This week has been pretty slow here in my family. Some people might think that's boring, but I embrace slow weeks. Working to build a business with two kids at home rarely provides truly relaxed weeks. The weather here in Charleston, SC has been tolerable. A little chilly for my taste but not terribly cold. I've enjoyed time with my kids and husband, managed to get my house back into some order, and even found the time to take in a couple of online business classes. This week has been a blessing. I will admit that my photography challenge photo from this week wasn't entirely candid. My daughter received one of those ribbon wands for Christmas (or was it her birthday? I don't really remember), and she's been trying to twirl it around the house for weeks. Unfortunately, she struggles to find an area in our house where her ribbon doesn't get wrapped around a doorknob, a dog, or a little brother. Yesterday, as we were going out to the backyard to play, I saw the ribbon wand discarded in a tangled mess on the floor of our living room. I suggested to my daughter that she might have more luck twirling the ribbon outside where there were no obstacles. I grabbed my camera, untangled her ribbon, and waited. It was a little windy yesterday. She actually got herself wrapped in ribbon a couple of times, but that never stopped her from twirling... See more posts from the Life in 52 challenge here.
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We only have two seasons here in Charleston, SC. We have the summer, which actually takes up 3/4 of the year and is always very hot and very humid. The other 1/4 of the year, we have an unpredictable collection of the other three seasons. Just a few short weeks ago, we had more snow accumulation than we had seen here in Charleston in decades. This week, we had beautiful, mild days with temperatures in the upper 60s. I take advantage of these days as much as possible because you never know when the temperature will drop and the cold weather will return. This week, my kids spent some time on our back patio drawing with sidewalk chalk. I took my camera out with me just in case some photography inspiration hit. As I sat watching my kids, I found myself fascinated by Bug's hands. You see, Bug was a CHUNKY baby. She had rolls inside of her rolls. You'd never know it now though. She's tall for her age and lean. There's not a single chubby roll left on her. There's something about her hands though. They aren't chubby, but they still seem so small - a reminder of how little she is still. Covered in stamps from dance class earlier that day and adorned with two snap bracelets left over from her little brother's birthday party, she was the perfect picture of my quirky little fairy. Then, of course, Bubba came running through barefoot, jeans covered in a rainbow of chalk dust. He was every bit my wild, messy boy. I couldn't just pick one, so I submitted both photos to the project this week. I've really enjoyed this challenge so far. It's been fun forcing myself to look outside of traditional portrait opportunities. I'm looking forward to what next week has in store - both from my camera and the weather.
See more posts from the Life in 52 challenge here. Photographers will often tell you that their most difficult subjects are their own children. I am no exception. My daughter loves having her photo taken; however, she doesn't want to listen to my directions and posing suggestions. She has her own ideas that don't always photograph well. My son is difficult in a different way altogether. His 2nd birthday was this week, and I wanted to have a little photo session with him as I do with my children every year. Toddlers can be challenging to photograph anyway, but at least with clients, they are curious about the silly lady with the black box in front of her face. Getting them to look at me and my camera isn't too difficult. My own son is so accustomed to my camera being out that he probably views it as an extension of my arm. He doesn't care to look at the camera because he's just not that curious about it. I knew I needed to go with a more lifestyle photography type of session. There's no way I was going to get him to sit still for more traditional portraits. He absolutely loves tractors and trucks and anything with wheels, so I really wanted to find a place in Charleston, SC that fit that theme. I originally planned to take him to where my husband works for his family's business because they have tractors and a backhoe. The timing and weather just never worked out for that though. I then remembered that the company where my husband's work buys their tractors is only minutes from my house. I asked my husband if he thought they would let me take our son's portraits there. He was confident they would and recommended a few employees to seek out when I got there. The next day, after dropping my daughter off at school, we headed over to see the tractors. Not only did this wonderful company allow me to take Bubba's portraits there, but they also gifted him with a little toy tractor. He was in HEAVEN. He made this face and said, "WOW!" more times than I can count. We wandered around for quite a while just letting him explore to his heart's content. I occasionally posed him a little or said something silly to get his attention and make him laugh. For the most part though, I just followed him around and captured his adventures. These photos also worked out perfectly for Week 3 in the Life in 52 challenge. I edited this photo in both black and white and color but couldn't decide which I liked more. I posted both on my Facebook page and asked for opinions. The response was overwhelmingly in favor of COLOR. See more of my photos from the Life in 52 challenge here.
This is the story of my son's VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean) birth. Photos shared in this post are not examples of my professional work. They were taken by family and friends present at the birth. At the end of Part 1 of this birth story, my support team was packing up and heading to the hospital. I continued to have contractions all the way to the hospital and during the long walk up to labor and delivery. I was hooked up to a monitor and relieved to find that my baby boy was handling all the chaos perfectly. Because it was a Saturday, I was assigned to whatever resident was on call that weekend. A medical student was sent in to question me and check my cervix - almost fully effaced, but only 1 cm dilated. It felt like a punch in the gut to hear that after all I had been through in the last day and a half, but then I remembered what my doctor had told me. I mentioned my concerns about cervical scarring to my nurse. She quickly browsed my medical history and said, “You know what. I think you might be right.” We sat in a small room for a while waiting for the on-call resident to arrive. During that time, Bubba was moving and dancing in my belly. At one point, he rolled so drastically that everyone in the room saw my belly shift and the monitor dropped his heartbeat for a moment. He was back on the monitor pretty quickly and we continued to wait. The resident arrived and almost immediately launched into her plans to admit me and start a pitocin drip. I stopped her and told her I wasn’t sure I wanted to be admitted yet. I simply wanted to discuss my options if I were to choose to stay. I expressed my concerns from my first birth where pitocin was unable to make the necessary changes to my cervix. The nurse relayed my thoughts about cervical scarring in relation to my medical history. The resident simply waved away our concerns and continued to push pitocin. I finally had to tell her that I would not consent to jumping straight to pitocin because I didn’t believe it would address the actual problem. I told her I would rather go home. This turn of events did not sit well with her. It was clear she was used to women who came in and blindly did as they were told. She didn’t know how to handle someone who actually expected her to answer questions and explain her reasons for the choices she made. She resorted to scare tactics at this point. She pointed out that my blood pressure had been slightly elevated when I arrived and tried to tell me I might be in the early stages of pre-eclampsia. It took all my strength not to laugh at her. She had clearly not looked at my chart at all or she would have known that I had experience with that particular condition. I simply smiled and told her that I had no swelling, no headaches, no dizziness, no prisms in my vision, and my blood pressure had been perfect throughout my entire pregnancy. I believed my blood pressure was more likely due to the fact that I had been awake for almost 36 hours laboring, and I was anxious about being in the hospital. I also reminded her that I had already given a urine sample when I arrived, and she was welcome to test it for protein. Of course, my urine sample was perfectly healthy. I had gotten under her skin and she went for the low blow. She looked at the heart rate strip coming from the monitor. She said, “The good news is it looks like your baby is handling all of this well… except there’s one reading back here that concerns me. He could be showing signs of distress.” The nurse in the room turned and looked at her like she had three heads. She said, “The baby rolled over. We all watched her belly shift. The monitor just dropped him for a second. The whole rest of the strip is perfect.” The resident replied, “Maybe. But what if it’s not? What if he’s in distress and you go home and something happens to him? You’ll never forgive yourself and we don’t want that to happen.” I just stared, incredulous. I imagine my mouth was probably hanging open. I had heard stories of doctors preying on the most vulnerable part of a woman’s spirit - implying that she was endangering the life of her baby in order to coerce her to follow orders, but I thought these stories were rare. I never imagined it would happen to me, yet there I sat. I wondered what would happen if I had been a frightened first time mom who automatically trusted anyone with a medical background. To what would I have consented? What would I have allowed that resident to do to me had she convinced me that I was putting my baby's life on the line? However, this was not my first rodeo, and I was furious. At this point, the resident stepped out to speak with her attending. I talked with my husband, mom, and doula about everything that had just transpired. I probably should have fired that resident on the spot and demanded another doctor, but I didn’t. I stood up to her instead. When she returned, I informed her I would only consider staying and being admitted if I were given an opportunity to eat and if we used a foley bulb instead of pitocin. A foley is a catheter with a balloon at the end. It’s inserted into the cervix and the balloon is filled with a saline solution. The balloon puts pressure on the cervix, forcing it to open. I was hoping it would break up any scar tissue present. The resident, of course, tried to argue, but I held my ground. I also informed her I wanted to speak to her attending myself. The attending was wonderful. She thought the foley was a great solution, but she just wanted to make sure I knew we might have to revisit the pitocin discussion if my contractions didn’t progress after the bulb was out. I was fine with that. My husband ran downstairs to find some food; I was admitted, and the foley bulb was placed. My doula went home to rest, and my best friend came in to be an extra support person. Thankfully, another resident took over after that. She was younger and seemed a little anxious, but she was, at least, kind. The nurses absolutely saved my birth experience. They were all lovely and supportive. I felt like I had my own personal cheering squad. I was not anticipating the blinding pain the foley added to my contractions. Ripping through scar tissue is every bit as painful as it sounds. I think I could have handled it if I hadn't been so exhausted, but I was starting to lose control. My sweet husband did a great job talking me through contractions. He was trying to talk me out of an epidural because he knew how much I wanted to do this naturally even though it was killing him to see me like that. In a calm moment between contractions, I told him I appreciated what he was trying to do, but it wasn't even about the pain anymore. I needed sleep. There was no way I was going to make it through this birth without some sleep. The anesthesiologist had just gone into surgery though, so I had about 2 hours of coping with the foley contractions before he came in. After a total of 38 hours of natural labor, I got an epidural and was able to take a nap. An hour after the epi was placed, the foley bulb came out and I was dilated to 5 cm! The epidural had slowed my contractions though, so I consented to a low dose of pitocin to get them moving again. I stalled a little at 5 cm, but the baby continued to descend. My doula came back, and I let my epidural wear off some. I could still move my legs; they were just heavy. With the help of my support team, I was able to get into some more upright positions to help labor along and then the doctor nicked my bag of waters to get it started trickling. After trying some different positions, I told everyone to get some sleep. I pushed the button to give my epidural a boost, and I went to sleep a little after midnight. My mom and doula later told me they don't think the epidural did much because I continued to groan through contractions in my sleep, but apparently exhaustion just took over. The second resident woke me up at 3 am to tell me that I was at 10 cm and +3 station. It took a few seconds to register what they had said and when it hit, I began to cry. I was actually going to get to push! Little did I know, I still had a ways to go. The horrible resident returned for the pushing phase much to my chagrin. The first hour of pushing was mostly trying to get me into different positions to move the baby down. The epidural was wearing off again, but at first, I couldn’t feel enough to push effectively. The second hour of pushing, I was delirious. I was so tired I kept drifting off between contractions. God only knows what kind of weird stuff I said. I vaguely remember something about a horse and a bikini. I’m hoping I didn’t say anything out loud. If I did, no one told me. In hour three, I could finally see his head and that gave me renewed energy to keep going. It was about this time that I was informed I was developing a low grade fever. I knew I needed to get my little guy out so I pushed with all the energy I could muster. Fifty hours after those contractions woke me up at 4 am, three of those hours spent pushing, my sweet baby boy was born on January 17th. Despite reminding the resident that I didn’t want to cut his cord right away, the first thing she did once he was out was grab a clamp for his cord. My doula and I were both yelling at her not to clamp it. She rolled her eyes before putting the clamp down. I immediately started yelling, "GIVE HIM TO ME! LET ME HOLD HIM!" My mom and husband both later told me that was the moment when they realized just how much anxiety and brokenness I had been holding onto from Bug’s birth. It wasn't the joyful cry of a new mother wanting to see her baby, but one of desperation. I needed to hold him first. I needed to have him placed on my chest still slimy and fresh. I needed to be the first to welcome him to the world. A nurse grabbed him from the resident and plopped him onto my chest. I was the first to see his beautiful face and announce to the room that he looked just like his big sister. I could never put into words the emotions running through my body in that moment. I felt victorious. I had conquered my own anxiety, my damaged body, and that terrible bully of a resident. I stood up to someone trying to abuse their power. I stood my ground and refused to allow my voice to be drowned out. I kept going when I wanted to give up.
My precious, perfect Bubba was worth every single second of that 50 hours. Despite all of the struggles, I think back on his birth with a sense of accomplishment. He has been a whirlwind in our lives from the moment he was born. He is wild, stubborn, loud, smart, funny, and sweet. He tears through our house at full speed, only occasionally braking to climb in my lap and steal my food. Happy birthday to my beautiful, blonde-haired, blue eyed boy, who adds grey to my hair and joy to my soul. This is the story of my son's VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean) birth. Photos shared in this post are not examples of my professional work. They were taken by family and friends present at the birth. Our culture has compressed birth into those few moments when the baby is actually delivered into this world. We’re led to believe that as long as the baby is fine, then the rest of it doesn’t matter. As a birth photographer, I’m working to change this view - at least here in Charleston, SC. I work to show that the journey in birth MATTERS. The delivery itself, while the pinnacle, is but one part in an entire story of a woman’s transition into motherhood. The births of my two children were beautiful moments, but they are made even more incredible by understanding what brought me to those moments. Today, I will begin sharing the birth story of my second child, lovingly known as Bubba. I’ll admit it’s a long story, so I’m breaking it up into two separate blog posts. Before we begin, I’d encourage you to go back and read Bug’s birth story if you haven’t already. There will be some context there that will help you better understand my mindset going into this second birth. When I was still in the recovery room after Bug’s c-section birth, my doctor came in and said, “Well, the silver lining is that you’ll get to choose your next baby’s birthday because you’ll just schedule another cesarean.” I looked at her wide-eyed and simply stated, “No. I won’t.” The anesthesia hadn’t even worn off yet, but I knew I didn’t want to experience that again unless it was absolutely necessary. I knew nothing about Vaginal Birth After Cesarean (VBAC), but it didn’t take long before I started searching. Before we even began trying to conceive a second child, I was searching for and reading as many VBAC stories as I could get my hands on. After confirming that VBAC is a safe option for most women, I was confident that I wanted to attempt a vaginal birth when we decided to have another child. A few years later, after some struggles with infertility, I was finally pregnant with a baby who seemed to be sticking around for the full pregnancy. I continued to read books and blogs about birth in general and VBACs specifically throughout the time we were trying to conceive and my pregnancy. I realized I would need a great team around me to support me in my desire for a vaginal birth. The doctor who delivered my daughter, while a wonderful person, was obviously not going to fit with my wishes for this birth. I started asking in some local mom groups and was pleased to find many mothers who had successful VBACs in Charleston and even more who were on the same research journey with me. There are many doctors here who support VBACs and ALL of the hospitals in the area allow them. The trick for me was finding the doctor with the least amount of restrictions on my labor. I found an absolutely wonderful doctor pretty quickly. She is well-respected in the birth community, and she was fully supportive of my VBAC plan. She even told me that as long as baby and I were healthy, I would be treated just like any other perfectly healthy expectant mother. Even if complications did arise later on, surgery would not automatically be the first line of response either. My scar did not make me a ticking time bomb. I also hired a doula to be with me in labor and delivery. I knew I wanted someone with a more objective view to help balance the anxiety coming from my husband and mom (and myself if I’m being completely honest). I continued reading and researching and discussing my birth preferences with my doctor. At one point, I came across several birth stories of women who were discovered to have cervical scar tissue. Their stories sounded so similar to what happened in Bug’s birth: regular, intense contractions that would normally be indicative of a progressing labor, but little to no cervical dilation. After reading more, I found that I have one of the primary risk factors for cervical scarring (without going into too much personal information). I brought up my concerns to my doctor and she said it was definitely a possibility. If this were an issue for me, I would find that my cervix was effacing (thinning out) in labor but not dilating (opening). *Keep this little bit of information in mind because it comes back later.* My pregnancy continued to progress normally, and I found myself creeping up on my due date. In the last week of my pregnancy, I often had contractions that were regular, but they always fizzled out after a few hours. I was getting frustrated and tired because these contractions often disrupted my sleep. I woke up at about 4 am on Friday, January 15th, with what I thought were gas pains. It didn't take long for me to realize that gas pains generally don't come exactly 6-7 minutes apart lasting 45-50 seconds. I didn't get my hopes up though because this wasn’t the first time I had experienced regular contractions. It reached a point where I was having trouble sleeping through them, so I got up and got moving for the day. After a few hours, they still weren't going away, and they were getting more intense. They were still 6-7 minutes apart, but I was often having to stop and breathe through them. My husband stayed home from work, and my mom came over to help with the then 3-year-old Bug. After several hours, I decided to watch a movie and doze off for a while. When I did that my contractions spaced out to every 10 minutes. After resting for a bit, I got up and my husband and I walked for about a mile and a half. Eventually, my contractions returned to 6-7 minutes apart. Late that night, my contractions were STILL 6-7 minutes apart but pretty intense. I was getting frustrated that they weren't progressing, so I told my husband I was going to eat something and try to sleep for a while. I hoped that sleeping would make the contractions space back out like they had before so I could get some rest. Well, of course, that’s not what happened. Shortly after I climbed into bed, the contractions got closer together. By about 3 am, my husband was begging me to call my doula because my contractions were 4 minutes apart and I was on my hands and knees in bed, groaning through each contraction. I called my doula and told my husband to get some sleep while he could. When I went to unlock the front door for the doula, I found my parents (who had decided to spend the night) sitting awake on the couch. My mom could hear me back in the room and had been timing my contractions based on my cries and groans. She rubbed my back and kept me calm until the doula arrived and then everyone rallied around me to help me through. The hours dragged on and morning came and went. My dad had taken over Bug’s care. She struggled with seeing me in pain, so he kept her away and entertained as much as he could. My contractions stayed 3-5 minutes apart and intense, but nothing we tried would bring them closer together and progress my labor. Exhaustion was setting in and I was starting to fall asleep between contractions. When I fell asleep, the contractions would only come every 10 minutes, but they were significantly worse than the contractions I had been experiencing. It was as though I had 2 or 3 contractions rolled into one. The contractions would peak 2 or 3 times before coming back down and I quickly realized the little nap I was getting was not worth that pain. I made myself stay awake and keep moving. Around lunch time, we had passed 30 hours of labor and everyone was exhausted. Doubt and defeat were beginning to creep in.
My husband and my mom sat with me and said, "I think it's time to go to the hospital. You don't have to be admitted if you don't want to, but I think we should at least check and make sure the baby is okay.” On one hand, I did want to check on the baby, but mostly I was frustrated and scared. Frustrated that, yet again, my body couldn't just do what it was supposed to do. Scared that I would be pushed into another surgery. I made everyone leave me alone in my bedroom, and I curled up on the floor and sobbed. I often find that I need to have a big, ugly cry before I can move forward. Once I had my moment, I talked with my doula about the possible scenarios we might face at the hospital. We talked about what I would do in each situation and what I most wanted to avoid. I am so thankful I hired a doula for many reasons, but in retrospect, that conversation alone was worth every single penny I paid. Once I made sure that my husband and mom knew my wishes and would support me in whatever I decided, we grabbed our bags, and headed to the hospital. Read Part 2 here If you read my last blog post about our big snow day here in Charleston, SC, then you know I've decided to participate in a weekly lifestyle photography challenge. I wanted to take on this challenge as a way to document more of these every day beautiful moments with my family, but also because this kind of photography really hones many of the skills I need as a birth photographer. Birth photographers often have to work with little light or unusual light settings, which can be tricky. We also have to work around other people - finding the right angle and the right light without getting in the way. Finally, we have to find and capture the beauty in those hours and minutes without intentionally posing or creating it. We're only in week 2 of the lifestyle photography challenge, but I am already finding myself on the struggle bus. Why? Well., there are two main reasons: 1) This week has been chaos. We are finally getting back into our regular schedule after a MONTH off. Winter break was extended due to all the snow and ice. This week, my daughter headed back to school and dance, and I have been trying to clean and reorganize everything from the holidays and the snow days. 2) I have a toddler in my house. While Bubba (my soon-to-be 2-year-old) provides ample opportunity for adorable photos, he also happens to be pretty destructive. I would love to leave my camera somewhere accessible, so I can grab it quickly to capture a moment before it passes. However, toddlers and expensive camera equipment do not mix. I thought I might leave my camera bag out, so my camera is still somewhat available, but apparently the toddler mastered the use of zippers this week. It seems my camera bag has to stay up and out of reach for the time being. This week's photo actually came from Bubba's rummages in my camera bag. I was sitting on the couch with my laptop, editing an ADORABLE 6-month milestone session (seriously can't wait to share them with all of you), and I had my camera bag next to me. Bubba repeatedly tried to grab my camera from the bag. I was beginning to get frustrated with constantly having to pull him out of my bag when I remembered I keep one of my old point and shoot cameras in the bottom. I pulled it out and told him if he sat on the couch next to me, he could hold it very carefully. He's a pretty rough and wild little boy, so I fully expected to have to take it from him pretty quickly. However, I was pleasantly surprised by how carefully he held it and how gently he touched each of the buttons. It wasn't long before he lifted it up to his eye and tried to take a picture with it. Thankfully, this photographer was ready with her own camera. See my other photos from the Life in 52 challenge here. As an artist, I think it's important to take on personal projects. I absolutely LOVE working with my clients and photographing their families, but I sometimes get caught up in everyone else's moments that I neglect the beauty in my own everyday life. This year I decided to participate in the Life in 52 project. One photo (or photo series) a week for a year. No themes or rules or requirements. It just has to be LIFE. This project is perfect for me because I love lifestyle photography. I've said it many times before, but while I love the most posed portraits I take for my clients, my absolute favorites always come from natural interactions and play time at the end of my sessions. Of course, it's also why birth photography is my specialty. Life doesn't get any more real than a birth story. Now in my first week of this project, Mother Nature has given me the perfect surprise: SNOW! Here in Charleston, SC, we have snow accumulation about once every decade. The last time we had snow that actually stuck was in 2010 and it was only an inch or two. This year, on January 3rd, we got 5 inches of snow! Just to give you an idea of how rare that is around here - the last time we got that much snow was in 1989! My daughter, Bug, has been very curious about snow recently and was so excited when I told her we might get to see it. I had to warn her not to get her hopes up because it's not uncommon for meteorologists to predict snow that never comes here. This year was the opposite. We were only predicted to get 1, possibly 2, inches. We were all stunned when the snow just kept falling well past the 2 inch mark. When you're a photographer and you get an opportunity that only comes once every 10 years, you get out the big camera! Without further ado, here's my official Week 1 photo for the Life in 52 project: Bug seeing snow for the first time in her life. Of course, I can't just share one picture and be done. So enjoy a few more photos of my little family's experience with Charleston's big snow day! To see other photos in the 52-week challenge, click here. A door is closing on another year. When each year begins, I always feel like I have a long stretch of time in front of me - a long chapter of my life yet to be written. Then at the end of the year, I always end up thinking to myself, What happened? Where did the year go? This year has been busier than most for my family. I decided that I wanted to really pursue photography as a career - more specifically, birth photography. I spent this year going to school at night to complete a photography certification program, building a portfolio and website, preparing all of the legal aspects of my business, and finding new clients. If building a business weren't enough, we moved twice this year! My husband and I decided to sell our first home in the spring and build a new house. We are still living in the Charleston, SC area, but we had to move into an apartment between selling our old house and closing on the new. We've been settled in the new house since September, but I just now feel like I'm getting to sit and breathe for a minute. It's been a wild ride. I wouldn't change it for anything though. I love this crazy life. This year, I've spent time with several amazing families... Some of those families were expanding. Some had recently expanded. I photographed some of the most beautiful babies and kids! One of the biggest highlights of my year was capturing an unforgettable birth. Despite the chaos, 2017 has been an amazing year for my family. I hope you close this year with fond memories, but most of all I pray 2018 is full of joy and blessings for all of you... and, of course, I hope you'll consider inviting me in to capture some of those memories. Happy New Year!
I've heard it said that October is to photographers as April is to accountants. It makes perfect sense. The cooler temperatures, beautiful fall colors, and stunning sunsets are a photographer's dream. Plus, it's the perfect time of year for new family portraits just in time for holiday cards to be printed! I must say, however, that October is a little different for photographers here in Charleston, SC. The weather cools down some, but temperatures in the upper 80s to low 90s are still very common. Days at the beach are a regular occurrence and the leaves usually stay green. I still love October though. I can feel the holidays coming, and I'm still a huge kid when it comes to Thanksgiving and Christmas. We also have plenty of great fall activities in Charleston, despite the fact that it still feels like summer most of the time. My family stayed busy all month, and instead of overwhelming my blog readers with tons of individual personal posts, I decided to combine them all into one highlight reel. We started October with my little man's first haircut. Whenever I write about my children, I always refer to them by their nicknames, and my son bears the most quintessential southern boy nickname possible: Bubba. My sweet Bubba had the most beautiful blonde curls, but for some reason, everyone else seemed to think it was more mullet than precious baby curls. I finally agreed to allow my husband to take Bubba to the barber shop next time he had his own hair cut as long as he didn't complain when I showed up with camera in hand. I have absolutely no problem being that mom. I have a love/hate relationship with this haircut. He looks like a little boy now without his little baby curls, but he's so stinking cute that it's hard not to love it. Every October, we also make plans to visit the Boone Hall Pumpkin Patch with friends. On the weekends, the pumpkin patch has food and a petting zoo in addition to all of the other wonderful activities. However, I usually choose to go during the week. Aside from a few school field trips, the crowd is much smaller and less overwhelming for my small children. We still have a wonderful time with plenty of opportunities for play. The biggest event for our family each October is Bug's birthday! Since she turned 5 this year, we decided to make it an extra special birthday. We had a party with friends and family at our house, but I have almost no pictures! I was in "hostess" mode the entire time. A few days after her party, I took Bug to the beach for a special birthday photo session. I always get pictures of my kids for their birthdays each year, either by hiring another professional photographer or doing them myself. This year I had something special in mind that I really wanted to photograph on my own. I started with more traditional portraits in a white dress that were all for me, but then I switched to something all about her. Bug is obsessed with mermaids. She has a mermaid bookbag for school and requested that we make her room in our new house mermaid themed. I couldn't resist the opportunity to make her into a mermaid for her birthday. The joy in her face in these photos is so real. She giggled pretty much the entire time and asked if people walking by might think she was a real mermaid. To top off a pretty awesome birthday week, my mom and I took Bug on a little road trip on her actual birthday. We headed to pick up my niece and then drove on to Charlotte, NC to visit the American Girl store. Again, I had planned to take pictures of the girls in the store, but I was a little overwhelmed in that place. Plus, I had to rein in the birthday girl who was making plans to buy every. single. thing. she saw. After Bug spent every penny of her birthday money, we met up with some friends of mine who live in Charlotte for a birthday dinner at The Cheesecake Factory before heading back to our hotel. My mom found a hotel that partners with the American Girl store to provide a "pink package" to guests. All the bedding and towels had been switched to pink as well as the alarm clock and trash cans. Each of the girls also received a bag with a bed, robe, and slippers for their dolls to keep and a couple of giant chocolate chip cookies. When we got home, it was time to get ready for Halloween. Bug decided she wanted to be Moana this year. That was easy enough because she already owns a Moana dress up costume. Since this will likely be my last year with full decision-making rights on Bubba's costume, I decided to dress him as Maui to go with his big sister. I found a cute Maui pajama set on Amazon and used my crafty skills to create a wig and fish hook. I was worried he wouldn't wear the wig, but he was perfect! Now that October is over, I'm looking forward to the fall weather finally making its way here to Charleston. Plus, I'm allowed to talk about Christmas occasionally without constantly getting side-eye from friends and family.
What was your favorite part of October? Did you dress up for Halloween? Your kids? Tell me about it in the comments! This post contains the story of my first child's c-section birth. The photos contained here are NOT examples of my professional work. They were taken by family members, doctors, and nurses who were present at the birth. I became a mom five years ago today. It seems so strange to me that five whole years have passed since Bug was born. No, Bug is not her real name. It's just a pet name that slipped out one day when she was a tiny baby and it stuck. Her first birthday party was even bug themed (cute girly bugs - not the creepy, crawly kind). If you read my first blog post about why I decided to become a birth photographer, you already know a little bit about my daughter's birth. It was my first pregnancy and I assumed I would have a natural birth. I wanted a natural birth. I read several books. I watched videos. I took a birth class. I thought I was prepared. The problem was I had prepared for a normal, healthy delivery. It never occurred to me to prepare for major complications or something to go wrong with my pregnancy. I wasn't nearly as ready as I thought. Almost as soon as I entered my third trimester, my blood pressure started spiking. It didn't stay elevated, so my doctor advised me to stay off my feet as much as possible at work and rest whenever I could. I was an elementary school teacher at the time though, so options for resting were limited. I also started to notice swelling that continued to get worse as the weeks went on. When I was about 35 weeks pregnant, I suddenly had a horrible headache with prisms in my vision and dizziness. I put in a call to my obstetrician, who advised me to take Tylenol and lay on my left side. I did as I was told and even managed to take a nap for about 2 hours. When I woke up, the prisms were gone, but the headache and dizziness were still present although lessened in severity. I decided to take my blood pressure and discovered it was the highest reading I had ever had even after medication and a nap. I called my OB again, and she told me she would meet me at the hospital. That was the first of what would ultimately be three hospital visits. Over the next two weeks, I went through a battery of tests from blood and urine tests to NSTs (non-stress tests) and ultrasounds. It was determined that I was right on the borderline for a pre-eclampsia diagnosis. Overall, my daughter seemed to still be healthy in utero, but sometimes showed early signs of distress (hence the second hospital stay which lasted four days). I was on bed rest with regular doctor visits for NSTs and ultrasounds to check on my baby girl.
Once I was back on the ultrasound table, the tech and my husband pushed and poked my belly and talked to her, trying to coax her into moving. She still didn't budge. My OB came in and told me I was being sent to the hospital next door. If my baby didn't start moving in the time it took them to get the paperwork and send me over, I was being put under general anesthesia for a crash c-section. I called my mom and told her to call everyone and tell them to PRAY AND PRAY HARD. I've never been so thankful to be part of a praying family because it worked! I got to the hospital and as they were hooking me up to the fetal monitors, my baby girl started dancing. She was wiggling and kicking so hard, the nurses couldn't keep the monitors on her. The doctor said the csection wasn't needed immediately, but my induction was starting that night. I hadn't eaten in several hours because we were waiting for the official call on whether or not I would be heading into surgery. I was finally allowed to eat dinner before a nurse came to insert Cervadil. I tried my best to sleep that night, but I was anxious. I woke up early in the morning and had a shower and breakfast before the pitocin started around 7 am. I was only about 1 cm dilated at this point. Over the next several hours, I managed contractions with support and foot massages from my mom and my best friend, Ashley. My husband was there too and he was as supportive as he could be, but honestly, he was overwhelmed and anxious. He had already been nervous about the birth in general, and now that everything was out of control, he just didn't know what to do. Around lunch time, the on-call OB came into my room to check me and found that I had progressed to 2 cm. My baby's head was still pretty high in my pelvis though. The doctor thought maybe breaking my water would encourage her to descend and put more pressure on my cervix. Having my water broken intensified the contractions significantly, but I continued on without pain medication. My ability to cope with contractions became more and more difficult as I was limited in my options for moving around. Each time I sat up, my blood pressure would start to rise and a nurse would inevitably come into my room telling me to lay on my left side to bring my pressure back down. A few hours later, my contractions were coming strong and rapid. I was getting very little, if any, break in between. The doctor came in to check me again, and I remember thinking I can keep going if there's progress. I just need to hear I've made progress. Nothing. My cervix hadn't budged past 2 cm and my daughter's head was still high in my pelvis. The doctor and nurses tried to joke that I had a "cervix of steel," but I was heartbroken. The doctor told me there were a couple more things she might be able to try to get things moving, but she was limited in her options because of my blood pressure. She said we could keep going and I might still have a vaginal birth or I might end up in an emergency situation ending in a crash csection where my husband and I would both miss the birth of our daughter. My other option was to go ahead and move forward with the csection now. Of course, I was continuing to have back to back contractions while she explained all of this to me. The thought of being under general anesthesia for my daughter's birth terrified me, so I chose to go ahead with the surgery. This was the one moment when my husband knew exactly what to do. He knew I didn't want surgery. He wrapped his arms around me and let me sob on his shoulder. Once I had a good cry, I took a deep breath and got ready to meet my baby. I told the hospital staff that I wanted my mom and my husband to be with me in the OR. I wanted someone to be able to stay with me in case they had to take the baby out for some reason and my husband needed to go with her. The nurses brought scrubs for both of them and then wheeled me off to surgery. I struggled to keep my anxiety in check as I waited to hear that cry. Finally, the doctor said, "Anyone who wants to see her come out, stand up." Only moments later, I heard the most miraculously beautiful sound. My baby bug announced her presence LOUDLY right from the start. My tears of joy quickly turned to laughter when my husband announced, "She just peed all over you!" Then the doctor said, "Correction: she peed IN you. We haven't sewn you up yet. Don't worry - it's sterile." A nurse gave me a brief peek of my daughter past the curtain before they took her to the warmer to clean her up and check her out. They swaddled her up, brought her over to me for a quick kiss... Then the nurse announced, "We're taking the baby to the nursery. Anyone not necessary to finish the surgery has to come with me." We were all stunned. I told them before the surgery that the reason I wanted my mom present was so I had someone who could stay with me. Bug was perfectly healthy and my surgery was moving along normally. There was no reason for the sudden change of plan. My husband and mom hesitantly followed the nurse out of the room, and I was left alone surrounded by strangers talking about a Halloween party during what should have been some of the most beautiful moments of my life. After my surgery was complete, I was moved to recovery where I was attended by a nurse who seemed annoyed that I constantly asked where my baby was and when I could see her again. After what felt like hours (but was most likely about an hour), my husband walked through the door wheeling my new precious girl in a hospital bassinet. I finally got to properly meet my girl. In the years since, I've struggled to explain my disappointment in Bug's birth to friends and family. It's not the c-section that really bothers me. Don't get me wrong, recovering from major abdominal surgery when you have a newborn is tough, but I would lay myself out on that table over and over and over again if I thought it was best for one of my babies.
However, I will never be okay with the fact that I wasn't the first person to hold my own daughter. I will never be okay with the fact that I wasn't there to see my husband hold her for the first time. I will never be okay with the fact that my very first moments as a mother were lonely. And you know what? That's okay. I'm allowed to feel both overjoyed with this perfect, healthy little human I created and also disappointed with the events surrounding her arrival. If I knew then what I know now, I never would have let them take her from the OR. I would have demanded that they put her on my chest for skin to skin time while they finished the surgery. If for some reason I was unable to hold her myself, I would have had my husband hold her until I was moved to recovery. I acted like a prisoner doing as she was told instead of a patient with rights to her own body and her own baby. For a while after Bug was born, I hated my scar. I hated my body for failing her - not just in birth but before that with my blood pressure and pre-eclampsia. Breastfeeding helped heal some of that. I nursed her for two solid years and it gave me an opportunity to forgive myself. Bug and I have an incredibly close bond despite my feelings about her birth. She's my quirky, little fairy with a heart of gold, and I thank God every day that I get to be her mommy. Happy Birthday Bug. |
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