Andrias's Birth, Part 4 -- The babymoon

The first week was delicious.  By midwife's orders, I was on bed rest.  Baby and I spent all of our hours together.  We slept, we snuggled, we nourished ourselves.  I breathed in the scent of his new skin and stroked him.  There is no touch like that of newborn skin; there's nothing smoother or softer.  He spent his first several days naked, wrapped in blankets or wool sacks. No diaper to squish his bottom into.  No forcing his arms and legs into tiny clothes.  And he never left the room.  So there was no wrestling this tiny, fragile frame into the straps and buckles of a car seat or exposing him to the harsh elements of the outdoors.  No swirling cacophony of people, places, lights, sounds, and smells to fill his senses.  Only calm, only us.

When we slept, he wriggled his way to my breast, latched himself on and fed.  Breastfeeding has been so easy this time.  Painless and easy.  And when he pooped, I held him in my arms and put a little bowl or blanket under him to catch it.  The beginnings of EC, and it went really well.  On day four, I caught four poops.  I knew him, his rhythm, and his body language already. 

Everything was easy, and so natural.  Effortless.  I felt myself naturally become Mother in a way I never had with my first. 

At night, Baby slept, skin-to-skin with either George or myself.  Regin slept with us too.  And something strange happened to him that first night that became more and more obvious that first week:  he grew about 3 feet and gained about 20 pounds.  George laughed about the teenager that was suddenly in our bed.  Our little one had become our big one, relatively speaking anyway.

Regin loved his brother right away.  We had to hold him back a little from smothering the tiny infant with his kisses.  And in their sleep the two brothers kept drifting towards each other, trying to snuggle.  We tried to keep them separate early on, because we were worried that Regin would be rough in his sleep.

Everything was easy, except for the little matter of his name.  We'd chosen three candidates, but when Baby Boy arrived, we didn't agree on the name.  I leaned towards one of the Faroese names, Andrias, George leaned to the Spanish name, Eliseo. We waffled on it for several days, and on her check up visits, our midwife, Sena, reminded us that she needed to send in paperwork with the name by about a week.  My pull to my cultural heritage made me want to choose Faroese, plus his hair was light and reddish, like a viking!  But it was only fair to give George the choice, since I'd made the final call on Regin's name.  So, at around 6 days old, Baby lived with the name Eliseo for a day.  We told my mom and I was surprised to hear her highly linguistic tongue absolutely struggle with the name.  Then I began to feel more and more guilt over not passing on my culture to him.  Latin culture, after all, is so prevalent in the world, but there are only 50,000 people in the world that call themselves Faroese.  Plus Regin had such a lovely story to go along with his name.  So, we decided to switch back.  Andrias it was.  Sorry George.  Eliseo is a wonderful name.  We told everyone else his new name, and it seemed we made the right choice.  Even my mother-in-law had negative associations with the name Eliseo, the only person who preferred it was my dad, who still thinks Andrias sounds like a girl's name.  Haha!  Well, that's why family wasn't invited to be involved in the naming process!

The story behind Andrias's name?  Other than just being a Faroese name we both loved, it's also one of my grandfather's nine names.  He was named after the crew of a boat from his village that all died at sea.  His name was Oli Hans David Frederic Andrias Guttorm Elias Mellamgord Jacobsen and his named wrapped all the way around the back of his driver's license.  He's also one of my favorite people who has ever lived, an artist, a teacher, a giver of deep, warm hugs, and I miss him.

Andrias's middle name is Micael after my father, Michael. Who is also wonderful and thankfully still with us.

I've been surprised to find that his name is difficult for some to pronounce, so once again it's:  Ahn-DREE-ahs Mee-kah-ELL.  And for those who don't know, big brother's first name (Regin) is pronounced RAY-ihn, I assume you all know what to do with his middle name, Oscar?

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During my week of rest, my mom and George were both there taking care of me.  Sena made several house calls to check on me and the baby.  That's another thing I love about home birth and midwifery.   There's so much respect for the mother's recovery process and baby's need for calm, quiet, and being left in the comfort of home with the mother.  I think Andrias was 6 weeks old before he really needed to venture outside of the home (by car). 

I stayed mostly in our bedroom, lying down. Occasionally I'd venture out to the loft to sit and watch a show with the others.  But the pain of sitting was intense.  My tailbone and all was extremely sore.  We bought me a donut to sit on, but it was still unbearable and I mostly stayed reclined. After a week, my body began bouncing back already, though I still took it easy, and at that time my mother left just as George's mother arrived in time to celebrate George's birthday.  He had a very special birthday present this year, one I worked really hard on!

Andrias's Birth, Part 3 -- The birth

Monday, February 8th.  I had consistent contractions all through the night.  They were frequent and rhythmic enough to make me think they might be the real deal.  I felt them through my sleep.  But they weren't the least bit painful (hypnobabies working?) so I wasn't sure if I should call my midwife.  By morning they had stopped.  Turns out, I had actually been listening to my hypnobabies tracks all night, and I believe I accidentally listened to the "Baby Stay In" track too.  OOPS!  Maybe Andrias was trying to come Tuesday morning!

By Wednesday night, I was worried that the baby was going to prove my prediction wrong that he'd come 1-2 weeks early.  Can't have that!!  He only had one day left!  So I went for a walk and did what you do to request that baby come out now.  I even asked the baby directly.  Baby, I love you, and it's time now.  I'm ready and I want you to come.

At 4a.m., Thursday the 11th, I woke up to pee.  Things were a little... shall we say... moist.  Then in the bathroom, there was a... um... gush.  And when I stood up, another, and tried to walk out, another... I made it over to George, woke him and quickly asked him to call our midwife before I ran back to the bathroom in time for several more gushes.  I guess that would be my water breaking! (It didn't break until baby came out the first time.)

George handed me the phone and Sena, my midwife, asked all sorts of detailed questions before asking me if I was having any contractions. 

"No," I sighed.

I knew what that meant.  The clock was ticking now.  I had 24 hours to make serious progress or I'd have to transfer to the hospital.  Sigh.  She told me to go back to bed and sleep as much as I could.  I went and laid down and popped on the hypnobabies tracks on my iPhone.  Within minutes I was having a contraction.  Then... another.  I knew it could be a while till I was in 'real' labor, so I tried to relax through them and sleep.  But I didn't sleep and they kept coming.  I finally woke George up again at 6 to time them.  Yep.  One minute long, five minutes apart.  Things were rolling!

We called Sena, we texted my sister JoAnn who we'd asked to be present to handle food prep for all of us, and to entertain and possibly remove Regin if needed.  George went and woke my mom up and told her the haps.  And guess what?  I decided I no longer cared about the number of people in the house, and we asked my mom to stay.  Funny how things change when you're in the moment but I knew that was a possibility and I felt strong in my right to make that decision.

The timeline after that was a blur.  We have no clock in our room, and I was in full labor, so I never left the room.   In the first hours, it was manageable.  I would walk and walk and then when another contraction hit, I would drape myself over George and we'd stand there together as he coached me through relaxation. 

I tried listening to the Hypnobabies tracks, but there was enough commotion and distraction that I didn't really hear or listen to them.  I couldn't really put myself into hypnosis every time because I hadn't practiced the unguided hypnosis enough.  And what I had practiced was mostly with me being totally alone, fully reclined, in total silence with hardly any sensory input.  I couldn't get myself in that state in the throes of labor, so I relied solely on George's ability to help me relax, which we had practiced several times during the Hypnobabies course.  And it really worked.  Unlike my friend Teddi, who had managed to get all the practices in, I would absolutely describe it as pain, but the pain with George's relaxation cues was manageable, without them I thought I was going to die.  He had a script he recited, and he'd begin reading it every time I indicated that a contraction hit.  If he delayed even by a few seconds, it wouldn't really work and I'd be in tremendous, earth-shattering pain again.  For some reason, if I lay down, I was in the worst pain of all, and if I sat, it was pretty darned uncomfortable too.  So I, the woman who had spent most of her pregnancy sick in bed with various colds and flus, the one who'd had trouble eating for months, the girl who was terribly weak and generally out of shape, walked miles in a circuit around our bedroom for hours and hours, stopping every few minutes for an intense workout called a "contraction". 

You know, in hypnobabies, you avoid use of the word contraction because of the fear and pain pregnant women associate with the word.  But when you look at the word after having birthed, it doesn't seem strong enough.  It sounds like little squeezes, like the painless, prelabor contractions I had that I called "The Squeezies" or like a bicep you're flexing and then releasing.  It doesn't remotely convey the pain, the sweat, the grunting, the moaning, the crying out, the howling, the begging, the pleading that it induces when you have one.  But that came later.  In the early hours, I was able to face each contraction, with George's help, calmly, quietly, internally, and relaxed.  It was intimate and graceful, though still painful.  My mom downstairs thought we were sleeping that whole time because it was so unbelievably quiet.

When my midwife, Sena, arrived, labor changed.  That happens.

As hands off as midwives can be, there is still a kind of performance pressure a birthing woman feels, or at least this birthing woman felt, when someone shows up to watch you and make sure things are happening as they should.

The way a midwife makes sure is very different from how a doctor would make sure, or so I've been told as I've never birthed with a doctor's assistance.  A doctor will make you undress and put on the infamous and barely there gown (and why they should call something so ugly a 'gown' I'll never know, some marketing spin there I think), then you'll be connected to machines, monitored with boops, beeps, and moving graphs, and your feet put up in stirrups while the doctor looks at you and gives you internal exams to see where the baby is and how dilated your cervix is.  I think in most cases during labor you're not allowed to eat or drink.  The doctor also has a lot of other patients to see, so he's off checking on other moms a lot, or if there's some other conflict, you have a different doctor.

Your midwife, is your midwife.  Obviously conflicts can occur, but she schedules very few births per month to try and eliminate the possibility.  And you've been seeing this woman, and not her nurse practitioner or other assistant (in typical US, assembly-line medical care), for 1+ hours once a month, then twice a month, then once a week throughout the pregnancy.  You know each other so well, she's almost like family by the time baby comes.

At that time, the midwife comes in (to your home) when you've told her you'd like her to come (or the birth seems imminent), sets up her equipment around your room, puts her oxygen tank over there, rearranges your nest to include her bag of tools in easy to reach places over here, makes sure she knows where you have put the towels and basket of birthing goodies you've gathered, and then asks you how you are doing.  Actually that's not true.  She asks how you're doing before setting up.  Then she leaves you alone as needed, because she knows you will labor better without someone hovering, or she stays in the room if you need it.  She's there 100% for you and only you.  She gives emotional and comforting support, she gets you food and drink to keep your energy up, and does her best to encourage you.  Occasionally she will request to listen to the baby with her little device, and she'll check your dilation and whatnot, if you request.  It's all on your terms.  Plus, you're in whatever clothes you want, whatever position you want, in whatever place you want... you can even deliver in your edenic backyard garden pool if you want.  It's your birth, your way.

Thing is, though I absolutely adore my midwife, I was laboring better and more comfortably before she arrived.  And though she was mostly out of the room and out of the way and she spoke in whispers to keep the quiet and make her presence less intrusive, the pain became much more difficult to bear once someone interrupted the calm, came into my space, and began to take note of what was happening.  So, for this reason, even though Sena was UHmazing and I'd recommend her to anyone, I do think I'd reconsider unassisted birth in the unlikely case that I ever had another.

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Things were progressing quickly this time.  It was only a couple of hours from the water breaking that contractions were regular and quite close together.  But then, after a few more hours, it became apparent to me that nothing was changing.  It continued at the same intensity, and I even felt a little, almost "pushy" but the giant lump inside me was staying exactly in the same place.  I began to ask Sena to check to see where the baby was and what was going on.  There was a lip of cervix in the way.  Ugh, that again.  She tried to help pull it aside, but that was painful and I hated it.  I began to feel defeated.  Sena reassured me that things were moving quickly and efficiently but I felt like something was stalling the process and I was becoming angry about it since I'd worked so hard to make sure I wouldn't have the same obstacles this time as I had with Regin's birth.  I was shaking with fatigue, but I kept walking and walking.  I spent some time in the bath.  I tried different positions and sat a little on the birthing ball otherwise known as my exercise ball.  But mostly I walked.  I went back to the bath, I cried out, I screamed, I moaned and wailed.  I got angrier and angrier every time George delayed when beginning to recite his relaxation script as he had been doing every few minutes for who knows how many (15) hours.  I began pushing in the bath.  I pushed and screamed so hard, my throat quickly became raw.  And then... I wanted out.  I wanted to get on the birthing stool, which I hate, because I wanted this to be done.  I wanted rest for my trembling legs, and I wanted the position that would expedite birth.  We put it in almost the same spot that it had been put for Regin's birth, the spot where Regin had then taken his first breaths. 

I still had no idea how long this had been going on.  No clocks were around to tell me, but I saw the light in the windows change from morning to midday, from afternoon to evening.  Sena kept telling me things were moving along and his head was just there.  But I still felt like I wasn't getting anywhere.

During all this time, I never once asked to go to the hospital.  I never asked to be knocked out.  Outwardly I was in screaming pain, but somewhat in control and just working.  Inwardly I was having an entirely different dialog with myself:
"What the f**k is wrong with me?"
"What do you mean? You're in labor!"
"Why the heck do I insist on doing this the hard way?"
"It's better for you and the baby..."
"Pah!  F**k that!  I'm done with this s**t.  So done.  Sc**w home birth, natural birth.  Give me the fecking drugs.  Hell... next time around, if I do this again... Not only will I go to a hospital like a normal person, but I'll probably deliver the baby in my sleep with a planned c-section.  This s**t is for the birds."

I was saying all of that to myself up until the very last moment, when on the birthing stool, again in the same place, I birthed my second child.  I squeezed and pushed so hard I was actually worried about popping blood vessels in my brain.  I screamed and screamed and pushed and felt the ring of fire as he crowned, and with all that remained of my might, I pushed some more, and I felt him pour out of my body.  And then the most amazing thing happened:  I held him.

Everything melted away when I held him.  He was beautiful and I was strong, and I immediately felt, "Oh that?  That wasn't that hard.  I could do that again."  His head was squooshed and badly mishapen, but I didn't see it. He was beautiful and I instantly loved him.  He cried and my voice immediately changed to sooth him.  Ohhh it's ok Baby, that was hard, huh?  It hurt a lot and it was scary.  Poor baby, I know... it was hard for me too. 

It was hard.  It turns out it was a lot harder than it usually is.  There was a reason my fast-progessing labor had taken so long.  Turns out, not only was he posterior, but my baby had decided to present his brow first.  That's the rarest of presentations and the most difficult.  Hmmm... rare and difficult, he's like his mamma already.   Most literature will tell you that the brow presentation is not even feasible.  Unless baby's head is very small or Mamma's hips are very wide, baby just CANNOT come out that way.  I don't think either of us is unusually proportioned and he's definitely not small.  But somehow, we did it.  And we loved each other right away. 

My mom and sister came in, and with joyful tears I told them it was a boy.  And then I told them I had gotten just what I wanted:  that rush of hormones, that instant love, that connection with my baby.  Everything I hadn't had the first time, everything I had grieved the loss of with my first birth, I had now.  And I wept, and everyone else did too.












 

After a short while I birthed the placenta, which is relatively uncomfortable in itself.  I had hoped to let the baby crawl to my breast by himself as I'd seen babies do in videos.  But after more than an hour, I decided to give him a little help.  I lifted him to my breast, he opened his mouth, and clamped it onto me.  Ouch!  I forgot what that was like!  But I was thrilled that I didn't have to wrestle a nipple into his mouth, he latched himself on.  

I was still on such a high when Sena was examining my war wounds that as vulnerable as I could have felt with my legs draped over chairs, and someone sitting right between them, looking, checking, etc., I was chipper and chatting away and laughing.

That's how it was; with happy tears and laughter, Baby and I began a new life together and a family of four was born.

To be continued.
Part 4 -- Babymoon, coming tomorrow...

Six months old today and ready to share his story!

Six months ago today I was in a lot of pain.  I was walking circles around our bedroom, stopping every few minutes to get through another contraction.  I labored and birthed at home.  After 17 intense hours, our beautiful boy, Andrias entered our arms.

We're halfway through our first year, and so much of his personality has been coming through.  I can't believe in just a few short months he'll be entering his toddler years, and making his way toward independence.  For now I'm trying to enjoy every day of his babyhood, and today I find myself reminiscing about his birth.  So I thought it only fitting to finally go back and finish writing his birth story.

It's super long... no big surprise there, when have I ever written anything short?  So I decided to put it up here in installments over the next few days.  Here's part one.  Enjoy!



Andrias's Birth, Part 1 -- The scary back story (i.e. Regin's birth)

To understand my experience this time around, I think you have to understand a little bit about my last experience, which is the one I was hoping not to repeat.  (If you want the original account, I wrote my full birth story here on the blog and a retrospective on it three months later.)

With Regin I was completely unprepared.  I was naive and didn't think I needed any preparation.  I was completely, 100% unafraid of our planned home birth, or at least I thought I was and I thought that being unafraid would help make the pain less severe so that was really all the preparation I needed.  When it came down to it, the pain did scare me.  Not the idea of it.  I thought I was going to be so ready for it because of the years of dysmenorrhea I'd had.  But when each wave of pain hit me, my body tensed up and fought it.  I said "no no no no no," as it hit and I begged and cried.  I was weak and powerless against it all.  And I hated being told I was doing great because I was doing nothing; it was being done to me.  This unbelievable force was acting on my body, and the force was torturing me every couple of minutes and would keep me in excruciating pain for up to three minutes at a time.  Do you have any idea how long three minutes is?  I can say with certainty that I do.  And the pain towards the end was so severe I actually asked George to knock me out so that I could be taken to the hospital. 

So much for my beautiful and empowering home birth.  So much for not needing preparation. 

To add to it, George's father was fighting a losing battle with cancer when labor started which he ultimately lost during the middle of it all.  That devastating news, as well as other things like an ill-timed, though wonderfully soothing bath slowed my labor down greatly.  By the end of it, it was nearly 48 hours long, I'd missed two full nights of sleep, and I was well into the third night when Regin was born.  Further, we weren't really aware of all of my issues with food (hypoglycemia & allergies) or how to handle them.  When Regin finally arrived, I was blinded by pain, completely fatigued, totally sleep deprived, and in the middle of what was probably a major hypoglycemic crash.  I was so weak I had to be fed and my brain snapped.  I didn't know what was going on anymore.  I didn't have the rush of joy and love that women get when the hormones are doing all the right things.  I didn't even know what this hot lump of flesh was that was handed to me, and whatever it was, it certainly didn't come from me.  I was for a long time unable to look at the first photo of Regin and me together because I could see my fear and confusion reflected back at me in the photo.

Love and bonding was slow in coming.  It took weeks if not months.  I was fond of my boy from the beginning, but not bonded.  By the time the affection had finally grown to the point where I was mad with love for him, I cried and cried with the grief I began to feel for the moment he and I didn't share when we first met. 

The physical pain lived on in me too.  My body took a while to recover, breastfeeding proved to rival birth in its level of pain, and I willed myself to hold on to the memory of my labor pains.  The memory was so strong and clear that I could literally feel them when I thought about them.  I wanted that.  I wouldn't let go of them.  I wanted to remind myself of how intense and, sadly, how horrible my experience had been. 

When you sum it all up into one word, my first birth experience was one of trauma.  Home-birthing women don't like to use that word.  We birth at home in part because of the trauma stories we hear about in the medicalized environment.  Truth is, birth trauma isn't necessarily iatrogenic; of course it isn't.  Even having the exact birth you want, regardless of environment, can still result in trauma.  Not all births are happy -- even when you have all ten fingers and ten toes accounted for and functioning fully.  Although I must say, I'm still glad I birthed at home.  I still believe in the reasons that compelled me to choose home birth and if I had gone through the same thing in the hospital, I don't imagine it would have gone any better.  Plus I would have been in a colder environment and if I'm going to go through something that hard, I want to have the comforts and familiarity of home around me.

Regin's birth also had permanent effects on my health.  I have never been the same.  My hypoglycemia rose to a new level of sensitivity (and worsened still after a half marathon I did later that same year), and I've yet to get it under control.  Although we'd never planned to have an only child, the trauma I (we) went through, plus the effect it had on my health made us think I might not be able to handle more.  When I found myself pregnant again last year I was terrified.  It took me some time to come to accept it, and when I finally did, I knew I would do everything in my power to make sure my experience this time would be different.  And it was.

To be continued.
Part 2 -- Preparations, coming tomorrow...

October Photos - Halloween!

Happy (belated) Halloween!

On the 30th, after we FINALLY finished our last-minute costumes, we went to a party at Reed & Evelyn Meyer's house. Here are the costumes:


I was "Eye of the storm".

Close up of my tummy:


And George was blackmail:

Get the reference? :)


You can see the rest of our October photos in our October 09 album.

Halloween Party 09!

Well some thought I was crazy to throw a party for toddlers and parents, but I did it and I'm so glad I did. WHAT FUN! I had TONS of help from my mom (& George of course) and we prepped all week leading up to the party. The best part -- both the parents AND kids seemed to really enjoy themselves, especially the kids! How amazing is that?

I was most stressed about arranging activities and then "emceeing" on party day. So I decided to have a few activities that kids could make their own way through (or not) in their own time. I had ghostie bowling (total flop), pumpkin decorating, and a tub of duplo blocks. And when in doubt, add balloons. Can't ever go wrong with balloons! The kids were all running around playing throughout the party. At one point an impromptu parade made its way through the house with kids with push/pull toys and one on a tricycle! What a shame not to have photos of that!

My sister JoAnn came and helped us set up the food, and George cooked the burgers (on Jack-O-Lantern buns, don't you know). MMMMmmm.

I have to say though that prepping for a week before your party only means you do more work. Instead of whittling down the list to needs and wants and tossing out all the wants, and spending 1-2 days getting ready, you do almost all the things on your list and you work for a whole week on the party! I think I'm more suited to last-minute. Sorry, it's just my way.

Anyway, here are some photo highlights. You can see the complete Halloween party album on Facebook, including all the kids' costumes and more decorations/foods.


I made those orange string balls (with heavy help from George -- only an engineer can manage to wrap a balloon a thousand times with string without the string falling off).


Ghostie bowling.



Regin was El Chapulín Colorado.  We had the hat and shoes to go with it, but he refused to wear them.  The shirt, however, he didn't take off for three days.  True story.

George stuck with his same costume, but I didn't have time to paint the eyeball again (or to make a new costume) so I did this simpler version:

I'm a starry night through a break in the clouds. I guess I could still be an eye of the storm, couldn't I? Minus the pun of course.


Preparations


JoAnn can tell you your future if you dare to learn it!

Pumpkin decorating table:


A couple of favorite decorated pumpkins:




My mom with one of Regin's creations. He decorated all the remaining pumpkins after everyone left.


My pumpkin threw up some dip. :)

Scared clementines and chocolate spiders.


Abby, Kiko, Palmer, and Regin playing with Regin's new Duplo blocks.


Reed, Evelyn, and Lucah at the pumpkin decorating table.


The kids wanted to see our snake. Missing here: Palmer & Lyric. Palmer touched the snake and walked away. Meh. Snakes, who cares? Lyric, kept her distance for other reasons!


Lyric has more fun with less animate things.  :)

Anniversary photobooth

Took a bunch of shots of us on our anniversary (while we were just sitting at home on the couch.)  Made them into a photo-booth-style new masthead for our blog (for those of you who use a RSS reader instead of going to the actual blog).



You can see some of the other shots in our October 09 album on Facebook.

It's funny how our anniversaries have progressed.  On the first anniversary, it was very important to do something special because we hadn't had a honeymoon, and we were expecting our first baby.  So we went on a weekend 'babymoon/honeyversary' to Mexico!  Whew!  On our second anniversary, we went to a nice dinner in Denver at a swanky little restaurant.  On our third, we were in Penang, and procrastinated in figuring out were to go and what to do, so we kind of just winged the night and ended up at a restaurant down the street from our place, followed by a fish spa treatment around the corner.

And that brings us to this year!  We did... NOTHING!  We stayed home, and spent a very ordinary evening on the couch watching shows Hulu.com.  Ordinary except for the photobooth session.  We don't normally do those!

I guess the honeymoon is over!  Ha!

Happy Anniversary, Love

Just remembering the time I talked you into watching the sunrise with me over Ft Lauderdale beach. Thanks for being such a good sport with my crazy ideas, thanks for helping me make memories, and thanks for sharing this view with me. I love you, Babe.

Happy Anniversary!

Anniversary Eve - Secrets of a Happy Marriage

Tonight is the eve of our 4th wedding anniversary, and we've been together for over a decade! Wow! So, thinking as I am about all of the memorable moments of our relationship, I thought it was a good time post a collection of advice that I found by way of Abby's blog.  Magazine writer Joanna Goddard recently got married and, while she was on her honeymoon, a bunch of guest bloggers posted some beautiful, inspirational, and funny advice in a series of posts on her blog called, "Secrets of a Happy Marriage".  I really enjoyed reading them.  (Thanks Abby!!)  I enjoyed them so much, I may have to download them at some point to easily revisit them from time to time.  Enjoy!

(By the way, there is more than one page, make sure to click through to the older posts if you're enjoying the series!)

Regin's Birthday Photos

Here are the shots that Teddi put up on Facebook. There are more and if you want to see the rest, I'll have those soon and you can check them out. If you want to order prints or get the high-res copies, you can as soon as I get the disk from Teddi. In the meantime, you can check out album 1 and album 2 on Facebook, and Highlights below:

Birthday boy!

I made a table covering for our airplane-themed birthday party by drawing airplanes with colored pencils on brown package paper.

Cheesy-bread airplanes

Little airplanes hanging between balloon "clouds"

Pretty much everyone was put to work.  Which was fine since it turned out to be mostly family that came.

Omma gave a hand-knitted airplane she made, Granddad gave an airplane book.

Omma would be mad if I didn't show off the airplane she made a bit more.  Pretty awesome, right?

Granddad also made an airplane.  Which, as it turned out, was NOT what Regin wanted.

But it turned out to be HUGE fun for the big kids among us!

Some portraits.

Happy Birthday to youuuuuu!  (Regin has been singing that ever since).

We'd been practicing getting him to blow out candles earlier that day, but we made such a huge chear when he actually managed it, that it scared him and he refused to blow them out again!

David Family portrait.

Yay!  Turns out the real kids (other than Regin) really liked the airplane too.  Anthony and Alexandra took turns putting it on over and over and over...