My boys

Auggie started preschool almost two weeks ago. He goes three days a week, two of which he stays for six hours, one day he stays two and a half hours.

Every day, I drop him off and try to get a kiss and a hug before he runs off to play with his new friends. Every day, I pick up a filthy, sweaty, excited little boy. He is having the best time.

His teacher: “Not to offend you or anything, but he doesn’t miss you at all.”

So I guess all that “spoiling” I did of him when he was a baby didn’t make him dependent after all, hm?

Meanwhile, Elliott and I get to go home, take a shower, get some actual work done, and obsess over becoming debt-free. Occasionally, we even get to smile and laugh at each other.

I am incredibly blessed…

BTW, Tim is much better. He’s even considering mowing again. But not tonight.

The goods

Before I go any further, let’s make good on that promise I made in my last entry:

Auggie was 33 pounds, 37 inches tall at 3 years and 1 month of age.

Elliott was 14 pounds, 3 ounces (!) and 24 and 1/4 inches long at 9 weeks. (For those of you keeping score at home, that 96th and 90th percentile, respectively.)

Holy cannoli. I knew this guy was big, but wow! And it still didn’t sink in just how big he was until I was talking to another mom this week. Her daughter was 8 pounds, 7 ounces at birth, and at 14 weeks, is 12 and a half pounds.

So the pediatrician was impressed with both of our boys. I was impressed with the pediatrician. This was Auggie’s first official visit with him, and the doctor was amazing. As soon as he turned his attention to Auggie, he was instantly transformed from professional doctor man into childlike non threatening-guy. Auggie wasn’t intimidated by him in the least, let him look in all the necessary orifices and piped right up with answers for all of his questions.

Anyway, the last day has been a bit hairy. Last night after supper, I suggested that Tim mow the front yard, as I imagined the neighbors looking askance at our untidy lawn. Tim, being the trooper that he is, agreed and set out. In his enthusiasm, he finished the front yard and headed to the back, even though dusk was upon him. Somehow, while mowing around the bushes, a branch bypassed his glasses and scratched his eye. I’m totally grossing out as I’m writing this. Something about eyeballs just turns my stomach. So let’s just get this over with and say that he scratched his cornea, he was tortured all night long with unbearable irritation and refused my offers to take him to the hospital. I took him to the ophthalmologist this morning who provided instant relief in the form of numbing eyedrops, a contact bandage thingie and reassurance that his eye would be much better by tomorrow.

Yuck. I’m glad that’s over with.

Tim reminded me of something tonight that I want to document here before I forget and Auggie stops doing it: Most of the time when Auggie has a tantrum or meltdown now, he’ll cry and wail for a few minutes and whenever he decides he’s had enough or we adequately placate him, he’ll turn off the crying in an instant and say, ‘Mommy, I not crying!’ while wiping the tears matter-of-factly from his cheeks. Very cute.

Send Tylenol

I got a glimpse of what my brother’s life is like this weekend. At some point, all four of us were sick. Auggie woke up with a cold last Monday. Elliott’s nose got all stuffy in the wee hours of early Wednesday. Tim started feeling poorly on Thursday afternoon. Saturday, I got mastitis (a breast infection). Super fun!

Of course, all of this coincided with us traveling to my dad’s house on Kentucky Lake, so you have the added fun of sick people in a car! For hours!

I can hardly wait for our next trip, which will have us in the car for almost seven hours straight.

We’re all feeling much better now, although the snot faucet is back on in Auggie Land. Elliott also kept me up quite a bit last night with his snorting and snuffling. Poor little guy. OK, so only Tim and I are feeling better. Mostly, we’re just glad to be back home.

Why is it that so often, when traveling with kids, you spend more time wishing you were back at home instead of where you planned to travel to for so long? Did that make sense? If not, I blame it on my fever (yesterday). Scrambled the old eggs a bit.

In better news, I lost another two pounds last week. And we ran twice! Of course, the three workouts I prided myself on last week could’ve been a big factor in my bout with mastitis, but I’m just going to blame it on a too-firm bed and sub-par nursing Friday night.

Tomorrow, I take the boys in for their checkups, which should be fun. Auggie is getting so tall now! And I couldn’t even hazard a guess as to how much Elliott weighs now. The kid’s knocking on the door of six-month sizes, and he’s only two months old (today! Happy 1/6th birthday, Elliott!).

I’ll report in soon with all the vital stats…

Back on the wagon

We survived.

Thanks to the constant attention of my mom, we survived our Week Without Daddy. Actually, I have to thank my MIL too, for giving me a break on Monday to go to my Weight Watchers meeting.

That’s right, I’m back on the wagon. After eating anything and everything I wanted during my pregnancy with Elliott, I’m now suffering the consequences. Nothing fits. And I have been refusing to wear my maternity clothes since two weeks post-partum. That means that I have approximately two pair of jeans (one that is Tim’s and one that is super-tight), one super-uncomfortable pair of chino shorts (that are also a wee short for these chubby thighs) and nothing that is nice enough to wear to church. So my wardrobe has been rather limited, you might say.

Last week was my second meeting at Weight Watchers. In six days, I lost only a pound and a half. I was disappointed, because usually the first week is a big loss. Since I get so many blasted Points for nursing Elliott, though, I felt like I was eating a ton! I was eating a ton, to tell the truth. Plus, all those extra points were not being used on healthy stuff, I must admit. So I suppose that it’s no big surprise that I didn’t lose a lot.

This week wasn’t the best either, since Mom was (try though she might) cooking for company (us) and not making the most low-fat of meals. She pulled out all the stops with an unbelievably yummy caramel apple pie. With ice cream. I’m totally drooling now. It was so fabulous, I consider it a small miracle that I only ate two slices…

Plus, no exercise.

I suck.

This week will be better. I can feel it.

For instance, right now, I am sitting in a St. Louis Bread Co. sipping a non-fat iced vanilla latte (5 points) with no pastry. Sure, the bakery is way picked over, but I’m pretty dang proud of myself right now.

Of course, I did just go shopping. And while I still fit in Misses sizes (just barely), I cannot wait to get this belly back under control. Very motivating. I should shop more often.

The fabulous shoes I found? Fit like a glove. I love shoes.

La, la, la… I can’t hear you…

If I were you, I would be completely frustrated by me. I mean, here it is, such an exciting time for me with a new baby and a new three-year-old and everything, and I rarely update! I would totally be e-mailing myself death threats by now. You all are way nicer than me.

But now I’ve got a quick moment to myself (sure to be jinxed by my mere acknowledgment), so I thought I’d throw ya’ll a bone.

Now that Elliott is seven weeks old tomorrow (!), he’s starting to resemble something other than larva. Now, he’s a smiling larva. But it’s so infrequent, I haven’t been able to catch him on camera just yet. That, plus that fact that he smiles at everyone/everything else more than me makes it especially hard. I swear the boy grinned with openmouthed drooling at the Target greeting card section last week. With that kind of competition, what can a baby’s primary caregiver/sole provider of sustenance/main entertainer expect?

Our trials with Auggie continue to improve, I guess. Either he’s getting a little better, we’re learning how to deal with it more productively, or we’re just getting used to it. I know that some days I’m better at going with the flow more than others. Just last week, I came up with the brilliant idea of just not arguing with the three-year-old anymore. For example, when we’re in the car (where the worst of the brattiness occurs due to my being a captive audience, his brother being asleep, or general tiredness on Auggie’s part), if Auggie tries to start an argument with me (e.g., ‘Hey, bud, we’re going to the grocery store next!’ ‘I don’t wanna go to the grocery store. Wanna go to the choo-choo store!’), I state my answer once (‘Sorry, dude. Can’t go to the choo-choo store today. We’re going to the grocery store.’), and then any further argument is drowned out as I turn up whatever CD is playing. How’s it going? Let’s just say that I’ve been rocking out in the car a lot lately. Plus, when I told Tim about my brilliant strategy, he laughed at me.

Beth C’s guide to the terrible threes coming to a bookstore near you in January 2005!

Anyway, we dropped Tim off at the airport yesterday for his flight to Phoenix. I find it really hard to believe that anyone would really think that Phoenix at the end of August is a great place to have a conference, but, hey, that’s not my job, now, is it?

So, to recap, that’s Tim in Phoenix for five days. Me, alone with two boys for five days. How did that happen?

Needless to say, I’m headed to my mom’s.

We’re home alone for less than 48 hours. I can do this, right?

Oh, yeah. I forgot about this shot I snuck of Elliott giving his grandma a smile at his baptism. Doesn’t he look great in a dress?

Not everything is about you

A quick addendum to my last post before I get started here:

I neglected to mention how much Auggie loves his Grandpa Luther and his Granny (my grandmother), too. He loves all of his relatives and it’s amazing to watch him connect to these people, some of whom he rarely sees. I mean, you would think that he would talk about his playgroup friends all the time and ask what they’re doing, but, no, it’s “What NickAbbyLivia doing?” and “When Grandma and Granpa coming?” and “Where Granny?” He seems truly perplexed about these questions at any given moment.

Anyway, I’ve been neglecting my blog, sadly. What with all the hullabaloo surrounding Elliott’s arrival and Auggie’s subsequent explosion into three-year-old-ness (“Why? Why? Why?” asks Auggie constantly. Why, indeed, wonders Mommy.), it’s been a challenge just finishing a conversation with my husband, let alone typing up a public discourse.

Despite the fact that I have a really decent excuse (for once), that still doesn’t make me feel any better about the fact that Coco has been gone for nearly a month and I haven’t said anything here yet. She deserves better.

So yeah, the weekend after we brought Elliott home (outside of my womb, that is), Coco developed these terrible cataracts, rendering her virtually blind. The specialist vet that we had visited had warned that cataracts were a definite possibility, given that we did not have her diabetes under control, and that they could develop seemingly overnight. They did.

Tim and I talked it over. The vet and I talked it over. Tim and I talked it over again. Then I took Coco to the vet’s office after a breakfast of her favorite canned dog food and held her in my arms as he put her to sleep.

I don’t really want to go into all of the details about her quality of life and why we made the decision that we did, because I don’t want to remember her that way. She was my partner in crime, my only female companion in this house of boys. I miss her every single day. So even though there’s not a grave anywhere with her name on it, there’s this:




Coco “The Nutter” Clauss

1992-2004

So you’re thinking about turning three. An ode to my firstborn

You’ll excuse me while I freak out just a little that you are already three years old. I suppose that rushing sound in my ears is the relentless passage of time, right? That’s something you do a lot now, ending every statement with, ‘Right, Mommy?’ If I’m not listening closely, I have to make sure that I’m not agreeing that you get to drive the car or something.

While the last month has been mostly filled with craziness over the birth of your little brother, the past year has been, for the most part, all about you. For that matter, the past three years (plus the 10 months of your gestation) have been all about you. For better or worse, you are our defacto parenting starter kit. We try out stuff on you, see if it sticks, and file it away for future use on Elliott.

Here are some of my favorite parts of the past year of your life:

I can’t put my finger on exactly when it clicked, but you fell for choo-choos last year. Hard. Specifically, your passion rests on Thomas The Tank Engine. Your father and I joke that your collection of Thomas trains is our 401(k), and that is not so much a joke anymore. Thomas ain’t cheap.

Over the past couple of months, you finally started singing. I know that I’ve sung to you since day one (sorry about that), your dad used to sing Guided By Voices to get you to sleep as an infant (“Motor Away” being one of your favorites), but you never really picked up the singing thing. Recently, we’ve been singing “Twinkle,Twinkle, Little Star,” “The Alphabet Song,” and you often sing along with tunes on the stereo or TV (when you think we’re not looking).

One of the sweetest things you do as a big brother is play “This Little Piggy” with Elliott’s toes. What’s especially cute is your substitutions of “Choo-Choo Store” for “market” and “chicken nuggets” for “roast beef.” You melted Daddy’s heart today when he heard this for the first time.

When I was pregnant, your favorite thing was to “put bellies together.” This involved us both pulling up our shirts, lining up our bellybuttons and pressing them together. You picked this up after one of my overly-complicated explanations of what bellybuttons are and how that was how you used to be connected to me when you were inside me. When we put our bellies together, we would talk about how maybe Baby Elliott had his belly lined up with ours too.

Towards the end of my pregnancy, you found a childbirth book with some delivery photos in it. Instead of being scared or grossed-out, you were fascinated and so excited to talk about where the babies come out. There was pointing. It was funny, and you were way more excited about the baby coming out in that particular fashion than me.

All of your grandmas and grandpas love you so much. And now, you talk about how much you love them, too. You know who “Grandma Libby” is, and you get so excited when I tell you that she’s coming to visit. You ask about “Grandpa Alan and Mrs. Margie” and ask, “What’s Grandma Martha and Grandpa Jim doing?” You even spent five whole days with Grandma Martha and Grandpa Jim while Daddy and I lived it up at the Derby this year.

When I was pregnant and crazy sometimes and would cry, you would climb up on my lap, wipe away my tears and ask, “What’s wrong, Mommy?”

You learned to say a prayer this year, and now you and I pray together each night before bed. You can say the prayer all by yourself.

Pretty much everyone you meet loves you. You are shy, but polite. You shake older people’s hands with complete solemnity. When people ask you your name, they never understand what you say. Ditto on the name of your brother. Your playgroup friends always seem to excited to play with you, but you spend most of the playtime off by yourself. You don’t make trouble and rarely fight over a toy. You are pretty good at taking turns, even.

There’s been bad stuff too, but this is your birthday. Let’s only think about the good stuff today.

Happy Birthday, Auggie.

Elliott’s birth story, part 2

OK, OK! Even my doula is giving me a hard time about finishing this birth story, so I had better get going.

9:30 a.m.: We arrive at the hospital and unload enough of our booty to get us started. We make our way up to the Labor and Delivery Triage area with me trying not to leave a trail of amniotic fluid through the hospital. The nurses in Triage are incredibly nice. They all read my birth plan carefully and joke around with us as we get our files and information in order.

I change into the standard-issue hospital maternity gown and try to relax as I have my vital signs checked and get hooked up to a monitor to see how the baby is doing. A nice student nurse comes in to ask 150 intensely personal questions for my chart, including my current weight. In front of my husband. I tell him to cover his ears.

10 a.m.: Jane the Incredible Doula arrives! We are having a great time in the tiny Triage room now, laughing and making jokes about labor and stuff. This is too much fun. I’m still not having any contractions.

11 a.m.: I’m admitted to the hospital and we are sent over to my official labor and delivery room. On the way to the room, we pass by the family waiting room. There’s a huge aquarium outside of the waiting room and the nurse points out an especially large fish swimming around. We all comment that, yes, indeedy, that is one big fish.

Once we get to the room, we are very impressed. It’s huge! This is a good thing, because once Tim starts assembling the labor tub, it becomes obvious that we are going to need all the room we can get.

Since Tim is occupied with getting the tub going, and I am itching to get this show on the road, Jane and I decide to take a walk around the labor floor. As we pass the aquarium, someone else comments on the size of The Fish. We concur. No contractions.

12 p.m.: My mom arrives. My doctor hasn’t yet made an appearance. When the nurse checked my dilation in Triage, she said I was at 2-3 cm. Since this is pretty much where I was at my last doctor’s appointment, I’m unimpressed. I’ve still got major work to do.

We walk. My mom is so excited. I’m just beginning to feel a little performance anxiety. It seems like everyone is waiting for me to do something. I’m waiting for me to do something. Except I have no idea what to do to get this labor going.

As we pass the waiting room, my mom says, ‘Wow, have you seen the size of the fish in this aquarium?’ I respond, ‘If I hear about The Fish one more time, I swear I’m gonna scream!’

Poor Mom. They always get the brunt of it, don’t they?

When we get back to the room, I ask my mom to turn on the TV so that everyone stops watching me. It seems like every time I close my eyes, someone asks me, ‘Are you having a contraction?’

1 p.m.: My doctor is here! She declines to check me out since I’ve only had a contraction or two since arriving. She brings up our options for getting the labor going, since everyone starts getting nervous if your membranes have been ruptured for too long. After 24 hours, the doctors start to worry about infection.

One of the options she mentions is Cytotec. This is a tiny little pill that they insert close to the cervix to help stimulate labor. The only thing I’ve read about Cytotec is the increased risk of uterine rupture for moms with previous C-sections. Of course, I’m not one of those moms, but still, “uterine rupture” is not a phrase you want kicking around in your head when contemplating labor options.

I ask for more time. And, hey, maybe my chiropractor will come and do some acupuncture! My doctor responds, ‘That would be great! If he will come up here, I will give his card to every mom in my practice.’ I call the chiropractor.

2:30 p.m.: After much switching around of his schedule, Dr. Geoffrey Norton, chiropractor extraordinaire, comes to my room at the hospital and inserts six tiny needles in my inner shins, my outer knees and the junctions between my thumbs and forefingers. Unlike most acupuncture, which is generally used to sedate certain areas of the body and doesn’t hurt at all, Dr. Norton is trying to stimulate these areas in order to stimulate labor. And it hurts! The pain is more annoying and aching-feeling than shockingly painful, but I am relieved when the treatment is over.

The couple of mild contractions I was having before Dr. Norton arrived stopped during the treatment. It’s back to walking again.

5 p.m.: As 5 p.m. approaches, I’m feeling really guilty. I feel like I’ve been wasting everyone’s time. I wish that we hadn’t come to the hospital so early, especially when I look longingly over at that beautiful labor tub. Dr. Norton calls and offers to come back for another treatment. I immediately accept.

5:30 p.m. Dr. Norton is back and, once again, the few mild contractions that I’d been having stop during the treatment. My doctor comes in and chats with him about how long the treatments usually take to work. He responds that it can take anywhere from 4 hours to a day.

After he leaves, she suggests the Cytotec. I reluctantly agree.

After she inserts the Cytotec, the nurse arrives to put in my heparin lock. This is an IV needle that is inserted into your hand, without the IV, in case you need an IV later on. The nurse puts the needle in a weird spot on my left wrist. I completely lose it while she’s finishing it up.

All of the emotions of the day just coming pouring out and Tim is doing his best to console me. That poor nurse! She probably thought that she was really hurting me! My biggest fear is that this birth is going to end up like Auggie’s. Now, that birth wasn’t the worst ever, but it was not fun. Being induced with Pitocin when you’re trying to have an unmedicated birth just sucks. Jane and Tim reassure me that everything is going to be fine. I try to believe them, but I’m worried that once you start with the interventions, things just start to topple like dominoes.

For the first time, the phrase “Cesarean section” enters my mind. I shake it out, not letting myself even consider the possibility.

6 p.m.: I get up to go to the bathroom and, when I stand up, see the Cytotec tablet in the toilet. Uh-oh. We tell the doctor, but she seems unconvinced.

At any rate, I’m finally having contractions! Yippee!

7 p.m.: Hello! I remember these! Even though the contractions are pretty irregular — coming every 5-10 minutes — I need help staying on top of them. Tim and Jane are the greatest, reminding me to keep my eyes open and make “horse lips” (blowing out of your mouth with your lips together, making them flap) to keep me loose.

“Last Comic Standing” is on TV.

9 p.m.: OK, now we’re getting somewhere! The nurse checks me, says I’m at 5 cm, completely effaced. Sweet! Now I can get in the labor tub!

The water feels so amazing, and once my contractions start rolling along, it really helps with the pain. Looking back, I feel like getting the labor tub was one of the best decisions I ever made in my life.

I have no idea what time it is. All I know is that I’m starting to feel a little out of control, like transition. I mention to Tim and Jane that I haven’t gone to the bathroom in a while and I don’t want to try to push this baby around a full bladder. We head to the bathroom.

I have two contractions on the toilet and it becomes obvious that the baby is coming soon. I have to decide whether or not I want to have the baby in the bathroom, where the contractions on the toilet are actually manageable, or if I want to head back to the tub to deliver. My brain can’t decide. Finally, I get up and walk back to the tub.

Right before I get in, another contraction hits. Hard. Tim holds me from behind as I squat and start to scream, ‘It’s burning! The baby is coming! Now!’

I feel really stupid for saying this now, but then, it really felt like that baby was coming out right then.

Once we get through this mega-contraction, I get back in the pool. Tim gets in with me and we get ready to start pushing.

The doctor comes in, there are two nurses and I’m not feeling the overwhelming urge to push like I had with Auggie. I can feel the contraction starting, but I have to start pushing on my own before the urge to bear down and PUSH comes on. After two contractions, I ask the doctor exasperatedly, ‘Can you even see his head yet?!’

Calmly, she asks me if I pushed Auggie out with two pushes. I sheepishly answer, ‘No.’

She says, ‘Well?’

I shut up and start pushing again. In between contractions, Elliott is kicking me. It feels so weird and I ask him several times to please stop.

The water is going everywhere in the room. The tub’s directions say to fill it up until the water is six inches from the top, but with both Tim and I in there, and the doctor reaching in too, the pool is overflowing. Jane starts bailing the water out into a nearby trash can. I am mostly oblivious to this, thank goodness.

After about 20 minutes of pushing, Elliott is ready to be born. In between contractions, I reach down and feel the top of his head crowning. It feels all wrinkly because the bones of his skull are squished over each other to squeeze out of my body. Wow. The nurse tells me to enjoy these last moments of being pregnant.

I push and push and push with all of my might and Elliott’s head is out! I push and push and push some more and — oof! — finally those shoulders come out and the rest of him pops out too. He comes up out of the water like a cork and the doctor is handing him to me. She suctions out his nose and mouth and he is wailing! I pull him to me and take a deep breath of his scent. He has a little vernix (that white, cheesy stuff) on his back and under his arms. He is beautiful.

A slight revision

I thought I’d mention that the site has been given some coding revisions, so hopefully things should work a little better as we go along.  If you’ve had any interuptions this evening, they should be over.

Elliott’s birth story, part one

OK, I should totally be working on thank-you cards right now, but Tim has been pestering me to write up this birth story thing before I forget, so I guess I’ll get started.

Monday, July 5

No, Elliott did not come today, but we were the proud parents of bouncing baby sewage backing up into our basement! It stormed like crazy this morning, so when I started nesting in the shower and cleaning the grout with a washcloth, the shower water started coming back up the laundry room drain. Tim ran into the bathroom, saying, ‘You have to get out of the shower. Now.’ I looked at him guiltily and said, ‘I’m just cleaning the grout!’

Long story short: Tim got the water to go back down the drain by plunging it like a man possessed. The dehumidifier (so glad Tim talked me out of leaving this baby behind in Louisville!) took care of the rest. Since the water that backed up was only my clean shower water (well, it had a little soap scum, I guess), no harm done. Actually, the floor even got mopped, so — bonus! We called the Sewer Company and they made their way out, scratched their bums a bit and told us the problem was in our line from the house to the drain, i.e., not their problem. This meant — yippee! — we got to call a drain cleaning company on — double yippee! — one of the four union holidays of the year. Can you say “double time”? But the dude was really nice and worked for almost two hours and only charged us for one.

Sure, we could have waited until Tuesday to call the drain cleaners, but you just know that I would have gone into labor that night. And not being able to flush the toilet or take a shower just is not an option with a pregnant woman in the house.

That night, Tim finishes putting together the last of the IKEA purchases from back in April, two beautiful CD cabinets, complete with lights! Our dozens of Pavement records never looked so good!

Tuesday, July 6

After a restful night of sleep, Elliott gives us our first indication that he is the Best Baby Ever by breaking my water at 7 a.m., just as Tim is starting to get ready for work. As I got up from bed to make my morning bathroom run (only 2 hours after my dawn bathroom run), I feel a little “pop” to the left of my belly button. I hurry to the toilet and, well, let’s not get too graphic just yet.

I walk downstairs to where Tim is writing an email, give him a big hug and say, ‘We’re going to have a baby today.’

The first thing I do is call my mom. Mom wants me to go to the hospital right now. I say, ‘Whoa, Nelly! Just get yourself in the car and start making your way up here.’ Turns out she’s got some errands to run and won’t be leaving Cape until after 9. I hope that she makes it in time for the birth. Silly me.

Next, I call my doula, Jane. She advises me to call the doctor and then call her back.

I call the doctor’s answering service and wait for a call back. She calls, says that we probably don’t want to wait too long to get to the hospital, since Auggie’s labor went so quickly. Ergo, when my labor gets rolling, it probably won’t be long before we have a baby.

I call Jane back and tell her that we’ll probably head toward the hospital around 9. She suggests eating some protein for breakfast. Tim starts cooking eggs.

It’s 8 a.m. and Auggie awakes. I tell him that Baby Elliott is coming today and he says, ‘Yay!’

Auggie’s babysitter calls to tell me that we can bring him by anytime. I tell her that we’re having a baby today and she is very excited for us. Since she’s the best in the world, she is more than happy to keep him a little longer than usual, until Grandma Libby can pick him up that afternoon. (Coming on the day that Auggie was already going to the babysitter was sign #2 that Elliott is the Best Baby Ever.)

We get Auggie fed, I eat half my eggs and then Tim starts packing the car. You wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff that we’ve assembled for this birth. A quick rundown:

my labor bag

my hospital bag

2 water noodles (one taped in half, one taped in thirds)

mp3 player with speakers

2 pillows

books

water bottles

my purse

We drop Auggie off at the babysitter’s (who lives just up the street) and he tells us to “go get Baby Elliott.” I tear up at how brave my little guy is. He’s so awesome.

It’s 9 a.m. and we’re finally off to the hospital! I call my dad and leave a message. I call my friend Jennie and she is so excited for us that I can’t help but smile. Did I mention that I’m starting to feel a little anxious at this point? I’m waiting for the contractions to start, but I’m also dreading the contractions. Auggie’s birth was no fun, and I remember all too well just how they feel.