Introducing Pepper!

I really should have written this about a month ago, but you know how it is with a house to run. I'm not sitting at home eating mountains of fruit snacks and watching Dexter reruns ALL day. (okay, maybe I am a little.)

So without a further ado, duh duh duh duh.....

MEET PEPPER!

Last Christmas, Aaron's aunt asked when we were planning to have our next baby. We looked at each other bewildered. We already had two and had quietly discussed a third but were pretty sure we couldn't afford to have another one. Auntie said she had been praying for us and God had showed her we were going to have another baby in the next 12 months. Hmmm....

My brother and I were speaking on the phone in late January. He told me I was pregnant and was going to have another girl who looked similar to Scout. I laughed because there was no way I was pregnant.

Two weeks later, a missed period and home pregnancy test said, yes, you are indeed pregnant. Guess Auntie and Brother were right...

The doctor originally said I was due October 9, but later changed the date to October 20.

Sunday, October 13, I woke up feeling funny. I couldn't quite put my finger on it but something was off. I kept wondering if I was in labor but I wasn't in any pain. I was just feeling "icky". I took Scout and Shaver to the apple orchard and shopping that day. We had a normal bed time because of school the next morning, and I went to bed thinking I was going to work in the morning.

I woke up about 12:45am with a contraction. Whooo.... am I in labor? I wondered. I hadn't packed a bag for the hospital yet. When I had another contraction 7 minutes later, I decided to get up and pack a bag. I was wide awake and figured, "Why not?"

Between then and 3:30, I packed my bag for the hospital and clothes for the children. I took a shower. I had some coffee. I had some Gatorade. I sat and rested occasionally. It finally sunk in that I was in labor.

I sat on the edge of the bed and called quietly to my husband. "Aaron?"
"Yeah?"
"I think you may have to call in to work today."

He was up immediately, reaching for his phone, searching for the phone number of his employer. He began pacing, fumbling for his coat and cigarettes. "How much time do we have?"
"I don't know. I'd say a good three or four hours before we have to go to the hospital."
"How far apart are your contractions?"
Hmmm..... I hadn't been keeping track. "Eh, every seven minutes or so."

After calling his boss, I told him to take a shower.
"Do I have time to make coffee?"
"Make your coffee... I could use some too," I told him.

At 4:15 my contractions were heavier and Aaron asked what we were doing with the kids. "Are you calling someone or are we taking them to the hospital with us?" he asked. I dismissed him, saying we had time. "No, I think we better go soon," he insisted.

Sure, sure.

I arranged child care and called the hospital about 4:30am. After we dropped off the kids, I asked Aaron if I could swing by work. My boss was out of state for the rest of the week and I wanted to put the phone on call forwarding.
"SERIOUSLY?"
"It'll take 2 minutes," I said.

After my stop at work and a brief lecture from my employer, we were on our way to the hospital. We left our bags in the truck because my contractions were getting heavier and I was really starting to feel nauseous.

Now, when I had my first two children, I had them at the same hospital. I had been met with a wheel chair and had completed my entrance information in my room. Not this time!

We waited for a few minutes for a receptionist....
And then they weren't sure which patient I was.
Breathing heavily, unable to speak, I nodded or shook my head as they asked me questions to confirm my place of residence and phone number. Did I have my insurance card? Let's go ahead and scan that... And we need you to sign these waivers. By this time, I was nearly hysterical. The contractions were hard and fast and I was gasping for air. I wasn't in a lot of pain but there was a tremendous amount of pressure.
I thought my body language signaled urgency but I wasn't able to speak. Everything seemed surreal.

"Troy?" the receptionist called to the security guard, "Do you have time to take these folks up to Labor and Delivery?"
Troy sauntered over. "Sure..."

We walked towards the elevator.
About fifteen feet from the reception desk and just out of eye sight of the emergency waiting room, I paused with an especially  heavy contraction, leaning up against the wall for support.
Suddenly, "Oh F.....!" I yelled.
I heard a splash and looked down. My water had broken. I looked to my husband for help, and he looked to Troy.
"I'm going to go get a wheelchair," he called, walking quickly away.

A nurse opened a side door from the emergency room and asked if we needed help.
I couldn't answer. I looked up at the wall in front of me and stared at the letters on the sign of the billing department.

All I could feel was pressure, pressure, pressure. I closed my eyes and waddled towards the elevator. The wetness was making me hysterical but the pressure had me frantic. I held my breath, hoping that would help.

Suddenly there were nurses running down a stairwell. Aaron and Troy tried to get me in the wheelchair, but I couldn't sit. There was a nurse yelling for gloves and a bag. "I need gloves, NOW!" she yelled.

I looked at her face and knew that she knew what was happening. "The baby's head is out," I managed to pant through clenched teeth.

I don't know exactly how it all happened but the following occurred in a matter of seconds.

That nurse ripped my pants and underwear off, another nurse grabbed my leg and told me to hold it up while the first nurse did something down there that made me feel like they were pushing the baby back in.

"No!" I cried.
"Yes!" the second nurse directed.
"I need a good push," the first nurse directed and then yelled, "Someone get down there so this baby doesn't hit the floor!"
I closed my eyes and pushed. And there she was.

The elevator doors opened as Pepper and I locked eyes for the first time.
I was completely overwhelmed.

"Time of birth... 5:12 am," the nurse announced.


I'll leave the story at that for you.

Later we had to make the calls.....

Hey, Brother! Guess you were right......

We sat and admired the beautiful baby.

7 lbs exactly, 19.5 inches long

We had visitors. Scout was very excited to get a baby sister.

Scout is in love

Shaver groaned when I announced the gender. "Really, Mom? Ewww.... Come on!"
"Hey, she's pretty special," I told him. "She was born in the elevator!"
He seemed pretty cool with her after that.

Shaver is proud, even if the baby is a girl....

And by noon the next day, we went home.

I wonder what future adventures we'll have together...

How a Toy Advertisement Shook My Understanding of Who I Am

When I was in third grade, I stopped playing with dolls. Well, at least publicly. At some point it became socially unacceptable to play with dolls.

I had forgotten about this until a friend shared this video on Facebook.

My immediate reaction to this video was "Girl Power!" I was raised by a single mom who taught me feminism. She taught me to never depend on a man, to be self-sufficient and independent. Upon further reflection, I remember early reinforcement from teachers at school to go to college, develop a career and achieve personal greatness. I was taught to value womens' abilities to succeed in the workforce and girls' abilities to do every thing a boy can do.

Why, then, was I frowning by the end of the video?

The song in the video repeatedly puts down the color pink. For the record, I have never cared for the color pink. When I was pregnant with my first two children, I was emphatic that no one buy pink if the baby were to be a girl. I didn't like the gender stereotype of "Pink for Girls". Within a week of Scout being born, I realized that several shades of pink were very flattering to her complexion and began to ask for pink clothing. Now that she's two, I try to let her pick out clothing, shoes, and toys; generally she does choose the color pink.

There's also a line in the song about how girls are only given dolls to play with. You and I both know this is a generalization but as Scout has been getting older, it's become increasingly apparent how innate the urge to nurture must be. She is so careful and so loving with her dolls as she practices her mommy skills. So now I'm asking myself what is wrong with girls, or boys for that matter, playing with dolls? Don't they teach and develop empathy and kindness in our young ones?

You can hate Barbies all you want, but don't they even have a value? I remember creating elaborate story lines for my dolls as a child. Didn't that help me develop my imagination and practice my communication skills?

I'm not stating that there is no place in the market for toys that encourage girls to develop math and science skills. I am stating that the message that dolls are bad toys is dangerous.

I recently became a stay-at-home mom. It took my having three children to finally recognize that my greatest accomplishment should be the raising of my children. How did it take 6 years and the birth of three children to come to that conclusion?

I believe that as a child of the '90s, I was given the message that family and all that is girliness is socially unacceptable. I was taught to want to be independent and career-oriented--to do what the boys do. This advertisement reminded me of these messages and suddenly I have an epiphany: Have I really hated the color pink? Did I really stop playing with dolls because I didn't like them? Did I go to college because I wanted a career? Or was I just taught these values and they were so deeply embedded that I thought I was doing what I wanted?

No wonder I have been struggling with motherhood and mother love--feeling resentful that I'm not excelling in the workforce and kicking corporate butt and am wiping butts and noses instead.

It's so late in life to be questioning where my values have come from and how much sense they make, but I'm beginning to feel that maybe I've been brainwashed all along.