Louise Mae (part 2 - Birth Story)

(As you may notice, this says Part 2- that's because Louise's story started a year and a half ago, when we felt prompted that I should become pregnant. If you'd like to read that part of the story- scroll down to the post before this one. This post is the story of her birth.)

Louise is one month old, so here is her birth story.

Months before Louise was born, I had decided to try and have her without drugs, and had read a lot about pain free, gentle, natural births. I also knew so many women with beautiful, gentle birth stories. I was (and am!) convinced that I had PTSD from the trauma of Grey and Micah's emergency c-section and that the fear and expectation of pain and trauma from that led me to an extra long and painful birth with August. My labor with him constantly shut-down, my contractions were terrible but I made no progress, I pushed for THREE HOURS. I am sure that my own fear and expectations made my body react in negative ways when I labored with him.

So I spent most of my pregnancy with Louise trying to rid myself of the fear of that happening again and telling myself that birth was natural, beautiful- a gift to women and not a punishment. So when I began having contractions on Wednesday morning, I felt very hopeful. They were uncomfortable, but not painful. They mostly made me feel like I was constipated. I wondered if they were contractions at all, or just stomach cramps - since everyone in my house had a stomach bug! The boys were feeling poorly too, so we snuggled and watched A Muppet Christmas Carol and I tried not to time my "stomach cramps," since I'd been timing contractions for weeks and getting my hopes up only to have them dashed.
At about 11 am, I asked to have some private time in my room. I went into my bed and listened to Iron and Wine and practiced breathing. I started timing my contractions and was disappointed that they were still fairly irregular 5-7 minutes apart. But they were also becoming very strong. I texted Travis at work and asked him to come home. I said, "I'm probably not really in labor, but I do feel very poorly. I wish you'd come home and give me a blessing either way."
He got home around 12:30 and my contractions STILL were only 5-7 minutes apart, it even seemed like they were slowing down! I was disappointed and asked him to just lie down with me for a while. He instantly fell asleep, while I dozed for an hour or so.
(Meanwhile, my wonderful mother and sister Katie were taking care of the boys, so they didn't bother us.) I had stopped timing my contractions again, but when I couldn't sleep through them anymore- I began timing them. There were still some gaps of 5 or 6 minutes between contractions, but most were coming 2-3 minutes apart! Since I still wasn't in pain and they weren't consistent, I was suspicious that my labor hadn't really started. But since I was two days past Louise's due date, I decided we should head to the hospital.
We checked into the hospital at about 4pm. As I signed in, the nurse asked "Would you like to be medicated or unmedicated?"
I said, "I'd like to be unmedicated, but I don't have high hopes that I can do it. I'm not sure I'm in even in labor."
"Is this your first baby?" he asked, "And when is your due date?"
"It's my fourth baby and my due date was two days ago!" I said. Geez! My fourth baby and I don't even know what labor feels like?
They led me into the "unmedicated room," I could still get drugs if I needed them, but this room was equipped with a birthing ball, rocking chair, squat bar, jacuzzi tub and more! I settled into bed while they checked me. I asked not to be told what I was dilated to- only to be told if I was making progress and if it looked like I was "really in labor."
Maybe being two days overdue had made me feel that I would be pregnant forever, but I was convinced that they'd send me home or I would be at the hospital for 20 hours before I delivered- like I was with August.
(However, I did actually overhear my doctor say that I was at 4, which encouraged me. A 4 was progress!)
They checked me, registered me with the hospital, and I was visited by my doctor -who said he was going home for dinner, but wanted to be constantly updated. I needed to be given an antibiotic because I'd tested positive for Group B Strep, so after three nurses failed to get an IV into me- they called down an anesthesiologist to prick my tiny veins. I was still feeling fairly good, my contractions weren't that painful or close (every 4 minutes or so) and I was easily distracted by teasing the anesthesiologist and talking to my nurse about her twin-grandbabies.
I needed to be monitored constantly, because I was having a VBAC, so I stayed in bed watching my contractions being printed out on a chart.
I got the antibiotic at 6, but it needed a double dose to be effective. So I was supposed to take it again at 10pm (4 hours later.)
Then it was quiet for about two hours. Travis and I watched X Files on the iPad until about 8pm. At that time, my contractions had become so uncomfortable that I couldn't pay attention to our show. (Although still only 3 minutes apart). I asked Travis to turn off the iPad and turn on Iron and Wine again. I practiced breathing, reminding myself not to clench up my body when contracting. I held travis' hand and while I contracted I focused all my energy on taking deep breaths and NOT squeezing his hand. I was sure that if I could avoid clenching my teeth and fists, then my body would be relaxed enough that my contractions could do their job.
The nurse asked me (again) if I would like the portable monitors, so I could walk around or rock in the rocking chair. I assured her that I would be staying in bed, where I was comfortable.
"Oh, by the way," she said, as she left the room, "the portable monitor is waterproof. You could get into the tub if you wanted."
WAIT. STOP. I was in the tub by about 8:30, and my contractions picked up in intensity (though not frequency) immediately after I got in. The nurse kept saying, "Well, sometimes they don't NEED to be close together to still do their job."But I was convinced that I wasn't making progress.

Travis, meanwhile, was amazing. The nurse showed him how to apply counter pressure on my back while I contracted. The doctor had also made it extremely clear that if they were unable to consistently monitor the baby, I wouldn't be allowed to remain in the tub. The monitor only picked up Louise's heartbeat when I was leaning back in the tub, but that position was extremely painful when I was contracting. Travis watched me carefully and when a contraction started, he would help pull me forward on to my knees. With one arm, he applied pressure to my back and with his other arm, he held me up while I sagged against him. Then he would help lower me back into the tub. I suspect it was fairly straining to be picking up and setting down a 170 pound person every two minutes.
I also had to get out of the tub five or six times to use the toilet- as my system emptied out. My awesome husband basically carried his wet, naked (pathetic) wife across the bathroom each time and rubbed my back and didn't say mean things about me.
Fortunately for me, I don't think my nurse was a very good listener (to the doctor). As my contractions got more intense and very close together, I found it difficult to move backwards and forwards in between each one. She didn't insist.

It was agreed that I would need to get out of the tub at 10, so they could check my progress and administer the second dose of IV. Somehow, I was still convinced that my labor wasn't progressing. I was so afraid that I would get out of the tub and the nurse would check me and tell me I was only dilated to a 5 or 6.
I kept telling myself, "You just need to do this until 10. Then you'll get out of the tub, and they'll give you drugs." I had labored for so long with August- I knew I couldn't do that with Louise. I was so weak and tired from just the hour and a half of hard laboring I'd done in the tub. As 10 o'clock neared, I began to panic and cry.
"I made mistake. I can't do this. Other women can have their babies like this, but I can't do it." I kept saying, "I need the drugs. When I get out, please give me the drugs. I made a mistake."
It turns out- it WAS painful to have a baby after all! (Duh! Call me naive, but I totally believed all those pain free, drug free childbirth books!)
At 10:05, the nurse told me it was time to move back to the bed.
"I can't," I told her. "I'm too weak. My legs don't work anymore."
She and Travis half-dragged me back to the bed. I curled up on my side as another contraction hit me hard. Travis was trying to towel me off, while the nurse reattached me to the non-mobile monitors. As another contraction came (they were now very close together), I found that I was pushing.
Actually, I didn't even feel like I was pushing- I felt like Louise was pushing herself out!
As the contraction ended, I gasped "I'm pushing!"
I think there was a moment of panic while the nurse checked me! And indeed, I was ready to push!
She called out into the hallway, and several other nurses and doctors rushed in. She paged my doctor- who was at home! He got to the hospital less than 8 minutes after they paged him- but he had missed it!
But I didn't know what was happening at the time. After lying down in the bed, I hadn't opened my eyes a single time. I could vaguely hear the doctors trying to move, adjust, and instruct me- but I tuned everyone out. I was in my own zone and headspace.
The ten minutes while I pushed were the most spiritual minutes of my life. I felt very tied into eternity. As my body strained, I literally felt that all I was was a body pushing. All I had ever been, all I would ever do was push. I had been pushing forever, and I would continue to push forever. I needed someone to say to me, "It's almost over, she's almost here," because I couldn't see the end. I knew I would push for the rest of eternity, because pushing was the only thing that existed. And yet, it also didn't feel like pushing. It felt like pulling. I have a very distinct memory and impression of grasping someone and pulling them through. I believe that spiritually I was pulling Louise through the veil.
But first, I gave up. There were only two moments in those ten minutes when the words of the people in the room got through my haze. The first time was when someone said, "Her head is halfway out! Just a few more good pushes!"
And I thought, "But I can't push anymore. I'm dying." But I felt slightly encouraged and refocused my breath on "breathing my baby down" (as they said in my misleading books.)
Then an instant or eternity later (or perhaps a few minutes?), I heard the doctor say "The baby's heart rate is dropping."
And in my mind, I very clearly heard the spirit say, "It is better for us to pass through sorrow," and I knew that this was the moment of sorrow, and in a minute- I would have my baby in my arms and it would be worth it. I regrasped Louise, and I yanked that girl into mortality with everything I had! It really didn't feel like I was pushing her out of my body, it felt like I was pulling her through deep water, up into my arms. My doctor rushed into the room, just as they set Louise on my chest. I opened my eyes for the first time in 15 minutes and was surprised to see a room full of people.
Louise stayed fairly blue as her lungs were full of amniotic fluid and I was hemorrhaging blood. So I only held my gigantic baby for a few short moments before they rushed her away to towel her off and pump out her lungs a little. In the meantime, my doctor had arrived and he made me deliver my placenta and started stitching me up where I had torn.
After a minute or two, Louise was brought back to me. She instantly lifted her big head up and looked around. The nurses kept saying, "We really need to hear her give one big cry!" But Lu was very calm and didn't give them the satisfaction. After a little while, she latched right on and began nursing.





She was born at 10:20. Only about 6 hours after I got to the hospital, after an hour and a half of hard labor and 15 minutes of pushing.
She was 9 pounds, 1 ounce, 21.5 inches long.

Louise Mae (part 1- pregnancy)

My first public "belly shot," at about 14 weeks.

After August's birth- I was a wreck. I had a rough labor and delivery and difficult recovery, which actually jumpstarted an autoimmune disease in my body. (They are usually brought on by stress or sickness.)
In addition to the undiagnosed disease that I was fighting, I also was suffering from undiagnosed postpartum depression, which made me angry and irritable. I loved all my kids, but I was feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. I was physically and emotionally drained.
I recognized my depression about 6 months after August was born, and was able to address it. And a little over a year after his birth, at the poorest health of my life, I was diagnosed with Celiacs Disease and was able to start healing physically.

So it wasn't until August was about 15 months old that I felt like I had my own body and mind back.

I wanted to have more children eventually, but the idea of having another baby any time soon sent me into a panic. The exhaustion, sickness, strain and pain of pregnancy was terrifying to me, as was the idea that it might take me years to recover from it. And I had two four year olds and an eighteen month old to take care of, too!

We also had just bought a house, so in addition to taking care of me and our kids- Travis was faced with the financial strain of paying a mortgage and paying for lots of new medical bills. So Travis was even less interested in having babies than I was.

In October of 2015, we started listening to General Conference (a two day world-wide broadcast by leaders of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints), and having another baby was not even on our radar at all. We were not pondering or praying about it. We were not looking for inspiration as to whether or not we should try for more kids.

Elder Nelson gave a talk called, A Plea to My Sisters. As he spoke about the importance of women in the fight for good, I felt the spirit very strongly. Then he said, "We need women who have a bedrock understanding of the doctrine of Christ and who will use that understanding to teach and help raise a sin-resistant generation... We need women who have the courage and vision of our Mother Eve."
As he said these words, I felt a very strong spiritual impression.
First, I heard in my mind the words of Mother Eve saying, "It is better for us to pass through sorrow."
And I felt a very strong impression that I needed to begin preparing for another baby- and that it would be difficult and even heartbreaking.

I almost laughed out loud. I was not interested in another baby! God knew this. And if he was trying to convince me that I should have another baby, why would he do it while telling me that this baby would bring me sorrow?

Despite my annoyance at my Heavenly Parents for giving me such direct and unappealing instruction- I had felt the spirit very strongly. I knew what was expected of me. Over the next few days, I began (rather half-heartedly, I admit) to pray that I would feel a desire to be obedient. I did not ask, "Should we have another baby?" (I knew the answer already), instead I prayed - often saying things like, "I don't want another baby now. If I am supposed to have another child, help me feel a desire to do so."

I prayed like this for about three months, and although I didn't realize it at the time, my heart was beginning to soften. I had told Travis of my impression- but since he didn't want another baby yet either, and since he had not received any such prompting, I believe that his prayers concerning the new baby were even more half-hearted than mine. Only occasionally in our prayers together did we mention the fact that we were supposed to be preparing for another baby. And I don't think I told him that this baby had been promised to come with sorrow. 

In January of 2016, I was standing in my kitchen with several other women. One of my friends said, "I think I am ready to start trying for another baby."
"So am I!" I said, surprising myself as I said it. And even more surprising, I realized as I spoke that I meant it. I was still very afraid to have another baby (or more specifically, to be pregnant again), but I finally felt like the difficulty of pregnancy would be worth another child.

Now that I felt a desire to have another baby, Travis and I discussed the possibility again. He was still adamantly against having a baby. He wanted to wait another few years- after our home was a little less chaotic. I urged him to pray about it, and we visited the temple together several times and prayed about the baby. He still did not receive any promptings about the baby. Meanwhile, I started to feel an increasing desire to be obedient. I knew what was expected of me, God had given me time to prepare my heart- and now, I wasn't being obedient. I wasn't following instructions. It made me feel anxious and unhappy. God had answered my prayers- I wanted to obey!
Around this time, I also had the almost constant impression that I couldn't find my baby.
I would wake up in the middle of the night, searching half-awake through my sheets and blankets for the baby that I was sure needed to nurse.
When I buckled kids into the car, I was constantly counting, "Grey, Micah, August, and... where's the baby?" More than once, I rushed into the house, shouting to Travis, "We forgot her inside!" or "We're missing someone!"
Only to find myself standing in the kitchen, realizing that I didn't actually have another baby yet. "Who are we missing?" I asked every day, on walks, at the playground, at the store. I kept feeling that one of my children had wandered off- and yet they were all there.

I knew who we were missing.

After a few weeks of this, I felt like I was going crazy. I wrote out a list of all the things I wanted to discuss with Travis, and we sat down together. (I needed a list, because I knew that I would begin crying and have a hard time making points unless I had all my thoughts written down.)

And so we began. I explained that I felt a desire to be obedient. I explained that God wanted us to have another baby. I told him lots of things that were personal and heartbreaking, and I sobbed through the whole conversation.
But the thing I said most often and empathetically was, "She is waiting. She's waiting and she's anxious. I can feel her waiting, and I want her here with us."

Travis wasn't quite ready to agree to having another baby, but he did agree to pray and ponder whole-heartedly and not half-heartedly.

It's a GIRL!

In April, 6 months after I received the impression to prepare myself for another baby- I was pregnant. It had taken Travis and I each about three months to accept the idea of having another child.

My pregnancy was amazing. It was easy, and I felt good. I was able to hike, travel, take care of the boys, and didn't throw up a single time. I felt so blessed- but I also felt worried.
What was this sorrow that I was supposed to prepare for? If the sorrow didn't lie in my pregnancy, then should I expect it in my daughter?
Would be be disabled? Sickly? Would I lose her in childbirth?
I felt panicked as I tried to remember exactly what I had felt when I was prompted with those words, "It is better for us to pass through sorrow."
But over the months, I also felt peace.
I felt reassured that whatever happened, was supposed to happen. God doesn't make mistakes. And if there was something "wrong," it would be better than if everything was "right." It would be what we needed, what was right for our family and our daughter.
As I attended the temple, prayed, and read my scriptures looking for answers - I realized something.
When Eve tells Adam, "It is better for us to pass through sorrow," she isn't talking about a specific event.
She isn't referring to death, disability, or Cain killing Abel. She is talking about life. About mortality. Everything.
It is better for us to be alive and have families, even if it's hard. It is worth any heartbreak.
And I felt sure that God wasn't promising me a big, huge problem. He was promising me a baby.
And babies are hard. Children come wrapped up in heartbreak, in sickness, in sleepless nights, and broken arms, and angry words, and growing up. And it's all worth it.
The sorrow of having children is worth it, because babies also come with more joy than could be imagined by non-parents.
Maybe God was referring to fear that I felt of pregnancy. I needed to overcome that sorrow.
Maybe he meant the sorrow of wanting to be obedient and not being able to.
Maybe he meant the difficulty and pain of childbirth, or the sleepless nights and acid reflux that we're dealing with now.
Maybe there is something big, lurking around the corner. Maybe there is sickness, death, heartbreak and sorrow waiting to spring on us.
But now that we have Louise, I know that he was right. It is better to pass through sorrow. She is worth it. She is worth the heartache that I've already endured for her- and all the heartache that will come, just as all my boys were and are.
I am grateful that God knew what we needed better than we did. I am grateful that he told us to prepare our hearts and home for Louise, even though we were scared- even though it took a long time to find the desire.
Because by the time she got here, we were all anxiously awaiting her. I don't think we could have lasted much longer.

Due Date!

(A note: If you are not a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, you might be confused by our beliefs about Eve. So let me sum them up.
Unlike most other Christian religions, we don't believe that Eve made a great big mistake in the Garden of Eden all those years ago. We believe she made an important and brave decision.
When God told Eve that she would die if she ate the fruit of the tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil- it wasn't a threat. It was an explanation.
Eating the fruit of the tree wouldn't kill Eve, but it would make her mortal. It would introduce grief, pain, and death into the world- but it would also introduce life. Eve and Adam would be able to bear and raise children.  Eve's decision to become a mother was brave and selfless- she gave up the ease and comfort of a painless and eternal life, and it allowed each of us to be born and live and die.
Likewise, all women are able to follow in Eve's footsteps and bring children into mortality- giving everyone a chance to experience life and gain bodies. If you're interested in reading more about Eve, you can read the scriptural account in Moses 4 & 5 - consider it an "extended edition" of Genesis. Or you can read this article about Eve, which is one of my favorite explanations of our beliefs.)

Thoughts on still being pregnant

The two selfies I've managed to take recently: Trying to make some room for Baby Boy to just come on out (unsuccessful, if you were wondering). // and Micah telling Baby Boy all the fun things they'll do together once he's borned. 

Twice now, I've been SURE it was time to head to the hospital.

The first time was about a week ago. I woke in the morning with a sharp pain in my side. Unlike the dull ache of sore muscles or the weight of my heaving stomach- this pain felt new and horrible and wasn't relieved by shifting positions.

Since I had placental abruption with the boys, I was sure that the pain I felt was the placenta pulling away from the uterus. I lay next to my husband, waiting for him to wake up and comfort me - but eventually I had to get up to pee. On my way back to bed, I felt light-headed.

This is how is started last time, I thought. On my way back from the bathroom- I felt light headed, then started bleeding. I waited for the bleeding.

I lay carefully back down in bed and tried to hold very still. Every time I shifted my weight, I anticipated the slight pop I felt right before I was wheeled off to surgery, the pop of pressure on my pelvic bone and the disconnect of my organs.

I waited. And nothing happened.

I couldn't feel the baby moving, and started to panic. He is always moving. Fifteen minutes went by and he was holding mysteriously, upsettingly still.

Eventually I woke my husband up and we prayed together. The baby started moving, the pain went away, and I got up.

I moved slowly all day, waiting for the blood and the panic and my new boy. But none of those things came, and the next day we were back to business as usual.

It wasn't time yet, but I knew we were close.

Our room is now ready for a baby with a bookshelf stuffed with diapers, burp clothes, and tiny socks, and - even better- a beautiful handmade cradle by my Grandpa. // And the boys and my Mom are trying to help induce labor with some unsuccessful foot-rubs. 

 Yesterday, Travis and I went on our last date (possibly ever). First we had sushi, which was amazing and I stuffed myself far beyond my stomach's capacity. (A note: pregnant women can eat lots of sushi- things with cooked shrimp, crab, and eel are my favorite.) Anyway. First sushi.

Then we went to a nearby park to "briskly walk" laps. I started having immediate constant contractions. I timed them and was delighted that they were coming every 5-15 minutes. Irregular, but frequent. Not too painful, but uncomfortable enough that I hoped they were real.

Then we went to see The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. I had a contraction every 6-7 minutes for the entire thing.

Two hours of very regular, pretty-close contractions.

This was it. When we got home, I topped off the hospital bag with my contacts-case, phone charger, toothbrush, etc. I was ready to settle down and time contractions for another couple hours (maybe get that newborn carseat finally buckled into the car) and then head to the hospital.

And my contractions stopped.

100%

I went to bed, and only woke up twice (due to semi-painful contractions). My "labor" was over more quickly than it began. I did have a dream in which I delivered my baby, and Travis told me that he'd changed his mind about his name.

Needless to say, I woke up pretty annoyed in general.

The boys both have a hand on my bare stomach at.all.times if possible. // and looking at tiny newborn clothes in comparison to my big-boys' clothes probably made me cry. 

I mean, I am not even due yet. Not for over a week and a half. I should be patient. Babies come when they come.

But I feel like I've been pregnant FOR.EV.ER.

With the boys, I didn't know I was pregnant until I was 9 weeks along (3 false pregnancy tests). So I was already two months in when I "started" being pregnant. Add that to the fact that I delivered Grey and Micah a month early - and this pregnancy is THREE MONTHS LONGER than my last pregnancy. It feels three months longer, too.

You might recall that I had a doctor's appointment yesterday- during which I was hoping to get a membrane strip, go immediately into labor, and probably have a baby by now.

But that didn't happen. I showed up at the doctor's office, and the receptionist raised her eyebrows and asked, "What are you doing here?" before I could even tell her my name. (She knows my name. I've been there a lot lately...)

The doctor was not in. My appointment was not yesterday. 

Let's blame pregnancy brain. 

It's actually this afternoon. I took another walk in the park this morning, hoping to start something before my appointment. I bounced on a yoga ball. I ate a lot of chocolate cake and pizza (that probably starts... something, right?)

And I'm having contractions. Sometimes they're even painful. 

But they're infrequent, irregular, and not really different from the contractions I've been having for the last three months. 

Sigh. I know that I probably won't actually have the baby this week. But man, a girl can hope. 

I told the boys that the baby would come around Easter - so now, every day, Micah starts sentences that begin, "When the baby comes on Easter..."

Man. I want this baby by Easter. 

Is that so much to ask?

My big belly as I try to "shake my baby out," as Grey said. // The new favorite game at our house is playing house, which mostly consists of fighting over who gets to be the pregnant Mom and who has to be the Dad.

Nesting

I think I'm nesting.
Suddenly all those things that I've been putting off for days (okay, weeks) seem supremely important.
Every day has a to-do list at least ten items long. (And then additional to-do list for Travis to complete when he gets home.)
I have a list of stores to visit, and each store has a list of specific items to be purchased therein.

I am 37 weeks today.

So I packed a hospital bag. Then I realized there were a bunch of things on my "hospital bag list" that I didn't have. Like a nursing nightgown and extra Chapstick, so more items were added to my "To Buy" lists. (Sorry, honey.)
Freezer meals need to be prepped.
Easter Basket supplies need to be gathered.
Cloth diapers need to be washed.
Dresser drawers need to be reorganized.
Burp clothes, tiny socks, soft-bristle brushes, and all those baby things that didn't end up packed with newborn clothes need to be rooted out and put somewhere handy.

I don't have time to blog, you guys. I'm not sorting through and editing Photo A Day pictures this morning.

I think I need to hang that stack of picture frames sitting in my room. It's super essential that it GET DONE NOW.

Oh. But also, man I'm really tired and hungry. Feel free to drop off a chocolate milkshake or a steak if you're in the neighborhood.
Because in addition to deciding that it's time to tackle all this stuff, I also have a regular family and house to manage and am 37 weeks pregnant. And you guys. My house is a freaking pigsty.
Sweeping and gathering toys is too hard to do. Cleaning supplies are out of the question. And every time I manage to successfully put something away- it's immediately retrieved and scattered by a little blond tornado.
Plus, my Braxton Hicks contractions are getting slightly out of hand. Every time I stand up, sit forward, reach out, or generally move- I seize up. I even started timing them yesterday since they were so frequent. But not quite frequent enough.

Okay, baby. Just wait. Just wait a week and then we will all be ready for you. (Ha!)

Okay. Fine. More ready, at least.

More Pregnant

I keep hearing Samwise's voice saying, "If I take one more step- it will be the furthest from home I've ever been."
Except in this pretend conversation with my favorite hobbit- the words sometimes change to "If I am pregnant for one more day- it will be the longest pregnancy I've ever had."
Today I am 35 weeks and three days pregnant.
When I gave birth to Grey and Micah, I was 35 weeks and two days. This is the longest I've been pregnant.
It's weird thinking that I may have another month of pregnancy- I don't know how to be pregnant for so long.
But it's also crazy that I may only have a few weeks left!
I still am highly unprepared. I keep putting off buying things like diapers. But diapers are a must, aren't they? Sigh. I guess so.
My doctor said something wonderful at my last appointment. In addition to assuring me that my cervix was "super closed, nice and tight" (which is comforting to hear the day before your husband gets on a plane for another country), she also said "We'll try to get this baby out by 38 or 39 weeks."
In addition to other comforting phrases like, "We'll use non-medical inducement, like foot massages and membrane sweeps."
And "I have about a 6% c-section rate."
And "Unless I have wine at dinner, I will be the one to deliver your baby, even if I'm not on call."
Okay, deal. I accept.
I love you, doctor.

My husband says less comforting things, like "If Debbie is your doula then I can just concentrate on filming the best birth video ever! But I won't film your vagina."
Wait. That is not what you need to be concentrating on.

This boy. I love him so much.
Almost every day, Grey and Micah ask when he'll be here for real.
People constantly ask, "Do the boys know what you mean when you tell them a baby is coming?"
Yes.
"But do they reeeealllllly understand what a new brother means?"
Um. Seriously?
I mean, I guess not. Because how could they? Do they comprehend how their lives will be affected by a tiny, squalling child? I doubt it- since they're three. And most adults can't quite comprehend what multitude of changes a new baby will bring.
I've been through it before and I'm still not sure I "reeeealllllly understand" what changes are going to take place.
But the boys know that a baby is coming. And I think they're as excited and ready to meet him as I am.
We call the baby by his name. I still sometimes say it's his "tentative name," but I guess that's pretend. We know what we're going to call him- and we call him by his name all day. Everything Micah does is "To Baby Brother," (except he calls him by his name instead of brother.)
I'm making this playdough house to baby brother.
I'm digging this hole to baby brother.
I'm saving this toy to baby brother.
Grey asks me every day if it's time to go to the hospital and get baby brother borned yet.
They are ready.

Maybe if my stomach wasn't so huge and didn't move around so much- they would have a harder time understanding that a baby was coming.
Speaking of a huge belly: I am down to three shirts. Only three shirts fit me.
(Fit is a generous term that means several inches of my stomach aren't hanging out between my pants' top and shirt hem.) There still is quite frequent, accidental (and not so accidental) belly exposure. I have one pair of yoga pants and one pair of saggy-butted jeans that I can wear "comfortably." The butt of the jeans is excessively saggy, since my belly is hanging SO LOW that the top of the elastic band is below my hips and the top of the actual denim begins several inches below that. This baby is so low, there are actually several inches of my chest- below my breasts and above the beginning of my stomach- where everything is all stretched out (and pulled down by the weight of my belly) and you can actually see my ribs through my skin. My belly is SO HEAVY. It is constantly pulling me forward, down, and off-balance. You can see in the pictures that I'm about 31 weeks when suddenly by belly is extra low instead of high.
I know I'm not as big this pregnancy as last time (duh), but when I say, I'm so tired, I'm so big, or my back hurts like crazy, people are quick to dismiss me.
IMMEDIATELY they respond, You're not that big. You look so cute and tiny. You hardly even look pregnant.
First of all: I do look pregnant. If this is what you think non-pregnant women look like then you really are confused about the human body. I know what they mean, and it's supposed to be a compliment that my face isn't swollen and my legs aren't fat. But it's not really that flattering. Because the truth is: a giant belly still sucks. My body hurts. I am tired. I have no clothes that fit me.
And I'm getting new stretch marks, which seems COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY.
Excuse me, giant, red, itchy stomach - aren't you aware of the fact that you are already riddled with stretch marks? I think you could be making some more use of the one's you've got.
I also didn't expect it to be so sore over my c-section scar as it stretches, too.

35.5 weeks. My doctor wants to start membrane sweeps at 37 weeks. That's a week and a half.
I could have a baby in two and a half weeks, and he'd be full term and perfect.
I'm ready to lie on my stomach again.
As Micah would say, I gotta get ready to baby brother.

My Boys

Despite yesterday's whiney post, I really do love this stage of our life. We have a crazy, beautiful, happy family and I am blessed with four really good men.
Yesterday as we played, I said to Micah, "You are my good boys. You're good boys, right? You're not naughty?"
He raised his eyebrows and asked in a hurt voice, "You're just kidding me, right, Mom?"
I am. I know you're good. You are so good and I am so grateful for you, for your brothers, and for your father. I am blessed and happy.

Thank you to our wonderful friends, who I was able to coerce into taking pictures of us last night - despite the freezing wind and chilly sunshine! I think it was worth the time, but I am a bit biased when it comes to pictures of my family.

Senioritis

Man, you guys. I have reached that point. I am 34 weeks along, and I constantly find myself thinking "just a few more weeks."
If this were my first pregnancy, I would just have a week left.
One week.
I think I have senioritis. I've just given up. I know what job I have after I graduate, I'm pretty sure that this pregnancy has nothing more to offer. Let's just get to the good stuff already. 

Pregnancy is kind of a downhill slope for me. Somehow, I know there are women who do weird things like run marathons while they're 30 weeks pregnant with twins- so this may not apply to everyone, but for me- my pregnancy gets progressively worse, my home becomes increasingly messier, and I become MORE absurdly emotional the further into this I get.
When I wake up in the morning and am 8 months along, there's a pretty good chance that today will be worse than yesterday, and tomorrow will be even worse than today. And that is just not something I'm good at handling.
But after you have a baby, things just get better. Every day is a little better. Your baby sleeps a little longer, your body feels a little stronger, everyone is a little happier. And sure, there are hard days and hours mixed in there - but I like knowing that I'm on the upward climb again.

I keep doing totally inappropriate things, like checking to see my baby's chance of survival if he was born. I keep estimating things, like how long he'd have to be in the NICU if he was just born today. In four more weeks, I will be so full term you wouldn't believe it. Even though, I know, some people stay pregnant long after their due dates.
I think I might freak out if that happens to me.

Kick Counts

"Kick Counts" are something I can't quite wrap my brain around.
For those of you who may not be familiar with the term, kick counts are what you're supposed to do during pregnancy to make sure that your baby is moving enough. You lie down for a while, and count how many times your baby kicks in an hour. I used the internets to look it up, and apparently you want to feel 10 movements every two hours (once you're far enough along, like I am).

That seems pretty straight-forward, right? But my babies are not like that. 
My children don't kick me with a little jab, and then wait a few minutes and kick again.
My babies move.
Nonstop.

I want to remember these little things about pregnancy, so this is what it's like being pregnant with Boy:

He very rarely kicks me, but he never stops moving. Instead of kicks and jabs (which was Grey's specialty during my first pregnancy), this boy is a wiggler, roller, re-adjuster. 
The body parts that I can feel most are elbows and knees, and he doesn't jab me with them- he just moves them. I can always feel him at the top of my uterus (the part of my belly that makes a shelf to set things on), almost like someone's knuckle tracing out shapes against the inside of my belly. It looks like a marble moving slowly under my skin.
He rolls over, pulling his knobby knees across me- flapping out his boney elbows like chicken wings as he readjusts.
I can almost always tell just how he's positioned.
He has a hard head, a solid back, and a pointy little butt- and I love to feel him press them up against my hand. That's what other people always seem most impressed with, too. When I can place their hand on my stomach and say, "Feel how hard it is here, that's him jamming out his little head. Feel across, this is his back and here is his butt sticking out."
I love that I am such a small pregnant-person, but I mostly love it because I get all these little insights into Boy's movement. There's not a lot separating my boy's body from my hand.

Boy gets the hiccups several times a day. It's a funny sensation for me. Almost like a muscle-twitching, but not painful. A bit like tiny, constant bubbles popping.
Sometimes he gets them just 4 or 5 times, and they stop. Sometimes he gets them for an hour at a time. When he has the hiccups for a long time, I can feel him become increasingly more active. He bears the hiccups stoically for a while. Then he starts to wiggle, readjust, turn over, and poke me with his elbows. After a while, it becomes clear that he is frustrated with the hiccups, and he starts taking it out on me. He thrashes, he kicks. My belly distorts itself into strange, lopsided shapes as he pushes and pulls and strains.

They say that babies already have sleep-patterns in the womb.  That when I'm walking and moving, the womb is a big warm cradle and swing, and the baby is rocked to sleep. When I hold still (or sleep) and my belly isn't so tight with muscles moving, the boy has some room to stretch and move.
It makes it easy to feel the baby, since he always moves the most when I'm trying to go to bed. (Stinker!)
But besides that, I think I can tell when he is sleeping and when he's awake based on his movements. Because, like my other sons (who roll, kick, and punch in their sleep) Boy doesn't just curl up into a peaceful ball for a nap. He keeps on moving. When he's awake, as I said, I can feel his little elbows and knees writing on me from inside. I can feel occasional kicks and jabs. I can feel him stretch and his head pokes out on one side of my belly, and his feet poke out on the other.
But when he's asleep, his movements are still constant, but slow. Slowly, he turns and rolls this way. Slowly, he stretches and leans that way.
It feels a bit like everything inside of my body has been replaced by a lumpy, revolving bowling ball. Turning, always turning under my skin.

So I can't do kick counts. Maybe a unceasing rolling, interrupted only by the occasional elbow or hiccup bubble doesn't even count as a kick.

But I've decided I'm not too worried. If I don't feel "10 distinct movements" in a couple of hours, surely "1 constant and unending movement" that lasts all day is just as reassuring. My baby is moving.
And yes. He's moving quite enough. 

Sometimes I am extremely tired.

Comparison shot: Yes. I do think that my belly is a bit smaller this time than it was last time - but I feel like it should be so much smaller. I also feel like that picture is misleading, since I wasn't totally sideways, but my children were hustling me and this is the best we could do. I pretty much walk around with my hand holding my stomach up at all times. Otherwise I can't support myself.

The third trimester is hard.
I'm 31 weeks into my pregnancy (which means I have 9 weeks, or two months left) and I am feeling it. 
I've reached the point in my pregnancy when I can't just bend over willy-nilly.
Things fall on the floor at 9:30 am and I find myself thinking, "Well, I guess that will be there until Travis comes home."
Crackers hit the ground, and I know they'll be ground to crumbs long before they end up in the trash. Sometimes things like my phone fall and I spend a long 30 seconds considering how much I actually want to reach down and get it.
I now need about 5 pillows to support my body in bed, and have to constantly rearrange myself throughout the night. Rolling over is a huge process.
I have been scolded by my doctor for not gaining enough weight (and in fact, losing weight) and having abysmally low iron. But it's practically torture for me to eat, because my stomach is so small and cramped that I feel constantly uncomfortable, most food is unappealing (unless it's Cheerios), and everything gives me such bad heartburn that I feel like I'm having a heart-attack for hours after eating, even with a million Tums and prescription acid medicine.
Let's talk more about heartburn.
It's the. worst.
I wake up in the night, choking on my own painful acid, because even the bland food I choked down is trying to fight its way back up.
If I make the mistake of actually bending down to pick something up within an hour or two of eating, the food so precariously hiding in my stomach rushes immediately to my mouth by the mere force of gravity. 

Even though I am underweight, I've still gained over 15 pounds, and I've gained 100% of that in my breasts and belly. It is a blessing, to some extend, yes. I certainly don't have any extra fast to lose after the baby's born - but the extra weight in only one area strains my back and bends my spine so far forward that it's difficult to stay on my feet without losing balance, or starting to ache almost immediately.
A few days ago, my back was so, so sore that I begged Travis to massage it. I kept insisting, "Harder, use your knuckles, dig in deeper," because I was in so much pain from carrying this big baby around.
The next morning, my back was covered in little bruises! Oops. Maybe he was massaging too hard, but it was such a relief (even just briefly!) to have my sore muscles given some attention.

You guys.
I did not expect this.
I had all these problems with my first pregnancy, yeah. But I was pregnant with twins! Of course my back hurt all the time and I couldn't consume enough calories in a day!
I kind of assumed this pregnancy would be easier, when really, it's pretty much been exactly the same as the first time.

I actually don't mind being pregnant for the most part. Frankly, I have pretty high self-esteem when I'm pregnant, because I am a cute pregnant person. I love, love, love the feeling of having a bony little baby moving inside me (and this baby seems to be all elbows). The sweet dreaming and expectation of my little boy keeps my heart full and happy. And I actually really like the attention and community-love that having a baby brings. People want to stop me at stores and church and ask about my family, encourage and congratulate me, and tell me how beautiful I am. That stuff rocks. I want it all the time.
But pregnancy kicks my body's butt.
On three different occasions in the past two months, I've straight up peed my pants while just standing around with friends and had to go change my clothes.
I just sneezed, (and in one case, coughed) and found myself soaked through in my own urine.
My two-year olds are literally better potty-trained than pregnant-Becky.
Travis and I were able to go on a surprise date last night, and during the time spent at the restaurant (6-8pm) I had to get up and pee five times. Yeah man. I did. Our waitress was probably worried.

The thing is, I know it's not that bad.
There are women who throw up every half an hour for 9 months. Women on IVs. Women who die from the strain of pregnancy.
And women who would do anything and suffer any of these silly inconveniences to be blessed with a healthy baby growing inside their body.
But this week, I'm letting myself feel a little pity for myself.
Especially since my otherwise practically-perfect husband is leaving for a week and a half for a trip to India and I'll be left with my three-year old twins (who, by the way, do not appreciate their mother's decline in energy and interest in carrying them around all day.)

Sigh. 9 more weeks.
Then I'll have a new kind of exhaustion to deal with.
And an extremely cute reminder of why all these pregnancy shenanigans are worth it.

Belly Comparison:

Happy New Year!
In other news:

You ask and I deliver! So far, this pregnancy has been really similar to my twin-pregnancy.  I got (relatively) big quick, I'm not too sick, just heartburn and exhaustion, and I can feel movement all. day. long. (And all night! I hope Baby Boy learns to sleep!)
I think I'm about the same size now at 22 weeks as during my first pregnancy- maybe slightly smaller. Don't you agree?

Great Expectations

Expectant moms are afraid to say that they hope they're having a boy or girl.
I know it.
I know, because I'm afraid to say it.
I'm afraid that if I say it out loud, then it won't happen.
I'm afraid that if it doesn't happen, I'll be disappointed.
If I'm disappointed by the gender of my child, then I'm pretty much a terrible mom, aren't I?

So you can't say it out loud.

With my first pregnancy, I thought I was having twins. I did. I dreamed about twins constantly. I saw how much bigger I was than my other pregnant friends, and I knew. I just knew it. 
But I was afraid to say it out loud.
So, I said it secretly.
People asked when we'd have a baby, and I said, "In 6 months we'll have at least one."
We'd listen to the baby's heartbeat, and I'd ask the midwife to move the doppler around a little, just in case we could pick up another sound in there.
And she'd roll her eyes and say, "I'm sure you're not pregnant with twins."
But I was not reassured.

I used to have dreams about taking twins to the park. I was pushing a double stroller or they were toddling down the street ahead of me. They had chubby little legs and blond curly hair, like old illustrated Gerber babies or the babies in old Golden Books.
The sun was so bright, that everything was almost too white to see. The twins, (usually a boy and a girl), would run away from my across the grass, laughing while birds sung.
I would wake up, and lie in bed - trying to decide if these dreams were being caused by my subconscious trying to alert me to twins or by the 6 bowls of Apple Jacks I ate at one in the morning.
They were extremely nice, non-accurate dreams.

My twins do not look like I imagined. And they are both boys. Usually I can't hear the birds singing at the park, over the screaming (both excited and angry).
But it doesn't matter.
Because there were two big, important things about those dreams that were real:
1. I was going to have twins.
2. It would be dreamy and awesome.

Once again, I have conflicting feelings.
My first pregnancy, I struggled with feeling of unlikeliness. I wasn't going to have twins, because seriously, who even has twins?
No one. It was highly unlikely. I wasn't really pregnant with twins, I told myself, I'm just a paranoid new mom with a suspicion that my pregnancy was bigger and better than everyone else's.

And now, I have new feelings. This pregnancy feels exactly like my other pregnancy, so it's probably a boy- right? And if it were a boy, that would be awesome. It really, really would. Besides already having tons of boy clothes, and boy-raising experience - I'm all about brothers.
I could probably be happy as one of those moms with all boys. The new baby would have big brothers to show him the ropes, to teach him cool things that Mom doesn't want him to learn, to help him and take care of him. To love him and to tease him. Brothers are the best.

But then, whenever I talk about the baby, I find myself saying "she."
I can feel her moving. I wonder what she looks like.
I picture the nursery or the quilt I'm going to make, and my friends- it is pink, yellow, and flowery.
Even Micah only refers to the baby as, "Baby Sister." Seems like he knows something, doesn't it?

And I can't decide. Do I think this baby is a girl because I want a girl? I want a girl because I already have two boys. I want them to have a sister to take care of. To tease and harass, to protect and be gentle with. I want to buy her little patterned knit-tights, and read her books that aren't about trains and pirates.

Or do I want a boy because I'm kind of scared of having a girl? I am. I am afraid of dolls and ballet shoes. I am uncomfortable with flowery aprons and fairy gardens.
I am much more at home with sticks and dirt, and learning to punch imaginary monsters.

And I know, okay? Girls like dirt and punching monsters, too. Boys like dolls and dancing. Yeah, yeah. I know. That doesn't make me feel less nervous.
Because I already know, I can do okay with boys. I know no such thing about girls.

All these conflicting feelings have me feeling quite conflicted.
Do I really think this is a boy? Am I pretending that I think it's a boy so that I won't be disappointed if it is?
Or do I think this is a girl? Am I afraid to think this baby is a girl, in case it isn't?

I mean. Seriously, lady. Calm down. Go get your sons some peanut butter and honey sandwiches.
I know.

What will be, will be. 

And I know that I will not be disappointed with either gender. I really won't. A boy or a girl would be such a treat, a blessing, an adventure, and a delight.
But I can't stop wondering, wishing, hoping, and thinking.
December 2nd we find out.
It can't get here fast enough.