life of seven

Clementine's Story part 3

***This week I am writing the story of darling little Clementine's arrival- it's pretty long (though don't worry, not gory!) so I am putting it into three posts***

As I held our brand new daughter, Ben sent some text messages to friends who were waiting to hear about the baby, even though it was 4:43 in the morning. Over and over my phone with angelic harp tones (that's what my text message ring sounds like) kept alerting me to messages of congratulations from our friends. It was the perfect background music in the happy peaceful room.

I moved onto the bed and we were eager to find out just what size this baby was, when I began to hemorrhage. Between the size of the baby, placenta (it was huge, too), and a large amount of amniotic fluid (my water broke right as she was being born) I began to bleed quite a bit. I felt pretty awful all of a sudden, and thought I might pass out. Quickly the midwife gave me a shot of pitocin. I was still bleeding, so then she gave me cytotec, and then decided to put in an IV. I was so thankful we had gone with her, since being a nurse midwife, she was able to carry and administer these drugs and the IV. I began to feel better, though I was still pretty dizzy and my blood pressure didn't register on the cuff. For good measure, she then gave me a shot of methargine, had me nurse the baby and gave me glass of apple juice to drink. I chugged about two glasses in about thirty seconds and between all these things I began to feel good again. My blood pressure went back up to where it was readable again (90/65) and I was so thankful that a potential crisis and hospital transfer was averted. After such an easy labor (relatively speaking!) and healthy baby it would have been so disappointing to have to leave home and get treated at the hospital. During this time Amy got a chance to hold her brand new little neice for a bit while Ben, Carol, and the assistant were with me.

Finally, after the baby was about two hours old, and I was completely stable, we could measure her and see how big she was. At this point, Ben and I realized we hadn't announed her name, not to our friends, or to the people in the room, including my sister! 

"Clementine Merriweather," we said, and the name fit her perfectly. In some odd way, she was just like I imagined her to be, and she looked just like a Clementine. It was the perfect name for her.

Ben and I came up with her name back in January, when I went on a business trip with him to London. We had so much trouble agreeing on names. After naming six kids it gets harder and harder, because your favorite names get used up. We couldn't come up with anything. Our girl name when I was pregnant with Truman was Winter, which was a perfect name for a baby due in December. However, I absolutely refused to name an August baby, "Winter", though Ben didn't agree with me and thought there was nothing wrong with it. I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

I kept throwing out name after name to him, mostly girl names, since I was really hoping this last baby would be a girl, though at the time we hadn't found out yet. By now I cared less about what the name was; I was just trying to get Ben to like another girl name besides Winter! 

"Thomasina."

"Hate it."

"Paulina."

"No."

"Philippa."

"What is with you and feminized versions of boy names?"

"Clementine." (Pronounced Clemen-teen, rather than Clemen-tiyn)

"Clementine...hmmm....Clementine....Clementine Merriweather..." (This was the middle name we had like last time)

"I like it. Do you like it?"

At this point I think I was just relieved that he liked a name besides Winter. "Yes, I do. Do you seriously like it?"

"I do. We can call her Clemmie, or Clem when she gets older. I like it!"

So that's how we came up with her name.

Seven months later, here we were, with Clementine now in the flesh. Carol put her in the little sling she weighs the babies in and I said quickly, "Let's guess her weight! I kind of think she may be as much as eight pounds." Most of the other people guessed around seven and a half, but I was certain she must weigh more, since my biggest baby before then was 7 pounds 7 ounces, and Clementine really felt chubbier to me than Evie had. 

Carol strung her up in the sling/scale, and announced in surprise, "8 pounds 8 ounces!"

I couldn't believe it- this had been my easiest labor, and I had given birth to a baby one to two pounds larger than all of the others. No wonder I had felt so uncomfortable at the end of pregnancy, rolling over at night, climbing in and out of bed, sitting on the floor, wearing blue jeans (I gave those up the last three weeks- they were just way too uncomfortable). We texted the weight to our friends and family and another string of replies sounded on my phone's harp tone. I guess we were all pretty amazed. I couldn't believe I had such a big, healthy, chubby, squishy, wonderful, new, perfect, baby. Carol put on a diaper and wrapped her in a blanket, with no clothes on, which I loved, telling me to do as much skin to skin as possible.  No problem there- I was still in awe of all her sweet little folds of fat and her soft soft skin. There's something addicting about stroking a brand new baby's skin.

We tucked in for a nap, the three of us, my husband, Clementine, and I. Ben fell asleep almost instantly- it was 7:45 in the morning by now, and we'd been up all night- but I lay awake for a long time, marvelling at the new life that had entered the room just a few hours earlier that morning.

 

Clementine's Story, part 2

***This week I am writing the story of darling little Clementine's arrival- it's pretty long (though don't worry, not gory!) so I am putting it into three posts***

The minute we got home, Ben wisely went upstairs to take a nap- he knows a thing or two about labor, by now!- and I realized that that was probably the best thing I could possibly do right then as well, since it was becoming clear that the contractions were starting to get consistent and I probably would be up all night. I realized my midwife might like to hear an update from me, and now I felt more certain about what was going on, so I texted her, "Ctx getting regular, so I'm going to take a nap in case I'm up all night. Pretty sure it's not going away." This was at 6:45, and I was able to sleep for about 30 minutes, waking up frequently with contractions.

After I woke up, I told Ben this was definitely labor and so he kept the kids downstairs and kept them entertained for the next hour while I lay on my bed and listened to them play and prayed. Yes, that's what I did, through each and every contraction, and in between, I prayed for strength to get through each one and I prayed for thankfulness and that I would be able to keep my focus on what it was all for.

At this time I decided to call Stephanie who would be watching the kids for us. She was the third one on the list to call- two other families who had offered to watch them were both out of town that weekend!

I told her that she would probably need to pick up the kids in the morning, but since it was already almost bedtime, they could just stay at home for the night. I didn't know how long it would be and I didn't want to make Stephanie have them for longer than was necessary in her tiny but adorable house. She said she'd keep the phone by her in case we needed her to get them in the middle of the night, but I assured her it would most likely not be necessary.

Shortly after I hung up, Ben came up to check on me and I was lying on the bed again, concentrating very hard through contractions. They didn't seem to be too frequent or lasting too long. I had gotten out my phone and begun timing them, and to my surprise, they were already lasting 45 seconds or so and coming every 4-5 minutes.

He saw how hard I was concentrating and asked, "Well, what's the plan for the kids?"

I told him how I'd called Steph and how she'd get them tomorrow. Ben listened to the kids shrieking and laughing and playing downstairs (they were super excited when they were told the baby was coming) and shook his head and said, "Why on earth didn't you tell her to just come pick them up now?" 

Good question. "Um, yeah, that sounds like a good idea, when you put it that way..." 

So Ben called Stephanie right back and asked if she could head over and pick up the kids. This is when I began to realize the baby really was coming tonight, probably only hours away. I lay on the bed again, listening to the children play, getting a little perturbed by the noise, and listened for my sister to arrive.

The kids came upstairs to say good bye to me, and they were so, so happy and excited. I will always remember the excitement and eagerness on their faces and I was thrilled that I could tell them that they would get to finally see the baby the next time we were together.  The little ones kept jumping on the bed and hugging me and climbing on me and I wasn't too sorry to see them go a few minutes later, I admit. This was around 9:30.

Ben went to grab something to eat in the kitchen and downloaded a contraction app on his phone and I began to cry a bit in pain and fear. It was getting intense- with minute long contractions every few minutes. I decided to fill the tub, even if meant slowing everything down just a bit. The instant I got in the water, relaxation washed all over me, and the contractions slowed and grew shorter. I was more than ready for this bit of relief. Ben came upstairs and sat beside me and we timed contractions, because, what else is there to do?

 The next three hours consisted of me going between the tub, the bed, and most comfortable of all, a foam mat we laid out on the bathroom floor. Between each contraction, which stayed about 4 minutes apart, I was able to sleep for a few seconds, and wake up in enough time to be ready for the next one. In my dreams, and wakefulness, and through each contraction, I prayed and prayed and did my best to be thankful that we would soon meet our baby. When each contraction ended, I told myself to pretend that labor had just started, and that nothing had happened yet, and the next contraction would be my very first one. For some reason, this really helped.Ben held my hand gently through each contraction, and this was all I needed, in fact it was exactly what I needed.

Also, Ben pulled up a play list on his phone and soft music played in the background. We had not made up a labor playlist because usually I want total silence, but for some reason, the songs he happened to have on his phone were perfectly peaceful and soothing and comforted me through each contraction. The irony of some of the lyrics struck me humorously, since they were not written about labor, yet they applied perfectly to what I was going through:

"And the toils of the road will seem nothing when I get to the end of the way."

"Leaning, leaning on the arms of Jesus. Leaning on the arms of Jesus to carry me through."

"I have fallen on my knees as I faced the raging seas, but the Anchor hold in spite of the storm." 

I couldn't help but smile about how appropriately the words fit my situation just then. The songs helped me so much to keep in focus what the entire labor was for. I thanked God over and over again for the miracle He had given us.

Around one in the morning, I finally was ready to quit. I told Ben I wanted to go to the hospital now, before it was too late, so I could still get drugs before the worst part of labor hit. I didn't see the point of staying at home to have the baby- and why on earth in the 21st century when the pain could go away in a second, was I still having a natural birth? Ben just told me, no. "No we're not going to the hospital, we are staying here and you are fine. You are doing a great job and you'll be able to do this just like you have with all the other babies."

I think I was so discouraged because based on the timing of the contractions (they were still lasting only about 45 seconds, 4 minutes apart) I thought I must not be very far along- maybe three centimeters. After suffering for another 30 minutes or so, I begged Ben to at least call the midwife and get her to come over. (Why? It's not like she would be able to give me drugs or something.)

Ben called Carol and she said she would be right over. This surprised me and made me wonder if maybe I was further along than I thought I was. Less than 20 minutes later I heard two cars pull up, which meant the assistant had arrived as well- this gave me a boost in confidence because if she thought the assistant should be there already the baby must not be too far from arriving.

Carol came in the room and I begged her to check me to let me know if I had dilated at all. "Do you want to know where you are at?" She asked after checking me.

"YES!"

"I'd say 7 centimeters."

This was joyous news to me and after this I got a second wind to face the next part of labor. Carol had me start walking around the room to get the baby to settle in lower and get the contractions harder and stronger. With each and every contraction she held me and talked me through it calmly and I was able to stay relaxed through each one, like I had prayed I would be able to. I told myself, "One breath at a time." Then when each one ended, I told myself, "Act like labor is just starting." After an hour or so, I begged Carol to check me again, in fact I believe my exact words were, "Please check me, I beg of you!"

This time I was at nine and as soon as she said it I was so happy. It was about 3 am, and I couldn't believe I was almost done. The next few contractions almost felt good, because I felt so positive and couldn't believe it was almost over. Ben called my sister Amy, who we had asked to come and take pictures after the baby arrived so that we wouldn't have to mess with the camera then. (I was not the least bit interested in labor or birth photos- that would have been so awkward for me).

When Amy arrived about 45 minutes later, contractions were still coming but I felt I wasn't making progress. I asked Carol to check me again, and sure enough, I was still at nine. I had a second meltdown at this point. I sort of went through transition two times during labor- once the hour before the midwife arrived, and again after being at nine centimeters for an hour and not really progressing. I wanted to cry and just give up and be done with the whole thing. I wanted to take a nap and forget about labor because I was now so discouraged and exhausted. All of a sudden, the contractions picked up and became twice as intense as they had before, and they didn't abate- I had one on top of the other, with almost no break in between, and they were so intense and horrific I could hardly bear it. I told myself they were this intense so that they could get the job done and get the baby here, and this helped a little, but mostly I just suffered through them and felt like I was just trying to survive. I guess that's what transition is. There was just no way to relax through it. Thankfully after five or six hideously intense contractions like this I was finally dilated and ready to push the baby out, and I was so so happy. The smile returned to my face and I just couldn't believe it was over. I kept thinking in my head, "God answered my prayer, He really was with me the whole time and helped me get through this!" This made me so thankful.

Pushing was easy after the thirty minutes of transition I had just gone through, and before I knew it I had a new baby in my arms. All the pain was immediately over, and there was the baby, with a soft round head and a plump little body. It was the first thing I noticed about her. I wasn't too surprised to feel that she was bigger than some of my other babies, since I had definitely felt bigger this pregnancy, despite measuring and weighing the same as the others. I held her for about five minutes before I realized I should make certain the ultrasound was right- did we indeed have a little girl? Yes. Ben got Amy who began to take photos and I kept rubbing our perfect little girl all over over. She cried immediately after being born and she was as pink and healthy as she could possibly be. I kept marveling at her size: "What a little chunk!" I had never been able to say this about any of the other babies, who were all pretty tiny- weighing between 6 lbs 2oz and 7 lbs, 7oz. Her skin looked fair to me, and she had light brown hair and gray eyes. Or maybe blue. At any rate, we kept looking at each other, taking it all in.

 

Clementine's Story part 1

***This week I am writing the story of darling little Clementine's arrival- it's pretty long (though don't worry, not gory!) so I am putting it into three posts***

My sweet precious little girl Clementine is here and we are taking in all of her wonder. Now I am lying in bed holding her in my arms, over my shoulder as she nestles down into a deep sleep while I write about her arrival. There's no better feeling in the world than this. Let me tell you about how she came.

If you have been keeping up with me at all here, you will remember that I had reached 40 weeks  of pregnancy, and then gone past my due date, and was becoming rather impatient for the baby to arrive. You may also recall that I felt some trepidation regarding the labor I knew I would be very soon- doesn't every mom feel this? Let's face it, there's no easy way out for these babies, is there!

During my pregnancy I prayed often that God would help me through labor and that I would have an easier time of it than I had had for the others, particularly Truman's, my last baby. His labor lasted for 22 hours and the final 5 hours I had the most horrendous back pain and needed a back rub throughout the entire contraction. No, not a back rub, that is much too mild a term. I required Ben digging his fists into the small of my back with all his strength, me, braced against the wall for traction while he put all his weight on me, pushing against the bed, and together with both of us pushing against each other with all our might, his fists barely provided the relief I needed during each contraction. As I said, this went on for 5 hours. Occasionally I got on my hands and knees and he pushed into my back that way, while I cried, "Harder!", and my knees got rubbed raw into the carpet on the floor. We made it, finally, and Truman and I were both healthy, with no complications, so of course I was very thankful, and once I held him in my arms, everything I just went through seemed like nothing. But Truman's birth, which had become a distant memory, never to be repeated, kept playing through my mind with greater intensity as it got closer to the time for the new baby to arrive. If I could at all avoid a labor like the last one, I would be so thankful. So, I prayed that I would have an easier time of it, and also decided that one way I had made the last several labors more difficult for me was that I really had not been doing a good job of relaxation.

I felt did the "best" job (if once can call it that) in labor with my first two babies. I had recently taken Bradley classes where the emphasis was on complete and total relaxation, where the laboring mother has the appearance of sleeping even during the hardest contractions, and makes very little sound, just deep quiet breaths. I felt I did this with my first two babies, but in subsequent labors felt like I had no control during each hard contraction. I ended up being much louder throughout, and restless, pacing the room and never able to stay in any one position long enough to acheive relaxation. Upon thinking about this I wondered if this could have been the reason they seemed so much harder. But of course in retrospect all of this was impossible to figure out definitively because memories are faulty things especially when it comes to measuring pain- but I did wonder if maybe I should try to acheive total relaxation this time, if at all possible. That was my strategy, as well as praying over and over that God would help me get through it.

I decided to let go of any fear and just let my labor be what it was. I also prayed that I would be thankful during labor and that God would help me keep in focus what it was all for- a brand new wonderful baby. I am always thankful when it is all over with but during the labor I felt I lost perspective and turned very negative rather than grateful that it would all be over and the baby would be here soon.

Anyway, this was what I was thinking about during the last few weeks and days leading up to the baby's birth. I gave myself a quick refresher on relaxation, rereading the sections on it in Natural Childbirth the Bradley Way and told Ben that my goal was to stay as relaxed as possible this time. Poor guy- what could he do but agree! I don't think he wanted a repeat of the last labor anymore than I did. 

On Wednesday, August 6th, I hit the 40 week mark and I felt a little depressed that day, but reminded myself that the goal was to be thankful, for each day of pregnancy, and for the labor that brought the baby to us, and to not rush things, but rather be grateful for each moment. I wrote about it a little bit on here. Once I got past Wednesday, the next couple of days were much easier. I visited the midwife Thursday and I think everyone was hoping she would tell me when the baby would arrive, but, like I expected, she merely gave me a brief check and said everything looked great, baby was healthy, and would arrive when she was ready. Each day I knew I was one day closer (duh), and though I was quite uncomfortable I felt relatively positive though I was now a bit late.

Thankfully, Friday evening, I began to have a bit of discomfort that I knew was the start of real contractions, rather than just the painless ones that really accomplish nothing. I went to bed thinking they would go away as I slept, like they had done for the last couple of weeks, and that I would wake up with nothing at all, but when I woke up a few times that night, I at least had a few more-enough for me to have a feeling that the baby would probably be arriving in the next day or two.

Sure enough, Saturday morning I got up and as I moved around I felt more contractions- nothing regular, and not lasting more than about 15 seconds, but I thought it was the start of the real thing. I began to wonder what I should do that day. How much time did I have, here? On the one hand, this could potentially go on all weekend, or it could pick up within the next few hours. (Or, of course, it could just die out completely and Baby could wait another week to appear at all- I chose to ignore that option!)

Thankfully, Ben solved the issue for me. I think I had mentioned to him that I might be feeling the start of labor but that I wasn't sure, but I didn't know if he had really paid attention to me, because I was so uncertain, myself. Well, at any rate, he announced that we were going to pick up my sister and drive to Boulder and walk around the Pearl Street mall that afternoon. I was so grateful to him. I thought it was the best idea ever- walking, to get my labor going, something different to distract me from paying attention to each and every little ache and pain.

Driving to Loveland to pick up Stephanie, the contractions got stronger, though still irregular, and I began to wonder if it was such a good idea to drive an hour from home just then- what if it was real and I got stuck in Boulder, having a baby? Well, by the time we got to my sister's house, contractions slowed down significantly and I decided we'd be fine. But then I wondered if I should at least let the midwife know that I thought I might go into labor in the coming hours. On the one hand I didn't want to give a false alarm, but on the other hand, it was the middle of the day and it probably wouldn't bother her to get a text lettign her know I thought it could be starting soon.

I hemmed and hawed for a ridiculous amount of time over the question and finally decided I should at least let her know in case she wanted to take a nap or something. I sent one of the most indecisive texts ever, :"Having mild contractions since last night but I could be jumping the gun by alerting you, but I'm sort of guessing it'll be tonight or maybe tomorrow." To which I was grateful she replied, "Sounds encouraging. Thx for the heads up." Hah, I kind of laugh at this because I was scared she might scold me about texting her over nothing- clearly I way overthought that text message! This was at 1:00.

We got to the outdoor mall and ate lunch at our favorite Italian restaurant and walked around some. I purposely brought my camera wanting to get pictures of the day I went into labor and I'm so glad I did.

All that walking was about the best thing I could have done that day and we had such a fun time, me knowing the baby could be on the way, and all of us enjoying each other's company. What a great memory.

On the way home Ben asked me if I wanted to go over to our friends' house that evening and just hang out. I hemmed and hawed about like I did with my text message- clearly I am incapable of making a clear decision about labor! On the one hand I wanted to still be distracted if all this was early labor and would go on for hours, on the other, I didn't want to keep distracting myself and just have the adrenaline and activity delay the inevitable. I told him we should just go home and then decide.

 

 

Our Baby Girl is Here

Clementine Merriweather

Born at home 8/10/14 4:43 am

8 pounds, 8 ounces

Everything is wonderful. More to come soon.

39 weeks

Well, I was sort of hoping I wouldn't have to ever get to writing this post, but here I am: 39 weeks pregnant and no baby yet. I know, I know, I have nothing to complain about but since my last baby, Truman, was born at 39 weeks on the dot, and Jude and Gideon even earlier, I was kind of expecting to have the baby by now. I desperately hope we will see this baby this week- I just can't imagine going past my due date- the last time I did that was 7 years ago, with Evie- I went one day past. Please, no- not that.

Hah, it's funny- I always sound whiny like this when I am in the final days or couple of weeks of pregnancy- and then the baby arrives and the long, long, wait of pregnancy seems like it was over all too soon- the baby is there, and it's all consuming- the extra few days wait seems like nothing. I will especially feel this way this time because Seven is our last baby. So, I am trying very hard to just relax and let baby arrive when it's ready. I will never get these days back.

So, this may or may not be the last pregnancy update, but I am glad I have gotten this one in- I can't wait to put them together in a baby book for the little one.

The house is pretty much prepped- we are just trying to maintain the laundry and keep up with the kitchen. Every grocery store trip, I try to remember to have whatever snacks that I want to have on hand, but the problem is, it all gets eaten and I have to do it all over again! 

Baby clothes are washed, the garbage disposal fixed, all birth items are in one spot upstairs (need to keep Ben from using the towels inthe basket!)- what else needs to be done? I say, nothing! So here's your cue baby- it is time to be born!

38 Weeks

I am 38 weeks this week- this is the week that both Jude and Gideon arrived. New little baby could come at any time now. It seems surreal, now that I am down to the final weeks, days, or even hours. It's now time for the waiting game, where I need to always be ready in case the baby decides to arrive, yet on the other hand I need to keep myself busy and distracted because it really could be a while yet. I have had no false alarms so far this pregnancy. I haven't had even one of what I could call a true contraction- only completely painless Braxton-Hicks. In this regard it feels like my first or second pregnancies, where I felt basically nothing until the day the baby arrived. I wonder why that is, on baby number seven. It's all right though; I'm definitely not complaining.

I'm praying this time for a (relatively) quick and easy labor, since, as I've mentioned before, I have always had those pretty standard 7-10 hour labors that were very intense the entire time. It's kind of just dawned on me what I will soon be facing and while I am thankfully not too freaked out, at the same time I am a bit nervous. Please, God, give me an easy time of it just this once! Whatever happens, though, I'll get through it like I have with the other babies. It's always worth it in the end, isn't it, no mater how the baby arrives?

37 Weeks (and Rain)

Hmm, 37 weeks: that means I am now considered term, though early term. Baby really could arrive any day now. I have had a baby at 39 weeks, 38+5 , and 38+2. So 37 weeks isn't all that big of a stretch. I have a little theory about that though. It has to do with the fairisle blanket I am knitting, which is only half done. I am kind of afraid that I won't go into labor until the blanket is done. If that is the case, I either need to really get knitting on it, or I may have a very overdue baby. Of course I know that babies will always come when they decide to come, but in the back of my mind I have a to do list (the blanket is just one of the items) that I feel like I won't be able to relax and have the baby till the things on it are done. It's a list of silly things, like the blanket, putting all the supplies together in one corner of the bedroom, talking to my friends about watching the kids when it's time, ordering herbs for an herb bath afterwards, getting a couple extra flannel blankets, pick up one more cotton baby cap; like I said, silly things that will take about five seconds for me to do (except the blanket: definitely not a five second job). But mentally I don't feel quite ready yet to go into labor. Maybe I'm just in denial that little Seven really could come so soon.

On another note, no pregnancy log of mine would be complete without my mention of my favorite activity in the final weeks of pregnancy: a warm bath and a book, made even better with tea, once in a while candles lit, and, today, the penultimate luxury: a rainy afternoon outside the window. When I was about ten or so, I read a phrase in a story, about a mother who liked to take a warm bath to "soak away the cares of the day." I began to use that phrase jokingly way back then, which my own mother found quite funny, but little did I know how much I would enjoy that warm bath in the future, as a mother myself. Yes, a daily, or almost daily bath, is a must for me in those final few weeks or days before the baby arrives (though I love a bath anyway, no matter what), and one would think that I would be an ideal candidate for having a waterbirth, however, water during labor doesn't actual appeal to me all that much, oddly enough. Maybe this time, though. We'll see.

Speaking of water, boy have we been getting the rain here. It has been glorious. I have enjoyed every single cooling rainstorm that the afternoons have brought for about the last five days in a row. It is only supposed to get up to 72 today, with rain off and on throughout the day. Lovely. I am thoroughly enjoying this week of rain, though I am glad to live in an area where week long rains are the exception, and where I know there are many days of sun right around the corner. When it's so sunny and hot I long for the rain, but in reality I do I prefer our sunny, dry climate, with the sun making its joyful appearance 300 days out of the year.

 

36 weeks

 36 weeks means the home visit where the midwife more or less comes over and "inspects" our home (or so it feels like to me) to make sure everything will work smoothly for a homebirth. For me this is the opportunity to give our house a thorough clean out, and clean up and that is what I did earlier this week. Nothing is nicer than a clean, cleaned out house. All my kids agree with me on this. It always feels so relaxing when those corners and closets and laundry are all the way they should be. Speaking of laundry, for about five minutes every month or so, I finally get the laundry done, and by done, I mean every load washed, put away, nothing sitting in the dryer waiting to be folded, no clothes on the couch folded and waiting to be put away, nothing in the laundry basket waiting to be washed, no clothes tucked away in the bedroom waiting to be brought downstairs. As I said, this is about a once a month occasion (or maybe less???) that is worth noting and thus I am documenting it here. Though, like I said, this momentous event lasts only about five minutes until Jude comes inside and needs to change his clothes which are covered in dirt, or Grace decides to change her shirt again, or, I don't know, I find a wet towel crammed into the cabinet after swimming.

I decided to do something a little different with the pictures this week, going for black and white at dusk and getting some sort of silhouette-type thing. Um, yeah, that's how I'll spin it...okay, so in reality it was more like a quick scramble and saying "Oh no, I am late again this week for my weekly photo- Here Grace, it's almost dark, so hold the camera steady and let's see what we get!"

These pictures are interesting to me though, because I think they really reflect the mood I was in at the end of the day. Looking back, yesterday was the sort of day I am rather ashamed of, at least ashamed of myself. It began in the morning the second I woke up- rather than go into all that's going on in my life, there has been an uncrossed detail on the try-to-do-if-possible before baby list that I have been kind of freaked out about for the last month. Or two. I've only mentioned it to Ben like, oh, every night before bed...oh, and in the middle of the night...and certainly first thing in the morning the second my eyes have opened.

"Ben, what are we going to do about--??!!" He kept telling me, "It'll work out." And I didn't believe him. Yesterday morning started with that same worry. And joining it came what was to me another completely justifiable concern. And then I worried about something else. And I thought of more things I could worry over. And before I knew it, by afternoon I had turned into some sort of train wreck. Sobbing, I told Ben I was going to Wal-mart and gathering the last things I needed before baby arrived ("At least I'll be getting my part done," is what I didn't say, but both of us knew I was thinking).

When I got home the thing I had been dreading about for weeks- WEEKS! Had resolved itself just like Ben promised me it would. All that worrying- over nothing! Gone! The other concerns that I had seemed so minor all of sudden and I realized I had made a mountain out of a molehill. And throughout the rest of the afternoon even the molehill, I realized, was not even that. More like...hmmm....an anthill. Not very scary. I immediately felt so convicted by my silly behavior and the scripture came to mind, "Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment?" Matthew 6:25.

Silly, silly me. Hasn't God always, ALWAYS taken care of me? Aren't I His child? Doesn't He love me? What a waste of time and energy worrying about the future, which hasn't taken place yet. How often have I worried over something that in the end never even happened? It's like being scared of monsters in the closet. They aren't REAL! I'm not saying that annoying things never happen, or that we shouldn't be wise and try to fix those things in our lives that need to be taken care of. But lying awake at night fixated on something that hasn't even taken place yet is such a waste of effort, not to mention puts you, and everyone else around you, in a terrible mood. I need to just "Cast my care upon Him, for He careth for you" and then be done with it. How many times have I done this and found Him to be faithful? Hundreds. But then, out of nowhere, some fear will take hold and I'll think, "Wait, this time is different-it's over for sure." 

Sorry to go on and on about this, but I truly feel the need to write about my thoughts and remember yet another time that God is to be trusted, even when I forgot I could. Maybe next time I'll remember this BEFORE I have a mini freak-out.  

In other baby-related news (this is supposed to be a pregnancy update, after all), everything is looking really good. I decided to take a group-B strep test this pregnancy (something for a variety of reasons I have always declined) and it came back negative: yay! I got my iron results back and while my hematocrit is not as high as it should be, it has climbed quite a few points from the last time. My blood pressure, something I have been in danger of a couple of pregnancies climbing too high, was actually so low this visit (94/65) that the midwife told me what to do in case I feel I need to pass out (so far haven't). I take it as a good sign that I am on the other side of the spectrum.

In my opinion, (and as you can see from the photos) my stomach is looking exactly like a basketball. Or maybe a watermelon, a perfectly round one. Anyway, there is absolutely no disguising this pregnancy in any way shape or form. With earlier pregnancies it seemed to take forever for me to show, and I got so many comments on how small I looked. What's funny is that I always end up gaining exactly the same amount of weight with each pregnancy, and end up at the exact same weight at the end, including this one. I am on target to hit the same weight that I ended up at with my first, 14 years ago. So funny. However, baby feels much bigger to me. Either bigger, or way more active. I am certainly carrying different than I have before, thus the watermelon/basketball. 

I told the midwife Tuesday I hadn't had any contractions yet, which is unusual because I normally have preterm labor for weeks and weeks before the baby finally arrives. Famous last words. That night they began- slightly uncomfortable contractions with no discernible pattern yet, but a reminder of what's to come. I can't have the baby next week because Ben will be out of town, but after that, baby is welcome to arrive anytime it cares to. I am trying to savor the final days/weeks of pregnancy, and enjoy them rather than complain about them, but realistically, one can only do that for so long, right?

Treasuring Friends

Nothing like a nice long, lazy weekend for the chance to get together with family and friends and appreciate the blessings they are in your lives. Good friends are hard to find, and when you do, treasure them. Next to my immediate family, there is nothing I am so grateful for than the friends and church God has placed me in. I thank Him for it every single day of my life. 

More than ever lately I am struck by how much we need each other- a mom will give me a homeschool idea, someone  will tell me about a great book they were reading, somebody else will offer a word of encouragement. And it goes both ways: I love to have people over and cook them meals, and have given out countless child/family raising advice. As members of Christ's body we are designed to work together in unity and love, correcting one another, encouraging one another, submitting to one another, "That He might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy and without blemish."Eph 5:27 

This is how we show Jesus to the world- having the love of Christ in ourselves, individually, as well as working together within the body of Christ, loving one another, preferring one another, putting each other before ourselves. A group of people like that is a rare find in a harsh world.

I plan to organize the house today from top to bottom, since tomorrow is the 36 week midwife home visit. Oh my word I can't believe that it's here already. I definitely don't have everything ready for the birth, but it'll get there. Maybe I'll have time to sneak in a bit of knitting to show you as well- I have been doing some, but as I said, I am keeping the gender a secret and I can't show a bunch of the projects on here because I don't want to give it away!

33 weeks

33 weeks- on time, if not early this week for an update, yay me! Photo by Cate, once again. Thank you so much for making me look pretty yet again, dear. 

I picked up a few extra baby items this week- some baby sleep sacks and pajamas, that sort of thing. I don't put my babies in clothes until they are oh, I don't know- maybe around their first birthday? It's not quite that bad, but I absolutely cannot stand holding a soft cuddly baby who is in stiff, thick blue jean, or wearing poky buttons, or worst of all, overalls with the bib constantly riding up and covering the poor little one's face! This obsession with comfort has progressed with each baby. Cate, why I put  the dreaded overalls on her at, like, 6 weeks old! Grace never wore the overalls. Gideon wore nothing but pajamas and sleep sacks for at least three months. And so on and so forth with each child, progressively, until my sister Stephanie teases me and says in surprise, "Would you look at that! Is Truman old enough to be wearing CLOTHES?" Hah, yes, the two and a half year old is not compelled to wear pajamas anymore (though pajamas, especially of the super-hero variety, are about his favorite thing in the world).

As I near the end of pregnancy, of course thoughts are starting to shift toward labor and delivery...I try to not overthink it and totally psyche myself out. From a medical stand point, I have pretty non complicated text book labors- generally around 7-10 hours total of active labor, though I may have mild contractions for hours or days prior. However, lately it has seemed to me that I have gotten the raw end of the deal. Of my friends who have recently had babies (friends havng baby nmber two or so) somewhere around 6 out of 7 of them have had labors lasting 3 HOURS OR LESS. As in, "I woke up having what I thought were mild contractions, and the baby just arrived an hour later."

This is just not fair. I have totally paid the price with my 6 "textbook labors" and I more than deserve being able to say afterward, "You know, it really wasn't that bad. I would much rather go through that again than the first trimester of feeling sick," like one friend told me right after her first was born. If the words "You know, it really wasn't that bad," can just casually come out of my mouth after the baby arrives, I would be thrilled. So would my poor husband. I imagine Ben probably listens to their birth stories rather wistfully as well (well, no, I imagine like most husbands Ben doesn't really like to sit around and talk about birth stories); at least if he did, he probably feels almost as jealous as I do, because trust me, I don't go through labor, WE go through labor. He stays by my side the entire timedoing what he can or whatever I ask to help me through each and every contraction. I even begin to feel sorry for him: "I'm really sorry, but can you  grind your fists into my back YET AGAIN with all your strength-no, harder-harder still-HARDER!- for another two minutes without letting up? Just keep doing this for the next two hours, please. I'm really sorry, Ben. Yeah, Thanks," is how the conversation would go if I could talk at that point. Instead, I can manage to say, "HARDER! no, HARDER! I SAID, HARDER!"

Anyway, somehow we have always made it through it, he and I and the baby. We feel like we have been through a world war at the end of it, in the trenches together, but victory always finally arrives at the end. But no, the words "You know, it really wasn't that bad," have never escaped my lips. Maybe this time, though, baby: maybe this time you'll take it easy on me. If not that's okay. We'll make it and there will be a sweet precious adorable baby at the end that will make all that pain worth it. 

It's getting closer! Can't wait to meet little Seven!