Hey, Jude! A birth story.

Jude and I hit 40 weeks on a Friday. I was feeling large, but settling down to the idea that this little guy may go as long or longer than his sisters. Despite Anni being an early bird (33 weeks), Colette was born at 40+6 and Mlada was 41+5. I also knew my dates were right on, so I was interested to see if that made any difference, or if I really did just bake my babies extra long.

Jude's whole pregnancy was similar to his sisters', but definitely on the easier end. I was sick, but not quite as violently (though the vomiting right as everyone was loading up for VBS this summer was a shining moment), I dealt with sciatica, but was still able to get pants on (something that required chiropractic care to achieve with Mlada), and I know the weight gain was similar, but honestly I started out heavier this round and had my nurse specifically not tell me what the scale said once I hit a certain point. I had no time for that mental drama this time around, and it was honestly really helpful in terms of keeping my head in the game at the end. I did have a lot more braxton hicks this pregnancy, which was a new adventure. I also felt like I could feel which body parts were where and all of his movements a lot better than previously, but that could be forgetfulness and time. Either way, I really enjoyed his wiggles this pregnancy! 

A few days before his birthday, I was having pretty good runs of contractions when I would sit at my computer to work (yep, left one session left to edit until the verrrrry end). They usually tapered out once I went upstairs to lie down; though. The night before "the night" I actually thought things might be progressing (and they obviously were, just not all the way), and did some last minute nesting, packing a few more things in my hospital bag, setting out clothes for the girls to meet him in, and trying to decide which backup to text about coming to stay with the girls. The contractions never got closer or stronger, and I woke up in the morning not in labor. 

That evening (40+3, about to be 40+4), I decided I should probably finish up that last session. As I worked, the contractions inched closer together. I went upstairs to tell Daniel I thought that was going to be it, and he went into a frantic nesting mode of his own: throwing sheets on the guest bed, doing dishes and picking up toys. Several of our planned babysitters (Daniel's parents are an hour away) were out of town or had spouses out of town, but luckily one friend with a heart of gold didn't hesitate to hop in her car and come hang out on our couch for an hour or two. As we prepared to go, she prayed with us, and it was truly one of the most beautiful moments of the evening. The Holy Spirit was definitely pouring through her at that moment! 

We arrived at the hospital for the first time around 9:30. My contractions were just a little over five minutes apart (they slowed down a little in the car), and when she checked me I was at a... 2. whomp whomp. The other times I've gone to the hospital to deliver a baby, I was at a 5 (Anni), 6 (Colette), and 7 (Mlada). I felt really defeated and like I didn't know my body as well as I thought I did. They decided to send me home (unless I wanted to do some crazy morphine induced sleep... um... no) since I wasn't progressing, though they made me hang out quite awhile because they were worried about Jude's heart rate (it was fine, he was just wiggly and wouldn't stay on the monitor). Also, I want to point out I had great medical care, I just wish they had trusted that I knew something. This was my fourth live birth, so I did have some experience going in. 

As we walked to the car, the contractions were pretty close together and reached "grabbing Daniel's arm" intensity. He wanted to turn around and go back up, but I felt too defeated by the situation and we headed home. We laid down for about 20 minutes, me rolling over to grab Daniel's arm every four or so minutes to get through the contractions. Just as I was about to let him know we needed to head back, Anni came upstairs because she couldn't sleep. We chatted a bit, and when I stood up to give her a hug, my water broke (I actually wasn't 100% positive that's what happened, but it was). I made the mistake of telling her we were heading back to the hospital and that Nonna and Papa were already there. I wanted her to know so that when she woke up she wouldn't be afraid if she couldn't find us, but in the end she didn't go back to sleep again that day. 

Things were getting intense enough that we hopped back in the car and headed straight back to the hospital. Walking was quite uncomfortable (no water to cushion things), and when we made it back to the hospital at about 3:30, I had Daniel drop me off instead of walking from the parking lot this time. Getting an epidural quickly was my goal, honestly. I needed a wheelchair this time, and things definitely felt intense as we rolled into a new room with a new nurse (my previous nurse had picked up another patient already). I was a five at that point and employing all the breathing technique I could muster. I had no desire to move or walk (again, I think that cushion of waters makes a big difference in where I wanted to labor) and tried to move the epidural process along. Unfortunately, that requires an IV (that took two hands and two tries), a blood test, and the actual setup of everything the anesthesiologist needs. As he was setting up in the hall, I hit transition. At the time, I just thought I was wussing out, because I thought I must have a long way yet to go, buuuut it just turns out things were moving quickly. The (really lovely, quirky, and kind) anethesologist pretty much only got the needle in, gave me the bolus and then didn't manage to get me hooked up to the rest of the meds because my body was about ready to push. And then it did... without my consent, really. I was able to get out the words, "I feel pushy", before my body started actually pushing, and then all talking was out. I turned on the bed and let my body do its thing. Two pushes in, the nurse took notice, turned to my doctor who was just walking in the door and said, "I think I see a head or maybe a forebag?" He slipped on a glove, glanced over, and caught Jude as I pushed him out on the fourth push. Then that sweet, wiggly boy was up on my chest. He still had the caul over his face, which they pulled off. He settled right in, and because everyone was caught by surprise, even though I hadn't been able to mention it, he was able to keep his cord attached until it finished pulsing. (I think God was watching out for me there, because it was something I really wanted to do this time, but wasn't in the right frame of mind to mention.) That bolus from the epidural kicked in right about time for stitches, which was lovely since that took a little while. 

I couldn't see his whole face as I snuggled him, so I looked up to Daniel and asked him who he looked like (remember, we didn't have a name at this point). He replied, with a smile, "Jude", and he was named. 

Welcome to the world, darling Jude Benedict.

And here he is!

We welcomed the sweetest most serious-faced little boy on the 18th. He is truly a little wonder, and he is overwhelmingly loved by all of us. It took us until his birth to choose a name, and when Daniel declared he looked like a "Jude Benedict" a few minutes after his arrival, I was glad to agree. He loves to snuggle and stare us down quite seriously as he figured the world out. We have gotten a few sweet smiles, and feel so very grateful to get to have him in our lives. 

Emílie Josephine

This is the only photo we have of  Emílie while alive. All they could really see was her itty bitty heart beat, but I'm so glad to have it. We thought we had lost it (we gave it to the girls when we found out we were pregnant), and the doctor's office had no copies left. Yesterday, lo and behold, it fluttered down at my feet while I was fixing up the prayer table. 

The other three girls have their birth stories written here, so it only feels write that  Emílie should as well.

We found out we were pregnant at the tail end of January.  This little lady was most certainly a surprise (I've never been able to get pregnant while nursing before!), but I quickly decided I like surprises, and we started dreaming of our autumn baby. The pregnancy was different from the beginning, with a scare at what we thought was 6 weeks, and then a sigh of relief with a heart beat on the ultrasound only a week later.

While I had several weeks of feeling exhausted, and a few days of nausea/vomiting, I was, overall, feeling pretty amazing compared to my previous pregnancies. Because of how different I felt, we were sure this meant that this baby was a boy, and we both thought the name Emil Joseph already fit him. The name Emil was after Servant of God Emil Kapaun, and Joseph is after Daniel('s middle name), as well as St. Joseph, obviously, though I later found out Emil Kapaun's middle name was Joseph as well, and Daniel's great-grandfather's name was the italian Emile.

I was having weekly HCG tests due to the early scare, as well as progesterone shots, though my progesterone was pretty low throughout. My HCG rose steadily, and the week before our next appointment, my doctor told me I could stop having that tested.

At my 13 week appointment, the doctor couldn't find a heartbeat, and he struggled to see much of anything on his old ultrasound machine. This didn't bother me too much at first, as my other three had each played hide-and-seek around this age, and I knew the ultrasound machine was new to the office, but older in years. The next morning, a more sophisticated ultrasound confirmed that our little one had passed away several weeks before, and for some reason I had not started to naturally miscarry.

The loss of our baby, and the hopes and dreams surrounding her has been exhausting and devastating. I am a slow processor of most thing, and I imagine this is going to take a long time to work through. While we continued to refer to her as Emil even through her burial, we did find out afterwards that our Emil was actually Emílie. With my surgery having been on April 20th (Emil Kapaun's birthday) and her burial on St. Joseph's feast day, we still felt that those were the patrons we wanted to watch over her, and she was named  Emílie Josephine ( Emílie is the Czech version of Emily and pronounced much like Amelia, just with an "Eh" sound at the beginning).

I cannot claim to be at peace, because there are so many questions I have left, and will continue to have until I can ask Christ Himself, but we are living life, all while enlarging it to include this sixth member in a different way than we expected. We stop by her grave, the girls continue to debate her name (while we called her Pip in pregnancy and beyond, the girls have also nicknamed her Lollipop, Isabella, and a host of other creative names), and we include her in our prayers. When I pack away the girls' outgrown clothes, it strikes me that she would have worn them. When I rearrange our plans for the year, I realize how centered around her they had become in such as short time. My girls easily accepted their fourth sister, and chat about their grief, but also tell their stories about who they think she might have been, and what they think she is doing now.

I am navigating a world I didn't expect to be a part of, but am only now realizing how many women have been in it the whole time.

WE SHALL FIND OUR LITTLE ONES AGAIN UP ABOVE
-St. zelie martin

Mlada's Story

This is Mlada's story... or rather just the beginnings of her story. Even in the almost one month since her birth, she's started to add pages and pages filled with smiles, giant poop explosions, love of having her hair washed, and a million sweet hugs and kisses from her big sisters. I'm getting ahead of myself though.

The beginning: this pregnancy was a tough one. For whatever reason, I was worn out from the beginning and desperate to see her. The *ahem* trips to empty my stomach ended around 26 weeks, but I never quite hit a sweet spot this pregnancy. She is worth every drop of exhaustion. Some days I felt as though that exhaustion could fill an ocean, and it is the same with our love for her.

After my little stay in the hospital just a few days shy of our "due date", Grandma came out to help me recover, and I was hopeful she would be here any day. Every morning I would wake up thinking it may be the day, and every night I would beg for one more night of sleep for my tired, pregnant body. As we inched closer and closer to 42 weeks, every conversation started with a version of, "Are you in labor yet?" I can't blame anyone who asked, because I was wondering the same thing! In those several days before labor began, I would have runs of contractions 10 minutes apart, and would watch the timer, hoping they would start to edge nearer.

As time went on, my body became more and more tired, but so did my mind. I was so anxious thinking about the pain of labor and pushing that I would lie awake at night rather than getting the sleep I desperately needed. Also, the closer I got to 42 weeks, the more I began to worry about dealing with an induction on top of all of that. While the anxiety never completely went away, one of my big sisters who has gone through four inductions talked me through my fears. I also sent a message to one of my dear friends who has had epidurals in her births just to ask her some more specifics about it. Allowing myself to think about those options helped a lot.

Three days before I hit 42 weeks, I was sure "this was it". I had had strong contractions (still 10 minutes apart) most of the day before and previous night, and asked Daniel to stay home from work, hoping we'd be headed in to the hospital at any time. I even cancelled my NST, again, assuming they'd check on the baby when I got to the hospital. Of course, things fizzled out by mid-afternoon, and I felt like we were still getting nowhere.

Finally, since I hadn't slept the night before, I took benadryl at about 7:30 that night, hoping that sleep would come. Two hours into my lovely benadryl-ed sleep, the contractions were so strong I woke up in a sweat, with a surge of adrenaline. Daniel had been working and watching the KU basketball game on his computer, so I tip-toed out and told him it was time to start timing the contractions.

Two episodes of Man in the High Castle later, the contractions were strong, but still 8-10 minutes apart, and we decided to try to get a little sleep. As soon as our heads hit the pillows; though, the contractions got more intense and much closer. It wasn't long before we were waking my mom and calling both my doctor and our (amazing!) friend to come sleep on the couch and listen for our girls. Sometime around three, we were on our way into the cold night towards the hospital.

I was a six when we reached the hospital (I am ridiculously thankful that I don't seem to have trouble dilating, since I've never been less than a five when I hit the hospital in labor), and while I was handling things pretty well, two nights of no sleep meant I was worn out. My amazing husband and mom talked me through the contractions. I would lean against Daniel and my mom would give me counter pressure to help ease some of the pain. Even with all the awesome support, the difference from my last birth and the amount of energy I had was stark (at least to me).

This is where I lose a bit of my crunchy mama card, and I'm okay with it.

I got an epidural. Gasps all around and such, I know. It's funny how confident I was in that decision this time when I was equally confident (and still am) in my decision to have no pain medicine with Colette. Our nurse (who happened to be Catholic, from Kansas where my family lives, and new, but very competent and extremely sweet) sent for the anesthesiologist when I was around an 8, so by the time he made it to the room (several strooonnng contractions later), my guess is that I was somewhere between an 8 and 9. I'm just going to admit it for you all to hear: I loved the epidural. I could feel and move my legs, as well as the contractions, but I could also regain a little joy. I had been so tired, and so fearful, that I had had so little time to contemplate the excitement of this sweet baby girl. It was truly a relief, and I'm doubly grateful that I had no ill side-effects.

I had been at the hospital for somewhere between four to five hours and had the epidural for a little over an hour when the "time to push" came. Three pushes later, I felt that awesome little "pop" of a little body sliding herself right out, and, immediately, she was on my chest. She was quiet and a wee purple and there was some fussing as they made sure she was breathing, but a few minutes and a couple of sweet newborn smiles as well as angry cries at the pokes and prods from the nurses later, she latched right on to eat, and all was well. I remember crying, "She's here, she's real!" I think the longer I was pregnant, the more I was sure I would never get to hold our baby girl. There she was; though, all eight pounds, one ounce of her (which, by the way, is huge by my babies' standards... I love it!) From there, everything was beautifully uneventful. She nurses like a champ, sleeps like a newborn, and my recovery has been the best thus far (though those afterpains are something else... they aren't lying when they say they get worse with each baby!)

And now, because this has been long enough, I'm just going to share a few photos and let the rest be. We are amazed and so grateful we were able to add this little lady to our family.

She's here!

Miss Mlada Rose joined the outside world on January 5th at 8:20 am. We are so thankful for this little lady! Birth story will hopefully come soon, before I forget all the little details!

Amy's Birth Blessing Party

Last year, I attended a beautiful birth blessing for a friend. As soon as I found out my sweet friend Amy was pregnant with her second darling, I hoped she would let me host a birth blessing to celebrate little Molly's life. Obviously, she said yes! We had a whole lot of brunchy food (this casserole was a big hit), and a few other things for the blessing.



There was a list for the "labor call", and candles to take home and light to remind them to pray while Amy labored.

I also had a frame ready for a photo of sweet baby girl, with the matte out to sign.

During the actual prayer part of the party, each woman filled out one of these cards and then read them aloud. Amy tucked them into a simple 4x6 album so she could keep them to read.

As each person read their prayers for Amy and her baby, they held one of the beads, and then slipped it onto a piece of stretchy string to form a bracelet for her to wear and remember that she had a whole community praying for her.

All the lovely ladies! It was such fun to get to host a group of such sweet, loving women.

In fact... sweet baby girl was born just last Wednesday, and our prayers traveled with them! My girls loved having a candle lit and praying for one of their favorite people... and having that reminder to pray for them gave me something to do rather than being anxious. If you want more information on throwing your own Birth Blessing Party, Lisa over at Catholic Missionary Family has everything you need.

More of our trip, and a baby!

The other, quite wonderful, reason I made the week long trip "back home", was to help my sister out while she had her fifth little one. There's no way to replace or even come close to the amount of things she's able to do in a day, but I helped bridge the gap a little and tried to document those sweet first couple of days.

The night before Katie's induction, I got my instructions for school, food, and emergencies, and Little J got in one last snuggle before his baby sister made her appearance.

The next morning, my sister and her husband left bright and early, and we settled into doing what needed to be done. I was probably most worried about how the previous baby of the family would react to me being there and not his lovely mama, but we actually did pretty well as long as we kept busy.

We kept busy with the everyday things... and luckily, with six kiddos in a house (her first four and my two littles), there were plenty of everyday things to do. Food, shuttling to and from school, keeping clothes on Little J (overalls, overalls are much harder to get out of when clothes are a necessity, in case you're wondering), and a pretty good stream of laundry. All day we watched for updates from my mom (who was there to support my sister and brother-in-law through labor), and once we knew sweet baby girl had been born, we held our breath anxiously until we could go meet her (and I may or may not have gotten lost picking up big sisters from school to take everyone to the hospital...whoops!)

Oh, but the joy when siblings saw their mommy and met their baby sister was absolutely beautiful! There were continuous, hushed whispers of, "Look at how CUTE she is!" "Her ears are so tiny." "Her hands are so tiny and purple." "She looks just like I did when I was baby!"

This is the first little one I've gotten to meet in the hospital since my first, now rather grown up, nephew was born 11 years ago, so to say I was excited is an understatement.

That night, after a rather conspicuous stop at a fast food joint with all six littles, we set their talents on a welcome home sign. My favorite is how the eldest kept writing, "Good Job, Mom!" all over it. Good job, indeed! My sister really is a rock star in labor.

And then came day two without mama. We knew they should be coming home that day, so everyone was a little anxious, and, well, crabby (I am included in that, trust me!) We survived; though, and there were some really fun bright moments. Such as, teaching the four-year-olds how to play freeze dance...

... and catching Little J with a jar of nutella rubbed all over his face... haha! At first I was pretty cranky when I caught him, but then I realized how hilarious it was, grabbed my camera, and took a picture of that adorably mischievous little face.

By the time the big girls were home from school, we were all waiting with bated breath for them to arrive. In fact, they all stood at the window, counting the seconds (literally counting the seconds, I think they made it to 110 before they lost track).

Finally, having had to wait on a whole lot of signatures and a wheel chair on their own end, they were home! If you ever question if siblings are gifts to each other, I want to bring you right to this moment and the absolute delight on all of their faces.

As dinner baked (I am rather proud that I managed to get a lasagna made and in the oven, not as proud of how messy the kitchen ended up being as I sorted all that out), another set of the kiddos' grandparents came, with balloons. There were some, ahem, wild times to follow. I think we were all just relieved to have my sister and the babe back home; though.

The next day my mom came out, so we double timed it and got things cooked, cleaned, and attempted to shoo my sister off for sleep whenever possible (she is a very wanted woman with her five littles, so that's harder than it sounds!)

My girls admired their darling little cousin, though we kept their touching to her little feet as their noses were doing a fair imitation of faucets at that point.

By the time our last day arrived, the girls and I were missing their daddy, and the fights among cousins were, well, you know how these things get. Despite all that, I soaked in my last little bit of time with my sister and her family. I probably won't see them again until Christmas, and by then, this itty bitty gal will be quite a bit less itty bitty.

I'm not sure of a good conclusion on this one, except, thank you, to my parents for giving me my siblings. And thank to you my siblings for my nieces and nephews. What a delight to breathe in that newborn baby.

So there it is. Certainly not the whole story, as that's really not mine to tell. But, there's my little slice of the story.

Welcome to the outside world, sweet little girl, you are so very loved!