Metta update

At her 4 month checkup, she was still long and skinny.  99% heighth, 15% weight.  She is just sweet and cuddly and abhors tummy time.

Postpartum Reality

If you talk to me regularly you are quite sick of hearing about my postpartum woes. Was I really that naive?  Did I tune out all the postpartum conversations I endured at playgroups? (Yes, yes I did, it wasn't happening to me, so I didn't care)  In my defense, I really truly did not believe I would ever see the day of my own expanding belly, let alone push a human out!  But, I did it and it was wonderful until my milk came in and I cried.  Engorgement is real and cruel.  My cousin Jenny Jo described latching on as a toe-curling experience and she was spot on.  For 3 straight months 12 times a day, toe-curling, bite my tongue, please don't cry pain.  Clogged milk ducts, mastitis, for crying out loud, have women really been doing this since the beginning of time??  And for weeks, I was still sitting on a donut wondering if I would ever just casually plop down on the couch again.   I was desperately listing every female I knew that had done this multiple times, "they did it, so can I" that is what I chanted over and over in my head.  I survived, I sit my tush wherever I want and feel gratitude that it is pain-free.  Nursing has become enjoyable and something I look forward to.  I slow down, I get to just hold sweet, sweet Metta. My mom said time would heal and it did.  She is always right.

But, what I find to be the most devastating, the most thought-consuming, can't believe it, horrible surprise is the hair loss.  We all know I am a tad OCD about my hair.  It is what I have going on, thick healthy hair.  It distracts from my always make-up free face, nicely plays down my long nose, and covers my pokey out ears.  Not now my friends.  My hair now covers my pillow, finds its way into my cheerios, winds around Metta's fingers, attaches to clothing, clogs the vacuum, the drain.  (If hair must be lost, couldn't it fall out from my arm pits?)  I have asked countless fellow moms, googled remedies, had my blood tested to rule out thyroid problems, all to no avail.  My scalp is visible along my hairline and my hair is only half as thick as it once was.  I will humbly bide my time, it's all I can do.

In summary, postpartum is a real witch.  

I really was pregnant

And I still can't believe it.  It was a pretty smooth sailing 9 months.  The first 12 weeks I was nauseous and all those shots hurt, but I only threw up a handful of times.  The second trimester brought heartburn with it, but nothing un-bearable.  Nearing the end of the third trimester I was still feeling pretty darn good. Pregnancy was good to me. I craved ice and dish detergent.  I limited myself to only sniffing the dish detergent once a day.........and never ate it, though I wanted to.  Don't judge. 

 15 Weeks

 21 Weeks

 30 Weeks

 35 Weeks

 37 Weeks

40 Weeks

The Z starts School

She was so ready.  And Max was pretty excited too.  

Way way back in July

We went to good ole' Manassa for Grandad's 90th birthday party.  We drove on the 4th of July and it went better than we expected.  The kids did great and we even stopped and played in a reservoir on the way.  It is always so great to see all the family, though this time was different without Grandma Barbara.  We gathered at Mark and Nancy's and played and ate. We also went to the cabin.  The kids smashed coins on the train track and played the day away at the beautiful mountain ranch. Dodgeball, lightening, cousins galore, it was just a good time.  

   

Way back in July

Zannah, Max, my mom and I flew to Charlotte's for a week.  We were planning on being there for the arrival of Julia and almost missed it.  The day before we were to fly out, she was still not here, so we extended a couple days and met her the night before we left. Sweet, beautiful Julia, she made me so excited to meet Metta.  Charlotte had her all natural, what a stinking tough woman.  We had a great time picking raspberries, swimming, and sweating it out in that Michigan humidity. And the kids played and fought and played some more.

Good times at the Organ

My latest calling in church is playing the organ. Our ward was very desperate when they issued the calling. Nonetheless I have enjoyed it as I get to sit up at the front and stare at people (one of my most favorite pastimes). But, I'm afraid more times than naught, I have been the recipient of many a stare. Here are a few organ stories:

*During the silence of the Sacrament being passed, Zannah decides to share some very important information with me from the pew: "MOM! I want to be a witch for Halloween!" I give her the shush sign and nod my head yes, hoping that will pacify her. "MOM!!! I really want to be a witch for Halloween, not an M&M!" I give her the thumbs up. "MOM!! I don't want to be an M&M, ok? I really, really want to be a witch!" The ward, including myself got it Z-meister.

*During prelude one Sunday, Max escapes from Marcus's grip. He just wants to tell me something and to sit with me on the bench, but not before he steps on every possible foot pedal he can.

*Today, I was feeling pretty smug after the Sacrament hymn as I had just finished the last verse with very few blunders. I even ended the notes right on cue with the chorister. Then there was silence. Too much silence. I look up and they are still breaking the bread and I am getting stares from the bread-breakers and the bishopric. So I clumsily start to play another verse of the hymn, but in my haste I play on the "Great" keys instead of the "Swell" keys, which was set really loud for the opening hymn of "Joy to the World". I barely get the first measure played when I notice they are now done breaking the bread. But, I am not too quick on my feet, or hands I should say, to end the song in any decent fashion. So I just play a really loud, boisterous Sacrament hymn solo with many mistakes mixed in because my sweaty hands are sliding all over the place. No staring for me today, I kept my head down.