A Mother of Two

Having two kids is so much easier than having one.

I know that sounds crazy, but for me, it's so true.

Bringing Brown-Eyed Boy into our lives, going from zero children to one, was the hardest thing I have ever done. It was such an absolute life change that it took me months to wrap my mind around it, to feel like an actual mother instead of the awkward babysitter. I struggled, until Brown-Eyed Boy was about a year old, to let go of my old life and embrace the changes that having a baby brought.

Once I started feeling like a mother, adding Baby Blue Eyes to the mix was just a bump in the road. We quickly remembered what it was like having a newborn in the house, and she slipped easily into our routine and our lives.

Thank goodness I didn't have to go through that hard adjustment all over again.

Not that having two kids is a piece of cake all the time.

I dreaded the day Mr. Brown Eyes went back to work after Baby Blue Eyes was born. But, besides Brown-Eyed Boy throwing fits that I was feeding the baby instead of getting him chocolate milk, it went pretty well. Until bedtime.

Let me explain. Putting Brown-Eyed Boy to bed is a time-consuming process. We say prayers. We read scriptures. We read a book of Brown-Eyed Boy's choosing. Sometimes two or three or more books. We turn the light off. And then either Mr. Brown Eyes or I must lay beside Brown-Eyed Boy until he stops wiggling and giggling and squirming and playing with his toy cars long enough to fall asleep. Sometimes it's a matter of minutes before he's conked out. Other nights it takes hours.
On this my first night having the kids to myself, Baby Blue Eyes was sleeping peacefully while I brushed my little boy's teeth and put on his pajamas. Then she woke up abruptly, wailing. I told Brown-Eyed Boy to lay in bed while I went to get her out of the carseat, intending to read Brown-Eyed Boy's bedtime story and nurse Baby Blues Eyes at the same time. But when I brought the baby in, instead of getting into bed Brown-Eyed Boy threw himself on the floor in a tantrum.

For a moment I sat there, baffled, while they both cried.

Then I smiled.
I had to, or I would have cried, too.

Somehow I resolved the situation and got both of them to sleep without anymore tears. And let me tell you, nothing makes me feel like a more accomplished mother than a quiet house full of the sound of peacefully-sleeping children.

I love my babies,
The Brown-Eyed Girl

While I Was Away

Here is some of the fun you missed while I was on maternity leave:

1. Zombie Cake 

 

My husband made this for my sister's birthday.

 

It in no way resembles my sister.

2. Water slide

Also for my sister's birthday. A fourteen-foot inflatable water slide. Hours of fun. But I can't seem to find any pictures.

3. Produce Basket

Through some people in their ward, my parents pay fifteen dollars twice a month to get a basket full of fresh, delicious produce. I decided to try it, and I love it. It feels like Christmas twice a month. I never know what kind of produce we're going to get, and it forces me to try new things and eat healthier. We had Swiss chard smoothies the other day.

4. Les Miserables

Bought the movie on a whim. Loved it. It always makes me happy when my husband likes movies I don't expect him to. Like when we were dating and he watched "Phantom of the Opera" with me. He just didn't want his roommates to catch him.

5. Go-kart

 

Mr. Brown Eyes' Father's Day present. Am I an awesome wife or what?

6. Jogging Stroller

 
This was my birthday present, and I finally got to use it for a few weeks before the weather got too gosh-darned hot to go running. I love it. The kids love it. One of the best purchases we've ever made.

7. Grape-vine and the grape-vine-eating pony

We thought it would be cool to plant a grape-vine along our fence. We failed to take into consideration our redneck neighbors' inability to keep their pets--i.e. goats, horses, and a pony--inside their yard. Needless to say, the grape-vine isn't doing too well.

That, and we've also forgotten to water it a couple times.

I promise we take much better care of our children than we do our plants.

8. Brown-Eyed Boy turned three

9. Brown-Eyed Boy's haircut

Before:

After:

 

My family didn't even recognize him when they saw him the next day.

 

I think he looks adorable, but I miss his long hair.

 

At least I don't have to chase him around the house to comb his hair anymore.



10. Baby Blue Eyes' Blessing

Wearing the beautiful dress my mom made her. Which she pooped in as soon as we got to church.

Baby Blue Eyes, not my mom.

11. Cookies and Cream Culver's Concrete Cake

In celebration of Mother's Day.

I had just decided I was going to give up chocolate to see if it lessened Baby Blue Eyes' fussiness. But Mr. Brown Eyes forgot and bought me the most chocolate-laden cake Culvers had to offer.

I couldn't not eat it.

That would be rude.

So I decided to give up chocolate another day.

Best decision I ever made,
The Brown-Eyed Girl

Happy Father's Day

One night back in our dating days, Mr. Brown Eyes and I decided to go out for dinner. As was/is my wont, I ate way too much, and as we were walking to the car I pretended I was pregnant. Sticking out my belly and grabbing Mr. Brown Eyes' hand, I asked, "Can you feel it kick?"

He laughed, but at the same time his eyes lit up and his face took on that sheepish expression he gets when he's full of mushy emotion.

"It makes me really happy to think of you pregnant with our baby," he told me.

I knew then that he was going to be an amazing father someday.

I was right.

 

 

 

Happy Father's Day, my love.

 

Thank you for being the father of my children.

 

Your wife,

The Brown-Eyed Girl

 

 

 



To My Dad

We had some rough times while I was growing up. I was a stubborn teenager and you were hard on me.

When your Italian temper flared, I swore I would never be like you.

Famous last words.

Last week Brown-Eyed Boy had a dentist appointment at a pediatric dentist's office that we had been referred to by his regular dentist. Because his regular dentist's office failed to do their job, the appointment did not go like it was supposed to. Instead of getting fillings, Brown-Eyed Boy had to have another exam and we discovered he had three cavities instead of two, which meant shelling out lots more money than I anticipated.

And the whole time I was a barely-controlled ball of rage, snapping at the hygienist, rolling my eyes, crossing my arms and assuming an angry stance that just dared anyone to try to talk to me and risk inflicting my wrath.

Just like Dad used to do when I was a kid. Man, I hated going to the store with him.

Yes, Dad, turns out I'm more like you than I ever thought. I have that same Italian temper. I don't like having any other cars in front of me on the highway. I freeze when the temperature drops below seventy-five. I pinch the life out of pennies and I wouldn't mind jumping into the car and taking a road trip to see the world.

And now that I'm older, I've seen sides of you I didn't know existed when I was a teenager. You tearing up at your surprise birthday party. Hearing your uncles call you "Jimmy." Seeing you throw your arms around my son.

Being like you isn't so bad.

Love,
The Brown-Eyed Girl

Baby Kynsie's Birth Story

After the surprise of Brown-Eyed Boy being born a month early, I figured the birth of our second child would be pretty typical. Every doctor's appointment confirmed her perfect health. She was a week away from being full term. We were fully prepared for her arrival.

Or so I thought.

Around midnight on March 14th I woke up to put Brown-Eyed Boy back to bed. As he wiggled and jabbered and refused to sleep, strong contractions started washing over me. It's not labor, I told myself because I had gotten my hopes up too many times before.

When Brown-Eyed Boy finally fell asleep, I returned to my bed and started to time the contractions. There was no pattern to them. The strong ones came 10, 15, even 20 minutes apart, with some piddly little contractions in between.

Mr. Brown Eyes was snoozing peacefully next to me all this time, but as I leapt out of bed to struggle through another strong contraction, he woke up and asked me what I was doing. "Having a contraction," I said breathlessly, crawling back into bed next to him. As I explained how inconsistent they were, he agreed that it probably wasn't time to go to the hospital yet. So we laid together in the dark, timing my contractions, sleep far from our minds even though it was two-thirty in the morning.

We had just called my midwife and decided maybe we should go to the hospital just to see what was going on, when the most intense contraction yet drove me out of bed, struggling to find a relaxing position. Kneeling beside the bed, my water broke with a warm gush and I exclaimed to my husband, "My water broke! Crap, we waited too long!"

Mr. Brown Eyes jumped out of bed then and I called the hospital to let them know I was coming. But when I got off the phone my darling husband was still in the closet. "What are you doing?" I snapped. "We need to go!"

"Don't you want to get changed?" he asked.

"No," I replied, grabbing my hospital bag and marching out to the truck. I didn't care how much I looked like I had peed my pants. I had bigger worries on my mind right then. Like how exactly one gives birth to a baby on the side of the road.

I got into the truck while Mr. Brown Eyes woke up Brown-Eyed Boy, who was surprisingly wide-awake and cheerful for the early hour. The plan was to take him to my parents' house before driving to the hospital, but my midwife, familiar with my speedy labors, called and told us to just bring him with us and have someone pick him up there. So we sped down the freeway, Brown-Eyed Boy occasionally stroking my arm and saying, "Mommy owie?", me telling Mr. Brown Eyes to drive faster, faster, faster. With each contraction I was sure I was going to die, and my breath came in short, rapid gasps. Then I experienced a new sensation:

"My arms are tingling," I gasped to my husband.

"That's because you're hyperventillating," explained my calm medic husband. "You're not getting enough oxygen. Take deeper breaths."

He coached me through my breathing, and then we finally arrived at the hospital. I dashed out of the truck as fast as a woman in labor can, was promptly shoved into a wheelchair, and was wheeled upstairs with my husband and son trailing behind. Thinking I was just a few minutes away from jumping into that blessed delivery bed and finally being able to push filled me with incredible relief. It will be over soon, I told myself.

When we arrived at the delivery room, Brown-Eyed Boy played happily with his toys while Mr. Brown Eyes stood at my bedside and squeezed my hand. "This baby is coming!" the head nurse announced as everyone rushed around. Thank goodness, I thought as she helped me get into a pushing position.

Then came the words that changed everything: "That's not a head," the nurse exclaimed. "That's a foot!"

At no time during my pregnancy had there been any indication that my baby was anything but head-down. As the room broke into barely-controlled chaos, I looked up at my husband. "She's breech," I gasped in panic. "No one ever said anything about her being breech."

Mr. Brown Eyes calmed me while the nurses tipped me upside down, stuck me with a drug to slow my contractions, and diligently held that dangling foot inside me. The snatches of conversation I heard included the words "OR", "OB Surgeon," and c-section. My heart sank.

"Are they goimg to do a c-section?" I asked my midwife.

"No," she said decidedly, but as Brown-Eyed Boy retreated down the hallway with my mom, they wheeled me into the operating room and ordered me not to push as we waited for the OB surgeon. I resigned myself to the c-section. As long as they got my baby out of me, I no longer cared how. Through the agony of not being able to push I looked up into my husband's eyes and felt peace and strength.

Finally the OB surgeon, Dr. Grabowski, entered the room. The first words out of his mouth were "C-section?"

"No, we want to try a natural delivery first," my midwife replied. "She can do it. She'll do anything you ask. Just let her try."

Have I mentioned I love my midwife?

Dr. Grabowski seemed unconvinced, but after ordering a quick ultrasound and explaining to me that he might have to use forceps, he agreed to deliver my baby breech.

I was finally allowed to push, and my husband explained to me later how they carefully manuevered our baby's body so she could be born feet-first. I didn't feel like anything was happening as I pushed, and when everyone--doctors, nurses, midwife--told me to push again I snapped, "I am pushing!" Then I felt her head, and with one final push and a scream of pain my baby girl entered the world. Relief literally flooded over me and I just cried. She was here. She was here and she was healthy and it was finally over.

I know everyone says this, but a moment later they laid my newborn baby on my chest--my grayish-white, slippery, warm newborn baby girl--and I forgot all about the agony and fear and chaos of the last hour. It was all for her. And it was all worth it.


Wigglebug Photography



P.S. She has the most beautiful feet.

Mother of Two,

The Brown-Eyed Girl



An Update

I apologize for being missing in action for the last few weeks. I've been a little distracted by this little darling:



Courtesy of Wigglebug Photography

Her birth story is pretty amazing. I will tell you about it soon.

Right now I am busy being the mother of two absolutely beautiful children.

I'm so lucky.

Talk to you soon,

The Brown-Eyed Girl

Five Years

Happy Anniversary to my best friend and one true love. I can't believe it's been five years since we promised each other forever in the Lord's Temple, slow-danced in the light of fake streetlights and a gorgeous city skyline you worked so hard on, and smashed cake in each other's faces.

Oh, and got to our luncheon late, only to discover my family had eaten all our food.

I love every memory I make with you.

 

Let's make lots more.

Love,

Your Brown-Eyed Wife