Five Year Old Story Continued

Part Two

By the time we got back inside and set the oven to preheat, two more of these whatever-one-might-call-thems beat upon me.  I made mention to PTB and in the same breath, kindly excused them as hunger pains, but after waiting twenty minutes for the pizza to cook, I was sure they weren't related to hunger.  Patrick convinced me to face the now-dark road and let this play out at my parents house, which was much closer to the hospital.  We planned to eat our pizza and put Nolan to bed at their house, then take it from there, whether it led to the hospital or not.

With the uneaten pizza on my lap, Nolan bundled in his car-seat, and two hastily packed bags in the back, Patrick drove carefully through the snowy night.  It was sometime between six and seven and there were very few cars on the road.  The snow fell heavy and fast.  We traveled slowly.  I breathed intentionally as my body road a slow roller coaster all the way to my parents', but I still wasn't convinced.

I was so unconvinced, in fact, that I stood at their table (being too uncomfortable for sitting) eating a slice of pizza and joking around with my sister like it was any other night.  I was devouring the second piece when I had to put it down to breathe and then I couldn't pick it back up, couldn't pick myself back up.

By this time, we were quickly approaching eight in the evening, Nolan was asleep, and I was anxious to sit in front of a certain t.v. program scheduled for that time.  We chose the television in their basement.  I plopped myself in a rocking armchair and succumbed to another wave.  And then another.  And then another.  We never turned on the show.  It was suddenly taking every bit of concentration not to squirm out of the rocker and writhe on the floor.  Somewhere in between focusing on not writhing and the small breaks allotted, I admitted to myself that I was right all along.  This baby was coming Tuesday --today!

"And soon," Patrick maintained as he tried to help me see that the hospital was the right place for me.

In theory, I agreed, but in practice I could not see the plausibility of me climbing the stairs or facing the wind of the night.  My only decision, I felt, was between writhing and not.  I resigned myself to having a baby in the basement.  When I voiced this, Patrick's insistence that we go to the hospital RIGHT NOW! became perceptibly more urgent.  I relented.

It hadn't stopped snowing.  Actually, it was snowing harder and faster and heavier.  It blanketed the roads dangerously and obscured any view of lines, signs, or the edge of the pavement.  If I had been driving, we would have arrived a lot sooner, no matter the road conditions, but I was neither in control of my body nor the car nor the weather nor my husband.  I was helpless in the passenger seat, trying my best not to writhe out from under the safety belt.  What should have been a ten minute drive turned into thirty.  The cosmos were playing a hilarious joke.  The entire day was a hilarious joke.  (I can only see this in retrospect.)

Speaking of jokes, there is a comedian we like who has a sketch about hospitals.  He spends a good part of the routine drawing attention to the blunder in not having valet parking at the emergency room.  He presents a synopsis about himself being seriously injured and having his friend drop him off at the doors to go find a parking spot in the far reaches of the full lot.  His friend yells,"Tell them you've been shot!" as he drives away.  Sounds ridiculous and that's why we laugh.

The only entrance open at our hospital at 9 pm is for the emergency room.  The only parking lot for that entrance is on the other side of town.  And they actually don't have a valet service.  "Biggest oversight in the universe," says the comedian.  Patrick could have dropped me off at the door and yelled, "Tell them you're having a baby!"as he drove away, and we did consider this, but I couldn't fathom walking in there alone or even getting out of the car without someone to lean on.  The only other option was to park and walk the excruciating distance to the front desk through the dark, blustery night, while my body rapidly fired internal explosions with energy enough to melt snow and set that parking lot on fire.  I'm not exaggerating.  One after another they came and I would have to stop our walk to lean my head on Patrick's shoulder, hum something obscure, and rock on my cold feet.  They were lasting more than a minute and were launching one after another, so it took a while to make it to the door.  I can't imagine what the woman who received us thought.  Ruddy cheeks, snowy shoulders, and frantic expressions, we were a sight.  Her immediate response was a wheel chair thrown in my direction which I gratefully collapsed into.

We arrived before the midwife. I wondered if she would make it in time to attend the birth as I changed out of my street clothes into something more fashionable.  I wondered if she was stuck on an unplowed country road.  I wondered how adept the nurse I had just met was at delivering babies.  The history of my first birth just seventeen months prior was playing through my mind.  I had arrived at the hospital to have Nolan dilated 9cm, transitioned within an hour, and pushed for another hour.  The consensus is that subsequent births tend to take less time to progress and I was eager to agree on this point.  Just before I started to panic, Gay Nicholson waltzed breathless through the door.  She introduced herself as my midwife, the only one of the seven that I hadn't previously met, but I was just happy to have someone there.  It was half past nine.

"8 cm," She said and my heart dropped.  That's it? I wondered.  My body had whispered something else.  Once again, I doubted my ability to read its signals.  I couldn't take another two hours of this.  I couldn't even manage ten minutes!  A sense of hysteria prickled across my skin.  She must have seen it in my eyes and tried to offer some reassurance.  But another contraction pounded me into a dark and loathsome place.  Instead of focusing, I gave in to it.  I was quitting.

As soon as I surrendered, my body took total control and my only response was tears.

"I can't do this," I announced, fundamentally understanding that there wasn't really a choice.

Pound.

Pound. 

Pound.  

They were beating me into the ground.  I was ready to accept my ultimate termination.

"You're transitioning," she sang and glided across the room to unwrap instruments, turn on a light and throw down some cloths.  My insides shook as the intensity of the next contraction amplified through every fiber of my frame.  With that she pronounced that uncharted word, "push."  Uncharted because it signifies so many things, some knowable and some not yet.  It means you no longer need lay helpless to the whims of your body, it means you've crossed a lot of territory, it means you are in the last leg of a journey, but it also means something frightening, the possibility of unearthly pain, the approach of a white hot fire and all this for an undetermined amount of time.  The limitless time period is what really kills me.  I attempted to prepare my mind for an hour of it before the next one.

The pounding came, but this time I didn't try to focus away from it or hum my way through it.  This time we worked together and it felt good to put my energy into something other than avoidance.  When we aren't fighting each other, my body and I cooperate quite well, and this time proved true.

It took only one push before Gay gave another instruction. "Be ready to finish this on the next one."

I closed my eyes and didn't open them again until the little creature was flopped onto my stomach, the cord still pulsating.  I marveled at a new life, his beautiful form, dark hair, round cheeks, and wrinkled fingers.  The relief was immediate and all-encompassing.  A miracle at 9:51.    

Twenty four hours later, we had overspent the hospital's hospitality and were qualifying ourselves and our brown-eyed baby for discharge. Through the dark chill we made our way back home.  

Even though we comfortably rode in our heated vehicle, it felt to me like I wasn't riding but floating, floating high above in another realm.  My soul was that enveloped in the ethereal wonder of creation, the infinite scope of love.  And you know, my soul?  I didn't need to worry about finding room in it after all.  The miracle of birth gives life to the miracle of this mother's rebirth, I had come to find.  And with that consecrated rebirth arrives a soul stretched and molded, feet beginning their thaw.

This Week at the Mitchells

Just when winter seemed to be spent, new winds ushered in a surge of bone-chilling weather.  I woke up one morning to a reading of -1 and decided we should look into moving south(west).  With temperatures in the single digits for handful of days, we spent a lot of time hiding out and getting antsy.

A main water pipe burst in Nolan's school due to the extremes in weather combined with a technical malfunction.  School was canceled for Wednesday and Thursday.

It was decided that in order to conserve heat, we would close the door to the upstairs and have the boys sleep on the pull out couch in the living room.  Four days of having our main room function as their bedroom and the clutter was getting out of hand.  It aided our demise into insanity.

Sleeping in the living room

Spy googles by Pook 

To stave off boredom and give movement to muscles needing activity, the boys ended up bouncing off of furniture, using the couch cushions to fashion a jungle gym, and making their own cardboard weapons to stage a rebellion.  They accomplished plenty of screen time, created some new projects, and battled a number of fierce brotherly fights.

One of their cushion structures

Auburn's insanity expressed itself in an increased speed in her unloading.  She is known for taking things apart, un-organizing boxes, bags, cupboards, shelves, and unfolding clothes, unrolling toilet paper, emptying packages of baby wipes and tissues.  This week, her penchant for unloading became an occupation which she executed at a frenzied speed.

Auburn Ruth, getting the job done

Even the cats participated in our lunacy.  Normally docile and lethargic, rotating sleeping locations and positions unhurriedly throughout the day, their dispositions and activities changed drastically within a day or two of our forced hibernation, especially when they realized that kid hibernating does not include sleep.  This was a recipe for crazy cats.  It was like they reverted back to kitten-hood.  They played with everything that moved or might possibly move if they swatted at it.  They chases each other back and forth through every room in the downstairs, under and over and up every piece of furniture.

 I was ecstatic when I learned Friday that the problem was resolved at school and could send Nolan back.  We had come down with a bout of cabin fever.  It caused symptoms of restlessness and hyper activity.  The only cure was a return to the world outside and its promised familiar routines.

Five Year Old Story

Part One

Even though we comfortably drove cross-country to NY, it felt to me like I wasn't driving, but trudging, trudging through snow without rubber on my soles or even a woolen pair of socks. My feet were that cold in the coming. But my intent heart coaxed those reluctant feet right out of the West and back to my home, this time bringing with it a spouse, a son, a cat, a trunk full of belongings and a belly full of baby.

Like a nod of affirmation to my frigid feet, it was a rough start. We lived in the basement of my generous grandparents' house, took months to find a job, had very little direction, failed to follow through with our goals, and winter swiftly invaded with an army of snowflakes and bitter winds. I was uncomfortably pregnant, far in the country without a car, home alone (once Patrick procured a job and my grandparents migrated south for the winter) with a boy, near-baby himself, who's deepest desire was to be carried around most of the day. I suffered from back pain, loneliness, poverty, and a pervading darkness which infiltrated every nook and cranny of that winter.

And that was what I had to offer this new little baby, who we knew would be a brother for our first. I felt a keen understanding for a woman long ago who had welcomed her baby to an animal stall because no room could be found elsewhere. Physically, we had a warm place and enough space, but I struggled to make room in my soul for another birth, no matter how miraculous. Our start was rough and I feared for the effect it was to have on his start.

Life still happens, whether or not you have prepared yourself for it and though I felt overwhelmed and fairly helpless, my time did expire. I went to bed one night, tossing uncomfortably throughout as my body whispered the same utterance over and over until early morning when I felt my husband stir and could finally relay the message.

"I don't think you should go to work today," I told him.

It was a Tuesday and would have been the exact anniversary marking three months of his employment, a significant date because it indicated the end of his probationary period and the beginning of some urgently needed job benefits. He would spend the anniversary at home, because I was so sure that this was the day, my fourth day past due.  I predicted an initiation of activity any minute and a baby by mid-afternoon.

The prophecy went unfulfilled.

As the day wore on with nary a contraction, I became increasingly skeptical of my body and my ability to read its signals.  I doubted, concurrently becoming more frustrated at being four days and twelve, fifteen, twenty hours over due.  The evening approached and tummies started to wonder where their next meal would come from.  Obviously not from the hospital cafeteria.  Obviously not from this frustratedly inflated woman.  Obviously not from the soberly empty space in our fridge.

I just wanted to get out of the house.  So we drove the six miles to the nearest grocery store.  Snow fluttered lightly through the crisp January air.  I opened my door, stretched my leg to the ground, and flinched as a hormone orchestrated muscular wave overtook me and threatened to throw my outstretched leg across the parking lot.  

Nope.  Not what you think, I told myself, convinced that I had cried wolf in the wee hours of that morning.

I placed my other foot next to the first and followed Patrick, who carried little Nolan into our favorite store, Ovid's Big M.  Just past the door, another wave crashed over me.  I looked around for somewhere to sit.  There wasn't.  Unable to believe that I was experiencing anything other than something starting with a B and ending with some hicks, I didn't say anything to Patrick, ironed out the contortions in my face, and followed behind as we made our way to the freezer.  We selected the meal of our choice, a supremely frozen pizza, and turned back to the front of the store.  At the register, a lady smiled to greet us.  I winced back as my body once again took the reins.  PTB handled the transaction.

Back in the car, a few miles down the road, after yet another face contorting convulsion of my lower half, I calculated the frequency of occurrences.  My conclusion:  Maybe this is something.  And maybe not.  I was still doubtful.  I had twiddled my thumbs, and paced our basement apartment all day.  For nothing.  

I was not about to cry wolf twice in one day.

Numbers and Things

The following are the highlights of our week in just a few words.

8 teeth

a boy, a cake, and batman in a box

5 years

afternoon bus rider

visits with grandparents
(and my phone apologizes for the poor quality of these photos)

At the Bottom Looking Up (another graphic photo WARNING (I apologize))

It's bizarre to sit at the bottom of a week and try to peer back up to the top, because I can really only catch glimpses.  My memory must be bad or selective or a little of both.  There are entire days in just the past seven that I can barely account for.  Maybe that says more about the way time was spent than the virtue of my memory.  In any case, this is my recollection:

Plans rearranged themselves Monday when my car didn't start in the morning.  The boys were late to school, Nolan rode the bus home for the first time this year, and my mom generously drove me around Ithaca so I could pick up some things for PTB's birthday.  A handful of friends and family came over for a surprise party that night.  The surprise was spoiled however, when we sat down for dinner and Gerret asked his dad where the other "customers" were.  When PTB inquired what was meant by customers, Pook explained, "the people who are coming for your birthday party".  I rolled my eyes.  Despite the absence of spontaneity, we had a fun time and PTB extinguished all of his candles in one blow supposedly in my honor.

PTB eats fire

The dentist gently informed us that we will be needing to invest a large sum in the near future in the majority of a certain son's teeth.  The words "sedation" and "rampant decay" were used in the same conversation.

yikes

Nolan went skateboarding in WalMart and wiped out on the third try.  I worried that he broke something, but he only sustained a bruised hip.

And we're down to ten chickens after yesterday.  The missionaries from our church, who are eager and curious young men, came to help with the slaughter and butchering.  I was especially grateful for their curiosity and courage because it left me with the least offensive task, washing out the bird after the un-edible parts were already discarded.

Out-takes:

our fancy cat gets dressed up

a girl and a mom

Two things you should know about this picture: (1) our back yard is currently a junk yard due to the destruction and construction we've been doing on our home.  (2) The girl standing precariously in the window is not wearing a diaper.

And Now: 31

All of my best moments come because of this PTB.  He is my greatest friend.  
I love him deeply.  I am so grateful for him.

To Summarize a Week (WARNING: there is one graphic photo in here)

Here for your reading pleasure:  the last few days of December and the first few of January

I impulsively chopped my hair off Sunday night, leaving behind about five inches for 2012 to keep (and more in some places).  I need to stop doing that. I always regret it and end up religiously wearing a ponytail for months afterward.

I decided that I would take advantage of Patrick's time off by getting a run in every day.  I love running out in the wide open air, but Winter is dark in both the morning and the evening and there are no street lights in the country, so I write off running in the Winter for the most part.  Last week, though, I wrote it in every day of the week.  The sun came up bright, but without any sign of warmth Monday morning. I donned my old sneakers to trudge througu the snow on our somewhat plowed roads.  And ran four miles.  I should have run half of that and I knew it, because I hadn't run anything since September, but my need to test my endurance won and I ran a country block.  I spent the next three days in recovery and never got out for a run after that due to more snow and other things.

one of the plowed roads from my run (two were plowed, two were only somewhat plowed)

The year 2012 came to a close.  We sledded at Rice Hill, then stayed up (late, late, late) playing spades and huggermugger with my brother, Jordan and his wife, Diana.  After they left, long past midnight, we joked around about feeling like high schoolers again.   

Gerret and Uncle Jordan.  He cried Tuesday morning when he realized Jordan and Diana were really gone.  They are favorites in our house.

The boys returned to school Wednesday. Neither was too ecstatic, but I honestly was quite ecstatic.  They enjoyed vacation, loved having Jordan and Diana visit, did a lot of playing, watching, and arguing, went sledding twice, and had a lot of late (but fun) nights.  Having accomplished a satisfying break, it was certainly time to return to some kind of sanity.

Auburn practiced walking a little more.  She's starting to gain confidence and courage.  She also added a seventh tooth.  

Auburn Ruth the silly head

We enjoyed the mostly finished product of our six month toil: an actual dining room, a new (cozy) living room, a third bedroom, and a much more spacious kitchen.  With some much appreciated help from my parents and a good friend, Patrick and I have worked tirelessly tearing down walls, building new ones, re-doing floors, putting up ceilings, replacing doors and windows, running wires, and spackling like there was no tomorrow.  Our sense of accomplishment is great.  The comfort of our home has increased enormously.  It's been a great way to begin a new year.

The new dining room which is where the old living room was.  When we bought our house, the kitchen was eat-in and there was not a dining room.  

Thursday, we helped decorate for a friend's wedding reception, which we then attended Friday night.

Before the reception Friday, we killed and butchered one of our chickens. And by "we", I mean PTB.  I helped a little, but nausea soon became my friend, so my help mostly consisted of instruction from the sidelines.  Down one, we now have fifteen chickens.  We'd really only like six or fewer, so there will be more of Friday's activities coming soon.

Thank you chicken, for your eggs and for your meat.

We hosted guests for dinner twice last week, a first (and second) since July. And it was so fun.  We served chicken one of those nights, but not THAT chicken (it's happily in ziplock bags in our freezer until further notice).

We also went on two dates, just PTB and me this past week!  Thanks to my sister, Olivia, my dad, and Alan Brown's help with our kiddies.  On one date we intended to watch Les Mis, but the theater was overpopulated, so we did some shopping.  On the second date, we attended the 10:20 showing of Les Mis successfully and arrived back home at 2 am (a very big thank you to Alan for that!).  We think we are crazy teenagers again.

Grainy, but that's the best I've got.  I love time spent with this boy.

And I decided somewhere in there that I would try to be more consistent about blogging, so here is my first effort.  Voila!  

(I'd like to give credit to my iPhone for the photos... I would never have pictures if it weren't for that lovely little device.)