My Crazy

And no, I'm not referring to this little grinner as "my crazy."

For the record, I come by my crazy totally honestly. My sister got married in October of 1999. My mother had been battling stiff-person syndrome for 13 years and was nearing the end of her fight. She stayed in the hospital up until a few days before my sister's wedding so she could be as healthy and stable as possible for the big day. For months leading up to the wedding, she sat in her hospital bed with all her candy making tools on the bedside table, making chocolate cups for the wedding reception. She also needed to make the wedding cake when she came home. Had she ever made a wedding cake before? No. But that didn't slow my crippled mother down in the least. And the cake she made was in the shape of the Mt. Timpanogos temple. With stained glass windows. My mother passed away less than 3 months later. She was literally dying and continued to make things seemingly beyond her skill set simply because, as she had once said while contemplating the construction of her first (and only) man's suit, "I think I can do that."

Forward 13 years to yesterday. Our ward had announced that there would be a gingerbread house competition at the annual Christmas party. There would be categories for children, youth and adults. Now, we make a house every year. I've posted instructions as to how we do it. I've often made gingerbread for more than one house a year, but only because we've often hosted gingerbread house parties. We've never made more than one for ourselves. But I heard the word "competition" and my crazy went into overdrive.

I had hoped to get the gingerbread made before Saturday. But I ended up doing an arrangement for a funeral, and making a shepherd/Jedi robe for a nativity play, attending a Christmas party back in Citrus Heights, and oh yeah, taking care of a cute little 6 week old girl and 3 other children. And so, Saturday morning I started making gingerbread. I put together a house for the girls, then completely stepped away as they decorated. I did this so I could, one, get the pattern for my house printed and enlarged, and two, so they could have complete creative control without my control freak tendencies stepping in. It kind of was a mistake to stay so far out of it. I put out a lot of candy for them to use, and very little ended up on the house. Whoops.

The little "garden" out front was Chloe's pride and joy.

Then I started making my house. I used a pattern from a book, not realizing quite how large the finished product would be when I started. It was easily 4 times as large, and 4 times as complicated as anything I have made before. But I said to myself, "I think I can do that." 3 batches of gingerbread later, I finally had all the pieces baked, complete with stained glass windows. I kept those sheets of gingerbread moving in and out of the oven as fast as I could, watching the minutes ticking away, realizing there was no way I could get this done in the time I had left. I ignored my sad baby who really wanted Mom and not Dad. I started to sweat. And yet I pushed on because I was too invested to give up. A piece broke as I started to assemble the house. I baked a new one. I got all the walls together and the house standing. I hurriedly decorated walls.

And then I put the roof on. I realized as I placed the second roof piece that it was slightly undercooked. But I had no time to make a new one. I've never lost a piece of gingerbread yet, and trusted that even if it was a little soft, it would still work. I added extra icing, and started to decorate. Then the back slid off, and the front started to collapse. I pushed the back up, and enlisted Bracken to hold it and my baby while I finished the final details. 15 minutes after the party started, I threw on some clothes, tied my hair into a bun and loaded everything and everyone into the car. As we drove, I touched up the makeup I was still wearing from the night before. And listened as the roof of my house fell apart in the back of my van.

We arrived at the party, and I jumped out of the car to survey the damage. The front of the roof was in pieces, but had conveniently crumbled inside the house. The back had slid completely off, and cracked down the middle. I debated whether I should bring it in. I also apologized to my husband for all the chaos the creation of this behemoth had caused. Ultimately, I decided to display it, adding a note that "heavy snow" had caused the cave in. I was more than a little embarrassed, but decided that I was illustrating the idea that it is better to try and fail than to never try at all. I happily cheered for my daughters when their entry won first prize in the children's category. I was shocked when my entry won in the adult category. I'm not sure if I won out of pity, or just for the sheer size of the monster. Maybe the judges were afraid of the lingering crazy they could see in my eyes.

As we drove home, I attempted to tell Bracken a joke about how tired I was. Halfway through, I stopped because it really wasn't funny, and I couldn't remember how I was going to end it. When we got home and got all the girls down, I collapsed into bed. I was wakened in the night by the cold I had been fighting rearing its ugly head. I managed to get a little more rest, but when Rosie got up to eat at 5, I couldn't get back to sleep. Instead I got up, made another batch of gingerbread, and reassembled the roof, decorating it with candy I had salvaged from the original. I also made muffins, cleaned the kitchen a bit, and cut up some fruit (to help remedy the damage wrought by unsupervised candy gorging). Because I am crazy. And now, for the rest of the holiday season, I will be able to look at the physical evidence of my craziness.

In actuality, though, I am kind of grateful for this episode of crazy. Truth be told, the creative crazy had been completely absent throughout my entire pregnancy, and I was a little worried that it was gone for good. Though I sometimes struggle to recognize my limits, and my projects get a little out of control, I love creating and making and having projects to do. So, welcome home, Crazy. You have been missed.

I'm pretty sure the little Rapunzel doll she's holding will find her way into the house before the holiday is over.

Lately

Deep thoughts from Chloe

On tears: Mom, I might cry a little, but it's not because I want to go to bed. It's just my hot cocoa is so hot.

On jealousy and Rosie: I think she looks sad because she thinks you're going to get mad at her because she winked at me and not you.

On obesity, after I told her to stop eating candy: But why, Mom?
Me: Because eating too much is unhealthy.
Chloe: And it can make you fat. But you wouldn't make fun of me if I was fat.

Dramatics from Addie

When her sister refused to kiss her: I just want to live in a world where people love me!

When I insisted she eat her dinner: I have a ridiculous life, I just want to die!

When she couldn't play with the toy she wanted: I just don't feel special. I don't want to live here anymore. (And then she went and opened the front door. I talked her back into the house, mainly because I knew I didn't have the energy to find her later.)

When I insisted she take a nap today: I don't want you to be my mother anymore.

Performance art from Napoleon Maggie-mite
(who refuses to acknowledge the existence of any other shoes in her closet)

I guess she wanted to listen to the sound of crunchy autumn leaves.
I asked her to change her pullup, but didn't follow through to make sure she did. I had no idea her pajamas had such wicking power.

Rosie's birth story

I need to get this written down before I forget, since it's already becoming a blur. This may get a little long, but that's because it's mainly for me, and Rosie.

Our little girl was due to arrive on 14 October. Given the fact that I was induced with all three of the other girls, I really didn't expect her to come on her own. But I had a little bit of hope, mainly because I just really wanted to feel what it was like to go into labor on my own. I also was nervous about being induced this time.

The day after my 20 week ultrasound, I got a phone call from the genetics department at the hospital. During the ultrasound, they had found that my umbilical cord only had one artery, instead of the two it was supposed to have. Single Umbilical Artery (SUA) is a fairly common condition, but is often accompanied by other birth defects, so they needed me to come back in for an additional, more thorough ultrasound to make sure everything was okay. Two days before our move, when I was already more than a little stressed, I went back in for another ultrasound. Thankfully, everything looked fine. I had also opted to do the additional genetic testing with this pregnancy, which I had opted out of with the previous ones, and all those test results looked normal as well.

Me at 41 weeks. The shirt was a gift from my sister and reads "Pregnant is the new sexy." I was definitely feeling it.

However, this reminded me that there had been an issue with Maggie's umbilical cord, so I called my previous doctor to find out exactly what it was. After Maggie was born, and they were examining my placenta, they discovered that there was a velamentous cord insertion. This means that rather than the cord inserting into the middle of the placenta, the cord inserted on the edge. The cord is then less protected and more prone to damage, and possibly hemorrhage. Everything is usually fine, but when I read that there is an increased risk of velamentous insertion with SUA , that sometimes the cord can get snagged if your water is broken by the doctor, it made me nervous. And then I googled more, which is very unwise, and learned that the medications often used in induction, particularly when ripening the cervix, can negatively impact a baby with SUA. Although generally I felt like things were going to be fine with this little girl, these other worries kept nagging me, particularly as I got closer to my due date.

That is a big belly.

My due date came and went without any action on my part. I was having contractions here and there, and my cervix was still a 1. My insurance provider's policy is to not induce before 41 weeks, so I was grateful (though nervous) when I was able to schedule my induction for 41 weeks and one day. Not that that made the time pass any more quickly. As the week wore on, my mood declined. I started avoiding leaving the house because I was tired of answering people's questions about when my baby was due. Then I found out there was a good chance the hospital would be full on Saturday, and I might not be able to come in that day. I was supposed to call the hospital at 5, and was very relieved when I got a call at 2 inviting me to come into a different hospital at 4. I didn't care where I had this girl, just as long as I had her.

We ran a few errands, loaded up the car, and drove to Antioch. This was actually a newer and nicer hospital, though just a little further away. They admitted us right away. We had brought all the girls with us, and they were sure excited and interested in everything going on. The nurse got my IV started immediately. She did a great job, but it was very stressful for Addie to see me getting poked. Even the next day when she came to visit, Addie was still very concerned about my IV. The midwife checked my cervix and decided it looked favorable enough to start the pitocin without having to ripen my cervix first. This was a big change from my previous inductions. Typically, they insert a misoprostyl pill, which I respond very well to, but it's at least 6 hours before they can actually start the pitocin. So, not only did my induction get started faster, but my worries about the medications used in the induction were lightened.Bracken left and brought the girls to our generous friends who kept them overnight. I got started on the pit, and my contractions started right away. Bracken returned and we played card games while my contractions intensified. At about 10:00, my water broke on its own. I've never felt that sensation before. It was another huge relief to me that it broke by itself. They checked my cervix shortly thereafter and found I was about a 5, and since the pain was getting pretty intense, I asked for my epidural.

As always, the longest part of labor was the amount of time between when I asked for the epidural and when the anesthesiologist actually arrived. But once she finally got there, it was the fastest, smoothest epidural I've gotten. Once it kicked in, my whole body relaxed. In fact, when they checked my an hour later, I had dilated from a 6 to a 9. 30 minutes later, I was complete. I started pushing at 1:40, and things moved quickly. I got to reach down and feel her head as she crowned. At 1:54 am on 23 October 2011, Miss Rosemary Ruth Mannion arrived.And that's when things got a little interesting. I remember sitting in a birthing class back in 2005, eight months pregnant with Chloe. I raised my hand and asked, because it had been weighing heavily on me, "How often are babies born with the cord around their necks?" The instructor quickly replied, "Not very often. It's nothing to worry about." Well, 4 births and 3 cords around the neck later, I do know that it is nothing to really worry about, but it does happen often! Rosie had the cord around her neck, but it hadn't tightened. She got an 8 on her first Apgar, and a 9 on her second. And it turns out, the cord was slightly velamentous again. It's a good thing I'm not planning on making any more umbilical cords because I am not good at it! Either that or I'm just too creative at it.

Then they weighed her. Because of the SUA, I'd had an extra ultrasound to monitor Rosie's growth. Though everything looked fine at the 21 week ultrasound, there is still a concern with SUA babies and fetal growth restriction. At 30 weeks, she was right on target for size. My other babies all weighed within 2 ounces of each other, and I gained about the same amount of weight, so I thought it would be pretty obvious if her growth had been affected. As always, I laughed when the midwife checked my belly and told me she thought the baby would be about 7, 7 1/2 pounds, but definitely nowhere near 8 1/2 pounds because that is what I have been told every single time. But still, I wondered. When they finally weighed Rosie, about 2 hours after she was born, she was 8 pounds, 11.5 ounces, and 20 inches long. My heaviest baby by 3.5 ounces. Take that, SUA. We beat you on every front (knock on wood). The nurses kept commenting on how big she was, but she still looked tiny to me.The most dramatic part of the delivery, though, was what went on in those two hours between when she was born and when Rosie was finally cleaned and weighed. Though I only had a first degree tear this time, for some reason, I started hemorrhaging after Rosie was born. I had to have extra medication, and some extra procedures from the midwife to get it to stop. All the nurses and midwife kept blaming it on the fact that I'm a redhead, but it's never happened to me before. Is it because I've given in and started dyeing my hair redder? I really don't know. Thankfully, the bleeding did stop after I'd lost about 3 pints of blood. I felt awfully calm throughout the whole process. Maybe I was just super tired, or maybe the whole process was just surreal because it was so much shorter than my other labors (only 8 hours!), but I was peaceful during the drama. Given how short my labor was after I finally got the epidural (only about 2 hours), I've wondered if I really needed it. However, I know it did speed my labor up, and the more I reflect on everything that went on after the birth, I'm glad I had that buffer against the pain in place, because otherwise it would have been rather rough.
We are so glad Miss Rosemary Ruth is here. She is named for Bracken's aunt, and for me, obviously. Since our daughters' hair has gotten progressively lighter with each one, it seems fitting that thus far she seems to be blonde with a hint of red. I was actually hoping for a blondie this time, and Chloe had been praying very earnestly for a "yellow-head." Her eyes seem to be blue, but I won't put any money on it until she's at least a year old. What I do know is that we love our little girl and know our family wouldn't have been complete without her.

Things I love about my newborn

Since I know this is our final baby, I've been noticing more of the little things that make newborns so entrancing, and savoring the little moments with Rosie. Some of my favorites are

• When she caught onto the whole nursing thing, and suddenly started opening her mouth as wide as she could to latch on, pretty much whenever she wasn't already actively nursing.

• The way she starts rooting at my arm if I don't get the nipple there fast enough.
• How her eyes dart back and forth as she latches on, like she's found the most wonderful thing in the world and is afraid someone might take it from her.
• The way her lips purse and sometimes pop when I remove her sleepy head from the nipple.
• The fur! Heaven help me, the fuzz on her ears and shoulders just kills me.
  
• The various grunts and grimaces and awkward faces she makes as she goes about the business of being a baby. And she snores.
  
• The wonderful smiles in her sleep, that even sqwunch up her eyes. I can't wait until she smiles those smiles awake.
• Her delicious smell, and her yummy skin.
• The forehead wrinkles.
  
• How she doesn't build to a full cry, just suddenly lets loose with an ear piercing squawk.
  
• The way she gazes at me, just trying to figure it all out.
• The bobbly head
• The spastic arms
• The sweetness she brings that attracts everyone in the house to her.
• And I really love how every one of my babies has looked so familiar to me the moment they are born. We try to analyze it, say they look like so and so, but each girl really just looks like herself. I think they are familiar because they are mine and always have been.
  

I'm sure there will be many more things to add to this list, but rest assured, this little one is adored. We are so glad she's here.

A Guide to Your Feelings

Today I am 39 weeks pregnant. This means I look kind of like this--

Only with more belly, less makeup, and stretchy pants. This also means that within the next couple of weeks, I will be sitting in a hospital bed, starting the final countdown for my baby. Chances are very high that I will again be induced, and will be debating whether I am in enough pain and grumpiness to justify an epidural yet. I may even be forced to stare at the chart below in order to figure out just how much discomfort I am in.
Or maybe I won't. Chloe was preparing a talk for church recently, and conveniently happened to draw up some very helpful Emotion Identification pictures for me. And a brief disclaimer--obviously we were very on top of that whole "kids lose several months of education over summer vacation" thing. I guess we should have spent a little less time breaking in the cable TV and a little more time practicing writing. But the pictures--the pictures are very helpful.

Happy

Sad

Mad

And my personal, most favorite,
Cinduv
or for those who spell traditionally,
Kind Of

I feel like I've been in Cinduv for quite a while now. I'm mostly ready for this little one to arrive, but I also realize they are much more work outside than in. However, I've reached the point where my general pregnancy malaise and lack of motivation also includes random contractions and sleeplessness, so it would be nice to feel like myself again. I've kind of missed me.

On Breastfeeding (and I will be discussing nipples, graphically)

Me, on the Haunted Mansion ride at Disneyland, informing Bracken that this is not the best time to take a picture of all the girls.

Since I am due to have a baby in about 3 weeks, many things are on my mind. One of my random google searches was for preparing my nipples (and we're off) for breastfeeding. Since this is my fourth child, I have, of course, nursed before, but I was curious if there was any new information out there. The answer is no, but once again, I was completely angered at the misinformation most of the breastfeeding advocates put out there.

Don't get me wrong--I am pro-breastfeeding. I have spent three full years of my life nursing 3 different children and plan to spend another year at least doing the same for this new one. I support the right of women to nurse their babies whenever and wherever they see fit, though I also advocate being considerate of those around you (and I'm mainly talking about teenage boys here, though I have been oogled by a 7 year old). I tend to nurse covered myself unless I am only around other mothers and children. I also find that once my babies are old enough to start moving around a lot on their own, it's not really effective to try to nurse in a public place. It's just too distracting for them.

And here I'll confess something. I get the stigma about public breastfeeding. Despite all the time I've spent with a baby at my breast, when I am not lactating, I have often found breastfeeding creepy. I have caught myself looking at a 9 month old and thinking, "That baby is way too old to still be nursing," when I have nursed all my babies far longer than that. Hypocritical and prudish, I know. What I don't know is where that knee jerk reaction comes from.

I also try not to judge those who don't breastfeed. It's a very personal choice, and there are a lot of factors in why a woman will or will not breastfeed. I personally have had a very easy time of it, and I recognize that. I'm a stay at home mom, my milk comes in on time, I make enough but not extra, I have very rarely been engorged and I've never had an infection. I'm not going to go into all the scientific reasons why breast is best because even though I know it's been proven to be the healthiest choice, I also don't feel that giving your baby formula is equal to filling their bottles with soda. I also know I've saved a lot of money with all the formula and bottles I haven't had to buy. That said, I had two babies who completely refused the bottle, so I really had no other choice. The one child who would take a bottle weaned herself the earliest.

But here's where I have my real issue with the nursing nazis. As I visited half a dozen different breastfeeding sites, I found they all told the same lie. "Nursing will not hurt if you are doing it correctly." That is a steaming pile of poop. Sure, after a month or so, once you're used to it and your milk supply has regulated, nursing shouldn't hurt. But no matter how good your latch is, no matter how many times you switch positions, no matter that you follow every rule in the book, THE FIRST TWO WEEKS WILL HURT LIKE HELL.

Yeah, I said it. Your poor nipples have never been though abuse like this, unless it was the last time you nursed, and since then the callouses have worn off. It will start out fine, and the baby will latch on in the hospital, and maybe you'll have the lactation consultant come in and help you out a little and you'll feel like you've got it all under control, and they will send you home.

And that's when it really starts. Your nipples will start to feel uncomfortable, and then they'll get a little blistered looking. Then they will scab, scabs that will be loosened or pulled off with every feeding session. Every time your baby latches on your feet will lift from the floor as you attempt to silence the screams building up inside. If your husband tries to talk to you while your baby latches on, you will have to control the urge to punch him in the throat. And your baby will be latching on constantly, because they seriously do nothing but eat and sleep and poop, and often all three at the same time. But in about two weeks, your nipples will have become leathery, the scabs will have fallen off, and with great surprise you will realize that the tear trickling from your eye as you feed your baby is from love and not because your breast feels like it is on fire.

I seriously wonder how many moms give up too early on breastfeeding because they think they are doing it wrong, because they have been told it will not hurt at all. I'm sure it takes longer than two weeks for some people, and maybe there are some miraculous people out there who can escape that two week window of hell. For the majority of women, though, I know it's going to be a rocky start. I promise you, in most cases, it will get better. So much better. And you will look down at your sweet little baby, milk drunk and grinning in her sleep, and realize these are some of the best moments you will have with her.

So I encourage you novices to endure, and I thought I'd share a few of the products that have helped me the most.

• Lanolin cream-- I have always used Lansinoh brand, but as long as you get something thick and protective, I'm sure it will work. I will usually start applying it to my nipples about a month in advance, just so I feel like I'm doing something, but where it really comes in handy is once baby arrives. It's safe for baby's consumption, so apply it to your nipples after every feeding and it will aid them in healing, protect them and keep those fresh scabs from sticking to the inside of your bra. And don't even think about stepping in the shower without putting a thick layer on. Trust me.
  
• Post Partum support belt-- I bought my first one of these before I had Maggie. Amazing. Not only was I wearing normal pants a couple days after childbirth, and didn't look like I was still pregnant, but it kept all my jiggly bits contained every time I had to lift my shirt to feed her again. And even better, when I was wearing it, I didn't feel a single after pain. If you don't know, after pains are bonus contractions you have for a few days after the baby is born as your uterus tries to shrink back down. You probably won't feel them with your first, but if it's your second or later, it's like a punch to the gut every time your baby nurses. I have this support belt, but there are other, cheaper options out there I haven't tried. Mine did run large--in clothing I usually wear a large, and the medium belt was the only size I needed.
  
• Breast pads-- I'll confess, I'm not much of a leaker so I don't usually end up with those nice wet spots on the front of my shirt that many new moms have. But for the times when I am full, I do love these Lily Padz. They are not absorbent, but they compress your nipples so they don't get a chance to leak. Be warned, though, if you are a big milk producer I've heard they don't work so well. Where I really love them, though, is on days when I'm wearing a thinner bra and a snugger shirt and I don't want to look like I'm smuggling grapes (because nursing nipples definitely are beyond the scope of raisin smuggling), these discreetly smooth you right out.
• Nursing shirts-- I just bought some of these half-tee's to wear with maxi dresses and other shirts that are easier to access from the top. Obviously, I haven't actually used them for nursing yet, but I'm thinking they'll be great for those times when I don't actually want to lift my entire shirt up.
• Neck pillow-- There will be a lot of nights, and days, when you just want to sleep through feedings. A supportive pillow for your head helps a lot.
• Baby support pillow-- A Boppy, or a Breast friend (If you can say it without laughing) is very handy for supporting baby, especially post caesarian. I've only had a Boppy, and it continues to come in handy for tummy time, and practicing sitting and stuff.
• A sleep bra-- Nothing is worse than waking up from your precious moments of sleep because your very full and unsupported breasts are throbbing in pain and leaking all over your sheets.
• Special K lips-- My first lactation consultant told me this--that my baby's lips should look like the Special K "K" when she latches on. This advice has never done me wrong.
  
• A good place to sit.
• A spouse who will get up and change the baby and bring her to you in bed. And maybe change her again after the feeding.

And now I'll get off my soapbox. I just needed to get that off my chest before my chest is consumed with more pressing matters. Breast of luck! Anyone else have any good ideas to share?

(None of these brands know me, I'm just sharing what has worked.)

Awesome Zucchini Carrot Muffins

I picked this recipe up last year when we were driving through South Lake Tahoe. We stopped at this place that looked like a total hole in the wall, but was actually quite a fancy little soup place. They had this recipe on the counter, and I thought it looked quite tasty. I did modify it a little, adding salt for instance (Baking without salt? Come on! Don't the 4 cups of fruits and vegetables in the recipe make it healthy enough?). These muffins are incredibly tasty, have really good texture, and are perfect for using your end of season garden harvest.

Zucchini Carrot Muffins

2 cups carrots, finely shredded
1 cup zucchini, finely shredded
1 cup apples, peeled and chopped
3/4 cup flaked or shredded coconut
1/2 cup chopped almonds
2 teaspoons orange zest (or 1/2 t. orange extract)
2 cups flour
1 1/4 cups sugar
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
3 eggs, lightly beaten
3/4 cup vegetable oil
1 teaspoon vanilla

1. Gently toss together carrot, zucchini, apple, coconut, almonds and orange peel. Set aside.
2. In a large bowl, combine flour, sugar, cinnamon, baking soda, baking powder and salt.
3. In a separate bowl, combine eggs, oil and vanilla. Stir into dry ingredients until just combine. Batter will be very thick. Stir in carrot mixture.
4. Fill greased or paper lined muffin cups 2/3 full. Bake at 375 for 20-22 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean.
   
5. Cool in pan 10 minutes before removing to wire rack.

So simple, so yummy, and healthy. But just remember, if you get to work early one morning and make these with your preschooler for her class snack, don't include the nuts. Otherwise, when you pick her up later, you will feel really stupid when the full container is returned to you and your disappointed preschooler, and you might even burst into uncontrollable, embarrassing, pregnancy tears. Not that I would know from experience or anything.