Mara Elidi

This is a first trimester birth story, the story of my fourth child.
I give this as both an opening and a caution, because parts of this story may trigger anxiety especially for those who are currently pregnant or have experienced miscarriage at home. There are also physically graphic parts to this story to describe the events following my miscarriage.

On May 1st, after 9 months of trying to conceive, a little help from letrozole, and a cross-country move... we learned I was pregnant.
That day and the weeks that followed were full of anxiety but also of intentional faith and thankfulness. Nausea, headaches, tenderness, fatigue, and emotional instability all made me so happy to feel. Knowing I feared attaching to this baby, I attached anyway. We took advantage of BabiesRUs going out of business and bought a bassinet and swing. We were requesting Ryan be placed in follow on courses so I could deliver here before we move again. We were speaking like we would bring a living baby home in January. It was pure joy every time we saw a heartbeat on the sonogram screen. 

Today, it has been one whole month since her birthday. Since we held her and kissed her and smelled her. I was 13 weeks pregnant when I had her at home. 

At 12 weeks 5 days (and the day after the 3rd anniversary of Eden's funeral), I went to the ER. I was having abdominal and back pain with little relief and felt something was not right. I told my husband he didn't need to come, because I had hoped I was just being worried. Pregnancy after loss after loss after loss can make someone feel like they've gone insane with worry and assumption that they are no longer carrying life.
He went to work, and I headed to the hospital. They'd seen me there four times already, for pneumonia once and three times for fear that something was wrong. This time, something was. 

A quick note about my experience in the ER this time- it was terrible. It was cold, cruel, and rude. No one would speak to me during the ultrasound. They all spoke over me and addressed each other without answering my questions or requests to see my baby. I knew, and no one would tell me. There was time between the scan and the nurse practitioner coming in for me to call and tell Ryan he needed to be there, for him to drive all the way from post to downtown, park, and come in to calm me down. I still held hope that I was being silly, because surely someone would have come in by then. The nurse practitioner smelled like cigarettes, because she took a smoke break and discharged me before she came in to tell my that my baby had died. She shrugged her shoulders when she said it. We were rushed away on a day that they'd already told us they weren't busy. It was gross. My experience with my Baby Errol at 6 weeks was exponentially more gentle. When I feel comfortable, I'm going to write a letter and take some doula materials up there, to show them the importance of kindness and bedside manners during bereavement. I hate that so many mothers find themselves in this kind of experience when their babies die before 20 weeks.

That afternoon, I was able to see my OB doctor. He came in compassionately and sat with me, laying my options on the table: wait and let the miscarriage begin naturally, have a D&C, or take the induction medication at home.
My decision was based on past experiences. Mason had been gone over a week before I found out, and it was almost two weeks by the time I was induced. I couldn't bear to wait for my body to take it's course, as it was betraying me even in that moment. Secondly, I wanted to avoid the sadness and lack of closure I had with Baby Errol. I knew I had passed him. I saw him in a tiny sac, in my toilet, and I flushed my baby. I wanted to see, hold, and kiss my baby. A D&C would not allow for that. I chose the induction at home. 

This happened on a Tuesday, and we wanted to prepare and spend the time we had with her as well as the immediate time after without rushing, worrying over work or anything else. We chose Friday morning as a time to start the medicine, understanding I could take up to 24 hours of the medicine (cytotec) before a D&C would be the next step.
The days between gave us time to prepare for a "home birth". We bought little blankets, a new nightgown, a box to stain and carry her in. We chose a jasmine and wild orange oil blend for her scent memory. I took self portraits with her inside me. Ryan made arrangements for cremation at the funeral home. We prayed over the coming days. We named her. 

Mara was a character in the Bible, Ruth's mother in-law. Her name was Naomi until she changed it when her sons and husband died, declaring that the Lord had dealt bitterly with her. It felt appropriate that week. I prayed candidly, telling God that I was confused and bitter. Yet, I was so thankful. From the moment we had a positive pregnancy test, we referred to this baby as "Baby Sunny". She came when we moved away from the gray skies found the literal sunshine. We found the name Elidi, which means gift of the sun. Together, these names fit our girl perfectly.

Friday morning was spent quietly listening to music and crocheting two tiny blankets (one for her, one for us) from the one I started the day Ryan returned from deployment and we began trying to conceive. Ryan came home around noon, and the quiet labor began to pick up. I laid on a heating pad and sipped tea. The waiting was peaceful, the pain had a purpose. It was a centered and spiritual experience.

In the afternoon, I felt my water "break". I had no bleeding before this point. Things happened quickly afterward.

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On July 6th at 4:19 pm, our sweet baby was born to me in the bathroom, by the yellow bathtub.

That familiar silence was so loud.

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I caught her, called Ryan in, and rinsed her off gently. 

We took her in the kitchen, where we had flowers and candles and her blankets near her box.

We took pictures of her alone and with each of us. I heard myself keep repeating, "Oh, she's just so cute!" because she was really cute and I was just in awe. Her face looked to be smiling, her hands together, her legs folded. This was the first time any of my babies has been outside of me and still inside my home. The dogs stayed close by, curious and gentle. It's so special to me that it happened this way, truly a generous answer to prayer that I just wanted to hold my child.

It wasn't long after that when we tucked her into her blanket and the box we picked just for her, then took her to the funeral home.
In the car before we went inside, my precious husband blessed our baby. We're probably not "qualified" for this but nonetheless we felt the presence of Jesus in the front seat of my Kia. He dedicated Mara to the Lord, we cried, and carried her inside.

When we left I began bleeding heavily, through my pants into the car seat. Ryan rushed me home and the bleeding kept picking up. I wanted to seem okay physically, and we were both hungry from not eating all day. So I sent him to get supper. I started getting dizzy, wondering how much water I'd really had through the whole process.

He walked back in the door 20 minutes later with Chick-fil-A, which has been our "after baby" meal every time. I simultaneously walked back into the bathroom to change the chux pad I had been cutting to fit. The next thing I knew I was nearly fainting, sitting on the toilet with Ryan running towards me and yelling to keep me alert. I then drifted off, I couldn't see at all and I could only hear myself sobbing, overcome with what had happened hours earlier. I don't remember anything else- how I got up, cleaned up, or got to the couch where I had a wet washcloth on my head and was being fed and given water when I finally came to. Once I ate and drank a few more cups of water, I fell asleep and slept through the night. The next few days were a blur of crying, sleeping and watching mindless television.

The following Monday I went in for a follow up, but when I explained that I was still bleeding, my OB was concerned that the miscarriage wasn't complete. The ultrasound showed that some placenta tissue was left behind, and the next course of action was to take a "less intense" version of the induction medication, this was called Methergine. It was familiar to me because I had taken it in the shot form for retained placenta after Mase, before my D&C. I didn't remember anything about it because I had an epidural. The problem was, for THREE days, my pharmacy nor any pharmacy in town had it and needed to order it. When I finally started it, I realized that it was not less intense by any definition. 

I had every non-life threatening side effect, the worst being the back and abdomen pain. 

I writhed on the couch for three days. I have never felt that kind of pain before. I didn't sleep, couldn't eat, just cried and moaned while my uterus was being forcefully emptied. I was passing huge clots like the night she was born during the entire time. I passed the little placenta on day two. 
Also on the second day, before Ryan left for work (he wasn't able to miss class without being reset) I asked him to call the doctor and tell him I just wanted a D&C now. Helpless, he got on the floor beside me and held me. I'll always remember what he said that morning: "You have done the hardest thing you'll ever do, four times now. You've already survived something that doesn't make sense to survive. You can do this, you know you can." He said it, knowing that at this point, a D&C would not reverse or prevent the pain I would continue to feel from the medicine. It was already started and would continue even if I skipped the rest of the doses. There was no sense in getting the surgery. It would have not made it better, simply worse. Yet, he did not say that. He was being a doula to me, and gave encouragement instead of presenting the wall even I knew was there in my right mind. 

I finished the doses and the pain subsided with a little residual soreness. I finally stopped bleeding a few days ago.

At the end of that first week, our baby's urn had arrived. At the funeral home, Ryan transferred her ashes into the urn carefully as I watched. We brought her home and placed her on the mantle, next to her brother. I have matching urns for two of my babies now. 

I wanted to go to SC for my sister's wedding shower and planning this month, and the pain went away just in time. I even took a little detour on the way back home to spend a few nights in Helen, GA and be alone. Two weeks in, I had not yet grasped that my baby was gone. I was focused on physically trying to heal that I  blocked myself from grieving properly. It was a completely traumatic month for my body. My time alone was to force myself to understand and begin to grieve, and I'm not sure it even worked then, because the emotion and clarity is just starting to sink in.

The commotion has now gone away. The calls and cards and flowers come in the early days, and we are so thankful for the immediate answer of love and support to our hurt. We know we are cared for.
But it's always especially quiet when the hard days actually start. And a month later, as I begin to understand what's happened, it feels very lonely. Maybe even lonelier this time than any time before. I feel people have grown tired of this. I know I have. I wish my daughter were here, living inside me. I wish they were all here and this was a stupid mom blog about fun summer activities when you're pregnant with three more under four. 

That's not true, though. The truth is my baby died, again. I know its hard, what is there to say? Nothing. There never has been a script I could hand someone and, damn, aren't we all so exhausted of this happening? I know it takes energy to support a mom who has lost her baby, I've gotten so much of it over the past three years. Now I'm adjusting expectations of others and of myself so I can be gentle with us both. I'm in a place of fresh grief for the first time in two years, and I'm thankful for this "business break" I've been taking so it can be my sole focus. This is all so familiar and foreign at the same time, and I'm going to take my time navigating it. The start for me was writing Mara's story today, writing my story of my sweet fourth baby. Now I'll be reading it back to myself until it doesn't sound like someone else's anymore. 

"For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far 

outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."

2 Corinthians 4:17-18

May Baby Mason

I'm going to write the fluffiest introduction here to be sure I make the point: I'm going to tell you what I'm going to be writing about. I'm going to write about my baby son dying.
My child died for the third time and that is what I'm going to write about. I'm going to write about it because I need to and I want to and he deserves to be talked about. I want to shout him from the rooftops.
This may make you uncomfortable, so that is why I'm telling you that I'm writing about it. I will be including pictures in which my dead child resides. I don't worry about making you uncomfortable because I am going to be uncomfortable for literally the rest of my life, but if you worry about being uncomfortable over babies dying you can stop reading now and go back to your cat videos.



So anyway, yeah.

My son died. I am mourning once more. At a routine check up last month when I was 15 weeks pregnant, I could see as clear as day before the doctor could... my baby had no heartbeat. Again again again. I look back and there were no warning signs this time, no intuition or flashing signals. With Eden, I anticipated something was wrong before her diagnosis. With Baby Errol, I had a feeling he wasn't mine to keep. With this one, though, I believed so strongly that everything was all fine.

From the moment I even thought I was pregnant I just had a good feeling. A strong feeling. Heck, the hormone showed up on a pee stick when I was only three weeks along. The symptoms were immediate. They were so similar to those I had with Eden, only earlier and more intense. Everything looked great. They even gave me a five week stretch between appointments. I had a little bump by 8 weeks. I felt movements as early as 12 weeks. Everything about this pregnancy made me feel sure that this time we would bring a healthy child home in a car seat.

But alas, he came home in an urn. Because he died.
And so I switch gears from "pregnant" to "grieving" like I have done before.
Only I figured maybe I'm a pro by now, maybe I know how to do this kind of thing... but the God's honest truth about that is I am not and I do not. I am just as freaking lost this time as I was the first time. All I know to do is to keep being honest.

I'm trying to write well but I'm sure that I'll have to come back to edit later as I have not slept. And when I say that, I mean I have to take two prescription pills to achieve 4 hours in which I continuously sit up straight from the nightmares. There is nothing funny about sleep deprivation. There is nothing sexy about being tired. I don't know why people romanticize exhaustion.
(And speaking of things people romanticize, why are panic attacks also one of them? The internet is flooded with articles about how anxious women love differently, how we should be handled, etc and basically every person I know has posted them... We can't all have anxiety can we? Trust me when I say it's not cute, it's not fun, and seriously nobody wants it.)

So, yeah. I'm tired, I'm anxious. I'm worn down. And I'm waiting for the moment when I 'come to' and realize that this is all just in my sick and twisted imagination. I'm waiting for the moment when my therapist breaks the news to me that it's time to face the facts, none of this ever happened. That woman who stole Eden's pictures last year has made me jealous that she's just crazy and I sometimes find myself thinking seriously ugly things: if she wanted my life so bad, I'd be happy to trade her.
I will be so glad to wake up from this dream. Until then, I guess I will keep writing about it and the very realness that it is to me.

Death isn't something that I really had to deal with head on before my children, but I can still tell you that it is a different pain than losing anyone else. It's the ultimate backwards fate. Because mothers and fathers don't outlive their children. And I am learning that there isn't a single right way to be sane through that kind of pain, except the way that is right for me, and again...that changes every day.
Either you need to be out and around other people, or you need to be under the covers, or you need to go out and be under someone else's covers. And the non-grieving are so finicky when you're grieving anyway, they expect you to be well enough to come out and play or they just stop inviting you to play altogether... so you may as well do whatever feels good.

Today, to keep sane I just need to say that he died.
I am so sick of writing about this. I am so sick of this experience.
But I have to say it.
My boy, my sweet son. His name is Mason Gregory and he died.

And it's different from the first time and it's different from the second time, and it's true that every child is different. Weeks after losing my Eden there was a sweet sadness that settled in, a content grief very early on, knowing that it would be a lifetime of ebbing and flowing. Shortly after my early miscarriage I needed to be important and busy and pregnant with things to do rather than a baby. I channeled Errol into work and then my first two children's legacies became my ministry. This time (am I really saying "this time", have I really done this before?), I am so restless and I have a million responsibilities but the only one I want is to carry my child and grow him. I want to go backwards now and that's never been a place I was interested in. I'm missing him. I know I'm moving towards Heaven, but I fear there is much more time between now and then than there is between my babies and now. I am moving away from them and I don't want to hear about how soon I'll see them again. With each week that passes I ache a little more for him, for the sibling that made a way for him only two months before, for the sister that placed the mother heart in me first. All I've ever wanted to be was a mama, their mama. Not like this, but I still wouldn't trade.

So he died then he was born and we held his little body, and he barely took up the palm of Ryan's hand and Ryan's eyes were so sad as he wrapped his son in the tiniest baby blanket I've ever laid my own eyes on. My heart breaks because not only are my babies dead, his babies are dead too. So on top of my dreams, his have also been crushed. I've never been more in love with him than when he has a broken heart and still does all he can to make me smile. He is good. I am blessed that he is the father of my children and the grieving man beside me.

Still, we are wrecked. Stop asking about our family planning. No, we don't yet have answers. Stop suggesting we run out an adopt. Realize adoption is a plan for us and we will have a family with living children one day, but its not anyone's business right now that we just don't know what the heck is going on. We have no freaking clue. We haven't even thought about it, because our baby just died. And please, for the love of everything pure, get your nose out of everyone else's womb. I actually had someone comment on the last blog post I wrote: "get a surrogate".


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Here is the thing a lot of people don't get. Here is what they're missing out on. They think it is as simple as getting something fixed when a baby dies. In this case, it's me that needs fixing? Anyway. They're losing sight of what has to happen for someone to die.
My babies are dead. They died. The very first time any of them opened their eyes, they saw the face of the Lord.
I don't know what caused it the last two times.

But I do know this: in order for someone to die, they must live.

They must have once been alive.


And they were. Or else doctors wouldn't say, "I'm sorry, your baby has died."
A person's life can't end without it being life.

My babies were alive.
They lived. Their little hearts beat inside me. One of them, outside.

Where life is, there is also love.
Life and love begin in the same place.

My kids were loved from the moment they existed. Every baby is loved. Every child is wanted. All of them needed. Mine were cherished.

Did my love for them die when they did?

Did my adoration cease the moment I knew she wouldn't live?
Could I withhold devotion though I felt this one wouldn't stay?
Did the love that caused me to hope and dream diminish the moment I saw his still heart?

Obviously not. Life and love don't end in the same place. If they did, nobody would be walking around with a heart this broken.

Love doesn't end. It takes a new form and that is grief.

And so that's the reason I can't run out to the surrogate agency today, three weeks from picking out Mason's urn. That's the reason we're not rushing off to band-aid fix our loss with "another". Another baby doesn't heal the pain of losing mine. That's the reason we will just have to make people uncomfortable with our flavor of parenthood for a while. The reason is that he died but our love didn't. We are grieving instead. We will be grieving forever.
The day I fall out of love with my kids will be the day when it's okay for people to talk like that.


Besides their spirits (which are still very much alive, I'll have you know), I have to put this love into something tangible. Finding somewhere to put that love takes all the energy I have. Finding something to soothe the ache of the empty place my children left just drains me. Today it's this blog. Tomorrow it'll be myself: washing my hair and putting lotion on and eating a decent meal. Maybe soon it'll be that book idea I keep toying with. Anyway.

Mason died.
They all died.
But that is only because they lived. And because they lived, I loved them.

And because I loved them, I'll love them endlessly.

The Two Births of Eden Olivia

The dropping lasted the whole final month.
Eden slowly moved into position, stretching me as far as I could stretch, moving my hips and pelvis to fit around her. It sure did last a month, and every day I swore she could not go any further down or she would fall out.
Her head had been down since I was about 6 months along, her feet up in my ribs and her little butt poking out of my right side.
She was extremely active and fun the last week. Our birth plan for comfort care was complete by then, family was in town, and it was a relaxing end to my pregnancy. I'll never forget how blissful it was to not do anything but feel her move!


We didn't announce my induction date because we wanted private moments with no pressure to share- Facebook knows everything too fast these days! But when I was 36 weeks, we planned for my induction to be June 25th (39+4) so that we could give family a date to be here, and so that I could definitely be with my midwife.

I went in on the 24th to be checked for progress. My midwife who'd worked with us since I was 24 weeks, Major Radmer (Heidi), finally said "she's down there, definitely dropped!"
However, I was still barely 2 cm dilated and it looked to be a long induction. So, Heidi told me to go into L&D that evening to be given a foley bulb catheter, which would help with dilation.

As a pre-baby celebration, my dad took us all out to dinner at Red Lobster so I could have crab legs. This is also a tradition, since my mom ate crab legs right before she had all of us, too. Now Ryan is in for it because I'm gonna need to make sure I have them every time.

Ryan and my mom took me to the hospital that night, where the doctors spent two hours trying to place the bulb. No one warned me that it would be so painful! At 10:00 p.m., it was placed and we were headed home with an Ambien in a brown bag to help me sleep. I was to return to L&D at 9:30 the next morning to be induced. Heidi would be on the night shift, so she would be there to help us meet Eden when the time came.

When we made it home I was cramping but not quite contracting. I'd heard that pineapple sent women into labor so while I showered Ryan cut and grilled some slices of fresh pineapple for me. I took the Ambien and ate the fruit, then laid down. But, I didn't sleep! Perhaps thirty minutes altogether. The Ambien did make me loopy...but between my nerves and the pain of the bulb, rest didn't come. At around 4 am I was timing contractions to be three minutes apart, lasting 30 seconds a piece. I called the unit, and the nurse said if the bulb hadn't come out then I wasn't dilated enough to rush in. "Take it easy, honey, we will see you in a few hours." I worried that I'd give birth right in my bedroom! I was up and down the entire night, just so anxious about what was to come.

I could finally start waking everyone else up at 7:00 on June 25th. Poor Ryan slept about as much as I did, because I whined. I picked up my phone to see that people already knew what was going on that day, Facebook had exploded! While we were initially frustrated, we were more thankful for the encouragement and support that poured out over us that morning, especially after a rough night. We got ready for the day, double checked to make sure we had everything, and zipped up our hospital bag. We said goodbye to my dad, brother, sister, and Ryan's mom. They'd all be at the hospital too around lunch time. Momma came with us, and we rode in Ryan's mustang back to the hospital (my car had more room for the rest of our family). I kept joking that I felt like Novalee Nation, that I should have been on the way to have a baby in Walmart instead of Evans Army Community Hospitals Labor & Delivery Unit. So fun.

We checked in at 9:15, and we were taken back to the room reserved especially for us. It was at the very front of the unit, separate from most of the other rooms. We would never have to pass the nursery, or hear too much from other mother/baby rooms. Our people could enter and exit the unit through other double doors without going through the nurse's station. There was a sign placed on the door for us. It had a leaf with a teardrop, indicating that our birth was a loss and comfort care situation- dietary, custodial, other extraneous staff would not be entering. All of my nurses would be solely mine as well. The room was very big, there was plenty of room for all of our people and three big windows for a little natural light.

The charge nurse had me change, then said they would be in shortly to insert my IV and start the Pitocin. When she left, I used the opportunity to formally let our friends and family on social media know that I was being induced. My best friend Jenae had a list of people to shoot text updates to, and once I let her know I was there, she let them all know too.

There was a bird on the windowsill, who kept showing off to Ryan and Momma. He was so friendly. Ryan pulled out the camera, and this bird actually loved it! He posed for pictures, almost smiling it seemed. He was cheery, it made me cheery.

The nurses and the day's midwife, Katherine, came to take the bulb out- it dilated my cervix to 3 cm! It was about 11:30 a.m. when my IV was finally inserted and Pitocin was started. My day nurse, Nikki, asked how much monitoring we'd like of Eden's heartbeat. I asked for a twenty minute strip, so I laid down on the bed and we were monitored for twenty minutes. Her heartbeat was up and down, and she was so bouncy. She was excited too! Nikki tore the strip and gave it to Ryan to put away, then took the monitors off of me so I could labor in peace. She went to find me a yoga ball to bounce on if the mood struck me.
Ryan's chaplain, Captain Conway (Marta), came in to visit quickly. She would be back to perform Eden's dedication closer to time. Then the rest of our family arrived. Then, Jenae left school early to come and sit too. She didn't show up emptied handed, there was a bag in her hand holding rum for Ryan and wine for me!

We all talked for a while, I bounced on the ball, everyone took turns going downstairs to eat Arby's (they were all really courteous not eating in front of me even when I said it was fine). I had Ryan bring me about 5 cups of beef broth, I never thought I could enjoy broth so much. The day seemed to pass quickly. Eric, Jenae's husband, had also joined us. At about 5:00, Katherine came to check my progress. I was almost 6 cm, which seemed to be going pretty fast to me. The contractions were not awful, but I did want the epidural before things got crazy- at this rate I was expecting a baby by midnight! So I told them I was ready for the epidural and Nikki sent for the anesthesiologist. He came in, administered the drug, and then I had to lie down of course. My contractions also had to be monitored by the computer after this.

Then, Jenae sent out an update as I texted both Marta and our NILMDTS photographer, Rebekah. Rebekah came right away and started setting up. She plugged in her diffuser and let some oils soothe all the nerves in the room. She started taking pictures then too.

Heidi came on at 7:00. I was so relieved to see her but things also became very real. She'd be delivering my daughter this time! My new nurse, Lucy, also came on duty at this time.

Around 8:00, I think it was my dad, brother, and Eric that made the food run to Jimmy Johns. This time I was jealous as everyone took turns going downstairs to eat. I wanted a sub SO bad!

I was checked again at 9:00, 7 cm. Heidi said it was time to break my water and things would probably go pretty fast from there. So, I texted Marta again and she was on the way.

Because of Eden's CDH, I had polyhydramnios (or excess amniotic fluid). This is why I looked 40 weeks at only 30 weeks- my fluid was about 10 cm too much. Heidi only wanted to pinhole my water, let it slowly leak... but it didn't happen that way. It was like a collapsing dam in my delivery room- fluid going everywhere. It took Heidi, Lucy, Momma, and Ryan all by surprise. There weren't enough towels in my room alone! Me numb from the waist down, it was up to Ryan to pick me up and help them clean. Momma said there was standing water ON MY BED. All I could really do was watch my huge belly go down exponentially. Now, it was probably half the size.

Everyone who needed to be at the hospital was there by 10:00 p.m. We all talked and joked for a good while, but I was SO sleepy. I kept nodding off. I was checked at midnight: still 7 cm. Lucy came in to start rubbing my back, Jenae took over, then my mom. Things had certainly slowed. Around 1:00, I needed a refill on the epidural.

The room next to us was actually vacant because the computer didn't work, so it was opened for my family to go in. It became the nap place. My mom, Ryan's mom, my sister and brother all went back to our house for quick showers and came back. I started some serious napping. All of our people started napping too, wherever they could find a spot. I was checked at 2:00, 8 cm.

4:00 a.m., still 8 cm. I was feeling pretty bad for calling everyone to the hospital to wait all night. So we told Rebekah and Marta to head home if they needed to. Rebekah just went in the vacant room and passed out, Marta headed for the Army hotel down the street. I kept sleeping.

6:00 came and I was between 8 and 9 cm. It was breakfast time for everyone else. After they finished, I became very cold and very sick. I knew these were signs of it getting close to time, so I was glad for them. I couldn't be warmed by the 4 blankets on top of me. I threw up beef broth for about thirty minutes. Ryan didn't say it at the time, but he was sick too. My body, his nerves. I wasn't so numb anymore, the pressure was turning to pain. My contractions were very strong and I was trying not to moan through them and scare everyone away... didn't work. They all went to the vacant room to give me privacy.

When I was checked at 7:00, Heidi said I was still 9 cm. I started crying then. She said she'd be back at 8:00 instead of waiting two hours.
I believe I made it to 7:30 before I told Ryan he needed to go find her, I needed to push. He did as he was commanded. Heidi came in and after checking asked me, "are you ready?" Ryan called the chaplain back, then he and Momma came to either side of me. Rebekah got behind me.

I began pushing at about 8:15 a.m. Heidi should have been off an hour before then, but of course she stayed. Lucy'd had to leave though, and my new nurses were Roberta and Raquel.

There I was, no birthing classes, very little insight about "what to do", a nervous wreck ready and not ready to meet my baby. Pushing was painful, and I didn't expect that. I thought the epidural was going to ease that as well!

*I just want to say that there should be no shame in taking medicine to lessen excruciating pain. There's a social pedestal for "natural childbirth" that really bothers me (Does that make childbirth with pain medication "unnatural"? It's totally natural to me to take medicine for pain..). However you choose to birth your baby, or however you HAVE to birth your baby- whether that mean drugs or surgery or in a pool of cucumber water with a string quartet playing live in the room- it should be celebrated. My ONLY regret is getting the epidural so early and having to lie down for most of my labor.*

Ryan held one leg, Momma held another. About ten minutes into my pushing, Eden was crowning. I heard Ryan, "Oh, baby. Her head is right there!" And Momma, "You can see it! All of her hair!'"

My poor mom. I know I kicked her at least once in the chin, and I'm pretty sure I almost dislocated her shoulder. I grew extremely tired after an hour, I'm thinking she was relieved when I did.

One time Momma said, "look at the window. Your friend has returned." Sure enough, the bird was outside chirping and being a bit intrusive. I watched him for a while, he distracted me.

Ryan kept telling me to breathe. Not because that's what he'd seen on movies or because it was what he was "supposed" to say, because I actually kept forgetting to breathe. I loved him in these moments, and I hated him too. It was so easy for him to tell me what to do when I was the one actually having to do it.

In our birth plan, I'd specifically said that I would be refusing a cesarean even if it looked like Eden would pass in the birth canal. It was more important that I be present to hold her, because we knew she was going to pass. The only scenario in which we would have taken an emergency c-section would be if my life were in danger. And man, I thought my life was in danger. It's really crazy what a woman's body is designed to endure... I know now what it's capable of and I'm amazed.

I wasn't skipping pushing through contractions, though Heidi asked if I wanted to (she probably, most definitely need a break...I should mention that she was 36 weeks pregnant herself!). I was just basically passing out between them. I wasn't irate, just tired. I was ignoring everyone.
The nurses kept rooting for me. Roberta kept saying, "that is the way!" I was a good pusher. Raquel was swinging a wet rag with Rebekah's peppermint oil on it in my face. They'd rolled a mirror in front of me so I could see, but I wouldn't watch because no matter what she seemed to not be moving any further. They swore she was.
I really thought I couldn't do anymore. I looked at Heidi and said "Can you help me?"
She said, "Honey, I am helping you, but I can't do it for you."

Four or five contractions later, they had me reach down and feel. I touched the whole top of Eden's head. I remember looking at Ryan and smiling, as tears were beginning to roll down his cheeks. My mom said "Last push! Maybe. I think. I don't know!"

It was the last push to get her head out. Heidi had me pause. The pediatrician sprayed some medicine in her nose. Then, another final push. The rest of her body came with her head.

It was 10:40 a.m. on June 26, 2015. She was born to us here. She was on my chest. She was given more medicine for any pain she may have felt while on Earth. I realized she really did look like her father. My thought was, "Ryan is a really pretty girl."

Ryan was crying. Momma was crying. I was in shock.

Ryan cut her cord. Heidi showed him where he could feel her pulse in the part still attached to her. She told me there was no rush for the placenta if I was fine. I was fine. She left the room in tears.

Eden breathed a deep breath. The most magnificent breath I'll ever witness. Mom ran out to get our family, Jenae and Eric, and Marta.

They came in, Marta stood beside us and used Rose of Sharon to anoint Eden Olivia, then us. We dedicated her life back to the Lord. Everyone in the room prayed. Ryan took her for a few moments to let everyone kiss all three of us. Then everyone except Rebekah left my husband and I to be with our child.

She was in my arms again. I hummed to her, "You are my sunshine."

Ryan sat down beside us. He read "Guess How Much I Love You."

He held her again, and I watched him kiss her.

We told her that it was okay, and she could go. She never cried, she saved all of her energy for those breaths she kept taking.

I don't recall her last one, I just know it was in Ryan's arms. I just know it was too soon. I just know it didn't feel like forty minutes, it felt like a second.

And then it was 11:20 a.m. on June 26, 2015. She was born into Jesus's arms, a healthy and whole baby girl. We couldn't be parents more proud. She was the most beautiful baby I've ever seen and while I'll miss her every second of every day, I am so happy for her that she's breathing peacefully in Heaven.

The bird came back to us the next morning, before we told our daughter goodbye. He was just as cheery, reminding us that this was more a celebration than a sadness. We are thankful for this perfectly beautiful life to grieve.