This actually isn't very funny, but I have to pretend or my head might just freakin' explode!
Someone thinks my husband has forced me to have "all these kids" against my will.
That someone also thinks my husband picked our current location to keep me "hidden away".
Said insane person also thinks we don't have enough food at our house.
This clearly-needs-to-be-institutionalized person has said the following to my face in the past:
A few weeks before my wedding: "You know, you don't have to get married."
Upon hearing the announcement of our fourth pregnancy: "I know you'd never get an abortion, but tell me the truth. Is he making you have these babies?"
(Some of you have probably already guessed this, but said person struggles with issues of loved ones always leaving/being stolen away. And, lucky me, I'm one of those loved ones.)
My problem is this. When I write it all in one spot, the amount of crazy is quite apparent. But 95% of the time, this person is a normal human. Also, a human who wants to spend time with my family... when my husband isn't around of course.
In my dream scenario, I'd love to tell this person that I know they think/have said all of this, that they are ctazy and wrong and deeply hurtful.
But this person is fragile that I could never actually do that.
Ugh, but maybe I just need to.
Thoughts?
Wednesday, February 01, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
I Know
I had my six week postpartum check-up yesterday. I'm healed up just fine, says my doctor.
She asked how we've been adjusting to adding our fifth child to our home.
"Well, there's definitely more to do but we're just trying to take things easy."
A lot of people tell me I seem very calm and laid-back, especially for a mom who is carting around her own basketball team.
The thing is, I'm not. But none of us are. But maybe this is why I seem to be:
I know that, for at least a good long while, my dishes will never all be clean at the same time.
I know that no matter how hard we try, we won't get out of the door on time very often.
I know that the second we walk through the doors at church, I'll only then realize that someone's face is covered with jelly and someone else is wearing a shirt 2 sizes too small.
I know that my day will be one long song of diaper changes, discipline and dishes... on repeat.
I know that when I want the day to end, it will drag. And when I need more time, the day will be done before I can blink.
I know I'll never pee alone again for at least five years.
I know that some days I'll want to just throw in the towel. And many days I will.
And because I know all of this, I won't let myself be surprised by it. Not too often anyway....
And when I am, we'll probably hop in the car, drive to Starbucks for some cakepops and sing along with the radio cranked up, dancing in our seats until the people in the cars next to us join in.
At least that's what we did today.
She asked how we've been adjusting to adding our fifth child to our home.
"Well, there's definitely more to do but we're just trying to take things easy."
A lot of people tell me I seem very calm and laid-back, especially for a mom who is carting around her own basketball team.
The thing is, I'm not. But none of us are. But maybe this is why I seem to be:
I know that, for at least a good long while, my dishes will never all be clean at the same time.
I know that no matter how hard we try, we won't get out of the door on time very often.
I know that the second we walk through the doors at church, I'll only then realize that someone's face is covered with jelly and someone else is wearing a shirt 2 sizes too small.
I know that my day will be one long song of diaper changes, discipline and dishes... on repeat.
I know that when I want the day to end, it will drag. And when I need more time, the day will be done before I can blink.
I know I'll never pee alone again for at least five years.
I know that some days I'll want to just throw in the towel. And many days I will.
And because I know all of this, I won't let myself be surprised by it. Not too often anyway....
And when I am, we'll probably hop in the car, drive to Starbucks for some cakepops and sing along with the radio cranked up, dancing in our seats until the people in the cars next to us join in.
At least that's what we did today.
Friday, December 30, 2011
To My Baby
Dear Darling Baby Boy,
You've been out of my tummy and with us face-to-face for almost four weeks now. And other than your birth story, I haven't written a thing about you. Some might guess it's because I'm so busy with you. Newborns keep people busy, right? Well, not you, my sweet. You just keep me happy.
People ask how we're all doing with a new baby in the house. I tell them you must have known you are a fifth child because you are so easy. (Kind of like how you knew you'd be born in December so you came prepared with your very own blond man sweater.) They just remind me that maybe you seem so easy because I've had a little experience with babies before you came along. But I really do think you are the world's easiest baby.
I want to write down how very much I love you and how you make me feel like all is right and how I can see the work of God every time I look at you. I don't have the words to do my feelings for you any justice though.
Know that you are perfection and cherished and adored, my wonderful, gorgeous child.
Know that I cannot imagine my life without you.
More love than a heart can hold,
your Mama
You've been out of my tummy and with us face-to-face for almost four weeks now. And other than your birth story, I haven't written a thing about you. Some might guess it's because I'm so busy with you. Newborns keep people busy, right? Well, not you, my sweet. You just keep me happy.
People ask how we're all doing with a new baby in the house. I tell them you must have known you are a fifth child because you are so easy. (Kind of like how you knew you'd be born in December so you came prepared with your very own blond man sweater.) They just remind me that maybe you seem so easy because I've had a little experience with babies before you came along. But I really do think you are the world's easiest baby.
I want to write down how very much I love you and how you make me feel like all is right and how I can see the work of God every time I look at you. I don't have the words to do my feelings for you any justice though.
Know that you are perfection and cherished and adored, my wonderful, gorgeous child.
Know that I cannot imagine my life without you.
More love than a heart can hold,
your Mama
Monday, December 19, 2011
His Story
(This is a long one but I don't want to forget a single detail.)
Sundays are probably my favorite day of the week. The weekdays are busy with school and work. Saturdays are usually full of errands, visiting with my in-laws and all the odds and ends of to-do lists that were neglected throughout the week.
But Sundays are awesome. We usually start off with a nice breakfast. If I make it, it's scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, sausage and fruit. If Mr. O makes it, we're treated to a huge tray of orange rolls. The boys head off to an hour of Sunday School and then come back home. Then comes the part that might not sound fun to you, but we love it. We clean our house from top to bottom. I usually take care of the kitchen and fold laundry. The kids clean their rooms, put away their clothes and clean up the family room and school room. Mr. O does everything else. I'm talking bathrooms, vacuuming, laundry, mopping.
But we love it. We're together. There is no rush. We take our time as well as plenty of breaks. It's a quiet, slow day and, most importantly, we're all together.
So it seems perfect that it was on a Sunday that I labored at home with my fifth baby.
I didn't feel any different this Sunday. I'd felt like I could go any minute for over a week so my antsy mood that morning didn't clue me in to what the afternoon held. I took the boys to Sunday School and a man I've never met stopped me on my way out.
"When are you due?"
I told him the truth. "Yesterday."
He wished me luck and I drove home with a smile on my face, thinking of his kind words.
The time to pick the boys up rolled around and I just knew I didn't feel right so I asked Mr. Ordinary to get them for me.
By the time he got back, he found Sunshine and I in the bathtub. I told him I'd been feeling some tightness and he asked if this was "it". I said I hoped it was but couldn't be sure since I had thought so many other days had been "it". I hadn't had a contraction in awhile so he suggested I get out since maybe the bath was stalling things. I climbed out and as he handed me a towel I had a definite contraction. I held onto Mr. O and swayed my hips. It was a short one, less than a minute, and pretty tame. I figured if this was "it", the baby wouldn't be here for a long time.
I got dressed, making sure to pick nice undergarments since strangers were pretty likely to see them. I'm weird, I know. The whole getting dressed thing kinda wore me out, so I laid down on the bed and tried to take a little nap. I was woken up 2 or 3 times with still pretty tame contractions. They were about 20 minutes apart. Mr. O encouraged me to get up and moving a little bit to see if we could get the show on the road a little bit.
In the next few hours, I helped the boys decorate the Christmas tree, did some dishes, wiped down the kitchen, decorated the mantle for Christmas, finished packing my hospital bag and (here comes the weirdness again) blowdried and flat ironed my hair. I didn't want to go into the hospital looking like a mess!
And all the while I was having contractions and they kept getting closer together but never got too intense. Whatever I was doing, when I felt one coming on I'd call Mr. O. He'd stop whatever cleaning he was doing, come to me and rub my back while I swayed my hips through it. I leaned on the kitchen counter, the bed, the stair rail or just hung onto Mr. O's shoulders. When it was done he'd tell me what a good job I was doing and then we'd each head back to whatever it was we were doing before. It was perfect.
I usually seperated my hair into 4 sections when I'm straightening it. But this time I made smaller sections based on what I thought I could get through before the next contraction. I could feel one coming on and I told myself, "I can keep doing my hair throught this. I'm tough." I tried to block it out and get that last little section done but I had to take a second to breathe through it. I finished up when the contraction was over.
The time came when Mr. O walks the dog. My contractions were about ten minutes apart and he waited until one ended and ran out with the dog, telling me he;d be back before the next one started. Well, wouldn't you know it, I had one right then and there while I was trying to make my bed. I leaned on the footboard of the bed, determined to get through it so I could finish putting on the clean sheets. This one was so much more intense. I went to my knees and said to myself, "OK, it's time to go to the hospital." I kept telling myself that over and over, but my body couldn't move. As soon as the contraction let go, I hustled down the stairs and into the garage.
I opened the garage door just as Mr. O was coming back with the dog. I handed him my cell phone and told him to call his parents to come over and stay with our four kids who were happily playing in the basement, completely unaware of what was going on upstairs. My in-laws live about 8 minutes from our house but it seemed to take them forever to make that trip. During the wait, I held onto the bull bar on the front of my husbands Jeep and had a couple more whopper contractions right there in front of the neighbors. I was quiet, but they could tell what was going on. One called over to make sure everything was OK and I managed to give them a thumbs-up and a smile.
We got in the car and waited in the street until Mr. O's parents' car was in sight down the block. Then we headed off for the hospital. It was raining and traffic was a little bit heavy for almost five o'clock on a Sunday. I thought about worrying about all of that for a split-second, but then realized worrying about something that is out of my control doesn't make much sense. So I didn't. Instead, I just let my mind go blank, breathed through the three contractions as they came and listened to Pumped Up Kicks on the radio.
Mr. O handed off the keys to the hospital valet guy and off we went into the lobby. A contraction hit as we waited for the elevator. When the doors opened, I waddled in and grabbed the handrail and breathed. It still wasn't over when we reached our floor, but I couldn't move until it was over. Mr. O held the door and waited for me.
We walked up to the nurses' desk and I told them I was in labor. They asked me to go into a triage room to be evaluated. I told them it wouldn't be long and they gave that "Oh they all say that smile" and kept up a snail's pace anyway. I sat on the bed and answered as many of thei questions as I could, all the while reminding them that the baby was coming fast, before I asked, "Can somebody please take off my pants? I need to push." That got their attention.
A nurse and Mr. O ripped my pants off and another nurse checked me. I asked how dilated I was and she said, "Well, I'm trying to find your cervix. Wow. You're about 9 and a half, just a little lip on the left or you'd be ten. Let's get you a room." I wanted to scream I TOLD YOU SO! but I was too busy pushing while trying to not look like I was pushing. You see, the doctor wasn't there yet and I dind't want to be told to wait for the doctor. Mr. O caught on to my antics and asked me if I was pushing. I said, "I don't know" because I didn't want to say yes. I'm so sneaky.
They asked if I wanted to walk to the room or ride in a wheelchair. I asked if they could just push the bed, which they did. There was no way I'd be able to get myself into a chair at that point. We got to the room and I waited until my body told me I could move from one bed to the other. Another nurse checked me and said my bag of water was all that was keeping me pregnant. I asked them to pop it and they said the doctor would. Just like that, the doctor walked in. My water broke by itself, but only a little. The doctor helped it break the rest of the way. The contractions were hot and heavy and I was laying on my side, blowing raspberries, sweating like crazy and staring at the treeline glowing in a sunset out the window. And blowing raspberries? It felt soooo good! The nurse said, "Just do whatever you need to do, whatever feels right." The raspberries felt SO right.
And then I pushed. The doctor told me the baby was presenting chin first. She said when a baby is coming like this it's very difficult to deliver vaginally. Visions of C-Sections flashed in my head, and while I'd do whatever the baby needed to be born safely, I dreaded the thought of the time it'd take to prep me. I became even more determined to push the baby out. The doctor told me she'd try to reposition the baby manually while I pushed. And it worked. In just a few short pushes, out came my fifth child and fourth son.
They said I only managed a vaginal birth because I had pushed out babies before and was able to give slow, short controlled pushes. I was so happy it was over and everything had went fine.
All this happened only 28 minutes after I'd walked up to the nurses' desk.
Within an hour, we were sure what his name should be. And a couple of hours later, we shared it along with the news of his arrival and his very first picture with our families.
He was my second smallest baby. And he most definitely had the most hair, black and silky with a nice wave to it. The labor couldn't have been more ideal. And that sweet baby couldn't have been more perfect.
He is an absolute dream. So quiet and calm and wonderful. It's like he knows he's the fifth baby and decided to be extra easy and sweet for me.
And now we've had him here for awhile and he fits right in with our family. His brothers and sister adore him, rushing to look at his face first thing every morning, begging to help burp him and bring diapers for changes.
We all love him so much and I cannot even think of the words to describe how thankful we are for our sweet new boy.
Sundays are probably my favorite day of the week. The weekdays are busy with school and work. Saturdays are usually full of errands, visiting with my in-laws and all the odds and ends of to-do lists that were neglected throughout the week.
But Sundays are awesome. We usually start off with a nice breakfast. If I make it, it's scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, sausage and fruit. If Mr. O makes it, we're treated to a huge tray of orange rolls. The boys head off to an hour of Sunday School and then come back home. Then comes the part that might not sound fun to you, but we love it. We clean our house from top to bottom. I usually take care of the kitchen and fold laundry. The kids clean their rooms, put away their clothes and clean up the family room and school room. Mr. O does everything else. I'm talking bathrooms, vacuuming, laundry, mopping.
But we love it. We're together. There is no rush. We take our time as well as plenty of breaks. It's a quiet, slow day and, most importantly, we're all together.
So it seems perfect that it was on a Sunday that I labored at home with my fifth baby.
I didn't feel any different this Sunday. I'd felt like I could go any minute for over a week so my antsy mood that morning didn't clue me in to what the afternoon held. I took the boys to Sunday School and a man I've never met stopped me on my way out.
"When are you due?"
I told him the truth. "Yesterday."
He wished me luck and I drove home with a smile on my face, thinking of his kind words.
The time to pick the boys up rolled around and I just knew I didn't feel right so I asked Mr. Ordinary to get them for me.
By the time he got back, he found Sunshine and I in the bathtub. I told him I'd been feeling some tightness and he asked if this was "it". I said I hoped it was but couldn't be sure since I had thought so many other days had been "it". I hadn't had a contraction in awhile so he suggested I get out since maybe the bath was stalling things. I climbed out and as he handed me a towel I had a definite contraction. I held onto Mr. O and swayed my hips. It was a short one, less than a minute, and pretty tame. I figured if this was "it", the baby wouldn't be here for a long time.
I got dressed, making sure to pick nice undergarments since strangers were pretty likely to see them. I'm weird, I know. The whole getting dressed thing kinda wore me out, so I laid down on the bed and tried to take a little nap. I was woken up 2 or 3 times with still pretty tame contractions. They were about 20 minutes apart. Mr. O encouraged me to get up and moving a little bit to see if we could get the show on the road a little bit.
In the next few hours, I helped the boys decorate the Christmas tree, did some dishes, wiped down the kitchen, decorated the mantle for Christmas, finished packing my hospital bag and (here comes the weirdness again) blowdried and flat ironed my hair. I didn't want to go into the hospital looking like a mess!
And all the while I was having contractions and they kept getting closer together but never got too intense. Whatever I was doing, when I felt one coming on I'd call Mr. O. He'd stop whatever cleaning he was doing, come to me and rub my back while I swayed my hips through it. I leaned on the kitchen counter, the bed, the stair rail or just hung onto Mr. O's shoulders. When it was done he'd tell me what a good job I was doing and then we'd each head back to whatever it was we were doing before. It was perfect.
I usually seperated my hair into 4 sections when I'm straightening it. But this time I made smaller sections based on what I thought I could get through before the next contraction. I could feel one coming on and I told myself, "I can keep doing my hair throught this. I'm tough." I tried to block it out and get that last little section done but I had to take a second to breathe through it. I finished up when the contraction was over.
The time came when Mr. O walks the dog. My contractions were about ten minutes apart and he waited until one ended and ran out with the dog, telling me he;d be back before the next one started. Well, wouldn't you know it, I had one right then and there while I was trying to make my bed. I leaned on the footboard of the bed, determined to get through it so I could finish putting on the clean sheets. This one was so much more intense. I went to my knees and said to myself, "OK, it's time to go to the hospital." I kept telling myself that over and over, but my body couldn't move. As soon as the contraction let go, I hustled down the stairs and into the garage.
I opened the garage door just as Mr. O was coming back with the dog. I handed him my cell phone and told him to call his parents to come over and stay with our four kids who were happily playing in the basement, completely unaware of what was going on upstairs. My in-laws live about 8 minutes from our house but it seemed to take them forever to make that trip. During the wait, I held onto the bull bar on the front of my husbands Jeep and had a couple more whopper contractions right there in front of the neighbors. I was quiet, but they could tell what was going on. One called over to make sure everything was OK and I managed to give them a thumbs-up and a smile.
We got in the car and waited in the street until Mr. O's parents' car was in sight down the block. Then we headed off for the hospital. It was raining and traffic was a little bit heavy for almost five o'clock on a Sunday. I thought about worrying about all of that for a split-second, but then realized worrying about something that is out of my control doesn't make much sense. So I didn't. Instead, I just let my mind go blank, breathed through the three contractions as they came and listened to Pumped Up Kicks on the radio.
Mr. O handed off the keys to the hospital valet guy and off we went into the lobby. A contraction hit as we waited for the elevator. When the doors opened, I waddled in and grabbed the handrail and breathed. It still wasn't over when we reached our floor, but I couldn't move until it was over. Mr. O held the door and waited for me.
We walked up to the nurses' desk and I told them I was in labor. They asked me to go into a triage room to be evaluated. I told them it wouldn't be long and they gave that "Oh they all say that smile" and kept up a snail's pace anyway. I sat on the bed and answered as many of thei questions as I could, all the while reminding them that the baby was coming fast, before I asked, "Can somebody please take off my pants? I need to push." That got their attention.
A nurse and Mr. O ripped my pants off and another nurse checked me. I asked how dilated I was and she said, "Well, I'm trying to find your cervix. Wow. You're about 9 and a half, just a little lip on the left or you'd be ten. Let's get you a room." I wanted to scream I TOLD YOU SO! but I was too busy pushing while trying to not look like I was pushing. You see, the doctor wasn't there yet and I dind't want to be told to wait for the doctor. Mr. O caught on to my antics and asked me if I was pushing. I said, "I don't know" because I didn't want to say yes. I'm so sneaky.
They asked if I wanted to walk to the room or ride in a wheelchair. I asked if they could just push the bed, which they did. There was no way I'd be able to get myself into a chair at that point. We got to the room and I waited until my body told me I could move from one bed to the other. Another nurse checked me and said my bag of water was all that was keeping me pregnant. I asked them to pop it and they said the doctor would. Just like that, the doctor walked in. My water broke by itself, but only a little. The doctor helped it break the rest of the way. The contractions were hot and heavy and I was laying on my side, blowing raspberries, sweating like crazy and staring at the treeline glowing in a sunset out the window. And blowing raspberries? It felt soooo good! The nurse said, "Just do whatever you need to do, whatever feels right." The raspberries felt SO right.
And then I pushed. The doctor told me the baby was presenting chin first. She said when a baby is coming like this it's very difficult to deliver vaginally. Visions of C-Sections flashed in my head, and while I'd do whatever the baby needed to be born safely, I dreaded the thought of the time it'd take to prep me. I became even more determined to push the baby out. The doctor told me she'd try to reposition the baby manually while I pushed. And it worked. In just a few short pushes, out came my fifth child and fourth son.
They said I only managed a vaginal birth because I had pushed out babies before and was able to give slow, short controlled pushes. I was so happy it was over and everything had went fine.
All this happened only 28 minutes after I'd walked up to the nurses' desk.
Within an hour, we were sure what his name should be. And a couple of hours later, we shared it along with the news of his arrival and his very first picture with our families.
He was my second smallest baby. And he most definitely had the most hair, black and silky with a nice wave to it. The labor couldn't have been more ideal. And that sweet baby couldn't have been more perfect.
He is an absolute dream. So quiet and calm and wonderful. It's like he knows he's the fifth baby and decided to be extra easy and sweet for me.
And now we've had him here for awhile and he fits right in with our family. His brothers and sister adore him, rushing to look at his face first thing every morning, begging to help burp him and bring diapers for changes.
We all love him so much and I cannot even think of the words to describe how thankful we are for our sweet new boy.
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