Denise says it all so well:

It is now taken for granted that the school will teach about sex, the doctors will decide what immunizations are given, and the parish religious education office will teach children the faith. Too many parents are just passive observers. They just blindly chauffer their children from one indoctrination activity to another. And when a parent tries to wrest control from one of these institutions they are labeled as a trouble-maker, a fanatic, or an unfit parent.

I promise not to make this account a graphic one to protect the sensibilities of the handful of readers who might object to too much information. Perhaps another time I’ll record some of the grittier information with ample warning. I don’t know why, but we women just seem to love those details. Also, I know this post is long, and don’t blame you if you skim through it. I’ll try to highlight the most amusing sections so the racing eye doesn’t miss the best parts!

The last conversation Bill and I had on Sunday night had him remarking that this pregnancy seemed to be ending worse than any of the others. While I did agree that I was very uncomfortable, I didn’t think that it was any worse than any of the other times. I just think we forget those things. At least I try to forget them. That night, I told myself and Bill that it was almost over – a week more or less. I just didn’t realize how much less.

As per usual, I woke up around 230 am needing to go to the bathroom. I happened to have a pretty strong Braxton-Hicks contraction at that time. There was nothing particularly unusual about this, but the contraction did seem stronger than most. An hour later, the scenario was repeated, and I paused to consider my “birth plan” wherein my water breaks in the early morning hours while using the toilet. Alas, this was not to be the case.

My morning progressed much like most mornings, even though it was a federal holiday and both Bill’s school and the public schools were closed. Bill left, hoping to get an upcoming assignment finished, and I did an abbreviated school day with my crew, knowing that the neighborhood would be jumping by lunchtime and getting anything done after noon was a lost cause.

Bill actually came home in short order; his classroom was locked. It was just as well. I continued having pretty strong, but irregular in frequency and duration, contractions throughout the whole morning and into the afternoon. For me, this was classic pre/early labor. With my first labor, I suffered like this for two full days before I had my son. With the others, it was shorter, but not “short” – a night and a day, perhaps. So, I knew the baby was coming, I just couldn’t be sure exactly when. I thought I was in for a long night and guessed the baby would come the next day in the early morning hours.

I tasked Bill with monitoring the kids, and I did my best to rest. I napped. I took a bath. Thank goodness I had put ribs in the crockpot first thing in the morning, and I had dough for rolls waiting in the fridge. I really took it easy.

Fritz had an orthodontist appointment that afternoon at 4 pm. Bill was loitering in the front, watching Pete on his tricycle and waiting for Fritz to get ready. Our next door neighbors were out, and Bill told them I was in early labor. I came out, and there was some discussion about which neighbors were likely to be available to watch the kids and when. I was still thinking that everything was going to be happening later – in the middle of the night or the next day.

When Bill and Fritz came home, we had dinner, but I was really getting uncomfortable. We tried to time the contractions, but they were sometimes 8 minutes apart, sometimes 5. Sometimes they lasted for a minute and a half, but sometimes only for 40 seconds. And although my back was beginning to get a little achy, it wasn’t my usual back labor, so I felt that it was still very early in labor. I left dinner before anyone else was done to take a bath, but I asked Bill to see about setting up the labor pool the midwife had brought over the week before. I knew that being able to fully immerse my body in hot water would really help. He asked me where I preferred the pool, and I said in our bedroom, if the hoses would reach. They had to go from the hookup at the washing machine in the basement up to the second floor.

He got to work running two hoses up the staircases and setting up the inflatable pool. By this point it was around 630 pm, I was out of my bathtub, and we decided to get the kids washed up and in PJs despite the early hour. I really, really thought that perhaps I would just labor in the pool for a while and do my best to relax. I would be fine, even if I were alone, until the kids’ 8 pm bedtime. Around 7 pm, we said bedtime prayers, and I suggested the kids watch a movie to keep them occupied until bedtime. This was a popular idea. Bill called the midwife and asked her to come over – maybe in about an hour. She said she’d be there in a half hour. I suggested to Bill that we ask our neighbor’s daughter (almost 12 years old) to sit with the kids until the movie was over.

But FIRST, I wanted that pool filled. He went to the basement to turn the water on, and I went to the bedroom to hold the handle on the nozzle. The water started pouring in, and after a minute was nice and hot. But the pressure at the nozzle was too great for the old hose and suddenly a hole burst about 18 inches from the end. Water went everywhere in the bedroom in the few seconds it took me to crimp the hose and gain control of the spray. Bill, unaware of situation, was coming up the stairs. I called to him and he entered the disaster scene briefly before learning that I needed the water turned off. When he returned, he stood there in eye-blinking shock while I laughed so hard I could barely stand up. It was another minute before he understood that the hose had a hole. He actually assumed his blond-at-birth wife had lost control of the hose and allowed the water to spray at will. Nice, huh?

He got towels, and we began mopping up the floors, the antique desk, the laptop, the schoolbooks and the walls while water dripped on us from the ceiling. The various artwork in the area was left to dry on its own, and miraculously, The Whiskey Rebellion, which is nicely framed but, being a canvas print, is not behind glass, seemed to have been spared a drenching. Patton seems to be none the worse for his bath.

Just then the phone rang, and it was our neighbors across the way offering to take our kids in. God is so good, and our neighbors are such a blessing. Bill went to escort the children across the road, with movie in hand, and along the way let the midwife into the house. Momentarily distracted by The Great Flood, my contractions weren’t too bad, but now that the crisis had passed, I was really starting to feel them again and this time they were definitely in my back. My midwife had brought over a TENS unit, and when she came up to my room, I was in the middle of trying to figure out how to attach it. She helped me with that, and then we decided to see how far I had to go: I was 7 cm. The baby was still a little high, but I couldn’t believe I was that far along and only beginning to have significant back pain.

And then…things stalled. An hour later, I was in the pool, relaxed most of the time, and having only moderately strong contractions. The midwife checked, and I was still at 7 cm. I wasn’t surprised, but I was disappointed nonetheless. The midwife suggested breaking my water, and although I am normally reluctant to do that, it was approaching 9 pm and I didn’t want to be doing this all night. It took about 10 or 15 minutes for the contractions to begin to pick up. It was back labor, but between the hot water and pressure applied by Bill and the midwife, it wasn’t too bad, and I was able to relax between contractions.

I was almost, but not quite fully dilated, and I seemed to stall again. I ended up getting out of the pool and trying a few different positions for what seemed like forever before I got to the pushing stage. And that stage, too, seemed to take a long time – it was certainly longer and more painful than with any of my other children. The midwife said she was a little sideways, and when I found out her weight – 8 pounds 12 ounces – I realized that her size probably contributed to my difficulty as well.

But all is well that ends well. Like my two other daughters born with no drugs to numb the pain, I was not at all interested in holding the child responsible for such agony. But everybody always insists that you do it, and it’s good, because my pain begins to recede immediately as my motherly love kicks in.

She was born a little after 10 pm, so those last phases really didn’t take as much time as they seemed to while I lived through them. Bill retrieved the sleeping children from another neighbor’s house (they were moved next door at bedtime), and the midwife cleaned up and did paperwork.

It was after midnight before she was ready to leave. Her final instructions to Bill included how to administer drugs in the unlikely event I were bleeding to death and what paperwork he would need to bring with him to the emergency room just in case. My poor husband! Exhausted, but terrified of the possibility of waking up to a dead wife (and having to care for 6 kids all by himself!), he vowed to not sleep at all that night. I’m quite certain he was kicking himself for not having installed that baby car seat yet in the van, and what if she needed emergency treatment? Fortunately, I felt well, and suggested that he set his watch alarm to go off every hour, and he could make sure I was still alive. Of course, we all made it through just fine.

And that is Mary’s birth story. I hope to do a post on home birth, and also on things I did differently this pregnancy, and if I think they helped at all. But those will wait for another time. This post took three or four days to write – life with a newborn. We’re getting through these dizzy days one at a time.

Congratulations to Sarah on the birth of Meredith Ann!

I’m about two-thirds of the way through Mansfield Park, and my mind is currently operating in a world where certain civilities are required and the dos and don’ts of society are well spelled out. Things that would seem so minor or inconsequential today would be considered gross offenses back then.

And so, it is possible that my judgment is clouded, and I’m too sensitive regarding trivial matters.

Hmm.

God blessed us with pouring rain and thunder storms today. Bill and the older boys should have spent the whole day doing this big outdoor Scouting extravaganza: archery, crafts, other stuff like that. Everything was canceled, and the boys were terribly disappointed. But Bill, behind on schoolwork, and I, eager to have his help with just getting through the day, were grateful for a chance to sit and read without the doorbell ringing and the constant traffic of children in and out of the house.

After lunch, Fritz wanted to go over to a friend’s house. We like this family a lot, and their three children play with our kids quite a bit. We phoned over and gained permission for him to go there for a while. About ten or fifteen minutes later, the phone rang and Caller ID told me it was their house. Now, they had taken advantage of the Columbus Day holiday and gone on vacation for a week. They had only returned late on Thursday, and naturally missed the initial buzz surrounding the baby’s birth on Monday. I was actually expecting the wife/mom to be calling with the usual questions one would have when one finds out that a pregnant neighbor is now a new (again) mother.

Silly me.

It was actually the 9 year old daughter, who frequently escapes the masculine din of her brothers’ games by playing dolls and house with my daughters, asking if she could come over here to play. With a gentleness that belied my irritation, I explained that because I had just had a baby, a baby she had met while inconveniently playing in my yard the afternoon before, I was not yet ready to host people inside my home. I did suggest she ask her mother if my daughters could play over there.

She never called back.

I’m trying hard to assume that her mom was unaware of the phone call. Perhaps, even, the girl didn’t mention to her mother that I had suggested that my girls go over there. Maybe, possibly, the girl had acted behind her mother’s back and after her mother clearly told her no she could not come here.

But since two other neighbors didn’t seem to think it was a big deal that their children play in my yard yesterday afternoon, something that required me to sit outside in the chill with my not yet 4 day old baby to make sure that my 2 year old did not escape the yard (by older children leaving the gate unlocked) and wander throughout the general vicinity, I highly suspect that my own expectations regarding polite behavior in these circumstances is a bit more strict.

I guess it’s just the Jane Austin in me.

We are pleased to announce the birth of

Mary Therese Reitemeyer.

The beautiful doll arrived at 2208 (10:08PM for you civies) last night and weighted in at a whopping 8 lbs 12 oz!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Both Michelle and little Mary are resting well, although I am not as I make a feeble attempt to emulate the bionic woman who actually runs this house. (My first order of business was to outsource parenting to a neighbor.)

All is going quite well and everyone is VERY excited.

Husband of a Saint, father to Angels,

Bill

Jennifer F. at Et Tu? is hosting a group writing project: What are three things your parents did right? These are my picks.

1. They were (still are) married. Their commitment to each other, for better or for worse, translated to a belief in their commitment to me, their imperfect child, for better or for worse. Their example of marriage indoctrinated me to the concept that marriage was permanent. No matter how difficult times might be with my own husband, walking away is not an option.

2. They love each other more than they love us kids. I still feel like the apple of my father’s eye; he dotes on all of his daughters. Both of my parents showered us with hugs and kisses as we grew up. They definitely love us. But they love each other more. When my dad comes home from an errand or work, he still seeks out my mother right away to tell her he is home and to claim a welcoming kiss. Growing up, he would not tolerate us mistreating or backtalking her. He might clown around with us and act like a kid at times, but we knew, deep down, that his loyalties were with mom. She was (is) the love of his life.

As a mother and as a wife, I too love my children. But I love their dad more. He’s the guy I’ll have to live with when they’re all grown up after all. Spending time with him, even if it is only a late night conversation after the children are asleep, is very important. Our young children are learning through observing us what kind of a person they want to marry. Our children are learning how to work through disagreements. Our children are learning that being angry with someone doesn’t mean you can’t love them and certainly doesn’t mean that you head to the lawyer for a divorce. Our children are learning that a man treats a woman, especially his wife, with dignity and respect, and that a woman treats a man, especially her husband, with dignity and respect.

They are learning this the same way I did: by how my own parents love each other.

3. They taught me responsibility and independence from an early age. This is something that tends to come naturally in households with more than two or three children, I think. I am the middle of five kids. One older brother has Down’s Syndrome. There are only 8 years between the oldest and the youngest. My mom had her hands full, and I’m sure she had that pointed out to her many times, much to her annoyance, and much as I do. We had chores. We had to look out for each other. We didn’t have things handed to us. We didn’t get an allowance. Once I started earning regular money, the lunch money supply dried up, I started buying my own clothes, and I saved up to buy contact lenses. Perhaps, especially when I was younger, I had too much responsibility. But by the time I was 18, I could cook, I could clean, I could make adult decisions and take responsibility for them, I was aware of other people and how my actions affected them, I knew how to budget my time between (school) work and play and how to budget my money between essentials like food and non-essentials like going to the movies. I may have still been immature through lack of experience, but I was somewhat capable of going off to college and functioning as an adult without relying on my parents to do everything for me.

As a mother, I hope to accomplish the same thing in my own children. I don’t expect that they will always make wise choices. I don’t expect that they will leave home at 18, never to ask for advice or money or assistance. And I certainly don’t expect them to do any of this without having had a few years of practice before leaving home. And so they have chores now. And they have to look out for each other now. And they don’t get everything handed to them now.

My parents weren’t perfect parents. But they did some things right. Thanks, Mom and Dad!

My hair looked better before my afternoon siesta, but I was having camera trouble. And I hate pictures of myself. I hope that since my fat chin is a recent development, it will be the first thing to go when I start losing baby weight.

And this little guy is suddenly camera shy. He got a haircut, too. No spa treatment, just a buzz.