Last Post!

It's been a really long time since I've sat down to blog.  I think I always begin my posts with that sentence.  I was once really good about blogging frequently, but let's face it, I'm not very good with balancing this whole mom thing.  Some women are naturals and make it look like cake.  Cooking gourmet, instagram-worthy meals for their husbands every night, always engaging their toddlers in creative activities, hitting up the grocery store with no hair out of place, smiling as they round the cereal isle.  That's not me, though I really wish I was at least kinda like that.  I wish I had myself together a bit more, and I wish I wasn't so tired and lazy, and I wish I had a natural essence about me that just popped up in the morning ready to conquer the day with a smile and a song.  Deep inside, I am that person. I am an all-star homemaker in my soul, and one day, I hope it swims to the surface and becomes one with who I am right now. 
Derick is really supportive and says those women who have it all together are either lying or secretly do not have their priorities in check.  I think that's true in some cases, but I also think there are a handful of super-strength moms who do it all and want to take on more.  My mom was like that growing up, and my best friend Kelsey would be like that if she were to ever have a child (although she lies to help me feel better and says she would be horrible.)
All this is to preface my next case, which is this will be the final post for my blog, SemperKem.  Derick thinks it's dumb that I'm bringing it to an end because he's getting out of the Marine Corps.  He says I'll always be Kem.  Get it?  But I think it's kinda silly to have a blog based around my role as a Marine wife when my husband isn't in the Marines anymore. Yeah, yeah, once a Marine, always a Marine, but you know what I mean.
I have some other ideas in the works, so hopefully I can start another blog soon and be better about updating. I want to find another site, though, because I really think blogger hates me and what should take five minutes to type has taken about thirty because my sentences keep mysteriously deleting themselves. (Another reason I don't update is because it takes more effort than it's worth!)
Right now, though, I have other things to occupy my time. I'm finally into the second trimester of this pregnancy, and I'm finally feeling a little less like a pile of poop. We won't find out if we're having a boy or girl until JULY 22! Can you believe that? The hospital on base likes to schedule gender scans really late for whatever reason, so it's going to be a month of pins and needles.  Reeve keeps saying he's having a sister, but we'll see.  I'm convinced boy for several reasons, but we will be equally excited with either.  Just blessed to be able to have another baby!
Well, we are about to eat pizza and go to the pool because it's free after five apparently.  Then, Derick and I are going to watch OITNB if Reeve decides to go to bed early enough.  He wrote a song today called, "Goodnight, Mama," and it is the sweetest thing ever.  It reinforces to me that it's ok that he's not always eating five-star organic meals. SEMPER KEM. (Unless I change my name...which wouldn't be a bad idea considering there is a felon on the loose with a similar name, according to Craighead County Sheriff's Office circa 2008.)

potty&hoho

First, I'd like to talk a little bit about poop. Reeve has been peeing and pooping on the potty since he was about nine months old. Of course, he had accidents, but he was about that age when we actually started taking notice of his poop faces and rushing him to the potty. We took him to pee pee on the potty from time to time during the day, and he eventually just realized what to do. I was pretty astounded at how quickly he learned what to do, but he hasn't had a poop diaper in months, minus a few road trip accidents. It's been nice not cleaning out those poopy cloth diapers, I must admit. He wears big boy underwear during the day if we are just hanging around the house, and if we go somewhere, I try to find a potty to let him pee. He's doing a great job! I'm so proud of my big man, and I'm thankful for my mom's help. She is actually the one who convinced me that it's never too early to potty train. I'm nervous about the nighttime training because that boy can peeeeee in his sleep! He still pees in the floor, don't get me wrong. Still, he's doing really well!
Another update is Reeve's talking. He will repeat anything. Literally. He asks for "ipe sicles," ice,  rice, and "this" allllll the time. He is learning to say "amen" after the prayers before meals, and he knows most of his animal sounds. He is growing much too quickly for me. Babies become big kids really fast!
I've been thinking a lot about my New Years Resolution, and Derick and I actually discussed ours the other day. Mine is to make Jesus bigger in our home. Reeve is so impressionable and is learning so much so quickly, I just feel like it's really important for us to teach him about who Jesus is. Kinda like potty training, right? It's never too early! I hope that Reeve has been able to sense positivity and light and love in my actions. I know I've already let him down by the way I react in certain situations or on bad days. But I hope he is already learning about trust and love and compassion.
Reeve learned who "HoHo" is in just one day. He is still saying "Ho Ho Ho Ho" every time we see that jolly dude anywhere. Today at lunch, he saw a big man with suspenders and a white beard and yelled, "HO HO HO!!!" All Christmas season, I thought his obsession was cute, but I began to feel guilty that Reeve associated anything Christmas with Ho Ho Ho and Santa and snowmen. Shouldn't I have taught him the Reason instead of, or at least in addition to, Santa?
He is learning so many new things every day. At his tender age, it much easier to teach him something than it is to teach an older person, already set in his or her ways. I want to make 2014 all about Christ and His sacrifice for us. I want our son to grow up in a home that is centered around Jesus and His mercy. I want us to show that same mercy to each other and to everyone. I want Reeve to see his mom and dad pray together, read the Bible together, and talk about our Lord. I want him to feel able to speak his heart without fear of ridicule or negativity. I want him to view our home as a place of comfort and joy and happiness.
Perhaps the best way to teach a baby/infant/kid...well anyone, really...about Jesus is just to act like Him. Reeve may not be able to comprehend who Christ is or what He did quite yet, but Derick and I are able to show him the same type of love everyday by being focused on committing our relationship and family to God's purpose. Then, when he is a little older, it will be an easy transition from seeing Jesus in his parents to seeing Jesus face-to-face for all that He is. Right?
I've messed up a lot. A LOT. My focus wasn't always on Jesus, my mission wasn't always the mission God has for me. I still mess up everyday and do the same dumb things over and over. I set my sights on worldly stuff and get caught up in the chaos of being a human. But I hope that I am taking some steps forward in my walk with Christ, and I hope our family can be one that pleases Him, even with our flaws and in spite of our pasts.
Derick's New Years Resolution is to read the entire Bible. He told me that he's excited but nervous, especially about reading those Old Testament books like Numbers and Judges. Our pastor in Jacksonville laid it out really nicely one time that even those books point straight to Jesus. Read them, and you'll see! Maybe my life can be like the book of Numbers, lots of mumble jumble blah blah confusing stuff, but in the end, important, because it tells about Jesus!

Adios 2013!

worry and grace; teeth and burritos

Man, what a whirlwind of a couple of weeks! I've really missed having Derick here to help out with the load and share with during the easy coasting. It's been super nice to have the help of family and friends, though. Sometimes, I imagine myself back in North Carolina with Reeve and Paris, and I just feel overwhelmingly grateful for the opportunity to be here and have this company and help. Those ladies who stayed onboard good ol Camp Lejeune during the deployment, especially those with multiple kids, are my inspirations! Wowee wow wow.
I really miss certain things about North Carolina. My husband, for one. Also, the beach and the salty air that I took for granted. I miss the sweet simplicity of living on base and being near so many I-know-what-you're-going-through friends. I miss cheap coffee at Dunkin Donuts and cheap chicken at the commissary. I miss FLAMING AMY'S BURRITO BARN and First Baptist Jax. Praise God for leading Reeve and me to Verge Church in Jonesboro, though. That church and the people there have been an answered prayer. Praise God for my mom and dad, too. My mom has this incredible patience that floors me. I don't know how she does it. My dad is such a hard worker; always going, going, going. I'm glad to be able to be here in Arkansas right now. God knew exactly what we needed, and He provided. He continues to provide. I'm thankful. (By the way, I haven't found myself missing and longing for Western Boulevard. Stay tuned for that...)
I'm also looking forward to the future, though, and it's such a struggle for me not to plan and scheme. I am always trying to figure out the next step, and I'm learning that I'm called to just trust in His timing and His plan and just follow Him from day to day. So many questions linger in my mind about what will happen; where we'll go; what we'll do; what kind of dental insurance will we have in the future (see: my status update on FB). But God tells us, "don't worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Isn't life more than food and the body more than clothes?"  I was strangely reminded of that verse as I was looking at these sweet zip-up boots online. Haha, I know that's not what the verse is really saying...but isn't it? Kinda?
Worrying is something that easily consumes me. I have to try really hard not to do it, and I've noticed that the more I try, and the more I give over to God, the easier it becomes to just focus on the day itself.
Reeve is very quickly becoming super responsive to my questions. He dances when I ask if he can shake it. He gallops when I ask what the horsie does. He growls when I ask him about any other animal, aside from the horse. Even a butterfly growls. It's true that babies know more than they can tell us. He knows when I'm frustrated because, guess what, he growls! I'm trying really hard to contain my frustration and maintain my peace. I see my flaws and failures, and I just want to fix them before he can pick up on them. I worry and stress and then turn around and think, "I really hope Reeve doesn't become so stressed out one day." I hope my tooth decay is the only negative thing I pass on to him. I hope everyday he can look through my mistakes and see the grace of God. I hope he can disregard my selfishness and learn to love people. I hope I can learn to do that, too.
Everyday is a new day to learn and grow and love. I spent a lot of years running in circles and chasing my own ambitions, and I'm so sick of everything in my world being Kem-based because it only leads back to the beginning. I think when we stop worrying about our own troubles and circumstances, we can focus our eyes and energy on something bigger and more substantial. And when we start thinking about others, our own situations usually don't seem so troubling. Perhaps that's God's way of hearing our pleas for help.
I hope to be less about me, more about God. More about Derick and Reeve and my family and friends and strangers I haven't even met yet! What a task it is to put myself aside! I don't even know if I can do it, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to screw it up. Thank God for grace!

Baby Steps and Better

This time, last year, I was deliberately acting nonchalant toward my parents, Derick, and Derick's parents. We were in my parents' camper on Onslow Beach at Camp Lejeune, and Derick had just arrived for supper. Earlier, I had told my mom and Kim that maybe Reeve was coming soon (I won't go into the glamorous details of why),and both of them were being super dramatic out of pure excitement, so I made it a point to be overly calm and collected. Derick came in, and I told him that we were going to eat, then we could go by our house to get the hospital bag, also on the edge of its seat after a false-alarm trip the week prior. I remember sitting in the middle of the booth, on the other side of the little dinner table in the camper. I needed to get out to get more mac-and-cheese, but I was packed in, so I just stood up and jumped down from the connecting bench. Looking back, maybe I was being a little too cool about the labor.
Anyway, you heard the birth story that welcomed our sweet Reeve into this world. It wasn't a typical, beautiful story, yet it was. It was so beautiful, and as Reeve turns one year old tomorrow, I have fond thoughts of the past two years. Two years ago, September 19, Derick and I found out that we weren't going to be parents quite as soon as we'd thought. We were totally crushed, and I went through, by far, the darkest era of my entire life.
However, exactly one year and one day from that day, Reeve Magnus was due to arrive. (He was stubborn of course, and that hasn't changed). He was more than an answer to many prayers; joy after a season of pain and defeat; light after a time of darkness.
I look at my son, and I see everything I love about my husband. I see all of my strengths. I see simplicity and complexity, all at once. I see love and hope and joy. I see, clearly and without obstruction, God. I have new reason to live righteously (and totally fail at it). I have reason to be completely selfless. I fail at that, too.
Reeve came into our lives at the perfect time. He is the coolest baby ever. Even during his fits or when he feels bad, he has a peaceful demeanor and can always spare a smile. Babies are wild. They fascinate me.
Two days ago, Reeve took his very first consecutive steps. He's been standing for a while, and about a week ago, he took one deliberate step out in the yard and I nearly had a heart attack. I ran over to him and kissed him and hugged him--probably freaking him out enough to discourage any further attempt at walking for a week. His first steps were in my parents' living room. He was playing with his new trucks he got at his birthday party. My mom was in the floor with him, and I got down to play, too. He held his truck, and my mom said, "bring it to Mama." There he went. One, two, three, four steps straight to me. I hope he always knows he can bring anything to me, and I'll be there to catch him.
Our long-haired boy is full of energy and personality. He makes weird sounds, and he is super mechanical with his hands. He likes to figure things out and take things apart. He likes to go "back" (out back). He likes to ride his "budden" (trike). He likes to take a bath, and he'll tell you that. He loves animals and growls at them. He growls at people that have even the slightest resemblance to animals. He growls at a lot of things. When I mention "dada," he makes kiss noises. When I sing "Reeve is here today," he waves at me. When I read the part about the promenade in Barnyard Dance, he mumbles and makes the "cockadoodledoo!" sound, too. He's a smart fellow. He's my muscle man and one of the good guys.
I'm proud of the baby Reeve is, and I hope that we can instill goodness and patience and kindness and respect in him. I hope he grows up knowing all about God's grace. I hope he always finds an animal to growl at.

I wrote a song the other day, in honor of Reeve's first birthday. I was going to sing it in a video, but I didn't want to embarrass my husband anymore than some of my hairdos and outfits already do. So, I'll just write the lyrics:

"Better"
a song for your first birthday

Reeve smiles with an open mouth.
He laughs, and I love that sound.
It's like hearing Mmmbop for the first time,
  but better.
He lights the fields in Arkansas,
the waves and sand all along
 the east coast
With a joy that makes the entire world
 better.
Even Helmand has a beating heart
that synchs with his.
My whole world is illuminated with
one sweet kiss.

Life is better.
It's better.
I am better.
now that you're here.

His hair dances in the southern wind
and his voice makes me feel free again,
Just like when I met you in the gym,
but better.
He holds my hand when he walks,
and he looks just like you whenever he talks
and his heart has the very best of us
but better.
I hope I can be everything he needs.
We have everything in the world
now that we have Reeve.

Life is better.
It's so much better.
I am better
now that you're here.

When you think of me,
I hope you can see
that I'm always trying to be--
just for you--
better.


Happy first birthday, Reeve Magnus Roberts. Your parents are the proudest in the world because of you!

momrambles

It has been a crazy long time since I've blogged. You all know the reason for that, so I won't go into details of how I'm the mother of a 10.5 month-old, active, rambunctious, adventurous, brave little dude. That, plus the fact that I'm in Arkansas while Derick is deployed, doesn't allow much down time. When I do have a few extra moments, I like to eat pounds of chocolate and watch an episode of House Hunters. Or just poop with the door closed.
I like being busy. It really helps the days away from mi chiquito fly by. But, I'm helplessly lazy and lacking of energy, so days upon days of being a "single" parent can really take its toll on my body, mind, and, you got it, spirit.
Before you have a baby, you get warned. They tell you that you won't have anymore free time, so you better enjoy it while you can. They tell you that being in bed before 11 p.m. is a luxury, so you better get used to not taking those midnight trips across town for ice cream. They tell you that you're going to lose a little bit of your mind once you pop that munchkin out of yo bod, so you better start doing some extra sudoku to reign in what brain cells you have.
I must admit. I was the typical pregnant gal who said, "ok give me all the advice you want, but he's my baby, and if I have anything to do with it, this (or that) won't happen." Some things happened. Some things haven't. I've stuck to my guns on a few things, and I've let some things slide. Reeve has fallen asleep in bed with me more times than I'd planned. He's eaten some ice cream because I feel bad eating it in front of him. I let him sleep in a pack-n-play basinette attachment for a little too long because I neglected to read the instructions. I've broken some rules and I've done my fair share of "bad parenting."
But I've also reached some goals. Reeve is still receiving his nourishment from breastmilk, despite a lot of struggle, a lot of advice (good and bad), a lot of pain, a lot of frustration, a lot of questioning, a lot of guilt, a lot of success, a lot of sleepless nights, a lot of feeding in the car, a lot LOT of days doing nothing but sitting on the couch in two-day-old clothes with a baby attached to my boob. My life has centered around breastfeeding, and for realz, if you haven't been there/done that, it's hard to understand the magnitude of what that means. THANK GOD for the friends who've been there/done that, are there/ are doing that, and the positive help and support from friends and family who just really care about my desire to breastfeed and their love for Reeve. It takes a dang village, doesn't it, Hillary Clinton?
I've been typing "I" and "my" a lot, but let me not ignore the obvious fact that I'd be in a mental institute right now if it weren't for the incredible patience and help from my husband. Not just during the struggles of breastfeeding, but with everything. After a long, crazy day at work, Derick would come home, exhausted, and take over as caretaker while I took a shower and cried, or sang, or just stood there. He lets me veg out more than what I probably need to. His days are never-ending. He goes to work at an un-Godly hour, gets off at the hour of Satan, barely has time to eat, and then puts on the Daddy-hat for both mine and Reeve's sake. I have it darn good. I can't complain, even on the roughest, craziest, most poop-covered days. I can't complain. Sometimes, I do and I feel like a big brat because really, I can't complain. My life is good.
And it is HARD without Derick here to help, but it is still good and I have a lot of joy.
It's so easy to lose sight of how good I have it. My dude is healthy and happy and just a really good dude. My family is eager to help and play with Reeve and hang out with me. My husband is working really hard to provide for us and serve our country. I have a long list of things for which I'm thankful. It's easy to focus on the few bad things. The tiny, miniature crappy aspects of life that are nothing in the big picture but seem magnified in the moment can be really hard to look over. I usually find myself focusing on those and those alone. But God's been good to remind me that it's important to keep my priorities in check. His Grace is so abundant. I see that every day.
I don't have the time to blog like I used to, but I don't really want it. Looking back on the past 10.5 months, I've been running around like a wild woman, but I also feel super blessed. I've learned so much and I know there is so much more to learn and experience. I'm by no means the world's best mom. I'm so far from it. I do really dumb, selfish things as a mother. I feel really guilty sometimes at the way I act or the things I say. I get scared that Reeve is going to absorb some of the negativity I have. I feel like I'm being irrational for letting him have so much dictatorship when it comes to eating and sleeping. I feel like I'm being lazy when I decide to sit on the couch instead of do some crunches or pig out on cake late at night instead of some carrots. I feel like a bad mom when I let Reeve watch Dora while I sit in the tub and pin things on pinterest. I feel like a failure when I don't read him a story every night. But I'm reminded that being a mother is a true gift from God. It's pretty normal (or so I gather) to feel like we're doing it all wrong. To feel like we are terrible parents when we don't have our junk together 24/7. Let me tell you, I RARELY have anything together for a minute. It's a good day if I brush my teeth before noon. It's a good day if I change underwear. But every day is a great day to just be a mom, and to be alive, and to be forgiven and loved. Don't be so hard on yourself. There really is no such thing as a perfect parent, I don't think. Pinterest has a lot of really great advice articles and links about how to raise a good kid or how to stay in shape with a baby. Those are good, positive things. But, in addition to all that, I think it really just comes down to doing our best, doing what we can. Sometimes our best is just hugging that dude through the chaos of poop and tears and puke and barking dog and lack of coffee and too much chocolate. And doesn't that big ol fat mess paint a really beautiful picture, when we step back and look at it?

sorry bout tha space bar

Believe it or not, I'm blogging, and of course I sliced my finger today, making typing all the more difficult. Gollygee, February 4th was the last time I actually took the time to sit down and fill everyone in on my ever-eventful life happenings.I  will use Reeve and his constant  need for attention (really, son? you need me to care for you 24/7??) (j/k)  (don't report me to CPS) as an  excuse for my bloggerland hiatus.Also, we got anew TV for the living room earlier this year and moved our laptop/TV set up to the bedroom, requiring a few extra button-pushes if I wanna blog. Ain't nobody got time fa dat. Ok, America, time to stop  with that phrase. As I sit on our bed to type this, I am realizing how elderly I truly am. I can hardly read what I'm typing, so forgive me if you see a bunch of mistakes. They aren't due to laziness because we all know  I'm the world's most active person ever, and they  aren't due to stupidity because I'm crazy smart. I'm just blind. And I'm trying to keep a one-week-from-crawling baby away from the keyboard and on the bed at  the same time. Don't  quote me on the one week from crawling thing. It could be several, but dang, just last week, I turned my back for literally two seconds and that dude was halfway across  the room. No more laying him in the floor on his back with potentially  harmful objects out of reach. He can and will make his way to the objects. (I don't leave knives laying around the house, but ya know.)
Since we are on the subject of Reeve, I'll let you  know now that he is the world's coolest, funniest, strangest baby ever. Everyone has the best baby, and I am no exception. He has  the most pleasant demeanor. I'm so jealous of his calm nature and happiness. I'm convinced God sent him to me to  teach me about my personality and attitude. He gave Reeve to us for so many reasons, and I discover new ones every day.
It's so strange to look back to last year. A year ago this weekend,  Derick and I were at the Azalea Festival in Wilmington, and I had to tote my paper-towel covered gatorade bottle around because of my--what I would call "severe"--case of  ptyalism. If you're a new  reader, I encourage you to look back at  my oh-so-exciting accounts of my pregnancy. If there was a symptom, you can bet  I had it, but I'm  very gracious of the opportunity to become pregnant, and I continue to  be humbled that God chose me to  mother such a great baby--who  needs me  at the moment.
Back! Reeve is so funny when he eats. He's been slapping me in the face and grabbing my lip with his free hand, and I think  it might mean that he wants me to rub his  hair. I do that at night when I'm when he's falling  asleep and eating, and I always say, "you're one of the good guys." I've done that since  he was a teeny ol thang. Maybe that  relaxes  him  because when I rub his head, he stops grabbing  my face.Babies and  the way they communicate  are really funny. Just now  while  he was eating, I handed him one  of  Parisann's stuffed  animals  and he started giggling. So cute.
[Forgive me for the weird  spacing issues.  The space bar on  this  keyboard  is out of  control.]

So, we have a pretty eventful year coming up as we face our first deployment. I can't  deny my gratitude for the blessing of having Derick  here  this whole time. He was actually supposed to have deployed a couple weeks  before Reeve was  born, and  if he had, he would still be  gone.Tough to imagine going all this time without  introducing Reeve to his daddy, but  I have some crazy  strong friends who have dealt/are dealing  with  that. I'm so encouraged by the strength of military  wives. There's something to be said about women who can just roll with the dang punches while their husbands are off fighting in a war. Puts a lot of stuff into perspective, really. I mean, how spoiled  am I that my husband gets to  come home (almost) every night and help me with our son? I pray for the same resilience that my friends have. Being away from  the one you love is tough, whether it's a few hours or a few  months.  That stinks. But I love  the encouragement I get from my friends who hold it down,  and I love it when they are reunited with their Marines (or respective servicemember). My friend, Beth, just welcomed her Marine home  this week, and I was  just so happy for that little family. 

Well, it's getting late around here, and I still have one of the good guys who probably needs a diaper change. BuenosNoche
 

The Trick

How long has it been since my last post? There for a while I was a blogging machine! Alas, a baby, a filthy house, a high-maintenance diva dog, and a military man can surely zap the time and energy out of ya. That's not a bad thing. Where the heck has the last year gone? Gosh, this time last year, I was newly-impregnated (thanks D and God), and I was beginning to feel the effects of such. Looking back, 2012 was the best year ever. All the puking (mine and Reeve's) and spitting (again, mine and Reeve's) and crying (you get the picture, right?) added up to give me such a joyful, humbling initiation to the greatest job on earth: motherhood. I love being a mom, and I hope that I'm not too terrible at it. 
Reeve is pretty incredible. We hear all the time that he is the "happiest baby ever," and I agree. It makes me wonder, though, what if I had a turd of a baby? What if our baby behaved more like our Lhasa Apso (no offense, princess Paris)? I've had my share of breakdowns as a mother and Wearer of All Hats, but Reeve's especially calm and happy nature has helped me to not reach complete insanity. The "what if" lingers in the back of my mind, though, perhaps as a message of warning or a call for gratitude. Either way, I think this is how you get sucked into having multiple kids. For a few weeks, I was bound and determined to be the mother of ONE. Those first weeks were tough, I won't lie. We were trying to figure out breastfeeding and sleeping and just thinking straight. For the first time ever, I was convinced I wanted to have ONE child and ONE child only. Not because R was a bad baby, but because it's just a hard freakin' job, regardless if you are the mother of an angel baby or devil baby. It's difficult to go from "I" and "we" to "HIM." But time and prayer (LOTS of prayer) and understanding and SLEEP will eventually get you through those first weeks of adjustment. Then, you realize how much you love being a mom. Breastfeeding gets easier, the poop sessions become less frequent, you throw on a little bit of mascara and change out of your sweatpants and think, "Ok, maybe I'm not the world's worst mom." You decide that you could, one day in the faaaar future, possibly be responsible for another life. That's how you get tricked, and that's when the "what if" question presents itself. What if Reeve's good demeanor has spoiled me, and our next baby is a terror, and I lose my wits, and the poop hits the fan!? Then you look into the most beautiful eyes of the most perfect person ever created, and you realize that, even on the worst of the worst days, everything is and will always be worth it. This is NOT to say that we are planning to have another baby ANYTIME soon...but I'm trying to prove the point that being a mom is hard, but doable, and totally worth it.
Reeve is funny and smart. He loves to be scared. He loves when you wipe is face or pull clothes over his head. He loves to pinch his sister, and he is actually the only person who's ever gotten away with it. I hope that lasts. I think any day now he is going to roll from his back to his belly. He gets pretty dang close, but he gets stuck. Maybe I'll try to let him do it naked so he has more wiggle room. He sleeps from about 11-6 on a good night. On the worst night that we've had recently, he fell asleep at about 1230 and woke up a couple times after that. He can sleep until 11am or later. He is just like his mom, and I am not complaining one bit. 
I've realized that it works best if I get my lazy butt up before he gets up so that I can have some time to myself (and Paris) before our days begin. Normally, I just make some coffee and watch Netflix and pet Paris, but sometimes I feel really domestic and do a load of laundry.
It's so nice to live on base because Derick works just five minutes down the road, and he comes home for lunch everyday. It's nice that Reeve gets that extra hour with him, and by that time, I really need to poop, so Daddy takes over. 
Paris is slowly adjusting, and she gets better every day. She's always been extra kind to her brother, other than the occasional brisk sashay across his belly. She had a hard time in the beginning when I was alone and couldn't take her out to pee. A fence would have come in handy back then, but now that things are *a tad more* calm around here, we've figured out a slight routine, and she's doing better. I'm proud of my girl. She's very much a diva, and she was the only child for six years, so for her to do this well, I am grateful. 
We've all changed by the presence of this little guy, but I think we are doing well. We are definitely having fun!!
Well, someone is ready for some attention, so excuse the errors. Editing is the last thing on my list. Right below shaving my legs. Have a wonderful weeeeeeeek:)

"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.