2015-07-23T21:25:56+00:00

I told my mom a few weeks ago about how stressed I was.

No money,

in between jobs,

buying diapers,

paying bills (and not paying bills),

stress with my relationship with Eric,

trying to lose the baby weight,

no money to buy cute clothes that actually fit me (aka: not maternity and nothing I have to hold my breath in order to squeeze myself into)…

And then she paused and said, “Kari, all you have to do is look into your little baby’s eyes. That’s when you’ll realize this will all be worth it.”

Thanks mom. You’re right. He’s worth it.

In speaking of mothers generally, I especially wish to praise and encourage young mothers. The work of a mother is hard, too often unheralded work. The young years are often those when either husband or wife—or both—may still be in school or in those earliest and leanest stages of developing the husband’s breadwinning capacities. Finances fluctuate daily between low and nonexistent. The apartment is usually decorated in one of two smart designs—Deseret Industries provincial or early Mother Hubbard. The car, if there is one, runs on smooth tires and an empty tank. But with night feedings and night teethings, often the greatest challenge of all for a young mother is simply fatigue. Through these years, mothers go longer on less sleep and give more to others with less personal renewal for themselves than any other group I know at any other time in life. It is not surprising when the shadows under their eyes sometimes vaguely resemble the state of Rhode Island.

…Do the best you can through these years, but whatever else you do, cherish that role that is so uniquely yours and for which heaven itself sends angels to watch over you and your little ones. Husbands—especially husbands—as well as Church leaders and friends in every direction, be helpful and sensitive and wise. Remember, “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”–Jeffery R. Holland, Because She Is a Mother

To every thing, there is a season and purpose. My purpose now is to be Lewis’s mother and Eric’s number one supporter. Right now is a season of faith, patience, learning, and humbling experiences.

Lewis will be four months old in one week. Right now, he is laughing and smiling, almost rolling over, and loves staring at Chase. He sleeps 10-11 hours straight through the night every night and takes good naps. He couldn’t be more perfect. I am lucky. I love him and I love my little family.

And I love my mom. I am so glad she’s around to help remind me of what’s really important.

40 weeks, 1 day pregnant.

I wish I could have told myself in this picture to hang on just a little longer and be patient. He will come on Easter Sunday, April 5, 2015 and will be perfect.

I wish I could have told myself that all of the sleepless nights, weeks of painful contractions, endless crying over being huge and pregnant, would be worth every bit.

Here’s what happened:

It was Conference Weekend. Saturday night, I made Eric take me to Wal-Mart because I wanted to make us an Easter basket and dye Easter eggs (to try to get my mind off of being pregnant, having contractions, and to just get out of the house and do something that had to do with the holiday). So we went and walked around the store. We had to stop a few times because I started having some really good, take-your-breath-away contractions in the middle of isles at Wal-Mart. We picked out an Easter basket, candy, eggs, and went home.

The contractions kept coming. Really painful ones. But that wasn’t new because I have had contractions like these before for the last several weeks. I went to bed. I woke up around 4:30am in an extraordinary amount of pain. The contractions got stronger and closer. I woke up Eric and said, it’s time to go. This is it. I can’t handle this anymore. I knew I had to eat something before because I wouldn’t be able to in the hospital if we were to get admitted. Eric made me blueberry pancakes really quick, I ate them in between contractions, and we left.

I was 40 weeks and 3 days pregnant.

We arrived around 6:30am and was admitted shortly after. I was only dilated to a three. I had two nurses (one was training a new nurse); which meant I had to get checked two times, every time. They were warm, kind, and patient.

I was slowly progressing, and the contractions were getting worse. We decided around 10:30am to do the epidural and start pitocin to “get things moving along.” If I was terrified of one thing, it was the epidural. The thought of a huge needle being injected into my spine just didn’t sound like a lot of fun. It wasn’t as bad as I anticipated. The only bad thing is that while Eric was holding my leg, I jumped a little as the needle went in. Eric went straight to the ground and almost passed out. One of the nurses went and got him juice and helped him while we finished the epidural process. Poor guy. I was so worried about him! He came to and started feeling a little better. I told him that he better be OK during the actual birth part and not pass out on me.

Once I had the epidural, my legs died, contractions became stronger, and I started becoming more uncomfortable than I have ever felt in my entire life. Every half hour, a nurse and Eric would have to turn me over because I felt so much pressure on the side of me that I was laying on. Then, my stomach started itching like crazy and when I would attempt to scratch it, it just tingled.

Things in view that entire miserable day leading up to Lewis’s birth.

In the meanwhile, we had General Conference on the TV and I was trying to focus on the talks given. I don’t remember a single talk.

Around 5pm, I was dilated to a five or six. That’s when I started feeling overwhelmingly nauseous and began puking my guts out every half hour. The nurse tried to comfort me and said that throwing up was a good sign that the end is near. It was awful.

Finally, 8:30pm came and the doctor came in, ready to have me start pushing. I went into complete beast mode and 45 minutes later, he was here. Eric didn’t pass out. In fact, he held my left leg, counted, and was the best support I could have asked for during the delivery. I don’t know what I would have done without him. He gave me sips of water in between pushes. He was one hundred percent attentive to me and my needs, amid the chaos of nurses in and out of the room, and everything that was going on while I pushed. I also remember my nurse, Erin (who used to be my Relief Society President and wins national Cross Fit championships) kept trying to make me breathe through this oxygen mask that seemed to be sucking any oxygen that I had available to me. I just ripped it off over and over and it was one of the more annoying things that was in my way of giving birth to baby Lew.

The nurses had to take him away right after he was born because they needed to clean him up a little bit because there was some meconium in the amniotic fluid. Eric went over and looked at him while the nurses cleaned him up. He told me that at that moment, he thought to himself what his name should be (Theodore or Lewis were our two choices). He knew he looked like a Lewis but didn’t say anything until I held him and once I did, Eric asked me what his name should be and without a doubt, I knew his name should be Lewis.

We chose the name Lewis because it happens to be the name of Eric’s grandpa Lewis Heaps, and my great-grandpa Lewis Olpin. Two grandpas on both sides of the family. I can’t wait to learn more about them and to be able to teach Lewis about how he is named after two different grandpas.

Anyway, he arrived. Even after Lewis came into the world, my nausea didn’t stop. The nurses told Eric to order food ASAP because the food place was about to close. So Eric got on the phone and I started puking and puking again. I am not even kidding, Eric was literally asking me what kind of gravy I wanted with my roast beef while I was puking my guts out. I just looked at him like, “are you serious?!”

Pictures of Lew right after birth. He had battle wounds on his head from my sharp pelvis! Poor thing.

The rest of the little details are a little bit of a blur. The next day, my mom came and stayed with me all day while Eric had to take some tests at SUU. Nurses and doctors came in and out and gave me so much advice. Advice that changed with every single nurse. It wasn’t until after we were home for a couple of days that I realized that no matter what anyone tells me I should do, or how to do it, or this is the very best way…. I just need to choose what’s best for me, Lewis, and my family. It really started getting so overwhelming. So many people, with good intentions, have so much advice to offer freely to me as a new mom. I appreciate every single word. I also am grateful that now I can make my own decisions as Lewis’s mother.

Grandma Jody, Aunt Melanie, and Grandma KK at the hospital. Then Lewis in his car seat to finally go home!

My mom stayed the rest of that week and helped us so much. She made like fifteen frozen meals that we were able to just put in the crockpot and enjoy. Relief Society sisters, neighbors and friends brought meals as well. The outpouring of support and love was overwhelming and so much appreciated.

The thing that I will remember the most about Lewis’s birth is the spirit that filled the room once he came. I kept praying and praying to feel my dad’s presence. I am so grateful that I did. I felt his presence right before Lewis was born. Next to marrying my best friend in the Provo, UT temple, it was one of the most spiritual experiences I have ever felt. I felt it while I was surrounded by nurses, machines, noises, and complete chaos. I know Heavenly Father was watching over me and made sure that we were able to all go home as a family without any complications.

I am so grateful that Lewis is a healthy boy. So many families have their babies too soon, have serious complications, or even lose their newborn babies. I feel so blessed and will be forever grateful for every single day that Lewis is with us and is doing OK. He’s a miracle.

Here’s the picture overload of Lewis’s first three weeks of life: