So today i snapped some pictures of what our day consisted of. There's one key element missing and that's in the form of Big Daddy Weav. He had supervisor meetings so is gone the whole day. I miss him. We miss him. He's the one that cracks the whip and keeps the boys moving. I also like when he orders me off for a nap, no guilt allowed.
But before pictures, i need to say that unless little mr. weaver decides to reposition himself into the head down position, there's a c section planned for Friday morning. How do i feel about that? Well, you know how with your first baby you laughed when you were told it will hurt like no tomorrow? I mean, after all, people have been having babies for 6,000 years so it can't be THAT bad.
And then you woke up with contractions and headed into the midwife and assured her that it was time. She checks and says go home, you're one centimeter. You start getting a little worried that maybe it's going to hurt worse than you thot and within an hour or two you no longer care about how you look or sound, and violent purple grape juice puke all over your white bedspread is of no concern. Finally you go back into the clinic with no shoes and hair standing on end. (i'm not exaggerating) They check you and lo and behold, you're all of 6 centimeters. You try the bed. You try the tub. Nothing helps. It hurts like......well, good mennonite ladies can't say what it really hurts like but you think the world might be coming to an end and will someone PLEASE DO SOMETHING! C-section would be a blessing and you inform anyone who listens that this will be the very. last. time. EVER! You lose all dignity and when you try to gnaw on your husband's hand, he yanks it away looking offended and you feel that he deserves at least to get a touch of what you're going through. And just when you're sure it will never end, the baby crowns, you think you will never, ever walk again and just like that, he's here. A real live, screaming, red faced baby, pooping and peeing all over your chest. Who knew meconium could be so beautiful. You're laughing and crying that it's a real baby. You had forgotten. Your husband thinks you're amazing and you agree, even while you apologize for trying to bite him and assure him that it's not because you really WANTED to, he just happened to be in the way. After it's all over, everything's cleaned up and baby and husband are sleeping, you think that maybe, just maybe you will do it again.
18 months later you remember why you said never, ever again, but it's not nearly so bad the second time. You don't try to bite anyone, altho maybe that's because people had the sense to keep their hands where they belong. You find out the miracle of birth is just as beautiful with baby number two. And three. And four....five....
Which brings me to baby boy number 8. In some ways i feel the way about c section like i did about natural birth. I'm out of my comfort zone either way, this being my first hospital birth, with a doctor that i can't always understand, in a country where white women in pain are a novelty. With a c section i go in, the surgery happens and i'm done. No yelling, no saying i can't do this, no embarrassed apologies later. But i've never healed from a c section and my healing after natural births are amazing. I'm clueless how it's like with a c section so i don't know what to fear. I'm as naive about birthing with a knife as i was about natural births. But i do know this. We want what's safest for baby and if that means c section, so be it. Before Friday tho, we are hoping to try a few tricks to see if he'll turn. It doesn't hurt to try, right?
So now that we have that out of the way, let me show a few pictures of this last (hopefully) saturday with only 7 boys instead of 8.
Banana bread. Lots of it because i should've thot of freezing some whole for smoothies instead of smashing them all. But who knows what this week will hold so who's complaining.
And chicken manure and the young men in charge.
Random pictures because it might be a long, long time til i post again. Or it might not, depending on my fickle moods. And baby.
|Yup, that's little mr. weaver causing that big belly. It could also be too much chocolate the last number of months.|
|All finished, down to the one with a sinkhole. It's a good thing my row of males don't care about looks.|
|She's supposed to be cleaning her room. How to do that while standing on the bed i have no idea.|
|That's some of the cutest manure haulers i've ever seen.|
|They're missionary boys hauling chicken poop, not terrorists.|
|Nothing like a coke from a glass bottle to refresh a person.|
|Story time and then naps. May i say hallelujah?? Because that means i to get to sleep.|