My daughter wanted to cry but didn’t. I wish she had.

Well, the time has arrived. Our baby girl is due to arrive in a matter of days. And my body is beginning to feel it.

By 3pm, my body is tired y’all.

I’m thankful to our village who has stepped in and come alongside to help us tremendously over the course of these last few weeks in preparation for our sweetheart’s debut.

Last week, my sister visited me after she got off of work and the moment she stepped through the door, I grabbed my keys to go for a walk alone at our local gym.

After my walk, I came home and waddled my little pregnant body to the couch and plopped down. I watched my sister sweep, vacuum, and sequester the energy of my four kiddos towards picking up random items off the floor. When all was said and done, my sister then began making a craft with my four-year-old daughter. I know. I know. My sister is the best.

Apparently, my four-year-old had been waiting patiently for this moment. My sister and her took out some wooden pieces and began following instructions to make an airplane. Within five minutes, my other 2-year-old daughter grabbed a vital piece of the craft and broke it in half.

I heard my older daughter cry out in anger. She then got up, and ran to the living room where I was laid out on the couch.

Customarily, my daughter would run to me screaming and crying with all of her very big 4-year-old emotions.

But this time, she ran past me… towards another couch.

I stared at her from a distance and observed.

She began self-soothing herself by sucking her finger and sitting still.

“Ada, are you okay?” I questioned, while still very much laid out on the couch.

She didn’t say anything.

She simply nodded her head while I caught the slightest glisten coat her uniquely-shaped almond eyes.

I reached out both of my hands so as to invite her over to me—something she never denies—but she dismissed the gesture.

Everything in me wanted her to run to me for comfort. Up until this point in her age, I was her safe space. My lap witnessed much of her pain. My hands wiped away the majority of her tears. My nose knew the scent of her hair. My ankles knew the exact cadence to rock her up and down to calm any of her emotions.

I was there.

I often was there.

But here I was “there” but refused.

It felt strange.

Out of resepect for her 4-year-old dignity, I didn’t say anything and kept observing her in silence.

In the presence of my sister, she desired to appear a certain way.

Within the next hour, my sister left. And sure enough, my precious little girl burst into tears.

Everything she had been withholding spilled forth.

“Elena broke the piece of my airplane. I was waiting patiently Mama because Cece (my sister) kept doing other things. And then, when CeCe and I were about to put the plane together, Elena broke it!” she exclaimed, crying theatrically.

Later that night, I told my husband the story.

The highlight wasn’t my 4-year-old’s tears. Tears, screaming, whining are quite the usual noises over here in our household.

Instead, the highlight of my story was how it crushed me not being able to hold my daughter in a moment when I knew she was in such anguish. How l had to sit there and witness her stuff down her disappointment. How I had to watch her try to be strong when I knew she felt weak.

My daughter only did this due to the presence of my sister.

But can I share something personal with you?

How often do I do this in the private presence of my own Heavenly Father?

How often do I mask frustration, anger, anxiety, overwhelm in my everyday prayers instead of reverently having a meltdown within my heavenly Father’s arms?

How often do I stuff down how I’m really feeling in His presence, in an effort to act like “everything is fine. I need not complain. It could be worse.” When He wants to be the One to hear me share with Him how I’m truly feeling. He wants to be the One to lend me His perspective. He wants to be the One to watch me run to His Word and say it aloud even when I don’t fully believe it but still say it in faith. He wants to be the One to watch me worship Him despite how I feel . He wants to be the One to see me fall to my knees and quietly say “base” after running for too long and too hard. He wants to be the One.

It’s hard to forget the imagery of my daughter standing at a distance in the midst of her emotional angst. Her distance felt foreign.

For the one reading this, if you’re anything like me, allow me to challenge you.

Next time you find yourself battling an array of emotions, instead of running to that one thing to give you a false sense of resolve or strength- albeit a drink, a television show, some IG scrolling, an unwarranted purchase, work, a party, or even some much needed housework etc.- journal or talk aloud to the King of Kings. First, acknowledge who you’re talking to by recalling who He is and then unashamedly express to Him what He already knows.. Feel free to acknowledge how you’d like to feel instead and leave it to Him to draw the bridge between your current reality and your desired future.

He just wants to be the One you come to. So come. Just come.

Yes, I'm Pregnant. Child #4. Here's How I Found Out.

“How many children did you say you wanted?” my beautician asked abruptly.  

All eyes turned to my small demeanor. 

I sat silent.

“Five,”  I said with the utmost confidence, so as to not sound like I was still in elementary school…because I was.

 5th grade to be exact.  

Laughter ensued. 

The most sincere smiles glanced my way.

 I could tell that many wanted to pinch my cheeks, as if such gestures were still allowed at my age.  

“Wait until you have one,” the other beauticians chimed in unison. 

I could see that they held experience. I solely had vision.

That is… until I experienced the birth of my firstborn.

The desire for more kids never waned. A desire that I knew I hadn't conjured up. A desire placed inside me at a young age for some divine reason. 

That is….until the delivery of my second child, Ada Rose. 

One week after her birth, I sat on my couch with our newborn daughter, wondering how in the world other mothers around the world could even desire to have more than two children. I’d just persevered through a natural birth, then through a period of painful afterbirth contractions, and then through too many hours of breast engorgement.

At this point, I felt my hormones dipping quickly and felt a strong need for a good cry. To escape the feeling of loneliness, I chose to distract myself by watching a show on television.

As I began to sink into further despair, wondering when I’d begin to feel “normal” again or happy, I felt the Lord speak. 

Interestingly, I didn’t hear words of comfort from the Holy Spirit.

Instead, the Lord led me to place my hand over my still very mushy womb and make a declaration.

I hesitated for a few minutes. I knew exactly what the Lord wanted me to say aloud,  but I didn’t think I held any level of sincerity to match the coming words. The prompting continued until the words poured forth from my mouth like a dam bursting in great momentum. 

“Lord, this womb is yours,” I said with tears blurring any vision I had while  staring at the screen.  “Have your way. Birth as many precious souls as you so desire through me. I surrender this womb in Your Hands.” 

I felt my words declare something pivotal. It’s a memory forever etched in my short recourse of these last few years.

 A few short months after that moment, my husband and I found out that I was pregnant with our third child, Elena Grace.

She was born in September 2021.

 “When do you want to consider trying again?” I asked my husband when Elena was a few months old.

“I don’t know. But I won’t even consider having the conversations until Elena (our third child) is at least 18 months old to 2 years old.” 

“Yeah, I agree. That way we can enjoy our ten year marriage anniversary,” I smiled playfully, imagining us on a beach in Aruba in the distant future. 

We continued to be asked “the question” by strangers: “ Do you all want any more kids?” 

“ Yeah we do. But we definitely want to wait,” I often stated, with a tone that I hoped conveyed one of a responsible adult.  “There are  a couple of things I’d like to have before getting pregnant again.”  ( A bigger car and a bigger house, for sure- I always thought to myself.)

One morning, my husband took the kids and made their breakfasts while I got some time alone to journal and complete my morning Bible study questions. I went through my routine as normal until one question from my Bible study lesson halted my flow of thought. 

The question stated, “In which ways are you like Peter, walking across the water and not trusting Jesus?”

I couldn’t think of anything and so I asked the Holy Spirit to show me. 

During that time,  I hadn’t really been hearing clearly from the Lord on certain things and so it surprised me when the Lord spoke to me so clearly.

“You’ve been saying that you want to wait to have your next child until you have a bigger house and a bigger car, but I tell you that when you get pregnant again IT WILL BE THE PERFECT TIMING.” 

I wrote what I heard so clearly and moved on in answering my other Bible study questions. 

“How was your time with the Lord?” my husband asked after I returned downstairs to the kitchen. 

I turned to the sink and began washing dishes. “It was good, but I got the strangest conviction about something.”  I shared with him what I felt the Lord was saying and we both shrugged our shoulders and carried on about our days. 

Neither of us knew that…

 I was already pregnant with our fourth child.  

 When I  found out privately, I didn’t know how to respond. But I felt that my response to this news was crucial, spiritually. With the pregnancy test still in my hand, I dropped to my knees and said, “Thank You Lord for this child. I trust You.” 

When my husband found out, he thought he misread the results of my test at first. He laughed in disbelief.

“You for real?” he asked.

“Yeah”

“Wait….how?” he asked. We were actively avoiding a pregnancy. 

“Well, praise the Lord,” he exclaimed and kept laughing. 

Later on, the Lord gave me another Word from Him with the same level of clarity and distinction as His first message to me. 

“You are blessed and highly favored,” I heard during my alone time the very next morning. Despite what our bank account showed. Despite the long list of “wants” I still desired. Despite what others saw, I was  blessed and highly favored.  I am blessed and highly favored. 

We are expecting our fourth child– Spring 2023. 

And we couldn’t be happier.

P.S. I’m currently 23 weeks pregnant. I’ll be sharing soon how the Lord has been crazy blessing us  throughout this pregnancy!! I CANNOT keep the detailings of His specific hand of favor and sovereignty over my family’s life to myself. Will be sharing in full soon.  

Psalm 127:3-5 

Children are a heritage from the Lord,

    offspring a reward from him.

Like arrows in the hands of a warrior

    are children born in one’s youth.

Blessed is the man

    whose quiver is full of them.

They will not be put to shame

    when they contend with their opponents in court.

Be careful to not call a burden what the Lord considers of the utmost blessing. 

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We got pregnant after winning a raffle ticket.

Evan Jr. was conceived due to the hand of God. 

The miracle of pregnancy is beyond what my mind can conceive. 

One sperm and one egg coming together at just the right time, implanting itself in a womb prepared for weeks prior, and somehow growing into a fully-functioning baby without a single human hand directing the show.  Even more fascinating is the forever inhabitation of a soul, even before our human eyes can see.

This is without a doubt...a miracle. 

But this isn’t what this blog post is about. 

It’s actually about the time my husband agreed to us trying to get pregnant, after months of him wanting to wait. 

But before I share the story of how that came about, I think it’s worth rewinding a bit more and sharing how the Lord allowed Evan (my husband) and I to have three years of marriage before having children...all without any conventional forms of birth control. 

When we first got engaged, Evan and I decided pretty early on to refrain from using conventional forms of birth control.

This is the night Evan proposed. Read the details of my engagement story in God, Princeton, & My Pondered Thoughts.

I’d recently been healed, a few months prior, from some pretty severe food allergies and had finally begun gaining weight, healthfully exercising, and eating a diverse array of foods without issue. With that said, I had no desire to have my body experiment with conventional forms of birth control. Evan, thankfully, agreed without question. 

I didn’t adopt this stance due to being well-researched. In fact, I hadn’t done any. I simply didn’t have a good feeling about going this route. So I asked some older married couples what they did, and the idea of family planning seemed appealing. I ordered Taking Charge of Your Fertility and began reading.

I felt pretty confident that if the Lord wanted us pregnant, despite our best efforts, we would get pregnant. And if He didn’t, He would allow for us to not get pregnant.

I was 22 at the time and quite naive. However, I trusted my Heavenly Father.

Evan Sr. was on board. Our close family members were frightened. Our friends thought we were crazy. And the last few words of most conversations with others were often, “Y’all will be pregnant in a few months. Just watch,” uttered with worry and grimace.

I wanted to retort in response, “And if we do...Well, Praise the Lord!” But my inner mommy-boldness hadn’t yet arrived. Instead, I’d lightly chuckle during these conversations and quietly hold Evan’s hand a bit tighter. 

I had no idea what we were doing.

We married soon after and two years flew by. Evan and I experienced several lazy mornings together. A few binge-watches throughout. Several dates in different restaurants and movie theaters.  A few walks alongside Lake Shore Drive overlooking Lake Michigan. And time…we experienced so much free time.

After two years of marriage, I felt a nudge from the Lord to begin discussing our timeline for kids.  I shared this with Evan.

Evan said he’d take it to prayer.

The only issue? Evan’s “taking it to prayer” appeared more of a coy to delay, and months flew by. 

I felt pretty helpless. Evan maintained his unwavering posture of hopefulness. And our discussion was nonexistent. It ended with me thinking that it was time to begin trying to conceive and with Evan sitting unphased saying again and again “Okay...lemme pray on it.”

What could you say in response to that?

Father’s Day of 2017 was when everything changed. 

Evan and I were both getting dressed to go to church when Evan received a text from our Pastor.

“C’mon man-let us wish you a Happy Father’s Day. We waiting on you, bro!”

Evan laughed aloud and sent him a text back.

“Lol in due time brother. Happy Father’s Day to you!”

Our Pastor was discipling Evan at the time, and they had a close relationship.

Due to Evan running behind, I decided to go ahead to church, since it was only five minutes away. While walking up to the church door, I saw Ms. Carolyn, the best church greeter in all of Chicago, giving out raffle tickets to all incoming fathers. The raffle entry afforded fathers the opportunity to win a gift card at the end of service. 

“Aw..how sweet and thoughtful,” I thought to myself. I hugged Ms. Carolyn and took my place in our usual pew that Evan and I loved sitting on. 

Evan and I standing outside our church building during the summer of 2017.

Evan showed up minutes later.

Towards the end of service, our Pastor walked on stage and directed the fathers in the audience to pull out their raffle tickets. Evan began rustling inside his suit jacket for something. Instantly, he pulled out his raffle ticket. 

“Evan….the tickets are for fathers,” I said while looking around, in fear of breaking an unwritten rule. 

“Oh… I didn’t know. I thought they were for all men,” he said, pleasantly unphased.  

“Evan, you can’t participate in the raffle,”  I responded more urgently. 

“Well, let’s just see,” he said with a humorous smirk.

Apparently, the prize was a gift card for a new suit. A temptation Evan seemed to not be able to resist...even in church. 

But what I didn’t know was that Evan was actually talking to God. Perhaps he had been. He told the Lord that if his ticket was selected that he would take that as a sign to begin having children. Yes, a raffle ticket.

I knew none of this. I just knew that my husband was... well, being my husband: doing as he pleased, without fear of judgment. 

Our Pastor announced the first set of numbers from the pulled raffle ticket.

After much silence, our Pastor asked everyone to double-check the numbers on their raffle ticket.

No one claimed it. 

Our Pastor turned the wheel again and pulled out another raffle ticket. 

Still nothing. No one claimed the second set of numbers either. 

At this point, slight frustration ensued as our Pastor again directed church congregants to pull out their raffle tickets and read their numbers more carefully (church service was running behind and pushing into the start of Sunday school).

Our Pastor turned the wheel again and called out the third set of numbers.

Evan stood up, raffle ticket in hand.

Our church had quite a large congregation. But since we frequented the 8 AM service, everyone knew each other. And they all knew that Evan was not yet a father. 

Evan went up to the stage and claimed his prize. Our Pastor laughed. “Well, we know that Evan isn’t a father...yet but we’re going to give him this gift card.” Our much older church members smiled at me upon seeing Evan on stage...as if to say, “I look forward to seeing you two younguns procreating one day.”

 I was the only one who felt embarrassed.  

When Evan finally returned to his seat, he looked like a deer in headlights. He went on to share with me a revelation I never anticipated him receiving.

“That’s it love. It’s confirmed. I’m going to give the gift card away. But it’s confirmed. I just prayed literally to the Lord that if my number was called that I would take that as a sign to begin trying (to have children).” 

“What?” I questioned in shock.

“Yeah. I can’t deny that one. You just witnessed it.”  

Evan gave the gift card to another father and we began trying that day.

I praise the Lord that my husband was not like Gideon. He knew that the Lord had spoken, as strange as it may have seemed, and he didn’t need a further sign. The likelihood of Evan getting to church late, grabbing a ticket unknowingly, and winning a raffle ticket after two people didn’t claim their prize. This was not a coincidence. The Lord had answered. I just never expected the Lord to get my husband’s attention through a raffle ticket.

We conceived a few weeks later and named him Evan Jr. 

Pondered Thought: What are some interesting ways the Lord has gotten your attention in the past?

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They Thought We Were Crazy to Plan a Home Birth...And Then Corona Happened. Here's Our Labor and Delivery Story.

Before Evan (husband) and I tried to conceive for the second time around, we wanted to select our healthcare provider first.

For our firstborn, we were under the care of a midwifery group in Chicago. This midwifery group was affiliated with a hospital and only did in-hospital births. Since we had such a pleasurable experience with our midwives in Chicago for both our prenatal care and labor and delivery, we knew that we wanted a midwife again—especially after reading too many horror stories regarding the subpar treatment of African-American women during labor and delivery. 

But once we moved to Memphis, we realized that our options were more limited. 

9 Weeks Pregnant with Baby Girl.

We couldn’t find a midwifery group affiliated with a reputable hospital near our home. And there aren’t any birthing centers in Memphis. Therefore, we decided, after much prayer and research, to do a home birth with a midwife of choice. By the grace of God, we landed our feet with the best midwife in Memphis. Many thought we were crazy to do this.

But let me tell you.

Our prenatal care was out of this world. I’ve never felt more heard and seen. It felt like this midwife cared for me and my baby with the mindset that she would one day have to stand before God and give an account for her treatment of me and my baby girl. Her reverence and respect for my health, and the health of my child, were unmatched.

In addition to the superb care I received, the level of accessibility to my midwife truly mattered during nights when I was at a loss and needed answers to questions. 

But more than that, when Corona happened, I’m so thankful we had the option to labor at home.

I know the ability to have a home birth is not accessible to everyone, nor do I ONLY advocate for home births. There are circumstances in which a hospital birth is needed and probably better for a person’s psyche, depending on the woman.

But for me, I’m thankful my husband and I chose this path because it made a world of a difference being able to labor at home. I felt at peace. I felt relaxed. And due to Covid-19, the added perks were that laboring at home meant I could still have my doula by my side while laboring; I didn’t have to worry about possibly being exposed to Covid-19 while hospitalized with other patients and being separated from my baby girl if I tested positive (stories like this were coming out around the time of my labor in May).

But enough of that. 

Here’s the story of my labor and delivery. In this post, I use several technical terms because, honestly, other women’s stories helped me in the past to make decisions. And such stories gave me hope. This is why I write in such detail. Enjoy!

I woke up around 11:30 PM to use the restroom. This time, things felt different. While using the restroom, I felt a slight cramp while pooping. I glanced at my phone and saw a missed phone call from my mom that was sent around 10:30 PM. My mom is typically in bed by 9:00 PM. She never calls past 9:30 PM. 

“Hey Mama, I was asleep when you called. Is everything okay?” I texted. 

“Yes. Just calling to check-in,” she texted back immediately. 

Then I knew. I knew exactly why she was calling. 

She was calling to see if I was in labor. And I think I was. 

Around 3:30 AM, I raised myself up off of the bed for the third time that night. What I was feeling weren’t Braxton Hick contractions. These were the beginnings of labor. I woke up my husband and let him know that I was sleeping in the living room because I’d been having contractions for the past hour. He got up,  pumped more air in my birth ball, helped me downstairs, and then went back to sleep. By this second birth, we both understood that labor doesn’t always come quickly and that we would both need our energy for what was to come. 

Thankfully, I got another two hours of restful sleep and then texted my mom around 6:00 AM to come pick up Evan Jr., our two-year-old son. I was still having irregular contractions that were stronger than Braxton Hicks.

I texted my doula and my midwife and let them know that I’d been having contractions. At this point, my mucus plug hadn’t dislodged yet nor had my water broken. 

My midwife came over by 8:30 AM to check my effacement and dilation. I was 3cm dilated. She did a membrane sweep to help kick start things and then she left my husband and me alone to labor peacefully at home. I’ve heard this before, but women often don’t like to be watched while laboring—especially in the beginning stages. This couldn’t have been more true for this labor. 

After my midwife left, Evan finished some last-minute emails before taking off work for the day, and I set off to clean the house. When we both finished, we went outside for a walk around 10:00 AM. At this point, the contractions left me paralyzed in place until they passed. I was definitely in labor. 

This position on my birth ball felt great in between contractions.

Although the contractions were fairly strong, they were also very much irregular. As with my first pregnancy, I thought I was having “prodromal labor”, But what I’d soon find out, I’m simply prone to having irregular contractions during all of my labor (even when in active labor—6cm+ dilated). 

As Evan and I walked outside, anytime I felt a contraction, Evan knew to become completely quiet, to grab my waist from behind, and to squeeze my hips together until the contraction passed. In addition to regular walking, I did some curbside walking too. After 30 minutes, we went back inside. 

At this point, my doula came over and helped Evan set up the birth pool in our bedroom. She coached me through different positions to do while contracting. She brought over a peanut ball and instructed me to lie on my side and to prop my leg over the peanut ball for about 30 min-60 min on each side. And then she showed me the following exercises: forward-leaning inversion, rebozo manteada, and walking up the stairs sideways. Although my doula advised me to do these exercises, she emphasized the need for me to rest as much as possible. I was going to need my energy once my contractions picked up later on...especially during the  “transition.”  At this point, my contractions were definitely more acute than Braxton Hick contractions but they weren’t unbearable. 

Birth pool. For those of you wondering, there is a lining underneath the pool as well.

Once my doula left, Evan Sr. and I began watching a movie while I propped my leg over the peanut ball. Then we ordered some Indian food. While I laid on my side, I still had contractions, but again, they weren’t unbearable. Many times, Evan Sr. didn’t know I was even having them. By the time the movie was over, I got up off the couch to use the restroom and realized that the back of my pants was wet as if I had used the restroom on myself.

My water had officially broken! 

I was told that the peanut ball would help open up my pelvis. I just didn’t expect my water to break so quickly. 

Evan and I eating takeout food and watching a movie. The blue ball is the peanut ball.

Now that my water was broken, I knew that my contractions were definitely about to pick up. (My midwife needed to know the exact time my water had broken, the color of the water, and the smell.) At this point, I became more excited. I never experienced my water breaking on its own with our first child (my midwives ended up breaking it) and so this was exciting for me to experience. 

Sure enough, my contractions began to become more intense, but they were still very much irregular—every 5, 10, or 20 minutes. Around 4:00 PM, my midwife came back over.

Here’s what’s crazy.  The moment my midwife came over, my contractions completely stopped. The reason why was because my midwife brought her assistant over as well. I didn’t realize just how much my body would respond to the presence of a stranger. Due to COVID-19, I never had the opportunity to meet my midwife’s assistant beforehand, as a precautionary measure to limit unnecessary exposure. But here she was. And although the assistant was extremely nice and friendly, my body still responded by my cervix beginning to close back up. My midwife checked me and I was 5.5 cm dilated. Since I still had some ways to go, I thought I’d feel better if my midwife and her assistant left (since my midwife lived 5 min away) and came back later to check me.

Once the midwife and the assistant left, Evan and I watched another movie. I laid down with the peanut ball, and we ordered some more takeout (Moroccan food). My contractions were more intense at this point, and Evan definitely knew whenever I contracted. 

Around 8:30 PM, my midwife and her assistant came back over to check how far along I was. Right before they came over, I was mopping the floor and Evan was putting dishes up. I share this because although my contractions were more intense, things were completely normal in between contractions. Honestly, watching movies and carrying on as normal helped time to go by more quickly.

In the middle of my midwife checking me, I had the most intense contraction while lying on my back (it’s unfortunate that many conventional healthcare providers ask many women to labor like this).  Although I was dilating more (6.5 cm), my effacement remained the same. Apparently, baby girl was coming down but then going back up. If I didn’t do something differently, this was going to be a long labor. In order to help baby girl contract downwards, my midwife used a Boba wrap to wrap around my belly and tied it right underneath my belly as a sort of bind Whenever I contracted, this belly bind helped baby girl go downwards instead of outwards. Once this wrap was tied around my waist, I could tell an immediate difference in my contractions.  My contractions were much more intense. 

After I was checked, the assistant recommended I sit backward on top of a toilet and spread my legs out to help my cervix open up more. I did this for about five contractions and became extremely tired. I could feel the baby pushing downwards. The assistant shared with me that she had two children and that her labors were quite long. For whatever reason, by the assistant sharing her childbirth experience with me made me relax completely. I no longer viewed her as a stranger. Just knowing that this was another mother who had gone through what I was currently going through (and probably a lot more), made me feel connected to her.

Around 9:30 PM, I decided to lay back down with the peanut ball as the contractions were becoming very painful. At one point, I thought to myself, I really need my Doula now! My doula had experienced seven natural births. She understood me and had a motherly way about her that made me trust her completely. I knew my mom would have a difficult time watching me in so much pain and I needed her to take care of Evan Jr. So having my doula there meant everything. I didn’t realize that I had forgotten to tell my doula to come back over at this point (she only lived five minutes away.) But without me realizing, I guess my doula just had a hunch, she came back over on her own volition. With the next contraction, she was already behind me holding me! When I saw her behind me, I just cried because the contractions were hurting pretty badly at this point and I needed her. 

After a few contractions lying down with the peanut ball, I wanted to change rooms. We all headed downstairs, and at this point, I began to feel exhausted. I felt the baby coming down and the contractions were growing more intense. I needed to sleep. 

Here I am lying on my side with my leg propped over the peanut ball.

Apparently, at this point, I’d go into a deep sleep (snoring and everything) and then wake up the moment a contraction came. I was still having irregular contractions, although they were growing more intense. 

After three hours of going in and out of sleep, my body began to do some weird bodily stuff. During a contraction, I’d become hot, and then right after the contraction passed, I’d become very cold. At one point, I began shivering and shaking—indicating a change in hormones. Later I had an episode of throwing up profusely and then felt the urge to poop. It seemed like my body was being taken over. Transition was coming. But the baby didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight (from my perspective.) 

I had no concept of time. Hours and minutes blurred together. My only focus was making it through the next contraction. I could feel myself growing weary. At one point, I turned on the song “Waymaker” and in between contractions, I said aloud repeatedly “I CAN DO THIS.”

But I felt so weak inwardly.

I really needed the Lord.

At 4:00 AM. I was done. I couldn’t take it anymore. I looked at my midwife and rhetorically asked, “How long? How much longer do I have to do this?” 

My midwife, in her melodic voice, continued to reassure me that I was doing an amazing job, that I was so strong, and that this labor was going really well. My doula echoed her same sentiments. I didn’t believe a single word. I needed to know how much longer. My husband, midwife, and doula appeared crazy. At this point, I didn’t know how they could possibly sit here and watch me go through this. Then I began to wonder how my midwife and doula even had natural births...and then chose to do it multiple times. All I knew was that I needed this baby out of me. In response to my midwife and doula’s commentary, I told them with great assertion that I was done laboring in the positions that they were advising me to labor in (which were all for the purposes of opening up my cervix).

I looked at Evan and told him to go get the pool ready. I needed some relief. I hadn’t gotten in the birth pool up until then because my contractions were still so irregular. Evan, my midwife, and my doula were concerned that If I labored in the pool, my body would relax too much and stop contracting all together. This happened during my first labor with Evan Jr.

But I didn’t care. I needed relief.

My midwife approved and told me to do whatever I needed to do in order to rest. With that, Evan and the assistant ran upstairs and began getting the birth pool ready. But after 20 minutes, the pool still wasn't’ ready and I was angry. I got up and told my midwife and doula that I needed to squat for the next contraction. I just needed some sort of relief. 

My midwife told me to do whatever I felt was comfortable. With that, I took two steps to the living room and squatted. I endured three or four contractions while squatting. At one point, I asked my midwife to hold me while I contracted. Her embrace helped so much. These contractions were coming right after each other, which was in complete contrast to the irregular contractions that I was experiencing before.  

After the fourth contraction,  I got on all fours and pushed.

I felt something coming out and heard something. It almost sounded like an egg hatching. At this point, I believe my midwife thought I was pooping. But then I began doing a deep inner groan while pushing.

I heard my midwife and doula pause. I could tell that they had heard this type of groan all too often and knew what it meant, even if I didn’t. This baby was coming out...now!

My midwife yelled for her assistant and for Evan to come downstairs immediately. I heard feet hitting the stairs. But I was in such a transfixed state. I just kept groaning from deep within and pushing. At this point, my doula was facing me eye to eye and telling me to breathe. “You’re almost there sweetheart. Keep breathing. You’re doing great. This baby is coming. Yes, just like that, ” she kept repeating assuredly.  My midwife was behind me. One thing I kept hearing my midwife say was, “Slow and steady. You’re doing great. Slow and steady. Push on the next contraction. Slow and steady.”

Our baby girl’s head was already out. 

What’s interesting is that with this birth, unlike my first in which I had an epidural, the pushing was the best part. It felt so good to push. It felt so natural. I didn’t need advice on how to push, when to push, or what position to get into. I just knew. I knew to groan from deep within. To get on all fours. To push whenever I felt like I was supposed to push. 

Within seconds, the baby glided out. 

Our baby girl cried immediately! My midwife cleared her nose and lungs and then handed Ada to me between my legs. I was still on all fours. I reached for Ada between my legs and then everyone helped me slowly sit down on my bottom.  

After that, everything's a blur. Her umbilical cord was cut. I do remember laying back and delivering my placenta (it happened so quickly).  And I do recall giving Ada back to the midwife so the midwife could do some quick assessments. At this point, I could feel my perineum swelling up but I wasn’t in pain due to not having any tearing, praise the Lord.  I’m so thankful my midwife told me to go slow and steady while pushing. My doula and midwife then helped me to the restroom to pee and to put on a diaper. Afterward, Evan guided me to the couch so I could feed Ada. Ada latched on instantly. Her body felt so warm. Her vernix smelled so sweet. And her beauty captivated us all. I bonded with her instantaneously.

Later, my doula and midwife shared with me that they knew the baby was coming the moment I said, “I can’t do this anymore.” Apparently,  every woman says that right before the baby comes.

And I was no different. I’m so thankful for this experience.

Ada Rose was born on May 27th at 4:20 AM.

Looking back, I felt like there were thousands of angels in my living room ministering to me during this birth. I felt the strength and presence of the Lord so acutely. With our first child, I truly believed that I was strong enough, well-read enough, child-birth educated enough to have a natural pregnancy. The Lord humbled me real quick. With this pregnancy, I knew I couldn’t do this without Him. I actually knew—not some false humility kind of “knew.” I seriously knew I needed the strength of the Lord.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it’s typically the moment a laboring mother says, “I can’t”, that her baby comes.

To any beautiful mama about to have her baby. Eat your dates, do your squats, get chiropractic care, go through child birth education classes. But you better not forget this…

“ …apart from me you can do nothing.” -Jesus John 15:5

so pray my sister. And ask those around you to do the same.

God, Princeton, & My Pondered Thoughts: A Memoir of My Encounter with God at an Ivy

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Quarantining?: 10 Very Effective Ways to Draw Closer to God

Have you ever found yourself singing a worship song with lyrics like, “I give myself away” or “All I want is You” or “I love You with all of my heart,” and felt a tinge of conviction? Have you at times felt like, those lyrics weren’t true for you?

If not, I may be the only one who feels like this sometimes.

Don’t get me wrong. I want to sing these words and mean what I’m singing. But many times I feel like I’m lying to God when I sing songs of complete surrender or desire. So instead, I sing in my heart, “I (want to) give myself away. (I want to be in a place where) All I want is you. I (really do want to) love you with all of my heart..."

Why do I end up adding my own internal parentheses? Most times, I find myself doing this whenever I'm in a season of habitual disobedience and unconfessed sin. These seasons usually occur when I’m unintentionally or sometimes even deliberately fighting against the path that God is telling me to pursue—and in effect, fighting with God, growing hardened in heart, and slowly running away from any awareness of His Presence. (To clarify, if you are a believer, God’s presence never leaves you, because you are sealed with the Holy Spirit. But there’s a difference between having the Spirit and actively obeying and giving Lordship to the Spirit. When we disobey Him, we literally grieve His presence inside of us.)

And so I sing...knowing that my actions speak much more loudly than my words.

“If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”

— John 14:15

During these seasons of disobedience, I usually find myself listening to a sermon and thinking, “Yeah, I need to go ahead and give up ___, and I know I need to go ahead and start __.”

Almost four years ago, Evan (my husband) shared with me that he could see me blogging in the future. At the time, I scoffed at the idea and inwardly rolled my eyes. I figured that his statement was a result of him not listening to all that I had been sharing with him regarding the Lord's purposes for my life (which at the time, DID NOT INCLUDE BLOGGING). But then he later repeated his recommendation again. And then again. And finally, when Evan and I were walking into our home late one evening,  Evan started venturing into another spiel about seeing me blogging. It was at that moment that I heard the Lord tell me to “LISTEN.”

After that evening, Evan didn’t have to remind me anymore about blogging. The Holy Spirit kept telling me. I fought the Lord, less out of sheer rebellion and more out of pure laziness, for some time. But delayed obedience = disobedience. Although I started drafting potential posts for almost a year, I didn’t have any concrete plans on actually starting a blog and publishing the posts. So every sermon, every song, every near death-like-experience (turbulence on a plane) would inadvertently remind me that I hadn’t entirely given myself over to God.

My point is this.

You don’t need to know 10 ways to get closer to God. 

More than likely, you already know how. The answer is simple. Be obedient. Openly confess sins. Prioritize God by studying His Word and talking to Him, listening to Him, and being aware of His presence daily.

Sure, you may have heard this all before. In fact, this blog post may have caught your eye because perhaps you wanted to find a different and easier way to draw near to God.

I can so relate to that feeling. How? Because a few weeks ago, I was tempted to google search, “10 ways to get closer to God.” Actually, this was more than a temptation, because I was in the process of looking it up. But while picking up my phone, I sighed, knowing that I already knew how to draw closer to God.

Honestly, I was just hoping to read somewhere that I could get closer to Him by, for example, spinning in circles 7 times or speaking in tongues for 7 minutes. I wanted to read words empathizing with my busy schedule and encouraging me to catch a Word whenever I could. I wanted to read that God was in my heart and that was all that mattered. I wanted to read that I was human and couldn’t possibly obey God all the time, so it was okay to settle for some sin in my life/not lay down everything to Him.

But that’s not what I’m going to tell you.

Let me tell you a quick story.

A few months ago, I sat, tired of trying to rock baby boy to sleep. No amount of breastmilk, walking, swaying, or singing was working. I leaned back in the rocking chair, closed my eyes, and just wished for the vision of what I had thought motherhood would look like to come true.

I wanted Evan Jr. to lay on my chest, nestled sweetly between my chin and my womb. I wanted to hold him for once without him resisting me with clenched fists and a squirming body, itching to get away. This was mostly my reality for the first 5-7 weeks of Evan Jr.’s life due to him having a very gassy digestive system.

Nonetheless, I took his discomfort personally every time he pressed his little hands aggressively against my chest in pain. Over time, I began to think that he didn't want me.  For once, I just wanted him to feel protected in my arms and to act as though he liked Mommy and no one else (this would come just a couple of weeks later). I wanted him to want me (I cannot stress that enough). And the moment that this thought resonated, the unbelievable happened.

As though an angel just tapped baby boy, Evan Jr. suddenly rested his head right below my chin. Up until this point, he had never done this. He would often fall asleep while breastfeeding, or after numerous bounces when walking back and forth, or after trying 100 different positions whenever I sat down.

But this...this effortless position felt right. This was the vision that I had imagined of motherhood.

He laid his head on my chest so peacefully. And as soon as I felt his deep breaths against my chest,  I felt tears welling up in my eyes. The moment that I had dreamt of since he was born happened. I peered down and stroked his hair. For the first time up until that point, he had resigned to sleep without fighting me with every last ounce of energy of his body. I leaned back and smiled... before being interrupted by another thought—a thought that I knew was from above.

“This is what I long for, with you.”

He spoke it so clearly. I wasn’t even praying.

Tears, for another reason, began drawing up. Simultaneously, I inwardly smiled and said, “Come on Lord. Can’t I just enjoy this one moment without you laying that on me?” I had been fighting the Lord. Yes, I was a new mom with a newborn at the time, but I had kept fighting the Lord.

I felt Him beckoning me to invite Him into my thoughts when changing Evan Jr.’s diapers. I felt Him inviting me to open up to Him whenever I felt overwhelmed. I felt Him whispering to me to worship Him when I felt down. To confess when I had engaged in wrongful thinking. To read His Word when I had some time alone.  But instead, I wanted to numb myself with HGTV and Facebook.

It’s so simple, yet the most challenging thing that you’ll probably ever do. And so I’ll repeat it again.

You don’t need 10 ways to get closer to God.

Be obedient (Stop doing what you know you need to stop doing, and begin what you know you should be doing.). Openly confess sin (Be honest. Don’t sugar coat it.).  And prioritize God by studying His Word (No other way around it. No commentary, spiritual book, or sermon will suffice) and be aware of His Presence daily (Talk to and LISTEN to Him, even now!).

It’s so simple, yet the most challenging thing that you’ll probably ever do…because it’s a matter of priority.

So start now :) .

If only you knew how much He yearns for you to stop fighting but to simply come, rest in His Presence, and surrender.

He’s waiting.

He’s always waiting.

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I think this song encapsulates this blog so beautifully.

I say "sorry" to our newborn son 100 times a day

One thing that I was never warned about when becoming a new mom was that I would be saying “I’m sorry” to my newborn son multiple times throughout the day. I probably say “I’m sorry” about 100 times a day. No, I’m serious.  

Case in point:

Good Morning Evan Jr. Let’s take a bath. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that your bath water was too cold. And I’m sorry for accidentally grazing you with my nail when picking you up out of your bath. And while we're on the topic, I'm sorry for not cutting your nails perfectly so that you wouldn't cut yourself when crying.

I’m sorry for not getting to you fast enough after your nap (I was just using the restroom while brushing my teeth and checking my email-no biggie). I’m sorry that you were crying due to being hungry and not because you wanted to be held.  I’m sorry that I didn’t moisturize your back (and now I see dry patches). I’m sorry I bumped your head. I’m sorry that you have to walk around with a poop stain on your back because the restaurant had no proper changing station for me to change your clothes (#reallife). I’m sorry I didn’t see that small eyelash in your eye that’s been irritating you ALL day. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’M SORRY!

I have a feeling those sorry’s are only going to multiply as the years go on.

As I reflect on my many mistakes as a new mom...I learn how often his cries are justified due to me simply being imperfect. He needs something and it’s my job to figure it out. However, due to my imperfections, often times I mess up in doing so.

And yet…

                       God never messes up.

Now that I’m a parent, knowing that God is a perfect Father is honestly mind-boggling. Sometimes I make the mistake of seeing the fallenness of this world and unconsciously attribute its fallenness to a feature of my God. That is simply not the case. He is a perfect Father, even in a fallen world. By fallen I mean the result of a once perfect Earth now being filled with sin, relational strife, disease, spiritual warfare, natural disaster, etc. Oh, how I can't wait to inhabit the new Earth (Revelation 21). Even in the midst of all the aforementioned, God is perfect. And His ways are perfect.  There is not one thing that He does for His child that is imperfect. Not one.

Can you just sit in that? If you are a believer, You have a Perfect Father.

He doesn’t need his coffee in the morning to effectively hear your prayers. He doesn’t need to scratch His head and wonder how He is going to provide for You, because He created every single thing.  He doesn’t need to be a doctor in order to diagnose the cause of your emotional turmoil, physical ache, or spiritual angst. Why? Because He is all-knowing. He doesn’t wonder how He is going to fulfill His promise to You, because He is all powerful. He doesn’t need to frantically map out your future, because He knew your ending before He even created the foundations of the Earth.

Yep, He’s just that perfect.

Therefore anytime He commands you to do anything or allows something to come your way that you simply don’t like, you have absolutely no reason to act as though God owes you an apology. He simply doesn’t. Even when living in a fallen world, He is able to make every single thing work together for our good (Romans 8:28). That’s just how perfect He is. If it were left up to me, you'd probably be praying for years and getting no answer because I'd be asleep.

PonderedThought:

When unwelcomed circumstances occur or “delayed” promises fail to come to fruition in your own timing, do your actions display the unconscious belief that God owes you an apology? If so, share more details below on exactly how and how you tend to overcome this lie on a day-to-day basis.

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Our Miracle Birth Experience: Part 4

Evan and I looked at each other. I mildly conceded to receive the epidural, because I couldn’t think of another solution. All I knew was that I couldn’t endure the pitocin naturally. With that, the nurses prepared the way for the epidural. The only thing I didn’t think about beforehand was that, in order to receive the epidural, I would have to sit on the edge of the bed, without moving in the least bit, while doctors administered a large needle into my back. I already couldn't sit down during a contraction. So when they said that I would have to sit still as well, I didn’t know how that was going to happen. But GOD!

One of the doctors was really taken by the worship music playing in the background and came and squatted down in front of me and made distracting conversation while the other doctor inserted the needle into my back. With that, the pain subsided. Within an hour, the notches of intense pain went down. Although I could still feel the contractions and feel the baby pressing down against my back, it was still much better. By 6:00PM, I dilated to 8 cm. At this rate, I saw that I really wasn’t in control of creating this birth experience. Again, nothing was going according to plan lol.

By 7:00PM, I hadn’t dilated any further. Unfortunately, the midwife said that if my contractions didn’t increase with greater intensity, I may have to consider other options. This was a subtle way of her stating that I may have to get a c-section, considering the risk of infection now that my water was broken. I was so tired and hungry at this point that I just wanted things to be over. Unfortunately, “being over” in my mind did not result in the beauty of seeing baby Evan Jr. Instead, it resulted in me being able to sleep and eat. I never thought that I’d have such a permeating thought throughout my birth experience. 

By 8:00PM, the baby began moving down further into my birth canal and I was 8.5 cm dilated. By 8:50 PM, I was 10cm dilated and ready to push! This excited everyone in the room because the end was near. I started pushing with all my might! Thankfully, I didn’t have to just push on my back but was allowed to take on more dynamic movements (i.e. being on all fours on the bed, being on my side, using a bar and towel to push). With each push, everyone in the room yelled in support that I was almost there! However by 10:00PM, I became annoyed in hearing “almost there” when it had been over an hour and well...we weren’t there. 

By 11:00PM, I began to think, “can you just reach in and grab him??” But despite my less than optimistic thoughts, by 11:35PM, baby Evan Jr.’s head pushed through! They immediately placed him on my chest. The first thing that captivated me the most was his smell. He smelled so different. So much like real flesh. Then his cry stole my heart as the reality settled in that this was a real living human being. His cry was so piercing and yet so cute. I couldn't believe that this human being was pulled from my womb. Actually, this thought still boggles my mind. 

Minutes later we realized why my labor took so long. Little fella was 9lbs and 2 oz and was positioned occipito-posterior (facing stomach instead of back). And guess what? By the grace of God, I had no tearing, stiches, nor episiotomy! You can't tell me that that wasn't all grace.

A couple of things I would do again/or simply do next time: 

1. Acquire knowledge but rely on prayer throughout pregnancy. -The best advice given to me was to make a list of everything I'm believing God to do during pregnancy and to pray over that list constantly (ex. healthy baby, good supply of breast milk, peaceful family relations, etc.) 

2. Read Supernatural Childbirth by Jackie Mize,  and Ina May's Guide to Childbirth

3. Have a midwife and doula --Their support went beyond any medical experience I've ever had.

4. Drink nettle tea throughout pregnancy, raspberry tea throughout third trimester, and eat dates especially in your third trimester. These tips will help with decreasing the likelihood of tearing, will prepare womb for delivery, and can even decrease labor and delivery time. . 

5.  Do gentle yoga during third trimester to open up hips and to build pelvic floor muscles 

6. Book a photographer to capture the moments of labor and delivery. Everything was such a blur and these pictures really helped to capture the moment. 

Our Miracle Birth Experience: Part 3

Once the pitocin got into my system, oh boy did things kick into gear. Pitocin is a drug that acts a a synthetic hormone to Oxycontin, which helps the uterus to contract. Therefore, my contractions quickly intensified to another degree. Throughout the next four hours, the amount of pitocin that I received increased intermittently, as well as the intensity of my contractions. The contractions were so painful that I thought I was going to pass out. Each and every time I contracted, Evan was right there. When the onset of a contraction would come, I’d reach for Evan and ask, “Can I do this?” And he’d respond, “Yes, you got this. Let’s go!”

After that, I would stare at him, breathing unusually, until the contraction ended, and then I’d slump back down to wherever I was. At one point during a contraction, I gripped the insides of Evan’s arms so tightly that I thought I penetrated his skin with the grip of my nails. In that moment, Evan cringed with masked pain and stated, “Yep, I can take it! Come on!”

His support and gangster-like grit encouraged me.

Midway through the administration of pitocin, my mom walked in (mic drop). Guys, I had no clue that my mother and father had immediately hit the road to make the 8-hour trek to Chicago upon receiving notice that I’d been admitted to the hospital. Seeing my mom walk into the labor room made me cry unexpectedly. The pitocin caused the contractions to be so strong that when I wasn’t contracting, I looked like I had passed out. My mom immediately started crying when seeing me in such a weakened physical state.

In the room, I had my close friend, my husband, my mom, my doula, and the world's best photographer (Whitney Marner). I couldn’t have asked for better support.

By 1:15pm, I made up in my mind that I had endured my last contraction on pitocin. As if no one else was in the room, I looked at Evan and said, “I’m done Evan. I can’t do this anymore.”

I looked at the nurses and told them to get me off of the pitocin. I kept repeating over and over, “Get me off this pitocin. I can’t do this anymore.”

The midwife relayed the benefits of remaining on pitocin, considering that my contractions were still irregular. Looking back in hindsight, baby boy was simply trying to get in the right position before coming out. I wish someone had told me this and given me further insight into what positions to do to help baby boy engage in the right position. Hence, why my contractions were so irregular.

After 4 hours on pitocin, my contractions were intense but were still coming every 8-12 minutes. Things weren't progressing as expected. The midwife gave me other options in order to handle the pain—an epidural being one of them.

I was in such a state of delusion that I just looked at Evan and said, “You decide. All I know is that I can’t keep going on like this.” Evan reminded me of all the past times that I reminded him of just how much I didn’t want an epidural. Yada-yada-yada. All I knew was that I just wanted to get off of the pitocin. At the same time, I didn't want to be in labor for days. While trying to decide my options, I unexpectedly threw up several times. My body, which was already weak, became that much more feeble.

With the decision left unmade, the nurses and midwife stepped out of the room so that Evan and I could decide whether or not I wanted to move forward with an epidural. By this time, I “accidentally” snatched the IV out of my arm so that I was receiving no more pitocin.

Evan and I came to the conclusion to get the epidural. I knew that I couldn’t endure anymore more hours/days of labor—which looked likely without the pitocin (Did I tell you that I still hadn’t dilated any further in the four hours of laboring with pitocin? And did I tell you that they ended up rupturing my membrane too—that is breaking my water—and that I still hadn’t dilated any further by 1:15PM?)  In my head, I just wanted to eat lol. I kept thinking, “Can we just take an hour break to let me eat, nap, and then get back to it later?” But I guess labor doesn’t work like that? Or maybe it does, under different circumstances. Well, back to the story.

Our Miracle Birth Experience: Part 2

I thought laying down was a difficult position to be in when enduring a contraction, but doing so in a moving car proved much more trying. As we neared the hospital, I screamed for Evan to pull over as soon as  I felt the next contraction. Evan pulled over... but he slowly inched along the side of the road.

“STOP... THE CAR!!!!” I roared from an inner place that I usually don’t let out.  I think the intensity of my yell, again, shocked me more than him.

Once entering the hospital, Evan and I had to stop a couple of times to allow the next contraction to pass before finally arriving at triage for labor and delivery. Thankfully, we were taken back immediately where I was seen by my midwife. My midwife quickly checked to see how far along I was, and to my and Evan’s surprise, I was already 6 cm dilated. I knew I wasn’t just being a baby. I was officially in active labor!

With that, Evan and I packed up our belongings and transitioned from triage to the labor room. Y’all, by this time, I was willing to do whatever it took to get this baby to come. I geared up mentally as if I were in the NFL about to go out on the field on super bowl Sunday. Once in the labor room, I changed into my gown, put my favorite flip flops on, and then headed out to the hallways to walk/squat in order to endure the remainder of the contractions.

After two hours of Evan and I walking the hallways and me squating at each onset of a contraction, he and I  went back to the labor room. I then stepped into the labor tub (which felt SOOOO good!) . But I guess I felt too relaxed because my contractions completely stopped for a period of time. As a result, I jumped out of the tub and headed back out to the hallways for another set of squats.

 From midnight until 9:00AM Friday morning, despite my efforts, I only increased in dilation by 1 centimeter. The midwives gave me the option to either rupture my membranes (i.e. break my water for me) or to get on pitocin. These options were given after being warned  that I could be in labor for days at the rate that I was going. With no food since admittance to the hospital, I was deadbeat tired and working on a lack of sleep from the last 3 nights.

After hearing that I had only dilated by 1 more cm, I broke down into tears. No, it wasn't like a tear hear and there. I let the flood gates open. I felt physically, emotionally, and spiritually depleted. I had been trying to be strong all the way up until this point, and to be honest, it wasn’t the pain that broke me, but it was the lack of knowing when the end would draw near, and whether or not I could make it to that end, that left me discouraged and frustrated. My tears flowed into gentle sobbing as I fell over into Evan’s chest.

I looked at my good friend and asked if she could read scripture over me. The words that left her mouth were so refreshing to hear, but if I can be honest, I felt so far from the Lord. Up until this point, I hadn’t been in prayer throughout labor. And to be honest, I just wanted to use my own willpower to push this baby out. But despite all of the books I’d read, all of the supposed preparation I’d done, all of the knowledge I’d gathered, nothing was working. Nothing was going according to “my” plan.  

Evan and I prayed regarding whether to get the pitocin or to have the midwife rupture my membranes. We sensed the Holy Spirit's leading and decided to get the pitocin administered. While the nurses prepared to place an IV into my arm, Evan confided in me that the Lord spoke to him Proverbs 3:5-6,

“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thine ways, acknowledge Him and He will direct thy paths.”

Up until that point, I had been leaning on my own understanding.

This labor was already showing me just how weak I was and that I couldn’t just will myself to push this baby out.

God was in control. Yes, I was about to have this baby, but even more so, looking back, the Lord was also teaching me a lesson about Himself and about me. He was humbling me and showing me that He desired for me to trust in His power and Sovereignty rather than leaning on my own strength and knowledge. I’ve asked the Lord several times since then how to do both. That is, how can I be a lover of knowledge and simultaneously lean on the Holy Spirit?

Since then, He’s taught me that there is a difference between being a lover of knowledge, and being one who places her hope in knowledge. He wants me to acquire knowledge as much as possible, but He also wants me to be weary of placing my hope in it.

Our Miracle Birth Experience

For the 4th time, I woke up in the middle of the night to use the restroom. But this time was different. After several weeks of praying “when?”, I  finally heard a subtle hint. As I walked to the restroom, God let me know, in His own way, that my labor would start on that Wednesday. Therefore, on Tuesday night, I waited in anticipation for our newest arrival. I figured labor would be quick and easy and that the baby would be arriving within hours. Oh, what an assumption!

Around 11:30 PM on Tuesday night, I suddenly woke up in discomfort. It felt like something was sliding down my birth canal.  I didn’t think it felt like a contraction. Instead, I thought that it was simply an uncomfortable sleeping position that I found myself in.  However, after laying back down for another 30 minutes, I woke up again in discomfort. This time, I got up to use the restroom. I soon discovered that my mucus plug had fallen out. How I wish you could've seen my excitement! While in the restroom, I sent a quick text to one of my best friends to begin praying. I subtly alluded to her that I was in the beginnings of labor. I then took my birthing ball to the living room and began attempting to open up my hips, while distracting myself with a documentary on the history channel. After about an hour of doing that, my adrenaline kicked in when considering that I could potentially see our son in the coming hours. I really wanted to get labor going. By this time, my husband had awakened and his face was priceless when seeing me in the living room bouncing on a birthing ball at 1 AM in the morning. I didn’t want to wake him, because I figured that he would need all the rest he could get in case I was actually in labor.

“I think we should climb stairs,”  I said in response to his contemplative expression. 

After little convincing, regarding the benefits of climbing stairs to kick-start labor, Evan put his tennis shoes on. I think Evan's sudden sense of urgency had less to do with wanting to start labor and more to do with not wanting to hear another wave of incessant convincing proceeding from my lips. With that, Evan and I went to the lower level of our condominium and climbed 19 flights of stairs. Sounds crazy, I know, but didn't I tell you that I was running on adrenaline with the thought that we could soon be seeing our son?!

While climbing stairs, I soon realized that the discomfort that I was feeling earlier were actually subtle contractions. I came to this realization after seeing that the discomfort only came every 10-15 minutes. Well by 2:00 AM, after climbing 19 flights of stairs, Evan and I went back to sleep. With each contraction, I woke up to record the duration of the contraction on my app “contractions.” By 6:00 AM, the contractions were still 10-15 minutes apart. Because I was still running on adrenaline, I woke up, cleaned up, showered, shaved my legs (yes, I wanted to look like a woman during labor), and placed our suitcases by the door. By 7:00 AM, I woke up Evan and asked him to take me to Whole Foods, which was right down the street, for my last meal before heading to the hospital (so I thought). With that, we left for Whole Foods with our suitcases, stroller, and car seat in tow.

At Whole Foods I purchased my favorite frozen pizza (yasssss Table 5 cornmeal crust pizza) and purple grapes. I’d been planning for weeks to eat this before heading to the hospital, where I knew I wouldn’t be able to eat once I was admitted.  Well after returning home and consuming my last supper, by 12:00 PM, the contractions were growing more intense. Yet, they were still 10-15 minutes apart. By late afternoon, my contractions had stopped all together and didn’t resume until later that evening. This birth experience was already not going according to plan.

By Wednesday night, the contractions started back up again. This time, they were consistently 10 minutes apart and much more intense. Around 5:30 AM on Thursday morning, Evan and I took several laps in the lobby of our condominium and climbed a few stairs. I hadn’t gotten much sleep from the night before, and by this time, I just wanted our  baby to come. As the day progressed, my contractions didn’t cease but remained steady by being 10 minutes apart.

Let me pause by stating that at this point, the contractions were...painful but NOT unbearable. When they’d come, I would pause, concentrate, and breathe/moan throughout them. I would become so irritated if Evan asked me any questions or made any noise/comments when I was contracting. It was as if I needed all the concentration to focus throughout each wave of intensity.

Okay back to the order of events. As Thursday morning went on, I became accustomed to hearing my own moans every 10 minutes. With each contraction, I told myself the baby was that much closer to being seen. But by 3:00 PM on Thursday afternoon, I had had enough. I was riding  in the car with Evan, after letting him know, pretty sternly, that I needed some Nana Moo coconut milk ice cream from Mariano’s... because Whole Foods, which was around the corner, didn’t have the flavor that I wanted. So there we were, driving to the store. After purchasing it, we called the midwife. What I wanted to say to the midwife was,

“I’m in pain! I’m ready to have this baby. Be ready cause we about to show up at this hospital!”

But, I didn’t.

Instead, I politely answered the coming questions.

“No, my contractions aren’t 3-5 minutes apart. No, my water hasn’t broken. (And no, I don’'t want to just wait it out!).”

We weren’t going to the hospital after all. Because I requested to have a natural labor, my midwives suggested that I labor at home as long as possible until I was in active labor (which supposedly would occur when contractions were 3-5 minutes apart).

So after leaving the store, Evan and I headed back home. By 4:30 PM, my friend came over to help me do some more walking in order to hopefully get labor going. We walked...and walked..and walked. Every 8-12 minutes, we’d pause, I’d  lean against the wall, and inwardly yelp.

By 6:00pm, my contractions were still just as intense but not consistent.

By 8:00PM, while watching a movie with my friend and her husband who were keeping us company, I let Evan know that I wanted to go to the hospital. Because I was planning on having the baby naturally, we knew that this didn’t make much sense considering our plan was to only go to the hospital once I began active labor (i.e. at least 6 cm dilated) so that I wouldn’t be laboring at the hospital for so long.  Despite these reminders, I wanted to go to the hospital right then.  

Evan, using his better judgment, suggested that we wait a couple of hours to see what would happen. Well around 10:30 PM I went to bed. Actually, I pulled out a sleeping bag to sleep on the floor, because at this point, I needed to be able to lift myself up easily whenever a contraction came. But upon laying down and enduring the next contraction, I yelled with so much intensity that I shocked myself. (There's something about laying down, versus sitting up/walking during a contraction, that made contractions worse) I ran to the restroom and yelled for Evan. With the next contraction, I told Evan to take me to the hospital. I’m not usually so forceful (well, during pregnancy, such force would come about when a craving overcame me, hence the scenario with the NanaMoo ice cream) but I got up, grabbed my coat, my keys, my phone, and headed towards the door. I wasn't playing lol. Thankfully, our friends were still over. My best friend and her husband had actually decided to spend the night, just in case something like this were to happen. I’m so happy they did, because my friend’s support proved most pivotal in the coming hours!!

We called the midwife, and after letting us aware of our options, the midwife left it up to us to decide whether we wanted go to the hospital. My mind was made up. And thankfully, Evan didn’t object (I didn’t leave him much of a choice). Therefore, we all rushed to the hospital.