EmLouisa

Late Sunday night I drove back to our old house to do a little cleaning.  It had been a busy couple of days and I needed some time to myself.  The house quiet inside, like it was finally resting from housing a baby, two rambuncious children and two parents who ocassionally yelled at said rambuncious children.  Poor house.  I went from room to room, wiping baseboards and walls.  Dusting blinds.  Vacuuming.  Remembering.

This was the room where I rocked my first baby.  It took me six months to be able to put him in his own room in his own bed, away from me.  We covered the windows with heavy blankets after he was born so we wouldn’t have to wake up with the sun.  We cried and held each other in this room, scared that we would lose him.  The blankets came off.  He came home.

This is the floor that we put him on when he got to come home from the hospital, 30 days after he was born.  He looked so small and tiny in this great big room.  We marveled at his size and couldn’t imagine a time where we would be more content and happy.

This is where Greg was sitting when I told him we were having #2.  We both laughed and hugged and laughed some more.

This is where I puked my guts out. 

This is where we watched the boys play together.  They became best friends here.

This is where my sister lived.  She had been gone for a while and I had missed her.  This is where we found each other again.

Mason would fall asleep next to this door at night.  When I would go to check on him, little fingers would be sticking out from underneath it. I wouldn’t be able to open the door because his body would be pressed against it.  Silly kid. 

This is where we hosted lots of family dinners.  We always had too much food.  We ate until we were stuffed, then ate some more.  We didn’t save room for dessert, but we packed it in anyway.  I have about 26 pie tins from Marie Callendar’s to prove it.

This is where I kept my Scentsy.  Each scent is a memory for me.  People, places, emotions.

My running shoes were lined up here.  Four pairs of the exact same brand and style, different colors.  I miss running and using my body.

This is where we discussed Greg changing jobs.  He did and I’ve never seen him happier about going to work.

This is where Aidan hung his artwork.  And here and here and here.  This is where Mason ignored the whole “draw only on paper” thing and went all Picasso on the wall.

This is where I struggled with my faith. Why do I have to be one who questions every little thing?

 This is where I found my faith again.

This porch is where I sat waiting for the bus to drop off my little preschooler Mason.  He always, always had a smile on his face.

This is where I was sitting when he said his first real full sentence to me.  I cried.

This is where they threw their backpacks when they got home from school.  I’m not sure they ever put them where they belonged without me asking first.  Punks. 

This is where Greg showed the boys Nintendo.  This is where I watched hesitantly, as they fell in love with All Things Mario.

This is where we had that Family Night that went on and on and on.  The one where Aidan drew a picture of the earth with arms folded in prayer.  ”If the whole world prayed, Heavenly Father would still hear us all”.   

This is where we talked about having a third.  And talked and talked and talked. 

This is where Greg would sang to our babies and made me fall in love with him all over again.

I rocked my baby Jillian right next to this window.  Waking up at night doesn’t seem so bad when you spend it nursing your little baby girl, looking out at the stillness and quiet of the street at 3 am.  Contentment.

Thank you, Green House with the Yellow Door.  We will miss you.

The time has come.  It is here.  We’ve talked about it for about 3 years now and next week we will finally make it official.  We are moving.

The Plan was to put our house on the market and start building a new one.  The plan was that we would have 2 or 3 months to sell our house, then we’d move into the new one when it was finished.  This was a most excellent plan, what with the timelines and all.  So we got busy taking out half of the furniture in our house.  We painted.  We decluttered.  We took 90% of the kids’s toys and chucked them in a storage unit.  We sold a lot of crap for 25 cents in our neighborhood yard sale.  We made it look like we aren’t squished, even though we totally are.  Love the house, don’t love the lack of storage space.

So two weeks after we put the house on the market we got an offer.  (I know, crazy!)  They wanted to be IN the house in less than 3 weeks.  (I KNOW!!!)  So we said okay and next weekend we are moving to a 1000 square foot apartment for the next 3-4 months until our house is built.  With three kids.  The living room will not fit our furniture.  Or our gargantuan Sony Wega TV from the year 2000.  Greg doesn’t seem to sad about that and informed me it would be best if we just went ahead and bought a newer, flatter tv.  You know, to save space and stuff.  We can probably fit the couch with some sort of wild finangling.  This is where Greg’s engineering skillz will come in handy I guess.

So three months of a second floor apartment with neighbors below us that hopefully don’t hate little boys and all the noise that comes along with little boys.  The apartment will have its advantages though.

• It has a bigger kitchen than my current house.  (I KNOW!!!)
• It is smaller and therefore easier to clean.
• I won’t have to yell to be heard, although I’m not promising that yelling won’t occur.
• My washer and dryer will be in the kitchen so I can fold laundry AND do the breakfast dishes at the exact same time.  I’m cool like that.
• Our power bill will be super small.
• I won’t freeze off my bits because of a crappy heating/air conditioning setup (Just Say No to two-story family rooms!)
• We will be completely and totally debt free for 3-4 months. (I KNOW!!!)
• We won’t have to do any yard work.  We can spend the summer loafing around and being super lazy.
• I will really, really appreciate our new house when we move in.  Lots of space.  Bigger yard.  Bigger inside.  I will do The Dance of Joy in every room, a la Balki Bartokomous.  Greg will be required to do it with me, if we are still speaking after living in such close proximity for three months.

A refresher for all those that can’t remember what the heck The Dance of Joy is  (Soooooo wrong of you, by the way):

The Dance of Joy

You’ll have to click on it cause I can’t remember how to embed it and Greg is sleeping so I can’t make him figure it out for me.  (He’s tired.  He was mumbling something about moving and lifting heavy things and stuff before he drifted off.) 

Wish us luck this week.  Saturday is the Big Day!

I logged on my blog to type up my birth story and chuckled to myself when I realized that I haven’t even ANNOUNCED I was pregnant on here.  LOSER!!  I will honestly blame it all on Facebook.  Those two-lined status updates are so much easier than typing a whole dang blog post.  I’ve gotten lazy.   So…if you are not on Facebook and are wondering what I’ve been doing the last 9 months now you know.  I got myself knocked up, spent the first 15 weeks trying not to puke up my toenails and the rest of the pregnancy being grateful that I was no longer about to puke up my toenails.  This pregnancy rocked for me.  Well, it rocked as much as pregnancy CAN rock.  I was only sick for the first while and not the whole time, I didn’t have any symptoms of pre-eclampsia, I didn’t start looking like a bloated chipmunk until the very end.  Rockin’.

I was due with Baby Number 3 on April 4.  Due to the crappy complications of the last two births we decided to go drama-free and just schedule a c-section.  Baby Number 3 was scheduled to be born on Tuesday, March 30 at 7:30 am, only five days before my due date.  This made me a little nervous since Mason came nine days before my due date but we figured it would be fine.

So Saturday, March 20 I woke up at 7am, got the boys some chocolate milk, then decided around 8 or so that since it was the weekend  I could totally justfiy being lazy.  I headed back to bed.  Around 9:50 am I rolled myself out of bed to go pee and on the way to the bathroom all the sudden I started going!  I ran, but by the time I got in there my clothes were soaked and so was the floor.  I was shocked!  I couldn’t tell if my water broke or if I peed!  I had had to go so badly but not THAT badly.  I couldn’t figure it out!  I decided to call Greg (who was at choir practice) to tell him to come home.  I swore him to secrecy.  Because it would be just my luck that we tell everyone, then go to the hospital and find out that I can’t control my bladder. 

Greg came home and wanted to leave for the hospital right away to check it out.  I was totally in denial so I took my time getting ready.  I took a shower, put on makeup, (because dang it, if I’m have to have a c-section I’m going to look cute!)  finished packing my bag, made the bed, did some laundry and puttered around the house.  I was driving Greg crazy!  We left our house around 11am and headed down to the hospital.  I had a few painful contractions on the way there that were definitely worse than any I had felt all week so I started thinking that yeah, this could be it!  We were so excited! 

Greg’s sisters met us at the hospital and took Aidan and Mason for the day.  I swore them to secrecy too.  No telling anyone until we find out for sure if my water broke or not!  Luckily we didn’t have to wait too long.

Outside the hospital. 37 Weeks and 6 Days

We headed in to triage and they had me pee in a cup and change into a gown.  While I was changing fluid was running down my legs and on to the floor so the nurse determined that yes.  It actually WAS my water.  Yay!   The nurse said that Dr. H conveniently was already at the hospital delivering a baby so as soon as he was finished with that we would start the c-section. 

We checked in to the hospital at 11:30am and headed back for the c-section at 1pm.  It was so different than my last two!  There was no drama this time, no tears, no disappointment, no dread of the c-section.  I was feeling giddy and totally excited!  They started the c-section and I was feeling great until about halfway through when I started feeling massive pain in my chest.  This happened the last c-section as well so I expected it, I just didn’t remember it feeling that bad!  I was amazed at how great I felt before and then how horrible I felt just a few minutes later.  It was awful!

Dr. H pulled out Jillian at 1:47pm and lifted her over the curtain to show me that yes, she was actually a girl. We were all going on and on about how tiny she was!  She was so little!  She weighed 5 lbs 8 oz, WAY smaller than Mason (he was 7 lbs 2 oz).  We were just sure she’d be bigger than him.  We were way off!  She was 18 inches long and has the cutest little cry!

5 lbs 8 oz

The nurses cleaned her up and handed her to Greg and he held her up by my face for a while.  She was so beautiful.  I couldn’t stop crying.  She was finally here!!!  We named her Jillian Clara.  Greg chose her middle name.  Clara is my grandmother.

The recovery has just been okay.  I forgot how sore I would be and how little I can do without feeling like crud.  Last night I forgot to take my pain meds before bed and woke up with my incision area totally screaming at me.  I was sobbing on the way to the bathroom.  It was horrible!  So I won’t be forgetting again.  My mom is here for the weekend and Greg took the next two weeks off.  He has been awesome helping me.  I’m totally bossy and I feel a little bad about that but that’s okay.   He can deal with it for the next few weeks, right? 

Jillian is a GREAT baby so far.  She figured out how to nurse when we were still in the recovery room and totally loves to eat.  If she isn’t asleep she wants to be eating, which is a good thing since she is so small.  She was 5 lbs 8 oz when she was born and when we left the hospital she was 5 lbs 1 oz.  We took her to the pediatrician today for a weight check and she is already up to 5 lbs 6 oz so I guess this all-you-can-eat buffet thing we’ve got going on is doing something!

The boys are completely in love with her. Aidan said "Mom, she's so soft and beautiful...like a flower!"

Welcome to the world, little Jilly Boo.  I’m glad you are finally here.

I got to be the featured guest blogger today.  Ain’t I special?

http://segullah.org/small-epiphanies/woolly-mommoth/

This summer I put the the boys in summer camp, aka Mom Freedom.  Two mornings a week I drop them off for three blissful hours.  I go shopping with no one asking for stuff or pretending like the aisle is “Luigi’s Circuit” from Mario Kart.  No one calls me “Princess Peach Mom” in public.  I can go to multiple stores with a calmness and purpose that I have never imagined.  In, out.  I could get used to this.

When school starts this will happen every single afternoon.  I. Can’t. Wait.  Then I’ll get pregnant and we’ll start this whole process over again.  The time.  The effort.  The inability to wipe ones own bum.  The kid better be pretty dang cute.  I’m told it’s worth it and I clench my teeth and tell Greg I think it’s worth it so it must be.  Right? 

The whole month of June passed by in a blur.  I went to the Wasatch Back Relay Race again, this time as a driver.  The knee is still cruddy so driving was the best I could do.  I was a little worried that I’d be all sad watching them run while I hobbled along in my gimpy glory but I wasn’t.  It looked hard.  And painful.  Been there, done that.  Not sure I want to do it again.  Those girls rocked those hills.  I love them all!

The remainder of our June weekends involved hangin’ out with with family.  Greg’s parents just entered the MTC on Monday and will be gone for the next 18 months.  They gave the each of the boys a picture of them with a nice note on the back.   A-Boy gives it a kiss every night before bed.  

I invited my entire side of the family over for the Fourth of July weekend.  Nine extra people sleeping at my house, piles of crap everywhere.  Thankfully I’m not being literal.  There was just lots of stuff.  Everywhere.  Chaos.    Insanity.  A Good Time.  We had hot dogs and corn on the cob.  We ate an entire watermelon.  We played on the Slip n Slide.  We went to the pool.  We lit fireworks.  We played games.  I’m pretty sure that Mini-Man thought he died and went to heaven at this point right here:

Having the fireman squirt you with his fire hose?  Amazing.  Squirting the other little kids?  Even MORE amazing.  The kid was completely soaked within two minutes. 

June was busy, July is not so much.  A-Boy is turning into a fish at swimming lessons, Mini-Man will finally put his face in the water with little-to-no freaking out.  I consider it a success.  Lessons ended today so to celebrate we sat on the front porch and ate gargantuan ice cream cones.

It’s nice to have time away from the boys.  But its even nicer to sit on the porch with drippy ice cream cones, talking about nothing.  Ah, Summer.  Thank you.

That or I better get preggers pretty quickly.  I’ve got no kids in diapers.  I guess I trudged my way right through that part.

School is out and my house can feel it.  The boys spent the day building forts and dumping out every container of toys they could get their grubby little hands on.  They played great together all morning and I kept thinking how lucky they are to have each other and patting myself on the back for being such a fabulous parent that has such fabulous kids that play so fabulously together.  In other words, I jinxed it.

Fighting ensued.  A-Boy wouldn’t let Mini-Man play with something.  Mini-Man kept trying to sit on A-Boy.  A-Boy shoved.  Mini-Man pushed.  There was tattling.  Mini-Man cried. 

He crawled into my arms, tears streaming down his face.  “I wanna *sniff* go *snort* to SCHOOL!!!!!!   “I miss my *hiccup* teacher!”   Aw, kid.  Sorry.  

Last week Mini-Man jumped off the bus and ran into the house.  “Mom, Mom!!  Look what’s in my backpack, hurry!”  I hurried.  All the stuff from his classroom.  The pumpkin shape with his name on it that told him where to sit.  The laminated wordstrip that he used every day to trace his name.  The flower that he hung on the ceiling.  I held all that stuff and cried like a baby.  In September he would barely talk or look at me.  And in May, here he is, telling me to look in his backpack and giving me hugs.

I want to kiss his teachers.  I don’t think I could ever make them understand how grateful I am for everything they have done for him.  They love their jobs and they love my son.  They celebrate his milestones just like I do.  Wonderful, wonderful people.

So there I was crying, clutching on to various arts and crafts and the dang pumpkin.  A-Boy asked what was wrong.  “Nothing is wrong, Honey.  I just don’t want you guys to grow up.”  I hugged him and thought about next year when both my kids will be in the big bad elementary school.  I hate that I can’t protect them from the world. 

As excited as I am to have 3 hours to myself every day, I’m sad too.  Five years went way too fast.  A-Boy tells me defiantly that he WILL grow up.  Because he wants to be six.  Six it is.  Be six.  And then don’t grow up after that.

A-Boy walking in with his friend for the preschool program.  And of course they had to play “We’re Going to be Friends” by Jack Johnson, causing me to well up with tears.  Grrr…

Mini-Man at his preschool program.  He got to wear a hula skirt and kept wiggling his hips back and forth.  So cute!

So yep.  Summer is here.  And I’m looking forward to spending some time with my little guys while they are still little.