Our Birth Story

Most birth stories start the day that labor kicks into gear. How the contractions started. The rush to the hospital. Maybe a blizzard or rush hour traffick that ensued. Or the many methods attempted to induce labor, resulting in a  final water break. Our story does not start like that. Instead it starts nearly a month earlier at childbirth class.

We had been taking childbirth classes through a nonprofit in the cities for the past 7 weeks. The classes were once-a-week for 8 weeks, discussing all topics from how to have a healthy pregnancy to what post partum should look like. They were set up on a rotation, and you could join any time.  This was our last class: The Nuts and Bolts of Labor. This class was  supposed to tell us everything we could expect when the big day arrived. We sat, patiently waiting with 3 other couples and a handful of nursing students. The class was supposed to start at 6pm and it was already 6:15. The teacher was yet to arrive. So we all sat there, discussing how long we should wait before we decide she's probably not coming. The classes run for 2 hours. So we decided to give her an hour.
6:30...6:45...7. Still, no maestra. One at a time we all gathered up our purses and waddled (because that's what pregnant women do) out to the parking lot, into our cars, and drove home.

The next day we recieved an e-mail from the organization saying how profusely sorry they were for the mistake, how they were handling the situation, and how they hoped to see us at the next class. All this was great. Except it was 3 weeks until our guess date and the next time the class would be offered was 8 weeks away. I was definitely having this baby before I'd have a chance to take this class again. I emailed the organization back, explaining the situation, and asking if I could get the class notes or if they had any other resources available. No reply. So that left me to the Internet, more specifically, You Tube. And everyone knows how clear and accurate the Internet is.

3 weeks later and 3 days, I was 3 days overdue. So armed with my You Tube knowledge of labor and delivery, I decided to go walk the mall. We live about 5 minutes from the Mall of America, and they have mile markers, letting mall walkers know how many miles they've gone. I read (again on the Internet) that 6 miles was the magic number to kick-start labor. So I walked....and I walked...and I walked...and I walked, until I had reached 6 miles, and after that I had errands to run. So all in all I probably walked about 8 miles, all with no signs of labor. One of my errands was an appointment at the Birth Center where the midwife let me know it was normal for first-timers to be about a week and a half late. Once optimistic to not be a statistic, I was now losing hope.

I went home, ready to embrace another week of pregnancy. However, the next day I woke up to "period cramps" and blood in the toilet. My first thoughts? "Dear God, all that walking hurt my baby!"
So I called the midwife on call, terrified that something was wrong. I explained the situation and they reassured me, that I'd simply lost my "mucus plug," (if you don't know what that is, don't Google it. Just don't).  They also advised that I should go to work, because labor could still be 2 weeks away. I drove to work, again embracing another week of labor.

5:45 am the next morning, I woke with unfamiliar cramps in my back and pelvis. Exhausted, but figuring I just needed to pee, I got up, used the bathroom and went back to bed, but the cramps persisted. As 7 am rolled around, the thought finally occurred to me, "are these real contractions?" The cramps came and went. How close were they together?
5-1-1. Every 5 minutes-1 minute long -for 1 hour. This was the real deal!...or so I assumed.

We weren't supposed to actually head towards the birth center until contractions were 3-1-1, but I was told to call and give the midwife a heads up.
I dialed the number, waited, and finally the phone picked up "Hello," our midwife's voice chimed. I explained to her about the contractuons, and as expected, she recommended to relax, take a bath, and try to sleep. If it was real labor I'd need my energy, if not the contractions would subside in a few hours of R&R (rest and relaxation).

So I did just that, a little hopefule, but not too optimistic. After all, if these weren't real contractions, labor could still be about a week away. I had accepted this. However, thr contractions persisted.  I texted our doula and she let me know to call her when I needed her. This may be just the beginning, but she'd be there when I needed.

Now let me tell you a little bit about our doula. And for those of you, who are not familiar with that term, a doula is basically a birth advocate. They're a person who's there for you throughout the birth, speaking up for your birth plan, and making sure your voice is heard throughout contractions. As any woman whose had a natural birth knows, when you have a strong contraction, you literally don't have a voice, and a doula can be a tool of success. Our doula was very special and exactly who we needed. I truly believe the Lord sent her to us. She is a tall, blonde, military-trained woman who loves Jesus. When you you get into the natural health realm that can be a little difficult to find. Someone who loves Jesus, that tis. With a lot of natural health coming from Eastern Philosophy, there tends to be a crossing into the Eastern Spirituality, just because of the nature of Eastern Cultures. In the West we really like to segregate our spiritual life from our physical life. In Eastern philosophy it's intertwined, which I love, and it's why I love natural medicine. However, I also chose to be mindful of where that Spirituality is rooted (for me, it all has to be founded in Jesus). So when I met our doula, and not only learned that she loved Jesus, was going on a missions trip to Latin America just weeks after our guess date, and felt the Lord had called her to be a doula, I knew that the Lord had placed her in our lives. And she was really there for us, especially when contractions began to pick-up their pace. 

Contractions didn't pick up until the minute Fabian walked through the door. And that's when things really began to take off.

4-1-1.I called my mom and asked if she could order us some Chinese take-out, so at least Fabian would have something to eat. More than happily, she did, she even ordered us cheesecake for dessert. The food arrived, and I could barely eat. Which meant Fabian couldn't eat, because he was by my side every minute. Every four minutes I would drop to the floor, hands and knees, trying to remember what they said about breathing. I couldn't think, but new it was time to call our doula. I called and she was there in minutes, hair in a long braid, dinosaur shirt to lighten the mood, and ready for anything. I really don't think I would have survived without her. She was also the one who suggested we head to the birthcenter.

3-1-1. We called the midwife-on-call, to let her know we were on our way. She said there was another birth taking place, so when we got there we may have to wait for someone to come to the door. At this point, I didn't care. I just needed to leave the house. I also thought I had another 12-18 hours to go. Remember, I was armed with Internet knowledge, so the best I knew was that active labor didn't start until you reached the birth center. Little did I know, I had probably been in active labor most of the day (our doula would clue me into that after the fact).
Quickly, or as quick as we could when you have a charlie horse in your uterus every 3 minutes, we grabbed our labor bag and headed to the car.
5 contractions and a not-so-scrupulous car

ride later, we were pulling into the only open parking spot. Thank God it was right by the front door. Also, the nurse was ready to let us in as soon as we rang the door bell. We walked in the room, put all our bags down, and the nurse encouraged us to relax and get comfortable. Plan A was to have a waterbirth. So at this point I could have got in the labor tub. Plan B...well, we didn't really have a Plan B until this point where I realized I was too exhausted to do anything, but curl up on the bed and sleep between contractions. Needless to say, we used plan B.  All the while, our awesome doula prayed through every contraction (which was such a soothing sound and incredible blessing) and Fabian curled up on the bed next to me.

Sleeping, crying, and being coached on how to breathe. Suddenly the contractions changed.  A shudder went through my body. What was that? The next contraction hit... the same different. I told our doula, and she asked me what I meant. Suddenly, the realization hit me "I think I need to push." All the nurses and the midwife  were in the other room, assisting the other mama bring life into the world.
"OK, just stay calm," our doula coached, and started explaining what the next faze may look like. More contractions came, still feeling the sensation. Suddenly little baby cries erupted from the other room. And they must have been cutting the umbilcal cord as our baby girl was getting ready to crown.
Our doula went to grab the birth team.
As they came in, they seemed amazed. My water still hadn't broke, but was being born along with our baby.
The midwife described "it kind of looks like a water balloon." She paused. "Do you want to touch it?"
Are you kidding me? As calm as could be "Just get it out."
Baby's head began to crown.
Pop.
Water broke. 
Baby being born.
2 steps forward. 1 step back.
Final push.
Cries erupted in our room as a tiny wet baby girl was placed on my belly. Her head snuggle against my chest and crying ceased as my heart beat entered her tiny ears once again. "Hola," I whispered.
Her big black eyes popped open wide to greet me, and I knew I had never loved anything or anyone more in my entire life. My heart was full as Papí (as Fabian was now officially a Papí) cut the umbilical cord. Big black eyes, curly dark hair, a little wet mess. Our baby girl was finally here, born perfect.

5 Lessons You Learn In the First 5 Days of Parenting

5:45 am this past Thursday I woke up with cramps. Kind of like period cramps, but harder. I mean it was to be expected I was 9 months pregnant and a few days. About an hour later it hit me that I was having contractions. Like real contractions, not the little Braxton Hicks twinges I got trying to induce labor by walking the mall. But the real deal. 16 hours later we were were on the way to the birth center, sure I was going to die (not really, but from all the shady information the Internet throws out I was sure I had at least another 12-18 hours to go, and no way was I prepared for that). Fortunately, within 3 1/2 hours of being at the birth center  (The  Minnesota Birth Center ) I had the most beautiful baby I had ever seen laying in my arms.

June 3rd, 2016.
3:07 am.
7lbs 10 oz. 20.25 inches long.

Before we knew what hit us, El Esposo and I were thrust into the throws of parenthood and all that comes with it. If I could I would share every single moment with you. It's like Mary, "she treasured up all these things in her heart." I now am of the opinion that it is impossible to truly understand the depth of the this verse until you have your own someone and their moments to treasure.
These are the simple times. The times that will slip away without warning, but never be forgotten. Where taking hour long skin-to-skin naps in the early afternoon is the number one priority. Where new eyes are full of wonder and awe. Time stands still and is meant to be treasured. And I treasure and would share all these treasures if I could, but though it's only been 5 days, I think this post would go on for 5 days, so instead I'm going to share the highlights. 5 Lessons learned within the first 5 days of Parenthood:

1. You may be a parent if your first response is "I love you so much" when a tiny human projects nearly every bodily fluid on you in the span of 5 minutes.

I was feeding baby girl when all of a sudden I hear a loud "plphtth" sound coming from her drawers. I keep nursing. Maybe it's just gas. But then I hear it again , and shrimp pulls away, grimacing and squirming. No, this is the real deal. I'm still learning how babies work, so now I'm faced with the decision of whether I should change her or burp her first. Thinking of the greenish pool her buns are inarguably sitting in, I go with change her.  Carefully, carefully El Esposo takes her out of my arms and I pull myself off the bed. On the changing table, she continues to grimace. I think I would grimace too if my butt was drowning in a pool of sludge. Gingerly, we pull the tabs off her diaper and open it up. She wasn't done. We wait a few seconds, letting her finish her business. Then carefully pull the diaper out from under her. Oh, but wait, she still isn't done. Greenish-black goop comes running down my hand. I want to smack my forehead, but am aware this would only make the situation worst. Instead, I'm  proactive and pushed the fresh diaper underneath. I, again, wait for her to finish, while I grab a wipe to clean off my hand. Now she has to be done. I open a fresh diaper, and because I'm smart, and learn from my mistakes, i put the fresh diaper underneath her before I remove the dirty one. Little legs hoisted, butt in the air...but guess what! She's still not done. This time a stream of yellow fluid comes right at me, landing on my shirt, flowing down her back, staining her cute little dress. I thought only little boys were supposed to pee on you. Ok, this is enough. I start wiping of all the gunk from her rear and pull the dress off of her, careful for the umbilical cord stump. Thank goodness for that pinterest hack in saw about how to get a baby out of a poop-soaked onesie. Baby finally clean, I pick her up, remove the dirty changing table cover, throw the dressy at El Esposo, hoping he can rinse it with water so it won't be ruined. Finally she has a clean diaper. I pick her up to take her back to the bed. Mind you, I hadn't yet burped her. Upon picking her up, she spits up all down my shirt  and proceeds to sneeze in my face. I pull her back to see her face. Her eyes are wide. And at this point all I can do is laugh. "I love you so much," I whisper and kiss her on the cheek. 5 minutes is all it takes for a tiny human to make a mess.

2. Despite what you thought in high school, your mom really does know everything.

Everyday of this adventure I'm realizing how little I know about anything that has to do with anything when it comes to babies. And you know that fear that every mom has "I sound like my mother." Well it turns out I wish in some way I could sound like my mother, because then that would me a might know a thing or too. From boppy pillows to sleep schedules, I'm so happy I have someone that ran through a lot of trial and error before me and is willing to share that knowledge. Love you mom. Congrats on your promotion to grandma.

3. Babies look nothing like you think they will, but they come out absolutely perfect.

Throughout the whole pregnancy, El Esposo and would talk about how we thought our little bundle of love would look. And let me tell you, she looks nothing like anything we ever thought about. But I wouldn't want her any other way. Big black eyes, dark hair, prieta skin. She's a little chicana if ever laid my eyes on one. And she has the cutest little birthmark on her cheek that I just love. Poor baby, I know she's going to hate it when she gets older, and I'm going to love her all the more for it. To me it's absolute perfection. She's absolute perfection, because she's mine.

4. You know you've crossed over into parenthood when the thought races through your mind "it's 4 o'clock! We got to sleep in!"

It's no news that babies keep you up at night. They wake up and want to eat every 2-4 hours round the clock. That means if you go to bed at 10 pm, you could possibly be waking at midnight...2am... 4am...6am... and by 8 am you might as well give up, because who can get into a REM cycle on that schedule? And of course, if your baby is like our baby, she doesn't want to go back to sleep after eating at night. Nights the time to play! Back in the womb, 3 am was when she'd host her own little dance party, so why should outside the womb be any different? Of course during the day, she'll wake up, eat, get changed, and go right back to sleep, no assistance needed. But at night it's a different story. From adjusting to sleeping outside the womb, to the night she was super gassy and uncomfortable, baby girl is a night owl. El Esposo and I have been putting our heads together though. We're inging on to all the wisdom of Mom  (I kid you not, she really does know everything) and trying to think back to all the advise we recieved back before we knew what sleep deprivation really met. Finally we've figured out a system that worked (or at least it worked for one night so far) and baby girl only woke up once last night. She slept from midnight to 4am and 4 am to 8 am. 2 am came around, my body jumped awake, knowing she'd want to eat soon. But there was nothing. I put my hand down in to the bassinette to touch her belly. I could feel her breathing, still wrapped tightly in her swaddle. I let her sleep. I slept. Finally at 4 am I was startled awake by little lips smacking. I turned on the side table light and looked at my phone. 4 o'clock? That couldn't be right? Had she slept that long? I kid you not, the thought popped into my head, "were slept in." Then the reality of my thoughts really hit me. Parenthood does not mean know sleeping in. Sleeping in just means something a little different.

5. You believe in love at first sight.
After 22 hours of labor I was done. With a final push there was another person in the world, and in a matter of seconds she was resting on my chest. Though she didn't look like anything I had imagined, and she was covered in pregnancy slime, my heart was undeniably stolen. Before I gave birth, I read several blogs where new moms would talk about how they didn't "love" their baby at first. Of course they loved their baby, but the uncontrollable feelings associated with that just weren't there. So when they placed that slime, warm little mess on my chest the feelings that washed over me were almost unexpected. And I knew I had never loved anything or anyone so much in my entire life.

In the end I am learning mother's are their children's treasure chests, where every moment of their lives is stored and cared for in a way that only a mother could know. Every day is bringing new moments, from keeping her eyes open when there's light out, to losing her umbilical cord stub. And every moment keeps me in the tension where I am simultanrously praying for her future and gently whispering "please stay small" as I treasure up all of her moments in my heart.

A Visit to Elizabeth

Let me say it again, this season I am captivated by the story of Mary. And last week I reflected on Mary's ability to look to the Lord. Her ability to look above and beyond her situation and perspective to see the greater picture.

And today I find myself taking a step back. Between the time of finding out she was pregnant to her actually declaring her praise was a journey.

Luke 1:39 "and then Mary made haste to visit her cousin Elizabeth."

She knew no one would understand. She knew the consequences of being a single mother back in the day. She ran to a refuge, her cousin Elizabeth.

We all know that John the Baptist was the one who "prepared the way" for Jesus (Isaiah 40:30, Mark 1:3). However, as John prepared the way for Jesus, I believe that Elizabeth began the process by preparing the way for Mary.

Mary came to her, probably terrified, being taken off-guard in every way by this unexpected miracle. Cultural norms, age, and gender all working together against her. I feel like my problems (and the problems of every modern mom) diminish to almost nothing in comparison to what she was facing. She was probably terrified, but knowing if anyone would accept her it may be Elizabeth. However, I'm sure a hint of doubt lingered in her mind. Would her cousin embrace her with open arms, or turn her over to the elders? Always a trusted friend in the past, could this possibly be the moment where all things turned against her? Yet, as Mary entered their home, and before she could say much more than 'hello,' this was how Elizabeth greeted her:

 And when Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, and she exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!  And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me?  For behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy.  And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.” (Luke 1:41-45, ESV)

Elizabeth was so in tune with the Lord that in the living of the day-to-day she became filled with the Spirit and spoke the most timely words to Mary's heart. She not only confirmed that this was the Lord's will, but confirmed that Mary was walking in the will of the Lord.

The affirmed that this was a "blessing." She confirmed that this, indeed was the Son of God. And she affirmed that Mary had made the right choice to believe in the promises of God.

God always prepares the way. He sends people ahead of us, to walk the journeys with us, and speak the truth of a situation so that we can see the light and join in our own song of praise.

This passage has just caused me to reflect on all the 'Elizabeth's' the Lord has put in my life during this season. Again, I'm not a single, a teenager, or living in the ancient far east. However, pregnancy, motherhood, and life in general hold a piece of the terrifying unknown. That's also why we have people who have gone ahead in the journey and can speak calm and hope into the chaos and uncertain. I am so thankful today for these people (I hope you all know who you are). And I encourage those that are Elizabeth's to take the initiative to speak peace to the Mary's and the Mary's to seek out Elizabeth's.

On Christmas "the word became flesh and dwelt among us" (John 1:15).God came to be with us so that we could see God. Mary and Elizabeth were apart of this work as Elizabeth walked with Mary and spoke the truth of God over her life. We continue this work as we walk with one another through this journey of life.  As Christ was God to us, let us be Christ to one another. Merry Christmas!
 

Mary's Song

Every time Christmas rolls around I love to reflect on the Christmas story. Between meditating on the actual scripture passages, singing caroled hymns, putting up the Nativity there's no shortage of reflection. And every year there seems to be a new character in the Nativity story that catches my attention. This year it's Mary. Maybe it's because since I've married a Mexican and we pass the Virgin Guadalupe every time we go to buy a concha. Maybe it's because I work in a crisis pregnancy center and, oh yeah, this was probably the biggest unplanned pregnancy of all time. Or maybe it's because I, myself, am pregnant.

But wait. Let's back up, because I haven't blogged since May and all this has happened since then. So incase you haven't heard the tornado of my thoughts, I moved, got married, and changed jobs all in a month. 2 weeks later I find out I'm pregnant. Now on the horizons there's more change which is a bit of a secret for now. But let's just say I'm just wanting a little taste of normal. Most of these changes are happy. Some have been upsetting and sad. All of these changes are good. But let's face the facts: change, even good change is a difficult whirlwind to ride through. So let's just say the Father and I have had a few sit-down cry sessions as I'm working on "managing" this transition.

Then we have Mary. The original "16 and Pregnant". And all of my crazy is put into perspective. Little Virgin Mary is stopped by a stranger on the street and told "Hey you're pregnant!" Talk about a turn of events. She was engaged in a time where virginity was value and let's face is, the only way to get pregnant was to...
To loose hold of that sacred treasure, as a woman, would mean a death sentence (I'm not kidding, Matthew 1:19).

So here's me crying out, because I want some normal. And here's Mary's answer:

“My soul glorifies the Lord
⁴⁷     and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
⁴⁸ for he has been mindful
    of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,
⁴⁹     for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
    holy is his name.
⁵⁰ His mercy extends to those who fear him,
    from generation to generation.
⁵¹ He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
    he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
⁵² He has brought down rulers from their thrones
    but has lifted up the humble.
⁵³ He has filled the hungry with good things
    but has sent the rich away empty.
⁵⁴ He has helped his servant Israel,
    remembering to be merciful
⁵⁵ to Abraham and his descendants forever,
    just as he promised our ancestors.”--(Luke 1:46-55)

Mary's response was not that of fear and frustration, but of trust and hope. How much I have to learn. I think there are times where we need honesty with God. There are times we need to grieve and pour out our hearts. Then I believe there are times when we need to look beyond our fear into the hope we have. This is our time to praise. When we focus our eyes on the one who's power is stronger and greater than ours we begin to see the bigger picture that the Lord is at work and we can trust. He is our Immanuel, God with us. That is the meaning of Christmas. Mary was the first to experience this truth and as we sit in praise, waiting for God's plan to come to fullness we experience the Christmas story in our own lives.

breaking points

 All have breaking points. That point in time where we are stretched so thin, so tight, so tense that the very concept of breathing has become a new phenomenon.  We keep on functioning in a state of utter exhaustion and chaos that it becomes normal and what is really normal is simply a vague memory. We pick up our feet and keep moving forward, and when I say pick up our feet, I mean wearily trudge through life praying "God let there be an end, because if this continues in the after life, I rather skip the after life all together and just be allowed to sleep."
Yet, in the midst of all that subconscious chatter we convince ourselves we're ok. Our worlds are crashing in a cacophony of unrest, but as long as I have  (insert pitiful rationalization) under control, I'm fine. We hold on tightly, suffocating the life of that one think of sustaining us. The thing letting us know it's ok. Like a small child gripping a teddy bear, choking the neck until the seam has frayed, the stuffing fallen out, and even that one dash of hope has been made a mess. We cling to meaningless things, a coping mechanism that when ashes hit ashes and dust hits dust can only lead to ruin.
A chaotic type-a misery seeing her world fall apart in hysteria, "but at least I've got my body." Ten pound gain hits the scales. Life unravels. Hopelessness invades. Prevails. Conquered. Defeated.
Only at our breaking point do we come to the realization of how futile are the things we put our hope in. Letting tears run down our cheeks, releasing the  squeched ability to feel and recognizing what we' ve put our trust in. Grieving the loss of something naturally good, we are forced into surrender and discover the inner cravings of our soul, neglected, starving, and pushed to the side for something that can never fulfill.
At our breaking point we recognize the true hopelessness of ourselves and a hope in a salvation that comes from something greater. So as we release we no longer have to cling, because we are embraced and empowered to rise again. Overcome the obstacles and take back our lives. Out of the wreckage we draw pearls of wisdom and a strength we did not know we possessed.
Indeed, breaking points are beautiful things if we let them be. 

dying to live

If anyone is to hold on to his life he will lose it, but if anyone would give up his life for my sake will find it. --Matthew 6:25

 Live in a worls seeking life...seeking hope, joy, peace, and love...
They hourly work week has sky rocketed. Seeking fulfillment that can be found in a store, we run ourselves to the ground in burnout, and for whatm...most people I know spend their weekly earnings getting smashed so they can forget the hellofa week they had. Ah isn't that the life? And if it isn't booze, it's food, movies, the latest samsung x galaxy phone...we want more and more and more, because at the end of the day we are searching for fulfillment, but are lost clinging to a less than satisfactory means to satisfy a craving for life...we're We're all looking for something. Me especially, trying to navigate through thi a cloud of fog my friends have begun to call my life. It has become clear I am in need of some serious direction..maybe even intervention...
and as I sit here pondering the meaning of my life I look to Ruth. Moabite. Foreigner.  Reject. Widow. The whole gammot of purposelessness fits her description. In a man's world where your worth is determined by the value of your husband, if you don't have a husband, you're screwed, and that's where we find our girl. The one strand of hope she has is a mother-in-law blessing her to go home and get herself a man. Go get yourself a purpose and let your life begin. How often do I feel this. Go out and do something. Find your point in living. Discover what you want and life and do it.
And this is ruth's response...
"I will not leave yoy. Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God."
Embracing a widow's curse, she clung to death, a life of lost purpose.
And how does the story end?
Her value was restored. Her worth tripled. The salvation of the world was birthed from her womb. Her blood flowed through kings.
And I'm left to wonder, all these things to which I've been clinging, what would it mean to let go? To let the purpose I thought I had be put to death and embrace a new horizon?

Papa, I am so prone to become distracted by the things this world values. Reveal to me the life I'm dlstriving for that needs to die so that I may truly grasp the meaning of life abundant.