Drumroll, Please...

This picture is specifically posted for Amy. I was about 7 months along. :)

This, my friends, is my TWO HUNDRED-FIFTIETH BLOG!

I am dedicating it to my newly born daughter...my little Lily.

I had my scheduled appointment with the CNM on Tuesday morning. She told me I was a 3, and with the ever-present sympathy in her eyes, told me that if I felt like I really, really wanted to, I could be induced at any time. I told her I would just wait...I have heard too many stories about how induced labor is HORRIBLE because the contractions come on strong and quickly. Didn't sound like fun. No thanks...I'll pass...Not that it mattered in the end anyway, but I digress...

So, I was crabby the rest of the day. I am not sure why. I was crabby at my body, I was crabby at my kids, I was crabby at YOU...well, no, I guess I wasn't, but you get the idea. By the time Jeremy came home I had tiny rain clouds following me everywhere.

We decided after dinner to go on a walk (hoping to induce labor...yeah, no.) and my crabbiness morphed into wanting to cry for no reason. Poor, poor Jeremy...

After getting home, we threw the kids in bed and plopped on the couch and stared at each other. Very boring.

"What do you want to do?"

Silence...

"Um...I guess we can just go to bed."

Silence...

"Okay."

On his way down to his pillow, Jeremy passed out, and I laid there, twiddling my thumbs. Oh the joys of pregnancy insomnia.

SYSTEMS CHECK, I said to myself.

Any contractions detected?

Negatory. Run additional analysis in 5 minutes. (By the way, did you know that "negatory" isn't a word, but "nugatory" is?? Weird.)

Moments ticked by...

SYSTEMS ALERT! Contractions immanent! BRACE FOR IMPACT!

Me: "OUCH!"

Jeremy: "ZZZZZ...?....ZZZZ"

SYSTEMS ANALYSIS. ARE CONTRACTIONS CONSISTENT?

Negatory. But they appear to be gaining in strength. Keep Yellow Alert status until further notice.

An hour later...

"What the...??!?!?!?!?"

UPGRADE TO RED ALERT!

Send message to the other contributing unit to deploy this unit to birthing facility.

Message sending, following standard procedure for when verbal communication has malfunctioned.

*SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE*

Jeremy: "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ."

*SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE*

Jeremy: "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ."

*SHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKE*

Jeremy: "...zzzz...wha...??"

Me: *whimper*

Jeremy: "OH."

SECOND UNIT DEPLOYED TO CONTACT THIRD UNIT FOR INFANTILE SURVEILLANCE. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. STAND BY FOR SITUATION UPDATES.

My contractions went from 8 minutes apart to 2 minutes apart in ten minutes. I think my body was trying to kill me.

At the hospital, I barely made it inside before I had to curl up in a fetal position in the waiting room while Jeremy talked with the receptionist.

They took me back, and due to the constant contractions, figured I was admitable, and they got everything ready while they checked me in. For some reason, the hospital thinks it necessary to play 20 questions with their in-labor patients.

"Um, okay...so, are you thinking of something animal?"

What the...?

"Okay, mineral?"

*Glaring*

"Is it blue?"

Make it stop...

"Is it in this room?"

Jeremy, read my mind and dispose of this sorry sack of a person...

After the nurse tired of this little game, they wheeled me back to the farthest room in the maternity ward, which was, at the time, 40 miles away. Later, it was about a one minute walk back to the receptionists desk.

They hooked me up to about 100 machines, making an extremely bloody mess of it, I might add, and they called the most important person in my life: The Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist (say that word five times fast).

He came in what seemed like a month after I got there, and looked at me with sleepy eyes. The only thing I noticed (besides the fact that he had no hair at all on his head) was how big his teeth were. Hey, at 12:30 AM things just stick out to you.

He swabbed my back down with what looked like concentrated horse piddle, measured my spine, poked my sides (I seriously hope he wasn't trying to make me laugh, because I didn't. I didn't think I had to humor this man.), said, "Well, here goes nothing!" and drove a steel I-beam into my spine. The result was me waiting for the pain to stop, and wondering why it wasn't. After a few moments, I meekly asked if I should be feeling anything still, and he again gave me a glimpse of his giant teeth and waved the medication at me. "I haven't put it in yet!" I grabbed him by his nose hair and screamed, "WHY THE HECK NOT!? YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?????" He then hooked me up, and quickly left the room. I sank into revere as the left side of my body started folding itself into some amazing yoga positions, if I do say so myself. The right side just gave me first hand accounts of what it would be like to be stabbed over and over again with an icepick in one spot.

The nurse, Karine, (whom I love and adore) realized that something wasn't quite right, and called Dr. Teeth back. He wandered in, and after hearing what was going on, decided he needed to redo the I-beam. I was okay with that since 90% of the area he poked was numb anyway. After getting everything situated, he gave me not just a dose but a DOUBLE dose of my epidural. And as my legs sailed off and turned into Jello, I turned to thank this man of men, and it could have been the drugs, but I swear he had a halo.

I was then instructed to sleep. Right.

Jeremy, however, had made a nest in the corner with assorted linens he had been collecting since we got there, and apparently was prepared for long term hibernation, because he curled up and in about .0000001 seconds was asleep.

Nuuu nee nuu nee nuu....

After a little while, I noticed that I could no longer hear my baby's heartbeat. The nurse came in as I prepared for a panic attack, adjusted the monitor, and I peacefully reclined back as I hummed along with the drone of the beat.

A little while after that, the heart beat got slower, and slower, and slower. Lucky for me, the nurses were in the room. And while they were attempting to be cheerful and non-threatening, there is something extremely disturbing about watching all the nurses move double time, and about Karine throwing an oxygen mask at me, hurriedly saying, "Here, put this on!" in such a way that it would have sounded more natural if she had handed me a party hat.

Apparently, Lily had descended too low and couldn't "breathe." (I am sure there is a more technical explanation, but they never gave me ANY explanation, so I had to make one up that would make sense to you, and to me.) Once they fixed whatever there was to fix, her heartbeat went back to normal, and I could breathe again.

Right after that the doctor came in (I had dilated to a 10 quickly). I think he had either just woken up, or had just gotten back from crashing a cocktail party.

"Heeeeyyyy!" he said.

He then began joking with everyone in the room between little cat naps he kept taking as he stood there.

As things progressed, it was ascertained that Lily was posterior (for those who don't know, that means she was face up. Not necessarily a bad thing, but it's not ideal. It can cause facial bruising, and is apparently extremely painful for the mother.) When the doctor observed this he said, "She's looking up! That's cool!" (Now, don't get the wrong idea. Dr. Tipsy has been practicing for 30+ years. He ain't no noob. Perhaps he is just easily entertained.) He then whipped out his salad spoons. Enough said.

Things wound up pretty quickly after that. The result was a miniature Eva. No joke. They pulled Lily out, and it was total deja vu. Only smaller. Eva was almost a whole pound bigger. So, there was my Lily! The whole 6 lbs 12 oz and 18.5 inches of her! Instant love...

Now, all of this has been rather silly, but I must assure you that as I lay in that hospital bed, in the quiet of the night, I felt heaven very near. It must be that heaven stops to watch their beloved little ones come down, and the heavens must hold their breath as life and death touch, and a miracle is performed. I was afraid I would lose my little Lily, but I truly believe that Heavenly Father heard my pleading heart as I feared her heart might stop altogether, and protected my precious daughter.

And now that she is here, I feel like she has always been a part of us. Another miracle and gift from God, I believe. It seems that the veil is thinner as these little ones enter our lives, and we remember partially what was before, and what is to come in the eternities.

Cautionary Tales from Me and Things that go BUMP in my head.

I ain't drinking milk from this cow...

First things first...Soy milk tastes really gross.
Whew, got that off my chest...

(In case you want a tasty alternative to cow or soy milk, try almond milk. It tastes like candy. Of course, it could be all the evaporated cane juice they put in it. They put it in soy milk too, but for some reason it doesn't taste as good. We tried to slip some in Eva's morning milk, and, after detecting the foreign entity, she returned the partially undrunk bottle to me, telling me that she didn't like it.)

Second thing...We went to Build-A-Bear to get baby her very own custom-made polar bear (why I think my children need stuffed animals I will never know...), and Josh and Eva FREAKED OUT that they didn't get one too--never mind the fact that they both have their own custom stuffed animals at home.... I had heard once when you are to have a new baby, that when you get something for them, you should get something for your other kids as well, so they don't feel jealous. Being a conscientious mommy, I dragged my screaming children from Build-A-Bear and into Hallmark to get them their own little animals (at a far cheaper price). That only resulted in Joshua and Eva wanting one of everything, and I left Hallmark with a little less money in my pocket, two horribly spoiled children in tow, and yet two more Beanie Babies to add to the already staggering mound at home. Why do I do this? To be "fair," of course...but I don't recommend it.

Third thought...If you are going to buy a car seat for your baby, and if you don't really like it, for heaven's sake, don't use it, let your child stain it, leave oddly shaped cereal in it, and then take it back to Wal-Mart for some poor, unknowing soul (me) to purchase, take home, install, and then step back in disgust when they realize what they have gotten into. Lacks class. Is DEVOID of class...

Fourthly, homemade poppy seed salad dressing is tasty. Homemade apple-orange salad dressing isn't. And it in no way makes spinach taste good.

Fifthly, I think that every woman who can should shave their legs frequently. I don't think men should at all. Except cyclists. Nothing more weird looking than a man in spandex with wolfman legs. Except perhaps a woman in spandex with wolfman legs.

Sixthly, I don't think telling people what is "wrong" with them is in any way useful...or nice (number three is an exception because I haven't actually said it to the person...that makes it okay, right?). All it does is make that person not like you (and I don't care if the car seat villain doesn't like me).

Seventhly (is that a word?), Albertson's makes really tasty peanut butter cookies. Don't buy them.

Eighthly (not a word either...), I really don't like pears, but I keep buying them, and forcing myself to eat them. I think I may have a mental problem.

Ninethly (should be a word), I think people would do well having microchips installed in their bodies, like they do with cats and dogs now. That way, you could never lose someone. Jeremy thinks it's a bad idea.

And finally, if listening to Christmas music makes you happy, you should be able to listen to it whenever you want without being criticized. Even if it's in June.

WARNING: TMI

I went to the doctor yesterday to be...checked...

Apparently I am a 1+, 75 % effaced, and baby is "right there" as Heather, my CNM, informed me in a surprised tone (By the way...if you have a male certified nurse midwife, are they called a midwife? What do you call them?? Do they even exist???? Would they be a nurse midhusband?? Or just a male-nurse-who-does-midwifey-things? Or do they go by their other name, nurse practitioner?? Maybe that's it...).

My body liked what it heard, and went into contractions (ouch...) all day (and all night), and I felt nauseated as a consequence...or it could have been an overdose of fresh salsa. Either way, I felt pretty awful. I kept willing my water to break just so I could stop feeling rotten. No luck, as you can tell.

While I was visiting with Heather, she told me if I progress to a 2+, I could go ahead and be induced next week if I wanted. She didn't push it either way. I told her, confidently, that I wasn't in a rush, and the baby could come whenever...after yesterday afternoon/evening, I thought perhaps I was too hasty and overconfident...bleh...

It is comforting to know that at some point it will end. It's not an "if" thing. Thank heaven.

P.S. I found this on a site about the psychological effects of pain...doesn't this look like something else??? Ha ha ha ha! They are so similar...