Three Months Old

Three months old.  Already?!

I think each of my boys have their own look, but I was kind of amused by some of the similarities in their 'Three Month Old' pictures.  Isaac's on the left, Owen on the right.

So, Isaac officially broke his tibia.  It took almost a week to get diagnosed, but he's all casted now and hopefully in three weeks we will be past this little medical drama.   One can hope!
Poor boy though, he'd figured out how to crawl around really well in the splint.  The full cast is a bit trickier -- he won't even attempt standing, and even crawling is tougher.  He is sleeping a lot better now though.  Here's hoping this next three weeks goes by really, really quickly.

Random videos of Isaac making himself comfortable watching movies in his cast, and a tiny tantrum.  (The tantrum video is the last one -- it's the best). And me trying to get Owen to talk and smile for the camera (since he'd been happily cooing and chatting the ten minutes before, of course.)

Poor Isaac and Weeks of Pictures

I've been a blogging slacker.  I'd blame double ear infections (Owen) and a potentially broken bone (Isaac), except that all just happened in the last couple days.  I don't know why I wasn't blogging the weeks before that.  So, here's some pictures of our lives from the last couple weeks . . .

Poor Isaac was going down the slide with Daddy, when his foot got twisted between Dad's leg and the slide on a turn.  It was x-rayed, the doctor said it seemed like a break, but they couldn't see one, so they put on a molded splint and wrapped it, and we go back in on Friday for more x-rays. 
He was REALLY miserable the first day.  Being immobile and angry about it.  He thrashed his hardened leg around the place in anger, injuring innocent bystanders (i.e., me).  The next morning (after a blow out diaper that he SMEARED ALL OVER MY BED AND HIMSELF) we took off the splint only to discover one nasty looking pressure sore on his heel.  No wonder he was so miserable (and kept us up much of the night).  The next day we got it rewrapped, and he's been crawling around and climbing one legged every since.

We've noticed he's keeping his whole hand (sometimes both) inside his mouth when upset or hurt.

Curled up to watch a movie.  We've watched lots and lots of movies.

Some random cute pictures of my boys sleeping . . .

Comparison of sleeping Isaac and his Dad sleeping as a toddler too.

 

My poor Grandma was recently moved to an Assisted Living Center after a nasty fall at home.  Since then she's been in and out of the hospital repeatedly.  We've tried to get over to visit regularly, bringing the kids when she's not at the hospital . . . 

Grandma with Owen and my niece, Bailey

Four generations

My Grandma, my boys and me.

Owen was just cooing at her, it was adorable.

The girls with their Great Grandma

My little chunky monkey

Annie & Isaac

Two Months

On March 1st (due to the lack of a Feb. 30th, my baby boy turned 2 months old. 
Already?!

Out of all my kids, he seems the most 'newborn-ish' for the longest amount of time.  He still seems to spend all of his time eating, then being cute and happy for a few minutes, then being angry at the feeling of tiredness, then sleeping.  When he's awake and alert, he's so adorable and happy.  But then it's not long before he's fussy and crying and wanting to go back to sleep.  He also seems to be the 'floppiest' still -- he just wants to lie around in my arms (or my lap, he LOVES lying in my lap while I'm sitting cross legged), and unlike his other siblings, doesn't want to be held up in standing, or even sitting, position for very long.  Add to that he has a little cousin only two and a half months older, who practically came out of the womb as a two month old (she was the smiliest, most alert, bright eyed newborn I have EVER seen.  She never seemed floppy or sleepy, it's like she was just up and ready to go since birth) . . . and Owen just seems so young to me.  Which isn't a bad thing by any means, I like having my sleepy newborn.  (Less thrilled by the fussy, overly tired, crying thing -- but, you take the good with the bad.)   He doesn't cry anywhere near what Annie did, but he's fussier than Isaac was . . . I am now convinced though that I was just never destined to have a laid back, chill baby.  :-)  

Now for the two month stats:

Weight:  11.9 lbs. (55%)

Height: 23.62" (75%)

And the shocker --

Head: 15.4" (26%)
(Although I think this was possibly measured a bit smaller, and at his last appointment he was 37%).

That is miles away from my other kids.  I remember Ellie at times having a 90%+ head circumference and being 2% in weight.  Greg and I used to joke that we didn't know how our kids didn't look like bobble heads, since all three older ones have always been higher than 85% on the charts (Isaac was 98% at his 18 month appointment.)  

I think Owen will be the Talina of our family.  (My family will get that.)

And just for fun, to compare to his big (and I do mean BIG) brother:

Isaac at this age:

Weight: 14.66 lbs. (96%)

Height: 66%

So Owen was taller, but Isaac was much heftier.  (Seriously, over 14 and a half pounds at only TWO MONTHS old?!  Ellie was 13lbs. 9oz. at SIX MONTHS old.)  The funny thing about Isaac was that he actually looked thinner than the girls at this age -- who both had chipmunk cheeks and chunky thighs.  Isaac didn't look like he had any 'extra' weight on him, he was just so freakingly solid.  Of course, all my kids shoot up on the charts for the first four months.  Then they stop growing for awhile, maybe getting a bit taller and putting on a bit of weight, but the spend the next 8 months slowing dropping back down the charts.  Our gigantic baby, Isaac, had slimmed down to less than 21 pounds at a year old, at 19% on the charts, and at just over 29" was at 29% on the charts.  But now at a year and a half, he's quickly climbing the charts again.   I find it so interesting that all three older kids, despite being very different sizes and weights from each other, followed very, very similar growth patterns.  

And lastly, some pictures from the day he turned 'two months old'.  I'd taken Ellie and Isaac to the doctors, so Aunt Talina and cousin Bailey came over to play with Owen and Annie.

Like Mother, Like Daughter

I heard the girls yelling at each other downstairs.  Then Greg putting Annie in time out.  Greg came upstairs, into the room where I was nursing the baby and sighed, exasperated, "She is so much like her mother!"  I laughed, "What did Annie do?"

"She told Ellie that her teeth were going to fall out.  Ellie was freaking out and crying about it, I told Annie to drop it, but she wouldn't.  I told Ellie it was fine, her teeth wouldn't fall out, but she was too worked up . . ."
"But . . . her teeth will fall out."  Greg's eyes rolled, as I proved his 'like Mother/like Daughter' point.  "She had a point," I said, "why didn't you just tell Ellie it's normal and that's what's supposed to happen to teeth?" 
"I was just trying to get her to calm down . . . but Annie wouldn't drop it!"
"I don't get why you'd tell her that her teeth wouldn't fall out . . . baby teeth do fall out . . . "  I think at this point he just walked out of the room, since he couldn't put me in time out too :-)

Annie and I really are a lot of like.  And not just our attachment to logic and being right all the time. :-) I think that's the reason that her drama doesn't really get to me, while Ellie's freak outs get to me.  (Whereas all of Ellie's drama rolls right off Greg like water on duck feathers, but Annie frustrates him to no end.  I don't know if I should be worried about that, when he's comparing the two of us.)  :-)  Anyway, I 'get' Annie.  Not just our 'oldest child' tendencies (like torturing younger siblings with true and less-than-true 'facts' . . . like when my sisters and I told our youngest sister Lacy that we were all adopted, but she was actually Mom and Dad's biological child.  This upset her greatly.  Then she pointed out that she looked just like the rest of us, and we told her that Mom and Dad had her genetically altered to look like us so she wouldn't get suspicious.  We were good siblings.)  It's not just her bookish, teacher's pet, show off for adults, precociousness that reminds everyone of me when she was a kid.  But the one similarity that makes me the happiest is this . . .

The reading late at night by flashlight until Mom & Dad threaten to take it away.  And sometimes even after that.  I don't know if this sight will ever not make me smile.  :-)

In fact we've worked nighttime reading-by-flashlight into her bedtime routine. She was really getting to where she didn't need to go to bed as early as Ellie.  But I wasn't ready to give up the simultaneous, early, bedtimes.  So, we made a deal.  After they were both in bed, she could read with her flashlight for about 30 minutes once lights were out.  She's so freaking cute about it -- she has a little digital watch, and you tell her a time to quit, and she's really usually pretty good about stopping on time. Sometimes, you just get wrapped up in a good book though, and she woke up the other morning and told me, "Mom, you said I could read 'til 8:15 . . . but last night I was reading, and before I knew it, it was 8:20!  Sorry about that!"

(Oh, later today, Annie upped the tooth thing.  When Ellie came running in to my room crying, "I don't want to die one day!  Annie says I'm going to die . . . probably when I am old!  But I want to be 10 or 11!"  Sigh.)

In other child news, Isaac had his 18 (almost 19) month appointment today.  The doctor was totally blown away by his verbal skills, as he informed her at one point that the exam was over by taking her hand, moving it off him and saying, "All done now" and telling her, "Baby Owen sleep carseat" and pointing at his sleeping little brother in the carseat.  He also told her, "Sisser Annie, Sisser Ellie, at school."  She was very impressed by his vocabulary, and he really spent half our time there just crying, so she didn't even really get to see how awesome he is. The other day, I was picking up some dirty clothes in the kids' rooms, and Idaac pointed out to the washer and dryer and said, "Start laundry now, Mom."  When did my 18 month old start telling me what to do around the house . . . in complete sentences!?  He's such a little mimic, and we're pretty used to him rambling off long sentences he hears, but when he comes up with them completely unprompted, it still surprises me!  (You have to remember too, Ellie was in speech therapy at two years old 'cause she would only use about 10 words regularly -- so this is a whole new world!)  Anyway, besides milestones, the big focus was obviously growth.  And this kid is growing!  He's really shot up recently, which makes me feel better about the food I prepare and serve ALL day long . . . he's much taller on the charts than he was at a year, and heavier too.  At 27.2 pounds he's less than three pounds smaller than Ellie.  And his head size was at 94% on the charts . . . I told his doctor, "Wow, that's all?  I actually kinda thought it would be off the charts now." She responded, "No, 94% is on the charts . . . we don't consider them off the charts until they hit the 95th percentile . . . " and we both started laughing.  His height went from 29% on the charts at a year, to 53% now.  His weight went from 19% in weight at a year old, to 63%.  That is a big jump!  So it wasn't just his younger brother being born that made Isaac suddenly seem ginormous . . . it was the fact he's now ginormous.  :-)   

Since we were leaving the house and all, I got the boys dressed in one of their matching outfits.  They're so cute . . . 

That same day I took a picture of Owen that reminded me of an expression that Isaac would make as a baby.  So, I had to pull it up and compare them, and it amused me how similar the expressions were.

 

 Aunt Talina was over watching the girls while I took the boys to the doctor's office.  With all five grandkids in one place, we took some pictures for Grandma and to send to Uncle Cody on his mission, since he's never seen these two little ones in person . . .

Owen's Birth Story

So, I really should get this typed up . . . you know, before I become so tired that writing coherent sentences becomes near impossible.  :-)  I've spent the last week though, just holding my baby.  As well as, wincing when I cough or yawn, trying to keep a 17 month old and a 3 1/2 year old from diving onto my stomach, and trying to find that balance of getting up and moving and taking it easy.

But, all in all, I have to say things have gone amazingly well.  Recovery has gone as well as can be expected, if not better than I was expecting.  My baby is healthy and doing well, and seems to adore me.  (So much so that from 1-4 this morning, he refused to sleep anywhere but in my arms . . . but that means he likes me, so I'm not gonna complain.)

I guess I should go back to last week to start to tell Owen's birth story though . . . so, Tuesday, December 27th, I had my 39 week appointment with my midwife.  We chatted for a minute, then I laid down so she could find the heartbeat.  It was taking a lot longer than normal.  I wasn't worried, since I'd felt the baby moving no less than 5 minutes ago, but I didn't like that look on her face.  I may not have been worried, but she definitely was.  Finally, after what felt like forever, but was probably a minute or less, she found the baby's heartbeat.  Apparently in a place she did NOT want to find it.  She asked if he'd been moving a lot lately, and at first I said nothing big, that he moved all the time but I hadn't felt any major movement.  Then I thought back to Christmas Eve or Christmas night, I can't remember which, when I made Greg lie next to me in bed with his hand on my stomach for a good half hour 'cause of the tumbling act Owen was putting on.  Aw, crap.  He'd turned.  My midwife didn't flat out say he was breech, but she scheduled me for an ultrasound at the OBs office, in less than an hour.  So, I ran home, got Greg (my Mom came over to watch my kids) and we headed in, the whole time I'm thinking, "He can't be breech, he can't be breech, he can't be breech . . . "  They started the ultrasound, and immediately a very recognizable little butt showed up on screen.  He was breech.  The next several days were filled with me doing weird inversion exercises, going to the chiropractor, getting acupuncture (the baby would move ALL over the place whenever I was getting it done, but he didn't ever flip because of it) and praying like I've never prayed before.  We're never optionless, but my options in this situation were limited, and I wasn't liking anything other than 'he magically flips himself back into position and labor starts spontaneously.'  But that was looking less and less likely.  The decision was made that I would come to the hospital on Friday, December 30th, where they would attempt an 'external version' (flipping the baby from the outside).  If he flipped, they wanted to induce labor immediately (basically 'lock him into position' while they could).  While not ideal, it was the preferable option to me versus the alternative.  Which was a c-section.  The being cut open thing was a little freaky, but it wasn't the worst part by any means -- it was the idea of recovery.  The no picking things up over 10 pounds, no stairs, no driving . . . none of this seemed very conducive to my life at home, with a 17 month old, two other children, and three stories of house.  The idea of not being able to pick up Isaac for weeks was enough to reduce me to tears just thinking about it.  But, throughout the week a ever growing sense of peace seemed to inch its way into my heart . . . I thought it was because the version would work and I'd be able to go on to have the birth I'd planned on.  At least for the most part.  Turns out, once again, this kid had different plans.  A mere 6 hours before we were supposed to leave for the hospital, my water broke.  It was one in the morning, I jumped up, woke up Greg, told him to call my parents (my Dad was over less than five minutes later) and I told him that I don't think the baby had flipped.  And I was going to be having a c-section.  (Once my water was broken, it was 'game over', they couldn't try flipping the baby at that point, so I knew what we were going to the hospital for.)  And oddly, I felt really good about it.  My water breaking was an answer to prayers I didn't even realize I'd been asking for -- it was confirmation to me that my baby, my body had picked the time for birth.  And the only good option was a c-section.  I hadn't forced anything by doing a version or getting an induction (both choices I was fine with making, of course, it was just reassuring to me when my water broke and left us with one, clear answer.)  I wasn't nervous anymore (still freaked out about the recovery, but the surgery itself, I was really pretty chill with), and it no longer seemed like the undesirable choice.  It was just they way this baby needed to come into the world, and who was I to argue with that, or stress or worry about it.  It was right, and I knew it.  We called my sister Star, who after being out of town for the last two births in our family, was finally here to be a part of the birth -- except now she'd just be waiting for the surgery to end.  Poor Star.  She met us at the hospital anyway, and the next several hours were ridiculously fun.  Star, Greg, the nurse, the midwife (not my normal one, but the same one who was there the night Isaac was born -- or, who was at least in the next room when he was born) and I have such a good time laughing and joking.  At first I don't think the nurse knew what to think of us, laughing so hard it kept messing up the monitors they had on the baby.  The midwife had been up for like 24+ hours though, so she was already slap happy :-)  The nurse warmed up to us and our humor though, and was totally getting a kick out of our witty repertoire.  (Or, at least it seemed witty at 3AM).  It took over two hours for them to get an ultrasound to confirm the baby was breech.  (The baby was obviously breech, but the anestesiologist would not move forward on even prepping me for surgery until he had a picture in hand, and we were not having ANY luck on finding a machine that would work.)  Finally, someone from the ER brought up their ultrasound machine, we got to see Owen flaunt his butt one last time, and then it was go time.  Which could not have come soon enough for me.  Remember, my water had already broken.  I was in labor now.  Not hard labor (it felt much like Isaac's did last time), but I was contracting pretty regularly.  Which isn't super pleasant.  I was starting to worry about getting into harder labor and still getting the c-section -- didn't seem fair to have to do both!  Soon though, we walked to the operating room.  They realized they'd never put Greg in his bio-hazard suit (that's what it looked like at least), so they had him get ready while they brought me in to start the spinal block.  I was a tad miffed they wanted me to start getting giant needles shoved into my back without my husband even being there to hold my hand, but I was SO ready for this to happen that I couldn't imagine telling them to wait.  He was back soon though, and before I knew it, surgery had started.  At just after 4AM, and 7 and a half minutes later, Owen was born.  But not without scaring us first.  It had never dawned on me that the dangers that can exist in delivering a breech baby vaginally, also are an issue delivering the baby through an incision.  He was still coming out feet first.  Which was the first problem we ran in to.  Turns out he wasn't just frank breech (butt first, which he had been in the past), but at some point had gotten one foot down below himself and one foot up above . . . he was in the splits.  It took them a minute to wrestle his feet out.  I remember them talking about stuff like, "Where is that other leg?" but since I couldn't see anything, this was all very weird and trippy to me.  Soon, they were excited they got his legs out.  Then his head was stuck, his chin firmly anchoring him inside me.  It took another minute before he was out.  This whole time I kept thinking, 'This is taking so long!  Why haven't they picked him up to show him to me?'  Then I heard the scariest part. They were working on him, things weren't going well, Greg asked why he wasn't moving.  My brain could not compute what was happening.  Finally, he moved, and breathed, and they rushed him straight over to the warmer and started working on him there.  I'd still never had anyone hold him up, but I could see him now if I turned my head to the side.  I watched his little tight fists and arms suddenly go limp, and a few seconds later he tightened up again and finally started to cry.  I think Greg was a lot more scared than I was, since he was able to take it all in -- by the time I could even compute what had happened, he was fine.   His initial apgar score of a 4 was already up to a 9 by 5 minutes, and he's done fine ever since.  (But, because he started out low, he was on a non-standard protocol in the maternity ward, and he had to be checked hourly for awhile, then every two hours for a lot longer than normal.  But his oxygen and everything was always perfect, and we haven't had to worry about him since.)  It was a full 22 minutes before anyone picked up my baby and showed him to me.  Greg brought him over at that point, lowered him down by my head and I kissed him, and then because Owen was screaming about the awkward angle he was being held at, I just told Greg to take him and cuddle him to his chest, and I would need to wait to see him again when we were done.  The last 22 minutes of surgery had gone by quickly, as I'd been engrossed in trying to figure out what was going on with my baby.  The last 10-15 minutes was excruciatingly long, as I hated the pulling and tugging feelings, and I just had to close my eyes and go to my 'happy place'.  (Oh, at some point after delivery, my midwife had to jump up and run out of the room -- food poisoning.  She apologized profusely afterwards, but said she was glad that this time she made it for the birth at least.)  When they said they were done, moved me to the rolling bed, and handed me my baby, I was in heaven.  I just cuddled with him the entire time we walked back to the room, and soon as we got there he latched on and we started nursing.  He's a pro, and hasn't had any problems with nursing at all, which I am SO grateful for, as c-section related nursing issues was one of my concerns.  I can't get over how different Isaac and Owen's births were -- from delivering one spontaneously and picking him up within seconds of birth, to not holding the other for well over a half hour after birth.  And yet, I don't feel any different about them or their births.  Both were right for the situation we were in.  Would I have preferred to have another natural birth vs. a c-section?  Yep, but I knew in the long run it wouldn't matter.  What surprised me was how much it didn't even matter in the short run.  I wrote this in an email to a friend a few days ago:
I'm doing well physically, I feel like I'm recovering well, I'm spotty about when I take pain meds, and I'm not noticing a huge difference, so I'm pretty close to phasing them out (night time is the only time I still feel crappy, trying to roll over in bed and stuff . . . ouch).  (I have since stopped taking all pain medicines).  Emotionally (knock on wood) I'm doing pretty great actually -- I have not cried once since I had this baby :-)  I know the c-section wasn't ideal, and it was far from my first choice.  I know I didn't get to really see this baby for 20+ minutes after his birth vs. the 2 seconds after Isaac's.  I know I was immobile and stuck to wires and tubes for an extra day or so.  But you know, I don't feel ANY different about or towards Owen than I did any of my other kids.  The bonding is the same, the emotions are more stable if anything, and he's doing great, even if his cord was immediately clamped :-)  Physically, the pain is different, but I actually think I was MORE physically miserable after Isaac's birth (probably due to less drugs) :-)  

Within hours the kids got to come meet their new little brother.  They're smitten -- Isaac is by far the most excited to hold the baby, and wants to ALL day long.  Recovery in the hospital went well -- I felt surprisingly great until the third day, then like a truck hit me for about half a day, then I've gotten progressively better ever since.  I loved having the kids come see me -- for about 10 minutes.  Then, as was even proven by the nurse who did my vitals during one visit, my blood pressure and pulse would start to rise and I kinda couldn't wait 'til Greg took them home.  A small hospital room is NOT the best entertaining space for a 17 month old and a 3 1/2 year old . . . especially when you can only entertain them with graham crackers and the buttons that make the bed go up and down (hopefully without hitting the nurse call button on accident too often).  During one visit the kids were fighting, Isaac ran out of the room and ran free down the hall, and Isaac and Greg accidently spilled a giant cup of ice water on my lap, in my bed.  I so wanted to ask the nurse if I could stay one extra day at that point.  :-)  But, by Monday I was ready to come home.  Greg's been great, taking care of the kids and everything that takes place on the main floor of the house while I mainly hang out with a tiny, squeaky little guy all day upstairs.

I need to write more, but Owen's just woke up from his nap.  But, I figure I should throw out the essentials:
Born December 30th, at 4:08 AM
7 pounds 15 ounces (7 lbs. 5 oz. when we left the hospital)
21" long (my longest by a whole inch!)
He looks an awful lot like his older brother (his pediatrician's reaction when she first saw him was, and I quote, "Holy crap, woman! You gave birth to your son's twin!  That's creepy!"  You'd have to know her, but it was pretty funny, and she spent the rest of the exam mildly freaked out by the similarities.)

And, of course, pictures from our first day in the hospital (one or two might be from Day 2) . . .

Turned Upside Down

My last midwife's appointment didn't go quite as expected.  She measured, felt around a little, and looked a little worried.  She started looking for a heartbeat, and it was taking a lot longer than normal, and she was looking more concerned.  Finally, I heard that reassuring 'whoosh, whoosh, whoosh' and I smiled at her, but she wasn't smiling back.  "These heart tones are high . . . " she said, "Not fast, but higher up on your body than they should be he's engaged.  Has you felt any big, dramatic movements recently?"  He's been active, but nothing that felt really dramatic, I thought.  Then I remembered a few days ago where I'd made Greg feel my stomach for like 20 straight minutes because there was so much more movement than normal.  But nothing that felt like he'd flipped.  She did an internal check, I'm less dilated than I was two weeks ago, and the baby was so high she couldn't positively identify the presenting body part since he was floating up so high.  This baby has been head down and further down than any of my other kids for longer than any of my other kids have been.  To hear he was just suddenly up 'floating' was really odd.  Especially since I'd been feeling so much new pressure and pelvic pain over the last couple days.  She had the receptionist call the OBs office to get me in for an ultrasound, as soon as possible.  Worst fears confirmed, and there was my little boy's butt, straight down.  Frank breech.  I couldn't believe it.  How does this full term baby who's been head down for months, suddenly flip.  And why?  Why now?  My due date is less than a week away, and I'm rapidly running out of time for him to flip back around.  And I'm frustrated, because I feel like all my options have been stripped away.  Breech births have become pretty much an automatic c-section in the obstetrics world.  Despite the fact I have lightening fast births, my babies pop out in seconds with almost no effort, and that we have a family history of successful breech births (my Mom was born breech in one push), I won't even be given the chance to try in a hospital.  I'll be numbed, strapped to a table, and be given a c-section.  I know a c-section isn't the worst thing, by any stretch of the imagination.  But all I can think of is having to stay in the hospital longer to recover, while Isaac is home even longer without me.  Then getting home after 'abandoning' him for longer than I've ever left him before, and not even being able to pick up my 17 month old son.  How do I explain that to him?  Stairs, which are plentiful in our house, will be so much more difficult, and I will have a baby and a toddler who expect to be carried up and down them every time someone needs to eat or the door bell rings, or I need anything on another floor of my house.  I know it'll all be temporary.  A few hard weeks are a blink in the eye of this life, and in the long run it won't matter that the first few weeks of Owen's life were more complicated than the other kids.  But man, those few weeks are scaring the crap out of me. 

I feel like my whole world just got turned upside down on me, not just the baby.  What could I have done differently?  Is it the position I sleep in?  I'm going to a chiropractor today . . . what if it doesn't work?  What if it doesn't work in time?  What positions do I try, of all the millions of suggestions to be found on google, which ridiculous looking positions do I actually put myself in to try and make things conducive to turning?  (Um, I will not be standing on my head.  I'm sure it's beneficial with gravity and all, but I told Greg I couldn't do that under normal circumstances, I most definitely can't do it at 39+ weeks pregnant.)  What if he flips back around, only to turn around breech the next day?  How do I fix this?  How do I prevent it from happening again if I can somehow fix it?  How much time do I have left?  How do I know if he flipped?  I couldn't tell he had the first time, how do I know if he turns head down?  How do I get some sleep when this is all I can think about?

Please Baby, please turn again.  Mom needs you to turn again. 

Upswing

Good news.  Isaac seems to be over the worst of it.  His little body is returning to normal and he seems to be bouncing back from his latest major illness.  We never did get any answers.  The lab royally screwed up our best chance of finding out what was wrong.  Not that I'm bitter.  But, he's getting better.  Of course, with his immune system weakened by a nearly month long illness, it shouldn't really be a surprise that he has the same cough and congestion that everyone else in our family has had.  Although it's Ellie who seems to have been hit hardest by it.  She refused to go anywhere today, informing me she was sick and should stay home in pajamas all day.  I couldn't really argue that.  :-)  Both little kids are a bit on the grumpy side, so I took Annie with me this evening and went to two different wedding receptions, getting home after 9:30 tonight.  Annie LOVED her 'grown up' time with Mom, Grandma and Grandpa, and Talina and David.  She was especially a fan of the candy bagging tables at both receptions.  Ellie, on the other hand, had the time of her life staying home with just Dad, and making cookies.  (Greg also had made dinner.  It was awesome, as were the cookies.  So I couldn't even be bugged that EVERY. SINGLE. DISH we own was now lying dirty in the sink or on the counter or on the stove top or on the table or on the floor . . . you get the idea.)

Isaac is back to sleeping through the night (for the most part), except that he LOVES waking up before 6AM.  Greg and I now refuse to acknowledge awakeness (other than a quick diaper check) until after 6AM.  So far neither side seems to be budging on this. 

The girls, on the other hand, have conspired against us (along with the virus causing their coughs).  They take turns coughing until we wake up, having nightmares that wake us up, or TALKING IN THEIR FREAKING SLEEP . . . usually in a, "MOM!  Come quick!  Help!" kinda way that makes adrenaline shoot through me as I spring from my bed (difficult to 'spring' at 33 weeks pregnant) and run into their room, only to find the talker is soundly asleep.  Sigh.  Neither of them have ever really been sleep talkers, and yet last night, I know Annie called out for us several times, and Ellie contributed once or twice to the Mom-rousing-conversation last night. 

But all in all, things seem to be on an upswing.  Having Isaac not being stressful-levels-of-sick is doing a wonder for mine and everyone else's mood. 

And thanks everyone for all the sweet comments on my last post . . . it is nice to know that I'm a.) not alone, and b.) not annoying everyone if I complain about something stressful in my life :-)

Ewwww

So, cleaning up a blow out diaper that I discovered while Isaac was sitting on the carpet in my bedroom was bad enough.

Finding when I got out the carpet shampooer that when it was used last (to clean up vomit), it hadn't been emptied, made it worse.  That had to be the nastiest smelling water ever.  And we've set a new all time low bar around here for nasty smells.

And did I mention that during a diaper change yesterday morning, a moving, squirming larvae was discovered?  Alive.  In Isaac's poop.  Which I got to 'capture', sick in a specimen jar, along with yet another stool sample, and take to the hospital for more tests.  Meaning that more than once in the last week I've walked into a public building with a jar of poop in a brown paper bag.  Once with a live bug in it. 

I lead a glamorous, glamorous life :-)

Poor Baby

This has got to let up soon.  Right?  He's so little, he can't stay this sick for this long.  He needs a break, I need a break.  His poor little body has been taxed all week, and it just seems like he deserves a bit of a break.  I have no answers, just a sick baby who isn't getting any better.  Tests haven't told us anything, and my doctor's office is pissing me off in their completely blasé attitude about our situation.  It took all I had to not yell at the nurse the other day, when she snottily told me, "Well, according to his charts, you can't even tell us when this all started."  I explained again, I'm not quite sure . . . the stools just got a little more frequent and a little looser, but he was teething and drooling.  He's always had loose and frequent stools with teething.  I honestly am not sure when it started, it just kept getting a little worse bit by bit.  What I do know is that last Thursday, he had a couple diapers where the stool was basically water, and I called and took him in to the doctor's immediately.  I know he was throwing up and barely able to stay hydrated Sunday morning.  I know the vomiting thankfully stopped and he started chugging pedialyte (to the tune of 2+ liters a day since Sunday), and we got him hydrated and didn't have to do an ER visit.  But the diarrhea isn't getting any better.  I know there are some hours I change 4, 5 or 6 diapers an hour.  I know we're struggling against a persistent diaper rash because of this.  I know it lets up enough for him to nap, usually, but starts up with a vegenenge as soon as he wakes up.  I know he's tired, and his body is drained.  He woke up so many times last night, then woke up at 6AM, and we never could get him back to sleep.  His whole world is off.  I'm keeping his diet as bland as possible, which he's not always happy about.  He's stopped drinking water, he refuses anything but pedialyte (which we learned the hard way when we ran out in the middle of the night and he wouldn't take a sip of anything until we got him more pedialyte.)  He's uncomfortable, he's miserable.  He tries so hard to be happy, but mornings like this he's basically cried, cuddled, screamed, thrown things, cuddled again and then sobbed pretty much all morning.  I don't know what to do for him.  We are waiting on one last test result, but I have little hope it will tell us something.  We're all so tired, and drained.  Poor Ellie feels so lost in the shuffle.  It seems like every single time she needs me or wants my attention, I'm elbows deep in the latest mess with Isaac -- "Ellie, I can't!  I'm changing Isaac's clothes/giving Isaac a bath/have diaper rash cream smeared half way across the carpet 'cause your brother rolled away when I attempted to touch his sore, sore butt."  Isaac needs so much of my energy and attention, and my energy was already in short supply between not sleeping well and being 32 weeks pregnant.  I've tried to set aside Isaac's naptimes for one-on-one Ellie time, but the last couple days she's been so super pissy and upset by the time that's rolled around, that she's needed a nap herself.  Poor Annie's picking up all kinds of slack -- my five year old has made lunch the last two days for her and her sister.  Peanut butter sandwiches, carrot sticks and grapes.  She's got out yogurt for snacks for them, she's carefully doled out prearranged portions of their Halloween candy for each of them, and she's an expert at putting in and changing movies.  My kids have watched so much more television than usual this week.  I haven't been sending them to friend's houses, and obviously friends aren't coming to our house, so they both feel bored and isolated.  I feel like a recluse, we haven't gone anywhere but to the doctor's and hospital and to buy more pedialyte (I need to rearrange my grocery budget this month -- I hadn't planned on the $60+ we've already spent on the stuff this week).  I just yearn for a glimpse of our normal life.  When we're not consumed by this illness, this nameless, elusive illness that has taken over our home and made our lives hellish.  I just want my baby to feel better, for our lives to feel normal again.  To know that my baby is okay, that serious damage isn't being done to his tiny body.  I just want some answers.  I just want him to be well.

Halloween, Piano Recital, and a Sick Baby

Annie had her first ever Piano Recital this weekend.  

Unfortunately, her Mom is a video camera idiot, so not only is this first video blurry, but I somehow (without my knowledge) didn't even RECORD the second song she played (a more difficult, "In the Jungle.")

Isaac, Ellie and Annie enjoying the refreshments afterwards.

Then pictures from yesterday, before Trick or Treating.

The weather could not have been more perfect, and the girls enjoyed over TWO HOURS of trick or treating last night!  (One hour in our neighborhood, then up to my parent's neighborhood for a spook alley and some more trick or treating.)  Poor Isaac though, never even got into his costume last night.  He's been so very, very sick (almost necessitating a hospital visit on Sunday, but fortunately, he finally stopped throwing up and we've been able to keep him hydrated since), and was down for a nap the first half of trick or treating, and was up screaming during the second half.  The kid is guzzling down the pedialyte (to the tune of about 50-80 ounces a day), and starting to eat a bit more, so amazingly he hasn't lost any weight.  (I was SHOCKED when we had him weighed at the doctor's today, that he hadn't lost anything since last Thursday when we had been there last . . . apparently pedialyte, crackers and bananas are somehow enough to keep him from wasting away.) Him staying the same weight is really saying something, when you realize that just from blow out diapers, we went through every last crib sheet we own between 5AM-8AM this morning; we're changing diapers 3-4 times an hour during his waking hours, and we've had two nights we've run out of clean pajamas . . . and that's with us doing about 3 large loads of laundry a day since Sunday.  It's been really heartbreaking to see him this sick, and I'm hoping the latest tests they are running at the hospital will get us some answers, but this may just be a case of a particularly nasty stomach bug we have to wait out.  It's been kinda funny to see him with a bottle -- the kid has never taken a bottle before, other than the one I cut the tip off of that I serve him his morning spinach smoothies in.  But suddenly, he's attached to one 24-7, and is drinking from a pedialyte filled bottle pretty much around the clock.  Watch, he'll end up attached to one at 16 months old and I'll have to wean him from it :-)
Isaac, Ellie and their two week old cousin Bailey were all supposed to be matching pumpkins for Halloween, but unfortunately Isaac never got dressed up and there's no way we're bringing a two week old anywhere near anyone at our house, so unfortunately we have no pictures this Halloween of the tiny trio.  Maybe we'll do a makeup photo session next week?

Mommy Martyr Moments

There are some weeks you just feel dumped on.  I had one such week a couple weeks ago, when Isaac was eating even more nonstop than normal (so I felt like I was preparing, feeding or cleaning up food all our waking hours), and the unfortunate bi-product of such an appetite was an astounding number of diapers that had to be changed.  And, since he is self-feeding most meals, we are giving him lots of baths.  And for a solid week, the kid pooped in the bathtub once TO TWICE A DAY.  Every day.  For a week.  (And three or four times on the bathroom floor.  This is on top of the many diapers I was changing.  Usually right before I even put him in the stupid tub).  I went through more bleach that week that I normally do in six months . . .

I was feeling a bit 'woe-is-me-ish,' a tad like I was stuck in a poop-filled Groundhogs Day that was leaving me feeling oddly, well, picked on.  Which is silly.  I chose the life of being a Mommy, I relish it, I'm thankful for it, it's a huge blessing and wonderful opportunity that I cherish.  But cleaning up human bodily fluids and waste for hours a day does a number on you.  And despite it being crazy, it was starting to feel like they were doing this on purpose (like right after Isaac pooped in the tub, Ellie would come in and sheepishly inform me she'd just had an accident on the carpet in the hall.  The carpet I had SHAMPOOED TWO DAYS BEFORE.)  But I snapped out of it, and life went back to normal amounts of food (which is still a ton for my tiny son, the kid ears nearly nonstop) and slightly more appropriate levels of human waste being dealt with in our home.  And I got over my feelings of 'you have got to be kidding me/is this really my life?' that had been plaguing me for a few days, and things felt good again.

Then Ellie started coughing at night.  She's fine all day.  Happy, playful, energetic, and snot- and cough-free.  Not the least bit sick. Then she falls asleep, and a couple hours later, she starts to cough.  And cough, and cough so hard that she starts to throw up.  And throw up.  And throw up some more.  I've done 6 loads of laundry in the last three days, just to keep up on the backlog of blankets/stuffed animals/pillows/towels/pajamas that she's puked on.  It's most likely asthma, which is a bit depressing to me.  Annie has this happen too, she's fine all day, then at night she starts to cough and will continue to cough until it makes her throw up.  But, with Annie this usually doesn't happen until the weather is cold.  We start her preventative inhalers twice a day sometime in October, and tend to keep using them until March, then the rest of the year she doesn't needs them.  We're getting Ellie into a doctor soon, and hopefully we'll have some answers, but since the most likely answer is a steroid inhaler, I'm not too happy about it.  The other night she woke up more times than I can count, and started throwing up repeatedly on five different occasions.  Last night, it was fortunately only twice that she had puking fits, but it was after midnight before we got everyone back in bed, since she was so happily wired to be awake and running around after I'd cleaned her up when she threw up at 10:30.  I finally fell asleep around 1AM.  A third night of being up late and waking up repeatedly with a coughing child, so I was tired, and really sad that it was already 1AM.  Then (and here's where I admit to feeling picked on, even though it's silly, 'cause it's not like there's an actual plot against my by conspiring children) Isaac woke up at 5:30 this morning.  I was struck with such an overwhelming feeling of, "You have got to be freaking kidding me?!"  I went in and took care of him, then we put him back to bed, hoping he'd (by some miracle) sleep again 'til 7AM.  It didn't happen.  He cried and fussed and yelled at me from his crib for most of an hour, before I finally admitted this wasn't gonna happen . . . then his sisters came wandering into my room at a quarter to seven.  I looked at Ellie, who we'd just gotten to sleep a mere 7 hours ago, and thought again, "You have got to be kidding me?!" And despite being so tired he can barely function, Isaac fought me to go down for a nap from 9AM (where he complicated matters by having a blow out diaper in his crib . . . yay!  More sheets to wash!), until 10:30AM, when I fed him a mid-morning snack and he finally fell asleep.

I am reminding myself today that motherhood isn't always easy, and it's often monotonous and less than fun when you focus on the jobs of changing diapers, washing dishes, doing laundry and cooking food.  So, it's time to focus not on the chores, but the blessings.  And I may be tired, beyond words to describe (being 24 weeks pregnant and hormonal are not helping any of this), but my children will only be this young for such a brief time.  They're growing and developing at such astounding rates that I feel like I could blink and miss it.  Life can be a bit overwhelming with three kids this young, and the reminder of one more on the way, but I wouldn't have it any other way.  Isaac brought me a book today, and happily chattered, 'book, book!' while he opened it up to show me the animals.  "Woof!" he exclaimed as he pointed at the llama.  He loves to cuddle up and have me rub his back.  Annie and I spent almost an hour yesterday afternoon, curled up in my bed reading a book.  Ellie makes me laugh nearly constantly, and is coming up to me all the time now and asking for another page of 'homework'.  (Usually worksheets where she traces letters).  They are beyond amazing.

Yeah, if I focus on the lack of sleep, the poop in the tub and the endless kitchen chores, it gets overwhelming, and even a bit depressing.  So, I'm working on not focusing on that . . . although, a good night's sleep would go a long ways in helping me refocus :-)

So today, I'm gonna focus on this:

Could they possibly be ANY cuter?!

Utah State Fair 2011

We all met up with Aunt Talina and Uncle David at the Utah State Fair today.

The kids loved seeing the animals.  Isaac especially, he happily 'mooed' at the cows, tried repeatedly to stick his fingers into goats' mouths, and he squealed happily whenever he heard the roosters.  He also impressed us by busting out two new words, "Rooster" and "Feathers".  The bird building was a big hit.

Annie and Isaac happily checked out all the animals.  (Ellie's not in as many pictures, since for some reason she was in a less than happy mood.)

 He could not get close enough to the goats and sheep.

 Annie and Isaac thought the bunny rabbit was the softest thing ever, and two out of my three kids were happy to pose as bears in the cutouts.

 Isaac checking out the Bison head with some help from Uncle David.

Annie measuring up to bears.

 Isaac trying on a hat.  Seconds later my sister Talina pointed out the 'please no pictures' sign in the vendors booth.  Oops!

These pictures of Isaac were from a couple days ago.

Poor Isaac got an eye full of sand (that Ellie was haphazardly tossing around the sandbox) that for some reason made his whole face swell up and turn red.  These pictures are after I'd bathed him, and Greg and I had tried to flush his eye out a few times with a squirt bottle of water.  Which is why the poor kid got his very own sucker, 'cause his Mom felt so bad for pinning him down while prying his eye open while Dad sprayed water in it.  Unfortunately, when we checked it again, his lower lid was still filled with sand, so we had to flush it a few more times, but fortunately it looked back to normal the next morning.  I still don't know how Ellie got THAT much sand in such a tiny eye . . .