dear asa (one whole year)

my sweet asa,

holy moly, you are one!!! to be precise, you are 12 months, two weeks and three days old. this is unreal to me. i can still feel the weight of your tiny newborn body in my arms, legs straight out against me (you were never one to curl your legs in the fetal position, baby; you've always relished stretching into any space you accommodate). in four months, you've gone from tentatively scooting on your bottom to mastering the "army crawl" to crawling on all fours like a legitimate puppy, a skill you finally picked up when you were around 11 months old. anyone who knows you well shouldn't be surprised you're not walking yet; you've always taken your time with the gross motor stuff.

(so, no, if you're asking, asa is not walking. and please, please accept that it's okay, really. we're not concerned. if you've ever seen her fly around the room holding just one of mama or daddy or grandmama's hands, you wouldn't be, either. girl can move).

baby girl, i've been much, much more amazed at the other skills you've developed in the last four months. you are the most adorable copycat around. if mama or daddy snaps, you watch closely and rub your thumb and forefinger together, trying to do it too. you "rub in" your lotion after touching a lotion bottle, pick up a comb and "brush" your hair, scratch your scalp in unison with me, gently pat henry behind the ears or on his tummy. you'll pick up a shoe, then hold out your foot for someone to help put it on. you're learning to buckle your high chair and changing table straps. you silently mouth so many words before repeating them, and your vocabulary now includes mama, hi! (with the exclamation, because you're so dang excited when you say it), hey, bye bye, and finally, dada! you are also a waving, clapping machine.

speaking of clapping, you offer an enthusiastic round of applause in greeting these days. recently, you started visiting a sweet daycare a few hours each week; when we picked you up after your first day, you clapped! you clapped when we walked through the door. i don't think i'll ever forget that, baby girl.

what an amazing observer you are, asa. i see how bright and attentive you become when we're in a room full of people. you take it all in, then when it's just you, me and daddy, you babble on and on about everything you saw. you are calm and thoughtful, happy and outgoing, introverted and extroverted all at once. it is wonderful.

i need to list a few milestones and stats so i don't forget them, love. you had your first haircut four days after your birthday. i really just trimmed your bangs while you slept, but still. it counts! you are 28.75 inches long and you weigh 19lbs, 6oz. you're tall and thin like your dad, and it's pretty cute. your head is still enormous, naturally. it's all the cheeks and hair and eyes, and brains, of course.

now, let's talk teeth. four months ago, you grew two of them. you still only have two. you've been tricking us for months into thinking a new top tooth has popped, but when we try to find it, it's gone. what wizardry is this?! you're growing somewhere between four and six teeth at once, and i desperately hope one comes out soon. this is not pleasant for you (or me, or daddy).

my lovely girl, you are one! i really, truly can't believe it. you are brilliant and hilarious and strong-willed and beautiful. we are into your second year in the world, and you've completely changed my life. and it is so, so good.

all the love forever,

mama.

p.s.-you've started throwing some serious tantrums when we redirect you from something you want but shouldn't have. you'll scream, arch your back, melt from our arms to the floor, and even hit (!) us you're so angry. it's normal. and sad. and hilarious. i'm trying my best not to laugh at you, love. sorry!

this time last year.

as i draw closer and closer to the days that changed my life forever, i keep thinking a lot about this time last year.

this time last year, i was on maternity leave and anxiously awaiting the birth of my baby. i didn't know if i'd be meeting asa iris or asa milo.

this time last year, i excitedly timed braxton-hicks contractions over and over again until they fizzled out in my sleep.

this time last year, i was planning an unmedicated vaginal birth. i wanted to snuggle my baby against my chest and start breastfeeding right away. i wanted to be the first person to hold the tiny person who grew in my body.

instead, i was asleep when my daughter was born after a looooong, painful, medicated labor and unplanned c-section. i was far from the first person to hold her. strangers on the internet saw my baby before i ever laid eyes on her. there are pictures of her first hours on earth that still devastate me to see. after all of that work, all of the pain, i was unconscious for her first breath, her first cries, all of it. instead of nuzzling into her mama's chest and daddy's arms, she came into the world with neither parent present. nothing went as planned, except that she was here and wonderfully healthy. thank goodness for that.

i think i've come to terms with her birth. i've accepted the c-section as something that had to happen. it's fine, really. in the last few months, i've felt as though i was doing better, that maybe i was finally over it all. but then i started thinking about this time last year, when i was so hopeful about becoming someone's mama. and when i think about that, i realize how much i still ache from what happened after her birth.

seven hours after asa's birth when we finally met, despite the pain and swelling and tears, despite the IVs and blood pressure cuffs and heart rate monitors, i needed to snuggle my daughter against my chest. she needed to be home, with her mama.

this is how one looks after 58 hours of hard labor, major surgery, and 7 hours under general anesthesia.

i see so many first photos of mamas and babies. mamas looking exhausted but triumphant, babies feeling peace to be back home. our first meeting didn't look like that. i was so sick and so numb, i barely remember how it felt. all i know is that i held her close, as close as i could, and tried to pretend she wasn't seven hours old.

in exactly one week, asa will be one. in exactly one week, i hope seeing this photo will hurt less. i'll have a full year of amazing experiences with my daughter. i'll be able to say, this time last year, i held my daughter for the first time. i helped her stop crying just by holding my face near hers. i tried my hardest to nourish her with my milk. this time last year, i became her mama. 

i have so much to be thankful for, asa. so much. you're healing me every day, baby girl. next year, this time last year will look marvelous.

dear asa (8 months, somehow)

my lovely asa,

how in the world are you 8 months old? in the last 4 months, you've learned to roll, sit, eat solid food, pull yourself up (on everything!), wave, say "bye bye" and "mama," scoot your little butt, point your finger and "walk" all over the place while holding our hands. you've grown by leaps and bounds (surely you weigh between 17 and 18 lbs now?), and your beautiful cheeks keep getting more and more enormous. you are such a delight.

sometimes it feels like we're going backwards, in a good way. you moved into a crib from your co-sleeper when you were around 6 months old (i barely remember your 6th month, sweetness. i'm sorry! you're exhausting). but now, you've started sleeping more and more in our bed. a lot of babies move in a linear progression, i think, from bed/bassinet/co-sleeper to crib, but you're just so cozy between mama and daddy these days. i am happy to oblige, especially since it means i get to wake up to you pointing and poking my face with a huge grin. makes my day, every.single.time.

you are strong and strong willed. you have such a personality! at times you're shy and tentative, especially around new people and puppies. most of the time you are incredibly happy. you babble and cheer, blow raspberries and show everyone your goofy, gummy smile. but when you're mad, you're mad, and when you want something, you want it now. or 7 minutes ago. you are always thoughtful and deliberate. sometimes i see you mouthing your favorite word (bye bye) silently before you happily bellow it out at full volume. i swear you're practicing so you can get it just right.

i can't believe how much you've changed in just a few months, and i also can't believe how much you're still so much like that teensy newborn we met all those months ago. parenthood does something beautiful and frightening to time and perception.

i can't wait to see how much you grow in these next 4 months, but i wish time would slow down a little. you'll be a whole year old then, sweetness, and i don't know if i can handle that.

all the love forever,

mama

p.s.- remember that tooth you were allegedly working on 4 months ago? it never materialized. get it together, kid!
p.p.s-whoa. WHOA. when i drafted this post, you didn't have a tooth, but as of about 7pm tonight, you really, really do. there's a sharp little tooth definitely poking through on the bottom left. way to listen to your mama!

stronger than i think.

a couple of weeks ago, i started trapeze classes. like, flying aerial dance trapeze. on a bar. off the ground.

i'm not flying yet, but i am doing more with my body than i ever imagined i could do. i'm learning that i'm stronger than i ever thought i was. i wish i had a photo to remind myself of the things i can do on that trapeze when i get anxious or worried about everything else in my life. i am so afraid sometimes, so scared that i can't do everything i have to do to care for myself and my family, the women i serve in my job, the folks who call the GRJAN hotline and need help exercising their basic reproductive rights. i'm often immobilized with anxiety that i'm not doing enough to build a better world for my daughter. that i'm not strong enough to carry her through all of the shit she's going to face. that i can't teach her how to be strong and carry herself.

but i'm learning that i'm stronger than i ever imagined. for many months, my body blossomed into an ecosystem, an entire planet for this tiny girl. i worked harder than i've ever worked before to bring her here. i learned how to read her needs, to take care of her and comfort her and soothe her to sleep. last night, i hung upside down by my legs on a fucking trapeze.

i'm learning that with my strength, i can teach my daughter that she can be whoever the hell she wants to be and do anything she wants to do. that women are incredible, and not just because they can grow people. that even if she doesn't want to be a woman, zie'll be the most amazing person i have ever known. she's helping me realize that i can take my body and my mind to the absolute brink of what i know i can do, then leap, then soar beyond any expectation i've ever set for myself. i can grow humans. i can change the world for my daughter. i can hang upside down by my legs on a fucking trapeze.

photo by kyle m. martin

processing.

it's a new year, and i'm still processing asa's birth. after more than four months, you'd think i'd be processed out. i'm not.

the other night, i had a dream that cameron and i had another baby. (note: if that ever happens again, it will be several years down the road. i'm not pregnant or hoping to become pregnant. nope. not now, maybe never. nope nope nope). in this dream, the baby was born by c-section, only this time it was wonderful. i was awake! i experienced the entire surgery. asa and cameron were there, too, somehow. we had a baby and i got to see and touch it right away. we didn't know the sex and were about to peek under a snug little blanket when the scene faded and my mind took me somewhere else.

the dream made me happy, but also so so sad. sad that the one thing that would have made asa's birth infinitely better is consciousness. simply being awake to experience her first hours in the world might have made all the difference.

it's like her birth is a room in my mind, and the moments i can remember are scattered all through it. when i unlock that door, i walk in and touch each moment, roll it in my hands, relive it, think about what might have been if only i'd done the tiniest thing differently. that's not a room i want to go in anymore. i want to remember those moments without reliving them, without second guessing myself. one way i know to do that is by holding on to what i love about asa's birth.

so, for you (for me), a list.

....................

i love that i labored at home for as long as i was comfortable. this was an important part of my birth plan, and although it didn't feel like it at the time since i labored so long at the hospital, i spent a lot of time at home, too. i labored there for about 24 hours before checking in.

i love that i got to move without restriction when i was at the hospital. i can't imagine being confined to a bed since i literally could not lay or sit during contractions. i had to walk, and i did. i walked for hours and hours. sometimes i let them check asa's heartrate every hour or so, and sometimes i wore a wireless fetal monitor. occasionally i was hooked to an iv, but i still walked and swayed and vocalized from every corner of my delivery room and up and down the hallway outside.

i love that i got to share labor with an amazing support team. cameron was so incredible. so incredible. he did everything he could to make me comfortable and keep me strong through each contraction. my doula, claire, is the absolute best. if we ever do this again, i want claire beside me. my mom helped me feel safe. my brother made me laugh when it hurt like hell. thank goodness they were there.

i love that i wore my own clothes, right up until the moment i pissed my pants and got the epidural. it's a small thing, but it felt good.

i love that on the second day, i got to labor with one of my favorite midwives in our practice, toni. she was the first midwife we met early in pregnancy, and she is wonderful. the next day, i pushed with diana, who was also fantastic. she was on call when i checked in, too, and made a joke about how if i held the baby in until sunday she'd be there to help me deliver. she was, and it was funny. as funny as that could be, i suppose. whatever.

i love that i made it to the second stage of labor. although i'd had an epidural, it was wearing off by the time i started pushing and i got to try every position i wanted to try. i pushed for over 3 hours, and i swear in retrospect it seems like 3 minutes. i am so thankful i had that experience, even if the pain was absolutely horrific by the end.

i love that only cameron knew her sex for those first hours. again, it's a small thing, but we had this vision of learning that silly little detail together ourselves after she was born. it didn't quite work out that way, but it was close enough and still such a beautiful moment.

i love that the journey landed me in the best destination i could possibly imagine. i love that the hard labor of those days helped make me asa's mama. this one's the best, i think.

dear asa

my lovely asa,

at four months old, you are wonderful. tonight, you are sleeping in my arms, and i swear you look like you did when you were brand new. everyday you look older and older, but when you sleep it takes me back to the beginning.

sometimes, you seem like a completely different kid than you were just a minute before. you change constantly. lately, you've been falling asleep when i touch my face to yours, rub your cheek with mine, kiss your tiny nose. that's new. you giggle and smile more, mostly at your daddy, but you are still an exceptionally serious baby. today, you laughed at me for the first time and it felt better than i imagined it could. it was magic.

you can't roll yet. instead, if you're laying down, you just scoot around in circles on your back. i imagine that you'll roll sometime before you graduate high school, if you ever consent to being out of our arms long enough. you really hate being out of our arms most of the time.

about three weeks ago, you started growing a tooth. it is becoming very pointy and painful, and is settling in on the bottom left. you aren't happy about it, but you are strong. you have shown us that so much in your short life. you can handle a tiny, silly tooth. you can handle anything.

last week, you saw your doctor for a check up and shots. you have nearly doubled your weight since birth, from seven pounds to almost thirteen and a half. thirteen and a half! your head is also very big. naturally.
right now, i feel like you've been with us forever. how have you only existed for barely a year? baby girl, you are magnificent. you have been worth everything it took to get you here, and i am so lucky to be your mama. even when you are a teeny, tiny lovely butthole.

all the love forever,
me.

on breastfeeding and shared parenting.

before we decided to have a baby, cameron and i talked a lot about our vision for raising a family. we wanted to be sure that both of us were equally involved in caring for our children. when i was pregnant, we thought that meant i would spend lots and lots of time nursing the baby and he would handle most of the diapers. we'd share cuddles and anything else a tiny human required.

my unexpected c-section, difficult recovery and breastfeeding struggles gave us a new perspective on parenting equally. on asa's birthday, when i finally came to after surgery, cameron had already been parenting for about 7 hours. he'd handled her first diapers, helped with her first meal (formula given through a syringe, since we wanted to establish breastfeeding) and comforted her when she cried. my first night as a mama was spent tethered to my bed, receiving a blood transfusion and lots and lots of medication. i couldn't get up to change her diaper; hell, i couldn't even lift her from the bassinet. if i wanted to hold her or try nursing, cameron brought her to the bed.

the next day, i still couldn't do much, but i could stand and walk a little. the thought of carrying this tiny human when i was so weak scared me to death, so i stuck to holding her while sitting or lying. cameron was still changing all diapers; he bathed her for the first time, dressed her, and accompanied her to the nursery anytime she had to go. he did everything except breastfeed, and if he could have, i'm sure he would have. i was already feeling the first horrible pangs of guilt and inadequacy even though i was doing as much as i possibly could with the support of an amazing partner.

by the time we went home, we were having trouble nursing. asa would latch, but when she only got colostrum, she become frantic and angry. she'd shake her head furiously and pop off the breast, screaming as if to say "give me my damn food, mom." my milk took its sweet time coming in, so she was beyond frustrated when she finally got more than a few drops. it wasn't coming fast enough, and asa wanted it yesterday. she lost a full pound in about 4 days. we saw several lactation consultants who thought my production was low and encouraged me to feed asa every 2-3 hours from both breasts, then supplement her with half an ounce of formula from a syringe or supplemental nursing system (a tube taped to the breast that dispenses milk), then pump for about 15 minutes on each side. for the first couple weeks of asa's life, all i was doing was working to feed my baby while cameron handled everything else.

i started dreading nursing sessions, then loathing myself for dreading nursing sessions. when i'd feel my milk come in, i would panic. i became so sick i wanted to throw up every time i felt a letdown. i was so worried that i was starving my baby that i couldn't enjoy feeding her. asa certainly didn't enjoy it. she screamed every.single.time. she even learned how to dislodge the SNS tube. immediately after she'd finish nursing, cameron fed her formula with a syringe while i pumped. i wanted nothing more than to hold and snuggle my tiny, angry baby bird, but instead i hunkered over a double electric breast pump while she struggled against the syringe. every feeding was a two person job. we were both exhausted, and i was trying to heal from major surgery. i was barely eating or drinking, and certainly not sleeping. something had to give.

the day before cameron went back to work when asa was almost 3 weeks old, he went to the grocery store while i handled my first feeding alone. i nursed as long as she would tolerate it, then tried to give her the formula supplement. the only way i could successfully get the syringe in her mouth was to wait for her to scream. she felt horrible and so did i. there was no way i could do that after every single feeding. desperate, i dug out a bottle and fed her the supplement. she downed it immediately and without protest.

when i chose to nurse asa, i made the decision based on a lot of factors. i wanted her to get the best food possible, food made especially for her. i wanted to bond. nursing seemed so natural, so simple. i wanted my body to continue nourishing my daughter well beyond her birth. apparently, my body had different plans.

it's really funny how our ideal expectations and reality never quite seem to align. before asa was born,. i knew i could never, ever have a child with someone who wouldn't change diapers or wake up in the middle of the night for feedings. however, when my partner did that and more, i felt like total shit. who was i? i couldn't birth my baby, i couldn't feed my baby, now i couldn't even take care of her! the pressure to be a perfect mom had me feeling awful even when i was in the middle of my ideal parenting scenario: an equal partnership with someone who loved his daughter so, so much. suddenly, i felt like a good mama had to do everything, everything for her baby and if she didn't, she was no one. thank goodness for cameron, who talked me down from that ridiculous ledge over and over again.

after several more weeks of nursing, pumping, and supplementing with bottles, i finally began to feel comfortable enough to consider giving up nursing. my body was healing, and with treatment for postpartum depression, my mind was healing, too. i still felt sick and panicked during every feeding, but i started feeling like a parent in other ways. i was learning how to soothe her when she cried. i was changing diapers and giving her baths. i was realizing that i could do this, and that i didn't have to breastfeed to be a mama. all i had to do was love my daughter.

i still remember the first night we fed asa formula instead of breastmilk. i remember it because it was the first night in weeks that i slept more than about 2 hours in a row. i remember it because even though i felt horribly guilty, i also felt so, so lucky to be with someone who supported and encouraged me. feeding asa from a bottle has allowed us to share equally in yet another aspect of her care. yes, we could have done this with breastmilk as well, but circumstances led us down a different path, and that's okay. i'd say she's doing just fine.

on postpartum depression.

about three weeks after asa was born, my physician prescribed medication for postpartum depression and anxiety. it was the second time i'd broken down in her office. the first time, i was in to have the staples from my c-section incision removed and a nurse noticed a bit of redness indicative of infection. she wanted the doctor to take a look, and in the few minutes that i waited alone in the exam room, i started crying and couldn't stop. the last time i'd been in that office, i was just about 40 weeks pregnant and so.fucking.elated. i was about to have a baby! and i wouldn't be pregnant anymore! now i felt broken, and empty, and like a total failure. not only could my body not birth a baby, it couldn't feed one, either. breastfeeding was a disaster, i was in constant pain, and i missed feeling my little girl squirming around in her home. wherever we were, it wasn't home.

the doctor comforted me and talked to me about postpartum depression, but i convinced her that i would be okay, that it was just the baby blues. she then determined that my incision was infected, so i was sent home with prescriptions for pain medication and antibiotics, as well as instructions to return in a week. thank goodness for that infection. when i returned a week later, i thought i was doing okay emotionally, but my incision was still looking rough. they wanted to see me again the next week, and when i went back, i felt like everything was falling apart. i broke down. i told her about my breastfeeding issues. about how some days i cried for hours on end. about feeling utterly lost. about how i couldn't enjoy being this beautiful soul's mama.

i talked and talked, and she just listened. she didn't make me feel ashamed for asking for help. she made me feel strong. like a good mother who wanted to be a better mother. she didn't make me feel like a monster for feeding my baby formula. she reminded me that everyone needs help sometimes. she made me feel okay.

..........

when i wrote the story of asa's birth, i almost omitted my ongoing struggle with postpartum depression. i am surrounded by amazingly strong mamas who seem to be able to do it all, none of whom need to be medicated to take care of their babies. for a moment, i was ashamed. then i realized that i have no fucking idea what these mamas carry on their shoulders, because we never ever talk about it. if we're not perfect the second that slippery baby emerges, we damn well better pretend to be because good women are good mothers and they don't need help. what a terrible, terrible line we're fed.

..........

today, i'm doing okay. sometimes it's hard. some days are worse than others. but it's okay. i'm not a perfect mama, but i am the perfect mama for asa, even if i need a little help.

the beginning.

the day i became a mother has been tough to process. i thought that meeting the life i nurtured for so many weeks would be exhilarating, breathtaking, beautiful. i suppose it was, but it was also just so difficult. this is our story of one becoming two.

................

I met my daughter, Asa Iris, on September 2, 2012. I felt my first painful contractions at 2:30am on my due date, August 31. These were different from the Braxton-Hicks contractions I’d been having and didn’t stop after two long walks, so I knew it was probably early labor. I sent my partner, Cameron, to work and all that day I labored at home, napping, cooking, even doing a load of laundry; my contractions were intense but inconsistent.

Finally, at about 8pm, I called my doula Claire in frustration. I explained what I was feeling, that my contractions were seriously painful but not coming at regular intervals. Some were 9 minutes apart, some were 3 minutes apart. She encouraged me to call the midwife on-call at the hospital I’d deliver at to see if I could come in for a progress check. My original plan was to labor at home until I just couldn’t handle it anymore, but the inconsistency of my contractions was starting to bother me. I went in around 10pm when Cameron got off work, and told myself that if I’d dilated beyond 5cm, I’d go ahead and check in.

When we arrived, I found out I had only dilated to 3cm, so I decided to return home, about a mile from the hospital. However, the midwife offered to give me my first dose of penicillin (I tested GBS+ and would need penicillin every 4 hours until I delivered) before heading home. That way, I could labor at home with Cameron and Claire then return in 4 hours for the next dose and another progress check. I thought that would give me a bit of time to progress further and decided to go for it. However, by the time I got back home at midnight, my contractions had intensified so much that I couldn’t sit or lie between them. I felt all of the pain in my lower back and pelvis, with so much pressure on my cervix and rectum that all I could do was walk or stand. It was just excruciating.

Claire joined us at home and tried to help me find relief, but nothing we did helped. I couldn’t sit in the tub because of the painful pressure, and standing in the shower was no good either--there wasn’t enough room to pace. Applying counter-pressure to my lower back required me to stand still, but I couldn’t. I walked back and forth around the house as the contractions started coming in waves; by the time we went back to the hospital at 4am, I knew I’d be checking in.. All I could do at home was pace, and the very short car ride was intolerable, so I figured the hospital was as good as anywhere. The midwife checked me, and I was barely at 4cm. I was disappointed, but knew that I was officially in “active” labor at that point.

We sent Claire home to rest and I resumed my pacing routine in the delivery room for several more hours. She rejoined us around 11am and continued to offer moral support, gently encouraging me to continue trying the relief methods we’d discussed before labor--they still weren’t helping. At this point, I’d been on my feet with back to back contractions for nearly 12 hours with no rest. I was miserable and, around 2pm, I finally asked the midwife to check me again. I was at 5cm.

When I envisioned my ideal labor scenario, I wasn’t opposed to pain medication, but I wanted to try to give birth without it. I wanted as few interventions as possible. After 36 hours of labor and about 15 hours of almost intolerable contractions, though, I was ready to talk relief. I requested nubain, a narcotic administered through an IV, and fell asleep almost immediately. When I woke up several hours later, I was told that my contractions had slowed during the nap. The midwife wanted to discuss either breaking my water or giving me pitocin to help labor along, but I decided to walk the halls with Cameron and Claire to get things going again on my own.

When I first woke up, I felt more focused and energetic than ever, but I began to crash and feel like I couldn’t go on after several hours. My contractions were intensifying again, and the pain was nearly more than I could bear. After I threw up and uncontrollably peed on the delivery room floor (yep!), I called for the midwife for another cervical check; I was at 6cm. I’d been sure I was in transition so when she told me that I’d only gained 1 centimeter after 9 hours, I lost it. I felt sick and wanted it to be over. I asked her to break my water, and she suggested a therapeutic epidural. I knew my contractions would get even worse when she broke my water, so I decided to go for it.

After the anesthesiologist placed the catheter and the epidural was administered, the midwife broke my water and I slept off and on for nearly 7 hours. My contractions apparently slowed again in the night, so I was also given a small dose of pitocin at one point as well. When I woke up around 7am, I was at 9cm! Finally, I thought the end was in sight.

It only took an hour to reach 10cm and start pushing, so I started to get excited. Cameron and I would meet our baby soon! We hadn’t learned her sex and had requested that no one announce it. I reminded the midwife and nurses that we wanted to find out the sex on our own, then hunkered down to push. Although I’d received an epidural, I had considerable control over my legs, so my midwife and Claire coached me in several different positions. For over 3 hours, I pushed on my back, my sides, on my hands and knees, and even in a supported squat. I was calm and focused, and the time passed quickly. Finally, the midwife called a physician who also worked in the practice and asked her to watch me for a few pushes. My perineum was apparently very thin and the baby wasn’t crowning. She was sunny side up and stuck on my pelvic bone. Awesome.

Because of my stretched-to-the limit perineum and the position of the baby’s head, the physician thought I’d tear to my rectum if I was able to deliver the head--she didn’t tell me what she thought would happen if I delivered the shoulders. She asked us to consider a cesarean delivery. Before labor, I couldn’t imagine considering a c-section, but at this point, I was ready to be finished and meet my baby. A c-section sounded great, and I knew that with the support of my amazing team, I’d tried everything to deliver vaginally.

At about 11:45am, I was wheeled to the cesarean delivery room and joined by Cameron. He held my hand as I shook uncontrollably from the anesthesia. Within moments, I realized that I could feel the incision so I was quickly placed under general anesthesia. I didn’t wake up for almost 7 hours. Well, that’s not entirely true. I woke up shortly after the delivery, but I couldn’t move or talk. The muscle relaxer used with the anesthesia left me paralyzed because my body lacks the enzyme required to metabolize it quickly. The only solution in that scenario was to intubate me and put me back under general anesthesia until the muscle relaxer wore off. This was the hardest part of my daughter’s birth for me to process. While Cameron tried to bond with his new daughter, he also had to worry about the fact that I wasn’t waking up from surgery. My family was a wreck, and my daughter was in this new world without her mama. Even now, the thought of it devastates me.

When I finally met her around 6:30pm on her birthday, I didn’t know that she was a she. In fact, Cameron and the nursing staff were the only ones who knew! He refused to disclose her sex to our families, since that was something we wanted to learn together. Once I was taken from the surgery recovery room to the mother/baby unit, we spent our first moments together as a family of three and I asked him the baby’s name. When he told me the name we’d chosen for a daughter, I started to cry. She was my Asa Iris! Giving me that moment is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me, and I’m so grateful to Cameron for keeping her sex a secret.

Nearly four months later, I’m still working to process her birth and all that came after. I was diagnosed with post-partum depression early and stopped nursing around 7 weeks. However, I am the mother of a happy, healthy, brilliant little girl who delights and surprises me everyday. Her birth certainly didn’t go as planned, but what does? All I know is that I am healing, I’m in love, and I’m learning to be her mama one day at a time, shedding all of my expectations as I go.