uh-oh...

There we were, the three of us, taking our afternoon naps.  I heard Jane start to whimper, so I dragged myself up out of the rocking chair and to her room.  As I opened the door, I saw her standing in her crib looking so sweet.  Then she looked up at me and said, "uh-oh!".  I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, trying to figure out what was wrong. And then I saw it:

And, no, that is not chocolate.

Pasher, 2 months...

The boy has done a LOT of growing in the past few weeks.  At his 2 month appointment, he weighed in at 17 lbs (99.7%).  His height was at 24.25" (83%), and head circumference at 15.75 (43%).  He is pleasant and sweet.  And if you are wondering, his belly button is herniated and very large.  However, the doctor isn't worried and says it should go away on its own.

one month...

Our little...I mean big boy is ONE MONTH OLD today!  He loves to eat.  And sleep.  And that is about all.

He really is a little tank--as of June 11th, he weighted 11 pounds, 12 ounces.  I'm sure he's well past 12 pounds, as per the spasms in my back every time I heft his carrier to the car.  He is usually waking up about once per night for eating and is just a sweet, chubby babe!

Asher-isms include:
-rolling his eyes and smiling after feasting on mama's milk
-snorting all through the night
-being super chubby
-being easily pacified (yay!)

Our nicknames for this little man:
-Asher Pasher (which can then be continued on to "Prancer, Vixen")
-Asher J.
-Grunther
-Son
-Buddy

Not too original...yet!

PS:  if you noticed his funny belly button, it is herniated.  Poor little guy.

the story of asher j...

Disclaimer:  this is a birth story.  It uses terms such as "dilated", "effaced" and "epidural".  If you are uncomfortable with these type of words, you might choose to just browse the photos.

Last Wednesday (May 16), I had my weekly checkup.  I was one day shy of 37 weeks.  When the doctor told me I was almost dilated to a 3, I was kind of surprised.  With Jane, that was my status after about 18 hours of labor.  However, it wasn't news I really wanted to hear.  I was hoping for a few things to happen before this baby came--first, I had signed up for Aflac and needed to make it until May 27th to get a payout.  Second I really, really wanted to close on our house so I didn't have to deal with condo living (aka distant parking, large flight of stairs, cramped quarters, and angry neighbors) with a new baby.  And lastly (and, yes, least-ly), I was trying to finish my first-ever quilt for the baby.  I knew that if he came before it was done, it would most likely never get finished.

Back to the doctor's visit.  I had been having small contractions for a while, but my doctor told me to start paying attention--if they became more regular I should check back with him.  So after leaving the doctor's office, I started to pay attention.  I was surprised to find they were about 3 minutes apart and very regular.  As the day wore on, they became more painful and closer together.  I tried to pretend it wasn't happening, but when I finally called the doctor's office just before closing, they told me to go to the hospital.

I was so annoyed!  It wasn't time!  I wasn't ready!  And blast it all--I wasn't finished with my quilt!

We hurried and packed, dropped Jane off at her grandparents, and headed to Banner Gateway.  After checking in and changing out of my street clothes, I was told that my doctor had stopped delivering there a few months earlier.  So, I quickly threw my clothes back on, and rushed across town to Banner Desert.  This was around 7 pm.  Once checked in, they started to monitor me.  I was dilated to almost a 4, and 80% effaced, but progress was slow.  So they told me they'd keep me in triage for another hour and decide whether I was to stay or go at that point.  After the hour passed, they said the same thing.  This happened four times.  Or five.  I don't remember.  All I know is that every so often the nurse would check my progress and look baffled.  Finally, around midnight, they decided to admit me.  While they went to clean a room for me, I kicked back and relaxed, only to realize I hadn't had a contraction for over 20 minutes.  When the nurse finally came to take me to my room, I asked to go home.  After assessing the distance from our condo to the hospital, she and the doctor agreed to let me me go home, but advised me to come back immediately if the contractions resumed.

All of the next day (Thursday) the contractions seemed to be lessening.  By Friday morning, I felt great and informed Caleb that we were going to get our money from Aflac after all.  But as often is the case with me, I spoke too soon.  Early Friday afternoon, the contractions were back.  However, I'd already had a false alarm, and I wasn't about to do that again.  We had made dinner plans with friends, and I was not about to miss out just for another false alarm!  Besides, even if this was the real thing, I was sure I'd have plenty of time to enjoy a good meal, and then suffer through hours of early labor at home before going to the hospital.  So we headed across town to Carraba's to meet up with the Caffreys.  On the way there, my contractions kept coming steadily and became more and more painful.  By the time we got there, I was beginning to question the decision to go out.  Before sitting down Caleb warned the Caffreys that we might have to leave early because I might be in labor.  I loved the look on their faces!  We sat down in the booth, and soon were feasting on appetizers and pre-entree salads.  I was really struggling with the pain of contractions and finally admitted to myself that we should have cancelled, when I suddenly felt the strangest sensation.  It was as if a bomb had exploded in water, with the bomb and the water being inside of me.  It seemed like I heard a *POP*, though it was more as though I felt the sound rather than heard it.  I noticed everyone's eyes on me, so I tried to explain what had happened.  I wasn't sure if my water had broke or if the baby had just decided to give a giant kick, but when the next contraction came on stronger than ever, I decided our situation had changed.

Panic set in.  I shouted at Caleb to get up, that we needed to go to the hospital.  He looked at me and kept eating.  I shouted it again, and he proceeded to stuff food into his mouth.  I started to really panic!  I was not going to birth baby boy in a booth!  Finally, he processed the urgency in my screech and slid off the bench.  As I scooted my oversized belly out from behind the table and stood up, there was a HUGE gush of liquid down my legs.  My eyes widened in horror as I assessed my situation.  We were near the back of the restaurant.  It was Friday, 6:30 pm, and the place was packed.  Jane was sitting in her little high-chair getup, complete with her high chair cover and place mat suction-cupped to the table.  I needed to get out of there immediately!  I started toward the door as I yelled to Caleb to gather up Jane and meet me at the car.

As I hurried (aka waddled) through the crowds, I tried not to look people in the eyes.  I didn't want to know what they saw.  At one point, with the door just in sight through the crowds of diners-to-be, a man stepped in my path and leisurely ambled along in front of me, slowing my pace and blocking my way.

"Excuse me." I said in his ear, my belly centimeters away from his lower back.  He continued on as if he didn't hear.

"Excuse me!" I said, a bit louder.  He still didn't take any notice.

"SIR!  WOULD YOU PLEASE GET OUT OF MY WAY!?!?"  I actually screamed this in his ear, my panic getting the best of me.  He turned around startled to see what banshee was shrieking behind him, and his sideways position was enough for me to escape.  I rushed past, finally reaching the door and ran, as best as I could run, to the car, where I then stood, pretending not to notice all of the people staring at me with soaking wet pants and large puddles of water at my feet.  The front row parking I had blessed on the way in was now a curse with all those people around.

Caleb finally arrived with Jane in tow, and we hurried to the hospital.  As I walked back in to Triage, I saw the same nurse I'd spent all that time with two days earlier.  As soon as she looked up, I said, "It's the real thing this time."  She looked at my pants and agreed.  As I was changing out of my wet clothes and getting hooked up to the monitor, they asked me if I wanted an epidural.  I said I probably would, but I would let them know.  Within a few minutes, I let them know--YES, PLEASE (though I may or may not have used the "please"!).  After getting me checked in and set up, they checked my status.  An 8!  It took another hour or so before the anesthesiologist got to work his magic and by the time the epidural came, I was dilated to a 9 and whimpering.  It hurt so bad!

Just like the first time, once the epidural kicked in, I turned to Caleb just to let him know how happy I was.  I then relaxed for a bit, while the nurses set everything up.  Soon after the epidural was in full force they checked again, and sure enough, I was dilated to a 10.  They had me try a quick practice push, and without really giving much thought to that push, I pushed.  They shouted for me to stop, saying that he was right there, and they called for the doctor on call, Dr. Tiersa Damore. It took the doctor about 30 minutes to get there, and when she finally did, she also asked me for a practice push.  It produced the same results, so she quickly got herself set up, and they told me we were going to start pushing on the next contraction.  It was so different from my experience with Jane.  So low-key and so fast!  On the next contraction I was told to take three deep breaths and to push three times per breath.  First breath, his head was out.  Second breath, his shoulders were out.  Third breath, HE was out.  And that was it!  Our little Kumar was here!  8 pounds, 3 ounces, and 20 inches long.  Healthy as can be.   Everything had gone so smoothly.  And his name wasn't really Kumar, it was Asher J.

And so we didn't get our money from Aflac.  And we aren't moved into our house yet.  But, we have a beautiful, healthy baby boy, and that's all that really matters.

Before leaving for the hospital on Wednesday, darn quilt!

Officially checked in.

Welcome baby boy!

Proud Poppa

I hope the pediatrician didn't see this--

(His middle name was Kiritkumar)!

The nurse had to leave for a moment.

I was so in love with his little toes kicking up in the air!

Happy sister.

Beautiful flowers from my husband.

I finished the quilt!

He makes goofy faces, just like his Momma.

Such a snuggler!

less than perfect...

The last few months have been hard on me.  Not unbearably so, but wearyingly so.  I know that we chose to take the risks that got us into this situation, but that still doesn't mean it's been fun--living in a tiny, cramped apartment above a crass, angry woman; waddling uncomfortably up a flight of steps with Jane on my hip; having most of my personal belongings inaccessible; missing the comforts of a real home with a garage and a yard.  This situation has definitely been less than perfect.  At the same time, however, I can't say I'm not extremely grateful for where we are.  We have our own place with two bedrooms, super cheap rent, and we are all healthy and well and waiting for our baby boy.  Besides, the fact that we have decided to be here is hopefully going to allow us in the long run to end up in a better place than we were in before we made our lives crazy.

And recently, I've found something that really helps me feel less weary--crafting.  I've been creating all sorts of little crafty items that have taken my mind off the things that aren't quite the way I'd hoped.  I've become one of those moms who spends nap-times searching the internet for unique ideas and crafts.

In my searches, I often see things that I would love to make but don't have the skills for.  Then I realize some of the people sharing their finished products didn't either.  I have been, I'll admit, slightly critical of others' "less-than-perfect" results.  "How embarrassing," I'd find myself thinking, "that she thinks this is good enough to share with the world."

Well, living in our less-than-perfect situation, it is only fitting to be sharing my less-than-perfect projects.  And I do it proudly.  I am sharing these things because they make me feel happy, not because they're impressive.  If you look closely, there are a lot of mistakes, but I still want to remember these projects that have made my less-than-perfect life so much more enjoyable these past months.  They've been the little something I could look forward to each day, especially as they are things that I have had control over during a time when so many things are out of our hands.  Besides, they keep me thinking of the little boy soon to join our family as they are for the nursery I'm planning for him.

animal collages

mobile

crib quilt

crib skirt

baby blocks

pillow

(Ok, as a side note, since people are commenting on how things don't look flawed:  I unpicked at least 50% of what I did on the quilt and in the end the squares didn't all match up, the zig-zags on the pillow are spaced unevenly even though I measured the distance between with a ruler then pinned them, the crib skirt somehow ended up not quite squared at the corners, and if you saw how many times I scratched and scraped the Mod-Podge off to tear off some wayward, wrinkly part of the collages, it would make you crazy!)

things that start with "b"...

Whenever I think of my growing stomach, I find myself searching out words to describe it that begin with "b".  I string them together to make phrases such as, "Big Boy Baby Belly" or "Bulging Beach Ball Bump". It's kind of like a little OCD thing I do.  But I can't help myself, my belly is just so big!  And I don't think it's just me that feels this way.  As proof, let me first share a recent conversation I had with a friend, and then a couple of photos:

conversation:
Person-Who-Will-Remain-Unnamed:  "Are you having twins?"
Very-Pregnant-Me:  "No."
PWWRU:  "Are you sure?"
VPM:  (annoyed) "Yes."
PWWRU:  "How do you know?"
VPM:  "I've had an ultrasound."
PWWRU:  "But could one of the twins have been hiding behind the other and they didn't see it?"
VPM:  (very annoyed) "No, I've had two ultrasounds."
PWWRU:  "Oh, okay.  If you say so."

Today was my first time swimming this pregnancy.  As I stretched and tugged my non-maternity swimsuit over my gigantic belly, I couldn't help but laugh at the image in the mirror .  I decided to snap these photos so that I could one day look back and remember that I looked like this.  I hope you laugh, too.  Because despite my annoyance with the comments I've been getting lately, I'm kind of fascinated with the enormity of my stomach.  I feel some sort of pride/incredulity when I see myself in the mirror.  It's kind of awesome, in a strange, uncomfortable, can't-move-very-fast way.

Can we get a close up of that?  Yes, please!

I especially like how the circles near the back of my swim suit change to ovals on my belly.

side note:  If you think I was being kind by keeping the name of the person in the above conversation private, you were wrong.  I would very much like to call that person out for their rudeness, but truth is, with my body sending all the good blood to my monstrous belly, I can't remember who it was!!!  Otherwise, I'd definitely be naming names.

to my mom...

10 things I love about my mom:

1.  She is generous.
You know the saying about how someone would give you the shirt off their back?  Well, with my mom, this is literally true.  I can't count how many times I've complemented her on a new shirt (or skirt, or whatever) and she immediately offers it to me.  She is one of the most generous people I know.  Come to think of it, she probably is the most generous person I know.

2.  She has a great sense of humor.
When I think of my mom's humor I think of her dancing in the kitchen in front of my friends or giggling so hard in church, her whole body shakes.  She is always up for a good laugh.

3.  She is down-to-earth.
Nobody could say that my mom is pretentious or worldly.  She doesn't like to appear to be something that she isn't.  She doesn't try to keep up with anyone, and this has been such an important lesson to all of her children.

4.  She is thoughtful.
My mom constantly does little things that show she is thinking of others.  For example:  No matter how thorough I try to be with my packing up, whenever I leave Utah, I inevitably leave something behind.  My mom eventually finds the left-behind item and lets me know it will be in the mail.  It always takes a few days, though, because my mom then has to find other items to include in the package--a little book, some Utah Truffles, a pressed flower bookmark, etc.--to make me smile.  

5.  She is a good listener.
When life gets frustrating, my mom is usually the first person I call to look for sympathy and support.  She is always willing to make time for me when I need her even though I'm usually just rambling on and on about my silly woes.  And even though they are silly, she sympathizes with me anyway. 

6.  She builds me up.
My mom has always done a great job at making me feel good about myself.  I've known other girls whose mothers belittle them or point out their flaws.   I grew up being told that I was beautiful and smart and funny and I believed it.  And on those occasions when the world got to me and I started to doubt my worth, my mom could always be counted on for a self-esteem boost to make me feel better.

7.  She lives what she believes.
My mom has always been someone who lived the life she believed she should, governed by gospel principles.  She prays, reads her scriptures, and is a Christlike person.  When I think of her example, I want to be a better person.

8.  She is a doer.
This is the opposite of a shirker--you know, the person that tries to get out of doing things that take effort?  That's not her.  She's always willing to make sacrifices to help others, whether it's picking you up from the airport or making your friends breakfast, she likes to be doing things for others.

9.  She appreciates beauty.
My mom is always noticing the world around her and pointing out the beautiful things she sees.  She is one who will pause to study the changing leaves in autumn or a sprig of wildflowers in the mountains.  I love this trait.  It adds an element of peace and calm to an otherwise chaotic world.

10.  She is my mother.
What else can I say?  She carried me for nine months, gave birth to me, changed my diapers, fed me, taught me to walk and talk, took care of my physical, emotional, and spiritual needs, and always let me know she loved me.

Thank you, Mom.  Happy Mothers' Day!

I love you!

(ps: Mom, I asked Caleb for help with the list and the first thing he came up with was

that you look like "famous people that are on Fox News"!)