Roman

When you see someone you love go through hard times, it's heart wrenching. Soul crushing. I want to fix this in twenty ways so that you feel no pain. That's not real life, though. We know logically that hard times help mold resilient folks. We know logically that we can't appreciate the ups without the downs. It is in our very nature though to resist "negative" emotions, rather than to sit in them, allow them to be, and then allow them to fade, as they all eventually do. When my sister called last Thursday night barely able to talk through contractions and I recommended she go in to the hospital to be checked, I felt my first wave of no, no, no. At twenty eight weeks gestation, her little guy was certainly not ready to meet this world. But, he did. Her first cesarean section. He was flown to a hospital six hours away with a higher level neonatal intensive care unit while she was forced to remain behind for two days to allow her body to heal enough to fly herself down to where he was. I could immediately feel the hormone rush our bodies go through physically willing us to be with our babies. It's primal instinct. Do or die. She didn't get that option, though. I flew up late Friday night, just one baby in tow. I hadn't been back to Alaska in eight years; since this same sister had graduated high school. I walked into her hospital room and saw a shell of the vibrant, beautiful being I knew. Her body and soul literally and figuratively aching to be with her baby. All while navigating hospital discharge policies, social work mix ups for flights and lodging, and the inches long scar and wounded abdominal muscles that you don't realize how much you use until you can't. I just wanted to take it all away. All the pain and the hurt and the fear. I couldn't, though. Reality was what it was. So I did the next best thing. The thing we're all called to do as human beings supporting each other. I sat with her in the sadness. I helped her to take her first shower since becoming a mother for the third time, in a way that was completely foreign to all of us. I washed and conditioned her hair, helped her emotionally process how different her body felt and looked, and then helped her dress. She checked the monitor in the NICU countless times. We'd squeal a little with delight each time he made a familiar newborn jerking motion. "He's waving at you! He's ready to see his mama." We don't know exactly what the road ahead holds for him. Already the logistics of being where your baby needs you to be to grow and develop and needing to heal her own body and parent two more beautiful boys and needing to put food on the table in the midst of incredibly narrow maternity leave practices have risen to the surface and demanded to be dealt with. It may look and feel impossible. It's not though. One day at a time. This is where as community we are called to be strong and courageous and lovely towards one another. We are so incredibly blessed that many have asked what they can do to help and in response I've started a PayPal account to help with expenses, lost wages, meals away from home, and all the things that come with having a loved one in the hospital for an extended amount of time. It is projected that he will likely be in NICU until close to his due date, the middle of June. If you are interested in contributing, please email me at britni.means@gmail.com. We are so incredibly thankful for the outpouring of love, prayers, and support. It takes a village and we are so thankful to be part of an amazing one.

https://www.paypal.me/brandiandroman

The birth of Isla Jane- a photo story

Contractions started around 11:15 p.m. They came quickly, starting out 

at 3-4 minutes apart from the onset. My kids were still up, it was one of those nights. 

I kept thinking on previous nights that if I could just get them to sleep and get calm, 

she'd be born anytime. So much for that. I watched their four little heads in a row on the couch. 

I stood up to check on my youngest and my water broke. I'd called the sitter and midwife and I felt so calm and such clarity between the contractions. I knew things were moving very quickly. As soon as Coral arrived, we got into the car and headed to the birth center. I listened to a country song and sang my heart out between contractions. I'm not a huge country music fan, but my husband is and it felt fitting to have him "there" in that way.

When I first arrived around midnight, I was still calm and clear between contractions. I felt like I maybe wanted to get into the shower. 

The intensity ramped up. After some toilet sitting and less than five minutes in the shower, my fabulous midwife asked where I wanted to have my baby and suggested that we may want to start heading there. This was around 12:15. 

     

My doula helped me get through another contraction as I made my way to the comfy bed at the birth center. I suspected that Isla Jane (who I didn't name until on the way there!) would be large and I was interested in trying to birth on my hands and knees for the first time. My intuition was good, this position felt amazing for birth. I'm a loud birther. No serene, quiet mama here. At the same time, listening to my own groans and screams isn't super enjoyable and in this position I was able to vocalize into the pillows and not have to hear myself. There was so much power in these moments. My friend Kayla had flown from Georgia with her little boy to hopefully be with me when I went into labor because my husband was deployed. It worked just like we hoped it would. In a room full of women, I birthed my beautiful baby girl. I missed my husband, but the spirit in the room was nothing short of pure feminine power. 

    Her shoulders became stuck for just a moment. My chart notes indicate that I started pushing at 12:27. My midwife did a quick maneuver to help her shoulders free and she was born at 12:35.

They helped me to roll over and grab my baby, cord still pulsating and attached.  

At some point during the hour and a half. I'd asked for something to drink. Something with flavor, specifically. Our bodies are so incredible. It sensed I needed a sugar rush to get through this fast and furious labor. Once she was out I was so, so thirsty. It was the best juice I'd ever had.

No matter how many babies I have, I'm always shocked that I just birthed an entire human being. 

I feel so incredibly lucky to be able to have had such a good friend and source of energy and compassion at my birth. She cut the cord. 

 "She's here. We did it."

Through the labor we'd been working to get Will on Skype but his internet in Kuwait was spotty. I texted him for the final time at 12:16 am. Then we FaceTimed so he could meet our baby girl. I told him that I'd like to name her Isla Jane, and that since he wasn't there I felt it only fair that he agree. He was smitten. 

My amazing doula had gone to Denny's (I think?) to get my after birth meal of a strawberry waffle. While putting this blog post together it occurred to me how much it resembles a placenta!

I love to have strawberry waffles after a baby.

I was so in love with this exquisite being. 

"I was there when you were born." 

I was absolutely shocked to hear that I'd birthed a TEN pound and one half ounce baby. 

In case you're wondering, she felt just like the smaller ones on the way out. 

I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. 

All photos were taken by Laura Lynn Photography of Twentynine Palms, California.

www.lauralynnpics.com

Photos may not be copied, cropped, or reproduced in any way without permission from the photographer. 

Messy mama

Have you seen that video floating around social media with the Mom running around like a chicken with it's head cut off trying to clean every nook and cranny before company arrives? Ever been that Mom? I sure have. It used to feel like I had to make it look as if no one lived in my house before I could invite people over. Of course, the honest truth is that I have five children, two dogs who shed a lot, and my domestic skills are mediocre. I try to keep up with the house and I enjoy having a clean house so much, but my children are young, and I take time to do things I enjoy often, like journaling, reading, and yoga- all of which I like much more than cleaning. The result is a lived-in, comfy, sometimes laundry on the floor and dishes in the sink house. Last Saturday after a morning of yoga and jogging on the beach, a Dunkin Donuts run, drama about not wanting to go to cheer (we didn't) and rushing out the door for drum lessons all before 10am, I got a text from a friend who had moved to Washington D.C. the previous year. They were in town, headed to beach, and did we want to see them? Of course! I did a little squeal in the parking lot of Aldi out of excitement. Being part of the military community, our friends move a lot. Sometimes our paths get to cross again, but often, they don't. We are thankful and so appreciate when they do! As we loaded up the groceries, I did a mental scan of how each room in our house looked. Kids' room: disaster. Our room: semi decent. Guest room: not the worst. Kitchen: Aye yi yi. I didn't know any more ahead of time that they'd be coming so I hadn't had time to do a crazy cleaning. We were in the middle of meal planning, grocery shopping, and extracurricular activities day and there wasn't going to be much time. I stressed for a just minute, then thought, forget it. I love my friends. They love me. It doesn't matter. We came home, I loaded the dishwasher, made sure the toilets had been flushed, and vacuumed the excess dog hair on the floor and called it a day. I didn't have a great plan for dinner but luckily I'd been texting with my domestic goddess friend, Letoya earlier in the week. She'd made a yummy peanut sauce over noodles with veggies in an attempt to eat less meat. My husband won't go for that, but the sauce sounded good and I had everything on hand. They came over, didn't care about the lived in look and our kids played and husbands grilled and drank beer. It's always amazing to see how friends who move away mature and grow and gain confidence and this visit was no exception. We traded parenting stories, understanding the hard parts of moving to a totally unfamiliar place. It felt so amazing to have added people around our table again. There are quite a few of us to begin with, so we pulled up two camping chairs and took turns eating with the kids. It certainly wasn't anything you'd find in a Better Homes and Gardens magazine, but it was lovely. Though I make some fantastic homemade noodles, I wanted to spend more time catching up with my friends and less time cooking, so the fettucini came from a box. The alfredo from a jar. The peanut sauce needed more Sriracha and less peanut butter, and the meat was pretty tough. Nobody cared. The newly solids eating babies laughed and entertained us all with their enthusiasm for the very mediocre food I'd cooked. The company, not the food, made the meal. I thought of all the times I was too worried about how my house looked or whether the food would taste decent or not to invite anyone for dinner. I can't describe how much this impromptu visit warmed my soul. We're meant to be in community with people. To enjoy them and do life together. Messy house. Clean house. Crabby kids. Happy kids. When we're able to approach the world knowing we are worthy of love and connection, what our houses look like matters little. At our hearts, most of us are good mamas, good friends, good people. So show it! Invite your friends over. Even us introverts enjoy it immensely for a few hours, I promise. Seat people around your table. Serve them your imperfect food on your dishes that don't match and offer water from the faucet if that's what you've got. Hospitality is about heart. I've got a lot of that.

So you tried something that didn't work

"I'm so tired. The neighbor guy was up at 2 am screaming at someone on the phone."

"I'm sorry, babe. Base housing sucks."

Sure does, I thought. I jumped on Zillow to see if there was anything in beautiful, ridiculously expensive Southern California that we could afford where we might not have to listen to the nuances of the neighbor's latest failed relationship. No dice.

"It's too bad we aren't in Oklahoma. We could afford an amazing place there."
Geobaching as it's called is fairly common in the military community. One person in a marriage has a short time left on their military contract and the rest of the family is ready for anything that seems even the smallest bit more stable. Dad hangs back on base living in geo bachelor barracks and everyone else heads to the final destination. Ready to get their "real lives" started. I know in the civilian world this might seem completely insane, but it works for thousands of military families. In a world where unaccompanied orders for a year or two to Japan is commonplace, it's not so far fetched. I'd spent the last five years away from my family, any semblance of ability to go after my divine purpose because of a lack of local support, and the idea of heading "home" sounded magical. I was working as a doula and loving my work but also failing to set boundaries about how much I was working, how much sleep I was getting, and how much we were willing for our family life to suffer. Because doula work wasn't my life's purpose, burn out was approaching rapidly. The idea that we could buy a beautiful house on two acres when our kids currently had a concrete pad for a back yard was captivating. I was making good money as a doula and the idea that I could help my husband purchase this home with money I had made on my own after many years as a stay at home mom was even more alluring. I grew up in a trailer park. My mom was a loan officer who helped others reach their dreams of home ownership but it was always just a little too far away for us. I had the opportunity to be a homeowner at 26 years old. We dreamed of chickens and a cow. Going to church every Sunday. Seeing my grandparents often. We weren't in complete denial and knew we'd miss each other. A lot. But it seemed short term doable for a long term benefit. In the middle of the home purchase process a deployment came into the picture for right around our move date and it seemed like a sign that we were doing the right thing. True to life though, that deployment was pushed back half a year and we found out we were expecting our fifth baby. Now not only were we going to be living separately, but I was going to be pregnant, and Will was going to miss the birth while on this new deployment timeline. We tried to make the best of it. Traveling for Thanksgiving and Christmas to see each other, lots of FaceTime and phone calls. The kids were in an amazing school and I was working at WIC, doing something I enjoyed and felt made a difference. I got to see my grandparents more often, though my dreams of being helpful to them were massively diminished by my own responsibilities to my family. We were all miserable. I missed my husband, my kids missed their Dad, and by December, any notion that this had been a good idea or was working was gone. I was too scared to do anything differently and I went through most days in a trance. Getting done what needed to be done. Certainly no joy. After a tearful midnight conversation my laid back, never asks for anything husband asked if I would figure out a way to get back there. We knew the deployment was coming, of course. That we'd move back and deal with a heck of a lot of stress in doing so and that he'd be leaving a few months later. But I knew we needed to feel like a family unit again. That I needed to create a space where he left from for him to come home to. I was shaking as I called a management company to see about renting our house out. I had no idea how to rent out a house. Having a rental was never on our to do list, and to be honest, I still hate it. Even worse, I felt a deep shame. I felt like everyone in the world knew that this was a bad idea from the get go and that we had been idiots to think it may work and that everyone I knew was going to be whispering behind my back about what a dumb choice it was. But my families needs were more important. We'd already planned a Christmas trip out to California and we returned right around the new year. I got on the plane lethargic and hot with a fever. Two days later I was diagnosed with flu. With the help of some amazing friends I managed to get our house packed up and moved into storage so that our new tenants could move in. I was sick, both from the flu and first trimester sickness, and sad. It was one of the hardest times of my life. Worse than all of it though was still the shame I felt from having made a mistake. From uprooting my children and switching their schools and letting them spend time with family back "home" and then taking it away again. I'd never do anything purposely to hurt my children. I make the best decisions I can with the resources I have at the time, but I'm not a perfect parent. That's a hard reality to face, but it's true for all of us. My kids are resilient as hell and I firmly believe that good people are made through adversity. Still, I felt like the world's biggest jerk. I never second guessed whether this corrective action was the right one, though. I knew it was. We returned to California and by the grace of the universe/God got into base housing again. The irony is not lost on me. When I hear the neighbor fighting with his mother in law or our dogs are going crazy across the fence because of their dogs, I give a little smile. I'm thankful. We are together.

So if you tried something that didn't work, I have news for you. Me too. I made a mistake. A wrong choice. I have some more news for you. The world did not end. We lived with the consequences. I dealt with a thousands of dollars plumbing issue at that rent house three days after giving birth without my husband. The consequences of the wrong choices don't go away. But we weren't eaten by wolves. The world did not end like my brain tried to tell me it would while we were in the middle of it all.  People may whisper, or they may shout. It doesn't matter. Usually, the people shouting the loudest have made their fair share of wrong choices, too. Maybe you are reading this while trying to decide about a big change. Maybe you've already made that big change and realized it wasn't the right change to make. Maybe you are terrified about what outsiders are saying about your change. Shame can only exist when we aren't open with what we are feeling shameful about, so find someone you trust and let it out. In a world that seems to expect perfection, I'm here to tell you that it doesn't exist. And when we live in such fear of making the wrong choice that we paralyze our lives with indecision and shame, we lose out on some amazing experiences.
Mistakes are part of life. I'm thankful to be able to make them.

Photo by Laura Lynn Photography