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. 

Why there's no Week 2-6...

I was all gung-ho about doing another Project 365, and then a whole lot of reality, nausea, exhaustion, and excitement that couldn't be translated into creative energy hit, and here we are.

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

Mother's Day 2017

This mother's day, I felt as though I had my feet in two worlds. One with my three darling girls, each who have shaped me as a mama in their own ways. And the other with our little one we buried two weeks ago tomorrow. She, too, has, and will continue to shape my life as a mama, and I am grateful for her life, however short. So, while I know today is about mothers, it is also about the four little people who have made me a mother. I truly hope I never take lightly the blessing each of them is.

To all of you who have beautifully wild babies at home, whose little ones you do not get to hold here on earth, or who are yearning for children, you are loved and thought of today.

Quotables #6

[C] "Mommy, I just looked in the mirror... and I look goooood."

[A] "Ok! I'll be back in a triple, double minute!"

[A] "You're right, it does smell good!! Like mozzarella…"

[C] "My knee has a bump on it, Mommy."
"That's your knee, Colette."

[A] "Colette, would you like to dance with me gracefully… in your heart?"

[C] "I've got pickles on my fingers from the bath."

[C] "I'm not LOUD, I'm TOWETTE!"

[C] "Your tummy is big. It's not even as big as Winnie the Pooh. It's even BIGGER!"

[A] "Darth Vader needs some socks."

[C] "Time to walk down the island!"

[C] Me: "Want a bite of my salad, Colette?"
      Colette: "No. I'm God. God doesn't eat things."

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.

The First Day

It's the first day in lots of ways. Anni's first day away at kindergarten. Daniel's and my first day sending one of our babes off to school. Colette's first morning all alone with Mommy.

This morning I woke Anni, and she crawled into bed with me to wake up the rest of the way. I had the sudden realization that we may not have left as much time as we needed for everything we wanted to fit in that morning to get her off on her way, but part of me desperately wanted to keep her sleepy self all curled up right next to me.

After rousing ourselves, she munched on her breakfast, but was so excited that she was "full" just a few bites in... a big deal for my little girl with the big appetite. By the time we got on the road, she was brushed, braided, and uniformed as sweetly as can be.

Of course, then the 10 minute drive turned into a 30 minute drive when we got stuck behind a four-car accident, and my brain just kept repeating, "Not on her FIRST day of school... are we really going to be those parents?!" I was in the car with the girls, so outwardly I stayed calm so Anni wouldn't realize things weren't going according to plan. I don't need to pass on any more anxiety to her... let her stick with excitement for her very first day! Of course, all was fine, because everything that I freak out usually does turn out fine (life lesson here, all!) There were plenty of parents still herding their littles (and not so littles!) into the front door when we got there.

They let the kindergarten parents walk their little ones in for their first day; and because we were a little late, our urgency and Anni's pure excitement kept my tears at bay. When you walk through the classroom door, there's an itty bitty hallway before it opens up, and as we snuck Anni in, a mama stood there, hidden from the class, with tears dripping down her face. After settling Anni in, as we watched our girl's little braids swinging at her desk for a few moments, the other mama whispered, "Is this your first?" I nodded, feeling the tears start to prick, and she smiled a little and said, "This is my last. It's hard no matter what."

As we walked out of the classroom,  I let a few tears trickle out, and then remembered we were meeting in the office with other kindergarten parents, and tried to pull myself together. (I'm pretty sure I still looked like I'd been crying, as another mom's first question when I walked in was, "Are you doing okay?")  

It's amazing all the emotions this first day brings. I'm so excited for her and so proud of the sweet, smart, and caring little girl we've raised. I'm also a worrier, so I worry that she won't be happy, or it won't be the right place for her, or or or...

Happy first day, my Antonia, there's so many beautiful, hard, and amazing things ahead of you. I can't wait to see where else you're going to go in this sweet life of yours!

Thank You.

I have decided it's time for Fall cleaning. The whole house is in need of a good scrubbing. The vacuum will probably run a dozen times in the next day or two, if my motivation holds. Oftentimes, my cleaning furies are fueled with that self-righteous, "Why does no one clean up around here but me?!" This time, though, is a little different. All I could think as I picked up The Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies and 10,000 broken crayons was, "Thank you."

Thank you, Lord, for these little girls and their messes.

Thank you for little hands, that bring me as many books as they can carry, and drop a quarter of every meal they're given. I am so very thankful for the time to snuggle up and read to them, even when I think I don't have time to give. And the food? How blessed are we that we have food to fill those round little bellies.

Thank you for how much they love their Daddy,  sometimes to the point that they don't want me. I have gotten to see my beloved in a capacity that only makes me love him more.

Thank you for the little feet that shed socks, separately, in every inch of this house. Those little feet are part of the best dance parties I've ever had.

Thank you for every chance they give me to sacrifice. Heaven knows my selfishness needed someone to tame it.

Thank you for their millions of questions. There is no better way to find out what I truly believe than needing to explain it to a very curious four-year-old, especially knowing that she will take those words as the entire and complete truth. On that note, maybe the Holy Spirit could grant me some extra grace to answer those questions.

Thank you for their tears... for every time they need me to rock them, cuddle them, and tell them it's okay. I hope each and every time builds confidence inside their little souls that they are truly and deeply loved, no matter what. May I find a way to teach them that that love is still only a fraction of how God loves them.

Thank you for their little clothes and the blessing it is to fold each and every piece.  I fold each memory of their sweet childhood, overalls, tights, and all, into my heart with them.

Help me to be reminded when I become disenchanted with the messy side of motherhood, that these babies, my girls, are really and truly a gift.

The Life of a Lazy Mama

We all know parenthood is hard.  What I've also come to realize is that we make it harder on ourselves.  Rather than trying to be better than the previous version of ourselves, we worry about one-upping every other mother around.

For example: I am a lazy mama.  I know this about myself.  If I don't put real effort into it, I can become an unmoving pile of mom on the couch, only shifting enough to keep the littles going.  So I can't compare my rather small goals of: "just keeping moving", "do what you can", and "feed the children" to my much more organized and with-it counterparts.  It would drive me insane to heap guilt upon myself because I'm not scrubbing the house clean every day.  Sure, guilt can be a good motivator, but wallowing?

Wallowing helps no one.

In fact, if you're me, wallowing turns into giving into the lazy temptation to give up because "I'll never be as good as..."

I've had to recognize that just as in all other areas of life, in motherhood, too, I have my areas of strength and weakness.  Despite the fact that my natural state is above-mentioned couch puddle, I do try very hard to avoid that constant state of being.  I use that knowledge of my weaknesses to be proactive.  For example, I won't get a smartphone, not because I think they are evil or that others shouldn't have them, but because I know I would be one to struggle with burying my face in it half the day... and tempting myself with one more thing just isn't a good idea.  And while my natural state is a homebody, I work hard to be a "yes" mama when I can.  Yes, we can go play with your scooter.  Yes, we should definitely go to the library.  Yes, of course you can go on a walk with me.  I've found my own little trick to get myself going for these things.  If I tell Anni and Colette to get their shoes on... we're in it to finish, they make absolutely sure of that (and who can resist a 17 month old wriggling onto your lap for shoe help?) On the plus side of all of this, I think I am good at documenting these babies' childhoods and I think we do a good job passing our faith on. I'm going to live those strengths up without shame. It's also okay to admit we are good at things, fellow parents. 

When it comes to housekeeping, things go in cycles.  Sometimes, I do feel like I'm pretty on top of things, but I would hesitate to say that my house is ever 100% clean and organized (because bathtubs and toilets always need to be scrubbed, and there may or may not be boxes that still need to be unpacked from our move a year ago in my office...) I keep plugging, trying to ignore the fact that I don't always scrub the bathrooms on Mondays, the bedrooms on Tuesdays, etc.  I try to focus on the fact that I have learned an incredible amount since getting married on the care and keeping of a home, and can only hope I will learn doubly that in the years to come.  I want our home to be welcoming, tidy, and cozy... but I have to accept that I may not always be capable of managing all of those adjectives in every corner of the house at one time.

I suppose all I'm trying to say is: be kind to yourself. Keep fighting the good fight, but give yourself a break when you fail.

 

The Vintage Honey: A Review

A little over a month ago, I bought myself a nursing necklace in hopes that it would:

a) keep Miss Colette's little fingers busy so she would stop pinching when nursing or trying to fall asleep in the sling

and

b) Give me a little something extra special/pretty to wear with my very limited post-partum wardrobe. 


This sweet little necklace from The Vintage Honey totally came through!   In fact, my hubby took a quick iPhone snapshot, and the photo got a pretty immediate, happy response (I couldn't even include all the sweet comments, there were so many!):

 

So, when they asked for baby-wearing reviewers, I was all over that one!  (Yes, they did send me the pretty mint colored necklace you see below... but I actually purchased the one above myself and my opinions are all my own!) 

Miss Lettie enjoying my new necklace while she hung out with me in the kitchen.

As far as my hopes for the necklace(s), they were definitely fulfilled!  Lettie seems to like the shape of the necklaces to tug and pinch (rather than my skin, thank goodness).  I really like that the necklaces are adjustable, they tie with a ribbon in the back, so I can easily make it a little longer when she's nursing or awake in the sling and then I like to tie it almost like a choker while she's asleep so it rests in the hollow of my throat and I don't have to worry about her lying on it while she sleeps.  I was a little worried that the ribbon tie would slip undone all the time, but it seems to be the best of both worlds (stays tied, but comes off when I need it to). 

Dancing in the kitchen while our dinner cooked... love this sweetie!

The necklaces have also added a little somethin' to my rather limited wardrobe during these "in-between" months.  I love that both necklaces go with so much, and I get asked about them often (which means people are noticing the necklaces instead of any of the other wardrobe issues I worry about, score)!

Ready to go out for Daniel's birthday!  Well, almost, I had to change that shirt... cream cheese frosting is messy!

On the babywearing side of things: I've mostly worn it with my ring sling since that has slipped into top place for ease (and gorgeousness), but I did use the moby the other day and it still sat in a great spot both for her to play with and then me to keep it out of the way when she was sleeping.

Trekking through the zoo with a very sleepy babe.

I've worn the necklaces just about everywhere: church and lunch with the girls at Daniel's office, fireworks, the zoo, Anni's swim lesson (though not while swimming myself) and dancing in the kitchen. 

Fireworks on the 3rd of July!  Lettie actually was in the sling most of the night, but she stretched out a little before all the craziness began.

At the pool (see, didn't the necklace distract you from the wet hair?!)

Whether or not you're a nursing mama (I mean, aren't they just cute whether or not you have a baby to tug on them?!), check out The Vintage Honey Shop, I think you'll love them!

The world I live in...

I live in a world of lost socks... but also a world of baby toes: sweet, itty bitty ones that big sisters like to kiss.

I live in a world of toddler tantrums... but also a world where that toddler notices everyone else's tears, too, and tries her best to soothe them with back pats and songs. 

I live in a world of sleepless nights... but I I also live in a world where, for this short time, I am able to provide everything my babies need.

I live in a world of "please be gentle with your baby sister!"... but also a world where these sisters have nothing but love for each other.


I live in a world where there isn't a lot of time or money for date nights out... but also a world where I've never wanted to spend my whole life with someone more than when seeing my husband as a daddy.

I live in a world where things are not all clean at once... but books are read, sleeping babies are snuggled and everyone is told they're loved.

I live in a world of frustration, exhaustion and overwhelming emotion, but I live in a world where love lives also.

Lettie at 1 Month

One month of getting to know our sweet Colette.  She spent much of her one month birthday regaling us with the sweetest smiles and sneezing milk out of her nose (I'd never seen a baby do until Miss Lettie, still plenty to learn in this parenting gig!)

She likes to eat... like a lot.  She has finally started to give Daddy the satisfaction of getting to snuggle her while happy (a wee break for mommy, the milk provider, did I mention she really likes to eat).

We're both learning the whole nursing thing... I think she may be better at it than me, but even on rough days, it's a million times better than being attached to a pump.  No hyperbole here.     

It's such a beautiful thing to have a sweet, healthy baby in our home.  Sometimes I have those anxious moments where I'm sure that everything is going to tumble down around me, because it's all so good.  Hard, yes, definitely, but so very good.

Colette's Story

We welcomed our sweet Colette Therese last Sunday (February 24, it's taken me a little while to finish this post up).  It was beautiful, painful, intense, and a completely new experience, despite the fact that this was my second birth.  Miss Colette has been writing her very own unique story since she joined our family over nine months ago.

The day before her birthday, my mom decided to drive out as a second blizzard was supposed to roll into Kansas on top of the previous one that had dropped 14 inches on them.  Because I hadn't had any definite signs labor was imminent, I was worried that we would waste the time we had with my mom just waiting for labor to start (she has 8 other grandbabies to help take care of back home).  Apparently she and my Dad (who wanted her to leave asap), know what they're doing, because she made it with just enough time to get a little sleep before things got rolling.

Sometime around 4 am on Sunday morning, my water broke.  After having a slight freak out because I didn't realize what was going on (my water had to be broken with Anni when I was at 9.5 cm, so I never really experienced it before), we called my doctor and our wonderful doula and headed to the hospital.  The contractions were strong, but definitely not unbearable, and Daniel kept me laughing as we drove through the beginnings of a blizzard to meet our little one.

At the hospital, I was a 6 by the time the nurse checked me.  Our doula arrived soon after, and after getting my first dose of antibiotics (I am GBS+), I was set free to labor as I wished.  This was a dream come true.  My first labor had been (necessarily) tied down as they tried to slow labor to get my little preemie steroids for her lungs.  This time, we started out walking the halls, pausing when a contraction got a little strong, noting where the good coffee was, and chatting about just about everything.  We made it back for my doctor and mom to arrive through the blizzard.  I was at a 7, and the doctor suggested pitocin to speed things along, to which I replied that I'd rather give our girl time to make her way on her own (and luckily both my husband and doula encouraged me that I was moving along just fine and not to worry).  He agreed and said he'd check again in a couple of hours and we continued on our laboring way.  I tried just about every position we could think of for laboring: lying down when I had to (they did fetal monitoring every hour), standing and leaning on Daniel (my favorite by far), shower, bathtub, birthing ball... yep, just about everything.  I had music playing (Pandora's Enya station, because... why not?  Contractions during particularly intense instrumental portions kind of made everyone giggle... to the extent that you can giggle during contractions).  The beautiful thing for me is that up until the doctor's final check, labor flowed along at a really peaceful pace.  It was painful, but I felt in control in a way I was never able to feel in my first labor.  I was able to move, laugh and connect with what was going on with my body.

The next time the doctor checked me, I was still at a 7, despite the fact that things had definitely gotten more intense.  I was a little bit disappointed, but he mentioned that it looked like my water hadn't broken all the way, and if he took care of that, things would probably move along.  Oh, my, was he right!  Within 15 minutes, I moved from a 7 to a 10 and my body started pushing all on it's own. I am so glad my wonderful birthing team (husband, mom and doula) had been coaching me to breathe the entire labor as that was the only reason I remembered to breathe through those (slightly terrifying) last minutes as the contractions just rolled in, one after the other.  Miss Colette was born at 12:55 pm, with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck.  Her oxygen had dropped during my last couple of pushes, and they had oxygen ready to put on me for her, but I was so determined to push that I got her out faster than they expected.  Luckily, the umbilical cord was taken care of quickly and I finally had my sweet girl on my tummy, safe and sound.  She started screaming as soon as she was out, but stopped as soon as they laid her on me, staring around with those big, wide-open eyes and throwing newborn grins to just about anyone who checked on her.  I was just so overjoyed that she was there and, honestly, that I was *done*.  While my doctor stitched me up, Daniel and I just soaked in the fact that we had made it.  I breathed and relaxed for the first time and looked at our girl and my husband.  Daniel noticed our doctor just couldn't stop grinning (it's obvious he absolutely loves the baby part of his job) and everyone placed bets on how big she was going to be when they weighed her (6 lbs 13 oz, in case you're curious, smaller than anyone but me expected, though I don't know why I thought she'd be in that range with her being 41 weeks).

A little while later, my in-laws brought Anni in to meet "her baby".  She was a little confused by the hospital itself and clung to her daddy, but knew her little sister immediately and hasn't stopped loving on her since.

It's amazing that this little girl's story is just beginning... I can't wait to see it unfold!

PS The first five photos were taken by my lovely doula... it's amazing to look through all of them from labor and delivery and "see" what was going on from the outside.