Way Too Tiny For Surgery

I will be leaving for Phoenix at 3 a.m. Friday morning, just me and my little Luke. Off to the surgical center. So my tiny guy can get both his testicles where they need to be.

It's not supposed to be invasive, they say. They just make an incision, go in, find the testicle that's hiding in the abdomen, bring it down into the scrotum, close up the scrotum from the inside so it doesn't leave the sack, and sew him up in the outside. Piece of cake, right?

The surgeon/urologist says he does more than many of these, and that it's pretty standard. In and out.

But that doesn't mean I'm not stressing over having my smaller-than-average, almost-eight-month-old knocked out with anesthesia and cut open on an operating table.

In fact, I'm pretty sick about it. I can't even let myself think about it for too long or I feel my eyes start to burn. To say the least.

I wish my husband could go with me for support. Or that I had some form of support there at all.

But the kids need him here, and I don't want them there.

So it's just me and Luke.

I've done it before. After all, when Sam had his 2nd surgery at 13 months, it was the same thing. Drive down to Phoenix, just me and him. Be there when he comes to, thrashing and disoriented. Comfort him, hold him. Drive three hours home with him, praying he would sleep on the way, since I could do nothing to comfort him in the car.

They say it's pretty standard.

But I'm freaking out inside. Worried sick. Praying it's as standard as they say, that it goes smoothly, and that God will bless him with quick healing and good health, as well as steady hands on the surgeon.

I pray I'll be able to keep it together and that my baby won't be scared.

I pray it will go well and be over before we both know it.

That's all.

 

Not an easy thing, nursing.

Today I don't want to pour my heart out about the economy falling apart, even though I fear for the future of my family. I don't even want to pour my heart out about Luke's upcoming surgery that we just scheduled for September 2, and how I'm dreading it every day that it gets closer.

Today I want to pour my heart out about something dear to me, that probably won't be to others. I want to rant about how my baby is becoming less and less of my baby. Every day.

Any avid followers of my blog probably know of the difficulties I have had with nursing my children (overactive letdown, etc.), but that I stick with it because I'm a huge breastfeeding supporter. However, I'm not the one who will stop you in the grocery store if you're giving your baby formula and try to give you a lesson on why that's so bad for your little one (yes, that actually happened to me with my first). I have been on both ends and don't judge anyone for how they decide to feed their baby, but for me, personally, nursing is all I wanted.

When I was pregnant with my first child, I was determined, but I had no idea that anything could go wrong or that it would be such Hell. But it was. And I started making all the wrong decisions from hour one of his life, and it snowballed. I tried everything to make it happen. Everything. Everything that I knew, anyway. But I was naive, and even the experts I had helping me seemed to be, too. No one--not even the six lactation consultants--could figure out my problem. They said it was him, that he was just too stubborn. They said he had colic. They said nursing just wasn't for some babies.

I found out years later that they were wrong, about everything. But, in that time, I trusted them. After all, they were the experts. And I was just a first time mom. So we continued to try, trying every little gadget and technique in "the book," and the process was torturous.

By the age of six weeks, Sam gave up completely. No more staying up hours in the night trying to get him to suck while he screamed bloody murder. Because he just. wouldn't. do. it. Because he was too miserable--and so was I.

And because I didn't know I was the one with the problem, I didn't know how to help him. I felt helpless. I felt like a failure as a mother. And there was nothing (that I knew of at the time) I could do to change it. And when I knew I wouldn't get to nurse my baby like I'd always dreamed, I cried. For days, I sobbed. So I did the next best thing: pumped until he was six months old, so that even though we couldn't have the bonding that comes along with nursing, he could get the nutrients. (And, man, that was a pain in the ass.)

Then  I was pregnant with Josh, and the whole subject of nursing scared me because I was worried the same thing would happen with him that happened with Sam. I wanted to nurse him so badly, and I wanted it to actually be a good experience. Then a very dear friend of mine was an answer to my prayers. She revealed to me that she used to be a La Leche League leader, and when I told her the problems I'd had, I actually saw the light-bulb above her head turn on. Because she had had the same problem with both her kids. And so do thousands of other women, come to find out. Finally, I didn't feel alone! Finally, I knew it hadn't been colic that made Sam cry all the time.

She gave me information and a website so I could arm myself with knowledge and learn how to work around the issue. (If anyone wants it, let me know. It's literally a lifesaver. Whether you have nursing problems or just want to know more about nursing in general.)

And I spent hours and countless hours on that website, finding answers to every single question I ever had about nursing and why, no matter what I'd tried, it hadn't worked for me.

And I became an "expert" of sorts (quiz me, I dare you). And when I had Josh it was difficult, as I knew it would be (a woman with overactive letdown will have it with every child), but I was actually able to manage it. I worked around it, and it was a miracle. And I was able to live the dream I had of nursing my baby and sharing that special bond. He was a five-minute nurser, which made having a life difficult, especially since he ate that way until the time he was 13 months, but I wouldn't have traded it for anything. Because I was a mom, and my baby was my priority. Nursing him was my life.

Then I had Luke, and again I spent hours on the website, re-arming myself with knowledge. And just like with Josh, it was extremely difficult those first three months. He was miserable all the time, and just like Josh, he was a five-minute eater. Five minutes, with only an hour and a half between each feeding. Because that's all his poor, tiny tummy could handle.

But then he grew up and his tummy could handle more. And unlike Josh, it began to be insufficient. Five minutes wasn't enough. But because that's what my body was used to, that's all I would produce. I tried letting him eat on both sides then (usually, I'd only nurse on one side at a time, with both Luke and Josh), and that worked for a few months. He'd eat for five minutes on one side and five on the other.

Then by six months, that wasn't enough. And he would struggle and fight, and cry, cry, cry. But not in the same way he did as a newborn. This time there wasn't enough. And last month, the first time I realized this was a problem, I cried. I stayed up late at night in the rocker and cried with him--him because of hunger and me because of my failure to again provide for my baby.

I didn't want to give up. I kept offering him the breast, but he didn't want to work for it. He didn't want to wait for that letdown that wasn't coming, even after five minutes of sucking--that same letdown that only four months ago came too forcefully and too frequently. I don't know how it happened, and why it didn't happen this way with Josh, but for some reason, I was losing my supply. Probably because he didn't want to keep working so hard for something that was so lacking.

So I gave in and gave him his first bottle of formula. (Because regardless of the opinion of some people, babies will not eventually get hungry enough to give in and nurse. Instead they will give up. Instead they will cry themselves to sleep and starve. I know this because this is what I experienced with my first, and what a good friend of mine (who is a nurse at a NICU) experiences at work on a regular basis. And my baby's health is more important than hanging onto the hope of nursing.)

And Luke loved it. He loved that it flowed so easily and never stopped coming unless he stopped sucking. And for the first time in weeks, he was actually satisfied, actually happy.

So over the last month I have had to supplement, mostly before bed at night (as well as give him solid food 3 times a day, because he loves to eat). And it's been hard for me, but I've dealt with it.

And then over the last week, it's become an every-feeding thing. I nurse him first, let him get all the breast milk he can, and then, since he'll only nurse for about 3 minutes before he gets too upset to finish, I'll give him formula. And it's been this way at every feeding for the last week, with the exception of the feeding in the middle of the night, every night. At least I still have that.

But now he is drinking way more formula than he is breast milk, and I know it won't be long before he won't be nursing at all. And I'll lose my milk completely.

He is only seven months, and I'm so not ready for this to be over. I feel like he is pulling away from his baby-hood. Way sooner than I'd like.

But this time is different than my first. Even though I mourn that connection to him, I'm also knowledgeable and experienced enough now to know I'm not a failure as a mother. That I can still have just as good a bond with him if I cradle him as he sucks on that bottle and his little blue eyes are looking into mine. I'm not going to go into a depression over it, or cry for days over it. I know that formula isn't evil (I never thought it was). I know that just because I don't breastfeed doesn't mean I'm a horrible mother. At all. I don't think anyone who decides not to nurse is a bad mother. At all.

I'm just saying that for me, it's all I wanted to do. And it's hard that I can't.

But I have tried my best, and either way, I know Luke's still my baby, and I'm still his mother. And even though the only thing that makes my bond with him different than the one with his daddy, or anyone else, will be taken from me, no one can take my place as his mother.

And I'll remember that at least I was blessed enough to have that special, precious bond with him for these first seven months, and with Josh for thirteen.

So for now, I'll hold onto those middle-of-the-night feedings with all my heart. And I will never complain about waking up to feed him in the night again.

Rockin' the Babies!

*Post inspired by TICS's Rockin' the Baby prompt. (Side-note: happy birthday, Shell!)

I love my babies more than anything. They are my life, and they grow WAY too quickly!

This was my Luke at almost 2 months, and now he is 6 months. (He also had his 6-month checkup today and is in the tenth percentile for weight and height. And he loves to eat, eat, eat.)

This is my Josh at 9 months, and now he is 2.5 years! He was my most precious Gerber-looking baby.

And lastly, this is my Sammy, at 3 months old. And now he is one of the most bratty difficult, smart, loving 4.5-year-olds in the world!

I just might lose it.

I've never taken part in Shell's PYHO (Pour Your Heart Out) Wednesdays, but I figured I should today. Before I explode. And this will be my last post for a short time, since we are leaving for Idaho tomorrow! Woo-hoo! If I get the chance, I might blog from there, but I'm not counting on it.

It's just been one of those days. You know, the kind where you've procrastinated things all week and decide that you'd do it all in one day--one day before you leave on a ten-day vacation? Or the kind where your kids are unbearably cranky, extra whiny, extra bratty, and cry at the drop of a hat? Those kinds of days suck on their own, but to have them both on the same day is just downright annoying.

I admit that the procrastinating is my fault. I've always been really good at that. I always think I'll have plenty of time in the future to get certain things done, and I'm wrong. Every. Time.

So instead of getting things ready for our trip this week, I've been using my few minutes of free time here and there to rewrite my first manuscript (the one I don't really consider a manuscript at all because of how absolutely horrible it is). I've always loved the characters, but felt a little ashamed of the story, and even more ashamed of the writing. So, I thought, why not rewrite it all, start from scratch?

It's something I just started doing for fun, because of the fact that I'd written it off a long time ago, but now that I'm back into it, and I'm seeing that it actually has some promise with the way I'm rewriting it, it's been hard to step away. It's been hard to find that balance, as it usually is when I'm into something I'm writing.

So that little thing I decided to do for fun has now turned into a passion that fills nearly every moment of my free time, which isn't much. And between that and a screaming baby (which I explain below), I have been a procrastinating whore.

It's a problem. And the first step is admitting it, right?

Anyway, I'm suffering from the consequence today. Here I am, with a massive to-do list and three kids that are driving me BONKERS.

It took me an hour just to fold laundry. Yes, an hour. Because my two-year-old's favorite thing to do is laugh when I pull my hair out and scream destroy a good ol' pile of freshly folded laundry. Twice.

And cleaning up the toys in the family room and their bedroom? Well, that was a two-hour job. After gathering all the puzzle pieces and having the kids put them together again, Josh also decided it would be fun to act like the spawn on Satan throw them all in random directions when I wasn't looking, including, but not limited to, behind the couch, behind the TV, on the shelf, and in the laundry (which was still destroyed at this point).

He also got a kick out of the fact that when I finally got their room clean an hour later (it was absolutely horrific, I tell you) and I put him in timeout, he locked himself in and destroyed everything I just cleaned while I begged from the other side of the door for him to unlock it. (After that episode, I messed around so much with the lock that I accidentally broke it disabled the lock on their door to prevent future episodes.)

And perhaps the most horrifying of all is that I have an almost-six-month-old who is the most high-maintenance individual I have ever had the pleasure to encounter. And people, I promise I'm not over-exaggerating this one. I am literally at my wit's end. If there is anyone out there who has a baby like this, any pointers will be helpful!

The constant soundtrack to my day (unless I am holding him) is a high-pitched scream that makes my head hurt. He cries ALL. THE. TIME. And I don't know why. I love the baby to death--really. He is so cute and fun and when I'm holding him, he is pleasant and happy and oh-so-kissable.

But I put him down and it's like I'm dealing with a starving, neglected, raging demon. (Those of you who are judging me for my word choice, come to my house for an hour and you will share the same opinion, I promise you.)

There is something about that screaming that not only hurts my head, but makes me grumpy, on edge, and triples the stress in the air. It makes me not want to do anything during the day (which is why I procrastinate in the first place) because listening to that in the background is torture. It's in the background to everything I do. EVERYTHING.

Doing the dishes: screaming. Sweeping/mopping the floor: screaming. Bathing the two older boys: screaming (and of course the crying from my older kids because they hate water). Giving my older kids lunch: screaming.  Disciplining my older kids: screaming. Dealing with an unruly, whiny child: screaming. Trying to unlock the children's door while pleading and nearly crying myself on the other end: screaming.

And it's not just the screaming that's getting to me, but the nursing, too. I've never enjoyed nursing with Luke. Never. And that is really sad to me. He's a miserable nurser. He squirms and fidgets the whole time, not to mention claws. I have scratches and abrasions all over my boobs, ribs, and chest because he doesn't know how to lay calmly when he eats. I have to use one hand to hold the boob in place (it comes out if I don't, thanks to the pulling, the squirming, etc.) and the other to try and keep his hands down.

And part of his behavior is out of habit, I think, since in the first few months of his life he suffered with my over-active letdown problem. But now it's just irritating. And it saddens me to say that I can't wait until he's older, when I'm ready to wean him.

So, you may be asking to yourself, why is she blogging if she has so much to get done?

And the answer is because I want to. Simple as that. I needed a break, the baby is asleep, and it's quiet.

Ah, that quiet.

And I'm tired. I'm tired of a fussy, needy baby, and I just want him to be happy. So there's my venting for the week.

And I just want to add that as I type, I can hear Josh throwing all the toys out of the drawers in his room again. For the third time. After the two hours his mom has spent cleaning it. He is supposed to be asleep.

And I'm just too tired to care now. It's why I don't clean on a usual basis.

Did I mention I'm tired?

NOT the Terrible Horrible No-good Very Bad Day

While Luke slept much better through the night last night (I almost got a whole 6 hours of sleep!), he is struggling today, for one reason or another. Even more than usual I mean. Here's what my day has consisted of:

Giving the kids a rushed breakfast of cold cereal, changing poopy diapers and pee-soaked clothes, starting a load of dirty toddler sheets and towels (since we don't have a single one clean) and hoping Dave can finish it when he gets home since I don't have time, quickly making PB&J sandwiches for lunch (for me AND my kids) so I can get back to taking care of a crying Luke, and being a human pacifier in between as I daydream of taking a shower and being clean...all while my eyes and ears are tortured by Caillou and Martha (PBS Kids) so that my older kids are occupied and not getting into trouble.

And though I sit here most of the day--in my PJ's and still without a brush being ran through my hair--consoling a needy, uncomfortable baby (even as we speak) while trying to stay awake and trying not to long for more glorious things, I don't allow myself to believe that my situation sucks, that my life is meaningless, or that I'm accomplishing nothing, like much of society would view it.

Instead, I know I could be doing nothing better, and that the sacrifices I and other mothers make are greater than any shower, perfectly clean house, or even a book contract with the most prominent publisher I could dream to snag. I know that, and am so grateful to have this privilege of unsightly, yet beautiful, motherhood...

...Even as I sit here nursing the baby for the third time in the last hour (one-hand typing...oh yeah!), and smelling the overflowing kitchen trash a few feet behind me. Ew.

Three Weeks and Counting (almost)...

The first week CRAWLED, but for some reason the last week and a half have flown. I can't believe Luke is almost 3 weeks old! His 2 week checkup went well...I guess. Okay, it really didn't, but that was just because he also got his circumcision at the same time and it was extremely traumatizing for him and me both. But he is healing up great and now I can put that hell behind me!

He now weighs 8 lbs. 12 oz., which is a lot more than I was expecting, since at his 4-day checkup he'd lost almost a whole pound since birth. His pediatrician and I were pleasantly surprised! He is also 21 inches now, 1 inch more than he was at birth. So he is thriving and getting plenty of mama's milk!

Today is one of those days I just want to sleep, cry, vent, etc. But don't worry, I'll only scratch the surface. Of all the 19 nights since Luke was born, all involving about only 3 hours of sleep on average, last night was by far the worst. On top of his usual constant nursing and fussiness, I'm pretty sure he's going through his 3 week "frequency days," or growth spurt, because ever since yesterday afternoon, he has been eating CONSTANTLY. And not the normal, fussy, I-have-a-tummy-ache-so-I-need-comfort nursing. He's actually eating a lot. For the first time ever, he sucked me totally dry last night, which is a huge surprise, considering I have an over-supply of milk usually. So last night consisted of feeding, feeding...feeding. Then trying to get him to sleep. Then crawling into bed. Then just as I was drifting to sleep he'd wake up again and...feeding, feeding, feeding. All night. Every hour. I literally didn't get more than about 30 minutes of sleep.

And it's all catching up to me. And I'm too tired to care about anything, and all I feel like doing is crying, but I'm even too tired to do that. And then I feel like I can't vent to my wonderful husband because his automatic response is that I should let him "cry it out" so that I can get some sleep--an idea that I completely, utterly disagree with at this young newborn age. So to Dave, I bring it on myself (in a nutshell) because I shouldn't let the baby "manipulate" me and shouldn't be coming at his every beckon call, or even feeding him as much as he needs.

Basically, the way he feels is completely against everything I feel and believe in my heart and that makes this all the more difficult. I went through this with Baby Josh, too, and unfortunately during his newborn months, our marriage was rocky because of how opposite our newborn parenting styles are. I'm the nursing mom, so in the end I get the say, but it doesn't make it easy. While I know it is important for babies to have their crying time, I also know it's important for them to know at this age that their parents will be there to comfort and protect them. Does anyone have any suggestions on how to see eye-to-eye with a spouse whose parenting opinions and styles are completely opposite from your own??

At least I know that once the newborn phase is over, we will see eye-to-eye again, since this is the only area we disagree in. Anyway, here's a great article on the LLL website that supports my opinion on the subject and gives a little background and explanation. There are also a billion other helpful articles on this website to anyone else who shares similar views.

Anyway, I love my supportive husband dearly, and am SO grateful for my family and my beautiful children. I cherish them and know how extremely blessed I am. Everyone needs to vent sometimes though, right?

Family of FIVE!

I know I'm WAY behind on this, but it's better late than never, right? One week ago we welcomed our little Lucas James Davenport into the world! HOORAY! He was born on Thursday, January 6, 2011, at 8:04am, weighing 8 lbs. 2 oz. and measuring 20 inches long.

He looks almost exactly like Sam did when he was a baby (same nose, same serious brow, etc.), but not quite as "old." Sam's always had an older face, even as a newborn, and though Luke looks like a little old man sometimes, he's still got a lot more "baby" in his face than Sam did. He also has brownish hair! Dave thinks it'll stay brown, but I think it'll end up blond.

He is doing very well and other than an undescended testicle that they can't find and slightly elevated Bilirubin levels, he is very healthy! The testicle thing is something they aren't concerned with yet and said it's something we and his pediatrician just need to monitor over the next year because it will probably come down on it's own eventually. And though the whites of his eyes are yellow, the Bilirubin levels weren't even elevated enough for them to give me a number. They just said to keep nursing him, put him in sunlight when we can, and it'll go away on it's own. So along with that, and the fact that it was a very smooth delivery, I am feeling pretty darn blessed.

So for anyone wanting more details of the labor/delivery story (and anyone who doesn't mind the glorious details of child birthing), here ya go...

Anyone who knows me knows I was really stressed and nervous about the whole induction and how it was going to go, but it turns out I didn't even need to stress! The night before, I got everything ready and felt 100% prepared, then went to bed that night as anxious as ever. I kept thinking, "Wouldn't that be awesome if I went into labor on my own on the way there tomorrow morning..." Well, I didn't go to labor on the way there, but instead woke up at about 2:45am with my first real labor contraction!

As with my other two kids, I knew right away that it was real because it was painful enough to wake me up. But, wanting to be 100% sure before I woke up Dave and rushed them to the Sipes's house, I let three more contractions pass, each about 10 minutes apart. During that time, I got up and finished getting together some last minute things, then woke up Dave. At that point it was pretty obvious it was real labor.

So after dropping off the boys at the Sipe's (by then it was about 4am...Tara, you rock), we were off to Prescott Valley, speeding the whole way so I didn't have the baby in the car. But I was still only about eight minutes apart on the way there, so I felt completely safe. And actually, it turns out I had more time with this one than I did with Josh! Crazy how things work. And I am so grateful for the Lord answering my prayers, even though I didn't pray them. I never prayed that I'd go into labor naturally, only that whatever is best would happen. But He knew how stressed and nervous I was, and so I feel like this was a HUGE blessing, and just one way for Him to show me that He loves me and is actually aware of us and cares about our concerns.

Anyway, I was dilated to about a six when they ended up getting me in and checking me (about 6am), but as soon as I got changed and in the bed, things started progressing pretty quickly. Within the hour I was almost completely dilated, so my OB told me I could go along with my body and do whatever I felt was necessary, whether it be pushing or just waiting through the contractions.

At one point I was laying on my side and I felt like I'd hit the "transition phase" (for anyone who's ever done natural childbirth, most will agree that this is the WORST part) and my contractions were so painful, intense, and right on top of each other that I felt like it was the end of me. At that point point I felt the unyielding need to push, so I did, and told the doctors it was time and it was happening NOW.

BUT as soon as I got off my side and got into "delivering" position, the contractions regressed back to the way they were before and the doc told me to stop pushing because apparently my cervix wasn't ready. WHAT?!?!

So after waiting and waiting (with the doc, the nurses, and all the equipment ready and watching), the doc finally decided to give it more time and he'd come back in fifteen minutes. Of course almost as soon as he left, I hit that transitional phase again. They gave me 1 mL of pitocin (which is a tiny dose) to speed things back up and then had me turn back on my side since that's the position I was in before. And not even a minute later, that unbearable pain came again, along with the horrible, uncontrollable need to push. Only this time it was ten times stronger.

Besides Dave, there was only one nurse in the room at the time and I told her (I guess you could really say I was yelling at her) I HAD to push--and I actually started regardless of what she said because I couldn't help it. After checking me and seeing that his head was actually coming through, she frantically called for the doc to come back in and while waiting told me to keep him inside and pant instead of push. So I did...with the top of his head sitting almost outside of me...and as soon as the OB came back in and got on his gloves, I had to start pushing again.

Anyway, about 30 seconds later, tiny Luke was born. And I have to say that though I am extremely proud of myself for doing it without medication and wouldn't change anything about that, it was HELL. Excuse the term. I don't remember my experience with Josh being that painful, but this time around there was a moment where I slipped into a place of feeling like I wouldn't make it through. It's a feeling I'll never forget.

...One more reason (besides the crappy pregnancies I have) I feel like I never want to have kids again. I know I never want to have an epidural with any of my kids, yet the whole pain and crappy feeling of delivering a baby is enough to keep me from having more. Hmm. We'll see how I feel about it in a couple years or more...when it's not so fresh.

Anyway. I do have to say that though it hurt like Hell and I never want to do it again, because of the result it was a joyous experience. There is nothing like the immediate physical relief once that baby comes out. And then the spiritual bliss when hearing the first cry. And even though I just underwent misery, as soon as they laid him on my chest, all of that vanished and I felt like the luckiest mom in the world. He was so beautiful and perfect. And at that moment, for the first time ever, Dave got teared up. For some reason he didn't with Sam and Josh.

He was so perfect and all the nurses and doctors kept commenting how perfect his head was and that they never see such perfectly shaped heads on newborns unless the baby was c-sectioned. Anyway, I just feel like a proud mama.

And I really liked the new birthing center. They let me keep him on me, skin to skin, for as long as I needed right after, leaving me and Dave alone with him while I nursed. Then about an hour or two later is when they finally took him and did all the routine stuff...which they actually did right there in the room (everything is done in the room).

I also like the birthing center because if mom and baby are doing well, they let you leave after 24 hours, vs. the two-day thing they used to do. I really liked that, seeing how I am always SO uncomfortable in the hospital after (hate the beds and the constant interruptions, etc.). So that next day we left!

Life here has been...different. It's always an adjustment with a new baby, especially one that can be difficult, but I know it's something that will become routine. And from day one we felt like Luke was the greatest addition to our family and we wouldn't have it any other way.

As I knew would happen, I've had some nursing difficulties. I expected it. I prepared for it. But it still doesn't make it any easier. As with all my kids, I produce too much milk and have what's called overactive letdown, which means because there is SO much milk, it comes out way too forcefully and strong, causing a chain reaction of numerous problems for baby and mother...resulting in constant engorgement and pain for me (nothing relieves it because I produce it too fast) and constant tummy problems for baby.

I had this with both Josh and Sam, though I had NO idea about the problem with Sam and didn't know what it was or how to control it, so Sam eventually stopped nursing. But with Josh I figured out the problem (thanks to the HEAVENLY La Leche League website!) at about 3 weeks old. By then, it'd already been going on for a while so I had a late start at getting it conquered. But eventually, by about 3 months, I was finally regulated.

But because Josh had gotten so used to only being able to eat for about five minutes at a time, it was an eating habit he held right up until the end, which was thirteen months of age. So I am praying that because I am trying to tackle this early enough, that it regulates sooner and that Luke goes back to eating beautifully and normally, like he did his first two days of life. I have high hopes, but I'm not counting on it, because I know this is life. And sometimes I feel like I've been cursed with difficult newborns and that I just need to accept that they will all be like this.

...another reason I shy away from the idea of having more kids. I know it sounds selfish, and I know in a few years I'll feel differently. Like I said, when it isn't so fresh...

So anyway, thanks to that issue, I feel like utter garbage, Luke feels like garbage, and neither of us are really sleeping. The most hours of sleep I've gotten a night since we got home has been 4.5 hours, collectively, though usually it's just been 3 per night. And I feel horrible that the reason my baby isn't feeling well and not sleeping is because of an issue I have...not him. But I know there's nothing I can do immediately to change it and it's something that we just have to get through until things get better. I love my baby so much, but a lot of the time I wish I could fast-forward to one month from now.

The boys have taken to him REALLY well. Josh has actually surprised me, since he was the one I was so worried about. But they love their little baby brother, and Josh has even learned to say "baby" since then! :)

And Luke already has such a sweet personality. He is SO cuddly and SO soft (and really fuzzy, too). And I love that we spend lots of time gazing into each other's eyes. Even though things are difficult right now, I am extremely blessed and I couldn't have asked for a more wonderful family. I thank the Lord for my wonderful, special boys every single day, and for my wonderful, supportive husband who is a lifesaver to me. I love them so much and I know that being a mama is a blessing and the greatest thing I could be doing.

And I have to say thanks again to all the wonderful people who have been so helpful! Thanks to the Sipes's for taking my kids that first day and night (and taking them so early in the morning!), and for the Quists for taking them that next morning and afternoon until we got home! Thanks to everyone who's offered themselves, and to everyone who's made us meals! You are all angels and we appreciate it more than you know!

I've posted all the pictures on my facebook account, but here are some of them. And here are the links to some videos we took as well:

Little Squeals
Under the warmer
First Bath1
First Bath2
More squeaks












Also, here are two other cute videos of Sam and Josh. This one is of Josh saying "baby." We had to get it on video, since he never talks! And this one is of Sam explaining how you check your temperature when you have a "favor" (fever).

24 Hours and Counting!

Well, 24 hours from now I will be arriving at the Birthing Center, getting ready for who knows what. I'm not gonna lie--I'm extremely nervous, just for the fact that I have NO idea what to expect. It could all go a million different ways. What I want to have happen (besides automatically going into labor all on my own right when I arrive...) is I get right in, they start me, and right away my body knows what to do and I have a somewhat quick labor and smooth delivery--without an epidural.

BUT this is life. And if we all know one lesson of life it's that life almost never turns out the way you want. Even though my OB told me the schedule that day is pretty free and clear, I could go in and find that they are too full to induce me and they might send me home (my OB gave me a lot of different scenarios, just so that I'm seeing it realistically and can be prepared for anything). Or I could go in for my scheduled induction at nine a.m. and end up waiting around until four in the afternoon before they even have a place for me. Or they could start me and my body might not respond to the pitocin and I might be sitting there hooked up to it for twenty-four hours before anything happens. And if that's the case (and I don't have the baby until Friday), that just means one more night in the hospital and one more night that someone has to watch our kids.

And then there's the other million things that can go not as expected--the things that can happen whether you're induced or go into labor naturally. OR, OR, OR....

But I think out of all of it, the thing I'm dreading the most is the epidural. After talking to so many people who have shared their stories with me of when they were induced, it just seems like it might be somewhat unavoidable. Like I've said before, I don't think an epidural is evil or bad or anything like that, and I have an open enough mind to accept the fact that I just might need one--and that's okay.

But when I compare my two previous labor experiences--one with it and one without it--it's just not even a competition. Hands down, my experience without it was SO much better, and I would love to have that repeated. With the epidural it lengthened my labor, I had horrible side effects afterward (an allergic reaction of sorts), I felt out of control not being able to feel anything down there, Dave had to hold my legs because they were like Jell-o...etc. There were just so many reasons that make me, personally, shy away from it.

When I did it naturally, everything went quickly and effectively. I loved that I felt in control of my body and could actually feel what was happening, thus allowing me to work WITH my body to deliver the baby. I loved that I felt normal right after the baby was born. I loved that I could get up and pee on my own right afterward, and even walk to my own recovery room. I loved that Josh was alert and breastfed right away (which, I know, might not have to do with it, but still...). And, honestly, I simply loved the euphoria of doing it without medication. The high it provided and the accomplishment I felt was worth it all, and provided something better than pain relief for me.

So do I pray and hope that I can do it that way again? DEFINITELY. And I will still do all I can to try it. But I also know that being induced is completely different than going into labor naturally. When it happens naturally, your body gradually works its way up to the intense, painful contractions (not to mention you can be at home, comfortable, when this is happening). But when you're induced, it starts right of the bat with the intense and painful ones (and from what I hear, seem to be even worse the normal). Plus, it might still take your body a while to actually be far enough along to do anything about it (the doc told me sometimes even twenty-four hours). Which means I could be sitting there, having those horrid, intense, painful contractions for hours on end. AND have to be sitting in a hospital bed, hooked up, while I'm waiting. No walking around, etc.

So I will do my best, but I will also be open to the fact that I just might not be able to handle it without some medication. I just pray for the best, in every aspect. And mostly, more than anything, I just pray that Luke is healthy. I know everything will be fine at the end, no matter the road we had to take to get there, but I'd be lying if I said thinking about the road didn't scare me or stress me out.

I also have to mention how grateful I am to the wonderful people in Bagdad for all their support. We have had so many people in our ward who have offered their help, and that couldn't mean more to us. Not having family here to help this time has been a big stress factor on us (and makes us a little sad), but with all the help from the ward family, that stress has lessened a great deal. I really don't know what we would do without you guys. Tara, for taking our kids the first day and night. Paul and Beth for taking them the second day and night (and offering to watch them even longer if needs be). And Lydia for being the original one to watch them and now has to deal with her own sick family! For all the other offers to watch kids and all the offers for meals and cleaning our house! You guys are all truly angels in our lives and we thank you from the bottom of our hearts!

As an extra emotional, hormonal mom, who has never left her kids with anyone other than family overnight, leaving them with other people has been weighing on my mind a LOT. Worrying about them being happy and okay, worrying about them (mostly Josh) feeling out of their comfort zone because they aren't waking up at their own house, and then being miserable, worrying about this and that... But I trust you all and I know my kids will be fine! You guys have made my worrying and stress MUCH less! So thanks again!

Okay, I'm done with my rant. *Deep breath*

Wish us luck!

When One Life Ends, Another Begins

It's taken me a while to blog about this, but I just wanted to make a small tribute to my beautiful, cute, lovable (and sometimes ornery) Grandma, Barbara Culling. She passed away on the morning of November 6, with my mom and dad by her bedside. She's been on the verge ever since October 2006 when she had her first stroke, and had been in a nursing home for the last 4 years. We'd all been praying for her to go peacefully and that her suffering would end, so her passing was bittersweet. We're all very grateful that she isn't bogged down by her physical body anymore and feel this has been a blessing after 4 long years, but we all miss her!

Her viewing and burial were on November 10 and I wished so badly I could be there and experience the sweet spirit that others in my family did. But my thoughts were there that whole day, and I'm just grateful she had the privilege to meet my first two children, Sam and Josh.

The way I will always remember her is the active Grandma who loved dogs, hated having pictures taken of herself, and used to walk everywhere. Some of my fondest memories of her were the few times I got to fly out to California and visit her alone as a kid, spending a week with her at a time and meeting all her other cute, ornery friends at her apartment complex. Walking her little terrier, Bingo, then walking to the Iron Skillet or the 99-cent store. I love my Grandma so much!

But there's been a little blessing in the Coltharp family--another addition! On the morning of Monday, November 15, my sister, Cindi, gave birth to her daughter, Abigail Catherine Lindsay! Both she and Abbey are doing great and now at home trying to adjust to the new life-style. I wish I could see her so bad, but from the pictures and videos, she looks just like a little, cute, female version of her big brother, Aaron! She's so cute and I'm so excited for my sister that she gets to be the mom of a newborn again!

Next it's my turn. Gulp.