Creekside Garden

Everyone, I want you to meet Cason Evan. Now two months old, he was a missing puzzle piece in our family and we love him so much.

We chose the name Cason after a long winter debating names. I loved the name Owen. Ben wanted to call him Justin. Since neither of us was willing to give into the other, we had to find something we both liked. I remembered a little boy from the town where we went to college named Cason, and I always liked his name. Ben agreed, and that settled it. His middle name is Evan, which is my Dad’s name.

I also think brothers named Caleb and Cason are really cute together.

I want to share the story of Cason’s birth with the goal of encouraging others to not compare their birth experience to anyone else and also to not judge someone for doing birth differently. We each have our own unique set of circumstances, opportunities, support, resources, and values. Different does not mean inferior.

The space of birth can become performance based, with women taking pride or feeling shame for how their birth went. As if how you bring a baby into the world determines your value as a mother. We all say we don’t judge each other that way, because clearly that is disgusting behavior. Yet we are all human, and judging others is an idle pastime that slips in all too easily.

With that said, I went into Cason’s birth with a feeling of confidence. Caleb’s birth had gone well: I went into labor naturally at night, 39 weeks and 5 days pregnant (two days before his due date), labored for 18 hours un-medicated, asked for an epidural because I was really tired, broke my water, took a nap, pushed for 20 minutes, and Caleb was born a strong and healthy baby after around 22 hours. It was hard, simply because it took so long. Yet, I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Unlike his brother, sweet little Cason took his time coming. My due date came and went, contractions sent us running to town only for them to fizzle out. The anticipation wore us down. We were an hour and twenty minutes from the hospital. Ben was regularly out of cell service for work and felt the pull to stay home as we got closer. We were stressed by all the work he was missing, even more so because we are newly self employed trying to build a mobile mechanic business. The pressure is on at the beginning of spring in an agriculture community, at the beginning of April everyone starts hustling to get ready for the coming summer work.

Needless to say, I felt the pressure to go into labor. We needed this baby here so our new little business didn’t lose work. I was frustrated. Ben was frustrated. Looking back I wonder if that is why labor never kicked in. I felt like a watched pot. The body is a funny thing with labor, it can stall out until the stars align and baby decides to show up. I also know our emotions have a lot to do with labor, and even though I expertly pretended that I wasn’t struggling, I couldn’t fool my body.

I was scared I wasn’t going to make it to the hospital because of the long drive. I was scared to end up with the old male doctor. I was ashamed to have a hospital birth. I was arrogant going into it. “I’ve got this” I lied to myself.

Saturday night, 1 day past our due date, I began having regular contractions. They weren’t painful, but they were consistent. We loaded up and headed to town, excited and relieved that it had started. As I clung to each contraction praying for them to get stronger, begging my body to cooperate, I heard a whisper in my heart “my cup overflows.” A promise that echoed through this entire process. Unfortunately the contractions died out and labor stalled completely by the time we rolled into town. We waited around all day Sunday hoping it would happen while we were there, but nothing ever kicked back in. We went home on Monday, defeated. I was convinced that I was going to be pregnant forever.

Finally, we were done. It was too much stress to wait any longer. I called and scheduled an induction for Thursday, April 3rd. Six long days after my due date. Six very hard days.

I cried the entire drive to town. Scared out of my mind. Ashamed for not waiting longer. Frustrated with my body. Confused why God didn’t answer my prayers. I was embarrassed for not being a good Christian with joy in all circumstances. I felt guilty for getting mad, for being weak. During that first hour drive into town I felt and gave into every ugly emotion possible.

As we drove nearer to town a morning fog clung to the Big Horn mountains, the same mountains where we had our wedding and started this whole life together. It was beautiful. I don’t know what Ben said, but he managed to help me calm down. I quit crying and finally gave in. Humbled by my own weakness.

I clung to the promise, “my cup overflows.”

We parked and walked into those hospital doors. I was mostly at peace but still a little surly about the whole thing. I settled on being disappointed but surrendered to the process.

Despite my fear, God’s blessing was evident as answers to prayers fell into place. I was delighted when I found out it was my favorite doctor on call that day, she had also delivered Caleb. A blessing from the Lord that relieved a lot of my fear. I knew that I could trust this doctor, and I also knew what to expect since she delivered my last baby.

They admitted me. I gowned up, the IV was placed, various tests completed, and a plan agreed on. By 8 am pitocin was dripping into my veins. Thankfully they didn’t need to do anything else to kick start labor, things picked up perfectly from there.

I had heard that pitocin contractions were more difficult than natural labor, and that was one of my fears going into this process. Honestly it wasn’t any worse than what I remember from Caleb’s birth. I was just so happy to finally be in labor I eagerly greeted each contraction and looked forward to the next one. I was well prepared for this labor and had a plan in place for how to get through it. Far from the emotional ugly mess that I was earlier that morning, I felt cheerful and confident now that I knew my baby was on his way.

Around noon Ben encouraged me to get the epidural. Things had escalated and we were making progress. I knew I could totally have this baby naturally, but I also knew Ben hates to see me in pain and encouraging me to have an epidural was his way of loving me. I accepted this gift he was offering and God blessed me with the same anesthesiologist who gave me an epidural with Caleb. Again, I knew I could trust her and she did an amazing job both times. Once the pain was gone Dr. Scalva broke my water, and at 2:08 pm Cason was born after 15 minutes of pushing.

He immediately started hollering and within ten minutes of the cord being cut he was nursing and didn’t want to stop.

My cup abundantly overflowed.

8 pounds, 20.5 inches long. He was perfect.

I hope this story encourages you to lean on the Lord for your birth, or whatever hard thing you face right now. Your life doesn’t have to be Instagram perfect, or the cool birth story on a podcast with a midwife in a bathtub in a darkened room full of candles. Birth is beautiful when God blesses it. All life is worthy of celebration.

If I were to give one piece of advice for any young mom preparing for labor, it is Surrender. Surrender to God’s plan and to God’s design. Even if it is a very conventional plan with drugs and doctors and weird hospital beds, He can still use it for His glory.

Also, don’t allow social media to give you false expectations. Educate yourself, make a plan, hold it loosely.

Psalm 23
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
3 He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
for his name’s sake.

4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.

5 You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
forever.