Part 4 of the Jedi Series~ Breath

Continued from Part 3
When I was in labor with my third baby, I remember being in denial. I had a c section scheduled on a Friday (he was in a stubborn transverse position a.k.a sideways) and since I it was Sunday night I just thought I could use my mind powers to stop it.
I knew with him that labor meant c section and I wasn't ready for all that. I had a list of to do's to complete during the week, and I hadn't even washed his clothes or made his bed or even packed a hospital bag. I spent most of the night pacing the house and telling my then husband that I was not in labor but to also leave me alone. I needed to concentrate.
Early labor for me, is not really painful as it is annoying.
I remember going out to the drive way at 5 in the morning and walking in a circle. Willing the labor away with my mind powers didn't work. I arrived at the hospital 3 hours later at a 6cm, and had him by c section within the hour of arrival.

When I realized I was in labor at 25 weeks, memories of trying to will the labor away before having my first son came back to me. "This time I am going to think of a shut door that is sealed with bolts that has one thousand locks on it" I closed my eyes shut and imagined the door, and soon began huffing and puffing my way through a vision of cement being poured into a well. Stitches being sewn. A face being punched.
It wasn't working.

My mom, who came to stay with me since I was having a sob fit over being told that I was staying in the hospital until October, rang for my nurse.

The nurse checked the monitor and said she didn't see any contractions and asked if I would like her to call my doctor. After they conversed he prescribed a low measure of precaution, pills every 2 hours, to see if that would halt whatever it was that I was feeling. Since there were no contractions to be seen on the monitor, it could just be a fluke.

I continued to labor, and also tried to convince the nurse that with or without the monitor things were definitely happening. I could feel it, that growing anxiety that labor can bring, the surge in adrenaline that makes me want to squirm, walk around, sway, and eventually want to run a 10K race stabbing anyone who stands in my way of the finish line which would be pushing. It was slowly happening. And it was starting to become painful.
The doctor ordered a round of magnesium sulfate, and the nurse administered it into my 5 day old iv hep lock. Soon, my arm felt as if it were on fire. I have had previous expierience with mag sulfate, and I had dubbed it "Satan Serum" because of the inevitable burning feeling that takes over your whole arm, and then subsides but never completely, after 30 minutes.
My arm was still on fire 2 hours later. I screamed when my boyfriend grazed my finger with his hand. It wasn't until then that the nurse saw my arm was swollen. An infiltrated vein. The Satan Serum had been leaking into the surrounding tissue, and not going where it should. Which meant I was still laboring, nothing had been stopped, and my arm was throbbing with pain.

After they had a shift change, my new nurse got to work trying to find a vein for a new IV. She noticed immediately that I was indeed, in labor. She felt my belly grow hard, and watched the monitor as it barely picked up the contraction. She told me that the monitor is meant for someone who is much farther along. But that she didn't give a shit because I was definitely in labor. She brought in another nurse to find a vein to work with and panic started to set in, when no suitable vein could be found. Finally, after an hour or so of getting an IV in, the nurse explained that she had called my doctor and she wanted to prep me for a c section just in case. I refused. I didn't want to go through all of that prep, just to have it all stop once the meds kicked in.
I will never forget the stern look on her face.
But also the worry in her voice, when she told me that my baby was so small, that I didn't need to be at 10cm to have him.
5 or 6 cm would do it.
I knew and she knew without even checking me...I was about 5 or 6 cm.
She began prepping me.

I was at a loss for words. My mind raced. But I couldn't think straight. My son continued to kick me. I fought back tears when I realized very soon, he wouldn't be.
I signed paper work.
I hugged my mom as she fought back tears. I told her I never wanted this for my baby. She said she never wanted this for me either.
They told me my c section would be in an hour.
My boyfriend, the sweet but strong, father of my child, had a face of stone. He stared at me blankly, as my mom flatly told him, that if he went with me to the O.R. that he had to be prepared for what the possibilities were. And if he couldn't handle that, then she would go with me, and it would not make him any less of a man.

I will never forget how dark and cold the room seemed to turn as she spoke these words.


He stared at the floor, and said yes, he would go with me. They ushered him out of the room to be prepped. And my mother held my hand as they wheeled me on my bed, down the hallway.

The nurses, who we had grown familiar with during all of my stays at the hospital were at their station, watching me, holding their charts to their chests. One reached out to my mom and gave her a hug.

We continued down the hall and I was led to the O.R.
I was absolutely exhausted. In fact, I had never been so exhausted in my life. I could barely keep my eyes open. My weakness was apparent, when I needed help just to sit up.
Another nurse stood in front of me holding me up by my shoulders as the anesthesiologist searched for the spot in my back  to administer a numbing shot, followed by the spinal. I leaned into her, as we waited for the doctor, who was about 20 minutes away.
The nurse holding me up had to get the surgical tools ready, she left me there and I could do nothing more than observe my surroundings.
I couldn't even fathom what devastation, if any, lied ahead.
There was no rush, obviously, because the anesthesiologist was farming her crops on her Facebook and 2 other nurses behind me chatted away about daycare.
Another person was switching the radio station to Lionel Ritchie.

I wasn't really feeling any more contractions, so I thought maybe, just maybe, my will power had kicked in.
I lifted up my gown and saw I was sitting in a pool of blood.
My son continued to kick inside of me and I hugged my belly.

The minute the phone rang, and word was given that my doctor was in the hospital. They turned on the spinal.
I had ask the anesthesiologist previously if she could just knock me out. I felt guilty, but what did I need to be awake for? I don't have any wish to hear or know what is about to happen. They can just update me later and if its a morbid outcome, I will scream until they knocked me the fuck out, again. Sounded like a super plan to me.
She instead promised that as soon as the baby came out, she would give me something.

My legs quickly grew numb and someone guided me onto my back.
A huge sheet was being unfolded and they placed a doppler on my belly and searched for his heart. It sounded like a race horse. I heard a kick.

He doesn't even know, I thought.
I turned my head to my left and saw my boyfriend walking in.
I reached my hand out, and he held it. I squeezed hard as I began to feel pressure.
They are cutting me.
Please be alive.
I can't tell your sisters and brother that you aren't coming home.
I can't deal with phantom pains in my arms, longing to hold you for months, maybe years to come.
I just want to see you. But please, don't die. If you die, I die. And they need me.
I pleaded, and I begged, I prayed to the universe and asked God to please make whatever He had foreseen to please happen, but if it is my son dying right now, then to please change his fucking mind.

And then I felt a warm light.
Everything seemed clearer. Less foggy.
A surge of adrenaline.
I knew he was born.

I released my death grip on my boyfriends hand when I heard something.
Very small. I thought I was hallucinating a kitten meowing. But why the hell would I hallucinate that?
My boyfriend turned his head towards the sound. And that's when I realized what it was.
It was our baby. He was crying.

Ezra James was born July 2nd 2011
He weighed 2 lbs 3 oz

When I was in recovery, my doctor met with me. He told me Ezra was breathing on his own, but needed some extra assistance. He was a lot bigger than they expected, and was doing well considering how early he was.
He also told me, the placenta was bleeding so bad, that they had to cartarize as they worked on getting him out. I would have died within an hour, since there was so much more blood on the inside of me, then there ever was coming out.

24 hours later I met Ezra James.

In late September, we brought home our new baby.
To many waiting arms.

Our Jedi,
Ezra James





Live long and prosper
xoxox

Part 3 of The Jedi Series~Not Ready

This is a story of a journey, it is not intended to scare or shock. The language used is carefully selected and may be offensive, I make no apologies for it.
I welcome you to share it.This is dedicated to the one I love.


When I had last been hospitalized at 22-23 weeks I had been told that if I could just make it to 24 weeks, that then they would concentrate some effort in saving the baby should he decide to come out then. And even then, I could decide if an effort to save him, should be made at all. I was also told that babies born at 27 weeks could have very few problems, if any at all. There was really no way to tell since every baby is so different.

Shortly after I took the belly picture marking my 6 month mile stone, I was in the hospital. I had been bleeding off and on which I had grown accustomed to (but never used to, mark my words, every single drop of blood, terrified me) but then things started looking well, a little watery.

I had called my mom and tried laying down and then getting back up to see if there was more. I joked with the triage nurses that I even smelled it, but I wasn't sure what I was smelling for. I imagined an earthy hippie odor. They non chalantly checked my chart and asked me questions, which still to this day, I will never understand. All my info is on my charts and I had just been there not even 2 weeks ago.

Finally when it got down to actually checking the situation out, the nurse was shocked there was so much blood. Maybe I had been a little under exaggerating when I had said "you know...like a heavy period, but watery." She immediately covered my legs and put my knees together and said she would get my doctor, she just saw him around the corner before she came in my room.

I had switched doctor's fairly recently, and had only seen this one, maybe two times.
Such kindness was in his eyes as he walked into my room with the frazzled nurse behind him. He spoke so calmly, asking her what the situation was and asking for more info from her that was on my charts. While he asked her, and she sputtered her answers frantically, he placed his hand on my belly, listening to her answers, and nodding his head.

After he checked the situation out, he continued to talk to her, but all the while, kept his focus on me. He sat on the end of my bed and all the while with his hand on my belly, told me that I needed to be admitted again, and what he was going to do to make sure the baby stays inside.He said that there was no way to tell if my water had broken, because there was so much blood. But he ordered an ultrasound to determine if it had. He then told me, that after I was admitted, a doctor whom he knows, would come and speak with me.

"What doctor?" I asked sitting up.
"Someone from the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit"

He patted my legs and said he would come see me in the morning.
Inside I started to shake.
My son, continued to swim inside of me. I knew he was small. Small enough that he could kick flip off my ribs, and boomerang himself back by using his head to propel himself off my groin.

I remember when I was hugely pregnant with my other children. I knew they were "ready" when I had hardly any room to breathe. And then shortly after I would have them.
Big fat round cheeks. Every single one of them.
My first daughter had solid thighs.
My second daughter, weighing nearly 10 pounds, had rolls on her knees.
My first son's newborn shirt wouldn't fit across his chest.
My third daughter had a roll under her neck and frankly looked a little strange. And she had been my smallest at 8 pounds. I remember her dad saying she was dainty, and the nurses laughing because to them, she was pretty big.

When the ultrasound tech came in, she could clearly measure the babies length and size.
About 1 pound 6 oz.

That is the size of a kitten.
A really big hamburger.
Some oranges.
A small melon.
And the baby inside of me.
Fuck.

Well he is definitely not allowed to come out now, I thought, because this whole NICU shit is more than my mind can handle and 1 pound? No. NOT. Going to happen.

The doctor from the NICU came as scheduled, after I had settled in my room. The Biff stood near the pull out chair that I ordered him to sleep on. His arms crossed defiantly, as if crossing his arms could protect him from whatever shit this doctor was going to say.
I joined him and crossed my arms too.

The doctor explained everything very quickly, but clearly.
If our baby comes out now, he would not breathe. His lungs are not mature enough. Most babies come out crying, ours wouldn't.
He would need to be resuscitated. In fact a whole team would be there, just for him, basically saving him. He would then be transferred upstairs, to the NICU.
If he survives that, it would just be the beginning. Words were thrown around, like brain bleeds, heart surgery, ventilator, deafness, blindness, cerebral palsy, learning disabilities, chronic lung disease, etc.

By the time she turned and left, we both had our arms at our sides and were staring at the ground.

"Well this sucks" I said.
"Fuck yea it does" was his response.

They soon started pumping me with magnesium sulfate (helps babies brains mature faster...or something) and steroid shots to to help his lungs. When I was finally allowed to eat, I ate everything. I no longer cared if I got enormously fat. My baby was only a pound and who knows how long I had to change that? Over the course of the next few days I concentrated on eating and sleeping. The bleeding continued to lessen and they allowed me to walk the halls to see if it was safe for me to go home.

There had been disagreements between the Dr's as to where my bleeding was coming from. It all seemed inconclusive. The baby seemed fine, but they didn't know when the placenta was going to (if at all) detach more, start to not provide the baby with what he needed, or even the exact location of the bleed. What no one could see was that my placenta was slowly detaching from behind. No ultrasound would ever show that.

As I walked the halls on a Friday, I was winded. It had been so long since I had ever walked more than a few steps. My mind focused on the pictures on the walls, and imagining that I would have my baby in one of the rooms I passed. It made me happy. We would make it. And I would see him, and hold him, just as I had with my other children. And it would be a god damn glorious day. This walk through the halls would soon just be a memory, and I would be back home with my kids, awaiting our baby's arrival in October.

I was irritated but compliant that after the walk through the halls, I was made to stay one more night.
I woke up on Saturday, July the 2nd, ready to come home. I had eaten breakfast, was ready to get my IV out, and be on my merry way.
When I got out of bed to use the bathroom, I felt a cracking in my groin. Immediately placing my hand there I muttered "fuck fuck fuck" the nurse asked "what is it honey?" while she was in the bathroom getting my towels ready for my shower.
And then for millionth time it seemed, my panties filled with blood.

My doctor happened to be in the hospital and came in to examine me.
"You aren't leaving this hospital until the baby comes out. How far along are you?"
He grabbed and prodded my belly.
With worry in his eyes, he gave my head a pat and said he would be right back with another person to do an ultrasound.
Thankfully, the baby was fine.

I was depressed. I missed my kids. I was sick of being worried. I wanted to sleep next to my boyfriend. I wanted to be able to see my mom without her having to get checked with security. A million and one complaints and pity parties I had for myself.

Sobbing I rolled over and tried to go to sleep.
No matter how much I tried, I couldn't. I was uncomfortable, I felt a small tightness in my belly. A growing ache in my back. And it seemed that every minute or so I couldn't breathe.
Having 4 babies, I knew all too well what was happening.

I was in labor. 

My Baby the Cry Baby

Last night was a rough night. Jedi (as he is affectionately known as on dee internets) has found his voice. As amazingly cute as this is, what with all the babbles and coo's and aiyuuuugeeee's, he cant shut up when its time for sleep. For those without fruit of loins, lemme splain something babies like to do. When they reach a new milestone like sitting up, being able to pull up, being able to dance, they wont stop doing it. At all. Even when the room is dark and everything is quiet, they are fed, dry and happy, they will perform whatever new trick they have acquired over and over and over, even if they are totally tired and making themselves miserable. I compare this to drunk people who have learned a new line dance. They will dance that dance wherever the fuck they are, talking to friends, at a gas station, they will even get out of the car at a drive thru del taco at 3 a.m. to perform this new found trick even if they are not very good at it, until someone drops them off at their house. Even then, they will be doing the 10 step right up until they reach their bed, thinking "I am so fucking cool I should be an instructor on this shit"(true story, don't ask how I know this) So Jedi's new trick is his voice. And he cant shut up about it. This is how last night went:

         Put baby in bed despite fact that he is babbling away, hoping he will get the hint that the room is dark and no one is talking to him. Jedi squawks his aiiyeegoooooo aiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIIIyy ooooooohhhh skills times 10. Ok this isn't working he is not even calm. I put him in bed with me. Stupid idea, now he thinks its time to play. After he kicks my crotch 5 times and drools all over my neck, attempts to "motor boat" my chest, and squeals like a piggie, I lay him to my side. Let the back pats begin. Pat. Pat. Pat. He soon realizes his voice makes a different sound when I'm patting him. Now he really wont shut up. I sit up and rock him until I feel sea sick. Pat. Pat. Pat. He stands on my legs. "AAAAIIIIOOOO" fuck. Ok back in the bed, I'm tired, he is too crazy for my life. I lay him down and he Aaaaaeeeegggggs until he cries. I pick him back up. Repeat chorus 4 times.

By the end of it, I am exhausted, he's crying and I'm crying. What is wrong with me and why is this kid pissing me off? I'm 27 so I should have a shit ton of energy still, Ive done this 4 times before, Ive been through alot of shitty things, Ive seen alot of shitty things, and this isn't something I ever thought I would cry over. A baby that's half crying half talking? Mostly making some cute ass baby sounds? Why is this reducing me to tears!?

  And that's when I realized why. Because right then, at that moment, I was being ungrateful. Let me splain. When I was pregnant with my Eldest, I went to a teen lamaze class. One of the exercises we did was to choose from a list all the things we wanted to happen on our babies birthday. As the exercise went we eventually had to narrow down the #1 goal. At the end all that was left was "Have a healthy baby" It was intended to put our precarious desires to the side and make us realize what was really important. Since I was having a fairly easy pregnancy and didn't even know anyone who didn't, or had a child that had problems from the get go, I thought it was a wee bit silly. I mean, why wouldn't my baby be healthy? Shes fine now, she will be fine then. Thankfully my naive ass wasn't trumped on the day of Eldest's birth, because she came out a healthy 9 lbs of thunder and to this day is very healthy.

      That's pretty much how every pregnancy was in fact. Zero problems, no hints that the baby was going to be wall eyed or derelict. I was fully confident that this whole having a baby thing just came easy to me, of course I learned along the way that it was not like this for most people, but it was like other people were just talking about a country they visited that I had never even heard of. It was just a story, that I couldn't imagine in my mind, because I had never even seen a brochure. It was just something that had never happened to me (having a not healthy baby or a trouble some pregnancy) and something I could never imagine happening to me.

     And then I got pregnant with Jedi. From the get go my imaginary list of outcomes I wanted from my pregnancy went like this:

• I want a boy. I already have 3 girls and 1 boy. I would like another boy because it would suck for my only son to have another sister, plus I'm sick of princess shit
• I want this baby to be really cute. To match his/her siblings. And with a good name that I haven't heard a thousand times.
• I want this baby to be smart. Because I am not so good at puzzles and math homework.
• I want this baby to love music as much as me and his/her dad. And possibly play 3 different instruments for our entertainment.
• I really hope I can find a cheap dresser to store all these awesome clothes. No baby of mine is going to look stupidly dressed.
• I hope I don't get really really fat.
• I hope he/she isn't a cry baby

And that was that. I didn't think my imaginary list would change whatsoever. Until I was 11 weeks pregnant. I started hemorrhaging for no apparent reason and I replaced one thing on my list.

• I hope I don't get really really fat. I hope I don't miscarry.

When I was 15 weeks I learned that I was having a boy. Although this was very exciting, I really didn't care any more. I wasn't even sure if I was going to be able to see this boy. Ever. I prayed to the cosmic juju Oprah preaches about that my wish wasn't granted in replacement of my "I hope I don't miscarry" wish.

By the time I was 21 weeks, things didn't look any better. And the list had changed some.

• 
  

  I want this baby to be really cute. To match his/her siblings. And with a good name that I haven't heard a thousand times. He can be ugly. As long as I get to see him.
• 
  

  I want this baby to be smart. Because I am not so good at puzzles and math homework. He can be special needs for all I care. I will take him to the special bus by the hand and tell him he is the most wonderful boy in the fucking world and love the shit out of him every single day of his life. If it means I get to know him.

By 24 weeks, I was told I was staying in the hospital until my baby came out. My due date was months away. Fancy doctors that have spent half their lives in doctor school came and told me all the things that could happen and measures that would be taken to save my sons life. They told me the real risks, shooted me some statistics and basically scared the shit and piss out of me. My list changed dramatically.

•  I want this baby to love music as much as me and his/her dad. And possibley play 3 different instruments for our entertainment. I really hope he is not deaf. But if he is so be it. I will be sign languaging like a mother fucker and so will everyone who enters my house. And I will sell a kidney to make sure he gets the best hearing aids known to man. I will picket Bill Gates house if I have to.
• I really hope I can find a cheap dresser to store all these awesome clothes. No baby of mine is going to look stupidly dressed I really hope I have use for a new dresser.
• I really hope he is not a cry baby I hope when he comes out, he is crying. Because that means he can breathe.

I had Jedi just a few days after I changed my list. Every single day, I wake up, and I marvel that he is even here. I mean, he has only been around for 6 months, and he has only been home for 3 of those months, so this is all very surreal remembering him on a tiny bed weighing no more than a baby kitty just a few months ago. And now seeing him develop rolls upon his rolls like a sherpa puppy is like whiplash really. And sometimes I get overly emotional about it, in fact I have sworn off any sappy movies in the past few months because I feel like my daily life is akin to a Hallmark commercial and any more sappyness would make me turn into a brunette Tammy Faye Bakker sobbing through a tune of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" with snot running down my boobs.

So last night was fucking rough. I over analyzed (true to my female nature) how on Earth this beautiful, miraculous, gift from the cosmos could possibely be making me a little fucking unhappy. After replaying my whole pregnancy and his triumphant and successful attempt at life, I came to the realization that regardless of how awesomely grateful I am that he is here. He is still a baby. Babies suck sometimes. Lack of sleep sucks more than babies do and that can bring anyone down to a delirious sob episode.


What finally got him to sleep was my soft sob, and of course the death grip placed on his legs to keep him from kicking me in the crotch. All in all, it was a shit night for me. Except for the part where I got to hold my baby and thank him from the bottom of my heart, that he was here, even if he is a big fat cry baby. He is my cry baby. He can breathe. He hears me. He is alive. The list of awesome shit this kid can do goes on and on. But I have a theory my no cry baby wish got replaced with something else....





Enough cute to make your fillings tingle.

Happy Fuckin Holidays!

'Tis that time of year..Christmas/Holiday/New Years cards should be arriving any day now....unless folks aren't wasting their time with sending my family a card, since we (or I, rather) cant get our shit together and send one back. But alas this year I'm joining in the time honored tradition of dressing the spawn in merry attire and bribing them to please at least touch shoulders for a family photo to send off. If the children cooperate they can even get an extra present from Santa (because Santa and moms are homies and shit.)  With all the money Ill be spending on stamps to send off this magical moment in time its going to be a toothbrush. If they display a charming smile and a shoulder touch they can even get the Justin Beiber singing in your mouth variety. I don't expect my son to be bribed with an extra present because he is unbribable, unless I bribe him with meeting Doc Brown and taking him on a cruise to go back in time to pick a different family that didn't have so many sisters, hes going to think the whole thing is fucking stupid.

But you wanna know whats even better than sending cards??

Sending Christmas/Holiday/New Years LETTERS of course!!

I am going to be honest, the ones I receive are absolutely adorable. Mostly because they come from adorable families that do lots of things like, "We went on a vacation, kids played sports, little Andrew can now read at a 10th grade level, pretty advanced for a 5 year old!" and I LOVE to spy on adorable families. And families that get way more shit done than my own. It inspires me to be just like them, for like, at least a week. Then my reality kicks in and I realize I havent taken a shower in 4 days and maybe its been a week for the baby, because Im trying to keep up with laundry, advancing peoples reading levels and shopping at Big 5 where I always find the exercise section and go broke trying to buy the best contraption that will make my ass hot in 6 weeks. But I know that what is in these letters is obviously a cut and dry version of their year. I mean, who wants to hear about that not only did you had a baby, but you also had cracked nipples for 10 weeks and still have to ice your tail bone because your pretty sure your precious angel face cracked your ass in half. Literally. (I know this is a true crime story because I myself got my ass cracked in half by a plummeting newborn...it took months before I could sit properly and not shout out "WHAT IN THE FUCK") So what if I, the woman who cant even get her shit together enough for a decent shoulder touching family photo, sent a Christmas/Holiday/New Years letter? Words in parenthesis will obviously be ommitted.

Greetings XYZ Family! We hope this message from our family to yours finds you well. (psst...I don't even know what the fuck that means...but that's how these usually begin)

Our Family had a super fantastic year, and we are so (fucking) excited to start a new one! Because although this year was super fantastically awesome we are ready for another round of (shit storm) adventure!!

This year Eldest Child started middle school! We were pretty nervous (I was pacing the house frantically calling friends for reassurance and asking the universe how they could let this happen to me?) but she seems to be thriving. She even has over a hundred facebook friends! (that I monitor all activities of and report anything that I deem offensive to my child...should she ever look at every single picture her friends have and get crazy ideas...like riding your bike without a helmet! REPORTED) and she is also again a part of the G.A.T.E program which is such an awesome oppurtunity (for me to cry when I help her with homework) and she certainly does love it. Eldest Child is also doing a (shit) ton of fundraisers so if you need wrapping paper, cookie dough, jewelry (boot leg dvds) etc. Shes your girl! Just facebook her! (after I approve the request) Shell get right back to you!

Second Child started 3rd grade and has really taken off in her reading and social skills (they wont fucking stop calling) and on top of that shes even started her very own dog walking business (since tooth fairy often forgets to visit and she wants insane things like a real dog). She is such a joy to have around (she cleans my bathroom and folds our clothes), always has the sweetest hugs (after she has a tantrum that would scare away the most devout priests) and a real knack for art! Shes drawn so many pictures of cats and rabbits that we could start a (creepy) gallery with her talents!

Third Child has started 1st grade with a bang (or a pew pew..he lives on the dark side of the force) and is especially excited to be in boy scouts (anything that has more than one boy is gold in his eyes). His reading is improving (he read the instruction book to Gears of War) and he is fascinated with battle play (he shot his sisters and me at least 56 times in the leg/face/arm/mypregnantbelly with a nerf gun this summer) and with his new baby brother (who he said he would pack extra grenades for when the zombies come) that he loves soooo much!

Fourth Child had a very special birthday, turning 4 and all. She is now finally out of diapers! With a few tricks up our sleeves (told her a pony breaks its leg everytime you shit yourself) and some positive reinforcement (children are like dogs really) she is a potty goin pro! She is talking pretty clearly now and can even write a few words down (I taught her to write the word boob. hilarious!) She is just about ready for preschool (no shes not, she hates kids her own age) and will be soon following the foot steps of her brother and sister to the big elementary school! (in another year...or so...)

Fifth Child is our newest addition and if you havent met him yet your in for a treat! (no seriously dont raise him above your head unless you want him to puke in your mouth) He was born 3 months early and thankfully after a short (insanely horrendous) stay in the NICU, he came home in September, right before his due date. Hes already smiling (and puking) and laughing at everyone (he thinks we are crazy) we are pretty sure he really likes us! (when he is not screaming). The kids help out so much (when they feel like it) and everyone loves to hold the baby (while I bitch about this whole laundry situation and pour myself some wine).

As for me and LifePartner/team mate we are just thrilled to share with you a piece of our world and would love to hear how each of you are doing and what your plans are for the upcoming year (so we can be jealous or make fun of you) and as always we wish you a very Happy Healthy (lit) New Year!