Whisper Sweet Nothings

If there's anything I adore about having a baby, it is the chance to experience each little nuance of development. With Coco turning 6 weeks old tomorrow, she's now trying to communicate with me. She coos and smiles and sighs--all in her own sweet way. I usually get to chat with her this way when I feed her, or just when we cuddle together.

Today when I was at a doctor's appointment, I was caught up in conversation with my CNM, and Coco tried to get my attention by looking right at me, smiling as bright as she could, and letting out long verbal sighs of delight. Now, there might have been a time in my mothering that I would have more or less ignored her communication, letting it wait until the conversation with my practitioner was over. Not this time. I now realize just how fleeting this stage is, and I immediately turned to smile back and recognize that her message came through loud and clear.

"I love you, too, honey." I responded.

Now for those of you who will be partying it up this New Year, enjoying all the many forms revelry that comes along with the holiday, have a great time and live it up. Enjoy the stage of life that you're in, because each one has its perks. As for me, I'll be savoring the one that I currently find myself in as I quietly coo in 2010 with Coco. I celebrate this new year with new life, and it doesn't get much better than that.

Tired

In line with the original purpose of documenting my life as a young mother, particularly life with a baby, I would be remiss if I did not include something about sleep deprivation.

There's just no getting around it. For as much as a mother is crazy about her little one, the lack of sleep that accompanies the joyous bundle is something fierce, especially if you have other young children who occassionally decide not to sleep either. Last night was an example of that. Here's the log. (Keep in mind this was all going in the midst of me fighting a new cold Sassy generously passed on):

• 10:00 p.m. -- Coco's final evening feeding. We're done about 45 minutes later, finally ready to sleep.
• 2:10 a.m. -- Coco wakes up for a feeding and change
• 3:00ish a.m. -- Sassy wakes up crying for "Mommy and Daddy." We still don't understand what she wanted.
• 3:30ish a.m. -- Sassy wakes up again crying for "Mommy and Daddy," and I lay on thick the need for her to really go back to sleep.
• 5:15 a.m. -- Coco wakes up hungry. I try and hold her off a bit so that we can feed her at her usual 6:30 a.m. feeding to try and get her on a consistent schedule. This ends up her being in bed next to me for a while, as I try to repeatedly replace her pacifier. No sleep here for me, really.
• 6:25 a.m. -- Finally feed Coco. And, I'm really tired.

Seriously, I don't know how single mothers do it. Were it not for Pearly-Q's help, I think I would flip out. The crazy thing is, for as insane as last night was, compare my shameless photo above with little Miss Bright-and-Bushy-Tailed:

The irony!

The Best Christmas Gifts

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about gifts lately. When Pearly-Q asked me this year what I would want for Christmas, I was honestly stumped . . . I literally don’t feel like I need anything. As we all eventually figure out, material things (beyond meeting our basic physical needs), really don’t bring happiness. Temporary satiation—maybe—but happiness? Don’t count on it.
Considering all the blessings I’ve been basking in lately as a mother, I honestly couldn’t think of any particular material item I should send my husband on a wild goose chase for. (Now if he were to offer cooking dinner for a straight week, that might be a different matter). As for stuff, though? Nah.

For me, this Christmas, I consider the list of gifts that I’ve been showered with and I can’t imagine any holiday season more resplendent. Here’s just a smidgen of them as a reminder for me in the future:

• An honorable, kind, and funny husband who loves me in spite of all my multi-faceted neuroses


Four awesome, healthy kids--Including a darling baby (who just started to cooing at me, actually), and made it through a precarious delivery safe and sound—without having to have surgery, which we’d previously thought was very likely



My health. (After going through a long period of difficult health and severe insomnia, I promised myself that I wouldn’t take this for granted again).


Not having to wear nasty support hose anymore


Food, warm shelter, clothing, education, clean water

And last, but definitely not least:

A Savior. I am so grateful for Jesus Christ and what He does for my life personally. When I am at my wits end with how short my best efforts fall, I thank Him for His remarkable ability to make me whole. I remember His birth with reverence and joy.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

"Shirley T"

I think I may have come up with a new, more fitting nickname for the Sass. Recently as I got her dressed up for church in her latest Christmas dress, I did her hair with the typical curls, this time with ringlets all around her head. (Hallelujah to the fact that I got at least one child—thankfully this one a girl—with my more low-maintenance curly hair!)

As she got up and ran from me, I remarked to Pearly-Q, “Honey, I swear that Sassy looks just like Shirley Temple.”

To this, he cocked his head to one side and slowly nodded, “Yeah . . . I think you’re right.”
Since that time I haven’t been able to get that thought out of my head, and have started to call her “Shirley T.” When I first used this name, Sassy responded in typical fashion, “I’m not Shirley!”

Then I explained, “Do you know who Shirley Temple was, honey? She was a beautiful little girl, with dark curly hair just like you. She was so cute that everyone loved her.”

Sassy lingered for a moment. Sassy is very picky about labels, I’ll have you know. For instance, we cannot refer to her as cute, or pretty—only beautiful. Fortunately, after much deliberation she finally answered, “Okay, I Shirley.” Yes! Victory!

I, for one, grew up adoring Shirley Temple, just like the generation above me. Regardless of the fact that I did like Sprite and grenadine anyway, I always ordered “Shirley Temple” drinks wherever I went just because I loved the name so much. I still remember watching the old 1939 version of The Little Princess, wishing that I could be Shirley Temple’s character as she wakes up one morning to the surprise satin quilt, beautiful robes, and hot breakfast her friendly Indian neighbor with the parrot has given her. I wanted to be her even more when she throws the big bucket of ashes on the resident snob/bully of the girls’ school where she has become an indentured servant. Call me precocious, but the film conjured all sorts of fun imaginary scenarios that I loved acting out as a little girl myself. I remember thinking how one day if I had a little girl, I would watch Shirley Temple with her, too.

So, in honor of that tradition, last night I picked up a copy of The Little Princess, and watched it with my kids. It was more charming than I’d remembered, and I was struck by just how much Sassy really does remind me of that famous actress. Her pout, giggle, smile, natural charm, and happy-go-lucky air were so similar to my own little girl—not to mention her joy in dancing. I can’t tell you how many hours a day are spent by the Sass twirling, leaping, and posing as delicately as a three-year-old can manage while she listens to Christmas music. (She’ll even dance to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir broadcasts).

Needless to say, Sassy fell for Shirley Temple as much as I once did. I delighted in looking over at her face last night. She was completely mesmerized, and when I tucked her into bed last night, after the initial requirements of kissing all my individual facial features, cuddling in her bed for “ooone minute,” and sharing a story from when I was a “wittle girl,” Sassy asked if she could watch The Little Princess again when she woke up. I happily grinned and nodded. Though there are definite traits I hope Sassy does not pick up from me, (i.e. my temper, potty mouth, or any other number of nefarious flaws I will be working on for my lifetime), at least this is one area I certainly don't mind her taking after me. Long live Shirley!

Freak outs and Epiphanies

I hate to admit it, but this picture captures part of what I've been feeling lately.

Now that the logistical realities of mothering four children ages five and under are setting in, I have been facing all sorts of new realizations about my shortcomings. I have found that in the midst of managing the chaos, I get more frustrated and frazzled than I would like to admit. Unfortunately, this also means my family ends up getting the brunt of my aggravation as well. Last week I had a complete freakout session when Pearly-Q inquired about why hadn’t put the berries back in the fridge. In my sleep-deprived, deranged mind, I decided to take offense about his “criticisms” of me in the face of me taking on what felt like Mount Everest. Poor guy.

My biggest annoyance has been what feels like the inevitable tendency of everyone around me to ignore what I have to say. Now, I know that most mothers feel like most of their children don’t listen to them, but lately it has felt more uncanny than I can describe. Regardless of the method of my communication—multiple reminders, calmly or not so calmly conveyed—I seem to be resolutely disregarded. Normally I freak out about this, and I have more than once recently. (I am completely ashamed to admit that I called Santa Claus on Bitty this last Friday when he had one doozy of a day. It wasn’t pretty.)

Recently, however, I have wondered whether or not there is something I am doing that is causing this insatiable problem. I am the common thread, after all. And, for as long overdue as it might seem, it has caused some real soul-searching about why my family doesn’t want to listen to me. Fortunately, in talking this out with someone else, I reached an epiphany: perhaps I am not listening to myself. This person observed that I am continually discouraged by the fact that I don’t have enough quiet time to pray and meditate. As a result, I don’t allow myself the chance to consider the various situations in my life, and what I can do to improve on them. I don’t have time to listen to the Lord’s direction, or pay attention to any other cues from my own spirit, for that matter.

This has been a helpful observation, and one which I’m trying to utilize. Easier said than done, I know. But, I’m considering how to allow my soul more quiet moments to . . . just . . . listen. I try to do this most often when I’m feeding the baby alone, (this seems to be the easiest time). In the process I find that I’m clearing the clutter of my own mind, which means that I’m less volatile. Now we’ll see if it makes a difference in how others around me respond . . . I guess we’ll all have to stay tuned.

Mother-to-this-child

Since Coco’s birth, I have done a lot of thinking about an article that I read over a year and a half ago. Written Dorothy Lee, a well-known cultural anthropologist from the 1960’s-70’s, the essay is entitled “To Be or Not to Be—Notes on the Meaning of Maternity.” In the article, Lee advocates that “maternity is a relationship,” and that when we decide to bring a child into the world, or adopt one for that matter, we have decided to not just add another child to the mix of parenting. Rather, we decide to be “mother-to-this-child,” that each relationship with each child is special, important, and irreplaceable.


Lee specifically states,

“When this is recognized, the mother is helped to sense the particularity of her child, and the peculiar flavor, the peculiar quality of the relationship that she can have with each child. It is good to ‘have children,’ it is good to see one’s self as the mother of children, but it is also necessary, I think, to recognize and to develop the relationship that greets personally the individuality of each child.”

Essentially, when we become mother to another child, in a sense we are reborn in that relationship with another human being. I am a new mother to each new child.

I believe there is so much merit to this. When I contemplate on the various stages of my mothering I consider how telling it is that some of my most difficult stages came when I allowed myself to just “go through the motions,” and didn’t savor the particular relationship I have with each child. It seems so easy to allow myself to get run over by the machine of day-to-day living, and this can overtake the inherent joys that lay beneath the surface. In contrast, the times I gave myself the privilege to put aside the things that really didn’t matter—the checklists, the unbelievable expectations that modern society places on us as mothers, and some of the mundane requirements of keeping house—then I really, thoroughly, enjoyed my experience as a mom.

In light of remembering some of these truths, becoming Coco’s mother has been a beautiful rebirth for me. I feel like this time around I am wiser in my approach, in my expectations. If anything, I am loving the chance to savor her very essence, her personality, and the mystery of all that she is now and will become in the future. . .

And so, with that in mind, here is a short salute to the exquisite rarity that is each of my children:

To the Big-O:

My spiritual giant, who already eagerly seeks learning by study and also by faith. I adore his wisdom, for he teaches me much about what is really means to be a humanitarian.

To Bitty:

Whose capacity to love constantly takes me by surprise, especially when he loves me wholeheartedly in spite of my weakness. And, who invariably can find the funny embedded everywhere.

To the Sass:

The little girl whose passion for life mirrors my own. I cherish my chance to have a daughter whose personality I enjoy so much now, I would have chosen her as a friend in adulthood.

To Coco:

We considered naming her Serena, which would have been appropriate for her personality. She brings great tranquility to my heart, and to our family.

May we all cherish the mystery of the individual.

Mr.Bitts

If there is something I absolutely love about four-year-olds, it is their uncanny ability to make one laugh by the hilarious things they have to say. Completely in earnest, and unbeknownst to them, they have a way of looking at the world that is so refreshing and fun. Each time they share one of these gems, I try to record it on our white erasable board, (although I'm realizing that perhaps I ought to have a better form of keeping track of them. . . let's hope this is a better forum for that.) Besides, I like to share in the wealth.

Bitty has had some fantastic quotables lately that make me just want to squeeze him. Here's just a few that give you a feel for his wry personality:

• After everyone was done showering before going to church Sunday morning, Bitty noticed Pearly-Q's chest and observed:
  “Daddy, you kind of look like you have eyes on your pecks.”
• Recently when I tucked him into bed for his nap, I nuzzled up to him and nibbled on his cheeks and ears, to which Bitty replied, "Mom, when you nibble on my ear it turns me frozen."
• Another tucking in bed moment--this time I was helping him clean out Bitty's nose: "Mom, last night I had some crusties in my nose and looke like Grape Nuts! Did you want to eat them? Hahahahaha!"
• When Pearly-Q took Bitty on some "special time" they drove past McDonalds, to which Bitty responded by asking his dad, "What was it we ate together there Dad, that was so yummy with the ice cream and the chocolate?" Dad responded, "Do you mean a hot fudge sundae, Bitts?" "Yeah--Dad, what day is it?" Pearly-Q answered, "It's Monday." Bitty thought for moment and then requested, "Dad, can go to McDonalds right now and have a hot fudge Monday?"

Got to love Mr. Bitts.

Mesmerized

Ever since Coco was born I have been fascinated by something that has occupied my time with her more than any other activity—I call it the “newborn stare.” Known to new parents everywhere, the newborn stare is more powerful than any addictive drug, and will completely deplete all your time. I am constantly struck by how easily the hours will tick by as one is completely entranced by the precious gaze of one’s newborn baby, without any remote desire to do anything else in the whole wide world. It is as though the world stops altogether, and all you care about is that miraculous moment in eternity. The reason for this, I believe is because one feels that he/she is staring into the eyes of Heaven itself.

I know this sounds dramatic, but it really is true. Whenever I gaze at Cosette’s sweet face, (or whenever I gazed at any of my new babies, for that matter), I feel so close to my Creator. They represent all that is sweet, pure, and innocent in this world, and being locked in their gaze feels sacred, like the purest form of worship. Often I believe this is because these little spirits are so freshly delivered from the Lord Himself, and that being close to them, being in their presence, reminds us of being in His.

I am adoring this experience, and wish that I could hold onto it forever. Perhaps that is why so many new mothers express what seems an irrational, but quite common desire: to have at least a dozen more of these precious little newborns. You would think that having one to take care of in the middle of the night would cure you of your desire to bring more into the world—at least immediately, anyway. On the contrary, however, their absolute innocence makes you hope beyond all hoping that this feeling will never, ever end. If only I could claim ignorance in thinking that it won’t. Unfortunately, after having three other babies I already know better.

In the meantime, I suppose all I can do is try to be as present in the moment as possible--which means that I’d better get back to my staring.

The Nitty Gritty on the birth

Warning: This entry contains a birthing novel. Sad, but true. Definitely NOT recommended for sharing with husbands or queasy first-time expectant mothers.

Okay, so now let’s get down to business. Why, why, why in the world would I choose a natural birth, and why in the world would I say that giving birth to a breech baby this way was an exhilarating experience? Good question—(one I’ve been asked several times since).

By way of background you really ought to know something about me. I don’t have a good pain threshold. Never have, and I’m afraid I’ve realized that is even truer as I see the inherited one my kids have from me. Every little owie is met with tears on their part, which I recognize from my genes unfortunately. As a result, when I first gave birth to Bitty 4 ½ years ago, I didn’t even question the idea of an epidural. Why would I?

To make a long story short, I could have died during Bitty’s. Because of my scoliosis, where an epidural is placed happens to fall right where I have curvature of the spine (I have a fairly pronounced S-curve), as well radial twisting. Essentially this resulted in what became an inadvertent over-the-top spinal, with 10+ hours of me not being able to breathe normally. Scary stuff—scary and difficult, especially when I had to push him out for 3.5 hours posterior, and the doctor had to resort to forceps to avoid a C-section. Not fun, not fun, especially when it spiraled into a whole host of other postpartum complications that I won’t go into now. (Sorry if I’ve already freaked out someone up to this point).

When it came to delivering the Sass, I felt dualistic feelings about facing another delivery. Because of my history, I was terrified about another epidural, yet I also felt incredibly ambivalent about the possibility of pushing out another baby for 3+ hours. Though I believed in the possibility of being able to handle a typical natural birth, I seriously questioned my ability to so with pushing as long as I had previously. I feared that it would result in an inevitable C-section if I attempted it. Fortunately, I also did my homework as far as anesthesia staffs are concerned, and got a fantastic anesthesiologist up at LDS who could not have been more experienced, thoughtful, empathetic, or attentive. Not surprisingly, I experienced some severe PTSD when he inserted this epidural, but he was incredibly kind and helpful in talking me through it. He repeatedly checked on me throughout that day. (After the baby was delivered, he admitted that it was probably one of the most challenging epidurals he had ever had to place in the history of his 30+ year career b/c of the nature of the spinal curvature and its location). Thankfully, things went much better with Sassy’s birth, especially since I had a nurse that was able to get her turned the right direction.

After the PTSD and forewarning regarding my spine with Sassy’s birth, I seriously considered trying natural birth this time around, but faced the same questions as before. Will I be able to do it if the baby is posterior? Would I have a better chance of her turning anterior with a midwife? Aren’t I kind of a wimp?

After praying and thinking much about it, I proceeded in the direction of natural birth, found a CNM, and took a hypnobirthing class. This was a great move. I was amazed to learn about the power of hypnosis to manage pain, as it has the capacity to help your body release its own natural endorphins. Between trying to regularly practice my hypnosis (which was incredibly helpful with my back pain and dealing with the stress of the pregnancy), and reading a myriad of books that a friend provided as great resources for natural birthing, I gradually became more comfortable with my ability to face an unmedicated birth, and actually looked forward to the experience as a sort of rite of passage—the great equalizer of all women on this earth. And I have to admit, I especially hoped it would provide the speedier recovery I would so need this time around.

In light of my extra amniotic fluid and the risk with Coco’s bowel, my perinatologists didn’t want to allow me to go much past 39 weeks, and as a result we scheduled an induction for the last possible day—Nov. 23rd. Because I so did not want to face a natural birth with more difficult contractions than necessary (i.e. pitocin-induced), the week before the 23rd I did EVERYTHING I could think of in order to bring on the pregnancy naturally. I walked every day, bounced on an exercise ball, jumped on a trampoline, walked up and down stairs for hours, danced like crazy, sat through two very painful sessions of acupuncture, tried acupressure points, drank black cohosh tea—you name it, I tried it. When I went in on the 19th I was dilated to a 2+, 75% effaced, and was at a -1. So, I had my CNM strip my membranes in hopes . . .

Sure enough, on the drive home that evening I felt some regular tightening, which unfortunately subsided by the time I went to bed. These picked up again when I awoke on the 20th. Could this be it? It didn’t hurt like I’d thought they would and was only on the lower half of my abdomen, but did they did seem to come and go regularly. I sent Sterling to work on the premise that I would let him know if things continued or not. He needed to get some things done that morning, so we hoped this would afford him the time he needed. After that I took a concoction with castor oil, hoping . . . By the time I took the kids to Chinese at about 11:00 a.m., the tightening periods were about 9-10 minutes apart, and seemed to be slowing down. I was NOT going to allow this to happen, so I left the kids there with their tutor and went for a walk with my IPOD.

This was fabulous! While in neighborhoods, I waddled in a consistent curb walk, and as soon as I got out of eyesight I wandered into a large field in the middle of several subdivisions. It was filled with golden overgrown grass and the sun was shining. There in the middle of the field I cranked up my Latin music and danced with happy abandon. I could envision the baby descending with my hip action, and I smiled and laughed during the cha-cha, samba, and bizarre personal version of Samoan dancing that would really embarrass me in public. At one point a huge deer stared at me dancing, not knowing what in the world to think of my exuberance. Only when I started to jump towards him did he finally bound out of sight. It was a happy moment as I thought of how excited I was to finally experience this birth and meet my baby.

To make a long story short, we made it to the hospital that day around 3 p.m., were admitted, and got right down to business. My nurse secured a room with a tub, got me a birthing ball, and went over the birth plan with us. The staff there really was fantastic, and I was thrilled I didn’t have to have an IV. I laid down to do some hypnosis and start banking endorphins. Pearly-Q and I then went for a walk around the hospital. At some point in the midst of laboring on the ball, and everything else my CNM showed up checked my cervix. I was dilated to a 6, and was 100% effaced. At that point b/c of all of my fluid, we decided that it would best if she did a careful break of my water to allow things to ease out. (This was at about 7 p.m.) As all this happened, my CNM felt the baby’s head and could feel all of her hair there. She was clearly head-down, as she had been during my ultrasound the day before.

With my water broken, the contractions quickly sped up and became more intense. With my nurse’s encouragement, I decided it was finally time to get into the tub. At that point, I noticed a couple drips of meconium, but nothing to be alarmed about. I was happy to immerse in hot water. During this time I definitely felt contractions, but the water made it so much more doable—more like tough menstrual cramps, really. Pearly-Q was there through this whole time, and rubbed my back as I laid on my side, and then in a hands and knees position to try to ensure the baby eased into an anterior position. After being in the tub for about a ½ hour, I started to sense an encroaching urge to push. It was strange, though, because it felt more like something was only partially pushing down on my perineum, not a full head, really. When I got out to use the toilet, I noticed there was a lot of meconium coming out of me, and I immediately recognized this could be problematic. When we got the word about it the CNM, she immediately sent for NICU staff to be on hand to make sure the baby didn’t suck any of it in.

When I got out of the tub and onto the bed I tried to do more hypnosis, but it was becoming increasingly difficult with the surges severely intensifying. In the midst of all this I requested my CNM check me, as I could feel pressure down below. At that point I was almost at a 9, and she encouraged me to push against her in order to help things move to a 10. As I did so, I tried to stay on my left side as that’s what felt most comfortable, and that’s how I preferred to push the baby out. However, she insisted I move to my back with my hips up a bit. I protested to this, as it made things much more painful, and I couldn’t understand why she didn’t heed what I said about all of this. From this point, things got really crazy, really quickly. .

Before I knew it, and in the midst of blinding pain that I struggled to breathe (or rather, whimper) through, there were people pushing my body into a hips-up position, and they were telling me to hold my own knees. I told them strongly that I could not do this, as I could barely focus on my breathing, and I didn’t know what else was going on. I didn’t want to labor in that position as I was afraid it would result in a greater chance of tearing. For whatever reason, no one was hearing what I was saying, and any previous focus I had before seemed obliterated by all the commotion that ensued. I remember only bits and pieces of this whole time, as the pain was incredibly intense, but I do recall an OB getting into Pearly-Q’s face and asking him what birth this was for us, and what size our babies had previously been. When she asked this, I remember wondering how big could this baby’s noggin really be? Then I looked to my right, and someone was sticking my hand with a needle--something I’d explicitly not wanted.

“What are you doing?” I asked in the midst of the crazy pain.

“I’m giving you an IV,” the nurse replied.

Though up to that point, I had definitely screamed (during which my girlfriend assisting me ordered me to “pull it together”), this time I let out a huge scream of pain—one which Pearly-Q insists the entire labor and delivery floor must have heard. I told them that something when I pushed simply didn’t feel right. It wasn’t until this point that someone said, “You’re having a breech baby!” This threw me for sure, and I had a moment of panic at the thought, wondering if they were going to pull me into a C-section or not. At this point, there were roughly twelve different faces above me—I looked at Pearly-Q, and he seemed as uncertain as I was. I also remember glancing at my girlfriend, and when she, along with the rest of the staff told me to push, I trusted what they had to say and did what I could in the midst of those insane circumstances.

“Push, Curly, push!” (although I have to admit they did use my real name).

Easier said than done—I could barely concentrate on any breathing in the midst of the mayhem
and the sheer volume of everyone’s yelling. In addition, beyond the pain of each intense contraction, pushing without their aid hurt even more. All I remember is thinking that there was no other way but through this, and I gave what I had. Thankfully, even with what I was able to give to all of those faces looking down at me, things did move quickly and within a few minutes I pushed out the baby’s bottom and legs---this felt gigantic—so much so, that by the time I got to her head, it felt like a relief in comparison.

I remember hearing them saying, “You did it!” at which point I glanced down and saw them hold up my blue little baby as the NICU staff rushed her over to a table. Apparently, at this point one of the nurses (the same one who got in my girlfriend’s face and ordered her to yell at me to push) threw up her hands and yelled, “Mothers rock!” I remember hearing my friend say to me,

“You did it, Curly! Oh my gosh, you just delivered a breech baby!”

I remember just feeling emotionally stunned/shell-shocked, as I was trying to process all that had just happened within a matter of minutes. It was hardly the delivery I had envisioned, but I was done with the pain, and the baby was here. . . Little had I known until that point that Coco had been in distress, which is why they made the decision to get her out quickly with a vaginal birth. (Apparently they would not have had me try this if she had been my first baby). When she first came out she received an Apgar score of 4, then later 6, then later 10. The cord had been wrapped around her neck on the descent.

Later when I found out I had barely torn and would not need stitches, it was the first time in my life (particularly when I understood the risks to the baby) that I was grateful, wholeheartedly grateful that I had given birth to Bitty posterior. He had literally paved the way for his little sister.

Soon, Pearly-Q was able to bring the baby over to me. She was so cute and alert, and in my mind did not look as I had fully expected based on her previous ultrasounds. Rather, she looked more like a mixture of all three of her older siblings. She was so alert and sweet as she looked up at me in wondering silence. I, along with everyone else, was still coming down off the adrenaline rush of everything that had just taken place, but I was trying to absorb this moment as well.
Since that time, I have been so grateful that I did a natural birth. Besides enjoying the most fantastic recovery, one which allowed me to get up bathe the baby just a couple of hours later, I have also felt invigorated by the experience. Rather than facing a debilitating fear of spinal anesthesia and all its risks for me, I instead feel like I conquered something incredible. Not only did I give birth naturally, but I pushed her out bum-first, for pete’s sakes. I did it! Sure, it hurt like nobody’s business there in those last 15 minutes, but I feel like I managed the pain incredibly well up to that point, and I survived difficult circumstances only to have an immediate recovery afterwards. I faced something I didn’t think I could do, and went even beyond those expectations. I never have to worry again about the unknown in childbirth, as I feel I have now traversed that path. Beyond that, I feel like it has resolved so many of the feelings I had about my first birth experience, especially in light of the fact that it actually aided in the safe delivery of Coco.

So, there is Coco’s birth. . . Phew! Lots to say, but now it is recorded. And, if you’re still reading up to this point, I know you are a woman who has already given birth. Nuff’ said, right?


Breathing through a contraction:

Pearly-Q offers his loving assistance. What a great husband.

My wonderful girlfriend who came to help:

Sweet success:

Joy and Thanksgiving

After a long of week of trying to encourage her own entrance into this world, Baby Coco joined us this past Friday at 8:28 p.m. The much anticipated natural labor went pretty smoothly until she threw us some twists and turns—literally. On the way out Coco decided last minute that she’d like to enter breech (bottom first). Like I said, this baby has always liked to move!

I’m planning on writing more about my memories of the labor and birth, if anything for my own benefit later. Even though people are horrified when I tell them about the breech part, the whole experience was actually incredible. My labor was great and I’m so glad that I did it unmedicated—for a whole myriad of reasons. If anything, it has completely resolved the unsettled feelings I had about the difficulties I faced with Bitty’s birth, and has made me realize that I am a stronger person than I had once thought. Besides that I have been astounded by how much better my recovery has been. I was able to actually bathe the baby that very night—something I’ve never been able to do with my other babies because I was so zonked afterwards.

Enjoy the pics. (You’ll all thank me, by the way, that I refused Father Pearl’s request to include pictures of the afterbirth/placenta. While some of us who have had kids before might find that fascinating, I thought I’d spare those of you who haven’t made that journey yet. I don’t want anyone puking as a result of reading my blog).

Fortunately for me, I had a good friend accompany me at the birth, which means Pearl and I actually got some pictures together.

Sisters--Coco and the Sass.

This picture absolutely kills me:

Bitty and Baby:

Big-O warms up to baby

Baby #4's Pregnancy

Note: The baby was born two days ago on the 20th at 8:28 p.m. However, I wrote this post several days before and wanted to share it before we post all the details about the birth along with pictures here soon---

I have long disallowed myself the opportunity of actually sitting down to write about my experiences in the last while. It seems like it’s not a luxury I can always afford myself since there has been so much to prepare and get ready in anticipation of this next baby’s birth. Even though I’m coming up to the end of this baby’s time in utero, I can still hardly believe that we’re about to have another child.

Today Bitty asked with desperation if he could look at some pictures of himself when he was a baby. After getting his practicing done, I obliged, rummaging through the pathetically organized stack of photographs in our chest in the family room. I came across not only pictures of him, but Big-O and Sassy as infants as well. So adorable, and so tiny! I know I’m literally around the corner from holding another one (even one of my own) in my arms again, and yet I can hardly believe it. It seems like sometimes I’m just barely getting a hold upon how to take care of the three kids I have—keeping up with their activities, figuring out what kind of parenting/discipline they need, and juggling individual time with each of them. How I’m going to balance everything with a newborn, I simply have no idea. I think I’m really just proceeding forward on not much more than faith.

Having said all that, I must say that I have been amazed by how much more connected I have felt to this baby than I have the others in the past. I know a large measure of it has been a result of all the extra tests & ultrasounds we’ve had as a result of my extra amniotic fluid and her enlarged bowel. They’ve given us some amazing looks at her, and already I can see her resemblance to Sassy. She has fat cheeks, full lips, and a lot of hair. With all the extra fluid, she moves A TON! I am not remotely joking when I say that if feels like she often rearranges my insides. The evenings are by far her most active period, where I can not only feel her kicking under my ribs on my right side (she’s given me an internal bruise there), but I can at the same time feel her moving around down in my crotch, as well as other parts of my belly. Sometimes during these evenings, I am amazed at how much my belly resembles moving jello, so much so that a person can literally see it from across the room. She reacts to loud noises a lot. (I literally jumped out of my seat when we went to watch Star Trek). I’ve noticed that she really responds to voices, particularly Dad’s as we talk after putting the kids down for bed. Already, I feel like I have a sense of her bright personality, and I am excited to become better acquainted with her.

In talking to the Pearl (a.k.a. Dad) recently, I commented to him that it is crazy to think that this child that we hardly know will soon become yet another center of our universe, a child with whom we are desperately in love and eager to love and protect. I look at how much I adore my kids and it’s amazing to think how the human heart is capable of loving each additional child with just as much fervor. I feel so extremely blessed to be able to become a mother again, and hope that somehow I will be able to ably meet the challenges inherent to having four children ages five and under. Sometimes I feel so weak and inadequate. In truth, I have never appreciated the grace of the Savior more than in my mothering. I simply could never do this with Him and the reassurance that I can be forgiven for all my crazy mistakes I make as a wife and mother--on what literally feels like an hourly basis.

My Darling Kindergartner

Ever since I remembered my mother sobbing on the front porch on my first day of kindergarten, I think I’ve realized that it is indeed an important milestone. After all, through the years she’s talked about what it felt like to watch each one of us make that first crucial step in our lives. As a result, I’ve wondered with great anticipation what it would be like sending the Big-O to school for the first time. I thought about the day beforehand a great deal. (Ironically, the morning of his first day we were late and didn’t get to savor the moment as much as we’d like). However, each day of dropping him off at school since has made me think about this stage of his development over and over again. His dad and I both have the same emotional response each time we drop him off, watching him roll his little Buzz Lightyear backpack over to the kindergarten playground, with a tangible spring in his step, and a big smile on his face while he turns and waves back at us several times. It is the most bittersweet emotion I have ever felt. I am so thrilled for him, for how much he adores school, knowing how much this expanding his world and his mind which he so enjoys feeling grow. In the same moment, my heart feels torn apart by the realization that his baby/toddlerhood is truly over, and there’s much that will never be the same again. The thought ties my stomach up in knots even now.

It’s become a joke in our house that I constantly order the kids to “Stop growing!” They always laugh and insist that they will keep growing, regardless of what I say. With my personality being the way it is, I feel despair that there truly is nothing I can do about it. In moments like these, I try to remember some advice that Susan (a dear friend from the canyon) shared with me. She has four grown children of her own, and she said that she and Don just tried to focus on enjoying every stage that their kids were in to its fullest. If their children were small, they would enjoy that stage to the utmost. As their kids aged, they sought to suck the marrow out of each emerging phase of their development.

There are times that I wish my difficulties in raising the three kids when they were really little didn’t get in the way of me doing just what she talked about. Sometimes I think I allowed part of it to pass me by in the midst of my desperation and self-pity, and I mourn the loss of that. At the same time, I know I’ve had some incredible moments with all of them in their early years, and I try to now focus on the joy of the present moment. Much of that with my cute kindergartner has been priceless. I have to record some of those choice moments:

• I’ve LOVED witnessing his breakneck progress in learning to read. He gets so excited, that he literally bounces up and down and giggles as he puts letters and sounds together into something meaningful. It reminds me so much of how much I loved (and vividly remember to this day) learning to read


• He doggedly learned to tie his own shoes, even before his cast came off his broken arm.


• He lost his first tooth last week, and couldn’t wait for the tooth fairy to bring him a book


• He’s happily learned how to empty out the dishwasher and do the dishes, as well as vacuum. It gives him such a sense of confidence, and I cannot believe what an enormous help he is at only 5 ½.


• Yesterday when I picked him up from school he immediately announced, “Guess what, Mom! I saw my friend Eli was kissed by a girl! I’m real. It’s true. She kissed him on the nose! Hee-hee-hee-hee.” Oh, boy.