Home Birth vs. Hospital Birth

As it gets closer and closer to my due date we are starting to get things in order.  At some point I have to pull out the infant clothes and wash the tiny diapers. It might be a good idea to order some more snappis, too.  I’ve paid the deposit to our doula. At my next appointment my doctor wants to check my cervix for changes. Baby has dropped. Significantly. 

As we are looking how quickly this is all approaching we are at a point where the “where” of the whole thing is looming before us. And honestly I’m torn. The midwife we’ve chosen is wonderful. But she lives an hour and a half away. North of Seattle, without traffic. Which is fine if I have the good sense to go into labor around midnight.  But truthfully it’s not a big deal when it’s someone I trust and have faith in their experience. Not like I have a plethora of options either. I’ve talked to other midwives and while I’m sure that they’re fine, I haven’t quite gotten that “feeling” with them that I have with her. So I’m willing to accept the travel time and even the possibility of an accidental “unassisted” birth. My doula has been with laboring women almost as long as I’ve been alive so I don’t feel like I would be alone.

I have been adamant that I wanted to have this baby at home. I want to crawl into my bed and pull the covers up and snuggle my husband and our new baby and all my girls all at the same time. I want the sights/sounds/smells of my own home and relax in the familiarity of it all. I want my house and my family all together.

Or do I?

I reluctantly took the hospital tour.  St. Elizabeth’s is a wonderful, brand spanking new, hospital. I’m pretty sure they’re still walking around taking that plastic film-y stuff off of the electronics. They are supportive of natural birth and have never had a ban on VBAC. My doctor lives in town. All things considered it’s really rather nice.  When I was there the nurses were very sweet.  I asked what the average stay was and she said “24-48 hours, depending on your doctor. I know if I had four other kids at home I’d enjoy the quiet time!”. It was cute and jovial and with no malice in it.  I kind of laughed her off and thought of this blissful picture I had of us all puppy piled in my bed while my birth team puttered around the house. 

But the last couple weeks have been rough. I keep hearing that nurse in my head. How nice would it be? Just a day. Maybe two. Just me and Georgiana and Doug. Other people to bring me stuff.  Not feeling like I had to get up and do anything. Time to sleep and nurse and just love on my newest daughter.  Let’s face it, this house and this family are my whole world. This is my stress and my joy. My accomplishments and my failures.  I feel guilty for thinking that at some point my husband might have to leave his wife and daughter and come home to sleep in an empty bed. Is it fair for me to think of this as time for myself.  I’m having a baby, not going to a spa. It’s a hospital not a resort.

On one hand I have my belief that I am having a baby, not sick, so I have no need to go to the hospital.  I have had four children already and two VBACs I can look back and be proud of.  I don’t need to go to the hospital. But am I standing on principle only in this decision? I trust my doctor to be understanding of my desires and to follow my birth plan. I don’t anticipate a fight against interventions. I trust my body to do what it is designed to do. It doesn’t matter if I am at home, in a hospital or on the moon – I am having this baby. Am I looking for a home birth to simply be able to say that I have fought the system and have done it? Malpractice and insurance policies and social conformity be damned? I just don’t know. At this point I think I’m just a crazy person and should probably be committed. (Preferably somewhere sunny, sandy and with a pretty Jose to bring me umbrella drinks.) I don’t have the traumatic c-section stories that I hear. I don’t have a panic-inducing distrust of hospitals as a whole. My c-section was 100% necessary and life saving for Allie. I don’t need to heal from that experience, like so many women I have come in contact with.  My VBAC with Jane was handled horribly and dangerously but we both came out just fine.  I can even put a funny spin on it when necessary.  My VBAC with Fiona was awesome and empowering and while there are a couple things that weren’t “perfect” they aren’t things that I hold any real animosity because of. Could it have been easier? Absolutely. Am I scared or afraid because of what happened? No. I pushed that 9lb 7oz baby out of my vagina without drugs and with limited interventions. I did it and I have that to hold dear.  I don’t live in an area where I will have to fight for every natural, intervention-free moment.  I have support and love that will surround me.

Financially we will come out about the same. It’s either in cash up front to the midwife or in payments to the hospital because of our deductible. Either way the money is spent. It’s just a matter of who I write the check to.

Honestly as I write this I feel like I’m leaning more towards the hospital. That day or so break sounds good. I know what I am like and the responsibility of the house and the family weighs on me.   My mom will be here to visit with the girls and help.  I just don’t know. I guess we’ll wait and see. 

Does anyone have any thoughts?

Maternity Pictures

I am just stunned by how beautiful these came out.  Thank you Feather for all the hard work you've put into these.  You've captured everything just beautifully!

Surprising Affirmation

Doug and I went to dinner on Saturday with a friend to meet his new girlfriend.  I was a little apprehensive to say the least. Here I am, 34 weeks pregnant, big as a house, and not feeling my best.  All I know about this woman is basically how gorgeous she is.  I know Jason’s standards, and let’s just say, Jason and I would never date. He’s a great guy, but I know I wouldn’t make the cut. Hell, I don’t know anyone that would. Knowing this is a little daunting.  So I did my makeup as good as I could manage. I bought a new outfit. I had to ice my ankles to get my sausage feet into my shoes. I heaved myself into the car, took a deep breath and braced myself.

I was right about one thing. Beautiful is probably how she wakes up and then we go from there. Tall, skinny and gorgeous (even Doug noticed – and for me to see him notice means he really noticed. He did have the good sense to down-play it though).  In shoes I would love if my swollen ankles could support me in them. The real kicker was how absolutely nice she was. I mean really nice. Genuinely make-your-teeth-hurt nice! We actually have the same home town and know a lot of the same places so that helped. The whole night was easy and fun.  It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone who knew and understood the awesomeness that is dry cleaned jeans. (If you’ve never worn dry cleaned jeans, you’re totally missing out)

Here’s the surprising part. When talking about the girls and being home I wasn’t really self conscious about it. While being home with the girls was an easy decision it’s one that I frequently feel the need to defend. I don’t have a career. I’ve never had a career.  I’ve been a wife and a mother before I graduated from high school. I’ve been married for 15 years (cumulative).  While I have worked form time to time it’s not something I’ve dedicated a lot of time to.  I see the detriment to it sometimes. When I know that it wouldn’t be worth it financially for me to go back to work. I watch my friends get degrees and promotions that I may never see. It can be hard. Sometimes it feels like the working world is passing me by. But I look at what I do and am proud of my children. I am proud of my family and my husband. I am proud of the part I play in helping it all run as smoothly as possible. I’m not always good at it but I do try.  Lately most days are harder than I like, but I’m secure in my choice.  I don’t know what it was about Saturday that clicked. I wish I could figure it out and hold onto it. Because truthfully I’m not feeling as secure today as I did then. But it was a good feeling. It was good to not feel as if I was some frumpy housewife. It was good to feel like I was actually contributing something to someone. 

It’s good to have those days. And I’m glad to have had that time. To eat a good meal, to have great conversation and camaraderie and to feel like a grown up (and not just a mom) for a brief amount of time was what I needed.  

My Newest Project–Part 3 of 3–Fail!

Back in December I posted here and here about my hatred for my current living room furniture and my desire to do something about it. I had grand plans of recovering it in an economic yet fashionable way and making it look like a million bucks on a budget. Kind of a Bite-Me-Martha thing.

Yeah, well… so much for that. 

I got the chair cushions done. Twice.  After an accident with a sippy cup and some red soda it needed to be done again. Then I got the sofa cushions totally done. I got most of the ottoman cover done (Still working on that due to a slight “design flaw”.) And that’s about where the project stopped.  The thought of tearing apart the couch was daunting.  I wanted to do it. I know that with a little bit of help and some time I could do it. But having the help and the confidence is where I fell short.  Damn it. 

I was recently told that I “get really excited about stuff and then it just fades away”. This was not done as constructive criticism but pointed out as a glaring character flaw. This is something that really hurt my feelings and stuck with me.  It made it difficult when faced with what to do with the couch when I realized that I had bitten more than I could currently chew. 

Admitting defeat is not something I do well. I will say that I do tend to take on a lot at one time. Projects, commitments, just general to-do crap.  Admitting when maybe that list has gotten to be more than I can handle is not something that I’m good at.  I am controlling. I am demanding. I know that. I think it comes from growing up and having almost no control over the chaos in my life. Or not knowing how to control it. And then moving into adulthood and a marriage that was equally beyond my control.  So here I am, at 34, a self-proclaimed Control Freak. It would be in good taste to say that I’m working on it, but let’s be realistic – I’m not. Nor do I really have any intention of it. Isn’t admitting you have a problem the first step?  Screw the other steps, I’ve got too much else to do.

So, to come back from Tangent Land…

The living room furniture will not be recovered in some uber-snazzy, look-how-crafty way.   Thank you to Target clearance and Overstock.com I purchased two slipcovers.  The couch now looks fantastic!  The slipcover actually solved one of my biggest pet peeves about the couch. Because the seat cushions are not connected to the couch in any way they are constantly needing readjusting. Something that seems beyond the ability of my children/husband to see or fix (how you don’t notice you’re sitting on a cushion that is hanging off the furniture by 3 inches is beyond me). The slip cover holds them nicely in place and only requires a daily re-tuck! *insert angels singing here*  In about 2 minutes I took my icky couch and made it into something that I could really love. Why the hell didn’t I do this months ago? Oh, that whole control thing. Right.   The cover for the chair will be here on Thursday. 

I will be posting pictures once everything is here and together.  We’re working on re-doing the floors, too. But, that’s another post all it’s own.

A Sense of Community

Last spring, after the end of a disastrous relationship with a Mom’s Group, I decided to start my own.  However, instead of starting another Mom’s group I wanted something that was more than the last. I wanted something that celebrated not only what was great about being a mother, but also what was great about being a woman.

Growing up we are somehow taught to believe that other girls are competition. We are competing to see who’s thinner, who’s prettier, more popular and who can get the boys.  As adults a lot of that doesn’t go away. We push to be “just as good” in our chosen industry. We may have our best friends but keep others at arm’s length. Again we are competing to see who’s thinner, more popular and who can get the men.

You would think that as we become wives and mothers that some of this goes away. And some of it does. But after years of feeling like other women are somehow not to be trusted or are somehow superior to you in one way or another it becomes a chore to “keep up”. Once you can realize that isn’t the way it has to or should be it’s amazing the difference it makes. 

I started the group as somewhere for this great group of women that I had become real friends with to meet and band together. I wanted it to be somewhere that could be safe with other women and we could find the support that we need. Being a woman is hard. Being a wife is hard. Being a mother is hard. We need the support of other women to tell us that we’re doing OK. Some people have their mother’s that they can turn to and cry when it all gets to be too much. Not everyone does. And, quite frankly, sometimes you mother is the problem. I wanted there to be safety in numbers and for us to have place where we didn’t have to feel alone.

When I first started Ridge and Valley Women there were only a few of us. A few that understood that a Girls Night Out didn’t necessarily mean heels and make up. Sometimes it meant showing up in your sweats and crying in your margarita because that-fucking-asshole-can’-t-give-me-ten-minutes-to-take-a-shower-and-god-forbid-he-actually-has-to-watch-his-own-children-and-as-matter-of-fact-I-don’t-know-when-I’ll-be-home! Sometimes it’s getting the kids together to play, or having someone show you how to do that awesome craft/recipe/budget/hair-thing that you’re soooo jealous of.  It’s having someone to go to when you need help. And when you don’t.

I realized that I had stumbled into something really great when a couple weeks ago one of the gals was having some issues in her pregnancy and her doctor put her on bed rest. I remember being upset and struggling with what to do/say because I’d been there and it sucks. And I’ve been there having little kids and that really sucks. Then one of the other women jumped in and came to the rescue. We got an email saying “hey, we need to help here, she needs us”. So we did. We’ve cooked, we’ve stopped by to tire out a 20 month old, stir-crazy, toddler. We’ve offered comfort and just someone to talk to. I think that this is what my grandmother was talking about when she talked about “fellowship”. I know this is what the pastor at church was talking about when he talked about “grace”.

It feels good to be a part of something so awesome. To be associated with a group of women who so quickly and so generously come together with their time, their resources and their hearts. This is what we need to teach our daughters.

Thank you ladies for being the wonderful women that you are.  Thank you for showing that THIS is what having girlfriends should really be all about.

Hey guess what… I’m PREGNANT!

Well, d’uh! Right? Well, apparently I’m a little slow.  I know I’m pregnant. I’ve known for about 20 weeks that I’m pregnant. But it really just hit me in the last couple days.
Ok that sounds stupid, too. I’m sitting here trying to figure out how to not sound like a total moron but get my point across.
I’ve been wearing mostly maternity clothes for the last 16 weeks. My belly is expanding. I haven’t had a period since about June. I’ve had the ultrasounds and heard the heartbeat. We’ve named this little person I’m building and talk about her like she’s a relative coming to visit (“When Georgi gets here…”). I go to the doctor and I’m gaining weight. Doug lays his hand on my belly to feel her kick. I can’t remember the last time I was actually able to see my vagina! All of this and there just seems to be this disconnect between planning for a baby while caring for a large family like ours and having the complete realization that holy hell, I’m pregnant!  And the ridiculous thing that did it?  This picture…

No kidding. That was it.
I’ve seen pictures of myself recently where I look very obviously pregnant. But there was just something about this one that just flipped the switch for me.  And the picture isn’t even really of me.  It’s just a picture I’m in.  This is cropped with 90% of the picture cut out.  Still, sometimes there’s just something that makes it really, really, really REAL. I don’t know how else to explain it. I think if you’ve had kids before you understand. Otherwise, this is the best I can do.
I know, I’m a dork.
So we are down to about 16 weeks or so left. There’s still a lot to get ready for but we’re on the right track. I just hit a great Going Out of Business sale and got pretty much all of the clothes Miss Georgiana is going to need until she’s about 6 months old. I think I’ve picked out the double stroller I want and the co-sleeper I like. I’m working on sewing/designing a diaper bag.
Sometimes you just have to laugh at yourself and the ridiculousness that goes on in your head. At least I do. A lot. And most of the time I subject you nice people to this craziness, too. It’s an odd place in here, but I’m glad I’ve got good company. 
OK, now I’m hungry and I have to pee. Again. I am, after all, pregnant.

Pass the Chocolate Please

Gina over at The Feminist Breeder posted yesterday about body image, the holidays and pregnancy.  While I wouldn't normally post about a post, this one really resonated with me.  Her suggestion to really speak not to what we hate about our bodies, but what we love.  I thought that this was a good topic. This is something we all struggle with it.  I don't claim to have any solutions, but sometimes just knowing that this sucks for someone else helps.
This pregnancy has been hard for me when it comes to my body image.  After gaining 70lbs with Fiona and then loosing about 60 of it, I was finally starting to almost feel human again.  Then, there I was, staring at a second pink line and trying not to throw up.  It didn't help that just a few short weeks into my pregnancy nothing was fitting again. How do you look ahead at the next 32 weeks knowing that you're just going to get BIGGER? I saw that scale that had a number over 200 when I was in my final week of Fiona's pregnancy and vowed that was NOT going to happen again.  How do you come to terms with a changing body that is doing something so wonderful and hate what you see?
Anyone that's had children knows that in those weeks where your shape first starts to change are hard. You don't look pregnant. It looks like maybe you need to dial back the cheeseburgers a little. It's the period day when all you can wear is sweats - except it doesn't go away.  At 8 weeks I started putting away my "regular" clothes and pulled out my maternity gear again. And not happy about it.
I think I've been really lucky this time.  I've gained 9lbs in the last 13 weeks (my first to most recent OB appointments). I've gained 13 from my last PAP in April until my most recent OB appointment at 22 weeks. Right now, I am pretty much all baby.  But like Gina said, it's hard to not believe you look like a land whale when you feel like a land whale.  Little Miss Georgiana is sitting so low in my hips that I sometimes have trouble walking. My hips hurt. I can barely put my shoes on. Dropping something usually elicits some swearing.
But there are the better days. There are the days when I can look at my swollen pregnant belly and feel down right sexy. It's not something that happens often, but it does happen.  Here I am with this swollen, pregnant belly and full, round breasts. It doesn't get more feminine than that. My body is doing what it was designed to do and this is how it looks doing it. And for a brief shining moment I can celebrate that.  Doug has even, in a moment of uncharacteristic complementing, said "girls are supposed to look like that. You're making my baby." How do you not feel like a goddess at that point? 
I love the times that I can celebrate my changing shape.  Because of how I'm carrying this little one maternity jeans are uncomfortable. They are tight around the bottom of my belly and make it even harder to move than it normally is.  So, I've decided that since I don't have a dress code I'll be living in yoga pants for the remainder of my pregnancy.  That way when I'm not quite in my pre-pregnancy jeans yet and need some comfy pants to chase a toddler while nursing a newborn I'm already set. The best part of this is that I feel like I have been able to accentuate this ever growing belly.  I love my fitted maternity (and non-maternity) tees. I've gained a pretty good size in my breasts, too so I'm feeling kinda rock-star. A knocked up rock-star, but still.  
I will say, thank you Gina. For reminding me that looking like this is beautiful in its own right and we all need to feel like a rock star sometimes. Knocked up or otherwise.