Dietrich's Birth Story

I’ve been thinking of writing out your birth story long before you were born… I mean that in the sense that there was a way that I hoped your birth would go. My first experience giving birth to Chi Hai was, overall a positive one… but after giving birth to you, well… I’ll just say that I can’t wait to give birth again. (Just take away the last two months of pregnancy… ha) I keep thinking back about the day you were born and how I just want to relive it over and over again. It was just an incredible experience and everything about it went exactly how I hoped.

My pregnancy with you was pretty much smooth sailing. I had even less morning sickness this second time around (and I didn’t have much with your sister)... and again I didn’t have any type of food aversions. I was so chill with pregnancy that I actually didn’t even see a midwife until 21 weeks! We had found out early on that you were a boy (at 9 weeks) with a blood test and an ultrasound. I wanted to hear a heartbeat before we told your sister. Your dad wanted a boy but thought you’d be a girl. I also wanted a boy and guessed you’d be a boy. Your sister wanted a sister but thought you’d be a boy. We told your sister over ice cream and the next day, when the results came over email, the three of us opened it up to find out you were a boy! We kept the surprise until Thanksgiving when we shared the news with the extended family. 

Oct 21, 2024

As I approached the seventh month of pregnancy, I started to doubt that I’d be able to have an unmedicated birth again. The anxiety started to creep in, even though I didn’t really have any reason to believe that I was incapable. I wanted another unmedicated birth and with any luck, no stitches and hoped I’d be able to pee after giving birth. (With your sister, I was so swollen that a catheter had to be put in and we couldn’t leave the hospital until I could pee on my own.) I was so lucky to have realized that Jessica, who I met during Bible Study Fellowship, was a doula. She was truly God-sent, because I wanted someone who not only was a believer, but also a birth photographer!

Originally I wanted to have a home birth. The idea of being at home, in our own space, taking the time to labor and be in a familiar space sounded really appealing to me… but your dad didn’t think it was the best idea given our current living situation… so the next best option was a birth center. It wasn’t that I was against a hospital… it was more that I wanted to eliminate any possibility of unnecessary intervention, which dad is quick to remind me that that is the hospital’s speciality. From the get-go, I had a good feeling about Puget Sound Birth Center. Friends of friends had all said positive things about it and I’m so glad we chose to have you there. My only hesitation with this birth center was the fact that it was in Kirkland… and on a heavy traffic day, it could take about an hour to get there. I hoped and prayed you would come when there wasn’t any traffic!

Your due date was June 25th but I set my expectations low. Your sister came when I was 41+2 and every day I went past, it was pretty torturous. This time around I told friends and family you were “due” at the end of June without specifying the date. I crossed my fingers you wouldn’t be 9 days late because that would be July 4th and one, I didn’t want a July baby and two, I didn’t want you to be born on a holiday. 

Weeks 32-39 of pregnancy weren’t super fun. I kept telling people I didn’t know if it’s because I was “older” or what, but I didn’t remember being this uncomfortable this early in pregnancy. This time around, I would feel bouts of sciatica pain. I usually prefer sleeping on my sides anyway, but carrying you, my hips were really uncomfortable. You could say I was ready to not be pregnant anymore. You were also such a wiggly one in the womb, which made me think you would be an active one once outside! You didn’t kick really, but just moved around a lot in sporadic bits… and now that you are 6 months, we are finding out that yes, indeed you are a very active kiddo. Toddlerhood will be fun :)

As I approached week 39, I started to feel what I could only describe as light cramping. I was definitely feeling something, but I didn’t think they could be contractions because they didn’t feel too bad. Your dad was convinced they were contractions, because I normally don’t make much of anything / I have a pretty high pain tolerance. He kept saying that you would be born that weekend. I hoped that would be the case but again, I was setting my expectations low and had it in my mind you would be born around 40 weeks. 

June 18th. I  had made it 39 weeks. The following day (Thursday)  I started to see some light pink on my liner and got really excited! This will probably be gross to you, but let’s just normalize this here and now, I thought maybe this was the “bloody show” / mucus plug… a sign of early labor! As the day continued I saw more so it confirmed to me that you’d be here within the week of so. During that whole month, Dad was very busy with work. At one point he had scheduled three jobs the week you were supposed to come… so it was pretty miraculous he had just finished up a job that very next day.

June 20th. The day was like any other. Your sister and I were just hanging out at home. In the afternoon I drove Mia to U-Village for a friend’s birthday. Everything was pretty normal but I did feel more cramping. Again, nothing crazy but it was getting more uncomfortable. I didn’t think anything of it. Dad got home a little earlier from work that day and we were hanging out up until it was time to leave for Vietnamese class. Chi Hai had missed three weeks of class so I told Dad to go with her that evening. Dad asked if I was sure I wanted them to go, just in case of anything, but I said yes, I was sure. They would only be gone for 3ish hours… even if labor did start, it wouldn’t be that quick.

How very wrong I was!

They left for class at 5:30pm and around 6:30pm, out of nowhere my contractions started to last a minute, coming three minutes apart. I pulled up the contraction timer app and started to time them for a bit and then sent the livestream to Dad and Jessica. Dad called immediately and again asked if I wanted him to come home; the contractions seemed to be consistent but I thought it hadn’t even been an hour yet since the contractions started so surely we had some time. I had texted him earlier asking if he could pick up some Domino’s pizza that I had preordered for pick-up when they were done at 8:30pm. He made his way there to see if they could finish the order earlier for us… then Jessica called and said that the contractions seemed pretty consistent. She also wanted to hear how I was sounding… again, they were getting more uncomfortable but I could still talk through them. We decided I should call the midwives to see their thoughts.

During my last few prenatal visits, they had told me to call when the contractions were 6-8 minutes apart since it was my second pregnancy and the first went fairly quickly. I surpassed those numbers! Blake, one of my midwives, called me back after I rang the birth center and after I filled her in, she said yes, we should make our way to the birth center. How long would it be until we could get to the birth center? At this point it was about 7:30pm. I told her it’d be at least an hour. Dad was still 30 minutes away and the birth center was another 30 minutes. After I hung up with Blake, I called Dad and asked where he was. He said he had just arrived at Domino’s… should he ditch it? I said yes and he headed home.

The bags were mostly packed but while I waited for him and Libby, I tried to gather everything we needed by the door. Dad told me after the fact, that while he was driving home, he called Amy and Reid to see if they’d want our pizza since it was near their house. They weren’t home, but coincidentally were near our birth center! They were so kind enough to re-order the pizza in Kirkland for us and dropped it off. He also prepped your sister as she would also be coming to your birth, telling her that she would see me in pain, but that the pain was a good pain, that it meant my body was working to help for your arrival. 

When they got home around 8pm, the first person I saw walk through the door was Chi Hai and she was all business, getting what she needed and helping to gather everything else we would need. I was really impressed! We quickly packed up and got into Dad’s car. The car seat wasn’t installed yet, but Dad figured he would figure it out afterwards at the birth center. We get into his car, but then it was overheated! Strange, since he had just been driving it, so we had to switch everything over to the van. I was laughing to myself because when your sister came, we also had to switch cars because my car had a flat tire.

The car ride up to Kirkland was smooth sailing. The biggest thing I was nervous about was traffic up the 405, because you never know… but that Friday night it was ideal. I was hoping you would come on the summer solstice and even though I didn’t get to enjoy it thoroughly, the sunset that night was cotton candy colors; I managed to poke my head up at one point on the ride up… you see, I was on all fours in the middle aisle on the floor with my elbows on the seat. Originally I was sitting, but it was way too uncomfortable. At one point, Dad told Chi Hai to take a photo of me for the memories. I’m glad she did :)

As we pull into the birth center’s parking lot around 8:40pm, I wondered to myself whether or not Amy and Reid were still in the parking lot… I found out later on that they saw us and Amy wanted to say hi, but Reid told her no haha. I wish they had! The birth center was dimly lit as we walked in, with the candle lit on the front desk. (They light it every time there is a birth happening). I walked into Room 1, which is the biggest room they had and the room I had requested, and right away I see Jessica! She too, happened to be up north that evening for another one of her client’s prenatal visits and had told me she had a feeling you’d be coming, so she had packed everything she needed already too.

I asked for a spot to lean on as I continued to work on my contractions… I was feeling really faint at this point because I hadn’t eaten dinner yet. Blake asked if I wanted my pizza so she heated up some for me. I took bites in-between contractions and sips of coconut water… At around 9:20pm, I felt my water break and soon after Blake checked to see how far along I was. 9 centimeters! I was actually shocked because the contractions never reached the “I think I need an epidural” point… Blake then asked if I’d like to get into the tub so I slowly made my way over there. 

As I continued working through contractions, Blake told me to tell her when I felt a burning sensation. I still couldn’t believe we were going to meet you so soon. I think I was still in denial, even as I was breathing through the contractions. Jessica was there, gently speaking encouragement over me and snapping photos. Your dad and sister were the best “doulas”. Throughout all of it, the most helpful thing to me was a cotton pad with lavender essential oil on it under my nose. I tried the spike ball for a bit and even squeezed your sister’s hands. She was so awesome, handing me water and also encouraging me. 

Finally I felt the burning sensation that Blake mentioned and started to moan, deep and low through the contractions as I began pushing. I only remember going through a handful of contractions doing this—maybe 5 or so… and it couldn’t have been more than 20 minutes. Towards the end, I could feel your head in-between me and I wanted to push you out as quickly as I could but I held you there as I waited for the next wave. It took all the control I had—instead I turned my attention to prayers for your safe arrival and our health. The next wave came, and I pushed… the contraction had ended but Blake said to keep going, you were already out… 3 centimeters, and then 4. Blake passed you up in-between my legs and I grabbed you. 10:45pm. I looked at you and the first thing I noticed were your dimples! I had prayed that I would be able to have a moment while meeting you for the first time to really take you in. 

The umbilical cord was twisted around your neck so Blake told me I’d have to turn around so that we could untwist it. After we did that, I was able to lay back in the water with you on my chest. Dad, Chi Hai and I just stared at you in amazement and wonder. You were finally here.
We waited for the umbilical cord to stop pulsing and Chi Hai cut the cord! She was so brave and did an awesome job. Blake then asked if I wanted to deliver the placenta in the water or on the bed. I opted for the latter so that dad could get some skin on skin contact with you. I handed you over to him and slowly got out of the tub and made my way over to the bed. Dad was on the left side with you and I laid on the right side as Blake pushed on my uterus to get the placenta going. After it was delivered, your sister got a full tour of it! I’m still in awe that women’s bodies can create a whole new organ to sustain life. 

Blake and her birth assistant, the nurse (I think her name was Rachel) left after that to give us some time to soak you in and have some family time. I couldn’t believe that after all this time you were finally here! The rest of the night went smoothly as I did have to pee pretty early on after the placenta had been delivered. I had drank so much coconut water / water during labor! Each time I stood up to pee, Blake helped me walk over and though I did feel a little weak, I was surprised that I didn’t feel any weaker. We hung out for another 2 hours or so as Blake took your measurements and I ate some more pizza. Rachel was guessing you were around 6 lbs, 12oz. She was pretty much spot on. You were 17.5 inches long and weighed in at 6 lbs, 12.5 oz… an ounce lighter than your sister. Blake went ahead and gave you an extra half ounce however, so I think your records say 6 lbs 13oz. At around 2:30am, we headed home. From start to finish, your labor and delivery was 4 ½ hours long. Born on summer solstice as I was hoping!

We named you Dietrich Ân Ðiển after the theologian Bonhoeffer and also a nod to your German background and after my late cousin Daniel whose middle name is Ân Ðiển. It’s a name we’ve had in our minds for a long time and we love that you’ll most likely never come across another Dietrich ;)

Today you are 6 months old and what a whirlwind it has been. You still don’t sleep well, but your sweet smiles and generally happy demeanor give us so much joy. You’re incredibly loved, my son. I hope and pray you always know this.

Thank you Jessica for being an incredible support and for these special photos. We will treasure them always.

33

Everyone wants a revolution. No one wants to do the dishes. ‘I was, and remain, a Christian who longs for revolution, for things to be made new and whole in beautiful and big ways. But what I am slowly seeing is that you can’t get to the revolution without learning to do the dishes. The kind of spiritual life and disciplines needed to sustain the Christian life are quiet, repetitive, and ordinary. I often want to skip the boring, daily stuff to get to the thrill of an edgy faith. But it’s in the dailiness of the Christian life—the making the bed, the doing the dishes, the praying for our enemies, the reading the Bible, the quiet, the small—that God’s transformation takes root and grows. - Tish Harrison Warren

I came across this quote months ago scrolling through Instagram and it made me pause. I thought to myself, yes! why does no one ever do the dishes? More specifically, why don’t the kids ever do the dishes? It was one of those days… Actually, who am I kidding… those days occur often in our home where I felt the daily drain of doing the repetitive, mundane tasks of running a household. But coming across this quote gave me pause. It was just the encouragement I needed and it helped me to move on and forward with joy. Now the question stands, how do I pass this joy on and how do I encourage the kids to have the same attitude?

Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints and seek to show hospitality. Romans 12:10-12

I printed, laminated and hung this on our fridge, highlighting the words outdo and seek. I preach this to the kids, sure, but it’s more a sermon to myself. The longer I find myself in this role of authority over adolescent teens (as well as my 4-year-old), the more I realize that I have to be able to walk the talk before anything takes shape. I don’t think I’m the first to say that this is harder to say than to actually do. We are so selfish, aren’t we? We’re always thinking about ourselves. What about me? Why me? Does it not matter what I think, want, feel, need?

The last few years (2021, 2019) have been some pretty dark years…. reading back on those words of mine I can already think to myself, “Oh Dorothy…” and writing this now I get emotional because I see how faithful God has been to me. There have been a handful of my friends who have turned 33 before me… and I have often referred to this number as the Jesus year—the age he was when he was crucified. I think about what he must’ve endured in those years of life and why he had to go so young? How much more could he have done? But then he was crushed for our iniquities, he was despised and rejected by mankind, he bore my shame so that I could live (Isaiah 53, one of my favorite passages). He has gone through every single thing I’ve thought and more. So, how lucky I am to have this life… I think I’m just barely beginning to get it.

Most of us want something great of our lives. We want to leave a mark. We want to be remembered. I recall my earliest days of motherhood, I struggled with the title of just mom. I wanted more, to be doing more, to be known for more... and now as the daily demands more from me, I find myself longing for less. Oh, how fickle we are as humans… and how God knows us so much more than we know ourselves. We were always meant for less. Less busy. Less distractions. Less stuff. So that’s I’m hoping for as I approach my mid-30’s. More quiet. More simple. More time to write (fingers crossed!) and read. More time with my husband, with my friends, with the kids. More of Jesus.

32

I feel like I’m a pretty open book, but I don’t share too often online my daily struggles. Ask any of my friends though and they’ll tell you I tell it like it is and I don’t shy away from sharing how things really are when asked… I didn’t write a birthday reflection last year and I do regret it. It’s been exactly two years since I’ve written on this blog… Last year, I had nothing good to say… so I didn’t say anything at all. To be honest, maybe even six months ago, I was in a very dark place. I remember, in a moment of frustration and anger towards the kids, telling Aaron that I hated my life. He looked surprised, as if he didn’t know who he was looking at. I didn’t even know if I meant what I said… I think I did? There were good parts of it, yes, but most days I was angry and resentful. Nothing was in my control. It seemed like no one in my household cared for me at all. They took, without asking… they said things, without knowing how deeply it hurt me or affected me. There were tears cried in my loneliness and sadness that no one could comfort. It seemed like no one cared. This wasn’t what I had planned for my life. This wasn’t what I had envisioned. This isn’t the clean home I want, this isn’t the gentle and kind environment I’d want to raise my kids in, the encouraging and this is all fun and games where everyone feels loved, cared for, seen… no, this isn’t it.

But this is a reflection post and I do want to share where things are at this point in time, because I know it will change. Things have been hard this year too, but in a way that I can’t quite describe. At present, I now have six kids in my home ages 3-16, five of whom aren’t biologically mine, but blood-related cousins of mine… Aaron and I have taken care of the two girls for over 2 years, and the boys for over a year… I’ll paint a picture of my raw, human self a year ago yelling at the top of my lungs, cursing at them, at God, as to what the hell was I doing taking care of these kids… what the actual fuck. I did not know what I was doing. I still do not know what I am doing. But I have learned a lot along the way that has in short, made me hopeful. Somehow, somewhere I feel like I see a glimmer of light… despite the fact that just a few hours ago, I was lecturing them once again… (I really hate doing this. I hate being naggy and micro-managy. Sometimes I don’t even want to do it all. I’ve made it through the past few months picking my battles… and I have picked very few because it always leads to disappointment and frustration. A balancing act that always tips in their favor. How do parents decide when/where to leave a topic? How much grace to be shown? How and when to challenge the kids? If I don’t, does it enable them? If I do, I risk being disrespected and having it all thrown back in my face) These are questions I ask myself so many times… the truth is, I can’t control them. And the things I have asked of them and desire for them, I still need to work on it myself. A question I am always wanting to ask my kids is, “Did you help someone today?” or “What did I do for someone else today?” or “When was there a moment today, in which I thought of someone else and not myself?” How do we live outside of ourselves… to be generous, to be kind?

I’ve been a believer for as long as I can remember… I remember accepting Christ at a young age, first grade if memory serves me correctly at Summer Hummer, a week long vacation bible school down in Olympia where I grew up. And then again in 8th grade, at a conference I went with my youth group, dying to myself, making the theme verse He must become greater, I must become less… my life verse. And as I write that, I’m just realizing that it has never become truer than this past year.

When we took in the kids, so many people made the comment along the lines of, Those kids are so blessed to have you. They’re so lucky. You’re going to change their lives. And it always rubbed me the wrong way… I could see why they would say that and understood where they were coming from, but the thing is my cousins have been through so much—no kid deserves any of it. They’re not lucky to have gone what they have. I’ve realized that it is actually the kids who are changing my life. I have to remind myself daily, and it only happens when I’m able to slow my mind down, get rid of the clutter, the unimportant demands of life and spend some time thinking about the root of why I do what I do, what I’m doing and who I’m doing it for, that I can be reminded once again that this life is not about me. Despite all those feelings above (and trust me, I do believe in self-care lol), that as a believer and as a Christ-follower, didn’t I ask to be used? Didn’t He lay down His life for me? Don’t I desire to be like Jesus? To hang out and to love those who aren’t perfect and daily make mistakes (hello, that’s me)? I’ve spent little time in the Word this year, but the few times I’ve been able to spend some time doing so, it is always a reminder that damn, it’s not about me.

We have to realize that we cannot earn or win anything from God through our own efforts. We must either receive it as a gift or do without it. The greatest spiritual blessing we receive is when we come to the knowledge that we are destitute. Until we get there, our Lord is powerless. He can do nothing for us as long as we think we are sufficient in and of ourselves. We must enter into His kingdom through the door of destitution. As long as we are “rich,” particularly in the area of pride or independence, God can do nothing for us. It is only when we get hungry spiritually that we receive the Holy Spirit. - Utmost for His Highest

God, I’m desperate. I’m destitute. I cannot do this. And I don’t. "You guys are saints. I could never do what you’re doing.” The truth is NO ONE CAN. I CAN’T, YOU GUYS. I’m not a saint. This is Christ in me. You can only do it when you have to. And I have to. I want to. This is the Gospel. For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain…. and it is a daily dying. And when I realize this, I see the glimmer of light again. Joyful because I know I’m not perfect, but someone is making me Whole and Perfect. Joyful because God actually sees something that He can work with? Despite the times I’ve messed up? Joyful because I know He sees me. That is something to be grateful for. I see You too, God. I see what You’re doing.

*photos in post by Iazetti Photos

30

image by Sonja Lyon

Whoa, this is 30. A parent to three, three years into marriage, and barely just starting to figure out how to take care of myself… if I could tell my younger self anything, it’s to not equate a number (in this case, age), with any type of status, success, or mile marker in life. (Preaching this to myself at this very moment, because at 30, I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing and whether or not I’m doing “it” right and I’m anticipating that at 35, 40 or even 50, I still won’t know.) Every one’s got their trajectory and all we can do is encourage one another in moving forward. I’d tell myself to stop the comparison game, because everyone’s got hard things going on in their life despite what they may project or what we may project on them, for that matter. And even though it may not seem hard to us, it’s hard on them and in these instances, we have the opportunity to empathize and simply listen and love. I’m not one to openly share the daily struggle on social media… but man, life has been harder on me this past year.

This last year has been a game-changer. I started to really consider what it meant to take care of myself and how healthy that is, because if I’m not doing that, then everything else in life would follow in chaos. When I hear the term self-care, I naturally think of outside things like getting a massage or your hair/nails done, maybe even going on a vacation… But in this particular year, I mean a deeper self-care… pursuing counseling and following through on that; facing things I’ve shoved away for so long and learning how to parent myself. It’s been something (counseling) that I’ve thought about for the past 7 or 8 years. I saw a mom-friend post something the other day on Instagram about reminding her kids that she, too, is also still growing up and that really resonated with me. I think that even as we grow up, and I might have written this somewhere else before, that we are still the ages we have “outgrown”. There are moments when we are 8 again, or 16 again, or 21 and on and on. And when those occur, depending on what happened then, we may have to again mourn or grieve what it was we experienced or lost. When I started counseling, my therapist asked me if I had grieved the loss of a certain hope that I had had. And I didn’t quite know what she meant by that. I thought that once I was able to grieve, that it would be done, that I could move forward and that was that. But that is so far from the truth. Grieving is a continuous thing. In a sense, rinse and repeat. Acknowledging the loss, the grief, telling yourself that what you feel is valid and true for you… Reminding myself to be patient with myself, to be patient with my kids, to have grace… in hopes that they could also have grace and patience with me. Us adults don’t have our shit together, if anything, we are just learning to unravel and face the facts because apparently you’re supposed to become more responsible as you grow up. Ha.

There has been a lot of unraveling the temporary bandages I’ve managed to slather on myself throughout the past three decades of my life… and it has been painful, learning that the boundaries I put up for myself and my family may not be understood or recognized by those who are supposed to be closest to me. Paving a new way of how we want to raise our family and our kids in this and in this particular part of the world is very counter-cultural to the way that I grew up and the way that my parents grew up. Where is the line between respecting and honoring my culture but also respecting and honoring myself? Where is the line between ‘family is everything’ to ‘self-care and having boundaries’? How do I teach my girls to stand up for themselves and be strong women, but also to be soft towards everyone (men included), even though I have been looked down upon because I am a woman, and because I am not as outspoken as others may be?

Overnight this past summer, Aaron and I became “parents” to two more girls, my cousins ages 9 and 11, in addition to Libby. Another huge life change that came quickly and as a surprise. No one could have prepared us for what we were about to experience. I won’t go into detail what my cousins have endured in their decade-ish of life… but I can tell you that it has affected me in ways that I couldn’t have imagined, moving from cool cousins to ‘parental’ authorities… undoing and reteaching their coping mechanisms and learning how to gently call out the ways in which they are wrong. It has not been pretty. It has been messy. I’m not saying we are perfect. We have undoubtedly messed up, stumbled with our words, wondered if we made things worse… I’ve had so many moments of frustration, feeling my body tense up, shake, curse… it’s difficult. Putting my own selfish desires out of the way to put their needs ahead is near impossible sometimes… I have to remind myself so very often that they’re just kids and they don’t know yet and even when we tell them, ‘you will see when you are older why this is important or whatever else’, I’m not sure it actually helps because they are still young. All I can do is be consistent, present, faithful, even when I feel like giving up sometimes. Another good friend reminded me that this ‘suffering’ makes us more like Jesus, but sometimes I feel like it’s making me the opposite of Jesus. Aaron laughed and said that it only exposes where I’m not like Him and that made me feel better.

It’s been a hard year. I wish I could say that at 30, I feel confident and sure of myself… but I’m not so sure. Sometimes it feels like I just exist and everything and everyone is moving around me and I’m just going through the motions. I am confident that Jesus only gives me what I am capable of and He must really think I can do this or something because I really don’t know sometimes. This all sounds depressing.. but I’m okay. I know what I’m doing and what I’m learning are all good things. I know that I’m in the valley right now, but the best days are coming. And they’ll be all the more glorious. I am grateful for a warm home, Aaron, kids who can laugh and are healthy and a Savior who knows me.