Counting our blessings

We survived our first week as a family of four at home relatively unscathed, with much thanks to all of our fabulous friends who brought us lunches, dinners, wine and lots of shiny, preoccupying toys for the big sister. And because Luke followed in Taylor’s jaundiced-footsteps, he had to be attached to a phototherapy-blanket for four days to de-yellow and get his bilirubin levels back down to par.

But thank goodness our boy is a chill little newborn, because he was totally fine just relaxing on his tanning-blankie while Chris and I chased the Princess around the house, playing defense as she would go in to smother her little brother with hugs and kisses. And when the sun came out and the weather permitted, we had her exhaust that pent-up three year old energy while running through the sprinkler.

And let me just take one moment to share a mom-triumph. This past Friday, on Luke’s third post-hospital trip to our pediatrician’s to get his poor little heel pricked to check his bilirubin levels, Chris couldn’t get away so I took my kids on our first official solo double-kid-duty outing. And I survived. Barely. Because right after Luke got stuck, bled and bandaged, the doctor left to get the results, and Taylor looked at me and said, Mama, I hafta go potty. And because we’re in big girl undies now, I cradled a semi-naked, crying Luke, grabbed T and ran to the nearest bathroom, all while chirping, Hold it in like a big girl, Honey. Hold. It. In. And once we got to an available bathroom, I secured a calmed-down Luke with my left arm against my left shoulder, picked up Taylor with my right arm and squatted down while hovering her over the toilet, only to have her kick her legs into my chest and remark about how there are trains on the walls and that there was orange soap in the dispenser. And after three minutes of her not-peeing, Luke trying to nurse my shoulder and my quads screaming in pain, I finally threw in the towel, helped her wash her hands and we all made our way back to our room. And although she didn’t do her business and we almost flooded the bathroom while washing up, I still chalked it up to a successful doctor’s visit. Because even though I sweated through my shirt, I didn’t have a mental breakdown. And if I handled that situation with such calm and finesse, then I’m gonna be totally fine managing two kiddos outside our house.

So the Famous Amys Traveling Band endured week one solo, and we were super happy to have Chris’s parents come into town the following weekend to visit and meet their second-ever grandbaby. And the extra help was much needed, as I was busy all day Saturday preparing for that night’s Easter Vigil and getting confirmed. That’s right, Bloggers. I’m officially a Catholic. Yay God! It was a gorgeous, emotional service, and a great culmination of the past seven months of my RCIA classes. And throughout the ceremony, I would look at Chris and Luke in the pew, and Taylor with her grandparents in the cry room, and I kept thanking God for all of my blessings. Going through this process has helped me reexamine myself as a whole, and when you look at yourself in all your roles as a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, you can’t help but feel an unconditional love for your entire support system. I am very lucky to have such wonderful people surrounding me, and I am ever grateful to God for putting them in my life.

And because we spent Saturday night giving our Easter-thanks to God, Sunday morning was filled with lots of chocolate bunnies, jelly beans and other treats from the Easter Bunny. It’s safe to say that by the time we busted out the bubble gun, Princess Taylor had enough sugar-fueled energy to run hot laps around the cul de sac.

We also treated Chris’s parents to a fabulous brunch at the Club. It was gluttony at its finest. Also served with mimosas. Oh, Champagne. I missed you.

And since we were all stuffed and fancified, we had to get some pictures.

Our first family-of-four photo:

Three generations of Amys men:

The proud grandparents:

Lots and lots of smiles at our house this past week. Some generated from massive amounts of candy, some a result from meeting the newest member of our family, some from completing a spiritual journey, and some from acknowledging how terrific we are all doing with our latest transition. Life is good. Life is really, really good.

Taylor the big sister

Because Luke was born so early in the morning, by the time we were moved up to the Mother-Baby unit and got settled, it was already around 10. And since Ruby had been left inside our house since seven the night before, Chris excused himself and went home to give our four-legged child some much needed attention, and then went and picked up Taylor from the Scully house to bring her to the hospital and meet her new baby brother.

And when the two of them walked into my room, even though I had just kissed her goodbye a mere 16 hours previous, it was like my precious girl had doubled in size. And when she ran to my bed to see me, I pulled her up and into my covers and just snuggled her grown-up body and smelled her hair. And then we asked her if she’d like to meet her brother, Luke, who was sleeping in the bassinette beside us. So Chris handed him to us, and then we watched as proud parents as our two precious children introduced themselves to one another.

Taylor was very curious and cautious at first. Being very gentle, wanting to feel his baby skin and tickle his soft cheeks. Even her voice got soft and shrill, and she kept reaching for his face saying, Hey, Yuke. Cootchie cootchie coo. And then she’d hover over him and give him kisses on his tender head.

And then after about five minutes of total sweetness, she turned to me and said, Hey, What you wearing? Why you still in your jammies? I’m hungry. Can we watch cartoonies? And we soon realized that the absolute worse place for a three year old to hang out was in a hospital room. Between the Emergency-call buttons, non-stop nurse check-ins, limited cable channels and the small number of toys and snacks I packed for her in my bag, she only last a few hours until I had Chris take her home for a nap.

And after we all got a few hours of rest, my two-person support team came back with dinner that evening. And while she was again super excited to see us, the boredom and confined space of the hospital room created a more stressful situation then we had expected. And when they left to go home for the night, she got all emotional because I was staying with Luke. But, WHY Mama staying? I want Mama come home. And I assured her that she would come back to see us in the morning, and that tomorrow night I would be tucking her in and reading her books.

The next day, as we were waiting for Luke to get all his tests and procedures done and get both he and I discharged, Chris and I just took turns chasing Taylor-the-cyclone-of-destruction around the hospital room until the nurses finally gave the okay. And the scene of the four of us leaving was like a traveling circus – Me being pushed in a wheelchair while holding all of our stuff, Chris carrying Luke in his carseat and Princess Taylor running back and forth between the two of us, generally stopping short right in front of me causing the nurse to hit the brakes and almost propelling me off the chair. All while our exhausted selves tried to stay calm and sweet with our daughter, Honey, PLEASE keep walking!, I was totally starting to lose it. And it didn’t help that I could hear that nurse snickering the entire journey to our car... This is your life now, Sweetheart. Absolute chaos.

And after successfully getting home and letting Taylor go loose on all her new birthday toys, things got a lot better. She burned off some energy, we were able to get comfortable and then she wanted to pay attention to her little brother some more. And while she was still very sweet with him, this time she was a lot less gentle. Poking him in the eyes, pinching his nose and manhandling his toes. So right off the bat, Chris and I strictly enforced the You-have-to-ask-Mom-or-Dad-before-trying-to-hold-Luke rule. And I realized that we are not going to be able to leave the two of them in a room alone for a while. And that Luke is going to be one tough little dude.

So while her affection is a bit rough, it seems to be all in good will. Whenever she hears Luke cry or grunt, she’ll run over and say, It’s okay, Yu-key! And she’ll bring him one of her toys or grab a blanket to cover him up with.

But I can say that we have had a few emotional breakdowns as well. On Sunday morning, while I was nursing Luke upstairs, she and Chris started walking downstairs to get breakfast ready. And she was so confused why I was staying with Luke instead of coming down with them, and I heard her tearfully say to Chris, Dad, why we have Yuke? And he said, So you can be a big sister, Honey. And she whined right back, I don’t wanna be a big sister anymore. And then my heart broke.

And after getting home from Luke’s doctor appointment that afternoon, I fed our baby boy, handed him to Chris and then took Taylor on a Mother-Daughter date, where we went to Target to pick out new big girl undies and then to Cold Stone Creamery to get ice cream. And it was wonderful. And as I sat there and watched her lick her bowl of strawberry ice cream with rainbow sprinkles clean, I made a mental note of how easy it was to do this hour-long outing, and how much it meant to my super special girl to once again command all of my attention. And how awesome it made me feel too. Because I love her so much, and the last thing I want in all of this is to take my exhaustion and frustration out on my fabulous three-year old ball of love. This is an adjustment for her too. And we are going to rock it together.

Baby you were born this way

So we successfully made it through Taylor’s birthday weekend pregnant, and once that following Monday came it was time to get the show on the road. As any sane woman in her 39th week of pregnancy would agree, I was ready to be done being a ginormous whale and overly anxious to meet the bambino I had been gestating for the past nine months. And with a few hours of sporadic contractions on Tuesday night, we knew we were getting close. And so Wednesday morning I woke up, still pregnant, Googled Natural Labor Inducers and then informed Chris he might want to take the afternoon off from work, because we were going to be busy trying to go into labor.

And after eating spicy tacos dredged in jalapenos for lunch, I then went on an hour-long walk through the neighborhood and followed it by me and my giant belly lunging and squatting across the front yard – All spurring random contractions, but nothing progressive. So I jumped into the shower feeling pretty bummed and like I was going to be pregnant forever. And in between shampooing and conditioning, I came to terms with the fact that this Baby was going to come when it was ready to, and that there was nothing I could really do to speed up the process. So I got out of the shower and told Chris about my change of heart, and that we needed to stop trying to mess with the process and that we needed to relax and enjoy every moment we had left of our intimate, easy family of three. And then my water my broke.

But I didn’t really know it had broken, as it wasn’t this huge gush of fluid splashing out of my body. So I brushed it off to the normal inconveniences that come with being so pregnant, and continued on my afternoon with my newfound appreciation of just being in the moment. But after a few hours of feeling like I needed to put on one of Taylor’s pull-ups, I told Chris I thought something was off and made a quick call to my doctor, who happened to be on duty that night, and I told her that either I had been randomly peeing my pants for the past three hours or maybe, but probably not, my bag of waters might have broken. And because I was so indifferent and unstressed about the event, she casually said to come on into the hospital to get checked, and to also bring all of our labor stuff in the case that this is the real deal.

So we called Paige and put into effect our Taylor-during-labor-plan, having her and Elliot come over to take our precious girl to her first-ever sleep over. And because I had already packed all the bags for both us and her, we just calmly sat around the house and waited for the Scullys to come pick up the Princess. And when we tried to explain to her what was going on, and that we might be meeting her new sibling soon, she just buzzed past us in excitement to see her buddy, saying things like, Mom, Did you pack my Tinkerbell Fairies? Can I bring my Pillow Pet? I’m gonna bring two Princess costumes, one for me and one for Elly.

And after tearfully saying goodbye to my little girl, Chris and I got into our car and headed to the hospital, calling each of our parents on the way to explain to them that we MIGHT be in labor, but didn’t know yet, and that we’d call in an hour or so to let them know the deal. And because we were meeting my doctor in the outpatient labor and delivery lab, Chris just parked in the visitor lot and we walked into the hospital and up to the fourth floor to get checked. And I just note our calm, collectedness because it was so different from when we got to the hospital when I was about to deliver Taylor. When we did that dance three years ago, I was contracting hard and regularly, so Chris dropped me off frantically at the Emergency entrance, and then he zoomed off in a frenzy to park the car, got into a fight with a parking attendant and almost got arrested. We were a hot mess. And this time we were just a couple of Fonzys. And what’s Fonzy like? Cool.

So our overly-cool selves get up to the labor and delivery outpatient office and get checked out by my doctor, who excitedly tells me that, YES, your water is breaking and that my cervix is about four and a half centimeters dilated, 80-percent effaced, and that we were going to be admitted to a room. And Chris and I just looked at each other in excitement and squealed, We’re gonna meet our BABY soon!

But I guess SOON wouldn’t really be the accurate description. And by the time we got back to our room, answered all the nurse’s questions, called our parents and then checked in with Paige, it was about 10:00 at night. And after changing into the super-sexy, backless labor gown and eating a light snack, I started noticing that my contractions were coming about every three minutes and were really starting to hurt. Let me rephrase that, WOO-BOY! Lots. Of. PAIN.

And I had really, really planned on having a natural birth. So when the nurse kept asking me if I wanted an epidural, I would steadily answer back while labor-breathing, I. Think. I’m. Good. But. Thanks. And after an hour of bearing down and breathing and rocking, I asked to be checked and I was only at five centimeters. And after another hour of intense pain and threatening to throw Chris’s Blackberry out the window, I told them to check me again and was told I was at six centimeters. And because it was midnight and I was already exhausted, I told them I wanted the epidural. And knowing what I know now, I don’t regret it at all. Because there’s no way I would have been able to push a baby that big out of me without that break I had while dilating those final four centimeters.

And while I am happy now about the rest I got between midnight and 5:00am, right after getting my epidural I felt totally defeated. Because part of me knew that getting it would slow me down even more, resulting in me having to get hooked up to Pitocin to speed up my dilation and then, if the situation was similar to being in labor with Taylor, I would have to get an epidural boost when I hit ten centimeters and then would be pushing forever to deliver the baby. Oh, and while the epidural took away the pain of each contraction, it also gave me the shakes so bad I was practically vibrating in the bed. So when they checked me two hours after snaking the epidural into my spine and I was still only six centimeters, I reluctantly agreed to the Pitocin, but vowed to Chris that I was going to refuse anything else in order to have the strength and ability to push the baby out quicker. I was only six hours in, but knew the end was near. And we would be meeting our baby a lot sooner than later if I just sucked it up and pushed through the pain.

So at about 5:00 the nurse announced that I was fully dilated and ready to push, and even though the epidural was wearing off, I looked at Chris and the nurse and said, Alright, it’s GO time. Let’s do this! I need a cup of ice and a cold washcloth. We’re about to meet this baby.

And that enthusiasm last about 20 minutes. Because I was pushing really, really hard, and I felt like I wasn’t making any progress. And even though Chris and the nurses kept telling me, Good job! and That was awesome! after each round of pushing, I knew I wasn’t anywhere close, because I’m pretty sure my doctor was off somewhere taking a catnap. And I started to freak out and get tired. And out came the oxygen mask, which I would hold up to my face between each contraction in order to catch my breath and prevent me from hyperventilating. And after another 40 minutes of me rolling to my side and pushing my guts out, the nurse called my doctor. But not to announce that I was about to deliver, but that she was concerned about the baby’s dropping heartrate.

So after a few more unsuccessful contractions of me pushing as hard as I could, my doctor comes in and observed for a bit, calling out to me in encouragement and letting me know that I was so close. And by that point, I really was super close. But something was holding us up, and while I was still maintaining a good amount of strength in each push, the baby was starting to get tired and after each contraction its heartrate would dip to a point that was concerning enough to my doctor that she finally looked at Chris and I and said, Alright, Guys. We need to get this baby OUT. And you’re so close that I don’t want to give you a c-section. So what I want to do is try to use a vacuum to help get the baby out. And then she showed me the suction-cup device and quickly explained that it would be a joint effort from her and me, her slightly pulling while I was pushing with the next contraction. And as terrifying as it sounded, I told her that I totally trusted her. And we would do whatever she felt we had to to get our baby here as quickly and safely as possible.

And right after we agreed to the vacuum, six random people in scrubs came rushing into the room. Some from NICU, some extra nurses to help. And it was about the scariest situation I had ever experienced. And I looked right at Chris, barely able to talk, and frantically told him how scared I was. And he grabbed me and said that everything was going to be fine, and I just locked eyes with him and felt the next and final contraction starting to come. And I pushed harder then I had ever pushed before, and out came our baby’s head. And then I pushed again, and out came its shoulders. And then I finished my third push and the sense of relief that engulfed my body was accompanied by Chris shouting out, It’s a BOY! It’s a BOY! And then I met my son.

And when Luke was placed on my chest, he was purple, wrinkled, screaming and wiggling. And it was love at first sight. And all the extra emergency-people that came in congratulated us and left the room. He was perfect. And Chris and I just wrapped ourselves around him, watching our son blinking at us and reaching out his hands towards our faces.

And while everyone kept cheering about his healthy delivery and remarking on how big he was, he still just looked like a teeny-tiny baby to us. So when the nurse was about to put him on the scale and asked each of us for our estimate on his weight, Chris and I just used Taylor’s eight-pound birthweight as our guide, and I guessed eight-five and he chimed in eight-ten. So imagine the shock on our faces when the nurse plopped him down on the scale and the number that registered was nine-nine. Are you kidding me? ALMOST TEN POUNDS. If I had gone to term with him, we might have made the local news.

And after weighing him, checking his healthy vitals, marking his giant footprints and then getting him back on my chest, my doctor hugged me and told me how proud she was of me. Not every woman can deliver a nine and a half pound baby with relatively zero damage and drama. And I was all, Thanks! I should get a t-shirt made with those exact words on it. Because I was pretty proud of myself too.

And then the nurses each expressed their congratulations and left the room, leaving just me, Chris and Luke. And after calling our parents with the good news, we once again gathered ourselves around our tiny, precious being and just marveled over how something so new to our lives could already command so much of our love. And then I looked at my husband and said, Chris, you have a SON. And watching the emotions pass through him as he finally came to terms with the idea of fathering a son was enough to bring me to tears and melt my heart for the second time that morning.

Welcome to our family, Luke. We already love you to the moon and back.

Welcome Baby Luke

Chris, Taylor and I are overjoyed to announce the arrival of our precious new addition. Luke Donald Amys was born Thursday morning at 6.22a, weighing in at 9 pounds, 9 ounces, and stretching 21 inches long. He is absolutely perfect.

Taylor turns three

So Baby Amys decided to keep itself incubated over the weekend, making it possible for Princess Taylor to celebrate her big third birthday without any sort of interruption. And because my due date and T's birthday are so close together, Chris and I had strategically failed to mention to our daughter exactly when her birthday was, just that it was, Coming up soon. So in the case that I went into labor early on the day of her scheduled party, we could just call everyone to delay it a week and the birthday girl wouldn't even know the difference.

And because I woke up Saturday morning feeling wonderful and like I was going to stay pregnant at least another day, Chris and I snuck into Taylor's room, crawled into bed with her and lovingly announced, Hey, do you know what today is, Honey? Today is your birthday party day! And the look of shock, excitement and pure joy that radiated from her precious face was enough to melt our hearts, and she squealed back, TODAY! I get my party TODAY!

And we couldn't have asked for a better day. The weather cooperated to allow us to roam between the house and the yard, and all of the kids and adults had a wonderful time celebrating our little girl.

And yesterday the three of us spent the entire day doing whatever the Princess wanted. We ate pancakes for breakfast, played outside with bubbles, touched all of her new toys and licked the frosting off cupcakes for lunch. And all day, Chris and I kept high-fiving each other and thanking our lucky stars that we were able to spend such a wonderful birthday weekend with our amazing daughter. And as we move from one terrific milestone to the next, we will always have the wonderful memories and adorable images of our fabulous daughter turning three years old.

Three years old

Taylor is now three years old, and it’s hard to believe that she has only been in our lives for a mere 36-months. Because we can’t imagine life without her.

And I’m cheating a bit and writing this a few days before in order to make sure it gets posted on her actual birthday, because with Baby due to arrive at any moment, I wanted to make sure I had time to record how wonderful she is while my motherly focus is solely directed on her. She is going to be a fabulous Big Sister, and I can’t wait to watch her interact and bond with her new little brother or sister.

And the other night, after she went to bed, Chris and I sat up and talked for the millionth time about how we think she’s going to handle sharing the spotlight. And as I expressed my fears of her feeling abandoned and neglected, he responded in saying, Brooke, One of the reasons we’re having another kid is FOR her. And he’s totally right. Both Chris and I love our siblings and couldn’t imagine life without them. And while I’m currently concerned about how she’s going to handle the addition of a extremely needy new person into our family, I have a feeling that she and her new partner-in-crime are about ten years away from planning a hostile takeover of our house. Yeah, she’s gonna be fine.

So Taylor is starting a new year just as we are all entering a new chapter in our lives. And if year-Three is anything close to as wonderful as year-Two, we are in for a fabulous time. I look back at all the fun, amazing adventures we had this year, and I am astounded by how much she has grown in just twelve months. Physically, she is getting taller, leaning out and has lost so much of that fantastic baby-chub that I spent the last three years squeezing and putting in my mouth.

Her hair is getting longer, and while my only option for styling it a year ago was to wrap her locks into pigtails, she now lets me braid and play with different dos while she stares at herself admiringly in the mirror. She is 100-percent girl, which is a total treat for me, yet a bit scary and mysterious for her sister-less father. She loves dressing up and looking like a Princess, so the other day, when I announced that we would be going to the Mall to buy her a new birthday outfit, her face lit up and she excitedly asked me, Mama, Can I try on my dress at the store?

So when the two of us got to the store, she immediately ran for a bright yellow sundress and then a plum-colored tiered cotton dress and then a white dress with a butterfly pattern on it. And after deciding that those three were the dresses she wanted to try on, we made our way to the biggest dressing room we could find and I helped her into her first selection. And after getting it on her, she looked at her adorable reflection in the mirror and twirled, put her hands on her hips and said, Oh, THIS is bee-U-tea-full! And after trying on the next two dresses to the same, diva-like performance, I called Chris at work and tried to describe the unbelievable sweetness he was missing. And I must have done a good job in my portrayal, because he sighed in delight and told me to buy her two dresses instead of one. Oh that Dad... He might not know much about little girls, but he’s catching on pretty fast.

Taylor’s personality has also grown so much this past year. She is definitely her own individual, and while she may look like me, her character is all her father. She is sweet, loving, stubborn and a constant negotiator. And this is helpful for me since I have been coexisting with Chris for nearly 12 years, and have become pretty good at deciphering his, and now Taylor’s, dispositions. But when you put two like-minded, willful people together, there are bound to be a few brutal tantrums and battles. But if he keeps buying her beautiful outfits and smothering her with unconditional love, I’m pretty sure we’ll all survive the years ahead.

So Happy Happy Birthday to our precious girl! I feel so honored and blessed to be her mother, and everyday she reminds me how it feels to truly cherish someone and put their entire existence ahead of my own. This past year with her has changed me into a more loving, patient person and a better parent. She has transformed me in so many wonderful ways in just three short years, and I am forever grateful to her.

38 weeks pregnant

I am now 38 weeks pregnant with the bean. Or shall I say the watermelon. Because even considering the amount of cheese balls and milkshakes I’ve been consuming lately, I don’t think anyone would believe something teeny-tiny is living inside this magnificent, ginormous belly.

Yes, folks. We are getting very close to meeting Baby. At Monday’s appointment, Dr Simmons announced that I am a good three, almost four, centimeters dilated, my cervix is 50% effaced and the head has dropped at least two positions in the past month. Which is pretty much where my body was with Taylor when I was checked just days before going into labor with her.

And two days ago, after a pretty active day that included working out and then walking all around three different superstores looking for birthday party favors, I got home and felt really shaky and crampy. And after a few consistent Braxton Hicks contractions, I was finally hit with a real, bona fide contraction. And it literally took my breath away. And a half hour later I had another one. And then Chris started pacing between rooms, announcing, THIS is IT! It’s gonna happen tonight. To which I responded, NO! This is nothing. This is normal. We are NOT having this baby tonight.

And my denial was wrapped around a number of things. One, I really don’t want the bean to come before Taylor’s birthday this weekend. My little Princess has been blabbering and twirling in anticipation of her big birthday and fantastic Strawberry Shortcake party for the past three months. I have ordered the cake, the balloons and have gotten everything all ready to go. If we don’t have this party this weekend, she’ll be crushed. And while I know that our children are obviously going to have their birthdays super close together, I really don’t want them to share the SAME day. You only get one special, YOU-day a year... And I want each of my munchkins to have their own, separate day to be worshipped and spoiled rotten.

The second reason I willed myself out of labor was because I am not totally done getting things ready for a newborn. In fact, when I told Chris it wasn’t happening, he looked at me funny and said, Um, Why not? And I, in all seriousness, snapped back, Because we don’t have wipes. We can’t have a baby if we don’t have WIPES! And I haven’t cleaned up and organized the changing table yet... How can we bring a baby home if we don’t have anywhere to change it’s diapers? Oh, and the dress I want to wear to the hospital is dirty. I don’t have anything to wear! And when he joked back and rolled his eyes at all my lame excuses, I shot him with my This-is-NOT-funny-because-I’m-totally-freaking-out look. And he stopped laughing and mocking me. Because he’s smart.

And the third reason I used my mind to stop the baby from coming was because after that first, hard contraction, I remembered how bad labor is going to hurt. Up until that point, I hadn’t even really thought about the actual process of delivering this baby. I had packaged all of my pregnancy-thoughts around how Taylor would handle everything, how we’re going to fit another person in our house and how I’m going to keep it together once I’m staying home full-time with TWO kids. And once my stomach twisted in half and my breath was knocked out of me, I immediately thought, Oh man, this is really going to HURT! And I flashed-back to walking through the house while in hard labor with Taylor, stopping to lean against a wall and having the intense pain radiate through my entire core that left me panting and hysterical. And this was happening in five minute intervals, and lasted about 20 hours. Woo-boy! Sometimes it’s best to forget the gory details... But having that contraction the other night brought everything back. And it scared the bejeezus out of me.

Oh, and Ruby was following, correction STALKING, me the entire time I was in false labor. She would just sit there and stare at me, like, Dude. You’re having a baby tonight. Please remember to feed me before you leave for the hospital. And the fact that she was so sketched about the whole thing really got me nervous, because the night we went into real labor with Taylor, Ruby jumped on our bed right before the first contraction and woke us up, warning us that something was about to go down.

But apparently my Jedi-mind was strong enough to postpone labor that night, and after a few hours I settled down and felt fine. And after a good night’s sleep, yesterday I spent the entire day getting everything else ready for Baby – I set up the changing table, did a million loads of laundry, bought wipes and other baby-essentials and I finished packing the hospital bags. And I pretty much avoided eye contact with Ruby the whole day.

So not only was the false labor enough to get us physically ready for Baby to come, it also forced me to get my emotions and anxiety in check. When we found out we were pregnant this past August, we were overwhelmed with the thought of having a new, amazing person join our family. And as the months have passed we have become more and more excited to meet this baby. But as with any significant, foreseeable change, our enthusiasm is coupled with fear. And I don’t want that to sound bad... But it is what it is. As thrilled as we are to have a teeny, precious baby in our arms again, we’re scared. Just like we were scared when we had Taylor. And I don’t think admitting that is wrong... I just think it’s the truth.

So here we are, just days away from bringing home Baby. And while I obviously have a million feelings and check-lists swirling through my pregnant brain, more then anything, we are really anxious to meet this little bean. And to find out if it’s a boy or a girl. And I’m so glad we waited to find out the sex until the big push, because I really do think the anticipation of seeing if it’s a he or a she is going to give me that extra boost of energy towards the end of labor. We’ve got both names ready to go, and can’t wait to meet Taylor’s new baby brother or sister and share the news with everyone.

And while I know it’s going to be a painful process to meet this little bean, just the thought of being able to smooch its face and cuddle it into my arms makes my heart race. And I know that as soon as it is placed on my chest and I wrap myself and my heart around it, all fear will be replaced with absolute love.

We are so close to meeting you, Baby, and welcoming you to our crazy, wonderful family