Look! A Picture!

Yeah, well, the whole dowloading of pictures is still a process since my laptop died; we're working on fixing it. But until then, I thought I would share a picture we had on Facebook. Sorry it's so small! I promise we'll get more soon. But isn't he adorable!?

And #5 Makes...umm...Five!

We arrived at the hospital by 7:00AM. They took us back to our room [one that has two beds/phones, btw. If you are calling the hospital trying to get me --tell them I'm in the "b" part; the "a" phone keeps ringing (has all day), but I'm not close enough to get to it (and am usually nursing). So, if you've been trying to get a hold of me, I'm sorry! Try again!]. I was put on pitocin right around 8:00 or 8:30AM.

Not sure, exactly.

Anyway, my midwife broke my water at approx. 9:30AM. My mother and husband were with me.

And then, for the next 7 hours, I waited patiently.

Oh, the contractions came and went; I was in complete control. They were hard, but not hard enough. So, after a good conversation with my midwife and my husband, we agreed to up the pitocin levels by 2 ml every 30-60 minutes. By 3PM, I was at a 20, and I was so frustrated with myself --I swear I was only dilated to a 4, and I felt I would be in labor all night.

However, by 3:30PM, I needed help through the contractions. By 4PM, I was dilated to a 6. Even though the contractions were really hard, I was amazed at my focus --I could feel my cervix opening, and I was able to breathe deeply through the pain. However, by 4:30PM, I was starting to get worried at my ability to breathe. That's usually when my yelling starts, but I found I was only grunting and breathing "loud." I did throw out some swearing, though (I think it was one "dammit"). At 4:30PM, my midwife checked me and I was almost an 8. They prepped the room.

It was also around this time that my SIL showed up to help (she's a nurse and she is awesome!). Between her, Brandon, my mom, the midwife, and the fabulous l&d nurse, I was still breathing deeply through the very painful contractions. When I felt him descend and I knew I needed to push, everyone held my legs for me so I didn't have to, and I focused on my breathing and pushing him out.

This is where the greatest miracle of my life occurred: I was able, in the course of 10 minutes, to not only push out my son, but I did so slowly, with ease (no frantic, head-popping pushing), without yelling, breathing deeply and slowly (not shallow), and without tearing at all. His shoulders were harder to push out, but it only took a few seconds. Then he was placed in my arms, and I cried with joy.

The midwife and nurse (and my SIL) couldn't stop talking about how in control I was --in fact, today, ALL the nurses are still talking about that woman who didn't yell during her unmedicated childbirth. One asked me how I did it --I said I read a HynoBirthing book a few months ago. Plus, all my experiences, thinking, breathing practice, etc. helped. That was pretty much it. I didn't have a lot of prep for it.

And I have to admit, hearing that I'm the "talk of the hospital" does make me feel good. But I have to confess --just because I was in control does not mean it didn't hurt.

It hurt like hell, dear reader. It's definitely not easy!

He weighed 9 lbs 3 oz and was 21 inches long. He has tons of dark hair (although not nearly as much as #1 and #4 had), and he's soooo mellow. He's a good nurser, and sleeps like a rock. I sure love that little guy.

Anyway, this was --by far --the best labor and delivery I've ever had. The outcome isn't the best nor the worst --all the outcomes (my gorgeous 5 kids) are tied for perfect. :) But I can't help but see that this particular birth has given me some miracles:

Miracle One: I no longer believe pitocin is of the devil. Since we had induced me cold (I was a 2, and not thinned out completely), the pitocin is what got the kid out.

Miracle Two: The no yelling thing.

Miracle Three: Realizing I can be in control!

Miracle Four: Not tearing at all; no stitches. Healing is going fast this time...

Sorry for no pictures --I'll post some after I get home...or go here and see if you can see him.

Trying Not to Worry

It is precisely 5:26AM. And I can't sleep.

I've been up since 4:44AM, when my mind forced my body awake. We don't have to be to the hospital until 7:00AM, but for some reason, I'm especially anxious today.

I shouldn't be nervous, but I am. I shouldn't have concerns or fears, but I do. And what I'm finding to be the most nerve-wracking and concerning is not labor and delivery itself, but life AFTER the baby arrives. I would by lying if I said I'm not scared for the immediate future with a new infant.

One would think that after having four children, having another is just...normal. Perhaps one would think that I'm "used" to having babies, and therefore one more isn't going to change anything. But oh, dear reader, how wrong one would be to think in that way! Each child brings such a new dynamic to the family, to the routine, to the mind/heart --as s/he should, because each person is important. But more than this, I think I'm scared of the unknown:
*Will I get Postpartum Depression with this one?
*Will he be colicky?
*Will I have the support I need to make it through the next 6 weeks?
*Will all my optimism I've been bragging about fly out the window when I realize I truly cannot do it all?
*Will my other children suffer and turn to resentment?

I've been praying all morning that my mind will relax so I can get through labor without the tension I'm feeling. I don't mean to worry about things I cannot control --in fact, I try really hard not to. I don't want worry or fear to dominate this day, either.

So, I'm writing to get this out. Then I'm going to pray some more, ask Brandon for a blessing, take a long shower, and calm my nerves. Because no matter what happens after the baby is born --no matter what he and I have to face together --I will be eternally grateful for him. I'm anxious to meet him! I want to hold him in my arms, smell his sweet head, kiss his face, and know that he was meant to be a part of our family.
In fact, now as I'm writing about him specifically, I'm feeling calmer and calmer...

Wish us luck! I'm sure there will be a post later tonight with all the details.

Time Goes Quickly

Time plays tricks on us all the time. It blows me away at times --sometimes I think it's rude, but today, I think it's pretty cool.

Right now, I'm sitting in my living room, typing on my father's laptop. My soldier brother and his wife are here from California, and we're gushing over their two boys. My mind flashes back to when he brought his wife over to my house for the first time...I think is was June of 2002. We all fell in love with her immediately, and I wasn't shocked when they were married by the following December.
Back then, I had #1 and was pregnant with #2.
My sister and her husband are also here. She is looking absolutely adorable in her 31st week of pregnancy --it's her third boy. Their other two children are playing happily with their cousins, and again my mind flashes back...we met her husband in July of 2003. I knew immediately they would marry --which they did, again the following December.
Back then, I had #1 and #2, and by their wedding, I was pregnant with #3.
My baby brother is here. He and his gorgeous wife will be married for one whole year next week. When we met her, they were already engaged --however, she and I had been emailing each other for quite a few months. She's fabulous.
Back then, I had #1, #2, #3, and #4, although we were hoping for #5 at the time. Which will obviously come true...
...in two days.

I look at this family, and I realize that from two daughters and two sons, in the course of only 10 years, there are also four spouses and eight grandchildren. By September, there will be ten grandchildren.

Time goes quickly. Often exponentially.

And it's a beautiful thing.

Current Randomness or I can't remember anything, but I sure can write a lot of stuff...

"Mom, I don't think I can handle hosting people this weekend. I mean, it's only 4 days until I'm induced, and I really think I hit a wall today."
"Mmmm-hmmm."
"But then again, you people aren't high-maintenance. It'll be all relaxed and what-not. Plus, you are talking to me in the evening. I'm done in the evening --completely done. Come tomorrow morning I'll be 'Sure! I can make dinner for everyone!' I'm much more chipper in the mornings."
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So, I hit a wall today. A physical wall, I believe. It didn't stop me from cleaning the laundry room, doing the laundry, putting up the bassinet, going shopping, fixing the car-seats, agreeing to accompany a musical number on Sunday, and managing the fearsome foursome, though. However, these things were harder and my patience was shorter and I felt more achi-ness than usual. And some sciatic nerve pain and a whole bunch of ligament stuff, and a few contractions (not real ones --no worries! If you were worried. Were you worried?).

I'm thinking this is why I haven't gone into labor. Here's my irony: Until I relax and just chill for a while, my body will not go into labor. However! If I receive an epidural (meant to relax you, right?), my body will immediately STOP labor completely. I have to feel everything in order to progress.
I don't find it weird, though. Nature is usually full of contradictions. I'm sure my body needs me to be relaxed and rested in order to make it through labor. See? Makes perfect sense.
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Brandon finished one final and only has one more final and a presentation to finish! By tomorrow night, his first term at Wharton will be over.
Only 700 to go!
Okay, just kidding. It's like...12? Or something?
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Did you know that Utah is awesome if you want to take all your kids out to Wal-Mart (non-preferred store --had to throw that out there. Sorry to Wal-Mart lovers!) on a Friday night whilst 39 weeks pregnant and at the end of a long, hot, chore-day? It is! Because nobody will stare at you for more than a few seconds, and the cashiers will be nice to you as your buy your stuff (she was delightful). I honestly don't feel like a freak here. It's kinda nice.

Do you feel like a freak in Utah? Or where you are living right now? How come?
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I love Malcom in the Middle. And Seinfeld. And Scrubs. The re-runs of the aforementioned shows are keeping me occupied until Psych and Monk start up in a few weeks. Occupied as in: "every once in a while I actually get to sit down, and if I don't nod-off completely, I watch some TV to unwind."
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Why is it that my husband can talk about politics on his Facebook page ALL THE TIME with ease and confidence and total control of his emotions, but if I do it once, and not really "talking" about it, I get all emotional and offensive to any comments (however little) that come my way? Part of me thinks it could be because our personalities are such that he can handle the pressure, but I can't (I can't handle the pressure!). However, instead of that, I'm going to go with the generalization that men and women are different. Men don't take it personally like women do. Right? Yeah, it's a bad generalization. But I'm stickin' with it. My personality is just fine, I tell you. Just fine! FINE!
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My CD player is broken. Luckily, Brandon takes his laptop with him everywhere --even the hospital! Maybe we can Pandora during labor.
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Adieu, dear reader. I hope your weekend is fabulous. Oh, but before I depart, I want you to read this. Because I love this person and I am worried for her, even though she told us all not to be worried. How can I not worry? Sorry, RJ...

Nothing before Sunday...nothing before Sunday...nothing before Sunday...

For all the labor/delivery/birthing savvy people out there: I'm 2 cm dilated, and 50% effaced.
This is good news.
Very good news.
It means my chances of going into labor before Sunday are very slim. Hooray! The irony here, dear reader, is that I'm excited about NOT going into labor. Have you ever heard of such a thing?! Every woman around 39 weeks gestation will be very happy to tell you how they WANT to go into labor. How they are DYING to go into labor. How going into labor would bring them nothing but JOY. But not me! Not me!
Why not me?
Brandon is gone, remember? The beautiful man has finals this weekend --hard finals, yo --and I would rather he can focus on his studies, rock the finals, and not have to worry about what's going on at home. He's stressed enough as it is, you know...why make it worse when it doesn't have to be?
Plus, my mother is in Canada. She's my co-labor-coach with Brandon. Both of my labor partners gone!? Yeah, you can see why I want to wait.

Oh, and sure, sure. I know babies come when they want to (whatever), but that still doesn't change the fact of how much happier all of us will be if the baby can wait at least until Sunday.

And by the looks of it, he just might do it. Isn't he a good baby?
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My list of things to do is getting longer. I thought I had shortened it by cleaning the house earlier this week.
Ha!
Houses never stay clean. Neither does laundry. Nor do children.
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Brandon and I went on a date last night. We had Mexican and then went for a nice, slow walk. See, Brandon pulled his hamstring (again!) during his softball game on Tuesday night, and I'm, you know, pregnant, and so we looked somewhat hilarious walking down the street, both of us limping in all exaggeration and awkwardness. But it was worth it when we found, and stopped into, a Gelato/Crepe Cafe and had the most delicious gelato! Mine was hazelnut/chocolate.
Oh, my. It was gooooood...
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All of my children are home, now. #1 got in around 1:30AM last night (holy cow, is our living room hot! I slept on the couch, waiting for her to come home, and I swear I produced enough sweat to water the lawn. Gross, I know...), and so they are all here. It's weird. But good. Ironically, #1 and #2 will be gone all afternoon, I have an important meeting tonight, so I'll be gone, and then Brandon has left, too...
So, maybe we'll hang out next week or something. Maybe.
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Tell me the following:
1. What is your favorite flavor of ice-cream/gelato (or both)?
2. Do you like Mexican food? If so, what's your preferred dish?
3. Do you sweat like a pig like me? Is it worse when you're pregnant?
4. If I go into labor before Sunday, how willing would you be to be my labor partner?

(If you are a man, don't even bother to answer the last question. Absolutely no men I know personally are allowed anywhere near me during labor/delivery/within an hour after giving birth. Of course, the father of my child is totally the exception, and luckily my midwife is a woman. And if you happen to find this unfair or strange, then you are welcome to ask me why, and I'll be more than happy to explain it to you.)

Labels

#1 has been gone for two weeks, now.

No, no, this is not a bad thing --she's with her grandparents. Had you worried, eh? Anyway, she should be home late, late, late tonight, and I'm excited to see her again. But at the same time, I realized I handled this separation quite well. Much better than expected! I learned a lot, too.
What did I learn?
Well, golly! Thanks for asking. I learned:

1. #1 deserved this vacation. She has been my biggest helper and "right-hand-woman" for most of her life; she definitely needed a chance to go have some fun on her own without the same responsibilities I shove her way. Because sometimes I forget she's only 8 years old; she's a child, too, and deserves to have loads of fun!

2. #2 and #3 like each other. Who knew?! They have been putting on a show of contempt for years, dear reader --these two actually get along. Of course, this could only be because #1 is gone and they HAVE to get along --who else is there to play with? But it's been wonderful to see them enjoying each other's company without fighting. The best scene: Walking behind them (at least a block or so) on our way home from church and watching them walk side-by-side, talking intently in confidence, laughing...

3. #2 is just as reliable and helpful as her older sister. I think I knew this, but once again, I was guilty of making #1 responsible because she's older and around.

4. I'm so proud of #1. I've heard countless remarks and messages of her sweetness and maturity. I think "adorable" was used, too. Of course, they could all be lying for my sake, but I doubt it. #1 is pretty awesome; I'm just glad to know I'm not the only one who thinks so!

You know, I have this friend who gives me good advice a lot of the time. I've heard her say more than once that we should never pigeon-hole our kids --we should never label them. I've caught myself more than once labeling my children as such: #1 is the helper. #2 is the drama queen/diva. #3 is the angry child. #4 is a squishy-cute-2-year-old.
How is this good for their development? Self-worth? The thing is, I think we all tend to do it, don't we?
This makes these last few weeks so invaluable to me. I have seen that no, #1 is not just the helper, nor is #2 always a diva. #3 isn't always angry --in fact, he can be quite sweet! #4 has an incredible imagination, and he's smarter than I think he is...
Interesting, eh?

Sometimes I think this can be used on adults, too, and on our friends (which was another thing this friend told me. Dang, she's smart!), like this: She is the smart one. She is the planner. She is the diva. She is the pity-party. She is the sarcastic one, etc. But we're not just one thing. At least we shouldn't see each other that way, right? I would hate to be the..."Depressed one" or the "Wordy one" or the "Musician" or even the "Glue" (although I take that one as a compliment), because I'm more than the sum of my parts.
Aren't you?

Let me take it further, too: We shouldn't pigeon-hole our spouses, in-laws, parents, or siblings, either. Yeah, my sister is a super-freak-organizer. In fact, she's dang good at it and she loves it. But she's more than that, you know? It's worse when we label our spouses/family in negative terms, too: He's the cheapskate. She's the addict. He's the manipulator. She's the "emotional" one.
But we still do it, eh? I'm guilty. Totally guilty. However, I'm trying to change and see people in a better way; yeah, it's easier to get into labels, but it's not really fair. And I like to be fair! So, starting with my kids, I'm not going to be labeling them anymore --or at least I'm going to try not to! Their potential is infinite --I can't even comprehend all of their future abilities, yet. Sure, they may have stronger talents/traits/abilities over others (meaning other talents), but why label those now? Talents can be born and nurtured throughout life --so can personality traits. We can all change for the better.
Ha! I think that's the point.
But still, I never want to be accused of stunting my children's emotional/social/mental growth because I refused to see them as anything but a label.

So, thank you to my friend for showing me this. I hope to always remember it!

OH! And btw, this topic reminds me of this scripture. And this one. And this one.

*Hey, so the countdown begins. 6 days until B-Day!

Happy, Pappy

It's been an emotionally draining day for me. But that's okay, because I thrive on my emotions. Or they control me somehow. Or I like them...or something.

It's funny, you know. Emotions. We're taught that we are to control our emotions, but at the same time, we shouldn't completely repress them. It's a constant battle, and if you throw in mental illness of any kind, it's almost impossible without outside help. But that's okay. And getting help is okay. In fact, at times it's an absolute must.

I'm going to remember this in the coming weeks. See, it's there, you know. In the back of my mind, lurking, waiting, and hoping I'll let it out. You know, that jerk we call Post Partum Depression.

I know it's real --I've had it three other times. It's getting worse with each kid, too --but not as bad as it could be. And in reality, I didn't get it with #2, which makes me feel better. In fact, the fear of PPD might make me suffer more than the PPD itself --who's to say? I'd take that over PPD any day, though.

But to keep us happy and give us some happiness and be all-happy and what-not, here are some good videos to make you the h-word. You know...happy. Because who couldn't need some happiness right about now? I know I would love some:





Can't embed it, so go HERE.

An Explosion of Randomness

*Brandon is home! We picked him up at the airport last night.
Too bad he leaves again Thursday night. However, it's just for school, so he'll be home the following Sunday (which is next Sunday; you know, the one after this one).

*#1 is not home --but she will be on Wednesday night! Or Thursday sometime. Not sure on the timeline (it's a long drive).

*The "aren't you due soon?" questions aren't bothering me as much lately. Maybe it's because they haven't been accompanied with "are you sure you're not having twins?"

*When my house is clean, I am happy. In fact, I've decided that the cleanliness of my house is in direct correlation to my ability to be happy. I'm not surprised, seeing how I'm kind of a control-freak --or as I like to say it "able to ascertain one's sense of order."
Yeah.
But anyway, the house is clean, and therefore I am happy. I know that it is not always clean, and at times I am actually happy when it is not clean (or at least the happiness is not connected to the cleanliness), but I would be a big, fat liar if I said my house in chaos and disarray (et al. DIRTY) didn't bug the heck out of me. Because it does. Now, dear reader, what about YOUR house? Honestly, my happiness has absolutely nothing to do with the order and cleanliness of your house. In fact, I don't care how you keep your house. I will still love you and visit you and not judge you in any form. I promise. I just can't do the same for me.
Now, ain't that grand?

*#4 has shown signs of wanting to potty-train. I can blame this on all his father, who (in a moment of weakness, I must say, although he disagrees --of course) showed #4 the toilet and explained how he could go in there. #4 took him up on it (and hallelujah that I was not home at the time!) and tried to go by himself --on the big toilet! No, no --there was no falling in, but I do remember hearing a tale of some messiness. Anyway, the point is that #4 is kind of interested, and that makes me upset. I'm not ready to potty-train right now! In 3 months? 2 months? Sure! Bring it on! But not one week before I deliver another child. There is NO WAY I'm going to embark upon the potty-training with a brand new baby and a recovering body (mine). Although the idea of only one in diapers again is very appealing...

*I have decided I like Colgate toothpaste best. It's hard to explain, but I believe it has to do with the after-feeling/tingling/cleanliness.

*It's that time of the pregnancy when my body has turned into a combustion chamber. Or melting pot. Or sweat-dripping-from-every-pore-no-matter-what-time-of-day-it-is. And the thing is, it doesn't matter if I'm pregnant in January or July --it's always the last 3-4 weeks of the pregnancy that does it, and not the weather (although this heat is killing me. Hooray for basements!). In fact, I remember very distinctly being embarrassed in church (many weeks) in the middle of January because I couldn't stop sweating and no amount of antiperspirant was going to stop the stains from showing up.
Do you know, dear reader, I changed my shirt three times on Thursday? So I could present myself at three different venues in a respectable fashion (meaning: no pit stains)? Yeah. It's that bad. Aren't you glad I told you?

*Toblerone is an awesome candy bar. I love it.

*Have you ever worried about something you really had no control over? Me, too.

*My cousin got married two weeks ago. We couldn't attend (it was in Canada), but we did go to one of their receptions last night here in Utah County. Seeing them all spiffed up in their awesome wedding clothes, eating reception food, seeing the presents, and dancing made me think about my own wedding --and I realized how OLD I am. It's been 10 1/2 years since my wedding, and since I'm one of the oldest cousins (on both sides of my family --heck! Brandon is the oldest grandchild on his side), there were no little kids at the wedding. In fact, I think the youngest was...7? 8? It was strange to be at a wedding with my kids running around (a lot of kids, in fact) and realizing that they were nieces and nephews as well as "the cousin's" kids. So weird. Even weirder was seeing how gorgeous my cousin was and realizing I just don't look like that anymore. I mean, don't get me wrong --I'm totally somethin'! (haha) But nothing like that.
Le sigh.

*I only have a few things left to do this week for the baby: set up bassinet, register at the hospital, pack my bags, and...that's pretty much it! Oh, and relax. Except when I relax, I go into labor. Maybe I'll wait until Brandon's back again to relax...

*What's on your mind?

Five is Just as Important as One

*Disclaimer: This post is not meant to invoke pity or suggestions. I'm writing it to get it out of my brain and then maybe give you a chance to relay your own experiences with any similar situations. Just so ya' know...

It's interesting, you know, the difference between the first baby and the fifth baby. When I had #1, friends/family threw me three baby showers. Makes sense, right? We're poor, it's our first, we have no baby gear, etc. Totally works. My second baby, a friend threw me one shower. Again, it made sense --I had most of the baby stuff; I didn't need much. In fact, since I was having another girl, I remembered thinking "I don't really need a baby shower."
Then I had a boy, and three separate people wanted to throw me a shower! But nobody did. I remembered feeling a tad deflated at the promise of showers and not getting any. I'm not the type to throw myself my own shower, though, so it was okay, but not really, because that time I actually needed one --or would have appreciated one. It was my first boy, you know? But I survived. I did.
By the time I had #4, most people were just freaking out I kept having kids. Why would anyone throw me a shower? It's just another kid. No one offered. And again, it was okay. I already had the boy clothes.
And holy cow, now I'm having ANOTHER one. What is wrong with me? Why would anyone get gifts for this kid? He's just another one, right? Just another kid to add to the bunch...

The reality is that I don't want or expect baby showers for my babies anymore. I'm not that selfish (honest). I truly have everything --and what I don't have, I can afford. It's not a big deal. But what I do long for is the excitement that came with my first. Excitement from relatives, friends, acquaintances, etc. Sure, sure, I know the birth of the first is a HUGE deal, but what I'm asking is, why isn't a huge deal for the fifth kid? He's still an individual, a child of God, a human being of worth, whom we will love just as much as we love our other kids. Why isn't his (or the fourth's or the third's or the second's or the sixth's or the tenth's) upcoming birth as exciting for people?

But then I thought about it: Why isn't an author's 121st book as exciting as the first? Why isn't the 30th trip to Hawaii as exciting as the first? Why isn't a director's 43rd movie as exciting as the first? Yes, it's good, it's fun, it's important, it's an accomplishment, etc., but there's just something about the first.

Why is that?

Anyway, I've tried really hard this time around to ignore the rude comments that have been thrown my way. I've been told over and over "You're having ANOTHER one?!" as if it was involuntary or evil or an insult or something. We have family members who are literally upset with us for having "so many kids." I have friends who think I'm sincerely insane. And although I know they are all directing their thoughts and words towards Brandon and I (as the parents), I can't help but feel that it's being directed towards my baby as well --as if he will always be a number (ha! #5 --I guess on the blog he will be, eh?) and not the beautiful person he is/will be. You know -- our son.

[Ooh! Ooh! It's like when an illegitimate child was/is branded and blamed for his own birth --as if he actually had something to do with it! People are so stupid, sometimes.]

So, regardless of any excitement coming (or not coming) from outside my own world, I'm going to cherish every moment with this little guy. And if we have a sixth? Or a seventh? I'll do the same then. I'll continue to ignore the protests, the rude comments, and the eye-rolling. I mean, come on! It's not like they have to have my kid! Nor does it mean they have to raise my kid. I'm doing it --and whether it's hard or not, I'm going to do just fine.

Change of Plans

Turns out I'm not going to be induced on the 27th.

My midwife (whom I still love) has requested I be moved to the 28th. This is due to the fact that she will be the only midwife on call and in the office on the 27th (long story. Okay, I'll tell you anyway: One midwife is out with a bad back; head nurse will be on vacation the 27th; other midwife and this midwife are trying to man the 3-midwife office for the time being). This automatically equates not being able to be with me while I'm in labor. But she left the decision up to me, and seeing how I value a midwife's time and energy (and complete attention) during my labors and deliveries, it was a no-brainer.

So, I'm being induced on the 28th.

What's 24 hours? To me (and Brandon), not much. Especially since it's still before my due date. Just 5 days, but still...

That is all.

Oh! Except you should go to Mormon Women tomorrow. We're starting a new feature called "Ask a Mormon Woman" and I got the first question.

Oh! And tonight I had the pleasure of enjoying the company of some awesome bloggers. Some of them included Alison Wonderland, Annette Lyon, Amanda D, Julie P, m&m, and...wait. That was all of 'em. Anyway, it was fun! I promise to plan another one in a few months...

And now that is all. Happy sleeping!

My Crazy Luck

I just spent two days in Midway, UT with my parents (and some of the time with my sister and her family) and had an amazing time. We swam, we "hiked" (short nature walks), we ate fabulous food, we took pictures, we laughed, we sat around...and it was lovely. And although I didn't sleep very well last night (shared a bed with #3 and he moves around A LOT!), I was so glad to have gone. There were no computers and only my unreliable cell phone. I was completely relaxed, and swimming relieved all the joint and back pain I've been having. The best part? It took 30 minutes to get there and 30 minutes to get back.

Ahh, nearby vacations are the best.

So, we came home tonight (me, #2, #3, and #4), and we walked into the clean house (well, the upstairs, anyway). I was so happy with myself; I breathed in the clean air and patted myself on the back for having cleaned before leaving.
And then I walked into the kitchen.
I saw water.
On the floor.

My gut reaction was to freak, but within a split second I chose the alternative. I calmly took #3 by the arm and said quietly, "#3? Could you please quickly get me some towels from the hall?" and I showed him the water.
The kid sprang into action! Who knew a quiet voice could have such effect?
Well, I did, but I always forget.
Anyway, turns out the hose that connects from our sink behind our cupboards and stove to our fridge (for the water feature-thing --you know, so you can get water from the door of the fridge?) had gotten punctured somehow. The punctured part was lying on the floor of the lazy-susan cupboard, and it had leaked at least 24-48 hours worth of water. It was all over my kitchen floor (have I mentioned how I have wood floors?), the cupboard was 1 inch deep (luckily nothing was damaged!), and the water under the stove was leaking through the baseboard tooooooo....
....the basement. That's right, folks! But there's good news; we already had a leaked-through hole that leads directly into the shower in the basement. So, all the water? In the shower! Going down a drain!
How lucky is that?

But man, it was still not something I wanted to come home to. It makes sense, though. I really don't have the best luck with this kind of stuff; and when Brandon is gone, it gets worse. Why? I have no idea. None. God must have great faith in me. Or an elevated sense of humor.
I'll take both!

Listening to Experience, Rather Than "Experts"

So, yesterday, I was reading this talk by Elder Ballard, and it reminded me of a story (stop me if you've heard it before...):

When #1 was born, I had just graduated (actually, she was born 6 days before I graduated) from BYU, and my major was MFHD. What is MFHD? Good question! MFHD is Marriage, Family, and Human Development. Interestingly enough, my very last two classes for my major were "Infant Development" and "Parenting."
Kind of nice for a brand new mother, eh?
Anyway, this being my major and such, I had read many things about raising a child. In fact, I was a pro at it! Complete expert!
(Stop laughing for a moment, okay?)
I knew everything there was to know about raising a child --especially an infant. Not only had I researched things for papers and exams, I had read every magazine, how-to-book, and psychological development book ever printed. Okay, maybe not every one...but suffice it to say, I had educated myself. I was ready. I knew what to do, and nobody could stop my wisdom from rocking the parenting world!

Then I had the baby.

Wanting to breast-feed (we were poor just-graduated-college-people and I heard it was good: Breast is Best!), I listened intently to all lactation specialists at prenatal classes and at the hospital. I followed their instructions to the letter! The biggest instructions:
1. Do not give your baby a bottle while you try to breast-feed.
2. Do not give your baby a binky while you try to breast-feed.
Both of the above will cause nipple confusion and your baby will STARVE!

Okay, so they weren't that crazy, but...umm...pretty much it was like that. I got the message: No binkies, no bottles. I followed this completely! I was going to be a pro at this; besides, I had read what the experts said, too --they all agreed: no binkies, no bottles.

Well, dear reader, I learned very quickly that "the experts" are idiots.

When #1 was 5 weeks old, I drove to Idaho to attend my sister's high school graduation. Both of my grandmothers were there (along with my mother, obviously), and they immediately whisked #1 away as I walked in the door to "ooh" and "ahh" over her. Then they asked me how I was doing.
I started to cry.
For 5 whole weeks, I was nursing my baby every 2 hours around the clock (sometimes every 1 1/2 hours). Every once in a while I would get a 4 hour stretch at night. When I did nurse, #1 was not satisfied with anything less than a 30-40 minute stretch. My nipples were cracked and bleeding and I was wearing breast-shields. I had gotten mastitis and thrush more than once. I was tired, I was sore, I was unhappy, I was sad...and the lactation specialists continued to tell me that I was doing everything right. I mean, #1 was eating well! She was thriving! Why she demanded to be nursed 24/7 baffled them. It baffled me! I was doing what the experts wanted me to do...wasn't I? I was following the experts!
My very-wise grandmothers and mother just smiled at me, demanded the baby, got a binky (I had one just in case), and sent me to bed.

Within one afternoon, my baby was suddenly eating every 3 hours, and sleeping 6 hours at night--all because of the binky. The cute thing just needed to suck! And since I hadn't provided a binky, she went ahead and sucked on me.

Needless to say, I never listened to another lactation specialist again. Yes, I was slightly bitter, but more than that, I decided to listen to some real experts. Namely, women who had gone through this before, and my instincts! Because if I had been really honest with myself, I would have ignored the crazy binky advice and given one to #1 first thing [I mean, think about it! Flesh with milk behind it versus plastic with nothing behind it. Babies are NOT THAT STUPID! Now, bottles? That makes sense!]. I should have listened to my gut (and my mother) from the get-go. This also proved to me that my grandmothers (and my mother) knew more about babies and children than half the books I had read. Although research could show one thing, real life was often very different --and individual circumstances had proved it. That's not to say we should ignore all advice from "the experts" --but I do take it with a grain of salt now.

Oh, and just so you know, I have never had nursing problems since this situation. All my babies take binkies, too. Guess my kiddos just like to suck! And man, I'm glad I went to Idaho when #1 was 5 weeks old. Thank goodness for grandmas!

Have you ever ended up taking advice from someone who had experienced the situation, rather than from someone who just studied the situation? What was the outcome for you?

My Week

Monday: Cleaned the whole house. This included laundry and many errands.
Tuesday: Kind of the same thing, but with less cleaning. Helped #1 pack her stuff; welcomed Canadian relatives into our home; said good-bye to #1 and Brandon (via phone) as they headed off to the airport.
Wednesday: Family stuff in SLC
Thursday: Family reunion in Orem. Saw many relatives I only see every 3-4 years when Grandma gets the hankerin' to have another Utah reunion. Ironically, these relatives live within 30 minutes of my home. Figures.
Today: Said good-bye to Canadian relatives. Cleaned a bit. Did some laundry. Now online.

See, #1 is gone for two whole weeks (*sniff). She's going to a family reunion I cannot attend due to my extreme pregnant large-ness. Then she will be spending time with her Nana and Papa for a week or more --alone! She is thrilled to be able to spend alone-time with them (and her aunts and an uncle). She deserves it, too. #1 is my best helper, and a vacation from home and fighting siblings is just what she needs.
I still miss her, though. Like crazy.
In fact, I was thinking: I have no control over what happens to her right now. If she gets hurt, I will not be able to help. If she feels sad, I won't be able to hug her. If she gets lost, I won't be able to find her. If she is scared, I won't be able to protect her. She is completely out of my hands.
I think I get it, now. The whole wanting-to-protect-our-kids thing. She's still my baby, gosh darn it, but I know I can't protect her from everything forever. And you know? It was so different when I was on vacation and she was at home with her siblings and such. How was it different? I seriously have no idea. But it was. Maybe because she is the one off on the adventure this time? Maybe?

On another sad note, Brandon is also gone for two weeks (blog stalkers, beware! I have an alarm system, a mean cat, and lots of nosy neighbors). He's in school right now, but he'll be leaving for London on Monday. This is okay --unless I go into labor early. (Knock on wood, knock on wood, knock on wood...) Plus, I miss him when he's gone. Weird how I miss my husband. I know. It's totally insane or something.
Insert silly grin, here.

Oh, and I just realized I never blogged about the Fourth of July. Well, it was actually really fun! The pictures, of course, are on the camera. And cannot be downloaded at the present time. But I can still tell you what we did: We went to the parade, had a barbecue, watched a movie, took naps, packed a picnic, went to the Temple Grounds (the MTC fields in front of it), sent #1 with her aunt and uncle to Stadium of Fire, played, ate, read, watched the fireworks, went home. The End.

In other news, I am tired.
Oh, and the kids can't stop fighting, which means I can't stop yelling, which means we're all grumpy. But hey! I've finished reading Pretties and I started Specials today. I like 'em. Oh! And we have loads of Canadian candy to eat --I would complain about how I'm gorging myself, but my self-control is actually pretty awesome right now. In fact, I think I'm craving an orange.

And now I must leave you, dear reader. Adieu.

I'm Having a July Baby!

Last night, I had another crazy dream. This time, I was at the hospital, and the nurse told me I was 6 1/2 cm dilated. (Forget for the moment that one cannot be "1/2" dilated.) But I wasn't in labor. So they sent me home.
The End.

The reason I had this dream, dear reader, is because yesterday I had another ultrasound appointment. Remember? The one I didn't want to keep?
Now I'm glad I did.
Because not only did it prove my genius at knowing my own body, it's given me something to look forward to: An actual birth date!

The fluid levels were normal (I knew they would be). The baby is HUGE (I knew he would be). But because a doctor saw this, she recommended a medical induction (rather than elective), and after my appointment with my midwife this morning, I will be having a baby on....
...July 27th! Yeah, it's just one week before the due date, but this is good. Brandon is leaving tonight and will be gone until the 18th (he has school and a jaunt to London for work). Then he has another weekend of school and will be back on the 25th, which will begin his four week break (for school)! It's seriously the most perfect day to have a baby.

Unless he decides to come earlier. Then I will need to find another labor partner. Yikes...

Now, why am I being induced a week early? Well, the ultrasound showed [side note: ultrasounds have improved so much in the last decade --I'm blown away at how accurate they are becoming!] that my son weighs approx. 7 lbs and 14 oz. and his head circum. is off the charts (his head is showing that he should be 42 weeks instead of 36 weeks). Therefore, the doctor (and my midwife) agree that it would be prudent to take him before he weighs 11 pounds. However, the doctor, after reviewing my birth history (again), believes my body can deliver a 10 pound baby fairly easily.
Duh.
I mean, I did deliver a 10 pounder (okay, he was 9lbs 11oz), and this is my fifth kid. I really doubt my pelvis will suddenly clamp up. And besides, I was induced with my last two boys, and so I really felt this would happen. I guess I'm just grateful it's happened now, rather than in 2 weeks. It's nice to have a plan, you know?

Oh! And guess who gets to be my midwife at the induction? The one who validated me earlier --the one I want! Yay! We even had a very candid discussion about inductions and my hatred for pitocin this morning, and she is right on board. She even said she'd break my water first (something I beg each induction to start with) and wait a few hours before giving me the lowest dose of pit. (which is tolerable and --during an induction --most likely needed).
I like this woman.

So, there you go. I'm havin' a July baby!
Just in case you were interested, of course...

Lovin' Our Countries

I've always enjoyed the 4th of July --and I love my country. But truth be told, I didn't grow up celebrating the birth of America. I grew up celebratin' the birth of Canada. Every year on the 1st of July, we were in the Great White North, eating hamburgers, lighting fireworks, watching the parade, going to the rodeo, gathering with extended family, sometimes camping...

...sounds like the 4th of July here, eh?

Well, that's because it is.

The only difference I have ever seen between July 1st in Canada and July 4th in America is strictly the country for which we sing and celebrate. The fireworks, the parades, the rodeos, the cotton candy, the hot dogs, the cake, the sparklers, the swimming, the fake tattoos, the fairs, the colors (except for blue, yo!) are ALL THE SAME.

And yet, people are so quick to mock the Canadians for being "different." I just don't get it.

So, you can see that although I grew up celebrating a country I'm not a citizen of, I still got in my healthy dose of patriotism and love for my heritage. The funny part is how easy, easy, easy, easy it was to transfer those feelings to the USA, especially when I started spending more time here during the 4th of July. I'm not a hater. I love my country (and heck! I have a soldier brother who has already served one year in Iraq! Brandon's father was in the army, his grandfather served in Germany during WWII and his other grandfather served in the Philippines during Korea --we love our Veterans around here!), and I love my freedoms. I would never speak badly of my country (except the normal frustrations with tax season, wars, and health care), and I will love it until I die. At the same time, however, I'm a big enough girl to notice when other countries feel the same about their own nations --and can applaud them for their own patriotism (well, without the support of terrorism and such, of course. I just can't get behind stuff like terrorism. Or genocide. Or nuclear threats. You know?). Because America doesn't have all the claim on patriotism. We may be dang good at it! But we don't own it all.

Now, what does this mean? Well, even though I will be lovin' the barbecue, the parade, the fireworks, and the Stars and Stripes tomorrow, I will also be glad for all those other countries out there that take the time to celebrate their own birthdays with pride and gratitude. Loving one's country is not just an American thing. It's a world thing.

And hallelujah for that!