Oh yes, Thanksgiving. Oh 2019, my annus horribilis. The year has been so overwhelming and difficult. Thankfulness seems distant right now.

And yet, there is nothing quite like a difficult year to show you how blessed you are. How many wonderful people are in your life, and part of what makes them so wonderful is the quiet nature of their kindness. It's just a reminder that we're surrounded by wonderful people. From every aspect of our lives.

My baby sister was diagnosed with Dramatic Miley Cyrus, otherwise known as dermatomysitis- hence the nickname-last year. It took a heavy toll on her, and her family. So the rest of us jumped in to help her little family. Some, not surprised to find themselves twelve weeks pregnant, were in better moods while assisting. But leaving your family to help another usually comes with burdens others have to carry. So while I was helping my sister, a fellow soccer mom drove Baby the six hours to Spokane for a game, put her up in a hotel and fed her, so the father figure could maintain the weekend schedule for the other kids. The few friends I mentioned my pregnancy to, in text form "The father figure knocked a woman up, and to make it worse, it's me" were supportive and sympathetic and understood and respected the myriad of feelings I was working through.

During a particularly dark period of my pregnancy, I opened up to a evidence based, faithful science group on Facebook, comprised of women across the globe. The result....my first online shower. The father figure's face as he stumbled over nearly thirty boxes from Amazon was one of panic, until I reassured him I hadn't been engaging in retail therapy. I have a diaper fund on Amazon, waiting for the panicked late night "we're out of diapers" terror. Of course, I haven't had to use it yet, due to the boxes of diapers they sent me. Clothing, blankets, gift cards came pouring in from people I only knew online. In a group I hadn't participated in all that much, as my life was too busy. Ladies saw someone in need a happily jumped in to help. It didn't matter they didn't know me in "real life." The moment my life got very real, they were there, with real help.

And then D'Garebear arrived. Once people realized that indeed I had partially gestated a child, the help came from everywhere. Friends helped finish the kitchen remodel that had sent me over the edge into lethal blood pressure levels. Friends started meal trains and fed my family for weeks. People I babysat decades ago, gave me baby gear and clothing. Neighbors came and did yard work.

I grew up in a lovely little neighborhood. The type of neighborhood that leaves happy memories of adventures with neighborhood kids and failure to remember how small the houses were. But the growing and maturing families required most of us to move away. We were able to keep in touch with a couple of families, social media helped us connect with another. And those families who were invited to our birthday parties and we trick-or-treated with, they all brought food. Multiple times. They brought clothes and diapers and baby carriers. They brought gourmet meals. Meals my children wolfed down.

We're a soccer family. And when I say family, I really do mean it. When I announced D'Garebear's birth on social media, my phone blew up with messages from various soccer teammates. Most of whom had me listed as "Baby's Mom" in their contact lists. This included former teammates as well. They drove meals to our house, met us at various games and practises with food, visited us in the NICU, sent baby gifts and joyfully welcomed D'Garebear to the pitch. There's a reason why current and former teammate families comprise such a significant portion of my Christmas card list.

People from church, who I barely know, brought meals and gifts. Someone who only knew me from this blog brought dinner, and her own story of struggling with preeclampsia. A priest friend flew up to visit, just to make sure I was really OK and being honest about how serious the situation was. Others sent notes, one writing the kids encouraging them to care for their new brother and me.  Clever folks sent grubhub gift cards, to make meals easy for Baba as she held down the fort while the father figure worked and kept the magnificent health insurance which provided excellent care to D'Garebear and peace of mind for me. Family members kept up the encouraging comments on pictures shared, boosting my spirits and helping me to focus on the positive throughout the long haul.

The Pater Familias, my father, found himself in an interesting position this summer. The Mater Familias was several states away, caring for Grandma the Great. So he was on the parental duty and the Gruber-grandpa uber-position. He made nearly daily visits to the NICU to see his namesake and kept the family updated with multiple pictures.  Modern technology made facetiming the Mater Familias and Grandma the Great possible. Baba showed that she is quite the young lady, griping to me that no one cleans the house except her when I'm not home, but she assumed the burden of responsibility for both her siblings and the upkeep of the house. And she did it all while winning a summer soccer tournament, remaining on the varsity soccer team and keeping her 4.0. D'Garebear has no shortage of role models in his home.

I come from a long line of remarkable and strong women. Women who broke barriers. I am proud to follow in their footsteps. I like to think of myself as competent and capable. I have a crazy life but I like to think I can juggle it all. But I can't. And I shouldn't. It's not that anyone else is responsible for my life or the lives I have welcomed in it. It's just that I shouldn't be afraid to let my facade down, to let people help when the need is there. There's the saying "It takes a village to raise a child." I see the truth in that, every child needs a loving and supportive home. And that home can only be built with a community that supports the family throughout the difficult times. I admit I felt sheepish accepting meals and help from others. It felt like admitting I was weak or I had failed. But I realize now, it takes a certain strength, or at least honesty, to admit you can't do it all. And there might just be times in your life where you shouldn't do it. But only the kindness and compassion of others will allow you to let your guard down. To be surrounded by people who care enough to help you when in your moments of weakness, without needing you to ask, well that's an incredible gift. And a gift no words can properly describe nor justly thank.

The father figure's Italian grandma used to say "beer makes milk" but she would also say "every baby brings a loaf of bread." And as with most things she said, she wasn't wrong. D'Garebear's birth literally brought loaves of bread to our door, but it also brought the greater gift, the recognition of how rich our lives are. How wonderful the world he was born into is.

Thankful isn't strong enough a word.

D'Garebear came home at nine weeks of age. He's been home for nearly two months now, which explains the lack of blogging on my part.

It's an interesting experience. D'Garebear was due on October 27th, so he's not quite a month old. And yet he's been home for six weekish. We're told to treat him as if he was born on his due date, so to expect him to act as a newborn although he is nearly four months old. That's all well and good, but I'm ready for a four month old sleeper. This extended new born thing is for the birds. Young birds at that.

Molly, our Golden Retriever, has adjusted to the change in the family quite well. Ever the team player, she too had surgery, just last week. As D'Garebear, Father Figure and I managed to max out our family deductible for the year, she kindly went ahead and added vet bills to the mix. Goldens are especially prone to cancer, so we had a mass removed from her. She's recovering well, perhaps regretting her desire for more attention from us.

I hadn't even lacked for thing for my kids to fight over. They are nothing if not creative when it comes to this. Cinco and X-Man fight over who gets to look at D'Garebear. Baby and Baba fight over who gets to hold D'Garebear. And Mac simply is trying to stay out of the way.

Baba stated very clearly, before D'Garebear arrived, that she was uninterested in holding him, or having much to do with him. Her indifference stemmed mostly, I assumed at the time, from her irritation at her parents for creating him in the first place. I told her that was fine, Baby could hold him and she could clear the house while I ran other kids to various activities. Basically the routine we had before. She gladly agreed, we share the same personality trait that clutter causes anxiety. Cleaning is therapeutic.  If I was the kind of person who likes to make others eat their words, I'd enjoy pointing out that I do all the cleaning these days as Baba lays on the couch with D'Garebear. If I leave him in his swing, I'm liable to reenter the room to a missing baby, up sleeping on Baba as she does homework. Baby, who was excited for D'Garebear's arrival is slightly irked by this change in plans. I'm mostly amused, but somehow it seems to take both of them to care for D'Garebear. And an amazing amount of cleaning is not getting done.

I have been in hospital every day for the last 50 days. The father figure decided to shake things up and go ahead and have his surgery in a different hospital than D'Garebear. In a different state. Well, it wasn't really the father figure's decision but I'm holding him responsible anyway. I'm also not really winning any awards for my sympathetic care giving abilities. The father figure was anxious about getting a spinal as a aide to pain relief after surgery. I rolled my eyes at his nerves, having received three myself, while bringing his children into the world. The last one was just weeks ago. Not to mention, his as administered after he received a sedative, not something they give laboring women. Nor did he have to endure contractions while being jabbed in his spine.I don't really score keep, but I forgot my breast pump at home so my discomfort level will rival his before the day is done.

Two different hospitals in two different states. If that doesn't sum up 2019 for me, I'm not sure what would.

D'Garebear is continuing to grow and is remarkably healthy. He's also mastered the all important skill, guilting mom. I visit him consistently, every day. Well except for the days that his father has surgery in another hospital. I keep myself on a very consistent schedule, for his sake. And D'Garebear is putting that consistency to his use. He is awake when I arrive most days, staring pitifully at the open door, waiting for me to arrive. And it does pang my mother's heart to see him waiting. Of course he promptly falls asleep for the next three hours while I am there. He consistently wakes up right as I am getting ready to leave, again staring at me with wide open eyes. To top it off, he decided to forget how to breathe as I was trying to leave the other day. All sorts of alarms and monitors went off and he stayed looking serene and slightly judgmental. When I explained to him that I still had to pick up X-Man from school, oxygen or no, he decided to resume breathing. But he got me to apologize several times.

D'Garebear seems ready for the real world.

Cinco was uninterested in losing her position as youngest and tyrant of the family. It's pretty clear that she won't be surrendering the tyrant position to D'Garebear, but she has reconciled herself to his existence. She's moved past resenting him to assuming she knows how best to care for him. She corrects me as I hold him, pushes my hands away because "I know what he wants" and critiques my diaper changing techniques. She's also appointed herself his personal shopper/stylist. I'm enjoying watching her come into her own as older sister, but I do have to admit that I worry for D'Garebear. He's in for a micromanaged life. Cinco is nothing if not imperious when it comes to what she thinks she knows.

Cinco was convinced she not only knew how to change diapers, she could do it better than I did. This was before D'Garebear gave a master class in how to void your entire body weight worth of poop while your mother changes your diaper. Or diapers as it were. She decided quickly there were somethings she was meant to supervise rather than do.


So life continues. I'll shuttle between hospitals while hissing threats at the other children to refrain from getting any fancy ideas for attention themselves. Although, once you've knocked the deductible out of the park for the year, is there any reason to just not throw anything else in the mix?

Geeze, I'm really tempting fate with that one.

"Mom? Can I have the honor of feeding D'Garebear?"

I admit, wasn't ready for X-Man's question.

"Uh, yeah, eventually sure I think you could help him eat."

"But I wanted the honor of feeding D'Garebear!!! Why can't I feed him?"

I should have seen Cinco's outburst coming.

"I asked first! It's my honor!" X-Man was irritated.

"But I want to too! It's no fair!!" Cinco was outraged. A fairly common state of being for her.

I attempted to play mediator.

"Well D'Garebear will eat often there will be plenty of opportunities for you both to feed him."

"NO! I ASKED FIRST!!!"

Cinco just started to look amazingly forlorn.

"You're good giving D'Garebear his binky, maybe you can have the honor of giving him his binky."

Why won't anyone ask for the honor of changing his diaper? Or the honor of getting up with him at two am? Or the honor of making him clean his room....well I can see them jumping on that bandwagon down the road.

Quivering sigh "But WHY can't I have the honor of feeding him?"

Where do they get this stuff?

"D'Garebear isn't even home yet, we'll worry about who feeds him when later. Maybe when we need to feed him."

X-Man had still been paying attention, despite my hopes "And then I'LL have the honor of feeding him!"

"BUT MOM!!!!"

And clearly Cinco and X-Man have adjusted to the newest member of our family.

D'Garebear is establishing rolls on his arms. We are swimming along.

Cinco is partaking in NICUschooling. It's like homeschooling, only it's done in the NICU. For those people who just aren't challenged enough by homeschooling. Or, for the parent who feels the need to school in semi-public in order to prevent meltdowns. And by prevent meltdowns, of course that only applies to the mother.

Cinco has mastered the art of looking forlorn and miserable with a single tear sneaking out of her large brown eyes. I have mastered the art of rolling my eyes at her and saying "suck it up buttercup." Mostly when it comes to reading. Because I make her read and she thinks that's a cruel punishment more befitting a totalitarian regime. Then again, I've read the BOB books, more than once. They are fairly tedious.

Cinco also doesn't cry, she squeaks. And the weight of the entire world rests on her shoulders as she is forced to read "bat, cat, fog, log." Ok, she might have a point, it is painfully uninteresting. (side note, I just spent 45 seconds trying to delete an errant period, turns out it was a random speck on the screen, no wonder the child doesn't trust me to educate her.) Well it's uninteresting except for seeing how cruelly oppressed Cinco is by the English language.

X-Man really wants to be homeschooled. I told him once he stops having meltdowns at school, he can be homeschooled. Cinco really wants to go to school. I told her once she stops having meltdowns during homeschooling, we'll talk. I see it as a win-win.

Baba is awash in English lit books. Right now she's reading The Scarlet Letter. Shockingly, I had extremely strong opinions on just about everything I read, especially in high school. And my opinions were so forceful, they alarmed my mother. Well probably more the fact that I was, and still am, incapable of any sort of nuance view. But I never let that stop my rantings about various characters. And one in particular I remember Arthur Dimmesdale, from the Scarlet Letter. First off, his name is Dimmesdale, and boy is he dim. And worthless. I never bought the whole, Hester Prynne, strong independent woman, fell for wimp-head Dimmesdale. The willing suspension of disbelief that required was a bridge too far for me. He was nothing except annoying. Which explains Pearl, who herself was bizarrely irritating too. Hester should have sent her to live with Dimmesdale. Now that would have been a book I enjoyed reading. Since Hester had the time to bedazzle a scarlet A, one does wonder why she never made a pair of man pants for Dimmesdale. Yes yes, he was probably too weak to put them on, but it was worth an effort.

And why didn't a branch just fall on Chillingsworth's head during one of his walks through the woods? Also, why not Dimmesdale? Seriously, how did those two not set off every hinkey gut feeling of the neighbors? Speaking of the neighbors, they did give me my favorite line every from anything I read in highschool “Behold, verily, there is the woman of the scarlet letter; and, of a truth, moreover, there is the likeness of the scarlet letter running along by her side! Come, therefore, and let us fling mud at them!” WHO TALKS LIKE THAT??? My mother tolerated a larger amount of mockery of that line than she typically did. Which just goes to show you, the whole situation was absurd. 

The hard part now, is that in theory, I'm grown up and mature and am supposed to be helping to educate Baba. I've bitten my tongue more than once while going over her study questions with her. But last night I lost all control and blurted out "How much do you hate that pansy Dimmesdale?" She responded "Who?" Apparently her response to fictional characters she doesn't like is to not think about them. A novel approach. 

Life's happenings.

X-Man has a "special rock." He keeps it in the freezer. Somehow this makes sense to him, which is all that matters. He recently acquired another "special rock." Which he introduced to his "special rock" and its sister rock. Again, this all seems to make sense to him. In case you were wondering, they are both actually rocks.

I did find him laying on the kitchen floor one summer day with his "special rock" resting on his forehead. After a long satisfied sigh, he returned the rock to the freezer and ran back outside.

X-Man is nothing if not his own person. In Kindergarten his class wrote a book about their favorite animals. X-Man selected the vampire squid to write about. His teacher had to google if it was a real animal or not, no judgment from me, I had to do the same thing. The book is rather amusing, pages of  elephants, horses, dogs and a vampire squid. His teacher said in the twenty years she had been doing that particular project, this was indeed the first appearance of the vampire squid.

X-Man continued his unique streak through to first grade. This time he was working on his own book, in the style of Eric Carle. All the students were supposed to pick an insect or arachnid to write about. X-Man picked......a cockroach. He explained to his teacher that he liked cockroaches because they could eat a lot and sleep during the day. Pretty much his ideal life. And again, his teacher said that in the eighteen years she had been doing this project, this was the first appearance of a cockroach.

So it really should not have come as a surprise that X-Man had an opinion as to what D'Garebear should be named. He immediately declared that if he was having a little brother he would name him "Robin." Robin because, of course, X-Man would henceforth be referred to as "Batman." He's stayed wedded to this idea as the weeks roll on, correcting himself when he uses his brother's given name. Given the tenacity D'Garebear has already exhibited, I'm not sure how long he'll tolerate being X-Man's sidekick.

In case you were wondering, X-Man has shown no interest in ever being seen as Mac's sidekick. Both boys kowtow to Cinco's every whim. Which I'm sure led to her sincere opposition to the dynamic being disrupted by one D'Garebear.

I tried to be the Perfect Mother. I Almost Died. Part C

So, my attempts to be all things and all places for my children really just resulted in high blood pressure. Really high blood pressure. In all honesty, there really should be a "has children syndrome" to go hand in hand with the "white coat syndrome." That just seems responsible.

So, I had an appointment for a geriatric ultrasound. You know, the kind they do when you are old and still having babies. To make sure that as your mind fails you still can grow responsibilities. I was tempted to postpone it, I had a good reason. It was the best day to take the kids to the fair, like I had told them I would. My ultrasound was right at noon, which was a highly inconvenient. The father figure said it was absurd to postpone it. This is important for later. 

Mac, X-Man and Cinco were up at their grandparent's house. Because we had destroyed our kitchen. Our home is nice, but small. It was small before D'Garebear showed up. After he showed up, well it became absurdly small. Even without him being present in the home. So, we decided the best thing to do as I entered my third trimester was to redo the kitchen. We redid the bathroom during my first trimester. Looking back, I think it would have been more bizarre if I hadn't developed blood pressure issues. But anyway, in our attempts to prepare the house for sale or rental, we decided to destroy it, while inviting more children in to live. We thought it through. 

So, three kids were away at grandma's. Baba was off to take care of the house she was house sitting. That left Baby. So I invited her to come see her little brother at my AARPsound. And so we set off.

The geezersound went well, I thought. D'Garebear mooned us and refused to show his face, but nothing seemed amiss. Then the doctor came in. She said there were some things that she didn't like about me, well get in line lady, and she wanted me to go hang out at the hospital for a little to make sure that all was well. She admitted that she was the "Princess of Darkness" always seeing the worst possible scenario and that she was probably overreacted. I tried to reassure her and she told me everything I was telling her made her even more concerned. Well, I tried.

So we all headed over, across the street to the hospital. I encouraged the father figure to walk with me in order to lower my blood pressure. I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible because I hadn't eaten yet that day. I had visions of the pleasant lunch after all the excitement. By the time I got to triage, I was rocking triple digit blood pressure readings, both systolic and diastolic. After a few of those readings, things got a bit more serious. Blood tests were started, magnesium sulfate was started and they gave me a steroid shot for D'Garebear's lungs.

When I'm uncomfortable, I resort to humor. The father figure was getting more and more anxious, and visibly so. While I was supposed to be relaxing and thinking low blood pressure thoughts. So I reminded him that there was no way I would die. God wouldn't allow it. Not because I was a wonderful person or anything. But because I would enjoy watching the father figure try to wrangle six children and trying to juggle their schedules. There's no way God would drop that much suffering in the father figure's lap while I enjoyed the spectacle. The theology is solid.

Furthermore, I comforted the father figure by telling him is odds of finding everlasting love on a Christian dating site as a widowed father of six. He was basically a walking twenty first century Von Trapp family. He'd been inundated by starry eyed twenty somethings with visions of matching outfits and melodies. Baby understood the hilarity of the situation as well, and joined in. The father figure got so agitated he actually started pacing. Threatening to haunt the father figure and his new and improved bride, if she was more attractive than me, did not help lower my blood pressure.

Instead, they announced I was being admitted.

So the father figure took Baby home and I thought about how I was missing lunch. Those thought morphed into how I was also missing dinner. The father figure returned, with a cell phone charger for me and I expected my blood pressure to immediately lower. It did not. Even with drugs, it did not.

The "Princess of Darkness" Doctor entered the room around 6:30pm. This is important because my ultrasound was at noon. And I was hungry then. Now, I was hangry.

She told us in her blunt and straightforward way that I was very sick. Surprisingly sick, for how I looked and how active I was. My kidneys were quitting, my liver was quitting and my blood pressure was begging for a stroke. So, she said, I had an over 50% chance of having an emergency c-section that night. All depended on how my numbers reacted to the medication. And, if I didn't have the baby that night, I would be remaining in the hospital until I did, which best case scenario was at 34 weeks gestation.

I was at 28 weeks.

The father figure looked rather ill and I promptly thought, this is my kid. He'll respond well to the treatments and I'm going to end up in hospital arrest for the next six weeks. Crawling the walls. Seriously, I wasn't allowed to walk anywhere, I had the option, if my blood pressure lowered to be pushed places in a wheelchair. More importantly because they didn't know if I would have surgery, I couldn't eat. Pretty much everything was horrible.

D'Garebear cooperated and there was no c-section that night. The following morning I tried to negotiate a release, I didn't feel all that sick, what's the worst that could happen? Apparently a stroke and/or placental abruption. I was told I'd only be allowed to leave if I signed a form acknowledging I was leaving against medical advice. And I called an Uber because there was no way the father figure was going to bring me home. Meanwhile, the father figure had decided that by shooting down my plan to skip the ultrasound and taking everyone to the fair, he has saved my life. And he became just a wee bit insufferable because of this.

I stayed for two days, doing better, getting very antsy. But I also managed to get two doses of steroids in me, which caused what they call a "steroid honeymoon." I felt better, my numbers were slightly better and D'Garebear continued on swimmingly. They hoped they could get me twenty four hours past the last steroid dosage. And so, 28 hours after the last round of steroids, things started deteriorating. I got physically very ill, and developed nose bleeds. The OB on duty came in an said if things didn't improve I was most likely going to have a c-section. I was annoyed because it was almost ten pm and I just wanted to go to sleep. I felt like I had every night at home, puking before bed was just  a "normal" pregnancy ritual. And then, something happened.

D'Garebear disappeared from the monitors. They had put them on an hour earlier just to check how he was doing. He had been fine. And now he was gone. Not a slow heart rate, no heart rate. Something was wildly different because three nurses burst into the room joining the OB and nurse who had been hanging out with me. I had just tried to text the father figure, but there were so many people doing things, I couldn't get my hands to work. So I called him. I wasn't sure what was happening but the business indicated something seriously amiss. The father figure answered and I told him "Things are getting interesting, you should come up." And then a nurse put an oxygen mask on me and the conversation was over.

They had me try differing positions, quickly and yet there seemed no sign of D'Garebear. Honestly, I don't know if his heart rate returned and was just slow, or what. But within three minutes, we were running down the hall. Ok, I wasn't running, I was on the bed and they were running me down. Putting a hair net on me and commenting on how calm I was.

I was calm because there was nothing else to do. This was happening. I just hoped the father figure would make it up in time because it sounded like I was going to be knocked out. Approaching the OR, D'Garebear's heart rate returned, strong and healthy. This bought time. I got a spinal instead of general. It also bought me time to think. I'd love to say I had beautiful thoughts about my son, determined to make sure he was brought into the world surrounded by peace and love. But no, that's not really what I was  thinking. I was thinking "It's cold in here. I'm not wearing much in the way of clothing and there are a lot of people here." Also "this is all surreal."

The anesthesiologist  was wearing a scrub cap with stormtroopers on it. I asked him if I should really accept drugs from someone from the dark side. Apparently this had never been asked of him and he found it hilarious. He repeated it for the father figure when he appeared. And then the c-section began.

It was unpleasant, but birth isn't ever particularly fun. At 11:30pm D' Garebear was brought into the world. They pulled down the sheet and I laid eyes on my son for the first time, behind a plastic screen. And I thought my little man looked rather simian. And his squeaks added to the monkey resemblance.

D'Garebear was termed "floppy" when he first arrived, but the nurses said the benefits of the steroids were clear. He was two and a half pounds, micropreemie size, but solid and big for how very young he was. He was fifteen and three quarter inches long. He came ready to fight and he has been. His disapearing heart rate was due to a partial placental abruption, just what the Princess of Darkness had warned us would happen.


D'Garebear has passed the baby monkey phase and now look more like an old man. As he chubs up, his baby features become more obvious.He's not a fan of the cpap and has pulled it off a couple of times. He needs time, but he's remarkably healthy and strong.


And I just love him to pieces. 

I Tried to be the Perfect Mom. And I Almost Died. Part Deux

If you are reading this to get tips on how to be a perfect mom......well I got you to click so there's that. But don't hold your breath, you'll pass out before you learn any impressive tips.

So, the thing about being pregnant is eventually you need to admit it to some people. The first people we told were the three older kids. It want something like this.....

Baba: Unimpressed and slightly annoyed. She had said last year she didn't ever want more siblings because she wouldn't really get to know them before leaving for college. It's a reasonable position. And well, she was less annoyed than me so I didn't really worry.

Baby: Super excited. Promptly volunteered to babysit "ALL THE TIME." Considering how that worked when it came to the dog, I will taking care of D'Garebear full time within a week.

Mac: As excited as Baby with less impulse control. We asked them all to not tell anyone else, so he didn't actually tell X-Man and Cinco, he just told them I might be pregnant.

X-Man: Nearly had a stroke with excitement. Promptly assumed that the whole nine month waiting period was created by me just to annoy him. Announced that he wanted a little brother, who would be named Robin. To complement his Batman-ness, of course.

Cinco: Wildly annoyed. She was perfectly comfortable in her role of youngest and queen and tyrant. Very aware the strength of the challenge coming at her and put off that she would have to take it on. Furthermore, she was insulted that while she didn't want a younger sibling X-Man wanted a baby brother and was getting what he wanted. Somehow that made everything worse.

So, there we were. X-Man actually counting down the minutes to the birth, Baba serving as Vice-President to Club Denial.

Early on I knew I had blood pressure issues. I had them with every pregnancy and they were the leading reason why we had decided that Cinco would be our family's final act. And I made the assumption that being active was the best thing to do for my rising blood pressure. If I wasn't pregnant, that actually would have been true. But apparently, that's the exact opposite approach pregnant women should take. Taking the exact wrong approach to parenting has been my modus operandi so far, so at least D'Garebear can rest easy knowing that I cared for him as I had all my other kids. In the worst possible way. I'm consistent.

So, I just kept life as "normal." Which meant insanity. Sixteen years into parenthood and I'm still trying to figure out how to get the "home" into "stay at home mom." All five kids were in martial arts, which meant six classes a week. We originally enrolled just X-Man and Mac as they both could benefit from the slower moving exercises. But the studio's policy is once you've paid for two students, the rest of the family can attend for free. Well not free, there's a lot of stuff you have to buy, but classes are free. As Baba is driving herself now, I wanted her to be able to beat people up so off they all went. Then all three girls are in soccer, X-Man swims and has his therapies. So, even if I had thought to take it easy, it would have been impossible. I was determined to not drop activities because I didn't want D'Garebear to be blamed for that.

On top of life, I was trying to make the most of the summer. Our last summer without a baby or toddler crimping our plans. X-Man's birthday is at the end of July, so I decided we should all visit a water park. Because those are good for the blood pressure. Especially if it takes two hours to drive the to the water park. Not to say the drive wasn't fun. I got to introduce the father figure to the classic Paul Anka hit "Having My Baby." I'm not sure which was more enjoyable for me, watching the father figure fight off an asthma attack while laughing or Baby and Baba's faces while the dulcet sounds of "I love love love what it's doing to me" filled the car. Just in case they weren't disturbed enough by the whole situation. About fifteen minutes from the park, X-Man started wailing that he was missing his entire birthday and we needed to go home.

Eventually X-Man laid eyes on the water park, realized we weren't just driving for the sake of driving. His tears stopped and the long list of all the slides and rides he had to ride on immediately began. And with his excitement, my plans to spend the day floating along the "lazy river" on an inner tube were shelved. The father figure took Cinco, who viewed all rides involving water with great skepticism. I took X-Man and spent the rest of the day climbing stairs to ridiculously tall slides. Apparently my blood pressure was not impressed.

The next day I was at a soccer tournament with Cinco. It was her very first and at the end of July so of course it poured rain in the morning and was 87 degrees. It was simple enough, until I had to yell at two other coaches reminding them that they were about to come to blows over a game being played by six year olds and that their use of f-bombs was absurd. I scared them both. Cranky pregnant women serve an important role in society.

I returned home without my ankles. It took three days for them to find me. Probably because the father figure decided to help me relax at home. It went something like this:

"Lay down. Why haven't you laid down yet? Lay down. Lay down. Lay down!" 

Super relaxing.

"Why aren't you feet up. They need to be above your head. Here have more pillows. Keep your feet above your head. Are you eating? Why are you talking? You need to be resting!"

I think he enjoyed this a little too much.

Of course wherever I decided to rest, I was found. Inevitably I was tasked with solving a significant issue, such as getting a straw in a juice box, or gluing Mario's arm back on. And of course the father figure would get involved.

"Why are you talking to your mother? Shes resting. Come here. I can do it. Leave your mom alone."

"SHE'S FIXING MY TOY! IT'S MY FAVORITE AND CINCO RUINED IT!!!" 
"I DID NOT! IT'S X-MAN'S FAULT. I NEVER BREAK TOYS!"

In case it's not clear, they were in separate rooms, yelling.

When you think about it, it's really amazing my blood pressure held it together as long as it did.

I tried to be the perfect mom. I almost died. Part the first.

It's been exactly two years and one day since I last blogged. A few things have changed. For one, I'm writing this while sitting in a NICU room.

A quick update on our lives in the last two years to set the stage.

Baba and Baby are both in high school now. Baba made the varsity soccer team as a freshman, which then justified the previous ten years of sportsing in my mind. (this matters for explaining my mentality later). Baba is known as "Beast Mode" on the soccer pitch herself and has hopes of making the varsity squad as a freshman herself. Although she likes the option of booku playing time should she make the JV squad.

Mac is the most sensitive of all my children. He is the most aware of others needs and really is the peacemaker in the family. He's not as aggressive on the sports field, he clearly thinks his moves out and often ends up about half a second behind the action as a result. Which frustrates him, but I kinda enjoy because I can see his mind working away.  He's found that martial arts is the best speed for him and he's very invested in it.

X-Man. X-Man is my little hero who drives me bat guano crazy. X-Man has some sensory challenges which we have been working through in multiple therapies. His schedule is rough and busy as a result of these, but he makes the most of his opportunities. These take up a lot of our time and are the main reason I stopped blogging. His working through his various challenges is his story, not mine and he doesn't need me sharing it all over the internet. But I will say, the boy can swim something fierce.

Gestated Cinco is seis now. She is basically an anime character in the flesh. She mostly uses the power of her massive brown eyes for good. Mostly. She runs the house. When she grows up, she told me she wants to be a soccer player or a nail person. Not construction, but beautification. She's very girly girl, including when she plays soccer on a boys soccer team. Efficient and to the point. She got tired of having to out run and out muscle six year old boys who REALLY didn't want a girl to out score them. So she perfected her chip shot and just took to shooting it over their heads.

Oh and we added a dog the the mix. We adopted a golden retriever, who was four years old at the time. She's ideal, except the the shedding. The shedding is......insane. And I say this as mom to Baby who has ten pounds of hair on her head.

And now there's D'Garebear. Who is kangarooing away as I write. Snuggled up next to my heart. Where he belongs, but where he wasn't always welcomed.

The Father Figure and I have been married 18 years. We began the year with five children. We have a pretty good idea how all these tax credits ended up in our lives. I'm not the best at biology, but I do know we don't typically reproduce by spores. I say typically because well, I don't know how D'Garebear got here. Medically speaking....he couldn't have. Yet, I'm pretty sure he's real. His dirty diapers are real. I know age can do some interesting things to both the male and female reproductive systems, but spontaneously reproducing shouldn't be one of them. But whatever, the boy is here, warm and snuggly and the spitting image of the Father Figure so we all know who to blame.

I wish I had a better story to tell, one that involved surprise babies and happy cuddly feelings. There's a surprise baby for sure, but lots of tears and despair. Truly despair. My plate was super full, too full and I still don't know how on earth I am going to do this. Love is infinite, but time, energy and life is very finite. And my children need me. X-Man in particular needs me. But they all do. And it's hard with a big family.

I wanted to be a "different" large family. I did not want my kids to "pay the price" for being one of many. As parents we all want to give our kids the world, and to make the most out of every opportunity, and just because the father figure and I chose multiply the heck out of our fertility, I didn't want our children to pay the price. I wanted them to be able to do the activities they wanted, have the freedom to explore things and in general enjoy growing up. I was determined to not make my girls substitute moms and exploit them for free labor. Considering how they do their chores around the house, this was NEVER going to actually be an issue. I didn't want them to resent or regret anything growing up. I was raised in a large family and I have great memories. I wanted them to have the same and maybe even be open to having a bigger family of their own because it was a positive in their mind.

But, I have a good grasp of my limitations and I knew five children was stretching my abilities. I wasn't homeschooling all five, X-Man might be the only child in the world who actually does attend public school for the socialization. Which, well....the benefits for him still outweigh the rather alarming things he hears on the playground. But he also returns with such gems as --post a MLK lesson---"I have peach skin. Because my skin is furry like a peach." Baby and Baba take some courses at the local high school too. Because I know my limits. I write this sitting in a NICU with a sixth child. I know my limits and I abide by my limits are two different things.

So, in a nutshell, I wanted my children's lives to be perfect because they deserved nothing less. Which is an entirely reasonable life goal.

So D'Garebear shows up. And I was not just unhappy, I was truly miserable. The father figure, who is not one for exaggeration, told me it was a scary dark place. Now, I realize a large part of this was due to a placenta that was actively poisoning me. Which is a relief in way. But I did not want another child in my life. Because I KNEW I could not give him what I wanted to. And I KNEW I could not give my others what they deserved.

I've thought a bit about putting these thoughts to "paper" where any of my kiddos, but especially D'Garebear could find them. I've decided I should. Because some day, each and every one of them will hit a crisis in their lives. Something will go wrong. Their plans will be upended. And they will have to make a choice.

I hope they choose to embrace the unknown, plow through the doubt, ignore the fear. Even if that means refusing to tell anyone they're pregnant because denial keeps the worry at bay. Even if that means forcing themselves to wear non maternity clothes, augmented with rubber bands at the waist, because if you're not in maternity clothes, you're not really pregnant. I hope they do what they need to do to keep putting a foot forward and staying in the moment. Fixing the immediate problem and believing and trusting that those greater looming issues will crest before crushing them.

I hope they choose to live and love not because some kitchy barn house chic sign says so, but because there really is no other way. Nothing else matters if you can chose to will good for others in your life.

And D'Garbear, you are not in this family because we needed you or we wanted you. You are in this family because Someone, before the dawn of time, saw you. He saw you, little tiny you struggling to learn to breathe on your own. He saw your frightened and worried mom, holding you in awe. He saw you, big strong man who gives X-Man a run for his money. He saw you and He called you good. And He willed the good that is you into existence. And that, my boy, is why you are here.

It's not an accident that your name means "full of goodness" even though we didn't know it when we picked it.

And it's not an accident that we see your presence in our lives as a gift. Not something we needed, not something we thought we were missing. But something good given to us despite our shortcomings.

You're part of our family because before time, Someone saw all of us together and called it good. What more could anyone want?