Two men

Can I just be mad for a minute?

I know.

So many others have it so much worse than me. I do, I know this.

I know.

I am just complaining. But you know, sometimes I just have to let it out.

These last several weeks have been filled with great GREAT things. Family, friends, food, travel, new experiences, new adventures. We have been incredibly blessed to have taken the last part of June and the entire month of July and just be. Wherever we feel like be-ing.

And in the same breath, these past few weeks have held some of the most irritating moments I can remember in my life as of late. Have you ever felt like...someone's out to get you? Like all these little bad things keep happening all in a row and after about the 6th one, all you can do is laugh and ask, "WHAT THE %$*!@* DID I DO TO TICK OFF THE POWERS THAT BE?"

I can't sleep.

That makes everything worse by the way.

Example:
Normal life...Van breaks down = angry expression and half a tub of Ben&Jerry's.
Sleep deprived life...Van breaks down = uncontrollable sobbing on the side of the road as you tear your clothes and pour ashes on your head, screaming in between sobs, "Why me? WHY-HY-HY-HY-HY MEEEEEEE?" knowing that you'll never drive again and thinking of how your children will be class rejects because they are not on the soccer team since their mother has no way of transporting them, because as aforementioned, you'll never drive again. Oh, and 2 tubs of Ben&Jerry's full fat, full whip, full calories double fudge everything covered in chocolate sauce with dark & white chocolate shavings on top.

Do you see a difference?

And when ALL your days' activities are tainted with these pretty sleep deprived glasses...oh it gets fun.

Needless to say, the van breaking down actually DID happen, although the response may have been a wee bit exaggerated...well, minus all the ice cream part...Oh Ben and Jerry, I never knew I could love two men so much...

Tired and HOT.

It is BLAZING, fry your egg on the sidewalk hot here on this side of Canada! Yes, my igloo melted and we are actually seeing the sunshine....waaaaay too much of it to keep any normal Canadian sane in my humble opinion.

So take your sleep deprived responses and couple them with seeing and hearing everything in echo from he heat, and physically being drained and having your stomach twisted in knots, and then also expected to pull in every nomination for the Supermom and Superwife awards, and you know what?

I'm done.

I am not going to think another second about the fact that we were only suppose to be up here (4 hours from home) for 3 days, and that I didn't leave a key with the neighbour so our fish are probably all dead. Or that we are fish-sitting our friends fish. And it's most likely belly up as well. Or that I have done a load of wash every night since I only packed one set of clothes for each of us. Or that it's the first of the month on Saturday and all the bills are due AND our van is broken and in my husband's comforting words, "possibly toast." Awesome. Or that my best friend in my city who lived 2 blocks from me just moved to another far away city on Thursday. And I am bleeding internally from that separation. Or that my mom is coming home tomorrow and I have to make it look as though 3 kids have not squished, smashed, popped, twisted, gnawed on, puked up, peed on, or damaged a thing in her beautiful 7 bedroom estate.

Hold on, phone's ringing...oh, it's Ben and Jerry. I have to go.

See

See Momma's pretty flowers.

See baby L see Momma's pretty flowers.

See baby L reach for Momma's pretty flowers.

See baby L pull one of Momma's pretty flowers.

See Momma's pretty flowers fall.

See baby L jump back in surprise.

See baby L wipe his tears.

See baby L's peace offering.

See Momma's new arrangement of pretty flowers that were salvaged.


Momma just loves this boy.

Bedtime Bliss

And there you have it.
A perfect rendition of how every evening looks at my house during the pre-bedtime marathon..er, routine.

What's that? You say I don't have 4 darling children? Well, I will inform you Daddy G tends to sit on my lap from time to time for a good story too.

Ok.
Who am I kidding?

This beautiful picture of serene bliss at bedtime is the farthest thing in MY head when 7:30 rolls around. Please tell me I'm not the only one.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE reading to my children...but at the end of the day when I am aching and tired and usually in dire need of an adult conversation, well, let's just say Cinderella may have gone from popper to princess in 4 pages rather than 24.

And EVERYONE knows how important oral hygiene is. Which is why I would never tell the girls that Mommy's too tired to run downstairs to get the toothbrushes and paste, so tonight we get to brush with our fingers and magic paste (water). At least they thought it was fun. I hope I'm not paying for a therapy bill 10 years down the line for it though. (Or a dental one for that matter.)

Bedtime baths.
Why I like them: You can use lavender soap/shampoo/bubble bath which really is not what it says at all I am convinced. This stuff is magic! Within 10 minutes of entering the tub infested with this miracle potion, I notice the yawns start to crack out. Then the rubbing of the eyes, followed by droopy lids and then finally the most bless-ed words to an exhausted Momma, "Mommy, can I go to bed now?" (Before that last word even gets out of her mouth, she finds herself tucked into her bed, light off and soft music playing. Yeah. I'm THAT good.)

Why I don't like them: Apparently, "Keep the water in the tub," are 6 words my children do not understand.

And finally, the great PJ debate. Baby L could care less what he wears to bed, being only one and all. In fact there have been many a night when he just may have donned a cute pair of ballerina leggings to bed. And he doesn't even bat an eye at me. But then there are the girls. Being GIRLS to start with, apparently gives them permission to demand the exact kind of personalized fashion that they need to express themselves. Well, it's no different with jammas. Why can't we all just sleep in our undies and keep it simple? Have you been to the Disney store lately? Do you know that Little Mermaid pj's with satin edging and full long multi layered skirting goes for 49 dollars? FORTY NINE, people! Heck, I'll buy a plain tee and draw the dang mermaid on it with puff paint! That should come to....oh...5.99. Much better.

At the end of the day, with all the drama that is to surely occur, is it any wonder why I just want to get a sheep dog to herd the children upstairs, firmly close the door as I run for the hills as fast as my feet will carry me? (Or run to McD's to swallow a chocolate milkshake Guinness world record speed?)

I absolutely adore my kids, no doubt about it. But when it's time for bed...I just need that super power click remote again....click....night night babies.

Version 2.9

I've noticed this trend.

When you're old...and it's your birthday...you just laugh and say you're 29.

Have you noticed this too?

Have you ever asked....why 29?

Is it because 30 is officially old?

Or because it's your last hurrah in the 20's, which is supposedly the glory years of freedom and discovering oneself?

In 4 days, I will be 29.

I am very intrigued to find out how glorious my life becomes for the next 365 days....starting Tuesday.

I do fully expect that suddenly my bank accounts will be bursting at the seams.

I do sense that my lady lumps will magically perk up as they simultaneously grow anther cup size.

If 29 is nothing short of fabulous, then of course, I fully expect to have Sven serving me martinis at 11, Pablo ready at a whim to massage my every ache, and Stephan (pronounced Stef-ON) ridding my pool of each and every buggy intruder.

And since my eggs will be rotten the day I turn 30, I better make one more perfect spawn this year to complete the zen like serenity in my home.

I also have a very strong sense that since everyone apparently wants to stay 29 forever, there must be some sort of personal super-power one receives upon the bless-ed day. And if I get to pick, I am choosing the pause-o-matic life remote...kinda like Adam Sandler's Click movie.

Whining child...click....silence.

Husband talking about film crews forEVER....click....stillness.

Best kiss you've ever had...click...holding on to that enjoyment. ;)

Thousands of fans screaming your name as your music echos in a packed out stadium...click...stare into Bono's eyes as he reaches out to you from the front row just to have you touch his hand....hey....my clicker....my super power!

So, I will surely take extra stock in the lessons of being a poor desperate housewife for these next 4 days.

For after that...I upgrade to version 2.9...

TWENTY NINE!! Let the lustrious, Bono-fied, immortality begin!

Home

We've been on the road for the past 22 days.

That's 3 weeks and one day.

Or 528 hours.

It seems like a lot longer, since plenty of those hours were spent in a cramped minivan filled with the sounds of hot, irritated children and the smell of stale cheezies and old Tim Horton's coffee.

Today, we brave out 5 more hours, and then we are..."home".

Can someone please tell me what exactly home is?

According to an ancient Proverb: People long to be at home. Your home is whatever place you long to be.

Hmm. Well, if that last proverb is true, then I guess my home is here:

or here:



or here:



or here:


(That would be front row at a U2 concert as Bono shakes his talented sweat all over the lucky few. ~ You didn't know sweat could be talented did you? Oh...it can. If it's Bono's.)

So, the definition of home really, could change every time you long to be somewhere new. And in my case, as a hormonal, mind changing woman....that could mean I have a LOT of homes!

So, as we travel back to the city that our house resides in, I am reminded, that today, actually, that is not my home. I do not long for this vacation to end and to go back to the same routines as we were in a month ago.

I still long for adventures. I still long to NOT cook. I still long to relax while the sound of grandparents and grandchildren's laughter fill the air.

The home IS apparently where the heart is, so I guess it makes total sense then, why I feel this aching emptiness as I pack up our four thousand suitcases, and head west, to a place that to me only really holds a house full of our stuff.

Julia-Goolia

Had I known her in grade 5, she's the one who would have yelled for me to hide under the bleachers with her to escape the mob of boys rounding the corner with sling shots aimed just at me.

In grade 7, she would have been the one who kicked the boy in the shin after he snaps your newly awkward bra strap for the 10th time that day.

In grade 9, she's the one who doesn't mock your totally lame poem you wrote for the mysteriously handsome new boy in 10th grade. (But encourages you to keep in in your journal for now, an NOT give it to him until your wedding day, cause then it'll be sweeter.)

In grade 10, she spends hours in the archery pit at camp with you as you both perfect your carvings in the wall of your initials and "his" initials...forever...and eternity....blah blah blah...

In grade 11, she's the one who sits in your closet till 3 in the morning with you, stuffing caramel coated chocolates in your face as you bawl and curse out that mysteriously handsome new boy who turned out to be a not so mysterious jerk.

In grade 12, she's the one who pours over YM Prom Dress magazines with you, looking for the perfect piece, only to discover, that ordering anything from a magazine and expecting it to fit perfectly probably is not the best idea.

She's the one who forgives you for stealing a boyfriend....or two. (Even if it takes 4 years, its better than never.)

She's the one who after being out of contact for 4 years, writes you a letter, telling you that her heart was absolutely devastated when she heard of you losing a baby. And, you really believe her.

She's the one who travels right across her country to come hug your fat 7 month pregnant body and make up lost time like like there is no tomorrow.

She's the one, who unless she lived RIGHT next door to you, will always live too far away. And in this case REALLY does live too far away...who likes Texas anyways??

She's the one who has been there, time and time again. Who exemplifies what a true friend is. Who says it like it is. Who is an example to many, yet humble in this fact. She's the one who has taught me how to be a better friend. And when it comes right down to it...though many many love her...she is, and always will be, MY Julia-Goolia.MINE MINE MINE!!

AND I GET TO SEE HER IN 22 DAYS AND COUNTING!!!!!


When we were 15...


When we were 18...


My Jewels now...

My Boy

WARNING:
The following is a semi graphic birth story that may not be appropriate for everyone.
(Doesn't that just make you want to read it now!!?? :P)

June 25-27th, 2008...9 months pregnant.

Every time I walked into my kitchen, that fateful Wednesday night, the tiny 4 oz bottle sitting atop my microwave taunted me. I rationed in my head, it was only going to be used for it's primary purpose of a laxative. After all, it IS natural, and my bowels WERE in crazy pain for over a week now. A small "in house cleaning" wouldn't hurt. It's not like I was going to stick on my red pleather miniskirt (oh lord) and do shots with the whole bottle...just dooooo it. C'mon.

I opted to hit the hay before the lil angel on my left shoulder was drown out by the screaming castor oil bottle on my right. I felt proud of my resistance...until 4:30 am. The tight bowel cramps (NOT to be confused with contractions...these were not those, they were purely "haven't pooed in a week" cramps) pushed me over the sanity edge and I entered my out of body experience as I watched my hugely pregnant body waddle down the stairs with a definite mission.

Two tbsp of castor oil, one bottle of Nestea green tea iced tea...done. That wasn't so bad. What's the big deal everyone talks about? Huh. Ok, back to bed. I slept with one eye opened for the remainder of the night, expecting to cramp up and explode like so many stories from the castor oil martyrs who had preceded me.

Nothing.

Not so much as a bowel bubble.

Hmm. Ok, well the internet said that there should be SOME kind of action between 2-6 hours after ingestion. Tick tock, tick tock...yah, nothing. So at 11 am, I thought since that worked SO well, we'll try one more dose of 2 tbsp, since it probably wouldn't work anyways.

Famous last words.

Thursday was the day that I became good friends with the porcelain throne, and you know, it felt goooooood!! Still no hallucinogenic cramps, just a good ol cleanin, that brought much relief. I figured that since I never had any of the tell-tale signs of "nausea, cramping, headache,or EXTREME diarrhea", that it definitely was just a "wee colon move along" and would have no effect on the little babe growing inside.

Weeeellllll, that was until later that night, while firmly planted on my birth ball, deeply engrossed in Last Comic Standing, and I dunno whether I just laughed too hard or what, but

**BAM**

~GUT WRENCHING minute and a half squeeze session of the uterus. This one was MUCH more sharp and acute than any braxton hick up to that point. Seeing as though I had been telling daddy G every day for 2 weeks straight, "OOOOOoooo...contraction, start timing, this is it"

...I decided to NOT to cry wolf again until I had good solid, stand up in Judge Judy court type evidence that we were indeed entering the birth zone.......which at this point, may have actually taken a head crowning to convince my dear husband.

I was coyly tracking the progress on contraction master (a fabulous internet tool for those of us who are mathematically challenged) , just leisurely pressing the space bar about every 8 minutes when a contraction hit. Love how oblivious men can be sometimes. He had no clue what I was doing. After a couple of hours of this, I decided to lay down to see if they'd hang around. The minute my head hit my ultra down pillow, my eyes were shut and the next contraction that shot me right out of bed happened at 6 am. WHAT? I made it through the night? Dang it! I thought I was having a baby....another false alarm. ARG! What is UP??!!

OW!! What was THAT? Another contraction?...what...like 4 minutes after the one that shot me awake??? Huh. Weird. OW! AGAIN! K, I have to roll over...this hurts!! This went on for about 2 hours...every 4-5 minutes and was NOT pleasant to say the least. I STILL wasn't convinced this was anything though, even though my eyes were crossed at every tightening.

10 am and I am on the birth ball again, timing with contraction master again, and DEFINITELY breathing through these ones. Ok. Maybe we're having a baby. I look at Daddy G who is packing up his laptop, grabbing his hat & jacket to head off to the office, and hesitantly say...

"um...maybe you should stay here for a few more minutes. Or...at least till the midwife gets here and tells me that I'm not dilated at all and what I actually thought was a baby was just a gigantic watermelon stuffed under my shirt and then she'd pull it out and we'd all have a mid-morning snack."

He skeptically looked at me, and sighed, "yah, ok, give er a call." I actually felt like I was inconveniencing him with my silly birthing drama since it was more and more apparent that neither of us REALLY thought a "birth-day" would ever happen.

When my m/w came over and checked me, she said I was 4-5 cm dilated and 100% effaced. I nervously chuckled and asked, "Soooo, we're doing this thing?" COMPLETELY expecting her to say, "well, I'll come back at Christmas to check again and maybe you'll be closer to 6 or 7 by then and then I'll take you seriously." BUT, to my absolute and utter surprise, she said, "YEP! It's birthing day!"

Suddenly I was obsessed with getting SOMEONE to tell me the date. Was it the 26th, 27th? Was it Friday, Saturday? What numbers were going in the baby book? What was the...OW!!! FREEEKING OW!!!! OK, forget the dates. How are we going to do this? Are we going to the hospital? Staying here?

I still had not committed to a "birth plan". I had more like 4 or 5 birth options. Let's see..1) birth in a Brazilian rain forest...hmmm, I guess that one was out, 2) do a home birth using a birth pool...still an option, 3)birthing on A Baby Story..c'mon, you know you wanted to too...but I'm Canadian, so apparently I don't qualify...so that's out too, 4)birthing at a hospital, with my m/w...yep, still an option, 5)getting a museum caveman actor to conk me over the head with his club and when I awoke, have a bouncing baby in my arms, yet remember nothing...yes...definitely still an option. Ok, so maybe there were only 3 options, home/hospital/caveman. I just always said I'd KNOW in the moment what we would do. Now that it was the moment, and the contractions were so sharp and present, the caveman was looking the most appealing by far.

***Something you should know about me. I am by NO MEANS a martyr who was GOING to have her drug free home birth no matter which poor unknowing passerby needed to lose a head in the process. I'm ALL for drugs in birth. Heck, I'm all for caveman clubs in birth. Whatever works for YOU in the moment is all good as far as I am concerned. That said, I honestly have NO clue what made me think having a natural birth was the thing for me. I had been reading birth story after birth story on babycenter.com and I always noticed the pride/boarderline cockiness of some women who felt compelled to report that THEY had an ALL NATURAL (in extra bold CAPS LOCK underlined in italics) birth and that b/c of this they somehow were more of a woman or had a more important birthing experience than anyone who used drugs in their labor, or even *gasp* succumbed to the dreaded SECTION! Just putting it out there...I'm not one of those. I think whether your baby came out head first, bum first, cut from your tummy, in a hospital, in your home, in a canoe with a shoe on a slew...a baby...YOUR baby was born...to you...and you are an amazing and powerful woman and mother. Ok, rabbit trail complete...on to the next chapter....where were we....***

Ah, yes...the pool. I had several conversations over the past 9 months about using a birth pool in labor...not necessarily to BIRTH in, I mean, maybe...remember, no real birth plan set out...but I figured since this was my last shot at this L&D thing (3 babes is plenty for me!) (this was written days after his birth...this "last baby" little piece of information must be taken in the context of JUST having been pregnant for 9 months and birthing a bowling ball. Just saying...things may or may not change on who in fact will be the last in our family. ;)) that I at least wanted to TRY something I hadn't done...so a pool was a nice option.

Around 11 am, my midwife told me that I should probably set it up now since she thought this wouldn't be a very long labor. So while my sister-in-law Jillanna, girlfriend Jen, and Daddy G blew the inflatable jacuzzi up and filled it with nice warm water, I continued to bounce on my ball, coming to a complete and frozen statue state when the contractions would hit. Honestly I could NOT get in the pool fast enough!

And LET...ME...TELL....YOU.....Oooooooohhhhh the pool. It was like fireworks on New Years...peanut butter and jam on white bread....50 year old women in cheetah stretch pants...me and that pool...we just belonged together. It brought SUCH great relief to my aching hips and pelvis (which I had separated 3 months prior). I'm sure if you just painted a blowhole on my head, I now LOOKED like a whale more than ever, but I felt completely weightless. I think part of me now expected the contractions in water to just feel like a mosquito bite every now and then. Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but they still sucked. In fact, I distinctly remember having 2 back to back and feeling like my brains were going to be squeezed right out of my ears, and I looked at my midwife and said, "WHO DOES THIS???" She laughed and said that there were a few of us crazies left still...geez, I still didn't consider myself having membership in that group. I still had my hospital and caveman as VERY real back up options at this point!

Suddenly, while floating like an exotic water lily, my feng shui was burst.... well, with a burst! Who knew that you could actually feel your water break...in the water! My midwife confirmed it was the water and said it was clear and looked good. Well, good. Cause if it was green or purple or full of cheerios or something, I was SO out of that pool. As spiritual as some claim it to be, I'm not one who wants to bathe in membrane/placenta/amniotic soup thanks.

Well, it was only another 30 minutes anyways until my midwife suggested I get out of the pool and try some other positions. I thought she must have snuck some of the 9 month old liquor from above my stove with THAT suggestion, and said, "Oh, no no, I'm good here." What she wasn't telling me was that I had stalled out around 7 cm and the water just wasn't helping the labor progress anymore. I'm actually REALLY glad she didn't tell me these facts in the moment b/c I was fully convinced with all the insane pressure I was feeling with each contraction, that we were more like 11 cm and this babe would be floating to the surface within one or two more dreadful squeezes. Not so much.

After a few tries, I was finally able to get out of the pool...now if I thought I felt heavy in the last weeks of pregnancy, that was NOTHING to how heavy I felt after being in the water for hours and stepping out between contractions. I thought the ground beneath me might just crumble and cause the faultline beneath our city to cause a massive earthquake and then of course a domino effect tsunami. (Yes, I must still have a bit of my 5 year old mentality that the world somewhat still revolves around ME.) Ok, it's like trying to jump on the ground right after jumping on a trampoline...NOW you know what I'm talking about right? We've all felt that one, like how on earth did I just gain 500 lbs in 3 minutes??

Once out, the contractions felt like they were not only ripping through my insides, but I swear I could feel every pore expand and contract on the outside of my body as well. I remember reading somewhere that once you got to the point where you are saying, or screaming, or violently declaring..."I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE !!" then you are officially in transition...and although that's the most intense part, it generally is the shortest and then the timer dings, the bun in the oven is done, and your baby is in your arms as you conveniently forget every shred of pain that brought you to that moment. So, I figured if I started saying the magic words, "I don't want to do this anymore", then the baby would just take his cue and shoot down the canal. I was shaking my head side to side, crying the desperate cry of transition, with one eye half open, hoping to view his head pop right out.

HEY!

I'm saying the words!

Where's the head?

After saying the "not so magic words" over and over, my wonderful birth team began encouraging me "Yes you can!! You can do this!" Bless them. I knew I could...I think? I just wanted to trick myself into transition. With the intensity that the contractions were coming at now right back to back, I'm sure, had you put me in a southern gospel church setting, I would have fit right in (well, minus the naked part) with my flailing arms high above my head, shouting OH LORDY OH LORD OH LORDY!! every time!

It was only about 20 minutes after trying to trick myself into transition that IT HAPPENED. What is IT? It, my friends, is THE moment where you know...beyond a shadow of a doubt...that

YOU

ARE

TRAPPED.

It's been horrible, yet manageable up till now, but suddenly...you can't stay there anymore. There's one more level in this real life video game...it's time to beat the BIG BOSS at the end. And THIS is the time when I REALLY started to ask WHO DOES THIS?...

I don't wanna be in this club anymore...revoke my membership, I'm a bad natural birther, I WANT MY EPIDURAL!!!!!

At this point, the realization that you are IN transition isn't nearly as satisfying, cause baby...you just want OUT of it!! We had tried several positions since out of the pool, but once in this zone, NOTHING seemed to be better. It felt like I was a fly who is drawn to the porch light, only to be zapped over and over and over...and you know you HAVE to go back to the light, but you also KNOW you are going to be zapped again...it's a cruel rotation. I could feel I was losing it, and no matter who told me I could do it however many times, I was quite sure now that I couldn't. My midwife checked me and said that there was a bit of a lip left but other than that, it was pushing time.

PUSHING TIME?

I've been pushing since I was in the tub, remember? I was 11 cm in there!

She also informed me of a lil surprise...I had ANOTHER bag of waters. And it was HUGE. This new knowledge TERRIFIED me!! I had always heard that contractions AFTER your water breaks are 1000 times harder and the pressure is 1000 times worse. OH, I could NOT do that. No FREEKING way could I do that. I was AT my pain tolerance level, and I sure as heck wasn't letting ANYONE near me with that water poppin crochet hook thingy, no matter HOW many years of baby school she went to!!! My midwife looked straight in my eyes and asked me in a way like I was from another country,

"What...do...you...want...to...do?"

We CAN go to the hospital...or BECKY...I could break your water." I was like HOSPITAL....CAVEMAN...YES!!! I NEED TO GO!! She then asked if I was sure, but before I could assure her that I was sure, she offered me the GOLDEN TICKET. She said if she broke my waters, she could almost guarantee me that my baby would be here within an hour.

Suddenly the heavens parted, the angelic choir was cued and the beam of sparkly dusty light shone through my curtains and illuminated my midwife's halo. A time limit, that's all I needed. Ok. One hour of what I assumed would be the worst pain of my life...but it's one hour and then that's it. I grabbed that offer faster than Britney Spears grabs a McDonald's cheeseburger. Let's do this thing.

I lay on my back, between contractions, we had about 30 seconds to do the pop before I figured I'd go into rigor mortis from the pain again....and GUSH...GUSH GUSH GUSH SPRAY TITLE-WAVE...it surprised everyone to find I was housing the entire Pacific Ocean.

While I worked my way through my first post-pop contraction, which I have to admit, wasn't as bad as I was expecting, my (new best friend) midwife brought out the *drumroll please*

....birth stool.

This is a rather ingenious invention that looks like a tall kiddie potty, just missing the front. Ok, that's a poor description. Um, google it. Google knows all. But beware of what you may see upon that birth stool if you do look it up. It basically allows you to sit and bear down, yet giving the midwife a good catching zone. Anyways, the SECOND I hopped up on that thing, it's as if the floodgates opened.

You know when you have something like a peanut stuck in your throat, and you are swallowing, coughing, gagging, to try to dislodge that thing and then suddenly it's loose and ahhhh, freedom. Well, it was like that, but instead having a 10 pin bowling ball drop from your throat to your vagina. Good times. So was it any wonder to discover that only moments after the huge drop that his head was half out!? NO FRIGGIN KIDDING. So much for an hour. It was literally 6 minutes from when she popped my water to when....

...my heart was stolen by the piercing eyes of my tiny SON staring right at me.

I can not explain to you what this moment is like. It must be one that is experienced personally, because the intensity of such love lacks true definition in the English language.

Hewas PERFECT, and really, I thought he was tiny...that is, until my midwife exclaimed "WOW...that looks like a 10 pounder to me!!" I thought she was joking. He didn't seem that much bigger than my 8.3 girls. Well, good thing I didn't bet anything on that, because the scale apparently doesn't lie and it said TEN LBS EVEN. I think there's a good reason why you weigh the baby after the birth and not before...cause had I known he was going to be a 10 pounder...I may have had that caveman on speed dial.

Truth be told, it sounds unreal these days, to hear of someone giving birth to a 10 pound baby in their own home drug free. And I get a lot of big eyes and sarcastic, "That must have been fun" comments when people become aware of this. But really, I found this way of birthing, for me, the easiest way of all my births. It was my shortest labor, and the one I felt most in control of and most empowered in.

This was one year ago today, June 27th, that Levi Jett joined our clan.

~Baby boy, you are loved beyond words. You are a man of great courage and strength and will do many mighty and valiant things in your days. I pray the blessing of God to cover every step you take, every word you speak and every life you touch. You are such an incredible gift to us, and we will eternally be grateful and humbled that we were chosen to be your family. You are my jewel, my sweet prince. Happy 1st birthday! ~

No, I have not fallen off the face of the earth. Although...close.

Our family has traveled to the wide open plains of the Canadian midwest...and there ain't much here.

Just wanted to let you lovlies know that I am in fact alive, I am in fact relaxing, and I am in fact going to post a revisit to baby L's birth story tomorrow...in honor of his FIRST BIRTHDAY!

I am just beside myself that my amazing boy is one tomorrow. I am crazy over this kid, and can't wait to spoil him even more than I usually do tomorrow....and squish a chocolate cupcake in his face of course.

So hang tight, I will feed you some hearty blog food in only one sleep.

But because I am SO nice, I will leave you with a little midnight snack....mmmm, so yummy.

WARNING:
The following is a semi graphic birth story that may not be appropriate for everyone.
(Doesn't that just make you want to read it now!!?? :P)

June 25-27th, 2008...9 months pregnant.

Every time I walked into my kitchen, that fateful Wednesday night, the tiny 4 oz bottle sitting atop my microwave taunted me. I rationed in my head, it was only going to be used for it's primary purpose of a laxative. After all, it IS natural, and my bowels WERE in crazy pain for over a week now. A small "in house cleaning" wouldn't hurt. It's not like I was going to stick on my red pleather miniskirt (oh lord) and do shots with the whole bottle...just dooooo it. C'mon.

I opted to hit the hay before the lil angel on my left shoulder was drown out by the screaming castor oil bottle on my right. I felt proud of my resistance...until 4:30 am. The tight bowel cramps (NOT to be confused with contractions...these were not those, they were purely "haven't pooed in a week" cramps) pushed me over the sanity edge and I entered my out of body experience as I watched my hugely pregnant body waddle down the stairs with a definite mission.

Two tbsp of castor oil, one bottle of Nestea green tea iced tea...done. That wasn't so bad. What's the big deal everyone talks about? Huh. Ok, back to bed. I slept with one eye opened for the remainder of the night, expecting to cramp up and explode like so many stories from the castor oil martyrs who had preceded me.

Nothing.

Not so much as a bowel bubble.

Hmm. Ok, well the internet said that there should be SOME kind of action between 2-6 hours after ingestion. Tick tock, tick tock...yah, nothing. So at 11 am, I thought since that worked SO well, we'll try one more dose of 2 tbsp, since it probably wouldn't work anyways.

Famous last words.

Thursday was the day that I became good friends with the porcelain throne, and you know, it felt goooooood!! Still no hallucinogenic cramps, just a good ol cleanin, that brought much relief. I figured that since I never had any of the tell-tale signs of "nausea, cramping, headache,or EXTREME diarrhea", that it definitely was just a "wee colon move along" and would have no effect on the little babe growing inside.

Weeeellllll, that was until later that night, while firmly planted on my birth ball, deeply engrossed in Last Comic Standing, and I dunno whether I just laughed too hard or what, but

**BAM**

~GUT WRENCHING minute and a half squeeze session of the uterus. This one was MUCH more sharp and acute than any braxton hick up to that point. Seeing as though I had been telling daddy G every day for 2 weeks straight, "OOOOOoooo...contraction, start timing, this it it"

...I decided to NOT to cry wolf again until I had good solid, stand up in Judge Judy court type evidence that we were indeed entering the birth zone.......which at this point, may have actually taken a head crowning to convince my dear husband.

I was coyly tracking the progress on contraction master (an fabulous internet tool for those of us who are mathematically challenged) , just leisurely pressing the space bar about every 8 minutes when a contraction hit. Love how oblivious men can be sometimes. He had no clue what I was doing. After a couple of hours of this, I decided to lay down to see if they'd hang around. The minute my head hit my ultra down pillow, my eyes were shut and the next contraction that shot me right out of bed happened at 6 am. WHAT? I made it through the night? Dang it! I thought I was having a baby....another false alarm. ARG! What is UP??!!

OW!! What was THAT? Another contraction?...what...like 4 minutes after the one that shot me awake??? Huh. Weird. OW! AGAIN! K, I have to roll over...this hurts!! This went on for about 2 hours...every 4-5 minutes and was NOT pleasant to say the least. I STILL wasn't convinced this was anything though, even though my eyes were crossed at every tightening.

10 am and I am on the birth ball again, timing with contraction master again, and DEFINITELY breathing through these ones. Ok. Maybe we're having a baby. I look at Daddy G who is packing up his laptop, grabbing his hat & jacket to head off to the office, and hesitantly say...

"um...maybe you should stay here for a few more minutes. Or...at least till the midwife gets here and tells me that I'm not dilated at all and what I actually thought was a baby was just a gigantic watermelon stuffed under my shirt and then she'd pull it out and we'd all have a mid-morning snack."

He skeptically looked at me, and sighed, "yah, ok, give er a call." I actually felt like I was inconveniencing him with my silly birthing drama since it was more and more apparent that neither of us REALLY thought a "birth-day" would ever happen.

When my m/w came over and checked me, she said I was 4-5 cm dilated and 100% effaced. I nervously chuckled and asked, "Soooo, we're doing this thing?" COMPLETELY expecting her to say, "well, I'll come back at Christmas to check again and maybe you'll be closer to 6 or 7 by then and then I'll take you seriously." BUT, to my absolute and utter surprise, she said, "YEP! It's birthing day!"

Suddenly I was obsessed with getting SOMEONE to tell me the date. Was it the 26th, 27th? Was it Friday, Saturday? What numbers were going in the baby book? What was the...OW!!! FREEEKING OW!!!! OK, forget the dates. How are we going to do this? Are we going to the hospital? Staying here?

I still had not committed to a "birth plan". I had more like 4 or 5 birth options. Let's see..1) birth in a Brazilian rain forest...hmmm, I guess that one was out, 2) do a home birth using a birth pool...still an option, 3)birthing on A Baby Story..c'mon, you know you wanted to too...but I'm Canadian, so apparently I don't qualify...so that's out too, 4)birthing at a hospital, with my m/w...yep, still an option, 5)getting a museum caveman actor to conk me over the head with his club and when I awoke, have a bouncing baby in my arms, yet remember nothing...yes...definitely still an option. Ok, so maybe there were only 3 options, home/hospital/caveman. I just always said I'd KNOW in the moment what we would do. Now that it was the moment, and the contractions were so sharp and present, the caveman was looking the most appealing by far.

***Something you should know about me. I am by NO MEANS a martyr who was GOING to have her drug free home birth no matter which poor unknowing passerby needed to lose a head in the process. I'm ALL for drugs in birth. Heck, I'm all for caveman clubs in birth. Whatever works for YOU in the moment is all good as far as I am concerned. That said, I honestly have NO clue what made me think having a natural birth was the thing for me. I had been reading birth story after birth story on babycenter.com and I always noticed the pride/boarderline cockiness of some women who felt compelled to report that THEY had an ALL NATURAL (in extra bold CAPS LOCK underlined in italics) birth and that b/c of this they somehow were more of a woman or had a more important birthing experience than anyone who used drugs in their labor, or even *gasp* succumbed to the dreaded SECTION! Just putting it out there...I'm not one of those. I think whether your baby came out head first, bum first, cut from your tummy, in a hospital, in your home, in a canoe with a shoe on a slew...a baby...YOUR baby was born...to you...and you are an amazing and powerful woman and mother. Ok, rabbit trail complete...on to the next chapter....where were we....***

Ah, yes...the pool. I had several conversations over the past 9 months about using a birth pool in labor...not necessarily to BIRTH in, I mean, maybe...remember, no real birth plan set out...but I figured since this was my last shot at this L&D thing (3 babes is plenty for me!) (this was written days after his birth...this "last baby" little piece of information must be taken in the context of JUST having been pregnant for 9 months and birthing a bowling ball. Just saying...things may or may not change on who in fact will be the last in our family. ;)) that I at least wanted to TRY something I hadn't done...so a pool was a nice option.

Around 11 am, my midwife told me that I should probably set it up now since she thought this wouldn't be a very long labor. So while my sister-in-law Jillanna, girlfriend Jen, and Daddy G blew the inflatable jacuzzi up and filled it with nice warm water, I continued to bounce on my ball, coming to a complete and frozen statue state when the contractions would hit. Honestly I could NOT get in the pool fast enough!

And LET...ME...TELL....YOU.....Oooooooohhhhh the pool. It was like fireworks on New Years...peanut butter and jam on white bread....50 year old women in cheetah stretch pants...me and that pool...we just belonged together. It brought SUCH great relief to my aching hips and pelvis (which I had separated 3 months prior). I'm sure if you just painted a blowhole on my head, I now LOOKED like a whale more than ever, but I felt completely weightless. I think part of me now expected the contractions in water to just feel like a mosquito bite every now and then. Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but they still sucked. In fact, I distinctly remember having 2 back to back and feeling like my brains were going to be squeezed right out of my ears, and I looked at my midwife and said, "WHO DOES THIS???" She laughed and said that there were a few of us crazies left still...geez, I still didn't consider myself having membership in that group. I still had my hospital and caveman as VERY real back up options at this point!

Suddenly, while floating like an exotic water lily, my feng shui was burst.... well, with a burst! Who knew that you could actually feel your water break...in the water! My midwife confirmed it was the water and said it was clear and looked good. Well, good. Cause if it was green or purple or full of cheerios or something, I was SO out of that pool. As spiritual as some claim it to be, I'm not one who wants to bathe in membrane/placenta/amniotic soup thanks.

Well, it was only another 30 minutes anyways until my midwife suggested I get out of the pool and try some other positions. I thought she must have snuck some of the 9 month old liquor from above my stove with THAT suggestion, and said, "Oh, no no, I'm good here." What she wasn't telling me was that I had stalled out around 7 cm and the water just wasn't helping the labor progress anymore. I'm actually REALLY glad she didn't tell me these facts in the moment b/c I was fully convinced with all the insane pressure I was feeling with each contraction, that we were more like 11 cm and this babe would be floating to the surface within one or two more dreadful squeezes. Not so much.

After a few tries, I was finally able to get out of the pool...now if I thought I felt heavy in the last weeks of pregnancy, that was NOTHING to how heavy I felt after being in the water for hours and stepping out between contractions. I thought the ground beneath me might just crumble and cause the faultline beneath our city to cause a massive earthquake and then of course a domino effect tsunami. (Yes, I must still have a bit of my 5 year old mentality that the world somewhat still revolves around ME.) Ok, it's like trying to jump on the ground right after jumping on a trampoline...NOW you know what I'm talking about right? We've all felt that one, like how on earth did I just gain 500 lbs in 3 minutes??

Once out, the contractions felt like they were not only ripping through my insides, but I swear I could feel every pore expand and contract on the outside of my body as well. I remember reading somewhere that once you got to the point where you are saying, or screaming, or violently declaring..."I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE !!" then you are officially in transition...and although that's the most intense part, it generally is the shortest and then the timer dings, the bun in the oven is done, and your baby is in your arms as you conveniently forget every shred of pain that brought you to that moment. So, I figured if I started saying the magic words, "I don't want to do this anymore", then the baby would just take his cue and shoot down the canal. I was shaking my head side to side, crying the desperate cry of transition, with one eye half open, hoping to view his head pop right out.

HEY!

I'm saying the words!

Where's the head?

After saying the "not so magic words" over and over, my wonderful birth team began encouraging me "Yes you can!! You can do this!" Bless them. I knew I could...I think? I just wanted to trick myself into transition. With the intensity that the contractions were coming at now right back to back, I'm sure, had you put me in a southern gospel church setting, I would have fit right in (well, minus the naked part) with my flailing arms high above my head, shouting OH LORDY OH LORD OH LORDY!! every time!

It was only about 20 minutes after trying to trick myself into transition that IT HAPPENED. What is IT? It, my friends, is THE moment where you know...beyond a shadow of a doubt...that

YOU

ARE

TRAPPED.

It's been horrible, yet manageable up till now, but suddenly...you can't stay there anymore. There's one more level in this real life video game...it's time to beat the BIG BOSS at the end. And THIS is the time when I REALLY started to ask WHO DOES THIS?...

I don't wanna be in this club anymore...revoke my membership, I'm a bad natural birther, I WANT MY EPIDURAL!!!!!

At this point, the realization that you are IN transition isn't nearly as satisfying, cause baby...you just want OUT of it!! We had tried several positions since out of the pool, but once in this zone, NOTHING seemed to be better. It felt like I was a fly who is drawn to the porch light, only to be zapped over and over and over...and you know you HAVE to go back to the light, but you also KNOW you are going to be zapped again...it's a cruel rotation. I could feel I was losing it, and no matter who told me I could do it however many times, I was quite sure now that I couldn't. My midwife checked me and said that there was a bit of a lip left but other than that, it was pushing time.

PUSHING TIME?

I've been pushing since I was in the tub, remember? I was 11 cm in there!

She also informed me of a lil surprise...I had ANOTHER bag of waters. And it was HUGE. This new knowledge TERRIFIED me!! I had always heard that contractions AFTER your water breaks are 1000 times harder and the pressure is 1000 times worse. OH, I could NOT do that. No FREEKING way could I do that. I was AT my pain tolerance level, and I sure as heck wasn't letting ANYONE near me with that water poppin crochet hook thingy, no matter HOW many years of baby school she went to!!! My midwife looked straight in my eyes and asked me in a way like I was from another country,

"What...do...you...want...to...do?"

We CAN go to the hospital...or BECKY...I could break your water." I was like HOSPITAL....CAVEMAN...YES!!! I NEED TO GO!! She then asked if I was sure, but before I could assure her that I was sure, she offered me the GOLDEN TICKET. She said if she broke my waters, she could almost guarantee me that my baby would be here within an hour.

Suddenly the heavens parted, the angelic choir was cued and the beam of sparkly dusty light shone through my curtains and illuminated my midwife's halo. A time limit, that's all I needed. Ok. One hour of what I assumed would be the worst pain of my life...but it's one hour and then that's it. I grabbed that offer faster than Britney Spears grabs a McDonald's cheeseburger. Let's do this thing.

I lay on my back, between contractions, we had about 30 seconds to do the pop before I figured I'd go into rigor mortis from the pain again....and GUSH...GUSH GUSH GUSH SPRAY TITLE-WAVE...it surprised everyone to find I was housing the entire Pacific Ocean.

While I worked my way through my first post-pop contraction, which I have to admit, wasn't as bad as I was expecting, my (new best friend) midwife brought out the *drumroll please*

....birth stool.

This is a rather ingenious invention that looks like a tall kiddie potty, just missing the front. Ok, that's a poor description. Um, google it. Google knows all. But beware of what you may see upon that birth stool if you do look it up. It basically allows you to sit and bear down, yet giving the midwife a good catching zone. Anyways, the SECOND I hopped up on that thing, it's as if the floodgates opened.

You know when you have something like a peanut stuck in your throat, and you are swallowing, coughing, gagging, to try to dislodge that thing and then suddenly it's loose and ahhhh, freedom. Well, it was like that, but instead having a 10 pin bowling ball drop from your throat to your vagina. Good times. So was it any wonder to discover that only moments after the huge drop that his head was half out!? NO FRIGGIN KIDDING. So much for an hour. It was literally 6 minutes from when she popped my water to when....

...my heart was stolen by the piercing eyes of my tiny SON staring right at me.

I can not explain to you what this moment is like. It must be one that is experienced personally, because the intensity of such love lacks true definition in the English language.

Hewas PERFECT, and really, I thought he was tiny...that is, until my midwife exclaimed "WOW...that looks like a 10 pounder to me!!" I thought she was joking. He didn't seem that much bigger than my 8.3 girls. Well, good thing I didn't bet anything on that, because the scale apparently doesn't lie and it said TEN LBS EVEN. I think there's a good reason why you weigh the baby after the birth and not before...cause had I known he was going to be a 10 pounder...I may have had that caveman on speed dial.

Truth be told, it sounds unreal these days, to hear of someone giving birth to a 10 pound baby in their own home drug free. And I get a lot of big eyes and sarcastic, "That must have been fun" comments when people become aware of this. But really, I found this way of birthing, for me, the easiest way of all my births. It was my shortest labor, and the one I felt most in control of and most empowered in.

This was one year ago today, June 27th, that Levi Jett joined our clan.

~Baby boy, you are loved beyond words. You are a man of great courage and strength and will do many mighty and valiant things in your days. I pray the blessing of God to cover every step you take, every word you speak and every life you touch. You are such an incredible gift to us, and we will eternally be grateful and humbled that we were chosen to be your family. You are my jewel, my sweet prince. Happy 1st birthday! ~

What time is it Mr.Wolf?

It's PICTURE PUKE time!

(cue applause signs)

(loud ruckus of cheers)

(squeals of delight)

Well, I'M excited anyways. Cause it HAS been a while since these pages have been graced with mugshots of the babes...so that's what time it is....Mr.Wolf.

Disclaimer: The following are a conglomeration of several events from several days and in no way do these photos imply any political/social or economical views other than, my kids are freaking cute. Oh, and all events occur in real time. Beep Boop beep boop beep boop....(If you are not a 24 watcher, I am sure you are dialing the psych ward now. Again, put the phone down, and quickly, VERY quickly, run to the nearest Blockbuster and rent all 15 seasons. Now!! Okay, after you look at these cute mugshots. Then quickly. Go.)