Welcome to a very special blog post! I typically only blog engagement and wedding sessions, but I thought this would be a fun way to share my little guy’s newborn photos AND his birth story!

Along with having a love for photography, I also have an affinity for the written word. Sometimes I sit down at a computer and words just pour right out of me. I used to write a blog that was dedicated to sharing about my experiences as a first-time mom to my daughter Gracie (who is now 2 1/2). For some reason it was very therapeutic to be able to share my inner monologue with others, is that weird? Anyway, when my photography business started getting busier, I needed to spend more of my time editing photos and less on my silly ramblings 🙂

It’s been awhile since I wrote a blog post, but after my son was born I felt compelled to write down my story of how he came into the world. I’ve been blessed to experience some pretty amazing things in my life and I hate to think about how many details I have naturally forgotten along the way. Delivering a baby has got to be, by far, the absolute most miraculous thing I have ever experienced, so I wanted to remember it.

If you are at all interested in reading about my labor and delivery experience with my second babe I’ve included it at the bottom of this post. If you would rather just enjoy seeing his first ten days in this collection of images then keep on scrolling and the cuteness will keep on coming!

[Newborn: Emmett Graham]

Born: December 14th, 2014

 

“It Had to be March”

Both of my children are napping, I’m leisurely sipping my coffee and finding myself feeling only mildy exhausted. Is this real life? Did I just say I have ‘children’? As in, more than one? Having a toddler and a newborn has definitely felt like a crazy-awesome whirlwind at times, so I’m thankful to have stumbled into a piece of calm. Even when I only had one child, I wasn’t very accustomed to dull moments. If you’ve ever met my daughter, Gracie, then you understand me completely! Her extremely inquisitive mind and high energy personality means that when she’s around, there are rarely any “dull” moments.

After having my daughter who often seems to be doing her own impression of the Energizer bunny, I began to get a little nervous about adding a second life to the equation. I am very blessed to get to work from home part time and therefore spend the majority of my days with her. And of course, I love my little girl more than my own beating heart, but it can be hard to keep up with her sometimes! The thought of adding another entire person to my list of responsibilities was enough to freak me out just a little. So, I thought if my husband, Brendon, and I were going to try and have another baby, I wanted to control the timing. I wanted to have some tiny bit of control over when my life would change so dramatically. I knew deep down that having a second child wouldn’t be as scary or intimidating as I was letting myself think it was, but somehow I still let myself be nervous. I knew there would be growing pains and challenges along the way, but I also knew what it felt like to be blessed beyond measure with LIFE. A living, breathing, life! And yet, my human nature still tried to find fleeting comfort in thinking I should control the timing of if and when it happened.

In February 2014, Brendon and I started talking and praying about when we were going to try and have that second child that I was both longing for and a bit scared of. Brendon had been ready to have another baby for a few months and I was the one who had wanted more time before becoming the hormone-crazed, pregnant, breastfeeding lady again. I proposed to him that we start trying in April, so that if we got pregnant within the first few months of trying, we would have a winter baby. That would allow me to completely finish out my busy fall season with photography, have a low-key Christmas, and then have a baby! It seemed like a perfectly timed plan to me.

Shortly after our conversation I just couldn’t ignore an idea that I felt God was pressing on my heart. I kept feeling like God was telling me that we were supposed to start trying for a baby in March. I fought it for a few days because I had my own plan! I felt good about my plan! Getting pregnant in March would mean that I would have to cut my busy season with work short and I would have to spend Christmas feeling like a sleep-deprived zombie. Eventually though, I somehow realized it was time to stop wrestling with God. I remember I was driving in the car having a nice little chat with the Lord and I exclaimed, “Fine! Fine… We’ll try in March.” A large part of me figured my plan was still pretty secure because seriously, what were the chances that we would even get pregnant the first month of trying?

During the first week of April I took a pregnancy test a few days before I was expecting my period because I was just too curious! Why had I felt so strongly about trying in March?? After the two-minute wait was up, Brendon and I just stared at the second line with bewildered looks on our faces… Another baby?? Another baby!! In that moment I suddenly didn’t care anymore at all about my “perfect” timeline. We were going to get to have another baby! Another little life entrusted to us! As the shock began to wear off a wonderful idea started to circle around in my head. What if it had to be March because it had to be THIS baby? As I sifted through all of the many emotions I was feeling I started to get teary as I imagined being able to one day look this child in the eye and say, “Sweetie, it had to be YOU.”

Once we were finally able to wrap our brains around the fact that the pregnancy test had given us a positive result, we embarked on the miraculous and sometimes grueling journey of being pregnant once again! As all parents know, every pregnancy and every delivery is completely different. My labor and delivery with Gracie was a total of seven hours that culminated with about 30 minutes of pushing. Yeah, the contractions were definitely a world of pain but after hearing so many stories of women who have to endure 30+ hours of labor, I felt like I had dodged a major bullet. When we got pregnant again, my realistic mind couldn’t help but think that this meant I was really going to “get it” this time. I even found myself letting my fears rob me of some of the excitement of getting to meet my baby.

Of course, God knew exactly what I needed to get over these irrational fears. Have you ever heard that popular saying, “God only gives you what you can handle”? Well, in my experience I have found that it is completely and 100% true. I was five days past my due date, horribly uncomfortable, and just starting to feel discouraged as the word “induction” began to get thrown around. God knew that the best way for me to get over my fears of what labor would be like would be to make me have to wait five days past my due date to go into labor! By the time I realized my contractions were in fact the real thing, (and that Braxton Hicks had finally left the premises) I was ecstatic! Bring it on contractions! Oh wait, is that another one? YES!! By the time I got to the hospital when I was pregnant with Gracie, I was already 9cm dilated. So, because my labor with her went so fast, I decided early on that as soon as we knew it was “go time”, we were going to go to the hospital right away. No laboring at home for this lady! Get me to the doctor!

We signed in to the hospital at 4:45 and by 5:30 I was told that I was 4-5cm dilated! The next 90 minutes pretty much consisted of the standard contractions that got progressively more painful. At one point I got up to go to the bathroom and when I laid back down my water broke. Let me tell you, that is a funny sensation! The nurse then checked me again and I was at 7cm. (This is when I thanked the Lord that I was progressing!) By 7p.m. my contractions were coming every 3-5 minutes. My nurse kept making comments that she could tell I was going to go fast and she gave me explicit instructions to call for her as soon as I started feeling the need to “bear down” or if I started feeling like I was going to..how do I say this delicately….go poop.

At around 8p.m. I turned to Brendon and said, “Oh no, here come the Harry Potter contractions.” Any HP fans out there? In the books there is a curse called “The Cruciatus Curse”. It basically translates to “The Pain/Torture Curse”. Anyone put under The Cruciatus Curse is subjected to the worst kind of physical pain possible. This is the point during labor when women start to moan like a barn animal and writhe in pain. Even though I was in no way looking forward to being under that curse again, I knew it meant my baby was almost here. As the wave of torture came over me I grabbed my call button to have my nurse come in. I breathed through the tail-end of the contraction and said, “Definitely feeling that bear down/poop pressure thing.” As soon as I breathed out the words she responded in the most calm and collected tone, “Ok… ARE you pooping right now?” Her casual tone caught me off guard and I started laughing. I know that for her, asking that question to a woman in labor is completely normal. To me, having someone ask me if I am indeed pooping in front of other people and NOT on a toilet just seemed hysterical. After I regained my composure, thankfully I was able to tell her, “No. No I am not pooping right now.”

For the next 30 minutes I morphed into something that sounded like a dying cow. The time of rest between each contraction felt like Heaven. Then the wave of increasing pressure that each contraction brought felt like Bellatrix Lestrange was pointing her wand directly at me. (For you non-HP fans, Bellatrix is not someone you want to have pointing a wand at you) I told my nurse that it felt like my body was starting to push the baby out and I was fighting so hard to not push. She rushed over and thank the Lord she told me I was at 9cm! I rejoiced in my heart even though I’m sure my face looked like a Picasso painting.

For every contraction up until this point I would immediately reach out and grab Brendon’s hand. It made me feel better to squeeze his hand as I felt the pressure tightening around my body. Not only was it nice to feel like I was doing something active but I felt so much comfort knowing that every time I reached for him, he was there. It must be very hard for the men to feel so helpless. They can be emotional support, they can refill your water, they can take care of all the little details, but when it all boils down, they just have to sit there and watch helplessly as their beloved endures what will most likely be the most painful experience of her life. As the contractions grew steadily more intense, I continued to clutch his hand as if he was my life source. Every time I reached for him, he was there. I wasn’t alone. He kept telling me how proud he was of me. How I was “dominating” this even more than last time. For those of you who know me personally, I don’t exactly have a reputation for being someone who “dominates” anything that involves physical pain, so his words of encouragement propelled me to keep being as strong as I could. At one point I started to cry a little but held it in. He saw that I was struggling to keep myself composed and immediately said, “Don’t hold back! Let it out! Cry if you need to! If you need to scream, scream!” Knowing that he was in this with me was all I needed to finally let myself feel what I was feeling. I’m not exactly sure what erupted from my mouth at that point but it sure felt good to not hold back anymore.

At this point my nurse checked me again and I heard the most beautiful words come out of her mouth, “You’re at 10cm!” I joyfully turned to her and asked, “Does that mean I can push? Can I push????” She ran over to the call button with the speed of a cartoon character and called for the doctor while simultaneously saying, “If you can hold off until the doctor gets in here that will be best. It’s always better to have the doctor here!” My eyes got really wide and I slightly shook my head ‘yes’ which was my feeble attempt to tell her that I would try not to push. She could completely read my expression and quickly added, “You can do it. Just breathe through this next one, just breathe” Thankfully my doctor is a fast lady because she came running into my room moments later. The second I saw her come through the door I screamed, “CAN I PUSH????” I honestly don’t even remember hearing what her answer was. I just started pushing! Finally! This stage of labor is actually probably my favorite part because you finally get to DO something about the pain! You get to push that baby OUT!

When I was in labor and pushing with Gracie, I felt a little guilty in hindsight because I wasn’t picturing meeting my baby for the first time. I wasn’t getting flooded with all these soon-to-be mommy emotions. I was so zeroed in on the task at hand of getting her out safely that it was taking up all the room in my brain. This time I wanted to make sure I was more conscious of what was about to happen. I was about to meet someone who would change everything about who I am. I was about to become the mother to another human being. After getting to experience what it felt like to hold Gracie for the first time, I knew how earth-shatteringly amazing this moment was about to be.

After my first big push, I was completely shocked at how fast the head came out. (During a 32 week ultrasound we were told that the baby’s head was measuring at 35 weeks and not 32. All you moms out there know just how terrifying that news would have been! Good luck pushing out a baby who has an abnormally large head!) As I was pushing out the shoulders my nurse told me to let go of the rails and grab onto my knees. I grunted at her that I didn’t think I could do that. She grabbed my hand off the rail and said, “Yes! You can! You can do that. Do it! Trust me!” My nurse will go down in my life story as one of the most influential people I’ve ever met. God gave me the absolute perfect person to be my trained caregiver. Nothing phased her; she was so knowledgeable and knew just when to push me to do what would be best. Somehow I managed to just barely grasp my knees and offer up one final push.

And just like that,

I had a son.

They immediately set him on my stomach and I instinctively went to grab for him to pull him up towards my chest. My nurse immediately swooped around me and blurted, “Careful! Careful!! His cord isn’t long enough yet!” I laughed, apologized, and watched as Brendon did his “dad duties” and cut the cord.

Finally. After 40 weeks and 5 days of anticipation and longing, my baby boy was in my arms. One of the nurses asked, “Does he have a name?” I glanced over at Brendon and as he anxiously bounced on his heels I could tell he knew our son’s name. Months before we had narrowed it down to either Emmett or Graham. I had spent the last month going back and forth each day on both names and honestly, I always came back to Graham. The day before he was born I was convinced that his name would be Graham. I hadn’t mentioned that to Brendon but he later confirmed that he had been thinking we had a Graham as well. But, as soon as I saw his chubby little face, I started second guessing myself. Was this perfect little boy my Graham?

After the doctor and nurses left and we had a moment to breathe we knew it was time to decide on his name. I realized Brendon had not gotten to hold him yet so I quickly handed him off. As I stared at his round face, tiny nose, and perfect lips, I could tell Brendon knew his name and was about to burst with excitement. I quietly asked, “What’s his name?” and Brendon shyly looked over at me with the biggest grin on his face and said, “…Emmett?” My eyes immediately flooded with tears and my heart confirmed, yes, that had to be his name. After all the commotion of the past few hours, it felt so good to enjoy holding our son. I took a deep breath as I reflected on how we got to this place in time. Then my mind drifted all the way back to February when I had wrestled with the Lord about the timing of getting pregnant. In that moment of staring at my son, I realized why we had to start trying for a baby in March.

It was because it had to be him.

It had to be Emmett.

My blog (that has been incredibly neglected lately) can be found at www.mybabyhijackedmylife.blogspot.com. There’s lots and lots of stories on there about how Gracie hijacked my life (in a good way).