One year ago

One year ago yesterday, I found out I was pregnant with our sweet Miles. We had just returned from a week in Mexico, and I realized I hadn't had my period yet. I was just sure of what I was about to find out, so I loaded up Maxwell and off to the nearest drugstore we went!

I grabbed a box of pregnancy tests, and to keep the trip interesting, I also grabbed some sunscreen, then entertained a 5 minute conversation with an employee about her three kids. If I was her, and noticed a girl holding a wiggly 14 month old in one arm and a pregnancy test in the other, I would probably leave her alone to let her go find out her fate. But that's just me.

Spoiler alert: the pregnancy test was positive. I laughed and freaked out a bit, then tried to have a moment with Max, who had no clue wassup.

Knowing this would probably be the last time I got to tell Mike I was pregnant, I went into a frenzy on how I would tell him when he got home later that night.  My Pinterest/internet/blog search stressed me out, so I just did a little DIY. I took a Popsicle out of the freezer, carefully unwrapped it, then wrote "pregnant" on the stick. I put the Popsicle back in the wrapper then back in the freezer, since I knew my friend Mike would come home and hit the Popsicles hard since it was a million degrees and he had just spent 3 hours at the fields. Thankfully, my artistic ability did not overshadow the big announcement.

Two days later I was on a plane to North Carolina for a wedding.  I proceeded to spend the next 2 days pretending to get drunk. I also thought I was going blind/dying 10 minutes before we walked down the aisle, but it turns out that was just the beginning of a few wacky pregnancy migraines.

Hard to believe that funny week was a year ago. Just as all the old ladies in the grocery store tell me, time sure does fly. But the fun part about that is the memories you capture along the way. Like last night, Max was so obsessed with wearing one of Miles' diapers that I had to put one of Miles' diapers over Max's diaper. I mean come on. He was a hilarious sight, so content to be wearing his lil bro's diaper.

This could become an expensive request.

I told Britt I was pregnant with Max on Addy's birthday, and I told her I was pregnant with Miles the same date she told me she was pregnant with Brynn, just a few years earlier! I love dates. Interestingly enough, Brynn and Miles look identical as babes, and Max and Addy also look strikingly similar as babies. I don't care how insignificant these things may seem....these are the things I want to sit around and force my grandkids to listen to. This is the story we are building!

My new mantra

At the end of a long day (or any day really) I can feel so overwhelmed by life's little tasks. Dishes. Packing lunches. Bathtime.

Because of Mike's work schedule, most nights I'm doing these tasks alone with the boys. It's not uncommon for all 3 of us to cry at some point throughout the night. Miles cries because I've laid him down to get something else done. Max cries because he's two and it's tough to be two. I cry because they cry and I feel like I should be able to handle it all better.

The other night, as I finished up bathtime, I repeated this in my head: "This my privilege. This is my privilege."  I must always remember how lucky I am to be overwhelmed by caring for these boys. I must always remember that doing these simple things is a privilege I've been given. Even when it's hard and even when I'm tired and even when I'm doing it alone for the millionth time, this is my privilege.

Earlier this year, we had an older woman volunteer at our office for a few months. Organization was her "hobby", so she would come in and organize various closets or cabinets. While I was out on maternity leave, I got an email that she had passed away. Even though she was in her 80's, it was still surprising. I read her obituary and realized that this little lady had led quite a fascinating life. Her family fled Germany when she was only 3, and they lived in the Dominican Republic for a few years. Because her parents needed to work so much to pay the bills, they arranged for her to live at a boarding school 6 days a week - Saturdays were the only day they all spent together. As a teen, she was sent to another boarding school in South Carolina, because her parents wanted her to have a chance at a better education.

I can't even imagine making the heart-wrenching decision to send your child away, in hopes of creating a better life for them. I can't imagine having to work so much that you only get one day a week with your child.
For me to get to give my babies baths each night, and to tuck them into bed, and to wipe up their messes and make meals for them - what an absolute privilege.

So, even on the nights when I'm overwhelmed and the only thing I feel like doing is crying, I'll continue to repeat my mantra: This is my privilege.

The story of Miles Edward

Miles's birth story really spans over a week. Since I was pretty convinced I would go into labor on March 20, my last day of work was March 19. All the stars would be aligned and that would give me a week of recovery before my big 30th birthday shindig.

Mr. Miles had a different timetable in mind.

After a discouraging midwife appointment on Friday the 20th, I spent the weekend trying to wish myself into labor. Long walks (waddles) around the neighborhood, keeping busy, etc. But the clock kept ticking and nothing was happening. Nothing! It was becoming a cruel and unusual punishment. Each night I would think, tonight is the night!!! And each morning I would wake up still pregnant and even more discouraged. I would lay awake at night and cry at how uncomfortable I felt. I was a miserable sight.

On Wednesday the 25th, the day after my due date, I had another visit with my midwife, Anne. We made a plan to induce me if I hadn't gone into labor by Sunday. She told me she expected to see me before then. I told her of my birthday party plan and how the window of opportunity had passed to have the baby and be home before the party. She told me I better lay low then =) She was on call all weekend, and I was thrilled that she would most likely be the one to deliver Miles. By the grace of God, I left her office feeling like I wouldn't be pregnant forever. I was rejuvenated and finally out of my funk.

I spent the next two days on self-imposed bed rest.  It was awesome-ish. My snoogle body pillow and I laid on the couch and watched my people get things ready for the party. Friday the 27th was so incredible it deserves a whole separate blog post! Coming soon!

Bedrest at it's finest. Did I mention I also had a cold?

On Saturday morning, I woke up feeling those wonderfully familiar cramps. I couldn't get over the fact that I was in labor just hours after my birthday party ended. Miles really knew what he was doing.

I rode the contractions out for a bit, just to be sure. I showered, and tried to snuggle Maxwell a little bit extra before his world got rocked. After an hour or two, I knew it was going down for real (#gdfr) and I started to get a little panicky.  Because, as everyone had told me, 2nd babies come so quickly!

(False.)

Me: "Ok Max, I'm about to leave so I can give birth to your best friend"
Max: "Cool but can you turn on Netflix before you go?"

I gave Anne a quick call to let her know wassup. She told me to head her way. With spring kickball leagues starting on Monday, Mike started rushing around with final preparations, knowing he would be a little occupied over the next 48 hours. Max left to hang with his cousins, so I sat on the couch and breathed through each contraction while watching Mike race around the yard/garage/house/etc. 

On the way to the hospital, I held on to the door handle to bear the bumps in the road on Monaco Pkwy. I cursed the city of Denver for not taking better care to fix potholes. 

We pulled up to the hospital and I huffed it inside. It was like an obstacle course to get to the right place. We took the wrong elevator so we had to go back down and find the right one. All I could remember from our hospital class was "follow the green line". Once we found said green line, I had to pause every so often along the way to hunch over and breathe through some serious contractions. It was such a great feeling to know that IT WAS ALL HAPPENING!!!!

Finally we arrived on the right floor and we were met in the hallway by Anne and a red head who would be my nurse. Nurse Red followed me into the bathroom as I went in to change into the hospital gown and she pelted me with some unexpected questions: "Is there anything you don't want your husband to know? Any patterns of abuse or any problems at home?" I guess this is what happens when your sister and her friends aren't your labor and delivery nurses.

Nurse Red got right to work with me. I issued her Strike 1 when she used the term "blood bath" while administering my IV. I issued her Strike 2 with her incessant questioning during each of my contractions. I thought she might take a clue when I went silent but she did not.

Because I was GBS+, they were acting fast to get my antibiotics flowing, as they wanted me to have two doses in before I delivered. And as we all know, we needed to get cracking since 2nd babies come so fast.

(False.)

It wasn't long before I was epidural'd up and able to just sit back and relax. That is such a magical time...there is a whole bustling world outside the hospital window, and they're oblivious to this huge life event that is about to take place in this room. Even though I'm not the first or the last to give birth, it feels like I have this special secret going on. Mike and I napped, watched Netflix, listened to Brendan James (of course I was on a serious B James high from the night before!!!)

At 5pm, there was a shift change.  Out with Nurse Red, in with Carrie and...Aaron. A Murse. When he first walked in I thought, oh hell no! I can't have a murse! Then I remembered that a man ultimately ended up delivering Max and what's the diff? So I was over it in about 1 second and soon, my new nurse gang and I were having a great time!!! These two were awesome. Funny when they needed to be, professional when they needed to be...I was so happy to have these two around.

Just me, my nurse friends, and a giant yellow ball called
"peanut" that was supposedly helping get the baby out.

By 6:30pm, my final dose of antibiotics were in, so by 8pm, it was time to start the pushing. We had the Kentucky/Notre Dame game playing on TV, and I thought, oh cool! Miles will be born during the game!  You know, because 2nd babies come so quickly.

(False.)

They turned on the warmers in the baby bed so that it was ready for Miles when he arrived. He'd be here in no time, since we all know, 2nd babies just slide right out!

(False.)

It was like Maxwell's birth all over again. Me, pushing in every position ever imagined. Me, wanting to see excitement in the faces of the nurses, but instead seeing them try to stay positive and try to keep me motivated. I kept thinking, why am I so bad at pushing?! Isn't this how it's supposed to happen?!  I was exhausted, frustrated, starving, and thirsty. I was begging for water, ice, anything!! I felt like I had been crab crawling through a desert for a week. Anne allowed me to have small "champagne" sips of water, but was pretty hardcore about limiting my fluids. (I later learned it was because they were nervous I was on my way to the OR.)

After two hours with little progress, they decided to give me some time to rest. It was discouraging to see them turn off the warmers in the baby bed, since it wouldn't be holding a baby any time soon. I hated this. I was frustrated and I just wanted it to be over. I didn't want to wait. I wanted to keep trying. They gave me an injection to relax my uterus (or something?) and told me to rest. I laid there and tried so hard to not be upset with my body. Sweet Carrie came over to me and I told her I was nervous I was headed for a c-section. She said, "Okay listen...I don't mean to get all 'granola' on you, but you need to imagine your baby coming out. You need to visualize it and send good thoughts to him." I absolutely loved her and was so glad she had put it that way. I started to only focus on Miles being born in that room, not in an OR.

Around 10:30pm, I sent Mike to the nurses station to see if I could start pushing again. I was anxious and determined to have Miles before midnight. They came back in and agreed that it was time. I was in a fog of nighttime hospital room lights and just needed this all to be over. I pushed and pushed and pushed again with all my might. I pushed so hard I felt like I would pass out. Anne promised me a glass of cold, icy fruit punch once the baby was out. Again, I looked for signs of progress on the faces of the nurses. Soon, it felt like I was finally getting somewhere, and Anne began to realize that this was a rather large baby. There was talk of his shoulders getting stuck and what they would do if that happened. It sounded scary and I felt like I might freak out if I thought too much about it, so I had to just ignore the instructions. A NICU nurse came in, just in case. A few other people came in, just in case. Really all of this was a blur. I couldn't focus on the "what-ifs"...I just had to get him out.

With each contraction, I felt more and more pressure, and felt like it was finally happening. Anne asked if I wanted to reach down and feel his head. I was like, absolutely not!!! I felt like if I moved, I would lose the progress I had made. In between contractions, I was miserable, I knew I would only get relief once he was out, but that I would have to wait for another contraction. I just had to surrender to the pain.

Then, at 11;47pm, our sweet Miles was placed on my chest. Any concerns that Anne had were gone, so he was able to lay on my chest while they cleaned him off.  I didn't get to do this with Max, and it was just as incredible as I imagined. He let out his teeny, adorable little cries, and I just stared at him. It's a funny thing to see the face of the little baby that you've just spent the last 40+ weeks with. I was so amazed that he was finally, finally, finally here. Anne and the nurses were guessing at how big he was, and were just sure that he was at least 10 pounds. I don't know much about appropriate baby sizes but I was positive that I wasn't capable of growing and birthing a 10 pound baby.

(False.)

Miles Edward
March 28, 2015
11:47pm
10 lbs, 4 oz | 21 inches

Needless to say, we all love this little fella. It's like he's always been here. Max calls him "brother", loves to give him kisses and appropriately says "eww" every time I change a diaper.

Life is good in this hood.

Dear Baby M

Dear Baby M,

Right now I'm on self-imposed bed rest. I have a cold so I have Kleenex stuffed up my nose, a tub of Vaseline next to me, and each cough worries me that I'm going to set off labor.

You're two days overdue, and we are now in the danger zone. If you decide to arrive now, I will miss my birthday party. Who plans a birthday party for the week of their due date anyway??

Your dad is being a busy bee in the basement. We have a musician coming to play in our backyard tomorrow night and he has a few humble green room requests so your dad is making sure the guest room is all set for him. I love when your dad really takes on a project, because he does things with such care and precision.

I have been a maniac this week. I have been praying and begging for labor, have cried each day that I dropped Maxwell off at Nana's, cried in the shower at the discomfort of my body, cried in the middle of the night as my stomach gets Charlie-horse cramps....then, your due date came and went, and I went from feeling hopeless to feeling invigorated. I'm sure your dad was happy to see that crazy train park. I had a great appointment with my midwife and we made an induction plan for this weekend. The sun kept shining on our backyard and I started to realize that still being pregnant was now a blessing and not a punishment.

I tell ya...the final moments of pregnancy are not pretty for me. I'm a disaster. Bless my village (your dad, Britt, and Jocey) who just know what needs to be done and know how to somewhat manage me and my brain. 

So now, I lay on this couch, propped up by a million pillows, and I wait. I think good thoughts and hope that each cramp is just because of how I'm laying and not a sign of labor.

I remember that a beautiful baby boy is on his way and I am so lucky to have this life and these "problems". Tomorrow all of my best friends will be in my backyard  enjoying a musician who's music has framed my 20's. Life is so good. No matter what.

So little guy, the story of your birth is already interesting! Thanks for keeping us on our toes. If this is an indication of your personality, well shoot-I can't wait! I love you so much already. Now just stay cozy until tomorrow night, then there are a few people who want to meet you 😘

Love,

Mom

Public Service Announcement: This is what 39 weeks pregnant looks like

On Saturday as I ran errands, every salesperson or store employee I encountered had something to say about my body. Most were pleasant and offered congratulations or their blessings, which was wonderful.

However.

Two notable comments make me feel like I owe it to the community of future pregnant women to share this PSA:

This is what 39 weeks pregnant looks like.

No, I'm not having twins. This is what 39 weeks pregnant looks like.

No, I'm not carrying a watermelon. This is what it looks like when you are carrying a fully developed human baby inside of your body.

I understand that all women carry differently and some don't even look that pregnant throughout the 40 weeks. But for those of us who look pregnant, take note. There is nothing abnormal going on, nothing to find an explanation for: this is what 39 weeks pregnant looks like.

Please share the word and for the love of God, stop making dumb comments. Do you really want to be the person who makes an emotionally fragile, extremely pregnant woman cry? Probably not. If you MUST comment, it's acceptable to say you look amazing and tell her congratulations. No need to try out new jokes or lines. 

Got it?!?! Great. 

Pay-it-forward backfire and birth experience expectations (subtitle: I'm annoying)

We pay Max's babysitter in cold hard cash, and so whenever I need to break a $20 to give her correct change, I hit up Starbucks.  Today, I needed change, so I headed to my trusty drive-thru. When I got up to the window, the barista told me that the car in front of me had paid for mine. "Awwww," I told her, "that's never happened to me before!" Then I realized I still needed to break my $20.  Ashley-panic set in: Do I just ask her to break it? Do I pay for the car behind me? What if they ordered a crap ton of junk? I needed to break my $20 with something for less than $5, otherwise my whole system was ruined and I'd have to get more cash out (which by the way, I lost my debit card, so I'd have to actually waddle in to a bank and have a conversation with a human). I didn't have much time to debate this. I went ahead and forced myself to "pay-it-forward" and felt a wave of relief as she told me that their total was $5.29. I fished $.29 out of my wallet and then felt like crying as I drove away, for the following reasons:

1. I shouldn't have to force myself to pay it forward, I should just want to pay it forward
2. I am dramatic and this annoys me
3. I am losing my ability to cope with daily activities and this annoys me

I know I only have two weeks left of walking around like a python that just ate. I know there are much bigger problems in the world than my physical discomfort and my lack of coping skills. But I am consumed by thoughts of inadequacy and annoyance, and I just want to get to the part where I am holding a sweet newborn and they're presenting me with my certificate of honor for most dignified birth experience of 2015.

To add to my crockpot of emotions, I also am back-peddling on this baby's name - I don't know if I will ever be able to say his name showing possession and not question myself (did I say that right??) "That's Miles's".  Errrrmmm?!?!  Just as I was driving today, before the pay-it-forward incident, I pretended to officially decide that his name is actually Mayer.  But who am I kidding, I am not in any kind of position to be making lifetime decisions at this point. Does anyone have any insight? I really am all ears.

In addition, my midwife called to tell me I am GBS+, which I know, I knowwwwww, is not a huge deal, but will require 4 hours of antibiotics before he's born to be fully effective, otherwise he'll have to be monitored for 48 hours after. According to my birth fantasy, I will not be at the hospital for 4 hours before he's born, so that does not work for me!!  (I actually plan to be in the parking lot of the Pepsi Center, having just left a life-changing Garth Brooks concert. Perhaps I can start carrying a few vials of penicillin around in my purse just in case?) I think this gives me the most sadness because when Max was born, he wasn't instantly placed on my chest in a bloody mess.  They had to take him away and check him out, so it was really like 30 minutes before we actually got a good look at him. I want this next experience to be dreamy and magical and make up for all that. I worry that this GBS+ situation will add a new complication and my dream of my sports bra being ruined from snuggling a messy baby won't get to come true.

I have read of women who mourn their birth experience, and I'm totally setting myself up for that to happen again.  But come on, I am with my brain all day. How do I not let it wander into the what-ifs and the fantasylands??

The last month of pregnancy, women should be allowed to sit at home in seclusion to watch Netflix and wash baby clothes. Who's with me!?

Lately, Mike and I call him "Kip" from Napoleon Dynamite..."Yes, I love technology...not as much as you, you see...but still I love technology..."

Let them eat popcorn

Over the weekend, I saw a photo posted on Instagram of a cute little boy (maybe 15 months?) eating popcorn with his grandpa.  The second I saw it, I knew there would be comments about the dangers of popcorn.

One woman commented how her friend's 3 year old had choked on popcorn and died. Another woman said that even as an ICU nurse, she had a hard time helping her child when he choked on popcorn.

Ironically, just that morning, Max had found his way into the pantry and pulled out the bag of popcorn kernels, and then pointed at the popcorn maker on the shelf. I was just too proud of him knowing that much about the popcorn making process to reject his request.  While we snacked away on it, I thought about the days of not letting him have popcorn because I was too scared he would choke on it.  Now that he was almost 2, had the risk of him choking gone away?  Probably not. But I guess I just understand the bigger picture. Terrible, terrible things happen...but if we restrict ourselves based on every tragic story we ever hear, we'll be left to lay in our beds and stare out the window for the rest of our lives.

I've been haunted by the story of a local boy who was in a stroller, crossing the street with his mom (in the crosswalk, with a walk signal) and was hit by a car.  We can do everything right, and it can all go so wrong. In this digital age, we have access to every story in every community across the globe, and we are SO AWARE of what goes wrong, and we feel so compelled to warn others of the dangers we've experienced, even though these warnings can end up robbing us of simple moments that are creating lasting memories.

When a sweet little boy wants to eat popcorn with his grandpa, let's just go with it. When Max wants to squeal with excitement as the air popper fills the bowl, I'm going to savor that moment! Could they choke? Sure. But cancer cells could also be forming.  A plane could lose control and crash into our house.  I'm speaking to myself mostly when I say, let's be carefree but not careless. Don't let the freak accidents rob us of our simple, special moments.