By Request

I have had several people ask me to write out my birth story for Ethan, so, without further ado, here it is. I have included a little background information on my other births to help you see what lead me to the choices I was making for Ethan's birth. I know some of this is controversial so if you want to comment or ask questions, I just ask that you do it in a respectful way. Happy reading!

My journey to plan for a HBA3C (home birth after 3 c-sections for those of you who aren't indoctrinated in the world of birth terminology) started 7 1/2 years ago with the birth of my first born. I had who I considered to be the best doctor in the area (I still do think that by the way-shout out to Dr. Debra Madura with Clarian Arnett-arguably one of the more progressive physicians in the area in terms of allowing women to have choice in their birthing options and supporting natural labor) and was fully immersed in the medical model of birth. I lived and breathed the What to Expect books. I mean, that's just what you are supposed to do right? RIGHT????

I did plan for a natural birth, that was a deep heart's desire of mine, but I had no idea how impossible that was to achieve in a hospital setting. I went past my due date with no signs of labor and my OB asked if I wanted to be induced. SURE! I just wanted to meet my baby!

So at five days past my due date I went in for an induction, completely clueless about what it meant to be induced. Sure I knew all about the pitocin and what they were going to do, but I was clueless about risks etc... I completely expected to have my natural birth. My mom never had any issues so why should I? I never even really considered csection as a possibility. It wasn't until I got to the hospital that I learned an induction could fail and I could be sent home. Well, I was determined that wouldn't happen to me-no way I was leaving that hospital without a baby! No one told me that being induced INCREASES YOUR ODDS AT HAVING A C-SECTION BY 50%!!!! (Yes, you read that right!)

What ensued was what I have since learned is a very typical story known as the cascade of interventions-intervention after intervention to try to move things along, never dilating past a 1-artificially broken waters, internal monitors, nubain, epidural-and after 16 hours of labor with no progress and broken waters, my daughter was born via csection.

She was perfect, I was fine, no indication for the csection except FTP (failure to progress, or as I like to refer to it, FAILURE TO BE PATIENT). She was a bigger baby, 9 lbs, 3 oz and VERY broad shouldered. Everyone said thank God you didn't have to push her out-like that was funny or something. But I was happy to have my baby and not too upset about the csection.

That is, until the next day when they got me out of bed. The pain was unbelievable. They always talk about it like it's no big deal just a little surgery, so that was my expectation. Don't be fooled. IT IS MAJOR ABDOMINAL SURGERY. They pull your insides out-your bladder and intestine and uterus-and then put you back together. Under no other circumstances would someone be awake during such an ordeal, much less told to "be grateful" and "be happy" and "get over it".

My recovery was absolutely horrid. Every time I stood up I felt as if my body was ripping in two and my insides were going to fall out. I couldn't cough, laugh, cry, sneeze, use the bathroom without excruciating pain. Not to mention, I felt like a complete and total failure but I couldn't quite figure out why. I was so excited to have my baby and loved her fiercely from the moment I saw her, BUT I started to realize even then, within days of her birth, that having a perfectly healthy baby, while vitally important, was not the ONLY important thing. Having a physically and emotionally healthy mom was just as important. Usually, once the baby comes, Mom is taken out of the equation and everyone says oh-so-helpful things like, "Be grateful you have a healthy baby." or "What are you upset about? You have a healthy baby." or even the hurtful "Get over it. Lots of women have c-sections and are fine." I had the baby blues and grieved the loss of my birth and determined to do it differently the next time.

Fast forward to pregnancy number 2 (technically number 3-we had a miscarriage in between which I now attribute to the previous csection). I was SO determined for a VBAC, but again buying into the medical model, with the exception that my doctor wouldn't induce (this can introduce a whole host of extra complications, even more so when you have had a previous csection) so I knew I had to go into labor on my own-not that I wanted to repeat that experience anyway.

However, since I never dilated with my daughter, nor had so much as a contraction without the pit, I was convinced something was wrong with my body, I would not be able to do it because I would never go into labor on my own. WRONG! I had an appointment on Friday and I was still tight and closed and my OB said, "see ya next week." I was having plenty of contractions but quite discouraged that yet again nothing was happening.

I was 38 weeks, 6 days pregnant. I was completely unprepared for labor, had no bags packed because I had convinced myself it wasn't happening. That night at 2 am my water broke in a huge gush. Like a good little patient I called immediately and after waking my daughter, getting ready and dropping her at a friend's we got to the hospital around 4 am. I had started contracting, hard and fast, 2-3 min apart. Man it hurt!

But I was so flippin' excited! I couldn't believe it, I was doing it! It was the first time I actually believed it might happen. I labored like that, contractions 2-3 min apart all through the night and until about noon the next day. I was in a lot of pain but I didn't want any interventions-no drugs, no epidural.

I had fairly supportive nurses and I was concerned about the 24 hour rule but the doc on call was so laid back-he said since I was getting antibiotics for GBS anyway, that I could labor as long as I wanted. They didn't check me, they basically just left me alone to do my thing-with one exception. I live in a town where there are three nursing schools so of course they asked if the nursing students could "study" me, since VBACs are so rare. So I agreed, but man was that annoying.

So anyway, I did everything I could to get this baby moving-walked the halls, hot showers, birthing ball. I was crying out for my mommy and right about the time she came contractions just stopped. I would have maybe one or two an hour and that was it. Things stayed that way for 24 hours. They moved me off of L&D to an empty hall because they needed the room for women who were really in labor, of course. I was never told at the time that this was perfectly normal and actually quite common. As you can imagine, I was incredibly discouraged. And hungry-I hadn't eaten for 48 hours and was utterly exhausted.

At this point I had a few nurses telling me to give up-that was frustrating, but thankfully I am very stubborn. So that night (it was Sunday evening by then) I asked for them to bring the birthing ball into my room. Rick was gone with Madison to change clothes and shower and such and I was all alone in my room. I just sat on the birthing ball and cried out to God, pleading with him to bring the contractions back. I can only think of one other time I have prayed so hard and so fervently and wanted something so badly.

Within an hour contractions were 7 minutes apart, then 5, then they finally moved me back to L&D and I labored like that through the night. I was able to relax and laugh between contractions but I really had to work through them. The hospital was really flexible and didn't require continuous fetal monitoring or anything like that so I was able to be as mobile as possible. They even let me go outside at one point-I remember it being the first warm day of the year-this was early March-and begging to go outside since I was so tired of being in there and so they let me-in a wheelchair, but I didn't care, it was fresh air.

My OB came in Monday morning, shocked to find me still there and asked if she could check me. I hadn't been checked yet so I consented and I wasn't even a 1. I couldn't believe it-it was like my world came crashing down in that moment-all my hard work was for nothing. At 12:14 Monday afternoon, 58 hours after my water broke, my son was delivered via csection for FTP...again. My body had failed me...again.

Fast forward 2 more years to baby number 3-diagnosed with GD (gestational diabetes), insulin-dependent, had the fear of God put in me that the baby was going to be huge, was measuring five weeks ahead. So, I did something I never thought I would do and had an elective repeat csection. Turns out, he was my smallest baby at 8 lbs 6 ounces and perfect in every way.

Two years later and I'm pregnant again and determined to do it differently this time. Each of my recoveries had been horrible, I had had to wait hours to even get to meet each of my babies because of complications with anesthesia and hospital protocol, I had complications at the beginning of this pregnancy which were caused by the previous csections and I longed so badly to be the first one to hold my sweet baby and to nurse him right away and not feel so disconnected from the births of my children. I wanted to join the ranks of millions of women the world over and do what I was created to do and birth my baby naturally.

I had learned a lot from the GD experience and I was determined to not have that again, even though they told me at every appt I WAS GOING to have it-I am overweight and there is a 70% recurrence rate so it was a done deal right? I was taking really good care of myself and eating right and so nervous when the time came for the GD test. All this time I had been doing more and more research, reading books like Silent Knife, and Pushed and Ina May's Guide to Childbirth and Birthing from Within. I KNEW I wanted a homebirth.

I did so much research and reading that my eyes started to go blurry. I learned so many new and startling things that I had never considered before about the modern medical-model of maternity care (a whole other post in itself which I would love to write sometime-but if anyone is interested in the research or questions whether what I was planning was really safe, feel free to ask). Mainly, I became convinced that I would never have the birth I desired in a hospital setting, no matter how wonderful and family-friendly the hospital and it's staff may be. Secondly, I was convinced by scores of compelling research and evidence that this was indeed a very safe way to birth my child.

I NEVER would have put him at risk, but it was amazing the number of people who thought I was doing just that and had no problem sharing their opinions on the matter with me-despite having known me for years and never once questioning my commitment to caring about the safety of my children or doing something without their best interest at heart. That was probably the hardest part of the whole journey. I felt incredibly lonely and judged for the decisions I was making, by people who knew me, to whom I was very close, who knew the kind of mom I was. None of that mattered. I was considering something non-mainstream, and instead of supporting me and looking at the research, snap judgements were made and I felt incredibly ostracized. It was a very hard time and very hurtful for me. I understood their concern for me, but at the same time I just needed some understanding and support.

It was at that time I connected with some women from International Cesarean Awareness Network, ICAN, and that was so helpful to be heard and to connect with women who knew exactly what I was going through and had been there themselves. I cannot overstate the importance and value of the support I received there, and how much I would recommend the site to someone in our situation.

So, I started talking to all the HBMWs (home birth midwives) in my state. I had lots of interesting conversations, but NO ONE wanted the risk of a 3-peater, especially with the threat of GD. BUT-I PASSED THE TEST!!! I could not have been more excited, I was on cloud nine and so mad at the u/s tech who told me she'd see me again "you know, because of the diabetes" like it was a given. YES! I proved them wrong!!

Then I really started to hunker down and get serious about this home birth business. I had to convince Rick that it was a good idea, which wasn't too hard to do after I started reading him the research on the risks of csections and especially repeat csections and he read Birth Partner on his own. He agreed with me that this would be the best, most beautiful, natural way to bring our son into the world.

Long story short, I finally found a MW willing to take a chance on me and she was the first person ever to tell me I could do it. I had no idea how badly I needed to hear that. I remained under the care of my OB as well, just in case I needed a transfer but I was so sure that this would be my time. I did everything right.

Of course, many of you know the rest of the story. My little guy was breech and big and despite trying every possible thing-chiropractor, acupuncture, moxibustion, pulsatilla, standing on my head-among many other positions I tried to get him to turn-he wouldn't budge. He wasn't even in a good position to deliver breech which I was willing to try-he was oblique, almost transverse, laying sideways facing my right side with his butt in my pelvis and head and feet up under my ribs.

Another long story short, all the research I did said vaginal breech birth was a viable option, IF the baby was not big. A late term u/s confirmed that he was good size (I know, I know they can be inaccurate, but my u/s tech is notoriously accurate and had been right on target for all of my kids, plus he was right around the same weight as they were at that point so I didn't think by some miracle I would all of a sudden be popping out a 7 pounder. I have big babies, that's all there is to it-and that didn't scare me one bit when I thought about delivering a baby head-down). So my MW risked me out-she conferred with another MW who was to be her back-up and they both agreed I should have a csection, as did my OB of course.

I was crushed beyond belief, but there was NO WAY I was delivering breech unassisted. The most heart-breaking moment came when my husband deflated the pool in our room-it was like I could physically feel my heart deflating as well. I had a visceral reaction to it, like it was somehow symbolic of my failure and even typing it out is bringing me to tears remembering those emotions again.

So, at 2 days past my due date, I had ANOTHER ERCS (elective repeat csection-something I had sworn to never do again).

However, this time around it was a little different-and this is where the story gets better. Because I had done all my research and had been around this block a few times, I knew exactly what I wanted out of my csection. The decision to do the csection was made on a Wednesday and the surgery was scheduled for that Friday. I went home, typed out a birth plan and took it into the hospital the next day when they had me do all of my pre-testing.

In between my 3rd and 4th babies a new hospital had opened so I had no idea what kind of response I would get. I was asking for a lot of unusual things-no narcotics in my spinal, to have my husband present for the administration of the spinal, to be able to see my baby being born, for him not to be suctioned or bathed, to wait for the cord to stop pulsating before cutting it, among many, other things. I figured they would laugh in my face but I tell you what these nurses were top notch, so sweet.

I was afraid even if they did do what I wanted they would be resentful about it and I would feel that. But they bent over backwards to give me everything I wanted. One nurse even said, in complete sincerity, "we will do everything we can to give you everything you want." Every nurse who came into my room acknowledged, without me asking, that they had read my birth plan. My OB and my anesthesiologist happened to be there while I was in for pre-testing, both read the birth plan and were fine with most of it. My anesthesiologist really tried to convince me to take the narcs (I don't do well at all with them and basically slept through my first two csections and had a long and difficult time coming out of recovery so I wasn't able to see my babies until many hours after their births). But I had done it that way with my last birth so I knew it could be done. She thought I didn't know what I was in for pain-wise and I assured her I most certainly did and I would take the pain any day over not being present and fully aware at the birth of my own child. She accepted that and even let my husband be there the whole time-he walked me into the OR and walked out with me (well I rode on the bed but you know what I mean).

They lowered the curtain so I could see my baby right away-the first time I saw my others they were already bundled up and bathed. I loved seeing him all goopy and messy-it was beautiful. The whole experience from start to finish was surreal. I never thought a csection could be beautiful but his was. I had him on my chest nursing when he was 30 minutes old. He was awake and alert. I had never seen any of my other babies like that. I was awake and alert and had I had the narcs I would have missed that completely. It was amazing! He latched on right away and nursed for 35 minutes the first time-it was awesome!!!

He was so much easier and I fully believe it was because he had no drugs in his system, nor did I. My milk came in before I left the hospital and his poop was already yellow (that's a good thing for those unfamiliar with babies) by the time we left as well-it was five days before my milk came in with each of my other kids, and in the meantime I had to listen to them cry because they were so hungry by the time it came in fully. I had none of that this time around. In fact, the nurses were coming into my room asking me to give nursing lessons to the other moms on the floor. After four kids, it is kind-of second-nature.

It was all around just an awesome, amazing experience that I never would have had had I not done my research, stood up for myself and asked for what I wanted. Finally, I felt empowered, like my voice mattered, like I wasn't just a vehicle to get the baby here but that what I felt and wanted was important. FINALLY!!!

Now my recovery this time around was the worst yet-I ended up with a spinal headache which was horrible, I seriously thought I was dying. Then I ended up with my scar opening up and an ecoli infection at the incision site, which Rick had to pack daily for a couple of weeks. It was humiliating and disgusting and just all around awful. I was completely disgusted with myself and Rick was so gentle and tender with me. I was a big baby about it all and he was absolutely perfect, my rock through it all. It was the first time in ten years of marriage that he had to quote our marriage vows back to me and reassure me he was there for the long haul, no matter how bad things got. And it was bad.

So even though the actual birth and hospital stay was awesome, I still firmly believe CSECTIONS SUCK!!! Here I am 12, almost 13 weeks later and still having pain (edited: it is now a year later, and I still experience pain). So when we get pregnant again I will try again for my HBAC. Yes, I will! The hard part for me was that my csection this time around had nothing to do with the fact that I had already had 3 csections-it was something completely out of my control. But I am still determined for the birth I want.

I was talking to Rick the other night telling him how I would have ten more kids if it weren't for having the csections. I said something about not being able to give birth normally. And he said the sweetest and most meaningful thing. He said, "It's not that you can't. It's that you haven't yet." God, I love that man!

Anyway, I know this was really long (you are used to that by now if you have read any of my other posts) and if you read all the way to the end , God bless you and thank you.

I hope that if you are a woman facing similar decisions as mine, you can be encouraged by my story to stand up for yourself and not back down and that even if you have to have a csection that it can be a better experience than you can imagine-you just have to ask for it. Not saying that all hospitals will be as great as mine was, but it never hurts to ask and keep on asking if need be. I found a lot of healing this time around. I still wonder what would have happened if I went into labor and question whether I should have waited. I am sure I always will. But I don't regret my decision. My boy is beautiful and our journey taught me so much. I will be forever grateful for that!

The Story of You

Today is a very important day. This is what I see as I sit here typing this:

This is my sweet one month old snuggling on my chest. I cannot even begin to describe how faithful and loving and gracious my God is. Especially when I pause to consider that my son should not even be here. Yet here we are, celebrating one whole, perfect, beautiful month with our sweet, sweet boy.

As we have journeyed through this pregnancy there were so many times I wanted to pour out my heart through writing our story, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Somehow, in the back of my mind I had this completely irrational fear. My fear was that if I put it out there, what God was doing in our lives, then I would somehow jinx it. Somehow, someway, it would all come crashing down.

I know it seems really silly. But here’s what you have to understand about me. I am one of THOSE people. You know the type. I believe the word used to describe us is “pessimistic”. I really hate that word. Mostly because I don’t want to be that way. But I am not the type of person who trusts easily or believes that good things will happen to me if I just have enough faith or pray enough or whatever. In fact, usually the opposite is true. I generally have a conscious thought process that goes a little like this: “I am going to expect that the absolute worst is going to happen. That way when it does happen I am prepared for it and not too disappointed. And if by some slim chance the worst that I am expecting doesn’t happen, well then I will be pleasantly surprised.” I prefer the term “realistic” to “pessimistic”. But, I guess if I am realistic with myself I have to admit that I am a pessimist.

And let me just tell you, it totally sucks being that way. I hate it sometimes. I hate that I drag other people down with me sometimes. I hate that it can make life pretty darn depressing sometimes. But I can never seem to rise above it.

I mean, sure, I have hope. I know what hope is and I can say with all sincerity and honesty that I am a hopeful person. Because I guess at the end of the day, even though I am expecting that worse-case scenario, I am hopeful for something more. Well, that is where the story of my son begins and ends.

Rick and I decided about a year ago that we wanted to start trying to conceive again. So I started all my usual routines to be sure that happened-taking my temperature each morning, charting and writing everything down so we would know exactly when the best time to try was. Luck favors the prepared, you know.

I thought it would be so nice to have a spring baby. Our last son has been born in the thick of the cold and flu season and I had wanted to avoid all of that and get past the stress of the holidays before having another baby. So we thought we would shoot for April, hoping that we would get pregnant within a couple of months.

The first month went by and nothing. I charted and tracked my temperatures and did everything I was supposed to. And nothing. I took a pregnancy test as soon as I could and it was negative. I was sad, but expecting that, not totally devastated. We still had a couple of months left to hit that magic window of having our spring baby.

Not surprisingly, 28 days after I had my last period the next one came-I’m telling you they wrote the text books after me (my apologies if that is way more information than you wanted to know about me but it is important to the story). So we decided we would start trying again.

However, 2 weeks later, as I was sitting in church on a Sunday morning-August 16 to be exact, I could feel that something wasn’t quite right. I started having some unusual cramping and I went to the bathroom and sure enough I was bleeding. Because I am so particular about tracking my cycles I knew that this was not normal. It had only been two weeks since my last cycle. I was at church by myself because Rick had worked the night before and needed to sleep. So I made the decision to go ahead and leave and I called him on the way home. I was almost 100% positive that I was having a miscarriage.

I made two more phone calls on the way home. The first one was to the on-call OB/GYN explaining the situation. He lovingly tried to calm me down and reassure me that this was probably perfectly normal bleeding and that I was just early. I assured him that doesn’t happen to me, that I am very regular and I was sure I was miscarrying, even though I had had a negative pregnancy test. He told me to go home and take a pregnancy test and call him back if it was positive. My third phone call was to my dear friend Melissa, who was with her family in Chicago. I am pretty sure she stopped right there on the streets to pray for me. I am sure I was a total blubbering fool at that point as I don’t remember much of what was said, but I know she cried and prayed with me.

So a few minutes later I arrived home and took a pregnancy test. Sure enough, as I thought, it was positive. I just didn’t know what to do or think or feel in that moment. It was one of those worst case scenarios/hoping for something better moments. I called the OB back and he told me to go to the Emergency Room. So I gathered up the boys (Madison was in Florida) and Rick and we all headed to the ER.

By this time the cramping and bleeding had become quite severe. I was an emotional wreck and there was very little they could do at the hospital to make anything better. They drew some blood to check my hormone levels. They measured at 2700, which basically meant that they could not tell me anything I didn’t already know. Hospital policy dictates that they cannot do an ultrasound until your HcG levels reach 3000 so there was no way of knowing if the baby had implanted in the wrong place, was viable at all, or if a miscarriage was inevitable. As I walked out of the ER, a nurse said, “Congratulations” as she handed me my take-home instructions for impending miscarriage. It was like a total slap in the face and to be honest I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to ask her what in the world she was thinking telling me congratulations when my baby was dying. I wanted to tell her she was the most insensitive person I had ever met. But I didn’t say any of those things. We just went home in a cloud of confusion and despair, with no more answers than we had come in with.

Over the next two days the bleeding slowly faded and I assumed that the miscarriage was complete. Let me back up a little bit here and say that we have travelled this road before. In 2004 we buried our second baby, lost in my first trimester. All of those emotions and questions came flooding back in an instant when we realized we were losing another baby. I remember asking God why? You know, that question that we all ask when tragedy strikes, that we rarely receive answers for. I remember being so angry and telling God, very matter of factly, that I absolutely, unequivocally could not do this again. Yet here we were.

I was instructed by my OB’s office to come in that following Tuesday so that they could repeat the blood draw to be sure that my hormone levels had returned to normal. This would help them to determine if I had retained any of the tissue and if I would need surgery. I told my doctor’s nurse that the nurse at the ER had told me “congratulations”. I asked her to be straight with me. I just wanted someone to give me the odds that this was actually a viable pregnancy. She said with the amount of bleeding I had and with the cramping, probably not. Oddly enough, I took some comfort in her words. At this point I just wanted it to be over with and I so desperately wanted someone to tell me the truth so I could stop hoping for something I could never have and I could begin the recovery process.

Late Tuesday afternoon that same nurse called me and said, “Your numbers went up.” She said she didn’t know what that meant except that I was still pregnant and that I needed to come in so they could verify that it wasn’t an ectopic pregnancy. I still had been bleeding this whole time so of course now I feared that next worst-case scenario-an ectopic that would lead to surgery that would damage my chances to ever have children again.

On Wednesday morning, with much anxiety and fear, we stepped into the OB’s office for an ultrasound. Lo and behold, as soon as she turned on the machine, what did we see but a tiny little heart beat? This was totally unbelievable to me. The baby was right where he was supposed to be and was measuring right at 6 weeks. That meant that when I took that pregnancy test before it was a false negative. We had gotten pregnant our first try.

The ultrasound technician noted a spot in behind the placenta that was causing the bleed. The official diagnosis was that of a “subchorionic hematoma”. Basically, that meant that the placenta was having trouble attaching completely and that there was a bleed in behind it. I went home with instructions for modified bed rest­-no lifting, no exercising, limited activity. She could have chained me to my bed and I couldn’t have been more elated. The tech also remarked that it was a good thing that they had not done an ultrasound in the ER because they would have only seen an empty sac with no heartbeat. The baby’s heart had probably just started beating that very day. If they had done the ultrasound they may have recommended a D&C to remove the rest of the fetal tissue. Oh my, God is good!!!

So, true to form, I came home that night and did lots and lots of internet research on subchorionic hematomas. I realized that we were not completely out of the woods. Many people with these kinds of bleeds go on to have other issues later in their pregnancy, such as placental abruption-where the placenta detaches prematurely from the wall of the uterus-a life-threatening condition for both mom and baby. Another common problem is pre-term labor.

So over the course of the next week, as my fear and worry got the better of me I placed numerous calls to my OB’s office asking questions about this and that. And while they were gracious each time to answer all my questions, the nurse finally said, “You know, we just need to focus on getting you out of the first trimester. We can’t do anything about any of those other things yet.” I realized she was right and I started to relax…a little.

Unfortunately, on August 30, at Chuck E Cheese of all places, where we were celebrating my daughter’s birthday, again I started to feel like not everything was right. It started off slow, but before too long I was having cramps so bad I could barely stand. I was determined to make it through the birthday party but when we got home I immediately got in bed. I was crying from so much pain but I was having no bleeding or anything. However, some part of me just knew it was only a matter of time. This was it: we were losing the baby for sure this time.

As I was lying in bed, and Rick was struggling to find a way to help me and the kids were getting more and more concerned about Mommy, I felt myself start to bleed again. But I was completely paralyzed-there was so much blood I could feel it coming out in huge clumps and gushes. I couldn’t even get to the bathroom. Finally, after several minutes I made it there and was completely devastated by what I saw. I was passing clots the size of my fist. I just cried and cried to Rick that we were losing our baby. I have never been so scared in my whole life.

Finally, I have no idea how, I got myself composed enough to call the OB who of course instructed us to head to the ER. First we met my in-laws who took the kids for us for the night and then we headed to the ER. We debated this decision because we knew if we were miscarrying that they could do nothing for us. But the next day was Madison’s birthday and I didn’t want to remember that day forever as the day we learned our baby had died, so we went to the ER.

Once at the ER they ran all the usual tests and did all the usual exams. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, the ultrasound tech came in. There in plain sight was our little baby’s heartbeat, beating stronger than ever.

We were utterly and completely shocked. Our baby was still hanging on! His growth was perfect. He was beautiful. But we still weren’t out of the woods. We knew the chances of our baby’s survival at this point were very slim-the hematoma was growing and the cramping and bleeding weren’t showing any signs of slowing down. My OB’s office wasn’t giving us a whole lot of hope. They even told me I couldn’t stand up in my sister’s wedding, which was scheduled for September 9…in Las Vegas. After much crying and pleading on my part, my OB relented, giving me strict instructions to go to the wedding and come back, no walking, no sight-seeing, nothing!

Over the next couple of months, I continued to bleed. It was a scary time. During this time, I had to learn to trust more, even though it is never my first inclination to do so. God was asking me to trust Him. It is a hard time in a pregnancy anyway-that time before you feel the reassurance of daily movement and sweet little flutters in your belly, before your belly has grown big enough that you are confident of the new life developing within you. It was a time of complete and utter trust in God. Not even so much trust that everything would work out, or the baby and I would be okay-but trust that this whole time God knew what He was doing, and that no matter what happened He was holding me.

Then at around 16 weeks of pregnancy I started to feel this new little life within me. I could hardly believe it. I treasured every movement. I am sure there were plenty of times standing in line at the grocery store, or waiting on Madison at the gym or sitting in church that I just sat there with a silly grin on my face feeling the miracle of life and looking like a complete fool.

Three weeks later another ultrasound confirmed that the truly amazing had indeed happened…a miracle in my own life. My SON (this was the point at which we found out it was indeed ANOTHER boy) was perfectly healthy, as was his placenta which gave absolutely no indication of ever having a problem to begin with.

I have to say, that although I believe in miracles, I never really thought one would happen to me. I always thought that was just something that happened to other people, never really anyone I knew. I had heard the stories though, and of course believed in the miracles described in the Bible, but they always seemed so far removed from my everyday life. I had prayed for miracles before, only to have my prayers go unanswered (or not answered the way I wanted). Of course, I prayed for a miracle for our baby but never really thought I would get one. We had thoroughly prepared ourselves to bury another child.

But a miracle he is. The rest of my pregnancy had its ups and downs and gave me plenty of more opportunities to learn to trust. I never truly settled in and felt completely comfortable that I would deliver a healthy baby boy. There was always the question in the back of my mind, up to the moment they pulled him out, is he really okay? Did God really intend for us to have this child?

Yet despite all my doubt and lack of trust here sits my son, Ethan Richard, whose name means strength. Not only has he proved himself strong over and over, the journey we have had with him has afforded us many opportunities to grow and strengthen our faith and trust in our faithful God.

I cannot explain how Ethan is here or why God chose to give him to us and not our other baby. I cannot explain why God allows some women to endure untold pain through infertility and pregnancy loss, and yet others get to hold their babies safely in their arms. All I know is that our God is a God who still works miracles, who is still on the throne and who is forever faithful in ALL things. God gives and God takes away and His name will forever be praised.
Happy 1 month birthday Ethan!

The Graduates

Some of you may know, and some of you may not, that Rick and I have been taking a class at a local church for the last 13 weeks. The class was Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University and last night we celebrated our official graduation. God is so good!

Over the course of the last three months we have paid off about $1500 in debt, including one of my student loans and our furniture. We have our van and one other student loan to pay off and we will be DEBT FREE!!! Well, with the exception of our mortgage. Though the average family pays that off as well in 6 to 7 years.

We have also been able to build up our savings, save for things we need (like a new car), pay cash for everything and basically just change the way we think about money in general.

We were not in horrible financial shape to begin with. We have no credit card debt-we don't even have a credit card. But I was always worried about money. Frantic even. I know, big shock, seeing as though I tend to be fearful about many things. But one thing is for sure, I was not walking in faith in regards to our finances and it was taking its toll physically, emotionally and spiritually.

There were two things that came out of the class that I had not anticipated which are just absolutely amazing to me. Being in the class has given us many, many opportunities to share with people in less fortunate circumstances, but also with those who don't know Christ. I can't tell you the number of times I have been asked in the grocery store about my envelope system. God has really opened the doors for seeds to be planted where I never would have imagined. I am so glad He has a better and bigger imagination that I do. Only makes me wish we had taken this class years ago.

The second change the I did not anticipate was how it has radically altered our marriage. Most of you who know us would probably say we are a pretty solid couple, and we are. But I had no idea how much the tension over financial issues was eroding our communication. It is amazing what happens when you get on the same page. I wasn't even aware it was happening until it changed. And while it was hard to go through this together, we are all the stronger because of it.

So I can say with confidence that God is SO good! If you're not sure about that, talk to me, please, so I can share more with you about this journey He has had us on for the last couple of years.

Also, if you want any more information about the class, please let me know. I would be glad to give you more information and help you get into one yourself. Trust me, you will never regret it.

The class is not just for those who struggle financially. Like I said, I thought we were doing pretty good. We don't make big bucks but for a family on one income, paying all of our bills on time and no credit card debt-well, that is just about unheard of in America (so sad, another post for another day). But, it changed our lives and continues to change our lives every day as we relate with each other and manage our money (GOD'S money) in a godly and biblical way. And it is so much fun-who would have thought? Anyway, whether you are a single mom struggling to make ends meet, or you make six figures year, trust me your life will not be the same after you take this course.

Giving God all the praise and glory!

Consecrated

I have always been fascinated by the idea that God has a special name for each of us.

"He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it." (Revelation 2.17)

Throughout the Scriptures God places a significant emphasis on a person's name, indeed on His own name. A person's name is demonstrative of his or her character, who God has created them to be. God's name is synonymous with His character. God uses many names for Himself, all which highlight a different aspect of who He is.

Repeatedly, throughout the Bible, being obedient to His name or submitted to His name means nothing less than being submitted to Him. Examples of this can be found in both the Old and New Testaments, here, here, here, and here-just to list a few. In fact, in doing a simple search of the word "name", you will find it used over 900 times throughout the Old and New Testaments.

A couple of weeks ago our pastor, preached a sermon about Jesus' calling of the first disciples. He talked about how Jesus called Simon, whose named referred to a reed, being tossed about and blown in the wind-unable to withstand the storms of life. Yet, Jesus renamed Simon. He called him Peter, which means rock. Jesus gave Peter a name which was wholly different from his given name. It was significant and demonstrated the kind of man Peter would be. Sure he had his mishaps along the way (which is why identify with him the most, lol), but Peter became one of the most powerful and effective evangelists of all time. ROCK!

There are many other stories like this one where God changes the name of a person in the Scriptures. The name always describes something significant about that person or about an event in their lives. The name always reveals something about the character of the person.

I like to think the name God has chosen for us does the same. I have often let my mind daydream about what it will be like when I hear Jesus call me by the name He has chosen for me. What will it reveal about me? I imagine that it will be the most wonderfully intimate and private moment with my Savior. I imagine it as a perfect name, one which when I hear it I nod my head and say "yeah" and become overwhelmed at the way God sees me, at who I really am. I imagine it is beautiful. I pray that it reveals my character to be that of a woman who was set apart to her God, a woman who followed her God passionately and devotedly, a woman who dedicated her life to service of her Savior.

This year I decided I wanted to read through the entire Bible. Right now my Old Testament readings come from Leviticus. Yeah, fun stuff. Leviticus is full of the ceremonial laws and ancient Jewish customs that are mostly no longer practiced today. To be honest, it's kinda boring. And there are some things in there that when I read them I wonder, "what was God thinking?" But not today. Here is what I read today:

" 'Consecrate yourselves and be holy, because I am the LORD your God. Keep my decrees and follow them. I am the LORD, who makes you holy. (Leviticus 20. 7-8)

A few years ago, I discovered that my name means "consecrated". I just love that. I often fall short of what my name means, but for some reason it gives me so much hope. I am not sure at what point in my life I became fascinated with this idea of names and their significance but I think it has to do with this discovery.

I looked up "consecrate" in the dictionary and here is what I found:

verb (used with object)
1. to make or declare sacred; set apart or dedicate to the service of a deity: to consecrate a new church building.
2. to devote or dedicate to some purpose: a life consecrated to science.

Just the thought of that sends chills down my spine. How beautiful would it be if I lived up to the meaning of my name? I pray for nothing less than that.

Jesus, consecrate me unto you today. I want to live for you. I know I will fail and mess up, like Peter did, but Lord I want to show you that you were right when you called me "consecrated". Help me to love you above all else.

Birthday Boy!

Okay, I know I said my next post would be more of the Bible Study I am working on but I had to post this. As many of you know, our sweet baby boy celebrated his first birthday on November 2. I can hardly believe it has been a year. I am delayed in posting this because I wanted to wait until my sister sent me the pictures from his party so I could share them with you. I hope you enjoy! Happy Birthday Baby Boy!

(I am sorry-I tried to get the pictures in a proper order and either I am too tired or my computer is intentionally frustrating me and I can not figure it out-at any rate-I am sure you will enjoy my little darlings!)

My three musketeers

(This was supposed to be the last picture-

this is after the party when Brady was actually cleaned of all of the cake mess)

This is the aftermath

He's thinking, "I can't believe Mommy is letting me do this...shhh...don't anyone tell her, she might come and spoil my fun!"

Mmmmm...cake

See what a good sharer I am? Want some Sissy?

Showing off!

The face plant

Prezzie time!

Does it get any cuter than this?

Hmmm, I really like this box-what a cool present!

Brady and "Uncle" Shannon (my sister's fiance)

Our sweet Birthday Boy!