How to make your mama cry

Dear Viola,

You have now been with us for six weeks (!) and I think it's time for your first performance review. To be honest, there are a few things that need improvement.

1. You're getting bigger.

Yes, I am glad you're a voracious nurser. You still nurse in the newborn fashion, where nothing can distract you and you nurse and nurse and nurse until you're slowly falling asleep. It's adorable. But do you really have to get so much bigger? Can't you stay tiny for a little bit longer? I know in six months I'll look back and coo over how small you were, but it seems like every morning I wake up and you've changed a little overnight. Your cheeks will be chubbier, or your legs will be bigger, or your head just a little more melon-like. Please stop.

Remember this?
It's now this.

You may very well be my last baby, and I'd kind of like it to slow down a little, please.

2. You're losing your hair.

Admittedly, you did not have much to begin with. And to your credit, you're not losing it like Peter did, receding-hairline style. But those two bald spots on the side of your head? Not so cute. Why can't you be more like Mary? That girl had some serious hair at your age.

3. You puke down my shirt.

You love to do this. Don't deny it. Stop.

4. You wake up as soon as I put you down.

You have sleeping issues, I know. You fall asleep easily, but staying asleep is a challenge. You like to wake up five minutes after falling asleep, then loudly complain about how tired you are. You also like to fall asleep the second your head hits a vertical surface that is not mommy or daddy. This is not good for my mental health. Try staying asleep once or twice; I promise you'll love it.

5. You got a cold.

Like the hair issue, I know this is not really your fault. But you caught this cold when you were two weeks old and haven't shaken it yet, and it's really causing you a quite a bit of grief. You are congested all the time and now have gotten into the habit of waking up at 3 am because you can't breathe. There's nothing more unpleasant than having to share your bed with a baby that a) takes up way too much space, and b) insists on creating a personal soundtrack filled with "snork, sniffle, gasp, snuffle, cry".

Now that we've gone over areas that need improving, let me just say how much I like having you in our family. Your brothers and sister still love you more than anything and still think you're The Cutest Thing Ever and love to look at you and exclaim how cute/little/funny/stinky you are. You sleep fairly well at night (besides the cold making you wake up) and manage about half the night in your own bed, which I appreciate very much. I have decided that, in light of your quick learning and desire to please, I will only ask one thing of you if you want to stay a member of the Rhynardski (shoutout to the Smithowskis!) family.

Give me a nice big smile. Show your mama how much you love her.



Good girl. We'll talk again at your next performance review.

Two weeks in and feelin' fine

It's amazing how quickly our family has adjusted to having Viola here. I'm sure part of it was having an almost endless amount of help, with still no end in sight (thank goodness!). Diedra flew out here the day Viola was born (a happy coincidence), so I had help waiting for me at home, and mom came out three days later.

I'm also amazed by how quickly my pregnancy seems a thing of the past. Time moved incredibly slowly for me the last week, and now it feels like forever since I was pregnant. My recovery was even faster this time around; besides some issues that are entirely TMI and not related to childbirth, the day after I didn't feel like I had given birth at all. Oh, sure, I had that annoying flabby belly and the hormone surges, but physically I felt really, really good. I consider it one of the benefits of giving birth naturally; my body had a really hard time getting off all the drugs when I had Peter, but Eleanor, Theodore, and Viola's births were all easy to bounce back from.

I was very, very blessed that this time around I had resolved beforehand to be patient about when Viola was going to be born. Long story, not made especially short: when Theodore was born, I was sure he was going to be early. Mom took off two weeks to come stay with me and help with the baby and because I was so sure he was going to be early, she came out early. Every day I didn't give birth was one less day I would have her to help me, and I felt like we just sat around and waited, and waited, and waited. Every morning I would wake up and think, "Darn! Still pregnant!" He was only two days late (so much for my premonition!), but I only had four days of my mom's help before she had to leave. I was a wreck when she left. It was not a pretty sight. This time around, I was determined not to torture myself like that again, so I adopted a very nonchalant attitude about when the baby would be born. Mom stressed out more than I did about the birth, but it actually worked out perfectly that I was eight days late. At the end, I was getting impatient and uncomfortable, but I wasn't stressing myself out. I had one bad day, but because I had decided before the fact not to stress out about the birth, I took it all in stride. If I hadn't decided to be nonchalant about it, I would have had a breakdown.

So now Viola is two weeks old. She's already getting visibly stronger and bigger. She is constantly getting love from her older brothers and sister; almost every day I walk in on Eleanor holding her and singing to her. I'm so grateful that the birth went well and I didn't have to have a breech birth or a c-section and that I'm recovering well.

And I'm so grateful for my new little girl. I've been waiting for her for a long time.

This is the before picture. There's no way I'm putting up an after picture.


My two girls.


This is how I look when I don't get enough sleep. Maybe it has something to do with the crying going on.




The oldest and the youngest. Peter has discovered how toasty warm she is.

Introducing:

Viola Brigitta Rhynard. Emphasis on the first syllable, like you're saying Violet, but ending it with an "a".

I am tired.

Finally!

Well, I had to fight the irrational urge to viciously bite Matt at the end stage of labor, but I gave birth this morning to a 8 lb 1 oz girl. Labor was HARD. Man alive, I do not want to do that again. I didn't swear during labor, but I loudly announced at the end that Matt was getting a vasectomy soon.

Her name is being hammered out. It's kind of hard to name a baby. "Does she look like a ____?" "I don't know; she just kind of looks like a baby to me."

Happy Halloween!

Last night we celebrated Halloween by making our kids go door to door begging for candy, putting said kids to bed, and eating said candy. It was wonderful!

Matt took the kids out while I stayed at home and passed out candy. No, I did not go into labor. I'm actually a little surprised that I am going to have a November baby; I did not expect that I would go this overdue. I know, I know, it's not THAT overdue, but I just didn't expect a baby in November.

Matt's a little relieved, though. He didn't want a Halloween baby, purely for the fact that if it were born on Halloween, her celebration would always be replaced by a Halloween party and it would never be a birthday party. Yes, Zari, I feel sorry for you. Just kidding!

Here are the obligatory costume pictures. Peter was a Power Ranger (even though he doesn't really have much of an idea of what Power Rangers are), Eleanor was a cheerleader (don't get me started), and Theodore was the cutest little bear I've seen this year (this was Peter's old costume, and Peter was pretty darn cute himself).





Mmm, candy.

False start, I suppose

Last night I thought I was going into labor. I started having some pretty intense contractions around midnight that were definitely NOT Braxton-Hicks. I decided to lie down and get some sleep, rather than get myself too excited and tired. Well, I got a little sleep and the contractions kept themselves fairly constant, about every 5 minutes, until 4:30, when they tapered off.

So no baby today. Oh, well.

Two down, one to go...

Eleanor started kindergarten today!

We weren't sure if she would. She's technically too young to go to kindergarten; she misses the deadline by three weeks. Matt and I have been talking about accelerating her for a while. She's always acted older than her peers and we really did think she was ready to go. We signed her up for preschool just in case, but also signed her up to get her tested for acceleration.

She had the testing three weeks ago, and after that we had a really great conversation with the Gifted and Talented department about Eleanor and her readiness to go. They thought she was most definitely ready to go and had some really good insights as to her emotional and intellectual abilities. They rarely accelerate kids into kindergarten; Eleanor was one of the 2 that were approved to accelerate this year (I asked).

So she got the okay to go. But then we found out that that there was an unexpected influx of kindergartners this year and there were no slots available for her. So, no kindergarten. Good thing we signed her up for preschool! I wouldn't usually send my kids to preschool unless there is a real reason to go, but she'd be attending a Montessori school and we could basically do a kindergarten curriculum while in preschool. That's what I love about the Montessori program.

But yesterday I got a call that there was now an opening available, would we like to put Eleanor in it? Mind you, the first day of school is today, Thursday. So, yes, we took the spot. BUT! She's not technically registered to go to kindergarten! This morning I had to wake up early, get Eleanor and Theodore dressed and take them down to the district office to get signed up while Matt put Peter on the bus. Eleanor got signed up, and I took her down to go to school, only half an hour late!

She was SO excited to go. She's excited to ride the bus, eat lunch at school, make new friends, learn to read, and mostly to be a kindergartner. It reminded me a lot of when I was 4 and I would look out the window at Diedra and Rixa walking to school in the morning and just WISH that I could go to school.

So now I'm here at home with just Theodore. He's watching Dora and finishing his breakfast and I'm blogging and watching The Daily Show. It'll be just him and me for a few more months until the baby is born.

A major (unwanted) milestone...

...the first stitches!

We are here in Rochester, visiting Grandma. Right after lunch today, all the kids headed into the front room for one of Eleanor's elaborate pretend games. I was cleaning up the kitchen and getting ready to drop Peter and Eleanor off at their 12:30 Quarry Hill summer camp classes. Mom was at a grant meeting (this detail will prove important later). I was almost done cleaning when I heard a loud thump followed by a scream from Theodore. This thump/scream combination happens quite frequently around these children, but I hurried over to see what what wrong because the scream was of a higher intensity than it usually is.

I found Theodore standing with a huge conch shell on the floor and a huge gash in his foot (yes, Diedra, it was your conch shell that caused this commotion. Well, that and two kids fighting over it). It didn't look like much until I realized just how huge the gash was: it was one of those gashes that makes you woozy just looking at it and you know it needs stitches.

I commenced freaking out. I scooped up Theodore, ran to the bathroom, and put his foot under cold water. Luckily, very very luckily, his wound was not a pulsing fountain of blood. Why, I'm not sure, because it was deep, but it didn't bleed much at all. Theodore was screaming and all semblance of common sense left me at that point. I started thinking a million different directions: where is mom? where is the urgent care? where are the bandages? what about Quarry Hill class? where is mom? can I wrap it up so I can drive to the urgent care without having to hold Theodore? oh, yuck, that cut is deep. where is mom?

Okay, first things first. I got a cookie for Theodore and he stopped screaming. Then I found the bandages and wrapped up his toe very nicely with a gauze pad and scotch tape. I tried to call mom's cell, but somebody wasn't answering. I called Matt and had him find the urgent care centers in Rochester while I ran around to the neighbors' houses, hoping to have them tell me where the urgent care centers were (note to self: next time, don't multitask). I finally figured that it was close enough to Quarry Hill time that I could drop off the older kids then go to urgent care, and that would be fine for Theodore because his wound wasn't squirting blood everywhere. I dropped off the kids, got to the urgent care center, then waited.

Here's something I learned today: if you ever want to have your toddler sit quietly on your lap for three hours, just drop a conch shell on his toe. He will snuggle you all day long.

To make a long story slightly less long, Theodore got two stitches. Although his toe was anesthetized, he screamed throughout the stitching. He's been whimpering all afternoon and refusing to do much with walking or standing, but every once in a while he'll forget and run for a few steps, then stop and cry. Poor baby.

I also learned today that I do not do well in emergency situations. Which I kind of knew already, but boy, I cannot keep my cool under pressure. I also learned, from the urgent care nurses and PAs, that I make a mean dressing of gauze pads and scotch tape. I was complimented on it multiple times.

Pictures of The Toe will be up later, when we change the dressing and get a chance to photograph the carnage.

"Now we're even!" says Eleanor.

So, there's a long story here, but it boils down to this: we decided to find out the sex of our baby this time around. The kids were DYING to find out and while we didn't find out for Theodore, the payoff wasn't as big as I had hoped.

The deal was that Peter would be told first, and the ultrasound technician was very nice about whispering in his ear when the time came. I could tell from his squeal of excitement what it was, but I had to wait for him to tell Eleanor first before he would tell me.

And it turns out that Eleanor will finally get her sister. And I will finally get to use all those cute girl clothes again that I'm saving in the basement. The kids are thrilled; Peter and Eleanor were both confident that it was a girl, so nobody is disappointed. I think Matt is a little nervous about her disposition, though. While he's not averse to having another girl, he (and I as well) definitely hope that we don't get another stubborn girl.

In which I surrender

Annie is gone. Not gone gone, but she no longer resides at our house. We brought her back to the shelter this morning. The people at the shelter were really nice and understanding, especially when I cried.

It was an interesting two months. I will miss our crazy dog, but not badly enough to regret my decision. Thank you, Matt, for letting me get rid of her.

(Although you should have seen the kittens there! Oh, they were hard to resist...)

Number 4

Matt and I are proud to announce the upcoming birth of our fourth child, due sometime between the summer solstice and the winter solstice*. Yay for us!

*This is me, poking fun at my sister, who refuses to tell me her due dates.

Just your normal, everyday shopping trip...

Names withheld to protect the sure-to-be-traumatized-by-this-when-they-read-it-in-15-years children.

I went to the grocery store yesterday for my weekly shopping trip. I was feeding the missionaries that night and couldn't put off shopping any longer. I had a long list of things to buy and a short window of opportunity to do so. Annie was home in her crate and would need to be let out as soon as I got home. We would get home just in time for lunch. We got loaded up in the cart and started shopping.

Bananas. Check. Strawberries. Check. As we were on our way to the kiwis, E started saying in her typical fashion, "I need to go pee! I need to go pee!"

It wasn't the normal time for her to go; she's usually very reliable about her calls of nature. Whatever, though, I'm a roll-with-the-punches kind of mom. I parked the cart at the front entrance, unbuckled T, and guided my two kids into the women's bathroom. E got into the stall, closed it behind her, and promptly peed in her pants.

Now, I don't have a spare change of clothes for her or any of my other kids waiting in the van in case such an event does occur. Some people would, but I don't. I wasn't going home, either, because I really, really needed to get the grocery shopping done and this was the only chance I would get. Here's what I did:

I took off her wet clothes and shoes. Luckily, I had a plastic bag in my pocket from a walk with Annie, so I threw her wet things in the bag. I washed E off in the sink, put a T diaper on her (it barely fit), and put her in the shopping cart. She was clothed in a long sleeved shirt, vest, and a diaper. That was it.

Then I headed back inside the store. I bought new underwear, pants (well, technically I bought her a new outfit. There weren't any pants I liked and I liked the outfit a lot), and the cheapest shoes I could find: flip flops. Good thing it wasn't freezing outside!

I checked out my purchases (including the bananas and strawberries), then turned right around and headed into the dressing rooms. E took off her diaper and got dressed in her new (Tinkerbell!) underwear, pants, and shoes.

Then I finished my grocery shopping.

Temporary insanity

We got a dog.

Yes, that's right. A dog. Actually, a puppy. Puppies are worse than dogs.

Don't ask me why. I was the one who actually made the final decision. I think that somehow I got this idea that it would be easy. Ha! It's like a bomb went off in our house.

I would give her back, but I can't for four reasons:

1. We've spent too much money on her.
2. Matt won't let me.
3. This would be the first thing to come up in my childrens' therapy sessions in 20 years.
4. Actual quote from Eleanor: "Mommy, yesterday was the best day I've ever had, because we got a dog, and I love her, and I love you for getting us a dog. Thank you, mommy."

She's a great dog when the kids aren't around her to rile her up. We got her from the shelter and she's a collie/Boxer mix but looks all Boxer to me. She's 8 weeks old and her name is Annie (name courtesy of Eleanor).

Constant attention.

This is the face of a happy girl.

She's a very beautiful dog. Eric, are you jealous yet? You can have her!