To be a Foster parent does not take incredible strength, it does not take super powers, or special gifts. The right timing isn’t needed, nor is a perfect home. It does not require great wealth, a heart of gold, or above average patience.
What fostering takes is much simpler. It takes the ability to love someone who needs love, when you aren’t sure if that love will be reciprocated or how long that love will last. So, it basically takes what you need for any relationship, whether it be of a romantic, friendly, or parental nature, as my friend Jessica put it to me today, it’s being willing to risk a piece of your heart.
One thing I hear from a lot of people is, “Wow, you foster? I could never do that, I would get too attached.” It’s always such a strange statement to me, as nothing in life is ever certain. I suppose we could say the same thing when people get married: “you pledged your life to someone? Man, what if s/he dies and leaves you a young widow? I could never do that, I would get too attached.” And the same goes for friendships and biological children. Getting too attached isn’t really the problem of fostering, because as a foster parent you SHOULD get “too attached.”
If you loved everyone you love with a guard up to keep you from getting too attached, you would not know real love. Loving people is always a gamble. But it’s what we are made to do and called to do.
I some times wonder if people think you have to be a robot to be a foster parent. Foster parents aren’t people who have a special switch they can turn on and off that keeps them from getting too attached. By saying *you* couldn’t do it because *you* would get too attached, insinuates that I don’t get too attached.
I currently have a 3 week old baby sleeping on my chest. I feel his chest pushing into mine as he takes breaths. A little whistle in his nose squeaks as he does so. His head is soft, with the most delicate blonde fuzz, and has that newborn smell that causes oxytocin to flow whenever you breathe his scent in. Every now his little feet dig into my tummy to readjust himself, 10 itty bitty toes, delicious and sweet. When I move my face towards his, he opens his mouth like a baby bird for what I like to imagine are baby kisses (but actually are just lips in search of milk!) Some times when he’s asleep, he smiles and laughs– don’t tell me that’s gas, it’s a smile and every time we see it we ooh and ahh. When he cries at night, Milkman interrupts his sleep and leaps up to change his diapers and feed him his bottles. During the daytime we wear him hours each day close to our hearts so he can learn how to bond and form healthy attachments, we seldom put him down. I some times weep when I stare at him, completely overtaken with his innocence and beauty.
Do I sound like someone who isn’t too attached? Do we sound like people who can just take care of an innocent human life and then not shed a tear when we get the call that it’s time for him or her to leave us? Of course we are attached. We love our foster children.
I am not special. I am not more gifted than you. I do not produce some sort of magical half love reserved for fatherless children. I do not find goodbyes to be easy. What I am is willing. I am willing to have my heart broken for those who have broken lives. I am willing to get attached. I am willing to risk the pain of saying goodbye. I am willing to love.
Can you be willing to love too? It could mean the world to a child.
It’s been 24 hours since I first laid eyes on you. Red-faced and screaming so loud I could hardly hear anything else. You were a stranger to me, just one day ago.
You were placed in my arms by our wonderful social worker, and immediately I needed to protect you. I shushed you out to the car where we picked up your things. 2 paper bags with some clothes, diapers, wipes, and a can of formula.
It is the strangest thing to have a newborn without postpartum bleeding, nursing cramps, cracked nipples, and a whacked out hormone drop. But, some how my body is wanting to feel these things when I hold you. You do not smell like you came from me. Your scent is entirely different, but my body let’s down milk when I hold you close, my womb aches when I feed you your bottle. The sun is setting right now, and I sense that old postpartum blues feeling creep up where I am homesick in my own home.
It’s so familiar to have a newborn in the house and yet this time it’s also different and unknown. I’ve never fed a newborn formula in a bottle, and certainly not at the same time while nursing my biological baby. Having to watch the clock for feeds and log ounces in and diapers out feels formulaic (no pun intended!) and foreign. Trying to distinguish between your cry for comfort and your cry for hunger is something I’ve not had to do, since a breast has always fixed either problem in the past.
You’ve not been alive very long, and you’ve been with me for less than that, but some how I love you so much, my heart could burst. And whether you are here for 1 day, 10 days, or many more I’ll keep loving you.
We were both wearing black shirts, blue jeans, and had our hair up in black bandanas tied at the top of our heads. Her children ran to her. I hung back so she could greet them. I came closer and held out my hand tentatively for a handshake, and was pulled into a hug.
One child holding on to both our legs, one child between us being held in the middle of our embrace. Tears fell, our bodies shook with emotion as we hugged. The words of trust she spoke softly in my ear will not soon be forgotten.
She is their mother, they are her children. I am their caretaker, I am her cheerleader in the sidelines. We are on the same team. We are on their team.
It’s been just under 5 weeks since Milkman and I became foster parents. When I got the call from the social worker that there was a need to place a sibling set, and would we take them, if our home study could be expedited, I said I would need to talk to my husband. I called Milkman, my heart racing, and we agreed we would pray about it for 30 minutes, and then I would call him back and we would make our decision.
Thirty minutes later I called and said, “So, what do you think?” And before the words were all out of my mouth, he said, “we should do this.”
The rest of that day is a blur. Cleaning, arranging furniture, going grocery shopping, and putting our own 3 children to bed. But what will forever ring clearest in my mind is what happened after everything was done. Milkman and I put flowered sheets on the twin bed and placed a stuffed bunny I had purchased just a couple of hours earlier on the pillow, and we sat down, side by side. We prayed for the little ones who would be coming to live with us the next day, and when we finished I said, “Babe? I’m already on an emotional roller coaster. We are going to need to be so transparent with each other. Can we commit to being as open as we can about what we are feeling during this process?”
Now, if you know me, you know I’m a bit of an open book. I don’t mince my words often. And if you know anything about my marriage to Milkman, you know we are very open with one another and seek to have quality communication with each other. However, there is a little box in the back of every parent’s brain that has a lock on it. In that box are the feelings of inadequacy you have as a parent. In that box is where you hide your list of parental failures. And the most secret thing in that box, are the things you think about parenthood and your children from time to time that you are too afraid to type or utter for fear of judgement. You may even just fear that saying them makes those feelings more tangible and real, and therefore more scary.
I knew that I was going to need a whole steamer trunk for that box once I became a Foster parent, because I assumed (and rightly so) that I would go through so many more feelings of inadequacy, so many more feelings of failure, and so many more feelings about how I would view myself as a foster parent and my foster children. I knew that I was going to have to open up to Milkman about those deep, hidden thoughts if we were going to make this work. And he was going to have to with me.
In the first 24 hours we had our placements, I had to unload on Milkman several times. I would say, “I know this sounds [selfish, naïve, strange, etc.] but, right now I am feeling really [scared, confused, frustrated, etc.]. What about you?” And then he would reply with what he was unpacking from his box.
Every time there has been a change, a bit of news, a call from a social worker, or a meltdown from a child, we have this exchange. It is happening less and less as time goes on. I am able to cope more, he is too. We are learning that if biological parenthood seemed overwhelming or emotionally draining, Foster parenting is incomparably much more so. But still, we have our talks in the evenings when staring at chubby cheeks, freckles, and curls while all 5 children sleep. We can’t believe we are doing this. We can’t imagine not doing this. We can’t believe we love these children so much. We can’t believe we care for their mother (whom we have never met) so much.
Like I said, we’ve always talked, Milkman and I. But I’ve never opened up that little box quite so wide. And same goes for him. We have become vulnerable to one another in new ways. We have an entirely new level of transparency. We hold each other up, because most days, no one is going to understand how hard Foster parenting is except for another foster parent. He’s the closest friend I have, and it just so happens that he is a foster parent, too.
Don’t get me wrong, Fostering can be hard on your marriage. There’s a lot of stress adding a change to your family dynamic, and it can be scary. The lack of sleep, schedule changes, visits, appointments, and nearly non-existent down time when you have 5 children under 5 is draining. But some how, right now, it’s pulling us closer together, and I’m thankful for it.
The first time she nursed, she had just been born. The world was a scary, cold, and bright foreign land to her. She screamed with all the gusto her 8lb. 5oz body could muster– which was quite a lot.
She had an angry (and quite frankly and ugly) scream. The nurse had to move her over under the heat lamp for something, I don’t quite remember what, but Milkman was snapping pictures of her as I heard her scream. I kept saying “okay, just give her to me now, okay, please give me the baby, I just want to nurse her!” You see, that was the one phrase Milkman used to help me get through her 23 hour labor: “Just think about the first latch with your new baby…” So after weeks of prodromal labor, months of painful walking and moving, and a day of no sleep, all I wanted was to nurse that baby.
Finally, the nurse handed her over to me, and her ugly little scream filled the room ’til she latched on, I sighed with contentment and then– OW! She bit me as hard as she could almost immediately! That was the beginning of our 3 year nursing journey.
It started with clogged ducts, mastitis, 6 months of undiagnosed ductal thrush, blebs, and lazy latches. Things didn’t get easier til she was almost 9 months old. I got pregnant not much longer after then wth Ezra, and weaned Captain right before I lost Ezra. I told Milkman that she would not nurse as long as her older brother, surely she would wean at 18 months. But she didn’t. Surely at 2! She’s such an awful nurser, and my milk had dried up from Peach’s pregnancy, but she didn’t. Certainly at 2.5, that’s when Captain weaned. But she didn’t. So when she was 2.5 I asked when she would wean and she said “I will wean when I am 3.” And so every night for 6 months we continued to nurse before bed. We have counted down, and talked about it. I have looked towards her 3rd birthday with eagerness to say goodbye to tandem nursing. And as it drew closer, I started to feel a sadness. The end of an era.
We picked Golden Slumbers by the Beatles as our weaning song. We listen to it, sing it, nurse to it, and cuddle. Every night this week I have asked her if she’s really, truly going to be done nursing and she smiles and laughs and says she will be all done at 3. Tonight, the day I have looked forward to with relief and sadness is here. Time to wean.
The last time she nursed she wore a pink pajama shirt and pigtails. She had just finished her cake and ice cream. I asked her if she was ready to nurse for the last time and she happily said yes and giggled nervously as I began crying. She asked for our song and we sang “… Sleep pretty darling, do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby…” And she wiped my tears off my face one by one while she nursed. Her big brown eyes held much more seriousness than her 3 years of age allowed. I didn’t time her or cut her off, and she nursed longer than she has in 6 months. I kept asking if she was done and she kept shaking her head no. And then, she popped off and said “Mama! I unlatched! What’s unlatched mean? Cos I did.” And gave a cheesy grin. And with that, she was done.
For 3 years I have hated, loved, resented, and appreciated nursing her. And in that one moment, it was over. This chapter of our lives closes, and it isn’t one that gets revisited again. I am so sad. But I know, as I learned from weaning Captain, that our relationship isn’t over. It’s just a new chapter.
I love you, big girl. Happy 3rd Birthday.
After 6 years of discussing it, 4 years of deciding to do it, 1 year of going through classes, background checks, paperwork, and fingerprints, Milkman and I got the call to become Foster parents. The last week and a half of my life has been so exhausting and such a learning process. It brings more emotions each day than I normally experience in a month.
Thankfully, we expected uncertainty, we expected to work through a lot of emotions, we expected to be exhausted having 5 children aged 4 and younger… But one thing I didn’t know I would feel is intense love and compassion for the mother of our Foster children.
There are so many horror stories of biological parents who get their children taken away and put into foster care. There are parents who truly don’t care about their kids, parents who abuse their kids, and parents who grossly neglect their children. Many of those stories are sad and real. These are the stories that made me want to become a foster mom as a teenager, so I could help remove a child from a scary situation.
However, in my VERY short time as a foster parent, I’ve come to the realization that some (hopefully many!) mothers whose children get placed in foster care are not so far gone that they are not in shambles at the thought of their precious babies being handed over to complete strangers. I don’t know the parents of our placements. I don’t know their ages, what they do for work, or what kind of struggles they are going through. What I do know of most parents whose children end up in foster care is that things got tough enough in their lives that someone needed to step in to help out while they get the right things into place.
I am not the hero. The parents of these children are not villains. We are not fighting some war on opposite sides of the battle field. We are, in fact, on the same team. We are on the same team as their children. We all want the same thing: for their children to be healthy, happy, and safe.
When I hold these sweet children close to my heart and sing them bed time songs, I think of how their mother must be wondering who is tucking her babies into bed. When I push one of these children on the swings and hear them giggle, I think of how their mother must miss that sound. When I look into their eyes, I wonder if they look like their mom or dad did as children, and think of how I’m staring at a piece of this mother I’ve never met.
How her heart must ache. How empty her arms must feel. How many tears must her eyes have shed…
When I put myself in her shoes, I imagine her desperation, fear, love, and yearning to feel complete again.
There may come a day when we have children in our care who have been in truly deplorable circumstances, and whose parents I struggle to love. But for now, I’m so glad that God is teaching me to practice empathy for these people I have never met.
I wish I could tell the mother of these children that her treasures are safe, and hug her when she cries. But for now, I’ll just keep holding these little ones close for safe keeping, until she’s ready to hold them safely again herself.
Summer is in FULL swing. I put out the word locally and asked if there were any mom-owned businesses that catered to families. One of the first invitations to visit her business was Leah of Saplings in Simi Valley. I hadn’t heard of Saplings, but after a quick perusal of her website, I knew I had to come visit.
Simi Saplings is an indoor play area unlike anything we have in Ventura county. Most of us think of an indoor play place as being focused on gross motor skill play, and while those places are awesome, Saplings is on a different scale.
From the moment you walk in (entrance is on the side of the building!), you are transported into a calm and cool (hello! Escape the Summer heat!) atmosphere. The theme of Saplings is woodsy and outdoorsy! Leah told me that her family loves to be outdoors, to hike, and go camping. Since she knew she would be spending a considerable amount of time indoors at Saplings, she brought the outdoors inside. Calming sky blue walls with painted trees (and a SUPER cool tree Leah constructed!) give the place a sweet and charming woodland vibe.
There are LOADS of imaginative play stations around the room. Your little one can be a Doctor, Vet, Store Keeper, or Hair Stylist. For the little performer there is a band and music area (complete with a drum set, which Captain LOVED) and a Puppet Show stage. Your child can race their cars with a friend, have a camp out next to the felt campfire and roast pretend marshmallows while they sit on a cushiony tree stump. If your little one wants to climb and slide, there is a playground right in the center of the room. It’s just the right size for your preschooler! There is a reading corner, complete with a soft rug, fluffy pillows, and kid-sized lounge furniture next to a window with lots of natural light pouring in, which Mamitas liked especially since there was a book with her hero (Minnie Mouse!) to be read!
The Seedling Meadow is a safe and cozy play area for little ones from 0-2. It has a half-wall protecting it from the rest of the main play areas and from older playmates who may not see little ones underfoot. Peach had such a blast crawling, playing, and sitting on the little riding toys in the enclosed area.
Have a budding artist? The art area is INSANE. Fully stocked with various artistic mediums, easels, tables, and a chalk wall. In fact, Leah goes the extra mile and on Tuesdays and Fridays, at no extra cost but your general admission, there is a special craft lined up for your child to do, and bring their craft home with them! Saplings also occasionally teams up with Color Me Vino for the kid and alcohol-free version of a wine painting party for a Paint N Play party! Your little one can come in, and for $25 they can create a work of art taught by an instructor on a canvas, and then play all day!
Which brings me to my next favorite feature: ALL DAY PLAY. It really means all day. That means ins and outs for the whole day once you pay your admission! You can come first thing, play with your little one, eat your packed lunch in the food area, go home for naps, and come right back after naps until closing without paying any extra. That is SUCH a plus if you have littles who need to get their midday siesta in!
Another great thing is you only pay for your kiddos to play. So while parents are encouraged to play with their little ones (and the space is made to facilitate just that!), adults do not pay admission costs. For those of us with multiple children, Saplings offers a sibling discount! Leah has 3 little ones herself and appreciates that it costs families with multiple children more to do fun things.
They also offer two different party packages for birthday parties. One is semi-private and the other is offered on Sunday’s and it totally private. You can either do all the decorating yourself, or talk to Leah about having her plan your fuss-free party with the various add-on items. Just show up with your party after booking and she’ll do all the shopping and decorating for you.
While I loved how much my 3 kiddos enjoyed playing at Saplings, I also really enjoyed getting to talk with Leah and hear about her life and her passion for bringing parents and children together to play. Her husband has been a huge support to her as she has seen her dream realized since she hung up her teacher hat and went into mom and business owner mode. She made a place where she could bring her children to work with her, and invites you to come and play with yours there, too!
I love me a good bag. Once I had kids, I had to give up my giant purses that I loved so much, because carrying a diaper bag AND a big ol’ purse is just not practical. I had seen some designer diaper bags here and there, but I couldn’t believe the price tags on them. I really hate spending loads of money on something that is going to be hit with serious wear and tear and possibly WILL end up with some sort of bodily fluids on it.
When Captain was a baby and my only child, other moms would see me lugging my huge diaper bag around and say, “Oh, just wait til he’s older, you’ll go back to a purse and just carry one lone diaper and a few wipes in a baggy in it.” Four years later, and I’m still carrying a huge diaper bag with my entire world in it. Clearly these mothers didn’t know me before kids, when I would carry a purse large enough to cart multiple crochet projects, one-eighth of the historical fiction section of the library, a Costco-sized tub of Advil, and many tubes of red lipstick. I plan for disaster at all times. I ALWAYS carry an extra change of clothes for each of my 3 children, enough diapers to last us a couple of days, snacks, activities, and wipes galore. (You can never have too many wipes on hand!)
What’s In My Bag: iPad mini, journal, Amazon Wipes, 8 diapers, muslin blanket, nursing cover, Cheeky Tummy changing mat, toy, sun screen, Era Organics Honeybuns balm and powder, diaper cream, Contigo water cup, snacks, pacifier wipes, sunglasses, change of clothing for Peach, Mamitas, and Captain, and Captain and Mamitas’ note pads and pens! Whew!*
I came across this bright, playful bag from Cheeky Tummy and I thought, “It’s been too long since I had a cute bag. It’s time to carry something cute again!” and I am SO glad I did. This bag is not only adorable, it is HUGE inside. It holds everything I need to have with me without being stuffed to the zipper. Oh! And it comes with a matching changing mat! I feel so fancy whipping our my pretty little mat (its cushion-y, too you guys) to change a booty and folding it and fastening it to go back into its spot in my bag.
Another feature I love is that it is incredibly versatile. Prefer handle straps? It comes with those. Like a shoulder strap instead? Oh, yeah, comes with that, too. What about a bag that attaches to your stroller? Um, yeah! Also included. (PSA: never put an overloaded bag onto the back of your stroller handle without a firm grip on your stroller, we don’t want any babies tipping backwards!) I threw this on the back of my Uppababy Vista, and it looked super purdy. I’m telling you, I feel fancy.
Here’s the deal, it is a great bag all around while still being affordable. After talking with Diana at Cheeky Tummy, I was able to really see the heart behind her company. As a new mom she felt overwhelmed by the amount of bags and price points on the market, and out of that frustration Cheeky Tummy was born. I liked her bag so well, that I asked Diana if we could give one of these gorgeous orange and white chevron bags to one of my lucky readers and she agreed! So, head over to She Rocks the Cradle on Facebook, and enter the giveaway!
Want one of your own right now? Head to Cheeky Tummy’s store and grab a bag for yourself. If you use the code CRADLE10, you get 10% off your first order!
To My First (and only!) Nephew on His First Birthday:
Sweet little man, with the big, brown, round eyes and little smirk, you are one today!
I was there when you were born! Witnessing your birth was one of the most special things I will ever experience. It was such a privilege to be there.
Your mama labored a long time, and when I got to the hospital, she was ready to push. I have often referred to your mama as my “little sister” though she is older than me. I have always thought of her as fragile and in need of my protection. But as I cooled her head off with towels, and held her hand while she roared your little body earthside, I saw a mighty warrior. Though I had delivered 3 babies before you were born, I was in awe of her strength to go through her labor unmedicated!
You were placed in your mama’s arms and you smelled like the earth. You screamed and fussed your little head off while your mama and papa admired you, and while your little cousin in my tummy kicked away at the early hour of the morning. You were too fussy to latch to nurse, but your mama kept you warm and safe against her skin,
You were so tiny. I have never held a baby as small as you, and I remember thinking you had the cutest little rump, and you had your mama’s nose. Your papa snapped away pictures proudly, and after a while I made my exit, and got into my car.
It was very late and dark, there were few cars on the road, and I turned on Pandora to keep me awake on the drive home and blasted Kaskade with the windows down and wept. You were so precious. Your papa was so proud. And your mama? She was fierce.
A year later, I’m watching you grow. Loving the rare but flirty smiles you flash my way from time to time. Watching you and your baby cousin Peach play together. Wearing you close to me when your mama is getting things done. Seeing so much of my own first, sweet, shy boy in your personality. You are such a joy to your parents and such a wonderful addition to our growing family.
I really recommend avoiding non-positive birth stories when you are pregnant. I hate setting people up for fear. If a non-positive birth story will trigger you or cause you to fear birth, please pass on this for now, and instead go pay Birth Without Fear a visit.
I have been avoiding writing this and posting it for several reasons. One of those reasons has to do with my own trauma surrounding Peach’s birth, I’m actually nervous about re-living it right now to write it. The other is because the community in which I live has a very tight knit birthing, baby wearing, and breastfeeding circle. I am thankful for these wonderful women, but many of them have had such different experiences from my own using the same care providers, and I am anxious to post this for fear of extradition from these circles because of their loyalty to the care providers I chose.
———-
If you know me, or have read much of my blog, you know this to be true: pregnancy is unkind to me, labor is an enemy most cruel. In spite of this I am obsessed with babies, and just this week told Milkman how much I miss the feeling of contractions. I have real issues.
After losing Ezra, Milkman and I were elated to be pregnant. The anticipation of our rainbow baby kept my head above water through the insane amount of appointments I had, doctors I visited, specialists I tried out. It kept me hoping when the pregnancy threw my body in a blender and spit me out, leaving me to hobble with a cane, til I resorted to a walker, and right up until I succumbed to a wheelchair. Though pregnancy and its disabling effects on me were unescapable, I was determined to have a better birth experience. I had difficult back labors with Captain and Mamitas. Captains labor clocking in at 34 hours and Mamitas at 24. I just can’t seem to progress past 5cms and I stay there for hours and hours til my body goes into crazy person exhaustion mode. Its at that point where I will go for an epidural– only to have them fail. Every. Time. This time, I had decided would be different.
We saved and planned so that I could have a birth center birth this time around, wondering if a different environment would help me to progress better. I also had some trauma surrounding delivering at the hospital where I delivered Captain and Mamitas… Because the last baby I delivered there was dead. My sweet Ezra.
We were planning on going with who seemed to be the most respected midwife in the county. I will refer to her as HMF for Head MidWife. Turned out we couldn’t afford her. She recommended a doula that worked with her. We met with the doula and she informed us she was training to be a midwife (Lets call her DMF for Doula MidWife) and could offer us half off at the birth center as our midwife, with HMF watching over the birth as well. The price was right. In fact it was JUST right. The exact monetary amount we had set aside for a birth center birth.
Pregnancy progressed, I had some moderate risks due to losing Ezra, my MTHFR, my SPD, and so I saw my medical midwife (I’m gonna give a huge shout out to Margaret “Peggy” Colby at Kaiser!!!! She is one of my favorite care providers ever), an OB, a Perinatologist, and DMW/HMW during my pregnancy. (This does not count the chiropractors, acupuncturist, physical medicine doc, and physical therapist I also saw during my pregnancy! Can you say APPOINTMENTS??). Milkman had finally agreed to let the baby’s sex be a surprise after refusing my request for my other kiddos. I was elated, and this made my pregnancy and its pain seem all the more tolerable. Everything was seeming awesome, apart from the pain til my 36 week appointment. My perinatologist, who was very sweet by the way, knew that gender was supposed to be a surprise. HMW and DMW told me I needed to ask the medical side of things for baby’s measurements. As it is, I was uncomfortable with even knowing percentiles because of how off they can be. But as they were insistent I went to the medical Midwife, Peggy, to ask to see what the perinatologist had recorded for baby’s stats. As we scrolled past her notes, she listed the baby’s gender in the chart. I held it together in the office but when I got to my car I cried. Hysterically. And continued to for the remainder of the day. I knew this didn’t change anything, I was still having a baby, I was still excited, I didn’t really care what was between my baby’s legs, but I was so disappointed for the surprise to be ruined. We decided not to tell anyone else that we knew, but it was incredibly difficult to have gone that long without knowing only to have it ruined. This was my first downer leading up to my birth.
Once I was full term, I was aching to get my little baby born. I am a huge believer in trusting your body to birth when it’s ready. However, when you can’t get yourself out of bed in the morning without help, and need a walker or wheelchair to get around because of the pain you are dealing with from the baby, it’s hard to wait.
The week before I was due, I checked in with DMW who informed me that she had attended many, many births in a row. Most midwives and doulas have a cap for how many patients they care for in a period of time, but because she was working as both, she essentially had double the case load. I told her I was having contractions and after telling me that the babies had tried to kill her (just too many births in too few days) that we should have “none of that”. After trusting her and liking her during my prenatal care, I all of the sudden felt very nervous. Why would she say that? Was I an inconvenience? Would she collapse from exhaustion at my labor? Would she be able to hold up her end of the bargain? I had one of my weird atypical migraines I get with pregnancy the next day. It acts like a stroke, and I lose the ability to move and feeling in half my body, as well as my vision, hearing in one side and I cannot speak clearly. I checked in with her and once again she seemed hesitant about my ability to birth at a birthing center, even though the OB on call at the hospital spoke with her and gave her the OK.
This should have been my sign to back out, but I felt like we had already paid too much money and I was afraid of disappointing people (my own made up fear) by not going through with it, so I shut up that voice in the back of my head and continued on.
(Here is the log of what I wrote in real time during my labor).
October 4th, was here. My EDD. Sunday morning. I woke up to a big contraction at 8:20am. Captain and Mamitas ran into the room to tell me daddy had made apple crisp for breakfast and to get out of bed. I sat up and felt a small gush. I went to the bathroom and saw I had some show, and put a pad on. We went to church, and I brought a chux pad to sit on in case of membrane rupture in church. I had a feeling this was the day I would go into labor.
I got home and had a surge of energy and stamina. I scrubbed the bathroom. Nothing worse than laboring in a dirty bathroom. I even took the shower drain apart and bleached it! I wanted this labor to be perfect.
I had Milkman take a full body picture of my, thinking this would be my last day pregnant. I sent him to the store for gatorade and ice. I sat down on the couch to watch Call the Midwife, and and eat a snack and I felt another small gush. at 2:15, a HUGE gush. There went my waters! I hobbled to the bathroom to get cleaned up and texted Milkman to let him know. I had never had my membranes rupture spontaneously and never before labor. No contractions. I got nervous for a little bit, but I decided to remain positive. I got on the ball and was hula moving back and forth in hopes to make something happen. When Mamitas woke up from her nap, I asked if she wanted to nurse, hoping that might get things moving, her response was, “I want to nurse FOREVER mama!” And so we nursed for what seemed like forever.
I kept in touch with DMW via text and Milkman installed the carseat while the babies and I paced the backyard and then came in to make some chocolate chip cookies! It started to rain. Odd for October in California.
We fed the kiddos dinner and cuddled a lot. My mom came to get the kids in case I went into labor. (I wish I hadn’t done this. It caused a huge upset in my mood, I missed them so badly I couldn’t keep it together emotionally).
Milkman took me out to dinner and we came home to get some sleep. STILL no regular contractions. DMW told me that contractions would likely pick up in the night. But they didn’t. They stayed erratic.
Monday morning I woke up and cried. Where were my contractions? Why did I let my babies go last night when I needed them close? DMW told us to meet her and HMW at the birth center to test to make sure it was amniotic fluid I was leaking and to talk about a course of action. The test was positive for amniotic fluid. They sent Milkman to the store for sprite and castor oil, and set me up with an IV of antibiotics. Unfortunately, DMW couldn’t get a good vein anywhere except antecubital, and that’s a crappy place for an IV. The antibiotics burned, as she had the drip too high. HMW seemed peeved with DMW and I felt even more nervous about birthing with this team, but I was determined to take it back to a positive. The castor oil began working its effects. I threw up most of my pregnancy and had nausea throughout. Nothing like how awful castor oil makes you feel. I would ask for pitocin a hundredfold over castor oil if I were to do it over. It was awful. HMW told us to go walk, but I was terrified to get too far from a restroom. We attempted to walk the mall, and my memories of walking the mall are like a cloudy nightmare. Intense nausea, intense contractions, aching back, aching and tired body. We went back to the birth center.
Contractions stayed steady, but I wasn’t progressing. At one point I was crying for my babies and DMW came in and said in a strangely unfamiliar tone “You need to get that out of your system, crying like this is going to stall your labor. Stop focussing on your older two children and focus on getting this one out of you.” At this point I was shattered. Had I been allowed to display my emotions, I would have felt better about progressing, but because I had been shut up, my walls came up, and I felt like I had made the wrong choice to birth with this woman. Even still, I refused to vocalize these feelings to Milkman or to myself, because I wanted to remain positive. I dried my tears and tried to lay aside my mistrust for my care providers. Hours passed. Contractions became erratic. I walked as much as my aching, hobbling body would let me, willing my body to progress. Reciting scripture, praying, singing hymns.
I was checked so many times. I was under the impression that you should not be checked often with ruptured membranes for fear of introducing bacteria. Every time I hesitated at a check I felt like I had to.
After a very long time, I asked why I wasn’t allowed to go into the birthing tub to labor since my back labor had kicked in. With hesitation I was allowed to labor in the water (this was the number one reason I picked this birth center, so I could labor in the bath). The water was warming and comforting, but I could hear HMW and DMW talking about me in the other room in hushed tones, and I couldn’t block it out. I felt so awful. They were tired and not offering the support I had hoped for. At 2am I told Milkman I was scared. HMW came in and said very forcefully during a back contraction “If you are scared you should not birth here, you should transfer.” I wanted to scream. I was scared because I was scared of having to transfer and lose out on alllllll the money we paid out.
At this point I faced the women who were supposed to be supporting and comforting me and asked for them to be realistic with me. I had been ruptured a long time. 36 hours. I was stuck at 5cms and had been for a very long time. How realistic was it that I would deliver at the birth center? HMW was honest with me at this point (for which I was very grateful). She told me that likely I needed pitocin to progress as well as a pain reliever so I could sleep. I had been awake too long, my body was too tired. It was time to transfer. They checked me for the umpteenth time. Still a 5.
We got to the hospital just a block down the street. DMW said she would meet us there, and though I didn’t want her to, she had agreed to taking the role of a doula in the event of a transfer and I needed someone to help Milkman help me through contractions. She got there and her demeanor seemed one of someone who is apathetic. The nurses insisted I have yet ANOTHER check. I refused. I was told I would not be given pitocin or meds until I was checked. I looked at my DMW hoping for some support, she gave me a “Well, what are you gonna do?” look and began scrolling through her phone. I wanted to scream “HELP ME.” but I was too busy breathing through contractions. I finally agreed to a check. Epidural was placed. Epidural failed. Second was placed. Second failed. Pitocin was kicking my uterus into high gear and there was no relief. Though the epidural was placed, it was leaking into another part of my back, so no pain relief was brought but it was still being pumped into my body. I have very low blood pressure normally, so at one point the nurses came in and told me I needed ephedrine for low blood pressure. Through a contraction I tried to inform them that my BP is always low. I looked at DMW for her to speak up and let them know that my whole pregnancy she would joke with me about this very fact. I said “No… ephedrine. Please. Its… normal. Low blood pressure. NO. NO. NO!!!!” and it was shot into my IV. Here I was. I was becoming one of those stories where the interventions keep piling on top of the other. I looked at my DMW and she gave me a look again, unsympathetic and went back to her phone. Hot tears seared my cheeks. I was so angry. I told DMW she was free to leave. She kept refusing to. I asked her to get food or go take a break, and though she seemed like she would rather be getting a root canal than stay with me, she kept saying, “No, it’s okay, I’ll stay.”
Finally another anesthesiologist decided to give the epi a try. He told me my scoliosis curved right where the epi was supposed to fit, so he eyeballed it to the right and got it in. It offered temporary relief and I was able to sleep for a while. Milkman passed out, DMW passed out at my feet. I woke up once the epi stopped working to breathe through my contractions. I stared at sleeping DMW with tears in my eyes. I wanted her gone so badly, but I didn’t want to be rude. I could slap myself now for caring about that in the moment.
I woke her and Milkman up to help me through contractions. Milkman went to the restroom at one point and I looked up at DMW during a very hard contraction and reached my hand out to hers for her to hold mine. I swear to you, the look that returned to me scared me. It was almost sinister? She refused to hold my hand and stared at me with a grimace on her face while I went limp and breathed. This happened several other times. Once again I told her she could leave, once again she refused. I still don’t know why she stayed other than maybe she wouldn’t have gotten paid if she left?
After a few rude nurses, it was time, I was a 10. New doctor on call came in and I told her due to my SPD I could not push on my back and would need to be on my side. The doctor said she hadn’t delivered with a mother on her side, I said that was nice, and I would be her first. If DMW would not advocate for me, I would advocate for myself. DMW offered to take pictures, I got in place. 3 contractions, Peach was born. Relief. Tears. She was here.
I looked at her warm wriggly body and I cried out “She’s alive! This one breathes. She’s not still like Ezra was. This is my baby and SHE IS ALIVE. Thank you, Lord, she’s perfect!” I cried for a long time. It was quiet in the room, and the air felt thick and awkward, but the only thing I cared about in that moment was gratitude for this gorgeous little creature I held in my arms.
She’s alive!
After a while the room cleared out and DMW finally announced she would be leaving and a great wave of relief washed over me. She assured me she would send the photos and when the door shut and it was just Milkman, Peach, and I, I breathed easy for the first time in 48 hours. Peach latched on and looked up at me with one eye open, and I marveled at her perfect skin and face.
Once we got into our recovery room in postpartum, my mom brought Captain and Mamitas to come meet their little sister. It was so wonderful to have my little family all together, if only for a short period of time. Captain was feeling homesick and it made it hard for me to say goodbye when they left.
That night, I sat in the hospital bed, nursing the baby and eating dinner and I looked over at Milkman and asked, “What did you think about DMW?” He pursed his lips and (wisely) asked me, “What did YOU think about her? Did you find her helpful?” I started crying. I told him how unsupported I felt, how I felt like a burden to her. How I didn’t want to talk with her or have anything to do with her. How she made labor that much harder. How when I reached out for her she ignored me. He nodded his head as I talked and came over to hold my hand. I asked him again and he said he felt very much the same as I did but didn’t want to bring it up in case I hadn’t caught on to it because he didn’t want to put a damper on the experience. I wept and he held Peach and I while I shook with angry tears. He agreed that any contact with the birth center and either of its Midwives would go through him, so I wouldn’t have to deal with it.
We picked up my placenta from her a couple days after delivering, all the correspondence though Milkman still. She never did send my birth photos. I wept much in the weeks following my birth. None surrounding my baby, or the usual baby blues, all in relation to my awful birth experience and the care I was promised and paid for but was not given.
6 weeks later we finally heard from HMW and she asked why she hadn’t heard from us to schedule my follow-up appointments. We hadn’t been contacted til that point. Milkman was a saint and explained that I was dealing with birth trauma and I couldn’t bear to go to the birth center. Right after he sent that we heard from DMW for the first time in those 6 weeks saying she was concerned she hadn’t heard from us. It felt awful, all over again. Like it was my fault she hadn’t done her follow-up. And it confirmed all the more that she didn’t care enough to contact us sooner. Milkman went to the birth center to pick up my records and asked if someone would please send the pictures from my birth.
A while later we received an email with the photos, all thumbnail sized and poor quality. I asked for her to re-send them at a higher quality, as these were the only pictures I had of the birth, and were intimate and meaningful to me. She never replied and I haven’t heard from her since.
Since all this happened, I attended a birth trauma session at MommyCon and spoke with the ladies at Integrated Birth. At the end of the session where they offered advice for avoiding birth trauma (like hiring a doula, birthing at a birth center, using people who came highly recommended, etc). I began crying very hard (thankful my sister was there with me to hold my hand and cry with me). There was a Q&A time so I asked “What happens if you did all those things, you did everything right, all your research, picked the best people, and it still went horribly?” I was told that most likely DMW had taken off more than she could chew and was in birth burnout mode, and most likely shouldn’t have taken me on as a client. I was told that I was supported and to not be afraid to write my story, whether or not I ever shared it with anyone. The compassion I received from the fellow attendees and from the presenter and the Integrated birth team was AMAZING and empowering. We all cried together. At once point Laney from the Mommycon team came over to me and hugged me and she said she understood how I was feeling. For the first time I felt like people other than my sister and my husband understood me, and actually cared. That my concerns were valid and real.
I still occasionally break down thinking about Peach’s birth because it brings up a lot of angry and hurt feelings, but I am on the road to emotional recovery, thanks MOSTLY to Milkman and his love and patience and understanding. He’s heard me hash it out so many times, cry over it so many times, and never once has he dismissed those feelings. Peach is the happiest baby I have had and this has also helped tremendously. Had she been as high needs as her big brother and sister, the physical and emotional healing would undoubtedly have taken much longer. Every smile reminds me just how worth all the pain really was. She is magic.
If you’ve made it thus far, you are dedicated! Thanks for reading. If you are dealing with birth trauma and want someone to talk to, feel free to reach out and contact me, I’m here to support you!
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