Nursury Furniture for Plus Size Moms

A reader on Tumblr asked what glider or rocking chair I would recommend for plus size mommas, since I am one myself...

I was on a mission to find the perfect glider suitable for plus size preggos…The glider we originally registered for was not only obscenely expensive, but did not have the highest of weight capacities. The last thing we wanted was to spend $400 on a chair that we could expect to fall apart on us because it wasn’t meant to hold me in the first place…
 
After checking countless forums, manufacturers websites and reviews online (not to mention comparison shopping at different websites to get the best deal), I was able to find this:

It costs $200 retail INCLUDING the ottoman, is the exact material and color of all our other furniture, and holds up to 300 pounds.

I had it for almost 2 entire years before we got rid of it. It held up very well, even with daily use! It was super comfortable and a life saver when it came to overnight nursings. I never used the ottoman much, to be honest, just because it feels weird to me to rock back and forth with my feet up, but otherwise I'm very happy with our purchase of this glider!

I'd love to hear about any other suggestions for plus size friendly furniture or baby gear. Let me know if there's something you can't live without as a plus sized momma!

Guest Post: "How I Met My Littlest Valentine"

At 41 weeks and 1 day pregnant around 6:30pm on Thursday February 13 I changed positions on the sofa and felt some type of liquid come out of me. Assuming that I peed myself I headed into the bathroom but there wasn’t the smell of pee. I sat back down and went onto my online pregnancy support group asking if they thought it was pee or amniotic fluid. I called my doula and she said to call the midwife and figure out what to do. I put another pair of underwear on to see if I was still leaking and sure enough I was. I woke up Evan and said “My water broke. I think this is it. I think we’re having a baby today.” Evan shot right up and got out of bed in a total panic. He had to shower, his bag wasn’t totally packed, the house was a mess. I called the midwife and she said to head to the hospital. My plan was the birth center so I was a bit panicked. I was terrified of not laboring fast enough, being pumped with drugs, and getting forced into a cesarean. Evan kept telling me everything would be okay and we were probably just going to the hospital because the birth center had closed that day due to the snow and the parking lot was most likely not plowed. I called my Mom and told her I thought my water broke and I needed to go in to get the fluid tested. 

My parents came over as quickly as they could. Fitting the four of us, our bags, and my birth ball in my Dad’s truck was not an easy task. On top of that my mother thought I would be cold so she had the heat up. I was sweating my butt off and asked them to open the windows. There was some where between 6 to 12 inches of snow on the ground and it was still snowing when we were on the road.  We got to the hospital and I totally forgot how to get to the maternity ward so I waited in line at the front desk and got directions. We got checked in and Evan sat with me in a room waiting for someone to come in to check me. The woman who came in was very ill mannered and seemed annoyed that I had questions. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen because I didn’t have a hospital birth in my mind and I was confused about being Group B Strep positive and having my water break before labor. The woman told me I needed to be checked in and that it was amniotic fluid and we had to start an induction. Tears immediately began for the fear of needles, air bubbles in the line, medical interventions leading to cesarean. I felt so rushed from the doctor, nurses, the millions of questions my parents had, and the amount of emotions I was feeling on top of worrying about how Evan was. After arriving in the delivery room the nurses came in for the antibiotic IV and pitocin. My midwife was in the room and told the nurses that my veins are hard to find and they would need the IV team but the nurse was convinced she could do it herself. She couldn’t. It hurt quite a bit while she wiggled the needle around in my arm trying to figure out where it needed to go. She finally gave up and called the IV team. Another nurse catalogued my belongings and asked if all my jewelry could be easily removed in case there was a cause for a cesarean. That made my mind race even more than it already was. During all this time I was crying and trying to remember to stay calm and breathe. After being hooked up to everything the midwife checked me for dilation and I was about one and a half centimeters. 

Once everything settled I called my doula who was upset that she wasn’t able to be there from the very beginning of everything. She arrived sometime around midnight and told me what to expect. She suggested I try to get some sleep but since Evan works nights I was sort of on his schedule and he was wide awake. We watched Mob Wives and Couples Therapy and then the local news. Evan and my doula eventually fell asleep and I tried to sleep as well. I was hooked up to a blood pressure cuff that had to go off every 15 minutes. Because I’m fat I need an adult thigh cuff for an accurate reading. I was constantly woken up from the machine going off on top of the fact that the cuff didn’t fit and made my arm twitch and go numb. A nurse periodically came in because the readings were off and I tried to explain what size cuff I needed. The nurse told me that size didn’t exist and moved the cuff to my forearm which didn’t really make a difference. I’m not sure how much sleep I got but I did sleep a little bit. 

On Friday February 14 we woke up sometime around 7:00am. At 9:00am I was checked and was 4 centimeters dilated. Evan left to get breakfast while I was with my doula. I sat on a birth ball bouncing up and down waiting for a nurse to come in so I could get on wireless monitoring. After being on wireless monitoring I was able to walk around the room, sit in different positions on the bed, lean against the wall, and do whatever I needed to manage the pain. Evan came back from breakfast with some juice and a rose for Valentine’s Day. He must have spent a fortune in the gift shop but he didn’t want Valentine’s Day to pass without giving me a rose. Laboring was much different than I hoped it would be. The IV was annoying and the wireless monitors kept moving plus I had to get my blood pressure checked every half hour. Luckily the nurses that came with the shift change were so much more pleasant than the ones from overnight. They let me go longer in-between blood pressure checks to not stop my concentration and stopped readjusting the wireless monitors as often as they should have. They even informed every one of my birth plan and wrote a note on my door specifying quiet voices, natural lighting, and to keep the door shut at all times. The midwife came in I think around lunch time and asked if I wanted to be checked. I told her no because I was worried if I wasn’t as far as I had imagined that labor would stall due to my mental state. During breaks between contractions I read birth affirmations and listened to a hip hop play list, I had a classical music playlist but it didn’t distract me enough. My doula told me to turn on whatever music I normally listened to or else I wouldn’t be able to block out the pain. Evan stood behind me massaging my lower back while I was on the birth ball, then my doula would fill in with different massages and suggest other positions. I decided I wanted to walk the hallway. Walking was terrible. I had to stop walking during contractions so I gave up that idea and headed back to my room. 

At 4:00pm I asked to be checked. At that point I was on my birth ball and in a world of pain. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could do it. When the midwife came in and checked she told me I was at 7 centimeters. I laid on the bed thinking there was no way in hell I would have been able to stay at home until this point like I had planned. I had wanted to labor at home for as long as possible and head to the birth center around 7 or 8 centimeters. I think I would have panicked long before this point if I had been at home. I remember telling anyone in the room that would listen that I couldn’t do it much longer. I repeatedly said that it hurt really badly and I couldn’t do it. Evan was behind me in a chair and I was on the birth ball. I leaned back onto him during each contraction. I don’t know if I looked like I was having a difficult time or if it was because I kept saying I couldn’t do it but with every lean back he would whisper in my ear and tell me how strong I was. Hearing him tell me I was doing well was what I needed. It was still awful but I thought if Evan believed in me then I must be able to do it. I asked how long they thought I would be in labor and my doula told me at least two more hours. I looked up at the clock and cried. Contractions came and went and I looked at the clock again. It had only been ten minutes. I thought  to myself “Shit. It’s been ten minutes how the hell can I do this for two more hours?!.”  

After spending almost two hours on the birth ball I decided to go on my hands and knees on the hospital bed. The hospital bed had a setting where the bottom part dropped down and you could sit on the top part with your feet on the bottom part sort of like a chair if that makes sense. So on all fours my knees were on the lower part of the bed while I leaned over the top. I asked Evan for the ultrasound picture of our daughter. I laid that picture on the pillow in front of me and with every contraction I kept telling myself this was all for her. If I could just make it through this contraction I would be one step closer to meeting the sweet baby in the picture. I’m not sure how long I was in this position before I told them I felt like I had to push. My doula told me to wait for the midwife. There was a shift change. I heard them whispering the name of the midwife that was on her way. The second I heard her name I felt so defeated. I knew I was going to end up getting a cesarean. This midwife was the only one during my pregnancy who brought up complications that were going to happen because of my weight. She never spoke to me as though they could happen, it was always they will happen. I had proven her to be wrong up until this point. I was so worried that with the first little thing to go wrong she would tell me I was done and I would have to go to surgery. After those fleeting negative thoughts I remembered the picture on my desk top. It said “Wake up every morning and tell yourself you’re a bad ass bitch from hell and no one can fuck with you. And then don’t let anyone fuck with you.” I pushed all the negativity out and said to myself “You are a bad ass bitch from hell. Do not let her fuck with you. You can do this. Suck it up and do it.” When the midwife came in she checked me and told me I wasn’t ready to push but I told her I had to. She asked me to wait and I was there on the bed wondering how to stop myself from pushing without totally screwing up the labor process. I didn’t understand and I still don’t understand. I don’t get how you can just hold in a baby as if you’re holding in your pee. I pushed. I said it again “I seriously have to push. I can’t not do it.” I heard my doula say “Okay then push.” With her support I started pushing with each contraction. I looked at the clock and it was 6:00pm. I was mad. They told me it would be at least two hours. I had it in my head that by this time I would be holding my baby. I pushed as hard as I possibly could and my God did it hurt. I was pushing, and pushing, and pushing and I finally started yelling at everyone. I yelled “CUT HER OUR OF ME.” I screamed. I screamed and my doula told me to focus. She said “Bring it back in. Control it.” Evan remembered something I had researched. I read that loud noises contract everything tight and low noises open everything up. I heard him say “Growl, Felicia. Get low.” So I did. I made super weird low growling sounds I have never made in my life. I tried to practice these sounds a few weeks earlier but I felt stupid so I gave up on it. I took a deep breath as I felt the contraction growing and as it peaked I pushed my body toward the midwife and growled. I heard the nurses sounding happy with their chatter and my doula said “Yes!! Get mad at it. That’s it.” I continued growling and pushing for what seemed like an eternity.  Evan left to get me more water and when he left I started screaming again. He told me he could hear me from the nurses station, which was pretty far from our room. Again and at least twenty other times I yelled “JUST CUT HER OUT!!” I kept telling them I couldn’t do it and every time I said “This really hurts!” the midwife would say “Well yeah Felicia, it does hurt.” When Evan came back I told him I needed medication and that I couldn’t do it any more. He and my doula both told me I had to be the one to ask. I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to be the one to give up. I told them again that it hurt and I couldn’t do it. My doula said “You’re scared. Stop being scared. Stop fighting it. You can do it, you’re just scared.” I realized she was right. I was scared. I was never in labor before. I never felt contractions before. I never pushed out a baby before. I prepared myself for every part of labor and delivery. I researched terminology and knew almost every procedure they would try to do. I remembered I had a right to say no and that they were not in charge of my birth. It was MY birth. What I didn’t prepare for was the pain. But how do you even prepare for something you can’t even begin to comprehend? I had never even broken a bone before. I had no idea how badly labor would hurt. I was scared and I had a right to be. I thought back to my desk top. “You’re a bad ass bitch from hell. You are a bad ass. You can do this.” The growling continued and I got back into my groove. I was doing well but I was totally exhausted. I fell asleep between every contraction and I only opened my eyes to look at Evan. I remember I looked over at him because I couldn’t take it anymore. Evan must have seen in my eyes that I was ready to give up. He grabbed my face and said “You are so strong. You can do this. I’m so proud of you.”

I was doing well until I thought I was going to poop. The midwife told me it was fine and all the nurses said it wasn’t a big deal but I was on all fours and I thought if I pooped it was going to go everywhere. Worrying about pooping hindered me and I needed to switch positions. I layed on my left side while Evan held my right leg up. When I was in this position the midwife told me she had to move my cervix because it was in the way. She told me it would feel like being checked for dilation and that she had to wait for a contraction. With the next contraction she put her hand inside me and moved my cervix. It hurt a lot worse than being checked for dilation. I remember looking at her straight in the eye and saying “OW!” as if my whining would make her stop. I laid there on my side and continued to push like that for an unknown amount of time until I heard the midwife say “I can see a head and there’s a lot of hair.” I yelled “WHAT?! You see the baby?! Am I seriously about to have a baby?!” I looked at Evan and he was crying. Later he told me that once someone could actually see her he realized it was real. You know that saying that women become mothers the moment they are pregnant but men don’t become dads until they hold their child. Evan became a Dad at that moment. He was so happy. I don’t think I have ever seen him that happy. The nurse on my left told me I could reach down to touch the head. This was in my birth plan and I was glad she asked but I said no. She said this was my only chance and I could do it but it grossed me out too much to actually feel a baby down there. I pushed so many times . I was sick of waiting to have my baby in my arms. I felt the burning and I knew it was almost time. I knew the burning was her head coming out and I knew that the moment I felt like I couldn’t continue was the moment she would be out. I have no clue how many more times I pushed but eventually she was lifted out and placed on my stomach. She was perfect. I asked if it was a girl and once they said yes I counted her fingers and toes and told her happy birthday. I kissed her on the head and said “We did it, baby girl. We did it.” Coraline Paige was born at 8:14pm on Valentine’s Day. I was in the hospital and had to have antibiotics and pitocin but I didn’t get anything for the pain and it was an overall positive experience. Pushing for two hours sucked but in the end I got my Valentine’s baby.

The rest was a total blur. Evan cut the cord, my doula took pictures, I was in complete shock. I remember that they said my body had taken over and I wasn’t on pitocin but they turned it back on to deliver the placenta. I told them to make sure no one took the placenta because I was taking it home to be encapsulated. At some point they took my baby to be measured and weighed and I think that’s when I was getting stitched up. They gave her back to me and covered us up. I think they tried to clean the floor a little bit while Evan went out to tell our family that she was here.

Things that happened but I don’t know where they fit in:

-At some point during labor the wireless monitors were not picking anything up and there was trouble with my daughter’s heart beat. I was asked if I wanted internal monitoring and I had remembered that I didn’t but I couldn’t remember why so I just agreed because I thought a cord inside me would be much more tolerable than those annoying plastic circles and a huge piece of gauze around my stomach. I think this was when I was on all fours but I don’t quite remember the time line of everything.

-I threw up twice once I was on my side pushing but I don’t know if it was towards the beginning or end.

-The antibiotics for GBS burned so badly I was in tears until my arm was covered with a wet wash cloth. 

-When it was all over I opened my eyes and realized how many people were in the room. I think there was Evan, the midwife, Doula, and three nurses. I said hello to all of them and apologized for not paying attention to them during the labor process.

-The entire time I was in labor I asked Evan if he was okay and if he needed anything. I was worried about him passing out or not being able to take seeing me in pain. He surpassed every expectation and was completely amazing. 

-The first set of numbing shots before getting stitched up didn’t work and I felt the first few stitches. After telling her to stop and trying to wiggle away the midwife gave me three more shots of numbing stuff and then continued.

-I didn’t realize how warm the amniotic fluid would be or how much there was. My water breaking was a little trickle so as it gushed down my legs during labor I was completely disgusted. I remember the nurses laughing at me because I sat there saying “Ew” over and over again. 

There it is. My birth story. The hospital wasn’t what I wanted but it wasn't the total hell I had imagined. After being in a delivery room in the birth center for my postpartum check up I realized I probably wouldn’t have been able to deliver there. With my anxiety I think I would have panicked and needed the hospital because my pessimist mind wouldn’t have felt safe. I think for our next child, if we’re blessed to have another baby, I will plan on a hospital birth from the begging. I think having the midwives and a doula helped me get the birth I wanted. I’m about 90% sure that if I had an OB there’s no way I would have been allowed to labor and push for as long as I did. 

 

 

Written by Felicia T., momma of a beautiful little girl from Reading, Pennsylvania. She is a Domestic Goddess for a living and a human rights activist. Today, Coraline Paige is 5 months old!

Autism, ABA and Gentle Parenting

The first of (hopefully weekly) progress videos for Bu...

I probably won't be posting the weekly videos here unless they deal specifically with a parenting issue, so if you'd like to follow these updates, please join the All For Bu facebook page or subscribe to my YouTube channel.

This vlog is about how ABA (behavior therapy) conflicts with my gentle parenting instincts and how I'm struggling with that...I'd love some input from like-minded parents!



If you can't see the video posted above, you can watch it HERE on YouTube.

Also, if you aren't already, please follow @MommaFriendly on Instagram, where I'm posting about guest post contributions and other random daily tips and funnies as related to pregnancy and parenting.

I can’t believe some people are DEFENDING this.

Fifteen out of 105 of ob-gyns the Sentinel surveyed have set weight limits for patients, which usually start around 200 pounds or are based on BMI levels.

Most of the doctors said that their equipment and examining tables couldn’t hold larger woman (which smells oddly like bullshit), but some said that obesity comes with more complications that the doctors would rather avoid.

“People don’t realize the risk we’re taking by taking care of these patients,” Dr. Albert Triana, who practices in South Miami, tells the paper. “There’s more risk of something going wrong and more risk of getting sued. Everything is more complicated with an obese patient in GYN surgeries and in [pregnancies].”

Unsurprisingly, many of the doctors who have enacted the weight cut-off also have a history of being sued for malpractice or cover high malpractice insurance premiums.

While doctors can not turn down patients based on race, gender, or sexual orientation they are free to turn away patients based on weight. Though not everyone agrees with the policy.

“This completely goes against the principles of being a doctor,” James Zervios, a spokesman for the Obesity Action Commission said to the paper. “Health care professionals are there to help individuals improve their quality of health, not stigmatize them according to their weight.”
Source: Miami New Times Blog


I weighed about 280 when I conceived. I am having absolutely NO complications. I’m expected to have a perfectly healthy pregnancy and birth. To have turned me away simply due to weight would be discrimination, plain and simple, because weight has nothing to do with health or possible complications. Not all thin people are healthy and not all fat people are lazy diseased slobs.

I argued this point on my facebook earlier. You know what I was met with? A MAN I don’t know defending the article saying, and I quote, “if you care so much about your baby, why are you not in the healthiest condition you could be?”

My response?

“ideally I would have weighed less when I conceived, but it was unplanned. Seeing as losing 150 pounds overnight by sheer will and love for my child is impossible, suggesting I don’t care about my baby by not being “at my healthiest” (which actually, I am in spite of me weight) is remarkably fucked up and ignorant. My two cents.”

I saw the article earlier and was already pissed off, so to see a couple of MEN argue that fat women don’t love their kids simply because they’re fat kind of REALLY set me off. WTF do men know about being a woman, about being pregnant, about losing or gaining weight as a woman (because men and woman metabolize differently, in case I needed to point that out)? Answer: NOTHING.

Everyone is entitled to their opinion, but if the topic is over your head and is something you could never and will never understand, you will only sound ignorant and/or like an asshole by sharing your opinion. Not to mention that owning up to discrimination of any type isn’t exactly an attractive quality.

 I’ve always been considered overweight, obese, or even morbidly obese. I’ve NEVER had a problem with BP, cholesterol, etc whereas several of my thinner friends who don’t take care of themselves have had such problems. I’m not saying I’m the picture of health despite my weight, but I AM of the very strong opinion that simply LOOKING at me shouldn’t be enough to decide I’m not healthy. ssumptions are dangerous, regardless of what they’re based on. Turning someone away based simply on weight is no different then turning them away simply because they’re black, catholic, or gay. NONE of these things mean anything definitely about someone’s health, even if statistics might suggest differently. 

The point I am maki ng is that obesity in and of itself should NOT be reason enough to turn anyone away for treatment. And in this particular case, the insurance companies are applying pressure to doctors that based on their own histories of malpractice, are high-risk doctors, not necessarily because they deal with high-risk patients. 

 I’m willing to repeat my stance til my fingers fall off. Living an unhealthy lifestyle and being overweight are not synonymous. I haven’t had a problem with a doctor, thankyouverymuch but I don’t think anyone else in my position should.  


:EDIT: I juts want to add that just today, I went to the endocrinologist, a specialist that I am supposed to see every 6 weeks throughout my pregnancy simply due to my weight and nothing else…he looked over my blood work and was impressed with how good everything looked. “Beyond perfection!”, he said. He also told me he wished he could give me some suggestions or pointers, but, and I quote “You can’t argue with success!”

So there. 





NOTE: This post was originally dated May 17, 2011...this is the post from my pregnancy blog that lead to the NBC feature on Sizism in OB/GYN offices in Miami. I thought it'd be fun to post it here to show what my perspective on fat-shaming and being a plus size preggo was while I was actually pregnant ;)

Guest Post: "Mother's Day French Toast"

I asked first time moms to share how this Mother's Day would be different for them...This was submitted by Felicia T., momma of a beautiful little girl from Reading, Pennsylvania. She is a Domestic Goddess for a living and a human rights activist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mother's Day has been an important part of my life ever since I understood what it was all about. My father left my mother and I around 1996 which created a bond between her and I that we would have never had. I remember thinking for months in advance what I should do to show her how much I appreciate her. Growing up, when my Mom would cook for me, she'd take a bite out of something and tell me there was a mouse in the house. Almost every Mother's Day, I got up extra early to make her breakfast in bed. I made sure to let her know that I too saw that mouse. (In case you're wondering stolen bites of french toast taste better than your own.) Getting up early to cook simple breakfast doesn't compare to the sacrifices my Mom made to take care of me, but each year I tried my best to let her know how much she's loved.
Now that I'm a mother myself, this one Sunday is more exciting than it ever was. The flowers and cards aren't what I am excited about. I'm happy about the title. I am a Mother and I'm now included in this exclusive club of women. When my daughter is old enough to make her own decisions on how to celebrate the day with me, I won't be looking forward to the gifts, I'll be looking forward to spending time with her. I realize now that french toast wasn't the special part of the day. The special part of Mother's Day is celebrating the bond you have with your children. This is a love like no other. This Sunday I will be cuddling my sweet baby and raising up the relationship that she and I will never have with anyone else.

My Birth Story

 I wrote this back in August 2012, so some stuff is out of date (like my son is obviously no longer 10 months old lol) but everything else still applies.


*********

On September 24, which was a Saturday, I woke up to pee for the 8,956th time overnight at about 4am, and noticed I was leaking a little bit. I had been leaking randomly, contracting randomly, etc for weeks (TMI, sorry) so I paid it no mind and went back to bed.

At about noon, we were getting ready to head out to my parents house because Hubs had promised my little brother a driving lesson, when I got a really sharp pain that seemed to envelope my entire abdomen. That wouldn't have been a big deal, since I was used to random evil pains at this point, except this pain lasted 30 minutes straight. I was crying by the time it was over. I decided we should stop in at the hospital before we went to my parents, if only so they could assure me I was having my 48th false alarm before we went on with our day.

Lo and behold, my water was broken. Well, not broken. "Ruptured". Trickling.

And I was dilated a whole 1/2 cm.

I was immediately super excited and terrified, though excited won out in spades. We called our parents, and of course EVERYONE came over right away.

I was admitted, and put on an external monitor. The pain was pretty bad, to the point that my dad had to get up and leave because he couldn't stand to see me like that. I was checked a couple of times, and I remember thinking I was going to die during the cervical checks. Literally. I was making my peace because I was certain the pain of those checks was going to throw me into shock and my heart was going to suddenly stop beating. The labor was nothing compared to those checks.

I wasn't progressing, so at about 7:30pm (having been in labor for over 15 hours at this point), the nurses inserted something called Cervadil in "there", after much resistance from me (I wanted ZERO intervention if at all possible, and EVERYTHING the nurses suggested was met with resistance, FYI). It was basically a piece of paper with hormones in it meant to help my cervix dilate (open) and efface (thin out) over 12 hours. I was told to get some rest (yeah right) because tomorrow, I would be able to start pushing and I needed to conserve as much strength and energy as possible.

When I woke up the next morning (I say "woke up" loosely, I didn't sleep much thanks to the damned blood pressure cuff trying to murder me every hour and the random nurses walking in and out of the room to adjust the monitor). I was checked again, and I was only 1cm dilated. 12 hours of Cervadil got me a whole 1/2cm. I was told that I had to get on Pitocin, regardless of my protests, because it had been over 24 hours since my labor started and I had to help the baby (ha!) in order to avoid a c-section, which is my absolute greatest fear. So in goes the Pitocin.

I tried to nap since I slept so crap the night before, but I was woken from my nap to a nurse half yelling at me that I needed an internal monitor because they lost the baby on the external. BEGIN PANIC. I was terrified not only of the monitor, but the fact that THEY were so panicked about the baby. The contraption was so painful and uncomfortable, imagine a huge long spatula IN YOU then laying on your thigh. That's
how big this thing was (Bu STILL has a scar on his head from the monitor, btw, and he's 10 months old now). They finished rupturing my bag of waters to put it in, and the party really got going.

I had more cervical checks. I have to say, now almost a year postpartum, I don't remember what the pain of the labor OR the checks felt like, but I remember the screaming. I remember hearing myself scream and being so delirious that I was sure it must have been someone else because I couldn't even scream like that. It's incredible the things the mind remembers (and forgets) in order to protect oneself.

At some point in the late morning/early afternoon of September 25, I had some sort of epiphany. I said to myself "you're scared, and you're letting the pain take you over. You need to take over the pain, or you'll never get through this. Do it for the baby." So I started breathing. Mind you, I never took a single labor class (maybe I should have), so I had no basis for what to do. I just did it. Every time I felt the wave about to hit me, I barged into it instead of fighting it. I spread my hands in front of me, requested that no one touch me, and I just breathed. I was deep in concentration, and I hadn't realized that the contractions had more than tripled in strength according to the monitor.

I started to really feel like I was kicking this labor's butt! I felt strong and powerful. 38 hours into the labor, I was checked again, and I was so thankful to hear that I was now 3cm dilated and completely effaced! It was working! It was slow going, but it was working! I was on the right track! And still no pain meds! I would meet my baby soon, and he would be alert and recognize his momma immediately and everything would be perfect. I asked the
nurses how much worse I could expect the contractions to get, and they told me that based on what they saw on the monitor, I was having transition-like strength contractions already. My body was ready for delivery with the exception of my cervix (a pretty important bit LOL) so I shouldn't feel much worse at all.

I felt a second wind come over me! It wouldn't get much worse than this, and I was making progress! I was Wonder Woman! I just kept breathing, with my husband, mother, and grandmother in awe that I was doing so well considering the wreck I'd been for so many hours prior. I got a new nurse (my 4th or 5th, I believe) who was schooled in natural deliveries and minimal interventions. I felt this was fate encouraging me and I knew I was doing better than anyone expected, so I was relieved and ready to fight.

At 44 hours, I had another cervical check. I hadn't moved one centimeter. Not even half a centimeter. In 6 HOURS. The 6 hours where I was feeling like this labor was my bitch. I felt so defeated. As if that wasn't bad enough, my doctor walked in (the doctor, by the way, was second to last on the list-of-doctors-I-hope-will-deliver-me because she always seemed so clueless and incompetent during my office visits with her. The only doctor UNDER her in the list was a fat-phobic asshole who was an absolute nightmare both as a person and a doctor) and let me know that she'd waited long enough and I needed to have a c-section. I threw up.

A nurse came in and tried to put me in different positions (I had labored sitting the whole time because I couldn't take being on my back), but I was already defeated. I felt like the hospital was just toying with me now, to teach me a lesson (I was delirious, ok?). I was already doomed to a c-section, what could I possibly do in the next hour
that I hadn't already done for over 40 that would allow me a vaginal birth?

I barfed again on the way to the operating room. All over my cute custom delivery gown. I remained in that gown for the delivery, FYI. So I was covered in barf when my son was born. Cute.

I was shaking and crying the whole way to the operating room, and telling literally EVERY SINGLE PERSON I came in contact with that I was "SO SCARED". Some people tried to reassure me, others ignored me because they had work to do (probably for the best), but I promise not ONE person in that operating room was spared an "I'm so scared! ::SOB::" and there are a LOT of people in an OR for a c-section. They gave me a spinal (so I ended up with an epidural anyway) and I immediately felt my toes go numb, which scared the hell out of me (even more). I realized I could not move my toes, and I started uncontrollably shaking. I'm talking have-to-be-held-down, violent shakes. My husband was allowed into the room and he sat next to me while they did their thing. I heard the baby cry, and the doctor say "It's a boy!".

My first thought? "I know."

Ugh, I was so out of my mind.

Then I saw him. And I cried. My husband turned to me and said "It's our little boy!"

And I vomited. On his bare foot. Never wear flip-flops into an OR, people.

I know looking back I was really lucky that I got that doctor because she was a bit of a pushover, and every time I argued that I wanted another hour, and another and another, to see if I could do this naturally, she allowed it until the last possible moment. If I had gotten either of the 2 doctors I was hoping for, I would have been on the operating table just hours after being admitted, not days. It can be argued that I ended up on the operating table anyway, but it was MY CHOICE to have such a long labor, and she allowed me that choice. I couldn't be more grateful to her for that.

And so, the absolute light of my life and reason for being came into this world 3 days after I entered the hospital, after 46 hours of unmedicated labor.  It's definitely a story, and an extraordinary experience. And believe it or not, I wouldn't have had it any other way.


********

Guest Post: "My Fat is None of Your F***ing Business"

***warning for language***

My fat is none of your fucking business.

This seems to be something you have trouble understanding. Is there something in the rolls of my stomach that compels you to talk about me as if my fat is on par with some unforgivable offense? You know, maybe my offense was theft. Theft of the self assurance of your media that promises you that your waistline is tantamount to earned morality - because the nicer I am the more confused you get, the harder it is for you to believe that someone like me could let you down by daring to be fat.

I have news for you. My fat and your feelings are never, have never, should never be friends. My fat and your feelings live on opposite sides of the planet and get bad cell reception and bad internet connection.. My fat does not steal your air, your food, or your sense of self. I’m not asking you to touch it or feed it or take it away from me, I’m not asking you to look or not look. My fat means nothing more to you than your hair means to me -- or your teeth or the shape of your chin or whether you’re right handed or left. My fat is not arrogant. Daring to be conventionally unattractive steals nothing from you.

So when my stomach, my thighs, or my arms offend you enough to compel you to remind me of my place in the world, all I can think is:

How the fuck is that any of your business? Is failing to turn you on such a crime? And don’t give me that “promoting an unhealthy lifestyle” bullshit. I am not a promotion. I am not a walking billboard for carbs and sugar. I am not a contagious disease. You will never touch me or breathe the air that I do and spontaneously turn into blubber. My reasons for being fat - my lifestyle, my diet, my childhood, my budget, my self esteem, or my mental health - are none of your business, so how the fuck is the result of them any of your concern?

If I seem angry, it’s because I am angry. I am enraged. I am a scary, pissed off fatty who is sick of society’s permissible hatred giving ten year old girls eating disorders so they’ll be fuckable when they’re seventeen, because “nobody wants to take a fat girl to prom”. I’m pissed off that women are told they’re too fat to believably be loved on stage. I’m pissed off because I can’t eat more than half a sandwich in public without being stared at. And I am pissed off that having standards is seen as arrogant when I dare to be fat and still want love, that not accepting every sexual advance makes me an uppity bitch who should be grateful that I aroused someone.

I don’t want to be special. I want to be human. I want to be judged on my personality, my intelligence and my warmth. I want to sit next to someone in a theater or on a plane without smashing myself into uncomfortable positions just to avoid being glared at should I dare to brush against your arm. My weight - and hell, my health - isn’t up for review. My stretch marks are not a whiteboard for your insecurities. My thighs are not a place to lay your pity, my arms are not the soundboard for your ridicule, and my breasts are not the gatekeepers of your sexuality. I experience life and love, pain and pleasure, elation and despair, arousal, satisfaction, disappointment, self-pity, rage, fear, doubt, depression, hope --- and yes, hunger, despite and in spite and because of my fat. Because I am not a billboard, I am not a cautionary tale, I am not a punchline or an example - not for you, not for anyone - because I am first and foremost a person living the human experience for as long as my heart beats.

And my fat is none of your fucking business.

Written by Jen O'Meara 

Guest Post: "A Home Birth Worth Waiting For"

Well, where do I start? Let’s see, I have been having “false” or prodromal labor since 36 ½ weeks. At 36 ½ weeks, my midwife was over and checked me, to make sure I wasn’t actually in labor, as I would have had to transfer to a hospital if I was. In Colorado you have to be 37-42 weeks for a midwife attended homebirth. My first edd by LMP was 8-22-11. BUT I was charting the cycle I conceived, and I KNEW I didn’t O til cd 24, making my EDD 10 days later than that, at 9-1-11. Sure enough, the ultrasounds matched MY edd, from charting.

I saw my OB from my first two pregnancies to start, I had gotten Hyperemesis AGAIN, and had a PICC line placed, only to have it out 5 days later when it made my Superior Vena Cave swell, and almost killed me-NOT FUN. After that, I got care from a CPM, just for Hyperemesis. She started me on Milk Thistles (not blessed thistle, blessed is FOR milk supply, MILK thistle is for live function) and I was on around 20 carpels a day at first, BUT it took care of things wonderfully. I was not comfortable with a CPM for my birth, as I have MTHFR and it can present more issues than a “normal” person. So I found my CNM, Janet Schwab. Surprisingly, she is NOT very medical, and more natural than MOST of the CPMs I know.
 
I hired her when I was 14 wks. It would have been sooner, but I interviewed several midwives, and I also was in the hospital in Feb (on Valentine’s Day) for a few days, I had Flu type A, and also Swedish hospital tanked my potassium. I went in for hydration my “K” (potassium) was 3.4 normal is 3.5 and up (don’t remember the upper range) well they pumped me full of 4 bags of just water. NO K in it at all. Surprise surprise when that night I ended up at a different hospital, due to heart issues, only to find out my K was down to a 2.9. They gave me 3 bags of IV K, BURNS LIKE HELL. And sent me home. They next day I saw the OB I was seeing, and we had my labs sent in again, only to have them tell me to get to the hospital I needed to be admitted. I was + for Flu A, and my K was now a 2.7! So I was in for 2 nights, and got around 11 bags of K, plus the 3 from the ER the night before. 14 total bags got me to a 3.7, but hey it was range. The next day I hired Janet. Went to 1 more apt with Dr. B. and fired him.

The rest of my pregnancy was normal for once. I did see my midwife's back up OB, who ironically was my mother OB when she was pregnant with me. He was wonderful, and believed in homebirth, I wonder if his wife being a midwife has anything to do with that lol. I got my anatomy scan, decided to find out what we were having, and it was gonna be our 3rd girl! We were so excited! Familiar territory!

About 36 ½ weeks, I had contractions after going to the zoo. We went to the Zoo about 100 times this summer- can I just say I LOVE the zoo pass-all I ever needed was the gas to get there, and I could walk, as well as make the girls happy all at the same time! The contractions seemed like “business” and I was spotting with them, so I called Janet, who came right over and checked me. I was closed, and there was nothing to worry about. This Contracting and spotting kept up until I reached 40w3d. However, there were 2-3 times, where we thought she was coming before then, only to have me try to sleep and wake up still pregnant.

Sure enough, on Sept 4th, 2011, at 40w3d pregnant, my baby decided she would come out. I woke up around 430 to come contractions, but this had been normal so I blew it off. Woke up to another around 5, another at 530 and it kept up that way until around 8am when I woke up David and we had 1 final round of “fun” to move things along. Let me tell ya, that was all my body needed that day! After I started contracting, but it was different, it was ALL low, before they had been low and high, but these were ALL LOW. And there started out, 5-6 min apart! I called my Midwife, My Doula Jessica, and let my parents know what was going on. Part of me just felt different. David and I took a walk, to where the contractions picked up to 3 min apart, and I could hardly move through them. We called the team back, and everyone was on their way.

This was my first non-induced labor. Azalynn was 35 weeks after 5 wks in the hospital for a montage of issues. Kaydence was 38 ½ wks due to PIH that was turning pre-e. So I had no clue what to expect. My midwife and her assistant got to my house around 1030, my doula around 1130. I got a little panicked, seeing everything being set up, but the ctx were hurting so bad, I got over it pretty fast.  Ctx were around 3 min apart, I wasn’t checked, as I said my mw is very non-medical. But after about 2 hours, I asked to be checked. I was only 4 cm, BUT 100% thinned and baby was at a 0 station.  I HAD to get in the tub, because I was not dealing with them well at all. Honestly, the pit was about the same as MY own ctx. So really, I don’t buy the “Pit is so much worse” line anymore.

An hour later, I felt a TON of pressure, so I asked to be checked, but I was only a 5, but a +1 station.  I was happy cause I made it a whole cm in an hour, oh and she would not have checked me if I didn’t ask. About an hour and a half later, I had a feeling I could no longer do this. I figured I was in transition, then my body started to push on its own, but something didn’t feel right. I asked to be checked again. Turns out I was only 6cm, with a bulging bag.  But my body was pushing. I couldn’t help it. I tried millions of positions, the tub, the toilet-other than tub, toilet was the BEST spot. An hour later, same thing, but more intense, guess what? Still 6cm. I was staring to lose it, thinking I needed to transfer because I was worried my cervix was going to swell shut, since I couldn’t stop my body from pushing in the ctx. I just could not help it. I asked, well more like demanded to transfer so I 1 wouldn’t swell shut, 2 to get rid of the pain. I was in a “CANT DO THIS” state of mind for an hour and could not take anymore. My midwife, her assistant, and my doula somehow convinced me to go for a walk outside with my husband. I had 3 ctx just between the front door and the end of our property; I turned around said “I WANT TO GO NOW” and headed back to the house to get ready to go to the hospital.

 I had 1 more ctx on the way to the door,  and one more right when we got inside, the one inside is when I finally gave up and gave in. I was standing in front of the swamp cooler (god that was a nice feeling) and I told David I was sorry for wasting $4,000. I made it down stairs to the toilet again, where I felt I really had to poop. Thinking too bad I do need to poop and I know it’s not the baby, seeing as I was 6cm 15 min before.  My midwife came in to see how I felt after the walk, I told her I give up, I’m ready to transfer, this could be hours more. I asked her to check me one more time, and then we could go. In my mind I said “if I’m at least an 8 I won’t go” so I got to the bed, had another ctx-a WHOPPING one. That lasted 2 min long. Then I laid down on the bed for her to check me. With the most shocked look on her face, she said “you can push if you want” all I could do is say “REALLY????” I must have asked if she was sure about 10 times. My doula said the look on my face was priceless. I did have a small right anterior lip, just like with Kaydence. I hopped up, and hopped into the tub, I had a ctx as I was going from the bed to the tub, but I just wanted in the dam tub!!!! I debated just diving in instead of climbing in lol.

Once I was in the tub, things spaced way out. We tried different positions, to get the bit of cervical lip gone, none were working, but ctx were so spaced out at that point, I just was happy I had rest time. When I had one, I tried pushing, it hurt, so I stopped which hurt more, so I tried again. I told the mw I thought I brought her down a bit again, and asked her to check and see, I had, but the lip was holding her back a bit, my mw offered to hold it out of the way, and I said “YES PLEASE!” so next ctx when I started to push I told her, and she held it back, then things really got insane pain wise. I just wanted her out. I took her from at the lip, (so a +2 station) to crowning in 1 huge push. OMG it hurt to have her sit there. They told me to reach down and touch her head, I did, the bag was still intact at that point! It was awesome to feel. Next ctx my waters broke, which I didn’t feel at all because I was in the water, but then it hurt even worse. I actually screamed “JUST PULL HER OUT!!!!” to the midwives, but she wasn’t even out yet lol. I gave one more push; I didn’t want to wait for a ctx, period. So I just pushed, I could feel myself stretching, and feel her trying to come out, I was screaming one of the “EGHHHHHHHH” screams, and everyone in unison told me to breath, I took 1 huge breath and went at pushing with everything I had again, my hand still on her head! And then her head just popped out! I didn’t want to stop, it still hurt bad. So I pushed again, and felt her rotate (k that was kinda cool) and then she was out. Next thing I know there is a splash and my baby is being handed to me. The position I was in was kinda half on my right side, right leg somewhat folded up under me, left leg digging into the bottom of the pool hard. Wednesday Sky was earthside at 413pm, 13” head, with a nuchal hand.  BEST LOOKING cord out of any of my kids (can we say proper nutrition?) her placenta was somewhat of a heart shape too-awesome!

 I got out of the tub about 15 min later, after sitting there in awe amazed I did it, and even more amazed that *I* did it. I went into labor on my own, my child picked her birthday, I dealt with the pain, even if I did beg/demand to transfer at one point, I did it at home in the water!!!! Just like I WANTED too. Her APGAR’s were a 9 and 10. Just for the record, a 10 in Colorado, is HARD to get. But yes she was a 9 at 1 min, and a 10 at 5 min. We got me out of the tub to deliver the placenta, on the birth stool. It came right out. Easy with a plop!

Then I got in bed, where I ate a grilled cheese, and snuggled and nursed my baby. It was about 50 min from birth til when she latched, but she was happy and not interested sooner. Then we worked on looking at me, sure enough, 2 tears, SAME spots as Azalynn and Kaydence. Labial, so OUCH for peeing lol. But they already feel better. Hardly any swelling, it’s great! We did her exam, she checked out as a 40 wker! So perfect for dates, and then we measured her, 6 lbs 14 oz, and 18 ½ inches long. Not a long as Kaydence, longer than Azalynn, but the heaviest of all, and largest head of all.
Wednesday did get a vit K shot, because I have to take Aspirin for MTHFR, so I’m in a higher risk group for a VKDB (Vit K Deficiency Bleed) baby, so for me it was the right choice for the baby. Oral vit K isn’t really studied, the doses are always changing, and it screws up a virgin gut right off the bat, so we did the injection- ALL babies are born Vit k deficient, the difference is if you’re on certain meds, the risk of a bleed happening is higher.

Getting the pool emptied was an adventure. My dad’s drill pump broke, but he decided to go get a submersion pump for us (THANK YOU DADDY!) and David held it in place for almost 2 hours emptying the pool. Once it was low enough to move, the carried it outside and dumped the rest in the garden. I got my post-partum sitz bath, the herbs are really helping the tears. It’s amazing!-OH and a bit of wonderful advice I got, DEPENDS- So much better than pads and panties lol.

I forgot to add, the girls and my parents came down just minutes after she was earthside, so they got to meet her while I was still in the pool. The girls were so excited. I hope it made a permanent imprint on what normal birth is- and yes I’m glad they were not there when I was pushing her out, they could not have dealt with that at all.

I am so thankful for my wonderful birth team. Jessica, Janet and Bergen, They really held me together when I hit my wall, and I’m even more grateful for how wonderful David was through it all. He really was my rock.

Story reposted with permission of original author, Felicia. Felicia is a size -friendly doula located in Colorado, please check out her business site to contact her and have her attend your birth!

Guest Post: "Baby After Bypass"

So I was fat. I still am fat (not that there's anything wrong with that!), but I was REALLY fat when I was little. I was born and raised in Jersey and I have a stubborn German for a father and a pile of moosh n' love for a mother. I heard a lot of crap from my dad about being heavy. "Put the food down." "You'll die big you know." "Try to lose weight so you can play with your friends..." I don't ever think he meant anything bad by it, but it really took a toll. And as for my mom: "lets go get ice cream so you won't be sad anymore.." (you can see how this snowballs, right?)

When I entered high school I had already had years of bullying. As if being big wasn't enough, I had pimples, I wore glasses, and I had super short hair. I was a target for sure. But as I went to doctors for check ups, we realized one thing: weighing 380 pounds when you were 15 years old was pretty darn unhealthy. It was literally killing me and I was scared.

Around this time gastric bypass was pretty knew, but something drastic needed done. I had all the visits and analyzing one could ever want, and I was in. I was going to get the Roux-En-Y gastric bypass procedure on December 13th, 2002. I went under the knife and came out alive. AND SUPER GASSY! In one week I lost 36 pounds. In one month I lost 90. In 6 months I lost 200 pounds. I could finally walk up the stairs and not be in pain and out of breath. My life had changed for the better.
I did have some complications but they were minor. I still have skin, 10 years later, that I'd like gone, but I'm married now and my husband loves me for what I am and he thinks I'm sexy. (I met my husband on match.com and said hello because I thought his beard was AWESOME. It was love at first beard )

My husband and I said we wanted a family and we started TTC in january of 2012. Frustrated 3 months later we were told to relax and grab some champagne. We did...and voila! Pregnant! I had some concerns having had the surgery and being pregnant. Also, trying to conceive wasnt difficult and it was fun my husband is big too so our positions are limited but our energy never is! We wanted a baby so bad so we tried all the time. The surgery had no impact on our ability to conceive.

 I asked all the doctors if I was safe and how to get my calories in. NOTHING that went in my mouth could be crap calories. Everything I ate had to be good for me and for baby. So that's what I did.
Everything I had was high in protein and I ate many small meals through the day. I drank protein too, tried to cut back on coffee (so hard!), and tried not to head to fast food too often. I did have my fair share of ice cream and pickles for sure, but I did crave healthy things too which helped a lot. I had a complication free pregnancy: no gestational diabetes, no problems whatsoever. I kept myself in check and made sure to do things right. This baby was too important to my husband and I.

In February I gave birth to a chubby 7 pound 13 ounce boy: Edward Remy. I was in labor for 2 hours before fully dilated, and pushed for 18 minutes until he came into this world. He truly is the most amazing thing. My husband and I can't wait to have another!

The gastric bypass was harder to deal with when it was initially done. I was young and didn't follow "the rules" like I should have, but I managed to keep the weight down (although I gained back a little bit). Once I got pregnant I didn't want anything to damage my tummy or my baby, so I kept in close contact with the gastric doctors and they helped me a lot. I would do BOTH of these things again if given the chance. I've never looked back!

This story was shared by Molly, momma of one from Levittown, PA. Molly is the owner of MollyCakes Bakery, find out more about her awesome cakes here.

Guest Post: “It was the worst of times…. Another infertility story”

There is a deep feeling of pain every month, one you hopefully will not become used to. But for many of us, it’s all to familiar a feeling: you got your period this month, again.

We had hit the 18 month mark before I had to stop counting. For the first few months, aunt flow came with all my familiar cramps and pains, and I would smile through the rest of the week with shrug: it was healthy not to get pregnant right away. Then the second half of that next year, I would get a little more down trodden, but I had nowhere to turn. By the end of the first year, I was a mess every month when the “crimson tide” started, because I knew it meant one thing…Not pregnant yet.

I didn’t have a lot of support. My family thought I was too young to start a family: every time it came up, the infamous “I’m too young to be a grandma” would rear its head, and I would just smile and nod, pretending that I wasn’t doing everything I could to get knocked up. My husband didn’t truly understand my anguish, because as a man you just don’t worry about these kinds of things. My girlfriends all had different agendas, finishing school and finding careers. My first doctor shrugged me off as a fat, young girl that needed to hold her horses. At 23, I was hit with this feeling that I would not ever get the family I had dreamed of as a kid.

I watched friend after friend post new baby updates, and with each one, I found the “hide” setting. I wanted to be happy for them, but I couldn’t be happy. My husband’s close friend from work had a new baby boy, and I broke down in our bedroom before going to see them, while he watched not sure what to say. A cousin in the family got pregnant: no job, not married, not readily paying her bills and moved back home with her mom shortly after finding out she was pregnant- and hasn’t left- and it was all on accident. Barely out of high school, she couldn’t take care of herself, much less the dead-beat father she was trying to support and a new baby. But she was given the greatest miracle in the world, to be a mom, and I was a bitter because I wanted it to be me!

It broke my heart. I cried myself to sleep. I laid awake guilt ridden at all hours of the night. I kept a journal about how unfair it all was, and how broken I felt. No matter how much I tried, or how much I wanted to get pregnant, my body just wouldn’t. I watched the months tick by, and knew that all these “delays” were adding up. It would make the difference between my husband’s Grandmother meeting our daughter –he was her favorite grandson- because her health did not allow her to stay with us that long. I blamed myself a lot, and brought myself down. I let myself hit the lowest of lows, truly believed that this was just not going to happen for us. In order to write this post, I went back through those old journals, and it made my heart hurt all over again.

I have mild PCOS: the cysts on my ovaries were not very large, and the extra chemical progesterone was only mildly over what it should have been. We had my thyroid tested, and all came back clear. I could grow facial hair like my husband, and had gained weight over the years that I really didn’t link up with the PCOS until now. I was one of the lucky ones, where in a 12 month span, I would only skip a period 2 or 3 times because I hadn’t ovulated that month. My first doctor did not run additional tests at all, other than the basic ultrasound, and left me with the diagnosis to see her again in a year and lose weight. Notice how I said first… if you don’t like or agree with your doctor now, do you think you will later, when you do get pregnant? Ditch any negative nancies now, and find a new OB/GYN that is willing to help!

After the close to two years of trying of trying, I really stopped counting. I looked up adoption, starting writing up a biography about us, and started looking up what kind of fees I would need to pay, and how I was going to save up for them. I forced my husband to see his doctor –and let me remind every one of you beautiful, hurting ladies: it takes two to tango here! His test results were similar to mine: again, we were sent away with a diagnosis of lose weight, try harder, and then it’ll work. I then turned into some sort of monster: I blamed him for not taking his vitamins, drinking one more soda than he should have, putting his left shoe on before his right… Things that were totally unrelated became a bullet point on my vendetta list. I went from sobbing emotional sad-sack to bitter bitch-zilla in a 10 minute span (influenced mildly by Clomid) and I was not fun to be around, even to myself, I would realize later.

I won’t sit here and tell you what the magic trick is to being okay with not being okay. Take a moment to yourself, don’t just pretend and smile through the day. There are days you are going to need to cry it all out, nights you just need loud music, or a quiet hot bath. It gets much harder before it will ever be easier, but it does make victory so much sweeter. Here’s the thing: you can throw as much as you want into your fertility, but there’s never a guarantee that it’ll be enough. Take each month in stride, make positive changes, and do what you can to help yourself.

I’m no expert, but I do have some experience in the area. If your doctor is unwilling to help you, there are a lot of things you can do to help yourself. Start by knowing as much as you can about fertility: learn how to track your cycles, find those ‘super foods’ the internet talks about, cut out the bad things from your life, like smoking, before you begin to try. My favorite book was “The Impatient Woman's Guide to Getting Pregnant” by Heidi Murkoff. I read it three times through or more. There’s certainly a lot to learn, and a lot to change. Because it takes two, you also want to help your partner make changes too: quitting smoking, reducing alcohol and coffee intake, even switching to different underwear. I highly suggest you both take a prenatal vitamin: part of this suggestion though, I would use an empty bottle of vitamin whatever and fill it with prenatals, if your partner isn’t as on board as you are. Folic acid for him is equally as good as it is for you! Sperm is, however, made in advance, so what you are using today was actually “created” 3 months prior. Changes on your partners side will take effect 2 to 3 months later.

Use the time you have before being pregnant to do things you wanted to learn to do: I am thankful I had a chance to learn to crochet before we had baby-on-board. I got a second dog, and trained him before we got pregnant (another blessing in so many ways!). I could financially prepare for what we were going to need, and the delay was a good thing,  that allowed my husband to change jobs to something more reliable, with a higher wage which was nice too. Maybe it’s a trip to Hawaii you’ve always been dreaming of, or learning professional photography. Keep your partners feelings in mind too: maybe there’s something he would like to do before baby too, and squeeze these simple pleasures and new hobbies in beforehand. For secondary infertility, enjoy your first child just a little longer. Make a few fun outings that you don’t normally, like a road trip to the beach, and just enjoy their excitement. Soon, you’ll have to try to find time for two, and you’ll miss these days.

In the end, do what makes sense to you. Your mind knows what it wants. If you just need to rant, or cry, or hit something, find a constructive way to do it! You are doing all you can, and good things really do take time. Surround yourself with people you can talk to, doctors whom you trust and respect their advice, and who are there to help you through your struggle, not just shrug you off with a “lose weight” or “get older” verdict. There is no magic trick to getting pregnant, no wonderful pill you can take and make it easier. Anyone who has never had trouble getting pregnant has no idea what it feels like, and they give bad advice –take it with a grain of salt. Talk about it, even if it’s just to a word document on your computer, or a notebook at home, and let go of all your frustrations and unwind! You are not ever, ever alone in this journey!

So, my last piece of advice. Go into the bathroom, look at yourself in the mirror. Tell yourself that “We are going to do this!”. Repeat every day. You really are going to be able to do this, in your body’s own time. And, that feeling every month? It makes it totally worth it in the end!



Amanda P. is a soon-to-be mom from Arizona. She works at an airline call center and also has a website that you can check out here. Sending Amanda lots of well wishes, as she is due to give birth February 2014!

Plus Size Babywearing (3/3) - Soft Structured Carriers, ErgoBaby, Evenflo and why NOT Baby Bjorns!

Last video in the series! Please send any questions to MommaFriendly@gmail.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MommaFriendly

Blog: http://mommafriendly.blogspot.com/

Zulily: http://www.zulily.com/invite/plussizepreggo

Evenflo Snugli: http://www.overstock.com/Baby/Evenflo-Snugli-Seated-Soft-Carrier-in-Fleur-De-Lis/6378091/product.html

ErgoBaby: http://store.ergobaby.com/

ErgoBaby Waist Extender: http://www.toysrus.com/product/index.jsp?productId=4112255

Resource for nursing while babywearing:  http://www.babyslingsandcarriers.com/carriers_for_baby_nursing


In case you can't see the video above, you can see it directly on YouTube here. 

Plus Size Babywearing (2/3) - Stretchy Wraps, Mei Tais, Woven Wraps

As posted in the title, in this video I talk about stretchy and woven wraps, and mei tais.

Here are links to the things I mention in the video:

Infantino Sync
http://www.amazon.com/Infantino-Sync-...

http://www.target.com/p/infantino-syn...

Natibaby
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In case you can't see the video above, you can see it directly on YouTube here. 

Plus Size Babywearing (1/3) - Slings

I did a three part series on baby wearing for plus size women in particular, but this is information that is general enough for women (and men) of any size to benefit.

In this video, I feature pouch slings and ring slings. I give descriptions and demonstrations of both, along with my opinion and experience of them.

In case you can't see the video above, you can see it directly on YouTube here. 

Guest Post: "My long, long, long story."

I've been overweight my entire life. At the beginning of this journey, I was 300lbs. I'm 5'2, so that's quite big. I was diagnosed with PCOS when I was 13. I was immediately put on birth control to control the symptoms of PCOS, as well as metformin. As time went on, I stopped the metformin because I wasn't trying to conceive as a teenager and thought it was dumb to try.  So at the time I became pregnant, I had been dealing with PCOS for 13 years. Most of those 13 years I was on birth control. About 6 months before I became pregnant, I was tested for PCOS again and it came back that I very obviously had mild to severe PCOS. I was put on metformin and aldactone. A few months later, I moved from Tennessee back to PA and stopped taking the metformin, aldactone, and birth control because I wasn't in a relationship at the time and wasn't able to get my medication because I no longer had insurance.

 I met the father of my baby in July of 2012 and we became a full blown couple in August of 2012. We used condoms, but weren't extremely careful. I wasn't worried because of my history of PCOS.  We broke up September 15th, 2012. Two weeks later (after he moved back to California to be with his family - I live in Pennsylvania. That's 2000+ miles) I found out I was pregnant. For about a week, I had been feeling tired and nauseous, but I just assumed it was from the stress of the breakup and PMS. My mom asked me if I could be pregnant and I told her "Well, technically, yes. But I highly doubt it". She asked when I was supposed to get my period and I told her it would be about a week before I could test, but I was sure my period was coming.

Fast forward to 4 days past when my period was due to start. I worked my 3-11 shift and decided to go to the drug store after work to get a test. I bought a two pack of digital tests because I didn't want any question about the lines. I didn't want to think I was seeing things when it was really negative. I got the tests and went home. Ate something as I always did and went to bed. Around 7am, I got up to use the bathroom and decided to take the first pregnancy test since it would be first morning urine. I sat the test on the sink and went about finishing up. I glanced down at the test less than a minute after taking it and it said "Pregnant". I closed my eyes for a few seconds and looked at it again. Still "Pregnant" I picked up the test and held it close to my face, staring at it. It didn't change. I turned the test every which way, still the same. Still "Pregnant". I took the second test out of the package and tested again. Same thing. "Pregnant" came up before a minute had passed. I started shaking and crying. I went to my bedroom and called my mom. At first I couldn't speak. She became panicked, thinking there was an accident or I was hurt. I squeaked out "I'm pregnant" through my gasps for air. All she said was "You're pregnant? That's not a bad thing!". She's always wanted me to have kids.

So, there I was: 26, 300lbs, major history of PCOS, just broke up with the father of the baby I was apparently carrying, living alone 2 hours from my family, working a full time, physically demanding job. It took me a little while to wrap my head around it. I took pictures of the test and looked at them because I was still in disbelief. A couple hours after taking the test, I called the baby's dad. We had still been in touch since we broke up, so it wasn't terribly weird talking to him. I basically told him to sit down where ever he was. I explained that I took two tests and that we were having a baby. He was in shock, as any man would be in his situation. He didn't talk for a little while. I was crying. I told him he didn't have to come back and that he didn't have to have anything to do with the baby if he didn't want to. I just wanted him to be able to make the decision. He decided he wanted to come back to help me out and be a part of his baby's life. He was back in Pennsylvania 2 weeks later. We decided at that point to work on our friendship because we wanted a healthy relationship (whether it be friendship or romantic) for the baby.

He came with me to my first real appointment at 8 weeks pregnant. The first thing I asked the nurse was "Do women as big as me often have healthy pregnancies and healthy babies?" She let out a little chuckle and said "I see women bigger than you every day that have healthy pregnancies and healthy babies. Don't even worry about that!" I knew then that I was at the right office with the right people. The doctor didn't mention it, she only suggested that I have an early glucose test because of my PCOS history. They tracked my weight like they would any other pregnant woman. They didn't treat me any differently. I ended up losing 10lbs in my first trimester due to my morning sickness. At 10 weeks, they found my baby's heartbeat and I cried. It sounded so perfect. I had my first ultrasound at 13 weeks and my baby looked perfect. I was worried that they would have a hard time seeing the baby because of my weight, but the ultrasound tech didn't seem to even notice.

Everything carried on as normal for a few months.  I wanted to have an all natural birth, but I also knew that things can happen so I decided not to get too used to the idea. The baby's dad and I re-developed feelings for each other and decided to make a go of a romantic relationship with the understanding that we need to make it work. If it ends, it ends for good. Either way, we needed to be mature and civil for the baby. We decided to move closer to my family for support and for childcare after the baby was born. I worked up until the day before we moved (I was 28 weeks), but wasn't able to get a job after we moved. The worst part was switching doctors.

I went to a women's clinic in town and was severely disappointed. The female doctor I saw was horrible. She looked right through me. She ignored my worries about my blood pressure. She did mention my weight and I simply said "I've only gained (this much) and that isn't a problem." After two appointments like this, I decided to find a doctor in my hometown that is an hour from where I live. I'm so glad I did. I went to a new practice that had an OBGYN and a midwife. They were both so wonderful. Never mentioned my weight, but did address my blood pressure. It was only slightly elevated, but they didn’t want to take any chances. I was put on Labetalol twice a day to manage my blood pressure starting at 34 weeks. I had no real side effects from the medication, but it didn’t completely control my blood pressure. At 38 weeks, my doctor decided that inducing me no later than 40 weeks was the best option. This was because of my blood pressure, my family’s history of pre-eclampsia, and also because baby was measuring weeks ahead on every ultrasound since 33 weeks. Luckily, I didn’t develop pre-eclampsia.

I kept trying to bring labor on naturally. Walking, bouncing on a yoga ball, walking up and down the steps, and increasing intercourse (the boyfriend loved that!). I had a few contractions off and on, but nothing significant. So, at 39 weeks and 4 days, I began the induction process. They decided on Prepidil because I was already 1cm dilated and 75% effaced.  The worst part was that I had to stay in bed for 90 minutes after they inserted the Prepidil. It causes spontaneous contractions that, at times, are very painful. I was able to get out of bed and into a jacuzzi after the first round of Prepidil and it was heaven. My contractions evened out and I was handling them well. Sadly, they stopped a couple hours later. I kept walking and trying to bring the contractions back on, but nothing. I did this all day long with very little progression. At about 10pm, they offered to break my water and try another round of Prepidil. I opted for sleep because we had been up since 3am.  They gave me a shot of pain killers to help me rest.

The next morning, they checked me and I was still the same. We did another round of Prepidil. Same thing, eventually my contractions stopped again. I got to 4cm and they broke my water (Strangest feeling ever!). They also gave me some Cytotec. Nothing happened. I made it to 5cm and they said that it was time to try Pitocin. The baby was tolerating everything really well, but there wasn’t much we could do besides the Pitocin. At this point I was exhausted. I had been through about 36 hours of medications, contractions that weren’t doing anything, and plenty of cervical checks. I had heard about the effects of Pitocin and how strong the contractions can be and I decided that it was time to get an epidural. The anesthesiologist wasn’t very nice and it took a few minutes to place the epidural, but it was worth it. I got some relief from the spontaneous contractions and was able to rest. It was also worth it because I couldn’t feel the very uncomfortable cervical checks anymore. They placed a monitor on the baby’s scalp to monitor the heartbeat, and also placed an intrauterine monitor to track my contractions. The pitocin ran the rest of the evening and into the next morning. They jacked it up to the highest setting. My contractions still would not regulate. At about 4am, the baby’s heart rate dropped just a little bit, then again an hour later. My midwife and OBGYN told me that, if I hadn’t progressed any, that it was time to start thinking about a c-section. They checked me at 6am and I was still at 5cm. The baby’s dad and I talked with the midwife and OBGYN and because I wasn’t progressing, plus the baby was starting to show signs of distress, it was time for a c-section. What was nice was that it wasn’t an emergency. Yet. Luckily, all the doctors and anesthesiologists had just come in for their shifts and no one was in the operating room yet, so I didn’t have to wait. Within minutes of getting the order, everyone was in my room, calmly preparing me for surgery. My epidural was working well enough that we could use it for the surgery. Within 30 minutes I was being wheeled away. The baby’s dad joined me in the operating room, of course. All dressed up in those scrubs. There was a second anesthesiologist that was helping with getting me prepped. I called him “the nice one” because he was very friendly and was wonderful at keeping my attention. While he helped wheel me into the OR, he looked at me and said “I think you’re the calmest c-section I’ve seen in a long time!” My reply was simply “I’ve been at this for 48 hours. I’m ready to meet my baby.” He was great. He talked to me the whole time and kept the baby’s dad from looking over the curtain. It felt like an eternity, but eventually he said to me “She’s on her way out! She was very far down into birth canal.”

There was a lot of tugging and pulling and then there she was. They held her up and she looked so mad! They rubbed her a little bit because she didn’t want to cry, but she did a few seconds later. I lost it. I just started crying. They cleaned her up enough that she could open her eyes and made sure she was breathing okay, and then they laid her on my chest. I was so excited to be able to have skin-to-skin contact like that. She laid there in my arms for about 10 minutes and then I began feeling nauseous so I had her dad take her. I watched while they weighed her and finished cleaning her up. The doctor gave me some nausea medication and I actually dozed off on my own. I heard a nurse ask if they had to sedate me and the doctor replied “No, she’s just dozing off on her own! After 48 hours, I’m sure she’s exhausted.” I had to ask for pain medication because my shoulders were killing me. They told me that sometimes gas gets trapped and it’s a pretty common side effect. After that, we were wheeled to my room. We weren’t allowed visitors for an hour. It was just me, my baby and the baby’s dad. Luckily, the pain medication worked well enough that my shoulders quit hurting before we got visitors.

My midwife came to check on me shortly after I got to my room. I was holding my baby and asked her what the red lump on the side of her  head was – if it was from one of the monitors or what. She smiled and said “No one told you? That’s where your baby was trying to come down into your birth canal. Her head was tilted. That’s why she couldn’t move any further down and that’s why you only dilated to 5cm. She was never coming naturally with her head tilted that way. She tried, though. She was pretty far in there!” So, in the end, there was nothing wrong with my body at all. It was simply that my baby girl got a little confused and tilted her head just enough that she simply couldn’t move any further into the birth canal.

My boyfriend had to take care of the baby most of that day because I didn’t get out of bed until later that evening. He was great. Changed all the diapers and would bring her to me any time she looked hungry as I was trying to breastfeed. My pain was being managed well, but I was still exhausted. I basically demanded that they get me out of bed that evening into the chair. They told me that most women don’t get out of bed until the next day, but I was determined.

The next day was pretty rough since my epidural had completely worn off and I could feel my incision. I got up and was walking around, the nurses and my doctor were all surprised I was up. The baby was doing great, latching on like a pro. I went home 5 days after I was admitted.

The first night the baby was home, she screamed and screamed. The hospital had arranged for a home health nurse to come see us because the baby had lost quite a bit of weight in the hospital. Well, she lost even more in the 18 hours that we were home. I had to start supplementing with formula. My milk never came in. I cried and cried, but still tried to breastfeed her in hopes that my milk would come in. Once she started formula, she was a happy camper. She started gaining weight and all was well. My milk never did come in and she’s fully a formula fed baby now.

Two days after we got home from the hospital, I had increased pain and tenderness in my incision site. I called my doctor. It was infected. I don’t want to go into the gory details, but I had some very painful doctors appointments and three rounds of antibiotics. I also had to have home health come in to take care of the wound once a week while my boyfriend took care of it every day. This went on for a month.  I couldn’t see it, thank goodness! I didn’t look at the scar until it was completely healed. It’s nothing. You can barely tell anything is there. My boyfriend was amazing with the whole thing. He diligently took care of my wound, helping me heal physically and emotionally.  He’s also been a great dad. He loves his baby girl and I can see it in his eyes.

Through all of this - every painful and scary minute, having a baby was worth it. I’d go through it all again in a heartbeat. Anna Sophia is beautiful, healthy, and happy.






Guest Post written by Elise Shute, 27 year old momma to Anna, who is named after Elise's grandmother. Elise resides in Pennsylvania, is a pet mommy to a dog and two cats, and enjoys crocheting when she's not playing with Anna