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.

Project 365 | 2018 | Week 1

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!

A Piglet Party at Two

Yesterday we had Miss Colette's second birthday party, complete with three wonderful grandparents, and a slew of sweet little friends. While I know that she isn't too particular about the details: planning simple, but fun parties is something I really like to do. We're celebrating this darling little life, and we've managed to help her survive a whole two years (plus the 41 weeks she hung out in my belly)! 

The girls are both pretty into Winnie-the-Pooh right now, so we had a lot of fun crafting her party around that theme. We had a smattering of classic Pooh, as well as pieces from all of the recreations since, so I can't claim to have too much rhyme or reason in that, except that all of them are fun! The food was all a hit, and thanks to my mom being in town for several days before, included a couple of things I otherwise wouldn't have gotten around to.

 One of the fun things about the variety between the vintage Pooh and more modern Pooh, is both of my girls know who he is, no matter which version it is.

Several years ago, my eldest sister gave Anni a whole set of Winnie-the-Pooh books, sooo voila! Easy decorations, indeed. Of course, Colette nabbed them off the table throughout the party so we could read them to her, but useful and easy decorations are the best kind anyway.

While the little lady of the hour took a too-short nap, we set everything up. She was pretty stoic when we woke her up, but not upset, just taking everything in. (She knew that her party was coming, as she had told us, in a very two-year-old fashion that she didn't want to take her nap, she wanted her party!)

As all her buddies arrived, she started to liven up. Plus... food! 

With her homage-to-Piglet dress, and sweet little birthday crown, the cuteness factor was pretty high. (Anni's outfit was supposed to be a Pooh reference, I kind of adored it!)

When it came time to blow out her candles, she did it like a pro! Only a few days previous, on the actual date of her birthday, she hadn't been able to do so... growing up so fast!

Then came a pile of really sweet gifts. I loved how perfect they were for her this year! Her Baba and Deda (great-grandparents) sent her a beautiful crocheted blanket and the cutest stuffed puppy ever. Anni sleeps under the blanket she got when she was little(r) every night, so I can attest to how heavy and lovely they are. It's such a beautiful tradition that she makes one for each of the babies. And the puppy? Well, Colette is obsessed with them, and since we won't/can't have a real one, this is a darling little substitution.

There were dress-up clothes, and normal clothes galore, which she immediately had to try on.

Just all kinds of fun, sweet, things: perfect for a two year old. We also had itty bitty honey jars and dippers with some yummy honey candy for our guests. We ended up with one for ourselves as a reminder of the day, so I think that will be tucked into someone's memory box.

Even more than the gifts; though, I'm so grateful for all the people who celebrated with us, both at the party and from afar. We are surrounded with such a loving community, and I'm so grateful that my girls will grow up knowing that.

Two.

Celebrating 65

Oh, hi! After the past week or so of radio silence (due to a busy, busy trip), I'm back! The first order of business on our trip was to celebrate my dad's 65th birthday. The big gift was a fancy-schmancy new tv (installed while my dad took a nap after Mass) to replace the rather elderly one that had been limping along before.

Of course, the best part about a new tv, is that there was a big ole box for the cousins to crawl into.

 

One of the things I miss the most about living near the rest of my family are the big Sunday lunches where we all sit around and chat. This was like that, only even better, as we listened to Dad's stories (he is an epic story teller) and talked about baby names and sweet Grand-baby #10 who was scheduled to be induced the next day.  

My dad deserves celebration. He has worked incredibly hard for us for so long, and he and my mom somehow managed to keep a big family not only together and close, but all remaining in the faith. 

I am so grateful to have a life filled with these family dinners, with everyone teasing, laughing, and yes, definitely getting annoyed at each other (we love each other, that doesn't mean we're always nice to each other).

And the grandbabies? They're all about a celebration. Cake, ice cream, and candles to blow out? All about it.

It was also that waiting day for my sister. The next day was her induction, but she had enough contractions that we were all holding our breath to see if Miss G would get things rolling sooner.

Not only was it a celebration of my Dad, but of the family he and my mom have made. I can never tell them how grateful I am that my girls have aunts and uncles and cousins galore to snuggle and play with, fight and make up with, and to love.

My gift to my dad was the scanning and sorting of a whole lot of photos (that will eventually go in a book). Here's the video we put together as a sort of "trailer" to the book for his birthday: