Felix's Birth Story

The pregnancy went fairly well this time around.  I never really enjoy pregnancy, because it's just a long hard slog and so tough on your body, but I really didn't have any major complaints this time around.  And I lucked out with unseasonably cool temperatures since the beginning of August.

After having three of my four kids arrive a bit before their due date, I was hoping the odds were in my favor to have it happen again with #5.  I was due September 14th, and had intentionally kept my calendar cleared for the whole week before that.  Of course, Mr. Baby did not come early for me, so I ended up having to endure a torturous week of sitting around the house with no plans, just dying of the anticipation and waiting.

I had a midwife appointment scheduled for my due date - which I had been expecting not even to make it to - and as soon as the midwife asked me if I had any questions, I immediately said, "can we sweep my membranes?!!!"  (I'm convinced that's what had made Linus finally arrive, when he was a week past due).  I was fully expecting she would sweep me and I would be going into labor later that day.  So I was rather peeved when she told me she wouldn't do it, because they already had several women laboring at that moment, and she didn't want to have  to add one more.  Very disappointed, we went back home to sit around and wait for my body to decide to start doing something about getting the baby out.

That night, I did have some contractions.  I decided to park it in front of a show (Victoria, which is on Amazon Prime - pretty enjoyable, largely due to the beautiful clothing!) and wait to see if anything developed.  After several hours of sporadic contractions, things finally fizzled out, and I decided to just go to bed.

I woke up a little after four in the morning, most likely because I had to pee again.  But as soon as I opened my eyes, I realized that it felt like perhaps my water had broken.  I stood up, and there was even more fluid, so I knew that must have been what happened.  This was really the defining point to this entire labor.  My water has never broken on its own.  My midwives always break it for me (at my request) because late in my labor, contractions always start to slow way down since the sac is providing too much cushion on the baby's head.  In fact, a couple of the midwives have remarked that my body makes a "very strong bag of waters"!  So as soon as I realized what was happening, I became worried that things could possibly pick up very quickly.

I woke up Tom, and we began the usual frenzied rush of making all the necessary phone calls (midwives, the doula, the grandparents who needed to come watch our big kids), and getting all the last-minute items into my hospital bag.  Contractions did end up starting only a couple minutes later, but luckily, they were still not too close to transition-type contractions.

We made it to the hospital with enough time, and I was only about 4 cm dilated.  My doula showed up, I got into my usual position sitting on the labor ball with my doula pressing my back for me.....Okay, seriously, I'm a total creature of habit.  If you've read one of my birth stories, you've pretty much read them all!  Really, the only noteworthy thing about this part is that during a few of the contractions, a big gush of amniotic fluid would come out and creep along the floor and almost touch Tom's shoes (he was stationed in front of me, providing a steady force that I could brace myself against), and there was no way for him to escape the on-coming flood!  As soon as those contraction passed, and I was able to think again, I would just chuckle about it, as he ran to get more towels to clean it up :-)

I suddenly wasn't feeling sitting on the ball anymore, which is always my cue that transition is coming.  I moved to the bed, and sorta sat upright against the raised back, and just bore with the slowed contractions for the next hour or so.  Tom and my doula were asked to bring me many many icy wet rags to place on my forehead (Tom found it amusing that I kept asking, "can you make them any colder??" when he was literally having to pick the ice cubes off them before he placed them on me).

Suddenly, things started to really hurt, and I knew it was time to push.  Side-note: labor always hurts just as bad, no matter how many times you do it.  Doesn't it seem like it should get better over time?  Like, your body would stretch out or get looser or something?  After each of my babies is born, I am stunned anew at just how much it hurts.  And yet....it's "just" one day of pain....traded for a lifetime with your child.

Anyways, I had the nurses bring the big mirror on a pole.  I love that thing.  It lets me watch exactly what is happening while I'm pushing, and I find it incredibly motivating.  As soon as I can see how close that baby's head is, I am just ready to push it right out.  This whole phase was very quick again.  I think I pushed once to get a cervical lip out of the way, and then two more pushes, and he was born!  As usual, Tom was the emotional one, and he started crying.  I just sorta lay there in shock, clutching the baby to my chest, and thinking, "it's over! it's over!"

My whole labor was four and a half hours, which is my shortest yet.  Felix weighed 8lb.13oz, making him my biggest baby yet.  And actually, I think the two things may be related.  The lactation consultant at the hospital told me the next day that often, babies who were born from quick labors end up being heavier.  Basically, they didn't undergo as many contractions to help squeeze all the "stuff" out of them (I never really got clarification on what sort of stuff that was.  But the idea made sense to me).  Anyways, he didn't look like our biggest baby yet, and he's already been  small enough to fit into newborn size clothing for a lot longer than Linus - my only real "big baby" - ever did.  So I buy that explanation.

A half hour after birth, they brought me a breakfast tray!  Never was I more excited to eat!

Mothering Days

A few days ago, the kids and I really needed to get out of the house, so I took them to the local Game Preserve.  There's a pond with ducks and geese, a couple caged peacocks, and a bunch of buffalo in a fenced pasture.  I'ts not as exciting as the zoo, but it's free, and it's a nice way to kill a little time on a summer day.

We had brought a bag of stale bread to feed the ducks, as one does.  As soon as we stepped out of the van, the Canada geese spotted us with our bag of bread, and they came swarming.  First four, then eight, then sixteen....they were just multiplying every second, waddling over and surrounding us.  I doled out a piece of bread to each kid.  But the geese got greedy, and when Stella and Linus weren't able to break off pieces quickly enough (or hold their bread up high enough), they both started to get bitten!  Geese are mean creatures.

Poor Linus started crying, and clinging to me for dear life!  Then Stella followed suit It was such a chaotic scene, I couldn't help laughing.  And then we tried to get away, and all the geese were chasing behind, while Linus cried and cried.  I know it makes me a terrible mother, but it was definitely the funniest thing I've seen all month :-)

*****

Speaking of being a mean mom, I've started to make my kids clean their rooms completely every day after "nap time"!  (I always put nap time in quotation marks, because no one ever actually sleeps.  And I don't even have the energy to enforce a true "quiet time" since they are on the third floor and I'm just not going to drag myself up there every five minutes to make them be quiet.)

Ever since the never-ending renovations started on Stella's room over a year ago, we've had the three biggest kids all sleeping up on the third floor together.  I send them up there for a couple hours every afternoon, because....well, I need it for my sanity!  Needless to say, the rooms become a huge wreck every day.  I was wearing myself out trying to tidy every few days, and keep the third floor rooms somewhat presentable.  But I've decided that if the kids can make the mess, then they're ready to learn how to clean it up as well!

Ten minutes before the end of naptime, I tell them it's time to start cleaning.  They let me know when they're ready for a room inspection, and then I go up to take a look.  I'm pretty ruthless - I think it's the best way to be, so they learn to do a good job.  They can't have even a little scrap of paper left on the floor, or a single sock under the bed.  When they're a little bigger and more capable, I'll start having them make the beds as well.  The first week of room cleaning was slow going.  They didn't know the most efficient ways to tidy up, and kept calling me up to check when there were still a bunch of little things scattered around.  But they're getting quicker and better now.  It's become expected, so there's no complaining about it.  They just get it done.

*****

Yes, I feel like I'm slowly figuring out some tricks in this parenting business...For example, today at Aldi, I decided to try taking two shopping carts instead of one. I pushed the cart with Linus and Flora.  Those two usually ride together in the cart, so I'm forced to pack all my groceries around Flora's bulky car seat.  But today, my big almost-six-year-old Sly pushed the other cart containing Stella and all the groceries. It worked out so well. Three of the kids were strapped in, and the other one was busy with an important job. So there was none of the usual monkey-ing around or reminders from me to stay with the cart, stop hiding behind boxes, etc. It was all business - and so much more efficient than usual!

Slowing Down and Teaching From Rest

"last day of school" 2016

We "officially" ended our first "official" year of homeschooling a couple weeks ago.  It went well, overall, and gave me a good - though small - taste of what I've actually gotten myself into here.  Overall verdict: this is going to require a ton of self-discipline, on my part, to make time for what's important each day....and not using homeschooling as an excuse to laze around the house all morning.

It seems that in the weeks before our school year came to an end, all the dozens of other activities and groups the kids and myself were involved in had ended as well.  I didn't realize how busy we had been until suddenly I saw myself looking at a full week on the calendar with nothing planned. It's forced us to slow down our usual pace, and find new ways to occupy ourselves.  

picking black raspberries

I'm trying to seize this opportunity to teach myself to slow down and just live - with intentionality - in the moment.  To pause and allow myself to take delight in my children and (perhaps even tougher) my husband.  It's really hard.  And I've failed at it more often than I've succeeded.  I am definitely a "Martha" and not a "Mary" - always wanting to keep busy, getting things done, and nagging everyone around me to make sure they are doing their fair share of keeping busy in the exact way I've determined they should!

I just finished reading Teaching From Rest, and what an inspiring read that was!  A short little book, but such a breath of fresh air.  I'd been spending the weeks since we ended our school year doing endless research and stressing over what the heck we should do next year for Sly's education, as he'll be starting first grade.  If I could sum up the book very briefly, the message is "Chill the heck out, Mama.  All those things you're worried about aren't actually a big deal.  Here's how you should be living your life.  Here's what your vocation is requiring of you."  I would not be surprised if I end up re-reading the book maybe every six months or so.  I know I'll probably need it!

Stella, loving a bit too tightly on a "baby caterpiller" she caught

The other day, I was washing the dishes.  Stella was in the kitchen with me, and began crying about something.  I can't remember what it was, but it was something I determined to be completely ridiculous.  As she usually does when her emotions get the best of her, she was asking me to hold her - "I want you, Mommy!" is how she says it.  And as usual, I was brushing off her feelings, and telling her there was nothing to cry about and if she wanted to be held, she'd have to wait until I was done with what I was doing.  Telling her, in other words, that she was less important to me than a few dishes sitting in the sink.

But I remembered some of what I'd been reading in the book, and realized that - unnecessary as her tears might be - she truly needed me to respond to her and love her at that moment.  And I knew that this need which was presenting itself to me was what God was asking me to do at that moment.  To tend to the soul of my child, instead of some stupid dishes - that was what was most important.  So I turned off the faucet, and picked her up.  I gave her a hug and some tender words, and in just a short time, she was all better.  And we were both left feeling love for one another - rather than rejection on her part, and annoyance on mine, as has too often been the case in the past.

Our Mother's Day Tradition (Revisited)

[Note: This post is largely recycled from two years ago, with some updated photos/info]


Mothers Day (or is it Mothers' Day?) just passed last Sunday, so I thought I'd share one of the ways our family observes it each year.

When Sly was a baby, Tom told me about a nice tradition from his family.  His paternal grandparents had fourteen children (!).  Every year, the family all gathered out on the front porch, and had a photo taken.  Tom remembers visiting his grandparents' home as a young child, and seeing years' worth of those yearly family photos, all framed and lined up on the wall chronologically.  He talked about how neat it was to see the family grow and change each year.  We immediately decided that we should start up the same tradition ourselves.

We put our camera on the tripod, set the timer, and snapped our first photo right then.

2011

We realized that we'd have a better chance of remembering to take the picture each year if we associated it with a specific date.  Since Mother's Day had occurred a few days earlier, that became our official family photo day.

2012

2013

2014

2015

2016

(These might look familiar to the five or so people who have been following this little blog since its inception, since these are all my past header images.)

Side note: I think it's funny that you can tell what the weather was like that day based on whether I have bare feet or tights!

I love that we're taking these pictures each year.  And I think there's something appealing to the "homemade" aspect of them - we don't have to worry about dressing up or hiring a professional photographer each year.  We just set up the tripod and go - come-as-you-are.  And having my family indulge me once a year and sit down for this photo (okay, I won't lie, we take about ten shots, and I choose the one I like best!) is truly one of the greatest Mothers Day gifts I can think of.

My only wish is that we had thought to start it our first year together, when it was just Tom and I.  That would really kick off the photo series well.  So instead, I put one of our wedding photos on the wall above my growing line of photos.

Lined up in our hallway

If anyone likes this idea, feel free to steal it and start the tradition in your own families.  It's never too late!  And I'd love to see how your picture turns out :-)

Holy Lents, Holy Easters

Has anyone noticed that the more penitential and prayerful the Lent you observe, the more joyful the Easter you will have?

Before I had kids, I had some really spiritually productive Lents.  There was the one year in college where I wrote out a big list of all the things I would give up - things like drinking coffee, checking Facebook before the evening, and "wearing my hair down"  - (my hair was pretty long at that point, and I'd noticed that I'd begun to spend way too much time and thought each morning primping it and making it look nice).  Even when I spent a week in Italy, I continued to experiment with new ways to wear it pinned up.  Including this unfortunate attempt at "Heidi braids" the day we visited Assisi:

Not a suitable look for you, Christine!

There was another Lent where I decided to join Tom (who I was dating at the time) in practicing the Byzantine-style fast for the whole of Lent.  This is where you not only give up meat EVERY day, but also pretty much all animals products - milk, butter, cheese, etc..  You're essentially a vegan.   Plus, you're not supposed to consume wine or olive oil.  So the foods available to you are...simple breads, and vegetables. Or, in our case, you could just eat a steady diet of french fries!  This was during the time when we were young and stupid and wasted lots of money going out to eat way too often.  And what's the one vegan option on most restaurant's menus?  French fries.

For the past 5+ years, I've been pregnant or breastfeeding during Lent.  So since I'm technically dispensed from the need to fast from food - on the two measly fasting days a year that are left on the church calendar -  I've definitely taken advantage of that, and not been very strict at all with any food-related penances during Lent.  And I feel like this laxity has carried over into the rest of my attitude towards Lent and any sacrifices I choose for myself.  I'll think, "well, I"m pregnant/recently post-partum!  That's sacrificial enough for me this year!"  And who knows?  Maybe I'm not entirely wrong in thinking this way....but I will say, in looking back over how I've actually welcomed and celebrated Easter these past few years, as compared to in the past....I  just don't think I've been living our holy or focused enough Lents.

*****

We went to the Easter vigil Mass again this year.  At our church, it doesn't start until 10pm, and ends sometime after 1am.  It's long!

This year, still being so newly post-partum and dealing with a baby who doesn't like to sleep in her own cradle at night, I'm already feeling tired much of the day.  I had told Tom there was a "100% chance" I would fall asleep if we decided to go to the vigil, but he still pressed for us to do it.  Well, I was right - I probably slept through about half of it.

It worked out okay, though.  All the kids slept as well - spread out across an entire pew :-)

For the small amount of the Mass I was actually fully awake for, I wasted way too much time stressing out over something I thought I heard our priest say to us.  As he was going down the aisle, sprinkling holy water on everyone during the Renewal of the Baptismal Vows, he glanced at all of our sleeping kids, and I heard him say something like "they're too young to be here."  I was so shocked that he would reprimand us like that, publicly, in the middle of the Mass.  Didn't Christ say "let the little children come to me"?  What does it matter if young children sleep through most of a vigil Mass?  They're not bothering anyone, and there are still plenty of open seats left!  At least we're all here as a family!

I spent the next twenty minutes thinking back over other little thing this priest had ever said or done that I wasn't entirely happy about, and basically letting myself feel totally victimized.  Not the best way to spend the holiest Mass of the year.....So it's probably for the best that I decided not to go up during Communion, considering I'd spent much of the last hour asleep, anyways.

When Mass had ended, Tom made some comment about how cute the kids all looked, asleep on the pew.  I sarcastically rejoined, "yeah, well, Fr. _______ didn't think so.".  Tom didn't understand what I was talking about.  After sharing what I thought the priest had said to us, Tom explained what had really happened.  The priest had been joking about Flora - being less than three weeks old - as being "young to be here", and then had added that he "couldn't bless her yet" (since she has not been baptized yet, and thus has no baptismal vows to renew).  Oh :-/

So I felt extremely petty for thinking all those thoughts.

A friend of ours snapped this photo of all our sleeping babes after Mass.  I know, I know, I look really sleepy!

*****

Easter Day itself was pretty nice.  The kids were quite excited to finally eat candy again (I'd convinced them all to give it up for Lent).  The weather was unseasonably warm - in the low 70s during March! During naptime, Tom and I took some time to pull out our rugs and furniture for the front porch, and get things set up for summer.  Then we went to my aunt's house for a nice Easter dinner with the extended family.

Happy Easter to all - Resurrexit Sicut Dixit!

I Don't Like Playing With My Kids

I haven't worked this all out in my mind yet to figure out what it all means, but I have an admission to make.  A lot of the time, I....really don't like...playing with my kids.

Phew.

I feel guilty about this.  My whole life, when I pictured myself as a mother, I imagined running around with my kids, taking them to parks, joining them in games playing with toys, and simply having lots of fun with them.  And I do have my moments where I like to be silly with them and dance and sing and play pretend and give tickles and have fun. 

But the majority of the time?  I'd seriously rather stand in the kitchen washing dishes and gazing at the kids out the back window than have to go outside with them and play. 

I like watching them, snuggling them, or talking with them.  But I don't like to be their entertainment.  I tell Sly, "Mommy's job is to take care of the family and the house.  Your job is just to play.  So go play!"  But they want me to play with them all the time.  And I have to force myself.

I dread Sly asking me to play Candyland with him.  I feel like I'd rather do anything else.  Playing four-year-old-level board games is done completely as an act of love and for no other reason.

Am I not giving them enough attention at other times?  Perhaps I'm not being "present" enough when we are spending time together?  Or maybe it's just that I've never been good with young children?  I can't figure out if there is a problem with me not wanting to play with them, or if it is just a manifestation of my particular temperament.
  

I love my kids, I love being around my kids.  But it's so much nicer when Tom's wrestling with them on the floor, and I'm just sitting in the room near them, maybe sewing or paging through a magazine...enjoying the sounds and sights of my happy children. 

I feel drawn to the image of the typical mother of a couple generations ago who would feed the kids breakfast, give them a kiss, and send them out the door to go run around the neighborhood with other kids all day.  Mother as the holder-down-of-the-fort.  The mother hen who the little chicks come running back to at the end of the day.

This was all driven home for me recently because Tom was on a business trip and I had to take care of everyone on my own for several days.  Day times were fine, because we have our general schedule and I'm used to being home with the kids during that time.  But evening would hit - which is usually when Tom plays with them for a couple hours before bed - and I found myself thinking desperately, "what do I doooooo with them?!" 

I know that kids learn and relate to people largely through play.  And I absolutely want a good relationship with my kids.  So for now, I guess I just need to grin and bare it some days.  When they're older, hopefully we can strengthen that relationship based on other interests and ways of relating.

Thoughts?  Advice?  

Why I Don't Hate My Body Anymore

For the first time since adolescence, I think I'm finally becoming comfortable with my body.

It happed like this.

Like so many females, I spent my pre-teen and teen years longing to be thinner.  Wanting my body to resemble the women's figures in magazines and movies, or at least to fit into a smaller pant size like the other girls.  Searching after that elusive "skinniness" every teen talks about.

I was on my high school's crew team, which is a very demanding sport.  I was fit, I was healthy, I could row like a beast (funny - that word used to be a high compliment for us back in the day, but I'm not sure that I'd like to be called a beast anymore!).  Even though my body could do so much, I cared only about the way it looked.  And it still didn't look skinny enough.

In college, I went for runs everyday: 3-6 miles long, sometimes more.  I ran two full marathons, two half marathons, and countless smaller races.  I ate more healthily than ever in my life.  Really, I was in the best shape I will probably ever be.  But even at my lowest adult weight - you know, that number that you would have to work really really hard to keep over the long term - I still didn't feel thin enough.  I just wanted to have a waist.  For my body to go in at the middle!  Maybe not the ideal hourglass proportions, but something that at least suggested that type of female figure. 

The skinniest I ever was.  And I think this photo just caught me at a good angle.

 
I've finally accepted that I never can have that.  To be specific: my frame just won't allow it.  My ribcage and my hipbones have barely an inch between them, and there's no room for me to ever have a waist, "unless", as Tom jokes "you have a couple ribs removed".  My legs, despite the fact that I barely get any exercise these days are still extremely muscular - more so than many men I know.  Some people might envy them, but they're just not very feminine.  It's how I'm made.

I debated posting a bathing suit picture for modesty reasons.  But I think it's relevant to the story I'm telling.

Marriage was the first step in helping me to accept the body I was given.  When you marry and begin to share your body and your life with another person, you come to see that the body has so much more value and meaning than just an appealing outer covering.  We have a body because we are meant to use it, to give it, to serve others with it.

Plus, my husband loved me and loved my body.  So it couldn't be completely terrible, right?

During pregnancy and childbirth, your body gets stretched to its limits (metaphorically, I mean...but actually in a literal sense as well!).  It wasn't until I had grown a tiny human inside of myself for nine months, used my body to painfully bring that human into the world, and then spent the next year further nurturing him with the milk that I was miraculously making that I really understood what I was capable of.  My body can do amazing and wonderful things!  This is what my body was made for - what everyone's body was made for: to allow them to carry out their vocation.  Whatever that may be. 

My vocation right now is to be a wife to my husband, to birth babies, and to do the work of raising them.  My vocation is not to have an hourglass figure. It's time to give myself permission to not have to be thin.  As long as I'm doing my part to keep my body reasonably healthy - i.e. able to perform my duties - I think I'm doing what I should.

I wanted a picture of me wearing a baby, but the only one I can find has me eating a cookie...right after I finished talking about being healthy!

I won't pretend to understand the deep mysteries of personhood....about the fact that we don't just have bodies, but that we are bodies.  But what I do know is that if my body is "me", it seems useless to keep going through life hating myself. 

New Perspectives on NFP

I finally got around to reading Simcha's book The Sinner's Guide to Natural Family Planning.

I avoid ever paying full price for a book (I know, I know - it's good to support the author.  But it's also hard to fit in our budget.), and I didn't expect this one to show up in our library anytime soon.  I hoped to borrow it from a friend, but they were all reading Kindle versions (darn that new technology!).  I finally buckled down and bought it on Amazon (it's selling for a really reasonable price, so if you're still curious about it, buy it!) because I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

I have to admit, I expected to hate it. Maybe I even wanted to hate it.  Despite all the reviews claiming that Simcha finally spoke the truth about the challenges of NFP instead of rhapsodizing about what a magical beautiful thing it is, I suspected that she must still be secretly "propagandizing" NFP - something I believe to be a legitimate, but often over-rated practice.

I was pleased to discover that this wasn't true.  She spoke a lot of sense in this book, and shared a great deal of wisdom - gained over the years of her marriage.  More than a guide about dealing with the challenges of NFP, I would say that this is a guide to how we fallen humans can live out a Christ-centered marriage.  Even though my husband and I are not using - and never have *really* used - NFP, there was still a lot for me to learn here.

It's an age-old truth, but something which has continually impressed me is the fact that with age and experience often comes wisdom.  Recently, I've gained a bit of understanding on something about NFP that used to baffle me.

I've shared some of my thoughts on NFP before (see here and here), so you might know that I'm pretty down on the way it is is commonly "sold" by Catholics.  I think people want so badly to provide an appealing alternative to contraception (which is always immoral) that they talk up NFP as being a positive thing, rather than the morally neutral tool that it is.  It's kind of like saying, "isn't it awesome that I got sick on Sunday and was dispensed from the obligation to attend Mass?!"  No, actually.  You may have been perfectly sinless in missing Mass, but it kinda sucks that you had to be sick, and I don't think it's anything to be thrilled about - even if it means you finally had a chance to pray five Rosaries.

At least some portion of my distaste for NFP came about because I just could not understand the motivations a lot of people had when deciding they needed to postpone another pregnancy.  Yeah - pregnancy and children are exhausting, but...who said life was supposed to be easy?  The primary purpose of marriage is procreation.  I suspected that NFP was often over-used by Catholics.  I tried very hard never to presume anything about particular people, but something always seemed "off" about the fact that pretty much every couple we heard about seemed to be using NFP to intentionally plan out each of their conceptions.  What ever happened to just accepting babies as they came - even when they came close?  Do you really need to jump right back into charting and postponing the second after you give birth?  Why do the midwives have to write down what sort of family planning I'm going to use at my 6-week post-partum checkup, and why won't they accept my answer when I tell them "none"?  I never understood the fear I sensed in other women over the thought of another pregnancy.

But then I gave birth to my third child.

When my first two kids were born - I mean the moment they were born - my very first emotions were this intense mixture of relief and "joy that a man has been born into this world" (Jn 16:21).  But when my sweet little Linus came out, I just felt numb.  Joyless.  Tom was weeping in happiness, our doula was praising my hard work and smiling at the beautiful baby we helped create, the nurses were all fussing over him.  And there was me just lying there, staring straight ahead.  Stiff with dread.  All I could think was "how many more times?  How many more times do I have to go through pregnancy?  Through labor and childbirth?  I don't want to do this for the next fifteen years straight.  I would like to never have to go through this again."

I'm not saying any of these thoughts were entirely rational.  And they weren't very holy.  But they were very human.

Even after we brought him home, my transition to caring for three kids - as I've mentioned before - was not easy.  It was NOT EASY.  For me to even admit this means it was a significant hardship for me. I am a person who is usually able to deal with stresses and challenges fairly well - I may get frazzled, but I never feel defeated.  But there were days this time around when I was not sure I could handle it.  When I felt like I was drowning.  I felt like I kept putting out feeble "calls for help", yet no one understood or listened.  Everyone expected me to be strong like always, and adjust to the new baby as easily as I had with the first two.  No one realized that I needed to be taken care of.

This expression of despair captures about how I felt

Tom and I have said from the beginning that we wanted a "big family" (whatever that means.  We don't have an ideal number - we're just thankful for what we get).  And we still do.  So it was hard for me for the longest time to understand why people could feel the need to postpone another baby unless there was some major major crisis in their life.  Why waste those fertile years?  Why go through the struggle and the hardship of trying to abstain and figure out God's plan each month, when you could just live out your married life naturally and let the babies come as they would?  Our grandmothers didn't have NFP to fall back on, and they had huge families, and seemed to be happy enough....

But I had begun to notice a trend on comment boards and internet forums.  In many cases, the people who were either the most critical about the use of NFP or the most fanatically impressed with it were rather young - with maybe one or two kids.  The ones who had the more measured and reasoned perspective on it were those who were older and often had many children: People who had endured the exhaustion and wear-and-tear of many pregnancies, but also felt pleasure and relief as their kids grew old enough to help and began to blossom into unique and wonderful people.  People who knew the anxiety and despair of an unintended pregnancy, yet had also found that those unplanned children were one of their life's greatest blessings.

I was talking to Tom only a few weeks before Linus was born about how I wouldn't be surprised if my perspective on welcoming new children continually changed as our family grew.  I realized that we could conceivably hit a point where we just felt too overwhelmed and as if we could use a break between pregnancies.  And now for the first time, I've had a taste of what that emotion is even like.

So I think I've gained some perspective now.  Every family and every person is different, and sometimes people really feel that they could use a "breather" between the babies in order to be a better parent.  (and I'm sure there are any number of other legitimate reasons for postponing a pregnancy, which I'm not mentioning now).  Most people wouldn't go through the struggle of practicing NFP unless they believed they had a legitimate reason.  Perhaps if they're honest with themselves, not all of those people do have legitimate reasons.  But maybe those reasons don't have to be as dire as I once thought.  If things hadn't settled down significantly for me this time around, maybe I'd be considering joining the ranks of those many confused women attempting to make sense of their wacky post-partum fertility signs right now...

But I am dealing better with everything.  Though life is still very busy with all the projects we're doing around the house, I think the toughest portion of the transition to having three kids has passed, and we've found a new rhythm.  (And um, can I just brag right here for a minute about my amazingly easy third baby?  He goes to bed at 9pm, wakes up once at 6 am to nurse, then goes right back to sleep until 10am or so.  It must be God's special gift to me!)  

So here's about how I'm feeling now: At this point, if someone told me "you are going to be handed a new baby in nine months", I'd say, "ok - things might be a little crazy, but I'm game."  But if someone told me, "starting today, you will have to suffer through another nine months of pregnancy, and then endure the travails of childbirth, and then have another child to take care of, making you the mother of four under five", I'd maybe flip out a little.  I really....don't like being pregnant (Tom is encouraging me to remove the word "hate" from my vocabulary).  But I do love new babies :-)

I still don't want to use NFP, and I still think it's important to think of it as something that is definitely less than the ideal.  But it's presumptuous to assume we will never have a reason to consider postponing a pregnancy.  Who knows what the future holds.  Who knows how my perspective will change as I gain experience and insights.  Seriously, I only have three kids now.  In my circles, that's a small family.  What do I really know yet about life and marriage and child-rearing?  Not much!  But I'm continually learning and growing.

Celebrating Pentecost/Our Kitchen Renovation

I am sorry if you clicked here looking for some fun ideas from me about how to observe Pentecost, a.k.a. the day the Holy Spirit came down to the Apostles and Mary, a.k.a. "the birthday of the Church" with your kids.  Because I've got nothing right now!

I have had kind of a crazy week.  Our car has been out of commission for days, forcing me to reschedule most of this week's original plans; we had a family funeral [my uncle passed away over the weekend, prayers for his soul are appreciated] and its various events to find rides to every day; and I've had a guy working on a kitchen renovation for me (yay!!) all week, forcing us to be very "creative" (read: spartan) with our meals as I don't even have access to the kitchen for most of the day.  And we've been out of milk for three days now, which might not seem like a big deal, but to my kids it kind of feels like the end of the world.  

And because I'm a bad Catholic and pretty much haven't attempted daily Mass since I had my second kid, I needed Facebook to remind me that Pentecost is tomorrow*.

So I am looking to you, my kind readers, for any doable last-minute ideas that I could pull off to help the kids - or at least Sly, who is almost four - grasp a bit of what Pentecost is all about.  We can't make it to Mass, since the church-across-the-street that I can actually walk to has it at the same time I need to be home for something tomorrow.  And it can't involve food, unless it's something that needs no cooking.

Maybe some sort of craft involving a "tongue of fire" or a dove?  Actually the dove might be a bad idea, because I think I've finally convinced Sly that the Holy Spirit is not really a dove, but just like a dove, and I don't want to confuse him all over again :-)

Thanks in advance to anyone who shares an idea!

Every now and then, I actually remember to take a few photos of this little cutie.  I feel guilty, but that's just how it goes when you're the third child, and the least demanding one of the bunch.

***

Kitchen Renovation!

Our compromise when we decided to go ahead and put an offer on our house was that we would make some changes to the kitchen so it would become more useable for me.  I had nixed many a house over the months of torturing our realtor house shopping, due mostly to their tiny and unworkable kitchens.  A kitchen is the most important room in the house for me, since I spend so much of the day there, cooking or cleaning (can.not. wait until the kids are old enough to help more with these things).

To show you what I'm currently working with, this here is the entirety of my counter space.

I can barely even fit a cutting board there.  I constantly have to walk back and forth across the room to the stovetop or the trash can while I'm cooking, because my little food prep area is separated from them.  Also, our kitchen has four doorways entering into it, which makes it really hard to fit much else in the room.

We came up with a few things that will help, though - some new cabinets, an extended countertop, and a nice big single-bowl sink are going in.  Our tiny kitchen is soon going to double in cabinet- and counter-space, yet still be "below average" size for both.  We won't be getting a dishwasher, a pretty modern oven, an island, taller cabinets, or many of those other items I could list for my "dream kitchen."  We will barely even have any wall space left for decorations.  But I'm excited!

And so are the kids!

  ***

Oh, also! I recently got to meet Amelia, whose very enjoyable blog I've eagerly followed for a while now, knowing full well that she was the sister of a good friend from college, yet being too awkward to actually tell her that I knew her brother....anyways, I finally got the guts to send her an e-mail informing her that I intended to say "hi" to her at his wedding which we were both attending (thus giving myself no chance to continue being awkward and just dodge her the whole time), and we finally got the meet in real life :-)  She's the second person who I've met after first getting to know through a blog.  It was again an enjoyable yet surreal experience.


*No, Pentecost is on Sunday - I was just being careless before.  See comment below :-) At least it gives me a little more time to prepare!

A Lover-ly Motherly Day // Answer Me This

My husband and the kids all worked hard to make yesterday a very special Mothers Day, and I enjoyed many little luxuries.  I would have been happy with just a handmade card by the kids, but I think I got spoiled this year.

In the morning, Tom let me sleep in, and took the older two kids down to the kitchen make me breakfast in bed (I'd said just toast and coffee would be fine).  It was nice to get a little more sleep, though it was interrupted several times by tantrums happening in the kitchen.  First, Sly started bawling because Daddy make the unforgivable mistake of putting the bread into the toaster himself.  Then Stella had a fit because she didn't want to leave her own breakfast for a minute to help bring my food upstairs.

I enjoyed a peaceful - but somewhat lonely, I have to say - breakfast on my own.  Then I was able to get a shower with no kids in the bathroom the whole time!  As I was heading to get dressed, Tom had a present for me: a weather forecast station.  Every morning, I ask him to check his phone's weather app to tell me what the temperature is, so I know how to dress for the day, and I've often said that one feature was the only reason I kinda want a smartphone.  But now I have this little gadget instead, and I think it will be useful.

And then what was perhaps the best gift of all:  As Stella brought me my toothbrush (which she'd just finished brushing her own teeth with.  Ugh.  She has an obsession with toothbrushes right now), I'm pretty sure she said "Mama" for the first time!  Yep, at the ripe old age of 21 months.  She already graduated from the babyish "Dada" to calling Tom "Daddy" months and months ago.  She also says the names of both her brothers, three of her grandparents, at least one uncle, and various animals.  But not "Mommy"!!  Perhaps I was just hearing what I wanted to hear at that moment...but it still made my day.

At Mass, there were carnations for mothers.  As we were leaving, I saw there were a lot left, so I grabbed two more.  I figure I'm entitled to one for each child, right? :-)

We had been toying with the idea of going on a picnic for lunch, as we've done in past years.  But by the time we got home from Mass, it was just too late to throw that together.  We needed to take our family photo and put people down for naps instead.

squinting from the sun

I ended up with a rare opportunity to go alone - well, Linus came too, but he's still no trouble, so he barely counts - to JoAnn Fabrics to hunt for the perfect fabric for Sly's future curtains...unfortunately, with no luck.  It was still so nice to be able to leisurely browse the store without all the kids along.

Wanting to give me the day off cooking, Tom decided we should walk down to a little local restaurant in our new neighborhood for dinner.  It was nothing fancy, but it was a tasty burger-and-beer joint, which is probably my favorite sort of restaurant anyways.

Stella's is the grease-stained card....she was eating buttered toast!

And when we got home, there were more presents.  First two sweet homemade cards from the kids.  In Sly's, he wrote out all the letters of "Mommy" and "Sly" by himself.  Not exactly in the right order, but by himself, which was pretty exciting.  I also got some very pretty jewelry (which Tom swears he bought on clearance right after Christmas, and says not to worry about the cost) and a handy stay-cool towel thingy.  I suppose to help me get through another non-air-conditioned summer.  We'd seen one of these years ago, and been impressed with how cold it stays.  Now I'm just wishing I'd had it during my latest birth - it would have been soooo nice.  So take note, any women who are expecting babies!

It strikes me as a little funny that some of the ways my family celebrated "mothers day" were by letting me take a break from my usual motherhood duties (such as cooking meals or...putting up with kids breaking into the peace of my morning shower!).  But sometimes those little breaks can be so nice, and - more quickly than you'd ever expect - make you miss being surrounded by your demanding yet sweet little people.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joining this week's Answer Me This

What's for dinner?

Chicken pot pie, kindly brought to me by one of my friends in my Catholic moms group.

What's the last thing you borrowed from someone?
The Story of a Family about the childhood home of St. Therese.  I enjoyed it, because I always love to learn more about this wonderful Saint.  But I feel that it could be improved by a better translation from the French.  Some parts read a little awkwardly.  And the author assumes a Frenchman's knowledge of the country and customs, which I do not have.

What is your favorite prayer?
The Divine Praises are an awesome prayer for reparation of blasphemy.  I especially love the last line: "May the heart of Jesus, in the Most Blessed Sacrament, be praised, adored, and loved with grateful affection, at every moment, in all the tabernacles of the world, even to the end of time."

What is the oldest thing in your house?

I had to consult with Tom on this, but didn't get a very satisfying answer.  We have a handful of books from the 1800s...but I'm not sure of the exact dates.

What's the best concert you ever attended?
This is a tough one!  I haven't been to a concert in a while, but P.C. (pre-children), I went to some good ones.

Andrew Bird is one of the greatest live performers ever.  I've seen him four times.  He's almost a one-man show.  He plays guitar and violin, sings and whistles.  He uses a loop station to accompany himself and create these incredible layers of sound.  The first time I went to one of his shows, he was just in a tiny venue (actually, the very lecture hall in which I was taking an architecture course at my college), and was up on the stage packing up his stuff afterwards.  I wanted to go talk to him, but chickened out.  When he came back to Pittsburgh that summer, I went to the show, and swore to myself that I would talk to him afterwards.  And I did!

I'm making him uncomfortable

Other close contenders are The Decemberists (the Hazards of Love tour) and The Moody Blues (who I never expected to get to see live, since they haven't really been popular since about 1969).

Do you have a nickname?
My immediate family calls me Chris (which I hate when anyone else says it, but they get a pass), and my extended family calls me Chrissy.  Everyone else calls me Christine (or Mommy).

Easter and More Than You Want to Hear About Breastfeeding

Happy Easter to all!

Our Easter was sort of a blur for me, because I was sick for much of it.  I'm pretty sure I had mastitis (an infection related to breastfeeding) over the weekend.  We had all been planning to go to the Vigil Mass on Saturday night.  We were going to put the kids to bed early, then carry them to the car when it was time to leave, still in pajamas, and just let them lay on the pews and sleep through the Mass.  It worked for us last year.  I'd been feeling cold all day, and Tom kept saying I was crazy, because it was so nice out and the rest of the family was in short sleeves, while I was in a sweater and slippers.  As the kids' bedtime approached, it got really bad, and I was developing major chills, soreness, and other symptoms.  It was clear that I had a fever, so Tom ended up going to the vigil alone and I stayed home in bed.

When he got home at three in the morning (he'd gone out for delcicious unhealthy food afterwards with friends, as used to be our tradition before we had kids...I'm only a little jealous), I croaked out instructions to him as to where he could find all the hidden Easter goodies for the kids, and how I wanted them all layed out in their baskets.

Sly was so excited to see his basket in the morning, and kept saying, "I LOVE Easter!".  And we did our first-ever egg hunt for the kids, because we actually have a yard now (have I exclaimed this enough times yet?)

Sly changed into more a Spring-appropriate outfit later

I still didn't feel great, but the fever had broken, so I didn't feel like I was sick enough to miss Easter Mass entirely.  Though he didn't need to go again, Tom decided to come too so we bring the kids. We ended up at the Easter morning Mass, which I don't think I've attended for many years.  I wasn't prepared for it, so I didn't really have an outfit picked out (I feel like the vigil Mass calls for darker colors, and the morning Mass for brighter ones....but that might just be a personal opinion).  It's almost impossible to find a dress in my closet that both fits me and works for nursing.  I didn't even remember to wear a fun hat, let alone a nicer-than-usual veil!

And this was the best family photo we got, after many attempts.

Later, at our big family dinner, my uncle asked Sly, "So did the Easter Bunny visit you last night?"  Sly just gave him a look as if he thought he was totally insane, then said, "you're goofy."  We've never actually mentioned the Easter Bunny to him.  I just think it/he(?) is kind of silly, and doesn't really hold the same magic and legend status for me as Santa Claus.  We haven't explained how the baskets get filled, and Sly hasn't asked, so...I think we're all happy for now.

As the party wore on, I started getting feverish again, so we went home.  I sweated through another miserable night.  In the morning, I called up the midwives, and said basically, "I think I have mastitis, and I need antibiotics!!" But the midwives tend to prefer the least intervention possible, so I was told that instead I should spend the whole day "resting, drinking fluids, nursing my baby, and not doing anything else."  Ha - yeah right.  I think I actually laughed on the phone. 

I didn't get a ton of rest, but I tried to keep my workload light.  Thankfully, I seem to be getting over whatever it was, and the fever hasn't come back.

***

So I know we really should have done this long ago, but we haven't provided Sly with the actual word for "breasts". He knows all about how babies nurse from their mothers, and he asks me a lot of rather personal questions about it when I nurse Linus.  But each time, he's fumbling around in his speech, because he doesn't have terms for the parts he's asking about.  The other day, he asked if it hurt me if Linus pulled on "those little things" (nipples).

I should probably just tell him what everything is called, but I don't know - I guess I'm embarrassed about it?  Anyone have suggestions?

On a related note, today, Sly pointed to one of my breasts while Linus was nursing, and said "half gallon" then to the other, saying, "whole milk."  Oh my.

Linus' Birth Story

"Put me back in!"

I had been warned by so many people that your third labor is often a "wild card."  Starting labor a week late was definitely unexpected, but other than that, the labor was much in the same pattern as my previous two kids.  And if anything, it actually went even more smoothly. I wish I could say that labor is less painful each time (wouldn't you think it should be?!), but it's definitely not.  Each time, though, I get better and better at dealing with the pain, and knowing what works best to help me through it.  So maybe in some ways, I could consider each of my deliveries "easier" than the one before.

 Building Towards Labor

I had been having contractions on and off each day for almost a week before I finally went into labor for real.  There had been so many false alarms and dashed hopes, and it was all very frustrating to deal with.  When labor started with my other two kids, it was very clear - but this time around, I was becoming convinced that my body was trying and just couldn't do it (Tom said it was like turning the throttle without starting the engine).  A number of women who had gone through similar situations assured me that the daily contractions weren't for nothing - that my body was doing real work to prepare for delivery, and that it would make the actual labor go more smoothly when it finally came.  I didn't want to hear that, though, so I didn't really let myself believe it.

Tuesday was one week past my due date.  I spent the morning cleaning the whole house.  What else did I have to do?  I even vacuumed the stairs, which was quite a feat consider the weight of our vacuum and the size of my stomach at that point.  Tom told me to take it easy, but I think my nesting urges were taking over.

I was scheduled to go see the midwives for a non-stress test in the afternoon just to make sure the baby was still doing alright.  While I was lying in the bed strapped to the heart monitor, I had a number of uncomfortable contractions.  The test finished up, baby looked good, and the midwife asked if I had any questions.  I told her that I was pretty much done being pregnant, and really just wanted this baby to come out.  She offered to check whether I was dilated, and to "sweep my membranes" if I wanted.  In case you are unfamiliar with the term, as I was, it is when the doctor/nurse sticks a finger inside your cervix and spins it in a circle to push the amniotic sac away from the cervix (not to break it).  Weird, I know.  Supposedly it releases prostaglandins which can help start labor.  She checked me, and I was already five centimeters dilated (I guess those contractions had been doing something afterall!), and then she did the - quite uncomfortable - membrane sweep.

I went home and settled on the couch to wait it out and see what might happen.  Tom was fortunately working from home that day, since he had needed to keep an eye on the older kids while I went to my appointment.  I continued having the occasional contractions, but wasn't getting my hopes up yet.  But two and a half hours later, things started to get real, and I knew it was finally finally time!  My dad was enlisted to come get the kids.  Unfortunately, it was 4:30pm at this point, and he was working in an office on the complete opposite end of town, so it was going to take him a while to get through traffic.

 The Hamburger Incident

So...earlier in the day, before I had known that labor would actually be starting, I had pulled out some ground beef to defrost, and had a conversation with Tom about all the ingredients I would be mixing into it to attempt some yummy restaurant-quality hamburgers for dinner.  Fast-forward to about 4:00 when contractions were starting to build (and I was already at LEAST five centimeters dilated, mind you).  Tom offered to make the dinner instead.  Fine and dandy.  Now fast-forward to 5:00, when I'm definitely in labor, and having to breathe through each contraction, and getting anxious because my dad is still not there.  Tom says something about how he'll just throw in a frozen pizza real quick instead (I figured he wanted to eat something himself before we left.  I figured the hamburgers were obviously totally out of the picture by that point).  I reminded him that the frozen pizza was all gone.  He said, "oh, well, I'll just figure something out", and went down to the kitchen, fortunately taking the kids with him to let me have some peace and quiet.

About fifteen minutes later, I hear pans banging all over the stove, and the unmistakable smell of hamburgers cooking.  What the heck?  I got really annoyed that instead of getting the kids' overnight bag and the other things I had asked him to collect around the house, or calling up the midwives for me, he was down there cooking hamburgers.  For who?  I certainly didn't want one, and I figured my dad was just going to feed the kids dinner.  We never even eat before 6:00 anyways.  I'm sitting upstairs alone and in pain, and he's down there surely making a huge mess in the kitchen [this fact was very much confirmed later], and he can't hear me when I call to him because he's banging around and sizzling up stupid hamburgers while I'm in labor!!!!

And then the kids must have sneaked away from him, because suddenly they were both upstairs with me, fussing because I wouldn't let them climb into my lap while I was sitting on the fun-looking exercise ball, and I started yelling for Tom to come up and get them RIGHT NOW!!  When he got up the stairs, I started into him: "Why the heck are you making hamburgers now?!  I DON'T WANT A HAMBURGER!!!!!"  He replied that he needed to feed the kids.  I yelled, "WE DON'T NEED TO FEED THE KIDS!  MY DAD CAN FEED THE KIDS!" and then we both started yelling, and things got ugly, and I finally screamed - yes, right in front of my children - "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!!" and I slammed and locked the door in his face, and went to sit back on my exercise ball, and cry angry tears through the next few lonely contractions.

It was a bad moment, man.  I'm not proud of myself.  Truly, a woman's most animalistic instincts come out when she's in labor.

My dad finally arrived, and my emotions eventually settled down a bit.  The drive to the hospital was pretty silent, because Tom and I both needed some time to cool off.  Once we arrived there, I think there was an unspoken agreement to just forget it had ever happened, and deal with the business ahead.

Transition

My doula, Bethany, arrived within minutes and I got changed into the gown.  The midwife came in and checked me again - almost 8 centimeters dilated already! 

I was ready to get to work, so I asked the nurse to find me a birth ball.  Sitting on the ball had been my salvation with the other two labors - it feels great to just stay on it almost until it's time to push.   The nurse frowned and said, "oh...there are a lot of women here today who use the midwives...all the birth balls are in use."  Me, Tom, and Bethany exchanged looks of horror.  The nurse could see how important it was for me, so promised to see what she could do.  A few minutes later, she entered triumphantly holding a ball....the dinkiest little exercise ball I've ever seen. I'm not kidding, it was about a foot and a half off the ground.  I gave it a half-second chance, and it failed utterly.  I was practically sitting on the floor.  Not happening.

So I ended up just sitting in a chair for most of the labor.  It was a little harder for Bethany to sit behind me pressing my pelvis during contractions (which is always the thing my body "wants."  My labors follow a very similar pattern each time), but it worked.  Tom's job during contractions was the stroke my arms in a downward motion, helping me to stay loose and relaxed. 

I find that I'm very focused and business-like during my labors.  I know what I need, and I just ask for it.  By this point, I'm not hesitant to assign tasks to my husband or my doula as needed.  Between contractions, I either chat with them both or encourage them to chat together while I just relax.  When I feel a contraction about to start, I say, "ok!" and everyone gets into position, and stops talking until it's passed.

When I arrived at the hospital, I was already in the dreaded "transition" phase of labor.  When Stella was born, transition was really rough.  But transition with both Sly and Linus just meant slightly more intense contractions.  I realized later what made the difference: my water had already been broken before transition when I had Stella.  When an amniotic sac is still intact, it makes the contractions more gentle. 

During all of my births, I have had to ask the midwives to break my water for me.  All three midwives have also remarked about the unusual thickness of my sacs...haha (sorry, that's kind of a gross detail.  At least I will not be sharing with you the photo Tom took of it afterwards!).  Labor tends to slow way down for me towards the end, I ask the midwife to break my water, and then things pick right up, and a baby soon arrives.

Baby is Born

The slow-down started happening, and things were getting more painful.   I moved to sit upright in the bed.  Tom and Bethany were enlisted to place icy washcloths on my forehead and chest between contractions.  They were coming farther apart at this point, and between each one, I closed my eyes and almost fell asleep. 

Eventually, the midwife suggested she check me, and we consider breaking my water.  I was almost completely dilated, except for a small "lip" of my cervix.  She did break my water, and then wanted me to try other positions to make that lip move out of the way.  I absolutely did not want to try any of her suggestions.  I wanted to just recline in the bed and not support my own weight.  So I asked if she would be able to move it out of the way manually.  It just took a couple contractions, and she had cleared the way.  Baby was all ready to go, and I had the ok to push with the next contraction.

I was again disappointed my how under-equipped the hospital was that night, because they couldn't find the "mirror on a stand" which I had used when I had the other kids.  Some women have no interest in watching themselves give birth, but I find it extremely motivating to be able to see that my pushes are actually doing something.  The nurses searched every delivery room for the mirror with no luck.  So I had to do it blindly this time. 

It took the first contraction for me to remember what "pushing" is supposed to feel like, and where to focus my energy.  But I was ready for the next one.  In one gigantic and drawn-out push, Linus went from not even crowning yet to being completely born!  I was so determined to just get him out!

They put him on my chest immediately.  Tom started bawling with joy, as always.  I stared into space in shock and relief, as always, my whole body twitching with adrenaline. Labor was about six hours total, which is my fastest yet.

Anyways, Linus was perfectly healthy.  I didn't tear or have any complications, so my recovery has been fine.  I have to say, I am so so happy not to be pregnant right now.  And it's wonderful to have a snuggly little newborn in the house again.  I'm already getting sad because I know how fleeting this time is.

meeting their new little brother