Before ... and ... After!

My apologies to anyone reading this who doesn't know me and has never been to my house. Since you never knew/saw the "Before" you probably won't care much about the "After". I, however, am over the moon excited about the "After" and so ... I share.

Say, does this butt make me look fat?

(*Side note...this was taken at my surprise 30th birthday party...hence the pink wings. Although I would love to wear pink wings from the Dollar Tree every day of my life. Not.)

To all my friends and family who said I looked just fine - liars - thank you for being nice to me and sparing my feelings. Don't ever, never let me get that fat again.

I honestly don't feel like sharing an "after" picture of my butt. I will say that those jeans I'm wearing in the above picture, I gave to my friend who just had a baby. Either I was really fat or my friend is losing her baby weight at an incredible rate. Perhaps both? Regardless, 23 pounds later, two pants sizes smaller, and I'm feeling much healthier and less ... plumpish. Thank you Jillian Michaels and My Fitness Pal. You saved me from a lifetime of pictures that I am embarrassed to be a part of.

Now onto the really truly very exciting Before and After's. The kitchen!! Although we aren't quite finished, it's basically done. All that is left is some finish work (trim, cabinet knobs, etc.) and I am thrilled to have construction finally coming to a halt.

Again, more apologies as I over-share our journey.

S and B, helping Dad clean out the shed to make room for all our other junk...er, treasures.

The "Before" in the hallway.

The "Before" for the play room.

"Before" the demo, but "After" we cleaned up a bit!

My laundry room "Before". In the kitchen. And overcrowded. I am organizationally challenged.

This is my dear sweet Father in Law. I love this picture because it captures completely the confusion he and Officer Hottie felt every time they opened a wall. I believe a good caption would be ... "Wha....???"

Sadly, this is my refridgerator "Before". Ugh. Double ugg. UGG!

 

The wall. "Before" Have I mentioned that I am organizationally challenged?

With a little bit of help...

My hallway now looks like this.

 

Still a messy fridge but at least it's out of the way and I now have a pantry right next to it! (Sorry for the lighting issues...I was too excited to post these to take the time to edit.)

The view from the dining room.

The view from the hallway.

The view from the sink. Haha! My poor kids can't get away with anything now! I can see it ALL!! Mua-haha!

Some of my new favorite features are...

This prep table that OH put together for me. I love that handy man of mine.

This little spice rack. There are a few "S" hooks that we have and I am hanging my measuring cups and spoons from them. How handy!

Under cabinet lighting. Right above the prep table. LOVE IT.

So, that's it. My "Before" and "After" post. If you are still reading you should eat a bowl of ice cream. You've earned it.

Tidbits from a Day in the Life in the Hottie Household

Because I canceled my Facebook and blogging is my last public outlet ...

1. B: I'm not a tattle tale. I don't even have a tail.
    Me: Being a tattle tale means telling stories, or tales, about people. Yes, you are a tattle tale.
    B: But I don't have a tail.

2. J: I just farted two times. (pauses) I mean three.
    Me: (Febreeze)

3. Me to S: Do you want to go potty in the toilet?
    S: No.
    Me: You don't want to be a big boy?
    S: No.
    Me: So, all those underwear I just bought? Nothing?
    S: (farts. poops in pants.)

4. Officer Hottie: I still can't believe my truck caught on fire.
    Me: (nervous laughter) (crying)

5. L: Mom, I know a way you and Dad can never pay for a baby sitter again.
    Me: Really? How?
    L: You. You and Dad. (runs away, proud of himself.)

6: Me: (glass of wine)

The Other Woman

There is another woman in my husband's life.

She demands his love and affection. 

She will settle for nothing less than his undivided love and attention.

She climbs into our bed and hogs the sheets.

She thinks she is a princess and the world is her oyester.

She is just over three feet tall and has such a pitch to her voice when she doesn't get what she wants when she wants it, the paint could peel right off the walls.

I've seen it happen.

Little stinker. Flirting gets her everywhere.

This is GG, the million dollar blanket. I wish they came in King size. Best. Blanket. Ever. (Most people call them the little giraffe blanket because of the giraffe on the tag. I call it the million dollar blanket because it costs nearly that. My cousin bought it for her. God bless you Melissa.)

She often says something like, "My finger isn't hungry so I CAN'T eat dinner."

Oh? Ok then.

And then she smiles, because she knows she got him, hook line and sinker.

Oh how she adores her daddy.

 

He's pretty fond of her too. By pretty fond I mean over the moon in love.

I can't blame him.

Cinnamon and sugar crumbs. Because Daddy ran out and bought donut holes. It's what his little girl wanted.

  

I would like to take this opportunity to say that my husband has lost 42 pounds and now has a jawline, which I find to be highly, highly attractive and sexy. Just sayin'.

I think she tolerates him. Just kidding. She eats this stuff up.

Oh, another one? Ok, if you must.

I think I'm framing this one.

Mother's Day

A few weeks ago my oldest son came up to me with a pad of paper and a pen. He proceeded to ask me a series of questions and dilgently wrote down my answers.

His questions were:

*What is your favorite cookie?

*What is your favorite chocolate?

*What is your favorite kind of cake?

*What kind of frosting do you want?

*What is your favorite dinner?

*What is your favorite mint?

*What is your favorite dessert?

*What is your favorite color? (Mom, how do you spell streamers?)

*What kind of gift do you want?

*Would you like to go to any special places?

I'm pretty sure I'll be the most spoiled mom on Mother's Day.

OR...

 Officer Hottie is working on Mother's Day.

But seriously, how sweet is this kid?

Have you ever???

Have you ever been convinced that the conversation you just had with your husband will be the last time you ever hear his voice? Or that the last time he says "I love you" will be the last time you hear him say it to you? Have you ever been convinced that you will never see your husband alive again?

I'm sure that as police wives we all go through times of doubt and anxiety. I go through that on occasion, but usually only after something happens. I feel nervous about letting him go to work, I get worried when he doesn't call or text me, I cry and pray a lot. But it is often a reaction to an event that has already taken place.

Last week, my dad called Officer Hottie to tell him how much he loved him and how thankful he was that he was part of our family. It was very sweet. When OH and I were first engaged he and my dad didn't have the best relationship. My dad always liked him just fine, but as most young men, OH has his own way and idea of doing things and it didn't gel well with what my dad's plan was. That was long ago and any hurts or stresses from that period of time has long passed, but it still feels good to know that my love genuinly loves my husband.

When OH called to tell me my dad had called him he was very sweet. He said how nice it was of my dad to call and how he was glad they had a good relationship. And before he hung up he said he loved me so much, which he always says. When we hung up, I looked around my house, the home we've made together, and our four beautiful children and I started to cry. I just knew that was it. In a few seconds my mind was there. You know what I mean; how would I tell the kids, how would I sleep alone, who was going to notify me, who were going to be the pallbearers, how much music would they allow at the service, which pictures should we find, etc. On and on. Then I started to beg. I begged and begged and pleaded with God to protect him, to not leave me alone. I can't raise four children on my own. We're in the middle of remodeling. I can't finish that. Who will keep my feet warm at night? No one understands me like he does, no one puts up with me like he does, no one smells as good as he does ... our kids like him more than me. Then slowly I started asking for strength and help. For courage. For peace. And for sanity.

When OH called me later, hearing his voice was such relief. What he hadn't told me earlier was that a few minutes after my dad called him he was dispatched to a fairly scary call. He also had been convinced that he was being sent into certain death. It was really just the timing of everything - a seemingly random phone call from his father in law, and then getting dispatched to this particular call. He said he started driving and thought, "Ok Lord. This must be it." So he called me. He said he had wanted me to know that he and my dad really did love each other and that he loved me the most. I, of course, started crying again. I hadn't told him when he called the first time that it terrified me; that for a moment (a long long moment) I thought that just maybe my dad knew what the future held. What he hadn't said was that he felt the same way.

It was an interesting dynamic; both of us being convinced we would never see each other again. Him trying to keep his head on straight so he could do his job effectively, me trying to keep it together so my children didn't see me falling apart for no reason. When he came home that night we couldn't seem to get enough of each other.

I know death is inevitable. I know it's going to happen; one of us has to go first. I don't know if it will be today, or in a year, or in 80 years. I don't know if it will be a gunshot, a car accident, or cancer. I just don't know. And I'm thankful for that. After those few hours when I thought I knew, I realized I don't want to see it coming. I don't want to be waiting for it. I won't sit at home in fear of what I have no control over. Trust me, I've considered it. Every time I get in the car, every time he goes to work, every time he works on our house or climbs up on the roof, every time we leave our children to go on a date or a vacation, every time one of our children is gone from our family for some reason, every time my son gets on the school bus I wonder if that time will be the last time. I've got to stop. After our second son was born I went through a time of not even wanting to leave our house. The "what if's" got the best of me. It was short lived, thankfully but I realized I'm a fearful person, and fear gets me nowhere. Fear paralyzes me. It stops my life, it makes me incapable of enjoying the very life (lives) I'm afraid of losing.

I'm glad my dad doesn't see the future and I'm even more glad that he loves my husband. I'm glad my husband's first thought when he thinks he is headed to death's door is to call me and make sure I know he loves me. Mostly, I'm thankful for Peace. I am thankful for the Knowledge that death isn't the end. I am thankful for Hope.

I am thankful for one more chance to hold my husband's hand and to look into his eyes and to hear his voice.

I will let Thanks be more powerful than Fear.

In Honor of National Infertility Awareness Week

Kate over at Busted Plumbing has been talking a lot about National Infertility Awareness Week. It has been a good read for me, with lots of tears. Last night I dreamed about Kate (if you're reading this, you were a cartoon); probably because I have been praying for her a LOT. I don't even know her. In my reality, she's literally a cartoon; a funny, sarcastic, witty cartoon. Yesterday she posted that she's pregnant, but after 5 years trying to conceive and four miscarriages she is naturally apprehensive. I've been praying for her ever since.

Her struggle is personal for me as conceiving of our first two children didn't come easy. All said and done it was only 17 months between the two of them, but those 17 months were filled with a lot of disappointments, questions and tears.
I watched my sister and her husband struggle with infertility for three years - before my sister finally conceived their daughter she was no longer eating wheat, dairy, sugar or red meats; all in an effort to get her body to do what it was supposed to do.
Currently I am watching one of my dearest friends struggle with secondary infertility. Her son just turned two and he is a joy. He was conceived immediately with only the fun kind of effort put into it. For over a year they have been waiting for the magic to happen again, but it has eluded them. Every milestone they celebrate with their son is shadowed with the knowledge that his "firsts" may be their "lasts".
Another dear friend and her husband adopted four children and suffered multiple miscarriages before she conceived and delivered her first biological child.
These stories are not unique. Unfortunately we all know someone who is currently infertile or who has struggled with infertility. Take a moment and head over to Busted Plumbing to see what Kate has to say on the issue. Then stop by resolve.org to see how you can get involved in helping to find a cure for infertility and how you can support those you love who are living through this struggle.

Learning some lessons

For our son J's fifth birthday we decided to surpirse our three oldest kids with a trip to the Great Wolf Lodge. We had never been and thought it would be a nice little getaway - plus they offer a law enforcement discount so we couldn't say no! If you have one in your area and you haven't gone yet, GO! We all really enjoyed ourselves and will most certainly be going back.
While there I learned quite a few life lessons; such as 24 oz. of canned beer is 24 oz. too many; pay the extra 28 cents for the bottle. Or never buy food from a restaraunt at a resort unless I like the feeling of being totally taken advantage of. Or puppets that pop out of stumps are as creepy to adults as they are to children. I kept making a mental list of each lesson I was taught and really couldn't wait to get home and jot them all down. You, of course, will get to be the beneficiary's of my great wisdom, although I only am sharing a few, which is probably a greater benefit to you than if I shared them all.

Please to enjoy ...

Secrets of Life

as taught to me by my stay at the Great Wolf Lodge

by Mama Hen

Secret: My middle children are cautious.
Life Lesson Learned: Spend a little bit of money on a small trip before spending a lot of money on a larger trip. Thankfully we were able to take our children to this fabulous resort for not so much money. We learned that our middle two children are weenies fearful cautious and are perfectly content spending hour upon hour in six inches of water and avoiding any form of slide, even if it is only 18 inches off the ground. I'm glad we didn't spring for the $3000 Disneyland trip quite yet.

Secret: Not all tattoos are created equal.
Life Lesson Learned: Maybe tattos aren't as cool as I always thought they were.

Secret: White bathing suits are a not a good idea. Ever. The End.
Life Lesson Learned: I like when there's a little left to the imagination.

Secret: Apparently not everyone agrees with my definition of "bikini ready body".
Life Lesson: I guess not everyone feels the need to have a flat stomach when they put on a bikini. Or that they should shave their upper thighs ... or, um, other areas that are generally considered "bikini ready". But they should ... they really really should. Not everyone should wear a bikini. They really really shouldn't. And hey, I've had four kids. I don't live under any illusion that I should be excluded from this category.

Secret: Some women have beards. And moustaches.
Life Lesson: I will age gracefully. If that means electrolosis, waxing and shaving ... even my face ... then so be it. And if for some crazy reason I forget that women shouldn't have facial hair, I hope my friends (and husband) will remind me.

Secret: Teenagers are the same now as they were 10 (ok ... 15) years ago when I was one.
Life Lesson: Teenage lifeguards are really good at checking out other teenagers in bathing suits, checking the pool for dead bodies and saying 'go' when it is safe to take your turn down a waterslide. Teenage lifeguards are not so good at watching for children who are drowning but not quite dead yet, hiding their disgust over hairy chests and making sure children don't pummel each other in the kiddie pool. Therefore, I will play the over protective Mother part well and keep an eye on my own kids, thank you very much. Besides, it feels good to be the first face your daughter sees when you save her from certain drowning in a wave pool. (...and back to the kiddie pool we go...)

Secret: White wife beater tank tops don't cover very much. Ew.
Life Lesson: Ok, no life lesson here. Just a basic truth. Don't wear wife beaters. Especially if you plan on getting them wet. The end.

Not So Secret: My husband values his family.
Life Lesson: Don't take him for granted. My husband is proud of his children ... and he's proud of me. He's willing to sit on a stationary jet ski for six hours just so his little girl will be happy and his middle son can have someone to shoot water at. He's willing to let a bucket holding 1000 gallons water dump over his head so that his oldest son can see it really isn't "that bad". He's willing to drive to Dairy Queen and get his wife a peanut buster parfait because "it's needed." He gives me all sorts of warm fuzzies and it is so important that I let him know how much that means to me.

Normal kids. Right?

Remember When Wednesdays

(I fully realize it is not Wednesday yet. However, I'm taking a blogging break for a few days to celebrate our son's fifth birthday so I felt the need to write this early.)


7:00 a.m. I looked at the clock. Huh.
I laid there for a second wondering what had woken me up when I felt it. A contraction. A real live oh-right-this-is-what-labor-feels-like contraction.
Dang. I better call Officer Hottie. I'll wait for another just to make sure.
I got up to use the bathroom. Another hit. Time to call the hubby and tell him to come home from work.
"Honey, I'm in labor."
"You sure?"
"Yup. I've only had two contractions, but this is it." I heard him begin to run.
"I've got to get back to the shop then I'll be on my way."
7:08 a.m. Traffic is not going to be fun.
"Mom? I think I'm having this baby. Can you come over and watch L?"
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Be right over."
L woke up. I got him out of his crib and sat down on the exercise ball as I snuggled him during my next contraction.
Wow. Where is my mom?
As I popped a waffle in the toaster, got a sippy cup full of milk, and put L in the high chair I began to think about what the day would bring. Soon I would be holding another baby. I sat back down on the ball when another contraction began.
This is different than last time. Where is everyone?
When Mom arrived I was mid-contraction. I couldn't talk to her.
"Honey, how long have you been having contractions?"
"What time is it?"
"7:18"
Where is Hottie??
"Um ... for 18 minutes."
She gave me a look - I can't describe it but I think it was a mixture of excitement and total terror. 18 minutes is a fairly short time to be laboring - and to be sure the labor is going somewhere.
Another contraction hit and I rocked back and forth on the ball. I tried having conversation with my mom, telling her where all of L's things were, who he was supposed to stay with, when to bring him to see us. I was pausing every few minutes to rock my hips back and forth on the exercise ball. A wave of relief washed over me as I heard OH pull into the driveway. The moment he walked in I stood up to go. My mom and he got the car loaded up with our overnight bag. I kissed L good-bye.
"We're going to have the baby!" I said. I wondered if he even knew what I was talking about, or how much his little life was going to change.
Why is Hottie talking to my mom so long? SHUT UP!
I started to walk to the car. I had to lean against the house since I couldn't walk through my next contraction. Thoughts of getting to the hospital and only being 3 centimeters dilated were running through my mind.
Like last time. But it feels so different this time.
"I think you should get in the car," I heard my mom say to my husband.
Ya think?
Officer Hottie lifted me into our car and hopped into the driver's seat.
7:45 a.m.
"Did you call the doctor yet?"
"No."
He dialed the phone. I was having another contraction and only heard him say, "Yeah, this is it. We'll see you at the hospital." Followed by, "Honey, traffic is bad."
Of course it is.  
"Can you also call Summer? I want to make sure she meets us there." I was determined to have a natural childbirth with my second baby and my friend had offered to be our doula. I knew I was going to need her encouragment if I was going to make it.
But this hurts. More than I remember. I wonder if Summer will be mad if I get drugs. Maybe she won't care.
Contraction after contraction. OH decided SR-9 would be faster than I-5 and I hoped he was right. He was making phone calls while I labored. Melissa first. My cousin and best friend. I wanted her there. He told her he'd call back once we'd checked in. Then his sister-in-law who heard me moaning and started to cry. And finally my sister. He put her off until the end knowing she had made me promise to not go into labor on Wednesday. Any day but Wednesday. She answered the phone with, "You have to be kidding me. If you are in labor I'm going to cry." She started to cry. So did I. She missed L's birth because of work ... and now this one too. I really wanted her there. I cried until the next contraction hit and I had to concentrate.
"We don't have a name if it's a boy," I said when the contraction was over.
Maybe we should have found out what we were having. Maybe we'd have settled on a name by now.
"I know. I still like J."
"Me too. What if it doesn't fit?"
"We'll see when he gets here I guess." Good enough for now.
I turned sideways to see if that would be more comfortable. I gripped the seat and the center console. I leaned forward and lay my head on the dashboard. I considered turning around and hugging the back of my seat. The only thing that seemed to help was making noise.
Why does this hurt so bad?
I glared at the cars around us.
They really should get out of our way. Don't they know what I'm going through? Why did we choose to deliver so far from home? Seriously.
8:05 ... 8:25 ... 8:37 ... 8: 50 ...
"Honey, close your eyes."
My eyes had been shut tight until he said that.
"Why?" I looked around and realized traffic was at a stand still but we were racing along in the carpool lane at 40 miles per hour, passing car after car. Our exit was less than 1/2 mile away.
We're going to miss the exit. WE'RE GOING TO MISS THE EXIT!
"OH MY GOD WE'RE GOING TO MISS THE EXIT!" I screamed as another contraction hit.
"I told you to close your eyes!"
I watched him yank the steering wheel off to the right and somehow, miraculously, we missed every car while crossing four lanes of traffic to make our exit.
I could hear him muttering under his breath, "Thank you Lord. Thank you Lord."
The light at the exit was red. 8:54.
The next two lights were red. The people in the car next to us were laughing.
Stupid idiots. Stupid stupid idiots. They are so stupid. Stup--- it's too hard to hate and have contractions at the same time.
"Honey, just think, you're probably at 5 centimeters by now! Halfway there!"
I hope you're right.
We arrived. They saw OH helping me out of the car and brought a wheelchair.
"Your doctor called and your room is ready."
"Good, because I think this baby might fall out."
"Honey, that's a good sign!"
Stupid nurse. Nothing is good.
They handed me a robe to change into as soon as I was wheeled into my room. I had four contractions while changing. They put a blood pressure cuff on me. I was hot. Really really hot. I took the blood pressure cuff off. And then my robe. I didn't care. I was hot.
"You're at 7."
Further along than I had hoped! That's good! No one is here yet ... where is my mom? Where is Summer? Where is Melissa? Where is our camera?
They put the cuff back on me. I took it off. It went back on. I ripped it off. They demanded I keep it on. I refused.
Officer Hottie was trying to talk me through contractions. I just made noise.
A nurse said, "Stop pushing." When I told her I wasn't she said, "Every time you scream you push. You need to stop screaming." She blew on my face to help me calm down. I think she had just had her coffee and cigarette break. I screamed in her face then told Hottie to go brush his teeth.
"Your dad is here." I was so glad to hear it but I couldn't open my eyes. "Can you at least put a sheet on me?" I managed to squeek out. The nurse took advantage of the moment and put the blood pressure cuff back on.
That nurse should be happy I don't have enough energy to kick her.
I felt someone grab my toe.
"Hi honey." Daddy. I could only moan. "I'm in the hallway," he said. I moaned some more and ripped the sheet and cuff off as soon as my dad cleared the room.
I can't do this. I want an epidural.
"I want an epidural."
"You can do this! You're at a seven, probaby an 8 by now." I said a few things. I screamed a little bit more. Poor OH. "She wants an epidural."
They paged the anesthesiolgist. The nursed checked me again. I saw my savior, the anesthiologist, walk into the room as the nurse said, "You're at a 9." My hope faded as the doctor shrugged his shoulders, turned and walked back out the door. I realized I was getting what I wanted. And it sucked. Yet somehow, amidst the pain I felt excitement and a new determination. I was really going to do this - even if only because I didn't have a choice. I was so exhausted between contractions I almost fell asleep. More and more contractions with hardly a rest in between. Until all of a sudden I felt like I had to use the bathroom. I knew what that meant.
"I think I need to push."
"You can try."
The urge completely took over. Officer Hottie stroked my arm, counting quietly to ten as I pushed. A nurse came over to check. "Where is your doctor?" she asked no one in particular, sounding a little worried. She walked over to the intercom and I heard over the speakers, "We need any OB to room 203. ANY available OB."
Oh boy.
"Can you hold your legs while you're pushing?"
Lady, I can't even open my eyes. If you want my legs somewhere ... "Move them yourself."
Officer Hottie grabbed a leg, kissed me, and glared at the nurse. He's always been on my side. I love that man.
At that moment my doctor walked into the room. He greeted Officer Hottie, he smiled at me, he walked over and said, "How are we do - oh boy! We're having a baby!"
"I told you to hurry," retorted the nurse. She canceled the call for any OB and quickly helped the doctor put his scrubs on. I kept pushing. "Can you stop?" the doctor asked. I responded with another push.
"I'm going to break your water," he said. "The baby is crowning and I don't want it to break while you're pushing." 
I don't really care if the water breaks on the you. Just get my baby out.
I felt the warm fluid pooling around my waist and then a feeling like I was going to explode; like I was going to be torn arpart right down the middle, but I couldn't stop pushing.
Then relief as the baby's head came out. And a cry. My baby. Another push and I heard my husband say, "It's a boy!" A boy. I knew it. Even though I didn't know, I knew. I was too exhausted to cry and so relieved he was there.
What just happened? Did that just happen?
"Look at this umbilical cord!" the doctor exclaimed. I opened my eyes to see him holding up the cord and giving me a thumbs up. It's funny the moments of clarity one can have when there is such choas and craziness going on.
I so wish I had a camera. You have got to be kidding me; that is one of the funniest most dorky things I have ever seen. Is he really giving my son's umbilical cord a thumb's up?
It is forever engraved in my mind.
"HE'S ALREADY HERE?" I heard from the hall. Summer. The doula. "I missed it? I had to stop for coffee! I left as soon as you called!"
I heard my dad talking on the phone with my mom. I could tell he was trying to calm her down. She wasn't happy to have missed the birth.
"Why didn't you call me? I was sitting in the parking garage waiting for you to call!" Melissa. She had been there! And still she missed it.
"That was fast!" Over and over I kept hearing how fast everything was; how fast they had driven, how fast they had gotten dressed, how fast, fast, fast. It wasn't registering.
I just wanted to hold my baby. The cigarette nurse refused to let me hold him until she swaddled and weighed him. 8 pounds 12 ounces. She finally gave him to me and I unswaddled him quickly to check his entire body. He was perfect. His cheeks were chubby. He looked just like his brother. And Daddy. He had red hair. The nurses told me I had to try using the bathroom. I reluctanly handed the baby to my husband so I could use the restroom. It had only been twenty minutes since I'd delivered but it felt so good to get up and move. Then I emptied my bladder; fully and completely for the first time in months. The only thing that felt better was not having nearly nine pounds of baby kicking my ribs.
I hobbled back to the bed where my son was once again placed in my arms. Everyone wanted to come in and see the him. My mom and dad, my mother and father-in-law, my brothers, my cousin, my friends. Our oldest son. That felt weird to say. We had an oldest.
"What time was he born?" I heard someone ask. I realized I was dying to know the answer.
"9:22" was the response. Officer Hottie and I looked at each other and began to laugh. Our little rocket. Two hours and twenty-two minutes of labor. Not too shabby. Officer Hottie still says the baby used my ribs as his launching pad.
No wonder it felt so different this time around.
Summer kept calling me a rock star. I didn't feel like one; I tried to get drugs and it was too late. She encouraged me, "No matter! You didn't get the drugs - regardless of the reason you did it! In less than two and a half hours! Rock star!" I still embarrassed me, but if I was being honest I had to admit I felt like a badass. Summer was my only friend who had delivered drug-free at that point in my life.
I want to nurse my baby.
Almost as if on cue our loved ones started to filter out of the room. My mom, mother in law and L stayed behind. L didn't want OH to put him down. He clung to his dad for dear life.
I bet he's starting to get that his life is changing. Does he know how much I still love him? I didn't know I could love two children with such intensity. Does he know that hasn't changed?
I unwrapped my newborn son and put him to my breast. He looked at me with gorgeous dark eyes and began to suckle immediately.
Baby, I love you. I waited for you. I prayed for you. I begged God to give you to me. He made us wait seven months to conceive you and another nine months to hold you. Here you are. Completely worth the wait. Praise the Lord.
My very pregnant cousin, Melissa, asked, "Would you do it again? Should I go for natural?"
Hell no. "It sucks ... but it feels good too. Don't really know how to explain it."
"Do you have a name yet?" our mothers asked.
"No. We're thinking J but aren't totally sure yet."
We decided Officer Hottie should call his cousin to look up the meaning of the name J.
"Let God Be Praised."
J was the perfect name for our new addition. Looking into his face I could feel praises welling up inside of me. Looking at a perfect miracle, touching his tiny fingers, hearing his quiet breathing, watching him nurse, I was overwhelmed with thanks and gratitude to God for giving me such a blessing.

My praises haven't stopped even though he is five now. I love him. I praise God for him. He has changed my life and brought our family so much joy. He was worth every month of heartache trying to conceive and every month of anticipation while he was growing in my womb. He was, and still is, the perfect son for us.

Let God be praised.

April 20, 2005

8 lb 12 oz; 21.5 in

9:22 a.m.

April 20, 2010

Spring

Welcome Spring!

Anyone see the resemblance to Benjamin Franklin??

**Hint: It's in the hair**

Seriously. No wonder this girl gets away with so much. 

He wants to be Indiana Jones when he grows up. I just want to kiss him right now.

This boy ...

Once he didn't want me to kiss him at school. It broke my heart. Moments like this more than make up for moments like that.

It's so nice when they play together so well! And no, this didn't end too badly. Just a few tears after the tumble...and then he was right back on! 

What the sunshine is really all about.

I cannot come up with a good enough caption. This captures all the fun and misery of being 20 months old, don't you think?

I love me so dirty summertime (er...springtime) feet.

Sistas

This is my sister. R1. Or Rebekah to the rest of the world. Or Boo to me. She's teeny; about five feet tall on a tall day.

I love her. Growing up we fought all the time. We are really alike. Except I'm tall. A whopping five feet four inches. In my family, that's practically gigantic. We're both bossy. Really really bossy. So we used to butt heads. A lot. Nobody likes to get bossed around; especially the boss. Now we get along really well because we have our own families to boss around. We can just call each other and complain about how everyone should pay better attention to the boss. In December she gave birth to this little chunk.

EV. One of the cutest little girls I know. You can be jealous.

This is my other sister, R2. Or Rachel to the rest of the world. Or Rachie Babe to me. She and I are less alike, but she and R1 are basically samesies. See the resemblance?

No? Here, try these.

Back to R2. She used to have a mole on her chin and she called it a Cheerio. How cute is that? She lives far away in a place I affectionately refer to as Hell. Or Phoenix. She seems to like it. She smiles. I hate it there. It's too hot. Kind of like ... hell. I digress. She and I didn't fight a lot growing up. She's easy going and pretty much did whatever I told her to do. She calls me Hen hen. I miss her and want her to move home. And when she comes home I want her to bring this little girl with her.

Lil. Love her. Her voice sounds like she's been sucking in helium all day. So when she's mad, it's really cute. Plus, her middle name is Darling. Seriously. You can't be mad at her.

This lovely lady

is Tara. She married my brother, Spud. Or Isaac to the rest of the world. Or Spud to me and my sisters. He lucked out. Tara is taller than all of us. She is also gorgeous, makes a killer loaf of bread, is fluent in French and has managed to put up with our family for nearly 7 years. When Spud farts, she laughs. They never fight. At least, to my knowledge. Spud and Tara are basically the nicest most easy going people this world has to offer. I think they really like each other. I know we really like her. She is pregnant with their fourth baby. I kind of hope she has a girl, because they have three boys, but they really make cute boys so I'll be happy if they have another. I don't feel too bad saying I hope they have a girl, though. Because we all need more drama, right?

Speaking of drama

This is LadyBug. My daughter, my daily dose of drama. She's enough girl for all of us.

This is my soon to be sister in law Sarah Jane.

She lives far far away in a place known as the Mother Country. Or England. She is originally from South Africa. Her parents have an amazing love story. They fell in love during apartheid, which wouldn't matter to anyone except that Sarah's dad is white and her mother is Indian. Falling in love was illegal. They are still married. And they are fabulous.

Sarah is hilarious and everything she says sounds super cute because she has an accent. She says "lovely" all the time and "done and dusted". She could probably say "poop" and we would still think it's cute.

These are the women in my family; my sisters and our daughters. I love them and I am blessed to have them.