So

Kitchen window, day 26

I like my OB (not that I have need of her currently, mind you). However, she has annoying habit of saying LikeIsaid in front of everything, even when she did not, in fact, just say what she said she said. I was actually a bit relieved when I had the C-section with Kieran because I had been envisioning the birthing process going something like this:

Doctor: LikeIsaid, push, Stacia, push! LikeIsaid, here comes the baby! LikeIsaid, push! LikeIsaid, breathe, Stacia! LikeIsaid, he's here!

Me: LikeIsaid, I'm gonna rip your head off if you say that again!

So, it was probably a good thing that Kieran got yanked out of a gash in my abdomen instead of being born the "natural" way.

If you reread the previous paragraph, you'll notice that, alas, I too have a(t least one) filler phrase--so. I find myself saying it even when it doesn't apply. "So, today we went to the park . . . so . . ." "So, what are your plans for Thanksgiving? . . . So." "We took Kieran for his evaluation today, and he did well . . . so . . . ."

I hear myself saying it inanely but can't stop myself from saying it. It just slips out. Even in my writing--I've edited so out of countless blog posts when it wasn't necessary. Somehow, it continues to creep in and sit there like the 12th man on the field in football--unwanted and out of place.

So, this was the view when I decided I'd write a post on filler phrases. So. So, tell me--what's your filler phrase?

The Tale of Cael

Fair warning: this post is a bit longer than my usual.

For the past few weeks, I'd been having fairly regular Braxton-Hicks contractions, but they never went anywhere, much to my dismay. And they seemed to enjoy waking me up at 4 in the morning.

Last Thursday morning, I was again awakened at about 4 in the morning, only this time there was a lot more pain, and a lot more . . . well . . . to put it quite bluntly, gushing of fluids. I'd been praying that the Lord would see fit to bring Cael into the world a bit early for several reasons:

1. I didn't want to keep carrying him around in utero because he was very heavy and I was walking slower with each passing day. I was afraid I might stop moving altogether and end up like those people who get so big they can't move from the chair they last sat in and are stuck there permanently and need a crane to lift them out of their house. I just couldn't imagine a crane making it all the way back the lane and was therefore planning on being stuck in our house forever if he didn't come soon.

2. Last Sunday, our pastor said he would stop by the hospital Friday morning to pray with us before the operation and then wait until it was finished. Although I appreciated the gesture, I really wasn't interested in having non-family in the room while I was dressed in a hospital gown and getting prepped for surgery. Just not my idea of a good time, as much as I was thankful for his willingness to pray for us. I suggested that he could just call and pray over the phone with us, since it was so early in the morning and all, but his intent was to be at the hospital (apparently God doesn't hear prayers said over the phone). So, all week I'd been moaning to Seth about not wanting to have our pastor in the hospital room, and all week Seth said, "I think you're being overly dramatic about this. It's not that big of a deal." Of course, he wasn't the one who would be wearing a hospital gown.

At any rate, the Lord graciously heard my request and was pleased to answer it last Thursday morning--a day before we'd scheduled the C-section.

Seth woke up at his usual time of 4:30am and noticed me rolling around on the bed. Although the contractions were between 2 and 5 minutes apart and were quite painful, I wasn't convinced we needed to head to the hospital just yet. Seth, however, was and began to get everything ready to go. Finally, at 6, I spoke with our doctor who said we needed to head to the birthing center right away. And so, after calling SIL Ruth and arranging for her to pick up Kieran at the hospital, we got in the car and headed in.

Someone else was in the OR getting ready to have her own C-section when we got there, so they settled us in a room. And finally, at 10, the OR was finally ready for me. I freely admit I'm a wimp when it comes to pain, so after six hours of labor, I was ready for the anesthesia.

(On a side note to the mothers who decide that "natural" childbirth is the way for them (including my own mom): I salute you, but I think you're crazy in the head. The good Lord gave us good doctors who have developed good medicines to counteract the bad effects of the Curse. Just sayin'.)

By 10:13, I'd had the epidural/spinal and the doctor gashed my abdomen open and yanked Cael out. All 9 pounds, six ounces, and 20 inches of him.

Seth again refused to cut the cord, so the nurse was forced to do it for him.

At this point, you may be asking yourself, "Self, why did she need to have a C-section?"

And the answer would be thus. The hospital closest to us and the one my OB delivers at decided last year to stop doing VBACs (vaginal birth after Caesareans) because, although the latest research shows that the problems associated with VBACs are statistically minimal, the insurance they need to carry on VBACs is greater than the insurance they need to carry on C-sections. And so, since I didn't want to try to deliver at another hospital over an hour away which does offer VBACs, I was forced to have another C-section (I'd had an emergency C-section with Kieran).

After 40 minutes or so of poking and prodding and stitching and sewing (am I getting too graphic?), I was wheeled back to our room, and was ready to receive our first visitors -- Ruth and my mom, whom Ruth had picked up from the airport (Mom had already planned to fly in that morning so that she was available to stay with Kieran).

And so that is the story of how Cael Evan was born into the world. Yes, Evan is his middle name. I decided I wanted a name that reflected the fact that life is a gift from God. Ivan means "God's gracious gift," but Seth ruled it out since he didn't want his son to become "Cael Ivan the Terrible" (although that sounds to me like a good UFC name). And then he found Evan, which means "God is gracious." I decided that was close enough and that at least it wasn't Seamus. (Although even as I was filling out the birth certificate, Seth was whispering "Evan-Seamus" in my ear. I pretended I didn't hear him.)

We're home now and doing well. Cael is, by God's grace, a great sleeper and eater. And we're thankful for this newest blessing. 

I'm ready

Well, I'm almost ready to give birth. Tonight I made great progress toward being that much more ready by crossing off two items on my "List of Things to Do Before Cael Arrives."

1. I figure that it's a good thing to enter the hospital with nice-looking feet. And so, since I can't reach my feet myself and since Seth refused to give me a free pedicure ("Nothing in life is free, you know"), I used the gift money my sister sent for my birthday to brighten up my toes by getting a pedicure at a nearby nail salon.



It was a nice time of pampering and relaxation. And my feet are now ready to be seen by all in the hospital (and wherever else they may be seen). (My apologies to all those who have an aversion to feet pictures.)

2. I also figure that I won't be leaving the Holler for quite some time once Cael arrives and so it's probably a good idea to get my hair trimmed and styled before the blessed event occurs (it especially occurred to me after I looked at the picture of me at the baby shower last week and thought, "Wow, that's a lot of hair"). And thusly, after the relaxing pedicure, I traipsed (as if) over to the hair salon and, after waiting for over an hour, had my hair trimmed.

So, two things down, just a few more minor ones to go -- such as finishing writing a few chapters in a book I'm working on and pulling together the rest of the projects for my part-time job. Minor stuff.

At least my toes look good.

Showers of Blessings

Saturday morning, a lady from our church hosted a baby shower for us.

One of the teen girls from the Sunday school class that I teach made a cute diaper cake.

And, of course, there was real cake, as well.

And there were fun games and presents (I'm the large one sitting on the chair holding the diaper cake). (Yes, we are the youngest couple that attends our church.)

And, during it all, Kieran spent time getting to know the dog.

A big egg

Every once in a while, one of the little red chickens decides to lay a rather large egg--usually about twice the size of a normal egg.

I always feel sorry for the chicken that lays the big egg.

Speaking of big eggs . . .

I had a final ultrasound on Cael last Wednesday to check on his kidneys. And, at 37 weeks, he measured 8.5 pounds. The doctor said on Tuesday that there was a very good chance he could be over 10 pounds by the time I deliver. We had originally scheduled the C-section for May 13 but the doctor was quite willing to reschedule it a week early--May 6. He's definitely running out of room in there, and I'm definitely worn out from lugging him around, but I have a lot to get done before he arrives. So, now we decide what to do . . . .

The Name Game

When I was pregnant with Kieran, we settled rather quickly on his name. Seth had briefly worked with a man named Kieran (although he spelled it the true Irish way, Ciaran) and we both liked the name. We wrestled a bit over the spelling (Kieran vs Ciaran vs Keiran) but came to an agreement fairly early in the pregnancy and began calling him Kieran almost as soon as we found out we were having a boy. His middle name took a bit longer.

This baby's name has taken a bit longer to settle on. Our criteria are fairly simple:

1. It needs to be of Irish origin. What do you expect with a last name like ours? Plus, I'm one-quarter Irish while Seth is . . . well, Seth is a mutt which includes some portion Irish. So, that kind of makes the baby somewhat Irish.

2. It needs to be fairly uncommon. In other words, the name can't be listed in the top several hundred names on the Social Security Popular Baby Names list.

3. It can't be a family name. This is mainly Seth's criterion. And if we were having a girl, I would have overruled this preference (and, in fact, all of the above) and named her Anastasia--a name that has been in our family for at least four generations.

Seth has suggested such names as Ferris (um, no -- "Ferris Bueller's Day off" anyone?), Fergus (nope), and, his personal favorite, Seamus. For some reason, he's been quite stuck on this name. I don't like it for several reasons:

1. No one can pronounce it. It's the Irish form of James and is pronounced "Shay-mus."

2. Although my friends from elementary school deny any recollection of this (and I should add that I can't seem to find him in my yearbooks either), I distinctly remember a boy in my fourth or fifth grade class whose name was Seamus. And I remember that I wasn't really impressed with him--he had a bad attitude, was continually getting in trouble, and was just in general, not a nice boy.

So, because Seth refuses to consider many names other than Seamus and because I refuse to consider Seamus at all, we've been at an impasse for this baby's name. The only name that we've found to agree on is Cael, which means slender. My main drawback with this name is that I can picture introductions going something like this:

"Hi, I'm Stacia, this is Kieran, and this is Cael."

"Stacey, Karen, and Cael--like the leafy green kale?"

"Well, yes, only my name isn't Stacey, Kieran's name isn't Karen, and Cael's name, well, it's spelled differently from the lettuce."

However, as I've just demonstrated, there are problems with my name (seriously -- what part of S-T-A-C-I-A don't people understand? I sign my name Stacia and in return get letters addressed to "Dear Stacey," as if I didn't know how to spell my own name and needed to be corrected), problems with Seth's name (witness the whole Seth/Beth incident), and problems with Kieran's name (there are those who hear Karen). So, at this point, I figure having a name that's mistaken for a vegetable will fit right in with the rest of our names.

At this point, I'm ready to declare that our in utero son's name is Cael. And now we move on to the middle name (which, even now, Seth is insisting will be Seamus as he desperately trys to figure out how he can be the first to the birth certificate) . . . .

All is well

It comes as no surprise to some of you to hear me admit (again) that I'm a bit of a hypochondriac. For whatever reason, it makes more sense for me to imagine the worst so that when I find out what's actually wrong (or not wrong), it doesn't seem so bad. That headaches I had during early pregnancy? It was preeclampsia until I started drinking more water and realized I was probably just dehydrated.

We had another ultrasound on Baby Boy (still nameless) last Wednesday to check the status of his kidney and found out that it had continued to enlarge. The OB scheduled an appointment for us at a hospital that has a fetal care center for a more detailed look at his kidneys et al. That appointment was last Friday. While driving there, the thoughts running through my head were along the lines of, "Once I get there, they'll take a look and will need to do an emergency C-section because whatever is going on is so serious that he needs to be delivered today."

And once we got there and the ultrasound tech took a look, followed by the doctor on-call, sure enough, they told us that while the kidney is dilated, it was nothing to be concerned about. It happens quite frequently and he probably just has a bit of kidney reflux, which is apparently common in baby boys. (Kieran also has kidney reflux, but his is related to WS.) And so, once again, all is well.

Christie's word of the day: rubicund

Agatha Christie used rubicund to describe a man Miss Marple met on her vacation:

Miss Prescott was a thin severe-looking woman, the Canon was a round, rubicund man, breathing geniality. (A Caribbean Mystery, Agatha Christie)

I'm using rubicund to describe the situation with my face:

Although the Proactiv seems to be helping my face better deal with the horomones coursing through my body thanks to the son I'm carrying, it also seems to have added a bit of rubicundity to my countenance.

Open Letter to My Face

Dear Face,

We've been together for quite some time now--pretty much from the beginning, I'd say. And we've always gotten along rather well, I like to think. Sure, there's the whole "I don't like my nose" thing. And, sure, there were the occasional rather blistering sunburns during our formative teen years. But, on the whole, I've taken pretty good care of you--I wash you, I put lotion on you, I (now) use SPF when we go outside, I don't slather you with heavy make-up . . . .

So why-oh-why have you been acting up these past few months? You're making it so that I'm embarassed to be seen with you in public. When I asked our OB what was up with you, she nodded wisely and said, "You're having a boy, aren't you?" Really? All of this because of a boy? What is it with you and boys? Are you really that upset that another male is joining the household?

I've tried everything I can think of --short of a transplant -- to make you calm down. And, since the doctor recommended using products with benzoyl peroxide, my last resort -- in the form of Proactiv -- was delivered today. If this doesn't work to clear you up, I'm seriously considering the transplant option. Don't think I won't do it.

We only have 10 weeks left with this pregnancy -- do you think you could calm down for the next 70 days? Pretty please?

Love,
The Brain Behind the Face

Maybe it's the baklava

Or the lemon bars. Or the key lime bars. Or the ice cream bars. Or the . . . .

Last Wednesday, I went to my OB for the ultrasound on Baby Boy's kidney also for the one-hour gluocse test. I failed the glucose test, which means I had to go back the next day for a three-hour glucose test during which time they drew my blood four times. This test checks to see if I have developed gestational diabetes.

On Friday, the nurse called to inform me that I only failed one part of the test and only by a "little bit." She said, "The doctor wants you to watch  your carb intake." I was thinking that I need to watch more than my carb intake--I probably need to watch my sugar intake, as well, since I'm pretty much addicted to all things sugar. And Seth doesn't help that addiction by making the aforementioned desserts and eating only one bite, forcing me to finish the rest on my own lest I waste any of it.

So, Seth's job is to now not make anything sweet, and my job is to not find ways to eat sweet things.

 And I plan on taking that job seriously . . .

Right after I finish off these cinnamon rolls, the recipe to which my friend Beth posted on Facebook today and which I promptly made.

Oh dear

Those who know me well know that there's a certain feature on my face that I don't particularly like. And that feature is my nose. I don't obsess about it and I haven't yet contemplated having it altered (mainly because I don't have the money to spend on such a frivolity), I just don't like it. It's sharp and it's pointy (not to be confused with sharp, pointy teeth, a la the rabbit in Search for the Holy Grail) and I can't pass by my reflection without thinking, "Yep, still sharp and pointy." (OK, so maybe I do obsess about it sometimes.)

So there you have it. I have a sharp, pointy nose which I'm less than thrilled about.

And I've always thought that it would be nice if my children could pick up some of my other wonderful genetic qualities (which are not currently coming to mind) and forego inheriting my nose.

So you can imagine my shock when I went on Wednesday for another ultrasound for Baby 2 and received the following momento of my visit.

When I saw the picture, I thought, "That looks like me."

And then, when I returned home and BIL Ethan stopped by to use our barn to change the oil in his car and to chat for a few minutes and I showed the picture to him, he said, "Well, that boy has quite a nose."

And then, when I showed the picture to the baby's father later that evening, said baby daddy said, "That's one sharp, pointy nose." Poor baby (who, at this point, is still nameless). Maybe the picture isn't doing it justice; maybe there's still hope for our second son . . . .

In other baby-related news, the ultrasound showed that his enlarged kidney was stable, meaning that it hadn't enlarged any further but it also hadn't un-enlarged (or shrunk, for those who would choose the correct grammar). And so, the doctor wants to continue to monitor it with another ultrasound in four weeks. Maybe I'll have the ultrasound tech check on his nose again, too . . . .

A banana a day . . .

. . . keeps the leg cramps away.

When I was pregnant with Kieran, I frequently got leg cramps in the middle of the night. I would wake up clutching my leg and trying not to scream so that Seth could continue snoring blissfully beside me as I writhed in agony. (Seth wants it noted that he doesn't believe he snores.) They went away after Kieran was born but started again a few months into this current pregnancy.

While in Florida, my mom suggested adding a banana to my diet to help prevent the cramps. And so I did. And it seems to help -- with the banana, no cramps; without a banana, cramps.

Those of you who know Seth and his intense hatred of bananas may be wondering how he's handling all the yellow fruits I've brought into the house. Since I keep them in a bag, I like to think they don't bother him. However, he turns up his nose and moves as far away as possible when I'm actually eating one.

Usually, I cut up the banana and dump it in milk with brown sugar. Tonight, I changed things up a bit and had it with a bowl of peanut-butter-and-waffle-cone ice cream. We'll see if it still has the same effect.

Maybe it's in the water . . .

This pregnancy seems to be going by a lot faster than when I was pregnant with Kieran. I'm honestly having trouble keeping track of what week we're in (I believe Baby Boy is 23 weeks along). Today was the diagnostic ultrasound with my OB. She confirmed that we are, in fact, having another boy and that everything looked as it should for his age . . . except his left kidney.

I'm not sure what it is with our boys and their kidneys, but the ultrasound showed that his left one was slightly enlarged. The OB said this wasn't uncommon for boys and that it will need to be monitored with another ultrasound in a month. According to the doctor, this type of thing usually resolves on its own without needing intervention. If not, it's nice to know we already have an in with the urologist at children's hospital . . . .

During the ultrasound, the tech showed me a quick peek at the 4-D imagery and printed this picture for us. Can you see his little face?

Xs and Ys

Seth is convinced that all his Xs live in Texas and that he only contributes males to the gene pool. Apparently, he is, once again, right.

We went today to find out the gender of our baby at a place that does 3-D and 4-D ultrasounds. Although the baby wasn't overly cooperative or actively engaged in the 20-minute session, the technician was able to show to us that we are, in fact, having another boy.

Now comes the fun part of choosing a name . . . .

Making a list, checking it twice

Christmas arrives in fewer than two months. If I were someone other than who I am, the list I'm making would be a Christmas list and I would be well on my way to crossing off the gifts on the list one by one. However, I am not someone other than who I am and my Christmas list will probably not be started until December 15 (at the earliest).

Instead, I've been making another type of list. I've posted it here for your reading pleasure.
1. Waves of nausea all day that progressively worsen in the evenings. Check.

2. Extreme fatigue causing me to nap while Kieran naps during the day. Check.

3. Odd cravings for certain foods. Check.

(I should note on this point that Seth has been less than forthcoming on helping me to satisfy these cravings:

"No, I will not stop by the Chinese buffet on my way home from work and get a to-go box for you. . . . No, everyone does not do it."

"No, I will not stop by Dunkin' Donuts on my way home from work and buy you a dozen donuts. . . . No, you do not need them."

"No, I did not read your mind on my way home from work and pick up a pizza at Domino's.")

4. Sudden and inexplicable aversions to previously craved foods. Check.

5. Frequent trips to the little ladies' room. Check. All day and night. Check.

6. Stuffy nose while sleeping, countered by a collection of Breathe-Right strips. Check.

7. Weight gain. Check.

8. Lack of interest in making supper since no food at that time of day sounds good. Check.

9. Having a picture taken that looks like this. Check.

10. Carrying around a new little person who will, Lord willing, make his/her appearance in early May. Check.

Out my kitchen window, days 297-298

Day 297

Day 298

Conventional wisdom suggests that a woman wait until 3 months have passed before announcing a pregnancy, presumably so she doesn't need to share with the world in case a miscarriage were to happen. With Kieran, we waited to announce his coming; with baby 2, we didn't.

On Tuesday, I went for a routine OB appointment. During the ultrasound, the doctor found the baby wasn't as big as she expected and couldn't find a heartbeat. She suggested I return Wednesday morning for another ultrasound, which I did. Seth took the day off and went with me to the appointment. That ultrasound confirmed the baby had stopped growing and the heart was no longer beating (we'd seen the heartbeat at the previous appointment). Somewhere between the last appointment and this, the baby had miscarried. I elected to have a D&C Wednesday evening.

It's easy to ask the "Did I do something wrong?" questions and wonder at the cause of the miscarriage. However, the simple fact is that the baby had lived the life God ordained for him. Whether it be 10 weeks, 10 months, 10 years, or a full century, the Lord has determined the number of our days before we are even conceived. Although we have a responsibility to care for the body God has given us, we can do nothing to lengthen or shorten the life God has granted us.

We're saddened by the loss of our second child (and it is the loss of a child--not merely the ceasing to function of a blob of tissue), and it's not without tears that we say with Job, "The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away--blessed be the name of the Lord." But we also know that He is gracious and merciful, and we're thankful for the comfort He provides.

God is good--all the time.

Out my kitchen window, day 272

I decided to interview myself today.

Me: Thanks for agreeing to the interview.

Me: You're welcome. It's my pleasure.

So, why did you feel the need to interview yourself today?

Um, you're the one asking the questions. Why are you interviewing me today?

OK, OK. Let's get down to business. Do you have something special you'd like to tell the good folks reading this blog?

Yes, I do.

And that would be . . . ?

Well, I'm pregnant.

Wait, what? You are? Really?

You know as well as I do that I am. Stop being silly.

Just having a little fun with you. So, now to the pregnancy questions. When are you due?

September 21. I'm about 8 weeks along right now.

And how are you feeling?

You should know. Waves of nausea all day, appeased only by food, and overwhelming tiredness, appeased by a nap when Kieran naps. Other than that, well and healthy.

Do you know whether you're having a boy or a girl?

Not yet--we'll find out in a few months.

Do you have a preference on the gender?

Why yes, I do. I'd prefer a boy since we're well equipped with boy stuff--purely pragmatic, but that's how I roll. And if the baby is a girl, well, let's just say she'll be wearing a lot of blue.

Any names picked out yet?

Whoa, slow down there a minute, horsey. We don't even know the gender yet. However, if the baby is a girl, I will do everything in my power to name her Anastasia, while Seth will do everything in his power to name her something else (he doesn't believe in using family names).

Did you just call me a horse?

Metaphorically speaking, yes.

Moving on. Are you concerned that this baby will have Williams Syndrome?

No. The likelihood of having another baby with WS is the same as before we had Kieran--WS comes from a spontaneous mutation in one of the gametes--Seth and I are not "carriers" of the syndrome.

Will you have more children after this one?

Let's just get through this one first, OK? This may be the last one these old bones can handle. I am almost 50, you know.

Don't remind me. Anything else you'd like share?

Just this sonogram picture, taken a few days ago. I think he's the spitting image of Seth.

Well, it was nice chatting with you.

Not like we don't do it all day, anyway.

Yes, well, now everyone else gets to listen in our conversation. TTFN.

Ciao.

Wonderment

Can any mother ever really get over the amazing sense of wonderment that she experiences when she first sees the human being that was moments before residing comfortably (or not so comfortably -- more on that in a bit) in her womb and is now part of the outside, cold world?

We arrived at the hospital for the induction about 6:15 and were set up in the LDRP room by 6:30. The nurse got me hooked up to the IVs and the fetal monitor and the fun began. Since Kieran wasn't moving around very much, they gave me some ice chips and popsicles to wake him up. She also wanted me to change positions frequently.

At 8:30, before they started the Pitocin drip, Kieran's heart rate had dropped and they weren't able to find it. After lots of moving around and poking and prodding, they finally got it started again. The nurses called my OB and since they didn't know what caused his heart rate to drop and he was moving around and not considered a "sick baby," they decided a C-section probably wouldn't be needed, she broke my water and they began the Pitocin about 9:30.

Even though the contractions were regular, he still hadn't dropped into the birth canal, and didn't seem interested in doing so. So, again with the changing positions, trying to get him to drop. But as the contractions increased, his heart rate would dip with each one.

About 12:30, the situation concerned the nurse so much that she called my OB who arrived shortly after 1 pm and decided that a C-section was necessary. Since I had already asked for (and received) an epidural (as I've said before, I'm a wimp when it comes to pain), they wheeled me into the OR and got the process started. (Since it all happened so fast, Seth didn't have time to grab the camera before he got into his scrubs and came into the delivery room, so we don't have any pics of Kieran immediately following his delivery.)

At 1:19 pm, the docter found out why he wasn't dropping and why his heart rate was dropping -- when she delivered him, his cord was wrapped around his neck twice and around his arm and his hand was grasping the cord.

Seth watched when they gave me the epidural, and he also watched when they pulled Kieran out. He watched them clean the baby off, but he refused to cut his umbilical cord.

After two days recovering from the operation in the hospital, we were able to leave on Wednesday afternoon. (Thanks, Scarlet, for coming to visit!)

We're finally home and settling into life with a newborn. As all new parents know, the past few days have been a blur of eating, sleeping, and changing diapers.

And, of course, we think he's the most beautiful baby in the world (never mind that I've referred to him as a Roswell Alien already because of his bright eyes and bald head, and also the Saggy Baggy Elephant because of his baggy skin--he'll have lots of self-esteem issues to work through later in life).

We're thanking the Lord for the wisdom He gave to the doctors and nurses and for giving us this wonderful blessing.

Kieran
6 pounds, 3 ounces
18.5 inches long

The need for Kieran to come now

It hit us both simultaneously last night, after I asked Seth when the Steelers were playing this week, that their game is on Monday night. They'll take the field 14 hours after I'm scheduled to be induced. Maybe I should have chosen yesterday for the induction date (apparently Halloween is considered a holiday and they don't do inductions on holidays). . . .

(Also, for those of you who get TLC and watch "17 Kids and Counting," the Duggars' trip to the Creation Museum will be featured this Monday night at 10 pm.)

Gifts of Chickens

One man may give his wife jewelry in celebration of the delivery of their child. Another man may gift his wife a Gameboy. When I mentioned to Seth that, according to one pregnancy book I was reading, it was customary for a man to get his wife something after the delivery, he asked, "In what culture is that a custom?" And then he assured me that I wasn't reading a real pregnancy book, anyway.

Jewelry and Gameboys aside, I found the present I'd really like to receive while looking through an issue of my Organic Gardening magazine: chickens. Specifically, this chicken house that comes with two chickens, which are ready to provide me with free-range eggs in four weeks.

Our neighbor two doors down has chickens (and a pig and some horses that get loose every once in a while and end up leaving deposits on our front porch). And we buy eggs from them periodically. And they taste really good. Much different, believe it or not, from those store-bought eggs. And the guy from whom we purchased our house kept chickens in a chicken coop, which still resides behind our house, albeit in a state of moderate disrepair. (Seth has turned part of the chicken coop into a carport.) So, I've been wanting to raise my own chickens for awhile. Seth has not been wanting to raise chickens.

My main concern with chicken-raising is the whole letting-them-free-range thing. What happens when a coyote or fox rambles by our yard and decides to snack on one of them? This new discovery of mine seems to be the answer, as the website assures me that the movable chicken house is predator-proof.

The other concern with free-ranging the chickens is the whole finding-where-they-dropped-their-eggs thing. Seth would not be amused if he had to step in raw chicken eggs while mowing the lawn. And, once again, the website assures me that the eggs are neatly contained in the little house and that collecting them is a breeze.

These chickens will provide us with lovely eggs to eat, take care of the chiggers, and give me some nice manure to add to my compost pile. Really, what more could a wife ask for in a delivery-gift from her husband? As I mentioned to Seth when I informed him that I would accept this gift from him after I bear him a son, "it's the gift that keeps on giving."