milestones Archives - burnt toast life

May 28

wimpy white boy & the tiny warrior princess

May 28

It’s been 84 years…

We are going to conveniently ignore the fact that it’s been exactly 1,018 days since my last blog post.

And somehow that felt appropriate because the topic of my last entry was how stressed I felt trying to work full time PLUS parent three kids full time. That’s all been going on for the entire 33 months I’ve been absent — and it shows.

Now I’m on a brief work sabbatical also known as maternity leave. That doesn’t mean I have time to dig in and start blogging again — if anything, I’m way busier than I was in August 2018, the time of my last update — but with so much going on, I felt like I had to get down some thoughts and provide a centralized place for people requesting updates on the babies. I can’t keep track of who I’m telling what.

And obviously, I want to look back in 1,000 days and remind myself how miserable I was because life will be much better then. Right? Right.

Welcome to our renovation nightmare

Ok so quick, quick update on the last 3 years: We considered moving but decided to stay after losing out on our dream house (7 offers in 48 hours) and realizing the housing market is totally out of control. That led to embarking on an agonizing, drama-filled, six-figure renovation that included multiple shady contractors, skyrocketing costs of materials amid the pandemic, broken appliances, and lots of other bad news every day. Nightmare isn’t even the word. It’s a never-ending horror show.

Six months later and it’s still not finished. However, we’re finally starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I could go on for pages about this saga but at the moment I’d rather be talking about my other big news. The moral of this story? (Most) contractors suck, renovations are expensive, and if you want something done right you have to do it yourself.

Suffice it to say we are never, ever moving and it will all be beautiful when it’s done, thanks to the literal blood, sweat, and tears that we (and when I say we I mean Eric) put into this project. And even though we spent wayyyyyyyy too much money on it, technically we still have equity and aren’t forced to overpay for a crappy house like so many other buyers right now. Small blessings.

No embryo left behind

The reason I’ve been very unhelpful in the construction department, besides my complete lack of manual labor skills, is that I’ve been pregnant the entire time.

After going back and forth and agonizing over the last two embryos for years, I finally decided the time had come. I got the go-ahead from my OB to implant two embryos at once (“But will my uterus literally explode if I’ve had 3 c-sections already? No? Are you sure?”) even as my RE Dr. L tried her damndest to talk me out of it.

“They could split and you could get triplets. You could get QUADS,” she warned.

However, I’ve said all along that we abide by a “no embryo left behind” philosophy. I also reasoned that these were the worst quality embryos of the group. There was a decent chance that only one would stick. Or none would stick! It was a $5,000 gamble I was willing to take, especially since it nicely coincided with a generous work bonus.

And then both embryos stuck. And then we had twins.

The pregnancy was both eventful and non-eventful. There weren’t any major concerns until the third trimester other than cholestasis, which was an itchy nightmare, and extreme discomfort for my 5’1 frame carrying two growing humans. My back ached, my feet swelled, and apparently, I had a short temper with everyone (in my recollection, this part is exaggerated, but all my family members agree that ‘Amanda while pregnant with twins’ is super bitchy).

It’s gonna be May

Everything was uncomfortably yet smoothly sailing along fine as we passed the 30 week mark. But then I started having some concerning growth scans that showed Baby A, the girl, was experiencing IUGR (intrauterine growth restriction).

We already knew I’d be delivering early because of all my risk factors — twins, IVF, repeat c-section, cholestasis, advanced maternal age, etc., etc. But all along I had the goal in my head of making it to 37 weeks. The twins were due 6/24 — the day after Molly’s birthday, how full circle is that? — and if I got to 37 weeks, I would at least be in the correct month for their due date. Meanwhile, my OB said to prepare for delivery between 34 and 35 weeks even before the scans. She’s clearly psychic in that regard.

Finally, baby girl started having issues with cord flow and the perinatal doctors insisted the babies had to arrive no later than 36 weeks. They started using terms like “stillbirth” and scared the crap out of me. I called my OB to get her opinion on when to schedule the surgery. That’s when I found out she was leaving for a humanitarian trip to Africa in mid-May. My last day to schedule the surgery with her was Monday, May 17 – when I would be exactly 34+4 weeks. It felt like a sign from God that it was the right day.

And so it was. Surgery went great, recovery was a bit rough but manageable, and the babies were super cute. Lucas Russell was 5 lbs 6 oz, which happens to be Molly’s exact birth weight at 40+4. He clearly would have been my biggest baby if we had let him cook longer. Meredith Jane was 3 lbs 3 oz. But then they got whisked off to the NICU and they’ve been there ever since.

Today is the 12^th day without my newborns.

Welcome to the NICU; no one wants to be here

It’s a surreal feeling that’s inspired me to compose so many NICU-related posts in my head ever since our journey began.

I want to write, “The 1 Question You Should Never Ask a NICU Parent” (Spoiler: It’s “When do you think they’re coming home?” I know this question is very well-intentioned and is one I would have been asking before I knew how it felt to hear it. But the constant update of, “we don’t know, we don’t know, we don’t know” is so emotionally draining.)

I’m also considering one titled “10 Surprising Benefits of the NICU.” Having highly trained professionals caring for my babies while I recovered my old, tired, 37-year-old body from major abdominal surgery was pretty nice. During my hospital stay, I could go visit and hold them whenever I wanted, but when I wanted to go to my room and shower, rest, and watch HGTV for an hour without interruption, that was also an option. The real guilt and hardship didn’t begin until I left the hospital empty-handed.

Our adorable wimpy white boy

When we found out Lucas would be over 5 lbs and Meredith would be 3 lbs if she was lucky, a few people mentioned there was a chance he could come home with me while she would definitely be stuck in the NICU. So imagine my surprise when I discovered that not only was Lucas not coming home, but he was actually faring worse than his teeny tiny sister. It’s all because of a phenomenon known as “wimpy white boy.”

So many people have said this phrase to me both in the hospital and at home. It refers to the fact that Caucasian males tend to fare worse in the NICU regardless of their size or gestational age. So even though Lucas looks like he’s fine, he’s actually doing terribly at handling life on the outside. He’s a wimpy white boy.

His main issue is bradycardia events (“bradys”) where his heart rate drops and he has to be roused by the nurses. He was having so many he had to be put on a CPAP machine for a couple of days. The doctors also put him on caffeine to help prevent them, and as long as he doesn’t have any bradys today he will be taken off caffeine by end of day.

But he still has to be brady-free for a 7-day stretch post-caffeine, or 5 days regardless. So if he has an event on Sunday, the clock resets and we have to hit that 5 day stretch. Little man has only managed to make it 2 days without having an event so far.

He’s also being lazy about eating, which is typical for a preemie (and a wimpy white boy). He had some reflux issues but those seem to be getting under control. I’ve been diligent on trying breastfeeding whenever I’m there for his care times, but he just kind of latches and stares at me, like “What do you want me to do with this thing?” Then he falls asleep.

However, he’s freaking adorable. All the nurses are in love with him. How could you not appreciate that handsome face?

Little lady is a fighter

And then there’s Meredith.

She has that NICU baby look with virtually no fat on her body and the tiniest little hiney I’ve ever seen in my life. It took some time for me to feel comfortable changing her diapers because I felt like I would break her legs by accident. She’s just soooo small and fragile looking. But looks can be deceiving. What Meredith lacks in size, she makes up for in determination.

Baby girl has never been on oxygen and never had a brady. The first time I put her to breast she latched on and went for 15 minutes solid (she hasn’t been able to replicate that since; I think she’s still recovering from the Herculean effort it must have taken).

The only reason she is still in the NICU is that there’s a 4 lb minimum to leave (that’s for car seats) and she’s still only 3 lbs 5 oz after losing weight post-delivery and then working like hell to gain it back.

She also needs to work on eating but has been doing decent with the bottle and breast. She’s also very, very cute even with that slight alien look.

Baby steps, literally

I have so many reasons to complain about being trapped in the NICU but just as many to be grateful. I love that it’s 10 minutes from my house. If these babies had been born prior to January 2020 I’d be commuting 30 minutes each way which would have made life so much harder. Plus, I’m in some twin mom groups where the moms mention their closest NICU is an hour or more away and they can only go every other day. I just can’t imagine.

The staff at St. Luke’s is wonderful; I love all the nurses. I love the new building with the private NICU rooms rather than just being in one giant area. If there’s anywhere to be stuck, it’s here.

But progress is slow and I’m impatient. It doesn’t help that my 3 big kids need me at home while my 2 small ones need me at the hospital. No matter where I am, I feel like I should be somewhere else and like I’m letting someone down. We won’t even discuss my husband who has been trapped in the basement working alone for weeks now while I try being everything to everyone. Even my lack of attention/help for him makes me feel endlessly guilty, guilty, guilty.

Nurse Proper

As much as I love all the NICU nurses, I inevitably have my favorites, especially the one who insists on posing the twins and doing newborn photo shoots every time I’m there.

For a while one of my least favorites was a nurse I nicknamed Nurse Proper because she had a very precise way about her. It’s hard to explain… she says “beneath” instead of “under” and just has an extremely formal, competent manner. Of course, this makes me feel like a total schlub in her presence and even though I’ve become adept at NICU care and protocol in the 2 weeks we’ve been there, I always seem to mess up when she’s around. I guess she brings it out in me.

After the fourth night shift in a row with her assigned to my babies, she changed my whole perception. It was 10PM and I was about to go home and finally get some sleep. As usual, the older kids had put themselves to bed (remember, Eric is still stuck in the basement, probably painting something) and I was wondering if they’d really brushed their teeth.

But then Nurse Proper pulled up a chair, looked me right in the eye, and said, “Hey. How are you? I mean, how are you?”

I gave the usual response of “Fine! Great! Surviving!!” And then she said, “I want you to know you don’t have to do this if it’s killing you; it’s OK to take a night off, or not come here twice one of these days. We aren’t going to judge you if that’s what you think. We know you have other kids and a life at home.”

Deep down I knew I was feeling this — the obligation to always show up twice, once for day shift and once for night shift. This is both for the twins and for optics because God forbid I become known as the mother who never visits her babies. I still haven’t gone a day without visiting twice but at least she acknowledged and knew how I was feeling more than anyone else. Maybe Nurse Proper isn’t so bad after all.

Hello, my name is Bessie

I was terrified of not producing enough milk for twins. Ha. Haha. HA! I cannot believe the amount I’ve been getting.

The nurses said the whole NICU fridge is nothing but my bottles and they’ve had to start freezing it. The twins started out on donor milk when they were first born but haven’t had to use it since their first three days of life. I am an absolute pumping machine and while it’s annoying, and feels bovine, at least this is one thing I know I’m doing for my babies that’s legitimately helping them grow and thrive.

I pump every 3 hours and typically get 8-9 ounces each time. That’s double what I used to get pumping at work for Molly and Liam when they were babies. I credit my diligence at sticking with the every 3 hour schedule (even in the middle of the night when the last thing I want to do is get out of bed) and my new Spectra breast pump, which makes my old Medela clunker look like a tool from the Stone Age. Plus I’m assuming my body knows it had twins and needs to produce twice as much to feed them.

I hope I can keep up supply once they come home. I could never be an exclusively pumping mom… it’s so much work without the reward I want, the bonding and the convenience of breastfeeding. These kids have got to get their latching skills down soon.

This too shall pass

I look back and laugh at how pissed I was when they wanted to keep Molly in the hospital two extra days after she was born. The horror! Obviously I overreacted at my extended stay. And even now, as stressful as being a NICU parent is, I am trying to maintain perspective.

The twins are premature but they are healthy. Plenty of parents wind up in the NICU because their babies have serious medical complications and must stay for months and months on end. My babies are just early and they need more time. Meanwhile, thanks to the state of the renovation, we need more time too. Their clothes are still in boxes, their bassinet is at my sister’s house, and their various accouterments are in the attic. In a couple weeks that should be a very different story.

The earliest they could possibly go home is 7 days from Lucas going off caffeine — one week from today. Incidentally, that’s about how long it should take Meredith to gain what she needs to gain. I’m thinking, realistically, they’ll be home in the early part of June and one day I can read this post and look back at what a small blip it was on our radar.

Hashtag blessed

Another thing I’m grateful for? Last night was the first time I even had to think about what was for dinner. So many friends and family members have been dropping off food and we’ve never eaten so well. I never had to worry about having a ride to the hospital even before I was cleared to drive; my mom and sister happily shuttled me back and forth no matter the hour and what else they had going on.

Others offered to take the big kids for playdates and distractions amid the chaos. We are surrounded by help and support constantly and for that, I cannot be more thankful.

My heart is torn in half right now. But every day is progress toward our goal: paint on the walls, babies in our home, and a relaxing summer.

Oh wait, just kidding, I’m going to have newborn twins. I don’t think “relaxing” will be part of my vocabulary for at least the next 20 years.

And that’s just how I like it.

It’s good to be back, friends. I can’t guarantee I’ll blog all the time (actually I can guarantee I WON’T blog all the time). But I can say I’ve missed this space a lot. Don’t be surprised for a random post here and there when all is calm on the home front. Thanks for still reading along one thousand days later.

Sep 08

here in the state of bliss

Sep 08

It’s fairly chaotic going from two to three kids. Anyone who tells you differently is lying (or medicated, or blessed, or has older kids).

But it’s also amazing.

The thing about newborns is that they sleep a lot. At least mine does. She’s either eating or sleeping or pooping in her sleep (or pooping while eating). She’s awake for, let’s say, 10 minutes per day. The chaos comes from corraling the preschooler and the toddler, trying to keep the dogs from eating precious Shopkins that are strewn about (the eternal struggle), an endless cycle of meals and snacks, laundry, nursing, keeping a close eye on the newborn in her rock ‘n’ play because any day now she’s likely to be smothered in hugs (literally) by one or both older siblings. Did I mention dishes and laundry and cleaning? All of it. Chaos 90% of the time.

But… but. The sweetness is nearly unbearable. I gave Liam way too little credit when it came to adjusting to his new sister. I thought for sure he’d be annoyed at her presence; I figured he’d act out and push her away and generally treat her like some kind of intruder. But in fact, he loves her. He is enchanted by “Baybee!” and is concerned when she cries. This could very well change as she gets older and needier but at this moment, I could not ask for better adjustment from him. And of course Molly is enamored/obsessed/helpful as I knew she would be.

I suppose I owe you all a birth story for Madeline but I fear that a planned c-section simply isn’t as exciting as a surprise birth. We made it to the date we planned for – Friday, 8/25, 2 weeks ago today. We arrived at the hospital at 6AM for our 8AM surgery. I expected to be bumped in favor of emergency c-sections or other more pressing births since the end of summer is the start of “busy season” in the maternity wing. But instead of waiting, they were actually ready for me at 8 sharp. Unfortunately, I was not ready because once again it took 4 freaking people to get my IV in. Have I mentioned how shitty my veins are? I swear, I dread getting an IV more than the actual surgery. I was crying and shaking and had almost passed out by the time they finally got one in. Now two weeks later both forearms, hands, and wrists are still covered in ugly purple and yellow bruises from all the poking.

Meanwhile, the more serious cut is healing beautifully. It seriously seems like each c-section gets easier, or maybe it’s just that I know what to expect. More likely it’s that I don’t have time to be incapacitated with 3 kids to care for. Eric took a few days off work but even when he had to go back, the fact that he works from home has been an eternal blessing. He can be full-on working and still within shouting distance. Also it has proven invaluable for naptime errand running because I can just leave the house with one or two or zero kids and know that he can keep an ear peeled for the sleeping ones. It’s very convenient.

The only other big news from the birth was that I’m no longer allowed to go past 37 weeks. Apparently just like last time my uterus was super thin, but this time dangerously so. I mentioned that next time I wanted to put in two embryos and my OB/GYN said it really wasn’t a great idea. She said then she’d have to take me even earlier, and we’d likely be stuck in the NICU, with 3 kids at home… overall, just unwise. But when I asked her if I could safely have two more pregnancies she said she didn’t see why not. Five c-sections sounds excessive but if she says it’s OK and if my body continues to heal as well as it does, I guess it’s not the worst thing. The thought of being pregnant two more times is extremely exhausting but it’s also not something I need to think about right this minute. My baby is 2 weeks old. I can just chill for a minute.

As much as I fought the notion that I’d need to take time off work, I am glad I did. This week has been a little nuts with Molly starting preschool – which so far she LOVES. Me, I love being able to drop her off and pick her up, and love that I’ll be able to continue doing so even after I go back to work.

For some reason I recently clicked on that really old super secret blog I had years ago. I kept writing there for about a year before abandoning it and starting Burnt Toast. The last day I posted? August 25, 2011. I mean… how weird is that? If you would have told me then that on August 25, 2017 I’d be welcoming my third baby to our family I would have been so skeptical. I was thinking that the other morning when I had Madeline sleeping on my chest and the other two cradled in my right and left arms. I was immobilized because I was literally covered in children. And I realized that’s all I ever wanted to be, and there I was, living out my dream. It’s weird to feel so content in what I have… given the choice I’d definitely want more money, less debt, and thinner thighs. But overall I am totally happy with what I’ve been given and couldn’t ask for more.

And it’s funny too because I was reading some past posts where I talked about having a kind of pre-midlife crisis, wondering about the Point of It All and just generally feeling blah, but now six months later I feel completely different. Proof that the real problem was simple: I hated my job. Once that one thing changed, everything else felt a million times better.

A part of me feels guilty posting stuff like this because it feels kind of like bragging — oh look at me, everything is SOOOO perfect. Trust me, it’s not. Lots of mini dramas and crappy things going on currently, and even motherhood isn’t always the best time ever. I definitely yelled at Molly for not listening the other day. She went silent for a few minutes and when I looked over, she was just sitting there with huge eyes and silent tears streaming down her face. I said, “Oh my gosh, Molly, what’s wrong??” and she said, “You YELLED at me!” in the most accusatory voice. I guess she’s not used to being yelled at? It was so funny/sad. But also very telling. Even perfect angels like Molly aren’t always perfect. (Her latest thing is to question everything I tell her to do, and give long-winded explanations why she should be able to do it her way, so now my phrase of the moment is “Stop arguing with me!” which she often parrots back to Liam, who seems confused).

Anyway. I feel like I’m rambling and since the other two monkeys are sleeping, I’m neglecting this precious small amount of Mommy/Maddie cuddle time (because I’m usually too busy to just sit around holding her. This poor third child). I’ll leave you with some of my favorite photos from the hospital, which if you follow me on social media you’ve already seen, but oh well. I am obsessed with them and am currently planning a total photo wall redo just to incorporate them.

one of my favorites

our beautiful Madeline Grace

what did I do to deserve all of this? how can I possibly thank God for these precious gifts?

my gratitude for these blessings is infinite

Nov 30

the good with the bad

Nov 30

This is a hard post to write, literally and figuratively.

So much has happened over the past few weeks that I feel exhausted just thinking about getting it all out of my brain and onto my blog. Big things – both good and bad – are going on right now, and the longer I wait, the more that happens. So I’m just going to dive right in and finally update this thing with the news of right now.

The first big (bad) thing that happened is that I lost my job. I know… it’s truly awful! You’ll remember that I’m working at my dream company, a place that I actively targeted for five years before finally breaching the seemingly impenetrable walls of the fortress.

This comes as no surprise, however. I started at Rodale as part of the e-commerce team, retail being a new endeavor that they were hoping to grow but which sadly had to be pared down and restructured for a multitude of reasons I won’t bore you with here. Long story short, almost my entire team got laid off (except for 3 survivors who now face the daunting task of doing the work of 12 people), so you know, nothing personal. I’ve never lost a job before so this whole experience has been very enlightening.

One nice thing is that the company gave us six week’s notice, and I am still employed until 12/30. Coming in to work the day after the big announcement was definitely awkward, but as days passed we all just got used to it. It’s not uncommon now to pass by a coworker’s screen and see a draft of her resume blatantly displayed, or overhear conversations about job interviews and LinkedIn connections. It’s all at once funny, sad, and weird.

Mostly I’ll miss the people I’ve been working with every day for the last two years. I always miss the people most of all! We have such a great group of ladies who are all so talented, and while I’d love to believe we’ll stay in touch, the reality is that it’s unlikely. It’s scenarios like this that force me to admit how useful social media can be.

Anyway, I’m remaining surprisingly upbeat despite this setback. Maybe it’s naiveté and maybe it’s just optimism, but something in me is convinced I won’t remain unemployed for long. I had one interview yesterday and have another Monday (for an internal role), and I have a couple other prospects I’m waiting to hear from. I truly believe something will work out for me.

As for the other thing… the baby thing… no, I’m not putting that on hold, even though I probably should. For one thing, I’m about to lose my infertility coverage (unless I get that internal gig) and for another, I’m not going to start planning my life around work. I like working, but I’m never going to be a ladder-climbing career gal, if you know what I mean. Motherhood comes first, work second. I have no idea how this will all play out and I learned long ago that my best-laid plans can all be dashed in an instant. So… it may be crazy… but the transfer is still happening this month.

Part of me is thinking it’s dumb to be posting this on a public personal blog. But again – whatever! If a potential employer somehow sees this and decides not to hire me based on my desire to have more children, then I’m glad to know that up front. Because my intention is to have more kids and there’s no company in existence that would change my mind on that.

I just started my daily Estradiol and my PIO shots are in the mail and should arrive today – yay. I’m picking up the cryo tank from my new fertility clinic Thursday night and heading into Manhattan (with a good friend chauffeuring) early Friday AM. One nice thing about being laid off is that things have become super lax as far as hours are concerned, and literally no one cares about me leaving early or coming in late (hours before were super flexible – now it’s a total free-for-all). I’m very nervous about this whole ‘picking up the embryos’ thing going smoothly. The new clinic required 12 pages of legalese signed, initialed, and witnessed just for me to think about bringing the embryos in the door. Checking them out from NYC only requires a one page form, but it does need to be notorized (to-do list addition: find a notary). I’ve been going nuts trying to coordinate and plan all the bits and pieces of this event, from forms to weekly monitoring appointments and everything in between. I will definitely feel a lot more relaxed on Friday afternoon when embryos are safely where they need to be at the new clinic. I’ll feel even more relaxed mid-month when one of those embryos is all the way where it needs to be – a.k.a., my uterus.

What else? Oh no big deal, it’s December and I haven’t started Christmas shopping, plus did I mention I’m unemployed? We have something going on every night this week, I’m supposed to be relaxing and mentally preparing for this embryo transfer, ALSO I’m frantically job hunting, and we need to put up and decorate the tree, and take Christmas photos, and mail out cards, and continue with the little details of daily life… ahhh! It’s enough to drive any sane person absolutely bananas.

And as if that wasn’t enough, we had a birthday brunch for Liam last Sunday on the day of his first birthday (which I had to plan, shop for, cook for, and clean for). Yes, my son is ONE! What! The party was just for immediate family, but even then the guest list included 15 adults and 13 children who all crammed into my tiny house. It was crowded, noisy, and lovely, and Liam definitely enjoyed himself and smashed his cake in his own good time (5 minutes after everyone stopped taking videos and wandered out of the kitchen).

He’s been getting much better at walking and can do the mummy-esque shuffle across the length of a room. He falls a lot, but gets right back up, and you should see how proud he is of himself. I can’t believe how big he’s getting. I can’t believe how much I’ve forgotten to write down. Oh, the poor, neglected second child.

That’s really it for now. If you could all say a few prayers for me I would truly appreciate it – that the embryo moving day goes smoothly, that the embryo transfer works (looking like right around 12/13 or 12/14, and hopefully I’ll post again before then but with my track record I’m not making any promises), that I find a job, that I find space to relax and breathe, and that I don’t lose my ever-loving mind in the meantime. Thanks, friends.

Here are some party pics of my big man:

he kept the hat on for approx 4 seconds

he knows how old he is

yay – cake!

cake = smashed

need a ride?

Aug 09

this story will make you smile

Aug 09

Something exciting happened in our family.

I have a new cousin.

But she’s not a newborn. Not even close.

Let me explain…

I don’t have to preach to this blog’s audience about the pervasiveness of infertility. I don’t have to tell you about the thousands upon thousands of childless couples suffering in silence. I think that now in the blogging age, things are a little different, and more open. But even in this open, tell-all climate of oversharing, some of the blogs I follow remain anonymous. There’s still a stigma surrounding infertility. I would imagine that ten or twenty years ago it was even worse.

I found out that my aunt and uncle wanted to have kids and couldn’t many years after they had probably stopped trying. Anyone could see that they would make excellent parents. Back when I was young and much more self-absorbed, I didn’t spend too much time wondering why they never had children. It was only after my mom told me about it that it all started to make sense. And it made me so, so sad.

I don’t need to go into the details of their struggle, nor could I, because I don’t even know the half of it. But what do the specifics of dates and treatments really matter, anyway? We all know the story. Many of us lived it, or some version. Try. Fail. Try again. Spend money. Spend more money. Cry. Cry again. Keep hoping. Give up hope.

My uncle and I never sat down and had a heart to heart when I opened up about our struggle to get pregnant, but we did discuss it a little bit. I remember complaining over the exorbitant cost of Bravelle and he laughed quietly. “Is that all? It used to cost ten times that much,” he said. And yeah, then I felt bad for complaining.

It brings joy to my heart when I think about how many of us have made it through to the other side. I started blogging about infertility in late 2012. As of now, every single infertility blogger who I followed through the years is now a parent through fertility treatments, adoption, luck, or some combination of those things. Many of them stopped blogging or don’t blog very often because they’re so busy parenting that they don’t have time to write anymore. That’s amazing. I hate that, because I don’t have as many blogs to read, and I LOVE that, because it’s awesome.

But I promised the story of my new cousin, so here it is. Last summer, the email group my family uses to stay in touch received an interesting message. My uncle announced that he and his wife would be hosting a little girl from Colombia for part of the summer. In his words…

Her name is Paula and she is 12 years old.

Paula is an abandoned child who has been living in an orphanage in Colombia. She will be staying with us this summer through the Kidsave Summer Miracles program. Kidsave is a nonprofit organization that attempts to find families for children who have been deemed “unadoptable.” Usually, children are deemed unadoptable when they reach the age of 11 or 12.

Paula will be living with us from June 27 until August 3. Each weekend, we will take Paula to a special “Kidsave event.” At these events, Paula will be introduced to families that are interested in adopting her. These are in a sort of speed-dating format.

Paula is a very nice little girl who is very shy, lacks confidence and is in need of some encouragement. She seems to have talent in both art and music.

Just as I expected, the outpouring of excitement over meeting Paula began immediately. This is something I love about my family – we welcome people in. No matter who you are, you are welcome. I can’t tell you how many Thanksgivings and Christmases have included invited guests from a variety of circumstances… people who were new in town, coworkers with nowhere else to go, neighbors, friends, anyone. My favorite part is how we never treat it as a strange situation to have a random new dinner guest. No one gushes over the new person or makes them uncomfortable, but rather they’re absorbed right into the family as though they’ve always been there. To be fair, holiday celebrations are incredibly hectic, so maybe no one notices a few extra people thrown in…

Anyway, I knew she’d be accepted and loved from the moment she appeared on the scene. I met Paula at my parents’ 4th of July party in 2015, and then spent the week with her (and approximately 40 of my extended family members) when we went on our annual beach vacation. We couldn’t communicate much beyond “Hello” (she only speaks Spanish, and once again my 5 years of honors French proved utterly useless), but she was always smiling, taking everyone and everything in. My then 10-year-old sister Allie and 13-year-old cousin Kate adopted her into their pre-teen girl gang (Lord help us all). There were dance parties. There was fun. And just as I expected, Paula fit in as easily as anyone else who has ever accidentally or purposefully been initiated into my family.

She left a short time later, and I think we were all secretly wondering if my aunt and uncle would want to adopt her themselves. In late November, we had our answer— they announced that they had sent their letter of intent to the Colombian child welfare agency, stating that they wanted to adopt a specific child.

I can’t believe how long the adoption process takes. I can’t imagine how expensive, and nerve racking, and exciting it must have been for all those months between November and now. They had to skip our family ski trip in March because they assumed (correctly) that any and all vacation time would be spent in Colombia, where they’d need to run around for many weeks cutting through all the red tape. We were hoping they’d make it to the beach trip, which grew to 50 people this year, but they ended up missing it by a matter of days. You know what? It’s OK, because all three of them will be there next year.

Everyone is home now. I officially have a new cousin. I did ask permission to tell the story here because I wasn’t sure how they felt about having their story broadcast to the world (not that millions of people read my blog, but you know what I mean). I was just so excited to share it, especially with people who “get it,” and I hope that by this point you are smiling.

Smiling because it’s never too late.

Never too late to become a parent if that’s what you really want.

Never too late to find a family, even if you’ve reached an age that some consider to be “unadoptable.”

I’m smiling because I was at a family party last weekend, and I’ve never seen my aunt and uncle so happy.

Paula looked pretty happy, too. I still can’t understand a word she’s saying, but I hugged her and she kissed my fat baby and squeezed his chubby cheeks, which is something that supersedes any kind of language barrier.

Sometimes, at the end of a long road, there is redemption.

with the judge, in a special dress, getting her new birth certificate

OCMD, 2015. I asked my uncle to send me his favorite picture of the 3 of them, and here it is

Jun 30

of birthdays and parties

Jun 30

Molly turned two last week.

I know, right? THAT’S INSANE. Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was crying nightly into my pillow, wondering if I’d ever get to be a parent? That seems so long ago and so recent. I remember what it felt like and I forget. In general, I’m way too busy to think much about it at all, except in quiet moments like this one when I can marvel over how much can change in two short years.

Speaking of change… we aren’t moving to Seattle. At least, there’s a 99% chance we aren’t. Even as I wrote that last post I knew that ultimately, our village is way more important than money. But that doesn’t mean that things are staying the same. In fact, big changes are on the horizon, but that’s another post for another time. Stay tuned… ;)

I took the day off last Thursday to spend the day with Molly for her birth anniversary. My original plan was to take her to a local amusement park, especially considering how much she enjoyed the dinky carnival rides earlier this month. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anyone to come with us, and then when the day was humid and looked like rain, I ditched the whole expensive proposition entirely. Instead, I let her have chocolate chip cookies for breakfast (along with scrambled eggs, I’m not totally insane), then dropped Liam off with my sister so she and I could have some “quality girl bonding time.” And by bonding time, I mean she came along with me to run errands that I’d been putting off for weeks. Oops.

But we had fun. Eric ended up taking a half day, so he met us at Chik-fil-a for lunch (this is a big deal, she almost never has fast food and has literally never played in a fast food restaurant play place). We also got some froyo for dessert and then headed to my in-laws for dinner, swimming, and cupcakes. It was a pretty great day overall.

Friday we went into hardcore party prep mode. I work from home Fridays in the summer, and my workday ends at 2pm. Pretty much everything from 2pm Friday to 2pm Sunday was a total whirlwind of activity getting ready for Molly and Addison’s joint birthday party. There was yardwork, intense cleaning, 11pm grocery shopping, trips to Party City, cooking, setting up, hanging banners, and a million other things I can’t even remember. Thank God I had my sister as co-host, otherwise I never would have gotten it all done. I was literally over at my parent’s house picking up chairs to borrow an hour before the party started (and I hadn’t even showered yet).

The party was huge, and I’d say successful, though the stress of throwing it together almost made it not worth it. I can’t tell you how many times my sister and I turned to each other and said, “Why are we doing this again?” When I say I love to entertain, I don’t think I actually mean it. I would love to entertain if I had cleaning people and landscapers and caterers. And Valium. I have none of those things.

We ended up having 50 adults and 26 children attend. Crazy! I had actually wanted to invite more people (if you’re reading this and weren’t invited, you’re probably one of them), but I had to draw the line somewhere… my yard isn’t that big! The best investment we made by far was the giant bounce house/slide combo rental, which was a little pricey but 100% worth it. It kept the kiddos occupied the entire time.

And unlike last year, the weather was awesome. It was a little humid at the start of the party, but I have a lot of shade in my backyard, which made it totally bearable. By early evening the temperature was just perfect. Remember, the whole reason I even bothered throwing a second birthday party was because the weather at her first birthday sucked so much. We needed a do-over.

The birthday girls!

The cutest thing happened later, when we were opening all the gifts. I have to marvel at my girl’s patience… she saw the gift pile, and knew they were all for her, but patiently waited for me to clean everything up before diving in. She asked twice, “Presents now, Mommy?” Finally, when the last dish was washed and the last chair was folded and put away, we let her open them. I have no idea where she got this, but with every gift, she would look into the gift bag and exclaim, “Oh da goodness! Oh da goodness!” before she even saw what was in it. And yes, I got it on video. It’s just tooooo cuuuuuute.

As fun as it was, I’m so, so, so happy it’s all over. This weekend we are going to parties rather than hosting parties. I’m really looking forward to that.

One thing I didn’t do last week was eat. There was just no time! I’m happy to report that between the running around, the stress, and a little bit of working out I am now within 3 lbs of the weight I was when I got pregnant with Liam. I don’t want to call it my “pre-pregnancy weight,” because it’s still way higher than how much I weighed when I got pregnant with Molly. Remember, I was losing weight but not anywhere near my goal when I unexpectedly got pregnant with the little man. BUT, it’s still 30 lbs down from the day I delivered him, and that feels really good. More stuff in my closet fits me. I’m not completely depressed about going to the beach in a month. I still have a long way to go, but it’s a satisfying milestone.

Liam turned 7 months old on Monday, and at his well baby checkup the next day they confirmed he’s the chunkiest monkey. He weighs 19 lbs 8 ounces, and his 9 month clothing is already getting tight. I cannot tell you how much this kid loves to eat. I thought Molly was a pig… no. He eats, and eats, and eats. He also started blowing raspberries, which is freaking adorable. He’s a sturdy sitter and enjoys putting everything in his mouth (which I know is normal, but also something that Molly didn’t do, so it’s weird for me). He loves his mama A LOT, but he’s also a big fan of Molly, and pulling on Daddy’s beard. His smile is infectious. I just can’t imagine life without him. Any time I leave him at home (intentionally, obviously), and try to go somewhere with just Molly, she’ll stop dead in her tracks on the way to the car and say, “Oh no! Baby!”, like I forgot him or something. And no matter how many times I reassure her that he’s fine, and he’s with Daddy, and we’ll see him soon, she inevitably talks about him the entire time we are gone. To say she’s obsessed with her little brother would be an understatement.

I guess that’s all for now. Hope you all have a relaxing and enjoyable 4th!

that chunky monkey

Mar 16

Liam, the giant baby

Mar 16

The other day a coworker found out I had a blog, and asked what I blogged about. It was actually a hard question to answer. In many ways I feel like this blog has an identity crisis. Usually I just say “lifestyle blog” when someone asks me that question, but I always clarify that I used to blog about infertility. For some reason I wear that as a badge of honor. At least back then I knew what the hell I was talking about.

Not having a purpose makes it harder to come up with posts. The weeks slip by and I start to feel guilty over not posting. Not because I have legions of adoring fans wondering where I’ve been (though honestly, I must, right?!), but more because I’m supposed to be a writer. Writing is my favorite thing to do in downtime (supposedly), and yet something that comes so easy when times are hard is next to impossible when times are good. It’s frustrating. Not that I should complain about being happy, but here I am…

What’s new? What’s shaking? Much of the same. Molly is absolutely amazing in every way, as usual. She continues to surprise and delight both of us with an independence that’s well beyond her years. What happened to my little baby girl?! My mom remarked the other night when we were over for dinner that Molly isn’t the least bit jealous of Liam because in Molly’s eyes, she’s not a baby, so why bother competing for attention with one? She thinks of herself as a Big Girl. She speaks in full sentences (sometimes with gibberish thrown in, but mostly coherent), follows commands (or at least comprehends commands and willfully disobeys them), and fawns over her brother like a little mother hen.

The other day Liam was fussing in the next room while I was trying to get ready for the day. Eric was around but ignoring/not hearing his cries, and since Liam is the second child, I didn’t drop my mascara wand immediately to go tend to his needs. After a couple minutes, Molly came into the bathroom and said, “Oh no, Mommy. Baby cry.” (Yeah, kid, like I can’t hear that.) I told her I would get to him in a minute. Thirty seconds later I heard him go silent, and then, miraculously, the sound of uncontrollable giggles coming from both of them. In that moment, I’m pretty sure I was the happiest that I’ve ever been, ever.

Next week we have our big family ski trip in Vermont, which seems to grow every year. We’re basically taking over an entire building of condos this time. Since it was such a mild winter, we’re not expecting any kind of world class skiing, but it’ll be fun to mess around and best of all I’m almost positive that they’ll have skis small enough for Molly. Obviously she’s too young for a proper lesson but we do want to pull her around a little on the bunny slope so she can get a feel for it. And take a bajillion photos, obvi.

Weight loss is slow and steady because I’m actually doing it the healthy way with diet and exercise. Sucks, right? I need some illegal diet pills or something because I’m super impatient. To date, I’m 20 lbs down from when I gave birth. Every day of eating clean feels easier than the day before to the point that if you waved a box of Thin Mints under my nose right now, I don’t even think I’d want one. We’ll see how long I can keep this up.

Liam is humongous. It’s weird because Molly was so petite. Still is, actually. The girl does nothing but eat but when I put her on the scale she weighed a scant 20.5 lbs. Meanwhile, Liam the Giant Baby weighs 16 lbs. Seriously! He’s already fully filling out his 6 month clothes (he’ll be 4 months old on Easter Sunday) and I had to switch him up to size 3 diapers because his size 2’s have been leaving imprints in his thigh fat rolls. In related news, there was a funky smell coming from under his chin(s), which turned out to be a rash and dirt hidden beneath all the chub. Disgusting, yet, hilarious!

The funny thing is that I think Liam eats less than she did at that age. She was eating constantly – I remember breastfeeding being such a time consuming endeavor. It felt like the minute I was done feeding it was almost time for the next go-round. With Liam, I feed him for anywhere from 10-15 minutes and he’s good. He’s just very efficient, I guess. We still have him sleeping in the Rock ‘n’ Play in our room, but frankly it’s getting hard to lift him into bed at night to nurse when I’m half-asleep. I just don’t have the upper body strength for it! He usually only wakes up one to two times per night, and is only up long enough to eat, which is very nice and I truly can’t complain.

Sorry guys, not much else. We have a bunch of super fun Easter-y activities this weekend, such as breakfast with the Easter Bunny at Wegmans on Saturday and then back-to-back egg hunts on Sunday morning. Fun times all around. Adorable photos to follow.

Hope all of you are having a great week!

that’s one fat baby

Jan 01

new year, still grateful

Jan 01

Timehop has me reminiscing hardcore today. Not just about 2015, but about all of it.

New Year’s Eve 2012 was the day I officially began IVF. My first injection. The crazy hope that it would lead somewhere positive (no pun intended). And also, when I read between the lines of the post I wrote that day, the smugness of believing it would work on the first try because at that time, I fervently believed that IVF was the answer to all my problems. It was, in a way. It was and it wasn’t.

We went to a party at the same house last night as we did on that night in 2012. That night I was filled with trepidation and hope and anxiety and I’m pretty sure I drank my way through it. I had been in Manhattan all day doing battle with the lab to get my results so I could begin the clinical trial. Then I had to rush uptown to a pharmacy before they closed before hurrying back to get on a bus to ride 2 hours home. I was so naive, so unsure, and terrified. I remember arriving at the party and trying to explain to someone what was happening. There were no words to convey everything I was feeling. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff and getting ready to jump into a dark unknown.

It’s funny – I never thought I’d forget where I started out, but I definitely do. It gets lost between the mundane everyday moments of wiping yogurt off a smiling little face and turning on that 35th episode of Daniel Tiger and changing the bajillionith poopy diaper. Deep down I always remember, but on the surface I forget.

So anyway, we went to that same party last night. But instead of drinking (like, at all, besides those few sips of champagne at midnight) I nursed my newborn son. Instead of worrying if I’d ever get to be a mom, I carried my two sleeping babies out to the car a little after the ball dropped, helped carry them into our house and tucked them in for the night. I can’t believe how lucky we are, how blessed we are. I can’t believe that 3 years later I have all of this.

And even though I didn’t drink last night, I did stay up until 2:30 because Eric and I have been binge watching Making a Murderer on Netflix and decided to watch one more ep last night. (It’s sooooo good.) So I’m also really thankful my two sweet babies chose today to sleep in until 9am. 2016 is going great so far!

Sorry that I never got around to a Christmas recap. It’s amazing how I manage to fill my days even though I’m not working right now. It gets to the point that I say, “I’m so busy! How did I ever have time to work, anyway?!” I think a lot of that will die down now that the holidays are over. The only thing on my January agenda is to organize my massive photo collections from the past few years. I’d really like to start making giant albums at the end of every year… sort of like lazy man’s scrapbooks. I’m going to try to be better about marking and filing photos to include in it throughout the year so it’s easier in December, but I also need to go back through and make one for 2015. And 2014. It’s no small task.

Real quick about Christmas – it was a lot more fun than last year. It’s so easy to shop for Molly now that I know her better… I knew exactly what she’d like to get. This year featured lots of babies to take care of, Elmo, and musical instruments. One of her favorite gifts is a kit of alphabet letters with Elmo on it. Whenever she sees it she yells, “The ed-a-det!” and then starts singing the song. I don’t think I’ve ever sang the ABC’s so much in my life.

“What’s all this?”

*zzzz*

so many babies, so little time

THE ED-A-DET!

…and more babies!

Christmas jammies

Liam was not so easy to shop for, and he didn’t get much stuff, but he didn’t seem to mind. This week he turned 1 month old. Not much to report… still eating like a champ, still looking indignant/pissed off most of the time but also starting to smile more, which feels like even more of a treat since his default mode is so opposite. He’s really starting to hold his head up and has already outgrown his newborn outfits and diapers. At the doctor last week he weighed 9lbs, 8oz, putting him in the 50th percentile for weight and somehow the 75th for height. Whose kid is this, anyway?!

little Liam isn’t so little

In related news, I feel like I’ve been out of work forever. I remember with Molly that 8 weeks was just the point that I started to think, “Ok, I think she’s sturdy enough to be left with someone else now, just for a few hours a day.” I don’t know if it’s because I’ve done this before or because Liam is so much bigger and more solid than she was at 5 weeks old, but I’ll just say it – if someone told me I had to go back to work tomorrow, I’d be sad of course, but I also think I’d be totally OK with it. Maybe that’s weird to say but it’s true. In a perfect world I’d stay home with my babies full time (though I would need to freelance or something, I’m beginning to realize, just for my own sanity). But I do like my job and I DEFINITELY like it better than where I worked before, so I don’t think my return to work will be awful. Plus my sister is already obsessed with Liam so I know he’s in good hands.

Enough rambling. I’m not one for resolutions (besides the obvious – lose 50 lbs before our beach trip in July). But here’s one I think I’ll try… this year, I’m going to make a real effort to let go. Can I be super cheesy right now and say “Let go and let God?” Because if there’s anything that 2015 taught me, it’s that you never know what’s just around the corner. You can make all the plans you want but sometimes, life happens very differently than how you think it will. I really doubt 2016 has another surprise baby in it for us but if it does, we’ll handle it. I have an amazing family and these beautiful children and truly, I could not ask for more.

I hope 2016 is magical for each and every one of you.

Happy New Year!

Dec 05

baby boy’s birth story

Dec 05

How has it been a week already?

You know when you have a newborn and the days just slip by and you’re left wondering, “What in the hell did I do all day?” Well, having a newborn and a toddler compounds that feeling by a million. I’ve been intending to sit down and write out this birth story every day, but even the simplest tasks seem to take hours and my perfectly reasonable to-do list never seems to get shorter. Of course it doesn’t help that it’s December, which is busy for just about everyone.

Anyway! Some of the more observant among you may have already noticed that I delivered a week past my due date… meaning… I DID make it to my one year work anniversary, and so I DO get the good maternity leave. Woo freaking HOOOO! On Tuesday morning I brought everyone a huge breakfast smorgasbord to celebrate. I left work on Tuesday night feeling awesome, and also ready to go into labor. At that point I figured it was a mental thing and maybe just thinking it would be enough to bring it on. No such luck.

Since I anticipated being early and couldn’t even imagine making it past Tuesday, I had finished up/handed off all my work and didn’t see the point of starting anything new for just one day. Rather than going in and twiddling my thumbs all day, I decided to start my leave on Wednesday and just use the day to wrap up last minute errands and spend some quality time with my little girl. Plus, it was Eric’s birthday, so I went over to his mom’s house and we baked him cupcakes and ended up having a birthday dinner with some of the family. It was nice…but still no baby.

Thursday morning was more of the same. I was on the “maybe” list for Thanksgiving, but I ended up going to Eric’s family gathering, skipping my family since theirs was over an hour away and I had my Friday morning induction scheduled for 7AM. We ate way too much, played some games, then drove over to Eric’s parent’s house to drop Molly off for her very first sleepover. By this point I was nervous as hell. One way or another, that baby would be out in 24 hours.

And then it was go time.

WARNING: I’ve included a few slightly graphic post-birth pictures below. Nothing too extreme, but there is a bit of blood, so I wanted to mention it before I shock and horrify someone.

Friday, November 27th (Black Friday!)

7AM
We arrived and got set up in the birthing room, where I donned my lovely hospital gown and got all ready to go. After they hooked me up to the monitors I was surprised to find out that I was, in fact, having contractions, about 8 to 12 minutes apart. I didn’t feel them at all, so it’s possible that my worst fear came true and I’m one of those people who doesn’t know she’s in labor. But really, they didn’t hurt! Baby boy was moving around like crazy as usual, so maybe he was just covering them up.

baby time selfie!

I got checked and was still only 1cm, 50% effaced (despite the fact that they’d said 70% effaced at my previous OB/GYN check, but whatever).

And despite the fact that I wasn’t nearly as swollen as last time, it once again took three different nurses multiple tries to get the IV in. Ugh, I have crappy veins! It was so unpleasant getting stuck over and over again. This time I managed not to cry, though.

Ouchie. Why do my veins suck so much?

8:15AM
My OB decided to use a foley balloon to get things moving along. For those of you not familiar with this technique, a foley balloon is a small catheter that’s inserted past the cervix and inflated, then attached to a weight. I was told it could take between 15 minutes and 12 hours to fall out on its own. I was also encouraged to walk around to help the process, so Eric and I started making awkward laps around the maternity wing, with me walking as normally as I could with a weighted saline bag hanging down the side of my leg. I did start feeling stronger contractions and had to stop every few minutes to catch my breath. About 35 minutes after we set out, I suddenly felt something very strange happening, so I turned to Eric and said, “I think it’s coming out. Yes, it’s definitely coming out. You need to go get someone.” It wasn’t very painful though, just very weird/awkward, especially since it fell out in a (thankfully empty) hallway.

8:50AM
I got back in bed and was immediately checked after our little walk and was at 5cm and having regular contractions – yay! My optimistic mind started to think maybe I could even have the baby by lunchtime. My sister – who works retail and was scheduled to work 10-2 (this was Black Friday, remember), started panicking that she was going to miss the whole thing.

My OB was doing a c-section at this point so I didn’t start Pitocin immediately. I’d say my pain level was about a 3 on the 10 scale.

9:45AM

Started Pitocin. Time to get the party rolling.

11AM

Surprisingly, the pain did not increase too much with the Pitocin, but I still managed to psych myself out since it just hurt so badly when I was in labor with Molly. It helped that the anesthesiologist who came by to introduce himself earlier was very nice and competent and had 30 years of experience. I told him about how much the epidural hurt going in last time so he researched my case and found that a student had been the one to administer the epidural (which I don’t remember at all). He promised that it wouldn’t be like that this time, if I chose to get one. I wanted to hold out and see if I could handle it on my own…but I was nervous.

So I got the epidural.

As promised, it went in just fine and barely hurt at all – just a quick burning sensation and it was over. I was told to lay on my side and let them know if I felt dizzy or lightheaded. Less than 5 minutes after getting the epidural, I started to feel funny all over, and then everything happened very, very quickly. My blood pressure started dramatically dropping and I was shaking and throwing up. It was 70/something, then lower – the lowest it got was 54/30. At the same time this was going on they also lost the baby’s heart rate completely on the external monitor. So once again a flurry of people rushed into the room while my poor husband was stuck in the hallway wondering what the hell was going on (my sister had found someone to cover her at work and had arrived by this point, but she and my mom and my other sister had all headed to the cafeteria to grab breakfast, so they had no idea about the drama unfolding).

Even though I was in distress myself, I was much more worried about the baby and the fact that they couldn’t find a heart rate at all. They stabilized me pretty quickly and then used an internal probe to try to get a read on the baby. The whole thing probably lasted less than 10 minutes but felt like a lifetime. I was terrified that 1) somehow the epidural had caused the baby’s heart to stop beating or, 2) we would need to have an emergency c-section. Luckily, they found the heart rate and eventually everyone cleared out and the commotion died down. Phew! Crisis averted.

12PM

They had stopped my Pitocin while the drama was unfolding and started it back up again at noon. Over the next two hours a pattern emerged – they would start the pit, lose the baby’s heart rate and/or get low reads, and then have to stop it until he stabilized to start up again. He was moving a lot and we were back to the external HR monitor, but still, it was clear that his heart rate was dropping every time I had a contraction. At that point I stubbornly tried to tell myself that it wasn’t really dropping, just getting lost since he was so squirmy, but my doctor did not agree with this assessment. They also put in another monitor to measure the strength of my contractions.

This birth thing takes too long, apparently. Part of my support team had to take a power nap.

2:15PM

After a couple hours of stops and starts, my doctor came in to check me. Unfortunately, I was still at exactly the same place – 5cm. She went over to the sink to wash her hands, and with a big sigh she said, “Amanda, I’ve been doing this a long time. We can try a few more things to try to make this work, but I can already tell you it’s going to end up as a c-section. The baby just isn’t liking what we’re doing here, and you’re stuck at 5cm because we can’t keep increasing the Pitocin when his heart rate isn’t stabilized. So you can either do it now, when you have some control, or it could end up as an emergency c-section later. It’s up to you.”

She wasn’t trying to be mean… just honest. I knew it was a possibility all along and a stronger possibility since I had had one before, but still, it was a crushing blow. Especially since making good progressions was one of the reasons she originally proclaimed me a good candidate for a VBAC.

At that juncture a c-section just made the most sense. There was more risk involved the more things she tried (such as pushing more fluid into my uterus to try to ease the baby’s distress, which could increase my chances of a rupture). This time I didn’t cry. I just nodded and accepted that c-section was our fate…again.

2:28PM

I got prepped and rolled back for my repeat c-section.

this looks familiar

Everything was pretty much the same as last time – same bright lights, same giant curtain to hide all the gory details. After just a few minutes of pressure and a distant tugging sensation, our little Liam was pulled out into the world at 2:54 PM with a strong, healthy cry.

he’s here!

thanks for the cuddles, Nurse Larry

“I’m mad… and cold. Mostly mad, though.”

I found out a little later what all the distress was about – apparently he had the cord wrapped around his neck twice, and tightly, which explains the heart rate decels during contractions. Also, alarmingly, my doctor said that when she cut me open to do the c-section, my uterus was stretched so thin at the original incision site that she could literally see the baby’s hair before she cut into it. Um, wow… good thing we didn’t try to push fluid in.

One of the reasons this c-section was so hard to accept was that my OB/GYN is a twice and done kind of place, meaning that once you’ve had two c-sections, you’re not allowed to try for another VBAC. I know there are some doctors who will attempt a VBAC with a 3rd pregnancy (even found out it has it’s own acronym, VBAC2), but honestly switching doctors just to do that feels like it’s not worth it. Plus it seems my babies prefer c-sections. For my next child I’ll probably just schedule the c-section and not even worry about it, especially now that I know exactly what to expect in terms of procedure and recovery. Although my doctor quipped later on, “Watch, we’ll schedule you for 38 weeks and your next one will slip right out at 37 weeks as a surprise VBAC.” I guess anything is possible. I’m going to try not to worry about it just yet.

Afterwards

I got wheeled back to recovery and got to hold and nurse my son, which went well from the start! He has a strong latch and took right to it like an old pro.

born to eat, apparently

My mother-in-law brought Molly to the hospital while I was still in recovery and we took some family photos – I look clearly exhausted but that’s to be expected.

Everyone took turns holding our little man.

Molly arrives to meet her new little bro

Nanni and Liam

Aunt Ashley

Granddad and little man

Aunt Allie

Uncle Michael

Nana’s 6th grandson

oh, my heart

First photo as a family of 4

it was an exhausting day

The next few days went well, much better than last time with the exception of Day 2 for various reasons. I jotted down some notes so I’ll just do bullet points for the rest of the things.

-Remember our terrible pediatrician last time who I was convinced was trying to steal and keep my baby? Well, I definitely picked the right one this time! She was young (so I felt like I could relate to her) and very good, to the point that I would consider sending my kids to her if her office wasn’t like 35 minutes from my house. And get this – she has three children named Molly, Liam, and Aiden (which is my nephew’s name). What are the odds?!

-Liam has a sacral dimple, which is a deep indentation right above his butt that is usually harmless but could be an indicator of spina bifida. We had to do an ultrasound in the hospital but thankfully it came back normal. So now it’s just another place I have to wipe when I change his bajillion poopy diapers.

-It’s truly amazing the difference between having a 5lb baby and a 7lb baby. Last time we had what felt like a hundred people looking over our shoulders, checking and scrutinizing feeding logs and making us feel completely incompetent at nourishing our child. This time, since he only lost 1 ounce the first day and 4 ounces the second, no one paid much mind to when or how much he was eating. We were sure to take meticulous notes just based on prior experience, but since he was so good at breastfeeding from the get-go, it wasn’t an issue at all.

-Right after my surgery I was on morphine, and that was great, but the second day I got switched to Dilaudid (another narcotic painkiller) and it did n-o-t-h-i-n-g. Seriously, I must have some kind of intolerance to this particular medication, because I might as well have been injected with sugar water. Every time I felt pain, they pushed it straight into my IV, and then… nothing. No relief. So that second day was kind of like hell.

On a related note, Eric brought Molly to the hospital on Saturday around 9am and she spent the day with us there. He came loaded up with a bag full of toys, and intentions of pulling out the cot for naptime. I guess we underestimated how small the room was, and even more so with toys everywhere… Molly is a very well-behaved child and is very good at entertaining herself, but that’s a looooong day. Plus this was Day 2, when my pain meds were not working at all, so I couldn’t hold her or cuddle with her like she wanted me to, which was frustrating and heartbreaking for both of us. Nap time was a complete disaster because every time she’d start to think about drifting off, someone would walk in the room for one reason or another or there’d be loud noises in the hallway. Finally, after all of us reaching our wits end, Eric took her home in the late afternoon and quickly lined up a babysitter for the next day so he could actually get to spend time with me and Liam (since he was so busy attending to her, he barely got a chance to hold him).

Right before they left I had my one and only epic meltdown. Eric had to use the bathroom so he went down the hall and left Molly running loose in the room. I was nursing Liam and she was overtired and cranky at that point, and decided to crawl behind the hospital bed and get stuck and start crying. Prior to that she had knocked my nurse call button onto the floor and my pain was intense at that point. I sat there immobilized in bed, listening to her scream (after a full afternoon of whining and crying, mind you) and I was just so exhausted and overwhelmed that I started bawling at the notion of these two needy children to take care of. Eric and the nurse came in at the exact same time to find me sobbing and helpless. Of course it was all resolved quickly and I returned to a rational state not long after. So far, that’s been my only “moment.”

So my advice for anyone with toddlers – a day at the hospital with the new baby is NOT a good idea (saying that now makes me feel silly, like duh, we should have known that). The following day (Sunday), Eric dropped Molly off with my sister and then his sister came by later to pick her up and take her to a birthday party. I got text updates all day and it was clear that she had a blast, plus Eric and I were much more calm and relaxed not worrying about her all day and just focusing on Liam. Oh, and I had switched to a combination of Percocet/Motrin by that point, so my pain levels were much better. AND I got to shower finally. That’s a guaranteed mood lifter.

-Falling in love with Liam was not the same as with Molly. With her, I was so overwhelmed from the first minute I met her… I was a mommy, finally. She was so tiny and precious and waves of love just washed over me. With him, it’s not that I loved him less – just that I was better prepared on what to expect. If anything, I think falling in love with him happened more slowly, growing gradually over those couple of days in the hospital as I got acquainted with him and his individual quirks. So I ended up in the same place – totally head over heels crazy about him – but got there on a different path, if that makes any sense.

-Liam has the best grumpy face ever. He really just looks mad at the world all the time, and it’s totally adorable. Not that Molly was smiling at this age, but she always had a very inquisitive and good-natured expression… Liam, not so much. I was watching him the other day and I figured out the word for how he looks isn’t quite angry, it’s more like indignant. Like he totally resents the fact that we made him come out. It’ll be funny to see if that matches his personality as time goes by.

indignant, personified

I have more to share but this post is creeping up towards 3,000 words and has taken me two full days to write, ha. I’ll wrap up by saying that the adjustment has gone even better than I could have imagined. We got home from the hospital Monday afternoon and Eric was able to take off until Wednesday and work from home Thursday and Friday, so I got to ease into this parenting two kids thing with help. Molly is IN LOVE with Liam. She loves showing off “her baby” and the first thing she says to me every morning when I fetch her from her crib is, “Baby? Baby? Baby?” She likes to pat him and point to his nose and ears and cover him with his blanket when he’s in his Rock ‘n’ Play. Every time she takes care of him I die a little from happiness.

Not sure how I got so lucky, but I am damn grateful. I truly could not ask for more.

“Dad, did you see this baby?”

“I just gotta kiss him”

there, there little bro

these two…

one week old already!

Nov 28

he’s here!

Nov 28

Introducing Liam Hurd Harding, born November 27th at 2:54 p.m. A hearty 7 lbs, 3 oz, 20.5 inches long.

You know the drill – long and dramatic birth story to follow, because, of course there is! But so far we are all adjusting well and his sister really likes him. For some reason she calls him “Cotton Candy” (or something indecipherable that just sounds like Cotton Candy).

Jun 29

a birthday party to remember

Jun 29

As expected, Molly’s party was wet, rainy, and cold. There were both high points and low points of the day:

THE GOOD
-Everyone who said they were coming actually showed up.
-Parents dressed their children in sweatshirts, rain coats, and rain boots and allowed them to play on the playground, regardless of the crummy weather. The kids loved it.
-There was the perfect amount of food – didn’t run out, and didn’t have many leftovers at all.
-Everyone seemed to stay in good spirits despite the dreary atmosphere.
-Did I mention this whole day was celebrating my beautiful daughter, who I waited so long to have, and who brings me indescribable joy on a daily basis? How can I really complain?

THE BAD
-Molly was NOT PLEASED with the whole concept of cake smashing. She cried and screamed as though we were holding her over a bed of hot coals rather than offering her a pink frosted mountain of sugar and goodness. It made for cute photos, but was rather anti-climatic as far as cake smashes go. Isn’t that supposed to be the highlight of the 1-year-old’s birthday party?

-We had planned on spending the entire day hanging out, socializing, playing corn hole and ladder golf and enjoying the company of our nearest and dearest. As the day wore on and the temperature plummeted, people started leaving left and right. We wrapped up the party just as the heavier rain started… about 2.5 hours after it started. Lames-ville.

THE UGLY
-After throwing all of our soggy party supplies into the back of my van and speeding off, we frantically unloaded in the downpour. My kitchen became a lake. All of us were chilled to the bone. It took about three hours to clean up/dry off. So not what I had in mind.

Ah, well. At least it’s over and I don’t have to stress about it anymore (though I am feeling resentful of today’s perfectly sunny, 80 degree weather. NOT. FAIR.). Molly got a whole bunch of lovely gifts, but none pulled at my heartstrings so much as this book:

Oh. my. goodness. This came from a dear friend who also bought me Wherever You Are: My Love Will Find You for my baby shower, which is sad in it’s own right and which I still cannot make it through without getting a little misty eyed (First line, first page: “I wanted you more than you’ll ever know…”)

But this book. YOU GUYS.

Eric read it first and I asked if it was going to make me cry (knowing that this friend picks out books like that, perhaps on purpose) and he was like, “Oh, yeah. You’re gonna cry.” I didn’t even make it past the cover flap. For real! For anyone who has gone through infertility, this is a must-read. And if you haven’t gone through it, then buy it for a friend who has. Because it’s fun to make people cry.

That’s all for me, for now. Countdown to gender reveal = 8 days! Chinese gender predictor says GIRL. Any guesses?