Switzerland!

Nick and Maya went on a two-week father-daughter adventure this fall to Switzerland. Nick's sister was stationed in Geneva for two months, and that was reason enough to choose this small, alpine country for a destination.

They arrived with a train pass in hand and two convertible bike panniers that could also be worn as backpacks. They spent a couple nights in Geneva with Christina as they got their bearings and found a bike-with-kid-seat to rent. Then they set off by train to explore the country, bike in tow for two-wheeled travel when the terrain wasn't too steep.

Gloriously scenic photos made their way home to me daily, and they had a grand time overall.

Here's a link to the photo album for an armchair tour.

Farewell to Belle

 

We said goodbye to Bella-dog on the last day of April.

She was fifteen, perhaps sixteen, give or take. A long, long life for a Labrador retriever, at any rate, and a good one. I knew Bella only in her latter years, but she has been part of Maya's world always, and Nick's companion and sidekick since he was in high school.

She traveled with him from Wisconsin to Maine to Kansas and finally to Michigan. She accompanied him to work regularly when he started the tree service, riding beside him in the truck and overseeing operations throughout the day.

She was a good sport about acquiring an exuberant, if somewhat unpredictable, canine sibling when Nick and I created our "blended family." Or at least resigned to the new reality.

She and Maisie mostly coexisted by ignoring each other, but we did catch them appearing to enjoy each other's company now and then.

She had many good adventures through the seasons.

After she "retired" from Carlson Tree Service, she became a regular on my morning walk with Maisie, followed by long days of sleeping here at the homestead.

She stood up for us at our wedding.

And, wouldn't you know, just as she was settling into a comfortable routine in her old age, she found herself called upon to help raise a baby.

Bella, always nearby and rarely inclined to get up and move, was Maya's favorite thing to reach for when she learned to sit up alone.

As Maya became more mobile, Bella was still there, tolerating whatever this small human dished out.

 

She continued to join us on our morning walks all last year.

As Maya got more capable, they became companions.

 

 

She finally slowed down (as Maya got faster and faster), and by this past winter a walk down the block and back was all she could manage. Finally, this spring, the day came when her body was ready for its final rest.

We held a burial. Maya picked daffodils, and she and Maisie watched as Nick and I dug a hole in a beautiful glen under a massive old hemlock.

The ritual was good closure for all of us. Maya will tell you, "Bella in hole. Old and tired." We feel sure she would have kept up a constant refrain of "Bella go?" if she hadn't seen her laid to rest. We all gave those silky-soft ears a final stroke, and we all said goodbye as we filled the hole with earth.

We assured Maya that only Bella's body is in the hole (a "cozy bed," Maya called it), and that her spirit went up into the sky, all around us, into all of us who remember her. "In Papa. In Mama. In Maya. In Way-zee," she agreed.

Indeed. Goodbye, Bella. Your spirit will be with us still, trotting along with your propeller-tail circling on walks, accompanying us eagerly to the car whenever there's a ride to be had, enthusiastically snarfing at all morsels of food that drop near you, and snoozing away by the fireside.

Hartwick Pines

One morning in mid-October, we woke up in need of a spontaneous family adventure. Nick was worn out from many long days of work, I was worn out from lots of solo toddler time and many nights of interrupted sleep, and we felt disgruntled and disconnected. So we packed up the car for a day trip to Hartwick Pines State Park, an outing we've been talking about for years but had never managed to take. It's only an hour away, but my last visit was an elementary school field trip and Nick had never been.

It was a beautiful fall day. Rain the night before left everything looking clean and saturated in rich colors, but the sun was out and the air was fresh and mild.

Maya, now quite a sturdy little biped, was inspired to do some trail-running. A ball to chase and kick helped keep her moving in a forward direction, more or less.

The park is home to the lower peninsula's largest remaining stand of old-growth white pines. These are some majestic trees.

 

We enjoyed spending the afternoon in the company of such stately old citizens.

It turned out to be the perfect time and place to introduce Maya to the game of hide and seek. Nick and I took turns hiding along the trail, while the other counted with Maya and then went on the hunt. As soon as we finished a round, she'd ask for more. "Mama 'iding!" she'd say, if Nick had just hid. Or "Papa 'iding!" if I'd gone last.

Nick won the prize for best hiding place.  

The end of the loop trail took us past the logging museum. Here are Nick and Maya peeking through a set of "big wheels" used to transport logs back in lumberjack days.

Maya cruised around, checking it all out and making her presence known with a voice that's getting more and more exuberant every day.

Is the volume of photos I took that day correlated, perhaps, to the fact that Maya was wearing a new Mama-made dress? Well, maybe.

Sewing notes: This is one of the more involved patterns I've completed so far, the Oliver + S Jump Rope Dress. I used two thrifted men's button-down shirts and cut out all the pieces in size 18-24 months shortly before Maya was born. This fall I realized I'd better get it sewn before she outgrew it. Luckily it's plenty roomy and should fit for a while.

We had a picnic lunch after our hike and drove home, but the day wasn't done. We dropped Maya off to play with our friend Meg while Nick and I walked into town for dinner. Not bad for a planned-on-the-fly day of family fun and reconnection!

By the way, avid readers may note that my posting frequency is unusually high lately. I'm attempting to catch up again, but no promises. 
If you are an avid reader who really wants the scoop, you might enjoy checking out the day-to-day happenings in the current photo album:  Fall 2015
Missed some earlier seasons? Find the whole set here.

Ice, Ice Baby

Another day, another winter adventure! There were enough fun photos from this day to give it a post of its own.

In early December, after the first snowfall had melted away, we had a cold snap. I heard through the grapevine of a pond near town that had frozen over like glass. So I took Nick and Maya on a mystery excursion one Sunday afternoon. My informant was a pond hockey enthusiast organizing a game, and sure enough there was a crew pursuing a puck with clattering sticks. We didn't have our skates, but we had a smaller pond all to ourselves and a baby to introduce to the wonder of a frozen lake.

She looks awfully small there, doesn't she? Don't worry, we were right there too! Nick took off his belt and we employed it for some baby-sliding.

She thought it was great.

Anything that gets Mama and Papa down at her level being silly is pretty great.

Like just about everybody nowadays, I have a camera at my fingertips more often than not, and so I agonize. How much time to devote to capturing a moment to remember and savor in the future? When to put the camera away and just enjoy the moment, knowing that it will likely fade from memory? It's even more complicated now that I spend my days with a tiny person who changes before our very eyes, so that I have such limited time to capture each stage. Not to mention that this is a powerful way to share with the rest of the family who doesn't get to see her day in and day out. And if future Maya is anything like me, she may pore over these photos from her childhood many years from now.

I love days like these when something seasonally magical changes the landscape enough that it becomes extra-memorable. Sometimes I call them "celebrations" in a nod to a favorite book by Byrd Baylor, I'm in Charge of Celebrations, which is all about marking these unexpected and extraordinary encounters with the natural world.

For exactly that reason, this adventure is probably less likely than most of our daily activities to get lost in the memory-soup that's always simmering and reducing in my brain. But I admit that I'm still glad I took pictures!

Maya's Birth Story

As my due date drew near, I was eager to hear other women tell their birth stories as a way of constructing some expectations about what could happen when it was my turn. Now that I've been through it, I am also finding it helpful - perhaps even necessary - to share my own experience. I've told the tale in person a number of times. Writing it is a way to process it further, and as such, it is primarily for me. But I'm sharing it here in case there are readers out there who will also benefit - for preparation, processing, or just pure curiosity. If that's not you, feel free to skip right over this rather lengthy tale!

This is a story about the arrival of Maya, our magical unicorn child. It could be a fairy tale with an introduction like that. The ending, so far as we can tell, is a "happily-ever-after" one. But it's all true...even the part about the unicorn.

A collection of candles, lucky rocks, and other significant objects assembled in preparation for the birth.

It starts with the birth that Nick and I hoped and planned for as best we could. After hearing many inspiring stories from friends, we chose to work with a local midwife with the goal of birthing our baby at home. Of course, we knew that home birth isn't always possible in the end, so we also felt reassured by the fact that the hospital is just a few blocks from our house and that Kathi, our midwife, would accompany us there as an advocate if we had to shift our plans.

With all this in mind, we made our preparations. We asked lots of questions at our appointments with Kathi, appreciating the depth of her experience from 20 years as a practicing midwife. We gathered a list of items for our birth kit. We took a six-week class to learn about labor and birth. We set up a room to become first our birthing space and then the nursery. I envisioned the birth tub in the middle of this calm green room with its cozy sloping walls, brought in plants and candles, and began collecting music to play during labor.

My cousin Sarah organized a gathering and our friends came bearing food, children's books, items for a time capsule to be opened on Baby Figgy's tenth birthday, lots of love and good wishes for this new little person, and squares of fabric for a colorful banner. I hung the banner on the door to what we took to calling "the birth cave."

Fabric flags from friends, each with a story attached.

Having had a smooth pregnancy without even a bout of nausea or heartburn or swollen ankles, I felt some normal anxiety about labor but could easily imagine joining the ranks of mothers who told empowering stories about their peaceful water births and how natural and comfortable it was to bring a baby into the world at home.

On March 2, just about two weeks before the due date, Kathi dropped off the birth tub - the last item on our list of supplies. It was a lovely, sunny day. Nick had taken the dogs and his paraglider on an excursion to Empire; I finished some sewing for the nursery and then headed out for a hike on the snowy trails at the Commons. We arrived home at the same time and rushed off to a baby shower organized by some of Nick's elder friends. We'd been there only a short while and were comparing the baby photos everyone had brought when I had to excuse myself to the bathroom. Back at my place on the couch, I whispered to Nick, "I think my water just broke." One of the ladies on the other side of the room said, "Kate, I think I just read your lips." So labor had begun, and there was no keeping it a secret!

Fortunately, it was a small and supportive group, and they were happy to be the first to know. It was 4:45 in the afternoon, and we called Kathi to tell her what was happening (some fluid draining but not a gush, some pressure building but no contractions yet). Figuring we had a long while to go, we stayed at the shower until around 6:30. By then, the pressure had organized itself into a rhythm and we made our exit.

The room that would serve as both nursery and "birth cave."

Back home, we scurried around getting ready. Nick began setting up the tub, while I tried to put things in order, contain the increasing amount of fluid coming out of me, and time the intensifying contractions. (Word to the wise: Download a contraction-tracking app well before your due date - it's very difficult to remember your password and wait for an app to load in the midst of active labor.) Bouncing on the exercise ball and timing contractions at about 7:30 pm, I called my parents, who had been in Florida for a month and planned to return to Michigan in another week. "I think your grandbaby is coming now," I told them. "I think we'll be leaving in the morning then!" they said.

Once we had some statistics on the contractions, we called Kathi again. After confirming that we weren't mistaken when we told her they were consistently 3 minutes apart already, she said she'd be over quite soon! She and her assisting midwife, Nicole, arrived, and Kathi checked the baby's heartbeat and assured me that all was well. However, she also noted that there was some meconium - waste from the baby that indicated she had been stressed at some point in the past few days - in the amniotic fluid. She continued monitoring the baby as I labored in the bedroom, and when she checked my cervix around 8:45 pm, I was already dilated to 8 or 9 centimeters. She assured me that, although things were going fast, everything looked good. "You're going to have your baby soon," she said.

Laboring at home, with my faithful canine companion keeping me company.

The speed at which everything was progressing made for a wild ride. I had expected to have hours of prelabor to prepare at home (not to mention two more weeks). All ambitions for more practical preparations went out the window, of course, but I still felt that I needed more time to brace myself mentally for what lay ahead. All I really needed to do was focus on what was happening at the moment, though, and luckily, that was all I could do. I was starting to feel ready to get into the water, but the temperature wasn't right yet and Nick was doing double duty, trying to attend to me and the tub at the same time.

That was when things veered onto another path. Kathi checked the baby twice more, and she and Nicole conferred. To my surprise, Kathi then came to us and said that she thought we needed to go to the hospital. The heartbeat had slowed, and between that and the meconium, Kathi felt we needed to have the baby monitored more closely. It was now 10:30 pm.

We packed up in a hurry, regretfully leaving behind the now-full tub and my hopes for laboring in water, but fully trusting Kathi’s experience and intuition. The overwhelming sentiment we'd heard from others was, "Trust Kathi." She knows exactly what to bring to each situation, whether she says you can do it at home when your own confidence is wavering, or says you need what the hospital can provide. After our experience, we can only echo those thoughts.

(One more word to the wise: Even if you're planning a home birth, and even if you still have a few weeks to go, pack a hospital bag in advance! Or at least make a list and have a bag at the ready. This was the one step we hadn't even considered yet, and it made for some chaos getting out of the house. Nicole was very helpful, collecting our toothbrushes and some baby clothes and diapers. Nick gathered clothes for us, and between contractions I tried to think of what else we needed. "My phone - where's my phone? And my wallet?" "The carseat! We have to bring the carseat!")

And then we were walking into the maternity ward at Munson Medical Center. Kathi had called ahead and was pleased to find that the doctor on call was one she had a good working relationship with, one who is more sympathetic to home birth than some of the others. We were led to our room, we answered some questions, and the next thing I knew, I was wearing a floppy hospital gown. An IV attached. A fetal monitor and a contraction monitor strapped on. Indeed, this was not a home birth any more.

With Kathi at the hospital.

Some IV fluids brought the baby’s heart rate back to a stable pace, and it wasn't long before I started the pushing phase. Unfortunately, the rapid progress stopped there. Baby’s head was soon just barely visible, but I could not get her any further. From 1:30 am until 6:00 am I pushed, trying many different positions, with the doctor and nurses in and out and sticking their fingers in places I really didn't want them...but still no change.

We tried everything that Kathi and the nurses and doctor suggested might help move the baby down. Standing, squatting, lying on my back, lying on my side. The birth ball, the birth bar, the birth stool, and finally the "rope" - a knotted sheet I grabbed and pulled during each contraction while the nurse or Nick held the other end. Several times throughout the night, the doctor told me he did not think this was a big baby and didn't understand why I couldn't push more effectively. This was not exactly encouraging. Neither he nor Kathi had initially thought the baby was in a posterior position, but given the lack of progress, they began to suspect she was. By now, I was exhausted and beginning, for the first time, to feel truly worried about the baby.

At this point, the doctor reiterated the ineffectiveness of my pushing and recommended that we consider a cesarean birth. However, he also assured us that all signs indicated the baby was still stable and that I could continue trying for a vaginal birth. The decision was placed in our hands, for which I am grateful. If you had asked me before this night, I know I would have said, "Of course, let's keep trying if there's any chance to avoid a c-section." But in a way that's hard to explain, things felt vastly different now. Time had passed bafflingly fast, but still the night felt endless. I was out of my element in the hospital setting, but still tuned to the messages my body was sending. More than anything, I was hearing from somewhere within that nothing was going to change if we kept doing more of the same. Something told me that it was time to change tactics, and time to get this baby out safely. After Nick asked a few more questions to rule out any other options we might have, together we made the call that the c-section felt like the right decision.

I was relieved after we made the choice, and relieved that the stage of painful contractions and never-ending, surreal pushing was nearly over. Little did I know that this was just the beginning of the worst part. I had to lie still, without pushing, through one contraction after another while they prepared me for surgery. I can't recall now what sounds I was making, but I know I had to make them. The contractions were far worse when I had to passively wait them out instead of meeting them head on and actively working through them.

Finally this interminable phase also came to an end. Nick and Kathi were both allowed to join me in the operating room. A curtain separated my head from the lower part of my body, and Nick sat beside me. However, being Nick, he couldn't resist standing up from time to time to peer over the curtain. He even snapped some photos.

A surgical birth.

"Sir, please sit down," he was instructed. More than once, as I recall. They didn't want him to faint at the sight of me opened wide. (Not to worry, this is the fellow who chose to watch his own knee surgery two years ago and asked the doctor questions throughout the procedure.) I couldn't see anything (and had no desire to), and all I could feel was some unidentifiable tugging. But it wasn't long before I heard something unmistakable: the cry of our daughter, just emerged into the air and light and voicing her presence loudly.

It was 7:01 am. The baby was whisked to the examining table for mere moments - I could hear her, couldn't see her, then caught a glimpse of a tiny bottom. In no time, she was bundled into a hat and blanket and handed off to Nick. He laid her beside me as I was still being stitched up, and we were both able to nuzzle our baby and share our joy and relief. She was tiny, with a flat little nose, a pointed head, and wrinkled white fingers. In other words, healthy and perfect!

First encounter on the operating table.

"This is Maya," we told Kathi, sharing the name we'd chosen for the first time. Kathi had a turn to hold her as I transitioned to the recovery area. She helped me position the tiny babe on my chest so she could begin to nurse as I waited for sensation to return to my lower limbs.

Kathi with brand-new Maya.

With the baby still in my arms, I was wheeled back to the room where we'd labored through the night. I recognized our bags, but it was such a completely different time after the birth and after sunrise that I couldn't fathom it was the same place until much later. There we were, obligated to remain in the hospital for two more days, but free to marvel over and love our baby to our hearts' content.

Papa and Maya back in home-sweet-hospital-room.

Oh, and about that unicorn?

When I was cut open and my uterus exposed, the doctor made an interesting observation. Apparently I have an unusual condition – what’s known as a "unicorn" or "unicornuate" uterus. It has only one “horn” (that is, one fallopian tube and ovary). And it is approximately half the size of a normal uterus. Say what?

Having just met Maya and wishing only to admire her, this news was rather academic when it was first delivered. Later, after learning more about the condition, we became much more incredulous. There are several uterine abnormalities that can occur when a female is developing in utero. Paired structures called the Mullerian ducts are meant to partially fuse, forming the double-horned uterus with a single cervix and vaginal opening. If they don't fuse properly, or one duct is partially or entirely missing, strange things happen. The unicornuate uterus seems to be the least common outcome, and the one with the highest rate of associated reproductive complications, from difficulty conceiving, to a much greater rate of miscarriage (about a 1 in 2 chance, if I understand the literature), to a high risk of preterm labor and premature birth. Not only did I make it 37 years without knowing I had this condition, I also had no fertility issues, a remarkably smooth pregnancy, and a baby born at 38 weeks (considered full term). Glory hallelujah! How fortunate we are! And how lucky not to have known any of this until now, so that we breezed through the pregnancy worry-free!

Now that we do know, it explains everything. Maya's small size is surely due to her cramped quarters. This is also likely the reason why she was ready to come out a bit early - and maybe the reason she was stressed and passed some meconium in the home stretch. Because my uterus is half the normal size, with half the normal amount of muscle to contract, it makes sense that I was working very hard with no results. Maya also may not have had room to turn into a better position as she moved down the birth canal, further decreasing my chances of pushing her out. Also common with this condition: breech or transverse positioning (thankfully not for me), rapid onset and progression of labor (definitely true for me), high rates of cesarean delivery (yup). More here, if you want science and statistics.

One more strange but fascinating detail: The doctor explained that the kidneys also develop from the Mullerian ducts, and that I should have an ultrasound at some point to see if I had the standard-issue pair or not. There was no hurry, but since I was already at the hospital, I opted to get it done. The result: I learned I have only one kidney as well! Again, I made it this far with no issues so it's not a cause for concern, but it's good to know.

I have shared this story with a number of friends, and several have remarked that I seem to be at peace with the birth, despite it turning out very differently from our original hopes. I think that's a good representation of my initial feelings; at first, relief that it turned out well outweighed all other reactions and I was simply grateful that we had the option of the hospital and the surgical procedure that led to a healthy baby.

Now, just over a month afterwards, I have more perspective to process the full range of emotions. I still have the vision of how I'd hoped the birth would go: at home, in the water, in the space we'd prepared with plants and candles and music, ending in a feeling of accomplishment and empowerment and a calm and peaceful atmosphere to rest and get to know our new baby. I have the usual lingering doubts about whether a surgical procedure counts as a "real" birth. I have the discouragement that came of hearing the doctor question why I couldn't push more effectively. I have the questions that lie along the path not taken: Is there any chance I could have avoided the c-section if I'd continued laboring? Alternatively, if we had chosen to continue laboring, might it have led to further complications - or even a tragic outcome, leaving us with a lifetime of regret? I have newfound anxiety about a whole host of potential disasters that could follow us into a second pregnancy, after the blissful ignorance we enjoyed this first time.

I also have the memory of Kathi's presence both during and after the birth, and I will always be grateful for that. I am certain this made a big difference in how I will think about this experience in the years to come. Kathi assured me that I had made the right choices, that I worked extraordinarily hard and showed plenty of strength, despite anything the doctor said, and that we're not overstretching to consider Maya something of a miracle.

Of course, I also have six weeks of healing from major abdominal surgery. But, while I am sitting on the couch trying not to overexert, I get to gaze at the sweet little face of a beautiful baby, our magical unicorn child, who made it into the world safe and sound.