Depending on God: The Most Important Part of My Birth Story

This might seem like such a rambling and scattered post, but I just have to share.

Today has been a little rough. The boys picked up an infection, and when something like  that happens, I sit and blame myself for everything. I usually start with blaming myself for not being careful enough and almost always end up back at blaming myself for them being born so early, which is why thier little immune systems just aren't the best. Annnnd then I get mopey and start feeling sorry for myself and thinking about our time in the NICU. Then I usually end up crying like a hormonal lunatic over my boys, stroking thier cheeks, and telling them how beautiful they are. Then I usually perk up a little and then I start crying again because I'm just so happy. I'm a mess these days, guys. But it got me thinking about the really good part of my journey over the last few months.

Recently at church, we had a guest speaker give the sermon. He spoke about discipleship and sharing your story and sharing how God has been there for you. (At least that's the part I heard. The boys started crying then and I wasn't able to hang around for much more. Sigh.)

So here is a little fragment of my story:

I've shared my birth story, and it was one of the most frightening and unsettling times of my life, I won't deny that. Especially since I had completely planned how my twins would come into this world:

I was definitely supposed make it to 36 weeks AT LEAST. All of the twin moms that I had found on Pintrest had made it until then, so duh.

During labor, my water would break on its own. I would be home for that part, obviously.

My bag would be perfectly Pinterestingly packed; I'd have a beautiful gown (Etsy), warm, but adorable, socks, the nice maxi pads, lip balm, "The Essentials" in my makeup bag (because I had to look good right? For all those pictures I was going to have professionally taken after), and perfect little outfits for B&B.

Brian would drive me. I'd have aromatherapy to keep me calm and warm compresses to help prevent the need for an episiotomy (a doula on Pinterest). I'd put on my playlist. I'd use my stability ball like the whole time and Brian would rub my shoulders as I breathed. I was going to give birth in a squatting position.

Unmedicated, of course, just like my mom had done.

It would probably only take a few hours just like all the women in my family. I had watched tons of twin birth videos on YouTube, so there was no reason mine couldn't go just like that. Skin to skin was critical and completely going to happen so that neither boy would grow up to be Ted Bundy.

I had a plan. It was smooth and easy and I was confident about it.

God knew that things weren't going to go according to my plan.

For those who have read, my world came crashing down in a flash. All my plans flew out the window and I was left in a pretty dark place.

I realized years ago after losing my brother that God isn't a magical genie here to grant our every wish. He isn't some kind of Santa figure who bestows gifts on good boys and girls. God is GOOD, but that doesn't always mean that we get what we want. BUT from God we get everything that we NEED. After my brother died, God gave me strength. He continues to do that for me every day.

I don't think that it's any coincidence that on my first full day home from this hospital this was the passage in my copy of Jesus Calling:

Truly, this set the entire tone for our stay in the NICU. It was a journey that kept me close to God by making me so dependent on him that he was my only hope and comfort.

What I wanted was a perfect birth and a joyful occasion. What I NEEDED was a reminder of my dependence on God and his grace. I needed a reason to draw closer. An opportunity to petition for peace daily.

I have a good relationship with Jesus. I love him and I pray often. I also have a good life. I've experienced trauma and loss. More than some, but far less than others. But although I have significantly more good than bad in my life, my times of trauma and loss have proven to be the most beneficial to my relationship with Christ.

My boys spent 49 days in the NICU. Some days were absolutely gut wrenching, other days were just long. Every day I needed peace, and every day I prayed for strength, and every day God gave me enough to make it through that day. He held me close. He sustained me. He made me dependent on him and through that helped me to grow my faith.

I'll never be the same after watching my tiny, fragile sons overcome what they did. How could I ever doubt God's love for me or his ability to grant me peace in my times of need? On days when I felt I could take no more, God would give the boys a boost. On days when I felt alone, God surrounded me with his love and presence. On days when my boys made strides, God allowed me to witness his miracles up close.

God is a HUGE part of my story. He is all the good that there is. God has always been there to hold me up.

Things in life have not ever really gone the way that I've hoped, imagined, or planned. Whose life does go that way? My life in no way reflects my perfect Pintrest boards. But that's because we live in an imperfect world, and I'm an imperfect person. Despite my sins and imperfections, I am forgiven and God has allowed so many blessings to come my way. The greatest of these being my two boys.

I guess I still hate the way that my boys came into this world. I still cry sometimes when I think about it and I still feel a little robbed sometimes because I had so many other plans for them, but I love the dependence on God that I gained from it. It might seem like an odd thing to say, but it really has made such a difference in my life. I would hate for anyone to read my birth story and think that it was all bad. I mean, it was, but I wasn't alone and it wasn't for nothing. I have to find the good, and I'm able to find it in God.

I still like my original plan waaaay better than the way things panned out, but I wouldn't have gained all that I did from that route. And God sees how everything will turn out in the end, and I have to trust that no matter what.

Positives of our stay in the NICU:

- I gained an even greater dependence on God.
- I learned things I wouldn't have learned otherwise.
- I met some amazing people with incredible hearts for babies.
- I now have great compassion and understanding for preemie families! We ARE a preemie family!
- We have an unrivaled appreciation for late night feedings, changings, etc.. We take NOTHING for granted!
- My boys are happy and healthy and HOME!

Essentially I guess that all I hope is that maybe someone reading this might one day be able to see the benefit of  hard times. There are so many awful things that happen in this world, but none of those things indicate the absence of God. He is always there to provide what is needed. I'm so grateful for the reminder of my dependence and for the opportunity to grow in my faith.
It's the most important part of my story.

Birth Story 1

When I found out I was going to have twins, I knew (and some parts of me kind of hoped) that they would come a little early. My pregnancy was rough, and I didn't plan on making it any longer than 36 weeks. I was being selfish. At 36 weeks, I didn't think of my twins as "preemies". At 36 weeks, they would probably be good to breathe alone. It's kind of a magic number when you're pregnant. I figured they might need a little help from the NICU, but not much. My mind was pretty firmly set on 36 weeks.

Never did I imagine that I would begin labor at 31 weeks. I never thought that I would be a real "preemie mom."

Saturday, April 9, 2016 
31w1d

I spent the afternoon laying upside down on an ironing board. I looked like an insane person, but I had two really stupid reasons for doing this. The first was to try and get my baby A to "spin" (look it up. Baby spinning is a real thing. Do I think it's credible? Well no, not anymore, obviously). The second reason was to try and get my gargantuan ankles to return to a semi-normal size. I regret doing this with every fiber of my being.

I knew something was wrong that entire day because, despite all my efforts to get my baby to "spin," I hadn't felt a single kick all day long. By the time my husband came home from work, I was really worried.

We ended up in the hospital around 11 that night to check our babies' heartbeats (just like they had told us to do in our birthing class). The nurse just said it looked like the boys were a little crowded and were only able to make smaller movements. Brian and I went home confidently.

Monday, April 11, 2016
31w3d

We went to our final birthing class. I had signed us up early because I was expecting the boys to show up mid-May. We toured the labor and delivery floor, saw where our families could wait to meet our babies, checked out the recovery suites, and we even went to visit the NICU.

As we left the NICU, the sweet receptionist there said "I hope I don't see any of y'all again!" and we all gave a good natured laugh and waved.

Tuesday, April 12, 2016
31w4d

6:00 AM

I tried to ignore the urge to pee just like every morning, but I lost...just like every morning. I wrestled out of my maternity pillow, heaved my swollen little body out of bed, and waddled to the bathroom, grumbling to myself and the boys.

I didn't even bother to turn on the lights anymore because I didn't want to risk waking myself up too much. I sat down, finished business, and pulled up my pajama bottoms and started to waddle back to bed. I wasn't even a step away from the toilet when I felt a rush.

Damn it, Nat. I kicked off my shorts and sat back down on the toilet.

I had read about this crap. Your uterus starts to press on your bladder so much that you're basically incontinent. This was obviously just my freaking luck.

Half way to the bedroom another rush came out.

Oh my God, Natalie. Get it together.

Muttering to myself and the boys, I started blindly reaching around under the bathroom sink for the Clorox wipes. I wiped up my mess and waddled off again.

I got fresh bottoms and immediately it happened again! I peed myself.

Great, I thought. I had a meeting at school and I was going to go and probably pee my pants. It was finally time to turn on the light and put on some glasses. I started mopping up with Clorox wipes.

At this point, I started to think that maybe my water had broken.

I started googling and found stories of broken water and also of women who were just no longer able to hold their bladders.

Well I knew how this would play out. I would be the raving hypochondriac contacting my physician, yet again, with some non-problem that I found in some rabbit hole I jumped in on Google.

I put on a maxi pad and made some tea. At this point it felt like I was peeing myself just a little bit every few minutes. Too much information? Yeah, Brian thought so too. But in our birthing class we had been told that when your water breaks it can trickle out slowly sometimes, so, per his suggestion, I emailed my doctor and waddled my pregnant little butt to class.

8:45 AM

A nurse called before my group meeting and said that they would really like me to come in. They said what I described sounded really suspicious. I told her that I had been googling again and that my language was probably reflecting what I had read and that it was probably nothing and that I was probably just a loser who was peeing herself as we spoke. Yuck, but whatever, pregnant women have a free pass to just do whatever at this point anyways. I told her I had a meeting and that I'd come in after that.

9:15 AM

She called again during my meeting and I said it was almost over.

I explained to my group that I was most likely just completely incontinent, but also (super casually) that my water might have broken. The ex-pregnant girl in my group said, "Oh no way. You would KNOW if it was your water."

10:00 AM

The nurse called again and I finally left my meeting.

10:20 AM

I was on the table for all of a second when my doctor cranked me open.

My water had broken.

I was too shocked to even panic.

Everything started happening so fast. She told me that I was to go straight to the hospital. I asked her if I had some "wiggle room." I literally said those words: "wiggle room." I wanted to go home and get things. I hadn't packed hardly anything yet! My hospital bag had makeup wipes and maxi pads in it! What about all my Pins about "The Perfect Hospital Bag"??? I had plans that were falling through. She look apprehesive, but said she wanted me there in an hour tops. I wanted to go home and get my iPad and maybe put on some make up.

I called my husband's cell and got no answer. I called his work phone and told his boss my water had broken. He came running to the phone. He said he'd meet me at the hospital.

I was driving home when I started to really freak out.

What the hell am I doing??
What am I doing going home for an iPad???? My water is broken! One of my babies is being exposed to infection and he is probably in shock and I'm thinking about eyeliner???? I went to CLASS?????

At this point the shock started to wear off and the panic started to set in. I flipped a U and high tailed it back to the hospital. I had to park like a mile away. I called everyone as I walked. My mom. My dad. My mother-in-law. My grandmas. I needed prayers. My babies needed prayers. Only one grandma answered. Nobody was expecting a call like this at this point.

I was checked in a settled into a bed within half an hour. I was on bed rest, they said. They were giving me steroid shots and antibiotics to help the babies, they said. They put a catheter in (OUCH). They said it would be a long stay. They hooked me up to monitors to track the babies' heart rates and my contractions. I was so uncomfortable and worried and sad. But I felt confident that they would be able to keep my babies in for at least a week.

A nurse told me, "A day inside of you is like three days in the NICU."