Smash Cakes

Check out these special little cakes for some special 1st birthdays - so much fun!

Cole-isms

Said (or yelled) while running towards me when I was picking him up from school:

"Hey!  Hey, Mom!  I had to change my underwear today because I farted real loud!"

Beware - Journal Writing Ahead

I have recently been thinking a lot about why I blog.  I tell a lot of people I blog because then I don't have to write in my journal.  (Can I get a "Hallelujah?")  But then I realized that there are some things I haven't blogged about that are pretty important.  In the past, I have tried to keep my blog pretty positive and just as an informative tool for those wishing to get caught up on what's going on.  Looking at my past posts, I'm seeing that they don't tell the whole story.  Also, with people checking my blog a little more infrequently now (pity party!), I feel I have a little more license to write more deeply about what's going on.

Don't worry, I don't intend on making this a crazy political blog or anything like that.  And I'll always warn you of a "journal-eque" entry so you can skip it if you want.

The first thing I wanted to write about was the birth of my boys.  Again, I write this not for sympathy or admiration, but for myself.  So that I can remember details of two life-changing events in my life.  These birth stories are told entirely from my point of view.  I'm sure Bryce has some very interesting perspective as well, but since he has written exactly one post on this blog, I'm thinking that's not a big priority for him.  I say that with all the love in my heart, of course.  :)

So, read on, if you dare...

Birth Story - Jack

When I got pregnant with Jack, I thought things would go pretty much as they had with Cole.  I envisioned an uncomplicated pregnancy.  And while I had no illusions about a simple labor, I figured it HAD to go more quickly than it did the first time around.  

But things never happen quite the way you think.

From the beginning, the pregnancy was more difficult.  The morning sickness was more intense and lasted pretty much all day.  I had frequent headaches that bordered on migraines.  I had myself convinced Jack was a girl because of how different the experience was.

During the few weeks before Jack was born, I noticed a lot of water retention.  When I had been pregnant with Cole, my feet were always swollen, so I expected this, but it seemed like my legs were pretty bad too.  My doctor recommended some support hose, but I quickly dismissed that idea.  No way was I shoving myself into those things like sausage into a casing.  I would be just fine, thank you very much.

Soon, there were mornings when I woke up and my face was so puffy my eyes wouldn't open all the way.  I would get so tired that I would sleep from the moment I got home from work until the next morning.  My vision would fade and I would see stars whenever I stood up.  I started drinking 60 ounces of water a day to try and flush out the extra water.  I was stumped when I didn't really seem to need to go to the bathroom, despite all the extra water.  Looking back, I want to smack myself.  I had chalked it all up to the uncomfortable state of being pregnant, trying to work full-time, and having a 2-year-old.  I wanted so much to not be "that lady."  You know, the pregnant woman who complains non-stop.  I wanted to be tough.  

Easter weekend came.  I vividly remembering sitting at the Thomsen's for our annual Easter Dinner.  Someone asked me how I was feeling, and I blurted out, "I'm DONE with being pregnant."

That Sunday, it felt like I was moving in slow motion.  I bought the dreaded support hose.  I bought the biggest size.  They still wouldn't go on.  I got them about half-way up and literally got stuck.  I sat screeching for Bryce to come help me get them off.

My parents came over for dinner and brought my dad's blood pressure cuff.  After we ate, I took a quick reading.  180/120.  That was okay, right?  My parents exchanged a look and said maybe I should try it again later that night.  After everyone left, I checked again.  Still the same.  Bryce looked up the readings online, and saw that was really quite high.  We thought something might be wrong with the cuff and decided to wait until morning.  

That night I couldn't sleep.  I was dizzy and light-headed even when laying down.  By the time morning came and I made it to the shower, my mind kept repeating one thought, "Something is not right."  We called the nurse line, and left a message.  Almost immediately, a nurse called back and told me to go to Labor and Delivery right away.  Instead, we got Cole up, got him fed, and got in the car to take him to school.  I called work and said I would probably be in late.  When we got to the hospital, I told Bryce to just drop me off, take Cole to school, and go to work.  I figured they would just monitor me and it would be a waste of his time to sit around with me.  But, he made a decision I am grateful to this day for.  He said he would drop Cole off and be back to sit with me.

The nursing staff hooked me up to some monitors and began to watch my blood pressure.  One nurse clicked her tongue and told me it looked like bed rest.  I felt panic rising in my chest.  Bed rest?  How could that possibly fit in with my 12 weeks of maternity leave?  But, I would do what I needed, and it would just have to work out.  Bryce and I chatted and joked, and watched staff flit in and out of the room, checking the long white print-outs of readings.  Soon, the on-call doctor arrived.  The mood changed immediately.  She asked me how long I had been feeling like this.  When I told her that I was trying to hold out until my regular appointment that was in a couple of days, she frowned and jotted something down on her paperwork.  She looked me in the eye and explained that while they would try to keep me pregnant as long as possible, that it was likely I would be heading for a c-section in the next few days.  I swallowed hard, but immediately dismissed the idea.  I would just be really good, and everything would be okay.  

Soon, a nurse came in and inserted a catheter.  (For those of you who have had one of those - how much fun is that?!)  She asked me when the last time I had used the bathroom was.  I told her it was when I had got up - about 5:30am.  She frowned and wrote something on her paperwork.  I was getting used to that.  

The on-call doctor arrived again.  She checked the white print-outs and told the nurses to increase the medication.  She ordered the steroid shot be administered - the one that is intended to help the baby's lungs.  She ordered an ultra-sound to try and determine how big our baby was.  She looked me in the eye again.  I was learning that this was a bad sign.  She then stated that the c-section would most likely happen the next day.  She also said the thing that I would hear over and over for the next week, "I cannot tell you how glad I am you came in today.  Your baby is doing okay, but if you had waited until your appointment on Wednesday, you most likely would have had a stroke.  Your blood pressure is just too high."

As this was all happening, I kept in contact with my Mom and Dad.  As my Dad had Mondays off, he came down to be with us.  Again, I was so glad. 

At about 11:30am, the doctor came in with more "look-you-straight-in-the-eye" news.  My kidneys were failing.  My blood pressure was not going down.  The baby had to come out.  Now.  She patted my arm and left.  Bryce and I stared at each other with wide eyes.  Tears began to leak out of mine.  How could this be?  It was so wrong!  I wasn't ready!  I hadn't taken any pictures!  I hadn't had Cole feel his baby brother in my tummy!  And my mind couldn't even begin to process what a baby born 2 months early might face. 

Everything began to happen in a blur.  Bryce was led away to be outfitted in scrubs.  My Dad called my Mom to come down quickly.  I remember them starting to wheel me away, and him saying to a nurse, "Her mom is going to be here in about 10 minutes, can we wait for her?"  When the nurse said no, I knew it was bad.  

The surgical room was just like I had heard it was - cold, bright white, and lots of lights.  The anesthesiologist came to give me the spinal block.  I joked about my butt hanging out of my gown.  That's right, even in serious times, I can find reasons to make inappropriate comments.  They had me lay down on the table, and then tied my arms out to my sides.  As the drugs began to kick in, so did the nausea.  I told the doctor I was going to throw up, but it was surprisingly hard to do being numb from the ribs down and having your arms useless.  I ended up just making hilariously gross dry-heaving sounds.  Bryce came, and they put the sheet up to cover the rest of my body.  The doctor asked if he wanted to see the baby be born, and I warned him, in no uncertain terms, he was not to pass out if he looked.  The procedure was incredible - the pushing and pulling, and then the rush of adrenaline/pukiness when they popped him out.  They held our little baby up - a tiny, gray bundle, and then rushed him to the NICU.  Bryce and I had agreed he would stay with the baby, so I was left alone while the doctor stitched me up.  Alone with thoughts I didn't want to think.  So, again, I resorted to doing what I do best - making inappropriate comments to the doctors.  They were all very kind and humored me.

I spent the next 6 days in the hospital.  I watched a lot of TV (the wedding of Kate and William happened while I was there and I will forever associate it with being in the hospital.  So romantic!), and tried to keep calm.  I was able to finally see Jack the day after I delivered.  He was so very tiny, and the guilt was almost unbearable.  But, I relished those visits to the NICU.  It was a place of comfort for us.  I knew Jack was where he needed to be.  

This story could have ended so differently.  And I am thankful every single day it didn't.  As I watch Jack grow and flourish I know how lucky we are, and how proud I am of that fighting spirit that he showed us from day one.    

Birth Story - Cole

As I try to figure out where to begin with Cole's birth story, I'm realizing how much I have forgotten. Perhaps that's a good thing (and probably the thing that enabled me to sign up for another baby), but it makes it hard to go back. Oh well, let's dive in. Ew. Maybe that's not the phrase I should begin a birth story with...

Cole was due October 5, 2008. Until about a week before his birth, I would have been happy being pregnant forever. I was feeling pretty good, and loved feeling him kick and move around. But then the uncomfortable ickiness of being nine months pregnant set in, and all of a sudden, labor didn't seem so bad - if only it meant an end to the CONSTANT need to go to the bathroom.

On Tuesday, October 7th, I drove to work as usual. I had started feeling contractions, but they were pretty far apart, so I figured I'd just go about my normal routine as long as possible. It was actually kind of fun to freak out my coworkers - I'll never forget the look on my assistant's face when I would have a contraction while trying to talk to her - half horror, half amusement.

Around 2:00pm, the contractions were becoming pretty regular, and I worried about driving home if I stayed much longer, so I went home. Bryce and I carefully timed the contractions, and when they were "the right" length, duration, and distance apart, we gleefully packed up the car and went to the hospital - sure that it would be soon.

In Labor and Delivery, they pronounced me dilated to a 1. I was puzzled. Bemused. Flummoxed. But the clock...the clock told me I was ready. The nurse gave me a shot of morphine and they sent us home. Unfortunately, while the morphine certainly made me feel like I was tripping, it didn't touch the pain. I still remember the ride home being a blur of dark, headlights, and pain. I tried to sleep that night, but that didn't really happen.

Wednesday, the 8th, I got up with renewed determination. I would kick these contractions butts! I would show those smarmy nurses who clearly thought I was a pansy. I held out until after lunch, proud of myself for walking around the block over and over and over again. Not wanting to be too excited, we went to my doctor's office to see where I was at. The doctor patted my hand and said, "Looks like you're making progress." I was so excited - was I at a 5? A 6? I waited with baited breath to hear the verdict. "You are dilated to about a 1.5!"

What the hell?

How? How was it possible that after 30 hours of consistent contractions I was at a 1.5? It took everything I had not to jump off the table and pummel the doctor with my fists. I think she saw the wildness in my eyes and hastily said, "Why don't you go to the park down the street and walk for a couple of hours? Come back and we'll see how you are doing." So, we walked. And walked some more. And I shot murderous glances at those non-pregnant people out enjoying their day. How dare they?! Didn't they know I was at a 1.5?

Back to the hospital we went, where I had indeed made progress. Just enough that they admitted me. (I think it was pity more than anything else.) They took pity on me again that night and gave me the epidural. I was so exhausted from the labor and not sleeping, I remember sleeping pretty well that night.

The next morning brought in a chipper nurse at about 8:00am, with the fabulous news that I was now dilated to an 8! "That baby should be here by noon!" she announced. Noon still seemed pretty far away, but it was concrete. We excitedly called our parents and encouraged them to come on down.

We were stupid.

Because it turns out Cole was hanging on to my innards with both hands and feet. I kind of picture him like a cat someone is trying to shove into a toilet - claws out and joints locked.

At about noon, I started pushing. I was going to push that baby out - and do it RIGHT NOW. I held the pushes longer and did them more frequently. After 3 hours - yes THREE HOURS of pushing, the doctor came in and said he was still pretty high up. She said that I could either have a c-section or push for another half an hour and see if I could get him low enough for forceps.

I did not go through the past 2 days to end up with a c-section. No how, no way.

So I pushed. And a half an hour later, we got the good news that the baby was low enough to get with forceps. Two pushes later, our beautiful boy was born. I still remember hearing a nurse say, "Oh - who has red hair?" They wrapped him up and placed him on my chest. I was so scared I would drop him, I couldn't stop shaking. Bryce held him while the doctor stitched me up...for another hour.

Turns out forceps do very bad things to you.

But we had made it. And having Cole started us out on the amazing, confusing, and wonderful ride that is parenting.

Would I have done it differently if I could go back? Maybe. But I like to think that the end result would be the same.  

And everyone knows you do NOT judge a woman in pain.

Love is in the Air

This little guy has me wrapped around his finger. But seriously...how could I not be?Jack totally had me cracking up with these pictures. I would take a picture of him smiling like so:
And as soon as the flash went off, he would freeze with a look of shock on his face. Like so:What a character - I just cannot imagine our family without him!

Easter Fun

Easter weekend was wonderful, and the beautiful weather made it even better. Saturday, we went to Grandma and Grandpa Thomsen's for dinner and an Easter egg hunt.

All the kids - they are getting so big!Unka D and JackCole - right after eating a chocolate. Notice the clenched hands ("But Mom, they're dirty!"), and the pained look on his face. It was kind of fun making him wait to wash his hands, I'm not going to lie.
Sunday, we had Pa, Nana, Grandma and Grandpa Allen, and Aunt Carol at our house for Easter dinner.

I was just a little proud of the centerpiece I made and the way the table looked.Look at this little boy - he looks so old!Jack grabbing his first egg.Grandma and Grandpa AllenHappy Easter, everyone!

Dyeing the Eggs, Man

How did the tradition of dyeing Easter Eggs start? Who was the person who thought, "Yes. Let's cook an egg in boiling water and then put it in a pastel-colored dye." And why is it so much fun? I'm sure Wikipedia could answer these questions for me, but....meh.

Pictures instead!

Rough Patch

Doesn't it seem like just when you have some idea of how to do this whole parenting thing - POOF - all that "knowledge" is incinerated in a firestorm of backtalk and acting out?

Now, obviously, I realize that I have a three and a half year old living in my home, so I expect some degree of illogical behavior. But these last couple of weeks have doubled-down on the crazy. Cole has:

Pushed Jack over
Thrown toys at the back of my head
Pulled kids off playground equipment
Thrown sand in kids' eyes
Thrown chairs in his classroom
Told his teacher, "You're a jerk!" when she told him to go potty

We have done time-outs, we have taken away toys, we have sent him to his room, yet the behavior continues. I'm attributing it to "The Perfect Storm" of change - Cole recently had strep throat, and now has a cold, he has a new teacher at school, and he hasn't been sleeping as well at night. Oh, yes, and did I mention he's three?

While I can see how all of that is contributing to his behavior, there's that little sinister voice whispering in my ear that my little boy is changing, that he'll always be like this, that this is just the beginning of something worse. I know in a few weeks, I'll look back and think, "Oh yes, that was rough, but he pulled through that awful phase." But that sinister voice doesn't think so. It thinks that something is terribly wrong and I'm missing something important.

I guess we'll just keep on plugging along, being firm and consistent, and see how it goes. And who knows, maybe if we dangle the "Easter Bunny Sees All" carrot, we'll see some improvement.

One can only hope. :)