love.

cora

 Hey blog! When last we spoke I was gestational.

Like so.

It's been six weeks and if I don't write this birth story now, then let's be honest--I probably never will.

So here comes the gush.

(Pun intended.)

************

We checked into Orem Community Hospital at 7 am on the morning of Monday, October 17th. I had a scheduled induction at 39 weeks.

How do I justify a scheduled induction, you ask? Let me count the ways.

Apart from providing the instant gratification of the microwave age, which it also did, this induction allowed us to get to the hospital in time for an epidural.

I love me some epidural. Can't emphasize that enough. I had been showing signs of pre-term labor for weeks. My stellar midwives guessed (correctly) that since Henry came so fast, the second one would be even faster. Sue estimated less than an hour from start to finish if I went natural...now THAT'S what I call precipitate labor.

Also, we weren't quite sure what to do with Henry.

No one really is.

Ever since he was hospitalized for pneumonia he thinks all doctors everywhere are out to kill him. They probably just use stickers and candy as bait. We figured the last thing my midwife needed was to be attacked by a toddler the size of a 4-year-old, so the induction gave my family time to drive down before the birth. Meaning that lucky Uncle Grant got to watch Wiggles all day. Thanks guys!

But back to my favorite painkiller ever.

Epidurals are soooo nice. Sitting-in-a-Jacuzzi-hot-tub nice. I hopped into my hospital gown and said something to the effect of "Nurse, let's do this thing. Stick me full of needles and please make sure that blood squirts everywhere when you put the IV in my hand." The nurse cheerfully obliged.

I love needles!

Then the anesthesiologist (also known as my very favorite person) gave me a Magic Catheter of Joy (also known as an epidural).

So that was how it went down. I should probably mention at this point that my friend Whitney checked in at the same time for her scheduled induction. With the same midwife! They put us right next door to each other.  Never one to miss out on turning a beautiful experience into a pointless competition, I declared a good old-fashioned Birthin' Race.

We won the race, but it was pretty close. That Whitney can birth.

2 hours and 1 oxygen mask after starting Pitocin, at 9:59 am, Cora came down the pipe.

"Ouch," said the pipe.

She weighed 8 lbs 2 oz and was 19.5 inches long...

...and we promptly gave her the wrong name. 

It was nobody's fault, really. Well...except maybe mine. I'd been pressuring Dustin to care about names for the past nine months, and he finally pretended to have an opinion just to get me off his back. (It turns out people will do all kinds of crazy things just to get me off their back.)

Pictured: Dustin's relief that I am off his back

In reality, he was fine with several names and didn't feel strongly about any of them. Excited that he finally had an opinion and--let's be honest--thinking I was all magnanimous, I picked the one Daddy "liked" and we named her Tessa.

Then of course during the next couple weeks I figured out that Dustin didn't really care either way...and that without the sentimental value, I really didn't like her name that much...and that in conclusion, I have the brain of a dodo bird.

This was how the baby ended up getting renamed Cora Sophie at 3 weeks of age. 

I am 100% sure she will have an identity crisis at some point in the future. Not because she will remember this whole fiasco or care very much, but because my dad has gleefully chosen the nickname "little ole Whatserface."

What a funster.

Henry loves his baby sister now (he thinks her name is "Henry's baby" and helpfully tries to feed her pretzels) but it took him a few days to get used to the idea. At first he pretended she wasn't there.

Baby? What baby?

If I don't make eye contact, then it never happened.

As for me, I'm in bliss, sleep deprivation notwithstanding. Dustin ran off to a 6-day business conference one week after the baby came, but luckily his mom was nice enough to fly here and help out. I do get irritated being stuck in the house all day. But it's not like I want to get dressed anyway and that's really an either-or situation.

Mostly I still can't believe Cora's birth is really over and that it went so well! There was one moment where the epidural couldn't keep up because everything was going so fast. But don't worry, I pulled a diva and demanded a higher dosage.

Also, certified nurse midwives rock. I highly recommend them. For us, it was the perfect blend of personalized attention and clinical care; Jennifer used natural methods to stretch me out so I hardly tore at all. She gave me one stitch. It turns out that almost all the misery I had after Henry was thanks to the episiotomy; this time, I didn't need any pain meds afterwards--not even an ibuprofen! And if you know me, you know that's extremely weird. I take ibuprofen for paper cuts (I get bad paper cuts, okay.)

So, to summarize: great epidural, no after pain, wonderful family helping out...

 ...and the sweetest little thing you've ever seen.

Seriously, she sleeps so well, we have to wake her up to eat. Of course she was borderline hypoglycemic for a couple days because of this, but my point is, eventually we found a feeding routine and she's a doll.

The whole experience was great. Not to mention that I apparently give birth faster than a machine gun.

Maybe we will have 12 kids after all!

...or maybe we'll see how it goes with two.

 

little ole whatserface

Birth story coming soon...

...Mommy is too sleep-deprived to deal with it right now.

(I wonder how that happened?)

Family Pictures

Brooke Snow is such a fun photographer! She does lifestyle photography, meaning that if some of these look candid...it's because they are :D 

All of these locations are places we spend time at on a regular basis: our house, the library, the park, etc. 

Faux Hipster

Henry's hair has always been one of those things. Every mom has one. Or several. Or maybe you just have one, you lucky little...

Anyway. I'm kind of surprised that hair overload is our issue. Considering that Henry's hair was practically nonexistent until 18 months of age, for most of his life any kind of "hairdo" this kid had was mostly skin:

Either one of these heads could be Henry's, but he is actually the big fat pasty white boy in overalls with no shirt...because I am a really classy mom. Also, please note that H and his cousin are battling it out over My Little Pony and a rattle at the SAME TIME.

Fast forward about 9 months and Cueball suddenly sprouts a wild mop on top. And we discover that I, like most mothers, can't help but sink deep into denial about my beloved child's physical appearance. Only months later did I realize that my photo-taking ratio for this time period dropped to a mysterious all-time low. Maybe my subconscious knew something I didn't. Maybe it knew, for example, that Henry's head was an unkempt Phil-Spector-cum-dandelion hairsplosion:

This terrifyingly realistic representation of Henry's hair is brought to you by blogadilla.com.

Another characteristic of Henry's pre-March-4th hair is its magical regenerative ability. Much like the Hydra of ancient Greek mythology, this boy's cowlicks grew back twice as long and twice as numerous every time I chopped them off. I counted today. He has nine. Originally there were two.

What Henry's hair looked like 4 days after one of his (many, useless) haircuts.

Given the epic hair-vs-mom struggle we've got going on here, I may be a little premature in congratulating myself on solving the problem. (After he sleeps on it tonight, the whole thing will probably go to pot.) Still, let it be known that today, Friday March 4th, 2011, at approximately 11:06 am, I finally busted out the clippers and...as every good Utah mom must do at least once in her lifetime...

I gave my son a faux hawk. A preppy, Alfalfa-esque little faux hawk. In the process, I somehow made him look like a 6-year-old hipster as well:

He looks older, and thoughtful, and A LOT OLDER AND IT'S FREAKING ME OUT.

I think we can all agree I am NOT good with this whole nostalgia thing.

...but I am pretty good with those clippers, no?

The Cure For Emotional Constipation

Whew! Hope I can get through this post.

Kelliann's wedding day. The first time I've seen Washington State in four years. Aka WAY too long!

She looked gorgeous. Also very French.

We've known each other since age 11, when I used to incite her to riot against poor Sister Frenzel in Primary. She never gave in, but I sure had fun trying. Is anybody really surprised?

Matrimony! I'm married,but I've always been married, right? Now my Kelli is married! Oh...and Derek was there too...small world. :)

Most of all, I realized just how much these people and this place are my home. Spending time around the folks I grew up with (who endured a lot but are still willing to smile politely when they talk to me) feels like home. Watching them dance like crazy fools (okay, I may have been the main crazy fool in this equation) feels like home. Deanne Mecham keeping her phone in her bra feels like home. Umm, no really. It totally does.

Anyway, Kelliann's wedding. Holy cow. Who knew that just writing about it would unleash a wave of crippling nostalgia? Oh right--I did, and I'm doing it anyway--

WAHHHH!

FINE

Okay.


New Year's Resolution #1 (of 1):


Write a blog post oftener than once every 6 months.


See? We're already doing fantastic.