How I gave birth to my second marathon

Posted by on December 15, 2009 31 Comments

DSC04555“This your first marathon?” I ask the girl to my right.

“This is my first and my last,” she replies as we pass mile marker 7.

“You say that…” my running partner and I both respond together, and then smile at each other.

Others in the pace group start to chime in, “You’ll forget all about the pain… you’re going to look back and only remember the good things… it’s going to be so amazing when you cross the finish line… you’ll run another one… just wait.”

I laugh a little to myself. It really IS so much like having a baby, med-free.

During labor and delivery with Kendall, I couldn’t help but constantly compare my mental state of mind and the level of pain I was experiencing with what it felt like to run and finish my first marathon two and a half years earlier. It was, in fact, the most painful, most mentally and physically challenging thing I’d ever been through up to that point. It was the biggest motivator for me, facing down the wretched,razor lined, semi-truck through the spine gremlin, a.k.a. giving birth to an 8.11 lb anterior facing baby with no epidural. “If I can run a marathon, I can do this,” I repeated to myself over and over.

As I ran my second marathon yesterday (around Dallas’ White Rock Lake), I kept myself slightly amused, entertained and intrigued by turning the tables and comparing the strength it took to get through a med-free delivery to surviving another 26.2 mile race. “I can do this. I had a baby with no epidural,” I reminded myself often.

(Miles 1-7/signs of early labor)

In the beginning, you’re a ball of nerves. Do I eat? Do I not eat? What do I eat? Will I throw it up? You’re planning in your head. You’re very concerned about potty breaks and getting everything out. Making lists, checking off milestones, very conscious of your body. What was that? Why does that hurt? I hope that goes away. You haven’t settled into your pace. You’re jittery. You’re mind is everywhere. You smile. A lot. You’re so excited about the journey you just started. You may even break out the camera and take pictures. You have the energy for such things right now. You even look good. You have an outfit on that matches because you think that matters right now.

(Miles 8-15/still cooling it at home)

Then you start to find your groove. Things loosen up. Your breathing becomes steady, but you’re not really having to focus on it yet. You are very interested in what your watch tells you. You’re cross referencing it’s readout with where you should be at nearly every step. You’re feeling good. Really good. Sure, it’s a little painful, but the optimism is shining through.

(Miles 16- 19/ starting to think a trip to L&D or a visit from the midwife is in your near future)

You get a little further along and things start to ache a little more. Those twinges and tweaks become sharp aches and cramps. You have to get serious now. You have to focus. You’re lighthearted conversations die out. You are mostly silent. You are paying a lot more attention to your breathing. You’re also starting to wonder what you signed yourself up for, but you don’t even allow yourself to think that you might not be able to finish what you started. You know that’s a very risky mental path of self doubt to go down.

(Miles 20-22/This. Is. Serious.)

The pain is bad. It’s really bad. You are hurting in places you’d never even given thought to before. You’re trying so hard to stay positive. The people around you make all the difference. The way they can read you and cheer you on pushes you through. You really crave oranges right now. Oranges are amazing. You’re making weird noises and you don’t care who hears you. You want to believe that you can do this, but if ONE MORE person tells you you’re “ALMOST THERE!” you just might kick their ass. This is the hardest you’ve ever worked in your life, and you know it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better. You also cuss. A lot. You probably offend some people. You don’t give a shit. Every thing becomes a blur and your sense of time is completely warped.

(Miles 23-25/This is TRANSITION)

WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING???!!! NO REALLY, WHAT THE FUCK??? Repeat x 1,000. You can’t get emotional because then you can’t breathe and breathing is SO IMPORTANT right now. As people on the outside try to motivate you, you may think, “Please, people, stop making me want to cry with all your inspirational bullshit because I really need to FUCKING BREATHE.” And then you just get mad. You’re just a mad person, and you think people are lying to you. You think they are just telling you things like, “it’s almost over” just to get you to keep going on this never ending ride through hell forever and ever. You hate them. You tell them that, even if just under your very labored breath. YOU ARE NEVER DOING THIS EVER AGAIN!!

(Miles 25-26.2- PUSH)

Quite frankly, you don’t care what comes out of you right now. You might shit yourself, and you’re okay with that. You will not look good for pictures. You are so DONE with all this. DONE. Screw listening to your body. You don’t care what you rip or tear in the process, you want to be finished, and you’re going to push yourself so far beyond your limits until you get there. You know the only way to feel better, to rest, to stop, is to push because stopping before the finish is not an option.

People are cheering you on. It’s fueling you. You finally allow yourself to think just how amazing it will be when that award is in your hands. You want it so badly. You find every last ounce of energy in your body and you give it all you’ve got. You feel a wave of excitement pass over you and you just go with it. You don’t remember exactly how you get there, but you finish. And then you collapse… and then you cry. It’s an ugly cry, but it’s a beautiful moment. And they put it in your hands… and you are so amazed… so proud… and it was all worth it.

BUT that still doesn’t mean you are EVER DOING THIS AGAIN. You would give just about anything for an epidural now that it’s over.

You will feel like you were steamrolled for a while. You won’t dare think of doing this again for quite some time. You will be happy enough with your first and only experience.

And then, one day in the distant future, you will look at what you worked so hard for, you will remember the pride, the joy, the amazing reward. You will think to yourself, “Well, maybe just one more…”

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Kendall is nearly 19 and a half months old, and he thinks our finisher medals are pretty awesome.

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My take on Mommy Wars

Posted by on June 30, 2009 25 Comments

It’s sad that there is even a term popularly used for such bullshit. Working mom vs. stay at home mom, breastfeeding vs. formula feeding, home schooling vs. public schooling vs. private schooling vs. unschooling, cloth diapers vs. disposables, med free birth vs. epidural vs. c-section, I could go on and on.

As has been said by many a blogger before me more eloquently, all it does is divide us and pit us against each other at a time in our lives when what we really need the most is to rally, to get through this together, to sing each other’s praises, to drink wine together and say, “great job raising a kid who will probably not become a mass murderer.”

I’m not innocent. I get pangs of defensiveness every time I read someones opinion on how they could never just “sit around the house all day” and wouldn’t want to send the message to their kids that it’s okay to “waste” a college education by choosing not to work.  I’ve also had to stifle my own judgements from time to time on many issues that I feel personally passionate about (which I’m not going to get into for fear of negating the whole purpose of this post).

I’ve struggled from day one with my own decisions.  I am constantly questioning myself.  Am I doing what’s best? Is the grass really greener? Is this what’s right for us? And, through much self exploration, I’ve learned that it’s my own insecurities, my own inner doubt, that makes me defensive when something I choose for me and my family is not something that works for someone else.  I recognize that and move on and try to make a conscious effort to not let other’s life choices make me feel like less of a mom or even more of one, for that matter, because, really people, none of this shit matters 20, 30, 50 years from now.

Let’s stop with all the mommy war bullshit and focus. FOCUS. Our goal, no matter how we get there, is to raise a future society of fewer assholes.  Really, that’s what it boils down to.  I don’t care if you have a nanny, take your kid to daycare or stay at home as long as they don’t grow up to scam me out of my entire life savings in a Ponzi scheme.  I don’t care if they are formula fed or breastfed, as long as they, 60 years from now when I am nursing a broken hip, will hold the door open for me at the grocery store and offer to help me out to my car.  I don’t care if they went to public or private school or learned all they needed to know while discovering the great outdoors with no structured classroom curriculum, as long as they will be kind, generous, respectful people who not only are not murderers and/or rapists, but also do some good. I don’t care if you gave birth to them in a pool of mineral water, scented with lavendar while you orgasmed upon their exit, as long as they don’t set up a meth lab next door and kill my dogs when their house blows up.

Raising a productive member of society is a tall order. I am overwhelmed by the task nearly every day.  We’ve got plenty of battles ahead of us to be caught up fighting each other.  Now is the time when we need to be strategizing, having covert meetings, speaking in code, drawing maps in lemon juice.  Now is the time when we need to put on the same colors.  Now is the time when we all need to come to the same side of the line.

Kendall is 2 days shy of 14 months old

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Baby, you’re my Boo.

Posted by on April 18, 2008 12 Comments

No.  That’s not what I whisper to my husband every time I lean in to kiss him.  I practically gag at any song on Top 4o that makes reference to someone being someone’s “Boo”.  That is, however, the “code line” that I must say if I am absolutely 100% positive and dying for an epidural.

So…yeah….we’re trying this whole natural birth thing.  I wasn’t all that into it when I first started thinking about labor and delivery, I’ll be honest.  However, after taking into consideration that fact that I had a TERRIBLE reaction to a spinal tap years ago and have no desire to ever have a needle near my spine again, and that my mom, who had me at 18, was able to deliver me and my two younger siblings naturally, I started to really consider it.  By 20 weeks I was convinced it was the right choice for me, and my husband, who is a complete freak when it comes to medication and drugs anyway, was 100% supportive of it.

So at our 20 week appointment we were all fired up to talk to the doctor about it, find out what books and classes he recommended, what we should start doing to prepare.  However, we left that appointment not with encouragement and resources, but with disgust and a mission to FIND A NEW DOCTOR!  I believe his exact words when I told him we had decided to go med-free were, “Well, it’s going to be the worst pain of your life.  I don’t think you realize how bad it’s going to hurt (to which I couldn’t help but think, and do YOU know how bad it will hurt… SIR?).” His response to my inquiry about the Bradley Method, a popular method used for natural childbirth, was something along the lines of, “NO.  Take Lamaze.  Bradley was created on a farm for animals.”  Well…last time I checked, none of the horses or cows were begging for epidurals or ending up with unnecessary c-sections, but….okay.  He also ended the conversation by saying, “You know 99% of women in this county end up with an epidural anyway.”  Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole.

On our way home we talked about how we couldn’t believe that he would just interject such a negative opinion.  I mean, this was MY  choice and MY body.  If I’m going to be in pain, so be it.  I’m a smart enough girl to figure out that no pain meds = pain.  I don’t need him to REMIND me of that.  Sadly, as we have witnessed since then, that’s just the way it is with a lot of people. Even people who have never/will never give birth!

We visited my husband’s family for Christmas shortly after that appointment and encountered so many of the same exact reactions that I had to ask Scott to stop telling people about our plans when they asked.  I just couldn’t see one more jaw hit the floor or hear one more “You are absolutely crazy…you can’t do it…you will end up with an epidural anyway…just wait till you see the childbirth videos…you only THINK you can do it…it’s so different when you are actually there”.  Then a few months ago a woman at work asked me what I was planning to do, and I simply said, “I hope to make it through without any medication,” learning by this point to not get into detail because it just gives people more fuel for the fire.  A customer who overheard this went out of her way to come across the store and tell me, “You know…you should really, REALLY think about that because if you get too far along, they won’t be able to give you an epidural.  Even if you really beg for it. It’s probably better to just go ahead and get it as soon as possible.”  The look on my face must have screamed, “I think I may launch this baby bathtub at your face,” because she shut up and quickly left the store.

Now, true as some of that may be, what gives you the right to say that?  Let’s switch roles for a second.  If I were to ever tell a pregnant woman that she’s crazy for wanting an epidural, that she’s hurting her baby, etc. (which, let me just clarify, is NOT at all how I feel.. just using as an example) I would be a “pusher” of my beliefs on her.  So what the hell makes it okay for someone who had or plans to have an epi, or has never or will never give birth the right to tell ME that I’m crazy, especially after they asked ME what my plans were?!  And to feel so passionately that I will fail and then to feel the right to express that to me?!  Listen, you can laugh at me all you want.  You don’t have to believe I can do it, but please spare me the “Oh, just wait and see” lecture. And for the record, all your disbelief does is fire me up even more to do it.  Yes, I LOVE doing things people tell me I can’t do.  I think it’s that whole problem with authority thing in me.

Since that 20 week appointment, a lot has changed…mainly the medical professionals responsible for delivering my son.  We switched to a Certified Nurse Midwife practice, which I have to say, I always considered way too “crunchy” before this whole experience.  Ahhh…but that’s what pregnancy does to you, I guess.  Just another thing I ended up doing that I thought I never would.  We are VERY happy with them. We will be delivering at a Birthing Center, but also have the convenience and reassurance of a hospital which is attached, complete with all the necessary doctors and equipment needed in case of an emergency.  We were lucky to end up with such a great compromise, and I don’t think my paranoid husband would be so supportive of the “crunchy” route if we hadn’t.

We completed a 12 week Bradley Method class, and are currently trying to keep up with our relaxation exercises.  I’ve got the bag packed with tennis balls for massage and battery operated candles to help me relax in the tub.  The Ipod is stocked with relaxing spa-like music and the birthing ball is by the door, ready to go. I feel we are about as prepared and supported as we can be for a natural birth.  But a couple weeks ago my husband expressed his first signs of anxiety about the whole coaching/laboring process.  See…he knows me well.  He knows that I may ask for medication, that I may looking into his eyes and beg him to get me an epidural, and that if he gives in and runs to get the anesthesiologist, I may very well end up kicking him in the balls after the baby is born for giving in to me too easy.  He talked to our CNM about this recently. How would he know if I was really, really, REALLY serious? She had a good suggestion.

See, I may very well end up with medication.  As much as I’m not even allowing myself the option of thinking about it right now, it’s still an option if I so choose it.  Just know that if I come back here after the baby is born and tell you all I had an epidural, I would have had to look my husband in the eyes and utter our “code line” (the CNM’s suggestion), which we have decided will be….”Baby, you’re my Boo,” because we both now how incredibly out of character and hard that will be for me to say.

38 weeks 4 days

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