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.

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.

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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.

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.

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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.