I'd love to write this post about how moving to a brand new country across the ocean has been pretty dang glorious. How these first four months have opened my eyes to new cultural experiences and I've met tons of new friends and explored all of Amsterdam! I wish I could tell you how glamorous it has been! People keep telling me my photographs on Instagram look like it is "so amazing" here and that we're "adjusting well" and are "living the life." Therefore, I'm faced with the fact that even well-meaning social media posts can warp reality.
I'd also like to believe this blog is about truth. So, let me write the truths for you, friends! The beautiful truths and the hard truths about our first four months as ex-pats...
Let's begin with the hard.
In February I started off super brave (my 'word for the year') and cast aside all my fears and moved here to the Netherlands, with Hubby and three little kiddos. We lived in temporary hotel housing until our belongings arrived several weeks later on a ship and were delivered to our rental home. The kids started a brand new school during that time, Finola's first time doing full-day. It was exciting to ditch our huge 'Merican SUV and navigate the public transportation, stare out of our high-rise apartment at the Amsterdam skyline and sunrises, walk through the parks and get mauled by overly aggressive pigeons. It all felt so cool and new!
Then we moved into our new house, a rental in the 'burbs.
Surrounded by boxes and blank walls, reality set in.
Welcome to starting your life over! This isn't a vacation - this is your new normal. (PS There is no family or friends around to help. And your baby is teething like whoa and waking up every two hours.)
Immediately upon moving in we all got the flu. Bad. As in I personally was more sick than I'd been since childhood. I lost eight pounds (of baby weight, mind you...so I wasn't wasting away) and didn't leave our house at all for two weeks. Five days of it Paul was in China on business and I was alone with the kids, in a depressed fog, trying to stay afloat in all areas of life while battling that virus. The worst.
Finally the fog lifted and I set about trying to get our house in order and feeling like home. We had chosen a fine rental house with plenty of space in a quiet, family-friendly neighborhood. But I soon started to miss our beautiful Victorian back in Kentucky. Lots. (Right now three bachelors are living in it and enjoying all our renovations. I think about it and die a bit inside. Okay, I'm being dramatic...but also kinda truthful.)
There was a lot of thought put into our renovation...and time spent. Maybe too much? I believe God wanted us away from that for a while.
Yes, this move has made me question all aspects of life. I have had moments of extreme loneliness., missing friends and relatives. I have had moments of feeling isolated and without purpose. I will flip-flop between confidence and shyness, bravery and fear. There are days of anger and wondering God's purpose in bringing us here -- and then other days the "why" is so obvious it is shocking.
I really do believe He has perfect timing, and from what I can tell this experience is meant to be both enriching and utterly humbling for me. To grow us as a family and in our marriage. To stretch us. To show us what is important. To open our eyes to that which we took for granted.
We have had plenty of stressful moments where I have literally said, in tears, "I don't think I can stay here. It is too hard." Then the next day I look out at the canals, or I take a run by the flower farms, or I get a text from a new friend, and I think, Maybe I'll make it through this after all.
I think many ex-pats experience the same thing -- a hard first few months. All of a sudden all you have is each other. Which is so beautiful...and humbling. And sometimes painfully hard.
Then you grow, and adjust, and begin to adapt to your new home. Your heart opens enough to start breathing fully again and enjoying things. And that is where I am at in this moment, four months in - finally breathing normally again.
Okay, so now let's talk about the beautiful truths, because there have been plenty of those, too!
Riding a bike again for the first time since eighth grade! I love, love, love cruising around on our bikes, both solo and as a family! Paul and I have gone on several dates biking around to different locales and it was the most exhilarated I've felt in years! I seriously feel like a kid again every time I am on my bike, zooming along the bike paths with the wind whipping through my hair. We even biked to church on Sunday! It's my favorite thing.
We've been able to travel as a family to Paris and Morocco. Both trips were so different and complete treasures. Paul and I have traveled internationally together before, and I've no doubt our romantic getaways would have continued. But without this move I honestly don't think I'd have taken on Paris with three littles, or Morocco with a tiny baby. (That's a hard no, honestly.) Definitely looking forward to more family adventures here!
I started running consistently again! It is so nice running along the road beside beautiful canals, farms and fields. Currently looking for a half marathon to register for, as I honestly believe being registered for a race is mental health necessity for me. 100% serious.
The kids go to an awesome international school, have made some friends, and are adjusting just just fine. Cormac does, however, miss all the rules and order of Catholic school. (Not kidding.) Finola, on the other hand, is thriving in the more Montessori-style of classroom.
Whitman is growing like a little weed, sprouting teeth, crawling to everything he shouldn't, yelling loudly to get attention, making giant messes and all with a sweet grin that will make you forgive him in a heartbeat. He might be my loudest and most persistent child yet. God help us.
The weather has been lovely! Springtime here, which may be an anomaly, has been warm and sunny and breezy.
We live within an hour of the sea! You don't know how good this is for my soul. I've gone twice, and can't wait to visit more beachy spots this summer!
A lot to be thankful for, amidst the tough stuff and the heart work.
So I'll grow with the hard, and cling to the beautiful.
+ + + + + + + + +
Some random moments from our first four months...
bikes + canals forever and ever.
Riding the metro with Whit right after we arrived. It was February and very, very cold + windy.
our temporary high-rise view in the land of tulips. sunset and sunrise every day.
the new house. notice the creepy fingers in the mail slot.
After the movers first delivered our stuff to the new place. we are still getting settled even after four months.
on one of our many, many stroller walks to the grocery store - before I was brave enough to drive a car!
the metro stop near our house goes all the way to centraal station!
This date night back in late March has been our only venture to the actual city center, thus far. #reality
red light district - post-flu. I remember how sick I had been just looking at this pic.
ducked into a random sushi place during our rainy date night.
a walk in the nearby forest in early spring.
I'm still trying to decorate our quirky home built in the 1970s.
Twice a week I pick the kids up from school and we all ride the Metro home. We are quite a crew!
Dutch beach vibes.
Enjoying a tapas fest in Amsterdam on Mother's Day.
Brothers on a beach day!
hanging out on the grassy knoll with some neighbor friends.
beautiful spring canals.
Celebrated our very first 'King's Day'
Whit hanging on King's Day at the home of some new friends!
I never tire of the wildflowers in our 'hood.
Finola getting artsy at school. One of her art teachers is our landlord and she sends me pics!
Proud of his artwork at school.
a windmill on our drive to the seaside.
red poppies at the metro stop near our house.
IKEA with the three kids is an adventure in itself!
Cormac and his unending search for shells.
winter on the metro.
at one of the many parks near our house. playground and duck pond around every corner.
After four months, the blondies are adjusting, too - and dare I say, thriving.
we have experienced a LOT of wiggly teeth, sprouting teeth and losing teeth since our arrival here.
Finola and I found our new date spot (to replace Target.) Hello Hema!
We eat a lot of sweets here. #coping #dutchlovesweets
We have embraced the bike life. Paul even takes all three at once! #superdad
These two are now only one year apart in school instead of two. It is as fun and full of drama as you'd imagine.
Family picnic at the Amsterdamse Bos (the forest).
Mostly our lives are just everyday stuff like this, though.
Fresh flowers every week! My little splurge since moving here.
Yep, this kid is as happy as he seems in pics.
Finola celebrating birthday #5 with her class at school!
We decided to embark on our ex-pat adventure to the Netherlands for a few key reasons, with one being that we wanted to travel more around Europe and beyond!
I sat talking with a mama at coffee when the kids first started school here. She was a seasoned ex-pat with several kiddos of her own, and she had that fabulous, confident aura of wisdom about her.
So I asked, "Where would you recommend we take our kids first for a long weekend?"
"Paris!" was her immediate response, and she started rattling off all the amazing things that are kid-friendly in the City of Love.
I listened a bit doubtfully. Paris? From what I remember on my high school German trip, it was kinda crazy, with a bunch of museums, masses of tourists, and crazy drivers. (Thankfully we were in a tour bus!) However, I had once told Finola, my almost five-year-old, that I would take her to the Eiffel Tower and we would have a picture together there -- just here and I! She loved the idea and we subsequently talked about it on a regular basis.
Now was our chance!
Despite my doubts, our first long weekend here - Easter! - we were hopping in our newly-acquired station wagon and driving across the border to France.
And if you are judging me for drinking wine at a gas station while on a road trip with kids...then you probably don't have kids. Or you don't have three kids. Or your kids have devices which keep them quiet in the car. And hey, I wasn't driving, so, I indulged. Viva la France!
Without further adieu, here are a few mama tips for seriously enjoying Paris with your three small kids...
1. Stay within walking distance of the Eiffel Tower. We walked about 30 minutes to get there, taking in the charm of the Parisian streets, and stopping for crepes if we were hungry at the cafes that abound. We have three kids - ages 6, 4, and 6 months - so thirty minutes was about our max. We pushed the baby in the sit-n-stand and the older two took turns riding, too. We also brought a baby carrier along to be able to mix things up!
One of the days stopped for crepes + coffee at Le Dome, a cafe super close the Eiffel Tower.
A mama-daughter 'cheers' to Paris!
2. When choosing a spot - rent a private Parisian apartment, rather than a hotel. Find one with kid-friendly bedrooms and toys! I much prefer having some personal space when traveling with kids, and when they have a separate bedroom everyone wins. I mean everyone. On every level. Just sayin. ;) I loved ours, as it was in the city and convenient to everything, and I felt for the weekend as though we were real Parisians. Also, was no more expensive than getting a hotel in the same area.
we had a lovely terrace with city views.
our place was beyond adorable. you cannot get this charm at a hotel.
the blondies adored their bedroom.
Baby Whit probably enjoyed himself as well.
hubby did breakfast runs to the market each morning.
most of our meals were purchases at a little market across from the street. oh, and we ordered pizza twice. #noshame
3. Go to the Eiffel Tower at dark! Let the kids run around (you know, near you) while you and your love drink wine or champagne underneath it! This happened for us at about 9pm. Just throw a reasonable bedtime out the window that night! At 10pm the Tower started twinkling! My advice is to bring your own bottle of wine (and that trusty bottle opener) or you'll spend 25 euros for a mediocre bottle of red. Wine is inexpensive at the grocery shops along the walk there.
4. Spend an entire day hanging out around the Eiffel Tower. (Do you sense a theme here?) With kids this is the way to go! There are many super cute, fenced playgrounds that provide a beautiful view of the tower. Pick up a baguette, some fancy cheeses, and an assortment of tapas at one of the supermarkets on your walk there. Or there is the loveliest food stand with red metal tables right by the playground with the mini-carousel. The pastries and sandwiches there are so, so delicious. There is also hot mulled wine, and really good coffee. You can sit and stare at the Eiffel Tower as you enjoy it all. Your kids can act like fools and run around the lawns, which would normally make you crazy but cest la vie you are in Paris at a casual outside park and it is encouraged that they run and act like normal little kids.
5. Buy some cheap felt berets and then head to one of the two BIG carousels beneath the tower. Buy a ticket and hop right on with your kiddos! (There was no line when we went, even on a busy Saturday!) One of my favorite moments was on that carousel, going around and around and looking up at the Tower. It was pretty surreal. I kept thinking, Is this real life, or an Audrey Hepburn movie?
6. Take a leisurely walk along the Seine River. You could also take a river cruise if you've got the time. We simply walked from the carousel to the ferris wheel, which wasn't that far (maybe took a half hour) and there was a lovely little playground along the way. If you are walking on the same side of the Seine as the Eiffel Tower, towards the ferris wheel you can't miss it.
taking a break as we crossed the Seine.
7. Take a ride on the huge ferris wheel and see an amazing 360 degree view of Paris! Our kiddos loved this! The line was not that long, even for a Saturday on Easter weekend, and it provided a nice break from the walking.
I was legit terrified but did it for the kiddos!
8. Visit the Louvre...even if you don't go inside at all. The Louvre is totally worth the ticket price, and I've heard there are companies that do awesome private tours that cater to young children. Had we had another day I may have booked it. But we got to the Louvre at the end of a long day and pretty much all we did was walk around the glass pyramids and take some family pics. Worth it! The walk up to it is a lovely park with lots of sculptures, and when you get to the huge courtyard with the pyramids there is plenty of space for the kiddos to run, while listening to live music.
Our only family pic not taken with a selfie stick.
9. Bring a selfie stick. This is my favorite advice to give for traveling anywhere with tiny kids. You're gonna want some family pics, obviously. Sure, you can ask strangers to take them. That could turn out completely fine. But with tiny kids it is hard to get a good one in one or two shots. Also, they love to see themselves in selfie mode, so you'll tend to get better smiles/expressions. Also, you can take a billion photos and not feel like you are bothering anyone (except your family...but that's okay, they love you!) Bonus tip : the best pics are when you yell "Everyone look silly!!!!!!" but then you and your partner do NOT act silly but smile happily. Your kids look adorable and will more likely be smiling, and you will not look annoyed because you're trying to coerce them into taking a nice family pic. Win-Win.
10. Embrace a laissez-faire attitude! When traveling with littles, don't have a rigid schedule. Keep it all very simple, and embrace all life's small pleasures. Literally, my only agenda for this trip was to get our entire family up on the Eiffel Tower. Guess what? That didn't even happen. We did, however, all make it to the Tower at night to see it twinkle. They took pics of their mom and dad kissing and toasting with plastic cups of wine underneath it. On the final night, the older two went with my husband while I stayed at our apartment with the baby. They made it to the first level, walking up the stairs, despite a huge line and Finola almost having a meltdown before they got there. We did all the other things mentioned above, at a very slow pace, and knowing that at any time the kids could decide it was time to grab an Uber home.
So was a weekend in Paris worth it with three littles? YES. Every moment. Sweet memories were made, without any crazy drama from either parent. Hurray!
That is what our kids will remember - that we were happy.
"Life is a daring adventure, or it is nothing at all."
I have always found this quote inspiring. Well, when I say "always" I mean since I started doodling it in my college notebooks (which I still keep, yes, every single one) along with random self-written poetry and the epic beginnings of many, many novels (all still unfinished.)
I can say, even as a young girl walking endlessly around the perimeter of our farm, that I've always craved adventure. I have tried to "say yes" to most opportunities that have come up in my life, especially pertaining to travel.
Some examples (paraphrased by me)...
Dad: "Wanna drive 24 hours straight and climb this 11,000 ft mountain with a group of us and then immediate drive back home?"
Me : Sure!
Friends: "Wanna come visit me in NYC {Dallas, Fargo, Boston, Canada, etc, etc.}?!?!?"
Me: Alright! Booking flight now.
Dad: "Wanna be a counselor on this church youth group trip, even though you just flunked out of your first year of college and have no clue what your next step will be and probably should be getting your life together? PS - there are mountains involved!"
Me: Sign me up!
Future Hubby: "Wanna move back from the new state you just moved to two weeks ago and continue dating me, oh yeah, and get an apartment together for a few months even though that is something you swore you'd never do and your parents might literally murder you?"
Me: Yes - that feels like the right risk to take!
(PS...we ended up married, oh, like six years later, so... yeah... Also, my parents think he is awesome him so it ended up okay.)
Future Hubby: "Wanna move (again) to another state and see if our relationship might really work (living separately this time) now that we are four years older?"
Me: Um...alright! My Parents: Wanna fly to visit us in Prague and travel around Europe for a couple weeks, even though youjust birthed your first baby and are basically hot mess? Me:Are there beer gardens? Then yes.
Hubby: "Wanna move to Amsterdam even though we just finished our dream home renovation and everything finally feels settled in life, oh and you just had another baby?" Me: Yes. God help me, but yes.
Oily Friend: "Wanna fly from Amsterdam to Seattle to hang out for a few days with twenty women you only know through Facebook and Instagram?"
Me: Yaaaaaaaaaaaaas!
These are just some of the examples. It hasn't always been convenient or seemed like the ideal time, but I have never regretted a travel adventure so I will keep on saying 'yes' whenever it is possible.
However, this spirit of bravery cannot be limited to travel. I have begun to think about other areas in my life that I've started to be more adventurous in, or that I want to be.
Motherhood. Friendships. My business. Witnessing about Christ.
All require a spirit of adventure if life is to be experienced to the full!
So that is what I am working on this year. My word is 'brave.'
I want to speak my truth courageously, and set about doing things that I never thought I could do before. I want to attempt things that previously I've been too scared to do, believing the lie that those things aren't meant for someone like me.
I'm casting off limitations I've put on myself and living 'wild + free.'
Since his birth I've staring at the wall of Baby Whit's nursery a lot. (The chair where I nurse faces it, so...)
Upon that wall are these words...
When I first hung this piece of artwork up, I thought - "This is perfect for our new baby! It is all about having an adventurous spirit and trusting God and being 'born for such a time as this!'" I loved it and thought it could inspire our babe as he grows up.
But I now know these words were actually meant for me.
You see, recently an opportunity presented itself to our little family. My husband was offered a position in his company that would mean we would have to relocate to Europe - for several years at least.
Exciting! Adventurous! Scary! I questioned God's timing. Why would this come about now, when we have a brand new baby? When we have built solid friendships here and a sense of community - both in our neighborhood and church and beyond? When everything seemed so comfortable and safe?
But as my husband reminded me recently:
"Life begins at the edge of your comfort zone." Such a great quote. God doesn't give us our best life by keeping things "safe" - he wants us to trust in Him. I believe that sometimes He pushes us to our limits so that we learn to trust Him and that nothing else is going to give us his level of comfort and peace. Not jobs, not houses, not people, not stuff...just Him.
So I sat there in the nursery, butt glued to the chair, breastfeeding our tiny new babe day after day, staring up at the those words in clear, bold black and white font...and it was like God was speaking straight to my heart.
I was born for such a time as this. I needed to give God room in my life to prove himself faithful. I needed to let faith, not fear be my guide. All of it. Speaking to me. For this time, about this decision, right now.
Hubby and I are no strangers to adventure, or uprooting our lives. He moved to Minnesota from Kentucky at age twenty -- and praise the Lord that he made that move...as it led us to meet each other!
Then he moved to Jackson, Tennessee for a job after he graduated college, where he began his career and made some amazing friends.
I briefly (brief as in two weeks) moved from St. Paul, MN to Portland, OR before deciding to move right back to continue to date Paul, and see where our relationship might lead. Then I moved from Minnesota to Cincinnati after I graduated college, leaving the only state I'd ever lived in and pretty much everything I'd ever known...again, to see if a relationship with my now-husband could work. (It does!)
We survived all those moves, those big changes, and as I look back, each one enriched our lives in some way or taught us something invaluable. In each situation we had each other, so I guess that says something about our relationship and God's plan.
So, after several weeks of prayer and discussion, and me staring up at that the words of that sign, Hubby and I decided to accept the job and move our family across the ocean. We will move sometime in early spring!
I have no idea how I'll cope raising three small children in a foreign country.
I have no if it will be good or not-so-good for my mental state.
But those are all uncertainties that I will pray about and give to God.
For those curious we will be moving to Amsterdam. We have traveled there together once, before we ever thought we would end up moving there. (Read about that trip here.)
in the city.
in the country.
Prayers would be much appreciated, friends, as well as advice from others who have done the ex-pat thing. We are both nervous and excited about what life may bring!
Have you ever had to move due to a job opportunity?
Is there a new opportunity in your life that excites you, but you are avoiding because it seems a bit scary or uncomfortable?
Friend, my prayer for you is to pray, trust, and go boldly!
Each birth story is unique, raw and real - teaching us about love and, ultimately, about ourselves.
When I birthed Cormac six years ago (at precisely 4:44pm on a blazing hot July day) that first night I thought nothing of writing his birth story, but spent the entire time bedridden, still with zero feeling from the waist down, catheter inserted, completely exhausted, with absolutely no idea what to do with the sweet, hungry, crying baby whose diapers my husband had to change. I didn't write his story until months later, when I finally felt like I had processed it all, and was not in a new mama haze. // Read that story here //
I remember after birthing Finola I sat up that entire first night (she was born at 9:12pm) grinning happily to myself, high on birth hormones, and writing out her birth story in my head as she rested peacefully in my arms. I refused to put her down. Everything had gone in such a way I wanted to replay it over and over in my mind.
Flash forward four years. I'm older. Maybe a bit wiser, but mostly older. And much more tired.
Hubby and I finally decided, after much prayer and deliberation, to give it another whirl, leave it up to God and see what happens. We wound up very quickly with a positive pregnancy test back in early January. (Oh, those Christmastime conceptions!)
While I didn't blog much about it, mostly tiny blurbs on Instagram, this pregnancy was very similar to my others. Lots of first trimester all-day nausea, a lovely second tri, and then a very uncomfortable third tri. Weirdly, I gained the exact same about of weight each time, although this time I focused more on eating healthy, rather than hitting the gym every single day as I did with Finola. Being older I was simply more tired, more busy with the other two children, and to be honest it just got really uncomfortable doing cardio.
Even without being on the treadmill all the time I really thought this baby would come early, like Finola did. But at my 36 week check I was only dilated 1-2cm (versus 5cm at that point with Fin!)
So I decided to stop getting cervical checks. It is optional at my midwife practice and honestly I was feeling a bit unprepared to give birth anyway, as our nursery was basically a hollow shell at that point.
The month before my due date was spent hustling to get the nursery, and my mind, prepared for a third baby.
In that final week I thought I could go into labor at any time. The Braxton-Hicks contractions I'd been having for quite a while got a bit more intense but nothing timeable. Almost every night I'd wake up from them, or severe heartburn, and then go back to bed after an hour of no real action. In truth, I dreaded going into labor during the night because I didn't want to go into the process super tired, and didn't want to stress about getting in touch with someone to come stay with the kids.
I believe I was mentally blocking this labor.
My due date of September 13th came and went. I couldn't believe it. Wasn't the third baby supposed to come early and basically fly out??? Kidding. I didn't really think it would go quicker but honestly did think I would go early.
I was mentally preparing for the labor and birthing as best I could. It was the same "plan" as last time, but this time I'd be incorporating my essential oils into the process. Every day I diffused oils like Valor, Peace + Calming, and Release in our home - to help get my mind and body supported for the birth. I applied Joy and Sacred Mountain to my skin and my diffuser bracelet regularly to feel grounded and happy for baby's arrival.
I had also read a couple books on hypnobirthing, although I admit I didn't wholeheartedly buy into it -- an "easy, pain-free birth." To be clear, I think that can happen...but when you doubt something I don't think your brain is able to hurdle that doubt and block the pain. You have to truly believe it...
...and I was more in the "This is going to hurt like hell, but I'm powerful enough to let my body do it's job" mindset. Warrior versus zen mama.
We hired a doula again to be there as my liason with hospital staff and emotional support birthing coach. I know most people just have their husband/partner be that...but Paul knows he is best appreciated as a silent encourager who is simply present with me.
Here is how it all officially went down - early on a Saturday morning, with the other two kids already safely in Louisville with their grandparents (phew!)
3:30am
I woke up with a contraction that was stronger than the usual Braxton-Hicks. Knowing I was several days past due and that I could be in labor at any time, I got up immediately, noted the time, and tentatively started gathering some last minute items to put in our bags. I had slept in the comfy tank dress I had worn the day before because I really wanting it to be my "birthing outfit" -- as opposed to a hospital gown. As the contractions continued every ten minutes or so, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and got ready to leave. Something in my gut (or uterus) told me this was it. The contractions were now about 8 minutes apart and there was noticeably more pressure. And some bleeding, which was another good sign. 4:30am
Texted my doula to let her know about the consistent contractions, and that I planned to call my midwife soon. I told her most likely would be heading to the hospital. Then I woke Paul up and told him that Baby's arrival was imminent! Called midwife office and when the midwife on duty called back she said she would meet me at the hospital. I reminded her (as I was told to) that last time I went really quickly. But I think that since my last check (weeks ago) was only 1-2cm no one seemed really worried. 5:00am
Texted doula that we were headed to hospital and would meet her there! 5:30am
We arrived at the hospital, which was quiet in the early morning hour. Encountered a random person, presumably a new dad, who led us to the floor where we were supposed to check in. I had been having pretty intense contractions since we arrived -- and was finding it hard to concentrate on his friendly and excited banter. Paul chatted with him while I silently breathed through each surge.
When the nurses at registration heard my last check was 1-2cm (weeks ago!) they had me fill out a bunch of paperwork and then put me in triage. Triage nurse : "Here is a gown to put on." Me : "Um...can I just wear this?" gesturing to my tank dress. Triage nurse, blank-faced : "Um...I guess so."
She immediately starts to hook me up to the fetal monitor. I interject that I don't want to be hooked up to the fetal monitor. She says she needs to have at least 15 minutes of fetal monitoring. I agree only when she tells me she will then take me off the monitor. I did not want to be stuck to a machine in any way.
At this point, with the doula not having arrived yet, I am direly wishing I had brought a copy of my birth plan. I was having some scary flashbacks to my experience laboring in the hospital with Cormac, when I felt completely alone and that none of my birth preferences were being adhered to. I now knew I had to speak up for myself and make sure things happened the way I wanted...or at least as much as I could.
By this point the contraction intensity was about a seven and they were only about two minutes apart. The nurse checked me and pronounced me 5-6cm dilated and 90% effaced. Good progress but I was surprised I wasn't farther along.
I was very anxious to get to my labor/delivery room and out of triage. All the tub rooms were occupied, but I was told I would at least have a shower. Waiting to get unhooked from the monitor was taking what felt like a lifetime.
6:20am
Finally, when the contractions were starting to become blinding, and still no sign of my doula or midwife to check me, I was brought to my room, still hooked to monitor. I got through a few contractions lying on the table, and then asked if I could labor in the shower. The contractions were now about only a minute apart. This forced the nurse to unhook me from the monitor. I was feeling very nauseous, and the pressure "down there" was becoming so intense that I had to stumble bow-legged to the shower, legs shaking violently. Mentally I was trying to hold it together, trying to be calm and breathe through each contraction steadily, in through my nose ABCDEFG, out through my mouth HIJKLMNOP, or something to that effect. I knew I had to stay on top of every contraction, but was finding it very difficult.
Paul, for his part, knowing I did not want to be touched or hear his chipper words of encouragement, set about plugging in my diffuser, dropping in some Peace and Calming, and texting my doula for her status.
6:40am
My doula arrives I believe at approximately this time. I feel a sense of relief in some ways that I finally have someone to help me through the last, most difficult waves.
In the 45-60 seconds of relief between contractions, I kept asking for my midwife.
"Where is the midwife?!?! She needs to check me." I knew I was close. I felt all the things I felt when I transitioned with Finola.
Including : the sense that I could no longer deliver naturally. I was starting to feel panicked.
"Okay, I am too old for this. I need the epidural. Order me the epidural now."
Both Paul and my doula told me I could do it, I'd done it before, etc. etc. I was hearing none of it, as I felt literally like I would die if I couldn't push the baby out soon. The "urge to push" is what I was experiencing. In fact, most likely I had transitioned in the shower and probably reached 10cm fifteen minutes prior.
I was then informed the midwife was on her way. I was disappointed it wasn't one that I saw regularly. In fact, this was the midwife I'd only seen one time throughout my pregnancy!
7:00am
Midwife gets there, I get on the table quickly to be checked, still dripping wet and naked from the shower. She immediately exclaims happily, "You're complete! You can start pushing!"
Music to my ears!
For the next seven minutes, I was in the zone. Conscious of everything.
The huge light descended from the ceiling. The room filled with people. Women. Paul was the only male.
The doula and a nurse held my knees up by my head as I quickly recalled how to "bear down" and push when a contraction happened.
"Here's one!" I exclaimed and did whatever I could to make that baby come on out. Yep, I totally pooped on the table and I couldn't care less.
I screamed each time I pushed. Not the gutteral, animal moans I did with Finola. High-pitched shrieks. Three of them. In the back of my mind I silently apologized to any other laboring mamas hearing me from neighboring rooms.
7:07am
I felt the baby's head come out. There was no stopping now - I gave another loud shriek and pushed!
The rest of baby slid out quickly.
The greatest relief. Honest first thought : "I did it...and I'm never gonna have to do it again." There was no sadness...just absolute certainty.
Somewhere in the chaos of the room, with Baby shrieking all kinds of new baby cries, I heard Paul announce, "It's a boy!"
I felt ambivalent about the gender. Baby was out. Baby was crying. It was good.
I cried, too. A brief, ugly cry.
this is real. the best feeling.
When they handed him to me and I marveled at his tiny size. So much smaller than the other two. Long delicate fingers and toes. I held him close while the midwife went immediately about the business of delivering the placenta, etc.
"Whitman Paul is his name," I heard Paul say, so they could write it on the board. But they only wrote Whitman, along with the date and time.
"Baby Whit," I said lovingly to him and him alone, knowing the name would be perfect for him.
The birthing hormones were surging through my body as I put him to breast not long after. He latched as if he had been practicing every day for the past nine months. We were off to a good start together.
Everything ended well, baby in arms, a beautiful boy. Praise be to God.
"...and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have its richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body." - Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
We LOVE you Baby Whit.
And because your journey began way back in January, with a completely overwhelmed mama finding out she was preggo...
We've gone from nice tans and well-chiseled abs...
To...well, sort of pasty and our abs have gone taken a leave of absence for one reason or another.
But hey - at least we still travel, right?
We have had lots of fun, both pre-kids and with kids!
We've been blessed with two smart and lively blondies...who give us challenges, of course.
I look forward to this eleventh year, raising one more tiny baby with you, getting through more reno projects, Cormac's first year of kindergarten and all the new things for our smart + perceptive + sensitive kid, and Finola's mood swings and BIG joyous personality that both delight us and wear us out.
I promise that someday I'll nag you less about the renovations. Someday you'll come home and I'll have made a more creative meal than "chicken + rice + cheese" (AKA whatever I had left since somehow we've eaten everything fresh) or "I seriously cannot cook tonight so can you please get us takeout???"
Someday I'll have more interesting things to say, besides "Oh my gosh Finola {-did the most hilarious thing in Target today!"} or {-made me want to cry in Target today."}
Someday we'll spend an entire Saturday binge watching TV shows again, and go on late night walks, and take super romantic vacations, and it will be so very "adult" again.
But until that 'someday,' which I know will come much quicker than either of us want it to, please know this:
Ten years later I still love you dearly. Our life is less simple, but no less lovely.
Ten years later you are still the only man I would ever marry.
I pray for many, many more years with you.
Happy anniversary!
(PS : Your present is this blog post...and a baby!)
