Evelyn's Birth...One Year Ago, Today...

**Disclaimer: I tried and tried to upload a couple of videos to this post, but Blogger wouldn't let me. :( So, I will be exploring moving over to WordPress very soon.

In the wee hours of the morning on October 21, 2011, I woke up with the need to use the facilities, of course. After all, I was just 5 days from my due date with my second baby. Waking up at 2:05 am to pee was not unusual. So, I did my thing, went back to bed and had a mild contraction before falling asleep.

About 25 minutes later, I woke up again, with the urge to go again. That was kind of weird because what the heck, I just peed!

I conducted my business and when I stood up, I had my second contraction. It wasn't a "ooh, my belly just tightened, but it's not so bad yet" contraction. It was a full blown, "Holy moly, that hurts, that hurts, that hurts!" I stayed in the bathroom, gripping the towel rack and trying to take deep breaths until it was over. As soon as it was done, I walked into our bedroom and told Stephen, "Baby, I just had a really painful contraction, just so you know." As soon as I finished the sentence, my water broke. "Um, and my water just broke."  He rolled over said, "Okay," and rolled back over to go back to sleep.

See, we were really gonna do it this time! I was going to have an all natural birthing experience! I had read the Bradley method book, made Stephen read it (yes, he kind of griped the whole way through it), did my breathing exercises, read tons of articles and blogs about it - the whole nine yards! I was just determined that I could do it. So, according to the Bradley method and most of modern science, once you start contracting, it will most likely take your body 4-6 hours before you should have to head to the hospital (if you choose not to do a homebirth or something.)  When I told Stephen I had a painful contraction, he was thinking, "Nice. Wake me when something exciting starts to happen."

Well, since I had the next excruciating contraction maybe 2 minutes after that first one, I woke him again right away. I said, "Okay, these aren't very far apart! I'm going to try walking around the house to see if they slow down." So, I walked out to the living room and had another one. I started yelling. Then, I walked into the kitchen. And yelled a little louder. Then, I walked back into the bedroom, stopping again to yell at the top of my lungs. "These are right on top of each other! I think we need to go in now! Call the doctor, call my mom, then call Mandy to come over until my mom gets here!"

Like the good husband he is, he did not argue with me. He did as he was respectfully requested.

My amazing, good friend, Mandy, came over immediately, leaving her own three kids and husband at home to sit at our house while Avery slept (yes, I can't believe she slept through all the yelling) until my mom arrived from her hour drive. I vaguely remember Mandy standing in our living room, excited for us that this baby was coming, and confirming to Stephen that indeed, we should get going. She could tell I was in a lot of pain and contracting exceptionally fast.

So, off we went to the hospital. I was so glad we only live 3 minutes from the hospital because oh my goodness, the bumps. Bless Stephen's heart, he was driving as smoothly as he could, but I was yelling every time we went over the tiniest bump. It hurt!  He dropped me off at the ER entrance while he went to park the car. When I walked through the automatic doors, the front desk person could tell just by looking at me that I needed to go directly to maternity check-in and buzzed me right in. Right when I got in the room, I had another contraction, prohibiting me from speaking to the sweet lady behind the computer, and just doing my best not to holler my head off. She was lovely, just patiently waiting until my contraction passed before asking me a gazillion questions to get me checked in. Thankfully, I think she gave me the shortcut check-in, since I'm sure it was obvious I was in active labor. The worst part about getting checked in was they wanted me to ride in the wheelchair to get to the labor & delivery part of the hospital. If you don't ride in the chair, it's a looooong walk and up a couple of flights in the elevator, so of course, I had to ride in it, but again, it hurtsobad!!! Thankfully, they had an open room ready for me, brought me in, and immediately checked me. It was about 3:30 am and I was 6 cm dilated! They hooked me up to monitors right away to check on things and everything was so rushed, I didn't even get a hospital gown on. I was still wearing my Peterson Family Reunion pajama t-shirt. 

Looking pretty!

Anyway, they checked me again 15 minutes later and I was 7 cm. At that point, I started to freak out. The contractions. were. crazy.  I was in my "window" for an epidural. If I waited much longer, I wouldn't be allowed to get it. The contractions were bad enough, I was terrified of what it was going to be like to actually birth the child without some happy juice. Stephen tried to encourage me to continue without any paralyzers, but I basically told him to shut up and be supportive! He quickly backed down and said, "Whatever you want to do, baby!" So, I requested the epidural ASAP.

Thankfully, it didn't take the anesthesiologist long to arrive and insert that big, fat needle into my back. And thankfully, I am not scared of needles. And thankfully, it started working within about 15 minutes and I was in a very happy place. They checked me again and I was 8 cm - and now, I couldn't feel those contractions that were still just as strong! However, not long after getting my epidural, I noticed I was losing feeling further and further up my body. My arms and hands were getting cold and tingly. I said something to my nurse about it and by the time she had the anesthesiologist back in the room, I was numb all the way up to my chest! I freaked out again, since that was way too much numbing. They turned my epidural off so my body would drain it out of my system and then they would turn it back on not-so-strongly. It took about a half hour for it to wear off, so then I was back in the very bad place, feeling all the pain again. They checked me again, and I was 9 cm! So, they turned the epidural back on and it was all perfect and wonderful and they had me start pushing. I was going to have this baby by 5:30 in the morning, they were saying!

So, I started pushing. And pushing. And pushing. No matter how much I pushed, I still wasn't effaced. I was fully dilated, but not effaced. At all.

Then, the baby's heart rate started dropping with each contraction, especially while pushing. They had me stop pushing for a while to wait and see what the baby would do, but even with the epidural, I was having an intense urge to push. The baby's heart rate continued to dip during contractions, but not as badly as when pushing. My doctor came in and said to try pushing a few more times and see what happens. She said she might have to use the vacuum, but she would be back in a little bit. She was next door with another patient, who was about to have her baby. My poor doctor was going back and forth!  So, I pushed a few more times, Dr. P. came back and said, "Alright, it's time to see what in the world is going on in there!" She examined me (which was quite painful) and discovered that the baby was coming out sunny-side up (face up) and head was turned to the side and looking up, so the baby was coming out nose, eyes, and forehead first! My doctor immediately said, "We need to get this baby out now. It is not coming out this way."

I am normally calm in high-stress situations, but I just freaked out again. I never thought I would ever need a c-section. I hadn't emotionally prepared for a c-section. I was worried about my baby, most of all.  Dr. P. said all the nurses were glued to my charts at the nurse's station, and they and my doctor's partner, Dr.  M. all agreed that an emergency c-section was necessary. I was scared out of my mind, but Dr. P. put me at ease when she assured me that everything was going to be okay, and she was going to be there through the whole thing. They immediately wheeled me to the operating room.

Stephen stood behind my head the whole time, holding my hand and talking to me and kissing me. He was my rock, assuring me that everything was going fine, and my doctor talked to me, too, throughout the surgery. The amount of pressure and pushing and pulling was more than I thought it would be, but when I heard my baby's cries for the first time, I had the biggest sense of relief I have ever had in my life. And then, at 9:29 am, when I heard Stephen exclaim, "Baby, it's a girl!" I loved my little Evelyn Grace Naomi more than life itself, instantly.

And then, they wrapped her up and Stephen brought her over and laid her on my chest. I wrapped my arms around my little Evey, looked into her swollen and bruised eyes and knew she was a fighter.

She stopped crying when she heard my voice saying, "Hi, baby. I'm so glad you're here and safe."

Stephen left with Evelyn to go get weighed and get her bath taken.

 She was a little peanut - 5 pounds, 15 ounces, 18 inches long.

After they finished sewing me back up, I went to Recovery and was soon greeted by Stephen and Evelyn.

Such a little sweetie from the beginning, with her little pink bow, but also making it obvious she would like to try nursing for the first time, I fed her and she did it like she had been doing it for ages. She was a pro!

Shortly after we got to our private room, Big Sister Avery and Gramma came over to visit for the first time.

 We introduced the sisters, and it was love at first sight.

Avery was so interested in everything.

 Our first family photo

Evelyn just gazing at her big sister. We could tell she knew Avery's voice.

 Meeting Gramma for the first time (my dad was there, but I have no picture evidence! He is in video, though.) Sorry, Dad!

 Avery had gone shopping and picked out a hanging duck for the car seat and a monkey lovey for her new sister.

 Evelyn was so alert all day!

 Wrinkly, little feet

Grammie and PawPaw came up to visit after work.

 Meeting Grammie

 Meeting PawPaw

After all that, the birth of my second baby girl was a life-changing day that I will never forget. A year later, I am still in awe that I have two daughters, and I am in awe that it's been a year since our precious Evelyn entered this world. She is a spit-fire girl, full of determination, strength, and zest. She lives every minute of every day, exploring and trying to get to things she knows she's not supposed to touch. She brings us so much joy and at the same time, challenges us every day to be the parents that God gave her.

We love you, Evelyn Grace Naomi!

Great Grandma Peterson

**I originally wrote most of this just a few days after I got back from Grandma's funeral, but just now got a chance to finish it.

Last weekend, I stood and looked at her hands. Hands that would have been 97 years old on October 14. Hands that wore her wedding ring for almost 78 years. Hands that played outside when she was young in rural Minnesota. Hands that maybe patted her baby doll's back, while singing it to sleep. Hands that would hold her new husband's hands, as she pledged to spend their lives together "as long as we both shall live." Hands that would hold, care, clean, and comfort each of her nine children in the days to come. Hands that would serve her family continually, even after all nine children left their childhood home. Hands that made homemade bread, cookies, doughnuts, too many meals to count. Hands that hung countless dresses, overalls, diapers, and sheets on the line. Hands that she would fold in prayer, daily. She would pray for me and each one of my relatives, her descendants every day. She had servant's hands because she had a servant's heart. I stared at her hands as I stood there, admiring their beauty. It became apparent to me how important her hands were to her during her life. I realized the impact that those hands had on everyone who came in contact with my great grandma. I realized that I am here, largely because of her existence.

When I first heard that Grandma's health was starting to fail her, just around 3 weeks ago, I knew that I would be saying good-bye to her soon. Even though this made me sad for me, I felt happy for Grandma. It will be downright weird to go to the lake and not go visit Grandma. Up until I was around 20 years old, when I went to the lake, heading up to the farmhouse to say "hi" to Great Grandpa and Grandma was a daily occurrence. My cousins and I could pop our head into the sun room at any moment during the day and could reliably find at least great-grandpa sitting on his orange stool, most likely drinking a cup of coffee. If Grandma wasn't in the sun room, she was in the next room over, in the kitchen, fixing something to set out on the table for anyone to help themselves to, should they come to visit. I might have sat down on the bench to chat with Grandpa and Grandma for a few moments, telling them about school or violin or ballet. Then, I would listen to Grandpa's soft, gravelly voice, as he told me a snippet of a memory he had from his own childhood. On my way out of the sun room, I would undoubtedly grab a doughnut or kringla to nibble on while I played outside. Outside, I would find the pack of farm cats that stuck around for Grandma's table scraps and many mice they would find. Specifically, I loved the kittens. I had a button-down shirt with a chest pocket on each side that fit one kitten, inside each one, perfectly. I'm sure the kittens loved it.

When Grandpa died in February of 1998, I worried about Grandma. She was 82, and as far as I know, she was perfectly healthy. However, she was clearly heartbroken that the love of her life had left this life without her. I thought she might live a couple of more years, but would probably pass away, due to heartache. Even though Grandma lived another 14 years without her husband, I know it was hard for her. A couple of years after Grandpa died, Grandma went to live in a condo in town. All one level, less house to keep clean; practically, it was a much better living situation for her. However, it had to have been difficult for her to leave the farm house that she and her husband had built, as newlyweds in 1930. She birthed all 9 children in that house that they both built and loved. How weird to live someplace else!

When visiting Grandma in the condo became a reality for me, I remember hearing her say almost every time I visited her, "I'm ready to go to heaven."  It never seemed morbid to me. It was a genuine longing that I knew was aching her. Even though she began to experience some somewhat minor health ailments, her body kept fighting. After all, she always was a strong woman. I am always baffled at the idea of having nine children! I have two and most days, I feel overwhelmed! My great grandma is someone I will always admire.

My family has a Facebook group that has become very active since Grandma became weak. A bunch of us have taken comfort in sharing Grandma's recipes, memories, and just generally doing a better job of staying connected. While I was in Minnesota, we had a big brainstorm session of how we can all be a part of continuing the legacy of our family, specifically through the chapel that my great grandpa built on the hill that overlooks our family's old farmland and the lake. I am excited to see how that takes shape over the years.

I will miss my great grandparents very much, but I am so fortunate to be able to believe, without a doubt, that they are both in heaven, together. I am so blessed that both of my children were able to meet their great great grandma. I love that whenever Avery sees a picture of my great grandma, she knows who it is. I am blessed that even when I am in heartache, mourning the loss of a beautiful life, I still have my own grandparents, all living, all very active in my life. I can only praise God for that!

11 Months...

My baby turned 11 months yesterday, on the last day of summer.

It is so difficult to get a non-blurry picture of her, as she is moving all the time.

My little muffin loves to give kisses now. My not-as-affectionate-as-her-sister baby girl loves to kiss!

Her favorite thing to say right now is "hi!" It is closely followed by "uh-oh."

She is walking more than crawling now, and it's quickly turning to running. Especially when she's naked and it's bath time. The hallway is her speedway.

Her sister can't get enough string cheese.

The Last Year or So...

It has been over a year since the last time I posted. And in that post, I promised to post more often.

But, life happened.

I had an almost two year old at the time, who we were about to start potty training because I was pregnant with our second baby, due in October, and I desperately didn't want two children in diapers at the same time.

Going from one to two kids has been difficult, to say the least. This last year has been hard for me.  Really hard.  I have had a year of understanding perspective, adjusting my expectations of myself, and of my children.

I chose to attempt natural childbirth with Evelyn, which took a lot of research, reading, and practicing. And then, when shove came to pushing, I had to accept the reality that it would be impossible to do. My baby was born by emergency c-section. I panicked when my doctor told me this would be the case, and afterwards, I was sad, depressed, and in a lot of pain.  I questioned my ability to birth my children on my own. I entered motherhood for the second time in a deep hole of self-doubt.  If I can't naturally birth my children, how can I be the mommy I always thought I would be?  Things weren't as simple as I had idealized them.

But my friends and family complimented me in my ability to mother. My friends, especially. I don't know how you do it, Beth. You are a great mom. Inside, I was screaming, But, I'm not! I'm impatient, selfish, and tired! I do not love every minute of being with my kids. Most days, I wallow in my self pity. Most days, I feel like I barely make it. My house is always a disaster. I just want to be left alone, in my bed. I was lonely. I was depressed. And I felt like if I told my friends those thoughts, they would think I was a whiner. I got frustrated because I didn't want to give a false impression of myself. I wanted them to know that I'm not perfect, it's not easy, and I was really struggling. But I also wanted to be an encouragement to my friends, as much as I could be.

I realized that the more books and blogs I read about parenting and mothering, the worse I felt about myself.  I went to a parenting class for about 12 weeks and Evelyn was born halfway through it, so I had her with me for the last few weeks. The class talked a lot about the importance of a schedule, having order in your house, and making your relationship with your husband the priority. These were all things I knew and had done with my firstborn, Avery. No problem. Avery was a "textbook baby." She adjusted to changes in her schedule within a couple of days. Reaching milestones never affected her sleep patterns. She slept 12 hours at night and took decent length naps, and was a very happy baby. I also started reading a blog that talked about the same philosophy as the parenting class. The blogger posts weekly updates on her baby, and had them labeled so I could reference the age that Evelyn was at. The blogger's baby would sleep 12-13 hours at night and sleep 4-6 hours during the day, even at 6 months old. Every week when I would read it, I felt stupid. My baby wasn't like that. What was I doing wrong this time? Evelyn did not get on a nap schedule until 9 months old, and it wasn't for lack of trying, on my part. The child would not sleep during the day. I was at a loss. I wasn't getting any time to myself, even fifteen minutes. I was a failure. I was trapped.

I also had to stop breastfeeding at 6 months, when I had gone until 14 months with Avery. Obviously, it was the best decision for Evelyn, as she wasn't growing enough, and was feeding more than ever. This time was just dramatically different than it was the first time. I felt like a failure again. I wasn't accepting myself.  I wasn't accepting that my very best was enough.

Just in the last couple of months (Evelyn will be 11 months tomorrow), I have realized that everyone else's idea of "successful parenting" shouldn't matter to me. If my children are happy, well-mannered, and learning that Jesus loves them more than anything, then in my book, I am doing a good job as a mother. All parts of parenting have to work for each individual family. I am not saying that if it's too hard for you to say "no" to your child, then don't do it. Saying "no" to your child has to happen in every family, but the way it is done will vary.

I hesitate to give advice to any parent friend, even when they ask me for it. If I tell my friend who has children how we discipline our children, and then it doesn't work for their family, I don't want them to think, Well, we failed at doing it the way the Bruces do it. Stephen's and my standard of doing things for our household is what is right for us, but it's not for everyone. I've also discovered that we may do things one way for a while and then it starts to not work anymore, and we have to find a new, effective way of doing it. I have had to realize that this is probably normal. If I hold onto the thought, We have always done it this way, why isn't it working anymore?, then I try to force something that just is not working, all while wasting a couple of months, clinging onto what I've always known. It's silly.

Finally, my inability to blog during the last year plagued me. I admire the moms who somehow find a way to write on their blog several times a week. I seriously do not know how they do it, especially those who have young babies, who need their attention pretty much every minute of the day. I have had to let it go. For me, if I tried to put that much energy into anything other than my girls, I felt like a failure at everything. Blogging just isn't that important to me. However, I do want to document the girls' childhoods as much as I can, so I will figure out a way to do it. When I started this blog, Stephen and I were newly married, and I wasn't working. I knew we would be moving to a different country, so my motive with the blog was to keep our families and friends up to date with what was happening with us. When we moved back to the States, my motive to blog became a scrapbook for me and my family. Anyone who wants to read about it is welcome, but I'm not going to sit down and make a real scrapbook, so this is it.

I have had to give myself a break. I'm not saying I never feel like a failure. During the last several days, both girls are refusing to nap. It is beyond frustrating! I feel like I have tried everything, and still nothing works. Big, epic mom fail. I keep trying to remind myself that this is just a season and one day, I will really miss this time. I need to be present in the here and now, and not take it for granted. My house will all be clean at the same time someday. It is probably a long ways away, but I'd rather be on the floor playing with my babies than cleaning the bathroom. Needless to say, come to my house at your own risk! If clutter and sticky floors bother you, you might feel compelled to clean while you're here. By all means, be my guest!

All that to say, I'm hoping to be able to start blogging regularly again, but no promises. I will not be burdened by it, but I will be motivated to do it.

Wordless Wednesday...