Meeting Christopher Gavigan, CPO of The Honest Company!

I've spent years wiping butts.

Some of you haven't had this experience. Good for you. But I am extremely familiar with the whole lower-quadrant body-sanitizing circumstance that I find myself in roughly 12 times a day. Two babies, yall. Two babies in diapers. I have a system, a method for how to get the job done with the least amount of, how do I put it - contamination - and my speed at diaper changing has accelerated vastly due to my recent years of training in the field. These days I can off rip a diaper, purify the state of affairs, and slap on a fresh one probably faster than you can blow your nose and throw it away.

And I know I'm not alone.

We mamas learn how to get things done - efficiently, stupendously and while we are multi-tasking at least 6 other things. While balancing a coffee cup somewhere we probably shouldn't be.

So when Stevie and I had the chance to chat with Christopher Gavigan, CPO of The Honest Company, our favorite and most-used diaper brand, we took that opportunity. Because we had to tell him. About all our years of using his products in the middle of the night (after sleep-walk bumping into a few walls), on airplanes in foreign countries (while being scowled at in what can only be described as German/Italian/French backhanded glares), in the back seat of our SUV while road tripping (to avoid gas station bathroom filth contaminating our precious baby's undercarriage), and you know, the normal way - on the changing table in our kids' bedrooms.

We love these diapers, we told him. We love the diaper rash cream, we said. We love the healing balm, we use it on ourselves. He beamed with the pride of a thousand suns. He's definitely a sunny soul, you can tell.

But.

We told him something else.

We love the Seventh Generation wipes a little better than yours.

His face fell. "You what??"

I hated telling such a nice man the truth, but I secretly loved getting it off my chest. I felt like we had been cheating on our preferred brand for a while now, by buying another brand of wipes. But we do like them better! They're wetter, they come out of the package a little easier, and we told him - we just prefer them to yours.

Luckily, this Christopher Gavigan guy was kinder than you would believe (and also more intense than a football coach during the super bowl) about defending his wipes.

He literally ran across the room, (which drew some attention - everyone was like, what's happening?!), retrieved a fresh pack of wipes, and then gave us an on-the-spot demonstration on why his Honest Company wipes are the best on the market. Not only are they made of completely pure ingredients (you can see the list here), but they are about 25% larger than most other wipes, meaning they can fit in "man hands" (he wasn't being derogatory - he literally meant for them to fit into both a mom and a dad's hands). They are also surprisingly more wet than what meets the eye, but the water is absorbed within instead of sitting on top of the wipe like a raincoat. I didn't understand what he meant by that until he showed us - he pulled out a wipe and literally squeezed it - and I seriously couldn't believe what I was seeing. TONS of fluid came out of the wipe, more than you would ever think it could contain based on just feeling it, and he was I think he was most proud of this. These wipes are specially formulated to be useful in any scenario - not just the butt-wiping that I described above. You can use these to clean toys, wipe counter tops, clean up boo boos and cleanse any cheek you meet ;)

Such a nice guy. And it was really fun getting to meet him and chat a little bit about family life, business ideas (how is it that business school guys always seem to find a way to talk ideas, even at first meeting each other - what is that about??), and hear more about his heart behind The Honest Company. He didn't have to sell us, since we have been long-time users and have subscribed to both the Essentials Bundle and the Diapers & Wipes Bundle. I also love that I can pick up most of these products at Target these days, too.

Did he convince us on the wipes? I'm not going to lie. We are giving them another go.

Kind of like a date night :)

Why don't my flowers ever look this good? Summer garden goals, guys.

My bro + sis-in-law joined us!

I know this is like, the blurriest, most 1996-esque picture of my life, but what's a girl to do when she meets a rad CEO and it's dark outside and you have to take a selfie with terrible lighting? You take the selfie, with absolutely terrible, horrible, rubbish lighting. Also, could this guy and Stevie be brothers or what?? Just sayin. Although I think Stevie has enough brothers.

When we got home from the event, we changed Everett's diaper and showed him the little squeeze-y wipe trick. He got such a kick out of it that now he wants us to squeeze the wipes out every time. It's pretty hilarious.

If you haven't had the opportunity to try The Honest Company, I would truly recommend it. I just honestly believe in these eco-friendly, non-toxic products so much and I would love for as many people as possible to try them. I've linked to my family's most-used and loved products below.

Many, many thanks to the Bump Club & Beyond team and to The Honest Company for inviting us and putting on such a fun event :) Like seriously, we needed that date night out. xx

Shifting Priorities.

I overheard a conversation last week.

Someone I know asked someone else that I know, "What people group do you feel most called to?"

It was a good question - they were discussing various cultures and the world at large - and discussing how their role in the world could make a difference in the need expressed in other countries. I wasn't being asked, and I was more of a fly on the wall during this conversation, but the question has been beating in my heart ever since I heard it asked.

What people group do I feel called to?

It was a very simple answer for me. Maybe too simple?

I feel called to my family.

I know it sounds kind of phony and lame, but it's the absolute "yes" in my heart. This is my people group. These are my people. I made them, and I am continuing to invest all my time into caring for them. Everyday, I am feeding, nurturing, encouraging, reprimanding, challenging, changing and re-feeding these sweet (though I'll admit - exhausting) people. The little boys that are asleep across the hallway are counting on me, depending on me every day to raise them out of their beds and do everything to help them along in the world.

Sometimes it's weighty, when I really think about how much they need me. They need me to be on my A-game. They need all of me, not just the leftovers. They need me at my best, at my most engaged, at my most calm and brimming with love and satisfaction for who they are.

So while I love the world and I dream of making a difference in it, my sphere of influence has drastically changed in the past few years. I used to dream of making a difference through the arts - music and movies and creative content. I wanted to be an actress and tell stories to encourage people, to let them know they are loved and lovely and worthy. And it's not that those dreams and desires have disappeared, but they have shifted out of their day-to-day significance in my life. These days I play trucks with my boys instead of playing dress up in auditions and on sets.

I love that I have this opportunity to parent, because I know the years of having young children are short and fleeting (even though the days feel looong when there are too many tears and not enough cups of coffee). I don't want to miss the moments. And I don't want my boys to miss out on me, if I am heavily distracted with some other thing.

I don't want them to remember their mom scrolling through her phone while they tried talking to her.

This question of calling has been bugging me, and yet, igniting me.

I've been thinking of starting a small business. I've been thinking about ways to grow this blog. I've been sitting on a book idea for a few years and I want to grow my freelance writing business and I also want to start creating some video content for this blog. The dreams and brainstorming are endless over here, but - my time is occupied. I am wiping noses and teaching lessons about cleaning up toys and figuring out ways to prepare healthy meals my son will actually eat.

Quite simply, I don't have time for anything or anyone else.

Please tell me, friends, that I am not alone in this.

The margins in my world are currently minimal, and outside of caring for my family, I am lucky if I get to meet up with a girlfriend once a month or read a book at night before bedtime once a week. I schedule time for everything outside of my boys (when I say "boys", that husband of mine is included in this club we call family :) ) - my workouts, my meal prep, my social time, and even time that I work on this blog - it is all scheduled and planned ahead for, because otherwise, there is no way it will happen.

Intention + bits of rest + lots of coffee + saying "no" a lot = the only way to do this thing called motherhood.

I don't know how other women do this thing. Being a mom is hard, and being a mom with a side hustle takes some serious discipline and support. I can't even begin to fathom how my friends who work full-time and parent do it all - I am simply amazed at how incredible women are.

From what I gather it's a juggling act for most everyone I know. A constant balancing of where to put all the energy, attention and emotion required.

The priorities have shifted around over the past few years, and in the wake of Daxton's arrival, I am more aware than ever of how full my hands are. Full of dirty laundry and preschool art (and half-eaten mac'n'cheese that I just had to put the cauliflower in and that my toddler totally tasted and has therefore now rejected.)

I feel like I am in it right now. In the deep, deep throws of this vocation of modern motherhood. I love it, I am exhausted, I am hungry to do more outside of mothering, and yet I am so aware that I can't do more without sacrificing more.

So while my friend answered my other friend's question with an eloquent and studied answer about the tribe of people she feels most drawn to, I am left with a yes in my heart to the current season I am in. Motherhood - the good, the challenging, the humbling, sometimes infuriating, sometimes stripping of all prestige, most times tiring and almost always requiring prayers and caffeine and encouragement - this thing is no joke. But it hasn't dominated me - I choose to love my moment of shrinking margin and paused extracurricular endeavors. I choose to shift my priorities so that I can give the best of myself to my mighty little men. They might be small right now, but their character is being forged this mine of childhood adventure. I am partnering with them to become people of great heart in a world of shrinking moral values and vapid strut.

I am changing the world, it just looks different than I ever thought it would. Instead of telling other people's stories through the creative arts, I am telling my story through my time spent with my family.

I share this with you to connect, relate, and extinguish any lingering guilt. As women, mothers, people who will someday be parents and people who want to make a difference in the world, we shouldn't be so hard at ourselves for seasons of shifting priorities. It doesn't mean that goals go unmet and dreams are dashed - our sacrifice is beautiful, meaningful, and lasting. And if you're in the business of wiping bums and kissing boo-boos, I applaud you for the people group that you choose to invest in. They are worthy, so so worthy of the effort it takes to grow and nurture. And you, my friend, are an absolute gem. Although, you probably deserve a Starbucks and a solo stroll around Target with a giftcard to spend. No, not on your son's friend's birthday gift, but on YOU.

My thoughts can really ramble, can't they? Talk to me in the comments, friends. Do any of you feel me on this one? xoxox

Prayers of a Mama.

I pray that he is strong. But sensitive, too.

I hope that he is confident. Sure of all the goodness that is unique to him.

I just know that he is going to be funny. I don't know why, but I just do.

I want him to be trustworthy. Accessible. Humble.

I want him to dream enormously, radically big dreams.

I pray that some things come easily to him -  like making friends and understanding the letters on the board.

I pray that he knows how loved he is. All the days of his life, that the love would saturate into his bones and rattle his DNA.

I can't wait to hear his voice sing, see his features mature, and watch where his feet take him.

It's going really fast. I am having trouble catching my breath, because he's just growing right before my eyes. Every day that I get him out of his crib, he is longer, stronger, his eyes more engaging. How is time speeding up?

Everett and I like to call him our lovey dovey :) It's amazing how a baby can melt you into a cooing, ridiculous, baby-talking fool.

My 2-month-old Daxton might just be teething. I know you probably think I'm crazy. Everett teethed reeeeeally early, and lately Daxton has started gnawing on everything in sight. I started wearing my Mama & Little teething jewelry last week as a way to get him used to it. Training him to know that this it's just for him - something he can practice cutting his little soon-to-be teeth on :) He's catching on.

I was introduced to this jewelry because I won some of it on an Instagram giveaway! So seriously you guys... enter those giveaways (ahem, see below for your chance...) Mama & Little jewelry is made of 100% food-grade silicone, is FDA-approved, and is free of all creepy toxins, including BPA, PVC, phthalate, cadmium, latex, lead and heavy metals. The necklaces feature a breakaway clasp (for added safety) and an exposed cord design to avoid hair snags and tangles. So basically Arleene (the founder of M&L) has thought through every scenario that would make a piece of teething jewelry really convenient and comfortable for on-the-go mamas. Thank goodness!

My favorites out of the collection are the ones I'm wearing - the Frida, the Nicole and the Alexa. Interested in winning some of this fun jewelry? Visit my instagram - I'm running a giveaway for a $50 Mama & Little gift card! Winner will be contacted on March 1 - best of luck to you, friends!

Many thanks to Mama & Little for sponsoring this post. All opinions expressed are my own.

Six Weeks in Newbornland.

It's been quite a journey, these past 6 weeks.

I've laughed, cried, felt complete peace, felt complete chaos.

Stevie had 6 weeks of paternity leave (!!!), so my family was pretty spoiled by having daddy around constantly. And I didn't realize how much I would NEED him around, to do everything. Thank goodness for him! And for his awesome company for providing this policy for dads! I can't tell you enough how thankful I am that we had so much time together to integrate into a new family normal.

Because I've been recovering from a c-section, I couldn't do anything for the first two weeks postpartum. Like, anything. I couldn't move, let alone change diapers or pick up my toddler or even go to the bathroom. Stevie did it all - cooking and cleaning, taking care of Everett, taking care of Daxton. He had to bring me the baby every time to feed him, he had to help me change my underwear, he had to help me bathe. It was kind of a nightmare, for me. I felt so helpless and disempowered. Of course, all of those things got easier, but the process felt so, so slow. Once I got over being exhausted from the labor and delivery, I went into full-force frustration because I just wanted to be able to do stuff. I have a whole new empathy for women who have gone through c-sections, especially in situation that are emergent. I never understood what that must feel like, how hard the recovery can be, how emotional the process is.

Not to sound dramatic, but there were a lot of things that made the past 6 weeks feel endless.

But then there's Daxton.

He is just incredible. So sweet, with a peaceful demeanor and almost an air of maturity, somehow. His eyes are clear and his body is long and he has the gentlest spirit. Did I mention he is big? So big. In the few short weeks I've known him, I've fallen hard. We all have. This family is smitten with our little boy and we didn't realize how much we were missing out on before he arrived. Everett and I like to call him our lovey dovey, only Everett says it like, 'uh-vy duhvy' and it's pretty hilarious. He also calls him his "best brother" and kisses him on the cheek about 50 times a day. We are all just so happy with our expanded family. It's so nourishing to this mama heart of mine, especially as I sort through the highs and lows in this new season of motherhood.

All the "firsts" have been so unique to Daxton's personality. Finding a special song to sing to him in the middle of the night when I'm rocking him back to sleep. Giving him his first bath and seeing his calm reaction to the water. Taking family walks outside and watching his eyes as he takes in the blue of the sky, the song of a bird, the chill of the weather. Even though we've had Everett for over two years, showing us the world through his eyes, it all feels new again. Because it's with a brand new soul, fresh from Heaven and brimming with his own breath of life.

Sometimes I have to stop myself, to remind myself that I am living in the good old days. And these are those days! Marked with exhaustion and teeming with every degree of emotion. What a six weeks it's been!

P.S. - My birth story with Daxton.

Welcoming Daxton Spencer to the World.

I never shared Everett's birth story. I just never felt like I could share something quite so private with the world wide web. Hahaha I guess after having one baby, you lose all sense of privacy and modesty and nothing is "TMI" anymore - any moms out there feel me? So I went ahead and wrote down Daxton's birth story while it was still fresh on my mind and soul, and even though it took me a few weeks to really get it all out, it was beautifully therapeutic for this heart of mine. And also, I spent a lot of time reading others' birth stories in the weeks leading up to his birth, and I actually feel like it helped me prepare for the unexpected nature of his birth. So this time around, I am happy to share and hopefully shed some light and hope for others who have experienced the unexpected in childbirth. Honestly, even though Everett's birth was super intense and ridiculously long (hello, 36 hours that I will never ever forget!), Daxton's proved to be much more, hmm what's the word for it - lively?!

Also, a few disclaimers. This is a birth story - so yeah, it's crazy LONG, there's some medical mojo and probably some TMI-esque content. If you're not into that, please feel free to skip over this post!

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On Dec. 14, 2016 I woke up so ticked off. Another night went by that I hadn't woken up in labor. I know this may sound ridiculous, but this is my truth and this is my story, so I'm not going to apologize. I was sad, frustrated and just so wanting to go into labor. So on that morning on the 14th, I asked Stevie to take a vigorously long walk with me. I was ready to walk until that baby decided to come out. This was after we had tried everything else - days of eating spicy foods, rubbing Clary Sage essential oils on my ankles, getting a massage, then getting a specialty foot massage, having sex (not that much fun when you feel like a 500 lb. sumo wrestler), drinking raspberry leaf tea, bouncing up and down on my yoga ball, doing jumping jacks in the living room, eating eggplant Parmesan every single day, eating pineapple (there are a lot of foods they "say" will induce labor, and I tried them all), finally culminating to my all-time low point where I ran out into the yard around midnight to stand under the full moon while rubbing my belly in a clockwise motion. I read it on the Internet, so of course I had to try it. And of course, I felt a little weird and superstitious after the fact, and the wet grass was stuck on my feet when I walked inside the house which was just a reminder of how ridiculous I was. I'm sure all my neighbors saw me out there squeezed into whatever nightgown situation that actually fit me in my plumpest hour, and were horrified.

So that morning, we walked. We walked hard. I huffed and puffed and waddled by the nearby golf course and Stevie and I talked. We talked about how we would renovate our house, if we decided to stay there for the long haul. We talked about Everett. We talked about Christmas and our exercise goals for the New Year and Stevie's business idea. We talked about so many things, and I was having increasing pain on the left side of my pelvis. A sharp, shooting pain. Not contractions, but just an irritating, pinching, lightning kind of pain. Once we turned around the walk home was slower, and I had to keep stopping for rest breaks. To pant.

My spirit was a little broken. Would this baby ever, ever come out? He was such a tease.

Once we got home, the sharp shooting pain continued with each step of my left foot. I decided to call my midwife and ask her what the heck that was. It was aggravating and super frustrating, because I knew it wasn't productive, like contractions.

I called and they invited me to go ahead and come in at 2:50pm. So Stevie and I dropped Everett off at my sister-in-law's and we went over to my OBGYN's office. They were busy. We had to wait 45 minutes.

The Property Brother's were on in the waiting room. While we were watching and waiting, something incredibly uncanny happened. Then it happened again. I looked at Stevie, wide-eyed with disbelief. And then it happened again.

"Stevie, I just had a contraction."

And then again, and again, and again. They started coming relatively quick, every 10 minutes or so. He celebrated with me in that waiting room. By the time we actually got into the room where the midwife would see us, I was having regular contractions and they were real.

She smiled and obliged when I asked her to strip my membranes. That was another thing that I had heard would help, although at this point I was kind of certain I was in real labor. Still, it was my good faith insurance. I wanted to be sure that I was going to have this baby. Like, in this calendar year. She explained that the pain I was feeling could most certainly be associated with labor, even though it didn't feel like contractions. She suggested that I should go home and get some rest, eat a good meal and take a shower. I asked her if I should plan on checking into the hospital later that evening or if she thought it would still be a day or two. She said she didn't know, but to go ahead and get prepared to have a baby.

On the drive home we were elated and a little shocked. I couldn't believe I went into labor while sitting at the doctor's office. The contractions in the car ride were pretty strong, and I wasn't able to talk through them. We picked up Everett and jetted home, where I hurriedly jumped in the shower. I figured that would slow down the contractions (if they were Braxton Hicks and not the real deal), but there was no slowing down. They continued to speed up, and by the time I got out of the shower, they were coming 5 minutes apart. I quickly dressed and put last minute items in my hospital bag, and Stevie and I decided to call my wonderful doula Liz (who had been with me for my first birth with Everett). My mom had randomly stopped by since she was supposed to be meeting a friend around the corner for an early dinner, but when she saw what a state we were in, she called and cancelled her dinner. My mother in law soon arrived as well, to stay with Everett for the evening.

As the contractions sped up, I realized we needed to get to the hospital. Like, really soon.

My doula arrived around 6pm and we immediately called the midwife. We explained that I had been having contractions 3-5 minutes apart for an hour, and she told us to come on in. So we kissed Everett goodbye, piled into our Ford Expedition and Stevie started driving, with me and Liz in the back seat. I was overwhelmed with a feeling of, we've been here before. My memories from Everett's birth were suddenly so present - and I was reliving that exact car moment again. Riding with Liz in the backseat, Stevie in the driver seat. Talking about not going over the speed bumps fast. It was all familiar, we had all done this before.

When I checked into the hospital, there were Christmas trees everywhere. Little white lights and wreaths on every desk. I remembered my friend Elizabeth's labor story, about how she took one final pregnancy photo when she checked into the hospital, and I said, "Stevie! Will you take my picture? The last picture of Daxton inside of me?!" And he did. That was really special. I knew things would get really intense before it was all over (ha, little did I know how intense), and I wanted to remember this moment of excitement and joy and tiny little white lights decorating this memory.

In the triage room, they checked me and I was at 4 cm. "Do you want to go home or stay?", the midwife asked me. I was baffled - why on earth would I go home at this point? We were here. Let's do this thing! So we stayed. I suited up. And from 6:30 pm until midnight, I walked the halls of that hospital, huffing and puffing (as I had done earlier in the morning with Stevie, out in the fresh air, talking about home renos as if we were Chip and Joanna Gaines). I walked so much, with Liz and Stevie and my mom taking turns walking behind me. Each time I would have a contraction, I leaned into the walls and Liz would push on my back, giving me counterpressure, just like she had when I was in labor with Everett. Even though the contractions were hard, there was something incredibly athletic about this part of my labor. I felt really in tune with my body and I knew exactly what I needed to do for each contraction - it's amazing how the second time around, these things aren't so scary :)

When I wanted a break from walking, I sat on the toilet (sorry, TMI, but let's just be real), and I labored there. I even cranked up the Johnnyswim album Georgica Pond and put my ear buds in, and just got lost in the music. This was something I could never, ever do in my first labor. Music drove me crazy then. But now, I was completely in the zone with my body and the rhythm of the music and I was feeling super at one with what was happening inside me with my baby. I'll never forget these wonderful few hours, and I am really really grateful that I had them. Because unfortunately later, things got harder in a way that I couldn't help.

By midnight I had dilated to 8 cm. It was a celebration in the hospital room! Only 2 more cm until I could start pushing! I thought for sure that this baby would be coming soon, within a few short hours. I had dilated so quickly throughout the day and I felt such a sense of joy and pride that I had gotten this far without too much difficulty (don't get me wrong, the contractions really hurt), but I knew I was going to meet my little baby so so soon!

Then things slowed down. Way down.

The contractions spread to 6 minutes apart. The momentum I had been hoping for by 8 cm wasn't there. I kept thinking, if I can speed up these contractions, then I can get enough momentum to push this baby out! But without the contractions getting closer together, it just felt challenging. Even though they spread out, they were getting increasingly more painful, and from midnight until 6am they continued to get more painful, but remained 6 minutes apart. I laid on my side in the hospital bed and fell asleep between each contraction. Everyone in my room was overcome with sleepiness, and we were all confused as to why things seemed to slow way down. Of course, we all reminded each other, Everett's birth took 36 hours in total. It was a long slow process. So perhaps that's what was going on here?

At 6am I decided that I needed a re-set. The contractions were so painful they were beginning to scare me a little, not because I couldn't handle the pain, but because I was getting so tired and I wasn't sure how to conserve my energy. I still needed to save some to push this baby out! I also feared that the midwife was going to tell me that I needed something to move the process along, something like a little p-word. So I decided to get in the shower, which had been a standby option during my first labor. Stevie put on his swim trunks and joined me. We stayed in the shower for almost an hour, praying for Daxton and making positive declarations out loud about this labor and delivery. We needed something to shift.

When I got out of the shower, the nurse came in and informed me that a shift change was taking place and that a new midwife was coming - and it was my favorite midwife. I got so excited and for a moment I thought, maybe this is why I've kind of been stalled out! Because God knew I would want this midwife to deliver my baby!

Oh, the things we tell ourselves.

That midwife came into the room with eyes ablaze. "I don't like what I'm seeing here, Kristen. You should be further along than you are." She checked me and I was still at 8cm - after 7 hours! What on earth. She told me that it wasn't a good sign that I hadn't finished dilating by now, especially since my dilation from 3-8 cm was so steady. She told me she wanted to do something to help things along, and I knew what that meant. The p-word.

So we talked about the options associated with pitocin. It was such a foreign concept to me, because my labor with Everett didn't involve any drugs or pain relief options and I wanted to have another natural labor and delivery again. I had heard so many horror stories about the pain that pitocin brings on when it helps speed up contractions. Because of others' stories and experiences, I had decided long before this pregnancy that if I were ever in a position where I needed to get pitocin, I would definitely get an epidural to go with it. It just doesn't seem fair to your own body, inducing painful contractions without relief. But I did ask the question - "So what if I start pitocin without the epidural and decide that I need it? How long would it take to get the epidural?", and midwife answered very quickly, "At least 45 minutes." That just seemed way too long if I were suddenly in horrible, unbearable pain. So even though the midwife mentioned that I could get some pitocin without an epidural (she also offered a few other pain relief options), I was very clear-minded with my choice. I would get an epidural with the pitocin.

I kind of can't believe it. Who was I becoming in this labor? This was pretty far off my birth plan. But I felt such a sense of peace about the choice, its unexplainable... Stevie was nervous though. He wanted to make sure I wouldn't be upset later that I had "resorted" to getting an epidural.

The midwife assured me that the pitocin would dilate me completely, and then I would be able to push this baby out. I was ready. This is what people talk about when they say that birth doesn't always go the way you plan, and you have to be willing to go "off the birth plan" based on what the circumstances call for. I was living it.

And guess what you guys? Epidurals are AWESOME. And this is coming from a girl who did a seriously long labor the first time around with nothing. Within 5 minutes of getting pricked in the back with what I assume is a very long needle, I was sitting up in the bed and suddenly feeling verrrrry at peace. I felt in control of my body again. My contractions were still very present and I could feel every single one, but I wasn't experiencing that edge of unbearable pain anymore. In fact, it felt sort of like being a yoga class - I was connected to my body and feeling the challenge of the contractions, but I wasn't consumed by the wrenching pain anymore. They got the pitocin started. I was curious to see how painful these contractions would be - would it be worse than natural labor? The dorky part of me wanted to compare and contrast. The pragmatic part of me wanted to do whatever to get this baby out.

45 minutes later, nothing had changed. The pain was extremely doable, and I was sitting up in bed chatting with my mom and Stevie and Liz in between the contractions. But I hadn't dilated any further, and the contractions didn't get closer together. So they amped up the pitocin.

45 minutes later again, still no change. They upped the pitocin once again.

Once again, nothing happened. Not one single change.

The midwife came back. Now, remember, I really like this woman. During all my prenatal care, I felt like she was the one midwife that really "got" me. She knew my personality, knew my convictions, and was very *for* my natural birth plan. Which we had already forgone. But when she came back after my 4 hours on the pitocin and epidural with absolutely no progression, things got real. She told me that I wouldn't like what she was about to say, "I need to bring the doctor in to see you. She's probably going to talk about some things that you don't want to hear. But you should be further dilated than 8 cm by now. Something isn't right here."

I immediately began to get angry. I knew what this little speech was leading to. They are going to freaking tell me I need a freaking c-section. Insert a few explicates, because as someone once told me, cursing is for labor.

I had my outburst of anger. I don't think I yelled, but who knows. I started asking Liz question after question - am I just a statistic here? Have I been duped? Am I just another dumb girl who comes into the hospital with a natural birth plan and leaves with a c-section?? Is there really *something wrong*?

Throughout this entire labor, my heart rate and Daxton's heart rate had never faltered. There were no signs of a problem. Why on earth would I need a surgery? Things were just going slowly, right??

The midwife came in with the doctor, and everything in the room got very very fast. The doctor sat down with me and was frank. She told me that I had fallen "way off the curve" and I should have already had my baby by now. She explained that something wasn't quite right if pitocin hadn't finished my dilation, so she wanted to go ahead and check me and see if she could feel the baby being positioned incorrectly. I consented. What else was I supposed to do? At least she was being really straight forward with me. I appreciated her candor.

She checked me and announced to the room, "Okay, the baby is ROT." I just stared blankly at her. She explained that ROT means that his head should be facing down so that my cervix could properly dilate over it, but instead, his head was turned entirely to the left. This is why I hadn't fully dilated - his head wouldn't allowed it.

She said, "I know that a c-section isn't on your birth plan," and then explained what we could do to try to get him out without resorting to a surgery. Which involved us "working together" during my contractions, with her putting her entire hand up in my uterus and trying to rotate Daxton while I pushed with all my might. No big deal right? I took a deep breath and agreed - anything is better than getting sliced. From the moment I said yes, the room was flooded with half a dozen new nurses and technicians. The friendly anesthesiologist was back and threw the switch on my epidural, amping it up by 50%. Everyone gathered around me like you see in the movies, helping me hold my legs behind my knees, and began yelling words of encouragement - You can do this! You've got a contraction coming, are you ready? Get ready - okay, now push! Push! PUSH PUSH PUSH!!!

Remember that lovely feeling I described before, about the epidural being relatively light? Well, since they gave me a ton of it all at once, I couldn't feel the contractions at all. I felt a surge of intense pressure and heaved into pushing to the best of my ability. It was hard to feel where to put all my energy. I bore down as hard as possible. I pushed like my life depended on it. I closed my eyes and went into the deepest parts of myself, pushing from a place of absolute desperation to meet my son. I tried to open my eyes and focus on Stevie's eyes, but everything was so intense and I had trouble focusing on him. I exerted all my final energy into those pushes, and felt myself come very close to the edge of my ability. Everything around me was light and dark all at once, and I was overcome with a piercing siren of pressure and hope and doubt.

We tried this technique for 3 rounds of contractions. Each time the doctor tried to turn Daxton's head (with her hand inside my uterus), he didn't like it and turned back into the ROT position. And each time she tried to move his position, his heart rate dropped.

And that was it. She wouldn't put him in danger, so she stopped. She looked at me and said, "We are done with trying this - his heart rate has dropped and this is now an emergency situation." Suddenly an oxygen mask was lowered onto my face and the flurry of nurses rushed all over the room.

I looked at Stevie and we both knew what this meant. There was no question in his eyes or my mind - we were going to get this baby out, and it was a surgery that was going to do it. We nodded to each other, breathless, pouring sweat and compounding fear and hope. I turned to the doctor and said, "We trust you." She looked me right in the eyes and said something, I can't remember what, but she was reassuring me. I wasn't hearing words anymore, I was communicating almost solely on the language of eye contact. Just by looking at them, I knew Stevie and I were in unity on this decision, I knew my mom was prayerfully hopeful, I knew my doula was sad but believed this was the right call. And we were all trusting the instinct of this doctor and her team to take over the birth and safely bring my baby into the world.

Suddenly my bed was rolling. Stevie was being dressed in scrubs by the team. They began wheeling me toward the OR. I remember my mind suddenly got very clear and focused. I remember thinking to myself, "I'm probably going to need some counseling to process all of this, so I need to remember everything." I counted the number of nurses in the room - 7. The color of their scrubs - powder blue. The tone of their voices - fast paced but calm. Everything was being imprinted in my memory. The trusty anesthesiologist was back in the room, his team was poking and prodding me. He asked if I could feel his pokes below my belly button. I almost yelled, "yes!" - because I didn't want them to start the surgery if I could feel anything! He said, "Okay, I'll give the epidural 30 more seconds," and thirty seconds later, he poked me again. I told him I could still feel his pokes and it wasn't numb down there, and he said, "Really??" Then they all looked at each other and agreed on something, and he informed me that he would be putting me under general anesthesia because it was time to operate. He said that Stevie wouldn't be able to come in the room now because of the general anesthesia and they lowered another mask onto my face. The last thing I remember is grabbing the nurse's arm next to me and pleading with her to take care of my baby. She locked eyes with me and nodded in agreement. If it sounds melodramatic, well, that's exactly how it felt. They were going to take my baby out of me and I was going to have almost nothing to do with it.

And then I don't remember anything else.

When I woke up, they told me my baby was healthy and safe, and in his daddy's arms. Stevie had been holding him for almost thirty minutes when I finally got to meet my big, stunning baby boy - he was so big! I couldn't believe it when they told me everything about him! 9 lbs. 8 oz.! 21.75 inches long! He screamed from the moment the doctor pulled him out of my womb (which meant he hadn't been influenced by the general anesthesia, thank goodness). Stevie's eyes were brimming with gratitude and exhaustion and tears when he laid Daxton on my bare chest. He helped me hold him, since I was still numb and unable to maneuver my body. But nothing mattered. My boy was healthy and strong and a fighter. And he was here. His blue eyes were already apparent and his long, lithe body was sturdy and thick. What a gorgeous, perfect gift from my maker.

It's really great to have a birth plan. I would recommend that everyone formulate one before going into labor, because it helps you prepare for the serious task at hand. And it gives all the people involved in your birth a snapshot of who you are and how they can best serve you. However, it's really good to know when that plan needs to change. In my case, everything on my birth plan was considered by the nurses and midwives and doctor, and they were so honoring to try all sorts of options before having to throw that wonderful plan out the window. And you know what? I don't feel bitter about having a c-section. That kind team tried everything in their arsenal of tricks before resorting to the surgery. I felt super honored and grateful. My baby was safely brought into this world and that is the most important thing.

I'm still processing his birth. Some days I feel absolutely great about the choices I made and how the events unfolded, because I can see God's hand in each intervention. Other days I stare at my peeling scar and I feel sad. I write down questions as they enter my mind, I'm continuing to seek answers. But I feel certain about one thing - this is a great birth story and a treasured birth. Because he's here! The world is a better place because my Daxton is in it.

Thanks for reading my story, friends. Here's to the next chapter!