"The Bearer of Goodness"

Two days in a row. Can you believe it? Here is a little poem that I threw together.

"Reeve, the bearer of goodness"
he is every ounce of sunlight that sneaks in through the blinds of my dreary house on a rainy day in December.
he is the last burst of energy i get in the morning after a sleepless night.
he is the scent of new memories.
he is the sound of familiar laughter.
he is a little prince, noble and kind.
he is a piece of magic.
he is a Southern gentleman.
he is the fill of the void in my heart.
he is every mile between what was and what is.
he is the Bearer of Goodness.
he is the song that never seems old.
he is the summer that never ends.
he is the ocean waves in the middle of the desert.
he is a new chapter.
he is all my favorite movies in one.
he is all that matters.
he is my now.
he is my then.
he is my will be.
he is my forever.
he is what was missing.
he is the best of us.
he is us.
he is us.
he holds all i am in two tiny hands that he can't completely control yet,
and i know i am finally safe
and at home.

too many of my blogs are about poop

What a crazy day, and it's only 3:00. There are so many things I need to do. I need to work out. I've done so well for the past two days. I've made it over to the community gym with Reeve, which is an accomplishment in itself. I've walked/ran for an average of about 15 minutes, which is really great for me, considering I HATE running and I have terrible form. I've lifted weights and done a few ab exercises, until Reeve exclaimed "I'M DONE WITH THIS GARBAGE," and we head home. I'm not fat, and I'm not dissatisfied with my body. I'd say I don't look half bad after giving birth to a nearly nine-pound boy and not being able to do much rigorous activity throughout the duration of my entire pregnancy. However, there are a couple of target areas that are, well, different than they were pre-pregnancy. I know I will never look quite the way I did before, and that's ok, but my health is important to me, thus I've been more adamant about going to the gym or doing some sort of activity during the day. 
Speaking of health, I'm downing my third cup of coffee for the day. This one is decaf, but hopefully it's sending some sort of caffeinated messages to my body and brain, telling me to keep on trucking. 
It's been a mell of a hess around here today, let me tell ya. First, though, Reeve and I went to story time at the library. Wednesdays have become my favorite days of the week because of these thirty minutes at the public library. Yes, it is wild and crazy to get Reeve up and ready and changed fifty times and fed and myself fed and clothed and teeth brushed and at least most of the snot and puke out of my hair and Paris appeased. Some days I just gawk at myself in amazement of the little things I can accomplish. But once we are at the library, all the craziness seems to drift off my shoulders. My little boy, the youngest one there, completely lights up when he hears the songs and sees all the kids interacting. He's so attentive. His smile melts my heart. Maybe these moments are near and dear to me because I remember some of the most fun days spent presenting storytime at the Craighead County Jonesboro Public Library. I loved hanging out with the storytime kids and reading books to them. So, when I see my own son loving storytime, I'm pretty overwhelmed with emotion and blessings. Very small tidbit, but so huge in my heart.
After storytime, I planned to hit up Michael's (which I did), and head to the MCX for a plunger (to plunge the currently backed-up sewer we have in our house), an extension cord, and some gift boxes. I also needed to go to the commissary so that Derick, Paris, I, and essentially, Reeve, don't starve. However, after Michael's, as I debated on whether or not to swing in to Chick-fil-A to treat myself, I heard a grunt from the backseat. You may know what came next. If not, the answer is poop. So, home again, home again we went to change the dipe and scarf down some very leftover Panda Express rice. I fed Reeve and -knock, knock, knock- here comes the maintenance man to fix my dishwasher. Nice guy, other than the fact that he told me to ONLY use 1/3 cup of detergent...(I use less than that anyway, but thanks). Paris was tee-totally against the maintenance man's presence and threw a fit the whole time. Disregard the fact that the man's unannounced visit interrupted Reeve's lunch. Oh well. I should've asked the guy to check out our sewer, but I was embarrassed of what he might find. 
SO, the gym was a no-go, as was the comm, post office, and MCX. Our toilet in the back is still overtaken, and who knows if the dishwasher works. My reflux-inflicted son has puked on more clothes than I like to think about this week. But 'tis the season!
I'm blessed with a good life. I have a husband that loves me and helps me out when I need it and doesn't judge my usually-wild appearance. I have a dog that guards me from potentially threatening--and very non-threatening--situations. I have an adorable baby who smiles and laughs at me like I'm the funniest person on earth. Though I didn't make it to the commissary, we still have some food. Though I didn't make it to the gym, I can still fit in my clothes. Though I didn't get to the MCX for a plunger, we have another bathroom. 
I feel very grateful and humble to live the life I live. I'm glad I was raised to not obsess over material things or money or possessions. This time of year is far too wonderful to waste it worrying about gifts and credit cards and worldly crap that will eventually wear out. It's pretty easy to get wrapped up in all that, and I am guilty of wanting this and that. My parents always reminded me the true reason for Christmas, not only at Christmastime, but throughout the year, throughout my life. I hope I can teach Reeve the significance of Christmas. My prayer is that he learns about that Sacrifice at a young age and he grasps onto that promise with all his might. I'm a failure at that. I easily and frequently lose sight of what's important, but I hope my boy isn't as wavering as his mama. I do hope he inherits my incredible good looks and charm, though;);)

Happy Wednesday!

a little update

Reeve is asleep in our bed, and I'm working on my second cup of coffee. Yeah, yeah. Look back to my previous posts where I bashed caffeine. Kiss it. I had my first full-fledged, medium-sized, post-natal coffee a couple of weeks ago, and I haven't looked back since. Derick replaced my ancient, minature coffee maker with a fancy Keurig for Christmas, so I just feel entitled, I guess. There are a lot of things I damned before Reeve Magnus was here, but now I embrace them with joy and gladness. Never say never.
One thing I have stuck with is the co-sleeping thing. Hence, Reeve's in our bed and I'm up drinking coffee and pinning. I'm not against co-sleeping, and I really understand the helpfullness and bonding aspect. It's just not for us because 1) Derick is wild in his sleep. I can't guarantee that he won't punch me or Reeve or Paris while he's sleeping. 2)Though I'm historically a light sleeper, these interrupted nights have changed my sleeping patterns into pretty heavy bouts. Thus, Reeve sleeps in a swing, we get the bed. I've negotiated by allowing him to sleep in our bed once I'm up or fully awake. This doesn't happen often, but this week has been hard on the little guy, so I thought he might like to get some extra rest. He sleeps so wonderfully in our bed. It's quite comfy.
Things have been going really well here, and I'm super busy, so I have no time for blogging. If you see that I've been pinning stuff or "liking" posts, most likely, Reeve has fallen asleep while eating, and I don't have the heart to detach him. He can hang out there, latched on, for a really long time, and in order for me to not fall asleep--or die of boredom-- I've taken up Derick's strategy of pinning/fb while holding him. 
You can probably tell that the breastfeeding thing is going well. We've been able to create a nice bond, and I feel like we communicate better everyday. Sometimes, I can tell by certain facial expressions that he wants to eat. It's much more pleasant to begin to feed him well before the crying starts. In the early days, it was a mess. He had a hard time waking up because of the jaundice; I had a hard time letting him sleep because of the jaundice, his need for food, and our need to establish some early connections. He'd cry and get frustrated when he couldn't latch quickly, and I didn't really know what I was doing so I just did what I could. He'd finally latch and I'd feel so much pain! If he came off, it was always a struggle that involved even more pain and frustration. Now, though, we have the hang of it, and I think we both really enjoy it. The only problems I've had are constantly leaky boobies and outings that involve several feedings. Those aren't problems, though. Rather, they are adjustments, and if it takes me 3 hours in town when it used take 30 minutes, that's fine. :)
It's heartbreaking and joyful to watch my baby grow up. He learns so much everyday, and already has a funny personality. I think he's going to act a lot like his mama, and that scares his daddy. He looks so much like Derick,  it's kind of weird. As he develops, I see more and more of Derick's features. Some days I look at him and stand in awe of God because of His wisdom and grace. So cool that he nominated us to be the parents of this perfect little baby.
Don't let my bragging and happiness make you think I have it all together, because I don't, and I'm sure I never will. I still get frustrated at times. My house is always messy, and that bothers me. I can clean and clean and clean, and the next day, it seems like everything is crazy again. I am forgetful, sensitive, overly-critical, worrisome, and I don't always have things prioritized as they should be. But God is gracious, and He blesses me with wonderful days and moments that make me forget all about the craziness of life. 
Like all parents, I want to be perfect. I want Reeve to be constantly learning and gaining wisdom. I want to always speak to him with the right words and tone. I want to give him what he needs, but not turn him greedy by bombarding him with junk and everything he wants. I want him to feel love and tenderness and constant attention. I want him to be compassionate and hardworking, generous and patient, respectful and honest. But I look deep inside myself and wonder sometimes how I can raise him to be all those noble things when I fail miserably. Thank God Reeve has a daddy who isn't as reckless as I am. I think as parents, we put a lot of pressure on ourselves to be this and do that for our kids. We'll never ever get everything right. We're human and destined to screw up. But I think children have a little magic in their spirit and they can naturally sense when we try. If we are trying to be good parents, our intentions usually outshine our mess-ups. In my case, there were a couple times when I was uber selfish and just wanted a moment to myself. I just needed to cry and not be needed all the time. This made me feel so much guilt early on. Like I was neglecting my baby. I feared we wouldn't develop a bond and he would sense my frustration and selfishness. Even as a baby, Reeve was patient while I learned how to get with the program. Babies are pretty incredible. I'm quite positive they are all born with an immense amount of God in them...maybe as we all grow older and absorb more and more of the world, our goodness slowly vanishes and turns into more of a need of God, rather than a likeness?
I have the best baby in the world, and if you are a parent, so do you. My baby is more incredible than I ever could have imagined. He's filled with poop and spit up and snot, but all those things fill my days with happiness and love. 

I hope I'm doing the same for his days:)

I'm hungeeeeeee

I've decided to try to sneak in a post while Reeve naps. Can you believe this is his first nap since the last time I posted?? Not really, but it feels like it. Having a baby is seriously a full-time job. Full-time as in 24/7. Those previous full-time jobs I had were a joke compared to this. This job is the most incredible job, for sure, though, and it's also the most difficult. Everything everyone tells you about becoming a new mom is true. Ok, probably not everything, but a lot of things.
I will interject here and admit that I had a pretty rough start to new mommyhood. Not looking for sympathy, but it was definitely a difficult transition, and that, combined with CRAZY hormones and immense lack of sleep and a torn-apart body, made for some pretty nutty moments in the Roberts household. That's all I will say about that...
because...
Every dark moment has been illuminated by about five hundred beautiful moments. Reeve is in the smiley stage right now, and he smiles at nearly anything. When I see his smile, everything else is just meaningless. Sometimes he smiles so much, it turns into laughs. I love his laugh. I love that he thinks the windows and lamps are hilarious. I love that when he poops he lets out a holler. I love that he forcefully headbutts me when he's hungry. I love that when he's hungry, his cry sounds like he's yelling, "HUNGEEEEEE!!" I love when I pick him up out of his swing at 3 a.m., he immediately stops whimpering and complaining to smile at me. I love everything about Reeve. Even the poop and puke and snot. And boy, have we had a lot of that lately!
I finally vacuumed my floors for the first time since Mom left. It made me feel like a brand new woman. Now I just need to put away the twenty pounds of laundry, and I'll be good to go. I've requested a maid--preferably bilingual so that Reeve can learn a new language--for Christmas. Actually, here's my real request: a couch! We have a microsuadish couch. Nice for sitting. Not so nice for repelling poop, puke, snot, and everything else that comes out of baby. 
Some of you may be wondering about the cloth diapering. It's going really, really well. We just overcame an ammonia outbreak, so we had to use some disposables for a while. He's no longer using his prefolds and covers. He's in big boy diapers now, and they are so simple. I've invested in some quality detergent to put my mind (and potential rashes) at ease, and everything's gone smoothly. We've saved a ton of money already, I've noticed, because those disposables add up! They do come in handy when rashes break out, though, so I was a little naive thinking he'd never, ever wear one. I've had a ton of "never say never" moments, and those require a post just for themselves.
Reeve is still sleeping in the swing, though we've moved it from the actual swing base to the floor. (Thank you, Angela, I'd still be running on fumes if it weren't for that swing!) He has some reflux, but his medication seems to be helping that a little, and he has yucky congestion just like his daddy. He does not like sleeping on his back, and when he does he grunts and gags and sounds like he's choking, so it keeps me awake. However, today, he took two naps on the couch on his back/side. He will do that from time to time, but at night, it's the swing or bust. 
Nursing has become a LOT easier, knock on wood. Just ask a few of my breastfeeding friends: I was kinda a crazy person. It was terribly painful, so I almost feared the feedings. I didn't like that at all. I didn't want to be afraid to feed my son, but with sleep deprivation and not taking a shower for a few days, the physical pain was probably intensified by the emotional/psychological pain. I was also convinced that Reeve was sensing my negativity. He could somehow feel that I was uncomfortable, and it made him uncomfortable. I was told over and over that he didn't sense that. Instead, he just knew that his mom was giving him what he needed and he was happy, but it was still hard for me to get that out of my mind. Breastfeeding improves daily, though, and I'm giving glory to the Lord for that. I'm really adamant on breastfeeding Reeve, and it was challenging when it was so painful. I enjoy it more now, and I feel like he does, too. 
Paris continues to do well with Reeve. She lets him kick her when he's sleeping or just playing. Sometimes when he's crying, she gets in his face and it makes him happy. She's been really great about sharing the attention. She was our only girl for six years, so I know it was hard, and she is still stubborn, but she doesn't bite or pee on Reeve, so I'd say she's ok with him. She actually ate his poop out of a diaper on the floor yesterday, so she certainly loves him.
I know that I've had to adapt as well, of course. I sleep with the bathroom light on so that I can get a clear view of Reeve and don't trip over stuff when I get up to feed him at night. I brush my teeth, use the bathroom, eat when I can--not when I want. My nightly routine that was almost OCDesque is pretty much out the window. Decorating and crafting and rearranging and buying house stuff is last on my list. I can say no to any cute/affordable article of clothing for myself, but when it comes to cute 0-3 month boy stuff, I'm uncontainable. 
My whole life revolves around a tiny little boy that pees all over the place and poops and cries and punches me, and I have never ever been more happy. Before Reeve, I was pretty set on not losing myself once he was here. I wanted to maintain some Kem, but instead I've been completely altered. Everything about me is different, and I'm fine with that. He's my life. If I have to say no to things that I used to be all on-board with, it doesn't upset me. If it takes three hours to get ready to go and we end up going to the late service at church or eating lunch at 3 pm, I'm fine. My house is in shambles and I usually look homeless on most days, but after six months, I think I can say that I'm doing my job. If I was put together and living in a spotless house, that would definitely mean either someone else or no one was raising my baby.
Life is really great. It's hard a lot of times, but Reeve Magnus is the sunshine in all my days. I look forward to each new day, but I also just wish time would stop so that I could hold every moment in my hands for a little longer. He's growing so fast, and that's been hard to deal with at times, but I look forward to his future, and I pray that I can contribute something good to his life.
Mommy loves you, Reeve Magnus Roberts, my muscle man!

Reeve Part Three: In the Sunlight of a Tuesday

When Anna told me that I was about to begin pushing, I couldn't believe it. I  was still under the impression that I was getting a c-section. I wanted to ask her, "pushing what??" I'd seen it in movies and heard my friends talk about "pushing," but it still seemed really crazy that I was about to be doing just that.
I'd say I pushed for about three or four hours. I remember looking at the clock off and on and thinking, "I will remember that I pushed so-and-so long." Nope, can't remember. I'm sure my mom can, though. I just know it was a long time, but it was actually a really nice relief. Pushing, though intertwined with contractions, is like a cake walk compared to just contractions. Instead of intense pain, I was just super, super exhausted. I'd been awake for a really, really long time, had some crazy painful contractions, been stabbed with needles, pooped on everyone, and I hadn't eaten, so I was pretty worn out. However, pushing was something that I could control. The strength and frequency was all mine. I could do it. 
They had me switch from the "traditional" pushing position to a very strange one. The same doctor who had only spent a few minutes in my room, then declared "cesarean sections for all!!!" actually came back (upon Anna's request) and showed them a different position to put me in. Reeve had turned, but not dropped all the way, so this new position should help push him down.
So, I pushed when they told me to. And when Anna told me to try to push, not thrice, but four times during a contraction, I did. From there on out I pushed four times instead of the "traditional" three. I'm non-traditional, obviously. And I'm kinda proud of myself for mustering up the energy to push like that. 
After pushing and changing positions and pushing some more, I finally got a little break. She let me skip a contraction and rest. I'm pretty sure I completely passed out into a deep slumber during those two minutes. Best sleep I'd had in 24 hours. 
While pushing, Derick stayed on my left side and whispered in my ear the whole time. He also helped me "crunch" my head toward my chest, and he held the top of my leg while Mom held the bottom. That stupid leg was an issue. Though it was dead from the piece of junk epidural, I could still feel these CRAZY painful cramps during and after each contraction. If it weren't for those cramps, I'd say that aspect of labor was fun. Ok, maybe not fun, but not hell either. 
Though it just seemed totally natural for Derick to be right by my ear, I realize now that he'd planned that part out for himself. All along, he's had no interest in being "all up in the action." He was happily content whispering encouragement and Marine Corps moto jargon to me. Ooo-Rah! 
Though I couldn't hear or understand what he was saying in the beginning, I think Derick's encouraging words were truly what helped me push as long and as intensely as I did. He's always been my strength. The pushing was working, too. Reeve was dropping, and Anna told me after a check that he had hair.
I'd pushed for a really long time, and I was just so super worn out, when I saw even more excitement on Anna's face. She told my mom to "look." They could see Reeve's sweet little head. She asked me if I wanted her to get a mirror. I had tried to prepare myself for this question in the months prior. It's kinda weird, I think, to want to see a baby protruding out of your body. Well I thought that at one time, but when the question was actually directed at me, I said yes. I really wanted to see my son. 
 They brought in the mirror and had a hard time getting it adjusted just right so that I could see anything. I asked Derick if he could see, and he said no. He wasn't going to look. I knew better than to ask him. Such a party pooper. Finally, the mirror was right, and sure enough, if I looked really closely, I could see the top of Reeve's head. He was perfect to me even at that strange moment. 
I made them move the mirror shortly after because it was distracting. Now I had some more motivation, so onward I pushed. And pushed...and pushed...Until Anna or someone went to get the room-preppers. Maybe the room-preppers had come before this, but I really think they came at this point. There were a lot of people in the room at the time, and one was my doctor. Tiffany Middleton had gone home, and Dr. Edwards had taken her place. I'd seen doctor Edwards a couple of times during my prenatal visits. He's the guy that said Reeve was a "tank."
Anyway, he came in along with a couple of nurses, and things started happening pretty quickly. They'd found out that Reeve was "meconium," as they kept calling it. I didn't know if that meant that he'd pooped or if he'd actually swallowed the poop. Apparently, he'd just pooped, but they told me when it came to the final push, don't push. Also they said I wouldn't hear him cry right off because they were going to suction out the gunk. 
Dr. Edwards asked me if I wanted him to use the vacuum. Of course Google had freaked me out about vacuums when it came to child birth. I talked it over with Dr. Edwards, who said he delivered his own son and used the vacuum. Anna also said it was safe and used frequently, but I should expect a cone-head. haha. I finally said yes when Derick told me we should do it. I was tired, and we were ready to see our son. Plus, this educated man who could potentially be sued for giving me ill advice was pretty enthused about the vacuum, so I said let's do it.
The vacuum isn't a big Bissel Steamer. It's a little flat something or other that they put on his head. It vibrates, I push, and it pulls. Dr. Edwards told me that it was still 90% me, 10% vacuum, or some other percentage that seemed to be more dependent upon my strength. 
I started pushing again, and it didn't take long for the vacuum to be inserted. I saw, at some point, Dr. Edwards grab some really long, silver shears and I remember wondering what those were for. Was he going to cut Reeve? I really didn't know at the time, but the stitches that came later ensured me that he'd performed an episiotomy. 
On the final push that didn't really involve a push, I remember an immense amount of pressure being lifted off my body, and someone say, "it's a boy." I was like DUH. Anna said, "1631," and I strained to look at my tiny baby. So many hands and tools, and stitches, plus the weird way I was laying made it only possible for me to see his sweet legs and feet first. I was getting impatient. I wanted to see all of him. They suctioned him quickly, though, and when I heard that first cry, I couldn't help but to feel relief. So much relief. Our baby was here, and he could cry, and he was ok. He was better than ok. He was perfect. When I first saw him--and I don't remember the exact moment because my world was frozen--I saw my entire life, my everything, so, so much, right in front of me. 
Someone handed him to me, and I remember saying over and over, "Hi, my baby. Hi, Mama's baby." Reeve was finally, finally in my arms where he belonged.
Anna told me that she wanted me to keep him on my chest for a while, just skin to skin, so they worked around me trying to get the hideous gown off so that I could hold him. She covered us with a blanket, and I wanted to stay just like that for the rest of my life. 
I asked her when I could feed him, which was dumb, because he was my baby and I could do whatever I wanted, but I saw a little bit of urgency in her face, so I decided to ask. She assured me I could feed him soon, but she wanted me to hold him for a while. So I did. 
They took him away for some reason, and asked me if Derick could hold him. My mom told me I was kinda snotty in my response. "Well, of course!"
I watched my two boys, standing in the sunlight of a Tuesday. My mom took pictures as Derick made sounds and talked to our baby. They were perfect. It was all perfect.
Anna saw Reeve a little later and told me, "he looks so much better. I told the nurses in the nursery that I had you lay him on your chest, and they said that was a good idea. It's amazing what skin-to-skin can do. You healed him." 
I wasn't sure what she meant by healed him. It was more like he healed me. He made every sinful, ugly aspect of myself vanish away. He was part of me, and he was flawless. Apparently, though, Reeve wasn't breathing very well in the beginning, and just being close to me helped him calm down and regulate. Wow.
Because I'd developed a fever during delivery, they had to do extra tests on Reeve, so he and Derick were in the nursery for quite a while. He had a tiny bit of a temp, but not much, and it went down quickly. I was worried while I waited, but his Daddy was with him. Reeve was in good hands. The fever thing was scary, but once we were in the clear, I realized it was a blessing. Because of it, they couldn't put me in a shared room. So, we got a very small (but very appreciated) private room.

So, there you have it. That is pretty much Reeve's birth story, with a few slip ups, I'm sure. Giving birth was the single craziest, most painful experience I've ever been through. It was also the most incredibly rewarding experience, and I would do it all over a billion times for Reeve Roberts if I had to.
I'd written a birth plan in July, and it outlined everything *I thought* I wanted. I didn't want any induction meds. I didn't want an episiotomy. I wanted to walk around and do other "natural" things to bring on the birth before an actual induction. I wanted time to nurse immediately after the delivery. I had so many things planned out, but when it came down to it, I realized 1) I didn't really know enough about birth and medicine to question the professionals who did, and 2) sometimes, things happen that destroy our plans. Usually when that happens, though, the end result is better than anything we could have hoped for anyway. I'm grateful for everything that happened during Reeve's birth. Even though it was physically painful, the joy in my heart totally outweighs the pain.
Being Reeve's mama is the hardest, most fun thing in the world. But more on that later...he's ticked that I laid him down in the middle of a game of "giddy up horsey, go to town." 

Enjoy one of Reeve's songs. I sang it to him while he was in my belly, and he still loves it...if he's in a good mood, that is;)

Morning Has Broken by Cat Stevens

Reeve Part Two: Pain is Weakness Leaving the Body

Reeve is finally down for the count (for now), and though there are a million other things I need to be doing, I wanted to make a point to sit down and continue the birth story or I may never get around to doing it. Maybe Reeve wants to sleep for a little bit. He's been going full speed all morning. (Edit: this is actually now the third day I've sat down to work on this post. Reeve has been able to relax a little better today. He has a blocked tear duct, so that has been a little rough on him, but I've managed to help him have some relief.)

Things start to get a little blurry where I left off. All the excitement and medication made the proceeding nights and days sort of surreal. During rare times when I was able to take a moment and think about what was happening, I noticed  I was sort of on the outside looking in. I've come to believe that God gives us that ability. Maybe he knows that the physical pain could potentially prohibit us from fully enjoying the miracle of giving birth, so he gives us little moments to peer into reality without being totally aware of our current state. Either way, I was surely grateful for the ability to detach from my body somewhat, and maybe you will understand why as you read on.
My nurse, Anna, gave me a little introductory speech about what the plan of action would be. I don't remember much because so many monumental things happened in those 24 hours, but I remember her telling me that because my membranes had ruptured, they couldn't administer Cervidil for risk of infection. Instead they were going to insert a tiny, dissolving pill that would help me dilate. I can't remember what it's called, but it's basically the pill form of Cervidil, if I'm even spelling that right. Haha. After a few hours of letting the pill do it's work, they would insert another. Pretty much, they were trying to help me dilate. At this point I hadn't dilated whatsoever, and Anna said it was going to be a "relay race", so I should just settle in and get ready. I should have taken her words to heart.
After the first pill was inserted, it took an hour or so for anything to really happen. I remember going to the restroom, and suddenly feeling crazy pain all over my body. I didn't know what was going on, but it took FOREVER for me to finish doing my business and getting back into bed. Those early contractions were terrible, but nothing compared to what was coming. Oh, I was so naive.
My contractions slowly strengthened, but at this point they were still manageable. I finally realized that I was stupid for thinking during the weeks prior that, perhaps I was actually having contractions, but because of my super mega strength, they just weren't phasing me. So, for you who are planning to have children, TRUST ME and others when we say that you will know when you are having an actual contraction. So many people told me that, but I was always questioning my body and thought that every little weird pain could potentially be a contraction. Nope. You will know. 
They monitored my contractions as well as Reeve's heartbeat. This was good/bad for me because every time the sound on the machine would change, I became a little edgy and had to look at the lines to make sure they were in the safe zone. This allowed for zero sleep. I should have heeded Anna's advice to rest after the first dose of whatever-it-was. I didn't though, and to this day, I'm regretting it. I keep looking back just wanting to take those last couple hours of potential sleep and absorb them into every inch of myself. Note to future moms: Also believe others when they say you will not ever sleep again after the baby is born. They aren't kidding.
As the contractions grew stronger, my thoughts started getting weird, and it was at this point that I slowly became a little disconnected from what was going on. Not that I wasn't there, feeling it emotionally, physically. Oh, I definitely felt it all. But it all seemed like a movie. I, a baby, really, sitting across the room from my mom, who still treats me like a baby to this day, was about to become a mother myself. My husband of more than seven years sat next to me, falling in and out of sleep, but continued to hold my hand. He was about to be a dad, and he still seemed like the 20-year-old, long-haired hippie that had dance parties with me in our first apartment. How was it that time had brought us to this moment? We'd been waiting for this tiny person to come for much longer than the nine months that he'd been in my belly. We'd been praying for him for years. 
At some point Rita came back and monitored me over night. She had me rock in a rocking chair, I guess to get things a-going. This actually happened between the two pill insertions, I think. Forgive me, it's all such a blur. Reeve hadn't dropped whatsoever, despite our declarations that he had. It was definitely going to be a relay race, and I began to worry when the word "C-Section" started falling off the tongues of the people around me.
Rita was super sweet. She was an older lady with years of nursing experience. She was friendly and had the same sarcastic humor that Derick and I have. I felt comfortable around her, and I could tell that she liked us. The rumor was that she'd actually requested to be our nurse. 
My contractions became closer together and stronger as the night went on. I don't know what time anything really happened. I just know things got harder. The lightheartedness that once filled the room slowly dissipated. My parents and Derick's parents were in and out...well, I don't think my mom left the room once. If she did, I didn't notice. I held Derick's hand during each contraction. I remember holding his wrist and arm up in the air in very strange positions. I thought it was weird/funny, but it seemed to help keep my mind off the pain. I guess because I just kept thinking about how weird it was. My mom rubbed my feet and legs. They weren't really hurting too terribly, but if she stopped, it hurt, so I had her continue. She did without argument. Sometimes Derick and Mom switched duties. I remember telling Derick to back away, saying "your BREATH!" I was getting more irritable, but I tried with all my might to be strong. I'd tried for the past nine months to be strong, to not complain, to remember what it's all for. I'd done well, I thought, but it was getting more and more difficult to be comfortable. When I was hot, Derick fanned me with his hand, and I made him stop because it made me nervous. Those two incidents will forever be in my mind. I was rude to the man who was putting up with a lot of my crap. Literally. More on that later.
Anna and Brittany came back and Anna told me what was going on. Reeve still hadn't dropped, and though I'd dilated, it was only to maybe a two or so. Nothing was really happening, so they were going to administer Pitocin. I'd only learned what that was a couple weeks prior, and I still really wasn't sure what it really did. I'm still not quite sure, but I do know that it made my contractions so frequent and so strong that I couldn't say anything except things like "I can't do this" and "it hurrrrrrts." I'm a pretty tough cookie. Derick might disagree, but for a girl, I can take some pain if I have to. If I can focus and if I have no choice, I can deal with physical infliction, but those contractions were HORRIBLE. Looking back, I can't even remember how they felt. I just remember thinking at the time that I was going to die. I wondered if I could pass out from pain. I remember talking to Derick and to Mom individually. Somehow it helped to have each of them encourage me separately. 
Things are really, really blurry at this point. I don't know the timeline of events, and I don't know who did or said what. I just remember having a couple emotional breakdowns with Anna as she told me that the docs were talking about a c-section. At this point, I balled my eyes out and told her that I really didn't want a c-section if it was possible. It was looking like that was what things had come down to, but Anna was very sweet and encouraging. I was liking her more and more.  She told me that no matter what happened, I was going to be a mommy soon. I was going to have a baby and it was going to be a day of celebration. No matter how he got here, he was going to be my angel. That helped. Deep down, though, I just didn't want the surgery. I was super scared of this. I had Derick text one of my friends who'd had the surgery to ask her if she was scared. So silly. I couldn't stop crying about it, and each of my family members came to stand next to me and reassure me. The one moment that stands out in my mind is when my dad, super tough, came to hug me and tell me it was ok. It was a tender moment, unlike any that I'd ever had with my Daddy. I can't really remember what he said, but he was so comforting. I didn't want to tell everyone what I was envisioning, but I felt like if I did let someone know, maybe the thought would just be "out there," and I wouldn't feel so scared. So, I told them that I just couldn't picture having the surgery and surviving. So dumb, I know. C-sections are performed every day, on so many people, that they really aren't that big of a deal at all. But I just felt in my heart that I would not wake up from it to see my son.
I'm not sure if this happened before or after anything I've mentioned. Like I said, it all runs together, so I'm basically just reverberating what happened, in no particular order. When the contractions were in high gear, they started talking about breaking my water and epidurals. I had two options, and a really nice doctor, Tiffany Middleton, who looked a lot like Michelle Obama, came to discuss the options with me. At this moment, I don't remember the two options and Derick isn't here for me to ask, but I do know that they had to do with breaking my water, waiting an hour, and getting an epidural. One was more "natural" than the other, and of course the "unnatural" option could possibly be a less painful alternative. They didn't describe them as "natural" or "unnatural," but I just knew. I took the unnatural route. The only reason I know this is because I made Tiffany Middleton explain both options to me about five times, Derick had to explain them to me twice, and Anna piped in a little, too, and once I made my decision, Tiffany Middleton told me that she doesn't like to tell patients to do one thing or the other. She wants them to make the decision they feel most comfortable with. When she said this, something just told me that I'd chosen the more unnatural route, and at that point, I wasn't concerned about nature. I was concerned with the EXTREME FREAKING PAIN all over my body. 
Cervical checks were the worst. They tried to do them in between contractions, but mine were so close together that, sure enough, they'd be checking and BOOM, I'd get attacked. I became more and more comfortable with the people around me. I didn't care if they saw me cry or if they saw my butt or if I said really stupid things while they were around. Pain can make you insensitive. 
Oh and when your water breaks, it's really creepy. I'm not sure how it is when it happens on its own, but when Tiff broke mine, it sounded like someone popped a GIANT water balloon. Even Derick was impressed.
Finally, finally, after I waited the hour, I was getting an epidural. This was the only time Derick and my mom left the room that I know of. I didn't know what to expect at all, but my friends had really talked the epidural up, so I was excited. The anesthesiologist (I spelled that correctly on my first try, so boom shocka locka locka) came in and was kinda a turd. He kept saying he was going to make me feel much better, and looking back, that seems weird, but I was glad to hear it at the time Luckily, Rita was there. She helped me to sit in a strange position and hug a pillow. She put her forehead to mine, and I remember her saying, "I would have made the exact same decision. You made the right choice." I asked her, "Really?" and she said yes. She talked me through the strangeness of the epidural injection. It didn't feel bad compared to the contractions I was having. On a scale of frowny face to teethy smile, it was a strong grin. Not bad. I asked the turd when it would kick in, and he told me shortly.  I laid back and waited, and I think it was at this point that Rita got a really serious look on her face and pushed the emergency button on my bed. She moved really quickly and started doing a lot of things at once. She made me put on the oxygen mask and told me to start breathing deeply. I asked her twice what was going on, and she said very calmly that the baby's heart rate was dropping. When she said that, I started sucking that oxygen down like it was a freaking ice cold root beer. I was getting scared, but in the same breath that she called the nurses off, she told me it wasn't unusual when you get an epidural and his heart rate was already heading back up. I continued to suck the oxygen like each breath was my last. I was doing it without thinking, until Rita finally told me to chill out on the oxygen. 
A few minutes later, they let everyone come back in. I was feeling much better. Much MUCH better. I remember telling Derick the oxygen story but thinking he wasn't taking me seriously. Epidurals are awesome. I wasn't feeling a thing. At all. For about fifteen minutes. Then, I slowly began to feel some pressure/pain on my left side. It was weird, and I told Anna about it. She told me to just roll over. Epidurals work with gravity, so maybe I just needed to let gravity do its work. The pain moved from side to side for a while, and it kept getting stronger until it was finally a crazy burning all over my entire abdomen. It was horrible. I can't remember what was worse, the actual contractions or this burning pain that they thought was a "hot spot." When I couldn't take anymore, I cried to Anna and told her I just couldn't do it. She was so nice to have the anesthesiologist come back to give me more meds. This time, it worked for about five minutes and the pain and burning were back in full force. I was constantly in tears and I couldn't talk. Apparently, epidurals do not work on my body. Not where they need to work anyway. My legs were dead to the world, but I felt all the contractions and they were even more painful after the guy gave me medicine for the third time. By that time, Anna told me it just wasn't going to work and my only option was just to deal with it. So I dealt. I have no idea how I did, either.
Reeve was still super high and posterior, but miraculously, I was dilating. I remember them saying I was at a seven or so, and Anna just couldn't believe it. She actually grabbed a doctor that I only remember seeing just that once to, I guess, brag about my advancement. This doctor was discouraging as she only stayed in the room for maybe five minutes and still talked about how it wasn't looking like I was going to be able to have natural birth. Anna was still excited. She told me that because he was posterior, however, it was going to make everything even more difficult than it already was. So, she had me move from my back to my hands and knees (this mere movement was almost impossible. I was feeling every tinge of pain in every part of my body besides my legs. My legs were wonderfully numb, not that it mattered.) 
On my hands and knees, she had me wiggle my hips back and forth during every contraction. I soon found that once I started moving, there was no stopping. So I buried my head in my hands on the bed, wiggled my hips constantly (this happened for about an hour), and didn't say a word. Anna kept telling me that I needed to let them know when I was feeling the urgency to poop. She said that was an early sign that it was nearing time to push. I felt the urgency a few times, and she told me not to fight it. So this is where the story gets a little crappy, if you know what I mean. I've told people that I have no shame whatsoever these days, and that has a lot to do with the moments I'm about to describe. 
Anna said that I needed to relax my bottom. She said this would get things rolling, and he would be able to make his way down. But because I was tensing up, Reeve was having a very difficult--nearly impossible--time getting in the right position. I kept telling her, "but I will poop, but I will poop." And finally she got down at eye level with me and said, "I don't care. Go ahead and poop." I guess it took someone telling me I was good to go before I would actually "let loose." When I finally did, sure enough, I couldn't stop. So for the hour I was wiggling my hips, I was also pooping. Poor Derick and Brittany, who were both next to me. But let me just tell you that if your biggest fear is pooping during childbirth, you just better get over it. That was not my biggest fear, but the actual event caught me totes off guard.
"Are you ready to start pushing?"
Errrrrkk...breaks. What???
The time had come. I was going to push? So, what, no c-section?? At this point, I was feeling that having the surgery was the next step, and I was so tired and in so much agonizing pain that I was sort of looking forward to some relief and potentially some pain killers that actually worked.When my hour of wiggling/pooping was over, I was turned back around for another check. Anna said, "you did it!" I wasn't sure what I'd done besides make a mess of the place, but she was excited, so I assumed it was a good thing. "He turned. He's in the right position! You did it!" It was at that moment, after all the pooping and pain and contractions and crying and speechlessness...after the nine months of waiting, the puking, the spitting, the hating my favorite foods because they made me vomit...after having my heart completely broken this time last year and feeling nothing but hopelessness...after years of waiting and feeling like if I'd made one good decision in my life and marriage, it was to wait until the moment was right to have a baby...after spending the majority of 2012 looking at my belly and knowing that not another damn thing would ever matter in this world again...I finally felt like a real mother. 
In a few hours, that would become reality....

Reeve Part One: Waiting on the World to Change.

Hello blog! Golly gee, it sure has been a while since my last post, which was about pineapples. That tells me it's been nearly a MONTH since I posted! So much has happened and changed in our lives, and it's kinda spectacular that I've found the time to blog right now. At any moment, the most precious angel will awake and be ready to EAT, so it may take a while for me to actually share this post. Let me preface with an apology for any errors. I'm running on fumes and chocolate these days, so I might not come across as the grammatical guru that I truly am deep within. It's seriously a victory if I put clothes on during the day. For real. 
Well, I really want to share Reeve's birth story. I've thought a lot about this, and I've come across two main dilemmas: 1) how much to share? My story isn't glitz and glamour by any means. I was NOT Beyonce, relaxing in the most elegant and peaceful manor while Reeve gently slid out of my body. Umm no. So what all should I include in my story? I don't want to get on Derick's bad side by mentioning my girl parts too much. (He does a good job changing diapers...I need to keep him happy!) 2) How am I going to find the time to sit down and write a story that long? Our boy eats frequently. I mean, FrEqUeNtLy! ---and the boy awakes!---(An hour later---) See what I mean? I guess I'm just going to type until I am called to duty elsewhere. Actually, my friend, Heather, has a really cool blog that has been a point of both reference and solace during my pregnancy/mommy journey. She had the best idea by breaking her birth story into parts. Duh, why didn't I think of this?? Anyway, I'm stealing her idea. View her hilarious and heartwarming blog here: cakeandgreenbeans.wordpress.com
Anyway, without further ado, here it is. Part one of: The Birth Story of Reeve Magnus Roberts aka Brother aka Muscle Man.

On the evening of Thursday, September 20, I was at my parents' camper at Onslow Beach here on base when I thought my water broke. (Later, I truly found out what it's like when your water breaks. Had it truly occurred at the camper, there would have been no question.) I got everyone excited (despite my deliberately calm demeanor) by saying that I might need to eventually go to the hospital that night. Derick and I hung out at the camper for a while, then headed home so that I could shower just in case we decided it was time. Nothing big happened until I tried to get out of bed to use the bathroom and nearly fell over in pain. Now that I  know what an actual contraction feels like, that early pain is quite laughable. But at the time, despite everyone's insistence that I "would know" when I was having a contraction, it felt like maybe the real thing? So Derick and I loaded our bag, Reeve's bag and the car seat into the car and took off. They wheeled me in a cool wheelchair to the maternity ward (doesn't the word "ward" make you think of a crazy-person place?) I thoroughly enjoyed the wheelchair ride. I wanted to tell her I could walk, but the ride was too fun. At this point, I wasn't having any pain, so I was pretty convinced they were sending me home. The nurse, Rita, who was one of the many gems in this story, told me that she was so excited I was there. I was apparently the only person on the birthing wing, so she was thankful for some potential excitement. Too bad for her though because after several tests and a couple hours of watching TV and drinking apple juice, they determined my water was in tact. I'd just peed my pants, which I'd initially told Rita I thought might have happened. She said the pain was caused from dehydration, so she gave me a giant Onslow Memorial mug, which I love, and sent me packing. The whole packing thing bummed Derick out a little bit. He was determined to get as many days off as he possibly could, and he really didn't want to go to work the following day. But we went home, went to bed, and waited some more...

FF to Monday, September 24. I was at the camper again. My mom made a roast in the crock pot, and she was making mac and cheese and potatoes to go with it. She'd also bought a pecan pie, and my in-laws brought a coconut cake and chocolate cake. (We were really trying to persuade Reeve to get out here where the good stuff is...although it was a trick, seeing as he had a direct line to the good stuff while in my bell.) Anyway, Derick was at work, and I'd just assumed it'd be a long night for him, judging on the previous nights. I took Paris for a walk with my mom. During the walk, something felt strange, but again, I didn't want to excite everyone. I can be a drama queen, so I made it a point to be calm and not make anyone think it was the real deal. I tried to text Derick to see when he'd be coming, but he didn't respond. I had the "strange feeling" again, but didn't want to say for sure my water had broken. I mean, I was totally clueless about the weird things going on with my body during the entire pregnancy, so who was I to say for sure? My mom and Derick's mom were a little excited, despite my unusually collected disposition. My mom was freaking out that the draw bridge that connects Onslow Beach to the actual mainland of Camp Lejeune might be "drawn" to let some boats pass, thus leaving me on the beach to deliver the baby. My dad failed at his attempt to reassure her by saying, "Well, I'm sure someone around here has a radio and can just call up to the guy running the bridge." My mom wanted to know who would be the one to run around the beach searching for "the guy with a radio."
Derick finally arrived, and by that time, even my calm self couldn't control the obvious enthusiasm. We scarfed down our supper. Dad got mad at me for climbing/jumping over the edge of the couch. We left one of our vehicles at the beach, and rode off into the distance. We came home and repacked the car with the same stuff, and I left some food for Paris (who was still at the camper). During this time, I was still trying to not get my hopes up. My doctor had scheduled an induction for the following Wednesday since I'd be past 41 weeks. I wasn't too worried because I knew Reeve would arrive sometime that week regardless.
 We headed to the hospital anyway. This time, my wheelchair wasn't as cool as the previous one, and it took a little longer for the nurse to come fetch me from the emergency entrance. I was wheeled up, though, and much to my surprise, sweet nurse Rita was there again. They went through the same protocol. I put on the stupid pointless gown that showed the world my everything, peed in a cup, watched football, and waited. At some point, Rita's shift changed and I received two new nurses, Anna and Brittany. Brittany was a nursing student in her final semester. Both these girls looked half my age. I immediately missed Rita. 
We kept our parents as updated as we could. They really couldn't tell us anything until the results from the tests came back to determine whether my water had actually broken (now I know that the correct term for what happened is "ruptured membranes.") We just kept waiting.
Finally, Anna came in...or at least I think it was Anna... anyway, someone came in and told me that my membranes had, in fact, ruptured. I was about to have a baby....at some point anyway. My mind went a little blank. Sure, I was hooked to the monitors. I could hear and somewhat see his little rapid heartbeat. I could feel him kick in my belly. I could see the excitement in Derick's eyes, but it didn't seem real. I was about to be a mom? Me?? A mom? No way. Reality slowly burrowed itself into my mind when I came out of the bathroom to see that Brittany had written "Happy Birthday Reeve!" on the dry erase board with the How Are You Feeling smileys. It was happening. This hospital bed would be my home until Reeve Roberts was in my arms. I was about to be a mom. Me. A mom.

two sets of cheeks and an entire pineapple

Well, well, well. Who called it? Who just knew in her heart that our precious Reeve would not greet us on or before his due date? Yep, his Mama. Mama knows everything. Remember that, Reeve. 
My life has always been full of wait and anticipation, so it's kind of been in the back of my mind that, pending all things go smoothly with the pregnancy (and praise God, they have!), Reeve would decide to be a rascal and leave us waiting. Yesterday was my 40-week mark, and I had an appointment. She told me some things that slightly contradicted my last visit, so I'm just ignoring that aspect and thinking Reeve will be here when he gets here, whether that involves an induction or not. 
Inductions don't really scare me. I just think they need to be what is right for the baby and mother at the time. Of course I'd prefer for him to just surprise us all, but my main preference is that he is healthy and safe.
All that being said, I'm ready to meet this boy! We all are! According to the midwife, we won't have to wait any longer than next week, so that gives some slight relief, being able to see the end. However, I've said before that I've run out of skin and clothes and energy, and we just really want him here. Derick, a usually patient, not-easily-excited person, has become pretty anxious and can't help but to show it. He wakes up in the morning, asks me how I feel, and growls, "UHHHHH...BROTHERRRRR." 
People have asked me since day one how I'm feeling, and I've done my very best not to complain too much. However, I can say that at this point, I'm EXHAUSTED. Even if I were to sleep all day long (which I really can't because I have to eat a ton of food and my head gets hot when I sleep) I still think I'd be just as tired. It's a natural part of pregnancy, especially at this stage, but it's really hard to deal with when there are a ton of things I need/want to be doing. 
Maybe I'm being a little crazy in this, too, but I think Paris knows something's up. I've said that all along, but today especially, there's been a shift in her moods. She's a moody girl anyway, and you can't really guess what type of mood she's going to be in from moment to moment. But today, she's been ultra cozy to me. I went to Kelsey's this morning, and when she wasn't snooping in Kelsey's new house or love-attacking the cable guys, she was laying really, really close to me. I took a nap when I got home, and she stayed in the living room. She normally naps in the bed with me. Instead, she perched on the back of the couch and watched our yard/slept. It seems like normal Paris behavior if you know her, but there is something different. We had a dog when I was growing up. She was a black pomeranian, Muffin, and if anyone in the family got sick, she "got sick," too. Paris is sort of acting sick to me, but I know she feels well. It's weird and difficult to explain, but dogs are supposed to sense weird things, and I think she is curious about what's about to happen.
Tonight, there is a meet and greet for Derick's work, and I'm supposed to go. Problem is that I have no clothes that fit--other than sweat pants and Derick's t-shirts, which are unfortunately inappropriate for the event. I'll have to dig and scrounge. 
I'm two pounds shy of my 25 lb. allotment, and I know that doesn't mean diddly really, but it makes me feel even guiltier when I eat three breakfasts (mostly sweets) and CRAVE soda like a crackhead all day long. I've been careful to not fully indulge in my caffeine cravings, but I do have an iced coffee here and there, and this morning I drank a can of DP that my in-laws left in the fridge. Caffeine has been my one worry. Mostly because I don't really know the dangers and effects. I certainly haven't drank close to my "limit," but it's still something that concerns me. I also think my worry is in part due to the fact that I was not a caffeine drinker before I was pregnant. All self control is lost once you are with child. I think I've said that before, but it is the absolute truth, or it was for me. I know Reeve isn't going to be born with an addiction to Vanilla Coke or anything, but I feel kinda bad that I didn't always make the best health choices, simply out of my own selfishness. I'm praying to be a better mom than that in the future.
Tonight, I'm going to eat an entire fresh pineapple. I may also drink some red raspberry leaf tea. I heard those are natural labor inducers. I don't really believe much in that because every baby and pregnancy is different, but pineapple and raspberry tea sound good, and that's my bottom line for eating and drinking them. 
Before you give me hints and myths on how to induce labor, trust me, I know them all. No, I am not going to torture myself and drink castor oil. Frankly, I don't know what castor oil is and it wasn't until recently that I realized it, in fact, does not go in a car. I'm not going to do anything with cohosh. I don't know what that is either, but the term reminds me of some slang term for marijuana, and it just sounds like something a dirty hippie was doing when she went into labor. Not for me. I'm walking more than a lot of not pregnant people I know, so check that box. Derick is doing his part to help me. He even broke down and read how to induce labor, which won me a couple of nice, unexpected leg/foot rubs. (Can someone convince him that a full-body, hour-long massage will certainly do the trick?!) Bottom line: Reeve Roberts will come when he wants to, and if he needs a little extra boost from the doctor, then so be it. I'm just praying for his health and safety and looking forward to seeing those little cheeks (both sets!) 
Well, I'm going to go cuddle with Paris and make sure she isn't just having a breakdown. She is very much a drama queen and needs frequent attention. Wonder who she gets that from???

the best is yet to come

Whoa, it's 2:25 in the morning, and I am awake. Please forgive me if this post has a lot of rambling that isn't really comprehensible. I've heard about pregnancy insomnia a lot, and I've been blessed to not deal with it until lately. On weekdays, Derick gets up around 4:45 and the light in the bathroom or his alarm wakes me up, and my body immediately tells me to eat. So, I go in the kitchen and chow down, and by that time, the sugar I've eaten combined with just being awake for a little bit, keeps me up until the sun comes up. After that, I normally fall asleep until around 9 or so. 
It's been quite an eventful week, so I'm not all too surprised that I'm awake at 2:30, but I've actually been awake since just before 2, so I'm thinking tomorrow is going to be a tough one. Kelsey came back from Oregon, so that's been wonderful. I was able to help her move into her house (on base!!!) by delivering her couches, beds, washer and dryer, and other really heavy household goods. Ok, so I mostly put her clothes away and that's it, but hey, I'm about to pop! She did have some good help in Chase and Laura, so her house was nicely set up for Jonathan's arrival from Afghanistan. He got in last night, which could have had something to do with my excitement. The homecoming event itself was really a lot to handle. Lots of families waiting on their loved ones. I couldn't help but thank God that my Marine was sitting right there next to me. I know Derick still has a desire to deploy, and if I could stop being selfish, I'd admit that I hope he gets the opportunity, but it is a blessing to have him here with me, especially in the next few weeks of our lives. Even though my Marine wasn't coming back from a deployment, I could almost relate because I've been without him for a time. He wasn't ever in harm's way like those guys and girls, so it's different, but being without the one you love isn't easy. Ever. I was so happy for Kelsey and all the people who were reunited with their loved ones last night. Everyone who left on that particular deployment returned home safely. Praise the Lord for that! And praise Him for returning Jonathan to Kelsey. It was really awesome to take part in their reunion. I hope I didn't offend them by getting in their faces to take pictures. Hopefully, they didn't really notice me at all. :)
Tonight, I actually thought we might end up at the hospital. I've had some pressure/pain, especially at night, for the past week or so, and it's slowly grown more intense. Tonight, I was hurting pretty bad, but my pain wasn't anything like contractions are described. I'm pretty sure it's just Reeve growing and moving slowly downward. I was a little bummed that actual contractions never really started tonight, but maybe it's good because my house is slightly a disaster, and I don't want to bring him home to a mess. 
Other than physical changes, I've been feeling pretty odd in the emotional/mental area, too. I'm a little more sensitive than I've been all pregnancy, and I focus a little more on small things. Maybe that's normal. I'm just hoping that if I've said or done something crazy that people were able to shrug it off as pregnancy lunacy and forget about it. My mind has pretty much been baby, baby, baby all year long, and the closer I get to Reeve's arrival, I think the crazier I'm becoming. 
I still feel relatively fine, with the exception of the pressure/pain. My stomach is undeniably huge, and I had a mild meltdown the other day because literally nothing in my closet fits anymore. Not even my maternity stuff. I have to wear Derick's larger t-shirts or squeeze into a long stretchy tank top. I'm pretty sure that's the sign that Reeve should get on out of there, but he has his own agenda, and I'm trying to be patient. I eat a whole bunch, and I've made excuses that I deserve it, so I'm hoping that I don't regret it too much once I'm not carrying around another life inside my belly. I'm curious to know what the heck my stomach will actually end up looking like once it's all said and done. I probably don't want to know. The vain side of me reminds myself that plastic surgery, though impossibly expensive and unnecessary, is always an option. Our tiny baby is worth every mark and extra inch of flab that I get. 
I just now took my rings off, and for the first time, it was sort of difficult to slide them off, so now I'm considering leaving them off until after the birth. I sure as heck do not want them cut off. That really stinks, though, because I was thinking maybe I was lucky enough to not swell up. Yeah, right. 
I also just walked back to use the bathroom, and when I turned on the light, I saw Paris in the bed, back to back with her Dad. She looked at me like, "What????" She is really funny. I know she senses something because of the new baby gate that keeps her out of her favorite room in the house. She also thinks "Brother's room" is mysterious. She will go in there from time to time and sniff around and cry and scratch at his basket full of binks and toys. She's already grabbed a book off his shelf and she sleeps with one of his carseat strap protector animals that she threw a fit for. I'm pretty sure it will be humorous to see her interact with him, but I also think she's going to be a pretty good big sister once she gets him figured out. We call him "Brother" a lot, but I think she will end up calling him "The One With The Toys." She's been spoiled lately because her grandparents are here, and they give her whatever she wants. They stopped by for a few minutes yesterday to drop off some beans and cornbread (ok, I'm spoiled, too) and Mom immediately handed Paris a rib bone. Paris completely ignored the Frosty Paws ice cream I'd just given her. Mom could have handed her a dirty sock, and she would have thought it was the best gift ever. She loves her Momo and Popo. They have the best snacks.
I'm pretty sure that's it as far as updates go. We're just trying to be patient, which is nearly impossible and kinda pointless these days. I'm getting a little more concerned about things like birthing a baby, feeding a baby, changing a baby, and raising a child. The birthing part hasn't really worried me at all until recently. I'm looking forward to the epidural, as is Derick, and I know some pretty weenie girls who have had children, so I'm thinking I can do it. I'm not too awful when it comes to pain, although Derick would disagree. I think he forgets about all the other whiny women out there. The feeding part is a little intimidating because I haven't done a lot of homework on it. I'm banking on just adapting to Reeve's needs and developing a routine. All babies are different. They eat differently and adjust differently, so I guess I haven't tried to map out a distinct plan because I don't want it to fail miserably. The changing aspect isn't too nerve-wracking because my mom will be here and she cloth diapered me and my siblings. Yes, things have dramatically changed since then, but the basics are the same. The laundering part is what makes my brain spin a little bit, but hopefully I can develop a method for that as well. As far as raising a child, I'm pretty nicely equipped with the best counterpart for that, and I'm relying on a lot of prayer and a lot of learning-as-I-go. I've had some really great examples--good and bad--so hopefully I won't let our son down too often. So weird that we will have a son in potentially hours or days or weeks. I feel like I've loved him my whole entire life. Now, I get to love him forever.
Paris just jumped out of bed and ran in here to me. Maybe she does love me a little. She is already asleep in her chair, so I guess I should gather her up and bring her to bed. I know tomorrow--well, today--will come quickly, and I have a lot of cleaning to do. Maybe next update will be all about how cute our son is! Paris says goodnight!!!

Full Term

Happy Monday, everyone! It's been a while since I updated, so I made a point to sit down for a bit this morning to catch everyone up to speed. Reeve's arrival is slowly/quickly approaching, and I am getting more and more anxious as the clock ticks on. Tomorrow, I will be officially "full term," so for the past few days, I've considered it safe to try to coax him out. We've had some serious mother/son discussions, and I'm hoping we're on the same page. He is fully aware that Mom is not too keen on the idea of going past forty weeks. But, of course, he also knows that if he must stay in there longer than anticipated, Mom will politely deal with it. He's been making deals with his daddy, too, so the boy is probably confused. Maybe it will come down to who can offer the best bribe.
I've realized what women mean when they are nearing the homestretch and can't wait to have the baby out. I'm not tired of being pregnant by any means. A lot of women just get sick of dealing with pregnancy, and though in the beginning, I could have arguably grown sick of it, I've been blessed with a healthy pregnancy, so I've been able to enjoy each day of Reeve's little process. I am certainly growing more and more uncomfortable, but that's pretty common, apparently, so I'm not going to start complaining. 
I haven't had any contractions yet, and after much research and several inquiries, I think I will be able to identify a contraction when it happens. I've definitely had Braxton Hicks contractions like crazy for the past couple months at least. They are growing stronger and lasting longer, which the doctor said is a good indication that my body is doing it's thing to prepare for the real shabang.
Last night after my shower, I looked in the mirror and couldn't hold in the words, "oh my gosh, this looks fake." My stomach no longer looks real. It is so huge, it's almost humorous. Ok, it is pretty humorous. Lots of things about my body are humorous right now, but I won't go into detail, so as to protect the children.
Derick has been so good with his words. When I told him that my belly is huge, he argued, "No it isn't...ok, compared to the rest of your body, it is huge...but it's not huge." I'm blessed with a husband I will never, ever deserve. The bigger and stranger I get, the less fight he puts up when I ask him to rub my back or feet. Some women have husbands who have no problem giving massages. Not I. Derick never wants me to rub his back. Ever. So, I guess he's always thought I don't really need it either. He doesn't understand what years of tumbling and lifting people and being lifted and thrown around can do to someone. He's just never loved giving me back rubs, and he usually does a sub-par job at it....Until lately. He's done a really great job of pampering me, and I'm so thankful. I guess my humorous belly is no longer unnoticeable and he can finally see how a semi-sudden addition of 16 pounds can take a toll on the rest of my body.
Yes, so far, I've gained 16 of the allotted 25 pounds. (I'm counting from my original "healthy" weight because remember that I lost over ten pounds in the beginning when I was only licking ice cubes.) You wouldn't believe it if you saw me, though, and most of it has been gained in the past month. You would probably think I've put on around 100 pounds, no lie. I seriously fit in just a couple of outfits now. At the rate I've been gaining, though, I honestly wouldn't be surprised if I gain it all plus some at the very end. I just can't quit eating, and it's so easy to allow myself to eat--even horribly-- because "Reeve wants it." I woke up at 4:30 a.m. yesterday and scarfed down a gigantic piece of red velvet cake and two glasses of Sprite. Last week, I ate five large biscuits covered in gravy and a piece of bacon. At once. These are just tiny snippets of the enormous amounts of food I eat every day. I don't drink nearly enough water, and I've let myself go quite a bit with the soda thing. For those of you who intend to have a baby some day: be prepared to lose all the self control you ever had. Derick would argue and say that I don't eat poorly. I do eat a lot of fruit and veggies, and I've even done *better* to add in meat here and there, but when it comes to sweets, watch out. I'm out of control.
I've decided that when Reeve is finally here, I'm going to take a semi-hiatus from Facebook. I will still upload pictures (and I know when I get comments on those, I will just HAVE to read them). I just intend to stop my thoughtless phone usage. It's become so easy to just mindlessly browse Facebook statuses while I'm sitting around, walking the dog, riding in the car, even eating at a restaurant. And lately, I've felt a little guilty about that. How much time and energy am I putting into stupid Facebook? Too much. It can easily become a distraction, and I never want to be the type of parent that just sits around on the phone all the time. Reeve deserves more from me, and so does Derick. Actually, society and God deserve more of my time. I'd love/hate to actually see a documentation of the time I spend with my phone in my hand looking at Facebook. Smart phones are great, don't get me wrong. It's so nice to just type in a search for something and have answers right there. And, I mean, we pay for the data plan, we better get some use out of it. But there is a huge difference, to me, between the occasional Facebook fun during down time and constantly having phone-in-hand. It's a sad truth that I've seen parents scream at their kids because the kids were interrupting the parents' phone time. I can't bash them too much because I'm ashamedly guilty of spending way too much time doing nothing on my phone. I just don't want to be like that. I don't want Reeve to associate me with a phone. That sounds weird, but I bet it happens. So, I'm making an effort now to use my phone less and to interact with people and God more. I hope I succeed at that. I'll still be on Facebook, of course. I'm just going to try to put an end to the habitual browsing. It's not really productive whatsoever.
Anyway, maybe by the next time I blog, I will have a sweet little boy beside me telling me what to type. Maybe not. Maybe he'll take his precious time. And that's fine. I've waited all my life for him; what's a few more weeks?

Obama's Biggest Fan

Good eve! Derick is at church choir practice, so I have a little bit of time to blog while I wait on the towels to dry. Here's a tiny run-down of my day. Not in this order, today:
I pinned about a zillion chocolate dessert recipes on Pinterest, then I ate some ice cream with chocolate sauce, after which I remembered the sugar-free chocolate pudding in the pantry. Should've done the pudding.
I ran around with Mom and Dad. We had a good time. It's always funny to hang out with Dad. I've threatened to make him a shirt that says "Obama's Biggest Fan" on it as much as he talks about Obama. He doesn't like that idea much. 
We went to Lowes to look for some parts so that Dad could rig up a diaper sprayer for Reeve's diapers. Dad thought that was a ridiculous idea, of course, and told me the best way to rinse them is to "stick the thing down in the toilet and swish it around a little bit." I think the sprayer is cooler, and after he rigged it up, he thought so, too. Anyway, we ended up getting the supplies at Home Depot, but on our way from Lowes (is it Lowes or Lowe's? I'm too lazy to Google it) this old geezer in a fancy sedan nearly plowed us in the Ped Xing area. I almost went crazy pregnant woman on him, which would be a first because I'm actually a calm pregnant woman. The dude just kept driving while I waddled across, so I just gave him my best Arkansas face and waddled on. Mom had a good laugh about the way Dad and I reacted to the old fart. But come on, old man, get with the program.
I took my ring for it's bi-annual inspection and cleaning, and now it's so shimmery. 
Mom and Dad dug up a fern from the back yard and replanted it in the flowerbed out front. 
Dad assured me that the strange berries growing in the woods behind our house are muscadines, so I ate them.
Had Firehouse Subs for lunch. Yum. I had the Italian with no onions or mayo and a Coke Zero with Lime. I've yet to figure out what the difference is between Coke Zero and Diet Coke. Both are poisonous, I know, but Reeve likes the taste of Coke Zero, and the child gets what he wants. Even poison.

Tomorrow, I'm meeting a Lejeune wife in the parking lot at Navy Fed for a deal. Sketchy sketchy, I know. She's got 10 onesies for $5. I'm excited about the deal. I really have to be careful on that site because there are a lot of good deals. Luckily, I have a hard time justifying driving across Jax to buy a $2 tshirt. Some girls are all for it, though. I joke with Chase that we may have a difficult time selling our formal gowns, but half a bottle of Suave shampoo will sell like a hot cake. And if you have any Scentsy product--even if it's a mostly-used bar of Twilight (have you smelled Twilight? NOT what I imagine Edward Cullen to smell like)--you can make some serious cash. Another popular item on the Lejeune Ladies Selling site is lingerie. Really? I'm sorry, I'm not going to wear a stranger's pannies. What's that you say? NWT? Don't care. Pre-owned pannies, not for me.
Speaking of crazy stuff, I'm getting a little worn out with people using "of" in the place of "have." I have to be careful here because yes I studied English, and no I don't always use it properly (and I know that pannies actually has a 't' in it, but isn't it more fun to pronounce it my way?) But for real, people, this is NOT correct and I have no clue how you graduated high school if  you think it is:
"I really should of gone to the store today."
If you are too lazy to spell out 'have,' then just add 've. "Of" does not go after could, would, should, must, or any other word like that. So, please world, stop doing it that way. And if you're just being stylistic and it's the new "LOL," please realize it's not cool. I thought this was just a Bay, Arkansas thing because I've noticed a lot of BHS alumni doing it (and how you passed Mrs. Brown's class with that type of grammar is beyond me). However, I am seeing it all over FB--even on my Lejuene Ladies site. So, like the old Lowes geezer, y'all need to get with the program. Oh, and just so I don't look like a complete donkey here, I just Googled Lowes.

It's Lowe's.

 

not holding my breath

Good morning! It's been a really slow morning around here. I basically just now got out of bed, and there's no excuse for that. It's rainy and dreary here, but that normally doesn't make me want to stay in bed all day like most people. Ok, maybe it does. And maybe I just want to stay in bed all day, regardless, but still. Derick left a little early for a meeting this morning, and as soon as he walked out the door, Parisann started whining and making a scene. She jumped out of bed, and I put her back in, which only made her whine louder. So we got up, and I scarfed down a granola bar and took a swig of the caffeine free Diet Coke my dad conveniently left here last night. I grabbed a treat in one hand and Paris in the other and marched back to bed at 7a.m. I gave Paris her "breakfast in bed," and she continued to whine a little, so I rubbed her belly. She finally chilled the heck out around 7:30, curled up in a ball on Derick's pillow and went to sleep. I've been awake ever since. 
I think her problem was that she saw her favorite people in the whole world yesterday, Momo and Popo, and she woke up with a faint memory of them and the chicken they brought for her and it made her really anxious. They are staying in their camper at Cherry Point, which is about an hour from here. It's so nice to have them close, and Paris is in Heaven when they are here. She gets all sorts of goodies and extra long walks. 
I leashed her up after her real breakfast a little earlier, and we walked outside. My dog, who's as prissy as they come and normally hates the rain, trotted out into the downpour like it was nothing. I think she was on a mission to find her grandparents...or maybe she was just hunting the deer and the "gifts" they leave her all over our yard. It was almost an issue to get her back inside, but she finally obeyed and is now perched on the couch, peeping out the window.
Today, I am apparently 34 weeks and 1 day along in my pregnancy. There was a little confusion a couple of weeks ago when we got our 3D ultrasound, and the technician implied that I was a little ahead of schedule, but after talking to a different nurse, they don't change due dates, regardless of measurements. Makes sense because they would be changing due dates left and right since babies grow at different rates. 
I'm feeling pretty good overall. It's definitely getting a little cramped in there, and my body is feeling the added weight and change. I can't complain at all though. The last half of the pregnancy (so far) has been very enjoyable and uncomplicated. I walk every day, and I don't have a ton of pain, although the past few days, I've been feeling some strange, new things going on. I'm guessing that's just part of the cycle, and I'm trying not to rush to the hospital for false alarms. Last week, I walked nearly three miles at once with my friends, and the Saturday before that, Derick, Paris and I walked on a nature trail near our house. It was a long walk, and Derick likes to undercut me and say it wasn't as long as I imagine. However, if I compared that walk to my near three-miler, I'd say the nature walk was at least three, if not more. Kiss it, Derick. I'm right.
Miraculously, my house is clean other than the unmade bed and a few dishes in the sink. Maybe that's why I felt it was ok to just lay in bed until 9:15 reading the drama on all the Camp Lejeune Yard Sale sites. The tasks never really end, though, because I need to run to the commissary and buy groceries. Although the commissary is now less than a five-minute drive, it's still a chore to get ready, drive there, fight the crowd of crazy Marines and their families, stand in line, tip the bagger and decline his/her offer to wheel out my groceries despite that I'm 8 months pregnant because I'm a total B.A. and don't need no help, yo, put the groceries in the car and kick myself for not accepting the bagger's offer, drive home, bring the groceries inside, and put them all away. It's so much easier when Derick is around to help, but if I'm not cleaning today, the least I can do is stock the kitchen. 
Speaking of kitchen, my current eating habits are laughable when compared to my habits earlier this year. I remember puking my guts up because I'd licked an ice cube. Those were the days, and I can't help but smile and cringe a little when I recall everything I've eaten at the end of each day. It's not that I'm always hungry, though I do get hungrier faster these days, but I just always feel like eating. We've gone out for ice cream the past four nights, and I'm not going to gripe if Derick decides we should just make it five. 
Apparently, Reeve is a big boy and that's probably thanks to my pig-like eating as of late. But I've heard of so many stories about doctors telling parents that they are "going to have a nine pound baby," only for the day to come and they are handed a nice, healthy seven-pounder. I've also heard the exact opposite, so I'm not holding my breath. At the 3D ultrasound, they told us Reeve weighed nearly six pounds. That was three weeks ago. Either way, whether he's seven pounds or seventeen pounds, we are going to love every teeny inch of his sweet self. We already do.
I understand now why pregnant ladies get so irritated toward the end of their pregnancy. I'm not irritated, but I sure am anxious. I keep looking at calendars, hoping to count fewer days and weeks. Now that everything is ready for his arrival, it's getting more difficult to just wait. I'm ready to see his little face and hold his tiny hands. Although I'm sure he gets sick of me saying, "aren't you so ready for him to be here?!" I know Derick is pretty anxious, too. He's been having serious discussions with Reeve about the appropriate time for him to make his debut. If he works it right, Derick could have a lot of vacation time. I met one of Derick's fellow LTs last week, and she told me that all Derick ever talks about is what day he wants the baby to be born so that he can get a significant amount of days off. Sorry, Reeve, your dad already has an agenda.
Well, I've blabbed about absolutely nothing for long enough. I'm going to go finish that Dt. Coke...that was definitely the first time I've used that phrase in my life...and then I'm going to lay on the couch for a few minutes before gathering all my energy for the commissary. Enjoy the rain! Or sun! Either way!:)

Boom badoom boom basssss

I guess everyone saw the pics of Reeve's nursery on FB. I got a lot of really sweet comments, and I have to add that I couldn't have made it look so nice without the help from my family and friends. I'm so grateful for all the sweet people in our lives. Now all we need to make his nursery complete is his little self to make an appearance, BUT I'm not rushing him:) He needs to just hang out where he is a little longer and come when he wants. 
Derick left for work a little before seven this morning (I think), and I had to get out of bed to put Paris back in bed. It's a weird issue to explain, but it happens every morning, pretty much. So once we were both back in bed, I decided I'd just rest my eyes for a few minutes then get up and start on the house work. Around 9:30, I woke up and looked at the clock and nearly freaked out! I didn't realize I was asleep, and it was super weird to just wake up nearly three hours later. So, after a late start on the day, I've fed and walked the dog and the husband (ok, I just fed him, but it would be nice had he taken a walk with us), cleaned the kitchen and the floors, and now I'm trying to muster the energy to make the bed and put clothes away. I so hate laundry. I know everyone does, and I really think a smart invention would be a washer/dryer in one. The fold option isn't necessary because most of the time I don't even fold it until I'm in the process of putting it all away. But, dang it, it would be nice to not have to practically crawl into the washer to get the clothes out. Life is just so hard, I know.
I'm kinda weird with music, as most of you already know, and the further I get in this pregnancy, the less tolerant I've become of music. Even music that I love. It doesn't get on my nerves or anything, it just makes me super emotional and a lot of times sad, so I've stopped being such an avid listener. WEIRD, I know. I haven't had an emotional pregnancy at all, compared to most I've heard about, so I guess my nature just tells me to block out things that cause an emotional flood. It'd be nice if that's always been in my nature. 
Anyway, I of course haven't shut out music altogether. I can't do that. My dad can. He could go years without the desire to hear one song. My dad is something else. Today, I started listening to my old friend Joshua Radin on Pandora, and I just wasn't feeling it. Have you heard his music YET? I've been raving for a while. I guess that's because during a pretty rough patch last year, his music was a comfort. Today, though, I just wasn't in the mood for ultra mellow singer/songwriter tunes. Thus, I started listening to 90s Pop. I've never really let go of that genre of music. While a lot of people I knew seemed to follow the trend of popular music, I always kinda stuck with the 90s. I still listen to Hanson to this day. Duh. 
90s kids, we were truly blessed with the best music. Aside from Hanson, so many great bands and musicians shared their goodness with the world during those years. Maybe I feel that way because every one of these dang Pandora songs bring me back to very specific moments in my life. Derick makes fun of me because of my peculiar memory. I can remember an exact outfit from 15 years ago, at a specific place, at a specific time. I can remember what I had for lunch on certain, unimportant days in junior high. I can remember what each grade smelled like. 8th grade, for example, was Gummy Bears perfume and Clinique foundation. But ask me to remember what the insurance lady on the phone just told me two seconds ago regarding an important aspect of our coverage, and I'm clueless. 
I think music is a good reminder that our lives aren't really as bad as they seem. My teenage years, at the time, were poop, but looking back and hearing Third Eye Blind and Smashing Pumpkins, they were some of the coolest days of my life. Even memories of more recent years that seemed pretty black are a little more illuminated when there's a song on by The Kooks. 
I won't retrace my footsteps and get all music-snooty. We all have our preferences, and that's respectable. But I just look at the tender, teenage generation of today and wanna say, "bless your hearts," because instead of Bush, Backstreet Boys, and Semi Sonic, they get Nicki Minaj and someone named "Weezy?" Haha. To each his own, but you're welcome, Nathan Smith. You're one of the lucky ones with a cool aunt who recognizes and introduced you to good music.
 I just went through and deleted a very hilarious, self-constructed lyric comparison between Nicki Minaj and Britney Spears, for fear that a Nicki fan (or Nicki herself) might happen upon this blog and opt to kill me. Maybe next time! Happy Wed!