Birth Story Part One: The Birth of the Child with the Chubbiest Cheeks and the passing on of the Lyons' Awesome Chin Gene to Another Generation.

So I look at this nine week old and I think, 'where did the baby go?' He is cooing, he is smiling, he is jibber jabbering. Which is my favorite thing to do. Have a conversation with a jibber jabber. You can make up any old story and they will make noises and sounds that seem to follow suit. I was sitting next to another mom the other day with an 8 week old, and she was watching Jacob and I. She leaned over and said, 'is this something he picked up in the last week. because my baby doesn't do this.' A genius I tell you! Baby Jacob is advanced and the smartest baby on earth! No really, I gave this explanation, and it is simply this; Jacob is the third child. It is noisy as all get out in our home, therefore he needs to chime in to keep up. It's merely a survival skill. Whomever is the loudest clearly gets the most attention. I also will admit that to keep my sanity, there are moments when he and I go off to some quiet corner and I tell him all my troubles, and he answers me with sweet smiles, and jibber jabber, and it is very therapeutic.

I suppose I need to add a birth story or it will be awkwardly late to add one I think.

Jacob, the moose, was late. I marched into my first overdue doctors appointment 5 days after his due date, and exclaimed, 'I do not care what you think, I am uncomfortable, this baby measured large, therefore he is large, he is past his due date which I know for certain is his due date due to going to a fertility specialist, and I want him out!' The doctor looked at me, it was the first time I had seen this doctor in my practice, and I think she wanted it to be the last time she saw me. In her Jamaican accent she asks me, 'Is this your first child?' To which I reply exasperated, 'NO!! My third, I know when the goose is cooked!' She looks at the ultrasound I had gotten two and a half weeks before when I was certain they were taking me that day, and she says, 'you poor woman, yes, yes, lets get him out of there.' Uh, hello? Where was she in the middle of April!?!? That is what I have been trying to tell you people!

I go to check out, with instructions to schedule my induction with the girls up front. I am 2 days, just 2 days away from being 41 weeks, and she says, 'oh that is too bad, we could take you tomorrow, but you aren't 41 weeks yet, your insurance wants you to be 41 weeks to induce unless there is an emergency.' I look at her and say, 'Just click the delete button, and put me at 41 weeks, I won't tell a soul.' She didn't, but assured me she was making the call, and would have me put in early the next week, since inductions did not happen over the weekend. She then gave me a pep talk saying, 'I bet you will go over the weekend anyway.' Apparently she had not met my uterus. My uterus is as thick as a concrete wall, there ain't nothing come out of there unless you have got yourself a jack hammer.

She calls, first available date is Tuesday, but the doctor who will deliver Jacob, Speedy, the 8th dwarf, wants me to go for testing on Monday, and to get my cervix covered in some cream that was going to "help me dilate". Mind you, uterus of steel, same dilation since 37 weeks; I was sitting pretty at maybe 2 centimeters. Well, pretty might be a stretch, I was sitting fat, swollen, and miserable at maybe 2 cenitmeters.

We go to the testing at 8 a.m., baby is as snug as a bug, and not in the slightest bit of distress. We then go back to the hospital at 6 p.m. for the cream. Andy wanted them to take me right then and there. He was ready for this baby to be out 3 weeks ago, and his patience was growing thin. I really think he wanted some time off work, and hey a baby is a pretty good reason. The delivery rooms were a wall away and when you are that close to the finish line, when it comes to my husband, come what may, he will get there. Apparently he does not get my anatomy while pregnant. No matter what modern science has come up with, I will not go into labor until my body is good and ready, or has given up the fight against nature, and just releases the beastly thing, which takes a really long time.

We go home to my parents house, because they were going to watch the kids and were much closer to the hospital. I start having contractions, pretty strong ones. But they sit 6 minutes apart maybe lasting a minute, and they never get more consistent, and they never get stronger. I give up and go to sleep. So much for the miracle cream. I think it was just Vaseline and they put it on to make whiny mom's shut up at least until the next morning.

The next morning the hospital was going to call anytime from 5 am to 9 am for me to come in. So I am piddling around, and Andy is pacing. Waiting is not really a strong suit of his. He can't even wait for water to boil. Every 5 minutes he would ask, 'did they call yet,' to which I would reply, 'are you not in the same room as me? Did you hear my phone ring?' I go to get a shower and at 8:30 they call. The Hallelujah chorus begins. I am at the hospital by 9:30.

I am dropped off at the door while Andy went to park. I am excited about this silent walk to the Labor and Delivery part of the hospital, the last time waddling anywhere and to collect my thoughts. But almost every other person I pass is a woman, saying, 'oh been there,' or something of the sort, or a doctor asking if I need a wheelchair, or someone giving me the silent smile, that holds the expression, 'yup, know just how you are feeling,' and then I would have to give the same smile back. Like a soldier going into battle passing the soldier that just left the battle or will go in after you are done. It is similar to the wave that one person that is riding a motorcycle gives to another. Which always cracks me up. Seriously. I am thinking of maybe when I pass another van of the same make as mine, squirting them with a juice box and vice versa, as a recognition that we are both listening to whining kids, and the same songs over and over again, while sitting on snack crumbs and driving with sticky fingers from the juice that spilled on the car seat buckle two weeks ago, and driving the same van. Look out Cherie!


I get all dressed up in my really hot hospital gown and those fun scratchy socks and waddle my way over to the bed. Andy comes in right after that. 'Did they hook you up to the pitocin? Where is the pitocin? Let's get this show on the road!' You know, checking my vitals, giving me some fluid, getting the proper supplies, all not valid reasons to my husband as to why I was not on the pitocin, contracting, pushing out a baby all in 20 minutes of arrival. Again, the whole waiting thing, not so much a fan of it, try living with him.

About an hour later, in prance my sisters, Meghan and Michelle, the last two members of the birthing team. I had given them the option when I got pregnant with Jacob to be in the delivery room if they wanted to. I had never witnessed a live birth before having Kendall, and I kind of wish I had, to kind of know what to expect. You know I like to start with my best foot forward, and I didn't, and I was a royal mess with her, and had no idea what was going to happen to me next. So I graciously presented them with this option of witnessing a gory mess that produces a beautiful child. My sister Meghan had been prepped by my mother for a week or so before hand, 'Meghan, if you feel like you are going to pass out, step away.' See my sister has this whole fainting thing going on, and she isn't really a fan of blood and bodily fluids, not so much an m.d. candidate.

So like I said, the prance in, and they sit, and they look at me in all my birthing glory, hooked up to monitors, wearing a hideous garb, and basically just a big fat blob. It is written all over their faces, 'wonder how long this is gonna take.' If this experience taught them anything, it taught them that birthing a child is no episode of 'Baby Story,' and over lickity split. This is an all day process, make yourselves comfortable.

So I get hooked up to the pitocin at about 10 am, and things start going, and it is a little mind game I begin to play with myself. Let's see how long I can wait before begging for the epidural. I see the computer monitor, I see the mountains going up and going down.

Then a resident comes into break my water. Welcome to the Big Show girls. The resident is with a medical student who looks like she is 16, and she is going to assist a girl, the resident, that looks like she is 18, with breaking my water with what looks like a knitting needle. My sisters come over to the bed to hold my hand, and the 18 year old begins her journey to my cervix, and twists and turns as I writhe in pain about to kick the 16 year old in the face, and then 'pop!' The floodgate is opened, and I am about to tell everyone to hop on the bed and grab life jackets on the way out because this water came rushing out in mad force, I thought we were going to be floating down Old York Rd. within seconds.

By 11:30, I am pissed about the pain. People are asking me questions and I am pissed that they even bother asking me how I am. How dare they even talk to me!?!? When in pain I am one of those crazy people that wants people around them but doesn't necessarily want the people addressing them or the issue at hand. I want them to be concerned, but not ask me what they can do to help. It's a little twisted, I know. But it's pain, it is my cervix that is going crazy, and it is my vagina that is going to birth a child the size of a large watermelon. I agree with my mind that I am going to make it to noon, and then ask for the epidural. Not so sure why I had to play this mental game with myself, its like I was trying to prove to myself that I am in fact She-ra. So at noon, not a minute later, I ask for the epidural. At 12:45, the anesthesiologist that my husband almost knocked out comes in. (long story, but in the end he conceded to keep his mouth shut, which was a good idea since the man was about to stick a needle into my spine) By 1 p.m., I am in another land, a peaceful one with no pain or unhappy endings.

To be continued...Birth Story Part Deux, The Birth of the Child with the Chubbiest Cheeks and the passing on of the Lyons' Awesome Chin Gene to Another Generation.

You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance. ~Franklin P. Jones

Holy Moly life with three is absolute chaos. Nope, I ain't going to lie and sugar coat it, you know you won't find that here. It takes at least 2 hours to go anywhere, including the mailbox, and I said, 'at least.' My Grandmother is still doing my wash for me, otherwise we would be all strutting around here naked. My kids do not eat meals at normal times, it gets to be 2 in the afternoon and I look at them, and go, 'what you are hungry again, we had breakfast at 8 a.m., your day certainly cannot be going as fast and as slow as mine.'

It is possible people to have your day move fastly slow. For instance today, we took Jacob to the doctor, bright and early. I had to get 3 children fed, dressed, peed, and in the van by 8:30 a.m. This began at 6. By 10 a.m. we had been to the doctor, Kendall stunk up the restroom there while she and E laughed hysterically out loud for all to hear that it was quite possibly, 'the worst smelling poop ever!'Ethan then promptly got his fingers pinched by an elevator door, then fell in the parking lot and skinned a knee, and Jacob, following in his sister's footsteps dropped a major deuce, which went up the back of his onesie, that Kendall then stepped on on her way out the door when we got home. And then I looked at the clock again and it was 3 pm, and I really feel as though I have done nothing, but we are all alive, and this is all that matters. And yet I sit and wonder, why am I not in my jeans yet? It is pitiful. I also laugh when I think to myself, 'gosh two was so easy.' My two tyrants, 13 months apart going for over 3 years now was easy, if I could go back in time and tell myself that I would have said this I could have saved myself alot of sanity.

But I love little Jacob. My little red headed screamer.

He cries a lot, and let me tell you that if this was my first child I would have secured that baby in that little bouncy seat, informed a friend, and ran straight out my front door and would not have stopped until I reached the Pacific Ocean. We are still trying to figure out the tears, and I do exaggerate a lot, I suppose. I mean he does coo and smile just as much. But with the tears you feel such empathy and tension at the same time, and all he is really doing is telling me that he; a. feels like a piece of crap, b. has to fart, c. is exhausted, d. is hungry, or e. wants to drop kick his brother and sister because their terroristic shouting is driving him crazy. Red headed boys have this connotation surrounding their existence that they are 'fiery.' I will keep you posted. He does have a lot of explosions out of the caboose,one might categorize as fiery, but we shall see. All I know is that it goes fast. Soon he will think that passing gas is hysterical, not life threatening. So for right now I am going to just kiss those chunk cheeks all day long. I mean they were made for that.

Birth Story to come...

In Hibernation Mode

When I figure out how to blog and take care of an infant and 2 needy preschoolers, I will certainly update. But for now I am just going to sit around and sniff, 'big red's', head and snuggle and snuggle some more. Officially, Jacob Michael's arrival came on May 4th at 5:34 pm. He weighed 8 pounds, 15 ounces and was 22.5 inches long. He was induced, he was all back labored, my tail bone still hurts like heck. I will provide the birth story soon. He has some nice red, well orange, hair, and he is mine all mine!

“[Watching a baby being born] is a little like watching a wet St. Bernard coming in through the cat door.” ~Jeff Foxworthy

So I am here to say that when it comes to the inducement of labor through some home remedies it is really just a waste of time. Let me just break it down for you, real simple. I am also going to give you my fair warning, that this post is not censored in anyway, so consider yourself warned, (men).

O.k. first things first.

Walking. Pretty sure I could walk to visit my friend Christine in China for tea and back and still not go into labor. I realize that this is impossible, you do not have to remind me, but I am looking at the distance of it. She is the furthest person away from me presently. Our library is about a mile walk away, give or take a few steps. We had some things due last friday so I loaded up the Radio Flyer with 73 pounds worth of children and about 10 of books and movies, and embarked on my journey. Andy asked upon my departure, what are you going to do if you go into labor on the way there or back? I really had no plan. I am sure someone could come pick us up as I lie screaming in the fetal position on the trail and traumatized my young children for life. It doesn't matter, nothing happened anyway. I passed another Mom on the way, she took one look at me and asked, 'trying to go into labor?' I replied, 'exactly!' She replied, 'best of luck.' And we continued on our ways. I have come to realize that we women are a little strange. Hauling close to 100 pounds at 9 months pregnant, and the only people who are not going to be concerned is another woman who has been in the same spot. Who cares if we give birth right there amongst nature? The baby is out. Mission accomplished.

We have also walked other places, like all over Kohl's for 2 hours pushing their double stroller cart which is like pushing a small locomotive. I mean at least if my water broke, they had some towels handy, and some pants, and I am pretty sure they would have given me an awesome discount.

I have also worked. And I have pushed my med cart up and down hallways and willingly volunteered to do rounds to walk briskly up and down hallways to no avail. Although I did feel like a royal piece of crap after being on my feet for 8 hours, it wasn't the result I was intending.

Now I walk with a limp and I move slower then a 95 year old woman who uses a walker, we raced. And since I have mentioned before that in many cases songs come to my head like a little soundtrack to my life, what comes to my mind when I get up and start walking is 50 cent, 'In Da Club,' and it is tremendously annoying. At one point he says, 'I been hit with a few shells, but I don't walk with a limp.' It really has nothing to do with me limping, it just has the word limp in it and therefore it is in my head, so 'Go Shwaty, it's your birthday...' It's in your head now to. Annoying.

Squats. Somewhere I read squats help. I also read that bouncing on one of those giant exercise balls works also. I don't have one of those. There is one at church, but I think that people would think that it is a little strange that a fat pregnant lady is bouncing on a ball in the aisle to the worship band. So I decided to do some squats after walking up and down the stairs 20 times, taking them two at a time. I did about 20 squats while holding on the crib for good vibes or something like that, and then I was about to pass out. So I stopped. Now here comes the result. No baby, or contractions, but when I got out of bed the next day I was stuck in the squat position since my thighs were killing me. They still are today. I think that the squats and bouncing are to bring the baby into position, and since this child already is, and had been for three weeks, it was a little redundant. I can already feel the head in my crotch, so we won't be doing those again, ever. I mean don't you think it would get a little annoying to be doing a headstand for weeks on end? Not only that, imagine doing a headstand into like a piece of foam or something that encases your head and staying like that for even a day. I would be like, 'get me out of here!!!!" Not this kid.

Spicy Food. Did that one last night. Thanks to my awesome neighbors and friends, Phil and Sue. We had chicken fajitas better then they make in Baja. Not that I ever had fajitas from Baja, but I imagine they were better. I mean he cooked the seasoned chicken on the grill people, and they had every single topping imaginable. I had a very full belly, and loved every bite, but there was still nothing. It was definitely a craving met. And again, I say, this child is fed so well, no wonder he doesn't want to come out. Did I ever mention I love my neighbors?

I also have a pineapple ripening on the counter. I sent Andy to get it the other day after I read that they might work. I did not want it from a can, I wanted the real thing with all the acid, so I have to wait until it is good and ready. My entire mouth swells when I eat too much fresh pineapple, like more then 3 cubes, and my tongue gets all itchy. I refuse to admit that this is an allergic reaction because I love pineapple. So I get to the point where I sound like a blubbering fool when I talk, and then have a few more bites for good measure and scratch my tongue with my teeth all day long, its really attractive. There are other foods that are said to induce labor, none of which I enjoy, like Eggplant Parm or licorice. So I will just skip that, because the thought of eggplant parm, makes me want to barf.

Sex. I am not going to divulge into my sex life here. I have mentioned it before that sex when you are this big and pregnant is not only almost physically impossible, it just makes me want to laugh, which probably isn't very encouraging to your partner. I will just mention that this past Sunday when I was having contractions, someone said to me, 'you are having contractions because of me, right babe?' I just rubbed his back and said, 'if this baby comes out today honey, it was all you, congratulations.' I mean the man is being robbed in that area, so the least I can do is build up his ego.

Gardening. No really, I did this, and it resulted in that trip to the hospital. My Mom Mom, the kids, and I were getting the vegetable garden ready by turning over the soil. I picked up that hoe and went to town. What was the worst that could happen? My water would break or something. No, just contractions that started up dilation, which is something, but it did not finish its job. And although we will have really good tomatoes this summer, and I did get to go to the hospital, I was not more then 4 cm, so it was a waste of my time, now that I am typing about it still pregnant, a week later.

There are some other things you can try, that I read about, which I am not going to do at all. This kid could actually stay in for another month, and I would not. One of which is Nipple Stimulation. The entire thought of this is just weird to me. 'Oh don't mind me, I am just pinching my nips.' And they say to do it for 15 mins a side. What in the world? Who has that kind of time? And who would want to?

Castor Oil. Someone asked me if I was trying to poison myself, or something like that, when I mentioned Castor Oil, I won't name names here. It quickly hit me that he had no idea prior to me mentioning this that it was not motor oil, but in fact a natural laxative. I have mulled over this idea for a few minutes, and then remember that I panic in the face of loose stools. When I feel the rumble I am running for the Pepto, which of course backs me up for days, but I don't have to feel the cramping. I think it reminds me too much of birthing contractions, and I shudder. So I have thought to myself well they must go hand in hand, and then I think, if it doesn't work, I am screwed.

There are some herbs you can take, but I do not feel like spending time and money hunting these crazy hippy things down. I am a drug store/pharmacy girl, so really these home remedies have me a little skeptical, but I was willing to try them anyway. I know what will work, starts with a P, and it is Pitocin, and all you natural birthers can just go ahead and shake your head in shame, and I say back, Yeah Epidurals! Although this time might bite me. I have this feeling that unless I move my butt like it is on fire to the hospital when labor does start I will not get there in time for my shot of peace and tranquility, I mean it was invented for a reason. And I will then be arrested promptly after delivery for domestic violence because I beat up my husband, and property damage since I destructed the birthing suite.

There are many things out there that people say work for labor. I mean just google it and you have everything from eating tree bark, to doing somersaults. I will go ahead and eat my pineapple when it ripens, but my bets are now on an induction.

I would put some pics in here to highlight my attempts at inducing birth naturally, but you see my camera has been in the hospital bag in the van since last week, and I am just too lazy to go and get it out, and not only that, my legs are so sore from squats it would take me 30 minutes to get out there and back.

There have been some that have said to me, 'When the apple is ripe, it will fall from the tree.' I will just go ahead and refrain from the reply that my mind entices me to say aloud. You don't say things like this to a woman with the belly the size of a small island.

Hormones are Fun!

A month has gone by since I blogged. What is that all about? I have been nesting I suppose, and growing, to the point that I do not think there could be anymore space in my body. I think that they are going to have to apply skin grafts to stretch my skin more, because the elasticity is shot. I mean the shear agony of thinking about all the flabby skin I will have to stuff into my jeans for like 3 years at this point is terrifying.

I am not overdue. Thank you to those who continually remind me. It's really sweet of you. Like that will make the situation any better. 'Oh well you are as big as freakin' Shrek,(little shout out to the movie we are watching), o.k., Fiona, in pregnant ogre form, and feel like knives are being shoved up your vagina, and that your lower back might actually erupt and leave you paralyzed, but you aren't actually due until Sunday.' Thanks for that. Or,'you haven't even dropped,' that's another personal favorite. I will remind you that you don't drop past your first pregnancy. Your body has already experienced this drop, and so, it will not happen again, your body has already been wrecked. But I don't say that out loud. I just smile and nod.

In this past month, I had an ultrasound for size check because one of my doctors thought that the baby may be a little large, and that it is always good to be aware of this before going into labor so that if it becomes necessary, we know why the head is not going past the hips. Funny that this doctor was a woman. Go figure. Now this was over a week ago, this little ultrasound, and keep in mind that the size may be off by a pound plus or minus. This child was looking to be about 8.6 pounds, one week ago. So technically it could have been 7.6 or 9.6. Now let's also keep in mind that each day they are in there they put on some weight, about a pound a week. You do the math. The doctor that came in to meet with me after the ultrasound said, 'well at this point it is not a monster baby, a large baby, sure, but not monster sized yet.' Uh, yet? My sister last night said to me, 'wouldn't it be funny if the baby came out and it was only 6 pounds!?!?' No it would not be funny, it would be a miracle. A gift from Sweet Jesus who decided to grace me with a blessing, a small child, with a pin head like his father. Have you seen my children's heads? Not gonna happen.

This week I went to the hospital due to the fact that I was having contractions for over 24 hours, but they were pretty inconsistent. Mind you, again, it was the female doctor who decided to send me in, just to be certain everything was ok, that the fluid levels were still up where they were supposed to be. And yes indeed, I was having contractions, no I was not past 2 centimeters dilated, and my fluid levels were fine. The nurse told me I could walk around the hospital and she would check me in an hour, or I could go home and be comfortable, able to rest, and eat and drink. I felt like an ass for coming in and so decided to go home, only wimps go to the hospital thinking they are in labor, didn't you know? But I mean here is the thing, my justification for being a wimpy ass, I am never the perfect going into labor girl. I have never and will never be 5 minutes apart lasting for one minute. It just doesn't happen. The nurse at the hospital said, 'well your contractions seem to be inconsistent, 20 mins, then 6, then 13.' No kidding, why do you think I am here!?!?! Now hook me up to the pitocin and let's call it a birthday. But, no, I waddled out, in pain, tired, actually hearing women screaming in labor and thinking, 'I wish that were me.' That is sick people, by the way. There is something hormonally wrong with you when you wish that.

At my appointment in the office yesterday the doctor said to me, 'well Lisa, the nurse you saw said she thought you were 50/50 on coming back last night in full fledged labor.' I assured him that it was not going to happen, and asked if that was supposed to make me feel better. I know my body. I know that at this point, since they are waiting until I am overdue to flag me, that my uterus heard that and completely gave up on me. I am going to give it some pep talks, maybe eat some spicy food for dinner tonight, and maybe, maybe have sex. There will be no promises. This is a subject all on its own, but how can sex be enjoyable when there is something the size of Mt. Everest standing in between you? I guess it isn't about 'enjoying,' anymore, per se. It is a possibility of a means to an end, so maybe. My poor husband, but then again, I wasn't the only one who contributed to this current state. So my uterus is going to have to completely take matters into its own hands. It is going to have to bust down some doors, kick the crap out of my water bag, and be in shear madness for it to want this child out. Because I will tell you, he is not going anywhere on his own.

He pronounced me almost 3 cm, 80% effaced after an exam that left me thinking his hand was going to come out the other side by means of my mouth. He was probably thinking, 'woman, you want this kid out, I will stretch the heck out of that cervix, and have you hunched over on the way out.' Well it didn't work. He said to me, 'we can't induce you until you are overdue, so after next weeks appt., we will set you up for an inducement. There is really no medical reason to have you induced earlier, hang in there.' I promptly responded, 'you mean my vagina exploding all over the delivery room due to the size of this child, is not a medical reason?' I really don't think he had heard that comment before, or expected to hear that comment from me, but he was left speechless with the nurse laughing hysterically. Part of my hopes he is in the delivery room, and so when he is stitching my up for 6 hours I can say, 'I warned you.'

I am definitely in crazed pregnant woman mode.

We are going walking today to the library. And I am pulling the wagon. I don't care. Stay out of my way!