White Christmas

 Christmas Eve I tracked Santa from Africa all the way to Canada before I fell asleep and still not a stitch of snow... Then, Christmas morning, BAM. Mother Nature pulled out all the stops. The snow is beautiful! And of course Woodland Hills got the best show of all.

We were spoiled rotten with love and gifts and yummy food. It was the perfect day. Then on Christmas night we started to feel a little "off." By December 26th all Christmas magic was gone and the demon-spawn-of-Satan sickness hit our family hard. We were decommissioned All. Weekend. Sniffles and the pukes and coughing and chills and body aches and fevers and every imaginable thing you never want to happen to you did. Ugh.

So that was fun. Thank goodness (read with mild sarcasm) there were 50 bajillion bowl games on. JR wouldn't even let me do any laundry. We just relaxed and didn't do a lick of anything responsible while every football game ever was watched for three full days. Thank goodness (read with absolutely no sarcasm) I got a new iPad for Christmas. I think Husband and I have finally come to the perfect understanding. He can watch all the football he wants and I'll even sit in the same room as long as I can have that iPad.

One of the best things about Christmas this year was all those babes. And matching babes are even better. Documenting all that cuteness was an all together different story...

Poor Ashlyn was so confused. She kept trying to build a nest.

Hey Porter, it's okay. Don't cry.

I can't. I mean...

Notice that Michael's socks came off and filled out the bottom of his pants. We got a kick out of that. His legs are a good four inches shorter than they look in this picture.

Michaelisms

Michael has found his toes, his voice and some limited mobility. Babies sucking on baby toes is probably one of my favorite things ever. It's adorable. Michael, not one to take toe-sucking lightly, usually sucks on both feet at the same time. JR has voiced some longing for even an ounce of that kind of flexibility. It's astounding. I mean...

Michael "talking" is something that makes me laugh every single time. There are some situations, like Sunday School or the High School Symphony concert we went to for one of my YW, that create talking-induced anxiety more than actual laughter. But there are still mama giggles, even if somewhat suppressed. He's been known to instigate raised voices just to carry on a conversation over his self talks. But my goodness, I wouldn't trade those sweet baby sounds for anything. I wonder what he's talking about?

Michael Blake is pretty skinny. We're trying to beef him up. I don't really know how one "beefs up" a baby. In the meantime his little chicken legs are pretty fantastic. 

Here are a few more of our favorite munchkin for your viewing pleasure...

Operation Beefing

Wiggled right out of his pants!

Being a mom rocks. This skinny little bundle of drool is so sweet and calm. He loves to play, he loves it when we sing and he really loves his bed. (Like the other night he had a minor meltdown. We rocked, we walked, we hugged, we fed, we tried everything! Put him in his bead, immediate calm. Okay, fine. I get it.) I love to kiss his perfect baby cheeks. Please, just let him be little fo'eva!

2014, Get Outta Here

This year has kicked my butt. Kicked it straight to the curb. The past 351 days have shattered any limits I thought I had. Typically this is where I start talking about how all the stretching has helped me grow and I'm a better person for all the experiences of 2014. For me? Nope. I just feel tested. And I think mostly I feel cracked and ready to crumble.

Michael has been playing with a children's nativity set that my parents sent us for Christmas this year. As I watch those tiny hands explore history from 2000 years ago, it suddenly jolts everything into perspective. I love the Christmas season. A celebration of a king who came as a baby in a manger. A Lord who came here for me. Who came to make everything right. Who, in spite of every earthly experience that was meant to make Him crack and crumble, was able to rise above so that He could fill my cracks and hold me when I feel like crumbling to pieces.

He makes all the difference. Merry Christmas!

We Had Turkey

I suppose a recap of Thanksgiving is long overdue. This about sums it up:

We had the most delicious turkey(s) of all time, ever, and had so much fun just being together with each other and all sorts of family.

JR had researched deep fried turkey for weeks leading up to Thanksgiving. I'll admit, I was a little skeptical because, fried food is not Thanksgiving, and monumental explosions tend to create homeless families around the holidays. I wasn't looking forward to adding our home sweet home to that list. However, JR took his responsibility very seriously.

All the research paid off, because pow! Aah-MAZ-ing turkey. Like, our foul kicked every other bird in the face, turkey. We ended up roasting a turkey, deep frying a turkey and freezing a turkey. Excessive bird purchase, maybe. We originally bought a bird for a Mexican family at work who has never had turkey for Thanksgiving. In the end they were like, "No thank you. We're celebrating with tamales." Um, that's not Thanksgiving, but yes. Good idea.

Thanksgiving day and very late night was also all about the second annual Black Friday extravaganza. Jeff and JR had been strategizing those few precious hours for months. Literally. There were maps. There were lists. There were energy drinks. JR was actually a bit disappointed once all was said and done. Said they were too prepared. They finished in just a few hours and started going back to stores two and three times. I guess there's less of an intimidation factor when you're over 6 feet tall and outweigh all the competition. They had to get their adrenaline rush completely from lack of sleep...?

Overall, it was the perfect weekend. Lots of yummy food, good company and so much to be grateful for. Also, I am triple glad we still have a house for Christmas.

I'm Thankful

I love this time of year! Every sight, every smell, the tastes (except eggnog, eww) the spirit, the meaning. I especially love to hear and see more of the goodness and kindness in the world than the bad and the ugly. Put a big red bow on humanity and think the best of others during the holidays; right? I wish it lasted a little longer!

One of the traditions I grew up with started as a permanent marker and a table cloth and evolved into a family book with cute pages used to list our blessings and things we were grateful for. Every Thanksgiving as the turkey was cooking the book was passed around and blessing were listed. It was something my dad usually had wrangle out of us, especially when the majority of the turkey-eaters were teenagers. But with that piece of Thanksgiving packed away this year, I find myself habitually reflecting on my many blessings. This year my Thanksgiving page will be posted right here.

My little list of thanks:

Michael Alex: My thankful list could almost be completely summed up in 6 feet and a few inches. I love this man. His support and love and understanding and patience make my life more rich and complete. He fits into my world like he was made for it. He makes me better in every single way.

Michael Blake: What an incredible blessing it has been to become a mother. Guy completes our family and brings such a beautiful spirit into our home. His sweet coos and smiles melt my mamma heart and his snuggles couldn't be sweeter. I even love his pouts and alligator tears.

Dry shampoo, leggings and brow filler: Because heaven knows I need all of the above to function as a human lately. I'm convinced that each of these products make up our nation's backbone. Because, if it's no longer socially acceptable to wear stretchy-topped maternity pants (although I would argue it is, and I might forever) then leggings are my own personal Narnia (read: land of magic). And even though my aerosol can of dry shampoo instigates alligator tears of fright from Michael, I'll use it for days on end. It gives me a combined 2 more hours of sleep a week. At. Least. And let's be honest, do I need to explain the blessing of brow filler? I didn't think so.

Family Time: Sacred time that I can never get enough of. Time that is just as sweet when it's simple bedtime talks and baby tickles.

Sisters who are my best friends and preferred company. Always.

Parents who are brave and try new and scary and in their case, foreign things. Whose primary and maybe only motivation for every action is love.

True friends: There is something so safe in knowing you have loyal friends who love you and would do anything in the world at the drop of a hat. They are one in a million. I feel so incredibly blessed for the people we call friends.

Of course I'm also grateful for good food, a home that feels like heaven (most of the time!), the knowledge that I am a daughter of God, being a woman, the hair I have left, cuddles by the Christmas tree and all the fuzzy things (boots, socks, blankets, scarves, etc.).

Happy Thanksgiving!!

Desperate Disaster

Yesterday was one month of being a working mother. I cry a lot and I don't know if I will ever get adequate sleep again. I think the lack of sleep and the crying are somewhat related. Okay, they have everything to do with each other. I'm not a crier.

Last night I was pumping and I bumped the bottle, spilling all over the couch. I don't know if other moms feel this way, but that stuff is like gold and I'm spilling it on the couch!! I cried. Then I started feeling like I was doing everything wrong. I couldn't provide food for my baby, let alone feed it to him. I had only gotten 40 total minutes of baby time all day and I just knew he was going to forget who I am. I have some crazy hormone recovery going on and then everything gets jumbled again because breast feeding does not prevent menstruation, if you were wondering. HOW did that work for my mom?! On top of it all, my hair is falling out in gargantuan clumps. I think it's almost gone, and JR accidentally poisoned me with a beautiful necklace for my birthday. (He bought me a ruby and silver "M" initial to represent me, my Michaels, my new role as mommy... very thoughtful but I broke out in hives and have scratched my neck raw from wearing it twice. There is maybe nothing more aggravating than an itch).

Are you getting this? The thinning hair, the hives, the bags under my eyes and the shambled, desperate mother look I'm rocking these days? Get that image, because that's how I'm picturing myself lately. Desperate is really the most accurately descriptive word I can conjure. I'm feeling it, and I'm sure my look is screaming it.

And then, in every part of my life the universe is figuratively hitting me in the face with the message that I am a princess. A daughter of a King. Noooo. Are you serious? Can I be that later? I don't think this current disaster qualifies.

Mid-brush off I found this quote:

"He loves you not only for who you are this very day but also for the person of glory and light you have the potential and the desire to become." -President Uchtdorf 

He loves this current desperate disaster? Could He? I knew it was true. And I knew that love was so much bigger than I understood. He doesn't just love this version of me, He loves the confident, healthy, strong person I can become. The version where I'm rocking great hair, I've had plenty of sleep and I don't feel desperate. He loves the emotional disaster I am as a working mother and the version of me as a kind woman who understands her place and contributes to His work in a significant way.

So I'll let this eternal origin comfort me when I'm not exactly who I wish I was. I'll use it help me pull it together and make one step closer to the royalty I have the right to claim.

Hands

JR's 8-year old hands are traced on a wall in faded pencil. A few weeks ago he showed me the history and we took a picture of the difference. As I looked, I saw a lot more than just size that had changed in those hands. I knew the hands that I was familiar with had decades more service and hard work and comfort in them than the tiny 8-year old version. The scars and callouses that cover that man's hands now tell stories of love and loyalty, opportunity, tenderness and sacrifice. 

And then a few nights later, I stumbled upon two sleeping boys. My son clutched a hand that tenderly cradled his little frame. I thought of all the unspoken hope and promise symbolized by that tiny act. Father and son. 

You chose wisely, baby boy. Those strong hands will teach you to throw a ball, and build a tree house. You will learn all about respect and kindness by watching those hands. You will learn that God comes first and that family is more important that everything else. Those hands will teach you about sacrifice. Watch closely sweet boy. Those hands will teach you to be the man you are meant to be.

Christmas Comes Early This Year

Yesterday was the end of the pheasant hunt. You know what that means. My Christmas tree is up! Okay, so that's not really the annual date of the Sandoval home Christmas transformation. In reality, I'm usually not allowed to bust out our million boxes full of cheer and incredible smells until after Thanksgiving. But this year when two husbands decided to leave for close to 18 hours of pheasant hunting, Jessica and I got to work.

You wouldn't think that babies are a factor in Christmas decorating. But really, how can you think of much else when they are both grumpy and that means all the screams? We were determined to tackle the task at hand, so someone (not naming any names, but I wouldn't blame Jessica) came up with the idea...give the babies a strand of lights! It maybe wasn't our finest mommy moment. Mother-of-the-year badges will not be handed out anytime soon, but I, for one, am not ashamed. Both babies were closely supervised, although there may have been scattered moments of sucking on Christmas bulbs. Approved or not, it was a total hit. We strung lights all over their floor toys and they couldn't get enough. There's little else that is as perfect as chubby fingers reaching for magic.

With everything life has dished us over the past few months, I definitely felt cheated out of a summer. I wasn't about to let that happen with the holiday season too! So the lights are up on the house (a new addition this year, and it's beautiful. Thank you husband and lots of neighbors for 4 hours of Christmas lights in polar temperatures! I'm told they are staying up all year...) The tree is up (yet to be decorated, but really, getting all those scratchy branches just right is the worst part!), garland, stockings and Christmas tidings are popping out of every corner in the house and I couldn't be happier!

So, while some may say, "Don't cheat Thanksgiving!" this year, I'm grateful for Christmas trees!

Tummy Time and Duck Tails

Tummy time is hard. Michael Blake usually tries some form of planking when he's on his stomach and it tends to make him puke. Then his head gets too tired so his nose ends up in said puke. A few weeks ago I made a discovery that has benefited us both. Michael gets more enjoyable tummy time with minimal puke and Michael getting tummy time makes me feel like I'm not a complete failure of a mother. Enter the nursing pillow. I don't think I've ever used this little doughnut (yum, that sounds really good right now) for its actual purpose. So at our house it's the tummy-time pillow. 

Michael making faces on his doughnut. In other news, he has started sucking on his tongue and it's the most darling thing in the world. It just kills me.

Here I am thinking I'm the greatest. Apparently Michael had other adjectives going through his mind. Doesn't it kind of look like he just gave up on life? "This is way too hard, mom." 

Also, this little tinsy duck tail is a regular siting. He has rubbed most of the hair off, but the little mullet patch he has managed to hold on to makes the most adorable bed head.

It's Funny

There are moments when I just bust up laughing. And then I think "I wish people knew I was this funny!" And then I think "poor Michael is stuck with me. I'm actually half-baked, ludicrous, absurd. This really might not be as funny as I think it is." I am about to document a few moments that WERE just as funny in real life as they seemed in my head.

Pumpkin Butts are funny. Especially little baby pumpkin butts clenched up real tight. This, for the record, is also the moment that JR decided I had been staying home for too long. I needed to go back to work. 

I don't even know how to caption this. But it's funny. Seriously funny. This is the face he gives me after I snort at him. Can't say I blame him. I mean, when has snorting ever been an acceptable form of communication?

And now I will take a bow. I mean, you're welcome. 

Halloweenie

I asked JR if he ever thought his life would be babies and staying in on Halloween over raging costumes and The Howl. He said no. "But I also didn't think I would ever be this excited for my boy to get old enough to take Trick or Treating." Good answer, hun.

This year I searched the internets for hours trying to come up with the perfect family costume. I narrowed it down to bank robbers and a sack of cash (Michael being the loot of course) or a baby football and appropriate parental sports icons (read: football player and cheerleader). At our house the sports situation always wins. 

JR was a football player on practice day. This only happened because he doesn't have football pants/capris, whatever they're called and he wasn't going for my idea of squeezing into my spandex running pants. I still don't understand why it was such a big deal, but I didn't let him off the hook until he explained that football players have pad practice days and wear shorts. Really, he could've told me any variation of that scenario and I wouldn't know better. "Seriously? Football players throw watermelons instead of footballs in practice? I never knew..." 

I guess I have no room to complain about the lack of believe-ability in JR's costume. When I went to the store to get the top for my cheerleader outfit, I decided to forego the believable cheerleader option and go for a sweatshirt I would actually wear again. Comfort and frugality for the win!

Anyway, we pulled it off. A little rag tag, but it's our first family costume. We'll perfect this I'm sure.

 

Birth Days

I turned a whopping 3 decades old a few Sundays ago and it's got me reflecting for sure. Birthdays tend to get me thinking about the year gone by and any sort of growth I have managed. This year has been no exception.

I haven't been able to measure much in the way of physical growth for a few birthdays now. With the exception of my 26th birthday, because hello maybe I'm starting menopause hormones and ensuing weight gain. Since that milestone birthday (which ironically was my "golden birthday", 26 on the 26th) I have been more girthy for sure. Also since then I have not been able to eat chocolate all the things quite like I used to...(Well, this birthday reflection is also somewhat of an exception to measuring physical growth as the past 374 days have seen substantial El Bees. 40 of them in fact)

This past year my whole life has changed, and the birthday reflection has been very sweet. For starters, every single hormone in my body has been on high alert for most of the past 365 days. I have spent more time with health professionals this year than all past years combined. I have had one of the very worst days of my life in the past 12 months, and I also experienced one of the very best days of my life. I got a raise and a new certification at work. I ran a few more races. I did hard things. I had a lot of fun being pregnant with my sisters. I missed my mom. I built stronger relationships and loved more than I ever thought possible. I learned that I am strong enough to handle a lot more than I thought I could. I opened up. But every experience of my 29th year was trumped by the moment I became a mom.

When I met Michael for the first time, I saw perfection. With JR looking over my shoulder I had my whole world within a three-foot radius. I remember JR saying something about how we had a "real" family now. Well husband, let me tell you, I love our real family. I love the moments when I'm exhausted trying to get a crying baby to not be that for more than five minutes and you calmly take over and get him to sleep in less than three. I love team diaper changes, and trying all the tricks to get Michael to crack a smile. I love getting so excited when Michael tries something new, and late night talks when we have to smother our giggles because, sleeping baby. I love "real" family prayers and singing Tuck Tuck every night. Cause really, who could have imagined 30 would be so good?

Blessings

Here we are. First day back to work, and done. Did that 12 weeks go by lightening fast or what?! Going back to work has incidentally been an opportunity to glimpse how much my Heavenly Father loves me. Surprising? I thought so too, and I'm grateful He even allowed me to see it.

I have been praying my stinking guts out everyday since this new little human joined our family. "please help me be calm and at peace when I go back to work." And every single time I thought about it I would get sick and worried and nervous and all the synonymous descriptions. There have been tears and sleepless nights and guilt. Lots of guilt.

But today was a good day. My pleadings were answered, and I felt calm and at peace the whole day. I hope it continues once the novelty of starting back wears off.

Blessing #2: It really helps to know that Michael Blake (who I may have started calling Tres, as he is the third Sandoval in a row named Michael...) is loved and cuddled and taken care of by his sweet GG while I'm at work.

Blessing #3: My job has been so flexible and fantastic to work around my new major life change. I work from 7 AM until noon and then take a few hours at home sometime during the remainder of the day to make up my full time hours.

Unfortunately, I have allowed myself to feel inferior for circumstances of late. Inferior and robbed of validation for my experience with pregnancy, childbirth, even my baby's temperament. It could all be labeled "easy." Finding myself back at work has also given me an inferiority complex. It's likely a self-imposed feeling of insecurity, but it's real.

All I can say is that God indisputably knows what I need. During the months of pregnancy my little family faced heart wrenching struggle. He knew that I needed to be strong and healthy to fight my best fight. Call it an easy pregnancy. He knew that my recovery would be difficult and feel eternal, but He made it effortless for me to enjoy my son from the very first day. Call it an easy baby. He knew that short term disability would only pay for 6 weeks paid maternity leave, not the full 12 that we expected. Call it an easy delivery, but it caused enough damage to grant a claim extension for the full 12 weeks.

I was reminded recently that everyone has a unique and personal dish of life experiences. I may not wear my challenges for all to see, but I assure you I struggle. I know you do too. And as private as some of my struggles are, it reminds me to never assume that easy or charmed is the life sentence for anyone else. All I know is that this is my life. It is a good life. A full life. A beautiful life, filled with love and blessings and challenges and disappointments. This is my life, incomparable to any other life, and I choose to live it.

Bedtime for Boo-ga-loo's

Going to college at BYU-Idaho ensures you have church leaders encouraging habits like apartment prayers. In every place I lived, we were never any good at apartment prayers. It always dissolved into laughter if we ever managed to remember in the first place. Great idea, lousy follow through.

The one thing I do remember about collegiate bedtime was late night talks, cold cereal always, mattresses pulled into the living room, going through each closet one-by-one until every last roommate found that perfect outfit for the boy in art history class... But more often than any habit of prayers or cereal or clothes, the time to slumber was announced with; "bedtime for Boo-ga-loo's!" 

Melissa Pelfrey's mother was a wise woman who kept her girls respectable by telling them when they looked like "little floozy's" and always putting the babes to bed with talk of boo-ga-loo's. Thank goodness Melissa passed the wisdom to her roommates, and if we're being honest, their posterity by association. 

All this talk of bedtime... I hope I don't jinx it, but someones little boo-ga-loo burrito has been sleeping through the night! 

Cousin Time

As if being pregnant with two of my sisters at the same time wasn't fun enough, now we have three new cousins to triple all pregnancy fun. And maybe kidos are a little bit more fun than pregnancy ever could be. 

The futures of these three cousins, all within six weeks of eachother, has already been discussed in great depth. They can all get baptized together, they'll go to prom at the same time, they can date eachother's friends, start college together, Michael and Porter can beat up Maelyn's bullies (although she may very we'll have that covered with her current growth trajectory...). Let's just say these parents are planning on having best cousin friends for life. 

We have had some great cousin time lately. Cousins at the zoo, conference cousins, pool time with cousins, and lots of cousins snuggles. But really, you don't have to take my word for it. A picture is worth a thousand words, right?!

The bears at the zoo

Cousin slumby?! Maybe a little early...

Legacy

I have learned some pretty valuable life lessons from grandparents. Thank you Grandma Lockhart for teaching me that you're never trying at a game unless you're cheating. Or that a hand towel and a dishrag may look identical but are not, under any circumstances, interchangeable and you'll get swatted if you try to dry your hands on that dishrag. Grandma Lockhart also taught me that husbands come first. Feeding them must never be taken lightly and watching sports will help them love you more.

Grandpa Lockhart and Grandpa Pinegar are two of the hardest workers I know. Their work always begins in the earliest hours of the day. It's done quietly without a major display. Grandpa Lockhart has taught me that it's important to know where I came from and to document my life is a legacy for those who come after me. Grandpa Pinegar taught me the importance of knowing the people around me as individuals. 

Granny knows how to make a meal out of anything her fridge can produce. And she has taught me that service to others is a complete expression of love. From Granny I have learned that kind words should always be spoken and sometimes they can be sprinkled with a little sass.

This week Michael got to spend some time with these great people in my life. I hope that even if he doesn't get a sense of all I have learned from my grandparents, he can at least feel how loved he is by them.

The Festival Queen

I've been nominated for queen. The queen of festivals, which also translates to a nosey weirdo who somehow has all the deets on every random event in Utah and adjoining states. Also, sometimes the states are not actually adjoining. 

Jousting festival in Mona? Early June, right around the time they throw the baby animal birthday party at Thanksgiving Point. Chalk art event at River Woods? Two weeks ago. And the sheepdog festival? Labor Day weekend at Soldier Hollow. That one was epic. 

I managed to drag JR and our friends, Matt and Lindsay to Soldier Hollow as a stop on the way to Michael's first camping trip. And for the record, Lindsay was totally on board. She knows I only pick the best events, even if they sound a bit strange. I have yet to convince the boys...

We saw flying splash dogs, agile and incredibly trained sheep dogs, powerful and disciplined police dogs, and everything in between. The one thing I kept thinking was how much these dogs must love their life. Talk about passionate trainers giving their animals discipline, structure and motivation. I mean what else do dogs live for?

The food was great, the entertainment was incredible. So until next year Soldier Hollow, will be back with Ted competing as a splash dog.

Michaelisms

The last week and a half have been filled with snatches of alertness. Michael spends a bit more time awake (mind you it's not much time). I love seeing his great big adoring eyes looking up at me while he eats. And we chat every morning after breakfast. That's when he's most smiley. It's fast becoming one of my most favorite times of the day. 

My ultimate favorite time is late at night right before bed. We turn off the overhead light in our room and with only the light of our bedside lamps we watch Michael get sleepy. In between sleepy and extremely tired (which can also equal very mad) we give him a million loves and snuggles. I love sharing bedtime with my boys. 

Macho man is Michael's theme song only we've changed the word macho to fatso. I know you're humming that tune now... He's gaining weight and inches like crazy! He weighs 9 lbs 6 oz now. 

Michael always crosses his ankles when he eats. And most days he likes to clutch my finger during meal times. My brother said babies are like hobbits; breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, afternoon snack... It's so true. But if mealtime includes adoring eyes and little fingers I'll take it over almost anything else.

When he cries, Fatso Man sounds just like a bobcat. And if he's not quite mad enough to cry he grunts. Between the kid communicating and husband imatating there is a lot of grunting at our house.

Look, I'm a Mom

I've started writing this post nearly 100 times. I say to myself, quite often in fact, "I'm a mom now, I should blog about it." But getting all my thoughts and these new memories and special moments down on the paper of the internet sometimes seems invasive, and sometimes feels downright exausting. I know that sounds like an excuse because the beauty of blogging is pajamas and no one would know I hadn't even taken a shower. 

This post might also feel difficult because there are a lot of memories from the last four weeks that I would rather forget than memorialize forever to the people of the internet. 

I don't, for example, care to remember what I thought was a UTI actually turning into all but one of ten stitches "down there" falling out way too early. Let's just say when your child decides to enter this world as a freight train there is the damage of a nuclear blast going on in the nether regions. Trauma like that gets stitched up to look like my mother's attempts at making me domestic. I will never claim I know a lick about cross stitching...

I would also rather forget the first three weeks of nursing, and loosing what felt like three layers of skin off each nipple. (That's a combined six layers of epidermis for the record.) I really wish I had selective amnesia for the week my body turned into its own personal allergy and I had hives all over my body.

But for all the crazy recovery, every emotional eruption, the blood, the tears, the hurting and lack of sleep, for all the doctor visits and prescriptions and restrictions of the last four weeks, I finally know exactly where I belong. I know more about my purpose and my role and I love every single part of motherhood. 

Mom status has increased my love for JR in ways I didn't even know I could feel. Michael Blake has taught me to love in ways I never understood. My heart isn't mine anymore. It completely and purposefully belongs to my little family. 

Due Date Musings

Today, August 5th, is my official due date. Which clearly means nothing, because incidentally, today, August 5th, Michael Blake is 10 days old. From the very moment he decided it was time to meet the world, he defied every prediction. Every. Single. One.

Them: "Your baby is going to be BIG"
Michael Blake: I think I'll weigh 7 lbs 11 oz.
Them: "First-time moms rarely have early deliveries"
Michael Blake: 10 days early sounds just right.
Them: "Typical labor for a first-time mom is around 12 hours"
Michael Blake: Let's get this over with. 54 minutes is all it really takes.
Them: You tested positive for group B strep
Michael Blake: I don't have time to wait for an IV and penicillin.
Them: "What's your birth plan?"
Michael Blake: I'll show you birth plan. 

At 5:11 AM on July 26th I was fast asleep. At 5:12 AM, HEH-low. My water broke and so did all H E double hockey sticks. I woke JR up and told him we needed to leave. Now. I don't think either of us really believed me, because we had planned to labor at home for awhile and I have never experienced labor pain, so what is happening? We somehow made it to the car anyway. Husband got every bag, blanket and the car seat (some of which he carried in his teeth) out to the car before he realized I was missing. He rushed back inside to find me in the kitchen unable to move.

Husband: "babe, let's go I'll help you walk out to the car."
Me: (pants in hand) "Don't touch me." I can't move, I'll probably have this baby in the kitchen... wait 30 seconds, "Okay, let's go."

I managed to get my pants half way on in the driveway (sorry neighbors) but let's face it, not a top priority at that point.

JR called the doctor on the way to the hospital and only had to run 2 red lights! The doctor asked to talk to me... Um, not a good time. "So you think your water broke?" Correction: my water DID break. "Was it clear?" YES! *breathe, breathe, breathe* "Was is odorless?" YES! (I may have lied, because really, I never checked. But c'mon!) I should mention that up to this point we had planned on using some hyponobirthing exercises to keep me calm and relaxed during contractions. JR started into one such exercise and I almost bit his head off. NOT GOING TO WORK, HUN!

We got to the hospital and I was paralyzed again. JR sprinted inside to get a wheelchair and probably to warn the nurses. I managed to get out of the car, pull my pants up the rest of the way and sit in the wheel chair, I'm not sure how. At that point JR wanted, probably desparately needed, some medical backup so he told me, "I'm just going to wheel you into labor and delivery as fast as I can." "You will stop this wheelchair if and when I tell you to stop." I informed him. What a snot...

A nurse calmly guided us to a room and gave me a hospital gown. She left us to change and said to call if we needed anything. As soon as she left I told JR "I think I need to push." He catapulted across the bed to alert a nurse via the call button before the door even latched shut.

The nurse came back when she was ready, and when she guessed we were changed, rolling her eyes at a dramatic first time mom. Okay, not really rolling, but I know what she was thinking! I was leaning against JR in the middle of the room when the nurse came back in and again, COULD. NOT. MOVE. It gets to be a bit of a pattern in this story...

They told me I needed to get up on the bed, but it seemed like the most difficult thing in the world. So instead she checked me right there in the middle of the room. All I heard was, "She's complete and baby's a plus 2." At that point things kicked into high gear and those nurses believed me. I somehow made it onto the bed. A few weeks earlier I had tested positive for group B strep so they rushed to get an IV and start me on penicillin. Hopeless attempt.

The doctor got there, checked me again and said she felt a head. See? Told you my water broke. At that point doctor decided I needed to move again. Me: paralyzed AGAIN. I literally didn't know how to move. JR had to tell me precisely where to place each appendage inch by inch. 

Once husband had situated myself it took three pushes and Michael Blake was here, screaming his little guts out like this whole thing wasn't his idea at all. 

I looked at my perfect baby boy and all I could say was; "how did that happen?!" Seriously.

Becoming a mama has filled every last piece of my heart. For the past 9 months I have been loving something in theory, but this little boy has put a face to a deep and sacrificial kind of love. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for him. He completes our little family. I love you, Michael Blake.