What a blur. My newborn baby boy is a year old. (Pictures to come soon.)
I tend to feel a lot of guilt for having less time (and energy) to give Miles than I had for only-child-for-a-while Jarett. It doesn't help that such a big chunk of Miles's first year was spent in the wake of 2 surgeries, lots of illness, and mono. There are vastly fewer pictures of Miles (granted, the camera has had lots of troubles this year), and, I feel, vastly less time and
me to give to my second born. I know it just comes with the territory. Since I can't create more hours in the day, I might as well learn to accept that while my "all" is quantitatively different since adding a child to my family, what I have to give can still be my "all", and that is
enough.
I realized last night that I never posted Miles's birth story. Sparing no details, here's what I remember. I was scheduled to be induced early in the morning on August 15, 2011. Miles was four days late (just like Jarett) and I was DONE being pregnant. (Please, someone, anyone,
everyone remind me NEVER to be very pregnant in the summer months again.) The night before the induction, we set our alarm for very early in the morning, and then went to bed knowing things were going to be forever different in just a few hours. Minutes before the alarm went off, we were lying awake in bed trying to decide for sure on Miles's middle name. It was between Joseph and Andrew, and I was leaning toward one while Camden was leaning toward the other. Somehow we decided; Andrew it was. Within one minute of making the decision, I felt a strange pain. After a moment I sat up and it became apparent that my water had broken.
I was SO RELIEVED not to have to be induced! I took a long, lovely shower and drug my feet while getting ready to go. I was expecting things to pick up quickly, since that's what happened after the doctor broke my water with Jarett. We got to the hospital by 7:30 or 8:00 and there wasn't a lot going on with my cervix. I think the doctor gave me something (Cytotek?) to help get things moving, and before long I was having contractions. My birth plans have both been summed up with "Go with the flow." See what happens. If I need some pain relief, I'll ask for some. I wasn't nearly as freaked out about labor this time around, and I wanted to enjoy that and just let my body do what it was made to do for a while.
Side Story: At some point the nurse asked if I'd like to use the bathroom. Though not feeling any urge, I thought it couldn't hurt and went for it. For those who may not know, nurses put a "hat" in the toilet so they can keep track of your fluids. Suffice it to say I totally and completely FILLED. IT. UP. That's like a liter or something. Apparently my bladder is the bomb. The nurses were astounded and I gained some major coolness points from my highly impressed husband.
Ahem, moving on...
The contractions got more regular and picked up in their intensity. I was endlessly frustrated with the doctor because he would come in, check me, look at the data from the monitor, and then tell me I wasn't
really in labor yet because every few minutes I'd have an irregular contraction. What a jerk face. Also, the checking of my cervix was horrible because the doctor pretty much had to crawl in to get to it, telling me I was very, very posterior. Camden was a tremendous help in dealing with the pain. But progress was SO SLOW, even though everything was so painful. Eventually the contractions were coming close enough together that I wasn't able to recuperate well between them, and that's when I asked for an epidural. Wish I could remember a time frame, but I have no idea when that was.
With the epidural came relief. Progress continued to be agonizingly slow. After several hours I could feel lots of pressure with contractions. That was okay. What was not okay was the itching. (Seems like this happened with Jarett, too.) After a while with the epidural I start to get SUPER itchy somewhere, like my chest. Then it creeps to my arms, then, my stomach, then my back, and around and around. It made me want to crawl out of my skin. The doctor told me I wasn't really itchy, it was just "the itch center in my brain". Jerk face. He said he couldn't give me something without reversing the effect of the epidural. I honestly had to think about which was worse, the itch or the pain of childbirth. I chose to keep the epidural.
Early in the evening my mother-in-law arrived from GA. Her visit was a welcome distraction from the slow progress. The doctor had mentioned a c-section at least once, if things didn't pick up soon, and I was getting ready to lose it. EVERYONE I'd ever talked to had told me how much faster and easier labor would be the second time around. I never imagined the possibility that my second labor would actually be slower and longer. But it was.
FINALLY, around 7:30 that evening, when Camden was saying goodbye to his mother in the parking lot, something happened. I don't know what, but it did. Things got intense and there was lots of pain. Progress! Camden hurried back to me. It wasn't long after that that my epidural lost all effectiveness. That was not fun. (I do believe that happened before, too.) Soon it was time to push, which is the thing I hate the most in the entire world. Of his own volition the doctor asked the nurse if they could "up" my epidural. They did, but I never felt a difference. I was absolutely miserable. I always feel like pushing out a baby takes me out of my body, like I'm hovering just above unconsciousness. It didn't help that I was expecting to deliver the baby after two pushes; after all, that's how it was with EVERYONE else. It ended up taking about 30 million. And then, the clock struck 9:04.
Everything changed. A beautiful head of hair, a heart-piercing, primal cry.
Heaven and Earth touched, as God entrusted His child to my care.
And now, that sweet baby is one year old. And...
- has size 5, extra wide feet.
- waves hello and goodbye, gives kisses, says what fish say, dances
- loves pancakes, fruit, eggs, bread, beans, and cooked carrots. Oh, and dirt and marigolds.
- loves to wrestle with his daddy, practice walking between Mama and Daddy, make noise and messes, and play with his big brother.
I love my Miles. He has opened my heart to a greater capacity for love. He reminds me of what is the most important. I am so grateful he is mine.
Mama loves you, sweet Miley-Miles.
