notes from preschool: that's my boy

Wyatt started preschool on Tuesday and (oh, alright, twist my arm, here's a picture of him on his first day to add to the bazillion other blogs that posted pictures about their child(ren)'s first day of school)

well, each day or so they send home a little spiral notebook in his Spider man backpack about what he's doing at school, little anecdotes about stuff his says and/or does in school.

It started off with this:

No surprise Wu had no problem transitioning. The mention of a babysitter and he and Henry are jumping around on the bed; time for Sunday school, he'll be the first one to the minivan. The kid clearly has no issues with attachment.

Even though the teacher signed it, I guess she found something worthy of mentioning later on in the day:


which continues on:

"Look, a catapult" and sent the figure flying...

That's my boy, the three-year-old that knows what a catapult is, better yet, uses a teeter-totter as a catapult.

Clearly, he takes after his brother.

Batman, you naughty boy

Perhaps it's my school girl humor, perhaps it's the fact that I haven't slept for more than 4 hours in a row in over a month (which 4 hours is still pretty rock star for a three week old and I'm in no way complaining) but does any one else think this is a little, well... naughty.

Or maybe it's just me?

Once again, thank you, McDonald's for providing some much-needed entertainment (and I'm not referring to the seventeen minutes my three-year-old played with this toy).

if you care, 2 weeks late, Edy's birth story

Prodromal labor - ever heard of it? Me either, until I started to experience *it*. False labor, early labor, prodromal labor started for me at 34 weeks. We were in the boonies, up in northern Minnesota, 3 hours away from my hospital or heck, a hospital that I would consider giving birth at.

I was in bed, counting the contractions as they got closer and closer together. I finally fell asleep, exhausted and woke up to contractions that we much less frequent. All was good.

'Contractions at 34 weeks, oh no!'

The second episode was at 36 weeks, the contractions were 3 minutes apart. That morning, I found out I was 1 cm dilated, so my mindset was 'this could be it'. I called my midwife who told me to take a bath, try to sleep, see what happens. That's exactly what I did, but I was completely prepared to go into the hospital. We even had my husband's brother come and get the kids to sleep over there.

But eventually, the contractions slowed down.

By 37 weeks I was 2 cm dilated. The contractions were strong, 3-7 minutes apart. We went into the hospital on Friday night. 4 hours later, we were sent home. We went to the hospital again on Sunday night, 3 hours later, once again we were sent home.

Contractions continued on, but I decided to wait for either my water to break or to give birth in my kitchen, because I was *not* getting to the hospital to yet again, get turned away. This week was one of the most frustrating things I've ever experienced.

'These contractions are really starting to piss Mommy off'

By Friday, I had enough. I called my midwife and told her I will not go into the hospital, just please, let me get into the clinic and check me. Which she did and by then I was 3 cm dilated.

She must have been a saint. She told me she'd strip my membranes, see what happened and lastly, if I was still having contractions through the night and made any progress over the night I would be admitted to the hospital.

Saturday morning, we walked into the hospital. I was 4 cm... I made progress... I was ready to be admitted but... my contractions were far apart, my midwife from yesterday (the saint) had just gone home. Everyone was ready to send me home too.

The midwife on call told me to walk around (the darn hospital hallways, I'm was so sick of them by this point). Before reaching the first turn, the midwife chased me and my husband down and whispered 'we'll get you in, don't worry about it'. She knew what I had been through.

And then the skies opened up - sing it: hallelujah!

It's easier if I just give you a time line from this point:

12 pm - finally got admitted into the birthing suite (I was in Heaven).
1pm - the midwife broke my water.
3 or 4 pm - she checked me again, I was still at 4cm.
4:30 pm - pitocin and my BFF epidural arrived
5:00 pm - husband and I settled in for a show, we were watching 'I Shouldn't Be Alive'. The show was about a couple hiking in the Amazon rain forest(we both agreed that they had to have been high to get off the path because of they were 'watching the birds' and wouldn't you know it, they left the map in their room... anyhow).
5:30ish pm - the nurse and the midwife come running into the room, throwing stuff around, getting changed - 'Did I feel something?' 'Do I feel any different?'. I was like 'no... we were just watching some idiots on t.v.'. My midwife said 'let's check you', pulls back the sheet and says 'yep - you're 10cm'. I had no idea.
5:47 pm - 5 contractions, 11 minutes later Edy was born.

That was the fastest I've ever delivered (minus of course, the 2 weeks or so of false labor!).

'Glad that's over!'

She's already such a drama queen.

WW - nine months of dust

announcing... yes, just like the ice cream

"Edy" Edith
born Saturday 08/14
5:47 pm
7 lbs. even
20" even

For those of you that love a good birth story (and I'm one of those raising my hand high in that category) I'll post that at some point. For now, I'm enjoying just being the Mom part of Anti-Supermom.

8/8 - a birth date

or not. I've been in this tunnel of false labor for a week and a half. Contractions go on all. day. long. They get as close as 2-3 minutes apart, for a long time. I call, they have me come in and...

nothing. I'm monitored for four to five hours, seeing if there is any change.

There isn't and I'm sent home.

I've been to the hospital twice in the last four days.

On Sunday night, I told them that I'm going to have to prepare myself for delivery at home, because I will have no idea when I'm in real labor.

You would think after 3 babies, I'd know

but I don't.

I'm tired of lining up a place for our boys, packing them up with their bags, car seats and extras. I'm frustrated at not going into labor. I'm done inconveniencing everyone that has to change their schedules to accommodate my family.

I don't ever want to be one to complain about being pregnant, I know I'm so lucky, so blessed to be standing in this position, but this is my excuse

for not being here.

timing

I'm tired. I'm tired of timing my contractions, glancing at my watch or clicking that darn purple and pink screen on contraction master. I know it's not time, just yet, but there have been many, many moments I'm not positive either way.

*

I can't believe Henry has grown the patience for fishing. There was a time when he couldn't stand for a second without wiggling an elbow or a leg constantly and now, you can cast off for a fish and reel it in that 'big one'. (He's yet to put a worm on his hook or touch the fish to throw back in the water, but how can I blame him, he's like his mother that way).

*

And my Wyatt, how have you possibly gotten so brave; no need for a night light, you walked right up to the tilt-a-whirl like it's nothing and you swing at amusement park rides by yourself, no bigger person needed. I'm so proud, you are so proud. Time hasn't stood still for you, you seem to be speeding through life when all I want you to do is slow down, be little for a little bit longer.




Tick-tock, tick, tock.



MN peeps, last day to enter the fabulous photo session giveaway here!