Things About Me

1. My favorite colour is blue
2. I was born in Tulsa, OK
3. I was raised in Carlisle, PA
4. My parents have been married for 31 years
5. My grand-parents have been married for 53 years
6. I met Brad at my old job, when I was managing a restaurant in my hometown
7. I got married in 2005 at 21
8. We got married twice
9. Our first wedding was at the county courthouse on B's lunch break
10. Our second wedding was a big Catholic wedding
11. I wore my flip flops under my wedding dress
12. I knew the day I met B that he was The One
13. He asked me to marry him for the first time 4 days after we met
14. I have never thought I could feel so comfortable with someone
15. I hate when he is not home
16. I have three amazing girls and one delightfully charming little boy
17. I am proudly nursing J and will likely nurse him until he self-weans, whenever that may be
18. I wish breastfeeding were more of a priority in our society
19. I was lucky enough to have been breastfed for well over a year
20. I want to add one more child to our family
21. I am the middle of three children
22. My sister is one of my best friends
23. My brother and I fought like cats and dogs when we were younger, and now are incredibly close
24. I have always wanted children
25. I want to adopt
26. I want to homeschool
27. I want to be a midwife
28. I would love to live in a communal setting
29. I hate crowds unless B is with me
30. I Have never had a ‘boys are yucky’ phase
31. I love to sing
32. I used to dream about going on American Idol
33. I wanted to major in music and become a professional singer
34. I am happiest when I'm singing for a crowd
35. I have terrible stage fright
36. I hope that at least one of my children has musical ability
37. I wanted to be a gymnast
38. I performed in two different show choirs in high school
39. I was in three high school musicals
40. I was in an elite audition only choir in college
41. I was in the marching band in high school
42. I wanted to be in a drum corp, but played a woodwind, not brass
43. I didn't want to go to college right after high school, but went anyway
44. I wanted to go to culinary school, but didn't think I'd be supported
45. I've finally found what I'm meant to do with my life...now I just need to get there
46. I spent one of the best months of my life in Spain with my mom and brother
47. I speak Spanish almost fluently
48. I only spent a semester and a half in college, then came home
49. I was bulimic
50. I nearly became addicted to pain killers
51. I nearly died twice
52. I am a Christian
53. I have found the church that is best for me and my family
54. I was baptized and raised Catholic
55. I won't be getting my degree until my babies are old enough for preschool
56. I love a good debate
57. As a child I was addicted to the Boxcar Children, the Babysitter's Club and Judy Bloom novels
58. My favorite books are trashy beach reads
59. My favorite kids books are Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein
60. My favorite movies are The Princess Bride, Labyrinth, Coyote Ugly, etc.
61. I love all music except rap
62. I love to dress up
63. I've been blond, brunette and a red head.
64. I have fewer clothes than B
65. I wear lounge clothes almost exclusively at home
66. I hate having things (socks and shoes)on my feet
67. I hate feet (my own included)
68. I love looking at other people's pictures in their homes
69. I love to cross stitch
70. I have worked as a cashier, receptionist, office temp, a restaurant manager, a waitress, and a babysitter.
71. I can be lazy.
72. I love to bake
73. I like window shopping
74. I am very sensitive to scents
75. I love that I'm able to nurse in public, and dare anyone to challenge me
76. I am a Libra
77. I was born in 1983
78. I want 2 more tattoos.
79. I have 2 tattoos : bunch of snapdragons on my lower back and healing hands on my left hip
80. I love to travel
81. I have hazel eyes that change color with my mood
82. I am not afraid of getting older
83. I have one dog, "Kahlua"
84. I am allergic to cats
85. I would start knitting but don’t have money for tools
86. I want to make clothes
87. I watch too much TV
88. I love to sew
89. I love to dream of things to make for my family
90. I had asthma as a kid
91. I have had 1 major surgery (ureter re-implantation) and got over 100 stitches when a sink shattered and sliced through my thigh
92. Pedestal sinks scare me, and I desperately try not to touch them when I wash my hands
93. I once spent an afternoon eating sugar cookies and swatting wasps
94. I once killed a rattlesnake
95. I had a crush on one of my childhood babysitters, who is now my best friends' fiance
96. I don't like to take my kids to the doctor
97. I love staying at home
98. I would like to have more friends IRL

Hangin' Round

Not much to report.

J seems to be much more high needs than his sisters. Not that he's a difficult baby, by any means, but he likes things done a certain way, and knows what he wants. No problem, just a tad draining at times.

School is better for S1. As of today (3 days in) she no longer wants to be homeschooled, but instead LOVES school. She found her groove, apparently. All good news.

Here are a few pictures from playing around the other day:

First Day of School!

V and S1 had their first day of school yesterday. Very exciting, but the build up was a bit much for S1, we think. Apparently she spent the majority of the afternoon in tears, and was so exhausted from the emotional roller coaster that she went to bed at 6 last night, before she'd even had dinner.

Hopefully she'll find her groove soon. There are many adjustments that need to be made on everyone's part in order to make this road easier for everyone.

Whoops!

I have been chastised for not updating.

It's not my fault! Blogger had a seizure and wouldn't let me in to my account to add new posts. For real.

We are still fully in the Land of Teeth. S2 has all 4 molars coming in at once. They finally broke the skin about 2 weeks ago, and now she's working on all of the bumps and nooks and crannies that come along with molars. No fun. J's first two teeth popped through simultaneously the other night, accompanied by a few sleepless nights where he just laid there half-asleep and moaned. Poor little man was NOT happy. I went and got Orajel Nighttime for him (after all the homeopathic options failed to work on him) and the first night we used it, he slept for 6 1/2 hours straight, and I woke up with mastitis. I am miserable. Hurts like crazy, fever, chills, basically I feel like I have the flu. I've been trying to break up the plugged duct which seems to be working. Hopefully, I'll be okay tomorrow morning.

Kenny Chesney concert is tomorrow! As of right now, I'm not going. If, by some karmic luck, I am not feverish and can sneeze without crying in pain, I'll likely go. Weather's supposed to be h.o.t. (above 100) so if I'm feverish I should stay home methinks. Sitting in that kind of heat is what we call a Bad Idea. Fingers crossed!

Moving closer to crawling every day. S2 is great motivation for J, mostly because she crawls over and snatches toys from him, and then crawls away. Heh.

S2 is learning more and more words every day. Now we have:
mama
daddy
diddy (doggie)
sissy
sydna (S1)
vic or toto or tora (V)
jacks-uh (J)
papaw
no
down
kickin (chicken)
kan kay (pancake)
uh-oh
juse (juice)
deck guh (thank you)
plt (please)
dat (that)
buh-bye
go
up
scoo me (excuse me...used once)
guh (good)
yay
and today, we got Sa-mah-ma

And she signs
eat
change
night-night
pretty
yay
more
baby
bye-bye

Verbal explosion indeed!

Growth Charts

Just for fun.

More new words! "Scoo me" (excuse me), "kick in" (chicken) and "seet" (feet). The last two both occurred for the first time tonight, within about half an hour of each other, oddly enough. Like I said before though, she waits until she knows she can do something and then she takes off. Amazing, truly. She also signs "change" now, and has connected it with having a soiled diaper. It's amazing.

J is THIS close to crawling. While at my friend's house the other night, he pushed up on his hands and knees and crawled about three paces in order to get a truck that was just out of his reach. B took this to mean that we must get him "boy toys" because otherwise, he'll never crawl at our house. I think he'll be fine.

Both babies want so desperately to be big kids. J gets frustrated when his sisters walk/crawl out of the room and he can't follow, and S2 gets frustrated when her sisters run out of the room without her, or do pretty much anything that she can't follow. Tonight, I was brushing V and S1's hair before their bath, and S2 crawled over and stood in front of me signing "pretty" and whining until I brushed her hair too.

We're fully in the throes of toddler-dom, and the "Terrible Twos" have started really early. It does seem to be a little easier to handle than it was with S1, however, as we're doing a lot more validation and redirection, and a lot less sighing and eye-rolling and getting frustrated. We're parenting differently, and all four kids seem to be thriving as a result.

Not much else is new. We found a soccer class for V to participate in this fall, so we may end up taking the girls on Tuesday and Wednesday nights, at least for the 8wks that S1 is in gymnastics, after which we may switch back to Wednesday. Not really sure yet.

I'll be taking the tax preparer course from Jackson Hewitt, and then I'll work as a tax preparer this season in the evenings, just for something to do to get me out of the house for a few hours. I need a little time alone each day in order to feel human.

15 month NICU clinic

Wednesday was S2's 15 month NICU developmental clinic appointment.

It was not so much fun.

Overall, she's fine. She's ahead of the game verbally (about 15 words and 6 or 7 signs now), and cognitively as well. She's very socially conscious, and very analytical. As far as physical development is concerned, they're not concerned that she's not walking yet, because she is at least starting the process. She pulls up and cruises, and has graduated from the commando crawl to the more traditional hands-and-knees position. Her fine motor skills are pretty good too. She drew on paper with a crayon, put blocks in a cup, took off her shoes and socks, and tried to put a dowel in the peg board (albeit unsuccessfully).

The main sticky point is her weight. She weighs 21 1/2lbs, and is 31" tall. She's average. Middle of the road average. She's between the 40th and 50th percentile for weight, and the 65th-75th for height. The concern is that she didn't gain "enough" weight between her last appointment (in April) and now. Let's see...she weight 3lb at birth, which means that she's gained 18 1/2 lbs and grown 14" in less than 16 months. She is on the charts, following her normal curve, and thriving. She eats constantly...she's a grazer. They said that if she hadn't gained "enough" weight by February, they would look in to putting her on growth hormones. Um, no. She's healthy, just thin. She doesn't need to be chunky, and frankly, that would NOT be healthy, as it's contrary to her natural body type.

These appointments do nothing but stress her and I out. For starters, I hate being in that hospital. It holds way too many negative memories and feelings for me. The appointments are supposed to be strength-centered, but instead turn in to conversations about what she's NOT doing, instead of what she IS doing. Like almost speaking in sentences. She dropped her toy, looked at me and said, "mama, uh-oh boom." Then when I gave it back to her, said, "deck guh" (thank you). We are required to strip her down to her diaper and leave her like that for the duration of the appointment, which usually means sitting in a 70 degree room for up to an hour with no clothes on. By the time we left yesterday, she practically dressed herself she was so cold.

So, after discussing all of that, B and I have decided to discontinue these assessments. She still sees her pediatrician every 3-6 months, and he knows her better, because he also sees her at her brother's appointments, which of course are not at the same time as hers, so both kids get seen every 2-4 months. WE know she's healthy, and on track, and doing everything she's supposed to be doing. After getting to bond with her, I know her personality well enough to know that one of these days, she's just gonna stand up and walk across the room, because that's her way.

She's healthy, she's happy, and she's growing and changing every day. And I don't need a "professional" to tell me that.

We're grown-ups after all

B and I filed bankruptcy a few months ago. After S2's 4wk NICU stay, and the subsequent almost $60K in medical bills, we really had no other choice.

We've been trying for some time to figure out how to rebuild our credit. We'll be getting secured credit cards soon in order for both of us to work on our credit ratings separately, but tonight we took our first step to rebuild it together.

B's car is dead as dead can be. His parents very graciously gave it to us almost 2 years ago, and we've run it as far as it will go. It would cost almost 3 times its value to totally repair it. We called a dealer who specializes in working with bankrupt clients, and had a meeting with him tonight at 7. By 8:30, we were signing the last of the papers on the new car that B will drive.

It's a 2005 red Ford Taurus with 33K miles.

This is the first thing we've been able to get on credit on our own merit. We're so thankful and grateful that we were able to take th necessary steps to be able to recover from our severe financial burden.

As the anniversary gift plaque from my parents reads: Faith makes things possible...not easy.

The greatest gift

For Christmas a few years ago, Uncle K and Aunt B got S1 a pink plastic guitar. We got her big, over-sized, heart-shaped glasses for her birthday that year, and the combined product is the ultimate display of a rock star from a child's imagination.

This combination gift has enthralled all four kids, and they take turns passing it around the room and entertaining each other. Most recently, S1 wore the glasses and strummed the guitar while S2 danced.

Here it is:

Party animals!

J and S2 and I just got back from a birthday party for my friend's son, who turned 1 on 8/2. It was a heck of a party! Full sized and baby-sized moon bounces, a baby pool and kiddie pool, a huge bonfire, great food (and a truly amazing *rain-forest cake!), and wonderful company. My friend was frazzled as all get out, but everyone was thoroughly enjoying each others' company.

The whole point of this post however, is to marvel at how well J and S2 did! S2 usually naps about 4 hours in the morning and then an hour in the afternoon, but today she only napped for about an hour and a half. 45 minutes at mom and dad's, and 45 minutes on the way home. However, she was playing and laughing and having a grand old time right up until we left at 9:30. She's usually in bed by 6:45. She had one teeny meltdown early in the evening, but other than that, nothing. J didn't cry once all evening (well, that's not true, he wailed once when he got whacked in the head with a Tonka truck).

They both passed out before I'd made it down my friend's driveway, and S2 is happily passed out. When we got home and I got her changed in to her jammies, she lunged for her bed, hugged her stuffed duck, grabbed her bottle and rolled over.

J is rolling around on the living room floor laughing and shrieking. I wonder how long this will last?

*I forgot the camera, so no pictures of the amazing cake. Hopefully I can snag some from my friend, but no matter what, I'm getting that baker to make our next celebratory cake!

Let's Try This Again

I promise to keep up this time!

It's been a year since I last updated. V is 7 1/2 now, S1 is 5, S2 is 15 1/2 months, and J is almost 6 months.

School is about to start, and V and S1 are super duper excited. V will be going in to second grade, and S1 is starting kindergarten!

Last week was our annual beach vacation, and great fun was had by all.





V just finished gymnastics camp today, and has decided that it is NOT something that she wants to do outside of camp, which is fine. She instead wants to play soccer, which we'll arrange for her to do in the spring. We missed the deadline for fall registration, but she seems unconcerned.



S1 on the other hand, had an amazing time at camp and wants to keep going in the fall. We'll likely register her next week. She is also talking about wanting to learn to play the piano, so if she's still interested in a few months, we'll likely try to get her a keyboard for Christmas. I'd love to get a real piano, so that I can play again too, but that'll take a while.



S2 had great fun splashing around in the pool and ocean with her sisters, and decided she likes the taste of sand. She had a linguistic explosion while we were on vacation. Now she says: mama, daddy, sissy, jacks-uh, dug (dog), uh-oh, yay, juhs (juice), guh (good), buh-bye and dek uhn (thank you); she signs: more, pretty, eat, night-night and yay. Not sure when she'll walk, but that's ok. She's caught up, and that's all we can ask. Mentally and physically, she's right where she should be chronologically. She's about 21 1/2lbs, and 31", so she's tall and skinny. I tell ya, it's weird raising skinny kids.



J is a total water baby. B played with him in the pool every day, and he went underwater about half a dozen times, and came up grinning every time. Apparently those 9 months spent in water haven't worn off yet. It's awesome. He is scooting backwards, and will likely be crawling very soon. He pushes up on to his hands and knees. He's almost sitting unassisted, but then gets really excited in a "look at me!" kind of way, and flexes his hips and ends up flying backwards. He's also very verbal, and we have about an hour and a half before bedtime every night when we "talk" to each other. At least once a day, he and S2 also have a shrieking match, after which they both dissolve in to giggles.

Life is good, albeit busy, and I promise to get both of you all caught up ASAP.

The First Month...

...was spent in the NICU at the University of Maryland in Baltimore. BB3 and I were transferred there, if you remember, because our local NICU couldn't handle babies smaller than 32 weeks.

According to the nurses and Neonatologists, most 30 week preemies can be expected to be in the NICU until right before their due date. This means that, had it been true for us, BB3 would have been in there for 2 months and one week, or 10 weeks. Instead, she was in there for 27 days. The first 8 days were spent in the actualy intensive care unit, and the next 19 days were spent in the Satellite Nursery, which is where babies are sent to learn to eat and gain weight. Only the most stable of babies get to be there, and it means that going home is imminent.

When she was born, she immediately breathed on her own, and kept doing so for the entirety of her stay in the NICU. She never received any help breathing, or any blood transfusions to solve apnea of prematurity, as is so common. She had a little bit of apnea, mostly while eating or trying to nurse, and a few bradychardic episodes, but for the most part just needed to grow.

Right after she was born, PB followed her down to the NICU and saw her get all tucked in to her space, and watched while she was weighed and measured again and her second Apgar was taken. Meanwhile, I was dealing with the incredibly fun afterbirth portion of my morning, and two doctors who were talking each other through the process of sewing me up. Seriously, I had been so trusting of their abilities up until that point, but the whole "Okay, so I put a stitch here, right?" just threw that out the window.

When PB came back and the "team" had all cleared out and left us alone, I didn't feel like I'd had a baby. I mean, I knew I'd delivered a baby, I knew I'd been through labor, I just didn't feel like I deserved to be honored with the title of "mother" in this instance, because I honestly couldn't believe that I had a baby. PB went to see her several times that morning, and I stayed in my room, feigning exhaustion after being up for almost 3 days straight. In all actuality though, I didn't want to see her, and have only recently admitted that to PB. I didn't feel like I deserved it, and I also felt that if I got in the wheelchair and allowed PB to take me to the NICU, I would be admitting to myself and everyone else that I had failed. Most importantly, I didn't want BB3 to know that I had failed before we even got a chance to know each other.

I still have a huge amount of guilt and anger towards myself and our experience, and sometimes when I look at her and remember how tiny and helpless she was in the beginning, I can't help but break down, because I STILL feel like I somehow caused this. Somehow, I did something along the way to cause my perfectly normal, uneventful pregnancy to go terribly, terribly wrong. Believe me, I'm not saying I'm not grateful, because I am. I know how lucky we are that I didn't have to have a c-section, and she never needed major medical treatment, and was home in four weeks, and that she's growing like a weed. I just wish there was an easy way to get over all of these emotions. I mean, for crying out loud, I feel guilty for feeling guilty, because I know our situation could have been so much worse.

They say having a baby is like watching your heart walk around in someone else's body. When BB3 was born, and immediately taken away from me, and then I saw her in that plastic box, so tiny and defenseless and covered in monitors and IVs, I felt like my heart was gone. I didn't recognize my own child, and that killed me. All I wanted to do was hug her sisters, because I knew that I couldn't screw them up. That even though I didn't get to give birth to them, they were safe with me, and I couldn't hurt them. I felt like all I could do was hurt BB3, because my body rejected her so early.

Clearly, after 4 months, I'm not over it. I probably never will be. Having a preemie, and/or being a NICU parent is something that will forever shape my life and influence my decisions when it comes to taking care of my kids. I know now exactly how precious life is. It really puts it in perspective when you see that your spouse's wedding band could be a bangle bracelet on your child.

No wonder so many preemie moms and dads end up with post traumatic stress disorder. It truly is hell on earth, and even coming through it with a healthy child doesn't help, because you saw so many parents who left the hospital without their children, or were trying to plan funeral arrangements for one twin while silently rejoicing that the other was still with them. If only therapy were covered by insurance. I could probably use some. Instead, I kiss my daughter and rub my stomach and promise to be better next time. Even though I know it's a promise I could never keep.

Samantha's Birth Story

Labor, Take 1, Monday April 3:
I went to work that morning and noticed while sitting at my desk that I could time my contractions (I thought they were Braxton Hicks) and they were about every 5-6 minutes apart. I called my OB who suggested I go home and lie down, and then called me back when I was on my way home and said he'd rather I stop by just in case. I got to the office, was checked, and the OB sat up, patted my knees and said, "Sweetie, I'm so sorry, but you're in labor. You're going to the hospital." I was given a shot of something I can't remember the name of to stop my contractions, and then was taken to the hospital by one of the nurse midwives in the practice. On the way, I called Papa Bear and Portia, as well as my parents and SIL to let them know what was going on. I was 27w6d pregnant, which was WAY too soon. Once at the hospital an IV was started with magnesium sulfate, which, for those of you who have never experienced it, is like liquid evil. It is a full body muscle relaxant, but more than that, it just makes you sore and nauseous. Your entire body aches from head to toe while on the garbage. Anyway, PB showed up with a bag full of clothes (turns out he just emptied a drawer of my dresser, not realizing I keep my tops and bottoms in separate drawers. All I had was one pair of pants and 8 shirts.) and some food, as I hadn't eaten since 7am, and then we waited for word about the ambulance transport. I had to be moved to the University of Maryland Medical Center because our local hospital could not handle babies born before 32 weeks. I was given a shot of steroids for BB3's lungs, and was told the shot would be repeated again in the next 24 hours. Once at UMC, I was finally admitted to a bed and settled in. I was on the magnesium for 48 hours, until I had been contraction/dilation free for 24 hours. At that point, they stopped the mag, observed me a little longer, and proclaimed me fit to go home on bedrest with bathroom priviledges. While in the hospital for three days, I missed BB2's birthday.

Labor, Take 2, Thursday April 13:
29w2d now. I went in for my normal checkup and was found to have dialated another centimeter while on bedrest, even though I'd had no contractions in the week I'd been home. The bag of waters was also now ballooning out of my cervix, and I was told it could break at any time. Back to the local hospital I went, hooked up to the mag IV again, except this time I was flying solo. PB was in a meeting in the next city over and I couldn't get ahold of him. I left him a message and he met me at the hospital. Instead of waiting for an ambulance this time, they decided to just put me in the helicopter and fly me over to the hospital, just in case my water broke en route. They wanted it to take half and hour to get there instead of close to an hour and a half, I guess. Once at the hospital, I was met by the same nurses who discharged me a week previously, and ushered in to a huge room on the postpartum/antepartum floor. It's tough to hear healthy newborns crying to be fed as their wheeled from the nursery to their mom's rooms, while you're laying there praying that your baby survives outside the womb. This is also the floor most hospitals put women who have just had miscarriages. But I digress. I was told in no uncertain terms that I would be in the hospital until I delivered, hopefully not for at least 2 more weeks so that I could at least be transferred home. Another 48 hours on the mag, and then 12 hours fighting for my right to use the restroom. When the attending OB finally came in one morning, I said, "Look...I understand you're trying to keep me prone as much as possible to prevent exertion that would push me in to labor, right?" "Right." "Then explain to me how much sense it makes for me to be climbing on and off this damn bedpan to relieve myself, which by the way is about every 2 hours given the amount of water I'm being told to drink." "Oh. Good point...*scribble scribble* right! All done...feel free to use the restroom as much as you want. You can even shower!" "Thanks." My labor had stopped for the time being. This time, I missed Easter while in the hospital.

Labor, Take 3, Tuesday April 18:
I had gone a whole 5 days with no contractions, so the "team" decided it would be a good idea to test me for gestational diabetes. You know, because it would matter a whole hell of a lot, what with me being in the hospital and all. So, they brought the glucose solution for me to drink (another tool of Satan) and BAM! within three minutes of ingesting the god-awful stuff, I was in hard, fast, active labor. The words "I'm in labor" bring TONS of people running in a hospital! Even better than "FIRE!" in a movie theater, I'd imagine. The nurses wheeled me downstairs to the labor and delivery floor while I called my mother to let her know that I would not be in my room when she got there for her scheduled visit. I was put back on the mag AGAIN to try and stop my labor for the last time. I was already 5cm by the time the doc got through the hubbub to check me, and was 100% effaced with a 0 station. At 11am Wednesday the contractions had still not stopped (although they'd slowed) so they turned the mag off and just let me go. I called PB, who got out of a sales meeting (yay!) and headed over.

PB got there around 1pm and we settled in. I had been flat on my back for close to 48 hours, and was in a lot of pain, but was not allowed out of bed for fear my water would break...um, hello? I'm in labor anyway, isn't the water breaking kind of the point? Things progressed fairly quickly, and the jerk anesthesiologist kept coming in to ask if I wanted to "give up this silly natural labor idea and get an epidural. After all, labor is really hard, and I just don't think you can do it." It was all I could do to not tell the twit to bite me and watch.

At hour 31 I hadn't slept in two days and was nearing my breaking point, and was also nearing transition. I was 7cm and progressing fast, and asked for something to take the edge off so that I could doze off between contractions. I was given one miligram of Stadol, which really did just take the edge off (thankfully immediately) and then stopped working with a jolt about 20 mintues later. That 20 minutes got me from 7-9cm. At about 2:45am Thursday, I was fully effaced and dialated, and my water still hadn't broken. The OB said she was going to break my water and then come back to check on me in about 10 minutes. She broke my water, turned around to put the hook down, turned back around to stand up, and screamed "HEAD!" out the door. The team came running in to get down to business. Our nurse (totally fantastic, btw) said, "Sarah honey, how you feeling?" "I'm in labor, and I'm starving. How you feelin?" At which point she called me a smartass and got down to business. On the next contraction, my body pushed (even though they were screaming at me not to while they rushed to get gloves and gowns on) and BB3 was here. It took both docs to catch her.

The NICU team rushed in and grabbed her, and PB ran after them to take pictures and keep an eye on her. She weighed in at a safe 3lb, 5oz and was 17" with Apgar scores of 9 and 9. She was born at 30weeks, 2 days, and was breathing on her own from the very beginning.

I'm back!

I know it's been a ridiculously long time since I updated, and for the two of you who read this blog anyway, I'm sorry. There's just been a bit going on.

Since I stopped posting in mid-March, several things have happened...
1) I delivered BB3 10 weeks early on 4/20/06 and she subsequently spent 27 days in the NICU 90 miles from home
2) My brother moved in to our house for the summer in order to work and save money for school/his apartment
3) I had to quit my job and have been desperately searching for work from home ever since. Just when we hit absolute rock bottom, I got a job!
4) We got pregnant again. Yes, again. We got pregnant four weeks after BB3 was born, and are due on 2/22/07, so we will have a 7 year old, a 4 year old, a 10 month old, and a newborn. Multi-tasking, here we come!

I promise I will update more frequently and get you caught up on pictures, and all the various goings-on around here. Really! Hopefully I'll be posting BB3's birth story some time tomorrow.

And what's with the...

Has anyone else noticed that people say truly asinine things?

Behold the stupidity:

Person A: Hey! It's so good to see you! It's been ages! What's new?
Person B: Well, I actually just got engaged! We're getting married next August.
Person A: (chuckling) Well, you know, it's not too late to back out now! You can still save yourself!

or

A: Hey! I heard you just got married!
B: Yes, we did. We're lovin it!
A: Well of course you are! This is the honeymoon phase, after all. Be careful though, the first year is hell.

A: So, you still married?

A: Congratulations on your pregnancy...how far along are you?
B: Just over 6 months now, actually.
A: Wow! You're not that big at all...I never would have guessed you were that far along! (in conspiratorial whisper) *Good job!*

Okay, so seriously? Why is it that the most life-changing, joyous events are met with such derision? Is it just a general inability to comprehend that someone may actually *want* to spend their life with their best friend? Or is the divorce rate so high in our country that people just assume all marriages will fail? And what about pregnancy? Honestly, we women have absolutely no control over what happens to our bodies during pregnancy, and most of us are self conscious enough about all the changes we're going through, without some random person telling us how proud we should be for staying small. Now, I'm worried that my baby isn't healthy. Thanks loads.

So, to recap. Yes, we're still married. It'll be a year in May. This year has been the easiest of our entire relationship. There was no awkward adjustment period, there haven't been any late night fights, or threats to jump ship. We have bickered *less* since the wedding, because, while we have stress and life is anything but easy most days, we have figured out how to deal with it as a team. Isn't that what marriage is supposed to be? A team effort? I always thought you were supposed to marry your best friend, in order to avoid serious conflict. And we do get to avoid most conflict, because we respect the hell out of each other, and always talk. That and the 48 hour rule - if one of us does something to upset the other (like emptying one's razor in to the sink and NOT RINSING IT!) then we have 48 hours to get it off of our chest. Past that, and it's no longer viable argument fodder. This helps avoid the whole "Well in 1976 you forgot to put gas in the car twice!" drama.

And yes, I am just over 6 months pregnant. To me, this belly doesn't look tiny. It looks like it could fit a box of tissues in it, which is how big our baby is now. Yep, she weighs a pound and a half and is as big as a box of tissues. Two weeks ago she was a banana. That's some serious growth. I'm just doing what I can to ensure that my baby and I come through this healthy and sane, and if that means that I don't have a belly the size of a Volkswagen right now, then so be it. My body is doin what it has to in order to create a healthy baby. That's all I need to know.

Honestly, folks. Just let it go, already! Stop saying stupid things to people, and just accept that maybe, just maybe, there are people out there who are making decisions based on what is best for them and for their families, and don't give a rat's ass what you think about it.

Beware the power of stupid people in large groups.

Week 25 (almost)

Wow. Time flies when you're, um, pregnant. Hard to believe we get to meet our baby girl in 15 weeks! Awesome!

There is a whole world of crazy boobness going on here in Pregnancy Land, and in all honesty, if they get any larger I fear for my balance. It's ridiculous enough that I went up an entire cup size in a week and a half. Then, I realized that it wasn't swelling, but that my boobs had, in fact, grown that much that quickly. Freaky. Now though, I'm noticing that they're not stopping. I stopped being able to see my feet by the 8th week of this pregnancy, and it wasn't 'cause of the belly. Now being just past the 6 month mark, you'd think that my belly would protrude further than my boobs. Nope! The boobs, they're still winning. I can't afford to go bra shopping *again*, so instead I'm relying on tank tops with "shelf bras" and warm breezes to keep me sane until they stop (will they ever?) their unceasing growth.

Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, things are moving along swimmingly. I have had a very angry uterine occupant for the last two or three days, but she seems to be calming down a bit now. She literally spent almost every waking moment of the last several days punching, kicking, or arching her back in protest. I know she was arching her back, because she was facing out towards my belly button at the time, and the arching forced her head back against my, well, back, and it felt all kinds of weird. So yes, she's angry. Portia says she's exercising. Nah, she's just my kid, and is/was in a pissy mood. I was looking through a cookbook the other night, and had the book propped on my belly, 'cause, you know, it's there. B happened to be looking over at the exact moment that Little Angel kicked so ferociously as to knock the book out of my hands. Seriously. My abs still hurt from that little stretch. So, apparently Mama isn't allowed to read for the next 15 weeks. Awesome. I keep reminding her she has to stay in there for 3 more months, and she keeps kicking my hip and punching my colon. Glad we straightened that out.

In exciting news, my parental units are bringing down furniture (!) on Saturday for BB3's room. Theoretically, they are bringing a cradle, a crib, and a dresser. They are definitely bringing the cradle, but the dresser needs to be painted (so says mom, and I'm okay with it as long as it's done here) as does the crib, because the paint is "badly chipped" on the end. Okay, fine. Then please, please, in the name of all that is holy, bring all the furniture here, and come visit to paint it. Otherwise, our child will be sleeping in bed with us, because she won't have any furniture, and her clothing will be spread out in stacks in her (empty save for a rocking chair) room. We'll see how much furniture we actually get. If worse comes to worse, we will most definitely be getting the cradle, and will have to purchase a mattress for it, as it is the cradle that my grandfather built for my father when he was a little one (my father was the little one, not my grandfather...that would be weird) and the mattress has disappeared in the 19 or so years since it was used for my brother. BB3 will have somewhere to sleep from the get-go.

I had my six month checkup last Wednesday, and everything is moving along just fine. I see a "regular" doctor, as well as a direct-entry midwife, because I am participating in what is known as "shadow care." I live in one of the few states where homebirth is illegal, and as I am adamant that I not have this baby in a hospital where I will be treated like an incubator, I have sought the help of a direct-entry midwife for the birth, but am continuing to go to my regular appointments with the ob-gyn/nurse midwife practice in town. At my doctor's appointments (not to be confused with my midwife) I am weighed, fundal height is measured, heart rate is checked, and we generally get to take a look at the little one through ultrasound. According to every once-pregnant woman I know, this is a very strange thing, because most of them received two ultrasounds during their entire pregnancy. So far I've had at least one at every appointment. I like it that way. I have to go a week between seeing my other two kids, which is hard enough. It's almost excruciating to only see our third child once a month.

The newest addition of my doctor's appointments has been to warn me of the dangers of pre-term labor. Thanks, guys, 'cause I'm not freaking out enough at the thought of my hips spreading *more* and not sleeping, and am I getting enough nutrients, and dear Jesus I took three Tylenol instead of two for my migraine the other day. Apparently, it is entirely possible that I will go in to labor Any.Second. and must be extra super-duper careful to not "aggravate" my uterus. Okay, so that means what exactly? According to the doc, that means no strenuous exercise (yeah, right...like i'm doing any strenuous exercise...this is the one time in my life i'm totally expected to sit on my butt) no cleaning of bathrooms or kitchen floors, I shouldn't do too much bending and stooping, which means not too much laundry, etc. So, if I understand correctly, I am to let my house go completely to rot around me while I sit on my butt and watch? Um, no. Now don't get me wrong, PB does his more-than-fair share of housework, but he is also putting in 70-80 hours a weeks at the office in the hopes that we will be able to pay the bills and I won't have to immediately go back to work, so he's usually completely whipped by the time he gets home around 8 or 9pm, knowing he has to get us between 4 and 5 the next morning. I called my nurse midwife (we'll call her KC from now on, to differentiate) who told me in no uncertain terms that I was to pretty much completely forget everything the fire and brimstone doc had told me and was to live my life normally. I'm pregnant, not ill. My tests have all come back normal, every time, and I have textbook good blood pressure. I am not anemic, I do not have a problem cervix, nor is my baby's growth being stunted. I am to live my life, and listen to my body. If I feel like I need to take a nap, take a nap. If I feel motivated (like I did the other day) to clean out an entire room and make 8 trips up to the attic, I should do it. I am in no way to feel obligated to perform (or not perform, as the case may be) certain tasks simply because I am pregnant. My body will tell me if I am working too hard. I love her. She has a very, "we are woman, leave us alone to gestate in peace" attitude.

And did I mention that PB is planning to train for the JFK Memorial Marathon? That's a 50K, people. That's a lot. Luckily, he's got until November '07 to train for it, but still. That's just crazy. As someone who has spent her entire life trying *not* to run, unless chased of course, I just can not understand the appeal of pounding up and down pavement for 30 something miles. Seriously? Just drive if you need to get there that bad. But I totally support him doing it, and training at the butt-crack of dawn, when he'll take BB3 in the stroller so that Mama can get at least an hour or two of uninterrupted sleep, is an added bonus. Yay!

Week 24

Or, the point in the pregnancy at which I smother PB in his sleep, because he WON'T STOP SNORING!

Now then. PB is sick/getting sick/faking it to try and get sympathy. The disease he is working on is a lovely combination of a stomach virus, the flu, and, apparently, The Plague. 7 people I know have been out of work almost all week with this illness. PB's office consists of about a dozen people, half of whom have been home sick at least half the week. And these people get to take medicine to fight disease! We pregnant types are not quite so lucky. I can take Robitussin (gag me) or suffer through. As long as my fever doesn't go above 100.4 -this seems to be the magical temperature at which everything is okay...above that, and I will cook my baby to death-I'm fine. Above that, and I have to be hospitalized. Awesome choices, folks. So, more than likely I will commence with the sick any day now. Or, I'll get lucky for the first time e-ver and won't. Nothin like a good 'old fashioned crap shoot to make my otherwise dull life interesting! And when PB is sick, he snores, a lot. So much so that I woke up at 2am on Thursday, and just stayed awake. There was really no point in trying to doze off again, because I had only been sleeping intermittently at best since he came to bed. Last night was slightly better, in that I think I got about 4 hours of sleep. Honestly though, if I don't get a good night's sleep soon, I'll kill him. Slowly.

And now on to normal life news:

This week of the pregnancy has brought with it new and fun ways for BB3 to torture me. For instance, she is laying in my womb in such a way that her head is tucked near my left hip, and her feet are near my right hip, and her back is against my belly. Since she is my child, she apparently enjoys sleeping with her butt stuck up in the air. This explains why the only stretch mark I have is to the right of my belly button. Now, I'm not complaining about having a stretch mark, because it could be SO much worse, and I'm well aware of this. I am, however, a little peeved that this tiny little creature is making my belly lopsided. Seriously. I will try and get a good picture of it in the next week or so, 'cause it's absolutely priceless. Also, in this position, she is apparently only capable of punching me in the colon. While this doesn't really hurt, it's one of the weirdest friggin feelings on the planet. The other night I was sitting on the couch watching TV, and had a blanket laying across my lap, covering my belly. She kicked so violently that the blanket flipped off of my belly. It didn't slide, it didn't shift imperceptibly, it looked like I had taken the edge of the thing and ripped it off of myself. Not so much. That kick hurt a bit.

Also, with the magical 6 month mark in the pregnancy, came an odd pain in my hips. It's not like when you sleep on your hip and it gets sore, it's more internal. Like I can feel my hips spreading, which, may I just say, is TOTALLY not fair! I have been labeled "Holster Hips" since middle school. The last thing I need is wider hips. Seriously. She's got plenty of room in there. She does NOT need to be pushing my hips apart. You hear me in there? Knock it off, or you're coming out grounded!

Last weekend was a tough one with BB1 and BB2. There were some fun moments, but the majority of the time was spent with PB and I scratching our heads at why our normally well behaved and fairly obedient children were, in all reality, blowing us off.

Saturday, a deal was made that if they cleaned up their playroom a little bit (it was so bad they didn't have room to sit on the floor without sitting on a pile of crap) they could stay up late after dinner and watch a movie. "No problem" they said, "a movie? Yay!" they said. Uh huh. They were to clean the playroom before lunch and subsequent naps, and when PB asked them if they had accomplished this, they stared at him with their big blue eyes, saying, "Of course, Daddy. How could you possibly think we wouldn't do *exactly* what you asked of us?" Yep. After naps, they went up to the playroom to play, and I went upstairs just to check on them, take part in their activity, be a mom, whatever. Upon peeking my head around the corner, I realized that not only had they not cleaned the playroom, they had made it worse. The shelves that PB had so lovingly built for them to place all of their large toys on were completely bare, meaning the large toys were strewn all over the floor. So, no more movie. I told them that since they had not only not done what was asked of them, but had also blatantly lied to their father's face, they wouldn't get to watch the movie after all. BB1 shrugged and said, "that's okay, I don't mind." BB2 did the same. Okay, fine.

Sunday morning, I asked the girls to please stop pushing each other around on the stairs, because someone was going to fall, and I really didn't feel like driving to the hospital. After the third time, I sent them to separate corners to calm down for a few minutes. When I went in to talk to BB1 and ask why, all of a sudden, she and her sister had decided that PB and I weren't worth listening to, she replied with, "Well, it doesn't really matter how you punish us, 'cause it's not like we have to stay at your house very long anyway." She's 6. That slap in the face stung for hours. It also got her a day in her room, because as PB rationalized with her, if they're not at the house long enough for it to matter what we do *to* them, then it also doesn't matter what she wants us to do *with* them, and from here on out she can spend her time at our house in her room. Pretty sure that got the point across. I know that it comes with the territory that your kids will say things to make you cry, and will totally not mean to hurt you. I know that it doesn't mean they don't love us, they're just being logical. And she's right. Any punishment we dish out can only last as long as they're in our house (that is until they're teenagers and we can ground them for consecutive visits to the house if need be), but it doesn't make it any easier to hear.

And unfortunately now I must work. I have been having printer issues all morning, so the work that I am usually able to start at about 8:15 is just getting started now. And I HAVE to leave here at exactly 4 o'clock in order to get home, change, do my hair and makeup, and then drive an hour up to my hometown with my good friend from college in order to meet a high school friend for dinner and then go see a show. Whew! And we must leave my house no later than 5:00 to meet for a 6:00 dinner, to be out in time for the 8:00 show. Fabulous. So excited for a girl's night!

I know it's a little late, but...

Does anyone else find it to be a sign of the Apocalypse that we went from a pope who grew up in Nazi-dominated Poland, and watched his family and friends get forced in to concentration camps, to a pope who was a member of the Hitler youth?

The mind reels.

Irrational Fears

The pregnancy ticker is cute, huh? For all you sports fans keeping track at home, that's how long we have left. That's it!

I work in accounting, and as such, the first week of every month is absolutely insane for me, because I'm trying to reconcile accounts from the previous month, set up the accounts for the new month, enter all account balances in to the master spreadsheet, and make sure that my account balances have all been printed, signed, stapled to the appropriate backup, and sent out to the managers of the respective accounts to be approved. Then, I have three weeks and this whole process starts over again. I realized this morning that including this month-end, I only have three left before BB3 gets here.

We only get to see BB1 and BB2 every other weekend. That means we will only have 8 more weekends with them until BB3 gets here. Seriously? That's SO soon. Wow.

Kinda starting to freak out a little. I've been *around* newborns (my neice), and babysat dozens of kids, plus my girls are 6 and almost 4, and I've known them since BB2 was 18 months, so I've gotten tons of big baby practice. I have not, however, ever been completely and totally responsible for every action of another human being. I know I will have PB there to help, and for that I am eternally grateful, but I will, for all intents and purposes, be on my own from 7am to about 5 or 6pm, every day. And while I desperately want to be able to stay home with my baby every day, so that I don't miss one single thing she does, I am so scared that I am somehow going to irrevocably screw her up. I know all parents joke that we're all gonna screw our kids up anyway, that it's in the book, listed under Job Duties of Parents, but seriously, what if I hurt her? I lay her down for a nap and she never wakes up. I give her a bath and she squirms away from me and falls on the floor. Hell, what if I drop her? I am so not the nervous parent type with my other two kids, but they have always been so damned independent, and like I said, I wasn't there in the beginning when they were completely helpless. They could both tell me what they needed, and how to get it for them from Day 1. She won't be able to do that. I will spend an entire year not knowing. How the hell do people deal with this?

And I haven't even started thinking about the childbirth part of it, because I know damn well that no matter how hard I try and prepare myself for it, it's not going to be like anything I've ever experienced in my life. My friend with babies keep asking me if I'm taking lamaze classes, or any kind of childbirth prep. On hearing that we've decided to forego that aspect of preparation, they're all supportive. "Not worth the time." "You've got more important things to do for the next 4 months...like sleep!" "Once you're in the throes, you forget everything they tried to teach you anyway." "There's NO WAY to prepare for this." That last one was from a woman who is just barely 5', about a size 4, and gave birth to a 21.5", 10lb baby boy. With no drugs, because she dialated too fast for them to get the epidural in. And people who do not have kids keep asking me if I'm nervous about the childbirth part of it. My friends with kids understand that you do not ask a pregnant woman that question, because she's freaking out about every other aspect of her life, like why her favorite bra fit last week, but doesn't fit this week, or the fact that her dog does not love her anymore because said dog refused to go upstairs and go to sleep in the pregnant woman's room while her husband was out of town. Honestly though, I'm really not worried about the childbirth part of it, because every woman I know who's been through it has lived to talk about it, and even says she'd do it again (except the one with the 10lb baby...she's pretty much done). Besides, it's not like it lasts forever. Now, I'm sure I'll feel differently when I'm in hour 23 with no drugs, but as of right this minute, I can totally do this. Really.

I completely understand now why women say they're so grateful to have their moms around them through this whole process. And I really desperately wish that I felt that way. I wish I had the kind of relationship where I felt comfortable leaning on her for support, and didn't think she'd ignore me, or blow me off, or just forget to be there. In all reality though, I'm more afraid she'd let me down that I am to go through this alone. How sad is that?

Baby Ticker