Letting Go

I have a hard time letting go. You might be asking yourself what would make an English major write a sentence with such an obvious dangling modifier. Or, if you know me, you might just be saying "Yeah, duh. Tell me something I didn't know." But the truth of the matter is, you dont come here looking for things you dont know. I have come to a personal realization that I have a hard time letting go and while it is neither new nor revolutionary, the way that I have begun to understand the idea that I have a hard time letting go is.

For a great deal of my life, I have been knee deep in stuff. I believe the buzz word these days is clutter. I have been labelled as a packrat, I have been called a messy hoarder. I have been accused of hanging on long after it is necessary and appropriate. I know all these things about myself and, year after year, I make a determination that I am going to change my clutter-collecting ways, embark on decluttering missions and purging expeditions.

Perhaps it is the bane of half baked resolutions to come undone. I think that a goal that is earnestly desired is rarely acheived easily, no? So I carry on, year after year, labouring under the delusion that if I just buy the right container, the right basket, the right organizer, that my life will become less and by extension, I shall become less burdened. Alas, it isnt the way of things.

Years of purging and releasing bags of stuff back to the annals of the thrift stores from whence so much had come have only produced corners of my home devoted to black bags of stuff and boxes of recycling. You smirk because you know its true. The stuff has merely migrated into bags and the problem isnt solved because there is simply more stuff to take its place. And greater than before, the bags are a reminder of how unsightly stuff can be. At least when it was just knicknacks on a shelf, it looked reasonable, but knicknacks in a garbage bag? Just looks like garbage. And so the home with stuff now looks like a home with stuff AND garbage sitting in an untidy heap waiting for some absolution that only appears to arrive at teh turn of every year.

So this year I am resolved NOT to make resolutions. And though I will never be rid of the guilt of my stuff and will not quite be able to conquer the urge to purge and buy magazines promising to "Cut the Clutter!" and "Declutter in only 10 days", I have begun the journey of understanding that I have a hard time letting go.

Time

Time, especially around the holidays, is a funny beast. On the one hand, it seems like there is not enough of it to get the things that need to get done, done. And yet, somehow, there always seems to be time for surfing the internet, trolling the forums, and browsing the blogroll. How is the elusive time thing alotted in your head?

Personally, I try not to worry too much about time. Yeah, I get the kids to school (on time, mostly) and I manage to feed them around the socially accepted feeding times, but when I am not working, I tend to the clock (and subsequently the calendar) very little. Time takes on an ethereal quality, something that lingers on the edge of my consciousness but doesnt take up much of my energy.

I began thinking about time when someone asked how I ever managed to find time to do the things that I do. And the honest answer is, I dont know. I dont know how I can raise three kids and make and send handmade Christmas cards and sew blankets and buy extra presents for underpriviledged families. I dont know how I can complete scrapbooks and read novels and learn new recipes. I just do. And, perhaps I do it at the expense of other things, I dont notice. I do have a wonderful husband who is unfettered by social conventions and is, not glad necessarily but willing, to do the laundry and the dishes, who likes to cook and will hold the baby. I am an extremely lucky one.

I sometimes fear going back to work full time in the new year because I will miss drifiting from project to project and being afforded the luxury of attending to my children as they need me. I will miss not having to look at the clock.

And yet, a quandry. Yes, I do not live by the clock, but I cherish all the moments that time counts, all the memories that we pack in between the seconds and the hours. And as the year draws to a close, we often look back on the months and the days and the hours and wonder how the time has gone so quickly. My little one is already 6 months and it feels as though only yesterday I was holding him as a newborn. How has it been 5 years since I got married? How did 10 years pass after Sarah's death? Time marked in other ways suddenly feels frightening and tumbling.

And here I sit, late in the night, the soft sounds of sleep like a coccoon around me. My son lies in my arms as I type, as my babies have so often passed the nights with me. I will miss this flexibility, this haze of timelessness that exists within the four walls of my house. It is time that is mine alone and I savour these decadent minutes before bed.

Trying to stay on top of things

Having a conversation with a 5 year old is somewhat frustrating. Our conversation today almost drove me to drink

"What is that?"
"Its the wall for the basement laundry room"
"What's it for?"
"Its for the WALL"
Well, but I want to know what its for"
????
I lost my temper "It's for the WALL so that the laundry room will have a WALL. I don't know how else to explain what a WALL is for"
"Oh"

Maybe I am closer to PPD than I thought but my head almost exploded. I am pretty conscientious about post partum depression, having failed to see it in myself last time until it was at critical mass and I was in a severe state of depression. There would be days when I would lay on the couch and snooze with Elena while Julia would have to feed herself out of the fruit bowl at lunchtime because I would simply forget to get lunch. And once I got meds, boom, like a while new person--one who would make meals at appropriate times and sleep at normal hours. So with the arrival of bouncing baby boy, I was almost hyper-aware of my moods, paid attention to my eating habits and sleeping routines. I make sure the kids are fed and dressed and at school on time. I dress myself everyday ( dont take this as a given when there is a new baby in the house and no reason to leave) and try to make sure that I have time to myself so that I am not lost in the shuffle of "mom! mom! mom!" I think, in part, I wanted to silence the naysayers who said I shouldnt have more babies because I had PPD last time around, even though that seems ridiculous because the chemical imbalance that is depression is not even remotely in my own control.

I feel good. I dont type that with impunity, I really do feel good. I feel accomplished (I have finished three scrapbooks in the last 3 months!), the kids are relatively happy and my relationship with my husband is as steady as it ever has been (taking money issues out for the most part has been the greatest help in this department, I think). but somedays things just get away from me and I have to try not to beat myself over it becuase who doesnt have off days, right? What is important, and what I have to continually remind myself about, is that I still want to get up tomorrow, still have things I am looking forward to and still want laugh things off.

Someday soon, maybe tomorrow when the wave of it is less poignant, I will stop berating myself over having locked all the kids in the running van this morning when I got out to brush the snow off. I will not worry about the moments when I felt like breaking down because I did manage to hold it together and not linger on the memory of peering in to the frosted windows and seeing how Jacob's hat had slid over and was covering his nose and mouth and hearing him crying because he had mittens on his little hands and couldnt take his hat off himself and listening to Julia's helpless cries of fear at being left in the van and not able to go to school. I will be comforted by Elena's steadfast calmness becuase she was so sure of my ability to get into the car and help them out. And I will pat myself on the back for having the ability to guide Julia through unbuckling her carseat buckle and sliding out to open the door for me in relative short order and with minimal freaking out.

It'll be funny one day, right?

The fine balance of Christmas

We dont believe in God at our house. Before you start hurling tomatoes, let me reassure you that we dont believe that there isnt a God, we just arent exactly positive there is one either. So the holidays present somewhat of a logical dilemma. On the one hand, while we want to embrace the other feel-good happy happy Hallmark moments that are part and parcel with three and five year olds and Christmas we dont want to be buying TOO much into the crass consumerism. On the other hand, we dont want to emphasize the "reason for the season" line either. A difficult line to walk that gets more difficult as subsequent years pile onto of one another.

You see, now that a certain five year old is getting older and wiser, she has questions that havent yet been asked and, thus, havent been dodged before. And since we also dont believe in lying to the kids if they ask a stright question, we often answer with a straight answer. No end of hilarity ensues. Questions like "Jesus died a long time ago didnt he?" "Yes, he did" "What happened to Jesus?" get answered by my oh-so anti-organized-religion husband who tosses gems out like "Oh, he gets killed by some guys" which then prompts the question "Why did those bad men kill Jesus?" And I then sing out "Dinnertime!" thus alleviating a somewhat awkward situation. Nevermind that her last thought was that "once you're dead, you stay dead forever and ever like our fish at school who got dead and then was flushed down the toilet." What would I say to that come Easter? Argh.

It is easier this year now that Julia doesnt attend a Catholic school (yeah, she went for one year. We couldnt help it) and isnt fed a daily diet of the Holy Trinity that makes no sense to her. She had finally stopped asking why that man had his arms on an X on the wall and why the lady (Mary) was in a little box (creche?) on the floor but, like a steel trap, she hadnt forgotten about it, just stopped wondering about it aloud, I guess.

My MIL, bless her heart, cough cough, gave us a DVD with the animated story of the first Christmas. We hemmed and hawed about whether or not to let them watch it and then gave in, since we really didnt want to unbalance the forces and put too much emphasis on the Santa list making, gift grubbing, buying end of Christmas. "Mary is Jesus' mommy and Joseph is Jesus' daddy." "Yes" "And Jesus was in Mary's tummy just like Jacob was in your tummy" "Yes" "So why didnt she go to the hospital like you went to the hospital?" "Did I have a special star in the sky too?" "I want one too!" "No me first!" And on and on. It was Christmas at its finest. I was feeling particularly unchristian afterwards.

I think we are afraid in part of how Julia would take to religion, given the right indoctrination. She is by nature someone whom organized religion would hold great appeal. But we'd like her to make her own choices about it, informed ones with little pressure and brimstone threats. Elena I worry less about. At three she has a healthy dose of her father's skepticism that would ward off most of the pressure that comes with choosing a set of religious beliefs.

This is the last year we can unilaterally make these conscious choices for them, I think. In the new year we will be getting a nanny who, like many Filipino nationals, is very religious. I would be absurd to think that having a caregiver who belives in something very fervently will not effect her mannerisms, her vocabulary and her celebrations around the children. And so, I will enjoy grappling with these ideas this Christmas knowing that next year will be a completely different ballgame.

November- Julia

Julia's personality grows stronger with time. She remains sensitive and anxious at times, funny and tender at others. She has developed some angst about how others percieve her--part and parcel with being sensitive in general I think, but has learned some coping mechanisms that help her to phase out what she needs to do for herself and for others to make her life easier. She dotes on her brother and sister and I couldnt ask for a better helper in the house even though we are both headstrong and stubborn.

School is, as ever, something that comes easily for her. She loves the challenges of the school work, finds some of the social aspects more trying but has hit the plateau where friends are beginning to take on agreater and greater importance. She will often tell me that she would rather have stay at home days but I know that without the steady diet of school she will wither. She is starting to read (!) and can tell me what letter sounds string together. Of course, it isnt easy but some days (like some day last week) she will surprise me. We were driving and as we passed the signs byt eh road I could hear her sounding out letters that she could see. Suddenly she said, "Mom! That says PIZZA!" And indeed it did. Pride in herself nearly burst out of the car and helped to give her a much needed self esteem boost. For some reason she always doubts herself and as such we are always trying (not too hard or too much) to make her feel important and relevant and boosted. Praise is such a fine line to walk.

(Sweaters thanks to Aunty Rachel!)

This Christmas I have recently come to understand just what a diferent creature Julia is. She has always been one who collects toys rather than plays with them. That is, she was never a child who had a doll who was the baby and she was the mommy, she didnt create storylines, per se. She would line up evey single animal she owned--some days by size, some days by colour, some days in a random row. But always just lining them up. I worried a bit when she was small just how obsessive she was about them but shrugged it off. When Elena came along and she played in a typical way, Julia would play alongside her, alwmost as though she were learning how to play in this way. But her instinct always led her to simply hoard the toys. And as she grows, her behaviours havent changed, just her discrimination about what she hoards. And that is simply what she does and as difficult as it is for me to come to grips with the fact that she just doesnt do things the way other kids might, there is nothing wrong with it. I shouldnt push her to change and I should embrace her quirks. But its hard and I have a heck of a time admitting it. So, whew, there it is. Baby steps, you know?
Both girls love crafts but Julia takes things to the next level. She wanted no toys this Christmas, but rather wanted Santa to bring her scrapbooking stuff "like moms". It touches me and breaks my heart all at the same time.

We've been having some ongoing issues with the girls in their loft bed--they are unable to fall asleep in bed becuase they want to talk and play and do everything but sleep. We have taken to putting them on the stairs without lecturing or commenting or getting angry since the "get mad" card clearly wasnt working out for us in this particular situation. We have declared that in the next house, they will NOT be sharing a bedroom, nevermind a bed anymore, but, as challeging as it is, somedays I go up to tuck them in and I find this and it makes me want to have them share a room and a bed and stay small like this forever.

November-Elena

Elena has been doing so well in preschool I cant believe we ever considered letting he ride out the year at home. She sings songs, plays pretend, relates stories and games, draws pictures, and is having a wonderful time learning all of that important three year old socialization stuff.

She is, of course, still headstrong and opinionated. She will not hesitate to tell you that "you were wrong, I was right" and if she is disciplined for something she thinks isnt her fault, she will fight you to the end "No, I'm not going to say sorry, I'll sit on the stairs forever and ever and ever." She is quick, though, to own up to things she has done "Yup, I did it. Sorry mom. Its OK, it was an accident." And, though its hard to live with in the moment, in hindsight her propensity to be so matter of fact in the midst of a meltdown is nothing short of remarkable. "I'm crying. I will say sorry after I'm done crying." Like, duh, woman.

She has cut out 90% of her naps but somedays, especially ones that are physically draining, we will come home and she will have fallen asleep in the van or, more rarely, like this, in the middle of a meltdown:

November-Jacob news

I cant believe that it is November. We have had an incredibly mild fall and the snow began to drift the day after Halloween. It was excellent! Halloween is done and now we can get down to the business of winter. Jacob is doing so well. He crawls like a maniac, is even-tempered and gobbles all food put in front of him. Just after Halloween, he began eyeing the table food, eschewing mushy baby food and, really, who could blame him? So we have been gradually introducing the food we have for dinner. He is a bit sensitive to meat--tried both a teeny bit of ground beef and a nibble of chicken, both resulting in yucky consequences--but otherwise tolerates all textures and tastes remarkably well. He is fond of feeding himself so if I am trying to spoon feed him, we need to use two spoons, one to dish up the food, give it to him to grab close to his mouth and then retrieve the one he dropped in order to take the aforementioned spoon. It is a bit like a carnival ride! Never a dull moment at mealtimes, that's for sure.

In October Jacob had sprouted two new teeth. I felt one on the bottom one day as we were nursing. Yeah he was drooling but all my kids have perpetual drooling as infants adn with the girls all that drooling never amounted to a hill of beans (or in this case, teeth) for a long long time. Jacob is a rather happy teether, as far as teethers go,I think. He drools but isnt screaming in pain, he is a bit clingy but will also let his sisters entertain him. So I figured we were safe, at least for awhile. But then he had a ridge, and then, as I was letting him chew on my finger, I began to think that the ridge was rather long-ish for one tooth. So I took a look and lo and behold, there were two teeth coming up at the same time! So he has two bottom teeth and close to the end of November, he sprouted one more. This time it is only one, but it is on the top and in a funny place. It isnt the two front teeth, nor the eye teeth but the one next to it. Right now he looks like he has one fang hanging out on the side of his mouth. It's brilliant.

To curb his wandering when I need a shower or a break to do a chore, and also for some peace of mind somedays, I set up his crib in our room. We try every once in awhile to let him sleep in it, but mostly we still co-sleep. Still, it is cute to see him sleeping where I am not afraid he will roll out of bed when I am not around.

Also in October, we had an exciting visit from Auntie Rachel! The girls still talk about it! Jacob was this close to being a ATCO stage superstar but then, alas, it was time to go pick up Julia. Maybe next time!

Both of the girls remain his favourite toys--Julia perhaps more so, since she will play with him for longer periods of time and tries to make him laugh. Elena will come around but her attention will get caught on something else and she wanders away from him, leaving him trailing behind her. 6 months has flown by and I cant believe how far he has come.

Haloween costumes and such

Halloween is one of those holidays that is so much more vividly portrayed in pictures. So, without further ado:

Jacob, in lieu of being a banana, was a cheetah. Yes, a fast moving animal, indeed

As for the girls, an assortment of dress up clothes produced a connundrum that was solved only by attending several different Halloween events.

This year, Elena was a princess, a lamb, and a Pegasus

Julia was a mermaid, a princess and a unicorn.

Weather ultimately dictated that despite not having any snow, both girls wore the warmest costumes out Halloweening. I loved every minute.

Banana

A few months before Halloween, when they first started putting out the costumes, I was told about this costume and even though I know Jacob was growing like a weed, I couldn’t resist. As a result of not having any feet, I had about 10 shots before he was fed up with the whole deal. In my defence, when I bought it, he was neither crawling properly nor pulling up on furniture, how was I to know that by Halloween he’d be trying to walk by himself? Honestly.




The idea of it cracks me up—some people say that I shouldn't call my kids bananas but, hey, yellow on the outside, white on the inside? I’m a realist and I can handle the racial implications. Besides, have you ever seen a cuter banana?

Halloween pumpkin carving, circa 2007 and exciting developments

We had our annual pumpkin carving fest at our place. We were pretty darn proud of our carving afterward. For the first time, both girls helped to carve their own pumpkins.


All the pumpkins can be seen closer up in my facebook Halloween album so I will spare the bandwidth uploading them twice but I did want to note that on the day we carved pumpkins, Jacob must have been feeling unappreciated so he decided that it was a good day to:


WALK with his walker!! Crazy kid.

He was showing off at the end of all the attention, taking one hand off the walker and smiling. He was extremely proud of himself.

Well...

It was nice to have the kids play here but ever since I was able to get Elena into preschool (!!!), I decided that was more of a priority. I have this issue with guilt (you'd think I was raised Catholic or something) and even though I was only doing this lady a favour and only temporarily. I feel bad for making her find new care faster because in this town, childcare, good or bad, is hard to come by. But there is no way around it. I cant bring Elena to school and still be able to have the kids afterschool since Elena will attend preschool 4 days per week (Mon to Thurs) from 1-3pm, which is actually quite perfect because Julia goes to kindergarten Mon-Thurs from 11:45 to 2:35pm and every other Friday from 8:05-11:30am (Yes, as you might imagine, the Friday mornings are a killer on the kids' schedules)

Here is Elena so excited to go to school just like Julia, in her first day of school outfit from Grandma:

But it's Elena and she poured chocolate milk on herself soon after the picture was taken (argh) so this is what she actually wore for her first day:

Thanksgiving

We spent Thanksgiving in the company of friends and it was lovely. We put out the fine china and crystal goblets, we had melting off the bones turkey and all the trimmings. The girls got all dressed up, pseudo cousin Ethan chilled in his bouncy chair, Jacob crawled around his buddy we played a nerdy card game after dinner and all was as it should be.

Oh, and I got a fancy pants new 8 megapixel camera from Dwayne for my anniversary!

Anniversary

Dwayne and I have been married for 5 years (FIVE!) How did that happen when I wasnt looking?!

We have moved 4.5 times, had two more babies and have both (mostly) found a niche for our respective careers. There have been ups and downs and ups again. We have gone from renters to homeowners, from Edmontonians to Fort McMurrayites. We have so much to be thankful for this year. All of the kids are happy and in good health, our house is somewhat settled, I have accepted a paid commission for 2 scrapbooks for Christmas this year and I have another one in the wings that will look like it will be completed in short order. If I were to look 5 years forward, I would see a lot more changes and more challenges but good ones.

Busy

Whew, time sure has a habit of flying by when there are so many kids in the house. And I mean SO many kids in the house. There was a lady at Julia's school who was desperate for afterschool care that I decided to baby sit her children on a temporary basis until she was able to find permanent afterschool care for them. Which would be fine. But there are 4 of them, so along with my brood, I have 7 (yeah SEVEN!) kids running around in my house every weekday. Some people think that I am crazy for thinking about having one more baby--four kids does seem like a lot, but imagine how much crazier I would be in the four I look after were mine? They are 8, 7, 6 and 6. Yes, at one point the poor woman would have had a two year old, a one year old and newborn twins. So I am content to have mine spaced as they are. The crazy is all relative, I think.

So, you'd think that with 7 kids, its a madhouse all the time? It's actually not soo bad. The kids entertain themselves relatively well. They play with the kids and they arent TOO insane. Well one is kind of but one out of 7 I can handle. They play rough, probably rougher than I'd like but hey, what do you expect?

For now, having them here staves off Elena's desire to go to school. We'll see how long it lasts.

Muttart

Well, I forgot to mention that we went to Edmonton. The fall has been glorious and we decided to take the kids. So we went visiting. Here is the trip to the Muttart in pictures:

Firsts!

This is Julia doing homework for the first time!!!

This is Jacob eating solids (hurray rice cereal) for the first time!!

And this is Elena. It's not a first but she is so cute, I couldnt resist sharing

Welcome to the World, Baby Chellew!

Ethan Douglas Chellew

Born on September 8th at 7:42 pm

21.5 inches long

weighed 9 lbs 3 oz.

Buddies already!

First day of kindergarten!

Julia was super excited to go to kindergarten!

Last days of summer

Summer is coming to a close and the days have been lovely--hot and filled with jumping on trampolines, swinging on the swing set and other summertime indulgences. But around the corner, like a lurking enticement, is the promise of school.

I am feeling a bit in limbo right now, the back to school flyers have hit the mailbox and all the assorted commercial trappings that go along with returning to the grind. Execept that this September I am not. And it feels both a relief and a disappointment. Yes, I miss the hustle of line ups waiting to pay for highliters and scribblers. But I also miss the fresh faces, the blank paper, the sharpened pencils that only occur in the first shine of back to school classes. When I return to school in January, that shine will have long worn off. Thge delight of sharing a class with good friends will have faded and the anticipation of a fresh start will have given way to the tired pessimism of teenage angst.

Julia begins kindergarten this September. I am not quite ready for her to be growing up and yet I know that time will not cease for me. She is excited, her backpack and back to school outfit are already laid out. Elena is anticipating this as well, asking every day if she will also get to go to school. I dont have the heart to tell her that I dont think that it will work ot for her to attend preschool if we dont find one closer than way across town.

Jacob is charming at 3 months--he is able to grab toys that hang nearby and is desperatel;y trying to crawl. He inchworms along and it is painful and awesome all at the same time. He is now able to roll from his belly to his back and so proud of his ability to do so! It's too fast! I wanted a little lump of a baby to cuddle and play with. Instead I get an overachieving kid. Who knew?

Jacob's Birth Story--Dad's point of view

I know, I know. I promised the birth story and now, ta-dah! Just shy of Jacob's 3 month mark, here it is and I didnt even have to type it out! Dwayne was telling his friend what happened and it was a great story so why mess with a good thing? Without further ado, here is Jacob's birth story, via his daddy:

"Jacob Neill Marlowe was born on May 15th, 2007, at 10:34 am. It was kind of spooky because the conditions that Christine came to the hospital were identical to when Elena Nicole was born. The 15th was a Tuesday; on Monday, Christine got her membranes scraped by her Ob/Gyn and was sent home.

The contractions started that night at 6:00 pm... by contractions, at this time, means she started having some kinda regular kind of strong contractions... like strong Braxton-Hicks (so she tells me). We were anxious to go home, as we'd spent by this time 10 days living with my Mother-in-law, a fairly demented woman in her mid-to-late fifties from Malaysia. We were hoping that things would progress, but of course the Ob/Gyn makes no guarantees and I, as always, was cynical, believing none of it. However, the contractions started getting more uncomfortable (I hate to use the word stronger here, as it implies hospital-going strength, which they were not), so we made plans with "Ahma" (Cantonese? for Grandma... or something else (that I cannot type as some wife of mine is reading this email as I type)), left a bag of essential goodies for the kids for the day in case we were not there, and went to bed.

At 0400 Christine woke me up saying it was time to go. Eerie. It was 0400 when she sent me, almost 2 years ago at that point, to fetch the babysitter for Julia when she was having daughter #2. So, we woke up lovely Ahma, gave her the news and drove to the hospital.However, I remembered that when Elena was being born that it had taken quite some time and didn't at all expect this baby to be born before noon; Elena after starting contractions at 0400, didn't emerge until 1620 that afternoon. And I was hungry. So on the way to the hospital (well, kinda... 8 blocks out of the way), I went to the McDonald's 24hr drive through. There was no answer. The lights were on. Christine allowed me to wait about 15secs before she mashed on the horn for a good 10secs. Then, with no response, and thoroughly disgusted, she ordered me onwards, which I happily complied with as much speed as a lightfooted 106 year-old grandma in a Smartcar along a well-travelled truck route. Eventually, we reached the hospital.

When we arrived, Christine was sent to Maternity, where she was placed in the same birthing room that Elena had been born in. Spooky. Then the same nurse that had started the Elena delivery on night shift was again working night shift, and was assigned to Christine. Now this is beginning to feel more like fate. (Highly memorable person... she had a peculiar British accent that I couldn't immediately place - turned out to be Welsh, and SNARKY... ah what a woman! If she had been 15 years younger...).

Christine got seen by her most excellent Ob/Gyn when she was doing her 0600 rounds at the hospital (note, she wasn't on call, apparently, this woman starts her days doing rounds at the hospital if her patients are admitted. Very commendable woman). She broke Christine's water. We were getting excited.STOP went the contractions. They virtually stopped for an hour or so, and Christine was finally allowed to walk ( I say finally because another night shift nurse/intern/person forbade her to walk since she's a VBAC - vaginal birth after Cesaerean. Christine playing coy for awhile, finally had enough of the wench and started giving her the orders, letting her know that she would be walking after the doc said so. So, the doc said so. She walked.

At 8 or so, Contractions started coming strong and fast. By 0835/0840 they were getting hard for Christine to handle alone. Of course, Christine's sister being who she is, decided this was the perfect time to get the car seats out of our car to put into her truck. So, like a dutiful husband, I left Christine alone and went to get the damnable seats. Christine took a shower. I foresaw what happened next, since it wasn't actually the future - it was the carbon copy of the past with Elena - damn near to the minute - when Christine's contractions started getting into that "strong" phase and she had then, like now, taken a shower. And that stalled her birthing for an additional 4/6 hours.

So before I left, Christine, myself, and the nurse talked about options. Christine had requested an epidural and the nurse, soothingly (like Satan was to Eve) replied that it was"coming" (only later did she explain that the mat ward had 4 C-Sections and 8 screaming bundles of joy slated for that morning... poor guy had to run from patient to patient when not in the OR) and offered morphine. Christine hesitated and said to hold off Morphine in case the epidural became available, and decided to take a shower. At that point, I left to meet with Christine's sister.So, believing time wasn't of the essence, since my wife was upstairs stalling her pregnancy, I gave the seats to Christine's sister and went to the cafeteria for breakfast. Some juice, a muffin. I think that was all. I got back into the room at 0910 or so..., and had been gone about 25 minutes. She was in the shower, stalling her labour. Well, this time (learning from last time, always commendable) she kept the water off her belly and only poured on her back. Perhaps stupidly, I believe this made a difference. This time, no stalling.

She told me to fetch a nurse, I did so. She checked her, and she was at 6.5cm. I was like damn, this is different from last time (You'll notice that's the 1st time I said something of this effect in this message - some 5hrs after the start of the "fun"). The nurse again brought up the fact that likely the anesthesiologist was not likely to make it to Christine by the time she was going to be 8cm (I thought this was a good hour off and wanted to wait - but hey, it's not like I was feeling the pain, right?) so she brought up the idea of morphine again. It'd take 20 minutes to kick in she said, and "won't kill the pain, but it will take the edge off". Christine must have hmmm-and-hawed about it for a couple of minutes, because I remember having to go to the desk and telling the nurses there "My wife needs to be shot". Wow! Such stupified faces! You'd think I was Harry Potter with his non-killing, weakling curses. "Uh, what did you say?" "Morphine. My wife would like some shot into her body". "Oooohh". Stupefy!

Christine continued to labour, and the nurse said come get her when Christine says it's time to push. Inside, I was like, like fuck, that'll be 2 hours away yet. Not even 10 minutes after, Christine said "I feel like I need to push!" I was thinking "don't overreact", but went and fetched the nurse anyways. I used the words "My wife says she needs to push". The nurse jumped out of the chair and came "running" (I say running, but it was more like a slow jog... they are forbidden to run after all).

She checked, and Christine was at 9. And I was like holy fuck that was fast!. The nurse had grabbed the resident on the way in, got on the phone to get our Ob/Gyn because the poor resident was some high-school droput 19 year-old straight from the inner-city burb of Brooklyn...Luckily, after only 10ish minutes, out Ob/Gyn had gotten in just as Christine was "setup" (i.e. put her legs in a human stirrup) for pushing. What a sight that must be to walk into a room. Some people choose this for a career.

Guiding Christine through, she got Jacob born in about 7 contractions, lasting maybe 10-15 minutes. I'd like to point out that Christine got the morphine soon after 10; they hadn't kicked in yet. After Jacob was born, her eyes kinda rolled back... and you'd swear that her tongue kinda hung out of one side of her mouth... the doc was like "yeah, she's feeling happy now!" I think it was in reference to the drugs, rather than the arrival. I took it that way anyways.

At any rate, I was quite blown away by the speed of it. And even with the big burst of speed to the finish line ...before I continue, I just remembered a great part. When Jacob was being born... that last push to get his head out, Christine yelped and said she got a sharp pain in her left ribs. Apparently Jacob, tired of waiting for mommy to pull him out, decided to set both feet on her ribs and push himself out. I'd like to point out the fact that it worked. Atta boy... anyways, with that great burst of speed that Doc.Brox did a commendable job of guiding Christine through the contractions as she didn't tear, and didn't get an episiotomy. Quite a feat. No stitches at all. Elena had given mom 3 sticthes, none in a row."

Well its relatively accurate, anyway :) Other posts to come, uh, when I have more time.