Charlie's Birth Story

I've heard that 2nd babies come quicker than 1st babies. I was in labor for 15 hours - and pushed for two - with Natalie. Needless to say, I was SO hoping you would make your debut in fewer than 15 hours. The short story of your grand entrance: boy oh BOY did you ever come quicker.

Here's the long story: 39 weeks, 1 day. I was fully in the "Everything Hurts and I Can't Sleep for Nothin'" stage of my pregnancy, and the thought that I might be pregnant for another 2.5 weeks was really discouraging. Natalie and I had a pretty typical morning - breakfast, cartoons, picking something cute and pink for her wear. We went to Baptist Hospital to visit Pep, who had been admitted the previous night for a blood pressure issue. (Side note: kudos to Bob for asking the paramedics to take Pep to Baptist, as you'll soon realize). After we left the hospital, we went home, played for a bit, had lunch, and took our naps (in case you aren't yet aware, I looooooove naps). I didn't feel great after we woke up, so Bob came over to help me wrangle Natalie until Daddy got home from work. I found it really hard to properly entertain an almost-three-year-old while being nine months pregnant, so I'm eternally thankful for Bob and Pep and their willingness to help me out with Natalie. Daddy called me before he left work and asked what kind of treat I wanted him to bring home. I initially thought ice cream, but then I decided that perhaps something spicy would be better. After all, Thai food triggered my labor with Natalie, so perhaps I could have the same luck with you (even though you weren't due for another 6 days). I asked Daddy to bring home some spring rolls (with lots and lots of sriracha) from Tu Do. As we were waiting for Daddy to come home, I noticed that I was having a lot of Braxton Hicks contractions. They didn't necessarily hurt, but they certaintly didn't feel good. I dove into the spring rolls as soon as Daddy walked in. I put waaaaaaay more sriracha than a normal person would (but being that pregnant left me feeling ANYthing but normal). I ate two spring rolls and it wasn't five minutes later before I noticed that my contractions were getting more and more intense. Just for kicks, I started timing them. They ranged anywhere from six to nine minutes apart. It was around 6pm.

I asked Daddy if we should have Bob go home and bring back an overnight bag. He said that we should just wait a bit - a few timeable contractions might not mean anything. Well it wasn't more than 45 minutes later when we realized that the contractions were getting closer together and more intense. Daddy called our midwife and explained that I had been having contractions five to six minutes apart for about an hour. We fully expected her to say something like "Okay, when they're more like three or four minutes apart, think about heading to the hospital." Instead she says "Well don't wait too long before you go to the hospital!" Bob quickly left to go home and pack a bag while Daddy finished packing our hospital bags and wrangling Natalie. Meanwhile, I had hit a level of contraction intensity that prevented me from simply breathing through them. I squirmed, I grimaced, I sounded like a humpback whale. Natalie came in a 'checked' on me a few times. She patted my back, said she was sorry I didn't feel well, then asked if I would play Pillow Fight with her. Your sister's sense of timing cracks me up.

When Bob came back to our house, I looked at Daddy and said "We've got to go to the hospital NOW." Daddy loaded up the van and helped me outside. I was unable to walk on my own; the contractions were so intense and my legs felt like Jello. We got to the hospital at 10pm. Daddy went to find a wheelchair for me and when he came back, it hit me just how scared I was. I physically couldn't get out of the van and into the wheelchair without Daddy doing 99% of the work. Everything was so different from my labor with Natalie; it really made me panic. We were whisked to the L&D floor and arrived in our room. As soon as the nurses helped me out of my wheelchair, I practically fell to the ground. The contractions were about three minutes apart and were lasting almost two minutes. The nurse checked me and said I was at 6cm. I was so relieved to hear her say that; when I got to the hospital with Natalie, I was only dilated to 2cm (despite being SURE I was dilated to 9cm). I didn't have time to bask in that relief, though, because the contractions were practically coming one on top of another. Our doula arrived and she filled up the bathtub (where I spent a lot of my labor with Natalie). The nurses brought me the birthing ball and helped me sit on it. It helped so much with my labor with Natalie that I just knew it'd help with my labor with you. Again, the vast differences in the two labors became apparent, because I couldn't find a comfortable position on the ball. Of course, I couldn't move OFF the ball because my legs had forgotten how to work, so I just stayed on it.

We learned in our birthing class that contractions typically reach their peak intensity at 30 seconds and last from 1-2 minutes. I didn't realize it at the time, but while I was on the ball, I had entered into the 'transition' phase of labor, where contractions come one on top of the other, with little-to-no break in between them. Daddy was timing my contractions, and after the two-minute mark, he said "Okay, they should start to ease up now." They didn't. They didn't at ALL. And it freaked me out.

Our midwife came in and wanted to check my progress. She told me that I needed to empty my bladder before she checked me. Daddy and our doula had to practically carry me to the bathroom (again, because of the whole legs-not-working thing). My water ended up breaking in the bathroom (so convenient) and our midwife said that I needed to get to the bed ASAP. Again, this was all happening so fast that I didn't realize what she was saying. She was essentially saying "Hey goofball, get your tail to the bed because this kid is coming." I made it back to the bed (with the help of Daddy and our doula again), got checked, and before I knew it, the nurses were putting up the squat bar and it was Go Time. The pain was so intense at this point that the nurses had to pry my arm off the bed to get me to hold on the squat bar (my legs-not-working thing also applied to my arms). I pushed once. I pushed again. And, according to Daddy, I let out a scream that sounded like someone had a knife to my throat. I remember screaming, and I remember saying to myself "Suze, shhh! Stop being so loud!" And then I said back to myself "Zip it, self. This hurts. I'll scream if I want to." I pushed a third time. And screamed again. Then our midwife told me stop pushing. She said she saw the head. Daddy thought she meant that she could see the top of your head. Nope. What she meant was that your head was out. And on my fourth push (and after only 15ish minutes), you entered the world at 11:42pm. 1 hour and 42 minutes after I got to the hospital. 5 hours and 42 minutes after my first timeable contraction. You came so quickly that Daddy didn't even get to catch you!

Your umbilical cord was wrapped around your chest and shoulders (didn't even know that was physically possible). Our midwife held you up to me and Daddy with your legs closed, then made the big reveal. There was no doubt - you, sir, are 100% boy. I giggled, looked at Daddy and said "You got your boy!" He looked so proud and so excited. (Just between you and me, he *might* have let a tear or two [or 100] fall). If there's one thing this world needs, it's a boy raised by your Daddy. He's the best and hardest working man I know, and you, baby boy, are so lucky to have him as a role model. And I consider myself the luckiest girl in the world to be his wife.

You aced your Apgar test, but you had to get tested for diabetes since you were over the threshold of a 'normal weight' for your gestational age (39 wks, 1 day). Anything above 8lbs, 3oz is considered 'big' for that age, and you topped the scales at 8lbs, 12oz. (PS: Thanks for coming when you did. Had you been born on your due date, you'd have been over 9lbs. And had you been born 6 days late like your sister, we might have had a 10 pounder).

Some funny things about the day you were born: You were the 9th baby born on the 9th; it was 75* when we got to the hospital, it was 45* when we left (Pensacola weather is confusing)

It was about 12:30am or so when our delivery room finally cleared out, and it was just you, me, and Daddy. It was pure bliss. And still pure disbelief that you were here. Even now, 6 days later, as I watch you sleep as I type, I still can't believe you're here. You're actually HERE. You, Charlie Bear, are perfection. (Not sure where 'Charlie Bear' came from. It just fell out of my mouth when we were in the hospital.) You nursed (like a rockstar, I might add) while Daddy and I chowed down on pizza and hamburgers. I know hospital food has a bad rap, but the food at Baptist Hospital ROCKS.

I was wheeled to the recovery room at about 3am. Not too long after that, there was a knock on my door. I assumed it was a nurse, but lo and behold, it was Pep! He had left his room (against medical advice, I'm sure), toting his rack of IV fluids behind him. I asked him why he wasn't asleep and he said "I got a text message from your mom at midnight saying that I had a new grandson! There's no way in the world I was going to sleep before I got to see him!" It was really sweet. On his way to my room, he stopped by the nursery and saw you and Daddy. Based on the look on his face, he more than approved of his new grandson. Pep and I talked in my room for a while, then they brought you to me. You were still adorable, still sleeping peacefully, still my boy.

Bob brought Natalie to the hospital the next day to meet you. She was a little shy at first (but that could have been that I was in a hospital bed, had an IV port in, and was wearing lots of hospital bracelets), but broke into a big grin when she saw you. She commented on how tiny your fingers were and how cute your little face was. You have no idea how lucky you are to have her as a big sister. She's got big plans for you kiddo. Plans that MIGHT involve playing Princesses or having a tea party, but plans nonetheless.

Bob and Natalie brought cupcakes to my hospital room so we could have a little birthday party for you. Natalie even sang Happy Birthday to you! The only bad part was that the birthday boy didn't get to partake in any of the cupcake festivities. You missed out, buddy. They were goooooood.

You looked just like Natalie did when she was born - chubby cheeks, several chins, button nose, long fingers and toes, and absolutely, positively, take-my-breath away adorable. Seriously, stick a pink flowered onesie on you and I could swear we were transported back to January 1, 2009. (Trust me, though, I'll never put you in a pink flowered onesie. You may be pretty, but you're a manly kind of pretty. Or something.) A big difference between yours and Natalie's appearance (besides the obvious, um, gender differences) is you have a dimple in each cheek! We didn't even notice them until our midwife pointed them out. But there they are, making your impossibly sweet cheeks even sweeter.

If you ever have more than one child, you might worry how your heart could possibly love the 2nd child as much as you love your 1st. Or if there's room enough in your heart to love another person so wholly and fiercely. Trust me, Charlie Bear, the second I saw you, it was as if my heart grew to twice its size. I immediately loved you with an unstoppable intensity and it now seems so silly that I was even worried about it.

You, baby boy, have made our family complete, our hearts full beyond measure, and our lives beyond joyful. And our laundry a little more blue.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

Weekly Buzz - Week 39

Oh sweet baby, we're nearing the end of this incredible part of our relationship. As much as I love being pregnant, these past few weeks have been rough. Nothing out of the ordinary, and really, the fact that I made it till 36 weeks before I got uncomfortable is great. But I can't wait to hold you. I can't wait to munch on the toes that have, for the past month, been firmly planted in my ribs. I can't wait to find out if you're a Buzz or a Buzzette. I can't wait to introduce you to Natalie (she can't wait to meet you either!).

I had my 39-week checkup, and I'll just say that I've made progress (advertising on the Internet exactly how much progress my lady parts have made seems mildly weird). I know progress doesn't necessarily mean anything, but it was still nice to hear that we're moving in the right direction.

Feel free to NOT follow your sister's footsteps of being 6 days late. There's a full moon on Thursday. Think about it. Jus' sayin'.

Weekly Natalie - Weeks 146 & 147

Know what's cute? A little munchkin in a Dorothy costume. Know what else is cute? A little munchkin in a Garden Gnome costume. Know what's even cuter? Paying $2 for each costume.

Seriously, c'mon. Have you ever seen such sweetness?

No Flower Gnome is complete without a teeny tiny pumpkin

All hopped up on lollipop sugar

October 2011 - Recap

Okay, so the ickiest part of this month was definitely you saying "I don't yuhve you". I had no idea I'd have to deal with THAT kind of statement until you were 13 (or, even better, never, seeing as how I'm totally lovable). Daddy was quick to remind me that you're two. That even when you say "I yuhve you", you don't totally get what that means. So even though "I yuhve you" is insanely cute and adorable, you mean it as much as when you say "I don't yuhve you." But seriously, saying "I don't yuhve you" to your hormonal, 8-month-pregnant momma is not cool.

This month, you've asked if everything is either icky, scary, and/or healthy. For instance:
Me: Ooh, Bob and Pep are coming to see you this afternoon!
You: Are dey scawwy?
Me: Bob and Pep? No, they're not scary at all.
You: NO! Dat's siwwy (silly)! Dey not scawwy at all.
***
Me: We're having turkey sandwiches for lunch.
You: Are dey icky?
Me: No! Turkey sandwiches are delicious.
You: Mmm mmm! I yuhve turkey samwiches!! Dey're deyicious. Are dey healffy?
Me: Oh yes, very healthy.
You: Are dey a sometimes food? (Many thanks to Cookie Monster for introducing the notion of 'sometimes food' and 'anytime food')
Me: Nope, they're an anytime food!
You: Are chips an anytime food?
Me: Negative. Chips are a sometimes food.
You: Cuz dey not healffy, wight?
Me: Right.
You: Are tables healffy?
Me: Um, tables?
You: Yep! Tables! Are dey healffy?
Me: Well, no, cuz they're not food.
You: Oh yeah! You can't eat tables! Dat's siwwy! Is Mommy healffy?
Me: For the most part, yep. Mommy eats lots of anytime foods to stay healthy.
You: Lemme see! (You then proceed to "bite" me to see if I'm tasty and healthy)

Have I mentioned how you're often very polite in your outright disobedience??
Me: Natalie, please take your table and chair back to the dining room.
You: No sank you, Mommy.
Me: Hmm. I'm pretty sure there wasn't a question in that statement.
You: *giggles* You funny, Mommy.
***
Me: Okay, kiddo, it's time to leave the park and go to the grocery store. Let's head toward the van.
You: No sanks, Mommy. I just stay here. You have fun at da gwocery store and I just stay here.
Me: I appreciate your politeness. But move your booty. Now.

There's a new frozen yogurt place by our house. First off, they have amazing frozen yogurt. Second, they have the best toppings (fresh fruit, crushed candy bars, cereal, cheesecake, cookie dough, etc). Third, they have a ping pong table. You are most interested in the ping pong table. We took my parents there one day, and Pep saw how enamored you were with throwing ping pong balls that the next time they came over to our house, Pep brought you two ping pong paddles and two boxes of balls. You were in hog heaven! Your latest favorite game is to sit in the kitchen, dump out all the ping pong balls, and whack them around with your paddle. This is a win-win for both of us. You get to play with ping pong balls and I can rest assured that despite how many balls are in my kitchen, they're not messy, they won't break anything, and they keep you gloriously occupied for at least 2 minutes.

Sesame Street has introduced you to rhyming. And you are now a Rhyming Machine! Of course, you don't quite understand the concept that while "dommy" might RHYME with "Mommy", it's not actually a word. And you get really annoyed when you ask me "What word wymes wiff _____?" and _____ happens to not have a word that rhymes with it. Case in point: "Mommy, what wymes wiff 'wefwigewator'?" Or you'll ask me "What word wymes wiff ____?" and ____ happens to not even BE a word. Case in point: "Mommy, what wymes wiff 'basketballhoopgoal?" Yep, you read that right. Basketballhoopgoal.

You picked up on the concept of opposites in record time. Like nanoseconds. One of your books has a picture of a big kid and a little kid. I explained how 'big' and 'little' were opposites. You immediately asked what other words were opposites. I said that 'loud' and 'quiet' were opposites. And when I said 'tall', you immediately chimed in with 'short'. SO cool. The only problem, as with the rhyming delimma I described above, is when you ask "What's the opposite of ____?" and _____ has no opposite. Like 'cookie'. Or 'basketballhoopgoal'.

Daddy has started something with you we like to call a Racecar Kiss. He'll scoop you up and give you a humongous kiss on the cheek, all the while making the sounds of a revving and shifting racecar. You think it's the funniest thing in the world. And when he's done, you squeal "Dat was a wacecar to da moon!" No idea where you came up with that phrase, but it's painfully sweet.

One of your Let's Delay Bedtime for as Long as I Can tactics is to look around your room and insist that you can't go to sleep without it. Which is why you currently have approximately 249 things in your bed with you. This list is not exhaustive, but includes three baby dolls (one of which was mine when I was your age); two stuffed critters you won from the claw machine at CiCi's (one of which is beYOND creepy looking); three animal finger puppets; a pretend potato chip from your kitchen; a remote control; an Elmo slipper (just one; you left the other one on the floor); a toy teapot; a stuffed Aflac duck that screeches "AFLAC!!!" when you press its rear end; your favorite stuffed bear (that you've named Lauren Bear); Minnie Mouse; Pooh Bear; Clifford; a prairie dog; Larry the Cucumber (from Veggie Tales); your bumblebee Pillow Pet (that you've named Buzz Buzz); one of those toys that you slam on the ground to get him to talk (in this case, it's an angry golfer who says lovely things like "I hate this sport!"); a plastic Easter egg; several animals from your Animal Bowling game; a wooden airplane; a plastic fork. It's impressive how there's still room for you in your bed.

Speaking of your bed, you've been insistent that you have a book with you (or, preferably, 5 books) before you go to sleep. I think it's so cute (and nerdy) that you want to 'read' before bed. And what I love even more is that you're doing SO well in your big girl bed. Sometimes you get up in the middle of the night, but you're so easy to put back down that I don't even mind doing it. Most of the time, though, we put you to bed, you sing and read for anywhere from 10 minutes to 2 hours, then you go to sleep. No fuss (or at least minimal fussing), no nothing. It's glorious.

You've learned new songs at church, MOPS, and Mothers' Day Out, and I LOVE hearing you walk around the house singing them. For instance, right now, you're supposed to be sleeping. Instead, you're flipping through a book singing "My God is so big, so stwong and so mighty, dere's nossing my God cannot do!". Should you be sleeping? Absolutely. Am I going to go tell you to stop singing and go to sleep? Not on your life. Sing away, my sweet love.

So this is your last month as an only child. This is last recap I'll do as a mother of one. If it's possible to be 100% terrified and 100% stoked, that's me. I hope Daddy and I have done an adequate job of preparing you for Buzz's arrival. You seem to understand that I'm not actually giving birth to a Space Ranger, and you seem to understand that we're not actually naming the baby Buzz Yightyear (though if you want to call him/her Buzz, it'll be A-OK with us). You seem to understand that Buzz will cry a lot ("Momma, if Buzz is cwying, I'll pat his back and say 'It's okay, Baby Buzz. Don't cwy!'"). You also seem okay that Buzz won't be able to play with you for a while. This is mainly due to you wanting to play with all of Buzz's toys first ("I'll pway wiff dem first, then I'll yet [let] Baby Buzz pway wiff dem. I gots to show him how to use dem!"). Daddy and I have talked to you a lot about how fun it is to be a big girl and how babies don't get to do NEARLY the amount of fun stuff that big girls can do. So periodically throughout the day, you'll come up to me and list off more things that you can do that Baby Buzz can do. I'm hoping this list will motivate you to help Buzz LEARN how to do these fun things and not rub it in his face that he CAN'T do them yet. So far, these are the things you seem excited to teach Buzz how to do: build a Yeggo (Lego) tower; build a Yincoln Yog (Lincoln Log) house; jump; have a piwwo (pillow) fight with Mommy and Daddy; eat a peanut butter and jewwy samwich; sing Jesus Yuhves Me; cowwor (color); do a somersault; cwimb (climb) up on Mommy and Daddy's bed; dwink from a sippy cup; get dwessed; do da Hot Dog Dance from Mickey Mouse. You also seem excited to feed Buzz a bottle ("but not fiwwed [filled] wiff MY milk - he's too yiddle to dwink MY milk") and to show him how to properly play with his toys (namely his rattle and his tummy time mat). Buzz is so SO lucky to have you as a big sister. I know we'll have our rough days, but I have no doubt that you'll be the most amazing big sister. Know who else is lucky? Daddy and me. We've hit the Awesome Kid Lottery.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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