I Love Being a Mom—AND I Don't Recommend Having Kids

My last post, "I Don't Recommend Having Kids," got way more interaction than I was anticipating. I've been shocked and touched and humbled and teary over how many people have commented, messaged me, or texted me. Y'all are such a blessing and you're showing God's love to me in such real ways. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

I do want to clarify something completely at odds with that post though, because I forget not everyone understands me as well as Gabe:

I love being a mom.

You may want to chuck your phone or laptop across the room and curl your lip and throw up your hands and snap, "Well, then what the heck was that all about?! Are you lying? Are you CRAZY?"

I'm not lying, although I might be crazy.

Having Baby Elle HAS ruined my life, but in the way that becoming a butterfly ruins your life as a caterpillar. Maybe I really liked having a long, wiggly body and munching on leaves, and now that I can fly and suck nectar from flowers, I miss it. My life, defined as "life as a caterpillar," IS ruined. But my life as a butterfly is just beginning.

Yeah, I can't work/eat/shower/work out/poop/etc., and I hate that. I want those things back. But I also have a list in my phone called "Things I Never Want to Forget," and it's full of things like "the way she sticks her tongue out to poke the paci away if she doesn't want it" and "the little poofs of air in my ear as she breathes during the middle-of-the-night upright time" and "when I can feel her tummy glug against mine while she nurses."

I love how she smiles with the tip of her tongue out. I love watching her wake up and see me first thing (cuz we we end up co-sleeping for the last bit of the night). I love when I know exactly what she wants, especially when it's something so weird and random that no one else could have guessed it. I love watching her discover gravity, figure out how to grab things just out of reach, see Gabe come home after work, react to new shadows, understand new words.

I like creating her reality. She believes that her parents are safe and will come for her. She thinks that church is a place of music and friends and Jesus's love. She knows that she can react negatively toward anyone touching her and have her preferences respected. She knows that she is sweet and smart and strong and brave and kind and beautiful. Her bedtime routine is snuggling on the couch with Mama and Daddy and a paci and reading a book, then everybody prays, then we tell her that God made her special and he loves her very much.

I like making baby food. I like finding whole foods and dicing them and putting them in our fancy machine and steaming them and blending them and putting them in little silicon molds to freeze and then moving them to labeled bags. I like planning what spices we'll introduce her to this week. I like laying out her little silicon bowl and spoons and cup. I like watching her figure out how to use an open cup. I like watching her be SO GOOD AT USING A SPOON?!

I like going to the pediatrician (and I pray for parents for whom those visits are a source of stress or sadness). I like our nurse, Bailey, and our doctor, Dr. Janie. I like seeing how much Baby Elle weighs and how tall she is. I like how smiley she is, and how much everyone loves to interact with her. I like seeing my sweet baby notice everything, from Dr. Janie's necklace to the rhino painting on the wall to the crinkly paper on the examination table.

I like repeating words and sign language and watching Elle begin to make connections. She understands milk, all done, loud, diaper change, and let go—and probably even more than we realize.

I like reading books to her. I like rotating her books so that no one gets sick of anything, and some books feel brand-new. I like finding books to go with each season or holiday. I like watching Elle realize that she can turn pages. I like curating Elle's collection of books so that we have diversity and inclusivity and books that respect big feelings and books with good rhyme and meter. I love when books have perfect rhyme and meter and you can read them with an exaggerated cadence.

I love singing to Baby Elle. She has her own theme song/lullaby, which she loves and will calm her down if she's crying. She also loves Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes.

I love using big words around Elle, hoping that she'll have a vocabulary that allows her to express herself well.

I love paying attention to the way Gabe and I interact around Elle, knowing that what we model will be the blueprint her little brain uses for marriage. (Although, talk about PRESSURE.)

I love how happy people get when they see Elle, and how happy she is to see them too, both in person and on work calls.

I love when Elle moves her body BIG, whether she smacks her dangly toys with all her might or slams her heels into the ground while lying down or violently gnarls up the plastic diaper sleeve she has claimed as a toy.

I love picking out the perfect bow to go with her outfits, and I love trying to match or coordinate with her without buying anything new.

I love everything about her tiny body. Her fuzzy, wispy hair. Her chubby, rosy cheeks. Her soft, round belly. Watching her eyelashes get longer. Wondering if her hair is turning blonde. Seeing her eyes get starry with joy.

I love not being lonely or bored anymore, two things that used to plague me.

I love going on walks with Elle. I love how fresh air and nature resets her grumpiness. I love watching her notice leaves or blink when the wind blows.

I love kissing the back of her head every night as Gabe takes her to bed and saying, "Goodnight, I love you."

I love being a mom, but my pre-baby life IS ruined, and all these things would NOT necessarily be worth it to everyone else. Are they worth it to me? Yeah, I wanted kids, 100%. So did Gabe. But if someone doesn't 100% want kids, then the gripes of the "Don't Recommend" post very well might outweigh these good things.

I guess that's the more complete picture of what I meant to say before. I DON'T recommend having kids, not because I regret it or hate it, but because a lot of it SUCKS and I cannot say whether the good will outweigh the suck for you, or for anyone. No one can. Honestly, not even you can, probably.

But you HAVE to be willing to risk the suckiness if you're going to have kids. Kids didn't choose to be born; you chose to have them. If you don't think you can handle your life sucking so that you don't taint the life of an innocent baby, don't do it. I think some of the strongest people are those who know they don't want kids, and therefore don't have them. Good for you.

Do I recommend having kids? No.

Do I love being a mom? Yes.

Clear as mud for you? Same 😂

~Stephanie

I Don't Recommend Having Kids

The mind map of things I want to talk about in this post is insane. It may end up being multiple posts, or writing it out may simplify and unify my thoughts.* We'll see. I'm typing this on my laptop while lying down on the bed next to Baby Elle, because she will not nap alone any more. She used to. But she doesn't any more. The laptop's brightness is turned down as far it'll go before the screen goes black. The screen is at a forty-five degree downward angle and turned away from Elle to keep the light off her face. I'm typing slowly so the sound of the keys doesn't wake her. I keep making typos because I can't see the keyboard that well.

But yeah, let me talk about why I don't necessarily recommend having kids. Boomers are known for all the negative "just wait until" statements regarding babies, and as a reaction, I think millennials have pendulum-swung really far the other direction, mainly highlighting the good parts of having babies.

I'm going to assume that you know I'm not a monster. I'm assuming you know how profoundly grateful I am that God finally answered years of prayer by giving us a baby. I assume you know that I love my baby a mind-blowing amount, and that I would not say I regret having her.

However, the fact that all of that is true and I'm still writing a post thusly titled means that parenthood has been a lot worse than I anticipated. Not just "harder." Worse. Right now, my life is undeniably WORSE than it was pre-baby. Technically speaking, Elle has ruined my life. I say that without anger, and without ascribing malice to my sweet baby. Every single thing about my life has been taken away from me. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't work, I can't watch TV. I can't work out. I can't write. I can't hang out with my husband. I can't go to the movies. I can't shower. My clothes don't fit the same. My house isn't clean. I can't crack my knuckles. I can't open the microwave. I can't poop.

Elle is almost seven months old and she gets up anywhere from 5–10 times a night on a good night, to 20+ times on a bad night. She gets put down at 7:30pm, and it's hell until between 5–6am when we give up and cosleep. We've tried putting her down awake, putting her down asleep, nursing her to sleep, separating the bedtime feed from sleep with a diaper change, different volumes of the sound machine, different pajamas/sleep sacks, mittens, different house temperatures, starting with a paci, not starting with a paci, using a paci if she gets fussy, longer wake windows, shorter wake windows, holding her for twenty minutes while she's asleep and then putting her down, letting her cry for a little while, me putting her down, Gabe putting her down, curtains, nightlight, shorter bedtime routine, longer bedtime routine, rocking her to sleep, holding her stationary to sleep, holding her upright to fall asleep, holding her horizontal to fall asleep, more daytime sleep, less daytime sleep. Nothing has made a difference. Sometimes she has good nights (awake 5–10 times), but those have been few and far between for weeks.

Not all babies are like this. Lots of people have easy first babies. In fact, I've heard MOST people's first babies are easy, so if you're expecting, don't freak out.

But here's the thing: you just don't know what you're gonna get. Gabe and I wanted kids so badly, both of us did. I cannot IMAGINE how much worse this would feel if just one of us had been at all on the fence. If you and your partner are debating, or if one of you wants kids and the other doesn't, do not have kids. I don't mean to brag, but Gabe and I have a good marriage. We've spent years changing for each other. We communicate really well. We sacrifice for each other. We're on the same page about parenting philosophies. Gabe is a one-in-a-billion partner. And it still sucks. Because of Elle's sleep chaos, we never get to hang out with each other. I'm not even talking about sexy time; I'm talking about being able to watch a 22-minute episode of a sitcom uninterrupted. If our marriage wasn't ROCK FREAKING SOLID, we would have been CRUSHED under the weight of the suckiness.

I know we have people who would babysit. Several things: Elle won't take a bottle. We're kind of ridiculous about how we want her talked to/treated. She recently has some separation anxiety and will sometimes bloodcurdlingly scream for minutes upon minutes if without us.

I have a post draft called "Biggest Fears" that I started before Elle was born. One of them was that the labor mantra of "you'll meet your baby soon" would have the opposite of its intended effect on me. People say that to encourage you, but even while pregnant, I knew that life with a baby might suck. To Pregnant Stephanie, "you'll get to meet your baby soon" sounded a lot like "you'll get to be sleep deprived, forcibly selfless, never do your own thing again, and stop having people say you're glowing."

And I was right. I was blessed with such an easy pregnancy that postpartum has only been worse. I never got uncomfortable. I loved being pregnant. Having a belly was a vibe. Having a baby is a massive inconvenience.

Do I regret having a baby? No. I love her so much. I'm obsessed with how cute and happy she is. She's a joy. She's the sweetest baby angel.

But am I going to go around telling people they should have kids? HELL NO?! If you don't want this with every fiber of your being, if you aren't willing to have your life ruined, if you don't think your marriage could withstand literal torture, then don't do it. Don't do it. Enjoy your life. Sleep. Eat food while it's hot. Go to the movies. Sit down and stay sitting down. Get a dog.

Is there joy? Of COURSE. But I can't "recommend" having kids because I don't know you intimately enough to make that call.

I think that's more what it boils down to. Having kids is such a personal decision. I've always known that—and been adament that it's rude for anyone to ask someone when they're going to have kids—but now I understand how personal the choice is on a whole 'nother level. It's not just rude to assume you know having children is the right thing for someone else; it's impossible for you to know.

You just need to be sure. I get the biological clock thing, which is a big reason why Gabe and I started trying earlier rather than later, but we were already SURE we wanted kids, eventually.

Cassidy keeps telling me she'll be interested to see how my perspective on this changes. I'll be interested too. I really hope I look back on this stage of motherhood and I can smile knowing that it got better and was so worth it. I hope it gets so much better and feels SO worth it that I can stand the thought of doing it again. I assume I will. And maybe at that point, I WILL recommend having kids. It's definitely a way to find out what you're made of. It's just also a risk for that same reason.

I dunno, man. Life sucks right now. It SUCKS. I know I post the happy stuff to Facebook, and none of it is a lie, there's just a lot Else that goes on too.

So yeah. Don't have kids. Or do. I can't tell you.

~Stephanie

* It did not do that. If anything this post is MORE rambling and less coherent than I anticipated. But that's pretty much in keeping with the theme of this post.

all the minutes in a day

pumping

washing bottles

sanitizing bottles

nursing

holding the baby upright for fifteen minutes after nursing

wiping up spit-up

changing the baby's clothes

stain-treating baby clothes

putting baby clothes in the washing machine

putting baby clothes in the dryer

folding baby laundry

putting away baby laundry

finding baby food recipes

reading baby food recipes

making grocery lists for baby food

making baby food

storing baby food

cleaning up after making baby food

reheating baby food

serving baby food

cleaning up the baby after a solid meal

cleaning up the high chair, table, and floor after a solid meal

loading the dishwasher

checking the baby's diaper

changing the baby's diaper

applying diaper rash cream

cleaning off the baby's foot when she puts it in the dirty diaper

washing your hands

choreographing the day so that feedings and naps are achievable

putting the baby to sleep

putting the baby back to sleep

putting the baby back to sleep

putting the baby back to sleep

putting the baby back to sleep

putting the baby back to sleep

putting the baby back to sleep

holding the baby so she'll sleep

replacing the baby's paci

sterilizing pacis

finding a pacis

sitting in the car in the driveway because the baby fell asleep

bathing the baby

drying off the baby

diapering the baby

draining the bathtub

putting away the soap and shampoo

cleaning up splashed water

putting the washcloths and towel in the hamper

putting the sleep sack on

changing the baby's diaper

washing your hands

picking up baby toys

trimming the baby's nails

buying diapers and wipes

restocking diapers and wipes from storage

reading books to the baby

doing tummy time with the baby

going for walks with the baby

making the baby laugh

kissing the baby

singing to the baby

letting the baby chew on your finger

wiggling your fingers at the baby to entertain her

changing the baby's diaper

washing your hands

saying, "oh dear" and "poor baby" and "I know" and "oh it's so hard" and "mhmm"

putting the baby in the car seat

taking the baby out of the car seat

restocking the diaper bag

debriefing with your partner

tracking when the baby last ate and slept

whisper-screaming at your partner about nap math or being too loud

doing non-baby tasks extremely slowly and quietly so as not to wake the baby

googling questions about the baby

settling the baby in a new spot so you can get something done

responding to texts that depend on the baby ("what time will you be here" "does that work for you" "are you coming over" "what time can I come over" "how was last night" "how's she doing" "how're you doing" "what is she gonna be for halloween")

sending photos of the baby to friends and relatives who live far away

sorting through photos of the baby

blogging about how being a parent takes all the minutes in a day

changing the baby's diaper

washing your hands

~Stephanie

Why You Shouldn't Do Revenge Donuts in Someone's Yard

A couple of years ago, one of my Facebook friends shared this:

It took me a minute (and maybe even some researching) to figure out what was going on. I had no idea that grass clippings were a problem for motorcycles. Apparently they can be as dangerous as ice to cyclists, reducing the traction of their tires. I'm not the one who mows our lawn, but the meme made me sad, because what if we had left clippings in the road and a cyclist had retaliated by destroying our yard? How sad to be vandalized for a crime we hadn't known we'd committed.

For the last five years, we've lived in Kernersville. There's a road, Teague, that every time I drove past, some jackass would whip out in front of me and make me slam on my brakes. It was one of the more annoying constants in my life. Last year, Gabe and I moved. Now we drive ON Teague rather than past it, and guess what? You can't see cars coming from the right when you're stopped at the stop sign. People weren't cutting me off because they were rude or bad drivers; they were doing their best, just like I now have to do—and about half the time I still wince because I've "cut someone off."

On the rare occasions that I get to shop by myself these days, I no longer park next to the cart return or as close to the store as possible, even if there's a spot open. As a mom, I know how much easier it is to put a car seat from the car directly into a cart rather than have to walk a ways with the car seat bumping into your leg, jostling your baby. I think back to all the times I thought, "Score!" and pulled into a choice spot that—as a young, able-bodied person—I honestly didn't need. I feel retroactively guilty for taking spots like that, but the truth is I just didn't have any idea what makes a parent's life harder or easier. 

My dad once shared a podcast episode by Brené Brown where she talks about choosing to believe that people are doing the best they can. Apparently people who believe that others are doing their best have a better time in general. They're less angry, more compassionate. Since that episode, I've tried to believe the best in others, but humbling, concrete experiences like the three above really hammer the point home.

These days, I'm more likely to imagine why someone might have acted the way they did rather than ascribe malice to them. I'm glad God is doing this work in me before Baby Elle is old enough to understand my words. I want her to be someone who believes the best in others.

Maybe people aren't as rude/stupid/careless/mean as we think. Maybe they just don't know that grass clippings are a hazard, can't see your car coming from that angle, or haven't experienced the problems of parenthood.

~Stephanie

Postpartum in Songs Part III

I started this post on August 21. What is that, like seven weeks ago? I started the draft by first listing all the songs and their trigger phrases, and planned to go back and fill the little paragraph explanations. I did not XD

At this point, I am actually past the phase where most of these songs are being triggered. No, these days we're on to different songs, like Lord's "Royals" ("I cut my teeth on wedding rings, in the movies"), but I don't want Songs Part III to go to waste, so here's a snapshot of what my brain sounded like almost two months ago :)

"Let's Go Fly a Kite" from Mary Poppins
Trigger phrase: "Let's go fly a kite."
The cadence "let's go change your diaper" sounds enough like this that it sends this Disney song through my head.

"When I Grow Up" by the Pussycat Dolls
Trigger phrase: "Fresh and clean, number one chick when I step out on the scene."
As I change Elle's diaper, I'll tell her that we're gonna get her "fresh and clean."

"Why" by Jon Bellion and Luke Combs
Trigger phrase: [the whole song]
I first heard this song around the time Elle was born, and it resonates with me so much. I'm not a fan of Jon Bellion and I don't listen to country music, so it's funny to me that I love this collab. 

"Booty Wurk" by T-Pain
Trigger phrase: "Let me see your booty wurk, booty wurk, booty booty booty wurk."
I mean, what else are you gonna say as a club rat millennial changing your baby's diaper?

"Hello" by Adele
Trigger phrase: "Hello."
Elle makes this adorable little gurgling coo that sounds like "hello," so I sing this song back to her a lot.

"4 Minutes" by Madonna
Trigger phrase: "We only got four minutes to save the world."
Elle has reflux, so we try to keep her upright for at least fifteen minutes after she eats. I often check the clock and see that we've only got four minutes left before she can be freeeeeeee (to still spit up).

"Who's That Lady" by The Isley Brothers
Trigger phrase: "Who's that lady?"
Also during the "keeping her upright for fifteen minute" laps, Elle and I walk by the mirror in the entryway and I always gasp and sing, "Who's that baby? Pretty baby."

"Sorry About Your Parents" by Icon for Hire
Trigger phrase: "I'm sorry about your parents, they sound like bad people."
I realize how this sounds, but it's actually just because of how often I say the phrase, "Sorry about your hiccups" to Elle. This song gets triggered.

The"Entertainment Seven Twenty" Jingle from Parks and Rec
Trigger phrase: "Entertainment seven twenty, where dreams come—they come true."
Somehow I look down at the nursing timer and it's been seven minutes and twenty seconds a lot? Someone should do a study on why you seem to encounter some numbers more often XD

~ Stephanie

What's in a Name?

One year ago today, I found out I was pregnant with Baby Elle. A chemical pregnancy/miscarriage in April 2024 and my allergy to believing good things kept my reaction on a very short, cynical leash.

To be honest, I don't feel a connection between Baby Elle and the baby who lived in my stomach, even though I eventually allowed myself to be joyful about the pregnancy. The person whose booty made my right ribs ache does not seem like the same person who laughs when I shake my head and say "kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss!" She was very considerate in the womb: never woke me up, didn't give me nausea or tummy stretch marks, kicked reassuringly whenever I started to question if she was okay. Still, I was hesitant to ascribe personality to her because I didn't really know her, so it didn't feel respectful.

On the outside, Elle is not exactly "considerate." She fusses if she's left alone for more than 20–90 seconds and wakes us up many times during the wee hours. I will say she still has a habit of sighing or twitching whenever I worry about her while she sleeps, which is nice. When she isn't feeling lonely, she's very sweet and chipper. She is the queen of eye contact. She is generous with her smiles. She actively tries to cope with discomfort (although she does often fail) and is a delight to take places, from the Honeybee Festival to Garrett and Nia's wedding. She does get impatient and vocal when frustrated (e.g., trying to crawl), but same, girl.

When I look at the pregnancy test or pictures of me pregnant, it doesn't feel like "Elle" in there. Maybe that's because we didn't settle on her name until right before she was born? (And we didn't settle on her middle name until they asked us in the hospital and we realized we knew.)

Although, in a way, Gabrielle has been named for a very long time 🙂 She's named after Gabe, yes, but may I present to you an excerpt from a post on another blog, before Gabe and I even became boyfriend and girlfriend.




(The other name was Kendra, but unfortunately that one died due to the classic "no, because I knew someone with that name" protest from Gabe.)

If Baby Elle's first name is for Gabe and all of these folks that I love, her middle name, Ember, is for me. Ember is the name of the main character in the Fire Faery Story, which I've been working on since I was twelve years old. The other characters were originally based off of friends (including the Ellie, Jesse, and my sister referenced in Gabrielle), but Ember was based off of me.

Gabrielle Ember Meter. Your name is full, but I know your God-crafted soul is fuller, more beautiful, and more beloved than our human minds can even imagine.

~Stephanie

The Rise of Brunette Superwoman

There are a lot of things I DON'T want this post to be.

I DON'T want it to be an endorsement for having kids as a way to level up.

I DON'T want it to be a negation of all my past Brunette Superwoman revelations.

I DON'T want it to be a post that ages badly because I'm so new and naive in the world of parenting.

But lately...it kind of feels like Brunette Superwoman has actually shown up.

It took me years (and blog posts like this and this) to come to terms with the fact that my life won't magically be taken over and completed by a super version of myself. My life will only ever be lived by me, as fumbling and inconsistent and non-super as I am.

But a couple of months ago, I took Baby Elle for a walk outside by myself. I assembled the stroller, got her into it, and walked around with the human I had created. My body felt good. The baby wasn't crying. I was doing something I'd seen mothers do for years and thought, "Wow. Look how together she is."

Now, was I together? Not...really. But I HAD done something that really intimidated me, and I had just DONE it. I hadn't dithered about it. I hadn't let myself get overwhelmed or down. I had decided that it would be good for us to go for a walk, and I had made it happen without any help. I was living my tiny dream, and it made me feel so strong. Empowered.

That was mostly an isolated incident. Life has felt very overwhelming on the day-to-day. There is always laundry and dishes and never quick enough lunch food and I've actually had to write "brush my teeth" on my to-do list.

But recently, I had to have a postpartum procedure to deal with some scar tissue. It involved being chemically cauterized down there with silver nitrate. I was very aware that it was going to hurt. A few months ago, a procedure like that would have kept me up at night for—at minimum—a week before the appointment. I would've been panicking to Gabe daily and sweating on the way to the obgyn.

However, none of that was the case. I made the appointment myself, had completely normal days leading up to it, drove myself to the appointment, did not sweat in the waiting room, and endured without making a sound.

Did it hurt a lot? Oh yeah. But since becoming a mother, there's just...there's like, a LOT that sucks. There's a LOT that's hard, a LOT that I don't want to do—and I just have to do it anyway. Giving birth was hard. Healing postpartum was hard. Nursing was hard. Getting no sleep was hard. Giving up virtually all my "me time" is hard. Accepting that I'll often be covered in spit up is hard. Not reacting in anger when my child head butts me is hard. Smiling and saying, "that happens sometimes" when she poops all over the new diaper, changing table, and clothes mid-diaper change is hard.

And I just have to do it anyway.

Until the silver nitrate procedure, I hadn't noticed this; I hadn't been feeling like Brunette Superwoman, but as I sat on the crinkly paper with a blue sheet draped across my lap, I couldn't believe how nonchalant I felt. I wasn't scared of the pain. I certainly wasn't looking forward to it, but something about the last three months had BROKEN me in a way that unleashed a new level of It is What It Is.

And "broken me" is exactly what I mean. New parenthood shares some real similarities with torture, like sleep deprivation, sensory overload, loss of autonomy, and the sheer relentlessness of it all. There's a lot of trying really hard and failing. There's a lot of doing the right thing and haven't it make no difference at all. It kind of destroys you. It is trial by fire. It is leaping off a building and building your parachute on the way down. There is so much that I'm not afraid of anymore, because I've lived a lot more of "but did you die?" than I ever have before.

I will never, ever be the same again after the last three months, but I've had to put myself back together stronger. I don't mean that I'm an amazing parent, but that I'm STILL HERE, and that takes a lot some days.

In a way, Brunette Superwoman DID take over. I don't feel like I chose to become her as much as Old Me straight up died and something else rose from the ashes like a phoenix. Or like a really bedraggled duck trying its best.

If "Brunette Superwoman" is a character with perfect hair and muscles who has it all together, then I'm certainly not her. But if she's tough and brave and confident and willing to face the impossible for someone she loves, then, guys...

She may have arrived.

~ Stephanie

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.