Clearly, I don’t have time for regular blogging anymore.  I still want to write about my life, my boys, and the great balancing act that is being a woman in the 21st century, but I might only have time to fit in a monthly blog post from here on out.  A few weeks ago I started working on a grant again (I know, I know, E is only 8 weeks old), so  I’ve been using my “down” time in the evenings to work on my academic writing.  Something had to get scaled back.  And that something was this blog.

Having Emery in my life has been an amazing experience.  He is such a sweet boy, who loves closeness, snuggles, smiling, music, and most of all, his big brother.  At 8 weeks, E is quite a busy little guy.  He can turn his head to follow H around the room (he almost seems to look up to his big brother ALREADY).  He  is always kicking his little arms and legs (he has STRONG legs).  By far, his favorite thing to do involves being held in a standing position, which is super tiring on my arms but well-worth the huge smiles that it elicits.  E nurses very well (he took to it immediately and without any problems right after he was born).  He doesn’t nurse with the same frequency that H did at the same age (thank goodness), and he only wakes a couple times at night to tank up.  He is a bit more sensitive than his brother, to noise, temperature, novelty, etc., but he is still a lovely little guy who doesn’t really cry all that much, considering his age.  E has started vocalizing and imitates a lot of the noises that I make.  He loves to study my face and seems to observe me, and others, in earnest.  He furrows his brow quite a bit, which is hilarious and is something that he has done pretty much since birth.  His furrowed brow is interrupted by these huge heart-warming grins.  He is just so sweet.  I’m trying to savor this baby stage with E, knowing that a year from now he’ll be walking and it’ll be hard to remember these sweet days of physical closeness that we now share.  Even so, I am at the same time very excited to think about how E’s personality will unfold, how he will interact with H as he gets older, what some of his challenges and strengths will be.  He is clearly a very different person from H, and my experience of parenting him is bound to be very different as well.  Despite their differences, I sometimes gaze at their baby pictures and find that they are nearly indistinguishable:

Here are two babies sporting outfits that prominently feature sushi on their shirts—but which is Holden?  And which is Emery?  Holden is the first picture, Emery is the second.  Emery is a bit thinner, has less hair, fairer features, and fuller lips than Holden at the same age—Emery also is shaping up to look MUCH more like his Papa than Holden does, if that’s possible.  They are both beautiful and full of energy, and I am so lucky to have them in my life!

H has transitioned so incredibly well into his new role as big brother.  I am in awe of how patient he is.  There are things I can’t do for him immediately any more because I am nursing, or have to change a diaper, etc.  But H patiently waits until I have a free moment, most of the time without complaining, and ALWAYS without any apparent resentment or hostility toward E.  H will actually get down on the floor with E and talk to him, he’ll show him his toys, read him stories, stroke his arms and legs.  E responds with grinning, vocalizing, and kicking his legs.  It’s the best thing to be able to watch.

In general, transitioning from a family of three to a family of four has been relatively painless.  It was nothing like the enormous change of going from a childless couple to one with a newborn.  Even my physical recovery has been easier.  I had a second degree tear, but I’ve completely healed from that already.  At my 6-week checkup, I found out that I’m about 16 lbs. away from my pre-pregnancy weight, which I think is really pretty great!  I’ve started running (only once each week), and I am getting a real workout doing yard work and assorted household activities.  Yes, it now takes me three days to mow the lawn, a task that used to only take a couple of hours, but damnit, it’s exercise!  So I’ll deal.

We’re having a relatively leisurely spring/early summer.  We’ve been careful not to overcommit to too many things, yet we somehow ended up going to 4 preschool birthday parties in the past month!  So I hereby declare a moratorium on all further preschool birthday parties.  Although by far my favorite party was one hosted by H’s girlfriend, Elsie.  As a gift for her fourth birthday, H painted a beautiful picture.  I got a frame for his painting at the craft store, and voila!  H was so incredibly proud of his creation:

And he just couldn’t wait to give it to the birthday girl:

These two are just so incredible!  I love them!  And she has the most lovely parents and younger sister, and another younger sister on the way!  They are a wonderful family—funny how my favorite preschool kids have parents who rock!

What else is going on this summer?  Well, today we volunteered at H’s preschool to build an incredible outdoor classroom.  It’s still not finished, but the dads did a good job of digging holes to secure the tree stump “seats” for morning meeting, and burying used tires in the ground for climbing.  Someone brought a used entertainment center, where kids could “cook” items in their bakery.  These items consisted of scones made out of bricks and cupcakes made out of rocks.  One of H’s classmates charged me $18 for a cupcake, to which I replied, “It had better be organic!”  Here’s a shot of the beginnings of our beautiful outdoor classroom:

A huge milestone for us this summer is that H turns FOUR in a couple of weeks.  This completely shocks my brain.  I’ve planned an outer space-themed birthday party, which I am hoping will be fun and low key.  We’ve invited only 4 kids because we don’t want things to get too crazy.  We’re planning on visiting a planetarium at some point this summer as well, in keeping with H’s recent preoccupation with all things outer space.  Other than that, our summer is basically wide open.  While I’d love to fit in a camping trip somewhere, and maybe even an easy hike, we really want to stay away from making too many plans.  It might be fun to just have no plan for once and see where the summer takes us!  As it is, H will still attend preschool 2 days each week, and then take swim lessons once each week, and soccer once each week, so we already have a good chunk of time accounted for.

In between all of this activity, I need to still find time to snuggle my little E.  He is such an incredible little guy, and I love him so!

It’s been almost a month, (holy cow!), so I figured it was time to get this birth story posted!  I wrote it about a week and a half after he was born, when it was still fresh in my mind.  Things are going well here, mostly good, with a few bumps along the road.  Mostly good, though:)

Without further ado, here’s Emery’s super awesome birth story!

On Wednesday, April 11^th, Holden and I set about our day as we had all the other days leading up to Emery’s birth.  We tried to make the most of our time together, knowing that our uninterrupted time as mother and only child was drawing to a close.  In the morning, we attended a yoga class at our community studio.  During previous classes, I would participate with Holden, but during this particular class I was feeling too drained to skip around the room with Holden, so I pulled up a chair and watched as H practiced yoga with his instructor (we were lucky to be the only people who showed up for class that day, so H got individualized instruction!)

After yoga, we went to the library where we picked up a copy of Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder, and snuggled into the couch to read the first couple of chapters.  We went home for lunch, and in the afternoon, I took H out for ice cream as a special treat.  When ordering my sundae, I noticed that it contained some incomprehensibly large number of calories, like 1500 of them, but I reasoned that if I were to go into labor that night, I would likely throw up, so the calories wouldn’t really count.  So I ordered the sundae and promised myself that I would not feel guilty for eating the whole thing.  Holden would periodically take a bite of his ice cream, smile at me, and rub my upper arm while saying that he loved me.  Once our desserts were finished, we drove downtown to pick Rob up for our appointment with my midwife.  At my appointment, my midwife told me that my cervix was in a very favorable state for labor.  I was 4 days past my due date, and the midwife wanted to set up an appointment for the following Monday to check the placenta and the level of amniotic fluid, and depending on how things looked, talk about speeding things along somehow.  I asked my midwife if we could try stripping my membranes as a first attempt at getting things going.  I didn’t want to jump straight to pitocin if I didn’t have to.  With my previous pregnancy, I had my membranes stripped at 41 weeks, and I had Holden 2 days later.  So I figured that I’d give this approach a try again.  I had my membranes stripped at my appointment, and had a lot of bloody show.  I knew this was a good sign, and because I was also feeling a little crampy, I texted my neighbor to tell her to keep her phone on because I was thinking that I might go into labor that night, and we might need her to watch Holden.

That evening, we had curried turkey burgers with mango chutney for dinner.  We tucked Holden into bed after dinner, and I felt so tired that I just had to pass out by 9PM.  Around 1AM, I woke up with very mild cramps.  I had experienced cramping and contractions at night for the past 2 weeks of my pregnancy, so I didn’t get too excited about them.  I decided to just stay in bed and see what would happen.  I tolerated the contractions in bed for about an hour, but by 2AM, I was feeling like I couldn’t comfortably deal with them while staying in bed—I needed to move around.  So I got up and drank a glass of water.  I checked my e-mail.  I paced the living room.  I found out I couldn’t sit with pressure on my back, or lay down with pressure on my back.  I went downstairs to the family room.  The gas stove was on because it was a chilly night, and as soon as I saw the flames lighting up the room, I knew I had to move the ottoman directly in front of the stove, drape myself over the ottoman, and let the heat from the stove work on the muscles of my lower back.  I was having pretty regular contractions at this point, and I dealt with them by breathing through them, drinking water, and letting the heat work its magic.  The house was quiet.  The house was still.  Rob and H were asleep upstairs.  It was just me with my baby, alone, in the firelight.  I heard a freight train whistle on its way through town, and thought about how these moments of peace and quiet could sustain me through the rest of my labor, how these moments would set the tone for my baby’s entry into the world.  I decided to grab my phone and download a contraction timing app, so I’d have a clue about the timing of my contractions for when I called my midwife.  I timed them for almost an hour, while draped over the ottoman.  They went from 5 minutes apart to 3 minutes apart during that hour, lasting about 45 seconds each.  As I approached the end of my 1-hour timing, I decided that I had let Rob rest for long enough, and it was now time to get him up and get going.  I went to wake him up (at this point, it was around 5AM), and told him that I thought I was in labor and that we should get to the hospital.

His response was this:

“I need to tell you about my dream first.”

He proceeded to tell me about his dream:  A local pizza delivery business was pulling people over and forcing people to try free slices of pizza as one of their newest promotional tactics.  Apparently, we too, had been pulled over and were forced to try one of these free slices.

“Great story,” I said, “now let’s get going.”

We had time somehow to both take showers (I was planning on shaving in the shower, but wisely decided against it once I realized that my contractions were getting a bit stronger and closer together).  Rob ate breakfast and drank coffee.  I abstained from both.  We called our midwife and told her we were on our way and that we’d be at the hospital by 6:30AM.  We called our neighbor and had her come over to get H off to school that morning.  We hopped in the car, and chatted about who knows what, as the sun lightened the sky on the morning of April 12^th.  I only had 3 or 4 contractions during the car ride, which was a good thing, because the back pain from my contractions was harder to deal with when sitting down.  We got to the hospital, parked in the garage, and elected to take the long walk to labor and delivery.  I had to stop every few minutes because of the contractions, but they were still manageable.  We arrived at labor and delivery finally, we got buzzed in, and I signed the paperwork.  I was calm and aware of everything through all of this.  We were escorted down to our labor and delivery room, room #5, which I am pretty sure was the same room where Holden was born almost four years before.  I changed into the hospital gown, and my midwife checked me.  I was 6 cm dilated and 100% effaced.

“Yay!” I said.

They poured me a bath and I got in and just let the contractions come.  In between contractions I was chatting with the nurses and midwife, telling jokes and stories.  As each contraction came, I would close my eyes and breath through it, and the staff would get quiet so I could focus on the contraction.  I concentrated on making my inhalations the same length and quality of my exhalations, and imagined the evenness of my breath soothing my muscles.  One of the nurses suggested that I try getting on my side (rather than staying on my back), but I quickly decided that position was painful in a way that was not productive to my labor.  My contractions were intensifying, and I was feeling pressure in my bottom with each contraction.  I felt like it was time to come out of the tub and stand up.  I got out of the tub, and had a contraction as one of the nurses was drying me off with a towel.  I remember that contraction was a turning point for the labor, because all of the contractions after that required a level of focus that turned me increasingly inward.

I walked out to the delivery room from the bathroom.  I labored for a time draped over the hospital bed.  I was getting more vocal, more rhythmic, groaning in low intonations, a gentle coaxing to my baby.  I imagined my baby’s face during this time, and the face of my older son meeting my new son for the first time.  I thought about the joy this would bring, and then the pain would ebb for a brief period, and then I could breathe and relax.  Then the pain would come on again, and I would turn again to thinking about my sons, their faces, and the love I have for them.  I stood up and announced that I had to go to the bathroom to throw up.  I went and sat down next to the toilet.  I didn’t throw up, but I could feel the room getting hot, I could feel sweat pouring from my body, I knew my heart was racing.  They brought me the birthing ball to lean on, and I rocked myself through each contraction.  The back rubs and words of encouragement from Rob and the midwife and nurses made me feel so nourished.  I soaked it up and let them sustain me through the tough moments, knowing that each tough moment would pass and I wouldn’t have to repeat it again.  Each tough moment dilated my cervix more and got me closer to meeting my son.  My midwife eventually coaxed me up from the bathroom floor and asked if she could check my progress.  I slowly climbed into the hospital bed, and my midwife announced that I was completely dilated.  I didn’t say anything, but I did give two thumbs up and cracked a smile at this news!

I didn’t feel the urge to push at all, but they told me that I should try to push with each contraction anyway, and that eventually I would feel the urge to push.  A nurse had me by one arm, and Rob had me by the other arm, and they both walked me up and down the delivery room.  We’d take 3 steps, then march twice in place.  It’s harder than it sounds.  And when I’d have a contraction, I’d have to drop down or squat and bear down with all my might while they supported me on either side.  I did this for several contractions.  Until one contraction—I beared down to push, and I had a sudden and excruciating pain in my sacrum.  I stopped pushing at once.  It turned out that my little guy was posterior, which was why I was having such trouble with having pressure on my back.  I kept thinking about how unpleasant the pain was, how I wanted it to end because I was tired, and wouldn’t it just be easier if I had drugs to take the edge off.  But of course, I was pushing, and it didn’t make sense to have drugs at this point.  And I had to face the hard fact that I was the ONLY person who could get me out of this situation.  No one else could do this for me.  I had to keep going.  There was no choice.  The nurses and midwife got me onto the hospital bed onto a hands and knees position, which was a much better way for me to push.  With each contraction, I’d go from hands and knees and bring my torso back towards my legs, almost like child’s pose.  I felt like I was harnessing a lot of power by transitioning from one position to the other.  I also was very vocal at this point, grunting through the pushes because I was working so hard.  After 50 minutes of pushing, I wasn’t certain that my baby was moving down at all.  And my water still hadn’t broken.  My midwife asked if she could break my water for me to help facilitate things.  Once she broke my water, my pushing became very effective.  I could actually FEEL my baby moving down.  I knew he was almost here.  My midwife had me move onto the floor.  I was on my knees on the floor, with my arms and head resting on the hospital bed.  I was able to push him out in this position, only 10 minutes after having my water broken.  I could feel his head come out, and once his head was out, I felt so much relief and I foolishly thought I was done!

One of the nurses said: “Here comes one shoulder!”

“Oh my God!” I thought, “I’m not done yet!”

But then both shoulders were out, and then his body was out, and I was done and holding him, him with the blinking, wet eyelashes and crying, and me looking at him, a stranger who I was sizing up in those first seconds, who would no longer be a stranger to me by the end of the day.  Just 4 hours after arriving at the hospital, Emery Stephen Friesel was born.  He was 8 lbs. 7.5 oz., 21 inches long.  He is lovely and perfect, and worth every challenging breath I had to take on the journey to bring him life.  I’m so glad he is here.

View from our hospital room on the day Emery was born:

Brothers meeting for the first time:

Our budding little artist has been making stuff like this on his “V•Reader”:

Cataloging here.

At 10:30am on April 12, 2012, we welcomed our new son Emery Stephen into the world. He was 8 pounds, 7½ ounces, and was 21 inches long. “He’s a real singer,” the nurse complimented as he launched into a forty minute wail. But he is a handsome devil, and we cannot wait to bring him home.

Amy did great–about a 9½ hour labor, and no medication. The nurses said she made it look easy.

We are all excited (if a bit tired).

Holden had a dream (nightmare?) last night. He told it to us this morning, and it went a bit like this:

Me and Mommy and Daddy and Carl Sagan were in a museum looking at owl bones. And then we went to the hospital because Mommy was sick. And Carl Sagan was making us dinner at the hospital. And then the phone rang and Daddy thought it was annoying and he pressed the button and BOOM the telephone speaker burned up with star fire flames. Nobody could call us but the fire didn’t get on us.