Ezra's Birth Story

With each of my boys, one way I have loved celebrating their first birthdays is by remembering and documenting their birth stories. 

I feel a little sheepish because I don't remember a ton of details from Ezra's birth. It was so uncomplicated that I have not told and retold the story dozens of times in the last year. 

Finn's birth story was such a surprise, and Jonas' had so many complications; I told those over and over again. 

Ezra's, in so many words, was contractions, active labor, birth. The end. 

Yet as I have paused to really think through those days, there are so many little things hiding beneath the surface of those obvious details. 

For one thing, he was my first baby that made me see my due date come...and go. As my due date was October 16 and Finn and Jonas had each come a few days early, I was hopeful from the very beginning that he would be born on the 13th. That is the anniversary of my brother's death, and I thought it would be super cool to redeem that date a little. 

The 13th came and went. So did the 14th, 15th, and 16th. Ugh, and the 17th. 

For about three nights before he came, I was up often in the middle of the night with contractions. Each night they got a little stronger and I would wake up so hopeful that the day had come! Yet they died down about the same time the sun came up. We had our 40 week checkup on Friday, October 16 and I was only dilated to a 1.5. This was after a couple nights of contractions. I was fairly discouraged, but my doctor said she thought I may not make it through the weekend. But grudgingly, I had to set up another checkup for 41 weeks...just in case. 

The night of the 17th they were particularly strong. By the time it was time to get up for the day, I was gripping my pillow through the contractions and was having a difficult time talking through them. It was a Sunday morning. I remember being so thankful that Matt had someone to cover for him at church that morning, as I did not think I could manage the contractions and parenting our two young boys through the morning hours. 

I was planning to ride the contractions out at home for a few more hours, but my mom convinced me to at least call the doctor and tell her what was happening. Her nurse called back and let me know that I should probably come in. 

Walking into the building, I had to stop several times as contractions hit. They were definitely strong, and I was so hopeful that they were productive and that we would not get sent right back home. 

When they checked me at the hospital, I was dilated to a 6 - HALLELUJAH!!!

They checked me in, and I got fairly comfortable, and I got my sweet, sweet epidural. One of my prayers for this birth was to have excellent nurses and to have a doctor in the room upon birth. I had learned with Jonas how vital a great nurse can be. God answered my prayer, and then some. We had the most amazing nurse named Molly, who was attentive and fun and communicative. She was exactly what I needed. 

After a few hours of my contractions amping up and then relaxing, they decided to give me a dose of pitocin to see if they could move it along a bit. Within the next hour, I was ready to push. And about an hour after that, sweet Ezra Adam made his appearance at 4:08 p.m. Not only was there a doctor in the room, but a doctor and a student and 3 or 4 nurses. We were more than cared for. 

Recovery was easy, especially in comparison to my others boys. I was up walking around that evening. This turned out to be a huge blessing; Matt's mom, who was watching Finn and Jonas, had not been feeling well. Since she is a warrior, she watched them without complaining. Yet we knew at that time that something more was going on. So Matt made himself more available to help her with the big boys, and I bonded with Ezra. 

From the moment I got home, I was able to dive right in and keep things running. The adjustment to having three kids was fairly smooth, simply because I felt fine for the most part. 

Ezra became and remained my sweet cuddle bug; he loved to be held. It was difficult to put him down sometimes! 

I look back at the past year and everything that God has seen us through. There are many sweet memories, and many painful ones. Ezra came into this complicated world in an uncomplicated way. His name means "Help" and he is a reminder that God always gives us the help we need when we need it. He is a reminder, always, of God's faithfulness and goodness. 

Job and Moses and a baby named Ezra

I've been re-reading the story of Job the last couple of weeks. I remember when I first read that book of the Bible - back in high school - I totally misunderstood it.

In my high school Bible, emblazoned with my name on the bottom right corner of course, I underlined quote after quote spoken by Job's "friends". They were touting the faithfulness and splendor of God, after all.

I didn't underline much of what Job said at that time. To me, what he said bordered on blasphemous, openly questioning God and opining his own faithfulness to God. It wasn't until Bible college when I better grasped the book of Job as a whole.

Job didn't handle things perfectly for sure, and God takes care of that in the last couple of chapters. But God is more upset with Job's friends for their passionless rhetoric about His ways. They are spouting off quotes they have learned about God, but not even once seeking to understand the whole situation. They are giving Job advice that he never sought or desired, and their compassion for the depth of their friend's woes is heartbreakingly absent.

In Job 6:25-27 he states, "Honest words never hurt anyone, but what's the point of all this pious bluster? You pretend to tell me what's wrong with my life, but treat my words of anguish as so much hot air. Are people mere things to you? Are friends just items of profit and loss?"

These are the kinds of friends that it is tough to have in a crisis. They pronounce rote declarations over you, never taking the time to listen to your heart.

Then there are the types of friends that Moses had in Exodus 17:8-13. There is a battle waging between the Israelites and the Amalekites. Moses goes to the top of a nearby hill with his infamous staff. As Joshua leads the soldiers in battle, Moses wages his own type of battle from his spot on the hill. As he holds his arms up over the armies, the Israelites gain victory. But as soon as he puts his arms down, they immediately begin losing. What's a guy with two sore arms to do?!

Verse 12-13 tells us, "When Moses' hands grew tired, they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it. Aaron and Hur held his hands up - one of one side, one on the other - so that his hands remained steady until sunset. So Joshua overcame the Amalekite army with the sword."

These are the types of friends that are wonderful to have in a crisis. When your arms get tired of fighting but the battle is not yet over, they surround you, they support you, they lift you up when you are too weak to do it yourself.

A crisis is a perfect opportunity to decipher whether you have Job friends or Moses friends. 

You guys, if you're reading this, you have been Moses friends to us. If you commented to us or messaged us, if you texted words of encouragement, if you listened to our tears, if you lifted your hearts in prayer for us, if you gave us some of your time so that we had a fun distraction, you are indeed a Moses friend.

I can't tell you enough how amazingly supported and lifted up we felt during this past week. We felt buoyed by the prayers of others. Anxiety over the possibilities was not allowed entrance into our minds because of the prayer battle waged for us. We felt surrounded, understood, and most of all....loved.

Thank you. From the most sincere and authentic place in my heart, thank you.

Now for the good news :) .

We had our appointment this morning with the genetic counselor and an ultrasound to get a closer look at Ezra. Our genetic counselor was wonderful. She was full of positivity and calm confidence.

We went into our ultrasound and for about 45 minutes, the tech measured, checked, and double-checked any areas of concern. We were still in the dark during this time obviously, as techs are not allowed to discuss the details.

Then Dr. McNamara entered. From the moment he entered, I felt a kindness and compassion radiate from him. The simple way he looked at us, I could tell that he cared for us although he barely knew us. Matt stated afterward that God had again fulfilled the "good, good father" vision in Dr. McNamara. That's how secure he helped us to feel.

He showed us on ultrasound again the specific things they were looking for indicators of chromosomal abnormalities, specifically the hands, the heart, and the umbilical cord. Everything looked great! So great, in fact, that he advised against the further genetic testing that had been offered. In his words, "It's not needed. Your baby looks great."

In short, the cyst is still there, in the part of the brain that exchanges fluid with the spinal cord. It's something that simply happens sometimes, and when they are isolated (like ours) with no other indicators of abnormality (like ours), they tend to go away on their own by 28 weeks gestation. We will have one more ultrasound at that point to make sure things look good and that baby is on schedule.

Your words of kindness, support, love, and understanding have been used by God to bring us through the last week. I wish I could tell each of you individually how your prayers got us through. Please know how valued and valuable they each were. The waiting was by far the toughest part, and it was in the not knowing that God used you all to lift up our arms as we got tired.

Speaking of which, my brain and body are tired so I will sign off with this: a precious baby smirk to remind us that all is well!

It's A.....(gender reveal)

So you're pregnant with your 3rd baby?

The questions immediately start rolling in, and the most notorious is definitely:

"So, do you have any preference whether it is a boy or a girl?"

I am a terrible liar. Every single thing I feel shows up all over my face, so I don't even bother trying to pull one over on people. I answer:

"I would absolutely love a daughter. I've always wanted a daughter!!"

No shame about coming right out and saying it, no use giving the PC answer. God knows the desires of my heart and I really don't feel badly about stating them out loud.

To be supremely honest, I wanted a daughter when we were pregnant with Finn. I wanted a daughter when we were pregnant with Jonas.

I wanted to buy sweet dresses and bows. I wanted to play Barbies and dolls in lieu of trucks and trains. I wanted a daughter I could be so close with as she grew older and I could walk her through her complicated emotions and absurd hormones. I wanted a daughter that when she's young is content to sit in my lap rather than run around exerting energy like my big boys, and when she's older could sit and have long, deep conversations with me. I am fairly certain that I do not desire to be pregnant again, therefore this is our final chance!!

There were 3 separate people that spoke into us that we were having a girl.

I felt like God laid a name for a daughter on my heart.

Yet......it's a boy!

Let me say 100% honestly up front that as I was looking at that sweet boy today on ultrasound, I felt nothing but complete love for him. I am already aching to hold him in my arms. He is so amazing and I cherish every single kick that I feel him give me.

Even though with Finn and Jonas I began the pregnancy desiring daughters, something always switched in my heart before the ultrasound. I peacefully was ready to hear the ultrasound tech say "It's a boy!" Because of that, there was never a shred of disappointment. In His mercy, He prepared me.

Today was not quite like that. I really expected the opposite report. And we all know how expectations can complicate things!

I write this all as a way of processing...maybe it's a mistake to write it all down when my emotions are so raw. But again, I figure in the days to come it's going to be making it's way around anyway, and there's me with my face that gives my heart away. So I lay it all out here.

The disappointment is real. I don't think that our disappointments surprise God or mar His love for us.

I truly believe He gets it. He understands layers deeper than anything I ever could.

And this is just one day on the journey of 1,000 steps. It may take awhile to work it all out. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:

He knows exactly what we need. He knows exactly what He's doing. He is ever faithful and always so, so good. He loves me and cares about the fact that my heart is a little broken today at what seems like the death of a long-held hope and desire. I can say with absolute certainty that I trust His will; this disappointment is only for a day and I know that one day I will see His absolute gracious provision in blessing us with 3 amazing, astounding boys.

One day. Today is for processing and embracing His perfect plan.

I remember my sophomore year of college when I was dating a guy who I thought was the whole package. When he broke up with me, I remember feeling so devastated and embarrassed that I literally hid out in my dorm room for two days. I was not prepared to talk about it at all, even with my best friend and roommate. It was the end of a hope and desire then, too.

And now, at 13 years past that experience, I wish I could go back and whisper in 20 year old Gretchen's ear: "It's okay. This is more than okay. It is a victory and a gift that this relationship ended. God has so much more ahead for you. Let this hope die and accept and trust the heart of your Father who works all things for good. There is a new hope ahead that will kick this hope's butt. Trust and take His hand!"

I cling to that today as I accept what looks to be the ending of this hope for a daughter. I am letting go of my desires in order to better hold onto what God has ahead for me. Somehow, I think future-Gretchen wishes she could whisper to me of all of the wonderful things that God has on this journey ahead.

Stubborn Choice

So, I wish that I could say that since my last blog, I have been living in total victory over discouragement.

In all actuality, the opposite is probably true. Life has not magically gotten easier. I didn't crack the code of some long kept ancient secret to never being discouraged.

Days are still hard and it is still a daily battle and it truly takes a stubborn choice sometimes to NOT be discouraged.

Over the weekend, I had the most annoying strain of stomach virus. I use the word annoying because it made me feel just sick enough: my body was achy and sick, but my mind was jetting around inside of my head, trying to beckon me to do the enormous list of things I knew needed to be done.

Talk about frustration. I can't turn my brain off and I can't find my body's on switch. I felt helpless and hopeless and just so very, very sad. Maybe a little sorry for myself. It was the 4th time I have been sick during this pregnancy, other than the standard nausea and exhaustion, and I was just so very done.

The last time I remember feeling this way was right after Jonas was born. I was so eager to get up and get moving and conquer the world of mothering two sweet boys.

I just couldn't.

The postpartum period was rough with Jonas because of the physical effects of the labor. While my mind was aching to use my "I'm a mother of TWO" anxiety to get active and prove to everyone (to myself) that I could do this, my body just simply would not cooperate.

I could barely walk. I could barely sit.

I could lay pretty well though, so there's that.

I had to accept others' help, rather than prove to everyone (to myself) that I could successfully mother two boys.

It was frustrating, but it was a phase.

So I try to keep that in mind as I feel like I deal with one sickness after another, one nauseous day after another, one lousy night of sleep after another.

It is frustrating, but it is a phase.

In the midst of dealing with all of these physical symptoms, I am clearly feeling some mental anxiety about having a third child. I am nervous. I don't feel like the natural mothering type and I am very hard on myself and I compare myself to others who do it so much better and I spin myself into circles and then into knots.

I so badly want to be amazing at this but so often do not feel like I am.

I want to prove to everyone (to myself) that I am a good mother.

Then yesterday morning I read it.

"If you're a hard worker and do a good job, you deserve your pay; we don't call your wages a gift. But if you see that the job is too big for you, that it's something only God can do, and you trust him to do it - you could never do it for yourself no matter how hard and long you worked - well, that trusting-him-to-do-it is what gets you set right with God, by God. Sheer gift." Romans 4:4-5 MSG

In that moment, I was blissfully reminded that I cannot do it "all", nor am I expected to.

When mothering feels overwhelming to me and I feel so far less than excellent at it, I remember the help that is at my right hand by calling on God. My Deliverer, my Helper, the God Who sees me.

It honestly brings a sigh of relief to my exhausted body when I bask in the reality of His help. I know it not just as something that I read about in His Word, but as something that is true and lasting and comes right when I need it. I've called out for His help in a moment of despair or confusion and felt the immediate lightening of my problem.

I state here and now that I am not a perfect mother by my own abilities. I am far too often overwhelmed by all that I feel needs to be done and yet underwhelmed by what I feel are my own abilities.

But when I call on God and trust Him to act, I have all the help I will ever need. 

Breathe. Relax. Trust.

A Common Plague

I'm just going to come right out and say it: I've been fighting discouragement.

Discouragement is a common plague, a nearly daily deluge of bad news sent to make us feel that our circumstances are unconquerable, impenetrable, and fantastically beyond our ability to deal.

Lately, my source of discouragement has been parenting. This pregnancy has zapped me of so much energy, that I have to physically fight myself off the couch multiple times a day. I wipe little butts and feed faces and keep everything else fairly picked up, but when it comes to going above and beyond that, it has been a battle. At times, I can almost feel an invisible hand holding me down in my seated (or lying down) position, like a magnet planting me to the couch. This week I've just been down; I was finally getting an iota of energy back, and then I got a cold so I still feel blah and lousy. I just want to feel normal, like myself, again.

I'm tired. And nauseous - I just don't feel good. But I know I do not have it that bad really, so I mentally challenge myself to not complain.

However, in my heart, I feel down and easily discouraged. I hear thoughts prance through my brain:

"Your house is tiny, how is it that hard to keep clean?"
"How will you possibly have energy to take care of another child?"
"You are going to be tired and overwhelmed forever"

We have been talking about discouragement for the past few weeks in the young women's group I lead at our church on Wednesday nights. The unique thing to me about this topic is that, unlike many of the other issues we have discussed (fear, insecurity, shame), this one admittedly affects US ALL.

Let's be honest - it doesn't take much to get discouraged. Sometimes it only takes one small mishap or misstep. Sometimes we get discouraged when we are overwhelmed - we feel like there is no way we can possibly do everything being asked of us. Sometimes we get discouraged when we're bored - we feel like there's no greater purpose or calling for us. Sometimes discouragement comes from being disappointed by other people, and sometimes is materializes from within ourselves.

Discouragement leads us to ask ourselves, "What I'm doing is not working, so what's the point?"

A couple of weeks ago I was pondering discouragement in order to prepare for group. My mind wandered a bit to the human video drama that we had done in church a couple of days before. I thought about several of the really nice comments that I heard from people and was encouraged. But there was a part of me that was a little baffled, because when I create and do human videos, my head tends to tell me, "Gretchen, you're just putting random movements to music. What's so special about that?"

I have acknowledged for years that the movements certainly aren't special because I create them. They are special when, and only when, God works through them.

Without God, they are simple movements. With God, they are anointed and point people to Him.

And it was then that a thought hit me - discouragement occurs when we neglect to factor God into the situation.

When I look at the human videos I have created, it is easy to feel critical and doubtful that they will be any good at all. Even ones that I have done numerous times, I find myself praying for God to use it again, because if He doesn't it will look like a 3rd grader creating a dance to an Amy Grant song (which I maybe used to do).

Likewise, when I feel exhausted and blah and nauseous, it is easy to feel like I will never feel normal again. But when I intentionally look to God, I am able to remember that He has promised to give me the strength I need for each day. I remember that He has blessed this pregnancy and He will give me the grace I need to parent three children. He will meet me where I need Him, every time.

I had kind of a fun exercise looking at places where I get easily discouraged to see if this was true across the board - that discouragement happens when we neglect to factor in God. And sure enough, each of my discouragement triggers were all about my own lack:

 - As a mother, I get discouraged by feeling like I daily fail my boys. But when I factor God in, I am reminded that I am the exact mama that my boys need and though I am far from perfect, I am present and engaged and loving. What I lack in calm demeanor, I make up for with effusive love.

 - As a singer, I get discouraged by feeling like my voice is not strong or controlled enough. But when I factor God in, I am reminded that His glory is all that matters and I have nothing to prove. I am a vessel to display Him, and there's nothing I love more than displaying Him.

 - As a wife, I get discouraged by feeling relationally needy or exhaustedly removed (sometimes at the exact same time!!). But when I factor God in, I am reminded that He has given me everything I need to be a good wife and I just need to be obedient. I need to engage, support, and love my husband well, and that may look different in different seasons. God has also given me a patient husband, who responds so beautifully to me when I am honest about how I am feeling.

These are things to be thankful for and encouraged by, not burdens by which to be brought low.

The list goes on and on, truly. The things that discourage me about being a counselor, or a leader of Bible studies, or a friend.....they all completely transform when I factor in God and His wondrously true promises. If discouragement happens when I am focusing on my lack and everything I don't have to conquer the looming mountains ahead of me, then certainly focusing on the abundance of the Lord corrects my perspective.

There was a sermon I heard awhile ago that centered on the story of David and Goliath. There was one very cool realization from it that has stuck with me still. The Israelite army were utterly discouraged and defeated by the presence of this 9 foot tall giant that was taunting them. They had no will or drive to fight the Philistine beast. But David was different. He did not focus on how big the giant was or how small and young he himself was. He was focused on God. When the giant shouted out his taunts one more time, David shouted back:
"You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the Lord Almighty, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied...All those gathered here will know that it is not by sword or spear that the Lord saves; for the battle is the Lord's and he will give all of you into our hands." - 1 Samuel 17: 45, 47

Though the threats against us loom large and can easily discourage, sometimes we just have to shout back at them about all that God has promised us in His Word. We are more than conquerors indeed (Romans 8:37). You've got to know His Word to speak His words. Read, memorize, and yes, actually speak them out loud!

Finn is getting to the age when he loves picking flowers for me. He recently picked me a bouquet of dandelions - "They're yellow! My favorite!!". I placed them on the counter so I could look at them and let him know how much I appreciated his thoughtfulness. However, the next day, he saw them there and was bewildered when he saw the flowers (weeds?) wilting. He was a little sad about it, so I had to explain that the flowers died because they were plucked from their life source. This was a brilliant illustration to me that all things die when they are plucked from their life source. When we picture a world without God factored in, of course we get discouraged. This world is all kinds of mess. But when we factor Him in, or rather, when we center our lack and our resources around Him, we are connected to the Life Source from which we have everything that we need.

Discouragement is simply writing God out of the equation. So next time you feel discouraged, write Him back in. Even better, write everything else around HIM! Remember that He formed you and loves you and is with you. Speak His promises over your situation and see if you aren't immediately encouraged.

Jonas' Birth Story

When Finn turned 1, I wrote down his birth story as a way of commemorating. I thought it would be fun to do the same for Jonas Rips. Two very different stories, two very different boys!

Even my pregnancy with Jonas was very different. Finn's was tough, a struggle through the entire third trimester.

Jonas was easy to have in my belly. It may have helped that I was finishing my graduate degree and completing my internship, so my mind was often focused on other things and I wasn't allowed to dwell on the fact that I was pregnant.

By the time I sat through a 3 hour graduation ceremony praying that I wouldn't need to pee, I only had a handful of weeks left to be pregnant.

The last couple weeks of pregnancy, my sister and her boys were in town. We spent those days keeping busy with them. Finn enjoys running around with his cousins more than just about anything, so we pooled it and parked it to our hearts content.

Jonas' birthdate was projected to be June 24th. About June 17th, I started having some irregular contractions and knew the time was getting close. Since Finn's delivery had been such an expected surprise (emergency c-section), I was very hopeful to have a successful VBAC: counting contractions, labor, pushing, the whole shebang.

On the evening of June 20th, my sister and I planned to have a sister date night. We rented a cheesy movie, and carefully picked out our favorite junk foods to enjoy along with the movie. As we were walking around Lewis Drug shopping for these things, I kept having random pains in my lower gut. They weren't truly consistent yet, though.

We went back to my house, ate, and vegged to our cheesy chick flick. As the movie was on, I remember starting to time those random pains because they suddenly weren't feeling so random anymore. Some were about 7 minutes apart, some 11 minutes, some even 20 minutes apart. My hope was starting to kick in that THIS. WAS. IT!

When my sister left that evening, I rolled into bed with Matt and hoped that the anticipation would allow me some sleep. It did…kinda sorta…but not really.

I fell asleep on and off for about 4 hours, waking periodically to the tightening in my stomach. I began keeping mental track of how often the contractions were occurring. Just before 4 a.m., I moved out to the couch so I could more officially count how far apart my contractions were and how long they lasted.

At that point, my contractions were consistently 10ish minutes apart and lasting about a minute each. I knew that things were kicking into gear!! When Matt woke up about 7:30, I told him, "I think this is the day!"

He was much calmer this second time around, maybe because he knew we had time as we watched my contractions. Finn played and Matt packed a hospital bag, and I laid on the couch and continued to count my strengthening contractions. I called my OB/GYN to let her know labor was beginning and she asked me how far apart my contractions were.

When I told her they were about 5 minutes apart, she basically told me to get my big ole prego booty to the hospital. At this point, I was having to brace myself through some of the contractions and wasn't always able to keep moving during them. At this point, I still thought the whole "counting contractions" adventure was…….fun!

What was NOT fun was riding in a car while contracting. Before heading to the hospital, we had to drive across town to take Finn to my mom's house. By the time we made it to the hospital, I was getting a little nervous. We had been to the hospital a couple days earlier for a false alarm. The one thing I knew was that I did not want to get sent home again. I prayed and prayed that after these hours of contracting, that I would be dilated.

And I was!! To a 3!!

At this point, I was still relishing the excitement of it all. I loved being able to count my contractions and enjoy the anticipation. Although I had been up most of the night, I was not tired. I felt invigorated. Because Finn's emergency birth had been such a quick surprise in every way, the gradual building of this birth was beautiful and I was enjoying every moment.

We got checked into our room and settled in a bit. My mom arrived, and took her place beside me as resident hand squishier; her hand took a serious beating that day. For another hour or two, I labored the old-fashioned way. Contraction: pain. Break: rest.

This was when my exhaustion started creeping in. That, coupled with the fact that I hadn't eaten anything since dinner the night before (about 18 hours previously), meant that my body and my mind were tired. Just when I was reaching the point where I was about to scream through my next contraction, a lovely man entered the room. A lovely, lovely man named an anesthesiologist came into the room carrying a pretty, pretty needle.

It took about 5 minutes for my epidural drip to kick in, but even then it was only working on about half of my body. The other half still….well….hurt. After a few physical adjustments, the pretty, pretty needle's job was officially done.

I was able to get the rest and physical replenishment I needed. For the next couple of hours, I laid and watched "Wreck It Ralph" with my husband and my mom. I may have gotten a couple of brief naps.

Finally, at about 6:15, the nurse came in and said that I could begin pushing. I had briefly met the on-call OB, but from my understanding she wouldn't be present again until the big shebang. So like a good girl, I pushed when they told me to push and laid back to rest when I could. Because of the epidural's constant drip, it wasn't painful and I couldn't feel the contractions. As the time got closer, however, I could feel the baby moving downward inside of me. It was crazy awesome.

This is the part of the story that goes off the rails a little bit. According to the nurse, Jonas was beginning to crown. She still had me pushing. Little did she know, the OB was not currently available as she was assisting with two other births at the exact same time. But I pushed because she told me to push.

However, then Jonas obliged and he began to emerge. The nurse freaked out a bit and tried to hold him in with her hand. Seriously. She blocked a baby from being born. What?!?! After a few weird moments, she realized there was no option to wait for the OB and she delivered my sweet Jonas Rips. He was beautiful and perfect and so so amazing. He was mine and he was here!!!

THIS is the part of the story where the details get a little gory. This is your fair warning.

Yes, my baby boy was here and he was healthy. I still had my epidural drip in so I was not feeling anything yet. However, I was still in stirrup city. Several nurses shuffled in and out and each one took a concerned look at…..that area. When the midwife came in to check me over, I think she sat and stared at…that area….for a few minutes with a concerned look on her face. Finally someone communicated to me that I had torn fairly badly. Jonas had apparently had his arm up over his eyes during birth and it created one big ouchie. Well, at least I couldn't feel it, right?!

After a brief examination and more concerned looks, the midwife informed me that she didn't feel qualified to stitch a tear of that magnitude. Because of that, I had to wait for the OB. The OB that hadn't delivered my baby and who I still hadn't even seen since our first meeting. Since the nurse thought that the doctor would be coming in shortly, she turned off my epidural drip.

From that moment forward, I moved my feet at least once a minute, trying to see if I was gaining any more feeling back on my bottom half. I was petrified that I would regain feeling in my lower half before the doctor came to stitch me back up.

I waited and waited….moving my feet…still in stirrup city. I was still exposed to anyone who walked in the room. I was shaking due to the physical shock and loss of blood. After about half an hour, my mom got MAD. She started muttering that she had never seen anything like this and asked for a blanket for me at least. After being briefly denied, they finally covered me up a bit. I laid there with my anxiety building that the epidural would wear off.

About 1 hour and ten minutes after Jonas was born, the OB finally made her way to my room, frantic and stressed. It took her about 45 minutes to stitch me up and while she stitched, she actually opened up to me about her rough night and how stressed she had been. I had compassion on her for sure…she couldn't help that 3 women had gone into labor at the same time. I was just tired and so desperately wanted her to be done so that I could snuggle with my baby and welcome family in to meet him.

She finished and scooted off to her next duty. Lastly, the nurse on duty told me that I needed to use the bathroom before they could move me to my maternity room. I shuffled along beside her and sat on the toilet. Suddenly, I began feeling very light-headed. Having fainted before, I knew the symptoms and told her that I thought I was going to faint. She had me hang my head upside down.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up blurry-eyed back in my bed. I had fainted, due to the blood loss and lack of food in my system.

Could I seriously just hold my baby now, please?

Finally finally finally, I got to just hold my sweet boy and welcome other family members in. My stepdad brought me McDonald's and it was maybe one of the best meals of my life.

Finn met his baby brother and was so very sweet to him. That was a moment that I will never forget. Suddenly, Finny Matt seemed SO BIG, as though he had grown immensely in the few hours since we had last seen him.

There were still some bumps in the road during the remainder of our stay at Sanford. Although I did have one excellent  nurse that made me feel taken care of for the first time. I suddenly had a new realization for the vital importance of a nurse's job. I knew what having a poor nurse felt like, and I knew what having a fabulous nurse felt like. Nurses - please know: your job is so, so important and valuable!

Full recovery from labor took a good month. It was probably 3 months before I didn't feel any pain. But I had such a wonderful support system that stepped in just when they were needed and stepped back out the moment they knew I was ready.

Yes, I have two boys with two very different birth stories. Both stories involve some dramatic moments and lengthy recovery, but each time I received an amazingly precious gift to hold in my arms.

Sign me up for #3! Are you ready, Matthew?!

Pregnancy Weight Loss, Schmegnancy Schmeight Schmoss

This isn't really easy for me to write about. However, my purpose with having a blog was to sort out the spasms of my mind and so I suppose that writing it all down is worthy of a shot.

Having a baby changed my body, and not in a good way! Before I go any further, I must stress that everything was absolutely worth it and I wouldn't change a thing!!! Finn is my answered prayer.

Onward.

For the first few months of my pregnancy, I remember thinking that I could really get used to being pregnant! I had dealt with some nausea but not much and I was having fun working on building my belly and experimenting with maternity fashion. Somewhere around the beginning of my third trimester, that all changed.

It started small.....and at the risk of sounding shallow, I started to realize that it had been awhile since someone had told me that I looked pretty or that I was such a cute pregnant lady. This didn't seem like such a big deal to me at the time and I would most often shrug off those feelings. After all, I didn't feel so different when I looked in the mirror.

But then I would see pictures of myself and would be in shock of how large I looked in the photo. People would comment to me on how I looked so much further along than I really was. People told me that I looked miserable and swollen. I didn't feel any of those things. And then someone just flat out said that I looked fat.

So I cried.

But because I had a valiant young man by my side still telling me that I was beautiful to him, I got over that too.

(Pictures of me at 8 months that I swore no one would ever see. This is what I call "making peace"!

Looking back, I suppose that there was a big part of me that hoped/believed that the moment I walked out of the hospital after giving birth, I would be considerably slimmer. Even possibly thin again.

As it turned out.................not so much.

Now, I have lost weight over the last six and a half months since Finn was born, just not as quickly or drastically as I had hoped. The hard-to-swallow fact is that I still have a good 10 pounds to go - at least. And these aren't just any 10 pounds. These are stubborn little suckers.

To shift gears just a tad, I am slowly beginning to realize that if I want to be pleased with the way I look, the time has come to eat like a grown-up.

Most people who know me, even on a surface-level, know that I do not have the best eating habits. Through the last 10 years of my adult life, my diet has consisted heavily of Totino's frozen pizza, pizza rolls, bagels with peanut butter, something sweet after every meal, and lots of Diet Coke. Zero water. Zero vegetables. Almost zero fruit (unless it was strawberries with sugar on top). This did change substantially when I got pregnant but I do not believe that the change was dramatic enough.

Writing all of this down and the utter truth of it feels a little laughable. But I also just feel ashamed.

For a lot of the last few years I have blamed my poor eating habits on my mom. After all, she was the one who let me eat french fries with a chocolate malt chaser for many meals.

I also claimed that I just didn't know how to eat healthier. I didn't know how to prepare well-rounded meals or what had the nutrients I needed or what to buy.

But I am realizing that these have been crutches for me to lean upon and I have grown tired of excuses.

Sound the alarm! Break out the marching band! Anyone have any balloons??!

Gretchen is changing the way she eats. For good.

The other day at Target, I bought peas and green beans. This was truly a momentous occasion. Now I just have to eat them :).

In all seriousness, I am changing the way I eat for many reasons. To be healthy. To not be unhealthy. To get my body better prepared for another pregnancy. And yes, to lose weight.

I am also coming to finally admit that being healthy and taking care of our bodies is important to God. Over the years, this has been a Biblical principle that I have glossed over carelessly and chose to not apply to my life.
"Learn to appreciate and give dignity to your body, not abusing it, as is so common among those who know nothing of God" (1 Thessalonians 4:4 MSG)

And I admit that I am still learning - there is still a whole uncharted (by me) world out there of eating healthy. If anyone has any tips or tricks, I welcome them!

And please - be gentle with the pregnant women you know. Tell them they look beautiful and by all means, never ever ever in a gazillion years ever tell them that they look fat. They have enough going on without dealing with others' insensitivity. This is spoken from one who knows :).

Grace

The other night Matt and I were laying on the floor with Finn and doing devotions together. We have this thing where one of us will read from the Bible and the other will pray. I think we both prefer the reading out loud part, so it is the best way to keep it fair :). It was my turn to read and as I did, Finn was talking and jabbering on like crazy. When I stopped to laugh at him, he would just smile away. Then I would begin reading again and his jabbering continued. It was then Matt's turn to pray and as soon as he started talking, Finn joined right in and cooed in time with his daddy. It was adorable and one of those moments when I was able to just pause and think, "Wow, life is good".

Life is good because of God's blessings, plain and simple. I am blown away sometimes at his graciousness to me and the many ways that He shows me He loves me.

When I was pregnant with Finn, I had a list of things that I prayed for every day. Obviously I prayed for a healthy pregnancy and a healthy baby. But there were a couple things I prayed for that were a little less generic.

For most of my last trimester, I dealt with some early signs of preeclampsia. I had high blood pressure (sometimes ridiculously so) and lots and lots of swelling (ugggggghhh). I knew how dangerous preeclampsia could be, so from the moment those symptoms popped up, I prayed that I would not be diagnosed with it. Even though there were a couple of scares with my high blood pressure, each time the doctor assured me that I did not have preeclampsia. This continued until the day that Finn was born. While we were still in the hospital after his birth, the on call doctor came in to check on me and she informed me that it was a wonderful thing that my water had broken when it did because my test results taken that night showed positive for the beginning stages of preeclampsia. Basically, if my water hadn't broken when it did, my pregnancy and delivery could have become much more complicated and dangerous. I believe fully that this was an answer to prayer.

The second thing that I prayed for was a little more personal. I really wanted the experience of going into labor on my own. I knew a lot of friends and family that had to be induced for various reasons and I simply had a strong desire to go into labor on my own. The excitement of labor just starting out of nowhere was too much for this drama queen to want to pass up :). Ironically, it was the day that we made the appointment for our induction that my water broke. My doctor thought that I was crazy for not scheduling the induction sooner because my swelling was so out of control, but I clung to hope that Finners would come on his own. And come he did, later that night!

I guess I shared all this just as a personal testament to God's goodness. I am well aware that He did not have to answer these meager requests but He did because, for whatever reason, He loves me and thereby He loves to bless me. Isaiah 30:18 says that "God longs to be gracious to you". He delights in showing His love - to all of us, in ways that we don't even see all the time.

Now that Finn is here (in my arms drifting off to sleep as I type!) I am reminded of God's love and graciousness much more often. And I look forward to Finn interrupting a thousand more family devotions with his cooing, laughing, talking, questions, input, and all-around sweetness!

February 27

Today's date hit me as I was getting ready this morning. It is February 28, which made yesterday February 27 (yeah...duh). Throughout this past year, February 27 has been an important date for me because it was the date by which I measured my due date with Finn. For those who don't know, your due date is typically measured 40 weeks out by the day that you got your last period (sorry fellas).

And so I started thinking about last year's February 27. I remember that I was at Menards with my husband and his parents and I just knew. I knew that the monthly monster had come; that meant that yet another month had gone by without us getting pregnant. I recall trying to make myself feel better by reminding myself that it can take many healthy couples up to a year to get pregnant and that we had only been trying for a couple of months. However, in the back of my mind I couldn't help but feel like a failure. My sister and her husband had been blessed to get pregnant immediately every single time that they tried. A couple of my best friends had gotten pregnant without even technically trying. Comparing myself with them made me feel like an ugly duckling to God. Comparing can be so dangerous!

I allowed myself to live with anxiety during those few months of trying. While I would try to think hopeful thoughts of getting pregnant, I often dwelt in negativity. Did God not want me to get pregnant because He didn't think I would be a good mother? That made sense - I would spend time thinking about every one of my negative qualities and use them as reasons why I wouldn't make a good mother. I would jump to the worst case scenario - what if we never got pregnant? Matt wanted to be a father more than anything else in the world - what if I could never give that to him? Could he still love me? Despite his frequent reassurances I found myself fighting off these dark clouds that lurked around every attempt at positive thinking. For every hopeful thought there were 5 negative ones. And so February 27 was not a great day for me at the time. If I had only known.

Of course, God doesn't really work that way - in our knowing. He works in our faith. He doesn't give us the whole picture because if He did there would be no reason to put our faith in Him to trust Him to take care of us. Rather He guides us one step at a time; the more we trust that He loves us and will take care of us, the less anxious we will feel. I guess that was my problem - I didn't allow myself to feel loved by or cared for by God. I didn't trust that He would bring me good things because I didn't feel that I deserved them. I found more comfort in picking myself apart and finding reasons why He wouldn't want to bless me with a child than believing that He loved me enough to make me a good mother despite my faults.

February 27. About one month later I had the incredible blessing to be able to take a pregnancy test and have it be positive. Therefore, looking back on February 27 and its sadness, I am able to see in retrospect that that day was just a hurdle to get over. What I had thought was a miserable day of disappointment, God had turned to be a marker for Finn's birth. What I had taken as failure, God turned around for good. While I had hated that day at the time, I now love February 27.

I wish I could say that once I took that positive pregnancy test that all anxiety flew out the window and I pranced my way carefree to the day my son was born. I definitely still felt anxious sometimes but I was determined to not waste my pregnancy with negative thoughts. Therefore, every time I would wonder about the possibility of miscarrying or of him having some genetic defect or of something going wrong during delivery, I would acknowledge these fears to God. And then? Then I would choose to be thankful. When I would worry about miscarriage, I would thank God that He had allowed me to carry and be a mother to that child for as long as possible. When I worried about our son having something wrong with him, I thanked God for the overcoming love that was already in me for my baby and prayed for the strength to bear any bad news. When I had anxious thoughts about something going wrong during delivery, I thanked God that I had gotten to spend so many months already with my baby and focused on spending energy on praying for a safe delivery instead of on worrying.

It wasn't always easy and the anxiety didn't always disappear right away, but as I continued to give thanks, God spoke peace to my heart every single time. As I thanked Him and kept my eyes on Him, He allowed me to believe that everything would be fine with my baby. I guess that what I learned through all of that time (and what I am still learning) is that thankfulness is a great deterrent for anxiety. Anxiety can momentarily steal our peace of mind but it cannot take away our gratitude for what God has already done. Thankfulness and gratefulness are effective antidotes to worst case scenario thinking. From someone who has spent far too much time dwelling on those worst case scenarios, trust me :).

For those who don't trust me (I'll get over it), trust David. He frequently struggled with thoughts of doom and gloom and he found renewed strength in thanking and praising God and remembering God's faithfulness. There are many psalms that  can attest to this; I like the way David sums it up it Psalm 13:

"Long enough, God - You've ignored me long enough. I've looked at the back of Your head long enough. Long enough I've carried this ton of trouble, lived with a stomach full of pain. Long enough my arrogant enemies have looked down their noses at me. Take a good look at me, God, my God; I want to look life in the eye, so no enemy can get the best of me or laugh when I fall on my face. I've thrown myself headlong into your arms-I'm celebrating Your rescue. I'm singing at the top of my lungs, I'm so full of answered prayers" (this version is the Message; NIV is also great).

I like this one because David goes from frustration to praise is such a short amount of time. He feels unheard and I perceive his "stomach full of pain" as anxiety - especially if you read the NIV too. Anyone who has ever dealt with anxiety knows how it can make you sick to your stomach. Then David trusts that God has heard him - he believes he will be rescued in this situation because he is focusing on all of his answered prayers, all of the times God has answered him before. Thankfulness for answered prayers brings renewed faith that God has heard and will be gracious again! Amazingness!

Okay, phew, this post is waaaaay longer than I originally intended. In fact, it evolved into something I wasn't even thinking about when I sat down and began typing. I tend to spew a bit at the keyboard methinks! So I am stopping now before I go off on another rant...

Happy February 28th! I hope this is a great day for you but if it is craptastic I pray that God will turn it for something much greater - even if the greater isn't revealed until you look back on it! I leave you grateful that there is no 29th of February this year so we are one day closer to spring! Hallelujah!