Good Morning Sunshine

When I reach down and pull back the blankets from my sweet baby boy each morning then lift his soft, warm little body up to my face for a kiss he rewards me with a coo and a heart-melting smile.

Have you ever unwrapped a gift and found that it contained exactly what you wanted without your having to ask - so you feel all warm and happy and loved because someone took the time to thoughtfully choose something that was just right for you?

This is what seeing Baby B's face at the start of each day feels like. For a brief yet solid moment I have the feeling of a perfect Christmas morning and the child-like excitement of a trip to Disneyland and unconditional love and all-encompassing joy which just consumes me.

It is like unwrapping a gift of sunshine.

Every. Day.

Reflections

Hello, world.

The snow falls so lightly this morning that it almost appears as a shimmering mist outside my bedroom window. In moments when the sunlight escapes through the clouds and reflects off of the falling snow just right I could swear that the world is being covered in swirling sparkles of glitter.

The morning I slipped and fell on my driveway, the concrete sparkled. I didn't notice this until after I had fallen and was laying there in the gutter in front of my home with my injury, unable to move. Maybe it was the angle from which I could now see the driveway, maybe it was because I had experienced firsthand the ice rink that my street had become. Perhaps the glimmering I saw was simply a result of the shock I was experiencing due to the pain in my leg. Either way, I remember thinking that if I had to lay there for a long time before someone discovered me, that driveway sure was a pretty sight. I started to wonder if maybe there was actually glitter mixed in with the concrete when my neighbor Mr. C., out walking his dog, came to my rescue.

Probably the one thing I have thought about most as I lie here in my bed day after day is the timing of my accident. Because it was 9:00 in the morning during Christmas break, my neighborhood was still asleep. I wonder if Mr. C. took regular walks at this hour or if something may have held him back or pushed him forward so that he left a bit sooner or later than usual. Just as when Coolister broke his ankle last March, I have learned that there are no such thing as coincidences in situations like these.

It was no coincidence that Mr. C. came by when he did and crossed the street to where I lay in order to offer assistance. I have never even met this man before that day, yet he did not hesitate to come to my aid. I have honestly thought in retrospect that we could have named our son after Mr. C because that is how grateful I am for his help that morning. I'm not sure I could ever really express the depth of my gratitude.

It was not a coincidence that this happened during Christmas break, when my older kids could be home tending to the younger ones so that Allen could stay in the hospital with me. When the paramedics showed up, All-a-Boy was downstairs playing a game with the littlest kids so that they would not see me in pain, surrounded by strangers in our front room, carted on a gurney to the ambulance.

It was not a coincidence that our nurse in the emergency room was the daughter of a neighbor who we knew well. It helped me feel at ease to talk about something familiar as I waited to hear what course of action would be taken to repair the dislocation and breaks in my ankle and leg.

It was no coincidence that the on-call surgeon was the same one who operated on Coolister's leg last march. We found him to be a bit arrogant and rude throughout Coolister's ordeal but we saw firsthand how Coolister's ankle healed beyond what we were told was possible and had confidence in the doctor's skills as a surgeon. I also do not think it was a coincidence that the aforementioned surgeon was actually kind and considerate toward me (well, minus the waiting time before surgery) despite his typical reputation.

It was not a coincidence that, when our little boy was born 3 weeks early, he weighed in at 8 pounds, 4 ounces and was perfectly healthy and ready to be here.

When I went for my surgery the day after I had given birth, it was no coincidence that I saw my OB twice (there to perform surgery on others under his care) while waiting for my surgeon to show up. He offered me words of encouragement and support when I was ready to explode with some mixture of anger, fear, frustration and tears. He helped me feel a sense of calm when I needed it.

As Allen waited on me in the hospital, it was no coincidence that our neighbors showed up at our home to provide our family with pizzas for lunch, meals for dinner and treats for whenever they wanted one before anything was coordinated to make this happen. It helped me to know that my family was being watched over while I selfishly kept Allen by my side to help tend to the needs of our newborn baby as the nurses tended to the needs of my post-surgical healing.

There are many more instances of non-coincidences over the past 2 weeks which I'll keep tucked away to be remembered personally by myself and my family, just as they should be.

In all instances, I know this for sure: coincidences did not exist in my world over the last couple of weeks. Tender mercies? Gifts from a loving Heavenly Father? Blessings? Even miracles? Yes to all of them... but no coincidences.

The afternoon as I waited to leave the hospital I was holding my baby boy. His eyes were curious and seemed to be searching mine with that innocence that comes with being new. I reveled in this moment, basking in his newness and the overwhelming happiness of being able to do this again, to mother another sweet newborn babe. As I sat there gazing at him, I noticed my own face reflected in the eyes of my beautiful baby boy - and then he smiled.

Coincidence? I think not.

Big And Little

We ran out of newborn sized diapers the other day...


...but that is where having a big brother who still wears diapers comes in handy.

Lessons Learned From My Christmas 'Break'

Here's what I look at all day, every day.

It has been a looooooong week since my ankle surgery.

Unfortunately, my initial tendencies lately are to feel sorry for myself, sitting around on my bed all day. For those of you who think that sounds wonderful, sitting in bed having others attend to you 24/7, it is pretty overrated; especially for someone like myself who likes being independent.

I will admit that the sweet little bundle of beautiful baby boy who rests to my right and shares my confinement does make it more bearable. But still. For example - I used to have free access to the multitude of snacks in my kitchen without anyone having to know of my terrible treat-eating habits. Now if I want one, I have to ask someone to get it for me. This is all fine and good, except that after asking a couple of times I can't bring myself to ask again. "Could you go get mom another plate of cookies from the freezer downstairs? Oh, and a bowl of ice cream?" It just doesn't seem right. I'm sure this is a good thing... but when I just want a chocolate crinkle cookie from my stash in the downstairs freezer and have to ask someone to bring it to me I can guarantee you my stash is being depleted when I'm not looking. Revealing the places where my stash is hidden really stinks.

I think that I have learned a few wonderful lessons this past week, however. It has been a tough one, but a good one. I have mentioned before that we live in an awesome neighborhood. It's like an extension of the family, really. And when something like a broken ankle and a newborn baby happen in the same week, people really want to help. Usually when I have a baby and someone offers to bring us dinner I will tell them that I appreciate the offer but we are fine and have plenty of capable cooks around. Even if I want to accept their offers of baked goods and delicious meals this just seems like the right thing to do. Just say no, a little voice inside my head whispers to me. You are independent! You can do it all! You don't need any help.

That voice is me, the part of me who wants to do it all. The part of me that wants to show the world that no matter how large our family is or what happens to us, we can handle things ourselves. It has been difficult to admit to, but that voice is wrong. Sometimes, it takes a village to love and support a family during a tough time - and this is one of those times.

Not only do I want to accept any and all offers of food and assistance, I sort of need to. I can't even stand for more than a few minutes at a time and even that about kills me, trying to precariously balance on my good foot while holding my broken ankle off the ground. I'm stuck in bed pretty much all of the time unless I am feeling up to making my way to the couch. Allen is busy being mom AND dad when he's home, tending to the housework and the kiddos, and as soon as the teenagers get home from school he's off to his other job - the one he gets paid to do. (Love that man!)

I'd ask the teenagers to pitch in and make dinner but it seems they are in a constant state of doing homework or tending to my other little needs during the evening (changing diapers, helping littler kids with homework and getting PJs on, helping me make school lunches for the next day, maintaining the house, etc.) not to mention the nights they have their own obligations (church activities, basketball games, practices, etc.).

So I've changed. I have learned to respond to offers of help not with, "I appreciate that, but we're fine" but instead with this new phrase:

"That would be awesome. Thank you."

I am not sure why it is so difficult to let others serve us. When I am asked to help others, I love to do so. I want to be the first in line to bring in a meal for a family with a new baby or whatnot. I love the feeling of being able to fulfill a need for someone. So why do I have a hard time letting others do the same for me? They would not ask to help if they did not want to do so. It has been a good lesson for me to accept these kind acts of service. I am filled with overwhelming gratitude for the wonderful neighbors and friends who have done so much for us in the past week.

To everyone who has sent well-wishes and amazing food and sweet little gifts our way, thank you. You have all helped make this much more bearable and we are so grateful for everything.

A million times, thank you.

Bringing In The New Year With A BANG!

Monday, December 27, 2010.
8:00 a.m.

I am scraping the thin layer of ice from the windows on our car. As usual, I am running late for my 8:00 a.m. doctor's visit. As I slide into the driver's seat my right foot slips a bit on the driveway. It's a slick one this morning, I think to myself.

8:50 a.m.

I am done with my 37 week doctor's visit and making an appointment to come back again next week. He has already agreed to induce me at 39 weeks - on January 11th. 1/11/11, I think to myself. Now that's a birthday I can remember!

9:10 a.m.

I pull into the driveway, ready to crawl back into bed. I notice that the trash truck has already been by and decide to pull the trash can up to the house. The second I exit the car my feet start to slip... and I go back and forth between sliding on the driveway, losing and then regaining my balance, until suddenly my right foot rolls the wrong way and I fall into the gutter with a snap! sound. I almost immediately know that my ankle is broken.

9:15 a.m.

I try calling Allen on my cell phone but, as luck would have it, my battery is all but dead. A sweet older gentleman is out walking his dog and he hurries over to ask how he can help. "I live in this house," I tell him, pointing. "Please go get my husband. I think I broke my ankle."

9:30 a.m.

Allen and Coolister have carried me into the house and called 9-1-1. The pain is excruciating. The paramedics come. I am reminding them over and over that I am 37 weeks pregnant and do not want any medications that could even possibly harm the baby. They stabilize my foot and load me in to the back of their ambulance for transport to the hospital.

9:45 a.m.

I am wheeled into a room in the ER where the damage is assessed by x-ray. I am hoping for a dislocation and yes, it is dislocated, but also broken. In two places. The tibia has a part of the end broken off, the fibula is a more obvious break. I am told they will set the ankle where it is dislocated and then the on-call orthopedic surgeon will come in to talk with me about the breaks.

10:00 a.m. - 11:00 a.m.

This time period is something of a blur because the ER doctor has given me a medication that keeps me awake through the setting procedure but helps me forget what exactly has gone on. Is that confusing? It was for me. For example, one minute they are putting something in my IV and not long after I notice my ankle is bandaged up. I ask Allen when that happened and he tells me it was wrapped when it was set. I had no idea they had set my ankle already although he says I was very vocal about letting them know "my ankle hurts really bad" as they were doing it.

11:00 a.m.

My OB (that's my baby doctor for those who don't know) comes to visit us in the E.R. He reassures me that all will be well and that he and the surgeon are going to consult & let me know what will be the best plan of action.

11:30 a.m.

Word comes that they want to induce the baby ASAP and then perform surgery on my ankle. I am a bit incredulous that I am going to have my baby that day. I ask all of the typical questions - are his lungs well enough developed? Will he be more likely to have jaundice? Do we need to do an ultrasound to check that everything's fine before inducing labor? My OB tells me that 37 weeks is considered full term and that everything will be fine. All I can think of as we wait to be wheeled up to labor and delivery is the fact that we have not decided on a name for this baby yet. We did not bring a camera - unless you count the ones on our phones. I have not shopped for Princess' birthday on January 1st. I have not found Princess a dress to wear after her baptism this Saturday. We have not yet moved Little O out of the pack-and-play bed he has slept in his entire life - which will be the new baby's bed once we get him home. I have not clipped my toenails or shaved my legs. Plus... how do I deliver a baby with a broken foot?! I have never felt so unprepared in my life.

12:00 p.m. - 2:00 p.m.

The Hospital Waiting Game. (This is not a fun game.) We use this time to talk some more about baby names.

2:10 p.m.

We arrive in Labor & Delivery. I am prepped for induction as the staff awaits instructions from my OB. I am already dilated to a 4 before induction begins - this gives me some hope that my baby may actually be ready to come.

2:30 p.m.

Pitocin (the labor-inducing drug) is administered through my IV.

2:45 p.m.

The orthopedic surgeon's PA (physician's assistant?) comes and tells me what to expect in surgery tomorrow. The time is yet to be determined... but I will have screws and a plate put in. I will have a soft cast for 10 days, then a hard cast for 5 weeks following. I will not be able to bear any weight on my ankle for 6 weeks. Allen and I discuss options for making this work. We can make it work.

3:00 p.m.

Contractions are painful enough that I am ready for an epidural. BONUS: The epidural takes away the pain in my foot. The doctor who administers the epidural is magical in that I do not feel any needle pricks or pain in the process of getting the epidural working.

4:00 p.m.

Not much progress. My OB breaks my water and chats with us for a bit while he watches my contractions.

4:45 p.m.

I tell my nurse that I'm feeling ready. She checks. I'm ready. They call the doctor back into the room.

4:55 p.m.

One push. They tell me not to push any more.

4:57 p.m.

Our baby is delivered and I am amazed at how well things have worked out. I am a mother for the 10th time. It is surreal. This beautiful little bundle of chub and squealy cries is mine. We look at him and decide on a name. It is perfect. He is 8 pounds, 4 ounces. 19 1/2 inches long. Not bad for 3 weeks early.

7:00 p.m.

Allen accompanies the nurses and our sweet little baby to the nursery while I am moved to the Mother/Baby floor. I have been fasting all day (unless you count the apple I ate on my way to the doctor's office this morning at 8:00 a.m.) but they order me dinner so that I'll have something to eat before I have to start my next fast at midnight. I will have surgery on my ankle in the morning but the time has not yet been determined. I am told it will likely be sometime between 2:00 p.m. and 8:00 p.m., but maybe at 7:00 a.m. Well, okay then.

8:00 p.m.

Dinner. Hospital food is awesome - I'm totally not kidding.

9:00 p.m.

We await word on surgery and continue to work with the nurses to attempt to control the pain in my ankle.

10:00 p.m.

I order more food (crackers, cookies and pudding) to fill myself up before fasting again from midnight until who-knows-when. My kids come to visit. I have never heard the words, "Awww!" and "cute!" said so many times in a 45 minute period of time. They are all in love with their little brother, even Curly who, when asked, "What do you think about your little brother?" answers, "Fine. Can I have a cookie?"

Tuesday, December 28, 2010
12:00 a.m.

The fasting begins.

7:00 a.m.

After a night full of baby feedings and checking of vital signs and controlling pain and uncomfortable hospital bedding, I am ready to get this surgery over with. We ask the nurses if they have a time yet. No word, but they'll let us know ASAP.

7:00 a.m. - 1:30 p.m.

The Hospital Waiting Game. I can't help but think about how much we are paying to sit around in this room and do nothing while waiting for surgery.

1:30 p.m.

I ask my nurses, trying not to sound annoyed, when my surgery will be. They call the surgeon but he is unavailable. They call the surgeon's office but they are not helpful. They call the Operating Room and ask when I am on the schedule - I'm not. We are all becoming even more frustrated when word comes - they are ready for me.

2:00 p.m.

I am wheeled down to the OR waiting room. Allen bids me farewell and good luck as I head through the doors. As soon as he leaves my side I am nervous & anxious. I just want this over with. The reality of all that has happened in just over 24 hours is overwhelming and I find myself emotional. I sing the words to "Particle Man" over and over in my head as an attempt at distraction. I do not want to cry in front of all these strangers.

2:15 p.m.

I talk with the anesthesiologist about what's going to happen during surgery. He offers more options than I want to think about. I tell him that I want to be completely asleep during the procedure and that's all I care about. He goes on and on giving me details on why I should opt for a spinal block, etc. and have some pump put in my sciatic nerve to control the pain after. I already told him what I wanted and I just want him to leave now. He finally does.

2:45 p.m.

Still no sign of my surgeon. I sit and watch as person after person is brought in, meets with their surgeon and anesthesiologist and is taken to the OR for surgery. I try to fall asleep so that I can be distracted from thoughts of crying.

3:30 p.m.

WHERE IS MY SURGEON?! Another anesthesiologist comes and asks me to sign a consent form. I tell him that I have already signed one. He asks if I was told that he was my new anesthesiologist. No, I was not told. He apologizes, excuses himself for a moment (to go chew someone out?) and comes back. I actually like him better than the first guy - he's easy-going and down to earth.

3:45 p.m.

My surgeon shows up. I want to chew him out for making me lay there in the OR waiting area for AN HOUR AND FORTY FIVE MINUTES but I figure it's best to keep things amiable since he's about to cut my leg open and put some screws and plates in there. I just try not to cry and nod my head when he asks me questions. To his benefit, he IS being very sweet.

4:00 p.m.

The anesthesiologist puts something into my IV, says he'll see me later, and I start to feel tingly as I fall asleep to his singing of some classic rock.

7:20 p.m.

I wake up in the recovery room and immediately ask if anyone has called Allen. They tell me he should be in the waiting area. I tell them to call him. They say they will once we get to my room. I am starting to get frantic again. I somehow feel like everything will be fine if Allen is with me and I need him there NOW. As we walk outside the OR, he is there, waiting. I breathe a sigh of relief.

The details from here on out are insubstantial. So now, here I am at home, my humongously casted ankle resting on my bed in front of me, my 5 day old baby resting to my right, and my life is good.

There are so many tender mercies that have occurred in our lives over the last 5 days. Some things much too personal to share, some details which are overwhelming evidence of how blessed we are.

I love how my kids will sneak into my room just for a chance to hold their new baby brother. I am amazed by each tiny feature and contented half-grin on my newborn baby boy. Broken ankle? Sure, it's inconvenient. And a literal pain. But in the end, all is well.

Seriously, look at that face.


I am so, so blessed.

Happy New Year, everyone.

Counting Down

I haven't been online much this past month. Have you noticed? Life has been so full!


We had our #1 favorite family reunion with Allen's parents & siblings.

We have been invited to TWO family weddings.


Coolister, ElemenoB and Thumbelina went off to do some service projects and then river rafting at Youth Conference for THREE days.

(No official photos yet... they get back today.) photo from griffithexp.com

FOUR princesses accompanied me to the local Princess Festival.


I basked in Girl's Camp for my FIFTH year as a leader.

I enjoyed a lovely backyard tea party with SIX wonderful ladies.


We found out that our sweet aunt Marie returned to heaven SEVEN days ago. Her funeral is today.


EIGHT of my kids slept...

while Princess made a card...

to go with our traditional Father's Day breakfast in bed.


Allen and the oldest two kids ran NINE legs for their team in the 188 mile Ragnar Relay.


And Little O is finally able to wear this shirt that I bought for him almost a year ago. I was worried it wouldn't fit...

...but it does! (This means that number TEN's arrival in '11 will make us a family of TWELVE.)

In short, life is good.

So, so, so wonderfully, happily, crazy-in-the-best-way, marvelously good.

Mommy Rhapsody

Talk about singing my life...




...but in the end, it's worth it.

It's About Love

Meet Daren and Shannon.

Daren is one of Allen's brothers - for sure the one who smiles the most. I say this because I don't recall a time I have seen him without a smile on his face. Which makes he and Shannon a perfect match - because her smile is also a constant ray of sunshine.

I am not sure how to even begin to describe how much I love these two. In fact, it brings my emotions very close to the surface when I think of what an amazing couple they are. Despite the fact that they are younger than Allen and I, we look to them as examples. Daren and Shannon have a zest for life. They are incredibly smart. Their love for each other and their families is evident in all that they do. They know how to have fun. They are patient, kind and generous. And no matter what life throws their way, they are always smiling.

Daren and Shannon want to be parents. They want children to share their home and happiness and hearts with. I do not know anyone who is better qualified than these two! However, they have discovered that they are unable to have children on their own. As devastating as this was, they are still smiling - because they are hoping to have a chance to adopt.

It makes me smile to think of the lucky baby (or BABIES!) who will become a part of their happy family.

(This is where you come in!)

What can you do to help? Lots of things!

- You can click on that button over at the top of my sidebar and read all about Daren and Shannon.

- You can put their button on your blog to help spread the word.



- And if you know anyone who is in a position to place a child for adoption, you can tell them about Daren and Shannon.

Thank you.

Time Keeps On Slipping

Look at what my baby can do. He is walking! And because he is such a cute little smarty pants, he has also mastered the ever-tricky stair descent.

He's not so much a baby anymore. (sigh.)

I look at my littlest boy and am amazed at his ability to turn a corner, walk into another room, and upon his return have become even more adorable, more smart and silly and handsome, more endeared to my heart.

I do not want my baby to grow up.

Sure, I am excited for him to stop biting my leg whenever he gets close enough. And I think it will be great when he can feed himself and stop wearing diapers. But I do not want to forget the sound of his incessant baby-babbling chatter. Or the look of his 6-toothed grin... or the way he resembles Frankenstein when he walks. I want to remember the feel of his soft baby skin, the rolls of his Michelin-Man legs. The smell of his breath when he comes in for a slobbery kiss. The way my heart-strings are tugged every time he snuggles in to my shoulder and begins to suck his thumb.

I know I will blink and he'll be in kindergarten. In middle school. In high school.

Walking. Running. Driving.

Ready or not...my sweet baby boy is now my toddler.

I am going to do my best to bask in every moment.

Eight Years

Cowgirl turned 8 years old today.

I can not believe my sweet, crazy Cowgirl is growing up so fast.

I can still remember the day she was born. Allen and I had not officially decided on her name yet and the doctor asked, "What are you going to call her?" I told him we had not agreed on her name yet but that I really liked the name (insert her real name here). Allen immediately said, "I guess her name will be (real name) then." That was the day I discovered that I can get pretty much whatever I want right after having a baby. It was a beautiful thing. Almost as beautiful as she is.

Cowgirl probably does not know that she was a gift to me, an aid in my healing from the heartache of losing my father to cancer just a month before her birth. I could not remain sad with such a bright-eyed little angel in my home.

For those of you who don't know Cowgirl, here is a story which illustrates her personality pretty well...

Last night our family was reading scriptures together. We always take turns reading a few verses each. When it was Cowgirl's turn she read, "...that awful monster the devil, and death, and... (a slight pause here, then) ...BEEEEEEP!" And then she clarified: "I didn't want to say that bad word."

We all chuckled. Apparently the word H-E-double-hockeysticks is inappropriate whether it is in the scriptures or not.

As we continued our reading, everyone substituted the word BEEEEEP wherever they felt it was needed. She may have started a new family tradition.

Happy birthday, Cowgirl! Our life would not be complete without you.

(Pictures are by the talented Jason of Backroads Photography)

Unconditionally Loved

Boy oh boy do I love this baby!

And I think the feeling is mutual.

How Can I Say No To This?

OK, yes, I do remember that Thumbelina sucked her thumb until she was almost 8. But look at him! It is so adorable.

I know that it is easier to take away a pacifier than a thumb, but... did you see how sweet he looks? And so content, too.

I love this sweet boy.

And his thumbsucking addiction.

It's not like he's going to go off to college still sucking his thumb, right?



Right?

A Blessing

Sunday was Baby O's blessing day. I know, the collar is a bit much, but don't you think it's adorable? I mean, seriously, everything on this kid is adorable.

In the blessing, his dad referred to him by his middle name. He does not recall doing so, but there were a whole congregation full of witnesses. I wonder: should I be calling him Baby R?

And one final thought: Each of our children have been given a baby blessing when they are about 2 months old. However, our family receives a baby (blessing!) every time one joins our family.

We love our sweet Baby O! (or R?)

It's Almost Funny...

I had my kids deliver some thank-you cards for me on Saturday. At one stop, All-a-Boy chatted with one of his former cub scout leaders.

"Hey, Brother M, how's the new calling?"

"Good, All-a-Boy, how's the new baby brother?"

"He's good. And my mom's losing weight, so that's good."

Awwww, shucks. I didn't know he cared.

Cheery-O

Yes, it's true - I had a baby. Sorry to leave everyone hanging for a week, I guess I've been a little preoccupied. Little O was born on May 1st, and he's a sweet little thing if I do say so myself. (and I do!)

This was the view from my hospital room window. Isn't it spectacular? And can I just quickly sing the praises of my nurse in Labor and Delivery? Amy G. was awesome. It was like having one of my closest friends there with me - a friend who also had an amazing knowledge of all things Labor and Delivery related and explained every little thing that was going on. You'd think I would have this all figured out by now but she taught me a lot, and eased some fears, and made me feel completely comfortable. Thanks, Amy G!
I love this picture, even though he has that after-you're-born-mandatory-eye-goop-medicine fresh on his face. Can you see what a toughie he is? He's ready to knock you out if you pull any funny moves. Fists, ready. Don't mess with this kid.

The family all came to visit and Little O let them pass him around like a sack of potatoes without a complaint. He's a pretty happy little man. But wouldn't you be, if you got to be in this awesome family? (I mean that in a very non-vain way. If that's possible.)

I told him about how we have family prayers each day and he folded his arms to let us know he was up to the task. Not even a whole day old and already making me proud!

I guess we eventually tuckered him out.

Welcome, Little O!

STILL Still Here

Today should be the day.

I am just waiting on a call from the hospital, letting me know they are ready for me.

That's the thing about living where I do - people here like to have babies.

Which means the maternity floor is always crowded.

Which means that even if you are a week overdue, you wait.

But if you go into labor on your own, you are welcome to come in anytime.

It makes me feel like I'm naughty for being induced.

At this point, I don't care.

Wasn't it nice of this little boy to wait until May?

The only months we have left now are August and December.

Whatever that means.

The phone is still not ringing.

But I'm having a baby sometime today!

Still Here...

(photo by elemenoB, who says all pregnant people must pose with their hands on their stomach)

I know that many of you are wondering.

You're just too nice to ask.

The pregnant belly is still here.

It turns out my due date was April 24th, but I'm okay with that.

I actually wanted a baby born in May since all of my other kids have their own month.

(No, we didn't plan it that way.)

I have not been feeling very creative lately, unless you count making cards.

I made one set of Thank You cards.

I made one set of retro cards.

And I'm working on a set for my friend who moved.

I've been occupied with getting all of those "last minute things" done.

I keep thinking the list is completed, but more things keep popping up.

Maybe this boy is waiting for the list to be really completed.

He's so thoughtful.

I can't wait to meet him.

And don't worry, you'll be the first to know when he arrives.

You Probably Don't Care, But...

I was just thinking today that I should probably get a bag ready for my trip to the hospital. I think the packing lists they give you (who is "they" anyway?), while offering a few good suggestions, are pretty funny and mostly impractical. (A bathrobe & nightgown? Massage oils? This isn't exactly a trip to the spa...) Here's what I think is a good packing list:

• Warm socks. It seems like they keep those hospital rooms much too cold, and my feet are the first thing to feel it.
• A travel-sized game in case labor lasts a long time.
  
• Some favorite snacks. Every time I have had a baby, without fail, I am famished and starving for the next 24 hours straight. (maybe it's all that extra room in my midsection?) Although there is some magical snack room where the nurses can retrieve me a sandwich, yogurt, cookies/crackers or pudding whenever I ask for one, it's nice to have my own treats and not have to ask for something every hour.
  
• Some cash. At our hospital there is a "snack bar" downstairs. If labor is long, Allen can go get something to eat there. If I want a yummy milkshake after delivery, I can have someone go get me one at the snack bar. Or a donut. Or whatever.
• A good, long book. I don't enjoy visitors while I'm at the hospital unless it is my husband or kids (I'm not exactly looking/feeling my best) so I like to have a good book to read.
  
• My OWN pillow(s). I hate hospital beds. They are covered with plastic and uncomfortable, and the pillows there are flat as can be. Having my own pillow makes it a little more comfortable and a little less irritating when a nurse comes in to check on whatever at 3:00 a.m. then reminds me that I should try to sleep.
• A camera/video camera. No explanation needed.
• A toothbrush, brush and rubberband. I personally do not enjoy showering at the hospital. With a nurse coming in to check on whatever every other minute, I don't need them checking on me in the shower.
  
• Maternity clothes to wear home. When I had my first baby, I assumed I would fit into my regular non-pregnant clothes after he was born. That's something I wish someone would have filled me in on. I ended up wearing home the same clothes I had arrived in. And don't forget a nursing bra!
  
• 2 outifts to bring baby home in. I only brought one once, and she had a diaper explosion. Better safe than sorry. And don't be surprised when baby is too small to fit in a 'newborn' outfit. I know the clothes look small, but even my 9 pounders didn't fill them in. Preemie outfits work nicely, but don't last for too long after they come home. Just something to think about.
  
• A baby blanket for the ride home.
  

Now if I actually get around to packing today, I'll be ready. Did I forget anything?

Why We Keep Having Babies

Since the birth of baby #9 is fast approaching, I can't think of much else. I was looking through our boys' photo albums and found these cute shots of them as newborns.

Coolister

All-a-Boy

Hubba

Wouldn't you?

Jack-Don't-Give-Me-No-Flack It Is!

According to your votes, Jack-Don't-Give-Me-No-Flack would be our baby boy's name.

Hey You came in last.

We wouldn't have just called him Hey You, though- his name would have been Hayden Eugene; Hay Eu for short.

Would that have changed your vote?