Wordless Wednesday: My Husband, The Goofball

Wordless Wednesday: Daddy For Sale (or, Why You Don't Fall Asleep on the Couch While There Are Stickers on Your Desk)

This is what 7 Years of Marriage Sounds Like...

~
I was griping to my husband the other day about how much pain I was in from moving and the pregnancy.

"You are getting old, honey," he teased me.  "I think I'm going to trade you in -- half my age, plus seven, right?"

I burst out laughing.  "You know, no one else will take you," I told him.

He smiled.  "I know, I guess I'm done dating," he told me.

I couldn't help it.  I smiled back and sweetly told him: "I'm not."

Happy First Birthday Giggly Goose!

 Happy First Birthday to the sweetest,

 

Smiling-est, 

 

Most Joyful,

One Year Old I know! 

I love you Cutie Pie!

Baby Girlie's Birth Story

Last year at this time, I was anxiously waiting to meet my baby girl.  That is, I was waiting to be induced.  I believe I mentioned it here.

And now, in about a day, my newborn will be one years old. 

As I did with Girlie and Boyo, I have to share BabyGirlie's birth story... but I waited a year, so I could write about it with rose colored glasses.

My husband and I were supposed to be at the hospital at 7 am so that I could be induced.  I was 39 weeks pregnant, to the day, and I had been on bedrest for the past month because my OB was a sadist.  Or conservative. 

I got up at 5, took a shower, ate breakfast, made sure my bag was packed, and threw on my running shoes to go for a walk.  I was hoping that walking would help speed things along.  I walked for an hour.  I was still one centimeter dilated when I got to the hospital.

We make it to the hospital, and I get checked in.  Three hours later, I'm in bed, ready to get this party started, but I'm more than a little nervous.  To say that my nurse seems incompetent would be an understatement.  I had to show her how to use the computer.  She tells me she is going to start me at 1 drop of pitocin.  I tell her that this is my 3rd time having pitocin and that 1 drop won't do anything.  The nurse informs me that she knows what she is doing.  I tell the nurse that I know my body.  She sets me up at 1 drop an hour.  I ask to see my doctor.  My husband tells me that since this is going to take 3 days, he is going to take a nap. 

After two hours, I tell the nurse that my blood sugar feels low and ask her to test me.  She does and sure enough, I'm really low.  I ask for food.  She tells me she can't feed me while I'm in labor.  I tell her that I'm not in labor because 1 drop of pitocin an hour does nothing for me.  She gets me a cracker.  Not crackers.  A cracker.  My husband rolls his eyes, mutters under his breath, glares at the nurse, and then goes to the cafeteria to get me a sandwich.

An hour later, with nothing happening, the doctor comes in.  He gets me a new nurse, who gets me started at pitocin at a reasonable dosage that will make things happen.  My doctor then breaks my water and leaves.  I won't see him again until 2 seconds before my daughter is born, when he catches her, tells me I did a good job, and leaves again. 

I have now been at the hospital for five hours.  My mom texts me to see if I have had the baby yet.  I consider throwing my phone against the wall.  My husband snatches it out of my hand. 

After about an hour on the pitocin, things start happening.  I can feel labor starting and it is not pleasant.  An hour after that, my husband calls the anesthesiologist so I can get my epidural.  I love my husband, but I love the anesthesiologist more. 

As soon as I get my epidural, I go to sleep for five hours.  I wake up at shift change.  At 8 pm the nurse comes in and introduces herself.  We look at each other and say: "It's YOU!"  It was the nurse who took such awesome care of me when I was in the hospital on bedrest.  She is awesome. 

She checks me and says I'm probably going to have the baby around 3 in the morning.  I tell her that I'm going to have the baby before midnight, since I want my kids' birthdays to be on 12, 10, and 14, respectively.  My husband tells her that I am just OCD enough to do it.  She smiles and says she's seen stranger things.  She gets my husband dinner (told you she was awesome) and leaves.  I go back to sleep for 3 hours and I wake up around 11:30. 

I'm watching the contraction monitor and I'm feeling strange.  Not like my epidural has worn off, just strange.  I throw a pillow at my husband and wake him up, telling him to talk to me.  He tries to start a conversation.  I tell him that he's dumb.  He tries to change the subject.  I tell him he's stupid.  He sighs and goes to get the nurse.  He tells the nurse that he thinks I'm going through transition.  I tell him he's an ass.  The nurse smiles and checks me -- yup, I'm going to give birth before 12. 

They get me set up and the room floods with people -- two nurses, the doctor, the baby nurse, the pediatrician, and the lactation consultant.  I ask them to please hurry, because I am having a baby before 12am.  My husband says that I actually said, "Hurry up!  I have 4 minutes to get this kid out!" 

At 11:55pm, I start pushing.  She crowns at 11:56.  How do I know this?  Because I am watching the clock.  I am determined, people.  I am having a baby on the 14th! 

I look down and see her dark black hair and start laughing -- I had bet my husband that she would have dark hair, and he had said no, she would be blonde like the older two.  I don't know if it's the laughing or the pushing, but the baby is born at 11:59pm.  Three of the nurses are in shock that I was able to have her before 12 and in 3 pushes.  My doctor comments that I didn't even tear.  Awesome nurse lady (I can't believe I forgot her name!) tells me that I can come back next year because I do so well at giving birth. 

The baby is laid on my chest and stares up at me with very solemn eyes.  The lactation consultant comes over to give me a hand, but the baby is all ready nursing.  "I wonder if she will be our easy one?" I ask my husband.  He groans and tells me that I just jinxed it. 

But I was right about more than her black hair (which is now blonde, so my husband won't give me credit for that).  She was our easiest baby to date.

And awesome nurse lady was right too -- I'll be back at the hospital in October giving birth to Baby B. 

Wordless Wednesday: I don't know who won, but it must have been an epic battle.

The Problem With Boyo and Girlie Sharing a Room. (I am sure this will be Volume 1).

Why yes, those are Star Wars Guys attacking the doll house.  At least the doll family has apparantly taken cover. 

For some reason, Girlie was sobbing hysterically about this.

BOYS!

I heard a monsterous crash this morning, followed by Girlie crying and Boyo shouting: "TAKE THAT!" 

I ran into their room room to see what the problem was.... Boyo was slamming his light saber into the wall repeatedly.  When I asked why, he said he had to fight the bad guys.

I guess that's what I get for letting him put Star Wars Stickers on his wall.

Happy Birthday America!

Following in the family tradition started last year, Girlie, Boyo and I made America a birthday cake yesterday.

Triple Chocolate Fudge with white icing and red and blue decorations. 

And then Girlie asked me to "tell her the words" why America had a birthday. 

Geez, how do you explain a revolution to a five year old?

My explanation -- with her MANY, MANY interruptions -- went something like this:

"Well, Monkey, America is a country."

"What's a country?"

"It's where we live -- it's a group of people who decided that they want to live together in a big community and follow the same rules."

"Like a planet?"

"No, countries are on planets."

"Oh.  So where is God?"

"In Heaven."

"Holding us in His hands?"

"Yes."

"Did he make America?"

"Some people think so."

"Are they wrong?"

"No, but God just helped.  See, a long time ago..."

Girlie, interrupting again, "Was Daddy there?"

"No.  It was almost 250 years ago."

"So as old a Grandma."

I stifled the laugh and the groan of impatience: "Yes.  As old as Grandma.  America wasn't a country -- it was a collection of colonies.  And Great Britain was in charge of them."

"Like you are in charge of me and my brother?" 

"Sort of.  Anyway, Great Britain made some rules that America didn't like."

"Like the rule that I can't eat on the carpet?"

"Worse than that.  Let Momma finish okay?"

"What's worse than eating on the carpet?"

I am pretty sure that my right eye is now twitching.  Ignoring her questions, I continue on:

"Great Britain made some rules that America didn't like.  So a lot of men, called the Founding Fathers, got together and they wrote a Declaration of Independence.  And it was published on July 4th.  And in the Declaration they said they weren't going to let Great Britain be in charge of them anymore -- that they were going to be responsible for themselves.  And so July 4th became America's birthday."

"Can I write a 'Claration of 'Dependence from you and Daddy?"

"No."

"Just to maybe eat on the carpet?"

"No."

Girlie thought that over for a bit and then nodded.  "When is Heaven's birthday?"

Boyo pulled his head out of the bowl of cake batter and asked, "Can we make cupcakes for Heaven?"

I'm almost embarrassed to post this...

... but look at the Mother's Day gifts my kids made!