I Did This! Beckham Cade Lewis Part 1

I consider every birth story a testament to the reality that miracles do happen.  Whether a birth is filled with drama,  filled with intense and painful descriptions, or is quick and virtually pain free, mother's who have given birth share a unique bond.  You get a group of women together and chances are their conversations will include the following:   menstrual cycles, husbands, diets, and birth stories.  Each of us take turns relaying our experiences of labor, epidurals, pain, and pushing.  Each story different, yet similar.  Most stories ending the same way... with a precious baby in our arms.

I guess my most recent birth story could be considered the same.  A little drama sprinkled with answered prayers and a sweet baby boy named Beckham Cade Lewis.

The week before my due date, my doctor scheduled me to be induced.  Month after month, week after week, baby boy was breech.  It was as if I was repeating my pregnancy with Homeboy.  Only the main difference was that this baby was a mover!  Where as Homeboy was content to just chill in the same position my entire pregnancy. 

The plan was to turn baby boy, break my water, and start me on pitocin.  This same scenario was played out almost 5 years prior with Homeboy! Just call me lucky.  

 Only I would have to have 2 babies turned!  Only I would have to endure such intense pain, AGAIN!

During my last doctor visit, me and my doctor went over the plans of the pending birth of baby boy.  I would arrive at the hospital on June 14th, 7:00 am.  If baby boy was still breech, my doctor would turn him and go from there.  If he just happened to have turned, the plan was to still induce my labor, because the baby liked to do flips in my belly.  He didn't want to risk him flipping again and increasing my chance for a c-section.

After discussing my induction, my doctor did an ultra sound on my bulging belly.  And sure enough, the baby had turned!  We rejoiced and I was off to cram all of my nesting tendencies into one week.

June 14th quickly approached.  I was anxious to get the show on the road, due to the major discomfort and pain that I had experienced the last month of pregnancy.  Steve and I arrived to the hospital and shared a moment of prayer, and deep breaths in unison.  This was it!  Our lives were going to be thrust into a different sort of chaos, but blessed in so many ways.  For the past 9 months we imagined what our third baby boy would look like!  Would he have the same hair color as Homey's (blonde with some red) or like Homeboy's (light brown).  Would he also inherit his father's butt chin or would it lack that special dent?  I imagined him to have light brown hair, looking similar to his big brother Homeboy, weighing in somewhere between his older brother's weights (6 lbs 9 ounces, and 7 pounds 10 ounces).  I believed his head would be bigger than Homeboy's, but closer to the size of Homey's and that infamous butt chin... it too, would be included.

Running late, I waddled as fast as I could to check in.  Once I was checked in, peed in the cup, and slipped into the bum-revealing-gown, the nurse performed an ultra sound on my belly to make sure baby boy was still head down.  And, of course, he was breech.  Shocker.

She informed my doctor and he instructed me to come back at 6pm to attempt to have the baby turned and labor induced, but I knew that was actually planning on a c-section.  Which, I did not want!  Nothing more could be frustrating to me than to not be able to recover as quickly as possible and to try to get into a routine.

So back home we went.  To wait.  

To keep me busy and my mind off of the impending pain that I would be experiencing in a matter of hours, I called my friend Lori and we worked on the alphabet that I was decorating baby boy's nursery walls with.  And then in the middle of the day, it happened.  While chatting with Lori, I felt some major movement.  I knew that the baby was most likely turning AGAIN! 

Prayers were answered!

The good, the bad, and ugly... of my pregnancy

 (baby boy's foot.  Holy crap!  Stop with the cuteness!)

I am currently 30+ weeks pregnant.  Baby boy still does not have a name, but if Homeboy had his way, his name would be Strike.  He also wanted Salsa.  Sadly I had to convince him that his baby brother just doesn't look like a "Salsa".

When I am pregnant, I categorize the incubation period of my babies, by the following three descriptive words:   good, bad, and ugly.

Morning sickness.... bad.

Baby movements, end of morning sickness, more energy, beginning of 2nd trimester... good.

The last two months of my pregnancies... ugly.  So very ugly.

Thus, so begins the last two months of my current pregnancy.  I swell to an unbelievable size and I wear the expression of misery on face, 24/7. 

When I was pregnant with Homey, my brother and his wife decided to get married during my 7th month of pregnancy.  At that point, I had gained 60 freakin pounds, my foot size went from a 5 1/2 to an 8 with plenty of swollen chub lopping over the tops and edges of my shoes, and my doctor was quick to notify me that he had never seen such bad stretch marks on any of his patients.  Ever.  They were so bad, they were bleeding.  I went through a tube of Cortizone 10 every week, due to the itching.   And it was during this ugly period that my brother got married.  My misery was well documented in family picture form, at the Washington D.C. temple and the multitudes of humbling, awe-inspiring, monuments of our beloved capital of the USA.  Never had I experienced so many looks of sympathy from perfect strangers. 

I was a vision of motherly glow.  Not so much.

My pregnancy with Homeboy, was surprisingly, my easiest and best.  He was breach the entire pregnancy and laid across my belly.  No pressure on this bladder!  (pointing to my bladder region)  Considering the child, it's shocking to look back at that pregnancy and reminisce how easy it was.  He was content to just lay in the same place and hardly move.  When he did move, I would giggle with glee!  Despite the ease of that pregnancy, I was still ugly at the end of my pregnancy.  You know, swelling. 

During this time, I was a counselor in the YW's presidency and in my 8th month, our stake attended youth conference at the U of U.  In August.  In sweltering heat.  I walked all over the campus with our girls for two days.  During a fireside meeting I slipped my sandals off and one of the girls happened to see my feet. She freaked.  She offered to call 911.  I told her I was fine and that if she ever considered having a baby before she was to be married, I told her to remember my feet.  Now that is some good birth control!

4D ultrasound of baby boy.  He didn't want to cooperate and was constantly moving, so this was the best picture we could get of him.  The ultra sound tech was shocked at how high he was (in my rib cage) and he was breach, laying across my belly.  My heart and lungs are currently placed in my neck and shoulder area.  It makes it a little difficult to breath and perform simple tasks. 

I'm hoping the dark spot on his noggin is not a Gorbachev (sp?) birthmark and if you look at his chin closely, you may be able to detect ANOTHER BUTT CHIN!  I'm surrounded!  Wenis' and butt chins, everywhere!  NoooOOOOoooooo!!!!

(Apparently, I am pregnant with a frog.  Check out his little frog legs!  And he is definitely a boy.  For obvious reasons.)

Baby boy is very active, enjoys stretching and moving my guts around.  He tends to like the breach position and laying across the very top of my belly.  But it's no surprise if he does a complete somersault every hour or so. 

A few weeks ago I began the ugly swelling, but then it went away for the most part.  My feet would actually jiggle when I walked.  Nice.  I am still able to wear my shoes and I am hoping I don't swell too bad with this pregnancy.  But then again... it is me. 

I resemble a meatball, I hate my maternity jeans and I began to "leak" weeks ago.  I'm tempted to slip a little tp in my bra to help absorb the leakage.   I know, too much information, but I'm sure inquiring minds want to know.  Right?  My mom will be mortified.  I make her proud!

I am anxious to be done with this pregnancy and can't wait to be holding our little frog in my arms.  I know the next two months will go by fast and I have a ton to do (as usual).  My OCD tendencies are raging and I notice every scuff mark, spider web, and speck of dirt.  My poor family is doomed to be my slaves for the next two months!  That is one perk of being pregnant!  The POWER!  Wahhh hahahahahaha!

Geriatric Pregnancy

I was 34 years old when I became pregnant with Homeboy (my second fruit of my loins).  My due date was September 26th...10 days after my birthday.  When I went to see the doctor for my first appointment, she informed me that she wouldn't make me have an amniocentesis procedure (needle in my gut) since my due date was so close to my 35th birthday.  Needless to say, I was relieved.  But then I began to wonder why she would make me have the barbaric procedure done to me, just because I was 35 years old.  So I asked her.  Her response, "Oh, because any pregnancy the age of 35 or older is considered a geriactric pregnancy."

"Really!?!?!  Must it really be called geriatric pregnancy?"  I wasn't geriatric!  Geriatrics involves broken hips, Geritol Aspirin, and talking about Edna being put in an assisted living facility. 

Fast forward a few years, give or take, and now I do consider this pregnancy... a geriatric pregnancy. 

I am so tired!  I have no energy.  I have no motivation.  I am blah.  Homeboy has become my servant boy.  "Homeboy!  Bend over and pick up that sock!  Homeboy!  I will pay you a nickel if you do the dishes!" 

Well, it's not totally like that.  But it's close.

I am almost 24 weeks pregnant, so far.  I STILL have some morning sickness.  For the first 19 weeks, I felt sick all of the time.

  My daily routine was:  Try to wake up Homey (at least 3 times), hurry and eat breakfast, lay down, sleep, force myself to feed Homeboy breakfast, lay down, attempt to get ready, lay down, eat crackers through out the day, run to the store (as little as I had to), try not to vomit, lay down, lay down, lay down and lay down.

Now, I just feel sick when I need to eat.  I believe it will last until the day I give birth. 

It. Will. Never. End.

(insert crickets chirping, and then silence)

Near the end of January, we found out what we are going to have!  EVERYONE believed the baby was a girl.  My husband did.  My mom did.  EVERYONE did.  Heck, even a friend of one of my friends had a "vision" that I was going to have a girl.  According the Chinese calendar, I was going to have a girl. All of my husband's living siblings had two boys and then a girl.  It was meant to be!  It was tradition!

I wasn't sure.  One day I would think it could be a boy, and then another day, I thought it was a girl.  I know that either way, I would love this baby no matter what!  Even if it did come with a stem on the apple! 

So when my doctor moved the ultra sound wand-thingy across my belly, I focused in on the area.  He said that it's legs were closed together pretty tight and he tried to get the baby to move a little.  Then he froze the screen and just as he was about to say what sex the baby was, I interrupted him. 

"You don't have to tell me!  I see it!  It has a nubbin!"  Meaning:  my baby has a stem on the apple.  It is definitely, a boy!  

Oh crap, I am forever out numbered.  I will be cleaning pee residue off of the bathroom walls, floors, tub, shower curtain, ceiling, and vanity, FOREVER.  

My doctor then told me I could always try for a girl next time.  I told him the only way I was going to be seeing him again for a pregnancy would have been the result of an immaculate conception.  I will be closing shop, after this little one is born!

Once my appointment was done, I called the hubs and told him that he had defective sperm.  We were having another boy.  He was shocked and disappointed.  He really wanted a baby girl. 

On the way home, I decided to stop at the Babies R Us and shop for a cute baby boy outfit.  But as I began to wander around the store, in search of a cute outfit, the reality began to hit me.  I would never have that special moment of picking out a wedding dress with my daughter.  I will never sew a blessing dress for her (I always dreamed of doing this!).  I will never attend a daughter's dance recital or put bows in her hair.  I will never help my daughter as she recovers from when she has her own babies.  It hit me like a ton of bricks.  And then I began to cry in the middle of the store.  I cried all the way home and I cried for several more hours.  All of my life, I believed I would have a daughter.

My mom tried to cheer me up and said, "Maybe you will have alot of grand daughters?"  I told her to shut up.  Not the best thing to tell your mom, but I was a little emotional at the time.  It's not the same and she agreed.  Everyone thought it would help by saying that girls are soooo dramatic.  Uh, have you met Homeboy?!?!?!  Whatever.

I tried to not have my heart set on having a girl, but deep down inside, I wanted one.  Some may think this is a little selfish of me but I'm being honest.

The next day, I recovered and immediately began to wonder what baby boy #3 is going to look like.  Will he be blonde like Homey, or light brown like Homeboy?  Will this baby also have blue eyes like his brothers and daddy or green, like me.  Maybe he will have a butt chin like his older brothers and daddy, also?  Should I call him Homer, Homefry, or the Homester? 

What I do know is, I KNOW for a fact, I already love him.  I KNOW that I will think he is the cutest baby on the earth and I have no doubt that I will never regret having him be a part of our family.  Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that I was going to be a mother for the third time.  Just like his older brothers, he is special.  There is a reason why he is to be a part of our family and I know that Heavenly Father made sure of it. 

I am truly blessed.