It's A Long Story

We knew when we found out we were expecting again back in July that this time was going to have to be different. I found a nice OB group and they immediately deemed me "high risk" for various (multiple) reasons. I let go of my homebirth dreams. It wasn't going to happen, I didn't love the idea of a hospital birth. I also knew though, that it didn't matter. I never waivered. This baby needed to come in this way.

Then for basically the entire pregnancy, we had complications. Nothing MAJOR, but enough to warrant monitoring ultrasounds. From weeks 16-34 I had what's called placenta previa. This is where the placenta covers all or part of the cervical opening. Simply put: placenta can not cover the cervical opening if you're going to deliver a baby. Once the cervix dilates, you are going to risk bleeding out.

This meant we were headed for a c-section. It was one of those situations that you can't control. No amount of accupuncture or chiropractor visits or diet changes were going to solve this one. If that placenta didn't move, it was going to be a surgical birth. I accepted it begrudgingly, merely worrying about the effects of a c section on a baby, and when trying to keep up with five other kids. But, meh. Nothing could be done.

At the final 34 week scan though, the specialist declared that the placenta was out of the way! I was cleared for a regular delivery. WOOHOO!

The risk of post-birth hemorrhage was still very much a concern, but the OBs assured me that they would be on standby if I needed them, but overall, they'd "let me do my thing". Every room at this hospital has a jetted tub, and they'd just be pretty hands off.

Perfect.

My dear friend Stacy was my doula for Miriam. I attempted to be HER doula when her fifth arrived last summer, but missed it by mere moments. And so, she planned a cross-country trek with said baby a few days before the due date to be there to help me through.

I ALWAYS HAVE MY BABIES AT THE SAME TIME.

ALWAYS.

FIVE TIMES.

39 weeks and 5 or 6 days. Basically, the day or two before my due date, the kidlet just shows up.

LIKE CLOCKWORK.

So when I woke up at 3:30 on Tuesday, the 17th (SIX DAYS BEFORE MY DUE DATE) to a funny burning pain that was mixed with a contraction, I thought, "Hmmmm."

Derek was already up headed down to Boston for a full schedule of clients. "Should I stay?" he asked dubiously.

"No! It's too early. Just... check your phone between clients, maybe?"

He left, and I went back to bed.

The contractions hurt. But the weird thing was, the burning firey pain way low in my abdomen didn't let up. I was having a hard time figuring out what was going on. It was too early, contractions were real, but this extra layer of pain was disorienting. What was this?

It became clear that it was labor. Whoops.

I texted Stacy who was still in Utah. She wasn't going to make it. Crap.

I called Derek who was already an hour away, and he turned around without complaint. I called our good friends who had agreed to take the kids. I apologized for being early since we weren't expecting a baby until the weekend, but they just laughed and soon Derek and I were on our way.

I had forgotten the hideousness that is riding in a car in active labor. It sucked.

A half hour later, I was nearly screaming and crying in agony when we got to the hospital. Something was wrong. Contractions were barely managable, but the burning torture wouldn't stop. My back and hips were feeling shattered, and I could barely manage to walk IN BETWEEN contractions. By the time we finally walked ALLLLLLLLLL the way to the labor and delivery wing, I was done.

DONE.

I couldn't imagine a world where pushing a baby out through this burning intense fire that wouldn't stop ALONG with contractions was going to happen.

It wasn't.

At the registration desk, I simply said, "I'm here for my epidural."

Upon exam, I was 7 cm. The nurses and on-call midwife, Donna, laughed and said, "You don't need an epidural! Let's just have a baby!"

No.

Just no.

My kids all follow patterns. Kids 1,3, and 5 were relatively "short" and "easy" labors. 2 and 4 had been "long" and I knew that at 7 cm, with Kid 6, I was still at least two hours away from being ready to have a baby. It didn't matter that this was my sixth, and he ought to be polite enough to just fall out, he wouldn't. I was still in for hours of firey, burning pain that didn't stop. The idea was simply far more than I could fathom.

The staff was kind enough to get me the drugs in haste. The epidural worked. Bliss.

For about an hour. It was lovely.

Then, it just quit. The pain and fire returned full force. The midwife was surprised to find that I was an only 8 and feeling everything once more. She suggested breaking my water which would expedite the process since I was once again writhing in pain.

There was meconium in the water, which I had never had before, and concerned me along with the staff. The pain wouldn't let up even in between contractions, and at this point, I was bleeding steadily. With all these factors at play, it was determined it was best if we just had the baby.

So, I did the thing I HATE the most, and forced him out, screaming all the while that it hurt so much. That it hurt, and I didn't know why. The fire never stopped. The pain seemed ready to swallow me whole. I was dying. For real this time.

My extremities did their numbing thing, once again, I could barely form words. I could hear that the baby kept bottoming out on the monitor, his heart rate disappearing over and over. The sweet nurse, Catherine would push on the monitor to try and find him, which caused extra waves of fire.

It was heinous. All of it.

After saying all the words I'm not supposed to say. Oh yes, all of them, I decided no matter what I did, the only way to get the burning to stop was to get the kid out. So, ring of fire, added to the mix and... he was born.

Cord cut immediately, special care nurse swarmed, but kindly offered me my baby. MY BABY!

Well, hello sweet baby.

Pitocin through the IV to try and control the crazy bleeding, I heard the conversations regarding all of it, but... my baby!

Then, as if the torture of birth hadn't been intense enough, the placenta was being slow and the bleeding steady, so Donna decided to go and get it, manually. With her hand.

I really REALLY wish that epidural had worked. I'll just leave it at that.

In the end, Frederick was fine, no aspiration, no distress outside the womb, despite the distress inside. I'm so grateful.

Upon examination, my placenta which they had declared no longer in the way, wasn't quite out of the way ENOUGH. About a third of the placenta had detached from right by the cervical opening on up. This means it detached from the uterine wall, causing the bleeding, the pain, all the trouble. Donna didn't know why it had happened, when the docs had all declared everything good to go.

I'm grateful that it's over. I'm grateful that it wasn't worse. I'm thankful that he is here and healthy. I'm thankful for interventions in this case that controlled the bleeding so I can be up and around and feeling pretty darn great a week after his birth.

I got totally screwed on that epidural however. The ONE TIME I want one, and it didn't even work. BLAH.

I dunno. This was pretty crappy, but it could have been worse. Frederick and I had a long long time of just bonding. No one rushed us to weigh or measure or anything. He was never taken from me or scrubbed by scratchy towels. It was as gentle as it could have been.

And like I said, it's OVER. Amen.

SQUISH! 

I'm Walking

It's like I can almost see the way my life WOULD be.

I would be huge. So uncomfortable, and so hot. I'd be having contractions all the time, as my uterus would be protesting doing this AGAIN.

We'd be preparing for guests, for a new baby. The boys would be asking when the baby was going to come. Miriam would be patting my huge belly and saying. "Baby, tum ow?"

I'd be washing newborn clothes and marveling at their tininess.

I'd be worried about labor, could I do it again?

I'd be telling Derek that I didn't think I could do it again.

And he'd be patiently telling me that I could.

I'd be stressing about the kids, the animals, the house... everything.

In just four days, our baby would be born. My babies are USUALLY predictable after all.

****

Rather than things being as they would have been, my baby was born on cold February morning, in a cold ER, much too soon.

Nothing is as I thought it would be.

I'm here. Healthy. Happy.

And my baby isn't.

There are no tiny clothes awaiting an occupant.

The kids never even knew that George was coming. We were waiting until we found out the gender. Then after, it seemed cruel to tell them. So we didn't. I'm sure we will. Just not yet.

Life carries on completely normally.

I'm different, of course. Not in the way that I would have been should I have carried my sixth baby to term. I'm different in ways that can't come from joy.

I panic often because I'm missing one. When I head count in public, and there are only five, I think, "I'm missing one!" I've even said it out loud. Henry, my smart boy is quick, "No, Mom, we're all here, see? Five!"

Yes. All five.

Even though the circumstances SUCK, I can't quite think that I can wish it undone. Oh, don't get me wrong. I'd give up several toes to still have him with us. But, the Lord does compensate. Where my baby has gone, new friends cropped up. And they've blessed and supported in beautiful ways.

My family and friends have cared so thoroughly, so generously that it makes me cry.

I still ache. There are days and hours and minutes when I am breathless with it. When friends announce pregnancies, when new babies are born, I am so happy and joyful for them, and my throat tightens, and my eyes water, against my will.

For the most part though, I'm great! We're all great. It just hits on occasion. Every day, a little.

It's bizarre. Happy, and grateful. And sad.

I'm a walking contradiction.

But I still walk.

Growing Pains?

It's rough, a sweet tiny daughter who doesn't have clue that night time is for sleeping.

Last night, instead of sleeping, we watched Friends on DVD. (Season 6, disc 1, in case you were wondering. "I'm SO DRUNK!").

Anyway, suffice it to say I'm very very tired.

The joys outweigh the exhaustion. The sweet tiny baby moments that do not last nearly long enough. They grow and change before your very eyes, these tiny people!

The biggest joy (and frustration, if I'm being 100% honest) is how hard these boys love Miss Miri.

They love her. A lot. Ezra throws absolute tantrums if I carry Miriam into his line of sight and do not let him hold her. He sits on the couch, bangs on his thighs and screams "BABY!"repeatedly until I hand her over. There's no point in ignoring him. It's not worth the fight.

And Henry who says 123 times a day, "I LOVE OUR BABY GIRL!" And he does.

Spencer has taken to calling her "Meers" which... I don't entirely understand, but he says with with SUCH affection, I really can't get too grumpy.

And Oliver. Oh Oliver. He just wants to touch her.Touching her would be fine, except he has a snotty nose and I desperately want to keep Miriam from getting a cold.

I beg and beg him to please NOT touch her. And he really can't help himself.

But today, I was battling the sleepy, and Miriam had passed out after nursing, so I'd laid her in the recliner, and I was just taking a moment to sit on the couch and breathe.

Oliver, assuring me he would not touch, climbed up next to her and "read" her three different books, before he kissed her (sigh) and went off to play.



It was completely adorable.

We're definitely ironing out some wrinkles as a family of seven. The number of melt downs a child has 8in a day seems to be directly proportional to how old they are. (Henry: 1-2, Spencer:3-4, Oliver: 5-10, Ezra: cried all morning). But the moments like this make it all okay.

We're getting there.

I Sure Have My Hands Full

I read a story, many years ago, on the internet about a woman who was snuggling her baby in a church meeting. An older woman came up to her and asked, "Is this your first?"

The mother laughed and said, "No, it's my 11th, but it's my first 'Hayden'."

As a young mother to just one, that story deeply impressed me, especially since I couldn't imagine loving anyone the same or as much as I loved my one and only Henry.

And now, as a mother of four, I can attest to the truth of it: each baby is worth loving as much as the first.

Because each baby is a person. As Dr. Suess mused, "A person's a person, not matter how small!"  A person and a child of God. He knows their name. And He loves them like that mother loved her 11th baby. As an individual.

I only pray to make sure my children each know of my (and their daddy's) individual love for them, exactly as they are, regardless of whether they are first or fourth, second or third.

I also read recently of a woman receiving a lot of crap from friends and family for having her THIRD baby (mind-boggling!).

In an effort to put it in perspective, her father said to her, "You will never regret having another child."

I don't know, but I think...I hope it's true.

That I will never regret having another child.

And I will love our fifth baby as deeply and fully as I love my first, second, third and fourth.

We are so thankful to have been blessed with the opportunity to make room for another little one.

I know people will judge us. I know people will scoff.

I'm not sayin' 20 babies are in our future. But I will have the babies meant for our family.

Right now? That means we're expecting our newest mid-August.

From Drop Box

Because yes, my hands are full.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

The Night Time Diaper Dilemna

I like to tell stories. This I know to be true. So here we go. MORE POTTY FODDER.  

Sundays are hard at our house. Are they hard at yours? Ezra struggles particularly as does Oliver, and Spencer, oh heck, who are we kidding, Henry, Mommy and Daddy too. All that church service is perfectly exhausting.

Ezra, specifically, doesn't do well when we don't respect his sleepy times. Most days we simply do not go anywhere when he's sleeping. It's simple, when no one has school, to plan around his nappy-naps.

Sundays are not so much with the sleepy-time respect. Church is from 1-4. No ifs and or buts. So he misses a nap (and a half). Painful.

So, tonight, at 6pm I finally got Ez down for a nap (I don't want to talk about Oliver's lack of nappage).

Except, he decided to put himself down for the night.

So by 10pm, when he decided to waken slightly, I knew we had a problem.

See, I had failed to recognize that it was Ezra's BEDTIME, and had put him in a cloth diaper that I knew wasn't gonna make it all night. Don't get me wrong, I love me my cloth diapers, but this one just wasn't going to cut it.

I had to change him.

But, he was barely awake, just crying and fussing mostly in his sleep.

So, now do I change him? Or leave him? No matter what I'm going to HAVE to change him. Do I make him angry now or later? 10pm or 2am????

I opted for now.

The poor sleeping baby was pretty offended.

Here he is, fussy and requesting nothing more than a quick, sleepy snack and some warm momma-snuggles.

The darling got more than he bargained for. I imagine it's jarring, to be swaddled up nice and warm in flannel and the comfiest of sleepers, and then with no warning having it all whipped off you, no more wrappings, no more jammies, NO MORE DIAPER.

"WHY" I heard him cry, "Why are you messing with my bum? What is the matter with you, Devil Woman?" He hollered.

I definitely made the wrong choice. It was made worse by my judgement that expediency would be better than tenderness. QUICK seemed like a good idea.

It was not.

I didn't even snap him back up in his jammies, such was my (and his) consternation. I just snapped the top, and swaddled him up quick.

In a flash he was latched right where he belonged and immediately let me know he was thrilled with life again via his happy, tired toots.

I just prayed they stayed "toots" and nothing else, if you know what I mean, because I didn't want to have to change him again.

And that is how I managed to make a diaper change a GREAT BIG DEAL.

And now I'm going to bed.

You know you love it.

BIG NEWS!

From april 2011

You guys, two nights ago Ezra slept through the night!!

Don't bother congratulating me. Four kids in, I know the drill. My kids only sleep through the night right before they get sick. And then they don't do it again until after their first birthdays. 

So, yesterday morning it was indeed lovely to realize I'd just slept six hours in a row for the first time in two years (I am not joking, Oliver has only started sleeping through the night since Ezra was born!) but I also knew what was coming. 

And last night? We didn't sleep. We cried and fussed and snotted and dozed, but we did not sleep. Henry even got in on the action asking for a handkerchief at 4:30 this morning. Poor dude.

It seems all but Spencer (it's just a matter of time) have been stricken. 

I can't complain, so far it's just a cold and we've had a relatively healthy winter. I mean, we spent a good month after Ezra was born being sick non-stop but we've enjoyed a lull since then. We're due. 

So, I finally got Ez to stop crying and go back to sleep, Oliver is snotty but doing all right and the big boys are watching a movie. 

We're hunkering down, that's for sure. 

Let's pray it doesn't turn into croup because when it does someone winds up in the ER, and with no health insurance I'd rather like to avoid THAT circumstance. 

And hey, remember! I got six hours of sleep in a row two nights ago. That is reason to be very grateful. 

From april 2011

A possibly inappropriate post

***Disclaimer*** I have no idea why poop and other such inappropriate fodder has made it's way onto my little corner of the interwebs with such frequency of late, but hey, it's my life. 

Our kids have learned "proper terminology" for all things "body related." We have our reasons for teaching them the words as they are,  and I won't bore you with the details.

Suffice it to say, my kids call it like it is.

So, the other morning, I left a diapered, unclothed little Ezra on my bed to run save Oliver from some sort of life-threatening situation (as nearly two-year-olds tend to find themselves in) and when I returned, Spencer had wandered it. Ezra was giggling with as much force as an almost-four-month-old could. Spencer, too was enjoying a hearty chuckle.

"What's up, Dude?" I asked Spencer.

Spencer looked perfectly angelic when he said, "I'm tickling Ezra!"

"Oh yeah?" I queried. Great, gently playing with the baby is ALWAYS encouraged.

"Yeah," answered Spencer. "I'm pinching his breast-es like this..." and then proceed to pinch little Ezra's baby man boob.

And Ezra LOVED it.

I simply requested that Spencer not pinch.

Breast-es don't like to be pinched.

JUST SAY NO

I am avoiding changing Oliver's diaper right this minute. I can't leave it for toooo long because um it's gross, but still. He is STINKY!

When we went grocery shopping the other day (remember, it is an EPIC FAMILY OUTING), the boys decided they missed having cereal for breakfast. Whatever, fine by me. So both Henry and Spencer voted for Strawberry Shredded Wheat.

GREAT! No problem! Healthier than many other options! BEAUTIFUL.

Have you ever given that high a dosage of fiber to children who have ZERO issues with constipation?

I don't recommend it.

Between the three of them, they have trotted off to the pot/dirtied diapers more than I care to admit.

It's gross.

I have to go change Oliver.

JUST SAY NO to SHREDDED WHEAT!

What's Today?

Lately, we've taken to eating at the Alter of Ezra. See, the thing is, he has this radar that demands he wake the moment food is set upon the table. I don't *mind* holding him while I eat, but when I'm alone with all the kids it makes getting food in everyone's bellies much more difficult.

My sister loaned us this bouncy seat that he frankly despises, but like I said, it gets the job done.

Enter the Alter of Ezra.

From March 2011

From March 2011

From March 2011

From March 2011

It usually lasts long enough for me to place food in front of everyone and shovel some semblance of a meal in my own face. If I chew fast. Last night's gourmet spread was popcorn and lean pockets. Be jealous.

(In my defense, LUNCH was chicken tortellini and roasted asparagus, so THERE!)

In other news, I saw this cute idea with window painting and wanted to do it on our big picture window, so I watered down some tempera paint and let the boys paint "flowers" on the window. Then I went nuts and painted a big sunshine and the word "Spring" on the window too. I made ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN to paint the entire word backwards, see? 

From March 2011

From March 2011

It was super rainy yesterday so it was a fun activity. I was so proud. Then Derek came home. I said, "Did you see our window?"

"Yes," he said. "The 'g' is backwards!"

"WHAT? I WAS SO CAREFUL!" I lamented. I had been so careful, and not only that, I had taken PICTURES and not noticed.

So embarrassing.

I fixed it at 10:00 last night.

From March 2011

Much better.

Sheesh.

In final news, I am choosing to not observe St. Patrick's Day. I just don't have the energy. Maybe next year I'll dye food green, but Ez has decided that nursing literally constantly all night is fun, so I'm a bit drained, literally and figuratively.

Peace out Peeps. 

Can't Keep Eyes Open...

I guess I am out of practice at this whole doula-gig thing because one night and morning of birthing, one afternoon and evening of parenting and I am so wiped that I just spelled "wiped" like "wioped" and didn't know why Google was telling me it was wrong.

So, real quick:

My dear client held off until the snow quit. She had a beautiful baby girl today.

But can I talk about something? You know how (for those of you who have done it) when you have a baby, you forget pretty quickly what it FELT LIKE to have a baby? You know, that lovely amnesia that somehow convinces most of us to do it more than once?

I mean, come on, right this minute, try to remember what a contraction ACTUALLY feels like... I dare ya. You're trying to right now, but you can't. You remember tight or pressure or pain, but the reality of it? GONE.

It's beautiful.

I seem, no matter how hard I try to avoid it, to do a birth by the time my newest dude is 3 months old. I wasn't planning on taking any clients right now, but this one seemed necessary. So, off I went, 3 months post-partum, (five days after they hired me) to a birth. I prayed and PRAYED Ezra would take the freaking bottle, and that the tiny amount of milk I managed to procur in five days time would be enough (He did and it was.)

Well, the other two times I have waltzed off to a birth with a 12 week old kid at home, I've enjoyed the lovely amnesia while assisting another woman give birth.

So, today, I would like to know WHY this amnesia has not kicked in this time around? You guys, I swear unto you, I remembered every sensation as this woman went through her labor. I can remember it all in perfect, horrific detail.

It made it hard to focus on HER when I'm all "OH MY GOSH THAT HURTS SO MUCH!" Seriously.

So, now, I'm wondering, have I had too many babies to be allowed to forget? Or was it just that Ezra's birth was rougher than I liked? Or was it just too soon this time around?

 No idea, all I know is OH MY GOSH THAT HURTS SO MUCH!

Ow.

I need to go to bed.

Maybe by tomorrow, I'll have forgotten...

Please Pray...

From March 2011

Please pray that my sweet, very pregnant client does NOT go into labor until tomorrow, okay thanks? SNOW SNOW SNOW!  I actually cancelled a prenatal with her due to weather. *I have NEVER done that!* It's bad. BAD BAD BAD. If she needs me, I'll go, but oh, let's just pray she hangs on until tomorrow, all righty?

AND... PRAY! 

Okthankyouverymuch!

Why Being the Mother to a New Baby is Like Being a Newlywed.

Why being the mother to a new baby is like being a newlywed:

1. Everything they do is adorable.
2. They can annoy you quickly because you're still getting to know one another. You forgive them just as quickly.
3. You are THRILLED to see them. Even if you were only gone for 15 minutes.
4. They have ultimate and complete trust in you.
5. They want to cuddle.
6. They want to just spend time with you.
7. You watch them sleep.
8. They laugh at the dumb things you say.
9. You miss them when you're away.
10. Your husband feels exactly the same way!

There ya go. Why being a mother to a new baby is like being a newlywed.

You're welcome.

My Babies

The other night, I was feeding Mr. Ezra. This is not new, I do this multiple times a night. He had just drifted off when Mr. Oliver decided to wake up. This is new. He doesn't usually do that. He used to, a lot, even just a couple of months ago, but lately, since the stomach flu hit, he's been sleeping through just fine.

I hauled my tushie out of bed, a bit irritated but at least grateful that Ezra was back to sleep. Oliver was really hysterically crying for "Mooooommmyyy!!!" So, I went. Sigh.

I picked him up and kissed him, rocking him a moment, and laid him back down.

Um, no. Not good enough. I tried to leave, and his hysteria started up anew.

I considered waiting for a bit, but I didn't want Henry awake at 2:30 and really, he was, for reasons unknown, very upset.

I scooped him back up and sat on Spencer's empty bed. I rocked and rocked and rocked. He snuggled in and clung on like a baby monkey. (Oliver has ALWAYS reminded me of a monkey!) I closed my eyes and just kept rocking. For thirty minutes I rocked.

And as I rocked, I thought. When Spencer was born, I automatically considered Henry a "big boy." When Oliver was born I automatically considered Spencer a "big boy." Sadly, this effected my reactions to their behaviors. "You're a big boy! Stop acting like a baby!" I'd think.

In my brain, their behavior was ridiculously immature! "GROW UP KID, YOU'RE A BIG BROTHER!" I'd think.

And now, four children in, I have learned a lesson more valuable than gold:

Having a new baby does not negate the "baby-ness" of your next oldest. Bringing home a new baby does not automatically mature your other children. They are still who they were the day before. 

Seriously. Not eloquent, but true nonetheless. Every one of my kids was 20 months old when the newest addition came along.

I have learned that 20 months is still a BABY.

It has made all the difference in how I view my kids and their behavior. There are even moments when I think, "Spencer is just a baby! It's okay that he's crying like an irrational hormonal woman."

He is three. And sometimes he is a baby.

And I am so glad I finally figured this nugget of wisdom out. It has allowed our transition to a family of six be gentler than other times babies have come.

And so that night,  I rocked and rocked and rocked.

Because he is still my baby.

January 5th...

Happy January 5th! It's a lovely day today! It's butt-cold outside, and it's Ezra's 1 month birthday!

For the last month, Ezra has spent 95% of his time here:

From January 2011

Seriously, and the other 5%  in the arms of someone who loves him. It's been a VERY VERY good month. He's been laid down, in his bed, for, if I had to guess for, maybe 12 hours of his cute little life...

Have you ever had the privilege of snuggling a newborn baby nearly non-stop for a full month??? I very seriously suggest you give it a whirl sometime. Just borrow one if you don't want to have your own. It is SOUL-CANDY! (I am coining that term...)

I've been trying (and failing, super fantastically) this last month to carry a calm, happy, soothing vibe, not just for Mr. Ez, but for the other three monkeys I call my own. Early mornings are especially challenging for me to maintain this, but at the times that I am succeeding, we have had some really lovely family time. 

The saying, "When the momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" could not be more true. And so, I've smiled, and hugged and yelled, and then tried again. The big boys have painted, played, built, and eaten right along side of me and their tiniest brother all day long, with a very VERY busy daddy thrown into the mix every moment he can manage.

Can I just say it's been WONDERFUL??? The hard days are always hard, but truly this transition from three to four has been mostly easy and extremely smooth, and such a blessing. 

I remember, before Spencer was born, lamenting the whole issue of adding a sibling means less time for the oldest, blah blah blah. How silly of me! Now, four kids in, I am thankful for a gaggle of brothers to talk to each other, play with each other, pound on each other and just love the crap out of each other. Ezra is a seriously lucky kid. Every baby should be so loved. 

I know we'll have days when we think "FOUR? Were we nuts?" but right now, as he snoozes (and is stinky) right here in the wrap, next to my heart, I am SO thankful for four. We didn't it plan him this way, not at all, but good gravy, God knows better than we do what we need, and WHEN we need it. 

Happy One Month, Ezra Lee! We're all so glad you're here!

Do I look tired?

From December 2010

We are crawling out from under the stomach flu. It was weird, Spencer yakked on Wednesday, then NOTHING, then two nights ago, Spencer started up AGAIN, then yesterday evening while getting Family Home Evening's cookie preparations squared away, Oliver looked at me, quite morosely, and then tossed HIS cookies. THEN at 11:00pm, Henry came running into our room to inform us he "threw up all over my bed!" By 12:30am between the two of them, I was out of 1. Blankets and 2. Pillows. They both "slept" atop towels, but neither of them slept worth a crap, so now they are both FINE and NOT VOMITING  (Henry just lost his lunch and was put BACK to bed),  and I am tired so so so tired. (At one point, Oliver and I were in the guest room, just staring at each other. Very weird night.)

And my hands are RAW from the desperate attempts to keep the stomach flu away from my 9-day-old-baby.

AWESOME.

I've had better days/weeks. For sure.

Spencer is happy as a lark though. So, two outta four ain't bad. (I *almost* typed "two outta three" but that is WRONG!)

Look at this sweetie though:

From December 2010

(We have to double-wrap him to keep him warm enough! Our old house is drafty. BRRR.)

Wait! He's kind of awake in this one:

From December 2010

And see? We are having a Holly Jolly Christmas DESPITE my exhaustion and everyone's upchucking.

Derek oversaw Christmas cookie decorating whilst I held a yakking Oliver a safe distance away, and thank goodness Henry only touched the three cookies on his plate, cuz little did we know he'd be all gross so soon.

From December 2010

Good grief. (Did you read that in your best "Charlie Brown" voice?)

I would say, "In other news" and then segway into more interesting/happy/lightheartedness, but frankly, I got NOTHING!

I promise Christmas cheer shortly my friends. Really, I do.

Oh, and P.S. My house is growing lichen. NO LIE. The leak from oh, a month ago, is back with a vengeance, and it has caused the wall next to said leak to grow things that are not exactly mold. Healthy, eh?

The World's Longest Homebirth Story (the story not the birth!)

Okay.

So, Spencer decided that mommy having had a baby 72 hours ago meant it was TIME TO HAVE THE STOMACH FLU.

I know, right?

I swear if I'd had Ezra at the hospital, I would've refused to come home. Maybe I can go check in now.. what do you think?

I am MOSTLY kidding.

Kind of.

But seriously, I mean, like vomit? Really??

Anyway, I've been mulling over HOW to convey to the world Ezra's birth day. How can I explain to people, to the INTERWEBS, to anyone exactly how it all went down without sounding like a whiny, spoiled brat?

I dunno. So, I'm just gonna put it out there and ya'll can do with it what you want. How's THAT?

Hang on to your hats folks.

***
Let's start on Friday, December 3rd, shall we?

Kim, my good friend and fantastically talented midwife was flying in from Vegas on Friday. I knew when we moved to Utah that I *could* find a great midwife here, but I didn't want to. Plain and simple. Kim knows me, she knows my family, she knows my kids. She was available. So, she came.

Derek had to teach ALL day on Saturday and so I wasn't allowed to go into labor. I knew this and declared that then Saturday NIGHT would be the NIGHT!

It wasn't. We went to Temple Square with Kim to see the lights and that was a disaster of epic proportions thanks to a little Mister we call Oliver. He screamed, he cried, we went home. So, my plan to walk the baby out of me failed.

I was getting bummed only because Kim was staying 10 days and I really didn't want to be pregnant for 9.5 of them. Not to mention I (being spoiled) have never made it to my due date and really really REALLY didn't want to start now.

So, Sunday morning, I was awakened after a bizarre dream, at 6:00am, to the smell of pork. I had put it in the crock pot the night before for Sunday dinner and the smell was suddenly nauseating. I mean like, HORRIBLE. So I got up and turned off, checked on the kids who (miracle!) were all still asleep. I decided that today was the day we'd be having a baby.

I went back to bed and contractions started almost immediately. I had slept great all night, so I was happy to not be too tired. I texted Derek and said, "Totally in labor, just so you know." Yes, he was laying six inches from me in our bed, but I didn't want to wake him up!

The kids got up and crawled all over us, and Derek went to make muffins. (For some reason, the muffins were vitally important to me!) Alice was called to tend the kids, and Derek went to set up the birth pool.

Fourth baby, I figured, it's 7:30am, we'll have a baby in a couple of hours TOPS. I was worried Alice wouldn't make it in time.

HA!

Alice arrived in plenty of time (being 90 minutes away) and I was STILL laboring. And I was shocked and irritated by that fact. I should have been DONE by then.

Now, to be clear, I realize I was being irrational. I have attended a lot of births, I know you can not predict or plan how they will go.

But when every single account of a fourth baby you EVER hear/see/read is like, "I sneezed and oops! There was baby!" It is VERY difficult to not simply assume that will the case. Which is what I did.

Which was a mistake.

Alice took the kids away (upstairs) and Derek filled the tub. I was completely unable to decide what I needed or wanted at this point, so I was gently prodded by Derek and Kim into the tub, which, of course, was wonderful. I was feeling weird, and kind of pushy at the end of contractions, sometimes and other times like pushing was NOT my thing, and like it was all too much, and why was it taking so long? And why wasn't I done yet, and the water was too cold, then it was perfect, then too cold (poor Derek literally boiled pots of water for me while we waited for the dumb-butt water heater to reheat). And why? Why was I still pregnant????

Oliver's birth took two hours from the time I was "in labor" until "had a baby." The tub never had a chance to get cold.

Are you getting that I was extremely frustrated?

At this point, like always, my legs, hands and face totally lost all feeling. It is a really not fun part of my baby-having experience. I could barely make out words, much less really relay what I was feeling.

Then, the cramping. As if LABOR isn't enough, my legs (thanks to the walking on Saturday night, most likely) tied themselves up into knots that made it seriously unbearable to be ALIVE much less in LABOR. So, I'm totally freaking out about that, trying to explain to Kim and Derek, (They did get it, and started massaging them!) and trying to convey that I was starting to panic about the baby and labor being too long (four hours at this point).

So, I declared I was done. I made Derek literally lift me out of the tub (*Derek is my super hero, didjaya know?*). I soaked him entirely, while I just stood there and waited for feeling to come back to my limbs. It did, which is good. I went to the bathroom, and finally decided to have Kim check my progress. I really had no intentions of EVER having a check, but at this point, I was done, and if "done" meant 3cm, then "done" meant TRANSFER FOR DRUGS in my mind.

But I wasn't a 3. I was 10, with some lip. She kindly (and generously) offered to hold the lip out of the way, while I pushed the baby's head passed it, assuring me it would hurt "like hell," (her words). I consented. Because, remember, I was done.

Well, it didn't hurt, at all. I was like, "OH! YAY!" It felt so good to push (like my body had been TRYING to do) and not have a barrier there.

TMI? Sorry.

Anyway, I feel I should inform you that at this point, I had wedged myself on our tiny $30 Ikea couch and refused to get off of it. I let both Derek and Kim know I would be pushing the baby out right there. They were surprised to say the least.

Weird! I LOVED both my water births and really disliked having Spencer on dry land. Anyone who talks to me about water birth knows I.LOVE.IT.

Except not this time. The tub had been comfortable and roomy and wonderful, and I wasn't getting back in it for all the tea in China. No sir.

So, Kim and Derek protected the couch valiantly with chux pads (Kim is also a super hero, don't forget.) And I pushed and chatted and laughed and pushed. I was a whole new woman.

The Great Labor Freak Out of December 5th was over. I was almost done, I had feeling in all my extremities, I had decided my couch was my boyfriend, and I was GREAT!

Contractions were slow, and unpleasant of course, but I got really nice breaks in between. I asked Kim if SHE had ever encountered a fourth-timer take so fraggin' long and of course, she said she had not.

SEE? This is why I was so frustrated with the experience. I was a weird anomaly, and this bothered me.

Anyway, so once I finally resolved to just shut up and push, his head was out! RELIEF! Then, oh, then, the shoulders.

How I hated those little shoulders. In fact, I yelled (loud enough for Alice upstairs to clearly hear) "I HATE THE SHOULDERS!" The baby just didn't rotate fully and they sort of shot up and out at an *unpleasant* angle.

Not my favorite.

But holy hot dog, I had a baby. I grabbed him and pulled him up. SO SO SO relieved to be DONE and to have my baby, I promptly burst into tears... not something I have ever done before. (This birth was weird.) I was SO glad to be done, and SO glad he was here, and SO glad that Derek and Kim had protected the couch.

It was beautiful. He was beautiful. The WORLD WAS BEAUTIFUL!

From December 2010

Ezra, about 15 seconds old

Very shortly after he was born, Kim discovered a funny little something that seems to be cause of the slow, putzy labor. At some point in utero, Ezra had tied up his cord into a tight knot. Kim said she's seen three in eight years, and for some reason (blood or oxygen flow maybe?) it causes labors like mine, kind of not "text book." He was healthy and his heart rate was fine all during labor, but somehow between he and myself, he knew just how he needed to come.  I didn't, of course. But he did.

From December 2010

Knotted cord

Pretty incredible.

So, we slowly made our way upstairs, I showered and Derek introduced the boys to the newest member of the family. And we eventually weighed and measured. As I mentioned before, we were SHOCKED at how teeny he is. 7lbs of baby is small to a girl who births toddlers normally. He looks very much like Spencer did but he is all his own person.

From December 2010

From December 2010

Meeting the family!

From December 2010

Aunt Alice!

From December 2010

Henry weighing him. 

From December 2010

Kim, going for round two, he really is that small!

Ezra Lee, my little Ez. He's just a doll. Days and nights? Huh? What are those? Just nurse me all night long, and we'll be friends. Hold me all day, and I'm a peach.

I'm so glad that home is where we decided to have him, with Kim, someone who is so wonderful and calm and just so totally who we needed there. It was awesome.

I have been to many births and I have seen what seems like "it all" which is of course ridiculous. Every birth I go to, I see something new, something I hadn't encountered, something out of the "ordinary." And yet, in our world, we insist upon trying to control it all, with our own powers of intellect, or technology or drugs, when in reality, it just is what it is. I couldn't let go of my *own* preconceived notions, regardless of the fact that I know better.

Birth is the beginning, it's life, it's real, it's not pretty, and it just is.

Medicine and interventions have their place, and you will NEVER hear me say otherwise. But for me, I'm glad to have the chance to let it unfold the way I didn't know it needed to be. That was difficult. It was literally one of the hardest physical and emotional experiences of my life, those short SHORT six hours.

And after 72 hours with this little dude, I can say that I feel like before Sunday, I knew nothing about ANYTHING and I have grown and stretched a little further from the whole experience.

How's THAT for a birth story?

From December 2010

From December 2010

From December 2010

From December 2010

BOYS! EVERYWHERE!

From December 2010

Kim, my superhero!

From December 2010

My parents ran up from their house to meet him. 

From December 2010

They brought along my brother, who cleaned out my gutters while he was here. NICE!

From December 2010

Their "aunt" Lexi came on down too. Our house was CRAZY and it was a great day.

If you're still with me, thanks for reading!

Today is my due date!!

And rather than wallow in self-pity about still being pregnant, I thought I'd focus on the positive.

The positive being this little wee man:

Announcing: Ezra Lee 

December 5th, 12:02 pm

7lbs 6 oz

20.5 inches

Born at home 

We're thrilled he's here. He's so sweet and so tiny. Before Ezra, Oliver was my smallest at 8lb 12 oz. Less than 8lbs was literally shocking. Kim (the midwife) weighed him twice to make sure.

His birth was good and different than I had expected. I promise the story soon but right now he is bundled here in my arms and I don't want to type it all one-handed. :) 

This is YOUR life

So, the other night, I got down and dirty with Microsoft Word and typed up "The Care and Feeding of the Hagey Children."  I am inclined to do this each time I have a baby (I forgot when Oliver was born, which resulted in some trauma for Henry wherein a cup of white milk sent him into a tailspin...) Basically, it lays out our day. Who wears what, who eats off which plate, which show they are "allowed" to watch, etc for the various aunts that will be care-giving post-baby-birth.

Three pages of TINY print later, I thought unto myself, "Woah, does any of this really matter???"

And it does. Weird, isn't it? I am not the mother to children who will happily do whatever, whenever. They do indeed get all hot and bothered if you try to give Spencer the baseball bowl and Henry the basketball one. It's NOT RIGHT!

Oliver, as discussed previously, is OCD about his sleep habits. There is no pretending it's not true. He is a nut.

My extensive list of "Do's and Don'ts" for my children CAN be ignored if necessary. It really DOESN'T matter for a day, if they watch TV for 9 hours. Really.

But it's funny. To look at my life, my JOB all typed up nice and neat and see what it is I do all day, really. My life, my moments, my entire purpose for BEING at this point, all written down on three sheets of paper. In size 8 font. :)

That's my life folks. The Care and Feeding of Henry, Spencer and Oliver. Soon to include baby #4. And Derek is of course thrown in there.

Morgan: This is your life.

From December 2010