Day before Thanksgiving

It's the day before Thanksgiving--I feel like I should be doing nothing accept preparing for the feast. Unfortunately, between a house is chaos (orginizationally speaking), a week spent fighting a nasty virus as it rampaged its way through the house, school, swimming, preparing for Christmas (yes, already-it's going to be a big one), and working on the upstairs project, it seems a small trifle like a 15 lb turkey just isn't that high on the list.

That hasn't stopped me from making two grocery trips, menu lists, and 7 quarts of brine--which said bird is now bathing in. We just might not get around to cooking the bugger until Saturday or Sunday ;).

I kid. We have been swamped lately, we are indeed exhausted from said swamping, but we are foraging on and will sit down tomorrow to a delectable feast amid our clutter of everday stuff and Christmas decorations. I will spend all day stirring, mashing, roasting, baking, crushing, blending, a small part of the evening eating, and then I will collapse.

Fortunately we all came through the vicious virus and are happy with the knowledge that never again will we suffer through THAT yucky uckiness. Garrett was so dissappointed to miss school Monday, and it was looking like he would miss today as well, since Morgan had a minor relapse--but then a heroic mom from the program volunteered to take responsibility for him is we wanted to drop him off and pick him up. It was so odd, leaving him alone and coming home without him. Strange to think that most parents of kindergartners do that every day. He had a ball (especially since it was ice cream day), and talked non-stop all the way home about everything he did--but ended with, "I wish Morgan had been at school today. She would have thought it was really really fun." So sweet, especially after she had told me on the way to get him (after we'd talked about the fun things we'd done that morning), "I really want Garrett to be with us." I will remember their sweet words tomorrow when they are screaming at one another.

This week has been a real humsinger for Kiera, too. Not only did she have to ferry her way through rivers of snot during her first virus, she's cutting her second tooth today (her first came in 9 days ago). As I type she is asleep in the cradle in the living room, rather than in her bassinet in our bedroom. This is for two reasons-she has just about outgrown the bassinet (sad!), and she kept waking up with teething pain. Two teething tablets, some snuggling, and a few kisses later she seems to be resting much more comfortabley.

And with that I take myself to bed. With one pie down and the stuffing ready for the bird now resting in brine, I will need all my z's to get through the food prep left for tomorrow's feast. Pumpkin cheescake in a ginger-snap crust, YUM!

Too much to do.

I like being active. I like having things to do. I do NOT so much care for things I HAVE to do, or for being busy. Lately we have been very busy. Very very busy. It seemed to come on all at once, too, which is making it that much more difficult to adjust to. For instance, we used to average going out about two times during the week. Now we go out every day. That means getting dressed (in something other than sweats) every single day. That's a lot of clothes. Which becomes a lot of laundry. Which makes us even busier! But alas, we shall adjust-we are in fact getting used to it, but there will always be a smidge of remorse for the pajama days of new family-hood.

The positives of being busy all the time-the kids are really enjoying all the new activities they get to participate in with school and all the new friends they are making. I am enjoying the village feel of our school and the fact that we now know everyone well enough that I can run down the hall without hauling all three kids, so long as there's a parent in the room where I left them. The kids are comfortable enough that it doesn't bother them for me to pop out for a bit, and Kiera just soaks up all the attention the parents give her.

Garrett is taking swim lessons now, in a saltwater pool here in town. He loves it but is still struggling with fear of sinking. It's sadly funny as he is the tallest kid I've seen there (he surprised his teacher by proving he could indeed touch the bottom), but at the beginning of class he clings to the teacher like a toddler (or a cat trying to avoid a bath). It only takes him a few minutes to warm up and be more confident, so I'm sure that by the end of his session he'll be swimming passably well. Morgan is not as excited as the rest of us as she doesn't get to be in the pool, too. But then Saturday rolls around, and she gets to don her dancing dress and shoes for dancing class. And while she often drifts away from the group and does her own thing seemingly ignoring the teacher, at home she demonstrates what she's learning with grace and enthusiasm (meaning she can skip and wiggle with the best of them).

Kiera is rounding the bend to 5 months old, and reached a milestone last night-she sat up! She did it quite well, too, so now all we need to do is find adequate motivation for her to keep doing it. She doesn't keep doing something unless she sees a need for that particular behavior. Take sleeping through the night, for example-she did it for awhile, tried it out, but as she can sleep whenever the heck she feels like it she has decided it really isn't necessary to do so much of it all at once. Last night she was awake for an hour for seemingly no reason. She wasn't asking to eat, wasn't complaining (unless we tried to get her to sleep), just wasn't asleep. Oh, and why is there a reason to keep sucking on a binky when you can use a thumb? And why keep sucking on your own when you can reach Mommy's? Which is apparently much more satisfying.

Oh, and we were finally able to talk her into taking a bottle! She hasn't had one since she was 6 wks. She really didn't like it then, and there was no need to force the issue, so we didn't. Saturday we kept offering (milk in freezer needed to be drank), trying different temps, positions,and nipples, and were finally able to persuade her--though she wasn't pleased. She had a very annoyed look the whole time, a real "WHY are you making me do this? I'll humor you this once, but really folks, this is ridiculous." It tickled the kids though, as they were able to take turns feeding her.

Oh ya! Halloween has happened since our last post! That was lots of fun, spent again with our friends in town who do up their whole yard and scare kids all night (Troy helps). Morgan made a truly beautiful Cinderella, and Garrett a dashing Indiana Jones. Kiera was a lion for about 5 minutes, but she was a very cute lion!

For you, Reina

It has been brought to my attention that the blog is seriously lacking in photos of my adorable offspring. Call it third child syndrome (though in the digital age it isn't due to a lack of pictures, but rather a lack of DOING anything with them...I'll make it up to her). In an attempt to rectify this oversight, I bring you these:

All dressed up for her 3 month pictures. I was trying to get a good smile out of her since we only got one during the actual shoot.

Canoodling on the couch

She does this all the time, anytime she's in a good mood and someone makes eye contact (she made some lady in an elevator's day today)--my sister calls it "the face." She smiles so hard she'll knock herself over once she can sit up. Since this was a month ago and she's had more practice, she does it even bigger. Her noses scrunches all up. It's awesome.

I took a bunch of pics of Morgan in the backyard when the hydrangeas were blooming and Garrett kept cutting them and bringing them to us. This obviously is not a photo of hydrangeas, but I liked it anyway.
Storytime! Ignore the ugly wall-Morgan discovered (via a teensy chip in the paint) that the wall had once been pink. She loves pink. And she can accomplish a lot of paint-peeling when her parents think she's napping. And no, she didn't eat it--it was all in a pile under her bed, actually.

First week of school and 3 months old!

Wow have we had a couple of weeks. Seriously. I mean whoa. It all started with the ceremonial preparations for School. Yup, school. Garrett goes to school now. And coincidentally, so does Morgan. And Kiera. And me. We spent the weekend prior acquiring school supplies, planning activities, and organizing the almighty Backpack. Garrett's backpack is very important to him.

On Sept the 14th (after two phone calls from Troy verifying that we were up and going), the kids and I had our first day of school. One of the rules for enrollment in the HOME Program is that the parents of elementary students remain on campus while the student are in class. We walk them to each class and are encouraged to check on them and help out during lessons. I was a little leery of this commitment, not knowing if the girls would take to spending 4 hours in the preschool room. Morgan was already having issues with not being old enough to attend classes herself, and I could just see myself having to drag her down the hall kicking and screaming. To my surprise, she was invited to join every class she showed an interest in. Even if she just wanted to sit and color. This program is so family oriented, it's awesome. At lunchtime the family room (where the preschool playroom is) fills with families eating lunch together. How many people in our society do that? Even on the weekends-how many families eat dinner together, let alone lunch? We all sit at big tables, Garrett gets to eat with his friends, I get to chat with their moms and dads, everybody oohs and goos over the baby, and Morgan just loves it all. I've lost count of the number of people who have offered me support with my curriculum planning, and I know that when Garrett starts getting invited to parties I'll be totally comfortable sending him because I'll really know these people-rather than dropping him off at a house with adults I've never met before. And they know him-they know his dietary needs, his likes and dislikes, etc. There's such a great sense of community while still being a school--today he had pictures taken for the yearbook, and next month we go on our first field trip.

Oh, and remember how excited I was about the potential that I would someday teach at the program? Well, that someday rolled around two days ago. Garrett's reading and math teacher has decided to go back to school, so she and the program coordinator cornered me last Monday about taking over the math class (I'd have preferred reading, but it was already taken). I hemmed and hawed, they mentioned I'd get paid, I said "SURE!" So now I teach kindergarten math. I started Monday. I arrived at ten to drop G off for reading, all ready to spend the next hour preparing myself and Kiera for class (yup, she stays with me) only to be met at the door by the PC with the news that his new reading teacher had a family emergency and would I mind stepping in? WHY NOT! Between me and another mom, we threw together a pretty decent lesson about "at" words (a-at-cat). I covered that class today as well, since she's still out. At least I had more than 5 minutes to prep for that one. Though Kiera did poop just as we were walking in to start class. I was able to get them started and then leave in them in the care of their PARENTS while I changed her--see the value of the whole family thing? Freakin' awesome.

Speaking of Kiera, she is now a rotund 3 month old. She's mid growth spurt at the moment, and eating like a fiend. She and I will be flying to CA tomorrow night to spend the weekend with my family and to meet my new nephew Jason, who was born on Kiera's 3 month birthday.

Over the last few weeks Kiera has learned how to play. She has figured out what her hands are for and is thrilled to be able to knock her hanging toys around. Today she tried to grab the logo of my shirt. She flows over with grins and dimples, and has charmed the socks off anyone who talks to her as she does not discriminate and will smile and coo at anyone who stops to talk to her. It's so interesting to watch her development as we have a family friend that is just a few weeks older than Kiera. We spent the afternoon with her (and her family) a few weeks ago, and I marveled at how mature she was. Much more so than Kiera-so interactive with her environment and capable with her hands. Now Kiera has reached the age B was then, and is suddenly showing all the same skills--a testament to how fast babies learn and grow! I was sure she wouldn't get that far that quickly! How amazing little humans are.

And now I must go as it is time to make dinner, which is Kiera's cue to cry. Never fail, no matter what time I do it, or how occupied she is at the time (in this case she was sound asleep) she knows. Her timing is impeccable.

Growing Up

Garrett is starting school. I keep saying it, hoping it will sound less like my first baby is becoming an independent person. It doesn't sound like that yet. He's starting school. He is so beyond excited-we all are. Well, not Morgan. She doesn't see why she can't go, to. We went and visited the facility today-all four classrooms and one hallway of it. It's run down, low budget, and feels wonderful. There is no negative energy-people bring their children there because they WANT to, and not because they have to.
Let me explain.
I am, among other things, a public school teacher. It has always been my plan to return to teaching when my children are all in school. As a public school teacher, I feel that it is VERY important to support public education-it is a system whose success is directly tied to its participants--no students, no money, no programs. I have always intended to send my children to public school.
I am, first and foremost, a mother. I cannot in good conscience drop off my child and drive away knowing that he will 1. be forced to work almost solely off of dittoed worksheets, 2. be working below his skill level and as a result not recieve the same level of attention as his classmates, 3. be crammed into a room with 30 other kids and one teacher, 4. be taught using methods and models that are inneffective and dumb and 5. not be allowed recess (which has been shown time and again to be necessary for focus and success in the classroom). Plus, I'd really miss him. And I'd have to wake everybody up early to drop him off. Yuck.
So this left Troy and I in a difficult position-we both had our reasons for wanting Garrett in public school. I had my reasons for wanting to homeschool. Troy saw no allure in homeschooling. Through much soul-searching and discussion, we both agreed that for Garrett to be successful and have the best chance of enjoying his education, homeschool was the best option. Then I found the HOME Program.
HOME is an alternative public school, technically. I see it more as a complimentary homeschool coop--all the parents participate (I can go to his classes with him if I want), different ages are grouped together (K-3, for example), and we get to pick any courses we want. He will attend HOME two days a week and take Math, Art, Science, and PE classes-and have a recess!! And music lessons! And Theater! This tiny little program, in its tiny little building, packs more curriculum choices than any other school in our district--with it's one hallway and chipped paint, it accomplishes more for its students than big schools full of fancy accessories. There's even a preschool play area for Morgan to use while he's in class, as the parents are ENCOURAGED to remain on campus while their student is in class. This way teachers don't have to deal with discipline issues or behavioral problems-the teacher is never taken away from teaching because the parents will be called to deal with it. Everyone helps. And as an added bonus for me, I can teach! I can contribute my volunteer time in the upper level Language classes-there's a creative writing class being offered while Garrett is in Science on Wed. that I can work in, and even have Kiera with me. Eventually I could even join the staff, but only have to work a couple days a week. I am soooo excited about this. I can scratch my teaching itch in an environment that is totally flexible, allows me to keep my children close, and allows me to continue my doula work. Seriously, aside from the fact that this is all going to keep us very busy, it's, like, the best scenario ever.
So what that means is that while we are homeschooling Garrett he will still get to "go to school." He'll go on field trips, participate in science fairs, have school performances, make friends, work with certified teachers (besides me), but still be primarily taught at home where we can cater his education to his particular needs and learning style. AWE-SOME. Plus his friend Mira is entering the same program. Who wouldn't be psyched about THAT? AND his classes won't start until the 14th, which gives me a little more time to get my act together before I have to become a mom whose kid goes to SCHOOL.

Planting KirMir

There are parts of being a parent I love. There are parts I absolutely hate. There are things that break my heart, things that I grow from, things that make me proud and happy and things that I wish I never had to deal with. There are things I wouldn't want to live without.
And then there are the things that are all of the above.
Sassy had six kittens. I wrote about them when they were born. Last week they turned one month old, and are all the chubby rolly-polly cuteness one would expect. The first one born, the first to open his eyes, the boldest and the tiniest, was KirMir.
Garrett developed an affinity for KirMir from day one. "I like him best because he's the tiniest and cutest. I think he needs me." He named him KirMir two weeks ago. It's a combination of Kiera (his sister) and Mira (a best friend), two people he loves. He never really wanted to play with the other kittens, and left the naming of them up to Morgan (so far we have Kip, Swimming Kitten, and Shane). KirMir had us worried in the beginning. As the runt he had to compete harder for food, and for a couple of days he wasn't doing very well-then he rallied, fought harder, held his own, and started growing. Through the last month we have dealt with a variety of kitty issues, from problems nursing (Sassy got sore and just didn't want to) to diarrhea to not wanting to use the litter box, but none of it affected KirMir.
This last weekend I was worried about Sassy and the kittens-she and at least one of the babies were having poop problems and I wasn't sure we should leave them alone for two days while we went to visit family. But by Friday they seemed to be doing better, and the little orange guy (still nameless) that had been worrying me seemed fine, so we went. Upon our return Sunday night we were greeted by a pile of fluffy-ness asleep on the living room rug, cute and cuddly and purring, and totally not supposed to be there. We had put up a baby gate to keep them in the bathroom and hallway which they had apparently had no problem climbing. Other than that, all was well and the kids were happy to play with their fuzzy friends Monday morning.
Monday afternoon I noticed the KirMir was crying-a lot. He was traveling around the house with the others (they move in a clump) but seemed to be having a tough time keeping up. I thought maybe he was hungry and tried to coax him into eating some moist food, which he refused. I watched him for a bit, but he seemed fine-though not as active as his brothers. A few hours later, I noticed he wasn't walking around at all, and when I picked him up I realized he was very skinny. He had completely lost his fat little belly, and I could see his hip bones. At this point I tracked down Sassy and held her in my lap so he could nurse without competition, which he did for quite awhile. After that he perked up, and I told Troy we needed to make sure to do that several more times before bed.
Not one hour later, I was watching Morgan play on the floor and to my absolute horror, I saw KirMir laying behind her, curled in an unnatural position and not moving. I immediately scooped him up and away, sure he was dead-until he started yowling at me. I breathed a sigh of relief, and sat down again with him in my lap. After awhile it was obvious that he was failing. His breathing was shallow, his respiratory rate depressed, and he didn't move except to cry when we shifted him. He barely filled my palm.
How do you deal with death? How does any parent know the right way to tell their child that their beloved creature is going to die? How can a mother stay calm, reassuring, soothing, when she herself is holding back tears for the heartbreak she is about to inflict on her son?
We have always been open with the kids about death. I feel very strongly that being honest is best; I have seen many children harmed by their guardians trying to hide death, or lie about it, in the name of protecting them. They grow up not knowing how to grieve and heal. Children are capable of handling difficult situations much better than adults sometimes--certainly better than they are given credit for--but that doesn't make it painless. For anyone. How were we to simultaneously break and mend our little boy's heart?
We called Garrett to us. We showed him KirMir, told him he was sick. Garrett watched him for a minute, and then asked very pragmatically if he was going to die. We said probably. We asked if he would like to hold him, and keep him warm. Garrett took him into his lap, wrapped in his shirt. He stroked him, kissed him, whispered things to him. When it was time for bed we took KirMir back and held him ourselves. I went to bed with Kiera, Troy continued to hold him. Unable to sleep, I got up to help Troy round up the babies and Sassy for the night. Had I not had the reality of a 2 month old limiting my sleep already, I would have stayed up holding him. Troy asked what to do if KirMir was gone in the morning. Back in bed, I still couldn't sleep.
Part of me wanted to be heroic and rescue him. The realistic side of me knew this baby would die during the night. There was nothing anyone could do-it had happened so quickly, and he was so tiny, even a vet wouldn't have tried to save him. He would have died on a cold metal table, alone. At least this way he was with his family, a brother curled on either side, trying to keep him warm.
At 4:30 AM, after feeding Kiera and putting her back down, I went to check on KirMir. He was alone on the bathroom floor, having been removed from the warm bed of his brothers by Sassy. His body was frigid and already stiff. She had taken him away from the others to protect them in case he had been ill. I tenderly scooped him up and placed him in the box we'd found for him. I set him in a safe place, and then went back to bed. What else could I do? Thinking of what the morning would bring, I cried.
Garrett always wakes up first. He was on the couch playing a game. I sat down with him, took his hand. "Did KirMir die?" "Yes." "Oh. I went in to see if he'd died, but he wasn't there." "I put him somewhere safe." "Can I see him?"
I got the box and we sat with it in our laps. I explained that KirMir would feel cold, and a little stiff. He wouldn't move, he wouldn't meow. Garrett opened the box, gazed at his friend; "He doesn't look dead." He petted him, felt that he was different. "Can I hold him?" He sat with KirMir in his lap. "My body is trying to make me cry." "Then cry." "I don't want to."
Periodically throughout the day he would ask me questions about KirMir, and I answered him as tenderly and honestly as I could. We made plans for burying him in the yard after Troy got home. He would frantically wipe his eyes as we talked, refusing to let his tears come.
Last night we said good-bye to KirMir, "planting" him at the foot of the Hawthorne tree. Garrett picked the spot. A place he would have liked to play with KirMir. He was excited to dig the hole, excited to carry the little box. Positions of honor, I think. Just before we began to fill the hole, I looked down at Garrett and saw his excitement had gone. His head was bent--a tear dripped from his nose. He was nearly overwhelmed, but fought hard to keep control. A minute later, he was ready to cover his friend.
Back in the house we began to clean up dinner. I peeked into the living room and saw Garrett sitting alone on the couch. I went to sit beside him and my brave little boy, so bent on grown up composure, broke down in sobs. Horrible, gut-wrenching sobs. He wrapped himself around me and together we poured out our hearts for KirMir and for him. Troy came to join us, then Morgan, and as a family we held one another as Garrett finally let himself cry.
As a parent, this was one of those full-spectrum experiences. I'll never wish it hadn't happened, because we all learned from it. I'll always hate it because we were all hurt by it. I'm glad we didn't try to hide it from the kids, because it is helping them understand how to handle loss before they lose something more important. I hate that my babies were in pain and I couldn't make it go away. It's good for them to see that Mommy and Daddy aren't all powerful. It's bad for them to see that Mommy and Daddy aren't all-powerful. In the long run it will have a positive effect on them as they grow up. Right now it's taken away a little piece of their innocence. It is life, and it is hard. But it is life, and mostly life is good.
Strange that something so tiny, with us for such a short time, could affect our lives so much. Thank you KirMir, for being our friend. Garrett wishes he could have seen you grow big. But while you were small, you made a big impact on the life of a little boy (and his mom).

Over the water and through the trees...

...to Grandmother's lake we go (or went, rather). Last weekend we packed up the car, again, and headed to Port Angeles (yes, the "big city" in Twilight) to spend to very busy days at Troys parents' lake cabin. Actually, the cabin is outside PA (Lake Sutherland) but only by about 20 minutes. We were leary about making the trek, as the drive to California last month kinda ruined Kiera's great tolerance for her carseat, but we were determined to make it. So we headed out early Sat morning for the Seattle ferry terminal. Normally we skip the ferry in favor of driving around Puget Sound--it's about the same amount of time and costs less as the ferry has gotten ridiculously expensive in recent years. This time we figured the less car time for Kiera the better and it's always a thrill for the kids (and me) anyway. It was well worth the added expense. We had a gorgeous view of Seattle and the sound, and we were able to enjoy breakfast on the go on board, which saved us some time getting out of the house. Kiera was able to nurse and relax in relative comfort, and the kids go to take turns going out on deck with Dad. It worked out so well in fact that Kiera slept the remaining 1.5 hrs to the cabin and arrived perky and refreshed (after a stop at Mom's Diner, that is).

The kids headed straight upstairs to the game closet when we arrived, and remained there for some time. The cabin is a wonderland for kids (and me). It's an adorable little A-frame, and just enough space added on through the years to not be cramped when the whole family tramps out for the summer get-together. The upstairs is kid-heaven with a loft, game closet (with the accumulated booty of years of Grandma buying new junk-Troy even found an activity book from his childood up there), and bedroom with it's own little deck. The cabin is right on the water, with a deck and its own dock complete with a small boat that is always the highlight of our weekends there for the kiddos-though with Grandma on board they could travel faster walking. She's a TAD cautious.

Morgan decided to tie up Uncle Jack, the "Pirate guy."

Troy and I spent a lot of time at the cabin during our college summers. It holds many fond memories of our fledlging relationship and we love watching our children enjoying it. It's especially cool for Troy as he was a boy there-though he's much less enclined to hop into the sometimes frigid water nowadays. For me it brings memories of my days spent at MY grandma's cabin-a place I won't get to share with the kids except through stories.

The lake is beautiful, small but very deep. I didn't think I would be able to talk Garrett into it, but with a lifejacket and some coaxing (and nearly drowning me trying to hold himself up), he did it! And declared (As he hung on for dear life), "this is really fun!" Morgan threw herself at me without a moment's hesitation (which I'd expected, she has no sense of fear), only to be smacked in the face with the wake of an overzealous passing watercraft. This scared the holy begeebies out of her and prompted her to attempt using me as a ladder to climb back OUT of the lake, but I was able to get her relaxed and convinced to stay. We three paddled around on an air mattress for quite awhile, until Mommy deemed young lips too purple to remain (and older legs to tired to continue-I don't have the stamina for swimming I once did. I miss Hawaii).

Kiera was a hit, of course, and very well-behaved. As she loves nothing more than being held (facing out), and there were an endless supply of arms to hold her, she was the picture of contentment without Mommy being completely worn out. I was even able to help make breakfast for everyone Sunday morning.

Kiera dozing with Aunt Peg out on the deck:

The drive home was not as easy as the drive out, in fact we only made it to Sequim (~1/2 hr) before we had to stop as Kiera hadn't stopped crying. We made the best of it by grabbing dinner, but due to prolonged bathroom issues with the kids we missed the ferry we'd been aiming for and were pretty late getting home. The upside of a late ferry though is that we had a phenominal view of Seattle all lit up. I love city skylines at night (though Seattle could never compete with Honolulu it's still pretty awesome). And while it was a fun weekend, we are very much looking forward to the coming one and staying close to home.

Dedicated daughter/grandaughter or glutton for punishment? A fine line.

Last week I lost my mind. Lost it. Gone. Rolled right out of my ear. Had to go find it. Apparently it was in California. Flying there was, unfortunately, cost-prohibitive (and would have eliminated all the looking-for-my-missing brain stops at rest areas and gas station bathrooms) and so we drove. All five of us. To California. 800 miles. With a newborn. To California.

It wasn't so bad.

Really.

I can see my own butt now. That's the benefit of spending so much time twisted around backwards, futilely attempting to hold a binky in the mouth of a screaming six week old who REALLY DOESN'T WANT a binky. I'm pretty sure I'll be stuck in that position for awhile.

No really, it wasn't so bad. Kiera had a hard time with the elevation changes going over the Siskiyous and Grants Pass, but when you consider she was born at sea level who can blame her? I'd love to say she fussed a little going up and then down, but sadly she couldn't sleep through the slightest rise. Sometimes she'd be able to settle down, sometimes we'd have to stop so she could nurse until her ears popped. Towards the end of each driving day she'd just be done being in her seat, and again-can't blame her. I was done, too. But all in all the journey wasn't to torturous, the other two did great ("Video games? In the CAR? ROCK ON!"-I'm paraphrasing Garrett here), and aside from the monster headache I developed on the way home it was fairly painless. Just long.

I should probably explain why we decided to do this crazy thing (aside from my absentee brain). For months I've been planning on a trip down to visit my family this summer, probably in August or early September when Kiera was a little more sturdy but still small enough to seem new to those who hadn't yet met her. Plans shifted when we found out that my Grandma, whom I haven't seen for two years, was going to be coming to spend two weeks with my mom. My aunt and uncle would also be there, but staying elsewhere (G-ma lives with them). My grandma's health is questionable, and not knowing if she'll make it to next summer when we want to go out there (to Arkansas), I just couldn't not take myself and the kids to see her-esp when we'd just added a new great-granddaughter to the mix.

This was the most complicated trek to Cali EVER. We couldn't decide exactly when or how we would go, how long we would stay, when we would leave, where we would stay, it was extraordinarily frustrating. In the end obviously we got it figured out (though it meant three days in the car for four days there), and are glad for it. It was a great trip, filled with loving people and much laughter. On the way down we were able to stay the night with Troy's Aunt and Uncle in OR which is always a treat, and a nice way to celebrate Troy's birthday (which had been the day before, but completely run over by trip prep). The kids love spending time at there house. It's very peaceful place to be, and we wished we could have stayed a bit longer.

Once in CA we stayed in a hotel in Stockton, a first for us but a nice change. It was good to have a place to stash our stuff as well as a place for little kiddies to crash minus the distraction of fun cousins and super-silly uncles. We did miss the quiet evening chats with my parents after putting the kids to bed, and didn't get nearly as much game playing done as we would have liked, but hey-we only had four days.

My grandma did great. We were all concerned that the whole thing would overwhelm her, but the opposite occurred--she had so much fun and was so distracted by the cheerful chaos of my family (when we're all together with spouses and kids, there are nearly 20 of us) that she didn't want to leave. We had the added bonus of introducing Kiera to my aunt and uncle, as well as my cousin and his family-including a son I hadn't met. The highlight of the trip was the ending day family outing to Bass Pros-and watching Troy marvel at how that can be considered a fun family outing. Hey-they have games, water features, a fudge shop, taxidermy galore, and it's free! Can't beat that! He refused to buy me the pink rifle and the gun safe with the painting of John Wayne on it, though. Broke my lil' heart. I'm still holding out for the pink fishing pole.

Above we see the three "babies," as we affectionately refer to the now 3 yr olds (Connor in yellow, my sister's; Chloe behind him, my brother Tony's; and Morgan) that were all born within 6 months.

Grandma meeting Kiera-she loves holding babies but throws them back the second they start to fuss. She says she's done her time.
Four generations of Sidell Women. Believe it or not, throw a grey wig on me and I look JUST like my grandma. I'm not kidding. I've done it. It's a little depressing. She's 84. Don't get me wrong, she's adorable-but I don't look like her at 30-I look like her now. At 84.

In the end, we had a great time. And the first night away Kiera started sleeping 8 hr stretches (which she continued to do until the last couple nights when she's been miserable with a cold), which it turns out was key to my finding my mind. It was under the couch all the time.

Quick update

We had a midwife checkup on Monday, and Kiera has already gained another pound! She was 9 lbs, 7 oz-gaining two pounds in two weeks. Holy cow. She looks it, too-she's losing her newborn-ness and looking like a normal baby. Last night she slept her longest stretch yet, just over 6 hours. I love it when they do that, and I wake up totally startled to see the sun coming up and baby still sound asleep. Then I can't fall back asleep, sure the baby will rouse any moment. So I only got about 5 hrs. Not that I'm scoffing at that! It was awesome!
The kittens have started opening their eyes, which caught me by surprise until I realized they're already a week old. My sense of time is apparently a bit ascew at the moment. They're getting big fast, and the kids are so excited to be able to hold them more. Pretty soon they'll be all over the house...6 tiny cats, climbing our curtains. Can't wait!

I love my laptop.

We were a little late to the age of laptops and WI-FI (which I don't even like having, as those transmissions are thought to not be good for developing brains, but I was overuled), but I'm making up for lost time and lovin' it. As I write this I'm sitting on my deck in the shade, enjoying watching the kids play in the pool with Kiera curled up in her best imitation of a frog, sound asleep in my lap. How lovely. Not that I need to be "connected" constantly, but when I have work I need to be doing (or blogging I need to catch up on), I'm happier taking it with me than the other way around.
We're having lovel weather right now, warm enough to swim but not too hot to be outside. I'm afraid any level of warm is too warm for babies sleeping on shoulders (we've both been very sweaty), but she seems to enjoy it when she's not trying to snuggle into my damp neck. Speaking of sweaty babies, Kiera is sunshine--she knows her mind and fights for what she wants, just like her mamma. When her needs have all been met, she is peaceful and inquiring--always studying, often with a quizzical little pucker in her brow. Our doula came for her final visit last night, and Kiera spent about a half an hour analyzing her face before signaling her approval by falling asleep in Alissa's arms. Troy later discovered she was ticklish by running his fingers up her back, causing her to suddenly sit blot upright. Very funny to watch. As of Monday morning, she weighed 8 lbs 6 oz (as measured by the Wii Fit), and seems so very big to me-at only a few ounces larger than her cousin William was at birth. She is very strong, and has been holding her head for for a couple of weeks. Her favored position is anything upright-either propped on pillows or being held-bolt upright. A recline will not do. She is already displaying the younger sibling tendency to want to do what the big kids are doing. And big kids do NOT lay on the floor. Big kids sit. And/or stand. She's good with that, too.
Garrett and Morgan are getting into the full swing of summer, asking every morning (rain or shine) if they can get in the pool. They are anxiously awaiting the magical day when we will go to the city waterpark. They are both still awesome with the baby. Garrett has even figured out how to put her diapers on, and surprised me this morning by getting her diapered while I was depositing the poopy cast-off in the bathroom (for anyone made nervous by the thought of me leaving her during a change, fear not-she was on the living room floor. It was quite an extraordinary poop, and required immediate action). Morgan isn't that brave-she's content to hold Kiera's hand.
And for the big news in our household--Sassy, our youngest cat (she was 1 in May), snuck out and got herself knocked up. We became aware of her fall from grace a few days before our own blessed event, and the night before last she delivered her kittens. We knew it was time when Troy picked her up, and with a horrified look at his hand said, "uh, her butt's all wet." It is unusual, but it happened-her water broke. So we quickly readied a place for her, which she refused to use, then followed her around the house while she searched for a nesting spot, finally deciding on Dervish's, (our oldest cat) bed. It wasn't long before she was obviously in labor, and not much longer before she was pushing. After her first tentative push I took a flashlight and peeked her rear end-to be startled by her having two tails! The first baby came hind end first, which we were afaid would be difficult for her, but she birthed him just fine. Over the next few hours she settled into a natural rythym of labor, push, birth, clean, rest, repeat. When we realized around 11 PM that the kids were still awake, I got them up so they could sit with us and see the third kitten born. They were so excited, and it was charming to hear them relate Sassy's behavior to what they remember from Kiera's birth.
At 2 AM, after settling in with her 4 babies, I transported them all to the upstairs bathroom for the night and deposited my exhausted self in bed. The next morning, upon checking on her and the babies, we were startled to discover that she had not 4 but 6 mewling newborns! 2 grey, 4 orange, all boys. What a trooper she was, and what a testiment to the natural, normal process of birth. Allowing cats to breed has become so taboo in our society that no one ever sees it anymore-and a valuable experience is lost. I'm very glad my children (and myhusband) got to witness what birth is like outside of humanity. They were all mystified. And the babies are really cute.

First Doctor's visit

I tell you, it really throws the medical community when they have to deal with someone who's had an out-of-hospital birth. I find it mostly funny, mildly annoying, and hope that it's a little educational for those we deal with. The woman who set up Kiera's account and made our appointment could not understand what I was telling her, and kept looking for Kiera in their system-until I finally told her to stop looking, we didn't take her to the hospital at ALL, not even "to be checked out afterwards" (her words). When we left today, the doc gave us copies of all their notes (which I thought was cool), and whoever generated it wrote "born before admission to hospital." I find that hilarious. Can't possibly have birthed at home on purpose. The doctor thought it was totally cool, even commenting that "less is often more" and that much of the time, that's the way to go. I thought that was pretty neat-o. I'd been nervous about meeting with an MD, as they are often anti-homebirth and chunk you into the "whacko weirdo psycho mom" category and that can be unpleasant to deal with.
Anyway, the appt went well, with Kiera receiving an A+ for being perfectly healthy. She weighed a whopping 7 lbs 1 oz, which-while still teensy-is up considerably from her birth weight and that's great. I'd be shocked if she wasn't gaining weight, since the child uses everything as an excuse to nurse--which unfortunately led to sudden engorgement for me, which caused several milk ducts on my left side to clog, which quickly turned into mastitis (a breast infection), which resulted in a very lousy Thursday as I felt like I had the flu and that's just, well, lousy. So I bit the bullet, called the midwives, and requested antibiotics. There are other more natural remedies I could have (and would have, in other circumstances) tried, but it came on so fast I couldn't risk it getting worse. As much as I cleave to natural medicine, I haven't treated mastitis before and couldn't guarantee that what I tried would work as quickly as a prescription would-but be assured that I will know exactly what to do should this happen again. I'm already taking a homeopathic remedy that loosens clogs so baby can suck them out more easily, which thankfully helped to free up the last stubborn linger-er that was still causing me pain yesterday. So now I feel infection and clog-free, and am making poor Kiera nurse in all kinds of crazy positions to make sure I stay that way.
And while life with a newborn is never "easy" I do feel like we're settling into a groove, Kiera is finding a rhythm to her days, and it is thus far pretty easy, relatively speaking. If only we could figure out how to keep her from getting the hiccups (she sounds like a squeaky chew toy), life would be a breeze. Oh, and if we could talk her into soiling less diapers-she goes through more than the other two combined. I think Troy's already washed them 5 times (I'm not doing laundry yet :) ). And if she'd stop pooping in her carseat, that'd be great too. Seriously, she's only been in the thing like 4 times, and has pooped in it 3 of those times. Thoroughly.

Week One-where did it go?

Kiera and Morgan, Day 2

Just a quick update. We're doing great as of today. The first few days were hard in that I was very tired and soar, moreso than when the others were born, but with Troy and both my parents here I didn't have to do anything, so that was awesome. By day 5 I was feeling MUCH more normal and mobile. Kiera is wonderful, so sweet and tiny, and aside from deciding last night that she needs to eat CONSTANTLY she's very cooperative and easy to manage. She has a lusty voice when she's uncomfortable, but other than that she's very peaceful. The older two are loving her like crazy, always wanting to hold her and give her her binky. They've each had their meltdown moments in response to the high energy levels and such, but as everything has evened out, so have they. We're enjoying the second week of Troy's time off, and will hopefully be able to spend the next few days having picnics and just being a family (though I expect Troy to get a bit antsy about wanting to work on "projects"-though so far he hasn't been too bad ;) ). This afternoon we will be getting Kiera's first pictures taken, which is always fun. Especially since we need to do the other two, also.

Just being sweet.

In her hat Christie made, Day 4

And the waiting is over!

Kiera Inolani Fox was born Monday at 6:34 PM. Yes, she's a girl! She weighs 6 lbs, 10 oz and is 21"long with a spattering of super-soft blonde hair. Everything went fantastically well, and she was greeted by a room full of loved ones as everyone I'd hoped to have there was in attendance-even my sister, via speakerphone from CA. I'll post her full birth story with more pictures in a few days (and actually, I thought I'd posted this on Tuesday, but blogger was apparently acting up). In the interim, there is an album of photos on Facebook (in mine or Troy's profiles)-if you'd like the link, email me and I'll send it. I'll put a few up here as well when I get the chance-we're all doing great and recuperating from the big event well, but are taking things nice and slow for the time being.

Kiera's Coming

(please keep on mind this is being written 15-18 months later)

I woke up to a sunny, warm June Morning. Having spent the weekend trying NOT to go into labor (due to the one midwife I didn't want in attendance being on-call), I was thrilled to still be pregnant. At 10 AM the midwives would switch, and my beloved Val, the same midwife present for the arrival of Morgan, would be my gal. As Troy got up and began to ready himself for work, I got anxious--I didn't want him to go. Just didn't. I wasn't having contractions or any other labor signs, I just DIDN'T want him to leave me. I even asked if he could call in, which he said seemed silly, as he would loose a day of paternity leave. Plus he was really looking forward to getting that phone call ("It's TIME!") and having the TV sitcom scene of grabbing his coat and briefcase, bellowing to his team that he's having a baby, and dashing out of the branch. He is SUCH a drama queen.

I couldn't rest anymore, and thought about getting out of bed. Minutes, and I mean minutes, after Troy drove away, I began having contractions. I wasn't ready to call it labor, but did let Troy and my parents (who were staying with us) know. We had a midwife appointment at 11:30, so we set about getting ready for that. The contractions continued sporadically until we were on the road headed to the birth center. Figures.

My appt was with Ali, who is one of the gentlest creatures you will ever meet. Everyone who meets her wants to give birth with her, whether they are pregnant or not. She is also wise and very down-to-earth--when I had asked her to check my cervix the week before (not a routine practice with midwives as it isn't a good indicator of when labor will start and is, as they say, "quite rude"), she had agreed but on the condition that "if I find you're 4 or 5 cm, you have to swear you won't walk around for the next week all freaked out that you're about to drop the baby on the floor." I agreed, and she found me to be 3 ("though I could stretch you to 5 if you wanted, you're so stretchy"--I did not want, as my dad had yet to arrive).

Ali was running a bit behind, so the student midwife, Tanya, started the appt. We chatted about how close I was, how I was feeling, and about her upcoming trip to San Diego (when she learned my parents were from CA). The kids were behind me playing on the bed (they hold their appointments in the birth suites, which are like jacuzzi suites at the Hyatt) with toys they'd drug in from the family room.

My midwives of course know I am a doula, and tend to treat me more as a colleague than a client-so Ali sashayed in, gave a big sigh, and vented a little about how busy that day was for them. She then said, "I can NOT believe Val told you to just wait to have the baby." (This was in regards to my calling Val Saturday night (she had given me her personal number for this reason) to see if she was available as I felt like I was going into labor then and didn't want the on-call midwife. She had informed me that she'd just had a couple of drinks and was about to join her husband in the bedroom-and that if she didn't, it would be very bad for her marriage, so could I please ask the baby to wait? So I drank 2 ounces of wine every four hours, which is a totally safe method of halting early labor contractions, and did my best to comply.)

We discussed my morning contractions, and whether I would like to have my baby today. Ali said she would rather I didn't, as she needed Val to help her with clinic appointments, but after seeing that my blood pressure was elevated again we decided she should check me and do some cervical stimulation to get things going again. She started her exam (this woman is so gentle, her cervical exams are COMFORTABLE), and announced, "OK, you're 4...and now you're 5." She did a little more messing around to help release some more hormones and stimulate contractions. When she was done she looked me in the eye and said, "and now you're going home--you're not making any stops, and you're going to lie down for an hour so your blood pressure doesn't get any higher. Right?" This was followed by another plea to hold out long enough that she wouldn't loose Val. She said she'd be surprised if I didn't have my baby that day, but that made her sad because she wouldn't get to be at my birth. I told her she was more than welcome to join the party, but she had a faculty meeting at the midwifery school that she couldn't get out of because her partner would be at a birth. Ali's funny.

We packed up to head home, and once again I pleaded with Troy to come with us. At this point I wasn't having labor contractions, but I could feel them coming. Like a storm brewing over the ocean. He insisted on going to work (again with the whole drama thing) and swore he would leave as soon as I needed him. We headed home. My contractions started the minute we hit the freeway. It was just about 12:30.

The contractions were mild at first, and not very long, about 5 minutes apart. I spent the ride home (mom was driving) making phone calls-to Troy, telling him he shouldn't have gone back to work (he STILL didn't leave right away), to Erin (my best friend who has video taped all our births), to Katie (other best friend who was at Morgan's birth and would be helping with the kids), and of course to my doula. And get THIS-after all I'd gone through holding off labor, first waiting for dad, then for Val, my doula had already been called by another client whose water had broken that morning. It became a race to see who would need her first, and who would get her backup (which would have been ok, as I had picked the doula who would come in that event, and loved her too-but I really wanted MY doula, damn it!).

We arrived home around 1 pm, and my parents set about making lunch. My mom also got out the chicken soup I had made in advance and frozen (my "birth soup"-that's funny 'cause it's what Val calls the water in the tub after baby is born) and put it in the crockpot so we'd all have something warm and nutritious later on. I laid down on the couch. For about a minute.

I spent the next hour playing whack-a-mole with myself. I would try to lay down, have another contraction, and bounce back up-remembering some other little thing I wanted done before everyone arrived. I kept texting Troy, hating--HATING that he wasn't with me and complaining quite vocally about how it just didn't feel right (I'd never been in labor without him). Around 2 PM I called my doula again, and Hooray! I won the race! I felt a little bad for the other woman, but my doula assured me that she had not been phased at all, and was happy with her backup doula. Troy arrived a few minutes later, and my very next contraction was significantly more intense. My doula arrived at 2:30, and again my contractions intensified (having my people was very important to my ability to progress). Somewhere in there Erin came in, too (I had put a sign on the door asking for no knocking "homebirth in progress" so I didn't always notice people arriving). We all decided it was time to call in the midwives (I had called at 2 to let them know I was laboring, and they were just waiting for me to say I was ready for them). During this time my contractions where intense, but not really painful--lots of tightening and pressure pulling my belly down, some discomfort but I was so excited to BE in LABOR, it all just felt good. I'm serious. I knew what I was doing, how to respond to my body, how to move, I always had someone close to hug or hang onto, it all just felt beautiful. The kids were watching the Little Mermaid and playing with Erin and Katie, who was there now as well (until Mom put Morgan down for a nap). I was having some back pain, so my doula heated up her flax sock and secured it to my low back with her rebozo (a long, wide scarf). She and Troy made up the bed with the shower curtain under old sheets, and I sat in our dressing room where the tub was filling, rocking in my chair, sipping the iced red raspberry leaf tea (uterine tonic) my doula made sure was always nearby and listening to Jewel on my Ipod. It all just seemed so normal, but at the same time so extraordinary.

Val arrived a little after 3 PM with Tanya and another student midwife. Rather than the tensing and anxiousness that often accompanies the entrance of the care provider at a birth, there was an all-around sense of excitement and happiness, and I was finally able to fully relax. It was time. They were all here. I was having this baby, in my home, under my own power, exactly the way we had planned.

Troy and I headed into the bedroom with Val to check up on my cervix. She announced I was 6 cm, and said she could break my water if I wanted. I didn't want. I am, generally, pretty anti-breaking water. Sometimes it's very effective at speeding things up, but really, do they need to be sped? We discussed whether I wanted the antibiotics for my Group B strep (I had tested positive as 1 in 3 women do, and standard protocol calls for antibiotics every 4 hrs during labor to protect the baby from infection--though the risk of infection is so small (nearly non-existant with an intact amniotic sac), and the risk of complication even smaller, and the evidence that the antibiotics are helpful isn't very convincing to me), and I decided that since I wasn't progressing as rapidly as we'd thought I might, we'd try one dose. This requires a "butterfly," a needle attached to a tube running to an IV bag, held in place by sticky wings, be inserted into a vein and a small bag of fluid with the meds in it squeezed in. Takes about 10 minutes. Thing is, it only works if the liquid goes into your vein. For whatever reason, that would NOT happen. The students tried twice, and Val gave it one last go-at which time I told her if it didn't work, that was that-and she agreed. They could get the needle in just fine, but when they'd begin to push the fluid, it would just come out. Right out the little hole in my skin. If they pushed harder it would push the needle out, too. So weird. Val finally said, "It's obvious your body doesn't want this, and who am I to argue with that?" No antibitiocs. I LOVE out of hospital birth.

Somewhere in this time period, Troy helped me climb the stairs with big lunging steps to try and get baby better seated in my cervix and thus bring on stronger contractions. While labor was progressing, I knew that my contractions weren't long enough (about 30-45 seconds) to actually get the baby out, even if I were ready to push. I went to the bathroom to sit on the toilet for awhile, as this is a great position for labor-whilst there, I checked my own cervix-I couldn't tell dilation, but I could feel the sac and I messed around for a bit to see if I could break my water myself. I was beginning to get a little frustrated with my lack of progress, and was conflicted about the whole "water breaking" thing-I knew it would help, but I really wanted to just be patient and let things happen. Moot point anyway, because I couldn't break it.

Back in the living room, Garrett was harassing all the grown-ups into playing video games and those not engaged with him were socializing. Troy and I took our leave at around 4:30 and went into the bedroom to lay down together for awhile. That was so nice-so peaceful and comforting, so safe, snuggled together in our own comfy bed, talking softly and giggling. Unfortunately I had to pee again.

I tried tearing my sac again while on the toilet, but apparently I have very tough membranes (this would be proven later). We wandered back into the living room, and I told Val I thought I wanted to be checked again, and maybe have her break my water. She sent Tanya into the bedroom to set up the birth stool with a basin under it to catch the fluid, should I decide to go ahead. I sat on the edge of the sofa for awhile, with Troy on one side and my doula on the other. Up until this point during contractions I wanted to be leaning forward-either hold onto a person's shoulders or the wall-but now I wanted to sit right on the edge of the couch, where I could feel the front edge against my pelvic floor and rock back and forth over it. I asked mom to wake up Morgan (it was now about 5:30). She stumbled out, quite groggy, and came to hug me-until she saw that Grandpa was finishing up filling the birth tub (he and Grandma actually boiled big pots of water to help warm it up). She squealed, "I'm going to get my babing-suit!" and took off. During this time Garrett would come and give me hugs, and when she came back (indeed in her babing-suit), she hugged me through contractions. It was very sweet. Contractions grew more intense, and I began to moan through them-I thought to myself that I should be sitting on a chux pad in case my water broke, and looked up to see Val standing in front of me, holding one. "You read my mind!" "No, I read your contraction."

After a bit I stood up to make my way into the bedroom for the checking. It took me awhile, as it always does in labor-it's hard to make good time walking when you have to stop every few minutes to sway and breathe heavy. In the midst of one of these walking breaks (one of my favorite memories, as I was leaning on my mom with Val on one side and my doula on the other, rubbing my back), my dad began telling someone how odd the animals had been acting all day-that Dervish, our cat, would jump up in his lap right next to Sk8ter, their dog, and not care he was there. Troy, without missing a beat, comes out with, "Dogs and cats, living together, MASS HYSTERIA!" (a cookie to you if you get it). OH MY GOD. I laughed so hard, I almost fell down. Totally cut my contraction in half. Everyone was hysterical, made even more so when they noticed that my bare belly was shaking like a bowl-full-o-jelly through my laughter. Between chortles Val announced, "Well if that doesn't break your water, nothing will!" This sudden joviality derailed my trek to the bedroom however, as I suddenly REALLY needed the bathroom again. This really got them chuckling in the living room-they'd here me giggling, then quiet through a contraction, then immediately giggling again. I couldn't stop. Labor does that to you-the hormones make you fell things more intensely, and at that moment, I was feelin' silly. I could not stop. I giggled all the way down the hallway, giggled into the bedroom. I giggled as I sat on the stool (a birth stool is like a toilet seat on legs). I REALLY giggled when I looked over to see my doula crawling towards me (there wasn't a lot of room to move), slowly, with the breeze from the fan blowing her hair just so...rraaaaowwwlll (that's a sassy jungle cat sound). Val checked me, and said I was still 6-and that my cervix was sitting wonky on the baby's head, on the back instead of the top. She said if I wanted, she could hang out there through a contraction and help move it forward. I said go for it, and giggled some more. I thought that must feel awfully strange to Val, she said she was just trying not to poke me. I had a contraction-holy CRAP did I have a contraction. I did NOT giggle. Suddenly there was what I'd been waiting for-long, strong, and waaaaay productive-at the end of that single contraction, with a little help from Val, I was 9 cm and ready for the tub--no water breaking necessary.

I shucked my shorts (left on a bikini top, if you're wondering), and made my way to the tub, As I eased into the water, my people began to settle in around me. The room was awesome-Troy and I have two small bedrooms that are joined by french doors, one room housing our bed, the other our dressers and rocking chair (this would also house the baby's cradle in coming months). We call it our "dressing room", and that's where the tub was set up. There was just enough room for everyone to find a place around the tub, and for the kids to be able to move from one spot to another. They were beyond excited, but really contained themselves rather well (with the help of the student midwife teaching them how to play I Spy). There was much concern about the temperature of the water, which to me felt perfect. I sat on my heels in the middle of my inflatable birth pool and absorbed the moment. Birth is a fantastic unifier-rarely will you see a group of people exist together so fluidly, so seamlessly, as if they had been together always and would be evermore. They drew in around me like a hug, settling onto pillows, ottomans, birth balls, laps, with smiles and soothing words. Such peace, such joy. Morgan clambered over the side of the pool and sat with me a little while-a very little while, as her excitement nearly made our tub runneth over (inflatable pools wiggle) and unfortunately I could not handle her movement mid-contraction. So out she went, into a waiting towel. That became my only rule-nobody touch the pool while I contract.
Between contractions we chatted, laughed, I swirled around in the water playing with different positions. Val asked how much help I wanted catching the baby, and we agreed I would do as much as I could. My doula and Katie snapped pictures as we all waited for what we were sure would be iminent pushing. Really, I expected to start pushing-gently, slowly-as soon as I got in the water. But birth doesn't like to be predicted, and decided to make us wait a little bit. Build anticipation. While sitting on my heels again, I thought a felt a small gush-maybe my water had finally broken. I reported this to the midwives. Val took note, and reminded me that the next contraction would likely feel different and to put my mind and body were they needed to be for that. Whether my water actually broke or I am just so autosuggestive that her words were all I needed I don't know-but indeed my next contraction felt different, and I began to bear down. Not much, just enough to test the waters and let my body know it was time to open. I waited for the next urge, excitement building as I remembered the satisfaction of Morgan's slow, controlled delivery-how I moved her with purpose, my body and I working together to deliver her without damage or urgency. I waited for that urge, and with the next contraction, didn't feel it. Ok. That's fine. It will come. Val asked if I felt pinchy in the front, and I said no-not remembering that she asked for a reason. With the next contraction I felt the urge again, and pushed-but felt like the baby wasn't moving. Odd. Morgan had moved so well. I tried again, and still nothing. They say the third baby's a wild card. I tried again. The best way I can describe it was like pushing against a trampoline-the baby would move down, and then almost bounce back up. Every time I pushed Morgan would announce, "I see the baby!" and my mother would turn to the phone on the dresser (my sister was listening in from California) and whisper "no she doesn't." Ah-there's the pinching Val was asking about. Val asked my permission to check and see if I had an anterior cervical lip (when a small portion of the cervix doesn't soften and can't move easily past the baby's head). Ah, crap. There it is. Would I like her to "reduce" it (meaning manually push it back)-well, my sister had a lip that went unnoticed, and pushed against it for nearly 3 hours before it was reduced. I chose NOT to do that. Val talked gently to me about remaining relaxed through the next contraction when she will worked her magic-and apologized profusely for the side effects. Here it comes--HOLY SH*$#(%()@$*)^@)$*)TTTTTT!!!!! "Mommy you're hurting my ears!" "She's compete now" and WHOMP somebody dropped a BOWLING BALL on my perineum. Wild, uncontrollable pushing, and her head was fully crowning- "You don't have to do it all at once sweetie, you don't have to do it all at once, take a breath, that's right." In that one second I moved from casual conversation to complete encampment in labor land-my head lolled on the tub, I moaned, I felt Troy's hands on my hair and Mom's hands on my shoulder. I heard Morgan's chatter but not the words, and responded to none of it. And then it was building again, the raging storm, the pressure, the power-and I was wild. A little part of me knew I could slow down, it would be better-but the rest of me was unable. In one massive move her head was delivered. Sweet relief. The bowling ball was out. A little of my mind came back, and I looked at my baby's head in the water. "Where's your hair??" Val-"It's under the sac, look, she's in the caul." (Here's where the tough membranes come in-if my water broke, it was a little hole. Kiera was born in the sac (well, her head was). This may sound odd, but is has long been thought to be a good omen and to us alternative birthers, it's pretty awesome. )
Val did her preliminary exam of the baby's delivery status while we waited for the final contraction, and found her to have the cord around her neck. I was not surprised, as she was such a tosser in utero there was no way she wouldn't be tangled in the cord. This required Val to tear the sac so that she could attemt to slide the cord over her head, or loosen it enough that the baby could be born through it. She couldn't get much slack, and we had a few seconds of tension deciding whether to cut the cord now or not-and then there was no time- final surge, the final heave, and my baby was born at 6:36 PM, exactly 6 hours after the onset of labor. She moved gracefully through the water as Val slowly pulled her up (her delivery was so intense I had both hands braced against the floor of the tub to lift myself off my bottom, and sadly was unable to catch her myself). The little booger had the cord around her neck not once but twice, as well as around her belly and around one thigh. So instead of handing her straight to me, Val took about 5 seconds to unwind her-during which time Troy and I got our first glimpse of the goods and were overjoyed to be the first to discover we'd had a daughter. Val finally freed her and placed her in my hands. I drew her tiny body to my chest, kissed her, peeked between her legs to verify, and announced to the assemblege "we have a baby girl."
Now I am a big ole' crier. I cry over everything. Join me in Disneyland and you'd better bring a box of tissues. Weepy Mc-weeperson. But I had never cried after giving birth. It surprised me, and dissappointed me-was I really not as moved by my child's emergence into the world as I was by Mickey Mouse? Who knew. But when I made that announcement, and I looked back at my tiny daughter-held her hand-something beyond tremendous washed over me. I sobbed. Really sobbed. Huge, wracking, TV drama sobs. I would get myself collected, and then it would hit me again. This was it. Everything I'd ever wanted. Garrett beside me, asking if she had bones. Morgan in my mother's lap, begging to hold her before she was even out of the water. My father, who'd been unable to attend my other two births crying softly with my sister (who was still on speakerphone). Troy smiling so hard I could feel it, even though he was behind me. And Kiera so calm, so peaceful they had to suction her to get her to cry. She just looked at me, at her family-when Garrett spoke to her she turned to him in recognition. When he asked if he could touch her, so cautious, I cried again. Morgan ran out of the room to get clothes for her new sister and came back in with everything she could carry. Hands down, no contest, the most fun, exciting, fulfilling, empowering, loving, enormous and extraordinary day I could ever hope to experience. The day my family was born.
Kinda makes you want to have a baby, doesn't it?

Anticipation.

Many women never notice the intricate relationship they have with their wombs when awaiting a baby-I can't help but notice mine, as we have been arguing heatedly recently. See, a situation we were hoping to avoid arose this weekend, one which put me back on the "trying to hold out" path in terms of giving birth, and one which unfortunately has put a slight taint on my relationship with my midwives.
My two primary midwives, whom I adore beyond expression, both women who respect and care for me as more than a "client" but as a part of their community, are wonderful. I trust them implicitly and have been anticipating another pregnancy and birth in their care since Morgan was born. Throghout this pregnancy, though, there have been hiccups in my care, all tied to the fact the many more women are seeking out of hospital birth-which is wonderful, but is taxing the birth center and the midwives who work there to their limits. Many woman who want birth OOH aren't ready to take the plunge all the way to homebirth, they want a happy medium-and there just aren't enough freestanding birth centers. So the midwives are stuck in a pickle-do they turn women away to better concentrate their time on the ones who got there first, do they take them all and kill themselves with sleep deprivation, or do they try to expand their services by hiring more midwives? After trying the second option and deciding they really didn't like it (from 4-9 births a week, which doesn't sound like much if you aren't familiar with midwifery-but midwives stay with their clients throughout labor and delivery-so if 5 clients labor 10 hrs each, plus 4 hrs post-partum care, the midwife is putting in 70 hrs not including their clinic visits during business hrs--they were dying), they hired a new midwife into their practice. My issue is that I did not know this was happening until I was 3 months into my pregnancy-didn't meet the new recruit until 19 wks, and have only seen her 3 times. Add to the pot that every visit with her has revolved around bad news (preterm contrax, anemia, pre-eclampsia scare) and the fact that her personality isn't one I would have chosen in a midwife, and there was no way we could form a good relationship. So long story short, she's a "junior" member of the team, offering back-up support to the other two and being on call herself only every third weekend. I discussed my discomfort with the idea of her attending the birth with the other two, and both were confident it needn't be worried about as she's on call so little, and that they work extra hard to make sure one of them were with me instead-one even went to the extra length of giving me her personal number so I could contact her directly if the new gal were on call.
So here's the issue-new gal is on call this weekend, and the other two are not available (well, if I were to go later this evening I could probably get one of them, but it would be a hardship for her). Other issue-my body is trying to go into labor.
The whole thing just stinks. I chose midwifery care, and these midwives in particular, because I wanted to attention and care that they provide-they come to know you, to care about you, knowing that a loving, trusting relationship with your cargiver makes for healthier pregnancies and births. The whole thing seems even more crazy when I think back to Garrett's birth and the doc who attended it-a total stranger to me who came in at 9 cm and left right after I was cleaned up. I never saw her again. At the time that didn't seem like too big a deal, I had really wanted my own doc, but knew there was a good chance I wouldn't get her. It hasn't been until the last few years that I've realized how much it did affect me to have a total stranger touching me in the way a caregiver must to assist a baby out. I felt very self-conscious, I forced myself to not make any noise, I didn't interact with her at ALL, not even to tell her when she was hurting me. And she was a nice lady! But I meet nice ladies all the time, and don't let them catch my babies.
Fortunately it looks like we're going to be able to hold off for the rest of today, and hopefully have a wonderful birth in the next day or two-but that won't completely take away the anxiety and tension I've gone through the last couple of days, stress that really isn't good for either me or the baby. I don't know if I've explained this well enough for those of you reading to really see where I'm coming from, as it really might seem like I'm making a big deal out of nothing. What it comes down to is choice. I've learned the impoortance of exercising your right to choose in regards to birth, and by having this woman thrust on me, that right has been taken away. This is never supposed to happen with good midwifery care (yes, there is poor midwifery care-that's why it's important to be able to choose your practitioner), and it has left me with a really foul taste in my mouth which upsets me even more as I never like to be upset with the people I care about (meaning the primary midwives).
So, back to my initial statement-I am arguing with my womb, but I think I have it convinced that waiting a bit longer will be in both of our best interests. And if it doesn't happen, and I have the baby tonight with the new gal, I'll work with it-I have surrounded myself with a wonderful birth team all sensitive to the situation who will do their utmost to protect my space-but I'd rather that not be the focus. I'd much rather everybody be able to enjoy the journey and welcome the baby in peace and love. But that will happen anyway, right?
And now I feel obliged, after dumping so much me-focused rhetoric, to share some of the antics of the OTHER members of my family. Garrett is teaching everyone to play chess. I'd love to leave it at that and allow everyone to assume this is just another layer of his brilliance-after all, he's taught himself addition, subtraction, and multiplication (along with some simple algebra), it isn't that much of a stretch to think he's a blooming chess prodigy, right?
Except he can't remember how to play. He knows how to set up the board, and that pawns move forward and rooks move up and back. He knows you have to capture the king. That's about it. Today he played with my dad. I can't even describe how the "game" went, except to say that is was hysterical--he made up the rules as they went, even capturing a few of his own men by mistake. But he doesn't change his rules--once he's given the instruction, he sticks to it (it doesn't have to make any sense). He's a very patient teacher, with no tolerance for cheating. And remarkabley, I believe Dad beat him. I don't think even Dad knows how that happened, but Garrett was very happy for him.

39....

The end of a pregnancy always brings an array of emotions--sadness that it's almost over, anticipation of meeting the child that's been pummeling my innards, anxiety and excitement over the unknowns of the upcoming birth...I could go on, but you get the idea. This time I'm having harder time just being excited as I know that this will be our last and I'll never feel a baby growing inside me again. To some women this is a relief, knowing that portion of their work is done--but I face it with dismay. I will do my utmost to perserve the memories of this and my other pregnancies, but it isn't the same. The end of a chapter, so to speak. But enough belly-aching (pun intended) about leaving this part of my life behind. There are things to be joyful about, and thankful for, in the present and future.
On Monday my midwives declared that they have no idea what happened to me, and that never in (Ali's) career has she seen bloodwork do what mine did. Everything has stabilized, and my bloodpressure is great-even low, in comparison to other women at full term. The baby is VERY low in my pelvis, which makes for some interesting sensations when the little one gets REALLY excited, and after requesting an exam (my midwives do not do vaginal exams prior to labor unless mom wants it), she confirmed what I'd already suspected-basically we're ready to rip, and cold go at any time--or be pregnant for several more days. We'll see what baby decides.
Yesterday my dad arrived, so all are now assembled and (astonishingly) the house is clean, orderly, and all the birth supplies are in the appropriate places. So now we really are just waiting. The kids are beyond excited as baby items begin to emerge (they each had to take turns "sleeping" in the cradle), and Garrett couldn't settle down to sleep last night until I promised him we would wake him should the baby come during the night. I am happy to take the days we have and enjoy the company of my family-after days of restricting my activity to keep from delivering before Dad arrived, I am looking forward to a lovely long walk in the park and (strangely enough) doing the laundry myself. Troy is very anxious, moreso than with the other two I think, and looking forward to the possibility of "getting the call" at work-which hasn't happened before.
Regardless of what transpires, the next week promises to be an exciting one.

38 weeks and Holy Hotness Batman!

So apparently my plan of ending my pregnancy before the heat of summer arrived has backfired--while us Seattleites usually enjoy a cool, damp, and sometimes dreary June, this year Ma Nature is thumbing her nose at my careful planning by sending us our first heat wave remarkabley early. Yesterday hit about 95 in my back yard, which in our particular climate feels like being wrapped in a wool blanket whilst sitting in a sauna. Being humongously pregnant doesn't help. By late afternoon I felt drugged, but couldn't sleep because it was too warm in the house. When I finally was able to drift off, I slept to hard and too long resulting in a very groggy, lethargic evening. I felt much better after soaking in a cool bath for awhile. The kids had a ball-they played outside nearly all day, enjoying the sprinkler and potting veggie plants with Grandma. Garrett was disappointed to miss our first Farmer's Market of the year, but Grandma decided it was just too hot to try and walk him down there, and I agreed.

Today is my self-imposed deadline to have everything ready for the birth. We have our last meeting with our doula tonight, and I want everything in place so we can do a walk-through of the house to show her where it all is. That means I have to clean out our dressing room (our bedroom is comprised of two smaller rooms that we connected with french double doors-one houses our bed, the other our dressers and closets-it also holds the cradle and rocking chair-that's the "dressing room" (or as Morgan calls it, "dressing-up room")--aren't we fancy?) to make way for the birth pool and stools for people to sit on. I also need to create a tidy place for towels and linens, as well as the medical supplies. We'll set up candles on the dresser tops, and might have time to squeeze in installing a dimmer switch for the little chandelier we have in there, but it should turn out to be a very lovely birthing space. And having everything in there as opposed to the living room gives our guests a place to go should I require some private time. We have, as usual, quite the list of potential attendees (nearly all are contingent on when labor happens and how long it lasts)--myself, Troy, my mom and the kids are definites, followed by two midwives and our doula (unless I have a super-fast labor, which is a possibility but not a real concern), my dad (if baby can wait until the 10th), Erin (close friend and videographer of our other births), and Katie (another close friend who was present for Morgan's birth). That's 10 (not including me) people. That's a lot. But really, in comparison to a hospital birth where you will have 2-3 nurses, 1-4 doctors, 1-2 companions, 1 doula, and yourself, it isn't that bad-and I'd choose 10 people I know and love over 5 strangers in my birth room any day. And this way I can have some privacy without having to hide in the bathroom (I've had to send a number of laboring mommas into the bathroom for alone time because nurses and/or docs wouldn't leave them alone in their hospital rooms--seriously, who wants to go cry about medical interventions in a strange bathroom?) and my birth attendants will have a comfy place to hang out until I need them again. All in all, I'm really excited about creating my "birth suite" and am really hoping to labor for at least 3 or 4 hours so that I get a chance to use it. That may sound odd, a momma hoping for a longer rather than shorter labor, but I enjoy giving birth-and the shorter it is, the less time you have to adjust to the process and be in the moment--this makes the journey (and pain) more intense and out-of-control feeling. Now granted, I've never gone through a long, hard labor, so we'll see how this one goes and whether my attitude stays the same.

Fast forward to later today: Mom and I took the kids to a park on the Cedar River today in an attempt to relax, have fun, and stay cool. While we had fun and stayed cool, there was not so much of the relaxing--such is the life of a momma with young, energetic children. This particular park is neat because there is a little alcove built next to the river, so that river water runs in and out but there is a low wall to block the current (a very good thing, as it was running fast with snow melt-off today). So the kids were able to play in it much like a lake beach, but much colder-if I stood in it too long it made my calves cramp. So while I didn't get to bob around as I would have liked, it was hilarious watching the kids explore and test their own limits with the temperature-by the time we left they were able to sit in it up to their armpits, and tried to convince us they weren't cold! But oh, it was nice to sit in the shade with a cool breeze coming across the water. And get a little bit of sun on my gargantuan belly ;).

Oh, and I suppose I should add that at Monday's appt with midwife Val my blood pressure was normal, my urine test from the week before was great (no protein whatsoever, for those who googled preeclampsia-Shelley, you're going to be a walking pregnancy textbook by the time this baby is born ;) ), and while I've gained more weight than I'd like, we are all very pleased with things right now! Val drew more blood because, as she said, "once we start drawing, we kind of have to keep doing it," but she doesn't expect it to look weird--though she did admit being very alarmed by the initial bloodwork that set this whole mess rolling last week. We are very happy to no longer be alarming.

Oh, and we had a wonderful time throwing my henna party this last Sunday. It was just a joy-all my ladies (minus a few who had fairly legitimate reasons for not attending) gathered around, waiting on me, massaging my feet, and thoroughly enjoying each others' company while we all got painted. My belly art is awesome (it drew quite a few eyes at the beach today) and I really loved the general feeling of peace and happiness everyone brought along with them.

About 10 minutes in:
30 Min in:

Almost done! She was awesome-she added a bunch of stuff to the original design as I would request it, and made it look like it was supposed to be there. And she's only 19! (She works with her mom, who did the other ladies' art and was also my mentor doula during my training.) I soooo want to learn to do henna.

The ladies with their hands done (minus mom and my doula-mom's taking the shot and Alissa had to leave prior)-the artists took portraits of us all outside as well, I'll post them when I get them. My belly looks weird and oblong here...or maybe that's how it always looks, I can't see the whole thing all at once!!

The henna looks very dark here because the paste is still on--it takes about 6 hrs to set. I'll take more pics tomorrow so you can see what it looks like now that it has its full color-it takes a few days to finish staining and will stay for 2-3 wks, depending on how well I protect it. It's very cool and I totally recommend it.

It seems unreal that all these things I've been waiting for (readying the birth room, henna-ing my belly, gathering baby supplies, etc) are actually happening and we are now just counting days until our family has a new member. This pregnancy has been a complicated, unpredictable journey--but one I will saver while I have it and cherish forever, as with the little human we will soon have as a result of it. Despite all the hurdles, today I am just joyful. What a wonderful feeling.