Small-town living: healthcare edition

I was already thinking about how nice my hospital stay was when I heard the hullabaloo about the baby switching.

Now, it's a rare thing to live in a town as small (/insert-your-own-word-here) as Roosevelt is, and to have health care like Roosevelt does.  Our Medical Center is the pride and joy of this community - and for good reason. It's a nice combination of good quality and low pressure.

I was especially grateful for this during this labor/delivery/recovery.  As I've mentioned before, I know my Dr. on a personal level, and I've called him at his house with any questions I had.  When I arrived at the hospital at 4:00 a.m. in advanced labor, he got there pretty quick-style (although he wasn't on call).  He was very supportive of my birth decisions, as were the nurses, most of whom I also knew.  I was pretty much free to do whatever I wanted.

Switching babies? Hardly possible.  If there were any other babies born during my 48-hour stay there, I didn't know about it.

I don't know how other hospitals are, but I didn't have to change rooms or wear a gown or shower in nasty bathrooms or ask the nurses to let me keep my baby for the first hour(s) after birth.  I could have come home after 36 hours, but chose to stay an extra night.
We also came home with a pack of diapers, two pacifiers, two baby shirts, mittens, a crocheted baby hat, formula, pillows and egg-crate foam pads, among other things provided by the hospital.

BUT next time around I am definitely taking my own towels.

Fruits of our Labors

Despite the sleepless nights and compulsive Pinteresting, I've decided that the nesting instinct is a real blessing.  For a few consecutive months I am motivated to do any and all projects that have been cluttering my brain/house for weeks, months ... even years.

('Cause after the baby comes, you better believe I am doing nothing for half a year. Or longer.)

Case in point: this chair. 

Slice and I bought this chair maybe two years ago at a freight-damaged place in town - still one of the few pieces of furniture we have actually bought.  While we loved the look (and the chair has gotten us more compliments than anything else in the house!), it just didn't match anything we own.  So I've been planning to re-cover it ever since we brought it home.  

Last week I finally did.

My trusty handyman helped with the dismantling: 

Slice helped with some of the stapling and reassembling.  The job did take a little ingenuity - but don't be like Slice and get all surprised at my sewing and problem-solving skills.  Just because I keep them well hidden doesn't mean they aren't there!
The fabric is quite boring compared to the original (I know), but it's also neutral, which is what I wanted for now.  I still have another chair waiting in the garage, and some other ideas up my sleeve.

Not a bad piece of furniture for about $50 total.

Who am I kidding? We LOVE this chair!


Item #2: Right side-view mirror that has been broken since the elk ran into us almost a year ago.
Slice replaced it all by himself.

Item #3: Two bushels of peaches, canned and put away in my cute little pantry.
I have many many fond memories of canning (especially peaches), and this time was no exception.  It is just so fun!  Also, Slice and I doubled our yield from last year so we don't have to ration them quite as carefully.

Small

Monday at my check-up the doctor told me I am measuring a few centimeters small.
No big deal, but at this time last pregnancy I was almost a week "big" and so far during this pregnancy I have measured normal.  So I have another check-up in a few weeks to measure again.

I know I've said this before, but I really feel like I should be getting fat by now.  With little exercise and no dietary restrictions whatsoever (quite the opposite!) it is just not fair that I'm staying semi-skinny.  Not fair, I tell you.

BUT - when I stopped to think about it, I realized that I eat most everything in small quantities.  Small meals, small drinks, small snacks, etc.  And we can't disregard the metabolism-power of the Synthroid.
So there's that. I guess.

(Pics from Provo Town Centre mall last weekend.  The kid ran out of Motherhood Maternity and climbed right in this car ... and proceeded to wave at everyone who walked by.  What a celebrity.)

Unforeseen Consequences

I was browsing through the kids' shoes at Kmart a few days ago, looking for something for Liam.  He's outgrown his sandals and we lost half of his only other pair of shoes (darn those little things), so he has really been needing something.

I looked .... and looked ... and looked ... and found nothing in his size.  NOTHING.  Not a single pair of boys' shoes, that is.  I dug through the mounds of clearance shoes, hoping to find a box with a "5" or even a "6" on it.  Nada.  I scanned over the wall of regular-priced shoes, wondering just what might have caused this strange phenomenon.

And then I remembered.

There's an army of little boys exactly Liam's age.

And, by the looks of it, a horde of girls exactly my little girl-fetus's age ... to come.
(How and why does this happen?? Anyone?)

Good-bye, clearance shopping!

In-Between

Last week I turned 24 on the 24th.

Golden.

It was a typical mom birthday, complete with a Subway lunch (thanks Ang!) and Velveeta shells & cheese dinner (thanks honey!) and brownie/cheesecake desserts (thanks Pinterest!).  I made some delicious new recipes and will post them on the Edd blog post-haste, for those who are interested. 

We also had some friends over in the evening to help us eat them (thanks friends!).

I contemplated piercing my ears for the occasion - you know I've been thinking about doing it forever - but of course I didn't get around to it.  Now I'm wondering if this is just the wrong stage of life for it.  Babies pulling on my ears?  More stuff to buy and try to keep track of?  Ouch.

Today I am 26 weeks along, and looky here, I took a picture of myself:

I think I'm about the same size as last pregnancy.  In fact, I FEEL smaller, but probably because the first time I was like "My body!! Not my own anymore!!" and stuff ... you know how it goes.  This time I'm just feeling lucky that I've had it so good.

And speaking of good, I'll have you know that I am staying busy.  The projects this week included sewing some curtains, picking upholstery fabric for my chairs, reorganizing a little, and wall-papering the inside of our bedroom closets.  Why wallpaper, you ask?  Well, why not?

The doors were ugly, the wallpaper was cheap, and the makeover took very little time because I am a wallpapering expert (thanks Mom!).  Also, I love the results.

Please, ignore the clutter because IT WILL BE GONE and/or completely reorganized within a few months.  

Don't you worry.

When the rooms are all done and I am happy with them, I'll post more (and better) pictures.  These are just the in-between pictures, got it?

Nesting 2.0

It's official folks, I am in full-on nesting mode.

Last weekend I drew sketches of each room in my house complete with colors, furniture, wall decor, and a very comprehensive to-do list.  I've scoured the internet far and wide, visited almost every store in town, and joined Pinterest so that I can keep my links all together.
I've also begun a love affair with spray paint.

Tuesday I spray-painted my "espresso" colored glider chair white, to begin the nursery makeover.  Wednesday I turned my cedar chest (high school graduation gift from my parents!) from this:

into this:

on my very own front porch.  Sorry, terrible pictures.  I'm not going to fix them either.

I have many more projects in the works.
But, as you know, I am full of self-doubt when it comes to these things.  Will my colors/fabrics/pictures work together?  Do I like that upholstery fabric next to those curtains?  Should I use a stripe on the chair or the chest, or both?  Do I leave the dresser in the room or switch it for something else?  Does it all make me happy and say what I want it to say?  Most of all (at this point): WILL IT ALL FIT IN THE ROOMS?

Because the delightful thing about living in a 70-year-old house is that you can barely fit a queen-size mattress into a bedroom.  Forget about a bed with headboard/footrails and dressers and nightstands and laundry hampers and extra chairs and oh, a crib for the new baby too.  Won't fit.

(Slice just said, "You're posting a picture of our bed right now??")

SO.

I've got 3+ months to go and my work cut out for me.

I've also, fortunately, got a husband who is patient and helpful, who offers opinions and only occasionally mocks me when I start talking about this stuff.

(And by "occasionally" I mean "almost every time I bring it up.")

Wherein I feel like a failure

So it was that just after 10:00 this morning, I had a parenting crisis.

We were at church, Liam and I.  He had woken up so early that he was tired by the time we left for church, which was not a good sign, but I stuck him in the stroller anyway and hoped for the best.

Primary lesson prepared (with handouts!) - check
Tithing - check
Diaper bag with extra books and snacks - check
Arrive early enough to sit on the end near the door, just in case - check
I thought we were set.

During the first Sacrament Prayer, Liam smacked his head on the corner of the arm rest.  I took him out for a few minutes, then came back in to try some books.  He started hollering again.  So I took him AND the bag out and after a lap around the church, I put him down to walk by himself.

It wasn't long before he had walked into a dark, empty classroom and shut the door on himself.
AND THE DOOR WAS LOCKED.
Commence Screaming.

I hurried to the library to ask if anyone had keys.  No.  I ran to the clerk's office.  Someone was there, and luckily, he did.  My son came out with tears streaming down his face, terrified and exhausted and feverish (because he has canines coming in, of course!).  Try as I might, I couldn't get him to calm down.

10:15 and I have to decide.
Stay and try to teach a lesson?  Wait until the end of Sacrament meeting, so I can at least make arrangements for my class?  Take Liam right home and leave them high and dry?
After chasing him around and trying to keep him quiet, I'm not feeling too good myself.  I'm getting light-headed and nauseated and having those oh-so-familiar contractions.


I chose the third option.  After some Tylenol and a bottle, he slept for over 3 hours, which NEVER happens.
I still don't know though.
What would you have done?

Pregnancy, Part II

Although no one has actually asked me yet, I'm pretty sure you're all wondering the same thing: how is this pregnancy different from the last?

And since I am nothing if not obliging, I have compiled a list of differences. Chiefly for your enjoyment.

First - gender.  For no reason that I can recall, Slice and I assumed that we would have a baby girl first.  So when, at our very first doctor's appointment, we had an ultrasound that looked suspiciously manly, we were thrown for quite a loop.  BUT!  According to our 2 ultrasounds thus far, I am indeed carrying a girl.  So now, I get to think about the drama that will subsequently be added upon our household.  And be really excited for the girly stuff.

Second - symptoms.  My pregnancy symptoms were fairly mild the first time around, but I think this time they've been even milder.  Possibly because I've been on Synthroid (I was suspicious about thyroid problems even during last pregnancy), which has helped tremendously with fatigue and dizziness, etc.  Also, because I know that I can't let myself get hungry, I plan accordingly.  Thus far I have slept better at night and experienced fewer symptoms - nighttime arthritis, leg cramps and restlessness - than last time.

Third - food.  Once again I haven't really had "cravings," per se.  I am really liking chocolate and peanut butter, especially together! but I eat like I normally do, and I don't feel guilty.  My first baby turned out just fine ...

Fourth - my brain.  Okay.  Last pregnancy I was obsessed with my baby; it was all I could think about.  Will my water break?  Will I be in public?  How will I fare in labor & delivery?  What if he's ugly? Where will he sleep?  Where will I put all my other furniture? What other furniture do I need?  What kind of mother will I be?
It was nine months of annoyance and exhaustion for me AND Slice.
This time, I am much calmer about everything.  I have deliberately put off the nesting (i.e. changing & collecting furniture, rearranging & improving my home) instinct because right now, there is nothing I can do about it.  And there won't be anything I can do until we have a few months' worth of Slice's paychecks in the bank.  Then I'll go crazy.

Fifth - anticipation.  Of labor, mostly.  Before I experienced it myself, I was literally terrified of the childbirth process.  Everything else I was confident I could do.  (I was right.)
This time, even though I know what I'm getting myself into, I somehow find myself in anticipation instead of dread.  There is something so incredible about childbirth that even the pain doesn't scare me anymore -
and THAT is saying something.

Plus, I get a baby out of the whole deal.
(And now I really know what that means.)

21 weeks

This picture pretty much says it all ...

Turns out, my stomach's not made of steel

Last week at my doctor's appointment the nurse gave me some samples of prenatals.
"Some women get nauseated from certain vitamins, so try these out and let us know which ones you like best.  Then we'll get you a prescription."
"Oh, I don't think I'll have a problem with any of them," I told her. "But I'll let you know, thanks."

If I can make a trip to Japan in my first trimester without ever getting sick, I don't think a vitamin is going to give me trouble.

So.  I took the first pack and all was well.   Yesterday we grabbed a quick snack between church meetings (third week in a row at a special event in 11th ward!), and I took the first pill of the new pack before heading to our ward for Primary.  About 10 minutes later I bolted to the bathroom.

A new first!  Is this how morning sickness works?
I didn't feel sick before, I didn't really feel sick after - it was a quick ordeal and I was hungry by the time we got home.  That's nowhere near the 3-9 month nightmare I've been conjuring up in my head.  It's the awful, awful pains of the stomach flu that I don't think I could handle for any length of time.

Knock on wood.

Blogging Pregnant

Oh, hey.  I hope you're sleeping right now.
(I wish I was!  I'll pay for this later!)

I'm not, obviously, and the thoughts currently plaguing my brain are curiously related to blogging.  Why?  Who knows?  But if I get it all written and published, will I be able to sleep?  Worth a try.

And so I present: Why I'm a Terrible Pregnant Blogger.  In Parts!

Part I: No pictures.  As a general rule, I don't like to take pictures of myself.  Even less so during pregnancy.  I actually cringed when I looked at the 37-weeks-pregnant picture I posted a year ago (just before I linked to it) because, why did I ever post that?
Bloggers are supposed to be narcissistic - that's what makes them bloggers - and perhaps I am, but I'm not vain.  Never have been.

Part II: The long journey to "Publish."  I write (many!) posts in my head, but when I sit down to write them, they just don't seem that important.  No one wants to read about my relationship with Holocaust memoirs, for example.  It's not relevant to anything.

Part III: Once again, I don't feel like I can write what I'm really thinking.  If I wrote a "How are we going to make a house payment this month?" post every time I was thinking about it, that's ALL my blog would be.  Seriously.  Forget about the plans for the nursery .... I can't even buy a maternity shirt right now. Or bacon.
Now, I have no problem talking about money, but it makes a lot of people uncomfortable.  So let's just say we're poor, and the perpetual job search-application-interview-letdown process has been more than we (I) could handle at times. I have to keep telling myself there has GOT to be a reason for this.

Part IV: Perma-furious.  This is very much related to Part III.
I've pretty much been mad at the world since Slice got fired for no (good) reason, then replaced with someone less experienced - who is "loyal" and, by the way, someone else's SON - and then everyone pretended like nothing happened and our entire livelihood/plans/goals weren't just tossed by the wayside.
I'm trying not to be bitter.  I really am.
But it would be a whole lot easier if we could get out of this place, where the situation is brought up again and again by (well-meaning) people who want to know what's happened, why Slice isn't at the golf course anymore, etc. etc.

Part V: Holding my tongue. Also related to Part IV, see the progression here?
I suffer from an unfortunate side effect of pregnancy, where the part of my brain that tells me "this is unacceptable behavior" (dear Shawna!) simply stops working. I imagine it a little bit like being drunk.  I know of perhaps a few people I have offended, but there are possibly many more that I am blissfully unaware of.
So.
I'm trying to hold my tongue, which turns into second-guessing everything I want to write, which turns into writer's block, which turns into probably every reason I have listed here rolled into one.

This my brain on pregnancy.

All right.

I am 14+ weeks along, due at the beginning of December.  And just in case you're wondering, our doctor is guessing it's a girl.  He was right last time.

We've known for quite a while - when I wrote this post we were already suspicious, oh how I crack myself up - but we did not tell the family until Liam's birthday party.  In fact, only Matt & Kim knew weeks ago because they were the only ones who visited us and saw the ultrasound posted on the fridge.
(Hey, everybody who didn't visit us!  Better luck next time!)

I probably would have waited even longer to tell, but it just gets hard at this point.  I already feel the need to apologize for my behavior over the last three months, and if I wait longer no one will accept my apologies.
(Hey, everybody who I offended/said strange things to/flaked out on/exhibited uncharacteristic behavior toward!  I'm sorry!)

Thanks again for all your congratulations.  I love you guys.
Any more questions?

Still talking about my thyroid ... and maybe answering some of your questions.

(If you prefer, you can skip on over here and watch more puppy+baby videos.  They're cute.)

A few months ago when I went to the doctor after blood tests, he said, "I'll be honest with you. I really didn't think you had a thyroid problem."
He went on to explain that his typical hypothyroid patients are a little overweight (thyroid controls metabolism) with flaky skin and other symptoms which I did not seem to have.  Yet, I tested hypothyroid.
So he put me on some Synthroid and I've been taking the same dose ever since.

The dizziness stopped - until I got pregnant.  The hair stopped falling out - maybe because I got pregnant.  My energy returned! - until ... well, you get the picture.

So far, my experience with pregnancy is this:  fatigue, a little night sickness, and do not even think about getting hungry.  When I start feeling hungry I MUST. EAT. NOW. or I will get sick.  And then I don't want to eat, but I have to.  Then, when I do eat, I feel even sicker.  It's vicious, I tell you.

Add the Synthroid which has also increased my metabolism, and watch my grocery bill skyrocket.  I feel like I eat all day, every day, and you know what?  I weigh less than I did even in high school.  I am 5'8" and weighing in quite below 135 lbs.
(But I honestly don't know where it's coming from.  This little pooch is growing every day.)

Anyway, I'm not complaining because again, I'm not throwing up anything that I'm eating.  I just eat and sleep and play with Liam and lose weight.  And not exercise.  Wouldn't want to make things worse, you know?

On Plans

Some people are lucky enough to live their lives according to plan.

Some people marry their high school sweethearts, go on missions, finish graduate school, build hotshot careers, move from place to place as they choose.  Some people have exactly the number of children they want, in exactly the amount of time and exactly the manner they expect.

I imagine it would be nice to be someone like that.  Wouldn't it?
See, that's not how my life works at all.

I like to make plans, really.  I've tried for years to map out my weeks, my months, my semesters.  But the last few years and, especially, months of my life have shown me that sometimes it doesn't matter what you plan.  You can make decisions, actively pursue a certain course, do everything possible to stay on it ... and in the end the Lord has a different plan for you.  For me.

Lately, I've been thinking (surprise) about what it means to be a parent.  What it means to announce to the world that you are expecting a baby, when you know too well that a hundred things could go wrong in the subsequent months and you would have to explain.  What it means to bring a baby home and welcome it into your life, knowing how little you have to teach it and just how much you have to learn.  What it means to accept unexpected turns in your life, without turning away from that God who sent you down this path.


Planned or no, it takes great faith, being a parent.  I think it takes more faith than anything else in the world.

Birthday Festivities

We had a family party (plus a few friends) for Liam last Friday night.

As we expected, he wanted to play with each gift as soon as he opened it - so we should have just given him one present a day for a couple of weeks.

Oh well!

His favorite present, hands down, is the baby-size golf club Slice has been waiting to give him for several months.  He is obsessed with that thing.  We like that he will walk with it.

Of course, we saved the best present for last.  Time will tell how much he likes it....

Six months ago...

... I didn't know what a "bundle of joy" was.

Six months ago I was lying in a hospital bed, wondering if all the pain and discomfort, the inconvenience and work, would really be worth it.

Six months ago I didn't know if I could do this job - feeding and loving and nurturing this little creature, and forgetting myself in the process.  Or if I would like it.

Six months ago, I didn't know that I would love it all ... more than anything in this world.

I want my brain back.

YOU GUYS. 


I was not going to lose my mind after I birthed the Goblin.  I've heard from various women that it happens, but of course it won't happen to me, I'm different, yadda yadda.

Well I forgot some Very Important Items while packing for my little trip including, but not limited to: cell phone charger (with a nearly-dead phone), baby bathsoap & medicine, extra blankets, enough diapers, a decent memory card, tripod and "reflectors."
20 diapers in 36 hours?!!

I also Pricelined a hotel that turned out to be more expensive than if we had just found one on our own because I was running around like a crazy person, trying to pack while my baby screamed and/or slept in the swing.

During the drive I turned off the phone for a while, hoping to make the battery last longer.  Behold, my cell phone battery is a battery of wonders and verily, it lasted until the trip home today.  Amen.

Yesterday my main camera battery died just when I was getting set up and I couldn't get the memory card to work. (Of course!)  So I ran back and forth between the car and the park several times, left my keys on a tree branch - a tree branch?! - found an Office Max while looking for a Walmart and bought another card, while Lu and Dustin watched my baby.

Behold, my baby is a baby of wonders and verily, he slept through the ENTIRE frantic setup, photo shoot and subsequent drive back to the hotel.  But he used up all his Sleep Cash, so by nighttime he was bone dry.
Amen.

It seems the child doesn't like to sleep in hotels or to be away from home, period.  So after two terrible nights I threw in the towel and we headed for home.  Forget the Tanger Outlets, Shabby Apple garden sale, car auction, GOLF TOURNAMENT.  I didn't get to watch Slice play at all.

I might have stayed, if I had brought my cell phone charger and more diapers along.

This damage is irreversible, isn't it?

Lucky I am

Or:

Things I Expected over the Last Ten Months but Never Actually Experienced.*

Morning Sickness. Sure, Japan wasn't the easiest on my stomach and when people ask me now what food I liked over there, I can't think of anything, but still. One small bout of the stomach flu is hardly something to complain about.

Pregnancy cravings. I swear I never had one. Sometimes I wanted a Jamba Juice or some salsa (mainly while we couldn't get any), quite often I wanted ice cream, but that's normal. I never HAD to have anything.

Early Delivery. So I got pretty scared when I started having frequent contractions early in my pregnancy. We now know that my contractions didn't/don't do anything to my cervix (HA!) so ... next time around I'm not going to worry about them and just live my life like normal. Liam came but two days before his "due date" - no problem here.

Water breaking during school, or some other public place. Made it through the school year, yay, and thank heavens I was home in bed.

Water not breaking until induced labor. I did not want to be two weeks overdue and induced.

Difficulty Nursing. Liam is a born nurser. Har har. Aside from the pain, the great pain, nursing has been quite a breeze for us. I hear horror stories like my cousin who starved her baby for couple months without realizing it. Well, Liam is definitely not starving because of me. Plus I just bought five new shirts that I can actually nurse in! Hooray!

Doing it Myself. This should never have been a fear of mine, because if you know Slice you know he'll likely be doing more than his share of the parenting, but nevertheless it was. Really I was worried Slice would be as busy this summer as he was last. He's not. (But that's a story for another day!)

Slice had almost an entire week off work from the day I had the baby. BEST THING EVER. While the baby and I slept, he washed dishes, did laundry and grocery shopped. Bless that man.

Sleepless nights. I was mentally preparing myself for these for months. Seriously. Now Liam is sleeping five hours at a stretch (not that anyone's counting BUT, three times he's slept longer than that) so I typically get up with him twice a night. And only for about half an hour at a time.

Relentless crying. I know this can still change, but he still only cries if he needs something. I just have to figure it out ... which sometimes takes longer than it should. Oops!

This quality alone makes me feel all right leaving him with my sisters for a bit, because I don't worry about endless crying. Find problem - fix it - crying stopped. Wonderful.

Postpartum Hormones. Don't know why but I was sort of expecting some depression, breakdowns, the like. And ....Nothing.

I've cried in church twice, during musical numbers. I also get feeling cooped up occasionally with only one car and Slice gone. But I don't think that's hormones.

*I said I was prepared. For the worst, apparently.

P.S. These pictures have nothing (and everything) to do with this post.

{contemplating ninja moves in his Japanese onesie}

The Change

I was never really anxious to be a mother.

(I think I can say that now.)

Yes, it was in the plans, and I knew the day would come and I certainly never dreaded it, but still ... I did not want it to come too soon.

I was never the girl who followed moms around at church activities, asking to hold their babies and offering to babysit anytime. I hated babysitting, actually. Little punks scared me. And not long after my seven younger siblings came twenty-five nieces and nephews, so there was never a dearth of children in my life.

Biological clock what? Baby-hungry who? Not me.

I looked around at the women I know who became young mothers, and I felt a little sorry for them. At times I even felt a little sorry for myself.

So it's safe to say that Slice was much more excited for this baby than I was. He told me at least once a day throughout my pregnancy that he just could. not. wait. to have this child. And I thought about the crying, the long nights, the pain and frustration and lack of free alone time and complete eternal life change ahead, and I just smiled at him. I knew how hard parenthood would be. I was prepared for it.

What I wasn't prepared for was the joy that would come as well. I couldn't believe or understand before - despite what everyone tried to tell me - that this little creature would make my life infinitely better, just by being in it. That he would bring me joy I couldn't imagine. That I would love him so much for who he is and not for anything he's done. The love is incredible, life-changing.

Maybe some people can feel this love without becoming a parent, but I sure couldn't. Those young mothers have a beautiful secret. I don't feel sorry for them anymore.

And when my baby cries, I don't feel like pulling my hair out or gnashing my teeth or crying too. I even wait for him to wake up sometimes, just because I miss him.

I have become one of those people.

Where there's a Will, there's a Way

This post has been haunting me.

I have so much to say and no way to say it, so many feelings I cannot comprehend - much less describe - that it has been overwhelming me day and night. I am in a different world than the one I lived in a week ago.

I need to tell the story, for him and for me - and for you, if it makes any difference at all. If not, that's fine too.

I had plans for this birth. After years of listening to my mother, aunts, sisters and friends, months of reading and planning and praying, weeks of childbirth class (which I was grateful for), this is what I had:

Plan A - Water breaks and labor progresses quickly. I don't need Pitocin or an epidural, I can handle the pain as long as it doesn't last too long. I am walking/moving/standing for most of labor and delivery, finding what works best for me. I am well-rested and fed before going to the hospital, snacking when I need to, also I don't tear much.

Plan B/C/D/ - Water doesn't break on its own, I may have to be induced. But I'm pretty well dilated and it still goes quickly. I hold out as long as I think possible before getting an epidural (at least until I'm at 5 cm) because really, I don't want those drugs in my baby. I sleep when I can and eat the snacks in my bag ... we take things as they come.

Worst-case Scenario - However labor starts, it doesn't progress because my contractions don't seem to make a difference. (Just like over the last FOUR MONTHS.) My body's not quite sure how to do this whole thing. The word "Posterior" comes up.

So on Memorial Day my family drove up Uintah Canyon for a little picnic near the river. On the way Lana was asking me how big I thought the baby was. "Pretty big," I replied. "Not that I have a frame of reference or anything, but I feel like he's at least seven or eight pounds. That's my guess anyway."

That evening, Slice and I picked up around the house and snacked and talked. He gave me a blessing, and at midnight we climbed into bed. He was promptly asleep.

At 12:05 my water broke. I woke Slice and got up, headed for the shower, giving last-minute instructions and otherwise trying not to freak out. We packed the last few things in the hospital bag, ate a little bit (NOT ENOUGH), wrote a note for Angie, and stopped by the golf course on the way to the hospital.

We checked in about 1:30, I was not even dilated to a 2. I laid in bed for a couple hours hooked up to the monitors. No change. We walked for over an hour and sat for two more; after I took another shower a nurse braided my hair for me. My baby wasn't moving, so the nurse put me on a water drip after giving me a second IV. (I may or may not have eaten some fruit snacks to get him moving again.)

At 7:00 I was a 3 and "still thick." The Dr. came in to explain that if I didn't progress, I would need either Pitocin or antibiotics to prevent infection. (I already knew that.) My contractions were quite hard but not frequent enough - 5 to 8 minutes apart instead of 4. They just weren't working yet.

By noon I was only a 4, and they started me on a low dose of Pit. I cried for the first time. For the last several hours I had been getting up for every contraction because I couldn't bear to sit through them. I was shaking from lack of food and sleep. Although the Pit wasn't supposed to start working for about an hour, my contractions picked right up. I stood and shook for a while before I finally told Slice I needed something to help with the pain. The nurse gave me something that helped me relax; I slept between contractions and ate about half a banana.

At 2:00 I was shaking and crying again, in a lot of pain. Knowing what was ahead just made me despair. I was at a 5 when the nurse called the anesthesiologist in. I had maybe another hour of rest before the back labor hit.

For the next four hours I breathed and hummed and cried, squeezing Slice's hand, as the back labor intensified. My baby was posterior and the epidural wouldn't help with back pain; there was nothing anyone could do. No matter what Slice tried, no matter how I tried, I could not calm down or stop shaking.

My mother came in at the end of transition. Beforehand I wasn't sure if I wanted her there, but oh how I needed her when she came. She held me and cried with me, reminding me (only by her presence) that she had gone through the same and worse - for ME.

Before I felt ready at all, the nurse announced it was time to push, and called for the doctor. I tried to push as I was instructed - no instincts here, apparently - but every time I pushed the pain got worse afterwards. I tried and tried, apologizing for the tears. Everyone told me I was doing great but I knew they were lying; he wasn't coming. The doctor tried the suction cup over and over. I could not get him out.

Near the end, Slice tried to encourage me by reminding me we were going to get a baby out of all this. That didn't help me at all. My motives were selfish: get me out of this pain. Also by this point I was GONE. I wasn't hearing what anyone was saying or seeing faces anymore... I was just there, pushing.

I pushed for about 45 minutes before I got fed up and kept on pushing, after contractions and without contractions. I didn't stop. After what seemed like forever (and some cutting and tearing), my son was born. It was 5:54 PM.

They laid him on my stomach for a moment, for an eternity. Nothing in this world can prepare you for that. I stared in wonder, Slice cried. A piece of heaven came into that room for Slice and me to love forever.

And now I'm crying as I write this. Oy.

My baby was 8 pounds 3 ounces, perfect and healthy and more beautiful than any newborn I have ever seen. He eats and sleeps and grins, every once in a while. He didn't come the way I planned, but he came just the same. He shall be known as Liam on this blog - just because I can.

He is mine, and I love him.