TBA

It all started this morning at 1:07 am when my water broke.

Actually that's a complete lie.  "Labor" has been going on for days really, but because I always deliver late I was looking forward to weeks of on-and-off contractions.  Add to that the weird 48-hour virus that ran threw our house, taking us down one at a time this week.  I was excited.  By which I mean I was dreading it but my mom had already bought her plane tickets for June 9th and my calendar is full of swim lessons, baseball, T-ball, family dinners and other beginning of summer festivities so baby was just going to have to wait.

I was sick Tuesday and Wednesday and woke up several times each night thinking I was either dying or going into labor.  I then reminded myself that 1. I have late babies and 2. my water breaking is always the start of labor.  I rolled over and went back to sleep.  Thursday the off-and-on contractions started.  Nothing regular but intense enough to notice them and not be able to label them Braxton-Hicks.

Friday Greg and I took our last trip to the temple, which is nearly 2-hours away.  I still couldn't breath from the virus earlier in the week and was having some harder contractions all the way down.  I spent the 2 hours planning how and where I would give birth in the temple and contemplating names I'd have to give a baby born in the temple.  Luckily, we didn't have to put my plan into play.

Saturday I woke up to my mucus plug falling out.  I was starting to realize that this baby might not be as late as I thought as first, but also tried not to get too excited, because you never know and the day had to go on.  Greg stayed home with the little two so they could continue to recover, while I took Rex to his game, ran home, switched out Rex for Henry, went visiting teaching, and blah blah blah.  It was a packed day.   All while having well-spaced but noticeably intense contractions.  We put the kids in bed around 9:30 and put the last few things in the hospital bag, checked my list again and commented to Greg, "Well, that's it.  Everything is packed." At 10 pm, Greg started making fun of me for doing dishes so late, but we had invited his parents and brother over for dinner on Sunday and I was just trying to get a head start on things.  I fell sleep on the couch sometime around 11:30 while trying to prepare my lesson for Young Women's.  I finally got in bed around midnight.

At 1:07 am I woke up to myself flying out of bed, punching Greg and noticing a huge puddle on my bed.  My water hadn't just released like it had with the last two--it gushed.  A lot.  Greg asked if I was sure I hadn't just peed the bed.  Um, yeah, I'm sure.  We both changed, called the neighbor to come sleep with the kids, and the midwife to meet us at the birth center.  We were gone by 1:26 and arrived at the birth center without hitting any traffic (which was a concern if my water had broken in the later morning like it had with the last two).  This was actually a fairly pleasant drive, 1. because there was no traffic and 2. because my contractions were still at the same intensity level as they had been the previous two days.  It was nice driving while not in active labor.  By the time we arrived I was questioning my decision to rush to the birth center.  I hated the idea of just hanging out in that little room with nothing happening.  

I unpacked the bag, changed (again) and not knowing what else to do, decided I'd take a nap since I'd only had an hour of sleep.  I put my headphones in since the lady in the room next to us was being rather noisy.  Greg offered to go to Wal-Mart and pick up a sound machine to block her out.  But I couldn't breath.  I'd forgotten the fast-acting decongestant.  Greg looked up near-by 24-hour drug stores and was about to leave when the first real contraction hit and I decided I wanted him close by.  I spent the next few hours alternating between sitting on the toilet and reclining on the bed trying to reach my zen state but the 3 midwives at the clinic made a few too many ins-and-outs for me to really be able to concentrate.  Towards the end I decided I wanted to stand up for a few contractions, then I went to the bathroom again, which is Greg's clue that we are almost done.

Now here's the part that I practiced the most: the birth.  I've read  a lot about breathing a baby down and not actually pushing.  I'd tried this method with Henry and failed because sometimes, you just want to be done so you push as hard as you can to get the baby out.  However, this can be counterproductive as pushing a baby against a not completely ready cervix can actually cause the cervix to swell making the whole process take longer.  Besides, pushing hurts.  So with each contraction,  I took a deep breathe and then breathed down for 6 counts and then started again.  I also used a birthing stool this time, which was lovely because usually I get tired of holding my weight up  so it was nice to be able to sit.  I also made Greg rub my back while I held my hips together as they felt like they were ripping apart.  I have no idea how long this went on.  It definitely felt longer than the pushing phase with the other kids, but it was also more comfortable and less energy-consuming.  Finally I felt the baby come down so I gave one push and out came her head and moments later second push and there she was.  I even said, "Well that was easy" as the midwife handed her to me.  Because it was much easier than Henry.  This is also the part I am most proud of.  I delivered baby without a single scream, grunt, or other weird noise.  Just a quiet, peaceful entry into the world, which was the goal.  Everyone was pretty impressed, especially after the patient in room 1.  It was 4:19 am.  Considering active labor didn't start until after 2, I'd say not bad.

We moved to the bed and did a few of the necessities (deliver placenta, cut the cord, which Greg did with his own knife again, take a few vitals) and then nothing.  Baby nursed for 2 hours, I snacked and looked at my phone, Greg attempted to sleep, but the midwives managed to come in for something or other just as he was falling asleep every time. Eventually they came and did the newborn examine then Greg held baby while I showered and made myself pretty.  

Greg's knife with umbilical cord blood

Chilling with Dad

New born exam

Ready to go.

Then we left.

We got home just in time to help Becky get Henry dressed for church.  We sent them all to church and took naps.   We were a little tired.  And now the fun continues.  By which I mean, labor and birth are only the first horrible steps weeks of pain and lots of baby crying.

Alice is completely obsessed but in a pretty bad way.  We have to keep a pretty close eye on her.

Rex looks pretty interested here, but for the most part, he doesn't care about the baby.

Henry is warming up to her.  Whenever she cries, he says, "Baby crying.  Take a nap."

 

8.6.11: More of Rex's night time adventures

(I found this in my drafts folder.  I'm not sure why I never published it, but I'm glad I wrote it down anyway.)

Sharing a room with Rex has been quite the experience. I've learned a lot about him that I didn't really want to know, but nonetheless, I now know. For example, he regularly is up until past 10 o'clock--no wonder he takes such good naps.

As mentioned, last night, Rex had another adventure in his room. When I went into go to bed, I found him on the floor by his door. I moved him to his little bed and got in mine. At 4 am, I hear him get up and bring his pose with him over to my bed. I scoot over so as to allow him in; we get him all situated and get to the business of going back to bed when Rex jumps out of bed and tells me he has to pee in the potty. I tell him to hurry, which he does. But he stops at the end of the bed and informs me that he earns a popsicle for peeing in the potty. I told him he could have one in the morning. He cries. He then proceeds to pee on the carpet. He wanted a popsicle for peeing in the potty and refused to pee in the potty unless he got one. I jumped out of bed, ripped his underwear off and practically throw him on the potty where he continues to scream and pee. But he did not get a popsicle. And he didn't get one this morning either.

All I can say is Rex is a fast learner--he has learned to use his bodily functions to manipulate me. He wants candy, he forces himself to pee. Today he learned that he could sneak extra nursery time at church by telling me he had to pee in the potty and then quickly running to nursery where the tiny toilet is. He would then play until I could get him into the bathroom or back to the chapel. He eventually did pee in the tiny toilet, but this was after about 4 false alarms. Tricky kid.

Now if he would just poop in the potty, I might declare him officially potty trained.

Cooking 101

We've started a new tradition at our house (surprise, surprise...you know because I love traditions and holidays, which is what this blog is turning into, get it, get it): Cooking Tuesdays.  Well, not necessarily on Tuesdays but that's the way it's worked out since we started our little tradition all of two weeks ago.   

There's not much to it.  Basically, Rex and Alice make dinner once a week.  And they love it.  This isn't "helping" me make dinner they have in the past, where they're really more in the way than helpful, but really making dinner.  I stand in the kitchen and instruct, "Now get out the big pot and fill it with water. Then put it on the stove."  Well sometimes I do have to the heavy lifting, but for the most part they do everything.  I even let them use my very favorite, very sharpest knife to cut up the vegetables *gasp*  because if you're going to learn how to do something, might as well do it right and with the right equipment.  AND! no lost fingers (yet).  They get really into it and get mad when I do stuff.  

The first night, they made ravioli with canned spaghetti sauce and a green salad, for which they picked the vegetables, washed and cut up on their own.  Last week, they made macaroni and cheese from scratch with stir-fried zucchini.  This week they requested to make homemade pizza.  

This is quickly becoming one of my favorite nights of the week and we have so much fun cooking together.  Now, I just need to convince them that doing the dishes after they cook is just as much fun as making dinner.

Cutting up zucchini, not fingers.

Making the cheese sauce

Henry is a little less involved but did figure out how to get into the food cupboard all by himself.

Dance..

...is also stressful, but in a different way.  It's stressful in less of an I-don't-want-my-kid-to-feel-bad-way, and more of an I'm-a-crazy-dance-mom way.  I watched a few seasons of Toddlers and Tiara's and found myself acting like those moms a little more than I wanted to admit.  I was ashamed of myself.

First, the nice thing about dance is that at this age, 3-5 year-olds, it's just bad and everyone knows it, but it's adorable bad.  The audience just laughs together over the little things kids do, and the kids laugh at themselves and ham it up a bit.  The teachers stand at the side of the stage and do the entire dance as the kids watch and maybe throw in a step here and there.  Alice's favorite part was when the doggy in the window shook his tail and she got to shake hers.  When the recital came around, she added a few extra shakes because she liked it so much.  But I didn't have to worry about Alice losing points or not getting on base like in other sports.  She was just having fun and the audience had fun right along with her.  And I liked that.  Everyone just gets a chance to show what they learned throughout the year.  More like a portfolio than a high-stakes test...I mean game...I mean I've taken a lot of education classes.  

The bad thing about dance: the costumes and hair.  I remember dancing as a little girl and loving getting my hair done and getting to put make up on, so I made sure to do the same for Alice.  But then she started acting like a 4-year-old and Henry started acting like a 2-year-old and I was holding our spot in line to check in and most of the parent volunteers were late so I just stood there and yelled at Alice to get off the floor because you'll get your tights dirty and stop dragging your feet because you'll get your shoes dirty, and stop touching your hair, and and and I looked at the line behind me of all the parents and their froo-froo girls and realized I was in an episode of Toddlers and Tiaras and wondered what I had done to my poor girl.  Luckily, Alice has never seen the show and said she loved the recital and is considering another year of dance, although she also wants to try out gymnastics.  We'll see what the fall brings and how well I can hold my crazy in.

On her spot in class

Dancing in class

Super excited while driving to dress rehearsal

Alice is the 2nd from the left--wagging her doggy tail.

After the recital.  She had a great time and just loves the dozen red roses that Greg got for her because they match her costume.  Although she did notice that some girls got two things of flowers and she only got one.  We pointed out that she got 12 flowers in her one thing and the other girls only got a few flowers in each of their bouquets.  I don't know if she bought it or not, but she does love her roses.

Here are a few snipets from her rehearsal (we weren't allowed to take video/pictures during the actual recital).  Alice is the 2nd from the left.

Baseball...

...is stressful.  I'm not going to lie: I've gotten use to Rex being pretty good at basically everything.  He is about a year or more above his grade in reading; he plays the piano very well; he's advanced in math; he mountain bikes better than many of Greg's adult mountain biking friends.  But when it comes to sports involving balls, he takes after me.  And it's stressful.

I don't need or want Rex to be the best at everything.  In theory.  I think failure or lack of complete success is good for kids.  Teaches them to work hard, to recognize their weakness, to learn how to overcome adversity.  In theory.  But actually watching it happen and watching Rex be even mildly disappointed is hard. 

He is the youngest kid on his team with the least experience.  And while Greg and I have worked with Rex on the fundamental skills of baseball, he's so thoughtful in everything he does, he has a hard time just hitting the ball because he has to think about each step.  As a result, he strikes out more often than not.  And while he doesn't cry about it or anything, he does say stuff like, I'd just like to get on base.  And that makes me sad.  Or he'll say, I'll never get the game ball.  And that makes me sad too.  But I can't tell the coach to give him the game ball just because I don't want my kid to be sad, because, again in theory, I'm against handing out trophies just for standing on the field.  

This week Heavenly Father and I had a chat about Rex and baseball playing.  Rex has put in a lot effort on baseball.  Aside from games and team practices, Greg or I take him out a few times a week to work on stuff.  Besides, I just didn't want Rex to be sad.  And I guess Heavenly Father didn't want me to be sad either, because Rex got a hit a on Saturday and got all the way to second base before his team struck out.  And then Rex even got the game ball for an awesome stop (not catch) in left center.  Heavenly Father didn't make Rex the best on the team, but just good enough that we could both be happy and proud of his accomplishments.  Heavenly Father does answer prayers.  So thank you for that.  And thanks to Rex for his continued effort and hard work even when he isn't the best.

We're all pretty happy around here.

Cinco de Cuarto

Really I should turn this into the How-to-Celebrate-Everything-Freaking-Holiday blog, except May the Fourth be with You Day because I just don't care about Star Wars.  This year we celebrated Cinco de Mayo, which we did not do last year.  Alice and I spent the day making a tissue paper banner, which is type of Mexican folk art.   She got really into it.  She really likes to cut stuff.  We also learned about patterns and watched some videos of traditional Mexican dancing.  And we got out a world map and talked about the actual Battle of Puebla and all the different countries involved.

Then for dinner we had traditional deer tacos.  Then the boys ran off to baseball practice and Alice and I made churros, which took FOREVER and were still doughy.  All very traditional.

And that was Cinco de Mayo.  Why am I posting this?  Because I feel obligated to post about every holiday I celebrate lest someone out there think I didn't celebrate it and question I love of (most) holidays.

Obligatory Mother's Day Post

You know what I find ironic?  My complete love for all holidays, no matter how rediculous or made-up they are (ok we did not celebrate May the Fourth be With You Day this week), but I am not a fan of Mother's Day.  I just don't like it.

I remember in high school telling my mom how much I hate Mother's Day.  I think that is pretty close to the worst I've ever felt when I saw the look on her face.  I could have killed her first born child.  It was horrible.   

It's not that I don't love my mother or think she isn't awesome because she is.  Here's what I thought about my mother this week as I contemplated the impending Mother's Day: my mom's, or one of, best qualities is her love.  I never, not for one second, had to question her love for me, and all my siblings.  Why?  She probably told us 20 times a day how much she loved us, which always included lots of hugs and kisses and long lists of all the reasons why we were amazing.  She also knew exactly when to buy us treats.  Had a bad day?  You can rest assured that Mom would have a special treat for you the next day.  Just a little something to let you know that she was thinking about you and hoping you had a better day today.  Or even worse (better?), Mom would listen for hours, and still does, to me complain about everything.  I think back to some of the things I cried to her about and I want to just slap myself.  I mean really, Shut up Heather!  I remember my senior year of high school I was upset because I wasn't getting as many scholarships as I thought I should.  I was number 2 in my class, had lots of extra curricular, blah blah blah, give me more money.  The problem was I was middle class and white.  So what did Mom do?  I don't know how many hours she spent finding a California State Sponsored Scholarship for me and then called my school counselor to get it approved and I got it.  $1500 a year for 4 years.  It was a pretty good scholarship.  In that same conversation with the counselor, she must have said something else, because then the school invented a scholarship for future educators, which I then got.  That was another $500 or so.  Ultimately it's not about the money but about the time and effort Mom put in to making sure every one knew and acknowledged how amazing she thought I was.  And that's not to mention the time and effort she went to be at all my track meets and cross country meets just to see me run by once or twice and the rice bowls and fruit smoothies she made sure to have waiting at the bus for me on the way to the meets.   But she did this for all my siblings.  How she managed to be at all of our games and meets and still be home to make dinner, she must have had a time machine.  Point is, if Mom did one thing right and she didn't, she did a lot of things right, it was making sure I always felt loved and knew that I was her number one priority, along with the other siblings, of course, because we all know that Noah is the favorite no matter how much she tries to deny this fact.  

So I have extra reason to celebrate Mother's Day, and yet, still not my favorite.  I don't mind Father's Day, but Mother's Day, eh.

I've put some thought into it this week.  Why don't I like Mother's Day?  First, I don't like being told when to buy people presents and get really sick of buying presents.  Gift-giving is not one of my talents.   I really struggle with first thinking of what to give people, getting to the store to buy said gift, wrapping and then mailing it.  Hate it.  In fact, I put a ban on Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, Father's Day and Anniversary gifts at our house because I just hate them.  

Second, I like the planning and decorating part of holidays, and with Mother's Day that's kind of a no-no.  The men-folk are supposed to do that.  Which Greg did very well this year.  After church, I read a book and took a nap while he made jam and brownies with home made whipped cream.  He also watched all 3 kids as Henry peed on himself in the middle of his nap so woke up.  He even made the kids a little tea party outside, which I thought was just adorable.  Then he set the table and did dishes at his parents' house.  When we got home, he emptied the dishwasher and put the kids to bed so I could rush off to the mission farewell of one of my Laurels.  So while I don't mind Greg doing the work, it kind of takes the fun out of the holiday for me.  

Lastly, this one I realized as I was yelling at my kids to get in the car as we were late for church, Mother's Day makes me feel guilty.  Poor Rex was just trying to give me the little card he'd made at school and I was yelling at him to get ready.  Is that what good mothers do?  Did I deserve said card?  Then all day I felt bad for every little thing I failed to do as a mother.  Alice was sad because she didn't have a card to give, guess I should have had her make me a card this week.  She ended up packing me a bag of strawberries as a gift.  I guess I've done a good job at hiding my fruit aversion from her.  Point is: only perfect mothers deserve to be celebrated on Mother's Day.

So there you go, why I just don't like Mother's Day, despite having a practically perfect mother.

And apparently I'm not a very good mother, because I don't have any recent pictures of Rex on my phone.  But enjoy some of Henry and a selfie of Alice.

Happy (early) 9th Anniversary

A man asked me a few days ago if I was excited for this baby to be born. Well...I said.  Of course you are, he responded.  I smiled because I really meant well...

You see, I know what's going to happen.  I'm going to get fatter than I am and then I'll have a newborn and newborns are pretty much the worst creatures on this planet.  I have this overwhelming sense of doom like my life will soon be over.  

Add to that my new-found decision to like North Carolina more and enjoy some of its beauty (I got sick of listening to myself complain about all my Utah friends and family enjoying the greatness that is Utah and realized that North Carolina has nature too so I should enjoy it), so one thing led to another and Greg and I took a little early anniversary trip/baby moon this week.

Luckily for us, Greg has a magnificently flexible schedule so we could go on Monday and get discounted everything.  And my mother-in-law was kind enough to watch the kiddos.

We left Monday just after putting Henry down for a nap and drove the 2 1/2 hours to Asheville in complete silence.  Either we've been married too long and run out of interesting things to say to each other or we've been married too long and are exhausted by the number of children we have. You pick.

We stayed in the touristy part of Asheville called The Village.  It was very fancy.  Even the McDonald's was gilded gold.

We checked into our European lodge-themed hotel complete with new age, ultra trendy music and then headed out for dinner.  It was delicious.  The mashed sweet potatoes, which isn't usually my thing, magical.  And the zucchini salsa so fresh and so clean.  I'm not usually much of a foodie, I go for easy yet edible at home, but every once in a while an over-priced, farm-to-fork meal is just delicious. 

After eating too much, we walked around the village for a while before going back to The Corner Kitchen for dessert.  I did feel a little silly going back to the same restaurant for dessert, but I'm a Roberts at heart apparently, and prefer a break between dinner and dessert.

We were back in our room by 8, because we're old and lame.  I suggested that we find something else to do since we could because we didn't have to worry about the kids, but we decided we were just too tired.  We watched a bit of TV and I feel asleep around 10.  Ideally, I would have slept through the night, but my children have trained me to wake up at 2 am, so I woke up at 2 and then slept all the way in to 7:20.  I felt great.

We ate breakfast at the hotel.  I got some delicious grits.  Again, not usually my thing, but when somebody else makes it....

Then we were off to the Biltmore House.   It's a giant house and 8000 acres of gardens built by one of the Vanderbilts back in the day.  It was very Downton Abbey and I couldn't help but think, "What a waste of space" for the most part.  Some of the "hallways" were bigger than my house and there were at least four living rooms.  How do you decide which living room to live in?  I'm a little into the tiny house movement.  Though I must admit, I was a tad bit jealous of the 4 pantries and kitchen the size of my house.  I love our small house, but I would like a pantry big enough to store a year's worth of food.

After walking around until I should have gone into labor and getting lots of funny comments from the millions of old ladies also visiting the house, we decided we ought to head home and relieve my mother-in-law.  But not before driving down to the hippie part of Asheville for some more delicious food, mixed with lots of second-hand smoke.  Thanks hippies for killing the fetus.  Just kidding the fetus isn't dead.

We drove home in near silence again.  I'm going to say it's because Greg and I are secret introverts.

As we drove I thought to myself, "Man this is just what I needed.  When I get home I'm going to be such a kind, patient mother."  Five minutes after walking in the door, however, I was back to usual self--Get in the shower.  Clean your room up.  Get in bed.  By Thursday I was lamenting to myself how I just needed a break.  I might need to make some significant life changes.

Anyway, we had a good time.  And while I did have to remind Greg how many years we've been married, we're looking forward to many, many more.  

I thought I was looking really cute and small this day.  And then I looked at this picture.  It was a sad time for me to have my perception of reality completely shattered.

On a hill over-looking the Biltmore House