Blessings Upon Blessings - The Birth Story of Lindley and Mills

My two precious babes are 9 weeks old now. Unfortunately I did not follow my own doula advice to all new moms to write out your birth story soon after delivery. Maybe it's because I was still in shock of having two babies, so tired from learning how to feed them, or so overwhelmed at the prospect of caring for my family in the weeks, months and years ahead. But, here I am - sitting in my living room, the house strangely quiet. The babies are sleeping and my husband took the "big boys" out in the snow. Its a sweet moment of solitude that I know will end soon as I keep checking the monitor awaiting a call for mama's milk. With this short time, I wanted to get my birth story compiled as to never forget the blessings that arrive on December 4, 2013.

At one day shy of 38 weeks, my two babes had clearly taken over my body. To say I was huge was an understatment. I had worked hard to gain weight eating lots of protein to hopefully grow healthy twins that made it to full term. Following the wisdom of Dr. Barbara Luke in her book, I gained a 55 pounds.

Although I knew it would be harder once the twins were here, I was ready to meet them. My back hurt so bad, I couldn't pick up my toddler, and I was already losing sleep. So, with an induction looming, I bit the bullet and drank castor oil (mixed with peanut butter and ice cream). To be honest, I couldn't even taste the castor oil and had little faith that it would actually make a difference in starting my labor. 

But, to my surprise, I was wrong. After a few hours of taking the castor oil, a huge spaghetti dinner, and lots of laps around my block, labor kicked in and I knew there was no turing back. Thankfully, Imani stopped by the house to see if I needed any help that day. She watched Henry and Callaway while I took a walk, helped me prepare dinner and actually ended up spending the night in case labor progressed. I'm so glad she showed up that afternoon! After dinner I tried to take a shower, relax, and even sleep. But, the contractions continued to come and by 9pm, I knew that this was real labor and we would meet our babies soon. I continued to labor at home in my room, mostly sitting on an exercise ball leaning over onto my bed, and holding my husband's hand as he laid in bed trying to get some sleep. By midnight our doula arrived at the house and continued to encourage me in the work I was doing. With contractions coming closer together and feeling more intense, we decided to start preparing to move to the hospital. 

 

We arrived at the hospital around 1:30am, got checked in, and settled in our room. The doctor came by around 2am to check me and the babies. We were encouraged to find that I was 7cm dilated. Contractions continued to come very regularly and I worked through sitting on the exercise ball, on hands and knees or just leaning over onto the bed. I was tired though. So very tired. I was ready for labor to be over but I knew that I still had hard work ahead of me. I needed a short break though so we opted for some time in the tub. The water was warm and gave me a chance to relax. 

Once I got out of the tub, I requested to be checked because I was feeling more pressure with each contraction and hoped it would be time to meet my babies. Although I had progressed, I was only at 8cm. Baby A (Lindley) was in great position, though, and very low. The doctor suggested breaking Lindley's water bag with the hopes of moving labor along. I was getting so very tired and agreed. The doctor broke my water and within minutes I knew it was time to push. I was already in the bed but turned around on my knees and held onto the back of the bed. With each contraction, I pushed. Within 15 minutes, I could feel my sweet baby girl coming into this world. She was born at 5:15am. The doctor handed her to me and I was overjoyed! I only held her for a few minutes before contractions started again and I needed to hand her over to the nurse. 

 

I imagined that quickly after Lindley was born, Mills would make his way. However, once Lindley was born, labor slowed down a bit. Mills was doing just fine but still high in station. I needed to "labor him down." I wanted to meet him so bad. I wanted labor to end. I wanted to fall into the bed and just give up. But, my faithful husband and encouraging doula continued to tell me that I could do it, that I was so close and I would meet Mills soon. I had to believe them but it was hard. I could hear Lindley crying and cooing in the background. Jeremiah would run over to see her and then run over to hold my hand during contractions. It felt like eternity for Mills to labor down and decide he was ready to come. He did though and I'm so glad. I continued to labor in the bed on hands and knees but began to get so tired and weak that I needed to change positions. I laid on my back to catch my breath but knew pushing was near. The pressure so intense, the pain and exhaustion seemed to overtake me. But, I also know that with those feelings, the end is near. My baby boy is close. The doctor broke his bag of water and with four pushes, he was here. Mills was born at 6:11am. 

Like all births, it was exhilierating and exhausting. I could not have asked for a more perfect welcome into the world for Lindley and Mills. I was covered in love and support by my husband, my doula, my doula community, my friends, and the hospital staff at VCU. 

Lindley Corrine Winters 5:15am, 6lbs 4 oz

Mills Bryan Winters 6:11am, 6lbs 14oz

On The Day You Were Born

In the days and weeks after my older son, Henry, was born I loved reading On The Day You Were Born by Debra Frasier. The last page was my favorite.

'Welcome to the spinning world,' the people sang,

as they washed your new, tiny hands....

And as they held you close they whispered into your open, curving ear,

“We are so glad you've come!'"

I read that book as a practice to convince myself that the words of the book are true. As I held Henry in his nursery, I would cry because I was so tired, I was so depressed, and I was so overwhelmed as a new mom. But as I looked into his sweet face, the words of that last page trained my mind and changed my heart to believe really how glad I was that he’d come. As the nights became more restful, the depression was treated and I felt more comfortable as a mother, I realized that those words were true all along. From the moment I found out I was pregnant to the moment I held him in my arms, and even now as I watch him make endless train tracks out of every inch of the house, I was and am so glad he came. This sentiment is God’s feeling towards his children.

Psalm 127:3-5  Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one’s youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.

I am so blessed to have my two boys. Each day I am so thankful for them and so thankful that they have come. That heart is God’s heart for each of his children, no matter how or when they come. He knows them. He forms them. He loves them and has a purpose for each one.

Psalm 139:13-16  For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.

Zaire was born three days ago to a young mama named Janaya. She has been staying with us on and off for the duration of her pregnancy. Most of society would say she is unfit to have a baby – no husband, no job, no education past high school. How could she possible raise a baby to have a better life that she did? Even some of Janaya’s closest friends and family suggested that she terminate her pregnancy and go on with her life. “Attend nursing school, do what you want to do, wait until later to have a baby.” She thought about it. It seemed appealing to not have morning sickness, to not put her life on hold for a baby, and to not disappoint her family. But, God had other plans. She knew in her heart, this baby was already hers. The words from Psalm 139 rained true to her, changed her mind, and shaped her heart. After a hard pregnancy and a long labor, Janaya met her son. The OBGYN place him on her chest and she stared in amazement at her son. She was a bit shocked, very tired, but in love. “I just want to hold him,” she said.

From my work as a doula, I see babies born a lot. They are born to married couples who have been trying for years to conceive, to couples whose baby entered their life as a surprise, and teen moms who are learning to parent earlier than most. But no matter when they arrive or how they arrive, the feeling is the same. “We’re so glad you’ve come!”

Time to Celebrate!

The moment the clocked struck 12:15am on February 15^th, my parents would dash into my room to wish me a happy birthday. At 8, I had a sleepover where my cousin and her boyfriend taught us all how to country line dance. At, 17 my mom made enough pound cake to serve the entire basketball stadium as everyone sang Happy Birthday to me at the end of our game. At 28, my husband surprised me with a dinner party with some of my favorite people. I love birthdays and really a celebration of any kind – a Christmas party, a Easter gathering, or just a Mexican themed dinner. But, really, birthdays are my favorite. They are one day completely dedicated to celebrating God’s purpose in a person’s life. God loved you so much that He created you, welcomed you into this world, and blessed others to know you. It is a wonderful day where I always want my friends and family to feel loved, cared for and do exactly what they want.

That feeling is what I wanted for Shante, an amazing newly 18 year old who is graduating from Church Hill Academy on June 1^st. She has been a part of my L.O.V.E Bible study for 6 years and recently has become a part of our family. Joining us for dinner each night, babysitting our boys, spending the weekends with us have become commonplace. She is a joy to have around. Quiet but thoughtful and always willing to serve. As her 18^th birthday approached, I asked her what she wanted to do for her birthday.

“You know, I’ve never had a birthday party before,” Shante said.

“Well, a birthday party it is.”

With guacamole being Shante’s favorite food of all time, a nacho bar was the logical party theme. But really, this night isn’t about guacamole or a really amazing ice cream cake. It is about Shante. As I finished placing each punch glass on the counter, my eyes teared up. My heart started to break. I thought back to every party, shower, wedding, that my dear, beautiful mother put on for her friends, friends’ children, and of course her own family. She tirelessly worked to celebrate others. Each perfectly arranged flower, each delicious dish, each coordinating napkin and plate; they all showed her love for others. Her actions taught me that others are to be celebrated. God’s children are beautiful, meaningful and meant to be celebrated at any age, at any stage. How thankful I am for my mother and her example.

And now I am weep over God’s heart for his people and how much he loves us, I am overwhelmed with sadness knowing Shante has never been celebrated before. No party. No balloons. No celebration of the beautiful, loyal, kind woman that she is. Not until tonight. The taco meat is made, ice cream cake decorated, and paper mache cactus painted. It's time to sing Happy Birthday and remember the purpose, the excitement, and the joy of Shante. From the moment you entered this world, until now, Shante, “I’m so glad you’ve come!”

Witnessing a Change

Recently, I attended my friend's labor and delivery as her doula. It was the first birth I had ever attended other than my own. Most people would say that to watch the birth of a child is miraculous and it certainly is, but what is just as beautiful is watching a woman become a mother and a husband become a father in seconds. The sheer joy that exuded my friend's face as her baby boy entered the world was beautiful.

I arrived to help her after she was already admitted to the hospital. Being one week passed her due date, she decided to be induced with pitocin. Later, an epidural was used to help with the pain and to offer rest. Both were successful and after laboring only a few hours, a precious new boy entered the world. I was reminded of the ultimate vulnerability of a laboring women and yet the powerful strength needed simultaneously in order to birth a child. It is the combination of release and power that makes laboring and delivery so hard yet so beautiful. It is those attributes that also beautify motherhood.

I was honored to breath through contractions, hold hands during the epidural, and count through the pushing in order to serve my friend. The definition of "doula" is a "woman's servant." The joy of serving a woman at this time is just that - a joy.

The Mandevilla Confession

Written by guest writer Beth Whiting, my dear friend and neighbor

I have the privilege of living next door to a wonderful friend who also has a son close in age to my daughter. We do almost everything together and it is a tremendous blessing. This summer we both wanted to spruce up our back yards, so we both bought mandevilla vines and put them in the corners near our fence. The only difference between the two plants is my neighbor’s vine has a pretty rod iron pole to grow up, while mine just wraps around the fence. The two plants seem to take turns doing well. Some weeks I look out the window to see beautiful blooms surrounding her corner of the fence, while my plant seems to be utterly fruitless. Then other weeks she comments on how beautiful my plant seems to be growing, and complains hers doesn’t seem to be doing anything. I am secretively envious when my plant has fewer flowers, so I vow to buy a rod iron pole the next time I’m out. Then, I become secretively proud when mine seems to have more growth than my neighbors, because mine is growing even without the added support. The funny thing is, I don’t even water this plant. If it does grow, I can’t take any credit for it. My question is if I am this way with a plant, then how soon is the day coming when I will do the same kind of comparison and analysis with my daughter against her peers? Lord, help me to not become envious or proud based on the performance of my child and children to come.

Related Scriptures:

Ecclesiastes 4:4 “And I saw that all labor and all achievement spring from man's envy of his neighbor. This too is meaningless, a chasing after the wind.”

Exodus 20:17 "You shall not covet your neighbor's house. You shall not covet your neighbor's wife, or his manservant or maidservant, his ox or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbor."

1 Corinthians 3:7 “It is neither he who waters, nor he who plants, but God who brings the increase.”

A Harsh Reality

"The harsh realities of the inner city" is a phrase I use alot to describe what living in Church Hill is like and what my kids (CHAT kids/teenagers who become our family too) have to deal with. They are moving every year, family members are entering jail and parents are addicted to drugs. But, a harsh reality that many of my teenagers deal with is sheer terror and loniness. They are broken by their circumstances and feel trapped that there is no where or no one to turned to.

A somewhat newer participant of CHAT, Tanisha*, has felt that harsh reality of being so afraid of her potential circumstances that she was paralyzed to call out for help. Being 17 and the only one of her 7 siblings to make it to her junior year of high school, she felt the pressure of possibly not being able to finish. Waking up sick every morning, missing her period, and being incredibly tired made her think she was pregnant. She was terrified of the outcome. When I found out of her possible situation, I offered that we hang out for a few hours yesterday. We headed to Chick-fil-A and as she pushed her food around the tray, I asked her if she was OK. I quick "yes" and a turn of the head made me realize she of course, was not OK. I admitted to her that a friend of hers had shared her concern for being pregnant and that I was here to help. "I can't be, I can't be" Tanisha repeated over and over again.

And as tears fell down her face, I realized how deeply scared she was. Not just for her life plans going up in smoke but actual fear of something else. When I pushed further about what she was so afraid of, she admitted that the guy she was previously seeing and the possible father of the baby had ordered her to "take care of it and if she did not he would come over and beat the f**k out of her." When she explained to her that she would not "take care of it," he promised that he would "have his people surely take care of it for her." But, there was more than just fear on her face. Shame pervaded her demeanour of slouched shoulders and fallen face. As we tried to make a timeline of last period, when sex occurred, and when the nausea began, Tanisha described her sexual encounter. Even though protection through a condom was agreed upon to be used, the guy removed it half way through and would not put another one on. Tanisha allowed sex to continue. But, her demeanour showed me she did not even know she had the ability to stop it. What is going on that a seventeen year old girl feels she has no voice to say no, to demand respect, and to be heard. Is it the music that calls for sexuality at all times or the images of girls on television to demote us as only sexual bodies to be used by anyone at their pleasure. Of course, no one would call this rape but the anger whelping inside my heart suggested otherwise. Our society is rapping our teenagers. Tanisha consented to sex continuing but why? Was she so desperate for love and affection that she would allow a boy she was only "talking to" continue to use her only for his pleasure. What is missing? Where is her affection elsewhere that would compensate for this? She is a smart, beautiful and kind teenager who felt not only afraid of her pregnancy test outcome but afraid she would lose what little affection she was given. Our teenagers are growing up with no father to tell them they are beautiful, they are loved and they can wait for their husbands. If you have no father, you have no picture of waiting for a husband. What is that? My mother has no husband - only men that come and go as they please to make sure their needs are met.

There has to be a change, a drastic shift in society that reminds us of our value to God and to each other. That we are beautiful because He created us and our affections are only for Him. But, what inner city girl who has possibly never met their own father or who was abused by him, what to give their entire life over to a heavenly Father. How can they be so different? Many of my teenagers ask each week at our Bible studies. Pray for healing of each lonely teenager in Church Hill, pray that they would know Jesus as their one true love, their Heavenly Father, and pray this generation would be different - sex would be guarded as precious in marriage, our bodies would be used to glorify God, and our worth would only come from God alone.

*names have been changed to protect my dear girls.

Pushing Back On More

If only I had more time, if only I had more money, if only I lost more weight. I catch myself thinking "if only" phrases much too often. But lately, as I have been more conscience of my failure to be satisfied with what I have and where I am in life, I have begun to push back on desiring anything more than what I have. I heard today that our society and generation is being marked by quick fixes and immediate gratification. Our society wants everything fast and has believed that we "can have it all" with no sacrifices. Well, that just is not true and I want to continue to mature in my belief that I do not want it all. I want to want exactly what I have now and enjoy each drop of joy that comes. In fact, I really love my life. Yes, today I did get peed on by my 14 month old but in general life is great. I can work from home when he naps, I get to play on a volleyball team, relax at home with my son while he plays, and well, let's face it, write this blog. And, not that I want my life to always be comfortable or easy for I would not characterize it as such since I live in the inner city of Richmond and work for a ministry here that faces the harsh realities of the urban poor (not to mention raise my son!) but I would like a simplicity about it that is dunked so deeply in satisfaction for exactly where God has me now. It is easy to see that now. I have a one year old, a great little house to care for, and a very appreciative husband. But, that could all change quickly....more children, more demands in the neighborhood, more home to care for if we ever move, more, more, more. I want to be able to resist that temptation for something new to always be happening. How do I balance that with my desire for growth, education in new areas, and improvement? As I go, friends, please help me to resist the "if onlys" and remember the belly laughs of my son, the quiet hours when he naps, and the fun nights out with my husband, even if they are watching a movie on our laptop in the backyard to save money.