About a Boy, Part 1. Also known as WHOOSH! There it is!

Time flies when you have three kids!

And, yes. That is all of the excuse-making you will get out of me for being absent for... yeesh! I haven't written in quite a while!!

But all is forgiven if I post never-before-seen adorable baby photos, right? Right.
Wait for it. 

It's coming. 

Finn's Birth Story, Part 1

Monkey love.

Once upon a time there was a woman enjoying her third pregnancy. It was her least-complicated pregnancy to date and she was very grateful. 

And then things took a turn for the worse. 

And so that is how the fair maiden (just roll with it) was put on bed rest for the foreseeable future.

Weeks after her sentence to jammies and sheets and frustration, and after countless acts of service from sainted neighbors and ward members, the maiden thought she had learned patience and humility pretty darn well (So enough already!! Please?). One fine day (let's call it April 12th just for the heck of it) her blood pressure spiked and she found herself checking into Providence St. Vincent hospital for an overnight stay with urine tests and blood draws and ultrasounds galore (be warned- it gets more graphic than "urine tests" from here on out. Read on at your own risk). Everything seemed to be going fine: The baby looked good and the maiden (seriously unsure how much longer I can call myself maiden with a straight face) felt okay enough for someone hooked up to a bazillion (rough estimate) tubes and wires. Her Prince (oh yeesh- that may have been my breaking point) was with her throughout the experience, and they watched Cupcake Wars and ordered hospital room service (not as bad as it sounds) and enjoyed spending a kid-free (besides the one sitting on said maiden's kidneys) day together. 

Until... say it with me... things took ANOTHER turn for the worse. 

(Switching to first person because I'm sick of maiden-me and so you must be, too.)

That evening around 10pm I unplugged myself and baby from all of the monitors and grabbed my IV pole (the stripper pole's less-admired cousin) for a routine eight-and-a-half-months-pregnant bi-hourly bathroom trip. I then used the restroom, went to wash my hands and...

WHOOSH!

Now, before this moment in time I had seriously thought the cheesy "MY WATER JUST BROKE!!" scenes in movies were exaggerated. All of the pregnancy books make sure to point out that something like 98% of women don't experience their water breaking until they are already in labor big time, where a little WHOOSH-ing is barely noticeable.

Welcome to the 2%.

Although I already had two children, we must remember that I had never before been in labor. Suddenly I was gushing fluids and I. Freaked. Out. 

"K-k-k-k-klayton?" I called from the restroom in a shaky voice I didn't recognize. 

To K's great credit, his response was to run into the bathroom. 

And, in the interest of full disclosure, I honestly didn't stop shaking for the rest of that night and well into the next day, so undone was I (and there go all of my Tough SuperMom Points). 

After I got back into bed and called the nurse, she informed me that it appeared I had been having mild but regular contractions (honestly didn't notice), and it was decided that she would call my doctor. 

That was when the first of what I like to call the Legit Contractions hit.

Now, like everyone else on the face of the planet, I have heard my fair share of birthing Tall Tales about the pain and agony and trauma of child birth. 

But I can say without a doubt that I was unprepared to experience that LC. 

And those horrendous birth stories AREN'T DETAILED ENOUGH. 

Holy crap, do Legit Contractions hurt. 

There aren't enough Mother's Days in the year- I'll just leave it at that. 

Slayer.

So my (sweet, angelic, wonderful) doc was called at 10-something on a Friday night. I had eaten dinner that evening, not at all expecting to have surgery that night (I was deemed an unsuitable candidate for VBAC given my terrible habit of having pregnancies/child-births that go horribly awry), and because of the anesthesia-caused risk of vomiting/choking, one cannot have anything in one's stomach during surgery (unless you want to go all of the way under, which is probably not a good way to go if you, you know, want to meet your newborn child and all of that). So my surgery was planned and prepped for around 2am on Saturday, the 13th of April. 

I don't want to dwell on this, but can I just say that laboring  for four hours with no intention of actually giving birth is super overrated? Thanks, I needed that. 

Sometime around 1am my big brother, Adam, showed up to bring our camera and hang around to meet his new nephew (can I also say that my brother is wonderful?). I'm not sure how fun it was for him to be in the room with his laboring sister, but he Instagrammed a picture of the experience, so I assume he isn't too traumatized.

Hey guys does my hair look okay?

 Around 2am I said goodbye to Adam and K and I was rolled into surgery (an experience which I would very much like to forget were it not for the whole Laying-Eyes-on-my-Perfect-Baby-Boy-for-the-First-Time memory attached to the whole My-Guts-are-Currently-Laying-on-That-Table-Over-There moment). I was 36 1/2 weeks pregnant when my 6lb 15oz baby boy was born. 

Quite the welcome, eh?

 I heard him cry and looked around a bit deliriously as he was handed across the partition to K. Blinking quickly (stupid Mommy tears) my eyes roved over his dark black hair (so much of it! All my genes) and sweet, smushed face. He was perfect- I could tell. It was then that my Grinch moment happened, of course, and my heart swelled 10 sizes to not only incorporate this little man's sisters, father, grandparents, aunts and uncles, friends, family... but Finn, too. My guy. 

They always take them back too soon to do tests and wipe-downs and suctions and all of that. I craned my neck to watch them. Then K left with the nurses and my sweet, sweet Little Man as they replaced my guts (although, really, while they were in there they could have removed the spare tire. I swear I didn't put it there...) and stitched me up. 

Tick tock.

When they finally wheeled me back into my room, where Adam and K were holding and OOhing and Ahhing over Finn, I got to hold my sweet little bundle for the first time. I felt is soft skin and furry little back... 

So much love and a shower cap.

  And that was when, just moments after I finally got him in my arms, they told me that he was still having trouble breathing (STILL??!! How long was I in there with All the King's Horses and All the King's Men?) and they wanted to send him to the Newborn Intensive Care Unit for monitoring. 

They were sure it was nothing.

He would be back with me soon, probably. 

I tried not to panic. I had done the NICU thing before, right? 

Twice already, in fact. 

I could do this again. 

This time was different. 

I would have him back soon, right?

Not so fast...

...Although this tale has a very happy ending, it doesn't start just yet...

To be continued in the next thrilling episode of "About a Boy"! 

hyper-active

So, this is baby number three for me. 

And my first two pregnancies had their fair share of complications. 

...okay, that may be understating things. Especially in Avery's case.

Oh, okay. With Carter, too.

But this pregnancy has been going really well! 

...until now.

A couple of weeks ago, I started having blurred-vision headaches and incredible swelling limbs.

Blood pressure spikes. 

My doctor officially declared me sick with Pregnancy-induced Hypertension. 

You can call it Toxemia. 

I call it The Worst.

Times three.

They sent me to the lab. And then the hospital for monitoring when my headache wasn't going away. Everything seems to be fine. But now I play the waiting game. Now I have to rest. 

"Rest" should sound really awesome! Seriously. What thirty-three-weeks-pregnant-with-two-other-little-kids-running-around-stay-at-home-mom doesn't want more rest?! 

But when "rest" means things like feeling like garbage and accepting neighbors and ward member's help with kids and meals and vacuuming (embarrassing!!!) and the like, it really stinks. 

 My very sweet Relief Society President told me this week in no uncertain terms that she understands that accepting help is hard but, "If you don't let people serve you, you're the jerk."

 At least I'm pretty sure she said jerk. 

Either way, that was the gist of the message. 

And she's not the only one who gave me that message this week.

And everyone is right, of course. I love being able to help other people! I guess everyone has to take their own turn being helped.

But I don't have to be happy about it. 

Seriously, you can't make me.

Blegh.

When "rest" means taking total advantage of my brother on his days off, well, that stinks. He's such a good guy. When my mom called him on Wednesday night and found out I was in the hospital, I got a very concerned phone call. The call the next day, too, was concerned and so sweet. And this is how it ended: "Okay, honey, you promise to take it easy, okay? And I really will come up there if you need me- just let me know. Oh, and don't let me find out that you are in the hospital from your brother again. That really pissed me off. (Dead. Serious.) haha Okay! Love you! Bye-bye!!!" 

hahahaha I love my Mama. 

Also, I have the best neighbors money can buy.

You know who you are. 

I already knew that you were the best. I think this week you were just showing off.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for being awesome.

When "rest" also means spending lots of time worrying about little Butter Boots' health and safety...

 well, that's Officially The Worst.

 

And so, I will rest. And go in for weekly doctor's appointments. And leave my work to others. And take advantage of everyone I know. And try to finish my final weeks of college from a reclined position. And give my girls extra hugs and my dog-tired husband extra love and my worried mother extra reassurance. And measure my BP with a little robot wrist-cuff thing that sounds like a chainsaw while it squeezes my arm and then flashes and beeps at me and tells me what I already know:

 Things aren't looking so hot. Take it easy and you'll make it through. Only six more weeks. For Baby. For chubby baby rolls. For no NICU this time around. For coming home with baby sans oxygen machine. For you. For not having a Magnesium Sulfate (known in most countries as the DEVIL) IV this time. For less time in the hospital and tubes and monitors and visits and needles and medicines and stress.

if you don't know, now you know- Carter.

I just have to share this little letter I wrote to my little Carter today. 

I'm not entirely sure why I didn't just write it on this blog, but somehow I just had to address it directly to the girl who knows just about every lyric to Katy Perry's "Hot and Cold" - you know, except for the naughty one. And who chooses the same breakfast cereal every morning but never does anything else I can predict. Ever. And who is often thoughtful and insightful beyond her nearly-three years but still has trouble remembering that if you walk in front of a moving swing at the park you will get hit in the face and it will knock you on your butt.

us kids know

 OLD POST ALERT!
I wrote this last week. ...and then my computer freaked and I lost all of it. And I got really annoyed and decided to forget it. And all blogging. For the rest of eternity.
Then I calmed down and decided to re-write it. This is a shabby second attempt at posting about our lives from the perspective of, Oh, about two weeks ago, now.
Stupid freak-out computer.


Last week was a busy one! We kicked off the weekend with a (n evil, insane, fifteen-hour) drive to Idaho Falls. We wanted to squeeze in one last trip over before BB shows up, and we hit a wicked storm on the way! And then we dragged the storm with us for about half of our journey.
 What could possibly make a normally-twelve-hour trip with two small children and an incredibly pregnant woman more uncomfortable? Yep. Snow and rain and ice and wind.

Oh well, we made it! And it wound up being a lovely weekend. It was nice to see friends and spend time with K's family. 

But both K and I had to admit that we did not miss the snow and ice and below-zero winters. Not even a little bit. It really is lovely to live in this Portland climate!

But enough about the weather.

Here are a few pictures from our little trip.

What's up, belly? My amazing friend Stacy made me a diaper motorcycle

 with a monkey rider. Cutest present ever!

Cousin Snow Time!

30 weeks

 Otherwise we spent the week trying to have some fun! We did some shopping on Monday for a few new things to make our little town house brighter and easier to live in- we really love where we are at, but it honestly sucks rocks, too. Our house has the oldest (grossest) carpet on the block, needs new doors and paint, and it just feels really dingy in there no matter what I do! While we were out of town we ran an ozone machine all weekend again to help with carpet smells (DISGUSTING! I know). Then we spent Monday running around buying a gorgeous new rug for the living room, a couch cover for our comfy second-hand couch, and brighter lights for all of our fixtures. So far it has helped a bunch! We even got the girls wall stickers that match their new bedding- darn you Target and all of your adorable crap!

Avery was not impressed with all of the errands.

A peek at the wall decals- and the most adorable scene ever! Which one is the doll?

My mom got my brother and I a pass to OMSI that lets in us, K, the kids and a few more, all for free! It's amazing. Avery especially loves OMSI- especially when she got to bring her best friend, Drew! She was especially excited to dress up like chipmunks with Drew and play in the indoor forest area - these two love playing house and have imaginations that just won't quit!- and to show him the earthquake simulation. After she did the simulation the first time we visited OMSI, she had all sorts of questions about earthquakes. Which was followed quickly by all sorts of nightmares and teary-eyed conversations about earthquakes. But I think she's made her peace with the idea now. And at least she's prepared, right?

Duck and Cover!

Little etymologists checking out the petrified bugs.

There is a Science Playground section indoors with all sorts of cool activities for kids under six. Carter's favorites are the sand pit and the water tables. I have to bring a change of clothes (because Carter NEVER does anything half-way!) but it's so worth it to see her having so much fun. 

...that is, until she refuses to stop drinking the gross water. Seriously.

These two are besties. The end.

sisters are doin' it for themselves

 This Christmas all my mom wanted were nice pictures of the girls- especially Carter. It seems unbelievable but we hadn't taken any professional pictures of Carter since she was nearly one! And even then, she wouldn't smile at all. Not even once. 

So here are a few of our favorites.

Hopefully someday soon we will be able to do a family portrait with BB, but for now I am in love with these girls and all of their energy and wildness and love for each other.  It really melts this mamma's heart. Also, could they be more gorgeous!? 

The answer is no. 

all about Butter Boots

It feels so amazing to start putting together "Baby Brother"'s nursery. 

Baby Brother is what the girls call my tummy. 

And what Carter calls her tummy, too. 

For example, if you grab Carter around the middle to hoist her up to get a drink at a drinking fountain, she will indignantly tell you, "Hey!! You're hurting Baby Brother!"

Aerial Belly View- January 2013

These two girls are so excited to have a little brother. Avery frequently reminds us that her wish came true- her wish for a brother. I think she's such a remarkably good kid, she deserves a good my-wish-came-true feeling. 

Avery loves to play games, especially in the car. She makes them up constantly- the rules always changing. Lately her favorite has been scenario games, such as "What are you most excited to do when it's summer?" (the girl may look a whole lot like K, but she was meant to be live in the desert- she craves summer and sun constantly!). One day, when we were driving home from the library and playing "What do you think we should name Baby Brother?", it was Carter's turn. "Carter, what do YOU want to name Baby Brother?" Avery asked- refusing to answer the question herself because she "Couldn't think of the right name"- although she was glad to shoot down others ideas. 

Carter paused for a minute, then replied, "Umm.... Butter Boots!"

Princess Carter, the Magnificent.

We all laughed- no one as hard as Avery. After hours of pleading that we actually write the words "Butter Boots" on this poor boy's birth certificate, we decided that Butter Boots could be Baby Brother's nickname. I can't quite decide if I'm in love with this, or if I'm hoping they will forget about it. I think I'm leaning toward the former. How can the kid be dull with a nickname like Butter Boots before he even has made his big debut!?

I love it when people ask about his name- and feel honestly jealous of those who feel confident to name their baby before they meet them! I just never can- which, in Carter's case, resulted in her being called Baby Girl Tietjen for two whole days. I do have a pretty good idea of what he will be named, but we have a few names in reserve, too, in case he just doesn't look like a fill-in-the-blank. My mom begs me to at least tell her our ideas, but I have stubbornly decided not to share. So I keep telling her that we are 100% planning on naming him Thor. You know, just to make her a little crazy. 

The only problem is, now K is really starting to like the name Thor. Backfire. 

Oh well, I guess good ol' Thor "Butter Boots" Tietjen has a bright future ahead of him. As what, I'm not sure. Exotic dancer? You have to admit, Magic Mike has nothing on Butter Boots. Either that or he'll work at Pixar or as a boom mic guy on movies and they will print his name in the credits just like that, BB and all. And people everywhere will feel sorry for him, and whatever he did to deserve the nickname Butter Boots. Or the first name Thor.

My c-section is scheduled for the morning of April 30th, so unless I finally get to experience real contractions, this little guy will share a birthday with my sister-in-law, Juliet, and my cousin, Rebecca! It's hard to feel like the surgery is inevitable, but with my history I feel grateful to know that he will be in good hands, however he comes into the world. 

I have felt really, really great so far this pregnancy! I am entering the Holy-Crap-Moving-Around-Is-Really-Hard phase of pregnancy already, which makes me a little crazy. But friends who have been there keep reassuring me that pregnancy number three really let's you know who's boss. Baby Brother is a big-time kicker, which I love! It's such a miracle- baby making. Braxton Hicks have already started up in a big way, too, which is new for me. My biggest pregnancy complaint is heartburn. Constant, no-matter-what-time, no-matter-what-I-eat heartburn. But then I remember the NICU with Av, or being on bed rest for a lot of my last trimester with Carter, and suddenly heartburn seems like no big deal.

This is how you run to the store to buy ice at 9pm on a Wednesday night to keep your pregnant wife happy. Like a boss. In pink.

This morning I folded and put away all of the baby clothes for Baby Brother in his nursery. We don't have much, and I still feel overwhelmed that everything we own is pink- how different a boy will be!!- but the Robots and Sports Gear and Dinosaurs that I piled in his drawers this morning make me all giddy, and I know we'll figure it out. I was such a tomboy growing up, and am still a 13-year-old boy at heart, honestly.

I really love Robots.

But Carter is just entering her "It's PRINCESS Carter, mom!" phase. 

But she's so excited to have a baby, and is constantly playing momma-and-baby with her big sister.

But, seriously, there is so much pink here. 

But K is already planning on the Legos they will play together when BB is old enough.

But the mood swings that go on in this house...

...Well, I'm sure Butter Boots will be just fine. 

I mean, I really do like Robots.

My girls, me, and a whole lot of attitude. Good luck, Baby Brother!

  I remember being so nervous about being the mother of two little girls, but, even though a baby boy is foreign territory, I feel really peaceful and excited about adding this little guy to our family.
Bring it on, Butter Boots! We're ready when you are. 

a month of suck... oops, sick

Avery played with Mom's camera phone an awful lot during her two-week convalescence. She's a big fan of the Selfie.

 "Yesterday was plain awful," Annie sings to Daddy Warbucks in the final number of Annie.

(I should know, I have played that [and every other kiddie movie we own] more than once recently.)

You can say that again. 

Despite all of us getting our flu shots (like good little boys and girls always do) in mid-September, the past few weeks have been a never-ending parade of the Big F Word, featuring tissues, thermometers, medicine droppers, popsicles, juice, and general misery. It started each time when runny noses and sore throats merged into 104 degree fevers, lost appetites and wracking coughs. For four days straight. FOUR. DAYS. Four days of worrying sick and wondering and force-feeeding and bathing and watching news coverage of the number of flu-related deaths climb and barely sleeping. 

First Avery. Then, two days after her fever finally broke, Carter. 

The worst day of Carter's flu. When it came to the end of her six-hour medicine cycle, she couldn't function at all.

Klayton and I got watered-down versions of the same flu, but we were somehow better equipped to fight it off, thank heaven. We were each out of commission for just one day- the others were bearable misery. Carter has bounced back from her flu pretty well. The aftermath for teensy Av, however, has included a runny nose, hacking cough and hearing loss in her right ear due to fluid that just wouldn't drain! You know, you're average walk-in-the-park type stuff.

Sleeping Beauty.

 But I am pleased to (finally) report that all are mostly-well again and life is moving on. It has been hard to get Avery back to school since she had two weeks off for Winter Break, then about four days into school in 2013 she started getting sick and took another 2+ weeks off (plus, she kind of hates Kindergarten! I wonder what she'll think when school is three hours longer and you don't get to finger paint...), but we are all adjusting to normal, contagion-free life bit by bit. Yesterday was our first day back to church as a family, and it felt really good! The theme for February in our house is "Let's pack some pounds back onto Avery so I can no longer count each and every one of her ribs." 

Wish us luck.

The moral of this story? "The sun will come out Tomorrow." It's just that sometimes Tomorrow is weeks away. And you will go through Costco-sized packages of Kleenex, Tylenol and Halls in the meantime. And the sun only actually comes out metaphorically-speaking because it's wintertime in Portland, Oregon.
Thanks anyway, Annie.

New Year's News

The past few New Year's Eves we have been lucky enough to spend with friends and family, but this year we were facing a solo NYE, and I was more than a little down about it. That is, until I realized something wonderful- we could tell our kids it was midnight at just about any time we chose, go to bed at a decent time, and still have a great night together! It turned out to be one of my favorite NYE ever. 

Avery decorated with her paintings. She is such a Daddy's girl lately!

 

 First Avery and I decorated the house with a string where Avery hung her favorite paintings from the past few weeks. We set the table as fancy as we could, and planned a special meal of Caesar salad, homemade pizza (I let the girls each make their own pie with their favorite toppings, and I made an adult Buffalo Chicken pizza - my specialty), grapes and sparkling cider. I even put together a NYE 2012 playlist on Spotify to listen to throughout the night. It included hits from this year as well as songs we couldn't get enough of from years' past.

Fancy table set, check. Homemade pizza (Buffalo Chicken and Pepperoni and Olive) check.

 After we ate, K bathed the girls while I prepared our evening's activities. We filled out NYE questionnaires for each of us that we plan on reading next year- the answers for the kids were hilarious!- and played games until about 8:30pm. The games I chose were Sardines (kind of a reverse Hide and Seek) and Freeze Dance (always a hit!).

 Bubbly and a dance party! What could be better to ring in the New Year?

Happy New Year!

 At 8:30 we bundled up and went outside to pop poppers and shout Happy New Year! A neighbor came out to comment on our early celebration, but we didn't mind. She either thought it was cute or crazy, but we have a two year old! An 8:30 celebration seemed the responsible thing to do!

 Fireworks in the freezing cold!

 

  Our girls' favorite treat- chocolate-kissed raspberries! 

 After our toast (man, my kids love Cheers!ing [obviously not a verb, but it's the best I could do]) and the eating of the grapes, we tucked the kids in and K and I read/discussed The Screwtape Letters until we were sleepy. I know that makes us sound about 100 years old, but between this pregnancy and all of the late nights we had over our holiday trip to Las Vegas, it was the perfect evening. 

 Our yearly tradition- eating grapes at "midnight" to predict a sweet or sour new year!

As I always seem to mention each year, this time of renewal and reflection is so exciting to me. I love setting goals and looking back and looking forward and all of the hope and happiness and uncertainty that comes with a brand new year. I can't wait to see what 2013 brings!