Dearest Puck,
In the middle of the night on November 4th you made your way into this world. You screamed for a good hour and nothing I would do could calm you. Eventually, you tuckered yourself out and slept through the night and you haven't cried since (except for a little incident where you peed on your own face).
You are such a good baby. You wake to feed every three to five hours with barely a squak to let me know you're hungry. The last day you have been a bit gassy but some gripe water has helped you out quite nicely. So far you have proven to be my easiest baby. Unlike Gabriel I don't have any of the new mommy jitters. I don't have to worry about you being too weak to eat, or about your physical development. I don't have to see multiple doctors and nurses for assessments, and I don't have to be terrified of every cold virus that enters my home. And unlike Edie you know how to sleep! You don't cry or whine 24/7 like she did, and so far you haven't developed the dreaded colic like your big sister had.
You are my final baby. My last infant. And i'm a little sad about this. I can't imagine what it's going to be like...all your milestones...bittersweet. And because you are my last I plan on cherishing every last one of them...from the first smile to your first steps. I will celebrate these moments beside you, cheering you on, and encouraging your independence... But I promise you, my heart will break a little. I don't know what it is about my babies...but it seems you all grow up much too quickly.
You are six days old today Preston just old enough to start losing your umbilical cord. Another moment I never thought I could be sad about. But it was your life line to me for so long. Your ultimate dependence on me, and already you are telling me you don't need me as much anymore. With this very first step towards independence I feel the sudden urge to make you a few promises...
I promise that although you are my last you will be just as special as my first.
I promise that although you aren't the only boy in the house, you will be recognized as your own little person, with your own little personality.
I promise that although you won't get the one on one time like your big brother did, you will get family time, something highly cherished and revered in our household.
I promise that although some moments you will absolutely detest having older siblings, there will be moments when your sister or brother does something extra special for you. A kiss when you fall, or a hug when you cry, or a whispered "I love you" after you have fallen asleep.
I promise you that your dad will wrestle with you, just as much as he does with your siblings. He will beam with pride at every new milestone, much as he did when he discovered that we had another precious, little boy entering our busy household.
And I promise you little Puck, that I will kiss your hurts, hold your hand, and cuddle your fears away. I will love you in every way I know how. You are my last little baby and because of this you have a special place in my heart. Just like Gabriel who was my first, and your sister whose my only daughter. Each of you is special, and unique. Each of you will always be my precious, little babies no matter how old you get, no matter how independent you become. Nothing will change how I see you. I will always look at you and see that screaming little body who broke into my world and forever changed it for the better.
I love you so very much. With all my heart and soul. So grow up little one, grow up and become a daddy yourself. There is not a thing in this whole, wide world more precious than the bond a parent has with their child. This I swear, and it is the biggest promise I will make to you.
XOXOXOX
Mom.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Preston's birth
November third came with the expectation I would have a baby that day. I had started contracting at 2:30 in the morning and continued until five. I fell asleep at around 5:15 and slept until eight without another contraction to wake me. I realized than it must have been false labour.
That morning the kids were their usual selves. Edie was cheerful and giggly and Gabe was a typical two year old (bipolar to say the least). I decided to get them out of the house and we walked to a nearby coffee shop and I treated them to orange juice and chocolate chip muffins.
That night I was tired and cranky, my back was killing me, and I decided that spaghetti would be the easiest meal to make. I chatted on the phone with my sister and complained about all my false labour and told her that I wasn't sure if I would know when true labour began. After dinner, daddy brought out a much anticipated present for Gabriel and Edie; Toy Story 3! As we sat there watching the movie I started to get contractions again. I told Scott that I was going to have a bath so I could stop the false labour and get some sleep that night.
After a few hours labouring in the bath I realized the contractions weren't getting better and in fact were intensifying in pain. That's when it dawned on me that it had to be real labour. After a lot of cursing and muttering about no one answering their phone we finally got ahold of Scott's brother and grandparents to come over and watch the kids.
We headed to the hospital and after an assessment they determined I was 4 cm dilated, 80 percent effaced, and not going home anytime soon! Soon they had me in my room where I immediately hopped into the shower for my back labour. The nurse brought me "the gas" to help with the pain and soon I was sucking back on that while my husband sprayed hot water on my sore lower back.
After a half hour the gas was making me really woozy. I told Scott I had to get back to the bed. The nurse came in during the transfer and noticed that the tank had been leaking. This explained Scott's wooziness since we had hotboxed that tiny bathroom pretty good! Scott later told me he thought he was going to pass out. After an hour of labouring on my hands in knees in the bed I requested something with a little more kick for my pain. The nurse gave me a single dose of fentanol before I told her I had to push. She checked me and I was 10 cm dilated.
The doctor was paged and after she arrived I pushed with abandon and within 4 minutes my son was born. I recieved two stitches and spent a quiet night alone with my last and final baby. And for once my little one wasn't taken to the NICU to live his first few days of life without me.
We named him Preston and we call him Puck (he was conceived after Canada won gold at the 2010 winter olympics). His brother and sister adore him (maybe a little too much). Edie throws a fit if she can't hold him and Gabe calls him "my baby Puck". He's such a perfect little guy and boy do I love him; boy...do we ALL love him!
That morning the kids were their usual selves. Edie was cheerful and giggly and Gabe was a typical two year old (bipolar to say the least). I decided to get them out of the house and we walked to a nearby coffee shop and I treated them to orange juice and chocolate chip muffins.
That night I was tired and cranky, my back was killing me, and I decided that spaghetti would be the easiest meal to make. I chatted on the phone with my sister and complained about all my false labour and told her that I wasn't sure if I would know when true labour began. After dinner, daddy brought out a much anticipated present for Gabriel and Edie; Toy Story 3! As we sat there watching the movie I started to get contractions again. I told Scott that I was going to have a bath so I could stop the false labour and get some sleep that night.
After a few hours labouring in the bath I realized the contractions weren't getting better and in fact were intensifying in pain. That's when it dawned on me that it had to be real labour. After a lot of cursing and muttering about no one answering their phone we finally got ahold of Scott's brother and grandparents to come over and watch the kids.
We headed to the hospital and after an assessment they determined I was 4 cm dilated, 80 percent effaced, and not going home anytime soon! Soon they had me in my room where I immediately hopped into the shower for my back labour. The nurse brought me "the gas" to help with the pain and soon I was sucking back on that while my husband sprayed hot water on my sore lower back.
After a half hour the gas was making me really woozy. I told Scott I had to get back to the bed. The nurse came in during the transfer and noticed that the tank had been leaking. This explained Scott's wooziness since we had hotboxed that tiny bathroom pretty good! Scott later told me he thought he was going to pass out. After an hour of labouring on my hands in knees in the bed I requested something with a little more kick for my pain. The nurse gave me a single dose of fentanol before I told her I had to push. She checked me and I was 10 cm dilated.
The doctor was paged and after she arrived I pushed with abandon and within 4 minutes my son was born. I recieved two stitches and spent a quiet night alone with my last and final baby. And for once my little one wasn't taken to the NICU to live his first few days of life without me.
We named him Preston and we call him Puck (he was conceived after Canada won gold at the 2010 winter olympics). His brother and sister adore him (maybe a little too much). Edie throws a fit if she can't hold him and Gabe calls him "my baby Puck". He's such a perfect little guy and boy do I love him; boy...do we ALL love him!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
37 weeks!
I made it. My body did what I believed to be impossible. I carried another baby to term. With my pelvis ground to nearly nothing thanks to SPD (symphysis pubis dysfunction), and my exhaustion hitting all time highs, I'm relieved; and done. I won't do this again. This is my last baby and I'm content with the notion. Truth be told, three kids in three years seems like a good time to end this.
Don't get me wrong, I love my kids, I live for them, but one day I would like to get back to my life, and aspirations. These babies will always be the best thing I will ever do, but i'm ready to start the mediocre, the middle of the road goals, the things easily set aside when you have a child yelling mom at you 100 times a day.
One day I would like to go back to school, take some writing courses and see where this faded dream might take me. It's already brought me here. A journal for my kids. Memories and stories that won't completely fade overtime. I like to think that some day my great-great grandchild will bring in an entry or two for show and tell. But we all hope to have a story survive throughout the generations, don't we? I know my story is already being figuratively written through the people my children will become, but I hope they can have something more literal to hang onto.
I also hope they never let their dreams fade, not until they have given it their best shot, no matter how unlikely the dream may seem at the time. 37 weeks. A huge goal I have reached and accomplished. Now in a few years when this baby is in school, maybe I will accomplish more of the mediocre...just for me.
Don't get me wrong, I love my kids, I live for them, but one day I would like to get back to my life, and aspirations. These babies will always be the best thing I will ever do, but i'm ready to start the mediocre, the middle of the road goals, the things easily set aside when you have a child yelling mom at you 100 times a day.
One day I would like to go back to school, take some writing courses and see where this faded dream might take me. It's already brought me here. A journal for my kids. Memories and stories that won't completely fade overtime. I like to think that some day my great-great grandchild will bring in an entry or two for show and tell. But we all hope to have a story survive throughout the generations, don't we? I know my story is already being figuratively written through the people my children will become, but I hope they can have something more literal to hang onto.
I also hope they never let their dreams fade, not until they have given it their best shot, no matter how unlikely the dream may seem at the time. 37 weeks. A huge goal I have reached and accomplished. Now in a few years when this baby is in school, maybe I will accomplish more of the mediocre...just for me.
Monday, October 25, 2010
On a Dark and Stormy Night.
He had done this to her. The man who stood in the corner, quiet and still, he had brought her to this god forsaken place. She begged for mercy. The tears had long dried upon her face, the pain was too much to even cry about. "I can't...please" she whispered her plea, begging for a reprieve. But he didn't move a muscle, didn't budge from his stubborn perch in the corner. It was his deep blue eyes that betrayed his emotions. They were filled with excitement and a touch of fear, his hands shook at the very prospect of what was about to be. She knew he wouldn't help her, indeed he couldn't.
Her screams bounced off the lime green walls. Their dingy, peeling paint a testament to the hard life they had led and witnessed. The myriads of women who had suffered at the hands of men was a secret these walls whispered amongst themselves years after the screams had faded and the memories were forgotten. The floors, a distant cousin, had tasted blood and known the agony first hand. It held it's own secrets but dare not whisper it like the walls did. Some secrets were better left unspoken.
Her blood pooled under the table beneath her. The woman's agony heard and tasted by the quiet witnesses of the cold, hard concrete that surrounded her. The man had finally moved and stood next to her bedside. He held her hand as the pain rippled through her sore and tortured body. She found comfort in his touch, despite what he had forced her to endure. She gave one final push and her child emerged, his screams matching hers. Suddenly the woman's pain seemed to be forgotten; comforting this squirming, screaming mass was all that mattered. The tears that had long dried up, flowed from her again. Love replaced pain and once more the walls whispered the names of all who had come before them.
Her son was born that dark and stormy night, but it would not be the last time those cold, concrete witnesses would observe the secrets that all women held within them. Life isn't born, it is forced and wrenched into being by a love that knows no bounds. A woman's power can never be matched as it is by her will alone that life is allowed to exist, and indeed, flourish.
Her screams bounced off the lime green walls. Their dingy, peeling paint a testament to the hard life they had led and witnessed. The myriads of women who had suffered at the hands of men was a secret these walls whispered amongst themselves years after the screams had faded and the memories were forgotten. The floors, a distant cousin, had tasted blood and known the agony first hand. It held it's own secrets but dare not whisper it like the walls did. Some secrets were better left unspoken.
Her blood pooled under the table beneath her. The woman's agony heard and tasted by the quiet witnesses of the cold, hard concrete that surrounded her. The man had finally moved and stood next to her bedside. He held her hand as the pain rippled through her sore and tortured body. She found comfort in his touch, despite what he had forced her to endure. She gave one final push and her child emerged, his screams matching hers. Suddenly the woman's pain seemed to be forgotten; comforting this squirming, screaming mass was all that mattered. The tears that had long dried up, flowed from her again. Love replaced pain and once more the walls whispered the names of all who had come before them.
Her son was born that dark and stormy night, but it would not be the last time those cold, concrete witnesses would observe the secrets that all women held within them. Life isn't born, it is forced and wrenched into being by a love that knows no bounds. A woman's power can never be matched as it is by her will alone that life is allowed to exist, and indeed, flourish.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Tiny Feet. For Kris.
"There is no footprint too small, that it cannot leave an imprint on this world".
Dear Chance,
October 15th, 2007, you were born into our family. You never took your first breath to exhale your first cry, but rest assured baby boy, this was done for you by your mom, and your dad. They say a picture says a thousand words, but a thousand tears will speak infinitely more. Your mom's tears tell a story of incredible love and unbearable pain. You see baby boy, as mothers we all share the same dreams. Before our babies take their first breath we imagine...
We imagine the first cries, and the first steps. We wonder about the first words, and what our child's laugh will sound like. We live your entire lifetime inside our own heads, within our own imaginations, before our baby's ever enter this world.
Your mommy dreamed of the day she could hold you, and kiss you, and cuddle your tiny body to hers. But she imagined your lungs would be full of deep and beautiful breaths. She imagined the cries they would expel and how it would be her arms that would be your comfort. Never in her wildest dreams would she imagine your body so still; or that your eyes would never seek hers. She could never imagine a world without you in it.
Oh but baby boy, you would be so proud of her. Somehow she found the strength to walk out of that hospital without you bundled in her arms. She made it through, one painful day at a time, and when she was as healed as a mother could be, she created her second miracle. She went through your brother's pregnancy scared and a little unsure. Her dreams for Gage put on hold until she could be sure, that his tiny feet, would do more than walk beside yours.
But don't worry baby. You haven't been replaced. You will always be her first born, and you will never be forgotten. And on occasion, when she looks at Gage, she can see you. She can hear your laugh, and envision the amusement in your eyes. She can almost see, the way you would play with your little brother, giggling at his army crawl and trying to hold his hand for his first steps. Her love for you will always imagine the life you should have had, a curse and a blessing, if ever there was one. You see because your life counts, it held impact, and on the day you meet again, maybe you can show her that all those dreams she had weren't wasted, and you lived them alongside her all those many years.
You would be three years old today, Chance. Happy Birthday baby boy. I'll light a candle just for you. And your mom will pick up your brother, and cuddle him a little more close and she'll imagine...
Dear Chance,
October 15th, 2007, you were born into our family. You never took your first breath to exhale your first cry, but rest assured baby boy, this was done for you by your mom, and your dad. They say a picture says a thousand words, but a thousand tears will speak infinitely more. Your mom's tears tell a story of incredible love and unbearable pain. You see baby boy, as mothers we all share the same dreams. Before our babies take their first breath we imagine...
We imagine the first cries, and the first steps. We wonder about the first words, and what our child's laugh will sound like. We live your entire lifetime inside our own heads, within our own imaginations, before our baby's ever enter this world.
Your mommy dreamed of the day she could hold you, and kiss you, and cuddle your tiny body to hers. But she imagined your lungs would be full of deep and beautiful breaths. She imagined the cries they would expel and how it would be her arms that would be your comfort. Never in her wildest dreams would she imagine your body so still; or that your eyes would never seek hers. She could never imagine a world without you in it.
Oh but baby boy, you would be so proud of her. Somehow she found the strength to walk out of that hospital without you bundled in her arms. She made it through, one painful day at a time, and when she was as healed as a mother could be, she created her second miracle. She went through your brother's pregnancy scared and a little unsure. Her dreams for Gage put on hold until she could be sure, that his tiny feet, would do more than walk beside yours.
But don't worry baby. You haven't been replaced. You will always be her first born, and you will never be forgotten. And on occasion, when she looks at Gage, she can see you. She can hear your laugh, and envision the amusement in your eyes. She can almost see, the way you would play with your little brother, giggling at his army crawl and trying to hold his hand for his first steps. Her love for you will always imagine the life you should have had, a curse and a blessing, if ever there was one. You see because your life counts, it held impact, and on the day you meet again, maybe you can show her that all those dreams she had weren't wasted, and you lived them alongside her all those many years.
You would be three years old today, Chance. Happy Birthday baby boy. I'll light a candle just for you. And your mom will pick up your brother, and cuddle him a little more close and she'll imagine...
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Picasso
I wonder, is it inherent in all people to want to create? Does everyone start off in the world as little artists and are only dissuaded through proclamations of talent, when compared to another, in which we give up this inherent want? I always enjoyed drawing and coloring, but realized at a young age that any people who possessed eyes could see that art was not my talent to wield.
My circles always look like ovals, my lines are never straight, all animals come out looking like disfigured dogs and I swear I have no idea how I passed geometry as any shape I drew came out looking hexagonish...
So as I sat on the floor this morning drawing and coloring alongside my kids...a thought dawned on me. My kids don't care that my pumpkins look like upside down icecream cones, or that the bats look like mice with wings! All they care about is that mom is creating with them, and that I think every crooked line, and oval circle is wonderfully beautiful. They drew and colored to their hearts content, only stopping to hang a picture on our mahogony cupboards.
Edie and Gabe became so focused on their projects that they never noticed how intently I watched them. Their art speaks volumes. Gabe is so careful in life. He's cautious and slow and never ventures far from his regular comfort zone. He looks before he leaps, and is much like his mother in this regard. But his art allows him a freedom I have never seen come from him. His strokes are bold and courageous. He's quick to color outside the lines leaving streaks of rainbows across my tiled floor. He bravely proclaims that his pictures are of his family and always points out the eyes on our faces. It's the one thing he's meticulous about drawing...Almost as though he knows that eyes are the windows to the soul, like he knows that love can be found there.
Edie is Gabe's polar opposite. She's never cautious in life and will no doubt be the first of our brood to break a body part. She'll always run before she walks and will never look before she leaps. She trusts that this fine line she travels is only worth taking if she journey's to its farthest edge, always perilously balanced on a cliff that could spell disaster or wonderous adrenaline...Oh, but her art! She's slow and careful and every stroke is measured with intense concentration. Every dot, and every line is placed there with exact precision. She adds colors only when it suits her, and only the exact color she deems is worthy. If her brother switches markers with her mid creation, she will throw a fit and refuse to add more to her picture until the color she requires is back in her hands.
Maybe that's what true art is...discovering a piece of ourselves so imbedded in our psyches that it can't escape otherwise! Or maybe i'm over thinking this, and it's just a whole lot of fun!
My circles always look like ovals, my lines are never straight, all animals come out looking like disfigured dogs and I swear I have no idea how I passed geometry as any shape I drew came out looking hexagonish...
So as I sat on the floor this morning drawing and coloring alongside my kids...a thought dawned on me. My kids don't care that my pumpkins look like upside down icecream cones, or that the bats look like mice with wings! All they care about is that mom is creating with them, and that I think every crooked line, and oval circle is wonderfully beautiful. They drew and colored to their hearts content, only stopping to hang a picture on our mahogony cupboards.
Edie and Gabe became so focused on their projects that they never noticed how intently I watched them. Their art speaks volumes. Gabe is so careful in life. He's cautious and slow and never ventures far from his regular comfort zone. He looks before he leaps, and is much like his mother in this regard. But his art allows him a freedom I have never seen come from him. His strokes are bold and courageous. He's quick to color outside the lines leaving streaks of rainbows across my tiled floor. He bravely proclaims that his pictures are of his family and always points out the eyes on our faces. It's the one thing he's meticulous about drawing...Almost as though he knows that eyes are the windows to the soul, like he knows that love can be found there.
Edie is Gabe's polar opposite. She's never cautious in life and will no doubt be the first of our brood to break a body part. She'll always run before she walks and will never look before she leaps. She trusts that this fine line she travels is only worth taking if she journey's to its farthest edge, always perilously balanced on a cliff that could spell disaster or wonderous adrenaline...Oh, but her art! She's slow and careful and every stroke is measured with intense concentration. Every dot, and every line is placed there with exact precision. She adds colors only when it suits her, and only the exact color she deems is worthy. If her brother switches markers with her mid creation, she will throw a fit and refuse to add more to her picture until the color she requires is back in her hands.
Maybe that's what true art is...discovering a piece of ourselves so imbedded in our psyches that it can't escape otherwise! Or maybe i'm over thinking this, and it's just a whole lot of fun!
Friday, October 1, 2010
False Labour
Last night I was sitting on the couch watching Hawaii Five 0 (the episode I missed on Monday)"book em Danno" -heh so sexy- when it began. The pain started on my left side and radiated across my belly. Soon a pattern became discernible and my hips and back started to feel it too. I didn't panic right away, Hawaii Five 0 offered a distraction and I thought the false labour would be over after a few painful contractions. When it didn't stop by the time my show had ended I began to think that maybe this was the real deal. The contractions were coming quite frequently and lasting for longer than the braxton hicks allowance of 30 seconds. Given the pattern, the pain, and minute long contractions, I assessed the situation as possibly problematic. I drank a few glasses of water, hoping the labour was being brought on by dehydration.
After another ten minutes and two more painful contractions I told Scott we might want to figure out how to get me to the hospital without dragging the kids all over hells half acre (I live in a different city than the hospital I have chosen to deliver in). Why would you do that? The hospital I want to deliver in is brand new, has a NICU, and is really only 25 minutes from where I live! The need of a NICU seems to be a recurring theme in my pregnancies, so I figure its better to be safe than sorry!
I wandered upstairs and updated my Facebook status, looking for distraction and some encouragement from any friends crazy enough to be awake and online at 1130pm at night! After finding what I needed I paced the floor. I chewed my bottom lip to smithereens waiting for the labour to intensify or stop. My main worry at that point was the possibility of the contractions causing my water to break. Labour has a better chance of being stopped if your membranes are intact -of course- and with my history of PPROM I was more than a little concerned! After what seemed an eternity my false labour trickled to a stop. And right on cue...Edie began her endless crying campaign. I tell ya...if it's not one kid driving you insane with worry (thanks Finale), it's another driving you insane with no sleep!
After another ten minutes and two more painful contractions I told Scott we might want to figure out how to get me to the hospital without dragging the kids all over hells half acre (I live in a different city than the hospital I have chosen to deliver in). Why would you do that? The hospital I want to deliver in is brand new, has a NICU, and is really only 25 minutes from where I live! The need of a NICU seems to be a recurring theme in my pregnancies, so I figure its better to be safe than sorry!
I wandered upstairs and updated my Facebook status, looking for distraction and some encouragement from any friends crazy enough to be awake and online at 1130pm at night! After finding what I needed I paced the floor. I chewed my bottom lip to smithereens waiting for the labour to intensify or stop. My main worry at that point was the possibility of the contractions causing my water to break. Labour has a better chance of being stopped if your membranes are intact -of course- and with my history of PPROM I was more than a little concerned! After what seemed an eternity my false labour trickled to a stop. And right on cue...Edie began her endless crying campaign. I tell ya...if it's not one kid driving you insane with worry (thanks Finale), it's another driving you insane with no sleep!
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