Lasts and Firsts

Today was the last day of preschool for my last baby.

It was hard not to cry as we were driving away.  Though, I was headed to get gas - I'm quite sure people would've totally taken my tears for having to fill up a Suburban.

I told him he's getting too big.  He said, "I'm still five", like - duh, Mom.  I'm not that big, yet.

He and my other youngest son are watching a movie, right now - Gnomeo and Juliet.  I love that movie.  As a song started playing in the background, I was brought back to the days when I could only watch certain shows without having a smallish breakdown.  I truly hated postpartum depression.  Still do.  Even though this movie was one of the few that didn't bring me to tears in a bad way, it still brought back memories of having a fragile psyche.  But, I digress...

First smile.  First giggles.  First steps.  First time on the potty.  First time riding without training wheels.  First day of preschool...

Of all the lasts I've had with my kids, I have had a lot of firsts.

First time they told me they loved me.  First time they told me they hated me.  First time they talked to a friend on the phone.  First time they went to a friend's house.  First day of school.  First time they tied their own shoes.  First time they showered by themselves.  First time they did their own laundry.

And I get to embark on all of those firsts, again, with my last.

My last.  I've had a very strong feeling that I need to hold on to this one as long as he'll let me.  I've had this feeling since I was pregnant with him.  For most of his life, I had a sinking feeling that this was because I wouldn't have him for very long.  (I've had several heart attacks over the past five years.  I'm glad he's my most cautious child.)  I haven't actually told many people that.  I don't know what the future holds, but I do know this:  I've been given a gift in this urging.  I've held onto every moment I can.  I've held him any time he would let me.  I wish wish wish I would've held him more, as a baby.  I hate hate hate that I didn't even want him awake most of the time.  I'm quite certain I experienced part of what Hell is.

This will be the last summer before he enters the real world of school.  There will be friends and homework and bad influences, a plenty.  I'm excited to see how his personality develops.  It shall be an adventure, that's for sure.  This boy's all confidence and has no qualms about talking to pretty much anyone.

I'm grateful for all of the lasts, because that only means there once was a first.  I'm glad it won't be my last "last".

He's having his "moving up" from pre-K to K party, in two days.  I'm bringing tissues.

All in.

Lately, I feel like I'm too busy being a mom to have time for my kids.

The day started without me, this morning.

My son wasn't able to go to seminary, this morning, so I overslept.  I somehow unplugged my phone from across the room and brought it to my night table.  Somewhere in there, I turned off my alarm.  I don't remember any of this.

I was awakened by a panicked little 8 yr old who was to be ready for school and hadn't even had breakfast, yet.

We hurriedly got his lunch ready and some things gathered for a school project that was due, today, and he ended up leaving with an empty stomach.  I prayed hard for his tummy to feel full and he'd have the energy he needed to focus.  I felt like Mom of the Year.

I'm currently (supposed to be) working.  I work from home.  This is necessary for us to survive, financially.  We don't need much and we're working on paying off debt so we can survive without my income, should we have to.  But I like working.  I like using my brain for something other than the following, which happens to be my to-do list, today (in no particular order):

Get the boys' laundry done (and put away).

Make sure dinner is in the works and actually gets made.

Make sure my kids are up to par on their schoolwork.  

Make a meal plan.

Form a grocery list.

Get said groceries.

Take my son for a much needed haircut.  

Do my share of the chores I've divvied out.  

Make sure the kids do their share of the chores I've divvied out.

After school carpool.

Son's baseball game.

Fax an immunization record to my kids' new school.

Finish the get-in-shape chart I fashioned for one of my children.  

Get kids to bed on time.

Get myself to bed on time (harder than you would think).

And my husband's out of town, so I'm doing this a la Han Solo, but without the Han.

I look around and see my super messy room.  It's in the middle of several projects; cleaning the room being one of them.  I think of the mess on my desk and the mess in the kitchen and my son needing socks and my other son needing underwear and my other other son needing a hair cut and the opportunity I have to earn a little extra money on my birthday and the time it would take from my day and the fact that I haven't eaten breakfast, myself, and my brain just goes into overdrive.

Yesterday, I was hardly home.  My kids had to make dinner.  Someone else had to get my son to Cub Scouts.  My 5 yr old had the opportunity to go to daycare, but he opts not to on account of his friend not being there and I opt not to because it saves us money.  But that means he stays home and watches TV and whines about being hungry and not getting attention and...... 

I don't know what to cut out of my day.  I don't know what I can cut out of my day.  I try to tell myself to just focus on one thing at a time, but my brain's very "all or nothing".  I keep telling others that, which is probably why it complies.  I believe in that sort of thing.

I know I'm not the only one who has days like this or thoughts like this.  I'm not entirely sure why I posted this.  Maybe to get it out of my head and out into the cosmic void that is the internet.  I feel like, if I write things down, I don't have to think about them, anymore.

Yeah, right.  haha

Breakthrough

I've been doing a lot of soul-searching, lately.  I'm coming to realize that some things I thought were, might not actually be.  But, that's a story for a different blog.

Part of it, though, is thus:

I'm a hoarder.

Let me explain...

For the longest time, I thought it was because I was a flake, a failure, an idea-haver but not an idea-doer, a project-starter, but not a project-finisher.

Every time I see a Women's World magazine boasting of some miracle way to lose weight by drinking water or walking, I buy it.  I have a bunch of them.  I've never actually followed through with any of these seemingly amazing feats.  I do the crossword and sudoku, though.  I'll even read the articles.  I buy them with the intent of losing many, many pounds and maybe even being awarded a sum of money for their choosing of something I wrote to publish in their awesome magazine.  But I've never done it.

I have buckets and totes of fabric.  I've nabbed up-for-grabs material off of facebook.  I have quilting patterns and books and notions of all sorts.  I have the sewing machine, a sewing table with two long, folding leaves for making of great things.  I have thread and zippers and buttons and a cool peg board in which to organize my "tools".  I even have a list of items I can make and possibly sell.  But I've never done it.

I have yarn.  Lots and lots of yarn.  I've self-taught myself crochet and knitting.  I have patterns and books and needles and hooks (now I'm channeling my inner Dr. Seuss).  I've bookmarked things on the internet.  I even have a sweet chair in my very own sewing/craft/office room, for those moments when others are occupied and I have time to myself.  I've added to my list things I could make and possibly sell.  But I've never done it.

I have yoga paraphernalia.  Yoga mat, bricks, belt, DVDs, books, a yoga bible, even... I have it all.  I found several programs through a friend and online where I can learn to be a yoga instructor.  But I've never done it.

I have so many workout DVDs.  Yoga, pilates, cardio, hula, dance, Beachbody of all sorts, kickboxing.  I buy them thinking, this is it - this will make the weight problem go away.  But I never stick with them.

I have receipts and various filled pages in notebooks and random pieces of paper with my book ideas.  But I've never written them.

I bought a guitar.  I bought a piano.  I even have sheet music from my favorite artist.  But I've never learned.

I used to have a book for learning sign language.  I have water colors and a full book of water color paper.  I have a blank canvas.  I have a very expensive camera I haven't used in years.  I have a calligraphy book and pens.  I have shelves of books I've never read.

All of these things.  I collect them.  I never do anything with them, but I keep them, just in case.  Someday I'll do something with them, right? I keep adding to them, too, like what I have isn't enough.

It didn't occur to me until recently.  I hoard them.

I'm a hoarder.

I hoard good intentions.

The Middlest Child

When I found out I was pregnant, I was afraid to tell my husband.  I told my best friend, first.  I don't even remember how I told my husband.  We weren't trying for a baby.  We had a miscarriage less than a year, earlier.  I can tell you what day it was likely we conceived.  (July 13, 2008)

I was scheduled for a c-section March 26, 2009.  I went to the ER with real contractions, before that, maybe a couple weeks? I wasn't progressing, cried a bit on the phone, with my mom, then went home.

A few days before I was to have him, it snowed.  Like, a lot.   I was panicked.  And pregnant.  And full of anxiety.  And bossing my husband by quite seriously demanding he go start shoveling.  All worked out, though.  We were able to get to the hospital, as was my doctor.  And the c-section was uneventful.  

Then came the postpartum depression.  If you backtrack through my blog around that time, you'll see much evidence of this.  I don't care to remember - you'll just have to read about it.

Many years of sleepless nights and bed-wetting, later, we find he has sleep apnea.  One surgery and two very long weeks, later, that problem is fixed.  

A small year after that, he started Kindergarten.  He was only slightly hesitant and held back the tears.  And he did great.

Then we moved to a new state (third one he's lived in, in his short life) and he experienced major anxiety issues when it came to school.  Again, you'll just have to read.  I've already talked about it and made my peace with it - no need to dredge it up, now.  

He's in a school he loves, now.  He has friends he loves, now.  He's been playing sports he loves, now.  He's growing grown-up teeth and eating like his body is growing, too.  He's super smart and so very sweet and loves babies and his brothers and sister.  He loves trains and hot dogs and soccer and video games and avocados and onions. Onions! He dislikes reading and watching TV and hard candy and steak.  Steak! He wears glasses because he's got his mama's eyes.  And his mama's nose.  And his mama's face.  And his mama's feet.  And his mama's mouth (and, unfortunately, his mama's teeth).  I predict he'll have his mama's lack of height (5' 9" is my official guess).

And now he's eight.  Which is a big deal for folks like us.  This is the age of accountability.  (Mostly.)  When a child turns eight in my church, they have the opportunity to be baptized.  He's choosing to do so.  We've been doing our best to prepare him and teach him and guide him in what we believe to be right and true and good.  I can't believe we're here.  I still remember, quite clearly, praying and praying and praying that he would just sleep.  For the love of all that is holy - JUST. SLEEP.  I remember being comforted by my Heavenly Father during those tender moments.  I say tender because that's what they were.  They were opportunities for me to love him, to hold him, to rock him and sing to him and just be us.  Yes, I was tired.  But those moments are not there, anymore.  I had so many opportunities to hold him.  I'm grateful for the gentle reminder that one night, a little less than eight years, ago, that this is special.  This won't last forever.  It won't.  One day - these days, to be exact - he won't need me to hold him and rock him and comfort him.  These days, he has a little brother who usually tags along and gets most of the attention.  These days, he's gaining on me, height-wise, and holding him on my lap is awkward, to say the least.  These days, he sleeps.  

I remember quite clearly how I felt about his spirit before I was able to hold his little body.  I felt him as a strong, silent leader.  When my husband told me his name (he picked them all out), I felt it, again.  Quinlan Thomas Hamblin.  

For now, he's still my Quinnie.  His cheeks are still squishy and smoochable.  He still lets me smooch them, too.  And he loves hugs.  My sweet boy.

My Littlest Little

My stinky little dude is five, today.

He's the life of the party.

His favorite color is pink.

He loves kitties and puppies.

He calls all meat chicken and loves to eat it with barbecue sauce.

He's been able to ride a bike without training wheels for some time, now; better than he was ever able to ride it with them.

He's not so scared of things, anymore.  (He used to be afraid of the night sky and water.)

He doesn't like heights, but he's getting braver.

He's good at making people laugh with things he says.

I haven't met someone, yet, who doesn't get a kick outta this kid.

I've been blessed with a keen awareness that his little won't last very long.  I can still hold my "little ball of boy" and he still "loves me so much".

But, he's five, today.

He's all registered for kindergarten and has had (and hated) his shots.

He doesn't like to wear shoes with socks, like his mom.

He has a super kind heart and will share with anyone.

He still sees things that bigger people don't have time to notice.

He's always more than happy to "have the rest" of whatever it is you're eating or drinking.

He still loves his soft blankies - the ones we used as burp cloths.  He was so pukey, he attached to them because we always had them when we had him.

He loves to make people notes and stick them in envelopes.

He still gets excited about stickers and play-doh and bunnies in the backyard.

He loves whatever music his sister loves, and whatever computer games his brothers love.

Oh, he's such a sweet little boy.

And he's five.

Slow down, time.

Night and Day

I was thinking, this morning, how I wanted to start a blog to share my life with others...

I think there have been more posts that are for me, though.

This one is.

To say our move to Arizona, was stressful, would be quite the understatement.  I've posted (i.e. whined) about that, enough, though.

I took my sweet 7 year old to his new school for the first time, today.

I was just going to drop him, off, but decided I would walk him to where he lines up.

They wouldn't let me past the gate.

So, he just walked in.  No hug, no looking back.  I had to call his name, just so he would turn around to say goodbye.

He waved and just kept on walking.

No picture.  No tears.

He just went right in and kept going.

This should come as a relief, to me... Don't get me, wrong - it does.

But...... it was so uneventful! Shouldn't the first day of school be more than just a wave?

I'm having to remind myself that this only means I've done something right, as a mother.  He's confident, brave, and ready to face a new challenge, with new people, in a new place.

He just went in.

This is a good thing.

Moving forward

I withdrew my son from his last school, today.

He'll be going to a new school, next year, which I'm so very thrilled about.

As I walked to my car, though, I got all emotional.

We started this last school a month after it had already started.  My kids didn't know anyone.  They had just been moved from one state to another, mostly against their will.

It was rough.

I remember feeling stressed to tears on a daily basis.  To know my kids were having a hard time and not liking their new school made things worse.

My boy whom I withdrew, today, struggled the most, I think.  He had such a hard time going each day.  I had to practically drag him in, and he usually ended up crying.  Once, he was so stressed about going, he got sick in the parking lot.  Another time, I had to have two teachers hold him, back, just so I could leave the building.  I questioned him in as many ways as I could to make sure nothing horrible was happening to him.  I talked to his teacher.  I talked to the front office.  He just had major anxiety.  And it was hard.

So, why the emotion, today?

Because we have been through so much and we survived.  It was bittersweet to leave that school.  I won't miss it; I'm just glad we're in a better place and settled and finally happy to be here.

The thing I said the most during those troubled times was, "We can do hard things".

And we did.

Don't Blink

Last night, I was called in to the room of my little boys.

My Quinnie had leg aches in both of his shins.

I sat and rubbed his legs till the medicine started working.  It didn't take long.

It made me think of all the times my own legs, hurt, in the middle of the night.  I remember my dad letting me lay next to him so he could rub my knees till the medicine started working.

I remember all the nights I had to lay by my Andur because he wouldn't stay in his bed or go to sleep if I didn't.  I even made a bunch of stuffed animals look like me under a blanket so I could leave.  It only worked, once.

I remember when I would put my Natalie in her crib, she would move her legs in circular motions as if to find the coziest spot.  She'd always lose her binky in her bed... which is how she eventually got rid of them; they just all got lost.

Quin had us taking turns on a nightly basis because of night terrors and bed-wetting.  Up until he was 5, actually.  Turned out he had sleep apnea, which explained his sleep patterns since he was a wee one.  I've lost a lot of sleep because of him.

Owen was the one who needed us to leave oh-so-quietly.  We greased doors and doorknobs and even got rid of sticky spots in the doorjamb, for that kid.

I heard a bonk on the wall, followed by a sleepy, "Ow".  My 4 yr old then instinctively moved away from his assailant.

My Quin was, quite literally, growing right before my eyes.  They all have.

It didn't take long.

It's going by way too fast.

That's what happens when you blink.

Natalie's Birth Story - Part 3

So, there I was, in the hospital - well, about to leave, actually; I had just found out I almost died, my daughter would have to be there for 3 or 4 weeks, depending on how well she progressed (typically, they like to keep them there until they're "term").  I was feeling a little overwhelmed.  Calm, but overwhelmed.

I was pulled, aside, by the billing department.  I was on Colorado Medicaid, which was NOT going to pay for things that happened in Washington.  I knowingly left the state in my state of being.  I was freaking out.  When Matt got back to Colorado, he found out his job was no longer there, since they thought he was leaving.  We lost the apartment and job opportunity is Washington, and we didn't know what we were going to do.  Miraculously, with some tweaking on the billing department's end, we were able to get Washington Medicaid and get the "events" covered.  That was a relief!

My new roommate picked me up, the day I was discharged.  It was a Thursday.  She was a single school teacher who lived in a charming house a few blocks from the hospital.  After some chatting when we arrived, she informed me we watch Jeopardy.  I could live with that.  

I had tried, rather desperately, to get my daughter flown to Denver where I could at least be with my family.  I was told by a nurse (whom I would later refer to as the "Nazi Nurse") that this would be quite foolish and could be very detrimental to her health.  I conceded.  

Walking was a very good way to help heal and ease any pain caused by the surgery (which I still had not felt, at this point); this was fortunate because I walked to the hospital in the morning to be there by 9am and walked home, at night, after 6pm (ish).  I ate all of my meals at the hospital, which were paid by meal coupons provided by the hospital.  I sat in the cafeteria, outside, or in nursing rooms, doing my word search puzzle book.  Every three hours, I made sure I was by my daughter's side for her feedings.  I insisted I be the one to feed her.  Otherwise, they would just gavage her without even taking her out of the incubator.  I didn't like this because she needed to learn how to eat with a bottle and she would, for me.  The Nazi Nurse knew I would be coming every feeding time to hold her and feed her, so she would feed and change her before I got there so I would be unable to take her out.  I was NOT pleased with this woman.  So, making it to the NICU early was crucial.  Natalie would eat for me via bottle, but not the nurses.  It was very frustrating if they didn't let me mother her.  VERY frustrating.  

It didn't take me long to realize I needed a watch.  The hospital was on the other side of what looked like a small hill; I thought there had to be something on the other side that could provide me with portable time-telling abilities.  So, I walked.  I did find a thrift store, of sorts, and was able to find a very cheap watch (which I still have in one of my keepsake boxes).  I was always on time, after that.  I have to mention that, as I was walking back from the thrift store, a convertible full of guys drove by and whistled at me.  Not only did I lose the baby weight, but I never gained much, to begin with.  To say I was swimming in my maternity clothes (the only ones I had) was an understatement.  That made me feel good, though.  :)

Besides practically flooding the bathroom, where I was staying, due to a shower mishap, the following days were fairly uneventful.  I woke up, walked to the hospital, fed and held my daughter every three hours, ate hospital food and did my word search puzzle book.  I remember sitting in the center of the hospital where they had a nice outdoor garden-filled courtyard.  That's where I was when I had a very powerful spiritual experience.  I felt so strongly that I was not alone, nor was I, ever.  The Lord was with me through the nurses, the people from my church, who visited and offered services, and even when it was just me.  I was so very blessed! I had the most special opportunity to be there for my daughter! One of the nurses told me that not many parents came to see their fragile little babies.  That just broke my heart.  I was so very blessed to be able to do so; if I had been home, in Colorado, I would have had to travel far to get to the hospital, pay for parking, and how often? I had a 16 month old - I doubt I could've been there every three hours in that situation.  I was given quite a special gift.  From that moment, on, I didn't feel bitter that I was so far away from home, or sad that I had to be there, by myself.  I knew we were being watched over and were being taken care of.  It was definitely a sweet experience.

Natalie progressed more quickly than the doctors anticipated.  She was able to hold her own body temperature and was eating well and gained weight.  It wasn't long before she was moved from the NICU incubator to an open bassinet, then to the pediatric unit where I was able to move in with her.  That was special.  I was able to pump the milk I had coming in, but we supplemented with formula for calorie purposes.  

After two weeks, she hit the 4 lb. mark - our goal for discharge so we could fly home.  The doctors knew it was a miracle that we shaved 2 weeks off of our stay.  By then, Matt's aunt was back in town and took me shopping for clothes that fit.  Another lady from church had taken me, earlier in the week, to buy a car seat.  We were ready!

I got to hold her on the plane.  Those around me were enamored of her - she was like a little doll! In fact, I had to by her doll clothes.  Very adorable ones, at that.  I had a one hour layover in Utah and they let me stay on the plane with her so I wouldn't have to deal with the madness that is an airport.  

Before we traveled to Washington, my little boy was speaking in sentences, but for some reason, he could not say "mama".  I heard him say it for the first time on the phone, while I was away.  I missed him, so much! When I arrived in Denver, my husband, son and Mom were waiting for me.  I quickly handed my daughter to my mom and grabbed my sweet little boy.  When he saw me, he looked up to my husband, pointed to me and said, "Mama!".  Oh, I loved that moment.  

It was Easter Sunday. 

Everyone noted a certain air about me... they said I seemed calm; serene...  I attribute that to the intense spiritual experience that was my whole trip.  I'll never forget that. 

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

Natalie's 13, now.  She's still my fighter; very full of life and ready to take on whatever the world throws at her.  She has an inner strength to be reckoned with and a very kind heart.  

She's my girl.

Natalie's Birth Story - Part 2

Our car was finally repaired and we were ready to head home.  I was almost 35 weeks, by that point in our trip.

The night before we were going to leave, my stomach was hurting quite badly.  It felt like I had a rock literally at the pit of my stomach.  I thought it was the typical heartburn and actually tried to make myself throw up, as that's what usually helped ease the pain.  It didn't.  It only got worse.  I woke up my husband to tell him, which he was not happy about.  I wanted a blessing, but he wouldn't wake up his uncle, who was a doctor (anesthesiologist, but still).  So, I tried to sleep it off.

The next morning, before we were about to leave, I was seriously jonesing for some Fruit Loops.  My husband had finished them off and I was quite irked.  I had a banana, instead.

My stomach still hurt, so I called my doctor, just to be safe.  He strongly suggested I head to ER, just to check things out, having heard about my stomach issues the last few days.  My husband was not thrilled about the further delay, but we went.

At the ER in the smallest hospital I've ever seen, they admitted me to do an ultra sound.  They thought it might be my gall bladder.  The baby was fine, and it wasn't my gall bladder.  They did, however, say my blood pressure was quite high, most likely due to the pain.  They wanted to keep me, overnight, to make sure the meds they gave me for it were working. 

My husband's aunt and uncle were heading out, that day, for a week-long trip to Hawaii, but they said he could stay there, until I was released.  Our little boy did surprisingly well, this whole time.

The next day, I was quite out of it... I don't remember much, but I do remember feeling and sounding a little weird (I was slurring my words) - and slipping in and out of consciousness.  I strongly requested I call my doctor to see what he had to say about things... I guess the high blood pressure meds were not working.  I remember the nurse saying my doctor probably wouldn't know who I was since he sees a lot of patients and to not take it personally.  He knew exactly who I was.  I don't remember what I said to him, but I remember him saying something like, "Why haven't they delivered that baby, yet?!" I think I told him they wanted me to wait a week to see how things went, which I vaguely remember them telling me.  He, then, demanded I hand the phone to them.  So, quite smugly, I did.  I remember, at some point, someone saying my protein levels in my urine were so high, they couldn't be measured.

The next thing I knew, I was in an ambulance.  I don't remember how I got there, just that I came to, and there I was.  The EMT sat to my left and was very reassuring.  Somehow I knew it was a 30 minute drive to wherever we were going - I think he might have told me that.

When I came to, again, I was in a hospital room and some bossy doctor was putting me on pitocin to try to start the labor process.  I remember it hurting and I was so angry they would not let me have pain killers.  I remember not speaking very kindly to the doctor because of this.  Next thing I know, I'm on the phone with my mom and I'm telling her about the situation and that they wouldn't even let me have water or ice.  She was trying to tell me it was in case they needed to do surgery; they needed my stomach empty.  I didn't care.  Then I remember my husband on the phone with I assumed were his parents.  He was crying and saying. "I'm not ready for her to die."  I thought, "Aww... how sweet!" not even registering what he was saying, just that he loved me so much.  haha

The bossy doctor came back - the pitocin wasn't working and she wanted to break my water.  I told her I wanted pain killers.  I wasn't cooperating.  She brought my husband out to the hall and told him something.  He came back and very firmly said something along the lines of, if I didn't cooperate, I was going to die.  I still didn't care.  I wanted pain killers.  (This is how out of it, I was.)  They broke my water, but I was still not going anywhere with my labor.  The doctor said I wasn't progressing fast enough, so she opted for an emergency c-section.  I asked if I was going to be put, under.  I got an answer in the affirmative.  I was thrilled - I would not feel pain! (Man, am I a wuss when I'm not all there!)

I remember, briefly, that Matt could not be in the room.  My arms were taped down, sticking out from my body.  I remember being told to count backwards from 100.... and that was that.  I woke up in my hospital bed, hooked up to an IV pumping magnesium into my system because, apparently, it helps one to not have seizures.  I was like, huh.  Ok.  (Still quite out of it.) My husband was sitting, there, with two people I had never met.  He later told me they were his aunt and uncle from Idaho who came up to help.  They were going to take our, by then, 16 month old son, with them back to their home so Matt could be with me in the hospital.  Two perfect strangers, taking my son to another state.  Yeah, ok.  Then I was out, again.

I then remember waking up, again, maybe the next day? A nurse was in my room and I had not, yet, seen my baby, whom they said they delivered.  I was not happy with this.  I don't remember her being delivered, so I didn't believe them.  Still somewhat out of it.... I demanded and demanded, the nurse insisting I wasn't ready, yet.  Apparently, there were some swearing that came from my end of the argument... I don't remember.... She finally took the blankets she was folding and slammed them down on my bed, "Fine!".  So, I was put into a wheel chair and taken to the NICU.

She was so small.  3lbs. 5oz.  16 inches, long.  They took her out of her incubator and handed her to my husband.  She looked like just a bundle of blankets in his arms.  Then I got to hold her.  She was so fragile.  They had me try to nurse, if I remember, correctly, and she latched right on.  They gave me the option of letting her nurse or bottle-feeding.  I chose bottle-feeding as it burned less calories and I wanted her to grow, so we could go home.  Her lungs were fully developed and she was able to breathe on her own.

It had been three days since she was born.  My husband needed to get back home, to Colorado, so he could get us packed and ready to move to Washington.  I was ready to be discharged, as I was walking perfectly and the only pain I felt was in my back from the uncomfortable hospital bed.  I only took two ibuprofen the whole time I was in the hospital, never needing anything else.  I do, however, remember them telling me I had to cough due to the surgery.  That HURT.  But, holding a pillow against my incision while I did cough, helped some.  

My husband left, that day.  He was going to pick up our son in Idaho, who, miraculously, was having the best time.  He slept well, he played well, and he was happy and well-taken care of.  I was so glad to hear this, when I did.  Before my husband left, he got me a few things to keep me busy:  a word search puzzle-type book and a deck of cards for solitaire (which I still have - everyone knows them as "mom's cards").  I also had some crocheting as I was working on a baby blanket for Natalie... one I never finished.  I still have a square or two from it, though.  

My emotions hit, that day.  The hospital let me stay one extra day as I had nowhere to go and no car to get there, anyway.  My husband was gone and I was in a hospital, several states away from my family.  Matt's aunt and uncle were still out of town and lived too far from the hospital for me to stay at their house.  This is where my spiritual journey began... I remember having several bishops and Relief Society presidents from my church come visit me.  I had several names and phone numbers of people who offered money, clothing, rides... and one who let me stay with her.  She lived a few blocks away from the hospital, so I could walk to and from, every day.  That was such a huge blessing.  I remember Natalie getting her first Priesthood blessing from two men I had never met and would never see, again, in this earthly life.  I do remember the name, Roger.  They both worked in that hospital and, as they left, one hugged me and kissed me on the head.  I felt very loved.

That day, my doctor (the bossy one), did a final once-over one me.  She was very surprised I did not need any pain medicine.  (Now that I think about it, I can see why! hahaha!) She recounted for me all that had happened that foggy day when I arrived in her care...

I had preeclampsia with HELLP syndrome.  Basically, my organs were not fairing so well; my kidneys were suffering and not doing their job, hence the high protein levels.  My blood pressure was through the roof.  My placenta had been malfunctioning pretty much the whole pregnancy, resulting in a very small birth weight for my daughter.  My brain was swelling - which is why I was in and out of consciousness and not all there.  I had a headache when we arrived at the first hospital.  I had serious swelling issues through out the pregnancy.  All the vomiting I did was a result, as well.  The pain I felt in the pit of my stomach? That was my liver.  It was on the verge of rupturing.  Due to all of this, my platelet count was dangerously low.  I had to have 5 transfusions of platelets going in to the surgery and 5 units coming out, just so I wouldn't bleed to death.  Remember how Sybil died? Cried my eyes, out.  That could've happened to me.  Bossy doctor saved my life.  Try hearing this the day your postnatal hormones come flooding in, with your baby in the NICU, your husband and child in another state, no family, around, and being discharged from the hospital, the next day, only to go stay with someone you had never met.

Stay tuned for part three...