But in the midst of the fog, there is one crystal clear moment: the birth itself, when I first saw my baby, still grey as he took his first breaths, all splayed out startled and so infinitely beautiful, when I couldn’t stop saying “I love you.”

I don’t suppose boys are very interested in birth stories, but yet it seems that since I do love him so very much that I want to try to find a way to remember better what happened, to write it down and find something solid among the shadows to make into a story of the day I met my little one. So, here I am, writing it out. For those of you who are interested, here’s how it went as best as I can remember.

Five days before my due date, my last baby’s second birthday arrived, and we planned a very simple little party that I could handle at nine-months-pregnant. As we drove to the children’s museum for her birthday activity, I had an epiphany. I was tired. So tired. And I realized that I had been trying to do everything in my own strength. Mothering, homemaking, homeshooling, writing, everything was about me and how capable I could be, everything, even the birth. I somehow wanted to give birth to this baby by the impressive, capable force of my own strength. Why in the world did I think such a silly thing after the last birth I had had??? But there I was again, wanting to do it all on my own, crumbling under the weight of my own expectations, and needing to repent. Again. I cried quietly as I drove, asking God to help me have this baby in HIS strength.

That night my water broke.

It happened as I went about making my little girl’s party, little gushes here and there. I was giddy and figured that now that I had repented, everything would be smooth and God would give me my baby. It never occurred to me that I had a bigger lesson to learn than one small epiphany in the car. That was merely the road map. Now it was time to take the journey.

I had been sleeping for quite some time when I woke up for one of those innumerable nighttime bathroom runs of late pregnancy, and when I got up, there was another gush. We called our midwives since they had said they wanted to be told right away if my water broke, and they hurried over to check on the baby. The baby was posterior and still hadn’t dropped at all, but the heartbeat was strong. A friend came to take care of our children if they should wake up in the night. My husband set up the birth tub we had borrowed from another friend. And I paced to help contractions get going.

But they never got going. My water wasn’t leaking anymore. I wasn’t shaking. The midwives went to sleep in our living room. Worn out and deflated, I finally went to bed. Just like at my last birth, despite two years of vowing to get it right this time, I had called people too soon, way too soon, like “before labor” too soon. It was the first of many defeats for my strong, capable ego, the first of many lessons in my own ridiculous frailty.

Four days later, after a snail’s pace vigil of crying, and waiting, and trying to turn my posterior baby, in the wee hours of the morning, it all happened again. I woke up to go to the bathroom, this time leaking more. I went back to bed, determined not to call people until I really needed help. Soon I was feeling contractions. I stayed in bed just watching myself slip into stronger and stronger labor until I finally woke my husband up. He timed contractions for awhile until I was past being able to talk through them, and then he called our midwives and my cousin’s wife who’d agreed to come to our house to take care of the children.

When the midwives got there, things lightened up considerably. I paced laps around my room: bathroom, birth tub, around the bed, feet crinkling the paper drop cloth, trying to get contractions up and running again, but instead watching them peter out. And so began a maddening, exhausting fight within myself. My labor just would not take off and sweep me away like labors are “supposed to.” The baby wasn’t dropping. The student midwife thought he wasn’t posterior anymore, and I was rejoicing about that, but I didn’t know why my baby wasn’t engaging or why my contractions wouldn’t stay regular.

I got in the birth tub, and contractions seemed to stop all together, so I got back out again. I tried lying down again since contractions had been more regular when I had been lying down, but I was getting worn out from lying in one position. We tried [non-G-rated-midwife-stuff-that-cannot-be-mentioned-on-my-blog] to stimulate oxytocin (the hormone that causes contractions). (If you are into natural birth, you probably know what I mean.) And it worked, but too well. The contractions were instantly intense, pulling so hard I thought I couldn’t cope. I just wanted to wimp out and stop, and I felt guilty and trapped. Everyone encouraged me to keep the oxytocin flowing, but I wanted to run away from the pain. Looking back, it was almost like God was confronting me with my self-sufficiency. I had wanted to be in control of my birth, and there I was, having a chance to control whether hard contractions came or not, and I hated the control. I hated feeling like it was up to me to make myself hurt in order to get this baby out. I wanted birth to happen to me. I wanted it to snowball, to pick-up speed, not constantly dissolve without my active effort at making it hard again.

For the first time in my militant homebirther’s life, I understood the draw of medicalized birth. As I paced around my room with my underwhelming, frustrating contractions, I dreamed about just getting an epidural and pumping up the Pitocin (synthetic oxytocin) until I had my baby in my arms. Rounding the birth tub in the morning light, I vowed to be more compassionate towards women who give birth differently.

Feeling agitated, I leaned on the bathroom counter for awhile and finally got back in the birth tub just in time for a contraction that felt mildly like I might be about to push. My husband brought the midwives in, and about twenty minutes later in a big wiggle of mercy and grace, the last time I felt my baby moving on the inside, that little head engaged, and it was time to push.

Pushing was bewildering. I pushed with everything I had, but I couldn’t feel any progress. I couldn’t tell what my baby was doing. And it was taking forever. I wondered what in the world could be wrong. I felt worn out and stalled. Finally, the midwife checked the baby’s heart rate. It was down in the 120′s, still normal, but lower than it had been, and enough to worry me that maybe my baby was not tolerating labor well. That was it. I had to get this baby out. Somehow I found strength to push even harder, and even though I still couldn’t feel much, the midwives’ encouraging responses told me that things were working better. At last I was certain that the baby was crowning but perplexed because nobody told me to pant and not push, so I kind of kept pushing anyway. The head was born, and I thought I was done. I was so relieved. Every other time, once the head was born, the rest of the baby just kind of fell out.

“Keep pushing, Andrea,” the midwife said. “Your baby’s not out yet.” It took two more pushes before I was really done and my baby was finally free, born into his daddy’s hands.

“Let me see my baby!” I said, turning around in the water. I hugged my precious baby son and looked at his little face–so boyish, the most boyish baby I’d ever seen. “I love you, I love you!” I told him over and over. I had seen my pride confronted and confounded, I had hurt and struggled, waited and cried, but after all of it, the Lord had given me this baby, this incredible, overwhelming, precious baby, and in the end, there was only joy.

As I sat on the bed that afternoon, cuddling Elijah and listening to the midwives filling out their paperwork, I found out that my baby had been posterior right to the end. Eight pounds, seven ounces, and posterior. No wonder it had been hard.

The night I’d started labor, my husband had come to John 16 in his bedtime reading with the children, and I’d chuckled inside at the reminder then, thinking it was good encouragement for that time in my life but not realizing I’d be living it just a few short hours later.

A woman when she is in travail hath sorrow, because her hour is come: but as soon as she is delivered of the child, she remembereth no more the anguish, for joy that a man is born into the world. –John 16:21

I’m sure other women experience the end of their pregnancies differently, but for me, it’s all about feeling small, lonely, and helpless. It seems so pitiful until I realize that I’m crying over a T-shirt, and then I have to collect what’s left of my logical mind and laugh at myself.

It’s silly, frustrating, and rough on my family. My poor children are always asking my husband why Mommy is crying. (The other day he was explaining that Mommy was a little sad right now, and the three-year-old said cheerfully, “I can make her a nice salad.” This child will never have a weight problem. Emotional eating = “a nice salad.”)

But even this breaking down of my mood and my ability to cope is not all lost and pointless. In my fragility I am tasting the world that is my baby’s. Before laying in my arms a tiny gift of helplessness, God lets me feel helplessness myself. As my baby is ripening, my heart is softening. The busy, chipper polish is ground down to a tender place, a place where I will have empathy and compassion on a little one who will also struggle with clothes and cry, so small, not even in control of the universe enough to change a milk-soaked T-shirt.

As you get stronger, my baby, I will too, but for now we swim together, I in my salty sea and you in yours.

Now, Babies “R” Us is a store I go to about once every other year for an acid free baby book to record the vital statistics of the newest Parunak. I head straight for the books, and I don’t usually browse. But today was different. I was shopping for someone else. Armed with my printed registry, I and my four little helpers entered The Aisles. Here, we were confronted with a dizzying array of cleverly marketed, brightly packaged baby paraphernalia of every possible description.

Almost immediately, my oldest saw a fancy pack ‘n play that cost around $150 dollars. “What’s this?” she asked. I explained that you could change the baby’s diapers in this part here, and then the baby could sleep in the other part, or you could lower the floor so the baby could play. Her eyebrows went up. “Wow,” she said, “pretty convenient–three things in one.” We had just gotten there, so I was still feeling somewhat smug and strong enough to whisper, “Yes, but your baby can sleep with you. You can change his diapers on the bed or on the floor. And babies don’t need pens to play in. They can play on the floor. And you can save $150.”

Then I saw this really cool design for a baby bather.

And this folding bath tub thing.

And I started wondering if I should pick up a few things for baby number five (even though I’m not pregnant yet).

And, oh look, bath toys are buy one, get one 50% off.

Ahem.

Before we had left the house that morning, my son had asked me if Babies “R” Us was filled with “plastic junk.” I had said that, yes, it was. And he had asked if it was designed to get kids to lust after it. I explained that, no, that was Toys “R” Us. At Babies “R” Us, everything is designed to get the parents to lust after it.

Apparently, they’re good at manipulating parents.

It occurred to me that I had not been loose in The Aisles since seven years ago when I was pregnant for the first time and registering for MY baby shower. And yet, here I was again, intoxicated by all the choices, and feeling that same twinge of mother guilt over not providing my children with a thousand dollars’ worth of coordinating nursery furniture.

And I already knew how ridiculous it all was. How do the first time moms wade through it all? I know I registered for a lot of stuff I didn’t really need. It seems painfully ironic that everyone is so excited to help you buy stuff for your first baby, but you don’t have much idea of what that stuff ought to be. And I got to thinking, if I could go back in time and get ready all over again, knowing what I know now, what would I get (and not get)?

1. Cloth Diapers
I’ve done two children in cloth and two in disposables, and for me, cloth wins hands down. Yes, it is great to be able to just throw the diaper away, but potty training a child who has lost all touch with his or her body is SUCH a miserable experience, that I would rather throw an extra load of diapers in the wash now and then. Besides cloth is (often) much cheaper, more environmentally friendly, fairly essential for EC, and I don’t know about you, but I’d sure rather wear cotton than paper and chemicals. We use good old-fashioned Chinese prefolds and Thirsties Diaper Covers. With EC and washing diapers about once a week, we find we need about six covers and about two to three dozen diapers.

Cloth diapers also work for burp clothes and changing pads, so no need to buy those.

2. A Simple Diaper Pail
If I could do it over again, I would skip all the fancy stuff. We tried all sorts of nifty systems, but none of them worked as well as we’d hoped, and in the end, we are quite happy with one of the big plastic buckets our wheat comes in. It has a lid that sits on top, and we sprinkle in some baking soda to keep the smell down.

3. Clothes from the THRIFT Store or Garage Sales
OK, I’m going to confess something horrible now. I bought all my first baby’s clothes retail. Some of them were on sale, but still it was a really bad choice. There is NO reason to do that. Little babies just don’t wear their clothes out. They only stay one size for five minutes. And after a few spit-ups and diaper blow outs, all the boutique-y stuff looks comfortably worn anyway. You might as well take what you’d pay for ONE complete Carter’s outfit at Babies “R” US and buy your baby’s whole wardrobe at the Salvation Army or Goodwill, or if it’s summer, at a garage sale. I’d get about a 6-10 soft, cozy 100% cotton sleepers in 0-3 months size. (Skip “newborn” unless you’ve got a really tiny baby. Clothes can be a tiny bit big for the first week. Your baby won’t care.) A half dozen little onsies or T-shirts are good, too. T-shirts are better if you want to do EC. Onsies are more convenient if you’re doing conventional diapering. You might want a couple baby hats, too, and if it’s winter time, some kind of bunting.

4. A Few Blankets (also from the thrift store or garage sales)
I haven’t found that we really need more than around four or five little receiving blankets and maybe one or two warmer ones if it’s cold.

5. A Backpack to Use as a Diaper Bag
When I had my first baby, one of the first things I bought was the cutest diaper bag EVER. It was denim with pastel accents and a melt-your-heart little bear on the front (I have a weakness for all things bear.) I still feel all gushy when I think about it. The only problem was, it was falling apart before my daughter’s first birthday. The plastic lining was getting all torn and pulling away from the seams. The outside was dirty and stained from being set on the floor all the time. And the bag was misshapen from constantly being over-stuffed with all the “just in case” items I was always cramming in. We’ve since made the leap to a nice quality back pack. It is WAY more durable and comfortable to carry, and it’s made for cramming and throwing around, so even after serving us through two children, it still looks relatively the same.

6. A Good Quality Baby Carrier
This one is hard to predict when you haven’t had a baby yet because everyone’s body is different. I wish I had thought to try some of my friends’ carriers to get a feel for the options. As it turned out, I became a HUGE fan of properly sized (that’s essential!) padded ring slings from SlingEZee. (Note: These are NOT the dangerous bag slings that leave the baby in a droopy ball where they don’t get enough oxygen. I always carry my babies upright, with their heads outside of the sling where I can see them and monitor them.) I love slings because they take about three seconds to put on, and you can do it while you’re holding your baby. They keep your baby right up against you, with nothing in between, so you can nurse if you want to. They’re also relatively compact for carrying/packing/throwing around the car. And all four of my babies have loved them. This is the one thing that I would happily pay full price for. I use mine until they fall apart. Also, I’ve never seen a sling that actually fits me in a thrift store. It’s really easy to find the Nojo brand slings, but they are always way too big for me.

7. A Compact Baby Bather
Before my first baby, I bought a rigid plastic bath tub. It worked fine, got me through four infants. But I had to store that silly thing all the rest of the time. It took up way too much space, and we finally got rid of it. Next time around, I’m going to find the smallest thing I can get away with.

8. A Plain, Ordinary Car Seat
Simple is better. With our first baby, I wanted one of those “travel systems” where the car seat clicks into a stroller. Only, the thing was, none of my infants liked riding in their car seat. And I quickly discovered that if you try to power walk with anything but a jogging stroller, you’ll be kicking the back frame all the time.

9. A Nursing Cover-up
These can get SO complicated and expensive, and my first one had a ridiculous “peek through window” that always left me feeling exposed. By baby number four, I had learned that you can make yourself a very simple, functional cover simply by hemming a large square of the fabric of your choice (dark colors or thicker fabric like flannel will give you more cover) and sewing velcro into the two top corners. I have one that is 42″ square, finished, and it works quite well.

10. A Place for My Baby to Sleep
For us this means a king sized bed. For some families this means a crib or a pack ‘n play. This is a deeply personal decision that depends on a lot of factors. I discussed it in depth here.

11. A Few Little Drug Store Items
Baby shampoo, wipes, diaper rash ointment, and an infant fever reducer. I have learned that it’s better to have a few baby medicines on hand BEFORE you need them because you nearly always discover that you need them at 3:00 in the morning. I’m definitely a fan of the dye-free varieties. That way when your baby spits it out all over both of you in the middle of the night, you won’t have stains. Notice I said, “when.”

12. Cheap, Enormous Bibs
Bibs are kind of the clever t-shirt of the baby world: abounding in charming slogans and costing way too much. I wish I had learned earlier that the purpose of a bib is not to announce to the world how much we love Grandma, it’s to get covered in mashed carrots, and by its sacrifice, to keep those carrots off the cute little outfit you paid a dollar for at the thrift store. If I could do it again, I would have started with the cheap hand towels I got in a giant pack at Sam’s Club. They cover the baby’s lap, too, and I don’t feel bad when they get stained.

In my mind, those are the only absolute essentials. There are also a few things that are nice, but not necessary:

1. Double Jogging Stroller
Strollers are an area I bumbled around in quite a bit. If I could do it again, I’d save lots of long-term money and just go straight for the double. If you think you’ll be having more than one child, then your days of needing a single stroller are seriously numbered and far fewer than it will take to actually wear out a stroller. If you didn’t get the double to begin with, you could end up like me, with a single stroller cluttering up your garage for way too long before you finally find someone to donate it to, and wishing you still had the money you spent on it. Also, for me, because I’m an exercise addict, the jogging stroller is essential to enabling me to keep a normal stride, and also for walking on any kind of rough terrain like the dirt roads we have around here. This purchase is easily put off, though, because most babies would rather be in a carrier with Mommy anyway.

2. A Few Toys and Board Books
Thrift store. Thrift store. Thrift store. And garage sales. And library book sales. There is no point in paying four times as much to have these new. Seriously. And if you don’t have money for even the thrift store variety, no biggie. Kitchen utensils make great toys. Most libraries have plenty of board books. And parents are way more snugly than teddy bears anyway.

3. An Easy to Clean High Chair
If I could pick my first high chair again, I would keep in mind that every square inch of it is going to be bathed in goo. Fabric is bad, as are all nooks and crannies. We finally, after a few iterations of impossible to clean nastiness, went with this cheap, utilitarian little number from IKEA. Notice the elegant, “drag it to the sink and hose it down” styling. Of course, you don’t really NEED a high chair right away, and if holidays are conveniently scheduled, you could always wait to get one until Great Aunt Marjorie asks what your baby would like for Christmas.

4. A Comfortable Rocking Chair
These can be lovely if you have the space and money. I have a glider rocker, and I must admit that I love it. It’s by no means a necessity, though, and as always, there’s no reason not to buy used.

5. Expensive, Plastic, Space-Eating Baby Holders
By this, I mean a swing, bouncy seat, exersaucer, and/or gym. These are all things that COULD be lifesavers, or they could just waste your money and take up precious square footage. Each of my children have loved at least ONE of these things, none of them have loved all of them, and they didn’t all love the same one. The key here, seems to me to be, wherever possible, “try before you buy.” Actually, we got nearly all of this stuff as free hand-me-downs from a friend, but if I were contemplating them on my own, I’d go visit a friend with one of these items, put my baby in itand see if he liked it. If he did, thrift store, thrift store, thrift store.

I would finish by assuaging all mother guilt with the reminder that a great deal of what is touted as “must have” is gimicky and pointless and designed by experts to empty my (and my loved ones’) bank accounts as efficiently as possible. Simplicity, space, and the wherewithal to fund future siblings are way more valuable than any three-in-one pack ‘n play or even coordinated nursery furniture.