Visiting the Grandparents...

Last week, the kids and I ventured off to Fredericton to visit the grandparents.  It was an unexpected trip, and one that I didn't know was really happening until the night before.  It started because Nancy was away last week, so it was supposed to be the five of us at home during her vacation.  As you know, Danny and I are in the process of getting the house ready to be listed for sale.  There's lots to be done, so I said to Danny, "Would you get more done if I packed up the kids and headed to New Brunswick for the week?" He yelled "yes" like an excited little school boy, without even having to think about it!  Apparently the kids and I are a distraction to his man-work!  I flip-flopped the idea back and forth in my brain for a few days... did I really want to pack three kids, three years and under, into a car for a 6-hour "joy" ride?  If the drive was horrendous, I would have to do it all again in order to get home again... was I willing to risk that?  Apparently I was!  

I packed the bags, cleaned out the car, made enough snacks to last us a week, and loaded everyone into the car early Sunday morning.  I told the girls we were headed to church, and prayed to God that Jax would stay sleeping until our lunch stop in Sackville, NB.  The ride itself wasn't all that bad.  Jax cried the last 45 minutes of it, but who can blame the boy after being trapped in a car seat for 5 hours!!

The trip home was equally uneventful, and I realized that I could totally do this drive by myself again in the future, if I wanted to... which I don't!!  Being at Nanny and Grampy's for a week showed me the good and bad of being close to grandparents...

The Good:  I didn't have to lift a finger if I didn't want to.  "Grampy, do you smell that??"  Grampy changed all the poopy bums for a whole week.  

The Bad:  The girls realized who to go to if they wanted something done... "Grampy, can you lift me up super high so I can jump off the roof?  No, it's okay, you don't have to ask my mom."

The Good: I didn't have to cook for an entire week.  Not one meal.

The Bad: I put back on all that baby weight I lost.  Burgers, and french fries, and a seafood buffet, oh my!

The Good:  When the kids were being rotten, I would send them downstairs to Grampy and Nanny to deal with and make happy again.

The Bad:  Grampy always made them feel better! "Mommy, Grampy gave Ella two popsicles, even though you said she couldn't have any because she didn't eat her supper!"

The Good:  Bedtime with three children is much easier when you have three sets of hands to help!

The Bad: Jax, who had previously been sleeping from 7:00 p.m. until 5:00 a.m., decided he didn't like he new accommodations, and wouldn't sleep anymore than three hours at a time the whole week we were there.  Freaking babies!

The Good:  We all got spoiled.  From restaurant meals, to trips to the splash park, to an entire new wardrobe for Gracie and new shoes for me.

The Bad:  Eventually we had to come back home... and nobody has bought me dinner yet!

It was a lovely week in New Brunswick, and it was nice to surprise Grampy and Nanny with our visit. The drive wasn't nearly as horrible as I imagined it would be, and the girls loved spending time with their grandparents... especially since mommy tried really hard not to say "no" to all the popsicles and icecream being served to them!

Grampy and the grand-kiddies

The girls got along great, and had a great time at Grampy and Nanny's house!

'Til Death do us Part...

Danny and I have been together nearly ten years.  That's almost a decade!  And today, we celebrate our five-year wedding anniversary.  In the last ten years, we've been through a shit-ton together.  Good, bad, you name it... we've probably experienced it!  

I love the crap out of him, and we are quite perfect together.  And although we may be perfect for each other, we are definitely not perfect!  I'm pretty sure that, as madly in love as we are with each other, we also drive each other bat-crap crazy, oh, probably 75% of the time. But there's an expression about how you know it's real love because the person knows all your faults, and loves you anyway.  

So in honour of our five-years of wedded bliss, let me list my top-five "Things That Drive me Crazy" about my husband. (And if you want the mushy ode-to-love blog, you can check it out here... I wrote that one a year or two ago.)  Let me also acknowledge that I realize I do things that drive Danny crazy too... the difference is, Danny doesn't have a blog and can't write about them! Heh. Heh. Heh.  

1.  Paper Towel in the Sink

This is probably the most innocent faux-pas he could make.  It's not a big deal, really.  So he put a used piece of paper towel in the sink... except that it drives me craaaaazy! Let me explain... Danny likes to use paper towel to clean up the counters, or whatever little messes are around the kitchen (I know, bonus points because he cleans up, right?).  I get that.  What I don't get is why he then puts the used paper towel in the sink instead of the compost bin (below the sink), or the garbage can (a step away from the sink).  Because here's what happens to that innocent piece of paper towel.  He then turns on the tap and the paper towel gets wet.  So it's now a soggy piece of paper towel.  We also have a drain stop in our sink that we kind of use like a compost bin and just empty the crap from it when it gets full.  So when he turns on the water, the crap raises out of the drain trap and clings to the paper towel.  So now it's a soggy, cruddy piece of paper towel.  And if I don't happen to see it right away, it sits there.  Cruddy, and soggy, and now smelly.  If we rinse bowls or cups into the sink... well, that's more vile disgustingness being added to the cruddy, soggy, smelly piece of paper towel.  And once I see the paper towel in there, I have to take it out.  Which means I have to ring that shit out.  It's gross.  It's nasty.  And it drives me crazy.  He knows it too... I'm not even sure how many times we've had this conversation.  From, "Oh, honey... I don't like it when you leave paper towel in the sink." To, "For the love of sweet baby Jesus, why do you keep doing this?!?!  You know how much I hate it, and I've asked you a million f'ing times to just throw the damn paper towel in the garbage! ARRRRRRHHHHH!"  But he'll keep doing it!  The bastard.

2.  When I make Him Sleep Downstairs, He LIKES It

I'm a huge fan of going to bed angry.  I don't believe in staying up all night to hash out arguments.  Only one thing happens when you stay up to argue: You get tired.  And when you get tired, you start arguing in circles, not making any sense.  Or, even worse, you get tired and more angry, bringing up old fights that have nothing to do with what you're actually arguing about.  So, if we're having a stupid fight and we're both just cranky, we sleep it out.  Usually, during sleep, we naturally gravitate towards each other, and one of us ends up cuddling the other, and you feel much better by the morning.

Sometimes, however, the fight has annoyed us enough that we decide we'd rather sleep alone than end up accidentally cuddling in the middle of the night.  When these fights happen (for example, when my husband has left paper towel in the sink again!), I usually banish Danny to the guest room.  That'll teach him to mess with me.  Except the next morning, he comes out of the guest room, smiling.  He's had a wonderful sleep, and "oh smoochy poo, I'm so sorry about the paper towel.  But I slept so great last night, I feel wonderful!"  And then he kisses me.  Seriously?  You get banished from my company, and you wake up the next morning feeling wonderful?  Who does he think he is?  He's supposed to come out cranky and miserable, so I can feel justified and righteous.  But no, apparently sleeping apart once in a while means a good night sleep for him.  It also means he usually apologizes first, and makes me look bad.  The bastard.

3.  He Touches my Mirrors

Now that we only have one vehicle that fits the whole family, the big car has become "mine."  That means I'm the one driving it 90% of the time.  Danny has his new little fuel-efficient car to get back and forth to Acadia, and I have the mama-mobile.  It goes without saying that Danny is bigger than I am... so when he drives the car, he puts the seat all the way back.  I understand that... he shouldn't have the steering wheel sitting on his lap.  But he changes my mirrors. Every. Freaking. Time.  If you are only driving the car to pick up the girls, and then driving straight home, why do you need to adjust the side mirrors?  Do what normal people do... lean a little!  Lean a little to the left, and you can see well enough to back out of the driveway.  It never fails after Danny drives my car... I get in and the seat is all the way back, and when I start to back up, I notice I can't see anything except the next door neighbour's house.  So then I have to readjust them.  It's my freaking car, and those mirrors were perfect, damn it!  It's not like you're traveling 600 kilometres and need to do constant checks of the surrounding.  You're driving down the road.  And then back.  Leave my mother f'in mirrors alone.  Bastard

4.  Farts

I know this must be on every woman's list of things that drives her crazy.  But seriously.  It drives me crazy!  Do you know it took three years for one of us to fart in front of the other.  And, dirty little secret, I did it first!  Just to get it over with!  If I could rewind this relationship seven years, I would undo that fart.  Apparently, popping the fart cherry unleashed a beast.  Danny now farts wherever, whenever, and all the freaking time.  He wakes me up from a dead sleep with the smell.  He farts at the dinner table, and laughs because it vibrates on the wooden chair.  He hotboxes the car.  He stops me mid-conversation so I can fully appreciate the force of a fart.  He farts in the grocery store and then shoves me down the aisle before I'm finished looking at something so the smell doesn't catch up with us.  Do you know how hard it is to grocery shop with a husband crop-dusting all the aisles??  I remember one particular hormonal day, I had had enough of the farting, and actually almost cried, begging him to stop.  Almost. Cried.  It has to be the most depressing thing, looking forward in the future, knowing that I have another 30 or 40 or 50 years of farts.  The bastard.

5.  The "Sweet and Innocent" Act

Danny is quiet by nature.  Unless you really know him, you would think he was shy.  Really, he's a manipulative little actor, who has you all right where he wants you.  Even my parents, who have known him as long as I have, are still tricked by him.  When they come to visit, I hear them say to him at least once "Oh, poor Danny.  You have a lot to put up with Samantha."  And he just nods, with a little smile, and says something sweet, like "Yeah, but she's worth it."  And then squeezes my shoulder, or gives me a little kiss.  And they fall for it.  Every. Goddamn. Time.  As soon as they leave the room, he laughs out loud.  He knows he's just as difficult and stubborn as me!  The difference is, he's learned to hide it when people are around.  I naturally talk all the time, no matter who's around.  He clams up as soon as his people radar goes off so all anybody sees is "Sweet and Innocent" Danny.  I know better.  And he knows better.  And it annoys the crap out of me!

Another way people are fooled are in his daddying skills.  Don't get me wrong, Danny is a fantastic father!  He's more hands-on than I could ever in a million years ask for.  But don't think that he doesn't have moments like the rest of us tired moms; moments where he gives permission to Ella to jump out the living room window because he says "uh-huh" when she asks a question because he's too busy looking at his phone to really listen to her.  Or moments when Gracie becomes his personal servant because he's too lazy to get off the couch and she thinks "helping" is the most awesome thing in the world.  He has plenty of stellar-daddy-moments.  Plenty.  But, at least two or three times a month, when we're picking the girls up from daycare, or we're at the mall, someone will inevitably comment on his awesomeness.  At the mall, the girls will be dressed up so cute, and their hair done just right.  And the five of us will be walking down the mall, and someone will comment, "Aww... just look at those sweet little girls.  You can just tell they're Daddy's little girls. Awwwwww..." And then they'll wink at him, and he'll smile.  Who in the hell do you think dressed them up like that and wrestled with them for 15 minutes to do their hair??  It certainly wasn't daddy!  And just the other day, Nancy was telling us how well-mannered the girls were, and she said, "Samantha, we all know that you're a good mom."  And I was about to say thank you, but she wasn't finished... "Samantha, we all know that you're a good mom... but the whole world knows that Danny is just an amazing father."  And he did that little smile.  That sweet and innocent smile.  And I wanted to punch him in the throat.  But I couldn't, because I had to agree.  Because it's actually true.  The bastard.

So that's them... the top-five list.  The constant annoyances with my otherwise perfect husband.  Isn't it funny how these tiny little things will make you want to murder a man, though??  Seriously, I have a whole board on Pinterest called "Don't Kill Him Yet."  And when I find funny little sayings that remind me how much I love, and yet want to kill, my husband, I save them to read in moments of frustration.  Like this one...

So true!!

But as much as we annoy each other, and as much as we may want to smother the other person in our sleep, I know that I am a better person because of Danny.  He is truly my better half!  And every year on our anniversary, I like to listen to our wedding song again.  It speaks perfectly to our relationship.  We really are better together!  xox

I'm Grateful, too!

Lately on Facebook, I've seen all sorts of friends posting about the things they're grateful for.  Apparently it's supposed to spread from friend to friend, until we are all forced to take a moment and remember the things in our lives that truly make us grateful.  I have yet to be nominated in this Facebook game, and I've got lots to be grateful for... so I'll share them here.

1.  I'm grateful for my husband, who loves me no matter how bat-crap-crazy I act.  I'm grateful he understands that, at this particular time in my life, hormones are raging, sleep is lacking, and I may act like a crazy psychopath without any real reason (although, to be fair, I'm pretty sure that in the moment, forgetting to take out the compost is a damn good reason to lose one's shit.)

2.  I'm grateful for my kids.  They are sweet and adorable and make me smile.  They also make me scream, cry, and feel like a complete and total failure sometimes.  So...

3.  I'm grateful for dark closets, where I can escape for a few minutes of silence and, perhaps, sneak a bag of chips that I don't have to share with my kids.  Sure, the smell of dirty gym clothes rotting in the hamper may make me gag a little, but not even foul sweat socks can deter a mom from a few moments alone (especially with a snack that is all her own)!

4.  I'm grateful for my friends.  Without their stories of how horrible their kids are, I would feel like a total failure and wonder if I somehow broke my own children.  Because of their supportive anecdotes, I realize that for the most part, as parents, we all suck equally.

5.  I'm thankful for my parents, who have yet to use the "serves you right for being the little shit you were when growing up" moral of the story on me.  Also, they think my kids are adorable and would happily share custody of them if I ever decided to check into a facility to regain my sanity.

6.  I'm grateful for my siblings, who remind me that there is nothing like the bond between brothers and sisters.  Which also reminds me... I should probably stock up on bandaids, slings, and rubbing alcohol.  Things are going to get messy.

7.  I'm grateful for my job.  Without it, I probably wouldn't have had an "oh-my-God-Danny-let's-have-another-baby-because-I-don't-know-much-longer-I-can-take-it" moment.  And then where would Jax be?  Also, because of work, I get maternity benefits from EI.  A full year of no work, with (minimal) pay.  And for that, I am also grateful.

8.  I'm grateful for Dyson vacuums.  Seriously, those things are the shiznat.  And with three kids, two pets, and a husband, I need a rockin' vacuum.  For my husband to use.

9.  I'm grateful for doors.  Particularly bathroom doors.  Because if I run fast enough, I can close one before my kids join me for a poop, and I may get 5 minutes all to myself.  Okay, maybe 3 minutes.  And there's always knocking.  And little toes sticking under that door.

10.  I'm grateful for Pinterest.  It inspires me to be a better a person, mother, and wife.

11.  I'm grateful for beer.  It makes me feel better when Pinterest has also made me feel like a total failure as a person, mother, and wife.  Who in the hell can make all those crafty things, cook all those healthy meals, stick to an exercise plan, have lunches pre-made for the week, decorate a cake to look like cookie monster, and clean their whole house with vinegar and blue Dawn anyway?  Stupid Pinterest.

12.  I'm also grateful for wine.  Because it comes in a box, ready to serve, and makes me feel like a "classy lady," even when I haven't showered in days and I'm covered in somebody else's throw-up.  Cabernet Sauvignon, anyone?

13.  Finally, I'm grateful for Facebook.  It gives me a sense of "keeping in touch" with people so I don't feel like a complete loser without any real friends, even though I haven't left the house in days.  Also, without it, I wouldn't see all the drama and horrible shit that goes on in other people's lives.  Because of that, I truly see all that I have to be grateful for: husband, kids, family, and friends; and, because of that, I realize how f'n awesome my life truly is.

Two years later...

It's hard to believe it's been two years since you were born, Ella!  I remember the anticipation of having a second child... worrying about what it would do to Gracie, wondering how we would handle a second kid, and yet we've made it through 730 days, 24 months, two full years!

You have been the most exhausting child at times.  I remember thinking that Gracie had a lot of attitude.  And then I met you, and realized Gracie's personality and attitude is one of the most dependable, unchangeable things in our lives.  You can be angry, sad, vicious, recalcitrant, whiny, and a steroid-infused version of a terrible-two.  But, oh my... you can also be the sweetest, gentlest, most kind little girl I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.  You laugh at everything... and not a little giggle, but an out-loud, makes-me-laugh-too, kind of laugh. You wipe my kisses off and tell me they're yucky, but run to your sister to put your arm around her and rub her back when she's crying.

With you, we have to say everything at least twice.  Probably closer to five times before you decide to listen.  At bedtime, instead of sitting down to enjoy a story, you race around the house, thinking it's great fun and make us chase you.  Most times that ends with us yelling at you to get your butt to the couch and listen to a story.  But on the days that we remember that you're just having fun, we growl and chase you and you laugh and scream until we drag you, hanging upside down, back to the couch.

You throw yourself to the floor and refuse to get up in a typical toddler tantrum.  The threat of a time-out means nothing to you if you decide that your tantrum is more important.  If you do end up in time-out, you stand your ground with your arms crossed and your bottom lip so far out a bird could build a nest on it.  When made to apologize for your wrongdoing, you rarely uncross your arms, and yell "sorry" at us like that word itself is the most horrible thing you've ever had to say.

When we put you to bed, you talk and talk and talk and talk, and throw your toys on the floor, and then pick up your toys, then throw them again.  You bang your feet against the wall.  You yell at Gracie for falling asleep before you were done talking to her.  You drive us crazy when, an hour after putting  you to bed, you're still talking!  We've started putting you to bed first, before Gracie, and I now often find you 15 minutes later, passed out, feet on the wall, toys on the floor, and head hanging over the bed.  But every now and then, I find you tucked under your blankets, in the same position as when I first left the room, and I can't help but smile and think of how much energy you must have used up that day to fall asleep so fast.

You, my beautiful Ella, truly are the most exhausting child.  A real trouble-maker.  A little hellion.  But for every hellish little moment you create, there are a million other sweet ones, and that beautiful smile reminds me that, as bad as you can be, you are truly amazing, and I wouldn't trade you for any other two-year-old out there!  Because of all the Ellas in the world, you are my favourite!

 

Oh, Boy!

Well it's been a full month at home with the new little man, and I've already learned a few things... 

First of all, the penis is as scary a thing as I feared!  At changing time, I still just kind of stare it, not really knowing what to do with it.  The damn thing terrifies me.  And there are more cracks and crevices to wipe around than with a girl, I hate to tell all you "cleaning it is so easy" advocates.  I am proud to announce, however, that I have yet to be peed on.  I call that a parenting-a-boy success.  Danny, for the record, has been peed (and pooed) on numerous times.  Sucker.

Next, I would like to say that, so far, Jax has proven himself to be a typical man.  My boobs have never been bigger, and he enjoys them.  Every. Two. Hours.  Okay, so that's settled down a little bit since the first week we brought him home.  But seriously... every two hours?! When a friend of mine asked how it was going with him, and I mentioned this, she said, "Yup!  That's a boy for you!"  For those of you who don't know, I'm a great advocate of breastfeeding, but I'm the first to admit I hate it.  I hate every single minute of doing it, and every two hours made me want to chop them off.

Also, like a man, this little boy can fart.  I mean, the girls were all gassy at this age too, but Jax can clear a room!  More than once I've yelled at Danny, only to discover it was actually Jax's handiwork smelling up the car.  And once he pooped so loud, it stopped Ella stone-cold in the middle of a tantrum.

We've also had some of the regular poo blow-outs.  As a mother of an infant, you quickly learn to pack extra clothes and blankets and wipes when travelling in case your darling little child decides to shit right through their clothes.  We've experienced it with both girls, and we were pretty sure we had seen the worst of the worst.  Until Jax.  I had stopped at the EI office in Kentville, and had just finished feeding Jax (it had been two hours, after all!).  I heard him poop and immediately smelled the stinky little bugger.  I needed to cover myself back up, so I handed him to Danny sitting in the front seat beside me.  Danny was burping him while I was putting away "the girls" when he lifted one hand up and said, "Oh my God, I think he pooped through his clothes."  I laughed a little bit, and then got ready to change him.  Of course we were on the side of the road in Kentville, so we had to change him on the back seat.  I laid him down on a blanket in the back seat and unbuttoned his clothes.  I took a little peek and discovered, to my horror, that this little poop explosion reached the back of his neck.  I took a step back to regroup and started gathering supplies.  Wipes.  Lots of them.  Extra shirt.  Clean diaper.  Somewhere to put the dirty wipes (we were going to be using a lot).  We stumbled here, but then realized empty Tim Horton cups would work just fine.  It started out being a calm task, then it seemed like the poop just got everywhere!  It was on his feet, his elbows, his stomach... and I didn't even have his clothes off yet (which of course, were also covered!).  I started the roll-and-tuck manouever with his onsie, trying to get it over his head without smearing the stuff any further.  It was not successful.  By the time I lifted his shirt over his head, he had poop in his hair, his shoulders, and all over my hands.  We stuffed two cups full of dirty wipes, which Danny dutifully held onto while I did the scrubbing.  It took what seemed like an eternity to finally get him cleaned off, and when I was finished and he was smelling sweet like roses again, I surveyed the damage.  We had used every single baby wipe in our bag to clean him off.  Not to mention we now had coffee cups filled to the brim with dirty wipes, and not a garbage can to be seen.  Oh, and I had poop all over my hands and up my arms... and no wipes.  Fantastic!  I found some poop bags that we use when walking Charlie and quickly tied up his soiled clothes and the coffee cups. Luckily, we also had Lysol wipes in the car.  While too strong for baby's bottom, they did wonders for me.  I stood on the sidewalk, cleaning myself off and happened to take a look around.  Right behind us, watching the whole scene was a nice elderly couple on their veranda.  And they were laughing.  Yeesh, they could have at least invited us in to use their sink!

The rest of Jax's first month has been (thankfully) fairly uneventful.  We are still adjusting to life, and hoping desperately that Jax soon finds a better sleep schedule.  I took a good two weeks to recover from the labour ordeal, and am starting to get back some of the energy I lost.  Jax has begun gracing us with those first real smiles, and they are adorable!  He's a little camera shy, and I have yet to catch one yet on the camera.  But I will!

Overall, I would call month one with the boy a success.  Although new "boy" things surprise me every day, I'm getting used to having the little man in the house.   Life is slowly returning to a new normal!

Introducing Jax Daniel Ford...

The past 42 weeks seemed to fly by at times... and other times seemed to take an eternity.  I experienced things this pregnancy that I didn't with my first two, including being put off work due to extreme pelvic pain.  Already parenting two toddlers, combined with working full-time and managing the pain, meant that I was often physically drained.  I was very excited as the weeks passed by, and also a little sad, because I knew this would be the last time that I would experience being pregnant.

For those who haven't experienced it, there is nothing quite like the feeling of a little person moving inside your belly.  There's a personal connection long before the baby is born, something that is incredibly personal and private, and just between the two of you.  But the girls were growing more and more excited every day, and I knew they would just fall in love with their little brother once he was here.

After months of dreading "the penis," the end was near.  It was my third, and everyone was fairly sure that I would have that baby "any moment" as friends (and complete strangers) would point out as I walked by them.  I can't say that I felt huge this pregnancy... I certainly felt smaller than I was with Gracie, and I honestly didn't feel like I looked like I was ready to pop.  The baby certainly felt the same way, since at weeks 38, 39, and 40, I was "checked" for progress and was told that, although anything could happen, Dr. Rudd expected to see me at Labour and Delivery to discuss my induction on the 18th of June.

I was busy wrapping up my Sunday School program for the year.  On the evening of the 13th, I had Confirmation to get through, and the teachers of the Confirmation class and my program partner had been begging me to hold on until we were through with Confirmation.  That night, after everything was finally wrapped up, I said to the teachers, "I know you've been praying for me to hold on so I could be here tonight, but you can stop now!"  Someone commented on how funny it would be if I went into labour that night.  I went home, fell asleep, and woke up at 12:45 a.m.  It was labour.

I got out of bed at 1:30 and paced the upstairs of my house for an hour and a half before deciding to call the hospital.  Since it was my third, and I had a history of hemorrhaging, and the contractions were about 5 minutes apart, they told me to make my way in.  I paced another half hour or so before I decided to wake up Danny.  When I told him it was time to go, he informed me that he had heard me on the phone with the hospital, which meant he had heard me tell them I was in labour, and decided to go back to sleep!!!  What a man! :)

We made it to the hospital just before 5, where we waited in the ER for a good 10 minutes before someone showed up to let us in the actual hospital.  They hooked me up to the baby monitor, and at 5:20 my water broke.  The contractions were still about 4-5 minutes apart, which gave me some recovery time in between, but I have to say, they were stronger contractions than I had felt with either Gracie or Ella.  I insisted on an epidural (I had missed out with Ella) and relayed my story about having to deal with the hemorrhage last time without any sort of pain relief.  It had traumatized me, and I had nightmares about it for months afterwards.  As soon as the anesthesiologist was available, I had my epidural (success!!), and tried to get some rest while I waited for baby boy to make his appearance.

At 9:15, they brought in Dr. Hamm.  He was with me when I delivered Ella, and had dealt with the bleeding afterwards.  I was very happy to have him again for this baby, he is a very calming presence!  At 9:24 a.m., baby Jax was born, and I was surprised to find out that what I thought was my smallest belly actually held my biggest baby, weighing in at 9 pounds, 5.1 ounces.  After he was born, we all held our breath and waited... waiting to see if the bleeding would be controlled, or if we would have a repeat of Ella's birth.  We waited, and waited, and waited.  Nothing happened.  Which was not good either.  We waited some more, and Dr. Hamm repeatedly reefed on my stomach.  Still nothing.  Not a spot of blood, but also no placenta.  We waited some more and Dr. Hamm advised that he was going to have to take me to the OR to get the placenta out.  Thank God, I already had the epidural!

Once the OR was prepped, they took me down.  The epidural was numbing, but not enough to do what they needed to do.  My right side wouldn't freeze, so they kept upping and upping the medication.  Eventually the anesthesiologist said that he was going to flood me with the medication and if I still wouldn't freeze, he was going to have to put me out completely.  The rush of medication made me extremely nauseous and my whole body felt like it weighed 300 pounds... but it worked!  Dr. Hamm worked his magic, and I was in recovery 15 minutes later.  I wasn't allowed out of recovery until I could lift and bend both of my legs.  My right leg thawed within an hour, but it took until 1:30 in the afternoon before I could move my left leg enough for them to release me.  I was finally taken back to my room, where Danny and Jax had spent the last 3-4 hours bonding.  It was a rough afternoon, but by 4:00, I was feeling relatively normal again.  The girls came and met their brother for the first time, and Nanny and Grampy got to meet their first grandson. 

As the nurse told me later, after the retained placenta, followed by a pretty significant blood loss in the OR, I was not going to be feeling great.  By the time I got home from the hospital on Sunday evening, I felt like I had been hit by a truck.  My hands were aching from the IVs I had in each of them, my back was killing me, and my hips ached worse than I could ever imagine.  Yesterday I left the house for the first time since being home, finally starting to feel like a normal person again. 

Jax is fitting right in.  He is a voracious eater, which reminds me again how much I dislike breastfeeding, but so far is the most calm and laid back of the three.   Gracie constantly needs to be touching him, and Ella is amazed by him.  Every day gets better and easier, and we are so thrilled to have him here, finally, as part of our family!  We are officially complete as the Ford Family!

 

Nesting's a Bitch...

Towards the end of pregnancy, women go through this natural occurrence known as "nesting."  According to all of the pregnancy websites out there, nesting is a natural instinct whereby mothers-to-be prepare their home for the new arrival by cleaning and organizing the "nest."

I spent the better part of last week "nesting."  My mother came down to help out, and we spent all week cleaning.  We cleaned out the girls' room, organized the boy's room, sorted through six bags of boy clothes (thanks, Michelle!), organized the bathroom closet, the living room closet, and the hallway closet, cleaned out and organized the laundry room, cleaned up the guest room, and even got the oven and microwave cleaned (although, to be fair, we can thank my dad for those last two).  On Friday, after a 2-hour grocery shopping trip, we spent the better part of the next 12 hours cooking and stocking our freezer.  We made chicken noodle soup, beef barley soup, chili, pulled pork, chicken fried rice, cabbage roll casserole, dijon mustard chicken drumsticks, slow cooker cilantro lime chicken, balsamic vinegar glazed chicken, kobe glazed beef roast, hamburgers, three meatloafs, slow-cooker beef fajitas, potato and fish hash, taco meat, shake & bake chicken, and 18 breakfast sandwiches.  I even managed to get 5 dozen biscuits made for the freezer too.

Half of the groceries for our freezer-stocking adventure...

The other half of the groceries... 

My lovely assistant... plucking a chicken! :)

Don't mind the apron, it's Ella's.... and doesn't quite fit! :)

The first of my 5 dozen biscuits! :)

 Here's my problem with the nesting instinct though:  The instinct part.  I call bullshit.  There is nothing instinctual about it.  There is no "oh, I should get my house cleaned up before this sweet little bundle of joy arrives" urge.  There is, however, a "holy fack, I have two weeks left before this all time consuming booby muncher gets here and the house looks like a fuckin' pig sty" sort of feeling.  That's not instinct, that's panic!  I know that in roughly two weeks, I will arrive home with this little bundle of blue, and I will be mostly relegated to feeding, changing, and burping that baby.  When I'm sitting in my rocker feeding the little man for the 10th time in three hours, and I see a cobweb hanging from the ceiling, I know that it's going to stay there for approximately the next 4-6 months.  Because I will have better things to do.  Sure, the dishes will get done, and the floors will be vacuumed, and if we're really lucky I may even wash a load or two of clothes.  But the super dirty little stuff, like the piece of (what I assume is) apple that fell behind the couch sometime in the last 4 years that I only discovered while "nesting," or the pile of brown gunk building up in the door of the dishwasher, or the inch-thick layer of dust and dog hair collecting in every single closet... well, that shit will stay there until (a) this baby stops being such an energy-sucking force in about 6 months, or (b) nope.  There is no b.

The other thing about nesting being all "instinctual" is the fact that instinct brings to mind another word: Natural.  Believe me when I say there is nothing natural about my preggopotamus ass climbing up and down the stairs 15 times carrying different crap to different areas of the house, while sweating bullets, and grunting like a pig.  There is nothing natural about my preggopotamus ass literally getting stuck on the floor because I have been on my hands and knees scrubbing out a cabinet for the last 20 minutes and now I don't have the energy to lift said preggopotamus ass back into a vertical position.  There is nothing natural about any of it.  I hate every second.  I bitch and complain every single moment.  If it weren't for the fact that my mother was here to keep me inspired, I would probably still be on project #1, and break #246.  Not to mention that my mother is as old as the hills... not truly, but with the knees of an 80-year old woman, we were quite the sight, both moaning and groaning our way through the week.  Cleaning sucks.  Cooking sucks.  But deep cleaning and freezer-stocking-cooking sucks even harder.  Even with help and good company, it sucks preggopotamus ass!  Not to mention that every single night last week, my legs screamed at me and my back ached, and my belly contracted, all in protest of the extra work I was making us do!

There's an upside to the panic that comes when you are running out of time to get anything done... once you actually get it done, it's done.  It's clean!  My house looks fantastic, and I even finished a project or two that was on my list of nesting chores from when I was pregnant with Ella (that's right, I'm so incredibly lazy, some of these projects have taken another two years to complete!).  And the fact that I got the cooking done amazes me.  I certainly paid for it that night, with a couple Tylenol 3s and a night spent on the couch to ward off as much of the pain as possible.  But it's done, and I can feed my family when the lazy, exhausted moments happen in the upcoming months.

Things are cleaned and organized for the time being, and that makes me feel a little more relaxed in these final days leading up to Baby #3. But there's no doubt about it... nesting's a bitch!

In preparation for cleaning out the girls' room,  my mother and I built this lovely bookshelf together.
Elvis took over residence shortly thereafter! :)