Dear Shelley.

Word verification is NO MORE.

Just for you.

<3

Dear Katie.

Don't worry, I don't forget my promises.

I seem to remember promising YOU specifically that I would dedicate my next blog to you.

So, here's to you! Please enjoy the mindless dribble about my life, lol:

Hey er'body

As you can see, I no longer blog.

Blogging takes A LOT of time...well, when one makes the effort to write blogs worth reading, that is.

And with a private blog, there's just no...inspiration for well thought out blogs.

So, in the name of my posterity, I've unprivatized and saved the last 5 years of posts as "drafts".

So the creeps have nothin' on us.

Yay for bloggin'! My kids just woke up, so I won't be back quite yet.

But fear not.

I'm back.



Diesel Man.

My baby is 7 months old! Well, technically he's 7 months and 2 weeks today, but who's counting? Ok. Meeeeee. I'm counting. He's no longer a silent, observant little infant that smiles at anyone and everyone who offers the slightest glance his way. He is a little man! Instead of soft, gentle coos, he now grooooowls and squaks like a terrydactal (sp), and it's SOOOOO boy! He does it with a smile on his face, too. He's covered in rolls, though he's not as fat as Mckenzi was. She's got him beat at every milestone weigh in. Blows our minds, cuz Dman is pretty chub loaded himself! He still has the sweeeeetest disposition, and is our "easy" baby. He's happy as long as he doesn't get bored, and as long as we let him have his beloved naps and mama's milk. He'll sit in the stroller for hours, be quiet on our car rides, lets us baby-wear...falls asleep in all of those places, too. Mckenzi never let us do any of that. HATED the stroller. HATED her ergo. HATED car rides. Oh, how funny. She still does. She's the one giving us hell still to this day, while D just stares at her puzzled...and laughs at her from time to time. No joke. He thinks her tantrums are a total riot. I wish we felt the same way!

So, here's some interesting tidbits about little man:

*Weighs 23 lb

*HATES food. Serious light weight. Not even kidding you, the child even gags himself on a SINGLE GRAIN OF RICE. He refuses to swallow. He won't eat baby food either. The only thing we've gotten him to go back for for seconds is watermelon. But only to suck on. He refuses to mash it in his mouth and swallow. He sucks on a large piece like a bottle, until it withers away. I do not like that he does not like food. Mckenzi didn't like it either, until around 10 or 11 months. 

* Stopped sleeping through the night at 3 months. He now wakes after 4-5 hours, then after 2-3 hours, then 1-2 hours. Sometimes he only wakes up twice. Sometimes he wakes up 4 times. Honestly, I hate it. But I also hate it when people tell me I need to just let him cry it out and he'll be fine. Suck it, seriously. He's my kid, and I know what he's telling me based on his cries. He's so easy to put down, sleeps great, and when he wakes up, he goes back down easily too. He's only a wee one for a little while longer. Sleeping through the night can come later. For now, I'll let him nurse to his heart's content...well not really. I just nurse him for a few minutes and then lay him back down.

* Started crawling at 6 months. The kid is seriously the fastest, funniest crawler I've ever seen. Major army crawler. Like, you know those army guys that are so buff, that when they army crawl their arms look really huge and funny? Well that's my kid. He's fast, and it's hilarious. He's huge. 

* Stands himself up on things. These little milestones make me a little sad - he's too young!

* Has one tooth.

* Started saying "Dadda" about a week ago. Even repeats it when we ask him too. And he gets a KICK out of saying what we ask him to! Laughs and laughs and laughs. Loves the sweet attention.

*So smiley and so happy. 

It has just been far too long since I've posted. My last blog was my labor story?! Come on. I have to do better than that, since this is what I plan on using as my journal for the good ol' posterity. I haven't done it yet, and I think it will likely be a huge job when the day comes. But alas, we will get around to printing up the last 5 years of blogging, and hopefully it'll be easier to keep up with the printing maybe once a year after that.

We've been sick for about a month now. Many of you saw my totes "inappropriate" post on fb pretty much bitchin' out the nursery moms that bring their sick kids to church and infect the rest of us. Without getting into that again, long story short, Mckenzi got majorly sick with a hacking cough, congestion/runny nose/nasal drip, fever, you name it. Obviously Diesel got it too. Only, he couldn't clear out his chest like Mckenzi with the hacking cough, so he developed bronchiolitis. Long story short, we had that for 2 weeks, the day after that cleared up, Mckenzi got the stomach flu from another little girl her age (that's another story), had it for an entire week, gave it to me, then Daddy, then Diesel. While Diesel had it, Mckenzi started hacking again, then Diesel started back up with the coughing and congestion WHILE he had the flu. 3 weeks in Daddy is healthy, Mckenzi has a TERRIBLE cough and runny nose, Diesel just got over the flu but has really goopy congestion in his nose and mouth and a mild cough, and I'm sick as a dog. I could barely move yesterday. I had major chills and shakes, a high fever WHILE medicated, and a really strange cough. My chest feels really tight, like I can't break up what's in there. It's bizarre. It was a sad day yesterday. Both of kids cried A LOT. Mckenzi didn't get fed anything other than a bag of apple jacks and a can of pringles. All day she asked for food. Both the kids sat in explosions of poop for a while until my fever came down to 102. I couldn't function. At one point I called Neal while ABSOLUTELY SOBBING, telling him he needed to come home. He had told me earlier that morning that he couldn't stay home. I told him he needed to make it happen. The kids needed to be taken care of, and I was a shaking, blubbering slug under 3 blankets. My sweet sister Jaime offered to come help around 2pm, and she came bearing gifts of gatorade, vitamin c, and food for my starving child. Not long after she arrived, Neal showed up. He managed to get off. I'm sure that had something to do with text after text filled with strings of profanity from me. What's a girl gotta do? (I later apologized for cussing him out all morning). I PRAY that Diesel does not get what I have. I'm sure he hasn't had this yet. I think Mckenzi might have what I have, and I just didn't know that it was so bad. We did take the kids to the doctor again a few days ago to make sure we didn't need antibiotics or anything, and the d-bag doctor (our ped was closed, so we had to go to a walkin grown up doc) said that Diesels fever and congestion was from teething (there's no way a baby has a 101 fever WHILE ON TYLENOL for three days straight because of teething. sorry you stupid idiot.) When I am better, I'll be taking both kids back in.

There's a lot of verbal agression in this post. Lol. March has literally been a month of hell for our family. Lots of mandatory o/t, coupled with extra training that Neal signed up for months ago that he has to do, has left me alone most of the month without help, with two sick kids, with a Daddy that won't take a day off without 2 weeks notice unless I practically threaten to lock him out of the house for a week (don't worry, I've never threatened anything like that, lol).

I am second shooting a wedding tomorrow night. Pray for me that I'll be healthy enough to get through it pain free! I've really been looking forward to it.

March is almost over. We are really looking forward to April. Mega big time. Did I mention how stoked I am about our tax return this year? Two kids, starting a business = awesome for returns.

Also, I feel like I have to explain the backdrop. It's a housewife that is supposed to be saying "I'm not afraid of YOU! I have kids!"....but the text doesn't show up. Which is irritating, but I just don't have the time or desire to fix it. And the crazy scary lady is sorta funny, because she totally explains how I feel these days. Lol. My poor family. And since when did I start saying "lol" so much? I'm annoying.

Having kid #2.

Well, it's been 4 weeks,and so far I've successfully avoided writing about my labor and delivery story. I'd like to think it's mostly because I'm busy with a newborn and an ever-so rambunctious toddler, but I think that what it comes down to is me reliving the details, and the swell & sting of sadness associated with my experience.

If I did anything at all for this pregnancy, it was PREPARE and educate myself about vbac. I spent nearly every single day (from the very day I had my first csection 2 years ago) thinking about my second baby, and how he would make his debut into the world. Could I pull it off? Would Heavenly Father allow me to experience vaginal birth, and bring my infant into this life the way he was "meant" to be? Or would I experience tragedy of some type during my delivery attempt, and have an emergency interfere that wouldn't allow me to vbac? Never did I consider that there would be more than the two options (delivery baby vaginally or have an emergency csection from rupture or distress). I was not prepared for what I actually experienced, and we shed plenty of tears over it. I'll try my best to remember all of the details. I may be off on time lines by a little bit, but after I have my postnatal visit with my doula, I'll be able to make sure all of the details of my birth story are correct. She wrote everything down as it happened.

I was 40 weeks and 3 days along, feeling much the same as I'd been feeling for the last two weeks. The pelvic pain was intense and unrelenting, I had a hard time moving my legs much at all. But besides that, being "past due" was just like being 39 weeks pregnant. It just hurt like hell, and that's all there was to it. Neal's long hours were leaving me in tears most of the time, and my mom was feeling the pressure of my neediness. I can't say who was more ready for this baby to come. Us or her. Blanca came and cleaned our house, as she does every other thursday. I had regular contractions all day long. I had been having regular contractions for a good 5 or 6 days, but they always tapered off with sleep. My contractions on this particular day were ever so consistent. No more than 5 minutes apart, sometimes 1-2 minutes apart. But like I said, this wasn't unusual for me. The real test was whether or not they went away with sleep. I had a good feeling that I would be going into labor very soon. I felt an urge to do something special with our Mckenzi as a family before her world completely changed. (Aww, I'm crying as I type this. Who knew I'd get emotional looking back on the day?) I'm grateful I had the feeling I'd be going into labor soon, because it turned out to be true. Anyway, we decided to take Mckenzi to Box Canyon Park. I packed up a big comforter and I brought along a tennis ball, because Kenz is a fanatic for balls. We got to the park, and naturally, my Mckenzi lit up. Her daddy played with her on the pirate ship, she ran all over the playground yelling, "mama! mama! watch! watch!" and would make sure I watched and shouted her praises each time she went down the slide. Together the 3 of us went on the swings. She was so thrilled that daddy and me were actually swinging on the swings with her. It was such a lovely time. Such a nice evening the 3 of us. It was the perfect time for me to realize just how richly blessed we were with our daughter, with our family. Our growing family.

When it was time to leave the park, of course she kicked and screamed. :) My contractions were still very consistent, as I had a habit of keeping track of how long they were lasting and how far apart they were. I was getting tired and worn out from them, per the norm. They weren't painful like real contractions, but...you know when you tighten a muscle and keep it tight for just a few seconds? Imagine doing that every few minutes for a minute at a time. It's exhausting and uncomfortable. Anyway, after the park we decided to take Mckenzi to Golden Spoon. I got a small strawberry frozen yogurt, and had gummy worms put on it just for my little girl. She went crazy for it. And of course Mckenzi insisted on holding it the whole time, but shared it perfectly as we each had our own spoon. :) After Golden Spoon we went to my parents house. We got there around 8pm, I think, and the evening is a blur. I think I remember my mom's (and my) friend Shannon being over at their house with her new baby Presley. It was one of their typical girl's nights. They had picked up a couple of pies. I'm sad that they were gross pies, because had they been good, I would have had some and then I wouldn't have been starving for as long during my upcoming labor. Haha. Anyway, the whole time there I felt my body changing. It was bizarre. I had new feelings in my hips and lower back, and in my groin area. I knew labor was coming soon. I even told everyone that it would be soon. The contractions continued. We left and went home, and it was pretty late at this point. I can't remember when we went to bed. I'd like to say around 10 or 11pm. I do remember being very, very uncomfortable the entire time we slept. I don't know if I was DREAMING I was having contractions (I mean, I know I was dreaming I was having contractions, but I wasn't sure whether I was actually having them or not) or if they were real. Either way, my sleep was light and not satisfying at all, because I was in actual crampy pain. Not just braxton hicks pressure type contractions. Pain. But I was semi sleeping, so they couldn't have been all that bad.

At 2:45am, I got up to pee. As soon as I rolled off our (ridiculously high) bed, I felt a warm gush in my underwear. Not a hot pee type gush. (TMI COMING NOW) But like, you know those days where your period is heaviest, and you stand up after laying or sitting for a while, and you just feel a warm heavy oozing or sudden gush? That's what I felt. But it wasn't over suddenly, it lasted long enough to make me think I was bleeding out or something. I rushed to the bathroom, checked to see what was going on, and saw that it was lots of clear/pinkish fluid. When I sat down, more flowed out. I guess "flowed" would be misleading. It wasn't a ton. Maybe half a cup to a cup? Needless to say, I was STOKED. I knew this was the beginning of the end for me, and I couldn't be more thrilled to be done with the pelvic pain. (Do you love that that's all that was on my mind at the time?) I also got hecka scared. I mean, this was, like I said, the beginning of the end. I would soon know the verdict of my vbac experience. What would my story be?

I had decided early in my pregnancy that should my water break to start my labor, I wouldn't wake Neal up. I'd let him sleep, like a nice wife, until my contractions became so bad that we needed to go to the hospital. Anyway, this thought is running through my mind, and then BAM contraction number one comes. And I'm like, "hot damn that was strong!". Don't worry, I kept it together. It lasted for over a minute. I figured I'd have a good 5-10 minutes til the next one, since I knew it was early labor. So I got myself cleaned up. Before I was even finished, contraction number 2 came. What the heck???? I didn't have time to pee and clean up before the second contraction???? Panic ensued. Naturally, I woke Neal up and texted my mom. When I woke Neal up, it went sorta like this:

(Me on toilet, Neal in bed [the master bathroom faces where our bed is. So if he lifted his head while laying in bed, he'd look directly at me in the bathroom] sleeping)

Me: "Neal...Neal, wake up. NEAL!" (this continued for a while. he sleeps like a freaking brick, not kidding.)

Neal: {lifts head and looks at me, totally still half sleeping] "huh?"

Me: "My water just broke."

Neal: [quiet for a moment before he speaks] "Are you sure?"

Me: [angrily] "What do you mean, am I sure?? You want me to show you my freakin underwear and collect a sample??!!" [Then of course I show him my underwear]

Neal: "How do you know that's your water?"

Me: "Because it came out of my vagina. Does that make you happy?"

Neal: [Plops head back down on pillow]

Me: "You may as well try and get some sleep. We'll be having a baby soon. My contractions are coming pretty close together."

Neal: [didn't move a muscle]

I guess he took me seriously when I told him to try and get some sleep. Anyway, I pulled up the texts between me and my mom. They're a pretty accurate narration of what was going on, so I'll put that here too:

Sept 2, 2011 3:00am (40 wks 4 days)
Me: FYI my water just broke. And I'm having real cntrx every couple min.

Mom: So you were right about having him soon. How long before you leave for hospital?

Me: Neal went back to bed. I woke him up when it broke. I felt like I should time the cntrx. But they're coming fairly close. When should I go?

Mom: When did you start timing? How did it break? Rush of water or trickle?

Me: When I texted you. So far they're 3.5 min apart over 1 min long and they're scary real.

Mom: When did it break?

Me: It broke when I got outta bed. Kept dreaming I had to poo and was having painful cntrx. So I got up, and felt a warm gush, sorta like when you're on a heavy period. When I sat on toilet, it kept coming. My underwear was pink. Full of bloody show. It's still coming though. I didn't have a full rupture. But cntrx keep getting closer i cant finish txts.

Mom: Are you all ready to go? After water breaking labor can progress very quickly. When it's real, and regular, and it hurts, you go.

Me: I am not all ready to go. I need to leave soon. Def closer to one minute apart.

Mom: Is Neal up? When should I come?

Me: Haha yeah. You think Neal could go back to sleep? Christmas day. You can come and go to sleep here if you want. I'm gonna shower "quick" cuz I feel like blowing chunks. He's wrapping up packing.

ME LIKE TEN SECOND LATER (at 3:30am): Come now.

Mom: I'm coming.
====================

That was the end of that conversation. I got in the shower, and had every intention of putting on makeup and doing my hair. I was bound and determined to have beautiful labor pictures like every freaking girl I know. (Lets just say, I looked like a trashed out frazzled blowfish YET AGAIN this time around.)

But, I soon learned that while standing, my contractions were SUPREMELY intensified and closer together. We're talking 3o seconds apart at best, and lasting over a minute. When I got in the shower, it took me a good 5 minutes JUST TO SHAMPOO MY HAIR from start to finish. By this time I was crying through every contraction, TRYING to breathe through them like I learned with my hypnobabies, but far too overwhelmed by how quickly they were coming. The crying was pretty nonstop I think, cuz I remember Neal being a bit overwhelmed and rushing me. As I was standing in the shower, with the water hitting my back, I was leaning forward trying to breathe through a contraction, letting the water try and soothe me (but it was just making it super intense, I came to learn). Neal opened the shower curtain and asked me if I was done showering. I nodded "yes", assuming he'd get the hint that I was mid contraction. I mean, hello?! I was hunched over forward, facing down, with my eyes closed. When he asked me a question, I didn't even speak. So then BAM. Suddenly I'm standing in the shower, mid contraction that is so painful I'm crying, and HE TURNED OFF THE WATER!!!!! SO then I sob, "why am I have a contraction in the freezing cold right now?" and he says "Well you were done showering I thought?"....as if I wouldn't turn off the water when i was ready. That made me so, so, so, mad. I thought he wasn't being nearly aware enough of me and what was going on, that he was letting himself get flustered and not taking the time to clearly think about everything. Needless to say, that had me worried about where things were headed for the REAL labor. Anyway, I'm sure that memory will always stick out in my mind. Looking back, obviously he was trying to help things along. But gimme a break. I was having a dang contraction and CRYING and KEELED over and he turned off the hot water? Seriously? Boys. We laugh about it now. I coulda sawed off his nuts at the time, though.

So I finished my shower. I brushed my hair, threw it back in the infamous preggo lady pony tail, and made Neal call the doula. I didn't make brownies for the nurses as planned, I didn't labor at home for hours as planned, and I made Neal call the doula right off the bat and let her know how frequent my contractions were. I mean seriously? 30-90 seconds apart? Scary making. (remember folks, my mom had me in the car after her water broke at home)

At 4am we were out the door heading for the hospital. My doula (Emily) was meeting us there. The contractions SUCKED while driving, and I spent plenty of time irritated and yelling at Neal for his lame driving skills. Despite that, our moods stayed generally positive on the way to the hospital. The contractions slowed to about 2-4 minutes apart while we drove, which was a nice change from the 1 minute break I was getting before. We arrived at St Jude, and while in the parking lot, I asked Neal to give me a blessing. I figured it would be the last of our "private" time together, so he blessed me. That was one thing we forgot to do with our first labor, and there's a part of me that really believes things would have been able to go differently had we not overlooked something so important. I didn't want to forget that this time around. I wouldn't be neglecting God! :) I felt like I'd need all the help I could to get through this delivery.

We walked into the hospital (which seriously took 8 minutes when it shoulda only taken 1) and had to stop for contractions 5 or 6 times. It was a ridiculously short walk, but walking ABSOLUTELY intensified the contractions and made them come super fast. When we walked in the hospital, the security gaurd rushed to us with a wheel chair. I guess it was standard protocol what with giant prego ladies walking in in the middle of the night all the time. I do remember that the idiot security gaurd couldn't figure out how to get the foot rest outta the way, and was tinkering with it BEFORE letting me sit down. So I'm working through contractions left and right, standing up, while he's cussing out the foot rest. Funny memory.

We wheeled upstairs, checked in, got into a bed, and then the nurse started asking all her lame questions. The doula arrived during these questions, and they wouldn't let her in the room (even with us giving express verbal consent cuz Neal was freaking out about my already difficult labor and wanted help handling me haha) until after all of the information was given. I asked if Neal could answer the questions for me, (stupid stuff like the history of cancer in my family, etc etc) and this jerk nurse made ME answer it all. So I made her wait through each and every contraction. Cuz hello I was in labor and it effin hurt right? So the doula got there, and I'm like "so this hurts way more than I thought." I really assumed there'd be a natural progression. I thought I'd get to feel my first contraction, prep for the second one (which shouldn't be coming for like 10 minutes, right?), and mentally prepare myself for them gradually getting closer together etc etc. But no. Once they started, they never let up. I wasn't prepared for that. I remember my doula only having been there for an hour or so, and just crying and crying as I felt each contraction beginning because I was so afraid of the pain. I mean, just as soon as I'd recover from the last one, the next one would begin. After 3 hours of that, I was wiped and scared to death. Oh, I forgot to mention that when I got to the hospital I was 4cm. At my last Dr appt two days before I was still just a fingertip dilated. My doula did really well to remind me of my hypnobabies "training". Handling the pain and handling the contrx was only possible because of what I learned, though it was very mentally draining on top of physically draining. I really really had to think my way through them. I would still experience intense pain, but using hypnosis somehow made it so that I didn't allow the pain to overwhelm me. Hard to explain. Since my labor was 35 hours, it really is a blur to me. Neal is asleep right now, otherwise I'd be able to be more precise about how things happened, since he has texts with updates out to family on his phone, and mine are more minimal. So my updates will be based mostly on what I sent out from my cell phone. By around 1pm (10 hours into labor) I was just at 6cm. They told me my cervix was perfect, I just needed to finish dilating. At 2:30 pm, nearly 12 hours into labor, I sent a text to my mom saying, "We are only having two kids." Hahahaha. She told me that that's what they all say. And then I proceeded to tell her that I am not a labor champ. "This time sucks way worse." At this point I was just fighting anxiety and pain. She asked me about my hypno stuff. I told her it helps some, but that I'm a head case and need help and reminders.

By 5pm (14 hrs) I was a 7. Perfectly soft and stretchy. Cervix was being great. My baby was strong and heart beat awesome. Only thing was, my waters resealed. So basically the baby was floating in a big bag of waters, not engaging so that it would break. Around the afternoon sometime (it's all a blur) I caved and got the epidural. Looking back, it's a large regret of mine. The epidural (this time around) only ever worked on one side for me. I was constantly switching from my left side to my right side in order to get baby to come down, and it proved to leave an entire side of me without the epi meds. I felt each and every contraction on one side for an hour or two, until I'd switch to the other side and feel it there. The epidural gave me more intense anxiety than I'd ever experienced, mostly because I was so dead and numb from the medication that I couldn't even move my toes, let alone feel myself touch my leg. I became a total head case. I made Neal and my doula take turns rubbing my dead legs, just so I could make sure they were still alive. (When they would rub them, I could feel a very very faint tingle.) My poor husband and doula were definitely exhausted from 24+ hours of rubbing my "dead" feet. The anxiety I felt was seriously overwhelming though, so much that it frequently had me in tears. I genuinely believed that the feeling in my legs would never return to me, and the idea had me completely and utterly panicked. Like I said. Head case.

Around 7pm we decided to stop the epi to try and progress some more. Not fun. Around 9:30pm, over 18 hrs in, I was an 8. My body wasn't doing things quickly, that was for sure. But at least it was progressing. Two hours later, around 11:30pm, I made it to a 9. And my waters were still in tact. Two hours later, I was a 10. Fine-a-freaking-ly. The only thing was, he was still in his water, "bellotable". That means he was floating high. At this point they couldn't artificially rupture my water because of the high risk of cord prolapse (baby's head engages ON cord, cutting blood/oxygen supply to baby). With a baby so high up, if the water breaks suddenly, the baby is more likely to end up on his cord. So now it was 2am, almost 24 hours into labor, I am at 10cm, and the baby is floating around and we are just waiting for the water to break. Puh-lease. My head was killing me. I was starving. Nauseous. Aches and pains ALL over. Throughout my labor I had gradually eaten half a banana, a nutrigrain bar, and a granola bar. We're talking a bite every hour. The ice chips were pure heaven, though, as I was as thirsty as a camel that had been eating sand for hours.

At 2:45am, just 45 min after I reached 10cm, my water broke. Halelluia! We figured when it broke, he would finally make his descent. But alas, he stayed nice and high. Go figure, right? Me, having a stubborn baby? Naaaaah.

7 hours after my water broke, they checked me again. Baby wasn't coming down, and my cervix has actually begun to reverse. I was 6 or 7 cm dilated, very emotional, and very tired. I had labored for 30 hours by this time, and the reversal in progress was absolutely devastating. Why wasn't my baby coming down? His heart rate was perfectly awesome! There were ZERO decels, ZERO signs of distress. My incision/uturus was holding up BEAUTIFULLY, as I'd been contracting for 3 or 4 times the amount of time that women usually experience. My body was ready and waiting for him, and he was choosing to ignore the queue's. It was more than enough to throw me into some serious sadness.

We decided to try some new things. There was only so much I could do while medicated. I sat up in bed to try and have gravity help. Tried new positions, and prayed. And prayed. My mom was texting us through out everything, and her and my Aunt had suggested a blessing for our baby. Generally, blessings are given by the laying on of hands directly to the receiver's head. Obviously, little man's head wasn't available, so he would have to lay his hands on my belly and bless him that way.

This part is where things get very emotional and sacred for us. We were both worn. Both of us were confused, unsure of what path to take, and feeling weathered from the little storm we'd been through. Our doula had left for a little while, and we were finally alone together in our room. Tears streamed down my face, and they were tears that I couldn't keep from coming. They weren't uncontrollable sobs, they weren't from pain, they weren't from the usual things that had been making me cry. They came as tears of confusion. I was mourning a birth that hadn't happened. A birth that felt far away and out of my reach. I birth that I wasn't meant to experience, but did all I could to have. I was very, very, sad, and very, very, tired. I broke down, and told Neal that I just couldn't do it anymore. He sat next to me, and was gentle and reassuring in every way that a husband can be to his wife, and in every way that a father can be while waiting for his son to come to his earthly life. I apologized to him over and over, for not being able to give him the typical birthing experience that every daddy hopes to be able to be part of. I actually wept while apologizing to him, and it was then that I realized that a very VERY large reason for me attempting vbac was for him. When we had Mckenzi, I wasn't the only one who was robbed and traumatized, bruised and battered from that delivery. He was too. He had to watch as we were whisked away, not knowing whether his first born would make it, and uncertain of how his wife would handle the major emergency surgery. The vbac wasn't an attempt at healing just me, but I wanted to heal that part of HIM, too. It was during this apology where he finally broke down emotionally, too. I've never seen my husband cry like this before. He made it very clear to me that what was important to him was ME. He told me how proud he was for all the work and effort I'd put in to the long labor, he told me how much he loved me and cherished me and wanted ME to be comfortable and okay, whatever that meant. He didn't need to see a vaginal delivery to feel like a proud daddy, or to feel involved and overjoyed. He continued to cry as he expressed everything I needed to hear from him, and I was grateful that we had that time together. It was very intimate and very necessary for us to have that conversation before we could move on and make the next decision. We discussed where we were in the labor. We spoke about the realities. My body had done it's work. I had done EVERYTHING I could do to give baby the opportunity to come the way babies are meant to come. I had dilated fully. My water broke naturally. But he would not descend. Obviously this meant something that none of us could understand, but it didn't matter. We knew that it was time to start considering an alternate reality for ourselves. This is where we decided it would be the appropriate time to give our son his blessing. I remember the experience very clearly. Where I don't remember all of the words my husband spoke, I remember the tenderness of the moment, and will never forget the sensitive and lovely feelings that filled the room while Neal blessed his son. He began the blessing, and after only a few words, emotionally broke down. His crying wasn't easily controlled, and he was apologetic for not being able to get a hold of himself in order to actually speak. He stood there for some time, letting the emotion take over, until he could contain himself well enough to begin again. It was very apparent to the both of us just how much our son was already loved. His significance and worth became a very real thing to us at that time, and it was all overwhelming. We had worked together long and hard to bring him to us, and he wasn't coming, but it was time. Neal was able to pull himself together, and began the blessing. I remember him telling our baby just how much he is loved. He spoke of how difficult life is here on earth, but that he will always be supported and deeply loved by his parents and his family surrounding him. He let him know that it was time to come to earth, and time to begin his life here with us. He spoke so gently, so lovingly, and all I could feel was complete warmth oozing from every word that he spoke. Every word that was carefully thought of and meant specifically for his son. It was so sweet. The blessing ended, and we both felt comfort and peace.

Soon after the blessing, my contractions picked up quite a bit. I was having A LOT of contractions, but was able to rest at the same time because my Dr had given me some new medicine (not epidural) that was strong and relieving. My nurse was one I hadn't had before (we went through like 5 nurses during l&d) and she was the "Nazi" kind, as Neal referred to her in a text he sent my mom. She checked me frequently, and was pleased that I had begun making progress again. I hadn't been having them for the last little while, but they were picking up again. I was still discouraged at this point. I had made up my mind, I think, that I wouldn't be having my sought after vbac, but I hadn't made the decision or voiced that to any of the staff. I reached out to my mom and let her know everything that I was feeling. The desperation I felt from having done all I could with nothing coming of. She responded tenderly, reassuring me that I was exactly right. I had done everything that I could. I had done it all right. That it was up to God what would happen, and up to me to decide how long I could handle my current circumstances.

I looked at my sweet husband, and I told him I was ready for a csection. I never thought it would be a decision I would actually CHOOSE for us, so hearing myself say it out loud left me fairly numb emotionally. I was sacked. Beaten. There was nothing left in me. No fight. I was resigned, and the only thing important to me, as it was the entire time, was helping my baby get here the safest and best way possible. Obviously, a vaginal birth was not what he needed.

A few minutes later, and for the FIRST TIME MY ENTIRE LABOR, and OB walked in the room. Her name was Dr. Pham. She was young. She was the on call OB for my Dr who had gone outta town. Can you believe after 35 hours of labor I was only just meeting my OB? Weird. No other OB's ever even came to see me either. Weird weird. Anyway, she introduced herself, and then she laid into me. She spoke about how when she heard I was still being allowed to labor, she couldn't believe it. That I was putting her medical license at risk, my baby at risk, etc etc, and all of these things were unacceptable. She went on to tell me about how SHE runs her practice, and how she would have taken my baby out several hours ago, etc etc. I was already defeated by my own experience. I'm surprised she felt the need to continue on as long as she did (a good 10 minutes) where no one else said a single word. She just carried on and on about how careless everyone had been. When she finished, I gently told her that my number one priority is the safety of my baby, that no one loved him or cared for him more than us, and that we were ready to submit to surgery. Then, of course, she turned sweet and lovely. She touched me gently, and softness came through her voice with each new thing she chose to communicate to me. Figures. She'd make a killing off the surgery.

Being prepped for the surgery was a new experience. My first csection was an emergency. We all remember that dramatic blog post, of course. I was slammed into general ansthesia with that one, so with this one, I got to see and feel all the steps that went into the actually surgery. And, I got to have my husband with me. What a champ he was! He took pictures the entire time, and they even let him photograph the actual surgery. Do you want to see my guts? Cuz he totally has them on camera. GROSS.

Anyway, the surgery began. My surgeons didn't say a SINGLE word to me the entire surgery. They chatted back and forth to each other about their husbands, their new houses, the party they'd recently gone to. But bless the anesthesiologists heart, he informed me of every new feeling I was about to experience, and let me know not to be afraid. I really appreciated his kindness, and how he was aware of ME. The drugs that were piping through my IV made me very, VERY shaky. Any part of me that had feeling (my arms and up) was shaking violently. I was using my hypnobabies for this, and it calmed me well enough when I would REALLY focus that the shaking was only slight. But it was draining me mentally, when I didn't have much mental space left to give. So the violent shakes continue. I smelled my flesh burning, which was weird and unusual. Neal clicked away on his camera, commenting here and there and making funny noises about what he was watching happen to me. I laid quietly, and took it all in, and waited. At one point the shaking became so violent that I wasn't sure I could keep my arms layed out by my side like I was supposed to. Around this time I felt Neal's calming presence, and realized that his hands were on my head. It was very peaceful feeling. After about a minute, he removed his hands, and I felt nothing other than comfort and peace. My arms no longer shook. I was able to quietly lay there and not be overwhelmed by the violent thrashing that my arms wanted to do. I was still. I was at peace. The spirit filled me, and I realized that my Heavenly Father was with me, and that I was being comforted because my husband had likely given me a blessing. I remember thinking to myself about how I never wanted to forget that part of my experience, because the Holy Ghost really bore witness to me of the power of the Priesthood in that moment. It was an experience I needed. I cried silent tears again. I wanted to remember to ask Neal later if he had in fact given me a blessing. Turns out he had.

I kept waiting for the "you're going to feel lots of pressure right now" part where they pull baby out. It came and went, and it wasn't "lots of pressure" at all. Lots of pressure is having a small toddler inside your stomach kick you to death for 10 or so weeks. It was weird listening to him say, "wow, he's really stuck up in there" over and over again. But alas, they pulled him out, and all I could hear were his sweet, sweet cries. Little tiny kitty cat purs. Everything else was blocked out for a moment. I heard him cry, and then mama cried tears of sweet relief. He was finally here. He was okay. I never thought I'd be one to cry at the sound of his cry. I had tried to imagine it several times through my pregnancy, but to no avail. I was a mom again. And I loved him. It happened! It's just like everyone says. You love them immediately. Sweet peace, finally. The sounds of everyone elses voices came out, and I heard the surgeon say, "well THAT explains it! He's got TWO CORDS!"...and I'm like, what did she just say??? He's got two cords??? Neal clarified it for me. She meant that the cord was around his neck twice. The doctor then proceeded to say, "No wonder why he didn't wanna come out! He's HUUUUUUUGE!! That on top of the cord gives us our answer right there!". The anesthesiologist leaned over to me and told me that it's a good thing I chose the csection, because with his "situation", had on gone through and tried for a vaginal delivery, he for sure would have gone into distress and we would have had to have an emergency csection anyway. I suppose.

Whatever the story is, folks, I felt at peace with the decision to have a csection. I knew it was the right thing to do. People say I should have just scheduled it at 38 weeks and avoided the last 3 weeks of pregnancy, but I surely would have had regrets. I labored. I let my body do her part. And she did it lovely. There was a different plan for us, and for some reason that plan involved my little tank-man getting here via csection. I won't try for a vbac again, unless I specifically receive inspiration to go through that. To me, it's just too much of a risk now that I've had two csections. I don't need to take any risks getting my little kiddos here.

Recovery was a piece of cake this time. Emergency c's are rough and there's nothing gentle and careful about them in the slightest. The pain and recovery from my emergency csection was long and grueling in comparison to my recent "routine" csection. I was walking early on and not crying because I wanted to die from the pain. I was okay. I was happy to not be pregnant anymore, happy my baby was here, and happy to move on to the next phase of life. Which is what we're doing now.

That's my story and I'm stickin to it.

Yo.

I blogged on the other blog. ----->

New blog

Hey all. I've decided to start a new blog. Not private, and more for me. Not an updater on the day to day of my family, but just somewhere for me to talk like I talk and not worry about who reads, because my husband won't be connected to it and I won't have to worry about HIS people judging him yada yada. How glorious to get back to writing as I love to write. Without concern for how it will make others feel. Not that it will be a forum for bashing and awfulness, but more a forum to speak freely about things that some might be bashful or embarassed to talk about with the general public. Or even with people they're very comfortable with. I generally enjoy being upfront about what I think and what I feel and what I experience. Every human being experiences almost all of the same things/thoughts, it's just that most people find it entirely inappropriate to talk about said things in any sort of public forum. That is something I will never understand. I do, however, understand keeping crude conversation to a minimum, cussing to almost nothing, etc...but real life? I don't know how I'll ever wrap my mind around how some people get uncomfortable when you talk about butt surgery, sharts, boob rashes, etc...but, I digress. I'm looking forward to regularly blogging whenever I feel like it. HollER. It's called Confessions of a Mama Drama Queen. For some reason, the link isn't working for everyone. So just go to confessionsofamamadramaqueen.blogspot.com. I'm not advertising it to the general public or anything, but I'm not necessarily interested in keeping it a "secret" either. I just want to take some time to deck it out and personalize it to some degree before I let her out there. But just so you know - if you're one of those who is offended at the mention of farts, or nipple pain, or cervical dilation, or throbbing associated with nether regions because of pregnancy - don't read. I don't plan to take (much) time apologizing for my day to day realities. Love ya!

14 days

Like the title says, there's just 14 more days til my expected due date. Which is generally a bunch of molarky. At my 36 and 37 week check ups, I was the same. Just barely dilated, not effaced at all. Tomorrow afternoon is the 38 week check up. We'll see if I've made anymore progress. I'd say highly unlikely, if it's anything like my first pregnancy. I stayed a finger tip dilated all the way up until my induction. I'm hoping for sooooome progress, considering I need to go into labor naturally, and I don't know how long my OB will feel comfortable letting me go passed my due date. We haven't had that discussion yet, and I'm prepared to "fight" for my body to do it's own thing....I would just rather not have to. My mom was never overdue. Like that means anything. Here's to hoping! So, for my own records, here is how I'm feeling: Huge. Getting up from a laying position is next to impossible. I sort of have to roll over and try and catch myself on my feet as I land. Baby is still moving quite a bit, which surprises me since he is so obviously large. His bum switches from my left ribs to my right ribs, which also surprises me, since you'd think it'd be pretty hard to do such a maneuver at this stage in the game. I constantly have acid indigestion, and nothing helps it go away. I've had "soft stool" for over a month now, which is laaaaaaame. And I'm constantly throbbing. Hips, knees, ankles, lower back, ribs, you name it. It throbs. Kenzi is noticing that things are about to change, because she is VERY cuddly and clingy lately. It's cute, but I also worry for her. That said, she is a CHAMPION little friend to all. I have a feeling she'll love this little baby as much as she loves everyone elses little babies. One of her very owN! Lets hope I'm right!

K i'm tired. Nap time. Post cut short.

Time for an update?

Hi all. Not much is going on the Holmes house.We've got 21 days left. Well, approximately. The current average for a mom going into spontaneous labor is 38 weeks. Really? Why do I hear all about 40+ weeks, when I mom chooses to not be induced or schedule a csection? Oh the joys of the last weeks of pregnancy. Consumed by the, "oh, that felt like maybe a real cntrx." Or the, "hmmm...I wonder if I'll be anymore dilated at the next app." Or checkin the tp (tmi, I know), to see if there are any "signs" from below. Joy, joy, joy. I'm definitely grateful that I haven't been totally and utterly consumed this whole pregnancy, BY the pregnancy, like the first time around. But heck. Lets be real. The last month, it's all I can think about. The END. Especially considering the unknowns of my "situation". Which we're all familiar with. Vbac, vbac, vbac. Oye. I can't wait til I know my own fate, whatever it is. I just want everyone to be okay.

Mckenzi will be 2 in a month. Her birthday party is this friday. I'll be doing an "easy" party, if there's such a thing. Pretty much just spending money so that I don't have to do much work. Lets be real. I'll be nearing the last days, and I just can't handle much responsibility beyonod instructing others on what to do. So I've been searching high and low for a giant yo gabba gabba bounce house, hopefully with a big slide, a cotton candy machine, a sno cone machine, and a caterer. I use the term "caterer" ever so loosely. I'm talking like Dw's subs or somethin. Chips. Soda. You know, basics. The cotton candy/sno cone machines run around $25 to rent, and I'm hoping to get the bounce house combo for a steal too. Anyway, if I can keep a low budget, I'm thinking I'll have one of Jaime's friends do face painting. Ohhhhh who knows. She's only 2, after all. But most of the kids are older. I just want the kids to have fun. Excited that my friend Shannon is doing the cake, too! Should be super cute!

In other AWESOME news, my lovely sister Jaime got her mission call. She's going to Toronot, Canada. In the next week or two, she be going to the temple for the first time. I really, really hope that I'm not having a baby at the same time. :( Yay for Jaime! She'll be a GREAT missionary.

Death

Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night from a terrible dream/nightmare. Neal was holding Mckenzi in my parents toy hauler (big huge 40+ something foot trailer), and he lit a match for something. Then there was a small explosion. I was outside of the trailer, and the flames came out of the trailer door, so I knew the explosing was big enough that it potentially hurt them both. My concern (in the dream) was for Mckenzi. The flames disappeared as quickly as they appeared, I ran into the trailer, grabbed her into my arms, and she was alive and breathing. She layed in my arms with her eyes closed, cuddled in close, as if she knew that what she had experienced was dangers and scary. I couldn't seem to let her go out of my arms after that. And she seemed just as comfortable staying in my arms.

I woke up shortly after the explosion, and felt overwhelmed with the idea that I would be dieing soon. How awful is that? The reality of such a possibility really hit me then, and I just couldn't get back to sleep. Obviously my mind wandered to how I could possibly die, and my concerns turned to the possibility of me dieing during child birth, leaving my young family very much on their own. I wondered what type of sorrows I would experience in the after life, considering I would obviously have a different perspective. But I would no less have sorrow and sadness. Anyway, the feelings were rather overwhelming and strange last night, particularly because i've never considered the possibility of ME dieing while having this next baby. And then I realized that I'm not my best right now. That there are things I need to get in order before I can leave this life, to ensure I've done my part to make it to celestial glory with my family. I built a mental list, and now to just begin fulfilling that list. It's always easier said than done, but when you think about the idea that you might die soon, and you feel very strongly that you might die, the motivation isn't too hard to find. My poor children. They shouldn't have to grow up without a mommy.

What an unhappy post, right? Well...in better news, we are going to the Orange County Fair tonight. We wait for the fair to come every summer, mostly just because we like to eat anything and everything we want. It's funny though. We have been trying to think about what we want to eat this year, and nothing is topping our lists. We've tried everything really, and nothing is really irresistable enough that we HAAAVE to have it again. Though we surely will. I'll be sure to take pictures of what we consume. Maybe I'll even take the wheelchair, and make my husband push me around. :D

50 days.

Can we say "holy moly" please? Yes we can. Holy moly. 50 more days until little stud man joins the Holmes family. What do we have for him? Absolutely notta-one-thing. I go to target and stuff, or Babies R Us, and always end up leaving with about $100 in clothes for Mckenzi, and NOTHING for baby boy. They don't make cute for boys. That, and I'm always like, "Oh, well, I don't know why size this porker is gonna be." So, he'll survive in his cousin's hand-me-downs at first. And whatever the baby shower(s) bring. I told myself I'd at least buy the kid his coming home outfit. But there's nothing that's cute and frilly with polka dots and ruffles for boys! I am so glad I had a girl first. You'd think I'd have gotten the fashion outa my system, and would be fine pickin out something for my handsome chunky man (did I mention how huge he is?). I'll have to leave the homecoming outfit to Neal. Speaking of Neal, he's totally read for little man. At least HE'S getting ready for him. He's researched double strollers left and right, and has decided that it's only the best for his kids. And for himself. Haha. He's chosen the Bob Duallie as our major investment for this kid. Which, whatever. Neal jogs on a regular basis, and always takes Mckenzi with him, and plans to take both kids once they're here. Which means he'll need a "proper" stroller. The suspsion system on the BOB has him sold, hands down. No one else has anything even remotely comparable. (((Please hold while I go to the restroom))).

Another issue as of late: what to name the kid. Before we had Mckenzi, we were sitting in the movie theater one day (with my parents), watching the previews, and a movie with Vin Diesel was being advertised. I was like, "hey, if we have a boy, we could name him Dieeeesel." Little did I know how overjoyed Neal and Dad would be at the prospect of having a manly little boy running around named Diesel. It's been almost 3 years since then. And they have NOT let it drop. Neal is very, very attached to this name. The frustrating thing is, he'd trade it in a heart beart for any other ridiculous meat head name! Which just goes to show me that no matter what, my son is going to be named something gnarly and not very awesome. The names I like aren't manly at all, apparently (Grayson and Cooper). Neal is into Diesel and Axel. Only he requires that we spell Axel as "Axle", like the car part. Hell. To. The. NO. Who does he think he is???? My kid is not a friggin car part, or car accesory, or car gasoline, etc etc. He is a little sweet boy. And he will hate me forever when I go along with what his dad wants for him. I hope he'll read this someday, and understand how hard of a fight I put up. Don't get me wrong. I think the names Diesel and Axel are totally awesome. But not for my kid. Let my kid call your kid by those names, that will make ME happy. :) But whatever. I'm fairly certain (as in like 99.5% certain) that this battle is a losing one for me. Which just isn't fair at all, considering Neal and I both agreed on Kenzi's name. Not fair. I get NOTHING for carrying this kid for 9 months, other than a ripped hooty-h00 and sore boobs at the end. I just don't see how this is fair. Getting a woman pregnant is nothing but fun and games for a man. For most women, it's methodical calculation...checking your cervical fluid, your waking temperature, your cervical position, calculating ovulation...and the man just gets to go with it and party every time you say, "NOW!". And then for the next 9 months, the hardest part for the man is having to rub a sore back, or bend over and get something you can't reach. (Truth be told, Neal is was stellar, and does A LOT for us while I'm pregnant. Dishes, laundry, gets up with Kenz.) So anyway, my point is, I should have first say, and Neal should be the one settling. Right??? But then I tell myself..."well, this might be his only son. Why not give him the right of naming him?" I just wish he cared more about what I think on the matter. He swears he cares, and that it's not his fault that I haven't come up with "anything better". Douche. :P

You can all stop calling me "Wendy" and can begin calling me "the 200 lb woman". Because I swear, I'm most definitely right around the corner from there. I always promised myself I'd never been over a certain weight. Well ladies, there's just not much you can do when you're growing a teenager in your stomach. I haven't weighed myself at home ONCE, for fear of the depression it will throw me into. I'm scared for my appt on monday, because I know I"ll be weighed.

Speaking of my appt on monday, I've switched OB's again. 3rd time is the charm, right? I liked my first OB. 27 weeks of trusting the guy, only to find out that the hospital (Hoag) he delivers at isn't VBAC "friendly" at all. Maybe I shoulda talked to my OB personally to see if he had a way around the regulations that Hoag has set in place, but I just seemed to remember him casually mentioning something in our first appt together that verified that regulations he'd have to work under. "I absolutely perform vbacs, we just have to be open to a little extra monitoring and pain medication." He made it sound so casual. Then you talk to a hospital nurse and find out that the "little extra monitoring" is actually CONSTANT INTERNAL MONITORING, where they BREAK YOUR WATER (they don't wait for it to happen on it's own...which if it's done prematurely, can stall labor, leading to csec), SCREW INTO YOUR BABY'S SCALP, and monitor the baby that way. The whole time. I'm fairly certain that if someone screwed something into my scalp, I'd be uncomfortable, and certainly not interested in doing my best to be delivered smoothly and comfortably. Not any option for my baby. Internal fetal monitoring is ABSOLUTELY necessary in some instances, like when I was having Mckenzi. My crash cesarean was because she was gone. We knew that only because of the fetal monitoring. We listened to her heart get slower and slower, until it was no more. Anyway, the pain medication owuld have been administered upon arrival, as well. How am I supposed to do my part to labor, if I can't feel a thing? So, TRANSFER. I searched high and low, asked the ladies of ICAN (international cesarean awareness network - it's a group I subscribe to, where everyone on the list has had previous c's and shoot for vbacs. They all have advice, info, questions, etc to offer. Many of those ladies are crazy-extremists, like VBAC is the ONLY goal...I'm certainly no vbacitivist) to refer me to local (truely) Vbac supportive providers, and was referred to a group in Laguna Hills. I was assigned to one of the doctors, and had to transfer my records without ever even meeting her. Fine. As long as she's vbac friendly. I met her around 30 weeks. She's like one of the guys. She's from NY, has kinda the NY pushy/confident personality. She told me I needed the pertussis vaccine right then, told me I needed to committ to an epidural with her, and was very pushy on the matters. At the end of our meeting, the nurse came in with the vaccine, and I"m like, "I didn't say I was ok with it." She didn't like that. I told her I needed to think about it, talk to my husband, and she said that's fine I could get it at the next appt. As if! She was so pushy. She even gave me a pelvic exam, which I always thought was MAJOR no no until later in pregnancy. It was all to weird and uncomfortable. So I thought and thought, and a week ago (32 weeks) decided it was time for a switch. Priorities have changed. I want an OB who is kind, caring, and thoughtful, and OPEN to the idea of giving a VBAC a shot. I called up my aunt, who is similar to me, and she referred me to her OB that she has always raved about. He helped her with a complicated pregnancy of her own, where other OB's wouldn't have been so openminded. Anyway,come to find out he's the OB of several friends. Dr. Dietrich, in Placentia. I had my records transferred yet again, and haven't met the guy yet. Will on monday. Hoping for the best. I'll be 33 weeks that very day.

In other news, two nights ago we met with a potential doula. I "interviewed" several online first, exchanging emails, etc. Then narrowed it down, and had Emily over on thursday evening. We spent an hour with her, and we both feel comfortable with the idea of having her on board with us for our delivery experience. Early on in my pregnancy, I talked to Neal about the idea of a doula. At that point, neither of us felt like it was necessary, and even thought the idea was silly. Why would we want a stranger with us while we're having a baby? Normal people don't need strangers to help them deliver, so why should we? Well, as the process has continued of finding OB's and not meshing with them, and feeling like a VBAC is something we should at least TRY for, etc etc, we decided we need an EDUCATED person on our team. My mom is NOT pro vbac, my family kinda raises their eyebrows and voices bits of concern here or there, or asks questions that makes it clear they think I'm being a bit careless. Specifically my mom. I wish she would take some time to educate herself, for even 30 minues in a day, so that she could realize I'm being anything BUT careless. I'm not a granola hippie mom (though I love and respect my friends who are), I just want to be middle of the road on the subject of birth. Least intervention as possible, while AT a hospital just in case I need the intervention. Why can't my mom appreciate the wisdom in that? I could totally flip her and everyone out and go for a hbac (homebirth) like MOST vbac moms do. But annnyway, just another area where I seem to fall short in pleasing the mother. Yay! Lets just face it. No one who hasn't had a traumatic csection, who hasn't done the research, can possibly begin to understand it all. And that is ok. And that is why I can move forward in my decision to attempt VBAC. My husband is a champ. He is so supportive of me. I listen to all of his fears and concerns, which only go as far as "please don't do a homebirth or birthing center". He's absolutely up for the idea of having the doula, as he's realized that she's there to help him help me. He doesn't have to feel like he's doing anything wrong, like he can be doing things better, or anything like that. She can say, "hey, do this" and he can feel good knowing that he's being so valuable. And I'm looking forward to the doula being able to suggest to me diffferent positions, breathing techniques, etc. She suggested that I look into hypnobaby classes, but they're so expensive ($500), and on top of her fees, we just didn't budget for either of those things, especially all in one month. So I'm conflicted. I suppose I could make it happen, but I don't want to have any $500 regrets. Either way. So it's another thing to think about. Oh, and we hired Emily as our doula. And we are stickin with Dr. Dietrich. And delivering at St. Jude. Tootles!

Another day, another post.

Does anyone else feel like they live life waiting for the NEXT big thing? It frustrates me a little that I'm guilty of doing this. I mean, for example, I've been pregnant for 28 weeks, and for the majority of these 28 weeks (well 24, since I didn't know about the pregnancy for 4 weeks duh) all I've been able to think about it life AFTER pregnancy. Only natural, I suppose. Life gets put on hold a bit. I can start my diet when I'm done, I can take my business to the next level when I'm done (which means a thousand different things), I can get out in my garage and climb on ladders and finally organize it all, I can head up getting our house listed for sale, etc, etc, etc. It's hard to take the bull by the horns when the bull has you, so to speak. :)

Also, I've been a little extra irritated people at church lately. My husband has unfortunately had the weekend shift for years now, which is normally fairly manageable, at least when I'm not pregnant. I have an demanding,clingy, energetic, (almost) 2 year old, I'm largely pregnant, and I have no husband to assist me in 1) getting us ready for church and 2)taking care of Mckenzi at church. She is nursery age, but has become overwhelmingly attached to me, and screams if I leave nursery to try and squeeze in a little bit of class. So, I spend my sundays working to get us ready, only to sit in nursery with a massive group of 2 year olds that need me to blow their nose and refill their sippy cups. It takes MAJOR effort just getting there. Once I get there, I'd like to be able to get anything at all out of it, and I can't. So on the sundays where I choose to not fight the fight, the members, particularly certain sisters, chalk it up to me just being lazy and inactive. I don't appreciate people calling MY PARENTS and asking them what they can do to get me to church. How about YOUR husband goes and works every sunday of his life? How about you stop looking at everything at face value, and try and understand that people have certain challenges and trials in their lives that can only be fixed with patience and time? It is plainly insulting. I feel like if the members were actually concerned, and cared, they would approach ME and ask ME what they could do to help. Instead, they get secretive and stealth, and talk to my parents as if it's too sensitive a matter to talk to me about. Please, TALK TO ME, so I can help you understand that I do my best, I do what I can, and my heart is in the right place. What it comes down to is that my Heavenly Father knows me and understands me, and at the end of the day, that's all I need to concern myself with. I just wish that others weren't so judgemental and unfeeling about it all. Everyone's circumstances are different. It just so happens that I have a young family, I'm doing it on my own, and that's all their is to it. People have NO IDEA the challenges that we face because of the career that my husband (and I) have chosen for our lives. I just wish that people would spend less time judging, and more time looking at the big picture. I know it shouldn't be annoying when I walk into Relief Society, and a whole row clears out just to make sure that I have seat, cuz heaven forbid the inactive girl should leave just cuz their wasn't a seat. Anyway, that's my rant today.

Whew, who knew I had THAT much to say? It's how I feel right now. That's just the way it is. I'm only capable of so much. I do my best as a mom, and I try my best to keep my heart, mind and spirit in the right place. That said, I love the Gospel, and I understand that the members that make up the church are only human, and do their best as well. Annnnnnyway, off I go to take care of my gnarly acid indigestion. And maybe hit the shower. But only AFTER I finish watching 17 Again, which is hilariously awesome. Oh how I have an inappropriate crush on Zac Efron. It's just an on again off again thing, so don't worry. :)

Hellllloooo people.

I love that I write my blogs as if I still maintain a fairly significant audience. As blog stats show, I still get a decent amount of foot traffic, but apparently all the past commentators no longer have comment priveleges on my blog. Sucks for those losers. Still, it's nice having my blog as a record. I can't tell you how many times I've pulled out my old blogs to see exactly how I was feeling when I was this far along with my last pregnancy. PS, this pregnancy continues to be night and day different from my first. And I think it's because God knows that I needed a fairly "normal" pregnancy this time around for us to even CONSIDER more children. Which, now we will. :) We will likely not be stopping at 2 kids. Like I said every day of the first few months of this pregnancy. :)

So peeps, I'm there. 100 more days (as of tomorrow) until I pop this kid out. I had a pretty stellar dream this week. I woke up super relaxed, and ever so grateful for it's content, too. Generally speaking, my dreams are crazy weird and I wake up with killer anxiety, especially when the dreams are pregnancy related, in any way. But for this dream, I was in a tiny hospital room...sorta the size of a regular doctor's office. I had a hospital gown on and the whole 9 yards. I was just layin on the bed, and then I felt like it was time to have my baby. So I got off the bed, and at the foot of the bed I squatted, gave a good solid push, looked down per my docs instructions, saw and felt my kids head, and then pushed one more time (not hard at all), and the little guy just sorta glided right out. If only, right? My doctor stood up and showed him to us. I thought it was funny that he looked like a 2 month old, not a tiny newborn. So I stood up, walked around the bed, got back in it, and was like, "wow, VBAC's are nothing. What the heck is all the hype about?". If only, right? If only. Hahaha.

Tomorrow is my Tonya Joy photography workshop. I'm stoked about that, for sure. I had two shoots this week already, and haven't had much time for editing yet, what with cramming in a bunch of finishing touches on getting the house done. We're allllllmost ready to list. And for those of you wondering if we're moving, the hope is yes. We're ready to spread our wings. We are certainly comfortable in our small condo, but Mckenzi is such a busy body, we just need more space for her to play. Our tiny (and ever so disgusting) patio is just a schmorgesborg of germs and nastiness, and not fun in the slightest. But she seems to love it, which I hate. She opens and unlocks every door and slider we have, so keeping her inside has become quite the chore and challenge. It sure was a fun one, when I was sitting in our living room and she was supposedly napping in her room, and I looked up to see her running towards me. She hopped the crib, opened her (once closed) door, and decided to come out and play. Sheeeeesh. After much deliberation on the whole whether to do a toddler bed or get a crib tent, we ended up doing neither. We've hooked the video monitor back up, and watch her. If she starts to climb, we ask her to lay back down. It always works, as long as she's tired enough and I haven't jumped the gun on putting her to sleep to soon. I will say though, it sucks that I can't continue to sleep in in the mornings. She usually calls to me when she wakes up and is ready to get out of bed, and I usually let her play in her crib for about 30 minutes while I wake myself up too. Can't do that anymore. I suppose some think it's not a big deal to let her get herself out of her crib, but the idea of her falling wrong and getting really hurt just scares me to death. That, and I don't want her to get used to the freedom of climbing out at her will. I'd like to nip that in the bud, for sure. Good times. She's 20 months, and I"m just not ready for the switch yet.

Anyway, off i go to get some editing done. Tootles.

Getting the heeby jeebies.

I'm 25 weeks. In less than one week, I'll just have 100 days left. That may seem like a lot to some of you, but to me, that doesn't feel like nearly enough time. I think I've become so consumed by the delivery (I'm not concerned in the slightest about my labor), that it's being difficult to focus on what this whole thing is about. THE BABY.

We all know about my first go at having a baby. It sucked bull honkey donkey guts, and though I'm nearly certain there will not be a repeat of those circumstances, I can't help but become all consumed by the OTHER things to be nervous about. Truth be told, I'm faced with risks left and right. There's no easy answer for me, like some seem to believe. What is the easy answer? They think I'm careless, to not just sign up for the routine c-section. Granted, these are the those that have never had a c-section (mom etc). I understand that my mom is just concerned about taking the "safest" route, and I think she feels like that's the safest route because it seems the one with less risk. You generally know what to expect from a c-section. Babies don't die. Your uturus doesn't explode. But what people don't realize, is that having a VBAC is only .2% more risky than a csection. And the difference is, with csections, the risk is to the mother. With vbac, the risk is to the baby. I used to tell myself that if it came down to me or a baby, I would chose the life of the baby. But that was before I had other babies. Now it's just one fat conflict on who to put at more risk (even though it's only .2%...less than 1/4 of a percent!). Either way, I'm scared shitless. Yes, I said the 's' word. Because I really really want to remember how scared I am someday when I'm reading this again. (Sorry to those I offend, really.)

One way, I know what to expect. Recovering from my csection felt like recovering from getting hit by a truck. No exaggeration. But it was fairly quick. It was hard not being able to sit up to lift my new baby, or to change her first diapers, go to her when she cried, etc. But, that's what daddy's are for. They're there to help. Waiting to make sure your intestines were put back in right was gnarly, too. If you don't poop in those first hours, you're screwed. It was scary waiting for that trip to the bathroom. I feel like as a woman, I was meant to go through the trial of natural labor and delivery. I got everything but the delivery. I experienced nearly an entire labor, dilated beautifully, etc. The negligance of the medical staff has absolutely changed my life permanently. With each consecutive labor, I will become another VBAC/Csection statistic. Not what I want. I want to assume that labor will go smoothly, delivery will go smoothly (well, as can be expected of anyone without a scar on their uturus) and that my baby will be ok coming out the way they're meant to. But until I have a successful vaginal birth, I'll never know if I'm one of those in the 2% that fail at VBAC, and my uturus ruptures. Not to mention, OB's are generally terrified about VBAC's. Hospitals have only just recently removed the VBAC ban from their list of procedures. Because of that, it's a fairly new "common" occurance. Most women tend to VBAC from home, to avoid medical intervention that so often ends in surgery. I want a voice this time around. More than that, I want the strength to trust in my body, and to trust in a loving Heavenly Father and His plan for the birth of every little child He blesses us with. It seems to be the story of my life - my lack of faith. Maybe I need to spend the next 107 focusing on how to increase my faith. Not only my faith in Heavenly Father, but my faith in my own ability to birth my baby.

Oye vay, right?

Ya'll come back now

Hellooooo. Just got back from our week long trip to Arkansas. The first couple days were what I expected them to be. Relaxed, spent time with all the hick family, church, etc. The next 5 days were slightly hellish. Kenzi didn't want to sleep. Or rather, it was difficult to sleep with the damn rooster crowing as the sun rose every morning. The rooster is young, having just found his voice, and acts like an alarm with a broken snooze button. He'd go off, and every ten minutes for the next hour would cock a doodle his brains out again. And then the dog (also just 6 months old) would start barking at the stupid rooster to shut up. Needless to say, the lack of sleep got to me. FAST. We are grateful to be home, where she is once again sleeping like a champ. My grandparents don't have modern plumbing, so our showers were fast, if we had them at all. Someone was always missing out on a shower. Their well is only 20 gallons, which is used for the whole farm. Needless to say, that went by fast each day. I got scolded plenty of times for putting Kenzi's diapers in the wrong bins, too. They burn their trash, and apparently diapers are super fire proof. My grandparents live at least 45 minutes from the nearest grocery store or restaurant chain, too, so it was great fun relying on myself to feed myself all day every day. :) Hahaha. I am used to certain luxuries, and going a week without these luxuries reminded me how lucky i have it at home! All that said, my grandparents farm is is beautiful. I will miss being a step away from witnessing all the beauty of the earth.

I'm 22 weeks now. And lets just say this pregnancy is night and day compared to my first. I generally forget that I'm pregnant, until I look in the mirror or try and get up from sitting on the ground. I'm really missing how cute I looked my first time around. This second time, I just look like a fat girl that doesn't take care of herself. It's sad. I can't let myself think about it much or I get totally depressed. I'm not happy with how rapidly my body changed this time around. It's like once my body figured out it was pregnant, it decided to jump right back to looking like i did when I was at the END of my first pregnancy. I weigh the same today that I weighed the day I delivered Mckenzi, and I still have 18 weeks to go. So so sad. I do have to remind myself that I only gained 10 lbs total with Mckenzi, though, and I've gained 10 pounds so far this time. 10 pounds is a reasonable amount to gain, so I shouldn't be too hard on myself. I just don't want to have trouble losing it when all is said and done, and I know myself well. I'm trying to prepare myself mentally for the post delivery days, so that I'll be ready to get myself in shape and be a healthy mom. Having only two kids is looking more and more appealing. I do feel very selfish every time I think that way though. Anyway, I'll post a picture tomorrow, since I should look somewhat decent for Easter Sunday.

Now on to Mckenzi. She is so so so cute. Such a little girl. Blossoms more and more every day. Neal and I still look at her with absolute awe. We couldn't be more impressed or more in love with everything that she represents. She is 19 months, and is such a rad kid. She loves everyone, talks to everyone, wants to be best friends with eveyrone, and just has the most happy-go-lucky attitude. But, on top of that, she definitely has a Wendy-streak in her. She's learned the power of the tantrum - and has given us one or two recently. The first one really sent me into mild hysterics of my own. We were on the plane home from Arkansas, it was around midnight, she was EXHAUSTED, hungry, wanted a bottle, couldn't sleep, her ears were hurting, she couldn't run around and play and talk to everyone, so for the last hour of the trip she screamed and cried at the top of her lungs. Fighting to get out of my arms, clawing at my face, hitting and flailing. None of my usual tactics worked, no soothing or singing or loving or patting or ANYTHING worked. Everyone stared. Everyone grimaced. Everyone judged. Everyone was getting mad. Finally, I gave in to it all, held her in the aisle of the plane, and cried. Cried, cried, cried. I too was emotional, hungry, HORMONAL, and not to mention over heated, had been fighting non stop with Neal during the whole ordeal, and finally just broke down. As I cried with her, she finally just layed her head on my chest, I told her over and over "mommy is here, I know you are sad", and we cried together until she fell asleep. And shoot, I was a hot mess. I proceeded to cry well after she fell asleep. Cry cry cry cry cry. Neal and Jaime stared, not sure what to do for me. Luckily they only stared, and left me to my crying. Neal, of coures, put a hand on my leg. But I was left to get my emotions out, and for that I was grateful. Eventually, the old lady sitting across the aisle next to me patted my back and said, "You're doing a wonderful job honey. A wonderful, wonderful job." Of course that made me cry for another ten minutes or so. But the gesture meant so so much to me.

Annnnnnyway, tantrums are FUN! Here are some things about Mckenzi, so I don't forget:

- she sleeps 12-15 hours a night, and 2-3 1/2 hours for her one nap each day. When she wakes up, she calls me until I come and get her. Sometimes I abuse this in the mornings, and let her call me on and off for 30 minutes or so. :) She is very kind and doesn't get impatient with me. I appreciate that!

- she has the cutest little baby language. she says "where are you?" (where you are?), and "i don't know" (i-uh-yo). She calls her grandpa "papa", which she came up with on her own, so we all think it's very sweet. She loves her papa. She calls my mom "mama", just like she calls me. She love love loves her grandparents. She has said "please" for a long time now, only she's turned it into sounding like "ice". So when she says please, it's always, "ice, ice, ice, ice" or "ease ease ease ease" until she gets what she's asking for. And WITHOUT FAIL, every time someone gives her something, or is nice to her, she says thankyou "teeeeeetoooooooo". She has such wonderful manners. Definitely a Holmes trait. She says so many more things, too. "No" is a new favorite. "Steenty" is a fun one for her too (stinky). When the microwave beeps, she always excitedly starts chanting "bobba, bobba?"...even though that's only a bed time luxury. She's a little love bug, and we can't get enough of her.

Exploring Grandma's property was what Kenzi did non stop.

She was in HEAVEN:

Here she is with her bestfriend, Prince. She LOVES him:

Exploring the world, in the buff, with her bestie:

Why yes, I am looking fat. Thanks for noticing. At least Mckenzi still loves me:

Prince had JUST slimed her face. She loved kisses from him. Too bad he always got spanked for it when I was around!:

Walking to Aunt Tam's with Gramma:

"Hi mom":

This was RIGHT before she started crying. She'd been up there all of ten seconds:

My booger, so big:

Enjoying a game of 'peek a boo' with the grandmas:

Giving unsolicited lovies to Uncle Jared. We were all outside as we watching the lightening storm. Minutes later we were all getting drenched:

Pregnancy Update

Yes, these pictures are awful. I took them on my cell phone, as usual. I'm totally ashamed of the quality of the first photo. My bathroom mirror was FILTHY, but heck, it's the first picture I took of this pregnancy, and I only took it to send to my cousin Donna. :)

17 weeks along.

18 weeks:

19 weeks:

This pregnancy has been a lot different from my first. I'm SOOOOOO grateful that the saying "each consecutive pregnancy gets easier than the one before" actually applies to me. The first few weeks were very similar, but I was DETERMINED to get a grasp on things before the nausea got out of control. With my first pregnancy, I don't think I got nausea meds til around 10 or 11 weeks. By that point, I was DEATHLY ill, the meds did nothing. Taking zofran was like eating an m&m. Neither did a thing to help me. THIS time around, my (new) doctor wasn't interested in going for the big guns (zofran) early on. Which, inititally it totally frustrated me. But, I have to trust my OB, right? He "prescribed" doxylamine (sleeping aid), which is over the counter. I took it for about a week, with no change. Then I stopped taking it, and discovered that I felt worse. So I began taking it again, and noticed that the longer I'd been taking it, the better I felt. Yay! Now that I am halfway through my pregnancy, I've tried for the last couple weeks to ween myself off of it, but I feel AWFUL the next day (it's a night time med). So, I'm still taking my little blue pill once a night. Thank goodness Mckenzi is sleeping til around 10:30am, so I can sleep in some. Even waking up at 10 is hard. I feel like I've been hit by a ton of bricks, cuz I'm still soooo sleepy!

I started feeling him kick very early on. Probably around 13 weeks. I'm sure it was kicks, as it was obvious pokes and prods one at a time here or there, not the flutter of gas. It continued for a couple of weeks, but I haven't felt him as of late. Most likely because he's moved up, and he's not so low in my pelvis to where I can feel every little movement. I'm anxious for the days where he's regularly kicking me, so I can have some peace of mind about his day to day health. I will say, though, that with Mckenzi, I HATED the kicking. I started feeling her around 17 weeks, and Neal felt her for the first time at 21 weeks. And booooy did we ever feel her. She kicked so hard for him that first time, that we watched my stomach poke out. ANd she made sure to kick me with all her might every single time. Watching my stomach was like watching a cartoon stomach! Alien belly. If anything, maybe this means that our boy will be much more mild in nature compated to our girl. PLEASE, let it be. :)

We hired a housekeeper for the first time last week, and we were both in HEAVEN. She'll be coming every other week for the next few months, until it gets to the point where I'm ready to keep up with it all again. Will that ever happen? :P I'm so lucky that my husband agrees we can budget for this. The same day that our housekeepers came, I got a massage AND a pedicure. Lets just say that Neal got all the thanks he'd hoped for :) When mommy happy, daddy happy, everyone happy :)

Things to be grateful for.

Focusing on the things that BRING joy and and happiness is good for everyone, particularly me. Here are the things I am genuinely happy about right now:

1. Mckenzi is a jewel. She's animated, always excited, always kissy, always lovey, and always up to something. My mom always prayed I'd get a kid just like me, so that I'd get what I gave her. The difference is, I'm nothing like my mom, so she doesn't always get it. Mckenzi is JUST like me, so I understand her thought processes...and share them with her. I am my daughter's BIGGEST fan, and we have a ball together.

2. I'm thankful for Mckenzi's health. Every additional day I have with her is a blessed day. Too often, families are struck by tragedies. Accidents, deaths, kidnappings, whatever. I am grateful for every single day that we get through together, with each other, happy and whole.

3. My husband's health and safety. Though we live in Yorba Linda, crazy people live everywhere. The news is becoming more and more filled with the new evils of our times. I can't believe I'm still caught by surprise these days, when certain crimes are committed so closely to home. Many hate crimes on officers of the law. I am thankful for every day my husband comes home to us, safely.

4. I'm grateful and relieved that (so far) the little boy in my belly is growing rapidly, and without cause for concern. I'm not sure why it surprises me every time I hear good news about how the baby is "perfect". Either way, I'm glad that my fears and concerns aren't being turned into trials and life lessons. At least not yet. :)

5. So happy that Mckenzi is old enough for nursery now! She loved her first week, and I didn't even need to stay. But I did. It was harder for me than it was for her! I stayed mostly to see how she did with lesson time and the more organized parts of the day. She did lovely. She's my social little butterly (like her sweet father) and loves everyone. Others are still getting used to just how much she loves them. I appreciate that she's never agressive, never mean, and always friendly and sweet.

6. Since Mckenzi is old enough for nursery, I can go to church! Not having a husband to go to church with has it's obvious downsides, but the challenges are endless. Week after week (once Mckenzi started walking at 12 months), I found myself in the halls chasing after her, or outside letting her do her own thing. She didn't do well in my adult classes anymore, and made sure to vocalize her feelings if she wasn't happy with what we were doing. It became silly. Sacrificing her nap time, and dealing with a monstor ALL DAY as a result, became not worth it. I wasn't leaving enriched. I was leaving exhausted and overwhelmed. So, church became a non-option for a time. Especially as I became so sick with pregnancy two. But, now I can at least live through the nausea, and I have help with Mckenzi from nursery, so I can go to church again! Halleluia. My spirit wants to be fed more.

7. Grateful for financial stability. Living in Orange County has MAJOR challenges, especially when owning a home, having only one income, and raising children. Luxuries that we once had in abundance are no more. :) But, we have warm beds, plenty of food, plenty of love, and plenty of THINGS we love too. We can afford luxuries for our little lady, and that means everything to us. Sometimes we buy her things, and look at eachother and say, "why didn't we ever get these things? They're so cheap!" And then we realized that buying everything one child once is much more doable than buying everything 6 children want. And, we are very blessed that Neal's job is so wonderful. We look forward to the raise he gets every 6 months, and the raise that comes with every promotion. Though he works long, hard hours, he (we) are very well taken care of.

I would write more, but I have to go to the bathroom SO bad, and I know I won't finish this later. I'm grateful!