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12.26.2016

christmas 2016


Ever since we moved to Washington to be closer to my parents, we have spent the night on Christmas Eve, to wake up the next morning and have a huge Christmas bash in the morning. I absolutely love it. The night is packed with traditions our family has practices for years and years. The grandparents give the littles each one gift to open on Christmas Eve: books and PJs. We have chili and tamales for dinner, and of course leave cookies and milk for Santa.


This year we weren't sure if we would be able to have tamales -- a Texas tradition! -- but my mom found a tiny little Mexican market where everyone spoke Spanish and the tamales were imported from El Salvador. After we heated them to have them with our chili, we cut into them expectantly to discover it was just masa -- no filling?! We have never heard of tamales with no filling. After our initial disappointment, we had a good laugh over how bizarre and surprising it was. Next year we will check the ingredients and make sure it says more than "sweet corn."




 





We are a family who can't take a serious picture without taking a goofy picture first, and I wouldn't have it any other way. 




On Christmas morning, the adults go downstairs first to inspect the loot that Santa has brought... we make a big to-do about it, very loudly so that it makes it harder for the kids to wait patiently at the top of the stairs. We get cozy in our robes and slippers, make the coffee, and then finally when we are all set with cameras at the ready, we start the Christmas music which alerts the children they can come down the stairs, youngest first!








The rest of the pictures are from my mom. :) After taking pictures of the kids running out to see their gifts, I put my camera down and didn't pick it up for the rest of the day! Somehow over the last two years I have become in charge of handing out presents and picking up the trash... haha! Which I don't mind at all. The first born in me kinda loves organization and being in charge of stuff like that.

My family's (read: my mom's) big gift this year was a new Golden Retriever puppy! Their beloved Luke passed on just a few days before his 9th birthday. He was a part of the family, and it was just heartbreaking. He passed peacefully in his sleep though, right after trying to snatch fresh-baked cookies off the counter. Classic Luke! The new puppy's name is Samson and he has already stolen our hearts.


This was Chase's face while inspecting her Santa gifts... I was cracking up. I don't know what was going through her little head. She loves strollers and was excited to play with it after appearing very skeptical. Bahaha!



My sister got me a Gilmore Girls mug for Christmas... so did my Secret Santa from my mommy group! They know me. <3

And our grandparents in Texas wrapped up all our presents in tiny bags with tissue paper and everything, and told us to open them all at the same time... so we took a picture after unwrapping. :)




Christmas dinner was delicious! I'm sad Christmas day is over, but I don't put my Christmas stuff away until Epiphany, so I'm still high on Christmas spirit over here! I've spent all day in my new slippers from my sister and my kids haven't complained once about not going on Minecraft or watching My Little Pony... they are busy playing with their new dolls, dinosaurs, puzzles, and playdough. We are so lucky to have had such a wonderful Christmas. Merry Christmas to you and yours!




10.11.2016

the birth of chase elizabeth

The unpredictability of giving birth felt familiar to me. I felt animalistic, every morning waking up with a keen awareness of my body and what was going on (or lack thereof), ready to zone in and labor when the time called. Before my third pregnancy, never before had I felt impatient during the last months. With River, I was ready to be pregnant forever. I trusted my body. "It will happen," I told myself. With Austen, I was unprepared and anxious. I didn't know if I could handle two children. The thought of giving birth again shot a jolt of panic to my chest. And then Chase -- I was just so ready to meet her. I was so very impatient. I wanted to hold her outside my body. I wanted three children. I wanted to give birth. I was ready. So ready.

At 37 weeks I told my body it was time. At 38 weeks I was checking my watch. At 39 weeks I was going crazy. I am going to be pregnant forever. I hadn't even reached my due date! And then, at 7:30 on the morning of my due date, I woke up with contractions, just as I had for weeks; however, this time they were with mild menstrual-like cramps, a tightening pang that was deep, though not yet intense. I knew this was it. I knew that after how quickly Austen's birth went, it was time to prepare for birth instead of going about my business as nature allows most women. After an hour of steady, very mild contractions, I woke John up, told him to call into work. I think this is it. I called my midwife Christy, reporting how far apart the contractions were. I'm pretty sure this is it. I called my mom, told her to get the girls up and get ready to meet us at the birth center. This is definitely it.

Though I continued to question whether or not I was really in labor, I trusted that I was because the contractions were slightly painful. I didn't want to second-guess myself as I had done with Austen. I had done this twice before -- I knew what labor felt like. I didn't want to get my hopes up, but I didn't want to have a baby in the car, either. I told John that when my contractions were at the point when sitting in the car would be uncomfortable, it would be time to go. I took a shower, brushed my hair. Put on my makeup. Ate something right away, because I knew I'd lose my appetite later. We woke up the kids, got them dressed. I felt so calm, so peaceful. Although I was questioning, I knew. My heart knew. I would hold my baby in just a few hours, and nothing else mattered.

Eventually, I got the point where different things annoyed me during a contraction. I told John it was time to go. After two fast labors, the only timeline that was of any relevance to me is an emotional timeline. Whereas cervical checks might tell one woman when she can expect her baby, my emotional state told me perfectly. And it was time to go. We packed the bags into the car, put the kids' shoes on, called the midwife and my mom, and headed out.

Maybe it was a little crazy to take a detour and stop for coffee on the way, but I needed a white mocha latte with breve. As we waited at the drive-through for our coffee, I couldn't help but chuckle remembering how I'd been in labor with Austen almost three years ago exactly, ordering tacos, except that back then, I was already deep enough in labor that I couldn't talk. I could only moan through the contractions. This time I was already past the two and a half hours that it took for Austen to arrive. I was almost three and a half hours into labor and was in good spirits. I didn't quite need to vocalize through the contractions, and there was no indication that our barista was serving a woman in labor -- but she was, indeed.

We arrived at the birth center at about 11 o'clock. My midwives took my blood pressure, listened to my baby's sweet heartbeat while I sipped my latte, my whole family and three midwives (all ten of us) crammed into the small room. I remember the sun pouring into the room and my mom snapping pictures. I felt out of place, but there was an air of peace. I had never given birth outside my home. I felt like the center of attention, and I didn't quite know what to do or say. I certainly didn't feel like I was in the throes of labor, but I trusted my body. My midwife told me based on the times of my contractions and emotional state, I was still in the early stages of labor, and given my history of quick births, it could mean that my baby would be here in an hour, but it could also mean that she or he would be here later tonight or even tomorrow. I nodded, trying to accept, but felt disheartened, because I knew she was right. I needed to be patient. She seemed so far away.



Jenny and Christy suggested that a walk would take my mind off things and help my labor along. Before we left, I got a picture of myself with each of my babies, remembering how I didn't get one last "only child" picture with River when Austen was born, and deeply regretted it.




My contractions were still slow and mild, though they were growing in strength. We decided to walk to the grocery store a block away to get some snacks, in case we were there for a while. I'm not sure how long we were there, but I believe from the moment we left to when we got back to the birth center, it was about 45 minutes. The walk was certainly helpful, as I turned from a happy expectant woman into a serious laboring creature who needed to find a quiet corner in which to nest. It was becoming very uncomfortable for me to stand, and walking hurt even more. These new, more intense contraction took over my body, like a big, tight hug (not necessarily a pleasant hug). I wanted to crouch down and move with the contraction, but I couldn't in the middle of the grocery store. The lights, the people, the noise -- everything aggravated me. But I wanted ice cream and was texting John (who had gone to get me a shake) that it was time to get back... just not without my shake!



There was such a mind & body shift at this point in my memories. It was time. This is as close to "labor land" as I got; I felt very aware throughout the whole thing, but I was easily annoyed and desperately needed two things: for someone to take my big kids, and for peace and quiet. We started walking to the birth center, movement which induced contraction after contraction. It seemed to take forever to get back, and it started sprinkling. At one point, I had a contraction while crossing the road and had to practically take baby steps as a car waited for us. It made me chuckle internally to think they had no idea why we were being so slow, and I wondered how many other women who had given birth at the birth center had labored along these streets.

The time from arriving back at the birth center to when Chase was born passed quickly. My dad picked up the kids, and we settled in the birth room with sunflower-gold walls. At this point, I was moaning and groaning through contractions and swaying through them, but mostly I wanted to sit still or lie down on my side. When I would lie down, my contractions were much farther apart. I frequently went seven to ten minutes between contractions. I felt very restful. The intensity of the contractions was not hitting me like it did during the births of my first two babies, and I felt as though I was bobbing on top of them, like a buoy on rough seas. I was very lose and relaxed, only having to remind myself to unclench my hands or loosen my shoulders here and there. When I did, the affect was immediate, and it would take that edge away. My midwives suggested getting in the tub, but I didn't know how far along I was and I didn't want the warm water to stall my labor.

I started feeling that tell-tale grunty sensation, but was unconvinced that it was time to push, because my contractions never reached the intensity I was used to. My midwife listened to Chase's heart, and told me that when I was lying down, her heart rate was slowing, so I needed to be upright. She tried to gently coax me to get in the tub, once again, and this time I decided she probably knew what she was talking about! I didn't want to start pushing yet... I didn't know if I would do it "right," and I still wasn't convinced it was time. I wanted my midwife to check my dilation, but she told me to listen to my body and if my body wanted to push, then push. So I listened to my body. Once I started pushing with the contractions, it didn't want to stop. Quickly, I started to crown, and I remembered to stop pushing and allow my baby to stretch my body slowly and with little breaths. I felt so capable and calm, these stages familiar and welcomed, and without the newness of River's birth or the frantic feelings of Austen's.

Up until this time, my labor with Chase has been relatively mild and the pain controllable. But now, with each push, the pain radiated throughout my whole body, down to the soles of my feet and through my fingers, hot and burning. I felt trapped in the pain, as I did when I was giving birth to Austen. It overtook my whole body, and though I tried to remain calm, the pain overwhelmed my logical mind and I let it take over. Which each push and contraction, I no longer felt like I was floating over the pain, and felt wild with pain, which was now deafening and enveloping. However, it did not scare me. I knew it was almost over. That made it bearable. And soon... less than five minutes, I am told, it was over. As which each baby, I could hardly believe it was over! The pain vanished, and her body wriggled out, slippery and tiny. This time John lifted her up without assistance from the midwives, who sat back calmly - knowing, gentle, and wise.

At this moment, when the pain subsided, like sunshine breaking through dark storm clouds and spotlighting everything in its warm glow, the cries of everyone's joy and relief filled the room as I held my baby to my chest, fully immersed in joy, relief, victory, peace. Another cry went up from my mom, my sisters, the midwives, as I announced she was a GIRL! I felt utter joy, surrounded by these strong females and my husband: my support system, my cheerleaders.





I held my baby girl for a long time, offering the breast and kissing the wet, curly, dark hair matted to her head over and over, stroking her soft, wrinkly skin, hardly believing the experience of the last 5 hours and 45 minutes. I had prayed specifically for a 6-hour labor my entire pregnancy.

After we moved to the bed and I had settled down with my brand new nursling and a giant hamburger (heaven!), the kids came in to meet her. River was very apprehensive, and later told me that although he had wanted to hold her and kiss her, he was embarrassed because everyone was watching him. Both kids adored their tiny sister from the start. You could see their wonder and love in their eyes. From the moment Austen walked into that room, she went from the baby to big sister. One of life's bittersweet nothings it whispers in your ear, possibly something only a mother of plural can understand.



I have taken over a year to write this story, recording bits here and there throughout the months. The telling of a birth story is so familiar feeling to me, and yet, brand new. I cried when recalling the moment she was born, and the picture of sunlight breaking through dark storm clouds came to mind, with the realization that the cries and laughter lifting from the people in the room as she was born fit that vision perfectly.

Chase has proven to be as mild and peaceful as her birth. I look at her and can't imagine life without her -- she is our little puzzle piece and fit her way quietly and happily into our family. She brings my heart so much joy. I feel like I have known her my entire life.

We love you, Chasey Face.



All pictures by my mom. Thanks Mom. :)

A few notes to end with, that have nothing to do with the actual birth story but are interesting nonetheless:
- This was my second birth where my poor midwife (different midwife!) had an injured leg! During my first birth, with River, my midwife Alisa had injured her leg and still managed to RUN up our apartment stairs when she heard me moaning in labor. This time, my midwife Christy had a broken leg!

- I watched Friends the night before River and Austen were born. I don't watch Friends all that often, y'all, so it's a funny coincidence and I always joke that Friends induced labor for me. I almost watched Friends the night before Chase was born. I wanted to continue the tradition and I just had this feeling... but I didn't. It will always be one of my biggest regrets in life, lol.

- Chase was unnamed for about 8 hours, if I remember right. We couldn't decide between Chase, Reilly, or Harper. Chase was one of our names that we considered for a girl way back when I was pregnant with River. If I'd been a boy I would've been Chase, and since I was a surprise baby, my mom called me "Chateney" when she was pregnant with me (a combination of Whitney and Chase), so it was kind of special in that way. I had been convinced Chase was a boy, and we only had one boy name - Sawyer. There was even a Sawyer street right next to the birth center! I thought it was meant to be. We finally settled on Chase because my entire pregnancy, River and Austen were absolutely convinced the baby was a girl, and kept calling her Chase. I kept reminding them, "We don't know what the baby is, it could be a boy! And even if it is a girl, her name might not be Chase." But how could we resist? They knew she was Chase. I tell the kids all the time that they are the ones who named her, because technically, they are. :)

8.30.2016

chapters



The trip was long. When people ask me if it was fun, I think, it was fun in its way, but we did it. We survived. Fun is not the word I would choose first to describe it; exhausting, interesting, incredible... Those are words that come to mind. My goal was to keep my eyes on the road in front of me and just get there. Just drive. Keep the kids happy. Drink water, eat chips. McDonald's for lunch, again. Don't fall asleep. Keep the music loud, the air blowing in my face. And drive.



During those 3,000 miles, there were moments of wonder as we drove through the red, jagged, dry mountains of Wyoming, moments of silliness when we drove through Chicago with Chicago by Sufjan Stevens bursting out of every window and crack and crevice of my car, moments of conversation with my sister that made me even more thankful for her than I already was, and moments of relief when we arrived at our hotels night after night and the children finally fell asleep, albeit two hours after their usual bedtime. We saw geysers spit from slabs of rock. We drove twenty miles down a steep mountainside going 30 miles per hour. We saw dozens of landscapes in thousands of colors, and took hundreds of photos of eight different sunsets. I was left in awe of how expansive, unique, and diverse my country is.



But mostly I felt the need to reach the northeast. A six-year-long goal. I did it. I am here. I write to you from my bed overlooking the rolling hills of Pennsylvania. We are smack dab in the middle of a suburban neighborhood, and those hills are still rolling. I see the white silos of a farm behind one of the houses. That's what I've always loved about Pennsylvania.



When we arrived (and by "arrived" in such a large and anonymous space as "the northeast," I mean the moment I stepped from my car into the state that is Michigan), I was immediately hit with about three tons of humidity and also the unbelievably giddy realization that I would once again have fireflies in my life. There are no fireflies in western Washington or south Texas, and sometimes I react to things in much the same way that one would expect a four-year-old to react. I may have chased them. I don't know if there's anything in this world closer to a fairy than a firefly.



The kids and I camped in my mom's best friend's pop-up camper that night in her backyard. There was a storm, and do you know how excited I was to hear a storm? The wind blew. The thunder roared. I was awoken by tree branches slapping up against the top of the tent. I googled "safe wind speed while camping." But y'all, I was thrilled. I hadn't heard a real storm in almost five years. It doesn't thunder much in Washington, and in all honesty, while living there, I probably heard a total of five or six soft rolls which sounded like nothing more than my upstairs neighbors pushing their kitchen table across the floor. This thunder was like sweet music to my ears. In Texas, the storms are real, and I missed them. I missed torrential downpours and the kind of lightening that makes you scared to stand by your window. This storm wasn't like that, but the wind! Oh, the wind. And the thunder, yes. It was wonderful. Since we've moved to Pennsylvania, we've had about ten storms, and I've relished each one.




Sand then six weeks ago we dropped bags from tired limbs in the middle of an empty, echoing house. Today it is a home. Almost every night, we jump into the pool without testing the water because it's hot, and we already know it's perfect. I swam twice in Washington. I am a Texas girl, and anything less than 80 degrees is too "cold" to swim. My mom and I trade off who is making dinner. My dad cooks out often; grilled chicken and hot dogs and burgers after a swim, eating out on the porch furniture, dripping and content. My sisters and I watch movies several times a week. My brother drove with us across the country and is going back next week to Washington where he goes to school; it'll be strange without him. I've eaten more salt and vinegar chips and Pop-Tarts than I am proud to admit, and tell myself when we are in our own house again (next week!), I will go back to eating healthy. I know I'll keep that promise until December hits and all I want is pumpkin pie and iced sugar cookies in the shape of stockings and stars.



There are six souls in Washington that I will miss entirely, and my heart will always ache for one more conversation with each of them over coffee, but I will not miss Washington itself. I came with the weight of postpartum depression and debilitating self-loathing, and while there, because of God's deep and overwhelming grace, I was able to slam it to the ground, stomp on it, and tell it "never again, asshole." I feel free. I am different than who I was when I arrived there, 4 years and 8 months ago. I will always be grateful for Washington and the people there who touched my life. I will always be grateful for the way God changed me. And because of that, I am happy to turn the page on that chapter, tears in my eyes and a grin on my lips. I am different, I am victorious. Life is good as it always was. Pennsylvania, it's your turn. Let's go.



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