Labor, Naturally

Feb 282012
 

I had not been feeling well in general last weekend. Paul went to Grandma’s house until last Monday night so I kept saying to Ryan, “This would be an ideal time to have a baby!”

Sunday afternoon, partially in jest and partially with the hope that they would work, I made a batch of what I found online called “Jump Start Your Labor” Molasses Spice Cookies and ate quite a few of them. Monday, since I was without Paul, I ran some errands and, when I had extra time, I found myself walking around stores looking at baby things and hoping I would not be pregnant for another three weeks! I walked around for about an hour and a half.

Tuesday morning meant taking Paul to preschool and going to the doctor for my 39 week check up. I’d progressed a little since the previous week, and the baby was low and engaged. “We could induce you, if you’d like,” Dr. M offered.

I declined with a sigh. Much as I wanted to not be pregnant any more, I knew I wanted nature to take it’s course. Dr. M ordered an ultrasound to make sure baby was alright: I was measuring small, and at this point it’s important to make sure there is enough fluid for the baby.

By the time the ultrasound was finished, I had to pick up Paul from preschool. We had lunch, I got the blood test the doctor ordered, and then we went to a friend’s house for a play date. Around this time, Ryan called to ask if I’d mind if he joined the youth group at the temple for baptisms. I wasn’t crazy about him being gone, but I said sure, because really, it wasn’t like I was in labor or anything.

By the time the play date was over, I’d called Ryan back and told him to please not go to the temple. I just felt so off. We were nearly home when Paul reminded me that I need to stop and get milk. I cried at the thought of going back out to the store, but we did it. I bought a number of freezer meals, because let’s face it: if I felt that miserable already, how would I get through another week of pregnancy?

That night, I took a long warm bath. By ten p.m., I was noticing some light contractions but they were irregularly spaced. Ryan went to sleep by about 9. “If it happens tonight, ” he said, “I’d like to be rested.” I dozed off about 10:30.

At 12:15, I awoke to contractions again, this time about four minutes apart. They didn’t get strong, but they were consistent for more than an hour, so we called the sitter for Paul and headed out about 1:30 a.m. or so. Paul was groggy in the car to our friend’s house, but he still was awake enough to say, “It’s time?”

The ride to the hospital was about 20 minutes after we dropped off Paul. The contractions got closer together and I worried we’d make it! And then the real contractions started — a bit farther apart than the weaker ones had been — and I realized those close together ones I’d been feeling were just the beginning, and they were nothing compared to the real thing. I have a bad memory.

At any rate, I labored in the hospital for three hours with regular painful contractions. Ryan was a saint, much as he was last time. He just kept me going through each contraction. “One at a time,” he said. Each one was bad, but then there would be a respite before the next. I was going to make it! This time, I did manage to walk the room a little, to bounce on a labor ball, and otherwise not remain on the bed as I had when I was laboring with Paul.

I was 5 or 6 cm at 5 a.m., and I couldn’t stand the thought that I’d be there for so many more hours to get this baby out! That next hour had some of the most horrible contractions but it was worth it, I suppose, because by 6 a.m. I was complete! Nearly there. We had no idea.

The nurse called my doctor (Dr. C was on call, not Dr. M) and said “come quickly.” Almost immediately, at about 6:05, my water broke (finally!) and I knew it was time to push a baby out. The nurses kept asking me to not push, to wait for my doctor, and I would have none of that.

I have, apparently, false memories of this part: I recall totally losing it. I was yelling at everyone to get the baby out and I didn’t care who took the baby out just do it! I was screaming that I couldn’t move, that I couldn’t stop pushing, that the people there were not listening to me. I don’t remember what I said, I just remember knowing that I couldn’t stop the inevitable! Ryan says I wasn’t that bad in my yelling, and that I seemed fully in control. I remember feeling completely out of control.

At any rate, my doctor got there about 6:15 and by 6:25, I had delivered a newborn baby. I can’t say I felt like dancing out of the room as I recall feeling about delivering Paul: I was pretty sore and I also was rather groggy from being up all night long. But I still felt that rush of accomplishment in knowing I’d made it through naturally again. Of course, labor was half as long as it had been with Paul. I suppose that helps. But I did leave the delivery room thinking “That wasn’t so bad.”  And really, it wasn’t!

Dr. M stopped by on his morning rounds at about 8:30 when I was still in the delivery room. He said, “Well, you were right: you wanted nature to take it’s course!” It seemed quite strange to me to think that less than 24 hours earlier, I’d been in the office dreading the thought of being pregnant another three weeks!

 

 

Christmas Activities

Jan 102012
 

One of my New Year’s Resolutions is to update this page with family pictures in the same month in which the activities took place, starting with Christmas 2011. I especially want to be better since I posted 50+ pictures a month of newborn Paul and I want Caroline to feel she’s just as special a newborn.

I intended to post these pictures the last week of December. And yet, here I am well in to the new year, waiting for Paul to go to preschool to do so.

IMG_2334 At any rate, Christmas was wonderful this year. I baked cookies and fudge to enjoy for a month and to give away to neighbors. Paul was incredibly excited to countdown until Christmas and he enjoyed the activities we did.

Before Christmas, I was able to attend Paul’s preschool holiday party. I haven’t attended any of his parties before so it was fun to be there to help and take pictures, etc. This was a rather chaotic party; I wonder if preschool is always like this? At any rate, they had some carnival games, a few craft projects, and then a gym floor covered in bath sponges that were called “snowballs.” They were encouraged to have a snowball fight. Put 20 kids aged 3 and 4 in a room and tell them to have a snowball fight? Um… Paul reacted much as I would have. He threw a “snowball,” then watched people for a while. Then threw another. It was a bit intense.

Here are some of the best pictures of my little guy. The full album of the preschool is on flickr with a guest pass.

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Reindeer bowling


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He's proud he knocked some bowling pins down.

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We are low-key about presents (I do not want to raise a spoiled or greedy child who says “I want that!” for every toy he sees). I gave him a (plastic) kids microscope, books (which is what he asked for), and an inflatable globe, among some other smaller things. Grandpa Sorenson gave us a book of silly stories that he wrote and Grandma gave him a Thomas the Tank Engine puzzle. Grandma Peggy sent Trio blocks, which along with our Legos, have given me lots of time as Paul slips downstairs to create yet something else. (YES!)

We enjoyed the true spirit of Christmas. At the beginning of the month, he loved selecting some clothes for a “poor boy” from the library’s giving tree and talked for days about the boy who was too poor to get his own clothes. (He was particularly excited because the boy was FOUR just like he is so he knew just what the boy would like.) He loved selecting gifts for his cousins (we do a family gift rotation among my siblings). He loved the excitement of wrapped presents and waiting for them. I don’t think he was tempted to open them, he just loved shaking them and counting them and wondering. He was fascinated by the mystery of magical Santa (although *cough* the reindeer forgot to eat the reindeer food that Paul left on the front step. How’d I know he’d check that FIRST?! even before looking under the tree?).

And most importantly, Christmas was, for our family, about the true meaning of the season, the birth of our Savior. I love having Christmas on Sunday, because then church reinforced the real meaning of the season. I wish we had services every Christmas morning, but of course, that’s not how it works.

The not-so-materialistic goals we have worked well this year: we got to church at 10:30 and someone asked him what he got for Christmas.

“Ugh….I forgot.” he responded. (But he did remember to say that the reindeer forgot to eat the reindeer food he left for them…). So, at any rate, I know Christmas for Paul was not about the presents. Mission accomplished!

We also got to spend the afternoon with Grandma and Grandpa and Paul’s Sorenson cousins. It was lots of fun to watch the kids playing, and it was great to gather with family on a special day.

After Church Christmas Day

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31 weeks pregnant

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Cousins
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Grandpa Reading The Grinch
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Merry Christmas!

“Why Is the Flag Coming Down?”

Sep 112011
 

Paul asked me this as we passed a flag on our way to church this morning. I told him that ten years ago today some bad men stole an airplane and killed a lot of people. We fly the flag half way up to remember that lots of people died.

“Who were the people that died?” he responded. “Tell me their names.”

I didn’t have any names for him. I didn’t, in fact, know any of the 3,000 people who died that day. I didn’t even see the television coverage until after I returned home from campus a few hours after the fact. I found out about the towers as I walked in to my economics class at 9 a.m. Mountain Time, just 20 minutes after I’d finished reading the New York Times and heading out for class.

It struck me, though, that his first reaction is to connect with the people who died. He could have said, “Why would bad men do that?” but no, he knows that some people are bad in the world. He just wanted to remember along with me and all the others that put our flag at half mast. I had just told him that we lower the flag to remember. He was remembering through me.

(Ten years is, he informed me a few days ago, the definition of “old.” One is not “old” until they are ten. Then they are old. He is still not old. Apparently, the attacks in NYC are now “old.”)

It was somewhat reassuring that this year I didn’t have to have a discussion with him about the bad people. “Terrorist” is still not in his vocabulary. But “remember” is. We can all do that each September 11. Let’s focus on the good. Let’s remember.

 

Questions

Jul 082011
 
  • Why is my tongue wet?
  • Why do birds fly?
  • Where do birds fly?
  • Why do cars move?
  • Why don’t houses move?

As you can see, Paul is well into the “why” stage. Do you have any good answers?

 

Unwrapping Your Children

Jul 062011
 

Well, about these girls. They came as they were, unique, wonderful spirits and my blessing was to just unwrap the package to see who they were and to help guide them into who they could be.  I didn’t ever feel like I had to mold them or make them into somebody different than who they were because they were so great when they came. It was a fun discovery to learn who they were. They are different, different people, but they are delightful fun daughters and I always enjoyed our children.

Julie B. Beck on her two daughters

I want to say that about my own children. I never want my son to think I don’t appreciate his own personality. I don’t want him to think that I expect him to be something he is not. That would be a painful thing, to feel like a disappointment. I don’t want my son to feel he disappoints me for being himself.

This means I need to never talk about his faults, or things I disapprove of, in front other people. I need to avoid criticism when he does things differently than I would do them. I need to make sure I don’t manipulate him into doing something I want, when his personality would do something differently. I need to always remember that he came to me a precious spirit, with his own personality. He will make choices different from those that I’d make, but that’s a part of his precious personality.

As his mother, I can help guide him into who he can be. I can help him discover his potential.

I don’t need to mold him: I need to unwrap him.

To listen to the entire conversation between Sheri Dew and Julie B. Beck and her two daughters, visit Mormon Channel.

Reflections

Apr 172011
 
  • In Paul’s primary talk, he said, “Jesus rose for us.” He then, in a different context, saw the  picture of the Risen Lord appearing to Mary and said, “Look, Mommy! Jesus rose-ing!”
  • Normally during Sacrament Meeting, Paul sings “mah blah blah mah!” as loudly as he can in time with the music, as he or I points to the words on the page. Today, the speaker introduced the song, “Behold, the Great Redeemer Die!” Paul sang along with the correct words for the first two lines. I was amazed: he knows that song. I know that is because we go to church every Sunday.
  • Regularly, Paul stops playing to say, “Mommy, I say unto you, I love you!” This is how I know he really does hear the scripture study we do together, even though it seems he’s not paying attention.
  • Paul is regularly teaching me a lesson in humility and generosity, from his sharing his fruit snacks to his outpouring of love. From his example, I better understand the Savior’s injunction to be as a little child. I’m to approach life with sincerity, to love and give without thoughts of “scarcity” and selfishness, and to be honest in my thoughts, words and deeds. (Although I should mention that Paul has learned to lie, he is still for the most part a very truthful, loving, sensitive child.)

Paul’s First Primary Talk

Apr 152011
 

The subject Paul was given for his talk was “Jesus Christ is my Savior and Redeemer.” We got our favorite pictures of Jesus from the gospel art kit, Mommy put it in order, and to help herself, she wrote the words of Paul’s talk on a paper on the back. To her surprise, Paul was reading the words on the back. Here is Paul’s talk for Sunday.

We watched this video together and Paul said, “Mommy, I want to follow Jesus.” Yes, dear. I do too!

Eminent Women Redux

Apr 112011
 

Remember how last year when I went to Nauvoo I was a model for a painter? He was painting the eminent men and women who appeared to President Woodruff in the St. George Temple. I became incredibly interested in this event, and although I haven’t thought of it every day, the event is something I have recalled a few times in the past months.

This week I was reading the poetry of Anne Bradstreet. I wrote about Anne Bradstreet today on my reading blog. Anne Bradstreet was a Puritan, a dedicated wife, and a free-thinker, as she balanced being a mother to eight with being a pioneer in a 1630s New England settlement and a talented poet in her own right.

“I am obnoxious to each carping tongue
Who says my hand a needle better fits.” (“The Prologue” stanza 5)

Yet, given the fact that she was a woman of faith, a Puritan woman at that, she also has numerous poems about faith. Just like you and me, she struggled to come to peace with her life struggles and her faith in the beyond. Take this sample from a poem she wrote just after her house burned down.

There’s wealth enough; I need no more.
Farewell, my pelf; farewell, my store.
The world no longer let me love;
My hope and Treasure lies above. (“Verses on the Burning of My House”)

Or maybe these thoughts of faith as she suffered from insomnia one night:

By night when others soundly slept
And hath at once both ease and Rest,
My waking eyes were open kept
And so to lie I found it best.

I sought him whom my Soul did Love,
With tears I sought him earnestly.
He bow’d his ear down from Above.
In vain I did not seek or cry.

My hungry Soul he fill’d with Good;
He in his Bottle put my tears,
My smarting wounds washt in his blood,
And banisht thence my Doubts and fears.

What to my Saviour shall I give
Who freely hath done this for me?
I’ll serve him here whilst I shall live
And Loue him to Eternity. (“By Night While Other’s Slept”)

At any rate, as I read her struggles of faith, I felt the same things I felt when I have been doing family history. I felt she was right next to me as I read her poems of faith. I felt that the veil was incredibly thin. And I had a distinct impression that she was one of those eminent women who appeared to Wilford Woodruff.

I looked on all the sites I looked on last time. I could not find Anne Dudley or Anne Bradstreet on any of the lists. So I looked her up in New Family Search. I found that her baptisms were done in September 1879 in the St. George Temple. It was two years and a half after the eminent men and women appeared to Wilford Woodruff. Maybe she was not one of those who appeared on that day in 1877, but somehow her name got put in the system at the same time. (Those were the first baptisms for the dead performed in a temple, as the St. George Temple was the first operating temple.)

Bradstreet’s poems show that she already believed the gospel two hundred years before it was restored. Such good poetry. Read it at Anne Bradstreet.com.

What are you reading for National Poetry Month?

By the way, can you tell which face is based on mine in Bedard’s image? I don’t know for sure, of course, but there’s one that I think looks rather like me. The painting is almost done and so beautiful! See here.

Guess What Song Paul Is Learning in Primary?

Mar 202011
 

As he was eating breakfast the other day, Paul stopped mid bite and said, “Mom! I know who I am!”

I congratulated him. Then a few bites later. “Mom! I know God’s plan!”

Aw, how sweet!

He also told me “I know who you are, too. You are my Mommy. I know that because I love you.”

He also has been closing his prayers “In the name of Jesus Christ of latter-day Saints.” Combined with his recent confusion as to who to pray to, his prayers have been a bit confused lately.

 

2011 Goal Number 2: Do Family History Work

Mar 132011
 

I was walking the dirty and crowded back streets of Greater Manchester, England, in the summer of 1885, searching for them. Then I remembered their address, and asked a passerby for directions. I was a strange sight in my modern day clothes, but I hadn’t had time to prepare for my journey: I didn’t know I would be time traveling, after all.

As I approached the small cellar, I saw two men approaching, and I knew it was James (senior) and his brother Martin. James was a bit wary of me, but when I’d explained that I was his descendant, come to visit from 2011, he was willing to answer my questions. I asked him question after question, and I’m sorry to say that I cannot at this time remember what I asked, let alone the answers he gave me! Just one question I remember: why hadn’t he gone yet to New York looking for Margaret? She was his wife, after all!

As I tried to find my way out of the time warp, Margaret Ann and her father were starting to pack their bags. They said it would take a few weeks to get enough cash together, but they were ready to go to New York and find Margaret. They realized they’d waited too long.

The streets got darker as I stumbled along in the maze, and suddenly I was awake, Paul asking me for help with something this worldly.

It was just a dream. Upon waking, I knew immediately that I’d had some of the details wrong. James and his children did not live in the cellar at Back Acton Street: that was the address of Thomas Simmons and his family during the 1851 and 1861 censuses. What was his address in 1881? I should look it up for the next time.

Remember how I claimed that this year I’d make New Year’s Resolutions after I’ve accomplished something? I’ve been meaning to tell you about my resolution number 2, but every time I sit down to write about it, I get distracted on Ancestry.com or some other site. Tonight I’m determined to get it down for your sakes.

Saturday, January 1, 2011, my Grandma, Helen Ruth Wilson Benac, peacefully passed away. I shared some thoughts in January on my reading blog about the power of reading her personal history.

What I didn’t mention on that blog was that on Sunday, the day after her passing, I began to feel like I was supposed to be doing family history work. “I don’t know how to do that!”I told myself, shrugging it off.

I had tried for a few weeks when Paul was newborn, and I never seemed to have enough time to get into the groove before he’d need my attention again. In Australia, I had nearby access to a family history center, but I still didn’t make much progress. I had heard about James Simon and his wife Margaret’s mysterious disappearance, and I was fascinated by it. But I decided that there was a season for everything, and family history work was for those who had more time than I did.

This January, after Grandma’s passing, the urge to revisit James and Margaret’s story persisted for weeks. I kept thinking about Grandma, and I kept thinking about Margaret’s story. Finally, in the middle of January, on a Tuesday morning after I left my son at preschool, I stopped by the local family history center and said, “What do I do first?”

The librarian showed me how to correct errors on New Family Search, how to add information I’ve found, and how to start discussions. I left the Family History library praying that somehow I’d find Margaret’s mother, because I was certain the two of them wanted to be found. After just one hour of studying Margaret’s name and her mother’s blank line, I felt a spiritual bond with them.

I called my mom to say how excited I was about the progress, and a few days later, my brother Frank sent me an email saying he was working on these same people and maybe we should collaborate. Suddenly, there are three of us working on finding this family extensively.

It has been delightful, time consuming, exhausting, frustrating, exciting, boring, and over everything else successful.

Thanks to our combined research (and some funding from Mom and an ancestry subscription from Frank!) we’ve discovered Margaret Shield’s mother: Ann Dunlope. (See Margaret’s birth certificate). We’ve found so many more than just Ann, because we didn’t know much about these people. We have more than 20 new names to take to the temple for baptisms or marriages. Just a quick rundown: Margaret’s father is Patrick and she has two younger brothers (and a sister we knew about). James comes from a family of not three children but ten, and we have names for at least five of them, plus his parents (although their work is almost done!). We know when James and his family came to England from Ireland, and we may have found that James was actually born in England after their arrival. We’ve found that Margaret may have been married before she married James, that what we thought was the oldest child may have been from another marriage, and that our ancestor Margaret Ann (who was born to Margaret and James) was born a year before the two of them were married. In fact, Margaret may have been a bigamist, a thought that makes me, a reader of Victorian literature, rather excited to discover just what really happens at the end of this real-life family novel.

Each answer we get from the English records only opens up another set of questions.

Although my mind has been mainly full of Margaret Sheilds and James Simon and their children and their siblings, as I’ve thought of my open-ended goal to “do family history work” this year, I keep thinking of Ann Dunlop. To me, she is the image of success, for we have found Margaret’s mother. That is what Margaret wanted me to find back in January. As I left the family history center that first day, I felt Margaret’s presence along with her unknown mother’s as they asked me to find her so they could be sealed together.

Date for that sealing to be determined. I keep hoping that we’ll find a few more names this week.

I am the daughter of Ellen Margaret Benac, who is the daughter of Helen Ruth Wilson, who is the daughter of John Wilson, who is the son of Margaret Ann Simon (and Charles Edwin Wilson), who is the daughter of Margaret Shields (and James Simon) who is the daughter of Ann Dunlop and Patrick Shields.

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Cousins Jessica and Paul with Great-Grandma in November

If you are a part of the family, log in to the New Family Search and you’ll see it for yourself. If any of you, especially those related to James and Margaret, want to be in on our email discussions, please let me know in the comments and I can send you our emails. Sometimes I send five in an evening, just so you know.

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