Hearts in Atlanta

I've been trying for weeks to find time to blog and apparently it took two inches of snow and ice shutting down the City of Atlanta to allow me to catch up on email and find more than five strung-together minutes to do something other than work, sleep or take an occasional shower this month. 

We cannot keep from reading the news reports, Facebook updates from friends and family and emails from coworkers who have been so terribly affected by the lack of preparation and foresight by school officials, business leaders and transportation authorities.  It's unimaginable that friends are still stranded on a highway or at their office or have children who slept overnight at school under such circumstances. 

Our hearts are definitely in Atlanta today.  Prayers that everyone still stuck in the chaos can get HOME today. 

I did not pick up my camera very often this month, but I do have a few to share. 

Henry was pretty excited about the brownie and ice cream.  He wasn't expecting a nice Pinot to go with it. 

Sunday morning, the kids spent some time making drawings for our new Nanny that started with us this week.  Then we headed out to the zoo with the boys -- had to enjoy the 70 degree weather! -- and Ella went on her birthday shopping trip with Nana. 

Getting a better view of the napping kangaroos takes a little creativity.

We'll Miss You, 2013

You were a good year.  Your holiday season was a little too short for my liking, but we packed in as much cheer as we could during the time we had. 

Happy New Year, friends.  2014 promises surprises, joyful discoveries and lots of love and laughter amid the chaos of another year around here.  We're looking forward to it. 

One last chance to blow out candles and make a wish, sharing a birthday cookie cake with our other very important December birthday-havers!

"Whatcha doin' over there? Whatcha got?  Wanna share?"

Magical Fruitcake

One day, these boys will both stand over six feet tall.  We'll need to get them a bigger chair to share.

Santa came!

Let the first annual Mini Christmas begin!  Feliz Navidad!

"What is it? What is it? What is it?!"

Ready or Not, It Happened

She did in fact turn eight.  And I think she had a good time doing it. 

The morning started off with a half-marathon of decorating cakes and cupcakes, with a little help from my friends. 

With the Birthday Girl's full art direction, I'd say they turned out well. 

Let Party No. 2 begin!

At the end of the birthday festivities, the kids got to open gifts from Aunt Molly and Uncle Clif.  I'd say they were popular.  The kids are still a little sore that we wouldn't let them bring them in the car to Georgia. 

From our Christmas baby: "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

xoxo

Ella's Story

Today is a big day for our little girl.  She's turning eight. 

For now, she's hanging on to the slippery edge of childhood but she's beginning to shed all of those comfortable things we know and understand.  Dress up clothes?  Got those.  Stories of strong little girls overcoming stereotypes and learning to always do the right thing?  Check.  Those books have lots of pictures.  I like those.  These new chapter books which I haven't read yet (and really should be to make sure she's not accidentally reading some Hunger Games-wannabe series)?  Not ready for those. 

I'm also not ready for the meanness that creeps onto the playground at this age, and how she's making distinctions that a "character" American Girl doll is somehow superior to a "look-alike" doll.   Before long, she'll be demanding to wear only Z-Cavaricci's and Units (bonus points if you remember the latter).   And I'm truly dreading the thought of managing things like our daughter's access to technology and social media.  I'm fairly certain our children will always be able to outsmart us when it comes to technology -- Snap Chat?  What the heck is that? I'm probably spelling it wrong.  -- and honestly I'm exhausted just thinking about trying to stay ahead of them. 

As Wes so calmly pointed out this week, she's halfway to a driver's license now.  He's lucky I didn't vomit directly on his shirt.  

But we should be excited about these changes, the new doors opening up to her and the opportunities ahead, right?  ...Maybe give me some more time and I'll get there. 

For the past eight years, I have claimed that each new year is my favorite time in a child's life and I'm sure the ninth year will bring the same revelations.  It just sounds so...grown up. 

Earlier this year, I discovered the terrible loss of all of our digital photos taken before 2008.  I do have small thumbnails of a portion of them, but it's been heartbreaking to me and when I remember it I get upset all over again.   To combat my frustration, I began a project to lay each year's remaining photos into annual coffee table-sized books, starting with 2008.  I'm now nearly done with 2013, and after the new year, I will tackle 2007 and prior.  Wes is so happy I've found what to do with my free time between 9 and 11 p.m.

But seriously, feeling the loss of what was not saved in the form of books or stories has reaffirmed for me that the time I spend here, adding to this photoblog, is time well-spent.  It matters.  To me, anyway.

So on this big day, I'll share one story I've not yet written down but should before the details are completely foggy.  Only those close to me know most of it's details.  I spent a lot of time recovering from that long year, but with distance and time, I can now see the gifts where I used to only see the struggle.   

It's Ella's story.  

At least, this is her story told from my point of view.  I am certain her father has quite a lot to tell one day, too. 

One morning in early 2005, I took a pregnancy test in the bathroom at my office (third stall to the right on the 17th floor -- why do I remember these things?) The next week, we made a quick trip to Texas "for my brother's birthday" so we could share the news with my family in person.  Waiting in line at the airport, I was overcome with nausea and I'll never forget the kind gate agent who helped Wes and I to the front of the line.  I'm sure everyone else in the airport was worried I had some awful stomach bug that I was bringing to share on the plane.  Nana was pretty worried about the same thing when she saw me eating her (delicious) pasta salad right out of the container as soon as we got to the farm. 

Within 24 hours, I was the kind of sick that robs you of your ability function and, so, I was quickly on the phone with my doctor to see what could be done.  "Zofran" was the answer but a prescription couldn't be written for an out-of-state pharmacy.   Without much debate, we went home on the next plane out of DFW. 

I muddled through the next two and a half months, coming to work every day carrying a thermos filled with ice chips and an ever-changing assortment of carb-y snacks in my computer bag.  I'm sure my boss was very pleased with my productivity during those days. 

So much for waiting until the second trimester to share the happy news... but on the bright side, at each OB appointment I was told what a great sign for the health of the baby it was that I was so sick.  Ummm, thanks.  It was horrible but everyone told me "hang in there, it'll all get better by 13 weeks." 

We were living in Cabbagetown at the time.  I had forgotten the house was teal when we first bought it -- I can't find an exterior shot taken after our DIY renovations.  Anyway, we loved that house, but it had a fatal flaw: the second bedroom had an exterior door and we didn't feel comfortable making that into the nursery. 

There aren't many photos of Ella and me from early pregnancy.  This is the only one I could find.  It was early enough, in fact, that Wes still thought it was funny that it took me about two hours to get down one toaster waffle.  Apparently he also thought this needed to be documented.

Within a week or two of learning we were expecting, we had put a deposit down on the waiting list at College Heights, put our beloved shotgun house up on the market and began house-hunting in nearby Decatur.  Me being too ill to bother with brooding over decisions, we plunked down money on this beauty after literally 20 minutes of deliberation.  The location was wonderful, I promise. 

Our original plans to renovate the three bedroom, one bath house crumbled as we discovered pervasive mold among other issues.  Soon we were talking to an architect and figured out it would be the same cost to knock it down and start fresh.  So we did. 

Meanwhile, the magical beginning of my 13th week had come around and I was still incredibly sick. 

I remember it was a Saturday.  I woke up at 5:30 a.m. to the Zofran Alarm on my phone, took a look at my bedside clock and had the very clear thought that I could not -- would not -- be able to make it through that day.  While I had never considered the idea conscientiously prior to that moment, I knew in my heart that ending the pregnancy was completely out of the question.  And continuing to live for one more day feeling so ill -- at that moment -- was also not an option.  I woke Wes as the waves of panic began to worsen and told him something along the lines of "either I'm dying right now or I'm really going to hurt myself.  I'm scared." 

Not knowing what else to do, he called the after-hours line for my OB -- we were both hoping to hear some friendly nurse explain, "This is totally normal.  It's hormones.  She'll be fine, just put her in a warm bath or something."  Instead, we were sent to the nearest ER and I was put on a suicide watch.  If that's never happened to you, it's absolutely terrifying.  Piece by piece, by wordless orderlies, the room we were in was striped of every item except the chairs we were sitting on.  We waited, for what seemed like hours, to see the doctor.

Eventually, I was given IV fluids and also potassium, I believe.  Slowly, the world started to make better sense to me.  The doctor quietly explained that there was a wonderful program affiliated with the hospital for moms with anxiety and depression (was that what this was?) and if I agreed to be admitted for the night, I would be moved to the head of the line to be entered in a research program that would pay for all of my care. 

That night I spent in the psychiatric ward is a story for another day.  I cannot write it just now.  But the end-result was what we hoped for.  The following day, I began seeing a wonderful group of specialists who understood how severe our situation was and got me the right help.

In less than three months, I had dropped 25 pounds and was having intermittent, bonafide contractions, compounded by the panic attacks and constant anxiety.  Fearing preterm birth, my doctors (now plural) convinced me to start on low doses of Ativan.   It was very clear that I needed round-the-clock care, and since Wes needed to keep his job even if I couldn't keep mine, Nana flew to Georgia to take me home with her to Texas the day I was released from the hospital.  A very good friend came over to help me pack my things while I focused all of my energy on eating small bits of a banana. 

Taking an open-ended leave of absence from work, I spent the next two months living at the farm with my incredible parents, having a long-distance relationship with my husband and the team of doctors which now included a therapist who I found much more helpful than all of the medicines I was being asked to take. 

The mornings were the hardest time.  Waking every day in a panic, my first thought was always remembering that I would have to try eating again today.  A horrible, endless cycle.  But as I began moving around, taking hot showers and plugging away at the knitting projects Nana was coaching me through to keep my mind busy, the days did pass. 

A few weeks later, Wes was able to visit for a weekend.  I had been for a check up that week with my Texas OB who had placed a note with the sex of the baby into an envelope that we could open later together.  As we stood in the parking lot across from Babe's Restaurant in Roanoke, we learned we were having a GIRL.  Wes shook his head and uttered one word.  "Midriffs."  (True story.)  And then I'm pretty sure we both cried a little.

By 22 weeks, I was managing to eat foods that resembled an actual meal and started making plans to return home to Georgia and to work.  Armed with a variety of new coping strategies and tricks, it appeared Baby and I were going to make it after all. 

Friends and family started to plan baby showers, and somewhere along the way, I began to enjoy bits and pieces of our pregnancy.  I could feel tiny kicks and nudges from this little person who had already turned our world upside down, months before making her debut.  Feelings of dread and resentment were slowly being replaced with feelings of hope and attachment. 

The house was also beginning to take shape.  Not that I was much help -- I had mostly abandoned Wes when my world simplified itself to the basics of Sleep, Eat, Breathe.   He did a phenomenal job, though, and with each passing week, we could imagine life on the other side of these nine months, holding our little girl. 

Ella's first baby shower was during our annual, week-long trip to Sunset Beach.  I have often remembered that week as the one where I really came back to life. 

Surely this is concrete proof that we should all spend more time with our feet planted firmly in the sand. 

Settled in back at home, and back at work, plans for Christmas and final touches to the house were finally underway. 

I was also outgrowing every piece of maternity clothing I owned.  While I ultimately lost 30 pounds over the first 20 weeks...I gained 60 over the last 20 to make up for it.  It was glorious to be able to keep food down, even if it rarely tasted good and I still felt ill most hours of the day. 

Who comes up with these games?

I'm fairly certain this was the last Georgia football game I went to for a few years.  Oh how the world was about to change for us. 

Note the shirt that I thought was covering my belly clearly wasn't. 

Our due date was December 11. 

As Christmas rolled nearer and nearer, and Ella was stubbornly staying put, we headed out to a holiday party armed with excellent and welcome advice from my OB to try a glass of champagne. 

While it tasted fabulous, it didn't work.  On December 20, I asked if I could be induced, fearing spending Christmas in the hospital.  That night, while out to dinner, we got the call that I could be worked into the schedule and we hightailed it to Northside with our hospital bag and 50 other useless items that all first-time parents bring along, thanks to the good advice found on Baby Center. 

I'm pretty sure they had to borrow this gown from the bariatric surgery floor. 

That night was the one and only time I've taken an Ambien.  Despite increasingly strong contractions and nurses checking on me every 45 minutes, it was one of the best nights of sleep ever.  I'll never take that drug again.  I would certainly be addicted immediately. 

At 7 a.m., I took what would be my last dose of Zofran and then Pitocin was added to my IV.  We spent the rest of the morning watching TLC and chatting with my parents and in-laws who were hanging out with us in the delivery room.  The contractions were completely manageable and I remember thinking that labor was no big deal.  (Don't hate me.  The Universe owed me one at this point.)

Despite how the morning was going, I had a sinking fear that "the real contractions" would show soon and the anesthesiologist might be on a lunch break, so at 11:30 a.m. I asked for him or her to come my way.  By noon, nurses were clearing the room of family members so I could get my epidural. 

About 10 minutes later, I was certain something was wrong.  I felt flushed and was experiencing incredible pressure, with some pain.  Worried that the epidural wasn't working properly, I asked for my OB.  Having been 6 cm when she checked me 20 minutes prior, she was more than a little surprised to find I was now 10 cm and ready to welcome our baby girl.  She asked me to do a "test" push and apparently I passed that one with flying colors.  With a look of slight alarm, no nurse in the room and no time to prepare, she hit the call button for assistance and asked Wes to bring over the rolling tray table.  I should add that he first cleared an ongoing game with his forearm, sending playing cards flying across the room.  I'm sure if she had time, Dr. Martin would have laughed.  

After one more contraction, at 12:20 p.m. on December 21, 2005 and weighing a perfect 8 pounds and 8 ounces, Ella was born.  It was the most incredible moment and, even though it's cliche to say it, there's simply no way to describe it with words. 

I'll attempt to do so with (mostly crappy) pictures instead.

As promised, the nausea left me like a switch had been flipped the moment she was born.  All of the anxiety went away, too, and I felt like myself for the first time in so long.  That natural high from giving birth was incredibly intensified; I don't think I slept at all the following night. 

Due to weeks of rainy weather which slowed construction over the summer, according to my builder-husband, the new house wouldn't be ready for another six weeks.  Meanwhile, we made do with a make-shift nursery in our bedroom loft, with gates to keep out curious puppy dogs. 

Dad learned how to change diapers.

Mom tried keeping up with work while on maternity leave.

In most of our photos from those days, Gracie's little nose appears.  She and Abby were constantly watchful and careful around their newest charge.  We miss them terribly, and I think of Gracie, in particular, more often these days now that Brisket is running around the house. 

Eventually, I confessed to Wes and my parents that I had stopped taking the Ativan and anti-depressants a month or more before Ella was born.  I was worried about the effect they might have on her and I truly felt the talk therapy was better for me than any pill I had been taking.  I was at higher risk for postpartum depression, but that thankfully never came (if you don't include a small episode where I launched a casserole dish at Wes' head in a fit of frustration.  Oops.) 

Eventually everyone stopped looking at me sideways as though some post-baby crisis would appear any minute and they believed what I did -- that whatever force which took away "Anne" while Ella was baking was truly gone now.  Like it or not, the 'me' I had always been was sticking around.  

...Oh, except I cry at Publix holiday commercials now.  Not while anyone's looking, of course...

I remember loving those early days so much, despite the lack of sleep and the big move we tackled when she was just weeks old.  What crazy, wonderful days.

In so many ways, that was a hundred years ago, but then again, it was just yesterday.  In a blink, little Ella was cooing, then laughing, crawling and picking out her own shoes as she got dressed for school. 

Today she's having sleepovers, (willingly!) watching football with her Dad on Saturdays and helping keep her two younger brothers in line -- a constant chore, I'm sure she would tell you. 

We are ridiculously proud and fiercely protective of this beautiful girl. 

Even before we held her in our arms, she taught us so much about what matters most in life and how it truly takes an entire family to come together and raise a child.  We learned how to ask for help when we were falling into little pieces and how there is always light up ahead, even if you can't see it yet from where you're standing.

If nothing else, the two brothers who followed her are a testament to what an extraordinary child she must be to convince us to risk going through that madness again.

Happy 8th birthday, Ella Bella.  Now stop growing up so damn fast.

Stopover in Michigan

I'm sitting in snowy Detroit on my way to Atlanta, and so, finally have a few minutes to catch up on more photos from the last week. 

Little Mommy in action. She takes such good care of him. 

Some Georgia ingenuity from Wes: Garbage can lid + Strapping = Ice day fun. 

Michael's Christmas Program

Enduring the line to see Santa. 

Sweet-talking the big man while they had the chance.

From the Frozen Tundra of Northern Texas

Brr.  I miss last Wednesday.  When it was 81 degrees and we could drive wherever we wanted.  Like to a Christmas festival, with Michael's class toy, Curious George, who is spending the week with us. 

On Thursday morning, I went with Michael, and George, on the pre-K field trip to the North Pole Express train.  

Michael didn't like my suggestion that he share his candy cane with George (or me.)  Grumpus.

Throughout the rest of the day, temps plummeted 50 degrees and the sleet started to fall that night.  We've been mostly home-bound since then but we've managed to entertain ourselves.  

Brisket + Snow = Love

Let the Feasts Begin

I'm kind of a holiday geek (Wes loves it)  but this year is really stressing me out.  For two reasons:

1. Last year, we were "in transit" and I didn't have the opportunity to release my Holiday Energy in the familiar ways such as decorating and light-hanging.  So this year feels like two years compressed in one.

2. There's one less weekend between Thanksgiving and Christmas this year. 

Therefore, I'm ridiculously happy this week.  Thanksgiving dinner at the Farm is quite possibly the best thing ever, and then I got to follow it up with a day of dragging the family to Home Depot for fresh garlands and a tree?  Life doesn't get better.  Oh wait, 98.7 FM is playing non-stop Christmas music.  Seriously.  I'm so happy.

Oh, the yummy food.

Gravy....

The main event.

MORE!!!!!

Flower girl dress design session was a success. 

Sometimes, you don't want to share your dessert. 

It was past his naptime but I couldn't take him upstairs.  No one wants to miss their first tree-decorating. 
 

But wait, there's more...I've been a really bad photoblogger lately.  Here are a couple to catch me up!

Somebody turned 11 without my permission!

Lots of important birthdays in November.  ;)

Austin

It was a few weeks later than we originally planned, but our long-awaited weekend getaway to Austin came and went a couple of weeks ago; finding time to blog it took even longer than rescheduling the trip, truth be told!

Our days here are packed, and we wouldn't have it any other way, but man is it good to get away...and even better to come back home. 

Milestones

Someone turned two this week.  And broke my heart.  He's pretty good at putting it back together, though. 

The morning started out with a Face Time session with Poppa and Gigi.  Henry's biggest problem was fending off his big siblings so he could have some time to play with his new toys.

Following some stern words, the Peanut Gallery kept to the couch while Henry was coaxed into seeing what was in the bag.

The nice thing about being the little guy? Lots of help putting your new stuff together. 

"You ready to leave me alone now?  I've got cake to attend to."

Feeling Like Fall

What a gorgeous weekend.  We spent as much of it outdoors as possible, even if that meant adding a few extra layers which is always a pleasure when you've got three kiddos to dress and get out the door.  I may need to go and re-read that "Engaging Cooperation" chapter in the parenting book I read over the summer. 

Henry is convinced that Rocket comes to Michael's and Ella's games solely to entertain him on the sidelines.

Even the time it takes to stand on base while waiting for the next batter to do his thing is too much time for Michael to stay focused and not get distracted by all of the awesome dirt on the field.  We hear this improves.   

Seriously. 

A moment earlier, I missed focus as our little defender kicked the crap out of this ball.  Almost looks like she had head-butted it here!

The cheering section. 

The Pink Pixies  

Checking out the baby elephants at the Fort Worth Zoo.   

This photo, and the next, courtesy of my friend Kelly

Dear Fort Worth Zoo,

You're mostly awesome, but your "Petting Zoo" stinks.  There was one lazy potbelly pig who fell asleep close enough to the fence that I could reach out and pet him, but overall it's a pretty frustrating area for little kids like me. 

Pumpkins: Part Three

The final chapter on our pumpkin adventures has passed.  Christmas decorations may be coming out next week, if Wes will let me at them.   

In the meantime....may the force be with you. 

Pumpkins: Part Two

Much to Wes' dismay, the sun peeked out Sunday afternoon and we sneaked in our annual Christmas card shoot after all.  I've shared a few that didn't make the cut below.  Also, the lazy afternoon gave me a little time to edit some photos from the joint Nana-and-Wes birthday dinner the evening before so this post is not all pumpkins, y'all.

"Ra-ra, I understand you're watching Nana and Dada open cards, but I want to go over there.  Now, please." 

I'm not ashamed to say that I bribed the kids with pumpkin carving festivities if they'd only sit still for some family photos.  It worked surprisingly well, actually.  Note to self...Brisket was more motivated by the treats Ella was holding just out of the frame, of course.

Waiting on baby brother to wake up from his nap to take more photos is HARD. 

That's it.  No more with faces until Christmas cards arrive.  ;) 

Onto the main event.  Henry's wondering why I'm no longer doing his dirty work for him.   

Pumpkins: Part One

This morning, I was planning torturing the family with our annual Christmas Card Photo Shoot, so I spent a little time yesterday afternoon blogging Part One of the pumpkin adventures and laying out clothes.  Then, of course, I forgot to post what I blogged.  And worse, the heavens opened up on us last night and our yard is littered with leaves, small branches and pockets of mud.  So I'm thinking the Christmas card shoot will be postponed.  Wes is awfully torn up about it and is having a hard time hiding his disappointment. 

Part Two of the pumpkin adventures will take place tonight.  It will be a reward for sticking it out through a trip to Sam's Club. 

The obligatory tractor.  

Who got to pull or push the wagon only caused about nine fights.  We went out for margaritas afterward.   

I can't post everything I want to post.

There was a top secret shoot this past Sunday...but since a certain sister's fiance may peek at this blog, I will post the rest of the photos taken since last Friday which don't involve beautiful wedding dresses and a beaming bride-to-be.   

Well, these are pretty fun, too. Poppa and Gigi came in town for a long weekend and if the kids wore them out with constant activities and requests, they didn't let it show. 

Explaining the finer points of the game.  

The cheering crowd.  

Ella's been lighting up the soccer field lately -- for two games in a row, she has scored the only two goals for her team.  The girls are playing so well together, cheering each other on and learning the game. 

Henry pretty much snacks his way through his older siblings' games.  Can't blame him.  

Somebody's getting to be a big boy.   

Halloween brownie project underway.   

(Sneaking this one in.  No dresses pictured.) 

Oh, this one, too!  Ella loved looking at some flower girl dresses.   

Birthdays and Gamedays

There's been a lot of birthday cake flyin' around the last week or so.  (No complaints here.)  Here are some photos from the celebration days and a few in between. 

Grasshopper Hunting

Aunt Molly asked the girls to be in her and Clif's upcoming wedding.  They didn't exactly play hard-to-get; it was so cute.   

Another game...another snack.   

Wes' grandmothers both celebrate birthdays this week and I had the chance to attend Grandmother Martz' 89th birthday luncheon.  Both are incredible ladies! 

Nappers Beware

Nappers beware: Mom likes to sneak in and watch you sleeping. 

To catch up on more from last week...Ella has been working so hard out on the soccer field.  She scored a goal in each of her last two games but told me she still likes playing Defender best.   

Some toys never get old. 

427 Photos

I took too many photos last weekend (which is why I'm just now posting some aside from Monday's birthday post for Michael) and I've already written -- and lost -- this post once, so I'll just paste photos from here on out.  Tiiiiiirrrreeeed.  ;) 

Henry felt he got a bum deal.  

Darn loud roller coasters.  Bad roller coaster.  

I'm out...catching up on Breaking Bad now.  

Happy Birthday Boy

Five years ago today was a big day. 

Five years and eight days ago, this photo was taken.  I don't think my smile looks forced at all.

Due date, schmu-date.  It occurred to me a few days ago, maybe while I was plastering blue icing all over a birthday cake, that I’ve never written down Michael’s birthday story, so in honor of this milestone, I’ll do it today. 

Michael’s story really begins with Ella’s.  I was a very young 26 when our girl was born, and having weathered quite a pregnancy, I can honestly say I didn’t give much thought to the whole birth part.  Luckily I had a doctor who was fairly hands-off about these things and she let me go ten days over due.  At which point I looked at the calendar, saw the real possibility of spending Christmas in the maternity ward and began begging to be induced.  I didn’t know what that meant, actually, but it seemed to be all the rage and I was quite ready to stop taking anti-nausea meds to get through each day. 

All’s well that ends well and we had a beautiful, healthy baby girl.  A couple of years later, now expecting No. 2 (It’s true, women are crazy enough to do this again!  I wouldn’t have believed you in December of 2005, but apparently kids are cool), I was furiously educating myself on all things babies and birth.  Cue the moment when I had this golden idea: “I can do this,” I thought.  I can go au naturale and I don’t even need a class to do it.  I’ve read books, I’ve read blogs, and Ella’s birth was a breeze!  Five hours long, got the epidural twenty minutes before she came along, and pushed exactly two times. 

It was one of those stories that makes other women hate you, until they hear what the pregnancy was like, then they slowly step back a bit in case that sort of thing is catching. 

Michael’s pregnancy, while no picnic, was pretty tame in comparison.  Being one of those lucky few who have BH contractions starting around week, oh, nine or so, I was used to telling the nurses during my check ups that no, I wasn’t in labor yet.  Yes, this happens all of the time. 

Determined to let this baby come on his own timeline, I soldiered past 40 weeks again. Saw my chiropractor two or three times that week and then went in for my 41-week check up.  Alarmed at the size of my belly and concerned I may have too much fluid, I was sent for an U/S.  The technician estimated the baby at 10 pounds 5 ounces and fluid levels were normal.  What wasn’t normal?  I was completely unfazed by that baby-size revelation.  You see, I was taught there’s a two-to-three pound (POUND) accuracy swing at the end of pregnancy.  U/S technicians…what do they know. 

Nevertheless, we were to report to the maternity ward at some ridiculous hour the next morning for monitoring.  I was adamantly refusing any interventions and the nurses saw me coming from a mile away with Ina May's book under my arm.  I had contemplated not even showing up, but Wes was not pleased with that plan.  Apparently he thinks reading a lot is not the same as attending medical school. 

After checking in and being set up on monitors, it looked as though those “practice” contractions were registering as real ones.  I stubbornly turned down the IV and waited for my favorite OB to come on call at 7 a.m. 

Once she arrived and got the scoop, she agreed not to talk me into anything crazy.  It seemed Mother Nature was doing her thing and there was no danger to letting me try this solo for a while.  I did agree to have my water broken.   No sense in spending all day in the hospital if I didn’t have to!  Let’s get this show on the road.

Fast-forward about an hour…contractions were strong and they were loooong.  Wes could see it in my face.  This wasn’t going well.  This was not Ella’s birth.  And who was that idiot who refused the IV fluids at 5:30 a.m.?  As I was now realizing between moments of sheer panic and hyperventilating, I was going to have to get that thing hooked up for forty-five minutes to an hour before the doctor with the epidural could even be summoned to the room.  

I’m pretty sure the smug nurse we were assigned that morning took extra pleasure in inserting my IV and squeezing the freezing cold fluids in as quickly as possible. I’m also pretty sure that in that moment I didn’t care.  Eventually the anesthesiologist came and I was doing my best to hold still while the little needle found it’s way to the right spot in my spine. 

Long story short (Ha! I know. Too late for that.), it didn’t work.  My left leg was completely numb; my right was just a little tingly. And I was completely nauseous now in addition to still feeling most of the contractions. My wonderful husband held one of those bean-shaped tubs by my head and stroked my hair while the nurses left us alone.

Within a few minutes of the anesthesiologist finally throwing up her hands and leaving as well (job well done!), I felt the need to push.  Convincing Smug Nurse to go call my OB was not happening, however.  Having just checked me fifteen minutes earlier, and after giving me a lecture on the potential introduction of germs to the baby, she flatly refused and told me I didn’t know what I was feeling.  I may or may not have said something snarky about how I was going to begin pushing whether she liked it or not and then she agreed to find another nurse for me.  Second Nurse was a big improvement over the first and quickly figured out I was indeed ready.  Smug Nurse was not pleased but ran to get the doctor after asking only three or four times, "Are you sure?" 

In the hurry to get prepped for baby, no one thought to shut the door.  There was a handy screen preventing anyone from seeing in, but unfortunately for my in-laws who were sitting in the hall, screens are hardly sound-proof.  Over the next five minutes or so, they probably learned some new things about their daughter-in-law’s vocabulary.  Oops.

I pushed through one or two contractions, and Michael arrived.  10 pounds, 10 ounces, and 21 inches long at 11:40 a.m. on September 16, 2008.

A friend of mine was giving birth at a hospital north of the city the following day and heard nurses talking about this really big baby that was born sans a C-section down at Dekalb Medical the day before.  News of a woman with freakishly big hips travels fast, I guess.  I do admit, it was pretty funny seeing him in the nursery next to the rest of the regular-sized newborns. 

He was perfect.  And we quickly learned a whole new level of multitasking existed.

Recovery was not quite as breezy as with Ella’s birth.   My botched epidural had left my left leg paralyzed and we spent the rest of the day in a tornado of new-baby ogling, introducing the big sister, convincing doctors and nurses that both my and baby’s blood sugar levels were perfectly normal, constant feedings, and visits from a variety of doctors.  Regarding my dead leg, the anesthesiologist pointed her finger at Big Baby who must have severed a nerve on his way out; the OB pointed a finger at the epidural.  The neurologist said “Who knows?  If you get feeling back, you get feeling back.  Only time will tell.”

I was absolutely terrified but hopeful and did my best to focus on the baby.  Wes made some wisecracks about being able to easily make our house ADA-compliant in no time to lighten the mood.  Thankfully, by the following morning, I was beginning to get some feeling in my toes and by the end of that same day, I could just barely support my weight again.  It was a joy not to need help to get to the bathroom and we were soon discharged.     

Back home, everyone was smitten with our new arrival.

The days are long but the years are short.  I can think of no truer words this morning.  We are so blessed to have this crazy, curious, witty, stubborn, grumpy, snuggly, wonderful boy in our lives.  The roundness of his toddler belly is just a memory now, like so many milestones that have passed by already.  But I know there are even more to come. 

I’ve got my camera ready.

Soccer Season

Love, love, love our time on the feilds, watching the kiddos play.  This Saturday, we got to pack up tailgating chairs, a few gallons of water, sunscreen and team snacks to go see Ella's first game of the season.   

Henry wanted to make sure his own trunk was packed properly before we left home.   

The sunrise yesterday morning was so incredible, I dragged the kids outside to see it with me.  This photo is completely unedited. 

And I'll use any excuse to buy fresh flowers for the kitchen.  This time it was for a cookout with friends...never mind we spent 95% of our time outside.   

Bye-Bye Lake House

Our final weekend at the old lake house was cause for much celebration (see previous post!) and generally just a really good time.  Hard to think that we can't go back until next summer rolls around and the new house is (hopefully!) finished and ready to be broken in. 

Sinking Christmas trees to create fish habitats.  Once the last tree went in, Michael said "Now, let's fish!"  and ran for the rods and reels.