As Promised

There are a lot more sunshine and rainbows in this post as well as an overload of pictures, because I am pregnant no more, and baby is here! (Also, this post contains birthing talk, so be warned)

I enlisted practically everyone I came across to pray that our little baby would come on its own before the scheduled Tuesday induction. Not only did I want a labor of speed, I was thinking it quite ridiculous that after giving birth to three children, I still didn't know that feeling of going into labor.  And with no really good reason  not to this time around, I thought it wasn't too much to ask. I also doubted my ability to forgo the epidural with an induced labor. Not that I have anything against epidurals, mind you.  I just really enjoyed my recovery so much more last time without it.

But as scratched every self inducing labor trick off the list and Monday night's contractions faded into oblivion, so did my hopes of a spontaneous labor. I set my sights on the morning, just excited that the end was around the corner.

And all the prayers might not have brought labor, but they certainly brought the speed. The pitocin started at 8:30am and I was 3cm.  The contractions came as expected, and I breathed and relaxed my way through them.  In the back of my mind, I wasn't sure if I would see it the whole way through without the epidural and had, days before, decided to play it by ear.

Just an hour later I was 5cm.  And two hours later I was an 8.  Transition was coming fast I could tell, and at pretty much the last minute I begged for the epidural.

And I am so glad I did.

Between contractions the anesthesiologist worked quickly and the whole thing was a blur.  But he proceeded to give me the best epidural ever, and it was going to pay off in a big way. I could still feel the contractions, I could still feel my toes, and I could still feel a tiny bit of pain, but it was so blunted.

Three contractions later I was a 9. And that was about 12:00pm.  I needed to make it to 12:30pm in order to get in enough antibiotics because I was Group B positive.

 When it was time to push, I could still feel each contraction and I hoped to keep it short and sweet and have that baby out in no time. But unbeknownst to any of us, he was posterior, which made the angle he was trying to escape, nearly impossible. And as much as I pushed, and pushed, and pushed some more, he made no forward progression.  As he was stuck there, and I could feel it even despite being mostly numb, I was silently celebrating that epidural.  I would have been freaking, freaking out otherwise.  

His little heartbeat stopped for about 10 of the longest seconds of my life.  Right after, the doctor realized his position, gave me a nice little snip (again, thank you, epidural!), slipped her fingers in and popped him right out.

And it was precisely, 12:30pm.  He was a boy, as I had suspected. He was beautiful. He tipped the scales at 7lbs. even and was 19 inches long.  And had a sweet little birth mark on his shoulder.

My Mom and Dad, as well as Dan of course, got to be there.  And in complete serendipity, my brother Ian was flying into town for business, and spent his three hour window of freedom in my hospital room holding the baby.

It turned out that the baby still needed another dose of antibiotics.  And then due to our differing blood types, he was Coomb's positive, which resulted in his being jaundiced and needing phototherapy.  I had heard of and seen babies being put under lights, but our little buddy got this fancy blanket.

He stayed wrapped in it, day and night.  And luckily, by the afternoon of the second day, we got the all clear to go home.  A follow up appointment, revealed that his bilirubin levels had tapered off enough that we would not need to continue the light therapy at home.

The kids love him.  They are so excited (especially Ava) and so sweet with him.  We are ferocious handwashers here, hoping to stave off the repetition of any part of February and our bad health luck.

I am so happy not to be pregnant anymore.  And even though I feel like this poor gal,

with my shell busted right open, the resulting peanut is making it all worth it.

39 Weeks, Where the Wits End

I don't really know what to say. I promise the next post will have more sunshine and rainbows, maybe even a picture of a baby!  And right now, while that old adage of "if you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all" is sitting in the back of my mind, I'm ignoring it because I've never listened to it before.

I'm officially out of my good humor.

I feel like I haven't slept for weeks.  I don't need to be reminded that once the baby gets here that won't change.  Because at least then, I will have a purpose for being awake as opposed to lying awake in physical miserableness, unable to feel my arms for hours at a time, rolling from side to side as my hips scream in pain, waking from the same recurring dream that I'm drowning only to realize that in all reality I truly can't breathe over and over and over again.


And Max has strep throat.


That in and of itself should be a medical miracle given that he's only been out of our house a total of three days over the last 2.5 weeks.  Since he's had and conquered the flu, I've been paranoid about taking him out, hoping that our low key days would help insure that we wouldn't get any more illnesses.

I was supposed to be induced tomorrow.  But I pushed it back a week to my actual due date, March 5th.  I really want labor to come on it's own. I hope that will make the whole ordeal shorter.  But now with the way my (bad) luck is piling up, I'm pretty sure that instead of a nice, swift natural labor, I will be sitting in the hospital March 5th being induced and wondering why I didn't do it the week before.

I can't wash my jeans because they will never fit again.  I am so tired of my belly hanging out because none of my shirts, even maternity ones are long enough.  I don't feel nice anymore. I need a hug. But you shouldn't give me one cause I'm probably carrying strep throat.

In the Past Week of Quarantine

I have nursed this buddy back to health,

and this one too, even though he doesn't look sick in this picture, he got the flu as well.

I've made a flock of felt birds,

and started and finished a book.

I have emptied the froggy potty a million and one times, all the while fruitlessly talking up the merits of using the big potty.



I cut Max's hair in a defensive lice move, making him "look like Daddy"

I have caught a terrible cold.


I have self medicated with chocolate chips and girl scout cookies despite having met my self imposed weight limit 3 weeks early.


I have completed the lung development of the baby keeping residence in my tummy.

I have celebrated the births of the babies of two close friends. Which was fun, but has made the arrival of my little one feel even further away.


I have not had a full night's rest.


I've tried to decide if I have enough hutzpah to do this again, on purpose this time.

I have mourned the 3rd and final child's infection with the flu, despite my many attempts to keep her quarantined herself.

I have had enough pregnant lady breakdowns to remind Dan just how crazy I can be.


But just when I felt I'd completely lost my zest for life, I was cheered up by the sweet notes left around the house by my boys.

The February Blues

January always gets a bad rap but I've never thought it was that bad.  Maybe because it's my birthday month?  I know, it's kind of the let down after the excitement of the holidays, the time for resolutions and what not, but to me, it's really February that I dread.

Historically, February has been really bad to us.  You've got time to waste? Go ahead and click back on either of the past two years and the month of February.  It's not pretty.

Remember, last year, I was sick with the mystery illness which was compounded by a ruptured appendix and a weeks stint in the children's hospital.

February 2011, was the epic list of ailments.  Let me look back and list them again just to be dramatic:

5 ear infections
3 strep throats
1 uti
1 case of pneumonia
1 case of salmonella
1 sinus infection
1 flu

I had really hoped this one would be different.  Why not, too?  It even holds the possibility of the birthday of our new baby. But now that it's day 8 of February 2013 and we've already experienced our first foray into the world of head lice and Max has contracted the other type of flu (A this time), I am not holding my breath, but I am crossing my fingers that by some miracle, the other kids can escape it.  In fact if anything makes me want to stay pregnant longer it's just the hope of saving my baby from a birthday in February.

But right now, having a baby seems a million miles away.

 I'm  just feeling bad for my boy.

Super Saturdays

Today's only item of business is the deserved mention of Max's status as an underwear wearing citizen.  With one official accident to his name (mentioned in the previous post) there are definitely some pros, to waiting on potty training.  I have never even had to ask, "Do you need to go?"  He does all that deciding himself. The extra months of diaper changing may even be worth the absence of the potty paranoia many parents carry as they take their newly trained child in public.

Now I will really enjoy my 30-something day vacation from diapers.


On to topic at hand, the last four Saturday's have been part predictable and part spontaneous; a perfect recipe for tradition-building and memory-making.

Back when we introduced the ticket system, which we use during the week, we also introduced a new Saturday regime.  Each Saturday morning we list all the jobs that need to be done on the white board and then set about getting them done and marking them off.  After all the jobs are complete, we sit down for a "fancy" breakfast.  And here's where my under-achieving really pays off: when your children are used to cold cereal or instant oatmeal each morning, one only has to throw hot muffins and scrambled eggs on the table to make it "fancy".  Bacon always makes it extra special too.

But the promise of the food keeps little (and big) bodies motivated to get the jobs done.

And then, as it has turned out, Dan has had some outing planned for the rest of the afternoon.  First was the zoo, then the RV show, and last week was a train ride to Denton for pizza and ice cream.

We love that Grandma has been able to accompany us.

The train is always exciting for the kids.

In fact, almost exactly a year ago was our maiden ride.  Kind of fun to compare the then and now.

Then (January 2012)

Now (January 2013)

Then

Now (Ava even has on the same jacket)

We stopped at the "cowboy store".

 And I had to restrain myself from buying the cutest infant-size cowhide chaps.  It wasn't as hard as I thought once I saw the $299 price tag.

And for the first time in my life, I really wanted some boots.

They were also more than I expected to pay, but if I ever decide to indulge, this is where I'm heading.

We hit the pizza place and the old time ice cream shop/soda fountain, and wrapped up another great Saturday.

Actually, Dan and I had one more stop at our friends' murder mystery party.  Dan was Hal Fyre, the reverend of his own Las Vegas Wedding Chapel and I was Dee Vorst, the ex-wife of the murdered casino owner.

In case you were worried, we were both innocent.



This past Saturday, after our clean-up and store bought donuts, but before our evening trip to Babe's for my birthday dinner, we went to the Arbor Hills Nature Reserve, which Dan had discovered one really busy day at work this week, when he was perusing the internet. Grandma and Grandpa were able to come this time.

 I even have a version of this picture with myself included.  Unfortunately week 35 brought with it, the dreaded Pregnant Face so this is the only one I'm posting.

 We expected some whining and some carrying of a certain 50 lb 3 yr old,

 but our expectations were blown away, as each child walked on their own two feet and seemed delighted to see what was around each bend.


The "castle" lookout was an exciting destination

and the dog and after dog we passed on their walks, were perfect excuses for a rest and a pet.

And then at the end of our big walk, stumbling on this place was a happy surprise.

 The kids played here, the way kids were meant to play, for 45 minutes and would have stayed longer if we'd let them.

But the Froggy Potty back at home was calling, or at least we knew he would be soon.

The kids were happily exhausted and as we drove home, I reminded Dan that he had set quite the precedent and I can't wait to see what he comes up with for next week!