Katy Perry Made Me Cry.

Photo Cred

Okay, to start let me begin with this:
I am absolutely not in any way in the midst of any form of baby fever, however, sometimes I get pregnancy
fever. Or better yet, I get pregnancy sick. Homesick  for the feeling of my sweet boy loungin in my belly. I miss it. I miss Hendrix inside of me all rolly polly tumbling in my womb.

With that said I am about to publicly admit something I probably shouldn't. The new Katy Perry video? The one below? It made me cry. Weep even. Tears and tears of I'm not sure what came flowing down my cheeks. 99% of the video meant nothing to me but the part at the 2 minute mark, That beautiful woman giving birth...ya, made me sob like a lil sissy.

Katy Perry - Firework from Katy Perry on Vimeo.

What a romantic idea. A woman in labor as a firework. and we were weren't we? Fireworks, that is. Bursting and popping with life and force and an energy untouchable. Never have I been more alive than when I was in labor.

Read more after the jump and check out some lovely pregnancy pictures. However, be warned they are not all safe for work.

Playlist Song # 11

The thought of any parent and their child having to be separated just kills me. I love this movie and this scene is so sweet and endearing. I teared up a bit watching it. I'm on the hunt for a download of the soundtrack. I think it needs to be added to my playlist, no?

Playlist Song #10

This song is kinda sad but her voice is insanely beautiful. So beautiful it almost hurts.

Julie Doiron "These Walls"

Playlist Song #9

One of the most beautiful songs of all time. I listen to Jeff Buckley at least once a week. I'll never forget being totally engulfed in a contraction and listening to his deep, musky voice to get me through. Truly powerful, this one is.

Playlist Song #8

Death Cab For Cutie makes numerous appearances on my Birthing/Nursing playlist. Transatlantism is so hauntingly beautiful. The perfect background music to some cuddle time.

Playlist Song #7

Rogue Wave "Eyes"

I love this song. Hendrix and I listen to it daily. Enjoy.

Playlist Song #6

Florence and The Machine "Dog Days Are Over"

This song wasn't on my birthing play list but I have added it since for our breast feeding sessions. The video is so quirky/cute. It makes me want to frolic through the forest.

Someone told me long ago...

I had a horrible time sleeping last night. I am finding that the healing process from Hendrix's birth has been a lot harder emotionally than it was physically. I go days even a week or so and don't think of his birth unless someone brings it up and then BAM I'm flooded with memories and I am paralyzed by them. I spend a large amount of time worrying about how he felt during those moments.
Was he scared? Did he try to cry out? Did it hurt?

I've touched upon the blame game I played with myself after his birth a bit on her before. But there really are no words for how angry I am with my body. It was my body that suffocated my own baby. Slowly draining him of oxygen. While he was slowly being strangled by his umbilical cord, turning blue, then gray, i pushed harder and harder but i didn't have it in me.

Sure, they should have gotten him out faster.
But it was still my fault.
Sure, I didn't do it on purpose.
But what does it matter.

Murder or manslaughter...dead is dead, no?

It was me. My body. That held so tightly and wouldn't let go. So tight it left two small indents on his little head.

Sure, downy hair covers it up.
But its still there.
and
sure, they get smaller everyday.
But ill always see them.

I believe my nightmares have resurfaced because of an incident last week.

I was sitting on the couch tying to catch up on some work for Dujour Magazine and my lil baby bunny was snuggled in his swing sleeping peacefully.
Sucking at the air.
Eyelashes resting on chubby cheeks.
Little fingers rubbing a soft blankie.
When
*Poof* outta nowhere the babe starts screaming in his sleep.
and I mean really letting it out.

It was not his mad cry.
or
The bored cry.
or
The hungry cry,

It was the pain cry. The blood curdling. Heart breaking. so sad whimper into a scream cry.
Pout and tears and sad sad sad baby.

This when on for about 30 seconds.
felt like
30 minutes.
30 days.
30 years.

I picked him up. I walked him. I sang to him.

I wanna know, Have you ever seen the rain?

Still he whimpered in his sleep. Never waking. The only explanation?
A bad dream.
Well, what the hell would a little baby have a nightmare about?

uh. well.
I know what my son might be dreaming about.

and it's my body's fault.
awesome.
fanfuckingtastic.
I am the cause of my baby's bad dreams.

Babies are supposed to dream of
snuggly lambs
soft clouds
fluffy kittens
warm baths
smooth milk
Mama's whispers
Daddy's scruffies
Brother's kisses

not suffocation
and darkness
and loneliness
and helplessness

How do I move on knowing my son was brought into this world through sheer terror.
Pure fear, for me? I can get over that.
Pure fear,For him? Never.
I can not tolerate the thought of Hendrix being afraid and not having me there to hold his hand, stroke his head, and kiss and cuddle him full of promises that everything will be okay.

So tell me, How do I move on? How do I forget? When its next to me crying out in it's sleep?

Playlist Song #4

This song is so beautiful. It's a very chill song, perfect for labor, breastfeeding, ect.



Radiohead- Reckoner

#3

My birthing playlist song #3. Enjoy.




M83- We Own The Sky

Birthing playlist

When i was in labor my lovely husband made me a wonderful play list of calming music to listen to. If it wasnt for this playlist I swear I never would have made it through. I now use it as my feeding music and Smoosh and I relax to it on the regular. Every Thursday from here on out I'm going to post one of the songs on my Playlist.

The first is a Beck Song off his album Sea Change. It's called "Lost Cause" and I must listen to it once a day. The whole Sea Change album is fantastic....highly recommended.

Enjoy!

My Birth Story; Part 2 of 2

I keep pushing. He isn't budging. I can't explain it but I know something is wrong. I scream in my head but I'm too exhausted to get the words out. To fight. To fight for him.
"Get him out!" I scream.
Typical mother in labor pleading they assume. But no, I know in my heart he is hurting. I can feel it. My body is on fire with his pain. The contractions take a back seat and I know my child is in danger.
Someone brings over a tray with surgical equipment on it.
"No" says the doctor. "I think she can do it."

I push. I vomit. I pass out.
A record skipping.

Again, the tray is brought to my Doctors side.

"Not yet"

"Get him out! WHY isn't he moving??"

Still just the tip of his head is emerged. I push so hard.

I could move mountains.

Part seas.

Change tides.

Mother Earth.

But I can't move him. He is stuck.
and so finally the tray is there again. and they cut me. I feel nothing. But a gush. and he is here.
I feel relief for a split second.
and then he is in the air. Being traded off to someone else.
I see him
Gray.
His arms and legs hanging.
The room is flooded with people. It is dead silent. Not a peep. No congratulations, or celebrations, or cries.

Dead Silence.

I hear a time. 12:27. Happy Birthday.
I hear another time.
They call it out
2 minutes and 11 seconds.
Starting resuscitation.

"Is he okay?" I ask. You know you are in trouble when no one will look you in the eyes. Eye contact becomes a dangerous territory. No one wants to lie to your face.
"Oh sure he is just stunned." says a nurse.
I look up at my husband who will not take his eyes off the flock of Doctors surrounding Hendrix. "Is he okay?" I beg him to answer me truthfully.
I'm not sure he hears me or who he is talking to but he repeats"he's okay" over and over and over. Convincing me? Convincing himself? Pleading with the universe?

I know he is lying.

They call it out 3 minutes and 36 seconds.

"Is he going to die?" I ask the nurse

"They are doing the best they can"

They call is out 5 minutes and 7,842 seconds.
7 Minutes and a lifetime.
8 Minutes and the rest of your life flashing before your eyes.
9 Minutes and the rest of your life without your baby flashing before your eyes.
11 Minutes and how long before they call out a time of death?

Finally someone tells me he is taking small, shallow breaths.
He can not breath enough on his own to sustain himself.
He is dying. On his own he is dead.
They are going to intubate him
But first, I can see my son. He is not making noise and he is not opening his eyes. I will only have a few seconds.

and then he is here. Inches from my face.

and I sing to him.


I´ll tell you something
I think you'll understand


and there it is...


When I say that something
I wanna hold your hand

He opens then....

He knows my voice. He is looking for me. Until he heard my singing he had no reason to widen those big blues.

To expose that night sky.

Hello Ocean eyes.

My stormy sea.

My rainfall.

My furious wind.

I am Mother Earth.

We have weathered the elements together.

Away he goes. But I still feel him. Off to Intensive care. Where hours later we will meet again. I will hold his tiny hand. Kiss his teeny fingers. Caress his sweet head. Bring him to my breast. Nurse him and watch as the seconds tick tock to minutes to days and home we will go. and thus is the beginning of my journey as a mother. Where my son was healed and a healer all at once. and I went from being a girl to a women to a mother to mother earth. This is our story.

I'm not sure you could call it a fairy tale.

But it sure did have a happy ending.



For more info and newborn pictures head over to HERE

My Birth Story; Part 1 of 2

Oh labor stories. I have a confession to make to all my single ladies. We post preggos, ladies of the belly no longer, new found mamas, we lie. We lie a lot. We lie about labor. Maybe it's because some of us forget. Maybe it's because we don't want to sound like a wuss. But mostly it's because we don't want to frighten you.

But today ladies. I'm going be brutally honest. So read with caution. Please keep one thing in mind, every single second is worth it in a way you can never understand until you are there. There is this impossible to describe factor to becoming a parent that only a mother or father can know. It is what keeps us coming back for more. It's what makes people like Michelle Duggar have 9,537 babies. It's a total high. So don't be scared off, k?

I went into Labor on a Friday evening. Michael was working. I started to have contractions that hurt a bit. I took a warm shower. They didn't go away. I walked the house. They didn't go away. We headed into the hospital at about 6 pm.
The contractions were a fierce tightening in my belly. The rock hard sensation of your abs while straining to do a sit-up. The pain was dull just a deep menstrual cramp.
I was checked in and found to be dilated at 4 centimeters. That was one more than I had already been.
Michael and I settled into our room. Florescent lighting, tacky wallpaper, pure white sheets, and a lumpy pillowcase. I walked, I bounced, I stretched.
Michael pulled open the blinds. Turned down the lights.

A beautiful view. Nighttime city lights. Cars racing. People moving and around us the world was paused. Just pain and beauty in a hospital room.

Michael put on Death Cab.

If I could open my mouth
Wide enough for a marching band to march out

I pace the room.

They would make your name sing
And bend through alleys and bounce off all the buildings.

I sing to you. Can you hear me?

I wonder what you are thinking in there. Are you scared? Are you nervous? My tiny love curled into a ball. You have no idea the hell we are about to go through. I'm so sorry I think. I'm so sorry for this. I wish I could keep you in there. But selfishly, I want you here. I will make it up to you with a lifetime of kisses and understanding and complete and total devotion. I promise.

I lay down to rest. It's nearly 2 am. Last call. Do you hear it my sweet? Last call for you too. Time to finish up and clear the area.

You don't have to go home but you can't stay here.

Then it comes. A pop. An explosion inside my body. I flinch. You jump. It's as if the floodgates within have opened. Your tiny Ocean is drained out of me.

A Flood.

A Tsunami.

I am Mother Earth.

The warm liquid that has been your security blanket puddles around me. Leaks onto the floor. They mop it up.

Biohazard.

Waste.

How can these words apply to something so precious?


I wrap my arms around my belly. It is practically half the size it had been. It's all you in there now.

Then the real pain comes. By now the sun is rising.

It comes on strong.

Earthquake.

Landslide.

Mother Earth.

The pain is so deep. It's like your heart breaking only it is in your core. It's your whole body breaking. I swear it's your body mourning the loss of your womb. Crying out. Grieving.

I scream. I beg my husband to call the nurses.
"press the button" I plead
"help me"

I panic.

My husband pulls me up and we walk. I bounce. I get on top of the pain. I control. I listen hard to the music. Every word is a slight morphine drippity drop. A sentence can cure a backache. A lyric can ease a contraction.

I float. I skim by the pain. Every contraction I swear I can not take another. Then while my body rests I swear I can bear more.

By now I have been awake over 24 hours. I start to see things out of the corner or my eye that aren't there. My cat slinks by the bed. A bouncing, shooting star grazes the ceiling. A tall man stands in the corner. I am delirious with sleep exhaustion.
I give in.
I'm waving my white flag.

I remember little. My husband refuses to leave my side. He is not squeamish. If he is, he hides it. He is strong for us. I see pride in his eyes.

I fall asleep in between contractions. I giggle at the thought of pain relief. I am not scared of the big needle but I am scared It'll harm you. All the drugs...do you feel them? I say a silent prayer to whatever God is out there to take care of you. I feel enormous amounts of guilt as I wait for the pain relief.
That
Never
Comes

The epidural doesn't work. They give me a shot of something. It does not work. They give me another epidural. It does NOT work.

I am not dilatingg so they give me Pitocin.

In between contractions I doze. I listen to the music. Hang on every word to get me through the pain. I recognize the voice. My husband is playing me Beck. The songs we fell in love to.

Let the window down
Feel the moonlight on your skin

My stomach folds and creases within itself.

Let the desert wind
Cool your aching head

Twists and turns.

Let the weight of the world
Drift away instead

Oragami. Mishapes.

The Pitocin brings on contractions that have no break. They last 5 minutes. 10 minutes. Forever. Today. Tomorrow. It feels as if its been years.
The pain is maddening. I envision myself being carried away on a stretcher. Locked in a padded room. Crawling up the walls. Scratching at the door.
I swear I will go crazy if it doesn't stop.

I have no concept of time. I have no sense of direction. I am so lost in the pain that I forget why I'm there. I forget where you are.

Finally they relieve me with a spinal. It won't last. I sleep. I wake because I am growling in my slumber. The contractions are back. I hear my gutural noises before I realize it's the pain I feel.

They give me more of the epidural. It numbs my toes but not my tummy. They up the Pitocin. Finally I am 10 centimeters. You are coming. I remember you. I am not lost. I focus. I pull it together. The bring a large mirror over so I can watch you emerge.

I see someone I don't recognize.

I am war torn country.

A natural disaster.

Mother earth.

I push. I push for days. I push. Then I vomit. The I let my eyes roll in the back of my head and I pass out. Over and over I proceed. Push.Vomit.Sleep. All three provide some relief. An hour goes by. I see your little head. It its covered in dark hair. Just like I knew it would be. Like you were in my dreams.

'I know you!" I say. "Ive known you all along"




to be continued...




Read Part Two Here