Everybody's kids do this... right?

I get told I should write a book all the time. I'm told at least once each week that I should have my own reality TV show. But... this stuff goes on in everyone's houses I thought?

You mean not everyone's kids use pantyliners as surgical masks? Not every 5-year-old kid's answer to racism is explaining how melanin works? Not every 7-year-old kid break dances like a boss? Oh. Well maybe we're weird then.

I really need to get better about writing stuff down. Books don't write themselves.

Happy 4th Birthday!

Tomorrow is a special day in our house. It's someone's birthday! We've been looking forward to it and planning how we're going to celebrate with this special guy. 

It's Jack's birthday!

He's going to be 4-years-old tomorrow. It really seems like yesterday that we drove out to western Oklahoma to pick him up. I saw him for the first time and he was such a little fluffy puff. 

Noah was a little fluffy puff too.

Awwwwww :)

Now he's all grown up (and so are the kids!) and we can't even take a vacation without him.

This was his "Colorado haircut."

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JACK!!! We love you!

"Good" Friday

Every Easter I struggle with how to handle the holiday. My family is still young so we don't have it all figured out quite yet. In Christian tradition, Easter is only rivaled by Christmas as the biggest and most anticipated holiday of the year. Christmas has advent and decorations and certain recipes that help to make it special. Easter has... well, nothing.

We don't "do" Santa, the Tooth Fairy, Leprechauns, or the Easter Bunny. Easter isn't about bunnies, eggs, and chocolate. It's about the death and resurrection of the one I love most.

The thing is, you have to go through the "death" part before you get to the resurrection. This is my hang up. How do you celebrate that?! So here I sit on Good Friday depressed and barely holding things together. I've  heard/seen the "Sunday's coming" speech/video a hundred times and I love it. But, right now, it's Friday.

And that's kind of where I'm at.

Amita Noel

So over the Summer we had a baby. Surprise! Did I tell you about that? My bad. ANYwho, she's going to be 8 months old in less than a week. Again, sorry. 

It was Friday, June 22nd. I had just worked my last day of VBS. I was co-in charge of kids snacks for the entire program. It was more of a job than I had bargained for at 9-months pregnant, but I loved it and will be volunteering to do it again this summer. We stayed late on Friday because we watched the program the kids do to mark the end of VBS. It was a good time for all. We left around 1pm and I took the kids home to meet up with Nathan so he could watch them while I met my doc up at L&D to try an External Cephalic Version (ECV) to turn my stubborn breech baby. This procedure is most commonly done in a doctor's office, but I have a paranoid doctor. I picked Chris up from work and met my doc up at L&D at 2pm. Met with the anesthesiologist who decided to give me a spinal that would just numb me up and then wear off. There was no need to put a narcotic for pain control in it since right after the procedure I'd be headed to get some nachos and go home.

It's a small hospital and the only place to do it was in the OR. Chris was on the fence about coming back with me but his better judgement prevailed and he came with. While he was getting his OR gown on I was getting a spinal without him. (Not happy about that, btw. They could have waited an extra 5 minutes.) By the time he came in my doc was doing her thing - trying to externally turn the baby to a head-down position. Should have been a 5 minute procedure. A couple minutes in it became completely obvious that baby was NOT going to turn. Her heart rate dropped dangerously low and wouldn't come back up. My blood pressure and heart rate went to the toilet and they had to push some epi to get it back to a comfortable range. Now I'm strapped down to the OR table because I'm shaking so hard it could have been mistaken for a seizure while my doc starts telling the OR staff that "We're going to go ahead and open." That meant the nurses started setting up sterile fields lightning fast and pretty soon I have a curtain going up in my face and my doctor saying, "Well, you're having a baby today!" I beg Chris to stay on my side of the curtain and not watch what's about to happen.

The anesthesiologist earned his money that Friday. After he got my heart rate under control he had to start worrying about the fact that I'm split wide open on the table and my spinal (without any added narcotic, remember?!) is going to wear clean off pretty quickly. See the thing about a spinal is that it's a shot in the back that wears off, unlike an epidural that feeds continuous numbing until the catheter is taken out of your back. Think fast, Doc. This isn't going to go well. Side note: this was also the day we found out that morphine does absolutely nothing for me except to slur my speech. I'm officially in shock. I can't tell which way is up and I am completely numb to everything that's going on around me. 

I feel some pulling and then emptiness. I can tell she's out and I'm not pregnant anymore. She isn't crying. They don't stop working on me. They hold her up for me to see for just a second. Why isn't she crying? They take her over to the in-room bassinet area to work on her. They just tell me she is having some trouble.  She never cries. I get stitched up and transferred to a different bed. They wheel me over to where she is and hold her up for a quick picture.

I've never showed this picture to anyone because I think she looks dead.

They took me back to the regular L&D room I had started in. My doctor came in a few minutes later. My first question was "How is she?" my second question was "OH MY GOODNESS can I get some pain meds STAT?!?" She said my baby was being transferred by ambulance to a bigger hospital with a NICU that could support her. The ambulance was on their way up for her, and their team would bring her in to see me before they took her away. When she came in she was in this horrible looking contraption on the gurney. She was in a plastic bubble with tubes everywhere. She didn't move at all. I couldn't touch her. She still wasn't crying.

They brought her tiny 6 pound 4 ounce body in to see me in one of these.

She left and I pitched a fit. I wanted to go with her. "You just had surgery." "I want to be transferred with her." "That isn't something we usually do..." "Figure it out. Please. I want to go with her." 

My doctor went to bat for me and got me transferred several hours later. While I was waiting, we decided we better let our babysitter know we were going to be late. And I may want to let my family from out of town know we'd just had a baby... and we're probably going to need some help. Right now. Get in the car.

It's difficult to explain to family while doped up on pain pills that I've just had a baby and not only is she not doing well, she isn't even here. She's been transferred to a NICU miles away. Go ahead and meet me over there. I'm going to get transferred over there... eventually.

I spent the entire ambulance ride filling out forms describing how I was going to pay for said ambulance ride. Did you know it costs $36 per mile (just for the mileage) to ride in an ambulance?! Just an interesting fact. Anyway, I got up to my new recovery room on the L&D floor and they put me in the hall opposite to the new mothers hall. This hall is where they put the women who don't want to hear babies cry. Understandable for women who's babies have died or have made their way into the NICU. The hall was quiet. You would have never guessed this was L&D. It was late now. I sent Chris to the NICU to find Amita. I didn't see her again that night.

The next day I was able to get into a wheel chair so Chris could take me down to see her. She was so tiny and all the tubes attached to her made her look even smaller. We got to hold her later that day for the first time. 

Inside her little NICU room. All the tubes were heavier to hold up than she was.

By the third day I was able to walk to see her. Slowly and sometimes with several stops along the way, but if there wasn't a wheel chair around, I was GOING to see my baby anyway. I was there every minute I was allowed to be. I could come in once for a few minutes every three hours. Talk about motivation to ambulate. She got a blood transfusion on day 3. Looking back, it was really after that point that she started to improve. I wish I could find out exactly who's blood that was and thank them personally. I just know I'll be giving blood for the rest of my life.

I was ready to be discharged. Ami was not. I pleaded to my doctor and she let me stay on as an admit for one more day. After that we got to "room in" which is essentially squatting in our room for a couple of days or until they needed to put another patient in it. We took full advantage. On our last day we went in to see her and her IV was out! She still had tons of other tubes, but that was one less!

Check out my foot without my IV!

While we're in our classes to be able to bring her home from the NICU, my mom, who has been watching the other kids in a hotel all week, calls and says she's at the pediatrician and all my kids just tested positive for strep. Awesome. Well, looks like you guys are staying at the hotel for another couple of days until those antibiotics are through your systems! Over a week after she was born, the kids got to meet their baby sister for the first time. My little sister ended up with strep. I say it was because she let my kids watch The Princess and the Frog. Karma... or whatever.

Ignore the PJs we were all perpetually living in.

So now here we are nearly 8 months later and I can't imagine not having her sweet face smiling at me every day. She's also totally chunked out - in true Mendez child style.

This is her on the way out of the NICU and then at 1, 2, 3, 4 & 5 months. 

Amita Noel means Never-ending Christmas. She came in a whirlwind and has been the greatest gift I could possibly imagine. I think her name suits her perfectly.

You don't scare anyone

Remember when you were a kid and there was that one kid (or group of kids) who made it their life's mission to try to make you miserable? Maybe you saw this happen to someone you knew. Maybe it was you doing the bullying.

That kid was awesome, right? It was just so admirable how they took that other kid and pushed them off the playground equipment. It was hilarious when little Johnny cried.

Oh, it wasn't?

That's right, it wasn't. News flash! It still isn't. Now that you're an adult you can talk down to other people and that makes you feel big and strong, doesn't it? That's sweet, Honey, but it makes you look like a fool. Please do yourself a favor and shove a rag in your mouth (tape up your fingers?) if you can't control the verbal diarrhea. 

Know what's different about now? Little Johnny is all grown up. He isn't afraid of you. John thinks you're pathetic and should probably get some counseling. Times change.

Please, please, please find a hobby. Take up a new sport. Read a good book. Find something (anything) else to do with your life. I've tried to say it kindly for YEARS and it's falling on deaf ears. I'm trying one last time. The only thing worse than looking stupid is opening your mouth and proving it.

Potty Hostage

Most of my posts tend to revolve around my youngest lately. I've thought about why that is and all I can think of is she is the one keeping me on my toes. Like today when I had to clean up smeared poo all over the bathroom because she didn't want to wait for me to be ready to potty train her. She's ready NOW. When I wasn't a willing participant, she took it upon herself to get'r'done.

Bad Mama. I know. I'm onthe ball now. We'll spend tomorrow in panties. ::shudder:: I really hate potty training. It's the worst part about having a two-year-old. The fits? No problem. The screaming? No sweat. Stepping on a wet spot on the carpet that you didn't know about? THE WORST. Sometimes I walk into a room and feel like I can smell urine. Then I crawl around like a crazy person sniffing the carpet thinking someone peed and it DRIED on there. Oh the horror.

So if anyone has any encouragement, words of wisdom, xanax... (kidding about that last one... pregnant and what not.) I'm all ears. I'm just not ready to be a potty hostage. I guess I just need an attitude adjustment. She's 2.5 for heaven sake. Well, here we go!

I... am so sorry.

You know that verbal diarrhea that rude people get whenever they see a pregnant woman? You know those tactless people who say things like "Let me tell you about how horrible my labor/delivery was..."

::sigh::

I have been one of those people. My crime: fawning over baby boys. See, I have a boy. I think he's the greatest thing since... well I can't even think of anything to compare him to. He holds a special place in my heart that only a son could. So what's the problem?

I also have three daughters.

Each time I discovered I was pregnant, I hoped it was another boy. I wanted to duplicate the love and relationship I had with my first born. When #2 was a girl, I was okay with it. Hubs really wanted a girl so I thought "Well, I have one and now you have one." Healthy, I know... It doesn't really help that our personalities conflict so we haven't even been THAT close. She is definitely a Daddy's Girl if ever there was one.

But then #3, just a few months later, was a girl. My whole pregnancy with her I felt defensive. You can only hear "Was it planned?!?" "How old is your youngest?!" "You know what causes that, don't you?!" so many times before you develop a bitterness to everyone who so much as glances at your stomach. Up until the day she was born I was, in a way, apologizing to everyone for being pregnant. Then she was born and I looked into her sweet face...

She was perfect. She was beautiful. She wasn't a consolation prize. She was my DAUGHTER and I was absolutely head over heels in LOVE. I bonded with her immediately in a way I hadn't experienced with my first two. I spent the whole first night just staring into her sweet face. I was so convicted. How could I have been resentful that this little girl was mine? How DARE I feel that way?!

#3 is 2.5 years old now. She's laying here beside me while #1 is at school and #2 watches TV. She'd rather be next to me, whatever I'm doing. She's an amazing little girl. Sometimes when I think about how much I love her, I feel like my heart will explode.

When they said, "Looks female" about #4, my heart skipped a beat.  It isn't gender that determines your connection to a child. It isn't gender that dictates their worth. I love ALL of my children equally. We are beyond excited about our new little girl.

So, young mother of that baby girl, I am SO sorry for spewing my preference for baby boys in front of you. I'm guilty of gushing on and on about little boys and how they're my FAVORITE right in front of mothers of little girls. And you know what? That just isn't true. I wouldn't trade a single one of my girls in for a boy. My son is amazing. So are my daughters.

The next time someone comes up to you and starts up the mouth with no filter, remember they're not TRYING to make you feel bad. They're just an idiot... like me.