Me and Baby

So, apparently, someone wants to be the baby of the family! This kid has given me a run for my money since the beginning. As I mentioned in previous posts, I had considerably more morning sickness with this one than the last two, but I chalked it up to age, and the fact that I wasn't suffering through debilitating migraines like I did with the other two. (And to be honest, I'll take the sickies over those migraines!) However, the high levels of hormones causing the morning sickness evidently had more in store for me.

The first sign of trouble was my glucose test, which I failed quite impressively. They want your glucose to be under about 130 for the one-hour test...mine was 208. So I had to take another test, a three-hour. No biggie; my midwives tell me that only 30 percent who fail the first test fail the second, and I don't have a history of large babies or diabetes, nor am I overweight. Lucky for me, I'm in the top 30 percent, and I did even more poorly on this fasting test. Not only was my blood glucose too high on the fasting portion, but instead of being below 140 for the first hour, I was 283. !WOW! That's a bad score. In fact, they tested me again, just to make sure there wasn't some kind of malfunction. The good news was I didn't have to stick around for the next two hours. The bad news was I got to leave with a diagnosis of gestational diabetes. Lucky me.

That was Tuesday. On Tuesday, I felt like a big fat failure who was also a little sad about having to completely give up the Dr. Pepper (again). Wednesday I met with the nutritionist and left feeling empowered and ready to take on the challenge. I dutifully picked up my blood glucose meter and started pricking my finger. (This is now a family affair because to a 3 year old and a four year old, there is apparently nothing more exciting than watching Mommy poke her finger and "put the blood on a stick.") And was doing great.

Thursday, I started itching.

Now, when I say I started itching, I don't mean to say that I had a benign, generalized itch, or that I was experiencing the typical belly and hips itching that women experience as their skin stretches over their burgeoning bodies. Oh, no, friend. This was a sudden, intense, positively consuming itch that over took every inch of skin I had. I itched inside my ears. Even my eyelids itched. Having vaguely remembered reading something about calling one's doctor if this happened, I told Rob, "I think this is SOMEthing...I think I better call."So even though it was late and it had only been going on a short while, the intensity drove me to call my midwives. Now, if you know me well, you know I have a tendency towards hypochondria, and I fully expected my midwives to tell me to take some Benadryl and that I'd be like new in the morning. Unfortunately, she told me to take some benadryl in the hopes that it would knock me out, and to get myself into their office as soon as it opened in the morning for some blood work.

That night I barely slept for all the itching, and in the morning, I had a pretty awful talk with my midwife. They felt pretty confident that given the itching with a total lack of rash, as well as a couple less conversational symptoms, they felt confident that my blood work would come back showing elevated liver enzymes and elevated bile acids, both diagnostic of something called Intrahepatic Cholestasis of Pregnancy, or ICP.

Now, let me insert here that having a conversation with your midwives that includes things like "amniocentesis, "35 week induction", and "fetal demise" is pretty much the best way possible to cause a meltdown in a pregnant woman. Nevertheless, I held it together until I talked to my mom on the phone, and again when I got to speak to Rob.

We had to wait until Monday to get the results, and in the meantime, I found out that my cousin had also had ICP (it has a strong genetic component), and she gave me some great resources. I read all I could on the subject to prepare myself, and on Monday, I had lots of questions to ask. When my midwife called on Monday, she let me know that the results showed I did have elevated bile acids, and that meant ICP was another diagnosis in the same week as my gestational diabetes. Both disorders have a very high likelihood of returning in any future pregnancies. Like I said, this little man is apparently working hard to be the baby of the family! :)

The midwives and one of the doctors in the practice met that day to discuss how to manage my care, and thankfully, came to conclusions that I was hoping for.

ICP is a fairly rare condition (one source said 1 to 2 cases in 1000 pregnancies) caused by hormones in pregnancy creating a malfunction of the common bile duct, which created a build up of bile acids in the blood. It is only resolved by birthing the baby. While ICP doesn't carry any serious risks for me--simply this insanity-inducing itchiness--it does carry some serious risks for baby, including stillbirth. Other risks are early spontaneous labor (in as many as 60% of women), fetal distress, meconium passage in utero and aspiration, and hemorrhaging. Fortunately, with the use of medication, fetal monitoring, and early induction, the risk of stillbirth in ICP babies can be brought down to about the same level as in typical pregnancies.

So, from here on out, I will be seeing my midwives weekly for blood testing, non-stress tests (or NSTs), and medication adjustments, if needed. They won't be letting me get past my 37th week, and if I am extremely symptomatic, or the meds don't work to bring down my bile acid levels, we may need to do an amnio and deliver even earlier than that. So far, I've been on the medication about 3 days, and I think I am just starting to experience a lessening of this dreadful itch. That is a good sign, and hopefully we can make it to 37 weeks.

This whole ordeal is, admittedly, kind of scary. In spite of the medication and early induction, I do sometimes have those "freak out moments" where I worry about what I would need to do if the baby doesn't make it. And I've also had to adjust my idea of an "ideal birth" this time around. Of course, I'd like to have another natural childbirth, but really, I don't care how baby gets here, just that he does so safely. I'm so grateful right now that baby has always been so active and that I know he is still kicking around in there. I'm grateful for priesthood blessings and the comfort of the Holy Ghost, and I am so grateful for the prayers and thoughts of my friends and family over the past week!

In a way, I am excited we'll be getting to meet this little man a month sooner than we thought; I just wish it were under better circumstances! All in all, I know that we are getting good care and I feel safe in the hands of my midwives. I'm also blessed to know a couple of people who have been through this and have beautiful, healthy babies to show for it. I will be so happy to add my little guy to that list!

So, that's the whole scoop on me and baby. Prayers and thoughts are so appreciated!
And, since no post is really complete without a photo, here is a quick photo of me with my round belly, just a few days before all this craziness!

For more information on Intrahepatic Cholestasis of Pregnancy, please check out this great website, full of information, treatment plans, and medical journal entries: ICPcare.org 

Easter!

Happy Easter! Just a quick post sharing some photos and fun.

My busiest time of the semester (check outs, apartment flips, and check-ins) tends to fall when everyone else in this town has a break, so we had a small, but delightful Easter.

We had an egg-hunt with some friends--other managers of on-campus housing and their kiddos, since we knew we'd all be working straight through Easter weekend.

Squirrel and Little Bird were quite delighted by their finds...

most of which were emptied by bed time that night. 

Then, after church on Easter Sunday, we had a little egg hunt at our place, in the courtyard for the kiddos. The loved it so much, they spent half the rest of the day re-hiding and finding the eggs! 

(Do you like Little Bird's bowtie? I whipped it up on the way out the door to church...and miraculously, we were still on time! He loved it and it was ridiculously easy. Maybe I'll make more...and maybe I'll make a tutorial...)

(I'm in love with the delight on Squirrel's face in this photo. 

 I mean, seriously, when did finding an Easter egg cease to be so incredibly awesome for me?

That must have been the beginning of the end of childhood for me...I hope she always 

gets this excited about finding Easter Eggs...such a simple pleasure.)

Hope your Easter was beautiful and a wonderful reminder of the sacred gift it celebrates! 

Leaving on a Jet Plane

In March, the kids and I got to visit my parents and family in Arizona. We had planned to go before Dad's stroke, but I was grateful to have the opportunity to see him--and all the family--again, this time strictly for fun.

It was their first time on an airplane, and they were out-of-their-minds-excited. They did great, loved the fact that they got to chew watermelon-flavored gum, and could barely contain their delight that there was a bathroom ON THE PLANE.

(Doesn't he look like such a big kid pulling his suitcase--which he insisted on doing himself the whole time!)

Getting off the plane in Arizona.

In addition to seeing my parents, we also were lucky to arrive the same day this little guy did! 

My brother and sister welcomed baby #4, their first boy!

(And he really was one of the most perfect little babies I have ever seen!) 

We also had TONS of fun enjoying the amenities of a big city. 

We went to the Phoenix Zoo, which really is quite nice. 

Watched Backyardigans with the cousins...

Went to the dinosaur museum (which Little Bird has been BEGGING to do forever!)

Digging for dino eggs here: 

And braving the T-Rex! 

And attending a favorite cousin's birthday party, complete with bouncy house, games and pinata! 

In news of my dad, he's doing remarkably well. I was so impressed by the difference in him. I know he still has his frustrations--for instance, he has beautiful handwriting, but it isn't back quite to that point where it was before the stroke (though it's much better than my husband's already!), and he gets tied up if he's talking in conversation more than 4-5 sentences (but was getting stuck at 4-5 words last time I visited!). I think some of his frustrations come from the fact that he sees the every day, small changes, but it is hard for him to step back and see how far he's come. For me, again, I have the blessing of distance and time--even though it's hard to be away, when I saw him, I was just blown away at how far he has come along. His therapy is truly helping and I am so grateful for his therapists. And again, I'm so impressed at and proud of him and the way he is working. He's ornery, so it takes a little to convince him, but once he starts, he really works hard. :) 

In July, after the baby gets here, Mom and Dad will be coming to visit and I can't wait to see them and the progess Dad will have made again! We've been so blessed to see them so much this year, especially given all the circumstances that have come along. It's been a difficult year, but one filled with so much love and accomplishment, too! 

Free to throw snowballs...

One of the things I have been working on as a mother is giving my kids a bit more independence. I'm sometimes the type that, if it were more socially acceptable, would wrap my kids in bubble wrap, keep them locked in the basement, and make them wear football helmets even when sleeping. This is a tendency I spend a lot of time fighting back, and because of it, I am occasionally smacked in the face with the realization of what precisely my kids can do, beyond my expectations.

Case in point: with this baby, I have mentioned I was sick. Much of my first trimester was spent losing weight, thanks to my inability to stomach the mere thought of food, much less eat it without it coming up. Most of my mornings were spent laying in bed or on the couch, mustering the courage to face my work day. Other times, I would drag myself around, attempting to play with the kids or get things done. Lucky for me, it turns out that Squirrel is quite the domestic assistant. Thanks to my illness, I learned that she can (and actually loves to!): pour cereal and milk for her and Little Bird; make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; start a movie; pick out everyone's clothes for the day; empty (some of) the dishwasher; and make the beds.

In most cases, letting her do these things usually left me feeling like a colossal failure (like when, at 22 weeks, I was throwing up again and laid in bed, and she said, "I'm sorry mama. I should have made us breakfast this morning, but I forgot." The kid still says "breffast" and is apologizing that she didn't feed her 4 year old self and 3 year old brother?!? Epic mommy-fail!), but I have also realized that she and Little Bird take a great deal of pride in doing things on their own. He is learning to use the potty and dress himself, and Squirrel is his biggest cheerleader and advisor (going so far as to demonstrate step-by-step in the bathroom how to get it done). When she makes a PB&J, or he puts his shirt on the right way, they positively GLOW with pride, and not even because I celebrate with them; there is a genuine and deep sense of accomplishment at doing something on their own. 

So...I am trying to give them a bit of independence.

We haven't had a whole lot of snow this year, actually a remarkably small amount, as I previously mentioned. But in the last month and a half or so, we've been getting the occasional fluff. And so yesterday, my kids asked if they could go out and play in it. And Squirrel specifically asked if they could go out *alone.* Generally, my immediate response would be to say no and distract them with a fun game where they would be locked up tight in my over-vigilant sight. This time, I reminded myself that I didn't have a good reason for saying no, and that they had been showing me how much they could do. So I set some ground rules and let them loose.

Mostly they stomped around, kicked the snow, and puddle jumped. Then they hung upside down on the banisters over the concrete steps (insert image of me picturing their brains spilled everywhere and literally biting my tongue to keep from hollering at them to stop...they totally survived AND still have all their brains in their heads!).

Then Squirrel got an idea. You can see it forming here...

And the approach here...

She pummeled her little brother with a snowball. 

He, in turn, came running to the door where I had just started taking pictures, near tears, to tattle. 

"Mommy! Sister frowed a snowball at me!"

Ordinarily, I would have probably given him a kiss, reprimanded his sister, 

and said it was time to come in. 

This time, I stopped to think, and then I said:

"Well, I guess you better throw one back at her!"

His expression immediately changed to pure mischief, and he was off to retaliate. 

And then came one of my favorite scenes thus far in the year: 

They had so. much. FUN. They both threw snow until they were out of breath. No tears, just laughter. No fights, just fun. And when they looked exhausted, I invited them in for hot chocolate. 

They were so proud of their outdoor play "alone."

Today Squirrel, wide eyed with excitement, said, "Mom. Remember that time you let me and brother have a snowball fight outside...all by OURSELVES???"

Yep, I remembered.

"That was really fun."

Note to self: a little freedom goes a long way. 

Maybe I'll let Squirrel make me breakfast in bed tomorrow...scrambled eggs, and hold the guilt. ;) 

My Dad

"In our most trivial walks, we are constantly, though unconsciously, steering like pilots by certain well-known beacons and headlands, and if we go beyond our usual course, we still carry in our minds the bearing of some neighboring cape; and not till we are completely lost, or turned around--for a man needs only to be turned round once with his eyes shut in this world to be lost,--do we appreciate the vastness and strangeness of Nature [...] Not till we are lost, in other words, not till we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves, and realize where we are and the infinite extent of our relations."
-HDT, The Village

Over President's Day weekend, I flew out to see my family, but most specifically, to see my dad after his stroke. He'd been in a rehabilitation center for about 10 days, and out another few days when I arrived. My excuse was to go out and help my parents in whatever way I could. Really, I have no doubt that the trip was more for me than anyone else, and the only thing I probably really did to "help" was to diminish my own feeling of complete helplessness that comes after such an event, especially when one lives 1000 miles away at the time.

One of the biggest struggles I have had, aside from this penetrating helplessness, was the inability to understand what condition my father was in. There's a lot of funny things about the brain, I'm learning...both as it is affected by a stroke, and as it's affected by emotion. There is only one way I know Dad. He's always been a constant, and to hear about this altered is very hard to imagine. I understood that he was having a great deal of difficulty speaking, that he couldn't read or write, that he was quiet and struggling through conversations. The problem was that my brain simply couldn't apply those descriptions to my dad. I alternated back and forth between assuming he was exactly like normal, but perhaps a bit forgetful and imagining he was much worse off than I knew he was. I was able to Skype with him about two weeks before I flew out, on his first day of rehab, and I have to say I was really shocked. There he was, right in between these two fluctuations, in a place my imagination had been unable to take me. He was still him, but he was really struggling.

Going out to see him was such a blessing. I think in some ways, I have it easier than my siblings and mom (and Dad!) who watch the progress more closely and see it day by day. For me, to come out later and see him was a huge blessing because he was doing much better than last I had seen him, and it again gave me some perspective about where he was. All the therapy (speech, occupational, and physical) he had received in the rehabilitation center had obviously done a lot of good (as much as he claimed to hate it). He can hold a conversation better, though he still halts and has to search for certain words. He's got a lot of work to do, but he's come such a long way, too. The kids and I already had plans to go out in March, before this other trip, so I am looking forward to seeing even more progress.

That said, it's funny how the brain works. I got to take him to some of his therapy sessions while I was down, just to kind of see what's going on, and also to let Mom have a break (though, as an aside, she is just go-go-going. I don't know how she's held up so well, considering her own health and some other news she got around the same time). It was really fascinating to hear the sorts of things he struggles with (on one day, if you asked him a yes/no question with "after" in it, he could get it right, but if you re-worded it to have "before" in it, he'd get it wrong), and to wonder how that miraculous organ up there works at all. At the same time, just in the five days I was there, I could see improvement in lots of areas--physical, linguistic, emotional, etc.

It's funny too--I love my dad immensely, and have always had a sense of pride to call him mine, but I am really proud of the way he is working too. Sure, he's still my favorite cantankerous old goat that doesn't like to do certain things, but at the same time, he is working hard too, and I would watch him think hard in speech, or sit and do his therapy homework forever if I could, because it gives me so much joy that he's working so hard to get back where he was.

My favorite part of the trip though was probably his birthday, which was the same weekend. It was so nice to celebrate a man who has lived a quiet life full of goodness and faith, teaching and learning, giving and love, to be there with all my siblings and my parents and recognize what a blessing it is to have this good, good man in our lives another year, and, God willing, many more to come.

Happy 68th to an amazing man! 

To my son, on his 3rd birthday....

Dear Little Bird,
Three already? How can this possibly be? I will probably say it every year as long as I live, but I simply cannot understand how time moves so quickly and how quickly you change into a bigger someone than I knew just the day before. How can I write all that has happened in the last year when my memory is so weak that it tells me with certainty you were swaddled up in my arms just moments ago?

Hmmm....how shall I describe you at your third birthday? You are...complicated. I really do enjoy this about you, because it means you are turning into a little person, and not just a baby or a toddler. You have traits that make your personality round and complete, and it often makes me wonder what you will be like when you are grown. To list the traits that (at present) most come up when describing you, I would say (in no particular order) you are: funny (hilarious, really), imaginative, ornery, delightful, intelligent, sympathetic, stubborn, determined, resourceful, pensive, deliberate, charming, and affectionate. (Though I will also add that the inadequacy of this list is really striking.)

I am sometimes surprised or delighted (or driven to the brink of my sanity) at the way you can so quickly change moods. When you and I don't get along, it is almost always because one of these mood swings has overcome you.

If you learned the power of your will before your second birthday, you learned the power of your voice this year. You have learned to sass, and how! Let me say here that many people, myself included, have been impressed by how well you speak, and how well you have spoken since you began. You are ahead of your peers, the charts that say what you should do, and ahead of where your sister was at this age when it comes to your expressive language. Like most two and three year-olds, you experience frustration from time to time. This happens for any reason from not being allowed to do or have something you want, to being overcome with large emotions like sadness or pain. However, unlike most two and three year-olds, you have a rather refined vocabulary at your disposal to use on me for expressing anger, telling the reason for your sadness, and trying to convince others why you are "right."

Again, while I am grateful for the gift of language you have, I am not always grateful for it's outcomes when my two year old can expressly tell me why he should be able to do something, or how he categorically refuses to be disciplined in any way. Sometimes I am delighted by your expressions of emotional depth, and at others even a little concerned. (Happily, there is still plenty of humor to be found in these instances, such as the time you told me while traveling back from Phoenix and stopping at a McDonald's for Happy Meals, "Actually, Mom, I would prefer a Sad Meal."

Or when you looked your Dad squarely in the face with narrowed eyes after he informed you that spitting was inappropriate and told him, "You are not my father." While I smothered my laughter at your far too advanced assault, he simply cocked his head and said, "Hmmm...I thought I'd have a few more years before you started in with that one.")

On the positive side of the language skills, I absolutely relish the conversations we have. You have started to ask why and how things happen, and unfortunately I usually give you answers that are too complicated. This is good though, because then I get to hear your magical explanations of why the clouds really move, or why the sun comes out in the day (it's afraid of the dark). You have also been telling stories for a while now. Your stories have plot and character, and usually are full of Halloween-type characters like witches and monsters and "ghosties." (You love "spooky" stuff and spend all your time at the library each week looking for the books with the Halloween stickers.) You have also entered one of my very favorite periods of language development, the "I wish" stage, where you will randomly tell me things that you wish you could do, like be a racecar, or go back to Disneyland and "ride that rocket ride." I love this insight into your thoughts and imagination.


























You know your letters and most of their sounds. You love mixing up letters and telling me what they "spell." You can count higher each day. You like to draw and paint and have discovered the apparently deep satisfaction that comes with using a pair of scissors (so far only on paper and some clothing, but I'm certain your or your sister's hair will find its way between the blades all too soon...). You run, you jump, you climb stairs, you throw and kick balls, ride a bike, fly like a superhero, fall, and wrestle. Sometimes you punch or bite. Often you "karate" and sword fight. This year, you have learned (and take enormous pride in) dressing yourself, how to climb on the countertops, how to use the toilet (though, as in many things with you, sir, I have learned that your ability to do something and your willingness to do so are very often not aligned), how to play with children your own age, and how to stand up for yourself.

You are sensitive. If I snap at your behavior, I can see you melt like a popsicle in summer right before me. If you are hurt, mommy kisses almost always remedy the situation immediately. You sleep hard, making up for all that hard play and big emotion: we must never wake you from a nap, because to do so awakens an antagonizing dragon-child. If we let you wake on your own, even if the difference is minutes, you are snuggly and pleasant and cheerful.

This year, you love Cars, space, dinosaurs, cooking, Charlie and Lola, monsters and ghosts, reading, rough-housing, your sister and baby brother on the way (whom you yell to in my belly), your daddy, and the great outdoors.


And, as always, what I love deeply this year is you: your growth, your charm, your humor, your intelligence, your all-consuming smile, and even your obstinance. You are simply you, and I wouldn't have it any other way, my sweet, hilarious, complicated, boy.

All my love in this year and forever,
Mom