Until now, my kids have always been very honest with me. When other moms chatted about how their children lied to them, I felt sorry for them and thought about how I really couldn't relate.
"Turner, did you punch Tillman in the stomach?"
"NO! I punched him in the face"
You get the picture.
So for a couple of weeks I have expected that Tillman has been lying about different things, his stories weren't always adding up. But if he was lying, he was pretty good at it and able to lie with a straight face, which scared me even more.
A few nights ago at the dinner table, my fears were confirmed. Troy was lecturing Tillman and telling him how to change his behavior. Tillman looks up with the most innocent-serious face and says,
"I can't hear you....my ears are TUFFY." (translation: stuffy)
We're in trouble...
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Bad Dreams
Tillman (now 4) had a dream that was too funny not to remember and I thought, "Man, I sure wish I had a place I could write this down to remember for years to come." Oh yes...I do...I have a very neglected blog somewhere floating in cyberspace. Do people still say cyberspace? Not sure.
Anyway, Tillman woke up in a frenzy saying he'd had a bad dream. He has an expansive imagination so I was a little worried about what he was going to say.
He and Turner were locked in a giant cage by a BAD kid with their friends, Clara and Trey. I agreed that sounded like it could be scary. Just then, the bad kid SLAMMED the door and locked it tight and as he did it, he said (with much contempt and malice in his voice...)
.......
"YOU BUTTS".
I must have laughed in his face for 5 minutes. I would say I was laughing with him, but that's not so much the truth. He stood watching me with a very somber expression. Knowing that, "YOU BUTTS" is one of the greatest offenses in the preschool crowd, I made a half hearted attempt (through the lingering snickering) to let him know I was sorry he had a bad dream and that the bad kid was only in his imagination.
Anyway, Tillman woke up in a frenzy saying he'd had a bad dream. He has an expansive imagination so I was a little worried about what he was going to say.
He and Turner were locked in a giant cage by a BAD kid with their friends, Clara and Trey. I agreed that sounded like it could be scary. Just then, the bad kid SLAMMED the door and locked it tight and as he did it, he said (with much contempt and malice in his voice...)
.......
"YOU BUTTS".
I must have laughed in his face for 5 minutes. I would say I was laughing with him, but that's not so much the truth. He stood watching me with a very somber expression. Knowing that, "YOU BUTTS" is one of the greatest offenses in the preschool crowd, I made a half hearted attempt (through the lingering snickering) to let him know I was sorry he had a bad dream and that the bad kid was only in his imagination.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
I Need Help
I almost titled this, "I Wish I Was Indian", but figured that was slightly inappropriate or politically incorrect. So I decided to use my filter and only say that in the body of the blog. But in all honesty, I say it with the utmost respect. The Indian culture has it right, they have it all figured out.
In the several years that I've been teaching childbirth classes, we have always discussed a postpartum plan. How will you take care of yourself and be sure you get enough sleep? Where will your meals come from so you can be sure to eat a healthy and balanced diet? Who will clean and wash clothes so you don't have to?
EVERYONE looks at me in fear, or they at least shrug their shoulders and say they don't know who is going to do those things for them. The lucky ones at least have a Sunday School class that will provide meals for a week or two. But without fail, I have an Indian couple who tentatively raises their hand to each of those questions and says, "My mother will do those things."
Cue jaws dropping.
Generations of people living in the same (usually giant) house. It's brilliant. It's natural. It's balanced.
Having been a stay at home mom for just 4 and 1/2 short years, I am convinced now more than ever that we are not designed to live in complete isolation for hours on end, taking care of our children on our own.
In the beginning I thought it was just supposed to be hard, that we had to just figure things out. And yes, I have acquired more strength than I ever thought imaginable. I have been tested. I have proven to myself over and over again that I can survive when things are really really hard.
Like tonight.
No one napped. No one. So 3 o'clock on was basically the stuff that nightmares are made of. Tantrums. Snotty, drippy, whiny, screaming preschoolers in my face for HOURS. Where's my back up? Where is help when I genuinely feel like I can't go on? It doesn't really matter what happens. If I suddenly get a stomach bug, if I wake up with strep throat, if I have a migraine headache, if I'm 42 weeks pregnant and having contractions, it doesn't matter. I am on my own. Suck it up and figure it out because everyone else who loves my kids as much as I do is at work. That's just the way it is...
...but is that the way it's supposed to be?
When I started teaching at Texas Children's a couple of years ago, I hired a cleaning lady to come every other week. I felt embarrassed that I wasn't able to do it all myself and I was concerned that people would think I was doing it as a status symbol or because I'm a brat (which I may have a touch of brat in me). But it was one of the greatest things I've done. It's another form of asking for help, dropping my pride so I can do something that is good for my family. It helps Troy to feel more 'zen' because it at least means the house has a chance of staying clean for 48-72 hours. And it gives me more time to spend with my boys and keeps my frustration level down. But it's still not FAMILY. It's still not the support I so long for, the guarantee that someone has my back 24/7 if needed like I crave.
I joke in a text to a friend that I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown. With a smile on my face, I tell my poor mom every other week to retire. But I'm not really joking.
In jest, though a tiny part of me may not have been kidding, I asked my mother-in-law if she would move in with us. She spoils me so by taking pleasure in helping with our laundry and dishes. Though it embarrasses me that it's not all done and I think I should be able to do it all, I have learned to try and graciously accept her help and not assume that she's judging the layer-of-filth-got-hit-by-a-hurricane-declared-a-disaster-area state of my house.
In the Indian culture, they have the opportunity to pass their knowledge and wisdom on to their kids day by day. When mom isn't feeling well (or is on the brink of a nervous breakdown), Grandma can sweep in and take over. They say it takes a village and I have never known that to be more true than I do at this phase of my life.
And I am lucky in that I have an INCREDIBLE village after 6:30 on the weekdays, either Troy gets home or help is only a phone call away if I need to call my parents or Troy's mom for help.
I have gotten really really good at asking for help if I need it. If they can't help for whatever reason, they can say no, but I am no longer hesitant to ask for help if I need it. That has been a humbling experience because for some reason, from the beginning I have thought that I should be able to do it all on my own. But I can't. I really really can't. I need help.
Aaaaand when it rains, it pours. I'm cutting this blog short and will not be going back to edit or double check that it makes sense....because Troy just popped his head into the office to say that Turner is throwing up. If it weren't SO NOT funny, I just might have to laugh.
In the several years that I've been teaching childbirth classes, we have always discussed a postpartum plan. How will you take care of yourself and be sure you get enough sleep? Where will your meals come from so you can be sure to eat a healthy and balanced diet? Who will clean and wash clothes so you don't have to?
EVERYONE looks at me in fear, or they at least shrug their shoulders and say they don't know who is going to do those things for them. The lucky ones at least have a Sunday School class that will provide meals for a week or two. But without fail, I have an Indian couple who tentatively raises their hand to each of those questions and says, "My mother will do those things."
Cue jaws dropping.
Generations of people living in the same (usually giant) house. It's brilliant. It's natural. It's balanced.
Having been a stay at home mom for just 4 and 1/2 short years, I am convinced now more than ever that we are not designed to live in complete isolation for hours on end, taking care of our children on our own.
In the beginning I thought it was just supposed to be hard, that we had to just figure things out. And yes, I have acquired more strength than I ever thought imaginable. I have been tested. I have proven to myself over and over again that I can survive when things are really really hard.
Like tonight.
No one napped. No one. So 3 o'clock on was basically the stuff that nightmares are made of. Tantrums. Snotty, drippy, whiny, screaming preschoolers in my face for HOURS. Where's my back up? Where is help when I genuinely feel like I can't go on? It doesn't really matter what happens. If I suddenly get a stomach bug, if I wake up with strep throat, if I have a migraine headache, if I'm 42 weeks pregnant and having contractions, it doesn't matter. I am on my own. Suck it up and figure it out because everyone else who loves my kids as much as I do is at work. That's just the way it is...
...but is that the way it's supposed to be?
When I started teaching at Texas Children's a couple of years ago, I hired a cleaning lady to come every other week. I felt embarrassed that I wasn't able to do it all myself and I was concerned that people would think I was doing it as a status symbol or because I'm a brat (which I may have a touch of brat in me). But it was one of the greatest things I've done. It's another form of asking for help, dropping my pride so I can do something that is good for my family. It helps Troy to feel more 'zen' because it at least means the house has a chance of staying clean for 48-72 hours. And it gives me more time to spend with my boys and keeps my frustration level down. But it's still not FAMILY. It's still not the support I so long for, the guarantee that someone has my back 24/7 if needed like I crave.
I joke in a text to a friend that I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown. With a smile on my face, I tell my poor mom every other week to retire. But I'm not really joking.
In jest, though a tiny part of me may not have been kidding, I asked my mother-in-law if she would move in with us. She spoils me so by taking pleasure in helping with our laundry and dishes. Though it embarrasses me that it's not all done and I think I should be able to do it all, I have learned to try and graciously accept her help and not assume that she's judging the layer-of-filth-got-hit-by-a-hurricane-declared-a-disaster-area state of my house.
In the Indian culture, they have the opportunity to pass their knowledge and wisdom on to their kids day by day. When mom isn't feeling well (or is on the brink of a nervous breakdown), Grandma can sweep in and take over. They say it takes a village and I have never known that to be more true than I do at this phase of my life.
And I am lucky in that I have an INCREDIBLE village after 6:30 on the weekdays, either Troy gets home or help is only a phone call away if I need to call my parents or Troy's mom for help.
I have gotten really really good at asking for help if I need it. If they can't help for whatever reason, they can say no, but I am no longer hesitant to ask for help if I need it. That has been a humbling experience because for some reason, from the beginning I have thought that I should be able to do it all on my own. But I can't. I really really can't. I need help.
Aaaaand when it rains, it pours. I'm cutting this blog short and will not be going back to edit or double check that it makes sense....because Troy just popped his head into the office to say that Turner is throwing up. If it weren't SO NOT funny, I just might have to laugh.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
'The Valet Baby'
1:00AM: I laid down in my bed with Troy at 1am, thinking that my contractions would stop completely as they had in the days and weeks before. I once again wrapped my arms around my pregnancy pillow (you know, the Snoogle or Froogle or Pringle Dingle pillow...one of those that costs $75 bucks and promises you'll sleep like a log. We named him Bob.), hoping it would be the last time.
I realized the contractions were too strong and uncomfortable for me to lay down and decided to get out of bed to walk around some more as soon as I finished my last contraction. But before I could stand up, I felt the baby administer two hearty punches to my cervix and my bag of waters completely blew out with a gush of water.
I whispered, "Troyyyy. Troyyyy. Troyyyy."
Then a tap.
Then a nudge.
Then a shove.
"I think my water just broke."
"What?"
"MY WATER JUST BROKE ALL OVER THE BED."
That got his attention.
He sat up calmly and said that we could call the midwives and his mom to come over to stay with the boys while they slept.
I asked him to move a bit more quickly.
I stood up and water gushed down my legs, but then stopped completely. Did I just pee? Shouldn't the amniotic fluid still be coming out if my water actually broke?
Okay, maybe we do have some time.
1:10AM: Troy called the midwives to say that I thought my water might have broken. She said we could hang out and wait an hour or so and call back later.
1:20AM: He then called his mom who arrived 10 minutes later. I'm not sure she had slept a wink in the two weeks before the birth. She must have been sleeping in her clothes!
I had two distinctly different contractions and knew it was time to go. I had to flag Troy down in the whirlwind to tell him to forget the phone chargers and get me to the hospital!
1:25AM: We leave the house and I called to tell my sister that I 'thought' I was in labor and we were finally heading to the hospital.
We were calm, we were excited, and that all changed soon after we pulled onto highway 59.
Leaving the house unsure if I was in labor, to being certain that I wouldn't make it to the hospital in time, all within a matter of minutes.
Troy drove between 95mph and 110mph the entire way there. Looking up through the windshield between contractions, it looked like we were in a racing video game.
By the time we reached the Sweetwater exit, things were getting intense. At Beltway 8 Troy was promising me that we were close. We were NOT close and I knew it. By the time we reached the Kirby exit, I knew I wasn't going to make it. Finally we were at the Main Street exit and I had hope that we actually were getting closer.
By the time we reached the fountain in the med center, I felt Truett's head begin to crown. The familiar 'ring of fire' told me that he was only minutes away.
I instructed Troy not to stop for any more red lights and he obliged without hesitation. After all, he had been hoping to get a police escort since we had left the house!
I could hear Troy on the phone trying to get through the 97 prompts to reach the after hours call service for the midwives, but he was unable to get through to our midwife before we reached the valet driveway after running our final red light.
2:04AM: I had one more contraction in the car before I was able to stand up. But once I was on my feet, there was no moving.
Much to the dismay of the poor valet men and the HPD officer, I was not able to sit down in the wheelchair, walk or move. When I made mention of the fact that I could feel his head, everyone kicked into action and the officer called the emergency response team down to the valet area.
Troy urged me not to push yet while simultaneously yelling for a doctor. But if you've ever given birth, you know that not pushing is not an option at that point!
Seconds later, I told Troy, "I CAN FEEL THE HEAD....I'M NOT KIDDING."
2:05AM: Troy jumped into action. He reached down to feel that in Truett's head was in fact completely out, got my pants down and supported Truett's head with both hands. What a relief it was when he encouraged me to push with the next contraction, and with the second push, Truett had arrived!
I begged Troy to catch him and not drop him because I could feel the force that his slippery little body came out with. But he had him with both hands and quickly announced that Truett was PERFECT!
I finally obliged the valet and sat down in the wheelchair, Troy placed Truett on my chest and with relief in the same breath, I told Truett and Troy that I loved them and said hello to my sweet new baby. Moments later the emergency response team came downstairs, stunned to see that they weren't there to catch a baby, but to care for a baby who had already arrived!
The 15 doctors and nurses sprung into action but Truett never once left my chest. I was in love!
We never got his 1 minute or even 10 minute APGAR scores recorded (though I declared that he got 10s across the board) and we did our best to estimate his time of birth based on Troy's phone records, much to the dismay of the baby-nurse who wanted it to be exact to the minute. After the nurse asked for the time of birth for the third time, I laughed and said that I forgot to check my watch.
I've been giving Troy a hard time for thinking that he is now qualified to be an M.D., but I truly could not have done it without him. He handle the situation perfectly (with the exception of the constant string of jokes he made on the drive to the hospital). What an amazing experience and story that we will have the privilege of telling for the rest of his life!
I realized the contractions were too strong and uncomfortable for me to lay down and decided to get out of bed to walk around some more as soon as I finished my last contraction. But before I could stand up, I felt the baby administer two hearty punches to my cervix and my bag of waters completely blew out with a gush of water.
I whispered, "Troyyyy. Troyyyy. Troyyyy."
Then a tap.
Then a nudge.
Then a shove.
"I think my water just broke."
"What?"
"MY WATER JUST BROKE ALL OVER THE BED."
That got his attention.
He sat up calmly and said that we could call the midwives and his mom to come over to stay with the boys while they slept.
I asked him to move a bit more quickly.
I stood up and water gushed down my legs, but then stopped completely. Did I just pee? Shouldn't the amniotic fluid still be coming out if my water actually broke?
Okay, maybe we do have some time.
1:10AM: Troy called the midwives to say that I thought my water might have broken. She said we could hang out and wait an hour or so and call back later.
1:20AM: He then called his mom who arrived 10 minutes later. I'm not sure she had slept a wink in the two weeks before the birth. She must have been sleeping in her clothes!
I had two distinctly different contractions and knew it was time to go. I had to flag Troy down in the whirlwind to tell him to forget the phone chargers and get me to the hospital!
1:25AM: We leave the house and I called to tell my sister that I 'thought' I was in labor and we were finally heading to the hospital.
We were calm, we were excited, and that all changed soon after we pulled onto highway 59.
Leaving the house unsure if I was in labor, to being certain that I wouldn't make it to the hospital in time, all within a matter of minutes.
Troy drove between 95mph and 110mph the entire way there. Looking up through the windshield between contractions, it looked like we were in a racing video game.
By the time we reached the Sweetwater exit, things were getting intense. At Beltway 8 Troy was promising me that we were close. We were NOT close and I knew it. By the time we reached the Kirby exit, I knew I wasn't going to make it. Finally we were at the Main Street exit and I had hope that we actually were getting closer.
By the time we reached the fountain in the med center, I felt Truett's head begin to crown. The familiar 'ring of fire' told me that he was only minutes away.
I instructed Troy not to stop for any more red lights and he obliged without hesitation. After all, he had been hoping to get a police escort since we had left the house!
I could hear Troy on the phone trying to get through the 97 prompts to reach the after hours call service for the midwives, but he was unable to get through to our midwife before we reached the valet driveway after running our final red light.
2:04AM: I had one more contraction in the car before I was able to stand up. But once I was on my feet, there was no moving.
Much to the dismay of the poor valet men and the HPD officer, I was not able to sit down in the wheelchair, walk or move. When I made mention of the fact that I could feel his head, everyone kicked into action and the officer called the emergency response team down to the valet area.
Troy urged me not to push yet while simultaneously yelling for a doctor. But if you've ever given birth, you know that not pushing is not an option at that point!
Seconds later, I told Troy, "I CAN FEEL THE HEAD....I'M NOT KIDDING."
2:05AM: Troy jumped into action. He reached down to feel that in Truett's head was in fact completely out, got my pants down and supported Truett's head with both hands. What a relief it was when he encouraged me to push with the next contraction, and with the second push, Truett had arrived!
I begged Troy to catch him and not drop him because I could feel the force that his slippery little body came out with. But he had him with both hands and quickly announced that Truett was PERFECT!
I finally obliged the valet and sat down in the wheelchair, Troy placed Truett on my chest and with relief in the same breath, I told Truett and Troy that I loved them and said hello to my sweet new baby. Moments later the emergency response team came downstairs, stunned to see that they weren't there to catch a baby, but to care for a baby who had already arrived!
The 15 doctors and nurses sprung into action but Truett never once left my chest. I was in love!
We never got his 1 minute or even 10 minute APGAR scores recorded (though I declared that he got 10s across the board) and we did our best to estimate his time of birth based on Troy's phone records, much to the dismay of the baby-nurse who wanted it to be exact to the minute. After the nurse asked for the time of birth for the third time, I laughed and said that I forgot to check my watch.
I've been giving Troy a hard time for thinking that he is now qualified to be an M.D., but I truly could not have done it without him. He handle the situation perfectly (with the exception of the constant string of jokes he made on the drive to the hospital). What an amazing experience and story that we will have the privilege of telling for the rest of his life!
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Hurry Up and Wait
I trust the birth process. I trust God's timing. But man, that became a real challenge when I was sitting around still pregnant at 41 weeks and 5 days with no signs of labor. You learn a lot about yourself when you've waited almost two weeks past your due date for your sweet baby to arrive.
All of my friends who were pregnant and due around the same time were popping like wine corks. Then the girls who were due weeks after me had their babies. And here I sat....waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
We attended Vacation Bible School which started on the Monday that I was due. I told everyone I wouldn't be there Friday, I was pretty sure of it. But Friday came and went. By Saturday I was feeling a bit discouraged, a bit concerned, just a little bit anxious. But that night I had some pretty good strong contractions and found new hope! I called the midwife to let her know I was having some good strong contractions but told her that we would stay home a bit longer to be sure.
I laid down that night with some contractions, but they soon fizzled out.
Monday I had an appointment for a non-stress test (20 minutes of fetal monitoring) and a biophysical profile (ultrasound). Considering the fact that it was supposed to be a non-stress test, I was stressed! I had never been through this process and I had seen way to many friends and students of mine go through this only to be induced the same day. The OBs say that the baby is getting too big, the amniotic fluid is low, mom's blood pressure is high (no duh with all the poking and prodding and everyone around them telling them it's 'not healthy' for a baby to go past 40 weeks gestation!), the placenta didn't grade well, etc.
While I trusted and loved my midwives (who never once overreacted in my 9 and 1/2 months of pregnancy (or even after an eventful birth), I was still nervous that those performing the tests would be 'on the hunt' to find something wrong. Afterall, it all comes down to liability. Not necessarily logic, evidence, or reason.
Packing up my bags each time we went in for testing felt like D-day. Each time I wondered if I would make it home that night to sleep in my own bed, or if I would be forced into an induction for some made up medical condition.
Tuesday I took the boys to the train museum. I couldn't stand the idea of just sitting around the house thinking about waiting. We had a great time and it was a special gift to have fun with my big boys before the baby arrived.
Wednesday I tried acupuncture, deep tissue massage, and got an adjustment & alignment at West U Wellness. If I was going to be induced, I wanted to know that I gave my body every change to go into labor on its own. I was willing to try any natural remedy available (including sex everyday, as prescribed by my midwife....not as fun as it sounds at 9 and 1/2 months pregnant)!
Thursday was another biophysical profile and non-stress test. That day we scheduled the induction for Sunday night at 5pm. I was extremely anxious but stayed focused on getting myself home and was encouraged that I still had two days left to go into labor on my own. Knowing that 42 weeks is not the magic number for things to start going badly, I laid awake at night contemplating the idea of not showing up for the induction. But where would I go to give birth? Who would take me? Do I walk in to the closest ER and hope for the best? What kind of options are these?
Friday my mom took the boys and left me to do some Hypnobirthing relaxation practice and meditation. I spent the morning researching castor oil and the effect it has on labor. Remember, I said I was willing to try anything at this point! So....I spent that afternoon during the boys naps on the toilet. Then I went back for more acupuncture, deep tissue massage, and another adjustment & alignment. On the way home I picked up some Evening Primrose Oil and red raspberry leaf tea. We went for a family walk that night.
With 48 hours left till induction day, no signs of labor, and a baby so high that I could feel him kicking my rib cage, I didn't have much hope left.
After the boys went to bed that Friday night, I took a second dose (2 tablespoons) of castor oil and we settled in for the night. We had sex for the zillionth time. And I had some pretty good contractions start up, but they were no more strong or intense than they had been the previous Saturday when we called the midwife.
Troy went to bed and I decided to stay up to walk around and sit on the birth ball. I went for a visit to the baby's room, hoping I could visualize him out of me! I looked around, imagined what it would be like when he got here, stuffed some cloth diapers to give myself something to do, and paced the hallways. While I had been in regular prayer asking the Lord not to let me go into an induction or to have a c-section, I hadn't meditated in prayer and scripture and I was feeling called to do so. I found an awesome blog titled "Scriptural Encouragement for Preparing & Giving Birth". The author packed a powerful punch of scripture verses and one stood out to me. Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen ~Hebrews 11:1. I made it the wallpaper on my phone and tattooed it on my heart.
More contractions, more walking, more doubt that this was really it.
TO BE CONTINUED.....
All of my friends who were pregnant and due around the same time were popping like wine corks. Then the girls who were due weeks after me had their babies. And here I sat....waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
We attended Vacation Bible School which started on the Monday that I was due. I told everyone I wouldn't be there Friday, I was pretty sure of it. But Friday came and went. By Saturday I was feeling a bit discouraged, a bit concerned, just a little bit anxious. But that night I had some pretty good strong contractions and found new hope! I called the midwife to let her know I was having some good strong contractions but told her that we would stay home a bit longer to be sure.
I laid down that night with some contractions, but they soon fizzled out.
Monday I had an appointment for a non-stress test (20 minutes of fetal monitoring) and a biophysical profile (ultrasound). Considering the fact that it was supposed to be a non-stress test, I was stressed! I had never been through this process and I had seen way to many friends and students of mine go through this only to be induced the same day. The OBs say that the baby is getting too big, the amniotic fluid is low, mom's blood pressure is high (no duh with all the poking and prodding and everyone around them telling them it's 'not healthy' for a baby to go past 40 weeks gestation!), the placenta didn't grade well, etc.
While I trusted and loved my midwives (who never once overreacted in my 9 and 1/2 months of pregnancy (or even after an eventful birth), I was still nervous that those performing the tests would be 'on the hunt' to find something wrong. Afterall, it all comes down to liability. Not necessarily logic, evidence, or reason.
Packing up my bags each time we went in for testing felt like D-day. Each time I wondered if I would make it home that night to sleep in my own bed, or if I would be forced into an induction for some made up medical condition.
Tuesday I took the boys to the train museum. I couldn't stand the idea of just sitting around the house thinking about waiting. We had a great time and it was a special gift to have fun with my big boys before the baby arrived.
Wednesday I tried acupuncture, deep tissue massage, and got an adjustment & alignment at West U Wellness. If I was going to be induced, I wanted to know that I gave my body every change to go into labor on its own. I was willing to try any natural remedy available (including sex everyday, as prescribed by my midwife....not as fun as it sounds at 9 and 1/2 months pregnant)!
Thursday was another biophysical profile and non-stress test. That day we scheduled the induction for Sunday night at 5pm. I was extremely anxious but stayed focused on getting myself home and was encouraged that I still had two days left to go into labor on my own. Knowing that 42 weeks is not the magic number for things to start going badly, I laid awake at night contemplating the idea of not showing up for the induction. But where would I go to give birth? Who would take me? Do I walk in to the closest ER and hope for the best? What kind of options are these?
Friday my mom took the boys and left me to do some Hypnobirthing relaxation practice and meditation. I spent the morning researching castor oil and the effect it has on labor. Remember, I said I was willing to try anything at this point! So....I spent that afternoon during the boys naps on the toilet. Then I went back for more acupuncture, deep tissue massage, and another adjustment & alignment. On the way home I picked up some Evening Primrose Oil and red raspberry leaf tea. We went for a family walk that night.
With 48 hours left till induction day, no signs of labor, and a baby so high that I could feel him kicking my rib cage, I didn't have much hope left.
After the boys went to bed that Friday night, I took a second dose (2 tablespoons) of castor oil and we settled in for the night. We had sex for the zillionth time. And I had some pretty good contractions start up, but they were no more strong or intense than they had been the previous Saturday when we called the midwife.
Troy went to bed and I decided to stay up to walk around and sit on the birth ball. I went for a visit to the baby's room, hoping I could visualize him out of me! I looked around, imagined what it would be like when he got here, stuffed some cloth diapers to give myself something to do, and paced the hallways. While I had been in regular prayer asking the Lord not to let me go into an induction or to have a c-section, I hadn't meditated in prayer and scripture and I was feeling called to do so. I found an awesome blog titled "Scriptural Encouragement for Preparing & Giving Birth". The author packed a powerful punch of scripture verses and one stood out to me. Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen ~Hebrews 11:1. I made it the wallpaper on my phone and tattooed it on my heart.
More contractions, more walking, more doubt that this was really it.
TO BE CONTINUED.....
Friday, April 11, 2014
Sausage Fest
The term 'sausage fest' derives from our college days when the guys would show up to a party and there were more guys than girls. While it may be a smidge inappropriate, I cannot think of a better title for this blog post. It describes my awesome-crazy-busy-messy life perfectly!
So around this time in pregnancy comes a surge of hormones that I guess are just a necessary evil. Troy would probably refer to them as the crazy-bipolar-irrational-fear mongering 7 month hormones. Call them what you wish, I don't feel like I have much control. I've been better about recognizing what is logical and what is strictly hormonal with this pregnancy. Not that I think my feelings are any less real, or that I don't deserve to express them, just that I keep in mind that I sound like a crazy person when I'm talking to Troy and I try to stay calm.
So this rant stems from legitimate feelings and from a place that is overly sensitive and cannot be appeased by anyone.
I often read rants from pregnant women about all of the horrible things that people say to pregnant women. In fact, I wrote a similar post around this time in my pregnancy with Turner (I think the line, "MIND YOUR BEESWAX" jumps to mind). But now that I see other people writing complains about those people, it really bugs me. These people have good intentions and are just trying to give women special attention during a very significant time in their lives and don't really understand that saying, "Wow! YOU'RE HUGE!" can be hurtful at a time when she's already feeling self-conscious about weight gain. But for the most part people are trying to be kind and complimentary and it's annoying to hear pregnant women whine that too many people have touched her belly.
Long story longer, I only have ONE complaint about things that people have said to me during this pregnancy. Everything else is well-received. Maybe it's due in part to the fact that most women haven't had 3 kids and can't continuously dish their advice on me. But for the most part I think it's that I've been able to switch my mindset. I've recognized that I won't be pregnant forever, I won't get that special attention forever, and that people are just trying to be nice and caring.
The ONE exception to that is when I tell people that I'm having a third boy. :)
One woman threw her hands up and actually said, "WHY GOD?!"
Most people just say, "Oh wow. You're going to have your hands full."
OR
"Get ready!"
People who actually think about what they are saying before they speak say, "Oh that's great! You were born to be a 'boy mom'."
OR
"Awwww they're going to be the best of friends. It's awesome to have all brothers!"
That's always nice and exactly how I feel and exactly what I want people to say.
It's just very strange to me that people assume I was desperately trying for a girl. I just want a big family, and if that family consists of three boys...great. If it consisted of three girls....great. I just want noise and chaos and it doesn't matter to me that much if that's with daughters or sons.
The ultimate annoyance is when people say, "Ohhhh you need to have a daughter! Ohhhh you need to experience that connection between a mother and a daughter!" WTF?! I have incredible connections with my boys, why are you trying to take that away from me with your words?!
Why do women who have girls try to make boy moms feel like crap that they don't have boys and why do women who have boys make girl moms feel like they did something wrong by not having boys? Freaking weird.
The ultrasound tech that we saw last said that people talk about coming in for their gender ultrasound and she corrects them and says that they're having an anatomy scan. We forget that the priority is having healthy children. Dear God, please let my children be healthy! Finding out the gender is simply the icing on the cake called parenthood.
I also find it strange that no one acts disappointed when someone has 2 boys or 2 girls, but as soon as you announce that you're having your third boy or your third girl they look at you like you should throw the third kid back like a freaking catfish.
Why can't you be excited for me that I was able to get pregnant when so many women can't?! Why can't you be excited that I'm excited about my third son and that I'm certainly NOT mourning the loss of prom dress shopping, wedding dress shopping?! In fact, those things make me sweat just thinking about them.
So, does part of me wonder what the relationship with a daughter would be?...What it would be like to take care of a little girl and buy little funky 80s inspired girl outfits?...What Troy would be like with a daughter?...YES.
But am I far more excited about the relationship that I'll have with 3 sons?...That I'll always be the princess of the house?...That I gave Troy the son(s) he asked for? That if there's something pink in the laundry pile that I'll immediately know it's mine?...That I'll be attending a lot of baseball games?...That my boys already are and always will be the best of buddies?...That we're going to have a heck of a lot of fun?...YESSSS!
So be happy with me and be happy for us, because we cannot wait for the arrival of Truett Law!!!
**Disclaimer: I think this is the first mention of my third pregnancy on my blog. It's not that I've neglected my pregnancy, I've just neglected my poor blog lately! Most of my announcements and excitement has been expressed on Facebook instead.
So around this time in pregnancy comes a surge of hormones that I guess are just a necessary evil. Troy would probably refer to them as the crazy-bipolar-irrational-fear mongering 7 month hormones. Call them what you wish, I don't feel like I have much control. I've been better about recognizing what is logical and what is strictly hormonal with this pregnancy. Not that I think my feelings are any less real, or that I don't deserve to express them, just that I keep in mind that I sound like a crazy person when I'm talking to Troy and I try to stay calm.
So this rant stems from legitimate feelings and from a place that is overly sensitive and cannot be appeased by anyone.
I often read rants from pregnant women about all of the horrible things that people say to pregnant women. In fact, I wrote a similar post around this time in my pregnancy with Turner (I think the line, "MIND YOUR BEESWAX" jumps to mind). But now that I see other people writing complains about those people, it really bugs me. These people have good intentions and are just trying to give women special attention during a very significant time in their lives and don't really understand that saying, "Wow! YOU'RE HUGE!" can be hurtful at a time when she's already feeling self-conscious about weight gain. But for the most part people are trying to be kind and complimentary and it's annoying to hear pregnant women whine that too many people have touched her belly.
Long story longer, I only have ONE complaint about things that people have said to me during this pregnancy. Everything else is well-received. Maybe it's due in part to the fact that most women haven't had 3 kids and can't continuously dish their advice on me. But for the most part I think it's that I've been able to switch my mindset. I've recognized that I won't be pregnant forever, I won't get that special attention forever, and that people are just trying to be nice and caring.
The ONE exception to that is when I tell people that I'm having a third boy. :)
One woman threw her hands up and actually said, "WHY GOD?!"
Most people just say, "Oh wow. You're going to have your hands full."
OR
"Get ready!"
People who actually think about what they are saying before they speak say, "Oh that's great! You were born to be a 'boy mom'."
OR
"Awwww they're going to be the best of friends. It's awesome to have all brothers!"
That's always nice and exactly how I feel and exactly what I want people to say.
It's just very strange to me that people assume I was desperately trying for a girl. I just want a big family, and if that family consists of three boys...great. If it consisted of three girls....great. I just want noise and chaos and it doesn't matter to me that much if that's with daughters or sons.
The ultimate annoyance is when people say, "Ohhhh you need to have a daughter! Ohhhh you need to experience that connection between a mother and a daughter!" WTF?! I have incredible connections with my boys, why are you trying to take that away from me with your words?!
Why do women who have girls try to make boy moms feel like crap that they don't have boys and why do women who have boys make girl moms feel like they did something wrong by not having boys? Freaking weird.
The ultrasound tech that we saw last said that people talk about coming in for their gender ultrasound and she corrects them and says that they're having an anatomy scan. We forget that the priority is having healthy children. Dear God, please let my children be healthy! Finding out the gender is simply the icing on the cake called parenthood.
I also find it strange that no one acts disappointed when someone has 2 boys or 2 girls, but as soon as you announce that you're having your third boy or your third girl they look at you like you should throw the third kid back like a freaking catfish.
Why can't you be excited for me that I was able to get pregnant when so many women can't?! Why can't you be excited that I'm excited about my third son and that I'm certainly NOT mourning the loss of prom dress shopping, wedding dress shopping?! In fact, those things make me sweat just thinking about them.
So, does part of me wonder what the relationship with a daughter would be?...What it would be like to take care of a little girl and buy little funky 80s inspired girl outfits?...What Troy would be like with a daughter?...YES.
But am I far more excited about the relationship that I'll have with 3 sons?...That I'll always be the princess of the house?...That I gave Troy the son(s) he asked for? That if there's something pink in the laundry pile that I'll immediately know it's mine?...That I'll be attending a lot of baseball games?...That my boys already are and always will be the best of buddies?...That we're going to have a heck of a lot of fun?...YESSSS!
So be happy with me and be happy for us, because we cannot wait for the arrival of Truett Law!!!
**Disclaimer: I think this is the first mention of my third pregnancy on my blog. It's not that I've neglected my pregnancy, I've just neglected my poor blog lately! Most of my announcements and excitement has been expressed on Facebook instead.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
I. Am. A. Tornado.
We laugh at our kids a lot...sometimes with them, but mostly at them. One of the most entertaining things that Turner does right now is call something by its almost-name.
For example, when we were little, Shannon (my sister) called lasagna and vaginas by the same name..."vasagnas"!
So I wrote a few of Turner's down over the last year, some of which he now says correctly. To be honest, I get a little sad when he starts saying them correctly, but I guess they have to grow up some time!
My boys love tomatoes and when he first learned to say "tomato" about a year ago, it originated as "namoe".
He's a picky eater, but I can always count on him to eat his spaghetti. Around the same time as namoes, the "noodles" were actually "nookles", and you couldn't tell him any different!
Turner has one little freckle on his finger that I love to shower in kisses. But he really likes to admire his "frankle".
More recently, since it's been cool outside, Turner asks if he has to wear "long shorts". With it being cold all of 4 days out of the year in Houston, Texas, we're rarely in anything but t-shirts and basketball shorts. So much so that the word "pants" isn't even in his vocabulary. I have to laugh!
With the weather changes lately, our noses have all been running. Though he's been asking for "tissues" or "Kleenexes" since he could talk, recently he's decided that they are not called "tissues", but "tennis shoes"...it only makes sense. I just roll with it and laugh, Troy tells him they're probably in his closet before he realizes what he's really asking for. I'll miss it when he decides that it's easier just to call it by its real name.
Yes, we occasionally eat fast food. The boys love Sonic and Turner particularly enjoys eating "potater-tots".
Last and probably my favorite...we've been singing a lot of Christmas carols. The boys go in circles around the kitchen island with their drums while I sing The Little Drummer Boy as the boys march and play. "Come they told me, pa rum pa pum pum. I am a poor boy too, pa rum pa pum pum." I love that Turner's been singing Christmas carols and all of the songs he learns at school, but Little Drummer Boy has to be my favorite. "Come they told me, pa rum pa pum pum. I am a tornado too, pa rum pa pum pum."
For example, when we were little, Shannon (my sister) called lasagna and vaginas by the same name..."vasagnas"!
So I wrote a few of Turner's down over the last year, some of which he now says correctly. To be honest, I get a little sad when he starts saying them correctly, but I guess they have to grow up some time!
My boys love tomatoes and when he first learned to say "tomato" about a year ago, it originated as "namoe".
He's a picky eater, but I can always count on him to eat his spaghetti. Around the same time as namoes, the "noodles" were actually "nookles", and you couldn't tell him any different!
Turner has one little freckle on his finger that I love to shower in kisses. But he really likes to admire his "frankle".
More recently, since it's been cool outside, Turner asks if he has to wear "long shorts". With it being cold all of 4 days out of the year in Houston, Texas, we're rarely in anything but t-shirts and basketball shorts. So much so that the word "pants" isn't even in his vocabulary. I have to laugh!
With the weather changes lately, our noses have all been running. Though he's been asking for "tissues" or "Kleenexes" since he could talk, recently he's decided that they are not called "tissues", but "tennis shoes"...it only makes sense. I just roll with it and laugh, Troy tells him they're probably in his closet before he realizes what he's really asking for. I'll miss it when he decides that it's easier just to call it by its real name.
Yes, we occasionally eat fast food. The boys love Sonic and Turner particularly enjoys eating "potater-tots".
Last and probably my favorite...we've been singing a lot of Christmas carols. The boys go in circles around the kitchen island with their drums while I sing The Little Drummer Boy as the boys march and play. "Come they told me, pa rum pa pum pum. I am a poor boy too, pa rum pa pum pum." I love that Turner's been singing Christmas carols and all of the songs he learns at school, but Little Drummer Boy has to be my favorite. "Come they told me, pa rum pa pum pum. I am a tornado too, pa rum pa pum pum."
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