I was attending church one Sunday when I was about seven months pregnant with Gabriel. After the service was over I had a meeting with my Bishop and also a member of the Stake Presidency for a temple recommend interview. Temple recommends are serious stuff, as the interview is a time to review one’s life and make sure that you are truly worthy to enter the House of the Lord. Although most people who are trying to live a worthy life are, it is still a situation to be approached with reverence, respect and dignity.

I was nearly finished with my interview with my Bishop. He has asked me the usual questions about my belief in Christ and my dedication to the promises I have made with my Father in Heaven, and it is time to go. I stand up to shake his hand and when I do the elastic in my pantyhose breaks.

Now, I am hugely pregnant and these are not maternity nylons. They are normal nylons that are pulled onto the hips, but are riding low under the belly. They are also a little bit to small, due to the pregnancy weight gain, which probably caused this problem in the first place. They have absolutely nothing to stop them on their very fast decent down my legs. I am frozen in place, mortified as my nylons begin to fall.

I feel the blood start to rush to my cheeks as I plan my quick departure. I am considering my options at this point and plan to make a break for the ladies room at the end of the hall. My nylons are moving quickly, and I know I don’t have much time. The Bishop opens the door, guiding me out, and instantly his counselor begins to lead me the four feet to the Stake President’s office. This is in the opposite direction of the restroom, and I find myself in the middle of about ten six foot men. And wouldn’t you know it? The president is ready for me early so I can be ushered right in. My nylons are nearly to my knees. I can barely walk. There is no graceful way out of this. Ahhhh!!

Now, our Stake President’s waiting room has a senseless little recess in the wall, a tiny corner that a person can barely slip into, and would normally have no reason to go hiding in. I have never understood what the architect was thinking when this tiny, mini hallway that goes nowhere was built into the room. But today, it is my salvation. The second the counselor strikes up a brief conversation with the president, and I duck into the corner.

I am so pregnant that I can’t see my feet, and about as graceful as a beluga whale, but I’m hopping out of my heels and slipping my errant nylons over one swollen ankle at a time, all the while hearing the counselor ask, “where is Sister Killian? She was just here. Where did she go?” He quickly spots me shuffling about so he pokes his head around the corner, totally unsuspecting, and then jumps back apologizing just as I yank the hose off my toes with an ungraceful flourish. I am mortified, and yet laughing. I am also aware that my face is on fire.

I am trying not to break into hysterics as I stuff my useless nylons into my purse and walk into my second interview. You can imagine how well that worked.

Do not attempt to go clothing shopping two and a half weeks after giving birth to your third child. Just don’t. Embrace the maternity pants you’ve run through your sewing machine to make smaller, and just don’t leave the house until you are a flat chested size six. Or at least until all of your body parts have picked ONE size to fit. If your boobs are a 16, your hips and rear are a 12 and your calves are a 6. . .yeah. . .just don’t. You’ll cry.

Here is Gabe at one week old. Ovaries a’twitchin’, anyone?

Ok. So. It has been kind of crazy around here. Within one week of Gabe’s birth my gramma passed away and my son had surgery. Can I just say that all that stuff on top of a joyful birth is a lot to handle when you’re swimming in postpartum hormones? I find myself spontaneously bursting into tears or feeling full of anxiety, and then completely full of awe and wonder and love for my children. . .and then I cry again.

JONAS:

Jonas’ surgery went very well. It was minor oral surgery, and I was unreasonably worried over the general anesthesia and him feeling horrible while he recovered. I heard him arrive home with my husband after the surgery and I was so worked up about seeing him hurting and sad and dopey that I couldn’t even come down stairs. When I finally did walk down the stairs, I found a trail of empty pudding cups and a kid blithely playing a video game and then spraying imaginary spider-webs all over the living room and bouncing off the walls. He never took a pain killer, never complained, never looked or acted as though anything out of the ordinary had happened.

MAGGIE:

My daughter is experiencing severe attitude issues. She is trying to control every tiny aspect of her life, from who is putting on her pajamas, to what she is eating, to the music Chris is playing in the car. Loads of meltdowns and plenty of moments in the corner, which isn’t normal for her. She is happy about the baby, but clearly, feels like her world is in a bit of a tailspin. Hopefully she sweetens up again soon.

CHRIS:

I begged Chris to take more leave. And he did. Chris is not leaving on a deployment any time soon (he is just taking leave from regular work at the squadron), but I just wanted him around. He has been picking up my major slack, and he is so cute to watch snuggling with his new son. My husband is a very good father. I love that about him more than almost anything else.

ME:

I had a very unpleasant experience the other day. I was nursing Gabriel and when I finished I stood up and suddenly gushed quite a lot of bright red blood. Not only did this worry me, but it made me exceptionally lightheaded. After a few hours the feeling passed. About twenty-four hours later the same thing (on a smaller scale) happened. Since I am supposed to be finished bleeding heavily, and it is rather strange that aside from these gushes everything in that area had stopped completely for a few days and in between, I went in to the ER at the behest of the nurses in the Mother/Baby unit.

I didn’t want to go in because I was pretty sure this was going to involve an exam in an area no one who has recently given birth wants anyone anywhere near. And it did. And it sucked. And it turns out I have/had fluid in my uterus and a huge clot blocking my cervix, which is why everything had stopped. They figured that when I changed positions or the uterus contracted then the clot shifted and caused the gushing. Supposedly. At any rate, if it doesn’t resolve on its own, I will have to have a D&C. I would really rather not. The good news is, aside from the fact that there is still a lot of blood happening, things seem to be a little more normal. I’m hoping my doctor agrees when he sees me again and that everything has fixed itself.

YOU GUYS:

Have I mentioned lately how much I enjoy all of your comments and e-mails? I love your insights and stories and support. It really makes this fun. Thanks for being here.

Thank you for all of the well wishes! We are still all doing well here, figuring out some new routines and enjoying the babymoon. Gabriel was nocturnal in the womb, and continues to be, so I’m pretty tired and really glad to have Chris on board!

I do plan on updating sometime soon with his birth story, I just need more than five minutes to do that and I’m a little busy staring at a sleeping baby right now. To sum up: natural childbirth, back labor is the most amazingly painful thing, and holy cow that was fast! Full story coming soon!

There will be lots of scrappy posts in the next week while I recover because the night before he was born I had a huge creative energy surge and created some new layouts and cards and really went to town! If I had pre-baby adrenalin on a weekly basis, I could climb mountains!

Gabriel Brian Killian
February 18th, 2009
8:03am
6 lbs 11 oz
18 inches
Mama and baby are doing well.

It has been really interesting having children old enough to understand and think about the pregnancy process. Last time around, Jonas was basically oblivious to the fact that there was a baby coming. This time he is full of theories and inquiries and there are days where I have to just try and keep up.

A few weeks ago the kids and I were sitting by the computer and I mentioned that I was having contractions. Jonas needed an explanation and so I brought up and online image of “your pregnancy this week”. The kids and I had a quick anatomy lesson where I explained the umbilical cord, the placenta and how the uterus contracted to squeeze the baby out. They were enthralled, and both asked where the baby comes out. I did my best to show them on the picture and on myself the general area that the baby delivered through. Jonas immediately hollered, “Your butt!” In silly six year old horror and mirth.

I explained that, no, there was another hole down there called a vagina and that was were babies come out. I also mentioned that only girls have them. Jonas considered this for a second before asking, “But Mom, where does a baby come out of me?”

“Babies don’t come out of you, Jonas. Only girls have babies. You really dodged a bullet there, son.”

—-

The questions relating to how the baby gets out didn’t phase me in the least; it was an hour later while driving in rush hour traffic that the subject of how the baby got in there came up. I tried to be quick on my feet with the barrage of pointed questions that Jonas was throwing at me. Because he is only six years old (not to mention his four year old sister was hanging on every word), I figured sex really didn’t need to come into play here. He wanted to know about the baby, not the penis, so I opted to leave that entire part of the story out for a few more years.

I told him that all girls have eggs and that when a Mommy and Daddy decide to have a baby they grow one of those eggs into a person. I told him that the egg gets bigger and bigger and grows arms and legs and hair and fingernails and reminded him of the umbilical cord and placenta and the pictures he had seen. This was all fine and well, but he continued to ask questions that were increasingly difficult to navigate without using more scientific terms or diving head first into a full blown lecture on sex. For twenty minutes he threw question after question at me asking for detailed explanations about how this baby grew, and just what exactly we did to make him start growing and how would Maggie have a baby someday and what did people do if they wanted twins. . .my head was spinning and I was starting to sweat!

I was at the freeway on ramp when all of this interrogation came to a head. I was out of reasonable, six year old explanations and feeling like quite the flustered idiot when Jonas launched one more very loaded question my direction.

“AND MOM”, he practically yelled.

“Yes?” I cringed.

“WHY IS PLUTO NO LONGER A PLANET!? What is the deal with that?”

He had no idea why I busted up laughing.

In the afternoon on the 12th my contractions went from irritating to uncomfortable to painful and every two minutes. I decided that rather than wonder all evening if this was it, I’d just drop by the doctor and get checked so I would know if I should go home and make dinner or if I should get excited about childbirth.

In the first hour at the hospital I went from a 3 to an “almost four” and from 50% effaced to 75% effaced. The nurses were excited for me! I was excited for me! I went for a walk around the hospital, called Chris, called my parents, and then everything stopped and there was no baby born on the 12th. There was also no baby born on Friday the 13th, and I’m not particularly hopeful about Valentine’s Day either.

I am hopeful about February 18th. This is the date I have been telling my doctor since I conceived this boy. You see, Jonas is June 18th and Maggie is December 18th, so another 18th would be quite fitting and very easy to remember. Since having children has pretty much eaten up all the spare information storage in my brain, I think having all three kids on the 18th would be a great way to streamline the information. Right now my son has two different drop off times at school in the mornings and three different time to pick him up during the week. Add the answers to questions like, “Where’s my toothbrush?” and “were those the same socks my son wore yesterday?” into the mix and I could use some simplicity.

Lasting until the 18th would also set a major record for me. It would be the first time I carried a baby to term. Term is not the same as due date. Term means 37 weeks and not having to check the “preemie” box at every pediatric and school visit until the kid is 25. Having never been within a month of my “due date”, I’m not entirely certain what that means, although with the rate my ankles are swelling and the amazing pain in my pelvis that is preventing me from getting back up after I bend over, I can only assume it means you get a very special place in heaven. I don’t need that place. I’ll be happy in the place reserved for people who just go to term once in their life.

As it is with all moments of my life, things are cropping up right and left that need my attention. The biggest is that Jonas will be having oral surgery on the 25th. Apparently, shoddy teeth and issues requiring surgical intervention run on my husband’s side of the family and Jonas got the short end of the stick. Of course, because I’m hormonal and a mother, I’m freaking out about the scary general anesthesia and the fact that I could go into labor on the same day my son is having surgery and wouldn’t that be just ducky. Or I could have the baby the day before, be in the throes of postpartum hormone soup, and be completely useless while he is recovering. Or. . .or. . .or. . .I could just imagine some happy, positive scenarios where I somehow float through the whole she-bang in perfect peace and harmony. . .find a happy place find a happy place find a happy place. . .

My mother said it will all work out. I said, “So what you are really saying is, this will all happen how it happens and I will deal.” Which is life, is it not? Anyone with a reasonably forward moving attitude will have it all “work out”, despite the total frustration of the moment. I just wish I could somehow plan all of this to where I could be 100% there for a newborn and 100% there for a recovering six year old, and keep a perfect, lovely, peaceful and clean home on top of it all. Ha! Yes, I know this is not possible. And I do know it will all work out. If I were less hormonal, I would probably handle this better.

Anyway, this is what is going on at our house. I’m still working and still sleeping during every spare moment. I’m still very pregnant. And it is ok. Right now, it’s ok.

The nesting urge finally overcame the “drop like a log and pass out on any available horizontal surface” urge tonight. The floors are swept. The toilets are scrubbed. The laundry room is no longer a disaster area (and if you had seen the before, you’d be quite impressed. For some reason our laundry room is everyone’s dumping ground). There is a little bit of crud I would really like to see reamed out of the edges of the baseboards, but I have discovered that when I get on my hands and knees it takes more effort than it is worth to get back up, so I am turning a blind eye until I can find a volunteer.

I have two pans of oven tacos and two pans of lasagna in the freezer, just waiting to be pulled out and baked. I put so many gallons of milk on the grocery list that when Chris came home from the store he asked me if he had missed the memo on the apocalypse. I made him a double batch of chocolate chip cookies to help use up a few gallons. And then I washed, folded and put away every piece of fabric that may or may not come in contact with my newborn at any point in the next two years, quadruple washing the cloth diapers to up their absorbency. After that, I transformed my bathroom into a baby diapering and bathing haven complete with brand new Burt’s Bees baby toiletries.

I have the urge to go roll my husband out of bed, steal the sheets and pop them in the wash too, but I’m just sane enough to wait until morning. It’s on the official to do list. Instead, I think I’ll go clean the scraproom. That ought to keep me occupied for awhile.

Chris has requested that I go into labor before morning so I can get him out of his chemical warfare training tomorrow. As much as I would love to oblige, I don’t think my body is going to help him out. I did go into labor on demand with Maggie, so Chris has reason to hope. That day I was told to go into labor “after 3pm on graduation day and before 6am the next morning before they started him on his new work schedule”. It got us a very nice two weeks off for Christmas, but I don’t think I can do a repeat performance.

I am sick to death about thinking about labor. You guys must be sick to death of hearing me gripe about it. I mean, really, I’m a whiner-baby who has never carried a baby to term. Shut up already about the labor when you’re only 36 weeks and change along, right? I agree. If my body would just ease up and take a break from the constant contractions and other teasing, it would be a lot easier to focus on other important things. Nice things that I can control, time, set expectations for and predict. Like pies. I could bake pies and they would come out very nicely, and I could find solace in pie. If, after my 10:00 doctor appointment tomorrow and cleaning my house all night, I am still awake and twitchy I will bake pies. They get done much faster than babies.