Twinkles

Violin performance #2 for William was in March at a nursing home. He has improved from just "tukka, tukka, stop, stop" bow on open A to playing all of "Twinkle" with the same bowing. He was pretty rough at it at this point and was much more nervous for this performance than the last. He did agree to play after I bribed him with a double scoop ice cream cone and his teacher talked to him about saying a prayer for comfort when he is nervous (Yeah, I felt like mother of the year for not being the one to offer that suggestion). 

She assured him that he could stop playing if he needed to, that they would just take it one note at a time. (Side note: I have been so impressed and pleased with Hailey. She has an incredible gift for teaching violin and teaching children.) In the end, William managed to make it through the whole song. He told me it was because he didn't look at any of "the old people". Funny boy.

 We stopped at Farr's Ice Cream shop after the performance with the rest of the students and parents from the studio. And let me tell you, he most certainly enjoyed his double scoop waffle cone. His ice cream choices? Double chocolate Keebler fudge and Lime Rickey. Funny, funny boy.

The Best

Cuddling with baby like this is hands down my favorite part about having a newborn. Love it. Love, love, love it.

Samuel Kevin: The Arrival: Epilogue

My time at the hospital after Samuel's birth was, um, unique. Just 12 hours after he was born I checked my e-mail and found a request from our real estate agent to show our house on Saturday.

We had made the decision to stop all showings for at least a month and proceeded to let the agent know this.

The return e-mail was jaw dropping. The prospective buyers loved the house and already had an offer written. They wanted to know if they could see it that night, before I brought the baby home, in hopes that would make it easier on us.

So Samuel and I spent Thursday alone in the hospital while Brandon took care of the kids and busted out an incredible cleaning job on the house. We stopped counting after about 20, but if we had to take a guess this was probably our 35th showing. Brandon was better than he ever wanted to be at getting the house "show ready".

I don't remember detail for detail from here on out and they aren't particularly interesting or important.

Time passed, we did a bit of negotiating and finally, after almost 5 very long months, our house was under contract.

That's when I cried.

Samuel Kevin: The Arrival: Conclusion

7:30pm - The epidural was in.

8:00pm - Pitocin was started. The nurse asked frequently what my pain level was. It was her goal to keep me comfortable, even though it was quite out of her hands.

As the pitocin kicked in I could sense a patch on my left side that was not numb. I explained to the nurse. The epi god was in a c-section. He would be out in about an hour and would set me up with my magic button and increase my dose. In the meantime, I was comfortable, right?

"Well, yes, currently comfortable, but any increase in intensity would do away with any comfort."

"You should be good for the next hour and then we'll get the anesthesiologist in here."

She had no idea how fast my labors are. An hour on pitocin could bring us a baby (and it basically did).

Contractions became more frequent and intense and my left side made me very aware of this.

I tried to be brave. I tried to breathe. Whoever thinks that breathing through the contractions makes them anymore bearable must never have given birth.

I recall the anesthesiologist finally coming in a couple of times to give me an extra shot and my right side getting increasingly numb. I knew by this point that it was a "bad" epidural and the pain wasn't going away until our little guy was born.

I remember looking up at Brandon and seeing the extreme love in his eyes, even in the midst of the helplessness that I could also very much sense.

The nurses were desperate to help me. "What can we do? What do you need?"

"I don't know," was all I could reply, as I also reassured them that they were awesome and their concern was enough.

The last few minutes before Samuel's birth were excruciating. I was so numb everywhere besides the patch on my left side (that was FAR from numb) that I couldn't even feel the baby descending so I had no idea how close I was to the end. Even as they announced a "9++!!!" and called in my midwife I was sure that the agony was never going to end.

It was all I could do to muster the energy to push. One push and he was crowning.

"Here he comes! There's lots of hair!"

Another push and then,

"His heart rate is dropping. Give me one more big push. We need to get him out."

9:40- One more big push and my little guy was here and healthy and (as cliche as it might be) worth everything.

 When I reflect on my experiences with pregnancy and childbirth I believe that the miracle of it all is that if I knew 100% what I was going to go through for each of my children I would still do it. Again. And again. And again.

 Every bit of nausea, fatigue, pain, discomfort, sleepless nights, heartburn, waddling ... every pound gained, every cry, every worry -- it is all worth that moment when my sweet miracle is placed in my arms for the first time. A miracle entrusted to me by my Heavenly Father, a precious spirit given to Brandon and I to bless and enrich our lives, even as we strive to do the same for them.

May I always be worthy of the miracle that is you, Samuel Kevin. And may you always know how incredibly loved you are.

Samuel Kevin: The Arrival: Part Deux

Brandon and I arrived at the hospital half expecting to be sent home or at least expecting to convince them they should admit me. This was the only time we've ever made the decision on our own to go to the hospital. With my other three  deliveries I was sent to L&D from a routine appointment so they already had my name down and a room waiting.

Once in L&D we were sent to triage, again a first for me. The secretary told us they were super busy so I was actually a little nervous that this was going to be my "room" because they didn't have any others. Yeah, like I said, I had never gone through the triage process and was wrong, thank goodness. Monitors were hooked up, confirmed I was having contractions, blood pressure checked and looked good, confirmed that I was indeed at 6 cm, and waited to hear from the CNM.

After she called I was given the option to go and labor at home (are you kidding me?!) or be admitted and start on pitocin. I chose to be admitted and agreed to pitocin if they would please make sure my epidural was in and working before they started the pit.

Famous last words, my friends. Famous last words.

Samuel Kevin: The Arrival: Part One

Where does my labor story even begin, I wonder?

The pre-term labor scares have already been documented. So, we move onto February 21st, I suppose. The day I had a 1pm midwife appointment. The appointment that I arrived at and was told it would be an hour wait because she was in a delivery. The wait stretched on to three hours. Why did I stay? Because at my appointment the week before I was dilated to a 4+ and 80% effaced. As I sat at this appointment contractions were coming about 5 minutes apart. They weren't painful  or increasing in intensity, but I was hopeful. I was hopeful that it would be the day when I could make an unknown known and my baby would be born. After a, dare I admit, rather relaxing wait of 3 (or was it 4?) hours my midwife was called to yet another delivery. I explained my circumstances and another doctor in the clinic agreed to see me only to discover that I hadn't made any progress since the week before.

I drove home and cried.

I trudged through the next week, which probably consisted of house showings and contractions and crying kids and carpools and piano and who knows what else. My mind has a tendency to make my memories of hard times quite foggy. All I know is, a week passed.

February 28th.

Enter my next appointment at 6:30pm. To my pleasant surprise I was dilated to a "5-6". To my disappointment she did not send me to the hospital. She sent me home with instructions to head to the hospital at any sign of active labor. I stopped at the hospital on my way home for a quick blood test, due to high blood pressure and then went home in decent spirits, although rather nervous for when this little guy would decide to make his arrival and how much warning he would give me.

February 29th.

We're all nervous. My parents, Brandon, me, friends, you name the person and there is a pretty good chance he/she was pacing the floors wondering what the outcome of this baby situation was going to be. 

As the day went on contractions were present but still not intense. Never intense. Never painful. Pressure was there, but I was at a 0 station, why wouldn't there be pressure?  I took a nap that afternoon and was woken up by a "good" contraction. I had one or two more and then they subsided.  My mom had advised me that after one contraction, just one that was even remotely strong, I should head to the hospital. I called her. She reiterated her advice. I called Brandon and he agreed that perhaps it was time.

Part of me wanted to wait to miss the February 29th birthday. I wanted to just let me body do it's thing and truly go into labor on its own. I did not, however, want to have this baby at home, or in the car, or in an elevator. I had visions of waking up in the middle of the night to truly painful contractions or my water breaking and only having a matter of minutes to arrange something for our other three kids before making the 25 minute drive to the hospital. Nope, there would be no waiting. It was time to go. This was something I needed to be in control of.

Brandon came home an hour early from work. We packed all our bags and drove the kids to a friend's house to spend the night.

February

Our February was completely consumed with keeping the baby in for the first half and then waiting for him to come out for the second half. Well, almost completely, we also had to endure the stress of continuing to show our house 3-5 times a week. Oh, and Brandon was in a car accident that left our van in the shop for two weeks.

February was a hard month. February, as Joseph B. Wirthlin would put it, was a Friday. With "our world littered about in pieces" all we could do was hang on to the small thread of promise that Sunday would come.

And it did.

Our "Sunday" came in a tiny 7 pound 1 ounce package on a blizzardy February 29th night. With the sound of that beautiful first cry my Sunday came.

Each of us will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again. We will all have our Fridays.

But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come.

No matter our desperation, no matter our grief, in this life or the next, Sunday will come.

-Joseph B. Wirthlin