A Breastmilk Kinda Grace

People keep asking how breastfeeding is going. And I keep shrugging and saying, fine. Because most of the time, I've noticed people don't want my often lengthy responses. That, or they're just being polite. Or they're what I call part of the Breastfeeding Nazi Regime and I'm scared to say anything considered "breastfeeding irreverent." (lest I get called the anti-Christ for not thinking it's the best thing ever.) The truth is, I did not think I would breastfeed for even three months. I told myself just to make it to Christmas and then re-evaluate (Selah's three month birthday).

Let me be honest, formula IS easier sometimes. Babies sleep longer stretches on formula, other people can feed them so they're not so dependent on mother (which I think makes them friendlier - less separation anxiety). You can tell EXACTLY how much they've eaten which is helpful in detecting when they are getting sick or in the midst of a growth spurt. There is no need for breast pads and there isn't nipple soreness or engorgement or dietary restrictions (caffeine & alcohol & tobacco products), etc...

There are however a plethora of reasons breast is best. The health benefits for infants are amazing, especially in these early months of life when they are just beginning to develop their own immune systems. And for mother, it's extremely helpful for weight loss. Also, it's free! And formula is expensive. Toward the end of Nico's one year on formula, we were dishing out $35 a week. That's like, more than I spend on wine! Lastly, when packing a diaper bag for a breastfed baby, there is no need to worry about water, pre-measured formula powder, liners, bottles, the right kind of nipple, etc... As long as I have my boobs, I'm set to go. (Though with my ever-forgetful mom-brain lately, I'm surprised I HAVEN'T somehow lost by own boobs...Though they're pretty hard to miss these days.)

So here I am, fulfilling my commitment to re-evaluate breastfeeding at Selah's three month mark. And much to my surprise (and probably the surprise of lots and lots of people who have listened to me boohoo about breastfeeding), I can't imagine NOT breastfeeding for many, many more months.

It's not just the practical reasons stated above that have helped me to come to this decision but I've discovered a few things about breastfeeding that have, in a sense, inspired me to continue.

First and foremost, it's only in America that we make breastfeeding so, so...oh, how do I say this?, F-ING HARD and COMPLICATED and TABOO, or otherwise, such an inconvenience. I used to think my entire life (socially & work-wise) would be altered by breastfeeding but that's just not true. After reading article and blog after article and blog, like this and this, I now realize there is no need to be so stressed about feeding in public or drinking alcohol or pumping, etc. Some of the over-sensationalized information we get here in the US is because doctors are FREAKED out by lawsuits so they tell us worst case scenario as if that's the norm. (Don't have a sip of alcohol or your breastfed baby will get drunk and die of liver disease.) And Americans in general are just ridiculous when it comes to breasts. (Must run for cover if you're out and need to breastfeed because a naked boob is EXTREMELY offensive to the general public.) But these kinds of exaggerations and stupid social norms are not based in truth or reality, so why would I govern my life around them? I won't. (Bottoms up and boobs out, baby!)

Secondly, although there are some annoying aspects of breastfeeding (being the ONLY one who can feed my baby, needing to pump 2x or 3x a day in my office, her strong preference of ME over anyone else to comfort her, greater challenges in getting her on a schedule) I quite enjoy the bonding, YES I SAID IT, the bonding it has created between us. She needs me, and I need her. It's a natural and healthy co-dependency that I am surprised I enjoy. Skin on skin, the snuggles and eye contact, the cooing of satisfaction and the release of endorphins. I know, from a non-attachment parenting style mother, it's different for me to be so pro- ? whatever this is. I'm less rigid this time around, less baby wise. It's a whole new aspect of parenting that I am discovering with my girl! And I love it, similarly to how much I loved discovering that formula was the best way for me to parent Nico.

As a mother of two babies, my oldest being only 16 months, I am AMAZED and a little melancholy at how FAST time flies when it comes to raising children. Before I know it, my little baby girl will be a giant, mess-making, sippycup-demanding, stair-climbing, one year old monkey like my son. She will be off the boob and disinterested in snuggles. The little bunny-slipper, soft-cooing, sweet-breath baby window closes in the blink of an eye. So why not cherish it; every last nipple-sucking part of it (especially since it's going so well this time around)?

Lastly, I am sort of inspired and fascinated by what I am discovering about breastmilk/feeding and am learning some life lessons from this experience. For instance, the requirement to sit still and relax - forcing stress and worry to leave my mind in order to properly "let down" is live-changing! Everyone should learn how to make body, mind, and heart be at peace and rest and calm in an instant!

And did you know that breastmilk NEVER runs out? I could pump all my milk away and then feed her immediately after, and I'd let down again. Essentially, there is always enough for whatever she needs. And often, there is more than enough. Breast milk is like God's grace. Always sufficient and available and never-ending and renewed constantly. A supply given, on-demand. And the more it's used, the closer the taker is to the giver. This is the part of attachment-parenting I really believe in. I think God parents us this way. Kind of like, the more we sleep the more we sleep... The more Selah drinks, the more I have. The more we receive God's love and mercy and grace, the more we want of Him, the more He gives of Himself. Every person should know God's grace this intimately.

Please know, I still firmly believe in schedules and consistency and children sleeping in their own beds. I'm still me. I still adhere to some Baby Wise guidelines because I ALSO think God parents us this way too - with rules and boundaries and consistency. How I am with Selah vs. how I was with Nico is simply, different. Every child is different and should be parented accordingly.

So in conclusion, I'll set another goal and reassess in the spring. In the meantime, I just want to enjoy my baby and the breastmilk kinda grace she gives and takes and teaches me to live by.

Why Jesus Wants Me To Drink Alcohol

(A working title)

I know. I meant it to sound that way – shocking, obscure, maybe even a little irreverent. But I’m not actually joking. I really do believe Jesus wants me to drink alcohol.
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I grew up extremely sheltered. I listened exclusively to Christian music – but only the really conservative kind. (No, Amy Grant was not allowed. She sold her soul to the devil when she went “secular.”) I went to Christian School, learned catechisms and had to wear culottes. (cool-lots: a hideous type of skirt/short combo that covered naked knees – so not to cause men to lust.) In this type conservative Christian culture, swearing made you a bad Christian. Consuming alcohol meant you weren’t a true Believer. And premarital sex meant you were going straight to hell.

As soon as I could, I ditched the culottes, turned on some colorful hip-hop, and tried my best to partake in all of the rest of the illicit, naughty behaviors. I guess I just always felt that I had a pre-set reservation on AC/DC’s Highway to Hell. There was no measuring up. So why try? This type of religion required perfection and was utterly unattainable. And BORING. And not just boring, but pointless.

One time I was on an Evangelistic Crusade – a special mission focused week celebrated once a year. We were given tracks (Tracks: poorly made tri-folds with messages of hell and damnation) to distribute in neighborhoods and competed for prizes with who could win the most souls for the Lord. Yes, even us second graders. I so distinctly remember looking at the tract, looking at our outfits and knowing, just KNOWING – no one was going to buy into our message. We looked awful. We looked oppressed and sad and morbid. We weren’t relevant. Or fun. Or HAPPY! Even as a child I knew misery, judgment, and intolerance wouldn’t “sell.” Even as a child, I felt a real call to relate to people (to dress normal, laugh at jokes, and be NICE). I instinctively knew that this type of extreme religion was unappealing. And unreal. And just plain, inhuman.

It wasn’t until later, much later, that I encountered God the Father and began to walk with Jesus, to really know His love and to live in the spirit of His beautiful grace. After years of rebellion and grieving my imperfections, I came to realize something very, very profound and life-changing. Something that is also quite simple.

God calls us to live a life of balance. Moderation. And in so doing, we model so much of His heart and His life to those who stand on the fringes, without hope or faith.

For anyone who has known me longer than three years, you know moderation has not come easy for me. I’ve blurred the lines of appropriateness (and sobriety) on more than one occasion. There are a few main reasons for that, mostly my own sin and rebellious nature. I take full responsibility for my wrong doing. So what I’m about to say isn’t an excuse. It is however, a part-explanation.

I was never, ever modeled moderating. I was only modeled abstinence. No swearing, no denim (as a child born in the 80’s – can you imagine how HARD that was?), no kissing boys, no movie theaters, no swearing and NO ALCOHOL! (not even in cooking).

Instead of the condemning negative responses to all things stylish, cool, or fun – I wish a more moderate approach would have been modeled. After all, it IS possible to maintain morals without the extremes. It IS possible to wear a skirt above your knee and not be mistaken for a prostitute. It IS possible to go to a theater and not watch porn. It IS possible to have a few drinks and not get wasted. It is possible to go to a bar and maintain morality and engage in wonderful, life-giving, Spirit-breathed discussions.

Have I gone too far at times? Yes. In all things, frankly. Food included. (Don’t get me started on Christianity and food addiction) But simply because I CAN abuse alcohol, doesn’t mean I should never partake (and then make a bunch of rules as to why no one else should either). If I eat too much pizza, should I never eat again? Obviously, that’s ridiculous. Behavior isn’t corrected by NOT doing something. It’s curved and shaped by practice, effort, intentionality and grace.

So, here is why God wants me to drink alcohol. Not only is there something pretty relaxing that lends itself to honesty and transparency when a glass of wine is in hand and not only are there proven health benefits from wine and beer particularly but part of engaging people is being IN it with them (“in the world, but not of the world"). To me, being IN it is an actually physical manifestation of presence. Of modeling Jesus. (Jesus: the man who hung out with prostitutes and tax collectors.)

Personally, I have had more spiritually engaging conversations in bars than I’ve had in church. I’ve had tremendous breakthrough in my faith walk over several glasses of wine. (or beer) ((or vodka)) And I have to say, the less I have drank out of rebellion (abstinence), the less I have been drunk. Because life lived out loud in the presence of witnesses, modeling the heart of Christ isn’t about what you DON’T do. It’s about what you DO, when you are doing life.

Moderation – a desperately needed Christian attribute.

A Friend-Like Sister Wife, Lessons from Polygamy

I posted what became a controversial statement on facebook a few days ago about polygamy – why I didn’t see a problem with consenting adults participating as part of their faith, why I don’t understand why it’s condemned in Christian circles, and that I don’t think it should be illegal in a country that seeks to grant freedom of religion. This blog isn’t a follow up to that post.

I did however observe something in the midst of that “discussion” that is sad and haunting and sort of interesting. Here is what I noticed.

The women I’ve talked to about polygamy who have regarded it in some amount of positivity, especially with regard to the show Sister Wives and the implications of plural marriage, have a few things in common. We are young, married, and have small children. We love our families, are exhausted and often feel lonely despite intentionally seeking friendships among other moms.

Having "sister wives" answers a lot of the secret, intimate desires women have by the very DNA of plural marriage. We all want to have close female friendships, we want HELP, and we need support. Being a wife and mom can be hard stuff; we were created to raise our kids in a village. We were never meant to do this thing alone. And yet so many of us do.

The word “community” has been the Christian buzz word for what?, ten years now?, but I’m not sure we’re closer to really living the concept despite all the talk. Try as we might, theorize like we do – we often can’t seem to really, really go the distance with each other. There are about a million reasons for that but mostly, I think it’s because we don’t have any formal place for declaration where friendship is concerned in our culture. There isn’t a way to pledge loyalty and love to one another. And without the declaration, can there really be committment? We say forever only to people we marry and as we all know, marriage doesn’t solve all of our hearts longings and desires.

We all need friends. We need community. We need sister wives!

Without a formal declaration of forever – no talk of friendly commitment, no covenant among us gal pals, we can never really be THAT close, as close as sister wives that is. How do you trust forever, when the commitment hasn’t been made? How do you give your heart to someone without telling them you are doing so?

Having sister wives forces a "working through" of relational hardships (jealousy, competition, gossip, offenses, etc..) because, like a marriage, you are "in it" for better or worse, for rich or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death… You've shared your, well, husband. You've shared your children, your home, your goals, your LIFE with this person. You're IN IT! For good.

Christian friendships SHOULD be like this – family – a sense of being each other’s keeper, of confronting offenses, of giving where there is need, working past the hurt, speaking the truth in love, forgiving – substance thicker than water and yet more often than not, I think we come up empty handed, friendships running through our fingers, close to covenant but then something happens. Forever among friends eludes us.

One of the great love stories in the Bible is that of David and Jonathan, friends who chose loyalty to each other over family ties and declared commitment despite opposition. They gave the purest part of their hearts to one another. I believe their friendship was successful in part, because of their freedom to risk vulnerability and to declare themselves, make covenant, pledge forever.

This is such a foreign concept to many of us but I see a longing in the hearts of people around me, wishing for someone to make covenant with, a friend, who will be a sister wife of sorts (without the whole - plural marriage, share my husband stuff). I feel like we need a place that we are safe to celebrate the declaration of those special friendships, to give voice and credibility to deep relational unions and to say out loud to one another in the presence of witnesses - “I love you. We are in this. Together. And I will hold you accountable, confront you, stick with you when you offend me, love you despite your weaknesses; tell you the truth – always. And I like you. And I support you. Your successes and failures are mine. For better or worse, for rich or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death…”

And should something terrible happen; irreconcilable differences that confrontation, counseling, intervention and everything under the sun can’t fix, separates these friends – support should be given to mourn the end of something beautiful, like people grieve a divorce. Because when you lose a friend, a friend on this level, the pain is just as intense. I think the loss grieves the heart of God just as much.

I know it's a little scary, but my encouragement to you - to myself - is to not just be intentional about building authentic "friendships," but to declare your intent to go the distance in some way, to be "family." To set out to be a sister-type. Because really, lack of intimacy has nothing to do with social constraints or religious dogma. It's effort that is needed, not an avenue. The intent to BE family in friendships.

Engaging Deep Without Choosing The Meloncholy

I used to teeter between light and dark, in my thought-life that is. Sinking to low points and wrestling with hard questions and sitting in the “deep” places. I used to think it was super cool to be melancholy, maybe sit in a coffee shop with a weird hat and ponder the meaning of life. Discussions usually led to injustice, which always brought up all those bad things that happened that weren’t fair. And the inevitably of sadness mixed with pride would follow – the thing most artists and philosophers secretly and sometimes not so secretly think about themselves…(I am brilliant, deep, super cool).

Honestly, I think it’s all bullshit now; like a misguided misfit trying to make myself seem important, trying to self-protect by way of over-intellectualization and justification and victim-minded boohooing. There is a place and time for processing, for getting it out there, for feeling through the unfairness and harshness this life can sometimes send our way. But to sit in it, like those damn Occupy Wall Street-ers avoiding work and laws in order to “prove a point” that they’ll never really prove anyway, is pathetic and juvenile. A waste of time and space.

We get one chance at this life. One opportunity to become whatever we were meant to be. And I so firmly do believe in a plan and a purpose for each created being. I believe in that so fervently that it grieves me when I see people choosing to be victims instead of overcomers. I hate seeing waste.

The older I get the more I see this. Is it a new phenomenon, part of the DNA of whatever generation I am a part of (X, post-modern, post post modern)? I don’t know. But I do know that I see a lot of thirty year old children, living in the past – making excuses for the future - in the name of being deep and artistic and super cool.

I guess I’m just venting for some reason or another today, but I just want to say…people, life is TOOOO short and precious and meaningful for us to be anything other than what we were created to be. Don’t sell yourself short in the name of “being deep.”

God is love, God is light. Live in that; put your hope in Him and He will give you meaning and purpose for your “deep.”

Psalm 42
As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?
My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me all day long,
“Where is your God?” These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go with the multitude, leading the procession to the house of God, with shouts of joy and thanksgiving among the festive throng.
Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. My soul is downcast within me;
therefore I will remember you from the land of the Jordan, the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar.
Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me. By day the Lord directs his love, at night his song is with me—a prayer to the God of my life.

Let's Talk About Sex...Post-Baby

I'm not sure you're supposed to talk about this stuff, especially in a blog - public or not - but in this over-sexualized culture, I'm convinced nothing I say here could possibly be THAT shocking. And seriously? I'm pretty sure I can't be the only mumma out there with these experiences and thoughts.

So here goes. Let's talk about sex...post-baby!

I'm 8 weeks postpartum and pronounced "fully healed" from the vaginal tares that came with birthing baby Selah. I remember thinking right after I had her, and then later saying as I was being stitched, that NOTHING would or should EVER go in or out of there again. It was weeks before I felt like I could walk without pain. So imagine my discomfort at even the thought of sex.

For the past few weeks, since my six-week appointment and birth control prescription fill, I've been attempting to mentally prepare myself for intimacy. I've been trying to think sexy thoughts and have forced myself to imagine that the milk leaking out of my breasts, the stretch marks across my belly and butt, and the extra layer of chubs across my, well, entire body isn't SO bad, isn't SO unappealing.

I've mentally planned to have a few glasses of wine and brace myself for a good time of foreplay before giving myself over to my husband. In my mind, we magically have a few free, care-free hours to really engage each other and reclaim "lost" territory. (literally and figuratively) But I've discovered lately that we are NEVER, EVER going to have a few casual hours for several more months (at least). So yesterday, I put the kids to bed, had two glasses of pino, and determined to JUST DO THIS THING!

Here's how it went; Kissing, kissing, hugs and rubs and "oh," Selah is awake. Kissing, kissing, here we go, "OH," Nico is giggling in his crib. Hugs, rubs, laugh a little nervous laugh, "OUCH," - like loosing your virginity all over again. Maybe more foreplay? "BAH," Selah is crying.
"Another time, hun?"

This is how it goes, I guess? We never quite made it.

We thought about trying again later that night, when the kids were more 'officially' down for the night. But with the exhaustion of the day behind us, all either of us wanted to do was sleep or physically/emotionally check out. This is pretty much the norm after 8:30pm. That, or Michael has a paper to write for school or a class to attend.

Today I'm thinking about all this and just wondering, when WILL be a good time? When will it be effortless and sexy and when will it feel good again? When will I have any sort of sex drive; when will I really WANT that part of my life back? When will I have the time AND energy to engage?

...like aligning the moon and starts and sun. There seems no light at the end of this tunnel. But we are just too tired to care about the dark.

Parenthood is hard. Marriage is even harder.

Balancing them both? *yawn*

Randoms (1)

I have to just get these things off my chest. They tickle my mind late at night and serve to distract me during the day. Sometimes it's the little lingering, unresolved thoughts that produce the most stress. At any rate... here are my "randoms."

• The book Babywise and its theories on raising children yells at me, in my head, just like my mothers critiques. I can ignore the "voices," disagree with them and even distance myself from them but they are always there. (telling me I'm not measuring up) I ask you, HOW CAN A BOOK have so much impact when I didn't follow it in the first place?



• Selah's hair is lightening. I'm scared she'll be blonde. I know this is insignificant but the color of a girls hair really does, I think, impact how others view them and therefore how they view themselves. I don't know what to do with a blonde daughter.



• My son is very, very naughty lately. I loose my temper with him and grow weary of his whining. His constant, constant pointing and whining. I need more grace for the "almost two's."



• I can't seem to find a babysitter for the ONE day I need to be in the office in order to keep my job. It's extremely part-time...maybe that is the problem? I have just a few weeks before I'm slated to return. What to do, what to do?



• I watched yet another drug bust outside my front door yesterday. I want to move and yet I'm growing closer and closer to all these wonderful moms that live next door, across the street, up the road from me. How much weight should "community" hold over such decisions?



• Speaking of weight, *sigh* I need to loose some. Or a lot. Breastfeeding is supposed to help and in truth, I am down almost 30 from pregnancy weight but I need, *NEED* to loose 30 more. (or more) This is always a struggle for me.



• Breastfeeding...evidently I make good milk. Selah is a chunky monkey. And wow, formula is so expensive but I still long for a day when I can go out for longer than 3 hours and not need to whip out a boob in public or worry that Selah won't take a bottle or feel like my boobs are going to fall off due to engorgement. It's a season...I know this, but for me, it's a hard one. I don't gush over breastfeeding like some women do. It's more like a form of slavery to me, as Sarkozy called it recently.



• I've missed another fall season. Having newborns late summer/early fall two years in a row...makes fall a blur. And it's my favorite of the seasons which makes me sad. Old Man Winter is almost here again and I'm just not sure I can endure another hard Pittsburgh winter. The grey skies are SO DEPRESSING!



• I started a Read The Bible In A Year program two weeks ago and got through 4 days. And now that I've "failed" I don't want to start again because it'll be too much make-up reading for my little, mommybrain mind to manage. I hate failure. I'm mad at myself.



• I'm going to Play Space today for the first time - and will be meeting more moms in the area and affiliated with my church. This always scares me. Motherhood has a way of opening up some of the cruelest judgement. I'm going to write about this more because it's such a HARD thing right now for me but I'll just say this for now, parenting styles have a way of destroying relationships or bonding friends closer and closer together. How can it be so dividing? Who cares if I breastfeed or sleep train or use cloth diapers or when I potty train my child? I mean, really? But evidently, it does to LOTS and LOTS of people. I both crave and fear meeting other mothers.

Gotta run. This concludes my vent session for the month. (or the day)

The Birth Story of Selah Shalom

My first born son was only 4 months old when I discovered I was pregnant, again. To be honest, I both laughed and cried when I found out – mostly in disbelief but also in fear and excitement. I had plenty of thoughts and emotions all at once as test after test formed two pink lines. I immediately made an appointment with “my midwives” to discuss diet and health risks, knowing how much pregnancy takes out of a woman; I had already been recommended a longer time period between pregnancies, especially after having had a c-section.

I was elated to meet with Midwife Kathy for that first visit and extremely happy with her encouragement and excitement for the coming baby. There was no judgment or criticism for getting pregnant so quickly.

After the somewhat traumatic birth of my son that ended in a cesarean (which you can read about here), I hesitated to get my hopes too high for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean), but I still wanted a vaginal birth and, if possible, I hoped to have it medication free. After months of seeing a therapist to prepare myself for another potential c-section, I felt ready to meet my daughter any way she chose to come. And wait we did.

I had my 41 week appointment with Midwife Emily, who was new and had quickly become one of my favorite midwives. At that appointment, we decided to schedule my induction for September 26th at 8am – the last possible day I could wait, two week post due-date. I had to deliver at Mercy anyway, since this was my attempt at a VBAC and after waiting another 6 days was resigned to the induction (though, in my heart of hearts, I felt strongly that I would not successfully VBAC with all the medical intervention that goes with an induction).

The night before the scheduled induction I went to bed around 10pm and woke up sporadically from midnight until 2am with some contractions. I didn’t take them seriously because I had been having contractions for what felt like MONTHS at this point. Around 2am though, five hours before I was supposed to be at the hospital, I had "bloody show" and the contractions were coming about every 5 minutes. This was it!

I called my mom and sister to meet at my home. My mom was going to watch my son and my sister, a natural birth pro, was going to be my birthing coach and support along with my husband. I called the midwives and Abby was on call until 7am. She told me it would be great to labor at home as long as possible. (I learned from my 33 hour labor with my son that it’s much better to labor at home than anywhere else.) Around 5am, my contractions were getting intense and I started wishing secretly for an epidural every time a contraction rolled through me. I started to get nauseated and worried about the quickly coming weekday morning traffic through the city. While I wanted to labor at home, I also wanted to avoid rush hour and I did NOT want my son to wake up and see me in pain. We decided to leave at 6:30am, right before the midwife and nurse shift changed. By this point, labor was getting intense!

I got to Mercy at 7am and a nurse too me to a birthing room. I was already begging for an epidural, even before I was checked.

I was overjoyed to see Midwives Kathy and Emily walk into my room with huge grins on their faces. Throughout my pregnancy, I met with them the most and considered them my "dream team." Emily checked me and I was 7cm. I could hardly believe it. It took me almost 24 hours with my son to get to a 7. Needless to say, I was shocked. But the joy quickly disappeared as my water broke (all over Emily) and another contraction seized me. Around 7:30am, the anesthesiologist came into my room to ask me questions and prepare me for the epidural. I was writhing in pain and just wanted the drugs! After two questions, much to my astonishment, I had this overwhelming urge to push. I was at 10cm and ready to go! There wasn’t enough time for the drugs. It was at this point that I realized, "We’re doing this the way I originally wanted – naturally and medication free!" I felt a rush of energy and confidence at this point. I let go of my desire to be numbed and allowed my body to follow its natural instincts.

I pushed. Hard. And pushed. On my back. On my knees. Holding a bar squatting. On my back again. Her little head could be seen, but wasn’t really moving. She was stuck in my pelvis, much like my son, and was sunny-side-up. After an hour of pushing, I was exhausted and losing confidence. My baby girl needed me to wear an oxygen mask between pushes, but, otherwise, was doing well. Still, she would not move down and out. Around 9am, Emily and Kathy started talking about a c-section and two things happened at once. My heart broke just a little bit and I asked for my husband to help me. And I began to silently pray – plead, actually – and begged for the strength to get this baby out.

I did not want to come this far, only to be cut open again. I just “knew” this baby girl was coming vaginally and so, as the next contraction came, I prepared to give the last big push I could possibly muster. I tilted by head back and with every last fiber of my being roared and pushed until I felt something happen. A little popping sound came along with an odd burning and everyone was silent for just a few seconds. I asked what happened and then there were smiles and gasps and little laughs. My sister told me, with an odd tone of disbelief, that my baby’s head was almost out. She had crowned, much to everyone’s shock and surprise.

I probably should have been all smiles and excited but the reality is, I was in pain and was yelling at Emily to just get her out! Emily calmed me and told me this baby was coming in the next push but that it would be intense. She told me that the stretching that was happening was good and healthy and that I needed to be calm and ready to listen to everything she told me to do. That part was difficult because my body wanted to push hard, but Emily was holding the baby in, allowing my muscles and tissues to stay intact and not tear.

As the next contraction came, Emily and Kathy guided me in gentle pushes and, within less than a minute; my baby was out and on my chest. (Along with another gush of water that soaked Emily, again. I have to get that girl new pants!!) There are a few things I remember clearly in that moment. How good it felt to have her out. How wonderful it was to hold her on my chest. How precious her little sounds were. How prayers and wishes do come true. It was everything I wanted. And my little girl, Selah Shalom, was perfect!

Emily was crying with joy, my husband was still a little stunned, my sister was gooing over the baby, and I was just simply, blissfully dazed!

Selah Shalom Bachman Flickinger was born September 26, 2011 at 9:17am. She was 9 pounds, 21.75 inches and perfectly healthy. She breastfed almost immediately and I could not have asked for anything more.

I am convinced of a few things that enabled me to have a successful VBAC as I reflect on this beautiful experience. First, I believe the expertise of midwifery care was fundamental. Their encouragement and belief in the natural process and my body's ability to do what it was designed to do gave me the confidence I needed to push each time. Also, their skill in helping stretch and position myself in useful ways was a God-send; I was confident in their ability to keep me from being cut or tearing too badly - so much so that I was free to push without fear or reservation. Secondly, a sure hand to squeeze (my sister) when the pain became too much was so important. Having someone who loves me enough to allow me to divert my pain onto them by crushing her hand every three minutes for a few hours was priceless. I also believe, had I gotten the epidural, I would not have had a successful VBAC. I truly think I needed to feel the baby and the positions and strong urges to push. I could never have pushed that hard with numbed legs and no feeling in my pelvis. I don’t deny the pain or the intensity of the birth process, but it was the only way that worked for me to bring her into the world. And it really was worth every second.

It seems there are so many life lessons that take place with each birth. With my son, I learned to hold things more loosely – to give grace and allow grey – in my planning and expectations. With my daughter, I learned the importance of giving all of myself to my desired outcome and trusting my instincts – fighting like hell to achieve what I believed was our blessing to have and hold. I walk away from this birth with so much confidence – in how God created me – woman, to manage pain and experience profound life-giving beauty.

Happy Anniversary

Today is our 3 year wedding anniversary. I'm surprised at how quickly we've come this far. And as I look back over these few years, I am stunned at how MUCH we've gone through. How many changes have taken place - our friendships, our world view even, what we stress about now vs. then. And I think about what we have that we didn't just three years ago. A house and two children - my husband is almost done with grad school - the list could go on. And we've gotten more honest I think, and more private. We are more discerning and careful about who we let into our lives. We aren't as surprised by human error. We are closer to each other because we've toughed out, together, some hard stuff. It's me and him, and these two little people who look at us like we are gods. And sometimes it feels much like us against the world, not in a combative way but just in that - we are a unit, trying to make it work with very little help and support from others.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night when no one is awake but me feeding a little mouth, I tear up just thinking about how MUCH I love my husband...how totally and wholly I need him. How over the past three years, my love for him has grown exponentially. He is so amazing. I would never want to walk this journey of life, love, parenting and faith with ANY other man. I'm pretty sure I have the best.

Happy anniversary, my love. You amaze me. I love you. The day I married you, was the best day of my life. I'd do it all over again, and again, and again. And not just because the party was so fun, but because I would pledge my whole life to you. Because you are worth it and worthy of my heart. You are an amazing husband and I adore you.

How to Parent Two Babies?

Selah Shalom was born September 26th. It's been quite an adjustment and in some ways, not as big of an adjustment as I anticipated. The second time around is easier. We knew what to expect and in these circumstances, knowlege is power. Perspective is everything. I know, because I've done it before, that the hard stuff (nightime feedings, baby poops every time they eat, feeding every two hours, sore nipples, random wake time, unsure why they are crying, etc...) does pass and passes more quickly than I could have ever imagined the first time around. But there are different things too, new things...

Selah is so different than Nico. Easier than he was an infant. She's more cuddly, breastfeeds perfectly, sleeps well, etc. She is two weeks old today. Nico is 14 months old, and proves to be the more difficult one day after day.

I didn't think he'd do the jealous thing, mostly because he is so young and has always been pretty laid back. But for the past few weeks, he's been hard to manage - very whiny - extremely needy. It COULD be that he's in transition - I hear the "terrible two's" actually starts around one and a half. I also know it frustrates him that he can't communicate. But, I'm not going to make excuses - he IS jealous and wants MY attention. The reason I know this is... he begins his whining and demanding mostly when I breastfeed... He steals the remote and tries to climb on the table when he knows I can't get up to correct him. It's deliberate. My son is very, very clever. And I'm evidently, not. I'm at a loss.

How do I know how to parent a toddler and not just ANY toddler, MY toddler? Who can tell me what equation makes the most sense for my specific family? Household set-up? My child's temperament? No one. That's the thing about parenting books, they are mostly bullshit because children and families and humans for that matter aren't really able to fit into a mold. We are all unique. Sometimes, annoyingly so.

I feel guilty a lot. Not regretful and certainly I would not do anything differently (I adore my daughter) but I feel badly that my 14 month old has to share so early in life. I feel sad to have to split my attention and that sometimes, it forces Nico to be "the big boy" when he's still such a baby himself. I know he won't remember a time without his sister and I know this too shall pass and he will adjust, but at what cost? Since he's so small, will this alter his otherwise laid-back, happy-go-lucky demeanour? I hope not.

I'm not going to lie. I'm a little scared. While I have some understanding on how to parent an infant, I don't know what I'm doing with a toddler and I don't want to make any mistakes. I know, impossible. But it's always in the back of my head... I want to do this RIGHT! They deserve that. But how? What IS right? I'm not sure I've ever been this unclear about what is the right and best thing. Children really should come with manuals. ha!

I guess for now, I'll just keep asking, praying, pleading, laughing and trying. What else is there?

Help me, Jesus.

Control

I’m thinking a lot about control today; mostly, what is permissive initiative vs. unhealthy interference. I think I know the answer but am unsatisfied with its lack of concrete clarity. Sometimes, leaving life up to the conviction of the Holy Spirit frustrates me. There is so much in the grey that I’m uncomfortable leaving there. I enjoy planning entirely too much for my own good.

After One Year, The Birth Story of Nicodemus

My son just turned one year on Sunday. It's about time I relived that hard but beautiful day, not just to honor his life - but to process and gain the perspective necessary to do it all again. (any week now!)
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I would have liked my story to begin with water breaking and end in a beautiful birth - with contractions, candles, and fierce labor overcome in between. I would like to say that I dug deep and relied on my innate ability as woman to manage pain, triumphed over what felt like the impossible and found an inner-strength that pushed through. I wish I was one of those happy couples who left the birth center with a perfect baby, eager and ready to face the world of parenthood. But my story isn’t like that.

Against all odds for this woman, who isn’t into pain and couldn’t be further from a hippy/crunchy gal, I chose to give birth at The Midwife Center. My reasons were simple, you can read about my progression of thought and research here. I was focused on the natural birth – the kind highlighted in the documentary The Business of Being Born and in the book, Your Best Birth. So focused was I on doing it naturally, that I never allowed myself to think about other alternatives.

Since I’m not the hippy-sort nor am I exactly a go-with-the-flow kind of person, you can imagine that I had a very specific, well-written birth plan that I fully expected would come to fruition.

Labor started at 1am on a Friday morning and for the first several hours as planned, at home and early on at TMC, I was blessed with laughter between contractions, the ability to sit on my birth ball, cope with pain in the tub, and roll with the punches to my gut.

But as the pain increased and I wasn’t dilating, my dream labor – the one I so thoroughly planned and prepared and focused on for months - was slipping out of my control.

After 16 hours of labor, I was only 3cm dilated. I had so much scar tissue in my cervix from a previous procedure that I required an epidural to undergo the painful process of my midwife literally, digging out the tissue to allow my cervix to dilate. Off to Mercy Hospital we went, through city rush hour traffic, while I cussed out my husband every time he hit a bump or had to stop at a light.

The pain mixed with defeat was unbearable.

Despite my disappointment in needing to transfer to the hospital and have intervention drugs, I thanked my anesthesiologist about 1,000 times after he relieved the pain and about a million times more in my head as I watched tissue be ripped from my body to allow dilatation over the next several hours. I didn’t feel a thing.

About 9 hours later, I was ready to push. And push I did… for 3 hours. But baby boy was turned wrong and stuck in my pelvis. Defeat struck again.

After trying everything under the sun for 33 hours to avoid a c-section, I was taken to the O.R. Saturday morning, August 7, 2010, where I ended up giving birth by way of operation...the least expected way I planned on meeting my first child.

Frazzled from lack of sleep, drugged and overwhelmed, I wasn’t able to hold my baby for hours. The shaking and total shock of it all was just starting to sink in.

After a 5 day stay at the hospital with a jaundice baby who would not breastfeed and a painful cut through my abdomen, I felt stripped of my power as a woman and a mother. What I had set out to do, backfired. I wasn’t empowered, I was disabled. I wasn’t happy and glowing, I was tired and pissed off and so, so sad. Unmet expectations can be a real bitch. And boy, was she bitchy to me.

I wish I could say this story gets better. But the truth is, it doesn’t. Recovery was hard. I don’t think I fully bonded with my son in the way I imagined until weeks after his birth. I had the baby-blues and battled every day for three months to breastfeed before giving up.

Nothing about my birth experience was beautiful, except him.

My son was a gorgeous baby. As c-section babies tend to be, he had a perfectly round head. He had deep, beautiful blue eyes and when his jaundice went away; his creamy olive skin glowed like my husband’s. He was 8lbs, 4oz and 22 inches long. He is my favorite thing in the world and I tell him frequently that I’d do it all over again! He just turned one and is healthy and happy, whole and complete. He lacks nothing. He smiles at everyone and loves life.

How he came into the world didn’t seem to faze him or alter his existence or personality in any way.

But it changed me.

I’m a black and white thinker. What I plan for is usually what I expect. I’m not controlling necessarily, I’m just well-prepared. I believe that hard-work and effort pays off. (Give me a break, I’m German – it’s in my blood. Ha!) But this experience taught me some valuable lessons that I think should be heard by anyone with a clear birth plan.

Just because you WANT something or even BELIEVE IN something, doesn’t make it so. All the best intentions and plans can be set in motion but babies and life for that matter, don’t always so perfectly fit into our world-view or our template for event planning.

Shit happens…even to the best of us.

Before this birth, I “knew” there was a chance it wouldn’t work as planned but I never, ever allowed myself to really think through transferring to the hospital, an epidural or a c-section. I felt it was a betrayal to myself and my plans to allow those thoughts of “escaping” to the world of “pain-free.” If I didn’t fully focus on pain management and birth-endurance, I was scared I would chicken out and beg for relief.

In the end, the few things I did NOT plan for ended up saving me and my child however, my rigidity did a tremendous disservice to my birth experience. I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge or rule out medication and surgery. What I now realize is this; there is a fine line between setting out to do what you believe is right and leaving room for the flexibility the birth experience requires. Staying so focused on plans and high-expectations that when they don’t come true your ideology is crushed, is really unhealthy. Judging other people’s avenues of birth and pain-management is wrong; we rarely know the whole story or the journey they traveled.

After a year of processing this experience, getting good therepy from a counselor and coming to terms with the grey in the situation - my inability to plan every detail of motherhood - I can NOW say, the birth of my first child was beautiful. I dug deep and relied on my innate ability as woman to manage pain. I triumphed over what felt like the impossible and found an inner-strength that pushed through... the unexpected and unplanned and hard.

I am currently 9 months pregnant and have a 60% chance of having a vaginal birth after cesarean (VBAC). I stayed with TMC because I love the relationships I have with the midwives and front office. I feel valued as a person and a client. And I want to try again. I will go to Mercy Hospital and try for the second time in a little over a year to have a natural birth. But this time, I’m prepared to follow my body and my baby, not my plans alone. I’m not trying to be a hero. I have no judgment calls to make about how anyone else does birth and while I still have plans and ideas and hopes and wishes, I am prepared to give birth vaginally or by cesarean, without medication or with an epidural.

Because any way it happens, it's still birth. A bloody war with a beautiful triumph. Life Giving!

Spring Is Coming

“Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! Amen.” – St. Paul, to the Church of Ephesus

Even though it’s still a bit cold, I’m growing antsy with excitement as I feel the coming spring emerge out of winter’s freeze. The rain smells fresh – beautifully new – like something pure and imaginative will soon emerge from beneath the frozen, cinder-covered earth. And yet, despite the rain and the crocuses blooming in sunny spots, Old Man Winter still manages to make his presence known. Honestly, I’m tired of the wintry mix. I long to exchange my winter coat and mittens for a lighter jacket and rain boots. I want change to arrive quickly, but the past few months--even weeks--discourage me. Winter continues to linger.

I wonder how often we hear a sermon or watch God move in our lives and grow excited for future growth, for a spiritual spring, only to have that anticipation diminished by a few snowflake set-backs. I wonder how many times we’ve set-out to make changes, resolved for a new life, only to grow weary of the circumstantial lack of progress.

I want to encourage you, to hold onto the promises we have in Christ. We know spring is near. Despite the wintery mixes and hail and ice and salt-covered streets, we know that, eventually, Old Man Winter will go hibernate for the summer, lulled to sleep by butterflies and blue skies. And we know that, in Christ, we are a new creation, working out our salvation, a people in the process of sanctification. We know that He is still working on us and that, in the end, He always wins. We are being changed. We will be changed.

Don’t lose heart, friends. If you fall down, let Him pick you up. If you fail, He is there. If you don’t see immediate results, persevere. Our God is able to do “immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.” (Eph 3:20) Keep pressing in, further in and further up.

It may look like winter, but spring is coming.