Only about six weeks...Then will begin the thirteen long months.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Maybe you peeps can help me. I have this feeling something isn't right here.
Some facts:
My pre-pregnancy weight before Merritt was significantly lighter than it was before Troy. During my pregnancy with Merritt, I gained just about the same number of pounds I did with Troy's pregnancy, maybe three or four more. (NOT TELLING HOW MANY, mind you. A lady doesn't talk about her weight, so I'm told. Although I am here, in a slightly roundabout way. Forgive me. I always promise never to mention it again. And I always do.) Which means my final pregnancy weight with Merritt was naturally less than my final weight with Troy. After I had Troy, I lost every shred of baby weight in three weeks. (And then that other weight over the course of the next year.) Why is it then, that at four weeks postpartum with Merritt, my scale tells me that I still have a sorry amount to go until I reach my pre-pregnancy weight from before I had Troy??
I know, that was confusing. But maybe your skills of reading comprehension as well as logic far surpass mine and you were able to decipher what I was attempting to say.
The point here is this:
When everyone kept telling me not to expect to lose all my baby weight in three weeks like I did with Troy, I didn't really believe them.
Now I do.
Merritt has had a slight cold this past week, caught from his big brother. (The big brother who had two bad colds in his first six weeks of life, which I am certain completely took away his immune system forever. Please, if you are sick, don't come within a fifty mile radius of Troy. He will catch whatever you have. Even if it's not contagious.)
As I was browsing through some old entries posted on the locked journal I blogged on for the first year and a half before creating this blog, I came across this, written during Troy's second very icky cold. (Of about a half a million. Among other illnesses. In twenty months.)
I'm hoping for Merritt's sake that he has a better immune system than Troy does, and I've been QUITE content with the lack of severity in the little cold he's had.
But now I wonder, for MY sake. . .
(Joking, joking. Clearing that up lest I get emails stating that I care more about my appearance than my son's well-being. I don't, just for the record.)
New! The Sick-Baby Fitness Program!
With three easy steps, you too can get in shape, just by having a baby with a cold!
Step 1--No time for pancakes, eggs and bacon when the baby needs to be held. Grab an apple for breakfast and you're on your way!
Step 2--Nursing your baby every half hour provides comfort for him, a moment of rest for you, and keeps him from getting dehydrated. But, best of all, we all know nursing is one of the easiest ways to shed the pounds!
Step 3--Any fitness program cannot be complete without a special exercise! In an effort to lull your little one to sleep, get your daily exercise in by walking quickly up and down your home stairway fifty--count them!--fifty times!
So, to all the busy Moms with no time for much exercise, grab your baby, take a quick trip to a day-care-center or community park where germs abound, and start not-eating, nursing, and stair-stepping your way into shape!
Warnings: The founder of this program cannot guarantee that after walking up and down stairway fifty times the mother will be able to walk anywhere else in the house for the rest of the day, or that her baby will stay asleep once she sits down to rest. Additionally, the founder cannot guarantee that, unless she is Super-mom, the mother will look like a fitness model--complete with cute gym outfit and flawless face--after following this program. The lack of sleep and lack of showers for two days may take it's toll on her appearance.
Some facts:
My pre-pregnancy weight before Merritt was significantly lighter than it was before Troy. During my pregnancy with Merritt, I gained just about the same number of pounds I did with Troy's pregnancy, maybe three or four more. (NOT TELLING HOW MANY, mind you. A lady doesn't talk about her weight, so I'm told. Although I am here, in a slightly roundabout way. Forgive me. I always promise never to mention it again. And I always do.) Which means my final pregnancy weight with Merritt was naturally less than my final weight with Troy. After I had Troy, I lost every shred of baby weight in three weeks. (And then that other weight over the course of the next year.) Why is it then, that at four weeks postpartum with Merritt, my scale tells me that I still have a sorry amount to go until I reach my pre-pregnancy weight from before I had Troy??
I know, that was confusing. But maybe your skills of reading comprehension as well as logic far surpass mine and you were able to decipher what I was attempting to say.
The point here is this:
When everyone kept telling me not to expect to lose all my baby weight in three weeks like I did with Troy, I didn't really believe them.
Now I do.
Merritt has had a slight cold this past week, caught from his big brother. (The big brother who had two bad colds in his first six weeks of life, which I am certain completely took away his immune system forever. Please, if you are sick, don't come within a fifty mile radius of Troy. He will catch whatever you have. Even if it's not contagious.)
As I was browsing through some old entries posted on the locked journal I blogged on for the first year and a half before creating this blog, I came across this, written during Troy's second very icky cold. (Of about a half a million. Among other illnesses. In twenty months.)
I'm hoping for Merritt's sake that he has a better immune system than Troy does, and I've been QUITE content with the lack of severity in the little cold he's had.
But now I wonder, for MY sake. . .
(Joking, joking. Clearing that up lest I get emails stating that I care more about my appearance than my son's well-being. I don't, just for the record.)
With three easy steps, you too can get in shape, just by having a baby with a cold!
Step 1--No time for pancakes, eggs and bacon when the baby needs to be held. Grab an apple for breakfast and you're on your way!
Step 2--Nursing your baby every half hour provides comfort for him, a moment of rest for you, and keeps him from getting dehydrated. But, best of all, we all know nursing is one of the easiest ways to shed the pounds!
Step 3--Any fitness program cannot be complete without a special exercise! In an effort to lull your little one to sleep, get your daily exercise in by walking quickly up and down your home stairway fifty--count them!--fifty times!
So, to all the busy Moms with no time for much exercise, grab your baby, take a quick trip to a day-care-center or community park where germs abound, and start not-eating, nursing, and stair-stepping your way into shape!
Warnings: The founder of this program cannot guarantee that after walking up and down stairway fifty times the mother will be able to walk anywhere else in the house for the rest of the day, or that her baby will stay asleep once she sits down to rest. Additionally, the founder cannot guarantee that, unless she is Super-mom, the mother will look like a fitness model--complete with cute gym outfit and flawless face--after following this program. The lack of sleep and lack of showers for two days may take it's toll on her appearance.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
I guess utensils like, you know, FORKS and SPOONS are just boring.
See this?
And this?
Look closely.
That is a crayon, peeps. A nice, blue crayon.
Thankfully, most restaurants today don't reuse their crayons, child after child, like they did when I was little. Who knows what would be on that blue piece of wax if they did. I'm sure this fearless fellow would have contracted some deadly disease by now as a result of this dinner.
Unless, of course and most likely, the germs were completely rendered harmless by all that cheese from macaroni which adorns my son's face and the globs of whipped cream being eaten with said crayon.
Because we all know a little blue wax and a few shreds of soggy paper always make dinner a better event, don't we?
See this?
And this?
Look closely.That is a crayon, peeps. A nice, blue crayon.
Thankfully, most restaurants today don't reuse their crayons, child after child, like they did when I was little. Who knows what would be on that blue piece of wax if they did. I'm sure this fearless fellow would have contracted some deadly disease by now as a result of this dinner.
Unless, of course and most likely, the germs were completely rendered harmless by all that cheese from macaroni which adorns my son's face and the globs of whipped cream being eaten with said crayon.
Because we all know a little blue wax and a few shreds of soggy paper always make dinner a better event, don't we?
Sunday, November 25, 2007
I feel kinda bad for the people who live with me right now. I even feel a bit bad for the people who don't, because they are suffering even while across the country.
I am seriously emotional these days. As in, fighting tears at the drop of a hat.
Now, it's no secret I'm dramatic and highly emotional across the board, but things have, uh, escalated a bit lately. Things that I can usually let roll off my back... don't. They stick like glue.
Blame it on being three weeks post-partem. Blame it on the holidays, my lack of love for change and desperate, sometimes unrealistic, NEED for holding fast to a million and one important traditions. Blame it on lack of sleep. Or just plain ol' blame it on me. Any way you slice it, it's NO FUN.
Yesterday, I was more than slightly emotional, leaving my poor husband in a state of sad bewilderment. I finally told him, with eyes quickly filling, that I was just SO tired. He hugged me and said he understood. At that moment I didn't think he did, but upon quick reflection, remembered that um, we are BOTH "just so tired."
Here's why.
Enter Thanksgiving Day at our house.
A particular little boy with very blonde hair and a great big cheesy grin seems to think waking up anytime between 5:30 and 6:30 am is just dandy these days. This results in a need for earlier naptimes. Which, in turn, can lead to some mighty interesting late afternoons around here.
Apparently we didn't get him down for naptime early enough on Thursday, in the midst of all our lack of cooking, you know.
It appears not even that chunk of fudge could keep his eyes open. So much for a sugar high.
Or so we thought.
See this? Notice the red cheeks and puffy eyes?
Here's why his little cheeks are pink and those eyes are so puffy
.
That's 2:07 AM, peeps.
And that's after an hour and a half of wakefulness. And before the NEXT hour and a half even began. I'm not talking a little groggy, whiny request for a drink or a bad dream. I'm talking a child who was WIDE, WIDE AWAKE. Ready to play, read books, go outside and as always, talk up a storm
Notice how blurry the picture of the clock is? There's an explanation for that, too, of course.
Just as I pushed down on the camera button (because what on earth is great and wonderful middle-of-the-night family time without pictures to document it, right?) I heard John trying to quickly and urgently stop Troy from doing something.
And so I turned to look before the picture I was taking had focused.
It turns out that "something" was him dumping ALLLLL the crumbs out of that nearly-empty bag of goldfish crackers. (Affectionately called "Nemo" around here and the food of choice at any time of day. Or night.) I guess he realized there were no more whole crackers and decided the white sheets of his parents' bed was the perfect place to, you know, double check. Fun times.
Finally, sometime between 3 and 3:30 am, he became tired (truly tired) enough to go back to bed. He slept late that morning. Till, like, 7:00. We were impressed. Ahem.
Thankfully for my new-mom-again/nursing mama state, my mother-in-love has been here for the past two and a half weeks and sweetly gets Troy out of bed in the morning, changes his diaper and gets him breakfast so I'm able to sleep a bit longer. Which is wonderful, considering that Troy has decided to make these little midnight happy times a nightly ritual the past couple nights and still thinks it acceptable to get up at 5:30 or 6:00.
There have been a couple early mornings in which John will take him downstairs, snuggle up on the couch with this toddler of ours and turns on a movie. Good father/son moments, of course. Good chance to doze for a few more minutes, too.
These days are long and tiring. And emotional for several of us. Ahem.
But, I have a feeling that in ten or twenty years (or even in a few months, when it's just me and my li'l boys here for over a year) we'll see captured moments like this:
And we'll know that we were living in the Good Ol' Days.
That's what these are. The Good Ol' Days.
I don't know about you, but to this mama, that makes it all worthwhile.
I am seriously emotional these days. As in, fighting tears at the drop of a hat.
Now, it's no secret I'm dramatic and highly emotional across the board, but things have, uh, escalated a bit lately. Things that I can usually let roll off my back... don't. They stick like glue.
Blame it on being three weeks post-partem. Blame it on the holidays, my lack of love for change and desperate, sometimes unrealistic, NEED for holding fast to a million and one important traditions. Blame it on lack of sleep. Or just plain ol' blame it on me. Any way you slice it, it's NO FUN.
Yesterday, I was more than slightly emotional, leaving my poor husband in a state of sad bewilderment. I finally told him, with eyes quickly filling, that I was just SO tired. He hugged me and said he understood. At that moment I didn't think he did, but upon quick reflection, remembered that um, we are BOTH "just so tired."
Here's why.
Enter Thanksgiving Day at our house.
A particular little boy with very blonde hair and a great big cheesy grin seems to think waking up anytime between 5:30 and 6:30 am is just dandy these days. This results in a need for earlier naptimes. Which, in turn, can lead to some mighty interesting late afternoons around here.
Apparently we didn't get him down for naptime early enough on Thursday, in the midst of all our lack of cooking, you know.
It appears not even that chunk of fudge could keep his eyes open. So much for a sugar high.
Or so we thought.
See this? Notice the red cheeks and puffy eyes?
Here's why his little cheeks are pink and those eyes are so puffy
.
That's 2:07 AM, peeps.
And that's after an hour and a half of wakefulness. And before the NEXT hour and a half even began. I'm not talking a little groggy, whiny request for a drink or a bad dream. I'm talking a child who was WIDE, WIDE AWAKE. Ready to play, read books, go outside and as always, talk up a storm
Notice how blurry the picture of the clock is? There's an explanation for that, too, of course.
Just as I pushed down on the camera button (because what on earth is great and wonderful middle-of-the-night family time without pictures to document it, right?) I heard John trying to quickly and urgently stop Troy from doing something.
And so I turned to look before the picture I was taking had focused.
It turns out that "something" was him dumping ALLLLL the crumbs out of that nearly-empty bag of goldfish crackers. (Affectionately called "Nemo" around here and the food of choice at any time of day. Or night.) I guess he realized there were no more whole crackers and decided the white sheets of his parents' bed was the perfect place to, you know, double check. Fun times.
Finally, sometime between 3 and 3:30 am, he became tired (truly tired) enough to go back to bed. He slept late that morning. Till, like, 7:00. We were impressed. Ahem.
Thankfully for my new-mom-again/nursing mama state, my mother-in-love has been here for the past two and a half weeks and sweetly gets Troy out of bed in the morning, changes his diaper and gets him breakfast so I'm able to sleep a bit longer. Which is wonderful, considering that Troy has decided to make these little midnight happy times a nightly ritual the past couple nights and still thinks it acceptable to get up at 5:30 or 6:00.
There have been a couple early mornings in which John will take him downstairs, snuggle up on the couch with this toddler of ours and turns on a movie. Good father/son moments, of course. Good chance to doze for a few more minutes, too.
These days are long and tiring. And emotional for several of us. Ahem.
But, I have a feeling that in ten or twenty years (or even in a few months, when it's just me and my li'l boys here for over a year) we'll see captured moments like this:
And we'll know that we were living in the Good Ol' Days.
That's what these are. The Good Ol' Days.
I don't know about you, but to this mama, that makes it all worthwhile.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Or... NOT.
Now that I got some sleep--plus a two hour nap this afternoon (You want to know what I'm thankful for this year? Bouncy seats. They keep infants asleep for niiiice long periods of time.)--I can attempt to make some sense out of the mish-mashed post I started last night.
Here's where my mind is at right about now:
Thanksgiving equals thankful hearts, right? And thankful hearts equal joy, right? Which, around here, joy means celebration, which, of course, equals food. But now food... that equals COOKING.
Now I don't know about you, but between a newborn, his crazy older brother, a surgery and such... cooking could be an interesting thing around here these days.
The solution? VONS, peeps.
They have a wonderful service deli, in case you were wondering. I know. Because I've had oodles of family who have worked in them. It's family tradition. And the place I've decided to head to when I'm in cooking trouble.
Okay, the truth is that it was John's mom's idea. Making the whole schebang just wasn't realistic in the scheme of things, so we now have quite the pre-cooked dinner sitting in our fridge waiting for the big moment tomorrow afternoon.
It couldn't get much easier.
But, dearly beloved, DO NOT FEAR.
Here is what the far corner of my kitchen looked like last night:
Now that I got some sleep--plus a two hour nap this afternoon (You want to know what I'm thankful for this year? Bouncy seats. They keep infants asleep for niiiice long periods of time.)--I can attempt to make some sense out of the mish-mashed post I started last night.
Here's where my mind is at right about now:
Thanksgiving equals thankful hearts, right? And thankful hearts equal joy, right? Which, around here, joy means celebration, which, of course, equals food. But now food... that equals COOKING.
Now I don't know about you, but between a newborn, his crazy older brother, a surgery and such... cooking could be an interesting thing around here these days.
The solution? VONS, peeps.
They have a wonderful service deli, in case you were wondering. I know. Because I've had oodles of family who have worked in them. It's family tradition. And the place I've decided to head to when I'm in cooking trouble.
Okay, the truth is that it was John's mom's idea. Making the whole schebang just wasn't realistic in the scheme of things, so we now have quite the pre-cooked dinner sitting in our fridge waiting for the big moment tomorrow afternoon.
It couldn't get much easier.
But, dearly beloved, DO NOT FEAR.
Here is what the far corner of my kitchen looked like last night:
See all that food? The stuff that doesn't fit into the pantry or the baking cupboard?
This is just the beginning.
We only have plans for a dessert or a hundred. Pumpkin pie with ice cream or whip cream--your choice, pecan pie, pumpkin bars, fudge, cookies, more fudge that isn't as yummy but needs to be eaten, and reeses pieces bars. We ARE making a traditional corn casserole to go with our dinner along with our traditional ham roll-ups.
There are going to be five whole adults here tomorrow.
Enough? We'll see.
And that's the extent of our Thanksgiving cooking.
But with such things as two children who both have runny noses (exclusively breastfed Merritt has a runny nose at three weeks... what's up with that???) and are not too happy about it, two major spit-up/throw up incidents in public in one day (only one of which was bad enough to warrant having John go into the nearest store on his own and grab me the nearest, cheapest cutest shirt. Fun times, peeps), blow-out diapers from both kids (thankfully usually at home), middle of the night trips to the airport to pick up family members and such... this is just the perfect level of involvement in the Thanksgiving Day Feast cooking for us.
Sweets. They are obviously what we're thankful for right now.
Oh, and though the night is nearly gone... Happy Birthday to a certain dark haired brother of mine, who is now officially old at 17. I keep telling him that, because it makes me feel less old if we are old together. Misery loves company and all that.
And moms, just in case you're wondering, he is six feet tall, the handsomest kid I know, loves the Lord, serves in church, loves kids, plays the fiddle, is responsible (more often than not, at least--he is only one day into 17, of course. Ahem) and has a size 14 shoe and can change diapers.
I'm joking, I'm joking. I don't want to be killed here...
But Happy Birthday, Zach. You know I love ya.
See you all tomorrow. With a picture of what I'm most recently thankful for this year. Not that you could guess or anything.
I started a nice little postie about Thanksgiving and food and all that.
And it just dawned on me that this is a perfectly ridiculous time to be writing blog entries. The entries I write in the middle of the night are always the ones I end up regretting later.
But it is after 1am.
And it just dawned on me that this is a perfectly ridiculous time to be writing blog entries. The entries I write in the middle of the night are always the ones I end up regretting later.
And beside that... John and his mom just got back from the airport with his dad, and everyone else is promptly going to bed. I'm the only crazy one.
And beside that... Troy will be up by 6:30, which gives us approximately five hours of sleep. If we were all to fall asleep right at this second, of course, which isn't happening.
Sometimes I wonder why I'm so tired. Hmmm... that's a hard one.
So... goodnight. I'll finish that post later. The food and all that can wait.
But, before I close my pretty new laptop for the night... just because I think he's so sweet...
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
John and I were comparing the looks of Troy as a newborn to Merritt as a newborn last night. They look nothing alike. Just for the record.
But here is the main conclusion we came to:
We need to take more pictures of Merritt. He is quite obviously our second child.
So since we feel bad about that, John is making up for it by taking half a zillion pictures just this morning. And I do mean half a zillion. In the last fifteen minutes, the camera hasn't left his hands.
Which means... there might be an onslaught of baby pictures around here sometime next week. Hope you don't mind and all that.
Because we don't want our second child to have any traces of second-child-sydrome. Nosiree.
But here is the main conclusion we came to:
We need to take more pictures of Merritt. He is quite obviously our second child.
So since we feel bad about that, John is making up for it by taking half a zillion pictures just this morning. And I do mean half a zillion. In the last fifteen minutes, the camera hasn't left his hands.
Which means... there might be an onslaught of baby pictures around here sometime next week. Hope you don't mind and all that.
Because we don't want our second child to have any traces of second-child-sydrome. Nosiree.
Friday, November 16, 2007
From the first time I talked to the woman who was to become my mother-in-love, I was impressed. I was just barely seventeen at the time, and from that conversation, I would have thought she was too. Her bubbly voice and ease of conversation that night made me have to remind myself I wasn't talking to one of my girlfriends. I didn't realize at the time that she would soon become a treasured friend herself, nor that the wisdom she had to offer far surpassed that of a seventeen year old.
I knew before I met her face to face that this woman must be a very special person. Judging by the things I heard from her son, I thought she was completely perfect in every way... as a mom and as a wife--a pastor's wife AND a paramedic's wife, at that.
(I mean, of course, that John's dad is both of those things. We aren't polygamists here. Just so ya know.)
And--of course--he told me his mom was the greatest cook on the face of the planet. We hadn't been courting for three weeks before John made a list of the recipes he wanted me to get from his mom and learn to make. Part of that might have come from the fact that he'd just come back from being in Japan for two years and eating chow hall food. But still. Then when we got married a year later, she had made me a cook book filled with hand-written pages of her favorite recipes, and you'd better believe he made sure certain ones were included. The fact that I use it at least once a week would seem to say he was pretty accurate in his assessment of that cooking. As well as the fact that when his brother was out at our house last time, there were more dinner conversations than I can count centered around their favorite meals made by their mom. Guys... I tell ya.
John's mom--who is in every way and more as wonderful as I first thought almost five years ago--has been here at our house for the past week and will be with us through Thanksgiving. She came out to help after her great big boy had surgery, and of course, to see her boy's new little boy of his own. And let me just say that once again, I'm impressed. She is a person who unknowingly teaches by doing... by just being herself. I am constantly taking mental notes--and it would probably serve me well to actually write them down in a notebook. Her cooking, yep, it's great. But what I learn the most is just from the way she lives. I seldom see her out of sorts, even though she is living with the pain of frequent, chronic, nearly untreatable migraine-type headaches. I "take notes" of the way she plans out her day, always busy with something, and yet always knowing when it's time to take a break and have some fun. She makes random comments that she doesn't realize are saying more to this young wife and mama than any book ever could... about caring for and loving children, or being a helper to her husband or being a caring friend... and then she lives those things out. She seems to be able to calm Merritt down better than either John or I can (okay, well, except for nursing him to calm him down. She can't quite do that) and always knows just when Troy is needing to take a walk to the park or is ready for a snack. No matter how busy we are in a day, and how many different crazy things happen throughout it, she always seems to find a little quiet moment or two or three to spend time with the Lord, even if it is late at night after the rest of us are heading to bed. And when we talk easily about life and whatever happens to pop into my brain at the moment, she listens quietly and gently to my ramblings, often simply reminding me that "the Lord will take care of it."
Today we had the privilege of being able to celebrate her birthday with her--the first time in ten years for John. She says jokingly that she is "old" now, but anyone who knows her would attest to the fact that this can't be true. Her energy puts ME to shame. We had a big, wonderfully unhealthy breakfast of waffles, eggs and bacon before going down to the beach in the middle of the day. We walked the pier and then played on the playground with Troy. John and his dad had collaborated on getting her some flowers which John gave his mom when we got home. We ended it all with dinner at Macaroni Grill, complete with a waiter singing Happy Birthday in Italian with an operatic voice after assuring us that he couldn't sing. Oh, and presents. Can't forget the presents. Even if one of them has to be exchanged a second time since I bought it on Monday, and I knew it would have to be before I even wrapped it earlier today. Because service is so great these days, I was given the wrong item, unbeknownst to me, twice. And then when we tried to do the necessary exchanging after dinner, the store was out of the one I'd thought I was buying in the first place. Which probably explains why I got the wrong one. But ANYWAY. Moving right along.
The way I see it, the Lord gave me one of the greatest gifts I could imagine by giving me my husband... and then He added a bonus gift on the side through my husband's parents. I know John's mom can't truly be perfect, but I know that she is a very godly woman through whom I've been blessed by being given the opportunity to call her my mother-in-love.
Happy Birthday, Mom!
I knew before I met her face to face that this woman must be a very special person. Judging by the things I heard from her son, I thought she was completely perfect in every way... as a mom and as a wife--a pastor's wife AND a paramedic's wife, at that.
(I mean, of course, that John's dad is both of those things. We aren't polygamists here. Just so ya know.)
And--of course--he told me his mom was the greatest cook on the face of the planet. We hadn't been courting for three weeks before John made a list of the recipes he wanted me to get from his mom and learn to make. Part of that might have come from the fact that he'd just come back from being in Japan for two years and eating chow hall food. But still. Then when we got married a year later, she had made me a cook book filled with hand-written pages of her favorite recipes, and you'd better believe he made sure certain ones were included. The fact that I use it at least once a week would seem to say he was pretty accurate in his assessment of that cooking. As well as the fact that when his brother was out at our house last time, there were more dinner conversations than I can count centered around their favorite meals made by their mom. Guys... I tell ya.
John's mom--who is in every way and more as wonderful as I first thought almost five years ago--has been here at our house for the past week and will be with us through Thanksgiving. She came out to help after her great big boy had surgery, and of course, to see her boy's new little boy of his own. And let me just say that once again, I'm impressed. She is a person who unknowingly teaches by doing... by just being herself. I am constantly taking mental notes--and it would probably serve me well to actually write them down in a notebook. Her cooking, yep, it's great. But what I learn the most is just from the way she lives. I seldom see her out of sorts, even though she is living with the pain of frequent, chronic, nearly untreatable migraine-type headaches. I "take notes" of the way she plans out her day, always busy with something, and yet always knowing when it's time to take a break and have some fun. She makes random comments that she doesn't realize are saying more to this young wife and mama than any book ever could... about caring for and loving children, or being a helper to her husband or being a caring friend... and then she lives those things out. She seems to be able to calm Merritt down better than either John or I can (okay, well, except for nursing him to calm him down. She can't quite do that) and always knows just when Troy is needing to take a walk to the park or is ready for a snack. No matter how busy we are in a day, and how many different crazy things happen throughout it, she always seems to find a little quiet moment or two or three to spend time with the Lord, even if it is late at night after the rest of us are heading to bed. And when we talk easily about life and whatever happens to pop into my brain at the moment, she listens quietly and gently to my ramblings, often simply reminding me that "the Lord will take care of it."
Today we had the privilege of being able to celebrate her birthday with her--the first time in ten years for John. She says jokingly that she is "old" now, but anyone who knows her would attest to the fact that this can't be true. Her energy puts ME to shame. We had a big, wonderfully unhealthy breakfast of waffles, eggs and bacon before going down to the beach in the middle of the day. We walked the pier and then played on the playground with Troy. John and his dad had collaborated on getting her some flowers which John gave his mom when we got home. We ended it all with dinner at Macaroni Grill, complete with a waiter singing Happy Birthday in Italian with an operatic voice after assuring us that he couldn't sing. Oh, and presents. Can't forget the presents. Even if one of them has to be exchanged a second time since I bought it on Monday, and I knew it would have to be before I even wrapped it earlier today. Because service is so great these days, I was given the wrong item, unbeknownst to me, twice. And then when we tried to do the necessary exchanging after dinner, the store was out of the one I'd thought I was buying in the first place. Which probably explains why I got the wrong one. But ANYWAY. Moving right along.
The way I see it, the Lord gave me one of the greatest gifts I could imagine by giving me my husband... and then He added a bonus gift on the side through my husband's parents. I know John's mom can't truly be perfect, but I know that she is a very godly woman through whom I've been blessed by being given the opportunity to call her my mother-in-love.
Happy Birthday, Mom!
Thursday, November 15, 2007
John went to Best Buy last night and came home with my early Christmas present.
(I know he just had surgery five days before, but he seems to have forgotten, so you must too, and instead of lecturing him--it's been tried--simply LOOK at what he came home with!!)
(I know he just had surgery five days before, but he seems to have forgotten, so you must too, and instead of lecturing him--it's been tried--simply LOOK at what he came home with!!)
For me. :) My very own laptop, complete with red laptop bag--at least, it's red in real life, not the 70's shade of peach or something it appears to be in this picture--and even a red mouse.
I'm quite spoiled.
This isn't the only thing he came home with from the electronic superstore and his personal Happiest Place on Earth, but I'll spare you that list. Just suffice it to say that he was able to mark several things off our "to get before he heads to the Sandy Spot in January" list. Things that are good to have, like, you know, a printer and phones that work.
But the laptop I'm typing on right now? The best of the bunch.
Although I'm not sure whether it's the laptop itself or the hip and cutesy bag it goes in that I'm more in love with. Because the bag, in all its redness, is pretty awesome just by itself. Not that it's much good without a computer to put inside it, but oh well. I don't have to worry about that predicament. Because did I mention that for the first time in my life I have my own computer?
I feel like a full-fledged blogging mama now. Just picture me, typing away on the couch or from the kitchen counter while dinner's on the stove. Or sitting in bed after the little people are in bed. Since coming up with all sorts of wonderful and eloquent blog posts is exactly what I'll feel like doing when John's Over There and I'm here with an infant and a toddler, instead of, you know, SLEEPING.
But, just in case, you can still picture that scene. It'll make me feel all nifty spifty. Kinda like my new computer and laptop bag.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
...and this is the short version.
Just kidding.
Feel free to skim if you wish... some people actually like to read uber-long stories like this... and I don't want to forget anything... but the rest of you normal people, don't feel bad.
Yes, we are alive. The earth has not swallowed us whole and we were not eaten by a big monster. We might have felt like it for a couple quick moments, what with John's surgery a week after having a baby and all... but the fact that we're still here would seem to say otherwise. And, I think we were also saved by our parents, between John's mom driving down from Colorado on short notice to help us out, and my parents taking Troy last weekend while John was in the hospital. We're doing good.
As I sit here with a wee little one nursing in one arm and typing away with the other hand--it's amazing how good one can become at this, uh, skill of one-handed typing--I can hardly believe it's been twelve days since this little man came into the world. Let me just preface the whole thing with saying how very blessed we are... to have been given the gift of not one but two precious little lives to love and nurture and raise to the honor and glory of Jesus... it is just unspeakable. I never imagined I could love two little men so completely and yet so differently. My heart overflows.
So you want to know how things went? Let me tell ya...
Oh, and before we start... I'm going to try to not be, you know, graphic, but this is about birth, so...
It all started two Mondays ago with a few contractions. I'd been to see my midwife that morning, and we discussed the fact that I was due on Wednesday. She gave a few suggestions of herbal "labor starters" that can help, but only if the baby is completely ready to come already. I had some good indications labor was coming soon, so I stopped at the drug store on my way home and picked up some black cohosh, evening primrose oil... and a bottle of castor oil. Yum. Again, I knew that such a "remedy" wouldn't work unless my body was ready to go anyway, and figured that if nothing else, I'd get a good, uh, cleansing... so I chugged down two ounces in some orange juice.
By that evening, the contractions had started to get more regular and had completely changed in the way they felt from the Braxton-Hicks I'd been experiencing for the past two or three months. We went to a Bible conference meeting at church that night, during which I started using John's cell phone clock to time contractions, writing them down on a church bulletin. I couldn't really tell you much about the message that night.
Late that night, I called my "team"--my parents and brother, my cousin and my bestest friend. We'd planned to have all of them there when the baby came. My parents drove the two hours out here and my cousin, Tiffany, came and slept on the couch while we kept in good contact with Bethany, letting her know the current status and if she needed to drive over. I called my midwife to touch bases and let her know how things were going. The contractions continued through the night, gaining in intensity and becoming more regular.
And then, midway through the day on Tuesday... it all stopped. Just stopped.
Soooo.... that was a leetle discouraging, but hey, we'd had a good day as a family. My parents drove on home that night, a bit reluctantly, due to work and such, though Tiffany decided to stay a little longer to help us out.... and she wanted to be here, just in case.
I talked again with my midwife on Wednesday, discussing the weirdness of it all and the various
"symptoms" I'd been having, and she suggested that I try the castor oil again, followed by a second dose two hours later.
Ha. Not happening.
I took the first dose and there was no way, as sick as that made me feel, that I was taking another one. It makes me shudder just thinking about it. Heebie-jeebies big time.
BUT.
It worked.
By late that evening, I was again having regular contractions, though by this time I wasn't convinced it was going to be anything more than the prodromal labor that Monday's episode had turned out to be. So we went to bed.
I ended up being awake half the night due to the wonderful cleansing effects of castor oil, ahem, finally sleeping for the longest stretch of about two hours until John's alarm clock went off at 5am. In a groggy state, I watched him shaving in the bathroom and with the next contraction, told him that I didn't think he'd be going to work that day.
By six o'clock, I was sure he wouldn't be going to work that day. I had no idea how far apart these contractions were, or how long they were, but my body knew there was something different. This was It.
We woke Tiffany up, I took a shower and John started getting the last few things together. We called my parents, my friend who was planning to watch Troy while the baby was born, and then I called my midwife, who said to come down right away. We live about 40 minutes from the birth center, without traffic, and it was almost 7am... heading right into rush hour.
Driving for a little over an hour through contractions is not fun. Just so ya know.
But we made it down there, got settled into one of the beautiful bedroom-like birthing rooms and found out that I was only dilated to 2-3 cm, though almost completely effaced. The contractions were getting stronger at about 2-3 minutes apart, but we definitely had some progress to make, so John, Tiffany and I headed a few blocks over and walked around Balboa Park for a while, with my parents and brother arriving in San Diego and joining us in our walk toward the end.
But hold on a minute. Back up.
My dad had been at work that morning when we called to say we were leaving. As a fire fighter, he works 24 hour shifts and was quickly trying to call his replacement so he could leave. He and my mom set up a place to meet along the way, and as soon as he could, he hurried to get there.
Enter flashing lights in the rear-view mirror.
Seriously.
Thankfully, the police officer was someone who works for my dad's city, so he actually believed my dad when he said his daughter was in labor and he was rushing to get there. So he got out of the ticket. Ahem.
The ironic thing is that the last ticket he got was over four years ago, with John in the car, just after John asked my dad if he could begin a relationship with me. Apparently my dad shouldn't drive when there is anything going on in the life of his baby girl.
So where were we? Oh yes, walking through the park. That was great. What with the homeless people everywhere we looked, the business people taking lunchtime walks in their nice clothes, and the free-spirited twenty-somethings hanging around... I had plenty of distractions to help get through these still-early-labor contractions.
Around 1:30 in the afternoon my midwife, Tamara, checked me again... and discovered that I was still only at 3cm. Her suggestion was to go home for a while, be in my own environment, do stuff around the house, and be back later once labor got into full swing.
The thing is, like I said, we don't exactly live around the corner. So instead, we all opted to go to a nearby fancy-schmancy mall, walk around a bit, get something for lunch--which, by the way, sounded about as appetizing right then as, well, anything really gross. Basically, we wanted to stay in the area.
But, this is ME we're talking about, and even in the midst of some not-so-fun laboring times, I wasn't too keen on the idea of walking around said fancy-schmancy mall in a pair of old grey yoga pants, a big and baggy blue t-shirt with a stain on it and a pair of brown flip-flops. So my daddy--who is obviously one to spoil this baby girl of his--told my mama to take my into Motherhood Maternity and get me something to wear. For one day. Because I was obviously, you know, about to have a baby. That's my daddy for ya.
Upon examining the directory at the mall, we realized there was no Motherhood store, but there was a Gap Maternity, which we attempted to find.
By the time we found the store in this huge spiral-shaped mall, I wasn't doing so great. At all. As we all spread out looking at clothes across the several connected Gap stores and the guys--Dad, my brother Zach and John--went across the way to Sharper Image, and with my mom and bestest friend Bethany ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the simply adorable maternity clothes... I was leaning against clothing rounders, moaning through each contraction. I no longer really cared so much about what I was wearing.
They grabbed several selections that I would have been thrilled about had it been a week earlier and we headed to the dressing room. I was suddenly feeling a little panicky.
"You're going in with me, right?" I asked my mom, who assured me she was.
I tried on a pair of jeans. They were cute. But another contraction was hitting.... I bent over a bit and leaned against the wall. They would do just fine. What did I think of these shirts? They were both cute. Just stick one over my head and let's be done.
My mom took the tags and went to go pay for the outfit I was now wearing. Tiffany had come into the dressing room by then and was helping me get my old clothes together.
And then.
And THEN.
I felt a pop. And a gush.
In the Gap Maternity dressing room. My water had just broken.
I started crying. I was feeling a bit, uh, fragile at the moment.
The very next contraction hit like a ton of bricks... labor had started. For real.
A wee bit of chaos ensued as the store clerks, who were naturally freaking out, looked for something, anything, to clean up with, my mom found some underwear from the store, the guys were alerted (John couldn't seem to wipe the silly grin from his face) and we finally got out of the store.
At the elevator we met a lady who wasn't too thrilled with us for needing to go DOWN when she
needed to go UP. I started to explain to her that the elevator was already on its way down, so it would pick us up on its way and then come back up to get her. She didn't quite get what I was saying, judging from the scowl on her face. I leaned against my brother as another contraction hit with ever-increasing intensity and managed to get out, "I'm sorry, I just don't know. I'm in labor."
That changed her look a little.
It matched the looks on the faces of the rest of the mall-shoppers who were watching an obviously very pregnant mama try to make her way back to the parking garage, stopping every few steps to close her eyes and lean against her husband while she made it through another contraction. Quite comical. In retrospect, of course. At the time, those looks did something in my mind that made me want to bawl like a baby.
We finally made it back to the truck--with me panicking once I remembered that nobody had eaten lunch yet, at nearly 3pm, but then completely freaking out once I realized that I'd just told them to go get some food for themselves and that would mean having my dad and brother leave us. Another contraction hit and I cried, "Don't leave!!" So they didn't.
The few blocks' drive back to the birth center was... not fun. The car and labor just don't mix.
But we made it back. I changed back into my comfy clothes and laid on the big bed in the birthing room. My midwife came in and checked me again... still only at 3cm. Ugh. I asked if his head was still ballottable. My sweet midwife looked at me like I'd grown another head.
"Uh, yes... but, HOW do you know that term? I don't even know how to spell it!"
I, ahem, do a lot of reading. A bit of it online. Much of it written by knowledgeable friends and midwives, who, ya know, use terms like "ballottable" rather than saying the baby's head isn't in the pelvis. This started a trend throughout the rest of the birth of the midwives first asking if I knew something about childbirth, then later, often assuming off-the-bat that I did. I was shocked too. I guess I didn't realize just how "abnormally educated" about such things I'd become. (When I saw her again a week later, she still couldn't get over the whole "ballottable" thing. Am I really the only mom who knew what that meant?) Thanks, internet.
For a while I alternated between standing beside the bed, leaning on either it or John through
each contraction, and then curling up in a ball on the bed itself. It was still much too early to get in the birthing tub due to the possibility of the warm water relaxing me to the point of slowing down my labor. So instead, my midwife suggested using the removable shower head to run water over my baby belly. I have no idea how long I sat in the tub like that... probably almost an hour?
Somewhere in there, my dad and brother made a trip over to Jamba Juice and got smoothies for everyone. I made an attempt at drinking mine, but didn't get very far. Suddenly the snacks we'd brought to keep my strength up during labor seemed completely pointless to me.
At some point I started feeling too much pressure sitting on the hard tub floor and couldn't get comfortable anymore, so I moved to the birthing ball.
(Notice that a bedroom suddenly becomes the "birthing room", an over sized tub becomes the "birthing tub" and an exercise ball is now the "birthing ball" just because it's all in the "birth center?" Funny how I didn't notice this unimportant fact until I typed it all out...)
The longest part of my "real" labor was on the ball. It was wonderful, relieving a lot of the pressure "down there" and as the contractions became more intense, it helped to bounce slightly through each one. The waves of contractions were coming so quickly that I felt like I hardly had
a break between them. My dad sat behind me for a while, rubbing my lower back, which was a huge relief.
Unlike with Troy's birth, my mind was completely clear through every part of this one and I was able to remember, even during the most intense contractions, some tips friends had given me while I prepared for this birth. One of the most helpful things was remembering a statement my good friend Elizabeth made after her son was born, saying that when she looked back on her birth, pain itself wasn't the first thing that came to mind. It was the intensity, "like a lioness was unleashed inside her body." When I heard that originally, I shook my head because that certainly wasn't how I would describe MY first birth. In the fuzziness of my memory, pain certainly stood at the forefront. This time, I was amazed--AMAZED--at how true her comment was. It was as if my body was just taking over, and I couldn't really control it. At one point I was (AGAIN, lol) crying to myself, realizing that God had made my body to do this--to give birth to a baby--and that it was Him giving me the strength necessary to get through it. At that moment, the pain of childbirth didn't seem so much like a "curse" as it did something that was drawing me even closer to the God who saw fit to make it this way.
Another family friend, who has had six natural births, said that with her last baby, she knew that the old standby of "just PRAY during your labor" could be, um, a little unrealistic, so she chose two people she knew of who were enduring more severe hardships than she could imagine and focused on praying for those specific people, knowing her short time of suffering paled in comparison to theirs. Going on this advice, I spent a while praying silently--albeit sometimes broken into snippets--for dear ones who are suffering, many of whom we all know through the blogosphere--Heather, Mel, the Wilhoite family, our pastor's family who lost their son in Iraq, people in our area who lost their homes due to the fires...
Another friend who has also had six natural births had given me practical tips--"Let gravity help! Stay upright. See it as a good workout or a sporting event--and remember there is an end in sight. Call out on Jesus, quiet your heart before Him when you don't feel like being quiet... don't fear." The family friend from whom I first heard of water birth, a mommy of eight, told me to focus on relaxing my stomach muscles, "letting it all hang out" and breathing through my stomach. All of this stuff kept popping into my head in intervals, keeping me trying out different ideas as I remembered them. I'll just tell ya... it ALL helped, even if just to keep me focusing on different things.
And then, about two hours after my water broke, while sitting on the ball, my body suddenly started to push involuntarily.
We called my midwife back in. She'd left us all alone for a bit while I worked through this labor. The atmosphere was unbelievably relaxing--soft music playing in a pretty bedroom setting, my family talking quietly around me. But I was starting to panic again, being that I was certain I was still barely dilated and had just the day before read a birth story in which the mom's urge to push came at 4cm and she had to battle against it for the rest of her labor. I was expecting my labor to go on for another zillion hours and yet I couldn't stop myself from pushing.
She came and sat with me for about fifteen minutes, watching me through the contractions to gauge where I was "at." Between them she remarked at how controlled my breathing was and asked where I'd learned to use such deep tones. I smiled weakly. "Online."
She said she'd check me again at five o'clock and that if I felt like my body needed to push, let it! I could be in transition. I was positive labor was supposed to be a WHOLE lot harder than this, so I braced myself to hear, "No change."
But the smile that spread across her face as she checked gave me hope. "So... what do you want to be at?" she asked.
"Um... very dilated would be nice."
"How 'bout... a bit over eight? Almost a nine? Would that make you happy?"
And so I started bawling all over again. And said I was now more than ready to get in the tub, which... someone--John, maybe, or my cousin?--was already filling. Tamara checked the water temperature and said I could hop in there in just a few minutes.
While John helped get things ready for me over there, I asked my mom to read me the scriptures I'd written out on index cards. Transition had hit in full force and I was starting to feel so tired I didn't know how I'd have the strength to now PUSH a baby out. She read the verses to me, reminding me of the strength my Lord was giving me, that He was here beside me and holding me in His arms, that I shouldn't be afraid because He would strengthen me. I was starting to calm down.
The next contraction completely took my breath away. I was laying on the bed from the cervical check and knew right then there was no way I would have been able to have this baby laying in bed. That one contraction was the worst part of the entire birth... the only time I felt out of control and in a shaky voice begged Tamara and my mom and John to "hellllp me... do something...." Tamara replied that I needed to get in that tub. I looked up at my mom, my cousin Tiffany and bestest friend Bethany and asked them to remind me of why I was doing this...
"Because the Lord absolutely led you and John to this place, and to have the baby naturally," my mama said while holding my hand.
"Because our bodies were made to have babies," Tiffany said with conviction.
"Because it's better for both you and the baby," Bethany reminded me. Neither Tiffany nor Bethany have had babies themselves... it was clear the three of us had talked about all of this a few times before. Ahem.
Getting in that tub, feeling the warm water around me... this was the best part of the whole thing. We had candles lit and the instrumental music still playing, and John used a pitcher to slowly pour water over the top of my big ol' tummy, which didn't fit completely under the water. Everyone was asking me if I wanted John to get in the tub to hold me up, which he was more than willing to do, but I thought I'd have more freedom to move as I needed to without him in there--on top of being too paranoid about everything that was going to be getting in the water. It was okay for ME, but the thought of him being in there too? Not so much. So instead my mom and John leaned over the tub behind me and helped hold me up. My mom was afraid I'd float around like a little kid in the bath :smile:, but I was actually bracing myself with my feet across the tub.
I had one or two good, strong (although very different from out of the water) contractions, with just a little bit of involuntary pushing. I wasn't putting any "oomph" into it yet, wanting to wait until I was completely dilated. Those two contractions did it, though, and I was more than ready.
Two pushes (uncoached, with me just following what my body was already doing--the other "best" part of this birth) delivered his head, underwater. The next push showed that we had stuck shoulders on our hands (the other term they were surprised I knew, but I thought was common--"shoulder dystocia." Thanks, internet. :grin: ), so before the next one, I moved to a standing position and one last push brought out the baby.
Tamara and Roberta (the wonderful, sweet and gentle "head midwife") caught him and immediately handed him up to me. They all helped me sit back down and I cuddled my little man with John leaning over my shoulder, his hand on the baby and tears in both our eyes.
Once the cord stopped pulsating, Tamara clamped and John cut it. Then we thought we'd better check and make sure he really was a boy... he was. :) They began draining the water and within a few minutes the placenta was delivered.
Ten minutes after he was born, still sitting in the now-empty tub, little Merritt was ready to eat and latched on perfectly--something which has continued ever since, much to my delight.
Everyone started making phone calls to family and close friends to let them all in on our excitement.
When he was done nursing, they helped me back to the bed, cleaned up a little and the midwives left us to ourselves to love on our little baby boy.
My friend Nicole was on her way with Troy and we eagerly awaited his reaction to his new baby brother. We weren't disapointed. He was a little tired and confused and wanted mama at first, but was soon quite curious about this little "baybee" and
gave him gentle hugs and kisses.
About an hour later, the midwife/nurse came in to do Merritt's newborn check, and get his weight and length. The stats were that we had a little Merritt Will, born at 5:45 on November 1st, 8lbs. 2oz, 20 1/2 inches long and an Apgar score of 9.
While everyone else took turns holding the sweet bebe, I got back in the shower and cleaned up. I ended up sitting on the birth stool in there for at least a half hour with my mom and Tiffany, talking through what had just happened and reviewing it all in our minds. We were all blown away with how amazing it is to see a little life enter the world--as well as the fact that I, the world's biggest baby when it comes to pain, had just given birth completely naturally. Was I crazy???? Maybe so. But it was worth it. :)
We went home that night around midnight and have been completely overwhelmed with the blessing of having two precious boys ever since.
Just kidding.
Feel free to skim if you wish... some people actually like to read uber-long stories like this... and I don't want to forget anything... but the rest of you normal people, don't feel bad.
Yes, we are alive. The earth has not swallowed us whole and we were not eaten by a big monster. We might have felt like it for a couple quick moments, what with John's surgery a week after having a baby and all... but the fact that we're still here would seem to say otherwise. And, I think we were also saved by our parents, between John's mom driving down from Colorado on short notice to help us out, and my parents taking Troy last weekend while John was in the hospital. We're doing good.
As I sit here with a wee little one nursing in one arm and typing away with the other hand--it's amazing how good one can become at this, uh, skill of one-handed typing--I can hardly believe it's been twelve days since this little man came into the world. Let me just preface the whole thing with saying how very blessed we are... to have been given the gift of not one but two precious little lives to love and nurture and raise to the honor and glory of Jesus... it is just unspeakable. I never imagined I could love two little men so completely and yet so differently. My heart overflows.
So you want to know how things went? Let me tell ya...
Oh, and before we start... I'm going to try to not be, you know, graphic, but this is about birth, so...
It all started two Mondays ago with a few contractions. I'd been to see my midwife that morning, and we discussed the fact that I was due on Wednesday. She gave a few suggestions of herbal "labor starters" that can help, but only if the baby is completely ready to come already. I had some good indications labor was coming soon, so I stopped at the drug store on my way home and picked up some black cohosh, evening primrose oil... and a bottle of castor oil. Yum. Again, I knew that such a "remedy" wouldn't work unless my body was ready to go anyway, and figured that if nothing else, I'd get a good, uh, cleansing... so I chugged down two ounces in some orange juice.
By that evening, the contractions had started to get more regular and had completely changed in the way they felt from the Braxton-Hicks I'd been experiencing for the past two or three months. We went to a Bible conference meeting at church that night, during which I started using John's cell phone clock to time contractions, writing them down on a church bulletin. I couldn't really tell you much about the message that night.
Late that night, I called my "team"--my parents and brother, my cousin and my bestest friend. We'd planned to have all of them there when the baby came. My parents drove the two hours out here and my cousin, Tiffany, came and slept on the couch while we kept in good contact with Bethany, letting her know the current status and if she needed to drive over. I called my midwife to touch bases and let her know how things were going. The contractions continued through the night, gaining in intensity and becoming more regular.
And then, midway through the day on Tuesday... it all stopped. Just stopped.
Soooo.... that was a leetle discouraging, but hey, we'd had a good day as a family. My parents drove on home that night, a bit reluctantly, due to work and such, though Tiffany decided to stay a little longer to help us out.... and she wanted to be here, just in case.
I talked again with my midwife on Wednesday, discussing the weirdness of it all and the various
"symptoms" I'd been having, and she suggested that I try the castor oil again, followed by a second dose two hours later.Ha. Not happening.
I took the first dose and there was no way, as sick as that made me feel, that I was taking another one. It makes me shudder just thinking about it. Heebie-jeebies big time.
BUT.
It worked.
By late that evening, I was again having regular contractions, though by this time I wasn't convinced it was going to be anything more than the prodromal labor that Monday's episode had turned out to be. So we went to bed.
I ended up being awake half the night due to the wonderful cleansing effects of castor oil, ahem, finally sleeping for the longest stretch of about two hours until John's alarm clock went off at 5am. In a groggy state, I watched him shaving in the bathroom and with the next contraction, told him that I didn't think he'd be going to work that day.
By six o'clock, I was sure he wouldn't be going to work that day. I had no idea how far apart these contractions were, or how long they were, but my body knew there was something different. This was It.
We woke Tiffany up, I took a shower and John started getting the last few things together. We called my parents, my friend who was planning to watch Troy while the baby was born, and then I called my midwife, who said to come down right away. We live about 40 minutes from the birth center, without traffic, and it was almost 7am... heading right into rush hour.
Driving for a little over an hour through contractions is not fun. Just so ya know.
But we made it down there, got settled into one of the beautiful bedroom-like birthing rooms and found out that I was only dilated to 2-3 cm, though almost completely effaced. The contractions were getting stronger at about 2-3 minutes apart, but we definitely had some progress to make, so John, Tiffany and I headed a few blocks over and walked around Balboa Park for a while, with my parents and brother arriving in San Diego and joining us in our walk toward the end.
But hold on a minute. Back up.
My dad had been at work that morning when we called to say we were leaving. As a fire fighter, he works 24 hour shifts and was quickly trying to call his replacement so he could leave. He and my mom set up a place to meet along the way, and as soon as he could, he hurried to get there.
Enter flashing lights in the rear-view mirror.
Seriously.
Thankfully, the police officer was someone who works for my dad's city, so he actually believed my dad when he said his daughter was in labor and he was rushing to get there. So he got out of the ticket. Ahem.
The ironic thing is that the last ticket he got was over four years ago, with John in the car, just after John asked my dad if he could begin a relationship with me. Apparently my dad shouldn't drive when there is anything going on in the life of his baby girl.
So where were we? Oh yes, walking through the park. That was great. What with the homeless people everywhere we looked, the business people taking lunchtime walks in their nice clothes, and the free-spirited twenty-somethings hanging around... I had plenty of distractions to help get through these still-early-labor contractions.
Around 1:30 in the afternoon my midwife, Tamara, checked me again... and discovered that I was still only at 3cm. Her suggestion was to go home for a while, be in my own environment, do stuff around the house, and be back later once labor got into full swing.
The thing is, like I said, we don't exactly live around the corner. So instead, we all opted to go to a nearby fancy-schmancy mall, walk around a bit, get something for lunch--which, by the way, sounded about as appetizing right then as, well, anything really gross. Basically, we wanted to stay in the area.
But, this is ME we're talking about, and even in the midst of some not-so-fun laboring times, I wasn't too keen on the idea of walking around said fancy-schmancy mall in a pair of old grey yoga pants, a big and baggy blue t-shirt with a stain on it and a pair of brown flip-flops. So my daddy--who is obviously one to spoil this baby girl of his--told my mama to take my into Motherhood Maternity and get me something to wear. For one day. Because I was obviously, you know, about to have a baby. That's my daddy for ya.
Upon examining the directory at the mall, we realized there was no Motherhood store, but there was a Gap Maternity, which we attempted to find.
By the time we found the store in this huge spiral-shaped mall, I wasn't doing so great. At all. As we all spread out looking at clothes across the several connected Gap stores and the guys--Dad, my brother Zach and John--went across the way to Sharper Image, and with my mom and bestest friend Bethany ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the simply adorable maternity clothes... I was leaning against clothing rounders, moaning through each contraction. I no longer really cared so much about what I was wearing.
They grabbed several selections that I would have been thrilled about had it been a week earlier and we headed to the dressing room. I was suddenly feeling a little panicky.
"You're going in with me, right?" I asked my mom, who assured me she was.
I tried on a pair of jeans. They were cute. But another contraction was hitting.... I bent over a bit and leaned against the wall. They would do just fine. What did I think of these shirts? They were both cute. Just stick one over my head and let's be done.
My mom took the tags and went to go pay for the outfit I was now wearing. Tiffany had come into the dressing room by then and was helping me get my old clothes together.
And then.
And THEN.
I felt a pop. And a gush.
In the Gap Maternity dressing room. My water had just broken.
I started crying. I was feeling a bit, uh, fragile at the moment.
The very next contraction hit like a ton of bricks... labor had started. For real.
A wee bit of chaos ensued as the store clerks, who were naturally freaking out, looked for something, anything, to clean up with, my mom found some underwear from the store, the guys were alerted (John couldn't seem to wipe the silly grin from his face) and we finally got out of the store.
At the elevator we met a lady who wasn't too thrilled with us for needing to go DOWN when she
needed to go UP. I started to explain to her that the elevator was already on its way down, so it would pick us up on its way and then come back up to get her. She didn't quite get what I was saying, judging from the scowl on her face. I leaned against my brother as another contraction hit with ever-increasing intensity and managed to get out, "I'm sorry, I just don't know. I'm in labor."That changed her look a little.
It matched the looks on the faces of the rest of the mall-shoppers who were watching an obviously very pregnant mama try to make her way back to the parking garage, stopping every few steps to close her eyes and lean against her husband while she made it through another contraction. Quite comical. In retrospect, of course. At the time, those looks did something in my mind that made me want to bawl like a baby.
We finally made it back to the truck--with me panicking once I remembered that nobody had eaten lunch yet, at nearly 3pm, but then completely freaking out once I realized that I'd just told them to go get some food for themselves and that would mean having my dad and brother leave us. Another contraction hit and I cried, "Don't leave!!" So they didn't.
The few blocks' drive back to the birth center was... not fun. The car and labor just don't mix.
But we made it back. I changed back into my comfy clothes and laid on the big bed in the birthing room. My midwife came in and checked me again... still only at 3cm. Ugh. I asked if his head was still ballottable. My sweet midwife looked at me like I'd grown another head.
"Uh, yes... but, HOW do you know that term? I don't even know how to spell it!"
I, ahem, do a lot of reading. A bit of it online. Much of it written by knowledgeable friends and midwives, who, ya know, use terms like "ballottable" rather than saying the baby's head isn't in the pelvis. This started a trend throughout the rest of the birth of the midwives first asking if I knew something about childbirth, then later, often assuming off-the-bat that I did. I was shocked too. I guess I didn't realize just how "abnormally educated" about such things I'd become. (When I saw her again a week later, she still couldn't get over the whole "ballottable" thing. Am I really the only mom who knew what that meant?) Thanks, internet.
For a while I alternated between standing beside the bed, leaning on either it or John through
each contraction, and then curling up in a ball on the bed itself. It was still much too early to get in the birthing tub due to the possibility of the warm water relaxing me to the point of slowing down my labor. So instead, my midwife suggested using the removable shower head to run water over my baby belly. I have no idea how long I sat in the tub like that... probably almost an hour?Somewhere in there, my dad and brother made a trip over to Jamba Juice and got smoothies for everyone. I made an attempt at drinking mine, but didn't get very far. Suddenly the snacks we'd brought to keep my strength up during labor seemed completely pointless to me.
At some point I started feeling too much pressure sitting on the hard tub floor and couldn't get comfortable anymore, so I moved to the birthing ball.
(Notice that a bedroom suddenly becomes the "birthing room", an over sized tub becomes the "birthing tub" and an exercise ball is now the "birthing ball" just because it's all in the "birth center?" Funny how I didn't notice this unimportant fact until I typed it all out...)
The longest part of my "real" labor was on the ball. It was wonderful, relieving a lot of the pressure "down there" and as the contractions became more intense, it helped to bounce slightly through each one. The waves of contractions were coming so quickly that I felt like I hardly had
a break between them. My dad sat behind me for a while, rubbing my lower back, which was a huge relief.Unlike with Troy's birth, my mind was completely clear through every part of this one and I was able to remember, even during the most intense contractions, some tips friends had given me while I prepared for this birth. One of the most helpful things was remembering a statement my good friend Elizabeth made after her son was born, saying that when she looked back on her birth, pain itself wasn't the first thing that came to mind. It was the intensity, "like a lioness was unleashed inside her body." When I heard that originally, I shook my head because that certainly wasn't how I would describe MY first birth. In the fuzziness of my memory, pain certainly stood at the forefront. This time, I was amazed--AMAZED--at how true her comment was. It was as if my body was just taking over, and I couldn't really control it. At one point I was (AGAIN, lol) crying to myself, realizing that God had made my body to do this--to give birth to a baby--and that it was Him giving me the strength necessary to get through it. At that moment, the pain of childbirth didn't seem so much like a "curse" as it did something that was drawing me even closer to the God who saw fit to make it this way.
Another family friend, who has had six natural births, said that with her last baby, she knew that the old standby of "just PRAY during your labor" could be, um, a little unrealistic, so she chose two people she knew of who were enduring more severe hardships than she could imagine and focused on praying for those specific people, knowing her short time of suffering paled in comparison to theirs. Going on this advice, I spent a while praying silently--albeit sometimes broken into snippets--for dear ones who are suffering, many of whom we all know through the blogosphere--Heather, Mel, the Wilhoite family, our pastor's family who lost their son in Iraq, people in our area who lost their homes due to the fires...
Another friend who has also had six natural births had given me practical tips--"Let gravity help! Stay upright. See it as a good workout or a sporting event--and remember there is an end in sight. Call out on Jesus, quiet your heart before Him when you don't feel like being quiet... don't fear." The family friend from whom I first heard of water birth, a mommy of eight, told me to focus on relaxing my stomach muscles, "letting it all hang out" and breathing through my stomach. All of this stuff kept popping into my head in intervals, keeping me trying out different ideas as I remembered them. I'll just tell ya... it ALL helped, even if just to keep me focusing on different things.
And then, about two hours after my water broke, while sitting on the ball, my body suddenly started to push involuntarily.
We called my midwife back in. She'd left us all alone for a bit while I worked through this labor. The atmosphere was unbelievably relaxing--soft music playing in a pretty bedroom setting, my family talking quietly around me. But I was starting to panic again, being that I was certain I was still barely dilated and had just the day before read a birth story in which the mom's urge to push came at 4cm and she had to battle against it for the rest of her labor. I was expecting my labor to go on for another zillion hours and yet I couldn't stop myself from pushing.
She came and sat with me for about fifteen minutes, watching me through the contractions to gauge where I was "at." Between them she remarked at how controlled my breathing was and asked where I'd learned to use such deep tones. I smiled weakly. "Online."
She said she'd check me again at five o'clock and that if I felt like my body needed to push, let it! I could be in transition. I was positive labor was supposed to be a WHOLE lot harder than this, so I braced myself to hear, "No change."
But the smile that spread across her face as she checked gave me hope. "So... what do you want to be at?" she asked.
"Um... very dilated would be nice."
"How 'bout... a bit over eight? Almost a nine? Would that make you happy?"
And so I started bawling all over again. And said I was now more than ready to get in the tub, which... someone--John, maybe, or my cousin?--was already filling. Tamara checked the water temperature and said I could hop in there in just a few minutes.
While John helped get things ready for me over there, I asked my mom to read me the scriptures I'd written out on index cards. Transition had hit in full force and I was starting to feel so tired I didn't know how I'd have the strength to now PUSH a baby out. She read the verses to me, reminding me of the strength my Lord was giving me, that He was here beside me and holding me in His arms, that I shouldn't be afraid because He would strengthen me. I was starting to calm down.
The next contraction completely took my breath away. I was laying on the bed from the cervical check and knew right then there was no way I would have been able to have this baby laying in bed. That one contraction was the worst part of the entire birth... the only time I felt out of control and in a shaky voice begged Tamara and my mom and John to "hellllp me... do something...." Tamara replied that I needed to get in that tub. I looked up at my mom, my cousin Tiffany and bestest friend Bethany and asked them to remind me of why I was doing this...
"Because the Lord absolutely led you and John to this place, and to have the baby naturally," my mama said while holding my hand.
"Because our bodies were made to have babies," Tiffany said with conviction.
"Because it's better for both you and the baby," Bethany reminded me. Neither Tiffany nor Bethany have had babies themselves... it was clear the three of us had talked about all of this a few times before. Ahem.
Getting in that tub, feeling the warm water around me... this was the best part of the whole thing. We had candles lit and the instrumental music still playing, and John used a pitcher to slowly pour water over the top of my big ol' tummy, which didn't fit completely under the water. Everyone was asking me if I wanted John to get in the tub to hold me up, which he was more than willing to do, but I thought I'd have more freedom to move as I needed to without him in there--on top of being too paranoid about everything that was going to be getting in the water. It was okay for ME, but the thought of him being in there too? Not so much. So instead my mom and John leaned over the tub behind me and helped hold me up. My mom was afraid I'd float around like a little kid in the bath :smile:, but I was actually bracing myself with my feet across the tub.
I had one or two good, strong (although very different from out of the water) contractions, with just a little bit of involuntary pushing. I wasn't putting any "oomph" into it yet, wanting to wait until I was completely dilated. Those two contractions did it, though, and I was more than ready.
Two pushes (uncoached, with me just following what my body was already doing--the other "best" part of this birth) delivered his head, underwater. The next push showed that we had stuck shoulders on our hands (the other term they were surprised I knew, but I thought was common--"shoulder dystocia." Thanks, internet. :grin: ), so before the next one, I moved to a standing position and one last push brought out the baby.
Tamara and Roberta (the wonderful, sweet and gentle "head midwife") caught him and immediately handed him up to me. They all helped me sit back down and I cuddled my little man with John leaning over my shoulder, his hand on the baby and tears in both our eyes.
Once the cord stopped pulsating, Tamara clamped and John cut it. Then we thought we'd better check and make sure he really was a boy... he was. :) They began draining the water and within a few minutes the placenta was delivered.Ten minutes after he was born, still sitting in the now-empty tub, little Merritt was ready to eat and latched on perfectly--something which has continued ever since, much to my delight.
Everyone started making phone calls to family and close friends to let them all in on our excitement.When he was done nursing, they helped me back to the bed, cleaned up a little and the midwives left us to ourselves to love on our little baby boy.
My friend Nicole was on her way with Troy and we eagerly awaited his reaction to his new baby brother. We weren't disapointed. He was a little tired and confused and wanted mama at first, but was soon quite curious about this little "baybee" and
gave him gentle hugs and kisses.About an hour later, the midwife/nurse came in to do Merritt's newborn check, and get his weight and length. The stats were that we had a little Merritt Will, born at 5:45 on November 1st, 8lbs. 2oz, 20 1/2 inches long and an Apgar score of 9.
While everyone else took turns holding the sweet bebe, I got back in the shower and cleaned up. I ended up sitting on the birth stool in there for at least a half hour with my mom and Tiffany, talking through what had just happened and reviewing it all in our minds. We were all blown away with how amazing it is to see a little life enter the world--as well as the fact that I, the world's biggest baby when it comes to pain, had just given birth completely naturally. Was I crazy???? Maybe so. But it was worth it. :)
We went home that night around midnight and have been completely overwhelmed with the blessing of having two precious boys ever since.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Okay, so I keep trying to get on here and finish writing up the story of Merritt entering the world, but things have been slightly, uh, crazy around here. And given that it's no secret that this blog is NOT the place to go if you want a story that is short and sweet... I'm only about three-fourths of the way done writing up that birth story post.BUT, story or no story at this time, I do need to ask you all to pray if you are able.The daddy in that picture to the left is about to go in for surgery today--he's having his gall bladder removed. Troy is with my parents for the weekend (his first time away overnight--which is currently wreaking havoc on this hormonal mama's emotional state), so it will just be me and baby Merritt at the hospital with Daddy until this afternoon, when John's mom is coming in from Colorado. (Wonderful, glorious thing--we haven't seen her in almost a year!!)
So, yes, while we do like to pack in all in, and I so greatly appreciate all your prayers for us as we've welcomed our new baby, I'd really appreciate a few more for my hubby today. Love to all, my peeps!
Updated: Thanks so much for all your prayers... we seriously and truly appreciate them.
John is currently sitting in bed, feeling pretty good on Day 2 of surgery recovery. Thankfully, this was a laproscopic surgery, so the recovery is quite a bit easier than it would be otherwise. Although it is really just the Lord's doing that they didn't have to switch to a regular incision during surgery... his gall bladder was five times the size of a normal one and probably hasn't "worked" for several years. I'll spare you the rest of the gory details, but let it suffice to say that it really, really needed to come out. Ahem. Lovely.
So now we're praying for a speedy recovery, no infections of any of his four incisions or an internal infection (because his gall bladder was so huge it was stuck to his liver, and when pulled away from it, the gall bladder left some bile in his abdomen which could cause infection if they didn't clean it well enough).
Oh, and for a toddler, when he comes home tomorrow, who understands to some extent that he can't climb on, hit or wrestle with Daddy. That would be helpful.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Announcing the arrival of
Merritt Will
Born on November 1, 2007
5:45 pm
8lbs. 2oz.
20 1/2 inches
"This is the Lord's doing; it is marvellous in our eyes." Lam. 118:23
Along with the story. Because you know there is always a story with me.
But let me just tell you... he is absolutely precious. Simply adorable. Not that I'm biased or anything.
