Wednesday, February 28, 2007
the magic of the first smile
we saw it today, and were too slow with the camera to get a picture. But it happened. Fussy smiled.
Monday, February 26, 2007
the joys of technology, and assorted other vents
our isp is freaking out. I haven't been able to get online consistently for a week now. Sure, occasionally it fixes itself and I can pop on for a minute or two. That is when you realize that you are addicted to the Internet. The really craptastic part is that we have our phone through our Internet, so pretty much the world thinks I'm mad at them because I haven't been answering the phone. Only because I have no phone service. Really.
Harry is sick. Today was the day he was supposed to go back on track for school. Three weeks off and he is perfectly healthy. He is uber healthy and driving me crazy. "When will school be in??" I think to myself. Then early Sunday morning, while I was up feeding Fussy, I hear a weak "mom" coming from Harry. He is fevered hot and tells me that he feels weird. And he has been that way for 2 days now. Missing school. He hasn't puked yet, or gunked up anything. He just feels weird and is about 103 degrees of burning hot mop head.
So now I get to plan out my week like this.... Harry in bed on Monday, Tuesday he goes back to school ( I HOPE!) Chilly fevered on Wednesday, Thursday. And Mom gets the sick bug on Friday. I am really praying that whatever illness this is, that my little Fussy doesn't get it this time, seeing that I can't give him med's to take down the fever.
and don't let me forget Fussy. 4 weeks old today! And my back is killing me. At two weeks old, he had already put on a pound. I imagine he's got another pound on again. All that dancing is straining out my back. He doesn't like to sleep. He grunts and wiggles like his belly hurts. I've cut out dairy, but it is looking more likely I need to cut out wheat. I don't know what I'll eat. If I do cut it out, I hope to stop smelling like sour milk. It's true what they say about babies, everything is a lot more moist now.
Harry is sick. Today was the day he was supposed to go back on track for school. Three weeks off and he is perfectly healthy. He is uber healthy and driving me crazy. "When will school be in??" I think to myself. Then early Sunday morning, while I was up feeding Fussy, I hear a weak "mom" coming from Harry. He is fevered hot and tells me that he feels weird. And he has been that way for 2 days now. Missing school. He hasn't puked yet, or gunked up anything. He just feels weird and is about 103 degrees of burning hot mop head.
So now I get to plan out my week like this.... Harry in bed on Monday, Tuesday he goes back to school ( I HOPE!) Chilly fevered on Wednesday, Thursday. And Mom gets the sick bug on Friday. I am really praying that whatever illness this is, that my little Fussy doesn't get it this time, seeing that I can't give him med's to take down the fever.
and don't let me forget Fussy. 4 weeks old today! And my back is killing me. At two weeks old, he had already put on a pound. I imagine he's got another pound on again. All that dancing is straining out my back. He doesn't like to sleep. He grunts and wiggles like his belly hurts. I've cut out dairy, but it is looking more likely I need to cut out wheat. I don't know what I'll eat. If I do cut it out, I hope to stop smelling like sour milk. It's true what they say about babies, everything is a lot more moist now.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
you've got to bloody your knee before you can learn to ride your bike
We've been suffering from unusually warm weather the last couple of days, so big d got the bikes out. Well he got Harry's bike out, and Chilly's tricycle, since his bike broke. Harry did it today. He learned to ride his bike without the training wheels. He did it all by himself. I think his success is partly because I wasn't there beside him holding him up. We just told him he could do it. He fell a couple of times, and he did scrape his knee up, bloody-ing the pants he was wearing. I told him from the sidelines that now he was bleading, you can officially ride your bike. And he did. I'm pretty proud of my future Lance Armstrong.
Chilly on the other hand learned to pedal! We've been working with him on it for ages, and it seems the same thing applied...get mom on the sidelines and let him do his thing.
And it is so true in every aspect of your life! You can't succeed at anything until you know you can do it! I keep telling myself this as I bounce baby #3 during the evening hours of endless fussiness. "I can do this!". 
Thursday, February 15, 2007
what do you do between 4-6
am that is? I am up. Out of bed, feeding an infant, rocking, dancing, pacing the floor. That is when my baby decides he is up for the day and insists on looking innocently up at me. And at that ungrateful hour of the morning, I just stare back at him.
I'm not complaining, mostly. I am grateful for the opportunity for quiet thought. I can't turn on the radio, or the tv. I just sit in my rocking chair thinking. I should put a notepad next to the chair because I swear I come up with great things to blog about. At least I think I do. When rational thought comes back to me, they might be pretty silly.
HOnestly though, I realized that it is a good time for me to reflect on the day I want to have. What things I need to get done. I try not to think about the sleep I am missing. But I usually feel outnumbered by the snores from the sleeping 3. And boy do they snore.
But at the early morning hour, the thought that usually comes up the most, and the one I can remember the most, it how amazing it is to be a mom. And how much I love my family.
sappy huh?
I know that this too shall pass, and eventually my early morning wonderings will be gone and replaced by REM sleep. But you know, when that happens, I will be a little bit sad. It will mean that my newborn isn't a newborn any more.
I'm not complaining, mostly. I am grateful for the opportunity for quiet thought. I can't turn on the radio, or the tv. I just sit in my rocking chair thinking. I should put a notepad next to the chair because I swear I come up with great things to blog about. At least I think I do. When rational thought comes back to me, they might be pretty silly.
HOnestly though, I realized that it is a good time for me to reflect on the day I want to have. What things I need to get done. I try not to think about the sleep I am missing. But I usually feel outnumbered by the snores from the sleeping 3. And boy do they snore.
But at the early morning hour, the thought that usually comes up the most, and the one I can remember the most, it how amazing it is to be a mom. And how much I love my family.
sappy huh?
I know that this too shall pass, and eventually my early morning wonderings will be gone and replaced by REM sleep. But you know, when that happens, I will be a little bit sad. It will mean that my newborn isn't a newborn any more.
Monday, February 12, 2007
perfect
It is what every expectant mother prays for. She holds her breath during the ultrasound until all is declared good. The moment of birth, she counts toes and fingers and looks her baby over for anything odd. Most times, nothing is found, and the baby is thus presented...Perfect! Until she gets him home, late night screaming change her mind and she wonders what is wrong. Is there something wrong with me, is there something wrong with him, the house, his room, his blanket??? What is it?
We had a moment like this during the weekend, where the babe was crying and awake for several hours. Both Big D and I were exhausted. Our poor little newborn had caught his very first cold. Not something momentous as a first tooth, but still. There was nothing we could do, he's only 12 days old. But still, he pulls those smiley faces while he sleeps, and again, he is perfect.
When I was in labor, we still hadn't decided on a name. I was laboring in the pool, and there was a clear thought about what his name should be. We had just barely thought of this name, we both liked it fine, it just wasn't on the top of the list. And I also got a clear view of what his middle name should be. My grandpa's name. Of course to be fair for family names, Harry was named after my side, Chilly named after Big-D's side. We were going to do a mix of both sides and use one from each, but it didn't work that way, and the babe named himself after my mom's side of the family. Big D obliged, how many husbands argue with a laboring woman?
When he popped out and was handed to me, I realized why my perfect little baby had this name. My grandfather was physically handicapped. His arm and leg on one side were smaller and didn't work. He was this way all his life, and yet he lived a very full life, he was a judge, had four kids, etc. A pretty normal guy. He used a cane when I knew him, and toward the end of his life, he had a hard time getting around. But most elderly people do.
Anyway, when my perfect baby was on my chest, I noticed his hand. It was much smaller than than the left hand, and it looked like he had arthritis of the fingers. That or he was doing "live long and prosper" from star trek. His little fingers are a little webbed. But the really noticeable part was how much smaller the right hand is. His arm is really skinny and a bit shorter too.
What does this mean? I have no idea. Of course you think about your baby and how perfect they will be, and when they come out, not quite perfect, at least to other's standards, you wonder. At least I did. I wondered how his life was going to be different. Is it going to be harder for him? Will he need more help? Will the Dr.'s want to do surgery? Are there other things that could be different with him?
He is still my perfect little baby, but now I wondered how other's would see him. Would they see him as perfect? Will they treat him differently?
Everybody has their thing. Harry has a dipped in chest. Chilly has a weird rib (and he did have webbing on another part of his body too). Just because you don't see it everyday, doesn't mean everybody doesn't have something different about them. That is what makes us unique. My babe will probably just have to deal with his for the rest of his life.
My baby has a small hand. And he has his grandfathers name. He has the name to remind him that he can have a normal life, that he is still perfect no matter what anyone else sees or thinks.
We had a moment like this during the weekend, where the babe was crying and awake for several hours. Both Big D and I were exhausted. Our poor little newborn had caught his very first cold. Not something momentous as a first tooth, but still. There was nothing we could do, he's only 12 days old. But still, he pulls those smiley faces while he sleeps, and again, he is perfect.
When I was in labor, we still hadn't decided on a name. I was laboring in the pool, and there was a clear thought about what his name should be. We had just barely thought of this name, we both liked it fine, it just wasn't on the top of the list. And I also got a clear view of what his middle name should be. My grandpa's name. Of course to be fair for family names, Harry was named after my side, Chilly named after Big-D's side. We were going to do a mix of both sides and use one from each, but it didn't work that way, and the babe named himself after my mom's side of the family. Big D obliged, how many husbands argue with a laboring woman?
When he popped out and was handed to me, I realized why my perfect little baby had this name. My grandfather was physically handicapped. His arm and leg on one side were smaller and didn't work. He was this way all his life, and yet he lived a very full life, he was a judge, had four kids, etc. A pretty normal guy. He used a cane when I knew him, and toward the end of his life, he had a hard time getting around. But most elderly people do.
Anyway, when my perfect baby was on my chest, I noticed his hand. It was much smaller than than the left hand, and it looked like he had arthritis of the fingers. That or he was doing "live long and prosper" from star trek. His little fingers are a little webbed. But the really noticeable part was how much smaller the right hand is. His arm is really skinny and a bit shorter too.
What does this mean? I have no idea. Of course you think about your baby and how perfect they will be, and when they come out, not quite perfect, at least to other's standards, you wonder. At least I did. I wondered how his life was going to be different. Is it going to be harder for him? Will he need more help? Will the Dr.'s want to do surgery? Are there other things that could be different with him?
He is still my perfect little baby, but now I wondered how other's would see him. Would they see him as perfect? Will they treat him differently?
Everybody has their thing. Harry has a dipped in chest. Chilly has a weird rib (and he did have webbing on another part of his body too). Just because you don't see it everyday, doesn't mean everybody doesn't have something different about them. That is what makes us unique. My babe will probably just have to deal with his for the rest of his life.
My baby has a small hand. And he has his grandfathers name. He has the name to remind him that he can have a normal life, that he is still perfect no matter what anyone else sees or thinks.
Friday, February 09, 2007
my family reads my blog!
since last June, when my beautiful neice got married, I've given my blog address out to certain members of my family. It was an easy way to share pictures. But it has come to my attention recently, that some of my family are still reading the pointless drivel that has been spewed forth.
This has taken me by surprise. I mean, I'm not much of a writer. The stories that I usually tell are pretty mundane and boring, and if you are in my family, you get the chance to hear it twice from me. I could always just embellesh things to make them more exciting on my blog, and I've thought about it a time or two, but of course, big d would have called me on it anyway.
But it recently took me by surprise when I recieved a comment to one of my posts under a new name I had never heard. I deduced, after a moment of though (which is very lacking in my newborn compromised brain), that it was my big sister. Whoa!
See for two years or so, I've belonged to an internet group, lovingly referred to as "MOF's", and no, that isn't a vulgar term. My Online Friends. I was invited to a message board that has since, filled many hours of my day with funny stories, sad news, and lots and lots of mom to mom advice. The problem with said message board is/was explaining it to people. Especially my family. With heaps of wisdom I would relate an experience of an MOF to someone in my family, and I would recieve a look. You know that look, "are you kidding me". I would tell them about the friends I had made all over the world! I don't think they really understood what it meant to me (and what it meant to my kids, to have mom occupied for a couple of hours a day!). And see that little box over on the right, the one that says "casa mofstra" yup those are some of my real MOF's, click on a few and you'll see that I am totally not lying to you. In fact I've even MET some of them IN REAL LIFE. And only one was a hairy perverted old fat man.
So you see, for a while now, I've had two worlds, the online world or "meemers' world" and my regular hard copy "meemer" complete with my own siblings and parents. And they were complete and seperate in themselves. Now I've got a cross-over happening. My parents are reading my blog, and they could be reading yours. My two worlds are closing in on each other, and I'm not sure it is a good thing, of course it really couldn't be a bad thing, as long as they leave a comment now and then.
But beware o ye parents and siblings of mine! I will not edit out embarrassing moments, foul language, or the words breast, vagina, butthole. In fact I might just want to make you all blush just a bit more. Not that sex was ever a topic I deemed worthy to talk about online, well, at least on my blog, it could come up. Surely in the weeks to come, there will be many references to the color of baby poop, bodily fluids, and maybe a post on circumcision.
This has taken me by surprise. I mean, I'm not much of a writer. The stories that I usually tell are pretty mundane and boring, and if you are in my family, you get the chance to hear it twice from me. I could always just embellesh things to make them more exciting on my blog, and I've thought about it a time or two, but of course, big d would have called me on it anyway.
But it recently took me by surprise when I recieved a comment to one of my posts under a new name I had never heard. I deduced, after a moment of though (which is very lacking in my newborn compromised brain), that it was my big sister. Whoa!
See for two years or so, I've belonged to an internet group, lovingly referred to as "MOF's", and no, that isn't a vulgar term. My Online Friends. I was invited to a message board that has since, filled many hours of my day with funny stories, sad news, and lots and lots of mom to mom advice. The problem with said message board is/was explaining it to people. Especially my family. With heaps of wisdom I would relate an experience of an MOF to someone in my family, and I would recieve a look. You know that look, "are you kidding me". I would tell them about the friends I had made all over the world! I don't think they really understood what it meant to me (and what it meant to my kids, to have mom occupied for a couple of hours a day!). And see that little box over on the right, the one that says "casa mofstra" yup those are some of my real MOF's, click on a few and you'll see that I am totally not lying to you. In fact I've even MET some of them IN REAL LIFE. And only one was a hairy perverted old fat man.
So you see, for a while now, I've had two worlds, the online world or "meemers' world" and my regular hard copy "meemer" complete with my own siblings and parents. And they were complete and seperate in themselves. Now I've got a cross-over happening. My parents are reading my blog, and they could be reading yours. My two worlds are closing in on each other, and I'm not sure it is a good thing, of course it really couldn't be a bad thing, as long as they leave a comment now and then.
But beware o ye parents and siblings of mine! I will not edit out embarrassing moments, foul language, or the words breast, vagina, butthole. In fact I might just want to make you all blush just a bit more. Not that sex was ever a topic I deemed worthy to talk about online, well, at least on my blog, it could come up. Surely in the weeks to come, there will be many references to the color of baby poop, bodily fluids, and maybe a post on circumcision.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Friday, February 02, 2007
Thursday, February 01, 2007
The birth
I have a sleeping baby at my breast> My heart is very grateful for that. My little boy arrived on Monday evening.
I had a restless night on Sunday. My body ached and my heart ached. My pride was a bit bruised too. All day long, all I could think of was the fact that my due date was here and my baby was not. I had been to church and heard the endless suggestions about starting labor, most of them involving use of a trampoline. Ignoring their wise council was tedious and frustrating. Going to bed that night was a bit sad. I knew my boy wasn't making an appearance, and I was crossing the line of "this is the longest I've ever been pregnant". I woke up a couple of times due to contractions, but nothing big.
amazingly I woke on Monday feeling really well. I still had my stink of a cold, but I had some energy. That should have been my first clue. I made arrangements with my mom for lunch out, seeing it was her birthday. I cleaned the house, did some laundry, all after getting Harry off to school. I even went to the new walmart that just opened!
Chilly and I met my sister, aunt, and birthday mom and walked to a great mexican place for lunch. I started feeling crampy, and my back was achey, but I ignored it. We had a yummy lunch and visited for a while. I started feeling more contractions, but that weren't serious, just annoying. We finally left a little before three pm, so I could go pick up Harry from school. At that point my mom asked me if I was okay. I insisted I was, and it couldn't be IT, because I had zero bloody show and never noticed the loss of a mucus plug. So I got into my mini van headed for home. Chilly fell asleep, so I bent over to change the music and had a huge contraction. I took my breath away, doubled me over. I called big D. I told him not to stay late at work. I didn't say hurry home, just that maybe something might be starting.
I picked up Harry from school, big d got home early. /he started messing with setting up our birthing pool, just because we hadn't practiced yet. We needed an adapter to fill it up, so we went off to walmart, my second trip of the day. I was having mild contractions here and there. Enough that a shopping cart to lean against was helpful. We walked around for a half hour or so, then came home where I started the tub, just to stop my back from hurting. My sister showed up with a couple of her kids and we sat and visited for a few minutes while big d made dinner for the boys. I started feeling queasy, so I mentioned to my sister that she might want to leave. I think I might have used the words barf and go away at the time. I finally got in my tub of hot water and Harry came in and sat by me. He got a watch and timed the contractions and kept me company.
The contractions started picking up in both speed and intensity. At one point they were a minute apart and double peaking! I decided big D should call the midwife and doula. It was about 6 pm. He started to fill the pool. I started to get scared. I got into the pool and took a few contractions. They were hard. They hurt. I didn't want to do this anymore. Midwife showed up, I took a few more contractions. Serious business. The kids kept to themselves and checked on my once or twice. My doula showed up. More hard contractions. 3 minutes apart. I had no idea how dilated I was because I never was checked. Overwhelmed by the sensations, I think I said a few prayers, closed my eyes and just surrendered to it. I chanted open to myself. I talked to my baby.
I got to the point where I needed some support. The pool was too soft, too watery. I got out and got on my bed. Midwife checked me and I was ready to push. But it hurt. He wasn't there yet. I pushed a few times. My water exploded. I felt his head move down. Rest. More pushing and I felt it move down more. I don't remember how long I did push, or how many times. Midwife had her hand in there moving things, I pushed again. Somewhere from something that wasn't me, pushed. I had the strength of something and I used it all. The boys were right there, big d was right there. I felt a head right there. Shoulders, out. ahhh. And then he screamed. The baby just cried. I was so done. Thank goodness!
Big d caught, Harry cut the cord. I held a squirmy, little baby in my arms. I was tired. It was 8:30.
he was 8 pounds, 6 ounces. Measuring 14 inch head, 21 and a bit tall.
So he has fussed, he has pooped, he had nursed. We feel blessed to have him here finally.
Friday, January 26, 2007
please don't call
I will call you. Please let me spend the remainder of this pregnancy un annoyed by endless and repetitive phone calls.
annoying person: how are you doing
Me:I am fine
annoying person: have you seen your midwife yet ?
Me: no, I'm okay, she's okay.
annoying person: any signs? contractions, cervical mucous?
Me: NO, I promise I will call you if anything happens.
My "due" date is in 3 days.
The upside is that I've never felt so popular.
I've also contracted a nasty cold, see so big d, in all his niceness and sweetness decided to take Chilly to work with him today. So I could spend the morning (it is early out day today at harry's school) in bed. But the phone kept ringing...CONSTANTLY. And it isn't like I can throw it at the dog or leave it off of the hook. If Harry's school were to call, and it has happened before, I could be in trouble, you know, like if he were puking or broke his arm or threw a book at his teacher. Whatever.
So my blissful morning of sleeping was intereupted at least 5 times. I've got a gorilla stuck in my chest, my neck is stiff, my nose and head is filled to capacity. And I'm loosing my voice. A morning of sleeping would have been a wonderful thing.
This must be the reason I have yet to spurt forth an infant, who would want all those pictures with a seriously sick momma?
annoying person: how are you doing
Me:I am fine
annoying person: have you seen your midwife yet ?
Me: no, I'm okay, she's okay.
annoying person: any signs? contractions, cervical mucous?
Me: NO, I promise I will call you if anything happens.
My "due" date is in 3 days.
The upside is that I've never felt so popular.
I've also contracted a nasty cold, see so big d, in all his niceness and sweetness decided to take Chilly to work with him today. So I could spend the morning (it is early out day today at harry's school) in bed. But the phone kept ringing...CONSTANTLY. And it isn't like I can throw it at the dog or leave it off of the hook. If Harry's school were to call, and it has happened before, I could be in trouble, you know, like if he were puking or broke his arm or threw a book at his teacher. Whatever.
So my blissful morning of sleeping was intereupted at least 5 times. I've got a gorilla stuck in my chest, my neck is stiff, my nose and head is filled to capacity. And I'm loosing my voice. A morning of sleeping would have been a wonderful thing.
This must be the reason I have yet to spurt forth an infant, who would want all those pictures with a seriously sick momma?
Friday, January 19, 2007
At the end...
Pregnancy is a wonderful time. Filled with glorious moments and joyful experiences. That said..
Am I done yet?
please, don't get the wrong impression here, I am greatful for this experience, especially since I really questioned if I'd ever get to again. But here I am, I have, I've done, and I'm done.
I haven't crossed the line to castor oil, not yet, but you could probably tell that I am evicting my baby.
Today for lunch I had doritos and a coke. Yup. And some cookies. I'm trying to make my womb as inhabitable as possible. I've tried to have "good" nutrition this whole time, I've exercised, drank water and tea's. I've taken my vitamins, my calcium gook, and assorted other magical things to help me feel better. Not anymore. I've started the coke cleans. Mostly because there is no way I'm going to look or feel any better until after I have this baby. lets get the show on the road.
I've turned away any kind of clothing with a stupid brand name. Like baby's nest, in due time, motherhood, baby sling...etc. You get the point. I'm not going to wear that stuff anymore. Mostly because it doesn't even fit me anymore. No, right now I'm hauling out my oversized pajama bottoms and ill fitting t-shirts. Like I said before, there is no use even trying to make myself feel lovely.
I've started loudly telling everyone that this baby could come at any time. They say that the baby can hear you. Can mine? obviously as well as his older brothers.
There is no more space in my stomach for this kid. he stretches, he pulls, he smooshes. I'm sure I've got bruising on my pelvic bone. I've started pushing back. Maybe I should start with a few jumping jacks anytime this kid gets the hiccups.
I know, soon there will be a post from me about "what was I thinking" and how "hard it is to have a baby again" . I know that in a short time, my belly will be jiggly with extra skin, and my boobies will be rock hard. And I still won't be getting any sleep. But the sooner that happens, the sooner I can get back into some kind of routine of bleary eyed mothering. I will be able to wear the super fat clothes i've got stored away. I'll be able to tolerate eating healthy again. I'll be able to have normal conversations about poop and sleep, instead of the condition of my cervix. And hopefully I won't miss the kicks and jumps from my innards too much.
Am I done yet?
please, don't get the wrong impression here, I am greatful for this experience, especially since I really questioned if I'd ever get to again. But here I am, I have, I've done, and I'm done.
I haven't crossed the line to castor oil, not yet, but you could probably tell that I am evicting my baby.
Today for lunch I had doritos and a coke. Yup. And some cookies. I'm trying to make my womb as inhabitable as possible. I've tried to have "good" nutrition this whole time, I've exercised, drank water and tea's. I've taken my vitamins, my calcium gook, and assorted other magical things to help me feel better. Not anymore. I've started the coke cleans. Mostly because there is no way I'm going to look or feel any better until after I have this baby. lets get the show on the road.
I've turned away any kind of clothing with a stupid brand name. Like baby's nest, in due time, motherhood, baby sling...etc. You get the point. I'm not going to wear that stuff anymore. Mostly because it doesn't even fit me anymore. No, right now I'm hauling out my oversized pajama bottoms and ill fitting t-shirts. Like I said before, there is no use even trying to make myself feel lovely.
I've started loudly telling everyone that this baby could come at any time. They say that the baby can hear you. Can mine? obviously as well as his older brothers.
There is no more space in my stomach for this kid. he stretches, he pulls, he smooshes. I'm sure I've got bruising on my pelvic bone. I've started pushing back. Maybe I should start with a few jumping jacks anytime this kid gets the hiccups.
I know, soon there will be a post from me about "what was I thinking" and how "hard it is to have a baby again" . I know that in a short time, my belly will be jiggly with extra skin, and my boobies will be rock hard. And I still won't be getting any sleep. But the sooner that happens, the sooner I can get back into some kind of routine of bleary eyed mothering. I will be able to wear the super fat clothes i've got stored away. I'll be able to tolerate eating healthy again. I'll be able to have normal conversations about poop and sleep, instead of the condition of my cervix. And hopefully I won't miss the kicks and jumps from my innards too much.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
power tools ain't just for men
alright, well, I've always been shy around the big yard things. You know, the lawnmower. But out of desperation to keep my yard looking nice, I learned how to use the thing (and I only broke it once). I've even stolen the cordless drill a time or two for "projects" around the house.
But I think today I stepped over that mark out of girly-ness. I used a snowblower. This is a real man's thing. I had to plug it in, and read a lot of directions. Unplug it, use the choke, figure out what the heck the spinney things did. Then I had to endure fumes and loud noises. But I got my driveway "shoveled" in a lot less time than with the regular shovel. And I did my neighbors house too.
Okay, so I didn't get as much exercise as I would have using the traditional method, but hey, 38 weeks pregnant, and I need a break. Maybe I should have use the regular old shovel, maybe this kid would've got the hint?
But I think today I stepped over that mark out of girly-ness. I used a snowblower. This is a real man's thing. I had to plug it in, and read a lot of directions. Unplug it, use the choke, figure out what the heck the spinney things did. Then I had to endure fumes and loud noises. But I got my driveway "shoveled" in a lot less time than with the regular shovel. And I did my neighbors house too.
Okay, so I didn't get as much exercise as I would have using the traditional method, but hey, 38 weeks pregnant, and I need a break. Maybe I should have use the regular old shovel, maybe this kid would've got the hint?
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
There's a time and a season...
Like David's son quoted in the old testament, ecclesiates chapter 3, There is a time and a season for every purpose under heaven. Or you could recall that old hippy ballad. Either way, I guess, the message is the same.
But it is true. Life comes in rounds. Just as we are adjusted to life as it is, it changes, and a new season can start. Most times we are not ready for the change, sometime we can plan it, or schedule it out. But we do know it is inevitable.
Sometimes these changes include things that bring us joy, such as a birth of a new baby, or a wedding, or change in a job. But still included in these things are the stress from one day doing something, and the next day, doing it differently. You don't just get married and have everything the same as before. But that is change. That is a new season.
As I contemplate the impeding arrival, the change of season in my life, that of changing from mom to small kids to mom of a newborn, I am humbled by the fact that I could, at any moment be thrust upon this change. Sure there can be warning signs, but for the most part, it is out of my hands. As if any power I had ever had over my body has been relegated to eating, and getting a nap when Chili is quiet.
But there are other changes that bring many down. There are changes in relationships, between husband and wife, or parent and child, that can at once seem as if you are standing on the edge of the storm. You don't want to go there, but you're old way of life is behind you dead. So you step into that stormy season with hopes that life doesn't change too much, or if it does, it would be a good thing. And most times it is. Like readjusting the straps on a bra. It is needed, and welcomed by the end. Like a sweet relief that you found something more comfortable. More workable, dare I say it, more supportive. The change in relationships is probably the hardest for us to receive.
So here's to change, good or bad. We can't control it, but we can make the best with what we are given.
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
But it is true. Life comes in rounds. Just as we are adjusted to life as it is, it changes, and a new season can start. Most times we are not ready for the change, sometime we can plan it, or schedule it out. But we do know it is inevitable.
Sometimes these changes include things that bring us joy, such as a birth of a new baby, or a wedding, or change in a job. But still included in these things are the stress from one day doing something, and the next day, doing it differently. You don't just get married and have everything the same as before. But that is change. That is a new season.
As I contemplate the impeding arrival, the change of season in my life, that of changing from mom to small kids to mom of a newborn, I am humbled by the fact that I could, at any moment be thrust upon this change. Sure there can be warning signs, but for the most part, it is out of my hands. As if any power I had ever had over my body has been relegated to eating, and getting a nap when Chili is quiet.
But there are other changes that bring many down. There are changes in relationships, between husband and wife, or parent and child, that can at once seem as if you are standing on the edge of the storm. You don't want to go there, but you're old way of life is behind you dead. So you step into that stormy season with hopes that life doesn't change too much, or if it does, it would be a good thing. And most times it is. Like readjusting the straps on a bra. It is needed, and welcomed by the end. Like a sweet relief that you found something more comfortable. More workable, dare I say it, more supportive. The change in relationships is probably the hardest for us to receive.
So here's to change, good or bad. We can't control it, but we can make the best with what we are given.
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
My Birth
It's my birthday on Monday. I'll be 37 weeks pregnant and finally legal for my homebirth. If my little babe decides to make an appearance on that day, I am so naming him Elvis. Why? Well, Elvis and I have shared the day since I was born. I think I should take my mom out to dinner.
29 years ago, my poor mom wasn't doing so well. She was big with child. A little background for you. My mom is 5 feet tall (if she jumps) and my dad once told me that seeing my mom pregnant, she looked like a snake that had swallowed a rat. Of course I was the last of the 4 kids. My mom was having blood pressure problems and for some reason, I guess, being pregnant with me was taxing her system to the limit.
The doctor wanted to "start" my mom before Christmas, but being the good mom that she is, she decided to wait a couple of weeks after. Remember, she had 3 other kids and a mom out of commission for Christmas isn't really a good thing. So anyway, on the day January 8, 1978, my mom packed her bags and checked into the hospital.
I know it was a Sunday, because specifically my mom has remembered to tell me about the doctor leaving to go to church. But that comes later. So Sunday morning, my mom checks in. Everything is cool, she gets all hooked up, and they start her on the pitocin. By this time, she had already had 2 natural births, preceded by my big brother who she had a saddle block with and assorted other interventions. She has no desire to do that one again.
I don't think she was really worried about the pit. She is one tough cookie, and determined NOT to have an epidural, or whatever they used 29 years ago. So they start her going. Things are going slow. Right? So this is where the Dr. Leaves to go to church, figuring it would be a few hours. My dad also leaves to get his daily cup o joe. So it is just my mom and her cervix. Apparently the cervix was ready.
Mom suddenly gets the urge to push. Nobody is around. She feels it very strongly and starts pushing the "call" button. The nurse comes in expecting something silly, and my mom tells her it is time. The nurse checks and realizes that it is time. She runs down the hall to catch the doctor before he exits the building.
This is where the details get a little fuzzy for me. Apparently every time a contraction hits my mom, my heart rate took a nose dive. Funny thing about being induced, not every time is the baby in a "good" position to be born. So my mom and her super uterus is pushing my head out and they realize that the cord is wrapped around my neck. That is the only possible explanation for the heart rate drop. So they start to get her going. She needs to push me out as fast as she can.
Sidenote: had this happened not 29 years ago, but today, my mom would have been wheeled into the operating room where she would have been knocked out and they would have performed a cesarean.
So the doctors are upping the pit, my mom is pushing me out fast. In the process my heart stops. I'm stuck in and I imagine the dr's are freaking out. My mom already HAD high blood pressure, so you can imagine what the pit is doing to her. She is not doing well. This is where the doctors are trying to make the choice...Baby or mom. Finally my head makes an appearance, and I am sliding out, purple bodied. Oxygen deprived (don't worry, I've already heard all the jokes). Somehow on my exit from the womb, I grabbed the nearest thing, mom's bladder and took it with me. Somewhat.
So the cord is cut and I am whisked off to the nicu where they resuscitate me. Mom is doing better, but not great. She is in for a few hours of being put back together. But she makes it. She is doomed to be on blood pressure medication for the rest of her life. And it all started with me. Well kind of.
And so my friends, that is why I want to take my mom out to dinner on my birthday. She totally deserves it. Besides raising me and all that, she went through THAT birth just to get me here.
29 years ago, my poor mom wasn't doing so well. She was big with child. A little background for you. My mom is 5 feet tall (if she jumps) and my dad once told me that seeing my mom pregnant, she looked like a snake that had swallowed a rat. Of course I was the last of the 4 kids. My mom was having blood pressure problems and for some reason, I guess, being pregnant with me was taxing her system to the limit.
The doctor wanted to "start" my mom before Christmas, but being the good mom that she is, she decided to wait a couple of weeks after. Remember, she had 3 other kids and a mom out of commission for Christmas isn't really a good thing. So anyway, on the day January 8, 1978, my mom packed her bags and checked into the hospital.
I know it was a Sunday, because specifically my mom has remembered to tell me about the doctor leaving to go to church. But that comes later. So Sunday morning, my mom checks in. Everything is cool, she gets all hooked up, and they start her on the pitocin. By this time, she had already had 2 natural births, preceded by my big brother who she had a saddle block with and assorted other interventions. She has no desire to do that one again.
I don't think she was really worried about the pit. She is one tough cookie, and determined NOT to have an epidural, or whatever they used 29 years ago. So they start her going. Things are going slow. Right? So this is where the Dr. Leaves to go to church, figuring it would be a few hours. My dad also leaves to get his daily cup o joe. So it is just my mom and her cervix. Apparently the cervix was ready.
Mom suddenly gets the urge to push. Nobody is around. She feels it very strongly and starts pushing the "call" button. The nurse comes in expecting something silly, and my mom tells her it is time. The nurse checks and realizes that it is time. She runs down the hall to catch the doctor before he exits the building.
This is where the details get a little fuzzy for me. Apparently every time a contraction hits my mom, my heart rate took a nose dive. Funny thing about being induced, not every time is the baby in a "good" position to be born. So my mom and her super uterus is pushing my head out and they realize that the cord is wrapped around my neck. That is the only possible explanation for the heart rate drop. So they start to get her going. She needs to push me out as fast as she can.
Sidenote: had this happened not 29 years ago, but today, my mom would have been wheeled into the operating room where she would have been knocked out and they would have performed a cesarean.
So the doctors are upping the pit, my mom is pushing me out fast. In the process my heart stops. I'm stuck in and I imagine the dr's are freaking out. My mom already HAD high blood pressure, so you can imagine what the pit is doing to her. She is not doing well. This is where the doctors are trying to make the choice...Baby or mom. Finally my head makes an appearance, and I am sliding out, purple bodied. Oxygen deprived (don't worry, I've already heard all the jokes). Somehow on my exit from the womb, I grabbed the nearest thing, mom's bladder and took it with me. Somewhat.
So the cord is cut and I am whisked off to the nicu where they resuscitate me. Mom is doing better, but not great. She is in for a few hours of being put back together. But she makes it. She is doomed to be on blood pressure medication for the rest of her life. And it all started with me. Well kind of.
And so my friends, that is why I want to take my mom out to dinner on my birthday. She totally deserves it. Besides raising me and all that, she went through THAT birth just to get me here.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
A day of sadness
One of our faithful chickens has passed away. It must be hormones, but I think I cried more than my children. And I was having a crappy day before I found my frozen friend.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Christmas is over....what's next?
That means that there is a big event in our family that is coming up. And no, it isn't my birthday. I mean it is, but that isn't the big even I'm talking about.
The present that big d and I talked about giving to each other this year for christmas could be anywhere from 2 weeks, to 5 weeks away. But there are hints that it may be sooner than we think.
Am I ready? Can I do this again?
I don't know! It seems so foreign to me, yet I have known this was coming. It seems weird that this wiggly thing inside my belly is about to burst forth. Things feel so different this time. Time had both slowed down and sped up. Am I more mature, or just lazy?
And then I look into the eyes of my boys, and I amazed at the wonder that they hold. I am humbled by the fact that they have come into my life. This is the end of my childproducing. Do I really want that to end? In all area's I can honestly say yes! Give me the small child, school child and beyond. let me have my body back and let me learn more about raising my children beyond the age of 10.
And then these little hands paw at my swollen belly and are amazed at the life growing inside. They giggle like girls at the kicks and wiggles they feel. This is amazing. They wonder at the way their new sibling will look, they ask questions about the birth, and how he will grow just like them.
I feel so torn inside. I can't do this again. I love it and hate it at the same time. Just the trying to get pregnant is more than I can handle, and then the 9 months of being miserable. Yet I know, that is only a very short time in what could be another amazing experience. But I don't think I could do it again. Does that make me a bad mom? Or a bad woman? Am I ready to throw in the towel?
I know I don't have to make up my mind right now. I know it could change, just like anything. Our situation could change, and I could never have a child again if I wanted too, or I could be blessed with a surprise a year from now. But the important thing I need to remember is that I've got one more shot to do it right this time. I have another opportunity to have a newborn. For better or worse I've got the responisibililty and the right to have a baby again.
and this time it will be different because I am older. I am wiser. I am not as freaked out. And it will be the same all over again. Newborns are newborns, babies are babies, and toddlers are toddlers.
So here's to more messes, more sleepless nights, more worries, doctor visits. Here's to the endless questions and first words. To the teeth that bite, and the boobies that feed them. To the poopy diapers, spit up rags. To the concerned neighbors who haven't seen me out of the house in months, and to the insta care that has seen me for 2 solid weeks. To the big brothers that will be set aside for a month or two, and for the daddy that will help out. To the food allergies, dog allergies, grass allergies. To the stictches and broken limbs. Here's to the giggles, the coo's. Here's to the hugs and the cuddles and the power to heal anything with a kiss. Here's to the sweet sleep on my breast, and to the hand wrapped around my finger. To the warm breath on my cheek, and the soft spot in my heart. Here's to having a baby. Let it be quickly here, and let that baby be as wonderful as my others have been.
The present that big d and I talked about giving to each other this year for christmas could be anywhere from 2 weeks, to 5 weeks away. But there are hints that it may be sooner than we think.
Am I ready? Can I do this again?
I don't know! It seems so foreign to me, yet I have known this was coming. It seems weird that this wiggly thing inside my belly is about to burst forth. Things feel so different this time. Time had both slowed down and sped up. Am I more mature, or just lazy?
And then I look into the eyes of my boys, and I amazed at the wonder that they hold. I am humbled by the fact that they have come into my life. This is the end of my childproducing. Do I really want that to end? In all area's I can honestly say yes! Give me the small child, school child and beyond. let me have my body back and let me learn more about raising my children beyond the age of 10.
And then these little hands paw at my swollen belly and are amazed at the life growing inside. They giggle like girls at the kicks and wiggles they feel. This is amazing. They wonder at the way their new sibling will look, they ask questions about the birth, and how he will grow just like them.
I feel so torn inside. I can't do this again. I love it and hate it at the same time. Just the trying to get pregnant is more than I can handle, and then the 9 months of being miserable. Yet I know, that is only a very short time in what could be another amazing experience. But I don't think I could do it again. Does that make me a bad mom? Or a bad woman? Am I ready to throw in the towel?
I know I don't have to make up my mind right now. I know it could change, just like anything. Our situation could change, and I could never have a child again if I wanted too, or I could be blessed with a surprise a year from now. But the important thing I need to remember is that I've got one more shot to do it right this time. I have another opportunity to have a newborn. For better or worse I've got the responisibililty and the right to have a baby again.
and this time it will be different because I am older. I am wiser. I am not as freaked out. And it will be the same all over again. Newborns are newborns, babies are babies, and toddlers are toddlers.
So here's to more messes, more sleepless nights, more worries, doctor visits. Here's to the endless questions and first words. To the teeth that bite, and the boobies that feed them. To the poopy diapers, spit up rags. To the concerned neighbors who haven't seen me out of the house in months, and to the insta care that has seen me for 2 solid weeks. To the big brothers that will be set aside for a month or two, and for the daddy that will help out. To the food allergies, dog allergies, grass allergies. To the stictches and broken limbs. Here's to the giggles, the coo's. Here's to the hugs and the cuddles and the power to heal anything with a kiss. Here's to the sweet sleep on my breast, and to the hand wrapped around my finger. To the warm breath on my cheek, and the soft spot in my heart. Here's to having a baby. Let it be quickly here, and let that baby be as wonderful as my others have been.
Monday, December 25, 2006
my cousin's new kid!
Alexander Reed
6 lbs 13 oz
20 inches tall
Stinkin' cute
Hooray for another baby born! That puts me at the top of the list (in my family at least!) See there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
whats the craziest thing you do for Christmas?
Mine was the going to the walmart ( I know) on a Saturday. Okay, not just any Saturday, THE Saturday before Christmas. I did escape alive, with only minor bruising, and a few scratch marks. Thank goodness I've got extra "bumper" protection with my extended belly. It might have helped with a few sympathy points as well.
All in all, Christmas is done with. At least the shopping part. Maybe Santa didn't find all the candy she wanted to put in the stocking, or the fun toys for Big D, but you live with it, right? Now it is time to put my swollen ankels up, steak up my black eye, and finish supervising the cleaning of the house!
Merry Christmas
All in all, Christmas is done with. At least the shopping part. Maybe Santa didn't find all the candy she wanted to put in the stocking, or the fun toys for Big D, but you live with it, right? Now it is time to put my swollen ankels up, steak up my black eye, and finish supervising the cleaning of the house!
Merry Christmas
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
What is in your heart?
It's no secret that I don't much like the Christmas season. I mean, I do love the anticipation, the Christmas morning rush, the buying of the gifts for my kids. I don't like the wondering-what-to-buy-for-other-people buying gifts. I don't like going to the store. I don't like spending of lots of money. I love the Christmas hymns, but I prefer to keep them in the two week window during Christmas. I'm all annoyed with the sending and receiving obligatory Christmas cards. Lighting up the whole neighborhood with twinkle lights. I don't understand why this particular holiday has just blown up, gone way overboard. What did we do?
Why is it that we spend the entire month of December planning for this one day? We spend so much money on making sure that everyone has a gift, and that everything is perfect.
Then you take a moment and pause and think about the nice things that people do for each other. How many people really do donate to the red cross or angel trees? How many good citizens buy toys for needy kids? How many people reach out to their neighbors with plates of cookies or other goodies, standing on a doorstep in cold weather to make sure that your neighbor is okay? How many people surprise somebody with a 50$ bill in a Christmas card with no return address?
We are not a needy family. We very well could be. We don't do the extra stuff in life, and are very conservative with our money. We budget, plan ahead, and save. There are times when just being poor sucks. But we are not "needy". Our kids will have Christmas, and I prefer the small Christmas of only a few toys and some needed socks and underwear.
Then something comes in the mail, and you swallow your pride and accept it with graciousness and humility. Why? Because someday, when I have extra to share, I'm going to do the same thing. Not because somebody is destitute, but because maybe they need a bit of a boost. Maybe they have worked hard all year, and a baby is coming, and they don't have everything that they need just yet. Maybe they are worrying about paying for the insurance deductible, replacing the soggy kitchen floor, or buying meat for the next two weeks. Maybe by somebody taking the time to slip some money in an envelope, makes them feel like they are loved, noticed, or cared about. Just maybe.
So I guess that is the reason everybody gets all mushy and soft on Christmas. Has it happened to you? Have you been the recipient of something uplifting? Or have you been the one to give? Have you had the blessing of knowing that somebody is thinking about you, and really does wish you well for the next year? Or have you been the one who worried about someone, and just wanted to make sure they knew that someone cared?
I guess that is what Christmas is all about, really.
"It's not what lies beneath the tree; but in the hearts of me and thee."
Why is it that we spend the entire month of December planning for this one day? We spend so much money on making sure that everyone has a gift, and that everything is perfect.
Then you take a moment and pause and think about the nice things that people do for each other. How many people really do donate to the red cross or angel trees? How many good citizens buy toys for needy kids? How many people reach out to their neighbors with plates of cookies or other goodies, standing on a doorstep in cold weather to make sure that your neighbor is okay? How many people surprise somebody with a 50$ bill in a Christmas card with no return address?
We are not a needy family. We very well could be. We don't do the extra stuff in life, and are very conservative with our money. We budget, plan ahead, and save. There are times when just being poor sucks. But we are not "needy". Our kids will have Christmas, and I prefer the small Christmas of only a few toys and some needed socks and underwear.
Then something comes in the mail, and you swallow your pride and accept it with graciousness and humility. Why? Because someday, when I have extra to share, I'm going to do the same thing. Not because somebody is destitute, but because maybe they need a bit of a boost. Maybe they have worked hard all year, and a baby is coming, and they don't have everything that they need just yet. Maybe they are worrying about paying for the insurance deductible, replacing the soggy kitchen floor, or buying meat for the next two weeks. Maybe by somebody taking the time to slip some money in an envelope, makes them feel like they are loved, noticed, or cared about. Just maybe.
So I guess that is the reason everybody gets all mushy and soft on Christmas. Has it happened to you? Have you been the recipient of something uplifting? Or have you been the one to give? Have you had the blessing of knowing that somebody is thinking about you, and really does wish you well for the next year? Or have you been the one who worried about someone, and just wanted to make sure they knew that someone cared?
I guess that is what Christmas is all about, really.
"It's not what lies beneath the tree; but in the hearts of me and thee."
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