I blog when I should be sleeping

One of the things I continually heard when I was pregnant was, "Get sleep now because you won't for the next 18 years." We're 11 months in. That means 205 months to go...with this baby. Add another baby, add another 216 months to our tally.....that's a lot of months without sleep. No matter how many times I heard the "get sleep now" comment, nothing could have prepared me for what was to come.

I used to rely on at least 7 hours of sleep a night to function the next day. Now, I'm functionable with 4 hours - overslept at 6. I remember one night getting 2 non-consecutive hours of sleep and working 9 hours the following day. Days like that make me feel like Super-Mom...for a few minutes. Then I become Zombie-Mom/Grouchy-Wife. And then I usually eat a bag of chocolate chips...because I can.

I know they say there's no such thing as "catching up on sleep", but whoever believes that hasn't met pre-baby me. I did catch up on my sleep. As if 7 or 8 hours of sleep each night wasn't enough, I'd sometimes sleep 11 hours Friday nights. I'd be waking up the next day a few hours shy of when Phaeton got home from work. Now, there's no such thing as sleeping in on the weekends. Adeleigh is on our routine - waking up by 6:30am everyday, including weekends. I guess if I got 5 hours in naps every day, I wouldn't need to catch up on my sleep either.

Another thing we often heard while pregnant was that our baby would sleep with us for the first 3-6 months. At 11 months, we're lucky to have a night where she doesn't end up between us in our bed. It typically starts out warm and snuggly, and usually leads to Adeleigh kicking Phaeton in the throat while digging her baby claws into my cheeks. I imagine she's dreaming of playing Mortal Kombat on her Sega - the baby version. Meanwhile, we're dangling off either side, hopelessly longing for a bigger bed and painless snooze. But at least she's comfortable. We're considering investing in some body armor and helmets.

When we were expecting, we bought ourselves a new mattress. Note to the women: When you are pregnant, it's really easy to get what you want. Not only do you have an excuse to eat everything off yours and your husband's plates, but you have an excuse for not cleaning the house, not emptying the litter box, and not getting up from the chair to get your own glass of water. You have a reason to buy new clothes for your growing self and for your future baby, buy a new mattress and buy all the tubs of icecream or white cheddar popcorn you want. So, we really needed a new mattress because I was pregnant. We also needed a new mattress because Phaeton used to tell me that the mattress we'd been using came from the dumpster. I later found out this wasn't true. But being pregnant and gullible, I immediately did something about it....
We splurged. We opted not for the King size because 1) Did I mention we live in a 1-bedroom condo? Every inch of space is precious. And 2) It was hundreds of dollars more than the Queen. So, Queen it was! It was heaven for my pregnant back. Over a year later, we've just paid it off. Purchasing a bigger bed right now is not an option. Neither is kicking the baby out of our bed, if that's what you were thinking next. I like her there. So, we make it work - most of the time. Occasionally, we girls wake up to a missing Daddy, only to find him fast asleep in the living room on the futon. Other times, I wake up to this -

When I was on maternity leave, I ran into a gal who shared with me that the biggest reason she didn't think she could ever have children was because she couldn't do without her precious sleep. Let me just say - that is never a reason to not have children. Sure, sleep is wonderful. But it does get easier the older Baby gets. When you become a parent, it's like your body and mind are completely transformed. You don't require all that you once did. You're able to function differently because someone is depending on you to be awake every moment they are - to feed, change, entertain, hold and love. You'll forego your own meal, your own blanket, your own nap, your own energy if it means making your baby comfortable. And you probably won't even think twice about it. You'll just do it. And odds are, you'll love every minute of it. The amazement, wonder and joy that a baby brings into your life is far greater than the sleep you'll be missing out on. Everyday, I find myself watching Adeleigh in awe while she snoozes away. Everytime, I'm overcome with gratitude and the most unconditional love - to see her chest rising and falling; to hear her delicate breath; to watch her lips purse as she imagines she's sucking on her pacifier; to feel the warmth that her little 19-pound body radiates. It's so pure and simple and absolutely beautiful. Who needs dreams when you've got this?...

Photo by Jessica Loucks

My minivan is cooler than your minivan

When Adeleigh and all her diapers and gear moved in, we concluded that we needed more space - immediately. So we rented a storage unit. But that didn't seem to be enough. Our solution? The more obvious fix to so many concerns new parents face - Buy a minivan.

It was the last car-shopping day of the month and we went to our family's most frequented used-car dealership in town, Markley Motors. Our intention was not to buy, just to shop, mainly because Phaeton didn't have me sold on the whole mini-van phenomenon. We met with our family's most frequented used-car salesman who showed us a 2008 Chrysler Town & Country, and pursuaded us to "just take a little drive". We ended up in north Loveland before we decided we ought to come back around. The whole drive, I was talking about how we just couldn't afford this, but it was nice to dream. "Thanks for the tease, Used-Car Man." 
We got back to the dealership and Phaeton decided to just "crunch some numbers" with Used-Car Man to see what we could get it for, if we were there to buy. The decided upon amount was too high. I, again, reminded the boys of how we didn't need that van. It'd be a luxury, and would possibly make us the laughing stock of the condo complex - and then I remembered our downstairs neighbor. We call her "Cherry" because 20 hours out of every day she sits in her minivan smoking Cherry-flavored Swisher-Sweets. Okay, this minivan is waaaaay cooler than hers. Still not sold. Then Used-Car Man had to pull the Baby-Card out. He said something like, "You may not need this van, but think of it this way - you'd be getting it for her [pointing to Adeleigh]. It's bigger, safer and it's a car she can grow up with."
Well, when you put it that way -
Sold. I stuck my hand out and we shook on it.
We drove away in our new Swagger Wagon (I stole this term from a youtube video, but the Wagon it's referring to is a Toyota). Click here to watch the official video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ql-N3F1FhW4

We love our new ride. When the trunk opens, it beeps like a dump-truck so the whole parking lot knows something awesome is about to happen. When Used-Car Man pushed the button to close the trunk, he stuck his arm in the door and said to me, "I think it has a sensor so it won't close if my arm's here. Let's see if it works." I was standing there holding Adeleigh, afraid we were about to witness the inspiration for the next Saw movie, and threw my hand over my mouth. I gasped as the door kept shutting, gap closing in. It popped back open like there was nothing to it. The boys had to console me for a moment. At least that feature works.
The only hang-up is when I push the button to close the side doors, they are so hyper-sensitive that they bounce back open at least 6 times before I finally have to get back out of the car, use my flimsy arm muscles and shut them myself. Man, I'm so spoiled. When I took the van back to the dealership for them to look at and fix the problem, neither door acted up for them, even though they tried 60 times. Or so they claimed. How convenient.
But one of the many parts we love about our mini-van are the 3 DVD screens. Yes, that's right. There are 3 of them. One is located in the console between the driver and passenger seats and doesn't work when the car is in motion, for obvious reasons. The other 2 are for each row of seats, and can play 2 different DVDs simultaneously. Unfortunately, with Adeleigh still rear-facing until she's 2, she can't view what's playing. But Phaeton can, and frequently does. Star Trek the movie has found a permanent home in our car. When we go out to run errands with Adeleigh sleeping in her carseat, Phaeton graciously volunteers to stay while I do the shopping. "Take your time," he says. And I frequently come back to find him sitting in the back, headphones on, grinning from ear to ear.

We were showing off our recent purchase to our friends, Chad & Shay, and the boys spent hours messing around with the gadgets, admiring the video game console and of course - watching Star Trek, while we girls ate our Walrus icecream. One cool feature they found - the electric blue limo lights that line the ceiling. Shay, we should've just rented you a Town & Country for your bachelorette party! Another cool feature - the main console can download photos from a USB card so you can stare at pictures of your baby while you drive. Until we figure out how to download our own photos, we'll be staring at some little blonde dude frowning on the playground.
Needless to say, I'm sold on the whole mini-van enigma. There's so much storage space (which we need) and it seats 7 (which we will need). So there's room for the 4 other children we'll be having. ((Trying to decipher Phaeton's reaction....))

Cold air - such a luxury

I quit my job today. And then the AC unit broke, badly. The quote is between $1500-2000 to fix or replace it. It's 90+ degrees outside. So living on the 3rd story, with west-facing windows, when heat rises - it's hot in here. Damn you science! Whoever buys our place (when it's For Sale) is going to have a long list of brand new appliances to enjoy: AC unit, dishwasher, washer, dryer, water heater. Every single one of those has broken and been replaced in the last 18 months. That's a lot of money. But this one, this is a doozie.
We started scheming up ways we could pay for the replacement. I actually contemplated seeing how I could appear on Wheel of Fortune. I'm sure it's harder than I realize. But I rock at it! I got the final puzzle today when no one else did, not even Vanna knew - Fuel Gauge. And there were only 3 letters up there. I'm trying to convince Phaeton to try out for Jeopardy! because he's brilliant. Today we both really rocked it because it's Kids Week. We might need to look at a more feasible alternative for paying this expense off though.

So, back to the shiny, new appliances.
Last summer, Phaeton picked up a part-time job working at Best Buy while I was pregnant to help save some cash. His 2 months working there pretty much paid for most of those appliances.
First up: The dishwasher started turning orange on the inside, then brown. We thought it was a build-up of coffee grounds that were backing up into our dishwasher. The dishwasher installer knew otherwise. He opened the door to our dishwasher, paused and said, "You guys haven't been using this, have you?" Uh, yes, for about 6 months. "I've never in all my years of doing this, seen a dishwasher that did this." Uh....??? I ran over to the computer and started Googling the effects that using dishes washed in a dishwasher with orange/brown build-up while pregnant will have on my unborn baby. The build-up was rust that was forming from the wear in our water heater. There came our second appliance - not available at Best Buy. Therefore not available to use an employee discount on.
Third appliance - the washer. We anticipated with a new baby, there'd be lots of laundry that needed tending to. So, I might've sabotaged the old washer on purpose. I put the dog bed in the washer - the entire dog bed - not realizing that dog beds are made of woodchips and dirt. You can imagine the mess that made - all over the inside of the washer, and all over the laundry room floor. Not even worth cleaning. So we just replaced it.
The dryer. It had 1 setting - Hot. But it didn't get very hot. We'd run the dryer time after time and still open the door to find soggy clothes. This one had to go. Besides, the washer and dryer have been in the family for decades, so we figured it was time to update.
Now, the AC unit. For the last 3 years, we've paid for the local AC guys to come out and re-charge our unit and pump it with freon. That's cost us well over $150 each time. Last summer, while pregnant, we paid for them to come out twice because, well, I was pregnant. And I needed my AC on high. Poor Phaeton lived in his sweats last summer. The AC guys told us it wasn't normal for them to have to come so often to do this service, but we couldn't afford the alternative. We still can't, but we have no other option this time so we'll make it work. Cold air doesn't come cheap.
And I thought diapers were expensive.

Not all manicures are pretty

I didn't expect that after our sweet baby arrived, the most dreaded, anxiety-ridden responsibility I would now be forced to undertake as a parent was - not just watching her bump her head on every single hard surface in our home - not just getting in the car and making the trek across town with delicate, precious, prized baby in tow (these do make me quite nervous though). But the thought of clipping her teensy-weensy baby fingernails terrified me. Fortunately with newborns, you're allotted a few weeks time before the nail actually separates from the skin to even be able to cut them.
Well, the time did come when I had to face my fear. I waited until Adeleigh fell asleep on our bed, grabbed the nail clippers and got clipping, very very slowly. It took me about 30 minutes to get through the first hand. I was on a roll - gaining confidence, getting cocky. Then I picked up her right hand, grabbed her index finger and clipped...
...then Adeleigh woke up...
...then the wailing began....
...and then the blood....and more blood.
I looked closely to find that not only had I clipped the top part of her fingernail, but I had clipped the top part of her finger - the meaty part. She sobbed for about 15 seconds before I realized what I'd just done. If I had kept clipping, I would've thought I'd taken off a chunk of her finger. She'd be scarred for life. She'd probably need physical therapy. Then I started sobbing. She stopped crying and looked up at me with her tear-filled eyes, confused like "Why is this lady crying when my finger hurts?" I called Phaeton at work and he didn't answer. I almost ran out to find the hotel housekeeper (FYI-this happened during the 6 week period when P was training for a new job & we were living out of a hotel in Denver). Instead, I called my mom. I needed to know that Adeleigh would be okay and that I was not a bad mother for having just inflicted this wound upon my innocent baby. I got the reassurance I needed, thanks Mom, and hung up the phone, still a little shaken. Adeleigh fell back sleep and I dabbed the wound with the burp cloth, then the bib, then the blankie, then the towel, then the bedsheet, just waiting for the bleeding to stop. Two-and-a-half hours later, with a peacefully sleeping baby in my lap, the bleeding subsided. Upon finding relief after all the stress, my body crashed with her in my arms. She had already forgotten about the events that had transpired. I, on the other hand, have forever engrained those 3 hours of horror in the guilty drawer of my soul.
I didn’t clip her nails for weeks. I wouldn’t let anyone else either. I needed to first make sure that the little flap of finger I had almost ruined would grow back in its proper place. When it did, I would only let my sisters clip her nails, not even Phaeton was allowed. Andrea had even mastered the skill to clip while Baby was awake! She deserves a medal. I eventually decided that I couldn’t keep depending on others to clip her nails and that I would need to figure it out for myself somehow, someway.
So one day, while changing A’s diaper, she zonked out on the changing table. I saw this as my opportunity to take my chances and give it a go. I grabbed the clippers, grabbed her adorable chubby fingers, clipped a few nails, and clipped a finger—again. Here we go…
Adeleigh woke up, cried. This time we cried together. I ran and grabbed my phone and called the doctor. It was a Saturday, so I got the lady on-call. I told her that I needed to speak with the doctor immediately, that I had knicked my daughter’s finger and it was bleeding. She made this sound as if to say, “Seriously, Lady? You called me for that?!” You would've thought I'd interrupted her watching TLC's Toddlers in Tiaras marathon or something. She said something like, “Well, I can try to reach a doctor to inform him of the situation, but every mother does stuff like this. Just apply a little pressure and she’ll be okay.”
That didn’t help me feel better. So I started crying, sobbing actually. I told her how I was a repeat offender and therefore, a horrible mother. Then the lady became a little more tender and genuine. She told me I was not horrible. I think she even became a little emotional herself. Then she shared with me that one time, while ironing, she had dropped the iron onto her baby’s leg. Eighteen years later, her daughter still bears the scar.
......I stopped crying……...
......I think I heard crickets……..
What I wanted to say was, “You did what?! How horrible! Who would have their baby underneath the iron when it’s on?!” But instead I said, “Oh, it’s okay. You didn’t mean to.” I should've thanked her for having done a number on my confidence.
When the doctor called me back, I was feeling much better. I told him I was fine, Adeleigh was fine. He said, “You know, for next time, you don’t have to use clippers. You could just bite her nails.”
.........….{pause}..............{crickets}...........
"Oh okay, maybe I'll try that next time. Thank you. Bye."
Bite her nails? That's kind of weird. Am I supposed to bite her toenails too? At what point am I supposed to stop biting her toenails - when she can bite her own?
I appreciated the advice, but decided not to take the biting route. Besides, I'd just kicked my nail-biting habit a few years ago. I didn't need to start up again.

I'm proud to say that in 8 months, I have not clipped Adeleigh's skin. I still feel the anxiety because I'm worried I might do it again on accident. If and when that day comes, I'll just remember that there's a lady out there who once synged her baby's leg with a hot iron...then I'll feel a little bit better. And I'll be grateful that when baby's grow up, they don't remember the horrible things their mothers did when they were little.

Reason #203 of why I'm getting gray hair

When you become a parent, you devote 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, to worrying about your little one. You do everything in your power to protect her, keep her safe and healthy. And you feel so helpless when she isn't.

This last week has been rough. Everything was going perfectly fine and happy. Then Tuesday evening, after we'd brought Adeleigh home from daycare and had her playing on the ground with all her toys, she started sobbing. This is not like her. She's generally a very happy, easy-going baby. So, we chalked it up to teething. She'd been teething for the last 5 months without any chompers yet, so this unusal behavior we assumed was indication that the tooth would be surfacing any minute. We gave her some baby ibuprofen and a teething ring and hoped that would bring relief. It didn't. Poor baby, so uncomfortable. We checked her temp which read 99.1. Two minutes later, checked it again. 100.5. Again, 101.7. Then, 101.9. Something wasn't right. What could cause her temperature to spike so high, so quickly? I called the doctor. He said teething wouldn't cause her temp to go higher than 100 or so, so it must be an infection she's trying to fight. He said it's not uncommon for a baby's fever to elevate to 103 or 104 before any further action is necessary. So, we monitored her all night.

The following morning, I knew something was off. She usually wakes up on her own between 5:30 and 6:30 am (this is really lovely on the weekends, by the way) and come 7:15 she was still sound asleep. I woke her up and her temp was at 100.4, so we kept her home from daycare. I stayed home from work. I scheduled her a doctor's visit that morning. Her temp climbed to 103. I was getting nervous. The doc checked everything else out - ears, lungs, bladder, stomach, appendix. Everything else checked out fine, she was just lethargic from the fever. The doctor assumed it as a viral infection, nothing we can do but to monitor her and push fluids. He said meningitis usually causes a very high fever without any other symptoms, but she was more aware of her surroundings than a baby with meningitis would be. He'd seen a lot of roseola this past week, so assumed it would develop into a rash in a few days time.

The poor thing didn't want to play, smile, eat, drink. She just wanted to be held, and sleep. That night was another rough night. We had her in our bed, so we could monitor her closely. We turned the AC up and pointed a fan toward the bed. I woke up at 1am feeling really hot. The heat was radiating off Adeleigh's body, so much so, that the sheets where she was laying felt like we'd just taken them out of the dryer. This couldn't be okay. We checked her temp: 102.7. We immediately stripped her down to her diaper and prepared some fluids. She wouldn't take a bottle, so we did medicine-droppers full of pedialyte. We gave her as many as she would take and force-fed her a few more.

Thursday we decided to have her blood checked for inflammation and to check her blood count. That was traumatic for everyone. It required 2 phlebotomists and 2 parents to keep Adeleigh's arm still. Phlebotomist #1 got the needle in A's arm and fished around for a vein without any luck. No luck in the other arm either. Poor baby had been poked and prodded and no blood had even been drawn. They would have to take 2 vials of blood through her thumb...Oh great, this should be fun.
Adeleigh's crying turned to screaming. I started sobbing. Phaeton was trying to console both of us while holding Adeleigh still......
Done. Thank goodness. Let's go home. But first, Momma needs an ice-cream cone. Daddy needs a beer.

At 9pm, the doctor called us with the results - white blood cell count is very high and the numbers indicate bacterial inflammation, not sure what kind, but we'll treat it with a general anti-biotic and hopefully see results in 24 hours. So, no roseola. This was unsettling, as we were hoping for a diagnosis, any diagnosis with a fix. He expressed concern and stated that we needed to drive to the only remaining 24 hour pharmacy in Fort Collins and get her started on antibiotics immediately.
When Phaeton came home with the amoxicillin, I became nervous. I have an allergy to amoxicillin and didn't feel comfortable giving my baby a medicine so late at night, with an increased risk that she too could have a reaction. I called the pharmacist and expressed my concern. He said, "So, wait til the morning."
Me - "But, her doctor said to start her on it immediately."
Him - "Well then, have benadryl handy in case she has a reaction. And if that doesn't help, call for an ambulance."
Oh yeah, that's reassuring. Thanks, doc.
Me - "Is it okay for a 10 month old to have benadryl?"
Him - "Well, you're not supposed to give it to children under 6 years of age, but it'd be better to give than let her have a reaction."
Still not helping, doc.
Per Adeleigh's doctor, we gave her 1/2 the indicated amount for the 1st dose and started the normal dosage for the next morning. After I told him the list of possible reactions that could occur, including seizure, he reassured me that with 1/2 the dose, the most reaction she'd get would be a rash.
Thankfully, she's had no reaction thus far to the anti-biotic. Phew. Oh, how I love the stresses of Western medicine.

Friday morning she was doing much better. I stayed home from work again. Phaeton was off. She was playing and watching Yo Gabba Gabba! like any other kid. That is one trippy show! But she loves it, and it lightened the mood, so that's all that matters. Her fever was down between 99 and 100 and she was eating and taking fluids again. We decided to take her to the doc just to have her checked before the weekend. He started talking to us about white blood cell counts being too high and how the inability to ward off infection can be leukemia or a slew of other things, "But, don't worry. I'm not saying she has leukemia." Here's what I took from that conversation, "She has leukemia."
We went home and I started Googling bacterial inflammations and white blood cell counts. Now I was getting worried. I was reading all about bacterial meningitis and how horrific it is for babies. Wait a second, the doctor mentioned something about meningitis on our 1st day there. Here's what I took from that thought, "She has meningitis."
Adeleigh started sobbing again and we checked her temp, 102.8. We were panicking, wondering if we needed to rush to the ER. And we remembered what the doc said about waiting 24 hours for the anti-biotic to kick in. We're about 2 hours short. And as long as she's not getting worse, we don't need to take her yet. We gave her another dose of baby ibuprofen, of anti-biotic, of pedialyte and waited. Her fever gradually dropped, and she fell asleep on my chest.
We got ready for bed, gently handing Baby off while the other got ready. It was 10pm Friday. We laid down, placed Adeleigh in between us and she woke up, rolling over onto her belly. She popped her cute little pacifier-face up, squeezed toward us and buried her face in my chest, then Phaeton's - as if to say, Thanks Mom & Dad for the love and concern. But really, I'm fine. See? And then - she took off. First, to the headboard to play with Mom's glasses. Then, to pull Nubi's ears, who's peacefully sleeping at the foot of the bed, and didn't know what was coming. Next on Adeleigh's agenda of I'm feeling much better - to try and roll over Mommy's hips into her crib (we currently use a bedside sleeper due to a lack of space in our 1-bedroom condo). We didn't let that last one happen, but we let her bounce and giggle and yank for a little while until she finally crashed on her tummy in between us, bum high in the air. It was a beautiful sight, to have our sweet angel back, feeling playful and well. Then we all peacefully slept, for the first time in days.

It's Saturday now and she's much better. She still has a low-grade fever, but she's pretty well back to herself. At this point, I'm sure she doesn't have meningitis, or leukemia. Note to self: don't try and diagnose anything using the internet. We'll be headed to get more bloodwork today to ensure the bacteria levels are falling. We may not ever know what took her to the extreme the last few days, but at this point, we're just grateful she's improving. I'm amazed that this 19-pound body could withstand such high temps for 3 days and bounce back so easily. She's a trooper. And to top it all off, this morning, while giggling with a mouthful of bananas, I got a little peek at her first toothbud, poking down from the top.

My kind of marathon

I feel it only right to start this whole Momma-blogging thing off by starting at the beginning. I won't go too much into detail, unless you ask me to. But let's just say that once we decided we wanted a baby, it didn't take long. All of a sudden there was the pregnancy test with the big blue +plus sign+  taped to the front door, just waiting for Phaeton to come home to. I don't know how it got there, but it definitely got the reaction I was hoping for! Thus, began our journey.
...
I'm not the kind of person that would ever sign-up to run a marathon. Hell, I barely mall-walked my last 5K. (So as not to be misleading, when I say my last 5K, it was probably the 2nd or 3rd in my life). The only kind of marathon that I would ever put my body through is one where the end prize was something so precious, that brought so much joy and love into my life - the way a baby does. Nothing could ever compare to my kind of marathon.
So, being pregnant is like 40 weeks of training for the marathon of your life, and you really have no idea how long the marathon will last. It might just be a sprint, or it could be Iron-Man. So you do research, take classes and prepare your body as best as you can, to hopefully encourage and persuade your baby to keep it brief. Preferably, Baby, I'd like you to just make a mad-dash to the finish line. 
But, Baby does what She wants. And this baby was perfectly comfortable being the tortoise in my marathon. Slow and steady.
In the big scheme of things, it was a short chapter. But factor in the experience in its entirety - the sleepless nights of excitement and anxiety, the excruciating leg cramps, the nausea, the overwhelming feelings of terror and realization of responsibility, and the incomparable happiness and anticipation of what's to come - it's the most significant, life-altering chapter of my life. I loved myself more than I ever had before, because it wasn't just me anymore. My relationship with Phaeton grew in leaps and bounds. I became more appreciative of the man that he is and grateful that he is the man, soon-to-be the father, of our little girl. And while he was not gaining any sympathy weight, I was growing 39 pounds wider. But what's nice about my kind of marathon is that the moment you're done, you've already lost about 15 of them. 
So, my marathon started at 4am on a Monday and I crossed the finish line 41 hours later at 9:40pm....on a Tuesday. For the last 4 1/2 hours of my marathon, every single muscle in my body was pushing so I could meet my little turtle. Sometimes I still can't believe that I managed to avoid a C-section. Thank you, Kelly-Jean (my midwife) for being my strongest advocate. But I pushed and pushed the baby through, millimeter after millimeter, hour after hour, I pushed. I remember it getting exceptionally painful in the final minutes and the whole time just feeling duped that the epidural was not numbing enough. Then I remember lots of movement in the room and people getting covered up and excited and I was screaming and pushing and -- 
and my husband caught her with his bare hands. It was beautiful. She was here, in our world. She took her first breath of life. And we took our first breath as parents. And it all slowed down. With her here, it could all just slow down. It's a miracle, every moment. And she is what brings me back to the moment. And everyday, I'm completely amazed at what my body did - at what we created - at what the human body is capable of. Babies are born every second, but nothing compares to that second when your baby is born. It's a moment you never forget.
...
I was sore for weeks, much longer than if I'd just run the damn marathon. But my prize at the finish line was far greater than any medal. And while 10 months after-the-fact, I'm still leisurely burning off the pounds, I do feel proud of what this extra weight means. So there's no rush for me to lose this baby weight. Besides, it gives Adeleigh something to bounce up and down on and hide her toys in.