Hard Days

It's Monday. You wake up refreshed and feel encouraged about the day. You get a short workout in and start the work day before the baby is up. When the baby wakes up, she's happy you play on the floor mat (although you don't do tummy time, which makes you feel guilty), then feed her.

She spits up what looks like the whole feed, but you're refreshed and the day is new so it's okay. You sing to her and clean it up and it's okay.

You get her dressed. The outfit doesn't quite fit, but it's okay. There's a tag on the inside that you think might itch her side, but we'll see.

She starts crying on your stroller walk. She never cries on walks, so that's weird. Hopefully not a bad omen about the day. You have to stop moving to soothe her several times, hoping the neighbors aren't hearing her and judging you for being a bad mother. You wish you'd brought a paci, but it never occurred to you. She never cries on walks so you've never needed one.

She falls asleep in the stroller, which is good. Jerks with loud trucks start their engines and leave for work. Lawn care workers mow grass right next to your baby's ear. Kids on summer break scream and laugh in their yards. Every noise puts you on edge. Don't people know there's a baby in a fragile slumber nearby?

Back inside, it takes forever for the baby to fall back asleep in the swing for her first real nap, and she wakes up after an hour when she usually naps 1.5–2.5 hours.

Bummed, you go get her and discover she's had a blowout through her pants and onesie. Poor baby. Is that why she woke up? Would she go back to sleep if she was comfortable again?

You change her. Lots of poop lots of places. You'll have to deal with the poopy outfit later because she's screaming. Now that she's awake, she wants to eat. It's just as well. If she'd kept to her usual schedule, you'd be trying to feed her during the meeting your supervisor rescheduled for noon.

You nurse her, then have to walk around with her for fifteen minutes while keeping her upright so she won't spit up. She hates being upright, so she cries and squirms. She spits up three times anyway. Each time, it makes a splashing sound as it hits the floor.

While doing laps around the house, you notice all the things you can't do or haven't done. The recycling is full. The calendar hasn't been turned to the new month. The Windex is still sitting by the back door because you were using it to shoot houseflies that couldn't be reached with the flyswatter last week. Your laptop battery is dying. You'll need it for the meeting with your supervisor. Must remember to untangle the cord from the pile in the corner before then. The poopy clothes and poopy changing table are on your route too. So is the bedroom mirror, where you see your bare stomach, which is bigger and squishier than it's ever been. It looks worse than it did six weeks ago. There's dust and dirt and a carpet fuzz on the living room wood floor, even though your husband vacuumed fourteen hours ago. There's the book club book you haven't started, but it doesn't matter because you realized after the fact that it was the wrong one.

All throughout these laps, the baby spits up. It's on your arm, her "clean" clothes, and the floor in many places, which you mop up with your foot and a burp cloth as you go.

Your wrists hurt from trying to hold a baby who does not want to be held upright. You reposition to try to get some relief, but she hates the new position even more so you have to go back. You sing to her, hearing your voice get a little less joyful with each round of spit up, baby scream, baby head butt.

It's been fifteen minutes. She's been upright for long enough that she shouldn't spit up, but you know this isn't true. You used to even wait thirty minutes before letting her lie down, and that didn't make a difference either.

You lay her down on the mat (on her back, so you feel guilty about tummy time again, but you have to get on this meeting and she'll cry if you put her on her stomach) with her toys and get ready to hop on the meeting. But first you remember the poopy scene and go back through, wiping and sanitizing and throwing clothes into the washing machine. While you're out of the room, the baby starts crying.

After settling her, you click "join meeting" a couple of minutes late. The video preview shows you wearing the same shirt you wore yesterday, a decidedly unstylish messy bun, and giant red zit on your chin. You consider going camera off, but you're camera off so often these days, it seems wise to show your face when you can. Something about being camera off makes you worry that people think you aren't doing your job.

The meeting is fine, but halfway through the baby starts crying so you have to turn your camera off and finish it on the floor while giving theatrical slo-mo kisses to her tummy. She beams and squeals and you feel happy again. Then she spits up, partially digested milk soaking her collar and the nape of her neck on the way to the blanket underneath her.

The meeting finishes with your supervisor trying to give you heartfelt advice about how parenting and working at the same time requires sacrifice, and that you have to come to terms with the fact that you won't be snuggling your baby at all times.

After the meeting, the baby is falling asleep on the play mat and she's been awake for about 75 minutes, so you put her in the sleep sack, turn on the sound machine, and begin rocking her. Her paci falls out and she's immediately fully awake. You try to replace the paci but she spits it out and laughs. You know she has to be tired, so you sway with her in your arms, but she just stares at you with bright eyes, which kind of melts your heart but also fills you with despair because 1) if she doesn't go to sleep she's definitely going to get overtired and that's a nightmare, 2) if you try to force her to go to sleep she'll scream and that's also a nightmare, 3) you really need to get more work done.

She suddenly gets the hiccups.

You lay her down in the bassinet, awake, and lie on the bed beside her, reaching over the side to rub her belly. Your wrist hurts and your arm starts to fall asleep. She's still wide awake. You realize that all the restoration and hope you had this morning has been completely used up. You feel tired and bruised, the human embodiment of dark under-eye circles. You feel guilty because your baby deserves a joyful mother.

You decide to try the paci one more time, even though you're wary of her forming a habit of needing it to fall asleep. She gives three suckles and is out—only to be jolted away by a hiccup. This happens over and over for ten minutes. You're honestly shocked and thankful that she hasn't lost her mind because it looks super annoying to deal with. You pray the Holy Spirit down from Heaven and into her diaphragm, and by the mercy of the Lord, it works. The hiccups leave. She falls asleep.

It takes you a full two minutes to get off the bed, because it creaks and that might wake her up. When the last centimeter of your buttcheek leaves the mattress, the bed groans and the baby's eyes pop open. You begin to curse internally, despite being only two minutes removed from one of the most fervent prayer sessions of your life. The baby goes back to sleep.

It's lunchtime. You make yourself a protein shake because your nutrition goal this week is to prioritize protein at every meal. You eat a slice of pizza cold because the beep of the microwave buttons might wake up the baby and reheating on the stove takes too long and she might wake up any second.

You watch her on the baby monitor and try to see if she's breathing.

You eat your cold pizza, watch her on the baby monitor, and try to get some work done.

The baby is up forty minutes later. You move her to the changing table, which makes her cry. She settles during the diaper change, thankfully. You move her to her play mat, which makes her cry again. Does she hate being moved? Does it make her reflux flare up? Are you not supporting her correctly? Is something wrong with her body? She's been going to the chiropractor, and they haven't said anything felt wrong.

On the mat, she alternates between fussing and cooing and crying and smiling with seemingly no rhyme or reason. If you leave the mat to try to get work done, she fusses. It is difficult to think.

You pick her up and carry her to the couch. Maybe you can do some of your reading for work if you read it aloud to her in a sing-songy voice. It is unexpectedly challenging to comprehend Crime and Punishment when read like a nursery rhyme. It does settle the baby for a few minutes, but then she starts crying again and you realize it's time for her to eat.

You feed her. You walk around with her while she fusses. She spits up.

After fifteen minutes, you put her on the mat. You aren't supposed to have babies in "containers" for too long. When you told ChatGPT that she fussed a lot, it suggested a schedule where you rotate activities for her every 3–10 minutes. ChatGPT must have forgotten that you work.

Soon, it is time for her to nap again. You decide you will try to incorporate a slightly longer wind-down time. Maybe that will help her relax and prepare for sleep. You change her diaper, lay her on your bed, and read a book to her. She looks at the pictures calmly and suckles her paci. It seems to be going well.

When you put her in the sleep sack, she wiggles her arms and legs and smiles at you. It's nice that she's happy, but she's lost her sleepiness again. You talk quietly to her and do the rocking and shushing and put her in the bassinet. It's extra hard for her to keep the paci in her mouth this time and it takes extra long for her to fall asleep. You make shushing noises until your lips and tongue are dry.

With six minutes until your next meeting starts, she falls asleep. You manage to escape without the creaky bed waking her up this time.

While you're on the meeting, she wakes up to cry three different times. You can't decide if you should ignore her or tend to her, so you do some of both. The times you ignore her, she does eventually calm down, which reassures you that she's learning to soothe herself to some degree.

The meeting ends with you having several to-dos, some of which you wrote down, some of which you really hope the project manager will remind you about.

She's awake and crying when the meeting ends. It's 2pm, and the baby's mood usually goes steadily downhill from mid-afternoon until she goes to bed, so this has likely been the "best" part of your day.

You eat what the bag says is four servings of Trader Joe's strawberry and chocolate drizzle popcorn. A piece of chocolate falls on your current favorite shirt and leaves a brown smear. You just leave it.

You think about how quickly your energy dried up. You might wake up in the morning to find it restored again, but you know it will just evaporate and turn sour before the day is done, like it always does. Somehow that feels even worse, to know that it will come back only to die again.

It's just a season, you know. One day you'll miss when she was this little, and you genuinely try to enjoy it. You watch her little face as you nurse. You willingly show her and talk to her about everything in the house over and over on your fifteen-minute-upright walks. You try to smile with your eyes when you play with her.

But some days are just hard.

~ Stephanie

Postpartum in Songs Part II

Last month, I posted the songs that had been going through my head postpartum, and it was a surprisingly accurate snapshot of life at the time. What didn't occur to me was that the phenomenon would continue, but with different songs. I now present to you Postpartum in Songs Part II, an update.

"Edelweiss" from The Sound of Music
Trigger Phrase: "You look happy to meet me."
A couple of weeks ago, Elle started smiling SO big whenever we get her out of her bassinet. She beams the biggest gummy smile and her eyes practically become stars. To be honest, it made me feel guilty at first, because there was NO way I could possibly deserve what I was seeing in her face. Like, she had to be mistaken or I'd somehow manipulated her into thinking I was amazing, because—excuse me?—I am actually the one who interrupts her post-milk naps to change her diaper and makes her burp when she hates it?

"The Middle" by Jimmy Eat World
Trigger Phrase: "It just takes some time, / Little girl, you're in the middle of the ride / Everything, everything'll be just fine, / Everything, everything'll be all right, all right."
What a testament to how much better things have felt lately! Now, my inner dialogue reassures me that "it just takes some time" rather than excoriating me for always making the wrong decision.

"Mother Knows Best" from Tangled
Trigger Phrase: "Mother's right here, Mother will protect you."
It is unfortunate the this song is sung ironically and by the movie's villain, but it still plays in my head when I say, "Momma's right here" to Elle, which is pretty often.

"Come Get Her" by Rae Sremmurd
Trigger Phrase: "Somebody come get her, she's dancing like a stripper."
Look, I don't choose the songs that get triggered. Many times a day, Gabe or I will say, "I'm gonna get her," either from her nap, for her next feeding, because she's crying, and when we do...I hear this song. I actually hear a joke version from a TikTok that says "somebody come GEET 'errrr," if that's any better.

"When the Rain Comes" by Third Day
Trigger Phrase: "I can't stop the rain / From falling down on you again / I can't stop the rain / But I will hold you 'til it goes away."
No matter how hard I try, there are a lot of things I can't stop for Elle: gas, spit up, the hiccups. However, I tell her that what I can do is hold her until whatever it is passes.

"My World" by Sick Puppies
Trigger Phrase: "Welcome to my world."
We recently bought a black and white contrast book for Elle, and it's called Hello, My World. Every time I see the book, it triggers this song.

"Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah" from Disney's (problematic) Song of the South
Trigger Phrase: "Zip-a-dee-doo-dah"
I've never seen Song of the South, but as I zipped up Elle's sleeper one day, I sang the line "ZIP-a-dee-doo-dah" to her and she loved it, so I sang that song about fifty times one morning and my brain is never gonna let it go.

"I Feel the Earth Move" by Carole King
Trigger Phase: "I feel the earth move under my feet."
Often, especially in the middle of the night, Elle falls asleep on my chest during her upright time. When it's time for me to move the nursing pillow and take her to change her diaper, I think about how it must feel to her, like the ground beneath her feet is shifting.

I'll be very interested to see if this continues.

~ Stephanie

Fragments of Parenthood Part II

Once again, recording some thoughts while Elle is napping. Any moment might be my last XD

Dysmorphia by Proxy
Sometimes when Elle is swaddled and in the crook of my arm, I genuinely feel like I see her as a toddler when I look down, and it's disturbing. It's like that part of Friends where Joey has a dream that he's holding a baby and sudden it's Ross's face staring up at him. Elle looks so different and so much older than she did at first.

The Irony
Gabe and I tried so hard to have a baby (like, I ate tinned oysters for months a few years ago) to now try so hard NOT to have a baby 😂 Like, I relish the times Gabe offers to give her a bottle so I can leave the house and pretend to be childless. We put her down at night and sneak upstairs and watch her on the monitor and BEG for her not to wake back up. I know this is totally normal, but it's still funny.

The Scrutinizing
And yet, we do watch her on the monitor. I have become more eagle-eyed than I thought possible as I zoom in and try to find a spot on the swaddle that moves so that I can be reassured that she's breathing.

The Cords
This is so random and unexpected, but the number of CORDS cluttering up our home has somehow quadrupled since having a baby. Chargers for our Kindles, our phones, her nightlight, her stroller fan, the baby monitor, Gabe's Nintendo Switch, my laptop as I work from the living room. I hate visual clutter and I hate tripping over things, so this has been...unfortunate.

Sticking to a Schedule
I used to think that parents who stuck rigidly to their child's routine might be coddling their child, who would need to know how to roll with life eventually. However, I have come to realize that ELL-OH-ELL, sticking to a schedule isn't even FOR the baby—it's for YOU, because if the baby's schedule is thrown off, it's not the baby who suffers, it is everyone within earshot, potentially for the whole rest of the day. It's like when I used to think that teachers who dismissed class early were doing it as a treat for the students, when, more often than not, the teacher wants class to be over at least as much.

Mantra
I didn't mean to create a mantra, but when Elle was a few weeks old, I would tell her how sweet she was and how beautiful she was, and it quickly occurred to me that I didn't want those to become the only (or even the default) adjectives we use for her. If our voices are going to become her first inner voice, I want her to have a more empowering impression of herself. I added some adjectives, and it became an actual habit of mine to chant to her that she is "so sweet and smart and strong and brave and beautiful."

The First Six-Hour Stretch
In comparing notes with other moms, I've learned that it is normal to fly awake in the middle of the night, realize your baby hasn't roused you in SIX HOURS?! and panic a little bit. Is this a good thing? Or is she DEAD? The good news is that Elle is fine, and will now sleep six hours at a time a couple of times a week. The bad news is that we have absolutely no clue what magic recipe is that yields these random restful blocks.

It turns out the people didn't lie: parenthood DOES get better, and a single one of Elle's smiles is payback enough.

Well, maybe two or three smiles.

~ Stephanie

Fragments of Parenthood

I might be able to unpack any one of these and make separate posts, but I can't count on myself to find the time, so I'm just going to document some thoughts from the last few weeks in fragments :) 

Losing Game
For a long stretch, motherhood just felt like a constant losing game. I could never make the right choice. If I let Elle keep sleeping, she woke up too hungry and I felt mean. If I woke her up to feed her, I felt mean for disturbing her sleep. If I changed her diaper before she ate, I was mean for delaying the milk she so desperately wanted. If I fed her first, I was mean for letting her eat in a soiled diaper. If she fell asleep while I kept her upright after nursing, I felt mean for waking her up to change her diaper. If I changed her diaper quicker, before she fell asleep, and she spit up on the changing table, I felt mean for rushing the process and "making" her spit up.

A Race
Everything also feels like a race. Can I finish my food before she wakes up? Will the chiropractor come in before she starts crying? Can I change her diaper before she spits up? Can we get home before it's time to nurse? How fast can I shower? How fast can I change her diaper? How fast can Gabe heat up the bottle?

Antithesis
Motherhood is forcing me to act contrary to myself in three particular ways: I must be slow, and gentle, and quiet. I have always been fairly fast and rough and loud. Every moment of every day, I must exercise myself in a way I never have before. It's exhausting, but the growth is unbelievable. I would not have thought I had it in me to control myself to this degree for this long.

Scary Sounds
Sounds that now send a pang of dismay through my body:
- Thud of a paci hitting the mattress: Elle will either keep sleeping or wake screaming
- Creak of our bedroom door opening: Gabe coming to wake me to nurse Elle
- Silence: Has Elle entered quiet sleep or is she dead?

It's Constant
I find myself forgetting that this is forever. There's no "until" with motherhood, unless it's "until I die," or—God actually forbid—she does. There are no days off; there is no "mute" button on her crying or "pause" button on her hungry tummy. Giving up isn't an option.

Every once in a while I'll notice a thought in the back of my mind that's something like "Okay, I'm done now, let's go back to regular life" and then I realize that that can't happen. This thought pattern makes me realize how few things I've forbid myself to quit lately. The fact that my brain automatically generates the thought, "This is difficult; I'm going to quit" feels like a lesson in character. Have I really become so quick to give up? So unaccustomed to exerting myself? Whether or not that's the case, I won't be quitting motherhood, and I know that will be good practice for other areas of my life too.

To Sum Up
It's been a lot. But it is getting better. Glancing over this post, I realize that it sounds negative, but that's not an accurate reflection of how life feels—anymore. I'm just catching up on the note in my phone that says "Blog," and most of the bullet points were added during weeks that felt more hard than good. However, Gabe and I have moved from staring at each other and talking about how we can never do this again to thinking that maybe we could. And that's progress.

Now that my phone's Blog note has been cleared out a bit, I think the next post will read less "suffering for the cause" and more "such a magical time," because it genuinely is :)

~Stephanie

Postpartum in Songs

Usually when I get a song stuck in my head, it's because I've heard or thought a phrase of its lyrics. In my sleep-deprived and preoccupied state of mind, that's been happening more often, and the small handful of songs are surprisingly consistent. In fact, they paint a pretty accurate picture of my life lately. Let's explore—and keep in mind that just because a song gets stuck in my head doesn't necessarily mean I like or recommend it 😂

"Beautiful Letdown" by Switchfoot
Trigger Phrase: "It was a beautiful letdown when you found me here."
If you breastfeed, you know why.

"Dear Agony" by Breaking Benjamin
Trigger Phrase: "Dear agony, please let go of me."
This one was really just during the first few days of nursing where Elle's initial latch was one of the most painful things I've ever experienced, every time. So 8–12 times a day.

"Breath" by Breaking Benjamin
Trigger Phrase: "You take the breath right out of me."
Another one we can thank the pain of breastfeeding for.

"It's Ok I'm Ok" by Tate McRae
Trigger Phrase: "It's okay, I'm okay, had him in the first place."
There are a few phrases that automatically come out of my mouth when soothing a crying Elle, and one of them is "It's okay, it's okay!" which triggers this little ditty 😂

"I Can Only Imagine" by MercyMe
Trigger Phrase: "I can only imagine."
Another phrase that pops out when Elle is losing it during a diaper change is "Oh I know," but then I realize that I might not. I can't actually remember my diaper being changed, and it's not like that's been an experience I've had lately, so I switched to saying, "I can imagine," because that feels more accurate and respectful. And it also sends me right back to early 2000s contemporary Christian radio.

"Last Friday Night" by Katy Perry
Trigger Phrase: "But this Friday night, do it all again."
The thing that threatens to drive me insane the most about the newborn stage is the relentless, inescapable repetition. So you got her to stop crying, great. But she'll cry more later and you'll have to do it all again. So you successfully breastfed her, great. In 2–3 hours you'll do it all again. So you changed her diaper, great. In a few minutes she'll poop and you'll do it all again.

"Shake It Out" by Florence & the Machine
Trigger Phrase: "But it's always darkest before the dawn."
Gabe and I have tried lots of ways to get sleep, and what's working for us right now is for him to have Elle and stay up from 10pm–4am, and for me to get up and start my day at 4am while he sleeps until 10am. It's the best system we've found so far, but MAN is that morning stretch tough on me. There is no feeling quite like being nap trapped in a nursing pillow, milk running down your body, shoulders aching, thirsting but unable to reach your water cup, frustrated and worried that the feed wasn't as long as you thought it should've been, staring at the dark world outside through the slats of the blinds. In both literal and metaphorical ways, I find myself counting on the phrase "it's always darkest before the dawn."

"Wasteland" by Dead By April
Trigger Phrase: "Is there something wrong, inside my head?"
I'm always worried that there's something wrong. What if Elle isn't latching well, what if her gas is due to something in my milk, what if her spit up was too much, what if she stops breathing while in the swing, what if she NEVER stops crying this time. "Is there something wrong?" goes through my head a million times a day.

"Radioactive" by Imagine Dragons
Trigger Phrase: "I'm waking up to ash and dust."
And as often as Elle naps, she wakes up. Sometimes she just wants to hang out, sometimes (usually) she wants to eat. Either way, the simple phrase "she's waking up" that drifts through my head sets off this Imagine Dragons song.

How's newborn life? It's...well, it's kinda bad? Elle is the cutest and we love her so much, but we're so tired and those feelings of ENDLESSNESS and paranoia and entrapment threaten to swallow me many times a day. But we have an incredible village and I am living the life I have long prayed for and I know I'll look back and miss these days when Elle is big 💚

~Stephanie

Over, Under, Appropriately Hyped: Postpartum Edition

I gave up TikTok for Lent and haven't been back, but last time I was in the world of BookTok there was a trend of holding up a book and simply saying whether you thought it was under-hyped, over-hyped, or appropriately hyped. I've been thinking about that a lot in terms of postpartum experiences, so let's play Under-, Over-, or Appropriately Hyped: Postpartum Edition.

Breastfeeding, General: Appropriately Hyped
People said that breastfeeding was really challenging, but magical. I would concur...although it is way more challenging than I could have imagined. My friend Caitlyn told me that she read a study saying that a week of breastfeeding is the energy equivalent of working a sixty-hour work week.



Breastfeeding, Nipple Pain: Under-Hyped
People said that your nipples could get sore at first, but no one told me that for days I'd literally be biting a rolled up rag like a Civil War soldier having surgery without anesthesia every time Elle latched.

First Postpartum Poop: Over-Hyped
Everyone made this out to be terrifying, but in my case, it was not. I think it's probably because I only had a first degree tear, I took all the stool softeners offered me, I elevated my feet when I went, and I had braced myself for the experience to be an ordeal.

Sleeplessness: Appropriately Hyped
People say the lack of sleep is bad, and...it is XD There was one night that I was staring at the clock and I couldn't even get my eyes to focus. It was 44:4444 o'lock. Fortunately Gabe is a one-in-a-million partner and takes the first night shift (like 10pm–2am) all by himself so that I can get sleep at least at the beginning.

Postpartum Peeing: Under-Hyped
The first postpartum poop is discussed a lot, but why are y'all not talking how it BURNS TO PEE every time, even three weeks in?! This is way worse than pooping. Yeah, I tried the peri bottle trick of spraying while you pee, and IT STILL HURTS. The only time it doesn't hurt is if I pee in the shower, so...there's that lovely little tip for anyone currently pregnant.

Breastfeeding Hunger: Over-Hyped
I have a theory about why I haven't experienced the notorious ravenousness that comes with breastfeeding: I've been stuffing my face every since I got back from the hospital XD I don't think I've even given myself a shot at being ravenous.

Postpartum Hormones: Under-to-Appropriately Hyped
I was told that I would cry a lot and that there would be moments where I would loathe my husband. Days 6–10 were the most emotional for me (might do a post on all the things that made me cry during that span 😂), but I haven't LOATHED Gabe yet. There have been a handful of times when I was really annoyed at him, but I was able to acknowledge that they were hormonal feelings and didn't make real sense.

First Postpartum Nap: Under-Hyped
We came home with Elle on a Wednesday night, "slept" that night, and Mom came over the next day to help us settle. That afternoon, I took a two-hour nap.

Oh. My. Gosh.

When Gabe woke me up because Elle needed to nurse...for the first five seconds, I had no identity. I had been called back from a region of such deep Nothingness that I genuinely could not have told you my own name or species. It was like being raised from the actual dead. I've never slept that deeply in my life, and probably never will again.

Secret Moms' Club: Under-Hyped
Ever since I had Elle, mom friends have been checking in on me and encouraging me and it's been the most beautiful and humbling thing. I had no idea that all these women my age were in the trenches together and that having a baby would initiate me into such a special pocket of my village. Y'all are such a bright light in what can sometimes be a dark and lonely season.

I would say that overall, postpartum comes out to be appropriately hyped...but also under-hyped. And it's no one's fault, I just didn't understand what people were telling me. It's kind of like marriage: everyone tells you that it's really hard, and you're like, "Okay, got it, I hear you, it's really hard," but then you DO it and you're like, "Oh JEEZUS, it's like HARD hard, in ways I didn't even have categories for before."

Since everyone was right about postpartum and the newborn stage being tough, I will hold out hope that they're also right in that it doesn't last forever, and that it will be worth it ;)

~Stephanie

Birth Blog 4/4: After

I don't know when I took the eye mask off, but suddenly Baby Elle was on my chest and I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe I had done it. I couldn't believe it was over. I couldn't believe she was real.*

Gabe was right next to me, crying joyful tears.

After a few minuets of sheer...awe, I felt some more contractions, but more of the period cramp variety, if I remember correctly.

"Here comes the placenta," the doctor said, and I remember being like Oh, right.

I did have to push it out, but it was like one or two pushes. Incredibly minimal. You know what wasn't minimal though?

The placenta XD That thing looks like a heart crossed with a liver. It is very much an entire organ that my body grew for Elle. And it was connected to Elle by the umbilical cord.

Someone (the doctor? Gabe? Me?) reminded everyone that I wanted delayed cord clamping.

"Until it turns white or stops pulsing," I said. I don't know/remember if that was respected, but I don't have a reason to think it wasn't.

When it was time, the doctor asked if Gabe wanted to cut the cord. This was something that had actually been up in the air for months. We'd talked about it, but Gabe wasn't sure. However, in the moment, he said that yes, he wanted to, so when the time came, Gabe did the cutting.

At some point, the doctor asked if I wanted him to see if I tore. I said yes. He looked and said it was a first degree tear, the smallest kind. He asked if I wanted stitches, I asked for pros and cons and he gave them to me (something like if it heals on its own, it'll always be a little fragile, whereas stitches would virtually repair the tear). I consented and got three stitches.

During all of this, time was such a fluid, elusive concept. I can't tell you how long anything took or how long passed between things. I know our skin-to-skin time was uninterrupted for the first hour before they took her (just across the room, with Gabe) to weigh her (6lb 1oz) and measure her length (20in) and stuff.



Oh, this picture reminds me: I had labored in a sports bra, which meant I couldn't just pop it off for complete skin-to-skin or breastfeeding because of all the IV bullcrap in my arm. Pregnant ladies: labor in a bra that you can easily remove or pull down, cuz I almost had Gabe or Cass cut this off with a knife until one of the nurses intervened and helped me get the bra off around the IV cords.

Eventually, a nurse (Kim and Noelle were the labor nurses and they were incredible) asked me if I could or wanted to try to pee. I looked at the clock and was pretty alarmed that I hadn't peed in like seven hours. Very unlike me XD

While the nurse helped me walk to the bathroom, Gabe got his first skin-to-skin time with Elle :) He tells me he cried the entire time. I love that man with every fiber of my being. He is already an incredible father.



I couldn't pee, which wasn't all that surprising since my body had been through a lot and I'm super pee-shy on a good day.

Eventually it was time to move from the delivery room to a recovery room. I think I went basically from the toilet to a wheelchair, and was shaking. Gabe asked if I was cold, and I said maybe, but that I thought it was mostly hormones. Some people get labor shakes; I got post-labor shakes.

I loaded up in the wheelchair and was given Elle. I don't think I stopped smiling for the whole trip to the recovery room. Every staff member we passed said, "Congratulations!" and it made me feel so special and seen :)

Gabe asked me a day or so later if there was anything about the birth experience that I would change. I thought about it, and said no. I stand by that.



As I lay in a hospital bed, I remember thinking, "I don't know if I'd be willing to do it again. That was really intense," but a couple of days later, I checked in with myself and found that I would TOTALLY be willing to do it again. Now, nine days postpartum, I'm actually thinking that the labor experience was super interesting and I love the power of letting my body do its thing. I would not be scared to labor again, but would actually kind of...look forward to it?

Hormones and memories are weird.

Postpartum has honestly felt more annoying than labor (but again, hormones + memories = weird conclusions), but maybe I'll blog about that another time.

Baby Elle is...magical. Perfect. A dream. A promise fulfilled. I'll never get over the goodness of God or the kindness of our village.



~Stephanie

*Like, really really couldn't believe it. Throughout the rest of the evening, I would semi-panic that it was a dream and Baby Elle would be gone and I'd have to do labor all over again for real. Cass asked if I could really dream that much "pain" and I said yeah, absolutely. She asked if there was anything I couldn't do in a dream, and I realized that yes: I've never been able to taste things in my dreams. So I clung to the fact that a nurse had brought me a juice cocktail, and that Mom would be bringing me muffins soon. After I ate the muffins, I would know it was all real.

Birth Blog 3/4: Pushing

- As we prepared for me to push, I told the doctor that I didn't want to push on my back and I didn't want to tear. He told me that pushing on my side was usually an effective position, and that they would put a warm compress on my perineum to help it not tear.

- I agreed to push side-lying. I'd always figured that I would want to push on my hands and knees or on my knees and gripping the headboard, but I found that I didn't. My body actually wanted to be some form of lying down.

- In fact...my body was so...focused? on contractions that it didn't feel like it could do much of anything else, like even hold up my top leg while side lying to give space for a baby to emerge. A nurse pulled out one of the bed's stirrup footrests and I braced my right foot against it. Gabe held my left/top leg up for me. I remember being frustrated because I felt like he wasn't supporting it well enough. I wanted to support my leg ZERO.

- Gabe's back acted up and Cassidy took over holding my leg. She made me feel a lot more stable and I remember telling Gabe to ask her what she was doing and replicate it. (Remember, eye mask. I saw nothing.)

- When it was really really time to push, I told the doctor I wanted to let my uterus do it. He said that he thought I was going to need to add active pushing if I wanted the baby to come out. I told him that I genuinely didn't think I COULD push harder than my uterus was pushing. Like, my uterus was contracting my absolute guts out; I couldn't imagine having anything to add.

- For the record, I still believe that my uterus could have done it on its own, that I could have "breathed out" the baby, BUT here's the thing: I also wanted this to be over XD So I decided to try to push with the contractions, as impossible as that sounded.

- One nurse asked me to take off the eye mask so she could show me something, and I did. She mimed and explained pushing/breathing DOWN with each contraction. All my energy and breath should be driven down and out my body. I replaced the eye mask and pushing began.

- It was...hard. All the animal noises. But it wasn't...painful. It was—even in the moment—interesting. My body was doing its thing. I was helping. It was HARD. I was NOT in control, but I could assist.

- The baby's head began emerging, and I felt the infamous "ring of fire." I thought it would be a ring of fire that the baby moved through, but it turns out if your baby pauses IN the ring to wait for another contraction, the fire stays with you.

- That hurt. For a little bit.

- But then it was all head-head-head-ears-shoulders-WHOLE BODY BLOOPED OUT. After twenty minutes of me pushing, Gabrielle Ember was born at 7:21pm on May 5.



- And...I actually—and this is wild to me because I deliberately tried to record EVERYTHING in my mind—can't remember if it stopped hurting?

- But she was suddenly on my chest, all goopy and still attached to me with the umbilical cord.

- "That was inside of me," I said, awed. Everyone chuckled.

- And everything else is After.

~ Stephanie

Birth Blog 2/4: Active Labor

Memories of active labor are dim and dreamlike. Here's what I can tell you:

- Room was too bright and I asked for the eye mask from my hospital bag.

- I would wear the eye mask for the end of early labor, all of active labor, and all of pushing. In the movie adaptation of my labor, the eye mask will be billed and compensated just below the actor playing me.

- I labored on the bed on a hospital yoga ball: on my knees, forearms on the ball, rocking back and forth. Gabe rolled the ball with me and kept it from rolling off the end of the bed.

- Cassidy started filling the room's labor pool. It seemed like the hospital staff didn't know when or how to do it? There was discussion between Gabe and Cass about how to get the temperature right or how to fill it or something, and Cass told me the other day that apparently I said to her and Gabe, "Stop talking about the tub." I don't remember 😂 

- Laboring in the tub felt better...but it was still bad. Really intense. Really, really intense. The contractions started to scare me. I started to dread each one. I told Gabe I was scared, and he continued to talk to me and tell me that my body was doing exactly what it was supposed to do, to listen to my body, to surrender and breathe, that I was doing an amazing job, that I was strong, that God designed my body for this.

- I asked for water. I needed it through a straw. Funnily enough, Mom had given me a little portable straw in a keychain for Christmas, so Gabe whipped that out and stuck it in my water bottle. But pretty soon I was drinking ice water from a hospital cup. I would just say, "Water" and Gabe or Cassidy would stick a straw in front of my eye-masked face and I'd sip.

- My moaning and humming were crazy loud and desperate sounding. I was surprised that I didn't care who heard me.

- I know I said I couldn't do it anymore a few (quite a few?) times. Gabe assured me that I could.

- The hospital staff did a ton of SUPER annoying things to me (taking the baby's vitals via some kind of band wrapped around my stomach, drawing my blood?!), some of which required me to be out of the tub, which I did NOT want to do, so everyone figured out how to get me out of the water enough to make it work. I hiked my right leg up and put it on the rim of the tub and fully leaned over the side while Gabe supported my whole body. I remember the immense relief I felt when I could just flop all my weight back and have him take it.

The anesthesiologist stopped by to talk about epidurals, but we (Gabe, maybe?) asked him to come back later, basically as a stalling tactic because we knew we didn't want that. He did not come back XD

- I was surprised at how easy it was for me to stay in my "labor flow." Prep classes talked about how if a laboring woman is disturbed (startled, embarrassed, asked to make rational choices when she needs to be all up in her instincts) it can slow or reverse labor progress. Well, that did not happen to me. I was in my labor flow and would not be coming out.

- I remember the transition into proper active labor. Instead of intense period cramps, a contraction actually felt like me and my uterus were throwing up in unison. You know the feeling of throwing up, that involuntary heaving pressure in your chest and throat? That happened to me (sans vomit), but it also happened in my lower abdomen. My uterus was trying to throw up a baby.

- At first, those throwing up contractions were every once in a while. Then they were consistently every other contraction. I HATED them. I hate the uncontrollable feeling of throwing up, and having it in my uterus was no different.

- All through this, Gabe was talking to me. He was the voice in my head. I had nothing else. I let him be my thoughts, and I focused on being my body. When he would tell me he loved me, I would feel my heart squeeze and my shoulders relax and the contractions' intensity literally receded like an ocean wave being drawn back into the sea.

- A nurse asked me if I was feeling pressure during contractions, similar to having to poop. I said yes. She asked if the pressure stayed between contractions or if it was only during. It was only during, but the nurse still thought I was close to the pushing stage. She wanted me to get out of the labor tub and into the bed. I remember resisting because I didn't believe I was that close to pushing. I didn't think the baby was really down there. I guess I thought I'd be able to feel her coming down, like toothpaste getting squeezed out of a tube. So far, she felt like she was in the same place and I just had some pressure down there for...some reason. But I got (well, was walked with HEAVY help from Gabe) to the bed.

- I was cold because I was wet. And pantsless (when had I taken my shorts off?). And maybe also getting some labor shakes. They brought me a warm blanket or something.



- Pretty soon, ALL the contractions were the the throwing up kind. No more period cramps. Only CONTRACTING and not contracting. And even the not contracting was, like...intense. All of it was intense, all the time, but a contraction was on another level that took me to another plane of existence.

- I was making ANIMAL sounds. Or really, my body was. I was a helpless passenger in the mech of my body. I could hear myself grunting, groaning, sounding like a gorilla or a boar or something, but I was not choosing to make those sounds. All I could do was choose to keep my jaw and shoulders as relaxed as possible and wait for my uterus to stop throwing up and my mouth to stop bellowing like a beast.

- Eventually the "pressure like you have to poop" wasn't just with contractions, it was all the time. They called in the doctor. Someone (Cass? Gabe? Nurse? Doctor?) said they could see the baby's head. I did not believe them.

- I consented to a cervical check to confirm that it was time to push. I didn't want to push before my body was ready, because I really didn't want to tear. The cervical check was hands down the most painful part of the entire experience. I was not able to keep my moans low in my body, my jaw open, or my shoulders relaxed. I heard myself actually SCREAM.

- But it was time to push.

~Stephanie

Birth Blog 1/4: Early Labor

Water Breaking
My water broke at 6:30 while I was in bed, 36 weeks 6 days pregnant.

I felt a little moisture between my legs, stuck a finger down there to see what was up, and went, "Huh." I mean yeah, there was moisture, but pregnancy has been one type of discharge after another so I didn't think a ton of it at first.

But then I rolled over and it felt like someone had popped a water balloon between my legs.

"Oh."

The bathroom door to my left was shut, meaning that Gabe was in there getting ready for work.

"Gabe." Nothing. "Gabe. Gabe!" He opened the door. "My water broke."

"Are you s—" His gaze dropped to the giant spot on the sheets, the drips making their way down to soak the carpet.

"Yes." I got up and hobbled to the bathroom. When I sat on the toilet, gushes more surged out. It sounded like I was peeing, which I called to Gabe. "That's not pee! That's my water!"

I was not nervous or scared. I hadn't had any signs of early labor or anything, but she didn't feel early to me.

"I guess we're having a baby," I said.

Gabe stared at me. "...yep."

Early Labor


The next few hours were mostly pretty chill.

I texted our doula, Jocelyn, who lives in Florida. She'd been planning to fly up May 18, but on short notice the earliest she could get to NC was 10pm, so Gabe and I decided to switch the plan to virtual care with her, via texting and video chat if need be.

Since I was feeling good and my water (which was continuing to gush out in random bursts as I went about the house) was clear, I felt good about laboring at home—despite what the obgyn on-call nurse seemed to assume. I called the office to let them know what was going on, and the nurse said to go to the hospital if I didn't start contracting within in the next hour. Fortunately after a couple of laps up and down our street, I thought I could feel some tiny baby period cramps and called them contractions.

There were two small scares that morning: 1) I suddenly realized about 7:30 that I couldn't remember the last time the baby had moved. You can imagine the games my head played until she finally nudged me again. 2) Some of the water coming out of me was very slightly pink tinged, so Jocelyn suggested we go to the obgyn and see if everything was good. Some blood is normal, but the way it was very mixed in with the amniotic fluid was questionable.

However, at the 10:30am obgyn appointment, the baby's heartbeat was great, it was so obvious that my water had broken that they didn't even test it, and Dr. D'Angelo seemed shocked and vaguely impressed that I declined a cervical check. As far as I'd learned in birth prep, the baby was gonna come on her own time and at her own pace, so knowing how dilated I was at the time would mean nothing.

We stopped at Biscuitville on the way home and got sausage, egg, and cheese biscuits for ourselves and my best friend Cassidy, who I'd called in. I thought about calling Sarah, my sister, and her kids to come over, knowing that toddlers would be the BEST distraction from uncomfortable-but-non-urgent early labor. However, I wanted to see how things progressed.

At home, between bites of biscuit, Gabe finished packing and loaded the hospital bags into the car while Cassidy and I meal prepped some frozen breakfast burritos that I'd meant to make the week before. It came up in conversation that the red raspberry leaf tea I'd been drinking to prepare my uterus might've worked a little too well, and then it occurred to me that maybe drinking it would speed up my labor too. I started chugging, and uh.

It worked.

The tiny baby contractions moved quickly into full-blown period cramps that were very distracting. Whenever they got so intense that I couldn't talk through them, we would start timing.

At some point, Gabe and Cass got the labor pool ready: an inflatable thing from Target that we set up on the back patio and began filling with the hose, adding boiling water to it to try to get the temperature more comfortable.

There are a couple of characters in the TV show Friends who get pregnant, and we'd saved all those episodes to watch during my early labor to get my mind off things, so we started the first of four episodes while the pool filled and water boiled. Cass and Gabe sat on couches, I sat on a big yoga ball, bouncing and rolling through contractions—which Gabe had started timing with an app. Apparently they were close and consistent enough that the app was telling us to go to the hospital, but I could still talk through them so I felt like we should wait. Well, I insisted we wait.

Two-thirds of the way through the first Friends episode I paused it to go to the bathroom, and when the next contraction hit on the toilet, I realized that they were a LOT worse when I couldn't be on the yoga ball. I finished my business and called Gabe in. I only wanted him during this phase. I moved into our closet (attached to the bathroom) and started laboring on all fours on the floor. When I would drop onto my forearms, my t-shirt rode up and got in and mouth, which pissed me off, so I took it off.

As the contractions got more and more intense, Gabe gently began suggesting we listen to the app (we were on its sixth or seventh nudge to go to the hospital). I resisted.

"I can talk through them," I said, rocking on my hands and knees. "The birth course said to wait until you can't talk through them, and even the in-between time is tough. That's not happening yet."

But it was real uncomfortable XD Through each contraction, I hummed and moaned deep in my throat, careful to keep my sounds low and my jaw and shoulders relaxed. I told Gabe that I either wanted to get in the labor pool or use my labor combs. He brought me the combs, and they made a HUGE difference. I would grip them during contractions and the teeth pressed into my palms, doing something scientific pressure-point-wise.

Around 3:45pm Gabe convinced me that it was time to go to the hospital. I still didn't believe that it was and I was convinced the staff would laugh at me for coming in so early, but I told Gabe that I trusted him and that if he really wanted me to go, we could go.

We got in the car and Cass followed. Laboring in the car was super, super uncomfortable. I don't remember much about the drive, and my memories get dimmer from here on out. I remember Gabe taking a curve in the road too sharply for my taste and me loudly demanding that he NOT do ANYTHING like that AGAIN because it made me feel like I was going to throw up. I also told him to talk to me during contractions. "Talk about how they're not pain, they're power." I was surprised at how breathless I sounded. "Tell me I'm strong and my body was made for this." And he did. "LOUDER" I snapped at one point, because my moaning and humming had escalated. "You've gotta be louder than I am."

We arrived at the hospital and there was some parking drama because I couldn't walk the length of the garage, but I also didn't want Gabe to drop me off and leave me to go park. In the end, that was what happened though, and a security guard (?) wheeled me into the labor and delivery department.

I remember the breeze on my face as he wheeled me felt really nice. The contractions really did not.

The journey to the check-in counter is a blur of fluorescent lights and disembodied voices. Gabe caught up to us as I was checking in with...some female behind a counter. She was asking me questions (we had preregistered at the hospital) and I was answering them with my eyes closed, fists clenching the labor combs for dear life even between contractions, which were like really intense period cramps...I think? I don't remember filing away a different way to describe them.

When Gabe arrived he took over answering questions, and I thanked God for the bazillionth time that I have a husband who loves me and pays attention to me and whom I can trust to speak for me when I can't.

Got to a triage room, was put onto a hospital bed. More disembodied voices, annoying questions. Cassidy caught up with us at this point. I agreed to a cervical check and was told that I was 4cm dilated, and that usually the first four take the longest.

Next, a labor room.

~ Stephanie

This Might Might Be Completely and Utterly a "Me" Problem

As happens a lot, I had a revelation about three quarters of the way through this post, which resulted in a totally unexpected worldview shift. Come along for the journey below 😂

I've been procrastinating a blog topic for a while now because...well, for two reasons. 1) It's a big topic. It's going to require a lot of thinking/processing/wrestling, and I haven't felt like doing that. 2) People are going to have Opinions, and I don't need them. It'd be too harsh to say I don't care about people's opinions, it's just that they won't factor into what I decide to do. In a way it feels misleading to blog about this (especially if I'm going to share the link to Facebook) and also be disinterested in conversation about the topic.

Okay, so what is the topic? My postpartum philosophy/plans.

There are two extremes and a million happy mediums in between. The two extremes: Bounce Back Boss Babe, and Healing Hibernating Hippie.

Bounce Back Boss Babe
You birth your baby and as quickly and seamlessly as possible get back on your feet cooking, cleaning, running errands, and taking your trendily dressed baby with you on light jogs.

- Very appealing from a pride standpoint—people will comment on how you have it all together, you can fake making motherhood look easy
- Required to some degree by American society. Even my company—which I LOVE working for and relies on family culture—only provides two weeks of paid maternity leave.
- What I saw growing up—especially from my dance teachers. They danced until they went into labor, and then sometimes performed in the recital like a week or two postpartum. Talk about #goals...right?

Healing Hibernating Hippie
Postpartum is treated as a sacred transitional time, where the mother is shielded from all strain and responsibility for weeks, fed in a way that prioritizes her healing, and cautioned against hosting visitors.

- Very appealing from a holistic, body-respectful standpoint—the first forty days of postpartum can allegedly make or break your entire experience of new motherhood
- Unquestionably accepted, nearly enforced, in many Eastern and Native American cultures.
- Radically different from anything I've ever seen anyone do. Granted, most women's postpartum experiences are pretty private (another Western thing), so I don't really know their approaches, but I'm guessing they didn't have a team making every single meal or keeping them warm around the clock.

I just started reading a book called The First Forty Days. I registered for it thinking that it was a cookbook on how to nourish a new mother, and it is...but around the first 55% is actually more philosophical. It's sparked a lot of feelings for me, most of which are summed up in this text to Cassidy:

It's probably that last sentence that really gets me. As a child, I was often told that I was lazy and selfish, which I've blogged about before. Although everyone in my life now tries to reassure me that that isn't true, internalized beliefs are hard to shift. Plus, both sides of my personality would like me to choose the Boss Babe approach to postpartum, albeit for different reasons.

The ENFJ in me desperately wants to behave in the most socially appropriate, commendable way. She doesn't want to be labeled as demanding or inconsiderate; she doesn't want people to talk about her behind her back; she doesn't want to ask more of her village than she has done for others. Yes, I've brought friends a meal or two—but I've also held the baby and watched the new mother do dishes or fold laundry, which is a huge No No in the Hibernating Hippie approach.

The Eight in me desperately wants to show the world how tough and capable I am. Due to sheer luck and the grace of God, I've had an extremely healthy, easy pregnancy. The Eight wants to carry that into postpartum and motherhood, proving that my mind and body are exceptionally strong. Not only does she shirk asking for help (something in common with the ENFJ), she shirks the idea of even needing it.

To be honest, I think I could get the Eight on board easier than the ENFJ. The Eight understands that the body keeps the score. Nourish the body and everything else becomes easier. I also really WANT to embrace the Hibernating Hippie approach, and the Eight thrives on fighting for what I want, even when it might make people annoyed or gossipy.

But I know that community is a powerful factor in motherhood, and community is the ENFJ's domain. She's the one who maintains and repairs relationship, and monitors when I'm being too "extra."

Obviously there are a million shades of medium between the Boss Babe and the Hibernating Hippie, and I'm sure I'll color myself accordingly when the time comes. It's just...modern American culture kinda sucks. I've been thinking so when it comes to religion for a long time, and now I'm learning that the suck extends to postpartum expectations too.

Gabe and I have an INCREDIBLE village, people who have already told us that they want to help in whatever way is most helpful and that they never want us to feel alone.

So...I am just now realizing that this might be completely and utterly a Me problem. No one has told me that I'm "extra." I've already said that people insist that I'm not lazy or selfish.

Wait, is the problem with postpartum that moms often can't make themselves ASK for help, not that their villages wouldn't show up?

*stares out the window for several seconds*

Is my real problem the vulnerability element? I don't want to appear weak or look disheveled in front of people? I don't want to be the first mom in my millennial circle to embrace a more traditional postpartum philosophy?

Well damn, now the Eight is really perking up. She might even be ready to take on the ENFJ.

I guess get ready for me to ask you for meals and help with chores cuz...we might be doing this.

~Stephanie

Marriage Miracles

~ drafted June 14, 2024 but never published ~

Last night at dinner, Gabe pulled out his phone and said, "Okay, I have a few things to talk to you about, if that's okay?"

I nodded. "Go for it."

Gabe proceeded to give a rundown of where he is in the process of all the house-buying minutiae: when our internet here will end and start at the new house, when our power will end here and start at the new house, when we can turn on water at the new house, which security systems he's looked into and what their costs and processes are, how the pest control works, the fact that he's confirmed the date and time of the movers, the fact that he's on top of getting our trashcans.

"You don't need to do anything about this," he said, peering at me over his glasses. "I'm just keeping you in the loop. What?" He smiled hesitantly at whatever look was on my face.

"I'm just...kind of in awe," I said. I grinned. "Can you imagine twenty-two-year-old you doing this? He would've probably looked at the note in your phone and cried."

Gabe laughed, "Yeah, that's true." He glanced back at his phone to continue.

"No, seriously," I said. "This is WILD."

When we first got married, Gabe couldn't even remember to pay the power bill. He couldn't do homework and go to church and hang out with me in the same day. Now he takes ALL of the initiative, does ALL the research, handles ALL of the scary administrative stuff, and all he asks of me is to pay attention when he updates me over some dinners. And even that is for my benefit: he just doesn't want there to be any unpleasant surprises for me or for me to worry about anything.

I have a lot of life goals, but if my number one accomplishment in the end is being a good wife to Gabe, I will be honored. I will feel like my life was well-spent. He's obviously not perfect and there are days when Cassidy gets an earful, but I see God working through Gabe every day. Gabe leads from a place of love. He empowers me and I am comfortable submitting to him.

I don't think this post has a point except to brag on my husband and maybe to encourage people who are worried that they or their partner can't make it XD It can get better—not magically and not overnight, but it can get better.

As I type this, Gabe is in the kitchen making dinner after spending an hour and a half making cupcakes from scratch for a birthday party tomorrow.

If you'd had a backstage pass to the early days of our marriage, you'd believe in miracles right along with me.

~Stephanie

Third Trimester Blog: Part 1

photo credits: Haleigh Nicole Photography

We are in the home stretch. Do I feel ready? No. Do I have lots of thoughts that need to be processed via blog? Yes. Will I make time to do that? We shall see. But for now...

Week 29





- Not gonna lie, I hate having to take iron three times a day. It's annoying and it tastes gross.

Week 30








Haleigh Nicole Photography took the most beautiful maternity photos ever. The entire experience was absolute DREAM, and her work is stunning!! I will be recommending her to everyone forever.

- Felt dismayed at my weight at the doctor for the first time. It's just weird to see a number I've never approached before.
- Almost could not put on my socks.
- Eyesight is getting worse?
- Woke up and the bump was noticeably much smaller, and I didn't feel her all up in my right ribs. Turning/head down?
- First bump size comment: cashier lady at Food Lion asked my due date and said I don't look very big for that. I did not mind this comment 😂
- Back to being cripplingly sleepy, especially in the afternoons.
- Hold the roof handle in the car when I'm a passenger in the Civic so I can lift my ribs out of my uterus.

Week 31



- Lots of heartburn this week!

Week 32






I was craving a GIANT salad (that is a casserole dish), but I didn't want to make it in any part. So Gabe graciously made the entire thing while I sat at the bar and gave extremely specific instructions. I am the luckiest girl in the world.



- The only time my right ribs stop hurting is when I'm lying down or doing my stretch routine. I do not like this.
- Yep, in pain 24/7.

Week 33



- Belly skin tans weirdly? Or could be the sunscreen?
- Ribs hurt much less this week.

Week 34




Assembling Tot's dresser!



- I have to pee every time I stand up.
- My bellybutton finally popped.
- I feel noticeably "big." Riding in the backseat of the Civic on Easter was kinda tough.
- Craving: miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiilk so much milk

Week 35





- Okay yes, I am finally uncomfortable on the whole XD
- Bro...I feel so pregnant. Moving is slow and difficult, I get full instantly but I'm supposed to be upping my protein.
- Although at least some of the slowness is from the first legit leg day back at the gym in a while.

I hope this won't be the last blog I post until Tot arrives, but it MIGHT be the last "trimester" blog, which is wild enough!

~ Stephanie