Wednesday, October 14, 2009

living for today

It takes some people a lifetime to wake up from the fantasy worlds we have all been guilty of creating at some point in our lives. Some people snap back into reality in the blink of an eye. Others call for a huge tragedy to see themselves in a mirror. Nine months was the lucky number for me.

I was always maturing faster than I should. Started out by tagging along with my older siblings every chance I got. Learning the lyrics to The Doors around four years of age. Getting along with my sisters and brother encouraged the development of relationships with older friends as well. I just wanted to be grown up. A common desire among children but rather than just wishing for it I consciously worked toward it. I wanted to be a woman, not a little girl. I wanted to be listened to when I spoke, not just heard. Maybe I can express the extent of it more clearly through an example from my memories...

When I was about nine years old, my parents bought a big motor boat. My family would load up on the weekends, always stopping by the local grocery store and stocking up on fried chicken and beer, and head out to the barrier islands for a day of sun bathing, snorkeling, and relaxing. We made those trips for about three years. My siblings were all in their twenties so for them it was a social time to drink beer with their friends and smoke cigarettes. I was so jealous of their cool, grown-up friends, and all their freedom. Nine years old and I never once built a sand castle. Instead I sat in the water as close as they'd allow listening to stories I was much too young to understand. If I just acted a little more mature, maybe they would accept me.

When my foot out grew children's sizes, I just knew I would finally be accepted as a woman. How could I not be if I wore the same shoes as my sisters? Before I know it, I was taller than my very petite sister Samantha. Surely that would give me some kind of credit. It went on and on and on. One day I find myself married with a three week old baby in my arms. And my family still referring to me as a child, their baby sister.

The previous nine months foreshadowed that moment or really my whole life. It was foolish of me to expect even motherhood to change my fucked up relationship with them. So I am not trying to prove anything to them anymore and I am no longer seeking their approval or acceptance because in my attempt to gain their respect I have realized that there is more to be respected for than they have ever known in their own lives.

The pace at which my life has gone shouldn't really surprise them. I have been growing up faster than anyone else in my family my whole life. Pregnancy and marriage before my 21st birthday is different from the way they did it. But even in ways as small as high school participation, I have always been different. Unfortunately it did take nine months for me to realize that it's a good difference. In trying so hard to be just like them, I have realized I am not and don't want to be anything like them. With marriage and children they stopped. I am just beginning.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

birth story

Good thing it took nine months because it took me that long to accept it. My life was changing. I was going to have a baby. The most influential person in my life had changed from my mother to a man I had only known for about a year. I was exactly what I preached against for at least the previous 6 or 7 years of my life. I was a girl who got pregnant. It wasn't until about month 8 that I accepted my reality and acknowledged that I didn't have to be labeled as a stereotype. Not as a tramp, not as a dumb young girl, not as a mother, not as a housewife. Only 20 years old, I still had my whole life to decide what I wanted to be. Becoming a wife and a mother didn't have to mean that's all I'd ever be. Some people make those the main labels of their lives. I plan for them to mean no more than tall, short, skinny, or fat. Housewife and motherhood are definitely big enough to stand alone but for me they are simply a strong base to be build upon.


It took 41 weeks and one day for me to come to that conclusion. Wednesday, September 16, 2009, turned my life around for the better. A day I regained my confidence after 9 months of doubt and self-pity. As of January 5th of the same year I thought death would be the easiest, and somehow I almost convinced myself, the best option. Like the ribbon in the middle of the tug-a-war rope, I let myself be pulled in opposite directions by myself and everyone around me. Finally, my body knew I was ready to bring Sophia Irene Marie into the world. Wednesday morning began around 11am for Daniel and me. I casually walked to the kitchen with my mind racing trying to decide whether or not the ache in my lower back was really there or just wishful thinking being as I was over a week past my due date. I expressed my discomfort nonchalantly to my husband and nonchalantly recommended I get some Vitamin D by the pool. After a couple hours of sunbathing and debating whether or not this ache was coming and going at any consistent rate, I headed up the curvy stairs to our simple little condo. It was time to travel to Mississippi to have dinner with my parents and my mother-in-law at the Singing River Yacht Club. While laying by the pool accompanied by a good friend Alicia Reeves, I had concluded that the ache was intensifying for about a 45 seconds every 20 minutes. So for the 45 minutes car ride to the club Daniel was adamantly timing my "contractions", although I was still hesitant to claim that I was actually in labor. From that point until we arrived back in Mobile around 9pm, this back ache had been consistent every 5 minutes. Walk. Walk. Walk. All we heard in Bradley class. So what did we do albeit tired and hot? We walked. Around campus with Marley and Dylan, our pups or oldest children. Stopping every 3 minutes to deal with contractions as they started to get stronger by this point. We made it to the top of the steps just as the rain began to fall.

The next several hours consisted of warm baths, lavender oil, very interrupted sleep, and finally left me sitting on my exercise ball in the middle of our living room around 4 a.m. Thursday morning. I was in a different place as if all by myself. I didn’t think of anything else in the world. I was focused on a different level, an out of body experience as if I was floating above the Earth. For the next hour, I went from covered in blankets to naked with a cold rag on my forehead. It was a quiet affair until I was suddenly puking in the garbage can. That's about the time I recommended we call our midwife. It was about 5 a.m. In the silence of the morning I could hear everything she was asking my husband on the phone. It wasn't until I heard him respond with "they are about 1 minute apart" that I had a negative thought. And that was simply, "This car ride is going to suck". It was time. I slipped on a dress and we headed out the door. I closed my eyes and focused on NPR. My husband admitted later that he was sure my labor had slowed down because I didn't make a peep the entire ride.

After arriving at the cottage in Long Beach, Mississippi, the midwife checked my progression and to my relief announced that I was already 8 centimeters dilated. Only 2 more to go before I would possibly be ready to push. After about 5 contractions standing in the middle of the room swaying with my eyes half closed as my husband and midwife scrambled to unload the car and set things up, I decided to try a different position to deal with the strongest contraction I had felt thus far. As soon as I knelt on the bed, I realized it was not comfortable for me and as I leaned back to stand my water broke. Strangest sensation I have ever felt. Just like a water balloon fell from between my legs. Luckily, I was standing right over the lap pads, which soaked it all up.

I was standing in the bathroom as my husband helped me take off my wet dress, when I first felt the urge to push. It was uncontrollable. I couldn't resist. So as I sat on the toilet to rest I shouted for the midwife. Once the contraction passed we moved to the bedroom just a few feet away. I sat on the bed with my husband, my support, my love right next to me and as he talked me through it I began to push with each contraction. The pressure was drastically increasing with each contraction as the baby made her way down. Wanting to show me that I really was making progress, our midwife grabbed my hand, and I felt just the crown of the baby's head peeking out of my body. Between each contraction, I fell back on Daniel while he shoveled Sonic ice chips into my mouth, and I chomped like a cow. Finally, I was almost there so I decided I was just going to push until the baby came out. And then at 7:30 a.m. in a quiet, simple, little bedroom there was a wet, floppy, Big baby on my stomach. As we all anticipated that first cry, I anxiously flipped the little human being around to announce that it was a girl. A big girl (10lbs. 3oz.) who after a brief second of hesitation relieved us all with her first cry. To watch her skin go from blue to pink was like seeing God’s hand reach down and touch her. We all cried and gasped for the breath the moment had stolen from our bodies. I would have told you labor was over at that point if I hadn’t caught a glimpse of my knees shaking. It was about 20 minutes before the placenta delivered and my job was finally over. Or really just beginning.
It was about 5 p.m. when I found myself back at Spanish Villa resting in my own bed with the baby that had just been inside of my body less than 11 hours before lying next to me. Her father restlessly peering over us snapping pictures.
For me there was no specific moment when I really felt like a mother. The transition happened smoothly. I don’t feel much different. Life is a lot more fun though.

haunting hope

frozen images in my head
catch my breath
keep moving
you stop me in my tracks
wake me from my sleep
just to be disappointed
when reality reminds me
it was just a dream
literally, figuratively
hope is what we need
hope is what I need to let go of...
you and hope