To Be A Mother

My sweet little C-Bug,

Tonight with you was like a dream. Ironic, though, as the early evening started as a nightmare. You cried and cried as you followed me around the kitchen while dinner preparation was in full gear. You disapproved of your meal, choked on a carrot, and received a bruised leg as we tried to quickly pull you out of your seat to help. Yes, this was definitely an early-bedtime night. I took you upstairs to settle down before laying you into your crib. And in the soft glow of your nightlight, we rocked.

Not one of my babies has been a rock-me-to-sleep baby. But you sat there with me, still, and let me rock you. And I was happy. I hummed a favorite lullaby, over and over, for fear that if I stopped you would become restless and want the rocking to end. But when I did finally stop, you seemed content just to sit with me.

You jibberred and jabberred about the musings of your day; you practiced your wave of hi and goodbye; you pointed at everything you could see in the dim light, all while we rocked. With your head on my shoulder, we rocked and rocked.

And when you turned to face me, I put my lips on your soft cheek and kissed you again and again until you turned away, letting me know that you had enough. I will never have enough kisses from you.

I whispered, "I love you," and you whispered back. Not an "I love you, mommy" but I was sure that's what you meant. Then you pinched my neck - not too hard, but just enough to make me giggle out loud. You froze at the sound; but then, curious, you pinched again, and waited to hear. And I giggled again, over and over, until I took your hand away, letting you know I had enough.

But I kept my hand on that sweet, soft, chubby hand of yours, and caressed it as my heart fell deeper in love.

Soon we were joined by your big brother, who upon seeing us happily rocking, wanted to rock too. Daddy helped him in on the other side of my lap, and the three of us rocked and rocked.

It was over too quickly - the two of you can't seem to remember how to whisper when you're together. But I left your room with a big smile on my face. I love how you can make me smile.

So tonight, my little love, I thank you for the reminder of how I love to be a mother.
This gorgeous picture was taken by my dear friend from Shelly Geller Photography. Oh, how I miss you, Michelle!

A Time for Thanks

November brought some excitement along with the cold weather. Neither were good. The morning of the 18th went as always; breakfast, showers, and we were ready for the day. The girls were on track break, so there was no rush for school. C-Bug had a doctor's appointment (due to a diaper full of -- well, the regular plus a lot of blood), and a friend of mine graciously offered to watch everyone else. I dropped them off around 9:15, plenty of time to make it to our 9:45 appointment. We were in and out of there faster than planned, but had some time while waiting for test results. I had a little shopping to do at Michael's, so I thought I'd run home, grab my coupon (who shops at Michael's without that weekly 40% off golden ticket?!?), and head down to the store. It was 11:00 am. Pulled into the garage, left the car running, ran inside for the coupon, back in the car, and I was off.

It was an hour and a half later, shopping done, tests were back (a couple of allergies, but nothing much to worry about), kids picked up, and we were back in our garage parking the car. I unloaded the kids and headed in through the laundry room. As soon as I walked inside, I noticed that the cabinets in the laundry room were open. All of them. Weird. Did I do that? I do have a tendency to leave cabinet doors open (just ask The Man - he hates it), but ALL of them? I did do laundry the day before, so I thought maybe I just spaced it and left them like that. As I walked through to the hallway a funny thought went through my head ...

Remember the scene in "The Sixth Sense" when the little boy and his mom are in their kitchen in the morning and he's eating breakfast while she gets ready for work? He's all nervous and she's frustrated with him. She leaves for just a second and when she comes back EVERY CABINET IN THEIR KITCHEN IS WIDE OPEN. The boy is still sitting in his chair, his hands flat on the table.

"How freaky would it be if I walked into my kitchen and all the cabinets were wide open.?"

Then in the hallway I noticed that the door to the closet under our stairs was open. The light was on. Now I'm thinking, "I may have spaced those laundry room cabinets, but I KNOW I didn't leave that open."

My heart sinks as I walk into the kitchen. Lo and behold, every cabinet is open. At this point I'm truly thinking of ghosts and crazy paranormal activity. Then I quick turn around and see that our tv is gone. I drop everything (except, of course, my baby) and grab the phone. Called The Man.

"Someone broke into our house. The tv is gone. It's a mess in here and I'm freaking out."

While the words are coming out of my mouth, another thought occurs to me. "They could still be in here. Upstairs. Get out. Now."

"I'm on my way home," he says to me, and we both hang up as I holler at and push my kids back into the garage and into the car.

"Get in the car! Get in! Just get in!"

"What's the matter, mom?! What's going on?"

They were confused, and I was freaked out.

"Mom! Don't go yet! My buckle is not on!"

"I don't care! Just sit down!"

"Mom, is C-Bug dying?"

"THIS IS WHY YOU ARE NEVER ALLOWED TO ANSWER THE DOOR! SOMEONE VERY BAD WHO WAS NOT INVITED CAME TO OUR HOUSE AND TOOK OUR THINGS! THERE ARE BAD PEOPLE OUT THERE AND YOU ARE NEVER ALLOWED TO TALK TO STRANGERS!!!"

Yes, in hindsight, I probably could have handled that a little bit better.

I'm pulling out of the garage now and getting ready to haul butt outta there. But then another thought. "If they ARE still in there, and they come out, I want to see them. No, I want to run their a** down with my car!"

(For all of you who were under the impression that I am a good, decent person who doesn't swear, sorry to burst your bubble. Now you know, and I feel just a little bit closer to you.)

I'm back on the phone with The Man, who tells me that he's called a friend of ours that works really close. He should be there in just a minute or two. And he's packin'. I tell him I don't have the number for the police. I'm assuming this isn't cause for a 911 call. Not until I've taken someone out with my vehicle, anyway.

Mr. Saturday-night special comes, then the police, then The Man. And all the neighbors who were home all morning but didn't see a thing are now coming out to see what all the commotion is about. The police check the house, and no one is there. A couple hours later we are making a list of things that are missing, writing out our statements, and sending the police on their way. A neighbor kept our kids so that we could clean up everything before they came inside. We didn't want them to see the house torn apart and their rooms in disarray. They literally went through everything. Every drawer, every box, every space in the whole house. It still creeps me out to think about it.

I slept with my purse for a week. The Man laughed at me as I would walk up the stairs at night with my purse over my shoulder. I had no more than 20 bucks in there (I'm dangerous with cash!), but I just couldn't bear the thought of someone coming back and taking the only thing I had left. I stopped sleeping with it when The Man told me, "They already took everything they wanted. There's nothing left here that's of any value to them. Why would they come back?"

We left the next week to spend Thanksgiving in San Diego with my family. Everyone was there, and it was so nice to be with them. It was nice to not think about being afraid for a while. It was nice that even though we were now without a lot of material things, I had SO MUCH to be thankful for ...

I'm thankful first and foremost that we were safe. I'm thankful that no one was in my home when I walked through that door with my four young kids. And no matter how bad a** I thought I could have been inside that car, I'm thankful no one came out while I waited across the street. I'm thankful for my husband who understood that although we originally planned to stay home for Thanksgiving, I just had to get out of there for a little bit. I'm thankful they were not able to take our computer, and every picture we have along with it. I'm thankful for good neighbors and friends who wanted to bring dinner that night even though it was our electronics stolen and not our food. I'm thankful for the lessons we learned and the chance we have now to be better prepared. I'm thankful that my kids were not scarred by my lunatic reaction, but somehow saw the whole situation as some exciting adventure.

While in the car the morning of their first day back to school, I asked the girls if they were excited to see their teachers and friends again. DC said, "Yeah! I'm gonna tell my teacher that we went to San Diego for four days!" And Miss Priss said, "I'm gonna tell my teacher we got robbed!"

Back From the Dead - Just in Time for Halloween!

Yes, I know it's January. I'm a little late. Whatev. But hey, isn't the saying "better late than never?" I'm all about being better. Here are our kids in costume for Halloween 2009. Forgive the quality, we only used The Man's phone for pictures.

C-Bug was Darth Vadar. But before we even left the house, we nicknamed him Darth Drool. He's so slobbery! What a cutie-pie. I love how smiley he is.


Our ward had a fun carnival and trunk or treat. Mini Man won the costume contest for the boys. I may be just a teensy weensy bit biased, but I thought he totally deserved it. He rocked that costume. His dad even taught him to look at people thoughtfully and say, "Much anger I sense in you" in a yoda voice. It was a crack up.


I was pretty excited about our Star Wars theme, but DC was so not on board. We were going to do Queen Amidala, but she refused. I'm not sure why, since her dad has trained her to love Star Wars right along with the rest of our kids, but she was adamant about being a devil. How could I argue with that?


Miss Priss made the perfect Princess Leia. Her own hair worked way better than the silly wig that came with the costume. Although she was a little disappointed when we had no use for black spray for her hair like we did last year.


The Man and I are lame and once again did not dress up. We thought maybe he could be Chewy, but we figured he'd be a little warm while chasing kids around. We've decided next year we'll be cool again and participate. Any suggestions?

Mad World

Yesterday while sitting at the table with Miss Priss during homework time, she told me that her teacher was mad at some of the class for not staying on task. I asked, "How did you know she was mad?

"She sounded mad and had a mad look on her face."

"Did she sound mad like when I'm mad?"

"No, she didn't scream like you do."

That's right. Mother of the year.

Get Up and Go

Most mornings I wake to the sounds from a baby monitor ... sometimes it's crying, sometimes it's cooing, sometimes it's Mini Man yelling at his baby brother to "BE QUIET!!!" Yes, I set the alarm for 7:00 am, but I rarely get the chance to let it sound on its own. I climb out of bed and head to the boys' room. Mini Man is always happy to see me open the door, and he runs out to the toy room. And my cute little Bug gets even the slightest glimpse of me and begins to shake with excitment. I see that huge gummy smile, and I am ready to begin the day. I pick him up and go into the girls' room to wake my princesses. It's time for their day to begin, too.

They are not happy to see me. They moan and yawn and roll away from me as I steal their covers, hoping they will really wake up. I tell them I know how tired they are, and that maybe tonight we should go to bed earlier so they can get more sleep. This does not help their mood.

We're now all headed downstairs for breakfast, and when the girls see there is no fabulous breakfast banquet set up and ready for them on the table, they both head to the couch for an extra five minutes of rest before I make them climb up to the table. The kids eat slowly ... and I mean s-l-o-w-l-y. Seriously, who can make a bowl of cereal last for 45 minutes? My kids, that's who. I feed the baby while everyone eats, and then we rush upstairs for showers and baths.

8:30 rolls around and I'm rushing everyone around, putting the finishing touches on girly hairdo's, making sure teeth are shiny white, and reminding the girls to put socks on before grabbing lunches, backpacks and shoes to head out the door.

Yes, my kids all look adorable by 8:45 am. I, on the other hand, look like the tired, old, bedraggled woman that lived in the shoe. Whatev.

This week Miss Priss' second grade class has been reading a story called "Get Up and Go." It's all about how long it takes this little girl to get ready to go in the morning. Miss Priss decided she needed to keep track of everything she does in the morning and how long it takes her to get ready. I tell her that's a great idea.

This morning I wake up to sounds of my little Bug at 6:49. But when I go down the hall, I see the light in the bathroom on, and I can smell shampoo and feel the damp air of the bathroom. Someone has showered already. Wow. She wasn't kidding around. I gather everyone else and head downstairs to find my little Miss Priss in the kitchen ... MAKING HER OWN LUNCH!!! (I know this might be common for some of you out there, but this is unprecedented in our house! Don't judge.)

Next to her on the counter is a list ...

Wake up - 6:16
Shower - 6:26
Get dressed - 6:38
Make lunch - 6:44

At this point I'm thinking, Dude. Where has this book been all my life??? At this rate she'll be ready for school by 7:00, she'd have time to get all her chores done, SHE could feed the baby, and I could still be in bed. Ah, fantasies.

After breakfast and brushing teeth, she asks for help finishing her hair. As we talk together in the bathroom, I ask her what she thinks about this book they've been reading. She says she really likes it. And I ask, "How long does it take for the girl in the book to get ready in the morning?"

She says, "Like 11 chapters. I'm way faster than that."

Never Give Up, Never Surrender

What's a girl to do when nearly three months have gone by and her blog seems to have been completely abandoned? Should she post about how sorry she is for being such a slacker blogger? Not this girl. Should she skip over the last three month's of her family's life and just begin to post from where she is now? Not this girl. Should she spend hours and hours writing post after post, recounting the last 90-some-odd days to people who probably don't care as much as she thinks they do about what she and her family have been doing? No, not this girl.

I know! She should overload her blog with pic's and captions to summarize the super-fun spring/summer she's had with her husband and cute kiddo's. Yeah, that's it.

Though some have commented that I have given up on the blogging world, and others have given up on me, I will not let time passed get the better of me. I will get out of this "no blogging" rut, and I will press on. Get comfy, ya'll. We're going through three months' time in one post.

So, where have we been, you're asking? And what have we been doing???

We've been getting haircuts...






And losing teeth...


And receiving awards at school ...


We've been spending time becoming Honorary Fire Chiefs ...


And hanging out in helicopters at the Fire Dept with grandpa ...





We've been rockin' out on the guitar ...


And rockin' the elementary school play ...



We've been finding fingers ...


And finding toes ...


We've been visiting great grandparents ...


And attending the temple for one seriously amazing sealing ...






We've been swimming here ...




And swimming there ...




We've been dressing up for holidays ...



And taking family photos ...



We've been learning how things work with dad ...



And camping at Father & Sons ...




We spent a rainy day at Lagoon (with no kids!!!) ...


And finally started loving the bumbo ...


To put it mildly, we've been having so much fun, we're just plain worn out ...


And you'll all sleep better tonight now that you know.

I Got Skillz

I am always up for a challenge. Well, almost always. But when my husband wrote this on his blog, it sounded worthwhile to me. I am the queen of dragging out my household chores. So when he suggested avoiding Parkinson's Law by making a list of things to do, assigning each task the time it would take to accomplish it, and then cutting that time in half, I took him up on it.

Today in my home is "Master Bedroom Day." Each area in my home has a cleaning day so that every day there is at least ONE area of the house that is spotless. That way when I'm feeling overwhelmed and, well, messy, I can go to this one room and feel like I have a little control. (Yes, the idea is from flylady. If it weren't for the 500 emails they send you a day, I would say the idea was a brilliant one.)

I began by making my list and assigning each task a time limit...

Make bed - 4 minutes
Pick up clothes in closet - 8 minutes (I'm a disaster inside my closet!)
Bathroom (incl. mirrors, counters, sinks & toilet) - 15 minutes
Vacuum - 8 minutes

I skipped the shower and tub today. I HATE cleaning the shower and tub. I'd choose 50 toilets over cleaning a shower.

Then I crossed off the times and wrote my new time beside each task. Cleaning supplies - check. Vacuum - check. Super Why for the kiddos - check. I headed upstairs to do some cleaning with a vengence. Here's my stats ...

Bed - 3 minutes (not bad)
Closet - 3 minutes (even I was surprised!)
Bathroom - 11 minutes (like I said, I skipped the shower)
But wait, what's that I hear??? Crying? Can't stop now, I'm in the zone! They'll be fine.
Vacuuming - 9 minutes (so I was a tad optimistic, but hey, if you don't take your time vacuuming, why bother?)

Total estimated cleaning time - 35 mintues
Actual cleaning time - 26 minutes

Not too shabby. I saved myself a total of 9 minutes. Hmmm. What to do with an extra 9 minutes?!?! Nap? Shower? Clean something else?

I start to head downstairs and -- grrr. I see that I will spend my 9 minutes scrubbing my entire stair rail that is now covered in tiny pen scribbles. I estimate it will only take me 20 minutes.

Spoonfuls

Yes, it's been a LONG time. Back off, I allow myself three months after having a baby to "get back in the swing of things." I don't know how that three months passed me by without my permission. I have plenty of updates with plenty of pictures, but not for today. Today I want to share a file I found on my computer while putting together our Family Home Evening lesson for tonight. While looking through my "church" folder on the computer, I ran across a file entitled, "Spoonfuls." The title made me curious, since I usually lable my documents so plainly. I did not recognize this title, and was curious to find out what it was. I opened the document and read the following ...

"As a challenge set forth from my Relief Society presidency, I set a goal to read the Book of Mormon in three months’ time to “test out Moroni’s promise.” Like many other Latter-Day Saints, I have read 1st Nephi what seems like hundreds of times. And like so many other Latter-Day Saints, I have finished the Book of Mormon a total of only two times. It seems that somewhere between 2nd Nephi, where the scriptures are compared to the words of Isaiah; Jacob 5, where one single chapter seems to have the same verse 80-some odd times; and trying to finish up the book of Alma, the days get away from me, and I’ve lost my “habit” of daily scripture study.

Like many of you, I can feel the blessings of reading daily from the words of the ancient prophets. I am slower to anger, I feel more love and gratitude for my family, I have a little more patience with my children (but just a little), and I feel closer to my Savior. Somehow, regardless of how much I need it, life just gets in the way, and I get caught up in the race to “get things done.”

Miss Priss is in school now. Each day I need to bring her to Kindergarten immediately following lunch, and pick her up two hours and forty minutes later. Just enough time to either run one errand with my two little ones tagging along, or hurry home hoping that they will both cooperate and take a nap at the same time. I usually choose the latter, hoping to accomplish a few things on my never-ending list of household chores.

DC is old enough for preschool now. Is she really ready? Probably not, we’re still dealing with the potty training issue. If she doesn’t go to preschool, I probably should be setting up something for her to do, at least once a week. If for nothing else, she’s in desperate need of social skills. A playdate could really help with that. And I don’t take the time with her like I did with her older sister, to just sit together and talk, read a few books in the middle of the day, play a game, or look over some alphabet flashcards. Will she be behind in school because of me?

And sweet baby MiniMan is already five months old. He’s not rolling over yet, but that will come on its own; right? Sometimes I feel like he spends too much of his life sitting in a bouncy seat or crying himself to sleep.

And we can’t forget the PTA commitment I signed up for this year. I decided to be on the board so I could be involved in Miss Priss’ schooling. Who was it that told me that secretary was the easiest board position? I can’t remember now, but when I do, I’ll have to thank her for that.

I really need to arrange a carpool so that I don’t have to wake up the little ones EVERY day to pick Miss Priss up from school. Oh, and I can’t forget that Miss Priss starts piano lessons soon. In an effort to cut back on monthly bills, I agreed to give free guitar lessons to my friend’s little boy in exchange for free piano lessons. What day will work best? And what time should we schedule it for? And what will I do with DC and MiniMan during the lessons? I can’t very well teach someone the guitar while nursing or holding a baby. I’ll figure this one out later. Maybe tomorrow I will have some more time to think about it.

And all of a sudden it hits me … all these random thoughts, and not once have I considered the most important person in my life. My husband. We need some time for ourselves, too. Will we be able to plan a date for this weekend? Will we be able to afford it? For heaven’s sake, it costs $50 just to go to a movie, scarf down a cheap fast food meal, and get back to the house to take the babysitter home before we have to fork out another $10. But it’s worth it. We need it.

Without even thinking about the laundry that needs to be done, our weekly meal planning and grocery shopping, the three bathrooms to be cleaned and kitchen floor to be mopped, beds to be made and mirrors and sinks washed, I am completely overwhelmed. I can’t sleep at night simply because my mind won’t let me stop going over my list of things to take care of. I’m not necessarily worried about any of it. I know things will get done … eventually. I know this is a typical life for a stay-at-home-mother. I know, I know, I know.

As I discussed my concerns with my husband one evening, he wisely stated to me, “That is why Heavenly Father lets us do this one child at a time.” And I take a deep breath before trying to fall asleep.

... We are having a typical day today. DC wakes me up earlier than I’d like, but I can’t ignore the fact that she pooped in her pants and it is now coming out the back. I change her and stick her in the bathtub before breakfast. Thank goodness the baby is still sleeping. We go downstairs for a quick breakfast of frozen waffles and milk, and then it’s time for Miss Priss to get in the shower to get ready for her day at school. As I help her learn to shampoo and rinse on her own, the baby wakes up with immediate screams of starvation. I finish my little girls’ hair, then rush into the nursery to discover my soaking wet shirt as the two of us sit down in our rocker for his breakfast. I hope I still have enough to satisfy him."

And that was it. I'm sure I had every intention of actually concluding the tale of my motherhood; and I can only guess that I was going to philosophize on the sheer genious of Heavenly Father's plan for us to take life one day at a time, one challenge at a time. He gives us little spoonfuls daily, and in the end it equals a life. But in the chaos that is my life, this half-written tale was forgotten.

That was written in August of 2007. Things are still as hectic now with four as they were with only three. This stage of life does not pass easily. So for those of you who have commented on what a "supermom" I am, there's the real truth of it. I struggled then as I struggle almost two years later. That is not to say that I am unhappy. I feel truly blessed, and I am incredibly proud of the beautiful family my husband and I have helped to create. I am thankful for the spoonfuls that make up my life as a wife and mother, sister and friend. And I don't regret one minute of it. Well, maybe the poop coming out the back of my daughter's pants. That's never fun to clean up.


P.S. I did not complete the goal of reading the BOM in that three months. It took me two weeks longer than that schedule, but I am proud to say that I have now completed it three times. And as an aside, I have started my fourth reading of it about six more times. Man, how I LOVE 1st Nephi!

GIVEAWAY!!!

My friend Allison just opened up her etsy shop called Cut.Sew.Repeat. She is amazing at the sewing machine and has some super cute stuff for our kids. And the best part ... she's giving away stuff if you comment on her blog. My fav's are the boutique apron and baker's hat and the appliqued onesies. Go check 'em out!

And So It Begins...

Good grief. I thought I had a couple more years before I needed to pull out the heavy artillery and have "THE TALK" with Miss Priss. I was wrong. Beware all you moms of young children out there. If I'm not immune, no one is.

After coming home from the hospital with our new bundle of joy, my bathroom was quickly stocked up with all sorts of extra supplies. You know, the ones we just love to use every month of our girly lives. For me, for about a week or two after having a baby there are no more nice, discreet little packages. Oh, no. I have to use those enormous, horrific woman diapers. Ugghhh. But soon enough those atrocities disappear and I'm left with just a single box of the slightest protection. They're harmless enough looking, so I set them next to the toilet instead of hiding them in a cupboard somewhere.

And then one afternoon while sitting at my vanity trying to make myself presentable, my six-year-old Miss Priss finds herself exploring in my bathroom.

"Mom, what are these?" she asks, holding up a pantyliner.

"Um, those are just for grown up girls. Put it back, please."

"But what do you do with it?"

Crap. Am I seriously going to have to explain this right now??? I've always known this day was coming, but TODAY??? I mean, I've never read a book on what to say, but I've heard all the advice out there about how you're just supposed to keep it simple and answer only the questions they ask. So I'm thinking to myself, ok, don't delve into the depths of the birds and the bees here, lady. Calm down and just answer the question.

"It goes in your pants."

"In your pants? For what? Is it to help hold up your pants or somethin'?"

Grrr. I suppose that would have been a little too easy.

"No. Well, uh, when little girls grow up, their bodies get ready so that when it's time, they can have babies ..."

I went on a little and explained what I felt was appropriate for her. And yes, I used the words 'period' and 'bleed.' I told her how special her little body is, and that being able to have babies is a gift that our Heavenly Father blessed us with.

I didn't get any looks of disgust or confusion, or even the giggles I had expected. She simply accepted the information I gave her, and that was that.

About a week later I was putting some things away in her room. I opened up her desk drawer where she keeps some of her schoolwork and her school supplies. And there I found one of my "supplies." I have no idea if she put it in there before or after our talk, but I promptly removed it and disposed of it. She hardly needs a daily reminder of her future monthly visitor.

Although I feel the explanation I gave went pretty smoothly, I am nowhere near prepared to answer any other questions (like, perhaps, how the baby gets in there in the first place, or what in the world a husband has to do with that). I don't even want to have to repeat this explanation to the next one. So please, if any of you out there find a way for a simple pantiliner to "hold up your pants or somethin'," let me know so that when DC gets curious, that's all I'll have to tell her.

A Baby Story

Waiting three weeks to write down the story of your child's birth is NOT a good idea. Details are fading already. Man, I'm getting old. Things were different this time. We went to the hospital on Wednesday morning instead of the night before, like we've done with all the others. It was nice to get that last night's sleep in my own bed. After we checked in and I changed into that gorgeous hospital gown, we settled in to wait for the nurses to start the induction.

I usually go pretty fast once things get started, so I figured we'd have our new little bundle of joy by early afternoon. They started the pitocin at about 9 am, and contractions started in just minutes. I reminded the nurse that my doctor allows me to get my epidural as soon as I am 3 cm dilated. I told her (nicely) that I was not okay with waiting to get my beloved drugs. I gave a brief background of what happened with my last delivery, and told her I seriously could not live through that again. She assured me everything would be fine. But I was not about to leave that up to her.

I asked who the anesthesiologist was while silently praying it was not the same one I had with Mini Man. I didn't recognize the name, so my nerves calmed a little. Then I checked with the nurse about his schedule for the day. "How many C-sections does he have today? What time are they scheduled? How long does each one take?" I was willing to do whatever it took to get that doctor in my room as early as possible, and MAKE him stay there until I could no longer feel my legs. He had one at noon and one at five. With about 45 minutes for each one, things were looking perfect. That left plenty of time for him to spend some quality time with us.

Things progressed a little slower than usual, but I was at a 3 within a couple of hours. It was getting close to his midday C-section, so I started to get a little worried. And then the nurse came in with some news. Dr. No-pain now had two emergency C-sections along with his two scheduled ones. Crap. I started to panic. The nurse figured he could come in and give me my epidural between his two emergency C-sections and then go to the other ones. That sounded okay to me. He was already doing one and should be out soon. He'd have some time while they were preping the next mom in line. But when the nurse came back in a little while later and told us that we'd missed his break in between, and that he was already in the next C-section, I was about to lose it. I could NOT have another natural childbirth, I was sure of it. I told her to stop the pitocin and do whatever she needed to to slow everything down. I told her we would just wait it out until he was out of that operating room.

For some reason the nurses all found it humorous that I was running my own little schedule of when we should have this baby, and when the anesthesiologist should be here or there. I didn't think it was funny. I was totally serious. So they did what I asked and we waited for a little while until the doctor finally came to my room. The stars must have been aligned against me. Lo and behold, in walked the very same anesthesiologist that I had last time. Yes, the one that put that ginormous needle in and out of my back FOUR TIMES before finding a spot to leave it, only to have it COMPLETELY FAIL!!! I wanted to die. I told him my last epidural didn't work; that the last anesthesiologist tried over and over, but in the end it didn't work. He claimed there was "no space" between my vertebrae. Whatever. I mentioned that I had two very successful epidurals before. I knew there was space, and I told the doctor he HAD to find it. He just reassured me that everything would be fine; that it would work this time, and that I had nothing to worry about. And I prayed that he had gotten better at his job in the last two years.

After one shot, the needle was in and I was lying back in my bed waiting. I told him not to go, to just wait until I could feel it kicking in. And he did. It only took a couple of minutes and I could feel my legs getting very heavy. I was suddenly very happy and calm and peaceful. And the doctor had my blessing to go to his next surgery. When he finished with that one, he even came back again to check on me and make sure it was working. I thanked him politely, and never told him that HE was the one who failed me last time.

So there I was, no feeling in my legs, drugs fully kicked in, and in and out of sleep as the contractions rolled on. And soon it was time. My doctor had come, the nurses were preping the room, and I started feeling some pressure. I told them that I could feel the baby coming and that I thought I needed to push. The doctor took one look and said, "Yep! There he is!" Two pushes later I was holding what seemed to me the biggest baby ever. I was so used to teeny tiny infants that when they announced our little man was 6 pounds 13 ounces and 20 inches long, I just laughed. "He's SO BIG!!!" He didn't look a thing like the other three, but he was absolutely beautiful and completely perfect. Lots of dark hair, pink skin, puffy face. I was in love ... again.

I wasn't the only one in love ...

We came home on Saturday to a house full of sick kids. For about two weeks Miss Priss, DC and Mini Man weren't allowed to hold the baby, kiss the baby, touch the baby, or breathe on the baby. I did everything I could to keep them away from him. And it was nothing short of cruel and unusual punishment, if you ask them. But they all love him to death, especially big brother.


Although he was a little unsure of him in the hospital ...

He warmed up after a minute or two ...

Despite all my efforts, he still got sick. Earlier this week he started coughing just like the rest of them. It's a little nerve wracking listening to such a little guy struggle with such a big cough. Poor thing. He's been coughing and choking and gasping for air. So I took him back to the doctor on Friday for fear of the dreaded RSV virus. He's in the beginning stages of it, so we're supposed to keep him close to home for another couple weeks. If he ends up with a fever we'll have to take him back to the hospital for breathing treatments.

Cole was our biggest baby by over a pound and almost 3 inches! He's nursing like a champ, and to date has already gained almost two pounds!!! Miss Priss didn't weigh this much until she was 3 or 4 months old!!! I'm finally over the swelling and out of maternity clothes. All is well in Zion.