Thank a teacher today

Each December, the children at Arts Together put on a brilliant production of The Nutcracker. A little spontaneous at times, and a little abstract at others, it's a tradition and a treat.

Last year, Christopher didn't want to participate. He was the "music helper." I knew that was what his dance teacher did for him to help him feel included even though he refused to join in a lot of times.

This year, here he is as a Russian Dancer:

What a difference a year makes. What a difference a teacher makes. What a difference a class dynamic makes.

I appreciate that they didn't give up on him. 

Then, tonight, our sweet friend Kara gave us tickets to a fundraiser for the Carolina Ballet (we are so sorry for your loss, Kara). We got to meet dancers, eat cupcakes for dinner, and both boys fought the Mouse King fearlessly. And Christopher? He showed a real Russian Dancer from the Carolina Ballet how to do the Russian Dance, preschool style.

When the dancer asked him how he learned to do that? Christopher said, "Four year olds can do anything."

Thank you, Amy. Thank you, Karen, Renee, Nan, Rebecca, Emma, and Brenda.

Nurse nurse

He slips into my room in the middle of the night. Or in the very early morning. Either way you look at it, I'm still in a deep sleep.

I know he is there even though he doesn't make a sound other than his breathing. He stands at the side of my bed and waits for me to lean over the edge, scoop him up under his arms, and lift him into bed with me.

Most nights, he slips into the crook of my arms and falls right back to sleep. A few nights ago, he quietly asked, "Nurse nurse?"

He is almost three. During the day, he couldn't be bothered with nursing. There are bad guys to fight, dogs to chase, costumes to wear, cars to race. He doesn't have time for the "nuh-nuh's." When I put him down for a nap, he usually likes to nurse to sleep. I let him, and then I slip out of his bed and back downstairs to get some work done.

Only, lately, he has been too busy to nap. No nap, no nurse nurse.

So a few nights ago, he asked, I obliged, and we rolled over onto our sides and scooted into position for a little side lying nursing. I barely even woke up. I don't know how long he tried. All I know is that the next thing I hear Colin saying is,

"Mama? I really want for the milk to come out."

Then my heart broke just a little bit.

My last baby. My last nursling. And the end just snuck up on us.

It's alright. I knew it wasn't going to last forever. I've sold the cloth diapers. The crib and the toddler bed are long gone. Cups don't automatically have lids snapped on them before being given over to the small people. Booster seats have replaced convertible car seats.

It's been a long time coming. He's almost three. I love who he has become in his three years. He is smart and funny and I wouldn't trade him in for a newborn for anything.

But, just, ooooph. It's just a little bit hard to be letting him go. My baby.

And then I melt

He's in my bed again. The little one, Colin. Somehow he knows when I go to bed before his daddy does. Some toddler sixth sense.

"Why you wear Elmo pants to go downstairs?"

Because they're comfortable.

"Can I have some water bottle?"

Yes.

"Do you remember when I was a baby? I a big boy now."

Yes. I remember. You are so big now.

"Mommy? I really want a snuggle."

Alright.

I can't resist him. I can't resist the questions, the requests, or even the screaming. He is irresistible.

"Thank you, Mama, for taking me to Trick or Treat."

And then I melt. He thanks me randomly throughout the day for things that I would think were just passing events. Dinner, a kiss, changing his diaper, buckling his car seat are all worthy of a "thank you"  sprinkled into our daily life.

He is so sweet. Until he's not. I have learned that in my family, you don't get one extreme without the other. The sweet it worth it. Possibly not in the exact moment that I'm being whacked in the face by him mid-tantrum, but in the end, the sweet is worth it.

Colin hates everything

This is Colin's class for Mother's Morning Out. You will find Colin in the bottom lefthand corner. In the red Beatles shirt, because I forgot it was picture day.

You can tell how much he enjoys being left by his mama. He's got his baby, or "Dadee," as he calls her. And if you look closely, you can see the total scowl on his face.

How could I not buy this picture? It cracks me up every time I see it.

Terrifying

See these stairs? They are wooden. And slippery. And you shouldn't wear socks on them. And you shouldn't be 21 months old wearing socks and walking down them.

This afternoon, we could have lost Colin. I know I have a flair for the dramatic, but y'all. These are some seriously steep stairs, and a lot of them.

He fell from the top.

To the bottom.

I was standing a few feet from the bottom of the steps, cutting out some appliques in the next room. Kevin was standing at the top of the steps with Colin, just about to pick him up when he turned to shut the door.

That's when Colin fell.

He rolled down the steps, gaining more and more momentum. I came running and got there just in time to see him hit a step about four up from the bottom and bounce hard enough off of it that he just spun in the air three more times until he landed forehead first into the baseboard at the bottom. I couldn't catch him. I just barely missed him, but I did. I missed him.

I knew to run because I heard Kevin screaming.

I've never heard Kevin scream before.

Colin is fine. Bruised. Multiple knots. He will be fine.

But I never ever want to see my child falling like that again though. Out of control. Out of reach. It was terrifying.

I asked him later if he was scared, and he told me, "No ghost, Mama. No ghost." I guess that means he wasn't scared. He's a little hard to translate sometimes.

He did walk around the rest of the evening patting his head and saying, "Bump. Bump."

Tomorrow: gates. One on top, One on bottom.

Thank you, God, for cushioning that ride my baby took and keeping him safe. It really could have gone another way quite easily.

Tiny tyrant

The screaming. Oh my God, the screaming. If it doesn't stop soon, I'm going to lose my fucking mind. Seriously. Lose. My. Mind.

The moment Colin doesn't get his way, he starts to scream. I don't know if it's because he's still pretty non-verbal, or if he just wants to torture me in the worst possible way. Because the only noise I hate worse than the screaming is the sound of latex balloons against skin. Random, I know.

Last Friday, I took the boys to Christopher's preschool's fall picnic. Kevin had to work, so I was on my own. Fall picnic with tons of other kids and parents - one would think I would be just fine. Unfortunately, my children had something else in mind.

When we arrived, Colin was thrilled and wanted to run to every activity and try everything. On the completely opposite hand, Christopher was totally overwhelmed and wanted to stand by a

tree, shake, jump up and down, and scream at me. I would chase Colin down while Christopher yelled at me to please don't leave him.

By the time Christopher got comfortable enough to leave his tree, Colin was ready to leave the area with all the activities. Fine. We went on the nature trail. Well, Christopher and I went on the nature trail. Colin, never to be confined to trails and the suggested route, simply ran off into the woods.

Then came the screaming. He would run into the woods, I would chase him down, pick him up, and then he would scream. Add onto the screaming some pummeling of me in the face, and you have the world's most charming 21 month old.

The moment I finally lost it was the exact moment that Colin took his little pumpkin with one eye and a half a mouth and smashed it into my mouth. My upper lip began to swell immediately, and I couldn't help but just let the tears come.

The day didn't end there, but that's quite enough to share. It sucked. The picnic sucked. The day sucked. I hated every minute of it and spent a good deal of time contemplating going back to work full time.

But here are the pictures I will post on Facebook. Here are the smiles and the cuteness that I captured with the camera before I had to put it back in the car because I couldn't hold it and defend myself against my horridly violent toddler at the same time.

What a lovely couple of children and a lovely day. Fine. I'm not going to argue with the pictures.

Penis

Let's just call it what it is. It's a penis. Boys each have one. A girl has a vagina, or as Christopher calls it, a "vaginis." You know, almost rhymes with "penis."

We use the almost correct terms in this house.

What we haven't done enough of yet, which has become glaringly obvious this weekend, is teach which parts of our bodies are private.

The lessons I'm learning the hard way just keep piling up.

Friday night, I was on my own for bed and bath with the boys because Kevin and Mallory were at a football game. I put Christopher and Colin in the bathtub together, like always. After I turned off the water, I left them for a minute to go get their dirty clothes basket so I could gather a few days worth of their clothes.

When I walked back in, there was a brother's penis headed into the other brother's mouth.

Are you aware that this is NOT covered in any parenting books I've read so far? And are you aware that if you try Google for help on the subject, you come up with some pretty disturbing results, making you wish you had been FAR MORE SELECTIVE on what you Googled for advice?

Yeah. I wasn't either until Friday night.

So the conversation of private body parts began in full force that night. Putting other people's body parts in your mouth became something that is off limits. Just don't do it. Fingers, penises, toes, penises, elbows, penises, ears, penises, any of it. Just keep it out of your mouth. Also, penises are something that come out in the bathroom only. All other times, they are to be covered and kept to yourself.

I was secure in the way I handled it. The situation had freaked me out - don't get me wrong - but I felt as though a balance between "this is something you need to listen to and remember" and "I don't want to put too much emphasis on this behavior" was met.

And of course, as soon as I gain any sort of confidence in my parenting, I take my children out in public so that they might knock my off my pedestal in a most splendiforous way.

The day after the incident I don't care to speak of again, I took the boys up to the neighborhood fire station with our friends from down the street. The weather was perfect. We walked with our double strollers filled with our four perfect children through our almost perfect neighborhood up to meet the fireman and see the truck. It was as storybook as it sounds.

Perfectly storybook until Christopher says to one of the fireman, "I have a penis."

I was standing a few feet from him, and I thought I heard him say, "I have a penis." However, I was far enough away and was able to conjure enough immediate denial that I thought, "He didn't just say that."

That denial didn't last long. Almost before I could finish the thought, and certainly before I could imagine what he might have said instead of, "I have a penis," he dropped his pants. And his underwear. Right there in the firehouse.

As a friend said later, I guess he was just whipping out his own hose.

Seriously though, NOT FUNNY. I'm pretty sure the look of horror on my face will forever be burned into the memory of my three year old. Or at least until the next time he drops his pants in public. Which might be tomorrow. You just never know.

Later, I decided to casually inquire as to why he thought it was a good idea to show the fireman his penis. The conversation went like this:

Me: Hey Christopher, why did you try and show the fireman your penis?

Christopher: Because he will like it.

Me: Why do you think that he would like it?

Christopher: Because it is beautiful.

There's not a lot of arguing with that. The kid has good self image. I'm going to start complementing him a lot more on his hair and his smile though. Hopefully it will catch on, and he won't feel the need to show off what he obviously feels like is his best feature.

Boys. Nothing can quite prepare a mama for boys. I'm sure of that.

Baby G

Last night, Kevin and I were working in the studio when in comes Colin. It was 9:30 at night. He had been asleep in his bed, but decided to get up, come downstairs, get a bag of bagels out of the cabinet, and help himself to a late night snack.

I swear, it's like my daddy come back to earth in that boy.

Looking at him from behind, he has the same neck. His head is shaped like Daddy's. His ears stick out like Daddy's.

From the front, he has some of the same expressions. A serious look with eyebrows furrowed. A completely irritated look with daggers shooting from his eyes.

He's stubborn. He has tantrums. He is quick to anger, but just as quick to laugh. Not unlike my daddy at all.

He is his own person. 100% Colin through and through.

It's just that sometimes, especially when he gets up in the middle of the night for a snack, furrowing his brow at me when I tell him, "you have to go back to bed," I can't help but wonder how on earth my daddy taught him so much in the short short time he had with him.

Biting the bullet

There is a point that is reached in blogging - a point of no return from whatever has been keeping you from writing. It is at this point where we turn to the cop out of all blogging techniques: bullets.

I am at this point of bullets.

• Bird turned two. I have pictures and stories about his second birthday, but they aren't here yet. I'm working on it. He turned two just two days after Squeak was born. I can see it now - the little brother teasing the big brother that his birthday comes first. I'm considering just lying to them and telling them they were both born on the 25th. Split the difference.
• Squeak had his two week appointment earlier this week. Not only has he regained up to his birth weight, but he has also put on a pound. He is a big tub of squishy baby love.
• I don't feel well. I've had a low grade fever all week, have some sort of weird rash on my legs and back, my skin aches to the touch and itches, and some of my joints hurt. How weird is that? I'm almost embarrassed to call for an appointment because those symptoms are just lame. But dude, I really don't feel well.
• Wednesday, at the grocery store, the nice lady handing out sushi samples asked how old Squeak was. When I told her that he was 2 weeks old, she exclaimed that I looked "great!". She followed that lovely compliment up with this, "I mean, you chubby, but you not 2 week old chubby. You like six month chubby," grinning the whole time. I could hardly stop myself from laughing out loud before I could get my sushi and get out of there. Or waddle my 6 month chubby self out of there, as the case may be.
• I broke my new phone. Because I suck.
• Our new urologist's name is Dr. Weiner. Because I am 12, I laughed and laughed before I realized the other people in the room were not laughing with me. Then I apologized for being 12.
• I cannot stop eating Kara's homemade granola bars. Can. Not. Stop.
• Need to insert my foot in mouth on this post, because my gut instincts were right. Some times people are just what they seem to be on the surface. Probably more times than not. But for whatever reason, Kevin and I both have the fatal flaw of assuming that people are good no matter how many clues they give us up until the time it completely bites us in the ass.
• My stolen purse? Recovered in Fayetteville, which is about 90 minutes from here. Cards and phone are gone, but my license and keys were still there. We tried to go pick it up before Squeak came, but the evidence room was closed on MLK Day, which they neglected to mention to us when they said, "Come anytime between 8:00 and 5:00, Monday through Friday." The other postscript to that story is that Holly Aiken is amazing. She found that post and offered to remake the purse for me for free. Because she is amazing. I'm waiting to take her up on it until I see what condition the original purse is in. Maybe it's alright, or maybe they used it for an ashtray. I won't know until I can make it back to Fayetteville when the evidence room is actually open. I've been a little busy having a baby and all.
• My husband is awesome, and has been doing so much to help out with Bird and Squeak and making sure dinner is on the table every night. He rocks.
• After a holiday season of watching "A Charlie Brown Christmas" waaaaaay too many times, Bird now calls all jazz, "Brown music," which I will no doubt have some explaining to do if he says that in certain situations.

I suppose that's enough for now. Life is crazy. I can't believe I'm the mom of two boys now. I can't believe we're done having kids. I can't believe my own life's checklist is getting back to finding some time to do my own recording. I can't believe I got to have the birth experience I so deeply desired. I can't believe I'm still rambling on when I could be using this time to actually bathe. I smell.

Pictures soon, I promise.

Squeak's water birth

This is how I started Bird's birth story, and I think it still applies with some minor edits:

I'm reminded more and more that this space, though shared with many, is still first and foremost a personal journal. So as I begin this journey through becoming the mother of two, I'll most likely drone on and on. Don't feel badly to skip some posts, come back later, or even just skim. I'm going to just record it all for the record.

For the record, for my record, the very long birth story about about a not so long birth.

It was noon on a Saturday. The day before my due date. I realized that I had forgotten to get a baby book for Squeak, and I had library books to return (which are still in my car at this moment), so we loaded up the family and headed to Borders with plans to go by the library after that.

I'm walking through the bookstore, mumbling to myself that they are always moving things around when I became uncomfortably aware that my water had broken. A quick escape to the bathroom and a couple of curses at my unpreparedness confirmed it for me. I came out with a sheepish grin on my face, and Kevin didn't even have to ask.

"You're kidding me," he said.

He wanted to bolt and started rounding up Lovely and Bird. I wanted to buy the dang baby book I had come for, and I did. It's not the most wonderful baby book in the world, but at least he has one. Maybe he was just waiting on me to buy him one before he came.

We grabbed some lunch at a drive thru and headed for the house. I called the midwife and my doula to let them know that my water had broken, but that I didn't have any contractions. It was just like Bird's beginning except that I wasn't freaked out by it, and I didn't have a jackass OB telling me that it was a worst case scenario to have no contractions and have my water broken.

I made a list of things to encourage labor to get on with it. The midwife had suggestions and so did Julie, our doula. I sent Kevin to Whole Foods to get me some more raspberry leaf tea and a king cake. The king cake didn't have anything to do with labor, but it was awfully yummy. I sat on the birthing ball and bounced. I walked steps. We did some other things that are none of yo' beezwax.

By 7:00 or so, there was still nothing, and the midwife started talking castor oil. I really didn't want to go there, but I was willing. She gave me until the morning to do it because she wanted me to get a good night's sleep.

Julie paid lip service to the good night's sleep as well, but confided in us that she had taken a nap in preparation because she knew that as soon as I lay down to go to sleep, the contractions would start. She showed us some acupressure points, and told us to call her when contractions were coming 10 minutes apart for an hour.

From that point on, it was like whatever was suggested, my body took as a command. I went to bed around 10:30 and wasn't there 5 minutes before I had a contraction. By 12:30, we were calling the midwife to let her know they had been 10 minutes apart for a little over an hour. She said to call back when they were 5 minutes apart for an hour. The very next one came at five minutes, lasted for 2 minutes, and an hour after the first call, Kevin was making the second call while jumping into his blue jeans.

Meanwhile, I was changing the sheets for our neighbor, Cyndi, who was coming over to stay so we wouldn't have to wake the kids in the middle of the night. I did forget to leave out a clean towel for her, but I think I can get a pass on that.

I gathered up our meal for after labor, a Trader Joe's Moroccan chicken dinner, some juices, bananas, and the bags I had packed three weeks ago, and we hit the road.

Halfway to the Birth Center, the contractions had me gripping the door handle so hard I thought I might pull it off. They were way different than the ones at home. When we arrived, we parked in the back where I thought we were supposed to, and couldn't get in the building. After a phone call and a few more contractions, I finally just started beating on the door. Turns out, we could have just walked around to the front.

When we got inside, I tried laying down on the bed again to get some rest. Lee Ann, the midwife on call, checked me and declared (once again) that I had a lovely pelvis, which is nice to hear when you are aware that it is about to have to squeeze out a small watermelon. She also declared me to be pretty well effaced and about 3 cm. I was disappointed in the 3 cm, and assumed that we had a hella long road ahead of us. Lee Ann went to take a nap, because I think she assumed the same thing.

It was a little after 3:00 AM at this point.

By 3:27, I was standing up and having trouble focusing through contractions that were coming about 3 minutes apart and giving me just enough time to vomit in between them.

By 3:31, I was trying with all my might to subliminally will Kevin to put me in the car, take me to UNC and get me a freaking epidural.

It was best for me to quit watching the clock at this point. So I did.

The fear though, was that it was going to be like this for another 10 hours. I figured that 3 cm and my dang marathon labor with Bird were indicators that Squeak wasn't going to pop out for a good long time. I didn't think I could do what we were doing for much longer.

Julie kept saying to take it one contraction at a time. I heard her. I tried to heed it. I'm not sure how successful I was, but it was the only way to make it.

Some time before 5:00 AM, I asked to be checked again. Jewel, the midwife who was on nurse shift for the night, presented a brilliant diversion of the tub. I agreed to get in the tub. I needed to get off my feet, and I couldn't sit or lay down, so the tub seemed like a great plan to me. Much better than the plan I had concocted of getting checked, finding out I was only 4 cm, and running for my life towards the nearest medical intervention.

They started running the water in the tub, and it was like someone had put headphones over my ears and turned up the volume to eleven. It was so loud, and I couldn't keep to a low moan during contractions because I wanted to drown out that sound. I don't know why it was so awful, but it was. Finally, the tub was ready. I've seen women be all prepared and leave on their bras or a swim top or something. I just stripped completely naked and got in, trying to beat the next contraction.

As soon as I got in the water, my body gave me a five minute break. I slept soundly for five minutes. I only know it was five minutes because that's what they told me. It felt like an hour. That sleep was broken by a manageable contraction, which was then followed by the most freaked out I have ever been in my life.

I don't know how I came up with the scenario in my mind, but even though I knew I was going to be allowed to push naturally and with the rhythm within my own body, for some reason, I still thought that they were going to tell me when to start doing that.

Um, no.

The second tub contraction, I found myself pushing with all my might. The shadowing nurse jumped up and ran to get Lee Ann. She had just asked me if I was feeling some pressure, and I didn't answer her. I was trying to figure out what I was feeling when WHAM! Pushing.

All of the sudden I didn't feel the contractions anymore, but I knew when I should be pushing. I could feel his head almost immediately. Kevin grabbed one leg, giving me resistance to push against, while some of the other team members grabbed the other. I kept pushing and not getting him out until Lee Ann told me that there was a drop in his heart rate and I had to get it done.

At some point, Kevin thought it would be a good idea to document this water birth with a flashing camera. All he got was a blurry picture of me flipping him off and telling him to, "Cut it the f*** out!" Nice of me. I also remember screaming at anyone in earshot to "Take. Him. OUT!" because I was certain that there was plenty for them to grab and just pull. Crazy, I know.

Time was morphing. I thought for sure I was pushing forever, but really it was only about 15 minutes before I finally felt Squeak's head make it through. It was quickly followed by a chunky little body which before I could sigh with relief, was placed on my chest.

While the cord was pulsing, the team tried to get Squeak to cry. I'm not sure if there was tension or worry, because I was just soaking in the warmth and squishiness of my new son. But they kept at it until Squeak finally let out one good "WAH!" and then was quiet and content again.

After the placenta was delivered (which by the way, is really messy to do in the tub), I passed the little guy over to his daddy, who was ready for skin to skin (I love that man) with his new son.

I got out of the tub and dried off. Walked to the bed and sat down, watching my big man and little man bond. The midwife checked me out and declared me tear-free. Not a single stitch was needed, which amazed me since it felt like my vagina was turning inside out and being ripped apart.

We nursed. We rested a little bit. I got hungry, and NOT for Moroccan chicken. After all, it was morning. Kevin went out and got us breakfast.

The thing is, all of this post delivery stuff - I'm telling it like it's mundane. But it was the unknown bonus to Squeak's non-medicated entry into this world. I was knocked out from Bird's birth. Stayed in the hospital for two more nights and then took another week at home to be able to move around painlessly.

I was totally ready to go home about five hours after Squeak was born. It was awesome. Bird barely knew we were gone. He just had a lovely morning playdate with his BFF, Pippi, and then we were home with his baby brother.

I think the biggest difference in the whole experience is that I surrounded myself with people I trusted and put myself in an environment where I felt safe. I didn't go into the experience feeling like I would have to fight for simple things like being allowed to eat or drink if I was hungry. I was confident and had visualized the experience over and over again as positive and successful.

The whole thing was as close to perfect as I could have hoped for, except for the end result, which is far more perfect than I ever dreamed.







Welcome to the world, Little Squeak.

Squeak

It's difficult to find time to write when nursing is a two handed - who are we kidding - a 4 to 6 handed adventure. By the time little one has nursed himself to sleep again, I can't bear to put him down. So either way, nursing or sleeping, my computer has sat dormant this week.

The update is that things are going fine. Nursing is far more successful this time, even though we've still got a latch issue on one side. I'm getting plenty of sleep at random times throughout the day and night, and Kevin is making sure that I'm eating and drinking. Bird is not so crazy about the adjustment in family structure, but he's digging the reappearance of overflowing na-na's. Did you know that even toddlers can have the yellow seedy breastmilk poop? Not that you needed or wanted to know that. You're welcome.

Butterbean needs a new blog name. Mainly because I'm too lazy to type Butterbean all the time, and good heavens, he's a big chunk of rolly love, so "bean" just doesn't cut it. Kevin has started calling him "Squeak" because most of the noises he makes are just that - little squeaks. He rarely cries, but even when he does, it's not much more than some over zealous squeaking. He's still a mellow little dude. Maybe we should be calling him The Tiny Lebowski. Or maybe not.

I have to admit. I am already sad about Squeak being "the last one." Things have been so different this time. As I keep running into things that I only needed for pregnancy or birth, I get these twinges of blue that I won't need those things again. This coming from me, a woman who declared that she really didn't like the newborn stage. I take that back. Apparently, on Zoloft, I like the newborn stage very much. Or, it could just be that second time around, I'm a little better at it, and of course, there is the factor of Squeak being a totally different baby than Bird.

While I might be a little blue about it, there is that nagging bit about having to be responsible for that other person for at least the next 18 years. That's keeping me grounded. That, and the fact that we are too stinking old to have any more. We old and tired and would like to have some time to ourselves before one of us turns 80. So, we stop here, and it's alright.

But I feel a shift in priorities. I feel that pull towards spending as much time with my boys as possible. I want to shed off the things in my life that might take my attention from them. I savor the moments on the couch or on the bed where I have a nursling on either side of me. I love that this is my life now.

And with that, before I even get to work on that birth story, Squeak calls. Maybe I'll make it back here before another week passes.

He's beautiful

He's here and he's beautiful. I'm working on his birth story, but I don't want to leave any little bit of it out. Any part of Colin Henry's birth.

I can tell you this much. I didn't expect for him to be born in the water, but he was. And it was wonderful.

Welcome to the world, Little Squeak. Your mama has fallen in love with you already.

To the tune of Morning Has Broken

So I'm not going to live blog this birth or anything, but I'll probably Tweet it. Or at least update my Facebook status. That's just how it rolls these days.

Apparently, I have a method to giving birth. A method which involves my water breaking before contractions actually start. Boo hiss. If you Google some stats on that, I'm in a low 8% of women who that happens to.

Of course, last time, we were under the care of an OB and hospital who told us that it was a "worst case scenario" and to have some Pitocin.

Meh. Maybe we'll end up at the hospital again, maybe not. This time, we are under the care of midwives and have several things that we are doing to get those contractions going. In fact, I'm bouncing on my birthing ball as I type. Go, me.

Funny story, or at least mildy amusing, we were in Border's today because I realized I hadn't bought my littlest a baby book yet. I'm wandering around, trying to find the parenting section, when my water breaks. I guess I really waited until the last possible minute to buy that baby book, didn't I?

I'm so predictable. My water broke with Little Bird the day before his due date, and he was born the day after his due date. Hopefully though, this little dude will show up tomorrow, right smack dab on his due date. I wouldn't mind being in that low percentage there.

Wish me luck. I'm going to walk the stairs now.

Water has broken
Like the first labor
I hate Pitocin
It's evil stuff
So I'll just bounce here
Drink tea and do squats
Stimulate nipples
And walk the stairs.

It's a new folk song hit, people. Just wait.

Savoring

The silence doesn't mean much. It's just me turning inward a little, focusing on the job I have to do in the next couple of weeks. Focusing on the tangible now.

There was drama on the interwebs, and I knew that my emotional state and my big mouth needed to take a break. Step away for a little bit so that I could not waste my energy on fighting a battle that would soon dissipate into thin air as people simply moved on from it.

Besides, I have a job to do.

Week 37 presented with contraction after contraction. My face broke out, my tummy was upset, and I felt ready. So ready that I almost said "yes, come on" to my heart friend who I would love to be here for the birth. I'm glad I didn't though, because my littlest is still tucked warmly inside my belly, waiting on just the right moment to appear.

Week 38 presented with hardly any contractions and the energy to get some things clean around here. Kevin helped me with the kitchen, even cleaning off the bookcase which until now was simultaneously displaying my favorite Gail Pittman pieces, his favorite power tools, and a pound or two of dust. I am so happy to have it back to being pretty.

Week 39 is here. My littlest is a little less active; he tends to squirm most when I'm trying to sleep of course. I am peaceful. He will get here, one way or another, and within the next three weeks. I'm comfortable with all of the midwives. I have my bags packed. I have wonderful friends who are standing by to help us.

I'm into savoring.

Savoring each nursing session with Little Bird, as I don't know when it will be his last time not to have to share me. Savoring each morning that I get to roll over and lay on Kevin's chest while we snuggle and listen to the chit chat over the baby monitor. Savoring each turn and stretch that I feel inside me as I remind myself that this is what life is about now. No matter what parts of me remain - musician, arts advocate, teacher - the parts I love most are wife and mother.

The last days as a family of four are precious to me. I'm savoring them as best I can because once we become that family of five, I know that it will immediately replace these days as the best days of my life.

Starting

Kevin has declared 2009 the year in which nothing was finished. My new shiny outlook gets to declare 2009 the year in which many things began.

Either way, we still have major construction going on at our house.

It's going to be lovely when it's done.

That's my mantra. I say it three times as I breath slowly and stare out the back into the mud and mess. Really, it's not that bad. It is going to be lovely, and Rob, our contractor, is an amazing miracle worker. Truly.

2010 will be the year for finishing a lot of thing though. The house will get finished. Our family will be complete. Kevin will finish up a lot of lingering projects at work. He's really looking forward to it.

I'm okay with not being finished though. I'm kind of looking forward to starting a bunch more new things in 2010. Here are a few that come to mind:

1. Becoming a mama of two boys.
2. Learning to live without the extreme highs and lows I've had.
3. Tandem nursing.
4. Writing and recording again finally.
5. Getting back in shape.

Lovely will be starting high school. Little Bird will be starting multiple days of preschool. And my littlest boy will be starting life.

So here's to never completely finishing and finding plenty of new things to start in 2010.

Happy New Year, everyone.

Squirmy Wormy

Dear Butterbean,

You are such a little squirmer. Your big brother earned the name Mr. Kicky while still in the womb, and has lived up to it ever since. You, on the other hand, are not so much a kicker as you are a squirmer.

My belly popped out a stretch mark immediately after you decided to do what felt like a full somersault last week. I can sit and stare down at this enormous belly you've helped me create and just watch you swim. Alien belly. I wonder how this will translate when you are here - outside.

I'm trying so hard not to wish away this pregnancy; this being my last pregnancy. I want to enjoy every moment that I have you completely to myself. It's hard though. I am so much bigger this time. I am so much more uncomfortable. Being sick twice has left me fighting to catch my breath even after just going up the stairs once. I've decided it's time to change my attitude.

You see, I certainly don't want you to come early. I want you to stay right where you are, baking away until you are good and ready for the world. So I'm changing my tune as of right now. Slowing down to enjoy this time with you scarf dancing in your little nest.

I have to admit though, that I'm getting really excited to meet you. I've been pulling out your clothes. They are so incredibly small. I've been thinking about where exactly you will fit into this family. We are ready for you. Your daddy, your big sister, your big brother, both big dogs, and me. We are all looking forward to meeting you.

Love,
Your Mama

Blink of an eye

This morning, as Bird danced joyfully to Andy Williams on the Sirius Holiday channel in our living room, he looked like a little boy. Not a baby. A little boy.

I must say, it happened so fast.

While I was in the attic today getting out my giant stockpot (hello, turkey stock!), I found a bag of Bird's newborn clothes. I went ahead and tossed them down, knowing that I'll need them sooner rather than later at this point.

I must say, they are so very tiny.

At dinner tonight, Bird was talking in two word sentence structure. "Daddy eat," "Yogurt gone," and my favorite, "Love you." Hearing him develop vocabulary and start to use a rough subject-verb relationship is amazing.

I must say, I think he is incredibly smart.

These cliches keep swooping down upon me, and I hear them leaving my mouth before I can think of something more original to say.

*************************************************************************
The passing of time as a mother overwhelms me.

There are days that drag on so slowly, causing me to call Kevin at lunchtime and ask him when he might be coming home. The whining and tantrums make the minutes crawl by, tempting me to turn on Elmo and hit repeat.

But then there are days when I look at Bird, and I wonder how on earth we got from tiny baby to little boy so quickly. And my heart aches for the days to slow down; for him to fit more easily in my lap again as I rock him before bedtime.

Soon, we will have that baby when Butterbean arrives. In a matter of weeks, the tiny clothes will be washed and ready to outfit a brand new little boy. I'm nervous, remembering how hard the first few months with Bird were. I was so tired and so incredibly sensitive to the crying. It nearly undid me.

I keep telling Kevin that when it gets bad, or if I start to perceive it as unbearable - I'm asking him to remind me of how quickly the newborn will be gone. How quickly Butterbean will be a little boy. And how I will ache for him to fit in my lap more easily, and how I will mourn the dis-assemblage of the crib, and how I will miss nursing my boys.

It's a fair trade though. I know that the newborn stage is hard, and at the same time, I know that I will miss it when it's gone. But nothing in the world can replace having my Little Bird pop off my breast just before being put down for the night, reach up for my cheek, look in my eyes, and say, "Love you."

He's not even born yet, and I know Butterbean will be there all too soon.

Don't take that tone with me

It was a look and tone I was used to getting at the OB's office. It was what initially turned me off on their idea of care in the first place. I was surprised to get it from a midwife yesterday.

It has occurred to me that it might be me. I know, big fat duh. I don't mean though, that it is all me. Just that I might be a little overly sensitive at times (insert the raucous laughter of my husband here). Even so, that look and tone irk me.

The head cocks to one side. The eyebrows raise. The back of the pallette raises and they start their next sentence with "You knoooooooow, you are going to have to . . ."

Dude. I really really hate that.

Yesterday it was in regards to tandem nursing and making sure that Little Bird knows that when the baby comes, Mama's milk is for him.

Fine. Valid point. But my issue is that I've ALREADY BEEN THINKING ABOUT THAT. I don't need the cock and eyebrow. I don't need the tone of "I'm sure you are a moron who hasn't done any of your own preparation." I don't need the assumption that because you are my healthcare provider, you are a deity and need to preach to me.

Sensitive? I suppose so. It just bugs me.

There could be a much better approach. The question could be posed, "Have you thought about how you will help Bird understand what the baby needs when he gets here?" or "Do you think you will have any issues with Bird's nursing once the baby is here?" Something along those lines would start the same conversation, and would also validate the fact that I'm not a dumb ass.

Did I say any of that though? No. I'm such a weakling in an exam room. I should have said something. Instead I just reminded her that Bird is not even two yet, but that yes, we were reading books about new babies and talking about how he will have to share the na-na's because the baby will need them.

It felt like this midwife was telling me not to tandem nurse though, and that really surprised me. Last month, the midwife I saw practically gave me a bear hug when she asked how long I had nursed Bird and I said, "You mean this morning? About 10 minutes." She was really supportive of tandem nursing.

In the end, I guess I just have to stop being so damn sensitive and stop caring what anyone else thinks. It's not that I mean to care - I get a few hours away from it and realize that I've been wasting a bunch of time caring. It's stupid.

I'm going to make decisions that my OB wouldn't have liked. I'm going to make decisions that the midwives won't like. I'm a middle of the road mama, what can I say?

But the head cocking, eyebrow raising, here comes a lecture? I can totally do without that from anyone.

27 Weeks

Dear Butterbean,

Still no new blog name for you. I'm thinking you're just stuck with it. That will probably happen a lot - getting stuck with things. I apologize in advance.

There are some new things in your future. Clothes that are just yours. I didn't have very many warm clothes for your brother when he was itty bity. We just didn't go out much. You and I won't have the luxury of hiding out at home, so I've bought you some warm and cozy things. You'll be nicely dressed for all of your brother's activities which you will have to attend.

Just this morning, your daddy and I were talking about how you don't kick as much as your big brother did. I said that you didn't kick as often, but you kicked harder. And you do. Some nights you take my breath away with one single whack to my belly. You also squirm more. It's interesting how different you already are from Bird.

Then, in a great attempt to prove me wrong, you went to town in your cocoon this afternoon. You respond most to your brother. When he climbed in my lap this afternoon, you went nuts. I wish you could have seen his face when you started punching up near my rib cage. He felt it first and then looked down and saw it. Then he said, "Baby!"

I know he doesn't fully understand the fact that you are a little person and that you won't always be in my belly, but it's cool to see him making a connection in his own way. You are making a connection too. By whacking at him whenever he's near my belly. Which, by the way, is not so helpful while I'm trying to rock him to sleep.

You are taking up more and more room everyday. I'm getting heartburn from a glass of water. When I stand up, I immediately have to pee, even if I'm standing up from the toilet. It's bizarre. I'm absolutely starving, and then when I go to eat, I get full entirely too quickly. These are things I remember about the end of pregnancy.

It's not the end though. Today we are at 27 weeks. We have just gotten to that point where I'm keenly aware of you all of the time. I'm glad it's not the end. I'm enjoying having you all to myself, and knowing that this is my last pregnancy, I'm trying to savor it a little bit more.

You know, your brother may have been my first born, but you'll be my last, and that's making me love you in your own special way too. Not too much longer, little BB. I hope you're cozy in there.

Love,
Your Mama

My boys

Dear Little Bean,

I think you need a new name. I'm not sure what it's going to be yet, but Butterbean just doesn't fit you. You, the kicking, twisting, must be made known, you.

You actually do have a new name. As of today, we know what we will call you when you are born because we know that you are a boy. Oh boy, do we know you are a boy.

The ultrasound tech didn't have that wand on my tummy for more that 5 seconds when you mooned us, threw your legs open, and showed us all of your glory. She didn't have to tell us what you were; I started laughing and said, "Is that what I think it is?" And it was. My little exhibitionist.

I guess it's safe to say now how very much I wanted you to be a boy. There are both pragmatic and emotional reasons involved. The pragmatic is obvious: I already have all the clothes you need in the proper season. Score.

The emotional reasons are a little more complicated. One reason is that I didn't want for your big sister to feel like she was being replaced with a new little girl. Maybe she wouldn't have. She's pretty amazing, and I think - I hope - that she is secure in how much she is loved. But I'm glad for that reason.

Also, knowing that you are a little boy reassures me that I know what to do with you. While I know that you won't come out just a carbon copy of your big brother, I feel like I know how to love a little boy and take care of a little boy. That might never make sense to you, since you won't ever be somebody's mama, but it makes sense to me.

My heart melts when I think about "my boys" now. I love saying it. I love finding reasons to say it. I can't wait until you get here and I get to say, "Today, me and the boys . . . " which is of course terrible grammar, but I love the way it sounds.

My boys. My boys.

My heart.

I am so in for it.

Love,
Your Mama