Valentine

Wow, it's been a long time since I posted anything!

Happy late Valentine's Day! I hope your day was filled with people you love and many small kindnesses. We had a family party (cookies! candy! bouncing off the walls!). Dad took care of two of the three Valentine's essentials: flowers and chocolate, so I had fun writing a poem for each of the children. Brigham's was the most fun, so I thought I'd share (and for you English purists--Mom and Mary, I mean you! I'm aware that it's not laureate material, but I still enjoyed writing it):

Brigham

Smashing, pounding, running boy—
Ka-pow! BOOM! Smash!
Climbing, yelling, jumping joy—
Ka-boom! POW! Crash!
Sparkling eyes and devilish smile—
Yowza! BANG! Crash!
Charming, loving, falling with style—
Oof! YOW! Smash!
Broken hearts and broken glass—
Sparkle! GLEAM! Smash!
Going everywhere and going fast—
Vvvroom! SHA-ZAM! Crash!
Fiddle-bowing, stomping, crowing—
“Oh the CLEVERness of me!”-boy
Oh boy! Oh beautiful Boy!

Vilate

Vilate Victoria

8 lbs 15 oz.

20 inches long.

This was probably my most difficult labor yet. It challenged me to my absolute limits. Yet, at the end of it all, there is now this beautiful, gentle, sweet little girl who is an integral part of our eternal family. We are extremely blessed. I can't wait to see her grow and develop and learn more about who she is.

She has come into a home where she is deeply loved and wanted by every single member of the family. Brigham and Briellen both adore her. Mirielle makes up songs and sings to her endlessly. Analise and Sarai both love to hold her and help with her. Mom and Dad are pretty content. And exhausted, to tell the truth.

Oh, and Dad? He's pretty much been heroic through everything. The night after we came home, he was up all night with three different children (not Vilate) and was so gentle and kind through his sleeplessness, (and this after helping me through labor the previous day). I was deeply impressed.

Also, a big enormous thanks to Amy O. She took our other children in again and again. We didn't have to worry in any way, and I am more grateful than I can express. Thanks, Amy.

Yup

So, I will officially go into labor at some point tomorrow. The 10th (11th? 15th?) doctor that I've seen decided that the team is tired of seeing me in the clinic, and very helpfully scheduled me for a 5:00 am induction tomorrow morning. So, hopefully, all goes well and as painlessly as possible. I will have yet another doctor that I have never met before deliver the baby.

Things I hope to stand strong on tomorrow:

NOT taking a wheelchair upstairs when I can walk perfectly well (It's hospital policy, but it makes me fell weak, powerless, and ill. All psychological, but still).

NO hospital gowns with convenient holes for heart monitors. I don't need a heart monitor. The convenient hole reminds me of the Seinfeld episode when Elaine sends out Christmas pictures . . . and then discovers that she is somewhat exposed. The heart monitor hole is even more exhibitionist.

Since I'm being induced, I will not pass on the pain medication. Maybe I can sleep through all of the hard parts?

Wish me luck!

Are you still here?

I did not want to go to church today. I did want to take the sacrament and hear the speakers and all of that good stuff, but I wasn't looking forward to the social aspect: the inevitable question "Are you still here?" But I went to church, and enjoyed sacrament meeting, and even primary with the new schedule and the new presidency, and was only asked about 35 times "Are you still here?" "Why are you still here?" "When are you going to have that baby?" And as hard as it is for me to continue responding that I am just waiting, the genuine kindness and concern is really touching.

The baby will come when it comes. I'm just not very good at waiting. I'm trying to be better though--what choice do I have?

Yarn

I'm in the middle of a Christmas Project that involves sewing with yarn. As I was sewing along last night, I was thinking about my history with yarn.

My mother is a yarn enthusiast. There are caches of yarn all over the house of every conceivable color and texture. And she keeps buying more. There are knitting needles stashed in odd containers in every room. As a child I trailed after her to specialty yarn shops (with eccentric names like the "Loopy Ewe") full of vibrant colors and wonderful textures. She even raised sheep at one point with the idea of dying, spinning, and knitting the wool product. (I remember the sheep being shorn, and some of the wool carded, but I'm not sure much got done with it after that. There were several bags of wool in storage for quite a few years.)

I love yarn. I love the idea of spinning, the aesthetics of a spinning wheel, the idea of dying wool with splashes of different colors. It's comforting and homey. Of course, I don't do anything of those things--I don't even knit. (I have learned to knit at least half a dozen times, but it never quite took.)

My children have no idea of the possibilities of yarn. They don't know that there are yarns available beyond the cheap, horrible brands available at WalMart and Hobby Lobby. When Grandma came to visit last week, we found a yarn store for her full of expensive and wonderful yarns. There were a small group of ladies who were there for a class, or maybe just to work on projects together. They all had that knitter's camaraderie, a sort of comfortable sisterhood that speaks in the language of "knit one, purl 2, cast off." My children were entranced. They wandered around the store, feeling the different yarns and helping with the wool winder. Everything was new and wonderful and beautiful. They all planned to buy each other Christmas presents of yarn (at $25 a skein). That was when we left the store.

Maybe I need to finally learn to knit. Or just move close to Grandma again.

Friday Night Date Night

or

One of These Legs is Not Like the Other

So, we got to go on a date Friday night. That's a pretty rare occurrence, unfortunately. It was nice to spend some time alone, just the two of us. Oh, and the doctor. Because we spent our time together at the hospital. This is the background:

One of my legs became swollen. Just one. My doctor didn't think it was a problem, but said if it happened again, I should go in and get checked out. So, it did happen again, after the ward Christmas party--complete with blurry vision and headaches. We headed into the hospital, where I was hooked up and monitored. By that time, the swelling had mostly gone down, of course. I am fine, the little one is fine, and it's always nice to have alone time with my husband. Even if I'm in an attractive hospital gown that opens up the back with monitors stuck all over my body.

Come what may and love it!

It's a . . .

My amazing, best-ever doctor is being deployed to Iraq. (Why do they need an OB in Iraq? Good question!) So, with six weeks left, I am being transferred to a new doctor whom I know nothing about. I am, of course, overjoyed and excited for this opportunity. Yay. I have this dream of having a water birth with a mid-wife in attendance. It worked for Helene anyway (granted, she is an iron woman with a pain threshold higher than Superman) but it's not going to happen for me. The hospital looks fairly decent, and I'm sure the doctor will be competent, but I'm still unhappy.

As to the baby, we still don't know! We're certain it's a boy or a girl, but we probably won't know until it's born now. The baby was uncooperative and the machine was fuzzy, so we are still clueless. So, give us another six weeks, and we'll know for sure.