A Baby Bear is Born / February 2012

Last night when Jasper woke just as Jerrmy and I started to watch a movie, I carried him into the living room and nursed him back to sleep on the couch and then held him while he slept for a while.  At one point I looked down and scanned his little body from crown to toe and was enamored by how quickly my wee one has arrived at the summer of his infancy.  All stretched out, long legs, that sweet baby belly that fits in the palm of your hand, a chubby and handsome little face.  It's overwhelmingly joyful while somewhere in my heart I am simultaneously crush and elated to watch him grow.  This is a very large part of how I came up with a name for this blog of mine, the essence of my journey.  I grasp and grip to hold on to these little moments, the moments like gazing at my five months old baby while he sleeps in my arms- admiring him in the light of the movie screen.  Those moments that will surely be left behind because they are so tiny and fleeting and special.  You know that they are special because you feel it, and thereby must relinquish every bit of cynicism that your growing up self, your leaving your childhood behind, has landed you and you let go.  Enjoy yourself.  Be sentimental.  Allow yourself to live in the moment and breathe-in the budding life all around you.

***  

So with that sentiment, I give you an account of Japser's birth.  I've been writing it here and there since March so it reads like a journal in some places, but I like that I wanted to keep it true to its origin.  It's rather detailed, I do find birth very fascinating and love all the little details... (and there are editing over sites)

Jasper Bear:: February 8, 2012

(March 2012)

My dear second born is now a month old as I (finally) take the time to relive his birth on 'paper.'  My two precious "Brothers" are a peacefully resting in our darkened family bedroom, a box fan hums white noise but I can still hear their little sleep sounds.  A mother of two must borrow time from sleep for things like emptying her brain of details- to save details that time might take if not stored away for safe keeping. 


I often play the 'a year ago game' with myself.  What was life like one year before today?  It seems like before kids there is less of a marker for time; these little people embody the passing of time.  You can see it in their outgrown socks and their too small pajamas. One year ago, my Loukas was a quarter past his first birthday and barely had front teeth.  He might have had a few words, and could run but was practically bald and definitely very much still a baby.  One year ago, our littlest family member was not yet created.  One year ago, I was 28 and had a son (a son that was still very much a nursling).  I couldn't have imagined how our family would grow in love and welcome this sweet soul, our baby brother Jasper Bear. 

I learned I was pregnant on June 10th of last year.  I asked Jerrmy to stop off at the drug store so I could run in for an afternoon pee stick- I'd been wildly hormonal.  Later, back at home, an 18 month old Loukas stood at my feet as a plus sign revealed itself in the test window- revealed a growing life within my body.  I called my (possibly concerned for his wife's mental health) husband at work.  "It's positive!" was my hello. I was relieved.  And scared.  And amazed and excited.  Then I looked down at my beloved son who was playing unaware, and felt guilt.  He was still a baby- not ready for this.  I cried.  A moment of division. (The first of many to come, I know now)  I called our midwife and blurted my news when she answered.   Tears came and went as I shared my immediate sadness for my 'already baby'- then I moved on.  We were having a baby.  Again.  Another dream come true.

loukas, 18 months  bluebird photography

loukas, 18 months  bluebird photography

loukas, 18 months  bluebird photography

***

(April 2012)

Three weeks have passed since these first paragraphs and I find myself again in my dark bedroom:  fan, babies at rest...  

I was a grateful to be pregnant.  This time I would really enjoy myself.  Really.  And I did- despite a frantic 9 week ultrasound to be sure the little life inside me still was.  We had visited the nurse practitioner that day for the risk assessment we needed to be cleared for our second home birth.  She scanned my belly with her doppler, seeking that first woosh woosh of a heart beat to hear nothing.  Followed by an internal exam where she said she could not feel that my uterus' size since I am blessed with a tilted womb, she called an OBGYN who saw me the same day (thanks be!)  When we arrived at the office, which is 30 miles west of where we live- resulting in a 45 minute car ride with a crying toddler, my blood pressure was through the roof.  The wait in the tiny lobby included flipping through pages of fashion magazines, soothing myself with silver linings, like: 'if there is no baby, then maybe I'll fit into these fun looks this fall after all.'  The fancy Ultrasound scanner was booked solid that day, so they set us up with an older model that wouldn't produce a sound or very clear image but instead a little fuzzing beating heart peanut appeared before us.  I'd not be keeping my figure afterall, and very gladly so.  That was our one and only ultrasound-  we decided to only have another if it was indicated, but the indication never arose.

 Then there was the painful process of weaning 22 month old Loukas, which felt like the saddest break up I’ve experienced to date.  I cried and he cried and we cried together, his little eyes meeting mine in confusion at turning him away when he would latch on and sharp pain would overtake and I'd have to tell him 'not now.'  We did a lot of driving around.  "Want to take a car ride to look at the moon, Lou?" and he'd fall asleep that way.  Wilco released an album last summer, The Whole Love, which will always take me back to driving the hills of our neighborhood to soothe my weaning nursling.  It was a gentle process and I feel very good about never leaving him to deal with the loss of our nursing relationship alone.  I did my best to be there for him, no matter how much it hurt- to hug him and tell him I loved him and that it was ok.  It's always the hardest when the unknown is before us, the result of the experiences so abstract, and I was relieved to find that it didn't take my son suckling from my breast to continue to be bonded.  And it was a great relief once the process had passed and we were sleeping through the night- all together- able to rest and nourish my five month pregnant body and baby, and grow in new ways of connecting with my first born beyond breast feeding.     

 Over all, I enjoyed my second pregnancy. I enjoyed myself.  I really did.  This could be the last time I'd ever know growing a life,the last time my one being would morph into two.  It was hard at times, caring for a small child while feeling exhausted and nauseous, but we did alright.  One thing that I gained from my trials of mothering while pregnant was to let things go a little more.  Relax about the small stuff, not judge myself so harshly and just get through the day.  I also made an effort to be present and savor the time of knowing life with just one child, a bittersweet adjustment- for I so love my first boy, the idea of another baby was so abstract and unknown, I wanted to soak it all up.  

a sweet little family of three getaway to colorado

18 weeks pregnant by Poudre river outside of Ft Collins, Co

my nice friends blessed me with love
and showered me with gifts of togetherness
(and some awesome baby items) exactly one month before the birth

about two weeks before the birth
meredith mashburn photography

late january 2012 meredith mashburn photography 

late january 2012 meredith mashburn photography 

late january 2012 meredith mashburn photography 

late january 2012 meredith mashburn photography 

late january 2012 meredith mashburn photography 

Another thing I was certain about was that I was not going to be 'one of those ladies' who sets her sights on her due date and becomes annoyed with being pregnant.  I was not going to allow myself to grow tired of this Gift of Gestation.  Until I did.  The morning of February 7th (after a feast of a breakfast that I requested: eggs, potato hash, bacon and blue corn pancakes) at my 38 week prenatal, I confessed to our midwife that I had been feeling very emotional and conflicted.  That no matter how hard I tried to deny it, I was, alas, 38 weeks pregnant and ready to go!  She comforted me in saying something to the effect that a woman must get to this point, to be done. 
'We thought that the full moon would bring the baby' I said. The thought of staying pregnant was overwhelming and so was the guilt I felt for feeling so done.  And I wasn't even 'due!'. Jennifer the midwife checked my cervix that day.  I was 2cm+, 70% effaced, the baby-whose gender remained unknown- was at zero station, and the waxing moon was nearing full.

I recall that that moon guided me in the weeks leading to this day, I'd watch it rise and set throughout the night during my frequent trips to the toilet.  I'd look up to our friendly satellite on evening walks, dark as it was winter, and wonder if she'd be bringing my baby out as she had the last time I carried life.  (Lou was born on a full moon) 

As I left the Birthroot Midwifery 'hut' I looked back at Jennifer and said, 'it's going to be a couple weeks- maybe even Three!'  She said,' you think?'.   I did.  At least I was telling myself so- to prepare.  But It wasn't.   

I took Loukas to the bookstore to shop wooden trains and play for a bit.  I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could these last few weeks, and we had been housebound for days- I was too exhausted to go anywhere- but this day we had things to do.  At one point I thought I might be starting into labor when I had to rush to the restroom for a bowel movement!!! 9.5 months pregnant with a toddler!!! Oh the indignity!  And Loukas commentated the whole thing: "what doing' mama?" "mama poop'n?"  he crawled on the floor as I helplessly pleaded for him to "no touch bathroom floor!".  After some intense hand washing, we continued on- to grocery shop for party food, where we were given many a doting smile as I waddled through the produce area.  Nap time was looming, there was a tantrum, there were kettle chips shared on the car ride home, we ate lunch then settled in for nap.  Our last mama son siesta, just us two.

That evening, a full moon gathering of ladies was planned at the home of my dear friend Amanda who was also pregnant and due 10 days after me. (she wouldn't have her baby for another Five Weeks by the way). We gave Amanda a Blessing Way ceremony amoung our ladies' night of good food (including a butternut squash soup made with blessed chicken stock), cookies, a lovely fire, and the beauty of lady friendship was quite abound.  The energy was uplifting, warm and perfect.  My belly was rubbed and loved on too.  Janae stood behind me and rubbed my belly to feel what it would be like to be pregnant (again); her surprised eyes met mine and said- you're having a contraction!  Bernice felt my round shape as I had another braxton-hicks contraction, and recalled that she had had those for Weeks before her Bergen was born.  Once when I passed the smoke of the fire that burned outside under a cloud covered full moon sky, I wondered if my baby wouldn't be smoked out- like a skunk- this night for when the smoke overtook me, I felt a stir in my womb.  At one point during the last hour we were gathered, I said: "ladies, I just may have this baby tonight-  I'm having contractions!"  I'd feel tightening come and go but I was having such a great time, that I chose to pay them no attention.  A few photos were captured of Amanda and me belly to belly.  There were hugs and kisses and loving goodbyes as I headed home, just around the corner.  

I had wished my boy good night when I left that evening, his daddy to put him to bed and I remember wondering if that'd be the last goodbye we'd share, Loukas as a singleton just as I had wondered at nap time if this would be our last sweet afternoon nap, just mama and Lou.  When I arrived home that night, my guys were long asleep and my hair smelled like camp fire.  I took a hot shower, and crawled into bed.  Jerrmy stirred and I whispered that I'd been having contractions all night, then bolstered my full body with the three pillows I'd relied on for comfort the last months of pregnancy, and as I settled into relaxation I had a flare of heartburn and thought, well maybe this'll be the last time I feel that lovely burn of indigestion as I settle into rest. Sleep came quick but not for long.  I woke to a painful contraction at 1:50, just 2 hours later.  My body became tense with pain, still half asleep, then it was gone and I fell back to sleep only to be roused again soon after.  I looked at my clock- it was 2am.  I made a visit to the toilet where I had an unpleasant elimination followed by some clear but plentiful ‘show.' So, I woke Jerrmy asking him to put another log on the fire, I was having contractions.

   

A fire was burning in the living room. The orange glow and warmth of the wood stove was calm and lovely.  I decided to sit for a moment cross-legged and breathed deep.  I was very tired and wanted to see if the contractions were going to continue or if I could settle back into sleep.  There would be no sleep.  My womb became tense, strong and steady for about a minute every 10 minutes.  There were more trips to the toilet.  I googled ‘signs of labor’ once to review what I had already memorized.  Somehow I wasn’t sure that I was actually going to be continuing, birthing my baby that morning.  The contractions were bearable, and I was surprised how quickly a minute passed.  I started to pace around through the rushes, asking Jerrmy, “do you think I’m in labor?”  He did.  So he called Jennifer.

***
(May- July 2012)

When Jerrmy called Jennifer to inform her of my surprising condition, I was hunched over our teardrop shaped deep red velvety ottoman.  This ottoman became my favorite place.  (Not that I was anywhere for long.)  I could hear the sleep in Jennifer’s voice on the other end of the phone.  It was 4 am.  I had been having contractions/ super fun times on the toilet now for about 2 hours, and my contraction catch-phrase of “oh no, oh shit” was in full effect (the same phrase I loved when I gave birth to Loukas) but I was still a hard sell that I was in labor.  Jerrmy handed me the phone and I chatted uncertainly with Jennifer.  “I don’t know...” I trailed off.  “See, I’m having a contraction now but I can talk...”  I just couldn’t tell.  And I was tired and pretty sure that I was supposed to be pregnant for another 2-3 weeks.  But Jennifer was wise in her ways and suggested that she come over.  She said, “well, you are having contractions and diarrhea and show...”  I was begining to get the picture.  And since my cervix was already so thin and open, once I ‘turned a corner‘ it could go quick she thought.  And she was right.  

While in wait of their arrival I paced around, kind of in shock, and uncertain but also excited.  I really didn’t want it all to be a false alarm, to have to do it all again in a couple weeks when I’d ‘really be in labor.’  I did a few lunges for good measure and tried to talk myself up.  Or down.  I wasn’t sure.  The contractions where still consistent but I had given up on timing them.  About a half hour after we called her, Jennifer and Greenley- Jennifer’s daughter- arrived.  Greenley was our support person for Loukas when he woke.  It seemed to me like they were just there to see if things got going.  Jennifer asked if ‘they were getting intense’ (the contractions).  I couldn’t tell.  They were definitely happening and definitely strong but not totally chaotic or wild.  Greenly quietly entered the room and immediately pretzeled her legs underneath her little frame next to the couch on the floor just past the doorway.  I could feel her calm excitement as she watched me hunched over the ottoman.  A few minutes passed before I could address her presence but I was happy that she was there.  The arrival of the midwife made things seem more real. 

“It’s Alana’s Birthday” I said, and began to cry.  Today was going to be my baby’s birthday.  I decided to accept the evidence before me and go ahead and do it.  Have the baby.  On the birthday of one of my favorite friends I’ve been lucky to have had.  Jennifer had to leave for a short while and when she was gone I noted to Jerrmy and Greenley that I had been saying No during the contractions and that I should be saying Yes.  During the next contraction I lifted my head high (versus flexing forward as I had been) and took long deep breaths (versus moaning dramatically as I had been) and opened my heart and thought the words “welcome with joy” as I relaxed my pelvic muscles and allowed the baby to come closer.  My hips swayed and I was calm and happy and truly whole heartedly welcoming this baby, this labor with Joy.  Then like magic, the contractions came stronger and more intense and I was unable to cope as gracefully as I had for that one glorious turning point.  

When Jennifer returned she asked Green if the contractions where getting more intense and I heard Greenley say, “Yeah!”  It was on.  When I had a contraction it was very much like the act of vomitting- my whole body heaved into the rush without warning and without ability to control my response for the duration.  I could not sit on the couch or toilet without immediately being thrown into a fit of moaning, cussing, pacing and hanging on Jerrmy.  So I stayed on my feet, but when my womb overtook my body, I’d fall to the nearest piece of furniture for support, burying my face into couch cushion, pillows, whatever.  One time I even fell to the floor on my hands and knees as I was trying to make my way back to the ottoman: trapped, paralized, attempting to cope. At one point between contractions, I said,"I'm being so dramatic.". To which Jerrmy replied something like, "You're having a baby. It is dramatic."

The nurse practitioner, Paula, was called to join us.  I invited her a few weeks before- she had not attended a birth for 10 years until that morning.  When she arrived, I felt her next to me, tentative and warmblooded.  Ready to witness.  Jerrmy had gone missing at this time.  I found him in our bedroom lying with Loukas who had stirred- likely during a loud contraction.  Greenley took Jerrmy’s place in the bedroom with Lou while I continued to labor until Loukas woke, a short while later.  I found myself back on the ottoman.  My head lowered into crossed arms.  I was hungry and tired.  But could not eat or sleep.  Paula was next to me as I had a particularly difficult series of contractions.  Between contractions I watched Loukas as he played and said to her “I see him running around, and I remember that I gave birth to him...”  She said, “Well, that was then and this is now.”  

The next contraction was unbearable.   As it began, I moaned “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.”   My ugliest of language of all.  I started to feel so out of control.  So chaotic.  There were high pitched yelps and “ahhhs” as I felt the baby come lower and lower.  My intention was to let it happen, to give in.  To relax my pelvic floor and to get the baby out as swiftly as possible because:  I.  hated. the contractions.  Paula rubbed my back and said, “this is transition.”  I did not believe her because according to my calculations, I had not been having intense contractions for very long- only about an hour.   A voice inside me said “I’m probably only halfway there, and I don’t know how to do this.’  There was no where to go.  No escape.  I regretted the decision to forego a water pool. I stayed on my knees, forward bent over that ottoman for a bit.  I asked for a towel as I felt I may vomit during an intense contraction. Loukas ran to my side and caressed my arm.  Everyone kept reminding him that mama was working hard to get the baby out.

I left my sacred ottoman spot and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth.  As the paste began to foam with my strokes, another rush came on- I choked splattering toothpaste all over the mirror, dropped my toothbrush and held myself up on the bathroom counter until the wave passed.  Next, I tried to take a seat on the couch to relax between contractions and as my bottom touched the cushion, I immediately threw myself forward off the couch- instantly in a full blown intense rush.  The baby’s head was so low that sitting was not an option.  Nor could I lie down.  Back to the ottoman.  My safe place.  

The fire was burning hot in our living room.  It must have been 85 degrees in that small room- five adult bodies and an energetic toddler.  The ceiling fan was working full blast and I was sweating, but we meant for the room to be a warm welcome for baby.  I just couldn’t seem to keep it together though, and was panicking a little with each intense contraction.  There were a couple rushes that I was able to breath through, stay collected and cope the way I had intended, but mostly I felt unprepared and lost during the waves, drowning in the undertow of labor.  

Clearly I must have assumed that since I had had a home birth just two years before, I would bring to this experience all that I felt I had learned of giving birth.  I’d be “better at at it.”  I had envisioned this quiet birth where I caught my own baby squatting by the fire.  I thought that I would be strong and beautiful but what I was experiencing this second time was even more intense than my first and I felt even less collected as I’d been two year before.  There was a lot of movement about, talking, a crazy excited two year old, fuss about our absent camera.  No serene sound of the peaceful water waltzing as water does- as the water did in the quiet calm scene of Loukas‘ birth.  No silent anticipation after a night of long hard work.  Just a house full of bustle, a tired mama in travail and roaring fire as the Sun was about to rise.  There would be few episodes to recount this baby was coming quickly. 

My moans and ahhhs became pitchy.  At one point I’d say I even screamed a little.  My body’s response to the contractions began to deepen and move down.  Gradually my moans lowered and collected and bore down in my root.  Eyes closed and head buried I let my body work.  There was little contest.  I certainly was not fighting the process.  My legs were widespread as I swayed my hips, knees on the floor- resting on pillows- hunched over the ottoman.  Paula noted the change of my sound, that I was pushing.  I wanted my cervix to be checked to be sure it was gone but could not lay flat for Jennifer to do so.  So she felt from where I was comfortable- draped across the ottoman- and said there was still some cervix left, an 8-9 she felt.  

So I stood up and meant to slow it down.  Not get to ahead of myself.  I paced.  Had contractions. Chucks pads were spread across the floor along with towels. Jerrmy set the camera on a shelf in the living room (I learned later/ saw some footage) to record the birth.  I sat on a birth stool and waited for a contraction.  They were spacing out a bit.  I felt for the baby’s depth.  About a knuckle and a half in.  I felt so overwhelmed and tired.  I looked at Jennifer and said, “I cannot have another contraction.  I hate these contractions.”  “Can I push when there is no contraction?” (Which was a silly question)  She replied very compassionately and loosely, “you can but you will only be wasting your energy.”   Loukas popped in and around all the excitement and was as natural as ever.  His honest little observations were priceless.  

*these are the only photos of the labor*  I love that they are grainy and dark, just how it felt.  that the fire burning and the fan spinning were captured and that my hands on hips stance is recorded- it's my classic labor stance.

The birth stool was not working for me so I got up and walked around the corner to Jerrmy who was in the hall.  There we were alone and I began to breakdown saying “I don’t know if I can do this.  I don’t know how to do this,” and so forth.  I leaned on him as a contraction came and bore down hanging on him (ultimately) as I used all my strength to get the baby as low as possible for I needed an end.  I was sweating and Loukas was running through the house like a maniac, the midwives were chatting in the other room.  From deep within my being I grunt-screamed and the midwives zipped around the corner.  Paula said it sounded close, that I might want to move back to the living room lest I give birth in the hall which was crowded and tiny and not a great place to push the baby out.  She checked for heart tones.  I could not hear any.  Jennifer said the baby must be too low.  I made my way back to the ottoman after Paula suggested that, “I liked it over there,” back onto my knees draped across, hips folded forward, head resting on my arms on that dear sweet red ottoman.  I had an intense contraction and furiously pushed- again, like vomiting.  While I was somewhat aware my tissues weren’t being well treated, I just did not care.  The baby had to be born.  

My head rested on that padded foot rest and as I pushed, the pressure broke the amniotic sac.  I thought that the baby was crowning but instead a gush of fluid came, I remember coming up for a breath and looking down- shocked as I had forgotten about the water bag (Loukas was born in the water and the amniotic sac never ruptured- his head was born in the cull.)  Jennifer called to Jerrmy (who was looking for camera batteries) to come quick.  I could see no one, they were all behind me, my face buried in my arms as I had one then two more contractions I steadied myself and held the pressure of the baby down, slowly the baby’s head was born with deep screamy “ahhhhhrrrrrr.’  I was so intent on the result that the getting there was unclear at this point- I did not care about tears and the rest.  I just needed the baby to be born.  I heard Loukas‘ little voice say, “Ohhhhh NO!” then “I sceeered.”  But he did not cry and did not want to go away from the scene.  Once the baby’s head was out I stopped and listened.  Jennifer felt and said there was a nuchal cord.  So I waited, silently for the next contraction.  I was calm and quiet and didn’t look back.  Just waited and breathed.  It was quiet and intense.  With the next contraction I loudly worked the shoulders free and he slid out, and began to cry.  I could feel his body slip out and he began to cry, but I also felt uncomfortable and was unsure why I felt so- his hips and legs were not yet born.  One last push and his tiny little body was out.  It was 6:55am, just five hours after the first twinge of labor roused me from my sleep.  His cry was so little and I could not see him.  I began to say, “oh my God.” over and over (just like I did when Loukas was born) in a high pitched cryish way.  Jennifer and Jerrmy worked to pass the baby through my legs to me and I leaned back and saw my tiny little bear.  My high pitched “oh Gods” switched to “oh Hi’s.”    

He was so little and very pink and had dark dark hair.  My first words of him were, “He looks like Loukas” to which Jerrmy met my eyes and shaking his head affirmatively said “Yes He does” as he handed him to me.  I hadn’t looked at his ‘parts.’  “It’s a Boy??”  “Oh, it’s a boy.  Loukas, it’s your brother, You have a brother.”  And we untangled everyone (the cord was all kinds of wrapped around the baby) and I sat for a moment and stared at my crying pink-faced baby. I think I mostly tried to engage Loukas, that he come close and observe the first moment of his brother’s arrival but he was on to the next endeavor.  I stood up and lifted my nighty like a pro (I was still in my pajamas) and tried to get the baby to latch because he was crying so, and that ‘s what mamas do- they offer the breast.  Of course he was still attached to the placenta which had yet to be delivered.  (This image makes me laugh because I had just given birth but was going for it, standing in my living room with a minutes old baby, hiking my nighty up to settle the babe).  

Then I had to sit for I was:: so very tired.  so very drained and so very much still having dreadful contractions.  I could not concentrate and was not feeling the relief I remember after having Loukas.  Even after the placenta was born, we sat on the couch- baby nursing like a champion- with the placenta in a cake mixing bowl.  Eventually we cut the cord (and packaged the placenta to be dehydrated) Then I had to lay down.  Obviously after just two hours of sleep and a super fast labor I was pretty tired and writhing in pain every few minutes while the sweet baby nursed for what seemed like an hour.  I felt awful.  After some food and rest on the couch, we were able to take an herb bath of comfrey, uva ursi, shepard's purse, calendula, sea salt and garlic and it was then that I was able to fully take in the baby.  I looked down at his little face, blue around his nose and mouth from being so quickly birthed and caught a whiff of his newborn breath.  It was like heaven.  I will never forget that moment.  How sweet that little baby smelled and how I looked to the others and said, “he looks like a Bear.”  We called him Baby Bear for days until we decided to name him Jasper, and the Bear had to stay as well.

an iPhone photo...

Jennifer Creel, LM:: another safe home birth (she's close to 400, i think)

Jennifer Creel, LM:: the great weigh in:  6lbs, 12 oz  21.5 inches long

***
Our dear photographer friend, Meredith Mashburn showed up a couple of days after the birth and rescued us from our grainy iPhone photos:

meredith mashburn photography 

meredith mashburn photography 

meredith mashburn photography 

meredith mashburn photography

meredith mashburn photography 

meredith mashburn photography 

 The first night as a foursome in our big family bed, Loukas awoke when Jasper cried, looked a me, pointed to the baby and said, “pick it up.”  Upon the next waking, Lou had a sad cry, processing the day's events.  What a big day it had been for him.  I wondered if we had made a wrong decision to let him watch the birth, and also realized that he had gone to bed that night for the first time without me and woke up to my giving birth to his little brother.  I had a few stitches and crawling across the bed to comfort him was a challenge.  Jerrmy had left the room to use the toilet and as I tried to comfort Loukas, the baby woke crying.  Another moment of division.  Oh, how there’d be so many to come and so many still ahead.  

For days following the birth I sobbed every time I thought of the precious time that had been with Loukas as our only.  It was painful to not be able to care for him like I had every day of his life.  Jerrmy took care to take Loukas out once a day:: to the restaurant, the grocery, etc to spend some of his toddler spark, and during that time I was alone with our tiny little dark haired beauty.  The photos that display on our family room screen sent me into sobs as well.  The images of my little Loukas- still a baby, really, at just past 2 years old- left me feeling regret.  That I had not savored my time with him enough.  That I had cheated him.  But I hadn’t.  I hadn’t missed a moment.  I really did soak in his shiny rays.  And as Jerrmy reminded me, so sweetly during one of my cry session as I sat on the couch nursing my grateful little nursing bear, “He’s not going anywhere.”  And he’s not and we have heaps of memories to be made.  With brothers.  

Everyday I mean to live life like meditation and in the moments of division while raising these two sweet boys, allow thoughts of concern of meeting everyone’s needs to enter but then allow them to pass and just be and do- for as it turns out, this little Jasper fella is just what our family ordered.  He is so sweet.  So soft and cuddly.  So happy and so beautiful and so so so in love with his big brother already.  These are the best of times, these are the hardest of times (at times), and I am certain that we will look back a year from now- 5, 10, 20 years from now and miss it the heck out of these little boys.  I already miss that tiny baby that from the photos of his first days, but am delighted each day to get to know him, and Loukas, a little more.  Holding on here and letting go there.  

Thank You for reading.

xoxo