Resurrected.

Four months is long enough to convince everyone, including myself, that this blog is dead.  However, as I was driving today I was thinking of how many stories I want to capture for myself, lest I forget them.  So, this is a feeble attempt to capture a fraction of the many things I have thought and experienced in the last 4 months with the beautiful people that call me Mom.

Where better to start than my baby.  My sweet, sweet baby.  Oh, just to think of her makes my body fill with wonder (and I suppose milk, too.)  What a true joy this baby girl has been.  I have tried to articulate the reasons I have enjoyed this baby so.  I've tried to rationalize it by the fact that the things that seemed inconvenient in baby world in the past are just a way of life already, leaving only the joyous things to occupy me.  That may be true.  It may be that she is hands down the easiest, best baby ever.  That may be true, too. Maybe something in me suspects she is the last time I will get to savor tiny baby snuggles or a babe comforted by my breast.  All I know is, this baby's smile can move the mountains in me two continents over.  She started sleeping 6-8 hours at night at about 2.5 months old.  I thought I was living on a cloud.  It took Josiah 6 months to do the same thing.  I would have been perfectly content to continue life as such, but within weeks she was sleeping 10-11 hours at night.  all. by. herself.  All the mothers in the house, can I get a Hallelujah?!  She found her thumb about the same time, and I had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have a thumb sucker.  I wasn't super opposed since it was so comforting to her.  Three weeks ago, however, she suddenly stopped.  I have never heard of such a thing.  One day she sucked her thumb, and the next day she didn't.  At 6 months old.  She occasionally puts her thumb in her mouth, but now she only chews on it.  It has been a small transition of sorts as she has reprogrammed her ability to self-sooth.  Even though this baffles me, it isn't the first time we have encountered her opposition to anything but the "real" thing.  A few weeks after I returned to work one night a week, she elected to forego a bottle.  I thought perhaps she wasn't hungry that night, but she performed the same way in following weeks.  We realized she would rather skip her last meal than have a bottle.  I bought a couple different "so much like the real thing" bottles to convince her.  One is even flesh colored.  She didn't buy it.  Apparently, no silicone can hold a candle to what the Lord endowed me with, so now I nurse her immediately prior to leaving for work, and she waits to eat again until I get home.  This new routine seems to work well for all parties, especially since its only one night a week.  The real problem is when we would like to go out for a date or let her spend the night with the grandparents.  It's not possible if she will miss more than just her last meal of the day.  While it has seemed mildly inconvenient, I haven't thought much of it.  This season is fleeting and very soon she won't need my breast for every meal.  

I suppose I should stick with ascending order.  Next up, my belle Evangeline.  I could write 5 pages and not run out of words for her.  She has simultaneously been a joy and given me a run for my money,which scares me more regarding my future than my present.  I am convinced teenagers are grown toddlers--indignant, demanding, and irrational in the same ways--always so upset you won't let them do it themselves, put themselves in harm's way, or always have what they want when they want it.  They just have bigger (and uglier) vocabularies to assault you with.  I remember being so perplexed on why people said two was terrible.  Josiah's hardest age was the end of 3. Now. I. Know.  We spent the summer in the trenches of two.  Many days the tantrums started before my feet even got the chance to hit the ground.  If left to their own devices, they would last indefinitely.  Ignoring them did not resolve them, and the idealists behind that technique obviously never met the likes of my daughter.  We spent the summer establishing our authority--over, and over--and over again.  It's phenomenal how hard it is at two years old to realize that going to battle against your authority never produces a victory.  It's also amazing how quickly you forget the correlation of bad choices and consequences when you are only two.  It must be hard. Anyway, we started to get glimmers of the beautiful girl masked inside the "two" monster, and now, she joins us almost all the time.  She EVEN remembers to start with "May I please..." rather than a whine--sometimes.  haha.  Let me tell you, the real person in there is a gem.  A gem worth more than this world itself.  Her smile truly lights the room.   She talks in funny voices and makes funny faces to solicit a giggle.  Beyond that, she is actually just plain funny.  As she closed the door the other day she said, "See ya later...suckers!"  I about died.  She enjoys being the life of the party and the center of attention.  Her personality is infectious and she brings joy to everyone she meets.  My absolute favorite thing she does is ask the name of everyone she encounters.  When we go to the store, she will say to the people in the aisles, "Hey, what's your name?"  They are almost always startled by the little girl talking to them.  They answer, and she immediately says, "Hey ____!," repeating the name back to them. Part of the reason I think two has been so hard is because she is remarkably brilliant and articulate.  She is well beyond her peers in many ways, and we joke that she is trying to keep pace with Josiah.  We have had to do some extra work with letter sounds and writing with him, and she tries hard to keep up.  She knows all of her letters AND letter sounds now.  At two.  As she has blossomed into her own, it has been incredibly fun to do "girl" life with her.  She has declared her favorite colors to be pink and purple and her favorite things to be anything with sparkles.  You might be a mom (to a girl) if...your lint trap is always full of glitter.  It isn't uncommon for her to add a tu-tu to her outfit.  She also loves to accessorize.  She loves all things girly but is rough and tough with her brother-- a nice balance if you ask me.  She loves to play Doc McStuffins.  She surprised me recently when she casually said, "Mom, can you hand me my otoscope?"  Her verbal skills can probably be attributed to the fact that she talks to herself late into the night.  When I say late into the night, I mean it.  She chatters with herself in the dark, replaying phrases she heard during the day or carrying on conversations with herself.  Last night she set a record of 5 hours.  Yes, that's correct.  Five hours in the dark talking to herself.  I have no idea how it is even possible.  Disclaimer, it's usually only 1-2 hours.  (only). I tried dropping her nap, as I thought perhaps it was affecting her ability to fall asleep at night.  It only minimally impacted her nighttime chats, but it did affect her demeanor in the afternoon, leaving me to believe it wasn't worth the cost.  She is usually pretty pleasant during her chats, intermittently yelling out "I love you, Mom!  Good niiigghhht!" in the sweetest voice possible.  She has also taken to asking, "Will you pray for me?" right before bed, which is perhaps one of the greatest rewards to know being covered in prayer comforts her little heart--and that she knows it matters.  

Josiah's world has drastically changed in the last few months, as he started kindergarten on the 30th of July.  It was our 8th anniversary.  If you had asked me what things we might encounter as schedule conflicts on our wedding anniversary, school would not have been something I imagined.  I still think they should be ashamed of themselves for not waiting two more days.  Anyway, we packed our kid off for school, and unlike many of my peers--I didn't cry.  That being said, in the days leading up to school my heart was heavy as I processed what having a kindergartner meant.  I finally realized my heart was heavy because going to school was a huge milestone for more reasons than one.  This was the marker in time in which my child would spend more of his life outside of my home than in it, which is scary and overwhelming and quite possibly the beginning of the end.  I second guessed the intentionality I had in our time together before this shift in quantity, regretted that I didn't recognize the limitations before it was too late, and overall questioned whether the culture of our family was strong enough to shape the experiences we had apart.  Amazingly, so far it has been.  In fact, the Lord has done some amazing things through our sweet child in his time at school.  The most striking story caught us by surprise.

Two weeks into school, Josiah woke up in the morning clearly troubled by his dream.  He recounted to me "the most horriblest dream he had ever had," in which the soldiers that came to hang Jesus on the cross came to hang his teacher on the cross instead.  I tried to help him process it over breakfast, and we rested in the truth that this was not reality.  I delicately tried to steer him away from mentioning the dream at school, but I knew if I instructed him about it directly that it would actually make him more aware of what he shouldn't say, and therefore more apt to say.  When he returned home from school he announced non-chalantly, "Mom, I told my teacher about my dream."  He seemed quite matter-of-fact about it, and as he talked about it he didn't seem as burdened as before.  I, however, about died.  I giggled to myself and thought, "Well, that's one way for his teacher to find out we follow Jesus."  While I wished to be a fly on the wall for that dialogue, I didn't think anything more of it...until the following week at Curriculum Night his teacher pulled me aside and said, "I need to talk to you about your very special son."  The way she said "special" with just enough emphasis led me to believe we were about to talk about his dream.  We were, but the words that followed were far from what I expected.  She began to tell me point blank how my child is anointed and a prophet.  Her version of the story held more detail than that of the five year olds, and it was really compelling.  She said the children were sitting at circle time when she noticed Josiah quietly crying in his spot.  (This surprised me, because he isn't a cryer.)  She sent him to the assistant teacher to figure out what was wrong.  When he recounted his dream to her, she called the teacher over to hear him recount it herself.  She said she was so floored in that moment that she had to excuse herself.  She went into the bathroom, got on her knees, and praised God.  Apparently, that dream was exactly what she needed to hear, and the soldiers paralleled situations in her life trying to hang her up.  The Lord used it to remind her to refocus her eyes on Him and what He is trying to accomplish through her.  At this point in her account, Jonathan and I are teary-eyed and a little overwhelmed by the presence of God on our child.  It all came together for us--he was so burdened by the dream because he was carrying a message that needed to be delivered.  We walked away feeling so blessed--blessed that our child was able to do God's work without knowing it, blessed that our child is in the covering of Christian teachers in a public school, and blessed that we are able to be his parents.  We also felt completely and utterly inadequate to parent him in his gifting.  The following Sunday in church I was petitioning the Lord regarding my lack of wisdom and what He wanted for our son.  I also was telling him that prophesy isn't a gift most parents hope for in their child, as prophets aren't usually well-received.  Truly, right after I made this plea, our pastor started his sermon by reading a passage from Jeremiah where Jeremiah asserts to the Lord regarding the gift of prophesy, "I don't know how to speak, for I am just a boy," to which the Lord replies, "Do not tell me you are just a boy.  I am putting my words in your mouth." (paraphrase).  I about fell to the ground.  The other thing the Lord impressed on me was, "Teach him to hear My voice."  So, tasked with what I felt like the Lord wanted from me as his mother at this time, we are starting to have dialogues about what that means.

He turned 6 at the beginning of the month, leaving my head spinning on how I have been a mother for so long.  We took him on a surprise trip to Disneyland, which was an amazing time for everyone.  While that is a story in and of itself, it's time for me to just get this post out of the draft folder.  So there!

Some of the things you were hoping to know.

7 weeks later, I am finally disciplined to sit down and try to say some of the things I have felt since our littlest love arrived.  There is one thing I have wanted to make sure I wrote down, a stone in the Jordan to remind me of the goodness of God:

I am fully convinced that heaven is filled with the scent of a newborn's head and the feel of it cuddled against your chest.

If it's not, I have done my share of petitioning the Lord on behalf of its goodness.  I find myself inhaling deeply into the crown of my sweet girl's head, taking hits off of the intoxication it provides.  There is no way to describe the natural scent of a newborn, except to say it is distinct and makes me think of perfection.  Every time.  Sometimes it catches me by surprise, striking my senses as I am hurried to accomplish something.  It stops me in my tracks, and as I shake my head in wonder I tell my baby for the thousandth time how good she smells.

this photo, along with several others in this post were taken by our newborn photographer.  The watermark is to (hopefully) protect both her and us from being used without permission on the web.  If you would like a specific print, please contact me.

Though it has taken me 7 weeks to sit down and choose to write, I must admit the time has not been as chaotic or sleep deprived as one would anticipate.  There is an unavoidable, underlying anxiety that a firstborn produces, and without it I have been able to truly enjoy every day as the mother of a newborn.  I remember how fleeting the days were before, and I have tried to savor every quiet moment I can to just marvel at the tiny person in my lap.  My sweet girl has slept well from the beginning, usually waking every 3-4 hours at night.  That may not sound good on some other terms, but Josiah was up every two hours on the dot for at least the first month.  There is a significant difference in how much rest one can get in a four hour interval versus a two hour one.  Adele has been such a good baby that she has made this season as effortless as possible.  She is always content to be worn snuggled into my chest as I embark on adventures with her big siblings.  She only cries when she is hungry or with an occasional gas pain.  If all babies were this good, I'm sure I would want a handful more.  I keep reminding myself that they aren't all this good and every good baby still turns into a toddler and then a child that requires parenting much more complex than the tiny little thing they start as.  All of that being said, I have approached this pregnancy, birth, and newborn season as if it is my last, and if that is so then I am definitely going out on a winning streak.

The big kids have done wonderfully with the new addition.  Evangeline took about 2.5 weeks to adjust.  She always loved both the baby and me, and I don't think she was able to identify the baby as the source of her uncontrollable tantrums and sudden neediness.  However, after persistent care that proved her security within the family and her importance as a big(ger) instead of the little, she settled in happily with this new arrangement.  Josiah had a similar adjustment when Evangeline came home, but this time he was just excited to show off his new baby sister to any and everyone.  I attribute it to age and the fact that his position wasn't shifting from littlest (or only) as it did before.  Both kids ask to hold the baby every day.  They would probably unintentionally smother her if left to their own devices.  When they kiss her head, you can see the temptation written all over their faces to break all the rules and just kiss her all over the face.  I try to remind myself not to regulate them too much in their hopes to hold, touch, and kiss her.  She won't be so delicate for long, and I still want them to be generous in their affections for her when she is able to tolerate their unknowing strength.  I have a ton of pictures of them doting over her, because as their mother it just doesn't seem to get old.  Here are a few:

Evangeline insists on holding the baby's hand every time we get in the car.  No one ever suggested it to her; she just wants to.  It is precious, and I'm curious to see if the baby complies as she grows.  Josiah had us dying when he declared to Jonathan, "We should have a ton of babies!"  When Jonathan asked him what prompted such a sentiment he said, "because babies are just so nice!  Adele doesn't even hit me!"

Remember the nest I made for my newly hatched baby?  

Here is the end product:

My other art project in the end of my pregnancy was a belly cast.  My mom helped me create it at 36 weeks.

This is what it looked like on the inside once it dried.  I spent a couple of afternoons sanding and smoothing the edges to make it look like this:

It only made sense to take a picture of Adele in her previous residence.

Almost as cozy as the first time around.

I was thrilled with the newborn photographer we chose and the way she helped us capture the sweet and short season of a teeny tiny Adele.  In addition to the photos already shown, these were some of my favorites:

Already my teeny tiny is growing up.  Adele was 6lb 8oz at her one week check up.  She was back up to 7lb 2 oz by her two week checkup, and at 6 weeks she weighed in at 9lb 10oz!  I was shocked that she had gained 2.5lbs in a month.  She had also gained 2.25inches!  She is starting to get too long for some of her newborn clothes.  It goes too fast!  Here is a week by week of her:

One Week Old

Two Weeks Old

Three Weeks Old

Four Weeks Old

Five Weeks Old

Six Weeks Old

Seven Weeks Old (tomorrow)

I still can't believe I've been blessed three times over.

Adele's Birth Story

I am overjoyed to announce that the Lord's lovingkindness has exceeded our understanding once again.  On Thursday, April 11, 2013 at 12:22pm, we welcomed our sweet daughter Adele June into the world.  This is the story of how it happened.

I had an ideal birth dreamed up for this baby, but there were several factors that I wasn't sure would come together.  Luckily, I identified that and was really just looking forward to finding out how the story would unfold.  Those several factors mostly included the people I wanted to be present for the birth of this baby.  Josiah wanted to be present for the birth and we had agreed, under expected conditions, to allow him to be a part of it.  It also meant we needed another adult present with him in the delivery room in case he got overwhelmed or changed his mind--enter my mother.  Another important person--my own husband.  Jonathan had arrangements to travel to Los Angeles for 5 days in my 38th week of pregnancy.  We made the decision together that he should continue with his plan, and I had an extreme peace that everything was going to work out.  That being said, I was really hoping the baby would arrive before his trip or after it.  Finally, I wanted my best friend who has captured so many of our memories through her camera lens to be able to capture the birth story that way, too.  Through our journeys as mothers, neither of us had ever had the opportunity to be present for the other's births, and we were hoping that somehow between the fact that she lives two hours away, has two kids herself, and has quite a busy work travel schedule, she would still somehow manage to make it.  Our best chance for it to fall into place was for me to deliver the baby during my 37th week, when she would be visiting Atlanta for the week and would be more readily available.  While Josiah came during the 37th week, I didn't hold any expectations for this baby.  I knew it was very possible she might hang in there for weeks more than he did.  As if that weren't enough people to have present on my ideal list, add to it my two favorite midwife friends who I was hoping could be present to catch my sweet girl.  Now, the list is complete.  That's a lot of people to pull together, and once everyone's schedules flushed out there were literally only a couple of days in which it might happen, one of which was Thursday, April 11, 2013.

I set my mind to go into labor on the night of Wednesday, April 10th.  It seemed a little silly that someone could will a day for their own child to be born.  I see women all the time that wouldn't still be pregnant, given the choice themselves.  I went before the Lord in prayer about the request, readily acknowledging that I was not going to hasten the days that He had chosen for my daughter.  It seemed a lot to ask, but I decided I would do what I could and trust that the Lord's plan would prevail in the end.

I finished a mandatory work class Wednesday afternoon, and on the car ride home I told the baby she was free to come.  All of my obligations were completed, my to-do list was done, and it was go time.  I went to my regular check up that afternoon and asked my midwife to check my cervix.  I was 3-4 centimeters dilated and 60% effaced.  That exam was completely unimpressive based on my last pregnancy, yet I still told my sweet friend (and midwife) I hoped to see her again in the next 24 hours.  

We went to bed around 11pm on Wednesday, and I wasn't feeling even a drop unusual.  I was hoping for a nice night time surprise, but I began to question how crazy I was for believing I could actually go into labor on the one day I desired.  At 1am I woke up with a contraction.  I felt the gradual surge of pain and then the release.  It felt good to feel the pain.  I decided to keep sleeping as long as I could.  I woke up every 15-30 minutes and smiled as my stomach tightened with pain and then released.  

At 2:25am my contractions began coming every 5-7 minutes.  I stayed in the bed, feeling the pain and knowing that it wasn't a big deal if I could still lay in bed through them.  I was happy they were increasing in frequency, but I wasn't convinced it meant labor, as they were still only as painful as strong menstrual cramps.  One hour later, at 3:25am, I decided I would get up and walk around our room for 10 minutes to see if I could get them to come stronger or more frequent.  I was hesitant to waste my energy for too long, but I walked circles and questioned just how crazy I was for being up in the middle of the night.  At 4am I decided to go downstairs and retrieve my exercise ball.  I sat on it at the end of the bed, timing my contractions.  The time passed quickly as I rocked and swirled my hips to the beat of my thoughts.  At 4:30am, the contractions were every 3-5 minutes, but I decided the intensity wasn't strong enough to merit being alert the whole time.  I moved my exercise ball next to our bedroom desk and propped my head up on pillows.  I opened my eyes every time a contraction came, surprised every time to see that only 3-4 minutes had passed.  If it weren't for the clock I would have thought they were still 5-8 minutes apart.  The pain was slightly stronger, but I was still able to breathe calmly through them with my head resting on the pillows.  

At 5am I decided I should try to get back in bed for as long as possible.  I knew that if I could manage to stay in the bed then I wasn't having strong enough contractions.  At 5:30am, I decided to check my own cervix.  I was 4cm and 80% effaced, with my bag of water bulging during the contractions.  I thought it was probably a change from my midwife's exam, but it was also insignificant enough for me to believe the contractions were going to produce a baby that day.  I got back in bed until 6am, when I decided to go downstairs for a Gatorade.  I was feeling slightly nauseous, and it seemed like the only thing I could stomach.  As I was returning to the stairs, a contraction surged strong enough to make me bend over the railing.  That is what I had been waiting on.  At 6:15am, I finally felt as if I wouldn't jinx my plan by admitting to Jonathan that I thought I was in labor.  He laughed and told me to wake him up when I needed help.  At 6:30, I checked my cervix again to see if the stronger contractions had produced any change.  They hadn't, but I continued to contract with enough intensity that I decided to call my mom at 6:40 and warn her she might need to change her plans for the day.  I could still talk through the contractions and warned her we might just be hanging out.  In fact, I was quite enjoying working through the contractions myself in the quiet and the dark.

At 7am I texted my midwife I was contracting but not fully convinced it was labor.  She encouraged me to do something to distract myself.  I had the house clean and my bag packed, so at 7:45am I found myself making cookie brownie bars and needing to dance through my contractions for the first time.  I felt 80% positive things were progressing and I warned my best friend that we wouldn't be able to make our 9:30 zoo date.  I also asked just how much warning she would need if I decided to finally admit I was in labor.  She knew me well enough to make childcare arrangements and start to initiate them without my final word.  

The kids woke up around 8am and I fed them breakfast.  My parents arrived around 8:30, and I began making final preparations for a trip to the hospital.  I checked my cervix again and I was 5-6cm dilated and 100% effaced.  I knew that change was enough to conclude this was, in fact, resulting in a baby that day.  I woke Jonathan up and encouraged him to shower and do anything he needed to do before heading to the hospital.  I was still feeling as if my contractions weren't strong enough to imminently produce a baby, but I knew I was supposed to get antibiotics for 4 hours prior to the birth and thought perhaps that timeline was becoming realistic.  By 9:15am, my contractions were strong enough for me to push Jonathan to finish up and pack the car.  In the car I interviewed Josiah on the video camera and sound perky as if we are headed to the hospital for someone else's birth.  We arrived at the hospital around 9:45am, and as I bent with the strength of the contractions I concluded I was finally beginning active labor.  I called my best friend to tell her to come on to the hospital, but knowing me well enough, she was only a mile away.  We checked in at 10am, and I laughed as they sent us down to the smallest (and only open) labor room.  My midwife, Julie, checked me and said I was 6 centimeters and 100% effaced.  I chatted with my support team, including my best friend who had arrived shortly after us.  

You can tell how serious the guys were about what was transpiring

They started my IV at 10:30am, and I asked for an exercise ball to sit on when they could bring one.  I was still very happy and chatty in between contractions.  I commented on how different it was than my first fast and furious labor.  It had hit me like a freight train from the start and I was in a fog of painful delirium even in between the contractions.  It required too much energy for me to engage with anyone, and I wasn't fully aware of what was going on around me.  This labor was much different.  I could still smile and converse in between, even if at only partial capacity.  I switched from sitting on the exercise ball to draping my upper body over it while on my knees and then back again.  My mom rubbed my shoulders and handed me cool washcloths for my face.  For the majority of the contractions I moaned rhythmically and breathed into those cool, soothing washcloths.

Josiah took an intermission from the iPad to rub my back and tell me I was doing a good job.  He also asked for something to drink.

Around 11:30am I told everyone I felt as if I was beginning to fade into the foggy brain that accompanies labor transition.  They laughed and agreed.  My second midwife, Margaret, came in at 11:40am to check on me and I was able to chat with her.  She delivered Josiah, so I was quite happy to see that she had come in for the occasion and that she and Julie were going to tag team my delivery support.  It was my dream team, and everyone was present.   I hunkered down into serious work mode, but I was still in relatively good spirits in between contractions.  That is, until Jonathan started moaning through a contraction with me, and I about hit the ceiling.  I was very vocal on how I was not assisted by his sympathy moan.  Everyone laughed at the reaming, but they all knew that it was almost "go" time.  Just before noon, I was hit with a couple of paralyzing contractions that demanded all of me.  My midwives came to check on me right at noon and I told them I was ready to get into the waterbirth tub.  I was getting mowed over during the contractions and it was time for something different.  Julie suggested that I let her check me, so I climbed onto the bed.  I just begged to not still be 6 centimeters.  She checked me and said I was 9.5 centimeters and she didn't think we would have time to fill the tub, but we could try if I wanted.  The alternative was if I allowed them to break my water then the baby would come within 5 minutes.  I wasn't capable of deciding what route to take.  Another contraction hit and laying in the bed was so painful that all I could do was let big crocodile tears run down my cheeks.  I reassured her that I was still able to do this and not typically a crier, but it just hurt so bad I wasn't capable of responding any other way.  

After that contraction passed they got me up and into the shower, insisting I would be much better off.  They were right.  My good spirits returned.  I was once again on the exercise ball, but Margaret was running the warm shower over my back.  The water was incredibly therapeutic.  

Don't get me wrong...it was still hard work.

Josiah came and took pictures of me, which was a nice comic relief.  

Josiah's picture, taken at 12:07pm.  Looking good for about to push a baby out!

After a few contractions, Margaret had me turn around onto a towel pad and drape myself over the ball so she could break my water.  The intensity was unreal.  She broke my water and encouraged me to push.  One contraction passed and I didn't have the urge to push at all.  Not only did I not have the urge, I didn't want to, either.  I could sense just how bad it was going to hurt.  The next contraction came and I was compelled to push.  It the most intense pain I've ever felt in my life.  As her head dropped through me with the shock and weight of a wrecking ball, I screamed a guttural scream that I was sure everyone in the building could hear.  I was convinced I must have terrified Josiah, who was sitting only 2 feet behind me, but apparently he was so enthralled that it didn't phase him even one bit.  There was good reason for the intensity of pain--and my scream.  In one push I had pushed her down and her whole head out.  I heard Jonathan behind me saying, "Look, Buddy, that's your baby sister!  It's your baby sister's face!  Do you see?"  Margaret told me to push once more and then lean back.  In one smooth movement, she helped me reach down and grab my daughter as she slid between my legs and into the world.  I sat in shock as I watched Margaret rub this slimy little baby that had just come out of me.  I couldn't believe it was over so quickly.  

12:22pm

After about 30 seconds they helped me stand up, and I carried my baby back out of the bathroom and onto the bed so they could deliver my placenta. I think everyone, including myself, was shocked that I just hopped up and carried my own baby across the room.  It was certainly an adrenaline rush.  

Happy once again!

Josiah got to cut the umbilical cord with Jonathan's help

Josiah got the reward of being the first to hold her besides me.  It was a sweet moment to watch my oldest so enthralled with his newest sister.

Margaret, the amazing woman who caught both of my birthed beauties 

Noni is only a little happy with this new creature

Big brother continues his inspection

My best friend (and the artist behind all of these photos), Callie 

I am amazed at how different my two birth stories are.  People have asked if it was easier this time.  My response is really that it was just much different.  Josiah's labor was quicker and much more intense.  The pushing wasn't as intense, but I had 30 minutes to let my body accommodate his passing instead one of big push. Adele's labor was gradual and not as intense, but the intensity of that very brief moment of pushing far surpassed anything I had felt before.  I'm so thankful for the smooth, healthy deliveries that I have had the privilege of experiencing.  I am also incredibly thankful for all of the people that have surrounded me at such pivotal moments in my life--the ones where "pain bows to joy and the world makes way for one more." (Peggy Vincent)