Declan's Birth Story

It has been nearly six weeks since our sweet son entered the world, but when I look at his precious face, that miraculous moment seems like only yesterday. (There’s also something about having a newborn that makes the first few weeks feel like one really long day).

For as long as I can remember, I have known I’ve wanted to be a mother, but it wasn’t until I saw my son for the first time that I truly knew what that meant. This is the story of that day.

In the weeks leading up to my delivery, my health took a slightly scary turn for the worse. In early September, following a long weekend in Hilton Head, South Carolina, I went to a check up. They told me that my blood pressure was up slightly and they wanted to keep an eye on it. A week later, I was 35 weeks along, I went back again and the BP was further elevated. The doctors were concerned that my condition could develop into pre-eclampsia. They decided to place me on modified bed rest, which meant leaving work several weeks before I had intended to start my maternity leave and trying my best to simply relax at home (which is clearly not my best thing). They told us to prepare ourselves that our son might need to be delivered, as early as the following week and to fully expect that no matter when he was born, my labor would likely need to be induced.

We spent the weekend making the necessary arrangements to welcome a baby into our home. We returned to the doctor’s office on Monday. My pressure remained high but no other signs of pre-eclampsia had yet emerged and the baby seemed to be stable. They decided to give our little guy more time inside the womb to develop and began monitoring me twice per week with ultrasounds and non-stress tests. Each time we went to the doctor, we put our suitcases in the car and prepared to be taken over to triage and each time, we were sent home to “bake” a little longer.

Miraculously, we were able to hold off induction for another four weeks without any other pre-eclampsia symptoms developing! We were even cleared to make a trip to Syracuse, NY to be in the wedding of our best friends! Though my blood pressure remained high and I was retaining fluid at a somewhat alarming rate, I was happy to give our boy more time to develop.

We were finally at 38 weeks and a few days. After reviewing my condition and his, Hubs and I, together with our doctors, decided that it was time to deliver. We made arrangements to induce at exactly 39 weeks on Wednesday, October 9^th – on the anniversary of our first date five years ago.

On the morning of the induction, Hubs and I woke up around 3:30 am. We were scheduled to arrive at the hospital at 5:00 and so we took our time getting ready and enjoying a hearty breakfast together. It was a special moment that we’ll always remember.

We arrived at the hospital right on time and were able to secure the largest labor and delivery room on the floor. We checked in and got situated. Shortly thereafter, the nurses began setting up my IV – it took them no less than six (count ‘em) tries before they finally got a vein that worked (ouch!). They started pitocin and fluids and I was able to shut my eyes for a few minutes.

I started feeling contractions but things were getting off to a slow start. My amazing sister-in-law who had come into town (with her three young children) specifically to coach me through labor, arrived at the hospital a few hours later. She encouraged me to get up and get moving (we even had a short dance party)! Contractions started to pick up in consistency and strength but were still manageable. Around noon, my doctor came in and broke my water. At that time she placed an internal monitor to better observe my contractions.

From then on, contractions began to pick up steadily. Throughout the process, I had the best team of coaches I could have imagined surrounding me – my husband, my mother, my sister-in-law and her sister. I was aiming to have a natural delivery without the aid of pain medications and so needed every ounce of their support.

As each wave of a contraction rolled in, they seamlessly took on specific roles helping me to relax my entire body from my face down through my legs. They helped me remember to breathe and let the contractions completely take over my body. In some ways, it felt like a perfectly choreographed dance and they were all partnering me through it.

At one point, the baby’s heart rate decelerated for about four minutes. In order to accurately keep track of the baby’s heartbeat, the nurses asked me to stay close to or in my bed, limiting my ability to labor in different positions.

As the afternoon wore on, contractions continued to come at me every few minutes and were lasting for about 30-60 seconds. I had little sense of time passing and in between contractions tried to completely relax my body, almost to the point of sleeping for short stints. We kept the room dim and quiet with the blinds drawn, and I remember completely giving my body over to the pain. The nurses came and went regularly, monitoring my vitals and adjusting my pitocin levels in order to let the labor progress as naturally as possible.

Around 8:00 pm the intensity picked up further and I entered transition – the last phase of labor before you begin pushing. My body was wracked with each wave to the point of nausea. I got sick several times and felt relief rush through me just as the next wave rolled in. Hubs later told me that I had four “off the charts” contractions in a row and then immediately on their heels a less intense but incredibly long one that pushed me over the edge.

It was then that the doctor came in to check my progress. Despite exhibiting clear signs of transition, I was still only about 6 cm or so dilated and about 70-80% effaced. There was scar tissue present that was keeping me from progressing further.  I nearly fell apart when I heard this news. All the while, the contractions kept coming.

I asked everyone to step out of the room and turned to my husband to discuss whether we should introduce pain medication to the equation. We were both dedicated to a natural delivery, but we knew that the scar tissue complication had stalled some of my progress. We decided to proceed in increments and asked for the doctor to push IV pain medication in hopes that it would take the edge off and help me relax enough to continuing dilating. After what seemed like ages I was still feeling every ounce of pain and was losing my ability to systematically relax through the contractions. I asked when the meds would kick in and was told they should have done so a while ago. I was also told that when your body is in transition already, IV pain meds are less likely to be effective.

It was at this point, exhausted and overwhelmed, that we decided to place an epidural. It took a long time for the anesthesiologist to arrive and get set up. I was still contracting regularly and was now without the many hands of support that could help me cope with the pain as they had cleared the room. I was asked to sit up with my legs over the side of the bed resting on Hubs’ knees. I had nothing to brace myself against as two strong contractions came on. Then, I hunched my back to make room in my spine and with every ounce of control I could muster stayed completely still through another contraction while the doctor was injecting the needle. I was focused, Hubs was scared for me.

They were able to place the epidural successfully and I asked them to keep the dosage low. After a short while, I could still feel the contractions but they were far less painful. I was able to rest and regain some strength.

About an hour after the epidural was placed, my doctor returned and checked me again. I was thrilled when she exclaimed “you’re complete!” (Meaning I was fully dilated and effaced). It was then I knew that getting the epidural when I did was the right decision. It helped me relax my muscles, and once the scar tissue was cleared, I was able to progress quickly.

I labored down, sitting upright in bed for another 45 minutes or so, to let the baby drop a little further. They told me to let them know when I started feeling pressure and the urge to push. It was around 10:00 pm that the nurse predicted the baby would be born after midnight.

Somewhere around 10:40 or so I started to feel the pressure they had described and called for the nurse. She checked me and said that we were going to practice some pushing but warned that it could still be a while since I was a first time mom and had never pushed before.

We started with a few practice pushes. The nurse expertly guided and coached me through the process and told me I was doing great, especially for having never done this before! At 11:00 she excitedly proclaimed, “he’s right there – we’re going to start pushing for real!”

I started pushing with every contraction, giving it everything I had. I’m certain it was sheer determination for him to be born on the 9^th that helped me keep up the strength I needed.

Sure enough, at 11:30 pm the nurse was shocked that she could see his head and called for the doctor. In an instant, the room was swarmed with a team of medical professionals. While they were setting up, I felt another contraction coming on and asked if I should push again. They told me to wait (and I’m so glad they did). Moments later, another contraction came on and the doctor told me to push. With that one push, I felt the sensation of his head coming out then, immediately after, his shoulders and his tiny body.

It was without question the most bizarre feeling and one I’ll never forget.

When I opened my eyes, I saw his tiny body being held in the air as he was thrust into my arms. I heard the beautiful sound of him crying and I looked down to see the most breathtaking face I have ever laid eyes on.

Words will forever fall short in describing how I felt that moment. A combination of overwhelming love, relief and simple, raw emotion came over me. I was in tears.

It felt as though I stared at him forever and yet, I’m sure it was only seconds. I looked up at my husband and again was floored by the beauty before me. He was crying and looking down at our son so lovingly I thought my heart would burst from my chest.

Though we had been fairly certain of his name, it wasn’t until we saw his sweet face that we were sure he was in fact Declan Mitchell Bassett. I always thought it was strange when couples told me that they couldn’t decide the name of their child until they were delivered, but in that moment, I knew just what they meant.

A while later, they took him to be measured and weighed. He was a peanut! 6 lbs. 2 oz. and 18.5 inches long. His glucose levels were a little low, so we knew we had our work cut out for us for the next few hours to feed him enough to get his blood sugar levels stabilized.

The hours that followed were an exhausting blur…in fact, in some ways, the last six weeks have been. But every moment has been a learning experience.

I am so grateful for the experience I had bringing Declan into the world. The ability to trust my body to do what it needed to was empowering. I will be forever changed by it.

I am beyond blessed for the support I had in the delivery room – I never could have done it without them.

And I am overjoyed to be a mother - exhausted and frustrated at times, but overjoyed.

It is true what they say about how all the positive things about being a parent manage to completely erase all of the struggles. I experience that every day. I can fall asleep frustrated and defeated after a rough feeding, and hours later, wake him up and just fall completely in love all over again.

I am privileged to be Declan’s mom and so look forward to what this exciting journey of raising a child brings our way.

A Swift Kick in the.....Belly!

It has been a very eventful few weeks!

First and foremost, on Saturday, June 29th at 12:12 am, we welcomed my niece, Catherine Elizabeth McLean, into the world. She weighed in at 9 lbs. 9 oz. and was 20.5 in.

I had the extreme pleasure of visiting her this weekend and meeting her on the very day she was born. I also got to spend a considerable amount of time with my sister-in-law as she recovered in the hospital. The entire experience was joyful, emotional and eye-opening.

Baby Cate, as we call her, is heart-meltingly precious.  I. am. in. love.

From her tiny toes to her round, hair-covered head - she is perfect and I adore her. I found myself just staring at her and inspecting her whole little body. I held her a lot and rocked her to sleep when she was fussing. I stroked the bottom of her little wrinkled feet and teared up at the thought of just how excited I am to be holding my own little boy in my arms in only a few short months.

I also learned a great deal about the not-so-glamorous recovery process for mom. My hat goes off to all of the women around the world who have experienced the pains of child birth. You're amazing! As a spectator this weekend, I was able to start mentally preparing myself a bit more about what to expect when it is my turn this fall.

Over the last few weeks, I have also had the chance to get to know my Little Man a bit more. His soccer player kicks have gotten stronger and more frequent. I've come to understand what I'm doing, eating (or more truthfully, not doing) that gets him moving. At the end of a long, hectic work day, as soon as I put my feet up on the couch, this little one starts his calisthenics. I fall asleep at night feeling his movements and wake up to them in the morning as well. I like to think of it as our special time together.

Hubs even got to feel him! We were on the couch and I could feel him starting to get going. I grabbed Hubs' hand and placed it squarely in the lower center of my belly and just then, his palm was greeted with a good strong kick! It was overwhelming to see my husband's face when he felt his son for the first time.

His movements and kicks are strong reminders of the privilege I have to be carrying a life inside me. I can't understand how anyone can experience this without feeling completely humbled. I am very fortunate and completely aware of how important and special this responsibility is.

This weekend, also solidified how ready I am to welcome this little one to the world. While I'll gladly wait for him to arrive perfectly baked this October, it feels good to have transitioned from a place of anxious nervousness to a place of certain anticipation.

I am going to be a mother. I am thrilled about it.

This happens to other people.

This has been one of those weeks. The kind that come along (hopefully) only once in a lifetime. The kind that change you from the inside out. The kind that draw a line between then and now, that can never be crossed again.

This week, our family bid farewell to a woman with a warm, giving and adventurous heart. The loss was tragic and unexpected, and has left unanswered questions and a gaping hole in the hearts of so many who knew and loved her.

I also watched as a monstrous hurricane wreaked havoc on my beloved home state of New Jersey. From Manhattan down to our beach home on the Jersey Shore, the devastation is heart stopping and unlike anything I've experienced before. 

This kind of wreckage happens elsewhere, to other people, not to us. It is something you watch on the news, tear up over, pray for and even donate generously to help clean up, but it is most certainly not something you ever expect to experience.

Hubs and I, though safe from the storm in Tennessee, Kentucky and Indiana these last few days, watched in horror as our world was turned on its head from several different perspectives. We worried about our loved ones near and far, missed the hugs and cheerful laughter of someone to whom we'd grown quite close, offered meager strength to those in pain, and recounted endless  memories shared in a place that seemed untouchable until now.

I have been forced to juxtapose the loss of a loved one with the loss of a special place. In truth, I feel conflicted about the pain I am experiencing over both of those, even though the latter seems so trivial compared to the former. 

I've prayed through these feelings and found some comfort in the permission to grieve. I have learned it is wholly cleansing to give yourself over to the hurt for a little while and release it to God. And I am once again amazed at how He shows up when we give things over to Him.

Oh how He has shown up in the last few days.

He has revealed Himself through the thoughtful concern and prayerful comfort offered by friends, old and new. I am so deeply humbled by the outreach we received, even in the midst of the difficult times others were facing.

So while I still have some unresolved feelings over everything we've experienced this week, I will say that I am so grateful that I will never, ever have to go through any of life's most difficult days alone.

To my friends and family impacted by Hurricane Sandy, I love you so deeply and I am praying for peace and comfort for you all. 

For our beloved Shore, I am hopeful that we can rebuild that place we all hold so deeply in our hearts and share it again together and with future generations.

And to my dear brother-in-law, sister-in-law and your family, my heart is aching for you and my desperate prayer is that the Lord will just wrap you up in loving comfort in this sad and confusing time.

Time Changes Everything...or does it?

Autumn has always been a reflective time of year for me. As a child, I loved fall – it meant a new school year, new clothes and new possibilities. It meant changing leaves, apple picking, pumpkin soup, and big comfy sweaters. Something about fall felt hopeful, like a fresh start. I can remember journaling (with pen and paper back then) and thinking about how fall seemed so much more like the appropriate time to make resolutions as opposed to in the dead of winter.

In truth, I still feel exactly the same way; so please forgive me while I take a moment to ruminate on why this time of year continues to hold a special place in my heart.

This past weekend, our family came together in Goshen, KY to celebrate the birthday of my niece. She is two years old now (!) and I can't help but consider all that has happened since the day she was born. It feels like yesterday, and yet, the whole world seems different now.

This darling girl was born on October 12, 2010 – only 3 weeks before Hubs and I tied the knot in New York City. It was a beautiful day when this sweet little one came into the world.

Then

Now

However, almost immediately after we welcomed this new life, a great deal of heartache fell upon our family. On October 14, 2012 one of the best men in the world went home to be with the Lord. My grandfather passed away after years of struggling with various ailments. Few people are as close to their grandparents as we are and to lose him felt as though the world couldn't possibly make sense without him in it. Nothing has really ever been the same since he left us. Holidays carry a weight they never did before, birthdays, graduations, weddings, sporting events, performances – they all feel as though they are missing something.

If you knew my grandfather, you remember his catch phrases as third base coach for the little league team, "Thada boy Tiger!"; or you can recall him fondly referring to all his little girls as "Minnies". You smile at the thought of him ordering a diet coke "easy on the ice", and have completely lost count of how many times you've heard him tell stories from his Army and Pan Am days.

Me & Gramps in 2007 when I

returned home from study abroad

My grandfather was a special man. He was profoundly traditional, wholly Italian, and endlessly loving. He was a Korean War Vet and a union man in his day. He taught us to drive, fry eggplant, and sprinkle Parmesan cheese. He sat front row at recitals and dance competitions and was the loudest voice on the sidelines at soccer and baseball games. He was deeply committed to his grandchildren and was, without question, our biggest fan. We are so blessed to have had him in our corner all these years.

One of many graduations

At the time that he passed, I was all but fully consumed with my upcoming wedding. I was three weeks out and should have been thinking about final dress fittings and seating plans. But on October 14th, everything stopped. I couldn't bring myself to imagine my wedding day without my grandfather. When November 6th rolled around soon after, I carried him with me in my heart, and on my bouquet. We honored him in word, in song and in dance, and I like to think he was dancing right along with us that night.

Fast forward two years...

Hubs and I now live in Tennessee, our youngest sibling is off at college, and that sweet little girl is growing up. She is a firecracker with a spunky personality. She has just discovered her love of ballerinas and dancing and this Aunt of hers is doing all she can to nurture that love.

Tiny Dancer

She even has a baby brother, named for our beloved Grandpa, and is embracing her new responsibilities as Big Sister.

Sweet boy with Grandpa's smirk!

Watching them grow and experience the world with fresh eyes is inspiring. Their young lives give me so much hope and I am reminded that no matter how much has changed in the last few years, so much has remained the same.

We are still a close and loving family. We are still children of the Most High and we feel His pleasure when we enjoy the many blessings He has bestowed on us. We still watch His world painted bright red, yellow and orange with the changing leaves. And we can still curl up in those big comfy sweaters.

So while change can be difficult, exciting and emotional, I take solace this time of year, in all the things that will never change.

A New Dynamic: Playing Host to Mom & Dad

Before we moved to Tennessee, Hubs and I had a unique living situation out in the suburbs of Northern New Jersey. We, quite literally, lived next door to my parents. It was a little "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" without the lawn statues and columns. In reality, we did lead completely separate lives, but that really didn't do much to dispel the assumptions of those whom we told about our neighborly living conditions.

In truth, it was awesome living next door. We could meet up for Sunday dinners easily, we could mooch on leftovers, borrow cars, use the pool (!), ask favors from time to time (don't worry, it was reciprocal), and so on. 

When we were considering moving, Hubs looked at me and gently reminded me that I've never really lived away from home. I considered this a moment, and realized it was true. Save for a stint in London on study abroad and a short time in Dallas or South Carolina over summers, I had really always been within 30-45 minutes of my parents' house -- my home.

Needless to say, moving to Tennessee has resulted in a need, on our part, to embrace our independence. Not to say that we were "dependent" on them, but to some degree, just the feeling of their being close by was comforting. I'm finding that I am enjoying the time away and frankly, so long as we have Facetime and G-chat, mom is only a webcam away in case I simply can't proceed without her input. 

But this weekend we have a special treat! Mom and Dad are here to visit for the weekend and I couldn't be more excited! It is strange and fun to play host to them in our new home, and while I'm certain that when Sunday comes, I'll drop them at the airport with a heavy heart, for the time being, I am really proud to be sharing our new life with them! I hope they love it here as much as we do and come back to visit often!

Home Sweet (New) Home - A Photo Tour

In the interest of sharing with you all that has taken place in the last few months, the following is a brief photo tour of some of the highlights...

At the beginning of August, we took a family vacation to my favorite place in the world, Hilton Head Island, SC.

Then, we shared a final hoorah with some of our friends at the Kenny Chesney & Tim McGraw Concert!

 We sent our little sister off to college!

Then came the move... packing was a nightmare, but Allie was super helpful :)

Then the long drive from New Jersey to Tennessee.

And since then...

 

So there you have it, our life for the last two months in a nutshell...or a photo!