In the hospital, we had quite a few interesting encounters.

If to merely flavor your taste buds with the situations the staff at our hospital regularly encounter, let me preface my story with a few quotables from the birth certificate lady with whom we were soon fast friends: We began the conversation like any other, as she brought the final form for us to sign regarding Malone's information. Jamin had filled it out (I performed a quick double take to make sure he hadn't attempted anything outlandish, or even misspelled his name) when she (Birth Certificate Lady) casually divulged that we wouldn't believe the names they encounter on a regular basis.
She said she usually asks the patient "Are you sure?" before signing off on the final form. She also keeps a book of all the odd names that slide past her desk...Oh to get my hands on that book. Here are just a few:

Camo
Yep. As in camoflauge. They even decked said baby out in hunting garb for its grand pictoral debut.

Itsa (first name) Miracle-Miracle (middle)
Yeah. Guess the parents were super excited regarding the birth of their child?

Whirl
Last name: Pool.

I've heard this one before, but the the BCL swore on its absolute and utmost truthfulness...Twins:
Orange Jello and Lemon Jello. Try pronouncing it in a different way, drawing out the J's...spelling exactly as shown.

And my personal ALL TIME favorite:
Drum roll please...

Jesus Popcorn.

Yes. It is true. Jesus (Pronounced just like our savior) Popcorn may be making his grand debut at your local grocery store, gas station pump, or library reading hour. Keep your eyes open, people. He's probably big brother to Lemon and Orange.

In the grand tradition of encounters a-la Jamin and Ashley with people I like to describe as socially challenged, awkward, or perhaps even complete borderline psychos, we have proven yet again, to withstand the tests of time in the special category of life as absolute magnets for said people. Go us.

It was nearly ten thirty on the night of Malone's birth, and I was exhausted from a long day of hard labor, pushing, sheer adrenaline and LOTS of visitors. I was ready to go to bed around two hours prior. But our scary co patients in the neighboring room, the ones directly behind my headboard, had other ideas on their blossoming agendas. I love how our magnetism placed them in the nearest vicinity possible. Precisely next door. There were nearly five booming male voices echoing from the other side of the wall. Screaming children, and multiple female octaves to add (not so gracefully) to the chaotic mix. ALL of them arguing. Laughing. Arguing some more...volatile emotions hanging thick in the air...I was bracing myself for a bullet to find its way into my room and implant itself into the opposite wall.

Never mind that visiting hours ended at 9. Never mind that this was not the local Best Western. Or gas station, for that matter. People were recovering. On the maternity ward. Blood and dignity were shed earlier that day and I needed my rest. I flipping earned it.

Jamin knocked on the wall, and to no avail, the noises barely ceased. If anything, they were amplified.

Visions of new babies, peaceful dreams, and triumphant labors should have been dancing in my head, ever so merrily to the tune of my latest dosage of those fabulous pain pills I mentioned earlier.

But there was no relief in the sound department.
I'd had enough forethought this time to pack a sound machine for our final baby-related hospital stay. It was turned all the way up on the volume dial. After what seemed like hours (though only minutes) Jamin ventured out to the nurses station.

"Ummm, I don't mean for this to sound snobby at all," he prefaced to the nurse sitting ever so expectantly at the station. "But the people next door to us think they are having a keg party."

Jamin returned, and we felt a bit smug. "That'll teach em" I stated peppily, and we waited quietly for the nurses voice to float over the (barely) muffled noises next door. What can I say? I'm a rule follower. A people pleaser. A thoughtful run-of-the-mill kinda gal. And I'm a bit miffed when people have a complete and total lack of consideration for others.

It did nothing...

So we turned off the sound machine and waited. At one point, literal accusations of "who's the baby's daddy" reached an all time climax and we waited for screams of murderous rage along with police officers and evacuations of innocent bystanders. {I'm not being fecicious. "Who's the baby's Daddy" was an actual statement which floated through the paper thin walls.}

"Sad" I commented through somewhat uncomfortably delirious giggles.

Jamin complained again.

The relentless noise (of course) continued.

Finally, after nearly an hour, our small, ever so petite nurse poked her head gingerly into the room.

"Did they quiet down?" she asked
"No," we replied. Can you not hear the riotous gun shots and rampant screams emitting from our wall? The eminent bloodshed mere moments away from taking place? Annie get your gun! What?

"Sorry, we're just really tired," I added.

"I've asked them three times to quiet down." she stated, and I could see the apprehension in her eyes.

It was around eleven STINKING thirty when the ghetto decided to leave room 417 and head to the next bar fight.

Jamin was ready to call security before it all ended. He nearly ventured next door, but I begged him not to, for fear they would watch the nurse the next time she took Malone to the nursery, and we may never see him again...I felt a little uhhh, endangered myself. These people and their outbursts were seriously frightening me. (Again...with the pain pills...) But they eventually quieted down. At my rest's expense.

We thought it was all over.

Around 12 the next day (I'm assuming they needed their beauty rest after the social they hosted next door) two women started screaming in sudden bouts of fits through the wall. "How many people are STAYING there?" I wondered. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth when Jamin pounded on the wall ever so furiously.

"DON'T YOU BE KNOCKIN ON THIS WALL!" the woman screamed through the horribly insulated boundaries. "DON'T YOU BE KNOCKIN ON THIS WALL!!!"

At this point half my toothpaste ended up on the mirror as I guffawed. Jamin sputtered in his seat on the other side of the bathroom, and I left the sink to laugh in the room with him. I think she heard us. I hope she did. We showed her. We laughed. Right at her face. On the other side of the wall. Take that.

I seriously didn't know we needed security to stay at our local hospital. I should be upgraded to some exclusive famous person VIP suite during my next stay...Do they have those in Montgomery? Surely important people have procedures done here. If by important, I mean the local Pike Road Mayor, and by procedures, I mean ingrown toenail, then so be it. I'll take whatever special room he has. Thanks, Jackson Hospital. Apologies accepted. I'll be saving said upgrade for my (botched) boob job when I come back next year, since there will be no little Mills no. 4...

more {extremely exhausting} posts here:

bili blankets + baby boys

baby kimono cravings

the not so necessary...

We're doing quite well.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Really.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As you can see, Jamin has recovered quite quickly from his traumatic birthing experience, and besides a few blisters, is doing extremely well in the nursing department. He was awesome-I'm really so glad I didn't have to experience any of that this time around.

The birthing experience is over, and the final volume to the Mills family has been installed. It's always crazy when you finally get to meet the little person you've been growing inside of you after all this time. To watch their facial expressions and think: were they really doing this in my womb? Did this little guy actually come from me? A face to put with all those movements, an actual personification of love. I guess this is the part where I get to share my birthing story. I kind of feel like I earned it, so humor me and read if you wish...

I feel like all births should be just like something out of a movie. With the rise and fall of a crescendo, and one final push, the baby is delivered, tears fall, and a golf clap can be heard mysteriously echoing in the background.

Malone's birth was nothing like that.

At 5 a.m. on Monday morning, with the beginning of an induction, we were there. Ready to go. The I.V. was started around 6, and those contractions were soon coming. It was around 7:45 when my epidural was in place. I go quickly, and the {wonderful} nurse {she delivered Aiden and Emerson as well} recommended I go ahead and get the epidural. (They freak me out, but they're always better than the alternative.)

This pregnancy, I'd heard quite a few horror stories from my friends regarding epis, so for some reason I felt a bit skiddish about them. I guess you can chalk it all up to one over all bad feeling. I wasn't sure why. I'd already done this twice. But its the unknown of it all that always freaks me out. As soon as mine was in place, I felt as though a load had been lifted, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Epidurals really get a bad wrap," I thought to myself. "Unpleasant, but not a big deal. You totally did this. Scariest part over" Giant needles to the spinal cord complete with electrical shocks when put in place=not my forte.

Our nurse, a few moments later, put in the catheter in place. I felt it. And then the uneasiness set in. When I mentioned it, everyone told me it was only because the epidural was not working all the way yet. To give it time. At around 9, the doctor came in to break my water. That was when the contractions really began.

It was one of those moments in my life where I was faced with the fight or flight option: since I couldn't very well take the IV out of my arm at this point, say JUST KIDDING and ask for a do over, I decided to make my body work with it. I was breathing through each contraction, as best I could, letting all the tension go to one hand and forcing the rest of my body to relax while we waited for the anesthesiologist to make a return visit. I literally went to Tahiti in my mind. I was on the beach. In my safe place.

Looking back now, I was kind of impressed (not to mention totally surprised) with myself, and my ability to handle the pain. Jamin said he had no clue I was suffering that much, because I handled it so well. (read: I was levitating off the bed with Aiden Exorcist style the pain was so bad, but this time I knew what I had to do) The faulty epi was taking the very edge off each contraction, but I was feeling nearly all of it, and with each one the pain increased. In the end, the anesthesiologist pushed four doses of a new drug directly into my line, with which he said he should be able to perform a c-section. I remember telling him if he cut into me I would definitely be able to feel it. I could even jog around the room if he'd needed me to. He then told me our only option was to redo the epidural. He wasn't sure, but apparently the needle had slipped.

Wait. What? Seriously? I'm now supposed to sit through these awful contractions AND let you perform the scariest procedure ever AGAIN that didn't even work the FIRST time? And what's my pain management option after that? Natural childbirth? WHY isn't this working??? I was asking all these questions. No one could really answer them in a brief panic session. I then went back to my game face.

I gave the go ahead and the epidural took nearly twenty minutes the second time. The anesthesiologist wanted to make sure he didn't miss it. My mom was my lean-into person, and she was completely stellar. Jamin tends to wiggle, so I'd asked her before hand to be the person I used for my support. I knew she would be statuesque and dependable, if anyone would. And she was. She never budged. I was breathing into her and leaning and sweating the entire time, trying to get through each contraction despite the fact I was supposed to stay completely still. And she never moved. She was my angel. Props to my mom.

The second epidural in place, it actually worked. And not a moment too soon. Upon checking me afterwards, I was nine centimeters and ready to push. It was working this time, much to my relief, but not enough to take away any of the pressure. I felt it. ALL of it. If you look back at my video tape, (yes, we taped it, and will edit it one day to give to our children) I can actually be heard yelling "its a bowling ball" and that "they need to freaking get it OUT."

Pause: With Emerson I pushed ever so slightly and she was out. With Malone, I knew it was a boy, in those last moments. It was when I couldn't get him out. I pushed for a good twenty minutes, non stop, and skipping the truly gory parts, he was finally here. I just wanted him out. I hate I wasn't able to enjoy it more. I wanted to savor it, and simply wasn't able to. They handed him to me and shortly after and I just laid there on the bed.

Oh well. At least I'll be fully conscious for his childhood. Unless I can get my hands on some more of those awesome pain pills...

When the doctor delivered, he didn't say anything. We had been bantering about what he was for weeks now, and McDreamy himself had predicted a boy, along with Jamin. So he simply lifted him into the air and I could see. I, on the other hand, had sworn up and down on my Great grandmother's sister's mother's cousins grave and my womanly instincts on knowing my body, that he was actually a she. I was so wrong. And couldn't be happier about it. Just glad he was here and safe and healthy.

 

And that is the story of the grand arrival of Benjamin Malone Mills.

Aiden and Emerson have been the best part of it all. They have been absolutely thrilled to be around him. Emerson simply lifts her arms out to hold him, and has already taken on little mommy personalities of her own. It's precious. Aiden is priceless. When he first saw Malone, we asked what he thought it was and he simply stated "it's a boy". When we told him he was right, the look on his face was simply timeless. He then proclaimed he wants to "teach the new baby tricks" and says he is "beautiful."

In the meantime, I keep catching Jamin lifting Malone into the air saying the name Benjamin triumphantly, in a good storybook kind of voice, like a scene from the Lion King. I walk into the room, and there he is, arms in the air with baby. He's a little thrilled with himself since Benjamin happens to mean "Son of Jamin." Not to mention oh so hilarious. I keep reminding him that Benjamin was my grandfather's name, so he can tone it down a little in the drama department. He just loves being right, and will be relishing in the victory of it for a very long time.

Malone is a wonderful baby. He truly is a blessing, a HEALTHY blessing, and is simply a delight. He makes a great addition to our little family and (MOST IMPORTANTLY) so far, so good in the sleeping department. Hallelujah. I think we earned it.

No baby. {Yet.} I'm {still} here.

I am up to my eyeballs in this stuff, as preparing for a {currently} genderless child can prove to be a bit challenging... I've washed just enough, because let's face it: all they wear in the beginning are onesies and nightgowns anyway.

I don't parade around town with our newest arrival the day I am released from the hospital (as I like to follow the doctor's orders-heaven FORBID I do that...) so the smocked can wait. Obsessed with organizing I have been, as well as immersing myself in last minute details: the carseat, washing the swing cover, finding the boppy {yet to be located} registering at the hospital...making last minute arrangements...and all that other mind numbing stuff no one cares about unless you happen to be the expectant mother. Hurray!

We have an induction date set for Monday the 13th at 5 in the a.m. {woot woot} Here's to hoping I last that long. Our last ultrasound at 37 wks (I keep getting freebies because I was measuring a good 7 cm behind) - that's a whopping 7 weeks behind for you non baby experts out there (me) - it revealed that contrary to concerns, this baby is already a good 7lbs. 5 oz. For me, a small framed person, that lil tidbit of info means the baby is getting really LARGE. I realize it's not ten pounds or anything, but they nearly broke my tail bone getting Aiden out at 7.14. I'm not so worried about poundage as much as the size of this little m's head. We have that to think about, seeing as how large heads run in our fam: Aiden=115% Emmy=90%...and McDreamy is trying to avoid that one this go round. {Bless him and his little handsome doctor heart.}

So...induction here we come. {We would really appreciate your prayers!} Jamin and I have everything worked out, so I am sure the baby will now come around, oh... tonight or so. Things get a little tricky when you have other kids to think about...as I am sure some of you know. Our nurse, who delivered Aiden and Emmy and just so happens to be beyond awesome, has agreed to be there for our third, even though she's not even working that day. I have her all to myself! (They do all the work anyway) I also have Hair appointments squeezed in (so I have no root rot in the new baby pics despite the fact that my face looks like the elephant man) and a pedi (because we all know pedis are of the utmost importance when feet are in stirrups)...I mean everyone is totally looking at my toes. We even have a date night planned for Friday. Kid free. The last one for a while. Yeah. Now that I wrote that I can pretty much plan on having Malone in my arms tomorrow...

I'll admit it, I'm dying. Absolutely dying. Homestretch=absolute cliff hanger. This entire pregnancy I've been totally nonchalant, and now that little m is so close to arriving, I wake in the middle of the night wondering what on earth this baby is...anticipating its arrival...I guess the normal birthing stuff merely amped in the excitement of having no clue as to what he or she actually IS. I can pretty much count on this week DRAGGING by. I had a dream last night I gave birth in a beach chair on the beach. Only I was at the hospital. They had the epi in and everything. And there I was. My feet in stirrups, propped above the sand, watching the waves. Maybe a new birthing fad...

I've claimed girl from the beginning. Basing it on my womanly/motherly/female, Eve-like instincts. Jamin has, on the other hand, proclaimed little m to be a boy. For sheer argument's sake. {imagine that} And thus the battle has begun... I have more at stake than him. He guessed just to be difficult, and I proclaimed it was my womanhood driving me to this prophecy. As we both only want a healthy baby, it has become a battle to the finish. I guess we'll see. The suspense...IS KILLING ME. I want to be RIIIIIIIGHT. If he wins he's NOT allowed to rub it in my face. If I win, all is fair in love, birthing rights and double standards...

As most of you can imagine, the blog is about to slow to a snail's pace as far as posting goes, as I am merely trying to savor these last few days before we officially become a party of 5. So don't go anywhere. I'll be back. I'll let you know when no. 3 is here... I just won't be doing EIGHT separate posts a week...for a while...{Shew. I'm tired.}

Here are a few photos of our last days in retrospect:

We have this giant pool in our backyard. This heat is killing us, and it's big enough for all of us to clamber in and splash about. I guess you could say its borderline white trash in the above ground category, but its the perfect size for the kids. Check out my lil swimsuit model...

 

Jamin climbed in with them the other day. I think he enjoyed it as much as they did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just a little observation: I think Jamin may be possessed in this photo. Jury's still out...

 

 

 

 

 

 

In other news, Emmy had her first trim last week, and Aiden got his growth a little under control. Trademark surfer dude. It was time for Emerson. I hated to do it, but her hair looks much better now... less scraggly and thicker. She was borderline mullet status, and I had to prevent anything less than fabulous as far as she is concerned. Bows are of the utmost importance in outfit coordination, and her hair must be in top condition. She was a little angel as soon as our stylist handed her a lollipop...

Potential meltdown crisis averted. Hair saved in an envelope to be filed away in the baby book I never write in. At least it's dated. Everyone=happy.

 

We had a great time at my parent's house for the fourth. Aunt CiCi came down from Chattanooga and brought {as she usually does} a plethora of goodies for the kids. They absolutely adore her. We looked on from the garage in broad daylight while she lit some daytime-kid- appropriate fireworks she purchased just for them. (I winced, hoping they wouldn't explode in her face cause I'm jumpy like that) She is so thoughtful when it comes to her niece and nephew. She wins the cool Aunt award for sure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aiden was totally stoked about the parachute man CiCi brought. Right up his alley.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My mom with Emerson.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Later that night, we lit some more. Little Miss curious was afraid of nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My dad giving Emerson her first sparkler...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daddy helping Emmy with her sparkler...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 There are about a thousand reasons as to why giving an 18 month old a sparkler could be a horrible idea. This would be one of them. {No face burns occurred in the capture of this classic photo-I do believe it to be frame worthy, however.}

 

 

 

And last but certainly not least, in the grand tradition of our Swiss Family Robinson wildlife experiences, we now have a caterpillar infestation {in our pecan tree} located in our back yard. I felt it necessary to document said infestation as it is of plague-like proportions. Classic Mills status. Nothing less will do for us. Strange black things were falling from above, and then we realized they were giant, fat fuzzy caterpillars and quickly took cover. Some of them fell inside the doorway every time we opened the back door. I captured as many as I could and we relocated them to a safer place. Far far away from our back yard. Aiden was quite relieved we didn't torch them. I was quite relieved I didn't step on one. Those things were big and juicy. Gross.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Finally: I've been meaning to do this for a while. For your entertainment...a compellation of Emmy's best bootay dance moves: 2009. Try and keep an eye on her if you aren't too distracted by Aiden's spaz/interpretive/break dance tribute to MJ himself...classic.

I thought the track we put it to only appropriate : Props to Jamin for his mad production skills...documentation for future embarrassment at its absolute finest.

 

Warning: Not for the faint of heart. Birthing stories ahead. 

Revision: I went back and decided this entry was way too long, as would be the comments. SO I'm sticking to the questions portion...you'll see what I mean if you haven't been here yet...

What is it about women and their grand process of trading birthing stories? Like kindergartners from the 80’s passing out Garbage Pail Kid cards, a group of women in the room triggered by the presence of one prego always leads to something within that spectrum. And we all love it. Even if it IS way TMI. War veterans with field stories. We might as well break out the measurements for the tear / episiotomy / c-section factor. Bigger scar =better the victim. Because let’s face it. Once you’ve birthed a human from your actual body, it really feels like you can do anything.

I’ve officially begun the pregnancy ritual I execute every time before the big B-day. I’ve started watching TLC . My lineup: A Baby Story. Mental. Preparation. {While I was at it, I threw in “I didn’t know I was pregnant” on the DVR just for kicks. Hilarious.}

I won’t lie. Even though I’ve already done this thing twice, it’s the daunting possibilities of the unknown that get me. Every. Single. Time. So into the world of real live births, I have been sucked. Some of these episodes are a real snooze fest. I think ABS really needs to broaden their horizons for some true baby mama drama down south. (did you know they only film in the NY/NJ area?) Hot water and biting on sticks…while someone runs around in the background screaming she knows nothin’ bout birthin babies…that’s how we roll down here. Ratings, people. Ratings.

 My current faves a-la awkward  world:

The Idealist:

Expecting her first child, she managed to work out every single day. She bragged…as did her husband. He said he was glad she hadn’t gained much weight. I mean really? “And it did nothing for you,” I spoke a bit too excitedly as I caught a shot of her flopping butt in hot pants. Mrs. I-have-it-all-figured-out planned to give birth at home in her bathtub (bwaaaaa) and ended up freaking out and driving to the hospital. She started begging for an epidural at 2 cm. “Uh, you have eight to go sweetie…” I guffawed through my mouthful of double stuffs on the couch.  It’s fine to want the epidural, but try to hold off on the ridiculous writhing and screaming when I’m watching you on the teli. Downing my glass of milk to wash down the double stuffs I opted to eat. RATHER than working out. Sitting pretty at 2. Someone shove a tranquilizer and a reality check down the chick’s throat, already.

The Traumatizers:

Coming in at a close second. This blended family basically brought in all four children in to watch the birthing process. The oldest was nine, the youngest 18 months. Seriously? Scar your children for life much? The best part is, Mommy dearest freaked out WITH her epidural in the end.  And midwife Janice went all psycho militant on the kids, telling them to shut it since mommy was having a baby. Uhhh, your children are WATCHING, because you thought a staged birth would be a swell idea/learning experience. Let’s add screaming to the mix of bloody hoo-has and massive needle action. Props to you, mother of the year. That’s just terrifying…I don’t care how old you are. Note: The kids ran out of the room.

So here we go. I want to hear your birth day stories.

{I do have one request…please use your best judgement and leave out any truly near death experiences. I have a strong stomach, but those encounters are best left unsaid right now, since I’m getting ready to do this again.} I’ll try to keep mine short and sweet though as we all know, no words can really do the experience justice…cut and paste my questions with your own answers they're in the comments section... Add anything you like. {Humor me.} It's war story time.

If you don’t have birthing stories of your own, feel free to share your thoughts on the process. I want to hear! Let the discussions begin!

 {I still hate you, Eve. } Now it’s your turn. GO.

More posts here: 

fun {etsy lust} finds

finito

where she stops...

p.s. the days are dwindling to enter your guess. Click the link to the left to play the baby game! I'll be closing down in just a few days...

Aiden: {informatively whiney} I want my playroom back

Me: (SIGHING realizing this is one more visit in the gentle yet inevitable explanation of why we can no longer have a playroom...) It's the baby's room now. And you are so sweet to share with the new baby. Besides, you can play all over the house. You don't really need a playroom to play.

Aiden: I want to give the baby back to Jesus.

Me: {resisting a smile} Well, sweetie, there's kind of a no return policy on babies. And I already love it in my tummy. You will love it too when its here.

Aiden: Then I want a new house with a playroom.

Me: {A little disturbed at this point by his advanced bargaining techniques/outlook on life} Well, maybe you should just be thankful for this house. God gave it to us. Some little boys and girls don't even have houses. {On the other hand, some little boys are also forced to wear smocked after the age of five in their big rich people houses, so deal, kid}

Aiden: (pausing for a moment to take it all in...) If we keep it, I want the baby to be a girl baby.

Me: (stifling a laugh) If it's a girl baby, what do you want to name it?

Aiden: Ashley. Ashley Mills. (I must say, I'm flattered)

Me: And if its a boy?

Aiden: Budah.

WHAT???

*Time's running out to enter millswhoops3! DO IT. You know you want to. Check the link to the left. I close down the entries and your chance to adjust your guess by July 1. So happy guessing...

and just to update: I went to the doc on Wednesday and am already dilated to 1.5 cm. I was counting on my last four weeks. I'm in no rush. I know what it's like now to deal with more than one, where as I naively rushed the idea of Emerson arriving, I'm doing handstands with this one. I told Mcdreamy my contractions had slowed down, but he said I don't really need that jazz to dilate this time around. Baby no. 3 is simply baring down. {read: goodbye, cervix of steel. I'll be crossing the dining room to get my morning coffee when little m pops out and starts pulling its best dance moves on the cream carpet. I think I'd be more disturbed by the fact that the new kid dirtied up my carpet. I'll probably be induced anyway...Ah the unpredictable fun the business of birthin babies can be...}

more here:

etsy lust

fathers day

the scream