The perfect day that almost wasn't

I got to do a Thing a few months ago. As luck would have it, it was on my birthday. Even more fortuitously, it was absolutely the most fun, perfect, and wonderful thing I could never have imagined (seriously, I wouldn't have ever thought to name this as my perfect birthday activity) for any special day. I didn't even get to do some of this stuff for my wedding. The entire day was an absolute delight. I will definitely share actual details, but what I really wanted to share was how that special day almost didn't happen.

My wonderful friend Valerie is a seriously wonderful wedding planner with a wonderful wedding coordination team in Portland. (Champagne Wedding Coordination. Getting married? Look them up.) She was putting together a photo shoot to feature a new event venue in Portland, and she needed models, she said. And she asked ME! (And Joseph.) I was surprised and a little shocked at first and then immediately kind of like this: 

My husband had to hear a lot of that for many weeks. Thankfully, Valerie was feeling about the same way and we kept in contact for updates about the shoot, so we got to do a lot of that sort of thing together.

Now here's the honest truth: I had just had a baby not three months before. And I had not lost all of the 35-40 lbs I'd gained during my pregnancy. As with most women, I probably noticed it more than anyone else. But it was okay- I wasn't letting it bother me because I was just enjoying being healthy and taking care of a very obviously fat and healthy baby. Because here's another truth about me: I truly believe, and I will say it all day long, that if mom and baby are healthy, there is no need to worry about weight loss after pregnancy. I know people who go bananas trying to lose weight right after giving birth- counting calories, working out (maybe sooner than they should), going on diets, constantly using the phrase "goal weight," etc. Look, I don't like carrying around extra weight any more than the next girl, but I've always had a high metabolism and I didn't want to do anything that would jeopardize my (admittedly ample) milk supply, so when it came to losing weight after having Matthew, I was content to work out enough to feel good and eat healthy food and see how weight loss went. It wasn't my focus. I was happy with my body the way it was, extra pounds and all.

Or was I?

I never told Valerie any of this. (Sorry, Valerie!) As the weeks went on, I began to get slightly nervous. It became apparent that this wasn't just dressing up and taking some pictures. She was planning a full fictional wedding and putting great thought into details about her vision for all the elements of the shoot and choosing only the best vendors. In particular, when she showed me the dresses she had picked out... well, first I did this: 

But I started to get nervous as well. Because it's one thing to feel comfortable with your own body around your husband and family and even going around your small town. It's another thing to feel confident enough to be a very visible piece in someone's gorgeous wedding photo shoot, which had a chance at being published on blogs that had a very large audience. It was possible that many, many people would see me. And though they'd never seen me before, and for all they knew I could have looked my best, they would still see me a little rounder than I used to be, and certainly heavier than most model brides.

I even asked Valerie at one point if she wouldn't rather hire professional models. She assured me that we would be great. (My husband has no lack of confidence, so he was not going through the same struggles I was.) Despite her reassurances, I started looking through more of Champagne's past photo shoots to see what I could expect/compare myself to past models and feeling nervous became feeling stressed. I worried about how I looked daily. I made more of an effort to work out, but most shamefully, I stopped eating. As the shoot got closer, I went for several days at a time eating barely anything. I even considered asking Valerie if she had a backup because I didn't know if I could/should do the shoot at my present weight. Unfortunately, because I ate so little at the same time as Matthew had his three month growth spurt, my supply dropped and I struggled to keep up with his demand. For the first time, he became sad and fussy while nursing, as if there wasn't enough there. 

I did drop a lot of weight before the shoot, but that was kind of a low point for me. Breastfeeding is my "thing." It is one of the things I am immensely proud of, because I believe in it and because I fought for it so hard for it with all of my kids. I feel incredibly personally satisfied when I see my babies growing big and strong and fat and smart without depending on anything but me for sustenance. That's all aside from the emotional satisfaction of snuggling and bonding with a baby while nursing. When I saw that Matthew was not getting what he needed from me, I was forced to confront the fact my actions were completely contradictory to my beliefs about postpartum weight loss. 

I had to pull myself together for a major mental readjustment. I had some soul-searching conversations with Joseph which (as usual) helped me begin to get the right frame of mind. And instead of working out and depriving myself of food to lose the last few pregnancy pounds before the shoot (I could have made it to my pre-pregnancy weight, too, if I'd kept up with it!), I decided that Matthew's needs came before my vanity. I decided to be curvier but happier. I decided to trust Valerie's judgment in choosing me. (She is the professional, after all.) I decided that the rest of the pounds would come off in their own time, but I wasn't going to force them right then. 

And suddenly, instead of a looming, intimidating event, the day became something I looked forward to. I was so much happier, and so was everyone around me. My weight didn't drop, but it didn't go up either, and my supply came back and we got through Matthew's growth spurt. And because I decided to wrestle my vanity to the floor, tie it up, and throw it in a closet, THIS was the result. Go ahead, follow the link. Look through the whole gallery. I'll give you a minute.

Isn't it stunning?? 

First, I'd like you to notice Valerie's brilliance, and how all the beautiful, fresh details that she thought up in her own creative noggin came together to create an absolutely gorgeous Tuscan themed wedding. 

Then I'd like you to note the talent of all the vendors who contributed to the shoot, from the owner of Opal 28 who made such a beautiful modern venue, to the brilliant photographer, the dessert caterer who made the gorgeous, sweet, real cakes and desserts, the florist! The jewelry designer! The stationary designer! And my drop-dead-stunning hair and makeup! 

And then finally, I'd like you to notice how unnoticeable my few extra pounds are. You can probably see them, now that I've pointed it out, but mostly you probably notice (as you should) the heavenly dresses, veil, hairstyles, jewelry, or really anything other than my weight. 

If I'd allowed my vanity to get the better of me, I would have missed out on one of the best days of my life. I got to spend it with Joseph acting like a bride and groom again. I got to hang out with Valerie. I got to fulfill a lifelong dream of having a professional do my hair and makeup for the day and I met some wonderful, interesting people. I got to relax, dress up like a princess, and smile and kiss my husband on demand, essentially reliving my wedding day but with incredibly talented professional planning and coordination. Seriously. There was no downside. Plus there was cake. CAKE. 

So now I can say with even greater conviction than before that there is no need to worry about weight loss after pregnancy. If it's not for health, then it's basically for vanity, and mine caused me to lose focus on what was important and nearly kept me from some of the most fun I've ever had. I wasn't at my pre-pregnancy goal weight. I'm still not. And I can now confidently say, 

I want to be healthy, but my life is too full of important things to stress about something as unimportant as quickly losing weight. 

(P.S. I recently discovered the site www.reactiongifs.com. I can't get out. Send help.)

Comedy Hour: Well-Child Checkup

Welcome to comedy hour here at No Ordinary Family! In this segment I will relate to you a hilarious story about the time I took three young children to the doctor's office solo. If you're a parent of three or more kids, this will sound mighty familiar to you. If you're not a mom, make sure you're sitting down. If you're pregnant (especially with your second or third child), definitely be sitting down (take is easy, girlfriend!) and don't worry, you'll learn to appreciate this kind of humor.

Last week was my son's two year well-child checkup. I hate the doctor, but I love my kids, so I take them to be tortured to make sure they're healthy. Unfortunately, I ended up having to take all three kids by myself. What I know of doing anything (especially if it's "an outing") with three kids so far is to lower your expectations about as far as they can go. So in my mind, the visit would have gone well if we,
a) Made it to the doctor's office, and,
b) Saw the doctor, and,
c) All made it home alive.
I used to have ideas about "cleanliness" and "good behavior" and "being on time," but experience and a lack of sleep have taken those from me, along with my dignity and short-term memory. (Although one thing I can remember is my son sitting on my lap last week poking my still-soggy post-baby tummy and saying "beep!" over and over again. I laughed with him and cried on the inside. No dignity. Anyway...)

In the car, I mentally prepped my kids for the general order of events and what the doctor would do, trying to glaze over the fact that my son would be stabbed with a needle multiple times. This has worked well in the past, but this time it caused my daughter to start crying. Was her tender heart sorry for her little brother? No. She was "sad because I'm not getting a shot so I don't get to pick a treat. Waaauuuuhhh!" We hadn't even made it out of the car.

But- would you believe it? We made it to the doctor's office on time! Early, even! I used the old Jedi mind-trick of setting my phone alarm too early. The waiting room was filled with silent adults. My kids headed to the corner with the toys, where there happened to be no other children, and proceeded to be adorable. Strangers smiled in our direction. Score.

I took Matthew out of his car seat and he smiled at me from my lap and all the strangers smiled at our adorable family. But then I smelled a smell. A smelly smell. A smelly smell that smelled... smelly. It was the diaper of my own smiling baby. Taking him to the bathroom would be a gamble, because I had no idea if our name was going to be called in two minutes or twenty. As it happened, at that moment, Diana announced she needed to go potty anyway. So I pried an unwilling Liam away from the germ-infested toys to go to the germ-infested bathroom. (I forgot to mention that our family doctor's office shares a waiting room with the Urgent Care center.) Our MO in public restrooms is for the kids to stand in a corner NOT TOUCHING ANYTHING until we exit the stall. But since I was alone, with two hands occupied with Diana and then changing Matthew, they sensed my weakness and would not stay put, so we were exposed to an unknown number of germs and diseases.

We left the bathroom and the kids bolted over to the germ-infested toys where a little girl was playing with some foam letters and proceeded to jointly rip them from her. I didn't see it, but I heard her protest. They know we don't grab. I don't know why they had taken leave of their senses and had chosen to forget that fact in a waiting room full of silent adults who had nothing better to do than watch the noisy children. So I called them over to me and used my best "You'd better shape up or you're in big trouble" death-whisper. It seemed to work, because they played relatively peacefully for the rest of the HOUR that we spent waiting for the doctor. However, in that time, Matthew began to cry more insistently. I began to get set up to feed him when, of course, the nurse came out and called Liam's name.

Liam is a very outgoing boy, and very happy, and loves people. But as if he could sense our malicious purpose, he suddenly shrank from the nurse. He followed me into the back, but his cooperative good nature was overcome by fear and a murky memory of the horrors he had experienced at the doctor's office before, and he fell to pieces. I had to hold him with me on the scale, which meant the nurses had to get my weight first. (Newsflash: it's not my pre-baby weight.) Matthew was fussing, but I couldn't feed him because for the rest of the exam, I had to hold Liam on my lap or wrestle him bodily on the exam table. At least I wasn't pregnant for that part. He might not have been able to hear Liam's heart well, but the doctor confidently said he had "very healthy lungs." He had to shout his list of standard questions ("Can he stack blocks by himself?" "Does he have a vocabulary of more than 20 words?" Etc.) over the sound of Matthew yelling and Liam sobbing, but I think all the answers were satisfactory. Meanwhile Diana was taking off her shoes and dropping them on the floor under chairs, asking to read the magazines and trying to explore the drawers under the exam table. Still, I kept my cool. What else could I do, really? We were basically a loud three-ring circus. At some point it all just becomes hilarious.

What's that, you say? There's room for more chaos? You're right! As the doctor was finishing the exam and going to fetch the nurse to administer Liam's vaccinations, Diana announced she had to go potty. Again. And of course there was no way Liam was going to wait with Matthew in the exam room while I took her. So off we took our whole flipping circus of four to another germ-infested bathroom. Liam kept dropping his blanket on the floor and then picking it up and putting it in his mouth, but I couldn't do anything about that because I was holding Diana on the potty. Matthew provided the soundtrack for the whole event. As luck would have it, it was a FALSE ALARM, which I love. However, I took the opportunity to put up Diana's hair since it had been falling into her face. This caused her to loudly yell, "Ouch, Mommy! Stop! Stop it! You're hurting me! Stop!" Which is, of course, an awesome thing to have coming from a child with you in a closed bathroom- if you want to be investigated by Child Protective Services. She also remembered my promise that Liam could pick out a treat after he got shots and began wailing because she wasn't going to get shots. Of course. Out we went, back to the exam room, poor ignored Matthew still yelling. Liam was very happy to see the cool Band-Aids the nurses showed him, but when he saw the needles the jig was up. (Happily, when Diana saw the needles, her eyes got big and she stopped whining and declared that she didn't want a shot or subsequent treat.) More twisting, screaming, and wrestling, despite gentle assurances from me trying to remind him of all the good things to come after the shots.

I dislike doctors in general, but I love, love, love nurses. They prove to me every time we go to the doctor's office (which is fairly often now that we have three kids) that there are good people who care about others out there, even in a medical setting. When the deed was done, the very sweet nurses offered Liam his choice of stickers, and he stopped crying right away. Meanwhile, Matthew is still crying, Diana is asking me goodness-knows-what, and I'm just sitting there like,

We packed our circus up and walked out past the waiting room full of silent adults who had certainly heard what sounded like two children being murdered in the back room. Out at the car, I let the kids climb around in their seats while I finally fed my longsuffering Matthew. He sat up and smiled at me, and out of sheer joy and gratitude, spit up probably almost everything I'd fed him all over himself, my shoulder, arm, jeans, and the passenger seat. I cleaned him up, ordered the kids into their car seats, and as I was putting him into his car seat, I noticed that the strange feeling from my shoe meant, yep, I'd stepped in gum. And tracked it into the car.

We got there, we saw the doctor, we all got out alive. It went well.

Fin.

(P.S. I've learned my lesson and am actively looking for people to watch my older two during Matthew's four month checkup this week.)

And another thing!

I know that the title makes this post sound like a rant already, but it's not. I just now remembered and got time to write about something related to the previous post.

Another reason why I enjoy having three kids is that I'm finally able to just enjoy having a baby. Any other moms know what I mean? With my first, I was consumed by having a baby: by her constant neediness and the reality that I was the only person who could meet her needs. I was always worrying and comparing her developmental milestones to those of other babies her age. ("Why isn't her head control as good as the baby who's two weeks younger than her?? She goes ballistic during tummy time- should I bring that up to the pediatrician? I can't believe she's still not walking!") With my second, I compared his development to my first. He crawled earlier but talked later. His feet were rounded so it took him longer to get the hang of walking. I worried that he didn't communicate verbally as much as his sister had, but once I taught him some hand signs, he picked up on those very quickly. 

Now I have a little kid and a toddler to look at, and I can barely remember what they were like as babies. They seem so different now. And, as every mother knows, there is something very special about that baby time. They're warm and soft and completely absorbed by you. (And that new baby smell- mmmm!) You get to watch them learning everything for the first time: how to move their face, their limbs, how to be patient, how to engage people- learning how to learn, for goodness' sake! They need no one more than their mommy and they're happiest when they're with her. A baby will just lie in your arms or with their head resting on your shoulder and look at the world until they fall asleep. There's perhaps nothing so perfect and endearing in the world than when you're nursing your baby and they catch your eye and then stop eating to give you the biggest full-bodied wiggly smile. I have bigger kids now, and I know how quickly this turns into wanting to run around the house, eat a sandwich at the table and get down, arguing, jumping up and down on mommy instead of snuggling with her, etc. I know my baby will grow up in time- it will seem too fast when it's gone. So I'm released from worrying about when to introduce solids or how his neck muscles are developing or if he's verbalizing enough for his age. It will come, but for now he's my baby and I've finally learned enough to enjoy every warm, cooing, snuggly moment- dirty diapers and spit up and all. And that's a tremendous relief. 

At the same time, I've learned to appreciate my older kids more. They moved on from the baby stage so quickly, I know the toddler and preschool stages won't last long either. They demand SO MUCH from me, but I'm sure that one day I'll miss being needed for everything from mediating arguments to food to hugs. They still want to be with me most, and they light up when I give them hugs and kisses "just because." I don't rush reading time and I take a little more time to just listen to their rambling stories. (For some reason it's terribly important that I listen to the story of how the dog barked at nothing, but I don't mind it anymore.) 

I don't know if three was a magical number of children for me or if I'm just older and wiser or a more experienced mom. It's probably a combination of all of that. But I find myself enjoying all of our kids where they're at. The first month was crazy (it always is), but three kids hasn't been the end of the world. It's been the fulfillment of a promise- motherhood as it finally should be. I'm at peace and enjoying life...

...on five broken hours of sleep. And now I have to go because my baby just filled up his diaper, my three year old is screaming for something I already gave her, and I have to start dinner. All in a day's work! And it's still enjoyable, in a crazy way. 

Three kids: the end of the world?

Mothers know: as soon as you're pregnant, people like to give you advice and tell you their horror stories. It goes something like this:

When you're expecting your first child: "Good luck! Get some sleep now while you still can!" (<The favorite piece of advice from every human being you'll meet, whether they've had kids or not.)

When you're expecting your second child: "Watch out, now you'll really have your hands full!"

When you're expecting your third child: "Everyone says that three is the hardest number. After all, now you guys are outnumbered!"

People are full of encouraging gems like that when you're pregnant. No wonder so many pregnant women are grumpy.

Some of it is well-meant, of course. But there's not a lot of positivity surrounding pregnancy and motherhood. (Pregnant ladies, how often do you hear something like, "Congratulations! What a miracle. You'll so enjoy having [x number of] kids!")

Now that we've started mingling with people in the wide world again, mothers of one and two kids ask me with some awe and trepidation, "So how is it having three?"

It's really not bad. It's not even as bad as I thought, and it's certainly not as bad as people have been telling me.

In fact, having three kids has, so far, been (knock on wood)...

...easy.

(I've been a mom long enough to know that now that I've said that, one kid is going to have attitude problems, another is going to start teething, and the baby is going to go through a growth spurt.)

First, it might help to define what "easy" means when you have three kids. I'm not saying there aren't times when I close myself in the laundry room just so I can cough without someone(s) asking me a thousand questions. I fight multiple battles every day about eating food. Good, healthy food that I lovingly prepared to nourish their growing minds and bodies. There are mornings when I deal with the poop of three small people all in rapid succession, and not always where it's supposed to be. Often at least one person is crying, though more often it's two and sometimes it's a trio of voices raised in delightful harmony.

No, it's easy because I've been doing this for three years and now I'm used to all of that. A little bit of chaos is normal, and it's interspersed with a lot of fun and endearing times. I don't usually get a shower or change out of my PJs before 11 AM, but I do get to see my baby give smiles so big he has to put his whole face and body into expressing the happiness inside him. We can't get out the door on time, but I get to witness my older kids playing cheerfully together at games that they made up.

Truthfully, it was a lot more difficult transitioning to having one child, or even from having one child to two. In the first case, you're caught unprepared (at least we were) by the reality of around-the-clock neediness and your own susceptibility to hormones and uncertainty about how to care for your baby. In the second case, you have a better idea of how to care for an infant, but at that point you have a toddler or preschooler who is used to being the center of attention. Suddenly they need to entertain themselves and they don't always adjust to that easily. They can't understand why mom is suddenly obsessed with a small, uninteresting blob of a person that they can't even touch. To compound things, my toddler still needed help getting into and out of her high chair, having meals made, having her diapers changed, etc.

SO MUCH is different by the time you have three kids! Diana is three now, and at this point she and Liam have been playing together for a long time. I was exhausted in late pregnancy, so they had to learn to run around and entertain themselves. I still need to sit down and feed the baby frequently, so they just dive into their toy box (literally) and make a mess and play doctor. She "reads" him books. They watch TV. (Yep, my ultra-strict attitude about the electronic babysitter changed too after three years.) If they're hungry, I tell her she can get grapes out of the fridge. If the baby throws up the contents of his stomach all over me, I can ask Diana or Liam to get towels or burp rags. They're old enough to play by themselves in the back yard and then let themselves in and take their shoes off when they're done. I can throw their lunches onto the table, sit down and feed the baby, and have them climb up into their chairs and feed themselves. Also, touching on the idea of being outnumbered: is there any family in which there are two caregivers at home all day long? My husband works- I was outnumbered as soon as we had two! And now when we go on family outings, one person grabs the older two and the other grabs the baby. It's not so complicated.

I don't want to ignore my older kids, but it's nice to see their relationship with each other develop and deepen. They're more self-sufficient. I'd like to think they have a greater appreciation for what it takes to be a mom because they see everything I do to take care of Matthew, but I know that's not true. They won't fully appreciate everything their parents did for them until they're pacing the floor for the fifth time one late night, covered in four different bodily fluids. Still, I know this has been good for all of us. The nature of dealing with small children means that an easy period can become very difficult in a matter of months or minutes, but so far, this has been a lot easier than I expected- maybe because so many people (so MANY people) gave me dire warnings about having three kids. I fully allow that it might be different when Matthew is crawling around and needs more than just feeding, changing, and sleep, but until then, this has been a pretty easy transition.

So if you too are thinking of stepping off the edge of the world and having more than two children, take heart! It's not as bad as everyone makes it out to be. It's a miracle. You'll love it (especially after that first month). Especially if you can make your peace with not sleeping and dealing with lots of diapers. I jest. But only a little.

(P.S. I know that last paragraph is irrelevant as there are only two people who read this blog, and at least one of them already has more children than I do. Seriously, I don't even think my mom reads this. I hope instead she's busy catching up on the sleep that she lost for years caring for me and my three siblings. I can appreciate that now.)

What we watch

I don't usually enjoy watching a lot of TV, but in the early days of having a baby when I'm breastfeeding around the clock, and especially when it's unbearably painful and I need something to distract me (mental anesthetic, I call it, and books don't quite cut it), I watch the TV (or more accurately, the computer) all the time. With Diana, I watched four seasons of 30 Rock, plus Zulu, Funny Girl, and Hello, Dolly! plus a few documentaries. With Liam it was The West Wing (four seasons!) and Ken Burns' Civil War and Baseball documentaries. (Here's a tip: for pleasant dreams and restful sleep, don't watch a 9 hour documentary about the Civil War unless you enjoy falling asleep to the sound of maimed and dying men and horses.) I tend to watch a lot of documentaries. A LOT. Most of my sentences start with "I saw this documentary about..." My thinking is that if I'm going to waste time watching something, I might as well be learning. Here's what I've been watching since having Matthew:

Mitt
A Netflix original about, obviously, Mitt Romney. (How many other people do you know with the name 'Mitt'?) I really wish this had been finished and released before the 2012 election. One of my more trivial qualms about Mitt Romney was that he seemed dry, wooden, and completely without personality. I wish documentaries like this could be released about candidates in every election. I really enjoy getting to know the people I'm voting for. (Or not.) Joseph put it pretty well: while it didn't reveal Mitt Romney to be a stunning intellectual infinitely more worthy of running the country than President Obama, he did seem genuinely smart, with a good business sense, and a friendly personality kind of like a dad from church. I think this could have helped him in the election. It also made me realize how grueling it is to run a political campaign. There is no way I'd want to invite that kind of stress and scrutiny into my life. Suddenly I feel a little bit sorry for politicians.

More Than Honey
A beautiful documentary that compares local, small-scale apiaries to large-scale operations and looks at the decline of bee populations worldwide and the implications for agriculture. Suddenly bees seem delicate and precious, and large-scale cross-country bee pollinating operations look horrifying. Tell me you can't sympathize with the old Swiss bee-keeper and his lovingly cared-for native bees over the giant truckload of bees that become collateral damage in the industrial honey operation! It made me want to plant bee-attracting plants all over my yard and it made Joseph want to start bee-keeping. We will be buying local honey from now on!

Wild China
The BBC has a talent for beautiful cinematography. This five (I think?) part series is gorgeous and a treat to watch. I even learned some new things about China, which I appreciated. TV documentaries usually just cover the same information over and over again. I'd even have let the kids watch this.

It's a Girl
Here's something to know about me: I like learning about other cultures, and I don't know whether it's just the nature of cultural documentaries or the nature of the subject matter, but I end up watching the absolute saddest films. This was the first in a series of eye-opening, terribly depressing documentaries I watched. I was crying within the first 60 seconds. I first learned of female gendercide after having Diana. It was shocking to be holding my precious baby girl, warm and safe with people who loved her, while other baby girls around the world were being killed or thrown away. This documentary is about the danger of being born a girl in parts of the world with strong cultural male preferences, especially India and China. Baby girls are aborted (sometimes, even more sickeningly, against the mother's wishes as in China), killed shortly after birth, abandoned, or enslaved. There are literally millions of missing baby girls in these countries, causing the gender ratio between men and women to become dangerously and unnaturally skewed. The title reflects the fact that three of the most dangerous words that can be used in relation to a baby in these places are: "it's a girl." And it shouldn't be so. It SHOULD NOT be so. Cultural differences be damned, a human being is not less deserving of life because it's a female. This is an issue that has become near to my heart as a woman, as a mother, and having a little girl. Watch this documentary and then, if you have the stomach, watch Half the Sky. More importantly, if these documentaries inspire you, do something!

The World Before Her
This was an interesting documentary partly because it was something I wouldn't normally have picked and knew little about. It contrasts the worlds of Western-style "Miss America" type beauty pageants, which are increasingly popular in India, with conservative fundamentalist Hinduism. I don't know a lot about Hinduism, I suppose, and certainly not ultra-conservative Hinduism. The irony is that women and girls at fundamentalist Hindu camps talk about how the Miss India contestants are enslaved to perverted Western ideas of beauty and worth while following a very conservative vein of their religion that basically restricts their value to marriage and child-bearing. I thought this was a well constructed documentary that wasn't afraid to ask hard questions.

First Circle
This documentary took a look at the foster care cycle in Eastern Oregon and Idaho. It wasn't super well-funded, or else the filmmaker wasn't extremely experienced, but the subject matter was interesting to me. I would almost be interested in fostering kids, and I know others who would, but for the illogical and confusing foster care system. A child's best place is with their own family- and it's heartbreaking that you can see that these kids want to be with their parents, even when they're making some pretty big mistakes- but if that's not the safest place for them, they should be able to be taken in by a stable family, if only temporarily. Unfortunately, the convoluted world of foster care means that qualified families are sometimes driven away or turned down.

Dirty Wars
The creepiest stuff you don't want to think about. This one was about the growing and increasingly unfocused war on terror. I thought this 2014 Oscar nominee was very well constructed. It plays out like a mystery-drama. Like the Bourne Identity without the action. Joseph didn't like that it presented events in a very conspiratorial way, as if mysterious forces were trying to conceal facts at every turn. But the part we both agreed was the most interesting is that it included information that we had never heard before and that is genuinely disturbing. Regardless of how you justify things in the beginning of the documentary, toward the end you get this uncomfortable feeling that our country may be meddling in some deep, murky slightly evil factions around the world. This is a good conversation-starter. I suggest watching it with someone for that reason.

The Square
Another Netflix original and 2014 Academy Award nominee about the protests in Egypt during the Arab Spring. It follows a group of protesters present at the original uprising in Tahrir Square. After their initial success in ousting Hosni Mubarak, you get to watch the difficulties that follow in setting up free elections and the discontent and outrage over the abuses of power by the subsequently elected president, Mohamed Morsi. I think it's always interesting to get a more in-depth view of events that appear in the news, especially when you can watch interviews with people who are participating on the streets. And it's inspiring to watch the passion these people have for justice and for their country.

Tell Me and I Will Forget
Do you like blood, gore, and senseless violence? Do you enjoy the depressed and overwhelmed feeling that comes from being confronted by giant, seemingly unsolvable problems? Then this may be the documentary for you! The title comes from a quote with origins that are hard to track down. It goes, approximately, "Tell me and I will forget, teach me and I may remember, involve me and I will understand." What I understood from the documentary is that Johannesburg is one of the worst cities on earth and I would never ever want to visit it ever. Ever. How can so many people be so terrible to other people? Years after the end of apartheid, desperate circumstances have led to a huge increase in terrible violent crime in Pretoria and Johannesburg. This documentary follows paramedics in the area as they struggle to help the sick and injured despite overwhelming demand for their services and incredible lack of supplies and resources. These people and their passion for helping others seem to be the only bright spots in a place that is characterized in all other ways only by crime and violence. The film also examines the differences in the country's dual luxurious private and underfunded public medical systems. On the one hand, I'm glad to have learned about some of the challenges faced by other people in the world- and it was particularly interesting to Joseph having spent 10 years as an EMT. On the other hand, you get to see that the world is a terrible place with terrible things happening in it. Very interesting and very depressing.

Somm
Mostly thanks to Joseph's influence, we finally watched a documentary that wasn't sad, depressing, or horrifying! What a welcome change that was! Somm is about candidates training for the Master Sommelier exams. I was surprised to find out that there was such a thing as a sommelier, which is basically someone who has been professionally trained to know literally everything about wine. It far surpasses wine nerd and delves into a level of knowledge and scrutiny I can't imagine anyone would ever need to know about wine. But this documentary follows at least four sommeliers in the world who are studying for the Master Sommelier exame, which has one of the lowest pass rates in the world. A sometimes funny, interesting look at people who have devoted their lives to a single subject.

One month: We made it!

Matthew and his one month accomplishments!

With each baby I remember my mother-in-law's advice to circle the date on the calendar a month after the baby is born. That way in the dark times during the first month when nothing is right, you can look at the calendar and know that at that point, almost all the problems you're facing will be resolved. It has been great advice.

February 2014 will be known in our memories as the month we all made it through (barely). 

Matthew was born an incredibly healthy baby, praise God! He also naturally put himself on a schedule of being asleep for about four hours and awake for an hour or two. We can work with that kind of schedule. I had to get stitches, which I wasn't happy about, but which I was also pretty much expecting. Our difficulties the first couple of weeks mostly involved my recovery. (Spoiler: getting stitches down there is not fun at all and kind of affects everything you want to do, including sitting up, moving around, and walking.) I seemed to be getting better, and then something happened at about two weeks and suddenly my stitches started pulling and stinging. It was so discouraging, since stitches are easily my least favorite part of recovery. I talked with my midwife about it and she said that because of the way she'd had to tie the stitches, they might not have dissolved and may need to be removed. That elicited one of my two breakdowns during our first month. I just broke down and cried at the thought of anyone having to mess with my stitches at all. It probably had nothing at all to do with post-pregnancy hormones. ;) Thankfully, a friend read that I was having problems and stopped by with a bag to help me feel better. It had cold packs, homeopathic arnica montana tablets, a donut pillow, and an herbal sitz bath mix. I could have cried. It was so amazing! I used those for a couple weeks straight and miraculously one day the pain and stitches disappeared. It was such a blessing! That was something I really really wanted to heal up on its own. I'm so glad no one had to look at it or mess with it. 

Breastfeeding was also, pretty much as I expected, excruciatingly painful. I'd describe it as being stabbed repeatedly in one place over and over again. In addition, I managed to develop cracked nipples on both sides, which just made it, if possible, even more painful. I only screamed once. I only broke down sobbing once because I wanted to feed a crying baby but just couldn't face the pain. Mostly I just bit down on a rag and tried to bear it. When I developed cracks, I decided to give myself a break for about ten hours, so I just pumped and fed Matthew from a bottle during that time. After that, things got better very quickly. By about two weeks, breastfeeding was definitely bearable, and mostly painless.

Then The Cold hit.

Not the weather- no, that comes later. Liam was the first to come down with it: a productive cough even

Sick and tired Liam.

though he didn't seem to have a runny nose, and what he indicated was a headache. He was whiny and clingy and generally miserable. A couple days later, the runny nose appeared along with a high fever of 103. The fever (between 101 and 103 degrees), runny nose, and stomach upset continued for FIVE DAYS. Poor little guy just sat miserably on the couch not moving and barely keeping his eyes open the whole time. He tested negative for influenza, so as far as we could tell, he just got the worst cold ever. Three or four days after Liam got sick, Diana and I came down with the cold. Thankfully for adults it just seemed to involve a sore throat, headache, runny nose and cough. I was happy to get sick because I hoped as an EBF (Exclusively BreastFed) baby, Matthew would avoid it entirely that way. Unfortunately, it was so contagious that at the tender age of two weeks old, Matthew ended up catching it too. He didn't get the fever (thank goodness!), but he did get a runny nose and most unfortunately, a cough. It was so sad to watch a little newborn having painful coughing fits. It caused him to spit up more often than he usually did. Thankfully, he still kept gaining weight. But they definitely seemed to bother him. He snuffled and coughed and choked during the night so much that we got another humidifier for our room and put him to sleep in his swing for a couple of weeks until the drainage was mostly gone.

At the same time, there was an unusually heavy snowstorm and we ended up with over a foot of snow at our house and no way to really get out. Imagine, if you will, two sick, sleep-deprived parents, one still healing from having a baby and struggling with painful breastfeeding, the other beginning to feel the effects of cabin fever; two children with coughs and runny noses alternating being listless and being whiny because they're sick and confined to the house; and an infant with his first icky cold. There were some nice moments of family bonding, but there were also some rough times indeed.

So here we are, all healthy again, all healed again. Matthew is growing like crazy (11 lbs 11 oz at his six week appointment!), really tuning into people, and starting to give out more and more smiles. We're getting into a rhythm of being a family of five. I still take sleep where I can get it and only manage to get one thing from my long to-do list accomplished each day, but we're working on adjusting to this new normal. I've been so blessed to have the most amazing help from Joseph, our families, and our friends. They brought food, gave us space when we needed it, watched kids when we needed, and were around to just talk and help around the house. Joseph and I always talk about how we're open to moving because we love travel and new experiences, but I am incredibly grateful that we've been able to spend our family-growing years with such a wonderful community of people. I think it's that and a lot of praying that got us through the first month. I'm excited to see how life changes and keeps getting better in the months to come!

Matthew giving out baby smiles!

Matthew Timothy Sullivan

Early in the morning on Wednesday, January 22nd, we welcomed our sweet new baby boy to the world. He was born at 12:38 AM. He weighed 8 lbs, 10 oz and was 21 inches long.

Though many people thought we were secretly holding out about knowing the gender of our baby, we honestly didn't have a clue. It was about 5 minutes before we even checked. That's how concerned we were about it. ;) We were surprised and delighted to find we had a new baby boy. I think I mentioned before that I thought Liam would enjoy having a little brother to roughhouse with more than Diana would enjoy having a little sister to boss around play with.

His Name

We had a short list of boys names and girls names picked out for our mystery baby. Joseph has known his best friend Matt for over 20 years and wanted to do something to honor that, which is why we went with Matthew. Timothy was a pretty easy middle name choice too. I know a lot of good Timothys: it's my dad's first name, Joseph's dad's middle name, and also the name of my unofficial dad in Virginia. It seemed like a good solid name for a boy. 

Kids' Reactions

Diana holding Matthew for the first time!

Labor with Matthew began to pick up around the kids' bedtime, so we just put them to sleep at home. It wasn't my plan to have them around for the birth since I am LOUD and I worried they would be concerned for me, but labor progressed so quickly that we just let them be. Despite the fact that I was louder than I've ever been, the kids slept through everything. (Also, I am forever grateful to our next-door neighbors for not reporting us to the police through three disturbing-sounding home births.) Liam was the first up the next morning and he blinked thoughtfully, pointed and said "Baby" several times, then made a peace offering of a toy car to the baby. Since the baby didn't seem interested, Liam just went on with his day. Diana was absolutely *IN LOVE* with Matthew. She was excited and immediately wanted to hold him. She looked him over and talked about all the things she would teach him and even hummed him some songs. She loves this baby and will be a wonderful big sister to him. I suspect Liam will be more interested when the baby is more interactive. 

Labor and Delivery

(If you are not interested in all the details, run away NOW.)

I'd had false labor on the Friday before Matthew was born, so I was slightly bitter and determined to ignore any more contractions until the last possible moment. On Tuesday, the day I actually went into labor, I went to the gym, picked up some things at the grocery store, and even went to my scheduled appointment with my midwife. By 2-3 PM, I was having contractions that were decidedly different than Braxton-Hicks. They were deep-inside crampy contractions. But since they weren't particularly strong and were 8-15 minutes apart, depending on whether I was lying down or walking around, I decided to ignore them. I mentioned them to Lisa at our appointment and she told me she bet I would be having my baby that night. I tried not to get my hopes up and went home, where they still weren't very strong or close together, but definitely weren't going away. 

By the time the kids went to bed, contractions were 7-9 minutes apart. After a few hours, they hadn't gotten any closer together and I began to despair that I'd really have a baby. I went to take a shower and the contractions jumped to 2.5 minutes apart. Since I was still not really "feeling" them, I was a little doubtful, but we called Lisa anyway. That was at 11:30 PM. By the time she got to the house, I was on all fours on the floor having to make sounds to get through each contraction. The contractions were deep and involved a lot of back ache, so I moved on to the bed and squeezed Joseph's hands through each one while Lisa rubbed my back. It felt so good. It was late and I was feeling tired, so I was basically quiet and relaxed between contractions. When they came, they were very deep and hard to take. I started yelling through them. The urge to push came not long after they got very strong. After only a few pushes, my water broke and also all hell broke loose. With the last two kids, my water broke only in heavy labor, but with this labor, it basically exploded. (Ew.) I was afraid it had gotten the opposite wall. The midwives said it soaked the bed. At that point, I had no sense of time, but it felt like there were two HUGE pushes and then Matthew's head was out. Huge, frightening pushes. Aside from being pushed way past the point of pain I thought I could take, I was actually a bit terrified. I probably looked like a terrified wild animal. I am surprised I didn't scare the living daylights out of Joseph. I was pulling myself up with his hands, bellowing and screaming to God to please give me my baby, arching my back, and letting my breathing get way out of control. I remember Lisa calling to me to breathe more slowly and not arch my back. It was so scary and intense for me. But it was very quick and his head was out. Another push and his body came out too. One of my favorite miraculous parts of natural childbirth is how once the baby is out, nothing else matters. I went from being terrified and way beyond my pain level to pushing myself up, looking at the baby, rubbing him, and telling him how much I loved him. The labor pain was instantly gone. Of course that was at 12:38, less than an hour after Lisa had arrived.

Matthew cried not long after coming out. He has a healthy set of lungs. His little head was very round and his face wasn't squished, maybe because he spent so little time being pushed out. For my entire pregnancy, I'd been worried that since I had two healthy births, this was the one where something terrible would happen to me or the baby. Thankfully, that wasn't the case. God was with us and taking care of us. I tore again, but I'd kind of expected I would, so the stitches weren't a surprise. Matthew was born with a tongue-tie, so Lisa clipped it before he even tried nursing the first time. I was surprised at how un-phased he was by the very quick process. He cried more at being unwrapped from his warm blankets. 

And that's how our new baby boy came into the world! His eating and waking schedule is currently pretty mixed up, so Joseph and I are getting most of our sleep in the early/late morning. Thankfully, we have lots of help from wonderful family members with our other kids, which is such a blessing. I love my kids and want to be with them, but it really is nice not to have to worry about them, and for Joseph to be able to get some sleep since he's taking care of the kids and house and work these days. I know from experience that these sleepless days that are so frustrating for me because my body is healing and I can't do everything I want to do will pass soon. Soon breastfeeding won't be excruciating, soon we'll be able to massage Matthew's schedule to fit our own, soon I'll be able to help out more around the house and spend time with my big kids. Everything keeps getting better, and we're so happy to have a new baby and for everyone to be healthy.