With Four Kids

Since this latest addition to the family, I've been asked what it's like to have 4 kids instead of 3. For some reason, making the jump between 3 to 4, is a leap from what's considered "acceptable" to "excessive". If that's not what people think, it certainly feels like it. Lots of people report that they couldn't do what I do, although I don't think it's that hard to ignore laundry, not clean up the kitchen or fail to cook more than one meal a week. How hard is it to stay in your pajamas all day and make excuses to your husband?

I am becoming envious of people who have one or two kids because I know how much easier their life is. I also laugh when I hear someone with 2 kids complaining about taking them "all" to the store. What all? Of course, there are those with more than 4 who are laughing at me.

Every addition to this family has come with its own set of problems. Lily was the first. 'Nuff said. Darcy came along, 15 months later, during a hurricane evacuation. She was born at an unfamiliar hospital with an unknown doctor. We had a 15-month old, just learning how to walk and talk, and a newborn. Two children in diapers. And we weren't at our home. In fact, we weren't at our home for 6 months because of damage from that hurricane. Our life was stressful and uneasy. We only had one car.

Darcy and Reagan are 26 months apart. We had a 3 year old, a 2 year old and a newborn. Going from 2 children to 3 children is a massive undertaking. Brian and I felt outmanned, outgunned and overwhelmed. We didn't go anywhere for 2 months. Reagan was 6 months old before Brian ever took the 3 of them somewhere alone. When he finally did take them somewhere, it was on a 6-hour road trip to Beaumont. Two kids still in diapers.

And now 4 kids. Reagan and Joshua are 21 months apart. We have a 5-year old, a 4-year old, a nearly 2-year old and a newborn. I thought everything about this baby was going to be easy. Not the pregnancy, but life after delivery. I thought I would recover quickly from surgery, bounce back to a person who has everything under control in the house. That hasn't been the case. I run from one task to the next, just trying to keep the screaming to a dull roar. There are some days I feel sure Joshua believes he is being raised in the violent ward.

I have never in my life felt as I do now that someone always wants something from me. Someone is always calling my name, getting into a loud altercation with their sister, needing to be fed, changed, wiped, gotten up, gotten down, dressed, hair fixed, bathed or taken somewhere. Even the dog makes demands on my time: let her in, let her out, feed her, keep her from ruining yet another pair of the girls' shoes or tearing up another book. Life with 4 kids (and the dog) is much harder than I ever thought it would be.

I am frustrated that it seems to be so difficult and I look in the mirror and see someone who is frazzled and tired and worn-looking. It's not a surprise; that's exactly the way I feel. Frazzled, tired and worn.

When I was 20, I left the good life at Sam Houston State and moved back home with my parents to live. I had 4 jobs (at the same time) making no money, working about 90 hours a week. The worst days of it were Saturday through Monday. Tuesdays were my only day off for the whole week. At about 10pm on Sunday, when I was about to start my 3rd job of the day, having already worked 13 hours at the other 2 and gearing up for another 8 hours, I would think about just making it until Tuesday when I could get some sleep.

I keep trying to look ahead to when I might have some relief and there doesn't seem to be a Tuesday in sight. I have to keep reminding myself that I am now the mother of 4 children under the age of 5, and frazzled, tired and worn is now my life. I don't remember feeling this way when I only had 3 kids, not including pregnancy. So I guess the answer to the question, what's it like to have 4 kids so close together, is this:

It's freakin' hard.

"That's What I Heard"

The news is out. We're expecting Baby#4 in early August. I am beginning to realize this very interesting thing about myself: I am a secretive/private person. Even with a blog. There are just some things I like to keep to myself until I am ready to talk about them. Like this newest baby. It's not that I was surprised, I just didn't want to discuss it because I wasn't ready for the barrage of "well-meaning" comments. I also don't like other people sharing my news. I don't know why...but it irritates me to no end when I begin to tell other people something and they respond with "that's what I heard." Hmmm, maybe "irritate" isn't quite right; more like infuriates.

Along this vein of valuing my privacy is wondering why in the world people want to rub my belly! There are a few people I allow to do it, even though I don't like it. I only allow it because those people will not be stopped. I do not touch other people's bellies. When my mother was pregnant with my brother, she let me feel when the baby was moving. At 9, I was permanently scarred. Other than my own, I have never touched another pregnant belly. Yuck.

Brian hates it when people wonder if we know what causes this condition. I see it as a stupid, failed attempt at being humorous. Someone asked me that on Saturday and I told her I figured out it wasn't jogging. I quit jogging and we were still having this problem.

After my sonogram yesterday, I am now assured that there will only be one addition. Come August, I will have 4 children, 5 and under. Everyone else's opinion aside, it does kind of sound like something someone stupid would do. Even the sonogram tech yesterday wanted to know the history of my childbearing decisions. Please. What difference does it make?

Sometimes, I wonder what in the world I am possibly thinking in order to do this to myself again. I don't think being pregnant is the most fabulous time of my life. I think pregnancy sucks, except I didn't get the reminder until I started eating pretzels by the bag to keep from throwing up. I heard someone say that she never felt more purposeful than when she was pregnant. Even my mother loved being pregnant, but I can say with confidence, she didn't have morning sickness of any variety. And even this morning sickness isn't as bad as it could be. I'm just nauseated and gagging for most of the day. There are some people who actually have their heads in the toilet for 9 months.

As the end of the first trimester ends, I can tell it's getting better. I was actually able to get out of bed this morning without gagging and retching. But I might have an aversion to the smell of toast forever. Yes, the smell of toast causes me to gag. I can eat it, but only when the smell is gone.

I'm looking forward to increased productivity and energy in the 2nd trimester. Just a few more weeks...

More Babies

While getting dressed this morning, I was given the once-over by my oldest daughter. It always makes me uncomfortable when I see her looking me up and down because I know some question is going to come from it that I'm not going to like. This morning's embarrassing question was regarding my lack of breast pads. Why wasn't I wearing them any more? It actually started out with her wondering where the round, soft things were...

I explained that since I wasn't nursing Reagan anymore, I didn't need them.

"When are you going to have another baby?"

I reminded her Reagan is still a baby.

"But we like babies."

I assured her there were plenty of babies in this family.

"I think we should have 5 babies."

Two more babies would be a lot more work, I said.

"I could feed one and Darcy could feed one."

Is she serious? Then she reports that when she's a mama, she wants to have 5 babies also. Over breakfast, she decides she and Darcy will have their babies at the same time. Unfortunately, Darcy doesn't agree that 5 is a great number. "I want one baby and one husband," Darcy said.

I must be doing something right for Lily to think it's so glamorous to have a bunch of children.

A Minute Of Your Time

Wednesday was a long day. Reagan was just not herself. She could not be soothed. I couldn't do anything right for her, so I just put her in the bed and closed her door. No matter what mood she is in, the show must go on. I had many other things I wanted to try and get accomplished and I just didn't have the time to sit and hold her. Not that it would have helped anyway. I had already tried that.

By the time her afternoon feeding rolled around, I noticed she felt very warm. Very warm. She had gotten over whatever it was that had her out of sorts earlier in the day and had gone back to her normal cheery self. I took her temperature and was shocked to find that it was 101. I called Brian, reported my findings and consulted my ibuprofen chart from the doctor. I adminstered 1/2 teaspoon of Motrin and waited a half hour to see if it helped.

Temperature now up to 101.5. I called the doctor and was again shocked. This time it was to hear that they wanted me to take her to Cook Children's Hospital in Fort Worth. This really wasn't a good time for us to have to go to Fort Worth. First of all, I hadn't had a shower all day. I didn't know what was wrong with her or what they might do. I was trying very desperately to not panic and remember that I am not to worry about anything, instead pray about everything. Tell the Lord what I need and thank Him for all He has done. If I do this, I will experience God's peace that is more wonderful than the human mind can understand. (Phillipians 4:6-7)

I called Brian and he said he'd meet me midway so we could go together in the car.

I really tried to think ahead. We would have to eat dinner on the road. The older girls would need something to do. How long would we be there? Reagan would need to eat. I would need something to read. Should I take a change of clothes for me, in case we have to stay overnight? Somehow, I managed to not panic. I put together bags for the girls with several books and toys and their cups. I grabbed a book and a magazine for myself and prepared 3 bottles for Reagan. I brushed my teeth, washed my face and got dressed.

And we were on our way. I left the house at 5:10pm and signed in at the hospital at 6:55pm. I cannot for the life of me figure out what in the world took so long. That amount of time seems like a nice, leisurely pace, but I remember feeling very frenzied trying to get there quickly.

Of course, the fever had broken by the time we got there and the triage nurses admonished me for giving her Motrin. This whole situation was very bad for the other girls who were subjected to disease and who knows what else and also made to sit still for a long period of time. They did really well, considering. We were moved to a room, where we were left for over 2 hours with no one ever coming to check on us. They didn't want me to feed Reagan formula, but they didn't give me enough PediaLyte either. The whole situation was very frustrating.

Finally, a very harried, mean looking doctor in blue jeans came in. After waiting for 2 hours in the room, we finally got 3 minutes of her time. She was literally in the room for 3 minutes. She said Reagan's ear was "a little pink". We waited all that time and will probably have a bill for $1000 just to be diagnosed with an ear infection. We got a dose of antibiotics and a prescription for the rest and we were done.

After stopping at a 24-hour pharmacy to get the prescription filled, we got home at midnight. The girls did not even sleep in the car.

Today was Reagan's 4-month check up. The doctor said her ears looked fine.

I don't know why I'm so frustrated with the process. I think maybe the doctor could have looked at her before sending us all the way to Cook's. I know Reagan is right at the age where a high fever like that can be very serious, but there are other considerations as well. I think next time, one parent will go to the hospital with the sick child and the other parent will take the other ones home. This will keep them from being exposed to who knows what in the ER waiting room of a major metropolitan hospital. Things are a lot different for us here when we don't have anyone that we can call to look after our girls when something like this happens.

In other news, Reagan is weighing in at 16 pounds, 5 ounces and is 27 inches long. She is in the 95th percentile. Her head circumference, which I forgot, is also in the 95th percentile. Everything is rolling along.

Growing Like A Weed

Reagan is nearly four months old and I cannot believe how quickly the time is passing. Quite frankly, I am alarmed. How in the world is it possible that Lily will be 4 this year, Darcy will be 3 and I will be 31? Brian and I celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary this past December so "we" are getting long in the tooth as well. While we were dating I used to have these "flash forwards" to what our life was going to be like after we got married. It was really weird. I don't have them anymore and what I envisioned doesn't come close to matching reality. But reality isn't so bad, either.

I have a hard time reconciling Lily to her age. She's the oldest and she acts like a little mother hen. One day, out of complete desperation, I let her feed Reagan, with my supervision of course. Reagan woke up early and I was in the middle of fixing dinner and there was no way that I was going to be able to stop and there was no way that Reagan was going to wait. That really went pretty well. I just put Reagan in her bouncy seat and put Lily in the chair. It was a little time consuming going back and forth to adjust the bottle, but not nearly as time consuming as feeding her myself. The next time I had to use my "extra set of hands" is when I had to give Darcy an emergency bath.

A couple of weeks ago, I had the brilliant idea that we should start potty training Darcy. After 2 hours, I had an indication that she might not be ready yet. One of those indicators necessitated a bath in the middle of the day. It was past time for Reagan to eat, but Darcy needed a bath. As in, Darcy couldn't go forward with her day until she had a bath.

Now I understand why the oldest girls in families start "helping" so early. Mamas need the help! At least this mama does. And Lily is thrilled to death to be helping. Every day she wants to feed Reagan. So far, she can't wait to be a wife and mother which means I must be doing something right, even if it's by accident. She already has a husband picked out. That was after we told her that she could only marry someone who was a boy and not already in our family. (Darcy, Daddy, Uncles Lonnie and Greg were the top choices.)

Here are some recent pictures.

My happy Reagan taking her bath:

In this picture, I tried to capture that both of the girls were just staring at each other. I thought it was so sweet.

At the Hokey Pokey Place

With Papa:

Actually putting our right arm in:

We love the Hokey-Pokey!

Adventures In Parenting--Taking Pictures, Part 2

Continued....

We have finally arrived at the portrait studio and they are ready for us, right now. We, on the other hand, are not ready for them. I get Darcy's dress on her and am grateful to see that the dress easily covers up the hole in her stocking.

Until this point, Reagan has been quietly sleeping in her carrier. The Burger King lady was amazed that Reagan never made a peep while we were there. "Now" is a different story. Since it is time to eat, she is beginning to peep. If I attempt to dress her without feeding her, the peeping will morph into caterwauling and pictures will be over. What to do?

Our friends at Sears generously offer the use of the other camera room so that I could feed Reagan with privacy. Four years ago, I would have never even considered feeding my child in public. Period. Privacy or no privacy. End of discussion. Not in any form of public. Ever. But here, on this day, I agree. I know in the long run, it will be easier and I will be more comfortable.

We move in. Literally. Between the bags (4 in all), the carrier, my jacket and the dresses the girls wore there, we needed a porter to get everything in the room and arranged. I find a chair and do what I do best: feed children. I try to be discreet, but Reagan does not want anything covering her face. She does not have to suffer this injustice at home. I do the best I can. Brian had the great and terrible task of watching the other girls which was like herding a basket full of kittens. I know it is great and terrible because I had to watch all three while he went to the bathroom. The balance of power could shift at any moment.

When it comes time to burp and switch sides, I hand Reagan off to Brian and in the interim, try to do something with Lily's hair with our new, expensive hairbows. When I purchased the hairbows, I did not examine to see what kind of barrette or clip was attached. I am now finding that it is the junkiest, crappiest barrette ever. Not the French barrette that I was expecting, but one that was going to be a pain to deal with. This thing was going to be a problem. All the curling of Lily's hair hadn't done much for the waves we'd hoped for, but they did give her hair some volume and it looked right nice down and to the side. Brian decides to try his hand with Lily's hair [he's actually better at half ponytails] and I take Reagan back for Round Two.

After Brian is chastised (by Lily) for pulling hair, it is unanimous to forgo the bow and leave the hair down. I'm ready to flush all hairbows, everywhere, down the toilet.

Reagan finishes and we begin the process of dressing her. Brian is holding her and she is wearing her adorable stockings and her diaper cover. Then the worst thing that could happen to a cream-colored dress, happened.

It started out with a strange sound....a cross between a gurgle, a rumble and another sound I can't identify. As soon as I asked, "What was that?" I was able to see what it was.

Out of her diaper, like a science experiment gone terribly wrong, was lots and lots of poop. It was just bubbling right out of the top. I guess with Brian's arm right there, it didn't have anywhere to go but up. And up it went. I jerked her diaper cover off, saved that from being ruined. I grabbed the cloth diaper that we use for burping and tried to "catch" it, so to speak. Except more kept coming.

And coming.

Finally, Mount Saint Reagan stopped flowing.

When we got there, the photographer was talking to us about what kind of pictures we wanted. She suggested "naked pictures" since this was Reagan's first official picture. She called it "Newborn Pictures". I vetoed Naked Newborn Pictures. Although, after this part of our adventure, I thought we were going to be forced to have Naked Pictures. I was scared to put her dress on at all. The stockings were ruined so she didn't get to wear her shoes, but the dress managed to escape all damage. We changed her on the floor. Thank goodness diaper bags come with little changing pads or someone (probably me) would have had to haul her all the way to the bathroom holding her out at arm's length. It was bad enough that we had to shove all the nasty things back in the diaper bag and carry it home with us. But thank goodness for that little plastic pouch. Those Carter's people are pretty smart.

Although, I think pooping so much put Reagan in a good humor and she was thrilled to have her picture taken multiple times. She even allowed them to capture some of her open-mouthed, gummy smiles. And miracle of miracles, there was at least one shot where everyone was smiling and looking at the camera at the same time.

We finally finished with pictures at 4pm. The waiting room was filled with people....waiting. We had thrown the whole operation off. Way off. Our whole day was shot, too. There was much to be learned from this experience. But hey, it's okay. After all, this was our first real adventure with three kids. I think the learning curve on this thing is pretty steep.

Adventures In Parenting--Taking Pictures, Part I

Before Reagan was born, I bought a fancy-pants dress for her so that she could have her picture made with her sisters. We have done this every Christmas since we started having children. As fast as Reagan is growing, much longer, and the dress wasn't going to fit. The dress was definitely too expensive to let that happen so I scheduled an appointment for Saturday at 11:15am at Sears, which is an hour away. I was so proud of myself: I had even remembered to pick up tights for everyone.

Brian and I made no plans on how to fix Lily's hair for the picture and so we were scrambling on Saturday morning. Hot rollers were out; Lily screamed that they were too hot. (They were pretty hot.) I got the curling iron out and curled all that hair, which remained curly for about 25 seconds. In the midst of playing beauty parlor, I realized that Brian and I had 45 minutes to get ready and drive somewhere that was over an hour away.

Brian rescheduled the appointment for 12:30pm. We might make it after all.

I had intended to make hair bows for the girls to match their dresses, but in the busyness of having a baby, I just didn't get to it. Darcy and Reagan had bows that would match their dresses, but Lily needed something for her hair. I knew of a children's boutique in town that would be open and would gladly charge me $10 or more for a hairbow. We stopped on our way out of town. Lucky for me, they were having a buy-one-get-one-free sale on everything in the store. I bought 2 bows. No time to look at anything else, but I'll be back before the sale is over.

We are loaded to the gills. We have brought all the girls' dresses with us, I have Reagan's diaper bag that is full of everything we could possibly need for her, another bag of hair stuff (water, comb, ponytail holders, hairspray), my purse and the bag the hairbows are in. We also brought the girls.

Finally, we are on the road...

At the halfway point, I realize that we are still going to be late. I place a call to the studio and tell them that we are having the worst time getting started this morning. Our appointment is rescheduled again to 1:30pm.

About this time, I ask Brian what Darcy is doing...it's awfully quiet back there. She's been busy...she has created a massive hole in her tights. Right in the thigh. I didn't bring a spare pair because I never believed anything like that would actually happen. I stare out the window wondering what else can go wrong.

Since there was no way in the world that we had time to make lunches to take with us, Brian thinks stopping at Burger King will make me feel better after this latest setback. He actually lets us eat inside. Don't we look wonderful, our little chorus line of girls holding hands with Brian and Reagan bringing up the rear. He finds a table and gets everyone settled while I scurry around getting drinks and our food together. We eat and quickly load back up. (Quickly, in this case, means it only took 15 minutes.)

We're back on the road...running late.

When we finally pull up outside of Sears, it's 1:40pm. Brian instructs me get out and take Darcy with me. I've got the diaper bag, my purse, 2 dresses on hangers, the "hair" bag, the hairbows and Darcy. Brian changes Lily at the car and brings her and Reagan inside.

To be continued....

Six Weeks In

I am finding myself unusally frustrated today. I am very nearly sure that it is directly proportional to the amount of continuous sleep I am not getting. This is a fairly new phenomenom because Reagan was doing really well...up until Friday night when I realized she had caught her sisters' cold.

Friday was a very long day....it started at 6am and it did not stop until 2am Saturday morning. After a call to the doctor on Saturday morning (a call that woke the doctor up...the doctors here actually return those after-hours phone calls), it seemed like Reagan was getting better. I think it's just a cold, not anything more substantial than that, which is a relief. Both Lily and Darcy were hospitalized for RSV before they were six months old. Reagan is still eating, albeit from a bottle, and the only coughing I hear seems to be a result of the drainage from her nose. She's been sleeping in her bouncy seat in her bed with the humidifier on and I've been attacking her nose with an aspirator before nearly every meal.

And I don't think it would be so bad if the other 2 weren't getting over their own colds and trying to kill each other and screaming bloody murder every time my back was turned. Right now, everyone is in their separate corners, including me. I could not take any more screaming and crying because one wouldn't let the other put her cookie in the oven. Or the fact that Lily was nearly concussed by a princess shoe for some slight that has yet to be determined.

I do have a schedule that I try to adhere to, but with an infant, it is downright impossible. At this point in time, utilizing FlyLady's 15 minute principles is ridiculous at best. I can hardly get Reagan changed in 15 minutes, espeically after she poops in the brand new clean diaper or spits up all over everything and I have to change her clothes twice in the process. That's usually the time that Child A will come running in tattling on Child B and in dealing with that, I realize Child B needs a spanking and a diaper change. By the time this is all finished, Baby C is asleep and is nowhere near interested in finished her meal. Rinse. Repeat.

On an up note, I am thrilled to death with myself for preparing dinner every night. Since December 1st, we have only been out to eat twice. Once for our anniversary and once to say goodbye to our babysitter and favorite waitress at Chili's. (How dare she move an hour away!) For our family, that is absolutely amazing. Brian and I have always been eating-out people. The main reason is....we are too scared to bring all the children out in public, especially in coat-and-hat weather. It's just too much trouble and not worth it. If nothing else, it has certainly served our budget well.

My next goal will be to do something with this house. I'm so busy giving emergency baths and keeping the blood flow and knots on the head to a minimum that I haven't gotten the chance to do anything but keep the kitchen clean in the last six weeks. Wait...I think I swept the kitchen once. It's a process, I think.

A Baby Story

Things are starting to settle down into some semblance of normalcy...if that can actually be defined with a newborn in da crib. Literally.

Reagan Elizabeth was ushered in, a week earlier than planned, two weeks earlier than was due, on Monday, November 26, 2007 at 4:58am. As was suspected, she weighed between 9 and 10 pounds at 9 pounds, 7 ounces and was 21 inches long.

I went into labor on Sunday evening, with contractions 3 minutes apart for over an hour. I was reluctant to go to the hospital being nearly sure that the contractions would stop. Like they usually do. When the nurse actually captured 2 of them on the monitor, I felt validated. When the nurse told me that I was dilated to a 1, I was ecstatic. I had never been dilated before! This meant that my body was doing something to prepare for the baby...and I wasn't crazy. Unfortunately, my team of medical professionals would not be doing anything to stop this labor. I would not be going home without a baby. At 9:30pm, we were told that we would either have a baby "now" or first thing in the morning.

I was in a dead panic. We (read: I) were not prepared to have a baby. What about the girls? My doctor was not on call. I didn't have any clothes. I couldn't even think of what I might need. I was supposed to get a pedicure this week. My swanky nursing pajamas hadn't arrived yet.

We alerted the media. My parents, scheduled to arrive the following Sunday for a birth that was to occur on the 3rd, would not be able to come until Tuesday. Of Brian's parents, scheduled to arrive Saturday before the birth, only Gran was able to come, and not until Monday afternoon.

For the current problem of what to do with the girls all night while we wait for a decision to be made by those in the know (because I wasn't going anywhere), thank God for Ashlee, our babysitter. She was not working at her regular job Sunday night and was able and willing to come and stay all night with the girls while Brian stayed with me. She even offered to skip her classes on Monday, in case we needed her.

From 8pm until 3:30am, we waited and I contracted every 3 minutes. After hours and hours of watching the clock and trying to rest, my nurse barged in the room and threw on the overhead light. Within 30 minutes, all parties would be there to start the surgery. After hours of "hurry up and wait", their efficiency was nerve-wracking.

The nurse anesthetist showed up and yes, I actually asked her if she was well-rested. I had no problem having a baby during normal business hours, but I've read too many scary medical stories in Reader's Digest about after hours procedures. (And this is not a big city hospital...all these people had been sleeping snug in their beds.) She said she'd had about 3 hours of sleep. In my opinion, that's not well rested. Personally, I can hardly make coffee when I've had only 3 hours of sleep. Honestly, this was my 3rd baby, my 3rd set of doctors and my 3rd surgery and she was by far the best anesthetist of them all. She had very kind eyes, the only part of her that I could see. She had me facing away from all the "equipment" to keep me from being anxious. She had the drape as far away from my face as could be managed and told me that I could have my hands loose. When she saw me using those loose hands to scratch and scratch, she gave me a shot of Benedryl. I never got nauseous, much less threw up. She even held the baby so I could kiss her.

Recovery is always fun...I never know what is going on even though I try earnestly to pay attention. I do remember hearing it took over 2 hours and many, many sticks to start Reagan's IV. Actually, I don't remember much of the first day. People came to visit and later when I tried to remember, it seemed like a dream.

Reagan was not allowed to come out of the nursery because of transient tachypnea of the newborn (TTN) which is fancy doctor talk for fast breathing. Apparently, it's a condition most often seen in big, fat babies delivered by C-section. Too much fluid in the lungs causes the baby to breathe fast. Normally, most of the fluid would be pushed out during delivery. The problem is not unusual and tends to right itself in a day or two, sometimes less. After 3 days of little improvement (and no nursing....could be too stressful for the baby to suck and try to breathe) our pediatrician called a neonatalogist at the children's hospital in Fort Worth for a second opinion. That doctor wanted her to be transferred to that hospital for an echocardiogram to ensure that there wasn't more to the problem. Apparently, fast breathing could be a symptom of an infection, a heart problem, etc., etc., etc.

Wednesday, my doctor discharged me and Reagan was transferred to Cook's Children's Hospital in Fort Worth. I tried to be strong while the doctor was talking to me...but I was in shock. Just the night before, he assured us that there was only a 10% chance that she would need to be transferred. When the sweet nurses asked me how I was doing, I started crying. Something was wrong with the baby, no one knew exactly what it was and I was all alone. Brian hadn't made it in from the plant yet. Then the transport team showed up with the contraption they use to transport those sick babies and I was inconsolable. It's a gurney with an incubator and machines and leads and oxygen and scary medical stuff. They assessed the baby and took her to Fort Worth. Brian and I went home to get some clothes and things. We had no idea what to expect when we got to Fort Worth.

Reagan was re-routed to Baylor All Saints. The NICU there was spectacular. Everyone from the department head to the baby's daily nurse went above and beyond. The doctor was the same one there every single day. When we weren't there and called to see about her, the nurses never acted like it was an inconvenience to answer our questions.

All tests indicated it was TTN and little by little, her respirations were slowing down. On Thursday, the neonatalogist finally let her nurse and she did great. Until then, they'd been feeding her pumped breast milk and formula through a tube in her nose. Brian and I were driving back and forth to Fort Worth every day to visit her and then coming home in the evenings to Lily and Darcy worn to a frazzle and emotionally exhausted. Thank God for my mother-in-law who stayed with the girls and fixed dinner every night. I don't know how I would have coped.

After another brutal day of driving back and forth to Fort Worth and sitting by Reagan's bedside, I came home to find a large box in the living room. It was a Shower-In-A-Box from our friends back home. That was absolutely the most amazing thing. At a time I needed to know it the most, God used our friends to show us in a very tangible way that people were thinking about us, cared about us and were praying for us. It was exactly what I needed at exactly the right moment.

The next day as we were preparing to go visit Reagan, her nurse called and told us that she would be discharged the next day if we'd like to "room-in" that night. I jumped at the opportunity. We ended up in a tiny little room in the corner of the NICU for nearly 24 hours. I got an extremely uncomfortable twin bed and Brian slept on a chair that folded out...standard hospital fare. No meals were provided. At least we did have a TV. I thought we'd end up playing 20 questions all night. I understand why they do this rooming in thing, but Brian thinks it's a racket. They charged us another day's room and board even though we did all the work and I provided all the board. Brian thinks that if she's well enough to "room-in" then she's well enough to go home and save us the money. I think they see a lot of sick babies and need to know that the parents know how to care for the babies before they send them home. Some of the babies go home with equipment. It just so happens that we've done this kind of thing before.

Finally, on Saturday, December 1st, on our 5th wedding anniversary, Reagan came home from the hospital. So far, she's doing well. Her stump has fallen off and she regained her birth weight (and then some) in the allotted time period. Her sisters are interested in her and don't like her to fuss for any reason. Our next goal: sleeping through the night. Last night, she went from 12:30am until 5am so we are well on our way.

Preparing For Baby

We now have less than a month before the newest arrival to our all-girl collection.

We've been adding meals and meat to our freezer, stocking up on long-sleeved onesies and warm jammies and perusing catalogs to get Christmas shopping done without leaving home. (Shopping becomes problematic when the closest mall or even a Target is an hour's drive away.) I've ordered my cradle set, a case of diapers and a 300 oz. bottle of Dreft. We only lack a bouncy seat since our previous canine companion ate the one that was purchased for Darcy.

Another ultrasound last week verified two things. First, we are still having a girl. Even with my limited medical training (read: none), I was able to identify the parts as female. After finally accepting that we are going to be a family of all girls (at least for now), I would really be put out with medical science if I had to return all my newly acquired girly purchases for flannel shirts and overalls. Secondly, there is only one baby in there. I was reasonably sure of this, but it is a popular question that I get asked when I venture out in public.

I've been limiting my public appearances of late. Mostly, because I feel like a freak at a side show. My shirt and pants don't match up very well and everywhere I go, people point and whisper. Some people don't even bother to whisper. I am constantly harangued by women I refer to as "old wives". They believe I should already be in the hospital, know it's a boy, and assure me that I'll never make it to December. They tell each other that I must be about to pop or I've got twins. They even speculate on the actual weight of the baby at her birth. One clerk at Kohl's predicted 8 pounds and 5 ounces.

According to my latest ultrasound, the baby currently weighs 7.5 pounds. With a month to go. The doctor (whose opinion I actually value) is predicting a baby in the 9-10 pound range...and he doesn't seem alarmed. As for me, I was a little alarmed, especially when I realized that this baby could gain a pound a week for the next 4 weeks. Yikes. However, I'm scheduled for a C-section on December 3rd, so I guess it doesn't really matter how big the baby is. Except I'll be carrying her around between now and then and honestly, she's starting to get heavy.

I'm just grateful it's not the middle of summer. And I have a reasonable expectation that I won't have to evacuate the week before this baby is due. In fact, hurricane season will officially be over before this baby is scheduled to arrive. And that is a relief. Now, if I could just get that bouncy seat.

It's A Girl!

It's official...we're having another girl. With this third girl, I have finally resigned myself that I am going to be the mother of girls so I'd better get used to big bows and doing hair and all those sorts of "girly" things that seem to confound me.


I am not a "girly" person by nature and so this whole "mother of girls" thing has been especially difficult. It does not help matters that my daughter with the longest hair has the finest hair that won't hold a curl on a bet, has about 40 cowlicks and her hair does not grow in straight. Ponytails and especially pigtails are an exercise in frustration.

I have determined that I will have to get a short haircut just so I won't have to get up at dawn in order to do all the hair that this current brood (and however many other girls) will require.

Brian does not approve of my having short hair. In that case, I have full confidence in his ability to learn how to put pigtails and bows in cow-licky hair.

Sonogram

We are nearly at 19 weeks and tomorrow is our sonogram. For some reason, I am anxious. It is very likely that we are having a girl, but I am feeling in my bones that this baby is a boy. I can't explain it...I don't understand it. I don't think I'll cry if I find out it's not a boy, but I really believe it is. I have asked God to prepare my heart for what we will find out tomorrow, but I am nervous. I think it's because as long as I don't know, I can pretend that it's a boy. To that end, Brian and I have already picked out a name for a boy...but have thought nothing about naming a girl.

Lily has already put in her request for a brother...probably because she has already witnessed the damage that a sister can do. We tell her it might be a sister, but she replies that it might be a brother, too. You really can't tell 3-year olds anything.

When my mother was pregnant with my younger brother (who turned 21 yesterday), someone told me that sisters take your things. So I said I wanted a brother. No one told me that brothers take your stuff, too.

Even though I'm nervous, I can't wait until tomorrow. The suspense is killing me!