Oops! I Did It Again.

Childbirth.

It's one of those things that opens the floodgates to memories, gratitude, shamelessness, sleeplessness, grouchiness, "holy-crap! This-is-hard!ness," awesomeness, and blissfulness . . . . among other things.

Jacob Doc Peton literally popped into this world at 3:30 pm on October 20th, 2011. He was 6 lbs 10 oz - right on par with a Peton baby. Seriously, I counted them, three and one half pushes and he was here. It was a fast labor. All of mine have been pretty fast, but this one takes first prize.

This was probably about push number 1. I'm so sexy, I don't even know what to do with myself!

It's good he came so fast, because he was under some stress. His cord was pinched, so every time I would have a contraction, his heart beat would slow down to about 15 - 20. It was a haunting sound. We knew we should worry when the nurse started flipping me from side to side and repeatedly calling my Dr and calling for another nurse to come and help her. It was frantic for a little bit. When the Dr rushed in, I was ready to go, so he got out the garbage bag kit and told me to start pushing. Seriously? I had just finished getting my epidural literally minutes before. Good thing, because labor started hurting like a sunuva gun when I called for my epidural. I thought I was going to die.

But then I had to tell myself that ladies did this every day, all over the world, since the beginning of time, and to stop being such a wussy about the pain. Good for those ladies who go for pain. Me? Nope.

You know those mandrake plants on Harry Potter with the squished up faces and if you hear their screams, you will faint or die? Little Jakie looked like a mandrake for the first 48 hours of his life. I have a way better picture, but it has a bit too much of my leg in it, so I won't be showing that one. But this picture gives you some idea.

Who knows what she has been thinking this past week? I got a taste of it today, I think. I had to venture to Target to get some more newborn diapers. I only lost her twice. It was an odd experience for me to venture with the baby and a crazy 3 year old. "Join the club!" is what I hear other mothers with lots of toddlers saying right now.

One of my favorite parts. I loved looking at their faces when they came in the room to meet their baby brother for the first time.

How are we holding up? Pretty good, I'd say. We've been having our feeding issues, which we fully expected because it's just how things work with me and babies and boobies.

I feel like I have to explain myself, so I will. I don't adjust smoothly to new babies and the first 6 weeks or so. I've learned that about myself over the course of the last 14 years and now 4 babies, so I feel as if I've entered this new phase with a healthy attitude about my limits and parameters. It's so liberating and refreshing. But I guess it kind of offends some people. Weird, I know.

First of all, until you've had a sick baby spend a week at Primary Children's Hospital and held her through the night, not knowing if she would make it, please understand our reluctance to have many visitors. Kate had some struggles and spent two bouts in a hospital because of something as simple as a cold. Neal and I decided to get the word out that we don't want any visitors for 6 weeks, especially at the hospital. I understand that some may be offended or feel slighted because of that, but I'm really sorry. We're doing what we feel is best for our family. I won't judge the cabbage-covered-boobie ladies, because we all do what we think is best for our kids and our own mental health (more on cabbage boobies later).

Secondly, feeding is not natural at our house. My babies are small and have little tolerance for weight loss. Three of them have also had jaundice. Jake especially. Let me share with you my experience in feeding all 4 of my kids. . . . . .

*alert ----- you are entering a "too much information" zone. Enter at your own risk.*

I've never been successful with breast feeding. But I should be given an A for effort, that's for sure. Little jaundice babies are sleepy. Sleepy = lazy. Lazy = poor suckers. Poor suckers = no food. No food = littler babies. Littler babies = how the hell do I handle a ginormous engorged boob? Engorgement = pain. Pain + cracked, bleeding nibbles = this sucks. Really. My dang nibbles aren't normal, either. In fact, they are opposite of normal. So bad, that the nurses all say, "Wow. You have a bad case." Thanks.

I spent some time at the lactation clinic at the hospital, which is great, by the way. Super nice nurses with great advice. I, however, drew the line at the suggestion to put cabbage leaves over my breasts to ease the engorgement. It sounded like a halloween costume gone terribly awry. Or an idea straight from Vermont. Anyway, the nurses all kept saying, "Wow. You have a bad case."

Speaking of the nursing support group, yes, it was a room full of boobs. I walked right in and wow. I saw many different shapes and sizes and colors. Big boobs, little boobs, brown boobs, black boobs, white boobs, lesbian boobs. I saw them all, I think. And they saw mine (oh man, I just cursed my blog for google search results).

I had yet to try a pump. I have a terrible relationship with pumps. Terrible. They don't work on me. The just skin my nibbles and add extra iron to the milk in the form of blood. I've been known to speak in hyperbole at times, but in this case, I am not exaggerating. Just ask my husband and mom and sisters. Actually, don't ask Neal about my nibbles. He would turn red and be terribly awkward. But, the nurses talked me into trying the pump again. Big mistake. I'm ruined.

I've been hand-expressing (true self-expression, by the way. I didn't have to get a tattoo or nose ring or anything like that). So, between letting Jacob "practice" his suck skills, with the added barrier of a nibble shield, feeding him a bottle, changing his diaper and clothes (because he pees through every outfit every time he pees), and then hand expressing, that's 2 hours. Then, it's time to start all over an hour later. Only the nurses told me I needed to feed him every 2 hours, which would mean all I would be doing is sitting in the rocking chair, bruising my breasts (they're bruised by now), and feeding a baby. Possible? Yes. Has it been done before? I'm sure it has been. Practical? No. Oh, and did I mention I have 3 other kids I have to take care of?

We decided to cut our losses and as of this morning, little baby boy is going to be raised on formula, just like his big sisters. Which means I can start smoking and drinking again! Kidding, lest I be judged.

So. . . . . this ordeal I've gone through with every one of my kids means I sit around topless for hours at a time. I don't need the added worry of the doorbell ringing and someone wanting to visit. It stresses me out, I'm sorry. Really, I am.

And, lest I forget to add, it's wonderful to bring a new little person into our family. There is something so peaceful about bringing a new baby home. I love it. Even when I'm so tired in the middle of the night, trying to figure out how the heck his pee shot so far, I still can't help but smile and get all goose-bumpy with love for him.

Welcome to our home, Jacob Doc!

Scheduling Chaos

Sarah pre-op

Sarah post-op

I'm not a fan of chaos. It freaks me out. But sometimes it can't be avoided, so I have to do my best to manage and prepare. The last few weeks have been action-packed with lots of events and responsibilities. Not to mention a crazy, angry nesting instinct I'm suffering with. But, that means the house has been pretty clean lately. Can't complain in that department. However, I sprouted a lovely cold sore two days ago. That is the sure sign to me that I'm worrying too much. It's the borometer of stress. Or herpes. One of the two.

Neal and I celebrated our 15th anniversary on Tuesday, the 11th. Actually, Tuesday was pretty much just a normal day. We went out the Friday before. Neal gave me flowers and took me to a great little restraraunt here in Keizer called Carusso's. It was tasty and a perfect anniversary place.

Then, we went and bought a car seat and some baby stuff. Sexy, I know.

Who would have thought I would be 9 months pregnant at my 15th anniversary? Oh wait, I'm Mormon, so I guess that's not the most uncommon thing in this here culture.

My favorite part of anniversaries is just sitting together and reminiscing/laughing about all of the fun/hard/sad/happy/crazy/awesome things we've experienced together so far. It's fun/scary to look back at how young we were. I wasn't quite 21 yet, and Neal had just turned 23 and was starting fresh at SLCC. Yikes!

Somehow, we managed to scrape together enough credits to both graduate from BYU, and Neal to continue on to law school - all with kids in the mix. A major part of that "somehow" has been living the po life. But that's ok. It's been fun! I wouldn't trade it for the anything. Experience is the spice of life. Especially the tough ones.

Thrown in to the mix of our anniversary week, and the impending birth of a baby, we had a surgery for Sarah on Thursday. She's had a little friend under her chin that started growing when she was in my belly. It's called a thyroglossal duct cyst. We've known about it since she was about 3. Recently, it's started to grow and get noticably bigger and interfere with swallowing. So, it was time to lose the friend.

She did great! They initially told us she would have to stay overnight at the hospital, but things went well, and they let us go home the same day. Other than eating soft foods and having a weak voice and stiff neck, she's doing ok. In fact, she keeps telling Neal and I to leave her alone and stop asking her how she feels and if she hurts. "I'll tell you if I hurt! Just leave me alone please! I'm not a baby. Why are you so worried?"

Why are we so worried? Funny thing to ask to parents when their kid has surgery. She'll understand someday, I'm sure. It's a delicate balancing act to parent/nurture all the ages from newborn to teenager, all under the same roof, at the same time.

Now that the surgery is over, the baby has permission to come anytime. Preferably not until my mom gets here on Wednesday, but for sure he'll be here by Thursday. Can't wait to see my Mom! And the baby too, of course.

Friday night, the BYU football team was at our church for a fireside. They have a tradition started by the coach, my boyfriend, Bronco Mendenhall, of giving spiritual motivation to congregations the night before away games. They were in town to whip OSU on Saturday. Sadly, Sarah couldn't go, so I stayed home with her. But she begged Neal to take her giant BYU flag and get the coach to sign it. He obliged. I know Neal well, and I know it was torture for him to bug someone for an autograph. But, he and Kate waited for an hour after to get the flag signed by Bronco Mendenhall. He seriously scored some good Daddy points for Sarah. Way to go, Dad!

Oh, funniest thing EVER Saturday night. I wish I had it on video. Kate had about 100 plastic animals scattered all over the family room floor. She accidentally stepped on a pokie star wars action figure, so she jumped up to re-plant her non-injured foot, and it landed on a plastic osprey. The pop-corn-popping style dance continued for about 12 more steps until she was able to jump to the sofa. With every hop, she hit deer antlers, a bunny, some horses, and a few more star wars guns before she was finally safe. I laughed so hard I had tears and pee. Kate was crying. But I kept laughing. I'm terrible. But seriously, it was so funny.

Picking

It's harvest time for apples. There is an apple orchard nearby that charges only $8 for a whole bucket of u-pick apples. We picked Honey Crisp apples this year. They are the best little apples I've ever had!

These apples were picked from the tree. I'm not so certain about the other apples Abby contributed to the bucket. I think she added many apples from the ground.

Good thing for un-pregnant bellied friends who can pick up my child to get some good apples.

Speaking of picking, Abby has developed a habit of picking her nose. . . and then eating it. I keep telling her to stop, and how it's really gross. Last week, she sat for a moment contemplating a particularly large booger on her finger. She decided to eat it. I said, "Abby! That is gross! You need to wipe it off!"

She said, "I DID wipe it off! I wiped it on my mouth!"

When Kate was about Abby's age, we were sitting in sacrament meeting. She found herself with a large booger on her finger. Kate was never a booger eater. She sat there, looked at the booger, then her dress, then my dress, then back to her dress, then back to mine, and wiped it all over my dry clean only skirt. The folks in back of us had a good laugh as the scene unfolded.

Last week, we learned that my 93 year old grandpa was in the hospital with a blood clot on his lung and one in his leg. When you hear that about a guy as old as him, you kind of think the worst. Lucky for us, he left the hospital after only a few days, and is doing great. No oxygen, no walker - nothing. What a sweetie. I got to talk to him on the phone and he just warms my heart. He's a hilarious guy who's always smiling. I love his guts.

Anyway, when I found out the news, I was kind of upset. First of all, that my last grandparent might be dying. Second, that I would miss the funeral. I couldn't make the trip to Salt Lake at this stage of pregnancy. When I picked up the girls from school, I told them what was going on. I was crying, of course. Then they started to cry. Sob is more like it. Seriously sobbing. They love their Grandpa Gil. Everyone does. It didn't help that that "Someone Like You" song from Adele was on the radio. It only added to the melancholy. We looked so ridiculous, I had to laugh.

Lucky for us, he's doing great right now. And it was really nice to have a good cry.

Kate missed school on Tuesday because she had a morning barf. Not wanting to risk her barfing at school, I kept her home. Yesterday was early dismissal, and today her school was cancelled because the power was out. Needless to say, she has been a pretty happy kid the last few days. I can't say I blame her. She was spoiled with an icee from Target. She likes to put them in the freezer and get them solid. After attacking it for a while with a spoon, she decided to thaw it out a bit in the microwave. I was reading the paper, and only half paying attention. Pretty soon, I noticed she was in the other room watching tv, and the microwave had been going for a while. I said, "Kate! How long did you put your icee in the microwave for?!"

"Three minutes."

"Holy crap, Kate!"

It was a boiling, syrupy mess all over the microwave. Wild Cherry Icee stains microwaves. Even after all the cleaner and magic eraser work, there are pink spots all inside the microwave. We had a good laugh about that one.