Weekend Pictures

My cousin Makayla had her Mission Homecoming on Sunday, so after Church, we all headed to my Aunt Judy's house for the afternoon.  The kids had so much fun seeing all the extended family, especially the second cousins.  In fact, Ellie's prayer last night at Family Home Evening went something like this, "Thank you for Jesus and for Makayla.  Thank you for Makayla's mission so that we got to go play with Jaxson and Kenzie.  I LOVE playing with Kenzie and Jaxson, especially in the basement with the toys." 

Isaac was a fan of the food.  Well, the desserts, at least.  When I walked into this scene I asked Greg if maybe a sugar cookie would've made more sense for the one year old than the Red Velvet cupcake . . . :-)  

Isaac had fun playing on the pool table, putting the balls in the various pockets.  Interesting fun fact we learned -- Isaac can count to 10!  Yeah, I didn't know that.  My sister Star called me down and was all, 'Watch this!' and she's hand a ball to Isaac, he'd count it, then put it in the pocket closest to him.  He struggles sometimes with numbers 3 & 4, but from 5 on he has no problem at all . . . 

Since we were all dressed up and all (except Owen, 'cause he just wears pajamas 24-7), we figured we might as well get a 'family photo' of all of us in one place . . .

My adorable little boys.

 And then today, I snapped a couple adorable sleeping pictures of Owen.  'Cause he's sleeping less nowadays and I want to remember this; plus, is there anything more adorable than a sleeping baby?!

Speaking of sleep, guess who went SIX hours between feedings last night?  The kid did not wake up until 4AM.  That's amazing.  I think Annie was nearing a year old before she was sleeping that long of a stretch :-)  I don't want to get my hopes up too much that this'll be our new norm, but MAN, do I love me a sleeping baby!  Makes life so much easier! :-)

Three Weeks Already?

So, Owen's three weeks old now (or was yesterday).  That flew by fast.  I'm still kind of in shock and awe with how great I've been feeling this fourth time around.  I was pretty excited to find that my normal 2-3 week postpartum mood swings (when I feel like I lose all patience and reason for a week or so starting around 2 weeks postpartum) were nonexistent this time.  Or so I thought, turned out it just waited 'til three weeks to start, but they've fortunately (for my children) been much milder.  So starting yesterday, I find the kids pretty annoying anytime they do anything crazy, weird or loud, but for the most part I don't lose it with anyone for no reason whatsoever.  :-)  I'm not sure if it's the hormones that are totally different this time, or if it's just that I'm getting pretty decent sleep (more than when I was pregnant.)  Probably a combination of both.

Yesterday I went to the dentist, then the hospital to visit my Grandma, who's had a rough week or so.  Greg stayed out in the van with the baby (I didn't want to bring him into the hospital, and I didn't want to leave him with anyone for that long), then afterwards came home, but stopped off first at the new Schmidt's Bakery and ate a sugar cookie while I nursed the baby (which is why I hadn't wanted to leave him with anyone, since he went CRAZY on the drive and insisted on eating that very second), then we headed back to my parents to pick up our kids.   I called my Dad, to let him know about the delay for feeding the baby, and asked if the kids had eaten anything.  "Yeah, I fed them . . . I gotta go, they're attacking . . ."  Click.  Then we called when we were almost there (since my Dad insists we do that so the kids have adequate time to find hiding spots).  He was all, "How far out are you?"  I said, "We'll be there any minute . . ." "Sounds good," he responded, then as he hung up I heard him yell, "BATTLE STATIONS!"  Should be no surprise that when we came in, Greg was attacked by several little kids with Nerf guns.  Then they excitedly told me about how they'd had ice cream and popcorn for dinner.  I think there's a reason they ask for Grandpa as their babysitter . . .

And right now, my sister Lacy just showed up to babysit the three oldest while Greg and I (and Owen, who we're hoping sleeps the whole time) go to Kneaders for a must deserved dinner date!  Wish us luck . . . I'd really like to get through this without the baby screaming mightily while we're out!

Of course, we also need some three week pictures of Owen . . .

Productivity

I'm still supposed to be taking it 'easy,' but Greg is officially back to work (as of Monday of this week) and that puts me solely in charge of the welfare of four young children and the home they live in (and trash regularly).  I've been surprised at how great I've felt.  The baby sleeping 3 hour stretches almost all night is a big part of that, I'm getting more sleep and am more rested than I was when I was still pregnant!  A lot of my time is, rightfully, spent cuddling and nursing a newborn, but in between I've been happy to see how much a motivated Mom can get done.  Dishes, breakfast, kids ready for school and wipe down some counters and change the laundry before Annie's even left for school.  I don't think I was that productive before I had a newborn around.  I've been so pleased with how well I've felt, emotionally and physically, after having this baby.  I do not feel like I just had a baby two and a half weeks ago.  I'm way more rested than that :-)

Isaac's also quite productive.  Take for instance this afternoon.  Just while I was nursing the baby, he managed to get his hands on a red marker, write on the chairs in the kitchen, the walls in the hall, a couple doors, and then for his true masterpiece, he took that marker into the bathroom, and while repeatedly dipping it into the toilet, he managed to 'paint' nearly every surface of the bathroom (and most of his exposed skin) in red toilet water.  Floors, counters, cabinets, walls, the toilet lid (every single 'layer' of the toilet seat) and the potty chair.

Isaac's still talking a ton too.  Leaving my sister's house the other day, I said, "It's time to go home," to which Isaac responded by standing up and enthusiastically yelling, "Out to the van now,  guys!" ("Guys" is how he refers to his sisters as a group -- singularly, it's "Annie sisser Annie" and "Ellie sisser Ellie.")   I marvel at how much he 'gets' about how to use language for his age.  Ellie was two and a half years old and still referring to herself in third person ("That Lala's bear")  The other day I asked who wanted more grapes, and he yelled, "Me!!  I do, I do!"   Whenever he points something out, it's "That's a doggie," or "That's a ball."  Looking at a book last night, he saw a picture of a broken cookie jar and he shouted out, very concerned, "Oh no!  Broken!  Fall down on floor!  Broken, down!"  He's also my first real 'mimic' .  . . he repeats back whatever he hears, sometimes hitting up to 7 and 8 words from a particular sentence he heard.  On his own, unprompted, he talks in several word sentences throughout the day.  Not to mention his ongoing, indistinguishable, narrative of life.  Whole paragraphs of stuff we don't understand.  Greg mentioned the other day that between the strides Isaac's making in speaking, and with Greg staying home for two weeks with the kids, he's amazed at how much he understands of what Isaac has to say now.  He is pretty impressive at getting his point across -- a gift I still feel strongly that he was blessed with 'cause he'd have a new little brother around to be the 'baby' when Isaac was not even 18 months old. He is also very vocal about what he likes -- asking for specific foods, colors of blankets, books, songs, movies, youtube videos, people and games.  He asks about Owen all day long, and wants to hold him nearly constantly.  He seems a bit disturbed by how much the baby sleeps.

Two Weeks

Owen is two weeks old today.  I can't believe how quickly this has gone (and that Greg goes back to work on Monday, eep!) 
And I can't believe how well it's gone.  Well, the kids have been crazy (whiny, fighting, moody and grumpy more often that we're used to, but it's understandable -- and hopefully temporary), but Owen's been pretty near angelic.  (Baby's really do SLEEP all freaking day.  I mean, he opens his eyes sometimes, and he fusses loudly sometimes when we're all trying to sleep, and his awake time is stretching out to actual pieces of time that are measurable . . . but I've never seen a baby sleep so much.)  He did have one 1-hour stretch of crying the other night, while Greg was gone at meetings, where I had to bust out all the old tricks -- white noise, side lying, bouncing, rocking, swaddling, binkie, etc . . . and it freaked me out in a colic-PTSD way, but that's only happened once.  Personally, I can't believe how good I've felt.  Physically, the recovery has gone really well.  I mean, there are days I feel a little like I was hit by a truck, but for the most part, I feel amazing.  A little sore and wary of my bouncing 18 month old who likes to throw his full weight or various limbs at my incision, but pretty darn good.  Emotionally, I have never felt quite so well after a birth.  I've been lucky that I've never dealt with any real postpartum emotional issues, but I've been weepy here and there after a baby . . . this time, I have not cried even once since I had Owen.  Not once.  And considering how weepy I was when he was breech and things were up in the air with how we would deliver, that's amazing to me that I've been so emotionally stable since the birth. :-)   I did find it a bit ironic that I was asked on Wednesday by my Midwife how nursing was going, that I happily reported that things were going amazing and I hadn't had any pain at all . . . then I woke up next morning with pain so intense I can barely breathe the first minute or so every time he latches on and the cracks and bleeding and pain are pretty freaking intense.  Of course.  Can't wait for this part to be over!
For one of of my first solo outings, Owen, Annie and I went out yesterday and took Owen to get his two week pictures done.  He was an awfully cooperative little baby, the photographer commented that he was able to do 'level 10 baby photography' with putting Owen in whatever position and poses he wanted to.  I think they turned out pretty cute . . .

Owen's First Family Party

So, Owen attended his first extended family party, at the ripe old age of 8 days old.  It was my Grandma's 80th birthday party, and we'd planned a surprise party for her.  My sisters and I set up shop at my Mom's house, while my parents and Aunts and Uncles had my Grandparents out to dinner.  Before my grandparents and the older generations of the family (um, sorry Mom) showed up, we played around with the camera and took some of the first 'family' photos where Greg and I both show up in the picture with all four of our children.

One of the surprises for my Grandma was that my sister Star had gone by the home my Uncle Karl lives in, and picked him up for the party.  Karl LOVES birthday parties, and hates to miss any of them.  He also had been talking about meeting 'Baby Owen' ever since he heard I'd had the baby, so we couldn't wait to get some pictures of the two of them meeting for the first time . . .  

Karl giving Owen 'eskimo kisses' on his arm

 My Aunt Judy and Uncle Jerry meeting Owen for the first time.

My grandparents had fun holding their two newest great grandchildren.

Here's the birthday girl herself with my niece Bailey and my Grandpa with Owen. 

 

 I had to get some pictures of Owen in his car seat . . . the first was when he was first put in the seat, the second was approximately 4 minutes later.

It was fun to have my extended family all get to see the kids -- cousins, Great Aunts, Aunts and Uncles, all getting to meet Owen for the first time.  It was even worth my anxiety about all those germs :-)

Name That Baby

Name that baby . . . here's my four kids as babies . . . anyone able to correctly identify all four?

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) . . .

More Christmas Day

Aunt Star with a crazy-faced Ellie

Ellie with Mom & Dad (and Agent P. and Dr. D. chattering bobble heads)

Talina and Bailey (who had JUST enough side tuft hair to try on a new gigantic bow.  And Lacy proudly displaying her present from Star.

Grandma and Grandpa with baby Bailey and the present our newly-freakishly-craft Lacy made for Mom.

How freaking cute is my niece?!

The family.

Grandma and Ellie

Aunt Star and a crazy-faced Ellie.  Again.

Annie giving Uncle David a kiss.

Random, but we have a picture of Annie wearing a Statue of Liberty foam hat.

Man, I Love These Two . . .

 And then just a quick picture tutorial of what it means to be a little brother of two big sisters . . . sometimes, they try their new Christmas robes on you . . . and you look freakishly adorable :-)

 Especially when you're helping to change laundry in your new robe . . .

Warning:  I am quite capable of bursting into spontaneous tears just looking at Isaac right now.  Despite the fact that I believe a baby brother, so close in age to him, will be one of the greatest blessings in his life, I can't help but melt down a little into a puddle of, "My poor baby's whole world is gonna be turned upside down in the next week or so, and he has no idea what happening and I don't know how to prepare him for it."  Having him be so much younger than his sisters were when they were first introduced to a younger sibling has been a big difference -- he's still a baby in so many ways.  Must stop thinking about it now, or I will start crying again.  :-)

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.