Them's Fightin' Words

Giant Snowstorm.

Karate chop action.

Quite possibly my favorite photo of all time. For the moment.

Please note Hubb's Spencer W. Kimball glasses. His latest nickname is "Spence".

My favorite photo of all time. For now.

The realization that my daughter needed waterproof gloves. I got some the next day.

Mis-matched. Good thing these are in black and white.

Her eyelashes are TDF. Who am I kidding? All of her is TDF.

Batman.

A few weeks back we got a heaping amount of snow. As in DUMPED on with snow. I have not seen snow of this magnitude since I was 8 years old.

Of course a fight ensued between Hubbs and Joth.

Love these people more than anything in this life.

Truly, truly, the luckiest girl in the world.

Hubbs Openly Mocks Me

So, the conversation went something like this:

Hubbs: "So, when are you going to post some good stuff to your blog?"

Me: "I KNOW! I just have so much to write about, and yet nothing all at once."

Hubbs: "I am so sick of your propoganda."

Me: "So am I, but it has to be done, I needed people to freaking vote for that bond, and dood, readers like free stuff."

So, to appease both sides of the masses, Hubbs and free stuff, here I am to say:

"Hubbs, I love you, I will have some good things to blog in a day or two. JUST for you. Hopefully this post will suffice, because as per our conversation earlier today, I told you I would be blogging this."

As for you, the masses:

"I hope that the occasional giveaway is fun. I honestly get asked to do a lot, and I only choose the ones I feel are awesome and beneficial. So, to honor that, and to honor National Adoption Month, and along with the r house couture , I would like to give you a $5 off coupon code good for any custom order from my etsy shop during the month of November. Think of it as an early Christmas present from me to you. We are going to be loading the shop with LOTS of fun and affordable Christmas gifts in two weeks, so watch for those."


Anyway, here is to more (amazing) propoganda, and to many more 'Hubbs' worthy posting. My heart needs it, oh I have so many posts to share...let me just say, I am getting more and more brave to share some things, and when I do, I am going to let it all out.

Happy Wednesday.

xo

My batteries need recharging.

I feel like the stars aligned tonight as I sit at my kitchen table working, in my bare feet. It is late, and the day has been filled with screaming kids, noisy toys, and shutter releases of happy faces, dirty faces, crying faces, and sleepy faces.

Let us specifically talk about the noisy toys and the shutter releases. When I was little we did not have many toys that required batteries. I am so old I guess that it wasn't until I was almost out of the house that we started having things like hand held video games like the ancient versions of Nintendo DS and whatnot. None of which I ever had.

My mind goes to my little sisters and their Leap Pads. I am 12 and 15 years older than my sisters, so after I was married I was virtually their daycare provider for years. They would come to my house in the mornings and lug with them their Leap Pads, DS's and other various battery-operated toys. You would think it was a wise way for them to pass the time right? Well, yes and no. 99% of the time these toys were non-functioning. The batteries were dead. The reason they brought them to their big sister? They knew I would change the batteries. Even though I didn't grow up with them, I knew that Mom and Dad never changed the batteries in their toys. I mean, c'mon I understand why...batteries can be spendy, and toys can be extremely annoying, but for a kid, a toy with dead batteries is simply worthless.

So, I would change the batteries. I vowed from that day forth to always change the batteries in my children's toys.

Then I became a photographer. If I have a wedding I can go through 15+ batteries in each of my flash units in ONE DAY. Batteries are expensive, and the best brand on the market I found to run my flash units and my pocket wizards is hands down Energizer. More specifically the Energizer Ultimate Lithium Batteries. Once I tried these babies I could never go back. I could now go through a wedding day and not have to change the batteries from my flash, and for a photographer, not having to miss a moment is priceless! So, I stocked up so that I would always have some on hand. Then, one day after my six month leave of absence after having Millz, I went to my battery stash, and it was GONE!

In six months Hubbs, J-Man, Memms, and Millz had used up all of my batteries. They were strewn all over the house. Inside of Spiderman's bumm, the baby monitor's side (because really, we can't miss that Spanish radio or the Baptist preacher that streams through it, forget about the baby screaming her guts out). Some were in the Leapster, and the various Fisher Price friends. I screamed and wanted to run all around the house, screwdriver in hand to rescue my precious batteries. Of course, in the end I sucked it up and went to the store before my wedding, all the time cursing myself for my 'always replace the batteries oath'.

So, you may ask, what do bare feet and batteries have to do with stars aligning? I came across this super cute blog...and kept nodding my head when I read this post. I need me some of these Energizer Recharge Smart Charger. I need a million of them. That way I will have enough to share.

I am headed to New York in two weeks to attend BlogHer '10. To meet other sweet, funny, kind, adorable ladies like myself, and mostly to get away from the screaming kids and noisy toys. All the while hoping to recharge ME. I want to be an Energizer Smart ChargHER!

The main reason I NEED to be the Energizer Smart ChargHER more than anything is not for the money to buy more batteries, but for the simple reason that I have no wardrobe for BlogHer '10. I have been stressing for weeks about what to wear, and the Energizer shirt sounds like the perfect option, I just hope to be chosen in time to create my matching earrings and necklace ensemble, made from recycled batteries of course.

"Housekeeping!"

(shot on Ilford Delta 3200...(that is film).)

Remember how I mentioned we were downsizing?

Well, we are selling our house.
Why?
I hate this question, I want to SCREAM:
'none of your business'
I answer the same questions a million times,
Usually,
"the economy sucks."
And whatnot.
Mostly?
My kids are growing, and the economy sucks and we are blessed to be able to go back to our other house to live, and there is a yard there, I will get them a playset, I don't want my husband to die, it is a CHOICE not a have to kind of a thing (well, for now),
etc...etc...

But this post isn't about that.
This post is about:

House Keeping.

When you sell a house you have to keep it really clean.

Firstly, so you can take photos to put said house online.
Secondly, so that when people come to see your house, they will not notice what slobs you are, but rather, what a beautiful house you have...and then they will dream about it until they buy it.
(btw my house is BEAUTIFUL)

So, this past week we have been cleaning like MAD.
Spring Cleaning on Steroids.
That kind of cleaning.

So, Hubbs and I have a conversation yesterday in the car.

Me: "So, sometimes our renters aren't so clean huh?"
Hubbs: "Nope."
Me: "Are we 'clean'?"
Hubbs: "Nope"

This is when I hit him in the arm and gave him a huge bruise.

Truthfully?
Our house isn't always the cleanest.
I couldn't get this out of my head as I scrubbed the bathrooms today.
I just can't stand having the way my house looks rule my life!
I have to now that our house is on the market,
but geez.
It just is not on my priority list...it isn't terrible, but it could be better.

Why is it so hard to do keep up?
Well, I will tell you.
I am doing it all by myself.
While I love my husband so very much, and he does help me on that rare, (rare) occasion,
and his only job is to dump the garbages
(that may or may not get done weekly),
(we will just forget that his job was also to vacuum once a week, at least,
but that didn't happen either, even after and I quote:
'if you write it down for me to do I will do it.')
Uhm, ya...sure.
I am on my own for the rest of it.

Dishes
Laundry
Sweep/Mop (no easy feat with our entire upstairs being hardwood)
Vacuuming
Bathrooms
Dust
Ironing
Yard work
Etc...etc

Well folks, guess what I just realized after
9.5 years of marriage?

I have been wracking my brain for years as to why my husband cannot for the
life of him consistently help around the house.
The answer came a few weeks ago.
Ready?
Get this:

He grew up in a house that always had a maid.
(Many South American families do.)

He didn't have to do any of these things, they were done for him already.

Oi.
9.5 years of disappointment all to have it explained to me in one shining moment.

Well Hubbs,
get ready, because in this market...we could be looking at
months
of
'Nazi Kim'
and it is not going to be pretty.

So, in my defense, I have to say, if I was a maid, and only a maid, then the house would be perfect. But since I am the mom, wife, chauffeur, CEO, CFO, part time working photographer, church worker extraordinaire,
etc...etc...
Try as I might, I am not perfect in all things, but I can be perfect in some things.
Housekeeping?
Not one of those things.
So in closing may I just say:

If I don't get the help I need, I may just hire MYSELF a maid.

(This post is written with love and jest. Hubbs has heard this a million times and knows I love him to the moon and into eternity...
I would however, possibly be persuaded to love him more if he folded some laundry now and again.)

I have no words.

Polaroid 600 SE

Freaking INSOMNIA...and that one post I promised.

Dood.

It is three in the fracking morning.

I cannot sleep.
Perhaps it was the four miles I ran in the ffffreezing cold today.

Perhaps it was the chocolate I HAD to eat before my first attempt at going to bed.
(I totally knew better.)

Perhaps it is because there are SO many things I want to do with my family, my photography, my life...
that my head
just! won't! stop!

I knew I should have taken that Tylenol P.M. at midnight. If I had I would be blissfully sleeping right now. Speaking of Tylenol...do you guys want to send me to Blogher '10?!
I am totally looking high and low for someone to sponsor my trip...huh?! Would you???
E-mail me.
(This is an entirely different post altogether. I am not kidding either.)

Okay...onto other things.

Shall we discuss the 'trial of the year', or in our hopes the 'trial of the decade' in hopes we don't E-V-E-R have to go through something so silly EVER again?

Somehow I deleted the email from Hubbs that had all of the deets.
I will try to recall them from my own memory as I laughed my head off as each event occurred (while secretly being terrified for him.)
*Please note, names have been changed to protect the innocent, er the crazy...and everything is via my own account, Hubbs has nothing to do with this post. Hold me accountable for every single word.

So Hubbs had this client who was selling HIS house.
Meaning, the client was
the. only. one. on. the. freaking. title. to. the. house.
Hubbs is an amazing man, I tell you what! He works SO hard at EVERTHING he does, it is incredible. With the economy all slumpy, he has put forth extra effort to make sure he goes the extra EXTRA mile in his work. This means in church, school, and his real estate. ESPECIALLY his real estate.
I think anyone who has worked with him can attest to such.
He amazes me.

Anyway, back to this client, we will call him Jorge*. Jorge had his house listed FOR FREAKING ever. Even before the housing market hit the slopes. Hubbs plugged along with refusal to lower the selling price, on the market, off the market, and so on and so forth. Jorge happened to work out of town A LOT and was NEVER home to make sure the house was in order and ready to be shown. The other problem? Jorge's mom. We will call her Mama* a.k.a 'the debil' yes the deBil. I like it like that.

Mama lived in Jorge's house. Mama was crazy. As in certifiably crazy. She refused to let anyone in the house. ANYONE. She was certain that people coming to see the house were going to take her things (understandable...but let's be honest there was probably nothing worth taking). She did her best to make sure the house would. not. sell. The only times the house was able to be shown was if Jorge happened to be in town.

On a number of occasions Hubbs would stop by the house, and Mama would attack him verbally with all sorts of interesting phrases. Once this home hit the 1+ year on the market and it went under contract despite Mama and her attempts to sabotage such...she became 'evil, wicked, mean and nasty' to the tenth power.

One day in particular Hubbs went to meet with Jorge to sign papers or something, and Mama had ruined his brand new lock box...she had spray painted it...trying desperately to make it unusable so that no one would have further access to HER house.

While Hubbs was there she took a brick to said box and began pummeling it...Hubbs tried to convince her to stop and then said brick was then thrown into Hubbs direction.
Luckily for Hubbs and his glasses, Mama was a poor shot.
When said brick neglected to connect with Hubbs, Crazy Mama grabbed a water bottle and ran across the lawn and slapped Hubbs in the face with said water bottle.
That is when Jorge tackled Mama to the ground.

Now, do you see where this is going?
Hubbs probably should have gone to the police.
Hubbs is SO nice he did nothing of the sort.
He just talked to Jorge, went about his job and healed from this attempted head smashing.

Me? Well I had no idea ANY of this was going on.
Hubbs never let me in on it until...

Daaaaaa daaaaaa daaaaa....

(Commence scary, theatrical music.)

The day the new owners were suppose to move in, and Crazy Mama
had barricaded herself into 'HER' house.
Long story short, and several hours later
(on J-dawgs birthday I might add...thanks for ruining an important day for us Crazy Lady.) after the police were called in to take her from the premises...she finally had the choice to go to jail, or to go home with another of her son's.
She finally chose to go with her other son.
Sadly, at this point no one wanted to take care of her.
Very sad actually.

...one month after the closing we get a knock on our door late one night.

A man.
Serving us with papers.

Crazy Mama was suing Hubbs for $10,000.
Gulp.
I felt faint, a little dizzy, and a little more than absolutely clueless as to why.

I paced back and forth, I couldn't sleep that night.
Then Hubbs begins to tell me all about these stories, in more detail.

Two months pass and trial day comes.
Luckily we were 90% sure that this lady had no case.
But still in the back of our minds we were really scared at what could possibly happen to our little family if she won.

She didn't win.
Poor thing.
Even after attempted mediation, she still went before the judge...and he still ruled in our favor.

Hubbs?
Well, after the trial, he and his broker and his broker's wife sat in the courtroom and talked for three hours to this Crazy Mama...who was basically homeless and living in her car.
They talked about ways to help her try to find a place to live.\

FOR THREE HOURS

Tears.

That was two weeks ago.

Even today Hubbs was on the phone trying to track her down.
No one can find her.
Her sons won't answer their phones, nor return messages from Hubbs or the broker.
Hubb's broker is also trying to find her to no avail.
It is so sweet, words cannot express my love for my sweet husband
and all he is doing for this woman.

My point?

I am thankful that we won and did not have to shell out 10k to Mama.

I am thankful I married such an amazing guy.



And if you need to sell your home or buy a new home,
he is your guy.

Just promise not to throw any bricks at him please.
I kind of really like his face the way it is.

I hope you dance.

What I would have given to have a dad like him.

He really is the best.

I love him to pieces.

The scary thing is,
before I turn around twice these two will be dancing at her wedding.

Nine Years and a Million More

The time has flown by.

NINE years.

It feels so strange to say that. It feels like just yesterday I met this amazing man.

So, in honor of our ninth year anniversary,
I will share with you the story of how we met.

Hubbs and I met shortly after his mission for
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
He had served his mission in Anaheim, California. He was 22 years old,
I was 18.
YES 18.

I was still in high school!

I would leave school at 2:10 p.m. and basically speed (yes...SPEED) to make it the ten miles to be to my full time job at 2:30 p.m.

How many high school kids do you know that go to school all day then go straight to work and don't get home until 10 at night? Not many.

I did it. I did it for 6 months during my senior year.

It was rough.

Anyway, to make a really long story even shorter, I didn't work most Thursday nights because I had a clinical class for nursing assisting that I had to attend on Thursdays. So the first day of training for a new area of this job happened to be on a Thursday. I came into work on Friday, and during our meeting everyone was jabbering on and on and on about the trainer. How he wore a pink polo shirt, and his name was "Fabio" and how gay he must be.

Hilarious, I laughed along, thinking how funny it was, and a wee bit sad I missed out on the pink shirt because I had been gone. I knew I wouldn't have the chance to meet this Fabio because I wasn't going to be doing phone work with the rest of the group.

As I walked to the computers that day after our group meeting, one of my good friends from training convinced me in about 30 seconds that the phone work was REALLY easy and SO much better than the computers. If any of you know me, you know that in high school I was HIGH ANXIETY.

The fact that I even went to sit down and learn the phones was an amazing feat.

Anyway, I sat down and shortly after met the famed Fabio.

No pink shirt (to my dismay).
I did, however notice that he was wearing a CTR ring.



This convinced me that he probably wasn't gay,
and that perhaps there was some explanation for his pink shirt.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I noticed he would always talk to this old lady.
I thought it was super weird because he was so young and always spent his time
with this other woman.
(this woman turned out to be his MOM.)

Our seats were not assigned either so my friends and I would move around quite often. One day my friend said to me,

"Kim, don't you notice that Fabio always sits next to you?"

I hadn't really noticed up until that point, I just thought he was being nice and helpful. Tee hee. I did notice him on breaks and stuff that he would often be in close proximity to me. After that I started to notice that he took every opportunity to be by me.

A few weeks later I had some Pepperidge Farm cookies in my bag, and I asked Fabio if he wanted some...so I shared.

That began our deep conversations.

He asked me that night if I wanted to 'hang out' and go bowling with him and some of his friends.

I had to politely decline (it was a school night and my curfew was basically when I got off work).

He had no clue what a 'curfew' was.

Strike one for Fabio.



A couple days later, he asked me to 'hang out again'.

I finally got the idea that this guy had a THING FOR ME!

AHHHH. I wanted nothing to do with him. He was 22, and was only looking for a wife.

I was 18, and I had SO many plans. College, mission, backpack Europe. Etc...etc.

Marriage was THE furthest thing from my mind. My parent's marriage had ended in divorce and I was kind of anti-marriage at that point in my life.

Strike two for Fabio.



Again, he asked me out...

Strike three.

I have to tell you at this time in my life, I REALLY was busy an I had LEGITIMATE excuses to be turning this young man down.

I really didn't want to date him, he was from Brazil, and had a great accent, and he was kind of cute, but needed some serious wardrobe help...and really I didn't want to deal with it.

Strike four.

The poor guy asked me out FOUR times and I said NO each and every time.




The time came for my little group of trainees to move to another building. There was this small part of me that felt bad for this guy who had tried so hard to ask me out.

On the last night we were in the same building, I wrote my number down on a piece of paper and slid it to him.

I apologized for always being too busy to 'hang out' with him and told him to call me sometime.

I was pretty sure he wouldn't call.

I think I was hoping he wouldn't.

He called two days later.




I picked up the phone and it was Flavio!

He called wanting to know if I could go out and I said YES.

He was SO stunned that he stammered and sputtered.
(he hadn't even planned a date...so sure I was going to say no.)

He asked me to go to a birthday party of one of HIS Brazilian friends, and said:

"Do you want to meet me there?"

I said, "Well, that would be great except I have no idea who your friend is, and you are asking me out so you probably should come and pick me up."

Poor Flav.



He came and picked me up later that evening. I kept looking out the window for some atrocious beater car. When a super sporty red car pulled in front of my house and Flavio got out, I was floored.

Say what?!

Home Run.



We went out.

Here is where I would like to tell you it was the most romantic date ever.

It wasn't.

It was horrible.

We spent the evening with 30 or so Brazilians who spoke only Portuguese.

Not the best first date for someone who only knows English.

He took me home that night and I vowed not to do that again.

He called me the next week.

I decided to give him ONE more chance.



I am so glad that I did.

Our second date was the best I have ever been on.

I knew that night that this man was going to be my eternal companion.

Really. I. Did.

Strange but true.

Nine months later we were married.

I was still 18.



It was the best decision I ever made.

I love you sweet 'Fabio'.

So thankful for you.

Nine years.

3 Kids. 1 Angel.

and a hope for a million more years together.

Happy Anniversary Love.

I Apologize

To my Hubbs.


I came across this orange gift bag a few weeks ago. It was in the Halloween decoration box, and I found it as I was trying to get my kids ready for the ward Halloween extravaganza.

At this same time I was just a week out of my surgery and feeling very emotional and drugged, so perhaps it all has something to do with it...

...but mostly I have finally grown up,
and I need to tell my sweet, sweet husband how sorry I am for so very many things.



I know you don't think that I care about the "little" things you do...or used to do or did or still do.

When I saw this bag I recalled with perfect clarity the day you brought it to me over nine years ago. It was filled with some of my favorite treats from that time period.

Nestle Treasures.
(Which is no longer around, they go by another weird and random name now.)

I recall oftentimes receiving gifts such as these, or notes, or flowers, and at the time I didn't appreciate them as much as I should have.

Part of me was embarrassed, or part of me felt extremely unworthy of love or adoration from anyone,
especially from you.

I loved every moment of these thoughtful things, and looking back I really wish I would have done more to let you know how much I loved and appreciated them, how much I wish I would have showed you that I deserved them.



This one especially chokes me up when I read it:





'Cuz I didn't, and I haven't...not until now...almost ten years later.
I finally see it.

I can finally feel comfortable enough with myself
to realize how lucky and blessed and deserving I am of such a
wonderful and loving husband.

I kept waiting for you to go away
like so many things in my life did while I was growing up...
I did what I always did to the good things
in my life that didn't last.

I pushed them away.

Thank you for not leaving.

Thank you for not giving up on me.

I am sorry.

Sorry for being a spoiled brat at times,
and a beastly 'b' at others.
(WAY, way, way! more often than not.)



Thanks for loving me enough to buy me this black coat a year after we got married.
I love it so much and still have it, I can't part with it.
I just remember how excited we were to buy it...and how shocked I was that you did buy it.

And it was to make ME look good.
I am selfish like that.

I am a lucky girl.

So sad I haven't fully realized it...until now.



Thanks for taking me on horrid four hour 'whale watching' extravaganzas in Rhode Island.
Thank you for letting me see Autumn back east.
I still dream of it often and want to run back there with you someday.



Thank you for letting me start fights at someone's wedding service when I hear them talking trash about my husband's culture.



Thank you for loving me through horrible flat hair and too much makeup,
even when I thought I looked fabulous.

You are right, I look pretty no matter what,
and really I am not all that much fatter than when we got married.

I am sorry I haven't realized this until now.

I am sorry I haven't taken the time to appreciate who I was inside,
thank you for appreciating who I was regardless.



Thank you for loving me enough to let me fly.
For letting me have my many hobbies and crazy times to remain sane...
even when it costs you lots and lots of money in the process.

Each thing has allowed me to grow and develop as a person, physically, and spiritually.
You are always there for me.
Every. Day.

I am sorry I complained for so long and only
focused on the times
you weren't there
because you couldn't be.
(Because you were usually working to pay off the debt I got us into.)



I am especially sorry that I taught you too much English.

I miss your accent and your misspelling of words.

I miss making these little cards for you.



Thank you for this.

Thank you for helping me to become who I am today.
I love you more each and every day.

You are my everything.

Love you forever.

I mean that.

Finally, a story that ends WITH a baby.

I am extremely teary right now.

This post needs to be written.
I hate that it has taken so long.
It is so sacred, and so special that it needed me to have the time to put it down.

I will preface with the fact that I have an EXTREME case of
"pregnant brain" combined with sleep deprivation.

It is my hope I can remember the minutes of this day like they happened, and recall with full heart how I felt.

The Monday prior to Millz birth, I had an appointment with my doctor where he
"stretched my cervix".

Let's just leave it at this: That it hurt like a mother. And I left with his words ringing in my mind, "60-70% of women will begin labor within 48 hours."

On the way home I texted one of my besties.
She said, "You'll prolly be in the 30% that don't start labor huh?" She knew what I was thinking.
I went home that night uncomfortable, but with no signs that I would have this baby before my doctor was scheduled to leave for his vacation on Friday.

Tears.

I wanted nothing more than to have HIM there to deliver this sweet girl. I prayed hard, I cleaned my house,
I MOWED THE LAWN.
NADA.

So, the night before Millz was born, I was out photographing a beautiful friend of mine, Crystalyn.
Yes, nine months pregnant I was still shooting, but at that point, one only hopes and prays that any sort of physical activity will activate full blown labor.

It didn't.

I went home and had a hard time falling asleep.
I felt like CRAP.

I woke up the next morning still feeling just all around yucky, but not in "labor". Sure, I had contractions...just like the weeks before, every 3-30 minutes. Crystalyn called me that morning, just to say,
"I felt like I needed to call you and see how you are doing."

Because of her sweet call, and her urging me to go to the doctor, I started to think,
"Huh, maybe I am in labor?"

She proceeded to tell me,
"You know you feel like crap because: YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE A BABY!"

I still laugh at that sentence.
Hindsight: She was right. At the moment: I was in denial.

I told her that I would indeed go into the hospital if I didn't start feeling better. The contractions kept coming and coming, but inconsistently, and I still felt like crapola.

I ran some errands with Hubbs, we got some lunch, then dropped the older kiddos off on the in-laws and we were off to the hospital, just to see what the heck was up and why I was feeling so icky.

We got to the hospital at 4:00 p.m.

It took what felt like forever to get to the L&D room for monitoring. Here, I was informed they would monitor me for an hour...see if I was progressing, if not then they would send me home.

BOO.

I was dilated to a 2+ when I came in. I could have cried (remember all the cervix stretching? A fancy term for "stripping of the membranes") Well when the nurse, Kathleen told me that I hadn't progressed since then...I CRIED. I knew the hour would be pointless...I felt dumb for even going into the hospital. I just wanted to turn around and leave. But I didn't...I stayed for the entire hour.

Kathleen came back in, checked me and I dilated 1/2 a centimeter. YES a half. They want you to dilate 1 centimeter an hour in order to keep you. Kathleen was SO sweet, and SO kind that she said,

"Well, how about if we keep you for one more hour? But if you don't dilate I will have to send you home because we are SUPER FULL."

Me: "Okay." All the time hoping and praying that SOMETHING would happen.

I took a few laps around the L&D floor. Hubbs was at a closing during this hour...so I was alone.
I had a lot of time to contemplate about this sweet baby girl. How I wanted to meet her, how I longed to have our Dr. Lloyd be there to deliver her, how I wanted Jon to be able to come and photograph her first perfect moments of life...
I prayed a lot that week...that things would line up and all would go perfectly, like I wanted it to.

After the second hour I went back to the room, and Kathleen checked me again. Dilated to a 3.5. BLAST. Only another 1/2 a centimeter? Things were happening but UBER slow. Kathleen said she was off to get some meds to send me home...assuring me I would be back within the day to have the baby.

She left the room, and there I was alone with baby in my belly, teary, praying.

I prayed and prayed and prayed.

The monitors were still on. Kathleen didn't come back.
She didn't come back for almost 45 minutes.

When she did come back in, she said,
"Well, I called the Doctor on call (not my doctor...frowny face) and he wants to keep you."

Me: "WHAT?!"

Kathleen had been monitoring me and apparently in the 45 minutes since she had gone my blood pressure had sky-rocketed. (As did the pain level of the contractions which were now coming every 3 minutes).
Dr. Barton wanted to keep me for fear I was becoming preeclamptic.

Even though I felt like garbage...I was having a baby...soon!

Remember when I said Heavenly Father loved me?
Well, He does. A LOT.

I was admitted at 7:00 p.m.







Got my epidural at 9:00 p.m. Alone. Had sent Hubbs home to shower and change
(hello these pictures were going to be eternally shot on FILM...he had to look good.)
Needless to say, big mistake and my contractions went crazy painful after they broke my water (just seconds BEFORE he left.)

I am a wuss but a thankful wuss that there is such wonderful things as epidurals.

Mmm, epidural.

At 10:00 p.m. dilated to a five. Had Hubbs call Jon.
(Even though Hubbs and Kathleen thought I was crazy...they both thought baby wouldn't come for 'quite some time'".)

Jon arrives within the hour:



Don't I look freaking hott for being 9 months pregnant?
(I meant that...really!)



The pitocin, combined with the epidural really sped things along.
Wanna know the cool part? Who ordered the pitocin?

Dr. Lloyd.

Yep, Dr. Barton called him and HE CAME IN!

To deliver Millz.

Tears.

Miracles.



Oh the hilarity when Dr. Lloyd came into check me and I introduced him to our friend Jon.
Dr. was like, "Uhm, do you want him to LEAVE?!"

Funny.
Recall the "hooha" dilemma?

Who cares?
Really?

Anyway, he checks me and I am like at a six. Feeling TOTALLY dumb for calling Jon.
So Hubbs, Jon and I talk for the next hour.



Here I am texting mrs. r so she can give the world the play by play via twitter and facebook.

Thanks Linds.

Also, making Leisha spend tons of money by sending her texts. Get a new plan already okay Leish?





As we are sitting there, the new nurse comes in and I tell her:
"I am feeling a lot of pressure...I think the baby is ready."

So she checks me, and YEP...Millz was ready.

10.













I pushed once.

The world stopped for a moment and the room went silent when we hear,
"The cord is around her neck."

(Okay...)

Apparently all is well, when I push once more and Dr. Lloyd proclaims:
"Baby is out."

11:58 p.m.

Two minutes before my Step-dad's birthday.

What can I say, she wanted her own day.





She is beautiful, everything I imagined her to be and more.

She looks like her big sister, only with slightly smaller cheeks and lips.

Her head is perfectly round.

I bawl.

Hubbs bawls.



I think originally that her mouth is REALLY small, until I get these pictures back from Jon and see this one:



She has the same mouth as her brother and sister.

It is trademarked.



Dark hair. Tiny hands.

I hear her weight: 7lbs 9 ounces.

I proclaim: "She is so small."

Dr. Lloyd informs me that she is not small.

I insist: "Small for ME, she is TINY".

And the following photo which makes me cry to this day and is the entire reason I wanted Jon there to capture this moment, and why everyone needs someone there to capture this moment:



My sweetheart and eternal companion. I love him.
The best daddy ever.

He adores her already.







She is perfect in every way.
Teary.

I still do nothing but hold her.

I am the luckiest girl.

THE LUCKIEST.

All of my dreams have come true.

So will yours.

Keep hoping.

Never, never, never give up hope.

Never.