What to Do With 10 Quarts of Blueberries

I posted a little over week ago about our adventures in picking blueberries. We picked ten quarts. That's quite a few blueberries! When I planned this little outing, I already had in mind what I was going to do with our beautiful blue bounty of berries (can you tell we're still working on the "b" sound in therapy?) I had allotted in my mind a specific amount for snacks, some for baking blueberry muffins to freeze (they make wonderful quick snacks and breakfasts- just pull out of the freezer and thaw!) but the majority of them were going to be for my very own kitchen adventure. I've resolved myself to learn how to make jams, and preserves, and also how to can them. My first attempt was, as you may have guessed, blueberry jam.

I followed the instructions that I found inside of a package of Ball Pectin. I think other pectin has instructions and recipes, but I'm not sure. I did change some of the things that I did, based on advice that I received from other mommies who can.

Blueberry Jam:

approximately 4 cups blueberries (1 quart or 1.5-2 lbs)
4 cups sugar
2 tbl lemon juice
1 package pectin

Before making my jam, I prepared the jars by sterilizing them in the dishwasher. I placed the lids in hot water, to make the rubber part become gummy (this helps to create a better seal.) I filled my large pot with water- enough that the water level would be two inches above the top of the jars, and I put it on the stove to start to boil.

I washed and sorted the berries, removing any twigs, stems, and squirelly looking berries (and since Jonah had helped pick these, there were a few unripe berries to be taken out.)
I used the food processor to crush the berries, but if you have excess aggression that needs to be vented, you can use a potato masher.
I put the berries, lemon juice, and the pectin into a pot and heated until it boiled and the bubbles couldn't be stirred away. I stirred the berries constantly. With the first batch, I accidentally mixed the sugar into the berries with the pectin. The jam didn't set, and I ended up with blueberry syrup (still just as yummy!)
After the pectin and berries came to a full boil, I added all of the sugar, while stirring constantly. When the mixture came to a full boil again, I boiled it for two minutes.

I then filled the jars. One of the tools I wished that I had was a wide mouthed funnel. It definitely would have made this step much easier. I used a ladle to pour the jam into each jar, until it was 3/4 inch from the top. I used pot holders to hold the jars as I did this, but if you have one of those oven mits that works like a glove, it would be very handy here. I used a wet rag to wipe away spilled jam from the top of the jar, and then placed the lids and rings on. I used ice cube tongs to retrieve the lids from the hot water, but they make a magnetic lid lifter for this purpose as well.

I then placed three jars at a time into the large pot of boiling water and covered the pot with the lid. I boiled the jars for ten minutes. I used a special set of tongs to place the jars into the water and to lift them out. To test if the jars were sealed properly, I pushed on the top of each lid. If the middle of the lid pops up and down (think of all those Snapple commercials, or the lids on baby food jars) then it isn't sealed. I let the jars of jam cool on the counter overnight.
Even though I had a lot of berries, I didn't try to double the recipe or make a lot of jam at once. If you don't do it in small batches, it won't set properly.

Of course, the most fun step is the final step: eating the delicious jam on toast! Even Jonah likes helping with that part.

Easing the Fears

***Yet another disclaimer: This post contains descriptions of me using my breasts for what they were made for. It also contains pictures that to some, might be "graphic" so if you don't want to read any words that are related to my breasts or see any pictures of my beautiful babies eating, then look no further than these asterisks***

Seeing these two pictures next to each other brings up a mix of emotions that I had never prepared for. The top picture is me, learning how to get Jonah to latch on. It is the second time I had ever attempted to feed him. I remember very vividly, Daryl bringing me a still wrinkly Jonah from the bassinet. Ah, this is the moment I'd been waiting for- this is the moment that everyone had told me would make me feel like a mother. The first time I had nursed him, I was in the recovery room from the OR, still groggy from general anesthesia. It had been interrupted by a very stressful phone conversation from the pediatrician on-call, and there really isn't very much that I remember about it. Even at the time, this seemed like the first moment that I would be feeding my baby.

I opened up the hospital gown and tickled his nose with my breast, just as our bradley instructor had taught me to do. It didn't work. He didn't turn his head, he didn't open his mouth. He grimaced, stretched, and started to whimper. I tried it again. "It worked the first time" I said as Jonah let out a newborn wail. Seeing his mouth wide open, I decided to seize the opportunity. I shoved as much of my boob as I could, into his mouth. I think it surprised him, because he stopped crying. He took a couple of tentative sucks, then popped off. "Well this isn't making me feel much like a mother" I told Daryl as I pushed the "Call Nurse" button. "Yes?" said a voice on the intercom. I felt stupid saying it "I need help feeding my baby!" I told her. "Be right there!"

By the time the nurse came in, I was close to tears. I couldn't do it.. all the reading and practicing and talking to other mothers.. and I couldn't do it. "I need help.." I glumly told the nurse as she brought the rocker next to my bed. "Everyone does" she reassured me. I liked this nurse a lot. She was eight months pregnant herself, and I think that caused a sense of compassion that I had not felt from the other nurses. She helped me get all of our chords out of the way, and placed Jonah back into my arms. "Tickle his nose like this... and.. there!" He latched on. I couldn't believe it. I fell in love with him all over again, for the hundredth time that day. Minutes later is when he began to choke and was rushed to the nursery to have a tube stuck down his throat to remove "excess mucous from birth."

Fast forward to the second picture. That picture was taken six months later. We had just returned home from a weeklong stay at the Toledo Children's Hospital. I had been given a rental pump and some bottles, and was told we had to stop nursing. "He just isn't growing at the breast." they told me. At six months old, my baby boy was only weighing just over ten pounds. He had stopped growing. He started gaining weight soon after we switched to giving him bottles of pumped milk. This journey of ours is chronicled here on this blog, so without getting into it I will just say that the second picture is of the last time I ever nursed Jonah. Everyone including lactation consultants, our pediatrician, and la leche league, said they would get Jonah back on the breast, but nothing we tried worked. The last time I spoke to our la leche league leader, she had happened to call me while I was shopping. Ironically, I was having a breakdown in the formula aisle, trying to choose what was to become my son's leading source of nutrition, when my cell phone rang.

Fast forward again to when I was four months pregnant with Evie. "You're not going to try to breastfeed again are you?" This question tore my heart out. We had never found the cause for Jonah's growth problem. After a bombardment of testing, the best that any doctor could come up with was "reflux." The best that any lactation consultant could come up with was "nipple confusion." And now Jonah was having development issues. Deep down, on a level I never showed anyone (or at least tried not to show) I did blame myself. Jonah couldn't walk and couldn't talk. He couldn't do a ton of other things that kids his age were supposed to have mastered months before. And now here was this child who I was supposed to have been able to feed, to nurture and nourish, and I couldn't, and now he has all of these problems. So while I wanted to answer my friend's rather intrusive question with "of course I'm going to breastfeed!" all I could get to come out of my mouth was "well... I'd like to at least *try*"

"You have skim milk, you know!" that's absurd, I thought. "It happens more than you'd think! Some women don't make good milk. You're just one of those women. You should give a bottle of formula at least for every other feeding, and maybe not nurse the whole time. But if you need that for emotional reasons, still nurse, but give a bottle most of the time." My friend talks a lot without thinking. I didn't respond, mostly because I was so dumbfounded at what I was hearing but also because I couldn't get a word in edgewise! Had I not been broadsided by this whole conversation, I would have told her that breasts don't work like that. Instead, I thanked her for a lovely visit, gathered my purse, and left.

By the time I got to the first stopsign I had to pull the van over and cry. Was I so selfish that I was going to.. no, that I *had* sacrificed the health and well-being of my child for "emotional reasons"?? What if I can't feed this baby either? What if I stick to my guns again, and this baby doesn't grow because of it, and it effects her development too?? Was I being *that* selfish? How was I going to feed this baby?

I had this fearful conversation with myself pretty much up until the time that I found myself in labor. But, I would very proudly like to show you another picture:

This is a picture of me, learning how to breastfeed all over again. My fears weren't instantly calmed. But I could tell right away that Evie was different. She can suck much stronger than Jonah ever did. Throughout the day, she goes every two to three hours without eating, rather than constantly needing to be latched on. She does not throw up entire feedings, and she has never had the milk come through her nose as I am feeding her. It's only been five weeks, and already my experience with feeding her has been infinitely better than with Jonah.

When we found out that Jonah has 22q deletion, my fears were calmed even more. In the packet of information that was handed to us, we learned that a great number of children with the deletion had unexplained failure to thrive as well as extreme feeding issues. It wasn't my fault. He couldn't eat. I had done my best, and so had Jonah, and it wasn't anyone's fault that I couldn't feed him. And it wasn't my fault that he doesn't talk and that he couldn't walk until a couple of months ago. It wasn't my fault that he has autism. These things all come with the deletion as well. It wasn't my fault...

Further calming my fears: Evie already weighs ten pounds. She has outgrown clothes that Jonah wore until he was 6-7 months old. She is GROWING. And it's all thanks to me and my boobs!

I'm not letting my guard down completely yet. I will be eyeing that scale for a long time. I will always be wondering if she's getting enough to eat. Especially since we don't yet know if Jonah's syndrome occurred randomly or is inherited. But I am no longer terrified that I am somehow sabotaging my children's growth and development. The guilt is gone.

From EC to Potty Training

As Jonah gets older, we are beginning to move from elimination communication to full time "potty training." We have not been as consistent with the EC as I would have liked. We were beginning to get really consistent at home, and even often times out in public. Then I dropped the ball. I began putting him back in diapers. At first it was just for evaluations and doctors' appointments. There were several times when I knew he had to go- he told me he had to go. But in the middle of an evaluation, you can't just interrupt everything to take a child that is wearing a diaper to the toilet.

First of all, when I tried to explain that he does use the toilet, and explain the fundamentals of EC to them, they looked at me like I had two heads. I probably would have looked at me like I had two heads too, before I saw for myself that it actually works. The problem is, they won't let me show them that it works.

Jonah began to learn that he can go in his pants and not have to stop playing. We started to have several misses even at home. As I grew more and more pregnant, my patience grew more and more thin with the potty situation until he was back in diapers full time. A week or so after Evie arrived, Jonah started telling me if he had to pee or poop, just like he had before. He wouldn't go on the potty though; I'd sit him on the toilet, and he would fuss and fidget until I took him off and put his diaper back on. I wouldn't even be done washing our hands, and he'd gone in his diaper.

Then there was the day he stood outside the bathroom door signing "change." I said "What do you need in the bathroom??" To which he replied "ingy!" (stinky.) He opened up the door, laid on the floor, and stuck his legs in the air for me to change him. "ingy.. ingy!" he yelled. I decided then that it was time. I was going to declare no more diapers once again.

I've written before about how there are times I just have to get the courage up to say "no diapers today." and I truly believe that it really works. It focuses us on noticing when Jonah has to go and what he is communicating to us. This is overall a very good practice for the whole family, because he still cannot verbally communicate much of anything. Sometimes I fear that I am the only one who understands what he wants and needs at any given moment.

Potty training after using EC for any amount of time is a little different then traditional potty training. For one thing, the child already knows what the potty is for, and already has an awareness of when to use it. It is becoming very obvious now that our problem is getting Jonah away from his activity to go to the bathroom. He will let me know when he has to go, but is more than reluctant to leave his toys to come with me. I've found that a good way to alleviate this is to let him take a small toy or book with him, so it doesn't seem like a punishment to go to the potty and leave his toys. I also really try to soup up the coolness of what is in the bathroom. He loves to get a few pieces of toilet paper after he's gone, and to flush the toilet. I remind him that we're going to go do these things as we're leaving his toys behind.

I've been calling our little venture "Operation Underwears." We've had quite a good success rate. There have been several days without any misses or accidents. When they do occur, I've noticed that it's during a time when someone else is watching him, or if I'm distracted by something else (like feeding Evie or making lunch.) I've also noticed that it does help to take him even if he isn't telling me he has to go, or showing signs of needing to go. I always put him on the potty before and shortly after we eat, before going outside to play, and before bed/nap. He will go, and it cuts down on the risk of us having a miss during something that will distract me or something that he won't want to leave.

We've been using our Motherease fitteds as "underwear" and they work quite well. They feel like cloth underwear to him, yet are absorbent enough to keep any messes controlled. They also snap on and off very easily. Last week I went to the store and bought real underwear. I was very disappointed in the choices of characters they had. Jonah has no idea who Buzz Lightyear or Lightning McQueen are. And the other characters seem too violent for a two year old. He would love a pair of Dora and Boots underwear, but they only make Dora underwear for girls. I wonder why that is- just because Dora is a girl? I know several little boys who just adore Dora. We settled for some Thomas the Tank Engine, and a pack of three different disney characters. For some reason, Jonah has fallen in love with the Wall-E pair.

Blueberry Picking: Nature's Hidden Therapy

Sometimes as parents, we have some crazy ideas. More often than not, these ideas come back to bite us in the rump. But other times they actually work out really well. Blueberry picking was one such idea.

As we drove to Erie Orchards, I couldn't help but ask myself repeatedly why we were doing this. Gallivanting around the blueberry bushes with a three week old infant, and a very spirited toddler, was suddenly not appealing to me as much as it had earlier in the morning. That morning, I had pictured Evie sleeping peacefully in the sling as Jonah and I plopped juicy berries into his special pail. We'd been reading the book "Blueberries for Sal" by Robert McCloskey and I'm always trying to find ways to teach Jonah where our food comes from. So, when my friend emailed me to let me know that blueberries were ready for picking, it seemed like a good idea at the time! But now, as the van got closer to our destination, the pictures in my head were those of a screaming inconsolable infant, and a blond haired tornado covered in blue stains as he smashed handfuls into his mouth between tantrums. And now, for better or for worse, my mother-in-law had been added to these pictures.

When we arrived at the farm and unloaded the crew, I could see my premonitions coming true. We went into the front shop to check in, and I remembered that Jonah needed sunblock. As I fished the lotion out of my bag, Jonah caught sight of some blueberries in cartons. He waved his hand at them and signed "please." And here it starts... I thought. I told him we'd be getting our own blueberries soon. Apparently, that was not the answer Jonah wanted. He wouldn't even stand still for me to put the lotion on him. He wanted to wander around. He wanted those berries! I was about to call it off, but we eventually got ourselves together and made our way out to the blueberry field.

We found that the stroller was actually useable out in the field. We thought that even if Jonah didn't want to sit in it, at least we could use it to cart the blueberries back to the van. Jonah did sit in it until we found the perfect place to start picking. As we passed each bush, Jonah signed "flower" and stuck his nose out to sniff. We finally found a spot on the edge of the field where there were plenty of ripe berries. As Jonah got out of the stroller, all worries disappeared. We were the only people picking at that time, so there was no one to disturb. Evie was already sleeping in the sling. Things were looking good.

We took Jonah to the bushes, and he continued signing "flower." I finally got him to focus enough to show him what was on the bush. His eyes got wide, and he said a word I hadn't ever heard him say before: "Bew BEE!!!" I laughed "Blueberries, yes! Like we had for snack!" We had blueberries for snack the day before, that we had bought from the farmers market and I had been encouraging him to say the word. We've been working on the "b" sound. I showed him how to pick a berry and put it in the bright orange pail we had brought. After a few tries, he figured out that we were just picking the berries that were blue, and leaving the green ones on the bushes.

This was wonderful "hidden" therapy for him. Jonah's therapists have been giving me ideas for things I can do with him in everyday setting, that will enforce what we are doing in our sessions. Blueberry picking turned out to be a perfect hidden therapy! We worked on physical therapy, because he had to learn to navigate the soft dirt between the bushes. Occupational therapy was worked on by working his fine motor skills to pick individual berries and placing them successfully in the pail. His motor planning skills were honed as he had to figure out which berries were ripe, pick it, and then find his way back to me and the pail. And of course, we had sensory integration too, as he continuously popped berries into his mouth.

I was most impressed though, with how vocal he was. The whole time, he ran from bush to bush, shouting "Bew bee! Bew Bee!!! Bew Bee, yeah! mum mum mum.. mmmm!" He has since altered the way he says blueberry, and now it is closer to "Bew Blay"

Together, Jonah, Mother-in-law, and I picked ten quarts of berries. Erie Orchards isn't 100% organic and pesticide free, but they do not use pesticides during the four months before picking season. We are planning on going to another organic farm this week, not because we need more blueberries, but because it was such a good experience for Jonah.


And of course when we got home, it was dinner time. What better dinner after such an activity than blueberry pancakes. The whole family loved every bite!

What's the Deal with Jonah

I was 38 weeks pregnant with Evie when Jonah and I made our way to the county hospital lab. I was emotionally numb from the evaluation we had just left. It was in a fog that I navigated the stroller through the sterile-smelling hallways, only halfway reading the signs that were directing me to our next destination. We were getting too familiar with blue signs and grey lettering telling us which way to go- almost like we aren't in control of our own paths anymore.

"They said he wasn't" I whispered, disbelieving, under my breath. "Everyone has said that he wasn't- he isn't..." I stopped for a second to ponder which direction to turn. Did we miss it? No, I see the signs ahead LAB. "Should we get a second opinion?... I should get a second opinion.." I rolled the stroller in front of a receptionist's window and tapped on the glass. I silently handed her the paper work and my ID and took a seat in the waiting area.

Jonah wanted out of the stroller. I lifted the tray and helped him slide down the seat. I watched him circle the group of chairs twice, touching a particular screw on each chair as he passed, then coming back to the stroller he stooped down and started rolling the wheel with his hand. My heart began to ache. "He's autistic" I said to the completely empty waiting room.

At first the diagnosis was surprising to me. His speech and occupational therapists out of the Toledo hospital told me just days before the evaluation, that they felt he absolutely is not autistic. The nurse, who is our early interventions coordinator, told me when she was setting up this appointment that she felt he is not- but she would set it up to put my mind at ease. Some of his preschool teachers (who are also occupational, speech, and developmental therapists) agreed with me that he showed some strange behaviors that resembled that of an autistic child, but most of them too, had told me they didn't believe he would be diagnosed with it.

On the other hand, sometimes I tell myself that I shouldn't have been surprised. I should have been prepared to hear someone say very directly "Your child has classic autism." He can be very social with adults, sure. But there are times when his behavior has just been screaming autism to me. When he is screaming at music class because I sat him on the parachute for a song about colors. When he absolutely cannot pass an open door without shutting it, throwing a tantrum if you make him move on while leaving the door open. When he is outside in the driveway standing pieces of sidewalk chalk on end for almost an hour, letting out a blood curdling scream if one of the pieces in line falls over. When a child approaches him on the playground to play with him, and he pushes them down and, completely expressionless, walks away to hide under the climber. These are times when I am not surprised by the diagnosis.

The official diagnosis the PDD specialist and developmental pediatrician gave me was classic autism and apraxia. She sent us to the lab to have some genetic testing done to see if he had any genetic markers that have been linked to the development of autism. She explained to me that not all individuals with autism have these genetic markers, but those that do seem to benefit from different kinds of therapies than those that do not have the markers. When they were drawing his blood, something which we have been through several times before, I felt overwhelmed and suddenly the room was spinning.

I woke up on a cot only to see Jonah sitting in his stroller, sticky and blue, and placing Donald Duck stickers all over his tray. "I hope you don't mind dear, he was so frightened when you passed out I gave him a sucker and some stickers. The kids love my blue suckers!" I'm sure the parents share the sentiment... I thought as I watched some blue drool land right on his white shirt. Another nurse came to get Jonah- she'd be holding him this time, she informed me. They left the room, I heard Jonah scream for a second, then he reappeared brandying yet another famous blue sucker with a smile.

Weeks passed and I had nearly forgotten about the genetic testing. Evie was born. we took her for her first pediatrician appointment. We had to wait a little longer for the doctor to come in, which I thought was strange since I had just seen her in the hallway and she was obviously done with her previous patient. When she finally came in, she oggled over Evie telling me how "absolutely perfect" she looked. The typical well-baby visit ensued, albeit with a few more questions than I liked about the manner in which she was born. After Evie was checked over, the doctor sat down. "I wanted this visit to be just about Evelyn" she said "but I just got a phone call right as I was about to come in to see you." The call was from the genetics lab. Jonah has three genetic anomalies. Two of which the lab has no information on, but one of which has an actual name. Several names, to be correct. Jonah has 22q11.2 deletion syndrome, otherwise called catch 22, 22q deletion, digeorge syndrome, and velo-cardio-facial syndrome.

After talking to a few more doctors, and gathering as much information as I could, we've come to realize that this answers every health question we've ever had about Jonah since the first moments after he was born. It covers everything. From spitting up through his nose and choking when he was first born, to the failure to thrive, to the orthopedic problems, and even the autism (to an extent.) Everything. We are also learning that we are very fortunate, as a lot of individuals with 22q deletion have very serious life threatening conditions such as heart problems (way beyond Jonah's benign murmur.)

We have been referred to a clinic in Columbus that specializes in treating children with 22q. This is a relief, because they will have all of the specialists there that Jonah would need to see rather than having to run around to a million different appointments. It's also nice to know that the doctors we will be seeing are experts in cases like Jonah's. Right now the doctors on his team have merely heard of the syndrome, but don't know much about it.

So this is the place that we are at right now. It is a little overwhelming, but we are beginning to get used to everything.

If you want to know more about Jonah's syndrome, visit these websites:

http://www.22q.org/

http://www.vcfsef.org/

Yoga Breaths

As an attempt to keep fit while pregnant, and to spend some one on one time with Jonah, I signed up for a Toddler and Me yoga class. I was skeptical of whether or not Jonah would participate. He hates to be manipulated or physically moved around in any way, and his attention span has diminished to that of a goldfish since he's gained mobility.

To my surprise, he really enjoyed the first class. We both did so well that I signed up for the whole series. Jonah's favorite part of class, interestingly, is the very beginning when we are getting "centered" with our child. We begin by sitting in a very relaxed state of mind with our child in our laps and we sing or chant "om." I felt silly at first, but after doing it a couple of times I realized how calm Jonah had become, and by the second class he began to chant it with me as well. He was actually sitting in my lap for a length of time!

Then we do what the instructor calls "yoga breaths." Jonah loves this. The parents let their child lean against their chest while taking deep breaths, so the child can feel the breaths going in and out of the parents' lungs. While we breath we move the children's hands and arms up and down. Up when we inhale, and down when we exhale.

Because he loves it so much in class, and it seems to calm him like nothing else I've seen, I've tried to use these yoga breaths with him in every day situations. Jonah gets frustrated very easily if he can't get something just the way he wants it. He also gets very excited by things which is when he does what the therapists call "stimming" (spitting into his hands, twitching his face, brushing the side of his head with his hand) I've also noticed that when he gets this excited or frustrated, he can't complete the task at hand, whether it is going up the stairs safely or completing a puzzle. So every time that I saw he was about to get frustrated or excited, I'd say "Jonah, let's do yoga breaths" and take a few deep breaths.

I wasn't sure if he was catching on. But then one day I lost my temper. He was supposed to be taking a nap. Instead, he figured out how to move his bed around the room by rocking it, and he had torn everything off the shelves and out of drawers. I almost blew a fuse when I opened the door and found him sitting in the middle this mess. My patience was beyond wearing thin. But Jonah, upon my yelling "What have you done in here?!?!?!" started doing yoga breaths. And just like that, my two year old reminded me to keep my temper in check. I was still angry, no doubt, but I was better able to address my anger and deal with the situation in a way that was calm and thought through.

Then later in the week, we were running late. And we were behind an idiot driver. My temper is the shortest in the car. Just as obscenities were about to fly aimlessly out of my mouth, I heard Jonah breathing loudly. I looked back in the mirror only to see him raising his arms up and down. Yoga breaths.

He has also started to come to me at random times to do yoga breaths, when he just needs some time alone with me. Having Evie in the house has been an adjustment for everyone, but I think the biggest adjustment has been for Jonah. I think he really enjoys having this special way to come and spend a few special seconds alone with me when he just needs a time out from it all.

It amazes me that such a little and simple thing- taking a few deep breaths- has made life so much more enjoyable for Jonah. And he is able to use it to remind me to slow down and enjoy life also.

The World Debut of Evelyn Clare

I realize that it's been quite some time- over a month- since I've written anything. My readers will have to excuse our somewhat long blogging vacation. What can I say; it's hard work making a new person! Since I last left off, several overwhelming events have occurred from Jonah's being diagnosed with several various disorders and syndromes to the birth of our baby girl. I think we'll rejoin with the latter, and come back to Jonah's diagnosis another day.
***Disclaimer (I make a lot of these, don't I?) The following is a detailed and somewhat graphic account of labor and birth. If you don't want to be exposed to these descriptions then STOP READING NOW***

I began having contractions on Wednesday June 2nd. I was pretty convinced that "this was it." We called the midwife, and told her I felt some changes. Daryl set up the tub. We let "the grandmas" know that we thought it was it. But the contractions never got stronger or more regular. Thursday afternoon I called the midwife to let her know that things hadn't changed much, and she told me to just go about my day and not worry about it, but get plenty of rest too. The worst thing about this part of labor is that I had really bad leg cramps during most of the contractions.

So my mom and I went to Babies R Us to make a return and pick up a water thermometer (boy did that come in handy!!!) We went to a book store and perused the books; I had a few contractions with some leg cramps, but still no changes. Thursday night I actually slept through the night waking up only a few times with severe leg cramps. Friday morning I was very frustrated. My legs hurt and the contractions were just getting annoying. We went out for coffee/bagels with some friends of mine and my mom was bragging to everyone that she just knew the baby would wait until midnight to share her birthday. Her birthday was on Saturday, and my family has an uncanny knack for sharing birthdays.

While we were out with my friends they reminded me that our town has a little festival downtown on the first friday of every month in the summer, and this week was the first one. So I told my mom that I was still pretty comfortable, there had been no change in the contractions, and walking would make my legs feel better, so maybe we should go and have dinner and look at what vendors are downtown.

While I was driving and looking for a parking space, I felt the change in contractions. But I kind of ignored it because we had so many previous "false alarms." Parallel parking a mini van while having a contraction and trying not to let on (also didn't want to freak out my mom) is not very easy! We decided before going to the restaurant, we would look and see what tents were up. I stopped and talked to my old co-workers from the science center, because they had a little activities booth set up, and we looked at some homemade soaps and other little crafts booths.

We stopped at a booth that was selling tutus and hair bows, and of course gawking over them, when I realized the contractions were coming on pretty quickly and I really needed to think about them. I leaned over and whispered this to my husband, and we kind of hurried my mom along saying we were going to take Jonah to see the fire trucks and life flight helicopter. The firefighters were in their full gear and I want Jonah to get to know that they are nice men, so they aren't as scary in an emergency.

Then we went to the restaurant/bar for dinner. This place is one of my favorites because they make all of their hot dogs, sausages, and dressings in-house. I usually don't like hot dogs, but these are seriously amazing. There was live music there, and Jonah was just having a blast dancing to the guitar. I really didn't want to leave because it made me so happy to see him happy, but I had my phone out and was timing contractions through dinner and they were less than five minutes apart. (Anyone who is pregnant and has a droid phone- I highly recommend downloading the contraction timer app!) We got the bill and left; we still hadn't told my mom that I was having these contractions.

On the way back to the car, we realized that the life flight helicopter was about to take off. Of course we had to stop to watch that excitement! It took about 20 minutes to take off though, and the whole time I was just thinking "I need to get home..." So once the helicopter was gone, I told my mom she needed to drive. We had met Daryl there after he got off work, so he had to drive his own car. My mom understood immediately what I was telling her.

We hurried home and put Jonah to bed. It was now 8:30pm. I sat down on our couch and chatted with my mom for about an hour. At 9:30 I went to lay down on the bed and I told Daryl to call the midwife. We told her there was a definite change, the contractions were getting very strong very quickly but were not in a consitent pattern. She told me to get some rest and either call her if we felt overwhelmed or if they started to progress into a pattern.

I told Daryl to get some sleep on the couch, and I went into the bedroom again. By 10:00 the contractions were very intense. By 10:30 I could no longer just hum through them and I could tell that I was getting more vocal and louder. 11:40 I told Daryl to fill up the pool. The contractions were still at random intervals, but I was sure that in an hour I would want the relief of the water. Boy did I hit the nail on the head! 12:40 the pool was filled and I was begging to get in. I was starting to feel a little pushy, but because the contractions were still pretty random I thought it was all in my head that I felt a small urge to push. Humming wasn't cutting it anymore, I was trying to keep my voice in low "O" tones like I had been practicing, but the contractions would really catch me off guard with how quickly and strong they were coming. I really needed the water, but the thermometer said it was 106F!!! Daryl started baling the water into the sink and adding ice. That got it down to 104F. In the meantime he called the midwife and she asked to talk to me. I had a contraction and gave the phone back to Daryl and she said she was on her way, and her assistant would be there before her. He kept bailing and ran cold water through the hose. When it hit 101F, I knew it was still too hot but I couldn't stand it any more, I needed to get in. I got in and INSTANTLY felt better. I could hum again and manage the pain. I'm a little fuzzy on the time after this, so this may be inaccurate as far as times go from here on out. The midwife's assistant arrived around 2:00am, and the midwife shortly after. They unloaded their things from the cars, and just as they finished, the contractions got more intense again, really quickly. Again I felt a tiny urge to push, but denied it because I thought it was happening way to fast. The midwife came over and said it sounded like I needed to push, and maybe I should try with the next contraction. Daryl was surprised too, but accepted that it was "go time" and came to sit on the couch next to the pool. With the next contraction I started to push, but I just wasn't emotionally prepared for how quickly it was going. I started to get a little panicky. With the next contraction, I felt the baby flip and move through the pelvis, and I really panicked. I reached my hand down and could feel the bag of waters. I remember saying the dorkiest thing at this moment "There's a lot happening down there!" I had said something dorky when Jonah was crowning as well: The doctor asked me if I wanted to touch the babies hair and I said "not now, I'm busy!" So there must be something about that moment that makes me not care how stupid I sound.

The next contraction I didn't do anything and I felt her crown. This hurt much worse than when Jonah crowned, and I was still panicking because I wasn't prepared for such a fast delivery. I was still on my hands and knees in the tub and the midwife couldn't reach to deliver the baby. She was still in her bag of waters but her head was out. I hate how negative I was during this part of the delivery; I had wanted it to be serene and peaceful but I was panicked and screaming. The midwife tried to move my leg up on the side of the tub, but that didn't work so she told me I had to get into squating or come out of the water because my legs were too close together for the baby to come out. I worked it up as much as I could to get to the side of the pool and hang onto Daryl while I squatted and I literally screamed that baby out. I really didn't push at all, my body did that. I felt her come out and I turned just in time to see the midwife bringing her up out of the water. Again, not what I had planned (I wanted me or Daryl to bring her out of the water) but I was so panicky that I couldn't and Daryl was focused 100% on me. I sat in the tub holding her for a few minutes and then realized that we didn't know for sure that "she" was a she! I asked the midwife and she said "We didn't look, that's for you!" so I looked between her legs and she was indeed a girl.

They helped me out of the tub and to our couch so that I could nurse. She latched on like a pro and nursed for an hour! I delivered the placenta while she nursed, which is the part that scared me the most because of how Jonah's hospital birth went from this point on. If there was a time we would be transferring to the hospital, this would be it. But it delivered smoothly and I lost very little blood.

I had lost track of the time at that point so I asked what time the baby had been born. 2:38 am on June 5th (my mother's birthday!) We weighed her and she was 8 lbs 15 oz, 21 inches long. The midwife cut the cord (DH is squeemish) and the grandma's came down to make sure everything was okay. We got to see the placenta, which they thought was amazing. Then I was taken to the bathroom, cleaned up, and tucked into bed with my princess and a glass of water.

I'm still trying to figure out why I panicked so much, and why I was so negative while pushing her out (screaming "No, no, just get her out!") I really feel badly about this and it bothers me. I did not want her born into such negativity, and it bothers me that I was screaming no, as if I didn't want her when in fact all I wanted in the world at that moment was her. The way I reacted makes no sense to me, even from a psychologist's stand point. Especially since with my first child, I didn't make a peep while pushing. In fact, I told the doctors to get out because they were making too much noise. I suppose that every birth is unique, and therefor we react in unique ways to each one. With Jonah, I pushed for two and a half hours. He came out very gently, and the moment was much anticipated. With this birth, I had only three or four pushing contractions and she came out much faster than Jonah. That is the only thing that I can attribute my being panicked to.

I can't imagine having gone to the hospital. This seemed like such a natural part of the day. Go to coffee with some friends, spend the day with my mom, have a family dinner out, have a baby, call it a night. It really was the perfect way to bring a baby to the outside world.

Evelyn Clare, born 2:38am June 5th
8lbs 15 oz, 21 inches long