Friday, October 14, 2011

And we have liftoff!

Gavin, my little one, who is not quite 9 months (he will be on the 18th), his first unassisted step tonight!

Hubby's brother saw it too. So this is not just a mom bragging about her kid.

Gav stood for a minute, took a step, then landed in my arms.

He wants sooooooo much to go. He sees his brothers, and you can see him thinking, that looks like fun. He has been crawling everywhere, putting things in his mouth, trying to keep up with the big guys.

It's always a bittersweet moment, one even more so as he just might be the last kid. This might be the last time a first step is taken in our house.

There is a song by Tim McGraw that goes, "You're gonna miss this." Sometimes, not so much. But the baby steps. Yep.

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Monday, October 10, 2011

A First for Us

You would think, by now, that we have BTDT on just about all toddler antics. Especially the gross ones. I thought so too. Puking in the car. Done. Pooping on the floor. Happens all the time. Then there was tonight.

I was sitting on the couch talking to BIL while hubby was at the store. I could hear giggling on the other side of the kitchen island and thought nothing of it.

But then, I thought, I should go see what exactly they are giggling about, as extended giggles here generally mean somebody is doing something illegal in our family.

I stopped in utter horror as I rounded the island. Sitting on the floor was my baby, just 9 months, laughing as his brother, 2.75, smeared poop all in his hair. Baby had handfuls of poop. Toddler had poop all over him.

Stinky, soft, mushy poop. Toddler has had diarrhea for some days, and he is just getting over it.

I thought about vomiting (I have a strong stomach, thanks to my job, but the handfuls of poop...well, that's really gross) but realized that would be another mess I have to clean up. Grabbed baby and ran a tub to wash him off, while toddler trailed along behind me to take his turn.

Then I had to wash the tub. And mop the floor. And change my clothes.

The irony is that this stuff always happens when Daddy isn't around. How does he time it so perfectly every time?

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Sunday, October 9, 2011

Being a Swim Mom

When Ian was three, not quite four, hdeco iced he really, really wanted to learn to swim, and specifically to race. I was pregnant and just not up to the task myself, as that pregnancy was a miserable one. But I noticed a swim school going in a shopping center not far from a place I often frequented (a fabric store, lol) and kept my eye on it. I thought learning to swim was a good idea.

The day it opened, we were there. I signed him up for initial lessons, and he took right to it after the first few weeks. He rapidly moved up the levels from blowing bubbles to doing the butterfly and breaststroke, taking about two years to reach the stroke clinic level.

We had a little trouble with coaches; the first one acted like he wasn't worth her time because, honestly, he really struggled to accomplish much those first few weeks before finding his way. Another one -- a real-life Navy rescue diver -- was great with Ian, not so much with Colton, when he started at 3, and then he quit teaching. One was terrific, but he got fired for not calling out of work one day (allowing me the opportunity tom teach my boys about work ettiquite). Finally, we found Allen, a kid who went to college on a swim scholarship, and the boys swam with him for a little over a year, until he went back to school and stopped teaching during the day. We then had a couple new instructors before finding the one they are with now at the swim school.

Along the way, we made some super good friends. Ian has two boys in his group who are also home schooled, and the three of them moved up the ranks together. Colton swims with their sister now.

After we had been at it for a while, we decided to make the move to swim team. And then we moved to a better-ranked team just a month ago.

It is one thing to take the kids to practice. That is honestly not too, too bad. We hit the barn then drive to the pool, located in a big sports complex. I send Ian to the pool deck, where the instructors are in charge, and I have the other three with me. They take some special toys to play with; there are some other kids their ages to play with, and the biggest problem is keeping them all from running around in the stands! Sometimes I take them outside the sports complex to play. We eat our snacks, and then it's time to go. We race home to cook dinner while I car-pump.

I love talking to the other moms. I enjoy the friendship and advice they offer.

And then it's a whole other thing to attend a meet. Get up well before dawn to pump, load up, head to the barn, feed the horses, then head for the meet. It's exhausting. Time consuming. Expensive.

When your kid is the one next to swim, it is so exciting. When your kid is out there struggling, your heart just hurts for him. Every fiber of your being pulls for him. It's great to be part of the team spirit and cheer for all the kids you see every day in the pool with your kid.

So, today, was our first race. He struggled, his stroke was tight, he had trouble with air exchange, and he finished last. Way last. But the goals were accomplished: to get in the pool, in the correct lane, and finish the race. There is nowhere to go but up.


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Friday, October 7, 2011

National Midwives Week

I have been fortunate enough to have all my boys with midwives, and actually, all were born in a freestanding birth center, outside of a hospital, in the same room. How cool is that?

I am flat out scared of hospitals. Utterly terrified. The idea of someone else being in charge. The hospital policies. The risk of infection just from being IN the hospital. IV catheters. Somebody coming in and out of my room all the time. The smell of a hospital. Not for me.

Then there are all the women I know who seemed perfectly healthy who went to the hospital, were told this or that was happening with their labor, various interventions were done, and many of my friends, with many different OBs in many hospitals and states, had C-sections.

I could not understand why more than half of women couldn't seem to have a baby without medical assistance of some sort, with a third of the total requiring a surgical birth. That just makes no sense to me as a veterinarian. Animals reproduce all the time, and the veterinary profession's C-section rate is nowhere near that!

So, to minimize my chance of ending up with a surgical birth, I chose to use a midwifery practice when I discovered I was pregnant with my first child.

When my first birth arrived, it was a long and drawn out process. The baby descended very slowly, and I pushed for hours. The midwife patiently held my hand through every push for three full hours, while the second midwife encouraged me through every strain. She could tell I was getting very tired, having been pushing hard for so long and having been in full labor for 24 hours with prodromal labor for several days, and suggested we transfer to the hospital for assistance.

I asked for a few more minutes, gave it all I had, and finally, I pushed out the largest baby ever born to a first time mother at that birth center. Unfortunately, that big baby caused some severe damage as he passed out of my body, a severe fourth degree tear along with hemorrhaging. The attending midwives conferred, and I was transferred to the hospital for surgery.

The OB who came in to repair me at 3 AM screamed at the midwives who had attended my birth, telling them they should never have allowed me to have that baby. He told me he would have done a C-section if he had seen me, even with the baby's head halfway out. The midwife leaned over to me and whispered she wouldn't have allowed it, but as he ranted on about all the complications I would likely suffer as a result of this birth and that I would never be able to have another baby vaginally, I wondered if she would have been able to stop him.

Two days in the hospital post-op cemented in my mind that I would never have a baby in the hospital if I could help it, and I would always have a midwife attend my births. The nurses were less than helpful, and I rapidly realized I could have taken better care of myself at home. Establishment of breastfeeding was rapidly undermined, and, looking back, it is amazing I managed to nurse that first child.

I went on to have three more children, two more with very little drama. One was born in the tub because he came so rapidly, surprising the midwives. The third I caught while the attending midwives watched quietly; he was even born with a nuchal cord. This was not treated as something to be scared of. We simply slipped it off and gave him a little oxygen.

The fourth had a little more drama surrounding his birth. He was diagnosed antenatally with a cleft lip by the specialist (yes, midwives refer clients to specialists when needed) at 18 weeks, and a cleft palate was suspected when the midwives' back up OB decided I could not use the birth center when I was about 28 weeks along. Fortunately, the various specialists I saw felt differently and ran interference for me with the backup, and I went on to have a wonderful and joyful birth, with the fourth baby being born on the same bed as my first and third babies after an uneventful labor and delivery.

The complications the OB swore I would suffer...they haven't happened. Honestly, the only complication I have specifically related to what happened during that birth is directly related to what HE did as he sutured me up, but it poses no problem to me during my everyday life. Every time I see my subsequent babies' photos, I wish I could tell him his predictions simply were not true.

I am so grateful for the care my children and I have received from midwives. It is a personal care, one with my needs and desires in mind, without fear and the "what-if" at the forefront. I am profoundly grateful for the empowering experiences I achieved with the help of women who believe in the normality of birth.

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