All is well

In the chaos that is sometimes my life, no other place feels as peaceful, safe and calm as lying in bed while nursing Henry. I can't quite find the words to adequately describe the sweet, sentimental feelings I have for this time. And I'm always reminded how fleeting this time is. My heart aches when I sort of snap back to realize and remember that this won't last forever.

Easter 2014

I mean...these kids...I can't even stand how cute they are.  

Happy Easter!!!

Henry newborn clinic visit

17lb 4oz
27inches

Dear Henry-

Today we went to St. Louis Children's Hospital for your newborn followup appointment. We had scheduled this appt when you left the nicu just more than six months ago. Six months?!?! I can hardly believe it's been that long. 

I was so happy to see that Dr. Colvin, the red-headed pediatric fellow, would see you today. She was so kind, so understanding, and so sweet with you -- then and today. She, along with a Dr. Harris, looked you over really well. They were so impressed with your strength. Other than your huge head -- :) --   they say you're practically perfect. We'll keep working on your therapy for your muscle tone, but they really noticed great improvement already. In all, we left today with a great bill of health. What a blessing. 

Driving to the hospital this morning and finally pulling in, I felt nervous yet safe. Still, all those feelings of being with you in the nicu came back again. When we left, a huge wave of relief washed over me. I felt so, so blessed. 

Tonight at home, after you and your brother and sister were in bed and I had vacuumed and washed the floors, I sat down on the couch and looked on Facebook. I saw our friend Faith had posted something. Faith's baby Edison ("Eddie") was in the nicu with you. He was there for 15 weeks! I learned a lot from Faith during our time there together. Thankfully, Eddie is home and doing well. 

Anyway... Faith posted something that took me to a page for a boy named Marshall. He was also in the nicu with you. He was on the opposite side from where you were on the center island. I remember his monitor alarms went off...a lot. I saw his mom and dad (always wearing a hat) walk past us a lot, as well. They always looked hopeful, but fearful. I didn't know their story, but I felt for them. I really did. As I saw their Facebook page tonight, I learned that Marshall had passed away. He spent about nine months at Children's. His lungs were small and weak. After spending Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's in the hospital, he welcomed Spring with a trip outside to smell the fresh air and touch grass for the first time. But his body was too sick; Heavenly Father took him home. 

My feelings this morning were full of gratitude and relief. And tonight, I feel so sad. So, so sad. I see Marshall's sweet face and I immediately see yours. I can imagine the way his skin feels, the sounds he makes, even his smile. Now his sweet, young parents don't get to see, hear or feel these things. I am devastated. I'm surprised at how emotional I am about this. And yet I am reminded of what is this Sunday. Easter. And the phrase, "death has no sting" comes to mind. I am happy that Marshall is free from his imperfect body. He is perfect now. He is safe in the care of our Heavenly Father. Still, I am sad, truly, for his mom and dad. My heart physically aches for them.  

I checked on you tonight before I came to bed. I just wanted to pick you up and hold you and never wanted to let you go. I am so thankful to be your mom. I am so thankful you are healthy and strong. And I know part of that gratitude is selfish because I know the challenges you could have would be harder for me to watch than for you to endure. You are a strong, sweet boy. And I am endlessly grateful to have you as my baby, my son, and to be your mom. 

I love you, Henry. 

Love, mommy

Let's go fly a kite

Dear Mom,

We went kite flying tonight after Dave got home from work. It was nothing short of magical for me. The kids were so delighted and cheerful. The wind was just right. The pictures  are right off my phone (no filter); it was perfect! Could not have been better.

One of those moments that my heart could have burst. You would have loved it.

I love you, mama.

Love,

Katie

W's first primary program

Dear Winston,
Today you sang and spoke in your first Primary program. You were magnificent! For weeks you learned and practiced your speaking part: "Family prayer strengthens my family." You became confident in your words and were sure to let the primary leaders know you didn't need their help. And since you were old enough to sing, you've been practicing and learning the primary songs. Yesterday you sang them with gusto, vigor, conviction (maybe?) and some serious personality. I could hear you louder than any other child, and I couldn't be prouder. You threw a few elbow jabs at your neighbor and made a few funny faces, but all in all, you made me want to stand up and cheer. I was so proud of you for knowing every word to every song, for memorizing your part, for being brave. But most of all, I was so proud of you for what you were singing and speaking about. Music (and children) seems to be the purest teacher of the gospel. You were doing just that. You were teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ. I realize your being a full time missionary is a distant goal. But I want you to remember that this day, you were a teacher of the gospel.

I love you, W.

Mama

Journal 9.20.13

I wrote this on my phone while I was waiting in the triage room (for about six hours now) at Missouri Baptist Hospital.  Little did I know that things would change -- drastically -- just hours later.

Journal 9.20.13

Came to the hospital today around 10:00 am. Been having cramping/contractions since about last Friday. I did NOT want to come to the hospital just to be overly cautious. But after visiting the doctor's office on Wednesday, and already putting off the hospital for another 24 hours, I figured I should come.

Of course, within the first hour of them checking me out, I have one teeny tiny contraction. Cervix not dilated. So they assume they'll want me for another hour or two and I'll be on my way. Dave leaves to get lunch and get some work done. Sure enough, right after he leaves, the contractions come back. Stronger. And stronger. They give me a muscle relaxer shot. Makes me jittery and my heart race. I thought I was going to die if I couldn't get my bra undone! Over time the side effects wear off. Dave gets back. But the contractions are still there. Inconsistent. But not stopping or really letting up.

Concern is that I've had two previous c-sections. Scar tissue not strong. Don't want to risk rupture. Eek!

Here I am almost eight hours later. Dave went to get dinner with the kids. I'm nervous. Confused. Scared, quite honestly. I have no idea what this all means. What's our course of action?

Thankfully, baby boy is still doing acrobats in my tummy. He's been a little rascal and moves EVERYwhere except where the monitor can track his heartbeat.

I'm just nervous. Trying to remember that Heavenly Father knows what's going on. He is in control; I  need to trust that. Faith, not fear.

Finally getting to meet

While I was stuck at MoBap recovering, baby boy was hanging out at Children's.  I pumped like it was my job, and family and kind friends would take milk down to Children's so baby boy could eat that instead of formula.  Four days later, I was able to get out of the hospital and head down to Children's and finally get my hands on this baby boy.  

Best.  Day.  Ever. 

Happy birthday! Baby #3

I had arrived at MoBap Hospital around 10:30 a.m.  By noon, they said I would be going home.  Around 2:00...they wanted to watch me a bit longer.  By 4:00, things really started to get going.  And by 6:00...in the words of hospital doctor, "I looked like a lady who was going to have a baby."  

"When?" I asked.  "Like, next week?"

"No," Dr. McCarthy responded.  "Tonight.  We have a 8:00 p.m. appointment in the operating room.  We're just waiting for Dr. Knight to get here."  

Say what?!  Cue emotional meltdown.  

I wasn't supposed to be having a baby today.  Or even this month!  I was supposed to be having dinner with my family.  I was supposed to be going on with friends tonight.  My mom wasn't here yet.  We didn't even have the baby's space put together in my room at home.  Nothing was ready, especially me.  

Something to keep in mind; I had sent Dave off to have dinner with the kids and his parents.  Again, I thought I'd be checking out.  Winst and Lizzie thought I had just gone to the doctor that morning to listen to the baby's heartbeat.  They were clueless and I didn't want to give them any cause for alarm.  In trying to keep things normal, I found myself alone in a hospital triage room having a complete breakdown.  I believe my text to Dave went something like this:  "Where are you?!  Hello!  I'm having a baby!"

Dave got back to the hospital shortly after 6:00. A little frazzled himself, but holding it together because, well, someone had to and it wasn't me.  He called our bishop who detoured his whole evening to come to the hospital and assist in giving me a blessing. In my beautiful hospital gown, monitor-strapped belly, and swollen crying eyes, the words I remember from the blessing were that I would feel calm and peaceful.  That was hardly how I felt in that moment.  Not even close to it.  I was scared out of my mind.  And that's when they started to happen.  Miracles, that is.  Call them coincidences.  Or tender mercies.  Or whatever.  The following hours and days were filled with miracles, one after another.  

Near the end of the priesthood blessing Dave was giving me, my doctor-on-call walked into the room.  She couldn't really see what was going on, so she just announced herself, "Hi, this is Dr. Knight."  I had my eyes closed, so I just stuck my hand out with my finger up, indicating her to wait just a minute.  When the blessing was over, she quickly apologized, saying, "I see there was some laying on of hands there.  I'm so sorry to have interrupted."   I introduced her to Dave and to my bishop.  She asked, "Oh, are you LDS?  What ward do you go to?"  We were all a little caught off guard.  You typically don't ask those questions if you aren't LDS yourself.  I said, yes, we are.  We attend the Frontenac ward.  Then I slowly asked if she was LDS or which ward she attended.  She said she lived in the Pagedale Branch area.  That's even my stake!  Small world, I'd say.  But more than that, I felt immediately that Dr. Knight "got me."  I say that in the sense that she knows where I'm coming from.  To some degree she knows my core.  She knows what I value.  She gets me.  I had never seen her before in any church setting.  I had no idea of her activity in the church -- or lack thereof.  But it didn't matter.  Her calm voice reassured me that I would be OK, that I was strong, and that Heavenly Father would be there with us through the whole procedure.  Everything would be OK.  

That was just what I needed.  That was the calm, the peace, the reassurance that I needed. And from there, it was go time.  

I quickly got cleaned up and changed into my surgical attire.  Dave was making a bazillion phone calls trying to get a hold of my parents (at CHOICE gala and shortly thereafter heading to Seattle), his parents (Katie needs some things at the hospital...oh, and the kids), and Briana Larson (dropped out of her family activity for the night to come to my house and watch kids so Steve and Sherry could meet the new baby).  

I walked back to the OR and hopped up on the table.  Just like before, I hunched over the pillow and waited for the anesthesiologist to do his work.  This time, though, Dr. Knight was there to wrap her arms around me (I was shivering cold) and calmly talk to me while the anesthesia zinged down my legs.  That pillow hug part is sort of where I mentally prepare, and I was easily able to do that without even a hint of fear.  

As soon as the anesthesia gets going, the shakes come on.  I sort of expect it now.  This is the point where I start singing to myself (and sometimes out loud) to get through the several minutes of prep they have to do.  It's the only way to distract myself from the shaking and anxiety from what is to come.  This time was no different, though the prep time seemed to fly by.  I was totally alert.  Shaking.  But calm.  

After maybe 10 minutes or so, the shield was pulled and Dave come in the OR.  And within probably five minutes or less, I heard the anesthesiologist saying to Dave, "You want to see this.  Here comes baby!"  It was so quick!  I had hardly noticed all of the pulling and tugging that I associated with my first c-section.  Forget that part, the baby was coming!  As they reached in to get him out, the doctor, surprised herself, said, "Oh, there's his bum.  He's breech!"  He definitely hadn't been breech earlier that day.  And out he came.  Immediately, he let out a little cry, and then a big scream.  Music to my ears!  I cried.  I was so worried about how his lungs would or wouldn't work.  And he was able to scream right out of the gate.  Hooray!  Everyone cheered along with me.  

Dr. Knight handed the baby off and continued to work.  I looked to the side and watched the nurses and Dave get the baby cleaned up, measured, weighed, etc.  Baby cried through the whole thing.  It was great.  When it came time to weigh him, the nurses excitedly counted as the scale went up and up and up.  Six pounds, eleven ounces; 6lb 11oz!!!  They could hardly believe it themselves.  Everyone in the OR was surprised and, again, we all cheered together.  

Dr. Knight calmly guided me through the whole procedure, saying what was going on within giving too much of the yucky details.  She was surprised at how long the umbilical cord was.  Dave got a glimpse of it too.  In his words, "You could jump rope with that thing."  Gross.  

Again, the remaining surgery time flew by.  Dr. Knight was so gentle through it all.  I literally never felt any pulling, tugging, etc.  That was a miracle in itself.  Baby boy had a couple of little breathing episodes that the nurses watched, but they all cleared up on their own before we even left the OR.  In fact, both baby and I were well enough to leave the OR together and head to the recovery room.  

We spent the next hour or so in the recovery room just trying to process the fact that we were now a family of five.  Three kids!  Wow!  We had no idea what this baby's name would be.  We had no newborn clothing.  No newborn diapers.  Crib wasn't set up.  But here he was and he was perfect.  We wheeled into our new home for the next few days.  I obviously hadn't come to the hospital prepared to stay, so Sherry brought some toiletries for me and met baby boy.  Around 12:30 a.m., the nurse came in to check on me and see if I wanted to send the baby down to the nursery until it was time for him to eat.  I said yes, I would prefer for him to stay in the nursery and come to my room for feedings.  She agreed and said she would prefer that so he could be monitored through the night, as well.  I asked a few questions and just as she was walking out the door I said something like, "Oh, my other two children have been jaundice because we've had different blood types.  Will you check his blood type?"  She said they would check and also monitor his billirubin.  And off he went to the nursery.

Dave left for home and I was off to get some sleep.  I was officially on newborn time, so I wanted to get all the sleep I could.  It wasn't too long after I'd fallen asleep that the pediatrician made her first visit and this baby's new life turned a little upside down.   

Morning "Hike" at Beckemeier Conservation Area

About a mile from our house (which we've lived in for more than five years) I've always seen a sign about a conservation area, but I had never really checked it out.  One morning, desperate for something new to do out of the house, we drove by and pulled in.  It was a beautiful little walk through a wooded area.  

W was our fearless trailblazer.  

{surfboardin'}

Lizzie's excitement was a little more short-lived.  

Carrying Lizzie up the last hill was worth it when W handed me his gift.  

Winston, 3 1/2 yrs.

Winston is officially three and a half years old.  Lots of things to remember about this boy.

• The difference between a three year old and a three and a half year old is HUGE
• Likes to be asked what his favorite part of the day was every night when he goes to bed
• Suddenly dislikes the color blue
• Likes to use "loud" plates and "loud" cups (read:  glass plates and cups)
• Loves his cousins and misses them dearly.  Of course, there's lots of talk about, "Well, James does this," or "Will does this," or "I want to go with Kate and Rachel," and "Can I go to MaMom's and see Nonnie?"
• "What are you talking about?!"
• First real falll off his bike and scraped his knee. (6.2.12)
• First roller coaster: dragon coaster at St. Monica carnival (6.1.12)
• Still always has to say the prayer.
•  was making my bed and Winston was wearing my boots and pretending to be Woody. I asked, "Hey Woody, would you come help me make my bed?" He walked out of the closet and said, "Woodys don't make beds. Cowboys don't make beds." (7.6.12)
• "What do you want to be when you grow up?" W: Putting his finger to his nose and really thinking about it says, "Um...big. With all of my family." (7.5.12)
• "Can the angel come and take my tooth and leave me a surprise like a toothbrush?" (8.15.12)
• We were kneeling down for prayer tonight and W volunteered to say it. He started, "God is g..." like his prayer at school. Knowing something didn't sound right, he looked up somewhat confused and clearly blank and sincerely says, "Um, I don't know how to start it." (9.21.12)
• "I love you to the airplanes and back."
• "Oopsie-doozie"
• Lizzie was having a hard time going to be and had been upset for some time. On his own, W went into L's room and sang "I am a Child of God" to her. Minutes later she was quiet and went to sleep. (10.17.12)

• W: "Can I have a dollar?"  Sheshe: "Why do you need a dollar?"  W: "So I can go on a mission! I don't have enough yet."  Sheshe: "Where do you want to go on a mission?"  W: "Ummm, maybe to MaMom and Poppy's house."  (10.25.12)
• I had a really hard day and I was crying. W wasn't sure what was going on, but he said, "But mom, we love you!" Later that day he told me I was a beautiful princess (I was dressed like a witch). Sweet boy!  (10.26.12)

Temple Square with the Tingeys

After both moving away, going to college, getting jobs, getting married and having babies, my friend Becca and I found ourselves in very stages of life. We reconnected over Facebook and blogs, but it wasn't until after a couple of failed attempts (last March), that we finally reacquainted in person. Basically, I sent her an e-maill and coerced her into taking me and my kids on a walking tour around downtown Salt Lake City. I'm kind of like the friend who just invites herself over...whoops.

Becca was so, so hospitable. Her little ones -- Will and Ada -- couldn't possibly be cuter. Will and Winston were insta-friends. Winston immediately wanted to hold hands and do everything together. Will was so kind to put up with Winston's excitment. We just felt so lucky to hang out and get to know each other better.

Armed with our strollers and snacks, we walked from her metro apartment to a quaint little park where Pres. Brigham Young is buried. I had never visited this park before; I didn't even know it was there. As we descended the hill down the street to the park, the face of the temple comes in full view and becomes greater and grander the closer you get. It was amazing. The park was sweet, quiet and nicely manicured. There were beautiful statues, as well. A little retreat in the city.

After the park, we headed toward Temple Square. We walked past the Lion House where Dave and I held our wedding reception. I tried to take a picture with the kids in front of it, but W refused. He opted to pick the blooms of flowers from their stems instead. Of course!

From there we walked past the Joseph Smith Memorial Building onto Temple Square. This view never gets old. Trying to get all four children in this one spot was like corralling kittens -- nearly impossible -- but they managed to sit still long enough to get at least two pictures. Getting all of them to look at me at the same time? Not a chance. 

Winston and Will had a ball running up and down the sidewalks and trying their hand at getting wet in the water features. Winst had to be pulled off the reflecting pool more than once, unfortunately. He must not have heard me ask him over and over to stay out. Selective hearing.

Even with restless little ones, Temple Square is such a peaceful, beautiful, reverent place.
After our "tour," we walked back to Becca's for lunch on her rooftop patio. Becca, the ever-gracious hostess, had lunches packed for each of us. She took such good care of us. While the kids ate and ran around together, Becca and I were able to sort of play 20 Questions and catch up on each other's lives. Despite not seeing each other for 10+ years, and really not knowing each other all too well before that, there's something to be said about how sharing similar seasons in life brings people together. You share the same road with similar challenges and common questions. You face similar unknowns. You experience similar milestones. I find it a welcome blessing to have a friend, a sounding board, an ally, to walk that road with. Thank you, Becca.        

Overprotective?

Maybe.

You've had a baby? Laugh it off

You know when an athlete falls, gets hit, or somehow injures herself and the coach instructs her to "walk it off?"

Well, it's nearly three o'clock in the afternoon and I just got out of the shower.  I had the best of intentions of going to the library today, running some errands and preparing a decent meal for dinner.  Those intentions lasted about 10 seconds, which was the amount of time between Lizzy opening her eyes for the day and W screaming from his room.

This is the life I live nowadays.  And...it's good.  It's a fleeting time, they tell me, these days when I sometimes feel like all I do is wipe bottoms, wash yellow fecal matter from clothing (mine and hers...clothing, that is), empty the potty into the big potty over and over again, pick up toys, read the same books.  Eat, nap, change, rinse and repeat.  They tell me I'll look back on these days fondly and wish I could relive them.

Sometimes I wonder who "they" are.

Sometimes I wonder if "they" ever had children.

Or do "they" just sit back and laugh at the awkwardness and hilarity of teaching small people the facts of life?

I mean, you've got to laugh when you hear, "Don't touch your bottom.  Do you need to poop?  Well stop touching your bottom!" repeated 7,000 times a day.  Or watch a lady walk around the house all day with spit up on her shoulder and a half-naked boy following her.  Thank goodness she didn't leave the house.

It is funny, isn't it?  I have to laugh at it all sometimes.  After the second blowout (on me), the dog failing to make it outside, and the boy on a seek-and-destroy-everything-I-touch mission, I just have to laugh it off.  

Or I just might cry.

Mother's Day

{mom and me, 1983}

The challenges of a baby are many:  waking for mid-night feedings, changing a bazillion diapers, cleaning up spit-up and guessing how to console an and comfort her.  When I had W, I thought a newborn was difficult, but it would only get easier as he grew up.  Now that I have a newborn and a two-year-old to compare side by side, a newborn is easy!  

Don't get me wrong, W is wonderful.  He's a great kid.  Fun.  Adventurous.  Happy.  Smart.  Spirited.  I love that boy.  But I think as a mother's experience grows, so do the challenges of raising a growing child.  I find my vocabulary based around the following words or phrases:  no, get down, shhhh, stop!, gentle, and sit on your bottom.  I wonder how a mother has time to help her child develop beyond keeping him from running out into the street.  Yet I'm learning that this is the time where real parenting is beginning.  It's not just nurturing a baby; now I'm in the position to help shape and unfold W into the boy/young man/man he'll soon be.  And figuring out how to do this is the trick.    

I have been thinking about this talk lately.  The key word from the talk is, "BE."  Who and what will my children be?  I feel like my job is to help them become by teaching them to be honest, to be charitable, to be sincere, to be a listener, to be a learner, to be willing, to be humble.  It seems quite the responsibility as I know actions speak much louder than words.  What I do around my children will say much more than our little talks.

Especially today, I am so thankful to have my own mother whose example helped me learn how to be and become.  

A mother that is successful in raising a good boy, or girl, to imitate her example and to follow her precepts through life, sows the seeds of virtue, honor and integrity and of righteousness in their hearts that will be felt through all their career in life; and wherever that boy or girl goes, as man or woman, in whatever society they mingle, the good effects of the example of that mother upon them will be felt; and it will never die, because it will extend from them to their children from generation to generation.  

                 Joseph F. Smith  

I won't talk to my mom today.  She is in Haiti today with my dad and sister-in-law.  Instead of getting phone calls from her children, she'll be attending church in a hot, humid building.  She'll likely be tired and sore from the previous days' work of unloading and distributing materials for the Haitian Roots school, dresses and white shirts for church members, and basic supplies for many children and families in that devastated country.  I highly doubt she got breakfast in bed this morning.  And I'm pretty confident her bed tonight will not be as comfortable as the one she has at home.  But I do know that my mother wouldn't choose to be anywhere else.

The seeds she has sown through her life are those of service and unconditional love to others, regardless of who they are.  She doesn't just say or teach these principles.  She lives them, breathes them  and loves them.  They are seeds she has planted in each of her children.

Knowing that the real teaching happens through example, I hope my actions are ones my children will want to emulate as they become the man and woman they are meant to be.

Happy Mother's Day, mama.  Your actions have always spoken louder than words.  Thank you for planting those seeds in my life.  Love you!

On the agenda

Wash floor

Pack bag

Pick up mom

Play with W

Take a deep breath

Have a baby

Normalcy and a sweating problem

Putting off the coming-terms-with and avoiding the translation of my current feelings has been easy. Between finishing a playroom in the basement (yes, I helped hang drywall at 8+ mos. pregnant), renovating the master bath, keeping up with doctor's appointments and the regular everyday-ness of raising a little boy, I've managed to keep myself rather busy.  

My fleeting moments of leftover brainpower have been filled with thoughts of paint colors, furniture arrangements, crib bedding, big boy beds, and new baby must-haves.  Not so much focused on trying to decipher how I feel about everything.  Everything being...how I feel about W turning two.  How I feel about bringing another life into the world.  How I feel about lying on an operating table to welcome this new life.  How I feel about my changing body.  How I feel about my relationship with D.  How I feel about me.  And not to mention how I feel about another trip to Lowe's and/or Home Depot or the daily sweat marks I get in my shirts(!).

There's certainly been a lot of ignored feelings.  

A couple of nights ago we made a (-nother) trip to Lowe's.  On the way out, D lugged our purchase while I lugged W to the car.  And by lugged, I mean slowly carried a 28 pounder atop my hugely pregnant mid-section and audibly heaved as I lifted him into his car seat. Then the feeling hit me:  soon I won't be able to lift him in and out of the car so "easily."  This mindless, menial task will soon be different.  That brief moment I have to lift him up, give him a hug, put him in his buckles and ask for a kiss is going to change.
 
I quickly ignored this feeling, shut W's door and pulled myself together.  Up until then, I had avoided these emotions like the plague.  I had no interest in mourning the change about to happen to child #1 --or to me -- but things were starting to set in.

Cue this morning.

As expected, bathroom breaks, throwing off covers and attempting to get comfortable during the night means not the best sleep.  So this morning I took to reading some blogs.  A friend of mine with an almost two-year-old boy and a little girl on the way (sound familiar?) is a rather wise woman.  She is well-spoken, thorough, and always manages to put into words some of those jumbly feelings I have swirling in my head.  Her post this morning was no different.  Speaking of her little boy, she said:

Up until now, every change has been so exciting, there was no space in my heart for sadness at the passage of time...However, it is suddenly becoming more real to me that he won't always want to climb up into my lap for a snuggle or to read a book; he'll understand at some point that he's too big to fit there comfortably. He won't always want to give me kisses in public; he'll understand his friends are watching.  

Now cue my weepy self.

The continuous milestones W achieves make me feel so proud, like I'd done them myself.  Yet I always seemed to feel more pride and anticipation for what's next rather than sadness.  Now, our family is doing the same.  In just more than a week, we will turn a new leaf in our little book of life.  W will turn into a big brother.  We will go from three to four.  And life will go on.  However, my usual anticipation just hasn't caught up.  Although I am thrilled, elated, excited, etc., when I am truly honest with myself, I am scared half to death to see what is on this next page.  It is becoming more real to me that although W might want to do all of the things we did before, he may not be able to.  Nor will I.  I feel sad.  I feel unprepared.  I feel nostalgic.  I feel like I want to dig my heels in the ground.

Needless to say, these feelings, coupled with the lack of sleep and raging hormones (the damn same ones responsible for the sweating) caused my eyes to overflow.  I was like a little kid.  Trying to catch my breath.  Trying not to be heard.  But just trying to make sense of it all.

The normalcy I finally got used to will not be normal anymore.  Being at the mercy of a newborn's schedule seems doable, but am I really going to be able to create a new normal and those special, unique things I do with my child(ren) just because?  All the progress, trust and momentum W and I have created in the last two years is sort of going to come to a screeching halt.  Am I really going to be able to pick it up again?  And will W still even like me then?

Perhaps I am panicked.  Or maybe just irrational.  Regardless, I'm sweating again.  

Thank you, Becca, for your words of wisdom:

Onward and upward, I say! Each tiny progression is wondrous and exciting--and I need to let myself be caught up in the moment...as often as I can manage it.

Each tiny progression is wondrous and exciting.  Genius!

Oddly, I know I can do this.  I will do it.  On on hand, I kind of have to; but I want to, as well.  And this is what life is about -- progression -- right?  Despite my nervousness, I hope to be pleasantly surprised at my own development as I step from one page to the next.  Sweaty and all, I want to be caught up in the moment and take the new "normal" as it comes.  Kissing W every time I can put him in his car seat.  And baby girl, too.

Winston: Two Years

We're way overdue for an update about the little boy.  The little boy who's not so little anymore.

Stats:  

Height:  37"  (95%+...pretty much off the chart)

Weight:  28 lb. 1/2 oz (50%)

This boy keeps me on my feet alright.  And considering I'm really, really pregnant, he wears me out, too.  He has so much energy, runs everywhere he goes, pushes cars and trucks around the house all day, but gives me a break during his nap (still about two hours everyday) or when he watches "Haha" (Elmo) (1/27/11) or "Brobee" (Yo Gabba Gabba).  What else?

• No interest in potty training, despite repeated requests/suggestions/bribes, etc.  Prefers to do his business in the privacy of a corner or underneath a table
• Bites on both ends when eating string cheese
• Always says "cheese" for a camera or cell phone (which he thinks is taking his picture)
• Picky eater.  Or rather, only eats when he's hungry.  Won't budge otherwise
• Asks "Where Daddy go?" probably 75 times a day
• Second only to "ball," which he says 175 times a day
• Still obsessed with bikes, trucks and tractors ("da da")
• Goes to the computer to see his cousin "Nonnie" (Maria) or MaMom on a regular basis, hoping they're on Skype
• Loves, loves to color
• Recently took to Playdoh
• Crosses his index and middle finger (see pic)

• Sits on the barstools...no more highchair; and rather possessive about what stool he chooses
• Pats the seat next to him, inviting you to come sit down
• Loves to "race" upstairs to bed each night
• Always folds his arms during prayer, but if it's dinnertime, he will use one hand through his folded arms to pick up his cup/fork/food; sly little guy
• He and Lucy get along great...finally!
• Prefers to dress pantless
• Loves "ba ba" (bath time)
• Tools, nails, wood...the best things that ever happened  
• W becomes hypnotized when D and Papa work on projects at home.  He's oh so "helpful" and uses the screw driver, tape measure, hammer, you name it.  Quite the apprentice and contractor-in-training
• Officially climbs out of his crib, which couldn't be worse better timing
• Anything D says/does/asks is gospel; no question this boy loves his dad
• Hasn't quite figured out the concept of sharing yet
• Tantrums are too frequent
• But timeout seems to work
• Loves to snuggle with me while we wait for his bathwater to warm up
• Two-year molars = worst thing EVER
• Not a lover of haircuts
• Recognizes and points out the letter O
• Always jumps off the bottom stair
• Pats my tummy, gives it hugs or calls it hot (his word, not mine), when I ask him where his sister is
• Pretty sure he doesn't quite understand what a little sister will really mean in his life
• Still falls asleep any time I turn on Primary songs in the car (the best drug out there)
• Looks for the Prophet when he tears through The Friend magazine, and refers to him as Poppy
• Recognizes Jesus (1/26/11)
• Smacks his leg to call for Lucy
• Often refers to me as "The Mama"
• Hops and somersaults

I can hardly believe this little guy has been with us for two years.  It seems like so long ago, but yesterday at the same time.  He is funny.  He is full of life.  He is sensitive.  He is strong.  He's just a good, good boy.  I am so lucky to be his mom.  

He has made me laugh more and added more to my life than I thought any one/thing ever could.  He has taught me how to really love, how to teach, how to learn and how to relax and just laugh at how life can be.  He has created more perspective in my life and in our family life.  He has helped me see a whole new side of D, and reminded me how lucky I am to have D as a husband, and for W as a father.  It's incredible to look back and see the person I was before him and who I am now; changed, developed, improved by this little life of a boy who came into the world late that March night.  

Love you, W!

Still Lovely

{tumbler via marta}

It's snowing outside!  Beautiful, white, peaceful snow.  The house is quiet.  Baby's still sleeping.  Ahhhh.  Perfection.  Until the day (read:  chaos) really starts, these few quiet moments are priceless.

It certainly isn't always like this.

The last couple of days have been exhausting.  Aside from cleaning a few closets and such, I really haven't done much of anything.  I've been wearing the same sweats three of the last four days.  Nope, make that four for four; I'm wearing them now.  I've only made dinner once.  I haven't ventured beyond a one mile radius of my home by myself.  And I'm not even depressed or anything.  I'm just so tired!

I suppose my nighttime sleep is getting less and less productive with this ever-growing bowling ball of an abdomen.  When the clock reads about 11:45 (yes, that's  a.m.), I am so wiped out I can barely keep my eyes open, let alone feed, entertain, play with and seem functional to Winst.  I feel like a drunk on the verge of consciousness, just begging for 1:00 to near so I can feel justified in putting W down for a nap.  But based on what I could find in my house (or that one-mile radius) I'm only drunk off this baby growing inside me (read:  that's sucking the life out of me).    

But redemption!  When Dave came home last night the first thing he said was, "The house looks clean."  I asked him if he was serious because I was shocked.  And he was.  Completely sincere.  This pretty well made my day, especially after having cleaned up the same books and toys 35,000 times.  Kind of pathetic.  But accurate.    

I read an article earlier this week I haven't stopped thinking about.  In a nutshell, the author discusses her fascination/obsession/anxiety for authenticity of the "Mormon housewife blogs."  No doubt, the Internet is flooded with loads of them -- some Mormon and some not -- which paint the picket-fence-picture-perfect-life we all want to punch through the computer screen or guilt ourselves to shame over said blog jealousy.  But to me, the author put it perfectly:

"...the basic messages expressed in these blogs -- family is wonderful, life is meant to be enjoyed, celebrate the small things -- are still lovely. And if they help women like me envision a life in which marriage and motherhood could potentially be something other than a miserable, soul-destroying trap, I say, 'Right on.'" 

In my heart of hearts, I can honestly say I've put forth a good effort to portray a realistic picture of my life on this little speck of mine in the world of blog land.  I can only hope I have expressed a message like she stated, of the little things still being lovely.  And I really appreciate when I can relate to another's honesty (like this), even if my relationship with this other person is only through my Google Reader.

Marriage and motherhood are awesome...and challenging and frustrating and rewarding and on and on and on.  My little blog is my outlet to journal my life, think out loud, see and share pretty and not-so-pretty things.  But overall, I want it to be a place where I feel comfortable being me, which is a mom and a wife and...Katie.  Clean and simple...sometimes.

Life is far from perfect.  I think most people can agree with that.  But we can all choose whether to be fulfilled or fed up with it.  So I suppose that means we can all choose to paint the picture we want because we can choose what we get out of the every day.  

I'm just trying to make my every day chaos something lovely.

To each her own.

The ultimate in "Mom Jeans"

Perhaps this is just my pregnant state of mind talking, but if a pair of these showed up on my front porch, I'd be slightly interested.  Actually, I would likely wear them...everyday for the next 12 weeks.  Embarrassing, isn't it?  Nah.  

• DormiSoft™ fabric – a proprietary blend of cotton and spandex
• Feels like sleepwear but looked too good to keep hidden under the covers
• Look put together all day long
• Available in 8 sizes from XS up to 3XL

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Random: Black Eye

• So I was blog hopping.
• That was my first mistake.  
• Saw a picture of a friend of a friend.  Who is prego.  
• Like, super pregnant.  
• She showed her obligatory baby body/profile shot.  
• All cute and TINY.  
• t. i. n. y. 
• This girl's got weeks on me and I look (and feel) like my baby tum could barrel over her entire body.  
• I felt like I'd been punched.  
• Then I wanted to punch her.  
• By the looks of things, this little lady of mine is plenty healthy.