On the bright side.

Rachel sat in her overnight diaper until after 10 this morning. If I'd changed it any sooner, I would have had to change it twice, since she'd just done a lovely #2 in it. Just trying to think positively... and yes, I'm typing this one-handed.

Letting it go.

A few years ago, a friend of mine apologized as we entered her home that it was so messy. She remarked, "I gave up a clean house after my fourth child was born." At the time, I had only two children. Easy peasy. I was arrogant enough to believe that, when my fourth child was born, I would still be able to maintain a level of control that would permit me to have an orderly home. And, if my third and fourth children had been born with the natural aptitude for breastfeeding that my first two had, perhaps I may have realized that goal.
It seems that someone is laughing at me from above. Something broke somewhere between my second and third daughters. Rachel required physical therapy to figure out how to eat. Eve has similar problems, but since we've been down this road before, she's enduring her training at home. After almost two weeks, she's finally catching on. Two weeks! It seems like an eternity to this impatient soul.
I've learned a great deal as a mother. I'm still learning. This time around, I'm finding that success is not attainable through ones own merits alone. I simply can't do it all. So I'm letting it go. I'm pleading with the Lord for help, and thankfully, He's extending mercy and we're getting by. For now, though, I'm going to have to deal with my unswept floor, my unkempt children, my own growling stomach that has to wait for every other mouth to be fed, and my inability to get out the door before 9 am. We're healthy and we're happy. And frankly, that's good enough.

As promised.

The girls adore her. Anna even said the other day that she was going to run away and take the baby with her because she hates everyone else in the family. You can tell we're all still adjusting...
So here's a few pictures of Eve's first day on the earth. Not too many of her first minutes - way too much skin (mine, not hers). I even skipped the classic between-the-legs shot that Tim likes to take of my doctor post-delivery. Nice. I'll try to keep posting but in all honesty, I'm having a hard time fitting a shower in, so I'm not making any promises. Until then, thanks for all the well wishes!

It's a girl!

Born at 9:27 a.m. on January 13th, 2009. 6 pounds 10 ounces. 19 inches long. Dark hair (but not much of it), grayish eyes. Pictures to come soon - but you get her birth story, because if there's one thing that is common among all women, it is that we LOVE to talk about our labors.
After a mere 4 hours of sleep interrupted by anxiety at being induced for the first time and a few somewhat painful contractions, Tim and I arrived at the hospital, as scheduled, at 6:00 a.m. I was dilated to a four. They inserted the IV and I became increasingly nervous that my limited mobility would affect my tolerance for pain, but I decided on a wait-and-see approach. They started me on Pitocin at 7:00, which appeared to do little to intensify my contractions, though they came more frequently. Doctor broke my water at 8:20 a.m. Things kicked into high gear, contractions became insanely intense within half an hour and I strongly considered getting an epidural, feeling very helpless in my hospital bed with a million gadgets attached to me. At 9:10 I decided that such intense pain probably meant the end was near and, since getting an epidural would take half an hour, figured that I might as well do without. My intuition was spot on. Eve was born just over 15 minutes later. My mom raced to the delivery room just in time for the final contraction and push (she'd been getting the kids off to their destinations for the morning). Tim saw that I was starting to lose it and knew that baby was coming any minute so he made a quick call to her as she pulled into the parking lot. I'm glad she was there - it made this final birth experience of mine very unique. Well, aside from the fact that I had to discover the gender for myself as they held her girl parts right in my face post-delivery.
What a blessing it is to bear and raise children. The love is instantaneous and overflowing. Quite literally a gift from above.

Here goes nothin'.

Well, there's a first time for everything. After three pregnancies and labors that were almost exactly identical, right down to the Indian food I ate the very night(s) I went into labor, I have found myself dealing with an anomaly (at least for me). Tomorrow morning, I'm scheduled to be induced at 6 am. Baby turned up with an irregular heartbeat when I saw the doctor on Friday. Though everything I've read about arrhythmia and everything the nurses have told me would indicate that it's not a huge cause for concern, my doctor has recommended induction. Fun, fun, fun. Well, at least I know I will have a baby in arms on January 13th. Can't wait. In fact, I'm hoping a spontaneous labor will make it so I don't even have to wait until tomorrow. Please?

Once a mother, always a mother.

Don't mind me. Just sitting on my thumbs waiting for this baby to arrive. Well, not exactly. Anyone who knows what it's like to have three young girls (particularly, my girls) can reliably assume that I'm still up and at 'em.
Today I set a record. This is the closest I have ever come to my actual due date without giving birth. Each of my girls was born 10 or 11 days early, after exactly 3 days of false(but painful) labor - so naturally, when I invited my mom to come and witness my fourth and final(?) birth, I could reasonably guess that scheduling a flight 11 days prior to my due date would allow ample time for her to come be my doula and stick around for a few days to help with the adjustment. Not so. I picked her up Monday night having experienced nary a painful contraction. Nor since then.
I know, I'm spoiled. How can I possibly complain when I've never even had to watch my due date come and go except with a newborn in my arms?
So despite my guilt that I have torn my mother away from her life at home so that she can wait on me hand and foot before baby comes, I'm rather enjoying it. Because she is waiting on me hand and foot! My kids have an extra adult to satisfy their endless needs, my floor is magically cleaned every night, my dishes are done before I can get to them, dinner is prepared in the background so that I can spend some quality afternoon time (a rarity) with my daughters and I can run errands while Anna's in kindergarten and the two younger ones sleep away. It is marvelous, simply marvelous.
Moms are amazing. But my mom takes the cake.

Anna's Christmas gift.

A few days before Christmas, the two older girls and I tackled the most challenging of all the Christmas crafts we had lined up for the season. Clay snowman ornaments. The girls had a blast adding plenty of their own creativity to my careful instructions and they actually turned out (though I was too stupid to get a picture) quite cute. I asked them if they wanted to give them to someone as a gift or add them to their growing collection of homemade ornaments. They both decided that such a masterpiece was too precious to give away - no surprises there, the Christmas season this year was unfortunately all about the big M.E.
So you can imagine my surprise after Grandma and Grandpa arrived and presents magically began appearing under the tree, Anna found her inspiration and decided that it wasn't fair that most of the presents were, indeed, labeled for her and her sisters. She quickly grabbed the prized snowman ornament off the tree, dug out a way-too-big box from the storage room, and scurried upstairs to wrap it. She selected only the best wrapping paper and, in spite of a bit of frustration that she grossly underestimated how large a sheet of paper was required to cover the box's surface, emerged from my bedroom, beaming with joy, carrying a package wrapped with the utmost love and selflessness.
She finally got it. After several FHE lessons, a few small service projects and countless gentle reminders about the true meaning of Christmas - she found her inspiration in a way that I could not have created for her. It was a moment to be remembered.

New year's resolutions.

I have one resolution that is sure to be realized this year. I plan to lose at least 20 pounds by the end of January. Once this baby is born - it's in the bag, guys.

Seasonal affective disorder.

You've probably heard of it. Winter blues - people with normal mental health who experience more frequent bouts of depression than in the summer. Believed to be related to the amount of light - stands to reason.
I get it every year. I find myself crying more often, reacting more emotionally to otherwise non-offensive behavior by friends and family, getting a bit more agitated with my children. Fortunately, it's always to a minor degree, and it's usually over before much damage is done. Also, I've tried to combat it the past few years by getting outside for at least 20 minutes a day. Sounds easy enough, but getting 3 kids bundled up to go out in the cold to "play" during the winter proves challenging some days, particularly when one cannot count on a good mood from them either.
Which is kind of what I want to write about. Aren't kids supposed to be happy? My five-year-old is going through a phase. At least that's what I hope it is. Nothing is ever good enough. Ever. We'll have a fantastic day together - playing in the snow, playing card games, reading books, sharing hugs and kisses, coloring, baking, talking... and inevitably she will retire to bed remembering only the bad. I squeezed Lily tightly the other day and whispered I love you in her ear. Anna muttered under her breath, "You never tell me you love me". I praised Rachel's coloring the other day. Anna remarked, "You never say my coloring is beautiful". Such behavior began when she started school, increased in frequency when winter hit, and has become an everyday occurence in recent weeks. Truly a complete downer.
It goes without saying that her perception is just that, a perception. I should have known when she emerged a colicky child who demanded to be held, swaddled, shushed, and swung to keep from screaming mercilessly from 5 pm to midnight every night for three months that we were in for a real treat. And she is, in most every way, a truly exceptional child. She excels at pretty much everything she tries - and has always been ahead of the curve on most everything. Talking, singing, climbing, reading, swimming, dancing, coloring, writing, you name it! She's also an amazing big sister and helper in our home. So why isn't she happy?
I suppose I will try to take my own advice to her and focus on the positive - that she is a bright, energetic, talented young lady. And so much more. I'll try to remember that she's the guinea pig, that when it comes to her, I'm going through this parenting thing for the first time and that getting worked up over such things benefits no one. In the meantime, though, I'm having a hard time mustering the "happiness" to spread around to everyone in the family, so if you have any advice, please send it my way.

Ah, the innocence of youth.

Twice in the past week or so, while watching movies, Lily has commented on a couple kissing by saying the following: "Mom, now they have to get married." That's right, Lily, that is right.
And speaking of movies, I'm disappointed by G-ratings these days. Or any rating, for that matter. We watched a movie yesterday, rated G, and described as "sickeningly wholesome". By whose standards? I'd venture to say that Tim and I are a bit prudish when it comes to entertainment, particularly as it involves our children. So I think we'll be sticking to Mary Poppins instead of venturing into Hollywood's latest definition of "sickeningly wholesome". Should have been born in the 50's, I guess.