The Birth of Roman: Part IV

My biggest fear with having a c-section was being able to feel it. As the nurses were wheeling me into the operating room, I was rubbing my hand along my lower belly where I knew they would make the incision.

"Ummm, I can still feel this!" Maybe we needed to give the spinal block more time.

"Oh you'll feel touch," the nurse explained, "you just won't feel sharp."

WHAT!? But I didn't want to feel anything. I had felt so many different types of pain and discomfort the past 48 hours, it felt like it would never end. That's one reason I'm glad we planned for a natural birth going into this. I can't imagine expecting a painless, epidural delivery, only to end up with hours and hours of the worst pain of my life. If there's (another) piece of advice I could give anyone about to have a baby, it's to expect and prepare for some sort of pain. If you end up feeling nothing and sneezing your baby out, you're one of the lucky ones and more power to you. I feel like I experienced 3 births in 1: home/natural birth, epidural birth/pushing, and a c-section. There was pain with all three.

I was alone at first in the operating room. It was bright, white, cold, loud, and full of people. A far cry from the soft and sweet atmosphere I left at home. On the count of three they slid my heavy, numb body onto the skinny operating table.

"My butt is wider than that!" I exclaimed. Everyone laughed, but I wasn't joking. Like busy bees they buzzed around getting me prepped and everything ready. I don't remember the blue curtain going up, all I remember is that it was much, much closer to my face than I thought it would be. Someone put oxygen in my nose, someone else strapped my arms down. How fitting that that I was a replica of Jesus on the cross. He sacrificed his body for me, I was sacrificing my body for my baby.

"We're cutting!" The doctor announced.

"Where's Brad!?" I asked frantically. I couldn't do this without him.

"I'm right here baby," he said as he grabbed my hand out of nowhere. This was it. FOR REAL this time. I had never heard of anyone not being able to get a baby out with a c-section. As much as I didn't want to give birth like this, there was a twinge of relief it was going to be over.

It wasn't long before Dr. H was yelling, "Thick meconium! Thick meconium! Did anybody know about this!?" The staff all mumbled no, not me. After all, the amniotic fluid was clear both times my water broke. Sometime between Dr. J "breaking" my water and the c-section, the baby had passed it's first bowel movement and I was losing a lot of blood. The tension began to rise and what started out as a routine c-section, seemed to be heading into a medical emergency. Dr. H started barking orders like a sergeant and everyone started running, literally running to grab suction, medications, and who knows what else. It was the first time during this whole thing that I began to feel scared. At one point I had a young girl drawing blood from my left arm, and someone else giving me a shot in the other. I was like one of those frogs you dissect in science class, all splayed out, being poked and prodded. Except I was alive, and awake. 

"I need someone to push the head up, now!" Dr. H ordered. The baby's head was so stuck I felt everything as the nurse shoved her hand up my birth canal to push the baby out of my pelvis. Within a few minutes we heard a baby's cry. I listened carefully to see if I had some sort of visceral reaction to my baby's voice, but it just sounded like any other baby.

"What is it? What is it?" I asked Brad. This was the moment we waited 9 long months for. The one and only wish we could still fulfill of our birth plan. Brad stood up and peeked over the curtain. He was taking his sweet time, trying to see between the baby's legs while avoiding the open bloody hole that was once my stomach.

"IT'S A BOY!" He smiled down at me through the surgical mask and we squeezed each other's hands. We had a boy. A son. It's Roman. We had a couple girl names picked out, but only one boy name for sure. Roman James. We were so happy, we had thought (and secretly hoped) it was a boy. They immediately took him to the warmer and started suctioning his nose and mouth since he had aspirated the meconium. The warmer was to the left of me, and just out of sight behind that stupid blue curtain. I was bombarding Brad and the nurses with questions as I waited to see my baby for the very first time. Is he ok? Is he healthy? What does he look like? The wait felt like hours, but was probably about 10-15 minutes. Meagan finally brought him around the curtain and I had 3 distinct thoughts when I laid eyes on him:

1. He's huge! How did he fit in there?

2. His balls are huge! (Sorry, they were really swollen and I couldn't help but notice.)

3. He looks just like Brad.

"He looks just like you," I smiled at Brad as Meagan laid him on my chest. My whole life, and especially pregnant, I imagined what that moment would be like when my first baby was in my arms and I could smell him, kiss him, look at him. I always thought I would "ugly cry", as me and my sister called it. On a scale from 1 to Kim Kardashian, I would be Kim Kardashian. But I didn't cry. Maybe it was because I was so frazzled by that point, but it was like looking at a stranger. Who are you? What are you like? He was crying when they placed him on my chest, but I started talking to him and he immediately stopped and looked up at me. 

"Hi baby," I said as I gave him his first kiss. He tasted and smelled horrible from the meconium, and he still had a few little chunks on him. Not exactly how I imagined this going. I was trying to look at his whole body, and kiss him all over, but it was difficult being flat on my back. I started to shake again, and I knew I had to hand him off. I wanted to see Brad hold our baby, anyway. As soon as he was in Brad's arms, he looked up at his daddy and daddy looked down at him and I witnessed the beginning of a father-son love affair. Brad got his moment.

Nothing good lasts forever and the bliss was short-lived as my tremors increased and I began to feel much more pressure as they were finishing up the c-section. I knew getting the baby out was the quick part. Stitching me up would take awhile, but I asked anyway.

"Are they almost done?" I looked up at Meagan.

"Umm," I could see on her face they weren't even close, "they're going as fast as they can."

"I'm really uncomfortable," I started whining. I knew I was whining but I couldn't help it. "I think I'm going to throw up. I'm going to throw up!" Someone stuck one of those dentist mouth-vacuums in my mouth as I tried to turn my head to the side. My whole body was heaving and my sister later told me everyone in the observatory thought I was having a seizure. I was getting more and more uncomfortable as it felt like there was an elephant on my diaphragm. I kept asking if it was almost over, shaking and puking. 

"Do you want something for the shaking? Demerol will help with that," someone asked me.

"Yes," I consented. What the heck, the baby was out and I couldn't take this anymore. What was the point anyway. My all natural non-medicated hippie home-birth had ended up with hours of antibiotics, Pitocin, an epidural, and ultimately a major abdominal surgery. They put the Demerol in my IV, but it must not have done much because I was still getting more and more agitated. Brad swears they asked me if I wanted something else, but I don't remember and the next thing I know I was staring up at the bright lights and Brad was joking that he knows I'm really asleep when my eyes are open. 

"I just couldn't take her asking when it was going to be over anymore," Dr. H said. They had ended up giving me Versed, which is the medication they give you during a colonoscopy. It all but knocks you out, and I was a drooling, snoring zombie. 

"Do you want me to take him to the nursery or stay with you?" Brad's voice penetrated the fog. I remember thinking so hard about that question. I was trying to make my mouth move, but it must not have worked because Brad said, "I'll just take him to the nursery really quick," and he was gone.

One of the worst parts about having a c-section is that you miss all the first newborn-y things they do with your baby. The weight, the length, the bath. I wasn't even sure if he had 10 fingers and 10 toes yet. I have no recollection of them finishing the surgery and wheeling me to the recovery room. All I remember is suddenly my family was around me and I was saying, "I'm so drugged up right now, I'm so drugged up." I wanted them to know just in case I said or did something weird. "Where is he? I need to nurse him." How long had it been since he was out? A few hours? Was he starving? Someone handed him to me and I focused all my energy into nursing him for the first time. My whole body was so sore I had to put him in the "football" position and he latched on right away. Thank you Jesus, I thought. Maybe one thing would go right. It ended up being about 45 minutes from when he was born to when I started nursing, so I was happy to be within the "golden hour". 

My memory is still a little foggy surrounding the birth, probably a side effect of the Versed. It makes me all the more grateful to my family, and the nurse anesthetist who took pictures on my camera. Roman James was born at 4:47 am on Thanksgiving Day, November 26th 2015 at exactly 42 weeks gestation. He weighed 8 lbs, 13 (12.9) oz and was 21 inches long with a full head of hair. Our birth story is crazier than I ever imagined, but it's ours and it's a beautiful disaster. Maybe more of a disaster with bits of beautiful sprinkled here and there, but we have a healthy baby boy and for that we are thankful.

The Birth of Roman: Part III

At 3:41 pm on Wednesday, November 25th our nurse, Alice, checked me again and I was 9.5 cm dilated. She called the doctor and rolled in all the equipment for pushing. Dr. G arrived and checked me again and said there was still a cervical lip. Both my mom and sister had a cervical lip for awhile, so I wasn't surprised. I rotated back to my left side and waited some more. An hour later Alice checked me again and there was still a lip. Our families started placing bets on when the baby would be born. They joked how Brad and I were both born around the 6 o'clock news, so that had to be when this baby would come. A lot of "had to be's" never came true, we should've known the house always wins. Alice upped the Pitocin and as we waited, Brad told everyone what he was most excited about when he meets our baby for the first time is looking into his or her eyes. Those little moments in between the madness is what I never want to forget.

By 6:05 pm there was a new doctor on call and he came and introduced himself. He was a resident, and a male, two things I didn't really want, but it was the night before Thanksgiving so our options were limited. I repeated to him as I had repeated at each change of shift the 4 things we wanted most out of our birth: Delayed cord clamping, no episiotomy, immediate skin to skin, and for Brad to be the one to announce if it was a boy or girl. Dr. E said that was all fine and he checked me again. I was STILL 9.5 cm so we waited. And we waited. And we waited.

At around 6:30 pm the door creaked open and a familiar face poked his head in. It was my dad! It was supposed to be a surprise that he was coming, but Brad had asked my mom in front of me when he would get here, so I knew he was on his way. We smiled at each other, as he gave his usual, "Hey girl," and he made his way over to my bed.

"Brad, is that your breath!?" It was one of the most awful smells I had ever smelled and it didn't help that I was in labor. My mom was standing behind my dad and pointing right at him.

"Dad it's YOUR breath!" I almost gagged.

"Oh, sorry. I just had chips and salsa," he laughed. Good choice, Dad.

My family was in and out the next few hours while Brad and I literally set a timer on my phone for every 20 minutes so we could hit the pca button to boost the epidural as soon as possible. I didn't want to feel that pain again. Alice checked me again at 9:10 pm. By this time the 6 o'clock news had come and gone and the birth equipment that was set up so long ago was staring back at me and reminding me of all my failures thus far. Failure to have a home birth, failure to have a natural birth, failure to progress. They would have to wipe the dust off that had accumulated if I ever got to pushing. I still had an anterior cervical lip, but it was loosening around the baby's head and she could push it up a little. The baby was still looking great on the monitor, and I never got a fever. Alice increased the Pitocin to 16.

Around 10 pm, and still at 9.5 cm for the past SIX HOURS, the attending physician came in to our room and told us we needed to have a c-section because I wasn't progressing. Brad was furious that she had waltzed into our room and suggested a c-section before she even examined me. She checked me, roughly, and said there was still a cervical lip all the way around and I needed the c-section. Here it was, the moment I feared. The moment when our wishes and the doctor's wishes would collide and there would be conflict. I hated conflict. Thank goodness I had Brad. Brad always says in that moment, after being awake for about 29 hours straight, he never lost his decision-making ability, just his patience. 

"Can I speak with you outside?" He asked the two doctors sternly. 

"No," said Dr. R, "she's the patient and she's the one that has to make the decisions."

We told them how we didn't understand how our nurses who had been taking care of me all this time told us I only had an anterior cervical lip, and that it was softening, slowly. Then she comes in and tells us I have a lip all the way around and I hadn't progressed for the past 6 hours. Something wasn't adding up. I asked Dr. R if we could have a moment to talk about it, and she said of course. The doctors departed and it was me, Brad, my parents, and Alice left in the room. 

"How long have you been doing this?" My dad asked Alice.

"21 years [if I remember correctly]," Alice replied.

"And what are your thoughts on this situation?" He pressed on.

"I would be comfortable giving it a little more time." You could tell she felt a little awkward disagreeing with the doctors. "The baby is doing great on the monitor, and her cervix is much softer now, so I don't see a problem with waiting."

My mom was visibly agitated and upset. She doesn't hide her emotions very well. Another thing I inherited from her other than my stubborn cervix. 

"Please don't hurt my baby," she pleaded with Brad. 

As if everything we had gone through wasn't uncomfortable enough for me, my family was now split down the middle. We had my mom, Brad's mom, my sisters, and the doctors on the "c-section team". Then there was me, Brad, my dad, and the nurses on the "waiting team". Our baby had never shown any signs of distress so far, I didn't have a fever, and I was finally on top of the pain. We called the doctors back in.

"If I sign the refusal to have the c-section now and I needed one later, I could still get one, right?" I asked Dr. R.

"Of course," she replied.

Much to the dismay of my mother, I signed the piece of paper that said if me or my baby died, then the hospital wasn't liable because they told me I needed to have the c-section. It was just the first of many important decisions I would have to make as a parent when all the options seem bad. Of course I wanted my baby to be safe and healthy, but I also wanted to be safe and healthy and I knew a c-section was a major surgery. I told Brad if I would've consented to a c-section then, I would've wondered for the rest of my life if I would have dilated to a 10 and been able to push my baby out. He supported me 100%, and in that moment I knew he loved me more than he loved himself because it would've been easy to tell me I needed to listen to the doctors and have the operation. It would have been quick, it would have been over. But he didn't. He fought for me and for what I wanted. We really did give birth together. 

At 11 pm there was another change in shift and we had to say goodbye to "the closer", Alice. She wished us luck and handed us off to the next nurse. I was ecstatic when in walked my mentor and good friend, Meagan. I followed Meagan for 3 months during my last semester of nursing school, and she was one of the smartest nurses I knew. I knew we were in good hands. She checked me right away and I watched her face, cautiously optimistic.

"No lip here, no lip here, no lip all the way around. You're complete!" I loved her even more in that moment. I was finally 10 cm! "I'm going to let you labor down for awhile, you're still at a +1 station and we like to be at +2 before we start pushing." Brad practically ran out to the hallways and waiting rooms to announce to our families that I was a 10. Baby Lepper would be here soon! 

Midnight rolled around, FOR SURE the baby had to come today. I had forgotten that it was Thanksgiving, I was focusing on trying to relax and let this baby's head come down. I was starting to feel a lot more pressure, like there was a bowling ball between my legs. It was a deep, heavy feeling, but I welcomed it because I knew that meant I could start pushing soon. At 12:50 am Meagan checked me again and I was a +2 station. We did a few test pushes, and she decided it was time to call the doctor and start pushing. I asked her if I could bear down a little with each contraction while we waited for the doctor and she said yes. I was going to be the best dang pusher they ever saw, just wait and see. 

At 1:25 am Dr. E gowned up, and the room filled up with nurses turning on the warmer, flipping on the spotlight, and putting my feet up in the stirrups. I had a surreal moment right before I started pushing where I was sitting up on the bed, legs spread eagle for all to see (it's true, you really don't care), looking around at everyone in the room and thinking about all the times I had been there. How many births had I attended as a nurse and a doula, and now it was MY turn. So this is what it felt like to give birth. Well, I couldn't feel anything from the waste down, I was making sure of that. Meagan removed my catheter and everyone took their places. There was a second wind of energy as I started pushing for the first time, it was finally time to play an active roll in this birth and I was going to own this. Meagan counted to 10 and Dr. E coached me with Brad on my left side as I pushed with every ounce of strength I had left. My eyes were bulging out of my face as I held my breath, but I didn't care if they popped out of my head at this point, I was going to push this baby out. 

It felt strange holding on to the back of my numb thighs as I pushed. It was like holding on to someone else's legs while trying to give birth. I remember looking up at my right foot in the stirrup. The pedicure I had gotten at 39 weeks pregnant with my friend was starting to chip off, and my legs I had meticulously shaved every day for this moment were starting to grow stubble. Oh well. My right foot was so swollen I had to look away. I would deal with that later. In between contractions I was smiling and laughing. This was awesome. Brad was there, encouraging me, reminding me to push my button, and getting me sips of water as I was breathless from pushing so hard.

"Easy on the water," Dr. E warned. I knew he didn't want me peeing on him, but I really didn't care. I was trying to push out a baby here, give me a break.

We tried different pushing strategies between holding my legs, playing tug-of-war with a sheet, and grabbing on to the handles on the bed. I knew that it can take 1-3 hours for a first time mom to deliver her baby, so I wasn't concerned until Dr. E started sighing and shaking his head after I would push. Was I a "bad" pusher? Oh no, I would not let that happen. I dug into the stirrups, praying for the strength I needed to move this baby. I was getting extremely fatigued, but I wouldn't let Brad or the doctor know. I could do this, I know I could. I closed my eyes and rested my head between contractions as I tried to recover.

"So...what is everyone thankful for?" I asked the audience. It was Thanksgiving, after all. They chuckled softly. Rough crowd, I thought.

After about an hour of pushing and Dr. E sighing and shaking his head he said, "I think we need to look into a c-section." HA! Ya right, I did not just go through 46 hours of labor and get to pushing to end up in a c-section. No way. I basically ignored him and pushed on with each contraction. 

"Harder, HARDER!" Dr. E yelled as I was bearing down. I was already giving it all I had, I couldn't push any harder! "The baby is not moving at all, and you're pelvis is really tight. I really think we need to talk about a c-section," Dr. E pressed me.

"But I thought it was normal to push this long," I said.

"It's normal for a first time mom to push for a few hours, but it's not normal for the baby not to come down," Meagan explained. I kept pushing anyway. Everything I believed about birth was starting to come unraveled. I knew it was extremely rare for a baby to be too big to come out. True cephalopelvic disproportion was more common in the Victorian age when women never went outside and they didn't get enough Vitamin D for their bones to develop properly. I had certainly spent enough time in the sun, I was young, and I was healthy. Why wouldn't this baby come out??

I pushed and I pushed and I pushed. Brad could see the head, and there was a lot of hair. We proved the doctors wrong when they said they didn't feel any. We also proved them wrong when I was able to get to 10 cm. Maybe I could prove them wrong again and push this baby out. The doctor left the room after 2 hours of pushing, yet I wouldn't give up. I turned myself around in bed, and got my numb, wobbly legs up under me and started pushing on my hands and knees even with an epidural. 

"Is anything happening!?" I asked. The pressure was getting more uncomfortable the longer I pushed.

"No, baby," Brad replied. "The head comes to a point and then stops, it won't budge past that point."

I pushed and I pushed and I pushed for another 30 min before the doctor returned. I was still on my hands and knees, gripping on to the back of the bed.

"Do you see this heart rate?" He asked, pointing to the fetal monitor. He was done messing around. "Tell me what this means." He knew I was a nurse and I looked up at the screen. After about 24 hours in the hospital, the baby's heart rate was looking "flatter", and starting to dip which can be indicative of stress.  

"It's less reactive," I begrudgingly answered. I didn't like him patronizing me, but I could see what he was seeing.

"Hannah...," Brad grabbed my hand. I flipped back on my back and looked at him. I knew that voice. That, "we need to talk" voice. 

"No no no, don't you give up on me!" I begged him. It felt like the rest of the world had, I couldn't lose him, too.

"Hannah the baby isn't moving, I don't know what else we can do," he apologized. He knew this was breaking my heart.

"It's not moving at all? Like, not even a centimeter?" I was grasping for straws.

"No, not at all." By this time everyone had quietly left the room and it was just me, Brad, and Meagan. "Fine, whatever," I said defiantly. Meagan left to tell the doctor. Brad reached for me and I pushed him away for the first time since my water broke. "No!" Like it was somehow his fault.

"That's fine," he said softly as he sat back down. "You can be mad at me."

I started crying as the reality of what was about to happen sunk in. After 48 hours of labor, 24 hours unmedicated, 2.5 hours of pushing, I had to have the ONE thing I was trying to avoid this whole time. I was okay with transferring to the hospital, I was even okay with getting the epidural, but I wasn't okay with a c-section. 

"I'm never going to get over this!" I cried to Brad. I began the process of grieving the birth I never had right then and there. It was the last few minutes I had with my husband, pregnant, before I was cut open, and my stomach, and my heart, would be scarred forever. We cried together, okay I was bawling. How could we get this far and not finish it? It was like running a marathon only to quit before you run through that ribbon. I could see the finish line, but it was just out of reach. 

At some point Meagan came back in and her and Brad were trying to reassure me as I was attempting to wipe my tears with those crappy hospital tissues that don't absorb anything. I was listing off all the reasons I never wanted a c-section. I knew the 2 hospitals in my town didn't "allow" VBACs, I knew c-section babies can have problems with breathing, latching, and bonding.

"You have to remember you went through labor and labor is good for babies," Meagan encouraged me. It really did help me feel better, a little.

"This is just another thing I'm going to fail at in my life!" I wailed. "I'm never going to get over this Brad, I'm not." 

At 4:25 am the OB, Dr. H arrived and sat on the end of my bed to discuss the c-section with us. She acted as though we hadn't decided to have the surgery yet, and she was trying to convince us.

"The baby's head is too swollen to use a vacuum or forceps, and I wouldn't do it even if you asked. [I didn't want those, anyway] And honestly I'm surprised you're worried about having repeat c-sections in the future instead of the health of your baby."

Ouch.

"We're going to do the c-section," I mumbled. She left the room to get ready and things started moving really fast. I started feeling the contractions again as Meagan brought the faded, green scrubs Brad was supposed to change into.

"No, don't leave me!" I wouldn't let him go to the bathroom. "Why am I feeling these again!? I can't feel these again!" I had started to feel the contractions because when I was pushing on all fours, the epidural wasn't flowing down my back with gravity anymore and it was wearing off. I asked Brad how many minutes until I could push the button again (I was pushing it already, frantically) and he said 11 minutes. Okay, 11 minutes I can do this. "NOOOO!" I would scream as the contractions overwhelmed me. How many minutes now? 9. Then 6, then 2. I pushed the button as the familiar cold wave trickled down my back. Meagan had called the nurse anesthetist again and I was surprised how quickly she got there. She put the medication I needed for a c-section into my epidural and I started to feel much better within a few minutes. Brad went to the bathroom to change into his scrubs, and I grabbed Meagan's hand before they took me to the operating room.

"I'm glad it's you," I said.

"I'm glad it's me, too," she smiled.

They wheeled me out of the room I had been in so long, and I glided by my family, all huddled in the doorway of another labor room. Their faces all looked the same, full of concern, but relieved.

"Love you Han," Kasey choked out. I don't remember if I said I love you back. I had just got done crying and I couldn't start again. I was tired, defeated, and scared.

The Birth of Roman: Part II

The elevator doors opened and we stepped onto the labor and delivery floor. I was hesitant to be "turned over" from our midwife, Pam, into the hands of strangers. To them, I was probably just an uneducated, irrational hippie who tried to have their baby at home and failed. I'm sure they expected a 5-page, laminated birth plan and a request to take home my placenta so I could eat it. The truth was, I just wanted a home birth so I could eat, drink, and wear whatever I wanted. So I wasn't restricted by a blood pressure cuff, straps on my belly, and an IV in my hand. So I could curl up with my baby in my own bed and fall in love with no time restrictions, no distractions.

The nurse, Missy, stood up and smiled, she knew I was coming and was expecting me. Her warmth and respectfulness lessened the blow of having to transfer from home. Maybe a hospital birth wasn't so bad after all. She led me to my new home for the next 24 hours, room number 9313. Between stopping to scream through contractions and holding on to Brad for dear life, I changed into one of those oh-so-comfortable-and-modest hospital gowns and Missy started a new IV in my other hand.

"We can't use the IV you already have, it's hospital policy that we have to start our own," she explained.

I understood. I bled all over the floor again as she was placing the needle, but this time I didn't have to worry about scrubbing the grout later. Another perk of a hospital birth, I suppose.

"And you're trying to do this natural, is that right?" She asked.

I had decided a long time ago, long before I was in labor, that if I had to transfer to the hospital I was getting an epidural. I knew I would only transfer if I couldn't take the pain, if something was wrong, or if I wasn't progressing.

"No, I'll take the epidural, please." I was ready to be done. Pain with progression is one thing...but this was pure torture.

As Missy started fluids and I was waiting for the epidural, I looked up and made eye contact with my older sister, Kasey. It must have been something in the way her baby sister was leaning over the hospital bed, hooked up to everything I never wanted to be hooked up to, screaming through each contraction and so helpless that made her lose it and leave the room. As hard as everything I was going through was on me, it was hard on my family, too. I could see it in their eyes.

Around 4:15 am the nurse anesthetist came with the epidural. She was short, blonde, and young and I could tell my mom was nervous that she might be inexperienced. I had no bias, just give me the juice whoever you are. She had a young male with her, a student. She asked if it was ok that he observed. Normally I'm pretty reserved and modest, but for some reason I said that was fine. Maybe I was afraid to hurt his feelings, or had a soft spot for students since I was a nursing student not too long ago, or maybe by that point I just didn't care. Only one person could stay in the room while she was placing the epidural, so Brad stayed glued to my side while my mom and 2 sisters left the room.

Out of all the gross, bloody, unnatural things I've done and seen as a nurse, nothing had ever made me queasy except for the first time I saw an epidural being placed. I knew what was coming as I leaned over Brad and tried to hold still. I told her probably 5 times that if I had a contraction while she was working, she would have to stop because there's no way I could sit still through that while she was digging a needle in my spine. I was borderline panicky as a contraction hit. She had raised the bed up so my feet were dangling and Brad couldn't reach to squeeze my hips. I couldn't move through the contraction so it hurt even worse.  Once she was finished prepping my back she warned me before she started to penetrate.

"You're going to feel a pop and then lots of pressure," she said.

Awesome. Another reason I wanted a home birth.

The pop was more of a crunch as she pushed the needle through the ligaments in my back and began searching for the epidural space to place the catheter. I kept my head down, arms wrapped around Brad and held tightly. This will all be over soon, I thought, and then the pain will be gone. But it wasn't over soon. And the pain was far from gone. Minutes passed by and I was getting hot and sweaty buried in Brad's chest. It started to feel like she was digging in my back, like my nerves were guitar strings and she was plucking out her favorite tune.

"What's taking so long, is something wrong?" I asked desperately.

"I just have to take my time to make sure I don't go too deep, there's a lot of swelling," she said somewhat defensively. Oh please don't go too deep, I thought. She finally placed the catheter, but something felt off.

"Does it feel like it's on one side more than the other?" She asked.

"Yes! The right, the right!"

"Ok, well that should even out once it starts flowing," she said as she started the medication. There was a cold wave that trickled down my back. Yes, this means relief will start soon. I hadn't felt no pain since, well, 8 months pregnant maybe?

By 4:35 am it had been almost exactly 24 hours since my water had broken and Missy placed a Foley catheter and checked my cervix. I was still 4 cm, no surprise. I was put on penicillin to prevent infection and Missy turned down the lights and left the room. All we could do now was wait. I was lying on the left, hoping gravity would make the epidural flow to my left side where I was still feeling the contractions. It was just me, Brad, and my mom in the room and it was the first moment I had to really process what was happening.

"This is really hard," I whispered to Brad and my lip started to quiver.

"I know, baby. It is hard," he whispered back.

We started to cry together as we held hands, but I wouldn't let myself get carried away. I couldn't let my mind go or I had nothing. I had to stay ahead of everything that was happening to me or I would fall apart. The moment passed quickly as I started shivering uncontrollably and itching and sweating profusely. The nurse came back and said that itching can be a side effect of the epidural, and she gave me a dose of Benadryl. I immediately felt loopy, it was like being drunk and I decided I would never get Benadryl again, no matter how itchy I was. I tried to get some rest since I had been awake for over 24 hours, but I was so uncomfortable, itchy, and still trembling so it was nearly impossible.

At 6:10 am they started me on Pitocin to help me progress. The contractions started coming every 2 to 3 minutes and I was still very hot and uncomfortable. They checked my temperature and it was 99.2. I was trying to lower my temp with a cold rag, a fan, and pure willpower because I knew if I got a fever it could be a sign of an infection. By 7:02 am the epidural had left my legs feeling in a perpetual state of being asleep. It was as if all my nerves were firing at once, and I couldn't stand to have anyone touch them. Just the bed sheet resting on my skin caused me to cringe.

At 8:15 am Dr. J came into the room to check my progress. I held back tears as the nurses lifted my legs so I could be checked. I asked if it was normal for my legs to feel this way with an epidural and she said, not really. Great. Can anything else go wrong?

"You're not ruptured, honey," she said as the nurse handed her an amni-hook in one swift motion.

Ummmm, ya right. I told her about the gushing for hours, how it had vernix in it.

"It could've been urine, or you have a fore-bag of waters."

Well I knew it wasn't urine, so it must have been a fore-bag. She explained how there can be an extra pocket of fluid sometimes, and tried to draw us a picture on the whiteboard. I had never heard of such a thing, but Brad called it our "time-saver", because they counted that as my water breaking from then on. She then said I could try for a vaginal birth, but if I don't progress then I would need a c-section. It was the first time someone had used the dreaded "c-word", but it was far from the last.

As Brad and my mom tried to readjust me after getting checked, my right leg somehow FELL off the bed! If the pain and tingling wasn't bad enough in my legs, now one of them was hanging to the side and I was too helpless to move it.

"MY LEG! MY LEG!" I was screaming and crying and pointing to my right leg like I had dropped something. It makes me laugh now every time I think about Brad playing hot potato with my right leg as he's trying to toss it back on the bed while I'm screaming, "DON'T TOUCH IT!" With 3 pillows stuffed between my legs and back on my left side I was finally able to relax enough to nap for about an hour and a half.

By 11 am Dr. J came back to check me and I had finally progressed to 5-6 cm. I was given another dose of penicillin and immediately the itching returned. I told the nurse I think I might be allergic to penicillin, but she argued this time it was probably a side effect of the Pitocin. For some reason I thought I better switch to my right side around 12:30 pm, and I started to feel the contractions even worse in my left side. "No, no, no, no. I can't feel these again, I can't!" I said to Brad. Once I had gotten the epidural I had mentally let my guard down. I expected the epidural to relieve my suffering, and when it didn't I wasn't prepared. My body tensed up through every contraction as I felt the familiar tightening ebb and flow. I switched back to my left side and hit the pca button to try to get numb.

At 1:05 pm Dr. G checked me and I was 8 cm! We were all so ecstatic, that means I would be pushing soon and I would finally get to meet my baby! I was still gripping the left hand rail of my bed for dear life, as you can see in the pictures.

By 1:25 pm a new nurse anesthetist came and boosted my epidural. HALLELUJAH! No more pain on the left and no more tingling in my legs! I was finally feeling good, and my sisters helped me get "pretty for pushing". Well, as pretty as I could get for being disgusting. Brad's mom came at 1:40, and by 3:15 I had a new nurse named Alice. Alice had been given the nickname, "the closer", because moms always seemed to deliver on her shift. She checked me again and I was 8-9 cm and starting to feel more pressure. I was progressing, comfortable, and we had "the closer". Everything was looking good for a November 25th baby.

The Birth of Roman: Part I

I wrestled in my mind with whether or not I wanted to publicly share our birth story. I wrestled in my soul. Birth is a very intimate, life changing transition. Any parent can attest to that, I think. It sticks with you.

We had our son about 2 months ago. In some ways it feels like it's been years. But weren't we just there? Holding hands, praying, celebrating, mourning. I play those moments over and over in my head. I try to relive every second, even the parts I thought I could never go back to.

Our birth story didn't end up how we wanted (whose does?). For all our planning, preparing, practicing, and ultimately pleading with God, we learned how little control we had after all. I guess we needed a lesson in letting go.

I was about 12 months pregnant...ok fine, 41 weeks and 5 days pregnant and basically a hermit at that point from all the texts, messages, calls, and visits by concerned family and friends. Physically I was feeling fine. I had a lot of Braxton Hicks contractions and prodromal labor for the last week, which can be exhausting, but the baby was doing great and everyone was healthy. Mentally, though, I was ready to be done. Anyone who goes over their due date can relate, am I right?

The days were as long as the stretch marks on my hips. Every night as the contractions picked up I would start the timer. I knew I shouldn't have. Everyone always tells you, YOU'LL KNOW. I timed them anyway. 9 minutes apart...7 minutes apart...5 minutes apart....7 minutes apart. For hours on end until eventually they would die off, along with my hope to ever have this baby.

In the early hours of November 24th, 2015 I was waddling back from one of my many trips to the bathroom and crawled back into bed. At this point Brad was sleeping in the guest bedroom since I was up so often in the night. As soon as I laid down, I felt the familiar tightening in my stomach. This one was too intense to get through lying down so I got up and squatted on the side of the bed like I had many times before.

GUSH

Are.you.kidding.me!? My water broke!? I couldn't believe it, it wasn't supposed to start like this. I knew how rare it was to have spontaneous rupture of membranes, I also knew the bag of waters can act as a cushion for the baby's head during labor and since we were planning a natural home birth, I was terrified the contractions would start up fast and furious.

I'm standing on our brand new carpet with warm fluid running down my legs, and if I remember correctly, cupping my hand between my legs as if I'm going to stop this tsunami. I'm cupping with one hand, calling Brad on my cell phone with the other.

"Brad, my water just broke."

"Oh man," He says.

It's go time.

After cleaning up the initial mess the best we could, I call my mom and my midwife as Brad starts blowing up the birth tub. We had organized and prepared all our supplies over the past couple weeks. When you're having a home birth there's a lot of things you need to provide on your own. We had a blow up birth tub, absorbent pads, shower curtains to protect the bed and carpet (too late), and all sorts of tools to help me through labor. I had my little gender-neutral onesie picked out, washed and ready to snuggle our newborn in. It was finally here! I had visualized the birth of our first born, watched countless home birth YouTube videos and cried every time during "that moment". The moment the baby is born and placed on their mother's chest. Our "moment" was going to be in the comfort of our own home, with a midwife we loved and trusted, and surrounded by our family as we discovered if we had a son or daughter at last.

As a doula and a nurse who has attended all kinds of births, I knew first time labors could be a marathon. I was mentally "in the zone", and ready for the long haul as my contractions started to pick up. My mom, sisters, and Brad's mom and sister filed in within the next few hours. My water broke around 5 am, and by lunchtime the peaks of the contractions were starting to take my breath away even though they were about 7 minutes apart. I made myself eat vegetable beef soup even though I was starting to lose my appetite. It was the last time I would eat for almost 48 hours.

By 1:15 pm the contractions took most of my concentration and we decided to have our midwife, Pam, come into town. She lived an hour away so I didn't want to call her too early. I didn't want to have first-time mom syndrome and think I was going through transition when I was only 2 cm. After 9.5 hours of labor, I figured I had made some cervical change and I was ready to be checked. Pam arrived at 2:20 pm and I got to lie on my own bed as Pam listened to the baby's heartbeat and checked me. Fetal heart rate was 142 and going strong, I was 3 cm and thinning out. I was embarrassed that I had called her at only 3 cm. She assured me that effacement (thinning of the cervix) usually happens before dilation in first time moms, and takes the longest. I wasn't too disappointed at this point, I was determined to stick it out, and Brad and I had found a rhythm to cope with the contractions. We sent Pam away and went back to work.

The hours ticked by with each contraction. I remember looking at the clock at the beginning of each hour. 5 pm, ok I can make it to 6. 6 pm, ok I just have to make it to 7. The time probably went by slower for my birth team, aka my family, than it did for me. I pictured myself much more graceful in labor than I actually was. Basically I was just trying to get through one contraction at a time. I had showered right after my water broke, but by now my hair was a mess, and I was wearing some hideous combination of a nightgown and tennis shoes. In the early hours, I was able to relax through the peaks on my hands and knees, and I used the birth ball a lot. My sister Amy is amazing with her hands, and gave me massages for awhile. Pretty soon it was too hard to stay in one position, so I had to move between the contractions wherever they led me. Brad was in and out of our room and bathroom where I roamed, but pretty soon I was calling out for him and wouldn't let him leave me. The only thing that helped eventually was having him squeeze both sides of my hips as I half-moaned, half-screamed through the pain. Physically it was overwhelming, I'm not going to sugarcoat it. I knew that labor would be harder than I ever even imagined, and I was right. I am still amazed to this day that our bodies can produce such force from within. Mentally I was still focused and committed to my dream home birth.

In my head, my labor has no chronological order. There's just a cloud full of moments to pick and choose from. The only way I'm able to piece together the story at all is because I had assigned my sisters to record all the events on paper, and to take pictures for me. A word of advice to any mothers-to-be reading this: even if you don't think you want pictures, or video, or someone there besides your husband to help you remember the details of your birth, I would highly recommend doing it. You never know how long or difficult your labor might end up, and I am forever grateful to my family for recording moments which would've otherwise been lost in the chaos.

At 4 pm my little sister, Rebekah, had to leave for her 4 hour drive home. It was obvious I wasn't having this baby any time soon, and she had to leave for Thailand early Wednesday morning. I wasn't able to give her a proper goodbye, especially for leaving the country for almost 2 weeks, just a quick hug, goodbye, and I love you before she slipped out the door. I was so sad to see her go. We had spent the past 9 months talking about my pregnancy and the birth, and I had always pictured her there. My teammate in life. I couldn't dwell on it, I had to focus on relaxing. It's a very unnatural thing, natural labor. You try so hard with every fiber of your body and mind just to relax. It's counter intuitive to everything you want to do. The sun was just starting to set. It was a beautiful sunset, and I remember thinking how nice of a sunset it would've been to welcome our baby into. I knew 11/24/15 wasn't meant to be our baby's birthday as the sun slipped below the horizon and we labored on.

By 7:30 pm Pam had returned to check me again. I was hesitant to hear bad news. I had a feeling I hadn't made much progress since the contractions never got closer than about 5-6 min apart according to the app on my phone. I was trying to read the look on her face as she was checking me. It wasn't good, I thought. I was right. Still thinning out and a "stretchy" 3cm, whatever that means. What it felt like is that I had just gone through over 14 hours of labor for nothing. Still we pressed on, Brad and I. I knew it wouldn't last forever, and it would be worth it in the end. Brad was my rock, my coach, my inspiration. He whispered life and truth into my body as we both physically, mentally, and emotionally worked to bring our baby into this world. I had worried about how our relationship would stand the trial of natural birth. You always hear stories of how labor makes women do horrible things. I prayed I wouldn't be one of them. Brad gracefully rose up to be everything I wanted him and needed him to be, and I leaned on him more than I ever had. People might think I was the strong one for going through 24 hours of labor with no pain meds, but it was Brad who never doubted me for a second, and that gave me strength.

At 11:20 pm Pam checked me again after making me get up and walk for a few hours. I didn't want to walk. I wanted to stay on my birth ball in my room and I didn't like Pam pushing me out of my comfort zone. I reluctantly walked around my house like a zombie, eyes closed and all but being dragged by Brad. When she checked me I was a stretchy 4 cm and 100% effaced. Ok, I did it. I was all the way thinned out so now I should just dilate quickly right?

At 11:45 pm the nurse, Kari, started an IV in my bathroom and gave me Ampicillin since my water had been ruptured for about 19 hours and they worry about risk of infection. I remember I bled all over my bathroom floor as she was starting the IV, and I wondered if it would come out of the grout. Baby's heart rate was in the 130's and my vitals were steady. Through all the pain, I was still grateful to be given the opportunity to labor at home, and that me and the baby were healthy so far.

November 24th came and went and we thought for sure 11/25/15 would be my baby's birthday. The contractions were unbearable now. I had a feeling that my body had reached it's maximum capacity. I just knew my uterus could not possibly contract any harder at that point. I was shivering and praying to God to help me. There was no attempting to relax through them at this point. Brad never wavered as I screamed and leaned over the edge of my shower. I stared at the little square tiles on my shower floor as I yelled "No, no, no, no, stop!" at every contraction. I begged God to let me progress, I asked my mom to pray on my behalf. "I've never stopped," she said with tears in her eyes.

At 1:17 am we finally filled the birth tub with warm water from our bathroom sink. Brad had waited last minute to buy the attachment we needed for the hose, and it didn't fit correctly so it flooded under our sink and onto our bathroom floor. I stepped into the birth tub in between contractions and it was heavenly. It was deep enough to where the water covered my contracting belly, unlike our bathtub. When contractions would hit I would get on my hands and knees and my husband and mom pushed on either side of my hips. I somehow dozed off, or hallucinated between each peak.

At 2:15 am I reluctantly climbed out of the birth tub to be checked again. I stood by the side of the bed through a few contractions before I could make myself lie down. It was like trying to build up the nerve to jump off a cliff. The cervical checks themselves didn't hurt, it was having a contraction flat on my back that was excruciating. By this time the contractions were still about 5-7 minutes apart, so Pam had some time to work with. She was still in there when the next contraction hit. I told her I was having one, expecting her to pull out but she didn't. I screamed in agony as she tried to hold my cervix open during a contraction. "No! Stop!" I yelled. It took every ounce of willpower not to kick her. The contraction died down and she sighed as she pulled her glove off.

"Still 4 cm," she said softly.

"No," I moaned as I threw my head back on my pillow and covered my face. How could that be? The baby had to be in the wrong position or something. I knew I could handle the pain as long as I was progressing. I couldn't do this anymore.

My calm, confident, patient midwife sat on the edge of my bed and started the "transferring" discussion. The edge of my bed where we were supposed to meet our baby. The bed I always pictured in my head as I nursed my son or daughter for the first time. There was a wave of peace and calmness that came over me as we made the decision to transfer. I will always be proud of myself for making that choice on the advice of my midwife, between contractions and not at the peak of a contraction in a desperate act. No one can take that away from me.

There was a flurry of activity as my family finished packing my bags and Pam was calling the hospital. I had packed a suitcase just in case, and had a list of things written on a notepad that would need to be added last minute. (I told you I was prepared.) I reluctantly changed into sweats. The elastic band around my loosest sweatpants still bothered me as it constricted around my lower abdomen, right where my contractions were. I was terrified of the drive to the hospital. All the bumps, turns, and not being able to move made me hesitate to get in the car. We decided I would sit shotgun, facing the back and on my knees. My sister, Kasey, was in the back seat, and my mom and Amy were driving separate. Brad flew through downtown and I'm pretty sure he ran more than a few red lights. Hey, what's a birth without the father-to-be speeding through the streets and breaking all kinds of laws? I was just focused on how I would get through a contraction in a moving car. I think I was counting...I got to 200-something when we whipped into the ER entrance. (It's the only entrance open past 9 pm.) I was thankful and amazed I hadn't had a single contraction on the way there. Just as I was stepping out of the car, it hit me. I had to pull my sweats down past my belly to get the elastic off my skin. I felt bad that I was practically exposing myself, but it was 3 in the morning and no one was around.

We made the long walk to the labor and delivery floor. For some reason they put it on the 8th floor and what seems like the opposite end of the ER. I didn't take the stereotypical wheelchair ride, I just wanted to get there. After a skywalk and 2 elevator rides later, we stepped into the birth center and were admitted to room #9313 on Wednesday, November 25th at 3:10 am. Little did we know we wouldn't be leaving until Sunday night, November 29th.

Dirty Socks

We always dream about our wedding day, don't we?

When I was a little girl I had a collection of bath salts. I'm not sure how I got them or who gave them to me, they were probably a hand-me-down. (Benefits of being the 4th of six kids.) Delicate, antique looking flowers were drawn on the labels with the corresponding scents tempting me to dump them in the bathtub all at once. There was lilac, daisy, etc. Then there was rose. Rose was special to me. Maybe it was because it was the prettiest smell, or the most vibrant picture, but I decided to save it for my wedding night. It was the most romantic thing my innocent little mind could come up with at the time. Rose stayed in my bathroom drawer while other toiletries came and went. From bows to nail polish, from hairspray to makeup, only rose remained.

The pretty wrapping started to brown and the fragrance that once tempted my patience was beginning to remind me of Grandma's perfume. Somewhere along the years I lost rose. It wasn't too devastating. By this time I knew what marriage was all about, and my future husband wouldn't want a silly bath salt, after all.

I began daydreaming about being a wife now, instead of just my wedding. Brad had put a sparkly rock on my finger and I couldn't stop staring at it as I checked out items as a cashier at the grocery store. Some day my prince would swoop in and rescue me from this part time job and take me away to our lake house where we would spend happily ever after boating until sunset every day. We would have four children, 2 boys and 2 girls, and they would be beautiful and smart and healthy and we would travel the world as a family. I would be the most perfect wife, of course. I would work out every day and make dinner every night.

Life was just waiting to start.

After 5 jobs between us, graduating nursing school, moving twice and getting pregnant I found myself smack dab in the middle of life. Doing laundry, of course.

There I was, 6 months pregnant and sitting cross-legged on our freshly washed white bed sheets, trying to sort the rest of the clothes and trying to sort how I ended up home alone, pregnant, and still living in the Midwest. I thought when you were pregnant you just watch Netflix, eat ice cream and watch your husband "ooh" and "ahh" over your growing belly.

But there I was..alone..pregnant...did I mention I was doing laundry? I was attempting to work around this bowling ball in my mid drift. Throw the darks over here, throw the lights over there. As I was unrolling Brad's dirty socks from the slightly soggy wads he likes to leave me (we're working on it),  enough sand to fill a playground sprays out all over me, and all over our freshly washed white sheets.

THAT'S IT! That was the straw that broke my aching pregnant back. I was going to call my husband and give him a piece of my mind. He needs to KNOW what I go through every day for him.

I groan as I reach for my phone to call him. Just wait until I'm finished with him, he'll NEVER leave me dirty, wadded up socks again! (Ya right...)

But I paused. Partly because my phone was just out of prego-reach, and partly because I thought about the absurdity of calling my husband to yell at him about his dirty socks. His dirty socks that are full of sand not because he's going to the lake without me, not because he's taking long walks on the beach with someone else, but because he's building me a house. Our dream house. Because he loves me.

My husband loves me so much that he gets up before the sun every day to provide for me and our baby. He juggles opening new businesses while working on the house and still manages to come to every doctor appointment. He may not spend hours ogling over my belly, but he falls asleep every night with his hand on my stomach and that's enough.

I finally reach my phone and it only rings a few times before he answers, he's good about that.

"Hello?" he says. His voice is a little raspy from one too many nights of not enough sleep.

"Hey." I say

"What's up?" He asks

I sigh. Here was my chance.

"I just wanted to tell you thank you for working so hard for us and I'm proud of you."

"Oh." He responds. "Thank you that's very sweet."

We finish up with our I love yous and goodbyes and I set down my phone, still covered in sand. I smile as I somewhat clumsily get out of bed, brush off my yoga pants, and grab the hand vacuum to clean off the sheets. Maybe I'll go buy some bath salts, too.

It's the least I can do.

Now that we're both moms: A letter to my mother

You always said I'll know just how much you love me once I have my own.

I'll never forget calling you about half a second after I peed on that plastic stick that changed my life forever. You already knew before I could say it, you could hear it in my voice. You always had a knack for that. Maybe it comes from learning my cries from the very beginning...I'm there right now.

I was nervous to tell you for some reason, maybe you wouldn't think I wasn't ready for this. I wasn't. It's true what they say. As much as I wanted to prove everyone wrong with all my "readiness", you're never ready for no sleep, to have your heart broken every day with love.

You were nothing but happy for me. Of course. My lifelong cheerleader. I can still hear your voice from the stands in my memories, "You can do it!" You were there from the first varsity game to the last, and everything in between. I see it now.

I see you getting up at all hours of the night to feed me. I see you tearing off the sheets for the 17th time that week because I ate too much and spit up on your bed. I see you smiling through the bags under your eyes, talking baby talk to me through your hoarse, sleep deprived voice because it's morning and I'm happy and cooing at you from the changing table. You're not gonna miss this.

I see you putting a brand new diaper on me, just to tear it off and put another brand new one on because I have impeccable poop-timing. Your house might be dirty, but my butt is clean. You make sure of that. That's why you give me a bath every night, even though your back aches and your knees hurt. You smile through the pain because I love baths and you're not gonna miss this.

Fast forward to November 24th 2015 at around 5am. I'm calling you from the toilet again, but this time it's because my water broke. You race out the door and make the 3 hour drive through the snow to my house because I need you and you're not gonna miss this.

You were there for my first steps, you were there when I lost my first tooth, you were there when my first boyfriend broke my heart, you were there when Brad put the pieces back together, and you were there for every minute of my 48 hour labor. I promise it was harder on you than it was on me. 

I see that now. Every time I accidentally bump Roman's head on something, or when I scratched his little nose trying to put his pacifier back in, it hurt me worse than it hurt him.

But something subtle, yet amazing happened through those 48 hours...I became a mother.

So here's a thank you that's about 26 years belated. Because I hope Roman tells me thank you some day.

Thank you for keeping me alive and clean and fed in the early days. Thank you for homeschooling me for 2 years. I know now it was you giving up the only free time you had to yourself during the day, so thank you. I needed that. I truly believe that set me on the path to success and gave me the tools and the confidence to finish nursing school all those years later.

Thank you for always being a phone call away. It's an incredible transition in our relationship to go from nurturer, to disciplinarian, to cheerleader, to my best friend. We're both moms now.

When Roman was born, you wrote me a card that ended with, "now you're beginning to know just how much I love you." What you never told me is just how much more I would love YOU. 

Roman James: The Name

I thought I would share the story of how we came up with our son's name. Not that you need some super-cheesy-deep reason behind your child's name, you can name them whatever you want, but a few people have asked so here it goes.

When Brad and I started dating and I knew I was going to marry him, (the first night we met, but that's a blog post for another day!) I whipped out my "list" of baby names I had been accumulating since junior high. He didn't run away for some reason, so I knew I had a keeper. One of the boy names on that list was Roman. I had first discovered that name between the pages of a book called Chataine's Guardian by Robin Hardy. I borrowed the book when I was about 13 or 14 years old, and fell in love with the character named Roman. The book is a fictional, christian based story about a soldier (Roman) who is assigned to be the guardian of the princess since he is the king's most trusted warrior. Spoiler alert! Roman wins over Princess Deirdre's wild heart with his daily, unconditional love and service to her. (Reminds me of my prince!) Just like Roman couldn't help but fall head over heels for the princess, I couldn't help but fall in love with this strong, yet gentle man. I held onto that name for many years and kept it close to my heart until it was time to give my heart away.

I remember the first time I told Brad I liked the name "Roman" for a boy. I was so afraid he was going to shut it down, to say he didn't like it, or it was too weird. He looked up at me with those baby blues and said softly, "That's my favorite book of the Bible." My heart swelled almost to the size of my growing belly, he liked it! "It's very manly", he added. Daddy approved. I was hesitant to name our baby before we saw him. What if he didn't LOOK like the name we picked? But I couldn't shake the feeling that this was meant to be the name of our child all along, as if we didn't pick it after all.

His middle name was a no-brainer, James is Brad's middle name, and if there's one person on earth I hope Roman can emulate, it's his daddy. Roman James it was. It flowed perfectly together, it was manly and unique, yet not too strange. It was easy to spell, pronounce, and had a cool story behind it. (Just don't call him RJ, haha!)

Roman, we love you so much. My prayer for you is that you will be selfless and loyal like the Roman of the book. That you will be a strong and trusted warrior for the Lord, and guard all that He blesses you with fiercely. I pray that you will have the patience and self-discipline of your father, that your eyes will stay blue like his, and your shared love for music will keep those little feet dancing forever.