Amateur Realizations

I just need to get a few things out there:

1. I started "pinning" last week and already have a love-hate relationship. While I realize the value of the site, I also realize the time-suck/waste factor. It is almost as confusing as that one time in high school where I was really good friends with a boy but we weren't boyfriend-girlfriend, but it kind of felt like it, but he had a girlfriend. Oy vey.

2. My child recently parroted me saying "shoot" and "heck." She also already loves TV. How do I know? She constantly brings us the iPad to pull up the PBS Kids app, cries if we turn off before she was done watching (she lets us know by ungluing her eyes and walking away), and knows when to clap and cheer for certain Sesame Street shorts. She also wreaks havoc in church every Sunday and I don't do anything to stop it. For example, she stands/plays peek-a-boo at the podium while someone teaches, helps play the piano during a hymn, and rummages through various purses. This last Sunday, she somehow got a dollar bill and wouldn't loosen her grip for anything - not for toys, or treats, or any other distraction. Basically, I'm failing at decent parenting. I have a disruptive, cursing, media-obsessed, kleptomaniac daughter. My over-achieving self now sits in a corner and cries while my lazy self continues to lounge on the couch and not care. It is like when I was in high school and in band and worked relatively hard and thought it was really cool, but I'm now realizing that it really wasn't. Should I care about that?

3. While I'm no Shakespeare, I never thought I was a terrible writer. However, after my last post, we were bombarded by questions of our safety and well-being. My husband just stared blankly at the kind soul asking if I was okay at the church trunk-or-treat. People, it was a METAPHOR. My life FELT like a car accident. Obviously, I'm really terrible at writing because even my wisest, most-respected friend asked me on our last phone about if I was in a car accident. It is like that one time while teaching Sunday School where I tried to make a joke and nobody laughed or understood and it was really quiet and I got really warm and it was super awkward and uncomfortable. But I've always thought I was kind of funny?

4. I feel awful for Holly Petraeus. This isn't necessarily a realization, but rather recognition and awareness. I just feel terrible for this woman.


And for your viewing pleasure, a few cute photos of C that aren't on Facebook or Instagram because they were sent to my by my awesome baby sitters:



Raking leaves with YaYa while mom works in a cubicle




Playing at the park with Auntie while mom works in a cubicle

 Don't worry, working in a cubicle is super fun, too.

Amateur Annie

Today was one of those days. Crazy and on-the-go from 7:30 AM to 7:30 PM.

But is that really any excuse?

Today was a day where I screwed up. I took a wrong turn at work and ended with a totaled car at home.

Today was one of those days where I wished I was Bill Murray on assignment in Pennsylvania to see if Punxsutawney Phil will see his shadow or not.

But I'm not Bill Murray, and as cool as it would be to have a career in weather forecasting, I don't do that either.

Today was October 22nd, not February 2nd.

I felt like I spent today day trying to weigh out the pros and cons of my decisions in order to determine the best course of action. But I really didn't. I didn't stand long enough at the scale. I didn't move the slider back and forth on the beam to find where a balance. I may have toyed with it for a bit, thought I was in the right area, but unfortunately I moved on before I could see if horizontal bar leveled out.

Today, I upset people and caused them strife with my poor choices. Today I felt regret as the scale tipped in the wrong direction.

Today, I crumbled while rocking my baby before bed in realization that I can't change anything. I did what I did and then I apologized; that's all I could do today.

But thankfully there is tomorrow. Tomorrow I will hope for forgiveness and learn from my mistakes. While I will continue to make choices that will affect others, I can change. Tomorrow, I will take time to be humble and thoughtful. Thankfully, I live a life where I always have a say in how my tomorrow goes.

And I say today that tomorrow will be a good day.

Amateur Journaling

Every Sunday, I lead a discussion on scripture in an adult Sunday School class. We read together, I ask questions, and others respond with their thoughts or perhaps another question in return. Some Sundays we have a full-ish room, others may be a bit sparse; but size doesn't usually matter as long as a few of us come ready and willing.

This particular last Sunday was a little light on attendance. A few of the usuals, a few who dozed in the lull of an afternoon without a child in tow, and a few every-so-oftens. The topic for the day consisted of a few chapters from the Book of Mormon detailing the beginning of Christ's visit to the Americas. To set the scene, many great cities were destroyed "to hide their wickedness and abominations... that the blood of the prophets and the saints should not come up any more..." before the Savior appeared. The previous quote actually repeats about six times in one chapter, so I asked everyone why they thoughts the exact same words occurred so many times, just to say the same thing about various cities?

I must say that just like any good teacher/mother, I'm not supposed to pick favorites. But I'm pretty sure everyone there that day felt the same amazing spirit that I did when we were interrupted by a dear woman translating the lesson/discussion for a man with a hearing impairment (along with other challenges).

"He wants to say... Because history repeats itself. We need to be careful, because history repeats itself."

A tidal wave of emotions hit me. Feelings of humility, gratitude, and awe swept me up and churned my heart in an undercurrent of love. Salty tears filled my eyes and I knew - these are the moments I cannot forget. I must hold on to this lifesaver thrown to me in order to keep swimming until I find the shore.

I wanted to stop and hold those two tightly, and whisper in their ear about their greatness and influence. But I didn't. I agreed, and thanked them and moved on in the lesson.

We continued, and then it happened again. Again. This time we read about, the Savior using one of His many analogies, where He likens Himself to a hen and His people to chickens (3 Nephi 10:4-6):

"4 O ye people of these great cities which have fallen, who are descendants of Jacob, yea, who are of the house of Israel, how oft have I gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and have nourished you.


5 And again, how oft would I have gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, yea, O ye people of the house of Israel, who have fallen; yea, O ye people of the house of Israel, ye that dwell at Jerusalem, as ye that have fallen; yea, how oft would I have gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens, and ye would not.
6 O ye house of Israel whom I have spared, how oft will I gather you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, if ye will repent and return unto me with full purpose of heart."

These verses sparked the questions as to WHY Christ wants to gather us. A few people spoke again, about how we gather children and love them and want to nurture and protect them. This gave way to another interpreted comment:

"Because we a precious. We are all precious to Him. He wants to gather us because we are precious."

Isn't it so true? ALL of us are precious; everyone from the President of the United States down to the homeless guy on the street corner.

At this point, I felt this strange dynamic of euphoria and being crushed all at the same time. I bursted with joy to have this level of participation from someone who never commented before. I also felt incredibly humbled - who am I to be standing at the front of this room? Who am I to continue on in this life and not recognize the mercy and graciousness that surrounds me daily?

I write this so that I do not forget. I write this so that I might influence others to remember those precious moments where they felt deep, abiding love - a love that builds you up and rips you apart all at the same time. I write this in hopes to always remember.

Amateur Letter Writer

Yes, I'm a mom. Yes, I have a blog. Here is the obligatory letter to my child who can't read, published for the rest of the world to see.

Corinne,

Even just typing out your name still amazes me. I have a kid - and her name is Corinne! Who ever saw that one coming? Your dad named you. It was tough finding a first name that went well with the middle name "Mary" (that was a must - I'm named after my mother and BOTH of my grandmothers... or maybe I'm just really self-absorbed and want a name-sake), and he didn't like my favored "Penelope" (Penny for short). We (I) hemmed and hawed at the hospital (I thought you looked more like a "Jordan"); but it was I who wrote down your name not only the birth certificate form our last night there, but also on the newspaper release (you didn't know how you were a famous Labor Day Weekend baby in the local paper?) the day of your birth.

We took you home, where we were locked out, because we gave my parents both of our house keys. That was fun. You were hungry, your other grandparents were actually there decorating the yard, and the neighbors had friends arriving to visit. Once we settled, I left you with your Aunt Christy and I slept. And you slept. Have I mentioned how much I love our village?

So you were a terrible sleeper, and I was a terrible nurser, but whatever. Now you'll eat anything in your path (including, but not limited to, cardboard, paper towels, apples, stray Kix, peas, and broccoli heads).

You like to rip things open with your teeth, like some crazy medieval king ripping into a leg of meat.

You also hate juice, and will only drink milk from a bottle. As a result from all of this, I now have a post-partum, post-nursing body! Good times. But I digress, this is about you (really!), and not me.

Your dad is still in charge of bath time, but I'm the lucky duck who gets to rock you before bed. Lately, though, you'd rather play (cry) in your crib for a few minutes than sit still with me. But to make up for it, just last night, you woke up crying around 4:30 AM and I got to cuddle with you! You sure do have a funny way of making me feel grateful for the oddest things.

You are now officially a toddler. And that's exactly what you do! You toddle around - a mix of hesitant steps and head-down, ram-speed crawling make up your main modes of transportation. Your baby steps are like a planned free-fall: you know where you're going and exactly where to stop the motion control and just land in your predetermined destination.

You astound me as an example of human development. Weren't you just learning to roll over? And now you're repeating words and actions? Oh, and whistling? Where did that come from?

I get a kick out of your stubbornness - just when we feel like we've taught you something new, you won't repeat it when we ask you to in front of others. I think you get some kind of twisted satisfaction from performing only on your terms and making us look like giant idiots. I also think this might be a sign of things to come.

You are quite the generalist - every fruit at the store is an apple, every picture is of daddy, and every 4-legged anmial gets a "woof woof." You are also polite - each speakerphone call merits a hello, and anything that should be fun deserves a hearty "wheee-ooo---wee." You fake laugh better than anyone I know; and while at the moment I find it adorable, I hope I can help you be confidant enough in your own skin that you don't feel a need to always fit in with the crowd.

I still struggle accepting your growth out of the infant stage - I forget that you actually need something to cover your feet in a public place, useless baby spoons litter the diaper bag, and I finally went through your clothes to pack up everything that is too small. I'm actually glad you're so bald - it makes you feel more like a baby and less like a little kid.

I also struggle with the thought of having more children. I can't imagine loving another person the way I love you. I feel very satisfied with being your mother - I love where we are in our life right now. I also know that it might be a little selfish to not have a sibling for you - no one to turn to when all the adults in your life overwhelm you, no one on which to blame a mess, no one to perhaps give you nieces or nephews or cousins for your own children. I've discussed this concept with many, and know that it is indeed possible to have more than one child and love them in the same capacity. Maybe one day.

Your dad and I pray every night in gratitude for the joy you bring to our lives - and I know you bring happiness to the lives of countless others. You're the best, Corinne. To summarize, I can't help but think of an awesomely cheesy Rod Stewart song:

For the morning sun in all it's glory,
Meets the day with hope and comfort too,
You fill my life with laughter, somehow you make it better,
Ease my troubles, that's what you do.
There's a love less defined,
And its yours and its mine,
Like the sun.
And at the end of the day,
We should give thanks and pray,
To the one, to the one.
Have I told you lately that I love you?
Have I told you there's no one else above you?
Fill my heart with gladness, take away all my sadness,
Ease my troubles, that's what you do.

Be rest assured, I will continue to amaze you with how incredibly lame and sappy I can be. It will surprise you at times, but doesn't everyone like surprises, anyway? I know I'm surprised at how much you've changed my life, and how I can't really remember what life was like before you. It's like the past two decades have been random events just slowly evolving to this pivitol moment in time. To be sure, while the next two decades will be a whilwind, there's not much that I'd rather be doing than being your mom.

Amateur Identity

For some time now my thoughts have drifted around the idea of identity.  It started with my family, continued with this article on slavery in Mauritania, then again while visiting teaching earlier this year. About a year ago, pending motherhood consumed who I was and the effect it would have on my other identities - wife, friend, co-worker/employee, Sunday school teacher, family member in various capacities. Sometimes I feel like it finally seems as though those specific roles nestled into a comfortable place around my primary role as caretaker to my daughter. Other days, not so much.

Every now and then, I feel a little lost as to who I really am. I know I'm not exactly the same person I was 10 years ago... but doesn't she still reside in my basic persona? While obscure band t-shirts and canvas all-stars no longer crowd my closet, experiences of that age brought me to who I am now. I found parts of myself - hooking onto the liberal arts, establishing life-long friendships, and most importantly stopping in my tracks overcome with the love I felt from my Savior.

Now, those not-so-obscure-anymore bands remain on my iPhone, and I continue to find great strength in the women I met that year. When Corinne was just a few months old, I fed and rocked her to sleep every night. On one particular evening, my eyes rested on her peaceful, sleeping face and I siltenly plead for her to have friends like the ones I do - people who inspire her to be honest, hard-working, intelligent, well-rounded, happy, fun, active, and spiritual. People who she can always count on, no matter how much distance may separate them. I stared down at her for a long time, hoping that she could only be so lucky.

I know that I can work on instilling those same attributes as a parent, but I also I know how critical it is for her to have a good, solid group of friends. Thanks to such influences when I first arrived BYU, I stayed in Provo and realized my self-worth and testimony. During that time, I came to fully accept my identity as a child a of God who can receive innumerable blessings - like personal revelation and forgiveness.

I know that this identity is at my core, and will never change. While I may falter in my faith or understanding of this concept, it is an identity that will always be there, ready for me to accept.
When I first began writing this post, I had lines written describing former selves - the girl consumed by cryptic song lyrics and late-night (early morning?) parties... but once I began to recall that evening in the rocking chair, this post slowly morphed. While my past identities matter, they don't define me. Those identities slowly morphed, too.

At times I struggle, thinking I have no sense of self... I don't run marathons, letterpress, or sew. I grasp at the disappointment of not having an identity - I'm not a cool hipster, a super mom, or corporate success. Thus, I began exploring this dissatisfaction of self and began to write.

That night with Corinne proves that my current identity mainly focuses on my role as a mother to Corinne (possible in part by being wife to Scott, of course). But there is so much more to it! My persona as a mother stems from who I've become through my relationships with those around me, relationships that led to a grand turning point of my self-actualization. When I get down to it, I think that is all that really matters. The angst I've felt off and on for the past few months seems so futile - why feel bad that I'm not a crafter or a cook? That's not my identity. My hobbies (or lack thereof) do not define me (thankfully). Right now, I need to be at peace with letting my family - both earthly and heavenly - do is instead. I like to think I'm pretty good with that.

It Takes A Village

Be forewarned: this is yet another post mixed with bringing up baby. Shocker, right? But no baby pics. I post enough of those on Instagram. However, I do feel that having a child has made me more introspective than normal. And I promise, this ties into things other than how amazing my daughter is.

For the past couple of months I can't help but think about how I could never raise a child on my own. For example, a few months ago after a Sunday dinner at Scott's parents' home, the entire family participated in helping Corinne learn how to crawl on all fours. The poor gal was downward-dogging all over the place or inadvertently scooting backwards, and it was time to get her moving with purpose. We placed books under her hands, and my father-in-law pumped her legs, my sister-in-law stabilized her middle, all while I moved the books in sync with her legs.  That was all it took (three grown adults on the floor) - and the wee lass hasn't looked back since mastering her new skill of freedom.

Shortly thereafter, following yet another Sunday dinner, my mother-in-law worked on teaching Corinne to crawl up on something using a box like unto a mid-sized cardboard priority mailer. The very next day while getting ready for work, I turned to see my hard-working daughter sitting atop the landing at the bottom of our stairs (one step up from the main floor). Then this:

Corinne constantly surprises me with new tricks: clapping her hands, saying "uh oh," and playing peek-a-boo. While I know I do those things with her, I can't take the credit - it goes to everyone around her who influences the course of this growing human being's life.

And it isn't just those in close proximity. Many friends in far-away places also take part in the shaping of my daughter. Those who I've watched for years, raising their own the best they can, who impress me with their love, wit, and creativity. Who inspire me with a goal and a vision of a family.

There's also those who were in my own village as a child, who will probably never fully comprehend (or let alone even have an inkling of) the effect they had on my life and on what kind of person I am now. The youth leaders, the teachers, the parents of friends, the older kids; some of their parts consisted of short cameos, but their presence proved crucial nonetheless. Some still actively participate in the drama (Comedy? Romance? Tragedy? Depends on the act and scene, I suppose).

This reminds me of a question I brought while teaching a scripture study class at church yesterday - how has the testimony of another person affected your own testimony?

Did a person ever walk through your village and leave an abiding footprint?

One of my most vivid life-shaping experiences occurred my sophomore year at BYU. I've never been your ultra-conservative, ever-faithful, never-asking-questions kind of person. I want to know why I shouldn't go against the grain. I want to push the limit of my understanding and beliefs.

At that time, I wavered with my stance on abortion rights. My tent stood adamantly in the pro-choice camp (for many reasons, which may or may not be discussed another day). Yet, I questioned myself. I knew what my church preached and struggled to gain testimony of this pro-life concept.

One nondescript Sunday, hymns were sung, bread and water were partaken, and talks were given. The overall theme was that of tithes and offerings. Half-listening, thinking "I already pay my ten percent," I was blind-sided by one girl's closing testimony. She spoke of sacrifice. More importantly, she testified of the critical and gut-wrenching sacrifice of her birth mother's choice to let another family raise and adopt her. Her mother could have decided to terminate - it wasn't convenient to be pregnant or have a child; but terminate she did not. She made the most selfless decision from what seemingly began as quite a selfish one. Thanks to her mother's sacrifice, she grew up in a loving and faithful home, and ended up receiving an education at BYU. She felt unending gratitude to this woman and the choice to not only let her live, but live with another family.

Tears stung my eyes and I knew. I knew without question what I believed. Someone in my village quickly crossed my path, but left me with a life-changing impression. That day I chose to promote life; and just like when Corinne learned how to crawl, I haven't looked back.

I pray that I can bring up my daughter in a good village - one filled with laughter, confidence, stability, and affection. One that lends itself to random people coming in and shaping her to do good things. I'm grateful for the sea of faces I see when I think about the village that raised me; and the one that I continue to surround myself with today. But when I really think about it... I feel as though I never really left one and went to another; rather, my village just keeps on getting bigger and better.

Amateur Champion

One evening in the car on our way home from dinner at my in-law's house:

"Could you just tell me when you're not tired? Please stop telling me when you are tired."

"Did I just say I was tired?"

"Yes. And you've said it about four or five times already tonight."

"Oh... sorry... didn't realize it." (Obviously because I'M TIRED).

"Yeah... you also say it about four or five times during the day, too... so I'm just always going to assume that you are tired unless you tell me otherwise."

I can honestly say I had no idea how plagued my speech was; I suppose my broken record started to sound like nails on a chalk board. I don't blame him.

In other news, I've passed New Mom 101. After one of Corinne's baths last week, I was proceeded to rub her down with lotion (sans diaper), per our usual evening ritual. Being our child, she passed some pretty foul flatulence. Thankfully her little toots dissipate quickly, so I commenced with the lavender-scented baby massage.

If only I heeded our dear daughter's warning signal! She fired off another one; and before I could let out an "oh my!" she proceeded empty her bowels.

But did it get all over the towel, bed, and me? No way, Jose! In my ever-evolving mothering skills, I grabbed a nearby diaper and got it under her sweet little bottom in the nick of time. Operation save the sheets was a success!

Also of note last week, she basically slept through the night once. This resulted in my bringing bagels and cream cheese to work in honor of the event.

Needless to say, I'm celebrating the little victories these days.

Amateur Birth Story

The wee one is just over 4 months and I'm still coming to terms with my birth story. I read so many before having Corinne and appreciated all of the women who shared such a personal, intense experience, so here I am paying it back. First, however, I must begin before that fateful August afternoon...


All through out my pregnancy, I ate up every birth story I could find online like a ravenous, starved wild beast. I became enthralled with black and white photos of women in hospital gowns and their accompanying words, like "ring of fire" and "birthing ball." One of the most important scenes that stuck with me was the beauty of immediately having your child latch after birth and feed him/her. It sounded so heavenly, so peaceful, so whole; creating an instinctive and timeless love between mother and child.


As with all insane first-time mothers, I created a birth plan that emphasized such an event, in addition to things like "Please don't offer me pain medication. I'll request it if I need it;" "I'd like 24-hour rooming-in with my baby;" and "Do not offer my baby formula, sugar water, a pacifier."


Ha.


Needless to say, I had a dreamy romance with what I thought labor and delivery was like. The birth stories I read sang to my granola-eating/Chaco-wearing/alternative-medicine loving soul. I put aside the stark reality that I can barely stand to use eye drops or have a splinter removed from my foot, let alone depend on breathing and acupressure techniques to get me though a pitocin induced birth.


Let it be known that I did end up adding that if I MUST have any medicinal intervention, I would do an epidural, but I wanted to get to a 5 first.


So at my 41-week appointment, we set up the induction for a few days later (Wednesday or Thursday? I pick Wednesday because I met with the doctor who was on call once... and had not met the doctor who was on for Thursday. Like that really makes a difference? Ah, the joys of using a giant OB-GYN practice). Still not really dilated but at least effaced, the NST and ultrasound went well, predicting a somewhat larger baby at 8-9 lbs. Eek.


I go in Tuesday morning to get the gel. Spending the morning in the triage area hearing women actually in the throes of labor was not exactly pumping me up for the next day, to say the least.


I barely slept that evening - undoubtedly the nerves got to me; and considering I had to get up to call at 4 AM to see if there was room, it wasn't exactly a combination lending itself toward rest.


4:00: No room. Call in an hour.
5:00: Still no room, we'll call you by 8.
8:15: I call again, no room. Maybe try back in a couple of hours?
11:00: I call to announce my plans for going on a walk. Forget this, I have the day off and the sun is shining.
1:00: I get a call mid-walk (about 2 miles from my house). They are ready! (Of course... I'm at the farthest point in my walk, and desperately need a shower at this point).
2:30: Stop by Chick-Fil-A for my "last meal." Excitedly send texts to family/friends with the update.
3:00: Arrive for the big show. I realize the entire day was spent mostly in a "hurry up and wait" nature.


I settled in the bed with the monitor happily beeping the heartbeat in the background, pitocin slowly dripping into my body, and Modern Family playing on the laptop. We gave the nurse her goody bag and bonded over her love for Pandora. The bed quickly became uncomfortable (someone will make a killing if they can mass produce affordable birthing beds to hospitals), and I found excuses to constantly get up and use the rest room. I could barely feel the contractions, mesmerized by the rhythmic rolling hills coming off the print out. I began to get giddy at the thought that I could actually handle this entire ordeal of giving birth (while I set unbelievably high expectations for myself, I never really have faith that I can fulfill them). She upped my pitocin a bit and left at the 7 PM shift change.

Oh boy, did those contractions start to get intense. I think this is why I do half marathons instead of the full deal- I lose steam pretty quickly. The new nurse sweetly got me a huge yoga ball and Scott started to get a concerned look with each contraction that I did NOT breathe through. My parents stopped by (terrible timing - sorry, Mom and Dad), and I'm pretty sure the look on my face made them just as uncomfortable as I was, so they left after hanging around and trying to make small talk.


My new nurse had another patient start to go into active labor, so I lost her only to get the best nurse on the planet: Jennifer. I confidently believe she saved me and Corinne from an even more horrific birth.

Just before the new nurse left, she said she would check me again around 10 PM. Unable to bear the thought of going through more contractions like this, I tell Jennifer I'm ready for that epidural and pray that I'm at least at a 4.


It is all a bit hazy now, but I'm pretty sure I was around a 4 and the anesthesiologist had an opening - no waiting! They quickly raised the bed, we signed some forms, and I leaned over as far as I could with my legs dangling.


I'm all numbed up, the doctors leave, and I'm back to a reclined position when suddenly a jack hammer exploded at the nape of my neck and a helmet of excruciating pain closed over my head. I could barely speak and managed to cry out "my head!" while writhing in the pain that consumed my entire body. The baby's heart rate plummetted and Jennifer paged back the doctors and additional nurses. They covered my mouth and nose with oxygen while I dipped in and out of consciousness.


"Turn her on her left side!" Nothing. "Turn her on her right side!" Still nothing. Keep in mind, I could not feel a thing and my legs were giant blobs of jell-o. Finally they managed to get me on all fours. I'm on my knees and leaning on my elbows with a strong epidural and deathly headache. I just remember asking if the baby was okay and coming to the resolution that I would soon be whisked away to an emergency c-section... which at that point, I didn't care - as long as the baby was okay.


Okay. The word of that hour. I continued to mumble "Is she okay?" "Will she be okay?" "Is everything okay?"


And Jennifer patiently and efficiently handled my questions in addition to not only fighting my decline, but that of Corinne's as well.


In the meantime, I gave Scott one of the most frightening experiences of his life. He was utterly helpless and could only step back and watch these strangers try to help his wife and unborn child.


While on all fours, I was suddenly at a 7 and they broke my water in order to get her heart rate from a tiny wire attached to her scalp.


She was just fine. More than okay.


I, on the other hand, could barely think. My head was killing me. The doctor calmly sat at the foot of my bed and convinced me that I needed some narcotics (Stadol) to take the edge of my headache and allow me to rest before I need to start pushing. I was very hesitant, asking if it would affect the baby, making her groggy/drowsy... and was reassured that I had some time and it would work through my system and not affect her at all. I agreed, mostly because I felt like dying and was completely exhausted. I also received an anti-nausea medicine that made me super loopy; I kept on barraging Jennifer with questions and she quietly gave me short answers and tried to tell me that I needed to sleep.


The Stadol did nothing for me.


Meanwhile, Scott went downstairs to the waiting room to tell my mother, only to her extreme horror. When he came back to the room, he was surprised to find me awake and offered me a priesthood blessing. I don't recall the exact words that were said... except that my pain would subside. It was a very humbling and spiritual experience for the two of us and I quickly received enough relief to doze off and on for the next few hours.


Around 2 AM on September 1st, Jennifer came back to check me - 10 cm and ready to practice pushing!


She told me what every over-achiever needs to hear and said that my pushes were perfect. Finally, something going somewhat according to plan.


When the doctor came in to see, though, he wasn't as impressed. I guess it wasn't my best work, so he left and Jennifer kept cheering me on.


I loved pushing. I loved pulling on the dead weight of my legs, counting while I held my breath, and how my headache disappeared while I bore down. It felt so satisfying, and somewhat cleansing.


It felt right.


And our sweet girl was rocking out the whole way down - Scott begrudgingly gave into the pressure from Jennifer and went to see Corinne's little head wiggling back and forth while I pushed. Jennifer was surprised and awed at how active she was, and Scott smiled and chuckled in disbelief of what he saw. To be sure, it was nothing short of amazing.


The doctor came back and it was go time. He explained that I needed a little snip to help her out and I quickly agreed - anything to see this gal of mine. For Scott, he still says the sound of those scissors is one of the worst things he's ever heard. Nothing makes him cringe more that remembering that sound.


After one more quick little snip, her head slipped out and they tell me stop pushing (which was one of the most surprising things about labor - I had no idea that you just stop cold turkey and they pull out the rest of the body. Incredible!). Scott cut the cord and they placed her on me. All she did was lift her head and look around the room (which she continues to do ALL THE TIME. She just looks around, soaking in her surroundings). I worried that she wasn't crying and frantically tried to get my gown pulled down so I could feed her and have some skin-to-skin contact.


This is where most of my guilt and regret reside. I became a maniac, trying to force-feed my very disinterested child. Jennifer tried to gently tell me that it was okay for her to not eat right away, that a latch in the first few hours is good. The doctor commented that the kid "isn't supposed to exit the womb expected to do calculus." Scott just had step back, not knowing what to do, while my frustration escalated that we weren't "bonding" right away.

Everything I read said this was supposed to happen and be so magical! What is wrong with me? My baby? Why is my story not like everyone else's?!


It was terrible. They took her to clean, weigh, and measure her (all in-room) and I'm pretty sure I was still in a state of shock of what just happened. They brought her back and I was still in this crazy mode, yelling at Scott that he needed to come over to my bedside for family time.

Isn't that just picture-perfect? A hormonal monster shoving a breast in her daughter's face while crying and yelling with demands of special family time. Talk about a recipe for disaster. It was NOTHING like what I expected, let alone wanted. I was trying to force myself into other women's experiences, instead of living in my own. I yearned for what I had read instead of living for the excitement of what my OWN story would be.

The way I acted after giving birth to Corinne is one of my biggest mistakes for which I still haven't completely forgiven myself. Every time I think about it I shudder, lower my head in shame, and usually shed a tear or two for what could have been.

I know I need to move on and not dwell on what it wasn't. I know my focus should be on gratitude for my beautiful, healthy, baby girl and very loving and supportive husband.

So this is for all of those unfulfilled birth experiences; for those who don't have that magical moment in the hospital; for crushed expectations and lingering regrets. This is to help me get it out and let it go. Let go of the bad feelings I have about that day and the following weeks filled with sleep-deprived induced anxiety and emotional breakdowns.

I hope that the next time (and no, this isn't an announcement) I will remember to just be me, let my child be who she is, and to share that with my husband and other children. To let my family be who they are as individuals and not fit them into what I think they should be based off what I read in some random blog.

I will still enjoy reading accounts of other women; especially now that I've had my own experience, I appreciate their words even more. I will continue to peruse the writings of strangers, and when those feelings of jealousy creep in, I know I should probably stop and recall what I felt when I saw Scott sit with Corinne for the first time on the love seat in the hospital room. He sat with her for hours and just watched her fall and stay sleep; the love I felt emulating from him to her still makes my heart explode and eyes water.

Needless to say, it started as a wild ride and will continue in the same way with just as many highs and lows; I'm sure of it. But what I'm also sure of is that I am Corinne's mother and Scott's wife, and there is no other person I'd rather be.