Blueberry Picking

The phone rang and I answered.  My friend asked if we wanted to go berry picking and I said yes.

Tyler had left for Africa and Will and I were all alone. I truly have some of the best friends in the whole World, keeping me busy so that my mind would be off of being alone.

A few days later we were in a bus headed about 2 ½ hours away to a sweet little jewel of a farm, complete with blueberries, blackberries and catfish. Yes. I said Catfish. I’ll explain later.

We picked and picked until our hands were sore.

Until our children were sweating bullets.

Until our sunscreen wore just about off.

Until I thought I might pass out. From listening to Will cry. Because he was so hot.

Anyway. We had the best time ever picking the berry bushes clean then broke for lunch and headed down to a small pond filled with the ugliest catfish you've ever seen. Will sat and watched them for a good long time. Some of them came so close to the shore to get our fish food that they got stuck and had to use their bellies to scooch back off into the water.

We had a wonderful time and I got a half gallon of blueberries, (that my sweet friend Heather helped me pick :)Thanks, Heather!)

splashland

First time ever at a splash park and I wasn't sure what to expect. I thought we were going to the park, hence no swimsuit or towel. I borrowed a friend's 'little swimmers' diaper for Will and rubbed him down with her sunscreen. His onesie sagging at the bottom and arms held tight at his chest for balance, he was off and ready to discover "splashland".

The wind was whipping around like it was trying to blow every kite in the world off course. Picnic lunches and laughter were swirling amongst the strong winds. Babies napped in play tunnels and guacamole stuck to cheeks.

And I was there...with my camera. So glad I brought her along :)

egg'd

As a youth pastor's wife, you get used to the litany of schemes and attacks of the teenage variety...this, however is a first.


I saw them out of the corner of my eye. The car was light blue and she jumped out in a pair of skinny jeans and a green t-shirt. Her ponytail bounced with her step. 


"Uh-Oh," I thought, mainly because I had been cleaning all day and didn't want to go to the door in my pajamas.


DING-DONG! My doorbell just rang. Do I open it, or just ignore it and hope that they walk away???


I glanced at myself in the mirror and decided honesty was the best policy. Putting my best foot forward (the one with some toenail polish left on it), I stepped toward the front door and opened it cautiously.


No one there.


But WAIT! There IS a carton of eggs setting on my doormat! I heard of Milk-men but Egg-men?


I knelt down to pick up the carton with "You've been egged!!!! :)" written on the top.

Classy.


Although, I probably will not attempt to eat them, this was probably the nicest form of egging that we'll ever have to endure. Thanks girls. You've made my day...

Only the first day of Spring Break. I wonder what other torture I'll succumb to this week.

...even the lifeless ones

I've been trimming it ever-so-slightly, for about three months, just to keep it from taking over his face. He has the sweetest little strawberry curls anyone has ever seen. I love his hair. I prayed for his hair, even before I had ever met my husband, graduated high school, all the way since Kindergarten. 

"Please give me kids with  red curly hair," I prayed. Granted this might've come from my strange obsession with Anne of Green Gables but more than likely it was fate. 

I saw him, the first week of school. He was riding the same bus about 3 seats back on the left. Wearing a hat, he was already told was not okay. "He's a rebel," I thought. 

I kinda liked rebels.

I digress. I could see it gleaming out from underneath his forbidden ball cap. Red curls. Wiry and long. He had been told to get his hair cut. He thought he had, it still wasn't short enough but no matter, like I said, It was the first week of school.

Weeks went on and I kept seeing him, stalking him. Finally, my "friend" nonchalantly, asked him to sit beside us at lunch. And the rest is history.

He was mine and all I ever could ask more for would be children that looked just like him. I got it. He does. His red curls and all. The only thing I can say is that I'm so glad I bore him, or people might not believe that he was mine. Or so they say...

Well, he got all of those curls cut off yesterday. We hated to see them go, but knew at the same time that we had to do something about the monstrosity. As I knelt down onto the cold floor of the salon and picked up his lifeless curls I thought, "It's only the beginning." I wrapped it in foil and tucked it away in the diaper bag.

There are going to be many things I'd rather not do. I'd rather not see him do. I rather not think about. But there will be many, many more that I can't wait to see, hear, feel. Like the first time he says, "I love you, momma" or the first valentine he makes for me with his own hands.

I have two of the sweetest men in the whole world here, in my house. And am so grateful for them both, for their beautiful strands of strawberry, even the lifeless ones.

He really did well, as long as he was eating...

I love this one...I can almost here a funny frenchman's laugh here *augh haugh haugh haugh

 

"Aww! How sweet am I?"

Much Love, 

Tori

I love this kid, a year ago and today too...Remembering Will's first birthday party

Exhausted from the long day yesterday, I sit here and type out my remembrance of his day. His first birthday party. I wanted to soak it all in but instead all I could think of was if there was enough food, if everyone was enjoying themselves or if I was doing things too quickly or too slowly. Then there was the other thoughts, was my house clean enough, why didn't so and so come?

And then I think of all the good. The out of town sister-in-law that would've given her right arm to help in any way, the little man's face lighting up when he saw all of the people coming in, the best friends that DID come, Daddy in his pilgrim hat, lots of food and fun and good times with friends.

The party started at 2:00pm Saturday, the 20th of November, but the preparation started weeks before. The invitations were all handmade. Turkeys, Candy Corns, and Pilgrim Hats. A label with all of the party information was attached to the side of each invite with Raffia. The Cake was a giant cupcake! I saw this great giant cupcake pan at my mom's house when I went to visit her in October. I told her that it would be perfect for his party and she said she'd be happy to let me borrow it.

The Cupcakes were carrot cupcakes, regular size and minis with homemade white icing and topped with leaf paper punches in yellow, orange and brown.

The Treats were the cutest little Turkey Cookies that I snagged from Betty Crocker online! They'd be perfect for a Thanksgiving Day activity with older kids. My Mother-In-Law and I whipped up 39 of them in 3 hours two days before the party.

The Guests ages ranged from 2 1/2 weeks to 7 years. They played a game where they had to find "the turkey, potato and corn" (squeaky toys from Target) and they got the prize that was with it when they found it! (an Odessey cd or a Punch Balloon - who doesn't love a good punch balloon?)

All in all I think everyone had a good time. Maybe too good. Poor Will has been "getting" teeth for about 3 weeks now and it seems to have finally gotten to the worst. He hasn't slept a whole night through in 4 days. The last two nights, he has woken up 4 times! He's getting a little on the snotty side because of it and can't breathe when he lays down at night. So he drops his paci to breathe out of his mouth and then cries because he doesn't have his paci. It's. been. miserable. He woke this morning at 12am, back to sleep until 2:30, then asleep until 4am, went back to sleep and then woke up for good at 6:25am. He cried all morning and Tyler came in and said, "if you guys need to stay home from Church today it's ok."

Despite the permission to stay, we got up and started getting ready, only after 4 meltdowns and a total screamfest, we decided to forego church this morning. I tried.

We sat down in the living room and nursed him, he fell asleep. I couldn't quit looking at my little boy. My baby. My sweet little man with his red curls, all asleep in my arms. I love this kid, a year ago and today too.

The first birth {part 3}

This is part 3 of 'The first birth' story. You might want to read part 1 or part 2.

(cont.)
We finally made it to the hospital. Sixth Street and Rosedale at Harris Methodist Downtown has to be the bumpiest road in the world! I was dying in the backseat, or at least I sounded like I was. I was so mad at my husband, but, at the same time, totally understood that it was beyond his control. He pulled up to the door and I remember sitting in a wheelchair and being pushed into the tall building and feeling a little silly. I slid through the entrance and into admissions mooing like a cow. There I was met by what I thought was a man, Nancy told me later that it was in fact a woman. She put her hand on my belly and went on to let us know that we "should've been there hours ago." I was so annoyed by this, but decided I had more important things to do than argue with this ignoramus.


I kept my head down the entire time. From this point on, all I saw was feet. I was concentrating, focused, "in the zone."
 
Wheeled down the hallway at a moderate speed, I continued my long drawn out birth song. I'm sure all the people around me were quite amused, but I did not care. I remember doors to an elevator opening and then being pushed out into yet another hallway. At this point, I was sure that I would to have to be held at admissions and asked all kinds of silly questions but, thankfully it was not the case.
 
I zoomed into my hospital room #1 in the Labor and Delivery Unit. I can hear it in my head now, "The water birthing room, right?" asked the orderly who was wheeling me around, "Yes," answered my doula. Relief surged through me. "Thank You Lord, that no one else is birthing in that room tonight."
 
I was helped out of my wheelchair and up onto the bed. They strapped a Electronic Fetal Monitor onto my gargantuan stomach, and soon enough all of us heard the beautiful "thump...thump...thump" of my tiny man's heart.
 
Was seemed like a second or two passed, and I heard a sweet whispering in my ear, "Tori, would you like to get into the tub?" This was my Midwife, Lindsay Kragle. "YES!" was the rather quick response. I hopped off of that table and into the tub and soon as I possibly could.
 
It was like heaven, being in the water. My contractions were still powerful but the soothing warmness of the water helped ease them a bit. I stayed in the tub for awhile, although, it only seemed like moments to me. There I sat, moaning full force in that white plastic box. My sounds reverberating off of the walls. The floor made of tile and the empty walls magnifying every groan.
 
Every once in awhile, the little guy would wiggle all around during a contraction. I would grimace and say, "Oh no, please baby, don't move baby."
I would be coming down off of a mountain peak of intensity and he would move and I would start back up again. He wanted out. I wanted out.
 
I heard lots of whispering amongst those outside the bathroom. It had been Nancy and I for a little while. Then Tyler and Nancy. Then all three of us. Lindsay was in and out. After three hours in the tub, and me dilated to only a 5, Lindsay came to the side of the tub and said, "Tori, I think you might need to move out of the tub for a little while. You can come back later if you wish."
I moaned. I didn't want to move. Moving was scary, these contractions were scary, but I knew she was right.
 
They waited until my latest contraction eased and then lifted me out. As soon as I stood, I remember trembling with the intensity of another one. I clung to Tyler with all my might. My legs, like Jell-O, felt lifeless and weak. "Don't drop me!" I cried. "I won't drop you, I promise." But I felt insecure, so I sat on the toilet seat for a moment. I remember that after going to the bathroom, another strong contraction came. One of the strongest. Of all of them, they were the worst when I sat on the toilet seat. I moaned and my moaning climbed and peaked. On the verge of a scream, they patted my arm "It's OK, you're doing great, Tori." Nancy, "Those strong ones are bringing your baby down."
 
As soon as I could I stood and slowly made my way to the bed. And there I stood through a few more until I finally was able to climb up on top of the bed and sit. I was so tired. I had never been so tired in my entire life. In between contractions, my eyes would close and I would jerk back to reality with the tightening of the next one.
 
Not once, did I ever think, "I can't do this anymore. I need some relief." I did think, however, "I just wish I could sleep, for just a little while." But then my brain would kick in, "If you take something to rest, you'll have to do all of this again. Start over." And we all knew I wasn't going to do that.
 

 
I stood a few more times and climbed atop the bed a few times. My water still had not broken. I can see Lindsay's face in my mind, so I know that I must've looked up because she was saying something important.
 
Lindsay: "Tori, I would like to break your water if that's OK with you."
Me: "I don't want to be put on a time clock." - referring to hospital rules about how long they'll give you after your water breaking
Lindsay: "Oh honey, you're not. You're almost there. You don't have to worry about that."
Me: "OK."
Lindsay: "Now after I do this, the contractions are gonna get a little bit more intense."
Me: "How MuCH MoRe iNTeNSe!"
Lindsay, with a half smile: "Well you have to birth this baby, but you're gonna be OK."
Me again: "OK," like a little child.
 
They started to tilt the electronic bed back. I remember hating that. I scared me. It's funny the thing's that scare you when you're in labor. The fact that a baby was going to come out of ME, didn't scare me. But the bed going back down did.
 
I layed back. And one came. It was not cool. I felt as if laying down, I was working against my body. My womb was trying to tilt forward with all it's might and I was laying down making it hard for my Uterus to do it's job. And I thought of the thousands upon thousands of women through the centuries, made to lie on their backs during the entire labor process.
 
Prone, feet in stirrups, no control. And I wept inside for them.
 
I howled, I needed UP! Somehow my body said, "If you get up it will be better!" And Lindsay was breaking the bag of waters as fast and accurately as she could and I was crying, "Oh my, gotta get up." And she finished and there was a small rush and I was up and in control again.

After a little while my midwife, Lindsay whispered into my ear, "I have to leave now, Tori. My shift is over. Are you going to be OK? Gloria is going to take my place. She's right here with you."

I nodded. It was fine. I just wanted to birth this baby.

Looking up for one moment, I saw her. She sat there...arms in her lap, poised and calm. She looked like an angel. Gloria was here with me now, to help me the rest of the way through this journey. There was such a peace in the room. It was beautiful.

I worked through each pain. They were getting stronger and stronger then all of the sudden the urge to push came over me. It's feel right to explain it this way...
It was almost as if I was in the Ocean for the longest time. Being tossed up and down with the waves. In and out of the water taking a deep breath when I rose to the surface. I knew that I would be fine. I knew that I wouldn't drown because I had Someone watching over me. He had planned it this way. After hours of being on the Sea, I finally gave in and became part of it.

Leaning forward and grabbing hold of the bar, I began to push. After one or two pushes the pain overwhelmed me...something didn't feel right. I stopped, took a breath. Gloria came to me and checked quietly, "You have a lip left. You're at a nine and a half. You can wait; you don't need to push, unless you want to. Whatever feels right." I didn't see her face, my eyes still cast down and half closed, but I could hear her smile.

My eyes searched for Tyler. There he was, in the chair at the foot of the bed, watching intently, a half smile on his face and I was comforted. He was my rock. I worked through them patiently, sweat dripping down my stomach, hair hanging in my face. I moaned through each intensity. My moans rose with each contraction...in a crescendo my song soared high above the room. My doula asked me later if I sang, because of the vibrato in my labor song.

Finally, It took control, and I let it wash me ashore.

My body wanted to push again. My mind thought, "But what if it's not time, what if I shouldn't? No, she'd stop me...right? Oh, just push Tori, who cares." And I did. I pushed with all my might. I felt him move down. After my push, he came back up. I pushed again, and again. He stayed. I was so loud. It sounded like a loud growl..."Aaaaauuuuhhhhhhhh!!" And after about twenty minutes and with the final push, his head, his shoulders, his whole little body came tumbling out and into the careful hands of my midwife, Gloria. She quickly handed him to me.

First words to Will: "Hey little man, I'm your Mommy."
He didn't cry much, just enough to let us know he was okay. Daddy came over and glowed with pride. A smile ear to ear. He kept saying, "Look at him!"
"I think his hair is red!" I squealed. After his bath, we could see clearly his long copper strands.
And there I lay...After the long hard journey through the waves. I lay there on the shore, exhausted, with just enough energy to mother my child who lay there beside me.


I fed my child. And they checked him over. He was perfect. 9/9 on his APGAR. All of this on a beautiful Sunday morning at 9:00, the 29th of November 2009. He weighed 7 sweet pounds and 7 cuddly ounces. Will Haddon Gillit, William Tyler Gillit and Me, we spent a few precious moments together before the rest of the family came in. Those were the sweetest moments I have ever lived. I never want to forget the way he looked, smelled, sounded.

"For this child I prayed..." 1 Sam 1:27

It happened one day in New York City...My first DSLR.

It happened one day in New York City. That was the beginning of it all. And the end of it all too.

Another hobby, another pursuit of happiness, another nickel tossed down the ol' mineshaft...wait where was I? Oh, yes, New York City.

We stood huddled around each other, a hot mess of sweating teenagers and a few exhausted adults. We'd been out all morning, canvasing the streets of Queens, mostly the Forest Hills area. Handing out tracts and giving the gospel. We had taken the subway over to the area called Woodhaven and walked a couple blocks until we finally arrived at the corner of 80th and 87th street. Now, we were waiting. Waiting for our fearless, yet somewhat spastic guide to arrive and show us what he would like us to help with next.

Anyone who knows me understands that I do not stand still, doing nothing, very well. So I glanced over at one of our Youth Workers. The large mass of beautiful, black plastic hanging from her neck was calling my name. It had been tempting me all day. I resisted the urge to ask to 'see' it several times. A few moments later a teenager had it in her hands. This was my chance! I asked if I could look at it, the girl said "sure," and handed it right over (cue evil laughter).

I started clicking. It felt so right. I was moving in and out of people, shooting bushes and doorhandles, rails, concrete steps. Anything I could, just to 'see what I could do'. As I looked back over my work, I was amazed at the ones that turned out. I of course was shooting in green mode, completely unaware of the work the camera was trying to do for me. Having no earthly idea that I could manipulate the focus by taking it off of dummy mode, I kept getting very frustrated. Knowing what I know now, I'm lucky I didn't break poor Mrs. Teddy's camera trying to manually zoom with it in AF while in green mode. Idiot.

The girl looked over the pictures and exclaimed, "Hey, there's some good ones in here, Mrs. Tori!" And I was smitten. I needed one of these lovely pieces of machinery for my own. It needed me to take it home and take good care of it.

Well, it didn't take me long to let Tyler know the exact make and model and cost. And it didn't take any longer for him to look at me, raise his eyebrows and nod. This meant, "Forget it, Are you crazy," in Tyler language. Feeling a little defeated and covetous at the same time, I continued to play around with Teddy's camera. I could see each shot in my brain before I took it. I knew what I wanted it to look like, I just wasn't sure how to make it work. Day after day, until the end of the trip, I messed with the delicate piece of equipment. If I were Teddy, I might've slept with it under my pillow. Good thing we were in opposite hotel rooms, or it might've come up missing once or twice.

It was time to head home. I told myself to stop the nonsense running through my brain. "I'm pregnant. We will never have money for that silly thing. Who am I kidding?"

The months passed and I decided that I would get my Nikon Coolpix point and shoot repaired. It was only a year old and worked great except for some reason one day it quit focusing correctly. So I sent it in under the 1 year warranty and they fixed it for free. 

I was getting along fine with my little point and shoot when I found out that one of the girls that had just graduated our youth group was selling her old camera, a Canon Rebel xs. And it just so happened to be the same one that Mrs. Teddy allowed me to drool over for a week. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I told my mom, my brother, my brother-in-law (he wasn't impressed - Nikon user) my husband, and even the little guy in my tummy. I even prayed to the Lord, "It might sound silly God, but, I really want a great DSLR to take pictures of my kids."

Well, the baby was born and we got some good video with my point and shoot. We even got a few cute pics. But then, one terrible day, I did something stupid. I was taking some pictures of my 3 week old baby and I dropped my camera, Lens Zoomed! It jammed. And with no money to get it fixed (it was past the warranty by 2 weeks) I was in complete despair.

I cried. I had no camera to take pictures of my newborn. No Camera! I cried to sleep that night. I cried the next day, Christmas Day. I moaned and complained all the way to my in-laws house (five minutes down the road). I sat in the living room of their house disheartened. No pictures on Christmas Day. First Christmas with my first child, lost in the abyss of no-cameradom.

Time to open gifts came. We tried to do it one at a time. My turn. Some cool Aloe Vera socks and a camping sporknife (I think that was Zach's idea, but neat, nonetheless). Cute little books for Will and a Crown College warm and fuzzy blanket. And then a rather heavy box was lifted over the back of the couch. The medium-sized box was headed in my direction. "This is from us and your parents, Tori," said my mother-in-law. I had wondered why there was nothing marked "To: Tori" under my tree, from my parents that morning.

I began ripping the paper off. I believe I revealed a Coffee Maker box? Or something of that nature. But it was what was inside that counted! "Well, thanks guys! A coffee maker! You didn't have to, really." They told me to open the box, so I tore into that thing like I was 8 years old again. And you'll never guess what was inside...A Canon Rebel xs! In fact, the one that my photog friend was selling. Along with the manual, an extra battery and a bag to put all of it in!

I don't think there could've been a happier girl in the whole wide world that Christmas morning. I had a brand new three and a half week old baby and my first DSLR! I don't think I'll ever have a better Christmas morning...unless of course my husband wants to buy me the Canon EOS 50D 15.1MP Digital SLR Camera and maybe stuff a Kelly Moore Hobo in mustard yellow, down in my stocking???

A few pictures from the very beginning, before I had even 1 clue.

                    Nasty flash and this is like the worst position Will could've been in.

This is adorable and sad at the same time. Sad because it's just not interesting, oh, and ya the crying little Will makes it pretty sad too, I guess.

Cute, but not near enough light and how much more unoriginal (word?) could my shot of this sweetness be? Not much more unorginal, it's pretty boring. And it's not Lauren's fault.

Awww...but no, this flash is hideous. That and I focused on the monkey instead of my child's face, I suppose. Dummy focus. A dummy was using it, that's for sure.

No, this was not during his jaundice days. He's orange because there wasn't enough light. Ew. That's all I can say. Too bad, cause it was kind of a cute picture. Can't ever capture this moment again :(

I love this picture. I just wish someone who knew what they were doing had taken it. I wasn't taking the picture because of Pawpaw Gillit, but that's obviously who my camera decided to focus on.

Anyway, now that we've all had a good laugh. I'm glad I have improved a little. Thanks to a lot of practice, some serious Internet time and a little help called text messages from ElisabethCarol Photography. Elisa has been such a HUGE help. I can't even begin to tell you what a great photographer and plain ol' great person she is. Check her work out for yourself!

I still have a LOT to learn, but I'm having a blast doing it. I might even have some to post here soon of my "practice run" with Elisa and my first shoot from this coming Saturday! Check back for updates early next week! :)

Just like her

I'm thinking about her today. The woman who showed me that life was about more than just myself. The sweetest lady on the face of the Earth, my Nana.

As I sit here I think about the sights, the smells, the sounds I think that her kitchen was always one of my favorite places. Why?
There she stands quietly, sweetly making the meal. Be it a Pot Roast with a side salad and cooked carrots or a simple bologna and cheese sandwich, she was always serving. She never complained and always had something for my Pawpaw.
There she is, in my mind's eye, standing over by the stove, her back to me, whisking and chopping and filling the house with the yummiest smells. The small house full of the sounds of love. Love for her husband, the Faithful Preacher. Love for the Lord she has served for so many years. Love for her guest, every bit of energy gone into preparing this supper for her friends.


So many memories I never want to forget.


The goldfish pond in the backyard...
Andrew, Megan and I were playing in the backyard in the winter. The small concrete pond in the backyard had frozen over. Just not as much as we thought. Andrew kept saying that it was "solid" and Megan believed him. I of course, was a bit doubtful, but Megan, being Megan, went ahead and actually stepped out onto the ice in either faith or ignorance. Soon she was soaked from chest to toe. She hopped right out and we ran inside.
Nana told us how "silly" that was, (that was as angry as she got) quickly wrapped Megan in a towel and threw her clothes into the dryer. Boy, did she have a story to tell Aunt Jamie when she came to pick her up.

The closet...
If you ask any grandchild of James and Rosalie Maggard about 'the closet' they'll tell you, that it held a plethera of fun things. From a neat set of flat animals that clicked together and boarded Noah's Ark, to a cool little keyboard, that even had a case! There in that closet a kid could get lost for hours. And usually that was the idea.
She still has toys, they might not be the same toys, but she's making new memories for the now great-grandchildren added to the bunch.

 The tea party...

When you're born into a family of 17 cousins that all pretty much live in the same area, there's plenty of people to play with. And somehow we always seperated off into little age groups. There was Danny, he was the oldest. And then there was Amanda, then a few years younger were Me, Tamara and Andrew. So Amanda, Tamara and I always did things together, even if it was alot of immature squabbling. But sometimes, we actually all got along.

One time Nana prepared a sweet little tea party for us. We came all dressed up in our church clothes and we made (Or maybe Nana made) cupcakes and buscuits with jam. And we used the cutest little tea set and actually drank tea! She talked to us about how to act like 'ladies'. And we took pictures, although I'm not sure who took them, or where they are now. Oh well. The memory lingers on.

And then there are memories that aren't so far back. Ones that are just as precious although not so ancient.

The letters...

I wrote to my Nana in college and told her how much she meant to me. Her testimony was strong and her manner of life so undeniably Christ-like. And I wanted to be just like her.

So I sent her a letter, and addressed many things that I would like to have her advice on. I asked her questions and begged advice, citing The Scriptures. And wouldn't you know...within a month the letters started coming. She wrote a letter about each "struggle" and gave passages from the Word of God that would help me. Every month she wrote on a different topic that I had requested.

And I felt so blessed to call her mine.

There is so much about my Nana that I can't ever begin to tell the depths of her kindness, the hieghts of her compassion, the broad spectrum of her love. There are so many things she has taught me. And there could've been a lot more, had I asked.

My Father in Heaven has given me so much. Luke 12:48b "For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more." He requires that I use it to His glory and I'm sure that my Nana did just that.

One day, we won't have Nana anymore. I hate thinking about it so I try not to. But it's the truth. She won't be there to tell us her story, to encourage us to do right. And it will be our turn to take up the mantle and lovingly guide.

Lord, help me to use my time wisely. To become more like You now, so that one day I'll have one or two looking up to me that will learn of You from my life.

The first birth {part 2}

This is part 2 of 'The first birth' story. You might want to read part 1 here.


(cont.)
We walked to the car, in between contractions. Once we were in, we headed to Chicken Express. It hilarious, cause it's all I wanted during pregnancy, and it's all I wanted here in labor too. As we pulled around to pay and get our food, I remember having a real tightening and saying "Oh no, here one comes, I'm gonna be loud." And Tyler looked at me and said, "It's OK, go ahead." And I did. I was mooing like a cow at the pick-up window of Chicken Express and pretty sure the cashier heard me and gave Tyler a honestly worried look.




We headed home, where I downed my meal and got to work. And as I write this, I think to myself, what real work it actually is. You watch the movies and how they portray birth. And you either realize that it is all fake, and believe your body can do this amazing thing, that usually isn't at all as dramatic as T.V. makes it out to be. Or, you freak out after the movie is over and accept the fact that it 'will be horrid' and never even think of birthing the way God made you to.


Well, I must preface all of this with "Every one's birth is different." But, even with all of the natural birth information I had (12 weeks of Bradley Method, Ina May and Dr. Sears and lots of other reading materials) I never realized how much work it would take to have a baby and how intense it really is. Birth is painful. Anyone that tells you otherwise is a liar. But is a natural, vaginal, unmedicated birth possible? Yes, more than possible. It is empowering. But still painful.


All that said, I remember right after I finished eating I got the birth ball out that my friend lent to me. I rocked on my knees on the floor back and forth with my torso resting on the ball, my face buried in a hand towel. And the towel was soaked with my tears. I cried and cried for at least the first hour. It hurt so bad. But the fact that I was crying revealed that I wasn't hardly even started. After that first little while, I stopped crying. Because it stopped hurting? No, no, no...just because it time to get serious. It was like, inside I was saying "You need to get down to business. Stop crying. This is happening and crying isn't going to make it any better!"


I used to wonder what all of the first stage of labor did for the baby actually coming out. Now I know. Working through that stage, trying to stay relaxed, while feeling these intense cramps, was like scaling a rock wall. The beginning was hard, and it continued to get harder, but I could do this!


While rocking on the ball, I kept saying to Tyler, "Ohhhhh, Ohhh it hurts so bad, Tyler." Like I was trying to make him understand. Even though he didn't and NEVER will. He spoke to me sweetly. Tried to empathize with my pain, "I know sweetie, I know." He tried to pat my back, but I didn't want him to move his hand. He didn't understand this so he simply backed off. An hour or so went by and he quietly mentioned the tub. "Would you like to get in the tub?" I replied with a "yes" rather quickly, I believe.


I had used baths toward the end of my pregnancy to calm me down after a hard day at work in the daycare, to soothe my anxieties about labor, to practice 'relaxation'. And at this moment it sounded like the perfect way to labor.


It seemed like only seconds had passed and he was back whispering to me that the tub was full of water. I nodded, worked my through the contraction I was in and stood with his helping hand. I quickly made my way to the tub, where Tyler helped me in. The hot water felt so good on my stomach, and my back, which was just starting to ache, was relieved also. I sat leaning on my arms and moaned out loud for a long time and the contractions came strong for a while. I started getting a few breaks in between and those were a relief. Tyler thought I was getting a little too comfortable and should maybe move around a little. We wanted to make sure things kept moving right along. Keeping the baby's heart rate up.


With his help, I got my robe around me and climbed up onto the bed. I was getting very very tired at this point and tried to lay down. As soon as I did, I would start contracting and would have to get up on my hands on knees. I felt that it was impossible to have a contraction laying down, no matter if it was on my back or side. Sounding it out kept my mind off of tensing up. If I kept breathing and moaning, then I would remain open and every muscle loose. As soon as I stopped, I noticed that I would clench my teeth, furrow my brow and start shaking my head back and forth, like I was saying "no" to the pain.


With each stronger contraction, my moans went up in range. The peak of each contraction at the very beginning was the loudest and then I'd slowly descend, only to breath in quickly and start the next one. They were coming much closer together now. With no break hardly, in between, I felt as if I was starting to loose control. "It's not fair. Where's the rest, I thought all women had?" My mind was reeling with the intensity of the tightening.


My arms were starting to get too tired to raise myself up, and my knees had no strength for all the work they had been doing to hold me. I had been on the bed for awhile and had thrown up a couple times from the pain. I always had a feeling I would be a "nauseated laborer." A chronic migraine sufferer, It just seems like that's the way my body deals with pain. Tyler kept changing out the bags, and I kept growing weaker. He suggested I try some peanut butter. I tried and could hardly swallow it. Food was revolting. I wanted nothing at all.


He suggested I go back into the tub, so I made my way into the bathroom again. And I remember thinking, "Where is Nancy?" You see, my doula had some serious things happening in her own life that prevented her from attending me. We had talked about it earlier in the day and decided that I should use her back-up, Nancy. She asked if I was comfortable with that and I told her that it was more than fine. Now, I wondered when Tyler would call her. Little did I know, he had been keeping count of minutes between contractions and had been calling her every once in awhile to tell her how I was progressing.


"I'm calling Nancy, honey," assured Tyler, just when I needed to hear it. He had been doing a fantastic job, but around 9:30pm it had gotten to where, I believe we both felt like we could use the help. "Okay," I replied, relief echoing in my voice. This gave me a new confidence. I felt a deep wave of peace rush through me, as I thought of my doula, her comfort, assistance and strength, there to guide me the rest of the way.


It seemed like no time at all had passed and I heard a woman's voice in my bedroom, "Tori I'm coming in, OK?" And I remember plain as day, telling her that I was "indisposed" and she said, "that's the way it should be." She came near the tub to help me out, wrapped the towel around my body and her strength around my heart. I felt a new energy, calmness and assurance as she helped me to the bedroom. There are times when a women needs another woman's touch. A helping hand from one who has climbed this mountain before. And this was one of those times. I needed Tyler and I needed Nancy. I thank God for the friends He gave to me for this moment.


We had been taught in our Bradley class to labor as long as you possible could at home. This cuts down on unnecessary interventions in the hospital during the "waiting process". Had I gone to the hospital when I had first started laboring, then I not sure I would have had the birth that I did. My instructor, Donna, had told us to wait until I was "all seriousness, down to business" about it all, and then to head to the hospital.


Nancy applied pressure to my back. And it was heavenly. The back labor had started a little while before she had gotten there and was one of the hardest parts. I felt as if my back was on fire. Applying pressure really helped. Tyler had done it for awhile and his hands were getting tired. Nancy had a fresh set of palms ready to work! I got back in the tub for awhile, getting out a few times to use the toilet, and the contractions I had there would be the most painful. During those, my knees would start shaking and I would get the chills and hot flashes all at the same time. I was throwing up and shaking my head "no" so much, that Nancy and Tyler both thought for sure that I was in Transition. I even remember pushing once or twice.


Nancy started to get a little nervous at that point. You see, she had an unplanned homebirth because her child's head started crowning while she was still in her home! She was not about to deliver my baby, she told me later. She looked at Tyler and said, "I think maybe you should start the car."


She helped me dress. Now that I look back, I have no idea how I did it. The pants, the shirt, the sneakers even. We slowly made it outside and into the backseat of the car. I remember that the trip to the hospital was one of the most awful experiences. Not that I would've been doing anything differently anywhere else, I was still in first stage, but it was like, "Get me somewhere, so that I can birth this baby.


We finally made it to the hospital. Sixth Street and Rosedale at Harris Methodist Downtown has to be the bumpiest road in the world! I was dying in the backseat, or at least I sounded like I was. I was so mad at my husband, but, at the same time, totally understood that it was beyond his control. He pulled up to the door and I remember sitting in a wheelchair and being pushed into the tall building and feeling a little silly. I slid through the entrance and into admissions mooing like a cow. There I was met by what I thought was a man, Nancy told me later that it was in fact a woman. She put her hand on my belly and went on to let us know that we "should've been there hours ago." I was so annoyed by this, but decided I had more important things to do than argue with this ignoramus.


I kept my head down the entire time. From this point on, all I saw was feet. I was concentrating, focused, "in the zone."

More to come soon...