for the first time, since the actual first time had been so rushed.

As scary as it was that she was finally here + fully dependent upon me, she was mine.

Rowan's story {part two}

{in case you missed it, you can read part one of Rowan's birth story here}

When we left off, I had just been taken off the monitor after only having been hooked up for a few minutes, since I was already dilated 6cm and was well on my way to 7cm, according to the obstetrician on the unit that night. The nurse in the room, Liz, handed me a hospital gown as the obstetrician told me to get changed and head two doors down to the delivery room -- I was going to have my baby that night, there was no doubt about it.

Joey and I took a moment as I changed to try to absorb what was finally happening. At a week past my due date, I had pretty much come to the conclusion that this would never happen, but here we were! We headed to the other room, me in just my bra and a johnny shirt, and met Nicole, the labour + delivery nurse who would be with us that night. She was just finishing up a chart for the previous delivery [there were only two of us that night, and we had heard the other baby's first cry from the labour room just a very short while before], and then she began to prepare the room for our baby's birth. She was fantastic, explaining the use of each little tool as she got everything ready, and treating us as friends instead of patients. [It was at this point that I realized Nicole was our friend Tiffany's preceptor the year before during her co-op at the hospital, which was a nice little connection!]

We got settled in the room around eleven o'clock, I in the bed + Joey between a chair + my bedside. I had thought going into labour that I would want to move as much as possible through my contractions, but quickly discovered that I was much more comfortable lying down. I certainly had the option to move about -- I was only hooked up to the monitor for a very short while once we got to the delivery room, and only because I had been sick to my stomach a few times and was a bit dehydrated. At this point, Marie, my midwife showed up, having just settled into bed when she received the call that I was in labour + asking if she wanted to join the party. I was so happy to see her -- I had thought the obstetrician would be delivering my baby, which of course wasn't a bad thing either, but had really wanted to go through the whole experience with one of the midwives, and especially Marie. [The hospital where I gave birth has a shared care practice, and so I saw three obstetricians and two midwives throughout my pregnancy. The obstetrician on call that night was the one I had seen most often and the one with whom I was most comfortable, and I was happy she was there in case an emergency situation were to arise!]

For a long while, I just laid in the bed, quietly breathing through the contractions on my own. They became increasingly painful, but still weren't anything to complain about, to be honest. The only trouble I had was dehydration. Because I had vomited a few times that evening + since arriving at the hospital, and also hadn't eaten dinner that night or been drinking very much, my heart rate as well as the baby's were slightly elevated. I tried for awhile just drinking water to try and solve the problem, but wasn't able to keep enough down to really make a difference. They inserted an IV and pumped me full of fluids, which made me feel quite a bit better and worked to lower both of our heart rates. I was also very warm in the room, which posed a bit of a problem because I tend to faint when my temperature changes quickly. Joey and Nicole were constantly going between the bed and the sink, soaking cloths in cold water and putting them on my face and neck, keeping me at a comfortable temperature.

I was checked several times, seemingly by everyone on the unit, and had made it to 7cm, but wasn't really getting much further than that. At midnight, Marie came to me and said I wasn't progressing as quickly as they would like, which is typically half a centimeter each hour. She then spoke the words I dreaded, telling me that the OB would suggest Pitocin if I didn't get much further within the next little while. I asked if they could break my water instead, to avoid needing to artificially induce contractions, and Marie agreed to wait an hour to see if I progressed on my own before breaking my water, and then revisiting the oxytocin option after that, if necessary.


One o'clock came, and I still hadn't made it far enough to rule anything out. The obstetrician had come into the room and was talking to Marie. I had a silent moment of disappointment as the doctor turned to me and suggested we start an oxytocin drip …

{read part three here}

Rowan's story

I realize Rowan is two weeks old + I am just now getting around to posting her birth story, but I've been busy enjoying my newborn! If that's not a good excuse, I don't know what is!

Two weeks ago, on Friday the 13th at 6:11am, I awoke knowing something was very different. My contractions had changed overnight from sharp twinges in my belly that came and went sometimes imperceptibly to more noticeable [although still not painful], definitely crampy pains. When Joey woke up about twenty minutes later, he almost jumped out of bed, he was so excited at the prospect of something finally happening, six days past my due date.

{these contractions were different enough that I knew I wouldn't want to actually be tweeting about them & what was really happening throughout the day, not wanting anyone to know I was on labour until after our baby was born. there was no way that I could have gone the entire time without somehow tweeting about it, so I used an app called Momento to record what was happening tweet-style without actually posting anything online.}

I had had my regular weekly appointment at the clinic the day before, and while everything looked good [dilated to 2cm + fetal heart rate sitting around 145bpm], they wanted to make sure the baby was still doing well and scheduled me in for a biophysical profile on Friday morning [including a non stress test + an ultrasound to check my fluid level]. Our NST wasn't technically scheduled until 9am, and the ultrasound at 10:30, but I knew they would just hook me up to the monitor as soon as I got there anyway. By 8:30 I was settled in the bed in a labour room, the baby was doing everything it was supposed to be doing, and they even noticed some pretty strong contractions on the monitor [which I couldn't really feel at all].

My midwife came in to check me at the end of the twenty minute strip and told me I was still about 2cm dilated, and asked if I would like my membranes stripped again while I was there. She knew I didn't want to be artificially induced [I had an induction date scheduled for Tuesday, July 17th], and this could very likely get things moving a bit faster. The OB/GYN I had also seen at intervals throughout my pregnancy came in to check me [she had been the one to check me the day before & thought it would be good to compare one day to the next] and do the stretch & sweep, and then we were off to the ultrasound portion of the day, although all I wanted to do was stay in that bed & sleep awhile! Fluid levels looked good on the ultrasound, and we got to see a good amount of hair on the back of baby's head as well as a little foot measuring 7cm long. The OB/GYN then told us to have a good weekend [I told her that was a terrible thing to say!] & we headed home to wait yet again.

By 3:30 that afternoon things had definitely become consistent, with contractions coming every 7-10 minutes. They still weren't at all painful -- I could easily talk through them and would miss them if I wasn't really paying attention. Joey and I went for a few little walks around the neighbourhood and around our yard, I ate an apple [I wasn't at all hungry for supper], and we grumbled a bit about the neighbour's pool, wishing we were spending the dreadfully hot day in a nice cool pool instead of our hot, air conditioning-less house.

We decided to watch Mean Girls shortly after 7. Supper obviously wasn't happening as I had been queasy, queasier, and sick. My stomach wasn't having even the lonely apple I had eaten in the afternoon. Contractions were now coming every 5-7 minutes, but I wanted to stay at home as long as possible, since we only had a three minute drive to the hospital.

When the movie finished around 8:30, I got Joey to run to the store for some gum and a few little things, and he put our bags into the car while we waited, just in case it all ended in a mad dash. By this time, contractions were coming every 3-5 minutes, and as much as I knew I had to go, I really just didn't want to leave my house. It was so strange thinking about leaving as two and coming back as three.

I finally managed to peel myself away from my nostalgia and get into the car. We drew a big, smiling face on the board in our kitchen to let Alyssa know when she arrived home that this was it, and stopped at not one but two grocery stores before actually getting to the hospital just before 9:30.

When we arrived at the nurse's station on the Women's & Children's unit, there wasn't anyone there. We stood around in the hallway for a few minutes before someone noticed us, and I meekly said, "I think I might be in labour." We ended up having to go back out to admitting to get some paperwork, and then they took me in to the same labour room I had been in that morning and hooked me up to the monitor once again. My OB/GYN came in a few minutes later, and I praised her handiwork at that morning's stretch + sweep.

I had only been on the monitor for a couple of minutes, but when the doctor checked me and noticed that I was already 6cm dilated, they didn't even bother to finish the strip. It was pretty obvious I would be having a baby at some point that night ...

{read part two here}   {read part three here} 

what's in a name

I'm not the type to have romantic aspects of my life dreamed up in advance. Not once did I picture how my marriage proposal might go, and I didn't have any preconceived ideas about wedding day details. I was definitely not the nine-year-old planning her wedding with a pillowcase draped over her head like a veil.

In the same way, I hadn't really given much thought as to what my future children's names might be -- at least not until I actually had to start thinking about such things.

A few months ago, Joey told me that we had to start looking at names and narrowing down our choices. I was hesitant -- this is someone's name, something that they're stick with for life! We had a relatively simple time choosing a few names each for a boy and a girl, compiling nice little lists fairly quickly to sit on and pare down once the time got a bit nearer.

I looked at those lists of names only a handful of times over the last months of my pregnancy, only really giving them serious attention around week 37. I knew the baby could come pretty much any day and we wouldn't be at all prepared to give it a name! We sat down again with our lists, intending to narrow down our choices to just a few boy and a few girl names. We were able to get the boy list down from seven or eight to four names that we really liked. The girl list, on the other hand, went from five names to eight.

We told no one any of our choices [and still aren't sharing any of the runners up, in case we want to use them with subsequent children], and didn't even have any one name in mind for either a boy or a girl, knowing we would need to see our baby to really know what the name would be.

After our girl was born, we took a bit of time before our families arrived to sit down with that darn list of girl names and see what suited the brand new face we couldn't help but get lost in. Our eyes traveled down the original five names, finding none fit our little girl, and each of us, separately, decided on a name that I had put down, a name that Joey didn't even like when we came across it.

Rowan. An old Irish name meaning "little red one," we thought it was the perfect blend of old and uncommon, without being too weird or old-lady-ish.

Rowan's middle name took a bit longer to find -- we wanted something classy, more traditional, and it had to be a girl's name, not anything unisex. We didn't want "Rowan" to sound like a trendy name, we like that it's an old name, so we wanted something suited to it in that way. She didn't have a middle name until the evening of her second day, when the baby and I were alone in our hospital room.

Eleanor. Very much a girl's name, classy, traditional, and flows well with her first name.

It still feels strange to have chosen a name for someone, especially someone we had known for only a few hours before making such a huge decision. I still have moments when I doubt our choice, not because I don't love the name, but more likely because it's such a big, weighty thing to do, picking a name that will forever be tied to someone as important to us as our daughter.

ready or not

I had never planned on having kids this early in my life.

When Joey and I got married two years ago, we had already decided to wait three or four years before trying to have a baby. Three or four years to finish school [or at least have it well underway], to get a bit settled in together as a couple, and to
selfishlyhave some time to ourselves before having to devote ourselves entirely to another human being.

When we found out in early November that we were expecting, I definitely had mixed emotions regarding the whole thing. I was over the moon excited, but at the sane time this was not something we had even been thinking about, nor were we going to start thinking about it for quite some time. I still felt like a newlywed, and I wanted to spend more time with my husband, able to travel and stay out late and not worry quite so much about money for just a little longer. My thoughts were completely selfish, but not necessarily wrong -- I do think a husband and wife need that time together before bringing children into their family.

Now that she has arrived, I would never go back to sleep-filled nights and crack-less nipples. It's quite the cliché, and maybe it's just the slightly overtired, hormonal mother coming out in me, but it seems to be true.

I can't imagine her not being around.
And I don't want to.

My selfishness now stems not from what I would miss out on if I had to fully care for another person, but instead from wanting to be everything to one person so as not to miss a single moment.

Sitting here with my week-old baby, I've never been happier to say that what I had planned just didn't work out.

{ photo courtesy of jordan mattie }

the newness of it all

Rowan Eleanor was born in the wee hours of Saturday morning, at 2:35am.

She came out perfectly, all 8lb 4oz, 22 inches of her, and we actually couldn't be happier than we are right now.

{ photo courtesy of jordan mattie || taken Sunday, at one day old }