My Wittle Baby Bwother

An excerpt from an email I received this week from my little brother who is on a mission in South Africa:

On a different subject, it's my year mark... and I was just wondering.... Jeff has a tribute to him... I have.... habba who wha??? Oh yeah.. Nothing. :) Just a thought.

I ask you my friends. Is it polite to ASK to have someone write a blog about you? Hmm. I think not. However, I DO love my little bro and since I miss him SO much I will oblige. He is one of the rare members of my family that "hearts" my blog anyway so that gives him all sorts of points.**

So let me tell you the stories I remember about my little brother Andy. I will leave out the one where he embarrassed the heck out of my 11-year-old self by getting naked then shaking his gibblies in front of 8 of my closest friends during a slumber party. Yeah, I'll leave that one out.

Anyway, he's got this dark red hair and light skin that just begs to be sunburned. I helped him out in that area when he was 3 and I was 10. It was summer and my mom left me to watch him while she did some things. Usually not a horrible idea since I was a pretty good babysitter even at 10, but hey. Everyone has an off day. Andy wanted to play outside in the wading pool so we got in our swimming suits. I looked EVERYWHERE for the sunscreen and couldn't find it at all. I noticed that my mom had some lotion that said "contains sunscreen" so I figured it was just as good as Coppertone and rubbed it all over my little brother. We stayed outside in the hot sun for at least four hours, probably much longer.

The next morning we heard screams coming from Andy's room. My mom ran in there and he kept saying that his back hurt. She tried to lift up his shirt and couldn't, it was stuck to his back. She peeled it away a little bit. He had blisters the size of quarters all over his shoulders! She took him to the doctor where they sat him in a whirlpool and scrubbed them off every day for two weeks. YEOUCH!!!

Needless to say I never forgot to put sunscreen on him again when I watched him and my mom never forgot to make it easily accessible. I always have so guilty because of this. At the time I didn't know any better but still, I feel bad for making him hurt. Luckily he has forgiven me and only brings it up when he is trying to guilt me into doing something for him.

Since Andy was a lot younger than Jeff and I (like 7-8 years), we liked to play jokes on him. When we were in our late teens we drove around a little Dodge truck. We had four people squished in the cab and told Andy that if a cop drove by he was going to have to duck so that we wouldn't get arrested. So we are driving down the road and we drive by a cop. We tell Andy to duck, then Jeff decides to make it fun. He pulls over really quickly and tells Andy that the cop has his lights on behind us. He tells him that the only way we won't be arrested is if Andy opens the passenger door and sneaks out before the cop sees him. He tells him to hide in the bushes and we will come back for him later when it is dark. Andy is FREAKING out. Bawling. He panics but says he will do it. We start laughing and tell him it was a big joke. We laughed and laughed.

He didn't talk to us for a week and I can't say I blame him. It's a miracle that he still talks to us now after all the stuff we pulled. But he has to admit now, even if it was mean it was a LITTLE funny. A small, small small smidgen funny. Admit it, Andy. It was a smidgen funny.

Excluding the "Cop Story", Andy is great at putting a positive spin on crappy situations. Unfortunately he had a lot of crappy situations in his life that warranted such optimism. Our parents got divorced when he was 9 because my father was abusive. My mom got remarried a couple years later to a man who seemed to be great but ended up being not so great. He battled with alcoholism. Andy spent 8 years of his life living with someone that not only ignored him, but blamed him for everything that ever went wrong in his life. It was not easy for him.

Still he laughed and joked about it. Sometimes I think he laughed to keep from crying, but he made the best of things and came out of it with a great attitude and a desire to be better person. I admire that in him.

Andy is the youngest in our family so he has to put up with a lot of garbage from all of us. Lots of older siblings telling him what to do, trying to parent him. Lots of older siblings determined to help him make better choices than we all made. He would get good grades. He would go to college. He would gain a strong testimony of the Gospel. He would go on a mission. He would not rebel. We talked to him a lot about stuff. Greg gave him the "Don't Fornicate" talk every time he saw him. (Fornication sounds more evil and less exciting than sex, haha) Andy was a good sport about all of it. And except for the good grades thing he did pretty darn good.

Andy has lots of talents. He loves singing and performing. I remember seeing him as J. Pierpont Finch in "How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying" and just being blown away at how well he did. The kid stole the show! Also, he is funny. Hilarious, actually. You know those baby pictures you can get with the angel wings and soft lighting? Well, my 19-year-old brother made one of his own. It is grossly funny and I would totally post it here except for the fact that in 10 years he might not want it to be traveling the email circuit and people, it WOULD be traveling the emailing circuit. It is email-circuit worthy. I know some of you have seen it though. Is it not hilarious?

Andy came up to visit us about a month before leaving for South Africa. I was due with Mini-Man the week he was scheduled to go the MTC so it was the last time I got to see the kid in person for a while. I cried a lot. Later he told me that he didn't know I was crying because he was leaving. He thought it was because I was pregnant, haha. Anyway, we had a great time when he was here. He played a lot with A-Boy. I took him to get a missionary haircut since his was a tad innappropriate for entering the MTC. (Just a tad, don't you think? haha) We watched lots of movies. We stayed up late talking. I have always loved staying up late talking with him.

He's been out for a year now and is doing very well. He is teaching lots of people and eating lots of disgusting things like sheep eyeballs and yak heads. He is having lots of growing experiences. It's hard having him in the most dangerous countries in the world, but I know that he is being watched over. This year certainly has gone by fast and I can only hope that this next year goes just as quickly. I can't wait for him to see him again and for him to meet my little Mini-Man.

Take care, Elder Andy. Love and miss your guts.

**I print out my blog and send it to him, lest you think he is breaking rules and surfing the internet.

Things I Have Learned This Week--Birthday Edition

I know that I just blogged about stuff I learned but hey. give a girl a break. I've been really busy this week and when I haven't been busy, I've just been tired. I know, I know. I need to quit whining. But really. I've been TIRED.

Moving on now...

---My kid looks dang cute whilst covered in chocolate cake. A little gross perhaps, but still cute.

Mini-Man turned one recently and much to his father's dismay I dressed him up like a farmer before I let him properly destroy his birthday cake. He looked squeezably adorable, at least BEFORE the smearfest. Is this not the cutest little dude you have ever laid eyes upon? I
thought so.

---The "Happy Birthday" song is...okay. But the "Happy Birthday" song on the kazoo? Seriously folks. I am a GENIOUS for thinking that up. This may go down in history as the best "Happy Birthday" rendition ever. EVER. Note the harmonizing and prepare to be amazed.



Video Hosting - Upload Video - Photo Sharing

---Birthdays are never as perfect as you envision them to be. My 27th birthday was this week. We celebrated by going out to lunch at a yummy Mexican restaurant. Mini-Man? Screamed and hurled food the entire time. It was really quite thoughtful of him. Then he took a 45 minute nap instead of his usual 1 1/2 to 2 1/2 hours. I'm sure it is because he didn't want me to be alone on my birthday. That or he was/is still bitter that I left him in the care of his beloved Grandma for a week while I went galavanting around without him at Girl's Camp. I tried not to cry since I really really needed a break and instead plopped him in front of Blue's Clues like the good mother I am. Then I read a book.

The eve of my birthday I was exhausted but Greg talked me in to meeting his sisters for pie in celebration of the Most Fabulous Day Ever. He said it would be "good for me". After a 45 minute delay while Greg fixed our flat tire we were off. This time it was A-Boy's turn to freak out in the restaurant. I actually left the table in the middle of dinner in an effort not to strangle the poor kid. By the time I got back there was a new seating arrangement that involved NO kids around me, which was probably best. A-Boy was busy eating handfuls of honey butter. Whatever keeps you quiet, Little Dude. We got home at 9pm. I dragged myself to bed and crashed until the next morning. Ah, birthday sleep.

---Sometimes I emphasize the negative too much. Because even though my kids acted like terrors on the Big Day other people were nice to me. Greg bought me flowers. He even got me a card which was a big deal since he thinks they are a waste of money and environmental commodoties. The Perfect Lady who now has her own blog, by the way, made me this delicious cake. My friends bought me Baskin Robbins Pralines and Cream ice cream and some bright pink flip flops. My visiting teacher? Cupcakes. A little girl I taught at church last year? A Twix bar. The Relief Society Presidency? A Crunch bar. People called from far and near to wish me a happy day and to bring me foods high in caloric content. I felt special and loved. Just not from my kids.

---You absolutely cannot eat cake for two meals a day and feel good about it. You just can't. And after you eat the cake for dinner you will never be able to justify having 3 scoops of ice cream for dessert, even if it IS your birthday. I've been on the cake and ice cream diet for about a week now and am to the point where I can actually FEEL myself getting fat. My 5k? In one week. We shall see how this goes.

So there you have it, my Week-O-Cake and other various foods that are bad for me. I still have half a cake left. Applemom (The Perfect Lady) says that birthday cake has no calories, so I'm sticking to that story. It'll be gone by Monday, mark my words.

Speaking of That Pesky Ole Perfect Woman...

Just look what she just whipped up for my birthday. Whipped cream frosting in my favorite shades, with chocolate sprinkled on top. I may have died and gone to heaven.

Things I Learned While Kickin' It At Girl's Camp Last Week.

---Teenagers don't say things like "Kickin' It" anymore. But they did until they heard ME say it, therefore making it officially uncool.

---You can't fit teenagers into one little mold. There are all types of girls and we had them ALL up there. The shy ones that say nothing the entire time. The bossy ones that try take over and sass the leaders. The ones who act like everything is boring to them. The immature ones who don't QUITE get what testimony meeting is all about. The ones who would much rather help in the kitchen than be with the other girls. The loud ones who don't quit chattering until their leaders bribe them with slushies from the local convenience store. They are all so different, but all 29 of them had something wonderful to contribute to our little group. I fell in love with them!

---I am not a fan of outdoor cooking for the following reasons: 1) It takes freaking forever. 2) Those tinfoil dinners? Burned on the outside, raw in the middle. 3) I get tired of hearing, "Is this a bug or a piece of dirt?" Really, at that point, does it matter?

--Teenage girls like to hug each other. A lot. I got hugged almost ten times a day. And I hugged OTHER people probably that much too! It was a hug fest. And I don't EVEN want to know what kind of Google searches I am going to be on because of these five sentences.

---Don't drink the hot chocolate. Unless you sift it through your teeth first. I was in charge of ladling the water into the cups for the girls. There were lots of creepy crawlies flying around and an assortment of bugs was floating in my pot 'o' hot water. I tried to skim them off to no avail. I did my best to avoid the them, but I KNOW someone must have gotten a couple. I heard nary a complaint though. Maybe they were under the impression that hot chocolate should be chewy? Hmm.

---If you go to the river, expect to get wet. Really wet. I decided to join the girls for a nice, leisurley wade. They wanted me to get in all the way and I told them no thanks. Up to my ankles is just fine by me, thank you. All of the sudden it got really quiet and ATTACK!!!!!! I was tackled from behind and thrown headfirst into the water. They were very proud of themselves for "getting me" and brought it up repeatedly at church on Sunday. I pretended I hated it of course, but loved every minute of it.

---I hate sleeping in tents. I knew this before, but camping last week was a not-so-pleasant reminder of how much I loathe sleeping on the ground. I tossed, I turned, I imagined that there were skunks and ravenous beasts lying in wait on the outside of the tent, just in case I got up to pee in the middle of the night. I had to go SO BAD but I was too scared so I waited until morning. Man was that a LONG night.

---Port-o-Potties = Disgusting. I had to close my eyes while I hovered over the growing mound of human waste. And I tried not to breathe. I dowsed myself with hand sanitizer afterwards but that stuff is only 99.9% effective against germs. And we all know that other .1% is what is going to kill us off. It really is a wonder that we are all still alive.

---I can probably go my whole life again without hearing THIS phrase: "OUR WARD LOVES! (OUR WARD LOVES!) GIRLS CAMP! (GIRLS CAMP!) OH DEEP DOWN IN OUR HEARTS, OH DEEP DOWN IN OUR HEARTS, OH DEEP DEEP OH DEEP DEEP OH DEEP DOWN IN OUR HEARTS! OH....SNAP!!!!!!" I totally don't get the "Oh Snap" thing. Can someone please explain it to me? I know. I'm horrible. I just can't get into the peppy cheers.

---Sometimes my perception is way off. You know those kinds of women that have it all together and can do everything with style and flair? The women that have the perfect families and the perfect amount of spirituality and excel in absolutely everything that they do? Well, I went to girls camp with a leader just like that. Before I started working with her in this calling, I couldn't stand her. She drove me nuts because she was so freaking perfect. I thought she had this Holier Than Thou attitude. I actually cried when I found out she would be working with me in Young Women's. I felt so intimidated by her!

I spent time with her before camp and had one of those lightbulb moments where I realized that she isn't the awful person I was painting her to be. She has great talents, but doesn't flaunt them. She gives 110% because she loves serving the Lord, not because she wants glory. Man, do I feel humbled.

So Applemom, when you read this and I know you will, I love you and I'm sorry that I thought you were so awful. You are a great example to me. And just so you know, slacking a LITTLE bit on SOMETHING wouldn't be so bad so that the rest of us could feel like we were keeping up with you, haha. And thanks for laughing when I told you how I REALLY felt. You have become a good friend.

So there is my week at Girl's Camp. I had an amazing, spiritual, exciting, fun and exhausting time. I got to know so many fantastic girls and leaders and it was so amazing to watch them get to know each other. We had girls that felt friendless leave arm in arm with other girls. We watched them bond, we watched them grow closer to Heavenly Father. I feel honored to be part of such an extraordinary experience. Not only did I get to watch the girls grow and change, but I got to grow and change myself. I came home with a clear knowledge of why I am here and how much I am loved. I came home ready to be a better person.

But just so we are clear, I'm not going camping any time soon.

Lists Lists and More Lists.

That's what I've been about lately. I am looking at my desk and here are the lists I see laying (lying?) around.

A shopping list
A list of people to invite to Mason's 1st Birthday Party
A list of things to do today
A list of things to do before camp
A list of things to take to camp
A list of girl's names that are GOING to camp.

So I'm all about the list thang, baby. And I am particular with my lists. If I end up coming back later and use a different kind of pen on my list it throws the whole thing off. It not only looks wrong, it doesn't look neat and tidy. And I like my lists to be neat and tidy. I also hate when other people write on my lists. Greg doesn't know this, but I get a small twitch in my eye every time he writes something on the shopping list because it is NOT my handwriting. It just doesn't flow! And it is nothing against his handwriting. I just feel the list should either be MY handwriting or HIS handwriting, not both. Fortunately this is not a marriage breaker upper. I just do some deep breathing exercises and resist the urge to write a NEW list. (Do you think I am crazy? This sounds really crazy.)

Anyhoo, so I have been going 90 miles an hour trying to get ready for camp. My kids have been sick and have been doing that I Want You To Sit NEAR Me But Not Hold Or Touch Me thing. You know, that thing where if you get up and walk two feet away they scream in protest, but if you pick them up they try to get away. I hate that thing. It makes it hard to do stuff. Despite all that I think I will be ready for camp tomorrow. I just have to finish cleaning my house so that my mother-in-law doesn't feel obligated to do it while I am gone.

Greg's mom will be here watching the kids all week so that should be fun for them. I am hoping that they will be good for her, even though a tiny part of me would be a little flattered if they cried and cried because they can't bear to live without me. I have a feeling that that isn't the case at all though. She will load them up on marshmallows and chocolate chip cookies. Their love for her will be eternal.

Now about this camp thing. It took a while, but I am finally excited for it. I am trying to ignore the fact that there are no showers, no running water, no flushing toilets, really stinky campfires, creepy bugs, etc. where we are going. And THIS place doesn't even have dial-up. The horror! I can't complain though, since I am a leader and have to "be upbeat" and have a "positive outlook" on things. You know, be motivational and all that crap.

So yes, there are negatives about the whole experience, but also there are some good things too. Like getting to know the girls. And getting to know the other leaders. And getting to be all spiritual and stuff. And being away from my kids for FOUR WHOLE DAYS. And not having to change any diapers for FOUR WHOLE DAYS. (Er, at least I HOPE I won't have to)

See? ALL good things. I'll let you know how it REALLY goes when I get back. Which will be Friday. But I will have company all weekend so it may be Monday before I have a chance to post again. By that time I will be old. My birthday is coming and I will be going from mid-twenties to late twenties. So far I'm okay with it, but we'll see. I still have a week to think about it.

TTFN!

One Year Ago Around This Time...

I was hot, uncomfortable and peeing a lot. You guessed it. Pregnant. In some ways it seems like forever in other ways, just like yesterday. Since Mini-Man's birthday is rapidly approaching I thought I would share his birth story with ya'll. Be forewarned though, it's more of a pregnancy/labor/birth story. Read: LONG

I got pregnant with Mini-Man when A-Boy was just 11 months old. A-Boy was born at 34 weeks due to severe preeclampsia/HELLP syndrome and I was terrified that it was going to happen again. TERRIFIED. After I hit 25 weeks we took my blood pressure every single day, sometimes multiple times. I took baby aspirin, ate more protein and tried to eat better.

I was determined to have the birth experience I wanted this time around. A-Boy was born by emergency c-section and I hemmed and hawed on whether I should take the c-section route again. I went to Dr. K who told me he would lean towards doing a c-section because "more and more hospitals are not doing VBACs anymore" but that it was my decision and he would support me either way. He is a religious man, and told me to go home and pray about it. At first I said I was fine with a c-section, but the more I thought about it the more I felt uneasy about the whole thing. I felt like I was making the decision out of fear of the unknown, not because I knew it was best.

So I went online and started researching VBACS (Vaginal Birth After Cesaerean) vs. C-Sections. I talked to a lot of women who had done both. I did pros and cons lists. I prayed lots. Greg and I went to the temple to get clarity on the situation. I got my answer as we were sitting there in the quiet. In the grand scheme of things, it didn't really matter how my child was brought into this world. I came away feeling totally comfortable in my decision. I was going to have a VBAC.

My next appointment with Dr. K I brought it up. He spouted off with every reason in the book as to why I SHOULDN'T have one (and really, none of them were real reasons or applied to me in any way) and told me that I should go home and pray about it. I told him that I did and that I wanted to have a VBAC. "We really don't have to make that decision until you are about 36 weeks along. Let's wait until then, do an exam and then see if it is possible." Ummm......what???

So the next appointment I brought it up again. Same thing happened. He spouted off why I shouldn't have one, tried to scare me into it and told me we would make the decision at 36 weeks. Oh, and I should pray about it.

I was ticked. I knew that if I was with a doctor who wasn't supportive of a VBAC I could very well have an unnecessary c-section. I knew that if we waited until 36 weeks to make the decision it would be too late to find a new OB/GYN and I would be stuck with the one I was with.

I came home totally crying and upset. My next appointment Greg came with me. He was going to talk to him about all of it because every time I did I ended up emotional and crying about it. Greg asked him about doing a VBAC. Dr. K started talking about how 'the current literature on the subject" shows that not very many hospitals are doing VBACS anymore because of insurance rates. Blah, blah blah. He brought up the "let's wait until 36 weeks thing". I had had it. We finished talking, he measured my belly and left. I called another doctor that day.

28 weeks. I come to Dr. H not knowing what to expect. He walks in, shakes my hand, sits in his chair, tips back, props his feet up and says, "So...what's up? I heard you wanted a VBAC." I tell him what the other doctor had told me. He rolls his eyes and tells me that that is a bunch of old school b** s*** and that if I wanted a VBAC, we would do a VBAC. He tells me that his philosophy is that he treats his patients like he would want his wife to be treated. He tells me I can have the birth I want as long as it is safe. He promises me he would be at the birth and will do everything possible to make it happen. That Greg, the doctor and I were a team and that we were going to DO it! I cried and cried. GOOD tears this time though. Remember, I was pregnant and ridin' the emotional rollercoaster.

32 Weeks. We take a natural childbirth class. Fifteen minutes into it I know it is not for me. I am fine with drugs. We learn a lot from the class, breathing and coping techniques, but it is not for me.

34 Weeks. This is when I delivered A-Boy. No baby in sight, no signs of preeclampsia. The whole week I am on edge. When the week is over, Greg and I breath sighs of relief. We are venturing into new territory. I start getting really really big and really really uncomfortable.

36 1/2 Weeks. Dr. H strips my membranes to get things going a bit, which probably isn't the best idea since it does nothing for me but cause me to have major back labor. I can't sleep for a week.

38 Weeks. It is July and hot. I signed up for the energy program where they turn your air conditioner off on really hot days to save energy. Am I stupid? Why did I do that? Oh, yeah. To save $7. It is SO worth it, let me tell you. We go to the pool a lot, mainly so that I could submerge my whale of a body and forget that I am hugely pregnant. Did I mention it is hot?

39 Weeks. I don't feel good around 11:30pm when I go to bed. I have a hard time getting to sleep. I start throwing up at 3 am and am up puking or having bouts of diarrhea every fifteen minutes for the rest of the night. It is awful.

6:00 am. I am bowing to the porcelain gods when I feel something wet. I start sobbing. Greg asks if I am okay. I tell him that not only am I throwing up, but I just peed all over the floor! Could things be any worse? I sit on the toilet and realize that it isn't stopping. It isn't pee. My water broke! Hooray! I AM still in charge of my bodily functions! (Well, kind of) I tell him and he doesn't believe me. He keeps asking me if I am sure. "Of COURSE I am sure. I am SURE!" I say through clenched teeth. I decide to take a quick shower before we head to the hospital. Useless, since as soon as I finish more amniotic fluid leaks down my leg. Nice.

7:10 am. I have my first contraction. It lasts about 20 seconds. Piddly little thing.

7:30 am. We get to the hospital and drop A-Boy off to his aunts. They go to breakfast, thinking that by the time they are finished they will come back to the hospital and see their new nephew. Yeah, right.

7:50 am. We check in with the nurse. I tell her my water has broken and she tells me to pee in a cup. How do you pee in a cup when you are leaking fluids from other areas? I ask her this. She shrugs and directs me to the bathroom. I pee in the cup. I hand it back to her and she says, "Wow, your water has broken!" What? Really? I hadn't noticed.

8:00 am. They get me into a gown and stuff. Contractions are a good 5 minutes apart. The nurse checks me and I'm at a measly 1.

9:30 am. Dr. H comes to see me. He looks shocked tells me I don't look very good. (Gee, thanks) I tell him that I have been throwing up with diarrhea all night and am living on zero sleep. He checks me. I'm still at a one. Dr. H tells me that if I want an epidural now I can have one, that way I can try to get some sleep since I will need energy for pushing. I am all for that. I want some sleep.

9:45 am. Epidural time. I am not scared of the needle, I just don't look. I feel a pinch, my legs start to feel heavy but I can move them. The machine says I am having a contraction but I don't notice. The nurse anesthetist tells me that he thinks there should be a men's lounge in the hospital where men can go have a beer and watch a game while their wives are laboring. I bite my tongue. I try to sleep.

11:00 am. I beg for food. The nurse tells me she can give me broth or Jello. I tell her Jello is great and she brings me back lemon. YUCK. I throw it up. She brings me blue. I throw that up too. She swears those are the only two kinds they have at the moment. Who likes blue Jello? I think about stealing some of Greg's candy but figure I will throw that up too so I don't.

12:00pm. The dang blood pressure cuff goes off every fifteen minutes, just when I am about to drift away into slumberland. Because of the preeclampsia/hellp thing I am too afraid to take it off so I just try to deal.

3:00 pm. My contractions are slowing and aren't consistent at all. Actually, they never really were consistent. Dr. H checks me. I'm in between a 2 and a 3. He wants to give me a low dose of pitocin. I say no way. I read a lot of things about pitocin and pitocin + VBAC = uterine rupture. He promises to keep it an extremely low dose, just enough to keep my contractions consistent. I agree. The nurse is mad and wants to crank it up so that I will dilate faster. He tells her absolutely not and she pouts for the rest of her shift.

6:00 pm. My epidural is starting wear off so the anesthetist gives me another one. Dr. H checks me again. I'm still at a 3. He is concerned. He says there is a thin band of collagen around my cervix that isn't allowing it to expand but we will try. He uses tongs to manually stretch my cervix. (Thank goodness for epidurals) He works on it for about 30 minutes and gets me to a 4. Whoopee.

6:30 pm. My epidural stops working. I am feeling everything. It is extremely painful and the pitocin is doing nothing. We stop the pitocin.

8:30 pm. I really start whining about the pain. And I feel like I have to push. They check me and I am barely at a 5. They pump more drugs into the epidural but it isn't working. The pain goes away for about 10 minutes and then comes back with a vengence. The meds are making me loopy. Greg is a great coach, we do breathing exercises and count lots.

9:30 pm. The nurses decide they want to move me into another wing since I am the only one left in my wing. I want to kill them all. If the nurse anesthetist utters another @#$%%^& word I am going to throw something sharp at him.

10:30 pm. Greg tries to keep me focused. I am having 30 second contractions every minute or so, still not consistent. I ask him for some Carmex and he goes to my bag to get it. A contraction starts and I yell at him to "GET YOUR BUTT BACK OVER HERE NOW!" He comes running. I keep asking him to fetch me things that are far away but he is afraid to get them because I yell at him whenever a contraction starts. It's great fun. I remember in our childbirth class when they told us that squeezing the hips together seems to help so I tell him to do that. A contraction starts right when he begins squeezing and I scream "DON'T TOUCH ME!" at him.

10:32 pm. I apologize for screaming at my sweet, bewildered husband who is only trying to help.

11:30 pm. The nurse checks me. I am still at a 5. I break down bawling. I can't do it anymore. I am exhausted. She leaves and I talk to Greg. I tell him I am done. I am so so so tired and I'm only halfway there. I was living on no sleep and have kept down no food in the past 24 hours. It's just not going to happen.

12:00 am. Dr. H checks me again and I am still at a 5. (big surprise there) He tells me he is going to be straight with me and that he knows how much I want a VBAC and he wants that for me too but it just isn't going to happen. My cervix is being held tight by that band of collagen and it's just not working. I know he is right. I also know that if things keep going the way they are going there is no way I am going to get to the point of being able to push. I am completely and utterly exhausted. I request that the nurse anesthetist NOT be in the operating room because everything about him bugs me. Dr. H says he will take care of it. I cry and the nurses prep me for a c-section.

12: 15 am. I am a total mess. Hysterically crying. Greg calls our family to tell them I am going in for a c-section. They want to come to the hospital and I make him tell them no way. I need to deal with this whole Having To Have A C-Section thing before seeing anyone. I feel defeated.

1:00 am. They take me to the operating room and leave Greg out in the hall. They give me a spinal, but tell me that I cannot move even a bit during insertion. The nurse puts her arms around me and I put my head on her shoulder. I start having a sharp contraction when the anesthesiologist is inserting the needle. I am yelling "ONE TWO THREE FOUR...through the contraction. Everyone in the entire room is counting with me. I am bawling. Dr. H rubs my back and tells me it is okay, then goes out in the hall and cries with my husband.

1:25 am. Greg comes in and holds my hand. Dr. H comes in. Surgery begins. I shake through the entire thing. I feel like I can't breathe. I feel a lot of pressure, a lot of pain. I didn't feel that way during my first c-section.

1:44 am. Mini-Man is born. Seven pounds, one ounce. He is beautiful. The nurses take him over to clean him up and Greg asks if we could please see him for 30 seconds before they take him away. They look at us like we are crazy and tell us that they aren't going to take him away. We can see him as long as we'd like! We both start crying. This is much different than A-Boy's birth. He was whisked away to the NICU before we even really got a good look at him so just being able to SEE Mini-Man is amazing to us. Greg gets to hold Mini-Man, I am shaking too much to hold him but I'm okay with just touching and looking since I feel so out of it. I am amazed at how beautiful he is. He looks perfect.

2:30 am. I get settled into the recovery room and ask for Mini-Man. They bring him to me and I tell Greg, "This isn't our last baby." He looks at me like I am nuts but I know that our family is not complete yet. There is at least one more waiting and I feel it strongly. WhileI hold Mini-Man, Greg and I cry . Going through everything I went through was worth it for this one moment of peace. Never have I felt so close to my husband, never have I felt so close to God.

It is now a year later. At first I had a really hard time with not getting my VBAC and even now I occasionally think about what I could have done differently. I wonder if it would have made a difference. Should I have not had an epidural? Did all the drugs make my labor slow down? What if I hadn't been sick the night before and got actual rest? Would it have mattered or did the whole "band of collagen" on my cervix thing doom me to failure?

For the longest time I felt like my body failed me. Dr. H spent a lot of time with me trying to help me come to terms with it. I wanted a VBAC and I did everything I could do to get it. I tried, I gave it my all. Even when I felt like giving up I kept going. There is something to be said for that. And in the end, I feel okay. Things didn't go exactly the way I planned, but I did what felt right to me. I am okay with that.

I have wondered a few times about the "I Told You So" that Dr. K must have felt when he found out I had a repeat c-section. What Dr. K doesn't understand is that I needed to try. I wanted to experience what most moms experience. I wanted to feel labor. I needed to know that I had given it my all and I did. What I didn't need is someone to tell me that I couldn't, with no real reasoning to back it up. The man had no idea that my cervix had issues. He just didn't want to do it.

This whole experience really made me realize that I need to be in control of what happens to me and my body as much as I can. That doctors, even well-meaning doctors that share my same beliefs and values, don't always know what is best for me. I feel like I am a better person for going through the whole experience. I am not saying that c-sections are bad, or that VBACS are for everyone because they aren't. I am saying that we as women need to be in control. We need to make informed decisions and not just blindly go into things.

So Happy First Birthday, Mini-Man. You made your Momma a stronger Momma even before your arrival. We love you in our family. You bring sunshine into our lives every day, even when you are showing 'tude.

Love you, kid.

Pardon. I'm Busy Contemplating.

How are you doing, internet? I'm good, thanks for asking. Feeling mellow, feeling groovy. Completely opposite of two weeks ago when I did the Psychotic Freak Out on everyone around me. Okay, not everyone around me, just Greg. I was nice to everyone else. He got a raw deal.

I believe it started because he looked at me wrong or tied his shoes incorrectly or something. I'm not sure what. I sulked for a good 24 hours, got upset and more upset until all of the sudden I couldn't handle it anymore. I yelled and ranted. I cried and accused him of not missing me while I was gone and I'm pretty sure in that instance he was thinking, "Well, I didn't miss THIS!" I bawled and complained, yelled some more, tried to make him see MY point, which is kind of tough when you really don't HAVE a point. He kept saying, "Okay, what could I have done differently?" and I would get frustrated and say, "I DON'T KNOW!" because in reality there was nothing he could have done to fix things, since there wasn't really anything that needed fixing.

It was a REALLY fun day at our house. I was horribly embarrassed after I calmed down a bit and actually tried to think logically. I can probably count on one hand the times we have fought like that. We just don't do it! I spent the whole day trying to figure out what the heck was wrong with me. WHY on earth did I have such a cow over NOTHING? The answer came the next day when the good ole monthly cycle came a'calling. I told Greg that I started and he said, "AAAHHH." as in "That explains it!" Gee thanks.

I have lived without dear ole Auntie Flow for three years. THREE YEARS! I can't say that I have missed her at all. During that time I have either been pregnant or nursing. I have enjoyed it for the most part, but I am so ready to have my body back. No morning sickness, no more guilt that the spicy enchiladas I just ate are going to cause the baby to have issues. No more living in fear of the needle-like teeth of Mini-Man. Yes people. I am ready to have my body back. Not ready for the Surfing the Crimson Wave* every month, but I guess there are tradeoffs in every situation.

Doing the Family Thing last week in Yellowstone really made me realize how much I LOVE my life right now. I love to watch my kids giggle together and get into messes. (Well, I love to watch them giggle together MORE than I love to watch them get into messes.) I love being a little family of four. It suits us perfectly.

I am amused with how differently I feel about having another baby this time around. When A-Boy was Mini-Man's age I was SO ready to be pregnant. It just felt right. This time, not at all. I want a break. I want to just enjoy being a mom for a while, without the sleepless nights and cracked nipples. That is not to say we are finished having babies. Actually, I KNOW we are not. There is at least one more little one up there waiting for us. Right now is just not the right time.

Mini-Man had his last nursing session on Wednesday. The kid is growing up and I admit that I am too. Just a bit anyway. I'm in a different phase of my life than even a couple of weeks ago and so far I have to say that I like it.

Now if I could only have this phase of my life minus the PMS and everything that goes along with it, life would be grand.

Contemplation over.


*Dude. Can you like, totally tell me what 90s movie this is from and stuff?

More Than You Ever Wanted To Know About Our Trip.

So here is the cabin that I referred to in my last post. Nice, eh? And just so you are totally jealous, I also have posted a view from the dock. We spent a large portion of our vacation just hanging out by the water. And why not? Sure it smells like fish and the mosquitoes are HORRIBLE, but it's beautiful there!

Oh, and before we move on, I wanted to tell you that I hate Blogger and it's non-uploading ways. Sorry that the pictures are all screwed up.

Anyway, we rowed boats, we caught minnows, we took turns jumping in the water. We mocked those less fortunate than us, such as Greg, who couldn't get out of the water after getting in, then Camille who learned from personal experience why it is prudent to use the buddy system when trying to exit a canoe. (My father-in-law also had the canoe problem but I was unfortunate enough to NOT get that one on camera)

We rented a jet ski on Monday and spent the day taking turns riding it. None of us had ever been on one before but we pretended like we were old hats. Greg thought I drove a little bit too crazy on it and I thought he drove it like a Nancy Boy. (he TOTALLY did by the way.)

We decided to let my 8 1/2 year old nephew take a turn at driving thinking he would be somewhere in the middle, neither a Nancy nor crazy. We were entirely wrong. The kid PUNCHED it, bounced over waves so hard that I could feel the fillings clatter around in my mouth. I yelled my RSW (Reflex Swear Word--you know the one you use when something bad happens and it just falls out of your mouth? THAT one.) I held on for dear life and begged to be driven back to the shore. Greg thought it was HILARIOUS that I was so freaked out, especially since I called HIM a pansy for being so nervous when I was driving. I guess it served me right. Note the fake smile on my face in the picture. I am SO trying not to cry. I didn't even get back on after that little experience. (and if you can't tell which one is me I am the man-ish looking one with the do-rag on the back of the watercraft)

A fabulous time was had at Yellowstone National Park. I can't believe I have never been there before! It was so much fun! Lots of good stuff to look at if you are into all kinds of nature. The animals were fun to see, but I was more amused by the tourists. They stopped without fail at every single animal sighting. Bison? They stopped. A lone elk? They stopped. Squirrels? They stopped. And when they stopped, they STOPPED. Even if it meant wrecking into a ginormous lodgepole pine or causing a 10-car pileup. It was insanity.

We visited Old Faithful where my two children posed sweetly in front of the sign. We got lots of "Your Kids Are Cute" smiles that day. To the point of me getting tired of having to give the "Thanks" smile in return. I know, I know. It's hard to be the mom of such adorable little rugrats.

A-Boy TOTALLY knew what geysers were because of the Gooey Geyser that goes "Kersploosh" on Dora. I can't decide if this is a good thing or not. I think he was a little disappointed that the geysers we saw in Yellowstone didn't spray pink goo like the Gooey Geyser does, but he dealt with his issues.

We also got to see the Beehive Geyser erupt and I have actual footage! We don't talk in it because we thought my sister-in-law was snapping a picture, but you can enjoy the geyser in the background. (Actually, SHE thought she was snapping pictures too but she was WRONG) So this is what we look like when we are trying to get our picture taken in front of a geyser.



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We also went to Artist Point and looked down at the "Grand Canyon of Yellowstone". A-Boy took one look at the cascading waterfall below and announced that we were going to need a rope. Apparently he thought we were going to be climbing down the rocky terrain to reach it. I don't think so kid, especially after having to carry you all day long. Sometimes I am glad that he is still only 26 pounds.

We passed this old building on the way into Yellowstone and it made me giggle all day. On the way back Mini-Man was tired of being in his carseat and was letting us know by screaming like a screech owl for more than an HOUR but I still made Greg stop so I could take a picture. (what is a few more minutes of screeching when you have heard it for an hour?) If you can't read the sign it says "Modern Cabins and Cafe". Sweet, eh? It was probably a gem back in the day. Old school. Word.


There were many other parts of our trip. We celebrated the inlaws 40th wedding anniversary by surprising them with a mini-wedding reception, complete with mint and nut cups, raspberry frappe, jordan almonds and an extremely sad-looking wedding cake. We danced to music from 1966, then played a few rounds of The Newlywed Game. (Greg and I did pretty well at it, I might add) And remember how I was so stressed out last week trying to complete projects? I was making a scrapbook for the occasion. It turned out really nice and they seemed to like it so that's good. I would post pictures of this grand event but for some reason we didn't take any! I think we were too busy partying it up!

We celebrated Greg's 30th birthday too. I remember when I thought 30 was old. My how things have changed.

We stayed up late into the night playing games after the kids (or at least my kids) went to bed. This is me when I am completely exhausted, yet still insisting that we just play "one more round". I do this for two reasons. 1) I don't want the whole bonding feeling to end. We have a lot of fun in these late night sessions. 2) I am hoping to redeem myself from the crappy losing streak that I am on. And probably on because I am so tired. It's a vicious circle, really. Play one more game because I don't want to lose, lose because I am tired. I just can't win.



Did I mention that these late-night sessions end at like, 11pm? Yeah, we are losers.

So we had a great week. All Greg's side of the family was there, minus his brother and sister-in-law that live far far away. Having 14 people, two bathrooms and no dishwasher makes for an interesting time. It was a good week though and just what I needed. I remembered how much I love the outdoors. As much as I complain about it, I really do like it. Good thing too since I am going to Girl's Camp in two weeks. I know. Me. Girl's Camp. No cabins. No showers. No electricity. No cell phone service.

I'll definitely let you know how THAT goes.

Home Again, Home Again Jiggity Jig.

Well, I survived my Day Without Children with resounding success and they seemed to have survived without me as well. Good thing too since I was in desperate need of some alone time. By the time I made it to the cabin I was missing them, always a good thing.

I mentioned in my earlier post that we were going to be staying in an extremely rustic mountain cabin. Rustic it is. We had to wash all the dishes BY HAND. The garbage disposal? There is NOT ONE. Can you believe it? Every time I did the dishes I had to go dump the floaties in the garbage. Do you know how hard it is to remember to scrape your plate BEFORE placing it in the sink? Apparently it is very hard because no one did it. Not even me.

As if that weren't primitive enough, we also had to deal with what I will refer to as the "Internet Issue". Ping, Pong....shhhhhhhhh....click click. Dial-up, baby! I watched with interest as my computer geek husband "logged on". I was still watching 15 minutes later when he was still trying to load the home page. I didn't even TRY to get on. Too much dang frustration for vacation. Well, that and my sister-in-law mockingly told me that I would cave by Monday and I'd be "surfing" before the week was up. NOT SO, girlfriend. I didn't even make an attempt, even though it was KILLING me to know if Lei had her baby or not. Take THAT, Camille. And Congrats, Lei!

Anyway, the cabin. We like it, in all it's rustic glory. Neither of us are campers and it is so nice to be able to enjoy the great outdoors yet be able to sleep inside and shower our stench off in the morning. This week though we slept in the unfinished basement of the cabin and believe this most definitely qualifies as camping, since we were cold, wet and uncomfortable most nights. Plus there was the critters factor. Who is to say that while sleeping on the cold, damp cement floor of the basement a critter isn't going to try to gnaw off my toes for a midnight snack? It was camping, people. It was most definitely camping.

I have much more exciting things to share with you about our trip and I shall do that tomorrow. It is quite late here and I am in dire need of some shut-eye. Plus if I wrote everything I wanted to in one post it would quite possibly be the longest post in the history of the world, then Greg would complain. So stay tuned to see how my nephew caused me to spout curse words, also to see how I look at 10:30pm after a long hard day of...hanging out.