Eve Overload

I have a severe case of postpartum brain mush, but I have lots of pictures to make up for it! Lil' Tuna has been an absolute slice of heaven since her arrival, so I had no choice but to take a million shots of her from slightly different angles and post them all here for your viewing pleasure.

This was actually the third of this exact same pose. Leah kept saying, "One more time to give kisses." You'll notice Eve making her "about to leach on to Leah's cheek in a rooting attack" face.

Big eyes...

Leah has been only mildly interested in Eve, which makes things pretty easy for me. Though, she does feverishly rub her head whenever she gets the chance.

The stuff my dreams are made of...

This sight has struck terror in the hearts of mothers and fathers across our apartment no less than six hundred times since bringing Eve home from the hospital. Curse you, Eve-sized baby doll impostor.

Taking Grammy to the airport. Leah is going through withdrawals already.

Contemplating the world....

And finally, my own little milkmaid. So helpful and selfless.

More pictures to come--and a million other updates---once my brain has returned to its normal form.

Over the Moon!

She has arrived!!! Sunday, November, 28th 2010 at 6:27PM, Eve Sophia made her glorious and dramatic debut--pretty much improving conditions around the world for everyone in general. Well, with the exception of her elder sister, who, amidst moments of doting and cooing over our new little bundle, has been feeling quite put out. Cool your jets, Little Leah, you'll soon realize there is nothing in life better than sisters.

I'll start with some pictures. She is perfect and delicious, after all.

She tipped the scales at a whooping 6lbs 7oz. So tiny.

The Turkey Sub asked immediately in her highest, sweetest voice if she could hold baby and I've never witnessed so much cheesy goodness watching her kissing her little sister's head and saying, "oooh, she's so cute!" and touching her face and loving her up a storm.

Tired Dad.

There is nothing quite so excellent and preposterous as these teeny new babes all strapped in to their huge car seats. Getting ready to head home from the hospital.

Now, for those of you who are interested, let's get down to the nitty gritty. I will say, the birth of this little one didn't turn out quite as I had planned. On Sunday morning I started having contractions and labored at home until 3:00PM, when Sam and I left Leah and Grammy at home and headed off to the hospital. To our surprise, upon arriving, I was already dilated to 6 cm. The nurse was like, "What on earth have you been doing to manage your pain?!" My response was obvious, "Well, I'm pretty much awesome."

At that point they checked me in and I immediately started shouting around for an epidural. Those of you who know me, know I don't pretend to be brave or gracious about childbirth. Which is precisely what made this next part so horrifying.

"Alright Vanessa, we've got some bad news, there's someone ahead of you for an epidural so it's going to be a bit. We can give you some intravenous meds to take the edge off in the mean time..."

My contractions were getting unbearable, so I enthusiastically agreed to any kind of relief. My midwife came in to check me before administering the pain killers... to her surprise, I was dilated to 9cm. And then, in what can only be described as the slow-motion voice of Satan, she looked at me and said,

"NOOO MEDICINE FOOOORR YYYOOOOUU!!!!"

Then she threw her head back in maniacal laughter.

At that moment, my world came crashing down around me. I didn't hold back. I shouted "WhaAAAT!?!!" and started objecting and kicking at the nurses and attempting escape.

She grabbed my face, her red eyes burning into mine, and said, "Listen to me, Vanessa! It's too late, it's not safe to take any medicine, you're having this baby right now!"

Now, I know some of you may think I'm being dramatic, but I need to make it clear that the thought of natural childbirth has always been horrifying and preposterous to me. Like, signing up to have your leg amputated without any anesthesia. Or agreeing to get punched in the face everyday. Just for fun. Like, not even a consideration. Ever. I don't care that women have done it since the beginning of time, or that our bodies were made to do it. I literally felt like I was being sentenced to torture. And there was nothing I could do about it. And I was sure my granola midwife had plotted it that way all along.

The next five minutes were so chaotic and ridiculous I can't even think about them without laughing and crying at the same time. I was angry and terrified... and still shouting out futile objections... and the next thing I knew, the table was collapsed and I screamed, "She's cooooming!!!" and then something like, "I think I'm peeing!" and in one push, one EXCRUCIATING push, this lil' Tuna came shooting out. Literally, shooting out. Like, she got air.

And then I heard her sweet little newby cry, and everything was right in the world. I felt immediately overcome with love and endorphins and everything good. And I forgave everyone in the room, thanked them for getting my new little loaf here safely, and apologized for all the names I'd called them... except for my widwife, who I still hate.

BUT, I will say, Eve is the sweetest, most delectable little angel baby and I'd easily go through her delivery 100 times over to get her here. So far, my adjustment to two, with the help of my mama and glorious husby, has been peaceful and lovely.

I can't wait for you to meet her.

12-Year-Old Fraud

Because there is NOTHING going on in my life except a lot of grunting and panting and avoiding reaching for things while I wait for this little chubbily to make an appearance, I offer you this:

When I was 12 years old, my 7th grade english teacher, Mr. Hancock, assigned us the task of compiling an original book of poetry. I was pretty much the teacher's pet poster child in those days, loving nothing more than dazzling my various teachers with my maturity and (perceived) superior intellect. I lived for their praise and played the part beautifully... always going the extra mile, getting chosen for special projects and leadership positions, oozing with flattery and butt-kissing. You know the kind... you may have been one yourself. In which case, I salute you, because only those of us who fell into this category know the hard work and calculated dedication required for that kind of status.

My parents were proud of my accomplishments, but there was always a hint of amusement (or resentment) in their voices when they would recount the praises my teachers would sing come parent-teacher conferences, or the smug congratulations I would give myself upon presenting them with another 100% or straight-A report card. Because the truth of the matter was this; at home, I was a beast.

This Dr. Jeckle/Mr. Hyde charade continued until just after my Sophomore year in High School, when I cooled my jets a little and settled into the joys playing a little hookie can bring, completing my Senior year with a whopping 33% attendance. I had seen the light, and it no longer consisted of the sun shining out of my teachers'.... faces.

Back to my 7th grade poetry assignment. My sister was kind enough to rummage through a box of my old school papers where she found a little gem I wrote in the form of a poem called, "My family's first aid kit." Please note the fraud in the final lines. I made them big and red for you.

My Family's First Aid Kit

My family lives inside a first aid kit.

Dad's the boss, the box

on the outside that holds the whole family together.

Strong and powerful.

Mom tries her hardest, the tube of Neosporin

used to heal and nurture

us kids when we're down or sick.

Jesse is just kind of there, the medium-sized

band aid, very important

but not always as useful when times get tough.

Abe is loving and caring, the ace bandage

that is always willing to wrap one up

in a hug in times of need.

Bethany is important, the hydrogen peroxide,

stinging at times but in the end

is always helpful

Meradith is the tweezers, always

the busy body, poking around this way and that.

And I am the delicate cotton ball, still important

but often forgotten.

As soft and as loving as I can be....

Sigh...

Oh, 12-year-old self,

You were so picked on and misunderstood. And so, so loving, little cotton ball. The way you used to bully your overdevelopedandslightlychubby way around the house until you got what you wanted. And how you were such an opinionated, entitled, little know-it-all. How I wish I could spend a few moments with you to give you all the attention you deserved... to slap you across the face for being such a little, brown-nosing turd.

You're lucky you're so cool now.

Love,

25-year-old self

Hodgepodge Update

So, it's been 11 days since "the incident" and our little Turkey Sub is healing up like a champ. There have been literally zero inconveniences or complications with Leah's recovery... aside from her occasionally catching sight of herself in the mirror, double taking, zooming in and becoming mildly concerned and agitated that her pageant days may be over...

BUT, because inquiring minds want to know, here is a picture I took no more than 47 seconds ago just for this here post--see how on the ball I am?

95% of the bruising/swelling is gone and even a few of her stitches have already dissolved. So happy. So proud of my little Sub.

I took her in yesterday for her follow up doctor's appointment. They scheduled me to see Dr. Song, who happens to be the head of plastic surgery at U of Chicago. He acted exactly like Dr. 90210. Ever see the show? Anyway, he was all schmoozy and charming and over-complimentary... in the way that makes you immediately feel like you're getting duped. I found myself feeling all insecure and dodgy, waiting for him to try to lure me to a safe and happy place before starting to judge me and suggest "improvements." And cursing myself for not wearing a real bra instead of my night time/zero support nursing one.

By the end of the appointment I found myself wanting to respond to everything he said with squinty-eyed suspicion and defensiveness...

"You're gonna want to rub a little bit of lotion on her stitches at night to help them dissolve. But other than that, she looks just perfect!"

"Oh REALLY!?!? You calling me FAT now, doc?!?! You go to hell!!"

It was a strange, self-reflective experience. But clearly his fault.

I'll prolly call him up for a consultation after Lil' Tuna gets here.

In other news, Sam got a stellar job offer in Newport Beach, CA. He's still waiting to hear from several other firms before we make our final decision--in fact, he's flying to NYC, Milwaukee, and LA this week for final interviews at 4 firms that he would consider taking as well. And he's got a couple prospects here in Chicago, too--so, we're still up in the air. And yes, I realize all of those other locations are far pooier (poohier? pooeyer?) than Newport Beach. But aside from all that, we're just feeling fat n' happy having something spectacular nailed down.

And lastly, I've just been busy baking baby and having lots of false alarms--one of which resulted in me being on strict bed rest for the weekend. A "nesting" mother on bed rest has a sort of catforcedintobathtub effect. Except with more witching and shouting around and scratching and hissing and blaming Sam for everything... all with my dainty little feet elevated on a stack of pillows. I just about lost my mind.

My time off did allow for some good home video watching. I've found myself especially smitten with "baby Leah" in anticipation for the arrival of her little sissy. I've watched this little clip no less than 14 times over the last few days. And I nearly sprout wings and take flight each time:

So, Halloween Tried to Kill My Family...

WARNING! Graphic Photo Alert. Viewer discretion is advised.

Well, Halloween 2010 didn't end up being quite the party we would have imagined. In fact, next Halloween I'll probably end up having some sort of anxiety attack in remembrance of this one. I don't have much energy to put into writing this, and there's a lot to say, so I'm just kinda gonna spew it all out.

The day began typically. I woke up feeling off, so Sam and Leah ventured out to the first little party of the day and had a splendid time. While they were gone, my "off" feeling graduated to "debilitating" in the form of searing pain in my upper right abdominal/rib area, a migraine, and contractions. I'm generally not an alarmist so I held off calling my doctor until about 2PM. She was immediately concerned I was having a gall bladder attack and sent me to the hospital.

We left Leah with the Bischoffs and headed off for tests, monitoring, and an ultrasound. Our ward Halloween party started at 5:00PM, so we knew we'd miss it but were happy for Leah to be able to still go and have fun with our friends. Then things got really interesting. After 4 hours wasted at the hospital for them to diagnose me with a UTI and a displaced rib (thanks a lot baby #2!) we checked out and noticed we had a missed call from our friend, Matt. While Sam tried to call him back we received the following text:

"Hey Sam, sorry to do this to you while you're in this situation, but Leah fell at the church and cut her cheek and is probably going to need some stitches. We need to know how to talk to one of you two to get consent for them to do it."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It turns out she was running around with the other munchkins and tripped and fell into a chair that had a plastic hook on the side so it could be attached to other chairs. Her face hit the hook directly. I felt complete panic and instantly overwhelmed with sadness that I wasn't there with her. We were about 20 minutes away from the U of Chicago emergency room so Sam rad-mobiled it through traffic and got to the ER just as Matt and Mimi got Leah checked in. My heart completely broke when I saw my little Turkey Sub in her little witch costume, covered in blood and bandages, and nestled into Mimi's neck. In that instant I was simultaneously horrified and filled with overwhelming gratitude for our wonderful friends for taking care of her.

Leah was so pitiful. She was exhausted (she had just attended her second party of the day, after all, and it was 40 minutes past her bedtime. Oh, and she had a really bloody face).

(Waiting to get placed in a room. The shirt she is wearing was her under shirt, her costume was completely soaked in blood.)

The ER doctor came in and examined her wound. (Can I just say right now that overly-dramatic doctors need to be shot? That's all.) He proceeded to tell us that she would need to be placed under general anesthesia and that she would need two layers of stitching to repair the wound. She was also going to need a cat scan and imagining of her face to reconstruct her nose if needed. And he expressed lots of concern about her face and nose healing well, etc. It was super fun to hear his speculations about her looking possibly like Frankenstein. Oh, and he got all defensive when we asked him if a plastic surgeon would be working on Leah. "Um. We're all pretty good a stitches," was his response. Turns out they always have a PS do facial repairs, but I'm sure glad he let us know he's good at stitches.

The thought of putting her under made me uneasy, not to mention we'd have to wait an additional 6 hours minimum for her stomach to empty to even start the procedure. I just couldn't feel good about it so we were relieved when the plastic surgeon arrived and told us that we could try a local anesthesia if Leah would tolerate it. This would mean she would have to inject the anesthesia directly into the wound over a course of three injections. Then Leah would have to sit through the stitching while awake. The surgeon said it's nearly impossible considering her age, and that it was often very traumatic for children and parents much older than Leah, but she would be willing to try it if that's what we wanted.

We needed a few minutes to decide and prayed fervently that we would be able to know what would be best for Little Lee. We felt strongly that the local anesthesia was best and so we decided to move forward. We, along with the doctor, were completely dumbfounded when Leah fell asleep in my arms and proceeded to SNOOZE through the numbing injections in her face! The doctor said she had never seen ANYTHING like it in her life. We couldn't believe it.

(Sleeping right before getting numbed)

Shortly after the numbing, Leah woke up and Lincoln and Matt came back to the hospital to help give her a blessing. We knew the actual procedure would be an uphill battle and if we couldn't get her to stay completely still, it would be impossible to sew her up. Sam blessed her that she would be able to do it and by the end of the blessing, she was fast asleep in my arms again.

(Awake and a little miserable after her injections)

We quickly notified the doctor and she came in and got to work repairing Leah's nose. Again, we were beside ourselves as Leah proceeded to sleep through receiving nine out of ten stitches. She woke up just before the doctor finished and wouldn't hold still any longer, but the skin was lined up perfectly so our doctor was able to just use a dab of skin glue to finish up. It was a complete miracle!

(All cleaned up and put back together)

Directly after her face was repaired, our Turkey Sub got right back to business flirting with the hospital staff and harassing her parents. I've never felt so relieved to see her little smile. I can't even think about it without getting emotional. Heavenly Father took such mercy on our little munchkin, and even more so, on Sam and me.

The morning after, back to her regular antics, just looking a little different:

We were pretty excited because her face didn't look too bad after the first night but it just keeps getting more and more swollen and bruised. I keep getting startled looking at her. She doesn't look anything like herself. Poor little lamb.

The last few pictures were taken last night, and as of this morning, her left eye is completely blue and almost swollen shut. I can't believe how resilient kids are, though. She's as happy as ever!

I can't even begin to describe how grateful I am for our wonderful friends who I know I can trust completely with those things that are most precious to me. I know it was such a stressful, panicky ordeal for them to go through, especially with someone else's child. I can't even imagine. And most importantly, I'm overwhelmed with gratitude for a loving Heavenly Father who is so keenly aware of the suffering of his little ones. This experience reminded me that Leah is His daughter, even more than my own. I'm so thankful for His continual tender mercies in my life.

Blah and Yay... Random Post.

So, I've reached that point. That one point in pregnancy when you can't breath or get comfortable EVER. And you start to get annoyed with the sound of your own complain-y voice. And because you complain so much, your husband loses all sympathy for you (except for his OWN magically imagined "sympathy" aches and pains that require massaging) because he's become desensitized to your "pitiful" face and grunts and groans and frustrations with your huge, lumbery, prison of a planet body.

In a desperate attempt to feel validated for my less than perky demeanor, I lovingly provided Sam with a small, but poignant demonstration. I had him sit on the couch and, not without great effort, climbed aboard and put my knee in his diaphragm. Then I shoved one fist in his bladder and the other under his ribs on one side and told him to go ahead and get comfortable like that so we could relax and watch some TV. Then I sat there all smug for my ingenious empathy-inducing object lesson.

I've had to repeat my demonstration a couple times since then, pretty much just whenever Sam starts getting that less-than-perfectly-understanding-and-doting look about him. He's really grateful I'm so willing to take the time to teach him exactly how sorry he should feel for me...

Don't be jealous.

BUT, aside from all THAT, I will say, autumn in Hyde Park makes me all mushy inside. There's so much lush, colorful goodness that I can't help but feel invigorated whenever I venture out of my apartment---once a week.

We made our way to the annual pumpkin patch/apple orchard fiesta in Indiana last week and had ourselves a glorious time. In fact, I was so drunk off of fresh cider, fudge and pumpkin donuts I hardly took any pictures at all.

But alas, there are a few to share:

The munchkin herd. Notice the "3 Little Pigs" homes behind them. The two little imps on the right holding hands were discovered trying to sneak off to the grass one for a little alone time.

No, but seriously, we have been startled to happen upon them smooching a time or two. Like, serious smooching. Josh, however, HAS been rumored to be romancing a slightly younger woman in our group of friends as well. One with an equally luscious hairdo... So I've been trying to teach Leah a few of her mother's "hard to get" tricks. Seeing how she is generally the big fat kissing instigator, I don't think it's sinking in... the little hussy.

Some of the gang.

Leah was a power monger with her little map, shouting around directions and being a bully in general. Till we mocked her mercilessly for carrying it upside down.

Matt, Mimi and Josh on the tractor out to the orchard.

Seconds before the Pumpkin Police had to taze Sam for getting unruly with the squash.

What is it with overaged children turning into crazed lunatics when presented with a swarm of toddlers and toddler-aged toys? I swear, the next 5+ year old I see fighting with a 2 year old over a trike is going to get leg-clipped from behind. By ME. Oh, and their parents, too.

Sorry. Merely spouting off a little steam about Leah's ill-fated attempts to play with this here little tractor amidst a gang of unsupervised 5-year-old hoodlums wreaking havoc in the toddler play area.

Speaking of, I couldn't resist snapping a few incognito shots of this little gem who was king konging around the fun toys at the mall...

His awesome mom lovingly ignored all of the blaring height and age limit signs that day and dropped him off so she could get some much needed shopping time by herself...

This next one is my favorite... in the infant play section:

It was a precarious situation for all children involved that day. Leah, in particular, came dangerously close to losing her life on five separate occasions... but I'm super glad his mom got to have some "me" time.

End Tangent.

This little beauty (Carina's newest addition)...

...had her baby blessing two Sundays ago and we were thrilled to host the post-blessing luncheon at our house.

There was delicious cuisine...

And delicious company...

(You'll notice the extreme duress my non-maternity shirt is under in this picture. Poor little shirt. Never hurt a fly.)

I didn't take one single picture the whole time so I had to steal these from Carina. BUT, our house was happily packed with love and laughter and high-fiving... my very favorite things.

The end for now.

This One Will Warm Your Little Heart...

and a little fat...

BUT, this post is in no way meant to make any of you feel bad for me... or to prompt you to tell me "you look great!" or anything like that. Prrrromise. Because I REALLY haven't been feeling sorry for myself. AT ALL! I just wanted to share a few of the preposteries (that's right, preposteries) that have been lovingly lobbed in my direction during this pregnancy, by people that weren't you. Because they'll make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. And because for some reason, people don't have much of a filter with me when I'm pregnant. And a few of these zingers will really blow your mind.

These are all direct quotes, mind you. I'm not exaggerating. I remember them exactly because these sorts of things, when directed at you personally, get seared right into your brain forever....

"Oooh, last time I saw you, I remembered you skinny." (Said by a man, no less)

"If I had to choose someone to be in my handcart company, I'd choose a strong, useful, thick woman like you, Vanessa." What a great compliment! If you ran into trouble, I'd probably be the first person you'd eat, too!

"So how come your sister stays so skinny, when you just blow up like a whale during your pregnancies?" How would you answer this? I just sort of stood there, blinking... and said, Um, I don't know?

"Oh my gosh, it looks like you're carrying most of that baby right in your face!" Mmmmm. I feel perdy.

"I just think you're so beautiful! So classic! Like one of those old movie stars... ya know, cause they had big boobs and hips and carried extra weight on them back then." The first part of this sentence was most excellent... and I was getting all puffed up with pride... then came that "extra weight" death blow, like someone saying, "You know what celeb you look EXACTLY like? Roseanne!" Yes!

(As Sam was helping me off the couch) "Hahaha you just looked exactly like this 500lb woman I used to care for at (insert name of convalescent home where this person worked)."

"Oh wow, you look like a big, comfy whale sitting there!" (That makes two whale comparisons, folks. TWO!)

"Your belly is getting so big! And you look actually pregnant, not just like, fat." (WHAAT!? haha!)

Alright, those are the best ones I can remember for now. Needless to say, I'm anxious for this babeh to get here for more reasons than just wanting to meet her.

In other news, I moved my couches and vacuumed under them. So that's good.