The New Normal: Day 1

Hello, is this thing on? Are blogs even A Thing anymore? Who knows. I still read Amy and Kim so I know they aren't officially dead...Yet.

So why today to dial up again? Well, life has taken a turn for the weird and somewhat unpleasant and I think perhaps this may be a good outlet for me. It's that or hard drugs, and since I have a kid home with me 24/7, the hard stuff isn't an option.

Yep, Fred now spends all of his time with me. He was essentially thrown out of school, but in the nicest way possible. For the near future, I am his end all be all. I was already most of the things, but now I get to be his teacher as well! Hopefully soon the school will be providing me with some curriculum, but until then my printer is pumping out worksheets by the dozen. At some point (hopefully this week but maybe next) we will meet with some therapeutic elementary school people and decide if that's a good place for him to land. Otherwise the next option is homeschooling with intensive outpatient therapy. In both cases, it's until he's deemed 'well enough' to return to a conventional classroom.

Why, you ask?

MENTAL ILLNESS

Yeah. It sucks enough for adults. Now multiply that amount of suck by at least 459,377,590 and we may possibly hit the range of suckitude when dealing with a mentally ill child. We don't have a definitive diagnosis because he's only 8, and most of the things he seems to be leaning towards are difficult to diagnose in children. Mood disorders and the like. He's awesome for a month, impulsive and violent for a month. Happy. Then not. And he's sizable for a boy of 8, so his impulsive behaviors are leading to more and more significant consequences. Sooooooo NO MORE (regular) SCHOOL FOR FRED.

Help?

Kids Who Play Hockey Have Parents Who Play Hockey

When I was a kid I was at the ice rink several days a week. My mom worked there, so we went along with her most of the time. I skated each weekend, sometimes at multiple sessions. I met one of my very best friends there when I was 11, and we still keep in touch today. Once I went to college, though, I hung up my skates. Not intentionally, but just because other things got in the way. I don't even think I took skates with me when I moved to Philly. The first time I skated after that was on Sam's third birthday, and it was shaky. Once we moved to Morgantown, I began skating more often with Lucy at her 'hockey' practice and now I'm skating several times a week with Sam's team. Add in the occasional public session with the kids, and I'm feeling pretty good about my skating ability.

My hockey ability? Now that's another story. When I'm at practice with Sam and we have to demonstrate something, I usually hang back. The other coaches on our team (we have SIX) all played or currently play hockey, so I've never been confident enough to step up. I mean, I think I can do most of the maneuvers we do in practice, but do I really want to try them out for the first time in front of a bunch of kids who think I know what I'm doing? Nope. No thanks! Not today.

What to do, then? Luckily, the answer was revealed to me in an email from our local rec center. A women's hockey clinic, for all skill levels, running for eight weeks. I ran out, bought myself a purple practice jersey (of course) and didn't sleep for days, I was so anxious. I got there extra early on my first day (of course) and began suiting up. I had put on all of my equipment the night before just to try it out. I've been dressing Sam for three years, but never myself! It was a little weird moving around in all of those pads, but I managed to get my skates on and get onto the ice without any major pratfalls.

After a few laps, I was feeling good! It was definitely weird skating with all of this stuff on, but I was glad to have it when I did a major belly flop during our scrimmage. We did some skating drills and some stick work, which was what I was the most anxious about. I yap at Sam that he should always volunteer to go first during drills, and since I didn't want to be a hypocrite, I got right in line behind the coach when he started working with pucks. And I lost that damn puck every time I had to make a turn, with all of the other ladies watching. But by then I was having so much fun I didn't care!

The next week I recruited a friend to come, too, so it was even more fun! I skated my butt off, and I felt it later on, but after only a few weeks I'm feeling a lot more comfortable playing hockey. So next week I'm joining the actual league that plays actual games. Crazy, I know, but I think I kind of love it!

--

Speaking of hockey games, our team came in second place in our last tournament, and Sam got his very first trophy. He was so, so excited! Go Hornets!

The Real Deal Hair Cut

I finally did it. I took my baby boy and cut off all of his precious, golden locks. It was awful.

Do you see all of that glorious hair? GONE!

Fred was skeptical of the clippers...

So the barber had to go the traditional route and get out the shears.

He had moments of quiet acceptance...

And moments of anger and regret. Don't worry buddy. Mama is right there with you.

Finally, it was over. Even with the delicious sucker reward, he was too traumatized to look at me. 

Hair Aparent

A long, long time ago, in a state so far away, Sam got his first haircut. It was a wee bit difficult for me, seeing as I was very pregnant (read: very hormonal) and didn't want to be ending his babyhood any earlier than I had to. But I did have to, eventually.  

With Lucy, it was different. I was again pregnant and again, very hormonal. But since she's a girl I was able to wait until she was three, so it wasn't like I was ending her baby-hood by cutting her hair. 

Maggie hasn't had a haircut yet, and I fear the day she asks for one. I have a strong suspicion that once we cut off those lovely little curls (seen here) they won't come back. 

Which brings us to little Freddie. As the youngest, it's only natural that I'm going to be even more attached to his baby hair. But he is, in fact, a boy, and so I am already getting pressure from people to get him a damn haircut already! It's not too bad in the front, mostly because it tends to stay off to the sides all on it's own. But he is developing a pseudo-mullet in the back, which is a little embarrassing. 

So what say you, oh wise internets? To trim, or not to trim?

Oh, who am I kidding? This kid will be graduating from high school before I let anyone near his precious baby head with a pair of shears!

Mother of the Year

One hundred years ago, while school was still in session and an overnight snowstorm was still a real possibility, I signed my kids up for summer camp. At the Carnegie Museum of Art and Natural History. Which is in Pittsburgh. Which is NINETY-SIX miles from our house. 

I signed Sam up for paleontology camp, which is an all day camp. But since Lucy's birthday is just ten days shy of the cutoff, she had to go to a different camp which only meets in the morning. That means that I can't just drop them off. I get to be there all day, too.

"Why? Why would I do this?" you ask! Because I love my kids, and I want them to be exposed to all of the wonderful, enriching things the city has to offer, even though we live in the sticks. 

Also, because I wanted see just how far I could push myself before I cracked under the sheer insanity of it all. I haven't cracked yet, but I did politely beg our wonderful babysitter to take them today. Luckily, she said yes! 

I've been spending a lot of good, quality time with my oldest daughter, too. I collect her up at 11:30 and we eat lunch in the courtyard of the museum and talk about things. Like the difference between doing something 'by accident' and 'on purpose' and why we can't get a jaguar for a pet and why people make paintings with butts in them. We've also been exploring. We went to trader joe's and whole foods, we walked around the city, we found a playground, we stopped into some local shops (where Lucy decided that she does not like the smell of pachouli) and we threw pennies into every fountain we could find.

Tomorrow is the last day, and even though I will totally not miss driving one hundred and ninety two miles every damn day, I will miss spending time in the city, and spending quality time with my Lulu.

Always and Forever My Baby

Oh, Fred.

I just put you to bed for the last time as a baby. Even though we had the cake and the party, and even though today is officially your birthday, you were born just before midnight, so technically you're not one for another five and a half hours or so. This is the thing I've been clinging to all day to keep me from bursting into tears.

No matter how old you get, you'll always be my baby.

Fred Is One! Help Me, Please!

Make a video - it's fun, easy and free!
www.onetruemedia.com

Pre-School, Part THREE

Tomorrow morning I'm going to tour a new pre-school for my little Maggie. Yes, MAGGIE. As in, this one:

How is it possible that she is going to pre-school? She doesn't even turn three until the end of next September. But for most pre-schools, you only have to be two and three-quarters, so off to school she goes!

Now, we could send her to the same pre-school here that Sam and Lucy went to last year. It was a nice school, and the hours would be pretty compatible with Sam and Lucy's schedule. BUT! In an effort to make my life more complicated, I'm going to check out a Montessori school up in Pennsylvania, about 20-30 minutes away. Given the start and end times, I may be able to make it work. Maybe.

There is also a YMCA in that area. One thing that I miss more than anything here in Morgantown is a Y. Everywhere we've lived with kids, the Y has been a permanent fixture for both the kids and myself. If Maggs does three hours of school each day, then Fred and I can hang at the Y in the meantime. Lunch on the way home, naps when we arrive back at our domicile. If everything goes according to plan.

In all likelyhood, Maggie is going to end up going to the same pre-school here in Mo-town that Sam and Lu went to, but I feel like I own it to her to check out this other option. Sam did the Montessori thing, and I think it was super-beneficial to him. I want to be able to give that kind of experience to all of my kids, if possible. So while it may make my life a little more crazy, if it's better for my kids, it's better for me.

BUT, I totally reserve the right to bitch and moan about it whenever I wish.

Hockey Mom to the EXTREME!

As I've mention before, hockey consumes a large portion of our lives. I knew this was going to happen when I signed the kids up, so I'm not particularly perturbed about it. Do I like having to lug all four kids (half of whom are sick) to the rink right after school for Sam's game? No, thank you very much, but it's not the end of the world. And since he has hockey four days a week, if he misses one here and there I don't lose any sleep over it.

What makes it bearable is how much they seem to love it. Sam is a madman out there, and while Lucy has been slower to come around, she's been having a much better time lately. She's made a big jump in her skating ability recently, and she can probably skate backwards better than Sam can. Not falling down so often makes her much happier out on the ice.

But I think the biggest reason she's liking hockey more and more these days is because of this one coach out there. Oh, and did I mention that this coach also happens to be her mother? As in ME? Yes, according to Lucy I am the best mom hockey coach ever! Never mind the fact that I'm really just an on ice volunteer mostly tasked with pleasant job of herding the kids and administering sips of water and/or hugs when someone is crying.

(Funny side note: somehow in the above sentence I accidentally typed 'hits' instead of 'hugs' which, while appropriate for hockey in general is not so appropriate for hockey with four and five year old kids!)

Now, with everything else going on in my life, you'd think that maybe I'd pass on being a hockey 'coach', but let me let you in on a little secret. I love it! I love being on the ice. I love helping the kids learn to hold their hockey stick. I love that some of the kids (besides Lucy) really seem to like me, too! At the end of each practice we play a little game of tag, and one kid makes it his goal in life to freeze me. A little boy who just started after the new year came up to me on Monday night to show me how he wasn't crying, because last week I had to sit with him on the bench for ten minutes while he wept. There are more than a few little girls out there, too, and they are awesome. When we're running drills, two girls are always my go-to kids to demonstrate because they've already mastered them.

So even though I probably look half a fool out there in my dad's too big helmet, I'm going to keep on 'coaching' Lucy's mini-mite team. We're both having a blast, and at the very least, I stay a lot warmer skating around then I do parking my butt in the bleachers!

She loves it when we're on the same team!

Vanity Sizing for Babies and the Crazy Mothers Who Love Them

As a somewhat unusual girl, I've often been a little off the beaten path when it comes to milestones in my children's lives. For example, when the kids get too big for the baby nail clippers and I have to use regular ones, I tend to get a little misty. I'm weird like that.

One thing that has always been a tear jerker for me is when my kids grow out of the swaddler sized diapers. We have always used pampers, and when Sam, Lulu and Maggie were little they only made the swaddler diapers up to size two. Once they were too big to squeeze into the size two swaddler diapers, then we had to get into the size three cruiser diapers. It's not a huge deal, but they look different, and for some reason (like I'm a little crazy) it would make me emotional.

Now Fred is growing like a robust little boy should. That is to say, he's not a teeny little thing like he once was. He's been wearing the size two swaddler diapers for a while now, and they were starting to get a little snug. Plus his tiny butt crack would sometimes stick out of the back, and that is not good at all. I was starting to mentally prepare myself for the inevitable graduation to the size three pampers cruisers, which wasn't going too well, when I discovered that they are now making pampers swaddlers in a size three!

A part of me is relieved. I can still put a soft little white diaper on his tiny bum and pretend like he was just born last week. But another part of me is conflicted. I mean, he's crawling properly now, so shouldn't I get him the cruisers out of principle? Am I being emotionally manipulated by P&G somehow? Is it because babies are being born at record sizes and companies want to get in on that market?

The thing is, all of my other kids wore cruisers at size three, and I like consistency for my nonsensical made-up emotional milestone bullshit things, so cruisers it is!

The Ice Queen

As a child, my brother and I always had chores. On Saturday mornings he would vacuum the house while I dusted and wiped down the bathroom. When the dishwasher was full of clean dishes, it was his job to empty the bottom rack and I had to empty the top rack. We were responsible for keeping our own rooms clean and our cloths put away, and he took out the trash. I took care of the cats, he took care of the dog. Pretty normal stuff.

Except for the Ice.

Yes, Ice with a capital I, because it was that important. For those of you who don't remember, freezers did not always come equip with built in ice makers. Back in the old days (like 1990) if you wanted ice cubes, you had to fill a plastic tray with water and wait for HOURS until the water froze. Then you had to bust the frozen blocks out of their plastic tray and voila! Ice cubes!

In my house, ice cubes were as precious as gold. My mother had a pretty serious iron deficiency, so she had an intense craving to chew on ice cubes. Not just regular old ice cubes, but special cubes made in an ice cube tray that you couldn't buy at the store. It came with some other old freezer from our past, and the cubes were smaller and rounder, more easily chewable, than the traditional ice cube. They looked kind of like an igloo. As soon as those cubes were solidified the tray needed to be emptied into the bin and re-filled. Every day of my life from about age nine until eighteen.

Not long after I moved out of the house my parents bought a new one, and their new freezer had an ice maker. And most of my apartments and homes have had them as well, so I thought the ice tyranny had reached its conclusion.

And then we moved to West Virginia.

The people who built this house twenty-some years ago had a professional chef in the family, so all of our kitchen appliances are commercial. The stove and oven and flat top are amazing, and the refrigerator and freezer are awesome as well. Except for one thing: the freezer lacks an ice maker. Which means I am back to my old tricks. Those ice cube trays from the old house are long gone, but luckily there are many good alternatives now that didn't exist back then. Luckily, my mother doesn't live here (yet) so I don't have to make ice on the daily, but as soon as they get here on the weekend the first thing my dad does is check to see if Ice needs made.

And so it goes. In exchange, my mom empties the dishwasher for me.

Freddie Fridays

In honor of World Breastfeeding Week.

And just beacuse he's cute.

Freddie Fridays

Baby boy! I can't believe this is the same blanket I photographed you on when you weren't even a week old.

I'm predicting that sometime when you're older, and really surly and disgruntled, I'm going to pull this blanket out of a drawer or closet and make you lay/sit on it for a photo shoot. Just because I love you so much.

Freddie, Month Four

Dear Freddie,

Dear Freddie's feet, actually.

My sweet little (final) suckling, this monthly milestone has your mama in a tizzy. Why? Because you are now old enough to eat rice cereal. If I were so inclined to give it to you. Which I am most certainly not. I plan to put off nourishing you with non-boob milk for as long as possible, and I plan to nurse you until the day you move out.

Just kidding. Sort of!

This has been the month of the happiest babe ever. You are so, so, SO happy. All of the time. Even when you are tired/hungry/poopy. The sweet disposition seems to know no bounds. I often neglect my household duties just to make you giggle!

You love being naked, and you love being tickled when naked. Your armpit areas, your chin, you cheeks. Just the lightest touch and you laugh and squeal with delight. Honestly, the only thing that seems to upset you is the heat. For example:

You are unimpressed with the out of doors so far. I'm guessing that by next summer that will all change, though!

You can officially roll over from belly to back. You did it the first time during the Grover photo shoot, but you only did it once.

Since then, you flip yourself over every time I put you tummy side down. Which is funny because I recently re-committed myself to more tummy time.

You've also become obsessed with my chin. One of your siblings also loved my chin. I think it was Lulu. When I come in to kiss you, you open your mouth as wide as you can, and if I let you you'll gnaw on my chin for the better part of an hour! If you can't get my chin, you'll still happily chew on your own fingers or tongue, though.

We're in the process of finally moving you into the nursery. I don't think I've mentioned this, but you've been sleeping in our closet since you were born. Don't worry, it's a huge, ventilated walk in closet. Up until we actually began the process of getting Maggie out of the nursery so you could move in, I felt like I was looking forward to the move. Our closet (your bedroom) is continuous with our bathroom, so we haven't been about to use our shower or toilet since you were born. But even though Maggie is pretty well situated in Lucy's room now, I can't bring myself to move you up there. I keep saying tomorrow we'll take the rocking chair up. But then I think, maybe we should wait until your bedding arrives so you don't have to sleep in the ladybug room. At this point, you may very well still be sleeping in our closet until you graduate high school. We'll let you paint it whatever color you want, ok?

Love, Mama

It Was Bound to Happen Eventually

I am a lucky woman. Even though I have four children, none of them have ever expressed any real affinity towards a particular security item, be it blankie, or lovey, or stuffed animal. Sam has a large number of stuffed animals that he rotates through his bed: a cat in the hat, a curious george, a duck that I won in a crane game (seriously, I'm awesome at those things), a pillow pet, etc. Lucy has a lamb blanket/toy thing that my friend Susan (who is moving! Buy her stuff!) bought for her when she was born, a little red beanie teddy bear that SOB bought for her in a airport, and a pillow pet (yeah, I'm that mom) in her bed, but if any one of them disappeared, she wouldn't care. And until recently, Maggie never slept with anything in her crib.

And then? She discovered BABY DOLLS!

Now, we've always had a bunch of dolls and doll paraphernalia around because of Lucy. But Miss Lu would rather build puzzles or play with scarves than play with dollies. Last year my parents bought her the whole set with a doll sized high chair, pack and play, and stroller, and it's been largely unused until last week, when Maggie claimed it as her own. She picked through the dozen or so dolls we had lying around, and selected her favorite. Then she proceeded to carry, or stroll, that doll everywhere for the next four days. Because the concept of naming is still beyond her years, she just calls her BeeBee. And she has to have BeeBee in her crib, high chair, everywhere. Mama has to kiss BeeBee before bedtime. BeeBee has to play in the gymni with Freddie during the day. You get the point.

Until last night, when BeeBee went missing. And lo, there was screaming. I tried substituting just about every other doll we had upstairs, but she would just throw them out of the crib. I then enlisted the help of Sam and Lucy in looking for BeeBee, but we remained unsuccessful. Sam did find another doll in the downstairs toy box, and since she had stopped wailing, I snuck in, laid it in the crib with her and then bolted.

Silence.

Victory, or so I though. Because today? She now wants BeeBee and BeeBee Two (or Blue, I can't tell) with her everywhere instead of just BeeBee. And the most beat up copy of Chicka Chicka Boom Boom in existence.

Crying because there is no room on her tray for FOOD!

The West Virginina School System is Trying to Kill Me

Last August I was still fairly enchanted with our mountain home. The summer was kind of a blur, and I was looking forward to school starting so that I could explore a little without three kids in tow. Then I made the discovery that while my children would be attending the same school, their classes would meet at different times, and my schedule got turned on its ear. Luckily, thanks to a combination of carpooling and babysitting, I managed to make it through this year with my sanity intact, barely.

Through the winter, we had to decide if Sam and Lucy were going to stay at their private school or attend the public school. If they stayed at their current school, Sam would go all day but Lucy would still only be going for half a day, which would mean another year of insanity. However pre-K is now mandatory for 4 year old kids in WV, so the other option is that they could both go to the public school.

After weighing all of our options, we decided to give the public school a try. I dug out birth certificates and vaccination records and got up super early to stand in line (on a cold, rainy day no less) to sign them up. Done deal, I thought. Next year they would be going to the same school at the same times, and life would finally start to settle down.

WRONG!

Apparently, the new pre-K program isn't fully operational. Even though the district knows how many kids would be enrolling in the program, they didn't create enough spaces for all of them. So there was a lottery. And Lucy totally did not win. She's number 24 on the wait list. Which means that next year not only will the kids be on different schedules, but they'll be at totally different schools!

This, coupled with the endless, relentless rain we've been having makes me want to grab my kids and run for the border. North or south, I don't freaking care anymore. As long as it's not here.

Just to keep you (and me) from jumping off of the bridge.

Losing It

I've never been one of those girls who has lost the baby weight because of nursing. I know several other mamas who practically melted after their babes were born, but my body seems to be programmed to hold onto weight after birth. I guess it's to protect us from starvation in case of a long winter or something. Evolutionary WIN, but pants size FAIL. Plus, breast feeding makes me absolutely ravenous. It's like, as soon as milk starts flowing, my tummy starts rumbling, and if he takes his time feeding, my fingers start looking pretty appetizing.

In the past, I've never had any major motivation to lose my baby weight by any particular time. After Sam was born we moved to Atlanta, and I was so busy packing and unpacking that dieting was the last thing on my mind. Then once Lucy was born we moved back to Philly, and again there was so much going on that I couldn't really focus on losing weight. After Maggs was born I did start going to Weight Watchers again, but then I got pregnant and, well, now here I am with a one month old and a bridesmaid dress to wear in sixteen days.

Yes, I am in a wedding at the end of this month. Talk about motivation!

My dear cousin Laura is getting hitched, and I agreed to be in the wedding before I was knocked up. I ordered my dress early in the second trimester, but I knew it would be dicey. The dresses are from J Crew, and I ordered the largest size I could, but my bust measurements were already pushing the limits. After Freddie was born, I gave myself one week before I even attempted to try on the dress.

You can probably imagine how that went.

Luckily, two weeks later, my boobs had gone from having their own gravitational field to simply humongous, and I was able to get into the dress. Not that it was comfortable or anything. And wearing a bra is pretty much out of the question, because even the thickness of the fabric makes it not fit. I took it to a few tailors to see if I could get it let out a little on top, but there isn't any extra material in the seams to give me some (literal) breathing room.

So drastic times have called for drastic measures.

I've reverted back to my pre-Sam-pregnancy eating habits, which is when I was at the thinnest I've ever been in my adult life. It's been tough, and I frequently feel like eating the coffee table seems like a delicious idea. But after only a week, I am seeing some fairly promising results. So I'm hoping that by the times this wedding rolls around, I'll be able to not only wear my bridesmaid dress, but wear it without crying.

Wish me luck!

Freddie: Month One

Dear Freddie,

Please help your dear mother out. Don't grow anymore. I can't believe that this is the first installment of the last installment of monthly letters. As you can imagine, this is difficult for me. What makes it even more difficult is that you seem to double in size every four days or so. Here is you when you were first born:

And you are the other day, smiling at your mama like it's no big deal:

You're still a little leery of my bigger camera, so a cell phone photo will have to do for now! And while these photos don't quite capture the growth you've achieved recently, everyone who sees you on a semi-regular basis has noticed. My father even though you grew between last tuesday and friday!

Your fingers and toes are insane. Random people comment on how big your hands are. And you have monkey toes for sure. You will even try and grab onto thing with your long toes! Your nails grow at the speed of light, which is horrible, because you don't enjoy having them cut. However, when I don't cut them you scratch the hell out of your face. No fun!

You've had the chance to meet most of your relatives by now. None of my grandparents ever got to meet any of your siblings when they were as young as you, and it was a really special occasion for my grandmother, who beat cancer last year.

You're playing a little here and there. And by playing, I mean staring intently at stuff, looking vaguely amused. It's super cute.

You are a sweet, sweet darling boy. I can't get enough of your little squeaks and grunts, and it melts me inside when you clutch onto my hair, so that when I lay you down you have a few strands in your fists. You smell like baby, and sometimes I almost want to lick your head to see how you taste!

March 23

April 4

You could be sleeping more at night, but you're only a month old, so I'll forgive you. Because I just love you so very, very much, my forever baby.

Love, Mama

Tenacious B(elly Button)

Of all four of my children, Freddie's belly button scabby thing persisted the longest. Previously, Sam held the record at three weeks exactly, but Fred's lasted three weeks and four days. This photo was taken yesterday, and today the little brown stump finally fell off.

And guess what? I was sad.

Young Fred is going to be my last baby, and because of that I have been cherishing all of the fleeting newborn things. His little squeaks, the milia here and there on his face, and yes, even the belly button scab.

So even though I've never done so before, I'm contemplating keeping the stump. Gross, true, but my hormonal sentimentality doesn't care. Do you?

Freddie's Birth Story

This long overdue tale begins on a Wednesday. Wednesday March 9th, to be exact. I had an appointment with the midwife in the morning, and had been sadly informed that I had not really dilated much from the previous week. After what I thought was a rather, um, rough internal examination, I was listed at 1cm with some wiggle room. Based on the exam, I think the "wiggle room" was created by my midwife, not that I'm complaining.

That night, SOB and I went out to dinner, and I was having contractions throughout the whole meal. Once we got home, I experienced what those in the business of delivering babies refer to as The Bloody Show. Which is a pretty horrific term, if you ask me. It was about 10pm, so I called my folks just to give them a heads-up that we might be heading to the hospital sooner than later. This was how things started during my labor with Lucy, and I ended up at the hospital in less than four hours.

That was not the case with little Freddie, however.

I spent most of the night sleeping, with intermittent painful contractions. I woke up on Thursday and spent the entire day in the same situation. Noticeable, irregular contractions with no indication that things were going to be getting serious any time soon. SOB was on call that night, so he was hoping that I would make it until at least 7am on Friday when his shift ended.

He got his wish.

On Friday morning, annoyed beyond belief, I called the midwife. My next appointment was not scheduled until Monday, and I knew my patience wouldn't last that long. She had me come in, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had dilated to 4cm since Wednesday. She asked if I wanted my membranes stripped, and I emphatically said YES! If I didn't feel ready to head to the hospital by the end of the work day I could come back into the office to get checked again, just for my own information.

SOB and I went out to lunch, where he informed our server that I was in labor, totally freaking her out. Then we went and walked around Lowe's. At this point I was feeling some pretty good contractions, and frequently needed to stop while picking out light bulbs. After we got home, my parents quickly arrived. I decided to take a bath, in the hopes that relaxing would speed things along.

WRONG!

Instead of quickening things, the bath slowed everything down to a near stop. Since it was about 3:30pm, I called the midwife's office to see about coming back in. And as I suspected, I hadn't progressed at all. So we went for round two of membrane stripping and headed back home to wait. One thing the midwife did mention was that multiple pregnancies may have made my uterine muscle less efficient. She suggested tying a half sheet from the office around my waist, just above my belly button, as tightly as I could stand. In her past experiences, the sheet would kind of hold things down, so that the contractions could be more effective. Which is how I came to spend the next three hours pacing around my house looking like I was wearing a backwards apron.

After dinner, which I did not eat, we put on Monsters, Inc. for the kids and I began timing my contractions. After 40 minutes or so, things seemed to be getting pretty consistent. I was averaging a contraction every 4 minutes, so we headed to the hospital. As soon as we got there, they checked me out, and I had only dilated to 5cm in the last few hours! I was a wee bit crushed, but asked to have my water broken ASAP. With Lucy and Maggie, once my water was broken the babies came out in a matter of hours, and even though my other experiences hadn't been a good predictor, I was optimistic that this one would work.

Finally, I was right about something!

Around 10pm, I was really feeling the pain. I asked to be checked, and decided mentally that if I was past 7cm I would stick it out. I wasn't quite as committed to going drug-free this time around, but it still seemed attractive to me in the right setting.

Sadly, I had only progressed to 6cm since breaking my water two hours earlier.

So the epidural went in, and despite being a little patchy, I was able to get some pain relief. For about half an hour or so. Maybe 45 minutes. Because then, well, Freddie was ready to make his entrance.

Three solid pushes later, my boy had arrived. He was screaming and slimy and absolutely perfect. He was born at 11:46pm, weighed 7 pounds, 14 ounces and was 20.5 inches long.

love at first sight