Monday, December 22, 2014

A Brother's Love

Growing up, one of my favorite Christmas traditions was to be a "secret friend" to someone. For the twelve days before Christmas, I would leave something small on their doorstep each night, knock, and run. During those middle school and high school years, when I thought the entire world revolved around me, it was nice to think of someone else and truly try to make their Christmas a little more exciting. It was fun to think about them anticipating what I would bring next, and not having any idea who their "secret friend" was. It was also a fabulous adrenaline rush each night as I made my getaway.

One year, I believe I was sixteen, on the night of December 13th (the night to begin the knock and run tradition each year) there was a knock on our door. One of my siblings answered it, and said, "Taffy, there's something here for you." I went to see and was surprised and excited to find a small gift with a note from my very own secret friend.  Although I had done this tradition for others for a few years, and was currently doing it for a friend, I never imagined somebody would do it for me. I knew right away that this was going to be such a great Christmas!

I was always the kind of kid that couldn't help but snoop around near Christmas, trying to find my mom's hiding places. I ruined more than one Christmas for myself because of this impatience. So it was no surprise that I just HAD to find out who my secret friend was.  I had a couple guesses, but I wanted to find out for sure.  So every evening after basketball practice, I would sit in the living room and wait, ready to jump up to the door as soon as I heard the knock. I would wait and wait, and finally, when I had left the room to help my mom with something or go to the bathroom, the knock would come. By the time I made it to the door, I was too late. This became very frustrating after a few nights, and I commented to several family members that it felt like my secret friend must be watching my every move somehow.

Christmas Eve finally came, the night for my secret friend to leave the final gift. I was super determined to not let them get away this time.  They had made my Christmas so exciting and special that year, and I just had to know who it was so I could thank them.  When that familiar knock came, I jumped up to the door.  I was actually in the room this time!  When I opened the door, my 10-year-old brother was standing on the step with a gift in his hands and a grin on his face. At first, I thought it was some kind of joke. And then it registered. My secret friend really had been watching my every move.  He really did know the moment that I left the room, because he had been there with me. It was my brother all along! Of course, my family was all in on the secret and had had so much fun helping him come up with gifts and not get caught by someone who was very determined to do so.

As I looked at him with that big smile on his face, I was overwhelmed with the realization of how much he loved me, even though I wasn't very deserving. He may have been a pesky little brother at times, but I had not treated him with much kindness. I had been bossy, condescending, and sometimes just plain mean to him. And he loved me anyway.

In the days and years that passed after this favorite Christmas of mine, I have often reflected on this experience and on the love of a brother for me. But as I have pondered on it, I realize that in that moment on the front porch that night I felt a love even greater.  The love of another brother of mine.  He loved me so much that He suffered for my sins--for my bossy, condescending, and sometimes just plain mean behaviors. I felt the true spirit of Christmas, the whole point of it all.  His birth would mean nothing if it wasn't for His great love for each of us--a love that led our brother to take all our pain, all our sorrow, and all our sins on himself, and then die and rise again, granting us all, no matter how undeserving, the greatest gifts we could ever receive.


Monday, December 8, 2014

Lewis's Birth Story

It's already been nearly three weeks since Lewis joined our family, and I feel like I should document his arrival before I forget most of the details. It's amazing how that happens. You think that you could never forget a monumental occasion like the birth of a child. And you don't ever completely forget it, but it's more of a general memory, or a small detail or two, that you remember. The rest is gone. At least that's how it is for me. So I'm going to write it down now, while I still remember well.

Brady's birth was my first unmedicated labor and delivery.  It was an experience I had always wanted to have, and after doing it that way with Brady, I knew I would do it again with my next baby.  I followed the same methods to prepare for this labor as I did with Brady's, but I didn't spend as much time.  I felt a little more confident this time around, and I was also very busy with volleyball and had a harder time finding the time to work on my relaxation and visualization. In the end, I wish I would have felt a little more prepared.

People always want to know how long your labor was. For this one, it's so hard to say. I'm not really sure when "labor" officially began. My first contractions that I felt were the type that would fall into a regular rhythm and bring my son to me began on Monday afternoon around 2pm.  All that afternoon and evening, I'd have a couple good contractions, maybe 15 minutes apart or so, and then nothing for an hour. Then another one. This continued through the night as well. I woke up with contractions a few times, but then went back to sleep, and would sleep an hour or more before I had another one.

Tuesday morning, I had a doctor's appointment.  Everything looked good with the baby, and I was dilated four centimeters, but I still wasn't having regular contractions, so I went back home.  This sporadic contraction pattern continued all day Tuesday, and by Tuesday evening I was becoming a little frustrated and impatient.  The contractions were fairly intense when they came, and I felt certain that they were increasing my dilation, but they still weren't close together or becoming regular at all.  Finally, that night at about 11:00, they started coming every ten minutes or so. I decided to get into a bath to relax, and once again, the contractions stopped. By 12:45, I decided that because of how intense they were getting, we needed to go to the hospital. Tony called his mom, and she came up to the house and stayed the night with the kids, and we were off!  I felt excited to finally be going, but nervous that the labor might stop again and we were going to the hospital too early.

I guess all it took was me deciding it was time, because during the thirty minute drive, the contractions became very regular, and by the time we got to the hospital, they were about three minutes apart and strong. By the time we got settled in at the delivery room, they wanted to check me so the doctor had an idea of how far along I was. I was happy and encouraged that I was at 8cm. I put in my headphones with my relaxation cues and settled into the relaxation and breathing patterns that I had practiced and had used during Brady's birth.  For about an hour or more, things were quite uneventful.  I kept my eyes closed and breathed through each contraction.  Tony said that if it wasn't for the monitor, he wouldn't have been able to tell when I was having a contraction.  Although they were intense, the techniques I had practiced helped me to deal with them without a lot of pain.

During this time, however, I started having a dull pain in my lower back that would not go away.  This bothered me a lot since I was prepared to have time to really relax in between contractions, and this increasing back pain made that really hard to do.  As time went on, the back pain became a much bigger issue for  me than the contractions.  I tried sitting or laying in different positions, and Tony massaged my back, but it still would not stop. After about an hour and a half of laboring in the hospital, the nurse checked my dilation again. I hadn't let her know ahead of time that I didn't want to know my progress after the initial check, so she announced that I was still at an 8!  This news caused a little break-down for me once she left the room.  I told Tony I didn't know if I could do it any more if I wasn't progressing and that I really needed something to make my back feel better.  I told him that I didn't want an epidural, but that maybe there was something else they could give me that would lessen the pain a little bit, especially in my back.  I was crying a little at this point, but Tony didn't give in. He told me no; that's not really what I wanted. I was a little mad at first, but knew he was right.  He told me to close my eyes and try to relax again and breathe.  I did and started feeling a little better.

At that point, I felt like I should sit up on the edge of the bed and lean forward onto a table to try to stretch out my lower back.  During the next contraction, I really felt Lewis move down, and the low, animalistic sound that lets me know I'm in transition came out of me. (I say "came out of me" because it's not like I "make" the sound. It just comes out. Labor is the only time I have experienced this.) Although I wasn't looking forward to the intensity of this next phase, I was excited because I knew that things were finally moving forward and that Lewis would be here soon. After a couple more contractions, I started feeling the urge to push.  If I remember right, I only pushed for three contractions.  He really came fast once he finally decided to come!  I wasn't aware of this, because my eyes were closed, but Tony told me afterward that after my second pushing contraction, the nurse whispered to my doctor, asking him if he felt the baby yet, or if it was close.  He shook his head no. And then I pushed him out during the next contraction.  Because he came out so fast, it was really intense and the "ring of fire" feeling was very real! I didn't remember that part being quite as painful with Brady, so I was surprised when I actually found myself screaming during the final push, and I couldn't seem to stop myself from doing it.  I hoped there wasn't some first-time mom in the next room who was now scared to death because of the screaming lady next door!

Once he was out, they laid him on my chest, and I just held him and cried.  It was such an overwhelming experience. He was finally here! And he was beautiful!  And I was done!!!  I just held him and nursed him for the next hour or so. I just kept looking at how new and perfect he was. It's amazing how much love you can feel for this little baby that you just barely met. The same little baby that has caused you quite a bit of discomfort in the past couple months, and especially in the past couple hours.  But it's real, and it's amazing.

We finally decided that we should measure and weigh him and get him cleaned up.  He was a big boy! 8 lb. 8 oz. and 21 1/2 inches long, my biggest baby yet.  He waited for his due date to be born, and came just before 4am.

I've heard many mothers say that God gives mothers the ability to forget childbirth so that we'll have more than one baby.  I don't really agree with this.  First of all, I think childbirth is a beautiful, empowering, and even sacred experience. It is truly a miracle, and I love that I have been able to experience that miracle in such a real way, feeling every bit of it.  Secondly, Lewis is not yet three weeks old.  I certainly haven't forgotten it yet.  But already, I know I would do it again, because although it isn't easy, what you get--that precious little baby that you love more than you knew you could love--is so worth it!