My Life in a Few Pictures

Here are some photos of things that have been going on lately:

I mentioned a few posts ago that I've been making some stuff out of old barn wood. I've sold quite a few pieces, and it brings me joy to create things and send them out into the world. With the time and resources I put into making these crafts, I figure I pull in about $1 an hour. It's definitely not something I'm doing to "make money." But it's something I've always wanted to do, and I've learned a lot of new skills along the way. 

I decided to use this as my "Choice & Accountability" value project toward my YW Medallion. I passed my ten hours a long time ago. I'm going to retire either at the end of this week or next. I need to eventually put all my crap away and start taking care of my living space again. 

I have a few custom orders to finish up, and then I can close up shop.

One of the things I wanted to make was a shark:

I made two of them. I sold one, and I have one left that I might hang in Eva's room because she loves sharks (she has shark bedding and several stuffed sharks).

Moving on... here's a sample of what I deal with as a mother of three girls:

My girls have the most tangled hair. I've tried so many products and special brushes. Some make it easier to manage, but nothing keeps it from turning into a rat's nest.  Daisy's is the worst because hers is the longest and thickest. It looks like this pretty much every morning. 

I have brand new, twin baby nephews. SQUEE!!!

They are so tiny and so sweet. I love them and want to snuggle them all the days, but when I hold them, I know that I don't want any more babies of my own. I'm perfectly content enjoying other people's babies at this point. 

Raise your hand if you love Aunt Brittany!

Just look at those skinny, little arms, and those baggy elbows! SWOON!

I've gone two summers without jDawgs sauce in my house. This year, we are fully equipped to enjoy summer hot dogs. We like to get the Kirkland Signature all-beef hot dogs from Costco and top them with sauerkraut, thin-sliced dill pickles, and jDawgs sauce. 

Oh my yum.

Speaking of "yum," I tried the coconut shrimp tacos at Cafe Rio yesterday for the first time, and I loved them! How have I gone this long without them? Why didn't anyone tell me they are so delicious? (Seriously, I've never heard any feedback about the coconut shrimp tacos, which are only served on Tuesdays). 

I don't have a picture of the tacos, but I do have this picture of Eva eating black bean juice from a can:

It's relevant because my kids love the black beans from Cafe Rio. 

While I'm talking about food, I might as well tell you that I often sneak to Chick-Fil-A for free breakfast without my kids, and then I hide in the church parking lot to eat, and I put all the evidence in the church dumpster. 

I don't really even like Chick-Fil-A breakfast all that much. I had to force down this breakfast burrito. But the time alone with food is beautiful. I gotta admit, it was the Coke that really made it so. And I'm now two days sober. So I don't even know what to look forward to this week. 

Their Names

One of the funnest parts of having babies was getting to choose my children's names. It's not always easy; there are a lot of names I like. I also wanted to have some kind of story or reason for each of my kids' names. As a young adult, I worked with a girl who came from a big family, and each kid had a really neat story behind their name, so I would always ask her to tell me the names of her siblings and how the names were chosen.

My kids all have stories behind their names, but they aren't as elaborate as my former co-worker's. Since I use pseudonyms for my children on this blog, I can't really tell you the full stories of their names, but I can tell you about their middle names!

Nicky's middle name is Brock.

I have a little brother named Brock who was my sidekick for most of his childhood. Scotty's grandpa's last name is Brock as well, so as we were trying to pick a middle name for Nicky, we decided to go with Brock - thereby, giving him a name that represented both our families. To this day, I have moments where I almost call Nicky "Brock," as if he's my little brother following me around.

Daisy's middle name is Cleora.

When I was pregnant with Daisy, we didn't find out what we were having, we showed up at the hospital with a list of names and didn't settle on one until right before we left to go home.

One of the middle names we were considering was Cleora - Scotty's grandma's name. Cleora died from leukemia when Scotty was about six. I always thought that I'd never met her, but then a few years into our marriage, it suddenly dawned on me that I had met her! When I was very little, I had a friend named Jessica. We went to preschool together, and her mom was my dance teacher. They moved away before we started kindergarten. Jessica happens to be Scotty's cousin. One day Scotty mentioned that his grandma used to have a pool in her backyard. For some reason, his grandparent's house had always seemed familiar to me, but when he described the pool, I finally realized that I had been there before! I had been swimming in that pool with Jessica! I had met Scotty's grandma!

Anyway, I always thought Cleora was a pretty name, and I considered it for a possible girl's middle name, but Scotty's cousin had recently had a daughter and named her Cleora, and I didn't want to encroach on the family name. We were 90% settled on a different middle name: Cecelia... which meant nothing to us. I just liked it. Then the night before we left the hospital with Daisy, I had a dream where I kept calling her Daisy Cleora. I realized that every time I said her name, Cleora came out instead of Cecelia. It was clear that she was meant to be named after Cleora.

Zoe's middle name is Lillian.

With Zoe, we again didn't find out what we were having, so we needed some time to finalize the name before we filled out the birth certificate paperwork. We were considering the names Kamryn or Tessa with Lillian as a backup. For sure, Lillian would be included in her name - we just weren't sure if it would be her first name or her middle name.

When Zoe was born, and we saw her squishy bulldog face (she was pretty beat up from being breech), she didn't look like a Kamryn or a Tessa. I felt like she needed a two-syllable name that ended in the "E" sound. Lillian would have worked - with Lilly for short. I spent a lot of time staring at her, trying to figure out what her name was. Scotty and I finally settled on Zoe Lillian.

Lillian was my great-grandmother, and I absolutely adored her! She passed away when I was 7 or 8, and I was really sad about it because I sincerely believed she was going to live forever. I've always wished my middle name had been Lillian, so I couldn't pass up the chance to name one of my daughters after my great-grandma.

Eva's middle name is Evalene.

 

I really hoped that Eva was going to be a boy. When Scotty and I caught an accidental glimpse of the ultrasound, we were pretty sure we'd both seen girl parts. It turns out that "possibly knowing" what you're having is a lot harder than "not knowing," so I had my doctor do a gender check at the next appointment. Indeed, we were having a girl.

I wasn't sad that we were having a girl, but I was sad that I would never get another boy.

But back to Eva...

(whose pseudonym was chosen for her middle name. It's "Evah," like, "Don't you evah do that again! Nevah evah!" but if you pronounce it "Eeva" that's okay. I don't expect you to keep my kids' fake names straight! I can hardly keep their real names straight!)

Eva's middle name came to us while joking about made-up names. I was telling Scotty we could name her after my grandparents, Evans and Marlene. Her middle name could be Marlans! We laughed, and then I said, "Or Evalene!" and well, Evalene was actually really pretty (according to me). I fell in love with it! So Evalene it is.

My grandpa died later that year, and one of my fondest memories of his last months was when I took Eva to his house to meet him and my grandma. My grandpa sat on the couch and held her, even though his body was hardly functional, and he had the sweetest look on his face.

-----

And there you have it - the stories of all my kids' middle names. They definitely aren't page-turners, but I'm glad that each child's name has some sort of meaning.

There are a lot of names I'm sad I never got to use. If we'd ever had a second boy, I wanted him to be named after Scotty. I would've loved to name a daughter after my grandma who passed away last year. I'd still love to have a Tessa. But I have to lay those names to rest because, even though I could name 30 more children, I can't raise any more. 

Once Upon a Library Bathroom

A few years ago our local library closed for renovations. While it was closed, we made our weekly* visits at a library about 20 minutes away in my "hometown" (I use the term "hometown" lightly because I lived on the border of the township of Magna and the city of West Valley. We were technically on the West Valley side of the border, but we had the Magna zipcode. So I get to claim both places).

The Magna library was newly built a few years before our local library was renovated (there was already a Magna library, but it was torn down and a new library was built in a different location). It's one of my favorite libraries, so even though our local one reopened, we still venture out to Magna occasionally. 

 

Today was one of those days where I really needed to be out of the house, but I didn't have anywhere to go, so we stopped at Arctic Circle for courtesy cones and fries, and then we went to the Magna Library.

As I pulled up to my usual parking spot, I started thinking about where the bathrooms are located in the library. That's just something you do when you go out in public with little ones - you have to have a bathroom route mapped out for when they "nee go pee."

(That's what Zoe says while doing her potty dance, "I nee go pee! I nee go pee!" It's precious. Especially in the middle of sacrament meeting. Luckily we sit in front of a little girl who loudly states when she needs to poop, so we just blend in).

During my mental bathroom mapping routine, I recalled something I'd forgotten about...

I found out I was pregnant with Eva in the Magna Library bathroom.

We'd been on our way to the library, and I stopped at the store and bought a test. Then I went ahead and took it in the library bathroom, and it was positive.

It felt poetic, being a person who loves books and takes pregnancy tests in library bathrooms.

After remembering this, I thought about how cool it will be to someday hold Eva's hand and walk her into the Magna library saying, "This is where I was when I found out you were going to be in our family!"

(I could have done that today, but it will be funner when she's old enough to know what a pregnancy test is).

She might think it's weird. She might even say something like, "Ew, mom!"

To which I will respond, "Hey, be grateful you're not your older sister. I learned about her in Walmart."

There wasn't anything poetic about that. 

*Since having my fourth child, I've stopped taking my kids to the library regularly. I reached my limit and now find it nearly impossible to endure a trip to the library with my kids. We've been dabbling in weekly visits for the past few weeks since school started, but we only do so to fill the awkward half hour that I need to burn in between dropping off a kid at dance class and picking up a different kid from piano lessons. Having two fewer kids with me is the only thing that makes it work.  

14 Adventures - Part II

This post is a continuation from yesterday when I started writing about 14 adventures that Scotty and I have experienced together in honor of our 14th wedding anniversary. Read adventures 1-5 here. 

6. Having Nicky

Maybe it seems like a gimmick to count each of my children as a separate adventure, but I tried to group them together as one adventure, and it didn't really work because we have a story for each child, and each of them has brought us new experiences (don't worry, I'm not going to tell you the full story for each one. We'd be here for weeks).

Nicky made us parents. He ended our bout of infertility. He was the first to shake our world. He brought so many new and foreign things into our lives.

7. Having Daisy

Daisy was our first girl, but part of what made her birth adventurous was that we decided not to find out what we were having. It took a heavy amount of self-control, but it was totally worth it. One of the coolest things I've ever experienced was having Scotty tell me we had a daughter.

Daisy brought us the adventure of having more than one kid.

(Just for the record, two was my magic number. Having one kid was hard, but having two wasn't so bad. For some reason, I thrived with two). 

8. Having Zoe

Zoe allowed us to, once again, experience finding out the gender of our baby at birth (it was a lot easier the second time). She also threw in another adventure when she decided to turn breech the night before she was born. Miraculously, my doctor was able to turn the 8 lb. 9 oz. mass of baby. 

Zoe brought us the adventure of having "sisters" in the house. 

9. Having Eva

Eva's birth was an adventure because she brought with her the reality that we would have three daughters. Bringing Eva into the world was a huge leap of faith for Scotty and me. Having three kids was really hard on us. We were completely overwhelmed by Nicky, Daisy, and Zoe, so when we started to feel the promptings from the Spirit that it was time for another little one to join us, we had to put our full faith in God's plan for us.

Scotty and I both received our own promptings, but neither of us said anything to the other because we were too scared. Then one night, when we were laying in bed nearly in tears because of the difficult day we'd had, I laughed hysterically and said, "You know what's horrible? It's time to have another one!" and Scotty, too, laughed with a hint of mania, and said, "I know!"

We weren't going to find out what we were having, but we saw a little too much on the ultrasound screen. It turned out that possibly knowing what you're having is a lot harder than not knowing at all, so the following month, I asked my doctor to do a gender check.

Eva was our first complication-free delivery and our first bald baby.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Story of 2015

If I were to give 2015 a title, I think I'd call it "The Year of Chaos." Part of me hopes that some of the chaos is left behind as the new year begins, but unfortunately, that's not really how things work.

For the sake of documentation, here is how the morning of the last day of 2015 went.

Zoe woke up early and told me she was hungry, so I started making pancakes. As the pancakes were cooking, Eva started crying upstairs. She'd eaten three times during the night, so I knew her diaper was going to be soaked through. Sure enough, she was wet, so I stripped her down. She needed a bath, so I didn't see the point of diapering her for only a few minutes. I was optimistic that I could carry a naked baby downstairs to flip the pancakes and then give her a quick bath in the kitchen sink without incident. As I was flipping the pancakes, I heard a splash of liquid on the kitchen floor. Sure enough, Eva had peed on me, on Zoe who was standing next to me on a step-stool, and all over the floor and step-stool.

Aside: It's been a long time since a baby has peed on me in such a way. I've been very cautious over the years and haven't put myself in a position to be peed on. I found it interesting that the pee came out much like it was being dumped from a cup. It just sort of "splatted." There was no stream. Just "Splat!" in less than two seconds. 

Zoe started crying, "Pee on me! Pee on me!" and I started hunting for the nearest towel. I got things tidied up and sanitized, then went back to working on the pancakes thinking, "Well, at least it's out of her system. Surely I'll be safe for five more minutes."

I decided to forgo the sink bath and finish breakfast since I hadn't brought the baby soap downstairs. I was just about done with the pancakes with still-naked Eva on my hip when "Splat!" She peed again. This time, though, the utensil drawer was open, and the pee splattered over all the silverware and pooled in the drawer.

It just goes to show that, in parenting, there will never stop being "firsts." You can have four kids, or innumerable kids, and there will still be times when you are utterly shocked.

As I started to clean up the mess, that's when I realized just how chaotic this past year has been.

I live the kind of life where my silverware gets peed on.

Story of 2015.

"The Year of Chaos."

Why Fathers Matter

"By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families."

-The Family: A Proclamation to the World

Nine years ago, when we welcomed our first child, Nicky, into the world, I immediately noticed how attractive fatherhood made Scotty.

I mean, there was this man I was already deeply fond of, and he was holding a baby! And there was all this love emanating from him. Sure, he had no clue what he was doing, and his fears were palpable, but wow! There was all sorts of potential there, and he was hot stuff!

Then we had a daughter... and another daughter... and another!

And each time, I was like, "Don't go out in public holding that baby because the ladies are going to be all up in your grill!"

In September, while we were trucking our children around Las Vegas, there were several moments where I trailed behind and watched a scene just like this one:

That, my friends, is my husband, and he is amazing and four times as handsome as he was the day I married him.

Fatherhood looks good on him!

Fathers have a great influence on children and families. Jewish philosopher, Ambraham Hechel, identified fathers as teachers and holy figures in the lives of their children (Brotherson, 2012). That's a pretty heavy role to play in the life of another human being, and yet, it is such a honorable, sacred opportunity.

Good fathering doesn't simply impact your own children - it trickles down through posterity. John Snarey, author of How Fathers Care for the Next Generation said, "Good fathering, it seems, really does matter. It matters over a lifetime, and even over generations" (1993). That statement was the summary of a multi-decade research project that Snarey conducted on the contributions of fathers to children (Brotherson, 2012).

Children benefit greatly from having involved fathers who interact positively with them. This connection affects their cognitive development, their social competence, and their empathy (Brotherson, 2012). According to a report by the Fatherhood Institute, positive father involvement is associated with better peer relationships, fewer behavioral problems, lower criminality and substance abuse, higher educational/occupational mobility, more satisfying adult relationships, and higher self-esteem and life satisfaction (Maxfield, 2011) .The benefits are even greater when the father interacts positively with the mother, whether they are married to each other or not (Holmes, 2007).

Being a father involves many important principles, a few of which I'll touch on and refer to as The "4 P's" of Fatherhood.

The first is PRESIDING. This is a term that is very common in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Merriam-Webster defines preside as "to be in charge of something." From that definition, it's easy to mistake presiding as being "the boss" or practicing dominion.

Presiding is a responsibility that goes far beyond power and control. They key words from The Family: A Proclamation to the World are "love and righteousness." A father is to be a spiritual leader in the home "through the gentle application of love and the consistent example of spiritual attentiveness..." (Brotherson, 2012).

In the Parenting and Child Guidance class I'm taking, we're reading a book called The 10 Basic Principles of Good Parenting. I have been pondering frequently over this statement, "Your authority over your child should be grounded in your experience, your knowledge, and your judgment, not in your power. Your child should respect you because you are the parent, but obey you because you are correct" (Steinberg, 2004). I think that statement is applicable to a father responsibility to preside in the family. A father (and likewise, a mother) should guide children with experience, knowledge, and good judgement, resulting in teaching good principles. We are meant to lead our children in a manner that helps them learn right from wrong. Parenting (and presiding) is not a power trip to be abused.

The next "P" is PARTNERING. Parenthood is a partnership (Brotherson, 2012). We've all heard the old phrase, "It takes a village to raise a child." I am constantly in awe at my own amazing village. My children have wonderful, involved grandparents who help us so much. They have aunts, uncles, and cousins... teachers and scout leaders... doctors and neighbors... and let's not forget God.

For fathers, being aware of these relationships is very important. Not only is a father a partner with the mother of the children, but a partner with all other involved parties. A fundamental principle in fathering is to partner with others in a broad system of relationships in raising a child (Brotherson, 2012).

Fathering thrives when it is supported by local and spiritual communities and men link themselves in partnership with those communities. Fathers and their children benefit as linkages are built between fathers and mentors, teachers, and others to facilitate healthy outcomes for children. Community institutions ranging from educational institutions to the business community can act in ways that support responsible fatherhood (Brotherson, 2012). 

The next principle is PROVIDING. We have material needs, and in our modern culture, there are a lot of demands placed on families, both in the marketplace and in the home. The proclamation states that "parents are to provide for [the children's] physical and spiritual needs." To provide in fathering includes "meeting children's needs and offering opportunities for their development, as well as dedicating one's time, energy, and resources for the benefit of the next generation" (Brotherson, 2012).

Often, providing is thought of as solely a "breadwinner" role, but it goes far beyond that. A father should contribute to the family's resources, but a father needs to provide a lot more than monetary contributions. A father should also provide time, emotional support, spiritual and secular learning opportunities, and encouragement. A father needs to "act on the obligation to be there for [his] children with [his] physical presence and availability, mental awareness and engagement, and practical involvement in their lives and activities" (Brotherson, 2012).

The last "P" is PROTECTING. Children come into this world and face challenges, confusion, and risks. A primary task for fathers is to prepare children over time for the world they will have to face as they grow. Fathers need to help children develop the skills they will need to manage life's challenges (Brotherson, 2012).

Research on fathering generally agrees that fathers "play the role that encourages the child to push, explore, and take more risks in order to grow" (Hall, 2007). Think of a dad tossing a baby in the air. It may seem like it's all in the interest of having fun, but the dad is actually helping the baby develop motor skills and learn to take physical risks. They way fathers physically play with their children helps them become more comfortable with new experiences and become better able to handle challenges in life, physical or otherwise (Maxfield, 2011).

I know that not every experience with fatherhood is a positive one, and my heart goes out to those who haven't had the opportunity to be raised by an involved father or to partner with an involved father in raising children. I know there are many capable, loving mothers who are successfully parenting on their own, and I know there are many fantastic dads who have passed on all too soon. Even so, if I could give the world a gift, I'd give everyone a father. A good one. Fortunately, we all have the ultimate father, a Heavenly Father.

-----------------------------------------------

This post was inspired by "Honor Thy Father: Key Principles and Practices in Fathering," by Sean E. Brotherson published in Successful Marriages and Families: Proclamation Principles and Research Perspectives, 2012. This piece of writing is part of my Family Proclamation project for FAML 100 at Brigham Young University Idaho. 

Post-Pregnancy Cravings

Since having Eva, I have been experiencing a glorious "return to self." When I'm pregnant, I'm not myself at all, and I don't particularly care for the person I am during that time. It has been so great to rediscover who I am and to have access to my former abilities.

That makes it sound like I temporarily lost some superhero powers or something, but to be honest, that's kind of what it feels like - I'm regaining my superhero powers!

(When you're pregnant, something as simple as tying your shoe starts to seem like a superhero power).

With my returning to self has come some cravings for things I didn't get enough of during pregnancy.

Craving #1: Food

Since I have major taste aversion when I'm pregnant, I develop a very complicated relationship with food. The second the baby is out, food suddenly starts to taste good again. The problem with that is that I suddenly want to eat ALL THE THINGS.

Craving #2: TV

This one's a little more complicated. I have this unruly desire to binge-watch a TV show. I am craving me some TV something fierce, but there's no time for TV right now. Any time that could be TV time has to be homework time instead. The last time I binge-watched a TV show was about two years ago when I watched the first season of The Paradise while drinking peanut butter banana shakes. I'm overdue.

Craving #3: Time with Friends

I'm a very neglectful friend when I'm pregnant. I get pretty anti-social, so some of my friends just give up on me, and we fall out of touch. Now I'm realizing how much I've missed my friends, and I'm trying to squeeze in some time with them whenever I can. I can't believe how good it feels to catch up and have a conversation with someone who doesn't call me "the stupidest mommy ever!" 

(At least not to my face).

13-Year Glimpse

I often wonder what 18 year-old me (18YOM) would have thought if she'd been able to see 13 years into the future. Like most 18 year olds, I was a bit naive about... uh... well... everything. There's nothing wrong with that. It is what it is. But with that naivety, I think I might have looked at 31 year-old me in complete disbelief.

Let's take a look at what 18YOM was like...

At 18, I knew I was going to get married soon. Scotty was 21, and we weren't engaged yet, but we were engaged to be engaged. We were just waiting until I reached the wise, old age of 19 (because everybody knows 19 year-olds are perfectly ready to get married!) I was a student at LDS Business College, and I worked at a local dairy. I taught a Sunday School class of 12 year-olds. I drove a 1997 Saturn SL2 (manual transmission - thankyouverymuch). I didn't EVER worry about diet or exercise, and I sported my own version of the "Rachel" and weighed 125 pounds.

Here are some of the things 18YOM might have been shocked to learn about 31YOM.

1. I live in a middle-class home with forest green carpet in the city I grew up in.

18YOM was too good for this city. She intended to move away to somewhere classier because she, of course, was going to be wealthy. She was going to have a really nice, really big house. Everything inside it was going to be clean and absolutely stellar! She never planned on having anything outdated in her home.

2. My kids always wear mis-matched clothes, they have dirty faces, and their hair is rarely done.

18YOM used to look at these types of children at the store and think, "My children will never..." 18YOM would be appalled that my children's summer wardrobes consist primarily of their winter clothes modified with scissors. She would be disgraced at my daughters' unruly hair and my son's recently buzzed head. She would be horrified by the peanut butter and jelly smears that frequently decorate their (literally) sweet faces. 

3. My furniture has been beaten to smithereens.

There are two points to make about 18YOM on this one. First of all, she had no idea how hard it is to keep furniture nice. She never would have expected the amount of rules, work, and discipline that would have to go into maintaining those dang off-white microfiber couches she would purchase pre-kid. Secondly, she thought her kids would be super obedient and super mellow and that it would be super easy to get them to be that way. Her kids would never be the type to cause damage to furniture.

Ha!

4. I'm not stick thin.

This is the thing that I think would have scared 18YOM the most. I think if she'd seen what would become of her body, she would have ran for the hills. 18YOM never thought that she'd have to worry about weight. She always thought she'd look exactly the same as she did at 18. If she would have known what would happen to her arms, her belly, and her face, she never would have been able to cope.

Yes, 18YOM would have had a really hard time looking 13 years into the future. She probably would have been so startled by what she saw that she wouldn't have noticed that living in a modest house allowed her to stay out of excessive debt. Or that every time she had the money to replace the forest green carpet, she used it to take her family on vacation instead. She wouldn't have seen the joy her children experience or the independence they develop when they dress themselves. She wouldn't have known how well-used each piece of furniture truly was - how many meals were shared at the scratched and dented table, or how many family movies were watched on the dirty, stained sectional. And most of all, she wouldn't have seen the beauty of carrying four babies or her own willingness to sacrifice some of the finer traits of her body in order to bring them into the world. 

I guess it's a good thing 18YOM didn't get that  13-year glimpse into the future. 

One Month Later

Yesterday was Eva's one-month birthday. My kids are a little disappointed that we didn't celebrate with cake and presents. Daisy is particularly baffled by Eva's age. We've had this conversation more times than I can count:

Daisy: Mom, how old is Eva?

Me:                   weeks.

Daisy: But how old is she?

Me:                   weeks!!!

Daisy: So, is she one?

Me: No. She doesn't have years yet. Just weeks.

Daisy (yelling): I JUST WANT TO KNOW HOW OLD SHE IS!

Me: Daisy, she is                  weeks old.

Daisy (yelling): SO? WHO CARES? 

(90% of the conversations I have with Daisy end with her yelling at me and saying "So?" "Who cares?" "I don't have to listen to you!" "You're the stupidest!" or "Says who?" Her newest thing is, "I'm going to kill you!" which is just greeeeaaaaat!)

In all, things are going exceptionally well. There are some challenges, too. For example, on Thursday I went to Sam's Club, and I needed to buy quite a few things. I wore Eva in a carrier on my chest to free up space in the cart. Zoe did okay sitting in the cart for all of five minutes before she started doing downward dog on the seat (You guys! This is insane! She does it all the time. She puts her feet up on the backrest and her hands are on the shopping cart handle. It is so, so dangerous! And such a battle to get her down from that position!) Eventually - like, as soon as the cart was so full that I could barely steer it - Zoe started a huge cling-to-my-legs tantrum. I tried everything I could think of to not have to pick her up, but she ended up running to the front of the shopping cart and parking herself there so I couldn't go anywhere. The logical explanation of, "You're going to get run over!" wasn't effective, so I had to walk around the cart, pick her up, put her on my hip, and push the dang cart to the register. But, of course, Zoe couldn't just sit calmly while I carried her. She had to flop forward and start flailing her arms and legs while I held her around the waist, still maneuvering the cart and hoping Zoe didn't kick or hit the baby on my chest. Then at the register, I had to put her down, which resulted in more leg-clinging, while I tried to load everything on the conveyor belt. The entire thing was ridiculous, and yet, that is my life right now. Every trip out of the house results in something just.like.that.

I have come to terms with the fact that my life is utter chaos, so even though I often want to pull my hair out, I am coping well overall.

In honor of being one month post-partum, here are a few things to celebrate:

Thing 1: I have energy again! Most people with a newborn would be described as sleep-deprived. I don't feel that way at all. I might, in fact, be sleep-deprived, but it's nothing compared to the fatigue I experienced during pregnancy. I can do so many more things in a day now than I could a month ago. 

Thing 2: Food tastes good again! And with that, I have been meal-planning and cooking again, and I love it. The only problem is that I feel like I have to make up for nine months worth of taste aversion by eating ALL THE THINGS!

Thing 3: I have a little bit of bladder control! I can sneeze, cough, and jump (to a minimum) without... you know...

Thing 4: I can take ibuprofen. Other than the two I took in the hospital, I haven't needed any ibuprofen for anything, but there's something so freeing about being eligible for it.

Thing 5: The Crazy is gone. I was very fortunate to only have two weeks of psychotic hormonal episodes. Actually, it was less than two weeks. I remember waking up one day and suddenly feeling "normal." I counted the number of days it had been, and it was day 12. I didn't think I was going to stay normal (I just assumed I was having a good day), but I've been fine ever since.

Thing 6: I can stay awake past 9:00 p.m.

Thing 7: I can shave my legs, paint my toenails, and buckle my strappy sandals.

Thing 9: I don't have to keep my grabber by my side at all times (don't get me wrong, I still use my grabber regularly because it is awesome! But I can also bend over and pick something up the old-fashioned way if I need to).

Thing 10: I haven't had any dreams about David Spade.

Meet Eva

The other day, I had a baby.

I was scheduled to be induced on Tuesday, April 14th. On Monday night, the hospital called and said, "You're second on the list so be ready to go by 6:00 a.m. just in case!" I spent all of Monday night rejoicing that I was hours away from becoming not-pregnant. I tried to feel sad about it, and I kept trying to force myself to feel some sort of sorrow at the thought of possibly never being pregnant again, but I was so miserable, that there wasn't an ounce of sincere sorrow to be had.

I didn't think the hospital would call that early, but I was feeling optimistic, so I was up and ready to go at 6:00, just like they requested. The protocol, which I'm quite familiar with after being induced three other times, is to call the hospital at 9:00 if you haven't heard from them yet. I called at 9:00, and they told me that things weren't looking so good. A storm was blowing in, and as a result, a lot of women were coming in with their waters broken, and the hospital was full. I was told to call back at noon, then 3:00, then 6:00. At 6:00, they didn't even tell me to call back, but I called at 8:30 anyway. At that point, they they told me they had had a spot for me, but four more women had just come in. 

The storm. This picture hardly does it justice. It was a really awful storm, beginning with fierce winds that blew salt and dirt all over the valley and caused several car accidents. Trees were uprooted, shingles were flying off roofs, and trampolines were soaring over fences. In the afternoon, the winds calmed and the snow started. Note my freshly painted garage trim.

I tried to be patient and keep my cool throughout the whole ordeal. After all, I was choosing to force my baby out out of impatience and selfishness. I hardly had any excuse to complain. Also, I had felt unsure about whether I should be induced or wait it out, and when I prayed about it, I never really got a strong answer, so I pretty much said, "Heavenly Father, I'm going to schedule an induction, and if there's any reason I shouldn't go forward with it, I'll trust you to intervene." So I suspect Heavenly Father was doing just that. Deep, down, though, I was devastated. I bawled all day, and by the time the sun went down, the excitement of having a baby was long gone, and I was exhausted.

Scotty and I tried to keep ourselves busy all day. We went to Sam's Club, where my flip-flop broke and that's when I had my first good cry of the day. We went to the farm store to get fertilizer, We went to a sandwich shop and had lunch and then came home and tested out one of our new board games. We walked around the mall and went to Cold Stone where I had a delicious sorbet with strawberries that I am going to need again really soon (thanks to my sis-in-law for the gift card which I combined with Entertainment coupons and, therefore, will be able to go again soon for FREE!)

Feeling defeated, we returned home at the end of the day to go to bed. Our kids were at their grandma's house, and I was torn over whether we should leave them there or bring them home. My doctor said he would be at the hospital for other deliveries that night, so he was fine if I wanted to wait it out and see if a room and nurse would become available throughout the night. We decided to leave the kids at Grandma's just in case. Since it had snowed, Scotty ran over to his mom's house to take the kids' coats (I thought I was a great mom because I had the good sense to pack sweatshirts). While he was gone, I was trying to cry myself to sleep when the phone rang. It was 9:40 p.m. and they had a spot for me in the hospital! I told the charge nurse, "I will be there in twenty minutes! Don't give my bed away!" Then I texted Scotty and said, "Get home now! We're going!"

I was positive I would get to the hospital and find out I'd lost my spot, but when I walked in, they took me to a room! A real labor and delivery room with a hospital gown and the whole shebang!

I threw on that gown and hopped into the bed as fast as I could, knowing that, until I had an I.V. in me, I could be sent away at any moment.

Dibs.

I met my nurse, which is always a little nerve wracking for me (I had a grumpy nurse once, and she scarred me a bit). My nurse was really nice, but dude! She was rough. She couldn't find my cervix (not sure why. It's always been there before). And I've never flinched at having an I.V, but I'm pretty sure she was trying to carve her initials into me. I couldn't complain, though, because this woman was prompt! If I pushed the nurse button, she was there in less than 30 seconds. She was very attentive, and she treated me like I was the only woman in the world giving birth.

Since I was Group B Strep positive, the nurse started my penicillin. I wasn't very dilated (saying I was at a three would be generous), so she went ahead and started a slow pitocin drip as well. Since Scotty and I were pretty exhausted, we both went to sleep. I had mild contractions that would occasionally wake me, but nothing major happened. Three hours later, my doctor came in and broke my water. I was surprised at how little fluid there was. I remembered there being quite a bit more in past deliveries. My contractions got painful right away. I was dilated to a four, and my labor always stalls for a while at a four, so I went ahead and got an epidural and went to sleep.

A couple hours later, I woke up in pain. I'd had the anesthesiologist do a mobile epidural, and I was starting to feel my contractions pretty heavily. I had the nurse check me so I could guesstimate how much longer I'd be in pain. I was at a six, so I assumed I still had a few more hours, but half an hour later, it was go time!

My doctor had gone home to shower, so we waited about fifteen minutes for him to get back to the hospital. I pushed three times, and BAM! There she was!

Okay, maybe BAM! Isn't the best way to describe her arrival. She didn't come shooting out, but they're not kidding when they say that after having so many kids, they pretty much just fall out. I pushed with hardly any effort. It was so simple and peaceful... until my fluids came gushing out at the doctor like a fire hose. Everyone in the room had to jump out of the way to save their shoes. It was so grossly awesome!

I was a little surprised when they laid the baby on me, and she was laying perfectly still without a sound. I figured if something was wrong, someone would have said something, but after a second, I asked, "Is it okay that she's not making noise?" They assured me she was fine and that some babies are quiet when they're born (a first for me). Right after that, she started crying. She was purple and squishy and had a smear of vernix on her head that looked like she'd been coated in cream cheese. 

The snuggles. They are the best!

She weighed 7 lbs 13 oz and was 22 inches long. She was our first "bald" baby, though she's not really bald (she has some hair around the back of her head and some peach fuzz on top). She clocked in at 6:34 a.m. on April 15 (a tax day baby)! My labor was 7.5 hours.

We named her Evalene, which is a combination of my grandparents' names, Evans and Marlene. On the blog, she'll be called Eva (with a short 'e' sound, but really, you can say it however you want. I'll probably never know). 

My recovery in the hospital went well. I had very little pain, just some cramping, as can be expected. The pediatrician gave us the okay to leave a day early since I had been given two doses of penicillin during labor, and Eva was healthy. I was grateful for that. The day Eva was born, I was perfectly happy sitting in the hospital doing nothing, but the next day I went stir crazy and couldn't wait to get out of there and eat non-hospital food. 

Since coming home, things haven't been easy. I'm muddling through the initial "Crazy." I started my new semester at school, but my mind isn't handling it well. I've already missed an assignment, and I spend a lot of time staring at the computer reading the same passages over and over without anything sinking in. I'm an emotional basket case, and even though my body feels really great for just having given birth, I get wiped out quickly.

But with all that, it is so overwhelmingly beautiful to have a newborn. I could stare at her all day and marvel at everything she does. 

I'm so glad she's finally here!

And We Have Ourselves a Baby

She's here!

After a long day of waiting for a call from the hospital, I was induced on Tuesday night at 11:00. The baby was born at 6:34 a.m. on Wednesday. She weighed 7 lbs 13 oz and was 22" long (my longest baby!) 

Everything went so well. I don't think any part of my delivery could be improved upon. It makes me want to watch my back a bit because I don't think the selfishness and impatience I exhibited during the last few weeks of my pregnancy warranted such an ideal delivery. 

More to come...

Must go snuggle...

Belly Comparison

People are talking a lot about my belly these days (especially the kids at church who have suddenly become fascinated by it). Everyone is asking if I think I'm bigger or smaller than my other pregnancies. Scotty and my friend, Michelle, both think I'm smaller this time around. I think I've been about the same with all of my pregnancies, other than Nicky's since I weighed about 15 pounds less back then. I think the only real difference in my belly size is what I wear and what I eat. Some clothes more flattering than others. Bright patterns and colors obviously make things look a little bigger. And when I've eaten a meal, everything is a bit larger. 

For my own enjoyment, I went through my photos and found some of the final pictures from each pregnancy to compare belly size.

39 Weeks: Nicky 2006

Facts about my delivery with Nicky:
1. I was induced at 41 weeks
2. I was Group B Strep +
3. Nicky's heart rate was low during labor (cause unknown)
4. He was delivered via vacuum extraction (I don't recommend this)
5. We knew we were having a boy
6. My labor was 24 hours
7. He was born at 7:58 p.m. weighing 8 lbs 9 oz

-------------------------

39 Weeks: Daisy 2009

Facts about my delivery with Daisy:
1. I was induced at 40 weeks
2. Daisy had a low heart rate during labor (turned out to be umbilical cord compression)
3. I hated the resident who broke my water
4. I had a nasty nurse who, fortunately, was later relieved by a nice nurse
5. We didn't know what we were having
6. My labor was 8 hours
7. She was born at 11:58 p.m. weighing 7 lbs 3 oz

---------------------------------

40 Weeks: Zoe 2012

Facts about my delivery with Zoe:
1. I was induced at 40 weeks
2. Zoe was breech (the doctor was able to turn her)
3. I was Group B Strep +
4. We didn't know what we were having
5. My labor was 7 hours
6. She was born at 8:52 p.m. weighing 8 lbs 9 oz

---------------------------------

38 Weeks: Baby Girl 2015

Facts about this delivery:
1. It's a girl!
2. I am Group B Strep +
3. ?????????

--------------------------------

Facts overall:

1. I usually gain about 25 lbs each pregnancy (I'm right on track with that this time)

2. I have been Group B Strep positive three out of four times (I'm bummed about this because that means no early discharge, and they slow my labors so I get antibiotics for at least 2 hours)

3. All of my babies have been born at night (which makes for a long first night in the hospital and poor lighting for pictures)

4. I've been induced every time (and will probably be induced again this time)

5. I always have babies in years divisible by three

---------------------------------

Are you tired of all these pregnancy posts? I'm sorry. Like I said, it's the only thing I can talk about right now. I promise you two non-pregnancy posts before I discuss pregnancy again (which means I better not have this baby for at least another week to give me time to follow through). 

The Crazy

I'm really stressed out, and we all know that the best way to handle stress is to ignore it and do things that are completely unrelated to the tasks that are causing the stress. Hence, the increase in blog posts lately.

I won't bore you with the descriptive list of what is causing my stress, but I will tell you these three facts:

1. Zoe is still quite sick with RSV.
2. I have finals this week.
3. I can feel The Crazy looming.

What is The Crazy, you ask?

It's that state of mental distress that may or may not occur after giving birth. I've experienced a wide range of The Crazy - some births have been better than others, but usually, I don't realize how bad The Crazy is until I start coming out of it. Then I look back and think, "Wow! Didn't anyone notice how disturbed I was?"

Maybe they did notice. but it's not like you can tell a post-partum woman that she's nuts.

I speak with humor on this topic, but it's a pretty serious and scary thing, The Crazy.

I'm hoping that this sensation of a dark cloud following me is just my fear of The Crazy, and not actually The Crazy. Regardless, I am starting to feel a little control-freakish and territorial. I have a hard time with the elements of childbirth that I can't control. I also have a hard time setting aside the parts of my life that I need to set aside when I have a baby. Part of this is because I have control freak tendencies, but part of it is because it's too hard to go back after I've had a break. I worry that if my routine changes, even for a short while, I'll never have the motivation to return to it. This is why I refuse to take any time off school even though the new semester starts on my due date.

{38 Weeks + Easter Dinner}

I guess you, as a reader, will have something to look forward to. Feel free to dissect my future posts and see if you can detect The Crazy. 

(Or maybe it's already there?)

The Anti-Nester

I'm not really much of a nester when I'm pregnant. In fact, during pregnancies past, I have referred to myself as The Anti-Nester. That would probably be my super hero name, if ever needed.

{via}

Sure, I get little spurts of energy and tackle big projects, but that's pretty normal for me - pregnant or not - so I wouldn't consider it anything special. I'm not a huge clean freak, in general, so I'm really good at procrastinating projects, which eventually results in behavior that might seem like nesting but is really just "catching up."

I'm not sure if that makes any sense at all, so suffice it to say that I don't believe my sudden ability to clean and organize has anything to do with going into labor.

Today I experienced one of those spurts of energy, and I wondered, "Am I nesting?"

But my gut reactions was, "Nah! I'm not nesting. I'm The Anti-Nester."

But if I was nesting, I think I might have wasted it.

I used my spurt of energy to paint the trim around my front door, side door, and garage. Then I washed my front, back, and side doors. It was a job that desperately needed to be done, but it wasn't quite as necessary as the piles of laundry that need to be washed and the respiratory syncytial virus that needs to be purged from every surface of my home.

Just in case I have a second chance, here are the things I would like to do:

• Shampoo the couches
• Wash everyone's bedding
• Purge everything of RSV (this one should probably take priority)
• Vacuum the basement

These are in addition to getting the house tidied up overall. It's not currently "company ready" - so don't come over. Unless you want to come see my newly painted door trim, but keep your expectations low. It needs a second coat, and I can almost guarantee that's never going to happen. Plus, I was assisted by a certain five-year-old daughter, so there's probably more paint on the house than there is on the trim anyway.

The Wrench: Part II

Two weeks before I had Zoe, I wrote a blog post about our daily routine. I stumbled across that post a few weeks ago and thought it would be fun to do again. Fun for me, that is, because I like going back and reading things about my past that I otherwise wouldn't remember. I can't say that this post will be any fun for you, dear reader. 

The thing is, you just never quite know how life is going to change when you throw a wrench, like a new baby, into it. 

[Via]

I both look forward to and fear the changes ahead. Here is a glimpse into our lives right now:

The Morning

I recently wrote about our mornings here. In summary: my kids wake up early. Scotty leaves for work at 6:00, and the rest of us get up shortly after that.

Once the kids are up, we start the routine of getting ready for school. Nicky used to be really independent and reliable with getting ready for school, but within the last six months or so, I've had to nag him a lot more. It's a bummer, really. In the morning, he is supposed to take a shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, feed the chickens, and brush his teeth. If he has extra time, he practices the piano and reads. While he gets ready, I usually pack him a lunch (I am not opposed to school lunch, but when Nicky eats school lunch, he comes home starving. I have to pack him a HUGE lunch to hold him over) and start a load of laundry or dishes (I am not the type of person who has issues with going to sleep with dirty dishes in the sink).

Mornings are my most productive time. Anything I haven't accomplished by 9:30 probably won't get done that day.

Most mornings, my sister-in-law picks up Nicky for school. After he leaves, if it's a Tuesday, Thursday, or Friday, I get Daisy ready for preschool. Daisy is pretty good at following a check list of things to do to get herself ready for school. The hard part is getting her hair done. She has beautiful, waist-length hair that she never wants to cut. But she has some sensory issues (and some over-all attitude issues), so she hates having her hair brushed. Her hair is also always very tangled, so it sometimes takes half an hour just to comb through it. I use a very expensive leave-in conditioner (I pay less than the price on Amazon, luckily) in her hair, and I use a tangle brush. The brush helps but the job still isn't easy.

We usually do hair while watching Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood. After Daisy's is done, I do Zoe's. Sometimes there are huge battles over who gets to go first. My kids fight over everything. Hopefully that means they're normal, but sometimes I wonder...

Around 9:30, my friend Amber picks up Daisy for school.

Preschool Time

While Daisy is at school on Tuesdays, I work on school. Zoe isn't always agreeable (especially lately), so I just have to play it by ear. If Zoe isn't cooperative, I can't get much done for school, and I end up holding her and watching Dora or something equally unproductive.

On Thursdays, Zoe and I do errands, usually grocery shopping. Errands with Zoe are rough. She is in a phase where she fights me over everything. Changing her diaper, getting her dressed, and getting her in her car seat are quite difficult. Shoes aren't even worth bothering with most of the time. Zoe refuses to sit in a shopping cart (my kids have never been shopping cart sitters, and there is this mistaken belief among some parents that you can make your kid sit in a shopping cart. I'd like to see those parents make my kids sit in a shopping cart. Show me this magical ability you have! Puh-lease! I've never found a safety belt that can keep my kids in a shopping cart), so once we get to the store, it just gets more and more fun by the moment. Zoe walks for about ten minutes, and after that, she clings to my legs and stands on my feet crying until I carry her, so I'm that eight-month pregnant lady pushing my cart through Sam's Club with a screaming two-year-old on my hip.

Yay, me!

Occasionally, when we're not in a rush, I will let Zoe take a doll stroller or toy shopping cart to the store to push around. This keeps her content, but it triples the amount of time we spend in the store because she pushes the object very slowly. She also put things in the cart/stroller that I then have to sneak to the cashier to put away (I always feel really bad about this).

On Fridays while Daisy is at preschool, I try to do more school work and clean up the house a bit - Zoe pending.

At 11:30, I pick up Daisy and two friends from preschool. Then I take the friends home, and we go home and eat lunch. Daisy is always really excited to come home and look for chicken eggs in the back yard.

Early Afternoon

Usually by 12:30-1:00, I am utterly exhausted. I can not account for what we do during this time. This is true even when I'm not pregnant. I am useless in the afternoon. It's when I hit my wall and become a bum.

Sometimes I nap. Daisy usually has some computer time. Sometimes Zoe naps, but we're in a touchy place with her nap schedule right now. She needs to nap around 2:00-3:00, but I have to leave at 3:00 to pick Nicky up from school, so this makes Zoe's naps a huge complication. Sometimes she naps in the car while we're picking up kids. Sometimes she doesn't nap at all. It's really rough. The poor girl never gets the sleep she needs, so she is always super cranky for the last half of the day (which is crazy because she's super cranky for the first half of the day, so really, she's just cranky all the time).

After School

After Nicky is done with school, we are pretty busy. On Mondays we're able to come straight home. Nicky needs a snack immediately (and by "snack," I pretty much mean "meal") or he will die. He has emotional breakdowns at least half the school days because he is so hungry. On Mondays we do chores, homework, and make dinner. When Scotty gets home, we eat then have Family Home Evening.

On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, I drive Nicky and a friend to Taekwondo. Once a month, Nicky has Pack Meeting on Tuesday.

On Thursdays, Nicky goes straight to piano lessons after school (if I don't bring a snack for him to eat on the way, things get really ugly). While he is at piano, the girls and I used to go to the library, but I won't take Zoe to the library these days if I can avoid it, so lately we've been going to the car wash instead (Scotty and I get a lot of free car washes when we buy gas, so we have a nice stockpile to use up). On Thursday nights, Nicky has Cub Scouts. Scotty is the den leader, so he goes, too.

On Fridays, Nicky gets out of school early. He gets a day off from extracurriculars, and Daisy goes to dance class.

Evening

Our routines in the evening vary depending on what needs to be done each day. I already mentioned that Monday is Family Home Evening. On the first Monday of each month, we let the kids shop from our "family store." When we read scriptures as a family, our kids earn a marble. They save their marbles all month, then they can trade them in for prizes.

Some evenings we work in the yard. Sometimes baths are needed. Sometimes we let go of all responsibility and go to a park. I usually have to do some homework in the evening while Scotty can take care of the kids.

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday are a whirlwind. They are busy and fly by quickly. Nicky is gone for a while each of those nights, and I always miss him, but he is doing good things, like Cub Scouts,

Night Time

We start the bed time routine around 8:00 each night. On a good day, we read scriptures by 7:30. We send the kids to get ready, and we end up telling them no less than five times to brush their teeth. Then Scotty checks their teeth and makes them brush them again.

The whole family gathers in Nicky's room for songs and prayers (where Daisy sleeps as well - her bed is in there, but all of her clothes and belongings are in her and Zoe's room - she is our displaced child). Each child gets to pick a song to sing, then each child says their prayer. Then we say a family prayer and sing one final song (parents' choice).

We tuck in Nicky and Daisy. Daisy usually has a fit because she wants a drink, but we have a rule that you don't get drinks after you've gotten into bed. Nicky and Daisy turn on their book lights and either read or color until they are ready to sleep. Daisy's bed is full of markers and Christmas coloring books.

When they are settled in, Scotty and I tag team Zoe. Sometimes we're able to get her in pajamas while the older kids are getting ready, but more often than not, we have to use manipulative tactics to get that girl ready for bed. She's always more agreeable for Scotty than she is for me, so he frequently ends up having to get her ready for bed. Brushing her teeth is not fun at all. Sometimes it takes both of us to pin her down and brush her teeth.

Every night, Zoe escapes from us and climbs in our bed as if she's setting up camp for the night. When we find her, she is tucked in and perfectly propped against a pillow because she thinks she's going to watch a movie (we are those bad kind of people who have a TV in our room). We have to haul her into her bedroom kicking and screaming. If she calms down, we sing a series of songs with her: How Much is that Doggy/Piggy/Kitty in the window. A while ago, Scotty sang her a song about "Stinky Mama," so now every night, she wants to sing the "Stinky Mama" song.

So, thanks for that, Scotty.

(The older kids like to sing a song about "Pregnant Daddy" - so I guess we're both on the chopping block).

(Scotty has more food cravings that I do, so we tease him about being more pregnant than I am. It just seemed appropriate to sing a song about it).

After the kids are in bed (even writing about it is exhausting), we pretty much have nothing left. We are usually asleep by 9:00-9:30. No joke.

Weekends

Our weekends have very few consistencies since every week brings new adventures. Scotty usually has every-other Friday off work, but for the last two months, he has had to work. Last Friday was his first day off in a while. We use those Fridays off to accomplish a great deal of work and fun.

If we don't have anything going on on Saturday mornings, I take Nicky to Taekwondo. We do Saturday chores and yard work. Many Saturday evenings are spent playing games with our friends.

Sundays are... well... I don't have a word for it. Scotty makes a German pancake or crepes for breakfast every Sunday. I have meetings before church three Sundays of the month. I try to get the kids as ready as possible before I leave, then Scotty does the rest. This year we go to church from 11:00-2:00. We have Sacrament meeting first, which is an hour and twenty minutes of pure bliss... ahem... followed by two hours of primary. Scotty teaches the 10-12 year old boys, and I am the primary president.

When we get home from church, everyone is ornery and hungry, so there is an hour or so of complete chaos. We have dinner... or lunch... or whatever you want to call a meal that takes place at 2:30 in the afternoon, then Zoe naps, and we go visit Scotty's mom. Occasionally I have meetings after church, so Scotty tackles the chaos alone - bless his heart!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That about sums up our norms. My life feels a little bit chaotic to me right now. I don't know how much of it is true chaos and how much of it is enhanced by the discomforts and heavy emotions of pregnancy. Either way, it will be interesting to see what changes. I can see one of these two scenarios taking place:

Scenario 1: Things just work out. The baby is born, and life goes on. We find balance in all things and move forward.

Scenario 2: I completely lose my mind. I drop out of school, quit my church calling, and start drinking.

36 Week Run-Down

There are very few pictures in existence from this pregnancy. I can think of two - one of me in Vegas pushing my kids on a swing, and one of my family at my son's baptism. Other than that, there is no photographic evidence of this pregnancy. Over the weekend I tried having my kids take cell phone photos of me. They were all blurry or shadowed or not actually of me at all. Many of them became pictures of chickens. This is the best one we got. 

And that's fine. The proof of the belly is there. I don't care about the quality. We tried. And I didn't have to use up the indescribable amounts of energy it would have required for me to charge the battery on the DSL-R.

(Why are little things so hard when you're pregnant?)

Here is the run-down for how things stand at week 36:

Weight Gain: 19 pounds

Emotions: a complete mess. I cry EVERY.DAY. Multiple times. Sometimes my crying is justified, but sometimes it's totally explainable.

Okay, maybe it's never justified...

Stupid hormones.

Worried about: the behavior of my two-year-old who has completely SNAPPED in the past two weeks. Zoe has turned into a holy terror. Remember two weeks ago when she pouted? That trend has not continued. She is a violent tantrum thrower. A hitter. A biter. A clavicle clawer. A scrape-poop-from-her-bum-and-throw-it-at-you-because-howdareyou-change-her-diaper kind of kid (I'm not even joking).

I...

Have no idea what to do.

I'm also really worried about spring break coming up. I'm not sure how I'm going to have all my kids home and take care of them every minute of every day for a week. When I'm 38 weeks pregnant, I need my kids to go to school!

Preparations: last week I washed all the newborn and 0-3 month clothes. I brought the swing and car seat up from the basement. I bought some new bottles. I need to pick up a few things from the store (like diapers and those absorbent products that women need for both the upper and lower areas after childbirth...yay...), but we're pretty much ready to welcome our little one.

Sad about: the hospital's visitation policy which won't allow my children to come meet their sister. I understand the reasons for the precautions, but it makes me sad that I won't be able to see my kids while I'm in the hospital. There's a small chance the policy could be lifted by then, but I'm not planning on it.

Craving: biscuits. Weird, right? I mean, not as weird as wanting to drink ham juice or something, but I've never heard anyone say they were craving biscuits.

Sleeping: horribly. My mind races all night, and when I finally doze off, it's time to get up and pee. Then I'm tired and cranky all day.

I've reached the point where I feel like I'm sitting around waiting to have the baby. This happens every pregnancy - I get sick of being pregnant and I become somewhat idle in the last month. Last time, I passed this time by watching Robin Hood. This time I don't yet have anything to occupy my time while I'm being idle. I need a good book series, a TV show, or a vacation.

Something.

It just can't be messy (like a sewing project) or use a lot of energy (like leaving the house).

I guess that rules out a vacation.