The One where we Celebrate Six Years of Marriage

1 apartment, 1 house, 2 new cars, one master's degree, 12 jobs, and 2 kids later, we celebrated our sixth anniversary. This anniversary also marked our annual date night. I know, sad right? Annual, as in once-per-year. I remember a time when we had a weekly date-night. That was before children. Just stating a fact, not complaining. And it's totally my doing since I admittedly have a smidgen of a control issue and don't really like leaving my kids with other people. Add the part about not using bottles for my nursing baby. Oh and maybe the not wanting to spend a ton of money thing too. Bottom line, we don't get out a whole lot. We do get plenty of one-on-one time in the evenings though and we make a point to make things "datey." We'll watch a movie, snuggle on the couch, eat fattening foods. It works out.

Anywho, we were visiting my parents the week of our anniversary so they took charge of the little ones while we went on a bonafide date. We got all dolled up, which actually means I got dressed up and Matt begrudgingly put on a polo (I have photographic evidence below).

We clean up pretty well I think.

Then we went out. It took me a good half hour to shake the weird feeling of not having children with us and I may have had Matt check his phone more than a couple of times to make sure my parents hadn't called to tell us we needed to be home post-haste. But minus that and the 20-minute drive to "this new Italian place" my mom sent us to that unbeknownst to her, wound up being closed for remodeling, we had an awesome time. We had an appetizer, entree, drinks, and dessert. All of this at a leisurely pace without random shrieks, flying utensils, yogurt-covered hands, or farting (thanks Matt).

We had an amazing time, as we generally do anytime we're together. We told one another how we love the other one "more everyday" and we meant it. Marriage is awesome. It's not all rainbows, butterflies, and unicorns but the storms, bees, and dragons make us stronger (see what I did there with the juxtaposition?). You know how you hear about the "7 year itch"? Well, I think I have the 6 year itch, except it's not me itching to get out of the marriage, it's me itching to see what the next day, month, 6, 10, 40 years bring our way. I love you Matt. Thanks for being you and thanks for inviting me to share our lives together.

Like Father Like Son or So he Hopes

The hubs is a geek. This is why: he plays computer games, emphasis on the computer. I emphasize that because I find it's actually pretty typical, non-geek-like, and maybe even "cool" for grown men to play video games. Not so much the case with computer games. I mean, we have a Playstation 2, proof in itself that it's rarely played (since there's probably a PS 5 by now) and a Wii, but we really only use that for Netflix these days. The gaming console just isn't his preferred route to entertainment.

Okay, he can hang with the military stuff, but you won't find any Madden games under this roof. Matt prefers RPG's or what those of us not in his world would call role-playing-games. I know you automatically envision "Dungeons and Dragons" and a 12-year old boy wearing a hooded cape while wielding a sword. Scratch that vision, my husband does still have his dignity. He doesn't play D&D but he plays this text-based game (I know, text based? I had never heard of such a thing either before I met Matt.) that could probably rival it. I won't bore you with details but basically you can cast spells and gain confidence or something like that. Oh, and there are wizards involved.

As of late, Matt's evening gaming consists of playing "Team-Foretress-2" which he lovingly refers to as "TF2." This is the type of game where he gangs up with others from out in the webisphere and commands them to "protect my flank" and warns them that there's a "spy medic" lurking somewhere. He literally says these things, as in out loud, in an urgent tone while wearing the gigantic headset you see him donning in the photo above. I'll stop here, my point has been made. 

Anyway, I'm pretty sure Matt dreams of the day when the boys will be old enough to be interested in such geekiness. So, as a mother might paint her young daughter's nails dreaming of the teenager to come, Matt has this (see picture below):

noob!

If this is what the boys become interested in when they're teens, at least I won't have to worry about dating. ;)

A Birth Story- Two Years Later

Caleb turned two this past Monday! Unbelievable! I've said it before and I'll say it again; time flies! Fast.

Stats: -36 in. tall
          -30 lbs
          -loves: yogurt, his brother, trains, and screaming
          -hates: vegetables, being told no, and bedtime

He's two and not-so-terrible I suppose. He's a handful and he's mischievous but for the most part, he's a really fun kid.

Caleb at 2 years old.

Caleb at 1 year old.

Caleb at 4 days old.

To commemorate his day of birth, I figured I'd go ahead and write his birth story.This way I won't feel super-guilty for having Gideon's birth story in writing and not having Caleb's. I cannot promise absolute accuracy considering I've probably lost half of my brain matter in the past two years but I'll do my best.

July  31, 2009
3:00pm:  I've been having contractions on and off throughout the day but now is when I realize this is probably the real deal and not just Braxton-Hicks.

3:30pm:  Matt gets home from work, I let him know I'm thinking we'll probably be having a baby soon and that we really need to finish painting the hallway before that occurs.

4:30pm:  I begin questioning if I'm really in labor or not. The contractions don't seem super-regular nor are they all that painful at this point.

6:00pm:  Matt convinces me I should eat something before we start painting and I oblige. I think I had a granola bar and some other snack-type thing. I'm pretty sure I didn't consume a full meal.

7:15pm:  We get the drop-cloths down and get to painting.

8:30pm:  As time wears on, my contractions start getting more intense and I find myself having to sit down, paint-roller in hand, to breathe through the contractions. Of course I get right back up and keep painting.  I know that movement coaxes labor and I'm all about that.

9:15pm:  He finishes painting and tidies up while I ride out the now pretty intense contractions downstairs. I try to lie down but I can't get comfortable and I certainly can't sleep.

9:30pm - midnight:  This time consists of me sitting on an exercise ball and the floor while breathing through contractions. I spend some time in the bathtub which I don't find particularly soothing.  Matt starts timing contractions and they're not following the "typical" pattern. They seem to be on top of each other and the duration is long. I sit on the floor for a while and breathe. Matt makes sure I'm staying hydrated. I start making some groaning noises while contracting. Matt tells me he'll call the midwife around 12:30 if things keep up the way they've been going.

August 1, 2009
12:30am:  Matt gets in contact with the midwife and tells her what's up. They agree that we'll meet at her office for her to "check my progress" and then decide what to do from there. We do some last minute packing and head out. The drive down town is rough.  Sitting still while experiencing contractions is uncomfortable.  Matt talks me through the contractions and we make it to the office. We wait on the front steps until the midwife arrives to unlock the door.

1:00am: I'm on the exam table and the midwife lets me know she'd like to check my dilation both while I'm having a contraction and while I'm not. She checks me first while I'm not contracting and it's painful! I say, "If you tell me I'm less than 4cm, I'm running away."  I know that this would mean I'm heading back home to wait it out, I don't want to do that. Not to worry, she tells me that I'm "5 to 6 with a bulging bag of waters" and that she doesn't need to check me while contracting. Thank God! I'm relieved that things are progressing well. I sit on the waiting room floor while the midwife calls the hospital to let them know she'll be admitting me. When she gets off the phone she seems a little concerned. I ask, "No rooms with tubs available?" She says, "You'll be lucky if you get a room at all!" Apparently, there are a TON of people having babies.  We call our parents to tell them we're going to go have our baby and then send out a pre-typed text to our friends to let them know the same.

1:30am:  We arrive at the hospital and start the check-in process. The person collecting IDs asks me multiple times if I need a wheelchair. I assure her I'm just fine and head over to the elevator.  We are pointed toward the admissions area.  While sitting with the admissions clerk, she tells me how many women are giving birth and that they're waiting on a room. Matt senses my concern and says, "You don't need a room, all you need is me and the Lord!" Preach it brother! I'm immediately calm and the admissions clerk praises Jesus. We all smile and she sends me out into the hall to wait.

1:45am:  I'm sent to triage for them to start my antibiotic IV (I'm GBS positive and this is protocol).  I labor a while in the triage room and listen to the couple on the other side of the curtain.  She's pregnant and fell down the stairs but luckily everything is okay. I change my clothes and breathe through intensifying contractions as I wait to be transferred to a labor/delivery room.

2:15am-4:00am: I make the trek down the hall to a real room. One without another couple in it. One with dim lighting and quiet. The midwife hunkers down in the rocking chair, the labor and delivery nurse goes in and out of the room. Matt sits down next to the window. I pace. A lot. Back and forth. Over and over. I have an inner-dialogue going, "you can do this, the pain will end, almost over." I weigh in my mind if this type of pain would be worth an epidural or spinal block; a resounding NO. This is tolerable pain because it comes in waves as opposed to being continuous and I can't imagine not being able to walk around freely. Matt offers me water frequently and talks to me when he senses I might need some encouragement. The midwife pretty much leaves Matt and me to do our husband-coached birthing thing. She throws out some comments about how close I am to having this baby (I'm thankful to hear that).  Every so often, I have to lie on the bed while they listen for the baby's heart tones and take my blood pressure. I say at one point that I think I have to use the bathroom and not in the empty-my-bladder type of way.  The midwife tells me she's pretty sure I probably don't have to do what I think I have to do and that instead, it's most likely the baby causing this sensation. I head to the bathroom anyway. I can't help but push while I'm contracting and the midwife calls out from the room, "Don't labor in there too long, I don't want to deliver the baby on the toilet!" I'm convinced at this point that there won't be any moving-of-bowels and I come back into the room.  The L&D nurse mentions that things could go more quickly if they break my water. The midwife quickly interjects and lets her know that "They don't want to do that." Woohoo, she is abiding by and supporting my birth plan!  The pushing sensation gets stronger and stronger. I wrap my arms around Matt's neck and sort of hang my weight on him as I squat a little and yell, "This kid needs to come out now!" and I give one good push.

4:00am: It's show time! The midwife checks me (ouch!) and tells me I'm "9cm with a cervical lip," to which I reply, "You can push that out of the way, right?" She confirms that's the case and she tells me I can push with the next contraction. The hospital bed is neat in that rather than the lower half coming completely off as do most labor beds, the lower half on this bed drops a few inches. This allows me to be in a semi-squatting position. I'm scooted all the way to the edge of the bed and my legs are up with my feet resting on the now-dropped lower half of the bed (Sorry if you can't envision that. Just know that this position is FAR superior to the commonly used flat-on-your-back-completely-fighting-gravity position).I do some pushing. The midwife tells me I'm pushing well and that if I keep it up it won't be long until I see my baby. This is good to hear but I'm getting tired and sometimes feel like I might pass out while pushing. I have to be reminded to breathe so as not to faint. I push and then kiss Matt during pushing breaks (if you're done gagging yourself, please keep reading). Matt continues to give me water (way to go coach!). The labor/delivery nurse has to feel my abdomen to tell me if I'm still contracting during pushes so I know to push longer. I guess I stop feeling the contractions during pushing or something because when they asked me if I was still contracting I just say, "I dunno". Anyway, at one point when I'm saying, "I can't do this much longer, I can't do this for 6 hours (um..that comment would be because the midwife previously told me how she caught a baby a couple of weeks before after the woman pushed for over 6 hours)," the midwife tells Matt to look at the head. Matt does and tells me that he can in fact see the head.  I hear a loud knocking at the door and a familiar voice, "Permission to enter?", the midwife and nurse look at me and I shout, "No Dad, I'm pushing!". The nurse heads to the door and makes sure my dad finds his way back to the waiting room. Then they tell me to reach down and feel my baby's head. Which I do. Amazing. This is really going to happen soon! Yay! So, I push to the point of crowning and then my contractions stop!  I demand to push without contractions at this point and I'm given the okay.

5:08am: One hard push. There's my baby's head and then the rest of him just like that. He's born "en-caul", meaning that he's still in that "bulging bag of waters" I had earlier. A gush of fluid happens just as he comes out  so his head and feet our still veiled in the bag. Pretty cool. They remove this from him and place him immediately on my chest. He looks up at me with wide eyes and blinks a few times. He's relatively quiet other than some grunting. As I'm basking in this moment, the midwife makes a comment about him being "gray and floppy."  They cut the cord (haha, first time I think I've used that phrase in the literal sense) and take him over to the warming table. Commence freak-out. I start breathing heavily and asking what's wrong. I see the nurse over at the warming table with my baby and I hear her call a "code" over the PA system. Not okay. What is going on?  A bunch of people rush into the room. The midwife stays by my side to calm me down. Matt stays close to our newborn, stroking his hand. I ask if Caleb's being resuscitated, the midwife doesn't exactly answer but tells me that things will be okay and that I need to breathe. I'm semi-hysterical, crying a little, confused, unsure what to think.  The pediatrician enters the room, the sea of people parts, the pediatrician looks at my little man cub and proclaims, "There's nothing wrong with this baby, he's fine." Apparently, in the time it took for the pediatrician to come down to my room, Caleb pinked up, started crying, and showed good muscle tone. I take a deep breath. They give my baby back to me, I settle in to nurse him for the first time and all is well with the world.

Caleb a few minutes old.

A mother is born.

A family is born.