the "Kids"

All ready for church... Sitting with grandma Beth

Looking at Papa..

Hello out there in Blogland....

This morning in church, a friend asked me "how are the kids?"

It took me by surprise. Was he talking to me? Kids?? I turned around and nobody was standing behind me. He WAS talking to me.

"....great!....I squeaked."

....

Yes, I can now readily admit that I have "kids." Not just one, not just Julia, not "the child." We have recently doubled the amount of children living under our roof. We no longer outnumber them....and when Mike or I leave the house, WE are outnumbered. Good thing we've had such good help these past two weeks from the Grandmas.

They have been at our house doing dozens of loads of laundry, cooking, cleaning, and entertaining Julia while we get settled in. Grandma Beth came and super-cleaned out kitchen, including the "black hole"......the slot between the fridge and the oven where I cram all of the cutting boards and cookie sheets. (I think the last time it was cleaned was when Julia was born and Grandma Beth was here to help us again....)

So, several folks have asked me the story of the birth of Miss Mary...

As you know, I was a bit overdue and not liking it one bit. It wasn't because I was uncomfortable or hating being pregnant....no...I had visions of my placenta wearing out. I could just see little microcalcifications building up on it and then it wouldn't tolerate labor....and then I'd get rushed down to the O.R. for a red-light C-section. (Julia had come out blue, and I wasn't about to live through that again.) ANYways, so my medical brain combined with my pregnant brain and the few streaks of type-A personality that I have were working overtime to get me to have that baby before I ended up with a ten pounder and an old placenta. I tried many tasks to induce labor, even walking ten miles, doing the chicken dance, and other unmentionable acts...... until Thursday the 29th when I came home from work. Grandma Ruth was there and Mike had decided to mow the lawn after supper. I was looking miserable and anxious, and he jokingly offered me the chance to mow our lawn.

To his dismay, I jumped at the chance. Ten minutes later, I was out in the front yard with my mowing shoes on, ready for action. After Mike taught me how to start and use a lawnmower (very complicated, I might add...) I began my task. We have a little hill in our yard that slopes down toward the sidewalk. Instead of mowing straight across the incline, I went up and down, over and over again. A few minutes into mowing, I started to have contractions!!! I assumed they were just those silly braxton-hicks contractions that go away when you stop working (I had become very familiar with them), so I kept mowing. When I finished the lawn and surveyed my work, I noticed that there were several strips of missed grass pieces between the mow lines. I let my anal-retentive streak get the best of me: I re-mowed the entire lawn.....I wanted the lines to be straight without any aberrant long blades of grass. It looked SO pretty when I was done! It was after the second mow that my contractions became regular and a little annoying. I went inside and had a lovely diet root beer.

The contractions didn't go away. I went to bed at 8:15 because I was so exhausted from mowing for two hours. Unfortunately, I was unable to sleep much because those darn contractions were five minutes apart. By ten thirty, I called my friend/doctor and had her come over and check my cervix. (Yes, we nerdy doctor-types like to skip the hospital triage desk). I was five centimeters (had been three that morning.) Mike helped me pack a bag and we were off to the hospital. We arrived at 11:45. I noticed a big obnoxious sign on the computer at the nurses' station that said, "SAVE ROOM 652 for SARAH SPRENGELER." I love the nurses at St Luke's. Turns out they knew I wanted the room at the end of the hall with a private bath and had been keeping it vacant for me all week. How sweet. I waddled down the hall between contractions and settled into my bed. When they checked me again, I was seven centimeters dilated.

By this time, they were asking me what I wanted for pain relief. Despite the fact that I was in labor and quite uncomfortable, I wasn't about to ask for an epidural. You see, our insurance makes us pay 20% of all hospital charges and an epidural runs about $2500!!!!! (Whoa is right) There was no way that I would get any pain relief from something that was costing us $500. Mike told me I was nuts and I should just go for the drugs. Instead, labor became a little game: get through it without drugs and win $500! It kept me going, at least for a little while. Before I knew it, it was time to push, and 20 minutes later, little Mary Sarah Jayne was born. She came out pink, slippery, and crying, just like so many great-looking babies do. And at 8 pounds 14 1/2 ounces, she was definitely a keeper.