The Courage it Takes to Lose a House

I was born by the sea. As a small child,  I would sometimes sit by the ocean and stare sleepy eyed through sandy eyelids out into the great unknown. I would squint my eyes and peer into the horizon until I got lost in it. I would imagine that the grey flickering shape in the far-away-distance was ... England? Africa? What was out there? Who was on that other side staring out towards me? What was their life like? Could I swim there? Probably not. But what would it look like out on the great expansive ocean in the monotonous grey unknown? 

Last week, with intense and careful planning, my husband and I managed to escape our life in the city with our 6 children, during a pandemic. We ran off to the sea. We were celebrating 9 years of marriage, and really hadn't had a moment alone, let alone together, alone, since our entire family went on Stay-At-Home orders (for us) March 12. We had a lovely weekend. Moments that will stick with me forever, are walking along the beach at night and just hearing the roaring waves, and feeling all the stress and anxiety I've carried around just melt away. Nursing school from my dining room table, while my children cried into their homework, melted away. My husband working from home on top of a pile of laundry in our bedroom, melted away. 8 people living on top of each other in without a single dedicated space for me to hide my introverted brain, drifted out to sea. Children who need us every single minute of every hour of every day, melted away. A child with special needs, requiring intense sensory input, but no therapies or anywhere to get that outlet, melted away. The thought of returning to school in person, or teaching them from my dining room while I cried into my coffee again...  Fredy leaving our home in just a few short weeks for college, gone. The only thing that registered was the roaring sound of the waves crashing against the rocks, and the intense darkness of the night sky which swallowed us up. Big Dipper. Little Dipper. O' Ryan's Belt - shooting stars sealed the moment, and I said out loud... "what if we just lived here? What are we waiting for?" My husband put his arm around me. 

I don't think I ever planned to leave the city. The thought of a quiet, suburban life where all the houses look the same, and all the neighbors look the same... It just doesn't feel good to me. Philosophically, I've always felt a strong pull to live in a diverse neighborhood and to have my children grow up in a world filled with colorful people, and noise, and bright lights. Morally, there is this issue of "White Flight", with white families fleeing the cities when things feel too chaotic for whatever idyllic life they've reserved for whats good enough for their children. Don't get me wrong... there isn't anything wrong with wanting to live in a safe, comfortable neighborhood. But not everyone has the same access to that, and when white families with resources leave mixed neighborhoods it widens the socio-economic gap and creates divides that unfortunately marginalize groups and enforce systemic racist policies. I just can't be about that. 

9 years ago, my husband and I walked into a big ole' 110 year old house, in a diverse neighborhood dubbed the "PhD Ghetto" and we giggled with newly-wed delight. "We are going to fill this house up with babies!". We went from 2 to 4 in a single day. Over the next 3 years we endured 5 pregnancies (2 losses), and eventually doubled in size again, with the addition of an adopted teenaged son. ALL BLESSINGS. Even the losses counted in fortifying our marriage and stretching the yawning hallways of our hearts. My husband changed jobs 3 times, and I changed careers twice - From Relationship Manager, to Stay at Home Mom, to Nursing Midwifery student. The change didn't always come easy for us, sometimes we went down kicking and screaming. But we had a pattern of trusting the process and not being afraid of the unknown. 

But over time, as happens, we became overwhelmed with the busyness of our complex life. Our children committed to amazing public schools in the far reaches of town. Driving our kids to school became a 3 hour round trip on any given Tuesday. Was it worth it? Absolutely. I convinced myself that we could never afford Private School, and even if we could, again, philosophically, that just wasn't our bag.  So, as with any education if you can't pay with money, you pay with time. The commute, and time I spent on the PTA, as classroom mom, and otherwise invested in my childrens' diverse, language immersion school was merely, paid dues. Our house required constant care, and we poured what little money and time we had left into it over the years. No matter how much money and time we put into it, it was never enough - and became a constant source of anxiety for us. 

Suddenly, sitting there together in the darkness in front of the great expansive sea, it became painfully obvious to the both of us. We didn't have to try so hard. What matters is we are together, and safe, and simple sounds like a luxury that we possibly can afford. We searched for houses on the web the next day. We called a random agent, and booked 5 showings for Sunday, mostly in jest as the power of the moment wore off. 

Sunday came, and we reluctantly gathered our wit for the showings. I almost canceled. Twice. "Why are we doing this? We can't move. Not in the midst of a pandemic. Sofia is a senior in high school." Phil looked at me. "Because we are in the midst of a pandemic, this is actually possible." He was right. This was no ordinary year. Phil's job had flexed into a remote position for the foreseeable future. Nursing school was online. School was starting off virtual. In an ordinary year we could not have stretched our imaginations into some far out coastal-town-life. But in this special moment of time, we could. So we showed up. 

We looked at all 5 houses, and they were just... houses. Except one. One we walked into and we instantly connected to it. It's funny what a home will bring out of you. Phil and I walked in and imagined all the days of our life living out within the walls of this home, instantly. We were home.  We walked through the smaller, comfortable, tastefully decorated musings of someone else's dream, and we just knew we could spend the rest of our days in this quiet neighborhood 10 minutes from the sea. We left that property and immediately prayed. We asked the Lord to put us in that house or shut the door quickly - if it wasn't meant for us. We spent the  next 2 days scrawling facts and figures and were surprised at how easily everything lined up. We called the agent. We put an offer in. It was strong and fair, and one that we felt good about. "OK" she said, "but 2 other people called today and want to put offers in". "Hmmm, OK" we said, dubious. 

Over the next few days we continuously prayed. It never felt more then a 50/50 shot, but it was likely the most peace I've felt in a long while. To completely give yourself to fate, and trust that wherever the chips land, that is exactly where you are supposed to be, well, it was glorious and exciting, humbling and somehow made us feel very small against these roaring waves. If we got the house, it'd mean we'd have 3 weeks to put our house up for sale, pack, and move. If we didn't get the house, it'd mean we were committing to another 2 years, at least, in Philly... because I'd lock into my Fall Nursing program. It truly was a special flicker of time that could pivot the entire trajectory of our lives. To be aware of this special pocket of time, and living fully into it... was truly a special gift.  What a house of cards we all live in pretending we are creating something, when really, we are just blowing in the wind of our own choices and circumstance. It is WILD. 

So, I don't have to tell you that the offer went to a "Best and Final Foot Forward". My husband and I were authentic and thoughtful about what made the most sense for our family, but also considerate and ethical. I had no misgivings that ours would be the strongest. Bidding wars are just not our style. But, we are a family of faith, and so we put together a beautiful letter of intention, and submitted it with our final offer. We waited. We checked in with each other. We both felt like the house would become ours. Not arrogantly, but because we just felt the power of the Spirit moving this entire process. It wasn't too much longer until we got the call. The house went to the highest bidder. It wasn't us. Yes, disappointment rose up in my throat, but also a peace. "Good for them" I said. "We truly wish them the best". I hung up the phone, and my husband and I smiled. Tears streamed down my face, but they weren't because we "lost" the house. My husband put his arm around me. 

"Look at us" I said. "Look how much courage we have. We saw a moment that could change our life, and without question we went for it with our whole heart." "You're right." He said. "And you know what else? I love you here, or there, and our life is what we create it to be." 

The next day, we received a letter from the Sellers of the house. It explained how much they honored our letter, and how much they connected with our story. It broke their heart, they said, to give the house to another couple. But in the end it came down to business. We understood. They closed the letter with "It's funny what a house brings out of our souls. But we know what is meant to be ours, always finds a way to us". And yes, somehow I know that to be true. Nothing has changed, but we have changed. Our complex life has already melted into a peaceful simplicity as we survey what we already have, and begin again with new eyes, from where we are.

Thank you Cape May, for an experience I will take with me forever. 
And only God knows, where the next chapter will take us. 

The Prophecy of Pearl Francesca

This is the birth story of Pearl Francesca Hertzog.

It is Mid-December 2014 - just before Christmas, Advent Season. Isaac is just 2, and Lucas not yet 1. It's been a rough year, and we are in the weeds. Lucas is not yet weaned, and also not sleeping through the night. We lie in bed, exhausted. Phil says "Are we done?" - weighing in on the possibility of having another child at some point. We cannot bring ourselves to say yes. It feels so final. Yet, here we are, feeling tapped out, defeated even, and still we cannot bring ourselves to say that we will eventually attain that final 5 - which we talked about so early on in our dating days. We decide to shelf the conversation, and wait. "Let's take a break" we say... "3 or 4 years. We'll decide then." 

Days later, we laugh at the futility of that conversation. After not feeling well all day, I ask my Husband to run out and get a pregnancy test. He whips over to the pharmacy as he had done so many times before, both of us already knowing what future the test was about to show us. 

I cannot tell you exactly what I was feeling the moment I saw the positive pregnancy test, but I do know the days and weeks after, I felt intense and unbridled joy. Despite the burden of mothering 2 under 2, along with a sweet 6 year old and an audacious 11 year old, something about it just felt right. Perfect, even.  Both Phil and I were infectious with gladness. Surprised by our joy, we leaned into it, and settled in. 

We surprised all of our family at Christmas with the news, and even posted on Facebook about it.

It was early still, but we were confident. It felt like a prophecy was being fulfilled, and we wanted everyone to share in that miracle with us. Our family and friends celebrated along with us.

January 6, 2015,  I was driving to meet with my Endocrinologist, looking at the fiery sun in the wintery sky. I remember thinking "God is preparing me for whats to come."

The next day, I bled hard.

I called my husband, feeling tense, but remaining calm. "Are you having a miscarriage?" he meekly asked. "Remember Lucas" I said, softly. And together we quietly reflected on the summer of 2013, at the shore, when I, just 3 months pregnant, bled steadily after nursing my infant son Isaac to a nap. After a long drive alone, to an unfamiliar hospital, I was sure my baby was gone. With tears in my eyes, I sat in the parking lot trying to cope with what I knew to be true. I looked up and through my tears saw the tiniest rainbow shining through the clouds, backed by the hazy sun.

I felt that was the Lord letting me know my baby was being received into the gates of Heaven. And with a heavy sadness, I walked through the hospital doors steadying myself to hear what I already knew. Imagine my surprise, when they did the bloody ultrasound, and there on the screen was my healthy bouncing baby Lucas, waving at me with a strong, beating, heart. I choked on my own joy and surprise, and knew the rainbow to be a message of hope, and protection over his life, and not death, as I initially thought.

I carried that hope and promise of the rainbow with me into this next chapter. However, within the hour the bleeding intensified. I waited for my husband to come home, and again took the lonely drive to the hospital. When I received my ultrasound, again I saw my beautiful baby, and her beautiful beating heart. No words can describe that surge of peace a Mother feels, laying eyes on her child-in-womb for the first time, and knowing they are in there, known and alive.

However, all was not well.

The Doctors explained that her heartbeat was slow... much slower then it needed to be at this point in gestation, and coupled with the bleeding; miscarriage was all but imminent. I stared at my baby on the screen... for the moment alive - and known by me her mother - and I tried to take it all in. There was nothing more to do but to "go home, rest, and keep movement to a minimum" they said. I tried to reconcile that concept with my world at home 4 children who needed me all day, everyday,  2 under 2. I was overwhelmed with this fragile little baby inside of me, her life hanging in the balance. Every step I took risked her existence. For days, I laid in bed bleeding, and crying,  and trying not to move. Even a trip to the bathroom or shower was torture, as I stood up and waited for my baby to fall from between my legs.

Finally, 3 days later on the cold bathroom floor as I was bathing my sons, it happened. I released my baby, and couldn't bear the thought of flushing her down the toilet. Even in these early days, she looked so human... so much mine. Something primal within me could not let her go. I paced in the bathroom, screaming, not knowing what to do. I begged my Husband to decide for us. Softly, and gently, he put his loving hand on my shoulder and told me exactly the right words. "I am going to take our baby down to the creek, and set her free". And so, with that peace and deep sadness I watched him wrap our dead baby in a cloth, and go.

The next few months were difficult. I had previously had a miscarriage - Phil and mine first pregnancy before Isaac - but the egg never sprouted, and was released before the baby had a heart. Somehow, seeing my baby alive and then seeing her pass was almost too much for me. The dreams of having our fifth child dissipated and I no longer wished to pursue pregnancy further. In a sordid, sad, peace Phil and I agreed to stop growing our family, and to focus on the 4 beautiful children that we had.

So.... imagine our shock and disbelief when less then 2 months later in mid March we became pregnant again.

Honestly, I wasn't happy. I wasn't concerned about my physical health, but I'd be lying if I told you I felt joy. In fact, It was just the opposite. I cried deep tears of sadness when I learned we were pregnant, and became a bit despondent and aloof in the days and weeks to follow. I wasn't ready to carry another child, and I did not feel ready to bring one to fruition and care for her in life. I expressed these concerns to my Midwife, one in particular Jamesina, who had cared for me so gently throughout our loss. She told me everything I was feeling was safe, and normal. In fact, she let me know that she had had this exact same conversation with dozens of women who had tried desperately to conceive, and after YEARS of being barren felt this same way once they had become pregnant. Hormones can do so much to guard the heart. She suggested I have an ultrasound and let's see how I felt after.

The ultrasound helped me to bond with my baby. I began to accept our situation. Words and support from a dear friend helped me cope, and this particular verse of the Bible was a soothing encouragement. Jeremiah 1:5 

5“I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb.

Before you were born I set you apart

and appointed you as my prophet to the nations.”

I was still guarded, and was reluctant to share our news with anyone as the months went on. It wasn't until deep into the 2nd trimester that I felt ready to share with friends and family.

In the beginning of my relationship with Phil, we prophetically imagined we would have 3 more children together. We sat in the car one day,  daydreaming and laughing about it. "Boy, Boy, Girl" I had said. "Let the Lord make it so" we had said. I felt so strongly that the little baby we had lost was a girl, and I wasn't so sure that this one would be. I decided I didn't want to learn the sex of our new baby. That mattered less to me then how this tiny, little human would fit into our family as a whole.

And, so the months drew on, me slowly adapting - slowly preparing my heart and a room for baby, and slowly coming to love this new baby for who he or she was to be. In the Summer I began to feel that intense and unbridled joy bubbling up, despite myself. Phil and I drove to the beach to celebrate our 4th wedding anniversary and we witnessed the most beautiful rainbow right on the beach. From that point on, I referred to our little miracle as our "Rainbow Baby".

It was not an easy pregnancy at all. Medically, all was well - but the burden of being pregnant with 2 little ones under foot, and my Husband in a new job that required him to travel a lot was almost too much to bear. But, I did what all Mothers do - I gritted my teeth and powered through.

Our baby was due 11/21. After going to a full 42 weeks with Lucas, I was dubious and had zero expectations. Here I am pregnant on the morning of 11/18.

 I had fooled myself so good, that I even planned to host Thanksgiving Dinner.  On this morning, something started to shift within me, and I instinctively called everyone up and said "Sorry, but I can't host." My Mother-In-Law was so supportive and assured me she would take over and all would be well, with or without the baby here, earthside.

On  the morning of 11/19 I took both of my boys to a Play Gym, and while they were jumping, I could tell something was going to happen. I don't know how I knew - but instinctually, I did. I was not yet having contractions... but I packed them up early, and headed towards home.

All that day, something felt... just... ready. But still, no contractions.

The next day would be Friday 11/20 and I knew I had to drive the morning carpool into the city. Still, no contractions, yet at dinner time that night, around 6pm, I called my brother Franklin, who was out at a work event with his girlfriend Noella. I said "hey - I think I am going to have a baby tonight. If that happens, do you think you can drive to Mt. Airy by 7am tomorrow, and pick up a carload of neighborhood kids, and drive them into school?". He and Noella were a bit drunk at the time, and laughed and said "SURE! HOW FUN!".... "TEAM GIRL" they shouted. It was so sweet and the nicest thing my brother ever did for me. I called the parents, and let them know that would probably be happening. Still, no contractions.

At 9pm, we had put all the kids to bed, and still hadn't had a single contraction. I laid in bed and looked at the clock.... 9:15. "Hey, day after tomorrow is our baby's due date" I said to Phil. "Yep" He said. "We've never had a baby on time."  I said. "Except for Isaac." he noted. "Oh yea!" "Isaac was born ON his due date!" I said. "yep" said Phil. "Wouldn't it be funny if she came a day early, just to kick his ass?" I said. "haha, yep" he said. "What would be even funnier is if your water spontaneously broke right now, just so she could show up her brother.".... "hahahaha... yea."

At 10:15, almost to the minute as when my water  broke with Isaac, day before his due date, Phil and I  were watching a movie, and *POP* my water, spontaneously breaks in bed.

The next 15 minutes were a combination of us screaming "NO WAY!", feeling great about myself for prepping that morning drive, and calling the Midwives. My fluid, just like with Isaac, was clear, with no blood or discoloration, and contractions had not yet started. I was in the clear to wait at home, until the birthing process started. We called my Mother-In-Law Kathy, who was our person, and she said she would head over immediately.

11:00P.M. - Called Franklin & Noella again to let them know, their shift was on. They were taking shots at that moment, and they assured me they would be heading home promptly to get some rest. "TEAM GIRL" they shouted again. I laughed.

By 2:00A.M., I was having seriously strong contractions, and finally the classic 4-1-1. (Contractions were 4 minutes apart, lasting 1 minute in length, for at least 1 hour, with difficulty breathing and talking through them).

We decided to head over to the Birth Center, and get this baby born! We loaded up into the car, but my lower back started to kill me. My husband ran into the house to heat up my beloved "Rice Sock"... which was merely a loose orange would Hiking Sock that I had filled with rice, and tied in a knot. In the weeks prior I would heat it up in the microwave, to place on my lower back. It was a Godsend. With the Rice Sock in place, finally we could go, and I could endure.

We arrived at the birth center just before 3:00A.M. This time, they escorted me into the "Yellow Room". Previously, both boys had been born in the Green Room, so this was new.


For the next 3 1/2 hours I labored intensively in the bath and shower, pacing around the room, and making primal sounds, that no one would ever understand, unless you have been in the birthing room with a woman sans medication. My husband supported me, and did not sleep.

At 6:00A.M., my children woke up at home, to their Mom-Mom, instead of me, and had to go to school not knowing whether their brother or sister would be there when they arrived home.

At 6:45A.M., after 1 hour of contractions becoming much weaker instead of progressing, the Midwives suggested we break my water bags. "They broke on their own last night" I clarified. "They did indeed" they stated - However, we think everything south of your babies head has leaked out, but the top part of the bag has ballooned up, filling with water, and this is why you are experiencing extreme discomfort." "Oh, is that why..." I mumbled through gritted teeth as I groaned with everything the Lord put in me. "Well, then yes, let's break this party wide open" I screamed!

At 6:55A.M., just as I would be loading my kids and myself into the car for the carpool, they laid me on my back, on the bed, and broke the top part of my water bags.

At 6:57am, without even a push, just like her brother Lucas, the Midwife said to the attendants in the room "Put on your gloves, this baby is about to be born", and so it was, that our precious baby slid out into the world, and without even a cry took the first breath of life.

At 7:05A.M, after placing the baby on my chest with a blanket, several blissful  minutes of staring deep into each other's eyes, the cord still pulsing, my Husband finally asks: Well, What is it? A boy, or girl? "Well, why don't you check, Dad?" they said, as they giggled.

I already knew. I didn't check. But, still, I knew.

"IT'S A GIRL" - Phil Shouted! We cried.

Up until that point we hadn't settled on names, because we hadn't known the gender. We knew a boy would be Mark Abraham, and we knew the girl would be Pearl... but we could not agree on a middle name. We decided to shelf it until the baby was born.

7:15A.M And just like that, without hesitation, my sweet husband looked over at me and said " I know her name". "It's Pearl Francesca"... and I wept deeply, for my Grandmother had passed last year, and I hadn't known why it hadn't occurred to me.

They weighed Pearl Francesca in at 9 lbs. even. Our earliest, and biggest baby yet! She truly was kicking ass!

We called Franklin. He was hungover, but he had done it! The Cool Uncle had picked up all the kids, and was safely enroute to school. "TEAM GIRL!" I screamed! He cheered! All the kids were in the car and cheered in celebration along with us. PEARL FRANCESCA! They shouted.

"It's like she has always been here" I said to Phil. "She has" he said.

At around 9:00A.M. we all fell asleep peacefully together in the same bed, after successfully nursing.

We woke up around 2:00 P.M, on her birthday November 11/20, and headed home.

She was perfect.

At 4P.M. the kids came home from school to meet their sister for the first time.

Lucas wouldn't come to touch his sister for another 2 weeks... but that is because he was truly in awe of her. 

Finally, we were a family of 7. Through all of our Prophecy, Pain, and Unbridled Joy, we were complete. A family of SEVEN!

That night, we had her first birthday party. Every doubt I had every had, was gone forever. I am so thankful that our God is Sovereign, and even when I had doubted, he has worked everything together for His Good! Thank you JESUS for PEARL FRANCESCA!

Click on the link below to see Pearl blow out her very first Candle on her Birth Day! 

PEARL IS ZERO!

The Awakening of the Sleeping Giant Heart

Ok. So this is waaaaay overdue.
It's proof that I've been in the joyous / maddening throws of 4 children, and TWO under two. So, in case your math is not that good... our four fish feet have become twelve!

How fruitful we've been, and look, we're multiplying!!

This is the birth story of my precious son Lucas James Hertzog.
Born 2.16.14 at 2:14 am.

All stories start at the beginning, and it was certainly a surprise when those two little pink lines showed themselves once again right before summer, 2013. I knew something strange was happening since I had lost all of my pregnancy weight (save a few pounds) and then seemed to be rapidly gaining again. I shrugged off the puffiness and lethargy to spring allergies, but deep down, I knew.

Phil and I embraced, scared but happy. Ready (*update* SO not ready) to take this on again so soon. But, we swooned when we thought of our children being so close in age... "It will be hard for a few years" they said. "But they will always have each other",  they said.  (*update* haha, it will be FUN, they said!) I get all warm and fuzzy inside thinking about the affinity between my boys and my girls.  I didn't come from a large family, so these deep sibling relationships is something I missed growing up. I want our Sunday dinners to look like this.

As the pregnancy progressed, I got sicker. It soon became apparent it wasn't *just* the pregnancy I was contending with. Soon I had good friends like anxiety, depression, and the Queen of the Feast Hashimoto.... thyroid dsyfunction and autoimmune disorder.

As the winter progressed, (the worst winter of my life) I believe that God was preparing me. Being pregnant, with an infant son, a 5 year old and a 10 year old, still settling into our new home, me still adjusting to being at home with 3 children all in different stages of life...
At one point we were in the middle of a Nor'easter, I was hella pregnant - like past my due date pregnant - and the sole keys to the family vehicle were lost (or thrown away in the trash, Isaac?). Thankfully, my Mother lent us her van until we could get keys made.  I wont lie, I felt at times like I was losing my ever loving mind. It was a bad, bad, bad, winter. Bad, winter. Go home.

By February 2. (my expected due date) the sun rose and the sun set with no baby. Feb 3rd it was the same story. By Feb 14  I was an animal in a cage. I actually had written out 5 valentines, but tore the extra one up in my angst. (my midwife advised me to have a tall glass of red and breathe).

I did just  that. And then woke up for the last time to no baby. Drove myself to Sonic, bought a black and white milkshake and added this here fellow.

I followed that delicious shake with a pedicure and a brisk walk at the Willow Grove mall, in which I used the restroom by the food court, and saw the oh-so-gloriuos Bloody Show. Yes, I squealed when I saw it.  Madness shows itself in many ways.

To my surprise I began having contractions on the drive home, which was about 5PM, February 15th. They were faint, and not too painful. I had been having Braxton - Hicks contractions for weeks, so I didn't read too much into it, and tried not to get my hopes up.

At home, I made dinner for the kids, and tried to clean up. By 8pm, I was bouncing on the yoga ball just staring at the clock and waiting to put the kids to bed. The contractions hadn't gone away, and were getting stronger. In fact, they were coming a consistent 2 minutes apart for a while now, but I still thought them too bleak to take serious. My Husband asked if we want to call my Mother-in-Law (she was our person) and I reminded him how long we waited with Isaac. (There is a storm" he said. "It'll be fine" I said.)

At 8:15 all the kids were asleep, and I went upstairs to get in the bath. The contractions were coming on much stronger and more consistent, at a progression much more rapid then in my past births. By 8:30 I was listening to Drive All Night, rendition by Glen Hansard on repeat - a song I had enjoyed throughout the last few weeks of my pregnancy as I breathed through (this aint what my mama told me type) contractions. Sheesh... I thought it got easier each labor. This was starting to get INTENSE.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCojE2kJuGw

At 9:00 PM, my husband came upstairs to check on me, and at that particular moment I was on all four hands and knees in the tub breathing through a contraction. "Uhhhhhh" he says. "I don't care what you say. I am calling my Mother NOW!" He said.

He called his Mother, and I called the Birth Center, who advised me to make my way in. Ann the Midwife on call reminded me that many women who are "seasoned laborers" (is that what they are calling it these days?) never get to the famous 4-1-1 (4 minutes apart for 1 minute long for 1 hour) but the body uses really intense but short contractions to widen the birth canal quickly. "uhhhh, OK, we'll head in" I said meekly. "Believe me, this is good." Ann reassured.

It took an hour for my Mother-In-Law to arrive in the storm.

We left swiftly, me in the throes of labor.

On the drive there, I started feeling the intense desire to push. I kept this to myself, since I thought "the only thing worse then giving birth in this truck right now, is getting in an accident as my husband speeds in the ice and snow, and then giving birth". I think I ran song lyrics and foreign languages through my head, crossed my legs, and just tried to breath.

When we got to the birth center it was about 11:30PM. I remember walking through the door, and undressing as I walked. I still felt the strongest urge to push, and needed to get the party started. My midwives chuckled and escorted me back into the private birthing suite. They checked my cervix, and it was indeed 10 cms. They set me up for pushing, and unfortunately while I was pushing, nothing seemed to be happening. A baby wasn't moving down the canal, so to speak. The Midwives suggested I walk around a little or get in the bath. For the next 2 hours, this is what I did, all the while feeling like I had to push, and unfortunately the contractions at this point subsided, getting further apart.

The endorphins were kicking in strongly at this point, and I begun napping peacefully between contractions. Another telltale sign of an unmedicated labor... when the woman is not moaning and pacing, she might actually be smiling, laughing, or peacefully sleeping.

"I'm not sure what's happening" I asked quietly and a bit desperately. I KNOW what pushing feels like and this is it, but I do not know why the baby isn't coming. So the midwife laid me on the bed, and noticed that I was being kicked still at this point in a way that would indicate the baby was turned "sunny side up". She asked if I minded if she did an internal. I said no, and didn't expect the "internal" to be the entire length of her forearm up to her elbow. But, so it was, and while in there she explained the baby's head was positioned in such a way that prevented him from sliding through the canal. She asked if I minded if she tried turning him ever so slightly, which she believed would do the trick. At this point she had already made herself at home in my Vagina, so I was all game for anything that would bring this baby home. She turned the baby slightly, which I'll admit was THE WORST PAIN I have ever felt in my entire life. This coming from a woman who had previously birthed naturally, almost died on an operating table, and ran a few half marathons. It was literally gut wrenching and my belly from the outside looked like a scene from The Exorcist.

After the painful half turn of the baby, Ann looked very calmly at her assistant, and my husband and said "well, OK, everybody get your gloves on, this baby will be here in 10 seconds" and with that, without even a contraction, or a push, Lucas James Hertzog slid out into the world.

The time was 2:16am, and while Lucas had some bruising on his face from from being pressed up against my cervix in a precarious way, he was healthy and beautiful. They waited 10 minutes for the cord to stop pulsing and Dad once again severed his second son from his Mother. We rested and enjoyed him skin to skin, before having to deal with the weight and cleaning. Finally around 4:30 am, they weighed him to be an even 8 lbs. And 21" long.

Dad and son finally passed out from all the hard work, and Mom was just elated in the afterglow.

We awoke the next morning around 8am, and prepared to head home. They debriefed us on how to check for breaths, pulse, and watch for jaundice and scheduled our aftercare visit where a CNM would come and visit us in our home in the days to follow.

I am so grateful to The Birth Center and particularly Ann, for her expertise in delivering my son. I truly believe if I had been in a hospital, his position would have been cause for an emergency C-section. I cannot speak highly enough about the care and medical professionalism my family received in February 16, 2014, in the delivery of my son.

And The Soul Felt It's Worth

This is the story of the birth of our son Isaac Burton Hertzog.

Monday Night, December 10th, we put our children to bed at home around at 9:00 pm, and were excited to go up into bed, and rest and enjoy a movie. I had spent all day cleaning the house, and doing a last minute grocery shopping and other various errands, knowing the time was near. Ray, the painter was still in our home, but only had one more day to finish up the painting job we had contracted him for.

My husband and I laid down in bed, and no sooner had we gotten comfortable, the room completely still and quiet when be both heard a quiet "pop". And, Oh! my Goodness! My water just broke!
I never imagined in a million years that would happen, since it is very rare that water would break before contractions start. But, it can happen, and so it was written. I jumped out of bed and into our bathroom and checked the color of the fluid. Cloudy clear, perfect... no blood, or brown. So, we made 2 phone calls, one to my Mother, who was our person to come and sit with the kids if we needed her to, and to The Birth Center, where we planned to have this baby naturally.

The midwives told us normally they would have us come in to do a stress test, since our water broke spontaneously, and there weren't any contractions. But, she went through a check list of things (water clear, my temperature, baby moving) and I met all of them, so she was comfortable letting me rest and labor at home until the famous 4-1-1. (contractions 4 minutes apart, and 1 minute long for at least 1 hour). She told me to get my support person there, to eat, rest, and if nothing happens then to come in the next morning at 8:30 am (my scheduled appointment).

About one hour later the contractions started coming, pretty regularly, about 2 -3 minutes apart, but only about 40 seconds long. I ate a sandwich, and my Mom came. We chatted a bit, and then Phil and I went upstairs to rest. And, by rest I mean me anxiously folding laundry, packing a bag, and any other last minute details I could think of. About 2am, I got a string of Christmas lights and strung them in our bathroom, and got in the bath, for a nice long jacuzzi. I was feeling more anxious than anything so I tried to relax and listen to the Hypo Birthing CD I had. It helped in relaxing a little... so much so that the contractions slowed down to about 6 - 8 minutes between, so I tried to sleep. I did manage to catnap a bit and my Husband fell asleep.

About 5:30 am, I got up, made some coffee, and an oatmeal smoothie. At 6am, I awoke my oldest daughter Sofia, to get her ready for school and the bus which picks her up at 6:40. I told her that my water broke last night and today would probably be the day her brother was born. I doubt she got anything done in school that day. at 6:30 am, Ray the painter came, and I told him I was in labor, but it was best if he stayed and finished up his last day of work, since we were heading in to the Birth Center anyway. He made some jokes and talked shop while I tried to smile through contractions, which at this point were still pretty irregular. After Sofia was safely on the bus, and Emma was in my Mothers care, Phil and I enjoyed breakfast together, and then packed up the car and headed over. Both of us sleepy but excited that today was the day we would get to meet our son.

On the way to the Birth Center I listened to John Legend sing Oh Holy Night. The most beautiful rendition I have ever heard. I cried a bit in joy, thinking of my son being born, and the words of that song just moved me so deeply.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wo1zJy3Zib0


We arrived at The Birth Center at 8:30 am checked in, and I weighed myself and did a urine analysis. I was 2 1/2 lbs. lighter than my last prenatal appointment the week prior which I imagine was due to losing most of the amniotic fluid. Although, there was some still coming out in dribs and drabs, which meant constant wet panties and pants. This was really the only thing making me uncomfortable at this point as the contractions had all but subsided.

Ann the midwife gave the baby a stress test and he was doing wonderfully with heart rate consistent at about 140 BPM's. On paper my contractions looked pretty strong, although I wasn't too uncomfortable. They decided to admit me. The rule in The Birth Center is that I have 24 hours from the time my water breaks to be in active labor. Active labor means that I should be 4.5 centimeters - 6 centimeters dilated with contractions coming every 3-4 minutes, for more than 1 minute in length, consistently. If my labor did not progress to that point by 9:30 pm that evening, I would be transported to the hospital for pitocin and other artificially induced measures for helping things along.

Ok Baby, we got this.

Since the contractions had subsided a bit, we started off with a bit of nipple stimulation. I would have liked to use a more natural method, but they preferred we use a breast pump. :) That started working very quickly, and within minutes it seemed my contractions were stronger than ever. Unfortunately this only seemed to last as long as I was pumping, and eventually they seemed to die down again. The midwives suggested that we use Castor Oil, which is an age-old trick, and the most effective. Although the nasty side effect is that the oil does more than just pump contractions out of you. UGH. Not sure I wanted to go there yet. The Midwives decide to just let me go on my own, and see how things happen. They checked my cervix for the first time, and it was 4 1/2 centimeters dilated.

This is where I noticed something amazing happening. The contractions, well, they hurt. There was no way around it. They sucked balls, actually. But I started to notice that in between contractions I was feeling like a million bucks. It wasn't just the absence of pain in that sort of negative space, although I am sure that helped some too, but my brain was releasing endorphins putting me in a very "feel good" place. At one point I compared the feelings to Opiates. Not that I would know what that was like. But, I imagined it was like this. Amazing that God gives you everything you need to cope with the process He designed.

Around 2:30pm , with contractions still coming and going we decided we would take a walk to the Wawa to get a change of scenery, and see if that got things going more consistently. The end goal in mind was to purchase a milk shake, and if the contractions didn't come on their own, then we would use castor oil  in the milk shake. The Wawa walk is the highlight of the experience. I can only imagine how fantastic we looked walking up County Line Road in Bryn Mawr, inch by inch, me looking wild, with crazy hair and pregnant as all get out, as my graceful Husband held my arm, and patiently waited every 20 feet as I moaned through a contraction. They were pretty intense. But the problem was they weren't coming consistently enough, I guess. Once we were at Wawa, I told my Husband I couldn't possibly go inside and be laboring in the Wawa, so I waited out front, while he procured the milkshake. At least 2 people asked me if I was OK, and could they help in some way. "Don't worry" I tried to smile "This is all part of the Birth Plan!"
The walk took approximately an hour.

Once back at the Birth Center, contractions once again started to subside. I asked what else I could do in lieu of Castor Oil, and Cheyenne my Midwife, suggested I walk up and down the stairs, lunging at each contraction. I did this for approximately 45 minutes. It was exhausting.

Once back at our suite, I asked the Midwife to check me again, and unfortunately we were still only at 4 1/2 centimeters. I instantly became discouraged. The time was now 5:00pm, and I was only 4 1/2 hours away from being transported to the hospital. We had been laboring for 19 hours.

Finally, I asked to be given the Castor Oil. Cheyenne poured it in the milkshake, and I sucked it down.

For the next hour, contractions felt stronger but were still not coming in in the magic 4-1-1 ratio. I was so discouraged, and I believe at this point I hit a wall. I was in and out of the bath, which seemed to help some, and my labor was so intense in my lower back my sweet Husband put pressure on my lower spine, which seemed to help a bit. But nothing made the pain subside.

Around 7:00 pm I started bargaining with everyone. I wanted to go to the hospital. I don't know what my goal was, except maybe just to get this baby out as fast as possible. And to make the pain stop. I actually asked the nurse for a diaper (in case the Castor Oil kicked in on the ride to the hospital), and could we start packing our bags and get going? I believe that if someone would have offered a C-Section on the spot I would have taken it. This is the power of birthing in a Birth Center instead of the hospital, because when you take intervention off the table, you give your body the awesome power it needs to do it's own job it's own way.

Cheyenne and my Husband both talked me out of my plan. They convinced me that the Castor Oil takes about 2 hours, and let's just work through this since we still had 2 1/2 more hours until the dreaded 9:30 cut-off. I agreed, and Cheyenne left the room to give my Husband and I privacy.

It was at this point that I got in the bath and just completely lost my faith. I asked my Husband to pray, and I will never forget his beautiful prayer as we sat in the dark under the glow of the candles, tears streaming down my cheeks into the bathwater - him holding my hand, and asking God for reprieve and strength. I just remember thinking, I know exactly what is going to happen. Nothing. They are going to come in and check me, and I will still be 4 1/2 centimeters. It will be 2 more hours of this awful hell, and then I will have to take the awful car ride to the hospital. Then, they will give me pitocin, which will make everything hurt 100 times worse. The baby won't fare well, and then I will have to have a C-Section, ruining every chance of a future vaginal birth. I just felt defeated, and sure that this would not turn out the way I hoped. 22 hours into this thing... and I had lost my hope. I just thank God that my amazing Husband stepped in, and took over for us, rubbing my back in the bath and whispering words of encouragement. Praying, and holding my hand.

After a while the contractions started coming on even stronger, and I wanted to get out of the bath. As I did, I violently vomited for several minutes. The Castor Oil was starting to work, and my Husband again was there to step in, holding a humungous bowl under me with my strong arm, and my hair with the other tender arm.

From this point on things get a little hazy... I just remember telling my Husband that at this point, I wasn't laboring, but laboring was happening to me. Meaning, I had no control over my body or what was happening, just that something intense and forceful was taking over. I know there were loud sounds, a lot of pacing, and very intense breathing. I tried to draw from my years of Bikram yoga experience, and breathing through the contractions did help some. Also, I remembered my Mother in Law mentioning to find a focal point, and so I did, and that also helped. It was around 8:30 when this intense part of labor started taking over. I know I asked to be alone at one point, and I basically just paced in the bathroom, afraid I would have to use the toilet, but also, not able to respond to anyone's questions or comments. Every now and again I would hear my Husband in the background encouraging me, and telling me my body is doing exactly what it was supposed to be doing. That helped me.

The Lord answered our prayer. Around 8:45 I got back in the bath, and then suddenly I felt the intense desire to push. I told my Husband to call the Midwives. They came in immediately. They told me not to get out of the bath, and checked me in the water. Cheyenne said "Yep, 10 centimeters, and I can feel your baby's head!" With help I got out of the bath, and I recall my Midwife on one side drying me off, and my Husband on the other. One thing about natural child birth: shame, expectations, and even dignity go right out the window. You are just a woman walking on a path, and there is only one way to the other side and that is through it. No one else can do it for you, and you are just as vulnerable as can be. The only thing more vulnerable than laboring I suppose, is being born, in which you have absolutely no control. I am glad I could advocate for my son, and let my body do what it knew how to do, even if it took a little longer than I would have liked.

Suddenly stuff was just happening. Sheets and pads were being thrown on the bed, a nurse was coming into the room with equipment, and my Husband was escorting me over to the Queen size bed. My Midwife asked me which position I would like to try pushing in, and I chose to be on my back. I asked for some direction, and she told me to put my arms under my thighs and pull back, relax my shoulders, and with every contractions to push with every single muscle cell in my body. And that is what I did. It felt intensely strange to feel a child moving up the birth canal, and within 5 pushes, this baby was out. When the shoulders emerged, the nurse gave me a shot of pitocin in my thigh, just because my hemoglobin had been low.

It was absolutely incredible to feel my body take over and become the strongest thing I had ever seen, heard of or known. I delivered my beautiful baby boy into this world and cried tears of joy as he took his first breaths. I remember a wave of peace washing over me because he looked beautiful and healthy, and also because it was over. The midwives immediately laid him on my chest, and did not take him off for the next hour or more.

They waited about 10 minutes until the cord stopped pulsating, and then my Husband cut the cord. My baby immediately started belly crawling up my stomach and rooting for the breast. He took immediately. The placenta came and then the after birth contractions, and I felt wonderful. The best thing I can equate this to was running a marathon. While you are in it, it sucks balls. But at the end of the race you feel incredibly proud, and you know you just did something of great importance and intensely beautiful.

They finally weighed him and he was a healthy 8 lbs. 3 oz. and 20 inches long. He had the biggest, most beautiful feet, and Phil's hammer toe. He looked just like me and Phil. We named him Isaac Burton Hertzog. We were in our Glory. We both prayed and thanked God for deliverance, and then the Midwife and Nurse left us all alone as a family.

Around midnight, we tried to get some rest, but I felt too excited and nervous to leave my boy in the bassinet aside me. So, I nursed him in the rocking chair, and kept him on my chest most of the night and monitored his breathing.

The next morning, elated, we were allowed to go home. It was amazing to be able to spend those first few days in the intimacy and privacy of our own home. My new son never left my arms from practically the minute he was born. He is currently breastfeeding on demand, and thriving and doing beautifully.

I can't speak highly enough of my experience at The Birth Center, and I highly recommend it to any woman who wishes to experience natural child birth. I plan on having any future babies there as well.

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices! 

Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
O'er the world a star is sweetly gleaming,
Now come the wisemen from out of the Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friends.
He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger, 

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease. 

Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim! 

Oh, Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices! 

Letting Go

A week ago I had the house of my dreams at my fingertips.
And, more so, I had a sense of control over our future, where we would be raising up this brood of ours, and a general peace in planting permanent roots.

Now, all of that is slipping away.

I feel silly writing about this, as there are very dire things happening in the world. Children being sold into slavery, Families being persecuted because of religious beliefs, famine, war, and sickness.
These are the things that require my prayer, daily.

But, still, we prayed to be lead by our God, and we felt He had released us to make a decision about this house. We did. We felt peace wash over us, as we began to prepare our family and lives for a replanting.

Then, the house inspection showed various things that would deem the house unlivable, without remediation. $20,000 worth of things. Money that we neither have, nor would care to spend if we did.

We haven't completely pulled the plug, as we are going to give the Sellers the opportunity to right this. (they did not fully disclose some of the items in their disclosure). If they remediate the items at full cost, we will move forward.

The chances of that happening are so slim, by anyone's standards, that we might as well expect a full remediation of the Philadelphia School system this coming year.

In the interim, I can feel God preparing my heart for the great unknown once again. He is asking me to let go. It is painful. I am not just letting go of the house, but of the stability, peace, and future lives that we tacked to that house. But, aha, once again these were OUR plans.

We believe in a sovereign Lord. We begged Him that if this was not the place He would have us raise up our family that He shut the door quickly. Whether He is responding, or the Seller's just acted irresponsibly, is still out to jury.

I spent the day clearing out all the clutter in our tiny 1,000 square foot townhouse. If God should not have us move forward, then we will furlough our search, and prepare where we our for our tiny little baby to arrive in 3 months. Families all over the world would literally DIE to own 1,000 square feet to provide safety and comfort for their enormous families. So what if we are 2 adults, 2 small children, a newborn, a dog, a cat and 3 hermit crabs. We are here, we are safe, we are living under our means, and babies love small spaces anyhow. :)

The Lord has taught me to stand in the season of where we are, not where we want to be. Also, He has taught me that His Grace is enough.

So today, on this Sunday, I am letting go of my desire to move forward with that big, beautiful, fancy, fabulous, well-situated, Victorian, stone house. Also, i am letting go of my desire to craft my plans over the next 3 months. Lord, we give it all to You, and we beg You to have Your way with it.

Infidelity

A long awaited impending truth is finally showing it's ugly face.

In September of 2010 I wrote this blog.

http://fourfishfeet.blogspot.com/2010/09/love-triangle.html#links

In recent events, it has become exposed that a couple near and dear to me have fallen victim to the dark and ungodly forces that can plague the human spirit, and in this instance, an entire family. We're not just talking about infidelity here, but about lies, and double lives, and the hurting of so many on so many different levels, that even as a bystander I am having trouble sorting through the pain.

All I know is this:

We are broken people, who become the product of our parents broken choices. If we do not work very hard to resolve that through Grace, then we will expose our children to the same lies, and acts of injustice that were done to us. It is a cyclical generational curse, that only through our own salvation can be repaired.

On Death

Daddy and Mamma married barefoot in the living room.
Mamma was beautiful, Daddy was stoned.

Daddy didn't know too much about making money
So he learned how to beat the casinos.
That worked for a while.

Then, when he became too much to bare,  (I was eight years old),  Mamma dreamed of another life.
She left Daddy.
Daddy begged me to move West with him.

When I close my eyes and remember my childhood -

I can hear the *bing bing bing* of the casino
I can smell the recirculated air.
I can feel the heavy bucket in my hand

Maybe my stomach turns - remembering those long drives cross-country in a UHAUL. Vegas, Back East, Reno, Back East. I used to get car sick.

Apartment living. Five schools by the Sixth grade. New friends. Dirty Dresses. I never could fit in.
My Best friend was the original Nintendo. By 7 years old, I had beat Super Mario Brothers forward and backwards. No one to play with.

Once, I invited all the neighborhood kids into the house and they stole all of Daddy's $2. bills. I told them where to find them. I was tired of being alone.
We just moved. again.

Then, Poverty.

When Daddy couldn't afford an apartment anymore, he lived in the casinos.
And, I lived with any kind hearted friends willing to take care of me.
Fortunately for me, I learned Korean. And, Russian.

As an adult, Daddy was mad.

He was Mad at Mamma. Mad at his parents. Mad that I went to a "Liberal" University. Mad I moved to Italy. Mad that I had a Baby. Mad that I wasn't Jewish. Mad that I didn't respect him, didn't need him, didn't love him. ENOUGH. Mad. No. Matter. What. I. Did.

He still didn't have a job. Didn't have anyone to love. Poor Health. Aggressive.
But, he put all of his money into beating the casinos. And now, the Stock Market.

He hit on all of my friends. Asked them to come to the casino with them.
He hired a 29 year old Russian prostitute, to be his girlfriend.

He pushed everyone in his life away. He claimed he found God, but I didn't believe him.

When my baby grew up, Daddy tried to control her, like he controlled me as a child. I did everything I could to protect her.

Daddy sued me.

He told the court that he had a right to spend as much time as he wanted with his blood grandchild.
They threw Daddy out of the courtroom.
I almost lost my house to Lawyers fees.

I haven't spoken to my Father in a year.
He spends all of his time telling everyone who will listen how much he is mad at me.

Someone told me the other day:

"You will be sorry when he dies."

______________________________________________


That might be true. From where I stand, I cannot tell you what I will feel when that day comes.
But, I tend to think I will feel relief.

I have been grieving the slow and inevitable death of my Father for years. I am bereft of a Father.

There is a gaping whole in my heart where there should be: a hug, and advice. Words of endearment. Wiping tears from my cheeks. Encouragement. Helping me move into my new house. Guidance. A dance at my wedding. Rocking my baby on his knee. ..  Loving me. A Father's love.

When he dies, his suffering will end.


I will never have the Father I have been longing for my entire life.
But God grant him peace and an end to his suffering.

Yes, at my Father's funeral I will rejoice.