Running & Updates

Six weeks after Josie's birth I was given the go-ahead to start exercising. Given the amount of butter I consumed throughout my pregnancy, exercising was high on my list of priorities. Mike and I started working out immediately, using these videos: The Biggest Loser 'The Workout' and Jillian Michaels - 30 Day Shred.

I know exercise videos aren't for everyone, but they work really well for me and Mike, especially during the winter. February in Pennsylvania = not much time spent outdoors. Plus we have this house full of little kids...we can't just take off for the gym. If I get an hour to myself I'm going to Borders to page through a cookbook while sipping a coffee (in blessed silence). There's no way that Mike and I can each have 6 hours a week to ourselves to go to the gym. Plus, it's expensive.

And the videos seriously offer quite a good workout.

There's a point to all this.

We worked out for two months, six days a week. I stopped eating so much butter and started eating more salad. Dinner every night is 1/4 protein, 1/4 carb & 1/2 vegetable (one green, one other). No more binging on meat & carbs. Actually, that's not fair. We've always eaten a lot of veggies, but now we're eating more.

Two weeks ago I started running - just to see how it would go. I've never been a runner. Heck, I've never been anything even approximating a runner. But I wanted to give it a shot, because I could tell that my body was stronger and tighter than it has been in years.

The first day I ran two miles.

I was ecstatic and shocked and I couldn't wait to try again the next day.

The second day I ran two and a half miles.

I decided to add 1/10 of a mile each day and when I hit three miles I sprained my ankle.

Ugh.

So I've been giving my ankle the necessary rest for the past several days and I actually feel really antsy and I want to get back to working out. I'm really very eager to begin again - and this feels alien to me, but good. I can't wait to start running, especially since it's getting nice outside.

Yes, me. Jen. Can you believe it!?

Of course, I still have a long way to go. But that's fine. I'd rather do this slow and steady, to build up to a proper lifestyle change.



The kids.

Baby Jos was at the doctor yesterday for her four month well baby visit. She is quite healthy and very strong. She is 12 pounds, 5 ounces and 23 1/4 inches long. She is rolling over both ways and she loves to, when she's lying down, grab your fingers and pull herself up to a sitting position. She is grabbing things and trying to get them into her mouth now. Her favorite thing to grab? Gage's fingers. He thinks it's hysterical when she gnaws on his knuckles, and this never gets old...for either of them.


Lila and I had a problem yesterday. The booster for her chair at the dining room table broke, and it was one of those times when you see the broken thing and know that you can live without if for quite some time, but regardless of that you clap your hands together and say "We need to go to Target. Right now." Lila happily agreed to go with me, but when I went to buckle her in her carseat she freaked out.

Acceptable way to handle this: "I changed my mind. I'd rather stay home and play."

Strong-willed two year old's way of handling this: (screeches like an injured monkey while contorting body and arching back to degrees previously assumed impossible without sustaining major bodily injury)

Me: (carried her, kicking and screaming, back into the house where she sat in time-out for several minutes until she could pull herself together)

Lila: "Sowwy, Mommy." (chin quivering, cheeks blotchy red, eyes swollen)
Me: "That was absolutely unacceptable, Lila. We do not throw fits in this house."
Lila: "But I won't do it next time."
Me: "Let's try it again."

The trip to Target was uneventful, which was good. We had a nice time together, and Lila was a good listener (despite pointing at practically everything and suggesting that we buy it. Good idea, Li, but we don't really need a helium tank. Also, men's pants will not fit you.).

On the way home I asked her what she wanted to listen to. Mike and I normally play whatever we're in the mood for from the iPod but once in a while we let the kids choose. Gage often pipes up: "Funk Soul Brother!" (Fatboy Slim). Lila usually picks Bob Marley, which she did this time.

I'll give you her half of the conversation. You can probably fill in mine.
"What's a buffalo soldier?"
"What's taken from Africa?"
"What's war with America?"
"What's fighting?"
(I tell her that she and I had a fight earlier, when she was throwing a fit about Target)
"Oh. But I was Alice then."
(I assure her she was Lila)
"No, I was Alice."
"No, I was Alice."
"No, I was Alice."

-Long Silence-

"What's agree to disagree?"


Mike and I were standing in the front yard chatting with the neighbors last week, and Gage was playing with the last of the snow. He used a shovel to fill a small wagon with snow, then ran inside. He came out with two bottles of beer, which he stuck in the wagon, nestled in the snow. He pulled it to Mike and the neighbor, saying "Beer delivery!"

I laughed and said, "That's great service! You know, I could use a sandwich."

His eyes brightened and he leaned toward me seriously. "What kind do you want?"


Gage and I went out to lunch last week, just me and him, and he chose a Chinese restaurant. We had a very nice time and I was impressed that he used chopsticks for the entire meal. He has little kid 'learning' chopsticks at home (they're hinged at the top) but these were proper 'adult' chopsticks and he had very little trouble with them. What a big guy!


Two shoutouts:

My poor Mom is having a rough time. Her father was just diagnosed with Shingles and her dog (a 12-year-old lab) had surgery yesterday and is not doing well. I know this is a difficult time for her and I know that there's not much anyone can do to help...all we can count on is good doctors and the passage of time. But I wish to send her strength in these stressful days.

On the lighter end, congratulations to my dear friend Raine, who had a baby girl two days ago. Abigail joins a big sister and I'm so happy for Raine and her family. I'm thrilled that Abigail and her mommy are healthy and strong. Congrats!

Nicknames

Gage and Lila have been playing "Alice" the past several days. We're reading Alice In Wonderland at bedtime, a chapter a night, and the kids *love* it. (We finished reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - for the second time in a row - about a week ago and they requested Alice next.)

Usually Lila is Alice, and Gage is The White Rabbit. Lila walks around carrying a cookie in one hand (the 'eat me' cake) and a little bottle in the other (the 'drink me' drink). She nibbles and sips, and frantically repeats "Which way? Which way?" and pretends to grow and shrink. Gage hops around saying "Oh, my whiskers. Where is my fan? Where are my gloves?" Then Lila cries a lot and swims through her tears. It was the cutest game ever (the first 100 times).

Which brings me to nicknames. Lila often likes us to call her 'Snow White' or 'Sleeping Beauty' (which she knows nothing about - other than they are 'princesses'). After we kiss Sleeping Beauty she smiles at us and says "Now I'm Awake Beauty!"

She loves, right now, to be called Alice. What she does NOT like to be called? Alice Walice Palice Talice. She SHRIEKS when Gage calls her this, she screams: "My. Name. Is. ALICE!"

But Gage got this from her - she sometimes calls him Gager Rager Pager Tager. And me Mommy Wommy Pommy Tommy.

She can dish it out, but she can't take it.


We call Lila: Ms. Lila, Monkey 2, and, often, Li. Gage sometimes calls her Sweetie Pie, which is adorable. Also: Little Girl.

We call Gage: Gager, Gagerdoo, Monkey 1. Lila calls him Gager Rager Honeydew and Gagie.

We call Josephine: Josie, Jos, Baby Jos, Monkey 3, Josephine Jellybean and Josephine the Dancing Queen.


I did have to tell Lila that I don't like the nickname 'Mommy Wommy Pommy Tommy' (partially because it took her an hour and a half to ask me a simple question). Her response? "Okay, Princess Mommy."

Josie The Great

Jos is rolling both ways already - front-to-back *and* back-to-front. We had to pack the bouncy seat back into the attic because she sits up in it, and can tip to the side (and fall out). As soon as you put her in it, she sits up. It's ridiculous.

Have I mentioned she's three freaking months old!? HOW do Mike and I make such wiry children?

Gage keeps asking me when we're having Baby #4. My head swims.

He wants another sister. Honestly, he's the best big brother I've ever met. He's eternally patient with Josie. He is gentle, quiet, soothing, protective. Lila...he seems to figure she can more or less stand up for herself (which, really, is accurate). But Josie is the love of Gage's life.

I vote we wait a few years before we broach the 'Baby #4' topic.

Goodness.

Lunch with Lila

The upside to Mike being laid off is that we've been able to have more one-on-one time with the kids. And we spent a Monday, a couple of weeks ago, at the Please Touch Museum in Philadelphia. It was awesome - the kids had a lot of fun.

I have been going into the office every morning from 9-noon, and then I drop Gage at preschool Mon-Wed. This Monday, after dropping Gage off, Lila and I went out to lunch. Just the two of us. I was really looking forward to our lunch date. Lila was excited, too. We went to a small, fancy sandwich shop / caterer not far from our house. For some reason I kind of expected us to chat, not really remembering that Lila is two. Gage can hold real conversations, and Lila is always piping up with her opinions so I guess I thought she was participating in the conversations more than she actually is. Once we were alone I realized that, charmingly, Lila's speech is made up mostly of observations combined with anything major that happened to her recently. She was not interested in the back-and-forth of conversation...she wanted to entertain me.

"Snowflakes!" she cried, pointing. Every couple of feet a sparkly wooden snowflake hung from the ceiling. "Can I reach it?" she grunts as she reaches her arm up as high as it can go. Not coming close, she begins to stand up in her seat.

"No, sweetie, you must sit in your chair. What do you want? Tuna salad? A hamburger?"

She settles back into the seat and, still looking up, says "I will eat snowflakes for lunch." Then she giggles as though she's told a hysterical joke. She reaches up again and pretends to grab a flake, makes a chomping noise like she's eating it.

"You're funny," I smile.

Chomp. There goes another snowflake. Chomp.

"What should we order for lunch? Do you want turkey?"

"I will eat alllll the snowflakes." She's grinning and bouncing in her chair as she reaches up again and again, pretending to pull all the decorations from the ceiling.

The waitress comes over to take our order.

"Milk!" Lila exclaims, as though she's gone days without a drink.

"Lila," I squint at her warningly.

"I mean," she begins again, and switches her voice to quiet, sweet and high-pitched, "May I please have some milk?" This polite voice is like a parody of a polite voice. Too sweet, too girlie, too wheedling. I love it.

"That's much better. Coffee for me." By the IV, if possible. "She will have the chicken soup and a bowl of fruit." I order my own sandwich and the waitress retreats.

"I like that nice lady," Lila says, watching her walk away.

"So, how was your morning?" I ask.

Lila holds up a hand, and I see a small, colorful band-aid wrapped around one of her fingers. "I was jump-jump-jumping on the trampoline," (the kids have a small, indoor trampoline with an attached rail to hold for balance) "And I hit my finger with my tooth and I was crying and crying. I was crying so hard and then I stopped and I didn't turn into a piggy." (Thanks, Alice in Wonderland.)

"Oh my," I say sympathetically. "That sounds like it really hurt."

"Daddy gave me a band-aid."

"I see that."

"I was jump-jump-jumping on the trampoline," Lila begins again.

"Yeah, and you hurt your finger."

"I hit my finger with my tooth." (Wait, didn't we just have this conversation?) "I was crying so hard. But I didn't--"

"Yeah, you didn't turn into a piggy," I'm trying to rush her through the instant replay because the waitress is back with our drinks. Lila says a quiet Thank You as her milk is placed in front of her.

"That lady is nice," Lila says again, and wrinkles her brow in concentration as she opens her straw wrapper.

"What else did you do this morning?"

"Played with Gager." She looks up, and chomps a few more snowflakes. "Here, Mommy," she picks up her milk and passes it to me. I lunge for it - it's full and wobbly in her little hands. "I want to share my milk."

"Oh, thank you. But that's okay. You drink it."

"No, I want to shaaare."

"All right," I take a tiny sip of milk and make an appropriate yummy sound. "You want some coffee?"

"No!" she laughs.

"Good girl."

"I have to poop!"

"Let's go," I take her hand and we start the amazingly long journey to the bathroom. It's like a quarter mile from the table, through many skinny, ill-lighted hallways. Some places have the strangest bathrooms, and you see them all when you have little kids.

No action, but lots of hand-scrubbing later (Lila loves to wash her hands) lands us back at our table.

"Why don't you tell me a story?" I ask.

"Once upon a time," she begins immediately, "There was a pointy tree and it was chasing us! It was chasing the big girl and the mommy and the daddy. They said, 'Oh no!'" She's getting a little loud, and I shush her a bit so we don't make any enemies. "They were running and the big pointy tree was chasing them!"

"Wow, that sounds scary."

"Yeah. And once upon a time there was a big girl and the big girl said 'I hate Baby Josie!' and the big girl went to time out in her bunk bed all day."

My eyes widen. One the one hand I'm surprised, on the other hand not really. "Well, anyone who says they hate someone should go to time out, because that's not a nice thing to say." Lila looks at me, like, I know. Weren't you listening to the story?

Luckily our food arrives, sparing us both from any more stories involving the tiny screamer who replaced Lila as the baby in the family.

Lila enthusiastically spoons up her soup, pleased with the celery 'moons' in each bite. She's content to eat peacefully for several minutes, and so am I. She turns her attention to her fruit and picks up a cube of green melon with her fork.

"What's this?" it's been a long time since we've had summer fruits.

"That's honeydew. Melon."

She gobbles it, spears another piece of fruit. "What's this?"

"That's canteloupe. Melon."

"What's this?"

"Pineapple."

"What's this?"

"A grape. You know what grapes are."

"What's this?"

"Honeydew. Sweetie...." I try to think of a way to change the subject.

"Have some," she pushes the fork toward my mouth.

"I wish I could, but I'm allergic."

"Just have a little," she urges. She puts on the polite, wheedling voice again. "Just have a little, Mommy."

"I can't." No means no, Lila! I'm getting peer pressure from a two-year-old!

"I have to poop!"

Back through the hallways we go, under the flickering, buzzing lights. Past the strange and unwelcoming doorways that must lead to storage rooms. Why does the bathroom have to be so far away?

"You really have to go this time," I tell her, "Because this is the last trip to the potty."

"Okay," she says.

Back at the table I finish my sandwich and Lila finishes her fruit. She's eaten a decent amount of soup. The waitress refills my coffee and packages up the remaining soup for us to take home.

"I like that nice lady," Lila says.

"Yeah, me too." Lila has been eyeing the spinning display of cakes and now the restaurant is mostly empty, save for a handful of older women (who think Lila is "Just adorable! How old are you, sweetie, three?" "Yes," Lila nods. I hide a smile and say "She'll be three in May."). I figure it's safe now to let her look around a little, since the display is in plain view and not far away.

"Lila, you've done a good job of staying in your seat. Would you like to go look at those cakes?"

"Yes!"

"Okay. You may, but you have to come back when I call you."

"Okay!" She trots off, and stares at the cake display while I sip my coffee.

"Mommy," she stage whispers. "Call me back."

"What? Oh, um, Lila, come back please." She trots back to me, then breaks into a run. "Walk," I remind her. You must walk." She immediately slows, taking slow-motion, exaggerated steps.

"Let's go pay," I say, taking my last gulp of coffee. At the register Lila picks up a tin of candy.

"What's this?"

"Mints."

"You like mint! Here you go, Mommy." She slides the tin onto the counter while I'm getting money from my bag.

"Oh, thanks, sweetie, but we're not going to buy these." I put the mints back on the rack and hand the money to the cashier.

"And what's your name?" the cashier asks. Lila, suddenly shy, turns her face into my legs.

"Say, 'My name's Lila,'" I prompt.

"My name's Yi-yah," she whispers.

"Aww, how sweet," the cashier smiles. "You want these mints, too?"

"What? No," I put the mints back again - this kid is slick. I didn't even see her put them up there the second time.

We get our coats on, and we've survived a nice lunch together in peace, repetition and observation. I love this kid.



We had a great time, and it was truly lovely to get out with just Li. I'm going to do a solo-Gage trip sometime this week, and then Mike will do solo trips with them next week.

Last night I said, "Tell Grandma who you went to lunch with yesterday," and I had to laugh at Lila's memory of it.

"Baby Josie!" Lila cried.

"No, remember...it was just Lila and...."

"Daddy! And Mommy! And Gage! And Baby Josie!"

"Left quite an impression on her, our alone time," I joked to my mom.

But I'll remember it well. Me and my girl.

Enjoy Every Sandwich

Mike and I have been talking a lot lately about making every moment count. We have sort of different ideas about it, and I can really only tell you mine, since I really only understand mine.

I am having lots of fun with my kids. I love being married to Mike. We laugh every day and I can't imagine being happier than I am right now.

But.

And there's always a but, right? Things are busy. Things are crazy. Last night we had three crying kids at the dinner table, and that's hard. (Gage could not swallow the bite of roasted eggplant in his mouth and it started dribbling chunkily into his lap in a most disgusting way, Lila fell out of her chair and landed sharply on her hip, and Josie was...well...she's a baby.) Mike and I stared across the table at each other, half-grinning in that insane "Where do we go from here?" way.

There's always more to do. I cannot take care of the kids, prepare meals, keep up on laundry *and* have a spotless house. I just can't do it. And I don't really care. Who cares? I'd like to have a clean house, but it's not going to be me who keeps it perfect. I have priorities, and there are a lot of things that I need to do in a day before I collapse from exhaustion and stare unhappily at the cherry juice stain on the table, or the pile of socks and undies on the bathroom floor. Everything is sticky and nothing is perfect. And I'm okay with that.

Mike likes to quote Warren Zevon who, in his last days, advised us all to "Enjoy every sandwich." Sage advice, words that put a lump in my throat, but, of course, impossible to do. I propose that maybe part of the joy of this time is being overwhelmed. I am living (struggling through, at times) a very special time in my life, a time that I will forever look back on with want. Maybe it's okay to be so immersed in picture books and paint and flour and markers and tape and laundry and, yes, crying, that it's a privilege to be snowed under by it. There's so much little kid in my life right now that later, when I miss it, I'll remember fondly the gluttonous overflow of little kid.

It's what Mike and I call the "Steak Again?" phenomenon. I worked for years in the kitchen of a fine dining restaurant, and employee meals were on the house - whatever the restaurant had a surplus of on any given day. Some days were light - a big bowl of pasta with fresh tomato sauce. Other days were fantastic - a thick slice of shrimp and crab and cheese heaven with a flaky crust. Most days it was steak. The first couple of weeks I was thrilled to have tender strips of medium-rare meat, with a big serving of buttery garlic mashed potatoes and sauteed vegetables. It was so pleasing to have this fine meal, for free, after an evening of hard work.

After a couple of months, though, and then years, those of us in the 'back of the house' began jokingly complaining, "Steak again?" And then kind of groaning for real, because there's only so much red meat a person can eat.

I don't know if this makes any sense. It's hard to explain.

I used to babysit for a four-year-old boy - a clever, creative kid, actually smart as a whip. One day his dad was kissing him goodbye and said, "I love you. You know I love you, right?" and the boy said "I know," in an eye-rolling, give-me-a-break kind of way. How delightful! How amazing to be so often reminded of your parents' love, that you can brush it off, just completely knowing that it's there.

Steak again?

Imagine having the overabundance of such a happy thing that it's actually, pleasurably, too much. It's a benefit to be so full of something wonderful, that it's everywhere you look.

So while Mike tries to enjoy every sandwich I'm more content to acknowledge the craziness of my life right now and bask in it. I have the privilege of being annoyed by mopping spilled milk for the third time today, and I have the privilege of reading this book one more time, when we all already know it by heart.

It won't be like this forever.



As for my favorite Warren Zevon quote, it's also rather live-in-the-day:

Don't let us get sick
Don't let us get old
Don't let us get stupid, all right?
Just make us be brave
And make us play nice
And let us be together tonight.

Back to Work

Sitting at my desk at work I feel a wave of nostalgia for being pregnant. Around me are reminders of that time that already feels so long ago. That big, awkward, round, uncomfortable time...that also happened to be miraculous.

In my drawer there are individually wrapped Jaw Breakers, for the sweet cravings. Also packets of sunflower seeds in their shells, for the salty cravings.

A bottle of Mylanta for the constant heartburn.

I have pictures of my kids taped to my computer monitor. My eyes hurt from staring at the screen - I'm no longer accustomed to this.

It's strange to have more than one life.

Maternity Leave

I go back to work in two days. Sigh.

I've had three months off, and it's been wonderful. Josie is often quite a fussy baby, but she also has sweet times (Gage was fussy full-time, and didn't get sweet until he was an older baby). So Jos requires a lot of attention, which I am happy to give her. We've had some very long days of lots of crying and no naps, but we've also had plenty of all-around excellent days to make up for it.

My stint as a stay-at-home mom has been priceless. I love to cook and bake and have enjoyed family dinners made from scratch, with lots of help from Gage (this weekend he picked Black and White Cookies from a recipe book and we made them together - they were good!). We've also had many fun evenings together, which we don't normally have when I'm working. There's just, of course, not enough time.


Some highlights from the break have been:

The Polar Express Train Ride. We went in mid-December on a two-hour train ride in Phillipsburg, NJ. The Polar Express was read over the loud speakers, the kids (dressed in their PJs) got hot chocolate and cookies. Santa came through and talked to everyone. It was charming and cold and loud and the kids had a blast.

Christmas. My favorite memories from this Christmas were (1) Gage wrapped seven presents for me and put them under the tree. He was worried I'd feel left out because I spent one morning wrapping presents for him, Lila, Jos & Mike and I put them under the tree for decoration. Gage was concerned about my not having any gifts, so he collected some items from around the house and wrapped them for me. On Christmas morning I opened the calculator I use for balancing the checkbook (which I had blamed Mike for stealing), a bottle of super glue, a roll of packing tape, some stickers, an invitation to a birthday party (I'd had to call the mother of the birthday boy to say "What time is the party again? I can't seem to find the invitation anywhere!"). I told Gage that I was happy that he had chosen so many things that I really like (for real - I love super glue and use the calculator all the time). He smiled and said "I watched you to see what you like so you'd have nice presents." Such a sweetheart. (2) My parents bought a certain Cabbage Patch Doll that Lila has been eyeing for months (you can style its hair). When Lila opened it her face lit up and she just kept saying "I wanted this! I wanted this!" over and over. She was clearly thrilled. (3) Both the older two were really interested in Josie's gifts and happy for her when she got something neat. I love these kids.

New Year's. We had our friends' kids, Bella and Wyatt, sleep over on New Year's Eve. Gage voted himself the supplier of snacks and set out a lovely plate full of candy - decorated beautifully and colorfully. It was enjoyed by all.


Gage and Lila have always done a lot of art projects but Gage has ramped it up even more in recent weeks. It's like he turned a corner, or a lightbulb went off or something, because now his artwork is recognizable - people look like people, trees look like trees. He still likes to do scribbles and random shapes, too, and he is quick to explain these: "It's abstract."

Lila has a new dream - to be a ballerina. She loves to watch ballet on TV and I pull her hair back, she slips into a gauzy skirt and she prances and spins around the living room. She lifts one foot high into the air, balancing with one hand on the coffee table, and shouts: "I'm doin' it!"

Josie is almost three months old now, and is very strong. She likes to be held in a standing position, with her feet in your lap, so she can put weight on her legs. When she's on her belly on the floor she lifts her head way high up to look around. She smiles and coos at us and playfully sticks her tongue out. Her eyes are so bright and alert, and have been since birth.

Gage made up his first poem today, and is quite proud of himself. Here it is:

Achoo
Let me through
To get a tissue

He carefully wrote it out, letter by letter (with prompting from me), on a piece of construction paper. Then he spilled soup on it and started all over again. "Wasn't that sad luck?" he asked me. But he wrote it all again, cheerfully. He added "To Grandma, From Gage" on the bottom of the page and we mailed it to my mom this afternoon. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to get such a lovely poem in the mail.


I'm trying to face returning to work the best I can. Of course I'm disappointed, but we have no choice at this point. Mike was laid off two weeks ago and *should* be rehired in March, but we don't know yet for sure. It's scary for him to be out of a job, but not unexpected in this economy, nor in his line of work in the middle of winter. We're taking things week by week, and trying not to picture the current situation as long-term. He will be back at work sometime soon, and if things go well maybe I'll be able to take more time off. We'll just have to see how it plays out.


So, remaining present, it's supposed to snow another 18 inches today on top of the six we already have. So tomorrow may be a 'snowed in' day, which is my very favorite part of winter. I'll bake bread, maybe sticky buns, and roast a turkey for dinner. There's nothing like a warm house full of good smells to combat the snow. And Sunday is Gage's Second Annual Valentine's Day Party, so we have baking and crafts to do for that, too.

I have loved the last three months of my life more than I've loved any other time, as long as I can remember. I'm sad to change my schedule, but we'll do what we have to do and we'll try to smile our way through it. Nothing's easy, and keeping busy is better than not. Right? (Well, it's got to be when you don't have a choice.) Right.

Thanksgiving

We had a great Thanksgiving dinner at my mom's house...21 people total. 13 adults, 6 kids aged 2-6 and 2 babies. It was a bit wild, as it should be with kids this age, and definitely wonderful.

The highlights:

Gage is thankful for "The 'Little Gardeners' book at my Grandma's house." Lila is thankful for "My healthy Mommy. And my healthy Daddy." (That one nearly made me cry.) Josie, if she could talk, would most certainly be thankful for my breasts.

Gage ate very well, having second servings of the veggies, and looked around the room at everyone talking and laughing. He stage-whispered to me, "I thought Thanksgiving Feasts were supposed to be quiet." Ha! It'll be a long time before we have a quiet Thanksgiving...and I think I prefer the loud ones anyway.

Lila sat next to my dad, her beloved Pop-pop, during dinner. At one point she took a bite of squash and got that deer-in-the-headlights look. She glanced around and took my dad's napkin off his lap - ignoring her own napkin - and spit her bite of squash into his napkin. She wiped her tongue once or twice and balled up the napkin. "Here, Pop-pop," she said, handing it back to him. Gross, Lila! My dad laughed and surely saw a bit of his own influence in his grand-daughter's sneakiness.

All in all, dinner was a great success. And I'm already hungry again.

Some Random

I am totally, completely in love with Josie. We all are. It's amazing how much this tiny girl moves us...she's definitely something special.

The smell of the hospital...especially the green hand soap...makes me want to cry. I wish I could smell that soap once a month for the rest of my life. It brings me right back to my babies...to each baby.

Josie looks a lot like Gage as a newborn. Especially her profile.

Gage and Lila love their new baby sister so much. They often ask to hold her, and I always say Yes. They sit on the couch and hold her in their little laps, and stare at her sweet squishy face. "I like her! I really like her!" they always say, as if surprised.

I know that everything I'm thinking and feeling right now is riddled with hormones, so I am trying to take it with a grain of salt. That said, I totally want a fourth baby someday. Right now I'm all about Josie, and trying to wring every moment of babyhood out of her, but I definitely feel like we'll have one more. Someday.

Gage and I have been calling her 'Jos.' Like, rhymes with 'Most' but without the 't.' I like it.

Speaking of crying, I was actually brought to tears when I heard a little song from a baby toy that has been in the attic for two years. Actual tears. From a battery-operated musical toy. And so it goes.

Unbelievably (and again: riddled with hormones), I am already nostalgic for my baby belly. Also, I CANNOT get over the fact that this kid was INSIDE me a week and a half ago! Geezum! How did THAT work!?



Josie seems wise - she has big, alert eyes and is quiet and observant. It'll be interesting to see how that plays out...whether or not those qualities stay. She's all potential right now.

My first beer in ten months was nice...but rather anticlimactic.

I forgot how much I'm charmed by the little birdy mouth of a nursing baby...the way she twists her neck and fish-kisses my bicep. She knows how to get her point across, for sure.

I'm really, really happy.

She's Here!

Josephine Lynn, AKA Baby Josie, was born on Monday, November 16th, at 5:20 AM at 7 pounds and 19 inches.

*Warning* Detailed birth story follows! (Written 11/20/09)

Saturday night I had what I thought was yet another case of false labor. I've had many (at least a dozen) instances of lots of contractions, increasing in intensity and getting closer together, but never quite *painful* and they always ended abruptly. I learned that the best thing to do is try to go to sleep ASAP, and if the contractions wake me up…I'll deal with it then. Every time that I had false labor at night the contractions were gone by morning.

Sunday morning they were still there, but still irregular and not painful. The kids and I took a walk around the neighborhood, then went to the grocery store with my mom. Our dear babysitter Abbey volunteered to come watch the kids, knowing that I was really close to having Josie. She came over and I called the doctor at 4:00 PM on Sunday and said, "I don't think I'm in labor yet but things are starting." He told me to call back when the contractions got more intense.

Mike and I walked around the neighborhood for a while and decided to go out to dinner. I still wasn’t sure that I was in labor, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt. I had a serious craving for fajitas so we went to Jack Creek, and got hot wings as well, just in case spicy food would help things along. We got home, put the kids to bed, and settled in. At 9:00 PM I got my first painful contraction. I wrote down the time, and made a decision to write down only the contractions that were painful. I’ve had so many contractions lately that I can drive myself crazy trying to record them – this painful one was notably different.

I continued to have painful contractions for the next few hours, but they were few and far between. I’d have a painful one, then a couple of minor ones, then another painful one. The painful ones were about 20 minutes apart but the minor ones were every five or six minutes. At 1:30 AM I had a *very* painful contraction and I called the doctor. “I think I should go to the hospital,” I told him. He agreed.

My parents came over so Mike and I could leave. My dad was going to stay with the kids until I had the baby, and my mom was going to give us a head-start and then come over to the hospital to be with me. While we waited for them, and on the drive to St. Luke’s my contractions got a bit more painful and a bit more regular. I still wasn’t sure that this was the real thing, but I was getting more convinced by the minute.

I was admitted to triage on the labor & delivery floor at 2:00 AM, and changed into a gown, got hooked up to a monitor. Here’s where things get interesting.

We had a decent nurse, but she wasn’t very proactive. Once she hooked up the monitor she left, and we didn’t see anyone for maybe a half hour. Then a med student came in, and I swear I think it was his first day in L&D. He seemed to have very little idea about what, exactly, labor was. He gave us this whole speech, with lots of fumbled words and vague descriptions, basically saying, “We’ll do an ultrasound to determine if the baby is head-down.” (She was – and I knew this.) “We’ll check you to see if you’re dilating.” (Yes, please, now.) “I can see by the monitor that you’re having contractions every four minutes. We’ll leave you hooked up to the monitor for a few hours to see if you’re really in labor.” (Um, what?)

He left again without checking me or doing the ultrasound, and popped his head in ten minutes later. “It’s going to be a while before anyone comes in to see you,” he said. “A woman has just unexpectedly gone into labor.” (Again: Um, what?) Turns out he meant someone progressed much faster than they were expecting (a hint of what’s to come?) and was ready to push. “Let the nurse know if anything changes.”

Two minutes after he left I told Mike, “No way am I waiting for him. I wasn’t even checked yet!” My contractions were 3-4 minutes apart and quite uncomfortable. “Tell the nurse I’m feeling pressure.” This wasn’t a lie – I *was* feeling more pressure – but it was a bit of a prompt. When my sister had her third baby the nurse mentioned in hush-hush tones that the way to get your cervix checked was to mention the word ‘pressure.’

My nurse said, “Oh, we’ll check you right away – the woman who is having her baby now was feeling pressure – turns out she was 10 centimeters!” I said, “I’m hoping for an epidural, so I’d like to get that started before I get too far along.” Here’s the second hint of what’s to come: the nurse said, “She was hoping for an epidural, too, but she didn’t get one!” Ha. Ha.

She checks me – I’m 3-4 centimeters. Good. Not too far – plenty of time left. But my contractions are coming harder and faster, and I’m getting really uncomfortable. The nurse says that my cervix is super thin, and any movement (or any randomness) will break my water. The nurse also says she’s going to start an IV and take blood – they have to check your blood in the lab and you have to have 1-2 bags of saline through the IV before you can get the epidural. By now it’s about 3:30 AM.

She takes the blood, she starts the IV. S l o w l y. I can’t believe how long she’s taking. I can see that she’s not busy, and I can see that she’s not hurrying. My mom arrives – I’m glad she’s there. The med student comes back in with a doctor, the doctor checks my cervix. I’m 5-6 centimeters. They all exclaim over how quick that was – going from 3-4 to 5-6 in twenty minutes. Mike and I look at each other – I think it’s this moment that we know I’m not getting the epidural. Obviously I’m progressing quickly, and they’re not reacting to me quickly at all.

I’m moved to a delivery room via wheelchair and by now it’s about 4:00. The contractions are two minutes apart now, and each one lasts about a minute. It’s very intense. My own doctor comes in to check me and I’m 8 cm. He wants to break my water. I’m scared, because I know that the contractions will get worse when the water is gone, and the contractions are already pretty darn bad. The nurse says that my bloodwork is not done, so the anesthesiologist cannot yet put in the epidural. My doctor says: “Do you want to do this on your own?” I feel tears well up in my eyes but I nod my head ‘yes.’

He tells me he’s going to break my water and check my cervix again, although it’s only been a few minutes. I feel the gush, then I feel an awful pain that makes me groan out loud. I can’t believe how much this hurts – I’m vaguely embarrassed at my vocal reaction – but then it’s over. “I tried to stretch out your cervix,” the doctor says. “Sometimes when I break the water I can stretch the cervix out to ten, if you’re already close. But I couldn’t. You can still get the epidural if you want it.”

The contractions seem to never let up. I can barely catch my breath. Mike keeps saying “You’re going to be okay. You’re doing great.” I finally have to tell him “I know. Please stop talking.”

The anesthesiologist is on his way, finally, and it’s 4:30 AM. I’m struggling to breathe through the contractions. The nurse keeps telling me to breathe differently, and, as it turns out, wrong. My instincts told me to breathe shallow, quick breaths. The nurse kept telling me to take deep, long breaths. Her way was much more difficult for me to do, more painful, but I tried to do as she said. I wish she had let me do it my own way – I believe that would have made things a bit easier. I wish I had known that my instincts were telling me to breathe the way Lamaze teaches – then I could have stood up for myself and told the nurse to shove it.

The anesthesiologist gets held up – there’s an emergency.

Another half hour of breathing through the contractions. Each one seemingly worse than the last. Many of them double contractions – I’d have a normal contraction, feel it begin to let up, then it would worsen again, right into another contraction. I just had to deal. There was no other choice. I was grateful for the single contractions – at least that way I got a bit of a break. With every contraction I’m breathing vocally on each exhale – I’m dragging a breath in and humming it back out.

My mom, who had three babies with no pain relief, gave me a brief coaching session. She told me not to be afraid of pushing – that the painful part of labor was the contractions, not the pushing. I nodded my head and gripped her hand harder.

The anesthesiologist finally arrives, after 5:00 AM. I struggle into a sitting position so that he can insert the catheter into my spine. While sitting I have three contractions. It’s absolutely essential not to move during this procedure, and the contractions were the worst yet. I know that being in an upright position contributed to the intensity of the contractions, but what I didn’t know was that my body was transitioning into the final stage of labor. The first contraction I breathed through, focusing only on getting through it. I’m now groaning through each inhale *and* exhale, and, again, I’m vaguely embarrassed, but not nearly enough to try to stop myself. The second contraction felt different – like the baby was pushing down, hard. I figured, again, that it was because I was sitting up. The third contraction coincided with the anesthesiologist finishing up, and with this third contraction my body started to push the baby out.

It wasn’t a conscious choice, and it wasn’t something that I felt I could control. My body was pushing and I was along for the ride. I’ve heard the phrase ‘urge to push’ but this was not an urge, it was a *need.* When the nurse realized what was happening she shrieked for me to stop pushing and I said back “I can’t!” She said, “You have to!” so I tried my best to stop. I was still sitting up at this point - they got me onto my back again and the room went mad. Nurses and doctors came running in, donning scrubs, adjusting the table. I had another ‘pushing’ contraction and managed to fight the urge – easier to do when I was on my back. When I was sitting up it was near impossible.

My doctor felt the baby’s head and said, “She’s still pretty high up, but we can start pushing.” I said, “Is the epidural in?” The anesthesiologist said, rather sheepishly, “The catheter is in, but the medicine hasn’t been turned on yet. It will take 15 minutes to work.” There was no waiting. This baby was coming NOW.

With the next contraction by OB talked me through it: “Take a deep breath, let it out. Take another deep breath, let it out. Then you push.” I knew how to push – this is my third baby, after all, and the first two came out pretty easily (I’m lucky to have small babies). I curled myself up, rounding out my back, and tucked my chin to my chest. I gave it my all and I felt the baby move down. I took another quick breath and pushed again. HARD. Her head was out. The doctor paused to unwrap the cord from around her neck – it was looped once. I felt like there was no way that my body could accommodate this baby coming out, but I know that there’s no other choice. I grunted “It *does* hurt!” while thinking about my mom’s words from earlier, and some part of my brain reminded me to focus, and I didn’t try to talk again. I took one more breath and pushed one last time. Her body was delivered, and she was out. She was out in one contraction.

And I felt every tiny little bit of it, start to finish.

Amazingly, as soon as she was born I felt a thousand times better. I had no stitches, which was great. I was in a scary, dark place for the last two hours of labor – it was terrifying and incredibly painful. But as soon as she was born it was over – the sun rose and everything was beautiful. I felt great. I felt amazing, actually.

The only lingering dark cloud was that awful med student sticking his head in the room to say “I guess you really were in labor!” Yeah. Thanks for that, pal.

We got to snuggle our new little one for two hours while the nurse filled out paperwork that should have been done before the delivery – but of course there had been no time. After those two hours I walked myself to the bathroom to clean up and I felt really good. I couldn’t believe how normal I felt. I was tired, of course, and sore, but not nearly as much as I expected.



I’m actually grateful that things turned out the way they did – sure it was a difficult time, but I did it. I’ve always been interested in natural childbirth but I was too intimidated to try it. This time I had no choice, and I am truly amazed at what my body did, what I did. It was trying, for sure, and definitely the most intense physical experience I’ve ever had, but then it was over – it ended. And I got a beautiful baby and a new respect for my body.

I keep looking at her, especially at her head, and marveling over how big she is. I’m smiling as I write this, because I know she’s not big, but she looks impressively large, considering where she came from. I’m totally in love with her. I’m also more than a little in awe of myself right now - my body and my ability to take things as they come. I handled it, for sure, and I’m really very proud of that.

I’m also glad that both Mike and my mom were there through the whole thing – we made a good team and none of us freaked out. We each saw solid, stand-up parts of each other that maybe, under normal circumstances, you don’t really see.