Of My Little Treasure

At six weeks, our little Niah girl was sleeping seven hours straight at night (then returning to sleep for another five hours or so after a quick 10-20 min feeding). At seven weeks she was sleeping 10 hours solid. We'd lay her down when Mom and Dad went to sleep and she'd be the last to rise in the morning (which is amazing considering the amount of volume created by her siblings as they entertain each other in their rooms - right next door to hers - every morning).

On the one hand - the one that recognizes I'm a momma of four who needs her rest if she's to keep Mean Mommy at bay - I was grateful for the uninterrupted slumber.

But can I be honest without being hated too much by mothers of babies who don't sleep through the night until they're twelve? I was mostly sad.

Sure, the first night was great, waking up well-rested and refreshed. But then I started to realize those precious early morning hours in the dark were ours. They were just for my Niah and me - tender moments one-on-one with my youngest daughter. Quiet minutes for me to catch up on my reading and treasure uninterrupted snuggle time with my sweetie.

In fact, every moment with this little girl seems entirely too precious to allow it to slip away.

I recall with my first, I enjoyed the newness of a little baby in my arms, but I still struggled with giving up "me" - I still wanted to do and be all the things I was before I was a mommy and I wasn't sure how to reconcile that with the new little one before me. And so I treasured the new milestones and embraced her sweetness, but I also let too many moments pass, wondering when I would be able to get back to "me."

With my second child, I was, again, adjusting. I didn't know how to care for one child who was very active while savoring time with this new little guy. It seemed if he didn't NEED to be in my arms, eating, he wasn't - I was just too busy trying to keep everything else in order.

My third child brought a little more awareness with him. I began to recognize, as I watched the first two blossom right under my nose, saying good-bye to those fleeting baby moments comes much too quickly. Now is the time to cling to what will soon be gone.

And my fourth has brought an entirely new perspective.

For a long time it felt this baby train might never end. And, as we're leaving things to God, it could be we're still in the middle of these baby bearing years. But the truth is, one of these babies will be our last. And in leaving the decision to God, I have no idea which one it will be. I don't know when the last moment of suckling a precious girl in the wee hours of the morning will come. I don't know if this is the last of my own little ones that will curl her tiny fingers around mine or spread unbelievably adorable gassy (or just plain happy) smiles across her face.

And even if she is not my last little one born of this womb, there is also the ever-present reality, made all the more distinct in light of the passing of a beautiful little family member much too young, only weeks before we welcomed this one in our arms, that I don't know when my last moment with her, or any of these cherished members of my family will come.

And so I hold her a little longer. I rejoice just a bit when I hear her cries, once again, resounding much earlier than I'd planned to rise, looking forward to her sleepy eyes drooping in the dark. I take in the tiny swirl of hair on her crown, the precious snores of her slumbering next to me as I type, those chubby rolls and that little outie of a button that swirls in just the most perfect way - a reminder of our attachment that will never end.

I grieve laying her down to move on to other tasks and watching her grow out of clothes she just began wearing. I cry just a little to think of the day she won't be sleeping peacefully on my chest, tiny arms wrapped tight.

But mostly I embrace her, counting every moment as a treasured gift.

(And take a ton of these - vain attempts to hold on to just a fraction of these sweet, yet fleeting, times)

Of Perspective Shifts

When we were new parents, the transition, as for everyone, was rough.  Going from free-spirited newlyweds  who can run out to Wal-Mart at 11:30 on a Friday night because they have a hankering to play Mouse Trap and need to go grab a copy to parents of a newborn who can't go anywhere without first buckling the baby into the carseat, making sure the diaper bag is stocked, considering the feeding schedule and how that will coincide with the time away from the house, the entire process adds at least five minutes to getting out the door and, well, it all becomes too much of a hassle to where you'd rather just stay home (or send one adult delegate out for the errands while the other stays home with the sleeping baby).

Suddenly you feel constricted, tied down.  Because it's not just the two of you, anymore, it's the two of you and "the baby."

It's an entirely different perspective going from being the two of you and a pre-schooler, a toddler and a newborn to it just being the two of you and "the baby."

Suddenly there is FREEDOM!  Because now, when we want to get out, instead of requiring twenty minutes to round up tiny shoes, change three diapers, check the diaper bag, grab snacks (if necessary), buckle three car seats and finally head out (to the cries of, "We wanna watch!"), we buckle a baby into his carseat, make sure the diaper is stocked, consider the feeding schedule and plan accordingly.  The entire process adds only five minutes to getting out the door.

Incredible what a shift in perspective does.

*Also, please note, we have felt much freedom for the past couple of weeks with an only child, but very much look forward to entering back into the pre-school/toddler fray shortly.

1,000 Gifts:
546. Slivers of potato flying off the peeler, over the bowl, into the sink
547. Reading, belly down, on a made bed at 7am with little one squirming nearby
548. His little head twisted all-around to see momma
549. Little boy asleep on his play-mat
550. Tiny male voice over the phone: "Good night, Mommy and Daddy"
551. Scribbling notes as I prepare to enter his world
552. Beautiful rain = Free car wash
553. Lounging with Little Mister, who just needs a snuggle
554. Raindrops on the windshield


"How I spent my Summer Vacation" by Joseph Peter:

Once this little guy learned how to get to his tummy, he never looked back.  Now he flips over the moment he's laid on his back.  And he always seems to hold his hands together - so proper!  He hasn't started working on flipping back, yet.  Apparently he's quite happy with the belly!

Of Re-adjusting

We in this house are huge supporters of the book On Becoming Baby Wise.  We have implemented the proposed scheduling plan on all of our children since Micaiah was a week old and we would swear up and down it has been so key to learning to handle life with babies - particularly to keeping our sanity (which we don't always succeed at, but it has nothing to do with that book).

I've noticed there are some misconceptions about the Baby Wise plan as some presume the idea of scheduling implies denying my baby food when he is ready, when, in reality, the good doctor actually emphasizes the ideal schedule to be one in which the clock and the mother's intuition work together - so, even if it's not been "long enough," I still have the right to determine if he really does need to eat again or if he just needs to be encouraged to get some more rest.

As a result of our flexible scheduling, our children have done well in the sleep department and have all been happy babies (unless they missed their nap or are just plain hungry) who had no problem gaining weight (seriously, they're chunks) - this third is no exception.  We love it.

Here's the problem: Joey has actually started sleeping six hours at a time at night - starting at 7pm.  Which means by the time we're ready to sleep, I'm convinced, every night, he's just about to wake up to eat, so I should wait.  Until 1am.  When I have to wake him up to feed him.  Ok, so he really just lasted that long for the first time last night, but he has been inching further along in the length of his sleeping and I knew it was coming.

So, how to get him to have his sleep-time coincide with ours so I can have six straight hours of sleep without going to bed at 7pm?  That's what we're trying to figure out.

I'll let you know how that goes.

1,000 Gifts:
85. Sharing the final slices of homemade bread with the kids who love it so much.
86. Washing a tiny one clean.
87. Time around the table, patiently waiting for meat to cook in the fondue pot, being a family.
88. Chopping carrots to prepare the cooking style for that same fondue pot.
89. All of Mr. Potato-head's pieces (or most of them) back together for the first time in awhile.
90. Losing track of time eating breakfast and doing "homework."


Taking Time for Play: Details
These tiny fingers are not letting that paci go.

And just because he's cute . . .

Of Today's Little Things

- I wore real clothes today for the first time in over a week.  Perusing my clothing, not finding myself limited to the small handful of tops which will appropriately cover a belly which has been growing a human being for nine months (or longer), it felt as though my closet had suddenly expanded.

- I keep forgetting to mention Littlest Man lost his umbilical cord on Saturday evening, just shy of one week old.  He's growing just too darn fast.

- After having two babies that look so much like their Daddy, it makes me a little happy inside that Joseph has my ears at least.  Or, rather, my giant lobes - the elfin points, I'm not quite sure where those came from.

 - I spent an hour today with a tiny baby resting in my lap while his grandparents played hide-and-seek with his elder siblings.  It was precious to hear.

- Being that he had started on bottles much earlier than I had previously planned, Philip and I took advantage of this unexpected ability for independence and sneaked out for a date night, leaving behind our precious newborn son and a bottle of carefully pumped milk (no more formula for him!).  Presently curled up on Grandma's chest, he doesn't seem to have minded.

- Having spent the last week dividing and conquering, Philip entertaining the big kids while I nourished and kept company our newest addition, an evening alone, where we could finally come together once again, was quite refreshing.

- Joey has been getting some good Grandma-bonding time today - she keeps finding herself with the enviable job of keeping him awake post-feeding.

Of Hospital Visits

After all the attempts to avoid visiting the hospital for Joey's birth, there I was, one week later, IV in arm, blood pressure cuff bloating itself every fifteen minutes or so, telling myself I'm SO glad I didn't have to do all of this during the birthing process.

This time, instead, it was for an allergic reaction to a medication - one I had woken up the morning before so sure would cure my misery of the past couple of days.  Instead, it brought me here, to the ER, where I had to have further drugs infused in my system, drugs that would make it risky for me to feed my newborn son for the next 24 hours.

We would have to feed a child formula for the very first time.  I felt like a failure.  Feeding times are precious to me and now my son had to have chemically-formulated nourishment from a rubber nipple.  Though not a tragedy by any means, it was too much for this currently-hormonally-imbalanced and definitely exhausted momma; I broke down into tears, right there in the emergency room.

And, yet, here we are, the next day, when I'm getting rest to make up for the lost sleep from our second Sunday in a row of waking too early to accommodate for the needs of my body.  This one, to be sure, ended with much less joy than the previous week, but we are all still here and healthy, and that, to be sure, is something for which to be very grateful.

Photos of the Day: This is how Little Man slept for nearly three hours today - apparently our early-morning escapades exhausted him, as well.

Just for kicks: Micaiah snuggled with Daddy a little after dinner, wearing the hat in which Emmett typically parades around.

One advantage to formula feeding for a day: sharing the joy of feeding with others.

Of Choosing Sleep

Our newest little boy is so spoiled.

When laid to rest in his precious cradle placed next to Momma's bed, he'll sleep, at most for 45 minutes before waking unhappy.  If he's laid in there while still awake, he will not fall asleep at all.

But rest him in the crook of Mommy or Daddy's arm, he'll fall right to sleep - and stay this way for a couple of hours.  Even on the couch or alone on the softness of the large king bed equals a nice long nap.

Apparently the cradle just does not feature the same spacious or warm characteristics of his other sleeping locales.  And, so, in favor of sleep for all, Little Man finds himself nestled through the night right where he longs to be - in our arms.  Someday we'll break him of the habit - but for now, sleep wins.

This is my favorite "newborn" boy shirt we own - he won't get to wear it for very long, so I had to document it while I could:

Grandma and Grandpa finally get to meet Joey!

Of Our Homebirth: An Epic Tale

WARNING: The post you are about to read is extremely long and kind of detail-laden, proceed only if truly interested.


There was a baby born in this house today.

The short length of the whole affair (being that I first awoke with contractions at 4:40am and there was another baby boy in our family by 8) makes it still seem surreal that I am here, blogging, while Philip plays his video game, much like any other night, except that there is a cooing bundle of baby in his arms as he clicks the controllers.  The mere fact that the entirety of my son's birth occurred before I would normally even be out of bed makes this day feel a dream.

I went to bed last night slightly saddened by the fact that I would be another day in church, facing the loving and pitying friends who were all weathering this wait alongside me.  Another day of explaining, "Any day now."

Yet, when I awoke in the pre-dawn hours with contractions I did not hold much hope - after all, I'd had quite the amount of false ones in the preceding weeks.  I didn't hold much hope, that is, until I realized they were quite frequent.  Less than ten minutes later, I was walking around the darkness of the living room, cell phone in hand, contraction timer open, testing to see if these were something more interesting than what we'd been experiencing previously.  False labor disappears with a change of position.  This did not.

I woke Philip at 5am to tell him I'd been having contractions but the timing wasn't exactly consistent.  Here we were in a quandary: we had been told to call when they were eight minutes apart (being that the midwives all live an hour, or more, away), but while the vast majority of the "surges" I'd been feeling were definitely less than seven minutes from each other, some were as close as three minutes while others were as far as nearly nine minutes.  So, we delayed further while I ate a protein bar and drank a full mug of water to further test the reality of the situation.  But with the extreme intensity I was feeling (clinching my toes and not being able to talk during a contraction are sure signs) I knew this baby was coming today.

It was 6:20 when Philip notified the midwife on-call of our situation.  By this time, I was nauseated and shaking - signs, I remembered from my previous two births, of sure labor - something was going to happen and I was in denial of how soon.  For our other two, these symptoms occurred very closely to "push time," but I had only been having contractions for an hour and a half - and they were still 3-4 minutes apart!  This was definitely not going how I had imagined this process going.

After making the necessary phone calls - to the midwife (who was sending her assistant ahead to get things going and be sure this was the real thing), his sister (the photographer and transportation for our kids to a sitter whenever they woke up) and our good friend, Holly (who plans to train to be a doula someday and whom we had asked to be on-call as added assistance and support) - Philip got a quick shower while I started a bath to ease the extreme discomfort these contractions were causing - EXTREME.

It was only after about two contractions in the bath that I announced to Philip, "I want to push!" - and when I say "announced", I kind of mean "screamed like a crazy woman while enduring yet another 'surge.'"  I really did not want to have this baby with just Philip and I, but I also knew I was in a lot of pain and my body was certain that shoving this thing out would go a long way to ending that pain.

Let me assure you, I was doing the best I could to remember all I read - I was relaxing muscles as I noticed them tighten (like those clenched toes), I was breathing slowly when it occurred to me, and we had my CD of instrumental music/nature sounds playing in the background (this CD actually played for seven hours solid this morning - totally worth the $1 I paid for it back in college) -  but there was significant pain - not anything different or more intense than what I'd felt before in giving birth, but I'd always told myself that was because of the Pitocin - turns out, no, that's just what contractions feel like.  Good to know.

I didn't see Philip's face when I made my aforementioned "announcement" of needing to push, but I'm sure if I had it would have been a reflection of sheer terror; he immediately offered to call the midwife once more.  And, though I could not see her, either, I definitely heard the controlled, yet panicked, tone of the midwife's voice as she instructed him to have me kneel on the floor, leaning forward, so as to discourage the urge until help could arrive - and she was, most assuredly, now on her way.

I was sad to leave the comfort of the warm water, but, as an over-achiever, I like to do as I'm told, so Philip helped me from the tub and I headed to kneel on the carpet outside our bathroom door.  At this point, staring right at the white-ish color beneath me, I declared in a panic, "Not on the carpet!"  I realized, then, that we had no idea how to prepare this room for the reality of giving birth.  Sure, we had all the supplies on-hand, neatly packed in their boxes along the wall, but what we needed to do with them?  Not a clue.  I had always assumed the midwives would arrive, in a calm, assured manner, as labor was just beginning and I was still in a smiley, though possibly weary, state, prepared for hours of laboring.  They would then go about their business preparing the space, laying out the waterproof pads where necessary, and all would be in order.

This vision was clearly not going to be happening, but that knowledge made me no more interested in overcoming my own discomfort to do anything about it.  I simply crawled back to the tile of the bathroom and instructed Philip to lay out on the carpet of our bedroom, in the small space between the bathroom and our bed, the waterproof mattress cover we'd purchased.  Anything else could be dealt with later.

It was at this point we received the phone call to notify us the birth assistant would be arriving within 15 minutes - unfortunately, the call came during yet another contraction, during which I was leaning forward and screeching in frustration, while pounding the tile floor, "FIFTEEN MINUTES?!"  I did not want to endure one more second of resisting the urge to get this baby out, let alone a quarter of an hour.

Fortunately, it was only about five minutes or so before Holly arrived.  Though I still could not push, she immediately walked in and asked, "Where's the birth kit?  I'll start setting it up."  Oh sweet relief - someone who knew what we were doing!  I probably would have expressed more graciousness about her arrival and willingness to be put straight to work, but I was so far in the process by this point, I could do little more than stare at the floor and offer short grunts in responses to questions.

During contractions, as Philip calmly stroked my back, assuring me I could do this, it's what my body was made to do, I was leaning forward, my face buried in a towel, whispering in my own head, "I can do ALL things through Christ who strengthens me" [Philippians 4:13].  The reality is, focusing on the truth of this Scripture truly did ease the pain - it was not eliminated by any means, but knowing I had the strength of Christ in me would cause my toes to unfurl and my breathing to slow.  Blessed assurance!  At some point in this process, Philip also whispered a sweet prayer of relief in my ear.  What a wonderful man I have.

It was 7:45 when the birth assistant arrived, rushed into the room and announced I could let my body dictate what needed to be done, even if that meant pushing.  Glory, Hallelujah!

Only one or two contractions into the pushing process, she called Philip over to be prepared to "catch" the baby and he watched, encouraging me all the while, as first my water broke and then out poked our little baby's head.  And, then, the entire body.  I'm not going to lie, it was excruciating, but it was a couple of minutes of excruciating to end a couple of hours of nearly-unbearable, I could take that.  Also, I'm pretty sure the intensity of it was probably heard down the street, as I was urged to "grunt" during this process and I took the suggestion seriously - which somehow turned into primeval she-woman screams during those last moments - my throat is still kind of sore.  Sorry to all those in the room.

And then they were handing me my baby.  I still had not been told what we had - in the excitement of catching his off-spring, Philip had not even thought to look.  So, as the baby was passed to me, I did a quick check and it took a moment in the dim light for me to finally focus and announce, "It's a boy!"  A sweet boy. With whom I fell in love immediately.

He was born at 8am - 3 hours and 20 minutes after I had first woken up.  And the midwife wasn't even there yet.  She arrived within five minutes or so, just in time to see me holding my baby boy for the first time.

Then came the wonderful part of a homebirth - I was helped into bed, my own bed, and allowed to settle in with my son for a good two hours as every indication that a birth had just take place outside my bathroom door was whisked away by people other than myself and I was left with our room in pretty much the same condition it was when we started.

Not long after moving to the bed, we heard a small knock from inside the bedroom across the hall.  The kids had finally woken up and they heard voices - the guttural screams of their birthing mama?  No.  Just voices.  As they entered the room to meet their baby brother, Micaiah was asking if "Baby Sister Penguin" was coming, too, and Emmett was just not sure what was going on - he had just woken up after all, and was now in Mommy and Daddy's bedroom, filled with people, some strangers, some not, while Mom held a strange little baby.  He was not having it.  After breakfast, though, he was at least willing to sit on the bed and look at the "be-be."  By the time the two arrived home from church (thank you, Holly, for taking them!), he was actually pretty excited to see his new baby brother and show him his new McDonald's toy.  Such a great big brother already.

Before the midwife and her assistant headed home, they finally examined baby boy, pronouncing him 9lb 8oz (Philip actually got to hold him up as they weighed him in their sling-like scale), and 20 1/4 inches long - all his vitals were perfect.  I was stitched up (from my very small tear) and then the two headed on their way, leaving Philip and I to snuggle in bed - our own bed! - with our new baby boy (who would later be dubbed Joseph Peter - Joey).

And it wasn't even noon, yet.

And that was our epic morning.  Kudos to you if you made it through the whole thing.  I'll be back tomorrow with maybe a few more thoughts on the experience (you didn't think there could be more, did you?).  As for now, good night!

Of Trusting

God has been using this Little One, from the day he/she was first discovered to be taking up residence in my belly, to teach me what it means to truly trust in Him.

Lately, the trusting has come in the form of waiting.

As every day goes by, I less bemoan the fact that there is still a baby inside and more dread the approaching 42 week mark - the point at which I will be sent for medical intervention, ie, an induction.

Now, I know that induction is not the worst possible scenario - I've been through the Pitocin process twice before.  But it has been the exact situation we planned a homebirth to avoid.  I've endured birth via Pitocin and it has been my greatest excitement for the past 7.5 months to envision a drug-free birth.  To experience non-drug-induced contractions and allow myself the freedom to find my body's best way to birth - to experience it the way God intended.  This has been our goal, my dream.

And, yet, the clock is now ticking.  With each passing day we are that much closer to being back in the hospital, hooked up to the machines, birthing this baby the hospital's way, rather than our own.  Sigh.

On top of simply not wanting to deal with the effects of Pitocin, I also severely dread what a hospital birth will mean for our budget.  It's not cheap and we've already paid our midwives - so to pay for both, well, I'd rather not talk about it.

So I have lived in fear and anxiety for the past couple of days knowing what's coming and praying, ever praying for my will to be done.

Yet, that's not the right response.  I know that.

Yesterday God broke me, emptied me, and filled me with peace.  He reminded me of this tough lesson of trust He has already been working in me.  To say I am trusting God in this situation does not (or should not) mean I am "trusting" Him to accomplish my desired outcome it should mean I am trusting Him to work all things together for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28), even if they're not how I planned them.  It's trusting Him to know what is best - even if it means Pitocin, even if it means the hospital, even it means more bills.  It's trusting Him to provide, as He always has, when undesired outcomes mean undesired fees.

So I am trusting.  I am finding peace.  This baby may well come in the next week, all on its own.  This baby may well need to be coerced (and could I blame it?  I did the same to my mother when the hospital had to tell me to come out 25 days after I was supposed to).  Only God knows.

I have no power of my own to determine when or how this baby enters the world.  And even if I did, I would continue to trust.



Photo of the Day: As we headed out the door for my midwife appointment today, Micaiah repeatedly asked Emmett, "Emmett, do you want to give me a hug?"   To which he continually replied, "Ya!" and toddled to her waiting arms.  These two are simply the cutest.

Of Repetition

It seems to me every day, of late, is the same.

I wake up with the realization, though not the expectation, that Baby could arrive today.  For some reason it always feels, though, if it hasn't started by then, it won't happen until evening, at which point the baby will, realistically, most likely, arrive the next day.  Perhaps this is why the expectation is not real.

I piddle through the day, delaying activities until "after the baby comes," trying to keep the kids busy and the house clean, "just in case."  I realize I don't know what we're having for dinner.  I'm out of grocery money because, frankly, I thought by now we'd be living off the food I've been hoarding in the freezer for the past month and a half.  Thus, it's a rummage in the pantry for anything we have not yet devoured and then a creative search through the recipe box in my head, and then allrecipes.com if nothing has yet come to mind.  All the while, I eye, with lust, the frozen bags of soups and chilis, casseroles and meatloaves, wishing we could just break into them because I'm so tired of cooking right now.

Sometime in the late evening, I begin to have odd feelings in my abdomen.  Not usually contractions, though those are typically sprinkled in, but just feelings that something may be happening.  Baby starts pulling it's ninja moves it must have inherited from Daddy, as though it's trying to find some alternate exit besides the one it is so clearly avoiding.

I go to bed thinking, surely these pains, this increased movement, these different feelings must mean something - something will surely be happening tonight.  But for now, I must rest - I need to save up my strength.

And then, the next morning, like a pregnant version of "Groundhog Day," I awake - realizing, I've still "got you, Babe" and my body back to feeling normal - or, at least, it's new normal, since the day the baby dropped and I feel like I'm the penguin - the awkwardly uncomfortable penguin.

So, here we are.

Another day, another contraction, and a whole lot of nothin'.

PS I shall return later with my Photo of the Day, stay posted.


PPS As promised . . . Our evening activities included this:

Stressing over baby names is also a part of the daily routine - it's more of a background theme.  Don't worry, Philip vetoed all those listed above.

Of Nothing

Yeah, so I may be drowning myself in a bowl of Kettle Corn while watching Babies on Netflix.

And this may be how we spent the day (again) - minus the dirty face, that was Daddy's job:

What of it?

Of the Unbirthday

This is officially the furthest I have ever made it into a pregnancy.  Our son was co-erced into the world a week early (thanks to extenuating circumstances) and our beloved daughter was born promptly on the morning of her due date. So, the evening of this one's precise due date is as long as I've ever gone with a baby inside me.  And I'm doing alright.

My wonderful sister-in-law blessed me with chocolate ice cream in honor of the day.  And I was sprinkled with "labor dust" via Facebook (I'm not sure what that means, but it sounds like fun).  It's almost like my birthday - which is ironic, considering it's most likely my baby's unbirthday.

I woke up this morning loving how gorgeous our house was and kind of sad our baby didn't come through the night so the house could be enjoyed by someone else.  Thus, dreading the destruction of our cleanliness by our hyperactive children (not that they're little terrorists - because they're really pretty awesome), I was shameless this morning in pulling out the iPad to distract our little ones from the lure of toys which are currently stowed in their snug little homes.  Between the iPad and Toy Story 3, it totally worked.  I now sit in a spotless living room that has not been touched by a single toy today.  I know, it's sad.  But I'm choosing, for now, to not feel guilty.

I may feel guilty if I choose the same course of action every day until Arrival Day - we'll see.

Emmett loves to climb up onto the love seat these days.  And when he noticed I was taking his picture, he turned on the "Cheese!"

Captivated by Buzz and Woody.

When "Dia" came over, she was asked to play the role of the puppy by our wonderful daughter.  Emmett decided to take advantage and, after shoving her into the living room, chose to use her as his personal dog sled.

Micaiah wearing Daddy's sweater.

And then I had to include this photo, because Emmett couldn't let someone have their picture taken without "Cheese"-ing in.  And then he looked kind of evil - in the cutest way.

Of Getting Ready (Still)

Tomorrow is officially my "due date."  I'm not hinging any hopes on it, but the house is finally spic and span once again, leaving me without that dreaded feeling of, "If the baby comes tonight, we're going to have to do a quick cleaning before the midwives get here!"  Not that they'd care, but I would.  So now we're good.  For tonight anyway.

Just another item on that list of things to do before Baby comes - a list I think is complete every day, until I do one more thing "I'd been meaning to do."  On tomorrow's list: bake another loaf of homemade bread.

Anyway, here I am, the night before my due date, loving the roundness of this belly.  Seriously, my baby bellies aren't usually that cute, so this one, with it's basketball-like features, is making me kind of happy.

And since I missed yesterday's photos of the day, here is the picnic Micaiah prepared for she, Emmett and Daddy.  Notice the minuscule blanket they all get to share.  I love it!

Of Taking it Easy

I feel I may have, unintentionally, misled a few folks.  By talking of this baby arriving "any day now" for over a week now, I meant to be more understanding of the fact that a "due date" is really a guesstimate and the baby could, realistically, arrive at any point two weeks before or after (well, clearly, earlier or later is possible, as well, but as far as the general world of birthing babies is concerned, a two week buffer is pretty typical).

However, I have apparently given others the impression that this baby should have come out at least a week ago and by now I'm clearly just running late and need to be doing marathon power-walking sessions, booking pedicures and employing every known labor-inducing trick in the book (and most of those not in the books).

So let me clear a few things up.

Today was the date our ultrasound showed, at Week 20, as a projected "ready" date for this little one.  However, our "official" date remains (since day one) February 6th.  So, as of right now, I'm not even considered overdue - I am 39 and a half weeks along.  Our midwives will allow me to gestate until my 42nd week, at which point I will be sent to the hospital for some "encouragement" of medical means.

This means, I have, in theory, until February 20th for Penguin to enter the world at his or her own pace.  Thus, while, in theory, he/she could arrive "any day now" - it would not be pushing it if this little one stayed tucked inside for another nineteen days.

And, quite frankly, the fact that they draw the line so close to my due date actually makes me a little sad because it would make me downright giddy inside to have a Leap Day baby.  Yes, I recognize that would be four more weeks of waddling - but for a Leap Day baby, I would so do it.  Though, knowing my stubborn and independent children, I would endure the physical discomfort those extra weeks only to have this Penguin pop out on February 27th.  But none of that conjecturing even matters, because the midwives won't let it happen.  Sadly.

All this to say, yes Baby is still inside.  Yes, I am contracting at a ridiculous (though very unsteady) rate.  No, there are no further signs anything is going to happen soon.  And until there are, I'm going to keep going about my life.  After two days of "waiting" - as though I were good for nothing other than sitting on the couch and willing this baby to come out - I'm done.  This baby can come when he or she is ready, but I'm not going to stop life in its tracks until it happens.

And that's that.

Photo of the Day: When I entered their room after nap-time, Micaiah and Emmett were settled next to each other on her bed, where she was reading them The Berenstain Bears.  When I attempted to address them, I was told, "I'm reading the bears, Mommy."  Neither of them were at all interested in me and neither gave any indication of moving.  So, I let them be and continued with dinner prep.  It was pretty adorable.

Also, Emmett was alternating between, "Teese!" and watching Sissy intently.  And every time I put the camera down he would do the sign for "More" and beg, "More teese!"  I love it!

Of Being Ready

I've been saying for weeks now that I am really in no hurry for this little one to enter the world.  I've been addressing the reluctance to enter the realm of late-night feedings and an extra body to clothe before running out the door.  What I did not realize, though I knew I was anxious to attend this weekend's retreat, was this event was truly the one thing holding me back.  Now that my weekend with the girls has passed, I find myself actually ready.

My arms are eager to hold a tiny wrinkled body.

I am eager to see my daughter kiss a tiny head.

I'm nervous about not having a name for this little one, but it's not enough to wish the arrival would wait.

I am looking forward to the first rhythmic contractions - not the ones that will disappear with a change of position or a sip of water.

I am looking forward to putting my breathing practice to work.

I am looking forward to not remembering life before this newest one joined us.

So, little one, we're ready to meet you any time you're ready!

Of Retreating

I have just this evening returned from our church's first ever Ladies Retreat to Falls Creek (if you don't know what Falls Creek is, you're clearly not from Oklahoma - and that's about all you're missing out on).  We were able to rent a ridiculously luxurious "cabin" at this typically-reserved-for-youth-groups "summer" camp for the night.  It made for a great 24-hours away to re-charge our batteries and re-connect as girls.

Of course, my traveling an hour and a half away from home at nearly 39 weeks pregnant made everyone around me a little anxious - but I had been praying for this baby to just wait until after today*.  And baby (and God) listened.  I was given the time I needed to remember how to dwell in God and come up under His wing as His beloved daughter.  What a breath of fresh air.

And now that this retreat is complete and I am safe at home, this baby has the green light to come whenever it is ready.  Bring on the contractions!  (Ok, let's be honest, they've already been brought, but I would appreciate it if they were more real than those I've been having over the past couple of days.)

*Please note: For those who are even now questioning my sanity, I am well aware that my body, in the past, has taken well longer than an hour and a half to deliver a baby, so even if typical signs of labor had appeared during the 24 hours I was away, I was quite certain I could return home.  And, in the extremely unlikely event something of a more emergent nature had occurred, I was surrounded by a wealth of nurses, both past and present - two of whom are currently labor and delivery nurses at our local hospital (one of whom aided in the delivery of our son) - so I knew I was in good, safe hands in either case.

 Sunrise out my window.  I did not even get out of bed for this picture (seriously, it was sunrise, not "wake-up time", as Micaiah would call it).

 The three "Preg-o's" who couldn't take the discomfort of the plastic chairs for another session commandeered (with the help of more able-bodied friends) a couch for the back row.  Yes, I look like a whale - don't judge.

Of Encouraging a Revolution

For the past couple of weeks, our midwives have been warning us that this little one is "posterior" - this means the baby, who should be facing toward my spine, is facing forward.  This is nothing life-threatening for us, but it can mean a more difficult (and uncomfortable) delivery.  Thus, they recommend I do this twice a day for about twenty minutes each:

Doesn't that just look like a ball (ba-dum-ching)?  At least, that's how I interpreted their suggestion of being "hands and knees on the ball" - because, um, there's a giant bump on my tummy that won't really rest on the ball, so I was not sure how I was to be on both hands and knees with a giant ball somewhere underneath.  If you have any better ideas, you let me know.

Not that it really matters much at this point, anyway, or so I'm beginning to presume.  Because as of today, it's definitely beginning to feel this tiny human has settled in for its impending delivery - leaving me to believe if it hasn't turned by now, our chances are it won't.  So, definitely hoping for good news at the midwife tomorrow!

In other news, the third of the six of us due next week or shortly thereafter has just had her little boy.  Just in case you're keeping count.

Of Peer Pressure

I am one of six women I know through various channels who are all due during the first week of February.  One of these had her baby last night and the other is in labor as I type.  We're dropping like flies.

Meanwhile, I alternate between feeling so ready to be in labor and crying in the fetal position (on the inside anyway), "I'm so not ready for this!"

Yes, it would seem with my third one it would be no big deal.  And on the one hand it isn't.  But the idea of orchestrating our life around a newborn so soon is exhausting.

At the same time, I do look forward to those first couple of contractions, the ones that are so clearly not Braxton-Hicks that will tell me, "This is it!"  Because I love me a good birth story and I'm looking forward to feeling this one unfold.  The anticipation is always exciting.

So, I remain torn.  As far as my schedule goes, I'd prefer this little one to hold off at least one more week.  Here's hoping I'm one of the final holdouts of these early/pre-February baby mamas.

But for now, I'm super happy for the latest ladies to join the Mommy club!

This is what are kids are up to tonight.  They're big fans of balloons.  Do you think they'll get all of this energy and noise out before baby comes, leaving quiet, calm siblings for the little one?  Yeah, I don't, either.

Of Preparations

While I understand this newest Little One may not make it's arrival earlier than initially expected, I also have to live in reality and realize it's not completely unreasonable that this baby could arrive literally any day over the next month.

Any day.

That seemed to finally hit me last night, as we went "homebirth shopping" (ie we took the giant list of suggested supplies from the midwives and hit up Wal-Mart for all they had).  On the list was snacks for both ourselves and for the midwives (because let's be honest, they could be there awhile).  I kept thinking we didn't really need to worry about that too much now, because we'd get things like fruit or cheese as we got closer.

That's the moment it hit me.  We are closer.  At this point, the only "closer" we'll get is when it's actually happening, and, frankly, I'm not sending my man to the grocery store for a fruit tray while this baby is working itself out.  So that was it, we have to be prepared.  We need this stuff on hand now.

Yikes.

Thus, in continued preparation, I packed up the kids this morning for a little field trip to the local fire department to have Little Bit's car seat properly installed - something I've always wanted to have done for our kids but never actually did.  So, today was the day.

I thought it would be more exciting for the kids than it was - mainly because our little girl was more interested in watching cartoons in the firehouse than actually oohing and aahing over the big trucks.  Other than the cartoons, a random stream of water pooled on the firehouse floor, which gave her a place to get her shoes wet and make footprints, was about the highlight of the morning for her.

Only a half hour later, all three car seats were snugly positioned in the middle row of our SUV - those suckers aren't budging.  Thus, as soon as I get the cover for the infant seat washed, we will be officially prepared to haul three children around town and beyond.

So here we are, not holding our breaths, but realizing we really are prepared for this baby.

Well, except for that darn crib.  It's still not assembled.  But we do own a mattress now, does that count?

Photos of the two days of preparation:

All our supplies ready and waiting in the corner of our bedroom.  The giant brown box is my "birth kit" we had to order, which contains all the little things (right down to the knit cap for baby) they typically have for a hospital birth which we'll also need here at home.  And, yes, those are adult diapers in the picture.  Don't ask how awkward those are to buy - but they were recommended.

Philip, being a good husband and inflating my birth ball.  We might not have done this task so early if I didn't need to be leaning on it to encourage this baby to face the right way (it's head down, but facing forward, whereas it will be easier on everyone if it faces my back).

This is exhausting work.  He takes good care of me!

 At the fire station, Emmett got to sit up in the big seat.  Micaiah was offered the position, as well, but she played the shy card and said she was scared.  Then proceeded to change her mind about twelve times.  The end result was no sitting in the fire truck for her.

 I'm pretty sure this was about the time she was telling me, "I want to go inside and watch cartoons."  Surrounded by cool fire trucks and that's all she can think of - nothing impresses this girl.

 Emmett had fun playing with the stream of water, too (which you can't see in this picture, but was close to where he was standing).  Again, cool uniforms to see and it's all about the puddle.  Sigh.  My kids.

 Well, at least they were excited about the "badges" and coloring books the firemen gave them.  Maybe there is hope for them yet.