She's got the Croup

Uh, what is croup? Never heard of it, doesn't sound appeasing and almost sounds like someone might be "flying the coup"!

Well, no one in our household is flying the coup and "croup" actually isn't as bad as it sounds, I guess. Think whooping cough. Or, better yet, imagine yourself on the beach with a bunch of seals barking their way up the sea shore. There you go. Barking seals. That's exactly the way it sounds.

In the middle of the night, I am assuming that Bea had a nightmare and she awoke at about 1:30. The cry was definitely not normal. She sounded like a barking seal, yes. But it also sounded like she couldn't catch her breath because in between the barking/cough she couldn't get enough air in.

Josh took her to the emergency room. Olive had awoken and I tended to her (who, also has cold symptoms which I hope doesn't turn into the croup, too). I don't have many details of the hospital visit except what Josh told me:

-Bea threw up all over him because she was so upset
-The nurse came in to take the information while she was screaming, not during a 20 minute quiet period they did have, so he told her to call me for it, which she never did
-She got two shots of 'roids to open up her breathing passageway
-She had to sit in front of one of those devices that blows steam on your face and didn't like it
-She was probably most contagious a day or two ago
-Josh left a Dr. Brown's bottle at the hospital (our supply has been dwindling for a while now, which is why he made a point to tell me, I think)

Supposedly this viral infection doesn't last that long and is its worst at night. I think we were all finally back asleep by 4am, but when you are living in a cloud as we have been the last couple days, who really knows. It's purely an estimate.

One scare is far too many...now we're up to two. I swear that each has cut at least a year or two off my life from the situational stressors.

Just Because...

I've got nothing to say today. Sigh.

Seven is a Lucky Number

We are slowly getting back into our routine after being away for a few days. Attempting to get Bea in her toddler bed and stay there has been quite the challenge. Funny how she completely crashed out on Sunday night, but now that she realized where she is, she's playing it up like you wouldn't believe in not wanting to go to bed.

Last night Josh put her to bed while she was still tired. I guess she wasn't tired enough. About 5 minutes later, I heard noise coming from her room. She was sitting on the floor playing with one of her toys. Me being the big meanie and all, I took it away and walked her back to bed. She layed down and I left.

Not more than two minutes after that, I heard footsteps. She came walking to where I was sitting and said, "Moo Moo night-night?" I told her that Moo Moo had gone to bed and it was time for her to do that as well. I walked her back to bed. She crawled in without hesitation.

About two minutes after that, I hear footsteps again. "Hi," she says. I didn't say anything. I made her about-face and marched her back to bed. She stood up in her bed and started jumping. I made her lay down. "Bow wow?" I handed it to her. I left.

About a minute later, she comes out again and just looks at me. "Night-night," I said and walked her back to bed. She stands up and starts grabbing each and every stuffy in her bed and starts throwing them over the side of her crib (there is a gap between the toddler bed and the wall). "Uh-oh, Bow Wow." "Uh-oh, Bow Wow." "Uh-oh." "Uh-oh." Then she is looking at me like I better retrieve those suckers. I said, "Oh well. Night-night." I reached down and grabbed one and gave it to her and that made her happy. I left.

I'm hearing some wrestling around in the room so I know she is getting close to falling asleep...so I think.

She came out two more times and the same situation(s) replayed. One time I really wanted to laugh or smile just because she was being her sweet self. One time when I took her back to bed she started counting (DID I MENTION SHE CAN COUNT TO THREE???). "One. Two. Twee." Such a sweet little voice. She did it about five times in a row.

So, the last time she comes out I think this is going to continue all night so I resort to the buh-buh. "You want some buh-buh, Bea?" She shakes her head yes. Then she literally RUNS to her bed, climbs up in there all excited. I give it to her and lay there with her for about five minutes. She is just staring into my eyes, and I start to cry. She is so sweet and as I look at her, I am thinking about how big she has gotten but how she is still a baby. I was thinking about her getting older, being a teenager. How different things will be. I am sure they will be easy and hard in a much different way, but for right now, I am just trying to enjoy my time with her because I know she is going to grow up so fast. Is it so wrong that I want her to stay little and innocent?

And then she rolls over and goes to sleep.

By George, I Think She's Got It

Surely there was a time when I was complaining that B just couldn't get the words "Da Da" out and that she was calling both of us "Ma Ma". Those days seem so long ago now, and I feel like I am of less importance (which I know is not the case...it was just so enjoyable to hear "Ma Ma" all the time).

I can't describe the cuteness that I witnessed this morning. Even though her bed has been turned into a toddler bed, she kind of hangs out in there waiting for someone to get her in the morning (when she sleeps there all night), and when no one comes, she will then get up and find her way to one of us. This morning as I was getting ready for work, I heard her start to stir. Then I heard the following conversation that she was having with herself:

(In sweet, soft voice)

"Ma Ma?"
"Da Da?"

(PAUSE)

"Ma Ma."
"Da Da."
"Moo Moo."
"Bow Wow."
"Da Da."
"Da Da."
"Ma Ma."
"Oli-fia."
"Da Da."

(PAUSE)

"Da Da?"

(BRIEF PAUSE)

"Da Da?"

(BRIEF PAUSE)

"Ma Ma?"

(BRIEF PAUSE)

"Ma Ma?"
"Da Da?"

(PAUSE)

(Wrestling around)

(Footsteps heard coming towards door)

(Door opens and out comes child holding her blankie and Bow Wow)

(Bright bathroom lights blind child, so squinting instills)

(Squints at Ma Ma)

"Da Da?"

"Da Da bye bye," I say.

(And then in whiney voice)

"Da Da? Da Da. Da Da."

(And now crying)

"But Ma Ma's here. Let me get you your buh-buh."

Smiles.

We're Back

After a LONG trip (or, what it seemed because of being away from the girls), we're back from the Rubicon. Missed the girls like I couldn't believe, and I swear, I must have thought about them every other minute. Both Josh and I did get a couple of nights of good sleep, though...

Here's some pics.

The scenery was amazing:




The Toyota rigs:


My man and my man and his rig:






Roll, roll, roll your Toyota, gently down the trail (WASN'T US!):


One of the best parts of the trip? Smores, baby!

We're Off

To the Rubicon Trail...

I am really going to miss this over the next couple of days:




There's nothing like the "deer in the headlights" look that happens 95 times out of 100 when taking O's picture.

There's nothing like B looking incredibly disheveled only 5 minutes after getting her ready.

A Strange Observation

On Sunday night, I was awoken in the middle of the night by a single, brief cry. About five minutes had passed, and I hadn't fallen back asleep yet.

I heard movement from the girls room. Bea was getting up out of her bed.

I heard footsteps. I expected those footsteps to sound closer as they approached our room.

Instead, the sound became distant as she went into the living room.

Typically, she would realize that no one was out there and come back to our bedroom.

It was silent.

She can climb up on the couch sometimes, but in the middle of the night, no way.

It was still silent. I figured I should check on her.

As I walked into the living room, I saw that she had curled up on the floor where our sectional meets, atop a pair of pants that were laying there.

I approached her and saw that her eyes were closed, but when I leaned down to her, she opened them. She didn't say anything. Normally, it would be "bah-bah?"

I picked her up and put her on the couch. She looked at me for about 5 seconds and then closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

It was the strangest thing. Why would she get up and go to the couch? Why would she get up if she didn't want something or want to be comforted by us? I can only come to one conclusion...She must have been sleepwalking. Can she at that age? Josh did it as a child so I have to wonder. I can only wait and see, I guess.

Olivia at Six Months

Dear Olivia,

Today you are six months old. That's one half of an entire year, baby girl! How in the world did six months go by so quickly?

You've come a long way this last month, and I am more than overwhelmed, ecstatic and somber about your progress. Overwhelmed? You are not the quiet love-to-just-hang-out baby that you once were. You want to more involved – in everything. Ecstatic? You're advancing and milestoning like you wouldn't believe. And somber? Well, it's all happening a little too fast for mommy.

You're eyes have become a greenish-hazel and your hair is growing like wildfire.



You started out the month with a big bang. You're the rollover queen now. What was once a challenge is no longer that. Now it's a little bit of being on your back, a little bit of side, and a little bit of tummy. I must say that you do like your side quite a bit. It's a place of comfort for you – to sleep, eat and play, too. You're also slowly figuring out how to move around on your back by pushing with the bottom of your feet.

Your new nickname is "Grabby Grabberson". We have to be extra careful not to place something that we don't want in your hands or mouth anywhere near you. Those hands are constantly looking and searching for something to grab and examine and then taste test in your mouth. I love watching you do this as you get so excited and then you appear to get this "thinking cap" face on as if to say, "What is this? Why does it feel this way? Let me taste it and see if I can figure it out." You appear deep in thoughts that only you know. I remember one evening while we were at the dinner table, and you were grumpy sitting in your bouncy seat. I put you on my lap while I ate my dinner. Suddenly, my fork and plate went flying because you got your hands on them. My plate fell on the floor, food first, and I sat there with my mouth agape because I couldn't believe what happened. You were delighted by your feat while I sat there in astonishment.



Speaking of food...we introduced you to some new, exciting flavors this month. Fruit. Namely, pureed bananas and apples (applesauce, really). You love bananas like you wouldn't believe. Applesauce is another story. You like it, but that taste puts some pizzazz in your mouth. Once the spoon hits your mouth and I pull it away, you get this surprising look on your face. You pause for five seconds, look like you're in shock, and then your mouth stays open like the spoon is still in there. You seem to say, "What the heck is that you just put in my mouth??" Then, you start moving it around in your mouth and the flavor sits in, and you happily swallow (most of the time, anyway). However, each individual bite of the applesauce repeats in that same way. You can't get over it.

You've almost mastered sitting up straight this month. At times, you can do it for a pretty long time, and at others, you just fall right over. Sometimes when we have you in the sitting position, you see something that makes you excited and happy, so you kick your feet, and that throws your balance off. It's so extremely cute, though, watching you wobble from side to side as you attempt to control and keep your body upright. I know that it is something you want to be doing, as it makes you feel more like one of us, and more involved in the action of things. I give you a couple of weeks on that one until it is second nature.



We took you on your first camping trip this month where you were labeled an "unhappy camper". You complained most of the time, but you did still manage to sleep through the night, which was a relief to us all. Your father and I thought that it was a combination of items and not the camping, which we hope to be true. You're at the age now where you're ready to start moving around and want to do it so badly, but can't do it. You're also teething (we think). You're used to your standard routine. You were completely out of your element and you let us know all about it. We did have some fun times regardless, and we took you on many walks in the wilderness, dipped your feet in the creek, and took you to the Big Sur beach for the first time. I give you props for being a trooper because I know how camping can be at times. We are looking forward to next summer when you will be running around with your sister. I know you are, too.



This last month I also had a big scare with you. If I didn't know already how much you meant to me, I definitely had a reality check on July 24th. I know that you are so little, helpless at times, in fact. It can be hard to be depended on at times, but I know how much you need that, and before I know it, you'll be your own little person. I always want to protect you, and I think I have done okay with that so far. When I thought I just might and could possibly lose you, my heart broke into a thousand pieces and it took a long time, even after I knew you were okay, to put back together.

I probably can't say anything more than I already have said about you and how much I care about you. Just know that I love you...and always will. I enjoy every single moment with you.

Love,
Mama

Major Weekend Highlight

DA DA!!!!!!!!!!

Granted, it is intermittent at this time, but it is becoming more and more real. And more and more used. And her vocabulary is constantly growing. And why is this happening so fast? Slow down, baby girl.

I'll post more on the weekend Big Sur camping trip during the week, as we got home really late last night and I've got lots of work to do and am so very tired this morning.

However, here's a quick brief:

Bea thoroughly enjoyed herself and hanging out with her cousins. She played in the creek, in the sand on the beach and ran all over the place. Let's pray for no poison oak. Would not be fun times at our house if that happens.

Olivia's first camping trip was not enjoyed by Olivia. She was fairly cranky the whole time (which we actually think is a result more of teething than the environment she was in...at least, we hope.).

We did A LOT of walking. Momma's body is sore today (oh yes, calves, shins AND the tops of the feet), and I am bruised horribly due to a clutzy incident last night before we left.

We forgot all the bottle nipples except one each for both girls, so it was a lot of nipple-washing in the wilderness. At one point I asked Josh if the general store at the camp site just might, by chance, carry Dr. Brown's nipples. Not a chance. They could probably charge 100 bucks a pop for those things, considering that they sold pureed carrots (baby food) for 2.75 a jar!

We had SMORES. Do I really need to say any more about that one?

More later...

Olivia, Your Incubation and Birth

Dear Olivia,

I'm not certain where to begin...

You weren't an easy pregnancy, and no, I am not exaggerating to give you grief at the time you read this. It's the absolute, complete truth. Once I found out that I was pregnant with you, I instantly got morning sickness. Not just morning. Morning. Noon. Night. Middle-of-the-night. Early morning. It was awful. The things I totally loved to eat – salads, Ranch dressing, chocolate, cucumbers – were a thing of the past because they left a funny, yet sickening, taste in my mouth.

I was always tired, but I think that also had a lot to do with your sister being so young and requiring a lot of my energy as well. I was also working full-time. It definitely wasn't the easiest time for me, making it one that I will never forget. It seems as though it didn't really matter after a while how hard it was, though, because we had you to welcome shortly.

However, about halfway through the pregnancy, I did start to feel better. I will have you know that you rode around in your dad's wheeling rig for about six months in my tummy. It was my mode of transportation to and from work. I think many people were amazed at how easily I could hoist myself up into it, but to me it felt pretty awkward. It wasn't until my tummy started rubbing against the steering wheel that I figured it wasn't going to work anymore. So then we purchased the luxury ride – my precious minivan.

Everything moved along fine with you up until the 33rd week of my pregnancy. The day of the 2006 SuperBowl, I started having contractions. It was no biggie. They were 15 minutes apart. Soon they were 10 minutes apart. And then they were 5 minutes apart. And then it was time to call the doctor. They wanted me to wait it out, lie down and drink water. They went away, but then they came back the next morning and I went in to see the doctor. Everything was fine, just horribly "making themselves very well known" Braxton-Hicks. I was sent home.

At my doctor's appointment at 36 weeks, I was informed that my doctor, the lovely Dr. H, was going on vacation the following week - for an entire week. After taking this to be what it was, I begged him not to go. "I had my first child at 37 weeks, remember??? You have to deliver this baby, and I'm almost certain she will come early, too." I was literally crying. He laughed and said, "Oh Jenna, you will be fine. You are not going to deliver next week." And I was silently plotting and wishing in my head that you would come that Sunday before he went on vacation, or hold out that entire week. I wanted Dr. H to deliver you. A small part of me did think you would wait until he got back...

You didn't wait, though. You had a mind of your own.

So, the day before you came into this world was February 21st. It was the first real day of my maternity leave, and I was overjoyed to start preparing for your arrival. I ran errands a good majority of the day, grabbed myself some lunch at the good old Panda Express, and hoped your father would come home early. I think he did. We picked up your sister at daycare, and then your father had this oh-so-fabulous idea.

It was a walk. We're not talking the usual 20 – 30 minute stroll that is the norm for our family. Nope. Your father heard that walking tends to induce labor. I reminded him that Dr. H was on vacation and that you could use a little more time in your cocoon. He was ready for you anyway. He led me on a wild goose chase (er, walk) all around the streets of our neighborhood. Seriously, it must have been at least 3 or 4 miles. And during this so-called "walk", he was telling me to do lunges as I was walking. This part was pretty funny, and no, I didn't do them. He made me laugh so hard that I thought maybe you were actually going to pop out. Your father then decides that "hey, maybe we should have dinner at Antonella's." So we walk there. And eat. Then we walk home. It was a lot of walking.

I'm exhausted. But, as I am relaxing on the sofa after your sister has gone to bed, I realize that if I just want to lie around tomorrow, I can do that. Not a problem. Your father goes to bed. I'm not tired enough to fall asleep yet, so I watch some television. I suddenly felt like I was starting to drift off to sleep and was so tired that I didn't want to get up and go to the bedroom, so I just rolled over on the sofa. I closed my eyes. Right as I started to drift off, it felt like someone punched me in the stomach. Hard. I think it was actually you kicking me. My water broke. I wondered if you had kicked me and if it actually made the the water break, but I have no clue. It was more than a small dribbling of water, so I knew right away that it was time.

I went to the bedroom and said in a very monotone voice to your father, "My water broke." He said, "What?? I just fell asleep." I didn't say anything to him but instead just stood there. "Jenna, you're joking, right? Because of the walk and everything and you waited to play it on me until I fell asleep. I'm going back to sleep." I told him I wasn't joking. We replayed that conversation about three times until I told him that I was going to call the doctor's office and tell them I was going to the hospital. He got up.

My bag was pre-packed and I was pretty much ready to go. We hadn't figured out what to do with your sister, though, because they don't allow children in the maternity ward, I guess. We had to get her stuff ready because she was going to go stay with your grandparents (your father's mom and dad). After we got everything ready, we drove to the hospital. We were waiting in the car for your grandparents to pick up your sister and say goodbye to her. Although, I should have went into the hospital immediately because all of that waiting and sitting and then standing up released so much water that I left a puddle in the hospital parking lot, not to mention that my pants were drenched, it was cold, and it felt like my pants were going to freeze to my legs.

I was extremely grouchy. Your father insisted on a wheelchair. I didn't want one. He made me get in one. And the whole time I was paranoid that someone was going to yell at me for leaving watered membranes all over that wheelchair, but the nurse insisted that it "happens all the time". Of course, I thought, through my gritted teeth.

We're all checked in and I am bummed out because Dr. H will not be delivering you. There was nothing I could do. The contractions had started, but they were pretty infrequent. I wasn't at all happy with the nurse that was assigned to me. I think she had too many patients to begin with, all of which were progressing fast. She kept claiming I was only dilated one or two centimeters. I knew this wasn't right. I think maybe that she just didn't want another patient that she was going to have to watch so closely.

It was 11:30 PM. I was tired. I was cranky. I just wanted a good night's sleep. It would have been so much easier. I had been running on empty because of having such a full day, especially with that super long walk. And I knew it was going to be a while.

The night dragged on. I wanted to kill your father at one point during the night. He kept falling asleep, while I sat there having contractions and was unable to fall asleep. I stared at him and hoped that my eyes would turn into lasers so that I could zap him with a slight shock. Didn't happen, of course. He ended up giving me a foot massage. I just wanted him to stay awake, but I should have realized that it would be good if one of us at least got a good night's sleep. Too late now. I didn't want to be alone, wanted some company.

So, in the middle of the night sometime, I requested the epidural. Apparently, the anesthesiologist was just sitting in her office watching the Olympics (I have to mention that these were on, so they were re-running them in the middle of night. I had something interesting to watch, at least.). This woman was scary, and boisterous, and loud as hell. At 3 AM, or whatever time it was, I really just wanted silence. She made my eardrums hurt, and I wanted to scream at her to "SHUT IT", but since she was sticking a rather large needle into my tiny spine, I was going to keep my lips tightened. And that's what I did. It hurt more than I remember the first time. Maybe it was because I was so incredibly tired.

The epidural kicked in for the most part. I sat there. The Olympics had re-started and I had already seen them once. I was so tired. I think I slept for 5 minutes maybe. Someone was prodding at me and woke me up, and that made me more tired than before. Then, I started crying. There was no way I was going to be able to do it. No way. I was too tired. I told your father that I wasn't going to be able to push you out. I had no energy to do so. He urged me to try to get some sleep.

Nope. I just sat there. The epidural started wearing off on one side. The contractions were strong. I started crying again. I pressed the "call nurse" button several times. She never came. I finally screamed at your father to go find her. She came in, for but a minute. She told me to lie on my right side, since that was the side it was wearing off on. I guess it would trickle down from the other side? Whatever. I followed what she said. The wearing off was getting worse on one side, while on the other it was completely numb. Something was definitely not right here. I started crying again.

Fortunately, they were doing a nurse shift change. A new nurse came in and she was extra nice to me. She wanted to get to the root of my crying, and unfortunately that made me cry more. Through my tears I told her I hated that other nurse, about the epidural and my side being numb and that I felt like the baby was coming even though mean nurse told me I was only 3 centimeters. She checked. I was 9, yes 9 centimeters. Mean nurse was so mean. I'm a brave soldier, too, for being able to feel those contractions on one side. I guess instead of screaming, they made me cry instead.

Let me backtrack a little bit. When the nice nurse came in, she said she was concerned. It was told to her that I lost a lot of fluid (remember how I mentioned earlier about at home and then again in the parking lot?). I guess this wasn't good. The fluid is needed for something, an easier delivery I think. This was never relayed to me. Evidently, the mean nurse told the nice nurse this and that she thought I should have a c-section. I think my eyes popped out of my head to say that mean nurse didn't tell me any of this and had only spent maybe 10 minutes with me all night long. So, the nice nurse explained that they were going to check the fluid level first, and if it was low, they were going to use some device to pump some fluid back in there (I wasn't paying too much attention as I kept thinking about having a c-section). If unsuccessful, then you would have to come out right away via c-section. They already called Dr. B, who was about to go off shift, and they were sending Dr. T. However, she did first want to check to see how much I was dilated before they got as far as doing anything else. Then, when she saw that I was reading nine centimeters, she called for them to quickly top off the epidural and bring in the staff to set up for delivery. It was time. You were ready.

Suddenly, I had an amazing adrenaline rush. The epidural was only working half-ass on one side, though. I didn't care. I was ready to push you out and looking forward to it, might I add. Dr. T showed up. Everything was set up. I begged to push. I had to push. Dr. T told me to start pushing at the next contraction. She turned around to put on her gloves. I said, "Contraction coming right now. I am pushing." I started pushing. Your father yelled, "OMG HER HEAD IS OUT!" Dr. T had been turned around, and turned back just in time to grab your head. Your father was ready to catch you. Seriously. I told them I stopped pushing and then was hearing everyone yell different things at me like "keep pushing" and "no, don't push” and "she's beautiful", and I scream "what do you people want me to do – push lightly or not push???" I pushed lightly. The rest of you came out and you pee'd and cried immediately.

Your Arrival
I loved the sound of your cry instantly. During part of my pregnancy, I often worried that there might be something wrong with you. I had multiple ultrasounds with you because they said you were small. Everything was fine, and you proved that you had lungs of steel immediately. You had a little bit of jaundice, so we had to have those lights on you for a few days, but other than that, you were just perfect. You were 4 pounds, 14 ounces. You were 17.25" tall. You were born at 8:23 am.

When you came out, you were put on my chest immediately. I cried, and I couldn't stop. You were so amazingly beautiful. I couldn't believe it, and I couldn't believe that you were mine. You were perfect, absolutely perfect. I couldn't stop looking at you, and you were immediately my "little bunny rabbit". You took a good look at me, too...a long, hard look. Then, you closed your eyes and happily went to sleep.

I held you close to me, kissed you, and whispered in your ear, "I love you, baby girl Olivia."

There's one thing that you should probably know because it is bound to come up – and that is why your father and I had you and your sister only 13 months apart. You weren't exactly planned. That doesn't matter at all because you were the best surprise I have ever gotten in my life. No, you weren't planned, but you were more than wanted. I couldn't wait for you to join our family, and I am so overjoyed that you are now a part of it.

You will probably never know how much you mean to me, and it is more than you will ever know.

I love you little O,
Mama

Down and Out

I've hit a wall...hard. Maybe it's just PMS, but I just need/want to know this will get easier.

I feel like I have had the roughest morning in my entire life. Play-by-play is this:

6:00 am - I get up, take a shower, get ready for work.
6:30 am - Olivia is up (on her own).
6:35 am - Bea is up (on her own).
6:40 am - Finish getting ready, make bottles, feed girls.
6:41 am - Realize Bea has had so much pee during the night that she and her pj's are completely soaked, as is a towel I laid under her at 4 am along with the blanket that was underneath her.
6:50 am - Finish feeding girls.
6:55 am - Change both their diapers and put on daytime clothes and have a few minutes of playtime.
7:00 am - Go to flush toilet and it overflows.
7:01 am - Shut off toilet water and close bathroom door and tell myself I must deal with it later.
7:02 am - Decide I will deal with it before I leave for work.
7:03 am - Move girls from bedroom to living room and as I am walking past dining room table, notice about one million ants attracted to a single Coke can.
7:04 am - Move can to sink. Decide not to clean up ants due to time.
7:05 am - Change my mind. Must clean them up before I leave.
7:06 am - Bea "must" find MooMoo. See's her, then wants me to carry her all around the house. Then takes off shoes and refuses to let me put them on.
7:08 am - Throw "soiled" towel, blankets, etc. into laundry room.
7:10 am - Clean up overflowage in bathroom (but forgot to sanitize floor...have to do that when I get home tonight).
7:15 am - Throw towels in laundry room.
7:18 am - Spray ants with Windex.
7:20 am - Wipe them up.
7:22 am - Get bottles and supplies needed ready to go to daycare. Attempt to make first trip out to car and smell poop.
7:25 am - Bea is running away from me as I am trying to get her diaper changed.
7:30 am - Put Olivia in carseat and into car.
7:32 am - Put Bea in car.
7:35 am - Running every single thing that needed to be done in my head and checking it off to make sure had done it.
7:40 am - Drive to daycare and drop off girls.
7:50 am - Drive back home because I had forgotten something and notice make-up already looks like I've been wearing it all day. Fix.
7:55 am - Go to Starbucks and then drive to work.

Sigh. It has gotten easier in a sense, but on days like today where everything seems to go wrong, makes me wonder just how easy this is and if it will ever be easier. Or, maybe I'm just being a wimp. But, today, I'm closed up. I found it hard. And frustrating. I just want to sit here at work and not think, even though I have to. I don't want to make any decisions. I fear I might lash out at someone just because of how my morning as gone. I don't want to do anything. I just want to "be".

Maybe I am just overwhelmed. I hope not. But, why is it that I feel stressed about getting everything done from the time I wake up in the morning until the time I go to bed at night?

Tomorrow is another day, and I'll take it as it comes.

A change in plans

We didn't go away this last weekend. Oh well.

Having kids means finding someone who can watch them for an extended period if you want to go away together alone. We, fortunately, didn't have that problem this time around. And even though we didn't go away together, Josh's parents watched the girls for us until Sunday morning until we missed them so much we couldn't take it anymore. Then what happens? They fall asleep for three hours when all I really want to do is spend time with them!

Funny how you can look forward to some events and become so excited about them and all the work you put into getting everything ready, finding a sitter, etc. and then everything gets totally washed. For once, we actually made plans and had everything together. We did end up getting a lot done around the house, and it looks like we will actually be able to really go somewhere together in a couple of weeks.

It's been a crazy, crazy month with so much going on...Every weekend has been so busy for us, and I can hardly believe that September is just around the corner.

This coming weekend is the annual Big Sur camping trip with Josh's family. It will be Olivia's first time camping. I'm hoping that she doesn't wake up the entire camp site like Bea did last year at 5:30 AM, crying and not wanting to stop. You have to laugh at that, though...especially waking up the partiers that were up until 3 AM being loud and obnoxious. Laughing to myself, though, because if I woke up to a baby crying at 5:30 AM and have only gotten two hours of sleep and still felt semi-drunk, well I would probably start crying along with that baby.

The weekend after will more than likely be a Josh and Jenna getaway weekend, but it's still tentative right now.

And then it's Labor Day, folks. Where did the summer go?

I have so many other things I wanted to do in this lovely month of August, and things I was supposed to make plans for include:

- Visit K and her new baby
- Plan a play date with J and her three girls
- Get my hair cut and highlighted
- Try on my bridesmaid dress for L's wedding

No time. No time. No time. I guess it's a bad idea to request that 2006 have one extra month added to it?

Found! 200 Bucks! (and more...)

Isn't it funny how much change you can accumulate over time? Josh and I have had jars upon jars of change that have sat around for probably a couple of years. The change has slowly taken over a portion of our home as it is transferred from jar (uh, vase) to plastic bags. The change hasn't been sorted because we figured that well, the bank could do that for us (we're dreaming as they will just give us change holders and make us do it ourselves) or that we can take it to one of those change vending machines at the grocery store that will sort it and count it for us. There are two downsides to that last one - 1) The damn grocery store will take about 25 - 30% of your precious change for its own personal profit and 2) the damn vending machines are ALWAYS broken. And, well, maybe that's a good thing...

Last night Josh was on a change mission. We threw all of the change on the floor. And started sorting. And sorting. And sorting. Bea helped us, too. Well, it did keep her occupied in spite of her attempts to put some in her mouth, but she also did a good job picking up the change and putting it in her own personal plastic bag (which we then later had to sort). This process seemed to take a long time, but I'm guessing that it didn't take more than an hour to an hour and a half. Yes, we had a lot of change.

When all was said and done, the sorting job was pretty impressive in seeing all the shiny quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies among their correct group of friends. The bag of quarters was amazingly large, so Josh and I looked at each other and our eyes expressed in unison "Let's count that (explicative)!"

On and on we went counting quarters in $10 increments, putting them into their own plastic bags. Our living room was filled with plastic bags. We finished and I counted them up. There were 20 bags of quarters...each bag with 10 bucks in it. Yeah, baby, that's 200 bucks! And that was only the quarters!!!

I smiled and said "Looks like Olivia is getting her 'Olivia' Britax Marathon car seat! All with money we didn't know we had!"

For those who don't know, the Britax family of car seats are the bomb. They can be used for children from birth up until they can sit in the car on their very own, thus you don't have to purchase multiple seats while getting to that point - this is true of the Marathon style. They aren't cheap, but they are so well worth the money. We have one for Bea. Josh purchased Bea's Britax last Christmas, but I wanted one kind, and he ended up getting the one that was the race car driver style. The one I wanted looked like this:


At the time, I didn't know what the name of the seat was called, nor did I care. Little did I know that it's called the "Olivia". And Olivia is going to get her "Olivia" car seat with money that we didn't even realize we had. So, do ya think that Babies 'R Us would mind if we just dumped all our change on the counter to pay for it?

Beatrice at Nineteen Months

Dear Bea,

Today you are nineteen months old.

The theme for this month has been "fun vs. not-so-fun".

The not-so-fun?

First of all, you were sick again this month. We can't figure out why you seem to catch every bug on the face of this planet, one right after the other. It makes me sad for you. At least it was only once this month, and not twice, like the month before. This month you battled a bad case of bronchitis. You were cranky at times, unbearable to say the very least. And who could blame you? Because you're sick a lot, you are probably thinking "WHY AGAIN?" just like the rest of us. I'm sorry, Punky, and I'm hoping that what they say is true, and that this will make you a "very healthy" adult in the long run. Your sickness lasted a good nine days this time around and started right after we got you back in your crib sleeping well.


And why is it that you haven't wanted to be in your crib anymore? We were able to get you back in it, though you won't sleep all night in the comfort-enclosed bed. Several hours is fine. All night is not. I can pretty much predict when you will be waking up every night now. It's almost like when you were a newborn, except we don't have to do anything special to get you back to sleep. Only give you your bottle, which I know you don't need at your age...you are clearly able to fast through the night, yet, it is easier than resisting you and your cute voice asking so kindly for it.


Lastly, and this was more not-so-fun for you because your father and I did not have to deal with it, is that your sister joined you at your daycare. You clearly took this as a threat. You felt that Olivia was treading in on your space, your friends, your Francie. On the first day, I called to check in on your sister and it was you that they were worried about. I was told that you were irritable, and every time you saw anyone holding your sister or giving her attention that you would throw a tantrum. I know it couldn't have been easy for you as you were used to being the baby. After a few days, you did accept the fact that you weren't the smallest one there anymore and moved on without looking back.


The fun?

As your vocabulary progresses, you make life so much more interesting for us. Your new words this month included: Tiger, Shiloh (the neighbor's dog), color, yellow, lego, two, three, shhhh (ok, I know that last one is not really a word but I am counting it anyway). I know there are a few I've forgotten, too. You've also managed a couple of two-word sentences:

"Oh no!"
"Bye-bye Moo Moo."
"Bye-bye Ma Ma."

Still no "Da Da" from you.

I'm also attempting to help you with your vocabulary and pronunciation in my own little way. When you say a word, I will then use that word in three different sentences...one right after the other. "Bea, do you want to color with your crayons?" "Ok, let's grab some paper so that we can color." "Can you hand me the crayon that is yellow in color?" Amazingly, I also get answers to these questions: "Yeah." "Yeah." "Yeah." Sure, the answer is the same, but you know what you want and I know that you understand me.


Aside from your vocabulary, you often speak in your own language. We haven't a clue what you are saying, and I think you may just like it that way. You'll go on and on and then suddenly stop. You're also singing at times. You've learned how to "shush" people, but only when appropriate. For example, when your sister has gone to bed and I have to go in there to get something, you will follow me in and say "shhhhh" (quite a few times, might I add) so that I don't disturb her and wake her up.

This month you have also learned to climb. And quite well, might I add. First it was the outdoor play set at daycare, and then before I knew it, it was our dining room chairs. You had been attempting to get on them for awhile and weren't able to master it. One day you were at it again and I walked past you thinking you weren't going to make it up. I walked past you again nearly 10 seconds later and you were screaming at me because you made it up and you were jumping up and down holding on to the back of the chair in your triumph. It was a triumph, but I put you back down on the floor because I didn't want you to fall. Now when you climb up the chairs, you sit down normally in it and inform me that you want your aqua. Are you turning into an adult right before my eyes? Now, once you learn how to move that chair over to something else that is higher, say the kitchen counter, then I might be a little more worried.


One last thing on the climbing front that was terribly funny. You proceeded to take out your square red lego, set it down on the deck next to the fence, and then step up onto it with both feet in attempt to get higher to where you could grab a piece of the fence to possibly hoist yourself up on. You will definitely need to have your father tell you about when he was living in Palos Verdes and had a run-in with some ice plant when he was a child. You'll find that you are very much like him.

Another thing I have watched you do this month is become organized, while also imitating what you see around you. A few things that immediately come to mind:

1) You'll take all of your barnyard animal magnets off the side of the stove and put them elsewhere in the house. You'll move the magnets one-by-one until you're done, and then you move them back.
2) You take your legos out to play and when you are done you put them all back where they came from. You seem to like to put things away.
3) If you see me do something, such as stomp on a leaf or clap my hands, you will copy me. This could be a bad thing, so I need to watch what I do now.


There have been moments from this last month that I will cherish and remember for the rest of my life. One time this month when your father had picked you up from daycare, he walked to get you. I had just gotten home from work so I saw you all walking down the street. I waited on the sidewalk in front of the house. He let you out of the stroller a couple of houses down from ours. You came running to me, screaming "ma ma" and then throwing yourself into me for a hug. Never have I ever felt so important to someone in my entire life. I will always be there for you through both the fun times and the not-so-fun times. Always remember that.

I love you,
Mama

Quickly...

Due to having to change two, yes TWO, poo poo dipes this morning (one for each girl, in case you're interested), I haven't much time to write (and well, my work doesn't pay for me to write in my personal blog, either. What fun are they?).

Just a minor, ah-hem, quick announcement.

No, I am not pregnant again.

The announcement is that Josh and I will be going away together - alone - this weekend - starting tomorrow afternoon. This will be our first in about 15 months, and I am excited but will more than likely be thinking about the girls every other minute.

Theys Got Some of Ma in 'Em

Title translation: Funktified Genes

About a month ago I got a pedicure while visiting my friends in San Diego. The pedicurist was fabulous, and she was definitely a professional. With over 15 years of experience, she told us she had worked at some of the top spa destinations across the nation. The woman knew feet. So, when she told my friend J and I that we should attempt to grow out our toenails, I knew that was what I had to do. She mentioned that it was fine to keep them short, but it would help the skin on the tips of our tootsies to not be so dry, getting rid of the abundance of dead skin. I guess I hadn't realized that the tips of my toes could actually have dry, dead skin on them. Shoot, if I am going to pay that much for a pedicure (that was SO worth the money), then I was going to try to follow any advice that I was given.

It's been pure torture for me to not mangle my toenails and shorten them to how I'm used to. It's been almost four weeks now. They have grown slowly, but they have grown a fair amount. And seeing the growth, I know why I have kept them short as long as I can remember. There is some "slight" downward curling of the toenails. I say slight now because I'm not sure how much curling there will be if I let them grow any longer. I'm not sure I'm going to let them.

This has been passed down to not just one, but both of our girls. I've never really thought much about why their toenails do the downward curl, and I believed it to be just one of those baby/infant things that they grow out of and become normal over time. I'm so wrong.

Let me just call your attention to some of the statements made (most in frustration) when it is nail clipping time in our house. "OMG! Why are these nails doing this??" "That must be painful." "Why are they curling downward?" "They're constantly ingrown...that's just not right." "Poor girls." "Is this normal???"

Apparently, it is normal because it came from me. I am sure that when Josh reads this he is going to laugh. Why? There is now an understandable reason for their toenails to be doing this, and it comes from my genes. I believe the girls are doomed to have toenails like mine. In fact, I’m sure they won’t change over time.

Oh, the horror...when they get older people are going to be looking at those toes in shock, covering their mouths and saying:

"Now that them there is a wallop of curlin’ toenails, eh? How's about joining that there circus thing?"

Keep those toenails short, girls. Keep them short and no one will ever know. It's our little secret (well, and anyone else's reading this...).

This Moment In Time

The things that I love at this very moment:

Olivia can go to sleep at night on her own (most of the time, anyway).

Asking Bea to "give a kiss" and watching her do so.

Olivia's ability to pull her feet up to her face and put them in her mouth.

Bea feeding her beloved "bow wow" at dinner while she is also eating.

Olivia's newfound hand slapping to her leg, my arm, Josh's arm, etc. about 100x over and over again.

Bea claiming she wants to color because she sees the crayons but then has more fun taking them out and putting them back in the mug they sit in.

Olivia wanting to grab everything in sight, including the silverware and plates on the dinner table.

Bea wanting a book read to her, so she brings the book and then curls up in the crook of your armpit, excited and waiting to be read to.

Pictures of them together, like this:

An Unheard Conversation

In their heads, B and O are having the following the conversation:

B: I'm a perfect angel.
O: No. I'm a perfect angel.
B: I really only stuck my fingers in your nose and mouth because it looked interesting.
O: Well, I only kicked you in the head because you were doing that.
B: Seriously, I only get up at night because I miss seeing everyone.
O: Well, I only get up at night because my diaper leaked all over the place. It's pretty funny to wake you up in the meantime.
B: I think that maybe you should try some of my "whole" milk for a change...tastes way better than that other stuff.
O: Lady, what are you trying to do? They would be cleaning my diaper every two minutes.
B: That would be funny.
O: Yeah, it would.
B: Oh look, mommy wants to take a picture of us together.
O: We are angels, mommy.
B: Yeah, we are "perfect" angels.

Click.

Make-up as Fingerpaints?

One day I had been on a mission to get some new eyeshadow. I was at Target with a cranky Bea and needed to make a quick exit. My last stop was the make-up section, and because she was cranky, I needed to pick something quick. I found a set of eyeshadows in a variety of browns that was appeasing, so I threw it in the basket and checked out of there quick.

When I got home, I pulled out the little trinket and was in a bit of shock as these weren't of the powder variety. Instead they were a hard type of liquid. Now, any normal person would use a new set of brushes to apply these to the lids, but I actually found that my finger can work wonders on this stuff. I found a new friend with this eyeshadow set because I could easily apply it with my finger to both lids in about a minute flat. I need to save time somewhere, you know? And it does look like I took the time to apply it, and it's pretty easy to fix any mistakes you make with the touch of the finger. It had many added bonuses, this eyeshadow.

Cut to about a week ago. I had been running errands and came home to find Miss Bea with a streak of brownish-red on her cheek. I instantly thought that she had another infamous accident. I asked Josh if anything happened to her while I was gone and he said no. So I mentioned it was weird that she had something that looked a little like blood or dirt on her face. Then he said, "Uh, you might need to buy some new make-up." He then showed me what happened to my beloved eyeshadow set:



While I am sure she doesn't yet understand that this is the stuff us women put on our face to make us look seamless and "enhance our features", I have to wonder. The kid is smart. I'm hoping that maybe she thought it was something she could color with, and that it was fun.

Guess it's time for another trip to Target...hopefully I will be able to find the same set as quickly as I did the last time. Oh, and maybe I should pick up a set of toddler-friendly fingerpaints while I'm there. Nothing like a $10 set of eyeshadow to make you laugh. It's actually quite priceless.

Selective Learning

As a mom, I really don't expect a one and a half year old to be able to know much. And as it turns out, I was wrong about this. Babies and toddlers are constantly learning, taking things in, and I guess I am oblivious to know what "exactly" they are learning and putting in their little memory cards to use when you least expect it.

I keep up to date on the age thing by looking at different sites and seeing what milestones most children Bea's age are doing. However, I try not to compare either, because each child does learn at a different pace.

It's incredible to me sometimes when I sit down with her and her huge Elmo book and see the things she can identify. The book is one of colors and objects, so one page has an illustration with objects in red, another in purple, etc. It's gotten to the point of where I don't need to ask her to find an object. She will open the book and start pointing and talking. Before I can even ask, she's saying and pointing to a balloon, ball, flower, Elmo, bow-wow (dog), shoe, etc. I do double-take's constantly. This is an amazing thing to see, and how is she learning all of this?

Sometimes she wants no part of the book or doing anything that might be constructive in developing those learning skills. In fact, she has "learned" that the remote control somehow makes her Dora cartoons play on the television. She's learned how to use Tivo. What have I done to her?

I have to say that it really isn't anyone's fault. Because she's been sick so much, we let her do what she wanted, and because she never had too much energy, television kept her occupied (and happy). It's a routine with this, too. When the program ends and the screen pops up that asks if you want to delete it or save it, it makes the Tivo beep. She hears the beep and immediately say's "uh-oh". Uh-oh, as in "you better start a new episode or there's going to be some hell to pay." That's one thing. If the television is off and she's interested in seeing her cartoons, she will find the Tivo remote, bring it to you, and say "Dora?" You can see it unfold pretty dead-on in this picture:


The handing of the remote to me and the words in her mouth forming "Dora". Incredible. Smart? You could say so.

Why can't she sing the ABC's or learn how to take out the garbage, or maybe fold some of the neverending laundry? Of course, I'm dreaming. Even though Dora is a learning cartoon, as an adult it get's a little old knowing the story plot and what is going to happen in the first 30 seconds of the program.

Did I mention that she is also getting pretty good at pressing the "correct" buttons on the Tivo remote in order to get to her recorded programs? That's a story for another day, my friends.

Olivia's Infatuation With Mirrors

It's so fun to watch a baby do new things. When Bea was about 6 months old, she loved looking in the mirror, and I would carry her from room to room so she could see herself in each one. At first she was all smiles. I think she thought her image was not her, but another baby, and that was exciting to her. Then, the confusion began. How can there be a mommy right in front of me and the same mommy holding me? It was pretty funny to watch her look at my image in the mirror and then turn her head and look at me, do it one more time, and then collapse her head into my chest because of the confusion it brought on.

Last night I was holding Olivia, and she was still in the phase of loving to see the baby in front of her as well as her mommy. She was having a great time examining me and herself and was laughing a lot. Then, this morning, I took her around to all the mirrors in the house, and she has resulted in what Bea did. She's quite confused at the images before her.

While I didn't get any photos of her looking in the mirror, Josh did snap a good one of us during mirror play time. It's a rare occasion when I am in a photo (I am mostly the one taking the pictures), and I also don't think we have one of her this happy:

Your Birth and 24 Hours Before You Joined Our Family, Bea – 1/11/2005

Dear Bea,

On the night of January 10th your father and I had a lovely dinner at our friend's restaurant, Antonella's. I was in my last week of work before starting maternity leave, and I was so relieved that I would have three weeks off before your "supposed" arrival. We had been contemplating the day and were talking about "when" exactly you would make your debut. Of course it was on my mind, but I was having some very stressful issues happen at my workplace, so my mind kept racing to those. I feasted, or tried to feast, on a nice big salad, a shrimp pesto pizza and calamari, only my stomach was so scrunched up into my ribs that I probably didn't have more than a few bites. Oh, and yes, root beer was my drink of choice. After a nice dinner, we headed home.

Your father and I had been joking about you coming the next day, for he was ready for his so-called "vacation". I, on the other hand, had just had my baby shower the day before, and I was more than exhausted. I still had a ton of gifts to write thank you notes for, not to mention getting everything organized.

At the end of my pregnancy, I probably got the most enjoyment in lying down at the end of the day. I knew I would be getting up at least several times to go to the bathroom, so it definitely wasn't your run of the mill eight hours of uninterrupted slumber. Just to have my feet up and be in a horizontal position meant more than you'll know (Well, you will one day when you have children of your own.). It turns out that I was having other sleeping issues, too. Being that all of my center organs were being pushed every which way resulted in bad heartburn every night and unbearable snoring. The snoring was so loud that your father would often shake the bed to get me to move, or kick me, anything that would get me to stop or quiet down. That night, it must have been bad...he resorted to sleeping on the couch for a good portion of the night.

I remember that I actually ended up sleeping extremely well that night. I think I had only gotten up once to go to the bathroom. I felt completely refreshed, like I hadn't in so long. I woke up before the alarm clock and sat in bed thinking about the day ahead. I had a number of deadlines due at work that I thought about. I remember thinking, "I wish I could stay home today and start my leave." I remember wanting to cry. Instead, I decided that I better get up and get moving.

I slowly made my way out of bed and stood up by my dresser. Suddenly, there was a gush down below. I thought that maybe I had to pee very badly and that that was what I was doing. It definitely was a different sensation and I tried to stop the flow, but it wasn't happening. I stood there for a minute trying to figure out what happened and if maybe I was dreaming. I wasn't. My water broke, only I didn't realize it because it had never happened to me before. How did I know what to expect? I was even unsure of what contractions would feel like.

A little scared to move, I made my way to the bathroom. I sat down on the toilet. There were some drops and I ended up peeing, too. I kept thinking that maybe I really did pee. I stood up from the toilet and received another gush. I'm confused. I make my way out to the living room where your dad is and say, "Josh, I think my water broke," totally calm, in almost a whisper. He didn't move. I repeated it a little louder. "Huh?" he said. I said it again, and then he said "What? How do you know? What’s going on? Let’s call the doctor. Where’s the number?" He completely jumped out of his skin. All I could say was, "I don't know the answers to any of these questions, but I think we are having a baby today." I hadn't even packed a bag for the hospital.

After finding the doctor's number, I make the call. Your father was trying to get a bag together of things to take to the hospital. I await a call back from my doctor, the wonderful Dr. H:

Dr. H: Jenna?
Jenna: Yeah.
Dr. H: What happened? What's going on?
Jenna: I think my water broke. I'm not certain.
Dr. H: Explain to me what happened.

(At this point I explain everything that happened above.)

Dr. H: What color is the fluid?
Jenna: It appears clear. Is it supposed to look like that?
Dr. H: That's normal. Your water broke. Go to the hospital.
Jenna: Are you sure? I thought it was supposed to have smidgens of blood or something. It's clear.
Dr. H: Jenna, go to the hospital. You are fine. Your water broke. You are having the baby today. I'll meet you there.

So, it appeared you were going to arrive sometime that day, January 11th. Although, some people scared me to death by saying that I seemed like the type to have a 36-hour labor, so it could be another day, and I just cringed at that thought and hoped that you would be an easy labor. I had been more nervous about your arrival and the labor than actually taking care of you. I shouldn't have cared so much, as you will see.

I remember leaving the house and taking off for the hospital. It was pouring rain. Your father sped all the way to the hospital. If I wasn't nervous already with having to push you out, instead of just being white knuckled, I think my whole hand was white from digging my hands somewhere for safety.

Upon our arrival at the hospital, your father was adamant about getting me a wheelchair and I yelled at him that I didn't need one and I was walking to the maternity ward, damn it. It was just going to take too long to find a wheelchair and I really just wanted to get there myself. When we got there, they made me sit in a wheelchair anyway. I was thinking, "I am not sick or disabled but having a baby...why must I sit when I am going to be sitting or lying down for the next few days??" This was your stubborn, hormone-raging mother trying to be in charge.

Once we got situated in the room, Dr. H came in. I was only dilated one centimeter. It was nothing, really. He left and said he would come back in the afternoon to check on me. It was 7:30 in the morning and I was confined to this little room where there was nothing to do but wait. I prayed you would come soon.

I had to have an IV put in because I have mitral-valve prolapse, as it would ensure safety for both of us during your delivery. Also, because they had to put in the IV anyway, they thought it would be a good idea to induce labor. They said they would have to induce eventually (if I wasn't progressing), due to my water breaking. Once my water broke, there was a higher risk for infection. I said, "Let's do this and let's do this now."

The process was slow. Very slow, it seemed. At least for the first few hours. While I lay there, your father kept coming and going because we weren't ready for you to come just yet. Back and forth he went to the house – washing all your baby clothes and sheets, setting up your crib, bringing me a backpack of stuff he thought I wanted, went and got me a nice piece of jewelry, among other things. I just started having mild contractions when he decided he needed to go do something else. I said, ok, but I mentioned that the contractions were starting, so please hurry.

During this whole process, the nurse had hooked up the baby monitor wrong – we had the monitor hooked up so we could hear your heartbeat. It appeared to be beating really slow. The alarm started going off. The nurse came in and called Dr. H. Emergency! Emergency! The baby must come out now!! Fortunately for everyone, I had turned a certain way which made the monitor do that. Everything was fine. However, there was something wrong with the monitor and it continued with its false alarms. Every time it did that, I panicked.

Anyway, your father was on his way out, but your grandfather (your father's father) had shown up at the hospital. Your father thought it would be a good idea if he kept me company while he was out doing things. It was not a good idea. Instead, I was lectured on how childbirth couldn't really be that bad, that if the alarm on the baby monitor went off to just remain calm because everything was fine, and some other subjects I don't even remember. I was in labor. Nothing else mattered. Don't try to change the subject. It just wasn't going to happen. I was starting to have strong contractions, feeling like I might need the epidural. I wasn't a force to be reckoned with.

When your father got back I made him come over to me. I said his name in a very snappy tone. He said, "What?" I said, "Come closer, please." He leaned in. I grabbed his shirt and said in his ear, "Get. Your. Father. Out. Of. Here. NOW." I know my eyes were popping out of my head and I had the look one gets when they have held so much in they are going to explode. Your father quickly corralled your grandfather out of the room. He knew what was up.

Your father said he had to go out one last time. I said no. Then I told him to go. Really, I had a hard time making up my mind. Then I told him to wait until they checked my dilation because I thought I was ready for the epidural. Yes, the contractions were increasing in frequency and pain. I was six centimeters. Holy smokes, I made it that far without the epidural?? GIVE IT TO ME NOW (because, as I learned from the birthing class, dilations 7 and 8 were one minute apart with very high intensity. I didn't want to go there.).

I got the epidural lickety-split. It wasn’t painful. Ok, it was, but not as much as the contractions. It was nothing compared to those. They said it would take 20 minutes to kick in. I'll tell you - those people lied to me because I immediately felt nothing from the waist down. I realized then I could enjoy your birth without the pain. So, yes I am a cheater, but I needed to enjoy the experience and focus on you, not the pain.

So, yes, I am at six centimeters. Your father leaves. He’s hungry and in need of food. I'm hungry, too, I tell him. "How about a popsicle? That's all you can have." I'll take it, and to my delight, I had a choice in flavors! "PURPLE," I screamed at him, because he knew if he brought me back the wrong one, it wouldn't be a pretty sight.

He left. I ate my popsicle all by myself. Little did I know this was the very last moment in my life when I would be completely alone. While I wasn't in pain, I felt pressure. It felt like someone was pushing on my stomach really hard and like that person was trying to push you out. That was you...you were ready, or just about.

I rang for the nurse. "Please check me," I said to her. She looked at me and said, "You are way too calm." She didn't think there was any way that it could be time. "You’re almost at 10," she said in shock and with a smile on her face. Ten. It was such a magical number, and at the same time, it scared me because I soon would have to actually be trying to get you out of me. Then I started freaking out. Your father! Where was he??? I was yelling/telling the nurse that your father wasn't there and I couldn't have you without him. She told me you were not going to wait if you were ready and said I would probably be ready to start pushing in 10 – 15 minutes, so your father had some time. They were calling Dr. H and telling him to come. He couldn't believe it. It was only seven hours since I had gotten to the hospital.

Your father came back to see the medical staff getting things ready for the delivery. He had Carls Jr. I wanted some badly. He sat there for maybe two minutes eating and then threw away his food because there was a lot going on around him, and he realized that you were coming. Forget food, we've got a baby to meet!

I started pushing right after that, and your father saw your head almost immediately. He said, "Her hair is dark." I thought he was lying because your father and I were both blonde babies. I pushed a few times, and then Dr. H arrived. I will never forget the first thing he said:

"LET'S HAVE A BIRTHDAY!"

It took me a minute, but it was such a cute thing to say. Dr. H no longer had his gloves on when you were good and ready to come out. We had a big audience for your arrival. Some of the nursing staff enjoyed my company and wanted to see your arrival. One nurse told me that "I made her day." Yes, yes I am a good patient, but more on you...

Dr. H was only there for one push. You popped out. I had approximately seven sets of pushing over a 45 minute time period. Out you came. Dr. H literally showed up, I pushed you out, and that was that.

Your Arrival
I was worried because you had been measuring small. Very worried. Did you have ten fingers? Ten toes? How much did you weigh? Were you fully developed since you were three weeks and two days early?

For the first few minutes of your life, nothing mattered to me except seeing you for the first time. As soon as you came out, you were put immediately on my chest. Your father, by the way, took some great pictures of my emotions that I can't even look at without crying. You were so tiny. You were so beautiful. I had a hard time believing you were my daughter. I couldn't stop crying. I didn't want to let you go –ever.

Your father wasn't too into cutting your umbilical cord when we discussed it before your birth. Dr. H asked him to do it, and he instantly changed his mind and was very proud to do so. It made him a big part in your birth.

They did end up taking you away to do all the normal things they do for a birth, and I was screaming at them from across the room to find out how much you weighed. You were 4 pounds, 14 ounces. You were 17 inches tall. You were born at 4:23 PM. You got an 8 on your first Apgar, and then several minutes later a 9. You were in perfect health, even for being a little pipsqueak. And you looked perfect in spite of your conehead, which was nicely disguised with a beanie. But, oh my gosh, you were so perfect...I was so overwhelmed with love for you immediately. I called you "my angel". We had waited so long for you, and you were finally here...baby girl Beatrice Samantha...the world, and your family, is so very lucky to have you.

I love you,
Mama

Pulling our hair out

Well, it really has become the norm for Bea to be sick. It's very frustrating, emotionally draining, and breaks my heart to see her this way.

What is it this time? Well, the doctor said bronchitis. Through the course of the last 12 hours, she has not been happy. She's pretty much screaming or crying when awake, almost like she is in pain. Last night was not fun. We tried to disguise the medicine in her milk, but she knew immediately. And she really wasn't drinking much anyway. After her waking up more than a few times last night screaming, Josh finally decided at 4 am that we were going to get that medicine down her no matter what it took. So, while he held her down and somehow managed to get an open passageway in her mouth, I held her nose and squirted the medicine into her mouth. Of course, she wasn't happy about that, and I thought right away she would just throw it up. She mysteriously mellowed out after that, but she was still somewhat upset. I was surprised that it actually worked. The good thing is that these antibiotics are for 5 days, just once a day.

Maybe she just hasn't gotten better and this is what happened. I'm just awfully tired of her being sick more than she is well. I don't know how to prevent this other than constantly washing her hands and being overprotective when we go out. But, I don't want to be a basketcase over it either.

I keep chanting in my head that things will get better, that she will not get sick as much, and that we can all get some good sleep. Maybe not for 18 more years, right?

At least Olivia is well. She's doing great, and it appears that she is starting to get some teeth.