Healing...

I took a bath last night.

It was the first bath (in my big tub) since the birth of my daughter over a month ago. 

You might wonder why this is worthy of a blog post, but if you know my birth story (I'll have to share it on here sometime) it took that entire month for me to even be able to look at the tub, much less get in it.

It was there that I did most of my laboring.

It was there, in that tub, that I pushed...only to be told to stop pushing because I wasn't fully dialated like we originally thought.

It was there that I argued with my midwife about her responsibilities.

And it was there that I decided to go to the hospital.

That tub, to me represented for the longest time, the place in which I would birth my baby.  But in the end, it became the place where my plans for a homebirth would take a drastic turn.

In that month I've thought so much about that night and all the details of it. 

I've gone from numb to angry to sad to defensive to numb again.

And now I've come to acceptance.

I planned a homebirth.

It didn't go as planned.

Even once at the hospital I could have stuck to having a natural labor and delivery, but I gave in and requested a c-section.

Didn't have to have one.

I asked for one.

I've had to heal from the whole ordeal, but mostly this desicion alone.

As a self-proclaimed semi-crunchy mom, it hurts a little bit knowing I allowed myself to get to that point.

Once we decide we want things to be a certain way, it's hard to come to terms sometimes with the fact that we might change our minds.  That we are allowed to change our minds.

I was allowed to change my mind.  And I did.

Yet I still felt I failed somehow.  After 32 hours of labor, 24 of which were natural and drug-free...I felt like a failure because I asked for a c-section.

I was so concerned about Jon being disappointed in me.  Of course he was my rock...and my pillar of strength.  He supported me every step of the way.

The only one disappointed was me.

Before last night in that tub, despite seeing God's hand and hearing His prompts in the whole situation, I felt like I needed to defend my actions. 

I am a homebirther...at heart anyway.  So when given the opportunity I think I have to spill into detail about how I had this grand plan.....blardy, blardy, blar...

I don't have to explain myself.  Nor do I have to defend anything.

I have a beautiful, healthy girl.

I'm healthy.

And I'm still a semi-crunchy, co-sleeping, breastfeeding, non-vaxing, all while feeding my eldest Mickie D's nutty mom.

I'm so proud of who I am.  And most of all who I'm responsible for...my precious family.

Last night in that tub I was reading a mommy devotional that was titled, oddly enough, "Mommy's locked in the bathroom."  And at the end of the devotional the Scripture listed was...

~Even youths grow tired and weary, and young stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.

Isaiah: 40:30

I've been tired and weary from the moment I went into labor.  I stumbled throughout the whole experience.  I've fallen more than I care to admit since then.

But all throughout I have had hope in my Lord.  That He would renew me and my strength.  He has done just that.

Physically.

But His guidance and reassurance the entire way has renewed my strength both mentally and spiritually as well.

My plan was not His plan, but His plan has shown me the true meaning of healing.  And healing is exactly what I'm doing.  It's a good feeling.

Because goodness gracious...I love my tub.