Self-Care, Flamingos, and The Art of Getting Pink

 About a year ago I started seeing this TikTok trend of moms "getting their pink back" and showing a before and after transformation. The before was usually an unhappy, tired, unhealthy version of themselves and the after was a vibrant, thriving woman. The tagline refers to the phenomenon of flamingo parents losing their vibrant pink color while they raise their babies because so much of the carotenoids in their diet that gives them their color is given to their chicks, and so their plumage turns a dull gray. Once the chicks are older and require less care, the flamingo parents "get their pink back" again. 

I am just here to say: I see you, mama flamingo. I probably AM you. And the odd thing is, even though I consider myself extremely self-aware, I am just starting to notice what pink feels like again. Over the last year(ish) of my life I have traipsed an erratic, frustrating, agonizingly slow movement to take better care of myself. It all started with seemingly routine bloodwork 2 years ago, and it spiraled from there, mostly against my will. To be honest, if my friend hadn't made a call to his PCP pretending he was my assistant and made the first appointment for me, I'd probably still be napping on the couch. 

It turns out that I had iron deficiency anemia, and I probably had it for years. I am a mother of 3, and I was anemic in pregnancy number two, and I doubt it actually ever came up to acceptable levels before the third little parasite started taking her share. On this side of things it is absurd to me that it never crossed my mind that something was wrong. I just thought "this is motherhood". 

I'm tired because I don't get enough sleep. I haven't watched TV in a year because my eyes close as soon as I sit down, I love naps so this is normal. The kids wear me out; they're loud and fast and they take all of my energy. I have headaches because I need caffeine, or because there's particulate matter in the air, or it's another hormonal migraine. I'm out of breath climbing the stairs because I'm out of shape, I'm a lazy mom who can't even manage a 20 min workout. I fall asleep immediately at bedtime but have trouble sleeping through the night, it must be because I keep stealing naps during the day. I have heart palpitations, that's just a sign of getting old, there's a family history of heart disease. I'm always craving ice water, it's so delicious and refreshing! My hair is falling out in clumps, this shampoo is terrible, I need to spend money on the good stuff. Why are other moms always planning weekend activities to do with their kids!? They are so annoyingly extra, I hate that for them, there's nothing I'd rather be doing on the weekend than napping while the kids have unlimited screentime. My husband is always trying to plan something, he wants to go camping, or float down the river, or invite people over. He just doesn't get how much work everything is! It's never worth the extra work! Why does my out of town family plan something every month? Can't they get that making the 2.5 hour drive is impossible for me? Don't they understand how many times I've almost killed my family by falling asleep on the road? What is WRONG with everybody! 

I'm ashamed to say that all these thoughts, and many other ridiculous ones, were a constant internal monologue. I literally believed all those, I even believed I was depressed but good at hiding it, before I realized that there was a fundamental amount of a certain mineral almost missing completely from my body. There were other bad things too; my triglycerides were high because I couldn't find the will to cook at home most evenings, so we ate out a lot. My A1C was also high. My Vitamin D was low (still working on that one), and honestly there was a slew of other things that feel like too much to list. 

It took about a year of tiny changes and gross vitamins to get things going in the right direction. Birth control to stop my periods and preserve the tiny amount of iron I had left in me from sloshing down the toilet. More attention to what I was eating. Prioritizing long stretches of sleep above phone scrolling. As I write this out I'm thinking this probably would not have taken 2 years if I wasn't so terrible at doing the things. 

I wanted to wait on this post until after I felt fully pink, but I'm coming to the realization that becoming pink is sort of like an uphill hike that ends only when you die. I actually wanted to sit here and vent about the mediocrities of the American healthcare system; the only less efficient machine that that is navigating our political one. Okay maybe we do have time for one tiny rant. 

WHY DOES IT TAKE SO MANY APPOINTMENTS TO GET TO WHERE I NEED TO BE? 

In 2024 the bulk of my medical care happened between October and December. I wish I could say it just happened by chance but it really happened because I procrastinate things and the end of the year was at hand. Do you know how many damn appointments I had to keep just to maintain things?! Let me pull up this calendar: 

1. Routine yearly PCP visit
2. Follow-up appointment just to get blood drawn
3. Secondary appointment just to get a sonogram (I have a hearnia that needs fixing)
4. Tertiary appointment to go over blood work results and be prescribed necessary vitamins. 
5. Biannual dental visit for a cleaning (I floss, go me) 
6. Dental follow up #1 to re-do a very old filling (preventive maintenance) 
7. Dental follow up #2 to re-do a very old filling (on the other side of the mouth) 
8. Yearly OB visit for a pap smear and to get another year's worth of BC
9. First ever visit to a dermatologist to see why tf I'm balding? 
10. Initial visit to a general surgeon to talk about the hernia he's supposed to fix

And you know what the annoying part is? I don't get to just come and go as I please. I need to schedule each of these at a time school can care for the older 2 children and a relative can care for the youngest. I have to take time off work, drop off my child, go see Dr. Whatever, go pick up the child, come home, get her fed, and then begin working again. Ten freaking times. It's honestly no wonder I went so many years in that state, it's exhausting to do even at this better stage of health. 

That's enough. I think I should end this in a positive note. I'm sitting here reflecting on how different my body feels; 20 pounds lighter, more alert, willing to host a party any time, planning exciting things with my family. This past weekend I did something I had not done in years: I asked my family if we could get together and have a BBQ just so the cousins could spend the day playing. I woke up, packed up the car, drove my kids there, helped prepare lots of food, sort of helped clean up, packed up everyone again, and drove us home. My eyes never closed of their own accord, I did not need an energy drink, and I did not come home angry at how exhausted and overwhelmed I was. I did not mourn the loss of my lazy Saturday nap. I just felt... capable. 

As slow as this process is going, I don't know when (or if) I'll ever be able to make a fun before and after socials post, but I am grateful and proud of the small changes that have gotten me to the present; maybe a soft bubblegum pink color. 

Sincerely, 

A mom striving for the vibrant coral of a young unmarried flamingo. 

Warning: System Engine Failure

Failure. I think I'd be hard pressed to find a single adult on Earth who hasn't felt like a failure at one point or another. Failure is that awful, defeated feeling you get when you crawl into bed at the end of the day and go "well so much for that" or "I never want to live through that again" or "how can I numb my thoughts?". 

And the thing is that I know (like, I know-know) that I wasn't a complete failure. I know how hard I am working. I know I've had periods of stagnation in my life, and this is definitely not one of them. I know how much I am capable of and I know I have skimmed the upper limits of it lately, and yet that useless feeling lingers. 

It can go like this sometimes: 

You force your burning eyes open and drag yourself out of bed at 6:15 am, hold on to to the banister for dear life, and make a bottle of formula for your crying baby. You race against time and take the 30 seconds it's warming to remove 7 items from the dishwasher and put them away. You take the long way around the kitchen to let the dog outside. You pause for 5 seconds in the living room and pick up discarded clothing items from the day before. You climb back up, turn on the hallway light so your older children will start waking, and go comfort the crying baby. You change a diaper, sit her across your lap, feed her the bottle with one hand and check your email with another. 

It has become a game, this life. It has become a vital game to see how much productivity you are able to squeeze out of every 30-second increment of your life, so that by the end of the day, you won't have failed completely. 

After feeding, you take 30 more seconds to both burp her and hold her close, and you take a few deep breaths of her sweet newborn baby scent, and you soak it up like life points. Then you set her down, change her out of sleeping clothes, and go rouse the boys. And oh yay! They are already awake! That skims a few minutes off of the morning routine. You send the oldest to use the bathroom and brush his teeth, go into their closet and pull out outfits for both. You rush back to your bedroom, pause to find baby's pacifier, and head into the closet to change. Sports bra, t-shirt, leggings, sandals, hair tie. Do you have a minute to brush your teeth? Not today. Oldest is out of the restroom and youngest is potty training, so he needs your help to get in there quickly before tragedy strikes. Luckily you began using the bathroom after the 3am baby feeding, so bladder is relatively empty at this hour. 

Now the rush begins. Re-direct 7 year old over and over until he is dressed. Beg, coerce, and bribe 3 year old to use the potty. Fight over who gets toothpaste on their toothbrush first. Find a comb. Grab a child. Hate yourself because he's been asking for a haircut for 2 weeks and you just.cant.find.the.time. Send everybody downstairs. Grab baby, grab discarded empty bottles, grab cellphone, grab burp cloth, grab blanket. Moms have incredible grip strength, by the way. 

Find children playing downstairs. Shout the need for shoes. Find car key. Find car seat. Find shoes for everybody. Help 3 year old with shoes. Help 7 year old with homework folder. Make a round of turning off all the lights that somehow turned on within the last 5 minutes. Pick up baby. Feel wetness on baby's back. Ugh. Let go of the multiple random objects you were holding, set baby down, and change a blowout. Do it quickly. She's cold. Boys are hyper. There's already too much noise. Find whatever clothes happen to be downstairs to dress her in. Baby in car seat? Check. Toddler has shoes? Check. 7 year old has backpack? Check. Did we do homework last night? Nobody can remember, so we'll do double tonight. 

And now climb in car. Open door 1, let toddler in. Open door 2, put the key in the ignition. Walk around and open door 3, put infant car seat in. Be thankful the oldest can get in on his own and latch his seatbelt. Success! You made it to school early-on-time. Wish him a good day, and instead of driving home, drive to a clothes donation station because those bags can't remain in the trunk of the car any longer. 

Rush home, feed toddler, and caffeinate yourself. Make baby comfortable on play mat, let dog inside, clean up more random dishes in the kitchen, and pull out ingredients for crock pot carnitas. Wash some more dishes, and wonder if the rash on the back of your hands will ever go away. 

Now it's time to clock in and begin working! And baby is a little hungry, a little uncomfortable, a little lonely, and it's a little too loud for her to rest. You're also a little too busy to interact with your toddler. You're a little too late in replying to emails, messages, requests for help. You have 15 tabs open on the desktop. That is no longer enough, so you have 5 tabs open on your laptop at the kitchen table, so you can work while you sit next to your toddler and lie to yourself and say you "spend time with him in the morning". No you don't. You know you don't. You just glance over and make eye contact and agree to what he says whenever he says MOM MOM MOM too many times in a row. 

35 emails and 3 zoom meetings later, you realize your kids have been asking for food for too long. You neglected to take your toddler to the bathroom hours earlier, so now he tells you he's pooped his underwear. You want to get upset. You tell him he needs to poop in the toilet. But it's really your fault. You were about to stand up 2 hours ago to take him, but a message came in and you sat back down to answer it instead. 

You don't have time for a meal. Your toddler eats cookies. You eat chips and guacamole, and you keep pushing. Your breaks are getting to sit in the living room while you feed your baby. You run to the garage to switch the laundry over before the last meeting of the day. You hand your toddler the iPad, turn off the tv, and open Zoom for the last time. You turn off your camera at random intervals so you can get up and put the pacifier back in your baby's mouth, because you didn't get a chance to rock her to sleep and she's a bit neglected. 

And even though the day just started, it's now school pick-up time. Desktop to sleep. Laptop to sleep. Mouse off. Dog inside. Baby in car seat. Shoes on toddler. Sunglasses on head. Key in hand. Car seat on arm. Lights off all around. And this is your big break. You ALWAYS arrive 40 minutes early for school pickup. It eases your anxiety about not getting there in time, and gives you a break from work because there is only so much that can get done from a cellphone. Triple bonus because sometimes the toddler and the baby fall asleep in the car, and there is nothing like car naps and car silence. 

You recognize that at least there is this. At least there has never been a day when your son is wondering where you are. At least you have been a constant at the end of the sidewalk. Rain or shine or 9 months pregnant, at least there is this. Your outstretched hand and your listening ear when the first grade boy says "mom! I did good today!". 

So back in the car you go. Seat belts on, music on low, off you go to piano class. But wait. You ALWAYS bring him an after-school snack, but today you forgot! A quick pit stop home for a water bottle and whatever cookies the toddler did not get his hands on. 

Piano drop off is done, and thankfully dad can take it from here today. You text him the pickup time anyway, just so he's aware, like he's been aware the last 8 times. Come home, turn tv back on, and don't disturb baby because she loves sleeping in the car seat and that's just what works for everybody at this hour. Answer more emails. Start thinking that "hey, maybe that's enough progress for today, maybe this can wait until tomorrow" Open the clock-out page, and then hear the ping of a Google Meet invite. Just kidding with the clock-out page. 

Dad and son arrive, and invite you to grandmas house because grandpa needs help. You had said yes earlier, but it turns out you could use the quiet hour to be productive. It's funny. You took 2 months off work to recover and bond with your newborn baby, but now there's a mess created by your absence, and now you get to both fail at work and fail at motherhood all at once. Let's not even mention marriage. 

Guess what? Nobody had time for dinner. Homework took too long. Toddler had another accident. Dad had random calls to make. Baby felt neglected. You were needed everywhere. Everybody who ate did so in a hurry and standing or walking around. Somehow it was already past bedtime, and everyone still needed a shower. Rush to wake, rush to bed, rush rush rush. 

With any hope I will be less of a failure tomorrow. 

2022 Resolutions, Plans, and Let's See Where Life Takes Us

I was deleting clutter from my phone's pictures during the odd limbo of After-Christmas and Before-New Year's week, and started off by deleting screenshots since many of those had to do with my old job. The oldest screenshot I have on my phone is from February 6, 2015. It is a random paragraph from a random list on a random website I no longer visit (StumbleUpon), and the random paragraph says the following: 

Move towards what you want rather than away from what you don't: Make sure that your dominant actions are occurring because you want something to happen, rather than because you are afraid of what might happen. For example, call your Mom when you want to talk to her, not when you are afraid she will get mad at you for not calling. Moving because of fear creates more fearful experiences. Moving because of your dreams makes more dreams happen. Move mindfully. 

 This has been on my mind ever since that day. I never remember the full quote verbatim, but I remember the general idea to act because I want a positive outcome, not a negative one. I think it has given my days a little more spark than before, and that tense day-to-day, continuous buzzing in my head has definitely toned down. Of course, that could also have to do with the fact that I gave myself about 2 weeks off from work, and even though my household was plagued with some horrid, miscellaneous gastrointestinal virus for the last week of 2021, it was so refreshing to just be Mom and nothing else. 

As I buckle down to face 2022 and the intimidating dreams (ahem, plans.) I have for this year, I want the Move Mindfully adage to be my number 1 resolution. It helps even on the small stuff. Especially on the small stuff. Daily example: In about 15 minutes I will go wash my dishes because I like having a clean kitchen to work with and I deserve it. I will not go wash my dishes because they've been sitting there for 2 days and I'm disgusting. Mindfulness matters. 

I feel like life has me in a little bit of a limbo right now, and not sure where my plans are headed. This is the first year since I became a teenager that I don't remember having a set list of resolutions, goals, or even wishes to achieve, so I took a few minutes to think of how I'd like my year to go, strictly based on previous years. 

1. Move Mindfully
2. Read 42 new books
3. Pay off our new windows, $7,300 by November
4. Save between $10,000 and $16,000 depending on both of our jobs throughout the year
5. Declutter 1 room of my house each month 
6. Send at least 25 items to Amazon FBA every week
7. Drink 1 bottle of water with 1 meal each day
8. Blog at least once every quarter

Quick "How much can I type before my children wake up" Excercise

 Bro how do you even spell exercise? I used to be great at spelling until I started typing everything into a text instead of a Word file. 

Anyway, welcome lost and displaced reader, I don't know why you ended up on this blog, but it is in dire need of repairs. Let me begin by introducing myself with random bullet points because everyone loves lists: 

• Who, what, when, where, why-type of statements:

• I'm an almost-32 year old mom of 2
• #boymom
• #whereisthatsmellcomingfrom
• Other than motherhood, I also dilly dally on Amazon FBA and work in the solar industry
• #bossbabe? sometimes.
• #workfromhomehotmess
• #pleasebuysolarfromme
• Corpus Christi Texas! Love the endless supply of fast food, hate the humidity
• #alsopeoplehereareprettycool
• #letsgohooks
• #pleaseuseturnsignals
• Started this blog in the good ole days when I had no children and ample amount of free time
• #andthenlifegotbusy
• #andigotlesscreative
• #butimisstypingforfun
• Why did I decide to remove the cobwebs from this url and poke at my keyboard? My kids are asleep, I took a random mid-day shower out of boredom, and with no child fights outside my door to listen to, my brain had some free time to just wander, and arrived at this destination. 
• Not a useless hashtag, but now I'm finally realizing why I haven't blogged in so long! 
• I used to blog because I loved the feeling of typing on super thin laptop keys, and when I switched to a desktop, it stopped being physically satisfying to click at keys super fast. 
• Too bad, I'm committed now, I must finish. 

• Random things I love, collect, or hoard: 

• Laundry detergent
• Harry Potter Funko Pops
• Soups and sandwiches
• Scented candles
• but no vanilla-y scents, that's gross
• Comfy sandals
• Really dark sunglasses 
• Comfy joggers 
• with pockets!
• Jigsaw puzzles
• Monopoly games
• Notebooks, planners, and pretty pens
• Cherry sodas
• Books, ebooks, audiobooks, bookshelves, book quotes, book decor, & anything book related

• Random things I'd love to learn more about:

• HowToFileTaxes
• Phlebotomy
• cleaning hacks
• Kid-friendly dinner recipes
• Genetics
• When does a theory stop being a theory and become a law? 

• Random things I don't care for, don't know how to do, or intimidate me:
• celery
• interior decorating
• manual driving
• plants of any kind
• mint chocolate
• too much socializing
• shoes with heels
• earrings

Oh crap, kids woke up, I must leave again, peace! 

A Catch-All Post for Catching Up

 I was recently reminded of the existence of this blog and how it's in dire need of an update, so I came to pay it a visit. Did I really begin this blog in 2013? Has it really been seven years? How did I have this much free time! How did I so easily share my thoughts on a random blog with little to no visitors? Also, WHY? 

Life sure has changed lately. Although most of my days drag on, time in general moves quickly; every parent knows this... "the days are slow but the years are fast". I will make an attempt to breathe some life back into A Lot About Living, here we go: 

In no particular order, here are random blurbs about... the past two-ish years?

 And this is me right now:

• I'm a mom times two! I scroll thru pictures on my phone more often than is normal, and whenever I see photos of Emmett without Greyson they just look so unnatural! 

• Shortly after Greyson's birth we lost our beloved Venom. I still carry deep guilt about his death and will carry it with me until the day I die. We talk about him often and have his picture on our fridge. RIP sweet boy.

• We added a white German Shepherd girl to our pack after Venom's passing: Alaska. For a while there I went a little insane caring for a newborn, a kitten, a puppy, and a preschooler who refused to potty train. Life involved cleaning A LOT of poop in those days. 

• We bought a house while I was prego: the news of our house purchase and a new baby all came on the same day to our loved ones. It was not planned too far in advance, and we scrambled together down-payment money in about 4 months. Upon move in, our savings were depleted to just a few hundred dollars. It was a panicky time, but worth it. 

• Philip had a steady, well-paying, local job for 2.5 years: the longest in his oil field career. All good things come to an end, however, and he has been unemployed for almost 3 weeks now. (Here is us waiting until we'd dropped off the kids at Grandma's before busting out the cookies we didn't feel like sharing 😂)

• Cars. Trucks. SUVs. All Wyeth-related vehicles seem to have terrible luck, and I don't think it's preventable. 
• 3 weeks before Grey's birth my RAV4 (Shae) was stolen out of our driveway, along with some personal belongings from our foyer. I was limping around to doctor appointments on a borrowed vehicle for about three months before gritting my teeth and purchasing a VW sedan.  

• Peter the Passat was a great vehicle! I chose cheap and used instead of new and leased, and I was pleasantly surprised. VW cars (especially turbo models) will likely be in my wish-list. During one unfortunate out of town mini-vacation (and right after purchasing new tires! ugh!) a complete moron of a driver backed up HARD into our parked car at a hotel parking lot and totaled it. 

• About 4 months prior to the Peter disaster, Philip's truck (Claire) had some major mechanical breakdowns. We tried trading it in for a new one but every dealership offered insultingly low amounts, so instead we shared Peter until we had enough saved up for repairs, about $4,000! On this side of the struggle, I'm glad we sacrificed and made it work instead of incurring more debt. The Dave Ramsey way, I guess. 

• We financed Holly the Highlander as a replacement for Peter the Passat. Now I feel extra mom-ish everywhere I go; just one step down from a minivan. It's super comfortable and spacey: plenty of room for a GSD, two kids, two adults, and any other nonsense we are transporting. Please, please, please, universe: Send us good car vibes so that nothing unnatural happens to Holly for the next 60 months or so. 

• Emmett started Head Start! I was a nervous, trembling, stuttering wreck on the first day. The school was across town and after getting in my car I had the irrational idea that I'd just wait on the sidewalk for him (newborn baby in tow) until the school day finished. Then Grey started crying (he hates car seats) so I had to grit my teeth and wipe tears from my eyes as I drove home. 
• I had to pull him kicking and screaming (take all of that literally) into the classroom every day for three weeks, (stubborn child) until he got used to it. 
• Grandma taught right across the hall from him and eased my mind a ton, such a blessing! It helped him transition and get used to the new routine as well. 
• Head Start took him from two-word mumbles to five-word sentences in a shocking amount of time! Sadly COVID got in the way after Spring Break, so we've been at home ever since. (remote learning is trash. the teachers are absolute wonderful angels from heaven, but 4 year olds don't learn from screens) 

• We have so far survived 2020 unscathed. Everyone is happy, healthy, and no longer on the verge of locked-up insanity. In the early days of the pandemic we decided that even if we had to social distance, we'd allow visitations to and from 1 other household (my in-laws) because it's just necessary. 

• Philip still likes hunting: he spends a lot of money on guns. 

• I still like couponing: I spend a little money on a hoard of laundry detergent products. (If you don't understand that obsession, that's okay because neither do I)
• To be fair, I also spend a considerable amount of money on books, kindle books, Audible, and Funko Pops. It evens out.

• We now have two nephews! Gohan is just 1 month and 1 day younger than Greyson, I hope that they grow to be close friends all their lives. Gohan's younger brother Anakin just turned 1 month, he is itty bitty scary small, but that's just because my babies were huge at birth. The jokes about needing a girl in the family are getting old: I love being a boy mom and I'm ok if it stays that way. 

And lastly: life with boys. 

Life with boys is chaotic. It's one loud, messy, sticky, fast moving tornado. My home is in constant state of disarray: books, toys, Hot Wheels, Dinotrux, sippy cups, crackers, crumbs, diapers, dog hair, lone socks, LEGO, markers, magnets, boxes, blankets, shoes... everywhere, all the time, in every nook and cranny. These kids are like little machines with megaphones and charged up batteries. They are in constant motion, sometimes even in sleep. Time doesn't stand still for kids; quite the opposite. They race against it, always learning, always exploring, always moving forward. 

It's surprising, really. Even on days where I'm and my most un-mom-est, when the TV is on for hours and I feed cereal and lunchables... they learn. They find something new that can be built with empty boxes, or learn how to push stools to climb on something higher and more dangerous. They find new places to hide, new words to surprise me with, new ways to make us happy. 

I love my boys. Emmett with his big-brother, always-helpful attitude that just wants to have fun... Greyson the dauntless baby-turned-toddler giving it all to keep up. I love to see them interact, I love how caring comes naturally to Emmett, I love how fearless Greyson is growing up to be. I love that I can still find matching clothes for them. I love how  they climb on mom and dad whenever we sit still. I love hearing the pitter-patter of running feet on the floor above. 

This morning I woke up and gave myself an hour to read my current book before getting out of bed (I've just started the Divergent series). I didn't know I'd end up blogging today, but I found a quote in the book and I highlighted it. 

"If my entire life is like this, loud laughter and bold action and the kind of exhaustion you feel after a hard but satisfying day, I will be content." 

I've decided it's the perfect fit for my life. It's not always exhausting, it's not always loud, it isn't always even fun... but it's a lot of living and a little love in the little world that is our home, and I will forever be content with it. 

The Birth of Greyson Efran

So I had a plan to type this all out while at the hospital and then just copy and paste everything over.... that didn't happen. It's a miracle I'm sitting down to type it now, actually, but I'm determined to record it, even though my memories are somewhat failing.

Tuesday, June 18th 2019

• 4:00 AM: Woke up Philip and drove to the hospital to get induced... No idea why we had to be there so crazy early, OR why I had to call at 2 AM to tell them I was coming. Upon arrival we were taken to the second floor waiting area and told that they were getting my room ready. 
• 5:00 AM: Still waiting in waiting area... what's the point of calling ahead? 
• 5:30 AM: Finally in delivery room getting hooked up to things and answering a lot of questions. The IV needle hurts, nurse places it in the exact spot as with Emmett's delivery (I can tell because it left a mole-like mark on my hand and she said that was the best vein she could find). 
• 6:00 AM: Baby Greyson won't stop moving around and the monitors keep going silent, it is extremely uncomfortable (almost painful) for me to sit up reclined on the bed, I haven't been able to do this comfortably for weeks. The only comfortable positions are sitting straight up cross-legged or laying on my right side completely horizontal. 
• 7:00 AM: baby has finally stayed on for 50 minutes, I'm afraid to move and mess it up. Lots of pressure on my bladder. Penicillin makes my entire arm sting and it's impossible to sleep or rest since moving my arm around eases the sting. 
• 8:15 AM: Oxytocin started on the lowest dose, still too painful to sit reclined so I lay on my side. No pain from contractions, but pro is that I am able to get up to use the bathroom whenever I want... and the IV fluids make me want to pee a lot. It's awkward, but manageable. 
• 9:30 AM: My mom shows up, Oxytocin was increased because my contractions are spaced too far apart with no regular pattern. 
• 10:00 AM: Still nothing happening (or so I think). Contractions feel uncomfortable, but not painful. It's also getting hard to breathe. 
• 11:30 AM: Tried to get up to use the bathroom for the 3rd time and a gush of blood came out of me. I called the nurse to help me clean myself up, and instead of letting me go use the bathroom she made me get back on the bed and called my doctor. Evil. 
• 11:40 AM: I was forced to pee in a bedpan while my doctor was on her way, so awkward. 
• 11:50 AM: Mom asks "are your contractions hurting a lot yet?" I begin to respond "not really" and halfway thru speaking an extremely painful contraction shows up and they never leave again. 
• 12:00 PM: Doctor comes in, checks my cervix, and I'm dilated to 5 cm. Without removing her hand she also breaks my water (gross feeling) and places an internal fetal heart monitor on baby's scalp because the belly monitor is not consistent. All of this is awful. They ask if I'm ready for an epidural yet, I think it's still too early for one but thank goodness I said yes. 
• 12:30 PM: Anesthesiologist finally shows up, (I was second in line) and all this time I've been moaning in pain and struggling to breathe. It takes him a while to set up, and to me it feels like an eternity. It was so hard to keep still during such painful contractions. Also, I tried to break Philip's fingers off. He looked at me like he was bored and done with the whole thing. 
• 1:00 PM: After the epidural (which hurt a lot more than the one with Emmett, I felt it shoot up all the way up my spine) I'm left waiting for the warm, soaking-in-a-bathtub feeling that I had with the previous epidural... it never comes. My entire right leg and side became numb, but the pressure on my bladder became insanely painful. 
• 1:15 PM: Nurse half helps half forces me to turn to my left side so that the pain medication will numb my left leg too... it sort of does but a lot less than my right. My bladder is in agony. 
• 1:35 PM: I've been telling my mom "ok I'm going to switch sides, I'm going to switch sides" but the pain is so bad that I take forever rolling over. (But hey, I did it, contractions and all.)
• 1:45 PM: Still moaning thru some crazy pain, I'm terrified at the thought of pushing for 90 minutes at this level of pain (that's how long Emmett took). I felt like I needed to push, so my body sort of did it without my instruction. Once I announced "omg I'm pooping" Philip freaked out and ran to get my nurse. 
• 1:50 PM: Nurse came in, removed my blankets, lifted my leg (I was on my side) and said "You're complete, girl!" and called the delivery team. I was hella confused and said "what does that mean??" and she responded with "it means baby is coming" and again I said "WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?"
• 1:55 PM: Nurse literally grabbed my leg and pulled me onto my back because I couldn't (or wouldn't) move, delivery team cleaned me up, someone forced Phil off the couch and to come help hold my left leg. (Phil looked at literally anywhere besides me, I hated him at that moment).
• 2:00 PM: Doctor told me to push! Things happened too fast for me to process, I gave one minimal-effort, experimental push and couldn't believe her when she said "almost there, almost there..."
• 2:01 PM: Next contraction, I actually pushed like I was supposed to and baby was out! I could not believe how quickly it all went! Two pushes vs the hundred or so with Emmett... I asked her "did that really just happen?" and she said "Yes! It's over!" and they comment on how quickly I went from 5cm to birth. 
• 2:05 PM: (probably) placenta is delivered, Philip cuts umbilical cord, and doctor asks for a chair so she can stitch me up comfortably. She said I tore along the same line as a previous tear, but not as badly. 

The Prego Diaries #2: Week 23

I've been wondering when the next time I sit down to blog will be. Someone recently mentioned to me how she loves crafts to keep busy, and I realized I have let go of what used to be one of my favorite hobbies in favor of useless TV watching. Must change that.
So, dear blog, I'm very obviously pregnant again! And it's a baby boy! I always had a feeling it was another boy, but so many people said it was a girl (almost everyone I know) that I started imagining raising a daughter and it sort of stuck until the gender reveal. I feel like I have to re-arrange my brain a little, but thankfully there's tons of hand-me-downs for little brother!

Hands down the hardest part of this has been finding a name... P and I both had long lists of girl names and a huge blank of boy names. To make it even harder, he wants his name to begin with an E, so that limits things a ton. Hopefully we will get there before his birth, poor little guy.

The Silence of Bonaventure Arrow, A Mom's Review

Half a chapter into reading this book, and I knew it would become near and dear to my heart. The Silence of Bonaventure Arrow is a Magical Realism novel about a baby born unable to speak, but with the most incredible gift of hearing. Bonaventure can hear color, dust falling off a moth's wing, the spirit of his deceased father, and the history of inanimate objects, such as the story of a pencil's graphite before being mined. As a toddler, Bonaventure tried to immitate the sounds and mouth movements of adults, but he soon gave it up in favor of listening, because silence was a much better teacher than speech. His father's spirit explained that it wouldn't be good for everyone to know just how accute Bonaventure's hearing was, so once he was old enough to learn sign language and write, he never let on that he could hear so much.

This book is written in a descriptively beautiful language, and even though it's Bonaventure's story, I kept being reminded of my Emmett, who is definitely not silent, but has a speech delay. I'd like to share a particular paragraph that I absolutely loved: 

Dancy Arrow had been traveling the road of her son's missing speech for quite a while, and her feelings on the matter ran in circles. Her main concern was for his safety, since without a voice he couldn't call for help. And it was a source of sadness to her that Bonaventure would never be able to sing. She also felt sorry for herself because of all theat she missed out on: no baby cooing, no cries of delight, no laugther, no questioning why, and no hearing him call her mama. She felt selfish for those feelings, and ashamed, and so forced herself to call to mind all that she did receive from Bonaventure's silence: the need to look into each other's eyes, his busy little hands, the language of his face.

My Emmett is definitely vocal; he babbled nonstop as a baby, shrieks with joy, and has the best, most contagious giggle-laugh. He also has a speech delay, which began as mild and has grown to moderate. This means communication is very hands-on and in-your-face: lots of pointing, gestures, repetition, facial expression, and eye contact. It definitely has its challenges, but more often than not I am amazed and how much Em can communicate with less than 50 words.

When he was just over 2 years old I bought him a water table that came with rubber ducks and frogs... the usual bathtub toys. He "helped" me build it and we set it up outside for him to play. Earlier that month we had bought 2 little frogs for his fish tank, and with his extremely limited language and dragging me back and forth and holding up the toy frog next to his eyes he let me know that the plastic frogs were the same animal as the living frogs in the fish tank even though they look nothing alike. And I was so pleased and proud that he went to great lengths to show me the meaning of the word "same". Over time he has developed his own sign for the word same: two index fingers next to each other pointing up.

The biggest reason I love The Silence of Bonaventure Arrow is that it made me see Emmett's speech delay not as a detriment, but as a gift. I have come to find such joy in his piercing eye contact, with beautiful brown eyes that have a smile all of their own. I love his need for constant motion and the way he explores the world with his whole body. I am secretly proud of his cautious nature; the way he observes and learns and processes nonstop. I love being able to speak complex sentences and see complete understanding in his face, and a determination to be independent. I love his busy little hands using tools and performing tasks which require fine motor skills well above his age. I beam with pride when yet another speech therapist compliments his attention span and desire to learn. I love to see him move at full speed; arms outstretched and little legs pounding the pavement and a shriek of laughter exploding from his lips.
I love my baby boy, and even though his speech delay causes hold-ups here and there, I wouldn’t change him for the world.

2017: The Year of Better Health

Edit: pics aren’t showing up, must fix this... sometime before I die.

I love New Year's Day because I tend to love the magic of new beginnings. I love a clean slate and the possibilities it offers, so I always have a carefully listed and numbered set of goals to achieve. This year, however, I forewent my beloved list because I had one main idea to tackle: fix your body and improve your health. This was not mesurable or goal-oriented, which kind of threw me off balance, but it has been my mantra for quite a few months. In the back of my mind I titled 2017 as "The Year Of Better Health," which has led me to check off several to-do's that I'd been putting off for ages. They are as follows:

1. I kicked off 2017 by getting LASIK Eye Surgery along with my brother Chris. It was unplanned, spur of the moment, and made 100% possible because of Chris. [His entire life is rather "unplanned and spur-of-the-moment"] I received a text from him saying "I'm getting LASIK next week!" and well... that got the ball rolling. Our entire conversation sounded very much like "Hey, I'm getting a drink, would you like one too?" "Sure, I'll take a drink, thanks!" (You can substitute drink with the word LASIK). He also proved to be my benefactor, because, of course, eye surgery cost was more than the usual pocket-chage amount I have available on any given day. And he allowed me to pay him back without hurry or interest. What a nice guy. (For the curious, LASIK in the U.S. with good insurance: $3,000. LASIK in Mexico at a moment's notice: $1,400)

So let me just say that the experience was TERRIFYING. The whole procedure only lasted about 20 minutes, but it was the most horrifying 20 minutes of my life. Every instict yells at you "BLINK! CLOSE YOUR EYES! MOVE AWAY!" and you have to just sit there and let a bright lazer burn off the messed-up part of you eye, and you can smell it. You can smell frying eyeball. And you lay there on purpose. It is also necessary to go blind for a couple of minutes while it's happening. *shivers*

Wewh, so glad that's never happening again. Big risks reap high rewards sometimes, and this was certainly the case here. I have worn glasses since I was 12, and contacts since I was 15, and they've been a royal pain in the butt the entire time. Even now, almost a whole year later, I lay in bed every night and thank my lucky stars that I don't have to get up to take my contacts off. I am grateful every single day for the gift of sight, and for the advancement of science which made it possible.

2. Fast-forward a few months to the most dreaded part of the Year Of Better Health: It was time to get my wisdom teeth pulled. Now, I know most people get these pulled before getting braces, or sometime in the teenage years, but #1, I'd never had health insurance until a couple of years after mariage and #2, I'm a huge cry baby when it comes to dental stuff. I haven't had a very good dental history (I blame the no health insurance issue) and for the past several years (as in, 5+ years) I've complained about my wisdom teeth hurting. The bottom 2 were fully impacted (see picture for reference) and were pushing against the rest of my teeth, which hurt plus screwed up anything my braces had fixed. I opted to be fully sedated, because duh, who wants to be awake while big, fat, gloved fingers are drilling away breaking stuff in there?

I knew I'd feel absolutely nothing during the procedure (I was 100% asleep) but I was really really not looking forward to the chipmunk-cheecks swelling I'd have the next day. I have fat cheecks because, well, I have fat everything, and I didn't want to imagine how much fatter they'd look after the surgery. Way to go, Mr. Oral Surgeon, because I had very little swelling, and thanks to the generous supply of hydrocodone, very little pain as well. Even now I still doubt he removed the two top ones because I had almost no bleeding (I pulled out unstained, saliva-soaked bandages) and absolutely no pain or swelling up there. The bottom two are a different story. Bye bye blood clots, because I got dry socket on those. I had these huge holes big enough to fit my pinky in, and Chris swears he could see my jawbone. They took forever to heal, and during those weeks either my mom or Chris had to syringe-pressure-wash them out after every meal (yeah, it was gross, now I will never doubt their love). Bless their hearts. Thanks guys.

I really have had zero dental issues since then. I've opted to get my teeth cleaned every 4 months instead of the recommended 6 (idk, I guess I'm trying to make up for all those times I skipped the dentist in the past?) and well... nothing to report. Finally no pain. Brush and floss guys.

3. Do you know what the "W" position of sitting on the ground is? See picture for reference, thats my adorable son who sits just like me. Last "big thing" to take care of during the Year of Better Health was this weird noise halfway between clicking and popping that my right knee made every time I extended it. It wasn't painful, just odd, like that noise shouldn't be there. It had been there, doing its thing for several years, and I would have probably just left it alone for the rest of my life, until one day it just became painful, and the next day more painful, and the next and the next until I couldn't walk right and my entire leg would swell up, mostly above the knee. I had a stash of leftover hydrocodone from getting my teeth pulled, and I popped those suckers like candy because the pain was so bad. Philip even had to come home from Louisiana during the middle of one week to take care of me. I finally dragged myself to an orthopedic surgeon, who sent me to get an MRI, and... turns out my meniscus was torn.

I always thought the pain was worse at night because I'd been walking/running/crawling/climbing around after my toddler all day, but I learned that easy movement was better for it. So when I lay still trying to sleep at night, it would swell and the pain increase.

Guess what the fix was? A steroid shot. In my knee. I used to be a big crybaby about needles, and then during pregnancy I got poked so often it just dissipated into nothing, but I swear, I would have run out of that ortho's office had my leg been in a functioning condition. I was scared but trying to play it cool, plus I'd left my brother behind with a napping Emmett in the car, so I didn't want to make them wait too long. That shot was the easiest thing ever! And seconds after it was over lady ortho made me hop off the exam table. Hop off onto both feet! It worked that quickly! It was slightly painful, like it hadn't taken full effect yet, but I marched right out of that office and have been walking fine ever since. It was an awkward walk, I'd been limping for almost a month and it's like I forgot how to walk properly.

And so that concludes any imporant-ish health issues I fixed in 2017. There's more things I need to address, mainly headache-related, but I've decided to call it a met resolution.

Cheers all!

-Dam.

Goodbye Again

It's been almost 12 months of P working away from us, from home, and although the monthly goodbyes have gotten smoother, they have not gotten easier. A thought crossed my mind as I walked him out to his truck today, carrying his work boots.

It's like when you get a cold and your nose is all stuffy, and you have to breathe through your mouth at night to get some sleep, and it takes FOREVER to fall asleep because your body is like "Wait, that's not right, that's not how it goes. This is not the normal, perfectly measured amount of air we normally intake as we sleep, and I don't like it so I'm going to stay awake until it gets fixed."
Technically, everything is fine with your body. You're not dying. You're not asphixiating. Respiration goes as normal. The only difference is that your nose is clogged up and booger-y, so your mouth is open and drooly and your throat gets dry from the constant inhaling and exhaling. But thats NOT how it's supposed to go, dammit. Then you think about how ungrateful you've been every night of your life for never thanking your nose for supplying you with perfect amount of air to fall asleep to.

When P is home, I can finally use my nose again. We fall into completeness, and we get to living. And the days pass by so damn fast that I forget to be grateful that both mouth and nose are available to breathe.

And then the weekend is over, and it's time to say goodbye again, and time to settle down and re-learn how to live without a nose. Life goes on pause, existing but not truly living. Of course, E makes it much livelier than it's been in the past, but he misses daddy too. One day, hopefully sooner than later, we will all live in the same zip code and it will be amazing.

Sincerely,
Perpetual Mouthbreather

The Attitude of Toddlers

A toddler does not fall down 100 times and think "maybe walking isn't for me."

I saw this quote on Pinterest and knew it was the epitome of my intrepid son. Today as I tried to feed him dinner with the least amount of distractions possible, he reached his little arm across the table as far as it would go to grab the spoon. It was clearly several inches too far away, yet he never desisted and he never thought "maybe it's just too far beyond my reach". This action is repeated far and wide many many times throughout the day, and today I had quick moment of reflection.

It's so hard being a toddler. It's hard to communicate, it's hard to walk quickly, it's hard to carry things, grown-ups don't always want to play, and you hardly ever get your way. This in no way deters my Emmett from trying and trying and trying some more. He never thinks "I can't go as fast as my mom" or "I can't walk down the stairs" or "I can't reach my snacks" or "I can't possibly catch this cat." He can't do a lot of things, but he doesn't know it. He just keeps on trying with everything he's got to reach his goal, and never gives up, even when there's no hope.

Maybe this is just a personality trait of my particular toddler (he's dangerously stubborn) or maybe it's part of growing up and all babies are this way, but wouldn't it be something if all adults had the same bravery and single-mindedness towards their goals? What if I had never thought "chemistry is too hard, I'll take it next semester" 3 years in a row? What if I had never said "there is no way they'll consider my application, I'm just a college grad with no experience." Or even now, what if I stop thinking "I can't go to grad school and be a full-time mom" and just do it like Emmett would: with a can-do and no-fear-of-failure attitude?

I must go chase after my little hurricane now, but he's certainly given me a lot to think about, and a lot to live up to.

My favorite mom thing

Somebody asked "what is your favorite part about being a mom?" and I found it hard to give a simple, straight-forward answer. I know the answer, but it sort of deserves an entire essay devoted to it. Here goes:

Philip and I are first-time parents and we are as clueless as they come. If I'm being honest, I think P had racked up more minutes of kid experience just because in the short 3-ish years I've known him, he's never been shy about asking to hold or play with someones kid. Mom confession #1: the first time I ever held a baby for longer than 5 minutes was when Emmett was born and my nurse ushered everyone out of the room, and so he finally stopped getting passed around for pictures and was plopped onto my chest. That kind of tells you how little experience I had with babies. (I've never babysat in my life either) The word "novice" is an understatement.

That being said, we have a lot of "firsts" in our family. First diaper change, first bath, first throw up, first full-night sleep... that sort of stuff. P works oil field, so it's not uncommon for him to be out of town half the time. Thus far, we have been blessed in that his jobs have been local and we all get to be together when he comes home from work, so I usually shove Emmett into his arms as soon as he walks through the door. Most of the time I get about 20 minutes of freedom before I hear the words "hey babe, come look at this!" and of course I have to come running before I miss the big event. 

The big event is something different every time, and to regular people it will seem like completely useless, mundane stuff, but to a first time mom it is the highlight of every day. 

My favorite part about being a mom is how everything is such a big deal: Emmett smiling at something random, Emmett laughing, Emmett trying to sit up, Emmett rolling over, Emmett falling over because he sneezed, Emmett snoring, Emmett holding his bottle by himself, Emmett sitting on his own, Emmett correctly putting his pacifier into his mouth, Emmett's reaction to being on Venom (our dog)... everything is so NEW! I love how I get to share this every day with P and how it's such a high priority for us to witness every single "first" there could possibly be. Our reactions range from "awww" and a smile to "Oh-My-Gosh-Quick-Take-A-Picture-And-Send-It-To-Everyone!" but they're always a big deal. We interrupt TV shows, video games, dinner, phone calls, household chores, naps... I've even walked out mid-shower because I had to "babe, come look" at something. Our precious boy takes priority over everything in our life, and even if we make a million first-timers mistakes by the time he's old enough to read this, I hope we can make up for it with our love, devotion and enthusiasm at being able to raise him as our son..

4 Months Old: Paused mid-roll to eat his hand and sat there for 5 minutes

5 Months Old: First time wearing a 12-month outfit which fit perfectly

Open Letter To My Little Brother

Dear Christian,

Now that you're back from your mission, I need to take advantage and tell you all of the things I didn't know how to say before you left. I know you will soon embark on your next adventure because you are too full of life to stay anywhere for too long, and you won't be afraid to take risks and run wildly into whatever the future has in store for you.

On the day you were born, not only was I blessed with a best friend, but also with someone who added color, spice, and meaning to my life. As a new mother, I have spent countless hours rocking my baby at night, and even though everyone says he looks just like me, all I see is you. When Emmett was born, memories I didn't know I had rose to the surface, and even though I was only 4 years old when mom placed you in my arms, I remember what I felt because it is exactly what I feel as I hold my son. The overwhelming urge to protect, to care for, to nurture, and to be whatever you needed me to be was present even back then, and as a little girl I wanted to shield you from any danger that came your way. As an adult, not much has changed in that respect.

I don't know when the hell this happened, but you're grown up now. I thought you would be my baby brother forever, but you've just spent 2 years in remote African villages, you speak 5 languages, and you have touched the lives of countless people. At 21 years old you have had crazier life experiences than most of the people I know, and I could not be more proud of you for that. My "protection" is the last thing you need, so instead, I offer my full support.

I want you to be wild and reckless. I want to get a 2am phone call because you lost your wallet during your impromptu cross-country road trip and you're stuck on the side of the road somewhere in Nebraska fending off a badger. I want you to show up at my door on a random Thursday looking for a place to stash your motorcycle so mom won't know about it. I want to wake up one morning to find that you and three friends have snuck in through the side window and are sitting at my kitchen table eating all of my cereal. I want you to call me on the 31st of the month saying you don't have money for rent tomorrow. I want you to drop off a basked full of horned lizards telling me they're the remains of a biology project gone horribly wrong. Whatever it is you need, I'll be here with open arms or an open wallet or an open fridge, depending on what's appropriate at the time. Never be afraid to ask for help, and never be afraid that it's too much... that's what I'm here for. I promise you my lifelong loyalty, devotion, respect, encouragement, advice, and unconditional love.

Someday, you'll meet a girl. Someday soon, because you're too damn charismatic and likable for your own good. Girls have been attached to you from the moment you entered High School, and it's a wonder you survived girlfriendless for almost two years. Teenagers are supposed to be painfully awkward, but I guess nobody told you because you never were. You've returned no longer a teenager, and have got way too much swagger and you're not holding back, so girls beware.
I need you to know that it's different this time. You're not juts looking for a girlfriend, you're looking for someone who has the potential to be a lot more permanent than that. Like, eternity kind of permanent. Even though you've just spent 2 years teaching others about that eternity, it's going to be scary as hell when you think you've found your own. It's okay to be scared. Actually, I want you to be scared. I want you to be cautious, calculating, and to really ponder and pray about what you're doing when you think you've found her. Right this second, I feel like no girl out there is good enough for my baby brother, but I know that's not really true. I know that you're way too important for God not to have someone freaking special out there for you to find. Go get her, and I'll sit here and try really hard not to be envious of your time. And remember, don't look for perfect or else you'll never find her. Look past "perfect" and find the potential for eternal happiness instead.

Lastly, I want to say Thank You. Thank you for 21 years of redundant inside jokes. Thank you for sharing that particular sense of humor that I have only ever found in you. Thank you for being my best friend. Thank you for keeping my secrets and allowing me to keep yours. Thank you for changing the oil in my car. Thank you for that one time you tried to teach me how to drive stick and we failed. Thank you for being super enthusiastic about food. Thank you for wearing that dress shirt at my wedding, even though you said you looked like a goldfish. Thank you for those 3 hours of driving around town getting sidetracked Harold and Kumar style even though we were just going to buy strawberries. Thank you for 108 P-Day emails, no matter how boring they got towards the end. Thank you for letting me be Kirby every single time we played Super Smash Bros. Thank you for the high-pitched singing of "Hey, Soul Sister" during the time your voice was changing. Thank you for introducing me to Lindsey Sterling and The Piano Guys. Thank you for being my support system when I want to vent and not making a big deal about it. Thank you for getting kicked out of band in high school, because it makes such a good story. Thank you for being straight up honest and never sugarcoating things. Thank you because no matter how annoying I became, the worst thing I ever got out of you was a "Dammit Damaris." Thank you for teaching me that even the most unpleasant jobs, like cleaning out the chicken coop, are made bearable if you have someone doing it along with you. Thank you for teaching me how to properly smile at a camera by demonstrating how to "show your teeth". Thank you for hundreds of "awkward hugs" that really aren't awkward at all. Thank you because your favorite "letter" is "the squiggly next to the 1" (~) and that always makes me freaking smile like an idiot. Thank you for always making me use a butter knife on butter. Thank you for killing cockroaches for me. Thank you for serving a mission. Thank you for being humble, friendly, outgoing, and never taking life too seriously. Thank you for being the kind of person that I hope to mold my son around someday. Thank you for letting us choose you, and for choosing us to be your family.

Welcome home, lil buddy.
Love always,
-d.

Chris' (unfinished) Mission Pics Video

Chris Mission Pics Vid - Kizoa Online Movie Maker

Dear Momma Bears, I Totally Get It Now

I used to think that mother bears were ridiculous in not leaving the den (not even to eat!) during the 2 to 3 months right after their cubs were born, but now that baby Emmett is about to be 3 weeks old, I totally get it. Truth be told, if it weren't for his doctor appointments and my hubby's need to eat, I would still be momma-bear-ing it on the living room couch... too afraid to take my eyes off the precious, heavily asleep baby in his Rock N Play sitting a full 6 inches away from me.
Up until 3 days ago, my entire days and nights were spent on that couch waiting for Emmett to go to sleep, to wake up, to get hungry, or to need a diaper change. I think I only brushed my teeth about five times and showered twice... maybe. Let me put it out there, I am terrified at being a mom because I have NO IDEA what I'm doing, so naturally I freak out every time my son makes a sound, and I freak out even more when I need to leave his side to wolf down some food or to use the bathroom.
It's kind of taken me this long to figure out that 1) it's ok if Emmett cries for 15 seconds 2) if something is wrong, he'll let me know, and most importantly 3) babies are noisy sleepers. Camping out on the couch next to the Rock N Play for about 10 days straight made me a zombie from lack of sleep. I would jump up and prop myself on my elbow at the smallest sound of life coming from Emmett, and then just sit there staring at him for 30 minutes to make sure he was okay. Life got really hard without sleep, but 4 days ago in my delirious state I had a sudden, crazy, out-of-this-world idea: What if we start sleep training? What if Emmett sleeps in his crib and I sleep in my bed? Could that be possible???
It turns out that I majorly lucked out, because Emmett is an angel when it comes to sleep. I just might be the envy of all moms out there. Get this: my 3 week old son can sleep for a full 6 hours. Unfortunately, Emmett seems to be on dad's schedule, because at the moment he does his heavy 6-hour-stretch sleep during the day and his light feed-me-every-hour sleep at night. For the past 3 days we have been working on reversing the two... Babies don't produce melatonin until about 6 months, so he really has no idea when day or night is, so it's not his fault.
Let me tell you, moving him to his crib has been the most inspired mom thing I have done so far, because now I only wake up when he needs me to wake up (aka when he cries) instead of waking up after every moan, whimper, grunt, and sneeze. I think we are both better off: last night I only got up to feed him twice, and he is learning how to self-soothe from a young age.
This nightly separation has opened my eyes and pulled me from my momma-bear stupor. I'm finally okay with leaving his side for "extended" periods of time during the day... I actually did 2 loads of laundry yesterday, ya'll. What a big deal. Maybe tomorrow I'll get crazy and actually cook dinner. With like, real food and stuff. Lets see how that goes.

The Birth of Emmett Beckham

Emmett is 11 days old today and I have finally found some time to sit and write his birthing story. Actually, I didn't "find" time, but it just so happened that he is asleep in his bassinet right next to me, I just woke up from a 2-hour nap, the house is completely silent, and I am clear-headed enough to type. For the first 2 or 3 days after delivery I kept going over the details of Em's birth and wishing very badly that I could have someone to talk about it with and not sound crazy. It sounds like I went through a very traumatic event, but what I really wanted to do was internalize a few facts such as "wow, I really did give birth" and "the thing I was dreading for months is over" and "damn, that was the hardest thing I've ever done" and most importantly "it hurt a lot, it seemed impossible, but I did it anyway and I am proud of it."
I was not very aware of the timeline of events after my induction, and I am quickly forgetting some facts, so to help myself out, I will write the remainder of this post with bullets and hours and see if I can find some clarity. Here goes:

Wednesday November 25th, 2015 - Thursday November 26th, 2015

• 5:30 PM Arrived at the hospital and checked into the ER. Signed a bunch of papers, and then went into the waiting room because my room was not available yet. 
• 6:30 PM Room was ready, changed into those terrible hospital gowns and got strapped down with monitors on my belly. Emmett kept moving a lot, so they kept having to re-adjust the monitors tighter and tighter... it got very uncomfortable. 
• 8:00 PM Started on Cervidil; I still remember the application being more painful than the contractions because I was so swollen. Gosh dang it, that sucked. I was told to sleep as much as possible, but there was too much adrenaline in me, I think. I may have dozed off for about 2 hours during the night, but sleeping was difficult because they kept having to re-adjust those darned monitors and make me switch sides. I started having contractions but didn't feel them until much later. Longest night of my life, I was soooo uncomfortable. 
• 3:00 AM Cervidil came out and had to be re-inserted. It hurt as bad as the first time. Ugh. I think the second time around was done correctly because contractions really kicked up and I really started feeling them.
• 6:00 AM Started on Pitocin. I think I over-react to any drug I've ever taken, and this was not the exception. Just two hours later I had a fever, which caused Emmett's heartbeat to get very high, and I was having tetanic contractions. It's a good thing I didn't know what these were until now, because I would have been freaked out if I did... Tetanic contractions are contractions that come so frequently that they merge into one sustained contraction, which SUCKED because OUCH and because I felt like I couldn't breathe. I was very unaware of what was going on around me, but I remember having at least 3 nurses around my bed trying to fix things. Somewhere in there a nurse rubbed alcohol on my shoulder and informed she was giving me a shot to slow down the contractions. I hardly felt the sting because of the unending contraction and because someone was really tightening the monitors on my belly trying to get Emmett's heartbeat back on. 
• 7:45 AM Finally I was able to breathe and the crazy blur of confusion and pain and nurses slowed down to something I could process. The contractions came, but with breaks in between them. I was also given Tylenol for my fever. 
• 10:00 AM Contractions getting stronger and faster, in danger of becoming one never-ending contraction again. Nurse slowed down the Pitocin and informed me that an epidural was on it's way because it was still crazy painful every time they tried to check my cervix. I asked to use the bathroom before the epidural and felt such relief at finally being allowed to get off that damned bed. Contractions are sooo much more bearable when you're not laying down, I found out. 
• 10:20 AM My nurse talks me through the epidural process and freaks me out because she says it's painful and a really awkward pressure. 
• 10:30 AM Anesthesiologist arrives and starts getting everything ready. I look at anywhere but at whatever he's holding. I'm asked to sit up on the edge of the bed and hold a pillow to my belly. I bark at Philip to stop watching Hulu on his phone and come hold my hands. I feel the cold alcohol swab on my back and tense up waiting for the pain to come, while also breathing through a contraction. Needle #1; a sting slightly less painful than a bee sting. Very bearable compared to contraction pain. 20 second pause. Needle #2; super awkward pressure-pain while I wince and try to break Philip's fingers off. For some reason I imagined the needle was going to go a lot deeper than it did and the pain would be a lot worse. It was over a lot quicker than I thought it would be, and not nearly as bad as I feared. 
• 10:45 AM Everything below my belly button started feeling super warm like I just sat down in a bath, it was heavenly. I just sit in pure amazement at what modern medicine can achieve. After 20 minutes of bliss, I get a catheter inserted (didn't feel nice) and freak out because the nurse announces she has to check my cervix, so I brace for the pain. All hail the epidural gods, because it's finally not painful to have someone's hand go up in there. She announces that I am 4 centimeters dilated, and I am shocked to know that this is actually happening. I sleep for about 2 hours, I think.
• 12:00 PM-ish Dr. Nowitzky comes in and breaks my water, it felt so yucky to be sitting in a pool of water. She also announced that I was 7 centimeters dilated, and I am shocked at the progress. Everyone seems happy that this is moving along quickly. I am starting to feel the pain very strong again, so I ask to push what they call the "pain button" which gives me a quick dose of anesthesia through the epidural.  
• 2:30 PM I seem to be stuck at 9.5 centimeters, so my Pitocin is increased and they make me lay on my side with a sponge pillow thingy between my knees. SO. MUCH. PAIN. The "pain button" thing didn't work, so the anesthesiologist comes back to give me a shot of whatever magical substance he has. It kind of sort of works for a little while. 
• 3:00 PM I finally reach 10 centimeters and I'm ready to start pushing. Nurse informs me that it is not unusual for first time mothers to be pushing for at least an hour before the baby comes, and since I'm having a big baby that might well be the case. I spend the next hour and a half staring at the minute hand on the clock willing it to move faster. 
• 3:30 PM After 30 minutes of hard work, the nurse makes me lay on my side with the pillow between my knees to help Emmett come down a little more. She makes me switch sides every 5 minutes, and everything about this really sucks. It hurts to move and to breathe and to sit and to lay and to exist. Epidural is wearing off a lot. 
• 3:50 PM We start pushing again. I say we because it was like a team effort. My mom holding my left leg, Philip holding my right, and me just whining to both of them about not being able to do this anymore and for some reason talking to my contractions and begging them to stop. They didn't stop. I tried a lot harder during some pushes than others, but after what seemed like an eternity the nurse finally called my doctor and the delivery team into the room. 
• 4:25 PM LONGEST 5 MINUTES OF MY LIFE. It may have been less than five minutes, but I was crowning and felt like I would die if I didn't push right away. The delivery team was getting ready and I was ordered NOT to push until they told me to. The "ring of fire" is a real thing. A very real thing. 
• 4:29 PM A strong contraction came and I was FINALLY allowed to push. It only took about half the effort of a regular push, and I felt Emmett's head come out. 
• 4:30 PM A second push and the rest of him slides out a lot easier than his head, and he is placed on my stomach and my body is shaking so much that I'm scared to hold him. Emmett is crying his lungs out and I am amazed at how strong and big and beautiful he is. Someone hands Philip the scissors and he cuts the umbilical cord. Then I laugh because a nurse says that he looks like he's about to pass out (which he does). What a softie. 
• 4:33 PM They take Emmett to weigh and clean him. More shenanigans going on down there... my nurse presses hard on my abdomen to get the placenta out, and then the Dr. announces I have 4th degree tears and she has to sow me up in two places. I try really really hard not to imagine what it must look like down there, and distract myself by looking at Philip holding our perfect son. The epidural effects are almost all gone, so I do feel pain at getting sown up. 
• 4:45 PM Lots of people are working at cleaning things up, I'm working on not shaking so much, and Emmett is placed on my chest for skin-to-skin contact. My dad, who apparently had no sense of privacy on that particular day, walks into the room to see how I'm doing. I'm given some pain pills, the OK to drink water, and some saltine crackers. My mom takes terrible pictures... not of me holding my baby for the first time, but of me wolfing down crackers while holding my baby for the first time. Don't judge me guys, I was starving.
• 4:55 PM Asked the nurse if I could please, please eat half of a Baby Ruth that had been sitting on the table laughing at my suffering and hunger all day. She warned against it because it might make me nauseated... but I wolfed it down anyway and it didn't. Philip is busy calling a bunch of people with the news, and soon after I eat the candy bar I feel relaxed enough to close my eyes since my mom is holding Emmett. 

I dozed in and out of it for the next hour. I was about 75% aware of Philip's parents and Kaleb coming by and taking pictures, but I was too drowsy to say much more than "don't Facebook this yet." 

Soon, everyone was ushered outside and I was finally left alone with my baby in my arms for about 5 minutes. I looked down at him and we had our first conversation:

Me: Hello baby, I'm so glad to finally meet you.
Him: Hi.
Me: Did you just say hi to me?
Him: Yes.

Twenty hours of labor, and not until then did I give myself a chance to cry with my son before anyone came back in the room. 

The Prego Diaries: Week 30

I feel this EVERY DAY. Seriously.

Oh my gosh, I'm HUGE! And I only have 10 more weeks of being pregnant! These days are passing by very quickly and very slowly at the same time. I want the days to go by quicker because I want my body back: I want to be able to tie my shoelaces, paint my toenails, and get things out of the bottom drawer without feeling like I just completed a session of bikram yoga. But then I want the days to go by slower because I'm panicking about not having our nursery complete yet (it's silly to worry about this, I know) and also I keep having terrifying nightmares about labor.

That last part is not completely unjustified: baby Emmett is going to be a big baby. Just one week ago I went in for a sonogram and his weight was 3 pounds, 6 ounces. I just cannot forget those numbers. Dr. Nowitzky told me that he's supposed to weigh that much at 31 weeks, (not at 29) so he's at least 2 weeks bigger than what the average baby is! She asked how much I weighed at birth (barely cleared 7 pounds) and then chuckled and said "ha ha, no, this is NOT going to be a 7-pound baby".
It seems crazy, but I already feel bigger and this happened just one week ago. I wouldn't be surprised if he's grown at least another half pound in the past 7 days.

Baby Emmett feels ridiculously strong already. He squirms and kicks and punches whenever it's breakfast time, lunch time, dinner time, and occasionally midnight-snack time. I'm pretty much not allowed to feel hungry at any time of the day for fear of getting mauled from the inside.

I think back to my first trimester and just laugh and how disgusted I was by so many kinds of food; these days NOTHING food-related survives in my presence for very long, and much less gives me nausea. I just hope that I can work off this baby weight after Emmett is born, and that I find an effective form of weight loss. Now that I know how awful it feels to be this big, I think I will do anything in my power to reach my "skinny clothes" goal.