Done.

We are done having babies. I can say that definitively. Four's our limit and Hattie will be my very last pregnancy. Jack always likes to remind us that this is what we said after Claire was born, but we changed our minds back then. This time, we've left no room for mind changing. I won't go into detail, but we've taken care of it.

On a totally unrelated note, if you see Kyle moving at his own pace for a little while, just leave him alone.

Last week, during the days leading up to . . . well . . . our done-ness, I was a little weepy.  I still blame the postpartum hormones (I think I'll be blaming postpartum hormones for years to come). It's emotional to think about my childbearing years coming to an end. I didn't really enjoy being pregnant all that much, but even I can come up with things that I loved about it. On the morning before Hattie was born, I sat still and felt her little arms stretch and her feet push back and forth against my side. I just closed my eyes and tried to memorize it, knowing that this would be the last time that I'd feel a little one squirming inside of me. I watched my belly move as she rolled her little bottom from one side to the other. What an absolute miracle it is to grow a person. I get all teary just talking about it.

For these reasons, I think it's okay for me to be sad. It doesn't mean I've changed my mind. It's kind of like high school graduation, you know? It was a good time of my life, and I was really emotional about leaving it behind, but I definitely don't want to go back and do it again.

Almost 10 years ago I was told that getting pregnant would be difficult and it was. It took us time and a lot of money to get pregnant that first time, so it's still hard for me to believe that I have four children. Four. If I'm being honest, it makes me feel a little bit guilty, too. But that's a post for another time.

So, here's the plan: I'm going to soak up the months of babyhood that Hattie has left, and I'm going to brave the toddler/preschool years that both Claire and Hattie have ahead of them. I'll enjoy those stages as much as I possibly can. I will be careful not to wish them away.  BUT. I will still look forward to the next stage and I won't cling to the last.

I love being able to have deeper conversations with Jack and Ben and I'm looking forward to being able to do that with the girls, too. I welcome the idea of having four kids who can entertain themselves for longer than 10 minutes, tie their own shoes, put themselves back to sleep at 3 AM and play games that all of us can enjoy. Perhaps we'll have a ceremonial burning of Candy Land and Hi Ho Cherry-O.

Sure, there will be new and different challenges as they all get older, and I'm certain to have plenty of "I wish I could just go back to when they were babies" moments, but I'll welcome the next stage with open arms.

Hattie's birth story . . . part 2

OK, so here's the 2nd part of Hattie's birth story.  You can read part 1 here.   I realize that I sound overdramatic and whiny in all of this.  Overall, I had a very healthy delivery experience and Hattie was healthy when she was born. I realize that this isn't the worst case scenario. The whole thing was just much different than what I had planned and wanted.

So where were we? Right. The midwife decided to admit me because of my low levels of amniotic fluid, and she thought that maybe my water HAD broken. But the contractions I'd been having all morning and afternoon had come to a halt.

It was storming outside, and warnings were coming over the intercom system. I wasn't even paying attention to them because I was so upset that I was being admitted and labor seemed to have come to a halt. It was maybe 3:00 or 3:30. I just kept thinking about everything I could be getting done at home . . . unpacking, cooking, putting the kids to bed, etc. We left triage and went to a labor and delivery room.

Once we got there, we decided to roam the halls. As we walked, I'd have to stop and breathe through a contraction every few minutes. When I'd stop walking, the contractions would stop. As we walked, we reminisced about walking the halls before Claire was born. The new hospital had only been open 2 or 3 weeks at that point.  The walls were bare, and it was Christmas day, so everything was empty.

Things were pretty busy that day, though.

We went back to our room and ordered dinner. We, of course, ordered the chocolate cake that I fell in love with way back after Jack was born. The chocolate cake from U of M's room service the best chocolate cake I've ever had . . . and now that I've had it prior to giving birth I can confirm that it's not just the post-labor hunger talking.

After we ate, I dozed in bed a little.  I hadn't been sleeping well for the few weeks before, so I figured if I was going to be stuck in the hospital, I should probably just try and rest.  At some point between 7 and 7:30, I shot up in bed with an intense contraction (I know the time because I remember Wheel of Fortune was on). From that point on, contractions started fast and furious.  I remember asking Kyle if they were 5 minutes apart yet and he said, "Uh, they're about 2 minutes apart."

A little bit later, the nurse came in and asked if I would like my epidural and I said I didn't think I'd be far enough along because I wasn't even at 1 cm when I came in.  She laughed and said, "We can give you an epidural any time you want!"  Well, I wish someone had mentioned THAT before.

The anesthesia team took about 20 minutes to get there, but it felt like 2 hours.  Contractions had escalated to the point where I couldn't even sit comfortably between them. I was writhing and I was, well . . . loud. Side note: When I hear about the birth stories of others, I become convinced that I do not handle pain well. I'm loud and not calm at all. I'm begging for relief and crying for someone to just help.

SO I'm hunched over the side of the bed with my legs braced on Kyle knees while they insert the epidural, having to stop every minute or so for a contraction. I'd never thrown up during labor before . . . something I can no longer say. I'm thankful for the nurse who was quick on her feet for that one.  Given that I was hunched over Kyle, I think he's probably even more thankful than I was. The chocolate cake is not as good coming up.  Just FYI.

In the middle of getting the epidural, an attending doctor came in. This is where everything started to go south. She was barking orders at the resident (who was doing just fine up until she came in) and asking me questions (um, why are you asking me things that are in my chart when I'm so obviously not in the frame of mind to be answering). To make a much longer story a little bit shorter, I ended up with a dural puncture during my epidural. This is a risk of an epidural, but I never thought it would happen.  It was the first time the resident had ever had that happen. (He later came back and apologized several times. I wanted to tell him that I blamed only the attending anesthesiologist, but I resisted.)

I didn't know what was going on, but I started to hear whispering and I kept asking what was going on. In the middle of that chaos, I started feeling very strongly like I needed to push. Please note that I've never been to this phase of labor before without an epidural.  I was freaking. out. I felt like I was coming off the bed because baby was trying to just push herself out of there. The nurse called the midwife (Anne) and got me set up to push, but I said I couldn't without the epidural. She told me it was my decision and we could wait until the epidural to take effect before I pushed, and I could see the attending kind of shake her head.

I was already confused, because I'd had 3 epidurals in the past and had almost immediate relief with each of them. Each of those times, my contractions had lessened in intensity by the time I was back laying down.

So after the attending kind of shook her head, the midwife said, "You know what? I think you should just go ahead and start pushing.  By the time that epidural works, you could have already delivered!"  I started shouting things about knowing how epidurals work and knowing that I should have relief by now (Kyle said he had to stifle laughs because of how out of character everything I was saying was) . . . and they broke the news to me that something went wrong with it. Anne took my hand and looked at me and said, "There are a lot of things that don't go the way you expect when you're a parent, right? This is just one more of those things."

And that was the moment that I realized I would be giving birth, without any pain relief.

So I started pushing and a few agonizing pushes later, at 10:00 PM, Hattie Lynne was born! They put her in my arms and I felt like I was holding Claire again because they looked so much alike. I just stared at her and she cried a little and looked at me a little. We love her so much and just couldn't stop looking at her. Was she worth it? Absolutely. 100% yes. Would I change everything about the experience if I could? Also, yes.

During recovery, everyone kept saying things like, "When your epidural wears off . . . " or "You shouldn't feel this because of the epidural . . . " and I kept having to remind them that I did and could still feel EVERYTHING.  Stitches included.

But I'm not to the worst part yet.

Apparently a very recent study shows that when you have a dural puncture, you can avoid a post dural puncture headache by leaving the catheter in your spine for 24 hours. Which meant that I pretty much couldn't move from my bed for 24 hours.  No bathroom, no shower, no walking. Just sitting in bed, or laying on my back. In retrospect it doesn't sound that bad, but all I wanted was to shower and to not use a bedpan. I spent a lot of time crying over the fear of the post dural puncture headache and the possibility of needing a blood patch.

Fortunately, I didn't get the headache (I had a pretty bad one a few days later, but I'll never know for sure if that's what it was).  No blood patches were required to fix it. Everything healed up well.

Hattie was born on Tuesday, August 26 (Kyle's 35th birthday) at 10 PM and we brought her home that Thursday morning.  We jumped right back into things . . . Jack's 2nd grade class open house was that night and Kyle took him to that. We still had boxes and boxes to unpack (still do, for that matter) and a new house to get used to.  Our lives are just now starting to find a "normal" again.

Hattie is the sweetest, most laid back baby ever. I've done this before, so I know that it might not last forever, but we are so enjoying her happy disposition for now!

On pregnancy #4

I'm sitting here, feeling contractions and knowing that this baby girl will likely come today or tomorrow and feeling panicked because I haven't recorded much about this pregnancy.  I suppose it's to be expected by baby #4 . . . there's no time to sit down and write.

I've had as much, if not more, swelling with this pregnancy than I did with Jack's.  I didn't have much swelling or carpal tunnel issues with Ben or Claire.  But this time around it's awful.  I think it was exacerbated by all of the painting . . . I'm not sure it would be this bad otherwise.

I'm so excited to meet Hattie and to not be pregnant, but I'm really, really sad for this pregnancy to be over.  It's my last, and I feel like I'm saying goodbye to an old friend.  Part of me is elated that I'll NEVER HAVE TO DO THIS AGAIN!  Another part of me is so sad that I'll never GET to do this again.

I've been much more relaxed with this pregnancy, likely because I've been so consumed with busyness and moving that I haven't had much time to think about anything else.  I feel like Hattie moves less than the others did at this stage, but it might just be that I sit still less than I did at this stage with the others.

Watching Jack, Ben and Claire prepare for a new sister has been fun.  Claire calls all of her dolls "Hattie" and "baby sister."  She bathes them, changes their diaper and is overall pretty gentle and loving.  I hope it stays that way!

Jack has become pretty helpful, and won't let me carry anything.  Even pizza boxes.  I think he's seen Kyle take care of me in that way and feels like he should, too.

Every time I ask or tell Bennett to do something, he says, "Because you're pregnant?"  It's funny.

All three of them hug and kiss my belly.  They talk to Hattie and laugh when she moves.  When Claire asks Hattie questions like, "Do you love your big sister?" I'll gasp and say, "She just shook her tushie!" and Claire cracks up like it's the funniest thing she's ever heard.

I've had a LOT of trouble sleeping over the last 2 weeks, mainly because my hands hurt so bad from the carpal tunnel.  On the bright side I've had lots of extra time to paint, unpack, etc.

I'm so excited to meet this little girl, and while being pregnant isn't my favorite, I feel so, so fortunate to have the privilege of carrying her.

20ish weeks

I feel like I have so much catching up to do.  I haven't really written anything about this pregnancy.  It had a rocky start, so I think everything feels a little different because of that.  I think maybe the fact that I'm older (I LOVE it with the midwife refers to the "maternal age" as a thing . . . I'm 35, not 50) and that I'm chasing three kids around contributes to most of the differences.

I mainly just have a lot more pain this time . . . tendon and joint pain all around my belly.  I had very little nausea with the first three pregnancies, but was nauseated constantly for the first 10 weeks of this one.  Of course, I googled the heck out of what that could mean.  As it turns out, it simply means that I'm pregnant.  There were a few days I couldn't even get out of bed because I felt so sick.  Apple slices were the only thing I could eat without feeling sick.

My belly is growing faster than the first three, which is to be expected.  I also started out looking a little pregnant already, so that contributed, I'm sure.  I've developed an aversion to bacon, just like I did with Ben.  Even the smell makes me gag.  I haven't gained as much weight as I had with the other three by this point, but that's bound to change here eventually.

We had our 20 week ultrasound before we left on vacation last week and it was wonderful!  It doesn't matter that it was the fourth time doing this . . . it was still amazing to see the little person growing inside of me.  She looked healthy and perfect.

We brought home cupcakes with PINK frosting to share the news with the kids.  Jack and Ben really wanted a boy, so we weren't sure how they would react to another sister.  Jack said, "We'll probably still love her anyway."  Ben pouted.  They both recovered from their disappointment quickly and are now excited.  Ben even said it would be "nice for Claire to have a little friend."  They started making a list of potential names, the first of which was "Claire, Jr."

Here's a rough photo of my baby bump at 20 weeks.  Pardon the beach hair and blurriness.

 

And proof that I can still see my toes.  This is the only photographic evidence that I was on vacation with my family last week.

A few shots of her beautiful profile.

The tech said she was laying weird and had her feet tucked back into the sac (or something like that).  At first, we were afraid we might not be able to find out her gender, but she finally gave it up.  Here are the best shots she could get of her feet and a few fingers.

We love her so much already!

How I found out I was pregnant with baby #4. Three times.

This is a long post, but it's the true story of baby #4.


THE FIRST TIME:
About a year ago in March, I found out that I was pregnant with baby #4.

A week later, I learned that it was a false alarm.  I won't go into details, because they are humiliating.  But I was not, in fact, pregnant.

That week that I thought that I was pregnant, however, was an emotional roller coaster.  I cried for the first two days.  Kyle and I couldn't talk about it without me crying.  I was panicked about where we'd put the baby, and how we'd afford a baby and what on earth we were going to do with four children.

But as the week went on, we started to figure things out.  People have had a lot more children in houses a lot smaller than ours.  And finances?  They always seem to work out.  Maybe only one of our children will be able to go to college.  The others can learn a trade, am I right?  We were figuring it out.  By the end of the week, my fear had turned to excitement.

Then, on that Friday, I discovered it was a false alarm I was devastated.  I didn't have a miscarriage.  I didn't lose a real baby.  But I did lose something.  Everyone who's ever been pregnant knows that this minute you find out you're pregnant . . . even just a few weeks . . .  you start to make plans.  You start to figure things out.  In your mind?  That baby is as good as born.  I lost the idea of a baby.  Does that make me sound crazy?  Perhaps.  Still . . . it was rough.
I had only told a couple of close friends, and most of them laughed when I told them I wasn't pregnant.  I thought that maybe I'd laugh at myself over it someday (I still can't), but all I could do for about 2 weeks was cry.  March was a bad month.  I was finally getting over the pneumonia, and this happened.  April and May were kind of rough, too.  I cried a lot and didn't want to be around people much.  The whole thing really shook me and left me asking . . . should we have a fourth?

We weren't able to answer that question right away, and I knew it was unwise to jump into a decision like that right away because we were still emotional.  So we decided to wait and see how we felt in the fall.

Fast forward to the fall, and we decided that we were going to see what happened.  If you've followed this blog from the beginning, you might remember that I ovulate 2 - 3 times a year, so it's not like we can really "try."  We just decided to stop taking measures to prevent pregnancy and see where we landed.  In my mind, I had decided that if I wasn't pregnant by Christmas, we'd call it good and our family complete.

I don't think I'd normally share this story, but it's such an important part of getting to where we are now.  If we hadn't had this false alarm, I'm not sure we'd have started thinking about having a fourth baby.  During those months after the false alarm, and maybe even as a result of that week, our desire for another child grew.

THE SECOND TIME:
In December, Kyle was talking to a friend who works for child protective services.  He was telling Kyle about how the foster homes in Jackson County are full and they were using part of the detention center in Pontiac as a foster care facility.  Kyle came home and told me this, and we wondered out loud if maybe that was the route we should be taking.  The very next day I took a pregnancy test (I hadn't had a period since August, so I took tests monthly just to make sure).  Lo and behold, I had a positive pregnancy test.

We decided to tell the kids Christmas day, even though our first appointment wasn't until the day after Christmas.  Kyle and I were both hesitant about this because we've always waited until we've heard the heartbeat to tell people . . . but Christmas seemed like the perfect time, and I've had 3 healthy pregnancies.  What were the chances something would go wrong with this one?  We put an extra stocking on the mantle for Christmas morning and when we pointed it out, Jack said, "Uh, is that for baby Jesus?"  Once they figured it out, they were excited.  We let them tell our families at family gatherings that day, too.  Jack and Ben were really excited to share the news.

The next day, we went for our first appointment.  The midwife did an ultrasound and saw nothing.  She thought maybe she saw a shadow in one spot, but couldn't be sure.  She sent us to the hospital to have another ultrasound done, and the ultrasound tech confirmed that the gestational sac measured 8 weeks, but there was no baby.  They diagnosed imminent miscarriage.  My bloodwork showed that my hcg levels were still going up, but that's not uncommon early in miscarriage.

During that appointment, I started bleeding, so they sent me home to let nature take its course.  As is protocol, they scheduled an ultrasound for 10 days later to confirm miscarriage before taking any action to end the pregnancy, though the midwife thought it wouldn't be necessary since bleeding had already started.

We had to go home and tell the kids that the baby wasn't growing any more.  I beat myself up on the entire drive home from the hospital for telling them so soon.  Jack cried with me and Ben just sat quietly.  Claire had no idea what was going on . . . it was actually her 2nd birthday.  We ate cupcakes and did our best to celebrate, but it just felt like there was a dark cloud over us.

I'd like to say that I was stoic and handled this all with grace and a grateful heart, but that would be a lie.  I was a wreck. I stayed in bed for most the next week, and missed every Christmas gathering we had scheduled.  I spent a lot of time praying and realizing how grateful I am to have three healthy kids.  And how lucky my kids are to have parents as awesome as we are.

Kyle took care of the kids that week and attended all of the Christmas festivities with them, but he was hurting, too. My parents ended up taking the kids for us for a few days, which was probably the most helpful thing anyone could have done.  It gave us a chance to spend time grieving and accepting everything, without having to put on a happy face for the kids. 

During the time that the kids were away, my friend Jeanette sent us flowers with a heartfelt note.  It was so nice of her, but the flowers had been sitting in subzero temperatures all day when I took them out of the box, so they looked like this:

When we saw them, Kyle and I started laughing hysterically.  I don't know why it struck us as funny . . . maybe the juxtaposition of the dead flowers and the beautiful note . . . but we laughed SO. HARD.  That laugh was exactly what we needed . . . even more than the flowers.  It was perfect.

We went back for what was supposed to be a follow-up appointment a week later.  I was still bleeding, But it was light enough that I didn't think I had yet miscarried.  The midwife said that once they confirmed the miscarriage at my next ultrasound, they could schedule a procedure to end the pregnancy right away.  I wanted them to do the ultrasound that day, but they wouldn't have been able to schedule any procedures until it had been at least 10 days from the first ultrasound.  I just wanted it all to be done.  I was constantly nauseated . . . more than I was with any pregnancy before that.  I was hormonal and bloated.  I had honestly accepted the miscarriage.  I had dealt with the loss.  I just wanted it to be over.

The ultrasound was scheduled for January 6.  The night before the ultrasound, we had about 18 inches of snow dumped on us.  We were snowed in.  I begged Kyle to please try to get us to U of M anyway, but we ended up stuck in the road in front of our driveway for a good 20 minutes.  I had to cancel, and they couldn't get me another appointment for 10 days!  I was so upset.  I knew there was no baby and I just wanted to stop feeling pregnant. The nausea and fatigue were overwhelming. Fortunately, the midwife got me in for Friday, so that I didn't have to wait over another weekend.  

THE THIRD TIME:
So we went in Friday.  Jeanette offered to watch Ben and Claire so we didn't have to drag them along, which was amazing.  I was sad, but anxious to get there and get everything scheduled.

Before we left that morning, I was listening to the Rend Collective version of "10,000 Reasons" and this stuck out to me:

"For all Your goodness I will keep on singing;
Ten thousand reasons for my heart to find"

That verse played over and over in my head throughout the whole day.

On our way to the hospital, Kyle's Aunt Karen sent me this message:

"In the middle of running around and playing with Uncle Jeff at our party, Ben came up to U. Jeff and asked if he could tell him a secret. He then told him, "our baby isn't growing like he should." Uncle Jeff told him that he would pray that everything would be okay. Then they went back to playing. We wanted to respect your privacy, but even more, we wish to know if we could pray more specifically for you."

It was perfect timing.  I needed to have more people praying for us.  It was interesting, too, because Ben had very little to say about everything to us.  It was good to catch a glimpse of his heart and his concern.  At one point during the week before, he told me, "Mom, did you know that I pray for you in my head, like, all the time?"

When we got to the hospital, we parked in the lot that we've parked at for every OB appointment, and for the birth of all three kids.  We passed all of the hospital landmarks that have become so familiar over the last 7 years.  I was so sad that I would now have this memory tied to those things, too. 

A cheerful ultrasound tech came into the waiting room and said my name, and I followed her into the room.  With a big smile she said, "Do you want to know if you're having a boy or a girl, or are we keeping that a surprise?"  Through tears I said, "We're here to confirm a miscarriage and schedule an MVA."  She was so apologetic and realized she had the wrong Sara.  She promptly returned me to the waiting room where my name was called again, by a rather somber Fetal Medicine Specialist.  He had a packet of information on MVAs and D & Cs that he set down next to the computer.  He told us that after the ultrasound, he'd go over our options and we could schedule something as soon as possible.

I closed my eyes as he began the ultrasound and within seconds said, "Well, I'd like to introduce you to your baby.  And here is it's heartbeat."  I sat straight up and said, "WHAT?!"  And there she was.  A sweet little baby, about 8 weeks along.  I was stunned.  Kyle was stunned.  Quite frankly, the doctor was a little surprised, too.  He said it's rare that he gets to give good news in this situation.  I told him he was one of my top 5 favorite people.

We were given a due date of August 26, which is Kyle's birthday (the due date as also been reported as August 20 and August 13 . . . we're not really sure when this baby is due exactly).  Kyle and I left the Fetal Diagnostic Center agreeing that it was one of the best days ever.

I've had a few friends and family members question whether the ultrasound was just too early, or if they were wrong to presume miscarriage.  Just for reference, though . . . miscarriage is presumed when the gestational sac measures larger than 2 cm, with no embryo.  Mine was 2.3 cm.  By the time a woman's hcg level is 1000, they normally expect to see an embryo.  If it's over 5000, with no embryo, they presume miscarriage.  Mine was 67,000.  On top of that, I was having bleeding . . . not just spotting.  In retrospect, I think it was from the vaginal ultrasounds (even though I've been told they wouldn't cause as much bleeding as I had).  There's still no other explanation for the bleeding.

Midwife and doctor agreed that this little girl might have been up against the side of the sac or in a shadow.  She was definitely big enough to have shown up at that first ultrasound.  This little girl is already giving her brothers and sister a run for their money at hide and seek.

I feel so incredibly lucky (and to be honest, a little guilty) to have my story turn out this way, because I know that for many people it doesn't.  Why me and not them?  When I think about those two weeks that we thought our baby was gone, my heart still aches.  I know that there are people for whom that ache isn't a just a memory. 

Our 20 week ultrasound showed a healthy little girl, developing just as she should be.  I'm so grateful.