I remember when Nana learned how to get out of her crib. She was much younger than Lolly. I was hoping that maybe Lolly would never learn, and we could get her to take naps forever. Then we did something not so well thought out. We transitioned her crib into a toddler bed. She couldn't sleep all night, and she figured out how to open the door to her room. We put her crib back together the next day, but it was too late. Now that she knows how to open the door, she had the motivation she needed to learn how to get out of her crib on her own. I'm not ready for this.
Then again, it can be kind of cute. Here's an example.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Reminiscing
So glad we took a picture of this. It's our whiteboard in Wymount. We'd pretty much write things down that we wanted to remember (like a neat quote or a phone number--I'm pretty sure those numbers are obsolete now, though, so don't try them), or needed to work on (some of those pictures are a neumonic of a scripture in D&C), or wanted to show the other (so the funny pictures, and sometimes love notes). Took me awhile to remember what "shower ride" meant. I needed a ride to a baby shower.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Hardest time
Mother's Day is a horrible day, sometimes, you know--not just for the childless.
Tonight I'm really having a hard time because I have given up so much to be a mother. I never really deserved the things I gave up, but I'm sorry for them nonetheless. And the kicker? I'm not even very good at it--being a mother, I mean. You'd think the more you gave up, the better you'd be. . . oh well.
I also have this horrible feeling of resentment. I want some sort of special recognition for all of the work that I do day in and day out, for how difficult it is to accomplish my personal goals--if possible at all. It seems perfectly reasonable to have a holiday to celebrate mothers, doesn't it? Isn't it supposed to be the hardest job in the world? Even secretaries have a day to celebrate them. I don't want this holiday to be about the sorrows of not being able to have children, as it often is. In fact, I'm dreading it.
I found out tonight that in all likelihood, I will not be able to graduate with a normal degree. All of my life I'm going to have to explain what a BGS is, unless I just lie and say I majored in English. It shouldn't be a big deal, but it really is to me. Seriously, I've been in tears over this almost since I found out. Before I had children, I was on my way to graduating with honors, and taking a study abroad to an exotic location. Instead, I have to watch others do these things, over and over again (even that wouldn't be so bad, except that sometimes it also comes at my expense), while I'm at home--failing--on so many different levels--and the failures just keep multiplying. The only success I feel I can really lay claim to is the fact that I can have children. I can have children really well.
And on Mother's Day, I won't be special. I won't be recognized any better than the next woman, even the next young woman, because we all have the same divine potential, whether or not we have made the same sacrifices. I'm not saying that I don't want others to be recognized. Maybe I'm not sure what I'm saying. I just want the people that aren't able to fulfill their life-long dreams to know that they aren't the only ones with unfinished dreams. . . and I wanted to say how I felt. Maybe I should become a secretary.
Tonight I'm really having a hard time because I have given up so much to be a mother. I never really deserved the things I gave up, but I'm sorry for them nonetheless. And the kicker? I'm not even very good at it--being a mother, I mean. You'd think the more you gave up, the better you'd be. . . oh well.
I also have this horrible feeling of resentment. I want some sort of special recognition for all of the work that I do day in and day out, for how difficult it is to accomplish my personal goals--if possible at all. It seems perfectly reasonable to have a holiday to celebrate mothers, doesn't it? Isn't it supposed to be the hardest job in the world? Even secretaries have a day to celebrate them. I don't want this holiday to be about the sorrows of not being able to have children, as it often is. In fact, I'm dreading it.
I found out tonight that in all likelihood, I will not be able to graduate with a normal degree. All of my life I'm going to have to explain what a BGS is, unless I just lie and say I majored in English. It shouldn't be a big deal, but it really is to me. Seriously, I've been in tears over this almost since I found out. Before I had children, I was on my way to graduating with honors, and taking a study abroad to an exotic location. Instead, I have to watch others do these things, over and over again (even that wouldn't be so bad, except that sometimes it also comes at my expense), while I'm at home--failing--on so many different levels--and the failures just keep multiplying. The only success I feel I can really lay claim to is the fact that I can have children. I can have children really well.
And on Mother's Day, I won't be special. I won't be recognized any better than the next woman, even the next young woman, because we all have the same divine potential, whether or not we have made the same sacrifices. I'm not saying that I don't want others to be recognized. Maybe I'm not sure what I'm saying. I just want the people that aren't able to fulfill their life-long dreams to know that they aren't the only ones with unfinished dreams. . . and I wanted to say how I felt. Maybe I should become a secretary.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Ho Hum, I'm a Bum
This is honestly what I've done today: __________________________ Impressive? No? Maybe I can write something more later.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Hello, My Name is Dwight.
I am Dwight Schrute. Awesome.
I've never really watched much of "The Office" mainly because although it's terribly funny, it's also pretty crass. However, I'm on a sort of rebellion kick, and I've watched a bunch of shows. (Darn you, Netflix! [See. I'm already swearing more.])
I never understood who the characters really were before. Now I know. My character and Dwight's are pretty much exactly the same on so many levels. We even have the same job title in a way. (I'm assistant ward librarian [or the librarian's assistant as she calls me] and I largely just keep track of how many sheets of paper each person uses to make copies.) Oh, and we both like to brag about our vast knowledge of ridiculous topics. It's given me a few things to ponder.
I guess that would make Robert Angela. . . yeah. . . I could see that a little. He even has the same weird thing for cats and power (okay, maybe not power).
Monday, January 24, 2011
Baby Levi Birth Story
I know it's been awhile since I posted regularly, so I didn't get Levi's birth story up. In fact, I don't think I got Laurelyn's up! Sad day. I only posted 11 posts last year. That's less than one a month! I hope this year will be better. . . I hope. November 12 The one thing I told my midwife was that I didn't want to be induced. Inductions (I've had three now) are pretty hard on me. So, of course, I had to get gestational hypertensia and HAD to be induced so it wouldn't turn into pre-eclampsia. I'm looking at these pictures and I can't believe how swollen my face is! Wow. In fact, my blood pressure and the swelling didn't really go back to normal for around 3 weeks or so. It was actually kind of a rough time. 
But look at what I have now! My last appointment with Kim was on a Wednesday, and the induction was Friday morning. I hoped and prayed so hard that I would be able to go into labor on my own. I'm not sure why I was so worried about it, but I somehow thought I would need a c-section if I didn't. Probably a crazy thought, but I was positive that's what would happen. The last two times I was induced (with Enoch and Lolly) I almost had to have one. But Kim told me that it was the best for both me and the baby, so I agreed. This was my scariest delivery yet. Besides not feeling ready for four at all, I was really anxious about the c-section thing--and partly because my blood pressure made me feel that way too. I asked Robert to get someone to help him give me a blessing, but I think he felt silly asking someone to help when I wasn't really "sick"--although I think preparing for labor qualifies--so he didn't try very hard to contact anyone and it got too late for me to be comfortable calling anyone for myself. Oh well. I said a really long prayer instead, and I started to feel some peace. I'm so glad we have prayer (and that you don't have to call anyone to have it). That night, as I slept, I started feeling contractions. I didn't really notice what they were until about 3 in the morning when I woke up enough to notice the sick-to-my-stomach feeling wasn't just nervousness, but it was coming every 3 to 5 minutes. I'm so glad I was able to sleep through a lot of it, but they were starting to get too strong, so I got up to walk around and go to the bathroom. Sure enough, bloody show. I got really excited. Walking around didn't make the contractions go away. I woke up Robert and told him we might have to go in earlier than 5 am, the time we were scheduled for. I told him I needed his support right now, too. Poor guy was really tired, so he stayed in bed a little longer. I started watching the clock and dreading every 3 minutes passing. I got ready, went downstairs to tell Becky that we might leave a little early, switched the laundry to the dryer, and then decided I would eat a little (I know, I know, but I hate going in for labor and getting so hungry later). As soon as I was finished eating, the contractions stopped coming so strong, which I actually wasn't so happy about, because I wanted to go in and let them know I didn't need any pitocin. We waited to go in when we were scheduled (in truth, we only had about 10 minutes to wait out, because it took me extra long to get ready in between contractions). And we got to the hospital right on the dot. The nurse commented that she knew we must be Kim's patient because they're always on time (she threatens us really effectively ;D). I told everyone that I was already in labor, but nobody believed me or seemed to care. Even Kim didn't bother to check me or anything, and she ordered the pitocin right away. I was pretty bummed, but I'm not one to say anything in the face of authority, so I let it slide and silently grumbled to myself (and maybe a little to Robert, too). The contractions started coming on VERY strong in the next 5 minutes or so. There were plenty of nurses still in the room drawing my blood and whatever, so I tried my best to not look like I was in too much pain. It was absolutely exhausting to do that. I couldn't wait for them to go out so I could grimace and not have to smile and nod pleasantly to whatever they were saying. Kim came in and talked to Robert about medical stuff for thirty minutes or so. It was still hard to stay pleasant, but it was also a bit of a welcome distraction from the contractions. Thank goodness she wasn't actually talking to me, though. I don't think I could have responded well. Robert tried his hardest to be supportive. He rubbed my feet and legs and talked to me to keep my mind off of the pain. He also helped me get up to use the bathroom. We had been in for awhile and I needed to use the toilet again. That was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Contractions were around 2 minutes apart and incredibly strong. I went in the bathroom alone and completely broke down. I had to go, but I couldn't get my muscles to relax long enough in between the contractions. Once I was finally able to get back to the bed, I needed an epidural. Badly. Before the contractions got that bad I was able to focus on how great it would be to have a newborn and how much I wanted to get to know him and love him and see him, and that would make the pain go away, but in that moment I hated babies. I knew the pain wouldn't be over after he was born, or after he was weaned, or after he was potty trained, or pretty much ever. And the hurt just kept coming. Stronger. And. Stronger. I never wanted to see a baby again. Those thoughts only made the pain worse, so as soon as the nurse came in I asked for an epidural. She got permission from Kim to drug me while I waited for the anesthesiologist. The medicine quickly coursed through my veins straight to my brain. And even though my head was cloudy and I couldn't hold my eyes steady, I felt terrific. I loved everyone SO much. Especially the little baby inside of me. I totally understand why people get addicted to drugs. In fact, I'm usually afraid to get prescription painkillers because I like them way too much. Just pop a little pill and your world turns into sunshine and daffodils. Thank goodness we have the gospel, because. . . seriously, if I didn't have the Holy Ghost to give me comfort. Shoot. I don't know where I'd be. Well, actually, yes, yes I do know where I'd be. Because just a minute or two after the painkillers set in, the anesthesiologist showed up. Perfect. I wouldn't have to feel anymore pain. However, there was a scaly part on my back. I get dry skin when I'm pregnant--apparently right where they usually stick the epidural. The anesthesiologist asked me if I was sure I wanted one. He made it sound like I shouldn't, and I couldn't think straight for more than two seconds in a row because of the drugs. The nurse called Kim in. I remember there was some drama for a few minutes and that the anesthesiologist was there for quite awhile, but I don't remember much more (I was heavily drugged). (finished writing on March 30, 2011) Robert helped me decide, and I got the epidural in one of the spaces on my back that was higher up than the usual spot. I layed back and went to sleep, only waking up every once in awhile. Robert took a nap too. Before long, Kim came in and had me push. I pushed once. She told me not to push after that, but just to let the contraction push the baby out the rest of the way. It worked. He was out. It was happy. I didn't tear or anything, Kim said I might have if I'd pushed the second time. They put him on my chest, and he pooped all over me and himself--including the little tags they put on his feet and had to wear the rest of the time in the hospital--GROSS! He was still such a cutie, though. They weighed him, and measured him, and did all of their tests, and I didn't really shake or feel hungry like I usually do, because he was born by 10:10 or 10 to 10, I forget (I wonder if part of the shaking is from being hungry). All in all, it was a great delivery. The afterbirth came, and Robert looked over it with Kim (it's definitely a different experience being married to a med student). And we were transferred to our room down the hall. And then all of the children and Aunt Becky came to visit. 
These are the awesome people who helped me. I'm blanking on the nurses name right now (Stephanie? She also was there to help with Lolly), but Kim Bennett is my midwife in the dark blue. 
But look at what I have now! My last appointment with Kim was on a Wednesday, and the induction was Friday morning. I hoped and prayed so hard that I would be able to go into labor on my own. I'm not sure why I was so worried about it, but I somehow thought I would need a c-section if I didn't. Probably a crazy thought, but I was positive that's what would happen. The last two times I was induced (with Enoch and Lolly) I almost had to have one. But Kim told me that it was the best for both me and the baby, so I agreed. This was my scariest delivery yet. Besides not feeling ready for four at all, I was really anxious about the c-section thing--and partly because my blood pressure made me feel that way too. I asked Robert to get someone to help him give me a blessing, but I think he felt silly asking someone to help when I wasn't really "sick"--although I think preparing for labor qualifies--so he didn't try very hard to contact anyone and it got too late for me to be comfortable calling anyone for myself. Oh well. I said a really long prayer instead, and I started to feel some peace. I'm so glad we have prayer (and that you don't have to call anyone to have it). That night, as I slept, I started feeling contractions. I didn't really notice what they were until about 3 in the morning when I woke up enough to notice the sick-to-my-stomach feeling wasn't just nervousness, but it was coming every 3 to 5 minutes. I'm so glad I was able to sleep through a lot of it, but they were starting to get too strong, so I got up to walk around and go to the bathroom. Sure enough, bloody show. I got really excited. Walking around didn't make the contractions go away. I woke up Robert and told him we might have to go in earlier than 5 am, the time we were scheduled for. I told him I needed his support right now, too. Poor guy was really tired, so he stayed in bed a little longer. I started watching the clock and dreading every 3 minutes passing. I got ready, went downstairs to tell Becky that we might leave a little early, switched the laundry to the dryer, and then decided I would eat a little (I know, I know, but I hate going in for labor and getting so hungry later). As soon as I was finished eating, the contractions stopped coming so strong, which I actually wasn't so happy about, because I wanted to go in and let them know I didn't need any pitocin. We waited to go in when we were scheduled (in truth, we only had about 10 minutes to wait out, because it took me extra long to get ready in between contractions). And we got to the hospital right on the dot. The nurse commented that she knew we must be Kim's patient because they're always on time (she threatens us really effectively ;D). I told everyone that I was already in labor, but nobody believed me or seemed to care. Even Kim didn't bother to check me or anything, and she ordered the pitocin right away. I was pretty bummed, but I'm not one to say anything in the face of authority, so I let it slide and silently grumbled to myself (and maybe a little to Robert, too). The contractions started coming on VERY strong in the next 5 minutes or so. There were plenty of nurses still in the room drawing my blood and whatever, so I tried my best to not look like I was in too much pain. It was absolutely exhausting to do that. I couldn't wait for them to go out so I could grimace and not have to smile and nod pleasantly to whatever they were saying. Kim came in and talked to Robert about medical stuff for thirty minutes or so. It was still hard to stay pleasant, but it was also a bit of a welcome distraction from the contractions. Thank goodness she wasn't actually talking to me, though. I don't think I could have responded well. Robert tried his hardest to be supportive. He rubbed my feet and legs and talked to me to keep my mind off of the pain. He also helped me get up to use the bathroom. We had been in for awhile and I needed to use the toilet again. That was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Contractions were around 2 minutes apart and incredibly strong. I went in the bathroom alone and completely broke down. I had to go, but I couldn't get my muscles to relax long enough in between the contractions. Once I was finally able to get back to the bed, I needed an epidural. Badly. Before the contractions got that bad I was able to focus on how great it would be to have a newborn and how much I wanted to get to know him and love him and see him, and that would make the pain go away, but in that moment I hated babies. I knew the pain wouldn't be over after he was born, or after he was weaned, or after he was potty trained, or pretty much ever. And the hurt just kept coming. Stronger. And. Stronger. I never wanted to see a baby again. Those thoughts only made the pain worse, so as soon as the nurse came in I asked for an epidural. She got permission from Kim to drug me while I waited for the anesthesiologist. The medicine quickly coursed through my veins straight to my brain. And even though my head was cloudy and I couldn't hold my eyes steady, I felt terrific. I loved everyone SO much. Especially the little baby inside of me. I totally understand why people get addicted to drugs. In fact, I'm usually afraid to get prescription painkillers because I like them way too much. Just pop a little pill and your world turns into sunshine and daffodils. Thank goodness we have the gospel, because. . . seriously, if I didn't have the Holy Ghost to give me comfort. Shoot. I don't know where I'd be. Well, actually, yes, yes I do know where I'd be. Because just a minute or two after the painkillers set in, the anesthesiologist showed up. Perfect. I wouldn't have to feel anymore pain. However, there was a scaly part on my back. I get dry skin when I'm pregnant--apparently right where they usually stick the epidural. The anesthesiologist asked me if I was sure I wanted one. He made it sound like I shouldn't, and I couldn't think straight for more than two seconds in a row because of the drugs. The nurse called Kim in. I remember there was some drama for a few minutes and that the anesthesiologist was there for quite awhile, but I don't remember much more (I was heavily drugged). (finished writing on March 30, 2011) Robert helped me decide, and I got the epidural in one of the spaces on my back that was higher up than the usual spot. I layed back and went to sleep, only waking up every once in awhile. Robert took a nap too. Before long, Kim came in and had me push. I pushed once. She told me not to push after that, but just to let the contraction push the baby out the rest of the way. It worked. He was out. It was happy. I didn't tear or anything, Kim said I might have if I'd pushed the second time. They put him on my chest, and he pooped all over me and himself--including the little tags they put on his feet and had to wear the rest of the time in the hospital--GROSS! He was still such a cutie, though. They weighed him, and measured him, and did all of their tests, and I didn't really shake or feel hungry like I usually do, because he was born by 10:10 or 10 to 10, I forget (I wonder if part of the shaking is from being hungry). All in all, it was a great delivery. The afterbirth came, and Robert looked over it with Kim (it's definitely a different experience being married to a med student). And we were transferred to our room down the hall. And then all of the children and Aunt Becky came to visit. 
These are the awesome people who helped me. I'm blanking on the nurses name right now (Stephanie? She also was there to help with Lolly), but Kim Bennett is my midwife in the dark blue. 
Grandma Johnson Visited
Grandma Johnson came for two weeks. She just left Saturday. It was so nice to have her here. That family practice residency in Utah is looking better and better all the time. . .
She came up to see Levi.
I really appreciated all of her help. I don't think I had to feed the kids lunch at all while she was here. And I got to go out with Robert pretty often! (even if the best thing we could come up with was usually going shopping).
She also took us to Chuck E. Cheeses, which was great. Nana's been dying to go since Grandma and Grandpa Gardner took her in Orem. I gotta say, I like ours a little better. It has a nice and enclosed toddler area, and I thought it felt cleaner, but Laurelyn got and eye infection the next day, so maybe it isn't.
Thanks for coming out, Grandma! We miss you.
She came up to see Levi.
I really appreciated all of her help. I don't think I had to feed the kids lunch at all while she was here. And I got to go out with Robert pretty often! (even if the best thing we could come up with was usually going shopping).
She also took us to Chuck E. Cheeses, which was great. Nana's been dying to go since Grandma and Grandpa Gardner took her in Orem. I gotta say, I like ours a little better. It has a nice and enclosed toddler area, and I thought it felt cleaner, but Laurelyn got and eye infection the next day, so maybe it isn't.
Thanks for coming out, Grandma! We miss you.
Sunday Comments and Our Engagement Story
You know how sometimes you really feel the Spirit and plan out just what you're going to say. . . and then you get to the pulpit and it's not nearly as nice as you thought it would be. Yeah, that happened to me on Sunday. But that's what blogs are for, right? :D.
On occassion, my ward has a singing sacrament meeting--kind of like testimony meeting--where people get up and share a favorite hymn and what it means to them.
Mine was "High on the Mountain Top." I basically said that we sang it after we were engaged and that I know that families can be together forever, and that this song makes me think of more than just the gospel on a whole, but of that smaller part of the gospel--eternal families, but I left out a few important facts--like that we were actually ON a mountaintop. Of course, I wouldn't share as much in church as I do here. . . But. . . Anyway. . . It's a good story, or at least one I'd like to remember, so here goes:
When Robert and I got engaged for the second time, we decided to take a hike up the mountain behind his parents' home. (It was also our second time taking this hike--the first time I got too dizzy and couldn't make it all of the way up.) We were broken up at the time, but we had been getting together occassionally for about two weeks to talk about how we were doing and if it might be possible to get back together again. I remember Robert commenting that we were the only thing that could help the other get through that time. (Dating is ridiculous, isn't it?) Anyway. We're on a hike. We get to the top of the mountain and discuss our feelings. Robert had talked with his bishop, and his advice (thank goodness!) changed his perspective on a few things--i.e. he wasn't going to ask me to marry him only a few days before our wedding date. (Like I said, dating is ridiculous.) But we still weren't for sure going to get married.
We talked about lots of stuff. We snacked a little, read some scriptures, and we talked about school and his trip to Europe that was coming up in the next few days, theories about spiritual matter, how neat it was to be on a mountain (I'd never been before) and I also remember talking about how getting an answer about marriage is personal, and if you truly had a positive Spiritual revelation (and the person you wanted to marry also had one), then it doesn't matter how many people got a negative one--it's not a popularity vote. We talked a little more. . . and I don't remember exactly what I said, but Robert jumped up really quickly. I honestly thought I'd offended him or something and that he ran off to go throw up somewhere. I couldn't see him or what he was doing for quite awhile. My emotions got the best of me, and I started to sob quietly to myself. I was feeling pretty hopeless--like we'd never be able to be together.
Eventually, Robert came back with some wildflowers he'd picked, got on one knee and asked me to marry him. Of course I said yes--it's Robert--I cried some more from happiness--and we felt like we should sing a hymn or something. We picked "High on the Mountaintop," although we didn't remember all of the words perfectly--and then we went to tell our parents the good news, which was kind of like telling someone you broke their picture window. Now we have four kids. End of story.
On occassion, my ward has a singing sacrament meeting--kind of like testimony meeting--where people get up and share a favorite hymn and what it means to them.
Mine was "High on the Mountain Top." I basically said that we sang it after we were engaged and that I know that families can be together forever, and that this song makes me think of more than just the gospel on a whole, but of that smaller part of the gospel--eternal families, but I left out a few important facts--like that we were actually ON a mountaintop. Of course, I wouldn't share as much in church as I do here. . . But. . . Anyway. . . It's a good story, or at least one I'd like to remember, so here goes:
When Robert and I got engaged for the second time, we decided to take a hike up the mountain behind his parents' home. (It was also our second time taking this hike--the first time I got too dizzy and couldn't make it all of the way up.) We were broken up at the time, but we had been getting together occassionally for about two weeks to talk about how we were doing and if it might be possible to get back together again. I remember Robert commenting that we were the only thing that could help the other get through that time. (Dating is ridiculous, isn't it?) Anyway. We're on a hike. We get to the top of the mountain and discuss our feelings. Robert had talked with his bishop, and his advice (thank goodness!) changed his perspective on a few things--i.e. he wasn't going to ask me to marry him only a few days before our wedding date. (Like I said, dating is ridiculous.) But we still weren't for sure going to get married.
We talked about lots of stuff. We snacked a little, read some scriptures, and we talked about school and his trip to Europe that was coming up in the next few days, theories about spiritual matter, how neat it was to be on a mountain (I'd never been before) and I also remember talking about how getting an answer about marriage is personal, and if you truly had a positive Spiritual revelation (and the person you wanted to marry also had one), then it doesn't matter how many people got a negative one--it's not a popularity vote. We talked a little more. . . and I don't remember exactly what I said, but Robert jumped up really quickly. I honestly thought I'd offended him or something and that he ran off to go throw up somewhere. I couldn't see him or what he was doing for quite awhile. My emotions got the best of me, and I started to sob quietly to myself. I was feeling pretty hopeless--like we'd never be able to be together.
Eventually, Robert came back with some wildflowers he'd picked, got on one knee and asked me to marry him. Of course I said yes--it's Robert--I cried some more from happiness--and we felt like we should sing a hymn or something. We picked "High on the Mountaintop," although we didn't remember all of the words perfectly--and then we went to tell our parents the good news, which was kind of like telling someone you broke their picture window. Now we have four kids. End of story.
Monday, December 20, 2010
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