Dusting off the Sewing Machine

I was honored when my sister Rosalie asked me to make a baptismal gown for my newest niece, Coral Marie. I tooled over to the Walmart and found a pattern. Then I went to the local fabric store, Four Seasons Fabric, where I found a simple, white muslin, some lace, and shell buttons.

After that, I pre-shruck the fabric and then cut out the pattern:

This was my first sewing project in a while, so I took a little time before I started sewing to dust out the inner workings of my sewing machine and oil the machine. It sounded better than ever afterwards. 

Soon the machine was humming through the first stitches, making pleats on the skirt:

Then I made six rows of tucks on the bottom of the skirt and sewed on the lace. I hemmed up the skirt, using a decorative stitch:

I made the tucks and sewed lace on the bodice. And made a very small collar. Then it was time to sew the skirt to the bodice:

Next came the sleeves, so tiny and adorable!

Adding sleeves to any garment is my least favorite step. The smaller the garment, the more difficult to move the fabric through the machine for the stitching. This is what I was working with:

After I finished with the sleeves, I only needed to make buttonholes and sew on buttons to finish:

I made a slip, just long enough for the lace to peek out from under the baptismal gown:

And a few more detailed pictures:

No offense intended

"Was it something I said?" I asked him.  

He stood over me, panting.  I could taste blood in my mouth.  The sharp pain in my hip prevented me from feeling all of the little rocks and shards of glass I had landed upon.  My left eye was begining to swell.  Speaking jarred it and I whinced as I spoke.

He turned and walked slowly away.  I sucked my lip.  I must have bitten it when I fell.  I  set my hands down in the diterus and felt the rocks and glass as I pushed down to heave myself up.  I couldn't put my weight on that leg and found myself squinting.   I took a step and hopped the other leg along.  It was slow progress down the road way.  People lined up along the way refused to look me in the eye.  No, I was wrong.  Some young men were staring at me and snickering.  "Was it something I said?" they mocked me.  An older lady, dressed in a long narrow gown, shushed them, grabbing at them with her long fingers on their arms.

i looked imploringly at her, but she turned her face from me.  I continued my limp hopping down the road.  The pain in my hip was increasing with each step.  I grabbed on to a lamp post and leaned against it for a while.  The cool metal of the post felt good against my raw face.  I held on to it gratefully until I heard a voice say, "you better get on out of here."

I blinked back tears. I wouldn't cry, not here, not now.  Later at home with a large whiskey at hand I would probably cry.  Nothing would compel me to cry here. 

I looked around, but couldn't tell who had spoken.  A mother, with her children pushed behind her, was glaring at me.  With a sigh,  I pushed away from the lamp post. With a step and shuffle hop, I started back down the road.  Never had a city block seemed so long.  Step, shuffle hop, step, shuffle hop, step, shuffle hop.

At last I could see the end of the block.  I wanted to run, but had to continue to step, shuffle hop, step, shuffle hop, step, shuffle hop.  The other leg was starting to cramp, but I could see the end.  Cars were streaming along.  I could smell their exhaust while they roared in my ears.  The crowd was changing here.  More and more people looked at me and gasped.  If it looked as I felt, I'm sure that I was quite the site to see.  Even here no one did more than get out of my way.  

Almost to the end of the road and the transectting street, I was shaky, but I had to keep going.  I kept watching the traffic drive past. I hadn't seen a cab pass and was starting to wonder if I would have to take the bus. Right now I hoped for the solitude of a cab regardless of the expense. 

At last, I was at the intersection. A couple of ladies looked at me concernedly, then turned to each other and whispered. They started to head toward me when I saw a cab. I raised my hand hoping he would see me and would stop. I knew I couldn't whistle. 

He stopped.  I limped the last couple of steps to the cab and pulled the door open. I held onto the frame so I wouldn't collapse into the back seat. Finally I was in the cab.

Instead of asking where I was going, the cabbie just sat there regarding me in his rear view mirror. His gaze took in my swollen eye and now puffing lip.  I had dirt smeared on my face and I was certain that I probably had a twig or two on my hair. I had done my hair so carefully that morning, pulled low into a conservative bun that covered my neck.  

I met his gaze in the mirror defiantly.  I had not gone through all of this to be stared at by a cabbie.  I wanted to go home and find an ice pack or twelve. 

"You obviously did your homework," he said gesturing to my clothes.  I had made sure that I was modestly covered.  I had dressed in one of the long narrow dresses.  I had been curious about them and hadn't wanted to give any offense.  I nodded my head, which was a mistake,as it jarred my eye.

"So what did you do?" He asked.

"I don't know,"  I said grimly, "must have been something I said."

The Beginning for Coral Marie

The Beginning for Coral Marie-

Of course, this is not truly the beginning of Coral Marie- that was 9 months-ish earlier. But no one wants to talk about that! (or even contemplate it). Least of all me. Those who know me well know that I am an exceedingly private person in my own strange way. It’s easy enough to say that Coral was growing inside my womb since the end of May 2014. Which in and of itself is a miraculous undertaking- pregnancy- and that miracle compounded by being of “Advanced Maternal Age” (i.e. 36). But we’re not really here to talk about the pregnancy, although it would make a good subject for another time. So we will move ahead to the birth of Coral Marie.

If you would like to continue, you can read a short description of Coral’s labor story. If you aren’t interested in birth, and that sort of stuff does not intrigue you as it does most childbearing women  (and you also like to pretend that storks bring babies- I am pretty sure a guy came up with that one when he couldn't handle the idea of a baby actually coming out of a woman's body) you can leave off now and no one will be offended! On a side note, I am pretty sure that quite a few guys of today would have been happier to live in the time period where they were banned from the delivery room, not expected to be there as a “coach”. Labor isn’t basketball, people! You don’t really need someone to be calling the shots for you! That being said, I did enjoy having my husband by my side during my all my labors despite the fact he was a guy.

I did have a short labor this time around (5 hours and 19 minutes from the first contraction to having my daughter out). First painful contraction was at 4 am, but I had felt a little pressure the day before a couple of times. When I woke up in pain, it didn’t register as anything but a back ache, so I walked in and took a couple of tylenol. When the pain came back sharply, 5 minutes later, it had gotten my attention and my first thought was: It’s not February 1st! I’m supposed to have until February 1st! I’m not ready yet! I haven’t even been able to nest sufficiently!

After a few more contractions, I pretty much realized that I’d better wrap my head around the reality that labor was here. I packed suitcases and the van slowly and quietly when I realized that contractions were staying steady. I gathered the meditation and visualization materials, clothes for baby and for myself, including my labor skirt (Hugely empowering during delivery not to be wearing a hospital gown. Check it out in my photos online! A couple of the nurses were really impressed with it). I also grabbed the CD case for tunes as I hadn’t had a chance to make a playlist for labor, although I did contemplate making one for a fleeting moment. Clothes for the family in another suitcase, etc. I also slurped down a blueberry yogurt for strength.

I called my doctor at 5 am and she told me to head to Denver- we had agreed that I needed to go down right away during labor due to a positive result on my group B strep test-  I unfortunately had some silly colonies of bacteria in the birth canal that just randomly show up and try to cause problems. There isn’t really any rhyme or reason for them to show up, but if you do have them, it’s recommended to have IV antibiotics at least 4 hours before delivery to have the greatest level of protection, because although side effects are very rare, they are nasty- potentially pneumonia or meningitis in the baby.

After I spoke to my doctor, I took a shower and woke up David. Of course, he said “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?!” I waited because A. I wanted to make sure I was actually in labor- with Arlo, there was a lot of fits and starts, and B. I wanted him to be awake enough to drive the van over Berthoud Pass safely and C. I wanted him to be functional during the labor and delivery, which I expected to take a decent amount of time, since my previous 2 kids were 24 and 18 hours respectively. Then we got the kids up (Arlo’s reaction was exactly the same as mine- It’s not February 1st yet, he kept repeating.) Once he was woken up enough to realize we were serious, he began hollering his head off because we had a playdate lined up for later that day, and he realized that we would miss it. “I don’t want a change of plans!” he screamed, loud enough to wake our neighbors in the adjacent apartment. “I don’t want a change of plans, either” I echoed him tearfully. This was not my expectation, either. Somehow when you go around somewhat smugly stating that your previous 2 kids were born on their due date, and one day after, you sort of expect that you will follow that same pattern with baby #3. What about nesting? I fiercely wanted to get at that closet reorganization SO BAD! I was going to set up Coral’s (previously known as Hucky’s) cosleeper, go through the baby clothes and organize her supplies. I was NOT READY- even though we were only 8 days early. Even though all the doctors have reminded me that she could come at any time. I sobbed a few moments in self pity and misery before boxing my own ears a la Alice and telling myself to suck it up. It’s only 8 days. It’s not like she’s premature.  

Once we were on the road making rapid progress towards Berthoud Pass (side note- luckily, it was neither snowing or blowing and the roads were dry. Also, because the early hour in the morning, there was no traffic, either. When one lives in the mountains, these details are not to be taken lightly!), I called Red Rocks OB/GYN. I saw a local Winter Park doctor, Dr. Glancey, for my prenatal care. However, she doesn’t deliver, so my baby would be caught by 1 of 7 different doctors from Red Rocks OB/GYN. Since I’d only had 1 appointment at Red Rocks, the chances that I would know the delivering doctor were slim.  It turns out the doctor on call was one of the unknown ones, called Dr. Python. My humorous relatives, later in the delivery room, spent a good amount of time debating whether her name was like the snake, or like Monty? They bring humor to every occasion, even purchasing a tombstone. I spoke to Dr. Python, explained where we were, explained why we were headed down so early in labor- because I was Group B strep positive. Then, we negotiated the switchbacks up and down Berthoud with ease after a short potty break at the warming shack by the Continental Divide.

Once we’d hit I-70, and the roads were relatively straight, I called my friend Sarah from Saint Louis, as she was an hour later.  I spent some time whining to her about how it hurt, how it sucked to be in labor in the car,  and how I wished she could be at the delivery (she attended Arlo’s birth.) I also called my sister and brother and arranged for one of them to come get our kids from the hospital, or at least the younger one. Having high-energy Arlo around during labor and delivery did not sound too appealing to me. “What does this do, mommy?” as he tries to break the monitoring equipment, raise and lower me in the bed, take my blood pressure, etc. This was my vision of him in the hospital and I wasn’t eager to see how it would actually turn out. And this vision wasn’t all exaggeration- the last time Arlo visited David in the hospital, he was goofing around with his bed and without our knowing, turned on the “fall alert”. When David got up to go to the restroom, the bed thought he had fallen and an ear-piercing siren went off for several minutes until the nurses figured out what happened and how to shut if off. So, no, Arlo during the delivery was not an idea I considered very long.

Once we made it into the city limits of Lakewood at around 7:20, I realized we’d be at the hospital in a few minutes.  With my past history of longer labors, I had my husband pull into a McDonald’s parking lot and go in to buy us each a breakfast sandwich.  I knew once I got to the hospital there’d be no food, and I was pretty sure I’d be starving. I had him park rather than going through the drive-thru because by that point I was pretty painful sitting down and wanted to be able to stand up beside the car for the next few contractions. Soon I was scarfing down my sausage biscuit and we were pulling up to the hospital, where I lumbered out of the car and walked slowly in through the double doors and up to the front desk, with a few contractions happening along the way.

“Would you like a wheel-chair?” the front desk clerk asked, and ran off to find one. Before long, Arlo and Lillianna were pushing me towards the elevators while David navigated them away from walls and kept the in-fighting to a minimum. We were wheeled into a posh, modern labor and delivery suite with a lovely whirlpool tub that I’d coveted since I first read the blurb about it on the hospital’s website. It was 7:45. I went to use the restroom and noted that there was some bleeding for the first time. I also felt very, very constipated.

The nurses came in, got the basic information needed and I explained about needing the IV antibiotics right away. My nurse asked if I was wanting an epidural and I said “No, I don’t think so.” David and the kids went downstairs to get my suitcase- which had my labor skirt that I was really needing!- and the CDs(the irony of history repeating itself was that during my own quick labor, my dad was stuck lugging around records and a record player, which they also didn’t have time to listen to, either.) I was hooked to the monitor for a little while and had some more intense contractions. My IV was started and I had my cervix checked. I was pleasantly surprised to be at 5 cms, because I hadn’t been laboring very long and with each of my other kids I was 2 cm when I arrived at the hospital thinking I was much further along. My sister and her family arrived and I began to long for everyone to clear out. I changed into my labor skirt and then things began to be very intense.   I started pacing around the room and leaning on my “long, tall friend”- the IV stand- during each contraction.  I began reciting the Hail Mary or a psalm with each more challenging contraction- “Trust in the Lord for he is good; his praise be ever in my mouth”. My pain was very strong when I noticed my voice getting very high in the chanting and I would have to break off and groan. The IV antibiotics still hadn’t arrived and I was getting very restless waiting for them. I kept asking the nurses about the antibiotics, and one nurse said something about a midwife coming in to check me because I was probably getting close to needing to push. This was after I told her how I felt like I really needed to go to the bathroom. I remember having a feeling of disbelief when she said that- how could I be so close? while at the same time realizing that she was right.  I began to feel panicky about the antibiotics- like they would never arrive and that the baby would be sick- and told David it was time for everyone else to leave. Lillianna decided to leave with Auntie, but come back later on for the delivery. The kids left right around the same time the IV antibiotics arrived, and I felt much more peaceful once they were hooked  up.I also used my folder with my visuals for affirmations- short phrases to read- such as “You are powerful” and “May God’s peace be with you” at this point.

It turns out Dr. Python- My doctor, whom I’d never seen- was still in the OR with another patient.  A midwife, from another group, came in and checked me. I was 9 and a half and really feeling like I needed to push. She reassured me that although the IV antibiotics had not been in my system for 4 hours, babies did not begin having any exposure until the water had broken, and mine were still intact. She wanted to know if I wanted her to break the waters or just wait a few more minutes but that either way it would not be much longer.  I opted to just wait a little longer and give the antibiotics a little time to work.  I wanted to get up and move into a better position after she checked me, and when I did, my waters broke and after that point, I began to push naturally.

My friend Sarah, when telling me about her natural childbirth, had said that it feels good, because you know that this is what your body is meant to do and you are at the culmination. I don’t know if it was the rocket fast labor or how quickly my daughter pushed out, but all I can remember about pushing was intense, mind altering, burning pain. This was the first time I had experienced pushing, and as I was crowning, I said to the midwife, “How can people actually DO this?”  “You are doing it!” she replied. Later, she told me she got a kick out of that- “Who says that while they are crowning?!” Three pushes, and Coral Marie entered our world. They held her up for me to see and showed me that she was a girl, then placed her on my chest.

As I sat with her on my chest, and contemplated her tiny self, elation mingled with exhaustion in my mind. But mostly, I felt disbelief. Had this all really just happened, or was it an intense dream?  Then a wave of gratitude washed over me, and I was reminded that no matter what we plan or expect, that God will sometimes surprise us with his plan for our lives- like our beautiful 3rd child here when for a time we thought we would not be able to have even one. I remember sharing my fears with my mom that we might not conceive and her loving reassurances that God would bless us when the time was right one way or another. I had dreamed of this little girl since my mom had passed away shortly after Arlo’s birth. I knew she was coming, I just had to wait a while to meet her

Hunger

My stomach is empty. Is this hunger?  

How can I know that I am hungry?

The books and shows that are trying to guide me to weight loss say that I might eat if I am lonely or bored or scared or tired. I think I feel hungry, but how am I to know?  

My rational mind says this is probably not hunger. I have eaten three meals and a snack. Still, I feel a hunger. 

Yesterday, I fasted, truly fasted. That was real hunger, but this feels much the same. I know I should brush my teeth.  Somehow, I'm not ready to face the commitment to being finished eating for the day. This is rather odd, because my sacrifice for tomorrow must be my intention to fast. I have obligations which would  make it rude not to eat.  Not partaking in a meal would be discourteous. So instead of fasting and resting, I will be eating and exercising.  I know I will eat tomorrow so why am I so unwilling to be done eating today?

Do I even know when I am hungry any more? 

Did I ever?  I remember stating as a child that I was "starving".  I'm sure I felt some hunger.  I was small and growing.  My body was burning through my food so I could play. I'm sure I knew that I had hunger. How much hunger?  I don't know. A small enough hunger that a peanut butter and jelly sandwich folded over and a carrot stick or two would satisfy it.  Surely, that wouldn't be sufficient food for someone truly starving. 

I'm sure right now I am tired and my body's hormones are unbalanced.  Is that hunger?  Do I feel a real need my body has to set it straight?  Hunger or tired?  Melancholy or need?  

Tired, definitely tired and so without further delay, without eating another bite, I will brush my teeth and go to bed. 

Maybe I will wake up hungry in the morning. 

Grey Smudges

After several months of tumultuous thought, I up and decided to move this last December. A request from my supervisor kept me in Lander for about a month longer than I had anticipated. It was mid-January before I found my Jetta overloaded and travelling across the prairie to a new place, which I had never even visited before. This place was Yankton, South Dakota.

A mid-sized town along the banks of the Missouri River, just north of Nebraska, it is different in many ways from the places where I have lived before. There are no mountains, no matter how much I turn my head. Trees are sparse, and clearly cultivated. The river is larger than any river I've ever lived within driving distance of.

As a child and teenager, I emphatically insisted that I could not live without the mountains. I was born in the mountains of New Mexico (two miles south of Colorado, a fact that irked me continually). At the age of four, my family moved to Grand County, Colorado, in the Fraser River Valley. Mountains surrounded me as a child, their presence seeming to lock out anything more dangerous than the moose or bears inhabiting them.

When time came to decide upon a college, Wyoming Catholic College was appealing, because the catalog described Lander as nestled in the foothills of the Wind River Mountains. This was a slight exaggeration of its location; still the mountains were there to the west, just a drive away.

But living in Wyoming helped me to appreciate that quite stark landscapes can still hold great beauty. Several visits to the Midwest convinced me that flat and beautiful are not incongruous, nor opposed.

Standing outside, with the world stretching away on every side, where the hills are subtle and rolling, the horizon is broken by the smudges of trees. They look like charcoal pencil drawings. It has been winter since I arrived in South Dakota, and the world has been a blue, white, and grey place. This is especially true along the river. The trees provide a contrast with the snowy fields, and the smooth or sparkling river. Grey smudges of a beauty that is difficult to describe in words, but which is easily felt while beholding it.