Back To Work...Almost

Monday brings back emploment for me.  One half of me is overjoyed at 1.) starting my ideal job and 2.) having a real paycheck, but the other half of me is dreading having to leave these kids.  Oh, what a great three weeks it's been.  I'm going to miss these boys horribly.  But I'll be back.

Initially gung-ho (is that how to spell that?) about working full-time nights and still managing my boys all by myself during the day, I've come to terms that will likely not happen...yet.  Also, I'm a little spoiled by having made and kept my own schedule these last few months, that I really think a part-time gig is up my alley.  So that is what I'll do.  Two nights a week away from sleeping children = not so bad.  The following day might be a little rough, but we'll work through that.  One thing at a time. 

This past week has been as especially good way to lead up to a regular-person schedule again.  Dinner with friends, a concert with family (still a little foggy today), Halloween parties and excitement, and some good and simple QT...I love it.  I've gotten out of the house with all three little ones quite a few times, and though Leo has developed a penchant for moving cars and roads (scary as $%!+), it's really much easier than I'd have thought...and even a little fun, as long as it's not an errand marathon.  I learned that the hard way.  If you know me at all, or really any other mom in the universe, you know how much pride is rooted in these kids.  Our outings yesterday brought quite a few compliments from strangers, thanks to uncharacteristically simultaneous pleasant and polite moods from the two older boys, which in turn made me feel like we're not so bad at this.  (That feeling comes and goes. Trust you me.)  I'm really happy and fortunate that, despite returning to work too early for my taste, I'll still get the day-to-day kid stuff with them, even the tantrums, which I'm only mediocre at diffusing.  This schedule allows me to be both a working mom and a stay-at-home mom...and a tired mom, but I'll live.  It's true.     

This weekend brings with it the end of another chapter.  Monday starts the beginning of an entirely new book.  Ready, set...go.

Oh, Leo...

Dear Leo,

You are obviously tired. You can barely function on even one nap per day. You NEED two, and why you fight every attempt is beyond me. I don't know what else to do, short of a daily Benadryl cocktail (only kidding, but wish I wasn't.)  Just sleep. Please.

Love,
Mom

Life With a Newborn, Round Three

Little Hatch is now twelve days old. For a relatively short period of time, he'll be a newborn.  And I love the newborns.  I've been asked several times how hard it is now that we have three kids.  I will tell you this: not at all. Yet.  The boys still take a lot of naps, Hatch especially, and I spend the majority of my day doing what I am used to - taking care of my older two boys, chasing them down, cleaning up spills and toys, and trying to keep valuables (including baby Hatch) out of reach. Their naptime is my snuggle time with my smallest son, usually with the TV off in near-silence. It's almost like meditation, healthy for my soul.

I know things will get harder. I have Leo as a constant reminder. (In his defense, he is also way more fun and outgoing than he used to be.)  In the meantime, I am loving our growing family, especially the newborn part. I love breast-feeding, love waking up to his face in the early morning, love the way he smells and how he practices smiling and laughing in his sleep. I love this baby. Of course, that's a given, but I really love this baby.

What I also love is the number of things I have learned that I can do one-handed, while either simply cradling or breast-feeding my tiny man. I refer to this multi-tasking as Mothering 312 (upper-level, you see.)  The list includes:

1.) Making dinner (specifically, assembling BLT's and ingredients for chili in the crock pot)

2.) Helping Leo with his yogurt (read: spoon-feed one child while breast-feeding another)

3.) Vacuuming

4.) Making the bed

5.) Brushing my teeth

6.) Reading a bedtime story AND giving a back rub (to/for the same kid)

6.) Scolding and pointing with purpose, using my mom voice (extra points for not un-latching or startling the baby) 

So...yeah...things are good. Great! As of two days ago, I had eight pounds left on the scale, which leaves me only a little discouraged, but also a little hopeful. I'm not ready to leave the boys in two weeks, but we'll get there. Reluctantly, but it still counts. Life will go back to normal, but even normal is still pretty good. No complaints here. (Important to note: Speaking of complaints, the angry pregnant woman who lived inside me along with Hatch has finally moved out. I can see the relief written all over Adam's face.)

The Professional Documentation, From Katie Marsh

Having a good friend and sister-in-law double as a photographer has its perks:

Birthday Photos

Five Days Old

William Has "Hatched"

I woke up to an alarm on my phone this morning. This is only interesting because I never have an alarm set to go off on Sundays (and, really, with these tiny kids, alarms are hardly necessary). When I picked up my phone to look at it, it read: Due Date 10/16. My due date. I put my phone back down on the dresser and snuggled my little William a little tighter.

It's been a week and a half since we met our smallest son. Ten days since we laid eyes on each other, and yet it feels like I've known him my entire life. He belongs here. He is ours.

Last Wednesday started out like any other. I had had contractions the night before, which made me think his arrival might be coming close, but they fizzled out and I fell asleep sometime around five AM. I took Patrick to school, came home, and was even more hopeful for a Thursday arrival. (Again, I will leave out the details. Let's just say I have my reasons for thinking that). Leo and I went for a walk. We came home and ate lunch. We picked Patrick up from school. I had not a single contraction all day long. My hope was fading, so I took a shot of castor oil. Still, nothing happened. Not even a Braxton Hicks. Nothing. In fact, I felt great.

Adam came home from work and was clearly sick. I ordered some pizza for dinner and agreed to take Leo for another walk so that he and Patrick could rest a little. I barely got out of the driveway when I felt the contractions start. Like clockwork, they were coming every three minutes and strong enough that I could barely walk through them. I was probably smiling as I closed my eyes and took deep breaths through each one, some worse than others. By the time we got home, about 20 minutes later, I was hit hard. I was in some pain, but I was loving every minute of it. I called my mom and asked that she or Colleen come by the house to watch the kids.

By the time they got here, my contractions really weren't terrible anymore. I was afraid they were fading, so Adam and I went for another walk. (This was a highlight to the entire night for me. It has been ages since the two of us held hands and took a walk. We checked out the other houses in the neighborhood and discussed baby names.) Because of the contractions, my bladder was barely holding anything. With Adam as my look-out, I did end up peeing in a neighbor's side yard...I imagine that was a pretty interesting sight, and thank God they did not have security lights.

Back home, I curled my hair, put on makeup, double-checked my bag, and we were off to the hospital around 11pm. It was an insanely busy evening in triage, but I was obviously in labor (still not nearly as painful as when it started) and progressing quickly. It took no more than a couple of hours to completely dilate and efface. I opted to labor down for a while, since it was late/early, the doctor wasn't there, and I really didn't want to push long. As it turns out, that didn't pan out the way I had hoped. I did push for a long time. Over three hours, to be exact, and with no pain medication. I had a loading dose of the epidural, but because of the baby's position and my (in my opinion) ineffective contractions, the epidural was turned down. With nothing to "turn down," it was turned off. It was a long labor. It got scary at one point. I cried in fear that something was wrong with our baby. I cried because this wasn't how I wanted our baby's delivery to be. I thought there was a reason he wasn't coming out. There was talk of a C-section--the doctor, who I now love, also feared something was wrong. But he and the nurses got me through it. They were miraculous. When I was exhausted and emotionally drained and all but begging for an end, they are the ones who talked me into keeping it together and continuing to push. And, even now, as I think about that morning, especially the last few hours, I start to cry again. I was in pain, I was scared, I was horribly emotional, but we got through it. And though it wasn't at all what I had planned, it was perfect. He is perfect. If I had to do it all over again, I would in a heartbeat. In fact, maybe I will...more on that later...in" a couple of years" later.

William Hatcher Walden, who was nameless for a solid 32 hours, was born at 9:00am on October 6th, 2011. He weighed 7lbs, 7oz and was 21 inches long. For the first time, I was the one who annouced the sex to the room. I couldn't stop laughing. And crying. He was/is beautiful. Gorgeous. With a head full of dark, downy hair, small features, and very attentive and almond-shaped eyes...I still can't believe we made him. (I go through this sort of awe and disbelief after the births of all of the kids. The miracle of childbirth never grows old.)

He was so close to being an Eddie (Edison Hatcher Walden.) I even called him Eddie once. But we just weren't sure. Once we realized we were putting too much thought into it, the decision was easy. We threw out the names that we were then considering (also Gabriel, Adrian, and Hatcher) and went back to basics. William is the name of the man who's heart still beats in my dad's chest, and what a more beautiful way to memorialize one life and family so remarkably selfless than with the start of another? So, here he is,our little William "Hatch" Walden; our smallest, darkest, hairiest, and most appreciative (and overall very pleasant) son on his birthday and beyond:

Laboring down and enjoying some ice chips

Fresh out of the oven

Delivery room lovin', one hour old

Patrick meeting his Baby Hatch

My Three Sons (Whew! I've been dying to write that...)

Hospitalized for an extra day because of high bilirubin levels, our little Glo-Worm

Loving his tanning bed, 10/8/11

Sleepy Daddy and Sleepy Hatch, 10/9/11

Finally going home, 10/9/11

Just a Few Things to Note

First, I am still pregnant.  Not that I shouldn't be, but I am. With sporadic contractions, I have noticed that the position of this baby appears less than ideal. I really hope it moves. I tried my own hand at an external version of sorts today with a little luck...for about four minutes. I am beginning to think I will carry this baby right up to my due date. Is that ok? Absolutely. Does it make me happy? Not entirely.

Next, I start work four weeks from today. Perhaps that decision was a little ambitious, but I am so excited about it that I care very little. I cannot wait to have a job. A great job. A great job that I have dreamed of having for years. Me=extremely fortunate.

Finally, and completely unrelated, Adam and I really need to start using each other's first names. I mean it. We found out we were expecting Baby Patrick exactly six months into our marriage, so we really have grown together as parents the last several years, and spent a relatively short period of time as just a couple. Perhaps it is that reason that we refer to each other as some derivative of "mom" and "dad". For example, I called Adam from the grocery store last night to see if he preferred item A over item B, and the conversation started like this:

Adam: Hello, Mother.
Catie: Hi, Father. We seriously have to stop doing this.
Adam: I know, Mama.

There is no end in sight. We are not our parents, we are our grandparents. And while it's wonderful to be such a solid team, there is little romance to be had when you call each other by the same names as you would the people who raised you. Truth.