One Flame.

Posted on by Terri Lynn

A single flame on the end of candle is hot. It generates heat…and if the candle is scented, it burns into the wax, creating that sweet sweet scent of vanilla…or strawberry rhubarb pie…or whatever your favorite scent is. Can you smell it? It doesn’t take but one flame to make that heat.

Be that heat. It doesn’t have to be big. Just make heat. Be the light. Shine. That little, little flame can make a huge difference in your own life, but even more can shine light into someone else’s life.

Have you ever lost a friend? Family member? Co-worker? I have. And in honor of that person, we held a candlelight vigil. It was a small ceremony, not like ones that you’d see for a president, but around 50 people came to honor our friend. Each one of us held a light in our hand. Just one single small flame. Each of us, holding the candle because she impacted our lives. Just a little light, but that room was lit up because of her. Because of how she changed each one of our lives. She lit up our world, some more than others, but she lit us up, warmed our hearts with her single flame.

And there’s something to say about that. If we are the light for others, we keep them warm. That little flame can go so far.

And I want to also kindly remind you to not set yourself on fire to keep others warm. You are enough as that one single flame. Don’t work yourself up and become a huge fire for someone else, burning yourself to the ground. Be enough by just being you.

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I give you permission

Posted on by Terri Lynn

Hey, are you a parent that has to share your child? If you are, then this post, this letter, this message—it’s for you.

Whether it’s with your ex-spouse, ex-fiancé, ex-boy/girlfriend, ex-lover, or whatever it was in-between, I want to give you permission to FEEL. Really FEEL. I want you to feel that emotion, that unexplainable emotion that comes over you right after you have to share your child with the other person who created your child with you.

It’s not grief necessarily, because “grieving” happens when you lose a loved one, and your child isn’t dead. You just have to share.

It’s not rage this time, because rage is what happens when some jerk cuts you off and you have to slam on your brakes. No one cut off your time with your child—they deserve time with their child also… you just have to share.

It’s not relief that happens, although yes, your child was maybe driving you a little nuts. Relief is when you get a test result back and it’s what you truly hoped for. Relief would be keeping your child in your arms, no matter how much your little one is making your batty. You are just taking a scheduled break from being a parent and have to share.

There’s not a word explaining the feeling, where the only person you want to see and hug and talk to is the baby you created, and yet you can’t have them. There’s not a word describing the “off” emotional wash that starts to fill your chest and drown your heart, to the point you don’t feel you can fake a smile.

And the weird part is: each time it’s different. Sometimes, it hits you like a tsunami, a tidal wave, created from the earth shifting beneath your feet for the millionth time right after the exchange. The wave is heavy and it’s hard to breathe and suddenly your chest overflows with a water wave and exits your body in a rush of tears and you lose control and you can’t hide it or change it or fix it. You just have to cry and fall apart. The tsunami of emotions wins, and you drown. Your chest is so heavy and full and you can’t breathe. Until you let your body release all of those tears, you’re stuck. You can’t move, you can’t breathe, you don’t function. All because you have to share.

Other times, it’s slower….like a bathtub filling with water, slowly filling, and you can feel it. First, your feet get warm, and it feels weird, almost nice and good for a minute, and then you feel it in your legs and arms, a weightlessness, and it’s nice, and yet, you get a shiver. There’s a change. Part of you is hot and part of you is cold. You feel off, and you know exactly why. In this case, you have time to process it, and it makes it worse. You can feel the warmth of the water, the slow filling of emotions, and when it hits your chest, it’s warm, but it’s also surrounding you. Again, it’s nice, but you know you don’t want the emotions to get too out of control or too strong. You want to stop the water. At one point, you feel good. You know your child is probably having a grand ol’ time without you, enjoying your ex-whomever-they-were-to-you, and yet the other forever parent of your child. And you are for a minute, happy? No, content? Ah, that’s not quite right either. It’s a sense of “okay-ness” that you learn to accept. But hey, the water, the tub of emotions you feel, yeah, it’s still slowly filling. You feel it. Yep, this one is close to guilt, and this feeling always comes after the “okay-ness” one. The guilt comes from knowing you shouldn’t have to feel that “okay-ness”. How can you just be okay with not having your child? How can I feel okay with sharing? Yep, and there it is…the weird guilt—but not guilt—of feeling like your life moves forward without your child around you, and not knowing if that’s okay, or if it will ever be okay. And now, the tub is full, you feel it all, the warm, the lightness of a release of responsibility for a short time, and yet a new weight is around you and it’s now up to your neck and it’s getting hard to breathe. You don’t want to accept this is how you feel, and that you have to share. You suck in the water and swallow it. You swallow all of those feelings and it tastes funny; it’s warm, but it’s dirty. It’s cleansing, and yet not refreshing. It’s good, and yet painful. You are sharing and you don’t want to.

My beloved separated parent, you are not alone. And this whole thing SUCKS.

SHARING SUCKS.

It’s painful and it hardens your heart. It makes you stronger and weaker too. It challenges you and takes away your control. We all have watched kids, whether it’s our own or someone else’s, FAIL at sharing. They want a toy someone else has, or someone else wants their toy and they have to fight the other child to keep it. We have all witnessed it. And we as adults have to help those kids process why sharing is supposed to be better. What do we tell them? We say “sharing makes friends” and “sharing is a good thing” and sometimes we even have to say, “we just have to”…

Ha, and then now look at us. Us separated parents, we suck at it. We hate it. We don’t want to, not all the time. We don’t want to miss a holiday or a birthday or any day for that matter. We want to see all the smiles, hear all the giggles, watch all the growth and changes from baby to toddler to high school and even college graduate. We don’t want to miss a damn thing, just like those little kids on the playground, and yet here we are, forced to share. And we don’t like it, we want it to end. We want to fight. We want to cry. We want to scream. We want to make a scene. We don’t want to. We are big babies sometimes! And you guys, babies don’t know how to swim. They can drown. And we do too…we drown in emotion, every time. And we can’t explain it and we don’t know why and yet we live it every day.

This is why I’m here and this is why I’m writing this: I am giving you permission, as one single mom to another single mom/dad, to FEEL. I give you permission to accept those feelings when they come, whether as a tsunami or a slow build-up, to feel it. FEEL IT. And just do it.

Every.

Single.

Time.

You need to. It might get easier, it might get harder. It will change over time. It will last longer and it might only be for a minute. It might be something you can just embrace on the inside and handle at times, and other times, you will fall to your knees, asking a God, “WHY AM I FAILING? WHY DO I FEEL THIS? WHY DO I DESERVE THIS PAIN?”

I want to give you permission to know you’re not alone, this is normal, and it’s okay. I want you to know it’s part of being separated and it’s part of sharing your child with someone else. I want you to know it might not ever get better or easier, but that you will be stronger over time because of it.

I want you to feel it and embrace it every time because that’s the only way you’ll make it through. If you try to ignore it, it will come back stronger and harder, because guess what? You’ll have to share again. That’s part of what we signed up for as separated parents. We didn’t know when the baby was conceived we would for sure end up here, but look! We did. And it might change! Depending on the situation, you could fix the relationship with that person and be together as one family. Or, it might not change and you will always be sharing.

Either way, if you’re sharing right now, you’re living with these feelings every day and you can’t let them stop you from staying strong for you and for your child.

I’m giving you permission to accept and embrace those feelings, but I’m not giving you permission to let it stop you from getting stronger and keeping pushing forward. Keep going. Keep trying. Let those emotions do what they need to do to get through your system, then keep going. Keep living. Keep working: on your career, on yourself, and on being a better parent.

Your child deserves that, and even more, you do too. You deserve to feel whatever feelings you feel. OWN THEM. You should never apologize for taking time to walk through those emotions.

What you don’t have permission to do is treat your child’s other parent like crap because your emotions are not “in check”. You don’t have permission to bash on them on social media just because, well, for any reason, EVER. You don’t have permission to be mean to anyone else because you’re dealing with this emotional current.

When you feel the warmth, whether as a tidal wave or the slow build up like in the bathtub, stop making decisions of any sort. You can stop; the world won’t stop for you, but it will for a moment with you.

Maybe find a person you can trust if you need to, and do an emotional vent with them(in a good way, not in a way that treats them badly). Maybe take a walk, maybe eat that entire bag of chips, maybe yell loudly in a cornfield, or take a cold shower, or even take a nap.

I don’t really care what you have to do to get through it, just be intentional. Be intentional about what you’re doing and know your “why”.

Oh, and your “why” isn’t just you. It’s your baby, too.

Days Like These

Posted on by Terri Lynn

Days like these are the best days. I woke up feeling refreshed, awake, ready to face the day. It was gloomy out, but hey, surprisingly it didn’t matter. I was able to get myself up and going, got a load of laundry done and watched an episode of one of my favorite shows. It was good, great even! And then my son woke up, in a great mood. We had breakfast and showered together, scrubbing his hair and letting him pour the water on his head, playing with his tub toys, and got going. Today was a GOAL mom day. It doesn’t happen often…and here’s why:

Facing this world is hard as a young mother. It’s that crazy time in my life when half of the people my age are out at the bars, going to graduate school or are working on graduating from college, or are already working their career/dream job. People my age are still in the dating scene, weaving their way through the complex world of dating, going on different dates and continuing to look for their soul mate. Their schedule isn’t based off of nap times, play times, regular eating times, a set up and very cleaned up schedule like us moms have to have. They can stay out as late as they want, can date when they want, can go to class when they want, and only have to worry about themselves.

Then there’s others who are basically 4  life steps behind me…getting engaged, planning weddings, and then thinking about what it would be like to start a family, or even just announcing pregnancies or just having their first children. Those people are riding this high life, a time in my life which was short, and magical. That time in their life which cannot be interrupted by a child needing their diaper changed or an accidental trip/fall that needs mommy kisses, hugs, maybe a band-aid and more kisses to make it better. But once that family is starting, and I’m not just talking dog moms, but once the real family life is starting, things get extra hard. 

Hard because once those people have their babies, they go into the same style of isolation that comes with young motherhood in this generation. Money gets tight, family always wants you to come to family events to show off your new offspring, and friends get left in the dust. But I mean, you text every once in a while, and Like each others’ Facebook posts, but it’s not the same as before. It’s not the same because you don’t have the spare time anymore. Your time is now filled with washing sippy cups, washing bedding, tying to find a pacifier, picking up toys, and running errands with your child in tow (everything takes a lot longer to do). It’s a completely different lifestyle and it’s a life sentence. People will joke about how if you’re a parent, it’s an 18 year sentence because once someone turns 18, they are a legal adult. But let’s all be honest with ourselves when we say that most of us call our moms MORE after we are 18 and realize how much we still have to learn about life. That’s why us moms have such a hard job. We are supposed to love unconditionally, teach how to do laundry, discipline, kiss boo boos, work a full-time job, manage the home’s finances, keep the house clean, show respect and teach respect, along with make time to visit all grandparents on a weekly basis and make sure to make time for our own sanity. It’s unbelievable what we have on our plate…and you know what? It’s worth it. 

It’s worth it for the good mornings like this when I get to actually enjoy my little man because I got a good amount of sleep and he got a good night of sleep too. It was worth it because I got to take a shower with him and he laughed and it made me smile and laugh too. And I can’t imagine my world without him. He’s is, was, and always will be the BEST surprise I ever received. He is worth it, and days like these mean the most to me. 

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A Warrior

Posted on by Terri Lynn

God gave me a beautiful son. He came into this world battling to stay alive. He spent 5 days in the NICU, but it felt like an eternity for me. He fought hard and long to have a wonderful life..and now as I hold him in my arms, I again realize that he was the warrior. He wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for the NICU doctors who helped him make it and survive after a 36-hour labor process, which could have easily killed both of us. Many people don’t know how lucky my son was to be here…but I do. And I feel so blessed every day that I get to hold him in my arms and rock him to sleep. I feel blessed when he cries for the milk I am able to provide for him. I feel blessed when he pulls my hair, as much as it hurts, because his little fingers are learning to grab and feel. I love when he smiles at me and knows who I am when I call him “My Handsome” because that’s exactly who he is to me…MY handsome and perfect baby boy.

And this baby boy came from my body. My body that I abused for years…unable to see it’s potential. I’ve ate enough candy and drank enough pop to make someone sick…but I have also nurtured my son and myself with this body with good, healthy food so he can eat and get strong. I have gotten lazy and sat on the couch eating bags of chips for days at a time because some dumb boy broke my heart…but I have also worked on my strength so I can carry my son through the mall, or wherever I am, without tiring. I have yelled and screamed at someone for forgetting to put the milk back in the fridge…but I have learned to be patient as my son learns how to hold his own bottle, roll over, see me and know who I am, and smile when I kiss his cheek. I have tortured my body, not realizing its potential and that it is a temple in which every day, life writes on its walls, the inside and out, creating creases, rolls, lines, marks, and scars…all showing me that this life is worth living. And that MY purpose was to give my son a life worth living too…so as I sit here, caressing his body, I know that he will love me, and one day trace the lines on my skin and ask me “Mom, what are those?” and I will tell him stories of where I got every tattoo, stretch mark, scar, and bump or bruise. And I will do it all, knowing it was all worth it, for him, and for me, to love me and my body, with pride and joy. This body is amazing. It created life. A miracle. My Handsome.

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How you know when you’re officially a Mom.

Posted on by Terri Lynn

It dawned on me just before the sun came up one morning that my life will never be what it was before I got pregnant. Once you’re pregnant, you’re given a life sentence to caring, nurturing, and being completely responsible for keeping another human being alive. It doesn’t matter what trips you had planned or what your dream job was going to be…you start to realize those dreams may very well never come true. This new life will enter the world when it’s ripe and ready and will change your thinking on everything.

Because you’re officially a mom…when you first see that your pee stick has two lines instead of one.

You’re officially a mom…when the ultra sound shows a small heartbeat.

You’re officially a mom…when you feel that first kick in your belly.

You’re officially a mom…when you’re woke up in the middle of the night to kicks that are no longer small.

You’re officially a mom…when you crave macaroni and cheese more than you sex.

You’re officially a mom…when the baby shower, big or small, makes you laugh until your belly aches and you need three vehicles to bring home all of the gifts from those who love you.

You’re officially a mom…when pedicures become a once a week must-have to survive.

You’re officially a mom…when these “period cramps” start happening every 15 minutes and woah…no sleep for me.

You’re officially a mom…when you tell your husband you hate him before, between, during, and after your contractions.

You’re officially a mom…when the nurse tells you that they will order a C-section if your baby isn’t out soon…and you realize you thought you were pushing hard…but you find it deep within yourself to push harder, longer, stronger, and focus more than all of your energy into this one push…

And then you’re officially a mom…when they tell you “it’s a Boy!”

Those moments only begin to define when you think your a mom for real! Because, if those weren’t enough for you…it becomes completely real when you hold your child for the first time and he latches onto your breast after patiently waiting for you to figure out how to position yourself so he can take his first drink.

And after that…

You’re officially a mom…when you bring him home, set the car seat on the counter, and have to give yourself a minute to think about what next steps you have to take.

You’re officially a mom…when your breasts begin to ache for the first time and your baby is still sound asleep and you have to figure out how to work your breast pump.

You’re officially a mom…when you are mesmerized by the drips coming from your breasts with every heartbeat from the pump. Holy moley…I’m making milk.

You’re officially a mom…when you hear your baby wake up while you’re in the shower, look down at your nipples, and both are dripping…

You’re officially a mom…when you realize you thought you were tired after that night out and had to work in the morning, but nothing compares to night #3 after bringing home your baby and you realize you will not get a full night of sleep for probably the next year…or longer, and that simple thought makes you cry.

You’re officially a mom…when you take pictures of your child more than anything else. Ever.

You’re officially a mom…when a trip to Wal-mart must be planned and strategized.

You’re officially a mom…when you dread looking at the time on the clock when you hear your baby cry because the sun still isn’t up, which obviously means no one else should be either, but yet here you are, sitting cross-legged on the bed, rocking your baby in your arms and hoping this feeding session will only last 15 minutes because you feel you cannot afford to lose any more sleep…and you can feel your head bobbing and your eye lids have never felt heavier.

You’re officially a mom…when the smell of poop is not nasty, or nauseating, or gross.

You’re officially a mom…when you drink more than the required 8 glasses of water a day, for real this time.

You’re officially a mom…during a movie and a baby cries and you let down.

You’re officially a mom…when your husband’s alarm clock goes off and you’ve already been up for an hour, feeding, changing the dirty diaper, and then rocking your baby, only to gently set him down in the cradle and then spend the next 15 minutes watching him and listening to him coo at you before falling back to sleep.

You’re officially a mom…when at the restaurant, random people come up to you to sneak a closer look at your baby and you can tell they want to touch him, but are afraid you will physically bite their hand off because your child hasn’t slept in what feels like forever and he just got to sleep and if they touch him, you will have to be paying for their funeral, so it takes all self-control to not yank your child away as they choose to just barely touch their hand…ooooh, they got away lucky this time.

You’re officially a mom…when your child gets hungry and you’re in public and it takes a new level of coordination to get yourself in a good position to breast feed without exposing yourself entirely.

You’re officially a mom…when you finally get that first night out at the bar (tell the babysitter you’ll be home by 10pm) and yet you leave the bar at 9pm for a run to McDonald’s and still manage to make it home by 9:45pm.

You’re officially a mom…when you thought money was tight before and now you’re seriously considering couponing and eating PB&J for the next 5 years to make up for all of the new costs that come with having a baby.

You’re officially a mom…when the mirror becomes your worst enemy. You see all of the shiny stripes that ripple your body, in places you didn’t think anyone else in this world has them. You remember when you were younger and swore that you would never be that mom with the stretch marks, but you now realize how naïve that thinking was, not knowing that it never mattered how much lotion or vitamins you put into your body because those pink and purple marks were going to plague your body whether you wanted them to or not.

You’re officially a mom…when you begin to learn and accept those stretch marks. Not every time that you look in the mirror do you love them, because that day will probably never come, but right now and in this moment, you do love them and can see the beauty of them. These stretch marks helped me to create life. These stretch marks show where my body grew when I grew my little human. These stretch marks are a chapter in my life that ended my chapter of only being responsible for myself. These stretch marks are something to be proud of after going through labor and successfully pushing out a miracle.

And as amazing or annoying as all of those things are, you still get to hold your baby at the end of the day, rocking them back and forth, and have them look up at you with their big eyes, chubby cheeks, perfectly formed ears, little fingers and toes, and smooth skin and wonder how you were able to create such a perfect and amazing miracle.

You can finally see why it was all worth it, why you get the privilege of waking up in the middle of the night to feed, but it’s amazing because even in those couple of hours, it still feels like your little person has grown some more and you wouldn’t want to miss any more time than that.

You’re officially a mom…when nothing else matters to you in so many moments, except how you and your baby are always and forever going to be connected. You realize no matter how big he gets, how strong he gets, how independent he will think he is in 20 years, he will always need his mom. And you will be there for him, through thick and thin, loving him as unconditionally as you did when you held him in your arms or when you cried because he wouldn’t stop crying or when you see his dad play with him and it makes your heart so warm…all of those moments make you a mother, now and forever.

Because you’re officially a mom…when your world becomes his.

36 Hours

Posted on by Terri Lynn

All photos are by Anne Warwick

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My contractions began on Sunday evening, around 10pm, just as I was crawling into bed. I had worked during the day, serving guests and waddling in and out of the kitchen. My manager had suggested I get my Monday and Tuesday work shifts picked up. He could see how uncomfortable I was, even though I was in denial. As I laid in bed, trying for millionth time to get comfortable, I began to realize that the normal exhausting pain wasn’t consistent anymore, but was coming in waves. It was close to midnight I realized I was having contractions. As a first time mom, I didn’t know what contractions would feel like; no one had ever explained to me what to expect. For the women out there who don’t know, a contraction literally feels like a period cramp…but they slowly get more painful and longer in length.
I had a moment of panic and nervousness around midnight, where I let myself release a couple of tears. My body was exhausted from working and I couldn’t sleep. I felt horrible because I was worried I was keeping my husband awake, and he was the one who had to work in the morning. I must have caught some light sleep at some point, but around 5am, I forced myself to get out of bed and go to the living room, where the exercise ball was. I laid my chest on the ball, its coolness felt amazing on my skin. I swayed back and forth on the ball for a while, rocking by body to sleep. When I was finally as relaxed as I could be between contractions, I moved over to the couch, still kneeling on the ground, but the couch was a more sturdy object, so I thought I could catch a little more sleep there.
Eventually Austin’s alarm went off and he came out to the living room, seeing me kneeling on the floor. He was instantly concerned, but I told him that he needed to go to work. If things were progressing, I would call him and have him come home from work. I knew I needed to be the calm one until I couldn’t keep control anymore, and then he would become my rock. Once he left for work, I called my mom and let her know things were changing and I thought Baby would be coming. She also went to work, but sent my aunt over to spend time with me, making sure I wasn’t alone all day.
She came over to my house around 8am, and we started tracking my contractions, which were sitting at right around 15 minutes apart. We even went for a walk and kept timing the contractions. My contractions slowed a little after the walk…but then quickly began changing things and speeding up.
I called Austin around 1pm and let him know my contractions were at around 5 minutes apart and staying pretty stable right there. He made his way home and I also called my mother to let her know that we were planning to go to the hospital once she got to our house, which was going to end up being around 2:30pm. By the time Austin got home, my contractions were still around 5 minutes apart, but the pain was intensifying. I wasn’t going to wait at home anymore. My fear of being sent home was overpowered by my fear of dealing with this pain alone, without the supervision of the midwives. We told my mom to meet us at the hospital and we made it there before 2pm.
Once we were checked in, the nurse decided to check to see how dilated I was. I was only 3 centimeters, but my cervix was completely thinned. When she went to feel for it, she accidently broke my water.
“I’m sorry!” she exclaimed as I started to cry.

“Thank you!” I breathed simultaneously…I was so relieved because I knew I wasn’t going home.
Once we were admitted to the hospital, my contractions again began…after my water had broken, I got a break in the contractions. When they decided to come back, they came back with force. It felt like hours and hours of contractions with people coming in and out to check on me. Lots of family came into the room to see me. I didn’t mind because I was covered up. During my contractions though, I had to only focus on myself. The most comfortable position for my contractions was kneeling on the bed, head in the pillows. The thing which made them even less painful was when Austin would stand behind me and press heavily on my hips. I don’t know what it was doing, but it felt great to have extra pressure there. I couldn’t figure out why I had so much pain in my back for so long…but once they did an ultrasound while we were waiting for my body to dilate more, we learned Baby’s head was down like it needed to be, but was “sunny side up” so his face was facing my stomach instead of at my spine, which made for me to have back labor.
At one point, they asked me to get into the tub, hoping to help the contractions and to take weight off my spine with the counterweight of the water. It did feel good to be in the tub and to be in a different position. After a while, things took a serious turn. I got a contraction which started and got to be extremely painful. I tried to breathe through the pain…until it got to be unbearable…and by then, it also dawned on me that it was the longest contraction I had up to this point. I thought maybe this was my body’s way of trying to make me more dilated, but the pain never subsided. I started to panic. The contraction was staying consistent, but it was not stopping like they should. I tried to stay calm, but I couldn’t. Austin leaned over me in the tub, trying to get me to relax, but the panic took over. Through my tears, I knew I needed something to change before I could be calmed.
The midwife suggested moving me to the bed again and I reluctantly started trying to get out of the water with the help of my husband and the midwife. I don’t remember walking over to the bed, if I was dressed at all, if I even used a towel to dry off. I think I may have even walked with my eyes closed over to the bed. Once I was in the bed, the midwife started to put on her gloves to see if I was dilating more. My contraction was still going…it may have only lasted a total of potentially 10 minutes, but it had felt like an hour. Through my tears, I begged them (anyone…the midwife, the nurse, my husband, God…) to get it to stop. The midwife had me move my legs so she could check me. I remember feeling her fingers slide inside me and the biggest relief came over my body, along with a wave of amniotic fluid leaving my body. The midwife had slightly touched Baby’s head enough to move it out of the way, which had been blocking the way for the fluid to easily exit my body. My body relaxed and took a breather, which made me allowed to catch mine and to get my tears to stop. At this point, I knew that as soon as they offered me any sort of drugs, I was going to take it.
One moment that sticks out to me was when they gave me Nubain, a drug  used to relieve moderate to severe pain…but to me, it felt like Heaven. If I could describe what it felt like to have that medication running through my body, I would. Basically, the pain was still there, but for me, it took my mind to another place. I was able to relax and although I still felt every contraction, it didn’t seem to matter. I could actually have conversations with people during my contractions again. If you were to ask Austin about the experience, he would most likely say that I couldn’t hold a conversation and would also mess up my train of thought, but I don’t remember that being the case; I was in a different world. Nubain lasts anywhere from three to six hours after being administered. I’m not sure how long I got relief from the pain of the contractions because of the medication, but I do know I was able to catch some sleep for a bit.
After I was given Nubain, I completely lost my sense of timing, but there are moments that stood out to me, like certain contractions and the reactions of those around me. Like the moment my mother had to leave the room because she was overwhelmed with emotion, watching her daughter go through this much pain, for so long, and not being able to help.

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Another moment that really stands out to me is when they decided to give me the epidural. Everyone had to clear the room, except for Austin, who got to help me get through the process of them inserting the catheter in my back for the epidural. They had me sit on the edge of the bed and basically told me to just not move. I practiced my breathing and the anesthesiologist administered the shot between my contractions. Once he got it put in my spine, he taped my back up so it wouldn’t be able to be moved. Slowly, relief again hit my body and my lower body went…numb? It wasn’t a fully numb sensation because I could still move my legs and I could still sense people touching my legs and feet, but I didn’t have the normal sensations. I could watch on the monitor the contractions going through my body, even though I couldn’t feel them. Once I got the epidural, I was able to catch some more sleep and rest up for the marathon of pushing.
On the monitor, they could see both the size and length of my contractions, as well as monitor Baby’s heartbeat. I had been intently watching that monitor during my entire labor process. Before any drugs, the line that went up and down for my contractions only showed going up about a quarter of the way. I don’t remember ever feeling pain in my lower abdomen though…it was all in my back. My back labor was so painful, my pain tolerance maxed out at around a 4/10 compared to what normal women feel during contractions. Once I got my epidural, my contractions would go way up to 8/10 or more and I wouldn’t feel anything. It was amazing how a drug can make pain completely subside, even though I still felt some discomfort.
At around 3:30am on Tuesday morning, the nurse came in and checked to see how dilated I was. I was measuring 8cm, so they planned to start me pushing around 5:30am and also were going to call in the NICU doctor, which is protocol for when a baby has meconium in the amniotic fluid. We found this out when my water broke, and the nurses weren’t super concerned about it, but because a baby can get bacteria in its body and can cause infection or other symptoms, they planned to have a NICU doctor ready when my baby was born, in case he/she had ingested any. It is more common than people think that a baby will produce meconium (poop before it is born), so the nurses had me convinced that everything would be okay.
It was around 4:00am that I got this sense of needing to push. As a first time mother, I still can’t describe what that feeling is like. It does not feel like when you have to poop and your body wants to get rid of it. It does not feel like a cramp in your stomach from indigestion. You just…know. And when I started pushing, that’s when things started to get real. I had already been in labor for 30 plus hours and my body was exhausted. But I wasn’t allowed to give up. Austin had been by my side continuously…I don’t even know if he went to the bathroom! I wasn’t going to allow myself to give up. And so it began.

And continued.
And kept going.

It was an eternity. Every time I had a contraction, I pushed as hard as I could. The pushing felt like it wasn’t doing anything. I tried different positions and different techniques. Every time, I felt like I wasn’t getting any further.
It was about half way through the pushing process (I didn’t know it at the time.) when the midwife began to reach in and try to help me with the pushing process. What was happening was Baby’s head was sunny-side up, along with coming out in a way that was going too far back and was making his chin hit his chest with every push. The midwife had to reach in and push his head back in a slight bit to get him to come out correctly. It was horrible and it was multiple times of her reaching inside me, trying to turn and adjust my child’s head during my contractions. It was so painful and terrible because I could feel myself ripping slightly with every contraction.

About 9:00am, I was past the point of exhaustion and also scared. I had already had moments of panic and had needed to be calmed down by Austin. He was more than concerned about me and the baby. I was ready to throw in the towel because my child was stuck in my birth canal and I had given up hope that I could push him out myself. One of the midwives came over me and asked me if I wanted a C-section. I instantly said yes and begged for it. Austin had to be the one to calm me down and tell me no. He knew that deep, deep down I didn’t want that if I didn’t have to. I knew and he knew that we had come this far and as long as I could hold in there and just finish this out, give it all that I had, I could get our child out if I wanted to. Him and I buckled down for one last round of pushing and let nature take its course.

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A Whale Sighting.

Posted on by Terri Lynn

I am officially 33 weeks pregnant and it has been more than a whirlwind of a pregnancy. It has been a rollercoaster, with whiplash and a lack of a seatbelt. I haven’t had many, if any, medical problems with it, so I am blessed in that respect. But the physical toll my body has taken was never explained to me when I took health class. Also, they never told me how much my emotions would change and how much I wish that the mirror didn’t exist, but at the same time love seeing my body morph into something new and special. The body of a mother.

Before I was pregnant, I weighed around 130ish pounds, depending on how many cheeseburgers I consumed recently. The first part of the pregnancy no one prepared me for is that my weight was a normal thing to change first. I didn’t mean to, but with the first trimester being the most hormonally different, I ate more and tended to sleep more often as well. This results in weight gain happening before I was “supposed to”. I can’t explain how hard that was to hear from the midwives that I needed to watch what I ate and even more, try to physically exert myself more. I have never been one to work out all of the time, but even the most mildly physical activity took twice the effort in half the time.

The second trimester for me brought both happiness and hidden depression. I finally started seeing my little bump forming, and even later, the first kicks. That’s such a disturbing and yet magical moment. You feel as though an alien is consuming your body…but you love it. You want it to stop right away because it’s uncomfortable and foreign, but at the same time, it is so reassuring and comforting as well. Although I found that reassuring, I had such a hard time with the “lull” in my pregnancy. I wanted nothing more than to sit in my bed and wait for the holidays to come and my baby shower. I felt as though I had nothing else to look forward to. It was exhausting to me to think of how long my pregnancy was going to last…what most women think is the “best” trimester was my least favorite (thus far).

My third trimester has really been the most physically exhausting. My baby is continuing to grow inside of me, but I feel every day that I am running out of the room for the growth. I have been in constant physical pain in my ribcage, which feels like I just got done doing an intense abs work out, but just in my ribs. It’s horrific to feel helpless and like nothing is going to sooth the pain, because nothing will. Nothing can be done about my rib cage expanding…and it’s not something I can ignore. It drains me, physically and mentally. Along with that, moving and getting around is difficult. I can’t fit into the tight spaces I used to and rolling out of bed is exactly that: rolling in whichever way your body allows you to in order for your feet to hit the ground. I can only imagine that I look like a beached whale helplessly rolling around and grunting.

Although every day I feel like I look more and more like a beached whale in more aspects and angles that one, I wish someone would have been more open and honest with me about what to expect when expecting. Yes, you can read the books and you can read the blogs, but until you have experienced pregnancy, you can’t explain all of the little things that you battle as a woman on a day to day basis.

I battle looking at myself in the mirror. I want to look at the changes and see my baby sticking our from my body, but at the same time, the stretch marks, the tiger stripes, strip me from that happiness. It isn’t that I don’t love the new look…I’m sure I will eventually love them…but right now, I am almost brought to tears looking at them and feeling the little ripples on my back. The idea of wearing a swim suit ever again nauseates me.

You battle the scale. I have refused to look at the scale since I started my second trimester, only because I know it will just torture me. The only time I get on the scale is at my doctor appointments…and I refuse to look at the number at this point. I know I’m not ballooning ( I feel as though my face looks about the same and my arms and ass aren’t huge), but at the same time, if I look, I will only overanalyze my number. I know I’m supposed to gain weight in pregnancy and as long as it’s a healthy amount, in my head I know I’ll be okay. It’s the emotional part of me accepting that I can gain weight and it be okay that is the true battle.

I battle my husband. We don’t mean to argue over stupid things, but the emotional toll a pregnancy takes on a couple is insane. I try hard to not be overdramatic or do unnecessary complaining or crying, but even he knows it’s inevitable that I am going to be more emotional and going through more internally than what he can understand. He does try, and that’s what I have to give him credit for. Even more, we battle in the bedroom. I have a hard time falling asleep and getting comfortable and he wants to stay in bed longer every morning and hit the snooze button 800 times before leaving bed, which leaves me restless and upset. We also battle because I don’t feel as attractive as I used to be. I want nothing more than to be touched and loved, but at the same time, I don’t ever want him to see me naked. It’s a strange feeling that the person I should feel the most comfortable with, I also feel the most disconnected from at times…I am truly thankful that at the end of pregnancy, we will together go into battle, him and his whale wife, into the delivery room and come out with a child that we created.

That’s what pregnancy is all about. Giving up yourself, your emotions, your body in its entirety, your thoughts, and in the end give life to a new creature that you created from your own flesh. It’s an amazing miracle that not only makes me want to vomit thinking about (the pain of delivery and then also the responsibility that will come after) but also makes me get the biggest butterflies in my stomach. This whale is going to be a mother. This whale is creating human life and will never be the same…I will forever be a mother, a nurse, a guardian, and a wife. I am going to be the best whale I can be now and hopefully a more dolphin-like graceful creature in the end.

100 Grand

Posted on by Terri Lynn

My beauty is no longer defined by how many likes I can get on social media, by how many times I can get a compliment from random strangers at the bar, or by how much make-up I can cake on my face.

My beauty is not about how I look on the outside. It’s now defined by my acts of kindness and seeing the smiles on the faces of the strangers’ lives I have touched.

The other day, I was walking aimlessly through the aisles at Hy-Vee and I had just had a decent night at work. I like to take around $20 of my earnings after work (I’m a waitress) and buy my groceries for the week I need with that. It’s not always easy, having to buy healthy food on a budget, plus having Celiac’s Disease, but it’s doable. I always choose carefully, but it helps that my boyfriend is simple when it comes to what he likes to eat, so I don’t always have to worry about feeding him. Anyway, I had all of my items I decided to purchase, all healthy, all gluten-free, all under $20. I was hungry, but in no major rush to get home.

Of course, as I get towards the front of the store, so does every other shopper in the building. The lines stretched half way down an aisle or two. Again, I didn’t mind, so I leisurely walked into line, and waited.

I enjoy people watching, so I noticed mothers with small children, holding onto the one item he or she earned by being good in the grocery store. They all clutched hard onto the small piece of chocolate, or tiny toy. I rolled my eyes, noting how my children won’t be spoiled for doing things they should already be doing. I also saw two or three couples, giggling over some joke that made me nauseous, but also happy to see them unable to keep their hands off one another. Not a care in the world. I saw older women and men, impatiently waiting, obviously counting the seconds that it took each check register clerk to ring in each item from a person’s cart.

But one man caught my attention. He stood directly in front of me. His rough, gray and white sprinkled hair was going 35 different directions, and a small bald spot was beginning to show on the back of his head. His clothes were not torn nor old looking, but he had a small bleach stain on the right side seam. His jeans were very dark and his shoes were loosely tied. I nonchalantly glanced into his cart, my creeping skills peaking, noticing he had two bags of chips, a frozen pizza and lastly, two bottles of cheap vodka in his cart. His demeanor, leaning on his cart, was not of annoyance, but more of carelessness. He didn’t mind waiting, but wasn’t enjoying his time in public either.

As soon as I finished looking around at all the random people that lived in the same city as me, all waiting in line around ten at night, I then began looking at the tired employees. They weren’t moving quickly, except for the one manager that quickly noticed the lines gaining more people and the public’s annoyance. He called back twice to other departments to get more people on the registers. Gradually, more employees gathered, typing in passwords to the check-outs, and called to the random people in lines to come to their aisle.

The man in front of me looked at one another and I smiled at him. The seams of his lips tipped upwards, but the smile didn’t touch his lips for more than a second. The lady in front of him pushed past his cart, going to a different line. My line moved forward. The man, still leaning on his cart, shifted forward. Before him was just one other man, around 30 years old, getting feminine products and band-aids, probably two things his girlfriend or wife demanded he get after some argument. He shuffled his feet under his weight, impatient as the sales clerk typed in buttons on the coupon he handed her.

The man in front of me turned around as the person at the register grabbed his bag.

“Go ahead darlin’. You don’t have much anyway.” His voice reminded me of a smoker of 50 years.

“Are you sure?” I asked, staring deep into his eyes, their rich brown color surprising me.

“Sure thing. You ain’t got much.” He said, glancing at my few items I caressed in my hands.

“Well thank you!” I took a step forward, shimmying past his cart. I quickly placed my items on the little black runway thing and got my dollars out from my pocket, anxious to not make him wait too much longer. The register, of course, got angry at the clerk and I waited patiently for manager to come by with the magic card.

As I waited though, I glanced down at the candy that always tempts all customers waiting in line. The “100 Grand” bar stuck out to me, so I grabbed it and placed it on the small pile.

Then I let my beauty stand up. After all my things were bagged, I grabbed my change, reached into my bag, pulled out that bar, and handed it to the man now behind me, carefully lifting his bottles of vodka out of the cart. I placed it in his hand, looked into his dark brown eyes, and said, “thank you sir. Your kindness goes far. Enjoy and have a good night.” His single-toothed smile spread across his lips…but he had nothing to say.

I think I made him speechless.

I didn’t have to flaunt myself to make an impression on this old man, I didn’t have to comment about how vodka doesn’t help whatever he may be going through, and I made sure I thanked him for letting me cut him in line, but I did have to let him know that it made a small difference in my life for him to let me go in front of him and let me get home sooner. It made a difference for him to be compassionate and I had to return it to him.

Yes, it was only a small candy bar. Yes, he probably won’t remember what happened that late night in Hy-Vee. But it made me feel good and feel beautiful, from the inside out, to help someone and to maybe make his night.

Beauty is not how many people tell you how pretty you are and it’s not about the sexiest outfit you own. It’s not about who you know or the model-like shots you see of those girls in magazines. It’s about showing compassion to someone who doesn’t see it often. It’s about making yourself feel good because of things you’ve done to help others. Beauty is in the acts of kindness that not every person on this earth would do.