My children are very supportive of my couponing. They regularly alert me to coupons on boxes, in boxes, and elsewhere. Sometimes they just bring me coupon-like gifts like in the photo here. Q cut it from the piece of paper it was printed on. Very thoughtful.
For several years we homeschooled under our state’s Home Education Program (HEP). The HEP required a Letter of Intent to the school district to announce our establishment of a homeschool program (done for each child), an annual evaluation by 1 of 5 state statute approved methods, and the mandatory keeping of portfolios. These things were sore spots for me. I complied, reluctantly, because I didn’t see that I had any other options.
Because of my strong dislike for the public school system under which I was tortured and persecuted (a topic for a whole post of it’s own), I wanted no association with the public schools. I tried to keep the contact to a minimum and hoped they would never ever ever call me to submit to a portfolio review. (We did get called in 2008, but were dismissed because of a scheduled trip out of state on that date.)
Annual evaluations always felt more like judgment day even though I have had nothing but wonderful certified teacher’s who have evaluated my children’s work. However, there are just so many things you can’t take pictures of, moments and achievements that cannot be demonstrated in a 3-ring binder. The longer I homeschool, the further away from workbooks I move. We do a lot of oral work. I read to them (a lot!) and we have long discussions. How can any evaluator ever “see” that?
From the very beginning, we have had trouble finishing certain subjects by the end of the “school year”. So we often rushed through the last month of our math curriculum, with me crossing off things I didn’t think they needed to review yet again, especially with next year’s math not so far away. Instead of allowing them to work at their own appropriate pace, I felt I was homeschooling to meet bogus requirements. That was very contra-indicative of our purpose.
The portfolio concept, while warm and fuzzy to an eduction major and politicians, is the furthest thing from my natural abilities. Try as I may, different methods of compiling throughout the years, it was always a last minute rush to put it together. I hated it! As I already stated, a portfolio never contained an accurate picture of what my children were learning. It was a big farce.
Each year at convention time, I longing gazed at umbrella schools. I was attracted to the idea of not being under the government system, but two things prevented me from going with an umbrella school. Costs and feeling like I was under an even bigger thumb.
Then last summer, someone on Twitter introduced me to a free private school (umbrella school) for homeschoolers…or rather, unschoolers. I was in the process of yet again compiling several portfolios for a very impromptu portfolio review that a friend had arranged for anyone who wanted to get it done and over with. As soon as I dropped my annual evaluation paper in the mail to the school district, I enrolled my children in Florida Unschoolers.
Now I have finally gotten to the reason for my post today. It’s March and I had to order MORE curriculum. My 10yo son completed his 4th grade math a few weeks ago and is now into his 5th grade math curriculum. My 11yo son is two days from completing his 5th grade math and will be starting his 6th grade math next week. We are 3 weeks from finishing our history curriculum. There have been numerous other accomplishments this year as well.
Without an impending portfolio review to worry about throughout the year, we have been free to learn without restrictions or regulations or government interference. And we have gotten more accomplished in a shorter time than in any previous year!
We are rolling right into “next” year’s curriculum, finally realizing the dream of year-round homeschooling. Year-round isn’t really as bad as it may seem. It’s not working 5 days per week for 52 weeks straight. It’s being able to take breaks without falling behind (to cram for portfolio evaluations). It’s each child working at their own pace and being able to have time to focus on their interests as well as having some structured learning. It’s working on family projects, doing life, learning new skills and training up the next generation. It’s losing the summer knowledge loss and gaining consistent reinforcement of important concepts.
Never in the course of our homeschooling journey have I felt more at ease while feeling we’re getting somewhere, where each child needs to be. We’ve got so many cool things on the horizon. And I finally have the strength to tackle and plan some new things with my kids…things they have been begging to do.
I am so thankful to God for this new opportunity He brought to me,. For opening my eyes and helping me change my original perspective. For seeing me through the rough times and for pouring out His peace on me along this journey.
Every mother has fears for her children. There are the day-to-day worries, big and small. Will my child remember what they’ve been taught about strangers? Will they remember to brush their teeth? Then there are the long-term fears. What kind of adult will my child become? How will I respond if my child chooses a bad lifestyle?
For Christian mothers, there is the fear about our child’s faith Will they stay faithful, remembering what they have been taught? Or will they walk away from the Truth?
Today, I sat in a beauticians chair for 3+ hours. I have been using this woman for a few years now, though I admittedly only get my hair done 2-3 times per year. Over the course of our relationship, I’ve learned a few things about her. But today, she opened up her deepest pain to me.
I must admit that she caught me off guard. We talk about general life. We talk about politics. We talk about the weather. We talk about whatever we hear other people in the salon talking about. So, I was not really prepared for what she revealed to me seemingly out of the blue. In fact, not only was I speechless (yeah, I know…me, speechless), but I didn’t know why she chose to tell me.
As I continued to reflect on the conversation, I think I figured out why she told me. See, thanks to the flu & then losing my voice from allergies, I am two weeks behind my Bible in 90 Days reading. Knowing that I would have 3 hours in the salon, not knowing how much of that time I would be by myself, I took my Bible. I think the presence of God’s Word comforted her, encouraged her, or had some other influence on her decision to share a painful story.
Several years ago, she owned a salon in a nearby city. She relocated it when her rent was increased. The salon was then next to a pizzeria owned by a Palestinian man.
Her biggest mistake, her deepest regret, is that she allowed her 15 year old daughter to work for the man. Shortly thereafter, her daughter revealed that she had been converted to Islam by this man. She was instructed by the Islamic Center not to read anything her mother gave her and she was told that her mother had, in fact, not raised her right.
She tried to pursue the matter legally, but was told that her daughter was 15 and there was nothing that could be done. However, she did warn the man (who was 35 at the time) to stay away from her daughter. Four years later, when her daughter was 19, they married.
Today, they have 3 children and have all but alienated her mother. Once when she visited, her then 4 year old grandson told her “All Christians are bad.” She begged her daughter not to poison the minds of the children. Of course, the daughter deflected by saying, “You just don’t accept me.” “How ironic,” I told her “because they are clearly the ones who aren’t accepting you.”
Now, I have imagined all sorts of horrors as a mother. I’ve had people pose unsavory hypothetical questions about my children as adults. And there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t ponder their future..in fear…sometimes in disgust. While I am doing my best to instill in them the Bible, righteous living, and fear and reverence of the Lord, I know that only they ultimately will make their eternal choices.
One’s child walking away from God is disturbing enough. How much more is having one’s child walk away from Christianity to join a religion that breeds hatred. Now you can see why I was speechless.
After she told me her story and shared her daily pain, her constant prayers for her daughter and her grandchildren, I decided to share her story here on my blog. This is a battle to be fought on our knees. So, I am bringing this great need for prayer to anyone who is lead to pray for them.
Thanks for reading.
Anne-Marie
Crafty is not a word I use to describe myself. As I have mentioned before, I was more than content as a child to color in coloring books. I can recall two freehand drawings and I remember loathing art class.
This is not so with my 4 freehand drawing kids. They draw and draw and draw some more. I can put a ream of paper in my printer paper drawer and it will be consumed in short order. 500 sheets…gone in a flash.
Worse yet is the mess left behind. Paper everywhere.
In the past, I tried to contain it by purchasing ring-bound sketch pads. (Tear-off sketch pads, while cheaper, were not considered since they would share the same fate as loose paper.) This worked for awhile, but my children quickly went through the sketch pads. Then I couldn’t remember where I purchased them since I had acquired them for our airplane travel entertainment. Then when I did locate them, oh my gosh…I could not believe how expensive they were. Some sketch pads can run up to $12 a piece. And in my mind $4 was too much already. Not to mention the hassle of tracking them down.
Enter Macgyver. What I am about to show, I did out of desperation for my sanity. Here’s how I plan to tame the beast:
A stack of 3-hole punched copy paper & 3 - 1
Using scissors, I split a pocket folder in half.
Attaching the back half of folder thru the binder rings...
Attaching the front half of pocket folder to binder rings...
Taping the pocket...
After I took the photos, I realized that I would do all future books a little differently. The difference is that I had already put the rings on two books last night so my girls could start.
Starting without binder rings, you just line up the bottom folder half under the stack of paper, put the rings through, slip the top folder half onto the rings and snap them shut.
Here’s the cost breakdown for 40 books w/125 sheets each:
$42.99 – box 8.5″ x 11″ 3-hole punched copy paper, that’s 10 reams or 5000 sheets.
$34.32 – 128 – 1″ binder rings, 16 pk ($4.29 in store or $3.79 online per box)
$20.00 – 40 folders – I’m rounding high, I usually pay .10 to .50 each
This comes out to:
$2.43 per book, as listed above
$1.83 per book, if you don’t need any folders (I have plenty)
$3.06 per book, buying paper by the ream, rather than the case
I am so looking forward to reclaiming the floors from the paper mess & keeping the kids out of my printer paper.
Hope this helps someone else too.
As a home educating mom of 4 and a wife to a technology guru, two things are prevalent in our house: researching & trying out new curriculum & learning tools and technology.
ItzaBitza is one of the most intriguing kid’s programs I have ever seen.
Most computer games of this genre make claims they never come close to delivering on. Our game bin is full of so-so and down-right disappointing wastes of money.
ItzaBitza, while it has a slight learning curve (no more than any good game), is so enjoyable. All of the integrated aspects (drawing, reading, following instructions, problem-solving, and creative play, etc.) was beyond my expectations. I especially enjoyed watching my children work independently, not requiring too much assistance from mom after the initial run through.
I downloaded the game last week at ItzaBitza.comand had my 6 yr old try it. I meant to have my 5 yr old try it out that day to, but we didn’t get around to it until this morning. Before long, the entire gang was crowded around the computer, each demanding a turn.
When they were finally done playing (3 hrs later), I interviewed them. Here’s what my crew had to say:
My Suggestions to Parents:
My Playing Tips:
Well, I hope you enjoyed our family review of ItzaBitza. You can download your free trial at ItzaBitza.com You can also Follow the CEO, Margaret, on Twitter .
Note: This was an independent, unsolicited product review.
Links to Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven & Part Eight are at the bottom of this page. Ultrasound - Jan 1992 Birth Day Birth Day (left) & Placement Day (right) Placement Day Placement Day Placement Day 2-3 wks post-partum, my first hike w/ dad's hiking group. Top Left: 4 wks, Top Right: 3.5mos, Bottom: 7 mos Adoption Day - 10mos (I think)
My apologies that “soon” turned into 3 weeks. I had a lot of pictures to sort thru & scan in.
I ended Part Eight by saying that placing her for adoption & having some early visitation wasn’t the end of the story. There is no end to the story because it is has been an ongoing, growing relationship not only between my daughter & myself, but also a friendship with her mother that I could have never imagined. Even pondering it now, I’m just amazed at what God has given me. It’s beyond words.
Through the adoption I obtained something greater than I gave away. At 19, I was essentially a child. But her mother never treated me with disrespect. Initially, I viewed her a mother figure in my life, a mentor. At some point, I realized that we had a deep friendship…a bond in our daughter. What makes it so amazing is that I never expected it. I expected her to be a wonderful, loving mother training my daughter with Christian values & ethics. But I could have never anticipated the role I would play in their lives.
Over these 17 yrs, she has given advice and asked for advice. She has asked for my input & opinion on matters that have flabbergasted me. Not because of the subject, but because I am amazed her level of peace in allowing me to play such a role in my daughter’s life.
Remember those 12 other adoptive family profiles I viewed? That’s exactly what they lacked, peace. It emanated from their protective & guarded words. They didn’t say it outright, but they screamed, “We’re going to take your baby & hide her away from you. We want your baby, but we’re afraid of you. You’re a threat to our family!”And rightfully so in some cases… Hey, I’ve met plenty of other birthmothers & I have been afraid too. I am not condemning adoptive families for these feelings. This is all completely natural and I would feel the same way too. My point is that my daughter’s mother had the same peace from God that I had & He grew in us an unfathomable blessed friendship. Second only to my friendship with Yeshua.
Note to Birthmothers: Your adoption, whether closed or open, is an opportunity to assess your life & make necessary changes. Grow. Learn. Mature. Progress. Make life choices in light of your child whom you loved enough to give to bless another family.
Note to Adoptive Parents: Love your birthmothers (& other biological extended family). Pray for them as you pray for yourselves in raising your child. Both will make a tremendous impact in their lives and yours.
Ready for some pictures?
Her mother is holding her. I didn’t crop them out of the picture ot be rude, but because I’m sure they don’t want to be plastered all over the internet.
Story Links:
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part One
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Two
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Three
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Four
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Five
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Six
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Seven
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Eight
Friday morning started out pretty good. I got up at my new forced time of 7:30am.
I spent some time working productively on my travel plans notebook. As I often tell people, I don’t plan much in my life except vacations. While I don’t schedule my plans down to the minutes & seconds, I do like to have all of the essential information at my fingertips. This will be especially handy before we (that’s myself & 4 kids) disembark to run down the concourse to breathlessly catch our connecting flight. In my notebook are maps of all the airports we will be in, so when they tell me our connecting flight is at gate such & such, I won’t be hurriedly traversing thru the airport trying to read signs & keep track of my children. I’ve also got all the family bathrooms mapped out.
The tabs across the top mark the beginning pages for Flight Info, Rental Car, Hotels, & To-Do (as in things I “want” to do on my vacation).
The tabs along the side mark the pages for the specifics: actual flights, hotels, rental car, places. These tabs are in chronological order down the page even though the bottom two tabs are for pages more towards the front of the book.
I worked on my notebook until my girls woke up. They had expressed a desire the night before to bake a “blueberry cake” in the morning. So, I bought a Krusteaz blueberry muffin mix and we followed the instructions for making a Blueberry loaf.
Initially, 6 year old Q was very distraught that I was using a loaf pan (which I had to buy the night before too because I somehow have gotten by without one…oh yeah, I have a bread machine). Somehow I managed to convince her that her “cake” would still be a cake, but just be shaped like bread.
.
…and of course, they had to add food coloring swirls.
We hadn’t been at the cake baking long when 9 year old Ee-duh (a sibling mispronunciation we use to harass him with) demanded his daily ration of pancakes. I opened up the freezer and terror gripped me. Well, it wasn’t that bad, but he wasn’t happy when I told him I forgot to buy pancakes. See, I had intended on making the pancakes first thing that morning, but had forgotten about that when I saw my notebook calling me to organize our vacation.
He was miffed. But I assured him that I would make his pancakes while the cake was baking. He just had to be patient…which no one in this house seems to enjoy being.
As soon as the cake was in the oven, I grabbed all the pancake ingredients to make my quintuple batch. Wouldn’t you know it? My ground oatmeal was on E and I didn’t have time or feel like grinding up anymore. So, I grabbed the wheat flour instead and was on my way.
Since I do this on a regular basis, I don’t even bother digging the recipe out. Of course I have trouble remembering how much baking powder & salt I need. So, I guessed. When it hit me that I had put twice as much baking powder in as I needed, I really thought I had botched the pancakes. I didn’t know what would happen really. Oh well, I moved forward. It wouldn’t be the first time I slaved over pancakes only to have him tell me how much he hated them.
Just as I toss the beaters from the hand mixer into the sink, I remember what I always forget…the vanilla and almond extract. I added my vanilla. Then I went to pour the almond extract into a measuring spoon and I swear half the bottle emptied into the mix. It’s a small bottle, but still…that’s a lot of almond extract. I mixed it in with a wooden spoon figuring he was going to hate my botched pancakes anyway, so why bother worrying about the almond extract.
As I got to the end of the pancake batter, 9 year old son said he wanted to try making the pancakes on the griddle. He was able to make about 14 of them and use the spatula to remove them. He also made a big deal about wearing one of my aprons. I don’t know what all the fuss was about really because it’s a unisex black apron.
Anyway…so here they are…minus the 4 he ate.
So, that’s what this crazy household did on Friday morning.
(Remember the “cake”…between the girls who did some heavy damage and dh only a tiny square remained.)
* Pictures taken with a Sony Cyber-shot DSC-P10
Links to Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven are at the bottom of this page.
My mom and I were the first ones to leave after placing my daughter with her family. (They still had paperwork to do and such.) We hadn’t reached the end of the road, when my mother, never too good at finding the right words for the moment, said, “I would have helped you keep her if you wanted to.” I’m sure she meant to comfort me in some way, but…I turned away from her and stifled back the tears as I started out the window.
Along the long drive home, a few tears eventually did come, but I didn’t let her know it. I cried, not about the adoption, but about what I felt was a lack of understanding and insensitivity. She didn’t get it. And I suppose it was odd that I would expect her to as I doubt I ever shared with her how God spoke to me and how He had filled me with peace. All she knew was that I had made a decision to give up my baby.
Throughout this whole process, from the day God spoke to me until this day, I hadn’t shed a tear over the adoption. I was genuinely happy for them and completely resting in God’s peace. As I saw it, there was nothing to grieve over. So I didn’t.
Back at home, I was relegated to sleeping downstairs on the couch (mom didn’t want me climbing stairs with my stitches). The next morning, I marveled at how much pregnancy weight came off overnight. And I began my diet of soda crackers (nothing seemed very appetizing) and water.
Then the phone rang…
“I called [Anne-Marie]…to tell her how [the baby] slept all the way home…, and how many times she woke up in the night and how often she was feeding! I wanted her to know that I was a wonderful mother, meeting all of [the baby's] needs with tremendous love and care and devotion. She had, and will always have the right to know this firsthand.”
Initially, I didn’t know how to process her mother sharing all of this information with me. It wasn’t that I didn’t care to know or didn’t want to know. But rather than dwell on it; I just listened, responded, and took it all in figuring I would do something with all of it later.
As she talked, I held the gift she had given me the day before. In a white square jewelry box was a heart pendant on a necklace and a heart-shaped note. The note read: “To [Anne-Marie]- This little heart symbolizes the love and gratitude in our hearts for your precious gift to us. We promise to keep in touch and be the best parents ever!…”
She kept in regular contact with me. Soon we arranged our first visit. My daughter was 4 weeks old when I drove down to visit early on a weekday morning. According to the open adoption counselor the adoptive parents had been educated under, this visit should have only been for no more than three (3) hours. Well, I arrived at 9 am and I didn’t leave until almost midnight or later. There was a lot to talk about. She had a lot to show me. Things she had made as part of their open adoption training meant to be shared with potential birthmothers. She also had a stack of books about birthmothers and open adoption, newsletters from the open adoption counselor, etc.
There was also a time of Q & A. She had a long list of things she wanted to ask me, things she would be able to tell my daughter about me, my family, her biological father, etc. We had a lot of fun getting to know each other.
I cannot even begin to describe the blessing of being able to share in my daughters early moments. While I wasn’t there physically to witness most of it, they took endless videos and still pictures. My first photo album was filled before she was 3 months old, if not sooner.
Two events really stand out for me from those early months:
During one visit, we were at a restaurant having lunch. A woman approached to admire the baby. She asked, “Who’s the mother?” Her mother smiled at me and we said as we smiled and giggled, ‘We are.” I’m sure we gave a quick explanation and I reflect back on that with great pleasure at how I was blessed to share in that joy.
The other event wasn’t really an event, but rather a three-way discussion via snail mail and phone calls with the open adoption counselor in California. During a phone call, I believe, her mother had shared with me a conversation she had had with the counselor. The conversation was about the stages I needed to go through. One of the stages was grief. As I already mentioned, I had nothing to grieve about. You have to lose something to grieve over it. I hadn’t lost anything. In fact, I had received blessing upon blessing in not only sharing in my daughter’s life, but knowing her family and developing relationships.
So, as the story goes, I wrote a letter to the counselor, under and alias which she saw through in two seconds. My letter was blasting her about this grieving issue. I was a tad infuriated by her telling the adoptive mother that I “needed” to grieve. Upon receiving and reading my letter, the counselor called the adoptive mother to tell her that I was worse off than she imagined. Soon, her mother called me to tell me about the phone call. We talked about it and we laughed. The counselor just didn’t know me. The adoptive mother accepted my reasons for not agreeing with the “need” to grieve and we moved on to develop a great friendship.
At the conclusion of the adoptive mother’s story recounting their adoption experience she writes, “[She] is now nearly four months old. Our darling baby’s coos and gurgles captivate us, her cries tune us in to her needs, and her smiles melt our hearts. Our joy is indescribable! [Anne-Marie] has visited five times and will continue to visit whenever we can mesh our busy schedules. Thank you, [Anne-Marie], for your courageous decision to place your baby, and for making our dream come true!”
The story doesn’t end there, so Part 9 is coming soon!
Story Links:
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part One
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Two
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Three
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Four
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Five
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Six
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Seven
Links to Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, & Part Six are at the bottom of this page.
“Then on May 19th,…[the adoption agency] called with wonderful news…[Anne-Marie] had a baby girl!! They told us to drive [up] as soon as [Anne-Marie] and [baby] were discharged from the hospital.”
After giving birth, I was moved into a private post-partum room. My best friend and her 3 yr old stopped by. Three hours later, my mom stopped in. She looked at me and said, “Are you flat?” Apparently, she did not get the message we left for her and had gone shopping. Eventually, I was alone. Completely alone.
I walked down to the nurses station and asked for all the paperwork for the birth certificate and social security card. After filling that out, I walked down to the nursery. As I had mentioned, the hospital didn’t know how to treat me as a birthmother. They had kept the baby from me after DiDi had left, not to be mean, but not knowing that I wanted to see her and care for her. The nursery nurse was giving her another bath when I went in. Apparently, she had made a mess in her bassinet. I asked if I could feed her and she said she would bring her to me at the next feeding. We chatted for awhile. I held her there. And then I returned to my room.
Around midnight, the nurse wheeled her little bed in there and showed me where all the stuff was in the cart. She helped me get situated in the bed (the IV was more annoying than the other discomforts). And she left me there to feed my daughter a 4 oz bottle of formula. The nurse had turned off the light and I had the plentiful light from the hallway to see by.
It was a quiet peaceful time. I looked her over and reflected on everything I had “thought” she would look like or remind me of. What really impressed on me most was how she was an individual. A product on two sets of DNA, yes, but so much more. She was beautiful.
All of a sudden, a loud alarm went off, the magnetic doorstop released, and I was alone in the pitch dark, feeding my newborn, and unable to maneuver to the nurse call button. I had no idea what was going on and I hoped someone would come open the door soon. I waited, but no one came. She was fast asleep in my arms, so I just snuggled down with her in my arms and lightly slept.
Three hours later, the nurse opened the door and apologized. There had been a small fire in the hospital kitchen and all the “safety” features kicked in. I was relieved that was over. The nurse took her back to the nursery and I went to sleep.
In the morning, DiDi and my mom arrived. DiDi had brought a cute outfit and a car seat. I got myself cleaned up and dressed. The OB released me about 11am. I rode in the backseat of DiDi’s car next to the baby. My mom followed DiDi to the agency, which was run out of the owner’s home. It was a 45 minute drive.
We arrived before the adoptive parents. They were coming from a further distance in the opposite direction as we had just driven. I settled in on the end of a sofa holding my daughter. Very shortly, a car pulled up in front of the house and a familiar face was in view.
“…24 hours after her birth…on May 20th, we met [Anne-Marie], her mother…,[the baby], [adoption agency owners], and [DiDi]…at [their] pleasant home…”
“Even though none of us had done this before (including [the adoption agency]), everyone seemed pretty relaxed on the surface. [Anne-Marie] looked exhausted (can’t imagine why!), but for about an hour, we chatted and admired our precious little bundle. And what a beautiful little bundle she was! She had lots of thick black hair, flawless skin, and a perfect little 7 pound, 7 ounce body.”
And I literally placed my daughter into the arms of her mother.
“We took lots of pictures, and then said good-bye with lumps in our throats. But we also knew we would talk again very soon, and be arranging a visitation.”
Story Links:
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part One
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Two
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Three
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Four
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Five
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Six
Part 8 coming soon!
Links to Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, & Part Five are at the bottom of this page.
“The agency did not want us to be at the hospital when [Anne-Marie] delivered, but said they would call us as soon as they had the news. Mother’s Day came and went, and our excitement and anticipation grew.”
Patience has never been a strong point of mine. As a person, I am always early or on-time with appointments. So when I went to the OB the day before my “due date”, I was a bit agitated that they were happy to have me go another week. I had wanted to go early, like the end of April. That didn’t happen.
Unfortunately, I would make it all the way to my next OB appointment, Monday, May 18th, 1992. There the OB said that I hadn’t made any progress. He ordered me to the hospital to start the induction process. Since the hospital was quite a bit away from the OB’s office and the hospital would not likely allow me to eat, DiDi suggested we stop for my last meal. She thought I was nuts, but I wanted pizza.
After my pizza break, we checked into the maternity ward. They started me out with PG gel on my cervix. I made a little progress, but not enough to proceed that evening. They scheduled me for an early morning Pitocin induction and sent me home.
It was a restless night. I tossed and turned until the alarm rang. On the way to the hospital, a 20 minute drive, I twisted in my seat and couldn’t get comfortable.
DiDi: “You’re in labor.”
Me: “No, I’m not. I just have a little pain in my lower back.”
DiDi: “You’re having contractions.”
Me: “No. It’s just a little pain.”
The conversation continued like this the whole time…
We arrived at the hospital on time, but it would be at least 2 good hours before they had all the monitors in place, the IV in my arm, the automatic blood measure cuff on, etc. The night before I was barely 3 cm and this morning, I was barely 4 cm. Finally, I was ready for the “Vitamin P” (pitocin) drip.
The monitors showed contractions which I never felt at all. They were as inconsistent as they could possibly be; 4 minutes apart, then 2, then 7, then 5, then 4, then 6…and on and on. Against my better judgment I succumbed to DiDi’s pressure to get pain relief. All I felt was a dull ache in my back, but she assured me it would get worse (did I mention DiDi had never given birth at this point?).
Loaded on Stadol and Vitamin P and still at 4 cm, the clock began ticking at 10am. They told me I would probably have a baby by 5 or 6 pm. I told DiDi to call the adoptive parents so they could be there for the birth, but she said she would call them after I had the baby. I was disappointed, but I was temporarily distracted. Eyes heavy, I struggled to keep an eye on the clock and watch the contractions on the monitor.
At 10:20, I told DiDi, “I have to push.”
DiDi: “You don’t have to push. You’re only 4 cm. You’re contractions are all over the place.”
Me: “I have to push.”
DiDi: “Wait a few more contractions.”
Me: “I have been waiting, but I keep falling asleep.”
Very reluctantly, DiDi got the nurse from the hallway. The nurse checked me and I was at 9.5 cm. She said I could start pushing.
With a mixture of relief and apprehension, I began pushing. I was not happy to be doped up and more on my back than I wanted to be (I had watched a years worth of birth films in a child development class in high school & I did not want to give birth on my back.)
About 30 minutes after I began pushing, the OB arrived with a student doctor in tow. He asked if I minded the student assisting. Hello? You could all be naked and have 50 students in the room and I wouldn’t protest. I happily agreed that he could stay. Honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t ask him for his phone number.
Thirty more minutes passed and I heard the OB asked for his scalpel. I protested…loudly. He yelled back, “Do you want to tear?” and I screamed “Yes!” DiDi said calmly, “No, no, you don’t want to tear.” With malice and contempt, I conceded. (I came away calling it an “appease-i-otomy” because it appeased the OB.)
With that torture out of the way, I was still making little progress. An anterior lip had, after an hour of pushing against it, swelled, preventing the baby from getting anywhere. So, the OB got out his next torture device, the salad spoons. He pulled for an hour. And at 12:20pm, she finally made her appearance.
Without hesitation, I yelled to DiDi, “Call [the adoptive parents]!”
Story Links:
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part One
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Two
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Three
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Four
Unplanned Pregnancy – Part Five
Part 7 coming soon!
