How To Help Someone Suffering From Miscarriage

Today, December 13, is a day of bittersweet emotions for me. It is the feast day of St. Lucy...a very important saint in my life. My middle name, Lucia, was taken from Sr. Lucia, who was my grandmother's best friend. My grandmother, after whom Mary Ellen is named, was one of the most important people in my life. I often think of her and Sr. Lucia on this day.

This day also brings great sorrow to me. Today, three years ago, was the day I lost my first baby, who we named Catherine. In the early hours before sunrise, as I lay in bed nursing my infant, I think of my first baby. My girl who had a short life, but a life nonetheless. I have been wanting to write a post about how to help mothers (and fathers) who have suffered miscarriage. So many well meaning people say such hurtful things without even realizing they are hurtful. And likewise, so many people just want to help, without knowing what to do. Miscarriage is a taboo subject in our culture...many people don't quite know how to react to it. It is a lonely cross that parents must bear. So I hope these tips might help the loved ones of those going through a terrible loss.

Things you should not say 

1. At least it happened early.

It always amazes me that "pro-life" people treat miscarriage as something that does not need to be addressed. If you believe that life starts at conception, why wouldn't an early loss be just as devastating as a later loss? It's the same person...the same soul...the same baby. Just a different size. It is, I believe, because of our "seeing is believing" culture. People cannot see that the mother is pregnant. No one but the mother feels the physical pain of miscarriage. And typically, no one but the mother (and father) sees the tiny, tiny baby that has been taken from the womb. So always realize that, no matter when a miscarriage occurs in a pregnancy, the pain (and the baby) is so real.

2. There was probably a genetic problem, so it was for the best.

"It was for the best" is something that no one ever wants to hear when they are experiencing a loss. After going through a miscarriage, you do not care that the likelihood your baby could have survived outside the womb are very slim. You do not care that there was probably something seriously wrong with your baby. The fact is, that was, and is, your baby. No matter what medical state the baby was in while in the womb.

3. God needed another angel.

First of all, theologically speaking, humans do not become angels when they enter heaven. Angels are a different species than humans...all spirit, with no body. But aside from that, this is one of those phrases that well meaning people think might comfort the parents. In reality, it does the opposite. Especially when parents are fresh from the loss of their baby, they do not want to hear that "this was all in God's plan" or "God needed them in heaven." Death was never part of God's plan. God's plan was for people to live in the perfect world of Eden with Him. Death would have never existed had it not been for original sin which resulted from our free will. And even though it certainly is true that our baby can intercede for us in heaven (something I definitely kept in mind during my early pregnancy with Elizabeth), during the time of miscarriage, we want our baby with us here on Earth. 

4. You can always have more children/at least you have children already

This phrase takes away from the importance of the baby for whom the parents are mourning. It implies that this death shouldn't be so bad, because at least you'll have other kids to take your mind off it. I doubt that anyone would ever say this to parents who have lost a child who has already been born...so why is it okay to say this to parents who have lost their child in the womb? 

Things that you should say or do

1. Give the parents space if they need it

After I had my miscarriage, I did not want to speak to or see anyone for awhile. Partly because I didn't want people to know about what I had gone through. Partly couldn't stand facing the (well meaning) comments people would make. And partly because I couldn't handle being around those who did know, acting like nothing had happened and that everything was okay (again, well meaning). I chose to mourn by myself. It was difficult, because it was around Christmastime. I remember opening presents with our families, trying to be happy about Christmas, but simply thinking the whole time about how it was impossible to feel happy after losing my baby.

I also remember it being very difficult to go anywhere in public for awhile. Every time I saw a baby or a pregnant person, I would burst into tears. I specifically remember one time going to a restaurant with my mom and sitting down to our table. I glanced to the side, and realized that literally right next to our table was a brand new mother with an infant who couldn't have been more than a week old. I had to get up and go to another table because I couldn't handle being around the baby.

2. Acknowledge that this baby is real, and that they will always be his/her parents.

The most comforting thing anyone ever said to me while I went through my miscarriage had to do with this point. I had not told many people about it, and chose to tell a coworker at school. I remember that instead of looking at me with sorrow or awkwardness, he broke out in a big smile, and said: "Wow! You guys are parents! That's amazing!" For me, it acknowledged the fact that my baby was real, and that, especially since this was my first baby, I was a mother. 

3. If the couple gives the baby a name, refer to him/her by that name.

We chose to name our baby Catherine. It was too early to tell if the baby was a girl or a boy, but based off a very real dream that I believe was a message from God, we knew our baby was a girl. Since parents who miscarry early do not get a funeral or any sense of closure from the loss, giving the baby a name has helped us tremendously. 

And the most important thing, I think, is this:

Never forget this baby.

As the months and years pass, most people tend to move on. But as a mother, you never forget. My mom sends me messages often, telling me she's thinking about my baby in heaven. I can't tell you how comforting it is to know that someone still remembers. That not everyone has forgotten. 

I think many people are afraid to bring it up, thinking that it might bring me pain. But it's actually quite the opposite. By acknowledging my baby, you are telling me that my baby was real and important to you. And that you want to be there for me, even years later, when even though the pain is different now, it is still there. And it always will be.

My baby girl will always be in my heart. And I will never forget the love and support I received from those who have helped and continue to help me along the way. It is a long and windy road...one that is traveled easier while holding someone's hand.

What My Daughter Has Taught Me About Trusting God

Confession time: I have control issues. Wait, what? That doesn't surprise you? Oh. Well then. Moving on.

I have this idea in my head that *I* know what's best for my life and the life of my family. I have the best plans. I try my hardest to be the best person I can be, and gosh dangit, only I know how to achieve that.

I worry incessantly. About mostly stupid things. But sometimes, my worries are legitimate. And looking back so far, I think one of the biggest worries in my life occurred when I became pregnant with my little Mary.

I knew, of course, that it was possible I could get pregnant again. My husband and I don't use contraception, and we are fully aware that every time we have intercourse there is a possibility of pregnancy. (And, by the way, even if you DO use contraception, there is STILL a chance you could get pregnant if you have intercourse). But it was never in the forefront of my mind. Kind of like how people know it's possible that if they buy a lottery ticket, they could win the lottery. Or that if dark clouds start forming, a tornado might come. One of those things that you know could happen but just don't really expect.

When I saw those two pink lines on my positive pregnancy test, my entire world shifted. All these thoughts pervaded my waking moments...mainly "what ifs." What if I am so sick for the entire pregnancy and I can't take care of Elizabeth? What if I lose this baby? What if I have to go on bedrest and I can't lift Elizabeth? What if my delivery is horrible and I need months to recover?

And mostly: How the heck am I going to handle two babies so close in age?

There are so many people out there who have multiple children close in age, and some closer in age than my two girls. And they always manage. But I wasn't like them...I'm not patient, or trusting, or unselfish. I didn't know how I was going to do it. Every time someone made the comment, "Wow, you are going to have your hands full!" (every 5.2 minutes to be exact) my doubts and anxieties grew even more.

Then...

I held her for the first time.

My sweet, amazing, gift from God. I can't really describe to you what an incredible baby she is. All of my doubts and fears and insecurities...all of them were for nothing. Because guess what happened? God had it all figured out. I am in the palm of His hand, whether I want to be or not. He gave me this beautiful, calm, easygoing baby. My life and my heart is fuller because of her. And now, I honestly can't imagine my life without two babies close in age. I am so thankful that it happened the way it did.

If *I* had been in control of the situation, I would have waited longer because I just assumed there was no way I would be able to handle having another baby so soon. But my precious Mary has taught me, just by being herself, that God knows what's best for me so much more than I do. And I notice more and more that when I totally surrender myself to him (which, for a control freak, is the hardest thing you can ever do), I feel a sense of peace and contentment that I never previously had.

Is God's will for us always easy? Haaaaahahaha. That's a funny joke, isn't it? Most of the time, it's going to be the more difficult path. But we can have faith that He will give us the grace to get through those difficult times. And after having Mary, I am trying, one day at a time, to LET GO. Even those small, every day decisions that seem like SUCH a big deal. God's got them all under control.

Here's the proof.

Mary's Birth Story

Yin and Yang. Salt and Pepper. Hot and Cold. Chocolate and Vanilla. Mmmmm...chocolate...wait, what?

Opposites: this word describes my two daughters to a tee. Everything about them so far is so completely different. It's fascinating how two people who come from the same parents could be so different, but I guess it makes sense. Dramatic, outgoing, creative, emotional Elizabeth is just like me (Lord help us). Calm, observant, serious Mary is just like Trent. They even look completely different (except for those trademark lips...they both have those).

Right after birth. Left: Elizabeth, Right: Mary

About 1 week old. Left: Elizabeth, Right: Mary

1 month old. Left: Elizabeth. Right: Mary

Their pregnancy and birth stories are no exception. I wrote about Elizabeth's birth story here, and to fully understand Mary's birth story and how different it was from her sister's, you should grab some popcorn, sit back, and read that first.

During my pregnancy with Elizabeth, I was violently sick for about 5 months. To the point where it was difficult for me to function. With Mary's pregnancy, I felt a tiny bit sick from time to time, but it was very tolerable and it only lasted for a month or so. The rest was smooth sailin'. I almost felt guilty when people looked at me with pity in their eyes and asked how I was feeling...inevitably, I'd always respond with a big smile and say "great! No complaints here!" During Elizabeth's pregnancy, I felt her move very early, at about 12 weeks. And she moved like a maniac during the whole pregnancy. I didn't feel Mary until about 15 weeks, and even then, she was always very calm. I never really felt that much movement with her. It even made me worried sometimes.

We started setting up new baby's stuff about
a week or two before my due date...
because we thought we had SO much time.
(Oh...and Elizabeth was a bit confused and
thought it was HER bassinet...)

When July came, I knew time was ticking and my due date (August 1) was drawing near. But I reasoned with myself that I would probably have until the second week of August to get ready. After all, Elizabeth went 10 days late. And I was not going to be disillusioned this time that my baby would come on or near its due date.

I was mentally preparing myself for the worst. That probably seems like a depressing and/or ineffective way to think. But after what I went through with Elizabeth's birth, I knew that things don't usually happen the way we want them to. I knew now that birth is a complicated process and that the ultimate goal is to get a healthy mom and baby. And I knew that sometimes, the process of getting to that goal does not always happen the way we want it to.

I was making lots of plans for the week of my due date. The thought did not even enter my mind that it was possible for me to have my baby close to my actual due date, so I figured it would be fine. The last week of July came and went, and I was starting to get excited that I would probably meet my baby in the next week (but no earlier)!

The evening before my due date, I was baking with my sister-in-law and her boyfriend, having a grand old time. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and noticed lots of blood. Hmmmm...I thought. Maybe this means the baby will come in the next week! Maybe my baby will only be a week late, rather than 10 days! I texted my midwife just to make sure the bleeding was a good sign. Her response: "I bet you are getting really close! I'd be shocked if you didn't kick in in the next 24 hours! Keep me informed."

WHUT.

Um, hey baby. I'm not ready for you to come yet. I was mentally preparing myself for you to be really late. So....WHAT?! I mean, come on! What baby is born on its ACTUAL due date??? No baby of mine, that's for sure!

Mary's first bath

So I spent the rest of the evening in denial, telling my sister in law, her boyfriend, and Trent that they could go on their merry way because there was no way this was for real. I reasoned that just because my contractions were starting to actually feel real didn't mean that they actually were real. I reasoned that just because my baby was moving more in a 10 minute time span than it had in the past 9 months didn't mean that anything was actually changing. I reasoned that just because it was hard for me to go to sleep because the pain from the contractions kept waking me up didn't mean that they were actual contractions. "Don't worry," I told Trent. "Just plan on going to work tomorrow. There's no way this is going to happen yet." And I kept telling myself that as I lay there through the night, having to concentrate more and more as the pain kept getting stronger and stronger.

The next morning, Trent decided to call off work. "This probably isn't actually happening," I said, "But maybe you shouldn't go to work just in case it actually is. Which I'm sure it isn't. But just in case." We called my mom, who was a labor nurse and is now a labor nurse educator. And I must say, it is wonderfully convenient to have a labor nurse as a mother when you are actually going through labor. My mom came over and checked how dilated I was. "4 cm," she told me.

WHUT.

My pitocin/epidural baby meeting my natural
baby for the first time

You must understand that it took me 16 hours, 12 of which were pitocin-induced, gut wrenching, sweat filled mania, to even get that far with Elizabeth's labor. And here I was, at home, pretty uncomfortable, but easily walking around, taking a shower, and eating breakfast. And I had already dilated that far. I could hear the choirs of angels in heaven singing Handel's Hallelujah Chorus.

"Well..." I said, "This might not be for real though." Because I was still in denial. And my mom just looked at me incredulously and said in a way that only moms can, "Ashley. You're in labor." And the matter was closed, closed in a way that only moms can close it.

So I walked around at home, still in unbelief that this was not only happening, but it so far was happening in the exact way that I wanted it to happen. I wanted to stay home as long as possible, and I wanted to do this thing without any meds. So far, so good. But I was not so naive to think that I was home free yet.

My mom called the hospital to see what the labor floor was like. And apparently everyone and their mother decided they wanted to have a baby that day, because there was only one open room left. And Lawdy there was no way in Hades that I wanted to share a room with someone. So, at around 9am, we decided to hightail it to the hospital.

I got to my hospital room, and they checked to see how dilated I was. 5 cm.

WHUT.

Soon after, my water broke. On its own.

WHUT.

My contractions were getting stronger and closer together. The room was dim, there was calming music, I was sitting on a labor ball, and I was free to move wherever I wanted because I was not hooked up to any IV fluids or meds. This was all happening in the way I had always envisioned it.

WHUT. WHAT?! Is this real life??!

It got to the point where during each contraction I had to concentrate more than I had ever concentrated before. As my friend Kim told me after she went through her med-free labor just weeks earlier, I had to remember that the pain was a good thing, because it was getting the baby out. So during each contraction, I repeating the words "down and out" to myself, just like she suggested. I had to concentrate so much that I had to ask my mom and Trent to be quiet when they were talking during my contractions, because it was distracting me.

It was kind of like those labor movies that you watch during your childbirth prep classes, when they show you the stereotypical "natural" labor. The one where everyone rolls their eyes because there's no possible way that the stars would align so well that it would actually happen like that in real life.

Going home from the hospital. Most babies
scream when you put them in the carseat for
the first time. Mary was pretty chill about it all

But it did. It was kind of textbook, actually, in a way. Around 3 or 3:30 (I think) I started to get a little crazy. The pain was getting to a whole new level and I was ready to get that baby OUT. They checked me, and they told me I could try pushing. I don't remember a whole lot of details at this point because I all I was really thinking was "GET THE BABY OUT GET THE BABY OUT GET THE BABY OUT." They told me I would "know" when I was ready to push. For some reason this freaked me out because how would I really know? I wanted them to just tell me when I should push. Apparently I had a "lip," which meant that I was just about fully dilated to 10cm but there was a tiny bit of my cervix that didn't want to cooperate. And I remember that stupid lip. It made things a lot more painful. I think I even shouted, "Ahhhhh, that stupid lip!!!" But I'm not sure. I kept pushing, but I had yet to feel that insatiable urge that everyone had told me about, where your body just takes over and starts to practically push for you because there's no way you can hold it back.

And then, all the sudden, my body just took over and started to practically push for me because there was no way I could have held it back. It was weird, actually. It was like my muscles had a mind of their own and just decided they would do their thang, thank you very much. And once that happened, that baby came out like BAM.

It was pretty awesome because since there weren't any complications so far, my midwife let Trent deliver the baby. She was there, guiding him and telling him what to do. But he was the one who got to bring her out! I obviously don't remember this actually happening, because I was too busy concentrating on AHHH GET THAT BABY OUT OF ME PLEASE RIGHT NOW I WANT TO BE DONE!!!!!

About to go home from the hospital

Daddy with his girls

And then, just like that, at 4:37pm, my precious baby Mary was born. IT'S A GIRL! Trent said. We were all actually shocked. Because obviously we didn't learn the first time that even though we might have a "feeling" that it's a boy, it doesn't mean a darned thing. And I was sooooo happy to have another girl, because that's secretly what I really wanted (insert caveat that obviously I didn't really care, and I would have been just as happy if the baby was a boy, etc etc etc).

She cried two small squeaky cries, and then was done. She laid on me, so calmly and peacefully. I was so much more emotional with this baby and I actually felt that immediate connection that everyone always talks about.

And that's Mary for you. Punctual, by the book, and calm. Born on her due date. With a labor that I always wanted but never actually thought would happen. Sweet Mary. She's my little lamb. (Ehhhh? See what I did there??)

When Our Baby Went To Heaven: Catherine's Birth Story

As I have said before, every child has a birth story. Birth stories are important, especially for the parents, as a reminder of the day a child came into the world.

Unfortunately, not all birth stories have happy endings. But this does not mean they should be hidden away. All children are precious gifts from God, regardless of how long their stay on Earth was.  As a Catholic, I believe that a person's life starts at the moment of conception. This does, of course, mean that many children have died without the parents even knowing. Some women have miscarriages before they realize they are pregnant, and mistake it for a late, heavy, particularly painful period. This is why we have the feast of the Holy Innocents on December 28: to remember the children who were slaughtered by King Herod after Jesus was born, and to remember all those babies lost in the womb due to miscarriage, abortion, or other reasons.

I have felt the need to write down the birth story of my first child, Catherine, for a long time. I am not sharing this so people will feel sorry for me, or to draw attention to myself, or to depress everyone. I am sharing this because I have come a long way since the death of my first child, and I feel like it will be a step in the healing process to do so. I am sharing this in the hopes that it might help other parents who have suffered the lonely loss of miscarriage, and that they might find solace in the fact that they are not, in fact, alone. I am sharing this to open the eyes of those who have never experienced the loss of a child, and perhaps give them a better idea of how to better love and comfort those people who have.

Thanksgiving Day, 2011, I was full of joy. My husband and I had just found out we were pregnant with our first child. We were giddy. Full of anticipation. We certainly felt the spirit of Thanksgiving, as we gave thanks to God for our precious baby.

We wanted to keep the news a secret until we could tell our immediate family members in a special way. So for an early Christmas present, we wrapped up frames that said "Uncle", "Aunt", "Grandma", or "Grandpa". Inside each frame, we printed out the due date for our baby: August 2, 2012. It was hard to keep secret, but we did it.

We gave the presents to Trent's family and my family separately. They were all shocked and overjoyed. It was wonderful to finally share our excitement of the baby in my womb.

The next few weeks, my mind was filled with thoughts of the life growing inside me. I downloaded apps telling me information about my baby each day. I thought of how we would decorate the nursery. Trent and I discussed names, and whether or not we would find out the sex. It was such an exciting time.

One Friday night before Christmas, Trent and I had a date planned. We went out to dinner and rented a movie. The whole dinner, I was thinking about how happy I was. When we got home, before we started watching the movie, I went to the bathroom and immediately saw blood.

I panicked. I called my mom five times. She reassured me that light bleeding during pregnancy can be normal, and I should just keep an eye on it. I spent the rest of the night worrying about what could be happening.

After a few days, the bleeding had not stopped. I started to get mild cramping. I knew in my heart that this was a bad sign, but I kept telling myself that maybe it was normal. I had a family event and a concert that evening. It was very difficult to act normal around everyone when I knew in the back of my mind what could be happening. I called my midwife the next day. She said cramping with bleeding is not usually a good thing, and that I should keep a close eye on it and come in to the hospital if it got any worse.

About five days after the initial bleeding had started, my cramps got worse. They did not happen often, but when they did, I had to practically bend over to deal with the pain. I was teaching that day, and I remember trying to hide the pain. (I later found out that these cramps were actually contractions)

That night, I lay awake googling (which is, by the way, the worst thing you can do in this type of situation). Maybe I had twins? According to Google, painful cramping and bleeding are more common in pregnancy with twins. Maybe all this was normal? I knew in the back of my mind what was happening: I was losing my baby. But a small part of me refused to believe it.

I woke up about 4am the next morning and went to the bathroom to check on the bleeding. It was worse, much worse. That was the moment, I think, that it really hit me. I started crying and woke Trent up. He comforted me and told me we would go to the doctor's office first thing in the morning.

I called in sick for work, and Trent was thankfully off that day. We both went into the doctor's office. I remember thinking: "I always thought my first doctor's visit would be so joyful. I was wrong." The nurse who checked all my vitals went through the list of questions. "Have you had any miscarriages?" was one of them. "Uh...." I answered, "I think that's what is happening right now."

My midwife came in, her eyes full of compassion. She started talking about how difficult miscarriages are, and how this baby was real to us and to God. I remember thinking, so...it's for sure? I am losing my baby?" They took my blood work, with the instruction that I would return a few days later for the same blood work to make sure that I was, indeed, having a miscarriage.

My midwife told me the pain would be bad. I was not the least bit concerned with that. I had no clue how bad the pain would actually be.

The cramping got worse and worse, and closer together. What many people do not realize (and what I myself did not realize as I was going through it) is that when a woman miscarries, she goes through labor just like a woman with a full grown baby, but the miscarried baby is much smaller. I remember, at one point, the pain was so bad, I was on my hands and knees making those animal noises that you hear women in the hospital making when they have their babies. I texted my mom, "how could the pain possibly get any worse?"

Finally, the baby was born. Many medical people use the term "passing the tissue." I do not use that term. It was not tissue. It was my baby, and she was born, just like every other baby is born. She was a life, she had a soul, and she was my first child.

I took three days off work to recuperate, both physically and emotionally. Three days is such a short amount of time. A woman needs much longer than three days to recuperate from something like this. But miscarriage is something that our society neither understands nor likes to talk about. It is an uncomfortable subject that people do not know how to handle. Women are expected to simply move on and get back to normal as quickly as possible. This is partly due to our culture of death in which people do not consider a young fetus as a life. But it is also due to our "seeing is believing" mentality. In miscarriage, a woman is often in early pregnancy, when no one can tell she is pregnant. So they just don't think about it. They think that just because the woman could not "hold" her baby, it should not mean much to her.

The weeks and months following the loss of my first baby were so difficult. I did not want anyone to know. Partly because I didn't know how to handle the situation, and also partly because well-meaning people said such hurtful things like "Well, you can always have more children" or "It was probably just a bundle of tissue anyway" or "It was probably for the best, the baby would have had severe problems if it had lived". I did not care that I might be able to have more children in the future, or that my baby probably had a severe genetic problem. All I cared about was that I lost my baby.

For awhile, every time I passed a visibly pregnant woman or small children, I cried. I remember once sitting in a restaurant, and the table next to us had a newborn sitting there. We asked to move tables because I couldn't stand looking at what could have been my child. As the weeks went on, I kept track of how far along in my pregnancy I would have been. This week, I might have felt my baby kick. This week, my baby would have fingernails. 

I grieved silently and by myself. Only my husband, my immediate family, and a few very close friends knew. For a year and a half, I did not tell anyone else. I felt it was something that others would not understand, so I did not want to deal with the conversations that would inevitably come up.

A few months later, I found out I was pregnant with Elizabeth. The experience of finding out about this pregnancy could not have been more different than my first. I sat on the steps and cried, praying to God and my baby in heaven to protect this new baby. I felt no excitement or joyful anticipation. Instead, I began mentally preparing myself for what could happen.

As my pregnancy with Elizabeth went on, I had severe symptoms of "morning" sickness (a term that should be called 24 hours a day sickness). But although I was suffering greatly, I was so thankful to God for the sickness. It meant that my hormones were working, and that the baby was probably doing okay.

When I became pregnant with my current baby and found out the due date, I gasped. August 1, 2013. One day before my first baby would have been due. Throughout this whole pregnancy, I have been thinking about how the timing would have been exactly the same.

In the process of my healing, I have learned that it is not healthy for me to keep this a secret. I realized that instead of keeping it to myself, in fear of getting hurt by what others might say, I should share my story. I should not view my child as a shameful or fearful circumstance. Rather, I should celebrate that God chose me to be her parent, even though it might have been a very short time. I should rejoice that my child is in a place that God specifically made, just for her. I think more than anything else throughout my experience, this prayer helped the most:  

I am healing. But I will never forget my first child. I pray for her and talk to her every single day. I will tell all of my living children about their big sister. I am reminded daily of her. Whenever people ask how many children I have, I always hesitate for a second. I want to say "three." Because my first child, although in heaven, is still my child. And she always will be.

I plan on writing a post in the future about ways to help parents who have suffered the loss of miscarriage. But for now, I'll leave it at this. And I know that when my newest baby is born soon, his or her big sister will be in heaven, guiding us and smiling down on us all the way through.

Elizabeth's Birth Story

Birth stories are like war stories. Every mom has one. And they are not limited to moms who have physically given birth...they also apply to moms who have adopted. Perhaps they were there for the actual birth of their child, or perhaps they have another story about what happened when they first laid eyes on their child. Birth stories can be filled with pain, joy, sorrow, awe, or any other emotion you can think of.

I never actually wrote Elizabeth's story down. I have been meaning to since...well, since she was born, I guess. So I figure I need to do that before I have another birth experience in (hopefully) a few months, before I start confusing the details and can't remember what event happened when and with which child.

(Also, I think writing this down will help me realize that HOLY MOLY I am actually going to be giving birth again soon and I need to get my act together and GET READY)

And before I start, don't worry, I'm not going to write in any gross details that you really do not want to know. BUT the following words WILL be in this post: poop, cervix, dilated, amniotic fluid. If that grosses you out, then don't say I didn't warn you!!

****AHEM****
*Looks at crowd*

I am well known for making grand plans, expecting they will happen the way I want them to, and then realizing that oops, I forgot God is in charge, not me. And almost every time, God's plan is a bit different than mine. It's always better, too. But sometimes I don't realize that until later. Sometimes WAYYY later.

My due date was December 15, 2012. EVERYONE (except maybe 2 people) said I was having a boy. People were having "dreams" and "visions" and "feelings" and they just knew it would be that way. I totally believed them, because I, too, had always envisioned that I would have only boys if God blessed me with children.

One of the "visions" someone had was that I would give birth on December 14. This person has actually made many predictions in the past, some frighteningly detailed, that have all come true. So I set my mind to it that December 14 was the day. "Perfect," I thought. "This way, I'll be home and ready for Christmas."

Come on, baby! The room's all ready!
(There was a time when her room was that clean?)

I packed all my bags and had everything ready. Trent and I made no plans that evening of December 14 because we just assumed I would be giving birth. I told him to have his phone on all day at work and be ready for the phone call that "ohmigosh I'm in labor get home now baby is coming!!"

December 14 came. I waited all day, mentally willing the contractions to start. And, as I'm sure you are totally surprised and shocked to hear, notta one came. December 14 went. I was so disappointed (Looking back now I laugh at my naivety). "Well, my due date's tomorrow," I thought. "Surely it will happen in the next few days.

Every morning I went to Mass. Every morning, the Scripture readings were about Mary or Elizabeth waiting to give birth. Every morning, the priest preached about the season of Advent. And waiting. And why it's important. And how we as Americans are not good at waiting anymore. Every time, I chuckled at the irony of it all. As the days rolled on and on, I started to get mad. "Okay, God," I said, "This isn't funny anymore. Can you just MAKE THIS BABY COME ALREADY??!!" Because apparently talking to God like that will make everything just magically start going your way.

I went to a midwife (a wonderful, amazing, fantastic midwife who is one of the best human beings I know and I feel blessed that she is able to be the person to bring my children into the world) because I'm a hippie, and I wanted everything to be as natural as possible. I did not want to be induced unless it was medically necessary. I also wanted to attempt a natural delivery with no epidural. This was actually one area where I was realistic and understood that if I did, indeed, need to get an epidural, it would not be the end of the world.

I'mmmmm dreaming of a baby-filled Christmas

So, the days kept rollin' on. A few days turned into a week. People started getting nervous. Going past 41 weeks increases the chance that your baby will pass meconium (aka, he or she will poop in the uterus) which can cause complications. I was fine with waiting longer. And when I say I was fine with it, I mean my strong feelings of not wanting to be induced far outweighed my feelings of irritation and impatience of the fact that there was STILL A BABY IN MY BELLY.

My midwife and I finally decided that if the baby did not come by Christmas, I would get induced Christmas night and have the baby the next day. When this sunk into my brain, I realized that ironically my "plans" might actually happen...I WOULD be home for Christmas. Just sans baby.

I went to Christmas Eve Mass with Trent and was somehow able to sit in the front row. During his homily, the priest gathered all the children together and asked them questions about Christmas. When he started discussing Mary, he asked them how many months does a baby grow inside his or her mother? All the kids said "NINE!" Father then said, "Very good! Although, in some cases, such as Ashley Gutridge who is sitting in the front row, it can take a bit longer!" The whole Cathedral turned and looked at me. I turned a shade of red that was probably very similar to the poinsettias adorning the altar.

I went to bed that night feeling very emotional. I knew this would be the last night of my "normal" life. The life that I had always known. Starting the next day, I would be responsible for another human being. It was such a surreal feeling.

I had a strange dream that night. It involved water. And suddenly I woke up, heard a "popping" sound, and realized that my water broke (I later found out it was not all of my water, but I didn't know any better since this had never happened to me before). I looked at the clock: 2am. Merry Christmas! I shook Trent's shoulders hard. "Whaaaa?" he asked groggily. "Trent, my water just broke," I said. He looked at me with a confused facial expression. "Are you serious?" he asked. We look back now and laugh that he thought I would have joked about that.

Another one of my "plans" was to stay home as long as possible before going to the hospital. If I was going to be uncomfortable during labor, I at least wanted to be in my own home. Apparently, though, if your water breaks, you're supposed to go to the hospital as soon as possible because of the risk of infection. I showered and stayed home about 4 hours, but then we decided it would be best to just go to the hospital. I was having contractions, but they weren't strong and they weren't close together. Ha! I thought to myself. If this is labor, I got this in the bag. This isn't so bad at all. I can hear all of you mothers out there laughing hysterically at my naivety. Because I'm doing the same thing. I had no idea what was coming.

I walked around the hospital room and the halls for a few hours, feeling pretty darned good. There was pain, but it was very manageable. They checked my cervix and found that I wasn't dilating. At all. And it had been about 6 hours since my water broke. Apparently there is a 24 window in which you must deliver the baby after your water breaks.

12...or 23...and no, that's not a picture of Elizabeth

Sooooo they decided to put me on Pitocin, which is supposed to speed things up. It's the drug that I now hate more than any other drug because it made my labor go from "I can handle this" to "HOLY MOTHER OF EVERYTHING THAT IS HOLY SO MUCH PAIN WHY IS THIS HAPPENING WHAT IS GOING ON AHHHHHHH!!!!" in a matter of minutes. I remember telling the labor nurse "I don't think I can handle it if things are going to get worse than THIS."

By the way, labor nurses are saints. Hug all labor nurses that you know.

Elizabeth decided that she wanted to be posterior, which means her face was pointed toward my belly instead of my back. Apparently it makes labor last much longer, makes it more difficult for the baby to come out, and gives you constant pain in your back that I can't really describe (there's no "apparently" about the last fact. Trent spend a total of 12 hours, nonstop, applying pressure to my low back with his fist).

So the next 12 hours were spent with the moaning and the wailing and the gnashing of teeth. Apparently I sang a lot during my contractions. I don't remember this. In fact, I don't remember a lot of those 12 hours. Apparently we prayed an entire rosary with music. Apparently people came to see me. Apparently my mom kept Trent fed during those hours, and I yelled at someone for eating tuna because it smelled horrible.

Somewhere in that time, they broke my water, and it was full of meconium (when baby poops in uterus). This made everyone, especially my mom, very nervous, because it can be dangerous for the baby. This made us all hope and pray that things would go quickly.

At around 8pm, the contractions starting coming full force. There were no breaks. I remember
gripping the railing of my hospital bed and asking the nurse, "WHERE'S THE BREAK? WHY ARE THERE NO BREAKS? WHAT IS HAPPENING?" She checked how dilated I was. After 18 hours, 12 of which were hard labor, I was a whopping 4 cm dilated. I cried as much as the pain would allow it. At this rate I was going nowhere fast.

Then the doctor came in. A military, no nonsense, say-it-like-it-is sort of fellow. "Why in the hell are you not getting an epidural?" he asked. "Would you get your appendix taken out with no meds? No!" I finally agreed to it, and apologized to him through my sobs that he had to interrupt his Christmas to come see me.

The epidural guy (I know there's an official name for it but I don't know what it is) came in and asked me to stay still (a feat that felt more impossible than climbing Mt. Everest). He warned that the numbing needle might sting. I remember laughing out loud when the needle went in. You call that pain? I thought. That is like a mosquito bite compared to what I'm feeling now.

After a few minutes, I had a break in contractions, which was something that hadn't happened in awhile. Then my mom said, "you're having a contraction right now." And I felt NOTHING. No pain. I started sobbing from the sheer joy of it. It was truly amazing. I could breathe, and I could relax.

I truly believe that if I would not have gotten an epidural, I probably would have had to have a c-section. The epidural made my body relax, which caused Elizabeth to turn around into the correct position. I actually slept. This epidural thing was AWESOME. From that point on, I started progressing very quickly.

At about 12:30am, it was time to push. And I have to say, I was pretty proud of my pushing skillz. Being an oboist, I think, made it very, very easy because I was so accustomed to using my ab muscles to force air through my instrument. I was also used to taking big, deep breaths. The pushing part was truly amazing. I had no pain, and was able to really take it all in. We saw a little head with lots of brown hair. Then her face. Then, at 12:53am, Elizabeth Ann Gutridge was born.

They had people on standby with equipment in case she would aspirate the meconium. But good ol' Elizabeth screamed so loudly that there was NO question about it: she was okay. The midwife immediately handed her to me. "It's a girl!" Trent said. We were beyond shocked.

To this day, Elizabeth continues to surprise us. She does things her own way, she is full of drama, and she gives us a run for our money. But she is so FUN. She is full of spirit and life and laughter. There is never a dull moment. I feel like every day I get to know her better. I love her personality and her gibberish. I thank God every day for my little girl. It was a hard road to get you here, Elizabeth, but we wouldn't have it any other way!

Leaving the hospital
(no, I didn't accidentally pack a size 3 month
sweater for my newborn baby...uh...)

Things You Should and Should Not Be Able To Say To A Pregnant Woman

Like I've said in previous posts, pregnancy is such a complicated issue. When speaking to a pregnant woman, it's almost like you must tip toe around, making sure you do not offend the said woman, while at the same time showing your support for her. Add the hormonal issues that all pregnant women experience (and let me tell you, they are real...we don't make them up...before I even knew I was pregnant with this baby, I sobbed for fifteen minutes at a Kleenex commercial, which was immediately followed by outrage at my husband for not having the same reaction) and you never know what kind of reaction will you get.

That being said, I do think that some pregnant women get a little TOO upset about certain things that well meaning people say. I've actually only ever been offended by a pregnancy-related comment twice in all my pregnancies. I'm sure it's much harder for some women than it is for others to be the center of attention in that way, which is the reason why many women overreact. But the fact is, most people like pregnant women. They are extra nice to them. They go out of their way to help. With that, I suppose, comes comments that can, depending on the circumstance, be either appreciated or totally unwarranted.

So without further ado, here's my lists.

Comments pregnant women shouldn't be offended by (but often are):

1.) Your belly is getting so big!!

Now, if there were actually not a baby in there, and someone was referring to the after effects of my third helping of chocolate cake I had eaten earlier that day, OBVIOUSLY I would be offended by this. But...there is a baby in there. So I don't understand why pregnant women get so upset about this comment. People are not calling you fat. They are marveling at the fact that you have a living person inside of you, and that the little person is growing! It's amazing! And in my limited experience, I've found the more visibly pregnant you are (aka...the bigger your belly is), the nicer people will be. In fact, I find it comforting when people tell me that my belly looks big...because that means the awkward "uhhh...is she pregnant or did she just eat too much?" phase is now over.

2.) Are you sure there's just one in there?

I think I've been asked this question at least 10 times with this pregnancy (much more so than with my last one). I can actually understand why a pregnant woman might get offended by this...but to me, again, it's well meaning. It relates to number one. People are merely commenting that your baby is growing, and that's a good thing! In response to this question, I usually just chuckle and assure them that yes, it is one baby, and no, it is not a sumo wrestler yet.

3.) Are you having a boy or a girl?
When people see a pregnant woman, they ALWAYS ask the same questions, in the same order:
a) When are you due?
b) Is it a boy or a girl?*
c) Do you know the name?
It's just a natural progression, and people are simply being curious. I personally don't think it's nosy at all. I answer these questions as they come (a. August 1st, b. we aren't finding out, c. not sure yet), and appreciate that people are interested in the little person inside of me.
*If, like me, the pregnant woman is not finding out the gender, people will say one of two things: "Oh my gosh I could NEVER do that! How do you plan???!!!" or "I think that's just great! That's the way things used to be, and you'll never get a surprise like that again in your life!"


Things you should NEVER say to a pregnant woman
(And, by the way, all of these have, in fact, been said to me, and yes, I was offended)

1.) You don't look any different! Just your face/butt/arms/other random body part that is not your stomach/ looks chubbier.
Um. It makes sense for you to tell me that my belly looks bigger. Because yes, there's a baby in my belly. But there's not a baby in my face. Or my butt. Or anywhere else. It's a very difficult thing for many women to see those numbers on the scale creep up, even though gaining weight during pregnancy is healthy. So...if you are going to comment about the size of any body part, you may only do so about my belly. Thanks.

2.) You look like you are about to explode!
This was said to me when I was 41.5 weeks pregnant with Elizabeth. By a man, no less. This is an example of why the way you say something matters. If he would have simply said, "you look like you're about to give birth soon!" I would have replied, "Why, you are correct. In fact, I should have given birth 10 days ago, but my baby has decided that she really likes it in there and doesn't want to come out yet." I would not have been offended. But really, the term "explode" and "you" should never be in the same sentence. Especially when talking to an overdue pregnant woman.

3.) You're going to name your baby THAT? ***insert list of reasons why that name is horrible and will affect the child negatively in years to come***
Number one reason why Trent and I do not divulge our name choices to ANYONE. Not even our family. Nada. Zip. Zero. Quite frankly, I don't want to hear your opinion about my baby's name. Contrary to what you might think, we have actually given a LOT of thought to this, and our name choice has a deep meaning to us. If you do not like it, I understand, but please keep it to yourself. Have your own babies, and you can name them whatever you'd like.

So hopefully we've all learned something from this. The bottom line is this: when speaking to a pregnant woman, think carefully about what you say and the way in which you say it. And the number one thing to remember is that really, all a pregnant woman wants is for you to be supportive. So do that, and she'll love you forever. Maybe she'll even name her baby after you. (But if she does, DON'T CRITICIZE IT!)

Was This Baby Planned?

By far the most popular question people have asked me about this pregnancy has been:

1) "Was this baby planned?"
OR
2) "Was this an accident?"

Regarding the first question:

First of all, yes. All babies are planned. By God. His timing is more perfect than anything we could imagine. And, as in all areas of life, although His timing might not always seem convenient, I think He knows what He's doing way more than I do.

Second of all, to me, this is a HIGHLY personal question that I really don't think people should ask unless they know the mom and dad well. If an expecting couple feels like volunteering that information to you, then that's great. But family planning is a very complicated situation that includes a LOT of factors, many of which are preferred to be kept known only to the mom and dad. It's an emotional process, something that many people forget. Every time you ask parents: "So, how come you haven't given Freddie a little brother or sister yet?" you could be, without realizing it, piercing a knife into their hearts. How do you know they haven't been trying to have a baby, but can't get pregnant again? How do you know if perhaps they have had more pregnancies, but have suffered the terrible and lonely loss of miscarriage?

Regarding the second question:

Was this an accident? How I loathe this question. The term "accident" should never even be in the same sentence when discussing pregnancy.

Accident

Not an accident

Guess what folks? If a man and a woman have sex, they can get pregnant. If they do get pregnant, it means that something went right. Their bodies are working the way they were meant to work. I won't start discussing contraception here, since that's for another blog post. But the fact that calling a baby an "accident" is now commonplace shows how much our culture values human life. And doesn't it just seem strange that "sex" and "babies" are now automatically separated? Maybe we all need to retake Health class.

Everyone needs to realize that these very deep, heavy questions aren't really the subject of small talk. The best way you can react to news of a pregnancy is by showing excitement and support. It's almost guaranteed that the parents are, to some extent, freaked out (depending on the situation, some more than others). I can't tell you how calming it is when people react with joy to our news. It's much nicer than "Wow. You are gonna have your hands full!" or "Jeeze, good luck...you're gonna need it!" I do understand this, and TRUST ME, these thoughts have run through my head far more than they have yours.

So do you want to know if my current pregnancy was planned? I'll answer that like I do to most other people: yes. It was perfectly planned by the One who created our precious baby, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Man Bashing Culture

I've never been that great at math (or really any subject except music), but here's my equation for the day:

I'm not a feminist in the modern sense. I don't believe that men and women are the same. I think it's fine to let girls play with dolls and boys play with blocks. I love wearing makeup and dresses and jewelry. I enjoy making dinner for my family every day. More than anything else I do, being a wife and mother are the most important jobs in my life. And unfortunately, many women today think this view is shameful and degrading to women. 

This is because people automatically think that the statement "Men and women are not equal" means the same thing as this:

OR

It doesn't. It simply means they are not the same. They are different. Just like an apple and an orange are different. And that's a GOOD THING! God made us this way. 

Those of you who knew me as a younger girl might be saying: "Hey. Wait a sec. You were the one who was always playing with bugs, wearing overalls with t-shirts, rolling in the mud, wrestling with other neighbors, and carrying around your older brother's alien action figures." Yes, I know. I used to be a tomboy. I would not have been caught dead in a dress. My mother had to force me to make myself look presentable (as in, not looking like I had just crawled out of a garbage dump). 

So I understand better than most that some people are naturally more "feminine" or "masculine" than others. But regardless of how much a woman enjoys her pearls, the fact of the matter is that women and men are not, and never will be, the same. Should they be shown equal love and respect? Of course. But are they able to do absolutely anything just as well as the opposite sex can? Not so much.

In particular, the role of a mother and a father are two completely different and vital roles that help shape a child. A mother simply cannot give her child the same values and lessons that a father can. Similarly, a father cannot help his child grow and learn in the same way that a mother does. This is why it is always a sad situation when families grow up without a mother or a father figure. Single parents, or families where either the mother or father are not emotionally or physically present (i.e., alcoholic, deployed, health issues, etc)  have the toughest job in the world because they are expected to do a job that is virtually impossible: be two people at once.

Society completely disregards these important roles in a family and thinks they can be filled by anyone. What really sparked my interest in this was the Olympic "Thanks Mom" commercials. My immediate thoughts after seeing these commercials were this:

1) Wow, that's awesome that they are showing so much appreciation for their moms.

2) But wait...what about the dads? Don't they have something to do with it too?

I really do think we live in a "man bashing" culture. It's just fine to give women credit for a job well done, but if a man does it? No big deal. Women can complain about the agony of childbirth or periods or PMS, but if a man complains about an ailment? He's being a wimp. And it's even worse for fathers. When a woman is pregnant, she must go through all the physical, emotional, and mental upheavals while the baby grows inside of her and after the baby is born. What does the man do? According to society, he has sex with her and gets her pregnant. And that's about it.

Well, I don't agree. I think that fathers go through the bad stuff too, except they are not allowed to say anything about it. Because if they do, God forbid, then we yell at them: "Excuse me, are YOU the one with an 8 pound watermelon inside of your uterus?" or "I'm sorry, I can't hear you, I'm too busy trying not to vomit for the fifth time today." or "Oh, poor thing, it must have been really difficult for you to contribute your genetic material to our baby." (By the way, yes, I've said all these things to my poor husband in my less-than-holy moments).

When I watch my child or someone I love suffer, I feel so helpless. It's the worst feeling in the world. That must be how most fathers feel as they watch their partners go through a difficult pregnancy, birth, postpartum depression, or even things like severe periods or PMS. In these cases, fathers imitate the Blessed Virgin Mary, when she had to stand by and watch her son suffer and die.

In writing this, I realize that I am EXTREMELY blessed to have an amazing, supportive husband who is an exemplary father. I also grew up in a family where my own father was always there for me and loved me unconditionally. I understand that sadly not all fathers (or mothers, for that matter) are like this. Unfortunately, there is some truth to society's skewed view of a father's limited role in his family simply because there are men who just want to use a woman's body for their own instant gratification and be done with it. If the woman gets pregnant, well, she's on her own. But I don't think it's fair that all the good fathers out there must suffer because of the small percentage of bad guys. 

Why don't we say this more often:

 Just as much as moms.
What you bring to a family is essential and unable to be filled by anyone else, even mom.

You are your daughter's knight in shining armor.
You are your son's role model for what it means to be a man.

Your children look up to you in a way they do to no one else.
Your family appreciates everything you do (even though they might not always show it).

It's great that you like sports or hunting or video games or stupid movies like "Top Gun" that most women just don't get. You add something different to your family that no one else can.

And most of all: