Spencer's Birth Story: Part I

I've thought about and tried to write this in my head about a hundred times.  Writer's block is a real thing folks.  Even if it means you are being blocked by other (seemingly) pressing things going on in your life.  Blocked by a baby and 3 wildly entertaining and needy toddlers is the most recent thing that comes to mind.

So I'm just going to start telling the story of how my 4th baby was born.  I'm just going to put it out there.  I may not even proofread or speel check. I'm not even going to blog about my three wildly entertaining and needy toddlers turning three.  Their birthday is always something to write about and celebrate. However, if I go one more blog post without talking about child #4, he might begin to feel like a footnote.  Which he's not.

So, without further ado or spilling of my subconscious mind, the story of when Spencer as born...

"So what did you decide?"

My doctor asks me this on a Wednesday afternoon.  I'm 39 weeks pregnant and it's the first appointment that Chris has come with me.

I look at my handsome partner and he smiles, we both know we're going to have a baby that day.  At least that's what we thought.  After all, my body had actually labored before with the triplets, so the second time around is speedy and quick, right?  Baby comes out like it's got somewhere to be? Plus, with ALL my hypnobirthing training I had done over the past 4 months, surely this would be the most beautiful and most perfect birth in the history of all births.   That's what we had anticipated.  At least I had.  I never would have predicted that nearly 24 hours later I would be in a surgical room, with a team prepped in masks and gloves hovering around me.

"Yes."  I answer confidently.  "We want to have this baby today."

A week prior, my doctor had given me the option of induction.  The baby was measuring big and had even earned the term macrosomia.  

{neonatal macrosomia (n) : a baby that is measuring large for its gestational age.}

And he was big.  I had a handful of doctors and nurses after they saw him ask me if I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. (I wasn't.)

So the baby was measuring big, and I had stressed with my doctor that I did NOT want a c-section this time around.  I wanted as close to natural as I could get within the confines of being comfortably safe in one of the best hospitals in the state.  In my laser focus of not wanting a c-section, I focused on the macro-thingy and worried the baby would be too big and not come the way I planned and all that planning and hoping about channeling mother nature herself in the birthing room would be a pipe dream.  So focused on NOT having a c-section that I didn't look too deeply into the effects of pitocin and what exactly an induction meant for me.    

I think part of the reason I have been so reluctant to share the entire birth story is because I feel responsible for how things turned out.  I naively thought I would be given something to "get me started" then my body would just do it's thing and I'd pop that little critter right out!  

Also, my older kids have been on a routine and schedule since the day all three of them were home from the hospital.  We live and die by a routine around here.  So the lure and temptation of being able to plan when the help was going to be with them was too much.  Too much I tell you!

So I decided to go ahead with the induction.  And I can't even type the phrase "against my better judgement" after that.  Because I really did think I was doing the right thing.  It felt right.

So we were shown to a room in the delivery unit and the nurse began my check in process.  I had brought along my birth plan and told her I wanted to go over it with her.  I look back and wonder what she was thinking, right before I was to be induced, when I told her I wanted NO talk of pain, or pain scales or asking me if I was in pain etc, etc.  Because, after all, this was part of my master plan.

So around 5:30, I gowned up and was given the drip.  This was it.  I would surely have a baby that night.  I was dilated to a two and 75% effaced.  I made a big deal about wanting the "big" delivery room that was shown to me on a tour a few weeks back.  It was unavailable when they checked me in, but on one of my hallway strolls, I noticed it was clean and ready for a new momma, so the nurse was nice to let me switch rooms.

I decided to walk and walk and walk during the first few hours to help things along.  I wish the unit was bigger because at around 9pm or so, I think I just looked crazy.  There's that insane woman who is hooked up to a pitocin drip and thinks she's going to have a pain-free birth. Is what I now imagine the entire staff was thinking every time I walked by the front desk with my rolling IV stand.

Around 8pm the anesthesiologist came in to see when I wanted my epidural.  He wanted to go over the side effects and risks at that moment so we wouldn't have to waste time later when I needed it.  I assured him I would not need an epidural and hence, no explanation of side effects or the like.  I told him I had been planning this drug-free birth and I felt fine so far and was completely confident I would never need to see him again.

He smiled, told me that was great, but wanted to do it anyway.  I sent him away with a smile.  NO talking about pain, and he was the representative of pain.  He was of course professional, told me he would be there until midnight and to call if I changed my mind.  I told him I would (which I definitely wasn't) and thanked him for coming by.

Three hours later, I was checked and to my surprise and disappointment, I was only at a 4.  Do you know how much walking I did?  Remember I had that flipping drug pumping through my veins?  My doc wanted to break my water, he felt like the baby needed some encouragement.  It had been too long.  Ok, how bad could that be?  I felt like I was doing an ACE job with my hypnobirthing training, because every contraction up to that point was manageable.  I successfully breathed through every one and they were strong and regular, regular, regular.  I felt like I was laboring how I envisioned.

Then my doctor broke my water.

Something happened that I don't know how to adequately put into words, but I'll try.

Before my water broke I was a whole, competent, strong, laboring woman.

After my water broke, my contractions went from manageable (after all, I was a competent, strong, laboring woman) to I think it would've been better if I was born a man.

With my hypnobirthing training, I was taught how to breath through each contraction.  The breath starts with a big belly breath as you visualize the breath traveling from the top of your head all the way down through your toes.

The very next contraction I had after my water broke, I started to inhale for that big belly breath.  I coughed and sputtered.  I couldn't even take breath in, the pain (THE PAIN!  I WASN'T SUPPOSED TO TALK OR THINK ABOUT PAIN, BUT IT WAS PAAAAAAAAAAAIN!)  was so intense.

All I could do is double over and wait for the contraction to end.  The breathing, the visualization, my happy place, all went out the window.  I was a little shocked and tried to recover for the next one.  Ok, I told myself, that was bad, but I guess I wasn't ready.  Focus Kara, here comes the next one.  You got this...

Two minutes later it hit again.  Another contraction.

And I was ready and focused.  And I ended up on the floor, doubled over with pain, gasping at what was happening to my body.

The nurse was there, as was my husband (he was looking alarmed) and she asked what I wanted to do.  (Bless her heart, she remember my blasted birth plan and request to not talk about pain.)

I said I wanted to see what the next one felt like and wait it out.  I couldn't throw months of planning out the window!  Between these immense surges of absolute agony, I would gear up and prep myself to breath and visualize--I can do this.  

I think I went through five or six of these.   I automatically doubled over and squeaked incoherent syllable every single time. Chris kindly suggested it would be ok to take something.  He told me there was no shame in abandoning my plan and calling the anesthesiologist.  (He would have the best secret eye roll ever, huh?)

I was beginning to be absolutely terrified for the next contraction instead of welcoming and embracing it as I had prepared to do.  I mean I was mortified that I would need many more of these to get this baby here.  I physically couldn't do it.  A girl has her limits.  So, 15 minutes before he told me he would be leaving the hospital, they called the man, whom I told I wouldn't need his services, thank you very much.

He came, and with a hint of annoyance, told me he had to go over the side effects and possible complications of having an epidural.  I nodded, assented, agreed, whatever I needed to do to make the pain stop.

Between contractions, I was able to joke with him about our conversation earlier.  He then gave me a staggering statistic.  I'm sure it was just something he pulled from the air as a generalization, not an actual statistic, but still.  He told me he wasn't surprised he was back in my room because 99% of women that are induced with pitocin end up needing an epidural.  He had seen very few women be able to labor on pitocin without pain medication.

Are you *bleeping* kidding me?  What?  How did I not know this?  Do you know how much stinking reading and research and classes I participated in?  How did this not come up?  How did I not know this or overlook it or NOT know this was the case?  I'm sure a large percentage of you are reading this, shaking your head and thinking, duh!  What did you expect?  But this is my story.  It's all truth.

As I felt the cold medication enter my back, I felt relieved, and stupid and comforted and disappointed.  It was a weird moment.  But here we were.  The only thing that had gone as planned was my initial refusal of pain medication and the room I requested.

But since these contractions felt so strong, surely the baby would be here soon.   Right?  Right?!



Next time....

You do remember you're here to have a baby, right?  Or, here, go ahead and grab this gymnastics bar we found and give us a few pushes.  

Spencer's Birth Story: Preface

I'm going to tell you the story of how my baby boy, child #4 was born.  Before I do, we need to have little chat, a big ol' fat preface.

I told you about my grand plans of having a hypnobirth.  My mind and heart were so set on this.  I had practiced, visualized and 100% expected this would be the perfect birth I had imagined.  When I say perfect, I don't mean perfect.  I just mean I knew it would happen as I had envisioned and planned.

I had my birth plan that I had lovingly written out at my kitchen table one night.  I tucked it away in a bright green folder and placed it in my packed and waiting hospital bag.  Then, once at the hospital, I went over this birth plan with the nurse that checked me into the labor and delivery floor.  Looking back, I wonder if L&D nurses ever have to practice their nods and polite assents to a fresh faced expectant mother as she goes over her "plans" about how her birth is going to go.  I wonder if they try not to imagine this chatty, put together woman as a disheveled heap of fatigue and damp strands of hair hanging in her face at the end of it all.  You know, so they can be professional and not laugh in her face when she says under no circumstances is there to be any discussion about pain.

I know every birth is different, I know some women actually have a good experience giving birth, but this written plan I had brought with me -- forget about it.  Not one thing went as I had envisioned, practiced, imagined or planned.  I'm not exaggerating either.  Nothing.  Nil.  Zip.  Nada.

So, the question is, was I disappointed?

I believe the act of bringing another life into this world is so monumental, so important, so grand and significant that if you allow yourself be disappointed on how your personal experience went, I truly believe it can make some permanent, albeit unintentional, scar on your heart and maybe even effect that little spirit you just helped usher into this life.  That's my personal theory.  So although NOTHING went as I wanted it to, I felt I had to let that go in the moment it happened.  So as I relate my story in upcoming posts, know that my heart is well.

There were literal hours dedicated to this natural, hypnobirthing malarky. (Ok, I still think hypnobirthing is a legitimate and successful way to have a baby, and although my heart is well, I can still be snarky.) I had grand plans for a quiet, peaceful, drug-free birth.  So to tell you toward the end of it all, in the 11th hour, I was in an operating room, identical to the one the triplets were delivered in via emergency c-section, with a room full of people hovering around me in surgical masks, you'll know what a feat it was to let go of my months and hours of preparing for the exact opposite of how things went.

Which is why I wanted to have this chat before I relayed the story.  Just so we're clear about the injustice of life and no matter how in control and well thought out your plans may be, you're never really in charge.  At this point in my short experience of being a pregnant person, then mother, I really shouldn't be surprised by this.  Because I seem to get this lesson in so many different ways, and each time it's always a light bulb moment.  I suppose I'm grateful for a patient God who still cares to teach this stubborn, slow learning daughter that I need Him every hour.

Next post will be part one of this harrowing tale of triumph, heartbreak and water breaking birthin' fun.  I'll sum up 21ish hours in a couple posts. I'll leave you with a shot of what I looked like on the last day of being pregnant with my little (or not so little, as I will soon tell you) baby.

And this guy... I said, show me your "I'm ready to be a dad for the 4th time" face.  This is what I got...

I believe he was telling me he is ready to rock?

The Stretch Mark Post

"...and HER stomach looks like a road map."

I nodded in a polite way, maybe raised my eyebrows a little, as if to meet his displeasure of what this woman's stomach apparently looked like to him.

It was my husband's boss after all.  The first time I was meeting him, right after I had finished a delicious, expensive dinner on him.

He had just found out I was pregnant with triplets and after the normal oohs and ahhs about how crazy our life was about to become, he was suddenly concerned about how I was going to keep stretch marks at bay.

He mentioned coconut oil and how one of his daughters (I think...I don't remember the relation to the women he brought up, I just remember it made me uncomfortable) had used it during her entire pregnancy and didn't get one stretch mark.  But his daughter-in-law (???) didn't do one thing and HER stomach looks like a road map.

He then told Chris he would pick some up for me at this health food store he frequents and bring it to the office the next day.

First of all, let's just skip the part where he has intimate details on the condition of these women's midriffs.  Really.  Weird.

But can we focus on the fact that a MAN was having this conversation with me?  Remember how men don't get pregnant?  Remember how a man has never experienced labor pains, child birth or the lovely weeks after delivery where every place on your body that is able to leak some kind of fluid does?   Or being so large where you can't get up without rolling from side to side to gain momentum.  Or your extremities going numb.  Like unable to pour a gallon of milk numb.  Or the swelling that causes your face, feet and hands to be unrecognizable.  Or being so chock full of hormones you cry and accuse your clothes hamper of trying to sabotage your life because it is never empty. (There are literally hundreds of pregnant maladies I could list...)

Remember how a man doesn't feel the extreme highs of creating another life followed by the lowest lows of not wanting to leave your house for weeks? Remember how men don't experience that societal pressure of being sexy before, during and after pregnancy?  Tabloid headlines will never have pictures of how great DAD looks only weeks after his wife gives birth.  Remember?

But Sir, let's make this conversation about being pregnant with triplets all about the worry of stretch marks. Please.

Present tense Kara is writing this rant.  Kara of September, 2012.  Kara of September 2009 was a little less brash. 2009 Kara was not bombarded with the craziest comments from friends and strangers about the experience of having triplets.  Before comments of people telling me they would rather die than be pregnant with triplets.  Or have three toddlers.  Or say "oops, I bet that wasn't supposed to happen," when referring to my latest pregnancy.  Or say, "isn't there some kind of rule that you are supposed to stop having kids after triplets?" (The guy cracked himself up at that one.  Hilarious, tactful stranger. So funny.)

2009 Kara was before I found my voice of bravery for the sake of my children.  They will after all, hear and read these stories and no doubt have things said to their face when people find out their unique birthday situation.  They must always know how grateful I am for every single day I have with them.

So if Kara 2012 was sitting at dinner in 2009, I would've said, "Yea, everyone is concerned about different things, but I'm just hoping that all my babies are healthy and I can carry them as long as I can."

Or maybe, "Every stretch mark that every woman has or will have is a Purple Heart in the complex world of being a woman.  We are bombarded at every angle about our body image and what we think we should look like, what the world thinks we should look like and what we think the world thinks we should look like.  We are told we don't have enough kids.  We are told we have too many.  We are told we are too fat, too thin, too ugly, too pretty and usually by people who don't know or care about us.  But some broken switch in us takes in every criticism and compliment with a giant magnifying glass.  We are never enough.  So for you to turn this conversation about me housing three miracles of God's creation into how my stomach is going to look after, is borderline blasphemous and undoubtedly insulting. (dramatic pause) Thanks for dinner by the way."

But Kara three years ago, nodded and smiled and thanked him for his concern.  (Gag.)

Full disclosure: (because you always deserve it) I did accept his coconut oil gift and used it.  And I actually never did get stretch marks with the kidlets, although I thought I did.  But really, I'm not convinced it was the coconut oil, nor do I want this post to be about stretch mark prevention.

Because I have stretch marks now.  I carried this new baby of mine to 39 healthy, sometimes miserable, always exhausting weeks.  He was 2 pounds heavier than the triplets combined weight at birth. And although I winced a little when I realized these purple lines were here to stay, (those societal ideals are tough to shake)  I thought of that conversation at dinner years ago.  It made me refocus where my priorities really are and, in a way that only a healthy, big baby, born to a once quivering mother of three pre-mature infants can do--I was grateful for those permanent scars.

I don't see a road map.  I see life and hope.  I see an able vessel where four separate and beautiful miracles have occurred.  I don't have a road map.  I have a reminder that I'm one of the lucky ones.

Did she really just this picture?  Believe it.  Just doing my part to free women everywhere of the irrelevant concerns we should have during pregnancy and focus on what really matters.  After all, I know plenty of women warriors who would move heaven and earth, go to hell and back and be covered in stretch marks if it meant the end result was cuddling a little one of their own.

Believe it.

She'll Be Back

Hi Readers.

Kara's blog here.  Where is that dang red head?  She's been MIA for weeks.  I know she had a new baby and all, but come on, one starts to feel neglected after a while.  So I thought I would put up a post in her behalf.

I know she wants to start blogging again in earnest.  I also know she has been a nut case and dealing with post-partum hormones.  I think she was afraid most of her posts would be labeled as the ranting, semi-crazy type.  Probably the reason she's stayed away.

I can tell you this new baby in the house is a tiny little ball of darling.  She is always snuggling and smelling his tiny head and rubbing all that hair!  She is also very busy trying to keep him safe from all the love his 3 siblings have been bestowing on him.  A lot of kisses of the smothering variety need to be shooed away.  She doesn't mind though.  She'd rather be shooing kisses than pokes and prods.

If you run with the Instagram crowd, you can keep tabs with this crazy family here.  It's the kind of micro blogging she has time for.

If not, I found a few memories from the past few weeks...

Also, on a completely selfish note, I would REALLY like a makeover.  So if you know anyone who speaks html or would like to help me pretty up...let me know!  Buttons, colors, you know a new look.

And maybe tell the original author of this blog that you miss her.  I think she would appreciate it.

It's Been a Week?

We are a week into this newborn and three toddlers thing.  Things have been going great.  Especially since I've never really been alone with everyone.  I'm grateful for all the extra help and food we've been given over the last week or so.  (Also, whoever cleaned my kitchen window above the sink, THANK YOU! I never noticed how bad it was until I could actually see out of it.)

Things are going to get interesting.  But for now, we've all kind of enjoyed our little bubble of help and no plans to go anywhere.  What great timing to have the Olympics, right?  

So I will leave you with a few lovely snap shots and an ode to the Summer Games; a post I wrote 4 years ago during Phelps' 8 gold craziness and the Olympic fever I caught.

One of the many fun things my kids did while we were in the hospital with baby Spencer: trip to Heber with ALL the cousins!

Seriously, so in love with this little face.  Asleep or awake.  

Welcome Baby #4

It's a boy.

Our little bundle was born July 26.

If you've clicked on this post to hear the story of how our hypnobirth went, keep clicking friends. Keep clicking.  You will find no such story here.  After months of preparing, practicing and praying for that smooth, natural birth, nothing went as planned.  The only thing that happened on my birth plan was that a healthy baby was the result at the end.  That's it.

There are certain events in your life that make you realize things you've never dreamed of.

For example, who knew I could fall into a dead, deep sleep so quickly with a giant ice pack between my legs?  Who knew?

And who knew how big a mother's heart can grow?  Just when I think it's near bursting with three toddling little ones in my life, I think, that's it.  My heart is not capable of feeling any more love and beautiful emotion.  If it does, it will surely break in a million pieces.

Then, another little one comes along.  And my heart doesn't break, but grows and beats faster and stronger.

Who knew?

Stay tuned for how our near 24 hour adventure of laboring and delivering played out.  I'm not trying to be cliff hangy, really.  My upcoming posts will be indicative of my time and energy levels.  Both short and sweet.

Thanks for all the well wishes and congrats I've received so far.  Our family is blessed beyond measure.

PS - we named our little bear Spencer.

HypnoBirthing According to Kara: Part I

light·en·ing

   [lahyt-n-ing] 

noun Medicine/Medical .

the descent of the uterus into the pelvic cavity, occurring toward the end of pregnancy, changing the contour of the abdomen and facilitating breathing by lessening pressure under the diaphragm.

Ok, who coined this term?  Lightening?  Really.  Because I don't think there is anything "light" about feeling like you are walking with a bowling ball between your legs.  Which is what I feel like.  Waddle, waddle, waddle.  That's where I am at 37 weeks.  It's more like heavy-ing than lightening.  (Best part about blogging is making up your own words.)

I've had many (2) questions and requests about going into further detail about my plans for having a hypnobirth.  The name itself sounds mysterious and strange.  Before I divulge the secrets and legends behind this method, I have a few disclaimers.

I FIRMLY believe (like, a lot) that every mother has the right and privilege to have her baby in the best way that she deems fit.  Meaning, I'm definitely not going to tell you that hypnobirthing is the way to go.  Or imply that you've failed as a woman if you don't have a c-section, a VBAC, an epidural, or bite on a stick, a home birth, or squat next to a tree as you gently deliver your baby into a pile of leaves.

Uh uh.  Each woman, baby and birth is different.  I don't think one way is the right way. With that said, I'll share my reasons why I've decided to have this kind of delivery.

My triplets were somewhat of an unplanned, emergency c-section.  I was planning on having a c-section, but not 3 months early.  I was unprepared, a nervous wreck and totally in la-la land from drugs and pain meds for a long time.  When I found out I was pregnant with this little peanut, I knew I wanted a completely different experience.

I didn't know exactly what, but I started with a google search. (Most good journeys start here, right?)  I ended up searching the terms "natural," "painless" and "childbirth."  I had no idea what I would come up with.  But this term "hypnobirth" kept coming up.  So I investigated...

A hypnobirth is a vaginal delivery free of drugs and medication.  The idea is to put yourself into a state of deep relaxation so your delivery is easy, gentle and free of pain.  

The theory is that our western society has a deep rooted idea of fear being associated with childbirth.  Think about movies and television and other portrayals of births you've seen--  screaming women in pain and agony.  There is even a suggestion that Eve, our first mother, plays a role in this fear.  The bible tells us that she was cast out of the garden and told she would bring forth children "in sorrow."  So we have this imbedded idea that childbirth is hard and painful, which is scary.  Pain equals fear.

The science behind the idea is that your body releases a chemical called catecholamine during times of fear and stress.  This is associated with the "fight or flight" reaction.  Since you can't do either during childbirth, your body tenses up and all your muscles become tight and rigid.

All these tight muscles actually work against the idea of your baby being born, instead of allowing it to happen.  You "push," but you're pushing against super tense muscles, all the while your subconscious is telling you your contractions are painful, having a baby is painful, pain, pain, fear, fear, more catecholamine released, more tense and nervous muscles-- including the ones used to birth your baby.

Hypnobirthing trains you to relax every muscle in your body and breath your baby down and out.  You also reprogram your subconscious and your ideas about childbirth.  Instead of your body releasing catecholamine, you release these wonderful, natural endorphins.  There are some cultures and plenty of stories of women giving birth without pain, and that's the norm for them.

I have more information to give you.  We'll call this part one.  More to come: my daily affirmations (real zen-like stuff), practicing relaxing (love this) and what Chris' role will be in all this new-age mumbo jumbo (he's a good sport).

ALSO!  I was given a super-duper, excellent, awesome, extraordinary baby shower that involved no onesies, sleepers, outfits or diapers.  It was so great for a mom that has all that. (Well, let's be honest, I could always use more diapers.)  Here's a preview:

Eh?  Lots of cute girls in the kitchen?  I'll let you know what they were up to!

Snapshots of our Summer (so far)

Are you ready for a photo smorgasbord? A picture pile?  This is a little peak at our summer so far.

 My boys love playing with the water.  It makes me happy when they need a good bath at the end of the day.

We welcomed our new baby cousin a few weeks ago.  Fun to see a little preview of what is in store for us soon.   

 Still lots of fire truck love in our life.  Gabe's not upset.  That's his serious, I'm putting out fires, look.

Trying to vicariously live through Grandma D's facebook updates about her trip to Europe.  Cheerio mum.  We miss you!

 Sorting clothes for the new season and the new baby.  Gabe is rocking that girl's winter hat.

 Throwing giant tantrums over Otter Pops that melt too quickly.  Wow.  I just had to document this one.  If Sunny tells you the world is ending, chances are her pink Otter Pop just snapped in half.  

 Playing with cousins on the tramp!

 Snacks outside with Grandma Linda.  My kids have a lot of wonderful grandmas in their life.

 Trying to enjoy watermelon.  Except when you cut it open and it looks like this.  What the heck Maceys?  

 More fun with cousins.

 Watching the Pleasant Grove parade.  Terrified.  Fire trucks are fun until you see them with lights and sirens, 15 feet away.  Then, not so much.

 Playing with daddy after work.  Pumping up a well-loved ball!

 Trying to be smart about craving a candy bar at 9:30 at night.  Solution: Honey Nut Chex cereal with chocolate syrup.  Hit the spot!

 Garbage truck watching.  We really n,.eed to meet a sanitation worker one day.  He or she would  be a hero around here.

 Braving dinner out with the fam.  We've been out out to eat at a sit down restaurant a total of 4 times since the kids were born.  We were celebrating seeing a big, healthy, kicking baby at my 35 week ultrasound.  

When I say big, I mean it.  The estimates from the sonographer is that the baby is around 7 pounds.  SEVEN pounds.  The kids were 3 months old before they were 7 pounds.  This one is yet to be born!  I teared up.  I was suddenly overcome with gratitude.

I am going to be having a big, healthy baby.  Remember my post about not being able to erase the images of my tiny, sick babies?  I think this helped a little.  It was a nice reality check.  I won't have to worry about causing a brain bleed from lifting her legs too high when I change a diaper.  I can hold him whenever I want.  She will actually enjoy being held and touched.  (Notice the use of pronouns, STILL didn't find out what we are having!)

I also saw a little mouth moving--more tears.  There is this suck, swallow, breath reflex that babies develop in utero.  The trio never did and it caused serious distress for all 4 of us while they were learning how to eat.  But this one will arrive with that!  It was a happy little afternoon.

So that's been some of our summer goings on.  Also, it's hot.  I'm out of Dreyer's fruit bars.  Speaking of disasters,  the state of Utah is literally up in flames.  (I have two brothers fighting these fires.)

And soon, within weeks, I'm going to be hypnobirthing a chunky (in my book) little baby.

How is your summer so far?  

  

The Post That Has No Point

34 weeks friends.  I'm happy to be here.  But good gravy am I exhausted.

I had someone ask me a few months ago when I was due.  I told them July.

"July!  That's going to be hot.  And you already have triplets?!?  Man, you didn't plan that one very well did you?"

Yes my tactful stranger friend, we didn't.  In fact Costco checker, you know that aisle in the store that says "Family Planning?" That's never really applied or made sense to us, for a myriad of reasons.  We've never really planned any of this.  Would you like me to walk you through our IUI procedure or the four years of never really using the family planning aisle that led us to the IUI?  No?  Yes, I would like a box, thank you.

I never said any of those things.  Most of the time I just smile and nod my head.  Have you ever said something you regret to a pregnant lady?  I'm sure I have.  What about asking someone when they were due and their answer was they aren't pregnant?  Guilty.  Fortunately that's only a one time mistake.  You never forget the horror in you heart when you discover your folly.  Yikes.

I really want to cut my hair.  I was going through some pictures the other day and realized how much happier I am with short hair.  (At least this is going to be my argument to my long-hair-loving-husband.)

Take a look at these pictures and judge for yourself:


Short haired Kara.  See?  Doesn't she look happy and content with life?  It probably took her 4.5 minutes to throw together that short, curly do.  Maybe that's why she's so happy?  She has so much more time on her hands!  It probably averages out to hours and hours in her week!  (Truth: my hair is pulled up in a pony tail most days, I never do it.  But remember, I'm trying to establish a legitimate argument here.)

Long haired Kara.  Wow.  She does NOT look happy with long hair right now.  She looks down right morose.  She probably has this look on her face all day, her hair just weighing down the rest of her features.  It's probably causing those blemishes too.  Poor thing.  I hope she finds her way.  (Side note: I CANNOT believe I'm actually publishing this photo.  But it makes me laugh, what can I say?)

And since I can't leave you with the above image in your head, a little Photo Booth fun with my boys.  

Anyone else having a hair dilemma at the moment?  And speaking of hair, go look at Steph's blog.  She lost her hair during chemo and it has started to grow back in.  She is over wearing hats (I don't blame her) and I think her current, super short look she has going right now is so beautiful!  I wouldn't be able to look that good because she has that "I beat cancer" glow.  Her fighting ways and love of life just kind of shines through her soul.

Speaking of Steph, (this is a really strange tangent post!) I was supposed to run Ragnar with her this year.  She ran.  I stayed home and kept growing my baby.  I sure did miss those beautiful mountains, the no sleep, the 3 am run and miles and miles of memories.  (Well, the mountains and memories are nice.)

Next time.

Also, here is what 34 weeks looks like via Photo Booth.  I know most of you come here for the high quality photos I post.  And yes, I do have one lone turtle on my bedroom wall.  He's means a lot to me though.

Someone asked me today if I had twins in there.  REALLY? I don't look that big do I?  Do other people get as many crazy remarks as I do?  I can't be the only one, right?

Taking Off My Skin and Other Good News

There's a poem by Shel Silverstein I absolutely loved when I younger.  There are actually a lot of poems by this man I adored and still treasure today, but this one has been on my mind.

I loved this ridiculous idea of taking off your skin to get cool.  I even remember sharing this with my sister one night as we were laying in bed.  My little 8 year old mind having a literary discussion about the possibility of taking off your skin.  (Remember, Shauna?)  Such an insane solution to a problem I was familiar with in the sweltering weeks of summer.  

But the heat is not why I've been thinking about this.  Although it has been hot.  

My skin does not like being pregnant.  Last time I was pregnant I developed cholestasis, a lovely condition where your liver produces too much bile and in turn makes you itch. like. crazy.  This was remedied by a pill (not my first choice for physical maladies, but oh baby did it help).  It's also not the greatest thing for the baby come 3rd trimester, although I never made it there.  This time around, I am itching like crazy again.  But a blood test confirms it's not cholestasis.  Booo!  Of course I don't want to have this.   But I was hoping I did, because I already know how fast I can get relief.  But no pill.  Hydrocortisone works for about 15 minutes and I went through 16 gallons of it in 2 days.  Expensive, drug store, dermatologist recommended lotion works for about 10 minutes. 

So I was hoping for that western, manufactured pill.  So now I will see about taking my skin off and replacing it with a brand that's not so sensitive.  That and dandelion root and banana peels.  Both things I read in the oppositie spectrum of western, manufactured pills and potions.

Itch me luck.  I mean wish.  Wish me luck.

Anyone else have a favorite Shel Silverstein poem?  Or any methods of taking off skin?  Or ideas to get me to stop scratching the good gravy gumbo out of myself?  I'd love to hear it all.     

(Gasp!)  Also!!  This is officially the longest I've ever been pregnant.  29 weeks.  Quite happy about that.  Keep growing little bean.  Although we can't wait to meet you, we can wait 8-10 more weeks at least.  

Letting Go While Holding On

I mentioned a few weeks ago that I am planning on having a hypnobirth.  Chris and I just finished up our last class a week ago.  The basic premise of hypnobirthing is being able to relax and reprogram your mind.  The idea is to erase Hollywood's version of birthing a baby (screaming, sweating, pain, hysteria...) and replace it with images of a relaxed, painless process.  

Part of this reprogramming involves putting all your fears about giving birth on the table for an up close examination.  I made a list.

The more benign parts of the list that were easy to erase.  Diapers for four, the cost of another child, two bedroom house for 6  people, eh, we'll live.  The trio can't be in diapers forever, I really don't NEED to keep my Netflix subscription. (Because canceling Netflix will even out the cost of a new baby.) And close quarters will bring us closer. (Right?)

But the one that stuck, the one I'm still working on is the image and memory of my babies hooked up to machines in the NICU.  Feel free to browse the past for a reminder of what the littles looked like hours after they were born.  I'm not going to repost the pictures here.  I don't need to for my sake.  They are still emblazoned in my mind.

Which is part of the problem.  I am supposed to have this image of what scares me in my mind, then do this relaxation technique where my subconscious erases that image that is causing fear.  So far, that image will not dissolve.  

Am I afraid this baby will end up in the NICU?  Yes.  Those 14 weeks spent were some of the hardest of my life.  But I don't think that's the reason I'm having such a hard time erasing the image.

While we all went through a sort of purgatory during our time there, it also doubled as a refiner's fire.  There are experiences and lessons I had that have made me stronger.  My mettle is a bit more cast.  I witnessed angels on earth in the form of nurses and occupational therapists.  Angels that I can still keep in touch with and am able thank for saving our lives.

I felt the heavens closer than I ever have before and sealed parts of my faith in tears and pain.

I have a few more weeks to work through letting go of the yucky fear part.  It's still there.  But the good stuff, the parts that brought us here, 28 months later I will hold onto forever.

March 2010

2 years later...

Now for some positive imagery about the diaper tree I'm going to plant in the backyard.