Tuesday, June 5, 2018

Happy Second Birthday, Cecily!

Dear Cecily,

In the morning you will be two, which is actually not at all shocking since you’ve been acting like you were two for months. We regularly have to remind ourselves that no, you’re not yet two, and we shouldn’t hold you to such high standards, but it’s hard because...well, because you’re ridiculously clever and charming and excited about the world around you in a way that projects well beyond your years.

A few nights ago, you finally realized you could just climb out of your crib and there’s not much we can do about it except put you back. That’s been exciting. You just show up when we think you’re napping, all smiles and ready to participate in whatever we’re doing.

You’re talking like crazy. You were an early talker, and you’ve always babbled constantly, but lately you’re just flat out communicating with us. Telling us things you want. Saying sorry when you’ve upset somebody. Telling everybody you love them.

You are so full of love. For us, for your siblings, for your Granny and Memere, for the cats, and for spiders. Oh man, do you love spiders. You recently got a stuffed spider you carry around with you and pretend is hissing at us, which is frankly pretty weird. You demand every day to be lifted up to look at the spiders in our windows, which you have named and watch grow from tiny little things to massive orb weavers with incredible webs, which you are fascinated with. The one in our bedroom window is named Puppy Nina. The one in the basement is Dozey Dozey.

You are strategically cute. Maddeningly so. Without fail, whenever you’ve driven us to our last nerve, you suddenly hug a leg and say “I love you” or give us your signature cheesy smile. I often joke that cuteness is the only thing that keeps us from feeding our children to coyotes, but that goes doubly so for you

You want desperately to participate in all things. When Simon’s therapists are here, you simply must say hi and get all up in their business. When Maddie comes home from school, you are completely overcome with joy. When any human in the house steps the slightest hint of a foot outside, immediately the chant of, “Mommy, I wan go ousside!” begins. You are eternally certain you are missing out, which is silly because you do SO MUCH.

You are the quintessential toddler. Did somebody leave paint out? Guess what’s going to happen next! Is the toilet open? Better stand in it! You are exasperating and wonderful and full of surprises. Some of them even good!

And you are loved. Oh, how you are loved. We love you infinitely. Maddie absolutely adores you, even though you’re not always the quietest roommate. Simon is mostly cautiously amused by you, but I think there’s some love there. The cats...well, honestly, they’re not huge fans. But your Memere and Granny love you! Your aunts and uncles and cousins love you! You are so loved!

I’m going to go put you back in your crib for the 157th time tonight, but I do it with a renewed spirit after reminding myself just how special you are.

Happy birthday, my littlest girl. Don’t grow up too fast.



Monday, June 5, 2017

Happy First Birthday, Cecily!

Dear Cecily,

Tomorrow you are one year old. I know it's a bit of a tired trope to say how fast it's gone and how it seems only yesterday you were a little red screaming thing. But it's so true! Well, mostly. You are a baby with many feelings and as such you are still often a bit of a red screaming thing. But you're much less little now. And you have a lot more hair.

There are some ways you suffer by being the third child. I warned you early on that you were going to get short shrift in the blog entry department and man has that been the case. You've gotten less individual attention and more hand-me-downs. Your parents are more tired, more stressed, and often have shorter fuses. It's hard being the youngest.

But there are benefits, too! You have a brother and sister who love you fiercely. Your sister, especially. Nobody can make you laugh like she does. You walked earliest of all our kids because you were so eager to join them in their adventures. The other kids got foods slowly introduced to them over time. Not you. You eat (and love) just about all foods. Your favorite is apples, which you usually call 'bapples'. Your favorite method of consuming a bapple is finding a discarded core your brother left somewhere long enough for it to get brown and then quickly stripping it to nothing while your mother gags. So I guess that's another benefit: Lots of leftovers to scavenge.

Those things are good, but they aren't the best part of being the third. This one is so good your mom is probably going to tell me I'm not allowed to say it, but too bad. I'm a rebel. Alright, are you ready? Here goes:

You will always be our cutest baby.

Oh, I thought Maddie was the cutest baby when she was born. I probably thought Simon was cuter. That's how it works. But you, Cecily, you are what they should put on probes they send out into space to prove to aliens that our young are too cute to eat. Your six-toothed smile is a killer. And because you're the last, you will always be the cutest. There's nobody to break your record!

Put that in your pipe and smoke it, you other kids. Except...uh...don't smoke.

Here are some other awesome things about you as you complete your first journey around the sun:

  • You know so many words! I couldn't even list them all and you pick up new ones every day. You say 'cat' and 'apple' and 'dada' and for some reason you insist on calling your mom 'baba'. I think you do it just to mess with her.
  • When it's time for you to go to bed, you angrily demand that your poor mother give you 'boov' to eat.
  • Your favorite thing in the whole world is babies. That's your favorite word, too. You love baby dolls, pictures of babies, babies on TV, yourself in the mirror. Basically any excuse to say 'baby' in the cutest way imaginable.
  • You are an absolute champ at going up stairs and total rubbish at coming down them.

And oh, Cecily, how you are loved. Nobody could love a baby more than we love you. And not just us! Your brother and sister think you're wonderful. Memere and Granny Jill visit you every chance they get! You have friends and neighbors who care about you and a whole wide world waiting to know you.

Cecily, you are only a year old and already I know you will make us proud. You are smart and funny and fearless. I can't wait to find out who you become. Well, maybe I can wait a little. Don't grow up too fast, okay?



Wednesday, June 8, 2016

Cecily's Birth Story: Dad's Perspective

Dear Cecily,

You're here and we're so excited! You are everything we hoped, and we love you even more than we could have imagined. We've been through this a few times now, so you might think that it would get less amazing with time, but that's not true at all. It gets more amazing. Seeing you born and holding you in my arms is one of the greatest feelings I've ever experienced, and I'm excited to tell you all about it!

Your mom had been *almost* in labor for just about a week. Her contractions would start, get painful, get closer and closer together, and then just when we were contemplating heading to the hospital...nothing. They would stop dead and she'd be back to little contractions an hour apart. Your poor mom was very frustrated by this, but she forged on as we got closer and closer to meeting you.

Finally, on the night of your due date (June 5th), it seemed like it might really be the time. Your mom didn't want to get her hopes up again, so we went trough our usual Sunday night routine. We put your brother and sister to bed. Your mom watched Keeping up with the Kardashians and had some salad. We watched Silicon Valley together, and then your mom went to take a shower while I watched Game of Thrones. I was heading upstairs to check on your mom after shutting off all the lights downstairs when I noticed she'd sent me a text message showing her contractions at only a few minutes apart, and a few at 1 minute apart! It was time to do this thing!

Your Memere was staying with us for a few weeks to help out and so your mom went downstairs to wake her up while I got all of our stuff together upstairs. Your sister had climbed into our bed, as she often did during the night, so I kissed her goodbye and then we were off to the hospital. We left home around 11:45pm. Your mom was a champ during the whole drive, and I told her the only way I knew she was having contractions at all is that she would suddenly go very quiet and still for a minute every few minutes. She's a pro.

We arrived at the hospital around 12:15 am on June 6th. When you get there that late at night, the only door that's open is the ER, so we went in there and told them your mom was in labor. We had to wait for somebody from Labor & Delivery to come down and get us, and I told them that I had only made your mom promise not to have you in the car on the way, so if she had you in the waiting room, that was their problem. I don't think they thought I was very funny.

Eventually they came down with a wheelchair to take your mom upstairs. We headed up and they made your mom get on a scale, which seemed like a weird thing to make a poor lady who was about to have a baby do. We were taken into Triage Room 3 where they checked your mom. At her appointment on Friday, she had been 3cm dilated and 70% effaced. Now she was 4cm dilated and 90% effaced, which was good, but they wanted to see some more progress before deciding whether to admit her since her cervix was still pretty posterior, her contractions were 4 minutes apart, and you hadn't descended far enough. There was no way we were going to go back home, so after they'd had her on the monitors for a bit to make sure you were happy and healthy in there, we got up to walk around the hospital a bit.

Walking around is supposed to help encourage you to descend further into the birth canal and help your mom dilate further. It seemed more like it was just an elaborate torture scheme. We walked circles around the ward, with your mom stopping every few minutes to hold on to a rail and try not to scream. She was not a happy camper. She used words that you are definitely not allowed to use until you are also having a baby. She also confided in me that her method of focusing during her contractions was to try to remember all of the cutie marks for each of the My Little Ponies. Whatever works, I guess.

Every time we walked by the nurse's station, she said very loudly, "I COULD SURE USE AN EPIDURAL" or something to that effect. She was checked a couple more times, and was making some progress, but it was still pretty up in the air. I casually mentioned to the nurses that my mom was a nurse, which I imagine is a secret code to make them end your wife's suffering. Eventually, around 3:00am after countless laps of the ward, they checked with the doctor and he said to go ahead and start the admit.

We got all of our stuff together and headed for Labor Room 2, which would be our home for the next few hours. We got all set up in there, and fired off some quick text messages to everybody we'd sworn to tell the moment we were admitted. Your mom didn't care much about any of that, because she was still waiting on her promised epidural. She kept saying things like, "There was only ONE thing on my birth plan: 'Must have epidural'". They promised the anesthesiologist was on his way, but then it turned out there was an emergency and somebody had to be intubated elsewhere in the hospital. With only the one anesthesiologist on, it meant your mom had to wait, so it was another half hour of unhappiness before he showed up and made the world a wonderful place again. Your mom would later claim that the anesthesiologist looked like B.D. Wong, which he definitely did not, but it confirms my theory that at that moment he was the most beautiful person in the world to her.

Once the epidural was administered, your mom was finally able to get a little sleep. Keep in mind, neither of us had slept in 20 hours or so at that point, so we were pretty exhausted. I managed to get a couple of hours of fitful sleep as well. It turned out that the epidural also seemed to have lessened your mom's body's sense of urgency, because her contractions started to disappear after that. After making sure everything was stable, they started her on a very small dose of pitocin around 6am, which seemed to get things moving again. When they checked her again around 7:30am, she was 6cm dilated and Dr. Howard decided it was time to break her water since the sack was bulging. Turned out there was some meconium in the water, just as there had been with your sister when she was born, which meant we'd have to have a pediatrician on-hand for the delivery and they would have to do your check before placing yon on your mom's skin. I texted your Memere to let her know that things would likely get moving before too long.

At this point, I was starving, but I told your mom that since she didn't get to eat, it didn't seem fair that I should get to. She and the nurse then spent the next 5 minutes convincing me that I was silly, and that the cafe had the most amazing breakfast sandwiches and if I didn't go get one I was a fool. So finally I gave in and joked, "Don't have a baby while I'm gone!" They both laughed and said there was plenty of time. I went down and got a sandwich, which did indeed look pretty awesome, and headed back up the delivery ward. I had to be buzzed in, and as I was passing the nurse's station, somebody said, "You better get in there, it's time to push!" I figured she was just messing with me, because it had been that kind of joking night, so I just raised an eyebrow skeptically and kept going and they all laughed at my reaction. As I opened the door to your mom's room, I heard a panicked, "He's not aswering!" as I felt my cell phone vibrate in my pocket. Maybe they weren't kidding after all.

It turns out in the literal 5 minutes it took me to go downstairs and get a sandwich, your mom had gone from 6cm to fully dilated and ready to push. I put my hard-earned sandwich to the side and we got down to business.

As soon as they did the whole transformer-bed routine and got your mom's legs up in the stirrups, it was clear this wasn't going to take long. You could already see the very top of your blonde little head amidst the various...um, how to put this...the various goops of childbirth.

They told your mom to push, and sure enough, there was a little bit more hair, another push and you could see so much hair! A couple more pushes and then you were crowning, the whole top of your head visible. One more push, and your whole head was out! Your cord had gotten wrapped around your neck in the pushing, so Dr. Howard did some kind of amazing ninja move where she rotated you and unwrapped it mid-push. Then out your whole body came in one big slurp at 8:26am, a little blue but otherwise obviously all there. They had warned us that because of the meconium you may not start crying immediately, but you obviously didn't hear them because first there was a gurgly little cry and then you opened your lungs wide and let the world know you were alive and well.

I went with you over to the warming table so they could do your Apgar. You scored a 9, losing a point for color, which I think is a total scam, because you looked like a 10 to me. While they were checking you, you peed all over the warming table. It was an impressive amount of pee. You're good at peeing. I kept saying "hi" to you while you stuck out your little tongue. They finished the check really quickly, declared you a baby, and took you over to your mom for some quality skin-to-skin time.

You wasted no time and immediately wanted to nurse and you were awesome at it. You spent 50 minutes of the first hour of your life nursing while your mom and I gushed about how amazing you were while you cracked open your little eyes to peek at us. Everybody I told about your birth wanted to know how much you weighed, but I couldn't tell them because you were too busy eating to get weighed.

Eventually we got to do all of your measurements and stats. You were 7lbs 5oz, and 20 inches long, which makes you the smallest of our babies, but you didn't seem to know it. You were so strong you refused to be swaddled and kept Houdiniing your little arms out. Everything checked out, and so before long we were moved to a longer-term room so we could hang out with you until being discharged the next day.

Your Memere brought your brother and sister to meet you that afternoon. Maddie was so very excited to have a little sister. The first thing she did was sing you "Happy Birthday" and then she got to hold you, which I'm pretty sure was the highlight of her life. You just kept looking up at her and I knew you guys were going to be great friends. Simon was a bit more skeptical of this new little baby usurping his place as the baby of the family, but by the time we got home with you the next day he kept coming up to sneak peaks at you, so I think he's going to be fine, too.

We have quite the awesome little family here. We love you so very much and we're so very excited to welcome you to it. You've got an amazing life ahead of you, and I can't wait to see what you do with it. Just don't grow up too fast, okay, smallest of my children? As a favor to your dad.



P.S. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I did finally get to eat that breakfast sandwich, and it was the second most amazing thing to happen to me that day.

You're Here, Sweet Girl!

Dear Cecily,

You're in the world! Oh my gosh, the last few weeks, I've wondered if you would ever get here. (I mean, I knew you eventually would, but my original due date was May 31st, and then it was moved to June 5th after your ultrasound, so you can understand that I felt very much like an overcooked turkey by the time you actually arrived, on June 6th, 2016.)

I'm going to tell you my version of your birth story. As is tradition, your dad will tell you his, too. (His is always a lot gorier than mine.)

I'd been experiencing prodromal labor all week leading up to your birth. Prodromal labor is when the contractions are very real (and very painful), but they eventually peter out and don't send you to the hospital. They just send you to bed, feeling vaguely depressed and very anxious. Every morning, your dad would ask me: "So... Should I go to work this morning?" And I'd mumble, "Well, I'm probably not having a baby today, so go to work."

On Sunday, the Seattle area reached record-breaking temperatures. It was hot. And it was my due date. My later due date. And I was very, very crabby. Your dad and I went to Barnes & Noble and Issaquah Coffee Company to cool down and have a quiet moment away while your Memere watched Maddie and Simon. The whole time we were in Issaquah, I didn't have a single contraction. I was pretty sure I'd be pregnant for another two weeks.

Then we went home, and handled bedtime, and your dad and I sat down to watch a really dumb reality show that I record on Sunday nights. (I am so sorry to make The Kardashians a part of your birth story, but alas. They are.) I started having some painful contractions, but I was not getting my hopes up, because I'd been having contractions like that every single night that week. The contractions got a little stronger when we decided to watch Silicon Valley. After the show was over, your dad wanted to watch Game of Thrones, and because that show is too violent for me, I went upstairs to lie down.

This is where your birth story gets a little awkward. I googled "how to induce labor naturally." Now, I'd already googled it about twenty times the week before, and I'd tried all kinds of things, like eating a pineapple, core and all (I don't recommend it - my mouth was on fire for two days afterward!), going for walks, bouncing on the edge of the bed, etc. I had not, however, tried one particular natural method, which is basically breastmilk hand expression. I was desperate. I tried it. And immediately, I had the worst contraction of this pregnancy. "Huh," I thought. About a minute later, I had another one. Then another one. I finally texted your dad and said, "Let's get going in a minute." I sent him a screenshot of the times of each contraction, and he came upstairs and said, "Are these one minute apart?!" So we drove to Swedish Hospital at 11:30pm.

In the car, I felt really positive the doctor was going to send us home. Then I'd have a super painful contraction, and I'd think, "Well, maybe not..." But I still didn't want to get my hopes up, because that was the worst part of all the waiting from the week before.

We got inside, and they wheeled me to a room where they checked me. I was 4cm dilated, and 80% effaced. So, definitely progress from the 3cm, 70% I was on Friday, but not a whole lot of progress. They wanted me to walk around the halls for awhile with your dad to get you to drop lower. We walked for an hour or so, until I thought I was going to die. I said the word "EPIDURAL!!!" probably fifty times over the course of that hour. The more I walked, the more intense the contractions were. Finally, finally, they checked me again and said they were going to admit me, and that they'd send for the anesthesiologist. (Thank God!) They set me up in a labor and delivery room, and I waited for the epidural. And I waited. And I waited. And finally I said, "IS HE COMING, OR?!" (Because I'm louder and more impatient when it feels like my guts are splitting open with every contraction.) It turned out that he'd been called downstairs to do an emergency intubation. Your loving and understanding mom who is NOT in terrible pain looks back on that and totally understands why it took so long. An emergency intubation is totally more important than an epidural! Your laboring and irrational mom was VERY panicked that it was taking so long. (Labor hurts, my friend.) Finally, finally, he got there, and I had the epidural, and it was like angels were giving me a back massage. So wonderful. Until my blood pressure dropped really low, and I got very shaky and threw up and peed in the hospital bed, all at the same time. (It was exactly as glamorous as you're picturing.) The nurses got my blood pressure under control with bed elevation and fluids, and I felt much better.

Unfortunately, the epidural slowed my labor down quite a bit, so they broke my water and gave me a little pitocin to speed it up again. I was still at 6cm dilated, so when we realized it was breakfast time, the nurse and I encouraged your dad to go get breakfast. (Specifically the fabulous breakfast sandwich they make in the Swedish Hospital cafe. It's amazing.) The nurse told him, "You have plenty of time."

Your dad had been gone for maybe two minutes, when I felt something a little strange. I told the nurse, "I don't think I have to push exactly, but I don't know. It feels a little like that." She checked me, and called in the second nurse, because I was magically 10cm dilated. Whaaaaaattt? It was crazy fast. The first nurse said, "Call your husband! I'll let the nurses' station know that he needs to get up here!" I called twice, but there was no answer. Fortunately, he was already on his way back up, and one of the nurses at the desk let him know that he needed to hurry. (He said he thought she was joking, but no! She was not!)

When your dad was in the room, and Dr. Howard arrived, it was showtime! It was the most laid back of all of my births. Dr. Howard said, "If you want to push you can, just to practice!" So I pushed. And I pushed a few more times, and there were lots of encouraging sounds from the doctor, the nurses, and your dad, and then, at 8:26am, there you were! There was meconium in my amniotic fluid, so they had to whisk you away to check out your lungs, but as soon as you were born, I think everyone could tell that your lungs were in great shape. You screamed your sweet little head off! Then you peed all over the nurses. You nursed right away (you are a pro!) and pooped all over me, and those were your very first moments. You weighed 7lbs 5oz, and you were 20 inches long, which makes you the smallest baby I've ever had, and you really are such a sweet peanut! You love to snuggle. You love to nurse. Your first night was a little rough, but I think it's because you had your days and nights mixed up. You had very little interest in sleeping in the bassinet at the hospital. Last night was your second night, and it was much better. We're home, so you slept in your own bassinet, and you had some great stretches of sleep.

You are just the loveliest little thing, and we are so glad you're finally here! Welcome to the world, sweet Cecily!

Your Mama

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Almost Here!

Dear Cecily,

You're going to be here any moment. Like...this one. Or...maybe this one? How about now? No? Fine. We're patient. We're all very, very excited to meet you, but I think your mom is especially excited, because it means you'll stop kicking all of her organs. You're obviously really tired of being in there, too, because you barely fit. You're sticking out every side. It can't be comfortable.

Everything is just about ready for you, though every time I think that, we come up with something else we have to do. Our hospital bag is packed. Your carseat is in the car. There is a lovely bassinet next to our bed just waiting to be filled by you. We have diapers and a changing table (well, okay, it's our dresser, but your mom has made it really nice). Of course, I still have to put your swing together and get your bouncer out of the garage and...okay maybe we're not quite COMPLETELY ready. But we're ready enough, so don't wait on our account.

As I'm sure I wrote to both of your siblings around this time, I wish I'd written to you more. There are so many things I wanted to tell you, but life gets busy. Maybe try to think of it this way: Instead of writing to you more, I painted your room and did a million other things. I've been nesting for months. So for every missing letter I should have written, know that I was writing to you with life instead. I'll have years and years to tell you everything. You'll be sick of listening to me.

We love you, and whenever you decide to make your appearance will be the perfect time for all of us. But for your mom's sake, maybe don't wait until July, alright?



Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Wisdom from Your Big Sister

Dear Cecily,

When I was pregnant with your sister, I did a blog post for her with the help of your cousin Autumn. Autumn provided some wisdom to fetus-Maddie, and now Maddie (who will be FOUR YEARS OLD next month) is going to provide some wisdom to you!


1.) One thing I want to tell you is that I hope you look cute.

2.) I hope you feel the softness of your lovely blanket and your lovely rug.

3.) Advice I want to give you is I hope you are a bird baby.

4.) I want to say I hope you're going to love your home that's a nest.

5.) And I hope you have a lovely birthday and a party hat for the birthday bird.

6.) I love you, Cecily!

I don't exactly know why she thinks you're going to be a bird. We're pretty up front with Maddie about biology. But in any case, she is very excited that you're joining us soon!

So am I. I am a box full of aches and pains these days, but it's a good reminder that you're going to be here SOON. Soon, soon. And here's some really great news: YOU AREN'T BREECH ANYMORE! Nope, your little feet are wedged up in my ribs, and your head bangs against my cervix like a golden hammer of pain. Dr. Austin confirmed it. So good work, Cecily!

On Monday, I had my 32 week OB appointment, and I took a walk with your brother and sister beforehand. You're going to live in such a pretty part of the world, Cecily.

And here's the hospital you'll be born in! 

This is you right now. My feet are nowhere to be seen.

And this is the rug I'm working on, that Maddie mentioned earlier.

We love you, and are SO excited to meet you! 

Your Mama

29 Weeks and Cranky

Dear Cecily,

We've got about 11 weeks to go, but it feels like 100. Except when I'm thrown into a crazy nesting fury, in which case it feels like 2. Discomfort-wise, this pregnancy is MUCH worse than my other two. I can't imagine how some women have six, seven, or eight pregnancies. I feel like a crushed bag of pretzels below my ribs and above my knees. Literally all the time. I wake up in the morning, and it's Crushed Pretzel City. I lie down at night (with my Snoogle pillow under my head and between my knees - thank goodness for the Snoogle!) and it's The Republic of Crushed Pretzels. You weigh two-and-a-half pounds right now, so I can't imagine why it feels like I'm carrying around a full-grown ostrich in my uterus. In any case, we've got 11 weeks to go. We'll make it. And then it'll be "goodbye, SPD/clicky pelvis/general old lady malaise" and "helloooo, super cute baby!"

Okay, I'll quit complaining. I'm awfully, awfully excited to meet you!

Your Memere is here for a visit. Though she's leaving in a little over a week to go back to New Hampshire, she'll be back here in Washington just six weeks later, to help with Maddie and Simon in the last few weeks of my pregnancy, and to watch them while your dad and I are in the hospital having YOU! (And in the weeks after, while I'm snuggling you and recovering from your exit from my body.)

Speaking of your exit. I don't want to pressure you or anything, but you seem to transition between being breech and being transverse, and you have a couple of weeks to get your act together and get head-down, but I'm really hoping that happens sooner rather than later. You're making your mom a little antsy. I've had a couple of very successful vaginal births, and I'm counting on having a third. I'd rather not have a C-section, as I'm squeamish. And you know all of the complaining I just did about my pelvic discomfort? I'll be doing a LOT more of that following a C-section. So turn around, tiny friend. Head down.

Your Mama

PS, I wrote this post when I was actually 29 weeks pregnant. I'm just now getting around to publishing it at 32 weeks pregnant, so that will tell you that your mom is a.) busy getting ready for you, and b.) a bit of a procrastinator sometimes. I love you!