Biting herself . . . pulling out chunks of her own hair . . . screaming at the top of her lungs . . . negotiating every parental request . . . pinching Dad . . . scratching Mom . . . throwing any object within reach across the room . . . reattachment to the binkie . . . complete loss of interest in potty training . . . inconsolable crying when mommy or daddy leaves . . .

The last several weeks have been a tough adjustment for our Miss Vivi.

She was at least able to verbalize her needs this morning.  “Put Baby Tad in his bed and hold me.  Tickle my back.  I want momma/daughter time.”

It’s tough to see my baby girl struggle and, in many ways, grow up over night.  Suddenly, her diapers look HUGE and she seems to weigh exponentially more than before.  But despite the temper tantrums, I try to take a deep breath and remind myself that she is just a sweet little girl whose world has been turned upside down.

I love you, Miss Vivi . . . to the moon and BACK!

Last night, we FINALLY got our act together enough to carve our pumpkin.

Looking at the late hour on the clock and feeling stressed and exhausted, I suggested that we wait until next week (as I’ve suggested for the last several weeks), but Ariana reminded me that Halloween is THIS week and that we really shouldn’t put the activity off any longer.

Too bad I haven’t given any thought to their costumes for this year.

I hope that my kids don’t carry any emotional scars because their mother was too scatterbrained to give each Hallmark-inspired holiday its due respect.

Vivi’s napping.

Tad’s napping.

I should be napping too, . . . but I can’t let yet another day go by without reflecting on the last four weeks of our lives.

Can it possibly have been four weeks ago already that Baby Tad joined our family? Even though life with a newborn is exhausting, we have had so many blessings poured out upon us over the last month:

• Tad’s stay in the NICU was brief.
• His jaundice responded perfectly to the “photo light therapy” which was able to be done at home vs. another stay in the hospital.
• Tad is much more “peaceable” than his two sisters were.  He LOVES to cuddle.
• His weight gain is right where it should be–at 2 weeks, he weighed 7 lbs. 15 ozs. (25th %) and was 21 1/2 inches long (95th %)
• My 1st trip to the ER (Presby Plano ER) showed no blood clot in my leg.
• Despite the ineptness of the Baylor Frisco ER, I did not bleed to death on my 2nd trip to the ER (for hemorrhaging).  Thankfully, I have a fabulous OB who talked the ER clown (I mean doctor) through the appropriate course of treatment.
• Grandma Hess and Gran Tolbert tended to our every need during their brief visits.
• Health insurance, hand-me-downs, Zoloft, elastic waistbands, Bravado Seamless Nursing Bras, Medela Freestyle pump.
• Our family was fed yummy meals and scrumptious treats by so many wonderful friends.
• The opening of our new CLOSE church building coincided perfectly with Tad’s birth, facilitating a bit more family time and help from BT.

Sorry for the delay . . .

I’ll leave the witty postings to BT and provide just the facts . . .

After the nursery hadn’t brought us our baby several hours after his birth, BT went in search of answers.  The news that he returned with was not what any new parent wants to hear . . .

• Your baby is showing signs of respiratory distress (“grunting & flaring”)
• Blood tests reveal a possible infection.
• An x-ray shows fluid in the lungs and possibly an enlarged heart.
• We’ve had to move him to the NICU for further care.

To make a long story short, we were able to bring our perfectly healthy baby home on Friday, just one day later than originally planned.

I’ll add more details later . . . gotta go take care of a crying baby.  What a great sound it is!

9:00 AM — It was a restful night, as restful as a night can be when people are constantly trying to plug some holes and empty others.  One of my biggest worries now is that someone gets confused with which is which.  I’m a little blue that it’s been so hard to get dad to work with me.  He’s got to learn that I need to be in charge so I’ve had mom order the first few seasons of Pinky and the Brain for him to watch.  Who’d ever have thought that my dad would be nicknamed Pinky.  On another front, eavesdropping on the nurses conversations this morning, it seems like I’ve outlasted them and should be headed upstairs to the nursery this afternoon – I think I’ll even get a suite with a tanning bed.  Life is good!

9:00 AM — Talked about being bored out of your mind – the only thing that has helped is secretly planning my escape from NICU.  After resting comfortably for the last few hours and surveying my resources and options, I decided the best course of action was to enlist the help of my fellow inamtes.  They all agreeed to help, so after the morning round of giving blood and x-rays, precisely at 8:30 AM, we started choir practice.  Not bad for a bunch of weak-lunged kids.  Thinking that the nurses would be distracted by the joyful noise, I caught dad’s attention and whispered that we needed to seize the opportunity created by the confusion and run.  Unfortunately, dad seemed to be working on some other method of escape that involved blinding the captors with the flash bulbs on his camera.  He should have known that was too amateurish to work.  The head NICU nurse saw right through his plan and put the floor on lockdown.  Choir practice ceased as they stuck bottles in our mouths to prevent further communication.  Hopefully, between today and tomorrow, I can come up with a better plan so that I can get downstairs to my mama. – JTT

2:00 AM — Having been away from my mom and dad for a few hours in the nursery, I started to get a little worried and call out to them.  Unfortunately, the nurses didn’t recognize my summons for what they were and instead labeled them grunting.  That made me mad and so they diligently noted the flaring of my nostrils in the log notes.  This is all so new to me that I didn’t realize grunting and flaring would precipitate a little trip.  So instead of going to spend the night with mom, I got sent to the NICU with promises that my stay shouldn’t be too long.  Dad tried to break me out while I took a couple of swings at the nurses which made them mad and now I’m wrapped up in a little makeshift straitjacket.  Now I’ve just got to play along and I’ve decided to look at the bright side – hopefully the air is better up here and will help settle my breathing down.  More updates to come when the sun rises. – JTT

Wireless Internet is awesome.  Here I am, sitting in the hospital bed, hooked up to all sorts of tubes and monitors.  Since I’m not going anywhere any time soon, I thought that I’d pass the time by chronicling events as they occur.

7:35 a.m.–Arrive at hospital, put on unattractive gown and fill out lots of paperwork.

8:30 a.m.–BT checks market.  DOW up on open.  Oil up but airline stocks unchanged.  Nurse checks cervix–says I’m a “2.”  Hmm–Dr. Mac said that I was a “1” yesterday.

9:30 a.m.–After several failed attempts at starting an IV and with the help of 3 nurses, Pitocin drip starts.  Despite my request for “silence,” the nurses gave me a play-by-play of my “valvey” veins, etc.  I nearly passed out.

9:55 a.m.–Dr. Mac breaks my water.  I really don’t like feeling “drippy.”  Dr. Mac didn’t exactly call me a “2,” but he did say that I seemed to be a bit more dilated than yesterday.  The nurse ups the pitocin for the 2nd time–to 4 milliunits.

10:20 a.m.–Nurse ups pitocin to 6 milliunits.  So far, contractions are manageable.

11:30 a.m.–The hour-long break between updates is due to a Text Twist game.  We got to 98,450 points before losing.  Here I am in labor, trying to focus on the game, and I keep catching BT glancing up at the t.v. screen to check on the stock market.  I think that’s why we got stumped and ultimately lost the game. 🙂

Pitocin is up to 14 milliunits.  There’s some type of calculation used to determine optimal pitocin dosage.  It’s based on the strength and frequency of contractions.  Dr. Mac wants me to get to 225, and the nurse says that I’m at 170.  The contractions are definitely more painful at this point, but I’m managing just fine.  My blood pressure and the baby’s heart rate are perfect.

BT is the one I’m worried about.  He is shivering because the room is quite chilly, but he’s too manly to put on my pink robe to warm up.

I’m hoping that Dr. Mac stops by during his lunch break to see if I’ve dilated further.

12:30 p.m.–Good news!  Dr. Mac stopped by 15 minutes ago and said that I’m at a 3!  I know that it doesn’t sound like much, but I’ve never been at a 3 and NOT had an epidural before.  With Ari and Vivi, I had MAJOR pain and was still a 2.  The baby is still at a -2 station, for those of you that know what that means.  The contractions are definitely getting more painful, but I’m holding up surprisingly well.  I’ve gotten a lot more sleep in the late stage of this pregnancy than with the girls, so I’m sure that contributes to my ability to cope.  Dr. Mac said that he would stop back by in a few hours.

2:00 p.m.–Holy Moley.  I’m hoping that the dr stops by soon and tells me that I’ve made a ton of progress, because I’m really feeling the pain now.  BT may have to take over the updates soon.  If that happens, take what he says with a grain of salt.

2:45 p.m.–Dr. Mac just stopped by.  I’m only a 3 1/2, 70% effaced, -1.  To my inquisitive glare he replied, “It’s the whole watched pot kind of thing.”  As I grimaced and snorted, Bryan was trying to crack stupid jokes to make me laugh but has so far been unsuccessful.  To be or not to be (epiduralized) – that is now the question.  Well, one of the questions.  Another question is why does Bryan have to chomp the stinking ice!!!  And why does he keep calling me Olga??  And how am I supposed to keep my hair ready for the pictures when the nurses keep making me roll from side to side??

3:15  p.m.–Wow!  Talk about talented, I just spent 30 minutes balancing on the beside, not moving, while the contractions wracked my body and Dr. Jones used a needle the size of post hole diggers to give me an epidural.  Thankfully, the soothing medication seems to be working and I’m now able to more fully enjoy the experience of oxygen, IVs, catheters and nursing alarms.  When the nurse checked and proclaimed I’m a 4.5, I wanted to kiss someone so luckily BT was close at hand!

5:00 p.m.–Pressure.

5:31 p.m.–After pushing though three contractions, Baby Tad entered the world.  Vital stats–7 lbs. 9 oz., 20 inches long.  Scored 9’s for apgar.  BT wants to know if “apgar” is an intelligence test.

5:32 p.m.–Dr. Mac should have put the “pee pee tepee” on first; Baby Tad tinkled his way into the world.  We held a family vote a few days ago about who would get “squirted” first.  None of us thought to add Dr. Mac to the ballot.

6:15 p.m.–Baby Tad received his first visitors–Ari, Vivi, Grandma Hess & Aunt Lisa.  Vivi wanted to poke and prod.  Ari was sweetly attentive and became very teary when it came time to leave.  I miss my girls.

8:40 p.m.–Still waiting for the nursery to bring our baby to us.  Grrr.  According to all accounts, he’s been gathering the most ooh’s and aah’s of the new younguns in the nursery.  We think that the nurses are so enamoured with him that they don’t want to let him out of their sight.

I sit here, writing in the dark so as to not wake the girls.  I’m showered and dressed, having chosen to wear a shirt that my sister gave to me as good “luck,” because she’s one of the toughest people that I know.  My bag is packed, the carseat is in the truck, and in one hour we’ll start the process of introducing Baby Tad to our family.

I’m pretty calm under the circumstances.  It’s not really the birth that I worry about.  It’s the aftermath of sleepless nights and raging hormones and a body that, despite NOT being pregnant anymore, doesn’t look anything like it did 9 months ago–not that it was anything to brag about back then, either.  I worry that Bryan’s schedule and the demands on his time and attention will leave me feeling like a single mom.  But amidst the worry, there is a peace that comes.  Somehow . . . even though my head tells me that it is not possible . . . somehow in my heart I know that everything will work out.

Happy Birthday, Baby Tad!