Adoniram Willis - Birth Story

The most notable part of Adoniram’s birth story is that he’s a BOY! Throughout the entire pregnancy I believed I was carrying a girl. We, of course, knew there was a 50/50 chance but I was so sure, I have referred to him as ‘her’ or ‘she’ the entire time, Ramona was just as certain and would pray every night for ‘Margaret June’, so upon his arrival at 9:54, Wednesday June 19th, 2024 I was shocked to hear Wesley say “it’s a boy”. I’m not at all disappointed, someday, Lord willing, we can have our Margaret June, but for now we are pleased as can be to snuggle, love on, and bond with our third baby boy: Adoniram Willis. 

His birth story sort of begins on Tuesday the 18th. That would have been my preferred delivery date; 06/18/24, a cool mathy date. I woke up having several solid productive contractions. As the day went on I kept comparing them to past experiences; definitely real contractions but no feeling of progress and no consistency, eventually I noted it officially as prodromal labor and put it out of mind as much as possible and just carried on with life hoping that I would go to bed that night and wake up at some point having turned the corner to true labor. That time never came. By morning I accepted I had more time to wait and began my day. Throughout Wednesday morning I noticed if I sat I had nothing remotely reminiscent of labor, but as soon as I stood I’d have at least one contraction that made me think ‘no, I don’t want to do this again’ it felt like labor was imminent and all I wanted to do was sit down so it would stop. 

I was supposed to go into the office for a midwife appointment and ultrasound at 4 to check on the placenta and baby and make sure waiting for labor past the 42 week mark was still safe. I debated all morning and into the afternoon about what I should do: get up and move and turn these contractions into labor, or sit and ride it out, if it’s truly labor then I don’t believe I have to work for it, it’ll happen wether I try or not. 

Finally I decided to call the midwives and cancel, no matter what, I believed labor was coming, I’ve had enough babies to know that the contractions I was having were going to become labor sooner or later and a trip to the office wasn’t going to be necessary, slowly but surely this baby was beginning his exit. 

Shay checked in with me and recommended the Miles Circuit if I wanted to try to move things along. I decided to give it a go. I completed the circuit about 6PM and knew immediately that it had made a difference in the contractions productivity. 

I helped Wesley fix dinner and contemplated what to do. It still didn’t feel like labor, I had too much control over my contractions; if I were up moving around I knew it was labor, as soon as I sat they’d spread out and lose power, even stopping completely. 

After dinner, I walked in circles around the house having contractions on top of contractions. Wesley kept watching me, his eyes begging me to call the midwife. ‘But what if I sit down and it stalls? What if I go to bed and they go away completely?’

Finally I talked myself into making the call. I think the first words out of my mouth to Barb, one of my midwives, were “it’s probably too early but I know everyone is worried I won’t call in time, so I’m calling.” After I got off the phone I complained to Wesley that I hadn’t even had a contraction for at least fifteen minutes, I was probably having them come and would end up taking Tylenol PM, sleeping through the night, and just take castor oil in the morning to actually go into labor. 

8:00PM came with a strong hard contraction, I checked my watch, ‘would the midwife make it in time?’ another 15 minutes or so with no contraction, ‘ugh, I’ve called too soon’.

8:15 Barb and an assistant arrived. I recommended just setting up upstairs, I wanted a cervical check to confirm any possible progress that would help indicate labor and delivery being imminent. Barb said I was 7 but a stretchy 7, I could be complete in 2 minutes or 2 hours. Well, that was encouraging. I now knew that the slow lazy way I’d been laboring was effective and moving things forward so I had no motivation to try harder. The baby, however, was pretty posterior so I decided to take couple contractions on my knees leaning forward to the ground to help the baby move out of the pelvis and turn. I had a contraction or two leaning forward over my birth ball. Time to check the baby’s heart tones again, and just with those few contractions he had rolled forward, not perfectly lined up, but much better. 

I decided to stay upstairs and labor, continually debating if I wanted to stand and move around and progress more quickly or sit myself down and pretend I could quit. I felt this labor like none other. Usually I look forward to, love, and embrace my labors, but with every real contraction I had I just wanted to shake my head, say no, and call it quits; but, when you’re at home, 41 weeks 6 days pregnant and in active labor, there is no “calling it quits”. 

I took contraction after contraction, relax my jaw, lower my shoulders, shake my head back and forth, moan, cling to Wesley, hum - Great is Thy Faithfulness, the Doxology. 

My mom let me know she was going to tell Jennifer to come, I was glad, my mom thought the time was getting close, it was nice to not be the one making that decision. 

A break, how is this even labor? I could do this for hours. A contraction, crying out to the Lord through whispered fragmented prayers ‘oh Lord my God, be my strength, give me Your power’. 

A lull, was I even making progress? 

This went on and on, for maybe ten minutes that felt like an eternity to me. Telling myself I was never going to have the baby, telling myself it was coming too soon, wondering if it was coming at all, knowing it was right around the corner. 

I had a contraction sitting on my birth ball and felt kind of pushy but I was sure it was too soon to push. I let the midwives know. “I think I could push if I stood, but I don’t know if I want to.” They suggested the birth stool, okay, I’ll just take a contraction standing and see. I’m not sure anyone went to get the birth stool from the car. I think when I stood for that contraction everyone knew the end was coming. A few contractions standing, not feeling like pushing disappointed me. I had had the kids called upstairs and everyone was gathered in the hallway right outside my door, watching and waiting. I felt a little like a watched pot but I told myself ‘this is labor, this is what I want them to witness’ I let go of my anxiety over ‘calling too soon’ and relaxed in to the end of it. 

Pressure. 

Pushy. 

A wave of contraction “I can’t do it, I can’t, Wesley” wanting to curl up, hide, and remove myself from it all knowing completely and wholeheartedly that meant I was in transition and the baby would arrive in moments. 

Contraction. Was I pushing? It was all involuntary. I kept moving Wesley’s hands to my hips, lower, pushing them together, tilting my pelvis, reaching for my mom - hold on to me, hold my belly up. I don’t think I said words, instincts just take over. My water broke, I felt the baby descending but he felt too big, this was going to take too much effort. Relax and relief as a contraction faded, followed immediately by another one, involuntary pushing, a head, a body, gushing water, Wesley saying “it’s a boy!”. 

Adoniram Willis was earthside. 

Everything was perfect. Complete. 

“Haley, you’re bleeding pretty aggressively, can I give you a shot?” 

Wesley’s ‘yes’, my consent as I felt a wave of weakness. They wanted me to move to the bed but I couldn’t even lift my leg, exhaustion took over. I was moved to bed, the kids sent down to finish their movie, clean up and care for me and Adoniram began. 

In the end my bleeding persisted and a low dose of cytotec was the recommended treatment. I tried drinking my pregnancy tea, massaging my uterus, and had a placenta smoothie but my uterus didn’t care, it thought it should be done working so I resigned myself to what we knew would work, again. And again I hope that someday my body will keep working on its own, that someday I won’t need help to stop my bleeding; but the likelihood of that seems slim as I look around me at my 7 babies born in 9.25 years; whenever I choose bigger gaps, maybe I could have a more responsive uterus, but so far I haven’t decided the trade off would be worth it. 

Adoniram Willis Smith was born at 9:54 PM, on Wednesday June 19th, 2024; he weighed exactly 9 pounds, is 20.5 inches long, with a head circumference of 14.5. 

Baby Bump the Seventh’s Painting

Most readers of my extremely inactive blog know: I paint each of my babies their own painting. I usually am inspired during the pregnancy to paint a scene relevant to something I did, or enjoyed (or didn’t: Estel’s) while pregnant. 

This baby’s, baby #7’s became the hardest. 

This is long winded, heartfelt, and most likely poorly constructed as I feel this more than I have words to speak it. 

For the first time ever, I was sharing the time of pregnancy with two local sister’s (in law) on the Huffman side. I don’t know how many times I told people there would be three Huffman grand babies crawling then toddling around my mom’s for Sunday dinners, the Holidays, summer parties; there wouldn’t be fighting over holding a baby because this year we were going to have three to go around!

Were. 

I had known early on in my pregnancy that somehow I was going to figure out how to include those feelings of excitement, joy, the sharing of parenthood and childhood, into my baby’s painting: the three ‘Huffman’ cousins that were going to grow up partaking in all the same local memories and experiences.

Were. 

Shay is one of my closest people, our babies were definitely going to grow up together; swim in the pond, adventure, play backyard sports, enjoy holidays and family gatherings - Amara and my little one were going to live life side by side. 

Were. 

So when Shay, the first of my sister in law’s was due, and had little Amara, it was supposed to be the beginning of the Huffman grand babies of 2024. 

But instead Amara Kay Huffman came into this world on March 11th, at 11:14AM and left it six hours and twenty minutes later.

Wave after wave of heartbreak and mourning have crashed over me since.

In the world she left behind, the most insignificant version of change, is knowing Amara’s absence forever altered the childhood of my baby. My baby will never know what s/he has missed out on without our keeping Amara’s memory alive. And so, truly, the least of all ways her absence changed the world, is that my vision for my baby painting shifted. Now I had to embody the spirit of what I had looked forward to, along with the absence I will always feel while my baby only ever hears of it; I wanted to depict the feelings of emptiness and loneliness I carry, but also the hope and joy of our future. 

Amara’s life was not lived in vain, she may only have been here a short time, but we loved her for the 9 months Shay carried her, and for the few hours she lived, and we love her still; we remember her, we look forward to heaven where we’ll finally meet her. 

Somehow my painting had to show the life that was lived and lost, so that my baby can look at it and in some way share in the missing of Amara. 

During the first few weeks after Amara went to heaven as I drove back and forth to my mom’s, or talked on the phone, asking if anyone had heard from Daniel and Shay, ‘how are they?’ ‘did they need anything?’, in my minds eye I was always following the route to and from these places. And this painting began emerging. 

The road probably has an official name, but growing up we always called it the Bainbridge Roachdale Road, it connected our town to the next. Siblings starting going to North Put, situated on the road, sometimes we now refer to it as the School Road. Now that we live in Ladoga, still connected by the same road, you might hear me refer to it as the Road to Roachdale and I’ll likely follow it up with ”you know, the Roachdale Bainbridge road?”, never sure who refers to it as what. 

Whatever you choose to call it, in so many ways, this road is a thread that connects our lives to everywhere and everyone we love the most. 

From our house we can see it, we hop on to drive south, there’s a little old church currently being restored to be our home church building someday; we pass Mark and Josie’s; take a left and you’re at my childhood home, now Daniel and Shay’s, where we spend countless summer hours at the pond, where Amara’s grave will be; take a right and you get to my family’s 6 year old ‘new place’; keep on and you pass our very first home, now Lemuel and Mariza’s; and on past Bainbridge is Wesley’s parent’s farm. 

This road connects us all. 

In my painting it’s this road that signifies the intertwining of our families lives, of our connections, and of all the shared memories made over the years, and shared memories yet to come. Amara won’t be here to make these new memories with my baby, but my baby will always know who she is. 

And so, in many ways this painting isn’t just a painting for my baby; I painted this for Amara also. It holds love and lost memories of her, all the ways I wanted to share her life, how I dreamed of walking side by side with Shay in motherhood, all the ways I’d thought of, and many ways I’m sure I hadn’t, that I’d get to be in, witness, and share life with Amara. 

When I see this painting, I won’t only think of our baby, but I’ll also, always remember Amara, and not with only the sadness that often encompasses me when I think of her; I’ll remember her and how knitted together her family is. She may be absent from us, but her short life drew us together in joy and excitement and the memories we’re making in her absence will still include her.

My baby will know and remember Amara. 

The complete collection, so far:

Jerusha’s

Éowyn’s

Emmitt and Estel’s

Ramona’s

Ozella’s

Beautiful Bubble

I used to dream of doing big important things. I was going to go to Russia and save all the orphans, help the women who have fallen prey to the drug epidemic, marry a preacher, be a missionary, change the world: I was going to show the world Jesus in a big way. 

Instead I’m just a barefoot housewife.

I cook and clean and take care of babies all day; and I’ve never been so sure that I’m doing what I’ve been called to do than when I lose sleep to a nursing baby, when I clean fingerprints off the wall, when I wipe up an accident, when I fix plates of food, when I sit on the floor wasting time playing lego characters, when I discipline disobedience, when I make mistakes and have to seek my own children’s forgiveness. 

I’m where I’m meant to be and it’s such a comfort. 

To lay my newest snuggly blessing to bed for likely only a few hours worth of sleep, I am overwhelmed with peace and comfort of feeling perfectly at rest where He’s chosen to place me. 

(And oh so blessed to share this life with a really great husband and daddy.)

My Bubble is certainly Beautiful and it grows more and more so, with each soul we add to our family. 

Ozella

Ozella Marie Smith

Born Friday December 2nd, 2022 at 12:13 AM

6 pounds 9 ounces

21 inches 

She’s our teeniest tiniest baby and nearly the spitting image of Emmitt. She seems very unsure of the outside world and has spent her first (nearly) 48 hours snuggling, nursing, and sleeping with mommy.   

Ozella Marie -Birth Story

20 months have passed since I last wrote out a birth story, in that time I’ve made one post, and apparently survived another pregnancy and delivered another baby. So it would seem my blog is simply where I record birth stories, maybe someday that will change and I’ll get back into the swing of narrating parts of our lives into stories to share, until then, without further ado, here you have the birth story of our newest addition, Ozella Marie, our 6th baby and home birth. 

I’d had a great pregnancy. I was in the perfect frame of mind. Thursday I was 41 weeks pregnant but I knew the baby was measuring small, I have a history of 42 week pregnancies and I was pretty sure this one would take me into the forty second week in order to fill this baby out. The fact that I was “waiting” really hadn’t crossed my mind, I wasn’t even close to impatient.

I noticed first thing in the morning I had to go to the bathroom a couple times and told Wesley somewhat mockingly that ‘other women would think this might be a sign of impending labor but I know it’s probably just something I ate.’

He went to work, I started my day. 

After feeding the kids lunch and having a single contraction that made me tell the kids “that was a real contraction, if I had more like that I could think I was going into labor”. 

We moved on. I read Jonny Tremain to the kids, we finished and I noticed a few more decent contractions. Time to leave for Bible study. While at Bible study I knew the contractions were continuing but they were inconsistent, even if they were building. Some were noticeable enough that I had trouble concentrating on the discussion. Good signs, I started considering the fact it might be early labor, I’d know by tonight when we went home, if I could just go to sleep they’d go away, and I truly believed they would.

We stayed for dinner and fellowship, my contractions were completely erratic but if it didn’t turn into labor I still knew they were productive for preparing me for labor, they were definitely doing something. 

At 8 I told Wesley I thought it might be early labor, at 8:30 I told him I was ready to go home and rest, either so they’d stop, or so I’d be rested for labor. 

At home we settled in and got the kids to bed. I texted Shay to tell her I thought I might be in early labor, my contractions were intense enough they made me feel panicked, very typical of labor contractions for me, but, they weren’t the official 5/1 ratio so even though they felt like labor contractions they might just go away. 

Shay asked if I wanted her to come and check on the baby. I was a little worried about the babies position and just in case it was labor I thought I might as well find out to know if I should labor in a certain position. She arrived at 10:30PM and I told her if it doesn’t turn out to be actual labor don’t hold it against me, “just pretend you’re stopping by to visit at 10:30 at night”. 

Baby sounded good, position was okay. I asked her to go ahead and do a vaginal exam, in general I prefer not to have them but I felt like I needed to know if the contractions had caused any progression because I still couldn’t tell if it was labor, the contractions were just so random, short and intense. 

I was dilated to 5 but baby’s head was all on one side of my cervix not putting pressure evenly. Shay suggested laying on my left side if I wanted to progress, laying on my right side if I wanted it to slow down and let me rest for the night, either way she said baby was on its way. I chose the left side. I was already halfway there, might as well go for it. I laid on my left side, I had two contractions and it crossed my mind that I should tell Shay to call Barb, my other midwife, this was labor. A few more contractions over the next twenty minutes or so and I told Wesley to let Shay know Barb should come. She had an hour drive. I was still sure that was plenty of time, I’m always so nervous I’ll be a newbie mom and embarrass myself by having the midwives come too soon. I told Wesley to let my mom know to come. Shay came upstairs and observed a couple contractions, I told her I felt a little pushy. I saw the panic in Shay, she knows better than I that when I start feeling pushy our time is up; she told me she needed at least 20 more minutes in order to have backup. Barb wasn’t going to make it but another midwife from Avon was closer and could get here to help. She asked me to blow through contractions and roll off my left side to slow things down. It is still surreal to me. I rolled to my back and had about ten minutes between a contraction where I was joking with Shay that I didn’t want to wait for another midwife but I would wait because I might as well have a December 2nd birthday, 12/02/2022 was a nice birthdate. Another REAL contraction took over and I felt like pushing, I tried blowing, I got panicky, Shay reminded me to “just breath” I relaxed and made it through. I watched the clock, I contracted, I breathed low and tired to stay calm. I knew I was getting close to the point where I wouldn’t be able to hold back. I think I remember Shay saying Cassandra had arrived, I could start pushing as soon as she made it in. Wesley pointed out my mom was only five minutes out, I thought ‘guess she should’ve driven faster’ I was done waiting. 

I stood up out of bed, planning to squat and push for the next contraction but I didn’t really have time, I just accepted the first contraction and continued to focus on my breathing. Second contraction I squated; too deep, horribly uncomfortable, no urge to push, just irritation that I didn’t push. I stood, another contraction, the urge to push was back, my waters broke, it was a horrible mess. My waters were full of meconium, so much water, so much baby poop, uncontrollable urge to pee. Another contraction and Shay said “I need you to push”. I was hoping to let go and just breath the baby out, but knew the meconium must have caused a need to rush. I dreaded it but I started pushing with the next contraction and everything just clicked into place, the dread melted, I said “she’s going to crown with the next one” I reached down, contracted, felt her crowning, it was euphoric. I wasn’t even sure if I was having contractions anymore, I just relaxed and pushed. The baby birthed. Shay had a hand on her, I held her, Shay announced “the cord!” I blubbered “it’s Ozella, I was right, it’s a girl! Ozella, right? She’s Ozella Wesley?” 

“Lower her Haley, the cord” from Shay who still had her wits about her. That’s when I noticed how wound up in her cord she was. I’ve never seen a baby so tied up. It was around her neck twice, crisscrossed around her body, looped around her ankle. We tried rolling her one way and got a loop off, rolled her another way, I unlooped one from her neck, there was so much unwinding to do. 

My mom did make it at some point, maybe not in time to see Ozella be birthed, but she slipped into the room, camera on, capturing the process of unwinding Ozella from her cord.

With my history of hemorrhage, and continuing to struggle with anemia throughout the whole pregnancy the midwives had advised pitocin immediately following birth to prevent a hemorrhage. I allowed it so once the baby had been birthed Cassandra administered the first dose, I didn’t even notice. Throughout the period following Ozella’s birth I continued to have a steady bloodflow so received a second dose of pitocin and eventually the lowest dose of cytotec. Part of me is disappointed that my body failed, again, at this aspect of labor and delivery, but most of me is just thankful to live in a time and place that has the means and allows for help: I have professionally trained midwives, with the knowledge and means to stop my bleeding, so even if it takes modern medicine, there being no natural way of doing it, I am grateful. I have given birth six times in seven years, I have asked a lot of my body, so I choose to see it as a blessing that God allows me to continue doing what I love and providing the lifesaving details necessary. 

I’m truly surprised my baby is already here; I have worked hard at preparing myself mentally for labor, I’m ready and willing to trust my body, it’s instincts and knowledge. I always read and learn about labor and birthing positions for optimal comfort and results. A part of me believes I’ve applied the knowledge and let my body take charge and do what it was designed to do, but most of me continues to believe it was a fluke, next baby I’ll probably go back to “normal” and have a long hard, many hour labor.As it was, I probably had an hour and a half of active labor.

My postpartum has been relaxing and enjoyable so far, snuggling this quiet sweetheart who has slid right into our home and hearts with no fuss. At nearly 48 hours she’s still so mild and unsure of our world that you’d hardly know she arrived.  

Stupidity in Nostalgia

This is really a stupid post, but I have words, and I have sadness. 

When I was maybe twelve or thirteen, our 4-H club picked up trash along county roads in our area as a community service. 

At the first ‘S’ curve north of Bainbridge I found this cup on the right side of the road, down in the ditch, nestled in crab grass. Now who would’ve ever thrown a perfectly good coffee mug out into a ditch? It was just past April 30th, an odd time for heart mugs, but, maybe it was the result of a broken relationship following what was a happy Valentine’s Day two months prior. That has always been my story. 

I kept it. 

I’ve had it ever since. 

And ironically it’s the cup I pull out of the cabinet, out of the way back because no one else is allowed to use it, when I’m feeling nostalgic for parts of my childhood, when I’m lonely, or when I just feel incapable of being the parent and adult I should be. 

Ironically because the day I found the cup is one of the (many) worst days of my childhood. It’s a day cemented in my mind, I can only imagine how it lives in my little sister Shelby’s mind since it was the day we celebrated her birthday. But, it was one of those days that made me want to stop. Life wasn’t going to be worth surviving; not that day, probably tomorrow, and definitely not for the years and years I still had to live at home. 

But the cup was only ever a joy to me. 

I bragged to people about having and using a cup I found in a ditch. I thought being gross to people was the coolest thing. 

Every possible kind of emotion is tied to this cup. 

I used it for my highest highs, when I had a crush and the hearts described my teenage whims; it was used during my lowest lows, when I was depressed and the hearts stood for true Love that is anchoring. 

I used it all the time when it stood for nothing at all but was simply my cup. 

I have memories of spending time with loved ones while drinking tea or coffee. 

Memories of mornings by myself, a clean kitchen, goats waiting to be milked, breakfast ready for siblings. 

I married and at first I used it in happiness all the time; I was pregnant! We were planning a trip, I had success in flower growing. Little things, big things, happiness. 

As time went on it was used less, and then it started getting pulled out when I was disconnected, angry, frustrated, depressed. When the memories and familiar feelings from my childhood and teen years welled back up. 

It got a lot of use for the year and a half we lived in Greentown. 

Then we moved home and it’s gotten quite a bit of happy use again. Days when I’m seeing the kids do what I did as a child; nostalgic use. 

And days, like a couple days ago when I fail at parenting correctly, when it’s tied back to my childhood and all the times my parents didn’t know what they were doing, but I survived, I turned out, and here I am, so maybe my kids are going to be okay, too. 

And then today. 

I told the girls to unload the dishwasher. And my mug was the casualty. 

So it’s time to let it go. 

And it really shouldn’t hurt this much. 

But I am pregnant. 

And I’m always nostalgic. 

And this mug has been with me for somewhere around 16 years and it holds things I’m scared of remembering, yet afraid of forgetting. 

So had I just done the work and all the jobs myself, I’d still get to use it, but that’s not right. 

I’m training another generation to work and serve the world, and I’m going to have to train them how to let go and move on; how to love the people, not the things. Because, I guess there’s a reason the cup is gone now. 

It’s time to let go. 

And If only I forced myself to make time for posts that would actually be beneficial to readers, or at least hold good memories and lessons for me to look back on!