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?

Rewind, Pause, Fast-Forward

Today is the day. Was supposed to be the day, anyway. Only five percent of babies are born on their due dates. Lily's already gone, so no sighing when today comes and goes and I still have a huge belly to "sleep" around tonight. I wish I could rewind to the day I saw her tiny arms waving during her ultrasound. To the day our children's faces lit up at the thought of another baby. If only I could enjoy again those brief moments before we lost her. To rewind and not feel this pain.

Things are back to normal around here. However, it is not the same normal. After a tragedy, the old normal is never felt again. The same is true of any major experience. My life has to accommodate this change and all the pain, lessons, and inconveniences that go with it. It is a "process," it does "take time," but in the meantime, a new normal is constructed for survival.

We have a new normal and a new reality. Our baby plans have been pushed back. I am not having a baby girl, our last child, this March at the age of 36. We still want to go for another baby, because we are nuts. So, I will be pregnant this summer. I won't be able to paint and vacations must be considered. I have to wait another several months to find out if my daughter will finally have to share her room or if my oldest boy will get his own room. I will be another year older when our last Sullivan arrives.

These inconveniences won't mean anything when we finally hold that last little baby in our arms. The nine months we have to wait will be scary and tiring. Morning sickness and fatigue, etc. Before every ob appointment, I will be holding my breath until the heartbeat is heard or until the tiny image appears, moving, on the ultrasound screen. I wish I could fast-forward.

At the same time I wish to rewind and fast-forward, but we all know we have to enjoy life in the moment. The cliches are all true. Our children grow up in the blink of an eye. I have to remind myself daily to enjoy them now. So I smell the baby shampoo in my toddler's hair as he hugs his "Melmo," see my school-agers pretending to be spies with all their homemade gadgets, watch my husband squeezing our four-year-old who is giggling only as four-year-olds can. Pause.

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.

Are We Freaks Yet?

Nowadays it is difficult to announce the upcoming birth of a child. If that child is your sixth child. For many reasons, my husband and I have put off sharing our news. Now, we can't hide it anymore.

I have a bump. No wait, I'm 36 and have been pregnant multiple times. I do not have a bump; it's more of a mound. It is now apparent that I have not just put on weight. Plus, people we have told are beginning to leak. The baby news is draining down through the roots of our social network. Friends are shocked. Feelings are hurt. Why aren't we including them with this special announcement? Yet, people feel free to gossip, because at this point, it is gossip. People will "talk" until it is confirmed. The tongues wag: "How many are they going to have?" "They need a hobby." "Those poor kids." "How can they afford it?" We are viewed in a different light. We are different. Freaks even.

Why else would an educated, healthy, financially stable, "normal" couple decide to have so many kids ? Mormon? No. Catholic? No. Quiverfull (whatever the heck that is)? No. What is WRONG with us? That's what people really want to know. We're talking about only six kids, people. That's right, I said "only six." Do you know how many ancestors are laughing in their graves right now?

By the way, shouldn't all the educated, healthy, financially stable, "normal" couples be the ones having lots of kids? Hasn't anyone seen Idiocracy?

Do others feel guilty that they must not love their children because they didn't want more of them? That the two children they do have drives their bourbon-at-bedtime habit? Do they hold us in contempt because of what our multiplication must be doing to Mother Earth? Are they quietly or openly scornful that we must be neglecting our dirty, hungry, howling-for-attention brood? Perhaps others are frustrated that they can't figure out how we are raising such a large family and wanting more? Aren't we zombies already? Will we have to take out a second mortgage to pay the food bill or to hire a laundry management team? Are we exhausting their imaginations by living and wanting a life that is hard for them to imagine?

I think most people are glad it is us and not them. That is their choice and right. Just like it is ours.

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