Storytellers

It's hard to believe Natalia is already four weeks old, especially since we are still listening to Leon process her birth.  When Ree was about this age, she told the same two stories over and over again.  Like his sis, Leon is obsessed with telling a handful of stories, and on a daily basis, we get to hear about the night of Natalia's birth.

It's a long story in itself, but on the night Natalia was born, a nurse insisted I give Natalia a mixture of formula and glucose.  Because Natalia was a breastfed baby (I actually had to cut her off in the middle of a feeding to give her the silly stuff), they let me feed her with a syringe rather than a bottle.  Leon came over while I was feeding her, his eyes grew wide, and he excitedly determined that I was giving her medicine.  When they need it, I still give the kids infant ibuprofen using a dropper, and this was something about a new baby that Leon understood and had recently experienced himself.

For several weeks, Leon told the story the same way.  "Doctor give baby medicine.  Mmm...delicious!"  (The kids' medicine is fruit flavored.)  He told the story so many times that one night at a bedtime, a very sleepy Michael looked up and added the "Mmm...delicious!" part.  They say kids don't understand sarcasm until around the age of 7, but I swear Micheal's voice was dripping with it.  You could tell Michael really wanted to say, "Just shut up and go to sleep already!"

Jeff and I tried to talk to Leon about all the other things that happened at the hospital, not to mention all the other aspects of life with a new baby, but the story remained the same.  Finally, one day last week, the story expanded.  "Doctor give baby medicine.  Mmm...delicous!"  The he sadly added, "Bye, Mom!  Bye, Baby!"  I felt like a psychologist watching a patient have a break through.  We were getting somewhere!  The emotional part of the story.  He didn't like leaving us there!

Since that night he has continued adding on to his story, adding a new incident every day or two.  Tonight he even added a beginning.  Currently, the entire story (with translation):

Go sleep.  Daddy wake up. Go hospital.  (We went to sleep, then Daddy woke us up and we went to the hospital.)
Doctor give baby medicine.  (The doctor gave the baby medicine.)
Mommy help medicine. (Mommy helped to give the baby medicine.)
Leon help medicine. (Leon helped to give the baby medicine.)
Watch TV! (Ree, Leon, and Michael got to watch kids' shows on TV.)
Mommy bracelet. (The nurses put a bracelet on Mommy.)
Daddy bracelet. (The nurses put a bracelet on Daddy.)
TV over. (The TV show we were watching ended.)
Bye, Mom! (We had to say goodbye to Mom.)
Bye, Baby! (We had to say goodbye to the new baby.)

I'm sure the story will continue to grow.  Most amazingly, any details he adds are accurate.  Then again, this is the kid who sits down at bedtime each night and tells me EVERYTHING about the day, down to who ate what at every meal.  I also realized tonight that Leon's processing isn't just helping him.  As I tucked Ree in, she then started talking about her experience, with the hard part for her being the getting out of bed and into the car in the middle of the night.  She was smiling and laughing as she told me how confused she was that night.  I am glad she's at the point where she can remember it fondly, even if it took hearing Leon's story a few hundred times to get her there.

Our Spiritual Guru

My parents say a blessing before dinner each night.  They've visited twice since Christmas, and when they are here, we do the same.  Michael got used to the new routine, and although they've left, each night when we sit down to eat he folds his hands and commands, "Prayer!"  We then say a traditional Catholic meal blessing.  Michael, however, always ends it with a huge grin and an untraditional, "Let's Eat!"  We then all smile and dig in.

New Friends

We had gorgeous weather all last week.  Actually, the weather is still nice, and I couldn't be more thankful.  We've been able to get the kids outside and to let some fresh air inside the house.  And it's February.  This is why we moved to southeastern North Carolina.  (Although I have to admit, I really enjoyed the snow last month.  I am just greedy like that and want to experience all the seasons.  On a side note, our neighbors are moving to Naples, Florida because they can't take another "brutal" winter like this one!)

Anywho, because it was sunny and warm, last Friday Jeff and I took the whole crew to pick up Ree from preschool.  We went early so the boys could enjoy some time on the playground.  Ree's preschool is in an older house that has been converted to a school, and the playground is a huge, fenced in backyard filled with large, old trees and all sorts of wonderful things to do.  It's also a "community" preschool in which the parents are in charge and families are welcome just about any time.  As a result, there is typically a swarm of younger siblings playing outside while they wait for the big kids to finish with their school day inside.  As it turned out, the preschoolers were actually out on the playground when we arrived.  The weather was so nice the teachers took everyone outside to eat lunch and play.

As we walked on to the playground, I immediately apologized to the teachers.  We'd had no intention of walking into their activities, but they truly didn't seem to mind.  And I had to admit I was enjoying being there.  The sun was shining, Natalia was sleeping in the sling, and one of the teachers had brought a CD player outside and reggae filled the air.  Of course, Ree was not much of a fan of any of this, since she doesn't do well with sudden changes.  First lunch had been moved, then she had to contend with us showing up during the school day.  Not so great.  So while Jeff talked to her (she always responds better to him than to me), I got to watch the boys.

At home, when they play with each other, the boys act like idiots.  There is no way around it.  I suppose that is just what brothers do, but I always wonder if they are truly that inept socially.  Leon has shown signs of being able to adapt to different situations, though.  There was one night a month or two ago in which Michael wasn't feeling well and asked to go to bed right after dinner.  When it came time for baths, Leon did not want to take a bath by himself, and Ree amazingly agreed to take a bath with him.  During their bath, I watched as Leon started to take toys from Ree, like he does from Michael, but I could see Leon catching himself.  He actually asked Ree before he took toys from here.  Not that he's always this good.  Since Saturday afternoon, I've had to forcibly remove Leon from Ree's room on four or five occasions after he snuck in uninvited.  On the playground, Leon started drawing with sidewalk chalk, and he and a little boy from Ree's class ended up coloring together for 45 minutes.  I would sneak over at times to listen to their conversation.  It was mostly the older boy patiently giving Leon suggestions for what to draw (no matter the suggestion, Leon drew a line and proclaimed it to be the recommend object) and showing Leon how to use an eraser while Leon responded with "please" and "thank you."  It was very fun to watch.

Then there's Michael.  He doesn't play well with Leon at home.  And on the playground at preschool, he doesn't play well with the other boys.  He doesn't do well with taking turns and sharing.  Jeff said he's actually watched Michael refuse to throw a ball for fear that someone else will touch it, even though Michael knows the other child just wants to throw it back to him.  What I hadn't thought about, though, was the girl factor.

The girls in Ree's class love Michael.  They fight over who gets to carry him around (I have no idea how they lift him.  I barely can!) and who gets to pull him in the wagon.  As I was dropping off Ree one day last week, a girl walked up to me knowing that I was Ree's mom and proclaimed, "I love Michael."  And I had never thought about it before, but Michael does play well with girls.  At one point last Friday the boys were playing in the sandbox, and this same girl walks up to him, catches his eye, and says, "Hi, Michael!"  Michael, proving to be far more savvy than I ever imagined, immediately responded, "Hi, Maggie," and the two proceeded to play together for quite awhile.  I guess there is hope!

A Very Merry Unbirthday

My birthday was last week.  A lot of people commented that it was probably a strange birthday.  Part of me didn't really even understand that comment.  No, I wasn't out doing tequila shots or having a fancy dinner with all my nearest and dearest, but I was home all day with my family, and that seems like a pretty perfect birthday to me.

As an added bonus, the kids each helped me celebrate.  Natalia had a pretty good day.  I don't remember any crazy crying spells or her needing to be held excessively.  As an added bonus, she went all day without spitting up in my hair or down my shirt.  She is so stinkin' thoughtful.

Since our family parties all follow the same format, after dinner, I opened presents.  As the rest of us were finishing our meal, Ree slipped off.  Ree managed to unearth a gift bag and some tissue paper from the flotsam in her room, and she later presented me with a truly nice looking package.  She had wrapped up one of her stuffed animals, although I have to admit I'm not entirely sure who the gift was for.  It was from Abby Cadabby, and I think it was for Natalia.  Not sure how that fit in to my birthday, but it was still cute.

Although Chef Leon is the one always cooking, it was Michael who decided to bake for me.  On the morning of my birthday, he had out all of the kids' play food and was busy stirring and pouring.  He then put a tray into the oven in their play kitchen.  As he opened the over door, he warned everyone to "Stand back!" which is what Jeff and I say when we open the real oven.  He puttered around for a few minutes (cleaning?) before removing the tray.  He dutifully announced "Stand back!" again then presented me with a tray of cupcakes while singing "Happy Birthday."  The boy knows how to melt a mommy's heart.

Leon, my complete and total mama's boy, did little to celebrate other than help me open presents and eat my birthday cake.  I can't complain, though, because he is only two (my other kids are just freaks!) and he has actually been so helpful lately.  In addition to helping out, he is somewhat trying to potty train himself.  (I'm not expecting him to be done ANY time soon, but it's good to have hope.)  He just wants to do ALL the things the big brothers and sisters do in the books.  I hadn't thought much of his lack of celebration and then this morning, as I was getting him out of bed, he sang me "Happy Birthday" in its entirety.  I can only imagine he was practicing and making sure he really knew it.  Late birthday presents are great too.

The Parade

Two weekends my parents and I took ALL the kids for a walk.  We really needed one of those fancy two-tiered strollers like the preschools have.  With a double stroller and a wagon, I bet we looked silly.

Reality Check

I had forgotten how portable newborns are.  All they really need are extra diapers, a change of clothes, and mom, and they are good to go.  As a result, we have been taking Natalia out quite a bit.  I know there are those who would object to carting a newborn around in public, particularly during cold and flu season, but it's not like we're asking strangers to cough on her.  And let's face it - our house has a preschooler, two toddlers, and two dogs, and I don't get around to cleaning too often.  There is a good chance that Target is the most sterile environment she sees on a regular basis.

A couple of the outing have included dates for Jeff and me.  It may lack a certain romantic element when you accessorize with a diaper bag and choose your outfit based on what shows the least spit up, but it is always nice to get out without having to constantly pass crayons and cut up bites of food for the older siblings.  The week after Natalia was born, Jeff, Natalia, and I went out to dinner then we spent the night at my parents' apartment in town while my parents stayed at the house with the big kids and dogs.  That was a nice little getaway.  Last week the three of us went out to lunch and took Natalia to her two-week checkup at the pediatrician.  As an added bonus, for that outing I wore REAL clothes. 

That may not mean much to a lot of people, but women who have given birth probably understand the amazing feeling of putting on non-maternity clothes postpartum.  It is a momentous achievement to put on pants without elastic and a shirt not entirely shaped like a tent.  Now I'm not claiming I actually looked GOOD in my clothes for our date.  The pants were low-rise and still showed a bit, well, a lot, of muffin top, and the shirt hugged the, um, curves of my belly.  But given the size I was a few weeks ago, wearing an outfit where people would just wonder if I was preggers or really liked beer seemed to be a huge step in the right direction.

Thanks to an enormous surge in oxytocin and other happy chemicals released when breastfeeding, my general acceptance of my body has continued.  The weather has been warm and sunny the past few days, and yesterday I put on a regular pair of yoga pants and took Natalia for a walk.  As we were walking it occurred to me that I was within a couple of pounds of my highest weight in college.  As the runner's high kicked in (there are benefits to being out of shape - euphoria from just walking!), I started to feel all optimistic about the weight all coming off someday and was totally starting to love my body.  There are upsides to the postpartum hormonal rollercoaster.  But there is nothing like a preschooler to insert a little dose of reality into every situation.

Last night Ree was joking around, looked at my shirt, and said, "Hi, baby in the belly!"  I told her she was silly, pointed to her sister sitting across the room, and said the baby was out and that's why my belly wasn't big anymore.  Ree lifted my shirt, quickly studied my skin and said, "Mom, your belly is still big."  Doh!

Big Bro

We wouldn't have predicted it, but Leon has had the easiest time so far adjusting to the new baby.  He first showed signs of acceptance last summer when I brought home a book about being a new brother.  At the time, he was pretty resistant to new books.  When we went to the library, he would sort through all the board books and present me with a stack of books we already owned for me to check out.  When we introduced a new book at home, for the first few readings, Leon would play in the room while we read, getting closer and closer to the book each time.  By the third or fourth reading, he would finally sit down and look at the book.  But when the big brother book came in the door, he immediately plopped himself on the couch and wanted to hear it the first time we read it.  He knew this was important stuff.

At the time, Leon spent little time looking at books on his own, but he STUDIED the big brother book.  He paged through it over and over, naming everything and mumbling to himself.  He was going to learn everything about being a big brother.

But as the big day grew closer, both Ree and Michael showed much more interest in the idea of a new baby.  In fact, Leon started reverting, needing more and more cuddles from me as my belly grew increasingly larger.  By the last few days, he was practically draped on me every minute I was home, and I was starting to wonder if he wasn't trying to find a way to crawl back in the womb.

But since Natalia has arrived, Leon's desire to be a good helper and to properly fulfill big brother duties has taken over.  As soon as she came home from the hospital, he wanted to hold Natalia, although I could tell actually holding her clearly freaked him out.  Since then, he's limited himself to just giving her "cuddles," his term for bear hugs.  He has also started potty training, with no real prompting from us, and I think this is due to the fact that one of our books talks about older siblings using the potty.  More than anything, he studies everything we do and then assists as he deems necessary.

This generally involves him following behind me, "fixing" things.  Yesterday I found him mumbling to himself as he "repaired" the baby gear stashed all over our bedroom.  We had taken the toy bar off the bouncy seat and the tray off the swing since Natalia doesn't need either right now.  This was all wrong.  After he finished replacing the toy bar and tray, he looked much relieved and said something along the lines of "Done!" or "Better!"  As I tucked Natalia in tonight, I noticed a large pile of infant toys taken from various boxes and placed in the corner of her bassinet, and it was obviously the work on Leon.

Sometimes he is actually helpful.  Yesterday morning we were trying to get out the door, and I was running late and was a bit disorganized.  I had Natalia in the carrier part of her car seat and was about to leave when he reminded me that she needed a hat since it was cold out.  Good call on that one.

The thing that has surprised me the most, though, is how he has compared real life to his book.  For the first couple of days we were home, he kept running and getting me bottles and saying "New baby hungry."  It finally dawned on me that none of the books feature nursing mothers, and Leon thought I was starving his poor baby sister.  No wonder he was worried.  Such a thoughtful big brother.

The "Zero Birthday" Party

We've made it through a little over a week as a family of six.  All things considered, we're doing pretty well.  One of the definite highlights of the week was having a party for Natalia's "zero birthday."

I recently saw a picture a friend had posted of her newborn with a birthday cake in the baby's bassinet at the hospital.  I thought it was an adorable idea, and that planted the idea of a Birth Day party in my brain.  Meanwhile, my mom was having similar ideas, and from there, the party idea was born.  Ree, of course, was a huge fan of the idea and named it Natalia's zero birthday.

None of us had discussed when we would have the party - whether we would celebrate at the hospital on the baby's actual "zero birthday" or when we came home.  Either way, it didn't matter.  With the madness of Natalia's birth, the party got postponed.  As it turns out, we ended up celebrating on Natalia's one week birthday.

To get ready for the party, the kids baked and decorated cupcakes with a little help from my mom.  The kids made heart shaped cupcakes, bug shaped cupcakes, and plain ol' round cupcakes.

My favorite decoration was the cupcake Michael embellished with a leftover chunk from a cupcake he ate.

Ree also made a birthday sign.

Ree and Gran went shopping and came back with flowers and balloons of Ree's choosing to make the house more festive.

The kids insisted that we have shrimp for the party, so I made gumbo for dinner.  Following our feast, we opened presents.  There were a few baby gifts for Natalia, and even better, Natalia had "party favors" for the kids.  Each got a new activity book and a new Color Wonder coloring book with markers.  Good stuff.

However, as with all parties, the highlight was the birthday child.  In this case, the birthday girl slept through her entire party.  That seems like the perfect way to celebrate a zero birthday.

Adventures in Birthing Part IV - Natalia's Birth Story

Last Thursday night Jeff and I sat down to watch The Office, as we try to do most Thursday nights.  I always look forward to the time because the show is pretty dang amusing and it is one of the few times we set aside to just be together and relax.  On the commercial breaks, I found myself apologizing to Jeff for the millionth time about my behavior over the past few days.  (I probably should've been apologizing for my behavior the past few months, but let's not go there...)  It's not that I was horrible, I was just done.

It's a feeling I got the last week of my pregnancies with both Ree and the boys, and I'd had the feeling all week.  It didn't help that my body kept sending signs that the end was near.  Most women, especially those who were already full term, would be rejoicing, but I am dumb and had mixed feelings.  Part of it was I felt (at least at SOME level) that I should finish a work project before the baby came, and I needed to work through this Tuesday to do so.  I was also hoping that the baby would wait until my parents arrived in town on Saturday.  If they were here, they could easily step in and take care of the kids and dogs while I was at the hospital.  If the baby came sooner, things would be more complicated.  On the other hand, I was so huge and miserable.  There was definitely a part of me that was really, really ready to have this baby.

And it seemed like my body had been trying to go into labor all week.  On Saturday, following an hour of pushing the boys and a shopping cart through Walmart, I started having some pretty noticeable contractions that only subsided after an insane eating binge at the mall food court.  (Who knew it was possible to inhale an entire slice of Sbarro pizza in under 45 seconds followed by most of an order of teriyaki chicken and shrimp from a Japanese restaurant?)  More contractions on Sunday that only let up when I was horizontal.  I did get a lot of the newspaper read that way.  Monday morning I started shaking while getting ready for work and wondered if anyone would notice if I wore my pajamas to work.  (I thought this was a toss up.  I work with accountants.  They dress up for work, however, accountants aren't necessarily known for being observant of the world around them.  I know there are some gentleman I worked with at Deloitte who never would've noticed.)  Tuesday I woke up feeling great.  So great, in fact, that when I told Jeff how spectacular I felt, he just said, "Uh-oh."  Wednesday was a pretty regular day until I tried to empty the dishwasher after dinner.  I started by putting the silverware away, and I only got halfway through before I had to stop.

So Wednesday night I had a little chat with the baby while in the shower.  I said it would be great if we could postpone labor at least 68 more hours.  However, if she needed to come out for some reason, I didn't want her staying in to the point it was dangerous.  She just squirmed as usual.

I have a disturbing ability to compartmentalize when necessary, and I am usually good at switching off home drama while at work.  On Thursday, I completely failed, and the crazy, angry pregnant woman that resides at home showed up at work.  In a large meeting.  Whoopsie-doodle.  I don't think the situation was nearly as bad as my as my anal-retentive brain made it out to be, but I hated to lose my composure at work, even briefly.

But all of this was behind me as we watched The Office, and I just sat there and laughed hysterically.  It wasn't that the episode was all that funny.  It was just I finally had a chance to relax.  It felt good.  After the episode I took a shower and got ready for bed.  I crawled into bed around 10:30 and spent some time talking to Jeff who was also up reading. 

Around 10:40 or 10:45 I felt a pop.  Fairly certain that I knew what it meant, I trooped into the bathroom.  Yup, my water had broken.  In my mind, I said this to Jeff, but apparently all I told him was that I had felt a pop, and when he asked if he needed to get dressed or do anything, I just said I needed to call my midwife to find out what she wanted us to do.  I paged her, and while waiting for a return call, I went ahead and started packing my toiletries.  She called back quickly, and she and I had a brief conversation.  She asked a bunch of questions including was the fluid clear, was the baby moving normally, and was I having contractions.  When I answered "yes, yes, no," she said she would see me in the morning or when my contractions got serious.  (For the record, I love her.  You know an OB would've wanted to see me immediately.)

Once Jeff heard me tell her that my water had broken, he sprang into action, knowing my prior delivery history.  By the time I waddled out of the bathroom to report my conversation, he was already dressed and asked what he needed to do.  I repeated what she said, said there was no need to rush, and I think he basically rolled his eyes at me.  (It's weird, from my prior two pregnancies, I know exactly what happened up until the babies were born, but things are fuzzy after that.  This time is the exact reverse, so this is being put together from hazy memories, text and call records from my phone, and conversations with those involved.)  I told him we should probably work on figuring out what to do with the kids.  I had him start packing a bag of activities for them in case we needed to take them to the hospital with us while I worked on calling and texting our backup babysitters. 

My first contraction arrived at 11:01, and by 11:07 I was already on my third.  They weren't monstrous, but they weren't subtle either.  I had been pacing around, and Jeff had me plop down on the couch as I rode them out.  It occurred to me that the contractions were awfully close together, and I told Jeff we should probably just go to the hospital.  So he finished helping pack my stuff and went to wake up the kids while I called my midwife.  I told her we'd be at the hospital in about 30 minutes and she said she would be waiting.  I hadn't been able to get ahold of any of our emergency backup babysitters, (apparently they were all having a fabulous Thursday night!) so I also confirmed that kids were still allowed in Labor and Delivery.  She said absolutely.  Phew.  Not that I had any clue what we would do with them when we got there, but at least we could be together.

As Jeff finished loading the car, I talked to the kids and told them we would be having a sleepover at the hospital.  They all had stuffed animals and blankies, and I said they could all sit on the pull-out sofa in my hospital room.  We discussed the room, and decided it was a hybrid of a doctor's office and a hotel.  Then we talked about how mommy might make some scary noises, but they were just to help the baby come out.  They seemed okay with all of this.

I waited until the last second to climb into the car since sitting down sounded like absolute torture.  I wanted to be vertical.  As we were driving along, my contractions got worse.  I was incredibly relieved that Ree hadn't asked to play a game in the car.  She always plays a game with the person riding shotgun, and, go figure, I was not up to it.  I also started reconsidering my birth plan.  I had planned on an unmedicated, natural birth, but those contractions were starting to kick my ass.  I didn't know if I could go without drugs, especially in front of the kids.

As we got closer to the hospital, I started counting traffic lights, but I could sense I would be able to make it to the hospital without giving birth.  It was strange; I just knew it.  When we got there, Jeff pulled up to the entrance and started to walk in with me.  I was so relieved to be vertical again, that I told him I could manage to get up to labor and delivery on my own.  (It really was a short walk.)  I was far more concerned about the kids sitting in the car with the motor running in the ghetto than I was about my ability to get to Labor and Delivery.

I could all but feel the nurses roll their eyes at me as I staggered to the front counter.  It was about 11:45, and here I was "desperately" in labor.  Uh-huh.  I'm sure they were thinking it was either a false alarm or they'd see the baby around noon the next day.  I tried to fill out the paperwork between contractions, but I only got as far as writing my first name.  They finally asked if I was alone.  I told them, no, my husband was on his way, but he had to get the kids out of the car.  We didn't have time to track down a babysitter.  I was looking down, but there had to be more eye rolling.  Puh-leeze.

They did take pity on me, though, and said that perhaps they should get me into a room.  I started heading to triage, but they actually took me back to a delivery room.  Thank goodness.  The thought of having to lie down with a monitor on was just hideous.  As I was walking, I spotted my amazing and wonderful midwife waiting for me.  I didn't know it at the time, but she took one look at my face and grabbed a pair of gloves.  I've been under her care since 10 minutes after Michael was born. (Since I was no longer pregnant with twins, I was low-risk again, and released from physician care at that point).  She knows me.

We walked into the room and I immediately spied the humongous birthing tub.  It was seriously the size of a 6-person jacuzzi.  I could just imagine it all filled up with luxurious warm water.  Unfortunately, on the drive, I had already ruled out the tub for fear the kids would all want to go swimming.  I managed to put my purse down, and I asked if I could go to the bathroom.  Someone asked if I needed to push.  I said yes, but honestly, until that question was posed, it hadn't occurred to me once that I need to.  With the other kids, I felt a definite urge to bear down and push at the end.  I hadn't felt that at all this time.  It felt a lot more like I should've avoided the second serving of broccoli at dinner.

We headed into the bathroom, and I think I just stood there for a second.  Thankfully someone had the sense to take off my shoes and pants.  I started to sit down, but that meant not being vertical, and I quickly stood back up.  I can't tell you exactly what happened, but within a VERY short period of time, my midwife said, "She has lots of hair.  Your baby will be in your arms in just a few minutes."

Wha?  Huh???  I'm having a baby?  NOW????

There was no way I was moving anywhere for any reason, and thankfully I had a midwife who never asked me to try to make it back to the bed.  So there we stood, over the toilet, while I delivered.  Around 11:54 Natalia was born, and as she was handed to me, I quickly scooped her into my jacket and nuzzled her in my pajama shirt.  No backless hospital gown for me!

Natalia didn't cry at first, and by that time, a full staff of nurses were crowded into the bathroom trying to do their jobs.  One of her nurses was worried that she wouldn't cry, but she was looking around and wasn't purple, so I wasn't too worried.  When Natalia did start crying, she started WAILING.  At that point my midwife asked if I could move to the bed so she could cut the umbilical cord.  As I sat down on the bed I asked if someone could please find my husband and kids.  They shouldn't be too hard to spot.

They weren't yet in the hall, so as soon as the cord was cut, I asked if my purse was in the room and, if so, if someone could bring me my phone.  A nurse brought me the phone and also grabbed my camera.  There is a great photo of me trying to call Jeff.  Before I could hit send, though, I heard a nurse say they had arrived.

We have been reading lots of books to the kids about new babies, and  I can't help but make fun of The Berenstain Bears and The New Baby.  In it, Brother Bear outgrows his little bed, so he and Papa Bear go off into the woods to make him a new bed.  When Brother and Papa arrive back at the house, Mama Bear has given birth, rearranged the furniture, and the new baby is all tucked into Brother's old bed.  It's just so corny and ridiculous.  But it popped into my head as the kids came into the room and I said with more energy than I've mustered since Halloween, "Hi, guys!  Meet your new sister!"  I'm pretty sure Jeff's jaw hit the floor.