10 Years

On June 20th of this year I celebrated 10 years since my baptism into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
Other than my bangs, I made some pretty great decisions that day.

I had written this blog post months before, then never finished it and decided not to share it because I felt like I'm not saying anything new or unique, and I didn't want to come across all preachy.
Then today in church I was kind of suffering through the usual Sunday why-am-I-raising-my-kids-in-church-again? blues (you know- kids screaming, Cheerios flying in all directions, not hearing a word anyone at the pulpit is saying) I leaned over and asked Dayen if he wanted to go up and bear his testimony. To my surprise, he instantly said yes.
So of course, I had to kick myself for asking in the first place. But he did give a talk in Primary a few months ago and did a great job, so even though I knew there was a high chance that he would say something naughty into the microphone for the whole ward to hear, we went up there together.
Basically, he said a bunch of nonsense then whispered amen, after which I realized I probably had to bear my testimony too so I fumbled through something that probably made even less sense than his did. But as we were walking away, he grinned at me and said, "Can we try that again?"
Then I came home and saw this picture online:

And it just hit me how important this is. The decision I made to join the church ten years ago felt impossible then- I was facing so much opposition. I lost friends, I ripped apart my family relationships, and some days it feels like I did it all just so I can suffer through a sacrament meeting that I couldn't even listen to.
But that decision mattered. It causes a ripple effect through my family for all time. My decision will affect my posterity forever- and it especially affects my sweet little boys every day.


This is just still new for me.
Nursery, Primary, Young Womens, I never got to do any of it until I was an adult. And I think I've been waiting since my baptism to someday feel like less of a convert. But it's been ten years, and I'm starting to think I never will. 
Because when you join the church in Utah, you're always just a little bit different.
So, here's the post you almost didn't get to read, some bits of knowledge I've picked up over my last decade in the church.

#1- For Members: Converts (probably) don't get the "Culture" of the Church
Case in point: I spent the first few years after my baptism standing in silence while people around me said the Young Women's theme I never learned, or talked about Trek (which sounded terrible- was this church trying to torture its members?) or Linger Longers, Visiting Teaching, having a beard at BYU, and on and on and on. You don't realize when you're immersed in it your whole life just how much about the church isn't doctrinal stuff that missionaries teach converts. I was confused, but it also made me feel like there was a line in the sand: like because I wasn't raised in the church, I would never actually be the same as the other members who had gone to Primary and been baptized at 8 years old.
When you're around a new convert, try to put yourself in their shoes and think about what you take for granted that they might not know. Right after I met Caleb, we were at a fireside where the opening hymn was "Praise to the Man." We were in a stadium full of people who all knew the lyrics... except for me. I was embarrassed, that line in the sand glaring in my face, when Caleb noticed and pulled out his phone, pulled up the lyrics to the song, and quietly handed it to me so I could sing too. It was simple, but it made a huge difference for me. (Obviously. I married the guy.)

#2- For Members: Agency
For sure, the biggest question I get asked whenever someone hears I'm a convert is, "So did anyone in your family join too?" And I get it, because that would make a really great talk in sacrament meeting, or one of those videos in between conference. I found the church, so slowly every nonmember I know should join too because I made it look so awesome.
That does happen, but more often than not in my experience, it doesn't.
Growing up even as a nonmember in Utah, I knew (or thought I knew) a lot about the church. It's not like any of my family members didn't know about it and I was introducing them to something new. But I did feel a lot of pressure right away, like because I believed it, I should be the one to convince everyone I love of the truthfulness of the gospel, too.
But it doesn't work that way, and I firmly believe it isn't supposed to. Sure, God may use you as an instrument to bring others to him. Yes, we should be examples, and live in a way that makes others wonder what is different about your life. And ok, we should all be missionaries. But, and I can't say this loud enough: It is not our job to make anyone join the church. That's why agency is so important. So on that note....

#3- For Nonmembers: We aren't trying to trick you into joining the church
This is touchy for me. Because I think me and every member of my family could give you a mile long list of the people who tried to get us to join the church growing up. And a lot of the time, it wasn't done in the most loving or appropriate way. I know they had the best intentions, but it was always hard as a kid to have someone be friendly, and then stop talking to me when I couldn't come to mutual with them.
So don't get me wrong, if anyone I love wanted to join the church, I would be the first to throw a party and arrange the lessons and drive you to church every week if you want. But that is never my intent. I respect your agency and right to choose for yourself, so I will never drag you to church, try to trick you into listening to my beliefs, or assume I already know what you believe.

#4- For Members: It's not about "Good" and "Bad"
I remember in High School, a girl found out I wasn't a member of the church and in shock she asked me, "So if you're not a member, why don't you drink and party and stuff?"
There's that line in the sand again, and here I come to destroy it.
Because I joined the church at 18, I feel like I can say that my morals came from my character, not from my religion. I never had any desire to drink. I lived the word of wisdom before I knew it. And lots of other people do, too. What's more, is a lot of my friends who were members of the church were the ones sneaking out to party.
So let me say this loud for the people in the back: Being a member of the church doesn't automatically make you "good", and not being a member doesn't make you "bad."
I have had several, let's call them Come to Jesus moments, with fellow members of the church about this, because for some, it is ingrained deep. For example, when I was called to Young Womens, one Sunday one of the other teachers was teaching about dating, and she casually asked, "So should we date people who aren't Mormon?" and the girls, like robots, responded, "Nope." And I had to jump in and say WAIT. That is not what we believe!
The For the Strength of Youth says about dating, "Choose to date only those who have high moral standards and in whose company you can maintain your standards. " That doesn't mean that a nonmember won't share your standards, and it doesn't mean that a member will. Even after we were 16, there were boys who said they couldn't date me in High School because I wasn't a member. One told me on the way into his house to meet his parents for the first time, "Oh by the way, I told them you were a member so they wouldn't kick you out."
It would have made such a difference to me if I had just been treated the way I deserved based on my actions rather than my religious affiliations. Especially at that age, when I couldn't choose to be baptized even if I wanted to.
So please, please, don't be the parent telling your kid they can't play with nonmembers. Tell them to find good friends and be kind- that is all that matters.

#5- For Nonmembers: Members don't always know the "Truth"
Here's something I loved instantly about this church: we are encouraged to seek out truth, to ask questions, and we are told we can receive personal revelation when we come to God with our questions.
And guys, I had a lot of questions.
But I also had an instant trust of anyone who was already a member of the church, especially when a lot of my friends were recently returned missionaries. I loved (and still love) talking about the gospel, delving deep into doctrine with anyone who would listen, but there were several occasions where someone said something that I was shocked by, and I thought, Does this church really believe that? Some of the things I heard were enough to make me want to leave the church, and many people do.
But that's why it's so great that we are encouraged to ask questions. I angrily asked others, even prayed to God about the things I had heard, and I gained more understanding, and even learned that some of the things were outright lies. Ten years later, there has never been anything I've learned that I haven't been able to find an answer to, and that is part of what helps my testimony grow every day.

#6- For Members: Other Churches are More Friendly
Before my baptism, I went to a lot of different churches, and although I did end up joining the Church of Jesus Christ, I hate to admit that I didn't join because the members were friendly. In fact, in my experience, they were the least friendly of all the churches I went to.
Sure, in Utah, many of the other churches were much smaller and more likely to notice a strange face. But every other church I went to, almost every person before or after church would come up and talk to us. As soon as the sermon is over, everyone jumps up to shake everyone's hand, even the people they see every week. I love and miss that kind of fellowshipping. A friendly hello goes a long way in making people feel welcome.
And I promise, you don't have to sit on the same bench every week. The world will not implode if you venture to the other side of the chapel. :)

#7- For Both: Ignorance
It's OK not to believe the same things as someone else. What's not OK is being ignorant about what someone else believes, especially if you want them to hear what you believe. Though I've felt that line in the sand at times, it also means I've had a foot in both worlds, and I have to say: I've seen it a lot and on both sides.
Going to different churches opened my eyes so much to the fact that we all believe a lot of the same things. As my kids get older, I really want to bring them to other churches to teach them what others believe. I took a religious studies class in college that was one of my favorite classes, because I find it fascinating all the different religions and the common threads that tie us all together.
But I have had more encounters than I could count with people telling me what I believe is wrong, people who quit talking to me when I joined the church, or who suddenly think I've lost my mind for joining. And on the other side, I've seen many members turn up their nose to something that comes from another church.
It's not about getting people to believe what we do. We don't need to argue our point to be heard, we need to listen and hear someone else's point of view.
Don't tell me what I believe is wrong. ASK ME what I believe. You might be surprised.

#8- For Members: Are you a Convert?
At the end of the day, that line in the sand really doesn't exist because of one important thing: we should ALL be converts. It doesn't matter if your parents dragged you to church every week, or if a missionary showed up at your door one day and introduced you to a doctrine you'd never heard before. At some point, we all have to choose whether we believe it, whether we're going to live it, whether our testimony has been carried all these years by someone else, or if it's our own.





Mom Life

My house is a mess. I spent 3/4 of the day cleaning, but it's still a mess because of the tiny hurricanes who live here. I try not to care about the mess, but I'm me and I do, so it's an eternal struggle between me and my messy house and my crazy children.
But oh, these boys.

My days are on repeat, like groundhog day but with more diapers and a lot less Bill Murray. I used to have dreams and goals and aspirations, but they are on the backburner while I spend my days keeping two other humans alive. And it's hard not to feel like because I don't have a career, I don't do much. Let's face it, some days it's hard to think that changing diapers and making lunch is contributing. Sometimes I have to ignore that nagging feeling that I gave up being myself to be a mother, and then I see their cute faces and think...
But oh, these boys.

I am tired.
No, scratch that. I am a level of tired I didn't know was possible 5 years ago. Every breath I take is a yawn. Some days I feel like I am walking through jello.
But oh, these boys.

Some days feel like a waste of makeup. Most days, I would be excited if the UPS guy came to the door, because that would be the closest I got to another adult all day. Every day, I am grateful for sweat pants and chocolate chip cookies and Netflix. I don't know what fits anymore, and I definitely don't know what's in style these days.
But oh, these boys.

Even when I do see other adults, all I do is talk about my children. I see the glazed-over eyes when I tell one too many "listen to how funny my toddler is" stories, but I can't help it. They've made me socially weird. I don't see how the whole world doesn't see what me and their Dad and their Grandma's see.
Because oh, these boys.
Sometimes it feels like I am just a mom. But I am their mom. And oh, boy. I couldn't ask for more.

Weight Loss Rules

Breaking news: I have the hottest new diet program you have GOT to try.
All you do is follow a few simple rules.
Rule #1:
Go buy some clothes that fit.
No, seriously. Go get some pants that fit you comfortably. Don't punish yourself for the size you don't want to admit to yourself you are. The size doesn't matter: your comfort does. You, whatever size you are today, deserve clothes that fit. Stop punishing yourself for gaining weight. Stop telling yourself that those smaller pants will somehow be the motivation you need to lose weight. Sure, maybe someday they will fit again. But maybe not. In the mean time, you still need clothes that fit. If you don't, then when you are invited out you will find an excuse not to go because you don't have anything cute to wear. You will put off living your life because you are in a transition period- this isn't your goal weight, so life can't start yet. If you don't do anything else, get some clothes that fit. This is your permission to do so, guilt-free.
Rule #2:
Get rid of your bathroom scale.
Your scale doesn't know you. It can't tell when you are losing fat but gaining muscle. It doesn't know to be extra sensitive because you just had a baby in the last year. It can't tell if you just drank a lot of water today or ate your way through a box of Cheez-Its.
The scale leaves you feeling frustrated when you think you've been doing great but the number doesn't change. So instead, celebrate the non-scale victories. Did you go all day without a cookie, or a soda, or whatever your personal kryptonite is? Victory. Did you walk up the stairs without getting winded? Victory. Did you get a random burst of energy during the day and want to dance around your kitchen with your kids instead of sit around and be lazy? VICTORY. A victory that matters. A victory people can see. Your scale doesn't know anything.
Rule #3:
Love yourself. I know, could I make that one sound any more like a hippie? Probably not. But this is what it's all about. Eating healthy isn't supposed to be a punishment. Eating like crap isn't a reward. If you like yourself, you will take care of yourself. You will learn to go easy on yourself, to remember that sometimes, you are going to fail. You are going to have hard, stressful days that make you want to quit on yourself. You are going to wonder why you don't just fall back into the same old habits. But instead, you will look in the mirror and think, I am still enough. I am not at my goal weight, but I am enough. My life is enough. My weight isn't really what matters. I am what matters.

I saw a quote the other day that I can't stop thinking about. It said:

You are not alive to just pay bills and lose weight.

How many years of your life are you going to waste worrying about your weight? There is so much more. Let's find more in each other, and more in ourselves. 

Baby #2

Fall must be baby time because it seems like all my friends are having babies, and a lot of them are having their second babies. Auric turned 5 months old a couple days ago (what is happening?!) so it's made me think a lot about what I wish I knew before he came along, and what I've learned since then.
So, here you go. All my months of wisdom to do with what you wish.
By far my biggest fear with having a second kid wasn't that it would be too hard or too tiring (oh young, naiive Anndee, not worrying about sleep deprivation. Those were the days.) it was that I was somehow ruining Dayen's life by having a second baby.

Is that just some weird fear of my generation? Because it seems like people used to be able to have multiple kids and feel fine about it, while me and my friends are over here feeling some weird mom guilt over our #1 not being our one and only anymore.
For months before Auric was born, I felt like I was in a constant state of panic over the limited time I had left with Dayen. I became Disneyland Mom, and every day was a fun new adventure that felt like it was happening for the last time ever. And oh, the guilt. I would look at him and think, You have no idea I'm about to turn your life upside down.
Boy am I glad that I was wrong. And here's why:
#1 Babies Sleep A Lot
I forgot that, for the first year, babies sleep a lot. They nap all day at first, then like 3 times a day, then 2... I'm convinced this has less to do with the fact that they are growing and more to do with the fact that if moms didn't get a chance during the day to shower once in awhile, we'd completely lose it. But now, nap times are an easy way for me to schedule one-on-one time with my oldest. Those moments of just us together didn't die with the birth of another baby. And when Auric is awake, he just adds to the fun. He chews on a car on the floor while Dayen and I build a race track. You make it work.


#2 Changes in You
I was sure that having another baby would change my relationship with Dayen. I honestly believed deep down that I couldn't love them both enough, or the same, and I was so afraid I either wouldn't bond with the new baby because Dayen would always have a three year head start on him, or that I would somehow replace Dayen in my mind and love the baby more.
If you're hormones are telling you this too, just stop it. If anything, you learn to love that baby more and faster because you already know what it means to be a mom. You can appreciate it more this time around. And your love for that first born will never go away. How could it?

What I wasn't expecting, was how much bringing home a new baby would change my perspective of Dayen. My mom once told me that we always expect more out of our first borns than our other kids, and I didn't believe it until we brought Auric home. Not only did Dayen suddenly look like a giant, but it was like something flipped in my brain and I thought Ok, Auric is the baby now, so Dayen needs to be a grown up. I tried to hide it from him but I would get so frustrated when he did totally normal toddler things. I felt like the baby needed me constantly, so my three year old shouldn't need me so much anymore.
I thought it wasn't affecting him until one day Dayen was watching TV and holding on to my leg like he couldn't let me go. Although he never showed any anger or aggression toward Auric (he's always been a really sweet big brother) he was clinging to me like I was slipping away, and it broke my heart. So I left the baby home with Caleb and took Dayen to the park and still have to remind myself every day that he is only three. He gets to make mistakes, he gets to be obnoxious sometimes, he gets to throw fits over nothing, and I will survive it. I think.

#3 Don't feel bad for your first
Overall the thing that has changed my thinking is that I realized Dayen isn't the one I should be feeling sorry for: it's all his siblings who get the bad end of the deal. Dayen got to be the lone shining star of the family for three years. He had our undivided attention, and then I actually felt guilty taking some of that away. Auric is the one I should feel sorry for, and if his hand-me-down spit up stained clothes aren't proof enough of that, I don't know what is. When he is three, will he get the same long, drawn out bedtime routines that Dayen has? Will I worry as much about spending one-on-one time with him? Especially if and when other kids come along. Dayen will never suffer the wrath of the middle child. For that reason alone, don't feel bad for your oldest.

Maybe this is all things you already knew and this didn't help at all, but ultimately this is the point I want to make: squash that mom guilt right out of you. It's not serving you. Everything is going to be great. Hard, tiring, and crazy sometimes, but great. Pinky promise.


More than your weight

It's kind of a fad right now to be "real" on social media. Being "real" means you occasionally post a selfie without makeup, where you still look really cute, or post about one of your struggles that you have been telling everyone IRL about anyways.
I don't think those things really count. So I'm going to attempt to be really real with you for a second.
Right now, 3 months-post-second-baby, I weigh the most I have ever weighed in my life. 
And it doesn't take long to realize that for that simple fact, the world wants you to feel like garbage.
And if I put all my self confidence into that number on a scale, then it's true: I must have less worth right now than I've ever had in my life. Right?
Ugh. It's hard. It's hard to break out of that cycle of believing that your worth has anything at all to do with your pant size.
It doesn't.
And I won't pretend to be some perfect, totally self-actualized person on the subject. But since no one else is really saying it, I will.
IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER.
Your health, yes. It matters. Your comfort? Sure.
But there is SO much more.
There is your endless list of talents. The things you do better than anyone you know, but you don't spend much time thinking about that because you're spending too much time (and "too much" really, is any time at all) thinking about your weight, wishing you looked like someone else.
There is your family. Parents, siblings, husband, kids, pets, whatever you have. They matter. They matter so much more, but let's face it, sometimes they get pushed to the side while we focus on getting swimsuit-ready, or obsess over that relief-society arm.
There are millions of books to be read, movies to be seen, conversations to be had, hobbies to be tried, pictures to be taken, lives to be lived and those things, those moments, have absolutely nothing to do with your weight.
Nothing.
Are the people who love you most going to love you more if you lose weight?
Of course not. And if they do, then find new friends.
Your life is not being lived in a "before" photo. We've all seen them. An overweight, unsmiling person, who claims that when they had that extra fat on their body, they were completely unhappy. It's like they weren't born until they lost the weight. THEN they started living. So we see that, over and over, and we think, I can't wait. I am going to lose weight, and then I can start living too.
I can say, even when I weighed my lowest (which was like, 7 lbs, and that's just totally unattainable) I was never totally happy with my body. And this voice in the back of my mind reminds me of that all the time. My goal weight looms in front of me like this beacon, but I know that even if I reach it, I won't suddenly start loving all my flaws. I won't ACTUALLY be a better person. I'll just be a skinnier person.
And the more I think about it, the more I am convinced: it just doesn't matter.
So go ahead and focus on you. Take your me-time. Exercise, if you like to exercise, and eat good food because it's good for you. Quit soda because it made you feel bad. Eat treats only on a special occasion.
But stop, stop thinking your life doesn't matter when you're "fat".
It matters just as much.
You're living it, right now, whether you are happy with your body or not.
So be happy with it. Love yourself. Go kiss those babies that gave you some extra weight, enjoy that brownie instead of shaming yourself for eating it, and don't believe the lie that if the number on the scale creeps up, the things you do won't matter quite as much.
You are worth so much more than your weight.

Service

I pride myself on being independent.
I can't count how many times Caleb has tried being a gentleman and opening a door for me, and I am not paying attention and already opened another door for myself. And I can't help but wonder if part of the reason things have been so crazy is because I really needed to learn to rely on others, something I don't do easily or well.
I know everyone within earshot has heard me say it at least once in the last couple months, but seriously, things have been so crazy. And it was mostly self-inflicted with building a house and having a baby, but that didn't make it any easier. In less than two months we sold our house, then the sell fell through, then we sold it again, we moved out, didn't know where we were going to live until like two days before we moved, our debit card got stolen, our dog figured out how to escape the yard and kept doing so at very inconvenient times. And then I did my usual thing and went 2 weeks past my due date and was a hormonal mess for the last month waiting for him to get here. And finally, just as we were getting close to moving into our new house, all our appliances were stolen, leaving us feeling violated and sick inside.
And all along the way, I felt like the lesson was that I needed to learn to rely on Caleb and focus on our little family and just appreciate everything we have. I felt like a lot of people were hurting us or letting us down in some way, and I started feeling really bitter towards everyone. But as we start to come out the other side of what has felt like a dark couple of months, I am overwhelmingly grateful for the service we've received from so many around us.
I think my tendency towards independence makes me not very good at providing service to others. Sure, I will bring you a plate of cookies any time you have a bad day, but that's not really hard for me because I am basically always making cookies anyway, and you're doing me a favor by not letting me eat the whole batch myself like I usually would. But I admit whenever I have to provide the kind of service that inconveniences me in any way, I usually do it more than a little begrudgingly, and inwardly complain the whole time.
These last couple months we've just needed so much. We needed help moving, a place to live, someone willing to take care of our dog until we were in our house, endless babysitters and meals and just help that I am not very good at asking for. I'd rather do it myself. I'd rather starve than ask someone to feed me dinner, but that isn't really an option with two little kids to think of.
I feel like I've been pushed way out of my comfort zone. One of my favorite quotes says,

"When you come to the end of all the light you know and it's time to step into the darkness of the unknown, Faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen: either you will be given something solid to stand on, or you will be taught to fly."

Ironically, I've always liked the "taught to fly" part of the quote, I guess because it implies you can still do it on your own some way. But I can say through this trial, I have learned how wonderful it is when you're given something solid to stand on. The friend who thought to arrange a meal train for us after the baby was born and all the friends who brought meals made things so much easier for us. We really needed it, but I didn't want to ask. Caleb's grandma not only letting us move into her basement without question, but never making us feel like we were overstaying our welcome or inconveniencing her even when I know that we are has been a huge blessing to us.
My in laws, who are always quick to jump to our aid, have been an incredible example of service to me. Without hesitation they took in our dog before we even moved out of our house. I was so nervous about inconveniencing them because he is a nervous Nelly who throws up at least once a day, but they never complain or make us feel like we're burdening them. The other day we went over to their house and saw a new bag of his dog food in the garage. In all the craziness happening in our lives, I completely forgot that he was going to need more food and that we should, of course, be the ones to go buy it. But my sweet in laws didn't even say a word, they just went and bought more food.
I have a hard time wrapping my head around that kind of service. Around the kind of service that is truly selfless and kind and wants no reward. Come on, when I bring you a plate of cookies, I at least look forward to the thank you.
So I am grateful for all the wonderful people in our lives who have helped us through these trials, and I am grateful for a chance to see the kind of person I want to become. As we move into a new house I don't deserve and have way more than anyone would ever need, I want to remember to selflessly serve where it's needed, to love those around me in a way that can only be described as Christlike.
I am learning not to worry so much about things working out, because they do. The Lord is aware of what you need, and is always watching out for you. Consider the lillies. But when you feel a prompting to serve, do it. And if you need something, don't be afraid to ask. I am always willing to bring a plate of cookies!

Auric's Birth Story

This being baby #2, I thought I mostly had this birth thing figured out. Especially when I went past my due date again by a whopping 13 days, I was sure I was going to have another big, hard-to-birth baby. However, I was determined for things to go different this time. One of the things that made Dayen's labor unnecessarily hard was that he was posterior, meaning face up. This can (and did) cause a lot of painful back labor. When I found out this baby was posterior too, I spent a lot of time researching it, and found you can usually turn your babies before birth, so I spent the last month of my pregnancy always sitting on a birthing ball, never reclining, and constantly being aware of how he was positioned so I could keep him in the optimal position for birth. It was kind of a pain, but worth it, because the day before my due date, my doctor confirmed he was in the optimal position. I was so excited! It made me realize there was a lot about my birth that I could control, and for months I had considered switching to a birthing center, but I kept changing my mind because I loved my midwife so much. But as my due date came and went, I got more and more anxious. My midwife was leaving on vacation soon, and I couldn't shake the feeling I was going to end up in labor after she left and not end up with the birth experience I wanted. So on a crazy anxious day I called the birth center midwives in tears and decided in the eleventh hour to make the switch.
We didn't tell anyone because we knew a lot of people would think we were crazy, but I was really lucky that Caleb trusted my gut and let me do what I felt like I wanted for this birth.
On the morning of Monday, April 2nd I woke up about 3:30 with contractions. I took a bath and then watched old reruns of Bewitched while I timed them. Within about an hour and a half they went from 5 minutes apart, to 2 minutes apart, but I wasn't too concerned because with Dayen, my contractions were a minute apart for about 12 hours before he was born. The contractions were starting to get pretty uncomfortable, so around 5:30 I woke Caleb up to suffer with me. I also texted my midwife and she was nervous that my contractions were already so close, so she recommended I come in. We decided I would probably be more comfortable in labor at the birth center than I was in Caleb's Grandma's basement anyway, so we decided to head in. Caleb's mom came over to take care of Dayen and we left around 6:30.
When we got to the birth center I felt like things started slowing down, and in the back of my mind I kept thinking I wasn't really in labor and they were going to laugh at me and send me home. So I did some lunges up and down the stairs for awhile, and then we went for a walk. We walked about a mile and I only had 3 contractions the whole time, so I really felt like things were stopping and this 2 week late baby was really never going to be born. So when we got back to the birth center I told the midwives, "I think I'm just hungry, can we go get breakfast?" So we walked to Bert's, which is right behind the birth center. We got an awesome breakfast and Caleb timed my contractions which were 2 minutes apart the entire time. He kept asking, "Do you believe you're in labor now?" but I didn't!
When we got back I spent awhile squatting by the bed during contractions to try to move things along. The contractions seemed pretty strong and were still close together, but in between I kept saying, "Is this really what it's supposed to feel like? This is so much easier than it was with Dayen... this can't really be labor, right?"


Superman Caleb providing counter pressure during contractions.

After a few hours I decided I wanted to get in the tub. I am a tub-lover anyways and the huge, awesome tub at the birth center made the contractions feel so much better. I wasn't sure if I'd want to have the baby in the tub or not, but the minute I got in the water I said, "Nope, I'm never getting out of here!"



After awhile in the water I realized I was starving again (which was ridiculous considering the massive stack of pancakes I ate that morning) so my midwife brought me a bowl of strawberries that I devoured in about ten seconds. I was trying to act like a dainty laboring princess, but I finally asked if I was allowed to go raid the kitchen for more food, and they said I was. (Whoo!) So I got out of the tub and went to the kitchen and found some cookies. Caleb was teasing me that I thought cookies were the best option, but really, when are cookies not the best option?
As soon as I ate again the contractions got stronger, and I realized how cool it was that I was able to just listen to my body and do what it needed to get through labor, rather than being stuck to a bed and just letting things happen.
I eventually got back in the water and things started getting a lot more intense, but in between contractions I was really happy and laughing and so I was still having a hard time believing this was real labor. Finally I had a contraction that was a lot stronger, and in between Caleb made some joke and I didn't respond and I heard my midwife tell him, "She doesn't think you're funny anymore!" and I think that was the start of transition.
From there things got really intense, and I stopped questioning if I was in labor. I started having to make noise through contractions, and those noises quickly turned into yells. For awhile they were still ok, and I even told Caleb, "I know I probably sound like I'm dying but I actually feel ok!" It was just like the contractions were so powerful I needed some outlet to let some of that intense energy out. Eventually I was yelling so much during contractions that my voice was going, and I was worried I wouldn't be able to yell anymore. (Because that should be a concern, right?) I started feeling like maybe I should be pushing, and they told me to just follow my body, so I would try pushing during contractions. But after awhile of that, it started getting really painful. Even when the contraction was over, my hips would just shake and hurt and I couldn't regain my composure before another contraction hit. But in my head I thought this must be the beginning of the end, so this is ok! We're almost done! Finally my midwife asked if she could check me because I didn't feel like he was moving down with each push, and she said I was only at 9 cm. So we got out of the tub to break my water, and there was meconium, just like with Dayen. I can't stress enough how, for me at least, labor is such a mental game. It was at this point that I started thinking: this is Dayen's labor all over again. I am going to need forceps to deliver another giant baby, and I can't have a forcep delivery without an epidural, and I can't get an epidural here. If I have to get one eventually, I want it now. 
It was crazy how the minute my mind changed, I wasn't handling the contractions well anymore. I was fighting them and yelling, "No, no!" whenever another one started. I was crying and telling my midwife I wanted to go to the hospital. She knew how close I was and was trying to help me get back to a good place mentally, but I wouldn't listen. I felt like they were trying to stall me leaving to the hospital, and I couldn't stand the thought of another contraction without an epidural. I think they finally saw how serious I was, because they called the hospital to tell them we were coming and I basically ran out of there and out to the car as fast as I could go. I was wearing an ugly pink nightgown that said "Hello Sunshine", no bra, and no shoes. We drove to the hospital and I had a few contractions in the car that were horrible. Never go for a drive at 9 cm, it is NOT. FUN. By the time we got to the hospital I booked it out of the car and still refused to put shoes on. Caleb had to go check us in so my midwife walked me back to labor and delivery. We passed a guy and his probably 7 year old son while I yelled through a contraction, and I'm pretty sure that poor kid got an interesting talk that night. (And will never be giving his parents grandkids now.)


When we walked into our room the only people there were a nurse and the respiratory therapist. They smiled and said Hi and I instantly had a contraction, leaning against the wall and screaming. They all realized how far along I was and kicked it into high gear, I have never seen people move that fast! Before Caleb could even get back there, they had taken my blood, started an IV, and they were starting the epidural.
In my crazed state I wasn't thinking and when they numbed my back for the epidural, I thought that was the epidural. So when I had another contraction I yelled at the poor anesthesiologist, "WHY ISN'T IT WORKING?!" He was really nice and was moving so quick to get the epidural going. He even waited to do the epidural in between contractions, something they didn't do last time, and that helped a lot. By the time that awesome epidural kicked in I instantly felt embarrassed about how ridiculous I must have looked in my very ironic nightgown with no shoes, just screaming at everyone in sight. But my sense of humor instantly came back, and every time my stomach tightened up I would just laugh and say, "I bet that one would have hurt!"
An hour and a half later I was finally dilated to a 10, and they brought in the mirror and told me we could try pushing. With Dayen, I pushed for about 3 hours before finally delivering with forceps, so I was already telling the doctor, "This probably won't work, so if the first few pushes aren't doing anything can we go straight to the forceps? I want to be alert this time!" 
They told me to try pushing and I watched in the mirror as in one push his head moved several inches down. I yelled, "It's working!!!" because I honestly didn't think it would! They told me to stop and then in two pushes he was out! 
At 6 lbs 8 oz he was almost 3 entire pounds smaller than his big brother! I was so shocked at how different it had been than Dayen's birth. (I still am! We don't even know what to do with a baby this small!) All in all it was about 14 hours of active labor, exactly half of my first, and as far as we can figure I was probably at 9 cm for about 4 hours. For the record, that's the only part I don't recommend. 










I think my midwives were worried that I would be disappointed that I made it so long just to cave and get the epidural in the end. But honestly, I am really happy with how his birth turned out. I know everyone says all that matters is the baby being healthy, but that's not true. It's the most important thing, sure, but it's not the only important thing. As the woman in labor, you are the only one who has to go through it. It can be scary, and tempting to just hand over to your doctor and say, "Do this for me. Make this as easy as possible." But in the end, you're the one dealing with the labor and birth and recovery. So your experience matters! And for me, that just meant having the birth I wanted and feeling supported through the whole thing, which is exactly what I got! I couldn't have had the same labor experience in a hospital setting, (They would never have let me go to Bert's for breakfast or quietly sit back and let my labor progress on it's own without any interventions) and the minute I wanted the epidural, I was really grateful it existed and that I was able to get it. I wasn't upset that my plans changed, just really grateful that when they did, I was still able to be supported and have the birth I wanted.