We decided to proceed with a hospital delivery since we trusted my providers and loved our doula.

I wanted as few interventions as possible. I expected a quick labor (because someone told me tall women give birth quickly). I expected contractions to be mild and manageable. My intentions were to labor at home for as long as possible. I planned to give birth in the water. I thought I’d be cohesive the entire time. My thought process was simple: birth is natural, therefore my body should intuitively know what to do.

Psalm 29:9 The voice of the LORD makes the deer give birth, And strips the forests bare; And in His temple everyone says, “Glory!”

Boy, was I SHOCKED.

Birth was primal, raw, bloody, and expository. My whole self was stripped back. Praise God, I was able to deliver naturally with very little interventions!

At 41 weeks, we tried a membrane sweep. Not much happened. At 42 weeks (5 pm in the evening on Monday), we tried a folly balloon. It didn’t take. My provider had scheduled me for a 12 AM induction (Tuesday morning). Early labor kicked in around 8 pm on Monday, after the failed folly balloon.

I was so excited! I saw the mucus plug and bloody show. I took a bath and contractions revved up. We were exhausted, heading to the hospital at 11 pm. The inductions are scheduled at this hour because it usually allows the woman to sleep before labor really kicks in.

That is not our story.

I was given one round of cytotec. The contractions begin almost immediately. I was uncomfortable and could not rest. I get in the tub around 3 AM as my husband tries to rest. At 4 AM, I ask him to call our doula. She tells me to try to rest between contractions to conserve energy. I threw up everything I ate and drank.

I stay in the tub until 8 AM. The warm water was a saving grace as I’m on my own.

My doula arrives around 9 AM. My husband is up with me too. They start doing hip squeezes during the contractions. This continues until around 12:30. I have a moment of clarity where I call my best friend and have a few normal conversations. At 2:30 PM, my water breaks. Myconian comes out. I throw up everything again.

I get back in the tub around 3 PM and tell everyone that the baby will be here by 5 PM. I push for a long time, then learn that I’m not at 10 centimeters yet. It’s safe to stay, I’m exhausted at this point (Tuesday evening). I haven’t slept since I woke up Monday morning. I haven’t ate since Monday evening.

I get out of the tub around 6 PM. Baby has not come. I’m down BAD. People told me I would feel like I’m dying during transition. I did not believe them. Now, I understand.

I have a relatively aggressive break down. My doula tells me to look at my husband and focus on him, to lean on his steadiness and strength. I get some of the nitrice oxide to help me breathe through contractions.

Soon enough, I’m at a 10!

I did push early again. Which wore me out even more. (Looking back, I was rushing myself) ((hello, healing)). But eventually it was actually time to “push” and I could do it without a contraction. I felt the ring of fire. Uhm. That was wild.

My husband, doula, and provider told me they could see her head. I looked in the mirror to watch too. After some more of the pushing, which was pretty easy at this point, baby girl arrived at 8:42 PM Tuesday evening.

They made sure her lungs were clear. She latched well. Praise God she was, and is, perfect.

The placenta came out. I did lose about 1,000 milligrams of blood because part of the placenta was still inside of me. Thankfully the providers got that out. There was a lot of poking and prodding from 9:30 PM - 1:00 AM. We were able to go to the mother’s floor around 1:30 AM and come home that next day, Thursday. We finally got some sleep that night.

That is how she entered the world! We are so thankful to God for an overall positive, physiological birth. It did hurt a little though, I’ll say that. 😆😂

My soul is naked. In this dark place, nobody is coming. Before I became a mom, I would sit here for days. Melancholy, introspective, aloof. I did find some pretty words and decent stories. At what cost? My bleeding heart. A sacrifice to darkness. Did God really say that? hisses the serpent.

Now, there’s NO TIME for that! Motherhood is refining, absolutely. God DID say that, get up and walk. He says to me today, ask for help.

So I did. And I do. Humans are communal. We crave connection. Furthermore, Little Christs want to please GOD! I starting to see that asking for help is a way to bless others.

Picture this: Would you mind coming over while I cook us dinner? Easy. A friend gets a warm meal. I get company. Another, Would you be open to babysitting for me? I’ll give you $/hour. A break for me. Cash for her.

1. Identify the need

2. Ask for help

The Lord said “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30.

It turns out what I really needed today was an hour to not think about much, and complete focus as I cooked chicken alfredo. Oh, and to wash and blow dry my hair.

Here’s to more community. More helping others. More asking for help.

One thing about me, I’m going to talk to God about whatever “it” is.

I met Jesus in 2018. The real Him. We talked about work, money, friends! I was a *mostly* Single Pringle from 2018-2022. Early on in my walk with Yahweh, I felt like I couldn’t talk to him about my desires for a boyfriend (eventual spouse). But one gal in particular helped me see that God is PRECISELY WHO I should be talking to about my feelings!!

Therefore! I openly engaged with Him about what I desired. He gave me so much insight through his word and his spirit.

Here’s the story of the BOOKSTORE!

Sometime around 2020, my head is turned sideways reading titles. These books are half used, worn, but ready. My heart flutters in my chest as I touch the yellowed pages. Geeez, I love books. l

Someone sat down and felt so strongly about

something, they recorded it. They edited it. They sent it to another for edits. Of course it wasn’t for the money. It was for me to learn from them. For me to grow. For me to experience newness through their words. For me to peek in their brain.

You will fall in love in a book store.

WOAH. Okay, that wasn’t my voice. That was the still small voice of God behind my ears. Down in my jaw. Bursting out of my stomach. Yes, Lord. I receive!

Fast forward. It’s Fall 2022. I finally agree to go on a date with my neighbor. He wants to go bowling. I kinda do but secretly feel awkward about bowling in front of a cute guy. I’m relieved when the alley was packed. Time for a new plan! One of us mentions the used book store. That works because I LOVE the bookstore.

We park. We skip through. We make it to the back with the records. He tells me about his love for Journey. I try to share something cool. I’m nervous though. He knows all of these artists from the 80s. I barely know any.

We find an album with a flag on it: red, white and blue. I think, hmm. Which country does that flag belong to? “France” he says quietly. Flag knowledge, I’m impressed.

We pick out books for one another. He finds one on portraits. I pick Mountain of Spices. The date goes well enough that I say yes to Round Two.

Present day, did I fall in love that moment with him? I actually think I did even before that. ;-) but, I KNOW God was there. He had already told me about the bookstore. He had prepared my heart two years before that first date. He wasn’t surprised we ended up there. The consistent presence of Jesus was a key factor in our quick season of dating. Thank you Lord, for the bookstore!

Bluish-grey swirls in his eyes, like a tropical storm. His hair tapered tightly in place. He looks comfortable here.

I stand in front of a large Van Gogh. Over life sized. He finds me. We study in silence. “I knew I would find you here,” he whispers. His voice is grizzley, rusted from the wind.

Well, that’s how imagined our meet-cute anyways. That’s not quite how it happened, but my prophesying hit on something: his eye for beauty. We bought our house in 2023. By that time, he had found a piece of art that “reminded him of me.” Fast forward, he found a ballerina. A couple of people on a blanket, drinking coffee by the pond. Together we found the cherubim. He placed the mirror I bought for him before we married. Another piece of young girls sitting together within pink flowers. He slowly built the most beautiful gallery wall. Two and a half years in he found the girl reading the book. The brunette. Three years in, the finale: a depiction of a baby holding a kitty. Much like our little girl holding her little girl.

So this love is the art gallery. He’s the curator.