Birth and Postpartum: A Beautiful, Messy Experience.
It's been seven weeks since Hazel was born, and I feel like I'm just coming up for air.
Hazel was born on March 16th at 4:40pm (ish). I don't remember the exact minute, and I could run upstairs to look but who has time for that? Somehow I don't think Hazel won't mind that I remember that Nora was born at exactly 5:45am, and that I'm a little fuzzy on her birth time. We woke up that Wednesday morning, kissed our baby girl as she cried for us to stay (mostly because she had a fever and wanted her momma), and we drove to the hospital. I felt defeated as we drove; we had an induction scheduled at 9:00 that morning and somehow I felt like I was cheating the birth experience. I had imagined what our second birth story would look like the entire pregnancy, and this was not it. We chose to be induced based on a slew of information, but somehow I was judging myself and believing so many others would too. As we trend towards a more natural ways of doing things, women fight for their right to choose...as long as that choice is a natural birth and exclusively and openly breastfeeding their children until their toddlers. Maybe that's an exaggeration, but sometimes there seems to be a push for tolerance, except if you want to be induced, have a c-section, or formula feed your baby. Then all the hippies shake their heads at you and feel sorry for your medical intervened self.
Birth is a wild ride. It looks different for every mom, every time. Birth is miraculous and beautiful and so precious. It's a moment when time stands still, and in one moment life changes. In an instant, a baby transitions from the womb to the world and into the arms of its parents. Beautiful. However, anyone who pretends that birth is all rainbows and kittens didn't empty their bowels during the labor or delivery process (or at least they weren't keenly aware of it). Somehow among the chaos I remember crying and apologizing and telling my nurse and Chris, "Guys, this is so bad, this is a horrible mess." This is real life, real birth. And that nurse may see that crap (literally) everyday, but I don't usually poop myself, much less in front of someone else, so spare me the, "Oh this happens all the time!" (Sorry if this is TMI, but I don't have time for fake because both girls are sleeping, and my filter is gone in an effort to type quickly before they're graduating high school and I still haven't written this all down).
My labor seemed slow until I hit transition, and then everything just seemed chaotic. I kept my eyes closed from that point until Hazel was born; I was in survival mode. It seemed like my transition took forever, and I thought I might die. Some where in there I begged for an epidural. I couldn't deal with the pitocin induced contractions with no pain control, and I couldn't imagine coping for very much longer. The anesthesiologist kept apologizing as he deadened my back with lidocaine, to which I responded that that was the least of my pain. My epidural was placed, but unfortunately there wasn't time to connect it to anything so onward without relief we went. I kept telling my nurse that I had to push, and a sweet, older nurse encouraged me to blow like I was blowing out birthday candles because apparently my cervix didn't get the memo that it should be a 10 by now. I proceeded to let her know how I felt about birthday candles, and later apologized. God bless those quiet, calm births you can view on YouTube. Before everyone knew it, Hazel's head was visible, and three pushes later she was out and on my chest. In that moment, when I saw her, I had this overwhelming feeling and confirmation that this was "Hazel." That her name was all encompassing, and it was who she was.
My postpartum experience started out great. I was up walking around before we were moved to the postpartum room, Hazel latched and breastfed like a champ, and I couldn't have felt better. Fast forward past family visits and bonding time to 6 hours later, and I started to hemorrhage. It came out of nowhere, and I ended up in the OR with a quick D&C and a few extra stitches in my cervix. After that I felt like I had been hit by a truck. It slowed down my recovery, and the blood loss only added an extra complication. Nora still had a fever so Facetime was our saving grace over the next few days since she couldn't come to the hospital until a few hours before my discharge. We left the hospital Friday afternoon, and we left hand in hand, a family of four.
Over the next few weeks, we battled lots of sickness- Nora to the ER the first night Hazel was home, I developed a fever a week postpartum, and Hazel began to have GI issues. And up until the last week and a half, Hazel was so fussy. A visit to the pediatrician with a plea for help because I thought we all might die if we continued life this way, revealed that Hazel had severe gas, reflux, and was colicky. Oh is that all? So we commenced with pumping and bottle feeding, excessive burping, and more baby wearing. (See? I really am a hippie at heart so don't judge me). And don't forget a toddler in the background, eager to snuggle her baby sister (which more accurately looked like pinching her nose closed and grabbing her head and pulling it a little too close). Sweet Nora. She adjusted to life with four better than anyone. Yes, she needed more mommy snuggles and to be assured that she was just as important as Hazel, but she seemed to bloom into a little nurturer who loved to be a big helper and involved in everything from diaper changes to bath time. I love that girl, and she sure loves her baby sister.
Life with two kicked me in the guts. And when you're hormones are wonky and you're sleep deprived, there's no light at the end of the tunnel. It can be totally dark (but not conducive for sleeping) and hopeless if I'm being honest. It felt like it might always be this way, and that just made all the tears come. I missed life with just Nora and Chris yet this new, little life was captivating my heart too. When she wasn't inconsolable and raking my nerves across a cheese grater. It's hard to know how to feel let alone communicate that with others when they ask how you're doing. "Oh us? We're drowning with two, and I might lock myself in the bathroom and never come out. How are you?" It's hard when the heavy expectation feels like it should all be kittens and rainbows, but we all know how that turned out on birth day. Sometimes there's just a whole lot of mess amidst the beauty, and that's real life folks.
Fast forward to current life, and I think we're settled into our new normal. Or at least what that looks like for today. I'm realizing that yes, there is hope- something a little bit more sleep can give you. That life with two is more crazy, more messy, and more full; that I don't always have the "me" time I want (or need), that I'm more tired and sometimes less patient, and that sometimes a quick trip to Target looks like a circus courtesy of poopy blow outs or toddler fits (yes, I still shop at Target...it's my happy place). But life with two also looks like me giving up ideas of perfection and really enjoying life despite its messiness. It looks like teaching Nora how to be a part of things instead of trying to just get them down in spite of her. It looks like me slowing down to take in the world around me instead of rushing around to accomplish my to-do list. It looks like two beautiful souls entrusted to me to teach, to love, and to grow with. Some days I still feel like I might lose my you know what, and some days I feel like I'm ahead of the game. And again, that's life. Everyday is different, and on the tough days that gives me hope.
Hazel is less colicky these days, and we're better friends because of it. But before we started seeing some relief from the crying, I had to release myself from the pressure of calming her. I felt like a failure, defeated because I couldn't figure out why my baby was crying and I obviously couldn't soothe her. Give a hand to the mom who just yelled at her screaming baby because she can't make it stop. Mom fail. There were lots of days when I would just hold her and rock her because that's all I could do, and that seemed less frustrating than trying to get the crying to stop. When I embraced the crying, embraced that she was simply a fussy baby it gave me some kind of peace and relief. And I've also mastered a new level of disassociating, which has been most helpful at times.
Life with two is still unfolding, and obviously it's just beginning. Thank goodness for friends who can handle honesty and respond with empathy, love, and encouragement. Sometimes knowing others are in the same trenches is a huge comfort and offers a glimmer of hope. Life isn't meant to be lived alone and neither is motherhood, and all the moms know that adult conversation is necessarily for our survival. If we stay alone in the trenches with only our babes as company, we might die because those tiny people might just kill us themselves. Life with two is giving me more grace for people around me because I'm seeing that so many of us are simply doing the best we can. Some days that falls short, but thank God for a fresh tomorrow to try again.
When we picked Nora's name, we picked it because we loved the names but also the meaning. Nora Emerson means "honor, light" and "brave, strong." We melted at the sound of her name and loved the meaning each name held. When we chose Hazel's name, we picked it because we loved the names but the meanings were a little disappointing to me. Hazel Ellison means "brown" and "the Lord is my God." The middle name was solid enough we figured, and Hazel just seemed like her name and we'd loved it for years so it stuck. Sometime in the weeks following her birth, I just hated that her name meant "brown" so I started looking for various meanings to the name. I came across a Hebrew translation that means, "God sees." In the midst of the crying (both Hazel's and mine), during the time where the tunnel was dark with no light shining at the end of it, I found that her name meant "God sees." It was the sweetest reminder to me that God saw me in this hard place. He saw my failings, my tired spirit, my efforts, all my emotions. He saw and He sees and He cares and He's not far off. I needed that reminder in that moment, and I need it everyday of motherhood. I love that my fussy, sensitive baby will always be a reminder of God's love towards us, that He cares enough to look our way and to truly see us.
Hazel was born on March 16th at 4:40pm (ish). I don't remember the exact minute, and I could run upstairs to look but who has time for that? Somehow I don't think Hazel won't mind that I remember that Nora was born at exactly 5:45am, and that I'm a little fuzzy on her birth time. We woke up that Wednesday morning, kissed our baby girl as she cried for us to stay (mostly because she had a fever and wanted her momma), and we drove to the hospital. I felt defeated as we drove; we had an induction scheduled at 9:00 that morning and somehow I felt like I was cheating the birth experience. I had imagined what our second birth story would look like the entire pregnancy, and this was not it. We chose to be induced based on a slew of information, but somehow I was judging myself and believing so many others would too. As we trend towards a more natural ways of doing things, women fight for their right to choose...as long as that choice is a natural birth and exclusively and openly breastfeeding their children until their toddlers. Maybe that's an exaggeration, but sometimes there seems to be a push for tolerance, except if you want to be induced, have a c-section, or formula feed your baby. Then all the hippies shake their heads at you and feel sorry for your medical intervened self.
Birth is a wild ride. It looks different for every mom, every time. Birth is miraculous and beautiful and so precious. It's a moment when time stands still, and in one moment life changes. In an instant, a baby transitions from the womb to the world and into the arms of its parents. Beautiful. However, anyone who pretends that birth is all rainbows and kittens didn't empty their bowels during the labor or delivery process (or at least they weren't keenly aware of it). Somehow among the chaos I remember crying and apologizing and telling my nurse and Chris, "Guys, this is so bad, this is a horrible mess." This is real life, real birth. And that nurse may see that crap (literally) everyday, but I don't usually poop myself, much less in front of someone else, so spare me the, "Oh this happens all the time!" (Sorry if this is TMI, but I don't have time for fake because both girls are sleeping, and my filter is gone in an effort to type quickly before they're graduating high school and I still haven't written this all down).
My labor seemed slow until I hit transition, and then everything just seemed chaotic. I kept my eyes closed from that point until Hazel was born; I was in survival mode. It seemed like my transition took forever, and I thought I might die. Some where in there I begged for an epidural. I couldn't deal with the pitocin induced contractions with no pain control, and I couldn't imagine coping for very much longer. The anesthesiologist kept apologizing as he deadened my back with lidocaine, to which I responded that that was the least of my pain. My epidural was placed, but unfortunately there wasn't time to connect it to anything so onward without relief we went. I kept telling my nurse that I had to push, and a sweet, older nurse encouraged me to blow like I was blowing out birthday candles because apparently my cervix didn't get the memo that it should be a 10 by now. I proceeded to let her know how I felt about birthday candles, and later apologized. God bless those quiet, calm births you can view on YouTube. Before everyone knew it, Hazel's head was visible, and three pushes later she was out and on my chest. In that moment, when I saw her, I had this overwhelming feeling and confirmation that this was "Hazel." That her name was all encompassing, and it was who she was.
My postpartum experience started out great. I was up walking around before we were moved to the postpartum room, Hazel latched and breastfed like a champ, and I couldn't have felt better. Fast forward past family visits and bonding time to 6 hours later, and I started to hemorrhage. It came out of nowhere, and I ended up in the OR with a quick D&C and a few extra stitches in my cervix. After that I felt like I had been hit by a truck. It slowed down my recovery, and the blood loss only added an extra complication. Nora still had a fever so Facetime was our saving grace over the next few days since she couldn't come to the hospital until a few hours before my discharge. We left the hospital Friday afternoon, and we left hand in hand, a family of four.
Over the next few weeks, we battled lots of sickness- Nora to the ER the first night Hazel was home, I developed a fever a week postpartum, and Hazel began to have GI issues. And up until the last week and a half, Hazel was so fussy. A visit to the pediatrician with a plea for help because I thought we all might die if we continued life this way, revealed that Hazel had severe gas, reflux, and was colicky. Oh is that all? So we commenced with pumping and bottle feeding, excessive burping, and more baby wearing. (See? I really am a hippie at heart so don't judge me). And don't forget a toddler in the background, eager to snuggle her baby sister (which more accurately looked like pinching her nose closed and grabbing her head and pulling it a little too close). Sweet Nora. She adjusted to life with four better than anyone. Yes, she needed more mommy snuggles and to be assured that she was just as important as Hazel, but she seemed to bloom into a little nurturer who loved to be a big helper and involved in everything from diaper changes to bath time. I love that girl, and she sure loves her baby sister.
Life with two kicked me in the guts. And when you're hormones are wonky and you're sleep deprived, there's no light at the end of the tunnel. It can be totally dark (but not conducive for sleeping) and hopeless if I'm being honest. It felt like it might always be this way, and that just made all the tears come. I missed life with just Nora and Chris yet this new, little life was captivating my heart too. When she wasn't inconsolable and raking my nerves across a cheese grater. It's hard to know how to feel let alone communicate that with others when they ask how you're doing. "Oh us? We're drowning with two, and I might lock myself in the bathroom and never come out. How are you?" It's hard when the heavy expectation feels like it should all be kittens and rainbows, but we all know how that turned out on birth day. Sometimes there's just a whole lot of mess amidst the beauty, and that's real life folks.
Fast forward to current life, and I think we're settled into our new normal. Or at least what that looks like for today. I'm realizing that yes, there is hope- something a little bit more sleep can give you. That life with two is more crazy, more messy, and more full; that I don't always have the "me" time I want (or need), that I'm more tired and sometimes less patient, and that sometimes a quick trip to Target looks like a circus courtesy of poopy blow outs or toddler fits (yes, I still shop at Target...it's my happy place). But life with two also looks like me giving up ideas of perfection and really enjoying life despite its messiness. It looks like teaching Nora how to be a part of things instead of trying to just get them down in spite of her. It looks like me slowing down to take in the world around me instead of rushing around to accomplish my to-do list. It looks like two beautiful souls entrusted to me to teach, to love, and to grow with. Some days I still feel like I might lose my you know what, and some days I feel like I'm ahead of the game. And again, that's life. Everyday is different, and on the tough days that gives me hope.
Hazel is less colicky these days, and we're better friends because of it. But before we started seeing some relief from the crying, I had to release myself from the pressure of calming her. I felt like a failure, defeated because I couldn't figure out why my baby was crying and I obviously couldn't soothe her. Give a hand to the mom who just yelled at her screaming baby because she can't make it stop. Mom fail. There were lots of days when I would just hold her and rock her because that's all I could do, and that seemed less frustrating than trying to get the crying to stop. When I embraced the crying, embraced that she was simply a fussy baby it gave me some kind of peace and relief. And I've also mastered a new level of disassociating, which has been most helpful at times.
Life with two is still unfolding, and obviously it's just beginning. Thank goodness for friends who can handle honesty and respond with empathy, love, and encouragement. Sometimes knowing others are in the same trenches is a huge comfort and offers a glimmer of hope. Life isn't meant to be lived alone and neither is motherhood, and all the moms know that adult conversation is necessarily for our survival. If we stay alone in the trenches with only our babes as company, we might die because those tiny people might just kill us themselves. Life with two is giving me more grace for people around me because I'm seeing that so many of us are simply doing the best we can. Some days that falls short, but thank God for a fresh tomorrow to try again.
When we picked Nora's name, we picked it because we loved the names but also the meaning. Nora Emerson means "honor, light" and "brave, strong." We melted at the sound of her name and loved the meaning each name held. When we chose Hazel's name, we picked it because we loved the names but the meanings were a little disappointing to me. Hazel Ellison means "brown" and "the Lord is my God." The middle name was solid enough we figured, and Hazel just seemed like her name and we'd loved it for years so it stuck. Sometime in the weeks following her birth, I just hated that her name meant "brown" so I started looking for various meanings to the name. I came across a Hebrew translation that means, "God sees." In the midst of the crying (both Hazel's and mine), during the time where the tunnel was dark with no light shining at the end of it, I found that her name meant "God sees." It was the sweetest reminder to me that God saw me in this hard place. He saw my failings, my tired spirit, my efforts, all my emotions. He saw and He sees and He cares and He's not far off. I needed that reminder in that moment, and I need it everyday of motherhood. I love that my fussy, sensitive baby will always be a reminder of God's love towards us, that He cares enough to look our way and to truly see us.
Hazel Ellison Ray
born March 16, 2016 at 16:37
weighing 6lbs and 13oz & 20 inches long
First moments earth side
Proudest sister around
What a great blog...I can relate to u on so many levels...from induction, to feeling like ur drowings in postpartum, to the fog....we had our miracle 2 weeks ago and we are so excited to have him....I thought things would be easy but boy have they been difficult adjusting with 3,10 year old,and a new born boys....
ReplyDeleteSo in love and overjoyed but also hoping there is a light at the end of the tunnel....
I know we will find our routine sometime,hopefully soon..
Thanks for sharing
What a great blog...I can relate to u on so many levels...from induction, to feeling like ur drowings in postpartum, to the fog....we had our miracle 2 weeks ago and we are so excited to have him....I thought things would be easy but boy have they been difficult adjusting with 3,10 year old,and a new born boys....
ReplyDeleteSo in love and overjoyed but also hoping there is a light at the end of the tunnel....
I know we will find our routine sometime,hopefully soon..
Thanks for sharing
my dear Whitney, What a great testimony, of human frailty and God's grace and the need for the Body, and the preciousness of new life. Our Victoria had colic, too, and you are so right...there are times when the only thing to do is/was to just hold her and cry with her, and let her know she was loved in spite of it all. The days will get easier, and harder, but I can testify that God's grace will be sufficient for each and every day. Keep trusting, resting in His loving Fatherly arms. With deep love, Diane Ellis PS I love the names! Of course, Ellis is very close to Ellison, but what a pleasant surprise to find the hidden meaning of Hazel!
ReplyDelete