Broken Eggs

Thursday while I was working online with a student, my sweet children opened the door to play outside and our cat bolted for freedom.  This feline becomes quite adept during warmer weather at making escapes. If he was a normal cat, I'm sure this would be no big deal, but once outside, Toby turns into crazy demented demon cat. In the past I've decked out in protective clothing from head to toe and gone after him with a fishing net. Lately, however, I've found that I can simply chase him with a rake until he dashes back inside, with a puffy tail and the most horrible howl I've ever heard.  In fact, it's not uncommon to see me out two or three times a day working to corral this monster despite my constant reminders to the children to "Watch the cat!" as they open the door.

Well this time, since he escaped while I was preoccupied, I couldn't immediately retrieve him. So after I finished with my student I put Brooks in the Baby Bjorn and walked a couple blocks around the radius of our house. Even though I didn't find the cat during this walk (he returned later), the children and I did discover something else -  two broken robin's eggs that must have just fallen out of a nest onto the edge of the private drive leading to the town homes behind our house. As we observed the beautiful blue color of the shells, we thought they would be a perfect addition to the nature table at Maggie's preschool.  Since they were yolky and I was carrying Brooks, we opted to come back later with a Ziploc bag to gather the treasure.

When it came time for school, we went back to find a car had run over the eggs. The shells were completely shattered. Maggie was disappointed, but managed to hold her emotions somewhat in check as we instead gathered violets to add to her class's nature table.

When she came home from school two and a half hours later, she was proud to show me a picture she colored, chronicling our saga, which clearly was fresh in her mind.

A modern piece, it shows the eggs falling from the tree while simultaneously being shattered.  Also, in reality, I did brush my hair that day...I think.

I guess, as Maggie showed, art really can be healing, no matter how small the tragedy.

Brooks Eats Cereal

Jewels

I've been in survival mode recently.  Yes, it's been busy since I've been back to work after my maternity leave, what with the never-ending to do list, the baby that insists on being held almost every hour of the day, and the many activities we tote our family to and from throughout the week.  These past few weeks, however, the challenges have intensified even further with the onset of some major sleep disturbances in our four-month-old.

Brooks' six-hour nighttime stretch that I had previously become accustomed to, recently shortened to four hours and then shortly after he turned three months old, his first evening with a babysitter somehow set off a pattern of waking every hour or two.  Every night.  Exhausting.  Utterly and completely.

I've seen this poem here and there a few times during the last several months.  And I'm pretty sure it has made me tear up every time.

I remember the deep sense of loneliness in the weeks following the birth of my first baby; the feeling that the sleepless nights and constant crying would never end.

But they do and it does.

And with each tiny newborn baby, I have become more and more aware of the fleeting moments I have while they're young.

And so this morning, both fresh from the second consecutive night of only one night-time feeding, Brooks and I made our way downstairs before the other two got up.  Shortly thereafter, my sweet three-year-old shuffled into the dimly lit living room.  As we plopped onto the couch with Elmo on TV, I closed my eyes and relished his warm hug and cuddles for a few minutes, remembering the early mornings from a couple years ago when the quiet house would be ours.

I then tiptoed to the children's room and softly peeked inside.  My spunky daughter was just starting to stir.  I swiftly climbed onto the top bunk and curled around my still-sleepy first born as she giggled conspiratorially about our girl time.

I feel like I don't, or even can't, cherish these moments as much as I want to.  Life gets in the way.  Chores need to get done; work needs to be completed; each child vies for my attention in demanding and draining ways.  But on days such as today, armed with a good night's sleep (and coffee, of course), I am trying to treasure each special jewel of time that will be gone all too soon.

Four Months

Go Time

Ugh. Two o'clock in the morning. Ever the cuddler, Bode climbed into bed between Steve and I in the wee hours of November 7th. I rearranged my 40 weeks and 8 days pregnancy bulk on my small sliver of bed and just started to doze off again when I felt it.  The first contraction.

Used to feeling the regular tightening of Braxton-Hicks by then, I knew the ache of this particular contraction was different.  Could I finally be in labor? I rolled over to grab my phone from the bedside table and opened the Contraction Timer app that I had optimistically downloaded approximately three weeks prior.  Four minutes, four minutes, three minutes, three minutes, three minutes. After confirming a regular pattern, I gently poked roughly shook Steve awake to alert him of my progress.

Around 3:30 am, I decided to get out of bed, shower, and finish packing Maggie's and Bode's suitcases to bring to our friends' when the time finally arrived. Considering the regularity of the contractions at that time, I debated waking the children but opted to let them continue sleeping while I labored at home. By the time 5:30 rolled around, contractions were starting to slow, and I thought maybe I could get a little more sleep before they picked up again. Yeah. That didn't work. After about an hour, despite my weariness, I got up again and left Steve and the children watching cartoons while I took a brisk walk with Asia.

Seven minutes, eight minutes, ten minutes. The frequency diminished, though the intensity stayed consistent. I assured Steve he could go into work for a bit while I took Maggie and Bode to Caribou. The treat took my mind off things for awhile, and when we got home I settled on to the couch and turned on the TV again for the kids. Things started picking up again around 10:30 and though she and Bode didn't quite understand why I had to pause our conversation at regular intervals, Maggie was her normal helpful self as she fetched me water and tended to Bode's needs.

Steve brought home Subway for lunch and I then put the kids down for a nap while I again tried to relax and finished packing. By the time they awoke around 3:00 pm, I knew for sure it was time to make our way to the hospital.

After dropping Maggie and Bode off at our friends' house and swinging by Fareway to pick up energy in the form of Clif bars, we arrived at Olmsted Medical Center at around 3:45 pm.

At the entrance of the hospital, the security guard who had, the day before, assured me I was the largest girl he had ever seen, asked if it was go time.  Yep!  We checked in at the Birth Center and I was soon hooked up to monitor contractions and baby's heartbeat. When the doctor came in to talk to me, he didn't seem convinced that I was in active labor. He encouraged Steve and I to walk the halls and he would see how far I was dilated after about 40 minutes.

As we walked, I became discouraged thinking that I still had several hours to go. Nevertheless contractions were now increasing in intensity and were occurring less than two minutes apart.  When it was finally time to see how far I had dilated, the doctor seemed surprised and leaned over to ask Steve if I have a high pain tolerance. I was dilated to 7 centimeters! I was so surprised and happy that I teared up.  The rest of labor is a bit of a blur as things got more and more intense and finally it was time to push around 6:45.

Brooks William Gibbs arrived at 6:54 pm, measuring 21 inches and weighing in at 9 pounds, 11 ounces.  A hefty boy, he had to be on formula the first night to regulate his blood sugar, but was doing just fine by the time morning came around.

Maggie and Bode were thrilled to meet their new little brother on Saturday morning, and they haven't stopped doting on him since.  We finally arrived home on November 9th and I can't imagine our life now without our new sweet guy.

Photos below are from Brooks' newborn photo shoot with Studio 4 Photography on November 15th.

Big Sister

Maggie to Bode: I'm the big sister, so I get to tell you what to do.

Me:  No, that's not how it works.

Maggie, indignantly: Then what are big sisters for???

...And a Happy New Year

With the start of the New Year has come my return to work after the birth of our God's latest masterpiece, Brooks William.  I hope to post more about his arrival later.  This has been a bit of a hectic week just trying to get back into the routine of everything and balancing work with three young children.  Thankfully I have two good older helpers in the form of Maggie and Bode, a helpful young nanny that comes a few mornings a week and the sweetest little baby face to remind me of my priorities.

We were at home for New Year's Eve, but started a new tradition (maybe?) with countdown envelopes.  Inside each one was a fun activity for the evening....Make brownies, eat popcorn, have a pillow fight, make snow angels, dance party, etc.  We welcomed in the New Year at 8:00 pm with a very helpful Netflix countdown hosted by King Julien from the movie, Madagascar.

And here are a few videos Steve made of our holiday season:

Our family Christmas:

The Gibbs family Christmas:


The Evelsizer family Christmas, which had to be postponed due to our kids' sicknesses:



And a video of some sledding fun that Maggie, Steve, and Bode enjoyed while my sister, Brooks, and I went to a movie: