Credit taken where credit is not due

Sara at the airport waiting for her first plane ride

Ohio to Boise is a long, long time on small, cramped airplanes.  So I was nervous about flying with a baby on my lap.  (I could remember what it was like last time.  The trip included Mary's major meltdown.)  But I had no need to fret.  This was Sara!

I shouldn't have been surprised to find that Sara was easy to fly with.  (This is a baby who entertained herself by gently holding--but not bending--the flight safety card for over an hour)  She was nervous during our first flight, so she snuggled close and whimpered quietly.  But once I reassured her, she became her bright, sweet, pleasant, happy self.  She was full of smiles for all, but never demanded attention from anyone.  She brought joy to all those around us.

The thing about flying alone with a baby is that you get to hold your baby for hours and hours on end.  This is bad because you cannot accept the in flight beverage, pee, or, if it's a Canadian Regional Jet, stand up.  But there are few other times when you get to hold your baby close for so long.  It's kind of great, actually.  Especially if your baby is not screaming his or her head off.

(I remember flying from Turkey to Salt Lake City alone with a six-month-old David.  The journey is over 24-hours, and, in order to negotiate customs alone in Istanbul on the way back, I did not bring a stroller.  So I literally held my baby for over a day a straight, twice.  I felt so bonded to him after that, and we were pretty bonded before.  But the other thing I have to say is:  How did I do that??!!  Flying alone across the Atlantic with a super high maintenance baby?!!  Crazy, crazy.)

Since Sara was so pleasant, I frequently heard these types of comments:  "Oh, she is so good.  You are such a good mom!"  "Your baby did so well on the flight.  You must really know what you're doing."  "I don't know how you do it, but you have one very well-behaved baby."

My first thought is, "It's not me!  It's her!!  Yes, she is the best baby ever and it has nothing to do with me!"  Because this is true.

Now, spare me the whole oh she's your third child and now you know what you're doing and you're all relaxed and that makes her good.  That is a bunch of crap.  First of all, I am not an idiot.  I am the mom.  I can see if my kids have different personalities and temperaments, especially now, by the third one.   If anything, I'm even more sure that David especially and even Mary were difficult babies.  I don't look back and say, "Gee, I really did everything wrong."  Now that I have a normal baby I look back and say, "Gee, I had some challenging babies.  It's a relief to know it wasn't me with the problem."  I maybe didn't have it all together, but do you really really think I MADE David be the kind of baby he was?  You're going to be that cruel and imply that I brought it on myself?  Second of all, I take issue with your assumption that I am more relaxed now.  Please ask my husband, who happens to be married to a woman who is currently in a near constant state of panic, worry, and anxiety.  If my level of relaxedness directly correlates to my baby's health, happiness, and sleep patterns, then Sara would be a sickly, grouchy baby who sleeps exactly 37 minutes in a 24 hour period.

Yes, I will concede that experience definitely helps.  There are things about having a baby that I feel confident about now, and that has come with having had two others.  But, over all, Sara has been a pleasant, "by the book" kind of baby because she came that way.  (By the way, if you ever made a comment to me about Sara being easy because she's number 3, I promise I cannot remember it because I can't--and I did not get offended in the least.  Or if I did, I can't remember it and I still love you with all my heart. I imagine I was mostly just trilled you were acknowledging the sweetness of my baby.  No worries.)

So, when all those lovely, well-meaning people praised my mothering skills instead of my baby's innate contented, peaceful personality, what did I do?

I smiled and took the credit.

Final installment of a hospital story

Now that I'm home and said home is perfectly clean (seriously--look in my closets, investigate behind the toilets, it's all spic and span) and Sara is now THREE MONTHS old, it's time to finish up the birth story  Which isn't much of a birth story, except for the very best part--the birth of our sweet little Sara!

Let's see.  So I covered the good thing about being awake when Sara was born.  And the bad thing about her super high bilirubin levels.  And now one more fun detail about my experience in the hospital--I had a skin reaction to the iodine solution they used in surgery.  If we're talking about complications from surgery, this is minor in terms of danger or affecting my health or whatever.  But very very very (very!) uncomfortable.    Actually, it was plain painful.  My skin was ON FIRE!  Oh my, how it hurt to even move.  Oh my, oh my.  It was much worse than the incision pain even.  Ugh.

I admit, I've done plenty of whining and complaining about getting this baby here.  From woes during pregnancy to stress after the birth.  Yet I never expected your pity. But now I do.  About this.  Because it really sucked.  (Just what you need when you're recovering from a C-section and trying to juggle a newborn--the skin on your tummy chemically burned.)

But it got better...after a series of almost comical minor complications in my recovery.  I feel like I was at the doctor every other day for a month!  I wasn't--but it felt that way.  But I found myself there often enough that it did start feeling ridiculous.  A friend finally suggested that perhaps I just ought to live in a bubble.  I agreed.

In sum, January was an uncomfortable month.  I was uncomfortable in my body.  My skin was uncomfortable, my insides were uncomfortable.  (I remember how getting dressed in regular clothes--and staying in them for more than three minutes--for Sara's blessing seemed a near impossible task.)  I felt overwhelmed by my body--I just wanted to feel normal.

Fortunately, most things have resolved themselves.  (Hooray!  No more writing about my aches and pains!  You can breath a sigh of relief.)  And I guess I have to say I feel pretty normal now?  Well, I feel much more normal than I did in January anyway.

Here's the thing about January though.  All the discomfort aside, I believe it was the happiest month of my life.  I shut out everything except for loving my family.  What a blessing that my circumstances (help from family, friends, and an amazing husband) allowed me to focus on what is most precious to me, my children.  And I was able to spend the month holding my newest precious child close to me without distractions.  Sara's birth marked the beginning of a peaceful, sacred month.  A time I will always treasure in my heart.

Seven weeks

Sara is seven weeks today.  I celebrated by sitting on the sofa and holding her close all day.  It was a treat, especially after the super busy week this has been.

I took this picture today.  I love baby gowns, how a baby tucks up her legs inside and squeezes herself into a ball.  I love a baby ball.  A newborn baby ball perched on your shoulder is the best.  But le reminded how much I also love little baby feet poking out of the bottom of the gown.  Look at those sweet baby toes.  Love love love.

A hospital story, part 1: Something good

Now that I have clearly established that I am capable of blogging only about Sara, and now that she has been here for over a month (five weeks!), I am way overdue for ... The Birth Story!

It goes something like this:  Once upon a time, I scheduled an appointment.  Greg and I went to the hospital at the appointed time.  The doctor cut me open, pulled out Sara, and sewed me up.  The end.

Hmmm.  Not much of a story.

But, if you don't mind, I have to tell something!

I admit:  I love to hear women share their birth experiences.  (And don't you love to hear your own mom share about your birth?)  Okay, so maybe there is a tiny element of whatever it is that causes us humans to slow down to stare at a car wreck.  But mostly it is because birth is so beautiful/messy/frightening/painful/joyous/dramatic/mysterious/simple.  There is something about wanting to share in the joy and empathize with the pain.  And there is always, always drama, hence, a story.  A brand new human being comes into the world!  How could there not be drama?  Every birth is exciting and special.

In Sara's case, most of the drama (what there was of it) came after she was born.  So it seems like more of a "hospital story."  As cold and institutional as that sounds, that's what I'm going to call it--"a hospital story."  I have a million details I want to remember, but for now I will set aside 999,997 of them and focus on three things.  (I love the rule of three's.)  I will share something good, something bad, and something ugly.  (No worries--no pictures of the latter!)

First ...

Something Good.  Namely:  I Got to Be Awake.

When David, my first, was born, I had a spinal block with no problem.  When I was in labor with Mary two years later, I requested an epidural.  The anesthesiologist, however, was not able to get it in, meaning she couldn't find any spinal fluid in which to insert the catheter.  She just kept hitting bone.  The doctor tried the epidural three times, and then she attempted a spinal block (which I believe requires a smaller needle?) twice.  She was mystified (and clearly troubled) because she couldn't see any reason why it wouldn't work.  Needless to say, that story ends with my giving birth without pain medication.  But the point is that the next morning the hospital's head anesthesiologist came to see me, and she gave me strict instructions to inform future doctors of what had happened should I ever need another epidural or spinal block.

(By the way, feel free to use me as an example!  Be super annoying and say to your friend who is flippant about her upcoming birth because she plans to get an epidural, "Well, one of my friends totally planned to get an epidural and then it totally wouldn't work and then she had to push for like four hours without any pain relief and she was completely freaking out, so you might want to consider preparing yourself mentally at least a little bit."  Then be even more annoying and hand her the book Birthing from Within, which I truly recommend.  Incidentally, Mary's birth was the worst ... but it made me a believer in "natural" childbirth.  Says the woman who scheduled a C-section for her next birth.  Sigh.)

So when we went to the hospital that morning, all of the nurses, my doctor, and the anesthesiologist (and, most importantly, ME) were well aware that I may have to be put under general anesthesia for this birth.

Here is what happened.  (Oh, and remember this was the only drama involved in the birth, so savor it.)  The anesthesiologist, whom I will henceforth refer to as Dr. K because I will lose my mind if I type " the anesthesiologist" one more time, came marching into the OR in that self-important way doctors have.  (This guy was dripping ego out of his ears.)  He confirmed with me that the last time this had been tried, it had been unsuccessful.

"That didn't happen here at St. Mary's, did it?" he asked.

No, I explained, it had been at a military hospital in Ohio.

"Hmph," he snorted.  "Figures. Well, don't worry. We're better than they are."

(I guess it's nice to know your current anesthesiologist feels competitive with your previous one?)

Precariously balanced on the edge of the cold metal operating table, I curled into an uncomfortable ball, and Dr. K got right to work.

Within half a second, he said, "Ooooh...I see..." with new found understanding.  He could see that those fools in Ohio weren't completely incompetent. There really was something wrong with my spine.  Great.

By this time I was completely resigned to being unconscious during the birth of this baby.  Months earlier I had been terrified of this.  I was scared of being unconscious, and my heart broke when I thought of not meeting my Sara right away.   But slowly, over time, I had adjusted to the possibility.  I reminded myself that gazillions of people survive general anesthesia.  It would be okay if I didn't see Sara the instant she was born.  Greg and I had talked about it, and I knew he would hold her tight and keep her safe.  So by that morning I was completely at peace with not being awake for Sara's birth.

Dr. K, however, was not at peace with that.  Not at all.

He tried and tried and tried again.  I lost count how often he tried.  Maybe six or seven times?  Let's remember that for each attempt there are two needle pokes--one for the local anesthesia and one for the actual spinal block.  So that's a dozen needles in your back.  It is FREAKY.  And this time I didn't have labor pains to distract me from the freaky-ness.

It was tense in the OR as everyone anxiously waited and I strained to stay calm and hunched over.

Eventually, I squeaked out, "Um, how many more times are we trying?"

"Oh, he's just getting started," my doctor assured me.  My heart sank.  Remember, I saw general anesthesia as the inevitable outcome, and, by then, I just wanted to get the show on the road.  But everyone was very committed to this spinal block.

Then Dr. K announced, "I have one more trick up my sleeve."  I wasn't sure how I felt about someone performing tricks on my spinal column ...

And then it worked!

Everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief.  I was laid down, Greg was rushed into the room, the curtain put up, and Dr. K--now my superhero complete with ego, confidence, experience, and sleeve full of tricks--marched out of the room.  I was in shock.  I was going to be awake for Sara's birth.

I was going to be AWAKE for Sara's birth!!

And I was!

Is there a unicorn in my closet?

We have in our home a creature I once believed to be but a myth:

A Baby Who Sleeps

I wonder what other mythical creatures I might find in my house.

Stats

First Name:  Sara

Middle Name:  Harper

Due Date:  January 10

Birth Date:  January 4, 2013  (According to schedule.)

Born at:  St. Mary's Hospital

Delivered by:  Dr. Bathke

Greg's Birth Weight Guess:  9 lbs 2 oz

Doctor's Birth Weight Guess:  9 lbs 4 oz

Alisa's Birth Weight Guess:  9 lbs 10 oz

Actual Birth Weight:  8 lbs 10 oz  (A lightweight!!)

Birth Length:  20 inches (A shrimp!  In this family, anyway.)

Glucose Levels:  Perfect!

Feet:  "Her feet are huge!"  (Official quote from, well, practically everyone.)

Fingers:  Long, tapered, and elegant  (Piano player?)

Birth Weight at 2 Week Check:  8 lbs 10 oz  (See Actual Birth Weight and cheer!)

Looks Like:  Herself  (And Mary.)  (And David.)

First Smile:  Early!  (We were pretty sure she was really smiling as early as the hospital ... but that can't be possible, right?  But you just know, you know ... and we knew.  Right? Then she surprised the doctor with a smile at her 2 week check!  The doctor confirmed that was a real smile--the doc was pretty excited about it.  And of course it melted her heart.  Sara is already quite the charmer.)

First Laugh:  Yesterday!

Hours Spent Naked Under the Lights in the Hospital (Better Termed:  Hours NOT Being Held and Cuddled and Kissed by Alisa or Greg):  92

Time Spent Fussing or Crying Under the Lights:  None.  (A miracle.  Seriously.)

Hours Spent Under the Lights at Home:  0  (Hooray!!)

Diapers Changed by Alisa During Week One:  0  (Thank you to the nurses, my mom, Shawna, and Greg.  Mostly Greg.  Did I marry a good man, or what?)

Number of Days She Held onto Her Umbilical Cord:  24!  (Thus breaking David and Mary's previous records of 3 weeks.  We're just relieved it fell off before her college graduation.)

Nursing Skills:  Needs Some Improvement

Sleeping Skills:  Excellent (Cue "Hallelujah!" chorus.)

Cuteness Skills:  Through the Roof!

Adored by:  Everybody

Home

Tuesday afternoon we finally came home from the hospital.  We left feeling exhausted, well-cared for, and very very blessed.

Siblings before the hospital:

Siblings after the hospital:

38.5 weeks

"Official" pictures to mark 38.5 weeks pregnant:

I can now have this baby because ...

1. I got a midwinter pedicure.  (A huge thank you to Shawna for coming along!  So good to have a little relaxing girl talk time before Baby's arrival.  And now our husbands know it takes five hours to get a pedicure and go to lunch.  A huge thank you to our husbands too.)
2. I updated the Science Fair registration forms (in English--and in as much Spanish as I could manage).
3. I cleaned out the refrigerator.  Everything else in my house might be in chaos (an apology to my mom and mother-in-law who will be coming to help in said chaos), but my fridge is clean, by golly!  (At least for the next five seconds until it's not ... again.)

Happy New Year's Eve!  I don't know about you, but I'm going to bed early.

A happy birthday for Greg

Yesterday was Greg's birthday.

In the morning David took his Daddy skiing. (For thoughts on skiing in Wisconsin, go here.  You can also see pictures of David's first time skiing.)  David wanted to do a lesson.  We didn't make it to Tyrol Basin last year (no snow!!), so it had been a while.  David said it was a little hard at first, but by the end of the lesson he was really good.  (Greg confirmed this.)

During the lesson, Greg got a gazillion runs in (they don't take long when the mountain is more of a short hill).  Afterwards, they went down together a couple of times.  Then they went to lunch together and came home.  (It's nice that the skiing is close enough, small enough, and affordable enough that it doesn't have to take your whole day.)  David came home excited to do more skiing.  And Greg looks forward to returning too.

Meanwhile, Mary came with me to my last (LAST!!) doctor's appointment.  We listened to the baby's heartbeat together.  It was very sweet.  She is very excited to have a baby sister.

Later that day, Mary baked a cake for her dad (almost all by herself!) and made chocolate buttercream frosting (almost all by herself!).  As she reminded me again and again, she LOVES to bake.  After I frosted the cake for her, she did the decorating one hundred percent by herself.  She took it very seriously--and lovingly, as she knew this was something special for her dad.

The finished product!

Happy Birthday, Daddy!

You know how you always try to blow out all your candles in as few breaths as possible?  Well, this year Greg set a world record!  He took zero breaths!  Of course, he had a little help ...

Greg deserves the best birthday ever!!  Unfortunately, he married me.  I did not grow up with a grand tradition of elaborate celebrations for holidays and birthdays.  But they are important to me!  Especially Christmas.  So I work hard against inertia to make Christmastime special for my family.  Consequently, by December 28th, I'm kind of burnt out.  Poor Greg gets kind of a bum deal.  I was sort of hoping the baby would be born on his birthday--that would make it special, right?

Someday Greg might get that big, amazing, thoughtful, special birthday celebration he deserves.  I hope.  But, really, no celebration could be big enough, amazing enough, thoughtful enough, or special enough to match what he deserves.  But it doesn't mean I won't try!  Someday ...


P.S.  Speaking of the baby's birthday.  I think it will be January 4th, as scheduled.  Yes, I am big.  I am huge!  I am short and there is just no where for this big baby to go.  Sometimes I think I am going to burst open Alien style.  But I still feel pretty good.  I am not having a lot of those aches and pains in the back and hips and pelvis that you so often get at the end.  According to the doctor, the baby is high--but to me she feels low because I can breath and eat.  Yes, I've been to the doctor 3 times this week!!!--in part because of a terrible mysterious rash. (Bleh.)  And, yes, having gestational diabetes at Christmastime sure stinks.  BUT I feel very lucky (blessed--I can recognize this as a blessing from above) to feel as good as I do.  In fact, I'll take it as a tender mercy of the Lord, who has been walking beside me this whole time.  Anyway, so I'd like to be able to crank through a few more things on my to-do list before Baby has her birthday.

Christmas pics 2012

It was a joyful Christmas!  We feel very blessed and very loved.  Our hearts were full of gratitude.

The big reveal!

A very pleased (and amazed) little girl!

A very pleased little boy!

Mary loved the contents of her stocking.  Meanwhile, David was ecstatic to learn that Santa had left him something on the computer:  Minecraft!

David and Mary rush around to take it all in.  (Greg looks pleased to see his children looking pleased.  Being a parent at Christmastime is awesome!)

David and Mary discuss something--probably who got the better present from Santa.  Sigh.

Mary can read this year.  So she got to read the gift tags and distribute the presents accordingly.  

Lots of happiness opening toys.

Yes, lots of happy faces.

David made an awesome calendar for his dad.  Here he shows Daddy every picture he drew. 

Not surprisingly, there was lots of Lego building.  This year, Greg had an additional building buddy--Mary!

Mary is a super Lego builder--she is meticulous and follows directions.   (By the way, thumbs up for the Lego Friends series.  Very well-designed.)

David is getting much better at building.  He built a Harry Potter set all by himself, and he built several pieces of this huge mining set.  Way to go, David!

Our new baby wasn't left out!  

Mary shows off a beautiful blanket and a precious quilt made by her grandmothers for our sweet baby girl.

It was a great day.  In the morning Mary asked what she was supposed to do that day.  I told her that kids have two important jobs on Christmas Day:  1) Let their parents take a nap, and 2) Play.  David and Mary both fulfilled their Christmas Day responsibilities wonderfully!

Later that day we ate nachos and watched Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.  We laughed about how David used to be so scared of the Abominable Snow Monster that the mere sight of it would bring little David to tears.  We also played board games and read books and sang a final round of Christmas carols.

I love Christmas Day because I think it's truly the one day a year when I don't do anything.  I just be with my family. (Why is that so hard?)  I play with my kids or simply lay on the couch and watch them play.  I love my sweet family.

I am very blessed.

Merry Christmas!

Nativity and nutcracker

On Christmas Eve we acted out the Nativity.  David and Mary fought over who got to be the donkey.  Mary won.  That left me to be Mary, which was quite appropriate.  Greg jumped at the chance to be my Joseph.  I held his hand.

So here we are, with Baby's first appearance in a family Nativity:

Joseph, Mary with Child, Donkey, and thanks to David the Innkeeper for playing photographer.

(Please excuse the fact I'm basically not wearing pants...I didn't know Greg would insist on a picture of Baby's first nativity scene.)

Later that evening, David presented me with a nutcracker.  We don't have one, and he was so (SO!!!) excited to get me one for Christmas.  As I've said before, David and Mary love The Nutcracker ballet.  They know the story and all of the songs.  In our house at Christmastime, we don't listen to Christmas carols--we listen to The Nutcracker nearly nonstop.  David was bursting with excitement to finally give me my very own nutcracker.

Mary had helped David pick out the perfect nutcracker for me.  It is covered in gold glitter and sequins.  It is perfect, and I will love it forever.

(Please ignore the fact that I look more than a little disheveled.  I've been battling either the mysterious PUPPS rash or some kind of hives-turned-eczema.  Looking normal hasn't been my top priority.)

It was a special, magical Christmas.  Greg even declared it possibly the very best Christmas ever.  Many, many pictures to come.

Thoughts during the blizzard

Thursday we got 20 inches of snow.  These are some of the things on my mind, as I looked out the window and saw this ...

1.  I have wonderful friends.  Tuesday night my friend Shannon gathered together some of my closest friends from our church congregation to celebrate this little girl.  She knew I was not comfortable with a baby shower.  This is my third!  And my second girl!  But I definitely think this girl is worth celebrating--and I love a chance to get together with dear friends.  So Shannon hosted a Favorites Party.  Everyone brought 4 of one of their favorite things--one for me and three to share with three other attendees.  I was spoiled--I got everything!  The others drew names, so each of them went home with three items.  It was so great!  I loved it!  We sat around the fire, sharing our favorite things--from cleaning supplies to lip balm to chocolate to ingenious little trinkets that keep your kids occupied and so on.  So fun!  It was perfect.  It was low-key and warm and comfortable--and I loved being together and having a chance to catch up with dear friends. This is such a busy time of year, so I am especially touched that people would take time to celebrate friendship and a new baby.  Thank you.  (I'm talking to you, Rachael and Ashley and Stephanie and Jen and Judy and Hillary and Hilary and Shawna and Chelsea and Janis.)  (There were also dear friends who were already out of town for the holidays--you were missed!)  I am grateful for the love and support and service of the amazing women in my life.

2.  I think I am a nice mom for not cutting out the Christmas cookie decorating tradition this year.  It does make a good activity for a snow day.

It is hard to make frosting without tasting a little.  Oops.  It is hard to taste just a little frosting.  Oops.  In sum, sorry, Baby.  Hope you enjoyed your sugar rush.


3.  Why is my Christmas tree filled with princesses?

4.  My kids did not have school on Thursday.  That was during the blizzard.  I expected them to have school on Friday.  They did not.  So their winter break began a couple of days early this year.  I sort of wanted one last day of "all my kids are in school" bliss.  Sigh.  Thankfully, Greg was around Friday and willing to help out--so I could escape the house and spend some time with a friend and her new baby.


5.  There is a lot of excitement in our home.  About Christmas and the baby.  I think we are pretty much ready for both!  Which is a good thing because on Thursday, when I hit 37 weeks, I think I hit that end of pregnancy wall.  Where you're like, oh my gosh, get this baby out because my body cannot possibly do this any longer. I am grateful for Christmas--because it keeps me patient with this baby.  I don't want her coming before Christmas.  I am also grateful that I know the end is in two weeks.  Imagine if I waited and let this baby come on her own and she came two weeks late--that would be five weeks from now.  Five weeks!!  I am nervous about the c-section, but I am grateful for that date on my calendar!  (My gut is telling me she might come early.  But doesn't every pregnant woman's gut tell her she will go early, out of wishful thinking?? Sometimes I think it would be sweet if she came on Greg's birthday, the 28th.  My doctor wants me to go into labor on New Year's Eve because she'll be on call--and then the baby might end up being the first one of the New Year.  She's delivered a gazillion babies, but she hasn't yet delivered the first Madison baby of the year.  Will ours be the one?  We'll see ...)


6.  We are going to have a white Christmas.  Yay!

January 4

Three more weeks.  Not that I'm counting ...

So I'm scheduled for a C-section on January 4.  With Mary I had a VBAC, which I highly recommend.  Get this:  After you have your baby, you can get up and take care of your baby!  It's amazing.  And even more amazing?  You can eat a giant burrito.  Right after!

Not like I was saying "I want a burrito" right after Mary was born.  I wasn't even saying, "I want my baby!" What I was saying was more along the lines of "I want morphine!"  (Hey, it had been something of a fiasco of a delivery and I was in a lot of pain.)  But I like the idea that I could have eaten a giant burrito if I'd wanted.  I did, after a wonderful morphine-induced nap, get up out of bed and pick up my baby.  On my own.  And eat a burrito.  AMAZING!

Yeah, yeah.  And here I go choosing clear liquids and soup over a giant burrito.  Oh, and the fact that I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO TAKE CARE OF MY BABY.  That seriously stinks.  (There's nothing quite like laying there on your back completely immobilized with a stitched up gut listening to your baby cry in the bassinet next to you.  And there's NOTHING you can do but press the nurse call button and/or hope your husband, who has gone for a bite to eat--a giant burrito, of course--comes back soon.)  Sigh.  Who goes from a C-section to a VBAC to another C-section?  (Me ... ) Life is weird sometimes, I guess.

All summer long, as I lay in bed groaning with nausea pangs, I debated with myself about whether or not to do another VBAC.  Which would seem the obvious, normal thing to do.  But Mary's delivery had caused some unusual (and really miserable) nerve damage.  It took four months to heal, which was an eternity.  But at least it wasn't really an eternity.  It did heal.  Nerve damage doesn't always heal.  The thought of going through that again ... well, it was something I didn't want to face.  And what if it didn't heal?  It would seriously mess up the rest of my life, and I'm not kidding.

BUT not recovering from major abdominal surgery is pretty great.  Being able to get out of bed and pick up your baby ... and eat that giant burrito!  I had a really hard time letting go of the burrito.  But I did.

I really, really felt like I should do a C-section.  And Greg did too.  If there's one thing that I learned from each of my children's births, it's that you follow the Spirit.  In David's case, it saved his life.  And in Mary's case, it led me to the darkest place I have ever been and through an experience so sacred and profound that I might be able to say it saved my life in a way.  So if I'm feeling heavenly hints that I should schedule a C-section, I'm going to do it, by golly.

So I did.  Like in August.  So it's been on the books for a while.  My doctor was definitely supportive of my having another VBAC.  But she was also relieved when I chose to have a C-section.  She was worried about a repeat of the nerve damage thing.  And now that I have this whole gestational diabetes thing and am having a big baby--she's already, today, the size that David and Mary were when they were born--my doctor and I are even more relieved I'm having a C-section.

My whole point is that I know I have exactly three weeks.  January 4th is the day.  That's already one week before my due date.  So unless this baby decides to come really early (really early by my standards), I already know her birthday.  (And I have since August.)

January 4th!  Ready or not, here we come ...


P.S.  I had an ultrasound to check on the baby's size.  And while it's hard to really see much when the baby is this far along, I did see her lips sucking on her hand.  It was so sweet.  She's my pal, hanging out, doing her thing, sucking, kicking, sleeping, kicking really hard.  As much as I have complained about my pregnancy woes, I have loved being pregnant.  LOVED.  Does that even make sense?!  How has this been so crummy ... but so great too?  

Post script to my previous post

P.S.  When I said that this time around I have no fear ... well, I lied.  Confession:  I do have a fear.  Can our home handle more PERSONALITY?  I don't worry about having enough love or affection--one thing you learn pretty quickly as a parent is your heart's infinite capacity for love.  So we have lots of room for love.  But do we have room for another personality?  David and Mary both have pretty high-maintenance personalities--and they are complete opposites.  Between the two of them, I feel like we've covered every personality quirk and challenge (and joy!) on the spectrum.  What else is there?!  I guess we'll find out ...

The wait

One month.

That's how much longer the wait is to meet this baby girl of ours.  Although, right now it doesn't feel like waiting.  It feels more like a mad rush to get ready for both the holidays and a new little member of the family.

(Fortunately, we're in the swing of things for Christmas.  Greg, despite a nasty cold, got up the Christmas decorations over Thanksgiving weekend.  The house is appropriately festive.  We're enjoying the advent calendar--with its song, scripture, and chocolates--each evening with the kids.  Christmas music is being played and Christmas books are being read.  While we have simplified some things and cut back on a few other things this year, it's definitely Christmastime in the H household!  Hooray!

Less fortunate is our readiness for this baby.  As you may recall, I reorganized the house, purposely leaving no room for a baby.  Obviously, babies don't take up much room.  But their stuff sure does.  Not that we have any of that stuff.  It's still packed away in the basement or waiting to be purchased.  One month, people.  I've got one month.)

Just one month!  After all this time, it is just one month.

It was almost exactly four years ago that I had a miscarriage.  It was very early in the pregnancy, but  devastating nonetheless (something that somewhat surprised me).  Despite the disappointment, it seemed as if it would be but a small set-back.  A "small set-back" that turned into four years.  Life got in the way.

We realized Greg would be deploying for a year.  Then he did.  Then life continued to be complicated.  We knew (or thought we knew) it was time for another baby, but it didn't feel right--which was baffling and confusing and unexpected.  Fits and starts.  Hoping and wondering, doubting and questioning.  Begging to know the future. Pleading to know why.

Finally, there was a feeling of "Yes, it's time to be serious about having a baby."  Soon thereafter, Greg and I were able to visit the temple together.  And in the quiet peace of the temple, this thought came into my head:  "Your baby's name will be ..."  It was a girl's name.  We were going to have a girl!  And I even knew her name.  It was so precious, so sacred, that I didn't even tell Greg.  It was knowledge for my heart alone.

Of course, I assumed I would get pregnant immediately.  That very month!  But I didn't.  Or the next month. Or the next. Or the next.  Month after month passed.  The confusion returned. And the doubt and the begging and pleading to know.  I hated, resented, the calendar and the thermometer.  I wondered about other measures.  There had been a lot of unsuccessful months, almost a year.  And if I counted all of the other unsuccessful, but nonconsecutive months, it amounted to more like two years.  Was that a lot?  Was I justified in my frustration and disappointment?  Where was my patience?  What was wrong with me?  What was God trying to teach me?  Because I was obviously failing!  I was obviously unworthy in some way.  Such were my unhappy thoughts.

One day I had a regular old check-up with my doctor.  I mentioned the trying to get pregnant and not.  I sounded wishy-washy on my desire to have a baby.  My doctor immediately set me straight:  "Alisa, you will be 35 this year.  It is only going to get harder to get pregnant.  If you want to have a baby, you need to accept that and DO IT NOW.  I'm giving you two months, and then I'm referring you to a fertility clinic.  The sooner you do this, the more likely success will be.  NOW is the time."  Generally, I do not like to be bossed around.  (I prefer to do the bossing.)  But I needed to hear her blunt words.  It was time to make a decision.  I wasn't even quite sure what the question was, but I felt like there was an answer out there.

Soon it became clear in my heart what the decision was.  We were not going to pursue any fertility treatments.  The decision was surprising.  But it brought me peace.  In fact, I found great peace.  I was able to let all the confusion and doubt and resentment go.  I was able to let go of my expectations.  Meaning, I came to peace with not having a baby.  I came to peace with not being pregnant again, with not giving birth again, with not nursing again.  I mourned.  I cried.  But I found a sense of peace.  Even though it didn't necessarily make sense, I found an answer.  We would not pursue fertility treatments, and I happily trashed the calendar and thermometer.

Yet we knew our family wasn't complete.  Here is where there narrative makes an inexplicable tangent.  Insert two intense of months of researching and pursuing adoption.  This is not the time and post to go into great detail.  Because this is about waiting for the baby girl in my womb.  But it is true that near the end of the waiting, we talked adoption.  And decided. I spent hours and hours every day researching options.  Together Greg and I narrowed down potential agencies and started figuring out the finances.

I'm sure you can see where this is going--it's so cliche.  Once I let go of my hopes and dreams of getting pregnant, and once we started pursuing adoption, I ... drum roll ... got pregnant!  (Seriously, you can roll your eyes.  I know it's cliche ... but it's also what really happened.)

I was late.  But I'd been late before.  That's the worst--when you go through half a dozen pregnancy tests convinced you must be pregnant because you're still late.  I wasn't playing that game again.  I was NOT pregnant, and I wasn't going to harbor any hope.  Besides, I was up to my ears in adoption stuff.  I was arranging to meet with a mom up the street who had adopted.  I had figured out who should do our home study.  We were registered for a seminar with the state.  And I was on the verge of arranging a meeting with an agency in Chicago.

I woke up one day, and I knew the first thing on my list was calling the agency in Chicago.  I was pretty sure this would be the one.  And arranging to go meet with them was not something I took lightly.  I realized I just needed to know for sure, that morning, that I wasn't pregnant.  I didn't think I was.  But I needed to know for sure.  There were no pregnancy tests in the house.  So I sent Greg to Walgreen's at six in the morning.

I took the test.  It was positive.  I couldn't believe it.  I just stared.  And stared.  Then I rushed out into the hallway.  Everyone was busy getting ready for the day.  The kids were jumping up on Greg needing this and that.  I caught his eye.  "It's positive.  I'm pregnant," I mouthed, in wonder.  Greg smiled.  It was the sweetest, most genuine, spontaneous, straight from the heart smile.  I will never forget it.  And then he took the kids to school.  I stared at the test and thought of his smile.  That's how I felt too.

In case you're wondering, we did continue the adoption route for a while longer.  There was the fear of miscarrying, of course.  Also, we weren't quite ready to abandon the whole idea.  The process takes so long, after all, and we were already quite invested emotionally.  But once I got quite sick, I was ready to let go.  It was time to focus on this particular precious child who was coming to our family.  (I have no idea if adoption if something we would consider again.  Right now, if I were to guess, I would say no.  But I trust that the Lord will let us know.)

So here we are.  Near the end of (what seemed to me) a long wait.  I will admit, the wait has made the experience even sweeter.  I am overwhelmed with the feeling that this child is a blessing.  There is something about being just a little bit older and having had to wait a little bit longer that makes the gratitude in my heart more poignant.  With my first, fear was co-mingled with excitement.  He was my first!  With my second, again fear was co-mingled with the anticipation.  Could I handle two??  But this time, I feel happiness.  No fear.  Just gratitude.  And joy.

One more month!

November too

I have been posting so much about October this month, it's like this month didn't happen.  But it did.  It wasn't as busy (or as uncomfortable) as October.  But definitely sugar-free.

Since this is a time of thanksgiving, let me tell you five of the things I was thankful for this month.

1. Mary's school

Mary is having a wonderful year.  It's turning out even better than expected.  She is confident and fulfilled. I am prone to grumble about the cost and distance.  But sending her there was clearly the right decision.  I am grateful she spends her day in a place where she is safe and loved, a place where she is comfortable enough to let down her walls of reticence, allowing her true self to shine.  I am grateful that she spends her day in a place where she can develop her gifts and feel the joy and satisfaction of work and learning.  (And I am grateful that I get to enjoy these benefits by having a child who is much much less whiny, bored, and needy!)

Here are some pictures Kim, the assistant, snapped of Mary and a friend hard at work in the classroom.

Mary scrubs the floor while best friend Brooke does some laundry the old-fashioned way.

Mary (top) and a friend work on fractions.

Earlier this month we had a chance to visit Mary's school in the evening, so she could show us some of her favorite lessons.

Mary works on the trinomial cube.
  Right now, for Mary, it is a puzzle, but later it will be used to teach trinomial algebraic expressions.  (Don't ask me how!)

Mary shows us how she is learning to count by 7's.  (There are similar bead chains for counting by  2's, 3's, 4's and so on.  She doesn't know it yet, but she's already learning her multiplication facts.)

Mary works on adding two 4-digit numbers.

She hasn't learned carrying yet.  But she does know to start with the units column, even though she doesn't know (yet) why it's so important.

Yes, she's definitely been into numbers this year.

Mary let David look on.

2. David's school

I am grateful for David's school too!  David's teacher appreciates him, and she has been really proactive in finding ways to help him have a great, successful year.

Every month the school meets together for a short 15-minute assembly called a "Community Gathering."  One grade-level performs, and then the whole school sings the school song.  It is short and sweet (very sweet).  This month the second graders performed a couple of thanksgiving poems.

It was very cute.


3. Phew!  That's over with.

So I'm seriously considering going to graduate school (again).  It's probably not the most convenient timing for our family, but as a military wife you don't always have a lot of choices about timing and places in life.  Anyway, I'll eventually write more about this, but suffice it to say, for now, that I had to take the stinking GRE.  My scores from last time are old and expired, so, yippee for me, I got to take it again.

ETS recently changed the test.  It went from a reasonable 2-1/2 hour exam to a whopping 4-1/2 hour marathon.  Yikes!  People, I'm pregnant!  Do you know a pregnant lady who can sit for 4 and a half hours straight?!  (Oh, wait.  There's one 10-minute break.  Gee, thanks.)  I was registered to take the test earlier in the fall, but it became clear that wasn't going to happen.  I could barely sit for 10-minutes, let alone almost 5 hours.  Plus, I found it hard to study when I wasn't feeling well.  It was really, really hard to relearn all that math while in bed.  Even worse, it wasn't just relearning math--this time around, because the test had changed, there were plenty of concepts I actually had to learn for the first time.  With a foggy pregnant lady brain.  (It didn't go very well--Greg can attest to that.)

Ugh.  This stupid test had been hanging over my head for MONTHS.  I was beginning to realize that I was going to have to try to take the test with a nursing one-month-old and an utterly sleep-deprived brain.  That seemed like a bad idea.  So I rescheduled my test for the end of November, said a prayer, and hoped I'd find enough time to take some practice tests, and, most importantly, that I'd miraculously be able to sit through the test itself.

Miracles happen!  I took the test Saturday, and I have lived to tell the tale. Nothing went terribly wrong--my rib cage didn't start aching, I didn't have heartburn, my bladder was never on the verge of exploding, I didn't have a headache, my blood sugar was under control.  Miracles galore!  The test administrator (a mother of four) even gave me a private room, so I could stand up as much as I needed throughout the exam.  Miracle!  The test was tiring, but not any harder than I expected.  I even got a perfect score on the verbal.  With my foggy pregnant lady brain no less!  Woo hoo!  And I managed to score above average (slightly above average) on the math.  Now that's a miracle!

Miracle, yes.  Nevertheless, it's a miracle I'm glad is behind me.  Mary has been praying lately, "We're thankful that Mommy took her test."  Amen.



4.  Thanksgiving

I am grateful for Thanksgiving.  It was a low-key affair this year.  Greg ran a 5K with one of his Boy Scouts in the morning.  Then Greg's cousin, Deserae, and her husband, Mikhael, and their son, Elim, joined us for the day.  We hung out, watched movies, ate, watched movies, ate, played games, and ate.  They are our only family in the area, and we were so happy to share with the day with them.  I definitely think Thanksgiving is a day to be shared.  We're pretty selfish about Christmas--we aren't ones to travel somewhere or host a big group for that holiday.  But Thanksgiving is definitely lonely unless you share it with someone else.  We had a lovely time.  To mark the occasion, I will even include a very unflattering picture of myself.

5.  Baby!

Now that the stinking GRE isn't hanging over me and now that I'm feeling much better, I can finally focus on what is the most exciting.  Our baby girl!  She'll be here in less than five weeks.  No, we are not ready.  At all.  But I figure, hey, we've done this before--we'll pull it together just in time.  Right?

I am very grateful for this baby.

This glimpse of the baby (which I know is sideways--grrr--I'm sorry) is from the summer.  She is much MUCH bigger now.  Trust me.