Adventures in Moving

Moving Day

We'd been planning our trip to Disney World for several months. We helped clean a local park and got free tickets through Disney's Give-a-Day, Get-a-Day program. Finally, we were heading to Orlando over Labor Day weekend. Coincidentally, Steve landed a job interview with Disney, so he coordinated it with our trip.

I enjoyed Magic Kingdom as much as I could, being eight months pregnant. I have actually never been to that park not pregnant, so I am used to swollen feet, aching back, etc. etc. of being at a theme park all day with an extra passenger.

Steve had his interview, and I didn't think much of it, as he'd had many interviews this past year. Maybe it would work out, maybe not. Whatever happened, I'm sure it would happen way after the baby was born.

Steve got a call from Disney only a few days after we returned from Orlando. He was offered a job. I was in shock. Didn't the company have a bunch of red tape it needed to cut through, a number of people to consult, many other tasks to do, taking a month or two, before they could just hire Steve? I was going on nine months pregnant! We didn't need another life change. I told Steve I was OK with moving to Orlando, but I was having the baby first, and the kids were finishing the nine weeks period at school.

Steve accepted the job and gave October 11th as his start date. Our baby was due the third, so he thought he was in the clear. Dear Steve forgot that our babies tend to be late. If our little one was two weeks late, that would put her birthday on the 14th. However, I had a good feeling about this one. I really thought she was going to be a forty-weeker. The one constant in all my pregnancies is that I start having serious pains two weeks before the birth. The pains started at 38 weeks, so I was hoping 40 weeks would be the time. Thus, I agreed to the start date of the 11th, and moving date of October eighth, after the kids got out of school. Disney did say Steve could start later if the baby didn't come in time, but he was really hoping to get a good start at his new company without having to ask for time off right off the bat.

October third came and went. Then the fourth, and the fifth... We had painters coming and going, cleaning crews, packers (who packed our stove knob by mistake), and movers. We were slowly closing up our Georgia life. One thing remained "open." Our last little Sullivan still had not arrived. We were getting nervous. We knew we weren't able to make the eighth as moving day. Maybe the ninth, or maybe Steve could go ahead without us. We were trying to figure it out, when I decided maybe I would have an induction.

A semi truck worth of stuff

I don't like inductions; I learned with my first pregnancy that Pitocin is not my friend. I realized that an induction may not even be an option, anyway, because I had had a previous c-section. We were getting desperate. We went to talk to my doctor. He said, "come in tomorrow morning, and we'll get you out of this pickle." Elated, but also nervous (I'd had all of my babies except the c-section, without medication or interventions) we left the doctor's office to prepare. Steve's mom came down to help with the kids.

As the evening went on, I told Steve we were probably going to the hospital that night. My "pains" that started two weeks prior, were organizing themselves into regular, consistent contractions. Sure enough, little Delaney Grace was born that night, October sixth at 10:33 PM. I suppose we just had to threaten her with the induction to get her to come out.

Eli, Sawyer, and Delaney

We were released to an empty house on the eighth, our original moving day. I slept on an air mattress. We decided Steve was going to Orlando on the ninth with or without us. We just had to decide if I could make the trip, or come later after resting up. Well, this being my sixth baby (and ninth pregnancy), I just didn't feel that beat up. It was an easy delivery, and she was sleeping a lot still. The house was empty, and so I decided to go ahead to Orlando with Steve the next day. Yes, you are reading this right. I birthed a baby on the sixth, and took a roadtrip on the ninth. Yes, for those of you who haven't caught on yet, we are crazy. Did you miss the fact that we now have six kids? We are still waiting on Amazon to deliver our straight jackets.

We loaded up the vehicles and said good-bye to Kilmersdon Lane. I went to use the bathroom before we left. I heard a plink and a small crashing sound. I looked down in horror to see my cell phone in the toilet. It had fallen out of my back pocket. I grabbed it and dried it off the best I could, but it was ruined. Now, I wouldn't be able to keep in contact with Steve on our road trip.

I go outside to share the news only to find that our van won't start. We had left the doors open all morning. Steve jumped the van and told me he'd meet me at Chipotle for lunch. I left him and his mom and got a head start for my burrito.

I turned the corner and drove through a big pile of glass. Great, now I could get a flat tire and not be able to call Steve. Steve and his mom would drive through this pile of glass later. So Steve's mom could get a flat on her way back to Indiana by herself.

At Chipotle, the kids and I wondered what was taking Steve and Baka (my kids' name for her) so long. Finally, they came in and told us Baka's van wouldn't start (this is a problem with Dodge minivans). We were off to a terrific start (pardon the pun).

All's well that ends well. The rest of the trip was uneventful and the baby slept through most of it as did I. Just kidding. We agreed that if I got tired we would stop. We broke the trip up into two parts. Four hours each day. Not bad for a sleep-deprived mama.

We're sort-of settled here in Orlando. We're in temporary housing and the kids aren't in school yet. We are ready for our new adventure in Florida. We'll sell our Atlanta house (hopefully), get a new one, make new friends, explore the state, but we miss our old life. It is painful, but exciting. Just like giving birth, no pain, no gain!

Eli and the view from our new balcony

We began our married life in Indianapolis. Seven years later we moved away from our home state of Indiana to the foreign land of Georgia. I was pregnant then too. New house, new job, new state... Another seven years later, here we are again. Who knows where the next seven years will take us?

Lily

Lily is the daughter we didn't get to bring home. At least, not the way we expected. She will be in an urn beside the urn of her older brother, who would have been seven this January. Yes, we have two urns now. I did not plan on being a collector.

This is our third loss so far. The first was due to a blighted ovum, so no urn for that one. The second loss was a baby boy, Evan, who had Trisomy 18. Now Lily, whose death is undetermined at this time. Fortunately, we have five BEAUTIFUL children, and I feel blessed more than ever now that I know how fragile life can be. Thank God for these children at home; they are a life line right now.

What happened to Lily? I have seen a specialist for my past three pregnancies after Evan. I had the neuchal translucency scan to check for chromosomal abnormalities. I did the same for Lily. Her scans at twelve weeks all showed a healthy fetus with no defects. My blood work indicated our chances for a chromosomal problem were one in 3000. At about seventeen weeks, I heard her heartbeat. Less than a month later her heartbeat was gone.

I have gone over everything that I did in that month. The exterminator came. We were around livestock at the fair. There was mold in our basement. I drank caffeine. I had a sinus infection. I don't think any of these things was the cause, but I wonder. No word from my doctor yet, and it is so hard not knowing.

I wonder if we will be able to have the sixth one we were all looking forward to. Because we are already so blessed, I feel bad complaining about it if we can't. However, will I always see the empty seat, the empty coat hook...? Most likely, we do not have a genetic problem that has caused these tragedies. I believe they all have different causes. We were just unlucky. If that is the case, and our doctor says we are not likely to have another stillborn or miscarriage, we may try again. We have much to learn and discuss before we make that decision.

Until then, we will also mourn and heal. I miss the baby for whom we planned. At least I got to meet and hold her. At the last ultrasound, when the heartbeat was not detected and she was still, the doctor told me the news. He switched off the monitor, and all I could think was "turn it back on." I saw her face, and then it was gone. I felt I would never see her again, but I forgot about the part that comes next. I forgot we would pack our bags and go to the hospital. We have done this many times with happy outcomes. This time I would not leave with a baby on my lap, but a memory box instead.

Just a few "memories" are in that box. Among them are tiny footprints and a lace-trimmed blanket the size of a handkerchief. What is not in the box are the dreams of a precious life not lived and love for a little girl named Lily. No box is big enough.

Ambercutie's Birth Story

Ambercutie is our one and only girl. I'm glad she is a girlie-girl. How ironic would it be to have my only girl be a tomboy? She is the second oldest and came to be sort of by accident (almost all of our kids are sort of by accident). It depends on what you mean by "planning." Were we "planning" on having another kid? Yes. Did I want to become pregnant with that kid while my first was only eight months old and still nursing? No. I told myself I never wanted to do THAT again. Leech #1 (baby inside) gets fed first, then Leech #2 (baby outside) gets fed, then dear old mom is last. Talk about STARVING. I needed those Krispy Kremes in order to not feel hunger pains for about... two minutes. I really just wanted an IV line. I could wheel it around and feel the fat and calories course through my veins. I could also get the dishes done at the same time. It is so time consuming to eat constantly. Then there's the peeing and sleeping. How was I supposed to raise a toddler in the middle of the full time job that is pregnancy?

As it turns out, I love having kids a year and a half apart. They were into the same stuff (potty training, Barney, etc.). They were the best of friends until about first grade when Critter learned that girls are yucky.

I had much more nausea with the girl. I had vomiting even. With Critter, I had occasional nausea that went away with food. With "Amberpukie," I was sick all the time, food or not. Besides that delight, the pregnancy went well.

I was a week and a half overdue with my first, so I expected the same this time around (so naive). I was already overdue, when a novice nurse examined me and told me I was five centimeters dilated. Holy cow! I told my husband we were going to the hospital tonight. We called the grandparents. Woo hoo! That night, nothing. Next morning, nothing. We were scratching our heads. At my next week's appointment, my doctor examined me and told me I was three centimeters. She apologized for the error. I told her to give me the two centimeters back and all would be forgiven. She said, "you are a good candidate for induction." No thanks. I've been down the pitocin road, and it is NOT for me (a story for another time).

Anyhoo, I got to be two weeks overdue. What the heck was she doing in there? The little diva didn't want to come out until she had pretty long nails and curly hair? I thought, seriously, she has to come out eventually. As all preggos know, we say it, but we don't believe it.

As with my first pregnancy, I began having bad Braxton Hicks about two weeks before the birth. What I mean by bad is that these contractions are no different from real ones. I have had five babies, and I mean I can never tell when real labor begins! The only way I know is that the real contractions get so bad that I have to catch my breath. This false labor can go on all night and the contractions do get closer together, so I can't use "they go away" or "they don't get closer together" as guidelines. The "fake" contractions just don't take my breath away.

I had these fake contractions for several hours, and they were five minutes apart. We decided to head to the hospital, where it was determined I was five centimeters dilated (for real this time). As soon as we walked in the hospital door, the contractions stopped. What kind of cruel game? I expressed my laborly doubt to my nurse, but she said, "honey, you're having this baby tonight." I was admitted, but I felt no more pains. Hubby and I fell asleep and woke up the next morning babyless. The doc came in and said they could induce me or I could go home. I said, "See you later today." Being dilated to five, I knew it wouldn't be long. The nurses looked at me like I was a slime covered alien. What? Why would I want to sit around the hospital all day? Unless they can hook me up to a Krispy Kreme bag...

The next morning I woke up at about 5 AM to annoying pains. I went back to sleep and woke up again to these pesky pains knocking on my peaceful sleeping door. Something about "Wake up. It's time to push out a big fat Irish baby head." I got up, woke Steve up, called the grandparents, called my sister to come and watch Critter, grabbed the bags, and got in the car. The pain was still manageable when I called my ob, who didn't believe me when I was in labor with my first and didn't believe me this time. "Angel, you sound so calm for someone in labor." I'm sorry; I'm not a screamer. I save that for the tween years.

At the hospital, the ladies at the admittance counter looked at me skeptically. I'm sure they were whispering to each other that I'd be going back home in about an hour, because how can a woman supposedly already dilated to five, two weeks overdue, about to GIVE BIRTH stand there quietly like that? Does everyone have to be the stereotypical raving bitchy woman in labor? I like to keep things fresh. Mix it up a little bit.

The nurse told me I was seven centimeters. I told her to call my doctor. Where was my doctor? This was my second baby, and my first labor was quick. She asked me if I wanted an epidural. This time I looked at her like she was an alien covered in slime. I'm seven centimeters, lady. By the time you hook me up the kid will be crowning. I wasn't a fan of this nurse. She was staring at me during contractions, as if she were the zoologist and I was the gorilla rearing up the baby tiger as my own. No. 1, don't stare. No. 2, don't stare at a woman in labor. Did she have a death wish? Seriously, she was causing me to break my mental imagery. I was in Maui, and Critter was building a sandcastle; then this nurse comes over to our beach blanket and asks, "how do you do it?" Well, I'm going to be "doing it" all by myself if you don't get my doctor in here.

By this time, I was in transition. I was swaying my hips holding onto the table with the telephone on it. I focused on those black and white numbers until they swirled before my eyes. The pound sign was especially comforting (I don't know if that is a little Freudian violence?).

Soon, I told the nurse I was ready to push. She examined me and said I was nine and a half. "Almost there," she said. If I had the strength I would have pushed her. She went out into the hall to get the intern on call. Apparently, my doc was told I would be a while, so she went ahead with an elective surgery (tube tying) with another patient who had just given birth.

While the nurse was gone, I hopped up onto the bed and started pushing. To hell with nine and a half. I needed to push. The nurse and intern came in a few minutes later, all befuddled. The nurse said, "Well, I guess if you feel you need to push, go ahead." If my eyes weren't shut tight in pain, I may have rolled them. the teenager, I mean intern, started to examine me when he saw my daughter crowning. I swear, he literally just put his hands out like he was going to catch a football.

And so, Ambercutie, in diva fashion, decided that after making everyone wait for two weeks, she didn't want to wait another hour or so for the real doctor to bring her in the world. She wanted out now. Even if now meant she would be born in poo. Yes, meconium, people. That really freaks nurses out. Suction! That's what happens when you outrun your uterus lease, babies.

**I didn't have the episiotomy with her (not that there would have been time). The tear was small, and I could tell no difference in pain or healing time between the tear and the cut I had with my first labor.

Ambercutie: born October 9, 2000 at 9:46 AM (labor lasted about five hours)
8 pounds and 13 ounces, 21 inches long

Critter's Birth Story

Critter is my first born. He is the guinea pig. He is a ten-year-old blonde-haired, blue-eyed cutie. I'm glad we kept him. We decided to have him after we had been married for three years and I had attended too many baby showers one summer. The giraffe-printed onesies finally got to me.

He was due on April 15th. We didn't know if he was going to be a boy or a girl. His nursery was painted yellow with a Hey Diddle Diddle border.

When I was about ten weeks along, I had some spotting. It was terrifying, especially since I had had a miscarriage previously. I was at school, where I worked as an English teacher. I had gone to the restroom to pee (for the millionth time that day, of course), and I noticed the blood in my underwear. I went to my department head, sobbing and hysterical. I thought if this were another miscarriage, maybe I would never have kids. My department head sent someone to cover my class for me; it was the last one of the day, thankfully.

I was in her office, still crying, and students were coming in for this or that. I could just hear the rumors now. No one knew I was pregnant, but I'm sure my kids would wonder what was upsetting Ms. Sullivan. A good cussing? I was fired? A death threat? Gossip rules the high school. Anyway, my boss, who had had her share of miscarriages, sent me home to call my doctor.

My doctor said she didn't do ultrasounds on Friday, but I could make an appointment on Monday. What? We are supposed to wait until Monday to find out if we have lost another baby or not? Livid. Doc says if I'm going to miscarry, there is nothing that can be done about it anyway. Apparently she isn't familiar with the term "peace of mind."

One agonizing weekend later (no more spotting, thankfully), I went in for an ultrasound and saw my little peanut on the screen. Although minuscule, he's alive, and everything looked normal.

I went through the rest of my pregnancy with no more scares. No morning sickness even. I gained 50 pounds. A nurse told me, "I gained too much with my first one too." I wanted to slap her. I didn't gorge myself purposefully; I was just always hungry.

At about 38 weeks, I started having painful Braxton Hicks. My husband, Steve, started timing them. They kept coming regularly until we were about to call the doc, and then theywould fizzle out. This went on for about two weeks. In fact, one night we were so sure the baby was coming that we called the grandparents and headed to the hospital. The moment I waddled in the door the contractions went away. Embarrassing...

While being uselessly checked out at the hospital, I overheard a woman screaming. Her husband was nervously answering questions from the nurse. I heard the nurse say the woman was three centimeters dilated. I had just been told I was dilated to two. I thought in horror, "am I only one centimeter from THAT?" I felt the kind of dread one feels when on a roller coaster and about to go down the big hill.

My hubby and I had attended birth classes like dutiful first timers. I went to the first class determined that no one was going to change my mind about drugs, drugs, and more drugs during the birth. We had wonderful teachers who demonstrated all of the options. They weren't pushy, but objective and honest. The classes served their educational purpose, and we came away from them informed, enlightened, and inspired. Inspired to go all-natural. Yes, I became one of those.

Steve mercilessly kept me walking throughout my pregnancy. We walked a lot toward the end, trying to make things happen. Mostly what happened was my bladder felt like it was going to fall out. One night, at forty-one and a half weeks gestation, we walked to the grocery store (about a mile and a half from our house).

I was having the Braxton Hicks contractions again. I was in a bad mood. Hubby was taking too long deciding on cookies. Finally he picked out some crappy Chips Ahoy, and we headed to the video store next door.

We started for home with the cookies and Witness. We lounged on the couch watching our movie.This was about 8:45 PM. Suddenly I heard a tiny "pop" like someone smacking his lips together. I went into the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and heard tinkling sounds, only I wasn't urinating. My water had broken! It was only trickling, which I didn't even know was an option in water breakage.

Steve and I grabbed our bag, which had a layer of dust on it from being ready for so long (I was a week and a half overdue and had been having false labor since 38 weeks). We called the grandparents and doc. We drove to the hospital to have our Critter.

We got to the hospital about 9:45. Critter was born at 1:45 AM. The labor was about five hours total, that I know of. I could tell NO difference between the false labor pains and the real ones, only that the real ones didn't fizzle out a few hours later, and a baby did eventually come out. Perhaps I had a super long labor lasting two weeks. Either that, or I had a quick labor.

I was thinking I'd have a typical labor of eight to ten hours or longer. Thinking this, I asked for an epidural a little before 1:00. I had been managing the pain by breathing techniques, rocking, and looking at a picture of Maui. I discovered walking while in labor is for the birds. Then, the contractions started coming relentlessly closer together, and I could not rest. I thought I could not take going all night like this.

The nurse I had was one of the most knowledgeable, kind, and skilled that I've ever had. She told me she had had five children (foreshadowing, anyone?), some with an epidural and some without. She didn't push me one way or the other, but simply let me know she'd been there and could answer questions. After she ordered my epidural, she said, "let me check you before we give it to you." She checked me, and I was almost ten centimeters. She told me that she had been suspicious that I was in transition. She advised me to forgo the drugs, because at this point, it was almost over. As if by magic, the pain went away. Maybe my pain-addled brain thought I'd gotten the epidural after all.

I rested for a long time, perhaps twenty minutes, without a contraction (I have since learned this is appropriately called "the resting phase." Then, holy hell, there came the pressure. If I pushed along with it, though, it did not hurt. My baby was resting at the cervical opening in such a way that I felt a natural pain relief (can't remember the medical terms for this). This whole last part of labor was almost pain-free. It lasted about an hour. I mistakenly had arranged to have an episiotomy. I've never "needed" one since, and probably didn't need one then. I grossed Steve (and myself) out for nothing (http://www.hencigoer.com/obmyth/epis.html).

Critter was one ounce shy of nine pounds. He was twenty and a half inches long. He was a boy! He was born with the "Dr. Phil" hairstyle, which he soon lost and was a baldy until he was two. Steve was skipping around with our 1990s camcorder like it was Christmas.

The Grandmas, who were there watching the whole time (it seems like they should've been eating popcorn while enjoying the show), were sanitizing it up; everyone wanted to hold the little blue bundle.

A few days later they let us take him home. We left quickly, before they realized they were handing a baby over to clueless bumblers.

Critter:
Born April 26th, 1999 at 1:45 AM
8 pounds and 15 ounces
20 1/2 inches long