So, I’m 21 with a boyfriend that I love, but I’ve only known him for a few months. Things are, of course, exciting between us. New love is one of the best things to experience. We aren’t doing anything remotely important with our lives at this point in time. I am getting up at 7:45 a.m. to make it to my less then glamorous job on campus as a sandwich maker. Hey, I was making $8.50 an hour! That’s some serious cash! When I would get off of work, I’d drive my ’93 Mazda over the bridge to my downtown apartment. This apartment was the best. I had my own little private back porch outside my bedroom window. Others might have called it the roof, but it was my porch. After coming home from my day of cheesecake decorating, sandwich making, and trash taking, I would take a nap. 10 or 11 p.m. would roll around, and I’d be getting up to shower and start my evening. At 21, my evening usually consisted of going somewhere to drink. So, I’d go out and wait for John to call me when he was off of work. John’s job was a step ahead of mine, he was a manager at a pizza place. Wow! So, when he was done around midnight, we’d meet up and enjoy the late night/early morning hours together. Bed time didn’t usually come until 5 a.m., or so. That’s kinda rough for a girl that’s got to be at work by 8. But, love somehow makes you invincible and maybe even superhuman. Or maybe, stupid. Who knows? All I know is I didn’t mind messing up my sleep for John.

After repeating the above quite a few times, things eventually calmed down. Sleep deprivation set in, and I was ready for something better than just wasting time and money at bars. I moved to a new apartment, which turned out to be the worst living arrangement I had made up to that point. You’d think I would have thought about the lack of a sound barrier when the bedrooms are lofts. This of course, alluded me. All I saw was a cute apartment with room for a pool table. A few weeks into living there with my roommate who was also dating someone, I couldn’t take the lack of privacy. So, John’s place became more and more my place. And his place, WOW. It was gross. Two lazy boozers living in a tiny apartment with a German Shepard = hair covered everything and super gross. Again, another instance of love doing weird things like blinding me to the black hair coating the bathroom floor and the unusable kitchen. Despite the hair and grime, we did have a lot of fun there, hence the next milestone in our short time together. I was pregnant. One night we are partying it up without a care in the world, and the next, we had a baby in the mix. I freaked, as did John! Having a child was definitely not in our plans.

I knew absolutely nothing about being pregnant. I didn’t know what to eat or how to take care of myself with this growing child inside of me. What I did know is that I wanted to do all I could to keep me and baby healthy. So, after one positive pregnancy test and saying ‘Holy Shit!’ about 20 times, I went out for my last cigarette. I came back in to take the second pregnancy test to confirm what I already believed to be true: I was going to have a baby! From that point on, it was all about staying healthy. I quit smoking, drinking, of course, and focused on my nutrition and exercise. Baby, here we come!

So, my focus remained where it was from the beginning. I made sure I wasn’t surviving off of boxes of macaroni and cheese and started paying more attention to all of the food groups. I even got out and walked through campus amongst the thousands of students and people my age with my huge belly. That was where my insecurity took root. It was very odd to be 21 and pregnant. Around me were 21 year olds either going to Psych class, going home to their apartment for beers with friends, or doing almost anything, except having babies. Becoming a mother was like entering a new world that I was completely unfamiliar with. At my age, I still placed a lot of value on time spent with friends. I didn’t understand how I would mesh my old life with the new. I was desperately trying to hold on to being social, and didn’t want to face the fact that most of my old ways needed to be let go. I was going to be someone’s mother, and there was no way I was going to half ass it! Whether I had plans for children or not, I have always planned on being a good mother, if the situation arose. So, I had to give up late nights with friends and doing whatever I wanted when I wanted if I was going to be the mother I should be. But as I was giving all of these things up, I wasn’t sure what I would be adding to my life other than a family and a baby. I wasn’t really sure what all of this meant. Play dates or making friends with other moms was the last thing I wanted to do. I created this idea that any mom that I might meet would be uninteresting. I imagined the mom with five kids, no job, nothing to say, and a wardrobe consisting of dorky capris and lavender scoop neck tees. If only I would have met my tattoo covered, breastfeeding, baby wearing friend back then! I thought I was the only mom on the planet with tattoos and locs in her hair.

While all these absurd ideas were culminating in my head, the due date for my new baby boy was fast approaching. A due date means giving birth! I had not even given birth a thought until nearly the last month of my pregnancy. A natural birth sounded appealing to me, being the sort-of hippie type. My intention was to try to give birth naturally, but if things got bad, I’d be okay with an epidural. There was no preparation for this. I read the awful book, ‘What To Expect When You Are Expecting’, and that was it. I put all trust in my OB, and bought into the idea that birth was dangerous and belonged in a hospital. My due date came and went, so an induction was scheduled. I arrived at the hospital in the morning, still wondering whether a natural birth could be possible, but scared out of my wits for what the birth process would actually be like. When getting settled into my room, I told a nurse that I wanted to try to avoid using any drug, other than the Pitocin they would be giving me to induce. Her response was a combination of a condescending chuckle and the remark, ‘You’re gonna NEED that epidural, honey.’ She’s a nurse. What the hell did I know? So, I put trust in this nurse I’d never met, and went with the idea that soon I would be getting an epidural.

The Pitocin was administered, my water was broken by the doctor, and labor very slowly started to progress. After my water was broken, I got my epidural, and waited. I waited for my beautiful baby all drugged up while laying flat on my back with an oxygen mask and cords hooked up to every inch of my body. Seriously! If I knew then what I know now! This is not the ideal way to welcome a new family member! My labor, of course, was not progressing the way the doctor wanted, so they kept increasing the amount of Pitocin I was getting. And while they were doing this, my son’s heart rate was sinking lower and lower. There was a nurse that had to continuously watch the monitor to make sure things didn’t get too dangerous. So, as my son is in distress, and my body was not “cooperating”, a Cesarean Section was mentioned. This immediately brought tears to me eyes and overwhelmed me with fear for the health of my son and fear of being cut open. Again, this is NOT how childbirth should be! Every time they would check me to see how far I was dilated, I would become more and more discouraged. I felt my body was failing me. I thought the Pitocin they were giving me was some sort of magic medicine that would get my labor going and make my body do what it was “supposed” to do. But, my body wasn’t doing what it was “supposed” to do, so I felt that maybe something was wrong with me. Maybe, my body didn’t know how to properly labor.

Finally, the time came to push. Defeat, once again. I couldn’t push my own baby out. Of course, now I know it’s pretty difficult to give birth while being too numb to even move a leg from the epidural combined with the ridiculous position they put you in. But, at the time, the nursing staff and doctor made me feel like I was some sort of amateur, and that I needed a little help with the vacuum. ‘Whatever!’ was my thought. Let’s just get this baby out! So, Jackson Dean was born. He was beautiful. Unfortunately, the way he was brought into this world was not so beautiful.

Breastfeeding would be the next thing on my list of defeats. Again, I was not prepared for breastfeeding. I had no strong passion to do it, although I did want to try it. If it was easy, I planned to continue. In the hospital, I initiated breastfeeding soon after Jackson was born, and I was optimistic about the whole idea. Things only went down hill from there, though. I couldn’t quite get him to latch correctly, and the nurses were scaring me into believing that he wasn’t getting enough colostrum. So, the lactation consultant on duty had me pumping and supplementing with formula before our hospital stay was over. But, when we got home I continued to breastfeed. I was miss insecurity about the whole thing, though. I hadn’t been around breastfeeding since I was 4 or 5 when my aunt was visiting. So, to avoid feeling awkward when feeding my son, I would pump ahead of time and bottle feed when we had company, or when we were out. Being unprepared, as I was, I didn’t know that the first few weeks with a breastfeeding newborn are spent mostly on the couch nursing. So, when Jackson wasn’t satisfied with the nurses’ advice of “15 minutes on one side and then switch to the other every 2 to 3 hours”, I assumed he wasn’t getting enough milk. With this in mind, very sore nipples, and a struggle to find the enjoyment out of nursing my son, I gave up around 8 weeks.

Needless to say, I didn’t come out of my first taste of motherhood with any sense of confidence. My role in giving birth to my son was almost nonexistent. I attribute this to my lack of preparation and lack of the knowledge that I even needed any preparation. But, I’m not beating myself up over it. That is just how it goes. And, unfortunately, this is normally how it goes for most women. So, in my mind, I am incapable of having a normal birth and I don’t have enough milk to feed my child. All of this made my confidence as a mother plummet. But, time went on, and I adjusted to my new role. Childbirth and breastfeeding aren’t the only aspects of being a mom, after all. As I matured, my faith in my mothering ascended, but not nearly to the level that I am at after having my second child.

So, let’s jump ahead. I became pregnant once again at age 26. I really didn’t want to repeat my birth experience I had with Jackson, so John and I took The Bradley Method Childbirth class. The original goal was to birth naturally at the hospital. But, as I researched our options, home birth started to sound more and more appealing. It was very fitting for what we wanted out of this experience: a safe, intimate, and natural childbirth. So, we interviewed and hired our Midwife! Then, the long awaited day came for Archer to arrive. And, wow, was it a beautiful day! The birth of Archer was definitely life changing for me as a mother and woman. I felt enormously empowered following his birth. But, I don’t want to attribute my liberation solely to the fact that I gave birth naturally. The research and preparation I did to have the birth I wanted also greatly influenced my sense of empowerment. So, whether a woman chooses the epidural, the home birth, or even the scheduled C-Section, I think that making a decision about how you want to bring your child into this world is very important. But, I do want to make a big point about birthing naturally. The birth process left alone to progress naturally will give you a glimpse of just how perfect our bodies are designed and how perfectly capable we are to safely give birth. When I allowed myself to trust birth, and to trust my body to safely bring my son into this world, things changed for me. To experience putting so much faith in yourself, in your decision, and in God was life changing, to say the least. And, I think that this is precisely how the birth process should affect us. Giving birth is one of the most special and sacred times in the “life” of a family. Birth should be amazing, and wonderful.

So, here I am now, a mother that is confident in mothering. FINALLY. After all this time, I’ve grown into my role.

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More here.

Anyway, yesterday was the day I truly fell in love with being a stay at home mom. I’ve got what seems like endless quality time with my kids, time to pursue my many creative ideas, time to get the house work done, time to garden, time to grow my business, time to get done whatever it is that I’d like to get done. I am very lucky to be able to do this.

Maybe this new baby will bring peace to the house, and help me to realize that it really doesn’t matter if the bed isn’t made.