He is one comfortable, stylin', blessed little guy!
Monday, June 30, 2014
It Deserves Its Own Post!
A huge and thankful and long overdue shout-out to Ann and her expert craftsmanship for the beautiful swaddlers! The cotton gauze is glorious for the summer, the embroidery is just too cute, and they are earning their miles with our new little one!
A Birth Story
This has been a long time in the works, as I have felt the need to revisit and revisit and revisit the birth of our newest addition.
The night my mother flew into town, she and I loaded up the kids and went to "walk out the baby" at the local mall. She was only going to be in town a week, so we had to get labor rolling ASAP. As God, luck, chance, and fate would have it, the walk through the mall did the trick and I was in active labor after about an hour of brisk walking. It was the world's most amazing timing!
We took the kids home, got them into bed, I finished loading my hospital bag and took a shower. I won't lie: I tried to stall and stall and stall (would an "oops" home birth have been too much to ask?!), but my mom ended up insisting that we roll out to the hospital around midnight. I was oddly at peace about it, which is cause for all of my revisiting the entire birth experience in my head. I'll explain shortly.
I checked in and my doctor was called. I got to slip into one of those ever-so-fashionable hospital gowns and I proceeded to walk the halls like a mad woman. This kid was going to come fast, so help me! Well, I didn't take into account that I'd be laboring that whole time without so much as a nap the day before, so I ran out of steam around 4 a.m. and began to fall asleep between contractions. It was far beyond my control. I'd wake up, breathe through it, and fall right back to sleep. John, God love him, was falling asleep and waking up with me through nearly every contraction.
The one time I did manage to stay awake was when I went to turn onto my other side and I felt my water break. I peered down and saw what I had dreaded with every pregnancy: meconium. I had avoided this with every pregnancy so far, and I had read up on the risks involved with meconium, so I, in my exhausted state, buzzed the nurse and woke up John in full panic mode, already anticipating a long NICU stay for the baby that involved complications from pneumonia and full rounds of not-in-my-control immunizations, steroids, and other things that would assault my baby's already fragile system. I know, I'm a total fatalist. It didn't help that the nurse immediately told me the NICU team would be present for the birth to assess the baby and see if any intervention was needed. All I heard, of course, was "NICU needs to intervene, so this is just about as disastrous as it gets." Yay for a heaping dose of the crazies, exactly when I don't need them!
Then, at about 7 a.m., the nurses were preparing for shift change and traffic picked up in my room as I paced like a caged animal, trying to figure out a way to go home. My contractions looked like the Rocky Mountains on the strip, the baby's heart rate looked perfect, I was stalled out at 6 cm for the last 4 hours, and I wanted so much to just go home. I was feeling like He-Man, going without an IV of any kind, and drugs were nowhere in sight, and I hated everyone in that room except my husband, and why was there a stupid gravel roof outside the window, and I hoped my mom was doing ok with Louis, and did I have enough food at home for everyone, and I wanted to go home. Yes, the thoughts were that scattered and insane.
After about forty-five minutes, I crawled back into the bed and wanted so much to cry. The doctor was coming in to check my progress and I knew 6 cm was going to be it, and then she'd start talking c-sectioning. I was all kinds of ready to choke her if she even breathed about a section. Alas, I was up to 9 cm. I was so happy!!!
But then she had me lie back and she got her "rain gear" on. She got into position and told the nurses to flank me and bring my knees up. She then told me to push. I looked at her, utterly bewildered, asking if that would cause the cervix to swell and give cause for a section (as she told me when I was laboring with Louis and felt the urge to push too early). She said baby was still high and left and I needed to work him down with her. I had no idea what that meant, which was the most frustrating and angering thing at that point! I thought I had prepared for everything, and then she throws THAT at me?! Fine. Whatever. Get the baby out safely so he can have his meconium pneumonia and his gazillion shots and I can take him home before his first birthday. (Yes, still with the crazies.)
John said he watched her work her hand like she was turning a doorknob that was hidden within my body. As she did that, the contractions took on an inhuman feel. One nurse pushed the baby's heart monitor into my abdomen in a way that felt like she was keeping the baby from descending. The pressure from the doctor working to turn the baby's head also felt like she was pushing him back up into my body. All of this caused each contraction to feel like my uterus was going to rupture into my chest, and still they were telling me to push through it.
Every fiber of my body recoiled. I wanted to straighten my legs and get them all away, but I also thought the baby could have been in serious danger because he hadn't descended and he was marinating in his own poop. So, against my instinct and against the deafening pleas of my body, I pushed. I pushed and begged them to stop touching me and begged them to go away and pushed and pushed and pleaded with them to give me just a little more time to walk. I pushed nearly to the point of passing out.
Just as I was going to give up, his head popped out and his body followed with little more than a deep breath on my part. The NICU team took him to the other side of the room immediately and he wasn't crying. John, who read me like a book and knew that this was all wrong for me, was working to keep himself composed while he tried to help me pick up the pieces of whatever this fiasco was that shattered me so strangely. The adrenaline and euphoria of having muscled through this didn't come. I felt broken. I clung to John and cried. This was nothing like my other births. I'd have preferred the drugs and the spinal headache and the threat of a section and the pathetic recovery and the extra time spent in the hospital to all of that. It all felt so wrong.
But it was over.
Then the baby cried. My head shot up, as did John's, and we caught the NICU nurse giving the thumbs up. His lungs were clear, his breathing was fine, and his APGAR scores were great. They finished cleaning him off and brought him to me and John and I got to drown the horrifying delivery in the joy of meeting our sweet little boy. After a few minutes of touching him and thanking God that he was here and safe, I let him nurse, and he nursed like a pro. I studied his little face and kissed him and breathed him in and clutched my husband to the two of us as we just let this moment happen.
Everything after that was a bit of a blur. They weighed him and took his stats, handed him back to us for a while as they prepared to wheel me into recovery, and took my stats as they congratulated me. They wheeled me to recovery in these new suites that were just built. I got "the best room" that had two windows as compared to one (they were very big windows). The shower was super nice and the whole floor had a "day spa" feel to it. My room had loads of natural light, all the rooms were private, and the walls were built to be soundproof so the entire floor was very quiet. It was, indeed, very nice overall.
Still, I felt wrecked. I felt the need to replay what happened over and over. Then, when John handed me the baby to hold, I noticed that the baby's forehead and cheeks were bruised. I felt horrible all over again. I wasn't the only one having a really rough time with that delivery, and I hated that he bore signs of it. I was told by everyone that it was normal, given his traumatic delivery (their words). Had he not turned, his shoulders would have been wedged in my pelvis and things would have gotten really bad, really quickly. I tried to let that be of some comfort, but looking at his poor little face made me wonder if they had just let me labor an hour more, would it have been different? Would I have ended up here if a midwife were in charge versus my doctor, whom I truly like and respect?
Then I found out that my doctor high-tailed out of there after delivery to get to her son's kindergarten graduation. My cynicism took hold and I wallowed in the thought that she rushed things to suit her schedule. I totally understand wanting to be there for that. I really, truly do. I was being selfish and I had no sleep at that point, so I asked John to talk me out of this weird, dark funk. He sighed heavily and said he thought she should have waited, that history has proven that my kids stay high until I hit 10 cm. Then they descend quickly and they're out with less than five pushes.
I coiled up around the baby and slept, hoping that my anger was entirely my own selfish reaction to a hard delivery and praying that I'd learn to see past it all and revel in the joy of having a healthy (though beat-up) baby to show the other kids when they came with Avia to visit.
The nap did a lot of good. I felt better physically and mentally, and the cynicism had taken a back seat. When I thought about what had happened, I was left with more of a feeling of shock, like I wasn't sure the whole thing had even happened.
I had great nurses, I had some decent sleep, I got a decent meal, and my pain had all but disappeared. My mom brought the kids, who went nuts over their new brother. I got the ok for my 24-hour discharge and filled out all the paperwork necessary to see that John Elias would be coming with us. A good night's sleep later, and we were sent home.
He had a hero's welcome, for sure!
My mom was a blessing to have around! She kept laundry going, she kept us fed, and she kept the kids happy while we adjusted. She was wonderful company and it was so nice to have an adult around to talk to amidst the usual craziness of the kids. I cried the whole way home from the airport after dropping her off.
However, we weren't alone for very long. In the weeks to follow, our son was Baptized, Chrismated, and received his First Holy Eucharist with his Godmother and Godfather in attendance.
The night my mother flew into town, she and I loaded up the kids and went to "walk out the baby" at the local mall. She was only going to be in town a week, so we had to get labor rolling ASAP. As God, luck, chance, and fate would have it, the walk through the mall did the trick and I was in active labor after about an hour of brisk walking. It was the world's most amazing timing!
We took the kids home, got them into bed, I finished loading my hospital bag and took a shower. I won't lie: I tried to stall and stall and stall (would an "oops" home birth have been too much to ask?!), but my mom ended up insisting that we roll out to the hospital around midnight. I was oddly at peace about it, which is cause for all of my revisiting the entire birth experience in my head. I'll explain shortly.
I checked in and my doctor was called. I got to slip into one of those ever-so-fashionable hospital gowns and I proceeded to walk the halls like a mad woman. This kid was going to come fast, so help me! Well, I didn't take into account that I'd be laboring that whole time without so much as a nap the day before, so I ran out of steam around 4 a.m. and began to fall asleep between contractions. It was far beyond my control. I'd wake up, breathe through it, and fall right back to sleep. John, God love him, was falling asleep and waking up with me through nearly every contraction.
The one time I did manage to stay awake was when I went to turn onto my other side and I felt my water break. I peered down and saw what I had dreaded with every pregnancy: meconium. I had avoided this with every pregnancy so far, and I had read up on the risks involved with meconium, so I, in my exhausted state, buzzed the nurse and woke up John in full panic mode, already anticipating a long NICU stay for the baby that involved complications from pneumonia and full rounds of not-in-my-control immunizations, steroids, and other things that would assault my baby's already fragile system. I know, I'm a total fatalist. It didn't help that the nurse immediately told me the NICU team would be present for the birth to assess the baby and see if any intervention was needed. All I heard, of course, was "NICU needs to intervene, so this is just about as disastrous as it gets." Yay for a heaping dose of the crazies, exactly when I don't need them!
Then, at about 7 a.m., the nurses were preparing for shift change and traffic picked up in my room as I paced like a caged animal, trying to figure out a way to go home. My contractions looked like the Rocky Mountains on the strip, the baby's heart rate looked perfect, I was stalled out at 6 cm for the last 4 hours, and I wanted so much to just go home. I was feeling like He-Man, going without an IV of any kind, and drugs were nowhere in sight, and I hated everyone in that room except my husband, and why was there a stupid gravel roof outside the window, and I hoped my mom was doing ok with Louis, and did I have enough food at home for everyone, and I wanted to go home. Yes, the thoughts were that scattered and insane.
After about forty-five minutes, I crawled back into the bed and wanted so much to cry. The doctor was coming in to check my progress and I knew 6 cm was going to be it, and then she'd start talking c-sectioning. I was all kinds of ready to choke her if she even breathed about a section. Alas, I was up to 9 cm. I was so happy!!!
But then she had me lie back and she got her "rain gear" on. She got into position and told the nurses to flank me and bring my knees up. She then told me to push. I looked at her, utterly bewildered, asking if that would cause the cervix to swell and give cause for a section (as she told me when I was laboring with Louis and felt the urge to push too early). She said baby was still high and left and I needed to work him down with her. I had no idea what that meant, which was the most frustrating and angering thing at that point! I thought I had prepared for everything, and then she throws THAT at me?! Fine. Whatever. Get the baby out safely so he can have his meconium pneumonia and his gazillion shots and I can take him home before his first birthday. (Yes, still with the crazies.)
John said he watched her work her hand like she was turning a doorknob that was hidden within my body. As she did that, the contractions took on an inhuman feel. One nurse pushed the baby's heart monitor into my abdomen in a way that felt like she was keeping the baby from descending. The pressure from the doctor working to turn the baby's head also felt like she was pushing him back up into my body. All of this caused each contraction to feel like my uterus was going to rupture into my chest, and still they were telling me to push through it.
Every fiber of my body recoiled. I wanted to straighten my legs and get them all away, but I also thought the baby could have been in serious danger because he hadn't descended and he was marinating in his own poop. So, against my instinct and against the deafening pleas of my body, I pushed. I pushed and begged them to stop touching me and begged them to go away and pushed and pushed and pleaded with them to give me just a little more time to walk. I pushed nearly to the point of passing out.
Just as I was going to give up, his head popped out and his body followed with little more than a deep breath on my part. The NICU team took him to the other side of the room immediately and he wasn't crying. John, who read me like a book and knew that this was all wrong for me, was working to keep himself composed while he tried to help me pick up the pieces of whatever this fiasco was that shattered me so strangely. The adrenaline and euphoria of having muscled through this didn't come. I felt broken. I clung to John and cried. This was nothing like my other births. I'd have preferred the drugs and the spinal headache and the threat of a section and the pathetic recovery and the extra time spent in the hospital to all of that. It all felt so wrong.
But it was over.
Then the baby cried. My head shot up, as did John's, and we caught the NICU nurse giving the thumbs up. His lungs were clear, his breathing was fine, and his APGAR scores were great. They finished cleaning him off and brought him to me and John and I got to drown the horrifying delivery in the joy of meeting our sweet little boy. After a few minutes of touching him and thanking God that he was here and safe, I let him nurse, and he nursed like a pro. I studied his little face and kissed him and breathed him in and clutched my husband to the two of us as we just let this moment happen.
John Elias was born June 5th at 8:15 a.m.,
weighing 8 lbs. 7 oz. and was 20" long.
Everything after that was a bit of a blur. They weighed him and took his stats, handed him back to us for a while as they prepared to wheel me into recovery, and took my stats as they congratulated me. They wheeled me to recovery in these new suites that were just built. I got "the best room" that had two windows as compared to one (they were very big windows). The shower was super nice and the whole floor had a "day spa" feel to it. My room had loads of natural light, all the rooms were private, and the walls were built to be soundproof so the entire floor was very quiet. It was, indeed, very nice overall.
Still, I felt wrecked. I felt the need to replay what happened over and over. Then, when John handed me the baby to hold, I noticed that the baby's forehead and cheeks were bruised. I felt horrible all over again. I wasn't the only one having a really rough time with that delivery, and I hated that he bore signs of it. I was told by everyone that it was normal, given his traumatic delivery (their words). Had he not turned, his shoulders would have been wedged in my pelvis and things would have gotten really bad, really quickly. I tried to let that be of some comfort, but looking at his poor little face made me wonder if they had just let me labor an hour more, would it have been different? Would I have ended up here if a midwife were in charge versus my doctor, whom I truly like and respect?
Then I found out that my doctor high-tailed out of there after delivery to get to her son's kindergarten graduation. My cynicism took hold and I wallowed in the thought that she rushed things to suit her schedule. I totally understand wanting to be there for that. I really, truly do. I was being selfish and I had no sleep at that point, so I asked John to talk me out of this weird, dark funk. He sighed heavily and said he thought she should have waited, that history has proven that my kids stay high until I hit 10 cm. Then they descend quickly and they're out with less than five pushes.
I coiled up around the baby and slept, hoping that my anger was entirely my own selfish reaction to a hard delivery and praying that I'd learn to see past it all and revel in the joy of having a healthy (though beat-up) baby to show the other kids when they came with Avia to visit.
The nap did a lot of good. I felt better physically and mentally, and the cynicism had taken a back seat. When I thought about what had happened, I was left with more of a feeling of shock, like I wasn't sure the whole thing had even happened.
I had great nurses, I had some decent sleep, I got a decent meal, and my pain had all but disappeared. My mom brought the kids, who went nuts over their new brother. I got the ok for my 24-hour discharge and filled out all the paperwork necessary to see that John Elias would be coming with us. A good night's sleep later, and we were sent home.
He had a hero's welcome, for sure!
Louis got to show baby John his lovely shiner!
Joseph just giggled the whole time he held the baby.
Thomas studied the baby's movement and maintained
a sweet sense of awe and wonder.
And Maria is a natural with him.
My mom was a blessing to have around! She kept laundry going, she kept us fed, and she kept the kids happy while we adjusted. She was wonderful company and it was so nice to have an adult around to talk to amidst the usual craziness of the kids. I cried the whole way home from the airport after dropping her off.
However, we weren't alone for very long. In the weeks to follow, our son was Baptized, Chrismated, and received his First Holy Eucharist with his Godmother and Godfather in attendance.
He was in a diaper only, at first. He had to be anointed
on his chest, back, palms, feet, ears, and head.
All fresh and clean, literally and in every sense!
Now that the passing through of various family and guests has died down for now, we're just taking in his emerging personality and adjusting to sleepless nights and diaper duty all over again. He's an easy baby, crying only when in need of a change or a meal. He'll wake up no more than three times a night so far, and that has been exceptionally nice for me.
We've even had our first non-gassy smile!
Deep thinker, or does he just like windows that much?
Having readily available helpers has been awesome!
Baby wearing is invaluable!
That's it for now. Duty (and doody) calls!
Monday, June 2, 2014
Perspective
I woke up this morning wedged between my toddler and my husband, twisted and uncomfortable, but unwilling to disturb either of them, even with nerves in my hip screaming for relief. My husband did eventually wake up and stumble to the shower, leaving me room to roll away from the still-sleeping toddler.
When I did, something popped in my pelvic area and pain shot through my body. I curled up and began sobbing, letting the rush of self-pity totally consume me. I'm still gigantically pregnant, the house isn't spotless, I hardly sleep anymore, I'm physically and emotionally and mentally exhausted all of the time, nothing is getting done, my nesting is feverish-yet-unfocused, making sure I have a baby before my mom's visit is over is stressing me out, and the list goes on.
Then, out of the blue, comes a message from an old high school friend on Facebook. She had been MIA on Facebook since the beginning of December. I figured it was because she was only days from giving birth to her first baby, a girl, and the chaos and joy of being a new mom was probably consuming her every moment. She asked how my pregnancy was going, excited for me and the expansion of my family, and then tells me that she and her husband lost their daughter. I am not aware of any details, but we have a long overdue phone call planned for tomorrow morning.
I ache so much for her. I ache so much for any mother who has lost any child. How selfish I have been to complain about the trivialities that come with any normal, uncomplicated pregnancy when there are mothers who would give anything to have those aches and pains to a blinding degree in exchange for mere moments with their babies. I should be grateful for the pain, for it isn't even peanuts compared to the pain that could be.
With my whole world slammed back into perspective, in all of its terror and simplicity, I've taken to my meager sufferings with quiet resolve and gratitude, prayers for the souls lost and those that had to let them go, and a renewed effort to quiet my nagging urgency to keep a wholly unrealistic schedule.
Thank you, God, for my sufferings. If they should ever be so great as those of others, please hold me closely to You, that I might remain ever faithful and grateful for the gifts borne of sadness and hardship.
When I did, something popped in my pelvic area and pain shot through my body. I curled up and began sobbing, letting the rush of self-pity totally consume me. I'm still gigantically pregnant, the house isn't spotless, I hardly sleep anymore, I'm physically and emotionally and mentally exhausted all of the time, nothing is getting done, my nesting is feverish-yet-unfocused, making sure I have a baby before my mom's visit is over is stressing me out, and the list goes on.
Then, out of the blue, comes a message from an old high school friend on Facebook. She had been MIA on Facebook since the beginning of December. I figured it was because she was only days from giving birth to her first baby, a girl, and the chaos and joy of being a new mom was probably consuming her every moment. She asked how my pregnancy was going, excited for me and the expansion of my family, and then tells me that she and her husband lost their daughter. I am not aware of any details, but we have a long overdue phone call planned for tomorrow morning.
I ache so much for her. I ache so much for any mother who has lost any child. How selfish I have been to complain about the trivialities that come with any normal, uncomplicated pregnancy when there are mothers who would give anything to have those aches and pains to a blinding degree in exchange for mere moments with their babies. I should be grateful for the pain, for it isn't even peanuts compared to the pain that could be.
With my whole world slammed back into perspective, in all of its terror and simplicity, I've taken to my meager sufferings with quiet resolve and gratitude, prayers for the souls lost and those that had to let them go, and a renewed effort to quiet my nagging urgency to keep a wholly unrealistic schedule.
Thank you, God, for my sufferings. If they should ever be so great as those of others, please hold me closely to You, that I might remain ever faithful and grateful for the gifts borne of sadness and hardship.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Update And Kid-isms
As there is never a quiet moment for proper reflection, meditation, and self-preservation, I've learned to take what I can "on the fly" during our days and laugh about them with my husband during our evenings. I am not complaining at all, but rather I am ecstatic to be caught up in the whirlwind of our days, the craziness of these moments, and the fact that I have been blessed with laughter from the beginning of my life through today.
Today is a lesson in humility from my daughter:
Daughter: "Mommy, I was thinking..."
Me: (bracing myself)
Daughter: "I don't want a lot of presents for my birthday. All that My Little Pony stuff we talked about, clothes, dolls, even the books, I can do without all of that. I just want one thing..."
Me: (mentally high-fiving myself for the long awaited confirmation that my encouragement of a humble heart and simplistic living might actually be taking root in her beautiful little soul)
Daughter: "...a jetpack."
Me: (deep and depressed sigh, thanking God for keeping at least ONE of us humble...)
On an outing to the grocery store:
Upon seeing two little hispanic girls dressed in orange shirts and purple skirts:
Son #2: "Mommy! Look!!! Dora the Explorer has a twin!!!"
Daughter: (to an elderly woman) "Are you buying Jell-O because you're old?"
Son #3: "MOMMY!!! I HAVE TO POOP!!! I HAVE TO POOP RIGHT NOW!!!" (yes, full volume in the middle of a Memorial Day crush of fellow shoppers)
That is hardly the half of it, but it's all I can think of as the four of them run around behind me while I type, erupting with laughter and impossible numbers to rank how happy they are as compared to each other.
Update: The baby is due today. This means absolutely nothing to me and the baby and my body, of course. He's comfortable and happy, I'm puttering around making sure we are set for babysitting and meals in the extremely unlikely chance that he'll debut before my mom arrives next week. I saw my OB today and she is more than happy to let my body do what it does without intervention of any kind. The baby's heart rate is great, my blood pressure is pristine, I'm characteristically uncomfortable, and that puts everything at normal. I go for a quick round of fetal monitoring tomorrow (fluid check, cord mapping, and general checking-in), though I would absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE to have the baby on Ascension Thursday! Still, I won't push it.
Today is met with another laundry blitz (yesterday's laundry blitz was gloriously successful!) and cleaning up of the boys' room, setting up the baby's bassinet, packing my hospital bag (maybe), and rejoicing in the rain that is due to shower us all afternoon. Speaking of rain, I suppose I should transfer my seedlings before the rain begins...
Off I go!
Today is a lesson in humility from my daughter:
Daughter: "Mommy, I was thinking..."
Me: (bracing myself)
Daughter: "I don't want a lot of presents for my birthday. All that My Little Pony stuff we talked about, clothes, dolls, even the books, I can do without all of that. I just want one thing..."
Me: (mentally high-fiving myself for the long awaited confirmation that my encouragement of a humble heart and simplistic living might actually be taking root in her beautiful little soul)
Daughter: "...a jetpack."
Me: (deep and depressed sigh, thanking God for keeping at least ONE of us humble...)
On an outing to the grocery store:
Upon seeing two little hispanic girls dressed in orange shirts and purple skirts:
Son #2: "Mommy! Look!!! Dora the Explorer has a twin!!!"
Daughter: (to an elderly woman) "Are you buying Jell-O because you're old?"
Son #3: "MOMMY!!! I HAVE TO POOP!!! I HAVE TO POOP RIGHT NOW!!!" (yes, full volume in the middle of a Memorial Day crush of fellow shoppers)
That is hardly the half of it, but it's all I can think of as the four of them run around behind me while I type, erupting with laughter and impossible numbers to rank how happy they are as compared to each other.
Update: The baby is due today. This means absolutely nothing to me and the baby and my body, of course. He's comfortable and happy, I'm puttering around making sure we are set for babysitting and meals in the extremely unlikely chance that he'll debut before my mom arrives next week. I saw my OB today and she is more than happy to let my body do what it does without intervention of any kind. The baby's heart rate is great, my blood pressure is pristine, I'm characteristically uncomfortable, and that puts everything at normal. I go for a quick round of fetal monitoring tomorrow (fluid check, cord mapping, and general checking-in), though I would absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE to have the baby on Ascension Thursday! Still, I won't push it.
Today is met with another laundry blitz (yesterday's laundry blitz was gloriously successful!) and cleaning up of the boys' room, setting up the baby's bassinet, packing my hospital bag (maybe), and rejoicing in the rain that is due to shower us all afternoon. Speaking of rain, I suppose I should transfer my seedlings before the rain begins...
Off I go!
Monday, May 19, 2014
It's After 4 p.m. Already?!
It seems my days are a blur of activity, even when I'm sitting on my butt. If I'm not a frenzied check writer to keep on top of bills that will be coming in during my post-partum days, I'm blitzing to get these kids to finish work samples for their evaluator. Then comes the evening out of nowhere, and my nesting habits have to be cut short to make dinner before I affix myself to my husband's side for the rest of the evening to get fence stuff managed.
Oh, and John decided that this upcoming weekend is fence time. The pickets have been ordered and received, lumber purchased and delivered, paint acquired, tools assembled, and the beginning stages of overall installation have begun. Right now, painting the pickets is the name of the game and you can all call me Tom Sawyer, only without the cunning to manipulate every passer-by into partaking in the work with/for me. It seems all I can do in between sloshing paint all over these pickets is yell at the neighbor kids to quit digging holes in my freakin' garden.
This fence will be SUCH a blessing!
Until then, it is SUCH a time suck!!!
Seriously, our neighbor has a daughter who is very unhinged. If she's not carelessly trampling little kids and hurling dirt at others, she's shrieking at her toddler brother and sister for every tiny offense. Just being near her puts me on edge, and I feel terrible about that. She's got to be in her late tweens, early teens, she is bossy, quick to anger, she nearly knocked John over while running around in our yard, and threw a garden shovel full of dirt in my daughter's eye yesterday evening. I know it was an accident on her part, but she doesn't pay attention to anyone around her until it's time to yell. I hate that I feel so repelled by her; that her very presence makes me want to throw my hands up and immediately remove myself and others from her vicinity.
And she's not the only one. Our other neighbors have two little girls who have no concept of personal property. They used to help me weed my garden and we'd talk about stuff, which I absolutely adored doing and I'd give them some produce in return, but then they took it as license to help themselves to anything in our yard. They used some of my beets as sidewalk chalk, they prematurely picked my apple tree clean of its apples, they tried using our hoses (and water) to spray at other neighbor kids, they have cut paths in our side yards from the constant through-traffic they (and others) create, they have ruined a bike that a friend loaned to us for my youngest, and the other neighbor kids took their example and contributed to all of that.
"Fences make the best neighbors" is no joke.
I was beginning to feel bad that the "Oklahoma panhandle" part of our property cuts so close to one of the other houses, but we paid for it, we are still paying taxes on it, and these kids continue to seemingly do everything in their power to ruin it. I'm kinda finished feeling bad. Once the fence is up, it will be the new home of my clothesline. Once the side yard is fenced in, the garden in the shade will be moved to the sunny spot out front and a hammock will be placed in the shade for our enjoyment.
Anyway, the house is a mess, inside and out. I can't seem to stay on top of it, no matter how motivated and well-planned I am. Oh well. Better keep moving rather than cry here about it. :-)
Oh, and John decided that this upcoming weekend is fence time. The pickets have been ordered and received, lumber purchased and delivered, paint acquired, tools assembled, and the beginning stages of overall installation have begun. Right now, painting the pickets is the name of the game and you can all call me Tom Sawyer, only without the cunning to manipulate every passer-by into partaking in the work with/for me. It seems all I can do in between sloshing paint all over these pickets is yell at the neighbor kids to quit digging holes in my freakin' garden.
This fence will be SUCH a blessing!
Until then, it is SUCH a time suck!!!
Seriously, our neighbor has a daughter who is very unhinged. If she's not carelessly trampling little kids and hurling dirt at others, she's shrieking at her toddler brother and sister for every tiny offense. Just being near her puts me on edge, and I feel terrible about that. She's got to be in her late tweens, early teens, she is bossy, quick to anger, she nearly knocked John over while running around in our yard, and threw a garden shovel full of dirt in my daughter's eye yesterday evening. I know it was an accident on her part, but she doesn't pay attention to anyone around her until it's time to yell. I hate that I feel so repelled by her; that her very presence makes me want to throw my hands up and immediately remove myself and others from her vicinity.
And she's not the only one. Our other neighbors have two little girls who have no concept of personal property. They used to help me weed my garden and we'd talk about stuff, which I absolutely adored doing and I'd give them some produce in return, but then they took it as license to help themselves to anything in our yard. They used some of my beets as sidewalk chalk, they prematurely picked my apple tree clean of its apples, they tried using our hoses (and water) to spray at other neighbor kids, they have cut paths in our side yards from the constant through-traffic they (and others) create, they have ruined a bike that a friend loaned to us for my youngest, and the other neighbor kids took their example and contributed to all of that.
"Fences make the best neighbors" is no joke.
I was beginning to feel bad that the "Oklahoma panhandle" part of our property cuts so close to one of the other houses, but we paid for it, we are still paying taxes on it, and these kids continue to seemingly do everything in their power to ruin it. I'm kinda finished feeling bad. Once the fence is up, it will be the new home of my clothesline. Once the side yard is fenced in, the garden in the shade will be moved to the sunny spot out front and a hammock will be placed in the shade for our enjoyment.
Anyway, the house is a mess, inside and out. I can't seem to stay on top of it, no matter how motivated and well-planned I am. Oh well. Better keep moving rather than cry here about it. :-)
Monday, May 12, 2014
A Rant
I was flipping through my usual online news sources when I came across the story of babies born with two faces, two brains sharing a brain stem, and a single body. They are healthy, breathing on their own, eating, and born to a family who loves them just the way they are. Mom and Dad are over the moon about their new addition and that they are doing really well for conjoined twins.
The comments section is inundated with remarks advocating for the death of these girls. "They face a life of cruelty from others, so they should have been aborted" is the general consensus.
Just WHO is being cruel here?!?!
Have we degenerated so much as a people that any adversity is reason to die rather than rise above our circumstances? Assholes calling for the death of these babies are precisely the assholes who are going to treat them miserably because they outright fail to see the value that these special little lives bring to the world. No, they won't have it easy, but it will be no fault of their own, so why have them die for it?
Just who the hell do people think they are, pretending to be able to conclude that some people are better off dead than facing life in less-than-ideal circumstances? I have heard people scream and yell about political "death panels" ushered in with Obamacare, yet they will advocate for circumstantial abortion with the same breath. What is the difference?!
These girls were born into ideal circumstances, especially for their condition, and STILL people cry about the injustice of it all?
Let's advocate for the widespread acceptance of LGBT people, but if you're born with two faces, you ought to die, like, yesterday. Nobody needs to see THAT. Nice.
Things like this make me want to hurry up and have 10-12 more kids, just to counter balance the ignorance and sickness of this pervasive culture of death that would literally rather see children die violent deaths (I don't know how being burned alive and ripped to shreds within the womb is humane) than grow up in conditions that are sub-yuppy.
May God have mercy on us all.
The comments section is inundated with remarks advocating for the death of these girls. "They face a life of cruelty from others, so they should have been aborted" is the general consensus.
Just WHO is being cruel here?!?!
Have we degenerated so much as a people that any adversity is reason to die rather than rise above our circumstances? Assholes calling for the death of these babies are precisely the assholes who are going to treat them miserably because they outright fail to see the value that these special little lives bring to the world. No, they won't have it easy, but it will be no fault of their own, so why have them die for it?
Just who the hell do people think they are, pretending to be able to conclude that some people are better off dead than facing life in less-than-ideal circumstances? I have heard people scream and yell about political "death panels" ushered in with Obamacare, yet they will advocate for circumstantial abortion with the same breath. What is the difference?!
These girls were born into ideal circumstances, especially for their condition, and STILL people cry about the injustice of it all?
Let's advocate for the widespread acceptance of LGBT people, but if you're born with two faces, you ought to die, like, yesterday. Nobody needs to see THAT. Nice.
Things like this make me want to hurry up and have 10-12 more kids, just to counter balance the ignorance and sickness of this pervasive culture of death that would literally rather see children die violent deaths (I don't know how being burned alive and ripped to shreds within the womb is humane) than grow up in conditions that are sub-yuppy.
May God have mercy on us all.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Get In My Belly!!!
I woke up feeling nauseated again, but once I got up and moving I have been struck with this desperate need to eat.
I want to eat everything!
I had two eggs for breakfast and I'm trying to keep it at that until after baby check this morning. I'm also on Pinterest, flipping through their food section, dying to eat a pineapple cream pie (did you even know there was such a thing?!?!) with a balsamic glazed chicken chaser, making sure not to ignore the bacon-wrapped scallops, blueberry quinoa parfait, and glazed lemon zucchini bread.
As Murphy's Law would have it, I have to go to the grocery store for a couple of necessary items after my baby check, so Heaven knows that it's like walking an alcoholic into a free beer garden. Ugh...
A friend posted a no-bake eclair cake recipe on her Facebook this morning and I nearly died looking at it. Thankfully, I read the ingredients and it included Cool Whip, which repulses me. That's a bazillion calories that I can willingly turn down. :-)
Chicken for dinner is in the crock pot because it needs to be done before three in order to be used in the enchiladas I have planned. I can barely wait to eat those!
Ok, I need to move on from food...
Last night started a trend that I hope-beyond-hope to continue. We drove to a lovely park that has an expansive playground and a nature trail so that John could get in a long, necessary walk, and so the kids could blow steam on the playground. It was a success! John got his sweat on and the kids went to bed without much fuss. As we get bikes repaired and strollers refreshed, I'm hoping we can all slowly move to the trails first and then punctuate with a round on the playground. Or, as John builds his resolve to stay in shape, maybe he can allow me to mosey off on the trail and get my own wrecked physique into fighting shape. :-D
In other news, I tried thredup.com last week. It's an online consignment store that has prices comparable to our local Goodwill, only they ship to your door. Anyway, we bought Maria some summer wardrobe essentials (cotton dresses and some tops) and I could not be more pleased with the condition and quality of the clothes. I know, I sound like a commercial, but it's the truth. Two of her picks:
We also found a white cotton eyelet dress (so cute!) and a pale yellow cotton dress that's decidedly "hippy chic." The tops were various Hello Kitty fodder (gag me, but she likes them) that will do well with her clam digger shorts and jeans when playdates come a-calling.
Ok, I need to head out for the baby check. Time to herd the cats...
EDIT/UPDATE: Doc thought the baby was breech, but did a quick peek on the ultrasound machine and saw that he's head first and ready to roll. My labs were negative for Group B Strep, so I told her she probably wouldn't see me until I had to push. She thought that was great, and we then talked a while about lay midwifery being introduced at the local hospital by another doctor, like the hospital would honor coverage for any necessary intervention under one doctor (who is particularly unreliable for that very instance)? It was an interesting talk. I also get to go IV free (unless an emergency pops up, of course) and I get an early discharge. I'm still heavily weighing an "oops" homebirth, though. (I know, Mom, but it's not like you can stop me! BWAHAAHAAAAAA!!!)
I want to eat everything!
I had two eggs for breakfast and I'm trying to keep it at that until after baby check this morning. I'm also on Pinterest, flipping through their food section, dying to eat a pineapple cream pie (did you even know there was such a thing?!?!) with a balsamic glazed chicken chaser, making sure not to ignore the bacon-wrapped scallops, blueberry quinoa parfait, and glazed lemon zucchini bread.
As Murphy's Law would have it, I have to go to the grocery store for a couple of necessary items after my baby check, so Heaven knows that it's like walking an alcoholic into a free beer garden. Ugh...
A friend posted a no-bake eclair cake recipe on her Facebook this morning and I nearly died looking at it. Thankfully, I read the ingredients and it included Cool Whip, which repulses me. That's a bazillion calories that I can willingly turn down. :-)
Chicken for dinner is in the crock pot because it needs to be done before three in order to be used in the enchiladas I have planned. I can barely wait to eat those!
Ok, I need to move on from food...
Last night started a trend that I hope-beyond-hope to continue. We drove to a lovely park that has an expansive playground and a nature trail so that John could get in a long, necessary walk, and so the kids could blow steam on the playground. It was a success! John got his sweat on and the kids went to bed without much fuss. As we get bikes repaired and strollers refreshed, I'm hoping we can all slowly move to the trails first and then punctuate with a round on the playground. Or, as John builds his resolve to stay in shape, maybe he can allow me to mosey off on the trail and get my own wrecked physique into fighting shape. :-D
In other news, I tried thredup.com last week. It's an online consignment store that has prices comparable to our local Goodwill, only they ship to your door. Anyway, we bought Maria some summer wardrobe essentials (cotton dresses and some tops) and I could not be more pleased with the condition and quality of the clothes. I know, I sound like a commercial, but it's the truth. Two of her picks:
Could this not be more perfect for a summer BBQ?
Toss on a shrug, and it'll do for Liturgy!
This one made me nervous, as brown and bright colors,
when paired, intimidate me. However, this was one of
my favorites. The picture doesn't do it much justice.
And it was new with tags, so I got to see that I paid
10% of the original price. Awesome!
We also found a white cotton eyelet dress (so cute!) and a pale yellow cotton dress that's decidedly "hippy chic." The tops were various Hello Kitty fodder (gag me, but she likes them) that will do well with her clam digger shorts and jeans when playdates come a-calling.
Ok, I need to head out for the baby check. Time to herd the cats...
EDIT/UPDATE: Doc thought the baby was breech, but did a quick peek on the ultrasound machine and saw that he's head first and ready to roll. My labs were negative for Group B Strep, so I told her she probably wouldn't see me until I had to push. She thought that was great, and we then talked a while about lay midwifery being introduced at the local hospital by another doctor, like the hospital would honor coverage for any necessary intervention under one doctor (who is particularly unreliable for that very instance)? It was an interesting talk. I also get to go IV free (unless an emergency pops up, of course) and I get an early discharge. I'm still heavily weighing an "oops" homebirth, though. (I know, Mom, but it's not like you can stop me! BWAHAAHAAAAAA!!!)
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