Nursing Dilemmas

This might be slightly obsessive to ask the Internet world their opinion, especially since I've already asked a few friends with newborns their opinion, but I'm curious.  I'm just going to do bullet-points here because my questions/dilemmas are kind of scattered in my brain. Also, fair warning to any males who might happen to read this: I'm going to talk about my breasts.  And probably not in any attractive, alluring way. 

- According to the lactation books (yes, Mom, I know I should put down the manuals!), Isaac "should" be nursing for a minimum of 10-20 minutes per side.  Well, let me tell you...that does NOT happen around here.  Isaac nurses for a MAXIMUM of 10 minutes and generally only on one side.  I routinely offer the other side and SOMETIMES he will suck for another 2-3 minutes and then he's done.  He will then either 1) fall asleep or 2) lay there staring at my breast. I have done my darndest to keep him awake during feedings (baths, diaper change, stripping his clothes off, etc), but most of the time I will literally spend 40 minutes in a nursing session only to have him actually eating for 10 minutes.  Someone suggested feeding alternating for five minutes per side multiple times; I tried it and it totally backfired on me.  He nursed for five minutes, then conked out and never finished the other side.  That happened more than once so I don't think that works. 

- He has tons of soaking wet diapers and dirty diapers.  He does not fuss between feedings.  He goes at least 3 hours between feedings.  In other words, he seems content.  So, should I just give up worrying about it?

- Last night, he was awake off and on between 3AM and 6AM.  He had a decent feeding at 3 and then I rocked him until he was sleepy and put him back to bed.  He woke up (or never went back to sleep??) two more times.  I tried nursing him back to sleep once and thought it worked but it didn't.  Then he had a short feeding around 6 and conked out until almost 11AM this morning.  Does this mean he's got his nights and days switched a little bit?  Should I just try keeping him awake a little more during the day?  I've been keeping it dim and quiet during the night feedings to give him the idea that nighttime is for sleeping.  Is it most likely just a phase?

So...thoughts?  Experience?  Help?

Mom of Three

Prior to having Isaac, I sort of informally polled my friends who had more than two kids to see what it was like.  The general consensus was that it was way harder to go from 0-1 kid and from 1-2 kids than it was to go to three kids.  They seemed to feel like they were much more laid back and less stressed about adding the third kid.  The biggest struggle with going to multiple kids is just learning how to juggle competing needs.  Once you know how to do that, it's not so big a deal to add another kid to juggle.  So, I didn't really have huge horrible panicky moments while pregnant about how I was going to juggle three.  HOWEVER...I was not completely immune to the panic; it just came later, thanks in large part to the pregnancy hormones. 

My mom stayed with us for nearly a week, taking care of the boys and me...making me breakfast, doing laundry, putting the boys to bed, playing with them, cooking Thanksgiving dinner, doing awesome turkey crafts with the boys, holding the baby so I could nap, etc.  There is no way I could have stayed in the hospital for three days like I needed to do (I've always gone home after only 2 days) if she hadn't been there.  NO WAY.  Dave even got to get some work done at the office because she was here.  But as the day drew closer for her to leave, it was all I could do to not break down in hysterical tears because NO! I CANNOT DO THIS! NOT ALONE!  DO NOT LEAVE ME IN CHARGE OF THESE PEOPLE! I fully understand why people hire baby nurses now.  Sure enough, when she left on Saturday night, I cried. 

There was one day in between where Dave was home almost all day.  We went and got our Christmas tree and yes, I went, partly because I was afraid that being alone in the house with the baby would cause me to break down in panicked hysterical tears.

Yesterday was my first day entirely on my own with three kids and it was...surprisingly anti-climactic.  It was fine.  It was easy...well, maybe not completely easy, but it was just...ordinary.  Of course, it helped that Dave let me sleep until 8:30, he didn't leave until 9:30, a friend was bringing dinner and Dave was planning to be home early.  I was just sort of expecting it to be chaotic and it wasn't...at all.  I will confess that I sat around either doing computer stuff - like uploading pictures and blogging - and watching TV or napping.  I did manage to shower (!!), put make-up on (it's a pretense of confidence, people, not an attempt to look like Super Mom, so don't judge or compare yourself), do a load of laundry (which absolutely HAD to be done because seriously, I have never seen a kid be able to pee out of nearly every single diaper like Isaac does...and leave the diaper mostly dry...it's weird), and hey, keep three boys alive.  That's an accomplishment. The biggest thing has been that it does make my incision hurt to be constantly up and down.  At around 7pm, my whole body started rebelling and aching so I just had to completely stop and sit down.  I'm not supposed to be lifting anything heavier than Isaac, but what am I supposed to do when Noah needs to get out of his crib? 

Isaac, honestly, was the easiest part of the day.  All I had to do with him was feed him every few hours and change a few diapers (and outfits).  Timing was a little tricky; for example, it was naptime for the older boys, but Isaac was hungry so I had to rush through putting the boys down while Isaac fussed for a few minutes in his bouncy seat.  Unfortunately, then Isaac was wide awake so I didn't get to really take a needed nap.  Thankfully, he is the chillest little kid ever and the fussing hasn't yet devolved into hysterics.  Keeping up with a three year old and a four year old was the same...it's just busy but not any harder than having them alone really.

Onto Day Two...can the good fortune continue?

Isaac's Birth Story

My little one is one week old today.  I woke up at 7:46 this morning and was reminded of hearing a nurse's voice saying, "Start time: 7:46" exactly one week ago.  And exactly five minutes later, I had a baby.  I realize a scheduled c-section is maybe not the most exciting birth story since it's mostly planned, but I feel like I need to document it for posterity's sake.  Plus, I know that there are some curious ones out there who truly are interested in the minute details. 

Rewind to one week ago...

4:15AM: Dave and I got up after a short night of pretending to sleep.  I think I dozed for maybe an hour or two but it's hard to sleep when all you can think about is what's happening in a few hours.  Dave gets to drink a few cups of coffee and I get...nothing.  I haven't been allowed to eat or drink even a sip of water since midnight.

5:15AM: We leave for the hospital in the pitch black.

5:30AM: We arrive at the hospital. 
              Nurse: You're looking awfully cute for 5:30 in the morning.
              Me: Well, it's not like I slept much last night.  I had time to do this. 
              Thinking: Well, I'm going to look terrible for the next few days so I should at least
                             start out looking cute.
            
And thus begin the surgery preparations.  Really, I could have been there a half hour
before the surgery for as long as the preparations take.  They set me up in the recovery room, enter my info into the computer, hook me up to the monitors (I'm having a few contractions 9 minutes apart...huh, who knew), wash and shave my belly, hook up the IV and pump fluids and antibiotics into me (standard for c-sections as well as for people who are Strep-B positive, like me).  Dave relaxes in a chair next to the bed, gets hooked up with some more coffee, the smell of which sort of drives me crazy and gives me a caffeine headache.  It turns out we were assigned a nurse who is the wife of a prominent realtor in town.  She's great. 

Sometime around 7:00AM, Dr Lowder (OB) and Dr Polling (anesthesiogist) come in.  Hooray!  Now is time for Operation Prevent All-Day Vomiting.  Dr Polling believes that my horrible vomiting situation came from the morphine they put into my spinal block.  He offers to give me morphine in a different way that could prevent nausea, but informs me that I will feel much more pain.  Um, no.  I'm still pushing for a better solution, telling him the name of the anti-nausea drug that worked well for me last c-section, and thankfully Dr Lowder jumps in and says, "Let's just give her the morphine in her back and treat the nausea afterwards with the drug she knows works for her."  Yes!  Thank you!  EXACTLY what I wanted a doctor to decide.  No pain and no nausea...works for me.  NOTE TO FIRST TIME MOMS: Speak up for what you need and push until you get a good solution. 

7:20AM - Time to walk myself into the operating room.  I start shaking.  Now I'm nervous.  We walk across the hall and I climb onto the operating table.  Weird.  Just...weird.  The part of the surgery I'm most nervous about is the spinal. I know, shouldn't I be more concerned about being cut open?  I don't know why it bothers me so much.  This part is hard because I'm shaking with nervousness and the temperature in the OR feels like it's below freezing. Dr Lowder notices and goes to get a warmed up blanket, which he wraps around my shoulders. Thankfully I have a great nurse who holds me still and talks calmly and soothingly while the spinal block gets put in.  I feel my legs getting warm and fading away from the rest of my body.  They lay me down and get started.  My blood pressure and heart rate drop slightly, but enough to make me horribly and immediately nauseous.  It comes on so quickly that the anesthesiologist can't even fix it fast enough and I wind up being sick right there.  He gives me something to push my blood pressure back up and the nausea lifts. 

The nurses finally bring Dave in to me once they have the sterile field up and are almost ready for the surgery to begin.  He sits next to my head in his sterile space suit and holds my hand.  He's excited.  And then the nurse says, "Start time: 7:46".  I feel the tugging and pushing...at one point I remark (to the amusement of Dr Lowder), that, although I am very thankful for it, this is a really weird way to have a baby.  Dr Lowder tells me he has to work a little bit to get his head out (sitting low, I guess...between that comment and the contractions, it makes me wonder if I really would have gone into labor soon).  He tells me he can see lots of dark hair.  And then suddenly, he's out.  The nurse is holding him up behind Dave for us to see and the baby is screaming bloody murder.  The hair is insane.  The tears come...sigh...he's ok.  He's beautiful.  He looks bigger than my other babies.  And he is.  He weighs 7lbs 10oz.  My other babies were 7lbs 4oz and 7lbs 3oz.  I'll bet that had he gone full term he could have been an 8 pounder.  Isaac keeps crying while they take his Apgars (8, 9...first time I've ever heard what they were) and doesn't stop until he's swaddled.  Dave gets to "cut the cord" (during c-sections, they cut an extra long length of cord and then let the father cut it to the appropriate length). 

Dave leaves with the nursery nurse to go watch them do whatever it is they do with newborns and I am sewed shut.  Dr Lowder again notices that I am cold and puts another warmed blanket on me...I'm struck by how kind and involved that was for him; he could have sent a nurse to do it but he did it himself.  I get wheeled to the recovery room for about an hour, after which time I am only beginning to be able to wiggle my left toe.  The rest of me is completely numb.  Dave and I get taken to my Mother/Baby room.  I don't think I get to see Isaac until around 9:30am.  I hold him for a minute, but I am so hazy and sleepy on morphine that I have to ask Dave to take him again. 

I spend the rest of the day barely able to prop my eyes open, courtesy of the morphine.  But hey, ZERO pain, so that's a perfectly acceptable trade-off.  I am able to try nursing sometime and Isaac is a champ.  Pops right on and sucks away.  YES!!!  Nursing went great for the rest of the hospital stay...milk drunkness is a wonderful thing.

For anyone curious...I only vomited once after sipping on water for about three hours.  The nurse came in immediately with the Magic Drug and that was the end of that.  No 14 hours of vomiting this time!  Yea for doctors who listen to you!

Thank you to everyone who listened and did NOT come visit on Day One.  Seriously.  I'm not being sarcastic.  My mom and Dave's family got to come see him and those were the only people we had planned on permitting. 

That night, Dave went home to sleep and I made the best decision of my hospital stay to SEND THE KID TO THE NURSERY.  NOTE TO FIRST TIME MOMS:  SEND THE KID TO THE NURSERY AT NIGHT.  Seriously.  No one will judge you.  You have the rest of his/her life to bond and get up with them all night.  No one hands out Martyr Mom Awards for the most tired mother.  You can still snuggle them when they come in for feedings.  You can still bond with them.  It will not hurt your bonding process to allow them away from you for a few hours at night.  You have the rest of the kids life to bond and snuggle.  When the nurse asked me if I wanted her to take Isaac to the nursery, I gave an emphatic "yes".  I then told her that my first time around, I was afraid I was being judged as a bad, uninvolved mother to send him.  She assured me that the nurses absolutely DO NOT think that and that, in fact, they think the ones who DON'T send the babies to the nursery are the completely exhausted ones.  And guess what?  I got almost 6 hours of sleep!!  The first night!!  And when I woke up in the morning, I felt lucid and like I could finally process his cuteness and teeny-tinyness...

...and THE HAIR!!!  Oh, THE HAIR!!!  It hasn't stopped sticking straight up since he was cleaned off.

So that's the birth story.  I have lots more churning in my mind that I need to write about at some point, but I'll stop there.  Don't ask me how in the world I have time to write all this.  It's cathartic.  Post-partum hormones SUCK.  I need to keep talking to keep it at bay, but hey, more on that later.  Ugh.  Anyway, we're now a family of five...three boys...awesome.

Meet the Baby!

Isaac Cabot Spence was born this morning at 7:52am weighing 7lbs 10oz and laying 20 inches in length. He's nursing great so far and we are all doing well!

The Day After Tomorrow

So, you know how people like to make a "birth plan"?  And then they're shocked that it doesn't get followed 100%?  Well, I don't have a birth plan because by this point I've realized that we only have a limited amount of control over what happens during any childbirth (and the rest of parenting, for that matter), but this third time around, I do have some stronger ideas about what I hope happens during my hospital stay. 

1) I HOPE I don't vomit all day long.  That's at the top of my priority list.  During my second c-section, I vomited for 14 hours until my brilliant nurse FINALLY gave me the magic drug that the doctor had ordered for me hours earlier.  I've already discussed this situation with my OB and plan on discussing it with the anesthesiologist and the OB again right before and after the surgery.  I understand that some nausea and vomiting is typical but 14 hours is too long.  Last time, I couldn't even keep water down and it was extremely difficult to nurse. 

2) With that in mind, I HOPE that no one - other than grandparents - comes to visit on the first day.  Hear that?  That is an order.  DO NOT read that as me being self-conscious about my appearance or the fact that any visitor will get to see a bag of my urine hanging on the side of the bed since I'll have a catheter in all day. I just don't particularly want to be vomiting in front of anyone.  So if you really want to come see the baby, I would love for you to come the next day.  And if you do come, call first.  And bring chocolate.  Or maybe wine. 

3) I HOPE to send my baby to the nursery sometimes and I don't care what anyone thinks of me.  According to my Women and Children's Services packet of information, "research has proven how important couplet care is to bonding.  Couplet Care provides more opportunities to care for your baby with the support of our trained staff.  When you go home, you will have greater confidence in caring for our baby than families receiving traditional care."  Yeah...whatever.  The way I see it, we'll be bonding for the rest of our lives.  The baby will survive a few hours in the nursery.  Not to mention that I know how to take care of a newborn.

4) I HOPE nursing goes well this time.  I have always been pretty honest about the fact that I really dislike breastfeeding.  For me, it has never been that "divine bonding experience" that many women find it to be.  I think I like the idea of nursing, of being the best source of nourishment for my baby.  But...I hate being a milk factory. I hate nursing bras.  I don't feel attractive when I'm nursing.  I just do it as long as I can stand it because I know that it is the healthiest option for the baby.  Plus, it does help with the weight loss.  I had a difficult time learning to nurse with Ethan, but with Noah it started out perfectly.  Of course, what started out perfectly went downhill after six weeks for some unknown reason.  I'm fully prepared to start nursing this one, and I'm shooting for doing it for at least 6 months.  I bought a double breastpump, as well as a copy of The Nursing Mother's Companion to help my trouble-shoot and I plan on talking to the lactation consultant when she makes her rounds. 

5) I THINK that my hospital bag is complete and it is much simpler this time around.  Toiletries, one outfit, my own underwear and pads (remember those glorious mesh panties and surfboards they like to call "maxi pads"?), a book, camera and chargers, nursing supplies, one outfit for the baby to come home in and food because we all know it's pretty much not the greatest. 

6) I THINK that Dave and I have decided that he will not be staying overnight at the hospital with me.  Because I hate the hospital and get nervous alone there, the last two times I was adamant that I wanted Dave to stay over at the hospital with me the first night.  This time, I'm not so sure.  We've realized that he really wasn't able to be all that helpful.  He can't sleep because there are people in and out of the room all night long; the one time he did fall asleep, I actually needed his help to get the baby out of the bassinet to nurse, and I couldn't wake him up from 5 feet away.  Plus, we do have two other children to think about this time.

I think I need to stop writing now.  Sitting here writing it all is making me a little nervous.  The c-section is scheduled for 7:30am on Monday, which means we need to be at the hospital at 5:30am, which means I will not be sleeping AT ALL the night before.  I will be laying in my bed pretending to sleep.  I can't have anything to eat or drink after midnight Sunday night.  So, if you think about it, keep us in your prayers on Monday! 

Deep breath...here we go.

Perspective

My goal at the beginning of this year was to read five books a month.  So far I have managed to at least average that.  However, this is November - the BIRTH MONTH!  The month when I will have a baby and never read another book ever again for the rest of my life!!!  Just kidding...but it feels like that.  So in my frantic attempt to get things done before the baby, I am also attempting to finish a few more books. 

Last night I read a chapter in Gary Thomas's book Sacred Parenting: How Raising Children Shapes Our Souls (highly recommended, by the way) that sort of put all my frantic nesting and worrying into perspective.  Just thought I would share. 

Thomas starts out by talking about what he calls "a very boring chapter in the Bible", namely Genesis 5, which consists mainly of a list of who fathered whom and then died with no mention of any other accomplishments in their life.  He goes on to make this point:

God chooses to simplify these men's lives by mentioning their most important work - having kids, dying, and then getting out of the way.  I wonder how we might simplify our own lives by recognizing that eighty percent or more of what we spend our time on will ultimately be forgotten.  Perhaps we might pay a little more attention to the remaining twenty percent.  Indeed, the effort we put into creating a lasting legacy through children and grandchildren might increase significantly.

If you're still not convinced, take a test: Tell me the first name of your paternal great-great-great-grandfather.  That's just five generations removed.  Can you name his wife?  Where did the two of them live?  You probably can't answer that, but since there are always a few genealogy buffs out there, let me dig a little deeper.  Were these ancestors of yours physically fit or out of shape?  How did they spend their free time?  What caused them the most worry in life?  What part of their body hurt the most, and from what - arthritis, sinus trouble, a backache?  How many credit payments did they miss? How did they come up with enough money to pay for their daughter's wedding?  What was their favorite meal?

Almost none of us can even begin to answer these questions about our ancient ancestors, yet these concerns often drive our own existence.  Now let's get a little more personal.  If you can't answer this about your great-great-great-grandparents, what makes you think your great-great-great-grandchildren will be able to answer these questions about you?

In short, when we're painfully honest, we have to admit that most of what we fret over will, in the not-too-distant future, become absolutely irrelevant, forgotten, and wiped away:

• How long do we have to wait before we remodel the kitchen?
• How will we scrape together enough money to get that down payment for the larger house or the new car?
• When am I ever going to get my hair to behave?
• How long can I endure a subpar marriage?

If my soul focuses on these concerns to the exclusion of loftier aims, I'm already living an antiquated life.  In just two generations beyond - just two generations! - nobody will much care about the things that so greatly concern me now...Genesis 5 makes me want to enjoy and serve my God, enjoy my [spouse], invest a lot of time in my kids, and then welcome death as my part in getting out of the way so others can be born, live, and do the same.

I guess I should stop worrying about canned beans...and whether or not my hairbrushes are soaked and disinfected...or whether my house is perfectly decorated for Christmas...or if there are scratches on my fridge...or even if I have the perfect breastfeeding relationship with Baby I or if my body has stretch marks.  Having an eternal perspective changes everything.

I Just Need to Know

For parents of small children (or those who haven't actually blocked those years out in their memories):

I just need to know if your house is anything like mine.  Or if my kids are just...crazy.

Do your kids find creative ways to "sit" in their chairs at meal times?

Do your kids routinely fall off their chairs during mealtime?

Do most of your words during mealtimes contain instructions on tasting this food or that food or finishing their vegetables or not getting dessert until they eat their chicken or...whatever?

Is it a crisis when your kids can't get their food to stay on the fork or spoon?

Is there ever a fountain of tears when a child can't get the Mega Blocks to connect on their first try or when the cave of blocks they've built crashes to the ground? 

Does bedtime feel like the most chaotic time of the day? Does it make you exhausted and ready for your own bedtime?

Do your kids suddenly decide that bedtime is the perfect time of the day to begin a game of tag between their bedrooms?

Do your kids ever wash their hands one millimeter of a finger at a time until you feel like you might scream?  And once their hands are clean and dry, do they develop a curiousity about what it would feel like to put their dry hands into the bubbles collecting in the sink drain?

Do you have to tell your kids multiple times every single day (maybe twice a day) to keep their mouths open so you can brush their teeth?

Can your kids dress themselves but take so long to do so that you end up doing it for them just so that it's overwith?  Do they ever dress themselves by moving the pieces of clothing onto their body an inch at a time?

Do you feel like you can't keep track of which direction(s) your children are running?

Do you feel like you spend most of the day either ignoring the mess of toys or cleaning up that mess of toys?

Do you feel like you didn't accomplish anything all day long even though you have multiple tasks started because you were interrupted so many times?

Do you find random artwork made from confiscated markers or chalk on your walls? Or muddy handprints on your recently painted bathroom walls?

Does going to the grocery store with all your kids feel like a task better suited for that "Survivor" show?  Do your kids argue about who gets to put items in the cart?  Does the one walking occasionally disappear around the end of the aisle and briefly send you into a panic?

Do you walk past the toy aisles in Target and have to explain every single time that no, we are not buying toys?  No, we are not stopping to look at Finn McMissle again.  Yes, that is the new Cars movie, but no, we can't get it.  On the flip side, do you ever buy your kids a new Matchbox car or a Lunchables meal just so that you can finish the shopping trip in peace?

Do you ever pretend you don't hear that tantrum occurring 6 inches from your face while in a public place?  Do your kids ever throw fits in public places? 

Do you ever list off every single toy in the house as a possible activity and have every single suggestion shot down?

Do your kids suddenly become incapable of building a train track by themselves even though they've done it 50 times?  Or incapable ("I can't!!") of walking up the stairs to their bedrooms to get their stuffed animal so they can play zoo?

Does the child who previously slept 12 hours at night suddenly start waking up at 5:30am every single morning...and being so awake that you hear the Veggie Tales theme song being sung over and over...and eventually it reaches such a level of volume that you just can't pretend any longer that you didn't hear it coming through the monitor?

Do you sometimes feel like eating an actual meal or sleeping at night is a privilege instead of a need?

I just need to know if any of these things happen in anyone else's house.  Sure, there are lots and lots of wonderful things that happen in my house, but the other day I had one of those moments where I wondered if my parenting was accomplishing anything or if my kids were terrors or if I was a terrible parent creating an undisciplined, chaotic home.  I've talked to a few friends and heard about their experiences so I know I'm not totally alone, but I just thought I would throw it out there and see how "not alone" I really was.  Also, I hope the rest of you feel better about your homes knowing that all of the above questions were generated from actual experiences. 

Thoughts?

A Good Man

I married a good man.  I know I've sung his praises on a few different occasions but in the ninth month of pregnancy, I would just like pay tribute to him again because...well, let's just say that I'm having a hard time being pleasant to live with sometimes.  I would like him to know that I notice what he does and I don't take it for granted.  So here's why he's awesome right now:

- He paid for the house to get cleaned - twice.  With no complaints or commentary on how my housekeeping skills have sunk to an all-time low.

- He voluntarily ate leftover pancakes for dinner because I was too tired to make a fresh dinner.  And he was cheerful about it.

- He comes home from a long day of work and simply takes charge of the boys when he can see I'm tired and sore and aggravated. 

- He's rearranged his work schedule a few times to accomodate the increasing frequency of the OB appointments.

- When I've gone out to run errands and finish Christmas shopping, I come home to a perfectly clean house.

- He tells me I look beautiful and that I look smaller than I have with any other pregnancy (although I had to show him the pictures to convince them that no, I look exactly as deformed every single time).  But still, thanks...it makes me feel good.

- He doesn't complain about the fact that I am snoring quite loudly at night because I cannot breathe through my nose, which is good because there's not a whole lot I can do about it.  Although I do find it interesting that he recently started bringing his iPad to bed with headphones to listen to music while falling asleep.  Hmmm....subtle. 

- He doesn't get mad or upset when I break down in hormone-infused tears for absolutely no reason.  He doesn't try to fix it or ignore it, instead asking me if there's anything he can do to help or simply listening while I cry. 

So that's it.  Just want to say thank you.  I'm a very lucky woman to be married to him.

The Name

So, the name.  I told you curious ones (ahem...Madame Macey) that you would NEVER guess it!!!  I know there are questions about how we picked it, especially since the middle name is so unusual.  There's a story. 

First of all, we followed the pattern we started with our other two boys.  Their first name has simply been a name we liked.  They have all quite unintentionally been Old Testament names (yes, Ethan is in there...check it out here if that was new information for you). Their middle names all hold family significance. 

Ethan Bradley: Bradley was Dave's maternal grandmother's maiden name.  It's also a more subtle tribute to Dave's brother Brad(ford). 

Noah Joseph: The year that I was pregnant with Noah, I heard the story of a family member who had lost a son born prematurely and it just really stuck with me that I wanted our son to carry on that baby's name - Joseph. 

And now the one you've really been wondering about...

Isaac Cabot:

Dave was born in Jacksonville, Arkansas and lived in Cabot, Arkansas for 10 years.  That town holds a significant amount of very happy childhood memories in his life.  For him it was a place of beauty, a time of innocence and a period of family adventures.  In fact, every time we travel out of state and someone asks us where we are from, Dave will STILL answer, "Arkansas" despite the fact that he has lived in Virginia for nearly 25 years.  That's how much Arkansas means to him.  He has wanted to use Cabot as a first name since we tossed around names for the first baby, and I vetoed it every time.  Because, come on, it's a brand of cheese!  The nicknames!  I grew up being called Grape Jelly because my maiden name was "Welsh" (always misspelled and mistaken for "Welch").  But when you are choosing a name for what is most likely your last baby, and it means that much to your husband, perspective changes.  Plus, hey...it went with Isaac. 

So there you go.  Curiousity satisfied?

The Final Twelve Days

Well, I apologize for the radio silence in the blogosphere, but I just really haven't known what to write about.  Let's catch up, shall we?  Here we are: 37 weeks, 2 days pregnant.  12 days away from having three kids.  12 days of only being a family of four.  I'm not exactly panicking but I am starting to get nervous.  Last night I got up to ease the pain in my hips and make yet another trip to the bathroom, and at first I thought, "Gosh, I just can't wait until the baby is born and I can sleep."  HA!  I caught myself immediately and thought, "Well, I won't be having hip pain but I will be getting up every single night to feed the baby." Trading one kind of sleepless night for another. 

The nesting has started.  I re-earned my Baby Equipment Assembly Badge and set up two pack n plays (complete with bassinet inserts and changing table parts) - one in our bedroom and one in the living room.  I have stocked a basket in the living room full of onesies, sleepers, diapers and wipes.  I made room in the cup cabinet for baby bottles.  I invested in a double breast pump (I previously only had a single and I figure with two other kids, I needed to save as much time as possible).  The crib is assembled complete with bedding.  The monitor is plugged in.  My friends showered me with diapers and wipes (and wine!!)  I tried on my old nursing bras...and had to order new ones because um, wow.  And all I'm going to say about that is that when I told my mom what size I had to order, she said, "I didn't even know that was a real size." Insane. Anyway...moving on.  I have a new baby sling.  My hospital bag is (mostly) packed.  All my hospital paperwork is sent in (thanks to my husband).

And then the lists...oh, the lists.  There's the "To Do Before Baby" list.  The "Stock Up On" list.  The "Meal Idea" list.  The lists read like I'm never ever going to leave my house for the rest of my life or ever accomplish a single thing ever again.  I am feeling panicky that I need to be completely stocked up on every single ingredient known to man.  For example, it's stressing me out that I am not stocked up on chicken broth, peanut butter and canned beans.  WHAT in the WORLD will we do without canned beans?  WHO will go get canned beans if we need them? 

One thing that I'm feeling good about is that Noah randomly decided he was ready to be potty trained about a week and a half ago.  One morning, he went running into the bathroom (wearing a diaper) frantically telling me that he had to pee.  Ok....when I checked him, he had already peed in his diaper, but asked him if he wanted to wear underwear, changed all my plans for the next three days in order to be able to stay home and charged right in.  He had one accident on day one, one accident on day two and only here and there since then, much to his consternation. ("Not good, Mom")  In fact, he has even told me in stores that he had to go and kept himself dry until we could get to the big store potty.  And as a side note, I would like to state that those mothers who declare that Pull-Ups are The Most Evil Invention for potty training are dead wrong in Noah's case.  I told him to try to keep the pull up dry and...he does.  He still tells me he has to go if he's wearing one.  It's just backup and peace of mind for me.  So when baby I.C.S is born, I will basically only have one kid in diapers. 

Another good thing is that - and please don't hate me - I'm basically done with my Christmas shopping.  I know I will be able to leave my house after the baby is born, but realistically, how many brain cells will I have available to process who gets what?  Am I really going to drag three BOYS to Target and Kohls and the mall to buy presents??  I even have wrapping paper and I would like to get some presents wrapped in the next twelve days.  We shall see...

So, 12 days.  Dave and I are anxious to see what this three kid thing is like.  We're both so curious to see what he's going to look like.  We both just want to feel his little body in our arms.  The boys keep asking if the baby is going to come out soon.  Ethan kisses my belly frequently and tells me he loves Baby I.  If Noah is sitting next to me, he rubs my belly absently and then leans over to kiss it.  Tonight, when Dave left to go to a listing appointment, he hugged and kissed the three of us and went to walk out the door.  Ethan stopped him, telling him he had forgotten someone.  He meant the baby.  So Dave came back and kissed my belly too.  I can't wait for us all to be able to kiss his little face instead of my big belly.  Soon.  So soon.