Co-sleeping.

Baby Aiden, about a month old.

Since the minute our first child, Aiden, was born on March 7^th 2008 we intentionally decided to forgo use of birth control. In other words, for the last four years I have been pregnant or trying to be pregnant. Trust me, it’s been a rough few years on me, my body, my husband and any sort of (freaky [oh, mom, I hope you skipped this sentence]) sex life.

Nevertheless, we now have three children three and under. Before you draw the usual conclusion that we’re frickin’ crazy (because we’re not) or we just weren’t listening during sex ed. (we definitely were and I think it’s probable that Jarod and I may have paid the most attention in school that day than we ever have in our lives), I wanted our children to grow up close in age so they’d always have someone to play with and with the hope that they’d grow up together and grow in love and closeness all their lives.



Me and baby Tristen on his birth day.

Which brings me to co-sleeping, having three children so close in age we had to make rules to abide by (or we really would become frickin’ crazy) and one of those rules concerned sleeping habits. Aiden and Tristen never slept in our bed aside from the occasional sickness. As newborns they usually slept in a bassinet next to our bed but never in it. Not only do Jarod and I love our sleep but I was always prepping Aiden and Tristen for the next kid to come along because routinely waking up to various babies in the middle of the night sounds like hell to me.

Then came our last and only girl, baby Ali. She’s much more needier than the boys were (probably a preface to what’s to come in the future, right?). She sleeps great during the day but sleeps horrible at night. So last night Jarod took her out of her bassinet and placed her in our bed and basically remarked that, “I'm tired.” My sleep-deprived, groggy external reaction was something like, “uhh, ok” but inside I think I may have been beaming.

Jarod with his little girl, baby Ali.

We make compromises to everything in life and by giving my children siblings so close in age I’ve lost out on rocking them to sleep. In exchange for giving them the gift of sleeping well and knowing how to be independent, I’ve lost excuses to hold them and moments where they "needed" their mommy. I know I haven’t damaged their lives so inconceivably that they’ll need counseling but I know too well how time perpetuates forward even when you try with dear life to hold onto a single moment.

Thus, with our last child (whom I already know full-well is going to be spoiled; have you seen the way her daddy looks at her?!) I don’t mind if she’s a little bit more difficult, if she needs to be rocked to sleep or wants to be held incessantly just because she needs it.

Because in all honest, I think I need it even more.

Perfect.



Baby Ali, one week old.



Life is pretty damn, dare I say, perfect. It’s so perfect that usually overly-abundant (and annoyingly) optimistic me cautiously awaits for something, at the very least something tiny, to go wrong. But nothing has and believe me, I’m really not complaining. Life’s just really, really good.

Baby Ali turned one week today and everyday she becomes more and more gorgeous. Suffice to say, Jarod’s absolutely terrified. He mentioned how one day the boys are going to have girlfriends and I laughed because he didn’t even realize that subconsciously he already denies the fact that Ali will (one day) have a boyfriend. I brought it to his attention and he laughed but then remarked that she never will have a boyfriend. Umm, okay . . . psycho :)



With three kids, three and under, you
take what you can get when it comes
to pictures :)



The boys have been amazing with her. Other than Aiden’s initial comments about putting her back in the box (aka the hospital bassinet), they’re in love with her. Tristen’s the most obsessed with her. He loves peeking over the playpen/ bassinet and looking at her, giving her kisses and asking to be picked up (constantly) just to get a better look at his little sister. Aiden will inform me when she’s crying, remind me to feed her and will help put the binky in her mouth. They’re amazing and I hope (but I think Jarod hopes more) that they’ll always feel this love and need to protect her, especially from the population of the world with said male genitalia.



The very beginning <3



Also, seven years, one week and one day ago Jarod and I went on our first date. He picked me up in his black spray-painted MR2, handed me a bouquet of flowers, opened my door, took me to see The Notebook (which I’m thankful was the second-time I saw that movie because the first time I was an emotional-mess and we more than likely would not be where we are today if he had took me to see it for the first time; I‘m more than certain I would be considered, “thaaat girl“), ate some grub at Denny’s and basically, stole my heart.

Like I said life’s pretty perfect. Seven years feels amazing. We know each other so well and work so well together. Butterflies and falling in love is fun but nothing beats this kind of love.

Life is pretty damn perfect.

38 weeks pregnant

At 37 weeks and 6 days pregnant I had a prenatal appointment, I was 2 cm dilated and I asked my doctor to do a membrane sweep. It wasn’t that painful at all. Right after he did it I thought about asking him to do it again to make it hurt more so maybe it would work better haha but I guess, I didn’t want to look like a crazy person so I just kept my crazy thoughts to myself.

I immediately started feeling some contractions, nothing too strong. I went back to my mom’s house, where to boys were being babysat, and then spent the rest of the day doing everything I could think of to induce this baby into labor, which included walking up and down stairs, walking over three miles, busting out my breast pump, drinking pineapple juice and doing the deed with the hubby.

I got some strong contractions that night and got really excited. They were about one minute long with 10 -15 minute intervals but then they just stopped.

So after all that I got some painful contractions, sore calves and no baby in my arms. I’ve decided to just let go because it’s emotionally driving me crazy - thinking and hoping that maybe this contraction is the start of something over and over again is disappointing and I’m so exhausted. Just being pregnant is tiring but taking care of the boys all day and walking around like a mad woman to induce labor at 38 weeks is killing.

But I guess, I shouldn’t expect anything different from her. She’s my daughter after all, and although I’d rather blame Jarod for this, she probably has my stubbornness and isn’t going to come out for nothing until she’s good and ready. I guess, this little lesson is just preparing me for the future. I’m done complaining and I’m just going to look on the bright side: I have a daughter coming :)

37 weeks and counting . . . Yep, still counting.

Baby Ali and I have officially hit full-term! Yay!!

Sooo, you can come out.

Now : )

I’m torn. In terms of finances and in regards to Jarod’s work schedule it would be much better for her to come out later than sooner. But in terms of my sanity and comfort, I would really like for her to be out of me like five minutes ago.

Jarod wants her to wait until the day we turn 39 weeks (July 21^st), which is the day she will be evicted from my uterus aka the day my cesarean is scheduled.

My response to his (dumb) desire: Well, duhh! She’s not in his frigging uterus! He doesn’t get to feel like someone punched him in the a** (but maybe he should?! J/k) nor does he get sharp pains in his vag nor does he have to pee so often that he’s budgeted the extra cost in the monthly water bill.

On top of all the physical discomfort (the aforementioned are just a few of my fav), I’m HUGE. I know, I know, I’m pregnant and it is a beautiful and an amazing thing but I want my old body back. I’ve pretty much been pregnant (or trying to get pregnant) for the vast majority of my twenties and I would like to see myself as an attractive single-inhabitant person, I believe the appropriate and politically-correct term is “MILF,” rather than a baby-making machine. I know I will miss her little kicks and hiccups but I really miss being me, physically and emotionally.

To baby Ali,

I love you. I think it’s amazing that we’ve shared this journey together but I’m so excited to meet you and hold you and love you and teach you about all the really important things in life. Please come out soon because we want nothing more than to love you and know you.

Love,

Mommy