Being a mother is like being in a three-ring circus

May 3

A few months ago we were on a little vacation. It was actually a work trip for Nic, and we got to tag along. Every morning for breakfast, we (three little boys and I) had to cross a parking lot and go down a flight of stairs for the hotel breakfast buffet. Picture this: I had my six month old strapped to my chest in a baby carrier, my eighteen month old on my hip, and my three year old hanging onto my belt loop. We would make our way down the stairs, I would sit Sam down at a table, drag a high chair over, and then juggle glasses of juice to my offspring who would shortly spill said juice.

We had four mornings of this and I noticed that every morning we got the same two reactions: people were either astounded and amazed like we were a flying trapeze act or people openly laughed and were amused like we were clowns piling out of a miniature car. That's when I realized that being a mom is like being in a three ring circus.

I mean every mother knows how to juggle, figuratively and literally. And ask any mother who has ever stepped on a wooden block or toy car on the very top step while carrying a basket of laundry, every day is filled with death defying acts. Trying to sneak out of the room of a sleeping baby while not stepping on any of the creaky boards or noise-making toys that come out of nowhere is like tight rope walking, but with higher stakes. There are hoops to jump through, lions to tame, and crowds to entertain. Some days I feel like the elephant balancing on a tiny ball, working for peanuts. But, hey, I sure do like those peanuts.

Being a mom is like being on a soap opera.

This is from Honest Mom (here's the link to this post: honestmom.com). She has a ton of great stuff on her blog to make you smile or sigh with relief that someone else thinks as you do. And I know that people say that girls are a lot of drama, but I feel like there have been many Oscar worthy performances in my home as well. =)

May 2

HOW BEING A MOM IS LIKE BEING ON A SOAP OPERA

We moms may wear yoga pants all day, every day. Drive minivans whose interiors are coated in Cheerios and raisins. And be lucky if we got to drag a comb through our hair in the morning, let alone shower.

The glamorous aspects of our lives are easy to miss, I admit.

But trust me. Being a mom is actually full of drama, mystery, and intrigue.

In fact, being a mom is strangely just like being in a soap opera.

Think about it:

Someone is always losing her memory at a very convenient time. “Did you use markers on this stuffed doggie to make it a ‘rainbow doggie’?”  ”I don’t remember.”

Someone’s always coming back from the dead. Snow White’s head pops off and mommy fixes it. Baby Doll suffers a lethal gash to the abdomen and mommy sews it. A paper doll Fancy Nancy disappears and is presumed dead, but mommy finds it. They all come back. Resurrections galore.

Every day is filled with intrigue. What is that mystery smell in the basement? Who decided to color the rug with crayons? Where, for the love of God, is my kid’s beloved kitty cat that she lost for the third time today?

If there’s a secret to keep, it’s not going to be kept for long by the townsfolk. “Daddy, we made you a present for Father’s Day! But mommy told me not to tell you it’s a mug, so I can’t tell you what it is.”

Anytime two people are about to have sex, the scene gets interrupted. In soaps the interruption is in the form of a commercial, because daytime TV can only show so much. In parenting, the interruption is in the form of your kids. Or the dog. Or the iPhone pinging that you have a text. Not that I would ever look at a text during sex. That would be SO WRONG.

Characters tend to talk to themselves or think out loud. I walk around narrating my day, to the
dismayfascination of my captive audience. I do it because it helps me remember what I am walking into a room to get, and not because millions of people want to know if I will, indeed, find the glue gun. But you know. Same difference.

An illicit sibling is eventually discovered. Oh, wait. Is that just me?

Someone gets possessed. Like Marlena in Days of Our Lives, I too, can become possessed. Not by a demon, per say. Unless you consider Pinterest a demon. Which I kind of do, considering its slightly scary grip on me. Piiiiiin meeeeee. Piiiiiin meeeeeeee. Did you just hear that?

There is a crime on a daily basis and everyone denies being the perpetrator. Ah, intrigue again! The crime: spilled maple syrup on the table, chair, and floor. The suspects: my two daughters, who vehemently deny any wrongdoing. Will the threat of no cookies after dinner make one of them snap and confess?

There’s a love triangle. In my house, we have a love triangle, that’s for sure. Me and my two daughters, who fight over whose turn it is for mommy to read, shower them, help them get ready for bed … you name it, I’m in the middle. Surrounded by
crazy love.

People disappear from their beds in the middle of the night. And then reappear next to your bed. Looking for a glass of water at 2am.

See? Our days are positively filled with drama and mystery!

A borrowed post on parenting

This is a post from: The Actual Pastor (http://www.stevewiens.com/2013/03/12/to-parents-of-small-children-let-me-be-the-one-who-says-it-out-loud/)
I just loved this, especially--You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out a way for your children to eat as healthy as your friend’s children do. She’s obviously using a bizarre and probably illegal form of hypnotism. 
Ha ha! That made me laugh because it is too true for me! And I enjoyed the message of this post--it's okay to admit that being a parent is tough because it is. I can't find the exact quote right now, but it goes something like this: I'm not a failure as a mother, I'm just having a bad moment. We all have bad moments and we all have good moments. Having bad moments doesn't make us a failure, it just makes us human. And children can be very humbling. Any time that I feel like I might be getting the hang of this mother thing, the boys like to throw out something new.

For example, the other day we were at the planetarium and Sam was having a complete melt-down because he wanted to go to this other place. I knew that he would love the planetarium if he would just give it a chance, but he was beyond reasoning. So there I was just inside the doors of the planetarium with Mark and Cole in the double stroller and Sam screaming and crying that he didn't want to be there. I knelt down next to Sam and very calmly told him that he had two choices--we could turn around right then, get back in the car, and go home OR we could give the planetarium a try. Then I quickly pointed out  a couple of cool things. I told him to take a deep breath, count to four, and decide. What I really wanted to do was pull my hair out, spank the kid, and retreat. But it actually worked. He calmed down, chose the planetarium and ended up having a great time. As we were waiting for a little video to start, this man came up to me and told me that he and his friend had been in the lobby during our little melt-down. He said that he worked as a flight attendant and has seen a lot in his profession. He then complimented me on how I handled the situation, saying that I handled it "just right" and that he could tell that I am a good mom. I had two thoughts, I wanted to cry and hug that man because I never feel like that and two, I want to recognize the good and compliment the parents that I see as I'm out and about. I was on cloud nine! He made my day.

Fast forward two days later. I'm at a store. Sam is having another melt-down because he really wants me to buy him this expensive toy. I explain to him that it costs money and that we don't have the money to buy the toy at that time. I try to give him choices. I try the count to four idea. I try reasoning, positive consequences (aka bribing), negative consequences (aka threats)...nothing works. I end up just ignoring him as he screams, face turning purple, for the entire 15-20 minutes it takes me to hurry and finish my shopping. I'm glad my flight attendant friend wasn't there that day.

Ups and downs. It's life. It's motherhood.

Anyway, on to the post:

To parents of small children: Let me be the one who says it out loud

March 12, 2013 — 1,008 Comments

I am in a season of my life right now where I feel bone tired almost all of the time. Ragged, how-am-I-going-to-make-it-to-the-end-of-the-day, eyes burning exhausted.

I have three boys ages 5 and under. I’m not complaining about that. Well, maybe I am a little bit. But I know that there are people who would give anything for a house full of laughter & chaos. I was that person for years and years; the pain of infertility is stabbing and throbbing and constant. I remember allowing hope to rise and then seeing it crash all around me, month after month, for seven years. I am working on another post about infertility that will come at a later date.

But right now, in my actual life, I have three boys ages five and under. There are many moments where they are utterly delightful, like last week when Isaac told my sister-in-law that “My daddy has hair all over.” Or when Elijah put a green washcloth over his chin and cheeks, and proudly declared,“Daddy! I have a beard just like you!” Or when Ben sneaks downstairs in the morning before the other boys do, smiles at me, and says, “Daddy and Ben time.”

But there are also many moments when I have no idea how I’m going to make it until their bedtime. The constant demands, the needs, and the fighting are fingernails across the chalkboard every single day.  

One of my children is for sure going to be the next Steve Jobs. I now have immense empathy for his parents. He has a precise vision of what he wants — exactly that way and no other way. Sometimes it’s the way his plate needs to be centered exactly to his chair, or how his socks go on, or exactly how the picture of the pink dolphin needs to look – with brave eyes, not sad eyes, daddy! He is a laser beam, and he is not satisfied until it’s exactly right.

I have to confess that sometimes the sound of his screaming drives me to hide in the pantry. And I will neither confirm nor deny that while in there, I compulsively eat chips and/or dark chocolate. 

There are people who say this to me:

“You should enjoy every moment now! They grow up so fast!”

I usually smile and give some sort of guffaw, but inside, I secretly want to hold them under water. Just for a minute or so. Just until they panic a little.

If you have friends with small children — especially if your children are now teenagers or if they’re grown – please vow to me right now that you will never say this to them. Not because it’s not true, but because it really, really doesn’t help.

We know it’s true that they grow up too fast. But feeling like I have to enjoy every moment doesn’t feel like a gift, it feels like one more thing that is impossible to do, and right now, that list is way too long. Not every moment is enjoyable as a parent; it wasn’t for you, and it isn’t for me. You just have obviously forgotten. I can forgive you for that. But if you tell me to enjoy every moment one more time, I will need to break up with you.

If you are a parent of small children, you know that there are moments of spectacular delight, and you can’t believe you get to be around these little people. But let me be the one who says the following things out loud:

You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out a way for your children to eat as healthy as your friend’s children do. She’s obviously using a bizarre and probably illegal form of hypnotism.

You are not a terrible parent if you yell at your kids sometimes. You have little dictators living in your house. If someone else talked to you like that, they’d be put in prison.

You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out how to calmly give them appropriate consequences in real time for every single act of terrorism that they so creatively devise.

You are not a terrible parent if you’d rather be at work.

You are not a terrible parent if you just can’t wait for them to go to bed.

You are not a terrible parent if the sound of their voices sometimes makes you want to drink and never stop.

You’re not a terrible parent.

You’re an actual parent with limits. You cannot do it all. We all need to admit that one of the casualties specific to our information saturated culture is that we have sky-scraper standards for parenting, where we feel like we’re failing horribly if we feed our children chicken nuggets and we let them watch TV in the morning.

One of the reasons we are so exhausted is that we are oversaturated with information about the kind of parents we should be.

So maybe it’s time to stop reading the blogs that tell you how to raise the next President who knows how to read when she’s three and who cooks, not only eats, her vegetables. Maybe it’s time to embrace being the kind of parent who says sorry when you yell. Who models what it’s like to take time for yourself. Who asks God to help you to be a better version of the person that you actually are, not for more strength to be an ideal parent.

So the next time you see your friends with small children with that foggy and desperate look in their eyes, order them a pizza and send it to their house that night. Volunteer to take their kids for a few hours so they can be alone in their own house and have sex when they’re not so tired, for heaven’s sake. Put your hand on their shoulder, look them in the eyes, and tell them that they’re doing a good job. Just don’t freak out if they start weeping uncontrollably. Most of the time, we feel like we’re botching the whole deal and our kids will turn into horrible criminals who hate us and will never want to be around us when they’re older.

You’re bone tired. I’m not sure when it’s going to get better. Today might be a good day or it might be the day that you lost it in a way that surprised even yourself.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You’re not alone. 

Mommy Similes

In honor of Mother's Day this month, I've decided to share some thoughts and insights into just what it means to be a mother. I'm going to try to post one mommy simile each day until the 14th.  'Try' is the key word because, well, I am a mom and never know what each day may bring. So here it goes:

May 1
Being a mom is like working for disaster clean-up. You know those people that come in after a disaster with their gloves and masks and clean things up and fix things to make an area livable again; those people that deal with some terrible and gross stuff; those people that you're thankful for but also question how they do it...that's a mom, except for without the gloves and mask. A mom faces every disaster from permanent marker on the walls, sofa, and hardwood floor to the three P's (poop, pee, and puke) without flinching (or with a little flinching but not when anyone is looking). I have walked into a room after my sons, my sweet Tasmanian Devils, have been in there for only 15 minutes, and it looks like a hurricane or tornado ripped through their room. I don't know how they do it, but I do know that my job is disaster clean-up. It's a never ending job, but I do have some help occasionally. My dog knows that when I say, "Clean-up on aisle two," the boys are done eating, and it's time for him to clean up the floor around the table. The slobber just adds a shiny luster, right?

Whenever a mother hears the sound of retching, automatically her hand shoots forward, ready to catch whatever is about to come forth. I don't know what causes a mother to do this...maybe a brain defect...because the normal reaction is to clear out (my husband holds the record for potential vomit situation exit strategies). Whenever one of my children gets sick, and it's never in a bucket or proper location, I often think of the Japanese workers at the nuclear plant in Japan after the big earthquake there a couple of years ago. Everyone was afraid that the plant was going to blow, but a few people had to stay behind to manage things. I admire their bravery and self-sacrifice. I wonder if they had much of a choice. When it comes to toxic fumes, bodily discharges of any kind, anything disgusting...a mother often stands alone. She is the epitome of bravery and self-sacrifice, because sometimes you really don't want to deal with a mess, but someone has to do it, and that someone is usually you, the mom.

And the next time that you visit me, and my house is far from spotless...in fact, it may look like a disaster just struck...please understand that being a mom is like working for disaster clean-up and being a mom of three young sons means a natural disaster every five minutes. The minute I get the twelve matchbox cars that have been jammed into my vacuum out (true story, my son loves jamming things into any holes or openings that he comes across), I will begin my disaster clean-up straight away!

Two quotes that I love:

"Cleaning up with children around is like shoveling during a blizzard."

Jerry Seinfeld - "A two-year old is kind of like having a blender, but you don't have a top for it."

Lost in Translation

Sometimes as a parent, I feel like I'm doing a pretty good job. And then there's the other 99% of the time. For example, a little before Christmas I came across this great idea for teaching children about charity and giving. This mom helps her children choose five toys that they no longer play with. They put these toys in a bag and leave it out on Christmas Eve for Santa to take to children who don't have any toys. Santa then leaves new toys. I thought Sam was old enough to understand the concept of giving, so one day I sat down with him and explained to him that there are poor boys and girls out there who don't have any toys at all to play with. "Wouldn't that be sad to not have any toys at all?" I asked. Sam agreed. I then explained that we have lots and lots of toys, some that we don't even play with anymore. I suggested that we choose a few toys that we don't play with anymore and leave them for Santa to take to those poor children who don't have anything. I also told him that I was sure Santa was going to be bringing him some new toys. Sam suddenly started to cry. At first, I thought he was crying out of compassion for the poor children who have nothing. My heart was saying, "Awwwww..." until Sam wailed out, "Don't give my toys away! Don't let the poor boys and girls get my toys!" It took me an hour to calm him down. That night he actually woke up in the middle of the night screaming, "Not the poor boys and girls!" Apparently my message was lost in translation.

The other day I had a hankering for brownies, and so I made some. When Nic got home from some church meetings, he asked for a brownie. I told him to help himself and to cover them up for me when he was done. As he was covering the brownies with some aluminum foil, Sam came into the kitchen and cried out, "No! Don't give them to the neighbors!" Nic about fell over laughing. Yet another lesson lost in translation.

An excerpt from The Red Tape Letters

The Red Tape Letters

By Jolene Jenkins

“Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart, and the senses.”

--Lao Tzu

“Better to have lost and loved than never to have loved at all.”

--Ernest Hemingway

“The heart wants what it wants. There’s no logic to these things. You meet someone and you fall in love and that’s that.”

--Woody Allen

“All is fair in love and war.”

--Proverb

“Love is a battlefield.”

--Pat Benetar

To

C.S. Lewis

Preface

I HAVE no intention of explaining how these letters came into my possession.

There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall concerning love. One is apathy or a lack of desire, passion, or emotion about love. To go about in life with an indifference toward love endangers a person to not fully experience life and all that it has to offer. The other error is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy obsession with love or an object or subject of love. They themselves are equally pleased by both errors and hail puppy love or true love with the same delight. The sort of script used in this book can be very easily obtained by anyone who has once learned the knack; but disposed and excitable people or people who are prone to use excessive amounts of glitter, exclamation points, or clichés who might make a bad use of it shall not learn it from me.

Readers are advised to remember that a cupid is often blinded by love. Not everything that Amore, affectionately known as Uncle Ray, should be assumed to be true or right in every circumstance or for every individual. I have made no attempt to identify any of the human beings mentioned in these letters; but I think it very unlikely that the portraits, say of the patient’s mother, are entirely accurate.

In conclusion, I ought to add that no effort has been made to clear up the chronology of the letters. Not because of laziness on my part, but in order to preserve the authenticity of the letters. When dealing with love, time can be lengthy or short, depending on the phase of love, and terrestrial time seems to have no bearing on a cupid. What was going on in the world, except in so far as it happens now and then to impinge upon the relationship status of one human being, was obviously of no interest to Uncle Ray.

Jolene Jenkins

February 14, 2013

I

MY DEAR AMORINI,

            I note what you say about guiding our patient’s Internet browsing and taking care that he doesn’t see a good deal of his happy bachelor friend. But are you not being a trifle naïve? It sounds as if you supposed that argument was the way to convince him to fall in love. That might have been so if he had lived a few centuries earlier. At that time the human still knew pretty well what love was and what it was not; and love was thought of in a favorable manner. They still connected love with unselfishness, commitment, matrimony, and children. They connected love with doing, with action, and were prepared to alter their way of life in order to commit to their love. But what with the media, The Bachelor reality show, Taylor Swift break-up songs, and other such weapons, society has largely altered that. Your man has been accustomed, ever since he was a boy, to have a dozen incompatible philosophies concerning love dancing about together inside his head. He doesn’t think of love and commitment primarily as “good” or “bad”, but as “idealized” or “sappy”, “outworn” or “too contemporary”, “conventional” or “ruthless”. Jargon, not argument, is your best ally in helping him consider love. Don’t waste time trying to make him think love will bring him happiness! Make him think love is fun, or profitable, or popular—that it is the philosophy of the future. That’s the sort of thing he cares about.

A Baby Story Episode 3

This baby story officially begins on October 12, 2012, but there were many things that happened before that day. As I mentioned in another post, I was not feeling well the last part of my pregnancy. For about the last month or so, I was miserable. I was humongous! I couldn't eat very much, I couldn't stand up for more than ten minutes without getting dizzy, I could hardly move, and I was just plain uncomfortable. I was measuring four centimeters bigger than either of my other pregnancies. Normally, my tummy measured the same as the week of my pregnancy, so at week 35 I would measure 35 cm. But with this pregnancy at week 37, I was measuring 43 cm. I was all tummy. Nic liked to joke that I was losing my super spy sneaking abilities because my stomach would arrive 15 minutes before the rest of me. At my 37 week appointment, my doctor was a little concerned and so he scheduled me for an ultrasound on the next Monday. This was on a Wednesday and my doctor really didn't think I was going to make it until Monday. I was getting more and more dilated and effaced and I was having contractions all day and night, and he kept saying, "If you're still pregnant..." 

Well, much to my dismay, I made it until Monday.

Monday morning I went in and did the ultrasound. I wasn't too excited about it because supposedly I was supposed to drink 30 ounces of water for the ultrasound. My bladder was not at its best, and I could hardly drink a half glass of water without needing to go to the bathroom, so I was a little skeptical about 30 ounces. Let's just say I did my best (around 10 ounces)! The ultrasound was really neat because we've never done an ultrasound when I was so far along. You could actually tell that it was a baby! We got to see little Pumpkin's face and everything. Nic had been teasing me that the original ultrasound was wrong and that I was going to be surprised with a girl, but I was able to reaffirm that I was indeed having a boy. And we reaffirmed that the baby was Nic's kid because we have a picture of the baby flipping us off. It was a fun little pre-meeting with our little boy. From the ultrasound, we learned that the baby's head and chest were measuring big and the baby was estimated to be around 8 lbs 10 oz. We also learned that I had a lot of amniotic fluid. All the joking that I did that Mark had installed an Olympic-sized pool when he was in my tummy, came back to get me. My doctor called me shortly after the ultrasound. He was concerned with the baby's size. I wasn't quite 38 weeks along, and the doctor was worried that Pumpkin could get up to 9 lbs by the time I gave birth. Dr. Smith also worried about the large amount of fluid that I had. Apparently my body was acting like I was diabetic, but all blood tests came back normal. Dr. Smith said that because of all the fluid, if my water broke, it would be like a dam breaking, and could cause some problems like flushing out the umbilical cord or rupturing my placenta. Because of the big baby factor, my history of having some difficulties with the other two babies, and all the fluid, my doctor told me to consider a c-section.

I then proceeded to freak out over the next few hours. I was so miserable and so done being pregnant, but I was also terrified about having the baby. I wanted to do what was best for the baby. We don't know if it was birth trauma that caused Mark's brain bleed (we'll probably never know what caused it), but that was something weighing heavily in the back of our minds. After much trepidation, we decided to do it. We were scheduled for that Friday.  Again, the doctor didn't think I would make it. At my check-up on Wednesday I was dilated to a high three and 70% effaced. But again, we were dealing with one of my boys, and they are as stubborn as their daddy!

Thursday night I had contractions all night but no baby. There were a couple of times that I really thought it was time to head to the hospital, but then every thing would calm down. Early Friday morning we headed to the hospital to finally meet our little Pumpkin. Here I am in all my huge glory:

I have to say, I was really, really nervous! The nurse that first started prepping me for surgery was at the end of her shift, and not the kindest nurse out there, but oh well. We were about to have a baby! I was so done with being pregnant and uncomfortable and so excited to meet my little guy that it didn't matter. The worst part of everything was the IV. The nurse tried three times to do the IV but couldn't do it. According to her, my veins were really small and difficult. She called in another nurse to try who also failed. By that point, just seeing them come at me with that needle would make me cry. I don't like needles anyway and really didn't like being a pin cushion. Eventually, they called in the head nurse who got it on the first try. She couldn't see what all the bother was about. I think from here on out, I will request experts right from the get go.
The nurse who ended up being my delivery nurse was super nice. She took good care of us and was really sweet. The anesthesiologist came in and explained things to us. At first, I was intimidated by him because initially he was all business. We told him how I had passed out previously from my epidural and so he was really intent on that not happening again. I was shaking so bad when I got the epidural. It's actually not that bad (not as bad as the IV, that's for sure!), but I always get so scared. But it's always surprising how fast it takes affect.

My doctor came and spoke with us, Nic got suited up, and then it was time. I was laughing because the nurse asked Nic if he had eaten anything yet. He told her he was fine, and she proceeded to tell him that he was going to eat some crackers or something because she wasn't going to deal with a fainting daddy.
Here's my doctor who delivered all three of my babies:

And here's my sexy husband, suited up and ready.

The procedure actually went really quickly, something like twenty minutes or so. My doctor had another doctor assisting him, and that doctor said something like, "Wow! She has a lot of fluid!" And the nurse said, she has never had to get a second bag for the fluid before me. I was like a queen-size water bed! The nice thing was that I lost thirty pounds in twenty minutes. =)
At one point, I almost passed out. For some reason, when I'm pregnant, I am really sensitive to laying on my back. Pregnant women aren't supposed to anyway because it cuts off circulation and what not, but even a minute or two on my back, and I will get sick and black out. I think when the doctor was trying to draw the line for cutting, he needed me to be flat on my back, and suddenly the room was spinning. The anesthesiologist was right in my face almost the whole time encouraging me and keeping me focused. The c-section is the weirdest thing. They put up a curtain so that you can't see what's going on (I don't know whether or not it would freak me out to see my insides), but Nic was able to watch the whole procedure. He said it was interesting but hard at the same time to think that the person that they were cutting open was his wife. I could feel things but it didn't hurt. It just felt like pressure here and there, and I could feel things being moved around. Oh, they just moved my liver...It was such a weird feeling!
Apparently, the doctor still had to use the vacuum a little. My babies just like to nestle high up right in my rib cage. But Pumpkin finally made his big debut. I was so excited to meet him finally. He was perfect and handsome right from the start. The hardest thing was that I wasn't able to hold him right away, but Nic brought him over and introduced us.

We got to hang out in the recovery room for a little while which was a nice little time to get acquainted with our new little guy. I feel bad because my mom had been at the hospital the whole time and was waiting anxiously in my hospital room. It seemed to be taking a long time and she hadn't heard anything and was getting really worried. But she was very relieved and happy to finally meet her new little grandson.

Nic's parents arrived just as Nic and baby Pumpkin were heading to the room so they got to meet him in the hallway and help escort him to his room. Pretty soon Grandpa Dee, Nanny, and the brothers arrived to meet the newest addition to the family. Sam was really excited about this new baby, which surprised me because he wasn't too excited when Mark came along. Mark was too sure about the baby at all. Whenever he got close to the baby, he tried to give him a good brotherly bonk!

Mark with his new little brother--notice Nanny is holding Mark's hand to keep him from hitting the baby!

Sam with his newest little brother. He wanted to hold the baby and has been fascinated with him from the start.

To make the meeting a little better, the baby brought gifts for his brothers. Sam and Mark both got big brother back-packs filled with toys, books, and treats. They also all got matching brother shirts that mommy made for them. This seemed to help them like the little guy a little more.
Sam's shirt said: Biggest Brother--So good...they gave me another!
Mark's shirt said: Big Brother--Recently Promoted
And the baby's shirt said: Little Brother--Newest Addition

I love these pictures of Nic and the boys. They really capture life at our house these days! In one picture Mark is picking on Sam, in another he's eating a pen. And then you have Sam being a character, and Sam playing on the I-phone!

Mark especially liked the giant drawers in my hospital room.

After a three day stay at the hospital, it was time to go home. Before we went home, our last nurse had to remove my staples on my incision. I was a little nervous. All of our nurses the entire time were super nice and good at what they did. They all took good care of us. We even had the nurse who was my delivery nurse with Mark one day. However, my last nurse was very nice and excited about everything, but she seemed a little dotty. So when she came into the room with a pair of pliers, I was a little nervous (scared for my life). But it went alright, and I didn't die, so kudos to her! =)

As usual, the only thing that delayed us from going home was deciding on a name for our new little guy. We started the three name tradition with Sam, decided to keep it going with Mark, and so had to come up with three names for this new baby boy. Once again, we plastered the white board in the room with name ideas. Nic and the baby had a couple of interviews to try and decide on what his name should be. After a few hours of deliberation, Nicholas Cole Christopher was ready to go home. Nic was excited to share a first name with our little pumpkin. Christopher is the name of one of Nic's really good friends, and Cole was just a good western name that we liked. In fact, Cole wasn't even on any of our early lists of name ideas, but this baby just seemed to be a Cole, and that's what he goes by now.

Here's Cole's first kitchen sink bath at home. He was a little nervous at first, but discovered that a nice warm bath was quite nice. Maybe he will end up being my little swimmer, since he spent the first nine months of his life swimming around in my tummy swimming pool. And I know that they say that babies don't smile at first, that it's just gas, but I don't believe it. This little guy has been smiling since he was just a few days old. Sometimes it's just great big goofy smiles, and sometimes little smirks.

My sweet little miracle--Nicholas Cole Christopher. Welcome to the world, sweet baby!