Champ Grump

Holy moly, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.

Perhaps it has something to do with Ryder staying up until 1:30am.  Perhaps it has something to do with Ronan waking and crying about leg pains as soon as I got into bed.  Perhaps it has something to do with no coffee.

All I know is, damn.  I’m grumpy.

Today, Ronan and Ruby have “Home school gym class.”  It will be Ruby’s first time participating, if they let her.  She will be very much the youngest, but she follows directions really well and is excited to participate.  I think she’ll really enjoy it, and it would be just awesome if I could kick this shitty mood before then.

I would love to take a nap.  But I am determined to not let Ryder nap – possibly ever again.

Anyhow.  For now.  I’m probably going to watch an episode of Gilmore Girls, feed the kids some food and relax until the last possible second before we have to leave.  Because that’s how I roll.

 

What’s New

I just renewed my web-hosting.

I paid for another year of my blog, and the ability to blog.

I wasn’t ready to let it go yet.  So perhaps I should embrace it, and write.

What’s new?  I haven’t written in so long, it almost feels silly to write an update.  What has happened?  What is new?  Where are we?

Three beautiful children.  Ronan is 5, Ruby is 3 and Ryder is about to turn 2.  One on the way (as we just recently found out.)

 

I am lazy-homeschooling Ronan and just started working on things with Ruby.  Ryder is a gorgeous, toothless treasure, as he has the poor luck of being afflicted with early childhood caries.

Brock is working very successfully at his job.  I left my position as an ultrasound tech in April, and have been working relief… but mostly staying home with the kids.  We still struggle to keep the house clean.  We cook every meal from scratch.  We eat gluten-, dairy- and soy-free.  We spend lots of days at the playground.  Occupational therapy and homeschool gym-class and playdates.  We watch movies and we play with legos and we love.  We love a lot.

Here we are.  Moving forward.  A place to write the words that need to be written, because that’s what I usually need.

Why Did I Release My Adult Tongue Tie?

I got my tongue tie released today.  Immediately upon stating that, I was bombarded with questions.  I felt like blogging would be the best method of answering them all.  If you have any questions remaining at the end of this blog, feel free to ask them in the comments.

Why did I get my tongue tie released at 30 years old?

My reasons for getting my tongue tie corrected are manyfold.  First, because there are many symptoms associated with tongue tie that I experience.  Frequent headaches, digestive issues, shoulder and neck tension, jaw pain.  All of these things are or have been a problem for me in the past.  There is no proof clipping an adult tongue tie will help with these issues, but I figured it was worth a shot.

Second, because I have gotten two of my children revised (each twice!) in the past, and I want to know what I put them through.

Third, because of needing to have each of my children revised twice, I wanted to experience the process of healing a revision without allowing it to heal restricted again.

And fourth, because I’m a dork and I wanted to know what it would be like to have normal movement with my tongue!

What was it like?

Shew.  It wasn’t terrible.  They checked my mouth and took a few “before” pictures, then put some analgesic cream on the lingual frenum (the tight bit under my tongue).  A few minutes later, I felt numb and he injected numbing medicine into the area under my tongue.  We chatted for another minute or two until I felt like I was sufficiently numbed, and he started.  I closed my eyes, and I knew he was using a tool to lift my tongue although I couldn’t feel it at all.  I wasn’t even sure when he started cutting, except that I immediately could smell hot, burning flesh… but I still couldn’t feel anything.  No pressure, no pulling, no burning.  I didn’t feel a thing.

He clipped for 40 seconds?  Maybe just a little bit more.  When he was done, he asked me to lift my tongue up and back like he had before, and my tongue TOUCHED the roof of my mouth.  It was honestly the ODDEST sensation.  That part of the roof of my mouth had never been touched by the tip of my tongue before.  I laughed a little maniacally.

He took a few after pictures, and we talked a little bit about the aftercare, and then I came home.

What do I think?

This one is hard to be objective.  It didn’t hurt for a good while after.  Then the numbing medicine wore off, and it began to ache.  Then I did my first set of stretches, and holy mackerel.  It hurt.  It hurt bad.  I began sucking on ice, and trying not to move my tongue as much as possible.  I finally broke down and took some Ibuprofen.  Currently, it hurts but not excruciating.  There was no bleeding.  No stitches.  I can swallow with LESS effort than before I had it released.  Talking is a little painful, but my speech hasn’t been affected at all.  I can stick my tongue out nearly twice as far as I could before.  I can lick my back molars.  There may be more that I don’t know I can do yet, as I’m being a little hesitant about playing with it!

I’ll try to update at the end of this blog as it heals.  But here are some before and after pictures!

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Pre on Left – Post on Right

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Actual incision size.

8 hours post-op:  My tongue feels swollen.  The area under my tongue feels swollen.  When I stretch it as hard as I can, it tears a little.  It is exquisitely tender.  I can chew, swallow and talk.  My breath is terrible.  The pain/aching is less.  All in all, still ambivalent about how I feel about this procedure.

 

Are You Done?

Such a harmless question. I’ve asked it myself so very many times. “Do you want any more children? Or are you done?”

I don’t know how to answer such a question when asked of me. Do we WANT more? Well. It depends on the day. Do we FEEL done? Um. That depends on how well my children are currently behaving.

The plain truth is that I love being pregnant. I love birthing. I love breastfeeding and newborns and baby breath. I love it all. I cannot imagine saying to myself, “I never want to do this again.”

That being said – three is lots. Three is plenty. Our time and energy is already spread out among our young. We already feel strapped and stressed. I know we could HANDLE another child. I know another child would be loved and welcomed.

But do I know IF we will have any more?

Honestly? No. I don’t.

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I Know This Mom.

I know this mom who circumsized her son.  She didn’t do any research, she didn’t know anything about the procedure, her husband was circumsized, so she just did it.

I know this mom who absolutely refused to have her newborn circumcised.  She had heard so many awful things about the procedure, and knew that she didn’t want her brand-new baby to experience any pain, so she and her husband decided that it wouldn’t be done, ever.

I know this mom that lets her kids snack on junk-food.  Treats like fruit gummies and goldfish that are really nothing more than processed trash.  Juice and ice-cream and cookies?  Sure, why not.

I know this mom that only feeds her kids whole foods, like fruit and veggies.  Her kids eat hard boiled eggs as snacks.  They don’t ever get junk, and they never ask for it.

I know this mom that absolutely SWEARS she will never let her babies sleep in bed with her.  She believes with all her heart that kids belong in their own beds, and once you let them in bed with you, you’ll never get them out again.

I know this mom that has a family bed.  All of her children sleep with her and her husband every single night.  They have no plans to end their sleeping arrangement any time soon.

I know this mom that says she’s only going to breastfeed until her baby is 6 months old, because that will probably be good enough.

I know this mom that is going to allow her baby to self-wean, because she doesn’t want to encourage the ending of their nursing relationship, be it 3, 4 or 5 years down the road.

I know this mom that allowed her doctor to induce her at 39 weeks pregnant with NO medical indication, because she was tired of being pregnant, and trusted her doctor to do the very best thing for her.  She didn’t bother to do any research or learn otherwise, she just decided to “go with the flow” because it sounded good.

I know this mom that birthed her child at home, in her bathroom, because she swears that the medical system is designed to fail moms and she didn’t want the risk of an unwanted intervention.

I know this mom that puts sunscreen on her kids every single time that they go outside, and keeps slathering it on every few hours, without thought of chemicals or parabens or any of that creepy stuff found in name brand products.

I know this mom that doesn’t EVER use sunscreen on her kids.  They wear hats and shirts, and limit outdoor time to mornings and evenings.

I know this mom that yells at her kids ALL THE TIME.  She gets irritated at the smallest things, and I swear her kids dont even react unless she is yelling.

I know this mom that spanks.  When she gets frustrated, she raises her hand, and doesn’t have the self control to stop her arm from striking.  She says she feels guilty afterwards, but she continues to hit.

I know this mom that doesn’t ever hit her kids.  She doesn’t even yell.  She says that she whispers, and counts to ten when she’s frustrated, uses time outs, and has to remind herself that her children aren’t trying to frustrate her.  She says she surprises herself with her self-control sometimes.  She seems to have endless patience.

I know this mom that vaccinates her children.  On schedule.  Multiple vaccines, all given at the same time, with no thought towards the risk or consequences.

I know this mom that doesn’t vaccinate her children.  At all.  They haven’t had any of the recommended shots, and aren’t planning on getting any in the future.

I know this mom that listens to and does everything her pediatrician tells her.  She doesn’t always agree with her doc, but she does what she’s told anyways.

I know this mom that sticks to her guns, and follows her guts.  ESPECIALLY when she disagrees with something a professional has told her.  She will get a second opinion faster than you can blink an eye, and has no problem researching all of her options before deciding what to do.  Even if her peditrician disagrees.

Ladies.  I know this mom.  You know this mom.

All of these moms are me.  Each one of these moms is the mother that I was at some point on my mothering journey.  I have grown, and learned, and changed.  I have done things I swore I would NEVER do, and not done things I thought were essential to parenting.  I have been gently guided and instructed by trusted and loved friends.  I have seen and heard and challenged myself.  And what’s the point of all this?

The point is, even if you disagree with what another mother chooses, even if you don’t support what she’s doing, even if you think she is flat out wrong.. you should love and support her anyways.  Gently guide.  Give encouragment.  Model better behavior.  Because she is just at a different place in her mothering journey.  Because this journey is HARD.  Because we ALL need love and support.

And there is enough to give that we should never run out.  Ever.

Ryder Kane – The Birth

On Wednesday, November 21st, I was 40 weeks and 5 days pregnant.  I was tired of being pregnant, and tired of trying to be patient, and ready to have a baby.  I had been looking forward to giving birth, and SO EXCITED for so long, only to continue being pregnant.  I was READY.

Brock, my mom and I were all sitting on the couch watching TV.  My contractions were strong when I had them, but they were so sporadic it quickly became frustrating.  I decided, for the first time, to take matters into my own hands… so I started some nipple stimulation to see if it would help things ‘pick up’.  It really, really did.  Contractions came hard and fast and long.  At one point, they were only 4 minutes apart!  I stopped nipple stimulation, and the contractions kept coming.  Around 10pm, I told Brock that I felt like things were getting real – really real.  He said that he was tired and went upstairs to get in bed for a while… and I got miffed.  Angrily, I sat down on the couch and brooded and grumped myself out of labor.  By 11pm, my contractions had essentially stopped.

Mom and I spent a good half hour picking up the house and making things presentable just in case things got started again, and when they didn’t, we said goodnight. I was still upset with Brock when I got in bed, so I told him.  He apologized, we kissed and made up, and went to sleep.  I was awakened a few minutes later with a good, hard contraction.  “Good“, I thought, and I ignored it and went back to sleep.  Contraction.  Sleep.  Contraction.  Sleep.

I continued this way until nearly 2am when I finally decided to start timing them.  They were 7 minutes apart.  I got up, ran the tub full of water, lit a bunch of candles and decided that I would call my midwife the moment they got closer than 6 minutes apart.  I got in the tub, jittery and excited, allowed myself to relax and… nothing.

Just freaking nothing.  I didn’t have another single contraction for the 30 minutes I sat in the tub.  I sent Brock back to bed, told him to sleep, and I tried to doze again.  Contraction.  Sleep.  Contraction.  Sleep.  Contraction.  Anger.  Frustration.  Sleep.  Was this real, or not?

I got out of bed, quietly, and noticed my mom was awake.  It was around 4am, and I asked if she wanted to go downstairs with me.  I needed something to eat, and perhaps some mindless TV while I tried to bounce on the ball, squat, and do anything I could think of to make my uterus make up its mind.  I called my midwife to tell her what was going on (contracting 6-10 minutes apart since around midnight) and she said she would head over.  Mom and I sat and watched America’s Funniest Home Videos and snacked while we waited.  I was nervous about a false alarm, so I drank a little bit of red wine.  But the contractions kept coming, and they were getting stronger.

Stephanie, my midwife, showed up about an hour later, and my contractions – you guessed it! – STOPPED.  Completely.  For nearly an hour we sat and chatted while I didn’t have a single one.  I started getting more and more nervous, and felt more and more like a false-alarm jerk until around 6am, when they started picking up again.  I told her I had been contracting ALL night, and checking myself and my cervix hadn’t changed a bit.  To me, I still felt about 1cm dilated, maybe 50% effaced.  She asked me if I’d like her to check me and I jumped at the chance.  Maybe I just really suck at this checking myself.

“Well, you have a very posterior cervix.  Girl!  How do you even reach this??!  Let me see if I can help it out,” she told me.  I laughed and muttered something about long fingers.  She hooked her fingers into my cervix and gently coaxed it more forward/anterior.  It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t painful or terrible either.  After a minute or so of mucking around she said, “You have a very happy cervix!  It feels about 5cm dilated, and 75% effaced!”  She then went on to explain how the baby’s head can’t apply the right kind of pressure to a posterior cervix, and moving it forward allowed it to open to where it should have been with all my contractions.

Woooooooo!  My heart soared!  Not a false alarm!  Things are moving!!  We are having a baby today!!!  Immediately after, I FINALLY had a bloody show and lost my mucus plug.  The contractions kept coming with increasing intensity (although not any more frequently) and we started making phone calls.  Laura C, to come over and help with the kids when they woke up.  Jane, to come and bring the kids to her house.  Julie, to be the awesome  midwife assistant.  And Lora D, to be my birth photographer.  It felt like just minutes passed, and people started showing up in my house.  Suddenly I was in a living room full of energetic, beautiful, birthy women that were all there just to support me.

It was 7:30am, and both of my kids were still sleeping, which is kind of unheard of.  I went upstairs to my bathroom while the midwives got all of their equipment brought in and set up.  I didn’t want Ronan or Ruby to see me when they woke, since they would be leaving – we felt better telling them mama wasn’t home.  There was lots of happy sitting and chatting in the bathroom while I contracted every 10-15 minutes or so.  From here on out, my timeline gets hazy, because I didn’t have a clock and gave my cell phone to Laura (@kittybiscuit) so she could live-tweet.  But once the kids were picked up, it was time for things to get serious, and since I felt like I didn’t need to worry about Ronan or Ruby – I could finally get serious.

Stephanie made me “run the stairs” to see if that would get things moving a little faster.  Down each step one at a time, up two at a time, as quickly as I could.  Someone at the top to cheer me on, and someone at the bottom.  I was high on adrenaline, and excited to be moving towards my goal: a brand new baby.  I did the steps 6 times and then needed a rest.  Snacked.  Drank water.  Peed.  Contracted.  Contracted.  Contracted.

A while later, Stephanie sent Brock and I out for a walk.  Power walking, stopping through contractions, during which my mom cooked everyone breakfast.  This was the first time that my contractions really picked up, and started coming more frequently than every 15 minutes.  We came back in the house and chatted with everyone while they finished eating.  It was so lovely.  Bright, friendly, full of laughter.  All of my support people seemed so happy to be there.  It was right around then that my contractions became hard and long enough to moan through.  I stood for 5 or 6 of them, and then wanted to move into the living room.  I started needing counter pressure, long contractions with lots of moaning.  Stephanie and Julie nodded at each other knowingly.  I wanted to get moving upstairs towards the bathroom, where I had planned, visualized, and dreamed about having this baby.

I remember motion.  My labor was so full of motion.  It felt good to rock, and sway, and move.  I danced my way through every single contraction.

It was around this point, Stephanie suggested that I lay down in bed and try to sleep between contractions.  I hadn’t actually slept at all yet, and some quiet time in a dark room seemed like it would do me good.  So we pulled all the curtains, turned out the lights, and Brock and I cuddled into bed for a nap.  It was wonderful.  Quiet, and comfortable, and… contraction.  They were still far apart enough that I could actually rest between them.  I dozed.  I snoozed just a little.  I finally fell asleep…  and then I was woken up by the biggest, strongest contraction yet.  It felt pushy.  I wanted to get in the tub.  Immediately.

I got out of bed and stripped, started the tub, and everyone else moved upstairs to join me.  Being in the water felt amazing.  My contractions, still plenty far apart, were incredibly powerful.  I wanted to push at the peak of them.  Everyone got very quiet when a contraction started coming on.  Between contractions, we had chatter, jokes and lots of smiles.  My mom was worried.  Stephanie was calm.  Laura C was excited!  Julie was bright and encouraging.  Lora D was comforting.  And Brock was strong.

Eventually, after changing positions several times, I wanted Brock in the tub behind me.  I wanted to lean on him, push against him, hold his hands.  He sat in that position and bore my weight for the rest of the delivery.  I asked for music, and then wanted it turned off.  I rolled on to hands and knees, and then back.  Stephanie told me to check myself and see if I could feel the baby’s head, and I could!  It was right there, less than my first knuckle deep!  With every SLOW coming contraction, I would push… but they weren’t the right kind of pushes.  They weren’t the pushes that made a baby come out.

I started getting incredibly frustrated.  And angry.  I wanted the contractions, because they meant a baby, but I didn’t want the contractions because they hurt.  I hummed.  I hummed oh-so-tunelessly between contractions, and started shaking my head “no” as I felt a contraction come on.  I felt myself start to cry.  I wanted to give up.  I was done.  “I’m so tired.  I’m so exhausted.  I can’t do this.  I don’t want to do this.”

Support and encouragement rose up around me.

“You CAN do this, Mandy.”

“You ARE doing this.”

“You’re almost there, and when the hard part is over you get to hold your baby.”

“You are so strong, Mandy.  You are tired, but your body is strong.”

I shook my head.  I didn’t want to hear the words.  I didn’t want to believe them.  But they were right.  And they said all the right things.  I pushed forward.

I was tired of laying and Brock’s legs were asleep from me leaning, so we moved into a squatting position for a few contractions.  It felt good to change position, but I wanted to be laying on my side.  That was where I felt the best.  It felt like the right place to deliver a baby.  I moved back on to my side in the tub, and then checked myself again.  The head was gone.  Changing positions had made the baby move all the way back up.  I cried and cried.  I was so disappointed.

Stephanie said she wanted to give me a spot to push into.  She told me she was going to put her fingers where she wanted me to push, and that it might help me push more effectively.  When she put her fingers in to check, she said that I was an “anterior cervical lip.” (remember?!  With Ruby?!)  That means that a small portion of the front of my cervix had gotten stuck between the baby’s head and my pubic bone, and had swollen up.  I couldn’t push past it.  She said she was going to push it out of the way… and then she did.

It was literally the most painful, visceral reaction I’d ever had.  Immediately, my whole body contracted up, and I yelled out.  It hurt, but it was also just incredibly uncomfortable.  It made me feel like I wanted to puke.  But I knew it was doing something, because it REALLY made me want to push.  She said she had to keep it moved out of the way until the next contraction.  I was crying, “You’re hurting me.  You’re hurting me,” over and over.  I told her, “I REALLY want to cuss!” and then I said, “I feel like a toddler.”  Transition Mandy didn’t fail to make everyone chuckle.

The next contraction mounted, and I checked out.

“No, I don’t want to do this.  I can’t.  I can’t do this.  I’m too tired.  It hurts too much.  I want to stop.”

Julie moved up and held my hand.  She was a comforting voice in my ear, and I needed her there.

Stephanie got down to business.

Now, there is something special about midwives.  Let me tell you, they are a very unique, amazing kind of woman.  They have the beauty and grace and peace to be a rock during labor… but they also have the ability to tell you when it’s time to get the job done.  And they mean it.

“Mandy,” Stephanie told me firmly, “YOU have to decide to do this.  YOU have to get this baby out.  Now we can sit and wait and it can take a few more hours, or you can PUSH and have your baby and be done.”

Tough love.  But it worked.

I pushed, and my water broke.  I had moved the baby down far enough to start to see hair. It was waving around in the water, swaying with the motion.  It was entrancing.

I pushed, and the head began to crown.  Everyone told me to look down!  Look, you can see your baby!  “I don’t want to!” I shouted.  I just wanted to get the baby out.  The head moved back and I thought to myself, “Oh no you don’t!

I pushed, and the baby crowned.  I screamed.  It hurt, but it didn’t hurt that bad… it just felt really good to scream.  It felt like it needed to be screamed.  Another contraction.

Another push.  The head was delivered.  Perfect, covered in long, dark hair.  Two perfect ears.  Nothing else.  The baby was exactly face down.  I was crying.  Brock was crying.  I don’t know if anyone wasn’t crying.

Push.  One really, big, hard, long push.  The shoulders came out all at once, broadly, and body followed so quickly after.  It’s still just a hazy blur, it was so fast.  Stephanie helped me pull the baby up on to my chest, and quickly unwound a single nuchal cord.  I reached my arm down and cupped the little bottom and felt testicles!  “It’s a boy!” I shouted.  I felt Brock’s arms wrap around me as we both gazed down at this perfect little being, our brand new baby boy.  There was vernix everywhere, and his sweet little head was slippery with it.  I couldn’t stop touching him.  He opened his mouth in a single cry and I proclaimed, with tears in my eyes, “Oh baby boy, you are SO tongue tied.”

We sat in the tub together, gazing at each other until his cord stopped pulsing.  I delivered the placenta easily, and let my mom cut the cord.  Brock took the baby, already named Ryder Kane, and got to hold his sweet son as I got up out of the tub, toweled off and moved to the bed.  A few moments later, Ryder was handed to me for his first latch.  And despite his tongue tie, he nursed well immediately.  His newborn evaluation announced him to be 7 pounds and 4 ounces, 21 inches long.  And perfect.

I can’t even begin to imagine a better birth, a more beautiful day.  I am still surprised it took so long (10 hours from when Stephanie came until birth!) but I wouldn’t have changed a thing about it.  I was happy, and surrounded by love.  I had the worlds most perfect birth partner – Brock did EVERYTHING right.  I have never been more proud of him.  My mother was there, and even though it was very difficult for her, she stayed for me.  My beautiful friend Laura got to share in the joy, and shared the joy with all of you.  Stephanie and Julie made me feel safe, and calm, and so powerful.  And Lora took the most amazing pictures of the most incredible day that I will never, ever forget.  She captured each moment.  Perfectly.

In closing, I’d love to share my birth photography video with you.  Thank you for reading, and being a part of this beautiful miracle, even in just one small way.  Enjoy.

 

Mandy Birth from Lora Denton on Vimeo.

Costumes

This post is intentionally not titled “Halloween”.

I have decided that I don’t like Halloween.  In the past, I have enjoyed pumpkin patch pictures, carving jack-o-lanterns, pumpkin seeds, making fall treats, dressing up and trick or treating!  All of the above!

This time around, though, all I’ve done is stress about candy, HFCS, dyes, gluten, soy, and how to keep all of that to a minimum.  I’ve felt guilty about not feeling up to going to the pumpkin patch.  We didn’t even buy a pumpkin to carve.  I have had so many negative feelings about this holiday that I decided to hate it.

But that’s okay!  I’m NOT going to beat myself up, because there’s always next year, and we still had fun, and not every holiday has to be perfect.  That being said, I will continue to dislike Halloween in the future.  Intensely.

I didn’t get many, but here are a couple SOOC pictures of my Ironman and my Cupcake.

Ronan is 3 years 8 months.  Ruby is 1 year 8 months.  I am 38 weeks pregnant.

Happy Halloween.

 

I am.

I am a woman.

I am a wife.

I am a mother.

I am a friend, a sister, a child.

I am an ultrasound tech.

I am a blogger.

I am a social media junkie.

I am a breastfeeding mama.

I am a natural birthing junkie.

I am smart.

I am kind.

I am healthy.

I am lucky.

I am outgoing, and friendly, and love to laugh loudly.

I am scared.

I am frustrated.

I am selfish, and self-centered and shallow.

I am powerful.

I am beautiful.

I am caring, and thoughtful and always want to help.

I am anxious.

I am lazy.

I am exactly as wonderful as you think I am.

I am jealous.

I am lonely.

I am far less worthy of your envy than you think I am.

I am fragile.

I am unsure.

I am always trying to be better.

I am greatful for today.

I am ready for tomorrow.

I am all of these things, and so much more.

I am Mandy.

I am me.

 

A Friend Indeed.

I am counting down the days until I deliver my third child.

This is not my first rodeo, or first time around the block, or whatever cliche you’d like to attribute to the experience.  I have done all of this before.  But this time, I want something a little different.

I have decided to hire a birth photographer.  If you’ve been to my blog once or twice, you’ve noticed how much time and energy I like to put into photography.  Even if it’s only my iPhone pictures… they matter.  I want things documented.  I have exactly one picture of me in labor with Ronan, and around seven photos of Ruby’s birth.  I consider all of the pictures pricless, and I’m thankful for what I have.

I want more.

I have had several people recommend a local birth photographer to me.  Her name is Lora Denton, and her pictures are so good, they will give you chills.  On a whim, I sent her an email to see if she had any spots open in November – she only does 2 births a month, so it felt like a long shot!  I was lucky, and she had space, so we set up a meeting.  Since I’m having a homebirth, I invited her over to my house.  She wanted to get to see the space we would be birthing in, and that sounded like a great idea.  She also asked if it was okay for her to bring her 3.5 year old, and seeing as I’ve got one too, I said absolutely!

We decided to meet Friday at 11.  She showed up perfectly on time, and we both chuckled as our sons were wearing matching Superman t-shirts.  I invited her in, showed her around my house, and we became best friends.

You think I’m joking.  I’m not joking.

Seriously, Lora stayed and chatted with me for nearly 3 hours.  We found out that we have SO MUCH in common.  And she was such an amazing pleasure to talk to.  Not only do I love her photography, but I’m seriously thrilled that she’s going to be at my birth – it really means something to be surrounded by special women.

Ronan and her little boy played for 3 hours straight.  They had a BLAST.  They were a perfect match for each other.  And you’d think, both of us loving photography the way we do, one of us would have snapped a picture.  HA!  Not so.  There WILL be play-dates in our future.

Anyways.  There are 10 weeks left until my official due date.  And I am so excited for it.  I actually feel ready for it.  And I can’t wait to share this experience with all of you.

It’s going to be really, really great.  You’ll see.

Little Bits.

Just a teeny-tiny update.

Ronan started Preschool today.  He’s excited. I’m… coping.

We are officially in the 3rd trimester, and the baby seems to be happy staying head-down.

Ruby’s favorite things to say are, “Dent-too” (thank you) and “Eye-ooo!” (I love you).

We sold our couch.  We have no couch.  Today, I am buying a couch.

My goal for the week is to go through, wash and organize ALL of the baby clothes.

I bought some window treatments for our bedroom. (Sheets be-gone!)

I may be moving to an afternoon shift at work, instead of continuing to work nights.  I’m actually really excited about it!

I have sold 10 hats!  Winter is coming… it’s getting cooler by the day.  Don’t forget to get yours!

I am excited about this couch.  I’m gonna quit typing and make sure it gets bought today.  Because I’m such a winner, I left my driver’s license at home… now I have to drive all the way back to the store in order to finish my purchase and ensure TODAY delivery.

I NEED a couch.

Ronan is 3.5, Ruby is 19 months and I am 29 weeks pregnant.