Hollis is Four!

I cannot overestimate how much of a blessing it is to have Hollis in our lives. Words cannot describe the joy, laughter, delight, excitement she brings. Since a picture is worth a thousand words, I thought I'd share some that show the best of our Hollis June.

 

Hollis's Birth Part II

I thought about walking to L&D but decided to let Philip push me in a wheel chair. Turned out to be a good decision, because I had my first strong contraction on the way down the hall. Barb was already anxiously awaiting us at the nurses' station. No one questioned whether or not I was in labor. They efficiently got me settled in a delivery room. After monitoring contractions and baby's heartbeat for a few minutes, I was free to move around. I drank some apple juice and walked around the small room but decided I was more comfortable in bed.

I lay quietly resting with Philip at my head. He would hold my hand and breathe with me through the contractions. They were strong but not unbearable. I kept waiting for them to get stronger, thinking I still had a long way to go. Suddenly, I felt the urge to push. I thought it couldn't be time yet. The contractions were not too strong; my water hadn't broken. I couldn't wait any longer. The nurses and doctors had been thoughtfully leaving me alone, so we pushed the call light. When no one came and I didn't think I could wait, Philip stuck his head out into the hall. A rush of activity ensued. I reached down and felt the soft downy head. Then when Barb was ready, I pushed through one contraction - three times. My water broke and out came a beautiful pink baby, right hand up beside her face (sometime called "reaching for the wallet"). Barb cut the cord and handed the baby to Philip. Another girl and our first morning baby! He named her Hollis June.

Third time proved to be the "charm" for us. This baby was perfectly healthy. Before she had her bath, I held her right up to my skin, and she latched right on for her first meal. Philip bathed her right in the room while I ate my breakfast. I felt well rested, even energized. I had had about six hours good sleep, a short labor, been in the hospital less than 2 hours, and had my baby in my arms. Hollis stayed the night in the room with us and by 24 hours old, we were on our way home.

Hollis's Birth Part I

Nearly four years ago, I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of our third child. I planned to work up until I went into labor but not quite as close as last time. My rotation schedule was such that I could start my maternity leave earlier or later as required, and I did not have call. I passed the 38 week mark without event, and my mother arrived on Memorial Day. My bag was packed, and I had a list of last minute items to throw in - hairbrush, toothbrush, camera, etc. In the evening, I began feeling some light contractions. Because Meriel had arrived so quickly, I was a bit anxious as to how this labor would proceed. I called my friend, Barb, who was to deliver the baby to let her know that I was having regular but very light contractions. We discussed the options, and I decided that I would take a shower and try to go to bed. If I could fall asleep, it wasn't real labor. If the contractions got stronger, I should call her back. Then I asked her if she knew at what time I should go to the NICU to start my rotation the next morning; she said 8 am would be good.

My mother was tired from her trip out from Oregon, so she had gone to bed early. I notified her of our plans and told her we would wake her if we decided to go to the hospital. Then I took a nice relaxing shower and went to bed. Even though it was early, Philip decided to try to get some sleep too, so he would be more refreshed in case the baby arrived in the middle of the night. It took me awhile to get to sleep. I was nervous about laboring. Meriel had arrived so quickly and unexpectedly, I had really had time to notice the contractions. I dreaded another labor like Eris's. The contractions spaced out, and I finally drifted into sleep.

In the wee hours of the morning, I was awakened by contractions. They were still not very strong, so I thought they might dissipate again. I lay in bed, quietly timing them. When they started to get uncomfortable and were regularly 15 minutes apart, I woke Philip. We tiptoed around the house, gathering the last items for the bag. Then, we settled down to a game of Aggravation to wait and see what happened. We did not finish the game. Philip says it was because he was winning; I don't remember. It got to the point where I had to stop playing whenever I had a contraction. Then they were 5 minutes apart. They still weren't nearly as strong as the contractions with Eris, so I worried I was going into the hospital prematurely, but we decided it was time. I called Barb, and she readily agreed. This time, we just slipped upstairs to let my mom know. She came down to sleep on the couch. I dressed, and we were ready.

We arrived at hospital about 5:30, as the first hint of light was spreading over the sleepy city. I was loathe to let Philip leave me, because I really didn't want him to miss this birth nor did I want someone to whisk me off to labor and delivery without him. However, I did not want to walk across the long parking lot, stopping for contractions every few minutes. In the end, I waited in the entrance while Philip parked the car. I could see him the whole time. It seemed like a long time before he was finally back with me. We went in to register together and were not apart again.

Tone Deaf

Ok, I'm not completely tone deaf but neither do I have an innate gift of perfect pitch, or anything near it. I can tell the difference between two notes if they are played right after one another but that's about it. So what is a person like me doing trying to learn to play the fiddle and speak a tonal language?

Why did I pick an instrument which relies upon my recognizing the correct pitch? A fiddle has no keys or frets, so I need my ear to hear and my finger to learn the correct position of each note. I have found various aids available but have read that the best way is to learn by ear. Once I get it down, I will really know it. I listen to fiddle music, slow tunes and fast tunes, trying to get the sound in my mind.  With a tuner in front of me, I play scales and individual notes, getting the feel and sound of each into my finger and brain. Today I played a series of notes, closing my eyes, feeling and listening to analyze each note before double checking on the tuner. For the first time, I was right on for all of them. With enough time and perseverance, I will get it. I will continue to listen to fiddle music and try to play along.

After listening to Thai spoken around me for nearly a year and a half, I feel like I'm finally getting a feel for the tones. When Philip first tried to explain them to me the way he had learned them in his language class, I couldn't differentiate all five of them. Now when these tones are spoken with long vowels, I can usually correctly define them. I have been frustrated because when I ask a Thai people don't use the same terminology that English sources use when teaching Thai. Rising tone, falling tone, and such mean nothing to them. The other day, Oey went through the tones with me the way that Thais learn them. I still don't know all the names in Thai, but when I ask a person which tone a word is and they show me on their fingers, a typical demonstration, I will know what it means.

Thumb is a level tone; try to speak with as flat affect as possible. Forefinger is disappointment, pitch down. Middle finger is excitement, rising high then dropping down briefly. Ring finger is a question, gently rising. Pinky is a dip down then slightly up; I have not discovered a good English equivalent. With my hand held out in front of me, I went through a series of syllables with various tones, and most of the time my tone was correct. With enough time and perseverance, I will get it. I will continue to listen to the music of Thai and try to sing along.

Meriel's Birth Part II

So instead of calmly walking downstairs, I was moved into a wheelchair and wheeled into the elevator to L&D. I used my cellphone to call Philip and let him know he should hurry and to please call the midwife again. I was wheeled straight into a room. My amniotic fluid had not been clear, meaning that the baby had a bowel movement already and was perhaps in some distress. Before I had a chance to get on the bed, I felt that the baby was coming. I didn't really care where I was; I was ready to deliver squatting on the floor, but the nurses were not comfortable with this. Several of them lifted me up onto the bed.

Meanwhile, Philip had not arrived; neither had the midwife. My fellow first year resident Evans was in charge of L&D that night. He was calmly sitting outside the room. Suddenly, the nurses were telling him he had to come in and deliver my baby. He was shocked. He had previously been physician in Kenya where nurses routinely deliver babies, as long as no complications arise. The nurses quickly informed him that this was not the case here, and he better get in there and catch this baby. In the room, the nurses were telling me not to push. This baby was going to arrive speedily whether I pushed or not.

Before I was emotionally prepared, my second little daughter was born; I named her Meriel Rebecca. She was beautiful and healthy, but like her older sister breathing too quickly. I had a chance to hold her, and then while she was being examined, I called Philip. "Where are you? We have a baby girl!" I was nearly sobbing. He was in the lobby and had gotten stopped to fill out some paperwork before he could rush to my side. Don't hospitals understand that paperwork can wait? Then the midwife arrived. By this time, it had been decided that Meriel would need to go to the nursery for observation. For the second time I was separated from my newborn; for the second time I was so exhausted I had to rest before I could join her in the NICU. This time the exhaustion was not from a grueling labor but from working for 16 hours.

Philip stayed with Meriel to make sure that she was ok and that our preferences were followed. Because the hospital had no intermediate nursery, she was put into the NICU with very sick babies. The NICU protocol is not designed to manage babies that are mostly healthy but just need to received antibiotics and observation as a precautionary measure. I had to fight for my right to breastfeed her instead of pump and bottle feed. I was willing to pump and bottle feed if the physician could prove to me it was medically necessary; I knew how to breastfeed and how to tell if she was getting milk. A nurse observed for the first feeding and quickly concluded that I did indeed know what I was doing and that Meriel was in good hands. From then on, the NICU staff worked to get Meriel home with me as quickly as possible. When all the 48 hour lab work and x-rays came through, the neonatologist called me to look at them on the computer. Everything was perfect! He filled out the discharge paperwork, and we were home Sunday morning bright and early. Another less than ideal birth with a delightful homecoming.

The story doesn't quite end there. Upon entering the house, I noticed that the refrigerator was in the family room. During the whole time Meriel and I had been in the hospital, Philip had not informed me of what was awaiting me at home. He had been in the middle of redoing the kitchen floor as a surprise for me when I called him to hurry to the hospital. He planned to surprise me when I came home the next day at noon. I was surprised alright!

Meriel's Birth Part I

Meriel was due at the end of my second month of family medicine residency. I planned to finish my pediatrics rotation, which finished a few days before her due date, then start my maternity leave. Since Eris was born on her due date, I figured my second would be pretty close. I had sort of packed a bag, made arrangements for someone to watch Eris in case the baby arrived before my mom did, and that was the extent of it. I was really busy with residency.

As part of residency, I was on-call in the hospital every sixth night. Since I was a new physician, an upper level resident stayed with me to help me out. I had started my Thursday in the pediatric ward at 7am, was to work at the hospital overnight, and be finished by noon on Friday. I was looking forward to the weekend off. At the start of my night call, Joseph the third year scheduled to be with me, told me I better not go into to labor. He was half joking; he really did not want to be responsible for an intern's job that night. I assured him that I didn't have any plans to do so, after all I was only 38 weeks.

A few hours into the busy evening, I felt a few contractions. I really didn't have time to pay attention to them, as I hurried from the ER to radiology to confer with a radiologist over an x-ray, then upstairs to check on a critical patient, back to the ER to determine whether a patient needed to be admitted, and so on. I kept feeling minor contractions, but just thought, "I've been on my feet since 7am, once I get a chance to sit down, they'll go away." Besides, they weren't anything like the contractions I had with Eris, so I thought it was probably false labor. Every time I neared the end of a particular task and thought I was just about to have a chance to rest, I received another page and had to start in on something new.

I was admitted a patient on the second floor, when I decided that I was really in labor. I told Joseph, and he chuckled; he thought I was joking. He went off to check on another patient. I called Philip and let him know I thought he should call Christy to watch Eris and asked him to call the midwife. Then I quickly tried to finish up all the paperwork required for admitting a patient to the hospital, writing all the orders, writing a brief note in the chart, confirming certain orders with the nurses and asking them if there was anything else I should address. I was about to dictate my History and Physical (H&P), the official document of all the information I had collected relevant to this particular medical case. All of a sudden, I realized that I was not going to be able to dictate coherently; the contractions were becoming too strong and close together. The nurse taking care of the patient was sitting next to me; I asked her to please tell Joseph that I had gone down to Labor Room and that I had not dictated the H&P.

I stood up to walk downstairs but had to sit again to ride through a contraction. My water broke!

I am Mommy

My youngest child's second birthday is quickly approaching, and for the first time the rising toddler does not have a younger sibling. I have a new baby every two years; at least, that's how it's been for the last eight. A major part of who I am is a mother with young babies, a mother with young babies and toddlers. Although Simeon is really no longer a baby, it seems that by his turning two, I will officially join the ranks of mothers without babies. It may seem ridiculous, but it is a big step for me. As mothers, often who we are is very intertwined with who and at which stage are our children. I am Eris's mommy, Meriel's mommy, Hollis's mommy, Simeon's mommy; I am Mommy.

Without an infant in my arms, I feel more vulnerable in a gathering. No one thinks anything of a woman standing alone with baby in her arms, gently swaying. People come up and talk to me because they want to see my beautiful baby. Suddenly, I become alone, with a toddler running of on his own. I have to become somebody more than Mommy. I need to remember that I am Rachel, an intelligent woman capable of lively conversation on a variety of topics. Or maybe I can just run after my toddler.

Simeon slept through the night for the first time this week, a wonderful event. However, it makes me realize that I am on the verge of no longer having a child in constant need of my touch and attention. My baby, my last baby, is growing more independent every day. In a few short months, he will move out of our bedroom into his sisters'. My husband eagerly looks forward to a day in the not too distant future when we can shut our bedroom door for the night. Maybe these changes in my baby will allow alone time with my husband to be measured in minutes rather than seconds. I am a wife.

I will miss midnight feedings, newborn snuggles, the delight of everything tiny. I pray for grace to fully move on and embrace this new stage of motherhood. The last potty training, last baby babble, but also many firsts are that much closer. First time on an airplane without a lap baby, first time when everyone can walk most of the way on a hike. Backpacking, canoe trips, "big kid" adventures; Simeon will be old enough to enjoy these before Eris is out of the house. And I am learning that who I am is not wrapped up in my children, where I live, my education. It is who God has made me and who He is making me. I am thankful that part of who He has made me is Mommy to growing children of various ages.


I am Mommy, now and always.

For My Mother

I am blessed to have grown-up with a stay-at-home mom. My parents made many sacrifices, so that, even when my dad was in graduate school, my brother and I could be with our mother. I know we had so many of the wonderful benefits of having an intelligent, well educated parent be our teacher for 24 hours a day. What I really remember, however, was the joy of having my mom at home even after I went to school. So many of the benefits for older children having a stay-at-home mom are not expounded, especially when the children are sent to school. So here's to my mother, the best one of all!

Thank you, Mom, for choosing to remain at home when I was not. I do not remember the hours you were with me as an infant, changing diapers, rocking, breastfeeding, reading countless books, though, I realize this time you invested helped develop my character. But I do remember never having to worry when I got sick at school whether it would be a bother for you to get off work. My friends all wanted to come to my house because we were sure of a welcome hug, snacks, and a chat about our day. Meals, while not fancy, were homemade and healthy. When I wanted to talk, you always had the time to listen. You knew all my friends, classmates, and teachers, so could easily follow the conversation. You were always there, often taken for granted.

I know the original plan was for you to go back to work when Michael and I were both in school, but I'm so glad it didn't happen that way. Thank you, Mom, for staying at home when I was wanting to be independent. And thank you, Daddy, for comprising to be ok with it. I had the wonderful opportunity to do things on my own, all the while knowing you were available when I felt I needed you, and even when I thought I didn't. When I was in high school, I still normally invited friends to my house. Even though we were perfectly capable of preparing our own snacks, you would frequently have something ready, always yummy and always healthy. We were still also assured of a home cooked supper. What I remember most was that when I wanted to talk, you still always had the time to listen. The time between when I arrived from school and we ate supper was available for us to spend together. Just being with you, I learned so much of being a woman of God, a wife, a mother. I also realized that growing in the Lord is a continual process and that you were still learning.

Even more amazing, God allowed you to be a stay-at-home mom for me when I was in residency. Although you had responsibilities in Corvallis, not the least of which was Dad, you were able to come to Terre Haute for weeks at a time to be a stay-at-home grandma. I don't know how we would have managed through those times without you; the Lord provided the perfect solution (although not so perfect for Dad and my grandparents, maybe). I was so blessed to know that my children were being cared for by the godly, loving woman who was willing to sacrifice so much for her children.

Thank you, Mom, for still being available when I need you. For loving me and my family. For showing me how to follow the Lord and surrender to Him, in all our imperfections. For not expecting me to be perfect, but for expecting me to persevere. For holding on to me when needed, for letting go when it is time. For holding me daily in prayer through these difficult times. For being a friend, for being a mother. I love you!

Lorica of St. Patrick

This post may seem to be nearly two months late but really has little to do with St. Patrick's Day and more about a truly great Christian man. I've been reading a book about St. Patrick I found at the English library. So many myths and legends surround this man; the Irish culture and tradition lends itself to some bizarre portrayals. "The Steadfast Man: A Life of St. Patrick" examines the scarce historical records on the true Patrick - namely, two documents he himself wrote, as well as few contemporary (that is in his lifetime) descriptions of him. Carefully piecing together the details, Paul Gallico is able to accurately (or so it appears) paint a picture of man who truly loved God and spent his life serving Him.

Many of us have heard the story of how young Patrick, at the time Magonus Sucatus Patricius, was taken by Irish raider from Britain and sold as a slave. From there, I knew nothing else of his life other than he later returned to Ireland to spread the gospel and died on March 17th. Not much else of his life is actually confirmed historically; even the years of his birth and death are uncertain. The speculation in this book is interesting enough, but what I have really enjoyed is learning the true character of the man.

Patrick's writings leave no doubt that he was a man of faith and purpose. The Lord clearly called him to spread the gospel to Ireland, and he did. It is encouraging to read of a man, long ago in the fourth or fifth century A.D., with God's guiding converting an entire nation from paganism to Christianity. It inspires me to be steadfast, humble, and self-sacrificing. Patrick gave glory to God for everything he was able to accomplish. That same God is living in me!

Lorica is the Latin word for breastplate which was the name given to certain morning prayers in St. Patrick's era. A lovely one is attributed to him. It's a wonderful idea to think of the first prayer of the day as a protection for the events to follow, like putting on the armor of God in Ephesians 6. Patrick was acutely aware of both physical and spiritual battles in his daily life for which he required the Lord's safekeeping. It is a beautiful poetical prayer that, with the exception of a couple stanzas, I find my own heart echoing.

I arise today
Through a mighty strength,
The invocation of the Trinity
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through Confessions of the Oneness,
Towards the Creator.

I arise today
Through the strength of Christ with His Baptism,
Through the strength of His crucifixion with His Burial,
Through the strength of His Resurrection with His Ascension,
Through the strength of His descent for the Judgement of Doom.

(This stanza reflects some teachings of the church at the time regarding angels, which do not resonate with me.)
I arise today
Through the strength of the love of cherubim,
In obedience of angels,
In service of archangels,
In the hope of resurrection to meet with reward,
In the prayers of patriarchs,
In preachings of the apostles,
In faiths of confessors,
In innocence of virgins,
In deeds of righteous men.

I arise today
Through the strength of heaven;
Light of the sun,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of the wind,
Depth of the sea,
Stability of the earth,
Firmness of the rock.


I arise today
Through God's strength to guide me,
God's might to uphold me,
God's Wisdom to lead me
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's host to defend me
    against snares of devils,
    against temptations of vices,
    against the lusts of nature,
    against all who wish me harm
    from far or near
    with few or the many.

(This stanza reflects the many dangers with which Patrick was afflicted.)
I summon today all these powers between me and evil,
Against every cruel merciless power that opposes my body and soul,
Against incantations of false prophets,
Against black laws of pagandom,
Against false laws of heretics,
Against craft of idolatry,
Against spells of women and smiths and wizards,
Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul.
Christ shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that reward may come to me in abundance.

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ where I lie, Christ where I sit, Christ where I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise today
Through a mighty strength,
The invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through Confession of the Oneness
Towards the Creator.

Count Your Blessings - Running Water

I must have been taking running water in the house for granted. Actually, many of my neighbors do not have running water in their home, so this is something that I do try to be mindful of and thankful for. However, I didn't truly appreciate it, so something had to happen to make me do so. The kids were taking a shower in the bathroom one Friday evening, and Meriel slipped and fell onto a pipe that sticks out of the wall. I was sitting on the couch reading - a few minutes of child-free time. Eris came out to tell me that one of the water spigots had broken and water was rushing all over the bathroom. I thought she must have meant that the knob had come of the spigot, which has happened before. This is an easy fix, just twist the knob back on and turn it to the off position. When I got to the bathroom, however, I realized this is not what had happened. The pipe that sticks through a hole in the wall to connect to the main water supply had snapped in two. I called to Philip to shut off the water to the house.

Philip surveyed the damage and determined that we just had to keep the water off to the house until he could get it repaired. Our shower is a full bathroom shower with a drain in the floor, so there was no need to mop up the water. I took a Thai style dipper shower from the tub that normally stands full in our bathroom. Then we arranged tubs at a few spigots in the house to fill, and especially made sure to have a water bottle or two ready to fill from the filter. Philip turned on the water, causing another bathroom flood but also providing enough water for us to get through until the next morning.

The next morning, we planned to go the the library, so we would be out of the house for a while. Philip would ride the bus to the supply store and hoped to have it all fixed before we returned home that afternoon. In the meantime, we survived the morning with no running water in the house. We washed our hands in a tubs of standing water, flushed the toilet the usual way with a dipperful of water from a tub, and washed dishes outside. I was thankful to have the hose available, as it is connected to the water supply before the turn off to the house. The kids were excited to help wash up outside, and Eris had fond memories of camping.

Philip was able to have everything fixed and the water on in the house by the afternoon. I was very thankful for a resourceful and helpful husband. Even less than 24 hours without water was enough to make me extra thankful the next time I turned on the tap. God has a way of helping us stay thankful for our blessings!

Eris's Birth Part II

The chaplain settled me in a wheelchair and pushed me to the elevator. Philip was directed stay downstairs and fill out paperwork. I was about to protest that I really needed my husband with me but was silenced by another contraction.

It seemed like forever before Philip was able to rejoin me. Then my mom came up. I can't relate clearly much of what happened during the next hours. Resting in the warm water of the bathtub helped ease the pain somewhat. I wanted the water hotter than was allowed; I like my baths steaming. The nurses kept needing to try to find the baby's heartbeat; I would have to sit up out of the water for this, and it was quite uncomfortable. Eventually they requested that I get out of the tub so they could monitor the baby's heart rate better. I was in to much pain and too exhausted to question what was happening. They did tell me the baby was fine, so I just took that at face value.

Laying on the bed, the contractions became even stronger and more close together. I don't remember how far along I was at this point or how long I had been in labor, but I do remember that I was hopelessly far away from being complete. Philip was in too much pain from his back to do any massage, support me to stand and "dance," or even support me on the birthing ball. At one point, he experienced a wave of pain so severe it nearly caused him to collapse. The nurse recognized it and called a "code DAD," or something like that. A bunch of nurses hurried into the room and helped Philip lay down on the couch in the room. Another link in our carefully laid plans gone wrong. I broke down in my resolution to have a completely natural birth, and whined for "medicine." I didn't want an epidural, and I couldn't even remember the name for anything else. It's probably a good thing, because if I had asked for morphine or something else by name, it would have been harder for Philip to convince them not to give it to me. Months before, I had requested that Philip not allow me to give in, since I knew that I would be frustrated with myself if I were to not to stay firm. Philip upheld his end of the deal, better than I did. He later told me that the nurse told him that if I asked for something one more time, she would feel obligated to give me something. Fortunately, at that point I was too exhausted to request anything further.

Philip later mentioned that from his vantage point, it looked like I was relaxing and breathing just the way the Bradley books recommended. In reality, I was just focusing on breathing and couldn't think beyond the end of each contraction. My mom was at my head, breathing with me. I know it sounds strange, but without her there, I'm not sure I could have kept breathing. Finally, I got to the point where I could hardly keep myself from pushing, so I was told to go ahead. It was such a relief to be able to do something other than just ride through the pain. Three hours later, my energy was nearly spent. The baby's heart rate was still okay but mine was spiking very high. I was breathing oxygen between contractions but wasn't getting much of a rest as they were coming too quickly. Eventually, I was offered a vacuum assisted delivery. The baby was far enough down for this but still high enough that it was going to take quite a bit more pushing and not much progress was being made. In my bleary state, I weighed the options and chose the vacuum.

Just two contractions later, my baby was born. In all the excitement, I had to ask if it was a boy or girl. Everyone had forgotten all about that. The doctor handed Philip the baby and he looked stunned. He had been convinced all along that our first baby would be a boy, plus the story of a friend whose recent baby had been mistakenly announce by the grandmother, "It's a boy!" was going through his mind. Finally, he said, "It's a girl!" He placed her in my arms and I named her "Eris Mae."

Shortly after that, Eris was taken to the nursery for monitoring. She was breathing too quickly; Philip went with her. After my stitches were finished, my dad, brother, and two friends who had been waiting came in. They had been able to see Eris in the nursery. By this time it was late and my mom, who is not a night person in the best situations, was exhausted. My Dad drove her home, and I was alone. It was certainly not the happy birth experience I had anticipated. I was too exhausted and in pain to go see my baby in the nursery. I was assured that she was just fine and would likely transition out of this phase without any future trouble, but it still wasn't what I wanted. My Dad came back to spend the night at the hospital with me; he understood my feelings and I was able to cry a little bit.

Four days later, we were able to take Eris home. It was then that I was able to experience all the new mommy feelings of joy and pride. I was so happy to have a sweet baby girl who was healthy. I was proud of myself for going through eleven hours of tough labor and thankful for my husband and mother who had helped me. Since then, motherhood has continued to present challenges but each moment is also filled with so much joy and love. I love being a mommy so much, and I have three other birth stories to prove it!