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Baby

Millie Wants a Sister

Featuredby motheringmillieLeave a Comment on Millie Wants a Sister
Millie Wants a Sister

When I was two years old, I would yell out the window asking the neighborhood children who were walking home from school to come play with me. My parents decided to try for another baby when they saw how lonely I was. Millie has two brothers, two amazing brothers, and she’s definitely not lonely.

Unknown to us at the time of Crosby’s conception, both boys were born with a genetic syndrome called IFAP that they will endure their entire lives. I have a 50/50 chance to drop an egg with the compromised X-chromosome so it would be considerably irresponsible for us to have another baby naturally, due to this genetic condition (You don’t know what you don’t know but once you know, there’s no more unknowing).

Let’s talk about a 4th child, because we have been for over a year. Chris was not on board because we couldn’t guarantee that the baby would be a girl (Millie wants a sister) or most importantly, that the baby wouldn’t have IFAP. When we were at Crosby’s annual genetics appointment, I asked the doctor what our options were for growing our family without this syndrome. To Chris and my surprise, the genetic doctor was extremely optimistic about our chances of having a baby without IFAP through a form of IVF, genetic implantation. The guarantee of uncompromised chromosomes made us both considerably more interested in growing our family.

I’ve been told, “You’re crazy!” “You won’t fit in a regular sized car.” “Four children is too many!” And maybe I am, and maybe it is, but I can’t shake the feeling that we are missing someone in our family. Chris tried convincing me that the longing I felt was me missing my sister (who passed away in 2019) and while that is true, there are more reasons why having a fourth would complete our family.

Reason No. 1: We are Christian and we believe wholeheartedly that growing God’s Kingdom is of great importance. We are in a loving marriage and have been blessed with a beautiful home and finances that can support another member. We also have great family support; my mom moved up to Ohio from Virginia to be close to our family.

Reason No. 2 : I would do anything for Millie and she is adamant that she wants a sister. I understand why; I had a sister. I had the experience of sharing and stealing clothes, sticking up for her when others weren’t so nice, late night conversations about boys and our parents, and rules and breaking those rules. I had experiences as an adult with my sister; asking her to be my maid of honor, going out to bars and nightclubs, decorating our first apartments, and of course lots of shopping. If I am able to give Millie a sister, I want to.

Reason No. 3 : A kind of different reason (and maybe it’s not so different if you’re in a family afflicted with a genetic syndrome), but another reason why I would like to have another child (and specifically this way) is the knowledge that is possible to have a baby without this compromised chromosome. Absolutely nothing against my beautiful children with IFAP (we love you exactly the way you are). Chris and I have had many conversations about the possibility that our current children will resent the fact that this sibling would not have the syndrome; that we made a “healthy” child. Would they think that this is our “favorite” child? I think if it were a boy, there could be issues. Like, in some way our boys weren’t good enough and that is not at all the case. I want to experience this IVF process myself so that one day I could speak to my children about how to responsibly grow their own families, first hand.

So Chris called and set up a consultation with one of the clinics of reproduction and gynecology, and we had a virtual consultation about what we wanted and needed to grow our family. Our first meeting went really well. The doctor listened to our needs and was very affirming that we would be great candidates for this PGM choice. He explained how RGI would harvest my eggs and collect Chris’ sperm and after six days they would send the specimen off to the lab to be biopsied to tell us if any embryo was growing without the compromised chromosome. We would then implant an embryo without the compromised chromosome in hopes for a healthy baby. I questioned, “What happens to the embryos that have compromised chromosomes that we chose not to implant?” The answer was, “That’s your choice” and that is the moral dilemma that we are dealt. Those embryos, if implanted, would become people; babies; real life humans. Notice I’m saying if implanted. The reproductive doctor said he would not recommend these embryos for donation or implantation due to the genetic complication however, I’m thinking about my boys, Wells and Crosby, and how even though they have this syndrome, how perfect they are, and how grateful a family would be to have a child regardless of their syndrome. So, when does a life become a life? Are we OK discarding the compromised embryos? Are we okay discarding the healthy embryos we wouldn’t be using?

The next step in this process was going to RGI for an ultrasound screening to make sure that my ovaries and uterus looked okay for this procedure. I was a little taken back by the fact that I had to get a vaginal ultrasound while on my period! Normally, the OB does not want to see you while you’re on your period so I asked “What are you seeing while I’m on my period versus when I’m not?” and the doctor explained to me that this was the start of my cycle and the best way to know what’s going on is to have the most information possible and this gave him information about my follicles and lining that he might not otherwise have. Gross.

I went to this appointment on my lunch break (hindsight probably not the best idea) but I’m so low on sick days. Before I was taken back to the examination room, I took a video for Mill’s “maybe baby sister”. The lady at the reception desk started to tear up and said, “Oh my gosh, those videos will be so beautiful to share with your baby.” I got emotional thinking about what was to come.

I was taken into a room where two nurses were prepping to draw my blood. I was skeptical about having them do a blood draw when I wasn’t scheduled for one or gotten any sort of preauthorization from my insurance. They handed me a pamphlet that said this genetic blood test would be $300 out of pocket. I told the nurses that I did not feel comfortable doing the lab draw today and they audibly scoffed as they walked me back into the lobby. I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me.

I was asked to follow a nurse to the OB room and as soon as I was alone, I called Chris. I was bawling when I told him that I felt unprepared for this appointment. He assured me that we would just get the information and nothing had to be decided that day. He was able to calm me down before the doctor came in. I laid on the table with my feet up, bleeding while I was waited. The doctor told me that I had 11 follicles on my left ovary and 15 follicles on my right, which made him incredibly optimistic that I would have lots of eggs to harvest. I was stunned when he said, “This is excellent. All of these follicles will produce eggs and you can have as many healthy babies as you want.” I’m sure he meant for that news to bring me joy and that many women would be ecstatic hearing that however, I just started to cry. If I have all those eggs and I can have as many healthy babies as I want, why did two of them have this terrible syndrome and my daughter may be a carrier?

My heart hurt. I know the boys will have so many questions for me as they get older especially once they start realizing how different they are from their peers. I will say this again, I wish I could’ve known about being a carrier for IFAP before we started family planning but I don’t regret having my children or the people that they are because this is a part of them. I just wish we would’ve known that I had this syndrome so that we could have safely brought our sons into this world without having the daily struggles that they will have for the rest of their lives.

Next in the process were lots of blood draws – some I don’t even know what for; my genome mapping, infectious disease, etc. My 500+ panel (a carrier screening of mutations in DNA) came back completely perfect- ironic because I am a carrier of a chromosomal abnormality, because of it’s rarity, it’s not a mutation that’s checked on the panel. At one draw, I heard the tech sitting behind the desk say, “It was the ninety’s; everyone had crabs!” Ew.

Many hours were spent on the phone talking to our insurance company and the reproductive facility to find out what was covered financially and what would be out of pocket expenses. Ultimately, we found that once we hit our deductible of a couple thousand, everything else would be covered. I continued to check, double check, and triple check our coverage so there would be no hidden fees. We are so blessed to be in a position to be able to afford this process.

Chris scheduled his appointment to get his sperm analyzed and frozen for the week we got back from Disney. I was excited to go on a family vacation and also excited that when we got back, serious strides were being made in hopes of baby number four. While packing for Disney, I made sure to include a new package of pads in my suitcase because I hadn’t started my monthly cycle and I knew for sure I’d start while we were on our trip. Ugh, the worst; no one wants to be on their period on vacation. Throughout the whole trip, I never bled. I didn’t even spot. I chalked it up to the stress of the holidays and planning a family trip. The weirdest thing happened while we were at Disney, I heard my grandma say, “The best thing about being pregnant in December…” I told her right then, “Maw, I’m definitely not pregnant.” I don’t know what prompted her to say that but I reiterated to her many times that we were not expecting.

Once we got home from Disney, I was a week late starting my period. A couple more days went by and still, zero cramping. I was starting to get concerned so I brought it up to Chris and he calmed me down by reminding me of another time I had been late to start my period and how everything turned out fine (it was only a few months after Crosby was born and I was breastfeeding round the clock). Two days after our conversation, as I was getting ready for work, I realized that I hadn’t yet taken my morning pee and I had an unopened pregnancy test in the bathroom cabinet. I decided to test, what could it hurt? I knew I wasn’t pregnant and thought that the negative test would put me at ease. Of course when you’re thinking about using the restroom, you have to go even more so I ripped the test open and without hesitation peed on the stick.

Almost immediately it read positive. When I was pregnant with Mill the lines were so faint, barely there. This result was bold and very much positive. I genuinely didn’t know how to feel because I was in complete shock. I continued to get ready for work like a walking zombie; I can’t even remember what I chose to wear. All I could keep repeating in my mind was, “We are going through the genetic implantation process, we are going through the genetic implantation process, we are going through the..” and SURPRISE we get pregnant again the old fashioned way. My OCD and anxiety were not allowing me to be anything other than devastated because this was not the “plan”.

Chris was downstairs filling up my water bottle for work and when I came down, he could tell something was the matter. He pulled me aside and I showed him the positive test. I couldn’t even look at him; I kept thinking about how much he didn’t want another child this way. My doubts were clouding my brain. To my surprise, he pulled my chin up and smiled. He chuckled and said, “I expected this. It’s going to be okay.” I fell into his chest and he said, “It’s going to be fine.”

I called my best friend Lindsey because I knew she would understand my dilemma. She’s a mom of a son with a genetic birth defect, she has an autoimmune disease, and she knows my heart so intimately because of our thirty year friendship. She was so supportive of anything I said and felt. She reminded me of the autonomy I had over myself and that I wasn’t alone. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be pregnant, it just wasn’t the responsible plan I had created for growing my family.

I waited until 8am, frantically called my OB, and they instructed me to go to the outpatient lab to get my HCG levels tested. I told them that this was not how I wanted or planned to get pregnant and I wanted all my options as soon as possible. My HCG results came back over 600 which was perfect for a five week pregnancy. I explained to my nurse that I wanted genetic testing done as soon as humanly possible because of our history with IFAP syndrome. She explained that to get into the MFM geneticist, we would first have to have an ultrasound in the books and one was scheduled for two weeks later.

Once the ultrasound was scheduled, I reached out to our IVF liaison to let them know I was pregnant “the old fashioned way”. I was disappointed telling them because it’s not what we planned and I hate letting people down. I was so surprised when they were incredibly supportive and congratulatory. They said, “Just let us know if we can help in any way.” Their kindness brought me to tears.

I started to feel excited for this new addition. I bought a Coach diaper bag (boujee, I know), the sweetest crocheted stork to use for the pregnancy announcement picture, and a mail-in blood test kit that I could take at 8 weeks because that would be quicker than the OB’s tests. Gender would tell us some of what we needed to know ie. a girl would at most be a carrier.

Chris and I told our out-of-state friends who happened to be in town that we were expecting. I told my friend Anna because we were going to be celebrating her wedding in Vegas and I didn’t want her buying any drink vouchers for me. I told my friend Madison from work because she asked me if I could do a leadership committee after school the next year and I had to tell her why I couldn’t make that commitment. Everyone we told was so excited for us which helped my mental state because internally, I was terrified that I was giving yet another perfect baby this horrible, genetic syndrome.

The day of the ultrasound, I was anxious to hear the baby’s heartbeat. I took a video for Millie’s “maybe baby sister” and walked in the office with butterflies in my stomach. To my surprise, this ultrasound looked different than any of the others I’ve had. The ultrasound tech asked me, “How sure are you about your schedule?” My response, “Pretty damn.” She said that the embryo sack was there but not a fetal pole yet. She said that I would need to have another ultrasound done before I could be seen by MFM and I was shattered.

I called Chris and said, “A six weeks fetus looks like nothing! Literally nothing! Why is anyone arguing about abortion before six weeks when it was just a little, black speck?!” The doctor called me the next morning and explained that there was one of two things happening; I was either off on my dates and this pregnancy was not as far along as I thought or this was an unviable pregnancy. My OB explained that I would either start bleeding or I wouldn’t and she set an appointment for another ultrasound two weeks later. I was shocked with how nonchalant she was and I honestly, how I was. I’m such a control freak but I knew I had no control over this.

A week went by and there was no bleeding. I was still pregnant and I was starting to feel more confident that I was wrong with my dates. While I was teaching the following Monday, I felt a familiar gushy feeling in between my legs. My mind immediately started panicking but I had a class to teach so we kept singing about the lunar new year. Between classes I ran to the bathroom and sure enough I had a quarter sized drop of blood in my underwear. The part of me that knew something was wrong was internally fighting the part of me that thought this was normal; incubation blood – it wasn’t that much.

I didn’t bleed anymore that morning. Not until 4pm when our staff meeting ended and I sat on the toilet and a clump of blood the size of a grape was sitting at the bottom of the bowl. I took a picture of it and sent it to my OB, am I losing this pregnancy? Thankfully, the nurse wrote back quickly and said that this wasn’t as much blood as I was thinking it was and to reach back out if there was more bleeding or I developed a fever.

I drove to pick up Crosby from my grandmas house and almost had to pull over, I was sobbing so hard my vision was blurred. I had crying welts all over my face when I saw my Maw rocking a sleeping Crosby. She immediately asked, “What’s wrong, honey?” And I squeaked out, “I think I’m losing this baby.” She cried with me. I had never told her I was pregnant but yet she knew.

Prayerfully, no more bleeding happened that night and there was no blood the next morning either. I was beginning to think that the nurse was right; maybe it wasn’t as much blood as I thought. I taught my classes all day without bleeding, I picked up my kids after school; Crosby first, then the bigs, and I was still good. Once I got home, I started making dinner – Taco Tuesday, when I felt the familiar rush of blood.

I went to the restroom and it was the same amount of blood as before, not too much but enough to make me worried. I finished making dinner but I could barely eat; I had no appetite. Chris cleaned up and I gave the kids a bath; they always get so messy on taco night. It was an early bedtime for the kids because I had 125 buckeyes to make for school (I promised my students, 480 total, that I’d make each of them a homemade buckeye if Ohio State won the National Championship – I’ll never do that again.) As I was coating the peanut butter balls with the melted chocolate, I started to feel intense cramping. I had to stop what I was doing in the kitchen and I laid down on the couch. The cramping continued and I put in for a sick day; I was feeling really miserable and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get the buckeyes done, let alone teach. Chris turned on, Suits and I laid on my side, praying that the pain would go away.

I remember saying to Chris, “These feel like contractions.” The hope of a new life in our family was slipping away and I could physically feel it. Fearfully, I got up to use the restroom, sat down on the toilet, and felt something really strange. I looked through my legs and was stunned by the sight of a horrific, coagulated blood clot the size of a cucumber, hanging out of me. It was so much. I stood up. I can’t accurately describe how it felt other than I felt all of it, like an after birth. I remember screaming, flushing the toilet, and crying into Chris’ chest. Our baby was gone.

The cramping immediately subsided. That euphoric feeling after you give birth and all the pain goes away? This was the same in that the pain went away but I felt empty and miserable. I called my OB and they instructed me to get my HCG levels checked again. I did. It was still rising. But not as much as it should have. No one tells you that after you miscarry, you continue to bleed for weeks. The smell of the blood was different than period blood and it made my stomach churn. I had to go back to work (I have zero sick time after three maternity leaves) while bleeding out the pregnancy. I got a UTI, which I have after every delivery, and the doctor chalked that up to the miscarriage. The next Taco Tuesday, I had a panic attack and sat on the floor in the kitchen and cried. I can’t remember a whole lot from the weeks after because I think my brain was protecting me from the mental pain.

I went back to the lab four more times during the month of February. My HCG had to decrease from over 4,000 to under 5. If my body wouldn’t do this naturally, I would have another ultrasound and possibly a DNC. Thankfully, my body understood the assignment and almost month later, my HCG returned to normal. Finally, the nurse at the OB’s office called me and said, “Well, I guess this saga is over. A miscarriage doesn’t mean you’ll miscarry again. It happens in nearly 1 in 5 pregnancies. Something must have been off in the chromosomes. You should have a period next month. Reach out with any questions.” This saga. Yeah.

After the kids go to bed at night, Chris and I can talk about grownup things. I remember him saying, “I can’t understand why all these bad things keep happening to you.” All I said was, “I keep waking up everyday, just like you.” I was struggling with guilt – women who get further along, those are the ones that should be grieving. Me? I was only 8 weeks and 4 days. I have three beautiful children. Why was I struggling to get out of bed? I didn’t feel like myself. I lost twenty pounds in less than two months. I saw two pregnancy announcements on Instagram who were as far along as I was and I wanted to shake them; don’t they know at eight weeks you could lose it?! Someone at work said, “When are you going to have a fourth child? You need a SATB choir!” My heart instantly broke yet I wore a smile like a mask. I reached back out to my OB and asked if they had any recommendations for therapists specializing in miscarriage.

I was first referred to an outpatient clinic that met virtually 6 hours a day, for nine weeks; one hour for individual therapy, one hour for couples therapy, one hour was group therapy, and then three hours of grief curriculum – every day. I told intake, “Thank you but I can’t do all of that. I have a full time job and three children.” They responded that this treatment is for women who can’t function because of their loss, many of them take FMLA to complete this program, and after an intensive 9 weeks, they are rehabilitated. I politely told them that if I found myself debilitated by grief, I would give them a call back and I thanked them for the work that they do for the women who need it. I felt guilty for wasting their time.

I reached back out to my OB’s office and asked them to refer me to a less intensive therapy. Like, a once a week for an hour type of deal. I was informed about POEM (perinatal outreach and encouragement for moms). They first matched me with a therapist who was Christian and had grief counseling on her “about me” page. During our first session, she told that everything happens for a reason. I miscarried because God wanted me to push into him and I wasn’t reading scripture enough. She recommend a devotional I had already read. I ended up canceling my next session with her – not because I don’t value scripture! But because I don’t believe the Lord had anything to do with my miscarriage. I believe that loss is of the world and not of Him at all. I believe Jesus wept with me and He was not condemning me for not reading more of the Bible. Still, I felt guilty for my lack of study.

I felt guilty for the moments that I wished we would’ve gotten pregnant through genetic implantation instead of naturally. I felt guilty that I had ever considered terminating the pregnancy because it wasn’t what we “planned”. I felt guilty that I lost a sibling for my children. I felt guilty because my husband didn’t want a baby naturally, but then I got pregnant and his feelings changed—only for us to lose the pregnancy and put him through an emotional rollercoaster. I felt guilty for doing a crap job teaching because my head was all over the place. I felt guilty for getting my nails done, dying my hair, and getting laser hair removal during the first weeks of the pregnancy when I didn’t know I was pregnant. I felt guilty that I wasn’t taking any prenatal vitamins before I got pregnant. I felt so much guilt because in my mind, I failed.

I contacted POEM again and they matched me with a different therapist; one who was familiar with miscarriage. Her “about me” said she was a mother, that she worked with NICU parents, had PTSD expertise, and specialized in grief counseling. Our very first session, she listened to me and validated my feelings. She helped me through navigating reaching back out to RGI in hopes that we could get back to where we were in planning for our future family. She told me that we would get my mind healthy for another pregnancy. I am so grateful to her and our continued work.

While I deeply grieve the loss this pregnancy, I don’t feel comfortable referring to a future baby as a ‘rainbow baby.’ No shade to anyone who uses that term because everyone heals differently and I can appreciate that. I want to honor my next experience (God willing) in its own space, but I also want the next pregnancy to be its own journey; without it being defined by the one before it. Heck, I don’t even wear the used hospitals gowns when I deliver because what if someone died in them? A new life deserves to be welcomed without the shadow of loss tied to it.

Since starting to open up about this loss, I have realized many women who I love and look up to have also had similar experiences. Before I experienced a miscarriage, I used to think, “Why wouldn’t mothers want the support of their friends and family and talk about it?” Well, now I know. It hurts. And it’s personal. And I’m moved to tears of the vulnerability of the women who have spoken about their losses with me because it’s made me feel so much less alone.

I haven’t been able to blog about anything else until this one was finished because the blueberry inside of me deserved a post on this feed. It’s only been a few months but I am starting to heal – heal in the fact that I can read this without sobbing and throwing my phone across the room. I am forever grateful for my faith, my husband, and my children.

To my children, someday you will read this and instead of it giving you a real life experience of life through genetic implantation, this teaches a different kind of life experience; loss. Incredible loss.

Baby

Summer of 23

by motheringmillieLeave a Comment on Summer of 23
Summer of 23

Maternity leave with Crosby rolled into summer break. I printed off a checklist I found on Pinterest of fun ideas to make this summer enjoyable for the kids.

Beautiful dancing, colors, and music at the Asian Festival commenced our summer. We heard a guzheng performance, saw dragon kites, and ate lo mein noodles. We watched a Tai Chi studio performance; the movements were so fluid and mesmerizing. Millie danced with an Asian exercise dance group; Wells started to but quickly found his way back to holding my hand. Both kids got their faces painted for the first time; Mill got a rainbow arching from her forehead down her cheek and Wells got a Spider-Man web. He wasn’t thrilled that the artist was touching his face but he was happy when he looked in the mirror. They both colored Japanese opera masks and painted cherry blossoms using the bottom of a coke bottle. I bought an umbrella tree bonsai plant that Mill named Bonsai Bonsai the Bonsai.

During our first week together, we painted rocks for the garden; we painted a lemon slice, a rainbow, and a purple rock that said, brave. Millie and Wells both helped me in the kitchen; Mill helped by chopping vegetables for dinner and Wells helped by putting parmesan cheese on the garlic bread and dividing salad into bowls (not for him though because Wells doesn’t like salad).

We went to the library to register for the summer reading program and to see a children’s comedian, Mike Hemmelgarn. During his performance, Mr. Hemmelgarn juggled balls, performed magic tricks, and told jokes with balloons and puppets. Wells’ favorite part was when the skunk puppet sprayed (squirt gun) and Mill’s favorite part was when Mr. Hemmelgarn drew a face on a dry erase board and that face became a moving puppet!

After the show, Millie and Wells played with legos while I picked out some books; a ballerina book for Mill, a shark dog book for Wells, and a book called, Saying Goodbye to Lulu (we’re getting ready to have to say goodbye to my family dog, Brandy). I heard Wells say, “Mommy? Mommy?” We had to leave the library early because Wells had an accident. I was proud of him though, for telling me, and that he mostly held himself all the way across the library until we got to the bathroom.

Once it was officially strawberry pickin’ season, we took our buckets and went to the fields. My friend from work, Madison met us there. Wells would pick a berry, take a bite, and chuck it as far as he could throw. If he wanted to keep the berry, he’d toss it into the bucket and yell, “goal!” Crosby was perfectly content in the carrier, even as I bent down to pick berries. The strawberries were delicious and we shared them with my mom and maw.

We had a fun day swimming at Maw’s pool. It didn’t get warmer than 75 degrees but the kids swam until their lips turned purple. Wells hit the weight requirement for his puddle jumper (it’s blue with a shark on it) but he won’t trust the float. My mom held him in the pool all the while wearing the puddle jumper. Millie swam all around with her puddle jumper on and even floated on her back. Wells tried jumping into the baby pool but the bottom was incredibly slippery (last year Maw slipped when getting into it). He landed his jump but his feet slid from under him. He hit his head on the edge of the baby pool and we watched for concussion symptoms all night.

Millie had no interest in Taylor’s (my step-mom’s, granddaughter’s) softball game. Instead of watching, Millie spelled her name in the dirt with little sticks. Wells found larger sticks and played, “swords” with whoever would swing them around. After the game, we went to the Columbus Arts Festival and got the kids snow cones, pretzels, and lemonade. Millie saw her dance teacher and spun the prize wheel at her company’s stand. She won free tickets to the Nutcracker! Both kids rolled down the hill by the river with my dad. It was a good day.

Week two of summer vacation started off rainy. We played board games; Hi Ho Cherry-o and Candy Land. Millie started VBS at our church, that was cowboy themed, so I got her a new pair of boots to wear. She was so happy to see many of her friends from school. Each day they read scripture and prayed about trusting God in difficult situations. On her last day of VBS, Chris asked her what she learned and she said, “A lot and nothing.” VBS family night included songs (and dances) of praise, bounce houses, and a petting zoo that had a zebra. Millie was not scared to go down the big, blowup slide. The kids met a police officer and sat in the driver’s seat of a cruiser. My favorite part of the night was Wells doing the “cowboy dance” in the middle of the aisle. It was awesome to see both kids having fun while worshipping the Lord.

Wells continued to go to speech therapy twice a week. Since Crosby’s birth, in March, Chris has been taking Wells to his speech appointments. Wells is working on the f, c, s, sh, g, and t sounds. The toughest part of therapy is making sure Wells doesn’t fall asleep on the car ride there! When he wakes up from his car nap, he is not happy and the first ten minutes of therapy are useless. His therapist, Jody suggested that we only have appointments once a week instead of our usual twice a week. I was not keen to this notion as aggressive speech therapy is the best way to help with his Apraxia. People who hear Wells speak, continue to praise him for his hard work and how well he is sounding.

Millie received a birthday party invite from a friend in her pre-k class. It was held at the play place at our church. It was very much a “little girls” party; pink, sparkly, unicorns and rainbows. When a new girl would come through the door, the girls would run, scream, and hug each other. Millie wanted me to go with her in the play area but my gosh, it smelled like dirty feet. Still, I gratefully followed her because one day, she might not want mom to be there with her at parties.

On the same day that Millie had her friend’s birthday party, we had our cousin Lily’s 7th birthday celebration at Chuck E. Cheese. This was the first time my kids had ever been there and the first time Chris or I had been in over 20 years. There wasn’t a ball pit or jungle gym like we remembered; it was completely modernized with Kidz Bop projected on the wall and swipe cards instead of tokens. Millie and Wells played shooting games, rode on a small carousel, got into a machine that dumped balls on their heads, and rolled a ball that made a monkey eat bananas. Wells’ favorite part was the shark projected on the floor; he ran around trying to stomp on the fish. Millie ate three pieces of pizza with the cheese off. Both kids had a great time.

We rarely make it over to the East side of town so after the birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese, we took the kids to the outdoor mall. They were impressed with the life-sized, Lego giraffe and Lego Barbie creations. They both laughed when the stone frogs would spit water in the outdoor fountain. Wells wanted to take the coins out (he almost fell in). We took Millie to the American Girl store and she was so excited. Chris didn’t like being there however, my inner child was just as excited as Mill. She knew exactly what she wanted to get – the bitty, bitty baby from the Christmas catalog. She got the baby and a new pair of shoes for her doll, Kit.

After treating Millie, we went to Build-A-Bear for Wells. He had never been before. He chose a great white shark with a huge head. He threw it on the ground; mad. He said, “It’s flat!” He didn’t understand that he was going to get to stuff it. We looked through the different sound bites but we landed on puppy noises so that he could be, Shark-dog. We’ve been reading the Sharkdog books from the library. Chris and I were so impressed that the lady helping with the stuffing understood Wells when he said and spelled his name. Millie and Wells both put hearts in Sharkdog. The joy on Wells’ face was everything.

The weekend before Father’s Day, Chris and his dad took Millie and Wells to Home Depot to do a Kids Workshop activity. They wore orange aprons, painted, and had a lot of fun assembling table top putting greens. (During which I got some quiet, alone time with Crosby.) For Father’s Day, Millie gave Chris a mug that she picked out that said, “Dad Joke Pro” and he loved it. We went to church and the kids danced in the Praise House to the Cowboy Dance song; Wells is obsessed and his lasso moves are the best. After church, we spent the day with Chris’ parents, watching the Navy’s Blue Angels fly right above the rooftop. The Air Show was held in Columbus for the first time in over two decades and you could see the flights from my in-laws house. Neither kid was particularly interested in the air show; they were busy playing with badminton rackets. We ate a dairy-free, chocolate cake that Millie helped me bake and the kids fell asleep on the car ride home.

It rained everyday for the remainder of June. We did in-door activities to pass the time. We decorated cookies; Wells decorated blue dinosaurs and Millie decorated pink, sparkly tiaras. They were both most interested in eating the sprinkles. We created pictures using dot stickers, played with sensory bins (cornflakes and construction vehicles), sent cards to family members, built houses with magnet tiles, and read lots of books.

The kids were so excited to have a getaway weekend with Grandma and Grandpa. We planned to show them the Arc Encounter, the Newport Aquarium, and the Cincinnati Zoo. Unfortunately, the night before we were set to leave, Wells threw up and had diarrhea. I was really worried because his vomit was black and everything I found on Google said that could be a sign of internal bleeding. I called the pediatrician in the morning and she reassured me that the color was because of the amount of black food he ate (Oreo-O’s, black beans, Oreo cookies). She said that his symptoms sounded like a gastro-virus that would run it’s course within 72 hours.

Even though Wells was feeling under the weather, he still wanted to go on the trip. We packed up my in-laws new Expedition and drove to Kentucky. During the car ride, we found that Bob Marley’s, Three Little Birds, soothed Crosby when he would fuss; it was instantaneous. Millie practiced her sight words with Grandma in the third row. Wells slept.

At the Ark Encounter, the kids were scared of the sounds inside the exhibit and they did not want to look at the wax animals. Their favorite part was the playground. Wells said, “Thank you, Mommy for taking me here.” He led me through a maze, we raced, and we went on the see-saw together. I was super proud of Millie because she went on both zip-line rides (something she was too scared to try last year). Wells stayed hydrated by eating ice chips but by the time we got to the car, his temperature was 102.

We drove an hour to Cincinnati and checked into our hotel. We had an awesome view of a clock tower and we were on the same floor as the grandparents. We weren’t there 10 minutes before we changed into our bathing suits and went to the in-door pool. The water was the perfect temperature for Wells. It was the first time that Wells trusted his puddle-jumper and floated on his own! I sat on the steps of the pool, holding Crosby, and watched Chris swim and have fun with Millie and Wells. It was a beautiful time.

For dinner, we went to the hotel restaurant (they had an excellent soft pretzel). Wells ate a single french fry and threw it up later. Wells had a difficult night; fever and diarrhea. Crosby slept wonderfully for his first night away from home; he slept between me and Millie. Mill moves around in her sleep so I had to be mindful of how close she was getting to Crosby throughout the night. At one point, she hit her head on the headboard (it was really loud).

Morning came quick. We packed, ate pop-tarts, and loaded into the car on the way to the Newport Aquarium. Wells enjoyed looking at the different frogs; brightly colored poisonous frogs, big-eyed frogs, and frogs that stuck to the glass. Millie colored fish pictures with our initials on them with Grandpa. The fish were projected onto a digital screen. Both kids were super brave and walked across a tightrope bridge suspended over a tank full of sharks!

Before we went to the Cincinnati Zoo, we had lunch at an inner-city Skyline restaurant. The atmosphere was awesome and it was surrounded by brightly painted shops and a beautiful fountain. We went to the zoo and saw the hippos, Fiona and Fritz. Fiona was such a ham, kissing the glass and we saw Fritz kiss his daddy; it was so sweet. We got to see a tiger taking a bath, a snow leopard moving around the enclosure, and little lizards running around everywhere (I didn’t realize Ohio had lizards). Before we left, we stopped at the gift shop. Millie got a tie dye baseball hat that said, Fiona and Wells got a squishy ball in the shape of a shark.

July 4th was a special day. We had my mom and Maw over, Shauna, and Chris’ family, too. We ate and played corn hole. Once it got dark, we lit sparklers – Wells didn’t want to hold one; he tried on Memorial Day and didn’t like it. Millie did cartwheels in the yard while we watched the fireworks over the trees. Mawmaw lit Millie’s room with neon light sticks and the kids slept together through the sound of patriotic booms.

Millie would work on sight words at the breakfast table while Wells ate blueberry waffles (two, cut up, with butter on them, and syrup on the side). For every book that Mill read independently, she would get to add a pom-pom ball to her book worm, Maws idea, and she named it, Dotty. The word “the” gave her the most trouble. She could never remember it. Wells knew some sight words before the end of the summer; a, I.

Before lunch, we would play on the back patio in the baby pool and water table. The magnetic water balloons were the kids’ favorite toy this summer. They would trap their toys in the water balloons and throw them. Crosby got a water balloon to the cheek once – he’s a tough guy and didn’t even notice. Wells threw a water balloon at the back door at the same time that Chris was opening the door to ask me a question. Water got all over the hardwood floor but all we could do was laugh. It felt like heaven as Crosby slept on my chest, while I watched Millie and Wells water the flowers. Then, a fight would happen over the watering cans and I would heat up chicky nugs.

Dru and Uncle Nick wanted to take the kids putt-putting. This was their first time playing putt-putt golf. Millie of course, chose a pink ball. I was super impressed with how well she was lining up her shot and swinging the club. Wells mostly just ran all over the green. There were some arcade games in the lobby and Millie wanted to try the claw machine. She was impatient and hit the release button right over the drop shoot. She was devastated she didn’t win a toy (We explained to her that those games are rigged anyway). After the tears, we went out to eat at a Mexican restaurant and found out that Mill really loves chips and salsa (she still doesn’t like tomato’s though, she thinks they’re squirty).

Millie was invited to an open house at her ballet studio for a dance exploration event. Chris took her and I stayed home with the boys. We both got the start time wrong so she was there almost an hour early however, Millie was able to have one-on-one time with instructors and older ballerinas in the company and was able to take pictures with them in their performance costumes. She was most excited about the ice-cream truck that came at the end. Chris said she did a really great job.

Wells had a good experience at his first dentist appointment! He watched Millie go before him. The tech gave him a pair of Spider-Man sunglasses to wear and she didn’t turn on her head lamp due to Wells’ eye sensitivity. I remembered to prepare him about the chair moving (I forgot with Millie). His cleaning didn’t last longer than five minutes and we found out that he didn’t have any cavities! I was nervous, the boy loves his sweets.

Both boys had an appointment with Children’s ophthalmology. Mawmaw came with us. Unfortunately, Crosby has the same genetic syndrome that Wells does and after the examination, it was confirmed that he has stage 1 dry eye. Wells allowed the cornea specialist to look into his eyes instead of squeezing them shut like he’s done in the past. I was so proud of Wells for doing a good job at this appointment that I took him to a trampoline park for a thirty minute jump. He would run across the trampolines and it looked so funny; his torso stayed still while his little legs moved so quickly.

The KidzBop Live Tour came through Columbus and we bought tickets because Mill is obsessed. She was pumped to be going to this concert; I let her pick out her outfit. She completed her look with a unicorn bow and a fuzzy, fanny-pack. The concert was held at the fairgrounds. Waiting in line to get in, I ran into a teacher friend and a current student of mine. I was wanded before entry and Wells was insistent on being scanned too. He was so observant; he held out his arms and turned around just like he saw me do. The whole fam went to this concert, including Crosby with his headphones. We arrived early enough to eat a funnel cake before the show. Millie was bummed only 4 kids performed. A little girl sitting in front of us shared beaded jewelry with Mill. I bought Mill a tour shirt and Wells a hat. We left shortly after intermission- it was hot and loud. Their new KidzBop attire read, “KidzBop Never Stop” and we had fun on the car ride home changing the last word of that slogan. Wells’ was my favorite, “KidzBop never poops”.

My best friend Lindsey invited us to spend a long weekend at Posey Lake in Hudson, Michigan with her and her family at her grandmothers lake house. Millie had been asking to go to the beach all summer so she finally got her chance to play in the sand. Wells pretended to give me ice-cream cones made out of sand. I was very impressed with how much Millie wanted to be in the water. It was awesome to see her and Chris play together in the lake; he would jump off the dock and she would score him. He taught her to close her mouth when waves came. We took pontoon rides around the lake and spotted turtles sunning on logs. Both Millie and Wells got to drive to boat with Lindsey’s help. We made s’mores at night; Millie liked her s’mores with a Reese Cup (it’s amazing that they make plant-based chocolate bars). Chris, Crosby, and I slept in a full sized bed while Millie and Wells slept in their sleeping bags on the floor. While we were sleeping on the first night, Wells managed to get his head stuck under the bed. I think the kids’ favorite part was jumping on the trampoline with Logan and Ben.

When we got home from the lake, our pet fish Shark had gone belly up. He wasn’t floating at the top but he was gone. We had an inclination that the ammonia levels were too high (I had been over feeding him and I didn’t know that could be an issue). Chris and I discussed what to do and we thought it best to be honest with the kids about what happened to Shark. We explained that Shark’s water made him sick and that he was dead. Wells was very upset; he cried. He cried when we buried him in the backyard under the pine tree. We all decorated the box Shark was buried in and we put his favorite plant in with him. Wells cried the next morning when he couldn’t feed him. It was incredibly sad. We decided that we will get another fish but not quite yet. Wells already decided that our next fish’s name will be Shark Junior.

The kids really wanted to go to the Ohio State Fair to ride on rides since they didn’t get to go on any when we were there for the Kidz Bop concert. My Dad agreed to help me take them. It was the hottest day ever. Millie was too scared to go on the roller coasters with Papa but they went into the FunHouse together. While they did that, I paid a man behind the darts counter to let Wells win a prize; to my surprise, Wells popped two balloons with the darts and he won a blue lemur! My Dad took both Mill and Wells on their first Ferris wheel ride; they were very brave. I took the kids through a Spider-Man maze (I almost slid into Mills back going down the slide). We shared a lemonade, French fries, corn on the cob, and a giant pickle.

We moved the kids’ rooms! Millie was moved into what was the guest room, Wells moved into Mills old room, and Crosby finally got a space of his own, in Wells’ old room. Millie’s new room is attached to the bathroom, which we felt was fitting as she’s the only girl sibling. Millie’s room was inspired by Sawn Lake. She has pink walls and lily pad curtains. There are ornate, brass details; her lamp, curtain rod, and side table pulls. She loves the space and it was fun giving her a “big girl” room. Wells is out of his crib and in a toddler bed. It was an adjustment encouraging him to stay in his bed through the night. Sharks are everywhere; a shark jaw bone, shark blankets, and hanging shark decor. Crosby is using Wells’ crib. I created his name sign for above his crib and Little Bear decor.

Sending Millie off to Kindergarten was easy because she was so ready. I was proud to send her to school with the knowledge she already had and the faith of how much she would learn. Going back to school myself was not so easy. Crosby was refusing the bottle and it was stressing me out. Chris was able to use his last weeks of paternity leave to watch Crosby while I started back to work. He was able to push through while Crosby learned that Mama was going to be gone for many hours during the day. Like the doctors said, if he gets hungry enough, he’ll take the bottle. After 3ish weeks, it was a non issue.

Some of my favorite summer highlights;

– Millie holding a tarantula

– Wells and I chasing after the bunny who feasted on my petunias

– Chris and Crosby surprising me at work on my birthday

Summer came and like that, it was over. It always goes by so fast. Those cheesy sayings, “Time flies when you’re having fun.” or “The days are long but the years are short.” are infuriating because they are absolutely correct. I swear, having three kids speeds up the time even more. I’m already thinking ahead to next summer – Crosby will be walking, Millie will have a year of school under her belt, and Wells will be getting ready to start pre-k. Until then, they’ll grow and I’ll continue dreaming of summer.

Baby

Jackhammers

by motheringmillieLeave a Comment on Jackhammers
Jackhammers

Blue balloons welcomed us home; it was Saturday. Millie and Wells both had special stuffed animals to give to their baby brother. A nurse at the hospital gave us stickers, “big sister” and “big brother”; they were so proud. They both took turns holding Crosby and kissed him on his head. I felt so good to be home.

To make sure Crosby was eating enough through the night, we supplemented with the soy-based formula from the hospital, in addition to my breast milk. He was lethargic from being jaundiced and didn’t want to wake to eat. My milk had finally come in; I was pumping at least 3oz of white, thin milk every session. We made an appointment with the pediatrician for Monday morning for a weight check.

We were unable to book Crosby’s appointment with our regular pediatrician because her schedule was full so we had to see another doctor in the practice whom we didn’t know. When we were checking Crosby into his appointment, the receptionist asked if we had been exposed to Covid in the last ten days. I was honest and told her that I was currently Covid positive (I should’ve lied). We waited a long time before the doctor’s assistant came out to inform us that I could not go back into the room with Crosby; I was told that I could go to my car and they would put me on speaker phone for the visit. Oh heck no. I said, “It has been five days since I tested positive for Covid. If I wasn’t on maternity leave, I’d be expected to go back to work today and teach 500 children. Why can’t I be in the room, masked, with my newborn?” The aide came back after speaking with the doctor and said I was allowed to go back into the room with Crosby.

The medical assistant stretched Crosby out on the table and measured him an inch shorter than what he was measured at the hospital. He shrunk? My emotions were already heightened from the debacle in the waiting room and now I definitely had an attitude. We took off Crosby’s clothes to weigh him and found that he had lost more weight since leaving the hospital. How? I couldn’t believe it. I felt so defeated. The doctor came in and immediately told us that we needed to take Crosby to Nationwide Children’s Hospital to run some tests because he was concerned that Crosby could have brain damage from the lack of nutrition. I got defensive, “My milk just came in. I’m going to take him home and feed him even more. We do not need to go to the hospital for testing.” The doctor told me that if I did not take Crosby to the hospital that he would call Children Services. With that, I started to cry, like ugly, gasping, desperate cry. The doctor asked to examine Crosby. He took one look at his umbilical cord and said, “You’re not only going to the hospital for his weight loss but I am calling the ID unit, Crosby has an infected umbilical cord.”

Omphalitis is an infection of the umbilicus and/or surrounding tissues, occurring primarily in the neonatal period. It is a true medical emergency that can rapidly progress to systemic infection and death, with an estimated mortality rate between 7 and 15 percent.

The doctor left the room to call the hospital to let them know to prepare a room. I was an emotional wreck; how did this happen? Chris and I both noticed that Crosby’s cord site looked different than Millie’s and Wells’ did, but we didn’t know it was from an infection. We felt like failures for not realizing something was wrong. Thankfully, while the doctor was away, our regular pediatrician came in to see us. She reassured me that I was doing everything right in regard to breastfeeding. She told us that if weight loss was the only issue, she’d send us home but she looked at his umbilical cord and agreed that we needed to get it looked at by the infectious disease doctors at the hospital. She explained that the umbilical cord is a direct portal to his insides and that we needed to treat the infection, quickly.

We rushed home and I packed a bag for me and Crosby. I had just cleaned out my hospital bags. I never expected to be packing them up again. When we checked in at the hospital, the receptionist gave Crosby a toucan chime-toy to hang on his car seat. It was a far walk to the infectious disease unit – probably too long for someone who had just given birth days before. Once we were in our room, a nurse came in and took vitals from Crosby. A resident doctor took pictures of Crosby’s umbilical cord site. It was decided that Crosby would be put on antibiotics for a possible infection. If the redness and swelling of the site went down, we’d know that the medicine was doing it’s job. We were warned that if Crosby were to have a drastic fluctuation in body temperature, they would have to perform a spinal tap. I prayed to God that a spinal tap would not be necessary.

Two nurses came to administer Crosby’s IV. They couldn’t find a vein in his little arm. It felt like an eternity that I sat and listened to my 5lb baby boy scream. Tears soaked my face mask. The blood they eventually were able to draw, clotted. I came up out of my chair. I asked, “How?” The nurse said, “It happens.” and continued to reassure the younger nurse that she was doing a good job. I said, “Doing a good job is keeping the blood viable from my son. You should be moving it!” When they were finally done taking multiple vials of blood, they capped the IV and swaddled him tight so that he couldn’t pull it out.

My face was so swollen from crying and Crosby was exhausted from crying. It was getting late and Chris and I decided that he would go home for the night to be with Millie and Wells. Chris helped me figure out how to order dinner. I set up my “bed” on the squeaky recliner chair next to Crosby’s metal crib. Chris didn’t want to leave me and Crosby. He said that leaving us in the hospital was the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

I was trying to breastfeed but feeling so self conscious about how much I was getting so I was also pumping (which was not coming easily with the stress). I was asked to label my bottles and call the nurse anytime I pumped or needed the milk from the fridge. Every diaper that came off Crosby had to be weighed. We went through three swaddles that night; he peed every time I’d change his diaper. Between diaper changes, feeds, IV antibiotics rounds, and vital checks, I did not get any sleep. Around 3 am, Crosby felt cold to the touch. I frantically called the nurse and she checked his temp, which was normal, praise God. They found Crosby a baby hat and I watched the Elvis movie.

At 7am, the jack hammering started. Construction was taking place below our room. I couldn’t have slept if I wanted to. Chris came back just in time to hear from the doctors during their morning rounds. From what they could tell, Crosby’s umbilical site seemed less inflamed. His cultures had not grown. They told us that if he stayed on this trajectory, we could possibly go home at the 24 hour mark. With that good news, I was finally able to catch a few hours of sleep.

At the 24 hour mark, the doctors hadn’t come back in to speak with us. We asked our nurse if going home was still on the table and she told us, no. Every test resulted in Crosby responding well to the antibiotic and we were given no reason other than “further observation” for making us stay another night. I voiced that the hospital wanted us to stay because they could charge our insurance 10k a night for the room (a room with a squeaky chair and construction noise). If we chose not to stay, we’d have to sign a release saying we were leaving against the doctors wishes and in turn, our insurance might not pay for the services we received. We decided to stay for “further observation”.

We FaceTimed with the kids so that they could see Crosby and me. It was devastating telling them we weren’t coming home yet. Then the thoughts of never bringing Crosby home crept in and I couldn’t stop crying. I needed my kids, and sleep, but that I night I wouldn’t have either. Chris left to be with the big kids and I turned on some movie with J-Lo.

I was wearing a pad the length of my arm. My “bed” sheets kept slipping off the back of the second, squeaky chair. I was expected to log all feeds (which was incredibly difficult because once fed, Crosby would sleep on me and I was afraid that moving would wake him). Nurses were in and out of the room every two hours doing vital checks. IV antibiotics were administered every 8 hours which meant a 2AM beep and flush. I should’ve been drinking more water. All this to say, when the lactation consultant showed up in the morning, I was miserable to her. She wanted to weigh Crosby before and after a feeding and I yelled at her to get out. It was his infection that was making him lose weight, not my breast production. I was an emotional wreck and the jack hammering continued through morning rounds.

When the doctor came in, she saw that I was distressed. She was super comforting and reassured me that Crosby was getting better and stronger. She agreed that his swelling was lessening and that he was responding well to the treatment. Chris came in during her examination and we both exhaled when she told us that we would be discharged before noon. A nurse explained to us the schedule of his medicine and how much to give him. She told us that it would be most pleasant for Crosby if we gave him the medicine with him sitting up for 15 minutes. We were instructed to go to the pediatrician the next day for another weight check and exam. Before we left, I gave the nurse our left over meal cards for another family to use during their stay.

The pediatrician told us that because of the trauma to the umbilical cord site, Crosby could have a herniated belly button. If he does, he could need surgery before he turns five to correct it.

I desperately wish I could “re-do” Crosby’s first week in this world. We will never know how Crosby got an infected umbilical cord; could’ve been a nurse, the aide who bathed him, the doctor who circumcised him, even me.

Baby

Baby No. 3

by motheringmillieLeave a Comment on Baby No. 3
Baby No. 3

Chris and I celebrated our 7 year wedding anniversary and four weeks later received a belated gift – we were pregnant. I told Chris by leaving clues around the house however, he was not thrilled by the news. (We had just come to the decision that we were going to wait another year before trying again…whoops.)

I did not tell our family until after the 8 week ultrasound and honestly, their reactions weren’t what I was expecting; my father-in-law said to Chris, “Come here and let me slap you.” My brother said, “Don’t you know about condoms?” My grandma said, “I’m never babysitting for you on your anniversary again.” All joking aside, it was incredibly disheartening.

Because we weren’t trying to get pregnant, I was anxious about what I did and did not do, not knowing I was pregnant. I wasn’t taking folic acid or a prenatal. I had been in a hot tub. I drank alcohol. My OB reassured me that everything would be okay and that I didn’t “mess up” the baby.

Chris and I celebrated my 30th birthday in Chicago while my in-laws watched Millie and Wells. This was the first time I had been away from Wells over night. We FaceTimed and bought the kids souvenirs. To my surprise, I didn’t feel nauseous at all and we did tons of walking, went on a skyscraper tour, sat in the sun, went to two concerts, and ate lots of different foods – zero illness or fatigue. It was a great trip.

A week after Chicago, the sickness set in. The OB recommended a vitamin and sleeping pill concoction to ease the nausea however, I didn’t feel comfortable taking it. Sleeping came easy and actually helped the nausea; I would be asleep in bed by 9pm. Wheat Thins, grapes, and unsweetened tea were my nutrition. Brushing my teeth and clearing my throat were the worst; I’d throw up every time.

I swore this baby was a girl; I was super sick when I was pregnant with Millie but not Wells. Chris and I decided that we were not going to find out the gender of this baby. Having a girl and boy already, we would be prepared either way. Many people were supportive of our wanting to be surprised. Our OB said that less than 5% of his pregnant patients wait to find out the gender. We were excited to give ourselves such a big surprise.

Like clockwork, at 14 weeks, I was no longer sick. I began taking one baby aspirin every night to best deter the preeclampsia I experienced with Millie. My newest ailment was a clicking in my lower back, which my OB called sciatic nerve pain. (I found out later that this was actually my SI joint.) It clicked the worst at night, going up and down the stairs, or if I was doing housework. I started going to a chiropractor that specialized in pregnancy adjustments and this seemed to help for about a week at a time.

We didn’t tell Millie and Wells about the pregnancy until they started to notice. Wells would smack my stomach and say, “Big, big belly.” Millie noticed when I picked her up from school one day and I was wearing a form fitting dress. She said, “Is there a baby in there?” Millie and Wells were both excited when we told them they would have a new sibling in March. Millie wanted the baby to be a girl and Wells of course, wanted the baby to be a boy. On the way to ballet one Saturday morning, Millie said from the backseat, “Mommy, let’s talk baby names. I like the name Cora.” Wells liked the name William (Baby Shark’s fish friend) and Catboy. We gravitated to calling the babe, New Baby.

At our 20 week ultrasound, we found out that the baby’s legs were measuring in the 7th percentile. We were concerned so the OB scheduled another ultrasound at 26 weeks to make sure the baby was developing appropriately. (At 26 weeks the baby’s femoral length was in the 14th percentile and the OB was not concerned.) I was struggling to connect with this pregnancy because I couldn’t call the baby by name. We decided to do a 3D ultrasound so that I could see the baby’s face. Millie and Wells came to this appointment with us. This baby was so cute and looked so much like his/her siblings.

Third trimester was rough. My hips ached, especially in the mornings, I had so much pelvic pressure, and I was peeing every hour. At 33 weeks, my ankles and feet got really swollen. I was instructed to go to labor and delivery to get preeclampsia blood panels drawn. Thankfully, everything came back normal and I was able to go home. The doctor on call had four children herself and gave me some advice on how to make it through the duration of my pregnancy. She recommended that I sleep on a wedge pillow instead of on my left side. Fortunately, my grandma had a wedge pillow that I could borrow and within two nights of using it to sleep, keeping my hips straight and not collapsed on each other, my hip and pelvic pain reduced significantly. This doctor also recommended pelvic floor therapy because she was confident I’d have a uterine prolapse in my future…terrifying. When I told this to my OB, he disagreed with her and said there was no validity to her statement. Only time will tell.

We celebrated Wells’ third birthday with a great party. Family and friends came and most everyone commented on how “big” I was. “You didn’t look this huge the last time I saw you!” and “You’re as big as an elephant.” and “Sit down. You’re making people feel bad.” and “You’re ready, aren’t you?” and “If you get any bigger, you’ll pop!” It’s bizarre how pregnancy gives people the freedom to speak upon another’s body. All I wanted to do was throw an awesome birthday party for Wells – no attention on my body or the new baby.

After Wells’ party, my schedule was free to welcome the new baby. Because we chose not to know the baby’s gender, I went through both Millie and Wells’ premie, newborn, and 0-3 month clothes and washed and organized them. Chris and I packed (and triple checked) our hospital bags, we set up childcare for Millie and Wells, I stocked the fridge, Chris set up the pack-and-play, all in preparation for the babe.

Two weeks after my first labor and delivery visit, my OB instructed me to go back in because of high blood pressure (140/95). My feet, ankles, and fingers were swollen. The back of my legs felt numb. I had gained 10lbs in a week. I developed a constant headache. Gestational hypertension had set in and my OB planned an induction for the day I hit 37 weeks. I was nervous, anxious, and excited all at once. While I was hooked up to the monitors, a nurse asked, “Are you feeling those contractions?” I thought I was just hungry. The monitor also showed two deviations in the baby’s heart rate. An ultrasound tech measured my amniotic fluid – all normal. I was told to report back to labor and delivery if my BP was higher than 160/110. I was to check my BP three times a day and elevate my feet as much as I could. I was released for the night with an invitation to come back the next week.

My last day at work was bitter sweet; I would definitely miss my students. My colleagues gave me good luck wishes but it wasn’t until I was asked, “Are you nervous? Giving birth is scary.” that it kicked in that I was leaving to have a baby. I started to tear up because with that one question, I felt seen. I was nervous. Yes, this was my third pregnancy but every delivery is different. The night of my induction, I procrastinated going to the hospital because of my nerves. At 12:30AM, Chris and I went to labor and delivery to start the induction.

Because of the time of my induction, the main hospital doors were no longer open and we had to enter through the emergency room doors. We were scanned and all our bags were searched. (Two hospital bags, my purse, my camera bag.) When we got up to the labor and delivery floor, we could tell they were working with a skeleton crew because it took at least ten minutes for anyone to check us in. When someone did come to enter my information, it was a elderly woman who struggled to type. I was hot, nervous, and getting increasingly anxious so I sat down in a wheel chair for the rest of the intake.

Almost an hour after we arrived, a nurse finally came into the delivery room. She was old and seemed completely clueless to the situation so naturally, my blood pressure started to elevate. She asked, “Why are you in today?” Are you kidding? The BP monitor started to beep. Pointing to the flashing screen I said, “That’s why.” I was hooked up to monitors, my IV was inserted, my temperature was taken, and I was Covid tested. The nurse asked me if I knew how my OB wanted to start the induction. How was I supposed to know? I asked Chris to pull up my blog post about Wells’ delivery. We found that I started with a cervix ripening medication called, Cervidil. The nurse requested this of the resident doctor who then explained to us that they do not use Cervidil anymore. He said we could start on Miso, which I remembered taking with Mills delivery. He inserted the Miso, told me to get a mole examined by a dermatologist, and the contractions started.

Just as I started to dose off, the head nurse came into the room to tell me that my Covid test came back positive. You’ve got to be kidding me. That morning, I felt really tired, dizzy, and anxious but I chalked it up to the hypertension. I remember texting a coworker that I was experiencing my “monthly illness” from the snot-nosed kids that we teach, and she responded, “I hope it’s not Covid, it’s going around again.” That prompted me to take an at-home Covid test, which came back negative and set me at ease. That afternoon, I had an appointment with my OB and I mentioned to him that I was not feeling well. When he checked to see if I was dilated, I almost passed out. I took a nap when I got home and on the way to the hospital, I told Chris that I was feeling much better – praise God because birthing a child is hard enough when you’re healthy. I asked the nurse to give me another Covid test – there’s a chance it could’ve been a false positive, right? She tested me a second time and it also came back positive. My mind was racing; did Millie and Wells get this? Will my in-laws get Covid from watching the kids? Will I have to isolate from the baby? I started to cry. My baby was inside my Covid-positive body and I was going to have to deliver being riddled by the virus.

The nurse reassured me that the treatment I would receive wouldn’t be any different from any other patient because I was Covid positive however, there were protocols and rules the hospital required:

– Anyone entering the room would be in full PPE. Chris and I were encouraged to mask.

– In addition to Chris, I could only have one additional visitor for the duration of my stay; no birth photographer for this delivery, Mill and Wells couldn’t come to the hospital to visit, and I had to chose between my mom and grandma in the delivery room.

– Chris could not leave the room to get ice, water, coffee, etc.

The head nurse told us that 90 percent of women who give birth while Covid positive, do not pass the virus to their newborn; this was reassuring. The baby would be Covid tested during the routine newborn check. She was optimistic that having Covid while pregnant would have given the baby antibodies that would be helpful once they were born. I prayed the baby would not be born with Covid or contract it from me once they were here.

At five am, my cervix was rechecked. The Miso softened my cervix but I hadn’t dilated much more. If time wasn’t an issue, I would’ve had another round of Miso however, my OB was getting on a plane for Chicago that evening and I desperately wanted my OB to be there. He knows my history, calms my anxiety, and he’s great at making sure I don’t tear. The resident doctor was adamant that a balloon foley was our quickest option for further dilation. I was nervous about this method because I had never had it done before. With the balloon foley, I would also have a urine catheter and I knew that would only add to my discomfort. The doctor said he was fine with me getting the epidural before the insertion of both catheters so I wouldn’t have to feel either. I asked, “How long does an epidural last?” It can be effective for 18-24 hours. I needed to have the baby before 6pm if I wanted my OB to deliver so that gave me 12 hours. We had a plan.

A lady entered the room and introduced herself as the CRNA, Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist. She sat down and asked, “Are you in pain?” To which I replied, “Not yet.” She asked, “Why are we doing this epidural?” This question irritated me. Am I not paying thousands of dollars for this medicine? I went on to explain the rationale. Did she not discuss this with the doctor? She began to talk to me about first time mothers who are afraid of pain – I stopped her and said, “This is my third rodeo. I have given birth without an epidural but this time I am choosing not to. If you’d like to discuss this pain management plan with my doctor…” She changed her tune. “No no no.” She agreed to give me the epidural but told me it was going to be painful because she didn’t have the pains of the contractions to hide it in. I sat up on the side of the bed and prayed to God I wouldn’t be paralyzed.

The CRNA advised me to sit crisscrossed, if it was comfortable, while the epidural was administered. I told her I was an elementary school music teacher and sitting crisscrossed was second nature. Chris stood in front of me to my left and the nurse stood to my right. The numbing needle stung. Then came the pressure. It felt like the needle was tunneling it’s way into my body. We made small talk about her children’s piano lessons and the downtown construction. My right leg jolted out and I almost kicked the nurse. It was taking so long, why was it taking so long? Finally, it was over. A cold trickle ran down my back and within ten minutes, I was completely numb from the waist down.

The nurse inserted the urine catheter and the resident doctor inserted the balloon foley, both of which I couldn’t feel because of the epidural. At 12pm, the nurse tugged on the foley but it did not come out. An hour later, she pulled again, and the ballon popped right out; it was the size of a clementine and it dilated me to 5cms. At 2pm, the doctor broke my water with what looked like a crochet needle. When I couldn’t feel my water break, I began to feel anxious. I wanted the epidural to be less numbing. I felt so helpless; Chris and the nurse had to move my body on the peanut ball because I couldn’t lift my legs. I felt so heavy. The CRNA came in and instructed me that the medicine was working exactly how it should and even though I couldn’t feel my lower half, it was responsive.

My Maw rubbed my legs and Chris scratched my head. It was enough to calm me through the last centimeters of dilation. I told my nurse that I was feeling a lot of pressure in my rear so she checked my cervix and informed me that I was 10cms dilated. I felt glad. I felt ready. Before she called in the doctor, she asked me to do a practice push and as I pushed through my next contraction she said, “Okay, okay. Stop. Stop pushing.” The nurse got on her phone, “Room 105 is ready to push.”

The nurses were like a NASCAR pit crew; raising the bed, turning on the bright lights, gowning the doctor, all in preparation for the birth. I made small talk with my OB about the baby coming before his flight for Chicago. He said, “With your next contraction I want you to push.” I crunched my upper body towards my knees, bared down, and I heard him say, “slow, slow” but I couldn’t stop what was happening. My body was pushing the baby out. In one push, I felt the baby’s body leave mine. The doctor placed the baby on my chest and I heard my Maw ask, “What is it?” The nurse answered, “It’s a boy.” He was crying and soaking wet. “Happy Birthday, baby boy.”

Chris cut the umbilical cord for our third child. I was relieved to hear that I did not tear and my placenta came out in one piece. The nurse told me, “That was the most efficient labor I have ever seen.” My legs were starting to tingle as the epidural started to wear off; I welcomed that feeling over the anxiety I experienced with the numbness. I changed my gown and watched as the nurse examined the baby. The baby’s oxygen rate was low at first but after a minute of an oxygen mask nearby, it went to normal range. Chris was standing over him, talking to him, taking pictures, and telling me how beautiful he was. The nurse stamped the baby’s feet into the baby book. I noticed quickly that he had a gap between his first two toes like his father. The baby weighed 6lbs 9oz. He was brought back to me for skin-to-skin.

This sweet, alert, baby boy latched quickly. He held on tightly to his daddy’s finger. He passed his newborn checks and scored a 9 on the Apgar scale. He tested negative for Covid; thank you, Jesus. He cried while he was given his first bath but once we was all clean, he calmed and we were able to take pictures of him on the hospital bed in the same position as Millie and Wells when they were born. Everything was going perfectly until he lost 12% of his body weight.

After many visits with the lactation consultant, I agreed to supplement his feeding with donor breast milk while my supply was still coming in. I would feed him from the breast and then pump. While I pumped, he was fed the bottle of donor milk. After 24 hours of feeding this way, he gained a little weight back.

I desperately wanted to go home. I missed Millie and Wells like crazy. I also knew my milk supply would increase in the peace of my own space. The doctors were okay with us taking him home as long as we took formula with us as a means of supplementation. We agreed, signed the appropriate papers and headed home to introduce Millie and Wells to their new baby brother, Crosby James.

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We Forget

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We Forget

I don’t know why our brains can’t remember the details of the good stuff. Actually, I do. I learned about it at a professional development meeting on trauma and stress. I hate staying late at work and being late to Millie, Wells, and Mawmaw. Alas, I did pick up one thing from the seemingly useless meeting; our brains remember the traumatic memories to best protect us and because our brain doesn’t need to protect us from the good stuff, it doesn’t retain it. What a load of crap.

Tonight’s good stuff is laying on the couch, way too late, on the Eve of a snow day. Wells is next to me, dream feeding, peacefully. His foot isn’t any bigger than my hand. His little body is so soft and squishable. I feel his legs and arms lay over mine. I listen to him breathe. I hold his hand and rub his back all while thinking about his future, who he will become, and how I fit in it. I pray over him and kiss him and tell him I love him.

As much as I want it to be, this blog post will never be the real thing. When I read this again, it’ll be because I’m missing my babies. I’m sad for future me. I’m sad because I know that I will want this time back. But for now, I sign off to live in the moment I have, no matter how fleeting it is, to hold my baby while he sleeps because my children are the greatest blessings of my entire life.

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Pandemic Parenting

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Pandemic Parenting

On March 3rd 2020, I delivered Wells with my husband, grandmother, father, and photographer in the room. If I would have had him on his due date, just two weeks later, I would have had to birth him alone. While we packed up our bags from our hospital stay, breaking news declared a mask mandate in Chicago and we feared Ohio would be next. We asked my nurse for masks; “I’m sorry, we are down to our last two boxes on this floor.” Chris immediately regret discarding his mask from labor and delivery.

My mom planned to stay with us for six weeks; helping with Millie and the housework while I focused on healing and bonding with Wells. Chris didn’t get any paternity leave so my moms help was a Godsend. A week after we came home from the hospital, the government shut down the state boarders around New York; my mom couldn’t stay with us indefinitely if Ohio chose to follow suit. Selfishly, I wanted my mom to stay and help but alas, my mom went back to Virginia.

Planning for this pregnancy, we knew that I would not get paid for the entirety of my maternity leave. My sick days accrue; if I work a month without taking a sick day, I earn a day of sick time. I had proudly saved twenty sick days which meant I would get two pay checks during my six-week maternity leave. After my sister passed in September of 2019, I used three weeks of my sick time, grieving her loss. On top of being pregnant and losing my sister, I was definitely stressed about the amount of unpaid leave I would have to take. Fortunately, I was able to borrow a weeks worth of sick time from myself so we would receive at least one paycheck during my six-week, maternity leave.

I had one sick day left to use when I got a phone call from a friend and fellow teacher that we were going to start teaching, virtually. Could I also work virtually (make money) while still on maternity leave? I was able to convince my OB that I could, “return” to work as long as work meant teaching from my couch. I fed Wells, Millie watched Mickey Mouse Club House, and I was posting music assignments at the same damn time. The pandemic allowed me to stay home for 21 weeks without a single, unpaid day.

As if new mothers aren’t paranoid enough, add a global pandemic to the mix. Thankfully, Chris’ company assigned his department to work from home so we weren’t getting germs from his job. Groceries were bought through delivery services and bags were sanitized at the door. Once Wells gained back his birth weight and was no longer jaundiced, we didn’t take him to another pediatric appointment until he was six months old. I should have gone to my six week OB appointment – I didn’t. I had a terrible, terrible pain in my right nipple from a latch issue – I didn’t receive outside help. My cousin unexpectedly passed away and we didn’t attend her funeral. I wasn’t comfortable breaking our “bubble”, so we stayed in.

Chris working from home turned out to be a blessing. He was able to hold Wells during his lunch hour and help change diapers between meetings. Wells definitely got more time with daddy due to the pandemic. I had planned on spending quality time watching Cubs baseball during my maternity leave, but the season was postponed and there was no baseball to be watched. We used this time at home to potty train Millie. She didn’t like feeling poop in her diaper so she would take the diaper off and the poo would get everywhere – it was time. We stripped her naked, packed away the diapers, gave her tons to drink throughout the day and constantly encouraged her to sit on the potty. We rewarded her, even if she sat on the toilet just to toot. We bought her cute undies with Frozen characters on them. We experienced more victories than accidents, but there were many accidents, especially when we would play outside. Within the month, she was completely potty trained.

The week before Wells was born, our realtor called wanting to show us a house that checked every box on our “wish list”. We dropped Millie off at my dads and I waddled through the open house. It was in a neighborhood with better schools, gave us a thousand more square feet, and had a fenced in backyard. Also, homes in our neighborhood were selling quickly at above asking price. The market was right, the house was perfect, but I was doubting how the timeline would work for us. The same day Wells was born, our offer on the house was accepted.

The worst part of selling our home during the pandemic was having to leave the house during showings; there was no where to go because everything was closed so we would load both kids in the Jeep and drive around, praying that no one entering our home was COVID positive. I would sit my postpartum butt between the two car seats and read to the kids while we ordered French fries through the Burger King drive through. The house inspectors and appraisers were weeks behind because of the shutdown. The contractors that installed our new floors had to break for two weeks because they had been in close contact with COVID-19.

All of our activity memberships expired; COSI, Franklin Park Conservatory, the Zoo. Zumbini went virtual and we tried classes through Zoom but Millie lost interest. She was getting stir crazy staying home; heck, I was too, so we would do at least one activity together everyday. It was nice to spend some one-on-one time with her because well, Wells. She loved when I would ask her to wash the dishes in the sink or when I’d let her scrub her toys. We made multi-colored foam in her water table. I taped shapes on the floor for her to organize her blocks. She loved to finger paint. We colored eggs for Easter. We became quite the bakers; she loved watching the baking competition shows and trying new recipes. We jumped in puddles on rainy afternoons and watched for, “sworms”. We would adventure in our yard where she found some fallen pine cones which she called, “coconuts”. If we were blessed with good weather, Chris would take Millie to the park across the street on his lunch break; until yellow caution tape was wrapped around the slides and the playground was off limits to promote social distancing.

The holidays were different, to say the least. We celebrated Palm Sunday by fanning around artificial leaf decorations left over from Millie’s second birthday and blowing bubbles in the back yard. Thankfully, I bought Easter gifts early because most stores were shut down. Church was virtual and we watched Easter service from my phone. Maw surprised us by decorating our tree in the front yard with eggs shaped like rabbits and ducks. She didn’t come in because she knew she’d want to hold the kids and she just couldn’t. (She had been in and out of the hospital after our cousin’s liver transplant and it just wasn’t safe to be around each other.) There was no Fourth of July parade and although we heard fireworks all through the night, we could not see any.

In November, Millie turned three and our governor had given clear instructions that no more than 10 people were allowed to gather together. Realizing I couldn’t throw Mill the birthday that I wanted for her, made me empathetic towards those who had to cancel their events due to the pandemic; weddings, trips, graduation parties, etc. It broke my heart to tell family members and friends that they could not come over to celebrate with us. So on Millie’s third birthday, my parents and the in-laws came over to celebrate and we FaceTimed others while she blew out her candles.

One very ordinary evening in December, Chris had a sore throat. Neither of us thought anything of it until he had chills throughout the night. He called our family doctor who then scheduled him to be tested for COVID. By the time of his test, he felt like he had been hit by a truck; even sitting was painful. Chris received a positive covid test and two days later, Wells and I had symptoms; body aches, fatigue, and a fever to follow. Wells slept the worst he ever had in his life. I could tell by his cry that he was in pain. Following suite, within the next two days, my grandmother who watches the kids during the week was symptomatic. Her and I both lost our taste and smell. Covid had infested our family.

Five days after Chris tested positive, Mill still had no signs of the virus. We were so impressed with her immune system! We must not have knocked on wood quick enough because without warning, my energetic fire ball was melting into the couch. Millie was lethargic and had a fever of 100.3. We called the pediatrician and she told us to give her children’s Tylenol and monitor her symptoms. We put her in the bath tub and encouraged fluids. Once the medicine was in her system, she was back to her normal self. You could tell when the medicine would start to wear off – she’d slow down, get rosy cheeks, and her eyes would gloss over. She took her medicine while I sang, “Just a spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down.” Sweet girl didn’t fight it at all. Her symptoms lasted 48 hours.

The virus did not keep us from:

  • Worshipping the Lord
  • Celebrating birthdays
  • Going to VA
  • Playing in the snow (Millie makes the best snow angels)
  • Moving my grandma into a new condo
  • Making Christmas cookies and giving them to our neighbors
  • Sending Valentine’s cards
  • Going to the zoo
  • Dedicating Wells

Not everyone had our same comfort level for socialization during the pandemic. We were not fearful of a virus with a 98% survival rate, we had faith in our immune systems, and we agreed with Pastor Doyle when he spoke about togetherness. Unfortunately, many family members missed out on important birthdays, holidays, and other once in a lifetime events because of their own anxieties about safety. The thought process was, “I want to be around for the holidays that they’ll remember.” but no one can guarantee tomorrow. [Millie (3) and Wells (1) just because you might not remember this year, doesn’t make your experiences any less valuable. I’m blogging so that if one day you don’t remember, my words may be enough.]

“If you’re a pandemic baby and you’ve been in quarantine your whole life, you get overstimulated by everything ’cause all the strangers that you see have masks on, and you’ve never really had a playdate in your life.”

I worry about how much this year has affected our children. One year out of my thirty is nothing, but one year to my three year old? That’s a third of her life. Wells? His entire life. Children aren’t as resilient as we like to think, you know? Why do so many adults find themselves in therapy – childhood trauma. We have absolutely no idea the ramifications of living this closed off, pandemic life. Millie was supposed to start dance this year and Wells doesn’t know what it’s like to be around other children. I’m heartbroken and concerned for our children, this generation now labeled as, “Gen C”.

Crazy things about COVID:

  • This started during an election year.
  • People hoarded toilet paper and sold it for obscene amounts of money on the internet.
  • Your Great, Great Uncle Bobby, who is bedridden in a nursing home (suffers from strokes) survived the virus!
  • There were directional arrows on the floors of stores and MawMaw became the aisle police. Although, she told me if I needed to go down an aisle with an arrow facing the opposite direction, to just walk backwards and act like I “forgot” something.
  • Millie was told she had to wear a mask upon entering the Disney store.
  • People were also concerned about murder hornets (I’m still not positive about the murders – were they murdering bees? People?)
  • The sports stadiums were empty (they broadcasted with fake audience cheers, it was bizarre) but some stadiums offered fans to buy cardboard cutouts of themselves to place in the seats. Gam got Millie a cutout for the Shoe so she was “at” the Buckeye games.

I thought I’d finish this blog post months ago (I began writing in August of 2020) but the pandemic trudged on. Ohio is now in a state of “purple” meaning we are worse off when we were in the “red” during our initial shutdown (the colors are arbitrary). Children are back in school full time, sporting events are being held with spectators, vaccines are being administered through drive-thrus – I don’t know what’s next for parenting in the pandemic but I’m glad this blog can be updated because I’m sure it’s not over.

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Millie Met Wells

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Millie Met Wells

My father being in the delivery room was not in my birth plan. He bought a “little brother” onesie from the hospital gift shop and to his surprise, I was mid-push in active labor when he came to show me. He watched as Wells entered the world and was placed upon my chest. My dad went out into the waiting room where his wife, my step-mom, was watching Millie. She asked my dad how I liked the onesie and was completely surprised when he told her that baby Wells was born! He explained that the baby had been delivered while he was “delivering” the outfit. Together, my dad and step-mom brought Millie to the delivery room to meet her baby brother.

Millie stood nervously at the entrance of the room until her daddy welcomed her over to my bedside. She ran with great two-year-old-gusto into his arms. He kissed her on the head as he lifted her up to see the new baby. Millie saw Wells sleeping in my arms. “Oh, baby Wells!” After the many months of telling Mille that she was going to have a baby brother, she finally was able to meet him. Chris and I were given matching hospital bracelets that linked us to baby Wells and the nurse gave Millie a bracelet that said, big sister. It was purple and adorable but Mill didn’t like it around her wrist and had the nurse cut it off. Sitting on the bed, she sang him, “Happy Birthday”.

The nurse took Wells to get his measurements and Millie followed; she wanted to be where her little brother was. Millie demanded her daddy, “pick me up” so she could have a better view of Wells. She informed the nurse that she was the big sister and made a comment about her stethoscope (a word she picked up from watching Doc McStuffins). The nurse was very impressed with her vocabulary and let her wear the stethoscope around her neck. To my surprise, Wells weighed over eight pounds! I was in disbelief because my ultrasound the week prior, the tech said he was weighing in at less than seven. After having Millie, a 4.8lb baby, Wells was giant! As Wells started to fuss, Millie got upset. She was already protective of her little brother.

Millie was to come back to the hospital the next day to take “fresh 48” photos (pictures taken within the first 48 hours after birth). I found out that Millie had gotten sick after eating breakfast. She had never thrown up before. I blame the puking on her grandparents because I guarantee they gave her way too much sugar. The hospital pediatrician said it was okay that she come up as long as she wasn’t running a fever. (The world was very different a week before the lockdown.) Millie bulldozed into the room and no one would have ever guessed that she got sick earlier in the day. She had on an outfit that matched her brother’s.

We laid Wells on some pillows next to Millie in the hospital bed. She was so curious; she kept trying to pull his hair up to see how long it was. “I hold him, daddy?” She rested her cheek on his head and it about melted my heart.

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Welcoming Wells

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Welcoming Wells

At 33 weeks pregnant with Millie, my OB instructed me to go to labor and delivery. I felt miserable; pounding headaches, swelling to point of discomfort, dizziness and fatigue. I left the OBs office completely unable to accept the reality of induction. Instead of rushing to the hospital, I had my husband take me to Arby’s. As I pumped ketchup onto my tray, a lady grabbing napkins said to me, “If you have a girl and see blood in her diaper, don’t be alarmed, it’s her hormones.” What? Suddenly, I had lost my appetite for ketchup.

33 weeks came and went during my second pregnancy yet, everyday the thought of preeclampsia was a very real concern. I checked my blood pressure with an at-home monitor, I constantly analyzed the size of my ankles, and I actually iced and elevated my feet at night. 34 weeks into my pregnancy, we lost my step-father due to a massive heart attack, just four months after unexpectedly, losing my sister. I was fearful that the grief and stress would throw me into labor but thankfully, the baby stayed put.

37 weeks of pregnancy is considered full term; something I never was able to experience with Millie. I still feel a tinge of guilt for not being able to carry her longer. I was ecstatic to have made it to term with this pregnancy and also surprised I didn’t feel entirely miserable. Don’t get me wrong, the pelvic pressure was painful and sleeping comfortably was a challenge, but life wasn’t completely intolerable; nothing like what 33 weeks pregnant with preeclampsia felt like. My OB said we made it to term because of the daily dose of baby aspirin but I like to think that he was comfortable in my sisters arms, in heaven.

At 37 weeks and 6 days, I started having contractions seven minutes apart. Laying in bed, I would check my phone with each pain; 3:07, 3:14, 3:21. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, I was being woken up by my alarm. As I was getting ready for work, my husband urged me to stay home and call the doctor. Wanting to save my sick time, I went in to teach. During my planning period, I called my OB to tell him I had contractions through the night. He responded, “get to labor and delivery”. I drove home, snuggled with Mill on the couch, and waited for my baby daddy to come home. My husband packed the car, we kissed Millie goodbye, and this time, we didn’t stop for a cherry turnover.

When we arrived at the hospital, we were sent into triage where a nurse took my temperature, blood pressure, checked my lungs and pulse, and she gave me a sani-wipe and cup to collect my urine. As I sat down on the toilet, I opened the wipe and simultaneously, it jumped out of my hands! The wet wipe flew through the air, nearly six feet, before hitting the tile floor! Reactively, I screamed and then I couldn’t stop laughing! My husband and the nurse thought I was crazy but it kept the atmosphere light; labor terrified me after my experience with Mill.

My vitals were normal except my blood pressure, 118 over 96. The nurse explained that the reading was a mistake; the bottom number “didn’t match” the top number. She checked it again; 135 over 95. She seemed concerned that the readings were slightly elevated so she was going to consult the resident doctor on duty. Of course I was stressing thinking that the pre-e had returned but there were no traces of protein in my urine, so that kept me sane. Waiting for my blood pressure to go down, I ate a bag of mini pretzels, watched an episode of Friends (ironically, it was the episode where Rachel and Ross are at the gynecologist), texted my parents, and peed again. The nurse returned, checked my BP, and it was even higher than before! Over and over again, the cuff would squeeze my arm, release the pressure, and I would dauntingly peek at the numbers on the monitor; my blood pressure remained high. The resident doctor, who looked younger than me, asked about my birth plan. I explained to her that if the preeclampsia had returned, I wanted a c-section, which had been discussed numerous times with my OB. She began explaining to me why she would not give me a c-section, even if the pre-e had returned. I stopped her and said, “I know that I am able to elect for a cesarean birth.” I was no longer interested in speaking to this resident. My blood pressure reading was highest after that conversation.

My OB was in the hospital giving a tour to a newly hired doctor in the practice, so he stopped by my room to discuss my, “options”. He told me that he was admitting me for gestational hypertension. He explained that my history with pre-e made him too concerned to send me home with an elevated blood pressure. The doctor informed us that there were risks to induction, especially premature lung development, particularly in boys. A day before Millie was born, a steroid shot was administered into my leg to better develop her lungs. Unfortunately, there is no evidence shows the steroid being effective after 34 weeks of pregnancy, so the shot was not an option this time around. There is a fine line between gestational hypertension and pre-eclampsia and my doctor thought the induction outweighed the risks, given my history. Gestational hypertension is a form of high blood pressure and it occurs in about 6 percent of all pregnancies. Delivery heals the mother from the hypertension.

I was being induced for a vaginal birth, with a c-section as plan B if my blood pressure continued to rise. The doctor promised me that this delivery would be different than my first and that I was being closely monitored. I signed some papers, shoved my underwear into my purse, and tightly held my husbands hand as we left triage. I was full term. This baby spent weeks longer in utero compared to Millie. I’ve done this before; affirmations I told myself walking to labor and delivery.

We started the induction at 4pm with a twelve hour dose of cervadil; a vaginal insert that ripens the cervix. Like a tampon, the medicine is attached to a string. Unlike a tampon, it is placed super far up the vaginal canal (I swear, the nurse was elbow deep). The first four hours on the cervadil were a breeze – mild cramping. My grandma brought Millie to see us before her bedtime. This was the first night that I wasn’t sleeping under the same roof as her. It broke my heart when she didn’t want anything to do with me. She was scared of the machines and my IV.

I was uncomfortable during the next four hours as the contractions grew stronger and closer together. Around 3am, I wanted the epidural but I was only 3cm dilated. The resident OB wanted to wait on ordering the epidural until I dilated further so he offered to give me pain meds through my IV to take off the edge. I urged both him, and the nurse to consult with my doctor because we had discussed this exact situation after my traumatic experience with Millie. I had dilated so quickly with her that I was unable to get the epidural and I did not want that to happen again. Thankfully, they consulted my doctor who approved the epidural.

I gave birth to Millie without an epidural and I was not about to do that again. Although, I was scared that the epidural would hurt, that I would move during insertion and become paralyzed, that it wouldn’t take, or that the baby’s heart rate would drop, I was terrified of another natural labor. I was overwhelmed with the pain from the contractions so I pulled up a video of Millie on my phone, to focus my energy on her pure joy. As I watched, tears rolled down my cheeks; partially due to the pain I was experiencing but also because of my love for her. I was assured that the anesthesiologist was the best they had. He was an older man who talked me through everything he was doing. My husband was asked to wear a mask and a hair cap while the procedure took place. He held my hands as I sat up straight, at the edge of the bed. The medicine felt like a bead of cold water rushing down my spine. I do not remember any pain during insertion. Slowly, my legs started feeling heavy and I knew the epidural had worked.

Pitocin was administered and for the next two hours, 4:30-6:30am, I experienced some mild cramping. The epidural provided great relief to the clinching pain of the earlier contractions. My grandma had joined us in the birthing room. Her presence was calming as she rubbed my legs. My birth photographer, Sarah Shambaugh, arrived and began taking pictures of the process. Around 6:30, it felt like I needed to poop; nothing hurt, I just felt a sense of urgency. I remembered feeling that way before Millie was born and I knew it was time to push. The nurse examined me and sure enough, I was fully effaced and 9.5cm dilated. The nurse called my doctor, who was twelve minutes away. Longest twelve minutes of my life.

I was instructed not to push until my OB arrived. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks in response to the discomfort I was enduring. I told my husband that I didn’t care to wait for my doctor any longer, as long as someone would catch my baby, I needed to start pushing. My bed was raised, nurses helped lift my legs into the stirrups, and a resident doctor began dressing to do the job. In that same moment, my doctor entered the room and prepared for the delivery. I breathed a sigh of relief while grimacing through a contraction.

Pushing was difficult because I couldn’t exactly feel what I was supposed to be doing due to the epidural. I was anxious to push and didn’t like the wait time between contractions. I forced all of my energy down and with every push, the baby moved further through the canal. My doctor was so supportive; using words of encouragement and massaging the tissue so I wouldn’t tear. My father snuck into the room and held up a “little brother” onesie as a means of encouragement. The thought was endearing but I also didn’t want my dad to see my vagina. My husband helped lift my head up towards my chest and my grandma pulled my legs back while I pushed. I could not understand why this labor was taking so long – comparatively to my three push labor with Millie. My OB used his hands to turn the baby’s head in a more opportune position. Impatient, I decided that I didn’t want to wait for the next contraction to start pushing again and that is when the baby progressed enough that my doctor could see the hair on his head. My husband looked – gross. My doctor predicted that the next push would do it; I would meet my son.

Clinched teeth, chin to chest, toes curled; all of the tension released when Wells was born. It is absolutely amazing how exhaustion and pain evaporate away the moment of birth. A wiggly, slime-covered, baby boy was placed on my chest and my entire being began taking him in; he was heavy, he was pink, he had hair, and he was crying. My husband cut the umbilical cord as nurses suctioned fluid from his mouth. We stayed skin-on-skin while my family met him. When it was time to feed him, he latched quickly and correctly, which made nursing simple. While he was on my breast, I felt the bottom of his little feet; so soft.

My sweet, perfect boy. Life may be unpredictable, but my love for you will forever be constant. Welcome to the world, Wells.

Baby

Big Sister

by motheringmillie1 Comment on Big Sister
Big Sister

I only know myself as a big sister; I don’t remember being an only child for the first two years of my life. I am a big sister to, two awesome people who I will always see as, kids. I cherish the memories of helping my brother get ready for school in the morning and talking through the bunk beds with my sister at night. Running to the car we’d yell, “shotgun!” to see who was going to sit in the front seat. I remember sticking up for my siblings at school; I about pounded a kid for calling my sister fat and I wasn’t very nice to the bully taking my brothers lunch either. My sister would keep my secrets and my brother could always make me laugh. I am proud of my siblings and I am grateful to be their big sister.

I always knew that I wanted to have a basketball team amount of kids, if the Lord would allow. The preeclampsia that I experienced with Millie scared me of the birthing process but never out of wanting to expand our family. To allow my body time to recover, my OB asked for me to give myself two years before getting pregnant again but when Millie was 20 months old, we found out we were expecting. I was still breastfeeding Mill and continued until she was 22 months old, when I entered my second trimester of pregnancy. I was instructed to take a calcium supplement as my vegan diet didn’t allow much calcium to go around for myself, a breastfeeding toddler, and a growing fetus. That aside, we were excited that Millie was going to be a big sister come March!

The first person I told after seeing the positive pregnancy test was my little sister. We had been talking about how I felt fatigued and she encouraged me to take a test. She was at work when I called to tell her the news and she startled everyone in her office by screaming in excitement. From the very beginning of this pregnancy, things were different than my first. The pink result on the pee stick was much more prominent this time around. I was pleasantly surprised that this pregnancy didn’t come with the hyperemesis gravidarum that I experienced with Mill. Due to all the puking during my first pregnancy, I had to miss my sister’s college graduation, hospitalized with dehydration. This time around, I was pregnant but also was able keep up with an energetic toddler. We had a gender reveal with our family where we cut into a cake that spilled out blue candy – no surprise that this pregnancy was different, we are having a baby boy.

Millie is a little mommy; she loves babies. At Zumbini, she would rather spend time putting her face in baby carriers of the siblings of her classmates than dance and play instruments. Millie will give her baby dolls stroller rides, she feeds them bottles, and she puts them to sleep by covering them up and kissing them on the head. Anything small is a baby to her. I love her caring nature. There was never a doubt in my mind that she would be an incredible big sister.

I do not think Millie understands that there will be a new baby in our house come March. She is aware that there is a baby in my stomach and that we are preparing our home for his arrival however, how can a two year old comprehend a new life? I still am in awe of the miracle that is a new baby. So here I am, enjoying my time as a one child mama for a little while longer. I will never forget Millie’s time as my only child however, she will. She’ll forever know herself, like me, as a big sister.

Baby

Makeup and Millie

by motheringmillie1 Comment on Makeup and Millie
Makeup and Millie

I have vivid memories of watching my mom put her makeup on in the bathroom mirror. Sometimes she’d ask me to brush her long, dark hair and add a polishing cream to the ends to make the stray hairs lay down flat. I remember being envious of how beautiful she looked and wondering if I’d ever grow up to be that pretty. “Maybe when I’m 27”, I’d think.

Before I was allowed to wear makeup out of the house, my mom insisted on teaching me how to properly apply my foundation, powder, blush, eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara. When I’d wear too much eyeliner or dark eyeshadow, per my mother, she’d take my makeup away until I was ready to wear it correctly. If I was grounded from wearing makeup, I’d borrow my friend’s eyeliner and apply it in a car mirror on my way to school; totally gross, but middle-school-me didn’t care. Reflecting on those years, I am grateful that I had a mother who invested time into me; I know that not all children get to experience that.

This year, I’ll turn 27, and one of the best compliments I receive is how much I favor my mother. After a much needed, adults only, double date, my reluctant husband accompanied me to Ulta for an, “in and out, I know exactly what I’m getting” shopping trip. $80 later, I was a happy girl and my husband, will never step in that store again. I picked up two new hair products, an eyebrow pencil, two new makeup brushes, a lip moisturizer, a beauty blender, and new foundation. I couldn’t wait to use my new goodies!

My mother taught me to smile when applying blush to my cheek bones. I was to pull the blush across my cheek, at an upwards angle, to the side of my face. She was teaching me to contour, bless her! I still use my moms makeup methods today and Millie now watches me in the bathroom mirror. Somehow, my sweet angel must have gotten very confused because she used mommy’s new blush brush to scrub the toilet. My husband saw her first, took the brush from her, and he found it hysterical; “that’s one way to use it!” Blush brush = toilet scrubber.

The next day, while I was curling my hair, Millie decided to paint the bathroom cabinets. (She found a dry paint brush and it kept her occupied.) I was singing and she was babbling. I finished my hair, looked down to compliment Mills work, and to my surprise there were brown drawings on my white, vanity doors. At some point, Millie dropped the paint brush, found my new eyebrow pencil, and went to town! My husband found that funny, too.

Millie’s “innovative” ways of using makeup has surpassed anything that I could’ve thought of. The drawings have yet to be erased. Cheers to 27, makeup, and daughters.