Happy Birthday Riley!

 

Daddy's girl from day one







Insistent from day one too!



2!

3!

5!

First Day of Kindergarten

Softball is the favorite sport

But we played soccer this year too

And basketball

Last Day of Kindergarten

In the Great Smoky Mountains

At Dollywood







Riley's Birth Story

I know I must have told this story 1000 times in the 7 years of Riley's life, but for me, it never gets old.

I had a pretty easy pregnancy with Riley, I was nauseous often, and sensitive to smells, and I was often sloth-like in my down time. There were a couple weeks of pregnancy I ate an unfathomable number of bags of chewy mini sweetarts. I gained very little weight (17 lbs if my memory serves) and pretty much just chugged right along. The doctor never had any concerns, nor did I, and each week was just a mark on the calendar until she would arrive.

I was 8 days away from my due date when I got the news that my step grandfather, Papa Russ, had passed away. A couple days later I was at my regular appointment and my blood pressure was a bit high. I told the doctor that I was sure it was stress from our family's loss, but she wanted to do some blood work and just double check. She also put me on bedrest and told me she would call me with the lab results soon. So I went to work, got my things, told them I would be back in a few weeks. I went shopping for books and magazines. I basically went all over town rather than home, where I was supposed to be. But eventually I settled in the bedroom and made my nest. That was on Thursday. Then Friday rolled around and by noon, I was stir-crazy. My grandfather's visitation was that night, so I convinced my husband and parents that I needed to go (and made lots of promises to sit quietly all evening). I think it helped my case that my sister was in Las Vegas for the week and wasn't going to be able to make it back. The funeral was the next morning. Saturday, August 12th. I didn't go to the funeral, but I did convince Sherman and mom and dad to go to the Missouri State Fair that afternoon. I had never missed one and I knew that I wasn't going to make it to the Fair if I didn't go that day. I don't remember my exact words, but something to the effect of "well, if the doctor hasn't called yet, it couldn't be something that bad". So we made a day of the fair. And it was hot, I was sweaty and my feet were dirty (since I was pretty much only wearing crocs at that point). But I was happy that I had gotten my annual visit in. We left the fair with intentions of getting back to Jefferson City and going out for dinner. Instead we were about halfway home when my phone rang. It was my doctor. Calling in person.
All she said was "as soon as you can get yourself ready, get on down to the hospital and let's get ready to have that baby". I was so excited I didn't even take a moment to wonder why I needed to get to the hospital. So I called mom and dad (who were in the car behind us) and asked them to follow us to our house and pick up Millie (our hound) so that we could go to the hospital.
We got home, sent Millie off, took showers, packed bags, and rushed to the hospital. Looking back I wish that I had taken a moment to appreciate that all a bit more.
Once they got me in a room, the IV's got started and the nurses started their first check of the night. Upon completion, the nurse asked me "Are you sure she told you to come tonight"? "Of course" I told her. And the words that I will never forget, "Well then you better settle in. You are 0 dialated, 0 effaced, and 0 ready to have this baby. You are going to be here a while".
The doctor did stop in sometime later. She explained that since she was on call for the weekend, she knew she would be the doctor available and it was a good time to induce me. She also explained that some of my blood work was concerning, and at this point she just thought that having the baby was the safest thing to do. She mentioned that they would be doing extra blood work on the placenta, and would draw blood from me frequently, and after all was said and done a hematologist would be meeting with me as well. I know there was more, but honestly, I was just wanting to have my baby.
So, the first 12+ hours in the hospital were just lying around. I made no progress. So 7am Sunday morning the doctor stops in, tells me we are going to try a couple other drugs. Those all start and at 10am I am dilated to a 2. I think this means things are about to start happening and get super excited. So the doctor comes back (in my mind reaffirming that it won't be long) and breaks my water. I restrained from kicking her in the face, even though every instinct in my body told me to, as the extraordinary pain from that little procedure rippled through me. I vaguely remember Sherman going to lunch. I was pretty much doubled over in pain with every contraction at this point. Sometime after noon, I asked for an epidural. I was dilated to a 5, and the anesthesiologist was already nearby so I got that done. As soon as that delightfully cold liquid hit me, I curled up and slept for almost 2 hours (and looking back that fact that they didn't wake me up to check me should have been a sign that I wasn't progressing, but whatever). When I awoke, I was certain it was going to be baby time. (I just realized we also banned anyone from coming to the hospital until after the baby was born. Mostly because I hate people waiting.) In fact I was dilated to 7 (I think, we are getting to some really hazy stuff now). Next thing I know, it is 7pm and nurses are changing shifts. I was extremely lucky that the nurse who strode into my room was actually an old friend from high school. I don't clearly remember the next string of events, but I know I was tired. I also know that at 9pm the doctor called in and gave the nurse instructions on changing and increasing my meds, and told me that I had one hour to get to a 10, and in one hour she was going to be there to either deliver the baby or perform a c-section. And shortly before 10pm I told the nurse that something didn't feel right. I assumed that meant I was headed for the operating room, but it turns out it was actually the pressure telling me to push. By some tiny miracle I had dialated to a 10. The doctor arrived and it was time to push. And I did. For nearly an hour and a helf. And around 11:30pm, on Sunday, August 13, 2006, Riley was born. Sherman cut the cord and they wrapped her up and handed her to him, where she promptly peed all over him. He showed her to me and honestly the look on his face is all I can remember, he was just so in love. At some point my parents got there, and then Riley was taken to the nursery to get cleaned up. I was shaking and vomiting and freezing. The nurse put warm blankets on me and I slept. I slept hard. I woke up and only kind of remembered that I had had a baby. At some point shortly after she came in to eat. I was moved to another room and I slept. And so did she. The next morning I took the greatest shower of my life. Seriously. I have never gone from feeling so disgusting to so great in any other shower. My sister and Seth arrived, then I can't remember. We had a lot of visitors. And all I did was lay there with Riley and I both intermittently napping. That evening, my mom brought me a homemade dinner to the hospital. It was just penne with sausage and peppers and cheese, but it was the greatest meal I have ever eaten. We went home on Wednesday (because they didn't get paperwork done on time Tuesday). And of course we had the car seat in wrong. But we made it home. With the baby. And all her stuff.

I don't think there is anyway to properly talk about how having your first born changes your heart. I can never be the person I was before that day. I can never put myself first again. I am so thankful for who Riley made me. Just by being born.

New School Year

As Riley started Kindergarten last year, I had no hesitation. She is a confident and bright lady and I never gave a thought to what her days may look like.

Now that she is starting 1st grade I find myself all kinds of wound up. The expectations of responsibility will be higher. Will she know to smile kindly at the new Kinders and help them on the play ground? Does she understand how to be helpful to others? Have we talked enough about how smiling at someone can make them feel better? Will she take time away from herself and her pursuits?

While watching some TV show, a character made fun of someone who stuttered. I immediately called the character out and told the kids how mean that person was. We, again, went through the speech about how it is never okay to make fun of someone and it is never okay to make someone feel bad about themselves.

At bedtime that night Riley asked me what kinds of things may make someone feel bad. So we talked for a while and I know that she understands. But what really worries me are the parents who aren't talking about it. I have no ground to stand on when it comes to judging another parent, I know that. I just don't understand how anyone could think it is okay to let one child make another child feel bad about themselves. I don't know how teachers keep their cool when they hear a child being rude to someone. I don't remember elementary school that well, but what I do recall, is that we all pretty much liked each other. Can you imagine going to school and hating it because of the people? I can't. I know a lot of kids who hate it because of the work, and their struggles, but I just can't even wrap my head around the people aspect.

And then again, maybe the media and hype on bullying has made me ultra sensitive. Maybe our school isn't that bad. But whether it is a problem or not, I just want to make sure that my daughter knows to lift others up, not break them down, whether they are your friend or not.

Dull Ache

I’ll start by saying, there are a great many things I want to write about in this space. I want to write a summer summary and I have so much I want to say about our family vacation. I want to record all the random things my kids say and do. But I can’t get those posts done, because my heart and mind are constantly compelling me to write this post.

The overwhelming sense of relief that I felt the morning Alicia died, and the continuing sense of relief in the immediate time after has faded away. Without her wrecked and ragged body here to remind me that death was a blessing. Without constant worry that she may be in pain. Without the confused mind and fading personality, I have a harder time grasping onto the understanding and clarity of heaven being her home. Instead of relief, I have a dull ache. I pick up the phone and start to text her. I find myself wondering what her plans are. I have to remind myself that she is gone. And at the same time I recognize that she isn’t. I feel her. She leaves signs and messages. I know that she is happy as I can feel a warmth when I sense her. But, that doesn’t change the fact that at school registration I had to cross her name out as an emergency contact. It doesn’t lessen the tightness in my chest when Riley wants to talk about Ishy.

I had a moment a few days ago where it hit me, it is a very real possibility that I will go on to have more years without my sister than I had with her. I struggle to remember the last conversation we had. I fight through the fog of those sick weeks and try to remember her telling me that she loved me without that damn white board. I think about the stories we told and try with all my might to hang onto the memories she shared that were her happiest. I think about the last time we sat around and had a drink together. The last time we sat outside on a pleasant evening. The last anything we had together. I know that with time the ache will fade, but it seems like that may take forever right now. Just like anything does when you are in the middle of it, and unable to see from a broader view.

I still see my life as a gift. And I still see her passing as a reminder to seize my gift and live more fully. To not be bogged down by small things. But that doesn’t change the dull ache. It doesn’t change the missing her.

Random Rumblings

I have 1 day of work between myself and 10 days off. 

When we get back from vacation, I would really like to just skip right to fall.  I am ready for jeans and sweaters, and warm drinks, crisp air, and football.  That first football games when it is still all sweltry, is just not right. 

I am already making a list of things I want to change, do, move, plan for when we return from our trip.  I don't know why, I probably won't stick to most of them.  I think it just feels good to tell myself that I am going to shake things up after this.

While I definitely feel that I am no longer grieving for Alicia, there is definitely a gap.  Instead of texting all my sarcastic comments to her, I just think them.  I roll my eyes in my thoughts and wonder if she knows.  The nice things about having a sister who never hid her reaction to things is that I basically know exactly what she would say in any situation and I find myself chuckling at how funny our conversation (is). 

Davis had an amazing birthday, he pretty much ran the gamut on gifts and loved every one of them.  He comes home each day loads up a bag and heads to the backyard to enact his imaginary scenes. 

Riley is in an awkward age, she is so very capable and wants to exercise her new "grown-up-ness" but only at her choosing, but tries to play that she isn't capable when it is someone else's request.  But even still she is mostly a good kid.  She and I just butt heads, often.

If you don't read Rants from Mommyland, I can't recommend yesterday's post enough, give it a quick read. http://www.rantsfrommommyland.com/2013/07/the-sweet-spot.html

The tomato plants are coming along nicely now.  We have gotten an excellent haul of cherry tomatoes, the Early Girls are so delicious, and we are waiting on our first Better Boy. 

Happy 5th Birthday Davis!

Davis' first picture

1 day old with Daddy

2 weeks old

Smiling!

First Christmas grins

Davis and Daddy

First Birthday!

Turning 1 is so much fun!

Two and a half, and telling me about it.

Davis loves being a farmer



Tee Ball (almost 5!)



Big Fish! 

Davis' Birth Story...

**Editor's Note** Yes, I know that it would make more sense for Riley's birth story to be published first, but that isn't what I did.

Davis is nearly 5. I can’t really stop to think about that too long. Not just because he keeps me busy, but if I stop to think about it, I will realize that it has been 5 years since I was pregnant, and that is one thing I will never be again. I will never hold a tiny sleeping baby against my chest while in paralyzing fear that the tiny sleeping baby will soon be a tiny awake baby. Honestly, I already don’t remember what my kids were like as babies. I remember more of Riley as a tiny tot than I do Davis but both are awfully fuzzy.


When I found out I was pregnant with Davis, Riley was 14 months old. When I see 14 month-olds now, I think to myself, “Why in h-e-l-l did I have a kid that age and think I could handle another one?” and the answer to that question is, I wasn’t thinking. I was still tired and had mom brain, and we just went with it. And thank goodness we did.

With the issues that were uncovered at the end of my pregnancy with Riley, as soon as I had my first OB appointment she labeled me high risk and sent me to a Maternal-Fetal Specialist. That is scary shit to hear when you are still all high on the fumes from baby lotion and are imagining how perfect things are going to be. We met with the specialist. He was nice, his staff was amazing. I was 12 weeks pregnant and got to see the ultrasound in HD. It was surreal. Then the nice doctor and his amazing staff told me that there was nothing wrong with the baby, and that “it” was at little to no risk. But (there is always a but) I was at a high risk of a blood clot, stroke, aneurysm, even death (which made me think twice about the baby not being at risk since, if I was dead it seemed like it might be hard on the baby I was growing but I got their point). So I left his office with 28 week’s worth of blood thinner, needles and syringes and orders to take good care of myself, enjoy the pregnancy, and that my regular doctor would keep him informed and there was no need to see him again. I gave myself shots in the abdomen 3 times a day. I was far from a model pregnant lady. I ate scraps off my toddlers plate and called them a meal. I drank soda, sometimes coffee, sometimes both (in the same day) and I drank a glass of wine a couple nights a week. But I did my injections. In the midst of living life, I also got ultrasounds and non-stress tests every week. 28 ultrasounds. I knew more about my unborn baby than some parents know about their 13 year old. I loved it. He was named well before they officially told us he was a boy.

Since my doctor wanted me to have a controlled labor, we decided to schedule an induction. That was fine with me. I was induced with Riley and that was my comfort zone and gave me a good idea of what to expect. We picked a date. Wednesday, July 9. I was to stop my injections a few days before and arrive at the hospital July 8 at 7pm. I learned from my last experience that you want to be dang sure you are full before you get to the hospital. So, my saintly parents arrived to pick up our unsuspecting daughter and Millie-dog after work on Tuesday. And Sherman and I headed to Longhorn to gorge on steak, potatoes, dessert and anything else I could eat. We arrived at the hospital freshly showered (another lesson learned) and full, ready to take on this baby delivery. Much as with Riley, they hooked me up to some IVs, put a few drugs here and there and we were all set. Once I was settled in, I promptly rolled over and went to sleep; knowing that every hour a nurse would be in to check me. I also knew that these checks were going to be rather pointless for the first 12 hours. The morning of July 9th I woke up to a room filled with sunshine. The doctor wanted to break my water and turn up my pitocin, but I asked for the epidural first and she agreed. So the anesthesiologist arrived, did his spiel about the risks, he checked my heart/lungs and said I couldn’t have an epidural. Rather than kick him, which is what I wanted to do, I just sat there with my mouth wide open, unable to grasp what he just said. He thought I had an irregular heartbeat. I would have to get all hooked up to the heart monitor and be cleared before he could drug me. That is when the nicest nurse in the world, sensing my panic, brought me stadol. And although they did eventually give me the epidural, I cared a lot less than before that miracle shot. I don’t remember much of the next sequence of events. I took a nap, my husband went to grab a bite to eat in case things took a while. Then all of a sudden I was more alert than I had been all day. A nurse walked in, I told her I thought I was ready to push. She laughed. Then she checked me and said, in her stern, serious nurse voice “Don’t Push”. Then there was a sudden flurry about the room. Tables were moved, people went in and out, the doctor appeared, then disappeared. All of a sudden there was a mini-nursery set up in the corner. The doctor reappeared. It was go time. I gathered all of my mental strength, remembering how the first time around my ability to focus all of myself on the goal, not the action had helped more than anything. So, we start the legs in the air, push, doctor counting (or maybe it is the nurse, doesn’t matter), legs down, breathe, legs up, push, counting, legs down, breathe, legs up, count…”Great job”, “He’s here”, “Baby looks great”, “Dad, cut the cord”, “Here he is”. I hadn’t even caught up with what the hell was happening, and I was all of a sudden holding my baby. Since he was healthy, and I didn’t require any re-assembly thanks to his fast exit, we just laid there together. Of course, he was born hungry and figured that out pretty darn quick. I don’t remember when we called my parents, or anyone else for that matter. I don’t remember them clearing out the room. I just had this sense of calm, and it was just me holding our son, with my husband beaming at us. I felt great. Sometime later, Riley came to meet her brother. She could not have cared less. She kept asking about the IV in my arm and for me to come home and telling me Millie was being at good dog at Nana and Big Daddy’s. I remember thinking that I was awfully glad Davis was 15 days early, and that it was funny for him being earlier he was exactly 1 ounce and 1 inch bigger than his sister. The next morning he got snipped, clipped, weighed, washed, and put in his going home clothes, and home we went. Our discharge papers showed us leaving 25 hours after his time of delivery.