First Class

Considering that we pretty much had no idea what we were doing, our first flights with kiddos went extremely well. With the holidays and snow and extra travelers and sickness (and morning sickness), there were a lot of factors working against us, but I have to say, Harrison and Raegan turned out to be top notch fliers!

Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures to highlight this story. I'm kind of a Type A Nutter when it comes to following the rules, even when I'm not sure something is a rule. And seeing as I didn't want some TSA official or flight attendant tackling me and taking my camera away, I kept it safely tucked away in my very large and very full shoulder bag (part of our success, I believe, was coming armed and ready for just about anything from snacks to toys to books to wipes to you name it, we were probably carrying it. I consider it my holiday gift to my chiropractor as I'm probably going to need an extra adjustment in my neck the next time I see him!). So please don't laugh at me for not knowing/thinking cameras are taboo in airports or planes; it is entirely possible that I was also a wee bit too busy keeping track of one husband, two kids, two carry ons, one very large and very full shoulder bag, one diaper bag, and one Angry Birds backpack to snap any photos!

Plus, I have to say, I wanted to do nothing to anger the TSA Fates because we had such amazing luck getting through security at both Omaha and O'Hare. Seriously. Both times it was quick and painless and without question. And that's even with me forgetting to take out our little plastic baggies of toiletries in Omaha and with my name being wrong on my tickets. Yes, that's right. When Ben ordered our tickets (back in July when we were very, very, very sleep deprived), he put my ticket in my maiden name. What the what?! So when he called United Airlines earlier this month to ask about it, he was told we needed to bring our marriage license and an old ID of mine that showed my maiden name because there was no way to change the name on the ticket. Well, done and done with the marriage license business, but an old ID? I certainly don't have a driver's license with Jennifer Moore on it sitting around anymore, so I just tossed up a hope and a prayer that they wouldn't actually ask for that. It didn't occur to me until we were in Chicago that I could have brought my old passport, but seeing as it was never an issue, it was never an issue!

Our first flight, last Saturday, went really well. So well, in fact, that we were in Chicago 15 minutes ahead of schedule which turned out to be the only real downfall of that leg of the trip; Harrison was not real cool with being back on the ground but still stuck in his seat (I know most adults can relate) for that extra 15 minutes it took for our gate to open. But, he persevered and we eventually got off the plane. Our return flight on Wednesday was a little less smooth. First, when we got to our gate shortly before boarding for our flight that had been on time when we arrived at the airport, there was no plane. Not really a good sign for leaving on time, you know? So we sat and we waited and watched the departure time slowly creep back on the screen, three minutes at a time. Finally a teeny tiny little plane (OK, not like a five-seater or anything, but still, it only had 13 rows which is not my favorite size of plane!), pulled up, unloaded, and was then ready for us. We got on probably half an hour after our original departure time, which was OK, but then we had to sit and wait for the de-icer to come and then the push crew to come and so on and so on, and so it was probably well over 45 minutes on the plane before we got in the air (which was NOT a smooth ride going up, either!). Did I mention that all of this was taking place after 5 p.m. and that my children are usually fed and in bed by 7?!

Even with the little snafu on Wednesday, Harrison and Raegan were airport rockstars. You would think they did this all the time, Harrison especially. He was jazzed to arrive, ride the shuttle, and go through security. He helped put his items in a little basket for the x-ray machine and walked through the metal detector all by himself, no problem. Walking through the tunnel to board the plane, getting situated in his seat, and drinking orange juice in the air were also all highlights for HD. And you wouldn't believe how happy he was that we got dropped off at the wrong terminal in Chicago which meant escalators ("eskalvators", in his words) and a tram ride to get to the correct one! And our teeny tiny plane? Well that was pretty sweet in his world, too, because it meant we got to go down the "restricted" stairs, walk outside, and then climb up in the aircraft. Top all that off with plenty of Campfire time during the flights, and the kid was in seventh heaven!

Thankfully, neither HD nor RL had tummy or ear issues on either flight. Raegan got a little squirmy at times seeing as she didn't have an actual seat to call her own, but she did an amazing job for a wiggly little one-year-old on her first plane ride. A bottle during take-offs helped with her ears, I think, and other than that it was snacks and books and whatever else we could think of to entertain her to pass the time. She did a fair amount of smiling and people watching, too, which probably helped all of us.

While we may have had a few people cringe when they saw us get on their flight or sit down behind them, we really did pretty well and I don't think we ruined anyone else's flight with crying or whining or what-have-yous. Our stay with family in Chicago went really well, too, so altogether, even though it has kicked us in the behind on our return, it was very worth all the hubbub to see how much our babies love to travel and explore.

Flat on the Couch

While I still need to write about our holiday travel adventures, it has been our homecoming the last two days that is on my mind currently. In short, our trip was pretty darn successful, but the reality since returning to Hastings late Wednesday night is that it also took a lot out of all of us.

Although I was only sick on Christmas morning while we were gone, the last 36 hours have been interesting. I went 25+ hours without being able to keep down any food or drink, but again, it was just morning sickness, not the flu. I was on the couch essentially all of yesterday, last night, and then to start this morning. Then, miraculously, some cereal and some Gatoraid stayed in my system. I felt much less like a zombie as the day continued, but still wasn't good for anything besides being on the couch (the 10 minutes it took to make myself some Ramen this afternoon about did me in). While I'm doing a little better tonight, my head is still pounding and I'm definitely doing bedtime early tonight.

Thank Goodness Ben is home on Christmas Break right now because I would have been lost without him the last couple days. He's had to do everything for the kids and around the house because I've been so out of it. And speaking of the kids, they too are pretty well worn after our excursion. Raegan went in to the doctor this afternoon because of a nasty, persistent cough and while we're happy to learn she doesn't have strep, RSV, or the flu, she is still on an antibiotic for five days and nebulizer treatments until her cough improves.

And Harrison? Well, I thought he was doing perfectly fine, but then this happened:

I was resting while Ben started lunch early with RL; HD was just sort of circling around the house, saying his tummy didn't feel good. Ben told him he could sit with them at the table or go join Mama on the couch. So just like that, he came over, crawled up next to me, put his head on the pillow, and fell asleep. At 11:35 a.m.! The child who has never volunteered for a nap in his life, came and snuggled up with me on the couch and then stayed that way for 1 hour and 40 minutes! Part way in, we shifted and spent the rest of the time like this:

I didn't get much actual sleeping in, but did doze a little. For the most part I laid there thinking about my babies and my belly and my sweet, sweet boy, sleeping in my arms. I've never napped with my kids and today made me realize I've missed out a little because it is so peaceful (not to mention, warm).

But, wonderful as the nap was, I should have known something was amiss. Not long after HD got up, he got sick. And then got sick again an hour or so later. He wouldn't drink or eat anything, either. No fever, though, so we don't really know what's going on. The other crazy part? He's already in bed for the night - well before 7 p.m. which never happens if he happens to catch a nap during the day. So I'm hoping the sleep does his body some serious good (and the same for the rest of us, too), because clearly we all need a little recovery right now!

When it Thunder Snows...

As an English teacher, I'm supposed to avoid cliches, but remember the old gem, When it rains, it pours? Well, yesterday we had our first snow of the winter and based on everything going on lately, it felt appropriate that it gave us not only a foot of the white stuff, but that it also came with thunder and lightning and big ol' Nebraska wind. I'm not sure how to end When it Thunder Snows, it... but I'm thinking "dumps" might be the best because that is exactly where my body put me in my own little storm yesterday - the dumps.

After a few weeks of just feeling queasy and tired exhausted, Saturday found me totally wiped out by morning sickness (that came back in the afternoon) and a head cold that was quickly turning into more serious sinus crud. I got through the day, though, and felt better-ish for the next couple days. And by better-ish I mean, not sick to my stomach, just moving slow and going through full boxes of Puffs for my stuffy, aching head.

It's a good thing I was functioning those days because I only had about 1,000 items to check off my To Do list to wrap up the semester and get ready for our upcoming holiday trip to visit family. With the help of my parents and Ben, I was able to get my papers graded, final grades entered, laundry done, bags packed, Christmas letters mailed, Harrison's preschool program attended, and Early Christmas with my folks celebrated. Ben's parents also came for the preK program (and to collect our luggage since we're flying and they're driving), and after everyone left, I did my best to just sit.

Flash forward to 3 a.m. Wednesday morning when I woke up and instantly knew I was going to be sick. And sick I was, every half hour for the next four hours. I knew it wasn't the flu because I had no other flu symptoms; it was "just" morning sickness deciding to royally kick my ass for the day. Although I haven't had as many days with this pregnancy of actually being sick, the days I have been have been brutal. And yesterday was the worst. 

Because of end-of-the-semester work, Ben had to go to school, so I contacted one of our wonderful old neighbors (who really is still a neighbor since we didn't exactly go far when we moved), and she agreed to take Harrison for the morning so I could rest while Raegan napped. Good and good. Except then, at 10:30, it was not good. Not good at all.

I was still in bed downstairs then and RL was still napping up in her crib. I don't know if I rolled over or coughed or what but all of the sudden (Warning - TMI on bodily functions coming), I thought I had wet my pants. Not normal or good for a 30-yr-old, you know? So I got to the bathroom and discovered, much to my shock and horror, blood. And not just spotting. Full on blood. Seeing as I have never so much as spotted a drop with either other baby, I was terrified.

I called my doctor's office and got an appointment for as soon as I could. Then I frantically started calling Ben, trying to figure out what to do with the kids so I could get to the much needed appointment. He finally returned my call and we got all the details worked out so the kids would be covered and he could come with me to see the doctor.

Thanks to getting most of my scared-out-of-my-mind tears out during phone calls to our parents, I was able to talk to my doctor in a fairly calm manner (i.e. only mild voice wavering and nose sniffling). I was honest with her and told her I was very nervous. But then we did the ultrasound and, Thank God, everything was fine. Actually, everything was great (OK, I still felt like poo and was still bleeding, but the baby was amazing)! S/he is growing right on target and has a strong little heartbeat. Actually, we had a wee bit of trouble getting the heartbeat measured because Baby Welsch No. 3 was moving so much. Those of you who know my children are probably laughing right now (I am!) because that is clearly just how we grow them!

So even though we don't know what caused the bleeding, I am feeling much better about everything. The rest of yesterday was still pretty tough for me, though, and I wasn't good for anything other than being flat on a bed or a couch. Thankfully Ben could be here and did a wonderful job of doing everything for the kids. We also made the decision to cut off nursing with Raegan because being so sick yesterday meant I didn't have enough fluids for myself, much less for her. She took a bottle before bed and again this morning and seems to be doing fine with that. We made it 13 1/2 months, so I'm going to be proud of that and pray she makes the transition smoothly.

As for today, I'm now on an antibiotic to help the head junk which should help the stomach junk and hopefully the bleeding junk will just go away on its own. We still have our plans to travel for the holiday and while I'm nervous about getting through the actual travel portion this weekend, I'm hoping that once we get there, all will be well. I hope to take it as slow and steady as possible the next two days, even if I am feeling better because I need to recoup and recover.

It feels like there has been so much heaviness and sadness in the world in the last week, and my heart has been hurting for those who have lost loved ones or can't be with family this holiday season. After yesterday, my heart also feels great relief and thankfulness and gratitude that my little family is still growing and still going. May we and you and everyone else continue through these storms, clinging to what matters most - our love for each other.

Up All Night (or half of it, anyway)

It is 4:30 in the morning. I should be sleeping. I was sleeping. Quite soundly and quite peacefully. For four hours. Then, Ben decides to go and have an I-ate-a-McDonald's burger-at-9:45 p.m. induced nightmare at 2:45 this morning and cry out, loudly and more than once, in his sleep. Scared the bejesus out of me and woke me UP. And now, here I sit. Awake and churning.

Now I will admit, the McDonald's is sort of my fault. Not much sounds good to me in terms of food right now beyond potatoes, so I have been requesting spuds in various formats for the last week or so. Last night, I settled for a large fry picked up on his way home from watching a basketball game (did I mention our eating out budget always takes a hit in my first trimester? I get tired and lazy and hungry for fries. Fast food is way too convenient to cover all of these bases). But I am not the one who ate the nasty burger and caused all the commotion. Oh, no. And I am also not the one who mumbled "What's going on?" after getting elbowed out of a bad dream and then proceeded to roll over, go back to sleep, and start snoring. Oh, no. Not me. By the way - is that a guy thing? The whole head hits the pillow and out thing? How annoying.

Me? I tossed and turned for over an hour upstairs and then decided I needed a glass of chocolate milk, the only other thing that really sounds good to me these days. So I crept downstairs, got my milk, and decided to camp out on the couch in hopes that a change of scenery would help my shut my brain back off and get some more sleep. But instead I'm still just tossing and turning and being completely and irrationally mad at my poor husband who 1) didn't mean to do it and 2) has no idea I'm even down here. Plus I'm also thinking about Christmas travel, Christmas presents, craft projects, end of the semester grading, food, how much my stomach hurts, how tired I am, how whiny I sound, and how I wish, wish, wish I was sleeping right now.

See, the timing is SO unfair because this is a night when I should be sleeping well and all through the night because we are down one kid for the weekend. Mr. Harrison is off to Grandma and Grandpa's for a final farm visit before the holidays and that should mean lots of rest for Mama. Not that HD is ruining our sleep all the time; most nights he does just fine. But he is our one kid able to have free range in the dark and that means every morning starts by 5:45 (or sometimes earlier) thanks to a potty break, even though he comes in our room and then insists, loudly, when Ben gets up to help him, "I DON'T NEED TO POTTY." OK......Then why are you in here?! is what I say in my head each time this happens. Sure, Raegan occasionally makes noise in the night and wakes me, but she's contained to the crib and typically goes right back to sleep. But let me tell you, there's nothing like having the 3-yr-old barge into your room and then yell that he doesn't want to pee, all well before dawn, to really get the day going. I try, most days, to wake up and choose awesome. But seriously. Every girl's got her limit and my awesome would very much like to start at 6:30, thank you. And while I know that it is ultimately a good thing that HD doesn't want to wet his diaper that we still put on him for bed (hello - that IS the goal of potty training), at 3 or 5 or 6 AM on any given day, I really wish he would just take advantage of the flipping Pamper.

My consolation in all of this? It's now Saturday. Ben is home all day and he can run herd on Raegan for me while I nap all morning. Because eventually my brain will shut down and I will sleep again. It must! 

Belly Watch

Wow. Sometimes, when you're 26, a friend suggests an idea in passing and you think, "That's cute. I should do that." For me, that idea was taking weekly photos of my then first-time-growing-baby-belly. Each Sunday I put on the same clothes, stood in the same spot, and had Ben take a picture of my ever-protruding stomach. Then, I posted each picture to an album on facebook, creating a flipbook of sorts, of my pregnancy.

My poor mother. She was appalled at first, that I was baring my midriff online like that. But then she, like some others, sort of got hooked on the whole thing. I have to admit; I couldn't wait for Sundays when we could take the photo and post it for folks to see the changes. Many of you followed along, posting encouraging comments that helped me adjust to the (many) changes of my pregnant body.

When it was all said and done, and Baby Boy Harrison joined us 12 days before his due date, I took a final picture for the album with him in front of my belly. It was just perfect, really.

Then, 18ish months later, when I was just about to turn 29, I got pregnant for the second time. Of course, one of my first thoughts was, "We have to do the Belly Watch again!" I'm sure that if the first round didn't make some people think, "What is she doing?!", the second one did. Did you all really need to see my ever-growing (and growing even faster) belly every week? Well, no; I know that. But I also knew some of you would get a kick out of it, so I got a new top to wear in my weekly photos, pulled out the black pants again, and started down the road of Baby Welsch Belly Watch Round Two. I wondered, throughout the course of my pregnancy, how many people were trying to compare the size/height/etc. of my bumps between the two albums like I was. I have to say, though, that the thrill was gone some weeks when I realized that taking the photo meant I would actually have to shower and look semi-presentable that day instead of just vegging around the house with my boys.

This time, Baby Girl Raegan decided to take her sweet arse time on arriving, so the Belly Watch continued right up until my due date. Then, five days later, she was finally born and I was able to post the next (and final) week's photo with my adorable little peanut. Again, perfect.

Now I'm 30. I've had two children. Somehow this whole show your tummy thing sounds a little less appealing than it did four years ago. But, because I'm an equal opportunity mama, I'm going to do it again.

Baby Welsch Belly Watch - Round Three? Well, I' at 9 weeks right now and already have a little pooch going (which is quite normal, I would imagine, with Baby No.3 and no abs after No.2), but we'll wait until the traditional 12 Week mark. That gives me a few more weeks to find a new top and new spot for the photos since we no longer live in our little house. Good thing, eh?!

Chocolate Turkey Fail

Every so often at MOPS, we all work on a craft together during our meeting. Sometimes it is just something for us and others it is something we could do at home with our kids. Normally I find these activities quite easy and enjoyable. In fact, none of them have ever been anything but pleasant until yesterday (and by "yesterday" I mean almost three weeks ago). Yesterday we made Chocolate Turkeys and I wanted to curl up on the floor and cry.

Actually, I wanted to hurl.

Sorry. I know that is too much for some of you, but I am still reeling at not only the tiny little chocolate terrors but also the insanity of food aversions during pregnancy. But that is what I experienced yesterday morning and because no one at MOPS knows yet that I'm pregnant, I had to just play along and play nice and make the Chocolate Turkeys.

Side note: So actually, when you read this, you all will know I'm pregnant (or you'll know now!) and some of my verb tenses won't make sense in this story, but I also have a pretty severe case of Mommy Brain these days, so I really can't be bothered to work out all those technical writing rules at the moment. Forgive me!

So. The Turkeys. Here they are:

Nothing really that offensive. Normally I would probably think they were cute and tasty (although I probably wouldn't make them with Harrison because holy-melted-chocolate-mess, Batman, and he probably doesn't need the sugar buzz to give him even more energy than he's already got!). But the very sight of the sample plate they first showed us at the start of the meeting made my stomach flip flop and my skin crawl. I didn't want to touch it or smell it or taste it. NO thank you! But how do you politely refuse or decline an activity when you can't give a good reason for doing so?

They only wanted us to make six turkeys in the first place, so it wasn't like I could feign being on a diet or something like that. Instead, I got up with my table, went into the church kitchen to listen to the instructions and I made my Chocolate Turkeys. Except I could only stomach making four of them (for which people later teased me, but again - what could I say? Or do?!). I was proud of myself for getting that many on my plate.

Carrying them at arm's length, I brought them home after our meeting and tossed them on the counter. The closest I got to them again was to take pictures to help highlight the sheer hilarity of all this. I then told Ben, when he got home from school, that he needed to eat all of them, immediately, but not so much while in my sight. That's really how bad it was for me. And, because he's a good man, he took care of them for me.

Whew. Crisis averted. Stomach saved.

Constant queasiness? Still going strong. Please, please, please, let there be no more chocolate birds in my near future! 

Also? I had no idea Nebraskans used the term "gobbler" for the red fleshy throat thing on a turkey (that I've always called a "wattle"). But that was the word on our instructions for the red icing, and, when I later asked Ben, "What's the red thing on a turkey called?" he responded, "You mean the gobbler?" so I guess that really is a thing here!

"Perfect" Body

It's no secret that music fuels my soul and my life. I love so many forms of it and prefer to be surrounded by it all the time. Lately, though, a particular line from a Regina Spektor song keeps running through my brain:

"I've got a perfect body. But sometimes I forget. I've got a perfect body, because my eyelashes catch my sweat. Yes, they do. They do."(you have to hear Reggie's inflections on the final "do" - this is why I love her stuff)

I keep humming this, not because I'm running around sweating profusely these days (although I do get short winded a LOT and awfully fast), but because when I think about what my body is sustaining right now, I am in flat out awe of Mother Nature and the abilities of the female form.

I realize, with our second and third babies being less than two years apart, some people are going to ask, "Did you guys mean to do that? Were you trying to get pregnant?" I don't know why people feel the need to ask others this question, but it must come from the same place that makes everybody and their crazy uncle think it is OK to 1) comment on a pregnant woman's size and 2) tell a pregnant woman horror stories from their own, or someone they know who knew someone who had, horrific pregnancy experiences. Seriously. Why does the world work like that? But, since it does, I feel like a few people are going to look at me and my growing bump and start to think "Dang, Baby Factory. Slow down."

But here's the thing. We are elated. And it doesn't matter what other people think or sometimes have the gall to say. My reacting to it here is a premptive move, I guess; a steeling of myself against the world. I recognize that comments might come. People may question and wonder what we are doing, but we are building the life we have always wanted, even if it is currently coming at us in rapid motion. Obviously we know where babies come from, so it's not a huge surprise to us that I am pregnant.

Except that IS a huge surprise because last time, when trying to get pregnant for the second time, it took so much longer than anticipated and I thought that nursing was holding me back. It wasn't until several months after being done completely with HD that we were able to get pregnant again. This time, like before, my cycle had returned, so we knew there was a possibility of pregnancy, but based on previous experience, we thought that we wouldn't really be in business until I finished nursing Raegan. And, based on how she eats, we thought that might be quite some time from now. But, it's funny how life works, and apparently Mother Nature decided that I was ready and able to take care of not just myself and my Raegge, but a whole new baby, too. Holy Moly Cow.

All of this takes me back to my dear Regina and her infectious lyrics. I've had a lot of ups and downs in terms of acceptance of my body in my lifetime, and sometimes I forget just how freaking amazing I am. But right now there is no denying how blown away I am by the idea that I can sustain three of us simultaneously. I apologize if that sounds like gloating or bragging; I am not saying my body is any better than that of anyone else. Not at all. I'm just marveling at the fact that this feat is even possible, much less something I am actually experiencing. Just two years ago, when we were trying, trying, trying to get pregnant for the second time, I wasn't even sure my back would allow me to carry another pregnancy (much less the four I'd ultimately like to have). But with time, care, and one amazing chiropractor, I am feeling great in that department, which is such a wonderful blessing.

Now, about the tandem nursing...can't say it is my favorite thing ever, especially as my morning/day/night sickness continues to increase, but for now, we're hanging in there. Because Raegan's only nursing three times a day, I'm going to keep with her for as long as I can because I figure she's really not asking too much of me. In a few weeks or months? Hard to say. I can't say I see us getting to 16 months like I did with Harrison, but I guess you never know. I also thought I would never be in the position to make such a decision, but here I am, singing praises for my "perfect" body.

And what this body is telling me, these days, is that I need to slow the flip diddle down. This week I went from being queasy to full-on sick which was not a fun transition. But what I've noticed is that I feel the worst the day after I try to do too much. Last weekend, after we got back from Thanksgiving travel, I was worthless. Friday, after two very long days and late nights on Wednesday and Thursday, I was so sick that I was out of commission as a human being, much less a parent. Except I was here by myself, trying to take care of my other two babies, so out of commission wasn't really an option. I will say, though, that I did as much couch time as I could and prayed that the day would go swiftly so I would make it until Ben got home, which I did. Barely.

This weekend, I am feeling a little better. But I'm learning pretty quickly that I'm going to have to let some things go. I can't go and do everything I want to right now because I need to slow down. I need to sit. I need to respect everything my body is doing, for the messages it is sending are so very important. Perfect, even.