Haiku for the autumnal equinox (or, Mabon haiku)

Blessing of balance,
summer to fall, day equals night —
reflect and give thanks.

As far as I can determine, this artwork is by Jennifer Emmett Weyland and is titled "Queen of Autumn".

Winter parenting, a haiku

Little sleep, tears, coughs,
children who can't say what's wrong...
Beauty, soothe my soul!

Winter Haiku II

Windshield wipers, black,
through the snow like insect legs —
wish they were crocus.

iGoogle data save #1: Children's ages

Mairi

Nora

Dorothy

Jack

Spring Haiku IV

Heavy dull grey skies,
cold wind, drops of icy rain —
still the leaves unfurl!

Two more haikus

Knitting while I walk
A certain smell, bright sunshine
This is more like it!

White disc hides in trees

Ball of fire rises behind

Frost coats the dead grass

Spring Haiku III

Tired of wearing pants,
of boots and scarves and mittens.
When, oh when, is spring?

Vintage summer picture

For a contest I'm entering, I needed to find a "Vintage summer picture". I looked and looked online, but nothing struck just the right chord for me. And then I thought:

What's more vintage that our own childhood?

I must be about two in the picture above, Lou's only a year or so. We were at "The Cottage" on the shores of Green Bay. I still remember those rides in the wheelbarrow, every summer, with my grandpa or my dad pushing us. Golden sunshine and children's laughter.

Yeah, I'm mom enough, and you probably are too

The current cover story in Time that is currently stirring up such controversy is just another salvo in the Mommy Wars, and hardly worth dissecting. Yes, it's an awkward pose to actually breast feed in (tho I've experienced toddler nursing that was equally awkward in terms of position). Yes, the child looks older than three. Yes, it's entirely her call whether to continue breast feeding to this point (or at least it should be).

Here's the thing: the whole idea that there is One.Right.Way to raise our children is becoming increasingly annoying to me. Binary-ism makes for good controversy, which in turn sells magazines, TV shows, whatever, but it's a crappy way to live one's life.

When it comes to raising my own kids, I really only have two goals: first, to raise the girls and Jack such that they have the best chance possible to be healthy adults — physically, mentally, emotionally — and second, to do this without driving myself or Chris completely batty. And when I see another parent, my basic assumption is that they are doing the same thing.

Whether they're breast feeding or bottle feeding their child.

Nursing Nora, then twenty months,
at the Michigan Renaissance Festival.

Whether their child sleeps in the bed with them, in the room with them, or in another room.

Whether they have one or two or six or a dozen kids.

Whether they're raising the child in a faith tradition or as an atheist.

Whether they carry the child in a sling or a car seat or a stroller.

Whether they're straight or gay or something else.

Whether they're married or single or divorced.

Whether both parents work outside the home, or one does, or neither parent is currently employed.

Whether the child is into sports or music or reading or science or...

Whether the choices they've made are similar to mine or quite different.

Obviously and sadly, there are parents who are abusive to their children. But even when I read stories of such, I try really hard not judge. I pray for both the kids and the parents, because I suspect (I hope) that the parents never intended to abuse their child. I'm not giving them a pass on what's been done. I'm just not in their shoes, I don't know how things got to that point. I just wish they hadn't and pray for healing for all involved.

At the end of the day, we don't really know what will enable us to raise a child to a healthy, happy adult. It's probably not the same for every child. This is one of those things about parenting that truly sucks: all we can do as parents is try to set the stage well for our child or children. What kind of people they become is, in the end, up to them — just as it has been up to each of us. I sometimes think it's that lack of control in the eventual outcome that drives so many parents to look for definitive answers on how to raise their child.

Anyway, consider this my answer to Time's front cover question. Yeah, I'm mom enough, whatever their editors or readers or whomever may think of my parenting choices. And guess what? If you're doing your best, then chances are you are too.

Apples to Apples (sort of)

Mairi at about seven months...

 

Nora at about seven months...

 

Dorothy at about seven months...

 

Jack at about seven months...

 

All four kids at about seven months...

...who do you think Jack looks like? :-)

Monday morning distraction

Saw this in my blogfeed this morning and couldn't resist. I'd be curious to know how accurate my gamer friends consider the results:

I Am A: Neutral Good Human Wizard (5th Level)

Ability Scores:
Strength-10
Dexterity-11
Constitution-11
Intelligence-15
Wisdom-16
Charisma-12

Alignment:
Neutral Good A neutral good character does the best that a good person can do. He is devoted to helping others. He works with kings and magistrates but does not feel beholden to them. Neutral good is the best alignment you can be because it means doing what is good without bias for or against order. However, neutral good can be a dangerous alignment when it advances mediocrity by limiting the actions of the truly capable.

Race:
Humans are the most adaptable of the common races. Short generations and a penchant for migration and conquest have made them physically diverse as well. Humans are often unorthodox in their dress, sporting unusual hairstyles, fanciful clothes, tattoos, and the like.

Class:
Wizards are arcane spellcasters who depend on intensive study to create their magic. To wizards, magic is not a talent but a difficult, rewarding art. When they are prepared for battle, wizards can use their spells to devastating effect. When caught by surprise, they are vulnerable. The wizard's strength is her spells, everything else is secondary. She learns new spells as she experiments and grows in experience, and she can also learn them from other wizards. In addition, over time a wizard learns to manipulate her spells so they go farther, work better, or are improved in some other way. A wizard can call a familiar- a small, magical, animal companion that serves her. With a high Intelligence, wizards are capable of casting very high levels of spells.

Find out What Kind of Dungeons and Dragons Character Would You Be?, courtesy of Easydamus (e-mail)

And just for the fun of seeing how things broke down:

Detailed Results:
Alignment:
Lawful Good ------ XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (26)
Neutral Good ----- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (27)
Chaotic Good ----- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (20)
Lawful Neutral --- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (19)
True Neutral ----- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (20)
Chaotic Neutral -- XXXXXXXXXXXXX (13)
Lawful Evil ------ XXXXXXXXX (9)
Neutral Evil ----- XXXXXXXXXX (10)
Chaotic Evil ----- XXX (3)

Law & Chaos:
Law -------------- XXXXXXXXX (9)
Neutral ---------- XXXXXXXXXX (10)
Chaos ------------ XXX (3)

Good & Evil:
Good ------------- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (17)
Neutral ---------- XXXXXXXXXX (10)
Evil ------------- (0)

Race:
Human ------------ XXXXXXXXXXXXXX (14)
Dwarf ------------ XXXXXXXXXX (10)
Elf -------------- XXXXXXXX (8)
Gnome ------------ XXXXXXXX (8)
Halfling --------- XXXXXXXXXX (10)
Half-Elf --------- XXXXXXXXXX (10)
Half-Orc --------- XX (2)

Class:
Barbarian --- (-6)
Bard ------------- XX (2)
Cleric ------ (-2)
Druid ------------ XXXX (4)
Fighter ----- (-2)
Monk --------(-25)
Paladin -----(-19)
Ranger ----------- (0)
Rogue ------- (-2)
Sorcerer --------- XX (2)
Wizard ----------- XXXXXX (6)

Happy Easter!

 

 

International Women's Day, or how to I raise my girls to be strong women?

There's something I've been thinking about a lot of late. Every Saturday morning, in fact, as I watch my eldest play basketball in her school's intramural program. International Women's Day seems as good a day as any to muse aloud about it.

I was an extremely sedentary child. I did not enjoy P.E. because I was not good at most of it. I rarely play team sports, and when I did I tended to favor positions that were more about standing my ground than about running after something or someone. I was quite good at digging in as defense, actually. I can remember shocking opponents, usually boys, in soccer when I would take a soccer ball to the chest or head, without flinching, and deflect it off to a teammate. They tended to assume simply kicking it at me, hard, would cause me to duck. Not so much.

I was lucky in my metabolism, and my general body build, and therefore stayed slim despite my essential lack of activity. It also helped that I ate well, thanks to my mom — we ate food, not too much, and a good amount of it was plants. I walked to school throughout elementary school, would occasionally walk some longer distance or ride my bike some, or play in the park across the road from my house. I was far more often curled up with a book, inside or outside. It wasn't until I was in my mid-20s that my low activity level started to have the normal impact on my weight.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately as I ponder how to best help my girls to be healthy in both mind and body. Actually, I think we're doing a pretty good job with raising them to be strong-minded (funny how some folks see that as an insult when applied to women...), to be confident in themselves and in their ability to think well and make good decisions. I especially worry about my eldest. You see, she's just like me in her lack of interest in being physically active but with a different body build. She's always been my little Amazon, taller than average and solidly built. She's just no more interested in running and being active than I was — tho she is just as good at being stubborn.

We eat pretty well these days, much better than a decade or so ago. When you have four kids, three of whom are too old to eat off mom or dad's plate, eating out gets to be a real luxury. That's not a bad thing, as it's way easier to eat healthy when eating at home. The kids tend to resist the plant foods, some more than others. The eldest resists the most, but then she also experienced the most eating out as a young child, and therefore was the least acclimated to fruits and veggies before she knew any different. We're learning not to nag about what she eats, restricting ourselves to correcting table manners only, and she's showing signs of learning to eat a more balanced diet.

So, how do I help her learn to be active? How do I help her want to be more active? Want it in a way that it causes her go out and get it? I don't know where to start even, I never knew where to start for myself either. I'm willing to work with her — it would be good for me, I know. I just don't even know where or how to begin…

I didn't discover a physical activity I liked until my mid-30s, when I decided to try to ease my way into being more active via a yoga class. It really was love-at-first-sight. I feel indescribably better when I am regularly attending my weekly yoga class. I dream of having enough time to do yoga daily, or at least three or four times a week. After yoga, I found Pilates. Another form of exercise that I instantly enjoyed, despite how hard it was for me at first, how truly and awfully bad I was at it. I loved feeling my body become stronger, better able to support me in all the rest of my life. I really got why being physically fit is better for the first time in my life, not as a theoretical idea that I agreed with but as something I felt. I was just starting to think about finding a cardio exercise I would enjoy when I got pregnant with Jack and all that went out the window. (Side note: each time I've started to get into a good routine with exercise, I've found myself pregnant. Odd coincidence, that...)

I really feel like in the same way that not everyone can sing, or play the drums well, or play this instrument or that one, but most people are good at some kind of musicality, individuals are going to find some types of physical exercise more appealing than others. So far I've been trying to help Mairi try different sports, different activities, and thereby give her the chance to find what she likes. It's not soccer. It's not ballet. Swimming is something she quite likes; I failed to get the girls into the first swim session for this semester, but plan to do better with the next sign up. Basketball she likes, except ... Well, she hasn't developed a whole lot of stamina, so she has trouble running and keeping up with the other girls, and that makes the whole thing a lot less attractive to her. It's this vicious cycle, where she's not able to run long so nothing is appealing so she doesn't get much exercise so she can't run long ... Anyone with any ideas how to help a child break that cycle, I'd love to hear 'em!

In the end, I know it will be her decision to make as far as how active she will be. We're raising all our kids with that firmly in mind — in the end it will be up to each of them to decide how they want live their lives. I'm just tring to stack the deck in favor of them making good decisions. :)

Baby in the bath

My folks have a garden tub in their master bath, a lovely deep tub that a full grown adult can comfortably soak  in. (I want one in my next house.) Since he outgrew baths in the sink I've been bringing Jack over to their house every so often to take a bath with him. It's been great, and I'll miss it; I'm transitioning back to full time at work this week and next, so it will be harder to find a good time for this.

Can you see the changes? I don't really see them, I just see Jack...

Jack at 11 weeks


Jack at 13 1/2 weeks


Jack at 15 1/2 weeks


Jack at 17 weeks

Winter Haiku I

Breath of dragon's smoke,
frost the diamonds in the grass,
joy that spring will come.

Two Months Old

Six weeks and counting

It's difficult to believe that Jack is already over six weeks old. When I was little, one of my grandmothers used to tell me, "The older you get, the faster time goes." I believed her, but I didn't really get it. Now I get it.

I'm doing pretty well. I feel sad at times, about certain things, but I don't feel sad as a general state of mind. It's an important distinction, I think. The latter, or any generally present negative mood (anger and apathy were the big clues after Dorothy's birth), would be a sign I was experiencing PPD again. I feel ... balanced, even-tempered, generally happy and grateful, with appropriate ups and downs from there. Chris and the midwife I saw for my six week check-up both agree that I seem to be doing fine right now. We all also agreed that when I start back to work (halftime on Monday ~sigh!~) that will be a time to watch carefully for how I adjust, how I cope.

It's been a lovely six, almost seven weeks. Jack smiles often and likes to play the "tongue game" -- if he sees someone stick their tongue out at him, he'll mirror the action. He loves contrast, especially the ceiling fans and a drawing Mairi made for him that hangs next to the changing table. He's stayed as mellow as he seemed at first, so far.

The big girls are doing well. They love on Jack as much as they're allowed, asking to hold him regularly.

Mairi is thriving on the greater personal responsibility that 3rd grade has brought, and has made friends with a classmate who lives in our neighborhood.

Nora is reading better all the time -- huzzah! She has trouble when she's overtired or hungry or stressed (don't we all!), but Chris is helping her learn some coping skills for the stress and we try to avoid the other two as much as we can.

Dorothy is doing well, too. She has two particular friends at her preschool, and so has "Molly days" and "Blaise days". She's learning letters and numbers and generally doing all she can to keep up with her big sisters.

It's funny, I was remembering some Christmas events and thinking with amazement that a year ago Dorothy was my baby. She was two, in diapers, still nursing, still a toddler in so many ways. And Jack wasn't even a twinkle in our eyes. I have SO much to be thankful for! :-)

[ETA: The second and third picture were taken by Grandma Janet during our lovely Thanksgiving Day at the camp, Paul Bunyan's Landing.]

Baby blues

I am grateful for the fact that I have four healthy children.

I am grateful for the fact that I was able to get pregnant in the first place.

I am grateful for the fact that I have come through my pregnancies with as little long-term health troubles as I've had.

I just want to state these things up front.

After Mairi was born, I had the "baby blues" for a short while. I missed being pregnant. This makes more sense if you remember that I had pretty much normal nausea at the beginning of her pregnancy, and little-to-no middle and late pregnancy complaints. I also did not immediately find Mairi all that interesting—tho I certainly loved her from the very beginning.

I don't remember having much trouble with my mental state after Nora was born. Then again, between having her in the pediatrics wing at four weeks and me breaking my elbow when she was three-months-old, I might have simply been too busy to notice!

After Dorothy was born, I got downright depressed and was treated for post-partum depression for over a year. There was a good chance she would be my last baby, and I was simply not ready for that to be the case. Plus, I had other things in my life that were majorly stressing me out. I needed the medications I was on to get back to a more even footing.

When I found out I was expecting Jack, I knew he would be my last baby. Much as I love babies, I've never wanted to continue having them into my 40s. I made the decision early on to do all I could to be mentally in a good place by the end of the pregnancy.

Mind you, I'm not suggesting depression can be overcome entirely by a person's attitude. Sometimes attitude or intent have absolutely no impact. In my own experience, however, I've found that some things I do may help. If I stay healthy—eat right, get as close to enough sleep as I can, exercise—and if I face what's bothering me, I have a better chance of staying mentally healthy.

So, three-and-a-half weeks out, how am I doing? Mostly pretty well. I have my good days and my bad days, but more are good than are bad. If I'm overtired or dehydrated I'm more likely to have a bad day. Still, I have days I don't get teary at all, and when I do get teary it doesn't overwhelm me. I feel like I'm doing okay, especially given where I am in the hormonal shift back to not-pregnant.

So, what's still giving me trouble? How fast time is slipping by. Jack is already three-and-a-half weeks old. His looks are changing. He has baby acne. He's learning to smile. These are all good things, but somehow each time there's a notable development I feel both excited and sad—I'm always aware that I'll never go through this again with a child of my own.

I know being done is the right thing. It's right for me—given how I have been exponentially sicker with each pregnancy, I shudder to think how bad I might get in another. I have neither nostalgia for nor amnesia about being pregnant. And as I said, I've never really wanted to have kids in my 40s.

It's right for Chris—he was ready to stop after any of the previous kids, but is especially ready to be done now.

It's right for our kids, for our family—I know love multiplies, but I also know time doesn't. I like that with four kids, each child still has a parent's hand to hold. Our family feels right, feels complete to me now.

Still, there are days that I feel sad. As long as they stay relatively few, I won't worry. I'm too busy counting my blessings, even if I do sometimes shed a tear or two while doing so.

Apples to apples

Mairi (5 days old) and Nora (6 days old)


Dorothy (7 days old) and Jack (9 days old)

Jack's birth story

My estimated due date for this pregnancy was October 12—exactly halfway between my 39th and 40th birthdays. Each of the girls had been born near to their due date, within 48 hours one way or the other. I'd been having more and more noticeable Braxton-Hicks contractions as the date drew near. I wasn't too worried about "going over" both because I knew it was nothing to worry about, so long as baby and I stayed healthy, and because given my experience it seemed unlikely to happen.

In fact, I was more concerned with the possibility the baby might come early. Not as much for his sake (I didn't think he'd come that early) as because I was having trouble getting to everything I wanted done before his arrival. I had set myself the deadline of being ready to be out of the office as of the Friday before he was "due" (October 7) and for a while thought I wouldn't get everything done. We had an appointment with the midwives that day, and by the time we headed for Goshen, I was all ready.

The midwife appointment was fine, rather dull in most ways. The highlight was that when she checked my iron levels, they'd come up nicely. Not normal, and I still needed to take the supplement, but close enough to normal to no longer be a big worry. The midwife checked me and I was only about 2cm, but that didn't overly concern me—plenty of time to get where I was going yet. There was one of the midwives we hadn't met yet and in order to schedule my next appointment with her we scheduled it for a week from the next Monday. I doubted I'd make it to the appointment.

And then ... nothing happened. My due date came and went. I went to work and found things to do and smiled when people said, "You're still here?" I came home and rested and walked around the block. By the end of the week, I was starting to wonder just how late this baby was going to be. I went to a hockey game Friday night.

On Saturday, after going out with my folks during the day, I made it to Chris's pipe band's annual fund raiser party in the evening. I went to church on Sunday. I kept my doula and family updated on whatever changes in my own condition I could observe, but nothing indicated the birth was imminent. I felt increasingly anxious and ready for baby to be born.

After church on Sunday, I was exhausted—worn out both from the physical realities of being 40+ weeks pregnant and from the mental stress of waiting and wondering. I went to bed and slept most of the afternoon. After dinner, despite being worried I wouldn't sleep well after the long nap, I went to bed more or less on time. And I slept, as well as I had in months. In the morning, I decided to take the day off from work as a "mental health day"—I just couldn't handle the thought of another day smiling and saying, "Nope, no baby yet!"

We headed down to Goshen at the end of the morning for the appointment I'd been so sure I wouldn't need. The baby's head was most definitely NOT engaged in the pelvis, but still free enough to wiggle about, and I was still only at 2 or maybe 3 cm. We talked with the midwife about what would happen if I didn't go into labor on my own: when and how to induce, what to watch for in the meantime, what I could do to encourage my body to get started on its own. It was a rather depressing visit for me, to be honest, though it was good to know rather than wonder and to hear the baby's heartbeat.

Monday night, when I laid down to sleep, I felt the contractions pick up in strength. I thought about getting up and walking, to see if I could bring them on stronger, but decided to see if I could fall asleep first. Amazingly, I did for a couple hours. That was the last good sleep I would have for several days. When I woke up later in the night, the contractions were strong enough to keep me from falling back to sleep. I rested, and slept a couple stretches of half an hour to an hour, but was mostly awake from about 12:30 on. I again thought about getting up, but I saw no reason to prevent Chris from getting what sleep he could while he could, and when I had labored alone before Dorothy's birth I had found it extremely depressing—not what I wanted.

We had a more or less normal Tuesday morning. Chris got the kids up and ready for school, and then drove them in. I called Tracy and my mom, to let them know things were picking up but that they should go about their days as normal for now. I waited till Chris got back to take a shower, but that was about the only concession I made to the stronger contractions and the fact that I'd had other signs things were progressing. I called our doula (Maureen) when I guessed she'd be home from delivering her kids to school, and we discussed what I could do to encourage things to keep moving along.

One of the things that most "what to expect" sites say is that if the contractions slow down when you get up, it might not be "real labor". These definitely slowed down, despite another walk around the block and sitting on an exercise ball and such, but I knew this was it. I was extremely tired from the lack of sleep, though, so towards the end of the morning I went back to bed to try to get some sleep. As soon as I lay down, the contractions got stronger and more intense.

After half an hour of being unable to fall asleep, I grabbed my iPod and started timing the contractions. What I discovered was that they were lasting longer and coming more regularly than I had thought. After timing them for an hour, I decided to call and talk to one of the midwives. We had an hour drive to get to the hospital, and I knew both my mom and Chris's were concerned we'd leave too late and have the baby on the way there. That didn't seem likely, but it did seem we could possibly head down now. The midwife on call (Patty) agreed, after hearing how things were going, so we brought Dorothy to my folks and headed out around 2:00 p.m. It felt weird to be heading to the hospital in the middle of the day—with each of the girls, we'd gone in while it was night (albeit the end of the night with Dorothy).

We got to the labor and delivery unit at 3:15, just moments after the midwife. The car ride hadn't been fun, but it was bearable—I could even knit between contractions. After getting settled in to our room, Maureen and Tracy arrived. I changed into a gown and Patty checked me for progress. The good news: I was 7 cm! Chris and Maureen teased me that I didn't react more, but I was very pleased—I'd been hoping for as much as 5cm. The less good news? The baby's head still wasn't really engaged, and that lack of pressure was keeping things from progressing further. Patty made some suggestions for helping with that, and we all settled in to see what would happen next.

As it happened, what happened next was not much. A nurse set me up for my IV, and shortly thereafter they administered the antibiotic for me being Group B Strep positive. We hung out in the room, I sat or bounced on a birthing ball (basically the same as the exercise ball I had at home). I had contractions, but they'd calmed down some both in terms of frequency and intensity. Still, I wasn't too concerned. Heading in to the hospital had caused things to slow down a bit, for a while, with the other births, too.

After a while, the midwife offered to check me for a progress again. Not encouraging: 5 or 6cm and if anything the baby's head was less engaged than when I'd arrived! I was feeling so very, very tired by then that this part is rather a blur to me. At some point I ordered up dinner (turkey, with potatoes and vegetables—no clear liquids only with the midwives, thank heavens!), and Chris, Maureen and Tracy got themselves something to eat in shifts, so as not to leave me entirely alone. I think I tried to rest next, without a whole lot of success.

Tracy and Maureen had left when I was trying to rest, so as not to disturb me. While they were gone, Patty came back and we started talking about my options at this point: I could take something to try and get some real rest, I could try a low dose of Pitocin to try to strengthen the contractions, or she could check and see whether I was progressing enough that breaking my bag of waters seemed reasonable. I'd had my membranes ruptured with each of the girls' labors, but it's always something to be careful with—there can be a risk of compression if the cord is near baby's head and there's too much room for it to drop down with the waters. If baby's head was farther down, we could try this route, but if he still wasn't engaged enough it would be off the table.

I didn't know what to think at this point. I was too tired to think, really. All I wanted was to sleep. I knew I didn't want to make this decision on my own, though, so Chris went to get Maureen and Tracy, so I could talk it through with them. Once they arrived, I set out the three options, as impartially as I could. I knew I wanted to take the meds and sleep, but it didn't feel like the right decision entirely. After I'd laid things out, Chris spoke up. You always do better with information, he reminded me, and in this case that means getting checked first. See where you're at and then decide where to go from there. This made so much sense, I knew it was what I needed to do—even while part of me was having a fit at the thought of not resting.

So, Patty checked me. I don't remember the number but she looked at me and said the head was down and she was willing to break the membrane—what did I want? Let's do it, I replied, not letting myself think about resting. I felt the familiar warm gush, and there was a lot of water. I don't know if it was more than with the girls, there just seemed to be a lot. I heard the nurse ask if the waters were clear and Patty replied they were okay, though stained.

As soon as I got up, the contractions began coming faster and harder. I opted to walk in the halls, trying to replicate or recapture some of what had worked when I had Dorothy. I had walked before having my water broken in that case, however, and these contractions hurt more—especially in my back. After a while, we went back in my room. I was feeling pushy sometimes, and wanted to be checked for dilation again. 8cm this time—an improvement, but not time to push yet.

I went through some contractions kneeling and facing the raised head of the bed, another position that had worked in the past for me. Not so good this time, and I was feeling increasingly tired and unable to cope with the pain in my back. At some point, I started to talk about wanting to take something for that pain; my support team looked at each other and ... well, they didn't ignore me, but they didn't respond to what I was saying, either. They could tell I was close to giving birth, even if I couldn't. As Chris observed to me later, hearing me say that confirmed his suspicion that I was getting close, he remembered me reaching that point with the other labors, too.

Patty suggested I try moving from the position I was in to a side-lying position, so between contractions I shifted onto my right side. Everything went really quickly at this point, so I can only write it as I remember it—I'm not certain it's what actually happened. As soon as I was on my side, the need to push became much stronger—irresistible, in fact. Chris told me later that he felt the change, almost like there was energy being drained from him through me, through our joined hands. Patty went to check me, and was about to say something to the nurse, but when she got a better look at me what she said was, "Never mind!" In my mind, I was thinking No, I'm not supposed to push yet! but my body had other ideas. And then I heard someone say, "The head is out!" and I felt this simultaneous wave of relief and, well, guilt—I hadn't been supposed push. I think I even tried to apologize.

Patty just looked at me and said, "I need you to push his body out." I looked blankly back at her for a moment, thought but I'm not having a contraction right now..., and then bore down to push him further out. Patty said, "Okay, now reach down and pick him up!" I really did need to be told, too, I was so overwhelmed and disoriented. I lifted him to my chest and it hit me: I'd done it again, I'd given birth!

The baby was rather grayish in color, and he didn't cry much despite being rubbed vigorously, but he was wide-eyed and so very alert. I remember looking under his leg, to verify for myself that he really was a boy. I think I asked if he was okay, because of his color. (He pinked up pretty quickly.) Mostly I just marveled at how wonderful he was. :-)

The rest of the time in the birth room (and for that matter at the hospital) went by quickly. The baby nursed. Chris and Tracy called family to tell them he was safely arrived, though nameless for the moment. At some point the nurse said something to the effect of, "Let me know when you're ready for us to measure him." and that was the last I heard about him being anywhere but with me, until I was ready. We snuggled and nursed for an hour or more, until I felt ready to move on. It was fantastic!

I feel like I could or should write more, but I'm tired and this is long and I'm ready to post it. It was a good birth in the end, but a hard birth going through—rather like the pregnancy, actually. Jack is totally worth all of it.