. This product compliments me where I feel insecure in my femininity , and uplifts me where I do not have any more anti depressants.

For two whole years I have dreamed of the day that I would endorse my very first product. I never dreamed it would be a company that never asked me to write about how wonderful their product was, but that the product would find me.

It was as if we were made for each other. This product compliments me where I feel insecure in my femininity , and uplifts me where I do not have any more anti depressants.

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As the magazine states, the advantages are obvious. Just looking at the before and after convinces me that I NEED this device to make my life better, happier. I love wine like the best of them, but I also lack confidence in the breast region.

Wouldn’t this solve my problem for needing wine on the go and needing to shop at Limited Two for the rest of my adult years? At the low price of $29.99 I could gain my confidence back as a woman, while discretely sipping on my favorite Merlot at a play date.

Just look at how small the tube is to sip the wine. Surely no one would notice at my C section support group that I am just getting a little confidence booster while sitting in my chair, listening to other women’s horror stories. If you think about this deeply, it could just be a way to nurse again after you are finished having children.

This can be a hard time for women, when they are no longer lactating. 

I think it is rather fashionable. Fashionable and classy enough to take to children’s birthday parties, Mommy play date groups, and even Sunday school. I think for the Sunday school I would add a flowy top to the mix. You know , to leave room for Jesus to move.

As far as postpartum care, sports bras are FANTASTIC for support for milk filled breasts. The wine just adds a touch of calmness, especially if your baby has colic. There’s nothing like recovering from birth with a never ending supply of wine.

I thought at first I would have an issue with my wine being rather warm, so I put an ice pack in the middle of my sports bra to keep things cooler in there. We all know how heated things can get in the middle of the day when you are screaming at your four year old to pull her pants back up. The yard is no place to urinate.

The ice pack really keeps the wine at a temperature that I prefer, as apposed to the boiling red wine seeping out of my bra, causing my children to call 911. There is no top to place on the boiling wine. No temperature gauge. It’s allllllll NATURAL.

” Momma just had a heart attack, or something. Her heart just busted because I refused to clean up the Dorrito’s off of my bedroom floor!”

With this product I feel more secure at playdates with new Moms . I am more Friendly, and confident.  I can wear a size Medium if I fill the bra up all the way. Even if I never sip the wine, I feel more like a woman as the cup expands, as I am fearful of it bursting in a Chic Fila booth.

Mind you now, that this item does not come with the wine itself. That will have to be purchased on your own. If you are having a hard time making ends meet, you can also use tap water.

The whole feel good , relaxing result will be different from previous reviews I have read.

Boxed wine is the easiest and cheapest way to wear the newest fashion trend.

Wazy Wednesday’s With Wachel.

Wednesdays are so wazy for me in fact that I don’t even bother to sound out my words correctwy. Wednesday’s haven’t always been wazy , but today I was sick in bed ( again ) with who knows what reeking havoc on my body. While I was wying there , I got an idea! 

Show your readers what you make when you are sick, lazy, breathing, sad, happy, or just plain human on a Wednesday night. So, this is what we did.

” Children , come hither from outside in the barn and help your Mother make dinner!” She said.

” No! We are having way too much fun in the mud and getting new grass stains on the new pair of jeans you just purchased!” They said.

Oh, but you will LOVE this dinner. There are no vegetables, and you get to make a mess, and then eat it. And after we are finished I will buy you each a brand new unlimited supply of candy bars!” She said.

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So, here are your ingredients. We had extra buns from a cook out, so I made do with a fun dinner with the kids. Plus, I learned about this fun recipe at my cousins house growing up. It was always so much fun making our own little pizza’s together. And then skinny dipping in their pool. I could have left that last part out, but why?

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Obviously these brands can be switched up, and different sauces and cheeses can be used. But if that happens, you might die. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

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So then you give each child a plate of their own, you know to boost their self esteem levels that they are capable of making their own dinner. Which you know they are not, that you will still have to help. 

You will help them spread the sauce over the bun, then let them choose a cheese for the topping. Since I am mean I only gave them two choices.

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The girls loved this part! They are natural cooks. Barefooted in the kitchen with their Momma. Adah chose a hotdog bun because she doesn’t like hamburgers. Understandable.

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Asher refused to smile for the camera, because he hated this part. It also wasn’t Papa Johns, like I requested their Father to bring home the night before. See? I’m not Wazy.

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Please don’t judge the quality of my photos. My professional photographer quit because I wasn’t paying him. Jokes on HIM because I am an amazing photographer. Like better than anyone. My photos are real and raw. And really, really bad.

So I let everyone place their pizza’s on the baking sheet, and I baked them at 350 for around ten minutes. In those ten minutes two out of three children got into a fight over the Halloween candy from a school party. I poured a glass of wine out of BOXED wine, because I am awesome, and one nameless child pooped in her pants for the second time in one day. Leading me to research selective IBS when tired.

What did you eat Wachel, you ask?

Well, I ate this. Trying to feel healthy and better about my life.

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This bread is the bomb.com , and you can find it at your local Costco. It’s great with just butter, but your best bet is to smother it in Nutella if you really value your life.

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So , here’s my healthy pizza . That I later paired with local cinnamon buns my sweet husband brought me home because he knew that I felt like a glass of red wine at a Baptist convention. Not appreciated, alone and a little too fermented. ( I was sick .)

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See how mean he was to me? Just awful, especially when I made him a fancy salad to make him think I worked WEAWY hard in the kitchen while fighting a sinus infection. See?

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Thank you for reading my most boring of all blogs. Maybe I gave you a quick and easy recipe for your kids on those nights where you cannot even. I hope I did.

I love you all, and all the easy things.

I love feeding my kids healthy foods, but on Wednesdays I Stwuggle .

Tune in for more Wazy Wednesdays With Wachel. Share with your friends that are equally as tired as we are!

Dismissing trauma in our lives for the sake of gratefulness is never healthy.

I had a funny dream last night that my husband and I were able to go back in time. We chose to both go back to the year where we first started dating. Knowing full well we were married, but in teenage bodies with all of these rules was comical at first. Then we began to get in trouble with our parents for closing the door to my bedroom, and spending too much time together.

What was funny at first became an annoyance, and we wanted to go back to being 27 and 28. We realized that many times we wished to go back to the way things used to be. When everything was new, and exciting. Every little kiss was something to write about in my journal, and each time we held hands I thought my heart would explode. My love for him grew, as we grew. 

In the dream, we tried to explain to my Dad that we were in teenage bodies, but we were really ten years older than that. It didn’t take us long before we were sick of living in the past.

I woke up in the middle of the night, puzzled but sure The Lord was teaching me something. As I lay there in the dark, with both of our daughters pressed against me and my husband on the other side, I began to play the dream in my head, again and again. Soaking in each detail and dissecting the events that occurred.

After an hour I was finally able to go back to sleep, only to wake up to a sickness that had me bed ridden all day.

It was our daughters third birthday, and as I laid in bed sick as a dog, the Lord dealt with my heart through a series of dreams. As I slept, he spoke in an intricate web of dreams.


All the dreams had the same meaning – stop living in the past.

This day three years ago we were given a beautiful baby girl. At 7:05 pm I heard her cry, as I cried too. Longing to see the precious girl I had waited so long to meet. 42 weeks of holding her in my womb. As soon as Matt held her up to my face for me to kiss her, intense pain shot through my right leg, and up to my right shoulder. I screamed in pain, unable to control my sobs. The nurse administered Morphine without my consent, and what happened over the next couple of hours I will never be able to remember.

I do not remember meeting her for the first time, or nursing her. I had to ask several family members and close friends if they even came to the hospital, as I wasn’t aware of my surroundings most days. I do not remember this picture being taken, or kissing those sweet cheeks.

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The pain in my physical body wasn’t as bad as what was going on inside my soul. I was dying hour by hour, trying to make sense of what had happened. I had only gone to the hospital because of numbness in my left arm, and I left with a baby. A baby that was cut out of me.

Entering our home and passing by the home birth kit killed me a little more. Trying to focus on my newborn baby, while dealing with intense abdominal pain wasn’t for the faint of heart.

I felt violated. Unloved, and very , very angry.


On this same day of Adah’s birth three years ago, old emotions come back to the surface on my mind. My body wants to react in muscle memory to that day. It’s as if my body remembers the trauma, the tears and the intense regret.

While I was given new life in a daughter, a part of myself died that day.

All day I have wrestled to celebrate her life, and disassociate MY death from HER life.

When we celebrate LIFE , we are joyful . When we honor DEATH, we can be mournful.

I had a dear friend ask me today:

” On a day that was so hard for you, how do you celebrate her life?”

My answer is that I am still unsure. I am still working through the grief of that day, and I am still enjoying my life with my sweet girl. My miracle child.

Just because I love her, and I thank God daily for her life does not erase what her birth did to my soul.

While I sang Happy Birthday to her today as she ate her requested chocolate doughnut, I wept inside. I wept for what my soul longed for. My last baby to be born at home into my arms.

Today I wonder how many times Jesus has wanted something GRAND for our lives that we didn’t accept. I wonder how many times I’ve lived in the past, just like my dream. Frustrated , but never aware of my deep longing to live in the NOW. How often have I held on way too tight to what could have been, while missing out on the present.

Dismissing trauma in our lives for the sake of gratefulness is never healthy.

It’s just like a car accident:

We don’t love what the accident did to our car, or the injuries it gave us, but we are thankful to be alive.

I am thankful she is alive. I do not like what the accident did to my body. To my mind.

Just because we are dealing with the horrors of the past, does not make us ungrateful. We can have the most grateful heart, and still be hurting.

Let me say that one more time. We can still be overcoming past hurts, and still be grateful for the life that we have today.

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Celebrating her life today, and always. Redeeming her birth in my mind, everyday. Loving her more , everyday. Trusting God that her birth wasn’t in vain, everyday.

I had a funny dream last night that my husband and I were able to go back in time. We chose to both go back to the year where we first started dating. Knowing full well we were married, but in teenage bodies with all of these rules was comical at first. Then we began to get in trouble with our parents for closing the door to my bedroom, and spending too much time together.

What was funny at first became an annoyance, and we wanted to go back to being 27 and 28. We realized that many times we wished to go back to the way things used to be. When everything was new, and exciting. Every little kiss was something to write about in my journal, and each time we held hands I thought my heart would explode. My love for him grew, as we grew. 

In the dream, we tried to explain to my Dad that we were in teenage bodies, but we were really ten years older than that. It didn’t take us long before we were sick of living in the past.

I woke up in the middle of the night, puzzled but sure The Lord was teaching me something. As I lay there in the dark, with both of our daughters pressed against me and my husband on the other side, I began to play the dream in my head, again and again. Soaking in each detail and dissecting the events that occurred.

After an hour I was finally able to go back to sleep, only to wake up to a sickness that had me bed ridden all day.

It was our daughters third birthday, and as I laid in bed sick as a dog, the Lord dealt with my heart through a series of dreams. As I slept, he spoke in an intricate web of dreams.


All the dreams had the same meaning – stop living in the past.

This day three years ago we were given a beautiful baby girl. At 7:05 pm I heard her cry, as I cried too. Longing to see the precious girl I had waited so long to meet. 42 weeks of holding her in my womb. As soon as Matt held her up to my face for me to kiss her, intense pain shot through my right leg, and up to my right shoulder. I screamed in pain, unable to control my sobs. The nurse administered Morphine without my consent, and what happened over the next couple of hours I will never be able to remember.

I do not remember meeting her for the first time, or nursing her. I had to ask several family members and close friends if they even came to the hospital, as I wasn’t aware of my surroundings most days. I do not remember this picture being taken, or kissing those sweet cheeks.

32378_4427961709539_23309360_n

The pain in my physical body wasn’t as bad as what was going on inside my soul. I was dying hour by hour, trying to make sense of what had happened. I had only gone to the hospital because of numbness in my left arm, and I left with a baby. A baby that was cut out of me.

Entering our home and passing by the home birth kit killed me a little more. Trying to focus on my newborn baby, while dealing with intense abdominal pain wasn’t for the faint of heart.

I felt violated. Unloved, and very , very angry.


On this same day of Adah’s birth three years ago, old emotions come back to the surface on my mind. My body wants to react in muscle memory to that day. It’s as if my body remembers the trauma, the tears and the intense regret.

While I was given new life in a daughter, a part of myself died that day.

All day I have wrestled to celebrate her life, and disassociate MY death from HER life.

When we celebrate LIFE , we are joyful . When we honor DEATH, we can be mournful.

I had a dear friend ask me today:

” On a day that was so hard for you, how do you celebrate her life?”

My answer is that I am still unsure. I am still working through the grief of that day, and I am still enjoying my life with my sweet girl. My miracle child.

Just because I love her, and I thank God daily for her life does not erase what her birth did to my soul.

While I sang Happy Birthday to her today as she ate her requested chocolate doughnut, I wept inside. I wept for what my soul longed for. My last baby to be born at home into my arms.

Today I wonder how many times Jesus has wanted something GRAND for our lives that we didn’t accept. I wonder how many times I’ve lived in the past, just like my dream. Frustrated , but never aware of my deep longing to live in the NOW. How often have I held on way too tight to what could have been, while missing out on the present.

Dismissing trauma in our lives for the sake of gratefulness is never healthy.

It’s just like a car accident:

We don’t love what the accident did to our car, or the injuries it gave us, but we are thankful to be alive.

I am thankful she is alive. I do not like what the accident did to my body. To my mind.

Just because we are dealing with the horrors of the past, does not make us ungrateful. We can have the most grateful heart, and still be hurting.

Let me say that one more time. We can still be overcoming past hurts, and still be grateful for the life that we have today.

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Celebrating her life today, and always. Redeeming her birth in my mind, everyday. Loving her more , everyday. Trusting God that her birth wasn’t in vain, everyday.

Dismissing trauma in our lives for the sake of gratefulness is never healthy.

Put yourself in a position to be refreshed.

With the windows open on both sides of the hallway on the second floor, I stood right in the middle and let the breeze hit my cheeks. The rain storm began and was relentless to stop as the cool air made it’s way around our home.

Standing at the top of the stairwell , with my arms stretched wide open I thanked Him for the home He provided. The dreams He saw in my heart, and made happen on Earth. Thinking of all the times I have had the privilege to visit heaven for a brief moment, standing in this hallway that spoke of history and memories galore made me feel like I was tasting a slice of heaven once more.

The rain was relentless to stop, pouring more growth onto our land. It was then I thought to set out our Mums that sat on the front porch to be watered.

In the pouring rain I set out four plants to receive refreshment from the rain. Moving them into a position where they would gain the growth they needed wasn’t easy for me.

I got wet and muddy. But I knew it was needed for the growth of the plants that I wanted to see blossom. Often growth isn’t possible without re-positioning ourselves.

I stood on the porch and watched the plants that I wanted to see blossom get refreshment. I wanted to see them in their full potential, their full color and shape. I knew they could be beautiful if they were provided the right amount of water and sunlight.

Standing in the shelter of the rain the Lord spoke to me as He does so often in the most creative of ways:

” It’s not unusual what you are learning here. I so often ask my children to step out into what doesn’t feel comfortable for them, only to have them refreshed by my spirit, and renewed by the mind of Christ. “

I sat in the rocking chair watching the rain nourish my plants, and I knew.

I knew that if I wouldn’t have placed them outside in the rain where they could gain refreshment, then they could have died.

It takes a step of faith, saying:

Hey Lord. I need your spirit to come upon me and make me new. But I know that I cannot remain in the place that I am currently in. I will step off the shelter and into the rain that you have provided for my gain. I will stop trying to hide and stay dry. I will step into what you have for me, even if I get soaked. Even if I get muddy, I am willing to walk into what you have for me.

In the largest of storms, even the smallest of plants get promoted as they gain strength from the rain He pours upon them.

Will you step out into the rain, or stay dry under the shelter?

For me, the risk of getting a bit uncomfortable and chilly is worth the growth that will be produced at the end of the storm.

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The beauty that will be shining from the soiled dirt. The first blossom of the weathered , yet cared for flower.

What I am saying is this: In order to grow spiritually we have to step out into the storm sometimes. We have to move our positions in life, into what his living water has to offer.

He never asks us to do things that we cannot handle, but He DOES ask us to trust what He says about the particular season that we are in.

My kids are so full of crap.

It’s officially Summer in our house. No more school, no more 6 am wake up calls. Somehow I have found I need an extra cup of coffee, added to the 7 that I drink in the mornings. Although there isn’t really a big routine going on around here, Summer is already stressing me out. 

I know what you are saying, it shouldn’t be this way, Rachel!

Right, and I agree, I really do.

I would like to share something super personal about our children that I birthed.

In the Summer, they poop a lot.

I’m not talking about once a day like normal children. I am talking like, 3 or 17 times a day. It’s something that has been heavy on my heart to share with you. At the end of this blog you will find a GOFUNDME account for toilet paper that is needed for all the sh$%ts they are taking,


I’ve discovered that Summer to them means relaxation. Right? I mean, doesn’t everyone relax more in the Summer months. The beach, the pool, sun bathing, beer drinking on the beach. Although our children are only allowed to do certain of those listed, because we aren’t in Europe, they have found other ways to relax.

They poop.


Loading up the van for the pool, one kid screams they had to poop yet again, after going twice that morning.

” Ok, go ahead! I’ll wait here!”

” No, you have to wipe me!”

( AT WHAT AGE DID YOU LET YOUR KIDS WIPE THEIR OWN BUTTS? I’M BEING SERIOUS.)

This said child is now 20. Too old? I DON’T KNOW.

I FEEL LIKE THEY SHOULD BE ABLE TO PASS SOME SORT OF INTELLIGENCE AND AIM TEST.

FIRST QUESTION:

When you poop do you,

a) wipe while you are still pooping

b) wait until you are finished and just use one wipe, then later complain to your Mom your butt itches?

c) skip the wiping because your sibling is in there watching you and you are self conscious.

d) wipe effectively, but forget to put back on your underwear because you’re 4.

e) I don’t poop on the toilet


During our stay at the pool I had to watch the kid that I have that isn’t yet potty trained like a Hawk. Knowing those certain facial features and hip movements that produce crap, I am an instant spotter of a swimmy diaper disaster. I have been traumatized way too many times to count from the liquid poop immersing from the bathing suit into the adult swimming pool.

Once Rhema shut down the pool for two days her poop was that stank.

That being said, all of our children like to poop at the pool. Like an excessive amount, to the point where I have contemplated  setting up an open bar just for myself.

” Oh, you have to poop again. Cool. I’ll just be here sipping on my Corona with lime. “

This time in particular all was the same, so much poop.

We left and had to go to the grocery store to get dinner supplies. All three children to one of those amazing carts with the TWO steering wheels that HATE me, because one child is always out of a wheel. That third wheel phrase was invented by a Mother using one of those carts. She was cussing under her breath as the third , left out child screamed on aisle 3.

” Mom I have to poop! “

” AGAIN? How do you have anything left in your body? Can you hold it until we get home?”

” Yes.”

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So we left. Halfway home said child starts saying they cannot hold the poo any longer. I began to sweat thinking of cleaning up a poop infested car seat.

” MOM! PULL OVER RIGHT NOW I HAVE TO POOP!”

So I did. I got off on the most ghetto exit, put the van in park and put a diaper on a child old enough to marry in some countries. I felt violated, and concerned for the smell that was about to enter the van.

The business was done, as the youngest child slept peacefully in her carseat. Blissfully unaware of the great stench coming from her sibling. The one she looks up to the most. Thank God her eyes didn’t have to see the horror beside her as I clean said child up. I vowed to take this child out of my will when the poo got on my foot.

” SEE MOM! THAT WASN’T BAD AT ALL! I FEEL GREAT NOW!’

It was sort of like giving birth. Not what you planned on. The baby is all happy because your boob is in his mouth, and you have sh*$ coming out of your vagina for WEEKS. 

Well I had poop in places I couldn’t find in their entirety. I just vowed to shower in bleach when I returned home.


Believe me, I’ve prayed about starting a support group. But the reality is that I will not be able to attend. Someone will be pooping. Maybe not even my kids. Maybe I’ll be pooping. Oh dear Lord. It could happen to me too.

If you see me at the pool with my children, just hand me a clean swimmie diaper and some bleach. It is most likely that one of my offspring has relaxed way too much during Summer Vaca.


Do you follow my blog on the reg, but want to hear more of my stories? Click below to purchase a copy of my first book!

http://www.amazon.com/Redemption-House-Rachel-Haggerty/dp/1498431593/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1434402945&sr=8-1&keywords=the+redemption+house

The homebirth of Luca Reign.

“Take delight in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart.”

Psalm 37:4

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As soon as the pregnancy test lined turned positive, Jesus said to me:

” Luca. “

Soon after telling my husband that we were going to have a Rainbow baby I looked up the meaning of the name.

” Bearer of bright light.”

Jesus said to me:

” He will be your light after all your darkness. He will restore hope and bring healing to your heart. This child’s birth will be just as much your own new birth. Trust me to reign over this child.”

His pregnancy was different from all my others. Full of peace of mind, yet the sickness took over soon after second trimester on until he was born. Many false alarm labors, braxton hicks and mental battles daily for my mind. My deep passion to birth him at home only grew as he did, and I found myself doubting God’s goodness to me in the end days.

My patience to make it until my body went into labor on its own became so taxing on my emotions. Many nights in my own bath tub crying out to God to help me, trying to wave a white flag in his face.

” Jesus don’t you see me? “

Finally on March 14th at 8 pm , ( ten days past my EDD ) my labor began.

NOTE: Three times my Midwife tried a catheter dilator to start my labor. Each time was a fail. I tried Castor oil twice, each time was a fail. In my spirit I knew my body was supposed to do this on it’s own, and I truly needed to shut up my complaining and just wait. So , I did.

I was in denial that I was actually doing this on my own. Trying to ignore the contractions, I watched show and cozied up in bed. Within a few hours I couldn’t ignore them as just a false alarm any longer. I woke my husband up and called my Midwife.

” I think I’m in labor. They aren’t stopping at two minutes apart. “

I could hear her smile over the phone as she assured me she was on her way.

I decided to start bouncing and rolling my hips on the birth ball, started my very relaxing technique of watching FRIENDS for comic relief. Because FRIENDS is the best show on earth.

As labor progressed I started playing worship music and praying in the spirit as much as I could. Inviting the Holy Spirit to “reign” over our sons birth, keep us safe and sustain my strength.

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I tried many different positions during labor to get comfortable, as my husband rubbed my back during each and every contraction. He was my lifeline, my support system. I couldn’t have done it without him by my side.

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Around 5 am, my Midwife suggested a bath to relax my muscles a bit, as I was to tense from the pain. Matt turned off the bathroom light, and lit a candle for me. My friend helped me into the bath and brought me some fruit to nibble on. My strength was low.

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Matt came and sat with me and prayed aloud for strength and for Luca to come sooner than later. The bath was instant [pain relief and I remember telling Matt I was never coming out. Go ahead and set up camp here, ain’t movin!

In the bath, my legs began shaking and I knew I was in transition. Matt had gone to tell the kids goodbye before they left for school, so I was alone. Being alone during transition was the most surreal feeling for my soul. My body was doing something voluntarily for me, just as I had prayed it would. I could feel Angelic activity around me, and could sense my Angel babies praying over me and for their brother.

The pain was very intense, but a pain that I welcomed. It wasn’t something I wanted to go away until he was in my arms. I kept saying : thank you Lord. Bring him to me.

After my bath my Midwife wanted to check me, as she had not done yet. I loved this about her, so loving and hands off. So much respect for what my body was doing already on it’s own. Not wanting to make this a medical intervention, but knowing that this is something that will change my heart forever. A desire that would never dwindle. Never waiver until I did this on my own.

As I walked up the stairs each of the children kissed me as if they were blessing what was about to happen. They were blessing My blessing that awaited up those steps.

I laid on the bed , and she began to check my cervix. I prepared myself for her to say I was only a 4 or so, but instead to my surprise and relief:

” I feel the bulging water bag, and babe YOU’RE A NINE! You’re going to have a baby soon!”

That sentence is one that will be forever engrained in my memory as a sweet victory of God’s goodness to me in a time of exhaustion, and anticipation of meeting my promised son. I couldn’t help but weep with JOY! I had done this on my own, and I knew it was almost over.

I tried pushing in several different positions for two hours. Nothing seemed to be moving him down as much as I wanted, and the pain was unbearable. I looked at Matt once and said:

” I cannot do this.”

” Yes babe you can. You’re doing it right now. You’re so strong. You can!”

So many tears and warrior cries later , I got up off the birthing stool and said:

” I have to pee.”

Looking back I can laugh at that statement for obvious reasons. No woman at 10 centimeters can successfully walk to a bathroom and relieve herself. I was clearly exhausted, and it was my way of checking out of the situation.

As soon as I stood up his head crowned, ( thank you God and gravity ) !

Cheers from my husband and family shouted into my ears as I got a wave of confidence and knew I could do this.

Pushing through the contractions as they came, he slowly descended. Soon after his head crowned, my midwife told me to get on all fours and push as hard as I could. I was unaware that his cord was prolapsed, and his shoulders were seemingly stuck.

With quick thinking and her massive amount of birth knowledge, my Midwife was about to get his shoulders into position for birth, and she had him out within a few seconds. There was no ” sliding ” this child out, she had to literally PULL him out.

Had I been in a hospital setting they would most likely have cut me to get him out. A big no thank you.

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These two women right here. Their love and devotion to me and my child was unwavering. Their knowledge and quick thinking will forever bless me. They showed me that my body was capable of more. They showed me that I was WORTH more. They showed me what birth could be. What I wanted it to be. How God intended it , for me.

His birth did things in my spirit , healed places in my broken Mother’s heart, and opened new doors of wisdom and strength I didn’t know I possessed. 

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Born 9:56 am into my loving arms.

As soon as he was born, I knew he was ok, breathing and fine, but a bit lethargic. His coloring wasn’t pink as much as it was a bit gray and dull. I began speaking to him, patting his little butt , but nothing was giving us that good solid cry we wanted to hear.

My Midwife quickly gave him some oxygen, and all was well!

Each time she tried checking his heart rate he grabbed her stethoscope as if he was trying to say:

“Woman! I’m telling you I’m fine, I just didn’t want to come out.”

Sweet relief from the pain washed over me as I processed the fact that my dreams of a home birth had come to life. I had done it.  Holding my Rainbow baby in my arms was the deepest feeling of gratitude for His mercies and grace. He loved me THAT much that he allowed us not only to have another child, but in the exact way I desired.

I climbed into my own bed, snuggled my newborn and nursed him. It was heaven on earth. the JOY and the presence of the Lord was so strong in our room that even our four year old daughter watched the whole process without a peep. She was so calm and gentle, so loving and devoted to her brother she knew was coming into the world.

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The sweetest relief! My boy is here!

Several times my sisters would assure her that I was only loud because I was trying to bring her brother out to meet her, and she assured them she was fine. It was as if she grew years in her maturity level just watching new life come into being.

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Recovery has been incredible this time. Surrounded by family and friends who are caring for us, and allowing us privacy to bond at the same time.

It’s a beautiful thing when you trust Jesus with your heart, I promise you he won’t crush your dreams. He loves your dreams, he’s the one that put them there.

Jesus helped me birth a 9 pound baby, that was a VBAC. In my bedroom. The way I wanted. He cared that much for me.

He cares that much for you.

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9 pound Rainbow baby boy.

( ALL PHOTOGRAPHY BY HANNAH HAGGERTY – HD PHOTO & DESIGN )

Surrender

In these last few days or weeks that I am carrying this sweet boy, I’ve been setting up our birth space in the bedroom. Reading bible verses aloud and preparing my mind for labor. Allowing myself to rest in the unknown of when he will arrive, but trusting in God’s perfect timing.

For my birthday my Mom gave me a necklace that has each of my angel babies names on it. It’s so special to me, so when I am not wearing it it’s hung in a high place so the girls can’t reach it.

This morning while getting Rhema ready for church, she pointed to the necklace and said:

” Momma, you need to wear that necklace when you’re having Sprout. That way you will know that Jude, Haddie, and Alba are there with you praying for you and my brother.”

The tears fell as I realized that hadn’t occurred to me. Feeling their presence as I birth their baby brother. One that I know they’ve met in heaven and had the privilege to get to know and bond with. They know him better than I do at this point. Why not honor them with the necklace as I give their brother the life they once had in my womb.

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A few weeks ago a dear friend told me she felt that she should make me a small sign for my birth space. She asked me to let her know a keyword or phrase that she could paint for me. For a few days I prayed for something , anything I could focus on during his labor.

The word Surrender was all I heard for days.

At first when I heard it , all the negative connotations that go with it came into my head. Surrender didn’t make me feel powerful, or ready for birth.

The more I asked Holy Spirit to help me understand this word, the more he downloaded peace and understanding to me.

A few things stood out:

Surrender all fear from Adah’s birth.

Surrender to His perfect will for my son.

Surrender to his mighty power over my body.

Surrender TO my body, that was created in HIS image.

Surrender to the contractions that will bring forth my son.

Surrender all my thoughts, movements and emotions to Him.

 

It’s something I have to learn over and over through each season of my life:

I CAN surrender to Him because he is good.

 It seems so simple as I type it, but it’s a constant battle in my head. One that I know deep down is true.

It’s such a sweet time with Him waiting to meet our promised baby. Allowing Him to overtake my mind and fill it with His words and thoughts about our son.

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 ” He must increase, but I must decrease.”

John 3:30

” It will all be worth it when you see that sweet baby.”

My apologies for not writing in a while, I’ve been growing a human which makes me grumpy and sleepy. Basically starting to turn into Snow White’s dwarfs with the exception of Dopy because I can’t have booze. With makes me even more grumpy.

I haven’t had anything going on that’s super exciting , so I decided to talk about pregnancy since it’s literally the only thing I think about these days. That and GETTING HIM OUT.

Let’s face it, at the end of your pregnancy you are not the happiest camper. Your crotch hurts, your back aches and in some cases you’re still throwing up your morning coffee. People will mean well when they say phrases like this one that makes me want to throw them against a wall.

” It will all be worth it when you see that sweet baby.”

Yes. No shit Sherlock. That’s why I even let my husband three feet from me when I’m ovulating. I know all this will be worth it, but it doesn’t make it easy.

This sweet squishy baby will erase all this pain, so I’m writing this out to remind myself what comes before all the cuteness.

” OMG. You’re SO tiny!”

This is a sweet comment, but when you hear it almost everyday it makes you want to lift up your shirt and show the world how large your belly really is. Large shirts cover big bellies people. I am not a large woman in general, and do not grow 9 pound babies. I can’t birth a Sasquatch. Believe me, this baby is big.

The next person that says that has to break my water.

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I love children. I love babies. I love giving birth. I’m about as maternal as they make them. I can have a milk let down reflex when it’s not even my baby crying. I can sniff out a newborn a mile away at a shopping mall. I do not love being pregnant.

How is this even possible? I’m maternal in EVERY OTHER aspect of my life, but not this one.

The first few kicks are so sweet and then you just want them to mature and get out of your uterus.

When it comes down to the point where you cannot successfully wipe your own vagina when you pee, it’s time for them to come forth. Dignity and self pride completely go out the window when you are 8 months pregnant. The small things don’t matter anymore, but rolling from your left side to your right side in bed is like Moses parting the Red Sea. Lots of prayer, strength and nay sayers doubting you can do it as your husband rolls you with one hand as you moan in pain.

                                                                   “Babe are you ok?”

         ” You can never touch me again. Enjoy your full night’s rest. I     have to                                                                                        pee.”

Sometimes I think to myself – I know a few people that could benefit from being pregnant, just so that their pride could be shaken a bit. Maybe they would pee on themselves while vomiting, be miserable for a few minutes, but in the end be nicer to people. Have more empathy for others.

Sort of like this Reality TV show for jerks. If I see this come out on TLC I’ll know one of you stole this idea. Then I will do nothing about it because I will have four kids.

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 In these last few hours, days or weeks I have of being pregnant for the last time I will try to enjoy the following:

The sensation that my baby is waving at me, just straight out my crotchular region.

Involuntarily peeing on myself when I sneeze, laugh , or the baby kicks.

My butt getting larger by the second, until no more leggings fit and I’m forced to wear no pants at all.

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I have to go now and schedule my husband’s vasectomy appointment.  

Turning a breech baby with love.

Though my little guy isn’t born yet, I wanted to share what I believe is the beginning of his birth story, one that will forever change the way that I connect with all my children.

Last Friday I began having a series of contractions that lasted a better part of the afternoon and into the night. I was only a few days shy of 35 weeks, so I knew it wasn’t time to have him yet. During this time I was at peace, and breathing through contractions, though I became super fearful of not getting the birth my heart desired.

I knew he would be fine, even born at 35 weeks, but this would mean that yet again my birth plans would be shattered. Even after the contractions slowed, I allowed my mind to focus on my last birth that was extremely traumatic for me. In every aspect it took me years to recover, especially mentally.

Sometime after the contractions slowed he must have turned breech, where as before he was perfectly head down. It didn’t occur to me that he could’ve turned out of fear and trauma from trying to come. Nor did it occur to me that my body could’ve been responding out of muscle memory to my last birth,  a breech baby that ended in cesarean at 42 weeks.

Our bodies response to trauma can often be out of our control, but for me after much counsel and prayer, I knew I had to take matters into my own hands to turn my son. He had turned breech out of my own fear of the past.

To some, this may sound bizarre. But I can assure you that our babies can sense fear and tension in the womb. It’s our job to create a space for them full of peace. They are created in love, so let’s allow them to be born in love.

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While saying prayers, and tucking my other three into bed, they all offered to lay hands on their brother and pray for him to turn head down.

Each prayer they prayed I found myself yearning to connect with him deeper, and to understand why he had turned breech. Their prayers brought the presence of the Lord, and by the time the last child prayed I was a wreck.

I could feel him already trying to move, and I knew it was time.

After getting the kids tucked into bed I locked myself in my room and retreated. I turned on worship music and closed my eyes to connect with my unborn son. At first, talking to him aloud seemed insane, but the more I spoke to him in soft tones, the more connected to him I began to feel.

It became a supernatural experience that I will never forget.

Speaking to him I started doing certain positions in which I was encouraging him to turn his head back down.

In a calm , quiet voice I told him things like:

“Momma is not afraid of your birth. You are your own person. I know you turned because I was afraid. I’m not anymore love.”

” You can turn your head back down now buddy. When you want to come, I’m ready.”

This went on for about an hour, calling him out and into the destiny I know the Lord has for his life. For his birth. He is my rainbow baby, bringing redemption and restoring lost hope in life and birth.

Time went on and I continued speaking to him and elevating my pelvis, until I could feel contractions start to move his head downward.

I got on my hands and knees and began swaying back and forth. I had no logical explanation for this, I just let my body take over.

I eventually stood up and began moving my hips in a circular motion as I felt his head getting back into alignment, all the while telling him what a good boy he was for listening to Momma.

I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, as I knew we had done this together. We had erased all fear and moved together in love.

I continued to focus on his life and my body aligning him perfectly, so much so that I am not certain how long I was in a trance like state.

This was necessary for us to bond , against all odds, he was my son in whom I am well pleased. Breech or not, I was focusing on him turning and coming forth the right way.

I retrained my mind to not think of my previous birth, but to ONLY focus on his. He is a different creation from his sister. God has different plans for his life.

I feel that with Adah’s birth I wasn’t ready to experience freedom in birth, but after going through all that I did after she was born, my body craved natural birth. I needed to know that I had control over my mind, which I know controls my body.

The bond that God creates between Mothers and babies in the womb ( and outside ) is so strong, that even the strongest fear cannot separate it. When we refuse to give into fear, we can be victorious and walk into our destinies, and for me in this season, I am walking right into my son’s birth. Where my body will take over as my mind leads it.

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Just to be sure, I had my Midwife check to see his positioning today. I laid on her table, lifted my shirt and said:

” I’m pretty sure I’ve turned him. He just needed a little talk. We both did.”

She listened and felt around, and a big smile came across her gorgeous face.

” Rachel, your baby is perfectly in line.”

I then explained exactly what needed to happen for him to turn, and she agreed.

The way we think about our bodies is a gateway to our health.

The way we think about our births determines the level of peace we will have, whatever the outcome.

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38 weeks with Adah Harbor. My breech baby. But she’s so much more. She’s kind, intelligent, loving and sensitive. My sweet sweet girl. She is more than her birth, and so am I.

He passionately loves you for what makes you love life.

The older our children get, the more we have to search their hearts for areas we can bond in. When they are small, it’s easy to relate to them. Getting down onto the literal floor, and playing with them on their level doesn’t take much soul searching.

They cry, we feed them, we change them. Fixing their problems is what we specialize in, and we get really good at it.

Soon they begin to mature, and what makes them tick becomes evident if we choose to notice.

Learning what our oldest child loves , and trying to relate to him on his level has shown me a lot about us as parents, but it’s mainly shown me the parallel to my relationship with my heavenly Father.

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A few months back we found an amazing deal on a dirt bike for Asher (8). He had been asking for one for years, and being a very active boy we wanted to bless him with a just because gift. He caught on very quick, and showed us just how coordinated he really is. Watching him light up as he rode and tried new tricks was rewarding as parents, and we soon knew that Matt needed to bond with him in this area.

You see, sometimes as parents you have to bite the bullet and purchase something that will bring lasting memories for your child. I’m not talking about being irresponsible here, but getting into that mindset that they are only little once. We get one chance to bond with them.

Notice what they love, and follow.

So Matt got a dirt bike and began riding with Asher. This wasn’t something Matt did as a child, so everything was very new. He did this as a way to get on Asher’s level, to show him that he loves what Asher loves. New to him  or not, he wanted to create lasting memories with our son.

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We’ve found that creating a common ground with our children can cultivate an environment in which they can be open and honest, and feel secure in our love.

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Watching how Matt has handled this new bond has shown me so much about the man that I married, and so much about the Father in heaven I follow.

If my husband delights in the things his earthly son does, how much MORE does God delight in what we love?

When Asher decided he loved riding dirt bikes, we were happy he found something in which he felt free, safe and confident.

God feels the same way about what you love.

He’s a gracious Father who has made you to have gifts and talents that HE himself placed within you. He delights in the things you delight in.

I’ve struggled with fear of the future with this pregnancy, and I know that God has used Asher’s love of dirt bikes to show me that He loves what I love.

He loves the way I want to give birth, and wants to give me that blessing.

He loves the things in you that can be used to glorify him.

He’s pleased when we find something we excel in.

He’s a Father of good gifts.

Next time your children giggle with laughter doing something they love, notice how it makes you feel as a parent.

Now imagine how much more God delights in you when you are in your element of joy, whatever that may be.

He isn’t a religious God.

He passionately loves you for what makes you love life.

So if you are choosing to be afraid, do not let it be that God doesn’t love what you love.

Let the hurt of friendship go.

Friendship is something that every woman struggles with. No one voluntarily walks into a new friendship with the idea that one day they will have a falling out with this person, and never speak again. Nor does anyone go into a friendship with the intention of growing apart.

But these things happen.  Sometimes it’s as if a friendship slips through our fingers without us even realizing what has happened. We look down at our hands to see only our flesh and wonder where the other person went.

There have been friendships I’ve had in the past that when they slowly ended, I wondered what was wrong with me. I began this unhealthy cycle of comparing myself to other women. Perhaps I wasn’t loyal enough, brave enough, involved enough for them.

After being hurt too many times to count, I am finally in a place where I realize that a friendship should mirror your relationship with Jesus.

Just as your walk with the Lord isn’t performance based, you shouldn’t feel the need to perform for a friend. To impress them. To pursue them when they dismiss your advances.

If women are walking out of your life, let them. Love lets go. 

There are friendships that last a lifetime, but those are rare. I say that because it’s just a fact. I say that because I’ve sown into friendships that were betrayed. That dissolved against my best efforts.

It doesn’t make me right, or the better person, it just makes it true.

When you are confident in who YOU are, and where you are headed in life, some women will be intimidated. When you succeed, some women will not be happy for you. When you are happy, truly happy after a long season of heartache, some women will not rejoice with you.

But, take heart. You WILL find friends who love your confidence, and push you to advance yourself without their gain in mind. You will find women who celebrate your success because they are not intimidated by yours. You will find women who weep with you when you are dying inside. You will find women who reach out to you when all you need is someone to talk to.

I’m learning to shift my focus from my – but’s and what ifs.

But- this person hurt my feelings, more times than I can count. But this person betrayed my trust… but ..but…but….

And focusing on my circle of friends that I have RIGHT NOW.

Get out your phone. Who have you texted this month? Who has made you laugh? Who has cried with you. Who can you trust?

Focus on those people. Let the hurt go.

Friendships end for one reason or another. Sometimes people just grow apart.

When we learn to have peace in each season of our friendships, we can truly give the other person our all. We can be there for the women we love deeply.

If women are walking out of your life, let them. Love lets go. 

You can’t force love to stay. You can fight for righteousness, but in the end people will do what they want to. They will think what they want to of you, despite your best efforts to show them love.

This is why I love freely. I have a vast variety of friendships, because I have nothing to lose. After such a long road, I am secure in knowing that the right women will stick around. The ones that bring me down can walk on out.

Friendships don’t have to cause so much heartache, but we let them. Why? Because most of us invest our heart and soul into loving another woman. Looking at her needs as well as our own. Sometimes even above ours.

We invest a personal connection.

When you invest in something it’s difficult to not receive anything in return, isn’t it?

But that’s what walking in love is.

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Being a young Mother in a judgemental world.

Six months into my marriage, at age 19 I found out we were going to have our first child. Living off of close to minimum wage income, and only enough food in our refrigerator to last until the next day, I told my new husband he was going to be a Father.

I say I told him, but what I really mean is that he came home from work to find his young wife crying on the sofa. For an hour straight I couldn’t look at him, I couldn’t tell him the words I needed to say.

Once I finally came out and told him the news , he said:

” Oh gosh! Is that all? I thought someone died babe!”

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Almost ten years and seven babies later, I am able to look back and feel extreme gratitude for having started our little family so young.

You see, in this day in age young women are told to wait to have children. Wait until you have enough money. Wait until you are older. Wait until you have a better job, a bigger house, a better car.

Until the timing is just perfect.

But the thing is , there is NO perfect time to have a child.

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Though being a young Mother is a blessing, it comes with it’s struggles in life.

Since we started our family so soon, people acted like our married life was over. Surely we wouldn’t have time for one another. We never got to go on adventures together, travel the world.

What they did not realize is that parenting has been our greatest adventure yet.

No passport is required to love someone you created in love.

We jumped right into the greatest season of the unknown, head first.

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For me, being a mother at age 20 it was difficult to find friends that could relate to me in the season I was in. Everyone my age was still unmarried , partying, most in college, living with their parents.

I felt alone, isolated and afraid I was doing everything wrong.

There were a select few women in my life that were around my age , with no children, that loved me right where I was. They would come over and play with our son, and let me share what Motherhood was like.

These women still pour into me today. From them I learned that real friends are with you in every season of your life, whether it’s convenient, whether they can relate to you or not. They are there.

What helped me when our son was a bit older , was to connect with a group of women that were a bit older than I was. They even had more children. What I was attracted to was wisdom. I wanted them to mentor me, to teach me what it meant to be a meaningful and effective Mother.

I reached out for advice, for knowledge of things ahead of my time. I read all the parenting books I could get my hands on. I asked stupid questions. I joined a MOMS group. I was determined to be the best Mom I could be for our son.

In the long run, all those things were wonderful. I gained lasting friendships, and lots of great advice.

But if I can tell you anything about those young years of exhaustion and newness, it was that God gave ME everything that I needed , exactly when I needed it. With each child the Holy Spirit taught me how to love them, discipline them effectively, and parent them each differently.

Advice and play date groups are an incredible tool to have, but nothing compares to the wisdom that is downloaded to you as soon as you become a Mom. God made you capable of parenting, of loving.

There is no age limit to parenting, which also means you can never start too young, or too old. You will have children exactly when you are supposed to.

Be encouraged that young Momma’s get a head start in loving who they were always meant to love.

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Pregnancy and all it’s glam.

Being pregnant somehow gives other people permission to ask you super personal questions. It’s almost like this right of passage to becoming a mother, you have to answer weird questions.

The first three times I was pregnant and  people asked me how I was feeling I lied. After giving birth three different times you kinda lose your filter. Lets face it, you’ve been in a room where someone is coming out of your vagina while people take pictures.

Today I laid out a few truths that may have been too heavy handed for some people. I’m not sorry about this. I am the one growing ears for another human right now. Not them. They were enjoying their ice cold beer, when I was pretending my sweet tea had vodka in it.

One of my favorites is when people are trying to be sweet and tell you that you look amazing pregnant. Inside, if your emotions could reflect on your body you would look like the Incredible Hulk at a Waffle House at 2 am.

Tired. Greasy and a little overweight.

Wishing you were drunk, but here you are sober ordering a Waffle that was baked three days ago. But you have to eat it because you are HANGRY.

I look amazing? I’m glowing?

Oh well, I just threw up five minutes ago and I’m out of gum. Don’t get too close to me. Also, I don’t want you to get close to me, like at all. That’s how this human got inside me. Someone got too close.

Today on the way to a beach wedding I pulled down the little window shade. Is that what it’s called? It’s called a mirror flap. I don’t care what it’s called.

I pulled that thing down because the dang sun was in my face. I turned to the man that knocked me up and said:

” MY GAH! The sun is so annoying this time of year isn’t it?”

” No, I think that’s just being pregnant.”

” What? The sun is annoying because I’m pregnant?”

” Yes babe.”

Then I killed him and took his sunglasses because they are BETTER than mine because TINY PEOPLE get ahold of mine and break them. HE doesn’t get that luxury because he has a penis.

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A personal favorite is the ” pregnancy glow”. Glow my ass. We are glowing because we are sweating from walking five feet. In fact , our crotch is most likely experiencing a heat wave like the rest of Arizona in a drought. You know those ice packs the hospital gives you after birth? Yeah, I vote that we get to use those all the time. I think I would be much sweeter if I had an ice pack on my lady parts.

How about at the end of your pregnancy when everyone starts taking bets on how long it will take for you to give birth. Like you have ANY say so in this. Have you ever met a child? They can be so mean and spiteful. And we are waiting on one of these to come earthside so that eventually they have to OBEY you?

Oh  hell no, this is their last HOORAH before adolescence. They get to do whatever they want in there. Unlimited screen time. All the junk food they want. Why would they want to come out and have a bedtime?

I can’t say I blame them. I want to go back in.

At this point we can basically shake their hands.

” Hello, I am your mother. You are one centimeter away from grazing my thigh.”

Listen. Pregnancy is a wonderful miracle.  One that makes you want to punch your spouse in the face.

Oh , not you? Then we cannot be friends. Get out of my life. I don’t need happy people like you. I’ve got my after birth to keep me happy in the days ahead.

” How is your sex life in your third trimester?”

” I mean, it’s great. I get a whole nap in. Sometimes when I wake up from my nap I meal plan.”

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Until the day I die I will desire to have the birth I’ve always dreamed of.

This post has been swimming around my head for about two months now. Each time I started to write it I became a blubbering ball of emotion, and I quit. I think sometimes what we need to do when our emotions try to shut us down is press forward, and write that shit out anyway.

I hope that everyone reading my blog knows that I have respect for all women, and value everyone’s differences. I have a vast span of women in my life. Some the crunchiest that they come, and others are modern, medicine minded. I love them all. They each play a part of who I am today, and I wouldn’t WANT them to change. At all.

With that being said, from my experience there are two types of women in this world. Both of the women I am going to talk about are wonderful Mothers. Friends, wives. But they experience and embrace life in a different light from their neighbor.

It is their differences that make me love them. Their opinions and lifestyles that I respect, so much that I have had a hard time putting this blog into words.

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Imagine that you are an Artist. You’ve had this canvas in mind for months, let’s say 9 months. You’ve been creating this masterpiece, and each day you marvel at it. It’s something you take pride in and you’ve worked towards. It’s beauty fills your soul and gives you a sense of wonderment.

You’ve envisioned what the final product will look like, so much so that that is what has made your painting so special to you. You get emotional thinking about presenting it to it’s new owner, or maybe hanging it on your mantle in your own home.

This little piece is something that you’ve imagined yourself creating since childhood. It’s that important to you.

Now imagine someone steals it. Right out from under you. In broad daylight. Just comes into your own studio and takes it. Without warning. It’s gone. The vision and the dream, done for.

As an artist that is devastating, but perhaps looking in as a Real Estate agent you cannot grasp the grief that this painter is going through. You can try, but still you cannot fully understand why this painter cannot simply paint another gorgeous picture.

This is what it is like for a woman that plans a natural childbirth, whether this be at home or in a hospital, and her birth is shattered by intervention or trauma.

This is what it was like for me four years ago when my homebirth plans were stolen from me.

Just like a painter, the woman that values and longs for a birth experience to empower her and heal her, she envisions her birth as being that painting. The process of painting it is what makes the end result so sweet.

Unless you are a painter, you cannot understand.

If you are not a painter, that doesn’t make you any less of whatever you are meant to be.

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I never thought I would be here again. Faced with the longing in my heart to birth at home, and the fear in my head telling me that my painting would be stolen again. But I’m here, at the mercy of my own body to do as I wish.

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It’s been done for thousands of years, the way I desire to bring life into the world. Yet still, I have women in my life that think it’s insane. Dangerous. Crazy. Irresponsible.

Why would I want to give birth in my own home where I feel the most comfortable?

I don’t know why my heart is designed to have this deep longing, but I do know that it is for a purpose.

If that purpose is only for me to tell you tonight that your hearts desires are valid, and they are respected by me, then so be it.

I’ve suffered once , and I could do it again.

I understand that I live in a fallen world where sin is rampant. But I also have a heavenly Father that made me just the way that I am. My heart strings are pulled at the thought of birth of any sort, but especially when women feel valid in their wishes and desires.

I’m convinced that birth is apart of who women are. How we view ourselves.

Some women don’t mind intervention, and anything that comes along with modern day medicine. But some women leave the hospital scarred for life. A healthy baby in tow, but a wound so deep it will take years to heal.

A woman’s body is a vessel of life, why shouldn’t we have a say so in how we bring forth life?

A healthy baby in the end is important, but the mental health of the mother is a close second. I know this because I’ve been the mother that was traumatized for years after a birth that wrecked me to my core.

For a painter, their painting is personal. It’s a personal , touchy thing for them to give up. Just as it is for the Mother that wants to birth in her own bed.

When that is taken from her she feels violated, and betrayed by her own body.

It’s a nerve wracking thing, being at the mercy of your own flesh, and feeling a child you created moving inside you.

This child was created in love, and I want to birth him in a place I feel the most loved.

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Each woman is different, and lovely in her own way. Our roles in this life are vital. Without new life, life ends.

Lets respect how life is birthed, regardless of whether you are a painter or not. It’s a personal choice that is carefully thought out by each woman.

That’s what makes it so unique. All birth is beautiful.

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Until the day I die I will desire to have the birth I’ve always dreamed of, and to see women empowered in the way they choose to birth. I refuse to give up.

Why we make a big deal about Birthdays.

I awoke to my Dad gently tapping my shoulder on my seventh birthday. Looking around the small room with two other siblings still sleeping, I knew it was earlier than usual. He motioned for me to come out into the hallway and told me he was taking me out to breakfast, just the two of us before school.

I’ll never forget that morning. The smell of the restaurant, and the buffet of food awaiting me. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but I felt so loved. So seen and so honored.

You see, I’m the oldest of six children. It was easy to feel overwhelmed as the oldest at times, my duties involving taking care of younger siblings. But there was one thing ( out of many ) that my parents took pride in.

That was , and still is celebrating our Birthdays and special occasions.

I did not grow up wealthy, or even close. In fact there were times finances were very tight, slim to none if you will. But this never stopped my parents from making us feel important on our birthdays. I never once had a single crappy birthday my entire childhood. They made a ” big deal ” out of each one of them.

Why? Because I was a big deal. My siblings were a big deal.

People you love are a big deal.

This blog is not about material things, but let me tell you that when you are a child, gifts are often your love language.

Expressing your love can be hard for some people, but luckily I was raised in a home where it was done daily. Not just on special occasions, but all the time. We did not have much, I mean heck, I grew up in a single wide trailer with five other kids. We were not privileged in the way that other children were, but we were LOVED.

We were celebrated. We never doubted that we were valued.

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Because of the way I was raised, and how it shaped me into the woman I am today, my husband and I make a big deal out of celebrating our kids.

These moments and these memories will stay with them forever, and shape the parents and Grandparents they will one day become. I simply cannot shrug off their birthdays as just another day, or get them something meaningless to check  off my to-do list.

How they view themselves starts right now. I want them to see what we see in them. What God see’s in them. I want them to feel secure in the fact that we WANT to celebrate their lives.

For me, in my younger years, often Birthdays, Christmas, and special occasions are the things that stand out in my memory as happy things. I feel that these fond memories over shadow some things that were hard for me as a child.

Almost as if I can say to myself ” Yeah, well that was difficult, but then when my Mom made my homemade Easter basket filled with my favorite things I felt secure again.”

Material things are great, but that’s not why I remember them. I remember them because I knew the thought process behind them.

((My parents must be listening to me because they know me well enough to give me my favorite book to read. They have really been listening when I tell them what I like to check out from the Library.))

If I can do that for our children, if I can show them how much they are loved, so much that when they become adults, that’s what they remember… then I’ve done something great.

Children are not stupid. They see and sense things that they hold inside. Every once in a while they open a window to their hearts, and when they do , its best we listen.

It’s best we respond to their hearts.

They are only this little for so long. They only get one 4th birthday.

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Make it great, however that may be. But make sure they know how honored they are.

Their self worth starts with you as their parent.