Doot. DOOT. Do-do-do-doot!

AL-VINNNNN!!!!!! 

This little loon keeps us on our toes these days. My favorite most recent quote was delivered a couple weeks ago when I was in the kitchen and said, "Whoops!  Sorry IV." as I bumped my belly into the counter. (We call the baby "I" "V" as in the Roman numeral for four but hadn't really explained it thoroughly to the boys) Augustine from the table says, "iBaby is getting so big and is ready to pop right out of there!"  Signs of the times I suppose. Here's to Apple's next cutting edge technology, ehhhh?!

Augustine wears his soccer jersey every other day.  It's starting to come apart a bit under the one armpit.  Lucky for me it's striped and I've considered sewing in additional panels on each side.  I blame the bishop. The Most Reverend George Murry commented after a Mass for Life at North Canton St. Paul, "Nice jersey.  I have one just like it.  It's my favorite team."  What three year old wouldn't be impressed by the attention of the kind, stately man that carries a staff and wears a cool hat?

The scarf, made by one of my students at Mother of God School in Gaithersburg, Maryland was a shorter lived trend, but Augustine does also gravitate toward striped socks that go up his legs and he calls soccer socks.

 
Since the end of the autumn season, he's also been quite enthusiastic about his footie pajamas.  For about ten nights straight he would exclaim, "My footie PJs!.  They don't need socks! Or a shirt! or Pants! Just underwear!"  Luke, the gallant older brother, during the switchover one evening said proudly, "You know what A-dust-tin?!?  When I grow up I'm going to invent footie PJs that already have the underwear in them too."

Luke wasn't so fond of the footie pajamas when he was a 3T and so Augustine has more than one set that are in great condition.  He's dubbed one pair his ice-skating pjs because the treads on the feet have worn off and he can slip slide around on certain floor surfaces.

Now that I've shared with you some of Augustine's most recent costumes we might as well take a time warp back to Halloween of 2014.  We dressed the boys up as the famous trio. And Pete fit the bill of Dave Seville.

 

I picked up the necessary colors in fleece and went to work without a pattern of any sort.  I made things up as I went along.  All went well except perhaps my attempts to make a turtleneck type look.  Luke was the guinea pig and there was some viewpoints, shrieking and ripping one might have found akin to giving birth.

Having invested such time and effort, though, we took every opportunity to celebrate the zany holiday.  We went to Boo at the Zoo in Akron, took Uncle Stevie and Aunt Sarah up on their invitation to explore their neighborhood and enjoy some great food and games complete with smoking punch bowl at their house afterward, and we paraded through the residence halls at Walsh University with a fierce football player, jovial banana, and an Incredible family that has since expanded.

Amidst the busy season of Augustine's birthday and Luke's feast day and crazy busy advising time at work, Halloween of 2015 snuck up on us. Although I was slated to manufacture likenesses of Curious George and company I simply threw in the towel and thanked the Lord for the warmer weather.  This meant Alvin and the Chipmunks made another appearance needing less bulky layers beneath to survive the festivities.  We ventured through Aunt Lisa's stomping grounds where Clement played up the Theodore role running from one house to the next devouring his treats along the way.  Grandma Angie also took the trio to a Halloween party at my cousin's place where they earned a prize for the get-up.

I'd best get my act together for this year as IV is added to the bunch and the costumes may not withstand the added inches and activities of their former wearers.

Any suggestions for famous foursomes?

Farewell Friend and Special Guests

In early February (of  this very same year!) we bid farewell to Domestique.  She served me well through the second half of college and nobly accepted her duties in Maryland after Pete's Ford Focus went kaput. Wild and crazy kids we were as we embarked on a greyhound bus trip with itty bitty Luke for our 1 year anniversary to retrieve the sparkly Saturn from storage at my parents'.

She survived many a stressors including a young adult mission trip to New Orleans which resulted in a broken windshield, christening by our firstborn's urine during an emergency diaper change, an attack by the vacuum cleaner leaving a bite out of the front passenger seat, and years of service as we resumed residency on Spangler road racking up a total of 143 thousand plus miles.

 Diagnostics in early February suggested we pour some $1300 into the old girl.  Although the hope was to have paid off the van before adding another car payment we decided  that we'd much rather use the $1300 toward a new car payment than into the beloved machine that may or may not make it through another year.  Besides, with Pete's lengthy commute, something more reliable was more than worth it in exchange for my peace of mind with our fourth child on the way.

I won't go into specifics, but it's interesting to note the different approaches that Pete and I took toward car shopping.  Pete is NOT a fan.  After some internet research and bantering, Pete took a personal day, we called in reinforcements and we took one last ride in Domestique on our way to the dealership to test drive a Chevy Cruze.  The Cruze was nice but I felt uncomfortable making such a large purchase without at least comparing it to another car.  We knew we wanted something that would get good gas mileage and didn't need for it to fit the whole family but I wanted to get a look at the next size up Chevy model.  The dealership in North Canton didn't have any Malibus on the lot so we were escorted by our salesperson Glenn in the back seat of one of the Cruzes we test drove to the partner dealership in Stow.  Pete and I both agreed on multiple accounts that we liked the 2013 Malibu better than the Cruze.

Meet Seaborg:

Despite multiple trips to the BMV to get everything switched over, the failed attempt to take advantage of the so-called free car washes at the dealership, and the ridiculous amounts of *FINAL NOTICE* junk mail to renew the warrantee we are quite happy with the acquisition.

Other events of note include a very recent visit from cousin Sarah who graciously gave up an afternoon of her college spring break to color eggs with the boys and humored them with some outside time playing baseball and riding scooters in the backyard as well.

 We've also welcomed Luke's preschool class pet into our home for the duration of the spring break.  Bob H.E. Williams has settled in a place of honor on our mantle.

 I'm okay with fish but not particularly open to other pet possibilities.  I'm not sure Pete's all that accepting of even fish having commented yesterday at dinner when Luke excitedly explained that we would have to feed the beta each day, "Hey Luke, maybe you could play with Bob using that new fishing pole Uncle Stevie got you for your birthday!"

 

 

La Naturale

WARNING!

Some may find the account below to fall into the TMI category.  Others, though, are strangely drawn to the knitty gritty details of childbirth.  Childbirth is kind of like watching a horror film,  you know there is something scary, bloody and quite possibly excruciating lurking around the corner but you open that rickety old cellar door anyway.  The traditional line of defense of baseball bat or large cleaver is replaced by breathing techniques and Hail Marys.  Luckily the serial killer at the end is replaced by a cute, angelic baby.

Unfortunately, a stomach bug in the early hours of a Monday morning in November caused me to again  reflect on the pains of childbirth.  As I hovered over the toilet and later over the "big blue bowl" my anxiety increased as I wondered, "How am I going to do this?" "How am I going to be a parent today?"  "It hurts SO bad!"  I hopelessly groaned to Pete from the bedroom, "I think I may have to go to the hospital."  The children were still asleep, fortunately, and Pete was just about ready to leave for work.  He ended up taking the day off but did have to make a quick trip to a coworker in the area to get the right phone number to call since he recently lost his phone to the ol' Permanent Press and rinse monster.  Praise God that once dispelling the contents of my stomach I felt much better.  I rested in bed administering meals to Clement periodically while Pete otherwise adopted all childrearing responsibilities.  By 4pm I was up and moving around having never experienced any other undesirable symptoms of the cold or flu.  Consequently, I'm chalking the sickness up to something I ate.  What that was...who could tell.  It was Thanksgiving weekend after all!!

The point of this tangential tale you may ask. 

I can honestly say that the cramping and pain I experienced on that Monday was worse than what I choose to recall from the birthing experience of our three sons.  As a quick recap- with Luke my water broke at 37 and a half weeks but no contractions came.  Pete and I walked around the hospital for hours-but still nothing.  Eventually I was seen by the doctor  (the only one in the practice I hadn't met yet) who cursed during our first consultation then and there and proceeded to use scare tactics.  I was administered Pitocin to move things along.  About 18 hours after my water broke I opted to get an epidural feeling tired and stressed. Luke arrived 25 hours after my water broke.  Despite being "complete" and very ready to push an hour earlier I was then told to wait and "labor down" because we were waiting on Amy.  Amy?  Who the heck is Amy?  Pete, typically rather peaceful and laid back spoke up and snapped,  "What happened to the whole 24 hours mark? and "this baby's going to end up in the NICU if it's not out in 24 hours."?!?!?!?  Nonetheless, after Amy arrived there was a quick coaching, three pushes and Luke was out.

Augustine was a different experience. Having moved back to Ohio with 3/5 of the pregnancy complete I opted to go to a single doctor.  I've blogged about it before but basically was induced at 41 weeks.  Augustine was born only 5 hours after the administration of Pitocin began and his face was purpley-blue with red marks as a result.  I passed on the epidural with Augustine as I was not fond of the sensitive hole in my back, the longer wait time to walk after labor allowing for my legs to "wake up" and the nausea and sickness that ensued 12 hours after Luke was born.   I did opt for a dose of Nubaine which made me a bit "whoozy" and relaxed.  I remember the shocking brightness of the overhead lights that the doctor flipped on before the crucial point of pushing and took some mild satisfaction in involuntarily emptying the contents of my bladder at his feet given the snide remarks I endured from him over the last few days.  The doctor and more than one of the nurses commented after the brief period of pushing with our slick warm second son resting on my bare chest that it was a "picture perfect" or "beautiful" birth that ought to have been videotaped for instructional purposes.  The rave reviews of the performance of my nether regions made me feel both awkward and proud and so I turned my focus eager to inspect and appreciate every square centimeter of Augustine John.  I was somewhat surprised by his strong latching ability and grateful that breastfeeding came more easily the second time around.

With the practice I chose with Clement we had the option of  utilizing nurse-midwives.  Having met with Jamie more consistently throughout the pregnancy, in the final trimester, it was revealed that Jamie would not be delivering and that Halle was covering as much as she could with regard to the patients.  My water broke/gurgled around 11:00pm on June 30th.  We called Grandma Angie over that night but I showered and rested atop towels at home waiting for labor to ensue.  The contractions never really came despite having experienced more tightening/precursors in the last trimester than I had with Luke and Augustine.  Dr. Downey seemed perturbed when Pete called in around 7am on July 1st and sternly directed us to report to the hospital.  She did however allow us to walk the halls of Mercy and give my body a chance to move things along naturally.  We did rounds of 60 minutes walking to 15 minutes  on the monitor.  Come 10:30am labor still had not hit and the doctor recommended starting the Pitocin, if only for a kick start.  I slept for an hour or two to store up my energy comforted by the rhythmic beat of the baby's heart turned low on the monitor.

Fast forward a few hours and imagine my frustration as I stared at the monitor to see no increase in the height of the peaks for the contractions.  I was certainly feeling more uncomfortable but only became more frustrated thinking, "I'm getting tired.  How am I going to push? I don't know how much more of this I can handle? Why don't we have our baby in our arms yet?" With tears in my eyes I turned to the nurse to ask if I had progressed at all and if we could discuss pain management options.  She asked, "How would you rate your pain?" which brought my mind to that stupid pain assessment graphic that I found ridiculously annoying adorning the hospital room walls.  "I don't know. A six or a seven maybe?  But I don't know how much more of this I can handle especially since the contractions aren't getting any stronger according to the monitor."  "Oh! Don't go by the monitor honey.  It's not all that accurate.  The strap could slip around and the measurements could vary based on where the sensors are located.  You have to go by how you're feeling."

You'd think with it being my third time around I would be a pro at this labor thing by now.  After all, third time's a charm right?

"How much longer do I have?"

"Can I have some nubaine?" I inquired

"I can check."
The nurse extracted a small box containing nubaine from the cabinet and used her little radio to call the doctor.  The doctor must have asked how far along I was.  The nurse got her gloves and checked my cervix.  She called the doctor back and reported that I was around seven centimeters.  After a pause and listening intently the nurse bid the doc farewell and replaced her radio at her hip.

"The bad news is...you can't have the Nubaine.  You're too far along and it could cause respiratory issues with the baby.  ...The good news is... the midwife is on her way and will have some strategies to help manage the pain."

I managed to get myself up out of the bed in between contractions with a tangle of cords and tubes from the monitor and IV and settled in on the large orange birthing/exercise ball.  This was a wonderful change from lying in bed where I could "rock n' roll" gently of course during the contractions and stabilize myself with the bed rail or Pete sitting nearby. 

The midwife arrived within a half an hour and spoke softly and calmly through a couple contractions as I moaned and groaned and breathed.

"How much longer? When is it time to push?"

"Listen to your body. Your body will tell you. You tell me when." Halle responded calmly.

I found this response lovely, yet oh so irritating.  Like, "How lovely, ..it's about time I've worked with someone supportive and in tuned to the natural way of childbirth." and " GRRRRRR....JUST TELL ME WHAT TO DO WOMAN!"

Sometime within the next ten minutes, Halle was helping me up from the ball to empty my bladder which would make a little more room for baby to descend.  She applied firm pressure to both of my hips which felt glorious. We walked slowly  across the span of the room.  About three quarters of the way to the bathroom as Halle was trying to maneuver the IV stand along the journey it got disconnected and fell to the floor.  She did her best to get me all put back together and into the bathroom where another contraction hit which made it slightly more challenging to relax and relieve myself.

Halle applied more pressure to my hips as we walked back across the room and a trio of crimson droplets dotted the floor. 

"I need to lay down and stretch out a bit." I said.

Moments later Halle and the nurses were transforming the bed and assuming their positions for the pushing phase.  "Okay Elise you're going to push down hard but don't forget to breathe."

In a matter of four or five pushes Clement was out, warm and gushy with a full head of dark black hair.  He was on my chest less than five minutes before his lips started smacking, head a-bobbing and arms pushing to find his way to my breast.  I giggled a little asking him,  "Are you hungry son? Ready to eat Clement?"  getting used to saying his name out loud.  "Yeah, mommy too."

Halle and two other nurses worked competently throughout the room as Pete and I cherished the little form of God's marvelous creation, but also wondering and waiting to get all the vital statistics to pass on to family and friends.  One of the nurses finally took Clement to clean him up (he was covered in meconium as he emerged from the womb) and take his measurements.  I asked the other nurse for a throat lozenge because my throat hurt from the guttural noises I made during labor.  Note to self: bring cinnamon discs or mints to suck on after IV is born as apparently the hospital had no such relief available.

Now, I don't know the Bobsy twins but that's all I could think of as a new set of nurses came in to bathe and check over Clement.  They seemed so scattergoried and inefficient,  dropping pens, misplacing measuring tapes and taking forever to complete the simplest of tasks as they carried on about their husbands and most recent lunch hour. All this was punctuated by Clement's impatient cries as he wiggled around in his birthday suit wishing, no doubt, that he was snuggled up close to mom again. (He's still more of a cuddler than Luke and Augustine ever were.)

Pete, Clement and I were all situated in our new room less than two hours after Clement's birth.  I was very excited to greet Luke and Augustine and have them meet Clement.  Augustine was apprehensive having not enjoyed the elevator ride up to the maternity ward, and somewhat taken aback by seeing mommy, with another baby, sitting up in a strange room and a strange bed.  There are quite a few pictures below, some very similar but it was hard to choose only a few as the facial expressions change ever so slightly to reveal quite the range of emotions.  It was such a wonderful feeling to be reunited with the rest of our family and make the first introductions. (Plus they came bearing some delightful loaded baked potato soup from Subway which tasted oh so good and helped with my sore throat ;-)

I suppose it's fitting that I FINALLY complete this post on Good Friday.  Pain and agony leading up to the promise of new life, through His Son, Jesus Christ.