Two!

It's hard to believe that I posted the Candyland party just a year ago. My babies are growing up without my permission. I'm having a bit of trouble letting go, so Lydia will have to be the "baby" for a little while longer. She celebrated her second birthday two days ago, and while her actual party won't be until next month, I made her a pink chocolate cake to eat with just the six of us. She spent her day reading books with mommy, taking care of her baby doll, and playing with her sisters and brother.

Lydia came into our lives when we least expected it. Bill still vividly remembers eating at a restaurant with our three small kids, when I came back from the bathroom and quietly announced I was pregnant. I didn't have a pregnancy test at the restaurant, obviously, but after going through three pregnancies, I knew the signs. When we confirmed it was true a few days later, we were both in utter shock. We thought we were happy with three children and weren't looking to add to the family- at least not yet. But here she was, and it didn't take long to fall madly in love with the little baby growing inside. Life surrounding the pregnancy came with its ups and downs- Bill made a career change, and we moved to another town closer to where I grew up. I even gracefully broke my foot in the garage on the very day we closed on our new house. Actually, it was the literal first step I took into the new home. So I had the pleasure of unpacking and setting up our new home while pregnant and hobbling on one foot. Kudos to my mom and aunt for helping me out in those first few days. Bill was working out of town for several months of the pregnancy, so I was definitely lonely most of the time. It was comforting to know, though, that the baby was growing normally, and everything seemed to be right on track.We soon found out it was a girl (yay!) and while I've always loved the name Caroline (with a long i) we agreed on names from my mom's side of the family- Lydia Kate. I felt blessed beyond what anyone deserves, and even with all the pains of pregnancy, I was so very happy. The day that she was born was magical-my mom and husband were by my side, and I had an amazing OB who listened to what I wanted for the labor and delivery. Other than a brief but very scary moment when my blood pressure plummeted, there were no complications. It was pure joy the moment I reached down and pulled her up to my chest. She was beautiful- and screaming mad. I laughed and told Bill she was already throwing a fit. She is still able to hold her own and take care of herself.

Lydia is our little firecracker. She loves to read books- nonstop to the point that I can read her favorites with my eyes shut tight- and takes relatively good care of her baby dolls. Her new bitty baby that Grandma gave her for Christmas "poo poos" a lot, and needs countless diaper changes. Lydia is our first baby to love sleep, and that is just dandy with me. She sleeps past 9am most mornings, and takes three hour naps during the day. She is a late talker, but babbles in what I'm pretty sure is Russian. She has dark eyebrows, big beautiful brown eyes, and light brown hair that is taking its time to grow in. That's ok though- she looks more like a baby because of it. She loves to be prissy in dresses and skirts, and wears her gold bangle bracelet and pearl necklace every day. She is still madly in love with her passy (pacifier), and it's going to be a dark day when we take it away from her. We transitioned her to a toddler bed on Christmas Eve, which was harder on mommy than anyone else.

Lydia is such a joy to our lives. She has had more than her fair share of medical problems in this past year, but with our Lord's help we'll get her through it all. There is nothing I would change about her coming into our family. I'm so thankful that God crashed past birth control and used His own will to bring her to us. Love you, baby girl. Love you so very much.

First time I saw her pretty screaming face.

Newbie- so little!

 Daddy and his baby girl.

Nine days old.

Wearing her Mexican dress we bought her while on our cruise.

 Easter 2011

Daddy reading her a bedtime story.

Mother's Day 2011

Ready to go play miniature golf at the beach this past summer.

She loves being a big kid going to preschool with her brother this year! Two hours twice a week. 

Playing with her popgun.

Cute sprinkle face. 

 Two years old!

I love her expression!

Our Christmas baby- love you, beautiful!

Fixing the Water Pipes

I had decided she was never going to come. I would be pregnant forever. After daily contractions for weeks on end, and my stubborn desire to be all natural and to not induce, Madeline was nine days past her welcome. So, after putting Brooke down for a nap, I had a good frustrating cry, then got ready to join my SIL Julie and our mother in law for lunch that day. A few minutes later, I felt a tiny, but distinct "pop"! And then a trickle. Either I had peed myself (definitely within the realm of possibility) or my water just broke. I can't remember who I called first- Bill or the midwife- but not much further down the list of phone calls was to Julie, letting her know that I wouldn't be making it to lunch after all. Later that evening, Julie's then 3 year old son ran up to his daddy and asked him to get his toolbox. He explained that Aunt Michelle's water was broke and he needed to go over and fix it for her.

I remembered this story tonight after Madeline spilled a tall glass of water all over the living room floor. After cleaning up the mess, I chuckled about that hot summer day nearly four years ago when I considered her spilling the water to actually be a good thing, and my sweet nephew's ingenious solution to help me fix it.

Don't Cry Over Dried Laundry

After a six month hiatus, my husband is helping with the laundry again. While this does speak for how much my love cares for me, it speaks even more for how much my postpartum hormones have finally started to normalize. This past January, Bill came under the harsh wrath of my after-baby blues while in the laundry room. He had made what should have been a harmless decision to switch a load of clothes from the washer into the dryer. Little did he know the chaos this would cause my fragile post-delivery brain, only a couple weeks following the birth of our beautiful Lydia. As the dryer came to a stop, I opened the door, and- to my absolute horror- realized the gravity of what my husband had done. In his attempt to help me, he had used regular heat on the normal cycle, and he had used a dryer sheet. A scented dryer sheet. My eyes immediately welled up with tears. I felt panicked. I didn't know what to do as I felt my entire world cave in around me. I knelt to the floor, picked up a warm onesie, and buried my face in it as I wept. My unsuspecting husband walked in at that moment, stunned to see me hysterically crying. My tears then turned to anger as I let him have it- asking him how he could possibly think it was ok to use a dryer sheet with baby items?! Didn't he realize that the high heat would shrink the clothes, and the normal, nongentle cycle would wear them out faster? And what if there had been a stain on something (which there wasn't) but what if there had been and he didn't know it and the hypothetical article of clothing would have then been ruined??? Bill looked at me- a crumpled mess on the floor wearing a milk-stained nightgown now soaked with crocodile tears. He quietly apologized, promising to not ever do laundry again. I wiped away the tears and removed myself from the floor, carrying my unperfectly laundered clothes with me. So last night, when I saw Bill switching clothes from the washer to the dryer, it took me back to that crazy moment. And instead of crumpling up hysterically crying in front of the washing machine, I gave my love a hug and kiss, and thanked him, happy that both my brain and my heart were finally in unison once again.

I Can Do Anything

I have the privilege of knowing that I can do ANYTHING. I gained this sense of empowerment after delivering four babies into this world -two with pain medication, and two without so much as a Tylenol. Let me tell you- though each experience was exhilarating, beautiful, and a moment I occasionally wish I could relive- having a human being exit your body through an ever tiny space is excruciating. Even if you have an epidural, the recovery after is enough to make you take pause and have some not-so-favorable thoughts about Eve eating that fruit. I've never had a C section, but from what I hear from friends, it too is a massively painful recovery. Why do I bring all this up? Because I have to remind myself from time to time that if I can go through all that pregnancies and deliveries have to offer, I can do anything. Anything. Including changing a massively explosive poopy diaper on a tiny changing table in a gross public restroom. Without vomiting.

I have many poop stories of which I gracefully will spare you. Let's just say one of the worst ones was dished up by my beautiful girl Madeline at 9 months old on vacation, and she can now legitimately say, "That tastes worse than poop!" Or, "My hair looks better with poop in it!" My most recent experience was with my darling girl Lydia. Bill and I were able to get out for a rare date night, even if it was with our youngest alongside us. She is still nursing and not yet old enough for overnights at Grandma and Pap pap's. We were at a local restaurant having a great time talking about future vacation plans when I smelled something that didn't exactly remind me of the yummy enchiladas I had just ordered.

I whisked Lydia away to the bathroom, locked myself in the handicapped stall with the changing table, and then (not exagerrating in the least) swallowed back vomit. The smell combination of the restroom and her diaper was just about more than I could handle. I took her clothes off, and realized a new entire outfit was going to be necessary. As well as washing my arms up to the elbows. After going through every baby wipe I had, I placed the diaper out of her kicking reach. Good idea, I thought. Until it rolled. Onto the only spare outfit I had for her. It was at this point, with a naked baby, my messy arms, and no clothes for my child, I had to recite to myself: " You've given birth. Four times. You can do anything. Including this." Because all I wanted to do was to relax at the table with my love, eating enchiladas and talking about anything other than poop. So I looked into the sweet eyes admiring me, clueless to the havoc she was causing, and inspected the clothes. Thankfully her shirt was spared of the poop, and I so I dressed her without pants. I did my best to clean up the mess behind me, washing each arm one handedly (still not sure how I accomplished that while holding a baby) and then joined Bill for the rest of the dinner- knowing that yes, once again- I can do anything.

We're Pregnant!!

When it comes to motherhood, there are three specific moments in time with each one of our four children that I will always remember: 1. first learning there is life inside me, 2. finding out the gender (always ASAP of course), and 3. the day of the birth. My first "moment" came on July 3rd, 2004. My hubby and I had decided a month before that we would casually try to get pregnant. No looking at calenders or counting days, just to go about it stress-free and see what happens. Yeah, right. He may have gone about it so casually, but not me.

Two days before my "womanly event" was to start, I got up at 6am sharp and placed my sample on a skinny white stick, then impatiently counted 120 seconds. As I peered over the back of the toilet, my heart sank as I saw just one line through the tiny window. Ah well, I should have known it wasn't going to be so easy. Who gets pregnant after just one month anyway? (wow, was I naive about my fertile capabilities.) I was throwing the stick in the trash when I got a glimpse of a faint second line. My heart started to pound. Could it be? Truly?? Really, really????

Now, at this point I should say that I'd had this next moment planned out since I met my sweet man 6 years prior. He would come home from a long day's work, and I'd be wearing a little black dress, heels, and a string of pearls around my neck. (Apparently I had a subconscious desire to emulate Donna Reed.) The table would be set for a candlelit dinner for two, and I'd serve baby carrots, baby lima beans, and eggs. He would ask "Why such an odd meal, sweetheart?" And then I would excitedly tell him that I was with child. He would then sweep me up in his arms and we would talk into the night about our sweet bundle of joy growing inside me.

Jolt back into reality. Wait til that evening? Are you kidding me?? I had to tell him now! I climbed back into bed and tried to gently wake him up. "BILL!!!!! WAKE UP!!!!" Ok, maybe not so gently. But it worked. "What??" He may have been just a tad annoyed. I thrust the stick in his face. "Look! How many lines do you see?" He squinted, and after a second said, "two." "Do you know what this means????" "No." (I'm thinking he didn't care this early in the morning either.) "It means we're pregnant!!" I waited for his response- to roll over, sit up excitedly, kiss me.... He replied, "Oh." And went. back. to. sleep.

I was too excited to care. I'd wanted my whole life to be a mommy, and now I was! A tiny life was growing inside me. What a miracle. The next two days involved six more pregnancy tests (yes, I said six), a call to the manufacturer of the pregnancy test (just to be sure I was using the test correctly) and telling excited friends and family the good news. Oh, and Bill did eventually wake up, in which I retold the news and he responded in cautious excitement. Little did we know that day how much we were soon to fall in love with this precious baby, and how much joy she would bring to our lives. All we knew then is that our love together with God made this life inside me, and our world would never be the same again.

Pregnancy Warning

Warning: pregnancy brings out the worst in people. No, I'm not speaking about the pregnant mother. I'm referring to random strangers who feel the need to grope your belly, tell you horrific childbirth stories, and ask you whether you plan to use the milk in your breasts after delivery. This will happen from the moment you start to pooch out that adorable little belly of yours. So to help prepare new pregnant mothers navigating this occasionally awkward phase in life, here's a list of the top most rude comments I've ever received (and after four pregnancies I'm becoming somewhat of an expert.)

1."Are you having twins?" (No.) After looking me up and down a couple times- "Are you sure?" (Yes I'm sure, but thanks for letting me know how huge you really think I am.)

2. "How far along are you?" (30 weeks.) "Really? My daughter is due in a couple weeks and she is so much smaller than you!!" (Again, thanks for telling me I look like an elephant.)

3. After emerging from a bathroom stall at 24 weeks pregnant: "How did you fit in there??" (And yes, she was dead serious.)

4. "Are you planning to breastfeed?" From a friend: normal. From a complete stranger: yeah, a little wierd.

5. From a man behind me in a checkout line: "Pregnant women are so beautiful." (Hello, nice manager? Could you please escort me to my car? Thank you.)

6. "You're pregnant? Well let me tell you the bloody gorry details of when my own child was painfully ripped from my body while I lay there wailing and gnashing my teeth."

7. After observing my very pregnant self and my three other children with me: "You're having ANOTHER one?! Are you finally finished after this one?" This one was spoken aloud to me a few times, but on many other occasions I could see it just by the look in their eyes.

8. During my third pregnancy, due with my first boy: "Finally got your boy, huh? Guess you're finally done after this?" (Yep, we failed the first couple times, but we finally got a winner!! Where are we, China??)

9. Strangers rubbing my belly. This inevitably happens to every pregnant mother. I've always wanted to reach out and touch their belly as well, but never had the guts. Maybe one of you pregnant ladies reading this will decide to and tell me about it. That would make my day.

10. "Are all these kids yours? And you're having another? You know how this happens, right?" Ok, this one is a little cute, but after hearing it about 300 times, it starts to lose its funny.

So, what's the rudest comment you've ever had said to you during pregnancy?

Pictures courtesy of Heidi Mitchell Photography