A Tale of Two Boobs

(Do you mind if I just say boob? Saying breast makes me feel like I'm someone I'm not and we all know what they are anyways. Boob, boob, boob. Is it demeaning? I don't think so. I hope you don't either...)

Disclaimer: I don't know if this even needs to be said, but this really is a post about boobs. Mine in particular. And their newest function. So if me saying boob or reading that breast milk really comes out of them makes you squeamish, I'd advice you not continue. :)

I can truly say I never thought I would write an entire blog post on my boobs. I knew they would become a much more integral part of my life once we had children; that they would sustain said children for over a year. I didn't know our first child would be head over heals in love with them, requesting them vehemently as often as every few minutes whether she needed to eat or not. I didn't know I could love and hate them so much; loving the bond they allow between my child and me, hating the leak stains they leave on the bed sheets, my shirts, the couches. So as much apart of my life that my boobs are now, it seems only fitting they get their 15 minutes of fame on our family blog. So without further adieu, A Tale of Two Boobs.

One of my biggest fears of having a baby was knowing that people would see my boobs. I'm a very modest girl and prefer to keep them nice and covered up where they belong. But knowing the basics of how child rearing tends to work, I knew eventually people would see them. And see them they did.

The second Reagan was born I ripped open my gown. I wanted her directly on my chest and I couldn't have cared less at the time if someone saw anything. My mom laughed at me for my sudden lack of modesty. I had a goal, though, and modesty played no part in it. Reagan had latched within the first 5 minutes of life. It didn't last long, but I felt success! Breast feeding was something I was extremely passionate about, but I had my concerns. I have known many people that struggled with it, and I wanted to give my daughter and me the best chance at succeeding as possible. I desperately longed for the bond of breast feeding, to be able to sustain our child from my own body, to experience such a natural thing.

Our first actual feeding a couple hours after she was born must have been extremely annoying for Reagan as I tried to put everything I had read into practice. No one showed me what to do, so Reagan and I just went off of what little experience I had and winged it. She fussed, squirmed and complained greatly in newborn fashion, but I pushed forward. I was determined! She wasn't latching well but fortunately I had what they told me was a 'great supply' and I could literally leak colostrum into her furiously rooting mouth. I was not discouraged.

We were up most of the first full night in the hospital. She had decided she really was hungry and was desperate to eat, but still couldn't quite latch. She would seemingly get a good latch here and there, only to loose it after a few sucks. After numerous attempts and fails, I finally manned up and asked for help.

Let me tell you- having someone, albiet a nurse, handle my exposed boobs is just as awkward as I imagined it would be.

Between about four different nurses from the remainder of our hospital stay, I got a lot of advice. Sandwich your nipple, make sure she gets enough boob in her mouth, make sure her chin is down, make sure her head and neck are aligned with her spine. Reagan and I managed. She still struggled with latching but between the hours she would spend nursing and me just leaking into her mouth, she ate.

Our Pediatrician (who is amazing and comes to our house! But more on that in a later post...) is also a lactation consultant and really worked with us to find out what our issue was. Turns out our sweet little girl sucks in her bottom lip. She does it so often that while she is nursing, most of the time she will suck her lip in with my nipple which leaves little to hold the nipple in her mouth, thus she would loose the latch. We began literally opening her bottom lip with our fingers when she would go to latch and it has worked wonders!

Reagan got down to 7 lbs, 2 oz which was as low as our pediatrician wanted to see her get, especially since she was jaundiced. So we nursed and nursed and nursed. Reagan was seemingly satisfied between feedings, was peeing and pooping us out of our savings account, and wasn't overly groggy or tired. All the signs that she was getting enough. She was gaining weight slowly, but she was gaining.

I really do enjoy breastfeeding. Even when she wasn't latching well, I didn't get too stressed. When we had learned that her jaundice had gotten worse towards the tail end of our struggles with nursing, however, I did stress out. I had just read that breast milk is the best way to remove jaundice and that if her bilirubin got to a certain level she could get BRAIN DAMAGE or DIE. And here we are told that our 3 day old baby's, who is struggling with nursing, bilicubin levels are even more elevated! And she wasn't gaining weight as fast as she should be. Three strikes against us! My stressing out did nothing but lessen my milk supply, which stressed me out further, yada, yada, yada, insert catch 22 here, my milk supply retreated. Our pediatrician told me breast feeding was 99% head game, and I needed to just trust that my body would do it's job. So I did. And then it did.

It hasn't been a walk in the park but it certainly hasn't been a walk through hell either. The most stressful part about breast feeding, to which I'm sure most mom's will agree, is not knowing how much she's getting. How do I know if it's enough? Well, I just have to trust that my body us doing it's job. And Reagan is a pretty good indicator, too. She is 100% jaundice free, has been gaining about half an ounce a day, and is up over 8 pounds! She (usually) is a happy camper between feedings and still pees and poops like a champion. Through our nursing session, I listen to make sure I hear swallowing, and watch to make sure her jaw is moving as she sucks.

It isn't the sit back, relax and nurse like I expected it would be. But you know what? I am sustaining a human being with milk that I make on my own. What's YOUR super power?

One Month

Dear Reagan-

As we (all too) quickly approach your one month birthday, I can't help but think about how fast time has flown. Truly it was just yesterday that we met you for the first time, excited beyond tears to finally see you, touch you, hold you. Yet the calendar swears you're nearing that four week mark, and I can't call it's bluff.

It's bitter sweet, you growing up. Your breath has changed. From birth it was an amazing scent best described as sweet nail polish remover. People laughed at me when I described it as such, but it was true! I know it sounds crazy but I could sit and breathe it in for hours at a time- your breath just smelled that good; sweet, warm and alive. It has since moved on to a sour milky scent, still comforting to a needy mom, but it's just not quite the same.

Your cry has grown up, too. While you still do my ever loved (and laughed at, sorry, dear...) "uh-wah! uh-wah!" cry, you have mostly moved on from your squeaky bird cry. It was such a sweet, sincere, tired sounding cry. It sounded as though you put forth little effort, or almost as if you were hoarse. You have, however, perfected your anger cry. It hasn't been coined "Reagan Rage" for nothing.

Fortunately, for my poor breaking heart, you haven't lost you spastic, 'aerobic' movements. If you're awake and not nursing, you are constantly, without ceasing, moving. Your limbs have yet to look attached to your body. Your legs flail out between kicking, bicycling and Lord only knows what else. Your hands are constantly moving back and forth to your mouth, and if startled to any extent, they shoot outward as if you are triumphant in your winning of some award. Your face rotates between umpteen different expressions; the root of many of our laughter outbreaks.

Watching you wake up is my most coveted time these days. You do not wake up crying. You wake very slowly, starting with quiet grunting, squinting your eyes without opening them, and then begins the stretching. You stretch your arms straight out in all directions. You stretch the full length of your body, quite often arching your back off the mattress. Though you're swaddled from your armpits down (Lord help the man who inhibits movement of your arms and hands) you usually manage to stretch out of your blanket. Blinking a few times, you open your eyes and are bright eyed and alert. The last week or so, I've been able to squeeze a few smiles out of you at this time. You're quiet and content until you realize that feeling, and OH-MY-GOODNESS-WOMAN-FEED-ME-ALREADY!

It must be pretty confusing because I laugh at you almost through our whole nursing session. You are so predictable and funny. Realizing you're hungry is always such a sudden event and you do not take to the situation lightly. You are instantly furious, writhing and screaming lest I get you to my breast immediately. You can be mid-shriek as I lay you on my lap to pull up my shirt, and you know enough to know whats coming to quiet down. But I only have about .34 seconds before you start wailing again. As I bring you to my breast you inhale and exhale 3 to 4 times very quickly, from impatience or excitement I'm not quite sure. You rooting for my breast cracks me up; you are so ferocious about it. Apparently, nursing is an extremely serious task. Once latched, you almost always make a few little guttural noises as you exhale that almost sound like snickering. It is definitely a noise of success. When you first latch, you always suck so fast, as if you haven't eaten in days, all while scrunching your forehead and squinting your eyes. This is most definitely one of my favorite faces you make. While nursing you rotate between holding my hand, breast, or trying to poke your eye out.

But my favorite part about nursing, hands down, is if you break the latch before you intend to. I call you my little Velociraptor; you are all business. You usually let out one quick cry of frustration, scrunch up your little forehead (which wrinkles up for effect quite nicely) and begin wildly thrashing for my breast, upon which you thrust your head forward like a chicken on steroids pecking at the ground. It really is quite the site. If I wasn't so modest I'd take a video to have forever, but you'd probably think that I am crazy by the time you'd be old enough to find it funny anyways.

It's hard to believe we ever struggled with nursing in the beginning, what with you sucking in your bottom lip. You and I, kid, we're pros now. You're even finally gaining what you're supposed to (at least half an ounce a day) and you're chunking up to where those tiny little newborn outfits are actually starting to look a tad small on you. You were back up to your birth weight right around the 3-week mark, and at 3 weeks 3 days, you weighed 8lbs 1oz. I'm proud of you and glad you're healthy and growing like you're supposed to be, but I've gotta tell you; it breaks my heart.

Save for the first few nights home from the hospital and those AWFUL days and nights of having to be on/under the bili-lights, you have been an All Star in the sleep department. We go to bed around 11:30 and you sleep for four to five hours, nurse, and go right back to sleep for, get this, another four hours! This means I get 8 (not consecutive, but still!) hours of sleep a night. I have yet to really feel the 'new parent exhaustion'. But I'm not complaining! Okay, so I probably don't quite get eight hours because half the time you're asleep I spend just looking at you. It truly can't be helped, though. You are too darn adorable! You almost always have the cutest  little frown face on while sleeping, and the part that melts my cold, cold heart is your hold your tiny little hands right up by your face. Even in your ultrasound pictures, you did this. It is too sweet for words.

This first month has been a whirlwind of falling in love with you. From meeting you for the first time to already seeing big changes as you grow, I'm not sure how much more I can handle. But I'll be the first to tell you I can't wait to see what next month brings.

 

I love you more than I knew I ever could.

Love, Your Mommy

Your Favorite Things:

1. Boobs. Seriously, though. You could eat and eat and eat. There hasn't been a problem yet a boob couldn't fix.
2. The changing table. You LOVE being on the changing table. This is where you smiled the first smile that I count. (You were two and a half weeks. :)
3. Your hands. You are always holding your hands, sucking on your hands, or just keeping them right next to your face.
4. The ceiling fan. We lay you on the coffee table and you'll just gaze up at the fan (whether its moving or not) for quite a while.
5. Being held. You really aren't that big of a fan of being put down, except every once in awhile, you love to just stretch out on your back. (Like on the coffee table to stare at the fan or on your changing table.)
6. You have started to really enjoy hanging toys. On your play-mat or in your bouncer, you will sit and stare them down. A few times it looks like you're attempting to reach for them, but I'm still pretty sure its accidental. Soon, though!

A Family is Born

Our labor and delivery went absolutely nothing like what we had planned or pictured. It was so much more and so much less than I could have ever imagined and though in the end we veered from our plan, I wouldn't have changed a thing. Our daughter came into this world naked and screaming, healthy and loved, and that was perfect for us.


DISCLAIMER: This is a birth story. If you don't want to, you know, hear a story about birth, I advise you to not continue reading. That being said, it isn't super gory. Beautiful as it may be, due to the nature of, well, birth, I probably will use words like 'cervix' and 'dilate' and maybe even a 'fluid' thrown in here or there. Consider yourself warned. :)


Wednesday the 12th of May was a quite non eventful day. My mom was in town, helping with the house, keeping my extremely 40-week-pregnant mind occupied so as to not let me go any more stir crazy and to hopefully be around for when my labor began. We moseyed around Spokane, bought some groceries, some flowers and planned pedicures for the following day.  After dinner we all took the beasts for a pretty good walk, came home and lounged on the couches for a bit before retiring for the night around 10PM. I tried to ignore the fact that our due date was a mere day away and I wasn't having many contractions, I hadn't dilated much if any in the last four or five weeks (at 35 weeks I was dilated to a 1-2 and 50% effaced) and generally wasn't showing any signs of impending labor. Except for, you know, the giant 40 week old baby that was living inside of me. Like every night, I fell asleep picturing what our daughter would look like.

I woke up shortly before midnight to console my screaming bladder. This was typical; for the last few months I was literally getting up 3-5 times a night to use the bathroom. Just as I stepped from the hallway onto the bathroom floor, I felt a weird popping sensation, and fluid started steaming from 'down there.' The excitement was INSTANT. I knew exactly what was going on, and I knew that labor was imminent. I called for Rob in the same shaky voice when I had called him into the bathroom 9 months prior to show him the pregnancy stick. This time, though, he SHOT out of bed, made sure he glanced at the clock (11:58PM) and came to see what had happened. He immediately got on the phone with our doctor's office who told us to come on in. I ran downstairs to wake my mom, threw a few last minute items into our hospital bags and loaded into the car. We were heading to the hospital. To give birth. To meet our daughter. To start our family.

I was in a stellar mood. Though my water had broken, I wasn't really experiencing any contractions and was filled with pure joy and excitement. We were sent straight back to OB triage, and after having verified my water truly had broken (a much more difficult task than it should have been since my body will never act normally medically) I was gowned and admitted into our labor and delivery room. I was checked and was dilated to a 2-3 and 50% effaced. Rob posted a message on Facebook letting people know it was 'game time.' It was surreal. We were sitting, comfortably and content, in the room in which our baby would be born.

No more than an hour later, I began contracting. I was extremely pleased my body began on my own, as I desperately wanted to avoid being induced. It only took a few contractions until they were strong, consistent and ALL in my back. Though I hadn't pictured myself having back labor, we still went through the motions. I relaxed my body, going entirely limp, allowing my body to do it's work. I breathed slowly and rhythmically, groaning as I exhaled, not from the pain but for distraction. It felt good to make noise. Rob would rub my back, putting pressure on as I requested, while my mom kept a cool washcloth on my face. All the while I pictured my uterus moving our baby down and out. It wouldn't be long until I could see her, hold her, breathe her in. We just had to get through each contraction, and one by one, they brought us closer to our sweet little girl.

I wont lie- the contractions were painful. But they weren't unbearable. They were not nearly as bad as people make labor out to be. The worst part is that they were in my back; it made it more difficult to picture my uterus working to deliver my baby. It also limited the varying positions I could labor in, as very few were comfortable. It was literally like having the kidney stones again, though this time I had a couple minute break every minute or two. The best part is there was zero pain between contractions. I was chipper and alert between them, and though for the most part I wasn't hooked up to a contraction monitor, you could tell instantly when one started because I would go limp and groan with my exhaled breaths.

My labor appeared to be progressing efficiently and pretty normal. I was contracting every 2-3 minutes, with the contractions  lasting about one and a half to two minutes each. For the majority of the labor I was laying in the Bradley Methods "side relaxation position" where you are on your side, almost belly, with your knee pulled up and resting on a pillow. This was by far the most comfortable position I could find, though we tried many. Our amazing day nurse, Maggie, was so supportive and helpful. She had us trying all different kinds of positions, she would practically take the bed apart to provide support for various positions, and she had all kinds of helpful advice. Not only was she an absolutely sweet heart, she was amazing at her job. I took a few showers, and one bath. (I was allowed only one bath with the tub plugged because since my water had broken, that could allow for infection which all of us wanted to avoid.) We had packed two (count them, TWO!) different things for me to wear while in the shower/tub so I could maintain my modesty, which didn't ever leave our bag. It is true what they say- modesty was out the window during labor and delivery. I count myself a VERY modest person, and I really, truly couldn't have cared less about who saw what.

I was checked at about 3:00PM, 13 hours into labor. I was only a 3-4. It was pretty disheartening; 13 hours of labor and only one centimeter to show for it. Dr. Zwiesler gave us until 6PM to show progress, or we were going to have to put me on a penicillin drip (an antibiotic since my water had been broken for so many hours) and pitocin to help with dilation. I was demoralized, but determined. For the next few hours we went gung-ho with walking, using the birth ball and hands-and-knee type positions that are known to help move baby down, thus further dilating the cervix. It was extremely painful and I was losing steam. I was on 24 hours of no caloric intake, I had been puking from the pain and thus losing liquids, and it had been nearly two full days since I had had some decent sleep. Between contractions, my mom swore I was going to faint because my eyes kept rolling back into my head.

About half an hour or so before they came to check me again, my contractions became AWFUL. They were literally one on top of another. I would have three to five minute long contractions with mere seconds between them. We thought for sure I was in transition, so we were very hopeful I had made some great progress and wouldn't have to be hooked up to an IV. But when she checked me, no such luck. I was still only measuring a 3-4. No progress meant the IV. It meant antibiotics and induction. It meant more time and more pain. I broke down.

Maggie, our wonder nurse, brought up pain management. I knew the pitocin was going to strengthen my contractions and, though I was relaxing pretty well on my own through each contraction, my morale and energy reserve were shot. She said if we could get my pain managed, my body would be able to better do it's work and move our baby down and out. 19 hours of the hardest work I've ever done, and I felt it was all in vain. We discussed our options between narcotics or an epidural. Narcotics, we were told, would be administered through the IV and into my blood stream, thus straight into the baby. The epidural wouldn't affect the baby nearly as much. Rob and I asked for some time alone to talk about it, and I totally lost it. I'm not so sure I've ever sobbed so hard or so long. I had failed. I knew I was going to take the epidural. I had to. Here we were practically starting from the beginning, and I was already 19 hours into the hardest work of my life.

About an hour later, I was given the epidural. I didn't really see the big deal- so many people complain about how painful it is and I didn't even feel it. Mind you pain has taken on a new meaning after 20 hours of back labor with no medication. Within about a half hour, I was no longer feeling my contractions. I attempted sleep, but felt too numb to drift off. I couldn't stand the feeling, so the anesthesiologist came back in and turned the epidural way down. That helped a bit, but I still wasn't a fan of not being able to feel my legs.

A little before midnight, right around the 24 hours of labor mark, I felt the very distinct feeling of needing to push. I was actually convinced I needed to poop, but when checked and told I was complete, 10 centimeters dilated and 100% effaced, we knew it was FINALLY time to meet little Reagan. After a few practice pushes, we decided to have me labor down. This was the most painful thing of the entire labor. It is hard to describe the need to push without using the needing to poop comparison, so I apologize. But laboring down is literally like having to use the bathroom extremely badly, but not being allowed to. With each contraction that was pushing our baby out, my body desperately wanted to push but I would refrain from doing so. What this does is allows my uterus to work at getting our baby out, without me expending energy.

While I still had my epidural, it had been turned WAY down and I was so uncomfortable during each contraction, that I was shaking like mad. I also had gone a little mad. I kept saying, over and over and over, "I am so hungry but I don't want food. Please don't make me eat food. I'm so hungry but I don't want to eat." I then obsessed with the manufacturers sticker on the ceiling light, complaining that I couldn't read what it said. And was that a phone number written on it? Does it say MKL? I then began complaining that through each contraction, as I moaned, I sounded like a whale. And I was SO afraid of pooping on the table, I kept asking if I pooped. "Are you sure? It stinks. I don't want to poop. Please don't judge me if I poop." (After the fact I was assured it never actually stank and I truly hadn't pooped. Thank goodness.) Like I said, I'd gone crazy.

During this whole time, though I was pretty unaware, Reagan's poor little heart rate shot down and then straight back up with nearly every contraction. While they were glad it would come right back, they didn't like how low her heart rate was dropping and were concerned with the stress it could be causing her. After consulting with a few different nurses, they all decided she seemed to be handling it, so we kept on keeping on.

Finally, shortly before 1:30AM, it was time to push. The relief was instant. I LOVED pushing! Rob and my mom each held one of my legs and we did three 10 second pushes through each contraction. The amount of pressure I felt was amazing, but it wasn't painful. It felt very good to actually be able to DO something. Dr. Zwiesler (sorry in advance...) massaged my perineum with mineral oil the ENTIRE time I was pushing to help prevent tearing since I wanted to avoid an episiotomy if at all possible. He really was a rock star. Reagan's heart rate began acting up again, and though I was unaware of it at the time, Dr. Zwiesler had ordered in the anesthesiologist and another doctor because we were pretty darn close to having an emergency c-section.

On my last contraction, after my three pushes, Dr. Zwiesler asked me to push one more time and I felt amazing relief as Reagan was born into this world, looking straight up. In no more than a second, she was screaming. As the doctor prepared her umbilical cord to be cut, I kept asking, "is she a girl? is she a girl?" Rob cut the cord, and then per my very adamant request, she was handed straight to me and I snuggled her right on my bare chest. It was pure and utter bliss.

Reagan was pretty purple since her oxygen had been being cut off with each contraction, thus the reason her heart rate had been fluctuating. They assumed her cord had been wrapped around her leg or something, and with each contraction, it was being squished and the oxygen supply cut off. They set an oxygen mask just next to her face while still on my chest, and in no more than a minute or two she had pinked right up. It took a bit for me to give her up to the baby nurse so they could check her vitals and get her weight. I laid in the delivery bed getting stitched up, (thanks to Reagan's idea of coming out face up instead of down, I got a nice 2nd degree tear and she came out so banged up and bruised she looked like she had been in a bar fight) and watched my husband watching his baby. My mom commented on how patient I was being while they were taking care of her, and I told her I was enjoying watching Rob with her too much to mind that I wasn't holding her. We finally had our family.

Reagan Lee Billiau was born at 2:02 AM on her due date, Friday May 14th 2010. She weighed in at 7 pounds, 15 ounces and 21 inches long. She was here and she was healthy. She was beautiful and she was perfect. And she was ours.

A Second Trimester and a First House

I feel little need to go back and relive the details of the first trimester. We'll just go ahead and say from about week 6 or 7 to about 14, all I could do was puke and sleep. Literally. Puke, sleep, puke, sleep. I lost about 15 pounds.


We entered the second trimester with much promise and hope. Not only is it nice to get out of the first and onto more stable, reliable ground (baby's chance of survival goes up ten fold once you hit the second trimester) but along with the second usually comes the feeling good. The morning sickness has faded, energy and appetite will return. It took us a little longer into the second than we would have liked, but by about week 14, I was feeling pretty good. I had my moments, there was definitely still plenty of food aversions, but I could move my head without needing to hope I'd already rinsed out my puke bowl. Running to the bathroom made little sense as I never would make it.


Sometime at the end of the first or beginning of the second trimester, Rob was able to get a route back in Spokane. We were very excited for this, as we wanted to raise our family in Spokane, but it did mean a lot of work. Work like packing and cleaning and moving. Oh. And buying a house. 


We spent nearly every weekend of November in Spokane with our incredible realtor, April, driving around poking in and out of houses trying to find one that would suit us and our growing family. I did a lot of sitting in the back with a plastic bag up to my face trying to hold in my lunch. But we got through it. April was a star at letting me get out and walk around, taking plenty of bathroom breaks in random places and would cut our drives short if my stomach was revolting. 


In our first or second run we found a house we really liked on Gustavus Street. It was a 50s rancher with hardwood floors, three bedrooms, two baths and a full, unfinished basement. 2400 square feet total, a fenced backyard, two car garage and in a nice, well kept neighborhood. Our brains were flooded with houses, so we went home to think over the week and had plans to come back the following weekend.


We were consulting with April on Friday, going over houses we wanted to look at again, both of us still having the Gustavus house on our minds. We knew it was the house for us when re-looking at pictures online, we noticed it has been reduced $10,000 that morning! The next day we walked through it again, this time being sure to open closets and flush toilets, and tried our best to imagine all of our stuff in it. That evening we put in an offer. 


The entire process was exciting but nerve wracking. The owners had some, um, shall we say interesting? negotiation strategies, that finally ended after 3 or 4 amendments to the contract with us still feeling like we got an awesome deal on the house, a near new washer and dryer plus a 46" flat screen mounted on the wall above the fireplace and they paid all of our closing costs. Plus, our mortgage is only 50 dollars higher than what we were paying for rent. Not bad, eh?


The house belonged to us as of 4:45PM on December 31st, 2009. We made sure the closing date was in 2009 so we wouldn't have to amend our taxes to get in on the $8,000 first home buyers credit. The timeline couldn't have been more perfect. We certainly did some pushing of the bank to get paperwork done. As it was we closed in less than a month, which is super fast for an FHA loan. But we've known for awhile that we've got the Big Man Upstairs on our side. We feel so blessed.

You Know You're Pregnant When...

I will admit I'm slightly nervous about giving birth. Not for the pains of labor, not for being entirely responsible for a tiny, completely helpless human being. Not for any physical or emotional reason. I'm nervous about not having the excuse of pregnancy anymore. I use the term excuse probably too loosely because everything that inhibits me in pregnancy is completely honest. I truly have ZERO energy. I seriously lack the desire to get anything done, all well fretting the un-doneness of it all. Food honestly has no appeal and cooking it equates right up with playing with spiders in my book. (And no, I am not fond of spiders.) My hips literally are about to pop right out of place, and frequently feel like they have every time I roll over in bed. Which is approximatively every 28 seconds for those who are wondering.


What if the energy doesn't come back? What if I never feel like getting off the couch again? I'm assuming blaming the pregnancy will no longer work once the baby is outside of my body.


Stop. Rewind. All of this is to say, I hate that I haven't kept the blog updated. I meant to. I truly had the best intentions to keep this as a running history of our first pregnancy. The quirks. The excitement. The cravings. The aches and pains. Yet here we are into week 35 and we have, what? Three, maybe four, pregnancy posts? Ay yi yi.


So, and I ask very politely, if I may backtrack? Go back through the last 6 months or so that have gone undocumented and just pretend I've been that perfect balloon bellied, soon to be mama who forgets nothing and accomplishes everything? Please and thank you. :)

A Letter to You

Dear Poppy  Nugget  Sugar Packet  Baby Billiau,

It seems kind of strange to write you a letter, seeing as you're curled up inside me right now, testing out the mobility of your limbs against my uteral walls. That and I talk to you all day, every day. And when I want to feel you, to rationalize this crazy idea that you really are mine, that you really are growing within me, I nudge you until I feel you kick out against me. Its a weird feeling knowing you're so close, but in a sense you're still pretty far away.

Though I cannot wait until I can hold you in my arms, to feel you nuzzle your head into my neck, to breathe in your sweet baby scent, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I am totally in love with being pregnant with you. I love knowing you are growing within me, I loved feeling your first flutters of movement and now your much more practiced and perfected art of kick boxing. I love knowing you get everything you need without having to so much as bat an eye, that my body just provides the way God intended it to. I love that you and I, together, are a part of moving the world forward, having joined the history of millions and millions of women and babies who have expanded our species, who continue our existence. I love that I have been there for you, from day one, since you made the journey of one cell to billions.

But most of all, I love how safe you are in me. How there are no bullies to push you around (aside from Baylee the dog, who absolutely insists on stepping on my belly every time she comes near me...), no disappointments, no fears. No hunger, no cold, no pain. You are completely safe and protected. I sometimes vow to myself that even once you come screaming into this world I will do everything to make sure you are still completely safe and protected. Which, between your Daddy and I, we will. But I will have to watch myself. I already can't stand the thought of watching you fall. But how, then, will you learn to walk? I can't stand the thought of watching your feelings get hurt, but how, then, will you know a true friend? I can't stand the thought of watching you experience disappointment, fail over something you tried so hard for, not meet a goal. But how, then, will you understand success?  This awful, beautiful world we live in offers no life worth living that doesn't come with a few bumps and bruises along the way. So while it is my job to protect you, I also know and fully understand that it is my job to let you live.

I promise I will try my best to let you live your life. To be a child. To fall over a toy, to bump your head on the table, to play on the ground and get filthy. To talk to a stranger, eat something off the floor, to blow your nose on your sleeve. I will do my best to protect you from the craziness of our world, as long as it is what's best. But I realize one day you will grow up, and you will join the world in all of its awful wonderfulness, in its craziness and its beauty. And if we've done our job, if your Daddy and I figure this whole parenting thing out like we plan, you will be prepared.

Baby Billiau, the one thing you are guaranteed in this life is to be loved. We don't know what the future holds. We can't begin to guess how our country, how the world, will unfold. There will undoubtedly be changes we cannot predict. But we do know that regardless of what is going on in this world, you will be loved. Your Daddy and I already love you so much we ache inside with it, dying for the chance to see your sweet face, to hold you in our arms, to see the person you'll become. You have grandparents and aunts and friends who love you. You have more people than I can count praying for you. You have a God who already knows you, loves you and calls you His own. You will never, ever be without love. And regardless of whatever else you may be lacking, that will take you a long, long way.

We really cannot wait (but we will! Please stay nice and snug in there!) to meet you. But for now, we are completely content feeling you thrive and grow within me. We love you like no love we've known before.

Love,

Your Mommy (and Daddy, too!)


Sweet Sweet Baby Ultrasound from Kristin Billiau on Vimeo.

Welcome to Fetus-hood!

To my sweet Poppy, Sugar Packet, Nugget;

I should begin by letting you know how proud we are of you! You have overcome your first milestone, accomplished your first task, and boy oh boy do I have the nausea to prove it! You took one look at being called an embryo, and decided to up the ante. Hello, fetus-hood! You have grown from a tiny little ball of cells to a somewhat-functional little person! Its so exciting for us to know that you now have all of your organs safely in place, that you're testing out your new accessories by moving your little arms and legs like crazy, pumping your own blood and even making your own waste! Way to go, kiddo!

Even though I swear I knew you were growing inside of me before the pregnancy test confirmed it for us, even though I took four pregnancy tests, had the doctor confirm our pregnancy, have seen your adorably cute little blob of a body swimming around on a screen, even though I've been sick to my stomach for weeks, can't even think about eating food, and am up and down all night to use the bathroom, it is so incredibly hard for us to believe you're actually in there. That we are actually blessed enough to have made you. That you're strong and growing on schedule and healthy. But it is still so hard to comprehend that we get to have a child; that we get to have you!

The weirdest thing about it all? We are already so in love with you. Its hard to explain how we've only known about you for mere weeks and you already mean the world to us. There is nothing we wouldn't do for you. You are ours, and we are yours. We are so excited to watch my belly grow as you do, to go to the doctor to check up on you, to get to see you again on the ultrasound screen, and to feel you moving around inside of me. We lay in bed, your daddy and I, and talk about your life. What you'll look like, how you'll be. The kind of parents we want to be for you.

Speaking of your daddy, you are going to get a kick out of him. He is quite the man. He takes care of me (and you!) like there is no one else in the entire world that matters. You aren't so fond of anything right now, so I've been pretty sick and tired and useless. All I can do lately is lay around and try not to vomit. But your daddy? He does everything. He works hard for our family and he loves you and me like crazy and thats plenty in my book. But lately? He's been cleaning the house, doing the dishes and laundry, and as I write this he's making dinner. This morning for breakfast he made French toast, ham and bacon, and even turned it into a smiley face. I'm sure there will be plenty of smiley-faced breakfasts in your days.

He also can't stop touching you. He loves to rub my belly, kiss my belly, cuddle my belly. He still goes on and on about how excited he is that we get to have a child, that we get to have you! I cannot wait to see him interacting and playing with you. You really are one lucky little tyke to get to call such a man Daddy. And I'm pretty darn lucky myself. :)

Keep on trucking, our sweet little unborn! There are plenty of weeks and milestones ahead of us and we can't wait to experience each one with you.

We love you more than you can possibly know.

-Mommy and Daddy