Zion’s Birth Story

My first two births happened during the 38th week of pregnancy, so I wanted to be ready for this one as soon as 38 weeks hit. I had a few friends suggest I be ready by 37 weeks, just in case, but I thought that was crazy talk. 

That is, until I had a crazy amount of intense Braxton Hicks (practice) contractions. Some of the providers I saw weren’t worried at all, while others didn’t write them off as nothing. 

Just before 36 weeks, when I was preparing to leave for our Wong family beach trip, my midwife suggested I look up the nearby hospital just in case (it was an hour away.) And Justin’s mom suggested I bring an infant car seat just in case. 

So then I started to worry the baby might actually come earlier than I was prepared for.

I made it through 36 weeks holding my breath (and my legs together.)

And then 37 weeks.

38 weeks rolled around, and while I still didn’t want the baby to come (due to a handful of reasons – one being I wasn’t ready for my pregnancy to be over), I was also excited for birth. My favorite thing in life.

Still no baby. 

I was relieved but also emotionally exhausted, having held my breath for weeks, and then wondering each night for the last week if THIS would be the night, only to wake up to another normal day. 

When 39 weeks hit, I settled into the idea this baby wasn’t coming soon, which brought a lot of peace. I had zero labor signs. In August, I had experienced mild period-like cramps on and off, but as soon as September came, they completely stopped. It was as if my body stalled out.

As every pregnant woman knows, those last days and weeks of your pregnancy feel long. For me, long didn’t feel bad – I was actually grateful for it – the slowness and stillness leading up to birth. I had never had that before, and I treasured it. 

When I made it to 40 weeks, I felt proud of myself for hitting that milestone. I beamed when people texted “happy due date!” I had spent 40 weeks growing a baby. Incredible. 

At the same time, I did feel like I would be pregnant forever. I didn’t view it as a negative thing (I cherished this pregnancy) – it just felt factual. This baby was not going to come. Ever. 

Little did I know, that was my last day of pregnancy… 

The morning of September 12 started off like any normal day – I woke up and got the kids ready for preschool. I was sad the baby didn’t come, but not surprised. 

Levi and I were supposed to bake banana bread the day before but never got around to it, so he was begging to make it this morning. Normally I wouldn’t do something like that in the morning because it makes things feel rushed, but he was desperate, so I agreed. 

I’m so grateful I said yes – our last memory together before the baby came. 

I dropped the kids off at preschool and went straight to my OB practice for my weekly baby appointment. Since I was a day past 40 weeks I decided I would get a cervical check (I’ve only had two cervical checks before – when I was admitted to the hospital for each birth – and I did NOT like them.) I was also leaning toward getting a membrane sweep, but was still deciding. 

I waited in the waiting room for a long time before they called me back. 

Finally, the medical assistant called my name. She checked my blood pressure, weight, urine, and baby’s heart rate. She asked if I wanted a cervical check, to which I said yes, so she told me to undress from the bottom down, put on a drape, and wait for the OB. 

Usually I dink around on my phone while I’m waiting, but since I was leaning toward a membrane sweep I wanted to mentally prepare for it. So I sat on the table with the drape on and waited. 

And waited.
And waited. 

So much time passed I was starting to think they forgot about me. I considered sticking my head out the door and saying, “Um, do you guys know I’m in here?” but I was undressed from the bottom down, so that wasn’t going to happen. 

I kept waiting. 

I can’t remember all the things I thought about – but I do remember redecorating the room in my mind. The walls needed to be painted a soft blue. And plants were a must – probably fake ones because who would have the time to water them. 

More waiting. 

I’m proud of myself for choosing to lean into the waiting – it was everything I had been practicing these last few weeks of pregnancy as I waited on this little one. 

Usually I see midwives, but I was seeing an OB for this appointment because it worked better with my schedule. She came in and I let her know I was thinking about a membrane sweep, but I wanted to know if it was more likely to work if I was a certain number of centimeters dilated. For instance, if I was only 2cm and the sweep wouldn’t be as likely to work, then I didn’t want one, but if I was 4cm and it was more likely to work, then so be it. She said I should get one no matter what because I was over 40 weeks. 

Then she said I should schedule an induction. I was expecting this to come up at my 41 week appointment, but not now. I told her I wanted to wait to schedule anything until after my 41 week appointment (I was ready to wait until 42 weeks to be induced – though I didn’t bring up 42 weeks with her.) She disagreed with waiting to schedule. We went back and forth for a while; it was clear she was not happy about my decision to wait. We finally landed on waiting until 41 weeks to schedule anything and I would get an NST (non stress test) at my next appointment – which I would have wanted anyway.

She moved from my side to the bottom of the table to do the cervical check and membrane sweep. I warned her I was VERY sensitive down there, especially in the last day or so, and asked her to not judge me for how I reacted to the check/sweep. 

She went in and I writhed and groaned as anticipated. 

“Wow, the head is RIGHT there.” She said, surprised. 

I wasn’t surprised at all – I felt it (it’s why I was so sensitive down there!) Just the night before I thought about how I was sure I could reach up and touch the head.

“Well you’re 6cm…” 

Gush. 

“And your water just broke.”

She took her gloves off. “Time to go to the hospital.”

I don’t know when I started crying, but as I sat up I was wiping tears from my eyes and saying, “I’m so relieved” over and over again. After the last month of anticipation and surrender and waiting and wondering what my body was doing (if anything) and going back and forth with this OB about scheduling an induction just minutes before – I had arrived. My body was ready. It was go time.

“Do you live close to the hospital?” She asked. 

“Yes, just down the road.”

“Good,” she replied as she handed me a huge Chux pad. “Put this over your underwear. And another one on the seat of your car.”

“Do you think the baby will be born by midnight?” I asked.

She laughed, “Definitely.” 

I don’t even know why I asked that, knowing how fast my labors are. 

She asked again, “You’re close to the hospital right?” 

I rushed into the bathroom to put on the pad. I texted Justin, “Get ready for hospital, we gotta go.” It was 10:57.

Exactly three hours later a baby would be in my arms.

~

I walked out of the OB office in shock. 

After getting into the car I called Justin. At first, my plan was to go home so we could go to the hospital together, but I knew the clock was ticking and it was only a matter of time before things really sped up, so I decided to go to the hospital by myself and have him meet me there. I drove across the street to the women’s center but couldn’t find parking. I didn’t want to walk across a big parking lot in my state so I gave up and drove home (little did I know there was ‘expectant mothers’ parking – joke’s on me!)

I arrived home, waddled inside, shoved last minute items in my hospital bag, sprayed a little dry shampoo in my hair, and got into the passenger side of our sedan. Justin had been rushing around securing logistics for the kids. He came out and asked if I was able to drive the minivan one street over to our friend’s house (so they could pick up the kids) – he would follow in our sedan. I told him I didn’t want to in case I had a contraction while driving (I hadn’t had one yet). Right after I said it, my first contraction hit. So that settled that. 

Justin took the car seats out of the minivan, put them in the sedan, and drove to the Masons. I had another contraction in their driveway. It wasn’t that bad. 

He drove to the hospital and parked in the expectant mother’s spot (what a pro.) I got out and started walking toward the entrance, but a contraction came on, and I doubled over. It still wasn’t that bad but I couldn’t walk through it. A hospital staff was outside and saw me, so she called out from across the parking lot, “Do you need a wheelchair??”

All I said was “um…” Because when I wasn’t having a contraction I could walk, it was just during the contraction that I couldn’t. So I didn’t know how to answer. 

She said, “I’m going to get a wheelchair.” Bless her. 

The contraction passed, Justin caught up to me (he was grabbing my hospital bag and nurse gift basket), and we walked to the entrance. The woman met us with the wheelchair.  Justin wheeled me to the check in area. From there a nurse took me to the labor and delivery room. It was 11:43am – just an hour before I had been waiting on the patient table at the OB office.

It was surreal entering into the labor and delivery room in the middle of the day. Sun poured through the window, making the room feel light and happy. I felt light and happy (though still somewhat in shock.) I was having contractions here and there but they were nothing to write home about. 

I changed into a hospital gown, climbed into the hospital bed, signed some paperwork, met the midwife who would be delivering (Whitney), and let the nurses know I wanted an epidural. As always, I was told there might not be time but they would try. 

Then transition started – the most intense part of labor.

At 12:10pm, a little less than 30 minutes after arriving at the hospital, my contractions went from mild and bearable to fast and furious. A little panicked, I turned to Justin and told him to pray.

I began to pray myself. At first my prayers were desperate pleas (“Help me, God) as the contraction pain took over my whole body. But, knowing God wasn’t going to make the pain any less, I changed my prayer to “Thank you, God.”

As in: thank you for giving me strength to get through this.

I don’t like being talked to or touched when I’m in transition (I learned that during transition labor with Levi), so I closed my eyes and went inward, digging deep to access the strength I was thanking God for. Instead of fighting the pain, I surrendered to it. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about trying to get pregnant, staying pregnant, giving birth, and being a mother – it’s all about surrender. 

The contractions were all consuming (even more intense with broken waters.) At one point I asked how long my last contraction was – my birth photographer, Abby, said it had been 60 seconds. I couldn’t believe it. It felt so much longer than that. 

I knew I couldn’t bank on the epidural – I could hope for it but mentally I needed to be prepared to go the whole way unmedicated. Based on my other births, I always knew this was likely.

I focused on my breathing and relaxing my body as much as I could. I let myself grip the side of the hospital bed with all my might, funneling the intensity from each contraction into my arm and then the bed – but every other part of my body I tried to relax. When the contraction passed I would reset my body – opening my hands to a posture of surrender. 

I spoke softly to myself:

“You got this”
“Stay calm”
“Relax”
“Breathe”
“Help God”
“Thanks God”

It wasn’t long before I felt my body pushing the baby. I couldn’t stop it from happening but I was choosing to not actively participate in said pushing. I was still hoping for the epidural (the main reason I wanted it was for pushing.)

I told myself if I can get it, then great.
And if not, so be it. 

Surrender.

At one point I thought the baby was going to come out right then and there – and the only people in the room at the time were Justin and Abby. 

The intensity of the contractions had changed to immense pressure where the baby was and pain in my lower back. My verbal affirmations turned to a low guttural groan. I’ve watched enough birth videos to know this is the best way to help move through contractions at this point.

An hour after coaching myself through and surrendering to the most intense pain of my life, the anesthesiologist came in. I couldn’t believe it. When she asked me to sit up on the side of the bed I was worried about the baby coming out – but realized they couldn’t if I was sitting (or could they?) She wouldn’t let me grip the side of the bed (I was devastated) so I grabbed Justin’s hand instead. I’m pretty sure he thought I was going to break it. 

After the epidural was placed, Whitney (the midwife), let me know it wasn’t going to take full effect because I received it so late and that I would still feel a LOT of pressure (and while she didn’t use the word pain, that’s what I gathered.) It would basically just take the edge off, which in the end sounded perfect to me.

She was about to put her hand up to check where the baby was – but I asked if she could wait. I needed a minute. It had been a wild two hours between the membrane sweep, my water breaking, and transition labor – my body had been through so much in such a short amount of time, so I didn’t want another factor at the moment. She was completely supportive and let me take a minute (well, 30…)

During that half hour I opened my eyes and came back up to the surface, rising from the deep place I had turned to. This is why I wanted the epidural for pushing – so I could be present at the very end. My labors have always started right before or during transition labor, basically going from 0 to 100, which doesn’t give me time to process “this is happening.”

With it, I was able to reset.

I told Whitney I was ready. She checked and the baby was right there, ready to be pushed out. No one was surprised. (I later found out that my L&D nurse knew I was 10cm before I got the epidural – turns out I was fooling no one.)

Before I did a practice push I brought up bearing down vs breathing out, and, as I expected, she said that bearing down was the preferred style for pushing with an epidural. I did the practice push and after that everyone gowned up. My eyes filled with tears – I couldn’t believe it. This was it. 

After months and months of aching for this third baby before we ever tried to get pregnant, the heartbreak when we didn’t get pregnant, the joy when we did, the struggle of the first trimester, the afternoon in the ER when I thought I lost the baby, the second trimester honeymoon stage, all the aches and pains of the 3rd trimester, and nine months of growing and loving this baby and wondering who they would be…

The moment had finally arrived. 

I don’t like being talked to when I’m in transition labor, but when I’m pushing, I’ll take all the encouragement I can get. I always feel emotional when I think about how many deliveries midwives and L&D nurses have been a part of, yet when I’m pushing, they cheer me on like I’m about to break a Guinness world record. 

Which is kind of how it feels. I was pushing with all my might – and feeling it. The power, the pressure, the exhaustion. I remember thinking, “I’m so tired,” which surprised me, because this was the first time I was actually pushing somewhat rested and with a little food in my belly. And yet this baby still took everything – all my strength – to birth. 

The more I pushed, and the more the baby started to crown, the more pain I felt. Whitney asked if I wanted to touch the head. Nope, not for me – I could feel enough. 

The last contraction passed but I asked if I should still push, “You do whatever you want,” I was told. I wanted the baby out but didn’t want to bear down anymore, so instead I started to breathe the baby out because that’s what felt right. I remember thinking, “they don’t know I’m pushing right now” because it was so subtle compared to bearing down. And true enough, they were surprised the baby was coming out. 

9 minutes of pushing and he was out (though I didn’t know he was a boy yet…) The best feeling in the world. 

I had been very clear I wanted the baby put on my chest without anyone telling me the sex. I wanted to hold and cuddle my little one before looking and finding out myself. After a few minutes of soaking each other in, I lifted his body up and was met with an enormous ball sack. It shocked me (apparently they are swollen after birth.) 

We spent the next couple hours cuddling, breastfeeding, and getting to know each other. Abby took more pictures. Justin did skin to skin. Eventually they weighed him – 6 pounds 15 ounces. My biggest baby (which didn’t surprise me since he cooked the longest…)

On my way to the mama baby floor, I beamed. I felt strong, powerful, and wildly proud of myself. As it goes with birth, I had come to the end of myself and was reborn in the process. The pain had been all consuming, but so was the love.

Again, my heart was in my hands – all 6 pounds and 15 ounces of it.

Again, I was transformed.

on seasons & grieving & hope & joy:

Something I didn’t expect after giving birth to Eden was how deeply grieved I would feel about my pregnancy season coming to an end.

I found out I was pregnant in June, three months into Covid and less than three weeks after George Floyd was murdered. Justin had been laid off (due to Covid) and was applying to jobs. The same week George Floyd was murdered, Justin had been rejected from what we thought was his dream job. That same week, the last week of May – my birthday week – I also found out I wasn’t pregnant. The day before my birthday I wrote, “I’ve lost connection with God. I can’t find him in this chaos.”

I was scared. Everything was swirly and unknown.

I was also angry.

I was angry because of racism and sexism and ignorance and the media and Covid and everyone’s opinions on social media.

I would go for ‘rage walks’ at Laurel Park, which looked like pushing Levi in a stroller, fueled by anger and adrenaline, blasting worship music and lamenting to God. I burned more calories on these rage walks than I ever did at the gym. Beneath the anger, I knew there was grief. So much grief.

On June 17, I went for a walk, this one less rage-y and a little more vulnerable, because I knew I was starting my period which meant I wasn’t pregnant. Again.

I came home and was about to jump in the shower, but right before I decided to take a pregnancy test – not because I thought I was pregnant but to shred any remnants of hope I had that I could be.

Less than 3 minutes later that pink line showed up.

I got in the shower and cried.

The whole world was still a mess, but that pink line changed everything.

I had hope.

God gave me a physical representation of hope – a baby in my womb.

Life was still scary and swirly and unknown, but every time I felt anxiety rise I thought of the baby growing in my belly, and I was reminded it would all be okay.

This baby gave me hope for 9 months. Then she was born, perfect and beautiful the day after Valentine’s day, and I was high on oxytocin and new baby bliss, but when we came home from the hospital I felt sad and empty, like the hope that had carried me through the darkest of days had left me. Yes, she was in my arms now, more real than ever, but I knew with each passing day she would change and gain weight and grow up and that made my insides ache, because I was desperate for her to stay tiny and tucked in the nook of my arm forever. I was reminded again of how little control we have – time was slipping through my fingers and all I wanted was for it to SLOW DOWN but it kept going going going.

I was happy. But I was also sad. And that was confusing.

I cried to Justin on the couch the day we came home from the hospital and 5 weeks later I cried on the seat in the OB room to Jack, the midwife who delivered Levi, during my postpartum checkup. He told me to take my mask off because he couldn’t understand what I was saying through my sobs. I remember trying to explain everything I just wrote above, and also how I felt overwhelmed with everything in life, and Jack was definitely listening, but I could tell he was a little confused, and I don’t blame him because I wasn’t making much sense. Eden was with me, asleep in her carseat, and I used my foot to rock the carseat the whole time so she would stay sleeping.

The days and weeks went on and I continued to grieve my pregnancy season being over. I made a list of things that reminded me of pregnancy (and therefore made me ache) – my maternity jeans and prenatal vitamins were on that list, as well as Gilmore Girls and my OB office.

Looking back, I can’t pinpoint exactly when I stopped grieving. I do know the sadness isn’t there anymore, or maybe it is – but just a little bit.

What I do know is that Eden’s smile makes me feel a way that nothing else can. She started smiling before 6 weeks and now it’s 6 months later and I still feel the same way every time she smiles – like my heart truly might burst into a million pieces or I might pass out because I can’t contain the joy I feel in that moment.

2020 was hard on all of us – and what I needed then was hope – real, growing, unseen but there kind of hope.

For me, 2021 has brought a whole new set of challenges, and as I look back on the year, I do think I needed something different to carry me through.

It was hope that got me through 2020. This year, it was moments of joy, sprinkled throughout the hard days. They were tiny moments – almost fleeting – yet fierce, so much so that when I found them they nearly knocked me off my feet.

There are still a few months left this year. I can only imagine the joy that is in store.

Eden’s birth story:

One of my favorite parts of being pregnant is the build up to birth – I LOVE surprises so the whole not knowing when or how it’s going to happen exhilarates me. 

After giving birth, I love looking back and seeing how everything played out.

Eden’s due date was March 1st but I had a strong feeling she would come early. On January 24th I wrote in my journal: “I have a gut feeling she will come early – like middle of February early. It just feels like she will be here sooner than anticipated. But pretty much EVERY pregnant woman has a ‘hunch’ her baby will come early so we will see!”

My goal was to be completely ready for her arrival by February 15th, aka two weeks before my due date. I knew it was unlikely she would arrive that early, but being ready felt much more peaceful than the possibility of having a baby while not completely prepared. That turned out to be a good plan because she came early in the morning on February 15th!

The day before was a normal day. It was a Sunday so I spent time with Justin and Levi. In the afternoon I treated myself to a pedicure for Valentine’s Day. I wanted cute toes for labor & delivery (little did I know that would be taking place less than 12 hours later.) I’m glad I was able to sneak in one last quality ‘me’ time before having another baby. 

I brought home McDonalds for lunch (my pregnancy craving/guilty pleasure this time around.) After that I wanted Justin to take a 38 week bump picture (I would be 38 weeks the following day) but he was kind of dragging his feet and I didn’t push it so the picture didn’t happen. I said we would take it the next day. I regret this as that would have been my last bump picture.

In the evening we went to house church. We ended the day by eating popcorn and watching ‘To All the Boys I Loved Before.’

After being asleep for maybe an hour, I woke up at 12:30am feeling like I had to pee. Very normal as I basically pee every hour throughout the night when pregnant. As I rolled over I felt a gush of fluid in my underwear. The exact same feeling I had when my water broke with Levi. Or did I just pee myself? (The exact same question I had when my water broke with Levi…)

I ran to the toilet and couldn’t decide whether or not I had peed myself. It didn’t make sense that I would as I had just gone to the bathroom an hour before – also I had never peed myself in bed while pregnant so why would I now?

After my water broke with Levi, I crawled back in bed and waited around for a while. At the time I didn’t know my water had broken – it was my first labor and I didn’t know what to expect. Within the next hour I got contractions that made me cry/curse/fall to my knees/bang my fist on the floor. When I showed up to the hospital they said there wasn’t time for an epidural because it was time to push. I tried to push but my body was too tense, so at the last minute I was able to get an epidural which was AMAZING. As soon as I got it Levi came right out! From water breaking to Levi being born was less than 5 hours. And they say your second comes faster…

I did NOT want to risk not getting an epidural this time around. I also didn’t want to risk giving birth anywhere other than the hospital (even though I would have loved telling that story…)

At the same time, I didn’t want to wake up Justin and our on-call person for Levi and rush to the hospital in the middle of the night only to be told it was a false alarm. 

I didn’t know what to do. I thought I might be leaking liquid but I couldn’t tell if I was making that up. I Googled “how do I know if my water broke” and texted a friend who is a postpartum nurse, “Any chance you are awake? I can’t tell if my water just broke or not and wanted to pick your brain.” She was awake so we started texting back and forth. She said it sounded like my water broke but couldn’t say for sure.

I started throwing my everyday toiletries into my hospital bag just in case. 

I woke up Justin to give him a heads up my water might have broken so he could also be ready just in case.

“Are you having contractions?” he asked.

“Well, no…” I said.

“Then we shouldn’t go to the hospital.” Basically, go back to bed.

We got into a tiff where I told him I’d rather be safe than sorry in this situation. I told him I was scared.

Soon after I could DEFINITELY tell that I was leaking. The argument was settled – we were heading to the hospital. It was 1am at this point – 30 minutes after I felt that initial gush. Much more efficient this time around. 

We walked into the hospital through the ER and down the hallway to the maternity ward. I was having complete deja vu to when we arrived at the hospital for Levi’s birth less than 2 years before – the only difference being this time I could walk without pain and that time I was doubled over in a wheelchair. (A pretty big difference though…) I wasn’t in pain but I was in shock. Even though I made sure to be ready for her arrival by February 15, it still took me by surprise and was hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that she was, in fact, coming. I was shaking and a little teary-eyed.

We arrived at a desk where a man handed me a phone to talk with the nurse on call. “I think my water broke,” I said with a cracked voice. 

I assumed what would happen from there is I would get a cervical check to see how dilated I was and if my water had broken. Instead, the nurse handed me a hospital gown, told me to get changed, and to get on the bed. She asked how far apart my contractions were – I told her I wasn’t really having any. She took my blood pressure and started putting all my information into the system (including the last thing I ate – popcorn.) I was confused – she was admitting me based on the fact I said I thought my water had broken?

After a while she got around to the dreaded cervical check. I warned her that I’m pretty much a baby when it comes to cervical checks (I’ve only been checked once before – when I was in transition labor with Levi). Up her arm went and immediately I started writhing and moaning in pain. It felt like her arm was up there FOREVER. Finally she finished and told me it was hard to tell exactly how dilated I was because I was moving around and so tense (whoops) but that I was 6 or 7cm dilated – probably 7, she said.

Off to the labor and delivery room we went. As I was wheeled in, I was chatting with all the nurses like we were old friends. I met my main L&D nurse – Fabi was her name. She was awesome. Over the course of the next hour or so I was hooked up to an IV, answered a bunch of questions, and got a Covid test (both nostrils – didn’t go that far up.) Fabi kept saying how I would have this baby by 7am and ‘hopefully’ there would be time for an epidural. 

It was SO WEIRD how slow and calm the whole process was this time around. I wondered if this is what it was like for so many other women when they are admitted. With Levi, it was all pain and adrenaline and a blur because everything happened so fast.

This picture was taken at 2:33am – 2 hours after my water broke. 7+cm dilated. No contractions. No epidural. Happy as a clam.

At one point a nurse asked if we had a name for the baby. I looked at Justin – we were between two names but hadn’t landed on one yet. I leaned toward Eden and he leaned toward the other name. We were planning to talk about it again… but here I was about to give birth. (Note- I am not someone who wants to pick a name after giving birth.) “It’s Eden,” Justin told the nurse. “Really?” I said to him. “Really.” So that was that.

At 3am the anesthesiologist came in to give me my epidural – her name was Hope! She kept mentioning how she had been woken up from a DEEP sleep, to the point where I wondered if I should be nervous that she was about to stick such a huge needle in my back. 

Before she came in I had started to feel some minor contractions – they were uncomfortable but not unbearable by any means. Fabi told me to let her know if I felt pressure and/or if I felt like I had to poop. As Hope was getting ready to administer the epidural, I felt pressure, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to risk not getting the epidural. I wanted it for pushing and aftermath (aka delivery of the placenta + getting stitched up.) It made the experience with Levi so peaceful and I hoped for that again.

The epidural was in by 3:15. It takes around 30 minutes to kick in – they monitor you during that time to make sure you don’t have any adverse reactions. At 3:45 Fabi and all the other nurses left the room – she told me to take a nap. FAT CHANCE I thought as I was still in shock and trying to process what was happening. My mind was racing.

Justin passed out on the couch.

I was on my side with an exercise ball in between my legs for a couple of hours (it’s supposed to help move things along.) I felt pressure a few times but didn’t call Fabi because I didn’t feel like I had to poop. She came back in around 5:45 to empty my bladder. “Might as well check to see how far along you are,” she said. I braced myself for another cervical check but her hand barely made it in. “Oh, she’s RIGHT there,” Fabi said. “Time to have a baby!”

In no time the lights were turned on, my feet were propped up, and additional nurses and the midwife came in. It almost felt like whiplash.

I wondered how I was going to get the energy to push. (I also wondered how long I had been ready to push – I guess that pressure I had been feeling was a sign after all!) 

I started pushing. The nurses coached and championed me along the way. I felt like I had to try/push harder than I did with Levi – I’m assuming because I was more relaxed before pushing this time around. I was surprised that pushing with a mask didn’t really bother me. At one point Fabi asked if I wanted to take it off. “Can I?” I asked. “Of course,” she responded. 

I pushed through 5 contractions and then she was out. It was 6:10am – less than 6 hours from water breaking to birth. I started crying right away – it’s just such an emotional moment! There’s nothing like it in life. 

They put her on my chest – the first thing I noticed was how loudly she was crying. Levi was pretty calm when they put him on my chest – Eden was not. 

The moment they put her on my chest (my nose is red from crying)

As I was cherishing those first few moments with her I could tell something was going on down there with the midwife and nurses – they seemed very focused on whatever was happening. They were more serious than just going through the motions of delivering the placenta. At one point Fabi told me I was bleeding ‘a little more than they would like’ so she was going to give me a shot. Soon after everything seemed fine again. I never asked exactly what happened – I wish I did!

Over the next hour or so Justin and I were left alone with Eden. I started breastfeeding her – she was a champ. I had the shakes, meaning my body was uncontrollably convulsing (something that can happen post-delivery due to the sudden change in hormones.) It was exhausting. Then, out of nowhere, I felt like I was going to throw up. I told Justin to grab a bag or bowl or something but before he found anything I was leaning over the side of the bed barfing all over the floor (while still holding Eden…)

We called a nurse in – she said it was probably due to the shot I had. 

Food was brought in. I ate it and took the tylenol and motrin the nurse gave me. Two nurses helped me get out of bed and go to the bathroom – I was pretty weak from the shaking and vomiting. 

I got into a wheelchair so we could transfer to another room. As soon as we started moving I felt like I was going to throw up again. So we stopped and waited a few minutes. The nurse grabbed a barf bag just in case. I asked if she could wheel me realllllly slowly. Even so, I still felt sick. We approached an elevator. The nurse told me there was no other way. We made it through the elevator but when we were in the hallway I started violently vomiting – the nurse had to grab Eden from me and call another nurse for backup. By the time we made it into the room I had saliva dripping from my mouth and tears streaming down my face. I was a hot mess. I crawled into bed and didn’t even want to hold Eden. I was just so depleted.

Thankfully, by the time lunch rolled around I was able to stomach food, which helped me feel a lot better. I spent the rest of the day soaking in those precious newborn snuggles – I couldn’t get over how small she was! 

Pictures can’t capture her tininess

I loved my birth story with Levi so much that I couldn’t help but want the same for this birth. I knew it was VERY unlikely that I would have a similar birth experience so I tried to mentally prepare myself for anything (because with birth, anything goes…) Well, turns out I pretty much got what I wished for. With both births I woke up to my water breaking and pushed the baby out within 5 hours. The biggest difference is with Eden I didn’t really have contractions/they didn’t really hurt? (which is crazy to me…) and we got to the hospital a lot faster which made the whole process a lot smoother/less frantic.

Who KNOWS what my third birth will be like – definitely feels like it will be a wild card. Stay tuned for that one! 🙂

On my second pregnancy:

I found out I was pregnant on June 17th. It was a Wednesday night. I’ll never forget the shock I felt when that pink line showed up. I took the test because I was certain I wasn’t pregnant and wanted to diminish any thread of hope that remained. I didn’t expect the pink line. And yet there it was. Tears filled my eyes. 

I took Levi on a walk earlier that day to grieve not being pregnant. I didn’t think I was pregnant because I had all the signs that my period was starting. So I walked and prayed and grieved with God. Any woman trying to get pregnant who doesn’t get pregnant knows the feeling. (I had a negative pregnancy test the month before.) As I was walking, I tried to mentally prepare myself for it to take months and months and months to get pregnant – and even then there was no assurance I would. But then God reminded me of a dream he gave me before I was pregnant with Levi – a dream that I gave birth to a baby girl. It gave me hope.

A couple hours later, that pink line changed everything. My grief turned into celebration. I wanted to start texting people the news (friends who knew I was trying), but instead, I choose to savor the moment in my journal with God.

Justin was out with some friends, which made me happy because I could surprise him with the news (we were together when we found out I was pregnant with Levi.) Father’s Day was that following Sunday, so I decided to wait until then.

Waiting four days felt like torture. I wondered if this is what guys feel like before they propose. I swear he knew I was pregnant (he didn’t know.)

Father’s Day finally rolled around. I gave him his gift – tie clips, a wallet, and a toddler t-shirt that said “BIG BRO.” His eyes also filled with tears when he found out. 

Two weeks later, on July 3rd, I bought this onesie/dress in prophetic anticipation of a girl, knowing I wouldn’t find out the sex until my 20-week anatomy scan in October.

We would see Mendola family at the end of July and Wong family in August, so we decided to wait to tell them in person. In the meantime, we started sharing the news with close friends.

6 weeks 6 days pregnant

That first month of knowing you’re pregnant is so strange because apart from that pink line and any symptoms you may have, you don’t get actual confirmation until you go to the doctor at 8 weeks (for those who don’t know, you don’t find out you’re pregnant until 4 weeks.) With both pregnancies, I held my breath until that 8 week appointment, knowing how common miscarriages are. It was harder to wait with my first pregnancy – I was so so scared of losing the baby. I was scared with this one, too, but not as much. Going through one round of pregnancy, labor, and delivery truly shows you how not in control we are, which in turn makes it easier to trust God.

With my first pregnancy, I was barfing my guts out from the very beginning and more exhausted than I’ve ever been in my LIFE. It was truly awful. I gained a whole new appreciation for women and how hardcore we truly are.

During the first trimester with this babe, I was more tired but not completely zonked. I was definitely queasy, and sometimes nauseous, but I didn’t throw up until my 2nd trimester (and that was only one time – though it was rough.) I started taking a morning sickness ‘mocktail’ the day I found out I was pregnant – I don’t doubt that helped a LOT.

Finally, at 8 weeks, I saw my little gummy bear baby on an ultrasound. She was alive. I was relieved. (I also didn’t know she was a girl then…)

We told our families. 

Another month passed by, another doctor’s appointment. Another breath of relief to make it to 12 weeks.

We announced the news online.

At 20 weeks (the middle of October), we found out we were having a girl. I couldn’t believe it. Leading up to the ultrasound, I thought it was a girl, but then I freaked myself out because I thought Levi was a girl and when I found out he was a boy I was confused and disappointed. I didn’t want that to happen again so I started mentally preparing for a boy – only to be told it was a girl! That dream I had from God was fulfilled. (It still feels too good to be true!)

I was curious how my body would do between 20-30 weeks of pregnancy, because with my first pregnancy that’s when my hips really started hurting (shooting pain whenever I stood up) and I could barely breathe. Thankfully, I haven’t had the same issues this time around. There have definitely been moments when it’s been hard to breathe, but with my first pregnancy it was much much worse. 

Overall, I think my first pregnancy broke my body in and now that I’m pregnant again my body is used to it (like muscle memory) – everything has been much easier this time around! A pleasant surprise. There are definitely still aches and pains and lack of sleep (blah) but it all pales in comparison to my first pregnancy. 

Finally starting to show a little bump at Thanksgiving / 26 weeks

32 weeks

I’m nearly 36 weeks pregnant now – just 4 more weeks to go (or maybe less!)

I know the holiday season recently ended but it feels like Christmas all over again – mainly the anticipation of something so good. Now that I’ve experienced birth and the newborn stage, I’m even MORE excited for it this time around (while also dreading the hard parts that come with it…) I’ll always remember slowly lowering myself into the bathtub a few days after Levi was born and thinking, “why didn’t anyone tell me it would hurt this much!?” I hurt in places I didn’t know existed. And yet it was all worth it a hundred times over (obviously because I’m doing it again!)

I’ve cherished being pregnant during 2020 and into 2021 because it has continued to be a sign that there is hope whether we see it or not. It’s there, it’s growing, it will be born…

Stay tuned for my birth story!

does this thing still work??

It’s been a while.

The last time I posted was a year and two months ago.

This is by far the longest stretch I’ve gone without blogging since I started in 2004 (back when it was actually cool…)

I’ve had it on my heart to write a blog about becoming a mother. And my postpartum journey. And getting pregnant with baby #2. You know, life-changing things.

It’s really hard to find time to write when you have a baby (now toddler.) 

And when you’re in survival mode.

And when coffee shops are closed.

And when you’d rather just watch TV (because survival mode…)

In the last month(ish), however, one of those things has changed. 

I still have a toddler,

And coffee shops are still closed,

BUT.

I’m no longer in survival mode. 

So I’m going to write again. 

(Or at least try… definitely feels like an atrophied muscle.)

Stay tuned…

Hopefully for not another year and two months.

P.S. Want to add that I never stopped journaling!

My 4th trimester:

The 4th trimester is the first 12 weeks after birth when mother + baby are both adjusting to baby’s life outside the womb. This is my experience!

April 24: Levi was born a little before 6am. I had less than two hours of sleep and just pushed a baby out of my body but I felt AMAZING. I was on a total adrenaline high. Throughout the day nurses asked about my pain level on a scale of 1-10 and I would respond with “um… 1, I guess?” because I didn’t really feel any pain. Just pure happiness. That day was a blur of visitors and baby snuggles and I would live it over and over again if I could. 

Then night came. 

The adrenaline faded and my body started crashing. I needed sleep. There were a few problems though…

1) I didn’t want to let myself fall asleep because I was terrified Levi would die from his swaddle blanket coming undone and covering his face (he was so tiny and helpless and the Internet does a good job scaring you about SIDS.)
2) I needed to feed him every 2-3 hours and had no idea what I was doing (neither did he…)
3) Nurses would come in every few hours to press on my stomach, check my bleeding, give me pills, etc etc. Their schedule was NOT synced with my feeding schedule so I was pretty much disturbed every hour. It felt like torture. 

April 25: I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I went from telling the nurses my pain level was a 1 to asking when I would get my next motrin. I went from welcoming all the visitors to feeling grateful no one was stopping by. Justin and I had originally considered leaving the hospital this day (because I felt amazing that first day so why stay??) but medical staff had encouraged me to stay another night. We ended up staying because Levi needed some extra care. I was so grateful to stay another day!

April 26: the first day home. After 3 days in the same tiny hospital room, the outside world felt like a scary and foreign place. I was happy to be home but also felt a little deserted, like my safety belt was gone. Levi and I went from being monitored by medical professionals 24/7 to being at home with no one but each other + Justin.

I cried that first night at home because I was overwhelmed. Also because it felt so strange to not be pregnant. I didn’t necessarily miss being pregnant but this sudden change from ‘pregnant’ to ‘not pregnant’ felt hard to process. The thing that triggered this was being in my bed and not needing to sleep with my pregnancy pillow anymore. In that moment I realized my entire way of thinking was different. I didn’t need to pee every 30 minutes. I could eat all the cold deli meat in the world. And so on and so forth.

That first night at home was HORRIBLE. Levi was cluster feeding, meaning he was eating every hour, and it drove me CRAZY as I had been mostly awake for 3 days straight (now going on 4 days…) Out of desperation, I ended up sleeping with him in my arms.

the morning after

The first week at home was a blur (really the entire 4th trimester has been a blur, but especially that first week.) I wore my breastfeeding nightgown 3 days in a row until Justin recommended I wash it. After that, I wore nothing but a nursing bra and underwear. Clothes were impractical as I was breastfeeding constantly. I would only put something on if I had to, aka if someone was coming over or if I was leaving the house. I stayed in bed until noon or 1pm every day, breastfeeding and sleeping when I could. At one point I cried to Justin because I dreaded going to bed at night. Waking up every 2 to 3 hours and staying up for 45 minutes each time will do that to you.

There were mornings I forgot to brush my teeth (something I never do!)

Six days after Levi was born I wrote in an email, “I limp when I walk, use a squirt bottle to wash my private parts (instead of wiping), have tired/achy muscles (from pushing during labor), feel constantly tired, and my breasts are SO SORE.”

icing the girls

More than once I thought, “I have to go through all this (pregnancy, labor, recovery, breastfeeding) AGAIN???” My pediatrician promised I would forget how hard it is and eventually want another kid. I wanted to believe her, but it was a bit too soon (it had only been 5 days at that point…)

By the end of the first week, I was hit with the baby blues. I would cry for no reason and was sensitive, irritable and overwhelmed. Justin was also exhausted and overwhelmed, so we snapped at each other a LOT. At one point I threatened to take Levi and run away because I didn’t want to see anyone ever again, not even Justin. I remember thinking ‘so this is why they say having kids puts a strain on your marriage…’

I jotted down the following notes on my phone days 8 and 10 postpartum:

Day 8: got out of the house for the first time since we came home from the hospital (with the exception of a pediatrician appt). Body feeling the best it has since delivery. Less blood, less pain, though I still limp. Emotionally, I’m crying over small things and getting upset with Justin. Came home from outing and collapsed on the couch bc it wore me out (no doubt bc I barely slept last night…) Went to bed early bc I couldn’t stay up. Really want to write my birth story blog but I just don’t know when… feels like there is no time or energy to do anything but sleep, breastfeed, and survive.

first time out of the house

Day 10: the best I’ve felt so far physically – very little pain overall. Little to no limp. Barely any blood. Still super tired (even makeup can’t hide it…) Emotionally, didn’t cry today (I don’t think I did yesterday either) but still feel easily annoyed with Justin and like I have no energy for anyone. All I want to do is lie on the couch and watch tv or sleep. Ended up going to Daniel Chantlos’ for dinner (instead of him bringing it here) and that was nice to get out of the house and chat on his porch. Probably the most normal I’ve felt since birth. P.S. cried after I wrote this…

In terms of physical pain and feeling emotionally fragile, those first 2 weeks were the worst. They were also the best. I felt incandescently happy, like being a mom to this baby boy was fulfilling in a way I didn’t know possible. Everyone says your child grows up so fast and I felt that very deeply – especially about the newborn stage. I couldn’t get enough baby snuggles!

As the weeks went on I was less emotionally fragile but continued to have zero emotional energy for anyone but Levi. Having guests over or leaving the house left me completely wiped.

By week 3 Justin was back at work. I started going for daily walks in the afternoon – up to two miles a day. A new bubble tea place opened in Gainesville, so I would get a bubble tea and go to my favorite park with Levi. It was during these walks I reconnected with God. The physical and emotional had dominated those first few weeks. Finally, I was finding my center again.

I swear he loved our walks…

Throughout the weeks I found myself obsessed with all things baby related (pregnancy and postpartum Instagram accounts, birth stories, baby registries, Call the Midwife on Netflix, and so on.) For a hot minute, I wondered if I wanted to be a midwife because of how much I loved my birth experience. 

At 5 weeks postpartum I wrote, “This week has been a lot better (literally every day/week just keeps getting better so YAY.) Justin and I feel more in sync again.” 

Then June came. 

June meant my maternity leave would soon be over (my first day back in the office was July 1st.) The idea of going back to work brought me an alarming amount of anxiety. I was sick to my stomach over it. Losing sleep over it. Wanting to run away over it. I Googled “postpartum anxiety” and took an online quiz to see if I had it. Everything I read about postpartum anxiety had to do with worrying about your baby. I wasn’t worried about my baby. I was worried about going back to work. I couldn’t fathom the thought of being separated or distracted from Levi while he was still so young and breastfeeding all the time. It felt like the most unnatural thing in the world. This anxiety made everything else in life seem daunting – even the good things!

postpartum tears

I started making daily gratitude lists (aka focusing on what I did have instead of what I felt like was going to be taken from me) but that didn’t work. I emailed my mom (a retired psychiatrist) and asked what my options would be in terms of natural supplements or medication while breastfeeding to help with my anxiety because I felt like I couldn’t control it. 

My friend Betty came over one night in the middle of June and I sobbed and sobbed to her. I told her July 1st felt like a tornado I could see in the distance and with each passing day it got closer and closer to taking me out.

On top of that, my cat was missing and someone I know had a full-term stillborn baby. My cat added to my anxiety and the stillborn baby grieved me to my core. Life felt scary and out-of-control.

tissues from that night

My anxiety brought me tears, but so did God’s grace. The same night I sobbed to Betty about going back to work I also sobbed to her about how God made Levi come a week early because He knew I would struggle and wanted to give me more time (July 1st was my first day back at the office no matter when Levi was born.)

On June 27 (four days before I started back at the office), I realized that in addition to postpartum hormones, my anxiety was tied to a lack of trust in God. I started meditating on Psalm 121, which talks about how God loves watching over us. I loveeee watching my son sleep (I’ll just stare at the monitor like I’m watching a movie or something) so I thought about how God must love watching over me and how “he won’t let my foot slip” (also from Psalm 121.) From that point on, when I felt my anxiety rise I would recite that line over and over again, “He won’t let my foot slip. He won’t let my foot slip. He won’t let my foot slip.”

The next day I wrote, “just felt a wave of something akin to hope.”

The day after that: “This morning I had more anxiety about going back to work. But I also had a burst of hope that it would all work out and be OK. Which has to be from the Lord.”

July 1st came. I was 9 weeks and 5 days postpartum. A friend sent me a back-to-work Starbucks gift card. My team got me welcome back flowers. The day flew by. It wasn’t as bad as I feared. In fact, I actually found myself liking it. Being a mom fulfilled me in ways I didn’t know possible, but having a purpose beyond Levi also felt fulfilling. 

On July 2nd I wrote: “Being back at work feels ‘right’ (which is obviously amazing considering my anxiety), though the last two days have left me WIPED. Like want-to-go-to-bed-at-5:30 wiped (…but I can’t because I have to breastfeed, of course.) I don’t know how working mamas do it. I am working from home tomorrow and I couldn’t be happier!!”

My first 3 weeks back at the office were full force, aka the preparation and execution of my biggest event of the year, Gap Year Training Camp (over 200 participants showing up on campus!) Long days, no weekends off. I strapped Levi to me in the afternoons and went on with my business. 

just another day on the job

One time a coworker and I got into it about things that were going wrong. We raised our voices at each other as I bounced Levi to keep him asleep, which is a pretty funny image to me now. Because of turnover, behind-the-scenes details were crumbling. I did my best to manage but one day, toward the end of camp, I lost it. I couldn’t stop crying. Pre-baby, I would have cried and then composed myself and moved on. But I could tell my hormones were affecting me and I couldn’t quite get it together. Thankfully, eventually, I did. It’s a strange feeling though, having hormones affect you and not being able to manage them because it’s not something you can just ‘will’ your way out of. 

My 4th trimester ended shortly after camp did. 12 weeks. I made it. 

It’s been almost a month since then, and I’m glad to say I continue to feel more and more like myself. I’ve started reading again. Working out at the gym. Being intimate with my husband. Writing blogs at coffee shops (my current status…)

Sometimes my anxiety still gets triggered. When that happens I make a gratitude list and remind myself “He won’t let my foot slip…”

Writing this blog brought tears to my eyes as I remembered how hard the hard days were and how real my anxiety felt. At the same time, I will always remember the unexpected, all-consuming, extraordinary bliss I experienced those first 12 weeks.

That first night at home I cried because I was overwhelmed, the second night I cried because I was so grateful. There were countless nights I spent 20 minutes scrolling through pictures of Levi on my phone even though he was two feet away in his bassinet. I would often stay up after breastfeeding in the middle of the night to stare at him in my arms, happy tears dripping down my face. By the time I weaned him off his last middle of the night feeding, I found myself sad to no longer have those sacred moments with him. 

It’s been a wild ride of ups and downs since April 24. I find myself viewing my life as B.C. (before childbirth) and after. Having this little one changed everything – my body, my emotions, my time, my priorities. It hasn’t always been easy but I would do it over and over and over and over again.

Who knew such a little person could bring me so much joy.

my birth story:

Levi’s due date was May 2. I knew that date was really a benchmark – he could come anywhere from 2 weeks early to 2 weeks late. I also knew that as a first time mom I was likely to be late (though I hoped he would come early!)

Justin and I did our last minute baby preparations the weekend of April 19-21. We installed the car seat, washed baby clothes, watched a course about baby sleep, and packed most of our hospital bag. By the end of that weekend I felt mostly ready for Levi to arrive. I went to bed Sunday and Monday night feeling like it was Christmas Eve – what if tonight was the night?! I woke up in the morning still pregnant and slightly disappointed. I couldn’t wait to meet my son!

On Tuesday, April 23, I came home from work and lounged on the couch, deciding whether or not I had enough energy to go to the gym. I decided to stay on the couch and feel my baby kick, as he usually wasn’t active at this time of the day (also I just didn’t want to go to the gym…)

Justin was supposed to cook dinner that night (per usual) but ran out of time and wasn’t able to, leaving me to a bowl of packaged ramen noodle soup instead. I joked with him about how mad I would be if I went into labor that night and only had a bowl of crappy ramen noodle soup to sustain me. Little did I know…

Around 10:30pm my pregnancy heartburn started flaring up (that ramen though…) It was already past Justin’s bedtime but he offered to get me more Alka-Seltzer (I had recently run out.) He ran to the store, I took the Alka-Seltzer, and we both went to sleep. (I use the term “sleep” loosely because at 38 weeks pregnant you don’t really sleep… instead I tossed and turned from side to side in a half slumbered state.)

At 1:06am I woke up feeling like I had just peed my pants, though I knew for a fact I didn’t pee my pants. I got up and checked the sheets to see if anything got on the bed. The sheets were dry, though my underwear needed to be changed. While I was in the bathroom taking care of things I Googled, “how do I know if my water broke.” I didn’t receive any clear answers. I assumed my water didn’t break because when my friend’s water broke it soaked the bed. I went back to bed, feeling what I assumed was a Braxton Hicks contraction (false contractions.) I knew real contractions are consistent in timing and get worse as they go on, so I decided to write down the time just to see if there was any consistency. The first one I wrote down was at 1:11am.

10 minutes later I got up to use the bathroom again (because 38 weeks pregnant…) but when I looked down I saw a stream of blood. Thankfully, I knew this was a normal pre-labor sign. I Googled “mucus plug” and “bloody show” to try to determine which one it was. Again, I didn’t find any clear answers. (Turns out it was the bloody show if anyone is wondering…)

I went back to bed, feeling more Braxton Hicks contractions. After timing my contractions at 1:11, 1:19, 1:29, and 1:37, I Googled “contractions” and sent a friend (who was sleeping) a text that said, “might be starting labor” followed by “I know this is so silly but if this really ends up being it – I haven’t washed my hair since Sunday!! lol.”

I had another contraction at 1:47 – this one felt more painful. Justin woke up around this time. I told him I might be in labor, that my contractions were around 10 minutes apart, and asked him to download a contraction timing app so he could time them for me. He timed the next one and said, “that one was only 5 minutes apart” which was confusing to both of us because how did it suddenly jump from 10 minutes to 5??

I’ve heard you know when you’re having contractions and by the next contraction I KNEW. I started gripping the bedsheets and saying ‘OW OW OW OW OW OWWWW!’ At the same time, Justin was doing his own Googling about contractions and said to me in a studious voice, “It says irregular contractions are a sign of false labor.”

I was like THIS IS NOT FALSE LABOR.

My contractions continued to worsen, leaving me writhing on the bed with tears streaming down my cheeks. I thought I must be weak because I was crying. My ‘ow’ turned into a curse word. Each time I had a contraction more fluid gushed into my underwear, which was annoying on top of the pain.

Soon after that I vomited all over the bedroom floor. (This is when Justin was like oh dang… I guess this really isn’t false labor!)

The next 30 minutes were a blur of contractions that barely gave me a break as Justin and I scrambled to get dressed, throw last-minute items in the hospital bag and get out the door. I still made sure to put on earrings and grab lipstick from my work bag, which I think is hilarious considering the amount of pain I was in (priorities, am I right?) After grabbing the lipstick I dropped to my knees and banged my fist on the hardwood floor as I practically screamed through a contraction. I was grateful we didn’t live in our townhouse anymore because our neighbors (who we shared a wall with) would have been like ‘what the heck is going on over there???’ I wondered about the possibility of our current neighbors hearing me from their house.

I thought about how I had wanted to post Instagram when I was heading to the hospital. What a joke that was to think about now! That list of friends Justin was supposed to text when I went into labor? Also a joke.

When we were in the car I didn’t buckle my seatbelt because the contractions were so intense. When Justin pulled up to the hospital parking lot I almost asked him to stop driving because every added movement hurt. We pulled up to the ER (where you’re supposed to go in the middle of the night) and I waddled in with tears streaming down my cheeks. A handful of bored-looking ER workers were sitting around. “Labor?” they said nonchalantly. “That way,” they pointed down a hallway. I started painfully waddling that way when one of the workers jumped up and gave me a wheelchair. GOD BLESS HIM.

I was wheeled to a desk where a man held a phone out to me and asked if I could talk on the phone. I was in the middle of a contraction and Justin was standing right next to me – I was so confused. Why was the person in the wheelchair being asked to talk on the phone? I wondered if this was a test because I read that not being able to talk through a contraction means you’re truly in labor. Welp, I passed that test. I waved my hand at him like NO, SIR, I CAN’T TALK ON THE PHONE RIGHT NOW. (Was this his first day on the job?) Justin took the call, which I later learned was a conversation with the labor and delivery nurse.

We made it to the triage room where I was told to put on a hospital gown in the bathroom. While I was changing a contraction made me drop to the floor. I clung to the handicap bar for support. After that, I got on the examination table and a nurse, Lisa, stuck her hand ALL THE WAY UP ME. I was already in pain from contractions and this just made it worse. I was writhing like a wild animal on the table – at one point I cried out, “I don’t like this!!!!” I honestly don’t know how Lisa was able to keep doing what she was doing and remain so steady. Mad props, Lisa.

I’ll never forget the tone of her voice when she said, “do you feel like you need to push?” Her tone was full of surprise, as if she was truly caught off guard. “I don’t know,” I responded. “You’re 9.5 centimeters dilated.” she said. “This baby is coming soon!”

She pushed me in the wheelchair to the delivery room. I asked her about an epidural. To my horror, she told me it was too late.

I got on the bed and someone hooked me up to an IV (my first time having one.) When I had a contraction I would lean over the left side of the bed to the point where I was almost falling off. I remember thinking, “I don’t know why I’m doing this but I can’t stop.” I was glad no one advised me not to do that – they just let me do my thing. With each contraction I said something along the lines of, “Jesus please help me. Please Jesus!!! Pleaseeeeee.” I was also squeezing Justin’s hand HARD. In between contractions I saw him shake his hand out but I didn’t even care.

Lisa offered me some kind of pain-relieving gas which I gladly accepted – only to discover it did nothing for me. I was supposed to breathe it in during a contraction but I ended just gripping the nozzle instead.

My hair had been in a ponytail but somehow it kept coming loose and falling out (was I pulling at my hair? I didn’t even know.) I thought about my friend who pulled out some of her hair during labor. I asked Justin to redo my ponytail for me. I also asked him for my chapstick. Many times. (All that heavy breathing + dry hospital air make for chapped lips.)

It wasn’t long before I felt like I needed to push. I tried pushing in the position I was in but didn’t like that so I asked Lisa if I could turn around and lean over the back of the bed (the bed was propped up.) I always knew if I couldn’t get an epidural this was the position I wanted to push in. I frantically scrambled around to my knees and leaned over the back of the bed.

I had become less and less vocal during my contractions – now I was grunting through gritted teeth. The contractions weren’t as sharp or all-consuming anymore (the worst ones were at my house) but I still really really didn’t like the feel of them. Now they felt like immense pressure where the baby was in my birth canal and pain through my lower back. I asked about an epidural a few more times but Lisa kept telling me it was too late, that the baby would be here before I could get one. I finally told myself, “Don’t ask again. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

I kept hearing God say “it’s going to be okay,” the same thing He said to me a few weeks prior when I thought my cat had died/run away. He was right, everything turned out to be okay in that situation. That sentence was on repeat in my head. “It’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay…”

I wondered if God was trying to teach me a lesson about pain, about how it’s worth it and I can do hard things and yadda yadda.

I was also thinking about how I felt like this whole experience wasn’t really happening, as if I was in a movie or having an out of body experience even though I could very much feel what was going on in my body.

At one point I thought, “I’m so tired, I need a nap. How can I take a nap? All I want is a nap RIGHT NOW.”

I also heard myself say, “I can’t do this,” which felt incredibly cliché. (It seems like every woman in labor has a moment like this.)

Justin was handing me ice chips and told me I was doing a great job. “Don’t say anything!” I snapped at him. When Lisa asked if there had been a birth plan, Justin responded by saying “the epidural was the birth plan…” followed by a dry laugh. “Stop laughing!” I snapped again. He remained quiet from there on out.

Lisa, meanwhile, was trying to help me breathe through my pushing – which apparently means to NOT breathe when you push. You’re supposed to hold your breath and use that force to push all the energy down into your body. But I kept accidentally breathing out instead of holding my breath. Lisa was also telling me to lean back while I pushed which felt really awkward to me.

Finally, the clouds lifted, the heavens parted, and Lisa said I could get an epidural. Apparently, my poor pushing skills and how tense my body was slowed the baby coming out, leaving time for an epidural after all. (Lisa also said she felt bad for me when I was crying out to Jesus…)

I never saw the anesthesiologist’s face, but I don’t doubt she was an angel. I could tell she was working quickly, carefully and thoroughly. After the epidural was inserted I leaned back on the bed and waited for the drugs to kick in (around 20-30 minutes – this is when Justin says the evil spirit left me.)

Lisa asked if an intern could watch me give birth (it would be her first time watching a birth.) I was like sure!

Then I did a practice push. Lisa was holding my right leg, Justin was holding my left. After my practice push, they both gasped.

“What? What is it?” I asked.
“He has a lot of hair!!”
“He does?” I said excitedly. I really wanted a baby with hair but expected him to be bald.
“Yeah… a LOT.”

Then I was worried he had too much hair and would look like a troll.

After my practice push the midwife on call, Jack, came in for the delivery. I was happy it was Jack – I had been hoping to have him or Sally. I pushed through three contractions with all my might. I could feel everything that was happening – when a contraction would come, his head coming out, his body coming out – but there was no pain. It was amazing. During my final push to get his head out, Jack, Lisa, and Justin were cheering me on as if I was a marathon runner about to cross the finish line. Their encouragement made me feel motivated and empowered.

As soon as Levi came out they put him on my chest. My first thought when I saw him was, “Oh my gosh, he’s cute!!”

And then I wept.

The moment was surreal. From trying to get pregnant to the morning I saw that faint pink line to getting in a car accident a few hours later to the fear of miscarrying to my first anniversary trip being ruined by morning sickness to the first time I heard his heartbeat to crying when I found out I was a cystic fibrosis carrier to telling my family I’m pregnant over Thanksgiving to announcing the news online to feeling that first kick to thinking he was a girl and finding out he’s a boy to peeing all the time to feeling insecure about my body to feeling loved at my baby shower to being out of breath all the time to barely sleeping at night to my maternity photo shoot to mood swings to weekly bump pictures to contractions that made me pound my fist on the floor to pushing him out of my body to this very moment when I was holding this living, breathing, beautiful baby boy on my chest.

It’s a moment I’ll cherish for the rest of my life.

While Levi was on my chest Jack pushed the placenta out of my body, let Justin cut the umbilical cord, and stitched me up down there. Again, I could feel everything but it didn’t hurt. (I was grateful to have Levi as a distraction…)

Lisa’s shift ended so she introduced me to the new nurse attending me and said goodbye – I was sad to see her go. We had been through so much together.

The next hour or so consisted of breastfeeding, the nurses weighing and measuring Levi (6 pounds, 7 ounces, 19 inches long) and me going to the bathroom for the first time. All I saw was blood.

After that they brought me breakfast – I didn’t even feel hungry but I scarfed down the food like I hadn’t eaten for days. French toast, eggs, sausage, fruit, and orange juice. It was hospital food but I felt like I was in heaven.

When I was done eating they took me in the wheelchair from the delivery room to my hospital room. I held Levi in my arms and beamed proudly whenever we passed someone.

From the time I woke to my water breaking to the time I pushed Levi out was less than 5 hours (4 hours and 50 minutes to be exact.) More than one nurse made a joke about how I needed to be careful or I’d have the next baby in the car or on the side of the road!

The entire time I was pregnant I had open hands when it came to giving birth – I knew anything could happen from an emergency C-section to 40 hours of labor to a labor so fast I couldn’t get an epidural. I always said I would prefer the latter — turns out I got the best of both worlds, a quick labor with an epidural right before he came out. For this I’m extremely grateful 🙂

Now I just need to make sure I don’t have high expectations for my next delivery…

2018: a goodbye letter

Dear 2018,

We met at a beautiful ranch in the middle of nowhere, Texas, surrounded by a group of amazing people. There was an abundance of food, love, and noisemakers.

I felt hopeful about our relationship. I had goals about flossing and reading and working out. I had dreams about going to Spain and getting pregnant.

On January 9 I wrote in my diary, “For the first time in my life I have baby fever. I can’t wait for the day I find out I’m pregnant.” In February I wrote, “I’m so excited to be a mom. I feel ready!” followed by, “Rozy thinks Justin and I are having a boy first.” (10 months later, I would learn she was right.)

We weren’t going to start trying until late spring, so I spent the first half of the year praying for the ability to get pregnant.

Amidst dreaming and praying for a baby, I also grieved the sacrifices having a baby would require (mainly, the ability to travel with ease and as often as I’d like.) There were nights I cried to Justin about this.

Rozy and I went to Guatemala to spend time with a Gap Year squad at the end of February. It was my first time traveling for work in a year. It was a productive work trip.

On March 1, I surprised Justin with a trip to Harry Potter World for his birthday. I told him we were going to Atlanta for dinner with friends – little did he know I was actually driving to the airport. I had booked plane tickets, lodging, rental car, and theme park tickets all without him knowing. I was so nervous leading up to the reveal I felt like I was proposing.

When we were at Harry Potter World I made him wear one of those “It’s My Birthday!” buttons the park provides for free. All day people wished him a happy birthday. I loved it. (He pretended he didn’t.)

The weather was perfect (warm, not hot) and we never waited in line more than 30 minutes. In the afternoon we sat on the curb, eating PB&J sandwiches and Cheez-Its. Later, we drank butterbeer.  I couldn’t believe how good it actually was.

This trip is one of my favorite memories from the entire year.

Overall, the first half of the year was slow. Justin and I spent our weeknights cooking and writing thank you cards for wedding gifts. On weekends we read, walked to our local coffee shop, and ate pizza on Friday nights. We attended a few weddings and a gender reveal party. I watched my goddaughter get baptized. We visited family North Carolina and Ohio. We played in a pickup volleyball tournament and attended the Atlanta Dogwood Festival. I choreographed and performed an Easter dance with some friends.

The slower pace was strange, but nice.

At the end of May, after an annoying amount of paperwork, online tests, and fingerprints, Julia and I began volunteering at the local juvenile delinquent center. I had attempted to volunteer for the last few years (this was my 3rd attempt), but it never worked out for one reason or another. This time I was determined to make it happen. It helped to have a friend go through the process with me.

The first time we showed up was during family visiting hours. As we waited for the youth to be brought in, families loaded up with their kid’s favorite snacks and drinks from the vending machine. This small act of love made me choke up. These parents loved their kids so much.

Julia and I were only able to meet with our individual girls a few times before summer got hectic with work and weekend trips.

On May 29, the day before my 32nd birthday, I wrote in my diary:

“How have I changed in the last year? More fulfilled than ever before! Coming back alive to the injustice in the world and wanting to do something about it (aka feeling 21 all over again.) Finally found my footing at work — feeling more passionate and capable than ever before. Actually excited and expectant to be a mom + to create a family with Justin! Getting better and better at managing my ‘7’ tendency for going too fast + doing too much. Feeling more and more secure in my friendships. Wow, God. Thank you for such an incredible year. You were right when you said “the best is yet to come” back in 2011! I can only imagine what you have in store (babies??)”

The next day (my birthday), Justin and I drove to Atlanta for brunch at a restaurant called Homegrown, followed by coffee/chai at Joe’s Coffee Shop. I talked to Justin about why foster care was so important to me and asked him to attend a foster care orientation that was being offered in June. He agreed (happy birthday to me!) After that we picked up my sister Melody and her husband Mike at the airport – they came to visit for my birthday. For dinner, we ate at a delicious Sushi/Asian fusion restaurant with Joe and Talia.

My birthday celebration continued that weekend at Julia’s lakehouse in South Carolina. It was the perfect weekend – filled with friends, food, and a boat (!!) One of my top 3 fav memories from the year.

The rest of June brought me to Orlando with Melody and Charlotte to see Wong family. My brother Paul came to visit, followed by my parents. Justin and I went to the foster care orientation. I spent the month preparing for Gap Year Training Camp in July.

The first three weeks in July were focused entirely on Gap Year camp. July marked three years since I’d been put in charge of Gap Year and two years since I’d been responsible for camp. At the end of camp I wrote:

“I’m proud of how well Training Camp went. The sessions, the flow, the speakers, the worship. I created the schedule – took a few risks – and it all played out so well. I’m also proud of myself for the ways I showed up physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Such a contrast to last year when I had too much on my plate (Passport) and was burning out. I did a good job and it feels good!”

At the end of July/beginning of August, Justin and I went on our first family vacations as a married couple – starting with the Mendolas, then the Wongs. I loved every minute of it.

Later in August, I found out I was pregnant and got into a car accident on the same day. A week and a half later, I was hit with nausea/vomiting/exhaustion from pregnancy that left me disoriented for all of September and October. I traveled to some beautiful places (Europe! San Diego! Thailand!) and saw amazing people during those months, but I mostly felt like I was stuck in a bad dream I couldn’t wake up from. I’ll always remember sobbing that last night in Paris.

November brought relief – I felt like myself again. I started exercising after 3 months of surviving. Julia and I began volunteering at juvy again. I choreographed another dance with friends. Justin and I announced my pregnancy to our families and bought/decorated our first Christmas tree.

December was a whirlwind of Christmas festivities, my best friend’s wedding, driving to Ohio and North Carolina, and finding out the sex of our baby. I ended the year at Julia’s lakehouse, surrounded once again by lots of food, love, and noisemakers.

2018, you were good to me. There were a few bumps in the road (car accident, feeling like crap for months…) but overall you were kind. Together we journeyed through my first calendar year of marriage and the first half of my pregnancy. I’m ending this year with a full heart (and belly!) I’ll always remember you fondly…

Thanks for the ride.

Love,
Hope.

on my first trimester:

The first time I felt “morning” sickness was at three in the afternoon. I was kind of excited because apart from missing my period, it was the first physical pregnancy sign I had.

That excitement soon faded as I found myself hovering over a trash can on my bedroom floor, trying to be grateful I was pregnant but hating the way it made me feel.

I threw up at work. At home. In the car. In a hotel room before speaking in front of 250 college-age students. On the grass at a friend’s birthday party. All over the dirty dishes in my kitchen sink.

One night I fell asleep in the hallway next to the trash can because I didn’t want to wake Justin up with my vomiting. There were days I couldn’t go to work because I couldn’t stop throwing up – I was worried I would have to quit my job or get fired because of it. Justin and I seriously considered canceling our first anniversary trip to Europe. I couldn’t imagine getting out of bed (or off the floor), let alone on a plane across the Atlantic.

I was miserable. I couldn’t keep food down no matter what I tried – jello, dry toast, ginger, saltines, “preggy pops” – I even tried sniffing lemon because I read that was supposed to help. All my guilty pleasures became my biggest aversions – Starbucks, Chick-Fil-A, ice cream (gasp!)

I was 6 weeks pregnant (but had only known about it for 2 weeks) when Justin called my OBGYN office and asked if there was ANYTHING that could be done to help.

They prescribed something and on the way to pick it up I threw up an entire bowl of chicken and stars. It was still warm.

I found myself yelling at small children through the car window, “Do you even KNOW what your mother went through for you???” and texting my mom friends for sympathy (special shoutout to Katie, Erin, Talia, and Grace ❤️)

I decided I didn’t want three kids anyone – this one was enough!

Thankfully, I got some pills that stopped the vomiting (for the most part), but I was still on the verge of almost throwing up for a maddening amount of time. I learned to carry a plastic bag with me wherever I went.

I’ll never forget the time Justin was at our kitchen counter, cutting my pills in half so I could swallow them without gagging. I don’t know if I’ve ever been more in love with him.

Justin and I ended up going to Europe. We had some good moments, but the trip was mostly tainted by my pregnancy symptoms. I was so exhausted I could barely get out of bed (one day I didn’t get up until 1pm and was back in bed by 7pm.) Walking around left me winded. I was constantly looking for places to throw up. I could barely eat anything – I watched Justin eat our anniversary dinner. I couldn’t stop burping (…yes, a pregnancy symptom. talk about romantic!)

I bawled during our last night in Paris because I didn’t get to eat a macaroon and because I couldn’t imagine being this sick for the rest of our trip, let alone the next two months.

Europe wasn’t what I hoped it would be, but I’ll always have fond memories of Justin taking care of me – carrying my luggage, walking as slow as a grandma with me, sprinting to get me fresh orange juice when we learned that helped, and never once complaining or getting annoyed with me (even though I was annoyed with me…)

I had my first baby appointment a few days after getting back from Europe. Justin was traveling for work, so I took my friend Betty with me. When I checked in I was told this wasn’t technically a maternity appointment because my pregnancy hadn’t been confirmed yet. I was slightly offended – what about everything I had just been through???

As soon as I saw my gummy-bear sized baby on the ultrasound screen I started crying (just thinking about it now makes me tear up!) Apart from a pink line and missed period four weeks earlier, this was the first happy pregnancy sign I had. There was a baby inside me. I could see it. In that moment, the fear I had about miscarrying was gone and all physical pain I had suffered was worth it. The technician handed me a Kleenex.

Then, unexpected to me, the heartbeat was played. My own heart stopped in my chest as I heard the thumping noises of another heartbeat inside me.

I will never forget the moment I heard my child’s heartbeat for the first time.

A few days later, I took off for San Diego for a reunion, followed by Thailand for work and a weekend getaway with Justin (all planned before we knew I was pregnant and almost canceled a couple of times due to my pregnancy symptoms.)

There were many times I gagged over a barf bag while flying. One time the guy next to me was like, “are you okay?” I told him I was pregnant and he offered me a piece of Big Red gum, which I thought was sweet. There was the time I nearly threw up in front of hundreds of Taiwanese people before boarding our plane. (Thankfully, I ended up belching over a trashcan instead.)

Miraculously, during Justin and my weekend getaway in Thailand, I felt almost normal. I could eat. I wasn’t completely zonked. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.

The day we left, I was sick again. I truly think God gave me those two days as a gift and I am forever grateful.

Toward the end of my first trimester, I kept crossing my fingers that my nausea/vomiting was done with, only to be hit with it once again. It was so discouraging and would leave me in tears.

It wasn’t until a few weeks into my second trimester (the beginning/middle of November) that I started feeling like myself again. Not only could I eat, I WANTED TO. I stopped burping as much (!!) and had more energy. I finally reached the ‘honeymoon stage’ of pregnancy I heard about, but always seemed so far away. I don’t know what the third trimester will bring, but right now I’m soaking up all the second trimester has to offer.

If there’s one thing I learned during my first trimester, it’s that women are even stronger and more amazing than I thought (and I’m a feminist!)

I have a whole new respect for my sex…

Women are HEROES.

on finding out i’m pregnant:

In August, a few days after ovulating, I had a dream I was nursing a healthy newborn baby. I woke up and immediately wrote down the dream on my phone, ending with, “I was happy. It felt so real.”

I had no doubt the dream was from God, but I knew it didn’t necessarily mean I was pregnant right now. It could mean I’d have a baby one day.

Still, I wondered.

A week later, I texted Justin, “Pre-period cramps are starting ☹️”

I wasn’t pregnant.

I was at a house show and tried to pay attention to the musician, but I was distracted by my disappointment. I would have to wait a whole month to find out if I was pregnant the next time.

The following day, I felt a little off, but chocked it up to stress from work and not getting enough sleep. Even so, I wrote down the symptoms I was experiencing… because maybe, just maybe I was pregnant after all.

I decided I wouldn’t say anything to Justin because the chance was so slim.

The next morning I woke up and the first thing Justin said to me was, “Are you sure you’re not pregnant?”

“Why did you say that??” I asked him, surprised.

“Because you don’t seem to have your usual PMS symptoms,” he said. “I think you should take a pregnancy test.”

I jumped out of bed and took a test.

We waited 3 minutes and saw the faintest pink line you ever saw – like maybe it wasn’t even there – but I still thought I saw it. Justin claimed it was the lighting (I later found out he was lying because he didn’t want to get my hopes up.)

My hopes were already up, but we had to wait 24 hours to take another test. I felt crazy the rest of the day – was I pregnant or not???

On Monday, August 20, we took another test. The line was still faint, but it was there.

I was pregnant.

I’ll never forget holding that tiny stick in my hand, knowing my entire life would be different but at the moment feeling exactly the same.

Later that day I was in a car accident that totaled my car and sent the other driver to the hospital in an ambulance. I stumbled out of my car in shock, tears streaming down my cheeks, worried about the tiny, vulnerable baby inside me. The first people I told I was pregnant were the police officers who showed up at the scene.

Miraculously, I was fine besides bumps, bruises, and an incredibly sore body.

The emotions I experienced the next few days were a blur of happiness about my pregnancy, grief about my car wreck, and shock about both events. It was a strange, confusing week.

A week and a half after that fateful day, Justin and I were on our way to see a used car when my first wave of nausea hit me. I knew pregnant women should eat when they’re nauseous, so I grabbed some hummus I had in my car and ate it.

Unfortunately, the hummus had been out for a couple of hours and gave me food poisoning, nearly landing me in urgent care the next day.

Getting a foodborne illness while pregnant can be dangerous (even fatal) to the baby’s health. It’s why women are told to avoid a variety of food – to limit the chance of getting salmonella or listeria (etcetera.)

Again, I feared for my baby’s wellbeing.

After recovering from food poisoning, I sat at my kitchen table and cried. Less than 2 weeks in and I had already failed as a mom. I wrote in my diary, “I’m worried about the baby to the point of tears. All I can do is trust God. God, please protect this baby. My trying isn’t enough – I still got sick and in a car accident.”

God’s response to me, “Why do you think I gave you that dream?”