E's birth, or when my neighbors all saw too much of me

It's been awhile, y'all. Blogger tells me the last time I even thought about writing anything was in February. That sounds about right.

This past year has been so incredibly full of life that it seems impossible to catch my breath sometimes. I love our life (most of the time, at least!), but I hit the sheets totally spent every night. Chase the baby, navigate a new culture, feed the family, learn a new language, operate in my very imperfect 2nd and 3rd languages, love my neighbors and friends, run the big girl to and from school, a bajillion other things... The thought of devoting time here seemed daunting, but I've really missed it. So here I am.

Why today, you ask? Well, simply, I had a baby a year ago. Our boy is a total ray of sunshine. Even during the many, many nights in which he has totally sucked at sleeping, I see him and can't help but smile. He's a cuddly, lovable, sweet, adventurous baby.

So for today, to celebrate surviving another year of parenthood, I'm going to take a trip down memory lane and remember our journey to sweet baby E. It may or may not turn into a novel, and it may or may not be more therapy for me than a fun story to read, so there's that disclaimer.

We had just moved to France, and I was gulping for air as we tried to settle into life away from Texas. Our last few months in the States were very sad and difficult for various reasons. I couldn't even process all that had happened while we were just trying to get our feet under us in a new life. We spent our days in French language class, and I was struggling a lot with leaving our almost 2 year old in a nursery all day. I missed her terribly. I missed being able to understand people at the grocery store. I missed knowing how to operate an ATM machine without help. I missed having a car. I missed being in the same time zone as the people I loved. And yet the region of France we were living in is absolutely stunning. Thankfully, I could walk (or bike) outside in the brisk air, stare at snow capped mountains, and breathe. It felt right, albeit difficult.

Shortly after we celebrated our baby girl's 2nd birthday, not quite a month into our new life, I asked Collin to find a pharmacy and ask for a pregnancy test. No small task in a new place and unfamiliar language. Bless him.

I have always thought peeing on a stick was a very unceremonious way of finding out about a life inside of you. But there it was- evidence of what I was already coming to terms with. Two strong, solid blue lines telling me "Life! There is life in you!" This happened during a meeting some fellow pregnant and post-partum students were having to help the newbies navigate this stuff in France. Go figure, I missed it by a day.

I'm not going to lie, though I was rejoicing it was all a bit daunting. I didn't know who to call to make an appointment, where to look that information up, how to talk to the person on the other end of the line, or where I could get a prenatal vitamin. I wasn't ready to tell anyone yet, but I needed some help. Luckily, the nursery director who took care of Addy graciously helped me make an appointment for a dating ultrasound and prayed alongside us for a safe and healthy pregnancy. It was still a steep learning curve, including the discovery that Tylenol and Tums aren't in Europe, really. Oh, the struggle.

I always wanted something special to celebrate in Autumn. It's my favorite season, but I always thought it would be nice to have someone to celebrate during that season. I was happy to confirm this baby's due date for Oct 15th (french date, american date was Oct 7th- weird, I know). Our girl A loved talking about the baby growing in my belly and pretending to be pregnant with a baby in her shirt.

It wasn't as easy of a pregnancy as I had the first go round, though nothing major ever happened. I had a hard time fighting nausea with all the new foods and smells around. I lamented the shortage of Ranch dressing, ate copious amounts of ramen noodles and eggs, and drank lots of ginger ale with orange juice. My comfort treat was a Subway sandwich because it was familiar and I could get ranch dressing on it. I had significant pain in my pelvic joint from 10 weeks onward. I started feeling kicks around 16 weeks, and they were stronger than with my first pregnancy but not as frequent. I had more swelling than with my first pregnancy also, probably from all the sitting in class. I was pretty anxious, fatigued, and depressed around the 6 month mark (edit: for about 5-6 weeks or so, not the while first six months!) when we figured out I was anemic. And I don't say "anxious and depressed" lightly, just fyi. My husband can confirm that I was not myself. I yelled a lot. I cried most days. I needed lots and lots of naps. So that is something I want to point out actually- for me, anxiety, fatigue, and depression were rooted to a nutritional deficiency. How do I know? I got on an iron and folic acid supplement (and started taking epsom salt baths for the soreness/swelling/magnesium supplementation), and I kid you not I was feeling 1000x better within the week.

E measured large at sonograms, so I'm glad we had that first early dating sonogram so they never questions my due date. He was big, healthy, and a strong kicker. He was especially active from about 9-11am when I was sitting in class. And all this time there was the French learning. And lots of wonderful people that helped us with various things. It was hard, but most good and worthwhile things are.

Anyhow, I had lots of Braxton-Hicks contractions during the 3rd trimester. I kind of liked them, as they're not painful to me and it made me feel like my body was gearing up. I really liked my prenatal care in France, even better than I had in the States. I had a standard appointment to tour the L&D area and then with the anesthesiologist at the hospital to prepare for my labor, and I told him I'd likely want to get an epidural at some point, but not too early on. I did that last time and thought it had made things harder and more complicated in the long run. During my entire pregnancy, I never met with an OB as things were progressing normally. I only saw midwives, who were always very sweet to encourage me about my progress in French!

On Sunday, October 5th, around 4:30 or so in the morning, I woke up with some contractions that I couldn't ignore. I was 39 weeks and 5 days along, 4 days longer than our girl had stayed in the womb. I rocked in a chair in our living room, happily tracking the minutes and praying over our son. Contractions were every 20 minutes or so. I was feeling ready!

And then around 7 or 7:30 am, my family woke up, I made breakfast, and the contractions went away. I was so bummed. But we made the decision to not got to church, and to instead grab Subway sandwiches and go on a picnic. My contractions came back here and there, and I waddled around the park, swaying my hips through a few contractions, but it was easy to ignore. It was a gorgeous day in the Alps, after all. I was with my two favorite people and eagerly awaiting our newest family member. And I had a sandwich with ranch dressing, lest we forget about that pregnancy obsession.

When we got back home, I put Addy down for a nap and then soaked in the bath to try and relax to get the contractions more regular and progressing. Things picked up some, coming again every 20 minutes or so. I scrambled a few eggs to get some nourishment and energy for the night ahead. I don't remember timing here, but I remember Collin telling people downstairs that we thought it would be soon. He was doing this instead of packing his bag. Not that I was bitter or anything. I did think, "Oh well, we have time. We'll go when the pain is too much."

We put on a movie, thinking that would be a good distraction. "Finding Nemo" will never be the same for me. I rocked in my chair through some contractions, but I was distracted enough by the movie to forget about it. Afterwards, I remember one or two contractions that I couldn't talk through, and Collin asked if our friends should come watch Addy so we could go. No, I thought. Just let them know it'll be tonight. Let's put Addy to bed. This was probably not my best idea ever. We did our normally family nighttime routine, with a couple of mild contractions during the 15 minutes, and I myself picked Addy up and leaned over the pack-n-play style bed to put her down. I guess I knew it would be the last time for awhile. It was 8 pm.

After that, all hell broke lose. Collin called our friends to come watch Addy, called our moms briefly, and I was on my hands and knees swaying my hips through contractions. I remember deciding to go pee before we left, and screaming at him from the bathroom. I moved to an exercise ball as he continued to get ready, and he would run over to be with me during contractions. WHY DIDN'T WE JUST LEAVE, you ask? Deodorant. He put on deodorant, came to help me, and I was pissed about it. "YOU STINK. That deodorant is unbearable! WASH... IT... OFF!" I screamed. Again, not my best idea ever. Sensory processing issues during labor? Apparently. We lost valuable time with that one.

And then my water broke while Collin was on the phone and I was on the exercise ball. We started to try to leave, but every time I took a step or two I'd have a huge minute or two long contraction. TROUBLE. Now let me add that we lived on the second floor of a building with other families that had no elevator and very thin walls, so I may or may not have traumatized some neighbor kids. I'm not sure. I was starting to seriously questions my ability to get down the stairs as I hollered through contractions. When our dear friends arrived to watch Addy, it was pretty clear we needed help. Providentially, an OB lived directly above us, so our dear friends fetched her and started taking our things to the car. (If you're reading this, G & S, bless you!) Things are a little foggy from this point, so I'll do my best.

I remember the OB asking me if I wanted to go to the hospital still, and I did. So we tried to move, only to be met by more huge contractions and the urge to push. She offered to check me, and asked if I had any gloves. Bless her heart, I didn't. I felt so bad about it. So she asked if I had any communicable diseases that I knew of, which I didn't, so things proceeded from there while I stood stuck in my narrow hallway. If you're reading this, Shannon, bless you.

When she checked me, I don't remember exactly what she said, but it was pretty clear I was having the baby in my hallway about 6 feet from our sleeping daughter's bedroom door. Collin says our friend said something like, "He's crowning. His head is right here." I think that's not too far off. I had never, EVER wanted to have a home birth, but here we were. So as I held onto Collin's neck, and our neighbor/OB/friend played catch, I think I pushed 2 or 3 times. We think he was born around 9:10 pm. I remember being so shocked, and then her asking me something like, "Do you want to hold him?" I did, but I was so shaky and still standing I was feeling I bit nervous about it. I held him anyways, and marveled at our beloved E. She sent our friends to get back up from the 2 nurses and other 2 physicians who happened to live above us. A pediatrician checked E, and he was strong and beautiful and perfect. Somewhere in that time Collin was sent to get me a chair, but he didn't make it. He passed out and was caught by another physician friend. Our sleeping 2 year old never woke up in all the commotion (just later, I think).

Our dear, sweet next door neighbors whose children I think I may have traumatized called an ambulance, and I still hadn't delivered the placenta and the cord had not been clamped and cut. At some point I finally got a chair and was encouraged to try and breastfeed, so I did... but there was just too much going on. The ambulance guys showed up and had to somehow get me and E onto a chair stretcher to go down the stairs, and then into the ambulance on a proper stretcher. This part, my friends, was easily the most uncomfortable experience of my life. Holding a slimey newborn, half naked myself, still laboring afterbirth, and no cord cut... I was carried downstairs, into an ambulance, and driven to the hospital. That was the longest 10ish minutes of my life.

Finally at the hospital, I was struggling to communicate in French. I was shaking and a little shell-shocked. Luckily Collin was doing better and communicated for me, and they spoke some English. Our OB friend came, which I'm thankful for. They clamped and cut the cord, and took E to be weighed and measured while I delivered the afterbirth and got taken care of. E was 4040 grams (8lbs 14oz) and 52 cm long. Collin called our parents. I tried to nurse E and was pretty hacked off about the IV in the crook of my arm. Collin took a picture of his shoes because the slippers they put on perfectly matched his shoes. Weirdo.


Around midnight we finally got a private room at the hospital, and I got some food (I think it was a giant bowl of hot chocolate and baguette. I love France!). And bless their hearts, our friends cleaned up our apartment. We snuggled our sweet, perfect, healthy, big baby E. We slept very little because of all the adrenaline and were so thankful for all the help and support of our neighbors and friends. I hate to think of how that all might of happened without them. Incidently, I healed so much faster than after having my first baby. I ate some humble pie and now admit that I think natural home births are, well, awesome and beautiful. I'd even consider planning for it if we ever have another kiddo. Funny how that happens.


Our girly A got to come meet E the next day, and she was just adorable and thrilled. We were released to go back home with E after a few days to a clean apartment, and I settled into snuggle mode with my little buddy.

To finish, a big thank you to our friends and neighbors who helped us, for your sacrificial support and care to the detriment of your own sleep and sanity.