Thursday, January 7, 2010

More linebacker than kicker

I know it will be hard for some of you to believe but I really don't want Everett to play football. If he insists, I keep saying he can only be a kicker (or punter is fine too.) I'd prefer him to participate in a much less violent sport...say tennis or curling. My Dad says he'll never play curling because we have no ice. However, we've got plenty of brooms and I'd love for my boy to be a good sweeper so we'll figure the ice thing out later. Anyway, we went to our 2 month check-up and got his stats. I just thought it was me that thought he looked huge. It took him a few weeks to grow out of his newborn clothes but he flew right through the 0-3 month clothes and never looked back. He's been in 3-6 months since he was about 6 weeks old. Apparently, it's not just me. Our boy is 12 lbs., 13 ounces and 24 inches long. That's the 90th percentile in both. Thus, if Everett insists on football, he may be more suited to play linebacker instead of kicker. Although, now that I'm really thinking about it, Morten Anderson was a "husky" kicker. Here's a pic of someone who'll be one of his biggest fans one day no matter what sport he chooses. Nothing like hangin' with Aunt Lindsay. (Can you spot the ever present Hill dimples finally trying to show themselves?)

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

The Beautiful Unknowns

Many people talk about how frustrating it is not knowing what a young baby needs when they're crying. '"I just wish he could tell me what he wants"' is a common sentiment. Well, while I can appreciate that (even though to be perfectly honest, Rhett is pretty predictable), I'm going the other way with it. These are the things I appreciate right now...

--When his head slams into my chest while sitting on my lap, I'm going to assume that he's just ready for a good snuggle and not that actually he doesn't have full control of that heavy head.
--When he smiles and giggles, I'm assuming it's because I'm the funniest thing he's ever been around and not actually that he's tooting or filling up a diaper.
--When he coos and babbles at me, he's saying things such as, "I love you, Mom" and "You're such a good caregiver!" and not actually, "Mom, you look like a real idiot dancing in front of me and talking in that voice" or "Why don't you just leave me alone already. I think there's a nice, quiet peaceful nursery back there where I could get a little private meditation done. Yeah, thanks."
--And the age old: When he "holds" my finger, he really wants to hold it and it's not actually just a primitive reflex which is also shared by our wonderful primate friends, the monkeys.

I'm embracing my nonverbal baby. And, no, I'm not doing sign language. Call me a bad mom but I didn't learn it and I turned out fine (I like to think so.)

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Heaven Can Wait

On December 31, 2008, my sister and I joined Bert (my stepdad) and Mom in a doctor's office at UMC. A week or so before we had been informed of the cancer that unbenknownst to us had been growing rapidly in her uterus. Upon hearing the type (leiomyosarcoma), we were immediately warned not to "google" it. What does the normal person then do? Stupidly, I googled it at work and promptly had to excuse myself to the bathroom to be sick, cry, etc. You get the idea. Anyway, I think back to that day around lunch when the doctor came into the room for our first visit in regards to her prognosis. Mom probed him for details. We wanted the truth and didn't want anything candy-coated. Well, he delivered. He informed us that the average person in her situation (the uterine mass had already metastasized to 5 spots in her lungs) lives for 6 months to one year. He offered the options, one being to begin Hospice care immediately and forgo chemo. It was terminal, Stage IV. Mom looked "normal." We opted out of the Hospice and we agreed to fight the cancer (Mom hates when we use violence to describe taking it out, but that's the only way to describe it!) Being in the medical field, Lindsay, Mom and I all agreed that she would not endure chemo if it became not worth it. We didn't agree on a stopping point or any parameters to discontinue chemo, but she would NOT suffer just to get a few extra days.

At the time, my family thought we were living in a nightmare. I could not work a full 12 hour shift for months without breaking down at some point. Most nights at the dinner table, I would literally cry in my plate while Wade watched helplessly. Wade and I had started trying to get pregnant 3 days before she had the CT scan that initially identified the cancer. Would she ever meet the grandchild that she had BEGGED for forever? We had so many concerns.

On December 30, 2009, Mom sat with some of our biggest supporters. We threw her first annual "Heaven Can Wait" celebratory dinner. Mom is down to only 3 spots on her lung and continues to receive chemo about every other week. They have actually considered resecting the spots on her lungs. While this won't be a cure (nothing will as it will eventually come back no matter what), it will buy more time. Mom has met her first grandchild and completely basked in his presence (she has been in Jackson every week since he was born except one--he's 8 weeks old and she lives almost 3 hours away! You do the math.) This year we assumed would be our worst as a family. However, it has turned out to be the most rewarding year of my life. When you are given a "life sentence" you learn to appreciate all those little things that are typically taken for granted. We've made so many wonderful memories. Everett is going to be the warmest child ever as Mom has gone nuts with the quilting and, as it stands now, he has around 7 quilts to "remember her by." I realize that it could get worse at any point. I still somewhat live in fear that every cough or sneeze that she has is the beginning of a pneumonia.
This year I am so thankful to have my Mom in her (new) healthy state. We are attempting to attain a new normal while still appreciating everything. My wish for my 1 or 2 friends that actually read this is to hug your family just a tad tighter each day, tell your loved ones that you do love and appreciate them, and don't take for granted good health.
Mom meeting our boy, November 7, 2009
Everett's safe in Granna's arms

Mom and Reid blowing out her one year cake!


Friday, December 18, 2009

BFF

A quote from Wade, the smitten Dad, yesterday:
"Is it weird that my best friend in the world sucks a paci?" Guess I've been replaced.

Monday, December 14, 2009

Rain, Rain, Go Away.

I am dying a slow death related to cabin fever. Since I'm not yet willing to leave a 5 week old in the gym nursery, it would be nice to at least take a little stroll in the park...

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Everett's Birthday

Been meaning to post this for a month! In my eyes, there is no greater experience...
Friday, November 6th. I was 39 weeks and 2 days pregnant. I had been cold all day so I decided to take a hot bath that night. I sat in the tub, rubbed my belly, and talked to it knowing our days together were numbered. Around 9:45, Wade and I started getting ready for bed. By 9:55, Wade was sacked out and I was right behind him. Right around 10:00, I got a big cramping contraction. It wasn’t out of the ordinary but just a little stronger. I started squirming in bed a little which woke up Wade. I told him I was fine, not to turn on the light. I decided to try to stand up to take away some of the strain of the contraction. At that point, Wade turned on the light as I’d only had to stand up through a contraction one other time. As I stood, I noticed a little drip down my legs. I looked at Wade and shockingly stuttered, “Something is running down my legs!” It’s so cliché but I really thought I was just peeing on myself. Everyone had told me that’s what it felt like. It wasn’t a “big gush” just a constant trickle. Wade immediately started loading up the car while I paced our room talking myself out of the fact that this could be real. I texted Lindsay and Mom (who was staying at Lindsay’s) “Something’s happening?!” Neither called nor texted back. I decided to just wait it out and see what happened. Wade continued to load our bags while I stammered crazy things like, “Maybe this isn’t real. I mean I’d hate to wake everyone up for nothing. Maybe I really did just pee my pants (oops, there’s some more fluid!). Let’s not go to the hospital yet (hang on here comes another contraction—they were 3 minutes apart by this point). I need a shower.” At which point, I jumped in the shower then proceeded to straighten my hair while Wade, frustratingly, watched on. Around 11:00, after talking to Mom and Lindsay and being convinced maybe this was the real thing, I told Wade we should probably head to the hospital. He looked at me and said, “Sara, the car’s loaded and ready in the driveway. You just need to finish packing your bag.”
Upon arrival to OB receiving at 11:23, I got to state those 4 words that I had only dreamt of telling the receptionist, “My water has broken!” Immediately, a door opened and I was ushered inside. Within 30 minutes, Dr. Griffin poked her head around my curtain and told me what was about to happen. She would check my fluid to ensure it wasn’t urine and then check my cervix to see if I had dilated since my Tuesday appointment (in which I was “a good 1 cm.”) As soon as she started checking my fluid, with eyebrows raised, she stated, “Oh yeah, that’s amniotic fluid. Sara, you’re already 4 centimeters!” Wade was holding my hand and we shared an excited smile. We’ll never forget her next statement because it still seemed so surreal. She looked at us and said matter-of-factly, “You guys are having a baby tonight!” She walked back around the curtain and asked the nurse to start our paperwork to be transferred to labor and delivery. Wade and I just sat there, unsure what to do next. By around 12:30 a.m., we were transferred to labor and delivery. One nurse came in to start my IV and draw labs while another, Hope, came in to hook me up to the fetal monitor and get me settled. Hope would be my nurse for the night. Little did we know at the time how perfect of a fit she was for our situation. I told both nurses of my intentions to have a natural, drug-free delivery. The IV nurse looked at me questioningly and stated, “Well, I’m drawing your lab work so if you change your mind and want an epidural, the anesthesiologist will already have everything he needs.” She walked out of the room. I was a little discouraged but then Hope looked at me and gave me her little pep talk. She said, “OK, Sara, you can do this. I’ve been at UMC for 4 years and very few people want this option. Almost every delivery here involves Pitocin, an epidural, et cetera and I never really understood why they had to be like that. Before UMC, I was at Vanderbilt and we did drug-free deliveries there all the time. I believe in you and know you have support already but I will do anything in my power to make your wishes happen. ” That’s all I needed to hear. The word ‘epidural’ was never mentioned in my room again. By around 2:00 a.m., Dr. Griffin came back to check me. Surprised, she looked at us and said, “You are 7 centimeters dilated and 100% effaced. The baby is at -1 station. I’m going to call Dr. Shiflett.” Hope looked at us and told us that we may end up being the fastest first delivery in a while in regards to how quickly things were progressing. By this time I was starting to have severe back labor pains. With Hope’s prompting, Wade took his place behind me on the hospital bed. He straddled my back and I sat at the very end of the bed with my feet almost touching the ground. With every contraction and under my direction, he would put pressure on my spine, hips, and back. I remember him squeezing my hips together so tightly and it made it so much more bearable. Everytime he would lighten up on the pressure, I would tell him, “Harder. Push harder.” He was so scared he was hurting me (turns out, the next morning, as he’d feared I had little bruises marking my back from his touches.) It was so worth it though! By around 3:00, Dr. Shiflett arrived and reassured us that she would not leave until this baby was born. Wade put up both the pink Riley Claire and blue Everett quilt to try and get me focused on something beside the pain. We would learn what our first born was in a matter of hours! At 5:00, Dr. Shiflett came in to check me again and told us that I was 100% effaced and 10 centimeters and the baby was at 0 station. The contractions were really painful at this point but Wade continued to do so good at supporting all the hurt, physically and emotionally. I knew he had to be as exhausted as I. Dr. Shiflett asked if I wanted to start trying to push. At 5:09, we started attempting to push. It took me a solid 40 minutes to push in “the right spot.” Sometime around 7:00 a.m., the day shift nurse came in to relieve Hope. She looked at her and I heard Hope state, “I’ve got too much vested in here to leave now. You can either stay and help or leave and I’ll handle it.” I was so relived that she wasn’t leaving. With each contraction, I would frantically search my room for Hope (who was usually about 2 steps away) and say, “Hope come back over here. I’m about to have another one!” She held my right hand while Wade manned his station on my left. It all seemed like a blur of pushing every 3 minutes for about 2 ½ hours. Then it got really intense. I would have 2 or 3 stacked contractions and then a 1 minute break. Around 8:10, the excitement in the room was palpable. Dr. Shiflett told me that the baby was trying to come out and, with every contraction, she’d see his little head move back and forth like he was trying to burrow his way out. At 8:24 a.m. I heard Dr. Shiflett say, “We’ve got a nuchal cord times two.” I knew that meant the cord was wrapped around his neck but she said it so calmly, I wasn’t worried. Also, I remember being relieved because I knew that meant his head was out. Within seconds, she placed our beautiful baby up on my chest. Wade was crying and looking at me. He said, “It’s our baby.” His legs and arms were so long and moving all around. He didn’t really cry much, just scowled like he was mad about being out. At some point, someone said, “It’s a boy” at which point I lifted up his right leg and confirmed with my own eyes. He cried just a little and someone noticed that there was a lot of blood. His cord clamp had come undone and he was bleeding out of his umbilical vessels. They clamped it again and cut it off closer to his tummy. Wade didn’t get to cut the cord and we were both disappointed but more relieved that he was okay. He started looking really pale and so they took him over to the warmer to get him cleaned and warmed up. His Apgars, I would later find out were 9 at 1 minute and 9 at 5 minutes.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Who Dat???

We can all rest easy knowing that the Saints good luck charm was born this year. Just sayin'