My Weekend at the Hilton....I Mean Hospital

I can't believe I'm here again.

That I get another chance to have a baby at this magical place.

That our doctor will again amaze me by his devotion to me and the tiny babe inside of me.

That TJ and I get to call parents, friends, relatives and tell them the good news of who has made their presence in the world this very day.

That I will witness God's miracle of birth...again.

The more children we have, the more this hospital becomes a sort of retreat for me.  We leave our other children at home in the care of grandparents, while TJ and I sneak away in the middle of the night to a very quiet, calm hospital room for some time together.  A marriage retreat for sure.

We are anxious and excited and a bit scared, at least I am, I don't think TJ has anything to worry about! We walk around the eire calm hallways of the labor and delivery floor and talk a little, mostly just walking silently, my arm locked into his arm as we stop every so often for me to breath through a contraction. Once I get an epidural, the nurse turns off the lights and orders us to sleep.  Its ironic really that I get to sleep and rest while my body is contracting and progressing,  making ready for the baby to leave it's home for the last nine months. While TJ sleeps, I pray the rosary over and over. I'm too anxious, too excited to sleep.

And then, in a matter of minutes, our lives have changed.  We meet the person who has expanded our family...again. 

My heart is swollen with gratitude for our doctor, for TJ, for the wonderful nurses who walked with me every step of labor, calming my anxiety and fears.  I am so grateful to God for blessing us with this tiny person.

And I feel like a celebrity.  Strangers coming in my room and complimenting me on a job well done.  Now come the cheers of way to go, you did it and congratulations you did an awesome job, and he is absolutely perfect!
And I feel proud. All attention is on me and the baby, and I rather like it.

And not only do I have people asking me what can they get me a gazillion times a day, but I can pick up the phone and request whatever I want to eat, whenever I want it.  No cooking.  No cleaning.  They bring in a tray of food, and when I'm done someone comes and whisks it away.  I ordered these pancakes five times in the two days at the hospital.

And if that wasn't glorious enough, a kind  woman comes knocking on my door once a day asking me to pick whatever dessert I want.  Oh, angel from heaven.  I miss her already.

I love to watch the kids come up to the hospital and meet their new sibling for the first time.  Then everyone leaves, and I am left alone, alone with this brand new tiny person.  I got really sad when TJ went home the first night after having Evelyn and I spent the night alone in the hospital.  This time I was still a bit sad, but admittedly looking forward to sitting in bed and doing whatever I wanted!  Hold baby, stare at the baby, check emails, watch a Netflix movie, take pictures of baby...

Our good friends Craig and Kim came to visit and celebrate Pete's birth.  And celebrate we did!  They brought champagne and we toasted to Pete.  Craig and Pete also share the same birthday so they brought a huge hunk of chocolate cake for me to devour!

When the kids come up to the hospital they are timid and shy at first, not really sure of what they are going to see.  Then they jump right in and onto my bed ready to hold the baby.

I have such mixed feelings about leaving the hospital.  On one hand I'm ready to get back to my own bed and shower and to spend as much time with TJ while he is home for the week.  I think the reason why I don't like leaving is that it signifies the honeymoon phase of giving birth is over.  Its one step closer to getting back to normal.  I will be back to dishes, laundry, bedtimes, doing homework with the kids.  By the time I get home my milk has come in with a vengeance and the upper half of my body will expand larger than I could have ever imagined.  It will hurt.  I will be tired.  There will be no one knocking on my door with a dessert cart.

I think that is why I cherish the two days spent in the hospital so much.   I can step off the fast paced train of life if only for a brief moment, and soak in this calm, brand new life.  I can thank God for the gift of my body and how it is nothing short of a miracle how this little one came into the world.

Happy Birthday George

June 26th 2007, our George Harold was born.  Four years ago.  I can hardly believe it. 

I love how he calls the number four, number one.  Let me explain.  You all know his infatuation with the Green Bay Packers.  He wears packer jerseys every day.  Most of them are old ones from Thomas who had Brett Favre's jersey, which is number four.  George has grown up looking at the number four, but calling it number one, since the Packers are number ONE, of course.  It was cute in the beginning, but now I'm a bit worried we've messed him up for good!

I love you George.  I love so many things about you.  I love that you suck your thumb only at night.  I love that you have to hold onto your blanket and will search with eyes closed until your hand finds the right spot where you hold it.  I love that you play with your cars all the time.  I love to watch your hands hold them and drive them around.  I love that you call your stars wars guys storm troopers, clomtroopers, a mix between storm troopers and clones.  I love that you are an over laughter, you know, the kind that force themselves to laugh at everything, it's loud and goes on and on.  I love how you love golf and football.  I love that you usually sleep in, in the mornings, something your brother and sisters don't know about.  I love that you are left handed.  I love that your favorite color is green and how whenever given a choice on a color for something you say, I want green because its my favorite.  I love your voice.  It's deep, and the way you say words long and drawn out makes me smile every time.  I love your excitement about.....everything.  You think so many things are so cool.



And here's where I bite my toung and say these through gritted teeth....

I love how you throw a fit in the mornings if you have to get dressed in something OTHER than Packer attire.  I love how you can't sit still at Mass.  I love how you grab toys away from your siblings and then give them a big swat when they want them back.  I love how you pretty much don't eat any vegetables. I love how you use bathroom talk when you are being goofy with your friends.  I love how it takes you two hours to get into bed some nights and how you refuse to stay in bed. I love how you unbuckle your seat belt while I'm driving....all the time. 

 

Because George, I truly am thankful for your life.  Both the good and the bad make you who you are.  I prayed so hard to be able to have another child.  And here you are.  You are such a good, loving, sweet boy who also can make me very frustrated.  But that doesn't stop me from loving you.  EVER.  I love EVERYTHING about you, both the loveliness and the ugliness at times.  You are a very special boy, my third child, and I'm so happy that I get to watch you grow up and listen to your sweet voice daily.    



Nine Years Old

My oldest is nine.  Thomas celebrated his ninth birthday on May 23rd.  I love their birthdays as much as I dread them.  I love to watch their excitement with breakfast in bed, opening gifts first thing in the morning, planning what to have for dinner that night.  I love talking about what they want for their cake for months.  Birthdays are fun.

But at the same time, birthdays are sad.  I think in every mothers heart there is a bit of sadness as she celebrates her child's big day.  Birthdays mean they are another year older, another year closer to leaving childhood.  On his birthday, my mind always wanders back to the day when we drove him home from the hospital.  We lived only three minutes from where I delivered him, but those were the most treasured three minutes!  I vividly remember how I sat in the backseat next to his big backwards car seat that contained a tiny 7lb. wrinkly little thing.  I felt like I needed to protect him.  I love that memory I have.

And now, here he is, nine years old.  I am so proud of him and love that he is my son.  He possesses so many gifts and talents that make him who he is.  He is very into bird watching and field guides these days, so he received a pair of binoculars! He is so cute!

But the best was that he requested a Blessed Pope John Paul II birthday cake.  Oh Thomas, I love you!