Max is snug on my chest as I write this. He is a whole 84 hours old. It’s funny how 84 hours can pass like minutes. It seems like he’s been with our family three days and yet forever. I’ve been waiting to write his story.. Waiting until the words would flow like melted butter from my fingers to the keys, waiting for inspiration that would allow me to convey how this experience made me feel. The moment eludes me and I don’t want to wait. Each passing hour the details become more foggy, the emotion less raw. And so here it is.

Max’s story.

The story of how a baby gets here is so much more than just the labor that pushes them from their mother to the earth. It’s about the way they were made, the way they grew, the way we grew with them. It’s about how those moments change us as women and mothers, about how those moments MAKE us. Max is my sixth baby. The fifth one to lie breathing in my arms. And the first one to teach me things about myself I might never have learned. His story is unique. Joyful. Painful. And His only.

Max’s story starts with his sister’s. Ella’s beautiful labor and complicated arrival left me with feelings of betrayal and confusion. How could my body let me down? Did I let her down? Could I trust myself again? My body again? I brought these emotions to my pregnancy with Max and worked hard to let them go. To trust. To let Max’s story unfold for him. And to grow into a woman of strength and courage during the 10 months Max was growing within me.

I envisioned Max’s arrival as an opportunity for healing. A chance for growth. Redemption. Peace. I envisioned a birth that was ideal, perfect. But in my desire for perfection I left little room for the imperfection that is birth. I forgot to leave myself space to surrender control.

The weeks before Max arrived were punctuated by contractions, unrelenting pelvic pain, consuming exhaustion, difficult sleepless nights, painful emotional days. I would pace and squat. Rock and sway. Many nights, all night. On Saturday before Max came I did just that. On Sunday, with concern and question, we saw our backup midwife for reassurance. Was this normal still? Was Max too big? We were met with her optimism that Max wasn’t “that” big. But that he was high. Very high still. My cervix closed (a change from the previous 3 cm and 90% effaced) but soft. The clock would continue to tick the minutes away, no end in sight. I should rest when I could she said. Exercise patience. Enjoy a glass of wine and the moments left in my last pregnancy. Try to forget about contractions until they wouldn’t be ignored.

;

I was 40 weeks and 1 day pregnant.

That afternoon I struggled through contractions to nap. That evening we went out to our usual Sunday dinner with the kids. I eventually lost my mucus plug. The same contractions chased me all night. Three minutes. Five. Seven. Four. Eight. Never consistent but never spaced enough to rest. Sway. Stand. Lay. Rock. Try, fruitlessly, to sleep. At 3:58 am Monday, March 26th, my water broke with one small gush of clear fluid. We woke Kelsey to help and she occupied Ella, who had been awake since 3:30, while Matt pumped and filled the tub and I changed the sheets, brushed my hair and teeth, put on my labor clothes, and baked a birth day cake.

;

In the 5 o’clock hour the team arrived. Our friend and photographer Staci, our Doula Megan, and Jacque, our midwife and mother hen. We timed contractions and then didn’t. Chatted. Played our birth playlist. James Taylor, Jack Johnson. Joni. Marley. We laughed. The mood was light and easy. I knit an i-cord to tie Max’s umbilical cord with. I rocked. Sat on the ball. Swayed with Matt. Listened to my birthing affirmations. We had pancakes and bacon. We walked. I nursed Ella several times, embracing the sudden increase in intensity with each session. We laid, the three of us, in our family bed and dozed for an hour. At some point we all acknowledged that things were slowing to a stop. The contractions were more than bearable, spacing out, allowing for rest. At 10:30 we decided to start a black and blue cohosh regimen. I was grateful to have the tinctures even if they weren’t particularly flavorful and took them straight from the bottle. Jacque left to see some other patients. We walked more. Kelsey went for sandwiches. I was admittedly getting anxious. My membranes had been ruptured since 4 am. I felt the clock ticking knowing each passing hour increased risk for infection and knowing 24 hours was as long as I’d feel comfortable being in labor under those circumstances. We started using the breast pump to stimulate contractions. This was remarkably effective so we continued. Fifteen minutes on. Fifteen off. During the off time I’d walk the stairs and lunged hoping to help Max find his way. This intensified the contractions quite a bit. Megan and Matt would work on the Spleen 6 acupressure point. I was encouraged as they became closer and more painful. Excited. Anxious. Ready.

In the 3-4 o’clock hour the contractions became more intense and I asked that someone call Jacque. Things seemed to be moving along. When she returned I asked her for an exam. I was just 5 cm at this point but actively laboring. It seemed like things might move quickly. We ate soup and hot french bread. Matt and I showered. He put Ella to bed around 7:45 and I got in the tub. My friend Emily arrived quietly and Kelsey talked with my sister Raegan, filling her in on the details. We had a second midwife arrive to be another set of hands. Things started to feel busy. Noisy. I was struggling to maintain focus. The contractions were quite painful at this point, more so than my previous births. The pain in my pelvic bone was excruciating. Far more than the pain of just the contractions alone. I couldn’t get comfortable. No position would alleviate the pain. I was beginning to get panicky and hoping this was transition coming. Perhaps things were moving quickly?

At 10:30 I was 7 cm. Max was still quite high. There was a bulging bag of fluid in front of him. We talked about how to get him down. I’d been doing it all without result. Stairs. Squats. Sways. Lunges. Jacque suggested Matt and I go upstairs and rest and talk with one another and Max. We did. The contractions spaced out a bit and I dozed. Periodically I’d open my eyes and see Matt watching me, his face awash with love and concern. We talked about how much longer we’d go on if there was no change in his position. I’d been up for more than 30 hours that point with no rest, and really days with only an hour of sleep here and there. I was exhausted and becoming fearful and irrational. Matt was worried about my safety and Max’s. I wondered if Max was so large that his size was preventing his descent. I considered another Dystocia. We laid that way, just us and Max until 12:00. At 12:30 I asked Jacque to check me again. I was making deals with myself in my mind, hoping there was some change, any change. There was a moment where Matt met my gaze and we both knew the line in the sand would soon be drawn.

My cervix was unchanged. Max was still just as high. My contraction pattern was ineffective. Incredibly painful and not producing change. I had some bloody discharge that was concerning to Jacque. The bag of water in front of Max’s head was full enough that it was impossible to tell if the cord was present in it. She felt it might be. Breaking the bag to help him settle was a risky option with the possibility of cord prolapse. His head was virtually unreachable.

;

We decided to transfer to the hospital.

;

There was a flurry of activity. I was being sucked into a vortex of worst cases and what ifs. Exhaustion was making me fearful and irrational. We called our backup midwife Rita and she agreed to meet us at the hospital. I sobbed as I packed a bag, gathered Max’s things, grabbed a toothbrush, searched for peace I couldn’t find. I sobbed and pleaded with my body to work. I stood in front of the mirror in my bathroom, looking at the reflection of a woman I didn’t recognize, desperate, exhausted, frightened. I cried and begged for the homebirth I wanted. The one that would heal me of the betrayal I felt after Ella. The birth that would make me feel confident and whole, sure of myself. Proud. Strong. I cried because that birth wasn’t the birth I was getting. Matt hugged and kissed me again and again saying it would be ok. Telling me that our family was the only thing that had any meaning in his life. Reassuring me and encouraging me.

We left.

Jacque and Megan followed us. The 25 minute drive to the hospital was an eternity. I had contractions every 4 minutes. I was sealtbelted, writhing and crying in pain, physical, emotional. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to. I just want my BODY TO WORK,” I plead. I was afraid. Afraid of judgment. Afraid of the stares I’d get from my previous co-workers (as I had worked there as a RN myself). I was terrified that the only option left was a c-section that I desperately didn’t want. We bypassed the ER quickly and walked straight onto the labor floor and were met with the necessary paperwork all ready for us. The triage RN, a friend, took me straight to a room. Another friend, met us there and quickly admitted me. Rita was already there too, waiting. I climbed onto the so familiar bed. The bed I’d knelt against so many times as a nurse. The bed where I’d caught the babies who couldn’t wait for the doctor, the bed where I’d delivered both good and bad news so many times to other frightened parents. This time the bed was an unfamiliar though, hard, cold, unforgiving against contractions that continued to come wave after wave. This time I was the patient.

We looked to Rita for guidance. I was too tired to know what to do. My instincts were shutting down. I couldn’t tune into myself. Matt was only worried about Max and I and our safety. Rita did an exam. I was 8 cm. Same. Max was high. Very high. Same. There was a full bag of water. Same. All the same. She offered us a c-section, as expected. She told me she knew how exhausted I was and wanted me to know that I didn’t have to endure anymore. I could be holding my baby in 15 minutes. But Rita knows me. And so in the same breath she said, “I know you don’t want that so let me think about what we can do.” She walked out for a minute while the RN started my IV and did the admission paperwork. And I contracted. Still. Crying.

When she came back in the room it was with a burst and a triumphant smile. “I KNOW what to do!” It was the first moment I’d felt encouraged in a day. She suggested a few things. #1 that we should let Max continue to try to come down. She ignored the clock and the fact my water had been broken 21 hours. She reiterated that he didn’t feel huge. She thought he was acynclitic (crooked) . #2 She felt that the best chance to allow him to come down was for me to get an epidural so that my pelvis would have the ability to relax and the contractions and Max to do their work. #3 She felt that the water would eventually break on it’s own but not until he was low enough for it to be safe. She felt like time was our best ally.

I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want pain relief. I didn’t want a c-section. I didn’t want a stuck baby or a sick baby. I just wanted him to be born. Peacefully. Quietly. Into my hands. Desperately, I asked Matt what to do.

We decided that we’d take her advice.

I cried. Sobbed. I looked to Matt for reassurance. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to leave my home. I didn’t want the lights of a hospital. I didn’t want a cold, hard bed. I didn’t want an IV. Monitors. Tubes. Wires. Strangers. All things I did not want. I wanted Max to be greeted in his first moments by the people who love him. I wanted peace. Power. Love. Not this.

But more than any of that? I wanted our son. Here. Safe.

I laid writhing with contractions that the epidural couldn’t dull. Side to side I’d turn. Matt would snuggle behind me. Then stand beside me, telling me always he loved me, telling me our choice was sound. Two hours later my water broke with a flood and I felt Max’s head, then shoulders, slip into my pelvis. Just like that. His head was as crooked as Rita thought. She maneuvered it this way and that during an exam. I turned from side to side. The pressure of his head was remarkable. At 4 am I was 9 cm. At 6 am I was 9.5. It was a slow slow process as Max and I worked together to get him engaged and moving down. By 6:40 the pressure was unbearable and I begged to push, grunting through contractions, trying to let my pelvis relax so Max could carve out his space. Jacque was there, encouraging me, helping me focus on the task at hand. Matt was there, saying it wouldn’t be long, telling me I was doing it. We were going to meet our boy. It was dim, quiet, reverent, a hospital, but also not at all like a hospital. I asked for a mirror. I grunted through two contractions. Allowing my body to stretch and finish the work of opening the rest of way gently and allowing Max to find his way. On the third contraction I pushed harder. His head sat on my perineum stretching the tissue gently. And on the fourth contraction he was born. In a gush of fluid Max was out and on my breast. It was March 27th, 6:55 am. I rubbed and dried him and Matt and I cried and kissed each other and our boy.

Eventually his umbilical cord was cut. The bloody sheets were replaced by clean ones. I was examined and found unscathed. My uterus did it’s work. My bleeding slowed. The placenta came. Max nursed and cried. Cried and nursed. I cried. Matt cried. We rejoiced in his safe arrival. And cried the fear and worry away. It had been a hard time. For him. And us.

He was weighed and measured, 10 pounds 2 ounces, 21 inches, and a huge 16 inch head. I put on the hat I’d knit for him.

Two and a half hours later we were on our way home. We were met by our four children and Staci who were anxiously waiting for us. We hugged. Cried. Laughed. It was a joyous reunion. The nine hours we were apart became zero. The exhaustion of days without sleep faded into the background. We were a family of seven.

;

Things quickly went back to normal. The pool was drained and put away. The traces of the birth that wasn’t meant to be were packed into a plastic tub. The champagne remained corked, the cake uncut. And I was left to sort through my feelings.

There is no video of his birth. There are no photos of those precious minutes. Those moments are imprinted only in our minds. It was not the birth we envisioned. It was not the birth I wanted. At first I felt selfish to say that, but in the end we recognize it’s not just a healthy mom and baby that matter, the journey matters too. Having a birth that goes differently than you expect is jarring to your mind, your heart, your soul. It’s an earthquake that rocks your foundation. I am giving myself time and space to grieve what I lost.

But in that space I also acknowledge that we made the best decision we could with the information we had. I labored for countless hours and I was strong and powerful. I pushed my 10 pound 2 ounce son out of my body, into the world, under my own power. It wasn’t in my kitchen. It wasn’t surrounded by my children and friends. Instead it was in a hospital with my husband quietly cheering me on, patting my head, kissing me sweetly. It was with my midwives telling me I was amazing, and a nurse I used to work with supporting me. It wasn’t in my bedroom but instead in a strange room where I’d caught many babies not my own. And I am proud of myself and of us. Proud that we knew when to say when. Proud that we didn’t commit so strong to something that we wanted for us that we couldn’t see where the line had to be drawn for Max. Proud that even under circumstances that weren’t ideal, my husband and I came together to welcome our son into this world the way he needed to come into it. And he did. On his terms.

I will mourn the birth I didn’t get. But I will celebrate the one I did get. I will cry seeing those around me have the chance to birth peacefully at home. But I will be still and know that Max had much to teach me about where peace can be found. I will grieve the loss of my power. But I will also acknowledge the power that is in making an educated, safe decision. I will allow the sadness of not sharing that moment with my children wash over me. But I will celebrate that we are a family of seven now, however we became that way. I will be quiet, and accept with grace what Max has taught me… not all things are meant to be under your control, and ultimately, sometimes giving up control is actually gaining it.

;

Maxwell Rocket Edelman, we welcome you son, into our family. We are grateful to you for what you’ve taught us about you and ourselves. We are grateful to you for the journey you took us on in the time and space of your birth and for the journey that lies ahead of us now. We are grateful Max for the end, for in the end, it is the beginning.

Stats: Weeks pregnant: 35 and days (3 or 4 I think)

Weight: 211

Gain: +27

Waist :  49.5-50 at the bellybutton ish

And bust/hips (just for grins and giggles): 44 and 46 (+1).

Average number of times I get up to pee per night: FROWN

Size of the baby bean: like 20 inches. WHAT?!

Weight: 6 pounds (says my pregnancy app. HA)

Position:Vertex and lowish. Lots of cervical twinges (aka pain) from his head.

Other pregnancy related crap:

Emotional crap: As the birth nears I find myself being simultaneously nervous, excited and at peace. I’m seeing a therapist a few times to try to make sure I properly processed Ella’s birth and don’t carry any of that into Max’s. Ella’s birth was wonderful and in the weeks and months after it I felt nothing but empowered and truly FANTASTIC. But there is a truth there and it’s that complications are scary, no matter what they are. And in my case I think knowing what I know (as a nurse I mean) makes them both MORE frightening and also less frightening. If that makes sense (which it probably doesn’t). The important thing is to balance fear and faith. Max’s birth is HIS. He is not Ella and he deserves a mother and father, and birth team, that feel that way. What I love about birth (well one of the things) is that every birth experience is an opportunity for growth. And what I love about preparing for Max’s birth is that even at 37 years old I’m being humbled by my own insecurities and encouraged by my own capabilities. This journey is taking me exactly to where I need to be and I have faith in my body and Max and in the truth that his birth will be exactly what it’s supposed to be.

Physical crap: Same ol crap. Still with the pelvis. Still with the sciatica. Seeing the chiro weekly.

What I want to devour: baby greens. Maybe because I’m having a baby? Maybe because I’m weird. I’m not sure.

Supplements:  Prenatal (from trader joes). Calcium-Magnesium (with D) pills (6, 3 morning and 3 night). Dr. Christopher’s Birth Prep (Took this with Ella and credit it, at least partly, with my minimal bleeding postpartum). Also Floradix (for iron) doesn’t taste awesome but does work. And I’ll be starting Evening Primrose borth oral and vaginal this week. Also eating LOTS of iron. Tons of meat (not usual for me) and Malt o Meal (which was 60% of a days serving!)

Activity: Been doing some walking (LIGHT) and birth ball sitting. Other than that trying not to strain.

Boy? Or girl?: BOY. I sure hope.

Name:  Maxwell  MAX!!

In other news:

BABY PREP:I bought him two towels. HAHAHA. I say hahah because I was CONSTANTLY at the store buying things for Ella and poor Max, he’s lucky to have clothes. I did finish another blanket for him though and bought two diaper covers since I’m not sure I’ll finish knitting any before he’s here.

Here’s the blanket:

And a bunny I made for Miss:

NOT being about to properly nest is taking a real toll on me emotionally. Do not underestimate the power of the female need to prepare her space. I think for me especially, because I’m birthing at home, I need my space to be cozy and tidy and CLEAN. I’ve been crocheting, knitting, working on curtains and cleaning drawers (one at a time). Anything I can do to feel like I’m doing something. Matt has been completely supportive of my neurosis (even buying a new vacuum).

Birth prep (new): Birthing kit and pool are both here and organized. We’ve done a trial run with the pool and it looks great. We went with the La Bassine this time (as opposed to renting an aqua doula). While we aren’t particularly excited about having to keep water warm we are excited about having inflatable sides. This was something I really wanted with Ella. The aqua doula is hard sided. Ick.

Tandem nursing update (BOOBS): Maybe because Ella is cutting her canines? BUT OUCH. I am SORE. She’s nursing a LOT and at night again. Sometimes the nursing literally makes me feel like I’m turning inside out or some other equally unpleasant feeling. Ouch. We are hanging in though. I’m really really REALLY looking forward to having milk again. I can’t wait to see what she does. Heh.

And here’s the  belly photo(s):

Week 32:

Week 35:

Stats: Weeks pregnant: 31 and days.

Weight: 204

Gain: +20

Waist :  48 at the bellybutton ish

And bust/hips (just for grins and giggles): 44 and 46 (+1).

Average number of times I get up to pee per night: sad face.

Size of the baby bean: 16.5 ish inches

Weight: 3.5 to 5 lb

Position: currently vertex (head down) with feet consistently kicking the crap out of my right side. (LOA for you birthy types)

Other pregnancy related crap:

Emotional crap: Crying. Lots of crying. And preparing. For birth and for having two little people and 3 big people. Making me a mother of FIVE. Five children.

Physical crap: Typical pregnancy stuff. I’m getting short of breath. It’s hard to move and sleep. I have to pee 6,243 times a day. And the pelvis thing. It’s been rough. Even though the pelvic stuff is improved over the last update it’s still really hard to move and I definitely cannot do my normal activity. I’ve been seeing the chiropractor weekly and resting as much as possible. We hired a housekeeper that is coming every two weeks which, despite my initial reservations, is AWESOME. I’ve been knitting and doing little things (small nesting you might. Cleaning our one drawer or closet. etc). NOW the silver lining… there are a lot of positives to be found here. This pain has forced my slow down. Since I am not a ‘take it easy’ person being forced to take it easy has been a blessing to some degree. I am able to enjoy Max’s movements and enjoy Ella’s development. I’m more available for my big kids. And even though I’ve had to depend on Matt much much more he has risen to the challenge of taking care of all he can and oddly being forced to be a little dependent on him has actually been a really good thing. Also, it’s nice to have time to be creative and sew, knit and decorate. I’ve made lots of things for Max and other friends babies and I’m working on things for Ella and the house too.

Here are a few:

Kids hands. Excited to add Max’s to this :)

Bunting to go with the hands.

Stripey hat.

Hat and tiny socks.

Max’s blanket #1.

See. Productive. SO not JUST sitting. Also HELLO I learned to knit SOCKS. OMG SOCKS.

Also despite all the usual discomforts of being largely pregnant and the pelvis thing I don’t feel TERRIBLE. I actually think I feel better than I did with Ella at this point. The forced rest I’m sure is helping. At 29 weeks with Ella I was taken off  work and I was READY to be off work. It was hot. I was huge and miserable.

What I want to devour: Ice. and all food. What makes me want to hurl: Orange juice. OMG. I want to drink it SO BAD. and it makes me SO SICK.

Supplements:  Prenatal (from trader joes). Calcium-Magnesium (with D) pills (2). And my friend, the Prevacid. Also drinking Yogi Mother’s Tea now. Will start the birth prep in a couple of weeks. More on that later.

Activity: Let’s not talk about it. Unless getting up and down counts as activity. Walking up and down stairs is like HARD.

Boy? Or girl?: BOY. Still Name:  Maxwell  MAX!!

In other news: If Ella doesn’t kill herself falling off of something, she may kill me. Seriously. The kid has no fear. We have added TWO more gates to confine her to the family room so she can’t climb the dining table because I simply cannot get to her quick enough to protect her. I do NOT love gates but I hate stitches more. And blood. And broken things. Like bones.

BABY PREP: nothing new. All the clothes are washed, folded and put away. He has enough. Not too many ‘outfits’ but plenty of sleepers, gowns and a few kimonos and onesies. I’m working on a second blanket and will be ordering the birth kit this week. Whoa. Will be buying my friend Jenny’s bouncy chair.Even though I mostly always wear my babies it’s really nice to have a safe place to put them for things like hot oven cooking and showering. I’d love to have a Moses basket but at the price they are I think I’ll skip it.

Tandem nursing update (BOOBS): No real changes there. Still colostrum. Still nursing. I’m really hopeful now that we will be able to tandem. With just a couple of months left in the pregnancy it doesn’t seem like Ella plans to give up. This is exciting for me NO daunting. I’m actually hoping her nursing will help us with the transition to having a new baby in the house.   I get sore. And positioning is a challenge but we are working with what we have and it works fine.

And here’s the  belly photo(s): Week 29: Week 30: week 31:

Despite the fact that I LOOK huge I don’t really FEEL like he’s huge. Weird.

Stats:

Weeks pregnant: 28 and some days (depending on what date you go by I’m either 28 weeks or 28 and 4)

Weight: 201 (I’ve broken the 200 mark. Yeah.)

Gain: +17 pounds total.

Waist :  47 at the bellybutton (+2 from last measurement)

And bust/hips (just for grins and giggles): 44 and 46 (+1).

Average number of times I get up to pee per night: I’d rather not talk about it. It’s a lot.

Size of the baby bean: 15 inches

Weight: somewhere between 2 and 3 pounds 11 ounces (probably 4)

Position (NEW this week): Transverse. Breech. Vertex. He’s ALL over the place. I’m not worried but I am watching my posture and sleeping position to try to get him head down and keep him that way.

Other pregnancy related crap:

Emotional crap: I’ve been SO busy I haven’t even had time to think about this boy coming. Emotionally? I’m just chill.

Physical crap: The usual contractions (and by usual I mean usual for me). Typically 3-4 an hour if I’m sitting still. More if I’m walking. Also I seem to have developed a case of pubic symphysis dysfunction. This started last week and was initially an ache in my pelvis, feeling like strained muscles mostly. Over the course of three days it went from that to sharp stabbing pain in the ligament in the front of my pelvis and a general feeling of real instability. When I say sharp stabbing I don’t mean “OH ouch that’s uncomfortable.” I mean, “OH MY GOD MY PELIVS IS BREAKING INTO PIECES”. It’s unpleasant to say the least. What am I doing? Well I’ve got a book that I’m consulting for help. I’m also wearing a support belt when I’m up and about. Max isn’t a fan of this though so I don’t wear it unless I’m moving (and by not a fan I mean kicks and punches at it continually). The NESTING. Oh. My. God. The nesting. I want to clean ALL of the THINGS. And my mobility is SO super limited right now that I can barely keep my toilets cleaned. Matt is doing probably half the cooking. I’m still shopping and cleaning and I hope that with rest I’ll feel up to doing more soon. I am absolutely NOT a sitter. And this isn’t lip service. Those of you who know the real life Joni know I cannot stand to sit for long. So not being able to give into the urge to organize every drawer is like IMPOSSIBLE.

What I want to devour: Um. Cookies? And ice. Back to eating ice again. And mandarins. Yum.

What makes me want to hurl: Not much.

Supplements:  Prenatal (from trader joes). Calcium-Magnesium (with D) pills (2). And my friend, the Prevacid. Also drinking Yogi Mother’s Tea now.

Activity: HA. Walking is a challenge. I’m doing it as much as I can without excruciating pain.

Boy? Or girl?: BOY. Still

Name:  Maxwell  MAX!!

In other news: Taking care of a very very busy toddler and being this pregnant? Yeah. Fun times. Diaper changes are like an Olympic event now. Chasing her feels like a marathon.

Also I know Ella doesn’t KNOW what’s coming but we are playing with her baby and I bought her a couple of sibling books. I’m not spending too much time trying to talk about Max to her because like I said she has no real concept of a baby in momma’s belly but she does kiss it every time it’s bare which is sweet and I think the best way to cope with the whole introducing a new baby thing is just to do it. I’ve been there a few times before and it’s always worked out fine. I’m sure this is will be no exception.

BABY PREP: A good twitter friend Jenny passed me her baby’s clothes and some diapers. I bought three (four?) more gowns from zulily and Gap (2 in larger sizes, 6-12 mo). He doesn’t have much in the way of actual OUTFITS  but he has diapers and gowns and that’s good. I’ve got a sleepy and a moby wrap which is where is will live anyway for the first 3 months.  I’m not sure we will register anywhere but if we do it won’t be for much. He’ll need a big carseat and I’d like a new bouncy chair.

Tandem nursing update (BOOBS BOOBS and more boobs. you may skip):

Colostrum has arrived. Not in full quantity but it’s there and not unexpectedly Ella is nursing a LOT. Between teething and generally wanting to be by me she is nursing probably 4 times a day and at night too. It’s working out well for us at this point and I’m looking forward to having a full milk supply to share again. The only real problem we are having at this point (aside from being sore periodically)  is that I have no place to PUT her. My lap is about gone and the rocking chair is almost impossible. We lay on the bed or sofa when we can and if went can’t do that the nursing session is so quick I can usually just be squashed for a little while. Max responds with lots of kicks to get her off which is a little funny and a lot cute. She looks mostly puzzled. I’m noticing more contractions when we nurse (which seems to be the thing that mostly FREAKS PEOPLE OUT about tandem nursing) but remember in a low risk healthy pregnancy those contractions are NOT dilating your cervix and they could actually be considered a good workout (much like the contractions you would have after orgasm). Nothing to stress about at this point. If I delivered a little earlier than 40 weeks because of a nursing toddler then I wouldn’t be upset about it. Babies come when they are ready (again in a normal healthy pregnancy).

And here’s the  belly photo(s):

week 26

week 27

week 28

Not much change there. I’m just big. But here’s week 5. So yeah.

Stats:

Weeks pregnant: 23 weeks and some days

Weight: 193 lbs. (this is 3 pounds in two weeks. Pie? Well there has been some but overall I’m exercising and eating well so I’m trying to not FREAK OUT. but as the scale edges closer to 200 I’m getting a little panicky to be honest. I’m NOT excited about it. But also I’m healthy, my blood sugar is good, I FEEL GOOD. These things are more important in the long run)

Gain: +10 lbs total overall with 16ish weeks to go.

Waist :  45 at the bellybutton

And bust/hips (just for grins and giggles): 44? and 45?. Still

Average number of times I get up to pee per night: too many

Size of the baby bean: 11.5 ish inches. (being measured Head to foot now instead of to rump)

Weight: a pound and a half ish? Probably. Maybe 2 by now. Yeah, probably two.

Other pregnancy related crap:

Emotional crap: Peace. Peacefulness is happening.

Physical crap: Uterine irritability. Typical aches and pains. I feel physically pretty well lately. Except the reflux. yuck. Oh and the price I’m paying for riding my bike way too much last week.

What I want to devour: Does everything count?

What makes me want to hurl: Not much.

Supplements:  Prenatal (from trader joes). Calcium-Magnesium (with D) pills (2). Papaya enzyme for the reflux/heartburn. It is actually quite helpful. And my friend, the Prevacid. Also drinking Yogi Mother’s Tea now.

Activity:Biking. Lots of biking. Maybe too much biking. Like um 20 miles over four days.

Boy? Or girl?: BOY.

Name:  Maxwell  MAX!!

In other news: Ella and I, and, well pretty much everyone, were sick. Ella got a little break from cutting molars and slept ok for like 2 days. That’s over now. We are back to waking up several times a night and waking for the day ay 4 am. SO that’s awesome. I HOPE that it’s temporary. I’m a little scared.

I am TOTALLY aware that this baby will be here in like 16 weeks. THAT IS NOT VERY LONG. O.o

BABY PREP: Knitted two hats. Still need wool covers. Still need blankets. Still need clothes. Have gowns though so YAY.

Tandem nursing update (BOOBS BOOBS and more boobs. you may skip):

No milk. No colostrum. Ella is still nursing though. She’s even nursing once in the middle of the night right now (sometimes that’s the only thing that helps The Crabby). I’m struggling with being a sore off an on but we are persevering. I’m looking forward to having milk again. I do miss those nursing for food moments.

And here’s the  belly photo(s):

Week 22

week 23

Don’t faint.

I have neglected the blog because, well, it’s not my priority. I don’t monetize my blog. I’ve never gotten anything free or made any money blogging. My blog is not my job. It is something I do for ME. My kids and my house are my my job and they are FULL TIME.

I find myself seeking balance. Looking for pause and reflection. This seems to be happening more and more and I suspect it has to do with growing new life. I’m past the mid point of pregnancy (I guess unless Max decides to cook to 43 weeks. Unlikely.) I can’t forget I’m pregnant for the huge belly but if it weren’t for that and the kicks I’d probably have to be reminded. Life with four kids is so incredibly busy. Like super super busy.

Busy.

Ella has been teething and sick and sick and teething. And not sleeping. But also: Walking. Running. Talking. Demanding my CONSTANT attention.

I find myself asking my 13 year old multiple times a day either 1. Who he is texting or 2. Who he is on the phone with. This is both maddening and exhausting. And a little bit exciting seeing him come into his own. Also he has straight A’s so there’s that.

Raising a 16 year old daughter challenges me unlike I’d ever expected. I thought she was a hard baby. Yeah. I’d rather do that again. I mean the head shaking. The sighing. The plugging of ears. God I love that kid. I do. No REALLY I DO. She’s trying to grow up. And sometimes trying to make me a little crazy.

My 11 year old is thankfully the one kid who doesn’t want to talk back, bicker, snot mouth, ignore etc. He does his chores quietly and with little nudging. Now if only I could get him to stop leaving underwear on the floor. Next year he’ll be in junior high. And that makes me a little weak in the knees.

In any case you can see how this would get a little, eh hectic, on a day to day type basis. If I blog I can’t sew and if I sew I can’t blog and if I crochet or knit I can’t blog or sew and if I clean and cook and bake I can’t crochet or blog or knit OR sew. And if I manage to get all the laundry done I probably can’t do any of those things.  Oh and there’s all my twitter friends, which are almost my only friends. And I’m finding that those lines are being crossed too where my twitter friends are becoming my REAL friends or vice versa so I don’t ever want to ignore these relationships either. And somewhere in there I have to mother these people and be a wife-y type person too and  do it while my husband is gone half the week. So you know.

Busy.

I’ve found, for my own PERSONAL brand of sanity, that I *really* need to do a little of all of those things. I NEED a clean house but I also NEED to sew and I NEED to knit ANd crochet AND cook and I am happiest when I am successful at all of that PLUS being a decent mother and wife. Or trying anyway.
And then there are days (weeks, MONTHS even) where people are sick or teething or just needy and I go days without ever spending time on MY sanity. And I start to feel a little, well, insane. And I usually cry. Sometimes I yell. Sometimes I clean. And most of the time I need Matt to say HEY YOU NEED TO SLEEP (or do something for yourself).

SO I try to eat healthy.

I take time to do some creative things that nourish me… like sewing:

Making curtains I’ve wanted for a year and a half (also a clean space and clean sheets helps).

Or crocheting with some NICE yarn (because I’m WORTH nice yarn).

Or make something for someone (in this case a hat for Max).

It’s easy to become very preoccupied with SURVIVING as a mother of one or two or four or five. And I have to remind myself that MY cup needs filling. I need fulfillment and sometimes I need nurturing too. Trying to do it all and be everything to everyone is a bad idea sometimes. Sometimes admitting the things you aren’t capable of makes you, in fact, capable. These are the lessons of womanhood and of motherhood. And I’m learning them. Daily.

20.5  ish weeks

21 weeks.

Baby MAX!

This week brought to you by The Art of Happiness by His Holiness the Dalai Lama. I have this book audio version. If you haven’t read (or heard) it I encourage you to.

Stats:

Weeks pregnant: 18 weeks 2 days.

Weight: 188 lbs.

I drank a 12 ounce glass of milk a day (with instant breakfast) for two weeks and THAT happened (I started with the milk because I NEEDED that 20 grams of protein. Pregnant women should get 80-100 grams a day and I was getting about 40 maybe).  I’m trying not to freak out but I will admit… I’m freaking out a little bit. Because I started this pregnancy so much heavier than I am used to being (read: the biggest I’ve ever been) it’s REALLY hard for me to watch the scale climb. I know I NEED to gain weight for the health of the baby overall (or studies suggest anyway) but I wish I didn’t have to. I don’t WANT to weigh over 200 pounds, and I know it’s just a number, I do, but I don’t want to exceed it. That all being said I won’t ignore the scale because I’d rather watch and KNOW what’s happening than just put faith in my body to gain the right amount. Because let’s face it, my body likes CAKE. With the prior pregnancies I’ve gained anywhere from 30-55 pounds and my body seemed to regulate itself pretty well without me paying any attention (40 with Kelsey {started at 138}, 35  with Sean {started at 150}, 30 ish with Owen {started at 155}, 55 with Ella {started at 140, but had been 123 about two months prior, I gained that 17 pounds at Matt’s request}). I think now, a combination of my age and having been pregnant so many times, my body does different things with weight gain so I’m mindful of that.

Gain: +5 lbs total overall (that’s +2, actually 2.5 if I include the decimals, in ONE week. I hadn’t gained anything in 10 weeks so I guess I’m due to gain SOMETHING.)

Waist :  44.5 at the bellybutton

And bust/hips (just for grins and giggles): 44″ and 44″.

Average number of times I get up to pee per night: 4. FOUR.

Size of the baby bean: 9 inches. MANGO.

Weight: HALF a pound!

Other pregnancy related crap:

Emotional crap: It’s been a better week. Ella is still sleeping like crap so I’m still tired making me still emotional but I’m TRYING to not cry every time I turn around. This baby is getting real. And I’m finally starting to feel excited and not just scared of how crazy I’ll be with two little kids and three big ones.

Physical crap: My round ligament pain is up a notch this week. It’s always there but now it’s REALLY always there. Also pelvic pain and pressure. I HAVE 22 WEEKS LEFT. I’m not excited about already waddling and feeling way more pregnant than I am. But I guess being pregnant this many times will do that. Also itchy itchy belly. Ugh. Using coconut oil for that

What I want to devour: I REALLY want banana bread this week. I haven’t made it yet. Sigh.

What makes me want to hurl: not much thankfully

Supplements:  Prenatal (from trader joes). Calcium-Magnesium (with D) pills (2). Papaya enzyme for the reflux/heartburn. It is actually quite helpful. And my friend, the Prevacid.

Activity: Some bike riding. Some walking. I’m parking far from the store and trying to use my stairs more times a day (just going up for no real reason) but I’m ALREADY having a rough time moving around. And the pool is freezing. So none of that.

Boy? Or girl?: Boy. Still boy. STILL. BOY. 2 weeks.

Names: Boy: Maxwell {insert exciting middle name here} Girl: Maggie Anne. Done. Picked.

In other news: Regular kicks now. Regular like every time I sit down I can be guaranteed to feel something. Yesterday I even felt them from OUTSIDE (which is saying something considering my layer of *ahem* padding). I am SO happy to be finally feeling regular kicks. It’s funny because we seemed to have completely bipassed the wiggly, fluttery stage. It’s as if the baby just needed to be able to contact the uterine wall. Now that he (she) can he’s able to put his strength to work in there. There’s a HUGE difference in a 12 week (half an OUNCE) versus an 18 week fetus (half a POUND). SO really that makes perfect sense.

BABY PREP: Diapers WASHED. Also went to the Carter’s outlet and used a 20% off in addition to the 40% they had already marked down to buy two gowns (unisex) and hats and two sleepers (unisex and BOY) and socks (boy). It’s risky buying boy stuff but I did the same with Ella because I was SURE (I had her entire bedding set by 20 weeks because I got it on clearance at target for about 60% off). Also the few Kate Quinn things I ordered came this week. Nightgown. Blanket. Onesie. T-shirt. They are more boy than girl but could work for either. Also a good twitter friend (NEVER underestimate the power of social networking, people) is sending me some diapers (and clothes for Ella) and saving her baby boy stuff for me. Because she’s AWESOME. (and her baby was born last year in March)

Tandem nursing update (BOOBS BOOBS and more boobs. you may skip):

Things are status quo with the nursing. Ella nurses to nap or at night sometimes (if I’m putting her down, I’ve been having dad do the bedtime duty when he’s home) and occasionally during the day just to snuggle or soothe. She’s able to fall asleep without nursing now even if I put her down. I just pay her in the bed and pat her back for a few minutes. It takes a little more time but my hope is that she will at some point soon be able to just fall asleep after being laid in her bed. Her total nursing time is probably less than 15 minutes a day (keeping in mind that even when I had milk a nursing session only lasted 5-10 minutes because of my super fast letdown and presumably her very efficient suck).

And here’s the (bare for a change) belly photo:

And while we’re talking about what works, let me get to the point. I know people blog about this alllll the flipping time but I’m not going to zip my blabbity lip just because I’ve read it 713 times on some other “mom” blog.

RANT COMMENCE: I call myself an attached parent because I meet the definition of attached parenting (you know, according to API). Hmpf. Whatever THAT means. We EC. We do baby led weaning (solid introduction). We co-sleep. I nurse exclusively for an extended period and do child lean weaning. We won’t circumcise. We cloth diaper. I discipline gently. BLAHBLAHBLABBITYBLAH.

But goshdammit if ANY of that should define who I AM as a parent. Because how do I REALLY parent? I parent from my gut. I parent how I feel. I parent to cope. Sometimes I parent to SURVIVE. I don’t feel like I have to constantly talk about how I parent because I’ve been parenting for 17 years and I KNOW beyond a shadow of a doubt I AM AWESOME constantly screw up. No. REALLY.

You know what the secret of being a good, dare I say it, GREAT, mother is? Oh. No, you say? Well let me TELL you. The secret of being a really kick ass amazing mom is knowing that YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT. I have four kids with a fifth on the way. I helped my stepfather raise my sister after my dingbat mother walked out on her. And what have I learned in 19 years? Well I’ve learned that just about the time you think you have it allllll figured out one of your kids will throw you a curveball and you’ll be like this… SHIT WHAT NOW?!?!

Your sweet little toddler who says please and thank you and shares her toys and never has a tantrum, will one day be 16 and she may very well tell you TO SHUT UP. No, really. It could happen. You may want to strangle her but you’ll recognize that being a teen is hard and you’ll take her phone and then you’ll make up. Likewise, your son who as a toddler threw a tantrum at the drop of a hat and made grocery shopping impossible and made you feel like you WANTED TO DIE? He may just very well kiss you square on the mouth right in front of his group of 13 year old hooligan friends and say, “Mom, I love you. You’re AWESOME.”  It could happen. Really. It happened to me.

Believe it or not, mothering, the most basic and encompassing of all jobs EVER, has CHANGED a lot in the last 19 years. Not the act itself but ALL the stuff attached to it. And why? I’ll tell you why. Lots of reasons but mostly…THE INTERNET. When I had my first baby there were no “mom” blogs or forums or Facebook or *gasp* TWITTER. The only way you could possibly compare yourself to any other mom was to sit face to face with her. FACE. TO. FACE.  And let me tell you, it is infinitely more difficult to feel like you’re doing a better job than someone else when you SEE the 2 hours of sleep bags under their eyes. When you know their husband is having an affair. When you know they have postpartum depression. When you know they can’t pay their bills. When you know thier son is smoking dope or their teenage daughter is pregnant. You could not feel like you were a better parent than them because the filter of the internet did not exist. And you wouldn’t say the things you can say on the internet if you had to look in their eyes when you said it.

I love all the new an awesome ways we can interact with our babies. I love baby led weaning and ec’ing and I loved babywearing and co-sleeping before they were really a “thing” but what I hate is that in SO many ways we are now made to feel guilty for doing or not doing or doing but not doing well enough all of these ‘things’. I MEAN REALLY? Shit.

Example: I EC. Well that is to say I EC by my own standards. We put Ella on the potty when she wakes (but not always) and if she needs to poop (most of the time). Otherwise she wears a (cloth, because I love the environment and I’m BETTER than all of you who don’t. Uh NOT.) DIAPER. I’d EC fulltime if I HAD time. But you know what I have 4 kids. I’m in my car two hours a day. Sometimes more. I’m at jazz festivals and football games and the store. Daily. Sometimes Ella just has to pee in her diaper. She just does. And she’s GOING TO BE FINE. The hardcore EC people would have you to think that I’m not doing well enough. Well they are welcome to come here, be 5 months pregnant, herd my chickens, feed my three dogs and two cats and fish, water the garden, do my laundry, mop my floors, help with homework and take care of my kids while I’m ALONE half the week because my husband works out of town. While they’re at it, they can rub my feet. Oh and kiss my snowy white backside.

I REFUSE to feel like I’m not doing enough. I am doing my BEST. The same thing goes for BLW. I don’t feed Ella purees but if I did, SO WHAT. She’s not going to be permanently damaged. I know this because I gave my first three kids homemade purees, with a SPOON, and they are FINE. And same goes with babywearing. I wore Ella constantly for 5 months. At five months of age she weighed more than 20 pounds. I STILL wore her because it was easier, even though it killed my back. Now I’m pregnant, she weighs 25 pounds. I have a HUGE belly. Am I going to drag her around the mall on my back just because I don’t want to look like I’m not an ATTACHED PARENT. OH.MY.GAWD. I have a STROLLER. And I USE IT.

I was talking with my friend Staci last week (and Staci has one 16 year old child, no babies anymore) and she made this astute observation. She said something like this (totally not quoting) … the thing I see the most with this whole AP attitude isn’t that more people necessarily DO those things for their kids but that there is the competition between moms *to* do those things. How right is that? What kills me is that someone OUTSIDE our community can so easily see what’s happening inside our community. As mothers we are doing the most difficult work, wouldn’t it make sense that we should be lifting each other up? And yet we belittle, berate, judge? Even in ‘friendly’ conversation there is the tone my kid is obviously better than yours or I am clearly better than you. It’s disguised sometimes as ‘information’ and ‘sharing’ but often it’s most  blatantly just mean.

I worked in a busy hospital labor and delivery unit for several years. I left because ultimately policy conflicted too much with my personal beliefs (too much intervention, too little education) but while I was there I noticed one overwhelming thing. Motherhood is universal. Be she white, black, Asian; poor, rich, middle class; intelligent, functionally illiterate; educated in every aspect of birth, not even aware where the baby comes from; the feeling is the same. ALL mothers love their babies (Ok there are some exceptions to this rule but you get what I’m saying). The one universal thing is LOVE. And I believe that while some mothers don’t mother how I mother (and sometimes that hurts my heart) I believe that they are probably usually TRYING. Probably. Usually.

Can we just accept, even if may not be true, that most mothers (at least the ones in our social circles) are TRYING? That they are mostly doing their best?That they love their children and want a good life for them? That maybe their idea of what makes you a good mother isn’t the same as your idea? Can we then take that one step further and use this amazing thing social media to uplift and encourage, to hug and support, to be THERE without being judgmental? Can we accept that even if they don’t parent at all like we do or if they parent like we do but not the same WAY we do that it doesn’t mean their kids are ruined. It just means they are different.

Can we? Ok great.

Because one of the other things I’ve learned in 19 years? Competitive mothering doesn’t end up doing anything positive for the kids involved. Nope. All it does is divide us when we need desperately to be united. We need each other now more than ever because this mothering thing? It’s HARD dude. Hard.

Stats:

Weeks pregnant: 17 weeks. ON THE NOSE. Look at me posting on time! Woot

Weight: 186 lbs  A note on gain: After our long bike ride last week my weight popped up 3 lbs. OVERNIGHT. (This always happens when I exert myself. It’s a fluid muscle storage thing). I panicked. I didn’t think about the ride only OMG WHAT DID I EAT? anyway. I’ve done a LOT of research about weight gain in pregnancy. I feel like I should devote a post to it. Suffice it to say NO MATTER your starting BMI (even if it’s >30 which is considered “obese”, mine was 29. Do I LOOK obese? Don’t answer that.) to gain zero weight has adverse outcomes for baby. My goal is to gain 15-20 pounds. I’m probably right on track to do that.

Gain: +3 lbs total overall (I haven’t gained a pound since week 8)

Waist :  35 at the skinny (I’m going to stop including this) 44.5 at the bellybutton

And bust/hips (just for grins and giggles): 44″ and 44″.

Average number of times I get up to pee per night: every time I get woken up. Probably because I am drinking a gallon of water at night.

Size of the baby bean: 5.5 inches SWEET POTATO

Weight: 5 ounces. Whoa.

Other pregnancy related crap:

Emotional crap: I’m not going to sugar coat this week. IT SUCKED ASS. Matt was gone to a big conference in the big City and I was alone and EX.HAUS.TED (because Ella is cutting molars and therefore sleeping like CRAP) but also alone and exhausted while he was getting to have fun. And by fun I mean DRINKING ALCOHOL amd SEEING THE SHINS in concert and running in a hamster ball and staying at the awesome Hilton. I really struggled with this because it’s part of his JOB to have fun (and he works REALLY hard) and he’s not TRYING to make me miserable. It’s not his fault. Really. It just seems to happen. And I assume it’s natural for me to be envious of his getting a break while I get perpetually MORE exhausted, but to have a hysterical breakdown? THAT’S probably hormonal. I’m just guessing. In any case, that was an ugly personal moment for me crying to my husband about how UNJUST AND UNFAIR life is for me right now, but I’m sharing it with you because i want YOU to know that PREGNANCY MAKES WOMEN INSANE SOMETIMES. Totally. Batshit. Crazy. He took over night duty two nights this week with Ella and even though I woke up every time she woke up not having to GET up and stand over her bed made a HUGE difference in my energy and attitude. Not that I don’t still want a martini.

Physical crap: One word: Prevacid. I COULD NOT take it anymore. The reflux was killing me. I didn’t want to eat anything ever. Not that I’m trying to gain weight, because I’m not, but there were two days this week where I just forced food down.  Also my belleh? It’s getting big. Like in the way big. I measure about 22 weeks right now and reaching the floor is a challenge. I’m picking up a lot of crap with my toes. I cleaned behind the fridge and under it and mopped the kitchen on hands and knees. Not sure how much longer I can do that. Also. HEADACHES. Bullshit. Period. Nothing works.

Also, this week I started checking my blood sugar both fasting and 1 or 2 hours after eating. WHY? Well after careful consideration and research I decided that I didn’t feel like one snapshot (the glucose tolerance test) of my sugar after fasting and then drinking something SUPER SUGARY was enough. Nor was it accurate. With Ella I opted out of the glucose testing completely because I honestly don’t feel like it’s super accurate and I know I’m not diabetic. BUT then she was HUGE and my midwife was like wellll hey maybe we should check and I was like wellll  let me think on that. Conclusion: I would rather have a big picture of what my sugars look like than a one day image. Here’s what I’ve found. My fasting sugars run anywhere from 63-85 (70-110 is normal). Postprandial (after meals) runs 85-94 average. I had ONE reading of 113 and hour and a half after I ate a banana. Normal is < 120 1 hour after and < 105 two hours after. Anything > 140 is considered a danger zone. The diagnostic numbers are basically anything higher than 180 at one hour or 153 at 2 hours. WELL, as you can clearly see I am NOWHERE near those numbers. If anything I’m a little on the hypoglycemic side. SO take that. It looks like maybe I just make big babies anyway. That all being said, I AM going to watch what I eat. Limiting simple sugars and carbs (white flour and sugar mostly) and watching my overall gain. But this whole fear factor of OMG YOU’RE A DIABETIC? Bull. Crap.

What I want to devour: I’m not overwhelmed with any “I MUST HAVE THIS” feelings. I’m grateful. Because usually those cravings are for things I should’t eat. I did eat a whole box of Special K red berries this week though. And vinegar-y things. Pickles. Olives. Pepperocinis. YUM.

What makes me want to hurl: not much thankfully

Supplements: Red Raspberry Leaf (2 caps). I haven’t been taking this AT ALL because I can’t STAND the taste of it. Prenatal (from trader joes). Calcium-Magnesium (with D) pills (2). Papaya enzyme for the reflux/heartburn. It is actually quite helpful. And my friend, the Prevacid.

Activity: We took a long hard bike ride last weekend. HARD. With hills. It was rough. I won’t do that again. I’m doing some yoga but need to pull out the DVD to be legit I think. Right now I feel like the stretching and chasing after Ella is enough. I’ve been too damn tired to do much more.

Boy? Or girl?: Boy. Still boy. STILL. BOY. 3 weeks, people. THREE.

Names: Boy: Maxwell {insert exciting middle name here} Girl: Maggie Anne. Done. Picked.

In other news: Um not much to report. I’m obsessing about not feeling this baby move a lot. And when I can’t sit still and GET a movement I freak out and grab the doppler (twice now). He’s in there. Still 136-144 BPM. But I get paranoid. I am assuming this lack of constant kicking is a feature of the fact that my uterus is a CAVERN. I mean it’s 22 weeks huge with a 17 week fetus baby in there. As Matt put it, “He’s kicking into thin air honey.” Probably true. Still worrisome.

BABY PREP: I’m still working on the wool soakers. Bought some little socks and some newborn sized babylegs in boy-ish patterns (75% off yo). Once I know it’s a boy (or girl) I’ll get some gowns and such. Or maybe just grab some unisex stuff from Carters outlet. I sold Ella’s fuzzi bunz since we’re using the prefolds and soakers and with those proceeds was able to buy ALL the prefolds the new baby will need. Plus doublers.  No covers though. I also got two grovia AIO’s for the up to 15 pound stage. I’m planning on knitting more soakers and maybe buying a couple of velcro ones.

Tandem nursing update (BOOBS BOOBS and more boobs. you may skip):

With the milk nil our patterns have changed. Ella nurses to naps and bed (if I’m doing bed duty) and checks in during the day for a quick one or two minute session here and there. I’ve been really reflective this last couple of weeks. Losing my milk was hard. Really hard.  I felt really betrayed by my body. I WANT to nurse through this pregnancy WHY won’t my body cooperate. I felt really guilty and resentful even. I cried a lot and moaned a lot and fretted a lot. But I’ve come to a real place of peace. First: Our relationship as mother and baby has evolved into something new and different. Because there is no food involved in the nursing anymore, it’s about comfort and closeness which is sweet and special in a new way. (To those of you this weirds out… the first time I thought about “dry” nursing it seemed weird to me. Why would you continue to nurse if there is no milk? Well all I can say is that once you’re in that situation your feelings about it might change as mine have. Now I can embrace my relationship with Ella as about more than just food. I hadn’t really considered this before I was faced with it). Second: I have come to appreciate the space in my bed as she learns to sleep without nursing constantly. This hasn’t been easy for me. It felt like a real failure to be forced to night wean, but as I have said before, I do believe things happen for a reason. There is always something to be gleaned from the difficult moments in life. This is one. And with peace and reflection I can see that too. I hope she’ll be back to sleeping with Matt and I soon because we do like the family bed BUT that being said, if being in her own bed works out better for her I won’t push it. Soon enough there will be another little person there and he (or she) needs his (or her) space too.

And here’s the belly photo: