Emily's Birth Story

(Now that she's going to turn one in just two weeks,

I guess it's time I finished up her birth story!)

They say every pregnancy and delivery is different, and they’re definitely right. 

I figured that since this isn't my first rodeo that I'd be better prepared, and while that was partially true I had so many false alarms this time around and was worried I wouldn't even know when I was really in labor. I had some pretty strong contractions for a few weeks leading up to Emily's birth, and I was almost certain I was in labor a couple times because of how consistent and powerful they became. After one check-up I had to go get a non-stress test done at the hospital since Emily's heart rate was a little elevated. Turns out she was (and is) just a wiggle worm getting some cardio in, but the nurses briefly admitted me thinking I was in labor. I didn't give birth for a couple weeks after that.

After so many false alarms I kept thinking that my water would have to break or something before I’d actually believe I was in labor. 

And luckily for me, that’s exactly what happened. 

The day I went into labor I was determined to do whatever I could to get things moving. The last couple of weeks of this pregnancy were pretty rough. I carry my babies pretty far out, which was doing a serious number on my back (and my whole body, really).

No, I am not hiding a basketball under my shirt. Promise.

I was getting super uncomfortable and was more than ready to meet our little girl. I went on two walks, cleaned and vacuumed our house, bounced on a birthing ball, played soccer at the park with Dallin and Eli, and still nothing. After the park we swung by Sonic because baby needed I needed a cranberry limeade slush. 

I never did get to finish my slush though, because as I got out of the car when we got home I felt little gush. I gasped, looked at Dallin from over the top of the car, and said, "I think my water just broke!"

Sure enough, it had.

I called my mom first, then my in-laws who were going to watch Eli. Within 10 minutes the contractions had started, gentle at first, but very quickly becoming stronger and closer together. The first two were 5 minutes apart. The next was 3.5 after that, then 2 minutes, then 1.5 minutes.

I kind of started to panic a bit.

I did not want this to be a spontaneous home birth. No thank you.

One last belly shot before heading out the door.

Considering how quickly Eli had come, and how quickly things were progressing with my contractions, we decided not to wait long to go to the hospital, even though I had planned to labor at home as long as possible.My father-in-law picked Eli up, Dallin gave me a blessing, and then we gathered up our things and left.

Walking into the hospital! So ready, but still nervous!

We got to the hospital around 7:40pm. I'd only been having contractions for about 40 minutes but already couldn't walk or talk through them. They admitted me right away, and when they checked me the first time I was 3cm dilated and 70% effaced. I was 1cm and 40% effaced a week before so it was good to know I had made some progress, although not much. Between contractions I managed to get changed into my gown, sign paperwork, and get in bed.

I tried laboring on my side like I had with Eli, but that just wasn't very comfortable this time around. I ended up on a birthing ball, facing my bed, leaning back on Dallin who was sitting on a chair behind me (and was grateful for the chair a nurse brought, since he started out on a wheeled stool that was hard to keep still while supporting me!).

I'm not going to lie, this labor was quite a bit more intense than it was with Eli. With him it was just really hard work, but never very painful. Not so this time around. It definitely hurt, especially in my pelvis and hips.

After I had been there about an hour they checked me again, and I was only at 4cm. That was a little discouraging, but not nearly as bad as when they checked me an hour after that, and I was still at 4cm. I couldn't believe it! All those crazy strong contractions, which had been about a minute long and a minute apart for quite a while, and still no progress?

I was starting to feel the exhaustion set in, and wondered how much longer I could go before needed some kind of pain relief. Birthing naturally was my goal, but only if it ended in a positive experience, and if it had stayed that intense for long I would have definitely wanted something to help me through the labor pains.

This was definitely the hardest time. At some point my mom got there, but I barely even noticed since I was just focused on working and breathing through each contraction and trying to relax as much as possible in the short time I had between them. Dallin was an angel through all this. Each contraction he'd hold me close and I'd squeeze his hand as tightly as I could, then between contractions he'd help me get a drink of water and get as comfortable as I could be in preparation for the next wave. My inner pioneer woman came out this time and I was just dying to bite down on something, so he'd get the thick straw in my hospital cup out each time another contraction came so I could bite down on it. (Adding a sturdy stick to the list of hospital bag necessities for next time. Haha!)

Somewhere around 10:30, about an hour after they had checked my progress and found I was still only 4cm, I felt a little urge to push, something I was familiar with after having Eli. I was so happy to know it might be getting close to the end, but so worried it wasn't for real. How could I already be there when I hadn't seemed to be progressing? My mom grabbed a nurse who checked me, and sure enough, in that hour I'd progressed from 4cm to 9cm. Hallelujah! I was so relieved to know I was getting close to the end.

My doctor was called, and I had a few more contractions before she showed up. Each time the urge to push got stronger so I was grateful it didn't take her long. I asked to push squatting at the end of the bed like I did with Eli, so they put up a bar for me to rest on, and Dallin helped me up. I could not wait to push because I hoped it would provide some relief. Not much time had passed since my water broke, but the intensity of my contractions had really drained me and I just wanted to get that baby o-u-t.

The next contraction, when I was finally able to push for real, I pushed with all I had in me, and heard my doctor say something about the head. At first I thought she meant the baby was crowning, but then I realized what was happening and gasped, "Her head is out?!" My doctor confirmed that yes, it was true. Next thing I knew her shoulders were out, then with one last push (still on the same contraction) out she came.

Emily Jane was born at 11:02pm, almost exactly 4 hours after my water broke.

I laid back, they put her on my chest, and Dallin cut the cord. I didn't get to hold her for long though because she had a bit of a rough start, probably because of how fast she came. Her face and head were a bit bruised, she wouldn't cry, and she had fluid in her lungs they had to suck out. But once that was taken care of, I got her back.

She was (and is) perfect. I always forget just how tiny and sweet they are, straight from heaven. 

And I'm not the only one that thinks so. Just look at Eli's face when he met her.

Dad kinda likes her too. Just a little bit.

Welcome to the family, Emily Jane! You're a keeper.

On Miscarriage

It hasn't made it to my (highly neglected) blog yet, but a couple months ago we announced a happy little secret we'd been keeping. Can't wait to welcome a little addition to our ginger family in April!

When I announced our pregnancy, I also mentioned that we had to wait a little longer than we were expecting, and that we had gone through a miscarriage too.

About 2 years ago I made that "big bro" shirt for Eli to tell Dallin about a little one we were expecting. We were just so excited. Infertility has always been a fear of mine, and seeing that positive pregnancy test, especially since it was pretty soon after we started trying for another baby, came with a lot of relief that -- at least this time -- I could tuck that fear away.

Then, unfortunately, I miscarried. That loss was absolutely heartbreaking. I can understand why miscarriage isn't really talked about so often, or at least why I didn't really feel like sharing it for a long time. It felt (and still feels) so personal, a loss that I know affected me more than anyone, except for maybe Dallin. 

Physically, I was lucky to have no complications and my body was pretty much able to handle everything without any interventions. I had about a week of terrible cramps, and probably pushed the limits on my ibuprofen + heating pad usage, but I feel really grateful that my recovery was so smooth and fairly quick. 

Emotionally, however, it really took a toll on me. I loved that baby I lost. It was so much more to me than just a pregnancy, or a mass of tissue. It was a baby. My baby. One day I was happily planning for a new little one, and the next day it was gone. 

I felt so empty, especially as the months started to pass and I still wasn't able to get pregnant. While I know a year and a half is short compared to how long infertility has lasted for many of my friends, it felt like it was never-ending, especially since the wait started out with a miscarriage. At times I wondered if I'd ever see a positive pregnancy test. 

I was very proactive during that time too, not just waiting for it to happen. I tracked and charted my fertility signs daily, took my basal temperature religiously every morning, went through too many ovulation (and pregnancy) tests to count, and had started dipping my toes into some infertility treatments with my doctor. In some ways I think all that charting wasn't very good for my mental health, and while I do think having that info helped us be successful in the end, it made me a little obsessive. Having my mind on the subject so much also made it harder to see everyone around me getting pregnant or having babies, especially the ones that were around the same age as the baby I'd lost would have been. (They'd be a year old next month, by the way.)

This photo is from the day I miscarried, not long after I got home from the hospital.
Sweet little Eli could tell something wasn't right, and snuggled up to me,
looking up and touching my face every few minutes. I love this boy.

There are a few reasons why I wanted to share our story. First of all, one of the things I struggled with was feeling like people didn't really understand what I was going through. I wish I had known of more people close to me who had gone through a miscarriage that would get it, you know? So if you need someone to listen who has been there, know that you can get in touch. 

The second reason is related to the first. I know people had the very best of intentions, and that they just really wanted to make me feel better, but there were so many comments made that ranged from unhelpful to really hurtful. I plan on making this a separate post with some suggestions on what to do/say when someone miscarries, but the main point I want to make here is this: don't try to minimize loss or grief, whether it's someone else's or your own. 

I think that applies to any kind of hardship. A loss is a loss. Grief is grief. It's not helpful to compare challenges or try to comfort someone by downplaying whatever it is they are struggling with, or to not let yourself fully grieve. There are lots of things this experience has taught me, and one of those is to be more kind, more understanding, more aware of others. Having this private struggle has made me more sensitive to whatever "sorrow that the eye can't see" that those around me might be dealing with. And for that I am thankful. 

I'm also thankful for our wiggly little girl that we get to meet in 3.5 short months. Being a mom is my favorite, and I can't wait to have another set of squishy cheeks in my house to kiss all day. 

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On Mormonism: Why I Stay

(A draft I found and finished from this past year.) 

It seems like very few weeks there's a new story going around about my religion. And, unfortunately, it's rarely flattering. Whether it's about church policies, or a certain famous singer putting out an anti-Mormon video I will not watch, or general accusations of bigotry/intolerance, it's constant and unrelenting. And it makes me sad every time. 

I'll be honest with you: there are things I don't fully understand about the church or its history. I've had pressing questions. I've had times of serious doubt and confusion, especially during my teenage years. 

And yet, I stay. 

I don't stay because it's the cool or popular thing to do, because right now it's just really not. I don't stay because it's just something I'm used to, or because I was brought up this way. I don't stay for the social aspect, or the culture, or the food. (Okay, maybe a little bit for the food. We are currently in a Spanish branch in which food is very important, after all.) I don't stay because I worry what people would think if I left. 

I stay because I know it's true. 

It's more than just a belief to me, more than something I do, more than a club I belong to. It's a part of me, an inseparable part of my identity as a person. My faith drives me and gives me purpose and happiness in everything I do. 

In short, the good in my life that has come because of my religion is impossible to fully explain.

And that is why those negative news stories make me sad. Rarely, if ever, do they show the good. Especially the innumerable acts of service facilitated by the incredible structure and organization of the church. Do you have any idea how much time and money is willingly sacrificed by members and the church as a whole to better the world through meaningful service, both in the church and out? Have you any clue how far-reaching the church's humanitarian aid efforts are? Probably not, since it's not something the church chooses to advertise, and neither does the mainstream media. Even I don't know for sure. 

Aside from the good the people in the church do, the actual teachings of the gospel are so good, and so relevant. In my religion I am taught to be like Christ: loving, kind, and compassionate to all people, no matter their beliefs or how they choose to live their lives.

To look for the good in everyone around me.

To be service-minded and selfless.

To love and teach and protect my family.

To keep my marriage strong and healthy.

To obey the laws of the land and be a good citizen.

To take care of my physical body, especially by abstaining from any addictive/harmful substances.

To be well-educated, both spiritually and secularly.

Simply put, I'm taught to be the best I can be in all ways. 

Now, I know the members of the church are not perfect. Mistakes are made by all, even leaders. They're human too, after all. But, cliche as it sounds, the gospel is perfect even when the people aren't. Every day it makes me a better individual, a better wife, a better mother, a better citizen, a better member of society in general. Every day I am thankful for the good things in my life that I know could not have come without my religion.

And so I stay, for now and for always.

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@projectldsconf

I recently set a (lofty) goal of listening to all the General Conference talks from 1971 (which is as far back as they go on LDS.org/the Gospel Library app) to 2011. That's a lot of talks. I expect it to take me a few years, and I'm actually kind of glad about that, because I am really loving it so far and don't want it to end too quickly. In addition, I'm posting a few of my very favorite quotes on Instagram at @projectldsconf, so feel free to follow along over there if you'd like!

I started this project just because I really love General Conference and thought this would be a fun, uplifting thing to do. Honestly, though, it's made such a huge difference for me since I began last month... much more than I was expecting. It sets a better tone in our home than the mindless Netflix shows I usually turn on while I'm working on things around the house. It leaves me feeling inspired and happy. It gives me a spiritual boost that I always need, in addition to my regular scripture study.

Here's my most recent post, which is one of my favorite of all the ones I've shared so far:

Love love love. Probably going to have to print this one off and put it on my fridge. To quote from my Instagram: "I've been making a concerted effort to be more present as a mom, and this quote really nailed what I've been trying to accomplish: to enjoy. To play. To read his favorite book for the umpteenth time today. Even when that means rearranging my priorities and letting housework and other things wait."

Although I do reserve the right to hide the baseball bat from time to time, as I did last night after Eli went to bed, because sometimes mama just needs a break from pitching to her persistent (but cute, very cute) toddler for literally HOURS every day. The child is obsessed. OBSESSED, I tell you. But I'm going to enjoy it, because I know it won't last. 

Passport Stamps

I've spent an embarrassingly long time on the computer today, planning a dream trip to Italy that I really hope we get to take someday, whether it happens this year or not. Honestly, one of my favorite parts of traveling is the planning, so comparing flights and hotels and train tickets is so satisfying, even though it's a bit of a bummer to close the window just before checkout.

I know I'm so lucky to have had the chance to go the places I've been, but it's really just lit a fire that I don't think will ever go away. A few weeks ago Dallin asked a hypothetical question: "Would you rather have new counters, or go to Italy?" and I didn't even hesitate in answering. Definitely Italy. If I could spend every dime we make on filling up my passport with stamps, I totally would. I'd like my nasty, yellowing laminate counters a lot more if they had a beautiful picture of Venice above them.

I mean, really. All the heart eyes for this gorgeousness.

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I'm coming for you, Italy... one of these days!

Let's take a break

I deactivated my Facebook account yesterday. Not permanently, but for at least a week or so. I do this fairly often. It's nice to disconnect with the world sometimes, y'know? And I still have Instagram, which is vastly superior anyway, in my humble opinion. I could write a post just about how much better Instagram is to every other social media outlet. It's my favorite. 

Anyway. So I deactivated Facebook. I have such a love/hate relationship with it. On one hand, it's so handy for keeping in touch with people, especially family. One the other hand, it's a waste of time, and it drives me a little crazy. Here are some things that sparked this deactivation:

• Negativity about my religion. I love my faith, and believe in the gospel and the prophet and other church leaders. The recent addition to the handbook about children of married same-sex couples has sparked so much Mormon-bashing from members and non-members alike, and I just can't handle seeing something so close to my heart being heatedly debated all over the place. 
• Negativity about life in general. Let me be clear: I have no problem with a little therapeutic venting. I do it sometimes too. But if you really have nothing even remotely happy to share, just loads of complaints, please go eat some pizza and Oreos and be happy. ;) 
• Excessive political posts. A little goes a long way. 
• Excessive MLM advertisements, or any kind of advertisements. Again, a little goes a long way. I have no shame in unfollowing people that go crazy. Sorry not sorry. I don't have anything against MLM companies, per se, but such aggressive advertising makes me uncomfortable. 
• Basically anything negative and/or excessive. 

There you have it. And since I don't have Facebook I've been so much more productive today, and I just feel better about myself. For example, here I am writing on my blog, which is something I love to do and wish I did more often. Yippee! Although I better go do something more productive before Eli wakes up from his nap. Like... eat Oreos. Or watch The Mindy Project. You know, important things. ;)

I have a problem.

That title is a little misleading... because I have lots of problems. At least 99 problems. Probably (definitely) more than that though.

Anyway. Today I want to talk about just one, though, and that is my problem with projects.

You guys, I have completed some pretty great, pretty major projects in my house over the past year or so. I have done a boat-load of painting, refinished my kitchen + guest bathroom cabinets, painted my fireplace, stained/painted my kitchen table, and done a lot of general decorating/rearranging/etc. Our house is looking gooooood. It is also looking crazy though, because I'm a professional at beginning projects and not finishing them. I'm also a professional at getting everything I need for a project and not starting because I'm scared.

For example, we have these plantation shutters on every upstairs window. I love shutters. However, I do not love these orange-ish brown shutters. They make the rooms seem so dark. Shutters are expensive, though, so what did I do? I went to my BFF Pinterest and found some great tutorials on painting shutters, bought a paint sprayer, and... that's where we've been for almost a year. Why? Because, as I said before, I'm scared. So scared. Projects give me anxiety like crazy.

I'm currently working on refinishing the cabinets in my master bathroom. And when I say "currently working" I mean I removed the drawers and doors, cleaned them, sanded them, and then realized the stain had dried up (oh and there was only a tiny bit left after doing the kitchen/guest bathroom/kitchen table) so it wouldn't have worked anyway) and the new can won't be here until next week. Oops. Oh well, it's super fun to have all the contents of your bathroom drawers on the counters, right? (False. Not fun. Driving me super crazy, actually.)

Meanwhile, you wanna know what I have been doing this afternoon while I was unfortunately not staining cabinets, like I had planned? I spent that time looking up tutorials on refinishing kitchen counters. You know, because I need another project now. Obviously.

See, I told you I had a problem.