Thursday, October 4, 2012
I haven't posted in months. I got a little
discouraged with my "212 in 2012" as I found out I was pregnant. Then morning sickness hit, and I didn't really care (!!) what I ate once I could keep things down. Then, after a while, I realized that I was not keeping track of my 212 days very well ( = more discouragement), and frankly, I didn't fall off the "bandwagon". I lept.
I've often thought about my blog and wanted to write something, but the daunting task of explaining why being pregnant seemed to kill my energy for the idea of 212 in 2012 seemed too much to bear. (Note: I doubt anyone else cared, but I am VERY hard on myself). So, I dutifully avoided updating; vacillating between starting to post and deleting said post. Until, one tiring day, I had my baby.
That day was the most difficult of my life, and the most frustrating. Definitely one of most emotionally/physically/mentally exhausting.
Because, you see, Josiah's birth was the complete opposite I had intended it to be.
I had dreams of a gentle, peaceful water birth at home.
But after 8 hours of labour at home, I was 6 cm dilated, with no signs of my baby boy even starting to descend. Due to the midwife on call being the one that was not supportive of me staying at home (she prefers going to the hospital), she soon found reasons to make sure I had to leave home. My heart broke, but I was in too much pain to fight a losing battle.
After arriving at the hospital, I worked for 4 more hours through difficult contractions. I was checked and was still only 6 cm dilated and Josiah had still not descended. That I felt discouraged is an understatement.
Now they wanted to give me an epidural. I had so wanted my boy's birth to be intervention free...I asked, and my midwife reluctantly agreed, to let me try for one more hour.
Noon: still no change, and my frustration and despondency was so high, I was now begging for an epidural.
The "snow ball effect" I had studied/been warned about began. I was put through nearly every intervention we had learned about in prenatal classes, ending with the birth of our son via caesarian section at 7:57 PM.
I felt nearly everything was stacked against me: bad midwife, hospital birth, baby that wouldn't (possibly couldn't) descend, intervention after intervention...the list goes on and on.
Yet, after it all, I wasn't angry or disappointed with myself. I felt good.
I felt that both Isaac and I had made the best choice in every given moment, that we could have.
Sure, I wish we'd had a different story, but this story was good too, because we chose well. I was ok, and baby was healthy.
I chose grace.
Ever since then, I've realized how important it is to choose to live gracefully. See the good, use the negative for growth and leave all the ugliness of bitterness to shrivel in the forgetfulness of the past.
It's worth every ounce of your strength.
I am often so hard on myself, and this day - one of the most important in my life - taught me more than I can even fathom at the moment! I am just so grateful that I have the opportunity to choose grace for both myself and others.
That my little boy is too cute, helps as well ;P