Arthur's Written Word

Pictured in the bottom right corner is the word 'cat', which Arthur wrote entirely on his own.  I meant to crow about this earlier, but he wrote this just before he turned three this year.  It looks like he's going to give Maggie a run for her academic intelligence!

Nellie's Birth Story

Steve and I went to bed early on Saturday the 12^th of July since there were terrible thunderstorms coming through and we were tired from a busy day prepping for Nellie.  I hadn’t felt well all day, and trying to sleep felt bad on my hips and middle.  The storms rolled through and finished around 4:30 which is when I felt some gurgling in my uterus.  I got up to go to the restroom and when I went to lie down again I felt like something had popped.  I got up to go again and realized my underwear was rather wet.  I was fairly certain that meant my water had broken, so my adrenaline started to kick in. 

I woke Steve up to tell him my suspicions and he was less than enthused.  He was foggy and I was jittery, and together we worked out that I should call a doctor.  I called the afterhours number and  left a message.  I was still nervous and so watched some music videos to help me calm down, specifically David Bowie’s  “Life on Mars”  and Cocteau Twins “Heaven or Las Vegas.”  After a half hour the doctor was able to get back to me.  It was Dr. Edokpayi, and she suggested that I get myself admitted to the hospital.  I hung up and contacted my father in law to tell him that it was time for Nellie.  He was surprisingly awake sounding, which was more than I could say for my mom when I called her shortly after.  She sounded so sleepy that I had to double check that I had called the correct number.

With the phone calls out of the way I decided I should get packing.  That’s when the contractions started, unfortunately, so I had to hobble around getting things together while timing and recording each twinge.  I watched the sunrise and thought about how Maggie was getting out of “the horror” of going to church, how Arthur would get to take a nap (finally), and how I was getting out of having everyone groan at my arrival and ask irritating questions.  I was nine months pregnant during a hot and humid season and had little humor left.  When my in-laws arrived I tried to eat a protein bar, then promptly threw it up.  We woke Steve up with our chattering and he made himself breakfast while I rounded up items and gave instructions.  Then we were finally on our way to the hospital a little after 6 AM.  I was not too surprised at being rather calm and determined feeling.  Nellie was on the way, I wouldn’t need to be painfully induced, and I’d had a pretty decent night’s sleep.

As we arrived at the hospital Steve went to park and I impatiently asked him, “Are you seriously going to make me walk?”  He drove over to the main entrance and I pointed out that it was too early for it to be open, so he circled the van around again to the Emergency entrance.  I stepped out and witnessed a shabby chap being patted down by a police woman and producing weapons and drug paraphernalia from various pockets.  I had to sidle past them nervously to get to the admitting desk.  I had a contraction at the desk and asked to wait to sit in the wheelchair.  An extra nurse was called in to accompany us with an emergency birth packet in case I dropped the baby en route.  I made it to the triage though without dropping anything and was quickly/mercifully checked out and admitted swiftly into the maternity ward at about 7 AM. 

Once we were settled in we called my mom again and left a message for my Aunt.  We assumed that she was still in Wisconsin and might be out of cell phone range.  I sipped on water and powered through the early contractions quite easily.  My strength training this time around made the early stuff feel manageable.  The nurse attempted to put the heart monitor on my belly to find Nellie, but she kept slipping out of range whenever they located her.  In the end they had to insert a cathode into the top of her scalp to keep track of her.   The pain intensified and I was worried that my mom wasn’t going to get there in time.  She called to let us know that she was halfway to town at 9.  When she got to the hospital at 10 we had to turn Gary around back to the waiting room since I had kicked off my covers and was not covered up.  Steve and Mom helped me to keep focused on my breathing, but the pain my back was becoming unbearable.  I finally caved and asked for some pain relief around 11 and the anesthetist was called for a pain block since I was about 7-8 centimeters dilated. 

I was weeping weakly and whining over and over about “My back hurts, my back!”  Each contraction was making me more and more drained of energy and my initial adrenaline surge had definitely warm itself out.  I was almost asleep between contractions, I was so tired.  Suddenly the urge to push came, but I hadn’t had a transitional rest phase.  The urge to push wasn’t a relief like it had been during my last two labors, and I was feeling excruciating pain along my lower back and tail bone.  I breathlessly announced that I intended to push and they checked my dilation.  The room was hurriedly prepared and the doctor called in to catch Nellie.  At this point the anesthetist comes and says brightly that she’s here to help me with the pain.  I shouted at her that I was starting to push and she shrugged her shoulders and answered sympathetically that there was nothing that  she could do.

Steve was called upon to be my stirrup and some nurses came to instruct me on how to push effectively.  Steve and my mom kept trying to remind me to breathe instead of yell, but I was wild with pain and kept howling.  One nurse grabbed my chin to bring us face to face and told me that my position and direction of pushing were wrong.  I managed to relax enough to open up my hips and bring my chin down instead of arching my back like Linda Blair from the Exorcist.  And so the burning ring of pain appeared in my screwed tight eyelids.  I think I heard Steve say her head was coming but I was panting and reeling.  Another push and she was out.  Though it felt like forever, the nurse said I only pushed for ten minutes. 

I opened my eyes blearily to see a reddish blob screaming lustily on my chest.  The universe came back into focus and I gasped out “Nellie!  You’re here! Hi Nellie!  We’ve been waiting for you!” Steve grabbed the camera as they suctioned out her breathing passageways to record her first cries.  Slowly the pain and spinning world slowed down and I passed the placenta with very little trouble.  The great irony with all of my deliveries has been that nearly immediately I feel fine and pleasant. 

This delivery was rather intense, but Nellie has been well worth it.

Et Voila!

Maggie is muttering to herself, saying “Liberte is French.”

Me: Oh? And what does it mean?

Maggie: It means Liberty.

Me: Who is teaching you French?

Maggie looks at me dead on: I’m teaching myself!  Bonjour!  Merci!  

I didn't quite know how to respond to that...

The Spirit of Santa

Maggie: Mommy, will Santa bring me a Skipper doll?

Me: Well you know, Santa doesn’t exist.

Maggie: Oh…

Me: But the Spirit of Santa is real. 

Maggie: What is the Spirit of Santa?

Me:  The Spirit of Santa is in the giving of things to those who are in need, giving them what they need most.  It’s also in the loving we feel at Christmas time, when we try our hardest to make each other happy.  That’s what the Spirit of Santa is.

Maggie: …so will the Spirit of Santa bring me a Skipper doll? 

Sigh....So much for trying to teach my daughter about altruism.

Happy (Late) Mother's Day!

Shame on me for letting so much time slip away!  I am posting a college paper my grandmother wrote describing her "job" as a Mother.  I love the way she writes--such humor and wit.  She is who I want to be when I grow up (someday).
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            I have been a full-time wife and mother for twenty years.  Any job description I write will be incomplete and inadequate.  Nonetheless, I shall try.  Let me begin with my usual tasks.

            As a wife, or housewife—the more common term, I am expected to keep the house clean, presentable and decorated tastefully, on the order of House Beautiful.  The floors are to be mirrors, the curtains spotless and fluffy.  Old wallpaper should be stripped, as well as old paint, then the walls must be painted, doors stained and varnished and the pictures  hung just so.    Housewives are particularly suited for this sort of because, as my son says, they don’t charge overtime for weekends and 3 AM quitting times.

            The next task facing a housewife is the preparation of gourmet meals.  This may appear simple to the uninitiated.  However, hurdles are constantly being introduced to challenge even the best chef.  Dinner for five becomes a much greater feat when the five are to be served at one time, 30 minutes apart, to accommodate dancing lessons, play rehearsals and a bad day at the office.  Other memorable events have been, “Mom, I invited 35 people to a party tomorrow night at my house.  You wouldn’t mind just fixing a few snacks would you?  Well, it is my house, too.”  “Mom, I need birthday cake for 100 people tomorrow.  I’ll help with dinner, though, I don’t have to leave for an hour.”  “Dear, I know you have an accounting exam in 30 minutes, but could you leave something in the oven?  I’ll be bringing a business associate from out of town home for dinner in two hours.”  And then, as we sit down to a very special dinner party, planned for two weeks, “I hope you don’t mind, but we brought four extra people.  You can just add some extra plates.”

            There are many other less time-consuming but equally as frustrating chores.  Laundry is where you wash and iron everything twice a week but never have the particular jeans or shirt wanted, so you do that one at midnight or 6 AM.  You are also expected to take a turn at car-pools.  My day comes on the occasion of 6” of snow or the day the streets flood.  Then there is the sewing and mending.  The costumes are particular fun.  Stuffing tails with old nylons for cats and devils, making a pilgrim hat—just like in the picture—or knight’s armor from gilded gunny sacks, all allow you to express your creativity.

            Once you become a mother, your duties are expanded greatly, not by your family necessarily, but by the community.  All mothers are to allow time for: serving lunch at school cafeteria, being room mother, den mother, scout leader, hostess, and the everlasting committee assignments.  No community organization can survive without the volunteer mother, be it educational, religious, charitable, or political.

            My priorities come into conflict with the priorities other people have set for me.  Sometimes I think an award should be given to the best-supporting mother of the year.  I want to graduate from college and support myself.  I often wonder if my services will be as necessary if they are not free. Am I useful or could I be?

            My goals that I could consider achieved would have to be that my children are almost grown up and they have turned out to be such fine people.  However, I do not feel much personal success in it.  They were all pretty nice the day they were born.

            I do not report to anyone.  I am unanswerable to everyone.  If my children misbehave in school, I report to the principal’s office.  If they are hurt, I did not take adequate precautions.  The nurse in the emergency room looks at an injured child and says, “Where was the mother?”  My grandchild is due in Utah next month.  I won’t be there.  There is not a soul in the world who feel the slightest hesitation to tell me I should be.  Mothers only have superior officers, even their children do not remain subordinates for long.

            There are unique and special rewards, though.  “You see Mom, most parents aren’t like you.  You care.”  “Can I just sit by you, Momma?  Some people are such good friends, they can just sit and be comfortable.”  “I know it’s late, Mom, but I have to talk to you now and tell you what a good time I had.”  “The policeman said I was the first boy who ever broke a school window and turned himself in.  I threw the ball too high.”

            Soon I shall be out of a job.  I hope to find another.  This time I intend to educate myself adequately to perform the tasks.  I want a finite list of my duties.  Oh yes, one more thing—I want better hours.

Constance B. Embree

September 30, 1979

A Few Funnies

Maggie is a pretty funny kid.  I know most parents are rather enamored of their own children and that I am certainly one of them; but she really is a hoot.  Her timing is particularly key.  I’m not always good about writing these things down, so I will use this blogger-majig as an excuse to set down some of the hilarity.

Last week we started a Parent-Tot Tumble class.  As we walked into the gym where the class was being held, Maggie and I saw all of the kids already rolling and running around on the mats.  Maggie proclaimed loudly at this energetic sight: “Wow!  Now you’ll really be able to lose some weight, Mom!”

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While looking at a cookbook together, we happened on a picture of some cookies.  Maggie exclaimed, “Oh, cookies.  I can’t have those.  They’ll ruin my figure.” 

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I told Maggie that an upcoming wedding this summer was supposed to be grown-ups only, so we would most likely decline the invitation.  She wildly cried out, “I’m little now, but I’ll be grown up then.”

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As Maggie was dressing herself in a pair of brown stretchy pants, she paused mid-way up her legs and looked quizzically at her slacks.  “You know,” she said, “when they’re like this it looks like a moose head.”

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A while back Maggie was running nude around the apartment (that is a story for another blog post, for sure.)  She kept hollering, “I’m proud of myself.”  She’s never had a problem with self-esteem, come to think of it.

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We were Christmas shopping at a store near my Mother in Bloomington-Normal when I put on a silly pair of fake glasses with fake nose and mustache.  I asked Maggie if she thought they were funny.  She soberly reproached me, saying “Take those off, Mommy.  It disturbs me.”

I hope this brightened your day.  She certainly cracks me up!

Arthur: A Birth Story

And now on to the birth story for my second born.  It is considerably shorter than the first one, and a bit less detailed.  I think that this is due to being tired as well as having a firstborn that also needed my attention.  Playtime is more pressing to me than typing.  And this go round was also shorter than the previous birth.  Maybe by the time I get to number four I can get down to about two hours for the whole she-bang.

                                                                   The Advent of Arthur

Friday November 4^th began like most days of my pregnancy with my firstborn son.  I was achy, full bladdered, and short winded.  But I was determined to clean the car out because it was the last labor intensive thing to do before going to the hospital.  My nesting urge had finally kicked in that week too, so I was really trying to make the most of this burst of energy that I had been feeling.  That really should’ve been my first clue that day that something was going to happen.  I had naively assumed for the entire pregnancy that things would progress in a similar fashion to Maggie, and I would have to be induced.  I was really against this because the contractions I felt with the Pitocin were rather painful, and I was disappointed that I didn’t get to experience labor from start to finish in a more ‘natural’ way.

My mother-in-law came and I vacuumed and wiped down the inside of the car, humorously squeezing between the seats with my enormous belly.  I felt really fired up to keep cleaning, even professing a desire to sweep up the entire parking lot.  Steve chuckled as my belly jiggled when I blew my nose.  Everyone remarked on how huge I was, and it was then that I started to feel dully fatigued.  I had hoped to do more scrubbing because I was twitching with energy.  I wound up on the couch doing online puzzles and watching piffle until Steve got home. 

We ate a meal of leftovers together, but I was eating kind of slow.  I wasn’t feeling contractions, but I felt more tired and achy than ever.  Steve scolded me and told me to finish eating so I could lie down.  While he washed the dishes I sat with Maggie.  All of sudden I felt this bubble in my gut—but it wasn’t gas.  Then whoosh!  My water broke like sitting on a water balloon.  Steve saw my surprised face and asked me what had changed (he could tell it was not a contraction).  I told him that I thought my water had broken, and he asked if I was sure.  I didn’t want to move because it hadn’t run off my chair yet, so I had him bring over my phone and a junky old towel.  I called the doctor’s after hours number, knowing that I wouldn’t get through since he was going out of town that weekend.  And the doctor who was filling in was my former obstetrician who I was trying to get away from by switching to the new OB-GYN. 

My mind was in a whirlwind.  I had written a list for packing and didn’t have much left undone that was in urgent need of finishing.  But the way my mind works I was of course freaking out about not having any clean laundry, and also about the ring around the sink.  After the phone call I went into the bathroom to finish draining.  This is exactly what my mother did when she was going into labor with me, except my brother was watching Sesame Street instead of finishing supper.  Poor Maggie was left alone and dirtied her diaper because she was too afraid to ask for help to get down and go potty. 

I called my Mom and asked her what it felt like to have her water break.  She said it would be either a trickle or a gush, and I told her “Well, then I guess my water broke.”  She told me to call back in half an hour because she was at a Marines ball and was listening to an interesting speaker.  I hung up with my Mom and called Auntie, but had to leave her a message.  At this point I decided to take a shower, because I figured it was going to be a while before I could stand up and take another one.   Steve finished the dishes and took care of Maggie.  I got out of the shower and put on some fresh clothes, including the last clean pair of undies (which I was still worried over.)  I grabbed my list and started packing, and that is when the contractions started to hit.  Maggie was a super trooper and would run over to me when I would start having a contraction.  She would hold my hand and say, “Mom, breathe like this!  Poof!  Poof!”  I loved her loving involvement and it made it hard for me not to cry.  There was no way though that I could take her to the hospital with me.

Steve’s parents showed up and we put Maggie into her pajamas.  She was dancing around with excitement and would pause only to help me breathe and pat/kiss my belly to encourage Arthur.  I was glad that she was happy and not anxious because it made me remember that no matter the pain it was going to be worth it.  My m-i-l wanted to come along with us to the hospital but we told her that the most important thing that she could do was make sure Maggie was taken care of and happy.  Maggie waved goodbye, kissed me, and said “I love you Mommy” as she walked to her grandparents’ car.  It was then that I started to cry; I would miss her so much!

            Steve and I listened to Led Zeppelin IV in the car to get me pumped.  Auntie finally got back to me while I was checking in at the ER.  She had to find someone to watch her dogs, but she would be on her way.  The lady at the ER desk disinterestedly asked me what made me think that I was in labor, to which I replied “Because my water broke and I’m having contractions!”  This made her snap too and I was soon riding in my bumpy chair chariot to the Maternity Ward.  They put me in triage and had to run some tests on me to see if my water had ‘really’ broken.’  I took it all in stride, but was still a little annoyed.  No wonder some left-wing types advocate for home birth/natural birth; the medical community has really desensitized women into thinking that they must not know their own bodies.  This was not me being hysterical—this was the real deal, people!

I can't believe these awesome ladies have gone through this TWICE with me!

            The nurses kept telling me “15 minutes” until I would be moved out of triage into a suite.  They didn’t know that my last labor moved faster than the average 24 hours.  After the test results came over an hour later I dragged my rear end down the hall to room 2609, just two doors down from where I gave birth to Maggie.  They hooked me in and I had Steve put things away.  I’m always going to be a neat freak, even in a crisis.  Our nurse was named Alysha, and she was very nice and friendly with a pretty good sense of humor.  She told me that she thought I would deliver by 3 AM, but I knew it would be sooner than that.  My mom arrived at about 11:30, and told me to try and hold out so Arthur could be born on Guy Fawkes’ Day—easy to remember then for Anglophiles like us.  Auntie came not too long after that, and I was glad that everyone had made it in time.  The contractions were getting stronger, and I could actually feel his head moving down the birth canal.  In between the intense but manageable pain I was in such awe that I was so aware, so in control of my body because I had no pain killers in it. 

            Contractions kept coming stronger and closer together.  I felt like using the restroom but didn’t have the strength to limp the five feet or so to get there.  The kind nurse brought a bed pan and suggested I go in between contractions, yet I was even too tired to do that.  Everyone recommended that I sit back, but it felt kind of good to be sitting upright through the contractions.  And then I felt his head drop pretty far and fast, and I was able to go because I felt like pushing.  I leaned back and started to cry, “I’m tired, I don’t want to do this anymore.”  I also told everyone that I was ready to push, but the nurse replied that I couldn’t be far enough along to do that yet.  “Would you like me to check?”said Alysha.  I nodded, a little miffed that no one believed me.  I could feel it and knew full well that he was ready.  I was checked and sure enough, fully dilated.  There was no good feeling in between the pushing this time, but I smiled anyway and kept repeating “It’s almost over, he’s almost here.” The doctor was called for, but I had already started to push.  He got there in time to throw on his gloves, take a seat, and catch little Artie as he corkscrewed out at 2:14 AM Saturday, November 5^th.  His face was so beautiful; no big eyes like Daddy’s this time, but they were opened wide and stared as hard as they could.  I remarked at the time that he looked like his Uncle Chucky.  He was very Hargan-ish, at any rate. 

Artie didn’t cry for very long before he was searching the room all over. I was completely floored when they told me that he was 8 pounds and 13 ounces.  I couldn’t believe that I was carrying around something that weighed more than I could bowl with!  He was placed on my chest and I cooed at him and kissed him, in spite of the goo.  This time I didn’t mind the muck, probably because I was no longer a fussy new mom but a battle hardened old pro.  We called parents and grandparents that weren’t there, even though I worried about waking everyone up.  Arthur cried heartily into the phone for them, ever a dutiful little lad. 

            Less damage was done this time, and I was already mentally prepared for the stitching.  To take my mind off of the pain, I started to sing to Arthur who was beginning to fuss again.  I sang him “Ziggy Stardust” by David Bowie,  “Tears Dry on their Own” by Amy Winehouse, and “Tangerine” by Led Zeppelin.  They were some of his favorites in the womb, especially “Ziggy” which I had amended for toddler ears since his sister wanted to sing along.  He really responded to the songs and cuddled contentedly, listening.  Naturally I wolfed down my PB & J again—I think I will make that a regular occurrence afterbirth.   Arthur seemed to be hungry too, chomping on his fists and sucking the air.  The nurse suggested I let him latch on for nursing, though I was certain nothing was there yet.  I was thrilled to be nursing again, less than a year when I had weaned my last baby.  I love that connection, the milk drunk eyes rolling into the back of the head, and the shivery little baby sighs of contentment.  I can’t believe how timid I was the first time, thinking I’d never get the hang of it.  It’s one of the best parts of being a Mommy.

Another successful Squargan ushered into this world

            Arthur was cleaned off, passed around, and loved, loved, loved to bits.  Everyone cleared out pretty quickly—we were all tired and well, the novelty of a new baby can’t really surpass that.  Alysha was going off shift, but stopped by to tell me how much she loved being with my family.  She thought we were all fun and funny, and had never had a delivery room be such fun.  She also marveled (and not for the first time) at my doing the entire birth naturally.  She told me that I was one of the few births she’d ever attended where the pregnant woman didn’t demand meds of all kinds.  Really though, I only did it without the painkillers because this time I knew what to expect, I had practiced some relaxing techniques, and I told myself that I could still have the drugs any time I wanted.  Like my Mom said last time: there are no medals for giving birth without painkillers.  Steve bunked down on the fold out chair, and I snuggled in with my wee suckling young one.  Again, since I was pretty used to cuddling a baby by this time I didn’t send him off like I did with Maggie (at least not until the second night).  We all fell asleep and slept soundly and late into the morning.  Anytime Artie stirred I just let him nurse, which suited us both fine.  I had my little boy in my arms, and I was immensely satisfied to let him stay there.

Arthur Ellsworth

            The siblings met later that day, and Maggie was over the moon with him.  She was even happier to see that I was still in one piece and doing okay.  She told me: “I’m glad you can breathe again, Mommy.”  She then proceeded to proclaim that her water had broken, and she needed to do her breathing exercises.  Arthur and I were left to lunch on our own while everyone else went down to the cafeteria.  Maggie tried a bit of Grandpa S’ sandwich and thought that the cafeteria food was the best thing she’d ever had.  Upon returning, Steve took Maggie on a tour of the maternity ward and to the little courtesy kitchen which was stocked with snacks and drinks.  She even got an ice cream to eat, and she promptly declared that she wanted to stay there in the hospital.  In between her exploring trips she liked to snuggle in the little bed with me.  I think that she was being a very brave girl, not admitting how much she missed me and wanted to be back with us.  She was very sad when it was time to go, and I’ll admit that as impossible as it could’ve been, I wished so much that she could stay too.  I knew I needed to heal up so that we could be together again.

            That night I sent Arthur to the nursery because the fatigue had finally kicked in hard.  The nurses told me in the morning that Arthur was quite the snuggler.  He pitched a fit when they tried to put him under the sun lamp, and wasn’t happy until one nurse tucked him up next to her heart under her sweater.  The nurses all lined up to cuddle with him—Ladies’ Man!  I was grateful that they did his hearing testing and billirubin check while I was asleep. He was jaundiced however, and I had to make some follow up checks during the week.  (NB: What followed was an intense week of heartbreaking foot pricking and nervous waiting on our parts.  He came through after we had the billi-blanket on him and he started to eat more.)  The other thing that sent me into a tizzy was that when we put him in the garage sale car seat (I am cheap), we found out then that it was totally un-usable.  He was almost vertical sitting in that, and his chin was touching his chest.  I fretted the whole way home that he was going to smother; and of course the more I fretted the more I lamented that I was a ‘terrible mom,’ even after my earlier confidence in the hospital.

And then there were four...

            Home once more, we unloaded the car and settled in.  Maggie came back the next day, earlier than planned.  Yet I so longed to have her back and I knew we’d be fine with Steve home to help.  In fact I was able to lift Maggie onto the potty and into and out of bed just about a week after coming home.  And we all seemed to settle into the new changes and different routines that pretty soon I couldn’t even remember life any other way.  The same thing happened after Maggie came.  Sometimes I couldn’t even remember that I didn’t always have her around to talk to or play with.  I was so happy to have my little family all around me, all cuddled in the bed together for naps.  I never knew that I could have such love and contentedness surrounding me.  Though it may not always be ideal or easy, I love my life and the changes that have occurred since bringing Maggie and Artie into our lives.