And Baby Makes Four

It's been such a joy having a baby in the house again! There are other emotions, of course, such as exhaustion, frustration, and the occasional suffocating feeling of being overwhelmed. (By the way, I cannot imagine what it must be like to have multiple babies at once. The people who manage this feat have my utmost respect.)

Gannon completes our little family. After the complications we had attempting to expand to a household of four, we're counting our blessings, surely. Our newest member came with a few quirks, though, and they've really kept me on my toes!

First, this little guy was face up during a majority of my labor. That, combined with the fact that we knew he was going to be a hefty little guy, made us realize that a natural birth may not be possible. After some shoving and coaxing by my midwife, and my body's innate ability to correct the issue, Gannon finally turned as he descended down the birth canal (thankfully!).

After we were discharged from the hospital, we struggled mightily with breastfeeding. Avery had been a champion at nursing, so these feeding problems with Gannon were stressful and completely foreign to me. After approximately eight days of attempts - some successful, most not - I remembered a segment I had read in one of the breastfeeding books the hospital had given us. It turns out Gannon was tongue tied! I spoke to the pediatrician on call (Who assured me that even if Gannon was tongue tied, she had only recommended that three cases in her 27 years of practice be surgically fixed, therefore she doubted the problem with nursing was due to his tongue. She told me that most likely our problems were because of poor nursing positions and all we would require was more education on proper latching techniques.). Monday morning I called to set up an appointment with this physician (Not because I liked her, mind you, but because I knew our problems were going to prove her over-the-phone diagnosis wrong. And I love a chance to prove I'm right!).

So, to make a really long story slightly shorter, we saw the physician later that week. She recommended we see one of their lactation consultants to have a latch evaluation, and by Thursday we were seeing an ENT specialist to have a lingual frenectomy.

My breast pump and I are no longer best friends, and I can't tell you how happy that makes me. And if the rate of growth of this boy is any indication, we're definitely doing a good job. My two-month-old snuggle bug is currently wearing 6 month size clothing, and I'm lucky if I get two wearings out of any given outfit. Thank goodness for second-hand stores that take gently used children's clothing!

Now I can say that the only challenges we're dealing with in the Weatherby household regularly are that the dog decides he needs to go out at the exact moment that I sit down to feed Gannon, Avery has to have a refill of juice or milk while I'm changing a diaper or bathing his brother, and Gannon decides to fuss while I'm playing with the dog and/or Avery. I've also become much more respectful of single parents; how on earth does one take an infant and a preschooler out on their own? The person who invented the shopping carts with the plastic seats geared for older kids have my complete admiration. And although I vowed I'd never use one, I found myself breaking down and purchasing one of those backpack-leash doodads to keep my misbehaving older child next to me while we're out and about without Matt. I discovered I'd rather deal with the incredulous looks and embarassment at using it than abandoning my infant so I can go chase after his brother.

These little hurdles make me sigh with contentment (and exhaustion) at the end of the day, though. I am a happy woman, indeed.

So Much to Say!

My goodness, it's been a while, hasn't it? I have a number of posts planned just to update you on all that's changed in recent months. First, though, I have to tell you about my newest love.

His name is Gannon Russell. He came into this world kicking and screaming on October 21st of this year. I'll spare you from the labor and delivery play-by-play, but let's just say it was miraculously short (painful as all hell, of course, but short!). After twelve minutes of pushing, out came this nine pound, seven ounce bundle.















Thankfully, his older brother decided a couple months before his arrival that it would be ok to have a little brother (Phew!). Avery has been excited and helpful, sometimes bordering on overzealous. I've decided, however, that I'd much rather have that than deal with an older son who despises his sibling.

I've got loads more to say about this little guy and the chaos he's added to our little family, but for now, I think I'll let some photos do the talking.

We'll be having a new baby........

BOY!

Yep, my feelings were nothing more than some wishful thinking, apparently! However, I must say that after learning the gender of our newest family member, I wouldn't have it any other way. I mean, really, don't I add enough drama to this Weatherby clan as it is?

Don't answer that. Let's just bask in the happy light of knowing that every little ounce and milimeter of this little guy appears to be healthy, according to the sonogram tech and her measurements.

Okay, here's the exciting part:

Names!

After lots of cool-for-a-minute notions, we've narrowed our list down to two possibilities:

*Ian Russell (Matt's favorite)

*Gannon Russell (My favorite...although I'm quite fond of Ian, also.)

Russell is Matthew's middle name, and his father's first name. Avery has my dad's first name for his middle one, so we always knew if we had another boy we'd follow suit with the other side of the family. And while we were still deliberating girl names, we were considering Matt's mother's name, Alayne (or a form of that name), for either a first name or middle name, should we have a daughter.

We're considering waiting until we meet this little boy to decide which name fits him best. Honestly, though, I've already been trying Gannon out, making sure it's something Avery can pronounce (he still has trouble with R's and L's...and I wasn't positive he'd be able to spit it out...but he can! Yay! One point for Mama's name - we're ignoring the fact that Ian is even easier to say than Gannon, by the way.).

That's about it for Weatherby news currently.

We hope the sun is shining down on you.

For now...

This week has been full of everything from sadness to joy.

A friend, Erin, from college just lost her younger (and only) brother to suicide. So final...and such a terrible, tragic loss. The one slightly bright side is that through this tragedy, our little circle of girls will be reuniting to support Erin at the prayer service tomorrow evening.

Avery attended his first buddy birthday party on Sunday. The birthday boy's family rented an inflatable Mickey Mouse play center that was comparable in size to my first apartment. Oh, what fun they had! Mama even climbed in to jump with the kids! Somehow my camera has been absent from my arms over the last few months...I'm regretting that more and more every day.

Matt's parents arrive Thursday evening for a visit. We've all tried to live healthier in the last 4-6 months, and the proof is clearly visible in Matt and his parents (I, on the other hand, just seem to grow, grow, grow!). Saturday they will test themselves at Fargo's marathon...though they will only be taking on the 10 K.

Eek! I still have carpets to steam clean, bed linens to freshen, bathrooms to scrub, and a kitchen to organize before they arrive!

So, this little snippet of an update will have to do until I get this laundry list of chores finished.

Ah crap - nearly forgot about the laundry...Better get moving!

Goodbye, First Trimester!

We won't be missing you!

That's right! We finally hit the 13 week mark. No more progesterone supplements, no more vomiting (at least, not in the last week+), and the exhaustion levels have certainly decreased.

On another positive note, I had another OB check yesterday. Baby's heart rate is still in the high 150's, and my doctor is confident that things will go smoothly from here on out! I had been going in every two weeks to monitor the baby's heart rate and make sure everything else was progressing normally, and after yesterday's visit, I was told I didn't have to come back for 5 weeks!

So, on May 28th we will do another ultrasound (and if things go well, we should find out the sex!) and an appointment with my doctor. During the ultrasound they will focus in on the four chambers of the baby's heart, to make certain our new little one doesn't have any congenital heart defects. Since Avery has a couple issues in that department, our chances are slightly higher that we'd have another child with a similar problem. There has been nothing thus far to indicate that this baby has anything abnormal going on, but knowledge is power in this sort of situation, and the medical staff would like to be aware should our baby need any special care upon birth.

(*Praying that isn't necessary whatsoever!)

In other news, Avery is immensely enjoying "listening" to the baby in Mommy's tummy :) It makes me happy, too, knowing he's excited about the prospect of a new sibling. Let's just hope that good-natured attitude keeps up once the little one is here and wailing 'round the clock!

Happy weekend to you all.

9 Weeks & 6 Days

Tomorrow will mark week 10! Hooray!

Here is what I've discovered since my last post:

1. Reglan makes my heart go pitter-patter (and so not in a good way. Dr. B-G said, "No more.").

2. Zofran gives me the yawns, and makes it virtually impossible for me to get anything done in a day. Plus, I was still throwing up while taking it, so what's the point?

3. I would give my left ear to be done with this first trimester! Ugh! The vomiting is really getting old.

4. I am so very thankful to have a mother and husband who are understanding and willing to help out. I can't even remember the last time I cooked a meal for my family!

5. We are excited that this pregnancy has stuck (fingers crossed it stays that way!), and that as each week passes, we get that much closer to adding to our little family!

Wishing you all a Happy Easter full of good food, good friends, love, and family.

Evil Stomach Bug Chronicles: Victims I and II

For the last week, Avery's had a nasty stomach bug that's created such chaos in his little digestive system, he's been able to clear rooms single(ahem...)-tootedly. I can't begin to describe what this little experience has been like to deal with while pregnant and nauseous at all hours of the day.


Last Friday, my poor, sick little boy finally started to feel a little better. Hooray! (Cue the overly-dramatic "Dum, dum, dummmmm" music.)


Or so I thought. Turns out, the beast that had been living inside my dear child was just releasing its grip on him long enough to squirm its way into another body - mine. The result?


Saturday = complete and utter agony.


Sunday = I finally listened to my husband and drove myself over to Urgent Care, received some IV fluids (to ward off dehydration) and some IV Zofran, which until this stomach bug fiasco had been my saving grace for nausea-related instances. Four and a half hours later, I was on my way home, feeling considerably better than when I'd gone in. By 8:00 that evening, however, I was back to my vomiting self.


Monday = Back to Urgent Care. Blood tests, urine sample, more IV fluids, different IV anti-nausea medication. My results were as follows: viral stomach germ - no treatment other than Pedialyte and Reglan (the new anti-nausea med) to keep the deydration and vomiting at bay. No bladder infection. (By the way - Pedialyte? Did this Dr. know I was 28 years old?? Yep -- apparently this horrible-tasting little beverage has a unique characteristic in that its electrolytes are absorbed straight through the stomach lining and doesn't have to be fully digested in order to provide benefits to the body. Hm...still doesn't taste good.)


After another 3+ hours in Innovis (this time, because the ER and Urgent Care were so busy, I got a lovely "overflow room," which consisted of a gurney, rolling stool, pillow and blanket placed in the hallway of the ER with a curtain draped around it. Oh - and it was right next to the ice/water dispenser and blanket warmer. What lavish accommodations!), I finally left feeling better than I had in days.


I sure hope this bug is done with our household. It's left some marks on us (me) that we (I) won't be forgetting for quite some time.

6 Weeks and 3 Days

That's how far along we are in this pregnancy! Phew -- I've been debating whether it's too early to announce it to the world, but I've been at my bursting point for way too long...so announcing it I am.

I'm not foolish enough to believe we're in the clear yet, though. After all, I was eight weeks when we lost one before. However, as soon as I saw the two pink lines on the pregnancy test, I called my physician's office, went in for lab work, and discovered my hormone levels weren't spiking as they should have been. I've been on progesterone supplements since we found out about this little bun in my oven, and thankfully, they seem to be doing their job.

We had our first ultrasound on Friday, to make sure things were developing as they should. We got to see the baby's heart beat! And here is the craziest part: our ultrasound tech informed us that a fetus' (I don't particularly care for that term...) heart starts to beat between five weeks five days and five weeks six days, and according to her findings, I was at five weeks six days on Friday. She told us it was entirely possible that the little heart had just started beating within hours! Honestly, I didn't really care when exactly it had happened as long as we could see proof that things were going well so far. And that little heart beat sure calmed my fears for a good while.

So the plan is that I'll stay on the supplements through the first twelve weeks of pregnancy, when we are most susceptible to issues. We have another ultrasound scheduled at the end of March, just to make sure everything is still on track. We will also have our first doctor's visit, so hopefully by that time we can be even more confident that this pregnancy will result in an addition to our little family.

I've been praying, and praying, and praying. And I don't think I'll be stopping anytime soon.

Let this be the one!

Closeup of a Three-Year-Old

My baby turned three this month. I can't believe the changes this last year has brought; my boy is dressing/undressing himself (and gets quite miffed when we try to assist!), speaking like a school age child, using the toilet for its intended purpose regularly (accidents happen, of course), and expressing his ideas, interests, and opinions as an individual. There are more accomplishments and milestones, obviously, but these seem to be the defining moments each day in which I look at this child and wonder,
"Where did my baby go?"

This boy loves broccoli.

He gets frustrated with his mama's photo sessions.



He has ridiculously long eyelashes.

He is fun. And hilariously funny.



So silly.

And when we cuddle - whether we're reading books,
watching cartoons, or having a quiet moment -
he leans in for a hug,
and tells us with absolute certainty,
"I love you so much."

Oh Avery...
I love you so much.

Hmm...

For the most part, I don't like to delve too deep into the more personal, darker corners of my life here on Zesty. Occasionally, though, it's one of the best places to vent my frustrations, concerns, and painful experiences.

In October, I talked about this. However difficult it was (and sometimes, continues to be), I have stayed hopeful and mostly positive about the prospect of adding to our little family. So we waited until we got the go-ahead from our doctor, and started again.

The short version of this story?

Pregnancy test taken (two, actually...and done two days apart just to be sure).

Positive results.

Hours later...GONE.

Doctor visit (failed pregnancy).

More blood work.

Waiting for results.

Ugh. The waiting. I know I voiced my frustration about waiting for medical staff to return calls in my earlier post, as well. I truly do understand that I am not the only patient waiting for results...really, I do. But it doesn't make me want my results any less.

Matt asked me last night at the dinner table how I would take it if we got the news that I wasn't able to have any more children. Ohhhhhhhh, how I didn't want to go to that place. Voicing fears that had been tip-toeing around in my head for the last few months is so painful. So I took the safest route possible, and joked that we'd just have to con one of my sisters into being our surrogate. Really, I just wanted to yell and cry about how unfair that would be, and that he is never allowed to say things like that in my presence ever again.

But I didn't. And dinner continued with light conversations about things like the -87 degree wind chill (only a slight exaggeration) and what Avery did earlier in the day.

So today, hopefully, I'll finally get a call with my results. Again, I find myself praying harder than I probably have since October...and again I'm wondering why that is, and whether it's realistic for my prayer to be answered. I'm reminding myself that prayers are answered everyday, and in the next breath I'm reminding myself that prayers sometimes aren't answered at all how we'd like them to be; sometimes there's a whole different plan in store, and we have yet to find out what or why that is.

Merry and Bright

Avery and cousin, Teghan, received bouncey horses
from Grandma and Grandpa Weatherby.
Ride 'em, Cowboy (and Cowgirl)!

One of the cutest ornaments...
from a Christmas when my husband wasn't quite three.
Coincidentally, it's the same age Avery was for this Christmas.

I love the mix of old and new ornaments.

Nebraska sunrise the morning we left to come back home.

Beautiful!

We hope your holiday was full of the glow from Christmas lights,
gorgeous sunrises,
and the love of those you hold dear.

Untitled

We wake,
Work,
Love,
Hate,
Worry,
Conquer,
Celebrate!
And during the moments
in between,
we take a deep, steadying breath,
and close our eyes.
Cherish these quiet moments.
This life is
so very fragile.

Let the yumminess begin.

As a child, whenever I was visiting my Grandma Micki's house, you can bet there were cookies in her cookie jar. That cookie jar was the best thing in the Whole. Wide. World.

What made it better than any other cookie jar, you ask? Try snatching a cookie out of my mother's cookie jar, then we'll talk.

Okay. Really my point is that you could snatch cookies at nine in the morning, 11:55 (just as you're sitting down to lunch), nine in the evening...and any old time in between. Without being scolded or getting your little hand swatted!

More often than not, Grandma had Ice Box Cookies stored in her cookie jar. (On occasion, she'd go on strike and just buy Oreos, though.) Grandma's Ice Box Cookies are my favorite cookie of all time. I was fortunate enough to get a recipe for them, and now I'll share it with you!

Ice Box Cookies
(a.k.a. Refrigerator Cookies)










1 C. Sugar
1 C. Brown Sugar
2/3 C. Shortening (I use butter flavored Crisco)
2/3 C. Butter (room temp.)
2 tsp. Vanilla
2 Eggs

3 1/4 C. Flour
1 C. Chopped Nuts (I used pecans and walnuts,
but whatever you have on hand is fine)
1 tsp. Salt

1. Cream together first six ingredients, adding eggs one at a time.

2. Mix in dry ingredients, adding flour gradually.

3. Seperate cookie dough into two equal-sized balls. Form each ball into a roll (approximately 2 1/2 to 3 inches in diameter) and wrap in wax paper. Chill at least 8 hours.

4. Slice about 1/8 inch thick and bake (I prefer to use parchment paper) at 375 degrees for 8 minutes - or until edges are just golden brown.

(See where there are a couple missing? Avery and I just couldn't wait any longer...)

I promise - if you like buttery, nutty, chewy and crunchy goodness, you will love these cookies.

"Dinah, won't you blow your horn?"

This post and my next one are devoted to my Grandma Micki. Her real name's Pearl Maxine, but many, many years ago, she decided that was an old lady name. I'm not exactly sure how she chose Micki, but I sure can't imagine calling her anything else.

The following are some of my most prominent memories of her.

~Grandma always carried Tic-Tacs in her purse, and Sundays during church, you could hear the Skunes kids jiggling the container. In retrospect, she should have had larger treats - they'd have kept our mouths closed a little longer!

~When my sisters and I were sick during childhood, occasionally we'd be dropped off at Grandma's for the day. We'd spend it cozied up in her bed, watching "The Price is Right" and eating Campbell's chicken noodle soup.

~The first thing she ever taught her grandchildren was how to play poker - not Go Fish, not Uno...but poker. I thought it was great.

~In one of her extra bedrooms, there was this gigantic round box that she had filled with "dress up" clothes: an emerald green cocktail dress from her younger years, a Hunter Hornets basketball jersey, an Arthur Knights baseball jersey (Arthur is the closest town to the farm), random dress clothes of hers and Gramps' that either went out of fashion or became too big/small. There were lots of photos taken of all the cousins dressed up in items from that box, and they were some of my happiest memories.

~She knows the words to every Judds song ever written. When we'd ride in the car with her, she'd be-bop away, dancing and singing from the driver's seat.

~She buys boxed wine. And LOVES it. Occasionally she opens it wrong and ruins the seal on the box, so she dumps it in a regular juice pitcher and drinks from it for weeks - even after it's started to turn to vinegar.

~She can throw the most random ingredients into a pot or baking dish and come up with something scrumptious for any meal.

~She uses Pond's cold cream to remove her make-up. The smell of that stuff is something I'll remember forever.

~Grandma is continually outraged that young people these days have to shower daily.

~She is a bridge player - and a damn good one.

~She can finish a crossword puzzle faster than anyone I know. She can come up with the most random, little-known word or phrase in a millisecond. It is her I thank for my initial love of words.

~She taught me to use newspapers and vinegar water to wash windows.

~Grandma has macular degeneration, and can no longer drive. She has a golf cart at their vacation home in Mesa, Arizona, though...I don't want to imagine what will happen the day she's told she's too dangerous to be meandering the streets of their retirement community.

~Even though she can no longer see what's 20 feet ahead of her, she can navigate you through Mesa/Phoenix like she was born there, announcing every street by name.

~One does not debate her orders; I can clearly recall my father and grandpa begrudgingly doing as they were told on many occasions...things that may or may not have been done incorrectly, but they didn't dare dispute the topic.

~She makes rearranging furniture look like a profession. We joke sometimes that if my grandpa comes home in the dark, he'd better turn the lights on or he'll end up flat on his face tripping over the sofa.

~She would do anything for anyone she loves. Once, when a friend's family member passed away, she and a couple of her church buddies went to help the family clear out the house. In return for cleaning out the attic, she was told to pick any item she wanted, and she chose a World War I bugle.

I remember that because I played my father's old cornet in middle/high school, I was the only grandchild able to play that bugle. We had heard my grandma tell the story numerous times about how she acquired it, but I'd always thought the story had been stretched over the years, and it was some worthless piece of trash that should have been thrown out long ago.

Then, a few years ago when my grandparents sold their lake cabin, every family member was able to choose an item during their own clearing out process. My Grandma Micki told me I should take the bugle, and knowing you don't argue with grandma, I took it.

Since that day, it hasn't always had a prominent resting place in our home. It does now, though. It sits on top of the hutch on my desk, and every time I see it, I think of where it's been. I can honestly say it feels right to play Taps on that horn. And it brings a misty smile to my face when my son now totes it around, calling it his tuba, and blowing his own clear, bright tone from its bell.

Fall Findings

With H1N1 (a.k.a. "swine flu") making its presence known lately, we've been a bit hermit-like in these parts. Due to the fact that Avery and I have no obligations to the outside world on a day to day basis, I thought we'd just weather this storm in the comfort of our home.

Then I remembered we currently share a home with my mother (and who filled in at the pediatric department last week, assisting in the treatment of approximately 40 sick children).

As I was thinking of all those scary germs, I remembered another frightening fact: money is some of the most germy, yucky stuff on earth. It just so happens that money is something my husband handles EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. *shudder*

Needless to say, I implemented a strict hand washing law; the minute one walks in the door, hands must be washed, and clothes must be changed.

I feel I need to defend myself...I am usually not a germ-a-phobe. The 3 second rule for eating food dropped on the floor in our house is sometimes stretched to 5 and even 10 seconds. Heck, if a piece of candy goes unnoticed for a few days, and Avery snatches it up and eats it, I've even managed to not cringe.

But this flu has us all in a tizzy, so we've stayed in. We've been baking (more to come on that later), doing craft projects, reading books, and playing indoor games. Autumn has all but passed us by. Then, yesterday I glimpsed the sun shining through the window as my son jumped wildly on my couch cushions.

Okay, so we won't be going to the park and exchanging nasty high-fives with germy kids, or careening down the booger-smeared slide. But we sure can walk around the neighborhood! So off we strolled into the crisp autumn air.

By the time we returned home, I had an armful of "pwetty weaves."








I'm so glad we didn't miss this.

Pumpkin Carving

This is the first year we've really done pumpkin carving with Avery. He seemed very excited about the final product, but wasn't so sure he wanted to partake in the scooping phase of the process. Thankfully, Matt is able to convince Avery to do just about anything (sometimes that's not so good), and he had him scooping pumpkin guts in no time.

I said he was scooping...I didn't say he enjoyed it.

Once we got the guts scooped, it was on to carving. I realized at that point that if Avery didn't enjoy the scooping portion, there really wasn't anything left that he'd have fun doing. Crap. He did get to pick out his stencil, though, and seemed very excited about his choice.

Can't you see the excitement???
Matt chose to do his pumpkin old-fashioned, claiming, "stencils are cheating!" And, yes, maybe they are, but I wouldn't have been able to create Avery's monkey face without one.

My beloved worked diligently, first drawing on his design with a pen, then carving. I tried so hard to get his "concentrating look" captured on film. He purses his lips together and releases them in rapid succession - it's quite hilarious to watch. Unfortunately, I've given him a hard time about this expression a few too many times, and since he knew he was being photographed...Well, I just couldn't catch it. Oh well!

(By the way, this is the first time my husband has had a full beard - this is only a couple weeks' growth, and supposedly there will be no shaving for months. It sure takes some getting used to! But I think it fits his personality.)
After we finished, we found a nice, dark bathroom to test out the Jack-O-Lanterns.

Avery's monkey face. (It's tough taking photos in the dark without a flash - so expect some blur!)

My crow. (My mother claims this isn't a traditional Jack-O-Lantern {in mom-speak this means she doesn't like it} and while I agree that it's not, I still like it. A lot.)

Here it is! Matt's piece de resistance: Goofy, gap-toothed, googly-eyed Jack. My mother adores him. Maybe next year, Mom, maybe next year.

Hope your Halloween is spooky, safe, and full of treats.

Seeing Red

*If you have a weak stomach, please don't read the rest of this post. Please.*

Sunday.
I went grocery shopping.
Concocted Pioneer Woman's Baba Ghanoush.
Made scalloped potatoes and ham for supper.
Tried to tell Avery he didn't need to watch Spiderman 3 for the fourth day in a row.
Washed the supper dishes.
Baked cookies for my grandma, who helps with her church's version of the "Welcome Wagon."
Washed baking dishes.

And started to miscarry.

Being nearly 8 weeks pregnant, the last thing I expected when I took a bathroom break was to find red-tinged toilet paper. My mother is a nurse, as I've mentioned, and she calmly and confidently told me not to get too worked up; that some women have spotting during pregnancy. I was to just monitor the situation and call my Dr's office in the morning.

So I did. I monitored the situation like a fanatic.

Every couple of hours I would sit straight up in bed, unable to shut off my mind and return to sleep. Is it worse? Has it stopped? I would try to fool myself into feeling confident, trying to walk slowly to my bathroom like I had all the reason in the world to take my time.

Like my brain wasn't clanging against my skull with jittery nervousness.
Like my hands weren't shaking uncontrollably.
Like my heart wasn't trying to pang its way out of my chest.
Like it wasn't a strong conscious effort to take a deep breath.

So with those shaking hands, I swiped again with the toilet paper. It was redder, darker, and there was more of it. And was it just my mind overworking, or was I feeling some cramping?

Each time I went to check, it was worse than the time before. My heart was plummeting to places that were shady with their incredible sadness and negativity, and each time it dove down there, I reeled it back in, attempting to stay positive.

When morning finally came, my husband kissed me and told me everything would be okay. He left for work, and I called my OB nurse...and left a message. I felt like I watched every damn minute tick by until she finally called back - nearly two hours later. She told me that some women experience bleeding between their 6th and 8th week of pregnancy, when the embryo burrows down into your uterine lining. She told me this doesn't happen to every woman, and it doesn't occur during every pregnancy. I was to come in for some blood tests to check my hormone levels. I was also told that some women's bodies don't produce enough progesterone to support pregnancy, and that if I had low levels, they could supplement them to help my body be more stable for the baby growing inside.

I called Matt. He was coming home to watch Avery so that I didn't have to keep track of a two-year-old while I had blood drawn.

I put in Spiderman 3 and headed for the shower. I undressed and looked down at my barely-showing belly.

What's happening? I wondered for the hundredth time in about 8 hours.

I said a little prayer and stepped into the shower. (Why do I only think to pray when things are scary or not going well? What makes me think my prayers will be answered? For someone who isn't incredibly religious, it seems a bit pathetic to reach out to God when I don't regularly make Him a part of my daily life.)

As I felt the hot water stream down my body, I looked down. And saw clots. Horrible, deep scarlet splotches dropping to the floor of my shower, and being quickly whisked down the drain. I made myself look up and continued showering. I finished, stepped out of the shower, and hoped the worst was done.

The cramping wasn't my imagination, and it continued.

Matt returned home, and I left for the clinic. After I registered, I entered the lab waiting room. Do you know how many large, pregnant bellies one sees on a Monday morning in the lab? Thirteen. I counted. And that was in a 20 minute time frame. Finally my name was called, and I followed the phlebotomist back to have my blood drawn. I have "terrible veins" apparently, and watching the vile woman wriggle that needle in my arm, searching frantically for my vein just about put me over the edge. But I just closed my eyes, grit my teeth, and imagined bashing her head against the Band-Aid dispenser.

I was told that it should take only an hour to have the results back. I was to call my OB nurse again and let her know we were awaiting my results. I had left the clinic at 10:45 that morning, so by my calculations, I should have my results by noon - at the latest.

I tried to show I was cool, calm, and collected - I waited until 11:51 to call. And left another message. I endured their insanely long, informative but infuriating voicemail message about pregnant women needing to get flu shots, and how their line is answered "between the hours of 8 am and 5 pm. We are not available to take your call right now, so please leave your name, date of birth, chart number, your doctor's name, and contact number, and we will return your call as soon as we are able."

Which turned out to be three minutes before 2 pm. Do you know how evil your mind can be in that length of time? Very.

It turns out my Hcg (pregnancy hormone) and progesterone were extremely low. I was told that the normal level for a pregnant woman's progesterone is 20 - mine was 1.4. And the tale I was told about getting this hormone supplemented, should it be lower than normal? Apparently a pregnancy is only worth "saving" if your levels are 10 or above. The OB nurse informed me that it's best "just wait and see how things play out. We don't want to try and save a bad pregnancy."

Wow. Did this woman take lessons to become cold and careless with her words?

I sat propped against the pillows in my bed.

I tried to stay calm.

And dammit, I needed to pee. I was beginning to despise the bathroom. Every time I entered, I would cling desperately to the hope that maybe this time I wouldn't see blood. And every time the bleeding was worse.

I hadn't cried yet after hanging up with the nurse. On my way out of the bathroom Matt asked me how I was. Evidently he hadn't heard the phone ring; he didn't know of our news. All I could manage was, "The nurse called back. Not good." Then I scurried back into my cave/room and burrowed into the covers. I just wanted to sink in and never surface again. I rolled onto my side, facing the closet, and saw all of the maternity clothes hanging there. I looked down, and at the foot of my bed was the double stroller I had purchased at a garage sale only a couple weeks earlier.

I was sobbing so hard I thought surely I would wake Avery from his nap.

How could this be happening? We wanted this baby. It was no accident that we were expecting! And after two unplanned pregnancies before this one with no problems to speak of, why this? Why us?

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I have to go in today for more blood work. They will need to check whether my body has done its job and pushed everything through, or whether a doctor will have to assist with completing that job. It's called a D & C. And I am desperately hoping that it's not necessary.

I believe I'm a strong woman.

I know I will get through this. And I know we will try again when we're told it's safe. But I know there will be fear of this happening again. And I believe it will make me more reserved and cautious about announcing a pregnancy, should we be fortunate enough to have another.

The absolute only positive thing that has come from this is that I look at Avery and see a miracle. The stars aligned, we were blessed, everything went as it should have with his fetal development.

Of that, I am now so incredibly grateful.

The Great Medical Facility Debate

We've had to make a decision about where we are going to doctor with this little baking bun.

I've been a medical receptionist off and on for almost five years, and I've worked for both medical facilities in our small community. They each have their pros and cons, so it was sort of daunting to decide where we will spend our considerable bun-birthing dollars.

There are a number of factors that played into our final decision. The first, and probably most important, is that both of my previous deliveries took place at Innovis Health. I had no prenatal care with baby number one (that's a story for another time...), but feel that the birthing process and the care given were certainly as accommodating and genuine as one could have hoped for in that situation. (Did that make any sense?)

Four years after that first delivery, my husband and I found ourselves in need of an obstetrician for our first baby together. So who would we choose? Why, the same man who delivered baby number one, of course! Dr. Greg Glasner is an extremely likable, caring, and knowledgeable physician. However, he is now the CEO of Innovis Health, which means he now spends more time attending board meetings than he does delivering babies. Bummer for us.

So now we virtually have a blank slate. Who to choose?

After Avery was born, his heart condition required us to see a pediatric cardiologist (he has an ASD and a VSD, in case you're wondering). It turns out the only one in town was located at MeritCare. So off we went, MeritCare newbies, lost in a maze of criss-crossing hallways and a sea of other patients. And while Dr. Rodrigo Rios took wonderful care of our worries and our tiny boy, we were never tempted to turn all of Avery's care over to MeritCare.

Perhaps it could be said that most of my loyalty to Innovis (formerly Dakota Clinic) is due to family roots. My mother is a nurse, and has worked for Dakota Clinic for many years. Growing up, I was always taken there for illnesses, check-ups, and annual sports physicals. This is also where my parents were hospitalized each time my dad had a heart attack/stroke, and my mother had cardioversions to treat her congestive heart failure. Anyway, you get the point: lots of strong, deep roots.

Then, when I went back to work full time after Avery was born, I just happened to get a position with MeritCare. To be honest, I felt a bit like a traitor. But take the job, I did, and I can honestly tell you it was the best fit I've ever had in the employment arena. (I say this past-tense only because my child apparently has issues with daycares, and I am now his full time care provider again.)

Ok...back on track, Megan.

For insurance coverage purposes, one who is employed by MeritCare doctors with MeritCare (otherwise you get screwed up the wazoo with out-of-network costs). So we chose a new pediatrician for Avery, and Matthew and I chose MeritCare providers for ourselves.

So, do we stick with our new network of caregivers? Or do we go back to the providers we know and love...a network of people we've known for years and years?

The unknown is scary. Would the MeritCare labor and delivery nurses be as good, as compassionate, as patient as they were at Innovis? Would the lactation consultant be as understanding, helpful, and encouraging? And possibly the most important question: Would the doctor who has gotten to know us during all of our prenatal visits be the one to deliver our baby? Would he remember my name? My husband's name? Our son's name? Whether we were expecting a boy or a girl - or, heaven forbid, more than one baby?

Also, I have given birth twice without an epidural. I have not needed the surgical expertise of a medical doctor. If this area offered one, I may even have opted for a birthing center, rather than a hospital setting for this baby's birth. I plan to go as naturally as possible again this time.

The answer is that for us, Innovis Health is the right choice. We know them. We don't always love every teeny tiny thing about them, but at least we know their flaws, and we can accept them. We have chosen Terry Burrell this time around. After Dr. Glasner moved on to administrative duties, I saw Terry for an annual check-up, and liked him. He's also a CNM, which means I will be one step closer to a more natural birth. MeritCare, I discovered, does not offer any midwives for prenatal care or delivery.

Sometime in May (most likely), you will find us on the sixth floor of Innovis Health. I'll be exhausted and uncomfortable, but I'll be content and happy, too, knowing we made the right decision for our little family.

It's Official!

WE ARE PREGNANT!

If you're a Facebook friend, you've known this for a couple days. I apologize for not updating all of my online friends at the same time, but I had a couple of reasons. The first is that I wanted to post a dorky picture of me holding my positive home pregnancy tester stick here, and since I can't find the cord which connects my camera to my computer, I've been held up. Also, it's still quite early, and I feel as though shouting this pregnancy from the rooftops may jinx it.

Our first visit to the Dr's office is 10-7 (which is apparently just to have bloodwork done and to get my information packet from the OB nurse). Our first Dr's visit - when we get to listen to the heartbeat for the first time! - is 10-21. So as time creeps on, I am growing more and more confident that I won't jinx myself, after all.

We are so excited! Matt is a huge bundle of nerves, but that's my hubby for you. I'm starting to wonder what Avery's reaction will be when this baby is born and he discovers that I have not just given birth to his two-year-old cousin. I think we may just spend the next 7+ months clarifying the situation.

"Teghan baby"

***Have you ever tried to do a photo session of just you and someone else using a camera that has a little weight distribution problem (don't get me wrong, I LOVE my D60, but trying to just point it at yourself at arm's length is exremely difficult!)?

Anyway, I'm getting a little off the topic. Matt and I have been talking to Avery for the past six months or so about how he'd feel about having a little baby brother or sister. So far, he's really excited about the whole idea! (Not that we have news for y'all, because we don't YET.) And when asked if he'd like a baby brother or a baby sister, he states very emphatically, "I want a Teghan baby."

Teghan is Avery's cousin, whom he doesn't get to see often. She lives in Nebraska with her mommy and my in-laws. But the few occasions he's been able to bond with Teghan, he's loved every moment of it. Yes, part of that time is spent being the older (by three months) bully. But the majority of it was wonderful! At least from the mama's perspective...

My loving husband has only sisters - his own, whose name is also Megan, and my two, Danielle and Jessica. He has seen for himself the drama and mood swings that come along with having females in a household. Because of this, he has proclaimed that he will never have a girl - he even states he doesn't "make girls." Mmm hmmm. Yup. His "swimmers only make boys."

Well, Matthew, I have my heart set on a girl. And yes, as long as the baby is healthy I truly don't care about the sex. But darn it, if your negative attitude is the only thing keeping us from getting sugar and spice and everything nice, I'm gonna be a mama with one huge chip on her shoulder.

And trust me, you don't wanna cross this mama.