I absolutely must start writing again. That’s all there is to it. I can feel myself getting dumber each day that I don’t write. So yeah, let me tell you a little bit about my amazing daughter.

Somehow she’s already 13 months old. I’m not even sure where the time went, one morning I woke up and she was walking and talking and eating with a spoon and I realized that I’m a mom. She has the most amazing smile that makes it absolutely impossible to be mad at her. I think she already knows the power that it holds. She will start to do something she knows she’s not allowed to and turn to look at me with a huge smile on her face, knowing full well that I will be powerless to do anything but smile back.

She’s incredibly smart. She was walking by 9 months, and can already say a lot of words. Most recently “shoe” which is accompanied by her bringing me one, and lifting her foot for me to put it on. All this babbling began with “kitty” which she has been saying for a terribly long time now. That was before momma. I may or may not hold that against her for the rest of her life. She does love her kitties very much though, which is good because no one else in this house does anymore, poor things.

She is absolutely obsessed with anything soft and cuddly and thus has turned our home into a stuffed animal museum. If she gets her hands on one in the store you cannot leave without buying it. Or, at least I can’t, cause I’m a sucker. She especially loves her monkey, Earnest, and her owl, Octavius Gustaverson (he’s Austrian). Ernie and Gus must sleep with her every night, and then join her for breakfast in the morning. She enjoys “reading” stories to them. This may be my favorite thing in the world. Watching her flip pages while babbling in her own language makes my heart melt. It is clear that she is telling you a very fascinating story, I just wish I could understand her!

She is definitely not a picky eater. I don’t think there has been a single thing that she has turned her nose up at yet. In one sitting she can easily eat a half an avocado, a chicken drumstick, a cup of applesauce and then finish the meal off with an endless supply of graham crackers. All of this food goes directly to her thighs which are the most gorgeously round and chubby little baby thighs you have ever seen. Perfect for nibbling on of course. Incidentally that is how we end every day, with a good round of thigh nibbling followed by her ending up in hysterical laughter.

She has become my world. I can hardly remember my life before her and I certainly can’t imagine my life without her.

For the past nine months I prepared. For nine months I preached from my soapbox, “I’m a woman, I’m built to do this”. For nine month I planned the perfect birth in my head. It began with a small friendly little birth center, followed by no drugs or interventions whatsoever, and ended with an absolutely natural water birth.

On Monday January 5 2009, Kennedy Anja was born into this world exactly the opposite of how I had planned. Maybe not exactly, it did start off correct, it just ended all off axis. On Saturday night I started having regular contractions. I called my midwife to warn her that it might be the night. It was actually two days before my due date, and being my first baby I was not prepared to go early. In fact I figured I’d go almost the full two weeks late. When labor started happening Saturday morning I was thrown completely off guard. I hadn’t even shopped for most of the baby gear we needed. We didn’t even have a changing pad for christ’s sake, and everyone knows you can’t have a baby until you have a changing pad. I rushed off to Target in a panic and purchased exactly everything in one grand trip. I spent the day organizing clothes and setting up shelving, setting out diapers and contemplating the huge change that seemed eminent. I exhausted myself. Rookie mistake. I guess I didn’t really believe deep down that I would be going into labor.

Sure enough late that night my contractions became a lot more consistent and a lot closer together. When they got to three minutes apart I called the midwife to let her know I would be on my way. She lives pretty far away and would need some time to get there. I labored at home for awhile longer and then headed out on the half hour long drive. No one tells you about how bad it sucks to be in the car while in the throws of labor. Every bump becomes magnified by ten thousand times. And let me tell you, roads around here are already ridiculously bumpy.

When I arrived at the birth center I was three centimeters dilated. My midwife instructed me to try to lay down and get some sleep as I would be needing all of my energy soon. I woke up an hour later to her telling me to go home. My contractions had all but stopped, evidenced by the fact that I was able to sleep. She told me that this was perfectly normal. Our bodies feel more comfortable at home and therefore progress faster. I was told to have a glass of wine to help me relax, try to get some sleep, and give her a call the next morning and let her know how things were going, she would sleep at the birth center in case I needed to come back immediately. Back in the car for another bumpy ride…

We didn’t have any wine so I downed a shot of whiskey.
I kid.

I was able to get some sleep, unaided by alcohol, and the next morning called in with my progress which was… not much. My contractions were now about five minutes apart. Worse then the night before. I tried to take it easy all day. I tried watching movies. I tried sleeping. I resorted to a glass of wine. It was delicious. My contractions got stronger and less consistent. By eight o’clock that evening I was disheartened. I had fallen into the trap that I swore I wouldn’t, believing that my false labor was real. I called my midwife and told her to head home after explaining that I was now anywhere from two to seven minutes apart. She assured me that she’d sleep at the birth center for another night. She told me to have another glass of wine and try to sleep. I wanted to take her advice but as soon as I put down the phone my contractions got significantly stronger. From here things become a bit of a blur. An hour later my contractions were so close that they were basically on top of each other and we were back in the car headed towards the birth center. This time I arrived and was at six centimeters and fully effaced. Things were well on their way.

I wanted a water birth so I hopped in the tub. Immediate relief. If it’s an option for you I highly recommend it. I spent a while laboring in the tub. Eventually I got out so that I could walk around and try to help move my baby down further. I can’t tell you that contractions don’t hurt. I won’t pretend that it was easy, but honestly, it’s not that bad. Before I knew it I was fully dilated and told to start pushing. That happened around 2:30 am. At 6:00 am I could hear my mother pleading with the midwife, “How much longer are you going to let her do this? Something’s not right, she shouldn’t be in this stage for so long!” Up until then I had thought I was doing a great job. That’s what they kept telling me. I didn’t realize that the pushing stage was meant to be short. I figured that like everything else it would vary from woman to woman. I knew that I was trying with all my might to get my baby out, I desperately wanted to meet her.

Eventually the midwife sat down next to me and gave me the speech that I never expected to hear. The one that I thought was reserved for failures. Surely this couldn’t be happening to me, not after everything I had said to my detractors, all the people that told me I was crazy for attempting a natural birth, all the naysayers. She was recommending that I be transfered to the hospital. For some reason my baby didn’t want to descend, maybe I needed the help of some forceps or a vacuum extraction. My baby wasn’t in distress, but she wasn’t coming out this way. I had given a commendable effort but it was time to face facts.

This is where everything really began to suck. Imagine for me if you can, your body telling you with every fiber that you need to push. Imagine that the feeling extends from the tip top of your head to the very bottom of your littlest toe. Imagine that you have conditioned your body to respond to the feeling. For four hours you’ve been giving in. Riding the waves so to speak. Now make yourself more exhausted than you’ve ever been, add a big ‘ole smattering of defeat and humiliation. Now when your body starts to contract, try not to push with it. Try to fight the urge. You don’t want to push anymore. You want it to be over. But you can’t turn it off, it just keeps coming despite your best efforts. Now combine that with another car ride. The hospital was looking surprisingly good by the time I entered it’s cold hallways.

I was given an epidural. I was hooked up to an IV. A catheter was inserted. I felt like I had things tying me down from every angle. But my contractions went away, that was a relief. Well, they didn’t really go away but I certainly didn’t feel them. I was told when to push. I was told that I was doing good. But I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel a thing below my neck. I hate drugs. I don’t like being numb. I don’t like not knowing that my pushes are working without feeling that for myself. The doctor came in. He told me that she hadn’t moved any further. He brought in another doctor. He told me that he wouldn’t even attempt a forceps delivery. They told me I needed a c-section. At that point I was so deflated that it didn’t even matter. Sign me up, just get her out.

Colin put on his scrubs. They prepped me for surgery. They removed all 7 of the piercings that I was wearing. I used what little energy I had left and cried. I couldn’t believe it. And off they wheeled me to the OR. I was so hopped up on drugs that I was passing out during surgery. I heard the doctors say something about my tattoo. I tried to talk to my husband about what we would name her. I tried to make it feel as normal as possible but it felt far from it. The jarring, and the pressure and the noises, none of it felt right. The surgery seemed to go on forever, whereas the hours of labor had flown by. I heard the doctors say something about not being able to get her out. The room got a lot more serious. Turns out I had been pushing so well that I had wedged her in. They hadn’t been lying to me that whole time, I really had been doing a good job. Then the pressure stopped. The longest moments of my life started ticking away waiting to hear her cry. And then there it was. Colin jumped up to hold her while I lay there helpless. He brought her to me long enough for me to kiss her on her coned head, then they were off to get her weighed and measured and I was left alone.

It would be nearly three hours before I was able to truly meet my daughter. Kennedy Anja.