100th Episode! - "If There Were Vines..."

If I'm doing the math correctly, my Emma post was my 100th post on my blog. Wow! I can hardly believe I've written that much in the past nine months. So, I just thought I'd commemorate it a little today, making this post the 101st.

Oh, so much blogging to do, so little time. I want to catch up on everyone's blog, and I've only managed to comment on Chris' blog so far. I thought I'd better post some more pics of Emma and my little band of savages before I lose track of what's going on in my own life. After all, this blogging thing is supposed to be my journal/scrapbook because I can't seem to make myself write in an actual journal or work on actual scrapbook pages.

Picking up where I left off at the end of my last post: I stayed in the hospital for just two days with Emma. When I had Connor three years ago by c-section, one of the nice nurses (I just love nurses, and it's not just the family bias, either!) at the hospital there in West Jordan, told me that I'd be so much better off in the long run if I would just take my pain medication and get moving! I kind of had a paranoia about serious pain meds: I was afraid I was going to get addicted to them or something. It turned out to be an unnecessary fear, but that's why I put up with the pain longer than necessary last time, and I could hardly get out of bed the first two or three days after Connor was born. So this time, I was determined to be a good girl, take my meds, and get my butt moving. I was up and about that first day as soon as the anesthesia from the spinal block wore off, and I kept moving around, determined to recover as soon as possible. Mom and the nurses kept telling me how good I was doing. Yes, I'm tooting my own horn here, but I figure I gotta find my warm fuzzies where I can get them. I feel like such a slacker most of the time. And I am so determined to keep going on my healthy eating/consistent exercise kick I was on before I got pregnant. I've gotta celebrate the little daily victories, keep my motivation up.
Out of bed, blogging at the hospital on my Mom's laptop.

Oh, man, this is going to be wordy. I can tell I'll have to split this up into four or five posts, just to catch up over the last and a half. 'Scuse me.

It's always interesting inviting my pack somewhere - short attention span. It wasn't long before Dani and Gil were climbing the walls, and amused themselves messing with things in my hospital room. If there were vines on the ceiling, they would have been swinging from them, too:
Dani Monkey... and there were others who had to take the hospital bed for a test drive.
Dani played on Grammie's computer. Of the kids, Dani stayed the most. The boys could only take about 1/2 hour visiting at a time, or was that me?
Grammie and my monkeys. Connor was totally into his Cheetos. Mom who?

And here's cutie pie Emma. Everytime I take her picture, I think, "Oh, that doesn't quite capture her face." I guess it's a newborn thing. She can look like 20 different people, depending on which picture you're looking at. Here are a few, for example:






I suppose that will do for now. More later!!!

Emma Jean the Queen

She's here, she's here! Sweet pea baby #4 - Emma Jean Allred. I don't know how funny or creative I feel today, but here's our little birth story.

Mom got into town yesterday around four p.m., and we poured over the baby loot. It was like a mail-order baby shower, with all the things Mom brought from the family:

Liz's fabulous loot. The mini photo albums say "Emma's New Quilt", "Emma is born", "Emma's Family", and "Emma's Friends." And thanks for the little can of "shade breaks."

Liz's fabulous baby quilt, which I love, especially the paisley border!

8x8 scrapbook albums from Mom. Also, Mom brought three big bags full of baby girl clothes, thanks to Lora and Chris! My eyes just about bugged out of my head. Emma will be sitting pretty for quite some time. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!

We got up at 4am, so we could be at the hospital by 5 to 5:30am.

My last pregnant outfit with Emma. Aren't I adorable?

Becky and Nurse Grammie. Mom has been there for the birth of all of my children, something for which I am very grateful. And even though I could only take Zen into the operating room with me this time, she got to see Emma just minutes after she was born, as the nurses took Emma to the nursery while I was being sewed up after my c-section. It's been fun having Mom ask all the "nursey" questions, and to get an inside perspective on the medical side of labor and delivery. When she's here, I feel an extra layer of protection.

Zen was brave enough to peek around the edge of the curtain when Emma was born, and took a picture of her arrival into the world, at 7:34am, Tuesday, June 17th, 2008. She was 19" long, and 6 lbs., 9.9 oz. That makes her the smallest of my babies. Gil was 7 lbs. 1.5 oz., Dani was 7 lbs. 12 oz., and Connor was 8 lbs. 8 oz. I thought for sure Emma was going to follow the pattern of bigger and bigger babies, and be just huge, but she turned out to be petite in comparison to the others. Judging by the extra whitish covering (vernix caseosa), she was probably a few weeks early, even though my doc used several ultrasounds to date my pregnancy. But it's worked out just fine. She's healthy as can be.

In the nursery incubator. She had some extra fluid in her lungs, not uncommon for c-section babies, and was in the nursery until just after noon, when she got to join me in my hospital room.

This just cracks me up. "Put me back, put me back!!!!!

My sweetie, and a great father. There's no one better for me.



The more people there are, the greater chance of goofy faces.
Connor loves to pet his new sister, lots of patting and poking.
Dani is just over the moon, and even Gil can stop being a teenager long enough to snuggle her.
The Grammie and her new sweet granddaughter.
All settled in and snuggle-bugged up in Liz's quilt.

I feel amazingly well, so much better than I did with Connor. Just one day later, and I probably feel as good now as I did about five days after Connor was born. I'm getting around really well, and am handling the pain so much better. Several reasons for this, I think: I didn't labor first like I did with Connor, I was mentally prepared for a c-section and determined to get moving asap after the c-section, and even though I quit exercising several months ago, I've kept really busy and active with my daycare, lots of lifting and bending, so I think my body was in better shape than last time. So, I feel great, just in comparison to last time.

Okay, I must stop myself! I'll blog today, tomorrow! Lot's more pics with the fam to come. Love you guys!

Progress... Sort Of

I just about died of shock yesterday. We were at church, sitting in sacrament meeting, and Connor asked to go potty. Huh?! Now, we've been talking about it for months, asking him if he wanted to go sit on the potty and be a big boy like all the other little boys in my daycare. "No, I want change my diaper." He can not be bothered with his body's schedule. Bathroom needs have been entirely at his whim, or when his mother roped him, tied him up, and made him change his diaper. But, just out of the blue, he asked to go potty at church. So, I took him, he did his thing, both kinds, and wanted to observe all the rituals himself - wiping, flushing, turning on the faucet, getting soap, scrubbing his hands, rinsing, turning off the faucet, getting a paper towel, drying his hands, and opening the bathroom door to go back out into the hallway. Right when we got back to our pew, he wanted to go again, and sure enough, I took him back to the bathroom, and he went again.

I had this brief period of elation. "He's really willing to go potty now. This potty-training thing is really going to happen!" My hopes were dashed to the ground when we got home, and Connor refused to go potty at home.

"Let's go pee on Connor's potty!" I enthused.

"Go outside and find Connor's house!" he concluded.

Apparently, he thought he was going to mark his territory at some wonderful second property he owns. Where is this mystical place? We tried to tell him over and over that this is Connor's house, but to no avail. I guess this is just the place where he can let it all hang out, or come out, at will, and Mommy will fix it. Darn it! Now what? Put underwear on him and make him sit on the potty every half an hour? It's gonna be a fight. Something's gotta give, 'cause there's no way we're doing this for another year, not even six months. I'm also curious to see how having a new baby with itty bitty diapers to change is going to affect him. Will he want to stay in diapers, so he can be the baby, too, or will it make him want to be a big kid? We'll see, I guess.

Speaking of which, I can't believe it's only a week until the baby gets here! Thanks to everyone who pledged their support in the way of baby clothes. Yeay!!!! Dani made me (yes, made me, because I hate shopping these days) go out and buy at least a few outfits, just for fun, but I will be really grateful for the big bunch of clothes on their way with my Mom. You guys are the best!

Attack of "The Crazy"

I want to bawl about nothing in particular today. I have only a scrap of mental focus, just enough to feed kids breakfast and lunch, and to tell them to quit smacking each other, or I'll put them in the Chokey (see Roald Dahl's Matilda, book or movie). Just kidding. I never actually say that, or do that, it's just a little morbid e.r./cop-type humor, I giggle about to myself when they all get rowdy.

Yeah, that whole eBay craftroom sale just isn't going to happen right now. I am just a big lump of don't-want-to-do-anything. Have I ever felt so useless? I guess I sort of get away with it now, because I'm 8-1/2 months pregnant, and have no motivation to do anything. I'm really hoping it's just the hormones talking, and I'm not seriously long-term industriously-impaired (i.e. lazy.) When do I get myself back? Couple years, maybe? And in the meantime, how in the world am I ever going to afford a new camera? I had a few small moments yesterday, when I was saying half-hearted silent prayers of the "can I win the lottery?" type of shallowness, while wishing for a new camera, and I felt stupid half way through, because heaven knows I'm not doing anything in particular to earn a new camera, and it's not exactly a spiritual type of prayer... and then again, I felt sorry for myself two minutes later. Blechh.

I nearly cried last night at the thought of having to make dinner. What? I told Zen that I guessed we were having mac n cheese for dinner, so he graciously stepped up to the plate and dumped the pasta in the pot, and grilled some hot dogs to go along with the mac-n-yack (because hot dogs are easy, and grilling is kind of manly.) It was nice, the helping out part, not really the food part, but at least I didn't have to cook it. That makes anything taste twice as good.

I was lamely trying to tell Zen about my lack of mental focus this morning, and it just confused him.

"What would you like me to do?" he asked.

I kind of rolled my eyes. I know he was just being a good sweetie and trying to help, but I said, "Could you just turn off your Man Brain for a minute?" You know, the whole problem-solving thing.

"Could you turn off your Woman Brain?" he quipped.

"No - and that's that problem! Look, I'm just trying to give you a heads up about myself today."

"Okay." No problem-solving required, and he was satisfied.

Which reminds me of another Man Brain moment. Last Friday, one of my daycare kids yacked a monkey all over the carpet, and Zen was trying to help me clean it up while I helped the poor little boy in the bathroom. When I finally got done cleaning the bathroom, shampooing the carpet, and settling all the kids in front of the tv so the sick boy could rest, I walked over to the kitchen sink, and found a slimey spatula with a big pile of barf on top of the dirty dishes. What?!!!! Apparently, Zen had scooped the big chunks up with the spatula, and put them in the sink for me to "decide" what to do with it later. What?!!!! He thought this was supposed to be better than leaving it to soak into the carpet. I was so annoyed that I went downstairs and said, "Next time, would you please not leave a pile of barf for me to clean up in the sink?" Immediate hurt feelings on his part, and irritation, "I'm just trying to help you!" "Well, it didn't save me any work. Now I've got to disinfect the dishes, too!" (Big pan doesn't fit in the dishwasher.) Women are picky, and men are not picky enough. We were annoyed with each other for about a day. Well, he was annoyed, and I was irrationally depressed. I tried to joke about his Man Brain the next day, but he wasn't amused, so I let it go.

While I'm crying about stuff, can I complain about my butt? I'm not even talking about size or shape here (an unmentionable topic), I'm talking about my tailbone. IT HURTS!!!! I can hardly sit down on anything, because there are evil monsters with tazer guns stationed by all my posterior nerves, just waiting for the moment when I have to get up off my rear and go do something. This is a prenancy thing, too, right? I hope the pain will fade after a while. The moral of this story is that you should never, never, never, never, never, never wear flip flops while walking down the snowy back steps of your house to get milk out of the frig in the garage. Or you will pay in pain for months afterwards.

So, I've got a bad case of "Crazy", which probably isn't going to improve significantly until the pregnancy hormones go away, and I get at least six straight hours of sleep every night after the baby is born. If I look like a zombie and have no sense of humor when you see me in Sheridan, you'll know why - "The Crazy" just hasn't gone away yet.