I was about to write a really quick post about how I can never write a really quick post because the moment I sit down two of my children immediately and simultaneously ask for really important stuff like "Daddy can I have a purple bar on a green plate and a glass of almond milk in a dots glass with a red straw?", and "Daddy don't worry, I'll get my own snack" - Which means "I'll noisily shove a chair across the kitchen to the pantry and get out a chocolate chip granola bar and then some whipped cream from the door in the fridge, then eat them while sitting half on my seat and screaming happily at my sister who is only 3 inches away from my face. - Also can I have some honey"
I never got around to the post, but instead, I got them some wipes for their sticky hands. Then I swabbed the kitchen floor beneath their chairs where the layer of crumbs and hair covers the spot I clean every single day since forever.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Sleeping Around
My last thought before falling back to sleep in the middle of the night between my 3 and 6 year olds - one of whom had woken up whining because her sister kept kicking her in the head - was "Wow! This is really uncomfortable." But, no worries, because when I was woken up a good most of an hour later by my 3 month old spitting up on his mommy - I had only a mildly painful crick in the back.
I grabbed a towel and dashed in to give it to my wife. He was done spitting up by then, but at least I got to say hello to my wife and climb back into my own bed. Then I got a bit more sleep, but it didn't seem to take.
I'm on a 24 hour per day nap alert. My brain is ready to shut down at a moment's notice - for my own good, of couuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu...
I grabbed a towel and dashed in to give it to my wife. He was done spitting up by then, but at least I got to say hello to my wife and climb back into my own bed. Then I got a bit more sleep, but it didn't seem to take.
I'm on a 24 hour per day nap alert. My brain is ready to shut down at a moment's notice - for my own good, of couuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu...
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
A Tiny Note About the Cause of Insanity
Having 3 kids with two of them screaming while you're trying to talk to the mechanic about what unexpected difficulties they found after you had to jump your car because it wouldn't start in the pouring rain when you were in a rush to get to your wife's family music class with your daughter who pulled her shoes off during a tantrum can be murderous.
Introducing a new battery, a clean diaper, a snack and a cup of coffee - Ahhh. This should set me up for a full 3-5 minutes. :-)
Introducing a new battery, a clean diaper, a snack and a cup of coffee - Ahhh. This should set me up for a full 3-5 minutes. :-)
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Letter to a New Dad
Dear New Dad,
This is a big change in your life and things will NEVER go back to the way they were. Think of high school graduation, or college graduation. You are now graduating to parenthood. You will still be able to do the things you want to do, you just won't have as much time. You are a parent first, and it's best to consider this a privilege - rather than a reason to be bitter. You will be tired, exhausted, frustrated, annoyed, confused - but any time you drift towards sadness or bitterness, PICK UP THAT BABY and drink in the warmth. Or if she is sleeping, go stare at her - this can only make you feel better. Remember, many people never have the opportunity to become parents. They will never know exactly what they're missing (and you won't be able to explain it to them). It's better that way. You're part of an exclusive group, although there's no need to brag (Recall the secret pride you felt while being in public after having had sex for the first time? You're not going to shout it out, but you're different now). Embrace this as your new normal, and trust that it will be SO worth it.
Do not think of yourself as the secondary caregiver. If you must, think of yourself as the second PRIMARY caregiver. Start right out as if you can handle everything. Don't get in the habit of handing your baby over, just because mommy knows best - even if you're certain that she does. You need to learn how to do everything. The fact is, there is only one thing mommy can do that you can't (btw - Mom's success at breastfeeding will depend up to 90% on YOUR support and encouragement). You can and should do everything else as frequently as possible so that you become comfortable. Remember, no parent is an expert with their first baby. Still, you are neither a substitute, nor a babysitter. You share first responder status with the mom. Feel free to seek advice, but don't let anyone else tell you what to do, - this includes other parents, relatives, doctors, or any so-called "experts." From the moment your baby is born, YOU are the expert wherever she is concerned.
Break the mold of the long out-dated dad stereotype. George Banks (Jane & Michael's father in Mary Poppins) is the exact opposite of the dad you need to be. Let's not feed the stereotype of the "Idiot Dad" either. Whenever I see that role portrayed on TV - especially referring to the fathers in the U.S. - it pisses me off. Unlike many lame dads in the past, most of us actually enjoy time with our children, and we want to do better. After all, we are not just "sponsoring" our wives and partners. We are part of the family. Acting as if you don't know what to do with your own child may be tempting, but it's inadequate at best and ultimately of no help to your baby. Tell your baby, you are there to take care of him. When your baby hears you say it, you will hear it too. It will become more true everyday. You'll never be a "perfect" parent. I've been a dad for over 6 years, and it's still common for me to have no idea what to do. This is as it should be. John Wilmot said "Before I got married, I had six theories about bringing up children; now I have six children and no theories." That was over 300 years ago, and it still holds up. You simply try stuff until something works, and don't be so naive to think the same things always work. Also, the "thing" you try mustn't always be letting mom take care of it. You should be taking turns to in order to share the exhaustion.
Taking turns is the mark of practical parenting (assuming there is more than one parent), because one of you shouldering too much responsibility is bound to create distance and resentment, - both of which the baby will pick up on. Your baby should not be in crisis because there is only one human being who can truly care for her. I say this with a clear recollection of how my wife ALWAYS seemed to know better than I with our first child, and still does now - with our third. Most of that is simply a matter of self-confidence. You deserve the confidence to know that your love for your child is enough to ensure that she gets what she needs. It is not clinical expertise that cares for babies in the middle of the night when we wish we were sleeping, it is a loving mommy or daddy. When the source of baby's incessant crying remains a mystery even after calling the doctor, it is your love that keeps you focused on nurturing your little one. And it becomes so reassuring to be able to collapse on your pillow, when you know your baby is being taken care of by your equal partner. In our case, our consistant willingness to handover that parental responsibility, is a mark of the growth of our own connection as partners. We are closer to each other, we are better friends and better communicators because of how we share the parenting.
It is so hard being a dad, and I love it so much. Don't get me wrong, I complain - but I also listen to my wife complain, so it balances out. We're also human, we even complain to our own kids about how hard it is to be a parent. We don't always say the right things, but we try to make a point of telling our kids how good they are and how much we love them. Apparently we've done this enough, that when we've fallen asleep while on duty, nothing horrible has happened.
Of course, if you do fall asleep with a baby, the baby will wake you up. Babies are born with survival skills - or at least skills that allow the baby to remind you to help them survive. It really is amazing how much parenting instinct you have, if only you allow yourself to recognize it and act on it, rather than mistake your nervousness for incompetence. I like to remind myself out loud to my child, that I'm his dad, and I'll always take good care of him. This also helps reinforce my status in my own mind, as primary caregiver and confident parent. I recall sitting in the large, bench-style backseat of our station wagon. I could only see part of the side of my dad's face from behind as he drove along the highway on long trips. I'd half wake-up from a road-induced nap just long enough to squint and barely make out a fourth of my dad's face. Now I'm the one driving. I'm the one quarter of a face they can see. I think about that while I'm driving and I'm reminded how much I LOVE this new role.
I honestly didn't expect parenting to be so time consuming. My wife and I marvel at how much time it takes just to care for one child. We often wonder what did we do with ALL that extra time before we had children. When we had our second child, we wondered what we did with our extra time when we only had one. Note to self: Learn your lesson and don't keep attempting to explain this and other childrearing phenomena to your friends who don't have children of their own. As well as they may know you and love you and your children, they cannot understand your new life - even if they spend a whole day or weekend with you. They may achieve a greater understanding than some, but until the responsibility of caring for a child rests squarely upon one's own shoulders, they simply cannot comprehend what you do (even a picture of you buried in parental responsibilities can't portray more than an inkling of what it feels like to truly be a dad).
I know I shouldn't be surprised to learn this, but what is even more surprising is how much I love being a father compared to how much I THOUGHT I loved being a kid. It is literally so fulfilling that you're happy and willing to be at the beckon call of everyone in your family, even with no end/rest in sight. The knowledge that your kids are growing older and may one day not need you is enough to motivate you to enjoy every little thing about them as little kids - even in their most annoying states/stages.
It will never be easy to be a good father, but it will become second nature to be a primary caregiver - as long as you insist on truly fulfilling that role. Take your baby eagerly into your arms, even (or perhaps especially) when you don't know how you're about to calm her down and make her happy. Trusting yourself is an essential first step in being a full-fledged parent. Don't let yourself down by thinking that you're not doing as good of a job as you could be if you were one of those parents who just seems to be naturally good at it. Really good parenting is one of those skills that you can't possess naturally until you've learned the ropes by failing on the job. You can't practice parenting with someone else's kids. You may be able to improve your diapering skills on someone else's baby, but that is no substitute for the 24 hour on-call ultimate love service that your baby requires from you.
The great thing is that you get to enjoy your child's childhood more than you did your own childhood, because you realize what's going on. You know that these are your kid's good-old-days while they are actually living them. They may be happy, but they haven't the benefit of the concept of time that you do. You get to see the future and the past at the same time. Even though it's their past and your future - you are privileged to experience them at once. In this way, you are privy to that magical sense of fulfillment that comes with the perspective of a parent.
Any time you have the opportunity to compliment a parent, do it. If they don't happen to deserve it at that moment, they will ...and they did. It takes all you have to be a good parent. It's your life's work, and it's the most gloriously rewarding occupation - regardless of what else you accomplish. Don't make the mistake of withdrawing - even in the slightest way - because you lack the confidence. Do it now, you can always figure it out later.
Here's to you, Dad. And remember; there's no substitute for the real thing.
This is a big change in your life and things will NEVER go back to the way they were. Think of high school graduation, or college graduation. You are now graduating to parenthood. You will still be able to do the things you want to do, you just won't have as much time. You are a parent first, and it's best to consider this a privilege - rather than a reason to be bitter. You will be tired, exhausted, frustrated, annoyed, confused - but any time you drift towards sadness or bitterness, PICK UP THAT BABY and drink in the warmth. Or if she is sleeping, go stare at her - this can only make you feel better. Remember, many people never have the opportunity to become parents. They will never know exactly what they're missing (and you won't be able to explain it to them). It's better that way. You're part of an exclusive group, although there's no need to brag (Recall the secret pride you felt while being in public after having had sex for the first time? You're not going to shout it out, but you're different now). Embrace this as your new normal, and trust that it will be SO worth it.
Do not think of yourself as the secondary caregiver. If you must, think of yourself as the second PRIMARY caregiver. Start right out as if you can handle everything. Don't get in the habit of handing your baby over, just because mommy knows best - even if you're certain that she does. You need to learn how to do everything. The fact is, there is only one thing mommy can do that you can't (btw - Mom's success at breastfeeding will depend up to 90% on YOUR support and encouragement). You can and should do everything else as frequently as possible so that you become comfortable. Remember, no parent is an expert with their first baby. Still, you are neither a substitute, nor a babysitter. You share first responder status with the mom. Feel free to seek advice, but don't let anyone else tell you what to do, - this includes other parents, relatives, doctors, or any so-called "experts." From the moment your baby is born, YOU are the expert wherever she is concerned.
Break the mold of the long out-dated dad stereotype. George Banks (Jane & Michael's father in Mary Poppins) is the exact opposite of the dad you need to be. Let's not feed the stereotype of the "Idiot Dad" either. Whenever I see that role portrayed on TV - especially referring to the fathers in the U.S. - it pisses me off. Unlike many lame dads in the past, most of us actually enjoy time with our children, and we want to do better. After all, we are not just "sponsoring" our wives and partners. We are part of the family. Acting as if you don't know what to do with your own child may be tempting, but it's inadequate at best and ultimately of no help to your baby. Tell your baby, you are there to take care of him. When your baby hears you say it, you will hear it too. It will become more true everyday. You'll never be a "perfect" parent. I've been a dad for over 6 years, and it's still common for me to have no idea what to do. This is as it should be. John Wilmot said "Before I got married, I had six theories about bringing up children; now I have six children and no theories." That was over 300 years ago, and it still holds up. You simply try stuff until something works, and don't be so naive to think the same things always work. Also, the "thing" you try mustn't always be letting mom take care of it. You should be taking turns to in order to share the exhaustion.
Taking turns is the mark of practical parenting (assuming there is more than one parent), because one of you shouldering too much responsibility is bound to create distance and resentment, - both of which the baby will pick up on. Your baby should not be in crisis because there is only one human being who can truly care for her. I say this with a clear recollection of how my wife ALWAYS seemed to know better than I with our first child, and still does now - with our third. Most of that is simply a matter of self-confidence. You deserve the confidence to know that your love for your child is enough to ensure that she gets what she needs. It is not clinical expertise that cares for babies in the middle of the night when we wish we were sleeping, it is a loving mommy or daddy. When the source of baby's incessant crying remains a mystery even after calling the doctor, it is your love that keeps you focused on nurturing your little one. And it becomes so reassuring to be able to collapse on your pillow, when you know your baby is being taken care of by your equal partner. In our case, our consistant willingness to handover that parental responsibility, is a mark of the growth of our own connection as partners. We are closer to each other, we are better friends and better communicators because of how we share the parenting.
It is so hard being a dad, and I love it so much. Don't get me wrong, I complain - but I also listen to my wife complain, so it balances out. We're also human, we even complain to our own kids about how hard it is to be a parent. We don't always say the right things, but we try to make a point of telling our kids how good they are and how much we love them. Apparently we've done this enough, that when we've fallen asleep while on duty, nothing horrible has happened.
Of course, if you do fall asleep with a baby, the baby will wake you up. Babies are born with survival skills - or at least skills that allow the baby to remind you to help them survive. It really is amazing how much parenting instinct you have, if only you allow yourself to recognize it and act on it, rather than mistake your nervousness for incompetence. I like to remind myself out loud to my child, that I'm his dad, and I'll always take good care of him. This also helps reinforce my status in my own mind, as primary caregiver and confident parent. I recall sitting in the large, bench-style backseat of our station wagon. I could only see part of the side of my dad's face from behind as he drove along the highway on long trips. I'd half wake-up from a road-induced nap just long enough to squint and barely make out a fourth of my dad's face. Now I'm the one driving. I'm the one quarter of a face they can see. I think about that while I'm driving and I'm reminded how much I LOVE this new role.
I honestly didn't expect parenting to be so time consuming. My wife and I marvel at how much time it takes just to care for one child. We often wonder what did we do with ALL that extra time before we had children. When we had our second child, we wondered what we did with our extra time when we only had one. Note to self: Learn your lesson and don't keep attempting to explain this and other childrearing phenomena to your friends who don't have children of their own. As well as they may know you and love you and your children, they cannot understand your new life - even if they spend a whole day or weekend with you. They may achieve a greater understanding than some, but until the responsibility of caring for a child rests squarely upon one's own shoulders, they simply cannot comprehend what you do (even a picture of you buried in parental responsibilities can't portray more than an inkling of what it feels like to truly be a dad).
I know I shouldn't be surprised to learn this, but what is even more surprising is how much I love being a father compared to how much I THOUGHT I loved being a kid. It is literally so fulfilling that you're happy and willing to be at the beckon call of everyone in your family, even with no end/rest in sight. The knowledge that your kids are growing older and may one day not need you is enough to motivate you to enjoy every little thing about them as little kids - even in their most annoying states/stages.
It will never be easy to be a good father, but it will become second nature to be a primary caregiver - as long as you insist on truly fulfilling that role. Take your baby eagerly into your arms, even (or perhaps especially) when you don't know how you're about to calm her down and make her happy. Trusting yourself is an essential first step in being a full-fledged parent. Don't let yourself down by thinking that you're not doing as good of a job as you could be if you were one of those parents who just seems to be naturally good at it. Really good parenting is one of those skills that you can't possess naturally until you've learned the ropes by failing on the job. You can't practice parenting with someone else's kids. You may be able to improve your diapering skills on someone else's baby, but that is no substitute for the 24 hour on-call ultimate love service that your baby requires from you.
The great thing is that you get to enjoy your child's childhood more than you did your own childhood, because you realize what's going on. You know that these are your kid's good-old-days while they are actually living them. They may be happy, but they haven't the benefit of the concept of time that you do. You get to see the future and the past at the same time. Even though it's their past and your future - you are privileged to experience them at once. In this way, you are privy to that magical sense of fulfillment that comes with the perspective of a parent.
Any time you have the opportunity to compliment a parent, do it. If they don't happen to deserve it at that moment, they will ...and they did. It takes all you have to be a good parent. It's your life's work, and it's the most gloriously rewarding occupation - regardless of what else you accomplish. Don't make the mistake of withdrawing - even in the slightest way - because you lack the confidence. Do it now, you can always figure it out later.
Here's to you, Dad. And remember; there's no substitute for the real thing.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Don't Bother Calling
Here's the thing. We're busy. We appreciate the convenience of a quick phone call across long distances (and short ones) to say hello or ask a question, or even just to chat. But we've had to cut those things out. It's not that we don't enjoy saying hello, answering questions and chatting - but we've learned that these things aren't essential to survival. With three small children to care for, we've become more focused on essentials - such as food, sleep, space to walk, clean underwear, sitting down for a single moment, naps, - stuff like that.
I'm not saying that we rushed to pick up the phone when we had only two children. It's just that now that we're outnumbered by our little darlings, the telephone is the last thing we're likely to pick up.
Just to be clear, this isn't simply a matter of call screening. It's not as if one caller has more chance of getting through than another. We're just not picking up.
At the same time, you needn't be flattered if you call and we do happen to pick up. That doesn't mean you're that special, important family member/friend with whom we're dying to talk. It's more like winning the lottery. It just means that, on occasion, we do actually answer the phone when it rings, by force of habit. You should just consider this a little bonus to your day.
Feel free to email or text, or send a Facebook message. That way, if your message is of an urgent nature, we're more likely to learn about it - eventually.
Thank you in advance for not calling.
Please don't stop by either, unless you're dropping off food, of course.
Have a nice few years. :-)
The Carpenter Family
I'm not saying that we rushed to pick up the phone when we had only two children. It's just that now that we're outnumbered by our little darlings, the telephone is the last thing we're likely to pick up.
Just to be clear, this isn't simply a matter of call screening. It's not as if one caller has more chance of getting through than another. We're just not picking up.
At the same time, you needn't be flattered if you call and we do happen to pick up. That doesn't mean you're that special, important family member/friend with whom we're dying to talk. It's more like winning the lottery. It just means that, on occasion, we do actually answer the phone when it rings, by force of habit. You should just consider this a little bonus to your day.
Feel free to email or text, or send a Facebook message. That way, if your message is of an urgent nature, we're more likely to learn about it - eventually.
Thank you in advance for not calling.
Please don't stop by either, unless you're dropping off food, of course.
Have a nice few years. :-)
The Carpenter Family
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Happy Father's Day to me
Happy Father's Day to me. Let me tell you why. I have the gift and the joy of people keeping me busy. Right now I'm enjoying a cappuccino and an Egg and cheese breakfast sandwich delivered to me by my family.
* * *
1 month later... guess I'll never finish this post!
Would have finished by now, but every night during my free 12 minutes I choose sleep.
More soon. (I hope.)
* * *
1 month later... guess I'll never finish this post!
Would have finished by now, but every night during my free 12 minutes I choose sleep.
More soon. (I hope.)
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Birth Story
I was skyping with my wife from work and she said "oh!" - somewhere off camera. "What?" I said, - "What happened?" "Wait a second" - she said - "hang on." "Well what happened?" I said. "I think my water broke!" I knew that it had, and I felt the reality slide over me, as we both shifted into birth mode... And so it began, again.
"Now what?" I asked (she was still somewhere off camera). "Why don't you just wait 'til it's time to pick up Zoe. You can get her from car pick up and come home." So that's what I did. I let the school secretary know that the ball had begun rolling. I told her I wouldn't be in the following day, and I would work on getting a sub for the day after as well. As Zoe and I walked to the car, I explained that mommy had begun to go into labor, and we were going home to help take care of her.
When the girls found out they'd be going to visit our friends while their mom had the baby at the birth center, all they could do was keep asking when their "play-date" was going to start. It was clear that their perspective was practically the opposite of ours. We were nervous, uncertain and scared about just how things were going to go down. While they were anxiously awaiting the arrival of their friends - signaling the beginning of their overnight extravaganza.
Emily and I made sure our birth bag, snacks...etc. were packed, along with the girls' overnight bags, all the while stealing constant glances at every clock in our path. When our friends showed up to pick up Zoe & Teagan, i quickly installed their individual car seats, waved to the kids as they drove off with huge grins on their faces - And before we knew it, we were alone with the prospect of the scariest portion of pregnancy staring us in the face. After a few calls back and forth with our midwife, we gathered our birthing gear, double-checked for key supplies, and headed out for one last meal before our kids outnumbered us.
California Pizza Kitchen was still open, barely. We sat down and ordered fairly quickly. Each time Emily got up to go to the bathroom, I found myself following her with my eyes to the bathroom - like a nervous puppy, gazing after its owner. I knew that after her water had broken, contractions could literally start at any time. But we had no such luck. We finished our dinner (a club sandwhich - minus all the meat except bagon, and fish tacos), and headed over to the birth center.
Ashley let us in and we unloaded everything into the cozy room, which - thank goodness - felt nothing at all like a hospital room. Everything included an iPod plugged in and playing music of our choosing, and a giant, inflated yoga/exercise ball. we did a few laps down the hall and back - and Em half-heartedly danced around the room. Around midnight, Ashley came in and suggested we head home and try to catch some sleep before returning EARLY the following morning. They said we could just leave all our stuff there, so we took them up on it and headed home to an empty house.
The time in our home without our daughters was the most depressing for me. They add so much light to our home, that being there without either of them just felt wrong. After sleeping in brief shifts, but not in our bed (while Emily slept even less - if at all...) we took a walk to the end of our cul-de-sac in the early morning darkness. Then we called Ashley, and let her know that Em had been having contractions on and off. She told us to head back in. I heated up a cup of coffee from the night before, we grabbed our stuff and loaded back into the car, hoping that however this goes down - we'll be coming home only when we have our baby.
Back at the Fruitful Vine, we felt pumped and ready to go. It was early - 5:45 am, and we had to wait a bit before Ashley arrived. Em couldn't wait, so she peed beside the building. That made me have to pee. I was about halfway through when headlights burst across the parking area, causing me to close up shop in a hurry with that frustrating unfinished feeling... Ashley let us in, and we get resettled into our room. I headed to the bathroom while Ashley checked out Emily again, then assigned us to do some more walking. We ambled up and down the mostly dark hallway of the birth center. As we walked, turning about at the end of the hall every 15 - 20 seconds, Emily continued to mutter encouragingly to herself about how she's done this before, and it will be okay...
Within 5 minutes we were in the space where our daughter would be born only a few stressful, grueling, harrowing, gut-wrenchingly poignant hours later. The nice thing is that the room was set up as if it were a bed & and breakfast - with soft lighting, hardwood floors, and tasteful but not gaudy furnishings.
Emily stripped down to her tank top and underpants and began moving around. She would alternate between rocking, pacing, bouncing on the exercise ball, semi-dancing - all the while panting and quietly vocalizing her trepidation about the hard parts to come. I became engaged in my own compulsive little dance of hovering around her, rushing back and forth for every little need - water, a snack, phone, camera - and dashing to the iPad to hit the Start and Stop button on the Contraction Timer app. Meanwhile, Sharon showed up along with Laurie (the photographer).
Ashley was to be the main guidance giver, talking Em through each segment of this birth experience, while Sharon was the hands on/in midwife, willing to switch directions and try a new angle if Em showed the least bit of interest to do something different just to feel like progress was being made (not that it wasn't - it just seemed to be taking longer, WAY LONGER, than our first 2 bundles of love).
I was doing my thing of racing to hit the Start Contraction button when things converged at the sink in the bathroom. Em seemed to sense that she was at the brink of the really intense work/pain of the labor and she was afraid to keep going. I felt bad, because I knew I could only be loving and supportive, but I couldn't relieve her of one single bit of that work or pain. So I stood as close as physically possible, at least one hand on her at all times, while Ashley and Sharon kept her focused and coaxed her lovingly, but strongly through the steps to bring our baby to us.
We tried the stool, but wound up on the bed. She would switch from her back to her side to her stomach on all fours and back to her back again before the final push. I remember a particularly poignant moment with all 3 of us physically holding or gently pulling Emily in some way (Laurie close by with the camera) when the song playing on the iPod from the Labor playlist synced with us in a comical, but honest way. It was the Ladies Singin' their song from Baby - ..."we have a role to fulfill it's god's will that a woman should suffer" I remember taking a snapshot of that in my mind, and feeling that I part of something important, ...to be there with my amazing wife and these smart, strong women.
Emily was really feeling the intensity of the pain and she asked me to call her dear friend Mimi in California. I called and put Mimi on speaker phone. For the remainder of the delivery, Mimi was there nestled in a pillow on the bed. She talked to Emily the whole time, a loving friend across the country, gently encouraging her through every burning, breath-taking push. Somehow Mimi's voice gave Emily the willpower to keep doing this all on her own. Em remarked several times that she thought she was going to pass out, but she never did.
It took a lot of strength to hold one of her legs up, while Ashley held her hand, and Mimi listened in while Sharon guided our little baby - one hand up beside his face - into Emily's other hand. One more push and he was up and on her belly. He screamed, while Emily cried and we all marveled at the tiny, purple, waxy, open-mouthed baby. He had a full head of wet, black hair, and the the cord was still draped across Em's belly and down inside, but she had finally pushed him all the way out, all on her own.
I can't imagine being more proud of anyone, than I was of Emily at that moment. I still am. I feel so lucky to have been there, and to have been part of it. Welcome to our family, Richmond. We couldn't love you any more. But we probably will...
"Now what?" I asked (she was still somewhere off camera). "Why don't you just wait 'til it's time to pick up Zoe. You can get her from car pick up and come home." So that's what I did. I let the school secretary know that the ball had begun rolling. I told her I wouldn't be in the following day, and I would work on getting a sub for the day after as well. As Zoe and I walked to the car, I explained that mommy had begun to go into labor, and we were going home to help take care of her.
When the girls found out they'd be going to visit our friends while their mom had the baby at the birth center, all they could do was keep asking when their "play-date" was going to start. It was clear that their perspective was practically the opposite of ours. We were nervous, uncertain and scared about just how things were going to go down. While they were anxiously awaiting the arrival of their friends - signaling the beginning of their overnight extravaganza.
Emily and I made sure our birth bag, snacks...etc. were packed, along with the girls' overnight bags, all the while stealing constant glances at every clock in our path. When our friends showed up to pick up Zoe & Teagan, i quickly installed their individual car seats, waved to the kids as they drove off with huge grins on their faces - And before we knew it, we were alone with the prospect of the scariest portion of pregnancy staring us in the face. After a few calls back and forth with our midwife, we gathered our birthing gear, double-checked for key supplies, and headed out for one last meal before our kids outnumbered us.
California Pizza Kitchen was still open, barely. We sat down and ordered fairly quickly. Each time Emily got up to go to the bathroom, I found myself following her with my eyes to the bathroom - like a nervous puppy, gazing after its owner. I knew that after her water had broken, contractions could literally start at any time. But we had no such luck. We finished our dinner (a club sandwhich - minus all the meat except bagon, and fish tacos), and headed over to the birth center.
Ashley let us in and we unloaded everything into the cozy room, which - thank goodness - felt nothing at all like a hospital room. Everything included an iPod plugged in and playing music of our choosing, and a giant, inflated yoga/exercise ball. we did a few laps down the hall and back - and Em half-heartedly danced around the room. Around midnight, Ashley came in and suggested we head home and try to catch some sleep before returning EARLY the following morning. They said we could just leave all our stuff there, so we took them up on it and headed home to an empty house.
The time in our home without our daughters was the most depressing for me. They add so much light to our home, that being there without either of them just felt wrong. After sleeping in brief shifts, but not in our bed (while Emily slept even less - if at all...) we took a walk to the end of our cul-de-sac in the early morning darkness. Then we called Ashley, and let her know that Em had been having contractions on and off. She told us to head back in. I heated up a cup of coffee from the night before, we grabbed our stuff and loaded back into the car, hoping that however this goes down - we'll be coming home only when we have our baby.
Back at the Fruitful Vine, we felt pumped and ready to go. It was early - 5:45 am, and we had to wait a bit before Ashley arrived. Em couldn't wait, so she peed beside the building. That made me have to pee. I was about halfway through when headlights burst across the parking area, causing me to close up shop in a hurry with that frustrating unfinished feeling... Ashley let us in, and we get resettled into our room. I headed to the bathroom while Ashley checked out Emily again, then assigned us to do some more walking. We ambled up and down the mostly dark hallway of the birth center. As we walked, turning about at the end of the hall every 15 - 20 seconds, Emily continued to mutter encouragingly to herself about how she's done this before, and it will be okay...
Within 5 minutes we were in the space where our daughter would be born only a few stressful, grueling, harrowing, gut-wrenchingly poignant hours later. The nice thing is that the room was set up as if it were a bed & and breakfast - with soft lighting, hardwood floors, and tasteful but not gaudy furnishings.
Emily stripped down to her tank top and underpants and began moving around. She would alternate between rocking, pacing, bouncing on the exercise ball, semi-dancing - all the while panting and quietly vocalizing her trepidation about the hard parts to come. I became engaged in my own compulsive little dance of hovering around her, rushing back and forth for every little need - water, a snack, phone, camera - and dashing to the iPad to hit the Start and Stop button on the Contraction Timer app. Meanwhile, Sharon showed up along with Laurie (the photographer).
Ashley was to be the main guidance giver, talking Em through each segment of this birth experience, while Sharon was the hands on/in midwife, willing to switch directions and try a new angle if Em showed the least bit of interest to do something different just to feel like progress was being made (not that it wasn't - it just seemed to be taking longer, WAY LONGER, than our first 2 bundles of love).
I was doing my thing of racing to hit the Start Contraction button when things converged at the sink in the bathroom. Em seemed to sense that she was at the brink of the really intense work/pain of the labor and she was afraid to keep going. I felt bad, because I knew I could only be loving and supportive, but I couldn't relieve her of one single bit of that work or pain. So I stood as close as physically possible, at least one hand on her at all times, while Ashley and Sharon kept her focused and coaxed her lovingly, but strongly through the steps to bring our baby to us.
We tried the stool, but wound up on the bed. She would switch from her back to her side to her stomach on all fours and back to her back again before the final push. I remember a particularly poignant moment with all 3 of us physically holding or gently pulling Emily in some way (Laurie close by with the camera) when the song playing on the iPod from the Labor playlist synced with us in a comical, but honest way. It was the Ladies Singin' their song from Baby - ..."we have a role to fulfill it's god's will that a woman should suffer" I remember taking a snapshot of that in my mind, and feeling that I part of something important, ...to be there with my amazing wife and these smart, strong women.
Emily was really feeling the intensity of the pain and she asked me to call her dear friend Mimi in California. I called and put Mimi on speaker phone. For the remainder of the delivery, Mimi was there nestled in a pillow on the bed. She talked to Emily the whole time, a loving friend across the country, gently encouraging her through every burning, breath-taking push. Somehow Mimi's voice gave Emily the willpower to keep doing this all on her own. Em remarked several times that she thought she was going to pass out, but she never did.
It took a lot of strength to hold one of her legs up, while Ashley held her hand, and Mimi listened in while Sharon guided our little baby - one hand up beside his face - into Emily's other hand. One more push and he was up and on her belly. He screamed, while Emily cried and we all marveled at the tiny, purple, waxy, open-mouthed baby. He had a full head of wet, black hair, and the the cord was still draped across Em's belly and down inside, but she had finally pushed him all the way out, all on her own.
I can't imagine being more proud of anyone, than I was of Emily at that moment. I still am. I feel so lucky to have been there, and to have been part of it. Welcome to our family, Richmond. We couldn't love you any more. But we probably will...
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