The Trouble With Exercise

This made me laugh.

But it also made me kind of depressed.

Because it is a sadly accurate statement about my current physical state.

In the past 9 years, I have gained 35-40 pounds, 4 times.
In the past 9 years, I have lost 35-50 pounds, 4 times.
I have boxes of clothes that range in sizes from 6-12.
They are labeled like this: Pregnant, Not Pregnant--Still Fat, Getting Skinnier, Skinny.
It's been almost 10 years since I got pregnant with James, and I while I actually weigh a bit less now than I did when I got pregnant, my body has changed significantly.
And not for the better.
These birthing hips of mine were great for pushing out a 10.8 pounder, but I think they've spread with each child.
Or maybe it's just my stomach has spread and my hips are trying to hold it in.
My arms are flabby.
My rear end jiggles like Santa's belly when I run--it's just one more reason why I find running to be so not fun.
Even my feet are bigger.
They've grown half a shoe size with each kid.
I feel like more than a bit of a mess.


For the past 9 years of my life I have been pregnant or breastfeeding nearly continuously.
There was about a 6 month break after my miscarriage where my body was my own, but during that time I was going through the darkest period of my life, so it wasn't really a bright spot for me.
I've been very tired, very often, or had someone who needed me for sustenance, and those things don't make it easy for me to work out.
Regular exercise hasn't been a top priority.
I have stayed active, but I haven't made it a point to stay "in shape."
Hence the flab, the jiggling, and the spreading.
With each kid I have found there is less time to exercise, and so I do it less and less.
That is the trouble with exercise: how do I find the time?


Perhaps you don't suffer from the same fate as I do regarding finding time to exercise.
Maybe you work out when your kids are in school.
That's not really an option for me.
Maybe you drop your kids off at the kid's club at the gym.
The one time I tried that, my 6, 4, and 2 year old watched Shrek.  
I didn't find that appropriate viewing for them and never took them back.
Maybe you take your kids with you while you go for a run.
Besides the fact that I hate to run, I also find that when I have all 4 kids with me--2 in a jog stroller, 2 on bikes--I am stopping to give drinks or snacks to the stroller riders, to fix loose chains, to soothe a fussy baby, to soothe a kid who crashed, to find a spot for an emergency pee break, to go back for a lost hat, or some other sort of interruption that makes the run take forever and a day, and kind of kills it for me.
Maybe you pay for a sitter while you work out.
Sitters cost money, and I'd rather spend sitter money on a date with my husband than a date with a Pilate's class.
Maybe you work out early in the morning before your kids wake up, and before your husband leaves for work.
Bully for you.  I'd rather sleep.
And if I do go for that morning run (fast walk really--let's be realistic) I have hurry to get back home for the baby's nap, and then the kitchen is still messy from breakfast, there are morning chores to be done, and we've got to get started for school.
And I'll be running behind all day because of that run.  (walk)
By afternoon I am so tired the last thing in the world I want to do is strap 2 kids in the stroller, find the bike helmets, and head out for a run. (walk)
On top of all that, I always struggle with the classic mom guilt of leaving the kids with Aaron while I go work out at night.
Because going out at night to the gym is kind of selfish, right?
So really, how do I fit it in?


If you are a person who loves to exercise, who doesn't view pregnancy as a chance to take a break from her gym membership, who hasn't let her body fall into disrepair, then this post is probably annoying the heck out of you.
Just like the people who tell me, "I just don't have time to read books."
Oh yeah?
Turn off the dang TV and make some time!
So that's what I'm doing.
I'm making some time.


A couple of weeks ago I was searching for something to wear.
I was remembering my "getting skinnier" white jeans and wishing they fit.
I have boxes of cute clothes that I can't even wear!
I became so disgusted with myself and the way I felt in my "not pregnant--still fat" clothes, that I drove to the YMCA, and renewed the membership that expired while I was pregnant with Davy.
I went to a class that night.
I huffed, puffed and looked like a complete moron.
I was a cross between Elaine and her little kicks, Liz Lemon in exercise class, and Michael Scott being the boss of dancing.
If I cared, I'd be embarrassed.
But I don't--I'm just happy to be there.
I've managed to make it to 5 more body sculpt classes since then, and I am finally getting the hang of it.
Now I don't always go the wrong way when the instructor says, "other side".
I am also getting why people exercise.
It feels good.
It feels good to be doing something that is just for me.
No matter how ridiculous my kicks look, or how much my stomach bounces up and down while we jump rope, I still feel good.
In fact, I feel so good that tonight I swam laps for a half hour.
I had a side ache much of the time, and I was breathing heavy, but I loved it.
When I'm working out, I feel like I can do anything I set my mind to.
That's how I feel after I do an epic hike with all the kids, or after I give birth--all those endorphins pumping through my body making me feel on top of the world.
It's awesome.


All this brings me to some words of wisdom given to me by my mother.
My mom has given me lots of good advice in my life.
Much of it I don't listen to at the time, and then I realize later that she is right.
Daughters are annoying that way, I think.
Sorry, Mom.
Mom has been telling me for years that I should take care of myself now, and not wait until later when it's even harder to do.
A few of the things on her list: take care of my skin, get my nails done, buy good shoes, lift weights, and work out.
My mom speaks from first hand knowledge.
She spent her much of her adult life caring for everyone else and not for herself.
She understands my mom guilt, the lack of time, the pressing "need" to get the house cleaned and even school the kids.  (she home schooled my brother and I.)
Since she's been there, I should listen to her, right?


Still, it's hard not to think of those things as self indulgent, or to give into the excuse that I don't have time for them right now.
Truthfully, I'll never really have extra time to exercise, and some things, like doing the dishes right after dinner, are going to have to give if I'm really going to make the time.
But I know you're right, Mom.
So I'm taking your advice.
I'm not feeling guilty that Aaron is putting the kids to bed while I go to the gym.
I'm feeling thankful that he is.
4 kids later, and my body will never be the same.
But I might just get back into that skinny box one day.
I hope I don't die trying.
Besides, wouldn't it be great to be the grandma who's taking her grandkids on epic hikes?
I have goals, people.
So tell me, how do you fit exercise into your busy life?
I'd love to know your secrets.
Love from,
Greta

PS.  If you watch the Elaine and her Little Kicks clip, you'll hear George utter one of my favorite expressions, "Sweet fancy Moses."  How can you not love Seinfeld?  

My Hair!

I am just going to trust that you have seen O Brother Where Art Thou?
(and if you haven't, get thee to a library and rent it for 50 cents.  Now!)
Remember George Clooney's character, Everett, and how obsessed he is with his hair?  
When wakened from a sound sleep, he puts his hands to his hair and utters that great line, "my hair!"  (at the very end of the above linked video)
I feel a bit like Everett right now.


You'll remember not too long ago I was complaining because my hair was falling out.
By the handful.
It was starting to get frightening.
I always loose hair after my babies, but this was by far the worst of them all.
And I had real life bald spots on my head.
Anyone who said, "let me see," with plans to say something nice to make me feel better, would get a look and say, "wow.  That is a lot of hair."
Ouch.


But now, o happy day, callooh! callay! my hair is growing back.
Except it is growing back in and STICKING STRAIGHT UP!
It kind of looks like this little man's hair.
Aaron calls it chimp hair: those thin, wispy hairs that stick straight up.
Not super attractive.

All along my hair line, there it is, standing at attention.
So much of it in fact, that there are places where the rest of my hair can't even lie down flat because there are so many short hairs standing up.
It's in the back too, along the top, anywhere and everywhere.
I can't win.


Perhaps if I got a little bit of Everett's pomade, it might help.
He's a Dapper Dan man.

Or maybe I'll just wait it out and try not to care very much in the meantime.
This having babies, man it does a number on you, doesn't it?
My hair!
Love from,
Greta

Be a Voice

Today is Sanctity of Life Sunday.
Did you know?
It's been 39 years since Roe vs. Wade passed and abortion was legalized in America.
For some, this anniversary that calls for celebration--freedom for women.
But since that ruling, an estimated 52 million abortions have been performed.
That is 52 million babies whose heartbeats have been stopped.
52 million babies whose legs stopped kicking and arms stopped moving.
52 million babies who stopped sucking their thumbs.
52 million lives ended.
It is a tragedy.


The tiny, helpless, unborn baby is always heavy on my heart, but this time of year more so than ever.
It was 2 years ago this month that I learned I was pregnant and 10 weeks later, learned we had lost our baby.
That little life was so celebrated.
And so mourned.


That is the way each of us should feel about each little life lost to abortion.
We should not judge the women, doctors or nurses who take part in abortions.
Rather, we should spend our energy being a voice for those who have no voice.
It isn't easy.
No one wants to talk about it.
It's uncomfortable, unpopular, unpleasant.
You may offend someone, lose friends, or make enemies.
But there are times when each of us are called to take a stand for right and wrong.
It's a matter of life and death!


I found this, written by R. C. Sproul Jr., and it offers something to think about.
He is speaking to pastors, but we can apply his words to ourselves, whether we are pastors or not.
Will you dare to speak up when society tells you not to?


"To be silent is to be complicit. It is to tell our children and grandchildren that we are as guilty as those Germans who knew, and were silent. Of course our pews are filled with the guilty. The same is true of every sin we preach against. Of course the grace of God in Christ trumps even this great evil.
But the same Jesus who died for our sins calls on us to suffer the children to come unto Him. When we are silent, when we treat abortion as a mere social problem, a mere political issue, we expose our complicity. So preach faithfully. Proclaim not the sanctity of life, but the holiness of God, whose image the least of these bear. Call for repentance from the pulpit God placed under your care. Preach the same good news that He preached, that the captive are to be set free, that those marching toward death are to be rescued. Preach, and take the heat. For Jesus says such will make you blessed. Walk by faith, and preach by faith, in season and out of season."


This week, lots of people on the web spoke up against injustice and freedom.
Everyone was talking about SOPA .
Big Internet companies, blogs and Facebook posts abounded, "sign this petition!"
"Let your voice be heard!"
"Tell Congress they can't take away our freedoms!"
As I read these, I wondered if there would be any posts today.
Would there be Facebook posts saying, "remember the unborn!"
Would Google go black for 52 million lives lost?
I didn't think so.
But you can remind people.
Share this post.
Do a Google image search on sanctity of life and post a picture on your facebook page.
Write your own blog post.
Take a moment to mourn for those whose lives have been lost.
Be a voice for the voiceless.
Love from,
Greta


And if you disagree with me, or don't know where you stand in all this, please take a moment to watch this, and see what being pro life really means.

It's Still Falling Out

I'm starting to freak out.

My hair is still falling out.

In clumps.

I always loose a lot of hair after I have a baby.

Bu I have never lost this much.

I have bald spots, people.

BALD.

When your husband says, "if you want to use one of those special shampoos or something, it's ok", you know it's getting bad.

When you show someone your deeply receding hair line and they say, "oh my gosh!" instead of, "it's not that bad," you know it's getting bad.

Not this bad.

Yet.  (ps. totally weird ad, right?)
But I don't want it to because then I might have to go this route.
And that would be really bad.

I have never had thick hair.
I used to think it was thin, but my stylists have since informed me that it is not thin, it's fine.
But I have a lot of it.
Well, I used to have a lot of it.
I could probably even get my hair as big as this gal.

But I'd be happy for it to be as thick and full as that.......baby chick?
Uh, don't really get this ad.
But I do remember using this shampoo.
I LOVED it.
I remember the name and the bottle.
I was such a sucker for ads when I was a kid.
Remember the ad with the girl bouncing on the trampoline?
Prell?
I always wanted that shampoo because I wanted my hair to be bouncy.

Right now I'll just settle for anything that will keep my hair in my head and my head out of a wig.
Although I do wonder what I'd look like with a beehive.

The fun of pregnancy goes on and on, doesn't it?
So tell me, have any of you dealt with this?
And remember, I've lost normal amounts of hair after every baby, but this is getting serious.
I need help.
I need advice.
Fire away.


Love from,
Greta

Moo

I'm feeling a bit bovine these days.

There are 2 reasons for this.


Reason #1:  My body feels as big as a cow.
Not that I am doing anything about it, mind you. 
In fact, about the only thing I want to eat is coffee and chocolate.
If I could switch out that chocolate for cigarettes, all my problems would be solved, right?
Well, maybe not.
Intellectually I know that I just had a baby 3 weeks ago and my stomach was swollen beyond recognition and still is.
But when yet another person says to me, "when are you due?" it makes me feel a little crazy.
Like I want to say, "hey MORON, you see that newborn baby in my husband's arms, standing RIGHT THERE NEXT TO ME?  He was born 2 weeks ago.  DUH."
Instead, I smile nicely and say, "actually, I just had a baby 2 weeks ago."
This happened last Sunday at church. It wasn't the first time.
And then I just want to pound another chocolate cupcake, washed down by an iced latte.
I suppose I should go for a walk instead.


It's always like this.  But it doesn't mean it gets any easier.
I think I am handling it better this time around though.
I know it is what it is and in time I will get back to normal.
After all, I am slowly getting out of maternity pants.
I am now squeezing into those clothes I have in the box labeled, "NOT PREGNANT.  STILL FAT."
You have to have a sense of humor about these things.




Reason # 2: Davy's been on the every 2 hour eating plan for the past couple of days and nights.

It's bad enough during the day. 
Hard to get much done when I'm sitting on the couch every 1.5 hours .  (it's every 2 hours from when you start the feeding, in case you were not aware of that fun fact)
But at night, it's utterly brutal.
I shouldn't complain.
It's our first spell of this with him.
Until now it's been 3, 4 or even 5 hours between feedings.  
And I never have had a baby that wants to eat every 2 hours for any length of time.
I am sure he's having a growth spurt.
But still.
I can hardly think straight after 2 nights of seemingly constant nursing.
So, yeah, feeling like a mama cow right about now.


Thankfully it is the weekend, and a long one at that.
Aaron is home and taking care of the kids while I nurse away.
The kids are splashing happily in the biggest blow up pool we could find.
I am getting a moment of baby not attached to me time to type out some drivel, since I can't formulate thoughts deep enough for the post I really want to write: Lilly's 3rd birthday letter.
Maybe tomorrow.


But for now, I will finally take a shower, and then I think we're heading to the beach.
Because it's hot, and it's 4th of July weekend.
And the beach is always fun.
And I apologize in advance for those of you who might see me on the beach looking rather cowish: nursing my baby and filling out last summer's swimsuit a bit too much.
That''s life on the farm right now.
Oh the joys of postpartum.  
One of my favorite readers, Pam, explained it so perfectly: 
"it is the best of times and the worst of times."
So, so true Pam.  




Happy 4th to you all.
Hope it's wonderful!
Love from,
Greta

Hurting, Healing and The Chronicles of Narnia

God is a great designer.

For example, He knew that a busy mommy might not sit down and care for herself.

She might not rest like she should, and stop herself from doing dishes and sweeping the floor.

But she will sit down to take care of her baby.

And so, in those first days when Mommy so needs to sit, but might not otherwise, there is a tiny person who cries every 2 hours to eat.

And Mommy has to sit.

To take care of her baby,

And thus, she also takes care of herself.

It is a great design.

And it is no accident.

One of my favorite things about nursing, besides being forced to sit when I otherwise might not, is that lots of reading goes on while I feed the baby,
If the kids are busy playing, I get to read myself.  
It's wonderful to have all that extra time to read and not feel one speck of guilt about it.
After all, I have to feed the baby,
But often times, the kids aren't busy playing and they sit down with me and we read together.
There seems to be a need for extra cuddles, and snuggles and Mommy time after a new baby comes home and this nursing/reading time provides that.


We started reading Prince Caspian of The Chronicles of Narnia series right after we were all back home together.
We've read it before and listened to it on cd before.
But somehow, those books never get old.
In fact, no matter how many times I read them, they just get better and better.


In the past year, I have listened to the entire series on cd and read the entire series on my own.  This is my 3rd time reading through them in just one year.
I am a fast reader so this in no big commitment.
It is just pure enjoyment.
And also, it is a lot of balm for pain.


God has used the words of C. S. Lewis, the words in these books to provide so much healing for my aching heart in this past year.  
He has ministered to me as I read of His grace, His forgiveness, His faithfulness and more than anything His deep, deep love for me.
I have known God almost my whole life.
I became a Christian when I was 3 years old.
But when I read the words of C. S. Lewis, in these "children's books" I see God, and Jesus in a whole new way.


This time I could not hold back the tears as I read this scene between Lucy and Aslan:


"She rushed to him.  She felt her heart would burst if she lost a moment.  And the next thing she knew was that she was kissing him and putting her arms as far round his neck as she could and burying her face in the beautiful, rich silkiness of his mane.
"Aslan, Aslan.  Dear Aslan, sobbed Lucy. "At last."
The great beast rolled over on his side so that Lucy fell, half sitting and half lying between his front paws.  He bent forward and just touched her nose with his tongue.  His warm breath came all round her.  She gazed up into the large wise face.
"Welcome child," he said.
"Aslan," said Lucy.  "You're bigger."
"That is because you are older, little one," answered he.
"Not because you are?"
"I am not.  but every year you grow, you will find me bigger."


And He is bigger.  And more beautiful.  And He loves me so very much.
I love the way Lewis shows Aslan loving everyone in those books.
His love is so tender, so dear and so very real.
It helps me understand and feel Jesus' love for me even more deeply.


And then there is this scene with Edmund, the traitor.
He follows Aslan, even though at first he cannot see him.
When he finally does, Aslan says to him, "Well done."  
All is forgiven.  
His past is past and Aslan sees instead what Edmond has done well, not what he has done wrong. 
Such a great reminder, isn't it?


And Susan, who knows Aslan is there, but is afraid to follow him.
"You have listened to fears child," said Aslan.  "Come, let me breathe on you.  Forget them. Are you brave again?"  
We have all been there before, but we only need to come back to Him and find His strength to be brave again.  Oh, to let His breath fill us is strength indeed.


My boys recently told a friend that these books are so good they make me cry.
And they do every time.
In an amazing way, they meet me where I am.
It is a spiritual experience to read them.
I learn about myself and my faith and my relationship with others.
That is some truly powerful writing.

I knew there would be some rough days after the baby was born.
Postpartum can be hard.  It can be very, very hard.
With past pregnancies, I experienced a day or 2 of it, and then it passed.
With my miscarriage, it lasted much longer.
I didn't know what to expect this time.
But I knew I needed to be ready.
I needed to know there would be a day where I'd think, "I can at least fit into my "skinny" maternity clothes."
And I would try.
It doesn't work 4 days after the baby is born.
And then I would lay my head on the steering wheel, crying, "I hate being fat."
Ridiculous, you say.
Maybe.
But at the moment, it felt pretty real and horrible and overwhelming.


But far worse than those feelings are the other feelings: of fear, doubt, frustration and wanting to give into old anger and hurt.
Those are the things I knew I really needed to watch for.
It is hard to hold them back when you have a really good excuse to let it all go.
"I JUST HAD A BABY!  I'M TIRED!  I'M EMOTIONAL!  I'M FAT! I HAVE 4 KIDS AND THEY ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY! I'M OVERWHELMED! I HATE EVERYTHING!"


Have you ever felt that way?
I have.  I did.
It was the day of the me laying my head on the steering wheel and crying.
It all sort of snowballed from there.
After a while, I picked my head up.
I told Aaron how I was feeling.  He let me cry some more.
I was so thankful he was home with me.
I was sure I'd die if he'd gone right back to work like usual.
We prayed together.
And things were better.
Not gone, but better.


And then, through James picking what book we'd read together, God put The Chronicles in my hands again.  He let those beautiful stories bring healing and calm to my stormy soul.
He cares for us so much.
So much that He created a world full of creative people who reflect the Him--the greatest Creator of all.
I am so thankful for books, for stories, for beautiful language and for the people who tell them.
What a blessing.


It is easy to put God in a box. We think He can only minister to us in one way: at church, or when we read the Bible.
But He is so much bigger than that.
He cares for us in every way, from making us sit down to nurse our babies, to giving us great literature to read.
Don't think for a moment that you don't matter to Him.
"Cast all your cares upon Him, for He cares for you." 1 Peter 5:7




Love from,
Greta

On the Day You Were Born

He's only been here for 6 days and already it feels like a lifetime ago that we were on our way to the hospital to meet him.

I looked through all the pictures again tonight to remember and relive all the sweet, sweet memories of that night.  

I have cried.  

And cried.

But only the best kind of tears.  

I am so glad to remember it all.

I have always said that I started this blog as a record of these days with my family.

It has been wonderful to have readers who want to share life with us, and I am so glad to have you here with us.

But above all, this will always be our family blog.  

And so, I'll share this chapter here, David's chapter, for Aaron and I, for David and all the rest of our family that will follow.  

There won't be too many embarrasing details.  

So, come along for the ride.  It was a wild one.

(a word of warning: this is a crazy long post--you can just skip to the pictures.  But I want to remember all the details of how we got there)

..........................................................................................

The day started out exactly the opposite of how I would have planned it.

I was up most of the night before listening to James not breathe.

Over a year and a half ago James had an episode of sleep apnea. 

That's where you stop breathing in your sleep.

Of course it had to come back days before I was due to deliver.

Let me tell you, I got a lot of sympathy at the dr.'s office that day.

They are always nice, but there I was, with my 3 kids, one of whom stops breathing in his sleep, and me, looking ready to pop.

When our dr. walked in the room, he said, "oh my gosh!  Whatever is wrong let's fix it right away so you can go home and have that baby."

Anyway.

At first he wanted to put James in the hospital because his breathing was so bad, but after watching him a bit, he determined it was really only a problem at night.  He decided to give him a large dose of prednisone to bring down the swelling and check him the next day.

But it was critical to get that swelling down so that James could breathe through the night and I could sleep, and so we would not have to admit James to the hospital for observation.

"We just can't mess around with breathing things," dr. W said.

He also checked James and William for strep.  Which they both had.

Great.

I hurried off to the pharmacy, called Aaron to come home and watch the kids because I couldn't leave them anywhere and then rushed to my own dr.s appointment.

The dr. checked my progress and I was at a 4.

Guess all those labor pains from the week before had done the trick.

She gave me strict instructions not to wait too long before going to the hospital once I started feeling contractions.

"This is your 4th.  Your body knows what to do and it might happen fast."

My contractions started on the way home.

When I got home, I walked into the kitchen to find James sitting at the table in his underwear, a bowl of yogurt and an empty bowl in front of him.

The air smelled of vomit.

Aaron looked ready to jump out the window.  Or push James out one.

Apparently that medicine James had to take tasted pretty darn bad.

He threw up every time we tried to get him to take it.

We tried everything.

Ice cream.  Peanut butter.  Chocolate syrup.

No matter how we tried to disguise the taste of those pills, he could taste it and he just kept throwing it up.

After the 4th time I made him go outside.

I was frustrated beyond any frustration I have ever felt with any of my kids.

It was one of my lowest points in parenting.

There I was, pretty sure I was in labor, knowing that if James didn't take that medicine he'd be in the hospital that night, and watching him throw it up over and over again.

He threw up 6 times.

My contractions were not going away.

They were creeping around to my back.

I started moving furniture off the patio and hosing off all the barf.

Aaron asked me, "Greta, can you please let me do that.  You're going into labor."

"I just have to do this right now.  I have to do something."

I was slightly insane.

And Aaron was extremely patient.

He went back to the pharmacy to find out if there were any alternatives to the pills.

As much as I knew I was going into labor, I was trying to will it not to happen.

What would we do?

Who would be at the hospital with James?  Who would be with me?

The dr. called to check in and I started crying as I explained what was happening.

She was so encouraging and helpful and assured me that James had just psyched himself out (ya think?) and that he would take the liquid medicine that we were getting instead.  

It would start working right away and he would not go to the hospital.

She was right.

Don't ask me why he took it.

Except that Aaron and I prayed like mad that he would.

According to Aaron, it tasted awful.  And there was no way to mask the taste.

But he drank it right down and trotted off cheerfully to the bath to wash the barf off himself.

That was when I finally sat down and tried to decide if I was really in labor.

The contractions didn't stop with sitting, or laying, or a hot shower.

So I blew dry my hair, made some phone calls,had a snack, made sure we had everything packed, listened to James breathe and wrote a quick post.

My friend Jana came to stay with the kids and when Aaron convinced me to stop folding the towels, we were off.

That was when the real fun began.

We arrived at the hospital around 10:30 pm.  

My nurse checked me and I was already at 5!  I've never started already half way done.

Pretty soon, my crew began to arrive.

Yes, my crew.

They have all been at one, some or all of my births.
I love having these ladies with me when I have babies.
Why?
Well, for one thing, they're fun!

And also, they are some of the dearest women in my life and I love sharing this most amazing experience with them.  We talk and laugh in the beginning, and then, when it starts to get hard, I know they are all there, loving me, praying for me, holding hands, and waiting with great anticipation for the birth of my new babe.
I would not want to give birth without them.


Especially Cathy.
She's my right hand lady.
Cathy has been at each of my births--except the c-section.
And she would have been there too, but they only let in one guest and we figured it should be Aaron.

Cathy knows just where to rub, or massage me.
She knows how to encourage me, when to ask the nurse to check me again, how to help my labor progress and she stays calm and steady as a rock through it all.
Cathy is the best.
I love her like my second mom.
We named Lilly after her: Lillian Catherine.
Thanks for being with me again, Cathy.

After about 3 hours of labor that wasn't too terribly painful, it finally started to get hard.
That was when I really wanted, and needed, Aaron.

In those moments where I moaned through each contraction, willing myself to relax through the pain, his presence filled me with strength.
He prayed for me, held me, told me he loved me, that I was doing a great job, and said all the things a husband should say as his wife labors to deliver their baby.

With past deliveries, Aaron hardly made it through.  (and he has the easy job!)
His head was between his knees when James was born and he was white as a ghost and just managed to stay upright when Lilly was born.
But this time he was a champ.
I will never forget those moments with him as we waited together for the birth of our miracle.

Because I was having back labor, I laid down again on my side, asking for pressure to be applied to my lower back through contractions.
Suddenly, with no waring whatsoever, my contraction turned into pushing the baby out.
"The baby's coming!" I yelled.
And everything went crazy for a few minutes.


My nurse rushed to my bed, the doctor ran in pulling on her scrubs, and everyone was yelling instructions to me at the same time.
"Push Greta!"
"Hold your breath!"
"Get down on the bed!"
"Get on your back!"
"Put your legs up!"
"Slow down!"
"Push, Greta, PUUUUUUSH!!!"
That was the only time I got a little mad at everyone.
"I'm trying!" I yelled back.


And then, in an instant, the burning ring of fire ended, and the baby was out.
"What is it?  What is it?"  I yelled.
And someone, Aaron said it was him but I honestly don't remember, shouted, 
"IT"S A BOY!"
and the room erupted in cheers and tears and laughter.
They put him on my chest and we wept.
Our David.
Beloved.
And he is.

It was perfect.  
4 hours of labor--my shortest one ever. (except for the part when I was at home, hosing barf off the back patio)
Sharing it all with the people I love best.
I would not have traded one thing about it.  (except the back labor--not a fan)
Oh how grateful I am that I get to do this amazing thing of giving birth.


After we cuddled a while, inspecting hands and fingers, eyes, nose and little toes, they took him to weigh him and hold him up like a prize fish.

8 pounds 15 ounces!  
"I finally got an 8 pound baby!" I explained.
"I think he was 9 pounds and pooped out an ounce on the way out," my dr. said.
She had to wrestle David's shoulders out so I think she wanted credit for the 9 pound delivery.
He checked out just fine so they bundled him up and gave him to his Daddy.

And after everyone else had a chance to hold him, ooh and ahh over him, make happy phone calls and shed more tears of joy, Aaron brought him to me.

There is just no joy like the joy of a newborn babe.
We are so very happy.
And grateful.
So very, very grateful for this gift from God.

After a bit, everyone left to get some sleep or go out to breakfast, as per tradition.
And David and I were left alone.

We sat there together in the dim light, and I sang to him.

"God is so good, God is so good, God is so good, He's so good to me."

Because He is.

God is SO good.

Welcome to the world, Baby David.

We love you more than we could ever tell you.

Love from,

Mommy