.the mommy club.

While Captain and I walked around Charleston on our "babymoon", I kept meeting the eyes of other pregnant women. We'd nod to each other in an almost "we've got this! ...right?" acknowledgement. But what I found myself really enjoying were the looks that I would get from moms surrounded by their kids. Yes, there were some looks of "you have no idea what you're in for" but most were a rousing, encouraging "welcome to the club!" nod and smile. I had just told Captain that I felt like I were being welcomed into the club when a mom with two kids in tow and one in a stroller walked past us and confirmed it by calling out "Welcome to the club!"

I was over the moon. There was a club and I was a part of it now.

The Mommy Club.

Today, I experienced one of my first non-family chapter meetings of The Mommy Club. A neighbor in our development recently had her first, a girl, in May. We had made our acquaintance while I was still pregnant but as she had a baby and I had swollen ankles our paths didn't cross much.

Last week she stopped by to see if I'd like to walk sometime and this morning we did. For over an hour, we found plenty to discuss as we made loop after loop around our complex. We walked at least two miles and touched on a variety of topics - most regarding babies, motherhood and diaper brands but we even touched lightly on religion, holidays and seasons.

A little known fact about me: I dislike small talk. It's draining to me, a closet introvert. But, somehow, talking with this other mom as we pushed our babies in our strollers around the circle of our little world, it didn't seem like small talk. We were comparing notes, sharing survival tips, gathering opinions and relating experiences.

As I left her at her door and pushed Wee Bud in her stroller the few houses down to my own door I couldn't help but smile. I am a member of The Mommy Club. This meeting is adjourned.

.the night that broke the mommy's back.

Captain saved the day, or rather the night, last night as he took over all wakings except those requiring what only I can provide. The night before had been a rough one and I didn't even have fumes to run on. Looking back on it though, it struck me that it hadn't been any worse than several other nights that we had experienced. I did get a few two-hour stretches of somewhat-sleep here and there. Why was I completely drained?

I then realized that the old, over-used adage of "the straw that broke the camel's back" was probably over-used because of how true it really is. Except in this case it wasn't a straw, it was one more night of little sleep. But then, *poof*, that was it. It was all I had in me and I crashed.

**Lightbulb! The camel saying is probably what spawned the phrase "this is the last straw"! Seriously, I never put that together before. Wow, what three consecutive hours of sleep can do for the brain!**

Wee Bud is presently sitting next to me, snuggled in her carrier and dressed warmly in anticipation of a walk. She's fallen asleep with a smile on her face and now I must debate whether I, too, snuggle in for a nap or go for a walk as I had planned. Ack, decisions.

She just fell asleep so I have an hour to two hours. I can walk a mile in 20 minutes. Do I risk it and plan to take a 40 minute nap when I get back? Yes. Because exercise is important. But more important is that this is my favorite season of the year to be outdoors. The season where I feel most alive and most like myself. And honestly, that's what I need to feel right now. Alive. Myself.

Three cheers for Captain and for beautiful Autumn weather! Now where'd I put my shoes...


P.S. I am currently the proud owner of four ounces of pumped milk. I am ecstatic.

.babies get cold & other obvious things.

Babies get cold. Ok, maybe it would have been a bit more obvious if I were functioning at even half of my normal brain capacity but considering that I am more sleep deprived than a procrastinating college student during finals week I am fine with the fact that it only took me one night to figure it out. 

Holy run-on sentence, Batman!

We haven't been running our AC or heat for the past month. We were trying to give the poor unit a break as we (I) had run it non-stop while being pregnant in August and September in the South. Last night, however, the temperatures dropped to the low 40's/upper 30's. We did not realize this. Wee Bud was bundled up as she has been and seemed content when we put her to bed. Around 1am though she started to fuss. Off and on the rest of the night. We couldn't figure it out. She wasn't hungry, we tried that. She hadn't soiled her diaper, we checked that. We burped, rocked and soothed her. Nothing. As soon as she was back in her bassinet she would cry. 

I started crying too. 

When the sun came up and Captain left for work, I had no energy. Wee Bud was wide awake. I climbed out of bed and realized that my nose was perfectly chilled, my favorite autumn/winter feeling. Then a lightbulb clicked on somewhere in my frosted-over, sleep-deprived brain. I felt Wee Bud's nose. It was also chilled. She, however, seemed less than thrilled by it. I picked her up and bundled her in a fleece swaddle we had been given. I even tucked in her arms, which she normally doesn't appreciate. I laid her back down in her bassinet. She looked up at me almost appreciatively and then immediately passed out. 

It was almost 9am and I had made the bed and dressed for the day. It didn't stop me from pulling shut the curtains (yay for blackout curtains!) and falling asleep with her for the next few hours. 

Our day yesterday began at noon. When it was closer to 65 degrees outside. And now that Captain and I figured out that babies get cold (and at a faster rate than we do) the heater is on. 

Wee Bud's warm so we all get sleep. Everybody wins!

Except maybe our heat unit. And electric bill. But they don't have a say in the matter. 

.breast pumps and glitter kisses.

Today I started an experiment with pumping breast milk. I am blessed to not have to face returning to work but I would like to have a stash of milk stored that would allow my husband and I to go on the occasional dinner date. I  know Captain is also wanting to have the opportunity to feed Wee Bud occasionally. He's even offered to take over the occasional middle-of-the-night feeding. He's a keeper.

Not having any idea what I was doing, I researched various pumps through several review sites. A friend had let me borrow her Medela Free-Style electric double pump but I can't even offer a personal review on it as the entire system stressed me out and I have yet to try to sterilize it and try it. Instead, my research led me to the manual Lansinoh breast pump and so today I gave it a shot. (I actually went to the store on my own, just me and Wee Bud, to pick it up. I was quite pleased with my level of independence and considered the trip a success.)

By the time I had sterilized all of the pieces, let them dry and assembled them, it was time for Wee Bud to eat. I started her on one breast and practiced pumping on the other. I was rewarded with the surreal view of milk flowing into the storage bottle. (Still haven't quite gotten over the fact that I am able to produce sustenance for our child.) After a few minutes though the flow slowed. Wee Bud continued on with her lunch and I paused my efforts to just rest. (It's been a full few days here.) Once she had finished on the one side though I switched her to the other and tried pumping what she had left. Which was very little. All together, I have one ounce of milk in the bottle and I am quite proud of it! Not bad for a first attempt anyway.

Initial thoughts on the Lansinoh Manual Breast Pump: I was impressed with the ease of assembly, the instructions and the design of the pump handle. It was not tiresome on my hands or wrists, which is important with the carpal tunnel still lurking around occasionally. I did find it troublesome to breastfeed on one side and pump on the other as you are supposed to tilt the pump downward to allow the milk to flow away from the nipple but Wee Bud was in the way.

I'm going to keep practicing and playing around with it. Captain's and my wedding anniversary is coming up at the end of November and I would love to surprise him with an evening of just the two of us. (And there are some grandparents who have already expressed their eager willingness to have Wee Bud to themselves for a few hours...)

Oh, and the "glitter kisses" from the title? Yes, that was a lesson I learned this morning after applying a shimmery lip gloss and soon after giving Wee Bud a kiss on the forehead. That sparkle does not come off. Oh well...but it is something to keep in mind. Thankfully, being my daughter, she doesn't seem to mind sparkly things.

.love at first sight...three weeks later.

One of the things I was most looking forward to in giving birth was the hormone cocktail I was promised and the "love at first sight" that so many women described. I didn't get it. 

During the pregnancy, I had a growing affection for this being inside me but I did not know her. And I was also dealing with major changes in my body and my life. Sometimes I lost sight of the fact that our Wee Bud was really in there. Sometimes it just seemed like a very big belly, swollen joints and compressed bladder. I looked forward to that day when I would finally see her face to face and fall instantly in love. 

It didn't happen that way for me. And I want to put that out there so that if you were expecting to feel that instant rush of overwhelming love and didn't, you'd know you weren't alone. 

I was exhausted and pretty drugged up by the time I finally held my daughter. And the days following were a blur. But these past few weeks of having her home, learning her, caring for her....well, I fell in love. And now my heart bursts when I hear her sigh and melts when she smiles and breaks when she cries. I cherish the sight of my husband holding her, the feel of her in my own arms as she nurses, the smell of her soft, sweaty skin. I can't get enough of this beautiful new human who somehow belongs to us. 

She's three weeks old and it is love at *every* sight. 

.maternity pictures.

Fun, abstract maternity picture from Pinterest. (Sorry, I don't know who to credit.)

Nailed it. 

.our birth story.

Warning: this post is long. I tried editing the story down but what part would I have omitted? This is the entirety (that is fit for public knowledge) of our birth story. It's a mess, the opposite of the perfect birth, and nothing like what we planned. But you know what? I'm beginning to be quite proud of it. I told my husband, as we prepared for a natural birth, that it would be my marathon. Well my marathon turned into a triathlon and we still crossed the finish line! (Much the worse for wear, but cross it we did!)

Our Birth Story

Three weeks ago Saturday, we came home from the hospital. We went in with hearts full of expectation. We came out with hearts full of gratitude and our daughter in our arms. The events in between our coming in and our leaving, not to mention the weeks leading up to it, looked nothing like anything we imagined, planned for or were even on guard against. 

Since the very beginning, the day we found out that we were pregnant with our Wee Bud, we had planned on giving birth with a midwife at a birth center. Our due date was September 9th. Our actual due date was closer to September 15th, allowing for my longer cycle. Either way, we were full of anticipation as September dawned. My mom arrived on Monday evening, September 2nd. Labor Day. We jokingly said that we would go into labor on Labor Day. We didn’t. Instead we woke up on Tuesday, September 3rd to find that, due to a tragic birth outcome over the weekend, the birth center had been closed until further notice. Thankfully my mom was there as I proceeded to have a brief but intense emotional meltdown. We soon found out that our midwife had not lost her license, it was only the center’s license that was revoked. After a surprisingly brief discussion, my husband and I both found ourselves at peace with the idea of having a home birth. This was something that we had not even considered previously as it seemed way past our comfort zone. But God enlarged our hearts and we had a complete peace with the plan. 

It was good to have Mom there as we scurried to get everything ready for the planned home birth. We purchased supplies, prepped sheets and towels, cleaned the apartment to a sterilized degree. And then we waited.

September 9th came and went. As did September 15th. I was walking every day - often a mile or two! On Friday, September 20th we decided to try induction by castor oil. I had to drink three doses in a certain time frame. The first dose I choked down and then took the prescribed shower after finishing it. Nothing happened. When the time came to take the second dose, I mixed it with orange juice as I did before and raised the glass to my lips. My mind and body were both loudly warning me against taking even a sip. I pushed past it and tipped back the glass. Instantly, the reaction began and I barely made it to the bathroom before losing everything in my system. Violently. My poor husband went and got my mom and she helped me through the purging. When it was finally finished, I was dismayed that there had been no reaction in the uterus - just the stomach. There wasn’t a single contraction. I somehow managed to finish the remaining doses and for the next several hours my body continued to purge it’s entire system to get rid of any remaining traces of the castor oil. By the end, I had the cleanest colon of any 42 week pregnant woman, but no contractions. Disappointed, we called it a day on the induction attempts. 

On Monday, we had an ultrasound exam done to determine Wee Bud’s condition, the levels of amniotic fluid, etc. Everything checked out better than ok - she was happy and healthy with plenty of amniotic fluid and no discernible reason why labor wasn’t initiating. It was that day that I felt the first few contractions. Nothing strong or steady, but hope rose in our hearts as we prepared again Monday night to wake up Tuesday morning in labor. It was going to be our last chance as we had an 8am appointment at the hospital to have a stress test done on Wee Bud to determine her health and our next steps. We went to sleep that night, fully convinced we would wake up at some point in labor. But Tuesday morning dawned and we were not in labor. 

It was a beautiful autumn morning as we packed our bags and drove to the hospital, fully expecting to be checked in for an induction. Instead, we had a wonderful experience with one of the nurses. She administered the stress test and she also commented on how happy and healthy Wee Bud was. I felt a complete peace with being there, even wearing my tiara and texting friends that we would be holding our girl soon. It came as a complete surprise then when they released us to go home with an appointment Thursday morning to return if labor had not begun on its own. We walked out of that hospital like we were escaping prison, laughing all the way. We had been given another chance to bring our daughter into the world in our own home. Tuesday afternoon I saw an acupuncturist and felt a few more contractions. We continued to walk, drink tea, take supplements. I even woke Mom up in the middle of the night when I felt contractions and we walked some more, praying and praising God.

Wednesday morning dawned with more sporadic contractions. I went back to the acupuncturist. The contractions grew steadily stronger throughout the day, even to the point of being consistently 3-5 minutes apart when we walked. I described the feeling to my husband as what I would imagine it would feel like to be hugged by a very strong midget. :) We enjoyed walking around our circle, celebrating each contraction and anticipating meeting our girl sometime that night or the next day. After walking over five miles, we came inside to have a bite to eat. The contractions eased off to 7-9 minutes apart, but we weren’t concerned. But then they stopped all together. It was Wednesday night and we were scheduled to go in for an induction the next morning. We walked again, I drank more tea, bounced on the exercise ball...the contractions did not return. We went to bed, half-resigned, half-hopeful that come the middle of the night the contractions would start back up again. They never did.

Thursday morning we drove to the hospital, a little less enthusiastically than we had on that Tuesday. The memory of the nurse’s kindness however lessened the dread of a hospital birth, the opposite of everything for which we had hoped, prayed and planned. I was under the mistaken impression that we were there for another stress test and could possibly be given a few more days to allow labor to begin on it’s own. It was a shock to my system when, after signing in, we were directed to a laboring room and not to the triage room where the tests are conducted. At the sight of the hospital bed and equipment, I broke down into tears. My mom held me as I sobbed, unable to even put words to the frustrating disappointment that threatened to overwhelm me. With my tiara on my head and both my husband and mom surrounding me, I regained control and peace filled my heart. If this is where God would have us, then this is where I wanted to be. 

Our first nurse arrived and immediately challenged the peace I was clinging to as she launched into a diatribe against the birth center and listed all of the emergency scenarios she had witnessed being transported from there. I wanted to request a change of nurse, but instead my husband spoke to her while I was out of the room and put his foot down on any further talk of that kind. To her credit, she followed his instructions. After we were able to speak intelligently about our options, demonstrating that we were informed and not “crazy hippies”, she seemed to warm up to us a bit.

One of the midwives on staff came and checked my cervix. We were dilated 2-3 cm. At 9:30am on that Thursday, September 26th, we used the induction technique of prostaglandin gel. It was applied to the cervix to cause it to soften and open. Soon after I began to have contractions. Only these weren’t a strong midget giving me a hug but someone mistaking my insides to be citrus fruit and trying to make orange juice. The contractions were strong and consistent and we found our hearts swelling with hope that no other induction would be necessary and we could still bring our baby girl into the world “naturally.”

Around 12:30pm, I felt like I had peed myself. I went to the bathroom, changed my underwear and returned to the room. Not a minute later, I peed again. I laughed and told Mom that I had not peed myself the entire pregnancy so it was good I was getting it in before the end. Our nurse was in the room and turned to look at me. She asked if I hadn’t just peed and I said I had. Then the “pee” began gushing from me without my feeling the urge to go or having the ability to control it. She then informed me that I had not peed myself, but that my water had just broken on it’s own! We laughed with joy as this was a very good sign that labor was progressing in a natural way. I had to start wearing padding in my underwear and grew accustom to the feeling of wetting myself for the next several hours. After a while, the midwife checked my cervix. We were at 5 cm, 70% effaced and Wee Bud was in -2 position. We had to get to 10cm, 100% effaced and Wee Bud into at least the 0 position but we were encouraged with the progress!

During this time, my husband and my mom were helping me through each contraction. Focusing on just the next contraction, the hours seemed to fly by. At 9pm, nearly 12 hours into labor, the midwife checked my cervix again. We were still at 5cm, but 100% effaced and Wee Bud was in 0 position!

Labor continued through the night. Our night nurse turned out to be an amazing gift from God. She was a proponent of natural birth and very encouraging. She taught me how to breathe through each contraction, to where we were told by other nurses that we did the breathing in perfect textbook style. Again, with focusing on just the next contraction, the hours passed. We labored while walking the halls, slow dancing in the room and even in the tub. Around 2am, I hit what seemed to be what they call “transition labor”. The contractions became incredibly strong and painful, I became overwhelmed with emotion and began sobbing, and then I threw up. Our nurse, seeing the signs that I was in transition, called for the midwife to come confirm so that we could then move into the pushing phase and meet our girl! The midwife came, checked the cervix, and told us the news. We were still at 5cm. Still 100% effaced and Wee Bud in position. But the cervix had not dilated any further. She also said that it felt abnormally thick, as if it were scar tissue and asked me about any procedures or diseases that I might have had. I answered that there had been none. At this point, it felt like we had hit a brick wall going 70 mph. We had been laboring in the tub and I remember looking down at the water and  just wanting to immerse my head and breathe it in. Not the prettiest thought, but an accurate description of the emotion flooding my system. I think our nurse caught the thought flashing through my eyes as I saw her assess my position and determine that she could pull me back out. It wasn’t necessary though as, by God’s grace, we were able to rally and continue laboring. By then we had been in labor for 18 hours, 15 hours with the water broken. I’m not exactly sure how we rallied ourselves to continue, but I’m pretty sure it had to have been God. My mom swears that I was the one who rallied she and my husband and yet I felt rallied by them while contemplating drinking the bathwater. We did encourage each other though that another few hours would see the cervix open and then we would be holding our baby girl. My husband sent a message to the family that our daughter would arrive sometime that day with the birth date of September 27th.

When our night nurse’s shift ended, God introduced us to our next one. She was as perfectly placed and walked us through the next 12 hours. Determined that we would be able to have this baby naturally she had me walking, squatting, trying different positions. Focusing on just the next contraction, we made it through the morning and better part of the afternoon. Then, in late afternoon, labor stopped. Completely. No contractions. I had the desire and appetite to eat. I napped. I cried in frustration. The contractions did resume at some point and around 5pm we again hit transition. Our nurse also thought so and called for the midwife who again informed us that we had not moved from 5cm. Almost 24 hours from when we were first told we were at 5cm, 32 hours into active labor, and we had not moved past 5cm. At this point, I had very little left physically, emotionally or mentally. We made the decision to try pitocin to see if the stronger contractions could open the cervix. At 6pm, they administered the drug. When the first contraction hit me however, it was too strong to handle. A second and third contraction confirmed it. My sweet husband was trying to encourage me, telling me that I could do it! I felt nothing but anger at the remark as I tried to convince him that I could not. Thankfully, I didn’t say anything in the moment of absurd emotion. Instead, I asked him to go get my mom. My mom came and he left the room to talk to my dad. Mom encouraged me that he was just doing what I had asked him to do - to tell me I could do it and not offer any drugs. I told her that I wanted an epidural but I didn’t know how to tell him. At the same time, he was talking to my dad, saying that he wanted me to have an epidural but didn’t know how to tell me. It didn’t take long for us to work out the miscommunication.

We made the decision together to use an epidural. The anesthesiologist was called for and my nurse held me as I experienced not one, but two, of the most painful procedures I have ever endured. The first placement hit a blood vessel and had to be removed. The second seemed secure, but as the dose was administered we found that it was ineffective, except for numbing a 3-inch band around the upper part of my uterus. I felt the entire strength of every contraction below that band. Somehow, with us focusing only on the next contraction, God enabled us to go another 6 hours. We had the same night nurse as before and she was wonderful. But around 10pm that night, my husband and I began discussing the possibility of a cesarean. I had nothing left physically, and we had decided beforehand that if a cesarean were ever to be necessary we would want to do it before our baby was in distress or something ruptured in me. I looked to our nurse, who had worked so hard with us to bring this baby into the world naturally. I asked her if I would be failing if I chose to have a cesarean. She had tears in her eyes and shook her head. She encouraged me that no, I wouldn’t have failed. I had done everything I could. 

At midnight, when the midwife checked the cervix and we were still at 5cm, we made the decision to have the cesarean. Wee Bud’s heartbeat was still healthy but just starting to show a decline. She and I were both exhausted, it seemed. Our fear then became that we would have to wait several hours before having the surgery. When the doctor came in and announced that we were to go into surgery immediately I was too relieved to be scared. Besides, she looked like a dear friend of mine and I found myself trusting her without trying. It seemed like only minutes before I was prepped, my husband was decked out in scrubs and we were being wheeled to the operating room. 

Everything was happening so quickly, and mentally I was in a fog anyway. It seemed surreal to be lying there on an operating table, bright lights overhead and a blue sheet in front of my face. I focused instead on the fact that we would finally, finally, be able to hold our baby girl. My husband sat next to my head, holding my hand. He chose not to look over the sheet. 

The surgery itself was traumatic. The ineffective epidural port was what they used to numb me for the surgery so, though I couldn’t feel the incision, I could feel a lot more than I was supposed to. The tugging and pulling were terrible and I remember crying out, “I can feel everything! I’m not supposed to feel it!” It turns out that, as our Wee Bud was in the birth canal, they had to work hard to get her back out. Even with all of the drugs and mental exhaustion though I will never forget the moment I felt them lift her out of me. The relief was instantaneous and I started sobbing. Our daughter was born at 1:25am on Saturday, September 28th, 2013. I wanted to see her immediately but of course there was some delay. I had just caught a glimpse of her and heard the announcement that she was 9 lbs, 6 oz, when my arms began shaking terribly. I remember thinking that it was a good thing it was just my arms shaking when I felt the weight of a person throwing themselves over my chest and the next minute I was asleep. When I first came out of surgery I told my husband and mom that God had been merciful in allowing me to pass out from exhaustion but he confessed to me that it hadn’t been just my arms that were convulsing and he had given the go ahead for them to put me under for a few minutes. I’m so glad he did. My husband was given the opportunity to cut the umbilical cord and a nurse in the OR was kind enough to take pictures and video as I was knocked out during all of this. When I woke up, they were lifting me from the table back onto the bed and then they placed our daughter on my chest. They bundled us together and, with tears running down my face and no real clear sense of reality, they wheeled us back to our room. Within minutes, she had nuzzled her way to my breast and started nursing. She was a great feeder from the start and never let up. God answered our most fervent desires in that she came out wide-eyed and alert, we had skin-on-skin time shortly after birth and she latched immediately. 

My poor husband passed out from sheer exhaustion and I stared at our baby for the next few hours. Adrenaline wouldn’t let me sleep and so I just looked at her instead. My heart was overwhelmed with gratitude for all that God had allowed us to do. Our nurse continued with us through the night. She had moved from nurse to friend before she left. 

Saturday and Sunday went by in a blur. My body had been through war and it felt it in every fiber. I passed on the opportunity to take narcotic pain killers and instead was on a rotation of Motrin and Tylenol. Our next nurse did not seem to have the same sweet temper as the other two, but she earned my gratitude when she allowed me to have a few extra hours to try to use the bathroom on my own rather than insisting on inserting a catheter. I’ve never had to use such mental concentration to pee before or celebrated so much when I was finally able to!

We recognize the great lengths that the hospital staff went for us -  allowing us to labor for 36 hours after the water had broken, rather than their standard 18 hours. No one pressured us to go further than we were ready to go at the moment. We were allowed to make each decision on our own and at the right time. 

We were supposed to be discharged Tuesday morning, but come Monday we were ready to go home. Wee Bud and I were both doing well and so they signed off on letting us leave. As we walked out of the hospital, my husband preparing to drive us home, I felt like a winning prize fighter at the end of a fight. Beaten up and broken but victorious. Emotionally, my fist was in the air as we headed towards home. I didn’t see the sucker punch coming. We hadn’t made it halfway home before the migraine began building in my head. By the time we got home I couldn’t handle any light or noise. I barely made it upstairs to bed. For the next two days, our bedroom was a sick room. The curtains remained drawn, no lights were on. I barely had the ability to feed Wee Bud. My husband and mom were having to handle everything. In many ways, it was a continuation of an already long and arduous labor. I was having to deal with the pain. They were having to push down and bottle emotions as they took care of me. We may have come home Monday, but our recovery did not begin until days later. 

On Wednesday, we had to take Wee Bud to see her pediatrician for her 48 hour check up. Everything was as healthy as we anticipated it to be but the trip was far too taxing on us. Our nerves were raw and our bodies exhausted. We used tones with each other that I can never remember using or hearing before. By the time we got home, we were done for. My mom was again invaluable as she gave us opportunity to each process separately and begin to heal our ravaged hearts. The ups and downs of hope and disappointment as we waited for Wee Bud’s arrival, the long labor, the pain, the surgery, the migraines...it took a toll that I could not have calculated in advance. Nor would I have wanted to. 

Through it all, it was by God’s grace and strength alone that we made it. But we did make it. Our girl is happy and healthy and content. She is alert, smiling and feeding like a champ. My husband and I have found a fresh and new love for each other - learning who we are to each other, not only as friends, as husband and wife, but now also as father and mother to Wee Bud. We leaned on each other through the hardest experience we have yet to face in our marriage and we came out on the other side stronger for it. Bruised, yes. Maybe even with a bit of trauma that still will need to be processed through. But we made it through together. And we can, in light of everything, give God the glory for the things He has done and thank Him in all sincerity for the gifts that He has given us. Especially our daughter. Every moment was worth it.

Photo taken by my husband the morning our daughter was born.

.friday morning confession.

Wee Bud is in a growth spurt apparently. She has gone from feeding every 4 hours to feeding every hour. For an hour. I don't know how you time it - from the start of a feeding or from the end - but from the end of one hour long feeding to the start of the next hour long feeding has been averaging about an hour. Praising God that I have the milk to fill the demand but dear goodness, it's been a lot of time on the couch these past two days.

She just fell asleep following this last feeding and you know what? I don't feel like getting off the couch. I have a warm, sweet-smelling, sleepy baby in my arms and the Netflix library at my fingertips. Yes, the bathrooms need cleaning and I need a shower and someone is going to have to do something about dinner...but I am not the perfect mom. I am not supermom. I am the mom who, after finishing this post and making herself a quick PB&J sandwich, will probably return to this couch and watch an episode of What Not To Wear and stare at this sleeping new human.

And yes, I know that just when I've convinced myself to get up and be productive, it will be time to feed again.

And so I'll allow the next episode to start playing while I try to grasp the amazing reality of my milk-craving daughter in my arms.

.a brief introduction.

Like many first time moms, I read every book, blog and forum that I could in order to be prepared and educated on how to be the perfect mom. My husband and I planned a natural birth with a midwife, signed up for a cloth diaper service, swore we would never introduce her to a pacifier and more.

It wasn't 5 hours after the birth of our beautiful Wee Bud (after 40+ hours of active, unmedicated labor and then a cesarean) that I realized that all of the "facts" I had been learning were really just theories. And most of them were worthless to me as I held this precious new human. I also realized the ridiculous contradictions that various theories held. An example of such contradictions would be the adamant advice to wake a sleeping baby every three hours to feed versus the equally adamant counsel to never wake a sleeping baby. I decided, then and there, to throw most of the "facts" that I had learned out the window and go with my gut and the advice of women who had actually birthed more than one child and kept them alive to adulthood.

We didn't have the natural birth we planned. I am contemplating giving up on cloth diapers. And our daughter loves her pacifier.

I've decided not to be the perfect mom. Welcome to perfection free motherhood. Long live the mistakes, errors and glorious joy of raising a child!