Friday: Our Week In Review

First things first.  Scott and I are planning a date night tonight, and I'm ridiculously excited about it.  No kids all night.  Alcohol will be involved.  Fun will be had.

Starbucks has recently come out with pink cozys (cozies?) for their hot beverages and I love them.  I'm not a pink person, but I AM a coffee lover, and this pink cozy wrapped around my mocha last night made me incredibly happy.  It's the little things, guys.

Speaking of coffee, check out my handsome Friday morning coffee date.

He's usually up fairly early, so we enjoy coffee (for me) and a bottle (for him) together when he wakes up and before our day gets crazy.  When he finishes his bottle, he likes to pretend to drink from my coffee mug.  And I let him, even though there's usually still a sip of lukewarm decaf left in there.  Start 'em early, I say!

While we're on the subject of Little Man...he's been soooo clingy lately.  More so than usual.  To the point where I can't get anything done and most days I count the minutes until bed time.  He's walking now, but he constantly wants to be held and carried and God forbid I try to wash the dishes or go to the bathroom without him.  It drives me crazy sometimes, but then I realize that one day very, very soon he's not going to want me to carry him anymore.  He won't come to me and lift his arms up for me to hold him and he'll be running away from me before I know it.  So, as tiring as it can get, I lift him up.  I snuggle his little body close to me and I kiss his cheeks and I hold him until he squirms to get down.  And when he comes back to me 3 minutes later, whining and pulling on my pant legs wanting to be held again, I stop what I'm doing and I pick him up again.  And I snuggle him close and kiss his cheeks and hold him until he squirms to get down.  We dance this dance over and over and over again throughout the day, and we're both pros at the steps.

Bailey has become quite the daddy's girl lately, especially this past week.  She stops what she's doing in the middle of the day and tells me she misses him when he's at work, and when he gets home she wants hang all over him and talk a mile a minute about anything and everything.  She's nuts for him.

She's also really into using the computer these days.  She uses ABCMouse.com and she loves it.  Parents, this is a great learning website!  You have to pay for it, but it keeps her occupied and she's learning and really enjoying it.  I highly recommend it!

Also, she got busted drinking my coffee the other day and, because it's what I do, I took a picture of her face when I caught her.

Not too much else going on these days, though there's also never a dull moment in our house.  Til next time!

Throwback Thursday

This was our engagement portrait, taken in 2009.  I can remember this day so clearly still.  Our photographer kept having us walk around holding hands, and kept telling us to "stop and kiss each other".  I'm not huge on PDA, and definitely not forced or posed PDA, so it was strange for me to walk-stop-kiss-repeat.  When all was said and done, we had 1700 pictures and were told to choose one to display at our wedding in a frame for all of our guests to sign.  One picture.  Out of 1700.  We didn't go with a kissing photo because they all looked awkward and forced to me.  We didn't go with the far away shot of the two of us holding hands in front of a barn because why would we want a far-away shot of us and a barn?  Instead, after hours of viewing and debating, we chose this one.  A close-up of the two of us.  The lighting is good, we're standing close together, and we're happy.  It's not the greatest photo we've ever taken, but we like it.

Since this photo was taken we've gotten married, bought a house, had two kids, lost a bunch of weight (Scott), gained some weight (me), and laughed more than I've ever thought possible.  It feels cheesy to say "I married my best friend", but I did.  The years haven't always been easy and any marriage takes work, but we're happy.  We've come so far and we've accomplished so much together, and I know there's so much more in store for us.  When this picture was taken we didn't know that we'd have a baby the following year.  Or another one after that.  We didn't know that Scott would be offered a good teaching job, or that I would leave my job to open my home daycare in order to stay home with our kids.  We don't have as many laugh lines in this picture as we do now, or as much gray in our hair (and I still don't, thanks to a cosmetologist sister and the wonders of hair color).  When this picture was taken, we didn't know about the wonderful vacations we'd take as a family, or the little day-to-day doings that we'd turn into family time.  We didn't know all the little ways that becoming parents would change us.  We didn't know about the daily joys and struggles that would make up our adult life and bring us even closer together.  We had no clue what was to come, but we were looking forward to it all.  We were excited.  And today, five years after this picture was taken, we still don't know what's in store for us in our future.  But we do know love.  And happiness.  And joy and excitement.  We've learned that it's the little things that make the biggest impact in our marriage.  We've learned to find joy in the smallest aspects of our lives.  We're still as in love today as we were when this picture was taken.  More so, even.  And it's only getting better.

Love Love Love

Happy Valentine's Day!

We're still snowed in (we got over a foot yesterday), so we're all enjoying our day at home.  Scott got coffee and donuts for breakfast, and we gave the kids their Valentine treats from us.

The plan for tonight is a little shopping and dinner out...the restaurant we're going to has an ice cream bar and Bailey is downright thrilled. 

Hope you're all enjoying your Valentine's day!  From my little valentines to yours...

Scariest Night Ever

I'm used to illness.  I was sick a lot as a kid and Bailey had her fair share of illness her first year (fevers, RSV, Roseola, vomiting and the usual colds and illnesses) and Gerry has had his fair share of ear infections and colds.  I'm no stranger to doctor's offices and hospitals.  But this past weekend, we hit a new level of health scares.  At 13 months old, Gerry had a seizure and it was the most frightening thing I've dealt with as a parent.

Saturday night started out like any other.  I put Gerry to bed around 8:30, a little later than normal because we had been visiting my parents and my brother.  Bailey was spending the night with Scott's parents, and he and I were watching tv in bed.  Around 11:15pm Gerry woke up crying.  He does this every once in awhile, so we decided to leave him be for a few minutes to see if, like always, he'd fall back to sleep on his own.  After a minute, his cries turned to screams like we'd never heard before and I jumped out of bed and ran down the hall to his bedroom.  He was lying on his belly in his crib, which is nothing new (he falls asleep on his back, but always rolls over to his belly in the middle of the night), and he didn't roll over when I leaned over the side of the crib and touched him.  He was just laying there crying, completely unable to lift himself or roll himself over.  I grabbed him up out of the crib and ran down the hall to our bedroom and told Scott, "I don't think he can move his arms."    Scott took him and snuggled him to his chest, rubbing Gerry's back and murmuring soothing words in his ear.  He wasn't calming down and still wasn't moving his arms; not lifting them to reach for us or to hold anything.  Then he stopped screaming and got this blank look on his face.  He stared into space for a second and then his upper body started shaking back and forth.  A minute later his eyes came back into focus and he started screaming again.  Then the blank stare and rocking back and forth.  This pattern repeated for about 25 minutes, with him going out of it and rocking about 6 times.  After the 4th time, he wasn't screaming in between anymore--just silent.  Scott and I got dressed, grabbed the diaper bag (always have one packed and ready to go, moms!) and took Gerry to our local ER.

The ride to the ER was a quiet one.  Gerry didn't speak, didn't babble or giggle like he usually does in the car.  He moaned a few times, but was mostly silent.  We got there around midnight and were immediately taken back.  Vitals were taken, along with Gerry's temperature (he'd had a low fever around 7:30pm but a dose of Advil brought it back down to normal), and the doctor had us change him into a hospital gown...the teeniest, tiniest little hospital gown I've ever seen.

After 2 1/2 hours in the ER and a very thorough explanation to the doctor and nurse about Gerry's "episode", it was determined that the doctor here didn't feel comfortable diagnosing or treating Gerry since she hadn't seen the episode herself.  She made a call down to Children's hospital in Philadelphia, and an ambulance came to transport us down there so he could be evaluated by the Pediatric Neurology team there.

We loaded into the ambulance around 2:40am and made sure that Scott was following behind us in our car.  By this point, Gerry had been awake for 6 hours and I knew he was exhausted.  He was bundled up in his car seat and kept dozing off, but then his eyes would pop open and he'd look around.  I kept talking to him and reassuring him that I was there (who knows if he understood what I was saying or not, but at least he could see me and knew he wasn't all alone) and he'd start to doze off again but then pop back up.  We made it to CHOP a little after 3am and were admitted, taken to our room, and met with another doctor and nurse.  While we were relaying the events of the night before to the doctor and nurse and they were checking his vitals, Scott noticed that Gerry had a rash on his back--and his arms, legs, back and belly.  His cheeks were really red, too, and it turned out he had spiked a fever of 103 in the ambulance on our way over.  He was given Tylenol for the fever and rash (which both cleared up in about an hour) and then it was a waiting game.  We spent the next few hours (unsuccessfully) trying to get Gerry to sleep, but he wasn't having it.  He wanted to be held the whole time we were there, and he cried every time a doctor or nurse came near him.

It hurt my heart to see him looking so incredibly small in this big hospital crib

At 6am I gave up trying to get him to sleep in the crib and went down to the parking garage to get his stroller from the car.  I made him a bottle, snuggled him up, and rocked him back and forth in that thing for about 10 minutes before he finally fell asleep.  Scott was passed out on the couch so I wheeled Gerry over next to him and snuck down to the cafeteria for some much-needed caffeine.

I got back to our room about 15 minutes later and Scott and Gerry were both still asleep.  I turned on the news, called Scott's parents to check up on Bailey, and downed my coffee.  As I was finishing up, the doctor came back to the room to let us know that they needed to draw blood and do an EEG in about an hour or two.  Poor Gerry was only going to get about 2.5 hours of sleep before we had to wake him up and put him through hell.

As expected, the blood draw was horrible.  Thank God the nurse knew what she was doing because Scott and I were a wreck.  We laid Gerry down in that giant hospital crib, and Scott held his flailing legs still while the nurse held his arm out and I positioned myself right up by his face.  He was scared and he cried, and as soon as the needle went into his arm he screamed and thrashed like I've never seen.  I kissed his cheeks and wiped his tears and stroked the arm that wasn't being stuck with a needle, all the while whispering in his ear that I was so sorry and that it would be over soon.  Two tubes of blood were drawn, and Gerry looked into my eyes and cried the whole time.  I felt so guilty and so sad for him and so utterly helpless.  He was scared and he hurt, and I couldn't do anything but stand there and watch.  As soon as the nurse put some gauze and a bandaid on his arm I scooped him up out of that crib and snuggled him as close as I could.  He was still crying and squeezing me so tight and, I'm not ashamed to admit this, I cried too. I know it was necessary, all the testing and poking and prodding they were doing was necessary, but it didn't make me feel any less awful and it didn't make me hurt any less for my baby.

After the blood draw, Gerry and I walked down the hall to the play room.  He was completely worn out by this point and couldn't have cared less about all the cool toys and books in the room.  He snuggled up in my lap with his blanket from home and watched Blue's Clues on the tv.  He didn't move except to sigh every once in awhile or to rub his soft blanket against his cheek while he leaned against my chest.  So there we sat, until he started to yawn loudly.  Then I scooped him up and carried him back to his room for a bottle and a nap.

An hour and a half later, it was time for his EEG.  The nurse who would be doing the test, Irene, was quite possibly the nicest woman I've ever met.  She explained to us how the test would go, and tried to get a grumpy Gerry to smile while she spoke with us.  Everything was fine until we walked down the hall and into the room where the EEG would be performed.  It was a small room with a long table in the center.  The lights were dimmed and quiet music was playing, and Irene reminded me that this wouldn't hurt a bit and that she could start as soon as I laid Gerry down on the table.  Simple, right?  Except that as soon as I loosened my grip on Gerry he screamed bloody murder...and didn't stop for 30 minutes while the EEG was taking place.  Irene ended up having to fold him up in a papoose, which terrified him and made him scream even louder, but it was the only way to keep him from reaching up and pulling off the electrodes attached to his head.  And so went 20 minutes of him non-stop screaming.  He had one arm free, and kept reaching for me with his chubby little hand.  I leaned down and snuggled against his neck, whispered and sang in his ear, tried to make my voice as calm and soothing as possible even though inside I felt sick and sad for my baby, and guilty that I was putting him through this.  The whole time he was crying, he kept looking into my eyes and I could feel how frightened he was.  How exhausted.  How done.  So I did the only thing I could do in that moment.  While Scott stood next to me and rubbed Gerry's feet, I held his hand and wiped his tears and kissed his sweaty little cheeks and held back my own tears as best I could.  We were able to unwrap him and hold him for the last few minutes of the EEG, and Scott rubbed his back and played Peek-a-boo with him while I held him, and in minutes he had calmed down.

Smiling again after blood work and an EEG

We went back to our room and cleaned him up, then gave him a bottle and got him ready for yet another nap (poor boy hadn't slept at all the night before, and was only able to catch an hour here and there before another nurse or doctor woke him up for vitals or more testing).  Luckily, there weren't anymore blood draws or electronic tests that needed to be done.  The neurology department was reading the results of his EEG, and our job was to wait.  Gerry had lunch, Scott and I had coffee, and my sister and brother-in-law brought Bailey by for a visit (she had spent the night before at her grandparents' house, which couldn't have worked out better if we'd planned this whole hospital trip).  A little while later, a resident with the neurology department came to talk to us. He explained that all of Gerry's blood work and his EEG looked normal.  He had a few extra brain waves on the EEG, but we were assured that this wasn't anything to worry or be concerned about.  It was determined that his seizure was most likely a one-time thing and that we shouldn't expect it to happen again.  We were given instructions on what to do if, by chance, it did happen again and told that we'd be discharged in a few hours.

We made it home around 4:15 Sunday afternoon, ate an early dinner, and were out cold before 6.  We slept for a solid 16 hours, then woke up and got ready for our follow-up appointment with Gerry's primary doctor.  After the appointment, we picked up Bailey, who had spent Saturday night at my sister's house, and took her and Gerry out for lunch.  Scott and I have been keeping a close on Gerry ever since, but he seems to be his usual, goofy self.  A teeny bit grumpier and clingier than normal, but he could be teething.  And who can blame him for being clingy after spending a day in the hospital?

It's been almost a week since his seizure, and Gerry seems fine.  Back to tearing the house apart and climbing on things he shouldn't and leaving toys in the refrigerator.  He still has a tiny mark in his elbow where he had blood drawn, but otherwise you'd never know he spent his weekend in the hospital. 

I keep going to bed each night and expecting to be woken up by him screaming or seizing in his crib, but he's back to sleeping through the night again.  I think it's going to take Scott and me a little while longer before we stop worrying about him, stop holding our breath every time he takes a tumble, stop staring at him to make sure he's okay.  But Gerry's a trooper and he's back to his goofy, smiley self.  The house is a mess, and there's a trail of toys and DVDs that he's left in his wake.  And Bailey's not ever safe from his quick little hands, ready to reach out and swipe her bink or a snack before she even realizes what's happening.  All is back to normal over here and we couldn't be happier. 

I'm Wrapped Around Her Little Finger

Bailey has been having a hard time sleeping lately.  She finds excuse after excuse after excuse to prolong bedtime and she asks every night if I'll sleep with her "for this much minutes" (holding up 5 fingers). 

So last night I'm lying in bed with her and playing dead, hoping she'll realize that no fun is about to happen and will nod off herself.  I'm laying still with my eyes closed and my breathing even, and she's shifting around beside me.  Then she rolls over so that she's facing me, and I can feel her face right in front of mine but I'm refusing to open my eyes, lest she realize I was only pretending to be asleep and assume that it's time to play.  She starts playing with my ear and I'm just waiting for her to start getting goofy and poking at my eyes and sticking her fingers in my nose...anything to not have to sleep, right?

But then she does something that completely surprises me. 

Still assuming that I'm fast asleep, she rests her little hand on my cheek and whispers very, very quietly: "I just love being with you, mommy."  Then she kisses my forehead and goes back to playing with my ear while I lay there holding back sappy tears and drinking in every second of that sweet little moment with my girl.

See, she had no clue that I was still awake.  None.  She wasn't trying to play, wasn't trying to wake me up, wasn't trying to worm her way out of going to sleep.  It was a purely sweet moment...just for the hell of it.  And one that I will always, always look back on when she fights bedtime, when she stomps up to her room in a fit of anger, when she rolls her eyes and tells me that I'm rude (which she did earlier this week).

This, my friends...this simple, innocent, fleeting moment of sweetness...is why this little girl has me wrapped around her finger.  And why, for as long as she'll let me,  I will always...always...sleep with her for "this much minutes".

Gerry's Birth Story

I wrote Bailey's story a few days ago, and have been trying to find the time to write Gerry's but these kids are keeping me busy this week!  I give up trying to get it all done at one time, so this will probably take me hours or days to do.  Here goes...


I found out I was pregnant with Gerry in April of 2012.  My niece was sleeping over, and she and Bailey were playing in the basement before bed while Scott and I sat on the couch down there with them.  I remember having been exhausted for a few days before and I leaned my head on Scott's shoulder, yawned, and said, "God, the last time I was this tired I was pregnant with Bailey."  We looked at each other, shook our heads and laughed, and went back to watching the girls play.  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I very well could be expecting again.  I was so tired that I was dozing off when the daycare kids took their nap each afternoon, I was hungry all the time, and could only stomach one cup of coffee in the morning, as opposed to the 2+ I usually sucked down sipped.  So, after we put the girls to bed, I ran to the store for a test.

A half hour later, my hands shook as I read the test.  I remember looking in the mirror and smiling and thinking, Here we go again.  It's funny how I never think twice about the way I move or carry myself, but the second I saw the plus sign on that test it was like I was the bearer of the most fragile thing on the planet, and every step I took was a cautious one.  I remember Scott's wide smile when I showed him the test.  I remember us asking each other how we felt.  I remember wanting to run upstairs, wake Bailey up and tell her she was going to be a big sister.  I remember the now-familiar worry of realizing that we were bringing another life into this world, followed by the absolute elation and joy.  Over the next few weeks, we told our family and friends, I sat down to write this blog post, and we began talking about what it would be like to have two kids in the house. 

On July 26th, we left our beach vacation for a little while to go to our anatomy ultrasound.  Before we left, everyone had taken bets on whether this baby would be a boy or a girl and the decision was that the "losing" team owed the winners a pizza.  The drive from New Jersey to Pennsylvania for the ultrasound was an exciting one.  We'd left Bailey at the beach with our family, and Scott and I spent the hour-and-a-half-long drive discussing what we thought we were having.  I knew in my heart that I was having a boy but I spent the drive giving Scott a pep talk and telling him to expect a girl just in case.  We would have been absolutely thrilled either way, but I knew that Scott really wanted a son.

It felt like days later when the doctor finally called my name and I climbed up on the table and lifted my shirt.  I remember the technician turning her monitor around so Scott and I could see, and there was our baby wiggling around, happy as can be.  I breathed a sigh of relief like I always did when I could see everything was fine on ultrasound.  The technician chatted with us and asked if we wanted to find out if the baby was a boy or a girl, and we told her about the bet our family had going back at the beach.  She asked us what we thought and I told her that I was thinking boy.  It took her forever to respond, and then she said, "You're right.  Somebody owes you a pizza when you get back!"

We were having a little boy.

I'll always remember the drive back to the beach after that ultrasound.  Scott was on cloud 9, just breaking out into a smile every few minutes.  I kept testing out the phrase "my son" in my mind.  I'm having a son.  This is my daughter, and this is my son.  Oh, my son is due in December.   My son...

Surreal.

The next few months passed slowly while we planned for the baby's arrival.  My due date was Christmas day, so I ran around like a crazy person trying to make sure all of our gifts were bought and wrapped with plenty of time to spare.  Scott and I spent way too much time debating which outfit to bring our boy home in and what "theme" we wanted to decorate his nursery (for the record, we brought him home in a 3-piece layette with a monkey on it that Scott picked out, and his nursery is a nautical theme).  I spent lots of time talking to Bailey about the baby and getting her excited to have a little brother.  I indulged in my craving for Twix whenever the opportunity presented itself, and I tried to enjoy my pregnancy and revel in the feeling of those giant ninja kicks that kept me up most nights and let me know my little guy was doing well in there.

Towards the end of this pregnancy I got pretty uncomfortable.  Some days were downright painful, and by mid-December I was ready to have this baby.  Like last time, my due date came and went.  I spent a lot of time with my hand on my belly, talking to the baby and gently coaxing him to come on out.  I rested as often as 2-and-a-half-year-old Bailey allowed, and I did A LOT of walking.  On December 27th, two days after my due date, I had what was to be my last prenatal appointment.  I walked in, hoping and praying that the doctor would announce that I could head on over to the hospital and have this baby today.  When he told me that we'd schedule an induction for January 3rd (9 full days after my due date) I cried.  He left the room to schedule everything, and Scott held my hand and told me that everything would be fine and that it would be here before we knew it.  I spent the next week praying that every little twinge I felt was labor and that the baby would come on his own.  Each night I went to sleep and bargained with God or whatever higher power was out there..."Okay, I'm ready.  I'll go to sleep and you get some contractions started.  Deal?"

The last picture I took before heading to the hospital

On the night of January 2nd, I worked my last daycare day before the baby would be here, we sent Bailey to my parents' house for the night, and Scott and I headed to the hospital for our scheduled induction.  The plan was to start Cervadil at 8, wait 12 hours, and start Pitocin if needed the next morning.  By 8:15pm, I was in a room, gowned up, just hanging out and enjoying my "vacation".  The doctor had started the Cervadil and told me to get a good night's sleep because she was expecting that I'd have a long day the next day.  I sent Scott home to get a good night's rest in our comfy bed and told him to come back around 7 the next morning and that I would call him before then if I needed anything.  Three hours and one sleeping pill later, I was out for the night, fully expecting to sleep all night and wake up to find that I hadn't progressed at all and that I was going to be the first woman alive to carry a baby for 11 months. 

I felt the first contraction a little after 1am.  And then again about a half hour later.  I called Scott and asked him to come back and sit with me.  By the time he got there, just after 2am, I was having strong contractions and they were coming every few minutes.  I remember the doctor coming into the room and taking out the Cervadil, and commenting that "You're not even going to need the Pitocin.  This baby is getting ready."  The next time a nurse came in, I asked her if she thought I should get an epidural now or wait because I could the handle the pain fairly well at the moment.  I remember having one more big contraction and deciding to get the epidural right then and there.

It seemed like the next hour was just one long, painful contraction.  I remember gripping Scott's hand and trying to breathe calmly through each painful second.  I remember picturing Bailey's face in my mind to keep myself calm and focus less on how much it hurt.  I remember the anesthesiologist coming into the room and setting up his tray, and thinking that he was an absolute angel in disguise.  I remember the nurse helping me sit up, bend over, and squeeze a pillow while the anesthesiologist placed the epidural.  I remember thinking, It's time...I'm going to meet my son today.  I remember Scott reminding me to breathe and to try to stay still while the needle was being placed, and I remember how difficult it was not to move while it felt like my entire body was being squeezed in a vise.  I remember not feeling any relief from the pain, and the anesthesiologist's eyes as he kindly explained that sometimes this happens and that, evidently, my epidural had failed.  And so had the second one he'd tried to place.  And the third.  I remember thinking how lovely labor had been with Bailey, and how sad I was that it was happening so fast now, and mourning the fact that I didn't have family and friends in here to celebrate with me while I labored like they had with Bailey and that, even if they were all there, I couldn't have enjoyed it because these contractions hurt so...damn...badly.  At that point, with contractions one on top of the other, I looked at Scott and whimpered "I need my mom."  The plan all along had been for her to come to the hospital around 7:30 the next morning to be my second support person, just like she had when Bailey was born.  Now, though, it was looking like the baby would be here long before then.  My last fully coherent thought was that I guess it really doesn't matter how old you are or the fact that you're a mother yourself...when you're in pain and unsure of what to expect every woman needs her mommy.

And then my mom was there and a nurse was checking me and telling me that I was ready to push and to wait a minute for the doctor, and the only thought that kept running through my head was It hurts it hurt it hurts.  And then my body took over and I couldn't have stopped it if I tried.  I squeezed Scott's hand with all the strength I could muster, and there was my mom telling me to "Push, push, push."  I distinctly remember being so incredibly exhausted after a few minutes, and throwing my head back on the pillow and moaning, "Fuck, this hurts.  I can't do this."  And the doctor and my mom kindly reminded me that, at this point, I really didn't have much of a choice.  In the back of my mind, it occurred to me that the sooner the baby was born the sooner the pain would stop, so I gathered what strength I could muster, held onto Scott's hand for dear life, and I pushed.

And, just like I had with Bailey, I played the past ten years over and over again in my mind.  Every moment that brought us to Bailey's birth.  Her first smile.  Her first laugh.  The first time she got really sick and we spent the night in the emergency room.  The first time she called me Mama and meant it.  Her first birthday.  Her first steps.  That second positive pregnancy test.  Finding out that this baby was a boy.  The nights before falling asleep when Scott would lay his head and a hand on my belly and talk to the baby.  The ultrasound pictures hanging on our refrigerator.  The feeling of bringing a second child into the world, and all the wonder and amazement that comes along with it.  The feel of Scott's hand in mine at that moment, anchoring me to the present and giving me the confidence and the strength to keep on pushing.

And then I heard a little cry, and I let go of Scott's hand and fell back on the pillow, and listened to those tiny little screeches coming from across the room.
  
Our son.

At 5:13am on January 3, 2013, Gerald Anthony was born, weighing 8lbs 11oz..  He was named after his great-grandfathers, and he was the sweetest thing.

We spent the next two days in the hospital, and I couldn't stop looking at him.  All that pain, all the fear, all the "I can't do this", and here he was.  Healthy and whole and so, so adorable.  Bailey was the flower girl in the wedding of friends of ours the day that we were discharged.  In the flurry of rehearsal dinners and wedding schedules, she and Scott were pretty busy those first two days after Gerry was born, so it was just him and me.  I snuggled up with him in front of the window in our hospital room, and I talked to him about what a wonderful big sister he had and how much we all loved him and how happy I was that he was finally here.

We brought him home on a freezing cold winter day.  I nestled him in the same swing we'd used for Bailey as an infant, and watched him fall asleep.  Bailey sat on the floor by his swing, gazing at him every few minutes and often jumping up to kiss his little cheek.

Life can get crazy.  It's hard to remember how good it can be when you're chasing after two kids, calming temper tantrums, and washing load after load (after load) of laundry.  But in those first few moments after we came home, when it was just Scott and me and the two wonderful little people that we created, I didn't feel crazed or stressed or even tired.  I felt happy.  Peaceful.  Joyful, even.  I watched Bailey make silly faces at her baby brother while telling him a story about her toys, and I leaned against Scott on the couch and thought about how lucky we were.  How happy I was.

How blessed.

*****************************************

Gerald Anthony
Born on January 3, 2013 at 5:13am.
19 inches.  8lbs. 11oz.

Bailey's Birth Story

You may have noticed that I've tweaked my blog a bit, and gotten rid of Bailey's and Gerry's birth stories.  The reason for this being that, while I'm incredibly proud and while their births were an amazing thing for me to experience, not everyone who reads this blog wants to be greeted with a birth story as soon as they stumble upon it.  I'm not deleting my birth stories altogether, though, because I would be heartbroken to "lose" them.  Instead, I'm writing each of them in their own blog post so you can all choose whether to read them or skip them...instead of them smacking you in the face the second you make the mistake of discover the wondering of visiting my blog.

So...here's Bailey's story.

I found out I was pregnant on October 11, 2009...two weeks before my wedding (oops).  Scott was shocked at first, but then a big smile slowly crept across his face.  I cried and said, "My mom's gonna be so mad at me."  But once the shock wore off...oh, it was glorious.  I had wanted to be a mother for as long as I could remember, and now it was happening. 

Being from an Italian Catholic family, I was afraid to tell my family right away (pregnant before marriage?!), but I will never, ever (for as long as I live) forget the night we told all of our friends.  It was the night of our wedding, and we had all gone to a hotel after the reception to continue the celebration.  Everyone was gathered in our room talking and laughing and Miley Cyrus' "Party In the USA" was playing on the radio.  I'd had to beg Scott not to tell anyone pretty much all that week, but he wore me down and I gave him the go-ahead.  He walked into the hotel room and burst out to all of our friends, "Hey, guys...me and Jess are pregnant!"  And there was a big cheer and lots of "I knew it!"s, and we were swept up in hugs and kisses and happy congratulations...it was one of the best moments of my life, and I will always remember it.

As the weeks passed, we told my family and our co-workers, and I reveled in the feeling of being pregnant.  I gave in to my cravings for Slim Jims and canned peaches, and Scott made sure that we had both in the house at all times.  I was exhausted, and passed out before 9 most nights.  We found out on January 19, 2010 (my parents' anniversary) that our baby was a girl, and I think Scott and I were both in a bit of shock for a solid day before wrapping our heads around the fact that in a few months' time we'd have a daughter.  My parents and Scott's helped us get the nursery ready -- soft pink and cream walls with ballerina bear bedding.  We registered for all the things we thought we'd need to bring a new life into this world, and I looked forward to every doctor's appointment and ultrasound we had scheduled.

I watched in awe as my belly grew bigger and bigger, and I documented the first time a stranger noticed that I was pregnant and not just chubby.  I was oddly thrilled the day I looked down and realized that I couldn't see my feet anymore.  The first time I felt a little flutter, I got teary and forced Scott to keep his hand on my stomach for the better part of the evening, even though we both knew it was too early for him to feel anything just yet.  I floated through each day in a cloud of happiness, and swore that I could stay pregnant forever.

In my third trimester, the doctor moved my due date back 10 days to June 21st and I didn't mind a bit.  The 21st is my grandfather's birthday and I was feeling fantastic at this point, appreciating my body more than at any other point in my life.  As June approached, I had weekly appointments with my obstetrician, and I never got over the thrill of hearing my daughter's heartbeat each time.  Towards the end, she was a little ninja in there, always kicking and rolling, and she used to push back against the doctor's hand when we tried to listen to her with the doppler.    By June 21st, my due date, she was showing no signs of being ready, so the doctor set up an induction for the following Monday, June 28th, and off we went to enjoy our last week as just Scott and Jess.

We spent the week hanging out at home and occasionally going out to a movie or for ice cream, packing our bags for the hospital, gazing into what would be our baby's room, and getting the "final touches" ready for her arrival.  I spent a lot of time sitting still and quiet, gently stroking my belly and committing to memory what it felt like when she tumbled and rolled in there, knowing that I'd miss this experience when it was all over.

On the night of Saturday, June 26th Scott and I stayed up late, playing video games (him) and reading (me) in between folding loads of laundry.  I remember being SO HOT and munching cups full of ice cubes all night.  We got our laundry finished and went up to bed around 2am.  At 4:30 Sunday morning, I woke up with a stomach ache.  After a minute it went away and I fell back to sleep.  A few minutes later I felt a quick, sharp pain, and sat straight up in bed.  I waited another few minutes, and there it was again.  Thinking this was "the real deal", I waddled down the hall to the bathroom, called my doctor who confirmed that I was officially in labor, and then shaved my legs and combed my hair in between contractions.  I waited until I was completely ready to go before waking Scott up, then shook him a little until he was semi-coherent.  He blinked a few times and then slowly rolled out of bed.  "I don't think you understand," I growled.  "We need to go NOW."  While he threw some clothes on, I grabbed my pillow and went downstairs to call my mom and let her know we were on our way to the hospital.

We got to the hospital just before 6am and I was immediately taken into a room, changed into a gown, and given an exam to see how far along things were progressed.  As soon as the nurse said, "You're 6cm dilated", I asked for an epidural. It took a solid hour or so before the anesthesiologist arrived, and I spent the time breathing through contractions and snapping at Scott whenever he came too close (poor guy wasn't very good at the whole "comforting your wife during labor" the first time around).  My mom got there while we were waiting, and she massaged my belly and helped me breath through the pain of the contractions until the anesthesiologist (and my blessed epidural) arrived.  After that, it was smooth sailing.

Once the pain subsided, I was able to enjoy being in labor and, oh, I was so excited to finally be meeting my little girl.  I chatted with my parents, my in-laws, my sister and brother-in-law, who all showed up at the hospital when they found out the baby was coming.  Bets were made on when the baby would make her appearance (my mom and the doc both agreed she'd be here by lunchtime), and I wondered to myself what she would look like and if she would recognize me when we first laid eyes on each other.  In between my excited thoughts, I fought off the sadness of not being pregnant anymore by the time the sun went down that day, and I focused on the fantasy of holding my daughter in my arms after all these months of carrying her.

After a little while, the epidural began to wear off and I started feeling a bit of pressure on my right side.  The next time a nurse walked into the room, I asked her for more of the juice.  After a quick examination, she told me I was at 10cm and ready to push and that the doctor would be right in.

This is it...this is it...this is it.

I was nervous and scared and thrilled and euphoric all at the same time.  I heard my mom's voice in my ear whispering for me to "Push.  Push, push, push" and I focused on Scott holding my leg and doing his best to encourage me while staying a safe distance away, and I thought about how it would never be just the two of us again.  In the span of a few seconds, in the blink of an eye, our whole relationship ran through my mind.  The first day we met, 8 years before.  Our first date.  First kiss.  College graduation.  Our first trip together.  Vacations.  Holidays.  New jobs.  Scott proposing to me in New York City at Christmastime.  Moving into our first home together.  That positive pregnancy test and all the emotions that went with it.  Our wedding day and all the months afterward that led us to this moment, this place, the birth of our first child.

And with those thoughts in my mind, I pushed.  We were going to meet our daughter.  Today was the day, and I was ready.

At 11:48am on June 27th, 2010, Bailey Reece made her way into this world.  She was 7lbs even and had a head full of dark, dark hair.  The doctor laid her on my chest, and she looked up at me with the most alert blue eyes and grabbed onto my finger.  Here was my daughter.  The baby I had dreamed for and wondered about these last 9 months was right here, in my arms.  And she was perfect.

 
By the end of the night, our hospital room had been flooded with visitors.  Both my family and Scott's came by, and all of our friends.  Calls were made and received, and conversations were had about who she looked like and what she would be like.  And through it all, I kept thinking I'm a mother now.  We did it.  Our daughter was here and she was safe and we had the rest of our lives to watch her grow up and see the little person she would become.

We brought her home two days later and walked her up to the nursery that Scott and my dad (and, later on, both of our mothers) had so painstakingly worked on to make perfect for her.  Scott laid her gently in the crib and we welcomed her home.

A little while later we brought her downstairs and put her in the baby swing to rest while we put in a movie and wound down from the excitement of the past few days.  I couldn't help staring at her every few seconds and marveling, over and over again, how lucky we were.  How grateful.  How blessed.  She just kind of looked around, her eyes falling on an object here or there every few minutes, and I couldn't help noting again and again how perfect she was.  From her big blue eyes (courtesy of me) to her chubby little toes (courtesy of Scott), she was amazing.  Wonderful.  Perfect.

Ours. 

************************************************

Bailey Reece
Born June 27, 2010 at 11:48am
20 inches.  7lbz.

Happy Birthday, Gerry!

Gerry turns one today, and I can't believe it.  I mean, I can...but I can't.  This year has just flown by, so much faster than Bailey's first year did, and I honestly can't believe it's been this long already.  I vividly remember this night last year -- I was checking into the hospital for my induction, lugging around a ginormous, 9-days-past-my-due-date belly, and anxious to meet the little person who had spent the last few months kicking around my ribs and bladder.  He came into the world faster than any of us was expecting at 5:13am weighing a whopping 8lbs.11oz., and it was love at first sight.

Gerald Anthony

The first photo of mommy, daddy and baby.  Note how delirious Scott looks...labor and delivery must have been rough on him.  ;-)

And he hasn't stopped making me smile since.

He's brought more joy to these last 12 months than I ever thought possible, and I can't believe I was ever worried about how I'd love two kids.  He's just full of smiles and giggles, and I love watching him grow and learn new things.  His latest is Peek-a-Boo, although we're still working on actually covering his eyes and not just slapping his hands over his ears or any random part of his face...baby steps.  He's mastered climbing stairs and has gotten quite brave over the last few days, letting go of things and standing on his own for a second or two before dropping down.  He looks around with the goofiest little grin on his face, like he's making sure everyone in the room saw his cool trick.

He loves to eat and his favorite food is anything edible.  Seriously.  He never turns down food.  Ever.  Lately, his favorites are green beans and corn, french fries, and chicken.  He's not a fan of juice or water in a sippy cup, preferring his bottle over anything else.

Bailey is still his favorite person ever, and the two of them are hilarious to watch together.  Gerry is the only person who Bailey never gets angry with.  He's a beast these days, always climbing over top of her and trying to take her toys, and she just laughs like it's the funniest thing ever.  She calls him "Ger Bear" and has an abundance of patience when it comes to her little brother.  From the first moment they met these two had a special bond and watching them together is a heart-swelling kind of happiness.

Gerry is big on making noise these days.  Anything he can bang together, anything that makes music, anything that emits a sound...the louder the better.  He loves to clap and dance, and he's one tiny ball of noise and energy these days.  He is definitely keeping us on our toes!

A year ago, I couldn't imagine being able to love another child.  I couldn't imagine having another baby, another little person to love who depended on me.  I didn't know what to expect, and I couldn't imagine my life with a little boy in it.  Today, I can't imagine my life without him.  I adore this little boy, and I'm so thankful that he's mine.  This past year has been nothing short of wonderful and I can't wait to see what this next year has in store for him and for us.

Happy, Happy, Happy Birthday, Little Man!
 

Gerry: 11 Months Old

I can't believe that in one month...one month...Gerry is going to be a year old.  He's looking less and less like a baby and more and more like a little boy (to me, at least) and I'm not sure how I feel about that.

He's still the happiest little guy I know, and he just loves to get into mischief these days.  Now that he's able to crawl, cruise along furniture, and climb stairs (eek!) he is all over the place.  He's actually really good at getting up the stairs, and he can climb a full flight with no problem.  Coming back down, though, is another story.  He pretty much just sits down, which results in him tumbling backward literally ass-over-elbows every time.  But it never stops him from climbing back up again!

This is the face of a little boy who knows he's been busted

Bailey is still his very favorite person ever.  His face just lights up when he sees her, and she loves him just as much.  He's constantly crawling over to play with her when she's on the floor, laying his head on her shoulder, and grabbing her for his version of a kiss.  I say it all the time, but I adore how much they love each other.  Can't get enough of it.

Gerry is eating like a champ these days, and we've pretty much finished with purees.  Now he eats what we eat, just cut up into tiny pieces.  His favorites, like Bailey's, are veggies -- green beans, peas and carrots.  He doesn't turn anything down and eating is pretty much one of his favorite things ever.

As far as talking goes, he's still mostly babbling.  We get "Mama" and "Dada" and every once in awhile I swear he says "Hi."  Otherwise, it's just lots of noise and giggles.  Speaking of noise...he thinks it's the awesomest thing ever.  He gets the biggest kick out of shaking rattles, banging on pots, and knocking things together to make noise.  The louder the better!

He's become more affectionate the last few weeks and I can't get enough of it.  He's never been a snuggly baby, always preferring to move around and to watch the things going on around him.  He's still like that, but now he looks for me and reaches for me often.  When he gets hurt or sad or angry, he immediately starts crawling to me and wraps his arms around my neck when I pick him up.  On Thanksgiving, we were surrounded by A LOT of people.  Gerry got a little overwhelmed and started to cry and try to wriggle out of Scott's arms and into mine...I've got to say, it made me feel good! 

In another few weeks we'll be celebrating his first birthday.  Where did the time go?!