I smile at chaos.

 I sat on my deck, this beautiful, warm yet cool spring evening holding my freshly 2 months old baby, George, as he arched his head back to absorb the sky view. He loves the sky. I watched my bumbling, severely (and unfortunately) uncoordinated, 17 month old baby, Curtis, as he tried to navigate the different porch and deck levels as well as the pot-hole ridden grass. And I laughed as Brock and Fannie scattered from the danger plowing toward them, that was Matt using the push mower. Every so often, I would yell "Tater!" in an attempt to quiet the yappy little Iggy, who feels it necessary to bark at anything and everything that moves after dusk. And I smiled.

I continued to smile when I brought all 3 boys in the house, which created an immediate cause for melt down. All 3 kids were crying. Brock, because he "wanted to mow with daddy". Mind you, Matt was finished mowing, and Brock had long since lost interest anyhow. Curtis' cry was partly due to his obsession and love of the outdoors, the fact that I had to slide him across the kitchen floor with my foot as I tried to keep the dog inside, hold George and close the door at the same time, and partly due to the fact that is was a few minutes after 8pm (his self-appointed bedtime.) George cried because, well, he just cries. Especially between the hours of 6:30 and 9pm. And I had to set him down to deal with other things for a moment. I went to the front door, laughing, to instruct Matt to hurry up and get in the house, as ALL 3 BOYS were crying.

Moments like these I find so sincerely comical. Not 30 seconds earlier, I had 3 of the happiest boys on the planet. The id is strong with these ones.Perhaps, I smiled so much this evening, because, despite an extremely stressful day at work, 2 days really, and soon to be 3, I was greeted at the front door by two little boys fighting for my affection. Both so happy to see me, both wanting to be immediately scooped up before I even get a chance to hang my keys by the door, or set down my coffee mug, purse and pump. I kiss them all, get settled, scarf a bite of pizza and go relieve Matt from grumpy George duty. The infant instantly falls asleep in my arms, and I can't kiss him enough.

When he wakes up again, he is happy. He smiles, and coos, and looks me directly in the eye. George is growing so fast. I am sure he has just had a giant growth spurt over the weekend. He is officially out of 0-3 month clothes and just today, after 2 blow outs, is officially up to a size 2 diaper. And perhaps, the most evidential event of the evening demonstrating his growth, were the giggles he gave me. George giggled on his 2 month birthday. And giggled a lot. Ribs are apparently very ticklish bones. He then proceeded to sleep for a 6.5 hour stretch overnight!

Finally, after two months, he is getting it. He is napping better. He is eating better. He still hasn't rolled over - quite a bit behind his brothers. I just don't think he has the same muscle type, he's kind of mushy. But the previous two months have been busy. George had a clear 'witching hour' between 6:30pm and 9pm. Someone HAD to be holding him, or it was 2.5 hours of screaming, but even holding him didn't guarantee happiness. He still generally wakes up every 1.5-4 hours (he slept longer during his first 2 weeks!) I do think, as evidenced by last night, that this is going to change very soon. Matt and I constantly say, "George is our worst baby." Because he has been. Not to say we don't love him as much (or more sometimes) than his brothers, he is just the worst newborn. The other 2 set the bar so high though, he didn't really have a fighting chance. Really, he is just a true newborn. And I think he is a bit gassy...

A first for everything.

Easter is a big holiday for the Harris side of Matt's family. And this year, it felt just a little bit extra special, as it was George's first big holiday. It was also our first attempt at not only a four hour car ride with 3 little boys, but a 2 night stay in a strange place. Most of Matt's family were able to meet George for the first time. It was the first time Curtis dyed eggs. And it was the first time that Stephen won the golden egg!

Overall, it was an amazing weekend. I love firsts. And I love spending 3 days with just my family. This was the first time in 7 weeks that I didn't feel overwhelmed by having to wrangle 3 children. Generally, when I am at home, I am not only trying to keep the kids fed, bathed, and happy, but I am trying to clean, and blog, and send out birth announcements, and feed the dogs. It's not relaxing. And it makes me take for-granted the time I have home with my kiddos and husband. Sitting in the car, I could talk to Brock, and smile at Curtis, and feel at ease that George is quiet. The only stressful thing about the weekend, was trying to get all 3 boys to happily participate in a photo. I just don't think it's going to happen. Good thing they are all cute enough to carry a photograph on their own.

I cannot express how wonderful the holidays are to me. I enjoy my friends. I enjoy my co-workers. On a day to day basis, I am generally happy. But, I could look at these images all day. They really captured the moment for me. Pure beauty and happiness. In spending time with my family. And I even got to see EVERY SINGLE immediate family member of both sides, except my own mother. Nothing will ever seem wrong in the world, as long as I have these guys...

...I already have one!

I say I wish I had a twin, and today I was reminded...I already have one! Whitney. All you really have to do, is read this post, from a year and half ago when we were both pregnant with our November babies, Bobby and Curtis. It gives a nice little description of how exactly we seem to have been separated at birth. I would like to add, that since that post, we have both gone on to have another baby just 4 weeks apart! I also forgot to mention, that we both chose the healthcare profession, she as a nurse on the telemetry floor, I as a doc in primary care. And when we were kids, connected at the hip, we frequently got asked if we were twins.
Whitney and I left our hubbies to the kids, and set out to her family's new farmstead to go for a nice afternoon ride. We may have just traveled 40 minutes straight South, but to me, we traveled to a different world. A different time. In this world, I am living my little girl dream of having horses to ride on a whim. Where I can visit a beautiful farm, that is well kept and spend a perfect Spring day with a friend. And of course, the friend I always imagined to share this experience with, is the one who made it possible.

Whitney picked me up after her swim lesson with Bobby. We stopped at Latteland. Our favorite. We sipped our coffee and enjoyed some "girl talk" for the next 40, relaxing minutes. We got to the farm, and quickly toured the newly refinished, and furnished house. We were like kids the night before Christmas. We rushed out to get the horses. Found 7 (Butterscotch) and 10 (Buttercup), saddled them up, and went for a ride. We explored the trails, momentarily wondering if we were lost, maybe kind of hoping that we were, so that we had an excuse to give our husbands as to why we were riding for 5 hours. We trotted in the field. Then we headed back to the barn.

At this point, Whitney decided to try and canter a bit. Butterscotch wasn't really feeling it. He bucked, for what felt like 15 minutes to Whitney, but realistically was about 45 seconds. I watched, in amazement (and in a bit of panic as my horse began to become unsettled, and in helplessness as I tried to figure out how to help her) as she managed to get her feet out of the stirrups and jump off safely. With only a deep bruise to her elbow. Unbelievable.

We then sprayed the horses down. Released them back into the pasture. And set off to find Whitney's glasses that had been tossed from her nose during the bucking. Found them. Got a big bottle of water and headed home. With a stop at Taco Via to complete the day. Our favorite.
I don't know about her, but even with the bucking, this was one of the best days I have had in a long, long time. Being home with 3 kids, and then heading back to work had me feeling old and beat. For just a moment today, I felt so young again. I felt so independent. The day rejuvenated me in so many ways, that when I came home to my little family it felt like I was arriving after a long vacation. Thus, I even enjoyed my time with them more than usual.

Twins

Whenever I see a set of identical twins, I wish I had one. Or even a triplet. The narcissist in me almost feels that I SHOULD have been a triplet. I am convinced I could have done a lot of different things and been incredible at them. The competitor in me wishes I had the ability to prove the thoughts that the narcissist creates. And an identical twin or triplet is the only solution.

I imagine that it would be like having another one of yourself to see what life would be like had you taken a different path or made different decisions. I imagine that my twin would embrace our artistic, creative, right-brained side. Her career would be to own her own little graphic design/paper goods type shop. She'd be a bit skinnier and have tattoos and short hair. She would have gone far, far away for college, and she would have run track or played soccer on scholarship at a Division I school. Her husband would be a musician. Their house adorable and uniquely decorated.

If there were a triplet, the third one would have decided to pursue the academic side. She would have been valedictorian in high school, and gone Ivy League for college. Probably still played a sport, like tennis or badminton. She would continue on and get her PhD in something probably on the sciences side of life, maybe behavioral science and done research for the rest of her life. She probably wouldn't get married due to her intense A-type personality and obsessive tendencies. She would live in a really, really nice loft.

Don't get me wrong. I am in NO WAY disappointed with the choices I have made and the path I have taken. I love where I am, I love being a physician, I LOVE my family. I just want to do TOO many things. I always have. And, most likely, always will. I even have a journal entry from some school assignment in 7th grade where I discuss this exact predicament. In this entry, I am speaking to God, I mention that I have been given so many gifts, abilities and talents, how will I ever know which is the right one to pursue? And all of this is because I am soo competitive, I want to make sure I am picking the path that makes me most successful. Could I have been an Olympian had I chosen a different sport?

Now, I just hope I have passed on some of these gifts, abilities and talents to my kids, and that they choose as wonderful a path as I have in life.

The whole "birth experience" thing.

Whenever I read articles, status updates, comments about home or natural births, I get annoyed. I get annoyed for so very many reasons, but it just dawned on me, that mostly, I just get annoyed because of the tone. Now, mind you, I am speaking in generalities. Most people who have had, or plan to have, or advocate for home births behave as though it is the ONLY way to give birth and have an amazing, magical, wonderful experience. They act as though any hospital birth, especially one where you get an IV, and epidural, and have an OB/Gyn instead of a midwife, robs you of the miracle that is bringing another life into this world.

So, now it's my turn. I laughed and smiled and joked through my last two deliveries. In fact, I had such a wonderful time delivering Curtis, that I was looking forward to the delivery of George. My husband was by my side the entire time, and with the epidural, I could comfortably hang out with him. We took pictures. We talked. We discussed the possible middle names of our soon to be child. I napped. The jovial nurses periodically came in to make sure I didn't need anything, then they left the room. I bonded with every one of my delivery nurses, and think fondly about them always. I look forward to seeing them again, and they all visited me in my post-partum room because we had such a great experience together. I relaxed and enjoyed my brand new baby laying on my belly as the doctor repaired any tears, because I didn't feel them. I sat back as others took care of me. I shared the experience with my husband, yet, my entire family was just a hallway away to come see the newest addition just hours. They got to feel like they were part of the whole process.

And yes, after both Curtis and George, I said to myself, that could easily have been done at home, less then 7 hours of labor, less than 3 pushes and their out, no hemorrhaging...you don't need an MD or DO for that, but it didn't ruin the birth for her to be there. I love, and text, and email, and visit my OB/Gyn. Who says you can't bond with your doctor? Only midwives are personable? Only midwives listen and are interested in your life?

I am not really sure why I am required to be in pain, and to sit in a bath tub, and to clean up my own house after giving birth in it, in order to love my delivery or to have the healthiest baby possible. Brock was born with the apgars of 9 & 10 (as high as you can get, never seen a doctor give a 10 at one minute.) Curtis 9 & 9. George 8 & 9 (he was really purple and had a knotted cord around his neck...which wouldn't be any different at home.) My boys were and are, healthy as a horse. No colic. No allergies. No hospitalizations. Two ear infections, total, ever, from the 3 of them at this point. They gain weight and grow like it's their job. They are extremely happy kids. And people want me to feel as though I stole something from them by having in a hospital, with pain medication? And took something from myself, as a woman?

Surviving 9 months of pregnancy is the hard part. That is where a woman is made. Not the one, short day that ends it all. The only thing important about that day is a concluding it with a healthy mom and a healthy baby. Period. Happiness, joy in the experience, that is a far second. You cannot convince me otherwise. Because a sick baby or mom? No matter how smooth, and according to plan the birth went, means for a miserable delivery experience.

You notice I don't mention Brock's delivery, this is because I can't lump it into the other 2, as it was completely different. And it is why a hospital is necessary. My water broke, and I wasn't in labor. I was also Group B strep positive, meaning I required antibiotics. I get to the hospital, get my antibiotics and 8 hours later, still nothing. Not in labor. Not dilated. Had I waited around at home for this thing to get rolling, my 27 hour labor would have been no less than 48, and certainly, Brock's apgars would not be 9 & 10. I required nearly every intervention in the books, just barely short of a cesarean. I pushed for almost 3 hours. Thank god for that epidural. After 24 hours of labor, I had the energy to push for 3 hours. And with all of that hulabaloo, and medical intervention, I still look back at November 23rd, 2008 as the HAPPIEST day of my life. Why would I change even a minute of it? I got Brock.

So, finally, let me say something that the home/natural birth fanatics rarely, if ever, say; to each their own. Every woman has a birth style or plan, and they are all, for the most part, reasonable. So let her choose. I wouldn't change a thing. And I hope to have a 3rd delivery someday, as wonderful as my previous two. You cannot look at these pictures, and not tell me it is one of the most touching, beautiful moments you have ever witnessed.