Let it snow

80 degrees in the middle of December. How about that Texas winter, everyone? Damon and I read books in the backyard this afternoon. No complaints here!

Miles has a cold, though, so he has been a complete pill.

I've been busy with lots of Christmas music. It has been a fun challenge to learn pieces for a different performance at least every week, then move them off the docket for the next one. My poor viola fingers are getting a workout! I am getting better, though.

Miles' questionaire

Miles turned 1 a few months ago, and I planned on blogging about it. While cleaning up the computer desktop I found this survey I completed for him. I think I just searched for "Getting to know you" questions, and completed it as if I were him. Some has changed in the past few months...but not much.

Miles at 1 – survey completed by his mother 

1.    Do you have brothers or sisters? If so, how many? The other short people in my house are one loud girl who says strange things to me and gets in my face all the time, and a quiet girl who tries to carry me everywhere, and a loud boy who takes away any toy I am playing with.

2. What is your favorite activity? Attacking socks.

3. What is your least favorite activity? Getting my diaper changed.

4. What is your favorite school subject? The Very Hungry Caterpillar

5. Have you been involved (or are you hoping to become involved) in any school activities (clubs, sports, etc.)? If so, which ones? I try to be very involved in anything my mom is doing – at the very least, when I notice she is involved with something, I toddle over and grab her legs until she picks me up. Then I scream at her and try to grab everything, especially if it looks dangerous.

6. What is your favorite type of music? “My Pigeon House.”

Please complete the sentences below.

7. On the weekends I like to…scream at my mother during church. If daddy holds me, I sit passively.

8. Someone I admire is _Mommy_ because…she’s the center of my life.

9. If I could go anywhere for a day, I would go…up.

10. I learn the most when the teacher…repeats the same thing, over and over.

11. I learn the most when I…can touch it with my slobbery little hands and mouth.

12. I don’t like it when teachers…take away the stuff I want to slobber on.

13. I don’t like it when I’m asked to…stop destroying things and/or wait for food.

14. After high school, I will probably…be potty trained.

15. My ideal job would be…to be hip jewelry.

Talking Miles

Miles seems like he has grown up so much in just the past couple of weeks. He's started really being able to express himself and seems more independent. Yesterday, for example, I put him in his high chair for breakfast and reached for the blueberries to give him some. He stared at me and very emphatically shook his head. So, I reached for strawberries instead, and he smiled and started to clap. It is so fun to see him grow up and turn into a person.

He's started talking. I am about as good at keeping a baby book as I am at blogging, but here are some of his first words, in the order he started saying them:

touch
teeth
uh-oh
bath
bubble bath
off
dance

Tonight was the first time I've heard him say "dance," and it's adorable. I was singing him some bedtime songs and he just felt like getting his groove on, then he wanted to do it some more. One of my favorite TV shows (actually, probably the only one I watch) is the BBC's "Death in Paradise," and Miles loves the theme song - it gets the canned heat in his diaper shaking. Between him and Damon, we've had some fun dance parties.

Miles actually had his first ER trip this afternoon. This was the series of events:

I was getting ready to go to the temple. The babysitter had just cancelled, and I was texting around to find another one. The kids were playing upstairs. I heard Miles start to cry in Damon's room. I started up the stairs when the garage door sounded (Steven was just getting home). I opened Damon's door to let Miles out (I figured that's why he was crying), and saw him toddling towards me with blood running down from his forehead and onto the rest of his body. (The girls saw him and screamed.)

I don't know what he hit - maybe the door? - but he had a big split right in the middle of his forehead, perpendicular to his hairline. It looked deep enough that we figured he needed to go in, and in no time our local ER had pulled through again and glued him back together. He was surprisingly cheerful and did not cry the entire time - they said he was probably the happiest patient they had ever had. The doctor also said that his skin is so fair anyway that he probably won't have a scar, which is kind of funny (well, you know, his skin can't get any paler!)

Since I'm on here, I guess I'll say that the rest of us are doing great as well: Damon is potty trained, but not quite putting-his-underwear-and-shorts-back-on-afterwards trained; Carmen's making great strides with reading and loves to practice the piano; Olivia looks like such a big kid now that I hardly recognize her any more. A couple of weeks ago she discovered some old "Girl Talk" books I had and started devouring them. I caught her in the middle of one and asked her about it. "Allison is helping this boy do better in school, and they're falling in love!" Again, it's funny to see my kids grow up and become people. Olivia got invited over to one of her best friend's houses for a play date tomorrow night, so she's feeling very grown up and excited. (We're not ready for sleepovers, but we'll do an evening play date.) Steven and I are happily unremarkable. It's a good life.

Book Timeline

I made a settings timeline of the books we've studied so far in book club. I've been playing with several timeline makers (the Excel templates are lame, btw) and discovered dipity.com. There's an embed feature on there, so I thought I'd try it out here.

This is a timeline of the SETTINGS, not the date the works were written.

Any other books I should add?

Literary settings on Dipity.

Reflections on 32

As my 33^rd birthday approached, I thought about the last year and started mentally composing this.

I did a lot while I was 32. I gained weight and lost weight, grew hair and cut hair; my skin got less elastic and I found a couple more gray hairs. My kids grew up and I gave birth to my fourth, and it was the happiest and most relieving day I can remember. I spent a lot of time making food and making milk and cleaning them both off of kids and out of kids. I gave lots of baths and did lots of laundry but was not able to keep the kitchen floor mopped as often as I thought it should be. I listened to a lot of Old Time Radio programs as I cleaned the kitchen, over and over, and finally painted the music room and the powder bath and the upstairs bedrooms that I had been planning to paint since we moved in, and it made me feel like I had finally taken ownership of my house. I bought a serger that I’d been thinking about for years and I love it. I made lots of clothes and finished several projects. I weeded the garden bed I planted 2 years ago and let grow over last year, and now I’m ready to plant again. I read several books that I loved and some that I didn’t love. I taught lots of piano, guitar, violin, and viola lessons and also publicly performed on piano, guitar, and viola, and I was proud of myself for that. I went camping and swimming and roller skating and ice skating. I spent one-on-one time with each of my kids and felt our love grow for each other, and spent lots of time with my husband and felt as happy and comfortable as ever, and proud of myself for making such a good choice in marriage and lucky to have found him. I spoke lots of Spanish and memorized the Greek alphabet. I didn’t travel farther than a couple of hours away by car, but I saw and did and experienced new things. I felt joy and sorrow and fear and comfort and anticipation and regret and love. I made mistakes and learned from them and did some things well and learned from them too. I saw and recognized ways in which I’ve matured and was embarrassed at my previous immaturity. I did my best all the time, but I was kind to myself too.

Altogether, I think I am kinder, wiser, smarter, happier, and better than I was a year ago. That’s a year well spent, and a really good life. Let’s have some more.

You've got your hands full!

Yes, ladies in the store, I do. But you know, the moment I'm trying to suppress my two year old's meltdown after being torn away from the Dr. Scholl's machine, minutes after he decided to nosedive out of the shopping cart, and my poopy baby has also started to scream, having you come up and snicker that at me makes me want to go all Chuck Norris on you. "Now you've got your face full - of my foot!"

In other news, Damon has learned how to take off all his clothes, including his diaper. He's starting to potty train himself, so it's not too bad...except when he flashes my piano students. Sorry, guys.

Damon also discovered recently that his last name is Brown. Just a couple of minutes ago he came up and pointed to himself and said, "Damon Brown." He pointed to me. "Mommy Brown." He ran over to Miles. "Miles Brown." Then he started looking around the room. "Fish Brown. Book Brown. Chair Brown." Well, I guess so. Damon also recently discovered that Daddy is also Steven, and likes to occasionally interchange them. He hasn't figured out my name yet, though.

And, speaking of names, Damon is awfully cute at saying "Miles." I'm very happy that he has not acted jealous of his baby brother; on the contrary, he's been very accepting and chill about the whole thing. Damon is always very careful to point out where Miles' car seat goes in the car; he doesn't want to go anywhere without him. He also likes to get diapers for him - he grabs one (or many), tosses it at him, and says, "Here ya go, Miles." Miles is a good fourth child and has been very resilient to having diapers and many other things tossed at him.

fashionisto

Damon has figured out how to take his shorts off. He's also figured out how to put them back on again...sort of.

 

Yes, they are sideways and inside out, with the legs through one hole.

Our Olivia

Raise your hand if your child reads chapter books sitting in a Bumbo.

More Miles

Our little boy is chubbing up! He likes to smile and coo and is just generally a pretty happy little guy. He gave me the gift of 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep the other day, and it was even at night, which makes him even cuter to me. He is still the most projectile baby I've ever had - no morning is complete until we both require a change of clothing.

 

Nice duck lips. He's ready for facebook!

and today at lunch...

Olivia: The good thing about reading in my head is that I never have to go to the bathroom because I'm having so much fun, even my bottom is having fun and it doesn't want to make any poop.

1000 words

Our quotable morning

Today at the playground I heard Damon say "Mmmm!" We had not brought food, so I turned around and, just as I suspected, he was downing a scrumptious clod of dirt. I had to stop him from doing it a few more times.

At lunch:
Amber: What kind of fruit do you want, Carmen?
C: I would like blueberries and grapes and strawberries.
A: We don't have any strawberries.
C: Then I'll just have cheese.

I'm sure there will be more.

RIP Stump

The week after I officially became functional again, Steven gave me a to-do list (I'm sure it was a nice role reversal for him). One item was to get rid of the stump in our back yard; it has always been there and is a pain to mow around, and I'm not sure why exactly it has taken us 5 years to take care of it. I made a 20 second phone call and someone showed up that afternoon to grind it.

As soon as he arrived, though, Carmen suddenly developed an inexplicable emotional attachment to the stump. I was surprised she even knew where the stump was. I tried telling her that the stump was excited to turn into a bunch of cute little wood chips, but she was unconvinced. The only way I was able to (sort of) console her was to snap a picture for us all to remember our beloved stump by:

(Please note that by the time Steven got home from work, she was happy and excited to show him where the stump had been.)

Sunday Best

Yes, I love dressing little boys for church.

Miles

 Here is the most amazing thing about April 30^th: the months of all-consuming worry, intense physical and emotional hardship, a potentially life-threatening situation, just vanished in an instant.

Everyone, meet Miles Robert Brown. He’s the happy end of the story, and because he’s here and safe, everything that was wrong is now right.

Here’s the summary.

Bed Rest

Do you know how much fun it is to have your mobility taken from you, and live in a state of uncertainty and fear for two lives, for 6 weeks? (Hint: it’s not fun.) I hated having to put up virtual blinders up as I helplessly saw my life being run on someone else’s terms. Perhaps the most frustrating part was my inability to relieve stress (caused by the bed rest itself) by physical movement. I do this a lot – exercising, cleaning, etc. So many times I just dissolved (no, not literally) into tears because I had so much frustration inside and I just wanted to move to relieve it.

Helpers

I am so very blessed to be surrounded by kind, helpful people. Between friends, church members, neighbors, piano parents, and family, I was probably the most cared-for bed rester I can envision. When I switched OBs, the new one asked, “You’ve been on bed rest?” Yes. “With three small kids?” Yes. “HOW?” Because the people who make up my world are so good and kind.

Indexing

Even for me, reading, crossword puzzled, movies and TV get old really fast. A week or so into my bed rest, I discovered FamilySearch indexing. It was something worthwhile and productive that I could do from my bed. And it’s fun! I did 10,000 names in April alone.

One draw of indexing was the hope of being inspired with a name for our baby. However, between Mexican death certificates, Maori passenger lists, and Mississipian Enumerations of Educable Children, what I got instead was a personal compilation of names I couldn’t dream up. (Note: These were all listed as males.) My favorites:

Dealie Fortune

Bilbo Bufkin

Pussy Futch

Buster Wamsley

Horatio Zingerling

Buberd Baldwin

Aylon Putt

Mayo Grubbs

Leo Pope

Memory Leake Sprayberry

R B Irby

Tincie Rakestraw

Earsor Suddeth

Marzene Thrash

Amusing, yes, but inspiring...not so much.

My Kids

Were awesome. Olivia and Carmen were so calm and adaptable to being without a functional mother. They were unbelievably understanding of my situation, that that helped me so much. Explaining to them why I was bleeding and why I needed to rest, and their reacting so matter-of-factly, was so calming to me. Carmen in particular was tickled by the idea of someone cutting me open and sewing me up and getting to admire the big owie afterwards.

Damon had the hardest time, and that was hard to see. It’s been nice in the weeks since Miles’ birth to see him come back from his distant, confused haze. It’s also sweet to know that even vigilant caregivers can’t take the place of his mommy, and he missed me at least as much as I missed him.

Switching OBs

After many weeks of displeasure stemming from dismissive office staff and poor procedures, and my OB’s indifference to them (and to my feelings), I took the plunge and switched OBs at 35 weeks – just after my last appointment with the high risk OB (to ensure that the placenta really wasn’t going to move). Perks of switching included being able to deliver at the Woman’s Hospital downtown (probably a better option anyway for a high-risk pregnancy), being able to say I had a different OB and different hospital for every one of my children, and of course, sticking it to the doctor who didn’t think she needed to factor me into the scheduling of my c-section.

Family Reunion

My family reunion was scheduled to be at our local beach for the week I ended up having to have the c-section. This was less than ideal, and thinking about it tends to make me angry, so I’ll leave it there. The good thing was that at least my kids got to have fun at the beach while I was in the hospital, and I guess everyone was able to see the new baby.

Delivery

So, on April 29^th, Steven and I drove down to the beach with my parents and siblings and their families. I was glad to at least be able to have one day of reunion. The next morning, we took a family picture on the beach, and then Steven and I drove up to the hospital. We needed to arrive at 11 so they could prepare blood in case of a transfusion. Then we waited and tried to distract ourselves.

I felt okay, but that I was in a surreal dream, until a few minutes before 2:00. Then I started to feel scared. I prayed a lot. I wished for and dreaded a feeling of reality. Then the nurses came in and walked me over to the operating room.

The nurses were just really nice. They were laughing and cordial while they prepped the room. It made me start to feel better. Then the anesthesiologist came in. “So, why are you having a c-section?” I have placenta previa. “Did it move?” Well, no – that’s why I’m here. “Ah, good point.” Then he started to give me my epidural, narrating what was going to happen and what I would feel. He was impressively punctual – as soon as he said I’d feel a burning sensation, I felt it. “It’s like magic!” I remarked. “As soon as you said that, my legs got tingly.” He gave a smirk and said, “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.” That set everyone laughing, and that’s when things got fun.

The nurses continued prepping, painting my belly, and I started feeling good emotionally and feeling nothing below my ribs. Then my doctor came in, the sheet was up, and they brought in Steven. He sat down and held my hand. I was smiling. The doctor poked me some more to make sure I was numb, then said, “Okay, we’re going to have a baby in a minute.” “You already started?” I said. I’d felt them moving things around (while the doctor commented how wiggly the baby was), but I hadn’t realized that they were already cutting.

Then Steven said, “Oh, he’s mad.” “You see him?!?” I said. Then I heard a nice, strong cry.

I was so, so happy. He was perfect.

6 lbs. 7 oz., 20.5 inches. Born at 2:39 pm. The surgery was perfect, with no complications for either of us. He was perfectly healthy. They kept him in the nursery for a couple of hours under a warmer because he was “grunting,” which I guess is common in c-section babies where the fluid doesn’t get squeezed out during birth. (They were also concerned about my über-low blood pressure, but they eventually got over it when they realized that’s just how it is, and always has been.) He was able to join me in my room after dinner, and we’ve been together ever since.

Placenta previa

This is one of those things I never wanted to blog about – at least not until after the fact. Because I kept hoping it would go away (and it will, ultimately). But today I was thinking about it and realizing that it might be therapeutic to write it out, and it also might help someone else who is in my situation. Because, since the time I first heard “placenta previa,” the internet was a place I kept coming back to, and still do.

As you know, up to this point I have been a model of pregnancy and childbirth. My three children gave me no sickness or difficulty as I was carrying them and came easily into the world punctually and without incident. With such a track record, our joke this time around was that we would schedule conception by choosing the exact date we wanted to have the baby, who would, as had its predecessors, come out easily and naturally on its due date.

When I went in for my ultrasound at 21 weeks, it went pretty much as I had expected. The baby was indeed a boy, and he appeared healthy and whole. But. At the end of the ultrasound the technician suddenly asked, “Have you had any bleeding?” I hadn’t, and she informed me that it “looked like (I had) placenta previa.” She then told me that it looked like I would probably need a c-section at 36 or 37 weeks, and should talk to my doctor soon.

I left feeling confused and kind of irritated. I had anticipated coming out of my ultrasound and calling our baby’s grandparents and friends with the exciting news of our baby’s gender. Now I didn’t want to talk to anyone; I just wanted us to be okay and to be able to have the same great, healthy delivery I had last time.

I went home and looked up placenta previa in my “What to Expect” book. When it came up under the chapter, “When Something Goes Wrong,” I was not a happy girl.

Over the next few days and weeks, I read enough internet articles and message boards to scare the pants off of me. I was so opposed to the idea of having a c-section. At one point I read that 90% of previas resolved themselves, and then I was mad that people had even brought it up, since it was something that would probably be a nonissue.

My next OB appointment didn’t end up happening for another month, but when it did, I came home and bawled. I had been put on “pelvic rest,” which meant that I wasn’t supposed to lift anything or clean or exercise or do anything enjoyable with my pelvis until (unless) the placenta moved. I was also referred to a high-risk OB: I had been labeled “High Risk.” I was frustrated and felt like the diagnosis had taken the joy out of my pregnancy (and I really do enjoy being pregnant). I still didn’t want to talk to anyone, but I called my mom and told her so that she would be prepared in case we needed her sooner than expected. I hoped and prayed, not knowing even what to ask for.

Then, last Saturday, I woke up with bleeding. They had told me to go straight to the hospital if this occurred. I called around until I found someone who was in town and would answer their phone at 8:00 on Saturday morning during Spring Break, and within 5 minutes she was at my house to take care of the kids and Steven and I were off to the hospital.

Since I already knew my diagnosis, I was hoping they would say, “Well, that’s placenta previa for you,” and send me home. Instead, they monitored me, noticed (as I had not) that I was having some contractions, and kept me there for 2 days, or until I had not bled for 24 hours and they were sure that the contractions were Braxton Hicks (or our very active baby head butting his placental pillow). I was released to complete bed rest, and that’s where I am now.

As much as I hated my stay in the hospital and my interactions with the doctor who was on call, I think it was good for me. I had not previously grasped what the full risk was with my condition, and it was sobering to realize I really could bleed to death very quickly, or have a very premature baby. In comparison, bed rest and a c-section is much less aversive.

On bed rest, my life is reduced to thinking about what I have instead of what I am doing, and that’s been a blessing for me. I’ve been able to recognize the many things I’m grateful for: my husband and kids whom I treasure and crave being with; wonderful friends who have been taking care of me and my family; a comfortable home that I want to be in; a healthy baby boy who continues to grow, unfazed by a misplaced placenta; loving parents who, without a second thought, will drop everything so that my mom can come out and be my body for a month. I’m grateful just to be able to be here to see my kids in the morning when my neighbor comes to get them up, and home when people drop them off. I’m grateful to be able to read my kids books, or sit outside while they play with water, or comb their hair. I’m grateful to be able to do crossword puzzles and snuggle with Steven on our bed. I’m grateful for a good education that taught me to enjoy reading long, long books. I’m grateful for every moment that passes that I don’t bleed, for every day that ticks by where my baby can get a little more developed. I love my life, I’m grateful for it, and I want to keep it. That’s my motivation while I’m on bed rest.

On Thursday morning I went back to the hospital for a checkup with the high risk OB. Everything looks great with us – the placenta’s about as previa-ed as it possibly could be (almost 5 cm away), but the birth canal is still long and tight and closed up – bed rest has been doing its job. “Wow,” she said, “this baby’s measurements place it exactly on May 21st, its due date.” Well, of course they do – because that’s exactly what would happen if the placenta would cooperate. Even as it is, though, things are looking really positive for us to make it into full term. It was the first time in a long time that I’ve come out of an OB appointment feeling happy and optimistic instead of really ticked off. And I’m grateful for that, too.

The naughty list

I was cleaning the playroom yesterday and found this little gem (complete with hand-made envelope):

I'm sure it was made after I committed some gross infraction, such as telling Olivia to stop being mean to her sister.

(Frankly, I'm just shocked that Damon made the Good list!)

All tied up

I got a sneak peek inside my belly today. Baby #4 looks nice and squirmy, digited, full-hearted, kidneyed, bladdered, aaand....male!

I suspected he might be a "he." While my pregnancies have all felt pretty similar, I have noticed a few differences:

Girls:
Toothpaste in the morning made me sick
Melasma
Hyperhormonal
Carrying higher (watermelon belly)

Damon and Baby #4:
Indifference to toothpaste
No melasma
Not as hormonal, but more tired
Carrying lower (basketball belly)

I don't know that I was necessarily hoping for one gender or the other, but it will make our family nice and balanced to have 2 girls and 2 boys. At least it makes the room situation convenient (and, it means I should be able to hang on to my sewing room a little bit longer!)

Once again, feel free to send over any name suggestions. The girls are rooting for Hungry Hippos again.

Because the world needs more cuteness

What could be cuter than 3 Brown kids?

How about FOUR Brown kids?

May 21st is the date. Consider yourselves warned.

Yum yum

Having figured out (sort of) how to feed himself, Damon has recently gotten into feeding other people. He'll use his sticky, slobbery little hand to pick up a piece of cereal, get my attention, and open his mouth as a hint for me to do the same (he is pretty persistent). Then, he shoves the pre-moistened morsel into my mouth, looks very pleased with himself, and immediately picks up another.

As you may imagine, I have to toughen my gag reflex to fully participate in this little practice, cute as it is. But even then, I have my limits. Just now, for example, Damon had just absently shoved some little graham cracker snack into his mouth when he glanced at me. I must have looked hungry, because he toddled over, pulled the half-chewed cracker out of his mouth, held it out and opened his mouth. Mmm. I let him have that one.