Merry Christmas from The Baileys

Dear Family and Friends,

2012 was…eventful. In order to avoid littering this summary with clichés, we will just let the events speak for themselves.

Allan continues to enjoy law as he enters his fifth year of civil litigation. In August he took an unplanned three-day getaway via ambulance to the hospital where he recuperated from an acute back injury. His mornings are now filled with running and physical therapy. He still carries on his civic duty by serving on boards for two different organizations. Going on his third year as Elders Quorum President, he’s still waiting to discover those magical words to motivate men to do their home teaching. His favorite moments are spent at home with his three mini-mes and his adoring wife. Always the challenge is balancing it all.

Buffy barely remembers the past twelve months due to sleep deprivation. January started off with a bang when she discovered a third VandaBailey was on its way. She whimpered through the next five months of sickness, thoroughly enjoyed July and August, and then waddled through September. As of December 8th, she is now getting a full night’s sleep. Realizing that she didn’t want to cram three children into the back of a Civic, she reluctantly became a minivan mom. Four months later, forgetting about her handy backup camera, she backed that minivan into a tree. See “sleep deprivation” above.

Jack, almost 7, is still the funniest kid we know. Seriously. Buffy has received more than one text message describing his classroom antics.  When his teacher asked the students to tell about their pets, Jack got up in front of the class, stated that he doesn’t have any traditional pets but then went on to explain how he has “made friends with some roly polies.” So far his greatest trial in life has been mastering Four Square (“Machiavelli at Recess,” concludes Allan). He now declares Harry Potter to be passé, and considers Lord of the Rings the ultimate in awesomeness. Jack, a voracious reader, also started piano this year, and has started recognizing the virtues of basketball.

Micah, 2.5, threatens to overtake Jack as the funniest kid we know.  Early on we described his personality as Romantic and he continues to feel things deeply. So deeply, in fact, it’s actually difficult to keep a straight face during his meltdowns. Micah loves to talk, read, scold Jack, play basketball, talk, play with trains, talk, and talk. Micah also speaks in third person. Parents blame Elmo.

Nathan Warren Bailey (or “Ethan” as Micah persists in calling him), 12 weeks, is loved and adored by all. After a vexing two weeks of bed rest and two premature visits to the hospital for Buffy, Nathan very quickly made his grand entrance on September 21^st into the arms of an extremely capable nurse (“This baby is coming! We need a Doctor NOW!!!”). He is named after Buffy’s paternal grandfather and so far has the same special spirit as his namesake.

Adding to our exciting and busy year, we closed on our first home mid-December. We feel very blessed to have more bedrooms, more yard, and plenty of storage (which we’re sure will feel like much less storage five years from now). We’re taking bets for how long it will take us to unpack.

If you’d like our new address, feel free to comment on the blog, send an e-mail, or contact either Allan or Buffy on Facebook.

We enjoy this Christmas season more and more each year as we watch our family grow and change. We can say with great sincerity that we have been tremendously blessed. We know that our faith in Jesus Christ, his example, and atoning sacrifice is what gives meaning to our days and brings joy to our hearts.

With much love,

Allan, Buffy, Jack, Micah, and Nathan Bailey

Do these horizontal stripes make me look chubby?

Just a tad. But that's totally acceptable.

Angry Birds Riverdance

In reference to Micah, Allan says approximately three times a day, "That kid is hilarious."

Every time Micah hears the music from Angry Birds (which for some reason he calls "Pancake!") he does this strange sort of Riverdance-inspired routine.  I was thrilled to catch him in the act (sans clothing).

Here it is. Recorded for future girlfriends:

Mikey yoga.

Bet you didn't know that playing with trains requires such flexibility.

A favorite scene of mine.

Sunday afternoons tend to look a lot like this:

I leave the room for thirty seconds...

And come back to find out that aliens have taken over my baby...

Happy Halloween!

A ninja. Thomas. A giraffe. Obviously we don't do themes.

Where do you draw the line between being honest and just being plain negative?

I think about this question a lot. Especially when I'm pregnant or with a newborn. When someone I know well, or at least knows of my situation (nausea, bed rest, newborn baby, etc.) asks me how I'm doing should I go with the social flow and say, "Well, thank you!" (I do my best to correctly distinguish between "well" and "good." My grandmother was an English teacher, you know) or should I be honest and say, "Exhausted!"

Well, since we're journaling on here, I'm just going to be honest: Nathan, you are a hard baby. You're adorable and I want to nibble you up, but you are making your mama tired.

Note, I didn't say depressed. You have no idea how grateful I am that I'm only tired.

He's what my mother-in-law would say is "my Becky" (we love you Becky Bailey!). His sleep is pretty awful. While Jack and Micah were sleeping in at least 5 hour chunks by now, Nathan is a 2-3 hour eater. Sometimes just one hour. Sometimes he just wants to party. One would think this means he sleeps during the day. Nope. About every other day he will not nap, period. Yesterday he was awake from 9am to 8pm--only content if I was holding him. I'm his pacifier. Gerber Nuks just don't live up to his standards (I'm rather flattered in a strange way...please don't analyze that).  The days that he does nap, it's usually like this:

If that picture doesn't paint a thousand words, I'll spell it out: He only sleeps when we're on the go.

The silver lining is that the fact he's preventing me from doing all the things I really, really want to do right now--like clean my house, re-learn how to thread my sewing machine, bake some seasonal goodies, play with Micah, plan my 60th birthday trip to Paris (long story...), put my maternity clothes in storage, buy a house, re-frame some pictures, go visit my mia maids, oh and take a nap since I've only had one in three weeks--means that I feel well enough to do those things!

Trials teach us that we can do hard things. I feel really dumb calling it a trial. I mean, he's healthy, beautiful, and nurses like a champ. But I'm one who tends to panic if I don't get 7-9 hours of sleep a night. Heavenly Father is teaching me that there's no need to panic, because he really can make up the difference.

And he's actually sleeping right now. Instead of cleaning my house I'm writing down my feelings. Priorities, priorities...

And here's the neglected one:

Nathan Warren Bailey born September 21, 2012

It has taken me five weeks to get Nathan's birth story down. The story starts even earlier than his birthday. In fact all of September seemed to be dedicated to laboring. Somehow it ended up being the fastest month of my entire life even though every day crept by oh so slowly.

On Wednesday, September 5th I had an appointment where they measured me dilated to a 3 and 80% effaced. This was further along than I'd ever been naturally with my first two, so I was thinking this baby was coming soon. That Saturday night (the 8th), I was doing housework when I suddenly felt very wet. Considering this is precisely what happened ten hours before I delivered Micah, I figured this was it and we headed to the hospital. They determined after running some tests and having me pace the floor for an hour that my water hadn't broken after all. So, they sent me home. That night I had moderate contractions for about two hours and then they stopped. In the meantime my back killed, and I was extremely uncomfortable walking around and even standing.

Monday, the 10th, around lunch time I started gushing blood. I have never been so scared in my entire life--hysterical is probably a more appropriate word. I called Allan's cell four times and he wasn't picking up (turns out he was trying to wrap things up with a client who was not so keen on the wrapping up part), so then I called my friend Megan to see if she could take Micah. She came over immediately and insisted that it was better for her to drive me to the hospital (25 minutes away) and for Allan to meet us there. By then the bleeding had turned to just spotting, I could finally feel the baby move, and I calmed down. Once at the hospital my doctor saw me right away and said that the baby was okay, the placenta was okay, and I needed to stay off of my feet as much as possible until this baby arrived.

So, for the next extremely frustrating ten days I was on bed rest (I totally cheated near the end), and I'm convinced it slowed things down. I had contractions every single night, about 5-8 minutes apart, for anywhere from 1-6 hours. They weren't painful, but definitely uncomfortable, and psychologically maddening. I felt like the girl who cried wolf about twelve times.

Thursday, the 20th, the contractions started again 10-12 minutes apart. I couldn't sleep because they started getting painful. I was so dead set against being sent home again, and didn't believe this was true labor until the next morning at 6am they were consistently 5 minutes apart and I kept telling Allan to be quiet! Because I was extremely concerned about not putting other people out, I wanted to hold out on dropping the kids by their respective caretakers until 7:15 am.

By the time we arrived at the hospital at 8am they were three minutes apart, I was dilated to a seven, and officially admitted. Three more hours of epidural-less labor (it really was not that bad, only the last hour was loudly-moaning-painful; this was my first labor without pitocin, so it honestly felt like a breeze) and then my water broke. I had one really hard contraction, the nurse left the room, and then during the next contraction I felt something very strange. I quickly realized it was the head, and Allan calmly called for the nurse (I wasn't so calm). Four of them came flying in ordering me to pant through it to try and keep him in there because there wasn't even a doctor on the floor. The contraction ended and in what I can only imagine looked like a scene from E.R., they put me in place got everything ready (kept shouting for a doctor!), and the next contraction he literally slid out. I did not push a bit. It was the strangest sensation I've ever had in my life.

I am dilated to 9 centimeters in the picture. Am I embarrassed by how I look? No way! I'm in labor without an epidural. What do you expect me to look like?

The on call doctor came in about thirty seconds later, apologizing profusely, and he took care of me. I bled a lot. Because of the ease of his entry I was thinking that he must be a teeny little thing, and then they plopped him on the scale and he was 8#13oz.

I felt very strange for the hour right after his birth. I was so tired, and had a hard time feeling present. As I watched Allan and the nurses huddle over them, even as I nursed, I felt like the only thing in the world I wanted at that point was a month-long nap. Then when they helped me into the wheelchair to send me to recovery, they put him in my arms again. I started bawling. Happiness.

That hour was the only sad moment I've had since his birth (unless you count the 5am meltdowns when I realize I have two other boys to take care of on three hours of sleep--but that's nothing a prayer and a forty-five minute nap won't take care of). Once again I'm amazed at how love expands. It really is infinite and eternal. Heavenly Father gives us glimpses into the joy to come if we endure to the end.

3 hours old.

Big brother once again.

Micah really didn't know what to think. I think he's finally figured out that I'm not just babysitting someone else's kid (though he still calls him Ethan instead of Nathan).

I love this picture.

 It took us exactly twenty-three hours of serious deliberation to name him. Between contractions right before the baby made his entrance, Allan suggested Warren as the middle name, after my amazing grandfather. Upon that suggestion, I got chills up and down my body and burst into tears. It was perfect, and I knew it was right. Nathan was later declared his first name--it's a name that appears frequently in both of our family histories, and my mom's favorite grandfather was Nathaniel. So Nathan Warren Bailey he is.

Two days old. After posting this picture,I had a friend accuse me of birthing an 8-week old. This next one proves he was indeed two days old. Check out the crossed eyes. So fun:

We love him. He is a blessing. His name means "He has given." Those four barren years between Jack and Micah have taught me that Heavenly Father truly gives us our children. I am still amazed I have a third son. And honored.

A sixteen month catch up post may be overdoing it a bit.

Do people still check blogs? Probably not nearly as much as four or five years ago. I know I rarely look at them anymore, but that has a lot to do with having much less time nowadays. However, I have been thinking over the last several months what a wonderful journaling tool it is. Now that I have more kids to keep track of and less time to put together formal journals and scrapbooks, I'm deciding to restart my blog and turn it into a scrapbook for my children. 

In other words, I'm blogging for my kids now. I'm not blogging for an audience (unless you're one of their four grandparents who have asked me multiple times for pictures and updates).  So you can expect a heavy dose of "kids say the darndest things," pictures, and bragging. You've been forwarned.

I fear I'm the one to blame (or thank) for Micah's goofy smile.

The haircut that totally changed the way he looks:

Nathan at two weeks:

 Four weeks:

Some of his first real smiles: