my inlaws are moving

you'd think a daughter in law, who married the oldest son, would be happy, right?

Big d and I have lived close to his parents almost our entire married life. We did spend some time in NYC, but you can't really tell. Anyway, we've pretty much lived within 20 minutes of them for 10 years. we were told countless times how grateful they were for us, because we "stayed close".

We have known it was coming for some time now. Father in law has spent the better part of the year in far away places working. Mother in law retired from her school teaching job, and is now ready for the adventure of living wherever they next decide. Actually they have decided, and are packing up the house as I type.

They were a rock of solidarity to me. They had lived in this house for well over 30 years. I expected to bury them in the back yard with the cats! They accepted me as a daughter. They have been there for us during really tough times. I know in my heart that what they are doing is a good thing for them. They feel they need a fresh start at life, and are prepared to move across country to do it. I know they are doing what they think is right for them. I just feel a little betrayed, a little upset that my kids won't grow up with them anymore right there. As grandparents, they will miss out on so much of my kids lives.

I know the siblings have these same issues, as most of them have lived, or are living further away now. But they don't understand, that was their own choice to live away from them. This isn't our choice to have them move. We don't want them to. I also feel betrayed and hurt by a comment father in law said when they were telling us about them moving so many months ago. "The only thing keeping us here is you". It hurt on so many levels. And it still hurts today.

There will be good points to having them live 16 hours away! I won't have to constantly remind them that I have a family too. We won't have the trouble of splitting time at families for different holidays. There won't be uncomfortable moments at birthday parties when one grandparent gives more than the other. When they do come to visit, hopefully we will get all of them, and not just them on a Sunday afternoon.

But there are defiantly more disadvantages for us. We won't see them often. we can't afford to visit them. when they do come our way, we will still have to split them with 2 other families. They are also our hub of the family. When they move away, we won't see big d's sisters very often because they aren't going to come and visit just us. They are going to want to use their time to see mom and dad. cousins are going to get the short end by not having fun seeing each other. Well at least my part of the cousin game.

It has been hard for me. I've been grumpy. I feel betrayed. I don't want to see the house packed up. I don't want to see the moving truck pull away. I can't face the fact that it is the end. Things will never be the same. Not between us, and it will never be the same way for my kids. Ever. There are just some things that change permanently. They won't be here to go to t-ball games, or school programs. They won't be here to see birthday parties or loose teeth. They won't be here for Fussy's blessing, or to see how he will change. They will miss out on being "the favorite grandparents" for him. And because of that, we will loose something we have been working on for 10 years. A relationship shared by loving my kids. We will never have that same relationship again.

Instead, they will see pictures, and maybe read our blogs. And a couple of times a year, maybe, they will spend a day or two with the boys.

I could just be a softy, it's not like they are dead! I cried the day big d's sister moved. I just can't imagine how I'm going to feel when they are gone. I know I'm going to drive by the house and feel an emptiness. I hope my kids don't feel it, and I hope they do feel it too.

I truly hope they have the best years ahead for them. I wish them well in their new adventure. I hope they have all the success and fresh start they need to get them back on top in this crazy life game. And I do hope they know how much we will miss them, and how much their grandson's will miss them. I know this decision wasn't lightly made, but that is of little comfort right now.


so, good luck, farewell, and don't let the door hit you on your way out.

I'm having a hard time blogging one handed! My other hand seems to be constantly holding Fussy. I've got a couple of posts fizzing around in my head, I'm just waiting for a naptime that isn't 10 minutes long, or isn't filled with things like going to the bathroom. But I am pretty sure I've got the cutest baby.

it is all about that momma love, right. amazing how you fall in love with your newborn, even though he doesn't sleep, or he's incredibly fussy all the time.

I've some cute pictures of my kids. I wish I could post them here.

Of course Chilly is not being a good kid today. Finally after almost 6 weeks of not being the baby anymore, he is starting to really misbehave. Raising kids without beating them is tough.

My sister's new kid!

Back a long time ago, about 7 months, I found out that my older sister was expecting. What a huge surprise. This was cool for me, because, well, I had never been pregnant with one of my sisters before. Being the youngest does that to you.

So now my little fussy has a cousin on this side of the family that is close to his age. Pretty much is his age. Fussy turned 5 weeks old today, and his little girly cousin was born yesterday morning at 12am.

I am really excited for my sister. Her youngest before the baby is 11. And she, like me, has two older boys. So she got her girl, and the coveted granddaughter. And she is cute, my neice, not my sister, although she does look just fine. My mom came down and watched fussy so I could go to the hospital ( shudder) and see my new little neice.

I do think it is weird when the youngest (me) has advice for my older sister. My oldest sister even commented that she wished I had been having babies when she was having babies. Her youngest by the way is a year older than my Harry. It feels strange to be looking my older siste in the eye and give her advice about breastfeeding. Or when I called her on Saturday night (because my mom insisted) to talk to her about labor, and if she should go in to the hospital or not. But it is cool too. Almost like they have quit looking at me as the baby sister, spoiled rotten, and are now looking at me as an equal. I like it.

So congrats to my big sister on her new baby girl. And congrats to my mom for her new baby granddaughter.


At least fussy had almost 5 weeks of being the newbie!.

My timeline was off. Chilly did get the dreaded fever, only it was today. So more like a week in between fevers and general illness.

But aside from that we still had to take the boys to get their hair cut. except fussy didn't need one. Nope, he's lost pretty much all the hair on the top of his head already. So now he looks like an old man for sure. Toothless and bald. And he has baby acne too.

But the other two boys look so cute with the new do. And we actually paid someone to do it, so it looks much better than when I weed whack it for them. I love it!

it really is amazing how a haircut can change you. When Harry was done getting his, he looked, or reminded me, of my big brother. Same dark eyes, same eyebrows. It was eerie. Someday I'll have to post a picture of me in first grade, and Harry's first grade picture. Chilly looks older too, like someone hit the fast forward button and he turned 4 already, maybe 5. of course ever since we had fussy, Chilly looks really big to me.

the best part of getting their haircuts was showing off my baby to the old lady there. She was getting her doo, and watching my sweet boys intently. She pulled me aside and told me how cute my boys were, how sweet my baby was, and what a good daddy they seemed to have. I had to agree with her on all parts. I mean, even though Chilly was startign to get fevered up, he still sat still and was so good to get his hair done. And even though Harry was "scared" he still managed to get the courage to sit and chop off his lovely locks. But my heart belongs to big D! The way he encourages the boys to be good, and really, REALLY cares about them. The way he holds them, and loves them, especially fussy.

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.

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.

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!".

(this post is all about me being able to show off my kids!)

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.

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.

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.

can I get any lazier?

I just sit around all day, nursing and looking at this...

3 different boys

Harry, Chilly, and the babe all about the same age. Can you tell they are brothers??

more of the birth...

check out big-d's blog...
http://e-bigd.blogspot.com/

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.

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?

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.

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?

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.

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.