The Present Situation

The other day I was out and about with my mom shopping for a blessing outfit for Beck and I thought of a GOOD present for Wendell. (Blessing outfit is similar to a Christening outfit. In the LDS--Mormon--faith babies are taken before the congregation and given a name and blessing during a special prayer. Although the babies can wear anything, most families dress their babies in white. Baptism isn't done until the age of 8 and we baptize by immersion.)

So, unbeknownst to Wendell, I returned the duplicate card reader and bought Wendell a new pair of temple pants. (In the temple, Latter-day Saints wear all white.) Somehow, over the years Wendell's pants have...um...shrunk and he's been renting pants for the last couple of years. So I surprised him with something that he wants and needs. I brought the pants home, wrapped them in Christmas wrapping paper, put a bow and a tag on it and put it under the Christmas tree. When Wendell got home from work we went downstairs and I presented him with his new gift.

Wendell was definitely surprised and he thought it was "cute" that I wrapped the gift up again. Unfortunately, the pants are the wrong size so Wendell will still have to return them. But at least I thought of something original.

Now I need to pause and make fun of Wendell a bit. Just a bit. You were all impressed that I got an iPod radio, huh? An ipod radio is a great gift. It would be even better if I owned an ipod. Yessiree bob, Wendell gave me an ipod radio and I have never in my life owned an ipod. Fortunately for me, Wendell owns 4. (He has an iTouch, a 60 gig iPod, a Nano and a Shuffle.)

The day after Christmas, Wendell set up the iPod radio. He left it on the kitchen counter right next to where Nathan eats lunch. (We all eat at the "bar" side of the counter sitting on stools.) As soon as I realized that the radio was peril I unplugged it and moved it to the master bedroom. Later that evening, when Wendell was home from work, we talked about the radio. He showed me how it fit his new iTouch, whereas his radio did not. He was also worried about this radio and our kids because the iPod docks out to one side and on Wendell's radio the iPod docks in the middle and is surrounded by radio, thus protecting the ipod.

"So," I said, "I don't get this radio do I."

"It would probably be best if I took this one to work," Wendell confessed.

"Do I get your old iPod with the iPod radio?"

Wendell balked. "That is a 60 gig iPod. You'd never need it! This one," (he held up a thin iPod) "is all you'll need."

"I really don't want the Shuffle," I admitted.

"This isn't the Shuffle. This is the Nano. It holds about two bazillion songs. You'll never fill it up."

"You have 4 iPods!!!"

"No, I have..." Wendell stops and counts in his mind. "Yea," he grins, "I have 4 iPods."

"Can I take all the country music off of it?"

Wendell chuckles as he packs up the radio. And I've never seen it again. Or his old one. I just want to point out that Wendell bought ME a radio that would fit HIS iTouch with no intention of giving me either. Why didn't he wrap up his radio and give it to me rather than give me a new one then take it to work? I'm not mad at all. But I think it's really funny...giving me what he really wanted then keeping it. (Shaking head) Funny.

Smiley

He did it! Baby Beck smiled at me. Not my forehead, or while he was sleeping. He looked at me and smiled. He is, in fact, the most smiley baby I've ever had. I can always tell when he's done eating 'cause he starts smiling. But now he's smiled at me. Looked in my eyes and smiled.

I've thought recently how I was only 23 (technically 22) when I had Emma and how Beck will have to look at a much older face as he grows up. Then I remember that the age comes with calm and wisdom and he's reaping some serious benefits.

One Month

Baby Beck is one month old today. I took a picture of Beck with my new digital camera, then spent the next 20 minutes trying to get the card out so I could upload his pic. Obviously, I haven't had any success. I'm waiting until Wendell gets home from work to help me, but they're slammed today.

This month Beck has slept, eaten and pooped. That's about it. He's good to tolerate Annika poking various parts of his anatomy and telling everyone what she sees. And, poor baby, he has his first cold. He's snuffling while he sleeps and his little nose is runny.

Update Jan 1, 2008: I finally got the pic up!! I'm not sure I'm in love with my new camera.

The Poetic Riddle

Emma (8), as I've told you before, is a voracious reader. So my mom got her two poetry books for Christmas. They were specifically catered to young people. One was by Robert Frost and the other by Emily Dickinson. Emma spent the better part of the day reading one book and then the other.

"How did you like those books?" I asked when she finished reading.

"I hate poetry," Emma said decidedly. "It's like a riddle with no clues."

Santa's Little Helper

When my children find out the "truth" about Santa we do something fun that my parents did with us, they get to be Santa's Helper. But I need to start this story from the beginning.

Last Christmas Emma tormented me with questions. How does Santa do this and how does he do that? I was very worried that at some point she'd figure it out and blurt it out in front of her brothers and it would be ruined for them. I was particularly worried about Nathan who was only 4 and I really wanted him to believe for a while. So in April, during a snuggle time in my bed, I asked her if she could keep a grown-up secret. She was very excited. I said to her, "There is a secret about Santa."

"Oh," she said, "I know that. You and Daddy are really Santa."

I told her that she was right and that now she could get up in the night and help eat cookies and fill stockings. So all year she's looked forward to Christmas Eve. She may have been more excited for this Christmas than she was before. But we still had to wait for everyone to fall asleep. Around 10:30pm we got Emma out of bed and brought her, all bleary eyed, downstairs. She looked sideways at the cookies. "You can have one!" I reminded her. She looked like she would puke. "Or you can wait a while." She picked up a tiny cookie and nibbled at it.

I put out the stockings and fruit and Emma went to work. After a while, she perked up and was a busy little elf. When we laid the stockings around the tree she said, "I stayed up the whole time!"

We told the kids they couldn't get up before 7:00am. At 7:20 Emma got up. She ran into the boys room and started shouting. "It's 7:21, it's 7:21, it's 7:21! Go potty and get in Mom and Dad's room!" Thus started our Christmas morning.

No One Should Complain About Christmas

Merry Christmas! Lest you think by the title that I'm all full of complaints...I'm not. Christmas was lovely. I got wonderful gifts, my children seemed happy and we were so exhausted by the end of the day that we fell into bed and slept long and well.

But I do have a complaint. Or two. Or three.

First, what I got Wendell vs. what Wendell got me. We each got each other 4 gifts: two that were requested and two surprises. We didn't plan this, by the way, it's just the way it happened.

Requested items:

Wendell got me a bike helmet. I got Wendell a pair of jeans. (Jeans side story: we were in Costco doing other stuff completely when Wendell spotted jeans he liked. "I'll get them," I said, "as long as you don't wear them until Christmas." I picked out none of my own gifts.)

Wendell got me a frying pan set with 3 pans. I got Wendell a wallet. He's fussy about his wallets, so I took him shopping with me and he picked it.

Surprise items:

Wendell got me an ipod radio. I got Wendell a multi-card reader for the computer. This would have been a great gift, but unfortunately, just days before Christmas, Wendell bought himself a multi-card reader. It was better, faster and cheaper than mine. I'm trying to remember if I found out about it on Sat. or Sun., but it was too late for me to return it and get something else.

Wendell got me a digital camera. I got Wendell a beef stick. And so did his parents. Now we have two giant $15 beef sticks sitting around our house. Yea.

Can you see how lopsided this was? It was awful.

I'm a Terrible Mother

Last May, Nathan's preschool teacher sent him home with a note that said, "Please send in the crappiest frame in your house and we'll do something fun." OK. That's not word for word, but you get the gist. So I hunted high and low for the worst frame in the house and I found it! But it had Anson's picture in it.

I immediately took the frame down, put his picture on the piano and sent Nate to school with the frame. (The frame eventually came back with Nathan's hand print and a picture of Nathan with a super sappy poem--that makes me cry--about what a big mess he makes and how someday he won't be around to make the mess.) By this time of the year, I knew I was pregnant, so I hauled off to Target and bought 5 new black frames.

And I never hung them.

Anson's picture was eventually moved off the piano and I had pictures of only 3 kids on the wall. And the only current picture was Annika's. After a while I could tell that this bothered Anson because he drew these pictures and put them where his frame used to be.

So last Sunday I did it...After 7 months without Anson's picture up (cringe) I got out the frames and everyone's current picture and redid the wall. It's kind of a weird wall and I had trouble taking pictures, but there's Anson right in the middle. See, I love him as much as my other children.

Smiling

When a baby smiles in their sleep, don't you think they are dreaming of heaven?

Recovery

Hayngrl101 asked how my C-section recovery was going. Well, um, like a C-section recovery. If you're squeamish...or a man...avert your eyes now.

A very, very small part of my incision fell open about 11 days postpartum. I rushed right into the OB office and was told that this wasn't a very big deal. Apparently, ill healing scars are a casualty of having had so many (5) C-sections. I had to keep Neosporin dowsed gauze taped to the affected spot for about a week. It looks pretty good now.

I can finally, officially lift Annika, although I have to admit I've been lifting her for a few days. When I lift her, I can definitely feel pulling/stretching on my incision, but no real pain. I do think it's this increased activity that has caused me so much bleeding so suddenly. I had an afternoon/evening that I was going through about one pad per hour for 5 hours. Thankfully that has slowed to a more manageable rate.

Nathan seems to think that because I can lift Annika, I can lift all 45 lbs of him. He's been testing me to see if I can make him move, sometimes. This is a definite loss for me. I just can't do it and won't be able to for 3-4 weeks. Although, I shouldn't really HAVE to pick up my Kindergartner, should I?

I'm on my own now with the kids and making dinner. Last night was the antithesis of smooth. There was yelling and threatening and... I hate Wednesdays and Thursdays when I have to do dinner without Wendell's help. Well, I think I deserve a nap so I'll go see if I can get 20 minutes.

Just Because You Watch the Show...

I went shopping. Clothes shopping. It's always horrible after having a baby to be faced with what in your closet actually fits. For some unknown reason all 4 pants that fit now are high water. Just to be clear, I am 5 ft 8 inch tall and I'm about 70% legs. I have an extremely short torso. I have longer legs than all of my 6 ft tall girlfriends. So buying pants that are long enough is always a bit of a challenge.

So after I had Annika, I was apparently so delighted that there were pants that fit around me that I forgot to look down and notice that about 3 inches of socks/legs were showing.

I have become increasingly embarrassed about the state of my wardrobe and with Wendell's blessing I went shopping. When I arrived at one of my favorite clothing stores, I tried on some jeans. I stepped out of my dressing room to get my sales lady's opinion and two other customers chimed in. The other customers were helpful and fun but unfortunately, they were leaving.

"It's too bad you guys can't stay and help me shop," I told them.

"We can stay for a while, try some things on."

The younger of the two women, a mother of one probably 5-7 years my junior, began my shopping assistance by saying, "Are you familiar with the show, 'What Not to Wear?'"

Now let me pause and say that I am a HUGE fan of this show. I TIVO it weekly and I've seen nearly every episode. Having said that I must point out that just because you watch the show does not make you Stacey London. Sadly, this customer was unaware of this fact.

"I," she declared, "am a guru of the show."

She then proceeded to take me all around the store telling me what would and what would not look good on me. However, it seemed that my large hips precluded just about everything cute in the store.

"Oh, this is cute!" I'd say.

"Honey," she'd patronize, "that will not look good on you...us. It will make your butt look a million miles wide. Definitely, not the look you're going for."

True that I am not looking for bottom widening clothes, but who made her the expert on MY figure. And I'd just like to say that she and I were very different shapes. Even for people with similar shapes like my mom and sisters and I, we aren't precisely the same. When we try to swap clothes, sometimes it just doesn't work. This is why it's important to TRY CLOTHES ON.

Eventually, when my adviser's back was turned, I pulled clothes into the dressing room that I wanted to try on and I just didn't come out. A bit later these ladies called goodbye through the door and I thanked them, quite relived that I was now on my own.

Oh, and one more completely off topic item. Harvey Unga, BYU freshman running back who has preformed so phenomenally this year, was visiting with his cousin in this women's clothing shop. His cousin was one of the employees who was helping me. So, on my way out the door I wished him luck on Saturday. Go COUGARS!! We're gonna beat UCLA this time.

Cohen Vs. Beck

I love the name Cohen! I love it! Cohen is sleek and modern. It flows well with my other boys names: Anson, Nathan, Cohen. See. All 2 syllable names ending in "N." But the people in our lives have a lot of trouble pronouncing it. In the first 2.5 weeks of life I have heard my son called: Co-HEN (like a chicken), Cow-en (moo), and Colon (oscopy).

Let me pause here and rant. Except for Collin Powell, I don't know anyone who likes to be called an internal organ that poop goes through. I mean, who would name their kid after an internal organ? This is my son, Liver, and my daughter, Esophagus. It's simply a bizarre thing to do. I'd name my kid Large Intestine sooner than Colon. But where was I...

Ah, yes...names my baby has been called... In addition to the (massive) mispronunciations, I've also heard people mix his name up with others like Collin or Conan.

Wendell loves the name Beck! He loves it! To me, it is rural and blunt and it lacks flow. Anson, Nathan, Beck. See. No flow. But it absolutely cannot be screwed up. Beck, Beck, Beck. Only one way to pronounce it. It's easy to spell and Annika can say it.

So, to answer Nortorious' question, this is why we call him by his middle name rather than his first. Plus, we'd been planning on calling him Beck from the beginning.

Funny Faces

Don't you think Beck looks like he's smiling in this one? I love the funny faces baby make!

What's in a Name?

I have to admit that my youngest son has a funky name. Obviously, Wendell and I love it. And except for a few of you bloggers (and I think some of you may be lying) no one else does. This is part of the reason that we kept it a secret until he was born. Who wants to deal with people saying, "That's a terrible name. Way too weird. You absolutely can't name your baby THAT."

Unfortunately, people's reactions after he was born were only slightly better. This is what the conversation sounded like on my end just hearing Wendell make phone calls.

W: Hey, we called to tell you we had our baby this morning. Yeah. 8 lbs 8 oz. That's small for us. We named him Cohen Beck. Yeah, Cohen. C-O-H-E-N. 'Cause we liked it. Just two names we liked. No, he's not named after anyone. He and Jenna are doing great. She's a little tired right now, but you can visit later today or she'll be in the hospital until Sunday.

Wendell had to say this over and over.

"Wow," I said later, "I never knew 'Cohen' would be so hard. If we want him to go by that we'll have to teach him to spell it very young. Like Anson. You remember, honey? He could spell his name starting at 2."

My dad's mom, Grandma Harris, hates unusual names. But she's pretty gracious about it to the new parents, then she tells everyone else in the family how weird the name is. On Thanksgiving, we tried to prep her.

G: What are you naming your baby?
J: It's a secret. We'll call you next week when we have him. But Grandma?
G: Yeah.
J: You're gonna hate this name.
(Laughter by all within earshot.)
G:Oh. Can't you name him something classic like James or Jonathon?
J: No. We like this name, but you won't.

In the car Wendell and I talked about the names Grandma threw out. James. Our Nathan is already Nathan James, both classic family names. My sister named her youngest son Benjamin James, to which Grandma said, "Didn't Jenna name her son Nathan James?" Implied here was, why would you use James again?

Yet, when Wendell called Grandma, she was gracious. She kept saying, "Cohen Beck, I like it," over and over. Poor Grandma was probably prepared for something much weirder. She may have been prepping for us to call and say, "We're naming our son 'Waltzing Matilda' and we're calling him 'Walt.'"

My mom's mom was a different story. We didn't get a hold of Grandma Kirkwood that day, so my mom called her. This is her version of the story.

Mom: So Jenna and Wendell named the baby Cohen Beck.
G: What?!
M: Cohen. C-O-H-E-N. Cohen Beck.
G: Cohen's not a name. It's a bunch of letters stuck together.
M: No, no. Cohen's a name--a last name.
G: Who's last name?
M: Well, it's a fairly common Jewish last name...
G: Alright then, who in the family is Jewish?

When my mom told me this story I was laughing so hard my incision hurt... a bunch of letters stuck together... By the end of the conversation, though, Grandma was coming around and said the name was "all right."

To Be Numb

The day after I had Beck, I was eating a very soft roast beef stew. When some meat got lodged in my teeth, I fished in out and a chunk of my tooth came out too. So, nearly 2 weeks later, it was time to get my tooth taken care of.

I marched into the dentist and took my Novocaine shots like a (wo)man. Then we waited for me to get numb. And waited.

"Can you feel this?" the hygienist kept asking.

"Some of it," I replied as she continued poking around my mouth with a sharp thing-y. (As you can see I'm totally up on the technical terms of dental equipment.)

After nearly 30 minutes the dentist came back and gave me more Novocaine. I lost track and I can't remember whether I got 4 shots or 5. Ordinarily, I would be able to count to 5 without getting mixed up, but when the counting comes with a sharp thing poked into your gums.... Well, I lose track.

That worked in less than 10 minutes. The dentist worked lighting fast and my filling was soon in.

This all began around noon. At 2:30 I was dribbling cream of wheat down my chin. At 4:30 I tried to eat a piece of toast. I could finally feel my face again around 7:00, and even then, not completely. But, oh, how my jaw ached. I feel like I have TMJ.

Now it's the next day and I still have that TMJ feel. I must tell you that I almost never get Novocaine. I either get my watch spots sanded with a whisper jet or I have them drill with no Novocaine. I've only done that once, but it wasn't bad. It's uncomfortable while they drill, but then it's done. None of this not being able to open my mouth for a week. *Sigh.*

I feel better now.

The First

I made dinner. Yes I did! OK, I made about 86 .5% of dinner and my mom had to do the rest, but it was all my idea.

It's true that I have been fed by neighbors, ward members and my mom for 12 days now, but today I had to do more than just reheat what someone else made. Obviously, I wanted something simple. Here's what we ate:

Chicken breasts with 2 cups salsa. Put in the crock pot in the morning and cooked all day.
Rice
Boiled baby carrots
Milk

I know. Very simple, but I did it. Mostly. I put the rice and the baby carrots to boil, then my mom watched them so they didn't boil over while I nursed the baby. If I had been by myself it would have totally boiled over and made a mess and we would smell burned rice in the house for a week. But all Mom had to do was stir periodically and adjust the temp. I did everything else.
Now what will I make tomorrow.... Just kidding. I already have a plan. You're welcome to visit again in 2 weeks when I have no help and no plan. Things will be different (worse) then, but for now I have a plan. Also, don't ask about Friday 'cause I have no plan for Friday.

And now, because these pictures have nothing to do with this post, here are pics of Annika and Beck that I took today. Actually these pictures are for Celia Fae, who I just met. She asked me in yesterday's comments for baby pics and I don't need to be asked twice!

This is Annika trying out Beck's car seat. Obviously, it used to be Annika's. I was so sure that she was my last that my mom sprung for the girlie seat with pink flowers. Yes, this is what I carry my new son around in.

Nothing better than a sleeping baby!

Pardon my Brag

Nathan and I were out and about yesterday when he noticed a sign in Spanish.

"Hey," he pointed out, "that sign's got 2 explanation points and one explanation point is upside down."

Now for my brag. Nathan and I were signing in for a check-up when Nate read the following sign aloud:

"Co-payments and deductibles are due at time of service. Thank you."

I did help him sound out "deductibles," but the rest he read flawlessly by himself. The lady on the other side of the desk was in shock.

"How old is he?" she asked even though she'd just logged in his birthday.

"He's 5." I answered. But I kinda wanted to point out that he's not even 5.5 yet. He's quite a reader. OK brag over.

What's the Point, Anyway

When I was in the hospital, I was under the (apparently mistaken) notion that the hospital nursery was there to give me a break. For example, if I need some sleep and the baby is fussy, I can send him to the nursery and sleep better, right? Apparently this doesn't work during the day.

On Saturday morning, I fed the baby then called the nursery. I wanted a shower and I can't leave the baby alone in my room. They took the baby away and I took my shower. But I was still in my bathrobe when the nursery showed up.

"Hi. The baby fussy so we brought him to you."

"Ooohhh Kayyyy," I said hesitantly. It had only been 1 hour and 15 minutes since I'd fed him. He just needed to be held. But it's a little hard to hold the baby and put your hospital gown on and try not to have your hair look too stupid since having a baby is a perpetual photo op.

Fortunately, my nurse walked in just then. (For my Wyview blogging buddies, my nurse was Christin Jones who lived in our building. It was really cool to have someone take care of me, who I already knew.)

"Why's your baby here?" Christin asked.

I shrugged. "The nursery said he was fussy so they brought him to me."

"That's weird. Well I'm at a good stopping point I can sit and hold him for a bit."

"Thanks!" I gushed as I rushed back into my bathroom to put on my gown and fix my face a bit.

This is weird, right? Not on any of my other 4 babies have I had the nursery bring me a baby 45 minutes before he needs to eat just because of fussiness. I would rack this up to a strange isolated incident, but the nursery did the EXACT SAME THING on Sunday. I'm not kidding. Is this the weekend staff or what? And this was far from the nursery's only problem. Remind me to tell you the story of how Wendell was the only person to notice a near mix up of babies.

Precipitation

Emma (8) was gushing to my dad today about how happy she is that it's snowing.

"The last few days at school there hasn't been any new snow to play in. And all the kids are hoping that the kind of precipitation that will come will be snow."

5 Kids

Here they are all in one place.

A Sign or a Fluke

Last night Beck was fussy in the evening. He had to eat at 7:30, 9:30 and 11:30 and be held and given a binkie when he wasn't eating. Then he went to bed. He didn't wake up until 3:30 am. And (don't die of shock) he went back to bed again. I woke him up a little after 8:00 so that I could feed him again.

Can you even believe that a 5 day old baby can only get up once in the night? I'm hoping it's a sign of good things to come. Time will tell. It might be a fluke.

Happy Birthday

Today is Wendell's 32nd birthday. Let me pause a moment and languish in being only 31.... ah, yes. It's been a good day, but by how much fun we're having you'd think we were all on Percocet.

The View

First I have to say, "Thanks!" for all your well wishes. It is so good to not be pregnant (I can touch the floor!) and to have a healthy baby here. Wendell did a good job blogging for me, too.

Thursday was a loooooong day. I woke up at 3:30 am and I couldn't get back to sleep. I was so excited to have the baby. But I stayed in bed until 4:45 am when I got up to shower and go to the hospital. We got to the hospital at 5:45 am and they got me logged in and cued up for the first C-section of the day.

The OR was freezing and it was hard to stop shivering as I got my anesthesia. I did joke with the docs that they should do a tummy tuck while they were in there. They didn't think it was as funny as I thought it was. (Really, though, 5th C-section with a tubal ligation, can't they throw a tummy tuck in there too and save me $10,000 down the road?)

When they opened me up, Dr. Jacob kind of gasps and says, "My goodness, your uterus is thin."

"In fact," Dr. Gammette interjects, "it's transparent. We call this a 'Womb with a View.'"

After we chuckled at Dr. Gammette's "pun"-i-ness. Dr. Jacob said seriously, "I'm really glad that you decided to be done."

From conversations that I had with the doctors, I think they would have told us we should be done anyway after seeing the condition of my uterus. It was nice, in that moment, to have ratified the decision that Wendell and I made for this little boy to complete our family.

Soon after, they got our little boy out and I kept calling for them to show him to me.

"Hang on," Dr. Gammette said, "we've got to get him breathing first."

Oh, yeah. Kind of important.

The anesthesiologist hung the drape between us (me and the docs) so high that short little Dr. Jacob had to hand the baby to Dr. Gammette who could hold the baby high enough that I could see him over the drape. He was all purple and screaming and lovely. Oh, and he peed all over the doctors. That was cute too.

I can't tell you, though, how surprised I was by how little he is. Like Wendell said in our last post, Cohen Beck is our second smallest baby. But Dr. Gammette did say I was carrying a lot of extra fluid which would make everyone think the baby was a lot bigger. (Actually, Dr. G said something about me having so much fluid he was now standing in a puddle. Always something funny to say....)

I will have to tell you more hospital adventures later. But suffice it to say that we are home and resting. And happy.

Cohen Beck Wood

Well, here is the update. This is Wendell, Jenna's husband, and while I was able to post his name and weight from the hospital it would not let compose the body of this post, so I just got home and promised Jenna I would update her blog for her.

Cohen Beck Wood was born on Thursday, November 29th, his great Grandpa Hansen's birthday, at 7:59 a.m. He weighed 8lbs 8oz (our second smallest baby) and was 19" long. His Apgar scores were an eight and a nine and he seems so perfect in every little way.

Jenna and Cohen are both doing super well and when I left the hospital at 9:00 p.m. Jenna was getting up to go walking. While Jenna seems to be a little worn out after the day's events, she was super excited and anxious to see her new little boy and to finally get him out and hold him.

Here are a couple of pictures of him and the family. If Jenna grants me permission to put up any more cute pictures or stories about him while she is in the hospital, I will be glad to update her blog again, if not I'm sure she will be sure to post again on Sunday or Monday, When she gets out of the hospital.

Thanks for all of your well wishes and support. They are all greatly appreciated.

Wendell

To-morrrrrrow!!

If you're like me, that's Annie singing that. I can't wait to breathe and not have my internal organs pummelled multiple times a day. On the other hand, now I'll have the saggy belly and weight loss to deal with again.

Who cares?! Junior comes tomorrow!

Reading

Reading is a major past-time at my house. Here are my big kids:

Nathan, Anson and Emma

It's Alive!!!

As all children know, toys come alive when no one is around. I mean, it's the WHOLE premise of Toy Story after all.

As I type, I can hear one. It's a motorcycle of Anson's...probably a Power Ranger one and it's ON. Every so often it goes, "BZZZ," as it tries to escape the box that it's couped up in. Only (and here's the mysterious part) I can never find it. I can sit in the boys' room and hear the BZZZ, but I can't locate it fast enough to shut it off.

Anson will be able to find it, but I'll just have to wait until he comes home.

Of Cough Not

When I was a kid I always got croup. Every single winter. So even as an adult I'm somewhat susceptible to respiratory distress.

Well, cold season hit my house with full force a few weeks ago and my boys both got the croup. Now I have a lingering cough. I would just rack it up to a bit of nighttime disturbance (and occasional pants wetting) and not even think much of it.

But this is The Week. The final stretch of the count down. I'm having a C-section in 2.5 days. And that cough is going to hurt like sin.

I don't think that you have to have had a C-section to appreciate the pain that coughing, sneezing, laughing can cause. After all, it's a 7 inch incision from pelvic bone to pelvic bone. And it hurts for quite a while. I wish I could say that I was sure the cough would be gone in the next couple of days, but that's hoping for too much.

I wonder if they can give me anything good in the hospital to annihilate the cough...

BYU vs Utah

I am a die-hard BYU football fan. Ever since my junior year of college when I over heard my dad explaining to a foreign exchange student the basics of football. (Why had he never explained it to me?) Once I knew that each team had 4 tries to move the ball 10 yards, football suddenly became interesting.


Now, of course, I'm much more savvy than that. (Last year a guy told me that I was quite knowledgeable for a lady. I took it as the compliment he intended.) And I LOVE BYU football. That's it, though. I'm a one team, one sport lady. :)

So Wendell was given, through work, front row tickets to this BYU-Utah game at the North goal line. (Plus Wendell got to go on the field during the 2nd quarter.) It was incredible to watch the game so close. I have to admit I was panicked when Utah went up 10-9 with only 1:34 remaining. I was even more panicked when we were 4th and 18 with over a minute left to play. Then, like magic, Max Hall threw up a huge pass, the kind the receivers were dropping all day. But Austin Collie was there. Ready. It seemed almost like he was running backward forever just waiting for Max to deliver the ball. But his catch would have been meaningless if we hadn't punched it in the end zone (thanks Unga!) for some serious points.

Whew! Once the Cougars were up 7 points, I knew we would win. The defense could hold the Utes off for 38 seconds.

Back to back Cougar victories against Utah!!!! I could just kiss Bronco Mendenhall. And curse all those silly sportscasters saying Utah would beat us. At home? When we're ranked? NEVER!

Go Cougs!

*That is actually a picture of me and all 9+ pounds of my baby. I'm pictured with my father-in-law. This also doubles as belly pics.

Up Load

So I told you I was stupid about pictures. So here is a picture of Annika at Wendell's family's Thanksgiving just so that the only picture I've uploaded isn't Christian Bale.

Smokin' Hot

There are few actors that I really go ga-ga over. Brad Pitt. OK. Tom Cruise. Cuter when he was younger. But Christian Bale? Now there's a hotty.

So when I saw a movie on Netflix that my little sister had liked starring Christian Bale and directed by Steven Spielberg I figured I couldn't go wrong. So the movie starts out and cuts to this private school with a boys choir singing. And all of a sudden it dawns on me that the soloist is Christian Bale. He's all of 12.

"Wendell, is that Christian Bale?" I gasp.

"Uh-huh," he answers.

"Oh my word, I didn't know he was going to be a child!"

"No, no. That's not really him that's just his character. He'll grow up here in a minute," Wendell assures me.

Then they show Christian Bale again. It is him. His crooked jaw. Those eyes. If that's not him...

"Wendell, that is Christian Bale. That's him."

I simply can not ogle a child. Even if it is Christian Bale. Even if I know he's older than I. It's a kid. A sweet, cute, prepubescent kid.

I did determine one thing, Christian Bale's been a great actor for a long time. But the movie, Empire of the Sun, I would describe as long, tedious and depressing. Blah. I may have to watch Batman Begins soon, just to recover from this incident.

Dad's and Diapers

Since it's Thanksgiving I'll say something I'm grateful for. (It's a given that I'm grateful for the BIG things like family, freedom, et al.) I'm grateful for a hubby that changes diapers.

As I type, Wendell is taking his turn with a stinky one and I'm glad it's his turn 'cause I just changed the last one. I've heard of hubbies who don't change diapers and I think I would stage a coup. But I am grateful, so grateful that Wendell changes diapers.

8.5 to 9

So I had my last OB appointment today. Next week I'll have the C-section.

"He's going to be big," I reminded my OB, while I fruitlessly tried to convince him to deliver me earlier.

"Yea, he is," Dr. J. agreed. "I'd put him at eight and a half to nine pounds."

"Today?"

"Yea. Does that mean he'll weigh over 10 lbs by next week? I don't know. We'll just have to see."

You should see the looks I get as I do my frantic Christmas shopping. I can walk into a room and people just gape at me. I want to stand up and say, "This is what a woman looks like with a 9 lb baby in her gut. And unfortunately, I'm not going to have the baby until 9 days from now."

The other night I dreamed I was having twins. This suddenly made it very important to deliver the babies now. The only bad thing was the second baby was 3 weeks behind this one. So I was going to have two babies, one 3 weeks early and one 6 weeks early. Weird. Dreams are like that.

I can not tell you how much I wish I could get this baby out.

The End

As I approach the end of the pregnancy, I approach the end of having pregnancies. This is it. The end. We will have 5 kids. Actually, this is about 1 more than I've pictured myself having so it shouldn't be such a big deal to make The Decision.

Yet, I wish that I was 10 years older. Not that I want to be pregnant at 41, that's not what I'm saying. I just wish that it were 10 years from now and I could say to myself, "Look, you have 5 great kids. Your youngest is 10. You've got arthritis that you've been treating for 31 years. You're done." I think that that would be natural and easier. (Although, friends of mine in their 40's have mentioned that it was still a tough decision to be Done. Permanently.)

Really, I feel good about it spiritually. But just the thought that we will never pray about another child, that we will never accidentally get pregnant, saddens me as much as it thrills me.

I have a great case for being done. My doctors have told me that there is a 1/7 chance of dieing if I try for a 6th C-section. My chance of uterine rupture on a 6th section is 16%. And I have arthritis. And I'm not getting younger. And I'm uber fertile. It seems sometimes that Wendell has but to look crosswise at me and I'm pregnant again. "You definitely fit in the Fertile Myrtle category," my OB affirmed. So, unless we make it permanently the end, I always run the risk of getting pregnant. (I was on B/C pills and nursing when we got pregnant with this one.)

And when I look at the pros and cons this way: Pros--living, Cons--dieing, etc. It seems obvious that Wendell and I are making the right choice. It's just not an easy choice.

I'm Usually an Optimist...

I have this funny quirk about unborn babies. I'm worried they'll die.

I've been this way from the beginning. I remember even after I told my boss I was not coming back after having Emma so I could be a stay-at-home mom, that I was still making business connections in case she died and I needed a new job.

I'm afraid to get too much ready too soon. I'm having this baby in about a week and a half and I don't have the bassinet set up, I don't have my baby boy clothes out, and I have only one package of diapers.

I also run worst case scenarios in my head: checking the kids out of school to tell them the baby brother they've been waiting for died and after all that, we'll only have 4 kids.

I really won't breath easy until...until never. I still check on my kids to make sure nobody died in the night.

Annika Threw Up--YEA!!!

Annika has been the most prone, of all of my children, to eat inanimate objects (i.e. beads, art supplies, erasers, etc.) and to eat objects that are too large. Several months ago, before Annika had as many teeth, Annika swallowed a baby carrot.

The baby carrot incident was very scary. Annika could breath, but not swallow. She was drooling and panicky. My mom came over and between the two of us we eventually made Annika it throw up.

So the other day Annika was really "gaggy" and based on evidence of her having torn into a very old chair in the basement--foam and bits of batting were everywhere--I was sure she was choking again. Every time she gagged and I could get her to throw up a bit we all shouted and clapped, "YEA!!!"

So today Annika got herself in a tizzy. She was crying and coughing. All of a sudden the crying stopped. "Yea!!!" Annika shouted for herself and clapped her little hands. I looked around with surprise and found her standing over a small pile of throw up. She'd cried so hard that she threw up, and she couldn't have been prouder.

Reflections 2007

We had our Reflections Award Night at the elementary school yesterday and every one of my kids is moving on! They all won in their chosen age group and topic. Anson got a trophy for 3-D Art. He made a sculpture from play-do of a boy recycling. (The theme this year was "I can make a difference by...") Nathan won in the Primary division (K-2nd) in Literature and Emma won in the Intermediate category (3rd-5th) in Literature.

I am really, really proud of them.

Wendell's Good Day

On Friday Wendell did a load of dishes, tossed out moldy lettuce, picked up Nate from Kindergarten and watched Annika so I could get a pedicure.

I really, really love this guy.

She's Eight?

When were on the way to Wendell's work to show off Annika's haircut and Anson's toy that he bought with his birthday money, Emma started asking questions and running some scenarios about car sales.

"So," Emma said, "what if people needed a car and the only viable cars were Hondas. Then everyone would drive a Honda."

My response: "Did you just say 'viable?'"

Note to Self: I am Not a Doctor

I have learned an important lesson this week: I am not a doctor. First I'd better explain...

I have JRA or juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. (Now that I am not a juvenile we mostly call it juvenile onset rheumatoid arthritis, but this is an important distinction from typical RA.) I was diagnosed at 10 so all you math whizzes know that I have been treated now for 21 years.

This, I guess is where things get fuzzy. You see, I presumed that 21 years as a patient meant I had enough know-how to change dosage on my medication and do it correctly. In my defense, I made almost half a dozen calls to two doctors trying to get a recommendation on what to do.

You see on Friday I had a very severe flare-up in my right hip. I was in excruciating pain and I was having a lot of trouble bending and walking. I take Prednisone and I knew that more would help. I just didn't know how much more.

So I called my Rheumatologist. There message said that they were out of the office until Tuesday. My hip couldn't wait until Tuesday. If I had the right dosage, my hip would be better before Tuesday. So I called my OB. I got a nurse that was really something of a *bubble-gummer. After my whole spiel she said, "Uh-huh, and we're treating you for your pregnancy?"

No, I just thought I'd call and give you a whole sob story for fun.

She said that she'd talk to a doctor and get back with me. To make a long story short she called at the end of the day and told me to sit in a warm bath and take Tylenol.

If there is anything that 21 years as a patient has taught me, it's that sitting in a warm bath and taking Tylenol won't help. Not only would I be a lot worse by Tuesday, but the flare-up could be so out of control as to leave me in excruciating pain for the rest of my pregnancy and perhaps several weeks or months beyond that. I personally feel that the end of a pregnancy is bad enough without adding ANY additional problems.

Now I'm not completely stupid, I did some checking on the Internet to make sure that the doses I was planning on taking weren't beyond the scope of the prescription. (As we all know the Internet is always right, right?) Then I began by doubling my meds on Friday. Increasing again on Saturday. Taking a triple dose on Sunday--and my wasn't my hip feeling a lot better! Back down to Saturday's dose on Monday. Only double dose on Tuesday, then regular dose on Wednesday. And this is when the problems start.

Wednesday night I have trouble sleeping. I get up Thursday after only 5 real hours of sleep to get the kids off to school. I run some errands. By the time I get home I feel awful. Weird. I'm nauseated, sleepy, I feel like my vision and thinking are fuzzy, and I'm strangely weak. I stick Annika in bed and climb into bed myself. 50 minutes later I wake up because Annika is crying. I try to eat a little, but I still feel awful. I pick up Nate from Kindergarten and I still feel weird. Through this cloudy state I begin to realize that all of these side effects could be the cause of messing with my Prednisone dosage.

Eventually, I got a hold of a nurse at the OB office and the basic thing is that I went off my meds too quickly. I'm kind of going through withdrawals. They recommend that I go back to double dose and taper off more slowly over time.

Thankfully, it worked and I'm feeling down right functional today. Plus I learned a valuable lesson.

*Person, usually a woman, whose main talent appears to be chewing gum; air-head; ditz; dumb.

Harry/Nimbus

We found a cat a week ago Monday, crying in our front yard. He was probably 6-8 months old and my guess is that his mother had recently run him off. We snipped burrs out of his fur and showed him the litter box and fed him. Our other cat, Sneeze, took a shine to him and although he was skittish it seemed like he might acclimatize to our family.

Well, this morning I let the cats up and this new cat, whose name we never really decided on but who I'll call Harry for the purpose of the story, fought to get into my bedroom. I don't really like the cats in there, but this morning I was busy cleaning and moving boxes and couldn't be too bothered to keep him out.

I was folding up my new comforter and getting ready to change my sheets, when, to my horror, I found a massive wet spot. It had soaked through my NEW comforter, sheets and onto the mattress pad. Fortunately, my $85 mattress pad did protect my NEW bed. Yes, Harry--Dirty Harry--had urinated all over my bed. YUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Did I put in enough exclamation points?)

I called a friend who has connection with animal rescue and packed him off. I've already washed the sheets and mattress pad twice to get rid of the smell and after soaking my comforter, it's now in the wash.

And did I mention Nathan and Annika both have eye infections? I have a huge headache.

I Can Be Done Now

When I found out about this unexpected arrival on the 10th of April, I believed that this pregnancy would feel shorter. I've always known I was pregnant from week 3 on, so not knowing until week 6 would make a pregnancy go by faster wouldn't it?

I am here to tell you that it doesn't. No matter how long the beginning, the end drags. I grew 4 cm in the 16 days between my last two OB appointments. Based on, probably faulty logic, I am guessing the baby weighs between 5.5 and 6 lbs right now. Right now.

And I'm only 35 weeks. I still have 4 more weeks to go. Notice, please, that I'm delivering a week early.

Shall I take guesses on how big he'll really be?

My Spelling Is Terrible, But...

I was driving down the road the other day and was stopped at a red light. The big burly guy in front of me was on a Harley and had "Born to Ride" emblazened on the back of his leather jacket. What caught my attention, though, was his minuscule license plate holder. It read:

Your In America
Speak English

I burst out laughing and couldn't stop. My kids were saying, "Mom what's so funny?" I was nearly crying I was laughing so hard.

Note to big burly dudes on motorcycles: If you're going to talk about English, make sure yours is correct.

Welcome Aboard!

I went to our monthly family birthday party and learned that I have sisters-in-law who blog! (And they're so much better than I am.) I'm sure these are fun and they post pictures.

OK, I must confess I'm moderately retarded when it comes to using the digital camera. I just recently learned how to get the pictures off the card and onto Costco's website to be printed. So you never know, you might accidentally find a picture of me or one of my kids by looking on their blogs.

Tamma and Glen are here and Nate and Paula are here. Happy reading!

Thanks for letting me introduce you!

Getting to Know Me

Laurie tagged me and I must now confess 6 weird things that other wise you wouldn't know about me. I've been thinking about this for too long and I don't think the answers are going to get any better, so, drum-roll please.... here are somethings you probably never wanted to know about me.

1. When I'm pregnant (35 weeks now, thank you) I use my bra to stash my keys since my maternity pants have no pockets. I lost my keys in there once, looked for them all day. When the day ended, I took my bra off and my keys hit the floor.

2. My major in college was Broadcast Sales. BYU actually did away with the program my final year. There was this guy from Laos and I who had the Sales emphasis and they let the two of us finish even though they'd done away with it.

3. I was a great student in high school, but completely threw away my scholarship my first semester of college. My GPA when I graduated from high school was a 3.86. I had taken 6 AP classes and passed 5 of the AP tests. (I just couldn't hack AP Chemistry. I passed US History, Biology, European History, Calculus, and English Language.) My first semester at BYU, however, I had a 2.24 and had D's in my Chem 111 Honors and Bio 130. (Read more about Bio 130 in this post.)

4. When I graduated from BYU I received my diploma in my maiden name rather than my married name. I told Wendell that I graduated in spite of him and not because of him. (We were dating a lot during the infamous 2.24 semester.) To make my in-laws happy, I had the reader add my married name when I walked across the stage.

5. I love drinking milk. I will drink as much as 4 cups of milk in a day and never less than 2. I can't imagine a day going by without drinking milk.

6. I have to count when I run water. I count to 12 over and over until the water's the right temperature. I also have to have 5 handfuls of laundry in the dryer--no more.

I did it! 6 random facts that you can now summarily forget. But I can't stop now. I have to tag 6 more people.

D-dawg
Days Like These
Rarely Home Mom
Lauren's World
The Everyday Mom
Me and My Boys

These are some fun Mom Blogs so go read!

What Does a Holy Cow Say?

I was shopping at Target and I found a pillow that I think will match the new bed spread that Wendell and I just got. I was so impressed when I found it I said, "Holy Cow!!"

Annika looked at me, cocked her head and said, "MOOO!"

I am a Child of...

Annika has begun singing, "I am a Child of God." This is now the required song for every bed time and nap time. She's only 19 months! She is the most singing baby I've ever had.

What my other kids could do...

At 18 months Emma was talking in complete sentences. When we brought Anson home from the hospital she ran to my mom and said, "Grandma, come sit on my big-girl bed!" Seriously.

At 19 months Anson could tell the story of the three little pigs. Kind of. Mostly he went around yelling, "I huff, I puff, I blow down."

At 15 months Nathan could tell a joke.

N: Knock, knock
Mom: Who's there?
N: Boo
Mom: Boo who?
N: JOKE!

Although the real punch line was, "Don't cry, it's just a joke." I was still impressed. Also he could count to 15.

Annika at 13 months could sing Happy Birthday to You. Now at 19 months she has most of her ABC's; Bah, Bah Black Sheep; Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star; and a couple of lines of I am a Child of God.

I'm so proud of my kids!

Thanks for letting me brag. Not like you could have stopped me...

Embarrassing Moment

I put my foot in my mouth on a regular basis. And I feel dumb after the fact, but I'm really not all that easily embarrassed. I was thinking the other day about what would my most embarrassing moment be...

I'll call this embarrassing moment #1, because I have so many to choose from.

When I was a freshman at BYU, I had a Biology 130 class. It was held at 2:00 in the afternoon in the JSB auditorium which held about 500 people. It was a hard class to get through, not just because the material was difficult, but because of late nights, this was nap time. I frequently dozed in class, but this day was different.

I fell asleep. Completely asleep. Dreaming.

With my head tipped back I started moaning in my sleep. I eventually moaned so loud that I woke myself up. I tried a series of yawns and jaw smacking to make it seem like I wanted to do that, but no one was buying it.

Not only were my friends in stitches, but people two rows up and two rows back were all laughing at me. Liz and Rachel and I all got a bad case of the giggles and snickered and snorted all the way through the rest of class. Good times.

Low-Paying, Dead-End Job

I ran into a girl that I knew from high school. She's one of the smartest people I've ever known, intellectually speaking. So it was fun to see her and her three kids while we were on an outing today.

As we were catching up on what we've both been doing over the last 8-10 years, she eventually asked where my husband worked.

"He's a finance manager at the Honda store in Orem," I told her proudly.

And she looked at me with such incredible pity. Her eyes said, I'm so sorry your husband is stuck in a low-paying, dead-end job.

I couldn't have been more shocked. It suddenly brought me back to my high school reunion. I remember meeting doctors and lawyers and lots of people in grad school to become doctors and lawyers. Their reaction, when I told them my husband was selling cars, was one of such withering pity. I remember talking later, to a friend who I visit taught, and telling her about this experience. She nodded as I talked with tremendous understanding.

I wondered how she could understand me? Her husband was an entrepreneur. They have a large beautiful home, eight kids who are never wanting, nice vehicles, and he has lots of workers, trucks and machinery all associated with his business. How could someone, so obviously successful ever understand me?

"You think that's bad," she said when I finished my sob story, " just imagine telling those people that your husband fixes cracks in the road."

I'd never thought of her husband's job like that. He probably makes as much money as some doctors and lawyers, yet Angie and Shaun might, too, be at the receiving end of pitiful looks from doctors and lawyers, because he works and employs people in a blue collar field.

I go back to my friend and her pity. I wish I had gushed about how much Wendell loves his job. And I wish that I could educate this woman, in some way, that just 'cause her husband works in a high-tech field and mine in retail doesn't make her superior. And maybe, now that I think about it, she's not as smart as I thought she was.

So, have you...

Emma's Primary teacher called the other day to see if Wendell could sub her class. (Answer: Only if she wants 18 month old Annika in there as well since she's just barely in nursery.) But to start out the conversation she began with, "So, have you had your baby yet?"

Keep in mind I'm 32 weeks pregnant and due Dec 6th.

"What?!" I responded.

"When are you due?" she quickly back-tracked.

"Not until Dec 6th."

"Oh, that's far to early to be asking questions like that."

No kidding. Just a tip for anyone who knows a pregnant woman peripherally: she'd much rather have you asking "when are you due?" than "have you had your baby?"

Annika Loves Fun

Often, before I do something fun to Annika (18 months), like drop her on a bed or couch, I count down...1, 2, 3. This is tremendous fun and leads to the inevitable giggles and smiles. She's taken to counting down with me, although she only knows one number: 2.

The other day she was on my bed and threw herself back with a bounce. She then sat up and announced, "I do two, two!" It was really cute.