As we near our little Brooklyn's first birthday (only a week away!), we are continually enjoying watching her grow. She is incredibly independent and does not like to be fed, unless its a dessert and you keep it coming... quickly. She loves to feed herself and with that, of course, means all the mess of the textures that come with it. Once she starts reaching that point of being full, the fun really begins. She will paint her highchair tray with whatever food pieces remain, smearing as fast as she can from one side to the next. Or, she'll sick back as far as she can with her little Buddha belly stuffed with food and hang her arm off to the side and ever so slowly drop the food to the ground. As soon as she releases it, she'll look over as quick as she can to see it land. Tonight however, a new game began. We were eating Mexican food so she had been dining on some black beans, pieces of chicken and beef, avocado, and other random pieces from our meal. She started reaching that point of fullness and that's when it all started. She picked up a bean, examined it, and then put it on her head as if it were a barrette. She then looked back and forth at Steve and I as if to say "well, how does it look?" It didn't stop at just one bean, it was pieces of beef, and then back to the beans. Each time would get a little more smooshed between her thin hair strands. I need to add too, that she WILL NOT keep any headbands, barrettes, bows, anything in her hair or on her head! I guess this is all part of her independence. She may not like what we put in her hair, as she has ideas of her own...
I sure love my almost-one-year-old and all of the entertainment she brings to the table!
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
To be a child again
How is it already September? I feel like I was just trying to get caught up on my December events and now here it is September. Marley has started 1st grade and absolutely loves it. In her first week one of her biggest highlights was getting to go to chapel. I am so proud to see her so excited about learning the Lord's word in between math and reading. I feel truly blessed that she is in a class of 14, opposed to 30 (or more) and she lights up when she gets to be the "prayer helper" in class. She is such a bright little girl and just recently has started learning that bad things can sometimes happen to good people.
I think it started when we were in Hawaii a couple months ago. The trial was going on for Casey Anthony for allegedly killing her daughter Kailey. We were following the verdict and Marley asked us what happened to the little girl. That was the first time she has really questioned not only why bad things happen to good people, but why would someone hurt kids? As a Mom, that is a hard question to answer. You spend day after day trying to protect your children from getting cuts and scrapes for running too fast. So, to have to understand for yourself how someone could intentionally harm any little person is hard enough for you to comprehend, let alone explain it to a 6 year old.
The amazing thing after all the questions and talks was that night after night she asked if we could pray for the kids that had bad things happening to them, to protect them from bad people, and that they would get nice moms and dads instead of ones that hurt them. Children are such amazing little creatures, such blessings and so surprisingly insightful. I am fortunate and blessed to work in Children's Ministries and I'm constantly amazed by the compassion and strength children show. I believe we need to protect these little people and embrace them with as much love as we possibly can - for these children are often the ones teaching us about the greatest values we should posses.
It is with their innocence and raw understanding of life that I often feel we need to get back to. Not that we need to be naive to the bad things that happen around us, but to love more and trust with childlike faith.
Matthew 18: 2-4 "He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven."
I think it started when we were in Hawaii a couple months ago. The trial was going on for Casey Anthony for allegedly killing her daughter Kailey. We were following the verdict and Marley asked us what happened to the little girl. That was the first time she has really questioned not only why bad things happen to good people, but why would someone hurt kids? As a Mom, that is a hard question to answer. You spend day after day trying to protect your children from getting cuts and scrapes for running too fast. So, to have to understand for yourself how someone could intentionally harm any little person is hard enough for you to comprehend, let alone explain it to a 6 year old.
The amazing thing after all the questions and talks was that night after night she asked if we could pray for the kids that had bad things happening to them, to protect them from bad people, and that they would get nice moms and dads instead of ones that hurt them. Children are such amazing little creatures, such blessings and so surprisingly insightful. I am fortunate and blessed to work in Children's Ministries and I'm constantly amazed by the compassion and strength children show. I believe we need to protect these little people and embrace them with as much love as we possibly can - for these children are often the ones teaching us about the greatest values we should posses.
It is with their innocence and raw understanding of life that I often feel we need to get back to. Not that we need to be naive to the bad things that happen around us, but to love more and trust with childlike faith.
Matthew 18: 2-4 "He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven."
Thursday, March 24, 2011
A December to Remember
Boy, was it an exciting month. A month filled with a slashed tire that was done by a five year old, a possessed Christmas tree, and a mouse. It was definitely a December to remember! Let's start with the our new house guest, the mouse...
When you have a new baby, it causes everyone to have to adjust to the noises, cries, and coos - even the dog. We all sleep upstairs (except Ozzy, the dog) and since moving Brooklyn into her crib in her room, we've started using the monitor. Mainly, we use it when we put her to sleep and we are still downstairs. Sometimes, we forget to turn it off, which means Ozzy is interrupted from his slumber when she gets up for the midnight feedings. Early in December though, it was HIM that started interrupting our slumber with whines and uneasy noises.
At first we thought it was just from leaving the monitor on and he was hearing the baby, and then we thought, well - maybe he needs to go the bathroom? Maybe, we forgot to feed him (don't judge, we are busy and just hope to remember to feed the kids). However, nothing seemed to be working. This went on for days, but nothing we were trying was calming him down. It was like clockwork, every night for about three nights at about 11pm each night. Then one day, I was emptying the bag of recyclables in the pantry and found the evidence left by our new house guest.
It was on the floor and four shelves up, hundreds of little brown rice size mouse poops. It was everywhere. Now, I got the fun task of cleaning, organizing and disinfecting my pantry. I threw away so much! This little organizing and cleaning task would have been much more fun when I was still pregnant.
I took it upon myself to clean and organize, but when it came to the little unwanted house guest, I would leave the mighty hunter (my husband, Steve) to evicting him. He picked up a trap that night on his way home and set it with a dab of peanut butter on it. Now, the waiting began.
Just as we settled into bed his phone beeped. He was getting called into work and I was going to be left in the house alone...with a mouse. I was awake at every little sound. The dog would stir in his kennel, the heat would click on, and I was wide awake thinking about a mouse in my pantry. Steve still hadn't gotten back from work when I got up to feed the baby at around 2:30am. Just as I was finishing, I heard a loud SNAP! Agh! It was the mouse, he got the peanut butter! Ewww... Now, I had to worry about getting up with Marley in a few more hours with a dead mouse in my kitchen. Wait though, was it really dead?! What if it wasn't? What if I went down there and opened the door and it was running around only half dead with the trap hanging off it?! What if it was dead and there was blood all over?! Why couldn't Steve be home to deal with this?
I laid back in bed and stared at the 3:30am red letters on my clock and did my best to fall back to sleep for a little while longer. Just as my alarm began going off at 7:45, I heard a wonderful sound! I heard a key unlocking the front door... Steve, my mighty hunter was home alas! I filled him in on the nights events and the loud snap I heard. He went down to investigate the pantry. Sure enough, the mouse had entered the trap for his peanut butter treat, only to have the trap smash him and quickly bring him (bloodless) to his death. He didn't run around, his body wasn't hanging out, in fact - without looking inside the trap, you couldn't even see it.
That was that. Usually these little pooping buggers have friends or family, but in this case, he was a lonely little mouse that was enjoying our pantry of goodness all to himself. We reset the trap for weeks after, but nothing. No more unwanted house guests and no more evidence of poop.
December was only beginning though... I had no idea a five year old could slash a tire.
When you have a new baby, it causes everyone to have to adjust to the noises, cries, and coos - even the dog. We all sleep upstairs (except Ozzy, the dog) and since moving Brooklyn into her crib in her room, we've started using the monitor. Mainly, we use it when we put her to sleep and we are still downstairs. Sometimes, we forget to turn it off, which means Ozzy is interrupted from his slumber when she gets up for the midnight feedings. Early in December though, it was HIM that started interrupting our slumber with whines and uneasy noises.
At first we thought it was just from leaving the monitor on and he was hearing the baby, and then we thought, well - maybe he needs to go the bathroom? Maybe, we forgot to feed him (don't judge, we are busy and just hope to remember to feed the kids). However, nothing seemed to be working. This went on for days, but nothing we were trying was calming him down. It was like clockwork, every night for about three nights at about 11pm each night. Then one day, I was emptying the bag of recyclables in the pantry and found the evidence left by our new house guest.
It was on the floor and four shelves up, hundreds of little brown rice size mouse poops. It was everywhere. Now, I got the fun task of cleaning, organizing and disinfecting my pantry. I threw away so much! This little organizing and cleaning task would have been much more fun when I was still pregnant.
I took it upon myself to clean and organize, but when it came to the little unwanted house guest, I would leave the mighty hunter (my husband, Steve) to evicting him. He picked up a trap that night on his way home and set it with a dab of peanut butter on it. Now, the waiting began.
Just as we settled into bed his phone beeped. He was getting called into work and I was going to be left in the house alone...with a mouse. I was awake at every little sound. The dog would stir in his kennel, the heat would click on, and I was wide awake thinking about a mouse in my pantry. Steve still hadn't gotten back from work when I got up to feed the baby at around 2:30am. Just as I was finishing, I heard a loud SNAP! Agh! It was the mouse, he got the peanut butter! Ewww... Now, I had to worry about getting up with Marley in a few more hours with a dead mouse in my kitchen. Wait though, was it really dead?! What if it wasn't? What if I went down there and opened the door and it was running around only half dead with the trap hanging off it?! What if it was dead and there was blood all over?! Why couldn't Steve be home to deal with this?
I laid back in bed and stared at the 3:30am red letters on my clock and did my best to fall back to sleep for a little while longer. Just as my alarm began going off at 7:45, I heard a wonderful sound! I heard a key unlocking the front door... Steve, my mighty hunter was home alas! I filled him in on the nights events and the loud snap I heard. He went down to investigate the pantry. Sure enough, the mouse had entered the trap for his peanut butter treat, only to have the trap smash him and quickly bring him (bloodless) to his death. He didn't run around, his body wasn't hanging out, in fact - without looking inside the trap, you couldn't even see it.
That was that. Usually these little pooping buggers have friends or family, but in this case, he was a lonely little mouse that was enjoying our pantry of goodness all to himself. We reset the trap for weeks after, but nothing. No more unwanted house guests and no more evidence of poop.
December was only beginning though... I had no idea a five year old could slash a tire.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
I won't consider myself less of a woman
The best thing you have when you go through a hard time is understanding. The worst, is well - the opposite. Not misunderstanding per se, but people just not being able to relate and know what you are going through. My first pregnancy ended with a vaginal delivery, so this time around was a whole new experience. I wasn't prepared for what I would go through and since it was my second baby, I feel like people at the hospital treated me as if I was a pro at getting a baby ripped out of my stomach.
The worst thing people told me was that they just didn't know how I was feeling because they didn't and no one they knew had been through a C-section. They said it like I was the only one in the western states that had gone through this ground-breaking surgical procedure. Really people? It's not that uncommon and I shouldn't be letting you make me feel like less of a women because I didn't have her come through vagina land.
Insert middle of the blog disclaimer here: If you are family or may have made one of these comments to me, please don't take any of this personal. Okay, back to the story...
The first day I looked through emails and facebook, I had one message that was actually someone saying "So sorry you had to have a C-section"! Really? What about - Congrats you had a baby? Or even, Congrats you had a HEALTHY baby?! I'm not sorry that they performed the surgery to protect me and my baby, so why are you?
The other comment that drilled at me was "We just don't understand how you are feeling because you are the only one that didn't deliver vaginally, no one else in the family has ever gone through this". Although I know no one meant to intentionally hurt me, these kinds of comments are hard to deal with, especially when you are already emotional and sensitive. The books aren't any better. They almost make you feel like you should be depressed. Sure, I went through I my uncontrollable periods of sobbing while locked in my bathroom with company downstairs, but jeez... your body is going through some crazy things! Not to mention, sleep deprivation.
I read one place that baby blues and postpartum are more common in women who have C-sections because they feel like less of a women for not having the baby through vagina land. As far as I'm concerned, I have fought both battles. I have been through the treacherous and trying war of vagina land and I have had the surgery of all surgeries where the movie Alien is reenacted and you are the star, having the little being ripped from you. Personally, I don't feel like any less off a women. I give kudos to all women out there for however long you carry a little creature inside you and for however you bring it into this world. For it's only the beginning of this life altering and changing experience and you are a hero no matter what to that little creature for bringing it into this world.
The worst thing people told me was that they just didn't know how I was feeling because they didn't and no one they knew had been through a C-section. They said it like I was the only one in the western states that had gone through this ground-breaking surgical procedure. Really people? It's not that uncommon and I shouldn't be letting you make me feel like less of a women because I didn't have her come through vagina land.
Insert middle of the blog disclaimer here: If you are family or may have made one of these comments to me, please don't take any of this personal. Okay, back to the story...
The first day I looked through emails and facebook, I had one message that was actually someone saying "So sorry you had to have a C-section"! Really? What about - Congrats you had a baby? Or even, Congrats you had a HEALTHY baby?! I'm not sorry that they performed the surgery to protect me and my baby, so why are you?
The other comment that drilled at me was "We just don't understand how you are feeling because you are the only one that didn't deliver vaginally, no one else in the family has ever gone through this". Although I know no one meant to intentionally hurt me, these kinds of comments are hard to deal with, especially when you are already emotional and sensitive. The books aren't any better. They almost make you feel like you should be depressed. Sure, I went through I my uncontrollable periods of sobbing while locked in my bathroom with company downstairs, but jeez... your body is going through some crazy things! Not to mention, sleep deprivation.
I read one place that baby blues and postpartum are more common in women who have C-sections because they feel like less of a women for not having the baby through vagina land. As far as I'm concerned, I have fought both battles. I have been through the treacherous and trying war of vagina land and I have had the surgery of all surgeries where the movie Alien is reenacted and you are the star, having the little being ripped from you. Personally, I don't feel like any less off a women. I give kudos to all women out there for however long you carry a little creature inside you and for however you bring it into this world. For it's only the beginning of this life altering and changing experience and you are a hero no matter what to that little creature for bringing it into this world.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Pooping can be worse than giving birth
Nothing is easy about giving birth and that definitely held true when it came to this birth saga. Please allow me to give a brief disclaimer about this posting - it's about poop. It's not sugar-coated and the best way to describe it is that it's my "Jenny McCarthy" blog. If you have ever read any of her books, you will already know what I'm getting at. If you haven't, let me explain - she tells it how it is. This is my blog about my life. It's meant to inform, entertain and hopefully at times you will be able to relate. I love when people have told me that they experienced the same thing or that they went through it too. As women, we get to share that magical time called childbirth and anyone who has knows that pooping afterward can be... well, Hell.
It's a good thing they don't make you stay in the hospital until you pass that first bowel after baby, because I probably wouldn't have left until 2011. I already have a problem with "poo-ing in public". If we are out of town for a few days, most likely I wont poo until we get home. And then, as soon as we walk in the front door it's like magic. I can go straight to the bathroom and go with no problems at all. Whether you have a vaginal birth or C-section, that first bowel is well, Hell.
With a C-section it sucks just a little more because you can't use your muscles in your abdomen to push. Here I was home from the hospital, loaded up on colate and plum juice and having no luck. Everyday it was the same thing - I would sit there for 20 minutes in pain, praying for poo to just come out and then...nothin. I would take little walks up the street and still, nothin. It was getting worse and I was getting cranky (to say the least). I had the baby on Sunday and that morning was probably the last time I pooped. I came home from the hospital Wednesday and on Friday, still nothin. The next day (Saturday, October 23rd) was my birthday. I had at least 3 offers from people to bring me cake and although I know they meant well, the offers were just making me more cranky. NO, I don't want cake!!! I want to poop! All I want for my stinkin birthday is to poop! Was that too much to ask?
Finally, it was Saturday, my birthday. Again, I woke up with only one thing on my mind, pooping. Finally, days of praying to poop brought me to the glorified moment of sitting on the porcelain throne and although painful, thank the good Lord, I got my birthday present. Ladies, why is it that passing that first bowel feels worse than the baby?!
It's a good thing they don't make you stay in the hospital until you pass that first bowel after baby, because I probably wouldn't have left until 2011. I already have a problem with "poo-ing in public". If we are out of town for a few days, most likely I wont poo until we get home. And then, as soon as we walk in the front door it's like magic. I can go straight to the bathroom and go with no problems at all. Whether you have a vaginal birth or C-section, that first bowel is well, Hell.
With a C-section it sucks just a little more because you can't use your muscles in your abdomen to push. Here I was home from the hospital, loaded up on colate and plum juice and having no luck. Everyday it was the same thing - I would sit there for 20 minutes in pain, praying for poo to just come out and then...nothin. I would take little walks up the street and still, nothin. It was getting worse and I was getting cranky (to say the least). I had the baby on Sunday and that morning was probably the last time I pooped. I came home from the hospital Wednesday and on Friday, still nothin. The next day (Saturday, October 23rd) was my birthday. I had at least 3 offers from people to bring me cake and although I know they meant well, the offers were just making me more cranky. NO, I don't want cake!!! I want to poop! All I want for my stinkin birthday is to poop! Was that too much to ask?
Finally, it was Saturday, my birthday. Again, I woke up with only one thing on my mind, pooping. Finally, days of praying to poop brought me to the glorified moment of sitting on the porcelain throne and although painful, thank the good Lord, I got my birthday present. Ladies, why is it that passing that first bowel feels worse than the baby?!
Friday, November 5, 2010
October 21st, 2010 - I have an infection where?!
It was so nice to be at our home with our new baby and settling into the next chapter of our lives. That first night was pretty typical for having a new baby. We were up every couple hours to feed and change her and she was eating and pooping like a pro. The next morning (which means early afternoon when you are on newborn time) we took turns showering. This is when the fun of the saga continued.
I was washing off and noticed some pain in my under-arm, right armpit to be exact. I finished up and got out to dry off. I realized that I had a large lump in my armpit and that was what was hurting so bad. I called Steve up and showed it to him. He thought it was probably just a swollen lymph node from my body trying to fight off everything, but recommended I send the doctor a message just to be sure. We are extremely blessed to have a very close relationship with our family doctor, who lives a couple houses up from us. So, I sent him a text asking if it's normal. He responded pretty quick with "No, not normal. Stop down to see you soon".
When he came over to check it out, it wasn't news that made me happy. I must have had an open pore from shaving within days of going into the hospital and it became the perfect entry for a staph infection. Thanks Salem Hospital. To add to an already (insert sarcasm here) "fun" week, now I had a staph infection. The doctor put me on some heavy antibiotics to hopefully kick it out of my body before it got worse. I thought this would all be resolved pretty quick, but that's just not how this particular saga was going.
Steve had picked up the medication that same day and I got started on it that night. By morning I was a couple doses in, but now I had a whole new thing to add to my plate. A rash that was starting to spread all over my torso and back. Lovely. As if my feet and ankles weren't swollen enough, now I get to deal with an uncomfortable rash to accent the rest of me.
We looked up the medicine on Steve's new (early Christmas present) I-pad (thanks Mom and Dad Chancellor) and found it is a sulfa drug, which I am allergic to. Lovely. Now time to get back on the phone with the doctor and get my next step, which was to stop the medicine obviously, wait 24 hours and then get started on some new antibiotics. Steve was headed back to the pharmacy in hopes of this being the end to the additional ailments and to be getting to the "and They Lived Happily Ever After" part of the story. I was starting to wonder when exactly that was gonna be.
I was washing off and noticed some pain in my under-arm, right armpit to be exact. I finished up and got out to dry off. I realized that I had a large lump in my armpit and that was what was hurting so bad. I called Steve up and showed it to him. He thought it was probably just a swollen lymph node from my body trying to fight off everything, but recommended I send the doctor a message just to be sure. We are extremely blessed to have a very close relationship with our family doctor, who lives a couple houses up from us. So, I sent him a text asking if it's normal. He responded pretty quick with "No, not normal. Stop down to see you soon".
When he came over to check it out, it wasn't news that made me happy. I must have had an open pore from shaving within days of going into the hospital and it became the perfect entry for a staph infection. Thanks Salem Hospital. To add to an already (insert sarcasm here) "fun" week, now I had a staph infection. The doctor put me on some heavy antibiotics to hopefully kick it out of my body before it got worse. I thought this would all be resolved pretty quick, but that's just not how this particular saga was going.
Steve had picked up the medication that same day and I got started on it that night. By morning I was a couple doses in, but now I had a whole new thing to add to my plate. A rash that was starting to spread all over my torso and back. Lovely. As if my feet and ankles weren't swollen enough, now I get to deal with an uncomfortable rash to accent the rest of me.
We looked up the medicine on Steve's new (early Christmas present) I-pad (thanks Mom and Dad Chancellor) and found it is a sulfa drug, which I am allergic to. Lovely. Now time to get back on the phone with the doctor and get my next step, which was to stop the medicine obviously, wait 24 hours and then get started on some new antibiotics. Steve was headed back to the pharmacy in hopes of this being the end to the additional ailments and to be getting to the "and They Lived Happily Ever After" part of the story. I was starting to wonder when exactly that was gonna be.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Breaking out of Prison, I mean the hospital.
It was a very comforting feeling to move upstairs to the fourth floor of the Birthing Center. I could finally move my toes, we were out of recovery, and we had our baby by our side. God is so good. That night's sleep however, was not so good. The baby was already doing great and working on eating. The nurse brought Steve a strange turkey boxed meal and I got ice chips. I know, lucky me. They had to make sure I wasn't going to throw up from the meds and fun stuff they had been pumping into my body.
That first night, or I should say - the remaining hours that were left of those wee morning hours were horrible trying to sleep. They put these strange wraps on your legs that fill up and then deflate, over and over again, to prevent blood clots in your legs. So, between the noise of those and the pressure on my legs and the itching all over my body from the epidural wearing off made sleeping virtually impossible.
The nurse came in about 3 or 4am to check vitals and give me pain meds. I wanted something for the itching too, so on top of the buffet of meds I already had, she gave me oxycodone and injected benadryl into the IV in my hand. I hate pain meds and I hate how groggy cold meds make you. I felt like one of the addicts on Intervention that nods off while being interviewed. I couldn't keep my head up, let alone eyes open. I got some much needed sleep for a couple hours after that.
Later that morning, (now Monday, October 18th), I finally ate some real food. I was starting to feel slightly more human once again. Over the course of the next few days, family and friends visited. Sometimes it was too much for one day and I would break down crying at the end of it, but it was all leading to that final day. The day of the big prison break, going home from the hospital that is.
Since Brooklyn was considered "preemie" she had to pass a car seat tolerance test. So, on Tuesday we had to bring in her seat and get her all strapped in to sit in the nursery for an hour to be monitored. They do this to make sure they get enough oxygen sitting in the seat. Fortunately, she passed and it took us one step closer. They encouraged me to get out in the halls and try walking, which I did and it made me that much more stir crazy to get out of there. Between the visitors wanting to see us and the baby and the doctors and nurses constantly checking in on us, we didn't have much time to just enjoy our new family member.
Finally, Wednesday (October 19th) arrived. We had our last meal and geared up to break free. We crossed all our "t's" and dotted our last "i" and were finally set free. Although it felt like it took me an hour to walk out to the truck, that fresh air never smelled so good! Getting into the truck felt like another hour and the ride home was miserable. You don't realize how much you use your core muscles until you tense accidentally at ever little bump you encounter in the road.
Finally, home sweet home. We had the rest of the day to enjoy having our new little one at home to get settled, until the next day - when I would get tested with even more things to add to my list of ailments and this dramatic adventure of bringing little Brooklyn into this world.
That first night, or I should say - the remaining hours that were left of those wee morning hours were horrible trying to sleep. They put these strange wraps on your legs that fill up and then deflate, over and over again, to prevent blood clots in your legs. So, between the noise of those and the pressure on my legs and the itching all over my body from the epidural wearing off made sleeping virtually impossible.
The nurse came in about 3 or 4am to check vitals and give me pain meds. I wanted something for the itching too, so on top of the buffet of meds I already had, she gave me oxycodone and injected benadryl into the IV in my hand. I hate pain meds and I hate how groggy cold meds make you. I felt like one of the addicts on Intervention that nods off while being interviewed. I couldn't keep my head up, let alone eyes open. I got some much needed sleep for a couple hours after that.
Later that morning, (now Monday, October 18th), I finally ate some real food. I was starting to feel slightly more human once again. Over the course of the next few days, family and friends visited. Sometimes it was too much for one day and I would break down crying at the end of it, but it was all leading to that final day. The day of the big prison break, going home from the hospital that is.
Since Brooklyn was considered "preemie" she had to pass a car seat tolerance test. So, on Tuesday we had to bring in her seat and get her all strapped in to sit in the nursery for an hour to be monitored. They do this to make sure they get enough oxygen sitting in the seat. Fortunately, she passed and it took us one step closer. They encouraged me to get out in the halls and try walking, which I did and it made me that much more stir crazy to get out of there. Between the visitors wanting to see us and the baby and the doctors and nurses constantly checking in on us, we didn't have much time to just enjoy our new family member.
Finally, Wednesday (October 19th) arrived. We had our last meal and geared up to break free. We crossed all our "t's" and dotted our last "i" and were finally set free. Although it felt like it took me an hour to walk out to the truck, that fresh air never smelled so good! Getting into the truck felt like another hour and the ride home was miserable. You don't realize how much you use your core muscles until you tense accidentally at ever little bump you encounter in the road.
Finally, home sweet home. We had the rest of the day to enjoy having our new little one at home to get settled, until the next day - when I would get tested with even more things to add to my list of ailments and this dramatic adventure of bringing little Brooklyn into this world.
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