Nachi's pointless rants and recollections

Disclaimer: This blog post is a birth story. If you dislike graphic descriptions of births or anything of that sort, please stop right here. I should also add, that this is a very personal experience, but I chose to share it with the interwebs because I just feel like it. Yeah..


I never liked the phrase "becoming a mom once again", I mean, do you ever stop being a mom after you have your first? No, I didn't think so. You'll always be a mother, it's not something you shut off and turn back on once you're pregnant again. Now, I add this bit of info in here, because as you can tell by the title, what I'm going to write is one of the most amazing experiences in my life. Nevertheless, it does not take away from the experience of becoming a mother, and that is something Luka did for me. Nobody else can ever replicate that moment in my life.

For the  last month or so, I had been actively looking for a doula (google it). Without much luck, I couldn't find one that would come assist me for free. Finally, I got one all set to go, but she had to cancel at the last minute. I mean, its not like I NEEDED one, but I felt like having one would make things so much easier and pleasant for me. At the very last minute, a wonderful doula contacted me and told me she would be coming this past Saturday. I was thrilled. I woke up Ronald from his nap and told him "we have a doula!"

I went to sleep that Friday with a little discomfort. I propped myself up with the seven pillows that reside on my bed and just dozed off. I woke up a few times that night to pee and again with a little discomfort. Nothing major. Finally, at exactly 8:00 am on the dot, something woke me up. Was it pain? I'm not sure, something just dragged me out of dreamworld very abruptly. Something felt off.

At 8:30 am the pain began. I was used to it though. Once you've had a child, you learn to recognize what contractions feel like. I was having them alright, but this didn't mean much to me. I could have them for a while and it still wouldn't mean much. I knew that they were helping progress things along, but I also knew that it could be days or even weeks before I gave birth. I started timing them nonetheless.
The doula was set to come at 11 am. She texted me letting me know she would come at 1 pm. No biggie, I texted her back and let  her know that I was having pains and I was timing them. Everything was fine. Nothing to worry about.

Every so often I would go use the bathroom. Any pregnant woman will tell you that obsessing over discharge is pretty common. You just HAVE to look. It's what we do. Things looked different. A good kind of different. I kept telling myself "this doesn't mean anything." It was good, I was happy that my body was getting ready but I didn't want to get my hopes up. I just didn't want to set myself for disappointment.

I kept timing my contractions throughout the day. Some were 6 minutes apart, then they would go to 10 minutes, then again down to 5-6 minutes. They weren't steady enough to be of concern yet, but I did notice that they weren't going away either. Hmmm...

The doula got home and we instantly got to work. She started showing the techniques we would try once I was finally in labor. We were practicing them so that I could get familiar with them and also to pick which ones felt the most comfortable for me. We did this for a while. All throughout it though, whenever I would get a contraction, she was there telling me to breathe and also helping me cope with the pain. It was amazing. I was in a lot of pain, but she helped me get through them.
Ronald went to get us Pizza for dinner, we ate, then we went for a walk. The contractions weren't stopping, but again, I refused to get my hopes up. By night time, I was really tired and she could tell. She gave me an awesome massage and let me rest.

At around 10 or 11 pm, the pain was starting to become too strong for me. I was not comfortable at all. I was having a very hard time breathing through the contractions. I kept feeling like I needed to use the bathroom, but of course, once I sat down, nothing would come out. I decided to use the shower and just let the warm water soothe my pain. It helped a bit, but not much. Finally, I told myself that this was NOT false labor. It felt like the real deal. Once I admitted that to myself, things started to get intense.

I laid in bed and informed the doula that the pain was starting to get unbearable. At some points, I actually shed a tear. I was determined though. I would NOT go to the hospital until A) My water broke or B) The pain was so bad, I actually cried. I refused to go in and then be sent home because it wasn't time yet.

At around 1 am Sunday, I finally felt them. The toe-curling, wall-scratching, manic-state of mind pain. This was it. I told the doula that I needed to go in even though she suggested I wait until 2am. Nope! I NEED TO GO IN!

We called my father in law to take me. Ronald would stay home and care for Luka until  I was admitted. There was no point in waking him up just in case they sent me back home. I had a couple of contractions in the car and one more in the waiting room. People there are very in tune to laboring women it seems. I didn't have to say a word, they just knew what was going on, before long, I was being whisked away to triage.

I had a few more contractions there. I barely remember seeing faces. All I heard were voices. "How's the pain?" "How far apart?" "Do you feel like pushing?" "I will send you home, tell me the truth."
I answered the best as I could. I don't know who I was talking to but I did my best to answer.

I got hooked up to the machine and that's when things started to feel bad. Not being able to move to cope with the pain was torture. They kept telling me to hold still so they could monitor the baby. I told them that if I held still, I couldn't manage the pain. I needed to lay on my side, or sit down, or move my hips. They weren't hearing it, all they wanted me was to hold still. They even caged me in with both sides of the bed railings so I wouldn't sit down. Well guess what, I wasn't having that either. I sat up and labored as best as I could. They weren't happy, they threatened to write down on their chart that my baby was having heart problems because they couldn't see it on the monitored. I assured them that my baby was fine, call it motherly instinct, and they could very well write whatever the hell they wanted on their chart. I was NOT going to stay still. Finally, the OB came to check me. I was 6 cm dilated, 100% effaced and the baby was at station +1 (google it). Holy shit!

This was it!
I was being admitted!
OMG!

I started to text and call all the people necessary to help get my husband here ASAP.
They offered the epidural and I gladly accepted.
Now, I wasn't planning on getting it, and even when they offered, I really didn't want it.
My logic was, I should say yes now, by the time it takes the anesthesiologist to get here and get everything set up, I could change my mind.

A little while later, I was in my bed, people were setting things up and I was still not staying still for the nurses. I heard at least three of them begging/threatening me to please stay still. Yes ladies, I'm doing this on purpose. The OB finally came to their aid and talked to me. She and I agreed on a compromise. I would stay still if they let me sit up. I would also hold the monitor for them so that it wouldn't fall off while I was wriggling in pain. This didn't go well with the nurse but fuck it. It's the best they were going to get.
The anesthesiologist finally came and informed me that I could get the epidural but warned me that at this point, it might not do anything for me. Did I still want it in place? Yes, I said. I still do. The OB came to check me. I was 8cm already. It seemed silly now, I could have said no for all the good it did me, but at the time, it felt like the right choice. It still does, you'll see.

Now the tricky part came. How is this wonderful pain doctor going to stick me in the back if I couldn't sit still for two minutes? I made a deal with the nurse. You be my "center", you hold me and coach me through the pain and I promise to stay still.
I don't know how in the world I did it, but I stayed still for 15 minutes. I didn't move an inch. I just kept letting my body go through the pain and I concentrated on the task at hand. Finally, the damn thing was in my spine.

By then, Ronald had arrived, he was waiting outside. The pain was still there obviously. Epidurals don't work immediately. Something happened though, I felt a gush. I strongly believed that my water broke. The OB was called in, it wasn't my water, just blood. Bloody show! (google it)

The pain was getting worse and worse, at this point everything was set up for me. They were just waiting on me. What were they waiting for?
Suddenly I knew "I feel like pushing!"
That's what they were waiting on.
The OB and a student were called in and they started getting ready.
Finally, I felt like I exploded and I gushed out again.
My water broke! I was sure this time.
"Yes, that was your water" the OB informed me.

OMG, IT'S GO TIME!

Now this is where everything that came felt new to me.
I felt the urge to push, that's something I didn't feel with my first.
They told me that when that urge came, to hold my breath, bare down, and just push with all I had.
I could feel all of it! I felt my body tense up, I felt my husband's hand on the back of my neck supporting me. I felt strong tight feeling on my bottom when I pushed. I felt my baby's head descending.
So many feelings at once. I was amazed!
After three pushes, the amazing feeling went away.
You see, while you're pushing, your body is actually expelling a baby, but once you stop pushing, it feels like you have something stuck up your vagina. That feeling is NOT pleasant at all.
I went with it though, it was uncomfortable but I let it be and I allowed my body to rest for a few seconds before the next contraction came and I was ready to push.

Again, we went through the same motions. Me pushing, my husband supporting, the OB lubricating. It felt wonderful! Then, when the three pushes were done came the "stuck" feeling.
Ugh!!! I hated it. Each time we took that little break, I would start to panic. It wasn't just unpleasant anymore, it hurt.
I remember saying that I couldn't do it anymore. I hoped they knew that I meant I couldn't deal with the breaks. I was actually enjoying the pushing part.

By the third or fourth contraction of the pushing phase, I remember the OB saying that her head was 1/4 of the way out. "What?!" All of this pushing for just a 1/4? No way! No way I was going to push that many times to get another 1/4 of a head out, and then another, and then another. No! I started to do weird math mentally and I refused the results!
On my fifth contraction I was determined to do more than 1/4. I pushed once, pushed twice but I was ready to give up on the third push.
Something magical happened then. I don't know what my husband said, I don't know what possessed me, but something shifted. The motivation and the strength combined with the panic that was going to come if that baby didn't come soon allowed me to do unthinkable. On that last push, I gathered all the power of all the women who mean something in my life and I pushed down with them. I felt it, I felt her head come out.
OH.MY.GOODNESS.SWEET.RELIEF!

I was told to stop pushing so they could check for the cord or anything else.
Sorry lady, I was no longer in control. My body finished pushing my sweet little baby on its own.
I had nothing to do with that push. It was all instinctual.

I cannot being to describe the rush of emotions that come with birthing a child.
It's combination of relief, happiness, fear, and many other things.
I felt them all.

They put the baby on my chest and I said hi.
Perfection looked at me in the eyes.
She was perfect.


There is obviously more to this story, but if I kept writing, we would end up with a novel and aint nobody got time for dat.

I'm sure I will got some flak about this blog post, but this topic has been on my mind for a long time and I want it to address it.

It finally happened.
The day I was dreading the most.

You see, I knew it was coming. I wasn't so naive to think that it would never come. I just thought I had a little more time you know?

In my dreams, I envisioned a little boy who would never want to leave my side. I would be his teacher, his guide, and he would be a total momma's boy!

But nooooooooo! This little devil had other plans.
He had decided, long before I was ready, that he wanted to go to school.

The conversation went a little like this a few months ago:
"Jeannette, when I go to school?"
"School? Why do you want to go to school?"
"I want to learn, and raise my hand and say me me me me!"

And that was it guys! Right then and there he decided that he was ready to go school, even if I wasn't.

So we signed him up, we mentally prepared him (and me) for this huge milestone.
The day finally arrived and it did not go like I expected.

There were tears, OMG, there were tons of tears! A little tantrum here, a mini nervous breakdown there...
Oh, Luka was fine, all of that happened to me, not him!
He was as happy as ever. Very excited and relaxed.
I on the other hand was breaking down inside.
How could this be? Where did these four years go? It cannot be! My little boy is growing up!

I had a plan all set out though. We would take him to school and I would stay behind with him to keep him company. After all, he has never been in daycare nor does he know about babysitters. This was going to be his first time being without his parents and in the care of a total stranger.

Nope!
The little jerk didn't even care about me!
He went on his merry way, making friends, having fun and all that jazz.
Ronald and I thought about leaving, but I wanted to give Luka a last chance to beg me to stay.
I go up to him and say "Bubba, dada and I are going shopping ok? You stay here, we'll be right back."
"Ok", he said

Ok?
JUST OK?

Dammit, I left the traitor there and went shopping with my husband.
So much for moral support!

Anyway, we came back a few hours later to pick him up. He was lined up with the rest of his classmates waiting to be picked up.
He looked so happy!
Dammit!
Traitor, traitor I said!

All in all, I'm so proud of him. There were two other kids who cried for ages and eventually left with their parents. Luka didn't even show any signs of sadness.
He had fun and made new friends.
He told us all about his day. He colored, they had story time, they had clean-up time and snack time.
He ate "LOTSA cookies" and regular milk and oh, let's not forget the apple.

When we were finally home and he was playing with his toys, I caught a little snippet of a song he made up.
It went something like this:

"Miss Briton, Miss Briton, Miss Briton is a good teacher....She taught us coloring, she made us clean-up. She's a good teacher la la la."

Luka has recently turned four years old.
In the days leading up to his birthday, I started to think about all the decisions I made as a parent even before he was born. Every parent wants the best for their children. For some that means buying them everything they need and want, for others it means teaching them values, and for others it means putting them in the best schools and programs. Whatever it is, we all want to give them the very best, and that's exactly what we wanted for our son.

So, what is it that I wanted for him?
I wanted for him to grow up surrounded by love. I wanted him to look back 30 years from now and remember that his parents loved him no matter what. I wanted him to remember a happy childhood, a stable home no matter how small, and to be proud of the person he turned out to be.

I always talk about how proud I am of him. He is a caring boy, he shows affection, and he is compassionate. These are very good qualities to have, but seeing them on a four year old, my four year old, is even more amazing to me. I feel like every single decision we've made towards raising him has molded him into the little person he is today. Some may not agree with our approach, but everything we do for him is with love.

One of the biggest sacrifices we had to make to give him the best care in the world, was for me to stay home and raise him while my husband worked crazy hours to bring in extra income. I never thought I'd be a stay at home mom, but I did it, and I don't regret it. Sure it was hard, sure I wanted to just go out and be me without having to care for someone else, but this is how it had to be. My husband comes from work tired as heck. He barely sleeps, and there's little time to spend with us, but he's doing his part to provide for us. This allows me the freedom to care for and teach my child as much as I can. It's hard, but it's what we chose.

As a result, I look back into the four years that have passed and I am so proud of us as a family. I couldn't have wished for a more perfect little boy. He makes my heart melt with everything he says. Sure he drives me nuts on more than one occasion. I want to hang him by his feet sometimes. But regardless, he is a representation of our hard work. We did this for him and as a result, we have raised a wonderful son.

Parenting isn't easy. Boy, it's the hardest thing I've ever done in my life, but it is so rewarding.
Now we have a little girl who is soon to arrive, and I have the same dreams and expectations for her.
I'm not too worried though. We have a special little boy whom she can look up to and learn from.
Life is good. No regrets.

He sat me down on a park bench near my house, he said he wanted to tell me something but wasn't sure how I would react.
I sat there, knowing exactly what he wanted to say. I knew what he was going to say, there was no question about it.
He told me he was gay.

I can't imagine how hard it must have been for him to say it. I was one of his very good friends and the thought of losing me because of his sexual orientation must have frightened him.

I looked at him and said "and?"
He looked confused, and then told me that most people would judge.
I told him I wouldn't, the fact that he was gay didn't change the way I viewed him.
He was still as funny, charming, and crazy as he was 10 minutes ago before he uttered those words.
I also told him that I knew he was gay, but I never touched the subject because it's none of my business and it wouldn't matter anyways, he would still be my friend.

I don't know how I came to the realization that gay people are just people. I know there is a lot of prejudice from others and I don't understand it. All I know is that since I can remember, gay, straight, bi or whatever other orientation people associate with, does not change the person. People are people, period.
I think some of it stems from my bible studies. No, I'm not religious at all, but I love to read, and the bible is a book you know?
To me, the bible is a wonderful book filled with stories and lessons. There are tons of things people don't agree with with, but as with any book, you don't have to like everything it says. It's what you take from it that matters.
I was always fascinated by Genesis, it was wonderful to read how everything began from a religious point of ivew. It never ceases to amaze me. I was also intrigued by Revelations. It scared the crap out of me but I couldn't stop reading!
One of my favorite passages though, comes from the book of Corinthians. When I first read it, I couldn't believe I was reading the bible.
Let me show you what I mean:

1 Corinthians 13:4-8 4 
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.

 Love is love people. It doesn't matter what sex you are. Just because a man may love another man, does not make their love less than mine for my husband. Their love is genuine, their love is pure and everyone understands love. At one time or another we have felt it, and you know that love is something we can't control. Love is an unstoppable force with its own mind. It takes us places so high up that you forget you're even human. How can we judge it? We cannot!
I'm not gay, but I am a firm supporter of the LGBT community. Whenever someone brings up the subject (ahem, family...) of gay being wrong, I always try to educate them on the subject. You don't have to like it, but you do have to respect it. Plain and simple.

Any who, enough with my ramblings, love thy neighbor and all that jazz.

Plain and simple, my freaking butt hurts. Every time I try to explain to someone why I groan when I get up from a chair or why I suddenly stop dead in my tracks when I'm trying to sit back down, I find it hard to explain that the excruciating pain I'm feeling is coming from my ass.

I try to gently explain the wonderful phenomenon that is Posterior Pelvic Pain but once I utter those words, people look at me like I'm crazy. Plain and simple people, my ass hurts like a motherfudger!

Why does my butt hurt? Well, let's see, since I got pregnant, my body no longer belongs to me. I have this little devil child growing inside me. He/she took residence in my womb and decided to mess with the delicate balance of my hormones. It made me puke, it made me moody, and it turned me into a pregzilla. Not only that, but this little devil child has the audacity to stretch so long that it pushes my bones around. He/she kicks and turns while I'm trying to sleep and makes my belly jump!
To top it all off, one of those lovely hormones my body is secreting has the wonderful job of stretching out my bones. Yes, you heard it, my bones are being stretched out and my joints are like jelly, hence the pain. Where? In my butt of course.

Lol.
No, I'm not mad at my baby, I just found it funny that I was trying so hard to very modestly explain my butt pain to people. Now I'm just going to say that my butt hurts.

Most holidays are a cause of celebration. People get together, they give each other gifts, sometimes a cake is involved...

There is a holiday in June, that I rarely celebrated when I was little, Father's day.
The only father I ever knew when I was a young child, was my grand-father.
Yes, I had a biological father, but he wasn't around much.
So, my dear grand-father was the daddy figure in my life and he was amazing.
He was the kind of father that loved with all his heart and was never afraid to show it.
He was the kind of father who would cook, do house chores and also do "manly" things like fix the house.
He was a carpenter, a shoe-maker, a plumber, a painter and many more things.
So one could understand why a six year old girl would experience total despair when said grand-father passed away. Right?

My father-daughter experience was short lived. I would never know that kind love again until I was older, much, much older.
Fast-forward a few years and I find myself traveling to a new country to meet my biological father. Sure, I had met him before but nothing important enough to leave a lasting memory of him.
He had a wife and three kids
You can imagine the joy a little nine year old girl might feel at the thought of having a daddy in her life. I was both nervous and excited.
My expectations were met short.
I don't want to get into too many details because this is not a post about him, but Take Two of my father-daughter experience was not a good one.
It was so bad in fact, that I decided men in general were no good.
Growing up I treated men with little respect. All of them were toys for me to play with and discard at my will.
Needless to say, I had a lot of "boyfriends" who came and went like nothing.
I vowed that I would never raise children with a man. I would get pregnant by some random stranger and raise my kid on my own. No man could be trusted, no man was good enough to be part of my family.
That all changed when I met my husband.

The circumstances under which we met were not common. The trials and tribulations we went through were right out of a movie. The love wasn't there from the start. Nobody would have thought that him and I would be a couple. I didn't even believe it, but it happened and we fell in love.
I didn't trust him completely, I had my issues with him, he was a man after all and men could not be trusted.
Still, being with him gave my heart peace. Being in his arms gave my soul a chance to rest, to stop running.
I started to sprout roots and settle in. I started to feel at home.

Right before and immediately after my son was born, I had my doubts. I was going to raise a child with a man and that scared me.
I shouldn't have been scared though. I had nothing to fear.
This man ultimately taught me what it is to be a daddy, and for that reason, this letter is to him.

To a father,
Thank you for loving me, thank you for giving me a space in your heart. Thank you for allowing me to hurt and to heal and thank you for being there to hold my hand while I did it. I love you more than any blog post can express. You are my Prince in yellow shiny armor.
Although you are not my father, you did teach me the kind of love a father is capable of. Thank you for being there when our son was born. Thank you for encouraging me to push harder when I had nothing left in me. I couldn't have done it without you. Thank you for cuddling him when he cried. Thank you for all the pooppy diapers you changed, I hated those. Thank you for staying up late at night rocking him to sleep when I was so exhausted to do it myself. Thank you for kissing our son's boo boos away. Thank you for reading him Dr. Seuss books in full character voices. Thank you for missing us so much when we go to Peru. We miss you too when we are away from you. Thank you for being our rock, our stability, our safe heaven. Thank you for being all the things the others weren't. Thank you for showing me what a real family looks like. Thank you for showing me love, pure and unconditional. Thank you so much for allowing me to grow into myself and giving me time to love you. Thank you for every single little thing you do. You have no idea how much it means to me to feel like I belong somewhere. Thank you so much for giving me my fairy-tale ending. Thank you a million times for being in my life.
I learned from you that men can be real daddy's if they really wanted to. I finally met a man who could fill my grand-father's shoes and exceed my expectations. Our son is blessed to have you as a father.
Thank you.

If I could go back in time right now to the day my son was born, I would tell myself that everything would be alright. I finally found our daddy and our happy ending had begun.