A doozy for the year's first post

 {Climbing Mother by Brian Kershisnik}

Sometimes I say to myself, why don't you just live your life?  Why do you need to talk about it on social media or a blog?  But, even when the busy-ness of life pulls me a way for months at a time, I can never quite manage to give it up.  Maybe it's pride, maybe it's not wanting to bury anything under a bushel, maybe it's a craving for documenting my existence or seeking validation from others.  Whatever it is, I wish I could put more time into this.

The most important reason, I know for sure, is that it helps me gather my thoughts.  Flannery O'Connor said something like, "I don't know what I think until I read what I write."  I find that to be accurate for me as well.

This week a dear woman I've never met, who I was corresponding with over a damaged-in-the-mail copy of the painting above, commented on my 5th pregnancy this way:  "You are a wonderful mother.  I honor you."

The same afternoon, the teller at the bank drive-up peered into my (abhorrently messy) van and asked of Roger, Carter, and Clara: "Are they all yours?"  "Yes," I replied, "Plus another one who is at piano lessons and another on the way."  "Five?!"  She exclaimed.  "How do you do it?!  And you look so good!  You must be superwoman!"  Uber glad that I wasn't donning bed-head and a sweat suit for once, I smiled and said, "I'm not superwoman.  And I have a lot of help."

And today a dear friend, whom I revere deeply and am significantly inspired by told me, "It's nice to know you are human."

These three exchanges have done two things for me.  #1. They've lifted me way up.  Almost out of the haze I find myself in lately.  I have felt incredibly humbled by and grateful for the kind, gracious words of dear women.  #2.  They've made me wonder: is that what people see?  Some sort of supermom who's got it all figured out?  Is that what I'm somehow managing to portray on social media?!

The truth is: LIFE IS HARD.  For all of us.  Me included.  If it looks like I'm thriving, then I am editing my life too carefully.  Actually, besides the entire family being wiped out by influenza for the holidays, and the pain and utter chaos that resulted in day after day of Mom and Dad being in bed with fevers, besides all that, the beginning of this 5th pregnancy has been a season of self doubt and uncertainty and loneliness.  I know I should never take a pregnancy for granted.  I know that well.  And I'm trying to remember it every day.  But bearing and raising this many children comes with trials of its own, and sometimes it doesn't feel fair that I feel like I can't say so.  Being pregnant gets harder every time.  And the worst part--worse than the nausea or extreme fatigue or bruised tailbone--is the big fat shot of apathy that comes with it.  The apathy that makes me say, I don't care what I look like, I don't want to clean my house, and can't the kids just eat crackers for dinner?  Everyone is jubilantly sharing their 2015 goals online and I'm like "I have one goal/mantra: SURVIVE THIS."

I'm not the mother who feels like this was what she was born to do or is her calling in life.  I chose it.  And I love it.  But it has not come naturally.  And I still have wanderlust.  I dream about curating Matisse exhibits for a large museum, bashing around the city in fancy clothes, traveling to exciting places.  I think about advanced degrees or career paths I may have missed.

But all of that doesn't matter.  Really, it doesn't.  {And not all of it is permanently out of reach, either.}  What matters is--I MADE A CHOICE.  I did the research, I weighed the consequences, I prayed about it.  And I jumped in with both feet.  Being a full time mother is about a bajillion times more difficult than I understood, but it is also infinitely more rewarding than I expected.  Taylor and I wanted to do this.  And I wanted to make it a full time gig.  And so it is not for me to complain or face it with ingratitude, but to own it, to revel in it, and to approach it with the same enthusiasm and effort as I would any field of study or career.  Also, let's be clear.  I don't think it's any more right or righteous or worthy or commendable choice than any other woman's career choice.  But it is mine and I own that.

The tagline for my blog--a favorite quote by Thoreau:
"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.  Live the life you've imagined."

This is the life I chose.  The dream I chose.  It doesn't always look the way I imagined, but that is mortality, isn't it?

I really hesitate posting this.  It feels kind of whiny and negative and ungrateful.  (And I know there are so many suffering people in this world who might roll their eyes at this and say, "give me a break, sister!  Don't you know what's happening in Syria or France?!  And yet, if I can't write about my own experiences on my blog, then why write at all?)  And if I know anything, I know that in this often-isolating career, we women got caught in the trap of feeling like we are alone in our uncertainty, difficulty, or failure.  And I want to be the first one to say: I AM RIGHT THERE WITH YOU, SISTER!  THIS IS REALLY HARD BUT WE CAN DO IT!  AND WE CAN MORE THAN SURVIVE IT!  WE CAN SUCCEED!  WE CAN LOVE IT!  IT CAN FILL US WITH JOY!  

So, there's that.  I am not superwoman.  I am very much human.  If my life ever looks dreamy online, I guess it's because I, like many of you, choose to document the things that are the most beautiful and make me the most happy. 

Happy new year to you all.

Hoping we can all find a little more gratitude and joy,
Anne

Birth Story: Clara Tillie

Prologue:
About 2 weeks before the baby was due, I developed a terrible pain in my tailbone.  It felt like I'd been ice skating and crashed squarely on my bum.  I felt severely bruised.  Sitting at my desk, while driving, or at the dinner table were horrible.  I tried to do those things as little as possible, preferring to be on my feet working or lying down.  About a week into this, I had a check up with my doctor's sub (he was hiking with his wife in Europe).  I wish I had a picture of her eyes while she examined me: "Well no wonder your tailbone hurts.  She is WAY down here."  Though I was only dilated to 1 cm, I knew we were getting close.  At my next appointment, six days later, my doctor told Taylor and me that I was now at 4 cm and 80% effaced.  I wasn't surprised.  Mind you, I don't do much typical contracting before labor, but I can feel my body making preparation.  Taylor and I were expecting this type of news and knew what we wanted to do.  We made plans with Dr. B. to come back first thing the next morning to be induced.

{Some people are four-square against induction, I know.  But it's been a good choice for me.  When you go as fast I do, it starts to feel pretty scary when you're halfway dilated, and mostly effaced, not to mention this time I knew her head was locked and loaded!  Once my water breaks, it's game over, and I kept replaying images of myself having a baby on my bathroom floor, or in the car.  (I literally made Taylor google "how to deliver a baby in a car" just in case.)  So, in any case, that's why I opted for induction.}

After my parents treated us to Mexican at Mucho Gusto, we took the kids home and got to work--making arrangements for the children the next day, packing their bags, tucking them in to bed, tidying up toys, finishing the dishes, even dusting and vacuuming the house.  After one last snack of cold cereal and a little So You Think You Can Dance, we went to bed.  As many times as I'd done it, and as quickly as it usually goes, I couldn't believe that when I woke up I had to push a baby out of my body.


Thursday, September 20, 2012

5:30  I peeled my achy body out of bed, grateful that I wouldn't feel like an 85 year old much longer.  After a shower, I pulled on my maternity jeans one last time and smiled at the fact that I'd just gotten my hair done on Tuesday.  (A good blow out lasts for days :)

6:00  Our friend, Jake arrived to help Blaine get up and off to school (Rog had gone to Aunt Melissa's the night before).  I pulled a sleepy Carter out of his crib and we drove him to Nana's house.

6:30  We checked in at the Family Birthing Center (room #8--same one as with Carter!) and the doctor gave me cytotec, which is supposed to prep your cervix and start labor.  It didn't do much for me, and as we hung out there for the next two hours Taylor kept complaining, "This is so boring!  We usually have a baby by now!"

9:15  Since it was planned to break my water at 9:30, we had my brother come in and give me the epidural before hand.  (With Carter, Dr. B. broke my water before, and I was screaming for someone to go find my brother.  This time I'd made it clear how things were to go down ;)  As usual, Brian came in with remarks about covering myself up as much as possible (heaven forbid he see his sister's bum crack), and I told him to give me just strong enough of an epidural to take the edge off the contractions.  Not being able to feel at all is horrible; you can't possibly push out a baby when you're completely numb (I know from experience!).  The only terrible part about an epidural is that sometimes it gives me the shakes.  That was the case this time.  My arms and shoulders shook horribly, as did my jaw--making my teeth chatter.  I had Taylor hold my arms and shoulders tight, and focused all my energy on breathing deeply to control my jaw.

9:37  With the epidural in effect, Dr. B. came in and broke my water.  My contractions immediately picked up and the pressure in my pelvis was incredibly intense.  It was not long before I made the nurse check me.  7 cm.  Around this point she gave me an oxygen mask because of the variables on the baby's reactions to the contractions.  I'd had this with Roger, too, I remembered.  It proved annoying this time, especially with my shaking.  I lay there on my side, holding my mask to my face, trying to force my body not to shake.  Taylor reached over to the baby warmer and picked up a tiny diaper and held it up to show me.  And then the tiny white knit hat.  In a split second the entire pregnancy flashed through my mind--the moment I knew another baby was coming quickly after Carter, the sickness, the soreness, the emotional toll that all took on me and my family.  I had been pregnant this entire calendar year, and it was, by far, the most difficult pregnancy.  As Taylor smiled and put the hat back down, a warm tear streamed down my face.  She was coming now, and it all felt worth it--just as I'd trusted it would.  The next little while went by in a painful blur.  The contractions brought such an intense pain that I moaned and moaned into my oxygen mask.  After a while, as I felt that low, intense pressure increase, I declared: "She is coming fast!"  They readied the baby warmer and called Dr. B.  He declared me ready to push.  I didn't have to push for long.  The head came (I remember the doctor commented on how dark the hair was) and then during another push, the doctor said something like, "Oh, come on, little baby," like obviously part of her was a little stuck (Taylor told me later it was her shoulders.  The doctor had to pull on those a little bit.)  But holy toledo, once those shoulders came, she came flying out and I was screaming my head off.  It was so intense!

10:27  As I was yelling in pain, Taylor exclaimed, "Anne, look!"  And there she was--big and pink and screaming her head off just like her mom.  The sobbing commenced as I looked around at the doctor and nurses and Taylor and asked, "Is it really a girl?!"  Dr. B. brought her right up to my chest and the baby nurse cleaned her with a towel from behind me as I held my little girl and cried.

I had a daughter.

Thanks, everyone, for your warmth and well wishes.  More story and pictures to come.

XO,
anne

Pregnancy Notes

 I walked up to the doctor's office this morning trying not to waddle or limp, my round ligament pain acting up on the left side.  It's a familiar feeling, one I tried to take in stride (or take in limp, as it were).

During my visit I told the doctor about how she moves differently than the boys did.  "It's less of a kick or punch and more of a flutter," I explained.  "I have a couple of theories about this.  My first theory is that she's dancing in there."  "She's going to love big, fluffy dresses," Dr. B. quipped with a smile."  "My second theory," I continued, "is that there is more fat this time between me and the baby."  "More insulation," he replied.  "Good theory."

That's not the first thing to be different.  The sickness has been pervasive throughout, and has included new symptoms, including intense bouts of stomach pain.  Everything has just been harder.  But then, that's to be expected I suppose.  I suspect some of that is due to a female cooking inside me, but mostly I think it's a combination of this being my 4th (4th!) pregnancy and the fact that I still had a nearly new, nursing baby when I conceived.  My body is rallying, but I'm asking a lot of it.

I feel like I moan and groan too much, and I'm trying to stop that.  Even the complaining in my own mind.  Because, hey, I am lucky to be pregnant.  And also, I signed up for this.

On July 4th we finished off our packed day (a 10K, a loud, colorful, candy-packed parade, and a backyard BBQ) with a few dozen fireworks out in our little street.  The boys were utterly gleeful as they handed their dad smoke bombs and sparklers and Peaceful Pagodas to ignite (with his creme brulee torch no less).  It was a made in America, better than a movie, memory making kind of night.  Warm air, the sound of neighbors celebrating, me snuggled up with the babe in an adirondak, the boys dancing in the colorful smoke and racing around with sparklers.  Perfection.

And then I thought:  this is going to pass by in the blink of an eye.  In just a few more years, our teenage boys will announce that they want to spend the night of the 4th with friends.  Then they'll eat a disgusting amount of dinner, ask for some money, grab their cell phones, and leave.  I'm hoping it's a little better than that, but I know what reality looks like.

The next day I shared this future image with Taylor and declared, "This is a crazy, hectic time in our life.  All these children are so little and difficult.  But they love being here with us, and it is so fun.  We just have to embrace the crazy and soak it all in while we can."

And that is what we're trying our darndest to do.

Good thing, because it's about to get crazier.

More about Monday

 

{J. Kirk Richards}

For the sake of journaling, I want to write a little about Monday.  I thought I'd just pen it in my real life journal (that I write in very rarely), but then I thought you might be interested to know some of the details.

I spent most of the day like any other Monday--tidying, rotating laundry, and planning for the week.  Just before it was time to drive to the ultrasound, Taylor came home from work, the kids had one last snack, and I put on some red lipstick.  An ultrasound is a very glam event, or didn't you know that?

We quickly dropped Carter off with my mother and brought the oldest boys to the appointment with us.  I had already given Blaine a long speech about celebrating our baby, no matter what.  He had cried his head off at Carter's ultrasound, because it was a boy, and I told him he couldn't come if he was going to do that again.  We talked about what might be worthy of tears at an ultrasound--like the news that our baby wasn't growing properly.  I gave him some personal examples from our family and friendships, which he soberly empathized with.  He finally seemed to understand.

We waited just a few minutes before going in.  The ultrasound tech took just a few looks at the baby before sending me to the Anne Geddes poster-plastered bathroom because my bladder was too full.  When I came back in, she showed us the head, the brain, a little of the chest and belly.  Not far in, she took a screen shot of the femurs.  "So that's the bum and legs, right?" I asked.  And she confirmed and moved on, saying nothing of the gender.  I didn't say anything, but I was thinking, "I'm pretty sure that's a girl." Because listen, all of my boys have been spread eagle in their ultrasounds, and boy parts are quite distinguishable!  And there weren't any of those this time. 

The tech was proficient and thorough, pointing out the completely formed palate, nasal bone, aorta, kidneys, liver, three complete pinky bones.  I lay there on that bed with my arm behind my head, in awe at the screen in front of me.  I marveled that inside my body was a little baby, only as long as a banana, and less than a pound, but with a beautifully developing spinal chord, and four chambers of the heart, working together perfectly.  As in the three ultrasounds before, I was overwhelmed with awe and gratitude.  "This is miraculous," I thought.

The boys began to get a little squirrely, as the tech tried to get the baby to uncurl so she could get a look at the gender.  Finally she got it.  She looked at the boys and said, "Well guys, you are getting a sister!"  Blaine and Rog, sitting right next to each other, grinned and broke into applause!  It was the most precious thing I have ever seen.  They clapped and clapped as I told the tech how unusual it feels to hear anything other than "it's a boy!" at an ultrasound.

For the last few minutes, Blaine came and stood at my side, and wouldn't stop hugging me or rattling off the things we needed to go and buy.  First on the list?  "Mom!  We need some barbies!"

My phone had been ringing and signaling text messages throughout the ultrasound, and as we drove away, I turned it to silent.  I just wanted a little while to celebrate our new baby as a family.  Taylor drove us to Dairy Queen, where we sat out in the sun.  Blaine declared he now loves ketchup and mustard on hot dogs, and we were all sufficiently stuffed on blizzards by the time we left.  I told Taylor I wanted to go the mall to buy a little dress that we could photograph the boys holding to cleverly announce the gender.  As I started perusing the baby GAP sale rack, the little boys made themselves right at home.  I turned around to see that they each had their arms full of girly attire.  Roger explained that she would need much more than one dress, and Blaine had picked out at least four pairs of jellies.  In the end, we didn't buy a thing!  Even with my first girl on the way, I am too practical to buy what I really wanted, none of which was on sale yet.  We figured the picture we took of our daughter's personal shoppers would do just fine, and began sending texts to the family as we walked out of the mall.

As we drove to my parents' house to collect Carter, my mother called, and I realized my huge mistake.  I'd figured I'd wait to tell my mom until we arrived, simply showing her the pictures.  But when I answered the phone I was greeted by a panicked woman, sick to her stomach, wondering if we were in counseling after finding out horrible news.  It had, after all, been more than two hours since hearing from us.  When we pulled up to the house, I ran in to apologize, and my dad said she was upstairs.  Indeed she was--changing her shirt because she'd worked up such a sweat in her worry.  I should have known better than to cleverly surprise a woman who has lost two babies.  I felt awful.  She was quick to forgive, and we sat at my parents' for a while, talking about the news, and fielding text messages while the boys played with cars and trucks, vintage to my childhood.

The remainder of the day and evening included a stop to my brother's house, where 3 of their chicks had hatched out of their eggs just minutes before, and a bbq dinner with Taylor's brother and family in Ashland.  We continued to answer congratulatory texts and phone calls.  I think all the excitement overwhelmed Taylor a bit.  ("Why are people congratulating me that it's a girl?  As if I achieved something?")  It made me smile to feel the love of so many dears in our life.

One of my favorite text conversations was between me and Joan--Taylor's cousin and my BYU roommate and dear friend.  Among a million other things we have in common, Joan also has three little boys, whom she adores.

J: Maybe there is hope for me?!?!

A: You know it!!!!

J: Are you on cloud nine or what?!

A:Oh I'm thrilled but mostly at the 4 chambers of the heart, all the fingers and toes...

So excited to have a girl, but I don't feel much different than after other ultrasounds.  Does that make sense?

J: Totally get it.  I feel that way every time.

A: I mean I just lie there during the ultrasound totally overwhelmed!  It's so amazing.

J: It truly is.  Such a miracle!

And that's how it is.  I am excited to have a daughter.  Really excited!  In fact, Taylor is taking the boys on a father and sons camp out this weekend, and I keep thinking to myself, "Yippee!  Now I have a girl to party with on weekends like these!"  And of course I've already pulled my "maybe someday" girl clothes bin out of the closet and have quickly added a few items.  But it was less dramatic than I imagined.  I didn't cry.  There weren't trumpets.  I didn't see pink fireworks.  Maybe it was because I had gotten a peek at the beginning.  And maybe it was because, truthfully, I've had the feeling (no matter how hard I've tried to talk myself out of it) since the day I knew another baby was coming, that it was a girl.  (Having any inkling like that was new for me, so I'd shared that sentiment with almost no one.)  But really I think it was because it didn't need to be that dramatic.  Having a daughter isn't better, it's different.  Instead of a rush of excitement, I felt a calm sense of gratitude and utter amazement that God could build in me another child.  That is not something I take lightly.  

So that is the story of Monday.  We feel really excited, and really blessed.  Thank you, all, for your darling, sweet comments.  You are so kind and make me feel so loved.

xo,
anne

Celebrating New Life

It's been a nice, slow morning.  Blaine was cheerfully up and at'em by the time I complied with my snooze alarm and peeled out of bed.  I fixed him a ham and egg sandwich on an english muffie while he squealed about his field trip this afternoon.  I sent him running out to his ride, thankful for his good night's sleep and pleasant demeanor.

Carter was crying for me now, so I scooped him out of his crib and into my bed with a bottle.  We snuggled and played and and called my mom so he could yell 'HI-YAH!' into the speaker phone.  I put him on the floor and let him make mischief out of the books and magazines on my bedside table while I lay still with my hands on my belly.  I closed my eyes and tried to feel the baby move.  Still nothing.  It's still a little early for me.  I wondered about the little human swimming around in there and marveled that I've gotten to carry four babies in my womb.

It wasn't until I'd gotten out of bed, changed Carter, started on the laundry, and laid out my  new bathmat that Roger finally emerged, his cheeks rosy, his blonde hair poky, and his smile large as I congratulated him on staying in his own bed all night. 

I sat down on the stairs for a minute.  Carter, diaper clad, came and buried his smiling face in my lap.  Rog ran to the step above me and threw his arms around me, nuzzling his face into my neck.  There I sat, in a little boy sandwich.  I knew nothing could ever feel more rewarding than that.  I thought back to the moments in bed this morning, trying to guess if my little womb-dweller is a boy or girl.  And it just didn't matter.



I have evolved.



I've thought about gender a lot over the last couple of months.  I've thought about why I'd love to have a daughter.  I've thought about why I'd love to have another son.  I've thought about why I get panicky every time I have to tell someone "it's another boy!"  Some reactions are sweet: "Wow, you're almost up to a whole basketball team!" or "What an army of missionaries you are going to raise!"  Some baffle me: "Wow, there's probably going to be a huge war..."  Some, though well intended, tend to irk me: "Well, you're lucky.  You don't want a girl.  Girls are so dramatic."  (Apparently those people have spent little time around my eldest son.)  And some make me sad: "Oh, Anne!  Are you OK?" (Why wouldn't I be?)

In some ways I'm sure I caused that particular conundrum myself. After all, when the ultrasound revealed that Roger was a boy 4 1/2 years ago, I admitted to this very audience that I cried. And I'm always saying things about how fun it would be to have a daughter. (What mother doesn't want a daughter?)  And with number 3, I planned on a boy so I wouldn't 'be disappointed.'

This time is different because I finally understand an important distinction...*

So I want to clear some things up.

First. Here is why I hope to one day have a daughter:

I would love to have a little girl to dress just the way I like. I'd stick little bows on her bald head and make barrettes for her when she has a little blonde bob (this is all hypothetical, so I'm allowed to picture her as a mini me). I'd make her room as cute as could be. I'd probably buy her an American Girl doll and hope to high heaven she wants to take Ballet like I did.

But if I never have a daughter, I won't be devastated about missing out on any of that stuff, sweet as it is. If one day Taylor and I decide we're done, and we find ourselves with only strapping, handsome, wonderful sons, I might be bummed about a few things. Like not having someone to take shopping when all of the boys go to the Priesthood session of our church's General Conference and Thai food afterwards (as per family tradition). And not getting to help my daughter plan her wedding. And not getting to be on the mother end of a beautiful mother-daughter relationship, having experienced how wonderful the daughter end is. Those are the things that would make me sad for a bit.

But even now, I'm increasingly content that that could be my reality one day.

For several reasons:
1. I have beautiful nieces, who I'm sure will let me curl their hair for prom and take them shopping and even help plan weddings and be in the brides' room of the temple to help them feel beautiful.  I have eight amazing nieces, and that would be enough.  I used to not believe that, but now I do.

2. One day I will have several daughters-in-law, and, if my relationship with my m-i-l is any indication, those will be amazing, close, glorious, understanding, feeling relationships.  I used to not believe that would be enough, but now I do.

3. I have talked to God about this a lot.  I told him I'd like to have a daughter, and I know He heard me.  I know that because He's heard and answered prayers my whole life.  I also told Him that I want what His will is for me.  You don't always get what you want, you know.  And doing His will is enough for me.

4. I LOVE my sons!

*So here's the conclusion, and the distinction I referred to earlier:
In 12 days Taylor and I are going to walk out of an ultrasound and start sending out texts and emails and facebook statuses and a blog post with the news of our new baby.  We pray it will be healthy and perfect, but even if it isn't, we hope you'll celebrate a new soul with us.  It might be a girl, in which case we hope you'll celebrate a new soul with us.  And it might be a boy, in which case we hope you'll celebrate a new soul with us.  Because, here's the big epiphany: Not having a daughter and having a son are two totally separate things. 

Interestingly enough, I started this post this morning, and am just now finishing it after the children have finally gone to bed.  In the interim, I felt my baby for the first time today.  Waiting for the left turn signal into the mall, there it was.  Nudge, nudge.

Let the celebrating begin.

xo,
anne

my latest mission

{unrelated pic: adventurin' in Ashland.

I think we need to buy two baby backpacks!}

Friends,

Thank you for your kind words and congratulations on Cropper #6! Holy cow--family of 6! To answer a few questions, I am feeling pretty well. Barfy if I don't eat often and very tired, but honestly, I'm doing just fine. I am due September 22nd, which makes me 12 weeks along. Of course lots of people are wishing a girl for me, and I would be lying if I didn't admit that's what I'm desperately hoping for. At the same time, I'm four-square against getting my hopes up, so--as with the last one--I am 100% planning on a boy, and try to not even entertain the idea of a girl. That might sound strange, but it's how I avoid disappointment. Plus, every time I snuggle up with Carter and make him giggle and pinch his soft cheeks, I think, who could be disappointed with another one like this?

The following is something I wrote back in January, the day I learned I was pregnant. I thought you might be interested to know some more about this baby, since most people I announce my pregnancy to automatically assume it was unplanned! As a note, I weaned Carter about a month ago, which has resulted in him sleeping completely through the night-- so things are getting simpler.

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Last night I crawled back into bed at 3:30 a.m. after going up to feed Carter and put him back to sleep. I lay there next to Taylor's warm body, under my fluffy white comforter and quilt thinking, "It should feel crazy that I am up with a baby at night still rather often and might be pregnant. But it doesn't. I feel calm."

I feel the same way this morning after the clearly positive pregnancy test (the one I took a few days ago was very faint and unconvincing). I feel determined to be stoic through the sickness and to work well with food so my poor family isn't starving. I feel excited for Carter to have a close little friend.

I think I feel that sense of calm confidence because I feel like I am answering a call. I acted on a prompting from God and so I don't feel scared or overwhelmed. But only because I know I will have to rely heavily on Him and His power. Often as a mother I have had to remind myself that as a full time missionary I constantly relied on the Lord for strength, and that I should do that more as a mother. With this pregnancy beginning I feel that intrinsically, without needing a reminder. This is totally new and different. This is the smallest space in children we've ever had. This is the first time I have ever been nursing and pregnant simultaneously. And when I look at the whole situation--4 children under the age of six, being sick and sore and pregnant with a small toddler--it does look daunting. But when I consider the scripture that carried me through my mission, I don't feel daunted.

"For I can do all things through Christ, which strengtheneth me." --Philippians 4:13

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The 'call' I referred to in this little journal entry wasn't dramatic. It was neither an angelic visitation nor a visionary dream. It was just me, one day, when Carter was very new, sitting on my bed. 'The next one is coming soon,' the quiet impression came. 'Let it come.'

As a Mormon, I believe in personal revelation. That God communicates with his children. And, in a very simple, small way, I felt him communicate with me that day.

When I told Taylor about it, he was all in. He's always wanted children close together anyway, and there's nothing he wants more than to be a young dad!

So here we are. Some days I feel like this is totally doable--I got this. Other days Taylor has to talk me down off my crazy ledge. But this is what we want and what we signed up for. And we know it is no slight blessing to be granted another child.

XO,

anne

4

So remember when I was sick for so long that I thought I might be dying or maybe even pregnant so I bought an ice cream drumstick for Roger and a pregnancy test for myself?

Well, it turned out it was only a virus.

But, it also turns out that test came in handy.

Top of the Stack

Each of us has a bundle of memories. I have a particularly large bundle that includes many ridiculous, detailed memories of things like what I wore on the first day of third grade. But out of that stack of life's memories, there are a particular few that I long to re-live. I am hopeful that after this life is over there might be some virtual reality sort of way to re-live some of these most profound, visceral experiences.

Like the singular experience of having Jared Carter placed directly on my chest. He cried through his first few breaths of life, as the nurses stood behind me and rubbed his tiny yet robust little body clean. I cried simultaneously. Here was my baby boy. The one I'd fought my bad health for. The one I'd known was a boy all along. The one I'd secretly worried the most about. After all the days of nausea and the sore legs and all the patience I could muster. Here he was.

We lay there together a long time. He on my chest, wrapped in a clean white towel. His little long-fingered hand found my finger and grabbed on. Hello, son.

Tired but happy,
Anne

A birth story

Jared Carter Cropper

March 1, 2011
7 lbs. 13 oz.
21 inches

Here's the thing. I write really long birth stories. I like details for family history purposes. If you are still here by the end, then wow! You must really love me.

On Monday, February 28th I was 3 days overdue. I know a lot of women go 2 weeks overdue, so I won't bemoan being overdue too much. But. I felt useless. My round ligament was shot. I could hardly walk. I vowed to never make fun of waddling pregnant women again. I couldn't sleep at night. Whether I was up going to the bathroom or stirred awake by another bad dream of the baby falling out at home, I wasn't getting much rest. And I felt like I couldn't do very much for my boys. I'd decided to ask Dr. Binette to induce me on Tuesday morning.

At my appointment I was only 3 cm, but the baby very low. I told him I'd like to be induced. He told me the plan would be to come in at 6:30 a.m. and receive a cytotec tablet, which softens you for labor. He'd then break my water around 9 a.m. "You'll be done by noon," he declared. I knew it would be sooner. I'm really fast.

I spent Monday getting my ducks in a row. House tidied. Laundry done. Boys packed up for my mom's house. Rides arranged for B's preschool. (Thanks, Matt!) When Tay came home from work we took the boys to Mom and Dad's, got them going on carrot sticks and mac and cheese, sorted out car seats and instructions, and said goodnight. Then we went to Bonsai for sushi and tempura (we'd also been there the day the ultrasound confirmed he was a boy with a tearful Blaine!) to celebrate. While I blissfully ate my crunchy roll, Taylor looked up "March 1st" on his iphone, making sure it was a good date. (Taylor is really into having a meaningful birthday. His is Bastille Day. Blaine's is May Day. Rog's is "March Forth!") It turns out that March 1st is Wilford Woodruff's (fourth prophet of our church) birthday, which is fun. Also, March 1st 1803 Ohio became a state, which is significant to me because of my mission in Ohio but even more so because this baby was going to be named after Jared Carter, who had been a key member of our church in Kirtland, Ohio, in the 1830s. (More about his name later.) Before we went home we stopped by the hospital to check on Taylor's dad, Dean, who'd just had a knee replacement. He looked like he was in so much pain, I wanted to cry for him. I would give birth the next morning, just a few floors down.

Before bed Taylor helped me tidy toys and make sure everything was packed for the hospital. The last thing I had to do was take a shower and curl my hair. Yes, I am vain. But, come on, you know there are going to be a million pictures of you--you might as well be prepared! We finally went to sleep around 11 p.m.

I woke up with abdominal pain. I looked at my phone. 4:15 a.m. I thought about the fact that I ate my weight in tempura vegetables a few hours before and tried to go back to sleep. Six minutes later I was sitting up in bed checking my phone again. It wasn't the tempura. It was labor.

I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep so I got up and started getting ready to go to the hospital. I figured I was due there by 6:30 anyway, but maybe we'd have to check in early. Next comes Taylor's favorite part of the story to tell. I went back to the bedroom and woke him up a little. "Hey, Tay. It's 4:35 a.m. I just want you to know that I've been having some contractions. They're only about 6 minutes apart and they're not too painful." Groggy Taylor: "So what are you doing?" Me: "Oh I'm just doing my make up."

After my make up I put on my new Gilly Hicks sweatsuit (thanks, Bec!) and ate some cheerios upstairs while I watched Private Practice and part of Parenthood. (Good thing for DVR!) Taylor came up a little before 6. "Well, get ready," I said. "We need to leave for the hospital." {As it turned out, I was so grateful I'd chosen to be induced. Had I not planned on induction, I wouldn't have had my kids farmed out, etc. but would have gone into labor at 4:15 that morning and panicked about getting the kids taken care of, etc.}

At 6:11 on the way to the hospital I texted Brian, my anesthesiologist brother. "I think I'm going to need drogas soon. I've been in labor 2 hours. He wasn't going to break my water until 9 but I think the babe will be here by then."

When we walked in to the birth center I looked at the nurses at the desk. "I'm here to be induced. Except I'm already in labor. And I'm going home tonight." They all looked back at me incredulously. "Well," one of them said, "you have to have your doctor and pediatrician approve that." "I'm a cash payer," I said. "If I'm here one minute over 24 hours, I'll get charged for an extra day. Which is $10,000. I have to get home tonight!"

One of the nurses showed us to room 8, where I'd be delivering. I put on my gown, got out my West Elm catalog, and sat on the bed, waiting for the good doctor. In he came, wearing a bow tie as always, coffee cup in hand. He reviewed the time line we'd talked about the day before, and I looked Taylor like "yeah right." "I think you better check me before the cytotec," I said. "I've been having contractions since around 4. So he did. And he said, "Yep, you're in labor. You're at a 5. We're not going to do cytotec." Then he turned to the nurse and said, "Hand me that amnihook, please. We're just going to break her water now." Love it.

So he broke my water at about 6:55. Well that really got things going. My contractions really picked up--in pain, in length, in frequency. "You need to get my brother here," I said. I knew full well that I could be complete in a half hour, and if he didn't get there fast, I wouldn't be getting my epidural. Which I really wanted. The nurse--who was due to go home in just a few minutes--called down to the nurses' station. "Hi, I need some help in here. She's really in labor and I don't have anything ready. I need someone down here to prep an epidural tray and a baby bed and everything." If I hadn't been grimacing in pain I would have laughed out loud. It seems like no matter how many times you tell people "I deliver really fast," they never believe you. In came several of the nurses that we'd met at the door. "Wow," said the cute, short-blonde-haired one. "You really might get home tonight!" So the nurses scurried around prepping everything. One of them stabbed the heck out of me until the got the IV in right. Meanwhile I breathed through my contractions and started to feel a sense of panic. I knew I could start transition real quick. The doctor came in to see how I was doing. I started yelling. "Someone call my brother and tell him to get his booty in here!" Taylor loves to laugh at that part. He says, "Who were you talking to?!" Anyone who would listen!

Around 7:15 or 7:30 maybe Brian showed up in his blue scrubs. "I was in the shower when you sent your text," he said. "What's up with casually mentioning in a text message that you've been in labor for 2 hours and then taking your sweet time to get to the hospital?" I'm sure the nurses were getting a kick out of our sibling banter. We made sure to quote some Tommy Boy for them in between contractions: "Does this baby make me look fat?" "No, your face does." He told me to sit up and swing my legs over the bed so he could put in the epidural. "Now," Brian said, "Let's cover up everything humanly possible!" (Brian is hilarious when it comes to his sisters. Kind of like being grossed out when you realized that your parents have sex, Brian never wants to hear a word about a sister's period, watch her breastfeed, etc. He was relieved that the baby monitor strap I was wearing covered up my bum crack so he didn't have to see it while placing the epidural in my back!)

Now here is where I give some important advice to anyone who is actually still reading this and wants to have a medicated delivery. DO NOT LET A DOCTOR GIVE YOU TOO STRONG OF AN EPIDURAL. My first epidural was so intense that I may as well have not had any lower extremities. I couldn't lift my legs, couldn't push when it was time, couldn't feel anything from my ribs down. WORTHLESS. I told Brian, "I need it strong enough to take the extreme pain away, but I need to be able to feel the contractions enough and to control my muscles when it's time to push." So he did just that. A good anesthesiologist should know how to do that. It was ideal. I could feel when the contractions came but I was numb enough to feel calm and in control.

My epidural slowed my contractions back down quite a bit--back to 6 or 7 minutes apart. So the doctor gave me a little bit of pitocin to pick things back up again. Which it did. By about 8:30 I was complete and ready to push. And, thanks to my custom epidural, I could totally do it. It was new to me to push. With Blaine and Rog it was like 2 pushes and out they came. This time I pushed for about 20 minutes. I love that part because you know you're at the end and the baby is coming soon! I loved the soft nurse's voice in my left ear counting to 10 each time I pushed. I loved Taylor's hand on my right arm. By this point, I could feel pretty well. In fact, right at the end, as the baby was coming out, I actually screamed a little. I think my exact words were, "Taylor this hurts!" That was new for me, because I'd been so drugged before. But it was a good hurt because I wasn't dying but could feel everything my body was doing. {And now, a note about the good doctor: I didn't have the slightest tear because the entire time I was pushing he was massaging me. I am telling you, after the episiotomy I received giving birth to Blaine, I couldn't walk, sit, sneeze, laugh, or cough for about 3 weeks. It was torture. These last two doctors have been so much better. I am not exaggerating at all when I say I could have hopped on a bike the next day. It is that much better. Talk to your doctor from the very beginning about this. If he is old school and believes in episiotomy, kick him to the curb. Seriously though.}

I always close my eyes when I push, but with the last one Taylor said, "Open your eyes and look! There he is!" And there he was. (8:54 a.m.) Crying and darling. Dr. Binette put him on my chest and Taylor cut the umbilical chord (which surprised me, as he declined the first two times). The nurses rubbed him clean with a towel while I held him. He grabbed my finger. I just cried. I wish I could live in that moment again. The nurse was so darling. She kept saying, "You hold him there as long as you want. No pressure." But after a few minutes I handed him over so she could weigh him, etc. Then she gave him back, in just a diaper. She untied my gown and put him right on top of my chest. Skin to skin. It was marvelous.


The rest of the day was just loving up the babe and receiving visitors. Mary Anne, Taylor's mom, was the first to arrive. She'd been upstairs with her husband when Taylor sent out a picture text. She just started running through the hospital showing everyone the picture. When she got to the security guard at the birth center she held up her phone and said, "He's here! And he's my grandson! Please let me in to see him!" Brian came in to see him, also my dad. (It's cute to see your brother and dad both in OR scrubs at the hospital.) My mom came with Jill and little Rog, who was just as interested in the smoothie my mom brought me as he was in his baby brother! Blaine came later, after preschool. Cousin Katie came with Mary Anne later, too. Mary Anne had picked her up early from school and she almost died from the excitement of it all. We even picked up some visitors thanks to Dean's knee surgery. Chip and Laura came, as did Spencer, and later Nate with Uncle Eldon and Henry.

All of the nurses were fabulous. They took good care of me, but also left us alone! That felt nice--not to be bothered. Also. They really took me seriously about checking out that night. They had my discharge papers ready by noon, and did everything they could to get the pediatrician there and have everything in order for us to leave. I was immensely grateful for them. At 7 p.m. we said goodbye to the nurses that had been there for it all, and welcomed the new ones that would discharge us. Dr. Mary came to check out the babe. She was darling as always. After his PKU and Hep B were taken care of, we were free to go. We were out by 9 p.m. Nice.

A little bit about his name, Jared Carter (we call him Carter). Jared Carter was a mormon missionary who, with his brother, Simeon, taught the gospel to Taylor's ancestor, John Tanner. Jared Carter actually healed John Tanner's leg-- a very significant thing, as he was told he must amputate it if he wished to live, but he refused. John Tanner went on to become instrumental in funding the building of the Kirtland temple. This is all significant to us because it is family history, and also because of my time spent in Kirtland. There is actually a really nice movie (about 20 minutes) about this story, which you can see here.

Now we are just learning to add baby to our routine. The boys seem to be adjusting well (and they have had lots of play dates, sleepovers at cousins' and Nana's, thank you, thanks you!). And so far, although I'm tired, I feel like we can manage this. Carter is a really pleasant, mellow baby. So far he doesn't spit up, seems to have a pretty calm tummy, sleeps rather well at night, and is just generally happy. We are happy, too.

Christmas Eve and an evening at the salon

It sickens me that I haven't posted anything since October. Looking through pictures this morning, I have to post a couple of random things...

For Christmas Eve we extended the traditional Cropper family Mexican dinner out and Talent Show/Nativity to include my family as well. We were so many people that we had to do the talent and Nativity portion to the church. It was a great event and I hope everyone loved it as much as I did.

Here Taylor and I are performing our talent: I sang Ingrid Michaelson's The Way I Am, accompanied by Taylor.

Blaine and Roger sang A Shepherd's Carol and Christmas Bells are Ringing. It was presh beyond belief.

Totally unrelated and almost two months later...

The other night I was reading with the boys upstairs. Rog went downstairs. Taylor was down there so I thought he'd see him. But Taylor didn't and thought he was still up with me. Anyway, we discovered him like this:


Naturally, all we could do was laugh our heads off and take a thousand pictures. And we had to buzz his gorgeous blonde hair, which absolutely kills me. He looked in the mirror after and said, "I look diffent." And when people ask him about his haircut he says, "It's growing."


Anyway, it looks like this baby is going to go full term. I haven't progressed much, which gives me time to get my sheets washed and house clean. :)

xo
anne

Dear Diary...We're Down to the Wire

Sometimes I feel really sad that I have all but forsaken my personal blog in my efforts to Bloom. Mostly because it is, for the most part, the only form of journaling I do, which means I haven't had much in the way of a journal for a while. For example, I have hardly written down anything about this 3rd pregnancy of mine. I haven't jotted down how much harder it has been physically. How the nausea came sooner, lasted longer, and came with more fervor this time. How my round ligament pain started early and has persisted all along the way. How this time I realized that I don't have to wake Taylor up at 2 a.m. to rub my cramping legs, I just have to get out of bed and walk a few laps around the downstairs until they subside. How a big bowling ball belly doesn't feel quite as charming and cute as the first two times around, but I've finally embraced it. How I finally understand why women give up wearing stilettos and opt for flats. And how I'll never say again: "What is up with pregnant women walking funny?" It's all been harder this time. But I always try to remember that I shouldn't complain. I've never been on bed rest or hospitalized. I don't even throw up, I just feel like it. So I'm pretty lucky, let's be honest.

But really, after journaling some of those thoughts, I'm not sure what else I would say. Life rolls swiftly along, and my job is to keep up with it--as gracefully as I can possibly manage. Thankfully I have more energy lately. It must be the nesting kicking in. I'm painting and decorating and organizing and de-junking with gusto. It feels really good. I want my nursery ready and my life organized and my family well-fed. I want my boys' lives to be exciting and full of learning and adventure. I want to perform all of my church and community jobs energetically and lovingly. I want to keep nesting and creating and serving and hosting until the moment I go into labor. I am doing my best, but don't get me wrong. It's not all chocolate cake and pink ribbons. Some days I'm still in my big, gray, elastic-ankled (more like elastic-Kankled) sweats when my husband gets home from work. Some days Blaine is 2 hours late to preschool. Some days I yell and then cry at my dear little children because they are making mischief and I'm not able (more like not willing) to control my response. And things are getting scratched off the to-do list left and right. Like making my own hospital gown. I guess I'll just have to have another set of newborn photos with me in an ugly gown with 'central laundry' stamped on the front. And the rainbow velour living room chair that I despise will have to remain rainbow velour a while longer because I just can't tackle a slipcover right now. I think I've finally learned to let go of things that don't really matter.What's really in the forefront of my 'preparing for baby' mind frame is my children. Are they ready for this? Most of the time they are happy, wrestling, snuggling, donut-munching, imagining, carefree little boys. But there are struggles. Blaine got his claws out this morning and hit me in the eye. I cried heartily. Partly because it hurt pretty bad but mostly because I wish I knew how to help him put his claws away permanently. And Rog is probably upstairs peeing in his Thomas the Train undies as I write this. Sometimes in the midst of all the chaos I look at Taylor and dramatically exclaim, "We are about to add another one! What are we thinking?!"

Thankfully, Taylor and I have never been more in love. He makes me feel like I matter and that I'm succeeding at my job. He helps me paint walls that he thinks don't need painting. He thanks me for the things I do for him. He makes me feel beautiful. And he is the best teammate imaginable. So that makes me feel stronger. When he holds me as I sob about Blaine's claws, I know I am not running this marathon alone.And, throughout all of this, my little babe nudges me from inside. Nudge, nudge he says. And I tap back and give him a little rub. It seems that as my belly grows, so does my love for him, so does my capacity to do all of this.

He's almost here. And I think we'll be ready.

My Three Sons

"Trick or Tomato!" The boys practice trick-or-treating in the tomato plants...

When I started revealing my pregnancy, everyone--of course--sent girlie wishes my way. It's no secret that I want a daughter (or two...). I want to put bows in her hair and dress her in homemade skirts and colorful tights and fake uggs. I want to sign her up for ballet class and make her room look cuter than anything in the Land of Nod catalog. I want to talk to her about boys and virtue and qualities to look for in a husband. I want to help her plan her wedding.

BUT. When I got pregnant, although I knew I had a 50/50 chance, I didn't allow much thought like that. One day I went through the bin of girl clothes I've collected and almost threw up out of hope mixed with possible disappointment, so I put it back in the closet and didn't look back. I told everyone I would love to have a girl, but was planning for a boy. And I really was. I pretty much constantly had in my head it was a boy.

So when the good doctor pointed out his goods during the ultrasound, I looked at Taylor and said, "I told ya."

Poor Blaine, also present for the ultrasound, sobbed uncontrollably and still argues that it's a girl. Poor little guy really wants a sister.

But I didn't cry. I just couldn't. What is there to cry about? I am having a baby. And so far the baby looks really healthy. Both of those facts are totally miraculous. After having restrictive health problems for a year, I feel so blessed to conceive and have a healthy pregnancy, that I just couldn't be happier. Sincerely. I told God I'm not going to ask him for a girl. He knows my heart, and if I'm supposed to raise daughters he'll send them my way. But as long as I have friends struggling with infertility and miscarriages and babies born with disabilities and best friends dying of cancer, I just can't pray for a daughter. I'm blessed as it is and I have too many other important things to pray for.

Now, don't get me wrong. I cried when I found out Roger was a boy. I'm not some perfect person. If you've had multiple sons and cried about it, I don't think you're silly. I think I had one night after this ultrasound, in fact, in which I cried to Taylor about crib bedding because 'I just really wanted to decorate a girlie nursery...' It's just that there are so many people in my life right now that are really going through tragic things, that I can't be sad about a baby, and a healthy one at that.

And that's that. I don't mean to sound self-righteous or anything like that. It's perfectly normal to feel disappointed when things don't go how you dream they'll go. And, I'm sure, if I ever have an ultrasound tech show me a girl on the screen, I'll want to shout it from the rooftops. But right now I just feel really grateful to be having another baby. And here's the other thing--I really love little boys. Blaine and Rog wrestle and snuggle and chase (and hit and fight...) and play and play together. When one wakes up earlier than the other, he begs to wake up brother. When Blaine goes to preschool, Rog is a lost little soul. They are presh, and I can't wait to see them with a new little babe.

"She'll love the 9 inch zipper..."

Need a laugh? Get your click on HERE.

Marching Forth

First Matter of Business:
Here he is.

Roger Lake Cropper
March 4, 2008 at 2:54 p.m.
8 lbs. 20.5 in.

(And you haven't lived until you've heard Blaine call him "Baby Rog.")



Second matter of business:


Thank you all a million times for your well wishes and congratulations. The birth of a new babe is extremely joyful, and is followed by many difficult challenges and an array of emotions. I feel blessed to have so much support.


Third matter of business. If you want to hear all the deets (a la TLC), here they are (note: it is LONG. I don't keep a journal besides this blog, so consider yourself warned):


On Tuesday morning I had an appointment with my OB. Judging by how much pressure I was feeling on my pelvis, I was feeling fairly certain that I was probably dilated even farther than the 4 cm of the week before. For several nights I had gone to bed fearing that I would go into labor in the middle of the night and that we would not make it to the hospital in time. (Not only was I starting at 4+, but I go quickly.) On Tuesday I told Taylor that if I was indeed dilated more, I would like to discuss induction with the doctor. Wanting to be in on that discussion, Taylor came with me (we left Blaine with our friends Lori and Wes). And the verdict? Dilated 5 centimeters. FIVE CENTIMETERS! I told the doctor about my concerns and that I thought I ought to be induced and he agreed. "I don't want to pressure you," he said. "But I would feel really bad if I sent you home today and then found out later that you had your baby in the car." Then came the crazy part. He called over to the hospital and they had a bed so he said we could go right over and have the baby. It was such a bizarre feeling, and rather anti-climactic in a way. Taylor drove home to pick up our things and I marched myself up to labor and delivery.

Me: "Hi. I'm here to have a baby."

Nurse: "Are you the woman who's dilated to a five??!!"

And so she showed me to my room. Here's what I loved about being induced: feeling in control! I took time to fold up my clothes before putting on my gown. I even washed my feet because one of my serious flaws is that I have had stinky feet ever since my mission and what doctor wants to smell those awful feet when delivering a baby? Then I sat on my bed and looked out the window at an incredible view of the blue sky and snowy rocky mountains. I love Utah, by the way. As I waited for the nurse to come in I decided this would be a good time to say a little prayer. So I just looked out the window at those beautiful mountains and told Heavenly Father my thankfuls. Thankful for my health and that I could have another baby. Thankful for my body which had been laboring effortlessly for weeks. Thankful for my husband. Thankful that I had time for an epidural. Thankful that I felt so emotionally in control (I'm a bit of a control freak, you know). Thankful that I had time to put make-up on that morning (ah, vanity). Thankful that Blaine was safe and sound and infinitely happy with his favorite friend, Lucy, and her mother, Lori, who Blaine loves more than just about anyone. It was a fun moment to reflect and be grateful.


Enter Judy, my nurse. She is sweet as honey. She started getting me prepped and as she was asking me all the standard "any medication allergies?"-type questions, she kept apologizing for having to be so impersonal. CUTE.


Then Taylor arrived. He pulled out his laptop and began Wikipedia-ing March 4th--you know, to discover what important things happened on that day in history. There he read, "Marth 4th is the only day of the year that is also a command--MARCH FORTH." "I love it!" I exclaimed.


Next guest: Matt, the anesthesiologist. Dear Matt, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love that you looked a bit like my brother, the anesthesiologist. I love the way you explained everything you were doing, exactly what it would feel like, etc. And most of all I love the way my delivery went because of your magical drugs. Love, me.

At 1 p.m. the doctor came over and broke my water. (Have you ever seen one of those amni-hooks? It's essentially a tiny crochet hook.) And I was in labor. For the first 30 minutes I wasn't doing much, but then they put me on a bit of pitocin and we were in business. The contractions picked up and on the monitor the nurse noticed that the baby was having little variables in his heart rate during contractions so she had me turn on my side and put an oxygen mask on me. (That plus an IV, an epidural in the back, being cathed, and having a baby monitor on, is probably why so many of my friends and family members opt for a home birth. But I gotta tell ya--I love it. I really like the security I feel delivering in the hospital.) Judy checked me and I was a 7. Only minutes later I could feel that it was almost time for baby. Here's what I loved about my epidural: I could feel the pressure of the contractions and the baby moving down, but not the pain. Judy had to go help the woman next door deliver, so Jeannie came in. Looking at the computer she said, "It looks like Judy just checked you and you were at 7." Checking me she said, "Whoa--you're not at 7 anymore. The baby's right here." So she called the doctor and started prepping for the baby. Out the window Taylor watched the doctor running over from his office. I pushed about 6 times and there he was. The doctor gave him to me immediately. I love those rush-of-emotion moments in life. I just kind of laughed and cried as I held this sweet, warm, brand new little babe. It was heaven.
So yes. Less than 2 hours. Pretty fabulous. And no cuts, and essentially no tearing. Which is one of the reasons I'm as in love with my OB as I am with the epidural man.
The rest of the day was spent teaching the babe to nurse, snuggling with him, and receiving visitors. Danielle was the first. She came bearing fruit tarts and cinnamon bread. Smart girl. Beloved friend. Later we had a surprise visit from Aunt Sherri and...Grandma Tillie! That was a real treat. And that evening Lori, Wes, Lucy, and Blaine arrived. Lori made me unbelievably delish chocolate cake and Blaine made me and the baby a card. Melt.
Taylor and Blaine went home that night and I hung out in the hospital with the baby and CNN. Hillary took Ohio and Texas. McCain took the nomination. (I thought that might be an interesting historical bit for my son to know.) By the next morning I was ready to go home. The after part is the part that makes home birth appealing. Spare me being woken up at 3 a.m. to take my blood pressure and give me a break from all that paperwork. I just wanted to get out of that gown, out of that bed, and on with my life! (Note: the after part after an episiotomy is so painful that it was a different story with Blaine. I felt like a MILLION BUCKS this time. It has been an enormously different (better) experience this time.) Finally that evening they had finished testing his ears and pricking his heal, and they let us go home. And finally by that evening we had chosen his name. He is named after my father, Roger, and his middle name is also a family name. James Lake, one of my ancestors, helped build the Kirtland LDS temple. Kirtland is where I served much of my mission, so that connection was particularly meaningful to me.

Now we are in the throes of night shifts, sore boosies, a goopy eye, post-partum cramping, and figuring out how to give equal time to both of my children (I have children. Plural. Whoa.). If you know anything about the first several months after Blaine was born, you know that nursing was a huge struggle, I was in a lot of pain, my baby was quite fussy, and quite frankly, I was an emotional mess who wasn't sure why she'd signed up for this. This time everything is better. EVERYTHING. I feel so blessed that things are going more smoothly and that I am so genuinely happy to be a mother of two. And so we are marching forth.

Happy Birthday!

Here's our new little friend. I'll let Anne fill in all the details later, but for now I'll just say that the delivery went very quickly and very smoothly and Anne and the little guy are doing exceptionally well. We're still settling on a name, but we'll let you know soon. He weighed 8 lbs. and was 20.5 inches long. Blaine thinks he's really cute.