Welcome Asher Eleanor!

I’ve been debating how to start this story…it seems so typical, so normal, and yet, of course, as with her sisters, she deserves her tale written out. And it is miraculous, like all births are. And it is silly, like births in our house seem to be. And, as is the trend, it is written with a baby in a sling, by a tired, vaguely incoherent mama.

As we’re both sitting here, wondering how we ended up with THREE kids (much less three girls!), I’m literally left wondering how I’ve got this tiny baby in my arms. Again. I know, I’ve been in denial for quite some time about it all, and even blogged over at Motherhood Unadorned about my feelings towards this pregnancy. And I’d LOVE to say it’s all roses and lilies now that she’s here, but I’m not sure. Yes, Asher belongs here, clearly. And yes, much like when Finleigh arrived, and when Ryan arrived, she just fits. But I’m still left wondering – how the hell did I end up with a third child?

We had plans to head to the pumpkin patch on Sunday. I really, really love fall (I’ve surely blogged about that before), and Halloween, and my birthday (on the 24th – you can send presents), and despite knowing I’d be 39w pregnant, I was excited to go to Enumclaw to hang out with some friends and do the patch with the girls. Finleigh was teeny last year, and enjoyed watching it all, but couldn’t partake. Ryan remembered it all and was SO excited to go back. I just love to take photos of it all! We joked that baby better wait, as Enumclaw is about an hour from home, and how would that explanation go to the police/fire/paramedics? “Please drive past 4 hospitals to deliver this woman to her home so she can give birth?” Um, yeah. But, as nothing was happening that morning, we hustled our buns together and got out of the house. I had some suspicions that it would be soon as I’d done a massive grocery trip the night before, and insisted on having chicken chili in the crockpot before we left, but you know, just because I teach this stuff doesn’t mean I recognize it in myself. We’ll get to more of that in a bit.

The girls had a blast at the pumpkin patch, and we had fun warming back up at our friends’ home nearby. They had delicious homemade soup that was a teensy bit spicy (I should have guessed…) and the girls played hard. We got home, all in one piece, and without a newborn, and settled in for our usual crazy, zany dinner/bath/stories/bedtime routine.

I always spend a fair bit of time in my classes talking about what things parents can do at home to kick start labor. It’s an amusing topic and always gets the class laughing: walking, exercise, spicy foods, sex. Yes, sex. What gets your baby in there will get your baby out! And, since I was quite done being pregnant, well, yeah. And as expected, contractions started shortly thereafter. But I expected them to fizzle out…after all, just because the other two came at 39w (ish) didn’t mean I thought this one would. I half expected her to wait until Halloween!

About two hours later, I called the midwives to chat, and see what they thought might be happening with these contractions. See, she’d tried to escape at 37w, and I wasn’t really enthusiastic about calling them back out for nothing again. But, neither of us was really excited about having another unassisted birth, either. Michael was totally amused at this point – this was basically a total repeat of Finleigh’s birth, only with slightly less disbelief from me. We thought, yes, maybe early labor, as I was clearly dealing well and could move and talk through these, but should try to go to bed soon and maybe take a shower to relax. I watched one more episode of Big Love (love that show) and then showered and went to bed.¬† I remember sort of sleeping through contractions, and feeling them but not waking for them, and thinking that if they didn’t keep me up, then they weren’t anything. Really, at this point? Really, Katy? Now we’re talking about 5 hours of contractions and you still don’t really think you’re in labor?

At 2:30am, I woke up to a stronger contraction, and got up to hit the bathroom. I went back to bed, thinking this STILL wasn’t really it. I laid in bed, drifting in and out of sleep for another hour, and then the contractions got more intense. By 4am, I woke Michael, and we decided it was time to call the midwives back. They asked if I thought they should come, but I had to hand the phone over to Michael to tend to a contraction. I’m sure the conversation was something to the effect of, “yeah, um, you need to come now”.

We moved to the living room, and texted a few friends who wanted to join us. I was still thinking we had a while at this point. Contractions were strong, but not unbearable, and I was dealing well. I kept telling myself that I can do anything for ONE minute (though they felt longer). Of course, doing anything for ONE minute every 30 seconds for any length of time starts to SUCK. And then when you realize you are having an even harder time coping, and you are no longer quietly breathing, and you can no longer stand on your own, and you’ve got to hold on FOR DEAR LIFE to your partner, that yep, this is labor and you’re going to have a baby in the very near future. Of course, at this point, I’m still thinking that I’ve got a while, and why the hell do I give birth at home where there’s nothing stronger than ADVIL??

And then, holding onto Michael and trying to CLIMB to the ceiling, I hear the MW say that she thought I was pushing. Pushing? Brilliant!! I should totally push! That might be fantastic! So I pushed. And I was really glad they got the plastic table cloth under me as I announced that I was peeing. Nice, right? Birth is the great equalizer, folks. One of the MWs said she was taking my pants off (what’s with me trying to give birth in my damn pants?), and I remember her trying to actually get my pants off my ankles and me saying something to the effect of “leavethemthefuckalone”. I was pushing. One LONG push. One LONG contraction that really didn’t seem to end. Except it did. And there was her head. I reached down, instinctively. This was the first time I’d ever done that. I felt her head: soft, hot, velvety. Her cord was wrapped around her neck, and the midwives were working it off. And then I had to push again. I pushed hard. Harder than I did with Finleigh…I worked for this kid. One huge, long, hard push (or four, I don’t remember), and out she popped.

7 pounds, 5 ounces, 20″ long. At 5:20am, October 17th. As the sun was thinking about rising on a beautiful, cold, clear, crisp fall morning. My favorite kind of morning.

I crashed on the couch, exhausted, elated, and still shocked. I’m pretty sure Michael was equally shocked, but I honestly have no idea. We didn’t talk, I hardly talked to anyone. I labored. And then I birthed. With so much wonderful support, but in my own world the whole time. I couldn’t have done it without any of them, but I did it alone. If that makes sense. I just laid there, on the couch, with her on my chest, shellshocked. I had a baby. She’s here. In my arms. Michael went to get Ryan, and we both hoped she wasn’t disappointed that she missed the birth (again). This time, she’d get to see the placenta!

She was elated to see the new baby…her new sister. She asked what we were naming her again. Oh yeah, her name! We’d been quiet on the name this time, since we shared her sex. And because I wasn’t entirely sold on it. But now that she’s here, it’s perfect. It suits her to a “T” and suits our family quite well. It “goes”.

Asher Eleanor.

Asher means “fortunate, blessed and happy”. Eleanor means “light” and is the name of my great aunt, my dad’s Aunt Rene.

We are, indeed, fortunate and blessed to have this sweet girl join our family. We were surprised at her intentions to join our family, but are truly, truly blessed to have her here with us.

We also find ourselves truly, truly blessed with friends and family and friends who have become family. Though no one made the birth (again- we’re just too quick for that), we had so many sweet people be a part of Asher’s first day. Lindsay came to say hi instead of heading out for her morning run, Kirsten skipped half a day of work to feed us and hang out with our big kids, and be a part of a very, very normal birth (which I know was insanely difficult, and also, hopefully, cathartic), Ruth took our biggest sister out for a special outing on her own, and so, so many others have helped in tiny, countless ways. I don’t know that any of you will ever really understand how important our “family” here in Seattle is.

Asher truly, truly is a blessing to us all.

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Happy FIVE!!

Five years ago today, I won the jackpot. I didn’t know it then, but giving birth to Ryan Elizabeth would change my life immeasurably. I guessed it, and assumed it would, but I really had no idea the depths and ways it would alter my entire existence. I’ve made lifelong friends, built amazing relationships and grown as a human being.

She is an amazing little girl: sweet, funny (hilarious, really), quirky, loud, and completely perfect as a member of our family.

Happy Birthday Peanut. We cannot believe you’re FIVE already!

Daddy’s home

Daddy’s home, originally uploaded by RE Peanut.

Ryan asked me today why I was calling daddy on our way home from preschool. “Because I want to chat with him” I said. “Is it because he’s your husband?” “Yep.” “It’s because you love him too much.” she says. “No, I think I love him just right.” She replies, “Oh, well, I love him 80-50-45 million.”

Cool.

Fin does too, she just can’t say it yet. So, instead, as soon as she hears him come in the door, from wherever she is, she’s making a beeline for the door. Tonight, he made it all the way into the hallway before she saw him, and though I couldn’t catch her eyes light up (damn, she’s FAST!), I did catch this. A sweet moment. And not a shabby composition, either. ūüėČ

I love that my girls love their dad.

{one}

inspired by a favorite blogger: {one} photo from the week. {one} photo that sums it up, offers it up. {one} that somehow captures it. what it is, i’m not quite sure. do you have {one}? share it in the comments.

{one}

I know, it’s a few days late. Better late than never.

inspired by a favorite blogger: {one} photo from the week. {one} photo that sums it up, offers it up. {one} that somehow captures it. what it is, i’m not quite sure. do you have {one}? share it in the comments.

Struck

I am often struck by the difference between my girls, but up to now I’ve mostly been comparing Ryan to Finleigh at a particular age.*

But the other day, I was sitting on the couch, working on learning to read with Ryan while Finleigh played on the floor (she tries to eat all books right now, so she couldn’t be on the couch with us). I heard Fin squawking, and looked down over the book I was reading with Ryan to see Finleigh army crawling all over the floor chasing one of cups that kept rolling this way and that.

And it struck me. While one child is learning to read, the other is learning to move.

My girls will NEVER be at the same place at the same time. Not during childhood, in any case. And instead of being a little sad about that, I’m going to choose to celebrate it.

As Ryan learns to read and write, she’ll be able to read stories to Finleigh, and write down the things she says (once she starts speaking). As Finleigh becomes more mobile, they’ll play chase and hide and seek. Fin will try to “share” Ryan’s clothes and toys (even as teenagers, I’m guessing) and Ryan will be annoyed at her little sister who’s always in her things.

Fin worships Ryan and Ryan adores Finleigh, and the large age gap between the two of them will only strengthen that. One hopes, anyway.

*Yes, I compare my kids. I dare you to say you don’t.

The Second First Day of School

Peanut started school last week. She was to be in the afternoon pre-K class, mostly because it was only 4 days a week, and I just don’t feel like she needs to be there any more than that. This is PRE-K, afterall. The class was to be small, just 8 children, and it would be a great fit for Ryan.

Then school started.

One of the other little girls had bailed before even the first day, leaving just Ryan and her little friend J as the only girls with 5 boys. Now, 2 of these boys are Ryan’s buddies from last year, one is a kiddo she’s grown up with since diapers.

Then J decided to make the switch to the morning class, leaving just Ryan and the 5 boys. I grew concerned. Something in that mommy gut, the place that keeps your kids safe from bogeymen, real or imaginary, was screaming that this wasn’t a good idea. Ryan seemed grumpy, wasn’t excited about going, and had nothing to say after school. For my little chatterbox to be clammed up, I knew something wasn’t right.

Michael and I worried that she’d be singled out for being the only girl. And while it would have been important for her to be recognized for being different, I also think it’s important that she’s allowed to be just another kid in the class, and would rather see her singled out for using her scissors well, or sitting quietly in circle, not simply for being a girl. We were worried that she was one of the oldest kids in the class (of 6). And while that wouldn’t be a big deal in a bigger class, in a room full of boys, it’s an issue. We worried that at age 4 and a half, she’s starting to identify more with being a girl, and girly stuff, and wanting to play with other girls, and since nearly all of her out of school friends are boys, she wasn’t going to have a lot of opportunity for that.

I called my mom, brother and best friend, all early childhood educators to see what they thought. Of course, they also thought Ryan would be fine, but shared the reservations with me. They voiced my worries to me before I spoke of them.

And of course, all of this worry came crashing down on me late on a Thursday night, well after the teachers at Ryan’s school were gone, probably for the weekend. I contacted a few other local schools, since I was unsure what kind of solution her school would be able to come up with. I really wasn’t interested in her being in school 5 days a week, but I wasn’t at all comfortable with her being the only girl in this tiny class. Sure, she’d be fine, but for the tuition we’re paying, fine just won’t cut it.

I toured another school, which was great, and while I was agonizing over the possibility of pulling Ryan from her current school, the director called and offered her a spot in the morning class, only attending 4 days a week. I couldn’t have asked for a better solution and I know Ryan is going to be super happy.

Already today, when I picked her up, she was all smiles, bounding over to me, chatting most of the way home about this kid and that one and told me she loved me and thanked me over and over for letting her go to the morning class. Clearly, this was the right decision.

And so, in a way, today was another first day of school for her. And as usual, mommy got a little schooling in parenting too. Trust your guts folks. Listen to that inner voice. And remember that regardless of what the pros tell you, whether they’re authors, teachers, your parents, etc, YOU’RE the parent. And ultimately, the decision is yours.

yeah, it’s fall

How do I know?

Not because the leaves are changing. (they are)

Not because we’re breaking out the long sleeves. (we are)

Not because I’ve thought about turning on the heat more than once. (I haven’t)

It’s not even that Ryan has returned back to school. (more on that later)

So, how do I know? Because I’m baking. Lots. It started slowly, with a desire to make muffins a few weeks back. And then scones shortly after that. And today, pumpkin scones, just like Starbucks makes, only at home, so I get to eat them warm. And now, there’s granola in the oven, smelling delicious.

I’m thinking bread is in order at some point this week…and maybe some more muffins. I adore baking and I adore fall. What else should I bake? What are your favorites? What signifies fall for you?

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