Preemie Update

Just a little update to say that baby Michael is doing GREAT! The photo above shows the first time we saw him after his picc line came out.  Hair all clean and shiny, and such a beautiful color!

 Visiting with Aunt Angie and Grandma Margo

It has been only a week since Michael was born, and he has progressed so quickly that his oxygen support is down to just the low flow (1 liter) nasal cannula.  Now it is just a matter of helping him learn to nurse and gain enough weight to sustain his own body temperature.

 First time all dressed up! So precious.

Michael Chipman Ricks

First of all, check out those eyes! Love this picture! 

Yesterday when we walked into the NICU, baby Michael was the most awake I have seen him yet.  Weston got some good pictures and I was looking forward to getting him in my arms for some great interaction with him.  Alas, as soon as we got all situated for our skin-to-skin snuggle time, he fell asleep.  More on this later. 

We've had many requests for details and haven't had all the pieces until now.  So, for those of you who wanted stats....and a name (picky, picky) here they are:

Michael Chipman Ricks

born November 19, 2013 at 12:36 am

Weight: 5 lbs 1 oz or 2300 grams

Height: 18.75 inches

If that's enough detail for you, stop reading. If not, here is the birth story as concisely as I can put it. 

I spent this pregnancy making a conscious effort not to fear. And to put my trust in God. 

After the first week or so of fearing for my life, fearing a repeat c-section (#5), fearing an unknown outcome for the baby, I decided I didn't want to endure the pregnancy this way.  I prayed. We had our children pray every day for the welfare of our baby. I feel that this has been an exercise of faith perfectly tailored to me, and I feel like I have grown closer to the Lord through it. One scripture that has been particularly pertinent to me is found in the Book of Mormon. 

 "Yea, and how is it that ye have forgotten that the Lord is able to do all things according to his will, for the children of men, if it so be that they exercise faith in him.  Wherefore, let us be faithful to him." 1 Nephi 7:12

I'm not usually keen on posting personal, spiritual feelings online, but in this case I see it as an important, if not comprehensive, aspect of our experience bringing Michael into this world. I have felt God's love and guiding hand and felt comfort through putting my trust in Him. 

In addition to trying to exercise faith, I also tried to be careful.  We did our progesterone shots every week (fun!) and I tried to pay close attention to my body, getting off my feet when I felt anything amiss, keeping my digestive system healthy, not "over-doing it" insofar as that is possible when one is responsible for feeding everyone 3 times a day, etc. Basically any "what if" questions I felt related to my prior experiences were addressed accordingly this time around.  When we hit 27.5 weeks (Angelyn's birthday) and didn't have the baby yet, we celebrated.  When we hit 30 weeks (Adam's birthday) and didn't have the baby yet, we celebrated. I held Thanksgiving as my target, knowing if we could make it to 34 or 35 weeks we would be golden.  (Annelise was born at 35 weeks and spent zero time in the NICU). As we moved into November and into mid-November, I honestly believed we were going to make it. 

So, as we approached the 33 week mark earlier this week, I woke early Monday morning feeling an acheiness similar to my prior placental abruptions, right where I knew my placenta to be. I also knew, however, that my placenta was ideally situated (posterior and away from my septum or previous incisions) and I hoped I could calm things down by laying in bed, as I have done two or three times already during this pregnancy.  I spent all of Monday in bed (as much as that is possible when your bladder has a maximum capacity of 4 oz). Eventually the placental ache (is that a term?) was replaced by contractions which were more than Braxton Hicks but not unbearable.  I waited for them to subside. Around 8pm they started getting more frequent and more painful.  The pain moved from my placenta to my cervix (I think). I have never had contractions before that actually felt like they were working to change my body. I understood that this must mean I was in labor. Things escalated, I started leaking fluid, blah blah blah, once we got to the hospital it was confirmed that my water had broken. This was actually good news to me. It meant that we would be delivering the baby.  It meant that we wouldn't be on hospital bed rest, wondering if my placenta would hold.  It meant that I wouldn't have to endure that horrific Mag/Sulfate drip.  It meant that I would be awake for the c-section and not have to repeat, for the third time, my experience of an emergency, general anesthesia, panic-for-my-life-and-my baby, surgery.  If you are new to this forum and wonder why a c-section, the answer is that the septum in my uterus prohibits my baby from turning head-down. Always.  

It is kind of a weird place to be, in this feeling of relativism. I know that if this was my first baby, born at 32w5d, I would be freaking out.  Stressed out of my brains, painfully observing his difficulty breathing and all the tubing, wires, and monitoring that drown him right now.  This being our third NICU experience, however, puts things into a totally different perspective.  I thank God that we lasted almost to 33 weeks. I felt an enormous relief when I heard his birth weight broke 5 lbs. Because of his gestational age, most of what Angelyn endured in her NICU life is not even in question for baby Michael. Plus, I already know we are in such great hands at Timpanogos NICU.  With Kari, Mollie, Dr. G, Dr. Meiner, Mary, and all the nurses that have welcomed us back like old friends. 

 Michael's first couple of days were rough on his respiratory system.  He had a little leak in his lungs, followed by an infection, all of which made his breathing look painfully laborious and fast.  It was hard to watch.  The NNPs said it would heal on its own, though, (with antibiotics) and have given him the support he needs to allow it to heal without unnecessary intervention. 

On Thursday, I was finally able to get him in my arms and start skin-to-skin (kangaroo) care.  You know, they say that babies recognize their mothers. I guess I technically believed it, but didn't give it much credence until I experienced it first-hand. He fussed a little bit while we moved him around and got him situated. But, as soon as he was cuddled up on my chest, he became quiet, comfortable, and perfectly well-behaved in terms of breathing. 

He fussed again when we took him off.  The second time I held him, he desperately tried to wake up and look at me. It was painful. He hears my voice, he recognizes my heartbeat, some of the nurses even say he recognizes my smell.  I love knowing that my body is still able to aid in his development.

By Friday, I walked into the NICU and that wretched CPAP was gone!

To own the truth, one factor that held us back from making a final commitment on his name was not being able to see his face. We hoped that seeing him with the CPAP off would be helpful in getting to know him and figuring out a good fit. 

Lots of people have asked us when he will be coming home.  While I am pulling for mid-December, that will depend on him.  Basically all he has to do is learn how to breathe and eat.  (And regulate his body temperature but I'm not too worried about that.) We can't start breastfeeding until his breathing is more independent. We hope that by the end of this week he will at least be able to try.  Last night when I held him, we put tiny drops of breast milk on his pacifier and he LOVED it! I was very encouraged to see him going at the pacifier with so much vigor. 

Thank you all, so much, for your kind words and prayers during and after our pregnancy.  We have felt so loved and your prayers have made a big difference for our new little boy.

Still can't get over all that dark hair!

Girls' Room Decor

 This post has been waiting to go up for almost two years! I will save you all my excuses but suffice it to say, now that our impending move is less than a month away and the decor is coming down, it's time for me to report this project.  (Sorry these are phone photos).

I started by finally making the decision that I love these daisy sheers from Pottery Barn.  I splurged.  I had to because once I found them I could only see them as the main theme of the room.  Miraculously, someone was selling the solid pink PB curtains on KSL.  I chopped about 18 inches off the bottom of both of them. (Is that like spitting on the Bible?) I made the valance from the bottom of the solid pink and then incorporated daisies and solid from the scraps into the toddler quilt.

Meanwhile, I entered for the first time, the world of vinyl lettering.  Just in case, you know, anyone visiting couldn't tell I was going for a flower garden theme.  I love how it turned out. 

Then I snagged some cute wooden cut-outs from Hobby Lobby for the girls names and painted them pastel colors with little floral accents.
Is the idea that the girls are actually the flowers in our garden coming through? Yes? Good.

(I would just like to point out the fact that my nursery furniture finally all matches.)

So, there you go. I'm a beginner so it took me FOREVER to make the decisions necessary to do this room but I am really happy with it now.  

This is how the Cougar Run went down.

When Weston and I moved our family back to Utah 3 years ago, we decided to participate in BYU's Homecoming by doing the Cougar Run 5K. Before the race, we noticed they were also holding races for children: 200M, 400M, and 800M.  We thought it might be fun to involve our children in those races someday.

Now it is BYU Homecoming 2012 and we have signed everyone up for the races appropriate to their age, including ourselves.  In preparation, we took our family to the track at the high school a couple of times in order to get them accustomed to the respective distances they would be running.  I was actually quite impressed with Annelise's stamina.  Her racing distance was the 200M, which meant half-way around the track.  She ran her 1/8 mile and kept going.  A full lap. Sometimes two laps without stopping.  I would look over at her plugging away and think, "Dang, girl.  Maybe you could be good at this running thing."  But, what do I know?  Overall, I thought we would, at minimum, give the kids an opportunity for a good athletic experience because we did, after all, make a bit of an effort to train them.

Ha!

I will spare you the unnecessary details of how we tried to psych up our kids by assuring them that it's not about crossing the finish-line first. (As long as they didn't stop to walk they would be winners, right?)....and lead you straight to the bit where Annelise decided she hated her bib as soon as we pinned it on her.  She cried from that moment, to the starting line, through the race course holding her daddy's hand as she walked, and across the finish line, with perhaps one or two 2-year-old competitors behind her. 

Next up was Adam running the 400M (Quarter-mile).  I think it would be safe to say his heart just wasn't in it.  I don't think it helped that he was wearing 3 layers of clothing on both top and bottom (see above photo for reference).  I'm pleased that he wasn't shy about showing off his runner's card declaring his time to the BYU Cheerleaders we ran into later on, even though he came in dead last. 

Now it was time for Peter to run the 800M, a distance he ran several times during training.  I escorted him to the starting line and by the time we got there it was already packed 2 or 3 lines deep with eager, energetic, (and I will mention lanky, which he is not) boys ready to kill it.  Prior to the gunshot he stayed back a step or two from the rest of the boys. I gestured, trying to usher him up into the throng. This is what he said to me:

"But I want you to be able to see me!"

I may or may not have had to fight back a tear at that point.  After all, what more was there for me to care about, really?  My little mama's boy ran the whole two laps without stopping, with a smile on his face, though lagging substantially behind the crowd.  Before his final push to the finish line, he became aware of a boy behind him who was tired and clearly not enjoying himself. This video shows him giving encouraging gestures to that boy.  

Again, I had to fight back proud mama tears. For my boy who ran a slow and steady, cheerful, sympathetic race, finishing 3rd-to-last.

So....I guess "training" is all relative, right?  Did we expect our kids to finish first? No. Did we expect them to finish last? No. Did we expect that other kids parents....you know....REALLY train them? No.  Should we have expected other kids parents to REALLY train them? Probably.  Was it still a good athletic experience for them?  I hope so. 

Work Like A Dog

When I was 8 years old, my family got a puppy and named her Claire. She was a cute little Shelte/Golden Lab mix. A miniature version of Old Yeller.

 Fast-forward about ten years....

Now I am 18-ish. That makes Claire, I guess, 70-ish.

One Saturday morning I decided to take Claire with me on a "run." You should know that I am not, nor have I ever been, a very avid or motivated runner.  We ran from my parents' house in the tree streets up and around the Provo Temple and back.  So, maybe a mile or two.  When we arrived back at the house, I thought we were both feeling great.  That is, until we entered the side door and started to climb the five small steps into the kitchen.  I noticed Claire was not at my feet.  I turned around and watched her slowly, painfully, desperately placing one paw in front of the other, trying to pull herself up the stairs.  For the first time, ever, it occurred to me that Claire had grown old.  I felt a twinge of guilt for taking her on such a demanding expedition and making her work like a ......well,....dog.  That image of her trying to muster up the strength to take one more step was seared into my memory.  Lately, I have found myself recalling the image quite often.

This is how I feel at the end of every day. 

Happy Mother's Day!

I made this video with Annelise's playschool class. Hope you enjoy! Watch it on YouTube because I can't get
the full screen here.

That Doesn't How It Goes!

Check it out. I can't stop admiring this picture.

Annelise loves to sing. It is very cute. She makes up words and goes on and on...something akin to the way Frances sings in Russell Hoban's beloved children's series.

Her most recent composition goes like this:

"The sun is coming up,

The sun is coming up,

The sun is coming up,"

(then in a high baby voice)

"The sun is coming down

The sun is coming down

The sun is coming down

But, I don't care.

I don't know why, because."

She was trying to teach it to me today in the car.

Each time I tried my best to sing it, I would inevitably be interrupted by my teacher:

"That doesn't how it goes!"

Annelise uses this phrase whenever applicable. When she was learning her ABC's, I heard her rehearsing (while sitting on the potty, no less)

"ABCDEFG

HIKA....

Urghhh! That doesn't how it goes!!"

repeat.

Whenever I hear her say "That doesn't how it goes" I giggle to myself. Along with all the other cute little things that come out of her little 3-year-old brain.

It was only a few days ago that I realized something...

She is right.

When you ask someone how it goes, you say, "How does that song go?"

You don't say, "How is that song go?"

Why do we say, "How does it go?" in the question form and in answer we say, "That isn't how it goes."

She's right.