Hannah's Heartstrings

On November 9, 2017, I began writing this post, tears streaming down my face as I typed. It has taken me a while to be able to come back and finish it. 

***

I've been awake for hours. I'll blame it on pregnancy, even though this sort of thing just seems to happen every now and then. Its ok, honestly, because even though it leaves me incredibly tired, it usually means I get to spend a little time with my husband before he goes to work for the next twelve hours, or I get some "alone time" to reflect in the quiet before Titus wakes up. Both of which have happened this morning.

There have been lots of thoughts swirling in my mind in these early hours. I'm looking forward to Fellows Family Thanksgiving this weekend, and getting to see our Canadians. There's food prep to think about. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I'm quite grateful that I figured out how to transition Titus into sleeping through the night.

But everything pales in comparison to the two overriding themes currently presiding over our family.

There is a new baby growing in my belly.

And our Grandma is dying.

There is such a dichotomy of happy and sad in our hearts right now. We are rejoicing in the home going of a dear 94-year-old saint, a woman who has brightened every life she's touched, all while mourning the end of her beautiful life and dealing with the heartbreak of seeing her mortal body suffer through its decline.

We are also completely thrilled at the new life joining us next year, but sad that he or she will never get to know this amazing person nearly everyone simply called Grandma.

Watching someone go through the end of their life while beginning someone else's life inside me is such a humbling experience. To be this close to both the beginning and the end of creation...it's something quite holy.

We keep saying it won't be long.

It won't be long before I have this precious baby in my arms. It won't be long before I get to go through birth again and Titus gets to be a big brother.

It won't be long before Grandma is home in glory, seeing the husband she hasn't seen in thirty years, her family and friends who've gone before her, and most of all, the Savior she has loved for nearly a century.

There are tears. Lots of tears. And comfort food and comfort pants, thanks to my indescribably amazing sister-in-law, Amy. We are all rallying to support and love each other. Its deep. Its meaningful. Titus brings joy with his infectious toddler energy, and I recount the most recent wonders  of how my miraculous baby is growing to the size of a blueberry this week.

One of the most incredible things to watch during this time has been my mother-in-law taking care of her mother-in-law. I watch her in complete awe sometimes. What love it is that compels a person to take care of someone else so tenderly and intimately! Her tireless attention, generous spirit, and deep, deep kindness makes me hope that I can be even half the woman she is. There are few things in this world that I have seen more admirable than this.

***

Now, two months later...

Life and death surely have collided, but not in the way we were expecting.

Based on what I wrote earlier in this post, Grandma should be in Heaven, and I should be close to 17 weeks pregnant.

But she isn't. And I'm not.

Grandma has somehow hung on to her threads of life for two more months, rising and falling from week to week, and surprising us greatly with her longevity. She has even managed to outlive a friend who was nearly 15 years younger.

And I lost my sweet, tiny baby. I've never experienced a miscarriage before, and hope with all my heart I never have to again. I was 12 weeks along, but the baby was no bigger than 6-8 weeks, so very well may have been gone already when I began began this post, or shortly after.

I miscarried a week before Christmas. Nothing could have prepared me for the process, the grief, the pain, and the confusion of such an ordeal. I am so grateful for the love and support that has carried me through this last month, some of which has come from places I never expected.

This is not going to be a post about how God's ways are higher than our ways, or how He always has a plan. I don't believe that's how God works with us today. I don't believe He micromanages our lives in ways we cannot understand (and I don't want to have any doctrinal debates with anyone over this, so please don't even start).

What I am here to say is that sometimes, life is horrible. We live in a fallen world, where beautiful souls linger in bedridden old age far longer than they want to, and where babies die before they get to live a life. Its horrible. It hurts. It is unexplainable and unfair. The answer to our agonized question of "Why?" is simply that life happens in the worst ways sometimes.

But we do not sorrow as those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). We are grateful that this world is not our home, and we look forward to better days in Glory. We know that we have peace no matter what happens, and that God comforts our hearts and gives us the strength we need to get through the worst things life throws at us. He doesn't leave us unprotected. He builds us up in our hearts through His word, giving us wisdom and courage to persevere even when we don't want to.

God did not take my baby so that I could learn some valuable lesson, and He is not leaving Grandma here in pain and confusion for some unknown purpose. But He is loving us, comforting us, and teaching us how to live through tragedy so that we may help others going through the same thing. He does not bring about the pain so that He may teach us, but rather can use it to help us learn when it happens.

This new year is looking different than I thought it would. Right now, instead of looking forward to the halfway point of my pregnancy, I'm healing my body from a traumatic experience, managing deep anxiety, and hoping in the near future to try again for a new baby. And we are still waiting to celebrate Grandma's home going.

Life is crazy, and amazing, and unexpected. And we look to the future with hope and a joy in our hearts that cannot be quenched.


(It doesn't matter to me if you agree or not, and I'll reiterate that my Biblical beliefs are not up for debate. If you have found comfort in some other belief, then good for you. I've spent enough time arguing and studying to know where I stand and right now, I don't need to hash it out again with someone just looking for a fight. Thanks but no thanks.)

"What happened to the girl I married?"

My husband's words cut me deeply, and shook something inside me that had been forgotten. How could I have forgotten so much of myself in such a short period of time?

He fell in love with a bright, confident, excited girl who stood up for what she believed in, thrived on adventure, worked hard, and smiled a lot. Now all that was left was a sullen, anxious, exhausted person who stressed out over literally every single thing and had to give herself pep talks for days before leaving the house.

I don't know exactly where it started. Postpartum was the biggest culprit, but if I look back I can see the fade starting to happen well before that. Having my baby, while the single most amazing event of my entire life, shoved me into a very dark spiral. Everyone talks about postpartum depression and I was prepared for that. But no one talks about postpartum anxiety, and I had no idea how to handle the intense fear, worry, and stress that gripped my heart when I found myself with a newborn baby in my arms.

It hit me hard when Kyle went on a weekend trip with some church friends to a Bible conference in Chicago, and I was home alone for three days with my two month old. I had encouraged him to go, even when he was hesitant to, but as soon as he walked out the door, i felt immobilized and more scared then ever in my life. I could not get my mind to shut off and had worked myself into such a state that by the end of the weekend, I came down with my fourth case of mastitis since Titus's birth. I realized at that point that I had a big problem.

Since then, much of my mental and emotional energy has been focused on figuring out what I needed to do to get better, setting boundaries, simplifying my life and expectations, and really just taking care of myself, which is hard to do as a new mom. But I found that once I really recognized what was wrong with me and put a name on it, that's when the healing began.

Above all, I wanted to become that energetic, confident, bright girl that my husband fell in love with. Not just for him, but also because I had lost sight of so much of myself.

I wanted to feel shiny again.

So one step at at time, I started taking myself back.

I made an effort to quit feeling sorry for myself. Oh, most days there's just no hope where that's concerned. But in little strides, I focused on acknowledging that this is my life now, and it is, amidst all the frustrations and exhaustion, a most beautiful life. I am living my dream, and even if it means less sleep and fewer showers, there's nothing else I'd rather be doing with my life.

I've always been critical of my body. I'm incredibly self-conscious too, which leads to great social anxiety. I worry way too much about what other people think, and rarely have a good opinion about myself.

So when I made a human with this body of mine, I decided to try something new.

I was devastated when I hopped on the scale for the first time about a month after I'd pushed that new little person out into the world. I had banned scales from my life for a long time but since none of my clothes fit and my belly wasn't going anywhere, I decided to see what had become of myself.

Shock. Horror. Sakes alive, what on earth have I done?

Oh sure, it was all fun and games when I was pregnant and enthralled with my growing waistline. I thought it was laughable when my pants were too small. Hey, I was pregnant! Bring on the french fries! Its all baby anyways...right??

I wasn't laughing anymore when I was left with only maternity clothes to wear and a saggy belly with no muscle tone whatsoever that made me look about five months pregnant long after birth.

But I kept telling myself, "Its ok...remember you just made a person with this body! Love it! Embrace it! BODY POSITIVITY!!" This is, after all, what the world shouts at women like me on a daily basis.

So I bought some bigger clothes and went about my postpartum recovery like no big deal. Maybe this is my new normal, I thought. Maybe I just have to learn to love the fact that I am easily 50+ pounds heavier than I would like to be. Maybe I just have to get used to my knees hurting and wearing plus size clothing. Curves are beautiful too, right?

So I tried out this way of thinking for a few months, all the while cursing everything I'd ever been told about how your baby weight just falls off when you breastfeed (worst lie ever).

I tried.

I tried being content with my new body, loving it regardless of what size it was. I tried giving myself a break and justifying my choices by blaming it on the little one sleeping in my arms. I tried moving on and being happy with myself.

But it didn't work.

This time, being "body positive" failed me.

I saw a picture of myself playing with my son, and I nearly cried. There I was, smiling, joyful, and yet I hardly recognized myself. This was not ok with me.

I finally faced myself and was honest. This is not who I am. I am better than this. I am not a lazy, complacent, overweight girl trying desperately to convince myself that I am ok. I do not give up like this. I have not worked so hard to fix my health in other areas only to be slovenly and ignorant in this one. Where is the inspired girl I once was? I am better than this. I can do better than this. I can be better than this.

I know that my happiness is not defined by the size pants I wear. I get that. I know that my body has done something incredible and therefore deserves a little grace. I agree. But the complacency of being "body positive" without positively working to improve my body did nothing but riddle me with guilt and self-loathing.

Because where does it stop? What happens if I have another baby, and gain more weight with that pregnancy? Do I just keep gaining and gaining till I'm three or four hundred pounds? All in the name of being body positive?

I don't want be the mom that avoids getting her picture taken, or when she does, later grits her teeth at the sight of it and can't even appreciate the sweet moment with her baby because she's too overwhelmed by what she sees in herself there. I want to be able to run and play with my boy, to get down on the floor and build Lego cities with him without my saggy belly getting in the way, and simply to feel good about myself again.

Preaching body positivity without positive improvement of one's body is nothing but a cop out. It may be a great way to get around the guilt of being overweight and unhealthy, but it is far from positive. If we want to be positive about our bodies, we need to never stop working to improve them. We must quit using our babies and our pregnancies as excuses to be fat and lazy. It's one thing to love our bodies...it's another thing to throw our hands in the air and say, "Whatever. This is as good as its gonna get!"

If we truly love our bodies, we will get up off of our fat, lazy butts and move. We will eat well, and seek to nourish ourselves rather than just satisfy ourselves. We will recognize that while pregnancy may be exhausting, growing a human is no reason to give up on healthy eating and exercise.

Love may conquer all, but love should never sit idly by and watch the world burn. We can love our bodies without letting them fall apart.

The one thing that struck me deeply when I began taking my brand new baby Titus out into the world was just how stressed out it made me to have to deal with the expectations of others and their potential offense of the way I chose to do things, particularly with breastfeeding.

I am a very modest person. I'm pretty conservative by some standards, less by others. I generally prefer my knees and shoulders covered, wear camis under low cut shirts, but am also totally comfortable in a pair of skinny jeans, so I'm kind of in the middle ground. The catch is that I am very well-endowded in the breast category, so most often, keeping the girls covered is quite the battle.

Throw in a very big, heavy baby boy that loves to pull on my shirt and unlatches multiple times during a feed, a really plentiful milk supply that leaves my big, flailing boy sputtering milk everywhere during a letdown...and modesty becomes harder than an Ultimate Ninja Warrior course.

I was so overly concerned with not offending anyone with the feeding of my child, that I often became wrapped up in an incredible amount of anxiety over who was seeing me breastfeed. Would they be offended if I nursed in front of them? Will my baby make too loud of suckling noises and bother them? And horror of horrors...what if my cover slips off for a moment and someone sees.my.boob?

No wonder I came down with mastitis four times in the first two months of Titus's life.

I made a valiant effort to use a nursing cover, but it only worked when he was brand new. After he was about three months old, it just became more trouble than it was worth. Titus was hot. I was sweating. He hated having something over his face. But I tried because using a cover is what all the best modest moms do, right?

I tried cloistering myself in a room to nurse my baby when I was around people I was told might have a problem with it. Once. I ended up spending several hours hiding in my church's nursery during a fellowship dinner with my one-month-old baby who suddenly wanted to cluster feed. By the time he was satisfied enough to join the dinner, there was hardly any food left, and I was beyond hungry. I scraped together what was left of the salad I brought, and hesitantly let a couple people hold Titus, who ended up with a terrible rash on his sensitive face (probably from their perfume or laundry detergent). Not to mention I was so sad and lonely and felt like no one cared. I went home, cried, and told my husband that I would never again put myself in such a position.

I am not trying to complain. I am not a part of the "free the nipple" crowd. I promise I won't scandalize your husband by flopping my engorged, leaking, sagging breast out over my shirt.

But I'm doing my best.

Really.

Do you think it is my ultimate goal to expose my breasts in public? Do you think I look forward to the moments when I am going to have let my little baby suckle on them while a crowd of people seemingly waits with baited breath to give me their latest bit of parenting advice? Do you think I enjoy the idea that someone might possibly catch a glimpse of one of my most private of body parts, no matter how hard I work to keep it covered?

Yet this is part of the job I signed up for, and I am doing the best I can.

So is every other breastfeeding mom in the world.

Those of us that value modesty and take great pains in our clothing choices are faced with such a challenge when it comes to pulling out one of the parts we strive so hard to cover so that our little ones can have a snack. Its such a natural part of our mothering journeys but such an unnatural part of the standards that we have engrained in ourselves. So with that in mind, is it too much to ask for just a little grace?

Personally, I don't think so.

We are trying here. We are striving hard to not offend you with the feeding of our children. We would totally understand if you got your panties in a wad because we showed no care or respect when we nursed. But that isn't the case.

The fact that we try to hide in rooms alone and forgotten, miss out on fellowship, go hungry, and be covered in sweat and overheating our babies in an effort to use the cover you value so highly should speak loudly of our concern over the modesty issue in our breastfeeding experience.

But we need your help here.

We are doing our part and more. We are going out of our way and being uncomfortable to make sure that you aren't. But no mom should feel as if her friends and family have abandoned her simply because she needs to nurse her baby.

If you have to insist that she leave the room to nurse, can you at least get her a freaking plate of food? How about sit and talk with her so she doesn't feel completely alone?

If you have to insist she use a cover, can you please set up a fan close by so the poor girl doesn't sweat to death?

Or how about just exercise all that Christian love and grace you preach so loudly and try to understand that this little mama is doing her best? Her goal is not to seduce anyone. Her goal is not to be obnoxious. She's sore, sleep-deprived, and already so nervous. Give her a break.

In May, I attended one of my favorite Bible conferences. I had a lot of anxiety leading up to it, because I knew my three month old was going be a handful and want to nurse a lot. The first night, I attempted to sit in the back and nurse him with my cover, and ended up so overheated that Titus projectile vomited so many times that I worried he would get dehydrated. I tried finding other places to nurse, but nothing worked and I just managed to get so distraught because I was missing every message. Talk about discouraging. Finally, I sat myself down on the floor outside the conference room. Close enough that I could hear the speaker, yet far enough away that no one would be bothered by us.

And I nursed. And I listened. And I was filled up.

But you know what the nicest thing was? The amount of people, mostly guys, that offered to get me a chair or a bottle of water. Several asked every time they walked by if I needed anything. A couple people came and sat with me between services. And I finally felt like all that grace and love we believe in so strongly was finally being shown in a real life situation.

I know that grace is not a license to get away with whatever you want. That's not what I'm getting at. I am simply saying that when someone is working so very hard to be modest in a frightfully awkward situation, the very least you can do for her is not pile your personal expectations and standards on her already stressed out shoulders. Show her the same grace you expect, and more. If you've been in her shoes, you should understand. If you haven't, you should mind your own beeswax.

Thank you, and nurse on, sweet mamas!

Perhaps things I wish I'd known is the wrong way to title this post. Some of these thing are ones I knew but for some reason they just didn't click. Other things were stuff I had been told, but dismissed. All in all, having a baby has brought some revelations I was not emotionally prepared for.

Becoming a mother is the most fascinating, exasperating, magical thing I have ever done, and honestly, I really look forward to having another baby so I can experience it in a much more prepared way. But then that baby will probably be completely different than this one, so I'll have a whole new set of things to learn. In the mean time, here's what I discovered with this one.

You do not have to eat for two.
Seriously, this is actually kind of a bad idea. You may feel like you want to eat everything in sight, but unless you are one of those women blessed with the ability to burn fat just by smiling, you will probably regret using your baby as an excuse to binge. As someone who can gain weight just by looking at food, I really wish I'd have exercised a little more common sense when it came to my pregnancy eating habits.

You CAN lift things.
Obviously, don't overdo it. But seriously, you are not an invalid. Nothing is broken, and you are just as strong, if not stronger than you were before you got pregnant. You'll know when its time to take a rest, but sitting around afraid to exert yourself isn't healthy. And when you have another baby, you'll have a toddler that wants to be picked up and hugged, so the whole "don't lift things" myth kinda goes out the window. So lift some crap. It's good for you.

Postpartum is HARD.
This is the most important thing. Pregnancy was amazing. Birth was enchanting. But postpartum was the hardest thing I have ever gone through. I really expected to bounce back a whole lot faster than I did. I found myself dealing with crippling anxiety, four bouts of mastitis, and stronger emotions than I had prepared for. If nothing else, the smashing realization that this tiny little person was completely dependent on ME was enough to throw me for a loop. I mean, it's one of those things that you know, but actually holding this howling, starving, pink little human wriggling in your arms and knowing that its going to need its diaper changed {many times} and it's probably going to be up every two hours...and you're the one it wants...I think I almost hyperventilated the first time I changed my son's diaper.

Only after three months did I start feeling somewhat like a normal human being again. I am now a firm believer in The Fourth Trimester. When I have another baby, I will be telling everyone not to expect anything from me for the next three months. I will be purposely hibernating with my littles, not like this time where my fear of going out kept me home rather than a respect for myself and what I had just gone through. I won't be trying to make an appearance anywhere, travel anywhere, or go places so people can meet the baby. If you want to see us, you know where we live...bring a covered dish.

So if I can say anything to new moms, it is this: lower your expectations. Take it easy on yourself. Wear only stretchy pants and whatever you do, don't try on your pre-pregnancy jeans right away unless you want to cry. You just made a freakin' human and pushed it out of your body. Give yourself at least three months to recover, and shove everyone else's expectations of you down the toilet.

Having siblings/babysitting DOES NOT adequately prepare you for motherhood.
It just doesn't. You can have a dozen siblings and spend countless hours babysitting, but those kids ultimately have a mother, and you are not it. Unless you have literally been the one to to drag yourself out of bed (what feels like hundreds of times), been the only person that little one wants, been its main source of food, warmth, and cleanliness...being a sister or a sitter is just playtime. You may be able to change a diaper, or distract a toddler long enough for your mom to get a shower, but it's just not the same.

Growing up around birth/breastfeeding does not adequately prepare you for actually doing it. 
I have been a part of big families and breastfeeding culture my whole life. So when Titus was born I pulled him close to me and tried to feed him in his first day earthside. When my midwife's assistant came to check up on me less than 24 hours after birth, she asked how things were going. Titus hadn't latched on for more than 5 minutes, and it just felt awkward and hard. I showed her what I was doing, and she proceeded to crawl up in bed with me and spend a good half hour coaching me on the breastfeeding I swore I knew all about. It was simple things I felt like I should have known, but I didn't. Her time with me made all the difference in the world.

Birth was in many ways the same. I had watched all the videos, read all the books, but when it came right down to it, I needed my midwife and my doula there to remind me of things and coach me through the process. They were worth their weight in gold to me.

So regardless of how many siblings you grew up with, hire a doula and make sure you have someone available to check up on you afterwards and help you with nursing or whatever else you may not realize you need help with.

Birth has a mind of its own.
Water breaks, labor happens, baby is born. That's how it goes, right? One thing right after the other, a flurry of activity to bring a baby earthside.

Wrong. Or at least, not always right.

In my case, my water broke, and forty.freaking.hours later, my labor officially started. What?!? I totally did not expect my body to need that much time to get ready for birth.

So make your plan, know what you want in your birth, but don't be surprised if something changes. Roll with it.

People are so opinionated. 
They've got a solution for everything. They know everything. And they make pretty rude comments. They will make comments about your weight, both before and after baby...as if you need any more blows to your self esteem. They will insist that its good for the baby to cry, and tell you that you have to give the baby a bottle whether you want to or not. They will ask stupid questions about your baby's sleep habits, eating habits, and even have the audacity to ask if your tiny little newborn is a "good baby", because newborns are malicious little monsters, right? They will tell you all the things you "need" to do, and will be rather offended if you keep the baby's name and gender a secret. If you tell them your pregnancy is going really well, they will look at you like you are lying to them.

Basically, most people are incapable of just telling a pregnant woman how beautiful she looks, or a new mom how adorable her baby is, and leaving it at that.

People are weird. 
So when I got pregnant, everyone was excited. But after he was born, something strange happened. Our family and a lot of friends were still thrilled, of course. But a lot of people that I thought would be more excited...weren't. Or maybe it wasn't exactly that they weren't excited so much as they just weren't present. They were happy to meet the baby if I showed up somewhere with him. But it was almost as if they were indifferent. It was the weirdest thing I have ever seen.
I don't even know what my advice is here, other than to expect weirdness. There will always be people you thought would be around for you and then it turns out that they aren't. And no one will be as excited for your baby as you will be, so just focus on that.

Babies are weird.
They are the most wonderful weird in the world. But they are truly weird. Just when you think you've got them all figured out, they will change on you. Just when you think they're "on a schedule," forget it, they won't be tomorrow. Just when you think they've stopped breaking out in some frightening skin rash, a new one will flare up because we suddenly can't handle dairy. One day they will be so hungry {all} day and the next, they'll sleep so much you'll wonder if they're sick or something. They find amusement in the silliest things, and have ability to puke the quietest, most unforeseen puke of your life.

You have never known this kind of worry.
I don't care what kind of stress you've ever experienced, it does not compare to the worry you will now have on your heart 24/7 because of this little person. I never knew it was even possible to worry about the things I now worry about. Is he hot? Is he cold? Are his socks too tight? Is he breathing? What if someone with a cold breathes on him? Am I making enough milk? What do I do with him when I have to pee? Oh good heavens someone is holding him...don't freak out, don't freak out, don't.freak.out. He's crying...why is he crying? Did I hurt him somehow? What if I got a little water in his mouth when I gave him a bath...you know secondary drowning in a thing, right? Oh my goodness what if he's drowning? Why is he still asleep? Is HE BREATHING???

A dear friend has told me it gets easier with the second and third kids, so apparently I need to have more babies.

You have never known love like this.
I never knew my heart could explode like this. It will never cease to amaze me how this tiny human can fill me with a love and a joy like nothing I have ever experienced. No matter how long a night we've had, how sore my boobs are, how long its been since I've showered, or how many different types of bodily fluid I'm covered in...all it takes is one beautiful, admiring smile from him and I completely melt. During those long, hard nights, there is always a moment where I cry a little and think, "Little guy, I am not real fond of you right now." And then the morning comes and he starts babbling and cooing to me, and my feeble heart goes, "Aw, its ok. I'll be sleep deprived for you every day for the rest of my life if only you will make that beautiful little noise one more time."

We are always learning, always growing. So take heart lovely mamas. Be prepared. Be flexible. Be gentle on yourself.

It has been just over a week since I brought this little person into the world. One amazing, nerve wrecking, magical week of learning about each other and figuring out our little trio.

Birth was, by far, the most incredible thing I have ever experienced. I did not know my body was capable of such intense power. To be able to watch my body perform the way it did, and to work with it to bring my baby out was something I honestly can't wait to experience again. And being able to do it all within the comfort of my home, with the most fabulous, loving birth team over, was a dream come true.

It started on Thursday morning at 2am. My water started breaking, though not as I had anticipated. I expected it to come out like a fire hose but instead it was just small gushes. Still, I was thrilled. Kyle got up, we changed the sheets, I texted my midwife Nicole, and attempted to sleep some more.

I had a few small contractions here and there, but nothing significant happened until Friday at around 7 pm. Those hours of waiting for my body to kick in were long, disappointing, and not at all what I expected. I figured it would be like all the stories I'd heard...your water breaks, you go into labor, you have a baby. Bam. Done. But no. My body had other plans. Apparently I needed a full 40+ hours for my hormones to build up enough to set my labor into action. I kept Nicole aware of what was going on, and we were prepared to start having me take some herbs and stuff and set things in motion if something didn't happen soon. Thankfully, those real, purposeful contractions started coming around 7pm on Friday night.

By early Saturday morning, it was very clear that I was in labor. My doula, Kimby, and her helper, Meredith, came over at 7am and we began our day together. Early labor was actually quite fun. We joked and talked around contractions, and Kimby made me feel like I was in a spa. She diffused essential oils, massaged my back and feet, and just made me feel so loved and calm. We did a few different things to help with the baby's position, since she was concerned he might have a hand up. Between that and massaging the labor pressure points on my ankles, but the afternoon, I was kicking into high gear.

I was so thankful to be able to do a lot of laboring in the birthing pool. It was so comforting and really took a lot of pressure off my belly. We did the pool all the way up until I was ready to push. I had hoped to give birth in the pool, but since we knew my baby was large and had a big head, Nicole felt it would be best to birth in a different position.

I was not paying very good attention to the clock, so my remembrance of the time of events is a little sketchy. I think it was about 7ish when Nicole arrived and I was in hard labor. I began to feel like pushing so they brought me out of the tub and onto the couch. She had me lay on my back to give baby enough space to get under my pubic bone. With his big head and my small pelvis, this proved to be rather hard. His progress was very slow and I was getting very tired.

I pushed for nearly three hours. The whole time, Nicole massaged my vaginal opening and perineum  with olive oil, stretching me in preparation for my baby's head to come through. This was a lifesaver. I cannot begin to express how thankful I am that she did this! Also after coming out of the pool, my legs were incredibly sore from kneeling so long and supporting myself during contractions, so the girls massaged me with arnica oil. Oh so amazing!

The pushing got really intense and his head rocked back and forth for quite a while. All of a sudden his heart rate dipped and Nicole told me to stop pushing and just breathe. I was focusing so hard on the pushing that I wasn't getting enough oxygen to him. So they worked hard with me to get me to focus on taking long deep breaths and not be so intense with pushing. That was the hardest part! My body took over several times and pushed completely on its own. But the breathing turned out be just was we needed. His heart rate came back up and we kept going.

Nicole ran outside to get her oxygen tank and to call another midwife to come assist, since it was looking like my baby was stuck and they were going to have to reposition me. His head was so big and taking so long to come down that they were getting concerned. But just then, his head started crowning! Kimby told Meredith to run outside and get Nicole as fast as she could. He was coming out!!

The most incredible thing to me was that I did not even feel him come out. My eyes were closed most of the time due to being quite exhausted. I opened them just at the moment his head came out, and saw the explosion of water hit everyone. They told me to push hard and keep pushing. I gave it every last ounce of energy I had and out he came! The next moment I opened my eyes, Nicole was wrangling my slippery baby up onto my belly.

And so, Titus Howard Fellows was born at 11:40pm on Saturday, February 13, 2016.

He took just a few moments to breathe, so we kept rubbing him and talking to him, and soon he was howling his head off. Those first moments of holding him were utterly miraculous.

He turned out to be a pretty big baby, just like Nicole had predicted. He weighed 9 pounds, 4 ounces, was 22 inches long, and his head (drum roll please) was 15 inches in circumference! But thanks to Nicole's perineal massaging and stretching, I only got one tiny little tear that didn't even warrant a stitch. Yay!

There are a few things I'd like to talk about that I have found truly fascinating concerning my home birth experience.

My birth team was amazing. Seriously. Their support and love throughout the whole ordeal was incomparable. I have never felt more cared for in my whole life. I was not just another patient in a bed. I wasn't just another birth. I was important to them. They poured themselves out into me with their loving touch, encouraging words, and strengthening prayers. I could not have done it without them.

My husband was amazing. My sweet, calm spirited, low key, loving man was such a huge help during the hardest part of my labor. He helped massage me, held my hands through the hardest contractions, and encouraged me through every push. When I was so tired, he told me again and again to open my eyes and smile at him. He kept me grounded.

Nicole saved me from a myriad of medical complications. I will never be able to thank her enough for what she did for me. By helping me work with my body to bring my baby out, I was spared a birthing horror story. Had I gone to a hospital, I would have been subjected to a multitude of medical procedures. Because my labor was so long in coming, a hospital would have induced me. Because he was so big, they would have most likely done a c-section, or at the very least, an episiotomy. If I had by some chance been allowed to birth without any of those things, I would have tore far worse, because no doctor or nurse would have taken the time to massage and stretch me like Nicole did.
Don't get me wrong...I am glad that the medical community is there for emergencies, and if something had taken a turn for the worst, Nicole would not have hesitated to get me to the nearest hospital. But working with Nicole allowed me to treat my birth as the most natural experience of my life and to bring my baby calmly and lovingly into this world.

Diet and water intake are really important. My diet has gone through many changes over the years, but it has always remained the healthiest possible. I was vegan through the first half of my pregnancy but after that, felt like I was lacking in nutrients, so I added meat and grains back into my life. I remained sugar free and gluten free, and have been loving it.
As a step to help my seizure issues, I increased my water intake last March and began drinking at least 80-120 ounces of water a day. This made a huge difference in my existing issues, and then when I got pregnant in May, the benefits were phenomenal.
I attribute a great portion of my birthing success to my diet and water intake. Avoiding sugar especially helped, since sugar heightens your pain sensitivities...even fruit in excess can be a problem! A good, healthy, balanced food lifestyle with plenty of good clean water is the best thing you can do do for your body and your baby.


Home birth may not be for everyone, but I praise God every day that I was able to have this beautiful experience! And I could not be more thrilled to have this tiny little person in my arms at last.

The choices you’ve made have brought you here
The consequence fills your heart with fear
You searched for love in all the wrong places
Instead you found hurt wearing all love’s faces
You’re left with a flower, bruised but still living
You cry when you think of the life that you’re giving

So much is lost, but something is found
A decision waits in your hands right now
So much is at stake; will you stand or run?
Do you have what it takes to finish what you’ve begun?
More will be lost in saving your pride
I know you are scared, but don’t run and hide

There’s still time to fix this; you’re not at the end
You don’t have to take the first choice the world sends
Come what may, you have the chance to do what’s right
You have the chance to save one innocent life
The hardest thing you may ever do, this one thing you can give
No matter what you’ve done in life, please let your baby live

by Hannah McMichael