Waterloo no more

My grandmother made fabulous orange bread. Whenever we visited her, she usually took a loaf from the freezer to thaw, and we'd toast it for breakfast and add lots of butter. It was always a great treat to have a homemade slice of her bread.

Sometime after I graduated from college, I called and asked her for the recipe. We were having a potluck breakfast at work for Christmas the next month, and I thought it would be good to bring her bread to share with everyone. I carefully wrote down all the steps on two cards. Step one was for the candied orange peel that got chopped up and mixed into the bread dough. Step two was making the bread dough.

The next month, I had my plan. I would plow through step one after work, and then handle step two early in the morning before going to work, so the loaf would still be warm as it was served to my co-workers. That night, before I went to bed, I carefully saved the sugared peel in a ziploc on the counter. The next morning, I got out my recipe card for the bread dough, and noticed one of the ingredients was a cup of the sugar water that cooked the orange peel. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. I had poured that sugar water & candied orange peel into a colander the night before, so all of that water went down the drain. I said a few choice words before shoving the recipe cards back in the box and heading for the shower. I stopped on the way to work and bought a big coffee cake from the grocery store. A few days later, my grandmother called me to find out how it went and we both had a good laugh over what a gigantic idiot I was.

A few years later, I dug the recipe cards out to make it and SCREWED UP AGAIN. People, it's like I totally forgot what happened the first time, and I went to strain the water from the orange peel and dumped it all into the colander and then sucked in my breath like one of those horror films as I watched the water go down the drain. I hung my head and took the colander over to the trash can and dumped the peel in the garbage. I mean, I just cannot be trusted to get this right. TWICE.

So at this point, this recipe is like my Waterloo. I love the memories of eating it, and I love thought that I *could* make it, since I have it in my recipe box. It seems like it should be easy enough, and yet TWICE I couldn't get it done. Which for me is like a giant mental stumbling block to ever trying to make it again.

So while I was on maternity leave, I decided to get past it. Dang it, I wanted some orange bread! This time I took out both recipe cards, and gave myself a stern lecture before I even put a pot of water on the stove. "Jennie," I said out loud, "you cannot mess this up. Your grandmother worked hard to give you orange bread on each visit. She trusted you with the recipe, and she is counting on you to get it right. You have tossed out that water twice now. Can you remember to save it this time? CAN YOU FINISH THE DAMN RECIPE ALREADY?"

And this time, I made the orange bread. And it was awesome. Oh, how I loved it. I made two more loaves while we were at my parents' house, and I shared them with my sister and mother, and I fed it to my girls. It's good stuff, people. But more than that, I'm finally past that obstacle. There's a lot of things that mentally hold us back from getting things done, and I finally charged right over one of them. Hoo-rah.

I know Grandma is up there somewhere smiling and totally thrilled that I got through it for once, but I just wish I could call her to tell her how good it was.

Tested

While we visited my parents, my mother decided to take her grandchildren to ride the big carousel at the mall. This required picking up my sister's oldest son at daycare, taking Helen and hauling strollers for 3 babies (2 of mine, plus my sister's youngest one). Helen was beyond excited to see her cousin M. I figured they would be all about riding the carousel, while Alice would be clinging for dear life and crying the whole time.

We decided to do this event on a day that Neena already would be at the daycare to celebrate Mother's Day with a special lunch. It would mean no nap for my girls, which can be an issue for Alice, but Helen would be fine. I crossed my fingers that they would sleep in the car on the way to the mall and that would be enough.

No such luck. The car nap never materialized, but Alice seemed to be in good spirits. And it turned out Alice liked the carousel best of all. She rode it like a champ with her Neena holding on tight to her the whole time. Helen & M. rode their chosen animals and had a blast. I stayed with the 2 strollers and snapped pictures.

We had some extra tokens, so we went a second time. This was our mistake. That's when I learned why my other nephew, slightly older than Alice, got to stay at daycare that day. Apparently that age group is somewhat fixated on doing whatever the heck they want, repeatedly, which I already knew. But when a carousel is involved, they lose all sense of reason.

After ride #2, Neena took one of the infants to the restroom to change a very stinky diaper, while I watched 4 kids by myself in the food court. Alice decided she was going to make a break for it and head to the carousel. Um, I don't think so, kid. I tried distracting her and showing her stuff at the kiosk next to our table and singing songs but it just wasn't working. So I held her while trying to stay close to an infant sound asleep in the stroller, while two 5-year olds sat at the table and giggled. Alice screamed and screamed and then screamed some more. Other mall patrons tried not to stare at me. Neena came back and instead of checking out some of the kid-related stores in the mall as we had previously planned, we headed for the exit.

And that's when Alice lost her tiny mind. She pulled my hair, she hit me on the face, and she tried to squirm away. Rather than putting her down and letting her run free and hoping maybe she'd make it back to the house on her own one day, I carried her out of the mall like a football under one arm. I didn't make eye contact with anyone as we walked, but my mother said that several people smiled at us. I'm sure you've all smiled that way at parents trapped in that moment, in public with a toddler who wants absolutely nothing to do with you - and I know it's a smug sense of pleasure that you're not the one carrying a screaming kid. Mom says she was proud of me for not giving in, but all I could picture was the video from the security cameras posted on YouTube. Heck, that fear probably saves a lot of kids' rear ends these days. So I kept moving to the door. That was a very long walk, with the screaming and the squirming, and every time I tried to turn her back upright she grabbed a fistful of hair. So back down she went.

Finally we got to the car. I buckled her in the car seat, expending 2500 calories in the process. And on the way out of the garage, she finally stopped sobbing. Shortly after that, she fell fast asleep. When we got home, I put her down for a true nap and she awoke a brand-new kid.

I, on the other hand, am a more experienced mother who now knows better than to let her near that carousel for the next 3 years. My sister apparently learned this lesson the hard way, too. This kind of wisdom comes at a steep price, folks, and I'm giving it to you all at a good discount: the football hold is definitely the way to go.

Powerless

Flood weekend, after the rain had fallen for 2 full days, and the power had been out for 8 hours:

Brian: You know what I've learned this weekend? Marriages thrive on love, patience, and electricity.

Jennie: (through gritted teeth) Yep.

When I was about 8 or 9 years old, a huge ice storm knocked out our power for nearly a week. There was an initial panic to get back to the house in worsening weather in the middle of a school day,as road conditions quickly deteriorated. But as soon as we got home, and knew we'd be out of school, I remember being excited and happy. We had a camp stove that ran on sterno. We had a woodburning fireplace. We had winter coats and mittens and hats. We played outside as much as we could on giant sheets of thick ice. We hung blankets up to block off the rest of the house and keep all the heat in the living room. We slept in sleeping bags in front of the fireplace at night. I don't remember any worries about the refrigerator or whether there was enough food to eat. I don't remember whether we had lots of candles or flashlights. I don't remember anyone worrying about firewood running out. It's all kind of hazy in my mind, except for images of drying mittens on the hearth, and one speedy trip down a long icy hill, riding one of those orange plastic saucers.

Outside the ice storm had snapped tree branches, which then fell on power lines. I think it was a record number of trees down for that storm. We lived on the top of a mountain surrounded by trees, and it was a long windy trek to get to us. And during that week, I think each and every neighbor visited the guy across the street who worked for the power company and asked him to pull some strings. But the tree clearing crew had to come with the power crew to make it all happen.

I'm sure my parents had moments when their nerves were frayed from all that togetherness. Somehow they kept it from showing. Families weren't quite as addicted to video games and TV back then, but having to live in one room for a week with 2 girls who were quickly getting bored still must have been hard. I remember playing board games and card games to pass the time. I must have read some books, too. I don't remember having an especially early bedtime, nor sitting around a bunch of candles at night, but the sun sets around 6 pm in the winter. Maybe we did all just go to bed.

What I discovered during the flood weekend last month is that our family is not prepared for a long-term power outage. In the days when I was single, I had a ton of candles, and an apartment with a gas stove. I kept a ton of snack food on hand, and my fridge just kept cokes and beer and limes chilled.

Now, I'm down to 2 candles on the mantle, plus a pack of birthday candles in the kitchen. We have an electric stove, and a fridge full of staples and leftovers and not nearly enough beer. There is a gas grill outside, but in the driving rain, that's impossible to use. We have a gas water heater that works without power, and we have a gas fireplace that can get noticeably warm in the winter. But that's useless in the summer.

So, I panicked. Power was out and roads were blocked and houses were underwater. My cell phone didn't work. The nearby grocery store was almost flooded. There were suddenly a lot of strange people walking up and down our street to check out the flooding on either side of us. It was hot outside, and getting warmer inside. The milk was getting low, and I had no way to chill more, even if I could buy it. I don't know how to cook mac & cheese on a grill. Without food, I get cranky. Brian gets even crankier. In the summer, the sun sets around 8 pm, so I wouldn't have to worry about candles and flashlights as much, but we tried Trivial Pursuit after dinner, and Alice kept moving our game pieces to new spots on the board. We did get a game of Twister going though, and that killed about 20 minutes. I also learned my thigh muscles don't stretch any more. So, kind of a bust on the board games.

Without power, Brian can't watch sports on TV or play video games. There is no internet to surf. Without cell service, there are no calls to chat with friends. So he was getting restless. He had a book, but with 3 girls bouncing off the walls inside because it's raining outside, it's hard to read. And both of us getting increasingly worried about the rain and when it might stop and when we might have power again - we felt very disconnected from the world. And it's difficult in 2010 to be disconnected. It was like we were both going through withdrawal: edgy, panicky, nervous, and unsettled. We were well aware that we were completely unaware of what was happening all around us. I think being able to focus and handle everything would have been easier if I could have at least made a proper dinner.

I realize part of the fun of a power outage for a kid is the adventure of doing the same things in a brand-new way. Seeing it from the parents' point of view this time around, it was not nearly as fun. I lasted less than 24 hours before I bailed and left town. I packed up the kids that Monday morning, and spent 8 hours trying to get to my parents' house, which is normally about 4 hours away. Brian cleared everything out of the fridge and left to stay with his brother, and came back to check on the house. Power was back by Tuesday night, but internet took a week. Cell phone service was spotty for a while.

I bought some more candles when I got back to town. And I'm pricing a good camp stove. Brian mentioned looking into a generator that will run the TV and the router. So, we have different priorities. But both end at the same point - being able to create more fun memories for our family the next time we lose power.

PS - Priority one on the next power outage is to loot Marble Slab Creamery. I didn't even think of it until I got out of town, and I won't make that mistake again. And they can thank me later when they don't have to clean up all that melted Double Dark Chocolate in their freezers.

Flooded

Five years ago this month, we closed on our first home. Brian & I had diligently searched the suburbs for a good deal on a place with a garage. That was Brian's priority, anyway. You do enough car work in your life, you understand that a garage is where you store tools. Not a kitchen table.

My priority was having a couple of extra bedrooms. I knew we'd need one for the baby and I wanted a guest room, so bedrooms were on my list. Also, being in a good school zone. Resale value would be important down the road, and having a good school nearby is always one of the best ways to sell your home quickly.

We had a realtor that Brian had met through work, and about twice a week we'd hop in his car and drive around to look at homes in the neighborhood. Sometimes I drove around looking for the signs in the yard at night after work. Eventually, after getting our hopes up and figuring out exactly what wouldn't work, we found a few houses that we liked. After a lot of hashing and rehashing and teeth gnashing, along with investigating recent comps, we made our first offer on one house that we loved. It was nerve-wracking since the backyard was fantastic, but behind their fence was a giant cleared area where they were about to build a dozen new homes. Did we want all that construction behind us? What if those new houses didn't sell? We thought this all factored into making a lower offer than their asking price. The next day we could hear them laughing at us from our apartment across town. We thought they were crazy for not taking it and sticking to their ridiculously higher number. But we discovered quickly that the market was a lot higher for our neighborhood than even our realtor expected. And suddenly that spring, houses landed on the market and sold in less than a week. So the realtor started emailing me every day with the brand-new listings and prepared us for the possibility of paying asking price.

Ah, to be back in the good old economy of 2005! Positively crazy, giddy days, weren't they?

With only a couple of months to go before my due date, a house was listed with the right square footage at the right price. I remember it was a Thursday when I got the email. We made an appointment that evening to look at it, which was kind of special and rushed because they were having an open house on Sunday. We checked it out and liked it, and while sitting in the living room petting their giant orange tabby cat, we discussed next moves. We came back for the open house without our realtor that weekend. By that evening, we were mentally ready to make an offer and make it ours. After some quick haggling over the carpet allowance, and sadly crossing off the orange tabby cat from the written contract, our offer was accepted.

Fast forward almost 5 years. A rainy weekend was forecast for the area, and possible strong storms with tornadoes were likely. We spent Saturday miserable, stuck inside with 3 kids and a hard rain falling outside in buckets. Sunday morning the lights flickered a lot and then went out around 9 am. Without power, our router didn't work, so we had no internet. We had no television. Cell service was spotty, even if I stood in the middle of the living room and held my arms out and chanted prayers to the rain gods. I barely got one bar that day, and about 99% of the calls I attempted to make didn't go through. The rain never let up all day, and fell especially hard after lunch for 2 hours straight. Finally about 4 pm the sun came out, and helicopters started buzzing overhead. About every 20 minutes one passed over our house. Without any power or news or cell phone or internet all day, the helicopters were my first sign that something might be seriously wrong with our town.

Brian went out to take pictures.

All of this water was sitting about 6 houses away from ours. This is a large ravine next to our neighborhood pool, which is behind the playground. About 4 houses sit off to the left, out of the frame. We know one of the couples that live in the house closest to the pool, and they got water inside their home.

This is across the street from the playground/pool area. Same kind of ravine. You can see the water is at their back door.

Folks, that is a 4-foot high fence underwater, and that fence surrounds a phone box. That box sits about 100 yards away from our home, as the crow flies, in a large ditch. The house to the left had about 2 feet of water in it. The ground rises up to the main road off to the right. You can see in the background where water covered the main road. Traffic was moving very slowly through the water. There are houses across the road that were also flooded by that water.

Head on up the hill toward the west, and as you top the hill, you see a giant valley spread out on your left with a shopping center. That is my favorite Publix, as well as the home of a Marble Slab Creamery shop that makes ice cream I crave hourly. Head left down the hill past the shopping center and parking lot, where there was more water flooding a major 2-lane highway. About 6 miles down that highway to the east is where Helen & Alice go to daycare. Water covered the highway at that intersection, at least 4 feet deep, so driving further down that road was not an option.

Head back from the shopping center toward our house, past that phone box underwater, and about half a mile east down an incline, you will find a large flat field on either side of the road. To the left is a large neighborhood with hundreds of houses. To the right is a driving range, as well as a small par-3 golf course. On the other side of the golf course is the Harpeth River. I do not have any pictures of that area because the road was blocked off.

The Harpeth River normally runs between 2 and 3 feet deep through our part of town. It crested at over 27 feet that weekend. The previous 2-day rain record for the city was almost 7 inches, set over 30 years ago. It rained over 13 inches on Saturday and Sunday. Officials are calling it a 500-year flood, or possibly a 1000-year flood. The Harpeth River overflowed its banks and flooded the golf course and two neighborhoods east of us. There are hundreds of houses in those neighborhoods. Our neighborhood sits on a ridge to the west, slightly above theirs. All of that water was right there next to us. There are people who lost their lives trying to escape the water, and others who are still rebuilding their homes today. But we sat on a ridge, so our home escaped the rising water.

We made offers on two other houses that also escaped the water (both were further up the ridge) but it was all a matter of timing. We certainly looked at several houses during our search 5 years ago, that ended up under water last month. We could have waited and made an offer on a cheaper house in another neighborhood, or closer to the pool. We could be dealing with ripping out drywall and insulation and throwing out furniture and killing mold spores and not enough FEMA money to fix it all. But we're not. We have a house that stayed high and dry with an enormous amount of water headed our way. We are really, really fortunate.

Pithy, ain't she?

I started back to work this month after a very speedy 8 weeks of maternity leave. One evening Brian was on his way home after working out of town all day, so we girls were on our own for dinner. It was pouring down rain, and there were 3 cranky kids in the back seat, so I stopped at the KFC drive-thru to pick up a chicken dinner. I wanted to try those strips, and I ordered some side dishes to go with the meal, but I didn't realize that the combo I ordered came with individual sides, instead of the large family-style containers I wanted.

So I got the food home, where there was plenty of chicken for everyone, and I split the 2 sides between Helen and Alice. Helen asked for seconds on the mac & cheese, and I told her there wasn't anymore, and I told her why.

She put her head in her hands, sighed, and said, "Some days are just like that."

Indeed they are, Helen. Indeed they are.

The Incredible Hulk

So, here's what happens when you get a 4-year old and a 20-month old set up with a movie, get a newborn fed and off for a nap, leave your husband watching the Military Channel, then step into the bathroom for a quick shower.

Thank God for washable markers, and Mr. Clean Magic Erasers.

My in-laws came to visit this past weekend. They came to see all the grandkids, including their first look at Jane.



Alice is enjoying having someone smaller than her in the house. She loves to give the baby a kiss.



After watching way too much of the NBA playoffs on TV, the whole family headed outside for a quick game of catch with a football. I sent Brian out with the camera to get some pictures while I fed Jane. As he was taking this shot, Helen's voice rang out across the yard, "I've got it!"

Too bad there is clear photographic evidence to prove otherwise.



This is my favorite picture - FINALLY I got one of Jane's dimples on digital media. There's a matching dimple on the other cheek. And Brian is amazed there are any cheeks left, with how much cheek kissing goes on around here. Go ahead. Try not to kiss the computer screen when you look at that dimple:

Dreams Fulfilled, Right Here

Many years ago, there was a James Bond named Timothy Dalton, who may have looked the part but had trouble acting better than a wet stack of newspapers. Plus, everyone knew that Pierce Brosnan was born to be James Bond, because he totally looked the part. No one cared about the acting. I swear it.

Anyway, in Pierce's first foray into the role, I hardly noticed the acting, because there was a scene where he drove this absolutely beautiful blue BMW convertible. Long story short, I fell for both the guy AND the car. I even dreamed about having that car. Being single, it seemed a shame to waste my time driving such a practical thing like a 4-door Honda Accord. And then I'd think, hey, that cute little 2-seater convertible is not the car for you. You need a trunk and a backseat.

Why? I don't know. I just know that at times, trunk space and backseats come in handy. Plus, I'm a Taurus, which means PRACTICAL is my middle name. And COST is something that factors into everything I do. Remember, I'm the kid who wanted to be an accountant when I grew up. I'm basically the most boring person on the planet.

Fast forward to when I was first dating Brian, and he asked me about my dream car. I waxed poetic, perhaps a bit on the longish side, about this beautiful car that I would never, ever buy. I know next to nothing about technical aspects or features or the eventual comparison to a Mazda Miata, but I know beautiful cars and beautiful men driving those cars, and the image had stuck with me. If I ever win PowerBall, that would be the car for me. Even then, I would be standing in the dealer's lot, calculating the lost interest on the money I was about to spend, and deciding I would still need a trunk and a backseat.

So. Since that conversation, Brian has been shopping for this car. Honestly, he has to shop for cars like some people have to breathe. You know, all regular-like, and necessary to continuing life. Occasionally, I'll look up one evening and notice him staring intently at the laptop screen, lost in another world. I'll remind him to breathe, and he'll just click another link on the Craigslist site.

In the years we have been together, he has learned everything there is to know about this car - how many versions of the engine they made, what the options are, and what makes one better than another. He has spent years looking at listings online, stopping by to chat with dealers and reading up on the specs. He knows the car inside and out. Me, I like the looks, and that's enough for me. Specs, schmecs.

Anyway, one evening about a month ago he interrupted the TV show I was enjoying behind closed eyes to show me pictures of a BMW Z3. Not just any Z3, mind you - blah blah blah, wipe sleep from eyes and notice it's red, blah blah blah, aren't wheels are special, check out these 50+ pictures, it's the deal of the century, blah blah blah.

I murmured something which may have been vaguely complimentary, and promptly shut my eyes again. This was my mistake. It resulted in a car payment.

Years of shopping means that once you see it, you know it's the real deal and you have to have it. Brian spent the next few weeks getting his ducks in a row and checking it all out from stem to stern. And he spent just about every single day getting me on board with the idea of buying it. Finally, he came home an official owner. Yes, we have three kids, and my husband bought a 2-seater convertible. The practical side of me screamed and writhed in agony.

Once it got home, I took it for a spin. Let's just say it's a flat-out awesome vehicle. With the wind in my hair, and the sun on my face, I felt transported back to my single days and on my way to Pierce's house. So now I know why Brian's been shopping all this time. That feeling is addictive, and it shut up Mrs. Practical for good. I know she's off in a corner somewhere, muttering darkly. I just can't hear her with the top down.

Concertgoer

Back in mid-November I was perusing the local free newspaper when I discovered a full-page ad for a John Mayer concert coming in February. Tickets were going on sale the next day. I have a little thing for that guy and his music. Those early songs still captivate me. Plus, he's sort of easy on the eyes, you know?

So I mentioned it to a co-worker, and then I quickly did the math. By early February, I would be 8 months pregnant. A rock concert might not be the best place for me. Still, I was pretty pumped about the idea of going.

I have a friend through work who moonlights in event security - you know, one of those guys in yellow shirts at concerts and sporting events that keeps the rest of us from rushing the stage or the field - and he told me that an 8-month pregnant woman would be perfectly entitled to sitting in "disabled" seating, which has very easy access to the exits and restrooms. Sounded pretty good to me! Still, I didn't actually went to purchase the tickets. But I was daydreaming about it. I'm just far too boring to do stuff like buy concert tickets anymore.

Later I mentioned it to Brian, who thought it sounded like fun, but it was one of those conversations that kind of went "Hmm. Sounds like fun." You know, where you're pretty sure the other person wasn't paying much attention. So I went back to daydreaming.

Fast forward to Christmas morning. Brian had me open my present from him first, which turned out to be a lovely black purse. I totally needed a new purse but hadn't even thought of buying one for ages. So I thanked him for it, and set it aside, and that's when Brian said, "You might want to look inside it." Inside the purse was a gorgeous pair of earrings, and a pair of tickets to the concert. I teared up immediately in front of my whole family.

Brian said I could make it a girl's night out if I wanted, so I asked our Amazing Babysitter if she wanted to go. Being female, she said heck yeah. We made plans to do the Happy Hour at the upscale bar across the street from the arena, and then go to the concert afterwards.

I work close to the arena, so we were able to just walk 2 blocks to the bar and then to the show. Very easy for Preggo, and safe for late at night, too! Then, to top it off, during the opening act, my friend who works security showed up at our seats and gave me an advance copy of the set list for John's show. So we knew ahead of time what he would be playing - that was so darn cool.

Wow. Just - WOW. Turned out to be an amazing concert. We had front row seats in the balcony, with a perfect view of the whole arena. We never had to stand up except to give him a standing ovation at the end, and we had very reasonable people sitting all around us who calmly enjoyed the show as well. (Except for one looney tunes girl who screamed through all of one of John's solos, but security took good care of her.)

Here was our view of Mr. Mayer himself:

And here are 2 very happy concertgoers:

What a husband I have - he paid to let me go ogle another man all evening! I mean, enjoy some great music and a super fun night out. I haven't done that in forever, and it was wonderful to have him treat me to a great night out with our Amazing Babysitter. I will remember this concert for a lifetime. Thank you, honey!

Birth Story

March marked the last month of my pregnancy, which I spent feeling enormous. it didn't help that all of my co-workers told me I looked huge or imitated my pregnant waddle when they saw me walking down the hall. I didn't measure any bigger than normal, and in fact I kept the weight gain down to a reasonable 25 pounds for the whole pregnancy. But I carried it all right in front of me, like I was smuggling a fit ball under my shirt. That kind of physique doesn't lend itself to comments on how slender you might be.

That last month, I had lots of Braxton-Hicks contractions regularly. Sometimes I even had real contractions that would last for the better part of a night or a day. Everything ached, everything was uncomfortable, and once in a while if I was lucky, I got 4 hours sleep in a row. But if the 4 hours started when I passed out on the couch around 9:00, I would spend the early morning hours surfing around the net or looking for something good to watch on TV, and then I would show up for a full day at work totally exhausted.

Life as a very pregnant lady is not that much fun.

About 2 weeks before my due date, I found out I was 4 cm dilated. So that explained a lot of the pain and the contractions - I was making progress. I got excited, and I cleaned the house and got ready to have the baby any time. In fact, I packed my bag and carried it to work with me. Every single day I took that bag to work, and every night I put it by the bed. I was ready to go, just in case something happened at work.

About a week before my due date, I spent the better part of a Saturday morning timing contractions. They got to 6 minutes apart - nothing terribly strong, but definitely the real thing - so I woke Brian up, and called the Amazing Babysitter to come over and watch the girls while we headed to the hospital.

It was a bust. Still at 4 cm after 2 hours, they sent me home. They said I needed to be at 5 cm to stick around, and to come back when the contractions were 3-5 minutes apart and a lot stronger - or if my water broke.

After a week of no progress, we set up a planned induction for Monday the 22nd, and I powered through a to-do list on my last day at work. That weekend I mapped out my big house-cleaning push. I split up the chores over Saturday and Sunday, so I wouldn't wear out too much.

Saturday night I woke up around midnight with a contraction. Eventually I worked out that they were about 15 minutes apart, and at that point I was wide awake, so I picked out a movie to watch. About 3:30 am, I went to the bathroom, and at that moment, my water broke. Wow. Talk about having been there, done that! I yelled for Brian a few times, and he finally heard me from the bedroom. Since our Amazing Babysitter was out of town that night, he called our backup - Brian's fishing buddy D., and D's girlfriend. To their credit, they arrived swiftly. In the meantime, my contractions got a lot stronger, and a lot closer together. By the time we pulled out of the driveway, they were really painful, and they were about 3 minutes apart. To top it off, every other contraction lasted about 2 minutes. So it felt like I really wasn't getting a good break, and that the baby was definitely on its way. I crossed my fingers that it wouldn't happen in the car.

On the way to the hospital, I decided to go ahead & get the on-call OB awake and on her merry way. Turns out, there was a very nice guy on call that morning, one that I'd never met. Great. I told the answering service what was going on and where we were. They asked a couple of questions, and told me the doctor would call back.

Brian dropped me off close to the door, and another contraction hit me as I was walking into the lobby. I parked my butt on a couch just outside of the admitting office and yelled for the staff to let them know I was there, while Brian was parking the car. It took them a while to realize I was yelling at them. Since the contractions weren't letting up, they got a wheelchair to pull me in. I spent a total of 20 seconds being patient while they tapped around on a keyboard, trying to pull up my information. Finally, I snapped. I was going to have a baby in that lobby if they didn't get their act together. So I very loudly spelled my last name. I figured out it was being rude when Brian tried to shush me. The on-call OB called us back at that point, and I got on the phone and told him where we were and what was happening. Then I told him this was my 3rd baby, and I think that snapped the gears into place for the staff. Suddenly, I had my wristband and I was being wheeled off to triage.

We got to the triage desk, and the nurse was on the phone asking someone about me. Turns out, the on-call OB had called ahead and told them I had to skip triage - do not pass go, do not collect $200, send her straight to a delivery room. And oh, get the epidural in her, now.

Thank god for that OB. I hadn't met him yet and I already wanted to hug him.

We got into a room, and although I was still having some contractions, I got on a hospital gown and got on the bed. I kept asking about the epidural. I did not want to miss out on that. I had gotten to about 7 cm dilated with Helen but it never hurt this much. Oh my lordy, the pain. The contractions were absolutely murdering my resolve to keep it together and focus. I was panting like a mad woman. The nurses had to tell me how to breathe - apparently I was huffing & puffing so much, they were worried about me hyperventilating and passing out.

They asked me a few questions, which I felt was entirely unnecessary at this stage. But I tried to cooperate. When they asked me about my water breaking, I told them yes, it had, and it was kind of green - that got their attention. Apparently that means there's a baby who has pooped in my womb, and that could be an issue if she breathed it in during delivery. So they got a special tech and some of the NICU nurses on standby.

While we were waiting, they put in my IV and told me they were giving me a lot of fluids in order to spread out the contractions a bit, so that they would have time to do the epidural. I didn't notice much of a change. Still very painful, and I was not handling it well at all. I kept thinking of all the women who chose to do this childbirth thing naturally, or the billions of women who managed to give birth without epidurals before, and questioning why in the world anyone would sign up for that much pain at once.

Eventually a woman showed up to give me the epidural. It was probably only 10 minutes or so of total waiting, but it felt like much longer. I had to stay still while she prepped my back, lying on my side for two contractions. That was difficult, but the delivery nurse held my hand and chattered through the whole thing. Focusing on her hand, and focusing on staying still, and knowing that sweet blessed relief was coming, I was able to hold it together for that magic shot.

We had a different on-call OB since I was so close to delivering. The one I spoke to on the phone was on his way, but hadn't arrived yet. The one in the room was there to catch the baby in case I had to push. Clearly he had been awoken from some deep sleep, because I remember his hair was sticking up on one side, and he was apologizing for that when he came in the room.

In the meantime, the anesthetist must have loaded up on my epidural because once it hit, I was more numb than I can ever remember being for Helen or Alice. They also gave me an oxygen mask - apparently all that heavy breathing that I wasn't doing right was a big worry for the baby, too. A few contractions later, I felt a lot of pressure and burning, and they said I could start pushing. On the first push, the on-call OB showed up, so he and the other doctor switched places. I was so numb - I knew how to push but couldn't feel anything. I kept telling them, I don't know if this is working. They assured me it was fine and that I was doing a good job.

Apparently it was fine, because the baby came out on the 3rd contraction. Seriously. Maybe 5 or 6 minutes of pushing? That's it. She was ready to go.

So Jane Anne Wyatt was born at 5:21 a.m. - less than 2 hours after my water broke. Most of which was spent waiting for the sitter, driving to the hospital, and praying I would get that epidural in time.

And I did, but just barely.

She came out so quiet, and I know they don't want babies to suck in air or cry until they get all of that fluid cleaned up and out of her nose and mouth, but I started to worry. Suddenly, she gave a big wail, and I knew everything was fine. The NICU nurses cleaned her up and handed her to Brian.

One more happy, healthy baby.

Pay attention to the signs

There are numerous commercials on TV about men with GOING problems and women with URGES. I've talked about medical issues on the blog before, but still, this one seems radically different - like, "wow, I didn't know that could happen to someone I know." But yes. My name is Jennie, and I have a bladder control problem.

There. I said it.

Here's the deal. Every woman knows that the days and weeks following childbirth isn't exactly the ideal time to make us laugh heartily, or you'll find us racing for the bathroom. Even a couple of sneezes or a strong cough might be dangerous. But well after I had Alice, those moments continued. The coughing especially causes problems for me. After going through multiple pregnancies, I've learned there's a ton of things that NO ONE EVER TELLS YOU (my sister is vigorously nodding her head right now), and I had just assumed this was one of those things. You know, random times when you wet your pants as a 30-something adult - must be kinda common, right?

Have I ever mentioned I'm not a doctor? Okay? Might be important to make a note of that.

So last September, I'm at one of those indoor bouncy castle jump places for one of Helen's daycare friend's birthday parties (yes, I know. Sigh. DON'T ASK.), and I get to take Alice with me, too. It's her first time, so I head inside one of the bouncy things with her to jump around and see what she thought. Holding her in my arms, I experiment with a soft jump or two.

And promptly pee all over myself.

Okay, I think, that was not good. Fortunately I was wearing dark pants, but wow. Not good.

So a week or so later, I mention it to my mom, thinking she'd commiserate with me. After all, I'm 30-something, and she had me when she was not that old, maybe in 3rd grade, so that makes her um, what? Older than me? Anyway, I figure she might have had the same problem, and we could laugh about it together, right?

There was silence on her end of the phone. Finally, she says to me, "Jennie, that's not normal. You need to go to a doctor."

My first thought was, really? Not normal? And then I thought, okay. Maybe not. I mean, maybe I get to be one of those women who pays attention to the commercials about women with URGES and asks the doctor about the pricey brand-name prescription drug. It took me a few days to wrap my head around it. And steadily, over the next few weeks, the URGES got worse.

So I call the doctor for an appointment. I mention the symptoms to the nurse, and she says that sometimes bladder infections can cause leaking. Okay, I think. Maybe it's just a low-grade infection, after all this time. I can deal with that, just a simple fix with antibiotics. This doesn't have to require lifelong Depends purchases. This doesn't mean I need to visit a restroom every hour. Okay. Sign me up for that one.

I pee in a cup and give some blood, and the doctor sends me for an ultrasound to see if my bladder is doing anything strange. And I find out that the reason my leaking has gotten worse lately is due to an 18-week old baby curled up right on top of my bladder. Heart rate looks great, all the measurements are fine, and all the features look perfect. It's a girl, who's been quietly hiding out for over 4 months. And as I look at the tiny baby on the screen, I go blank, and the tears well up.

Then I think to myself, "Depends would have been so much cheaper."