Jude Denman: A Birth Story or The Day I Pooped on My Husband

Finally getting around to writing this...I'm sure at this point I may leave a few things out, since it's been almost 6 months. 6 MONTHS. What?! Where did that time go? Oh, yes. In the black hole of baby land, that's where. Where days seem like years and weeks seem like decades and months seem like weeks. It's a strange, strange little world. But anyway, here we go...

I was due on Christmas Day, so we made zero plans, hoping to be back home with a snuggly newborn by Christmas morning. I started having contractions a couple of days before Christmas, but we woke up Christmas morning to Graham saying 'It is really Christmas?? That's SO cool!' And it was, just not as cool as if there had been a baby there too. Although far less sleep-deprived, so that was a plus. It was also unseasonably warm, so we took a couple of walks, hoping to get something (i.e. the BABY) moving. No such luck. We were Skyping with Jim's parents in the afternoon, who had been packed and ready to come for something like 2 weeks. I initially hadn't wanted anyone there until after the birth, but at this point we were all tired, a little cranky and ready for some distraction, so we kind of begged asked them to come, and they hopped in the car and were at our house Christmas evening. It was perfect. We were able to spend a great couple of days with them, and they took Graham all day on Saturday so Jim and I could have time to ourselves.

Yes, Saturday. Christmas had been on Thursday.

We went to the Ploughcroft Tea Room, walking on Blackwater, and to see the Hobbit at an afternoon showing (a movie during the day!!) And still, no baby. I had 2 hours of contractions every day, sometimes in the middle of the night, and each time I thought 'This is it!' But it wasn't. Jim's dad went home Sunday but his mom offered to stay and help with Graham, an offer which we willingly accepted. Sunday or Monday night (I think it was Sunday?) we went to Sam's Club and ran into Lauren (doula/friend/wonder woman) while there. I was having some pretty good contractions and couldn't even walk around without getting tired, so I went to sit in the car; Lauren went home preparing to come back over if she needed to. She didn't.

Tuesday morning (5 days overdue!) we went to the library with Graham while Jim's mom ran some errands. I remember feeling extremely out of it and tired, and eventually just sat down and watched Graham play with some other kids and totally let their mom handle it. I think she may have been surprised when the sad looking pregnant woman stood up and said 'Time to go!' to the little boy running amok. We were going to go somewhere else, but I was too tired, so Jim ran through the Panera drive through for me and dropped me off at home while he and Graham went back out. I sat on our bed with my soup and grilled cheese and started an episode of Bones (I'd been binge watching it lately while Jim did homework. Supportive wife that I am.) I wasn't even halfway through when I just couldn't get comfortable anymore sitting down. I tried standing, sitting, leaning...nothing was comfortable. I immediately did the only thing I knew to do - I jumped in the shower. With Graham's labor, that's where I felt 'safe', so that was where I started this time. Just before getting in I texted Jim and asked him to come home and let Lauren know what was going on. This was around 2:30 pm.

About 45 minutes later, I was out of the shower and Lauren was getting ready to come over. I stayed in the bathroom listening to my JJ Heller Pandora station (random, but it was perfect), swaying through contractions as they got a little more intense. I had the lights off, and when Lauren arrived she and Jim checked on me periodically but let me do my thing. When I decided to come out into the bedroom because the contractions were starting to gain speed, I was surprised that it was sunset and the room was dark. They had started some peppermint oil in the diffuser and the two of them were gracious enough to just sit in the dark for me.  It didn't seem at all odd then, but looking back it was kind of comical to walk out and have them sitting quietly together in our bedroom. We're close like that. Also, sometime during this they were taking bets as to when and how much I would start cussing throughout labor. (kind souls, those two)

I laid on my side on the bed and let my leg hang over to ease some of the intensity, however, it eased it a bit too much and I wasn't really feeling the contractions at all. So I started doing some 'duck walks' to loosen up and continue in labor...it was as ridiculous looking as it sounds, if not more so. Google it. Or maybe don't. I remember having one contraction that hit hard, and Lauren helped me sway into it as I held onto the doorframe of our bathroom.

-Let me take this moment to say: if you are having a baby, get.a.doula. Preferably one who will talk sense into you when you need it. Lauren has this uncanny way of being incredibly encouraging while at the same time basically saying 'suck it up. NOW.' It's a delicate dance, one which she has perfected.-

After that contraction, we moved to our bedroom chair. I sat on my knees in front of it and laid my arms/head on the seat. Lauren started using the rebozo, which definitely made things more intense. You should probably Google that one - it's like a large scarf that you rub back and forth on your belly like one of those vibrating exercise belts that were popular in the 80's. Seriously. Anyway...I keep using the word 'intense' - it's honestly the best way I can think of to describe the feeling. It hurt, yes. But the intensity that required all of my focus is what stuck with me. When a contraction started, Lauren would tighten the rebozo around me. After one particularly strong contraction I started to freak out a little. They let me cry and vent and get it out, then once again, it was time to say 'OK. You're going to do this.' I remember multiple times when Lauren would say 'Face that fear. Then punch it in the face.' In between these contractions, I was drinking coconut water and eating energy balls, lovingly fed to me by my husband. (he was there too, I promise!) As each contraction came, I leaned hard into my 'squat' and bounced my way through, basically channeling all of that pain/intensity into my legs. Mentally, I kept thinking of it as a really, REALLY good workout, and repeated 'legs. butt. legs. butt.' in my head. If only I did that everyday instead of eating ice cream at 10 pm...

We had gotten into a groove of this and I felt like I was managing the contractions well. Of course, dear Lauren then had to go and say "OK, I think we need to change it up, so you don't get stuck here." But I LIKED 'here'. I could handle 'here'. Boo. Her suggestion? Walking the stairs in lunges, 2-3 steps at a time. I almost cursed at this point. But I didn't (ha! take that you two). So, we started on the stairs. For each contraction, I would lean in and push into my top leg as much as I could. It hurt like hell at first, but again, the whole 'workout' mental game helped me immensely. I actually remember hearing Graham playing Candy Land with his Grammy and I smiled in the middle of a contraction! I SMILED during a contraction. What was happening?! Shortly after that I had a contraction where I could tell some progress was made, and commented that I was "pretty sure I just dilated a couple centimeters." I had been pestering Lauren for a while about when we may be able to leave for the hospital. While it was going great, I was still hoping for the possibility of an epidural just in case. It was about this point that she agreed we should go and she called ahead to let them know, and to ask for the birthing tub to be set up and filled. She and Jim got everything in the cars while I labored through a few more contractions on the stairs until I felt ready to head to the car.

The car ride with Graham's birth was awful, so I was extremely nervous this time around. Lauren told me I could sit however I wanted, so turned backwards on my knees and hugged the seat, kind of like what I'd been doing in our room with the chair. (sounds kinky. It wasn't, I assure you. Far, far from it, in fact.) I immediately was more comfortable knowing I didn't have to be seated or buckled. Why this hadn't occurred to me before, I don't know, but it hadn't. I had one contraction at the same (insert expletive) stoplight that I had had with Graham. I semi laughed about it afterward to Jim...it was like the light was intent on torturing me. I had a second contraction about 3 minutes from the hospital and knew...I was in transition. That lovely phase where you go from laboring to LABORING, where you get to a 10 and are ready to push. Yes, this happened in the car. We got to the hospital and I was trying to remain calm, so walked into the waiting room and concentrated on another contraction while waiting for Jim and Lauren to park the cars and get me the heck in the delivery room!

We rode the elevator up (why? WHY do you have to get in an elevator?!) and apparently I was calm enough that they thought the triage room was suitable. And I had to do things like pee in a cup and get a wristband and answer stupid questions from a very rude nurse who did not seem to enjoy her job that night (thankfully she was the only rude nurse we encountered!). They hooked me up to monitor Jude's heartbeat and then asked me to get on the bed to be checked. Um. NO. I'm in transition and you want to check me?! I lost my shit at that point. The contractions were awful and I tried to just focus but the lights were bright, the nurse wouldn't move her freaking computer out of the way (so much so that Lauren actually bumped into her not-so-accidentally to try and get her to move out of my way!), and I had bad memories from Graham's birth. He was definitely starting to move downward and I needed support so I literally sat on Lauren's legs while she was standing. And by sat I mean I put all of my pregnant and in labor weight on her and didn't move. Apparently she was shaking but she didn't move, she just stayed and let me do my thing.

I was finally able to get on the bed to get checked since they refused to move me...and when they did I was, oh, you know, about an 8. Yes people. Like I was trying to tell you...I'm Having a BABY! We went across the hall (literally, like 5 steps) to the delivery room, where, the birthing tub was in fact not set up yet. I think there were multiple reasons, many out of their control, but again, I kind of panicked. So I immediately said "I want to be in the tub!" and waddled to the regular tub in the bathroom, stripped off my clothes and practically jumped in. After one contraction in there I felt claustrophobic, so proceed to get back out, but failed to put any clothes back on. At this point, I was in full blown labor land and couldn't have cared less if the President walked in the room. I got down on my knees by the bed and worked through a contraction or two there, all while a nurse was trying to get a blood sample. She was so patient as I was not really helpful in any way...she just kept saying 'Oh bless her heart I've been there.' I love Southern people.

I was going through various phrases like "I don't want to do this!" "Oh my gosh this hurts!" "I want to be done now!" and the like, so after a couple of contractions Lauren had me put one foot on a stool to lean into like I had been on the stairs. (This was maybe 30 minutes max in the delivery room) I put my arms around Lauren's neck for support (yes, fully nude. Don't concentrate on that picture too long) and leaned into the contraction...and my body just started pushing. So I kept leaning in and yelled "I'm pushing!" Lauren almost died, literally, from me pulling her down, so Jim came up behind me to catch both of us, and that's when it happened. I pooped. On his leg. I knew it happened and didn't give a shit (get it? yes, you do.). But I remember thinking "Wow! He is handling that SO well!" because if you know my husband, you would not expect him to handle that well. I was quite proud of him, in a strange way.

The nurse was yelling for an emergency delivery kit and told me she could deliver him there but would prefer if I could get in the bed since babies tend to be slippery. I managed to get on the bed on my knees and they put the back of the bed upright so I could stay kneeling and lean into it. The midwife managed to get there in the midst of this so I just went with my body and pushed when it felt like it. I grunted and screamed and screamed and grunted, but I did have magical minutes...actual minutes...in between pushes. I had heard this happened but didn't experience it with Graham. I was able to just lay against the bed and rest, and when a push started, put all of my energy into it. After a few minutes the midwife asked if she could break my water, and I said no. I expected it to break naturally while pushing like Graham's did, and I remembered how great that felt, so I kept going. But after a few more pushes he just felt like he was sitting there. Just SITTING with this great, horrible pressure and I finally let out a 'WHY THE F*** ISN'T HE COMING OUT?!' And Jim and Lauren literally cheered. "You finally cussed, hooray!" It was just enough to lighten the moment, and in a couple more pushes, he was out...in his water sac!! (it's called 'en caul') That was why he wasn't coming...it was like a freaking water balloon kept going in and out of my nether regions. I don't recommend that, just as an FYI.

The sac broke almost immediately though so I didn't get to see it (sad) but I looked down and there he was! My baby, with a pouty lip and hair and I just got to pick him up and hold him. And hold him. And hold him. I just kept saying 'Hi!' and laughing with relief. I held him for over an hour and it was wonderful (other than the delivering the placenta and getting stitched up and all of that fun stuff). They finally had to take him to weigh him (8 lbs 9 oz!), and I was able to get up and take a shower. Yes people, I walked to the bathroom, took a shower by myself, and got dressed an hour after giving birth. This is what endorphins do to you. If only that was every morning...I was impressed with myself for showering today, a normal Wednesday.

So, after a week of pre labor, lots of fear and anxiety and doubt, Jude Denman Meador was born in 6 hours, at 8:33 pm on December 30th, 2014. And other than a few crazy moments, I would actually use the word 'great' to describe my labor. I didn't think that was even possible, but it is, I assure you. I owe that to a lot of God's grace, a great doula, and a gracious husband who kept a poop stain on his pants all night long.

A Letter to My Sons

My Dear Boys,

Every parent has dreams, things that they wish and hope and pray they will pass on to their children. Habits and manners, memories and ideals, morals and stories. Every parent wants their children to have a great childhood, one they will remember with fondness. I wish these same things for you. 

But lately, there has been so much controversy in our world: unrest, violence, prejudice, name calling, misunderstanding, disrespect, hurt. When I was a child, I think I was shielded more from these things. We didn't have social media. We didn't have the internet. We didn't think about things like terrorist attacks or transgender celebrities and thought that the Civil Rights movement was something in the past. 

Your world is different. 

I can't shield you from all of these things; it's impossible. Nor do I want to. At your young ages now, yes, I shield you from the big problems of the world, but sooner than I'd like to admit I won't be able to. They will be front and center - on a screen, from your friends, on a magazine in the checkout line. And we'll talk about them. It will be hard sometimes; uncomfortable, yes. Most of the time I'll be silently praying I'm somehow making sense without telling you too much or too little. But there is one thing I know I can tell you. One thing that if you remember nothing else, remember this:

A person is always a person FIRST. Created in the image of God, loved by that same God who longs for them to know Him Personally. 

That girl with the skin a different color than yours. That boy who talks a little funny and walks a little differently than you do. That man who doesn't feel like a man and has lived a life of confusion. That police officer who is trying to do their job well, and the one who has blinders on and isn't doing it so well. The blogger who spews out venom in the name of 'conservativism' or the news anchor giving a 'liberal spin' to a story. The terrorist who is so devoted to a false view of humanity they are willing to kill or be killed for it. 

They. Are. People.

Are there maybe sins to be addressed, mistakes to be corrected, honor to be restored and healing to take place? Yes. A million times yes. This does not negate that. Let me say that again - seeing someone as a Person FIRST does not negate any issues that may be there. But what it does is open a door for real walls to be torn down. Not ones we construct in our mind, not an 'us vs. them' mentality, but true, deep down at the core of our being walls. Insecurity. Pride. Failure. Feelings of being completely lost. Abandonment. The types of things that usually only come up in counseling sessions because they're hard and ugly and we don't want to admit that really, we all have them at our core. WE'RE ALL PEOPLE. We all need saving. 

And Jesus? He didn't come saying "Fix yourself so I can save you!" "Stop believing lies before I will be your friend!" No. He said to the worst of the worst, "Hey! I'm coming for dinner!" And he knew them as a person. He got into their lives, into their home, into their world. He didn't sugarcoat any sin issues, but his focus wasn't first on the sin. His focus was first on the person, and in so doing the person saw the person of Christ, and realized what they were not, but what they could be in Him. Because it is 'the kindness of God that leads us to repentance'.  

When we focus first on what is wrong with someone, we focus on the wrong thing. I can tell you full well if a random person comes up to me and tells me that how I'm mothering you boys is wrong, I'm going to write that person off immediately. Who are they to know? If a friend - someone who KNOWS me, the person me - tells me I'm doing something wrong, I listen. We have trust, a relationship, one where honesty is encouraged and hard things are done. And maybe then I change what's going wrong. But only then.

So my prayer for you boys, is that you'll ignore the shouts of social media. You'll ignore the banter of Blue vs. Red or black vs. white. Rather, you'll walk down the street, drive downtown, stop the man asking for change on the side of the road, and invite them to dinner. Spend time with their families. Let them see the love of Christ shining through you and know that something is not only different - but that something is GOOD. 

And I think everyone longs to see a little bit of that good these days.

'I love you and love you, and love you and love you,'

Mommy