In the land of sparkly headbands...

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I envisioned her wearing headbands with flowers bigger then her face… at all times.

In real life, that lasted for about 5 minutes. When she was tiny (and couldn’t coordinate her hands to rip them off) she had no problem wearing headbands.

 

Then she got older, and could have cared less. My hopes of tutus and glitter seemed like they were slipping away as I watched her play cars with her brother and Daddy. I wasn’t exactly a “girly-girl” when I was little, but nonetheless, having a daughter, that’s what I was hoping for with her.

I know she’s not even two, and it’s far too early to “label” her preferences in clothes and accessories, but as of recent, my hopes for headbands and nail polish have been restored!

 

 She’s so goofy, but I love her to pieces!

MOMARAZZI

I cannot get enough of my kids. Seriously.

I take pictures. Every. Day.

Babies don’t keep! They grow so fast! And heck, toddlers don’t keep either! I don’t think it’s fair to refer to my Cam-sicle as a “toddler”…he’s a little boy. And by little, I mean 99.999^th percentile.

See the MOMARAZZI at work! Follow me on Instagram! kate1747

Potty training in a weekend, you say? IT CAN BE DONE!

Potty training. A necessary evil in toddler land. I dreaded it.

We tried. We failed. We gave up.

A few months later, it was time to revisit Mr. Frog Potty. This time, Mr. Frog and I were going in with guns blazing because it was time to say good bye to the diapers.

After getting myself pumped up for potty training (only a fellow parent can truly understand the personal pep-talk required for such a lifestyle change), and expecting a fight, Cameron was suddenly a WILLING participant.

It truly pays to wait until the child is ready.

Here are a few tips that helped us potty train in a weekend:

     1.)    Like I said, wait until they’re ready. Don’t just potty train because everyone else is doing it.

           Try, back off, and try again later if you have to. If they put up a fight, they’re not ready.

2.)    Get excited! Approach it positively. I honestly think Cameron picked up on and played off of our excitement in regards to potty training.

3.)    Some may disagree, but reward with praise and not treats. High fives and verbal confirmation for how proud you are, is far more valuable then three M&M’s.

4.)    Have a symbolic throwing away of the diapers. We literally had Cameron take his remaining diapers and put them in a garbage bag. (Which I later stashed away. I spent money on those darn things, and the heck if I was going to just throw them out!) We discussed why we were getting rid of them, and what he would be wearing instead…and we never looked back.

5.)    Take your child underwear shopping. We let Cameron pick out underwear he WANTED to wear. Thank you Pixar for putting Woody, Buzz, Mater, and McQueen on little boys’ underwear.

6.)    Put the potty in a public place. This might sound a bit weird…and possibly even gross, but it really helped us. We put Cameron’s frog potty chair in the living room, and hauled it upstairs for when he was playing in his room. It basically followed him all around the house until he really understood what it felt like to have to go potty, and learned a bit more control.

 This is all pretty basic stuff. Sure, it won’t work for everyone, but it’s worth a shot!

CAMERON versus MASCARA

This is what I get to thinking I can trust any one of my kids unattended for 20 minutes.

 It was a typical Saturday afternoon (aside from the fact that the hubby was at work). I was tending to things around the house, and the kids were playing together.

 After I finally finished folding the MOUNTAIN of kids’ clothes, I decided I would be extra productive and actually put it all away (I tend to just leave it in the laundry basket for another day or so before getting around to putting it in everyone’s dressers and closets).

This was a fairly large task on it’s own, but I’ll admit, I got a little distracted once I got upstairs, and started picking up each of their rooms too. So I probably got stuck upstairs for 20, maybe even 30, minutes...

 Side-note: I had apparently left my tube of mascara on the bathroom counter and it proved itself to be all too tempting to Mr. Cameron…because this is what I found when I made my way back downstairs:

 

 

 

 For the record, baby shampoo and a little elbow grease remove mascara when it is mistaken as body paint.

My poor Flossie-cakes.

Eva. I don’t even know where to start! She’s such a sweet little girl, and we love her infinitely, but she sure knows how to test us. I’m not talking about trying my patience or behavioral issues (she really is too sweet for words). I’m talking about all of the “accidents” she’s had, and all of the things that, as luck would have it, have happened to her.

It’s not usually for little kids, especially as they’re perfecting their toddler walks, to have bumps and bruises. But my Eva has taken this to a whole new level. She’s had a handful of goose eggs on her forehead and scrapes on her chin. I think she thinks she’s bigger and tougher then she really is. Something she probably gets from her older brother. She just doesn’t get, that even though she’s only 14 months younger then him, she just can’t always do what he does.

 Her most recent physical ailment TAKES THE CAKE. Labor Day was extra exciting in our house this year! In the midst of getting everyone ready for a Labor Day barbecue with friends, Eva fell down the stairs. I know what you’re thinking, “Way to go Mom and Dad! Your daughter fell down the stairs while BOTH parents were home! Where the heck were you?!” You don’t need to judge. We feel terrible enough. But in defensive of the situation, these were not stairs that were new to her. She’s walked up and down them dozens of times “unattended” and she knows to hold on to the railing. All that aside, she fell. And we’re not talking about a fall and bump your head. No, no, no, we’re talking about a fall and knock your teeth out sort of fall.

 Yep. Epic parenting fail.

 Long story short, after lots of blood and tears, a trip to the ER, and then a trip to the dentist the following morning, our sweet little Flossie-cakes will be toothless for a while. She’ll have a gap for YEARS. Thankfully they’re “just” baby teeth. The downside to that though is that there’s nothing that can be done. We just have to wait for her permanent teeth to come in.

 Did I mention how terrible I feel?! Ugh. Hopefully she doesn’t hate us too much for her gap-toothed smile when she head’s off to preschool in a couple years.

Parenting fail.

We have had plenty of experiences with parenting failure. Obviously, I'm not proud. But it happens. We're human. We're learning as we go. It can't be avoided. Anyone who thinks they're doing the perfect job, is more messed up then the rest of us.

We're going to get things wrong. We're going to make the wrong choices. Some things will slip through the cracks. The next few posts with reflect on some of our recent failures.

Laugh with us. Some times a failure can be laughed off. Some times all you can do is cringe, embrace the guilt, and more forward.

I promise I'll share my failures. Maybe someone can learn from me! :)

a third baby?!

Apparently I should have taken note that maybe I wasn't responding to the pill as I should have, given how quickly I got pregnant with Miss Eva... But I'm getting ahead of myself...

It was the end of September 2011, Eva's first birthday was less then 8 weeks away, and Audrey and Josh were rapidly approaching their due date with baby number two (our God-daughter!).

And here we were again, waiting around for another late period.

I didn't think much of being a day or two late. No big deal. When it got to be a week late, I was getting a bit panicked.

Finally on our third wedding anniversary (October 10th), my husband addressed the elephant in the room. "Have you gotten your period yet?" Um...I was scared to answer. "No." "Well then when are you going to take a test?!"

We had a pregnancy test in the cabinet. I knew it was there. But I couldn't talk myself into taking it. Another baby wasn't even on our radar. I was on the pill. It wasn't what we were planning. With some persistence from Jay, I gave in, and took the test.

After a few minutes, Jay was the first to check it. "Well it says you're not, so why the heck haven't you gotten your period?" I grabbed the test from him to examine it myself. What the sh*t was he talking about? There was a second line! This was our first test with pink lines. In the past we had always used digital tests. I don't even remember how or why we acquired this kind of test. So maybe he just missed it? Once he looked it over again though, he saw what I saw. Two pink lines.
What was happening? How could I possibly be pregnant?! AGAIN!

Long story short, we accepted that we were having another baby and jumped right in with getting our lives, our house, and our kids ready. And it didn't take long for our shock/anxiety/nerves to turn to excitement.

In early November we had an ultrasound and set a due date. June 14th, 2012. Two months shy of Cameron's third birthday. You got that right. We would have 3 kids, UNDER three years old.

 

 

This was my most difficult pregnancy. I started showing earlier then ever before (I'm talking elastic pants at 9 weeks!), and I was sick. I felt like garbage ALL THE TIME. I was relieved when we got through the first trimester and things settled down a bit.

 

Early in the pregnancy Jay mentioned John-Patrick as a name. John after my Dad and Patrick after his. I loved it! Little JP. We even agreed on a girl's name this time around too. Zoe. I couldn't get over how cute Eva and Zoe sounded. Perfect sister names!

 

I don't know if it was because I was having so much fun dressing my little girl, but I really thought baby #3 was a girl too. Of course I had a 50-50 chance at being right, and I had been in the past...but this time, I got it wrong. I thought we were for sure having another girl, but in January of 2012, we learned that we were actually having another son. Despite having been convinced baby was a girl, I was in no way disappointed to be having a boy.

 

 

 

We left our ultrasound feeling great! We got to see our baby and he cooperated for all of the pictures and measurements the tech needed to complete her assessment. It was a great day! Seeing how much he had changed since our first ultrasound was incredible. But our joy only lasted the weekend...

 

The following Monday we got a phone call we never saw coming. There had been some abnormal findings from our ultrasound and we were going to need to see a maternal-fetal medicine specialist for further imaging. Apparently a ventricle in our son's brain was measuring larger then normal causing my doctor to question if spinal fluid was backing up in his brain -a birth defect that could have devastating side-effects. As if that wasn't enough, they were concerned about a "marking" on his brain, and thought that it might be a "cyst". All in all, it was URGENT that we get in with a maternal-fetal medicine specialist ASAP.

 

Holy shit. They thought something was wrong with our baby's brain. Fear doesn't even begin to describe what came over me. I was devastated. I was terrified. I was heartbroken. I was helpless.

 

I've never prayed so hard in my life. I begged God every second of the next two days to please have mercy on JP. To please let him be as healthy as his siblings. I told God hundreds of times that if I had done something wrong during this pregnancy, to please not punish my baby for it. He was so innocent. To have a team of doctors questioning his quality of life was unbearable.

 

All we could do was wait to get in to see the specialist, and hope for good news.

 

Two days later, February 1st, we had a follow up ultrasound with a specialist an hour away. My husband and I were practically silent on the drive up. We knew the next few hours of our life had the potential to change everything.

 

We arrived at the clinic, and after completing a ridiculous amount of paper work, we were called back to an ultrasound room. My hands were shaking. I was practically sweating. I had no idea what to expect. I had never been so scared (little did I know that REAL FEAR was waiting months down the road for me).

 

The woman who performed the level II ultrasound was old enough to be my mother. And I was so grateful. She was gentle and sweet. She told us everything she was doing, as she was doing it. She told us exactly what we were looking at and what she was looking for. She knew why we were sent to see her, and we couldn't hide our fear. Thankfully she took note, and did everything in her power to calm our nerves.

 

After an hour and half, she had all of the measurements, photos, and videos she needed to finish her report. She said she would get things written up, send it all to the doctor to review, and then the doctor would be in to see us. The ultrasound room had a table and chairs in it as well, which she gestured to when explaining what would happen next.

 

20 minutes or so after she left the room, a receptionist came in and asked us to move to a conference room while we waited for the doctor. She proceeded to lead out of the exam room.

 

The next room was overwhelmingly terrifying. It was practically an empty room. A round table. Four chairs. An ugly green, plastic plant. A box of Kleenex. Everything about the room felt cold. WE WERE GETTING BAD NEWS. I knew it. Why would they bring us to this other room? And the box of Kleenex?! Seriously? Crap. It was bad.

 

I damn near threw up in my mouth when the doctor finally came in. I could barely form words to greet him. The first thing he did was ask, "Why exactly did your clinic send you here?" After a brief explanation of what I had been told, he looked me right in the eye and said, "Well none of that is going on here, but I can try to explain why they might have thought that."

 

The details of the rest of our conversation with him aren't important. JP had been given a clean bill of health! Our baby was fine! I could have kissed him! We were thankful beyond words. As we left the clinic, I couldn't control my emotions. My husband turned to hug me as we left the dreadful conference room and I started to sob. And I mean sob. We're talking, heaving, snot running out of your nose, big tears, ugly face, flushed cheeks... the kind of crying you wouldn't want ANYONE to see. It was almost like there was no other way to purge all of my fear. Sometimes you need a good cry, and that was one of those time.

 

Along with the great news, we got a few really amazing pictures of Mr. Man.

 

 

 

The remainder of the pregnancy went on without anything major to report. Doctor appointment. Doctor appointment. Doctor appointment. The usual.

 

I never had a good feeling about labor and delivery this time around. You'd think that having done it twice before, I wouldn't be so anxious, but I was the opposite. I just couldn't shake the fears. I even at one point expressed concerned to my husband that JP would be face up, or that I would be facing a marathon, 48-hour labor. In the end, I just chalked it up to being paranoid.

 

This time around, my due date, June 14th, came and went. I had never hit the 40 week mark. There are no words that can describe how frustrating it is to miss a due date. Every day is torture.

 

I was six days late and at the end of my rope. I e-mailed my doctor on the morning of June 20th, with questions regarding my appointment the next day. Would I be induced? What happens at 41 weeks? Basically, I just wanted to know what to expect. He explained that we would discuss inductions, how it all works, and schedule my induction for 41 weeks and 1 day pregnant, June 22.

 

A few hours later, I was on my lunch break (yes, I was still working). And without warning, a contraction. I didn't allow myself to get too excited. I had had plenty of contractions over the past few weeks, all of which lead no where. But a few minutes later, there was another contraction. And another. And another.

 

An hour later I decided it was time to make the 40 minute drive home because this was the real thing. I immediately called my husband and told him I was on my way. Surprisingly, driving while having contractions wasn't as terrible as I thought it would be. Yes, I was uncomfortable, but things were still pretty mild.

 

Again, I had planned on laboring at home for as long as possible. And again, things didn't play out that way. My pain level was maybe a 6, and though my contractions were 3 minutes apart, I could have stayed home longer. But my kids were making me crazy. Bless their little hearts, but while they wanted to snuggle up with me and crawl all over my bed, I just didn't want to be touched. So earlier then I really needed to, I opted to go to the hospital.

 

The kids went to my in-laws, and we went to have a baby!

 

Fast forward to 8:30 p.m. that evening, June 20th. I was suddenly 8 cm dilated and things were going GREAT. Labor was going quickly, and we were sprinting to the finish line. The nurse called my doctor, told him I was 8 cm, and he said he would be right up to break my water.

 

I few minutes later, I was sick. And it hit me like a train. I was sure I was going to throw up. My heart started to race. I was in a cold sweat. The room was starting to spin. I didn't know what was happening. This just so happened to coincide with the first drop in my son's heart rate. It dropped to 95, but within a few seconds, was back up to 130. And just as soon as the nausea train hit me, it was gone, and I felt fine. But it was only the beginning...

 

The doctor arrived shortly after my little "episode", and when he had been brought up to speed, he decided to continue with the plan to break my water, and get the show on the road.

 

Within minutes of breaking my water, I was a fully dilated and ready to push. Within minutes of pushing, my perfect labor ended, and a nightmare delivery began.

 

JP's heart rate continued to drop with each contraction. 100, and back to 130. 90, and back up to 130. All while I was pushing as hard as I could, and making very little progress. It was now after 10 p.m. and I wasn't getting anywhere. It didn't take much longer to figure out why. JP was face up. I knew it. My earlier fear of him being face up, was right! The WIDEST part of his head was coming through first. And basically, he was stuck. After several more pushes, JP's heart rate dropped to 75... and only bounced back to 90. I was terrified. My husband was terrified. The mood in the room suddenly flipped. The doctor and both nurses were SERIOUSLY concerned. My amazing OB calmly told me that he was going to "assist" me with pushing. He then explained he was only going to give me a few more pushes with the assistance of the forceps, before we would have to move to "plan B". He was telling me that if I didn't get this baby out soon, I would be rushed off for an emergency c-section.

 

There was no way I could go home to now THREE kids, while recovering from major surgery. I had to get this baby out. AND FAST. Three pushes later, thanks to my doctor's help, at 10:27 p.m. JP was out. It was the worst physical pain I've ever felt in my life. Forceps are no joke. I couldn't have done it without them, but I was not at all prepared for how painful it was going to be.

 

Immediately after JP was born, everyone knew something was wrong. He was limp and blue. The doctor gestured to my husband to cut the cord, but in the same second, realized there was no time. He cut the cord himself, and ran with our little baby to the warming station, where the nurses were already waiting.

 

I didn't get to see his face. I didn't get to touch his skin or cradle him in my arms.

 

He wasn't breathing.

 

One nurse started to bag breath for him, the other nurse started rubbing him down with a blanket, trying to stimulate him. My doctor was holding his head, keeping his airway open for the nurse operating the bag. The nurse with the blanket kept saying, "His pulse is good. His pulse is good. Come on buddy, it's time to breath on your own. Come on handsome! You can do it!" She ran to the door, called to another nurse sitting at the nurses station, "Call the on-call pediatrician! Tell him it's an emergency!" She then ran back to continue monitoring his pulse and rubbing his feet.

 

Jay and I were left there, watching all of this unfold. We were complete helpless. Was he going to make it? Was he going to breath? What was happening to our baby?!

 

I've never been so scared. Scared doesn't even begin to describe the feeling of not knowing if your child was going to live or die. This was real fear.

 

Four minutes after he was born, he let out a faint little squeak. HE WAS BREATHING! 

 

Four minutes is such a small fraction of time. Four minutes blinks by, and we don't even notice. Four minutes spent pleading with your son to breath and begging God to let you keep your baby feels like a lifetime. Relief washed over everyone. Me. My husband. The nurses. My OB.

 

He was breathing... and I think everyone else in the room started breathing again too.

 

It didn't take much longer for the pediatrician to arrive. JP wasn't entirely in the clear yet. His breathing was short, shallow, and rapid. The pediatrician examined him, and was concerned with what he heard in his lungs. Fluid, and lots of it. He was going to need to move him to the nursery for a chest x-ray and to collect blood for labs. But before he left with our new baby, Jay and I were FINALLY able to hold him.

 

Forty-seven minutes after he was born, I finally got to hold my baby. But my bliss was short lived. We still didn't know what was going on with JP, and we had no idea what would happen if we didn't figure it out soon.

 

And just like that, the pediatrician was gone with him.

 

My OB turned his attention back to me, and we finished with the remaining part of "labor". The nurses were getting the room put back together and helping me get comfortable in bed. I was in so much pain. Labor had been excruciating.

 

Once we got my pain under control, the pediatrician was back. JP had a LOT of fluid in his lungs, but he was able to get a significant amount of it out. They had drawn blood to send to the lab to check for any sort of infections and started an IV to begin 48 hours of antibiotic therapy. The worst part though was that he was going to have to stay in observation until 8 a.m. on a "one-to-one". This meaning he was assigned a nurse, who was to be with him at all times. Under CONSTANT observation. Our baby was spending his first night in this world, away from us.

 

And it was the longest night of my life.

 

By the next morning, he was completely fine. His vitals had been great over night, and had it not been for the IV in his arm, you'd never know there had ever been an issue. By 8 a.m. he was back rooming with me.

 

 

 

Because it would take 48 hours before his lab results would return, his IV for antibiotics would remain in until the results came back. We decided to be pro-active and begin treating an infection, instead of waiting for the results first. By Friday evening (he was born on a Wednesday night) the IV was taken out. All of his blood work came back perfectly fine.

 

Even today, almost 3 months later, we have no idea why he had such a rough start. But I would travel to hell and back for him again, without question. He's perfect. The whole family is in love with him.

 

John-Patrick (JP) William

June 20th, 2012

10:27 p.m.

8 lbs 8 ozs

21.5 inches long