Bliss.

All I can think about writing is how much I love my boys. So I'll leave it at that.

Hello, world.

Micah Welling Bailey
Born June 2, 2010
12:44 AM
7 lbs. 3 oz.
19.5 in.

He's here. We feel so blessed. If three and a half years of waiting is what was required to have Micah come into our family then we would gladly go through it again. Motherhood is very different this time around. I am less stressed and more focused on enjoying the miracle and cherishing every moment. Even during 3 AM feedings all can feel is overwhelming gratitude for this opportunity to be a mother again.

Pics from the big day:

I had just heard from the doctor's office: "You need to head to the hospital right now." What you can't see are my red puffy eyes from crying. Allan was 45 minutes away at a mediation.

Yes, I am nervous in this picture. Dilated to a seven for three hours. Just informed I was going to be pumped full of pitocin. Pitocin makes contractions come very hard and very fast. Because of this news, I decided that an epidural would be a great idea. It only worked on one side for the first hour, and then completely wore off by the time I was dilated to a nine. I thought I was going to die.

How Allan and I managed to produce a mere seven pounder is beyond me (even though he was born at 38 weeks). Given the ease of delivery, however, I will gladly have more seven pounders.


Jack: The Proud Big Brother. Already showing Micah how to play Chop Chop Ninja. He's also given light saber tutorials (from a safe distance).



Mom and Dad are tired, tired, tired. Grandma has rescued us. She's becoming very proficient at R2D2 Trouble and navigating lego.com. She's also the one to call to get out those difficult tummy bubbles (Micah's, not ours). I am getting increasingly proficient at translating Micah-speak. Change, feed, burp, and repeat (after a futile attempt at getting him to sleep).

But I'm not complaining. I'm not pregnant anymore. And he's just so perfect.

Baby procrastination.

4 1/2 years ago I was ready. The nursery was painted, decorated, and stocked up at least six weeks before Jack's arrival. Clothes were prewashed and sorted, just awaiting a warm, squirmy body to fill them. The names were narrowed down to about three. I would sit on the couch just wishing for a contraction. The problem was, Jack was procrastinating. He had to be forced out one week after his due date.

Let's contrast this with this time around. This baby appears to be pretty on top of things. Expected due date is June 15th. Yesterday the doctor reported that the baby seems to be between 7 and 7.5 pounds, I'm dilated to a three, thin and stretchy (eew!), and as he was reporting this, the baby--as if on cue--popped its head squarely and securely into "position." He told me to pack my hospital bags, nix any Memorial Day travel plans, and plan on this baby arriving before the due date (with the caveat that "stranger things have happened..." of course).

Don't get me wrong, I really want to have this baby ASAP. But this time, I am the one procrastinating. I haven't cleaned up in preparation for the great three-way room swap yet. I just barely located some receiving blankets and burp cloths. I don't even have a list of things to pack for the hospital. And as for names? There's nothing I'm wild about. It doesn't help that Allan will only think about boy names and I will only think about girl names. And any name I've gotten attached to in the last nine months now makes me want to throw up.

This whole not finding out the sex of the baby deal? I don't recommend it. At least if you're anything like I am. I think it is 80% of the reason that I'd rather look at post-baby clothes for me than set up a place to sleep for him/her.

Now it's time for the official predictions. Let me know your predictions for:

1. Gender

2. Weight (for some perspective, Jack was 8#7oz and a week late. I've gained exactly the same amount of weight this time around, but am more belly and less swollen overall)

3. Birthday

4. My mental health one month from now

The winner wins pride. And we're so desperate for names, maybe we'll name the baby after you.

Allan's just afraid to have a daughter who looks like me.

Taking off.

After recovering from fits of laughter, I asked Jack what he was doing. He replied, "Going into space."

There's something almost Norman Rockwell about his look in this photo.