I'm just too tired

I've had every intention of updating my blog. I've just gotten behind in everything and I can't seem to pick up the slack. I'm tired. I'm usually so productive at night. After my kids go to bed, I usually clean up the front of the house, or vacuum, or do laundry, or watch TV, or update my blog, or a combination of some or all of those things, but these days, I'm lucky if I even brush my teeth before I fall asleep. And my scripture reading is slacking big time, too. As much as I've loved the addition of Skip to our lives, having a new baby--even as good a baby as he--has seemed to unravel things a bit. And like I said, I'm just tired. I've been wanting to tell you about how I got mastitis for the first time; and about how Brian was out of town for our Valentines date so I was accompanied by Camp instead;

and about how Brian ran his first Ultra marathon (which was 31 miles of trails!!); and about how we enjoyed another wonderful visit with Becky who came to meet Skip and be here for his Blessing; and about how I've been looking forward to Brian's and my 10 year wedding anniversary forever and when it finally came, it was awful; and about how good the kids are with Skip; and about how I got to visit with Brooke for a couple hours and see in person just how darling Addison is; and about how I'm finally going to make an appointment with the doctor so that he can prescribe me some ultra-strength antiperspirant; and probably about other things. The problem is, though--I'm just too tired. But don't you worry. As soon as I've gotten tons of sleep and my kitchen floor is clean again, I'll tell you all about it.

Just More Pictures

Ever wanted to join a gang?

You may or may not know my little sister, Laura. And you may or may not know her husband John. But they are pretty dang cool and pretty dang talented--more cool and talented than I could ever hope to be. And they just released a song on Itunes--and are currently raising money to produce the video to go with it. Now granted, this is my sister and brother-in-law we're talking about here, but I'm telling you--they've got some mad skills. If you are interested in deciding for yourself or would like to learn more about their project, I encourage you to go here. Oh, and to hear their song Good At Being Bad in full, go to Laura's blog and click on the widget on the right sidebar. And then I'm hoping you will think I am really cool by association. Go on. Give it a whirl.

The Details

So here's how it went down.

My mom came in last Monday and was wonderful enough to let Brian and me leave to Eugene on Tuesday evening, instead of having to leave early in the morning on Wednesday in order to make it to the hospital by 8 a.m. The drive there was wonderful all on its own. We had good conversation--or at least I thought it was good conversation. Hmmm...Brian may have hated it, actually. It was one of those conversations where you talk about feelings and love and stuff. Yep. Brian probably hated it, alright. But he was kind, and he participated, and he made me feel like he really loves me. And I told him how much I love him. And I was a really happy wife. And I think Brian was happy, too, despite all the mushy, gushy talk. But anyway...

We went to Olive Garden for dinner. It had been too long. We both ordered the Asiago Ravioli (I think that's what it was called) and man, it was good. I love that stuff. And I swear I could eat three bowls of Olive Garden salad all by myself. I love it.

After dinner, we headed to Jen and Tim's to spend the night. Thank goodness for Jen and Tim, and thank goodness for their guest bedroom. They had gotten us this amazing chocolate cake (see picture in previous post) that had all these different layers of chocolaty, good stuff and we all sat around and laughed and ate cake and watched Youtube videos of people popping really big zits. Classy, I know. And despite my best efforts to get my body to start laboring on it's own (I even had my first acupuncture session earlier that day), I fell asleep without a single pain.

I've got to admit I was feeling quite nervous about the whole no-pain-med thing when we arrived at the hospital the next morning. I'd never been nervous before. I've always loved my labor/delivery experiences. And there was no getting comfortable in my room and settling into the whole idea either. Within minutes of arriving at my room, my doctor checked me and determined that I would indeed need to be put on Pitocin right after he broke my water. He broke my water at about 8:40 a.m. and a few minutes later, I was given my first dose of Pitocin. The nurse then upped my dosage every 15 minutes thereafter. By around 10 a.m my contractions were becoming painful and I was gearing up for the big ones. With the advice you all had given me, my game plan was this: rellllaaaaxxxxx, find a good position, stay focused, and do the low groaning thing that had helped me through the hard contractions of my previous labors before I was given anesthetics. (Lynn Winona was the one to first tell me about the low groaning thing when I was about to be induced with Camp. She pointed out to me that the line the cattle are lowing in Away in a Manger refers to the low groaning type sound that cows make when they are in labor. So cool.) So anyway...as the pain increased, I would close my eyes through each contraction and envision my groans traveling along a heart-monitor type line. As long as I kept it low, it would continue along the line without spiking. Weird, I know, but for some reason it really helped. Brian rubbed and put pressure on my lower back through each contraction and that really helped, too. By 11:37 a.m. I was ready to push. My doctor reminded me to take a deep breath at the start of each contraction and then hold it while pushing for around 5 seconds. Each contraction allowed me around 3 pushes, and by the end of the first contraction, my doctor told me the baby would be born on the next one. He was right. Skippy was born at 8 pounds 2 ounces and 20 inches long at 11:39 a.m.
So now I know what it's like to "go natural." And guess what? For me, it wasn't nearly as bad as I had feared--probably because it happened so quickly. It certainly would have been a different story had I been in labor for longer. But the worst contractions I experienced this time without any pain meds were only maybe slightly more painful than those I experienced in previous labors right before I was given the epidural or intrathecal (sp?). It was feeling the pushing that really made the difference, but because that went by quickly, it was manageable, too.
So anyway...thank you all so much for your advice and encouragement. I really appreciate it. My experience really could not have been better. It went a little too well, I'm afraid. Being reminded of how amazing the whole process is and how fun it is to have a newborn has only made me think that maybe we're not done. All I need is a few months, though, I'm sure.
For now, I am loving life and loving my little Skip. He's absolutely perfect.

My Son, Skip

Well, I did it. And here he is. Meet my son, Skip.











The details to follow...

Pink Bunny Pajamas

I don't know about all of you, but watching A Christmas Story has been one of our family's Christmas-season traditions. Man, what a classic. But this year, I've wondered at my possible poor judgment in allowing this tradition to be so. Maybe it's his age, maybe it's his being a boy, or maybe it's just his being Camp, but Camp always seems to be the one to pick up the aspects of movies that I'd rather he just leave alone.
This year (or I guess it was last year) was the year that Camp figured out what the F-word is. The F dash dash dash word. In previous years, he didn't understand that part, but this year he managed to piece together little morsels of experience and knowledge with the car trouble part of the movie. He let me know that he now understood what word was being implied. I was thrilled, of course. Thankfully, (and miraculously) he has not used that word yet. And do me a favor in joining me in constant prayers that he never does. I've had a hard enough time adjusting to a husband who says damn and hell all the time. I couldn't survive a son who used the f-bomb.

And that's not the worst of it. The other day while we were at story time at the library, there was apparently a little girl who was kinda whining in an annoying voice. (What am I talking about? Is whining ever NOT annoying?) And so Camp said to her: "You better stop that crying or I'm going to give you something to cry about!" Despite the fact that I was sitting close by, I was oblivious to the situation. Lucky for me (please understand my sarcasm) another mother took the opportunity to kinda freak out and scold Camp. At that point, I asked what had happened and she recited the appalling thing Camp had just said to the little girl (who was incidentally not this woman's daughter) in response to the little girl's crying. I was embarrassed and ashamed and felt completely overwhelmed at yet another situation involving my children's misbehavior--especially because I had been totally unaware of any interaction at all between Camp and this little girl. I called Camp over to me and asked why on earth he had said that to the little girl. He had no good answer, and I insisted he go and apologize. Being that Camp and the other little boys had already been scolded several times (by me and by others) for playing too roughly in the library, my emotional energy tank was in the red zone. Therefore, I had the kids gather up their things and we promptly left. On our way outside, I desperately asked Camp where he had learned to say something like that (his comment to the little girl) and he frankly replied, "A Christmas Story." And then he rehearsed to me the part of the movie where the family is eating and Randy is whining about having to eat his dinner. Camp was only reciting the line Randy's dad gave him in that situation. At that point--despite my still being disappointed at Camp's having said the WRONG thing at the WRONG time--I must say, I was a little relieved. Camp's comment really hadn't been out of malice--just a result of poor judgment. He simply had heard the girl's whining, been reminded of Randy and his potatoes, and completed the scenario the way he had seen it in the movie. My anger and frustration diminishing, I explained to Camp the inappropriateness of his action and reflected a few moments on how annoying Randy really was at that dinner table. :)

Finally, the other day, I walked into the kitchen in the middle of a conversation my kids were having while they were at the counter with a snack. I was just in time to hear Janey say to Camp, "I triple-dog-dare you to jump on Mom's bed when it's made!" Yikes. That's the scariest dare she could come up with? I need help. Seriously. What have I done to my kids?

Anyway, I might just be rethinking our Christmas move list next year. I don't even want to think about what my kids will soon be acting out from Home Alone. Heaven help me.