Best Surprise Ever!

Disclaimer: This post contains raw video of me "ugly crying."

I'm emotionally recovering this week from a surprise that could have shocked me into early labor.  Apparently the whole world was in on this conspiracy, while I was completely clueless to the whole thing!

We had an ordinary Saturday planned this last weekend.  I was going to yoga, then in the afternoon we were taking the boys to a birthday party and I was hoping to get a few meals made to stick in the freezer.  That all changed when I opened the door to leave for yoga.  There, sitting on my porch, were my two sisters and my mom.  WTF?!?!?!

As you can see, I was in complete shock, totally confused, and overcome with emotion.  This was the best surprise ever!  The plan was hatched months ago, while Jesse was on deployment this summer.  They would all converge in San Diego so that we could spend a girls' weekend together before Juicy's arrival.  They communicated with Jesse via his work email to coordinate the whole thing.  Of course Jesse, aka "The Vault," would never give a secret of that caliber away, but how in the world did I not catch wind of it somewhere along the way?!

My sisters double as my best friends, and of course our mom is the foundation for the strong closeness among us.  It's hard to describe how much they mean to me.  The fact that all three sisters are pregnant at the same time is totally crazy and surreal, and I was sad before this weekend when I thought about the fact that we wouldn't get to all bump bellies while we were pregnant together.  But I would now get to spend the weekend with them, relishing in not just sister time but pregnant sister time, something even more special and crazy.  I was so excited after drying my tears and pinching myself that they were really there on my porch - what a gift!!

But wait, there's more!  After nearly giving me a heart attack and certainly making me pee myself, they filled me in on the plan for the day.  We were all going to yoga together, then I was spending the day and night away at a hotel in Coronado.  We spent the day at the hotel spa.  I had a prenatal massage and a pedicure, and then I got to enjoy a kid-free dinner at a ritzy Italian restaurant right on the water looking across the bay at downtown San Diego.  It was a glorious day, one I'll remember and cherish forever.  

But wait, there's even more!  On Sunday, after checking out of the hotel, we came back to our house.  Tia Jess, Tia Sarah, and Grammy surprised the boys with their visit.  Jesse and I got to go out to lunch while the three ladies took Sammy and Gabriel to a carnival down the street.  Could the weekend have been anymore perfect???

I tear up still just thinking about how much effort and time and energy went into planning this weekend.  In yoga that morning, the instructor asked us to find a focus for our practice that morning.  The only word that came to mind was "blessed."   It really sums my life up in a nutshell.  I'm so grateful to have a family that loves me enough to do something so special for me.  My parents paid for the whole weekend, and my mom and Jessica (who's still in the pukey phase of pregnancy) took time off from their busy lives and flew all the way from Florida and back again in about 48 hours.  Sarah, also sick with morning sickness, drove four hours each way from Ridgecrest to help make this all happen.  I'm especially thankful for Jesse, my great sport of a husband who was a willing participant in this scheme, for taking our rambunctious boys for the weekend all by himself and also for understanding how wonderful this time with my mom and sisters would be for me.  

I kept asking all weekend what I could do to repay my family for planning such an amazing, wonderful surprise.  They kept telling me to have a baby already, so I guess that's what I have to do next!

I Can't Wait to Lactate!

Nursing Sammy after his birth

With just a little over four weeks until baby #3, aka Juicy Ghost, aka Caleb, is due to make his arrival, I've been thinking a lot about what life is like with a newborn.  Exhaustion and chaos abound, of course, but there are so many wonderful, sweet things to savor with a tiny baby.  I wish I could bottle up the newborn-ness (this is how I refer to all things related to a newborn), and it is such a fleeting time in the life of a baby.  I love the way newborns are still folded up like they are in the womb, how their hair is so silky soft, and how they suckle in their sleep.  It's all so cute!   But to me, the best part about the newborn-ness, is breastfeeding.  I cannot wait to nurse this tiny baby.

Okay, before you other mamas out there throw stones at me, de-friend me from Facebook, and stop reading this post, please note that I am not completely crazy.  Nobody likes the engorgement that make your breasts into rock-hard porn star boobs, and the nipple pain in those first couple of weeks is excruciating.  I've suffered through months of thrush, blocked ducts, and even mastitis.  My poor breasts are not nearly as perky as they once were (okay, that's a huge understatement.  They're pretty deflated and pathetic after two years of nursing babies).  But the amazing parts of breastfeeding make it worth the sacrifices to me.  There are countless benefits to nursing for the baby and mom, but it's not as easy as it looks to get started (check out PregTASTIC's breastfeeding series, episodes 12-15 and 149-151 for all things nursing-related).  I know that a lot of moms either cannot or choose not to breastfeed, and my intent is not to alienate any of these women.  Instead, I want to share how much I've personally grown to love nursing.

I wasn't always such a breastfeeding proponent.  The first time I had a newborn, Sammy, I didn't appreciate the beauty of breastfeeding at all.  In fact, before I had him, I knew "breast was best," but I thought the whole process was downright weird.  When he was born, I had no idea what I was doing and neither did the baby.  Thankfully, my husband went to the breastfeeding class with me while I was pregnant, and he actually latched Sammy onto the breast for me for the first week of his life!  Without my husband's support, I would have quit in the first week.  The first day he went back to work, I distinctly remember being terrified that the baby wouldn't be able to eat all day because I couldn't latch him on right, even though I had an enormous milk supply.  My nipples felt like they were on fire every time he nursed, so I was too busy crying my eyes out to notice how he looked right up at me as he suckled or that he fit perfectly in my arms.  I was consulting baby books and hospital discharge instructions constantly to make sure he was nursing at the right times, burping enough, pooping enough, etc.  After two long weeks, things fell into place, and we both enjoyed a full year of nursing.  It wasn't until after the difficult start that I could appreciate how wonderful breastfeeding could be.

Nursing was much easier with our second son, Gabriel, although it was still painful in the beginning.  Instead of crying through all of my son's first feedings, I focused on him, and it got better much more quickly.  We found our groove in the first few days, instead of the weeks it took with Sammy.  I attribute our quick success to me being more knowledgeable and less anxious about the whole process.  I wasn't worried if he was getting enough milk or concerned with putting him on a schedule, I was just trying to be present each time we nursed.  

I tried to sit and put my feet up for each feeding, but that wasn't always possible with a two year old running around.  I became a one-armed nursing wonder.  I could nurse with the baby in one arm and accomplish almost everything else with the other from cooking dinner, to playing with building blocks, to helping my other son onto or off of the toilet.  No matter what else I was doing, even when all hell was breaking loose in our transitioning household, I tried to enjoy nursing.  I tried be cognizant of the oxytocin high calming me down and filling my heart with love with each let-down I experienced.  It's cheesy, but it worked.

I was aware the second time around that before I knew it, I wouldn't be the most interesting thing in the universe to this tiny creature.  He would soon be curious about the larger world around him, and he'd want to check it out and explore instead of gazing into my eyes.  I knew that his soft, downy black hair was going to fall out, that his two tiny feet would no longer be able to fit in one of my hands as I fed him.  I watched him grow and took pride in the fact that I was 100% responsible for that phenomenon.  I didn't even mind the late night feedings, because I knew then that I was guaranteed to have at least a few quiet minutes with just him.  Like Sammy, Gabriel and I enjoyed a full year of nursing.

I know all babies are different, so nursing this baby might not be as easy as you would think it'd be the third time around.  I also have two kids to chase after now, whose favorite past times are anything that includes wrestling,  yelling, and general mischief.  I know that once we find our stride, however, it'll be great.  I hope I can savor those moments of quiet and appreciate the newborn-ness of baby #3, especially since this will be the last time I get to experience the beauty of nursing.  

39 days and counting...

Let the nesting begin. With just over 5 weeks until my due date, I'm starting to get anxious that I haven't done enough to get ready for this baby. The car seat and swing are still packed away, and we don't have the nursery ready to go. Jesse is pretty chill and keeps reminding me that Juicy Ghost isn't going to need much when he first gets home anyway. 
Still, I've been feeling antsy the past few days, but at the same time, I feel tired and unmotivated - not a good combination. So we put up the crib (ok, Jesse put up the crib), and today I washed all the newborn clothes that I now have to fold.
I remember the first time I washed newborn clothes. It was so fun to fold tiny onesies and match itty bitty socks. It still makes me excited, picturing our little baby in all the cute outfits. Tonight, however, all I can think about as I fold the mountain of clothes we've acquired over the years is the number of loads of laundry that I will be doing in the years to come!

Sent from my iPhone

Birth Junkie

Hi.  I'm Amanda, and I'm a birth-aholic.
I can't help myself - I'm completely addicted to the subject of birth.  How did this happen, you might wonder?
It all started four years ago with the birth of my first son.  I had a pretty typical experience with him, not giving much thought to the process of birth before he actually left the womb.  I went into labor having only read What to Expect When You're Expecting, hoping for a natural childbirth experience for the simple reason that my mom had four children without any pain medication.  I figured it couldn't be that hard if she and other women had been giving birth since the beginning of time without drugs.  I ended up with a Pitocin drip, artificially ruptured membranes, narcotics through my IV, and an epidural.  I remember feeling great when the epidural was administered - such relief from the pain from the contractions that I had no idea how to handle at the time.  It was after the birth that the real pain set in, as I was left with both physical and emotional scarring.  I knew there had to be a better way, so I started dabbling in the birth and became a recreational reader on the subject.
When I became pregnant again, I took my habit to the next level.  I read whatever I could get my hands on, I watched documentaries about birth, and I talked to anyone who seemed to be willing to listen and share.  I found people in my community like me.  These women had natural childbirths, and they fed my addiction by sharing their birth stories and giving me more to read, more to watch, more to take in.  I felt like my eyes had been opened to a whole other world I never knew existed.  I wanted to be like the women I befriended and the ones I read about, whose births were a spiritual experience they participated in, not something that was done to them.
The birth of my second son was a life-changing experience.  I had never taken part in something so beautiful, so difficult, so empowering, and so sacred.  I wanted to shout from the mountain tops that I had been let in on one of the greatest secrets of life, that I was privileged to participate in something so divine.  It wasn't an easy labor or delivery, but I had done it on my own, and it was a truly amazing accomplishment.  I was hooked for life.
Now pregnant for the third time (with only about six weeks to go until my due date), I am consumed with thoughts about birth.  I'm completely obsessed!  The more I learn about the process, the more fascinating it becomes to me.  I wonder about things like how the baby knows to turn as it's leaving the birth canal, how the placenta knows to stop supplying the baby with oxygen and nutrients, how the whole process of labor begins in the first place.  It's mind-boggling, and I can't get enough of it.  I have three books on my nightstand as I type this - Ina May's Guide to Childbirth, Baby Catcher: Chronicles of a Modern Midwife, and Birth: The Surprising History of How We are Born.  That's just what I'm currently reading.  I watch YouTube clips of babies being born, just so I can watch that incredible moment where the baby goes from being a part of its mother to an individual, and I get goosebumps every time.  I read about birth stories or listen to them on PregTastic all the time, and I reflect on my own experiences of birth.  I'm even a part of a couple of online forums dedicated to pregnancy and birth - My Best Birth and, of course, PregTastic.  I fantasize about becoming a midwife someday, so that I can participate in that mystical process on a daily basis.
I can't wait to go into labor on my third son's birth day (bet you don't hear that every day!).  He and I (and his Dad, working magic with double hip squeezes and back rubs and encouraging words) will work together to bring him into the world.
At the same time, I'm a little sad because I know it will be the last time I get to go through birth.  I wonder if experiencing birth for the final time will be like a cold-turkey, detoxifying rehab for my addiction.  Will I want to put away my hippie-dippie natural birth books and start reading novels again?  Will I lose interest on the subject because it doesn't directly apply to me anymore?  I hope not.  I don't want to lose this high, this feeling that comes with the knowledge of how beautiful and empowering birth can be.  I hope I always feel this passionate about birth, that I can pass it on and share it with other women, so that they, too, might become birth junkies.   Does that make me a birth pusher?