Natey is indeed greatey.

Nathan, I hope you don't ever ask us to stop calling you Natey because you consider it juvenile or beneath your inevitable future 6'5+ stature. Asking us to stop calling you ChubChub I can understand, but I think I will always want to call you Natey.

You are giggles and glee. You have the squeeziest thighs in the history of thighs. You have the most beautiful pale blue-grey eyes with a tinge of yellow-green circling your pupil. (You're kind of a dreamboat) At two years and four months you already exhaust me with your endless questions.  But trust me, that's good exhaustion. Your verbal ability is astounding. I hope your future is filled with billions of wonderful words.

One of my favorite things you do is give us all a hearty "Good MORNING!" whenever you come down into the kitchen for breakfast.

If anyone has gotten the short shrift on this blog, it is you. You seem at ease with your middle child role, however. You have never acted jealously toward your baby sister. I consider this a blessing from Heavenly Father. You are a blessing from Heavenly Father.

I love you, Natey.

At 18 months.

Sometimes perfectly good button-up shirts get torn to shreds during naptime. It's hard to explain.

Grandma gave you this for your birthday. Clearly, by the look on your face, this is serious literature.

It's hard work scootering barefeet in a saggy diaper and an adult-sized helmet.

"Oh, look! It's Natey!!!"

Your second birthday.

Yardwork rocs in crocs.

Our little tank engine.

This is the quintessential Natey expression.

Pretty girl.

Astrid, Astro, Pretty Girl, AC.  The word that best describes her in my opinion is "bright". She just glows sweetness, joy, and purity. I love to stare into her smiling eyes and just talk, talk, talk. I am so lucky to be a mother. Staring into smiling eyes is part of my job description. I'm pretty sure that's not part of Allan's job description. That would be awkward.

Here is Astrid these past six months.

Just two days old trying to figure out what's going on with Jack. Can he be trusted?

Her blessing day in Utah. Her dress was simple and sweet. Her blessing was rich and beautiful.

Lips drawn up like a bow. 

Her first trip to the mountains. She was cool with hugging trees.

Many people questioned my decision to dress my daughter up as a chicken for Halloween. It's not like I dressed her up as a rooster. Geez, guys.

Cirque du Bebe

 There are JACKALOPES on her dress. Jackalopes on a fancy sateen dress.

This was Astrid's first girl's only shopping trip. I took her to Fashion Island and South Coast Plaza. I think I talked Nordstrom up way too much, because she is clearly underwhelmed.

Thanksgiving Weekend

These are the eyes I get to stare into.

Trying to feed her is often like this.

So excited to be wearing her Christmas dress. And furry boots.

Thrilled to not be going to High Priests.

Selfie.

Trains. She prefers them to all other toys. It's inevitable.

It was high time we had a girl (Part II)

Warning: This is LONG.

Starting the final week of June, I started having horrible back pain and uncomfortable contractions here and there. Every time I saw my doctor he delivered me the unfortunate news that I looked like I was ready to go at any minute, but he couldn't tell me when. His exact words on July 1st were "At this point you could sneeze and your water will break."

Great.

By July 7th, it was horribly hot, I was horribly immobile, and we were all going horribly crazy. My dear friend, Katie, invited us over to her house so that she could take the boys swimming while I sat on her couch. It turns out I started labor sitting on her couch.  After their swim, I told Katie what was going on, but clarified "I really don't feel like going to the hospital right now." Understandably, she was not totally comfortable with that statement. I talked her out of calling Allan for me, waddled and whimpered out to my car with the three boys and drove home.  Within forty-five minutes, I realized that I should probably summon up some desire to go to the hospital right now. I called Allan at work and told him it was time and he needed to come home. I called our babysitter, and within fifteen minutes she was in our living room with pillow cases full of weaponry for her eager charges. About thirty minutes after making contact with Allan, I received a text "Did you want me to leave now?"

It likely wasn't so much my words as it was the tone with which I delivered them that convinced Allan to come home with great haste. We got to the hospital in thirty-five minutes, and my labor wasn't slowing down like I feared it would.

At this point, I'd like to register a complaint. Why on earth are there no chairs near the check-in desk in the Labor and Delivery Unit?

I was dilated to a six, and moved to a room. An hour later, I weepily told Allan that this baby was not going to come without pain medication like my others. The epidural insertion was horrific due to my gnarly scoliosis and a golfball sized cyst that sits right next to my lower spine. It took several tries, and was far worse than any labor contractions I've ever had. The anesthesiologist did not sound confident that it would even work. I prayed. Hard. It worked. She was openly shocked it worked. I told her I prayed. She said she'd take it.

Mascara streaks down face = I am working really, really hard.

Then all contractions and dilation stopped. They moved me side to side, over and over, trying to get her to re-engage (by the way, moving side to side doesn't feel very elegant when it requires two nurses hoisting your completely numbed and pregnant body for you). Still nothing. So the doctor broke my water. At this point it had been six hours, and all hopes of a 7/7/14 birthday were gone.

Things really accelerated at this point. I believe within forty-five minutes of having my water broken, I was instructed to push. One push, baby! (I didn't have to push with Nathan. He slid. But I was far more comfortable being under the illusion that I could actually control my baby's entrance into the world this time)

She was big, loud, and looked exactly like her brothers. She was placed in my arms immediately and ate for the next forty-five minutes. Just like with the others, the love was overwhelming.

What is this strange creature? A girl? I don't know anything about girls.

I ate a sandwich and then threw it up.  Apparently that's what anesthesia does to me (the same happened after I delivered Jack). However, this post-labor experience was one hundred times better than my unmedicated delivery with Nathan. After he was born, I not only hemorrhaged, but felt the worst sense of darkness and depression I've ever felt in my life. It was actually quite scary. It passed within two hours, thankfully.  I was on cloud nine this time--even though I hadn't slept in 22 hours by this point.

Allan convinced me that it was time we talk about names.We had decided early-ish in the pregnancy that we wanted a Scandinavian name, so we made a list. Allan was really good at nixing names, but not so great at telling me what name he wanted. Now he suggested Astrid. It was on the original list, but I had taken it off because he didn't seem interested in it at all. Turns out he was just keeping it to himself so I wouldn't be sick of the name by the time she actually arrived.

So we named her Astrid. Astrid Carolyn Bailey. Carolyn after Allan's Grandma Welling.

The rest of my stay in the hospital was uneventful, save the visit from the boys. They were so excited to meet Astrid. Jack was a pro, as expected.

This picture was taken at home the morning we were discharged.

Nathan would not let go. He was immediately smitten. It was incredibly sweet.

Micah, thank heavens, decided that he was a fan the minute he saw her. Very different reaction than when he met Nathan for the first time. 

Astrid changed the dynamic in our home as soon as we got home. She was and continues to be a peacemaker. This is one of my favorite pictures from her first morning waking up at the house. It wasn't staged at all. This is just what happens.

It was high time we had a girl (Part I)

November 2013. Nathan had just turned one.  I was pretty certain that there would be another Vandabailey before his second birthday came around. I promised myself that I'd wait and take the pregnancy test on Veteran's Day--because I always found out about prior pregnancies, even the one that didn't work out, on notable dates. I'm all about streaks.  But I just couldn't wait. So I took a test three days early. Then I promised myself that I'd keep it to myself until Veteran's Day.

I lasted about six hours.

We went to the temple that evening, and I thought it would be the coolest thing ever if I told Allan IN the temple. You know, so the big reveal would be a celestial reveal.  Turns out the beautiful woodwork, luxe upholstery, and sparkling chandeliers didn't help soften Allan's stress. I believe his first words were "But we already have a baby..." I don't blame him. I'm a really horrible case of pregnancy. It was also 9pm and we hadn't yet eaten dinner. Lesson learned.

Reality soon set in-- But he adjusted and I panicked. I also threw up. I also became slightly emotionally unstable. I knew it had to be a girl.

An appropriately scheduled Valentine's Day ultrasound confirmed my suspicions. We celebrated that night with Cherry 7-UP. I was concerned, however. How on earth could I raise a confident, well-adjusted daughter in this world? I have so many hang-ups about who I am, and I don't want to pass my insecurities onto my children. Daughters are particularly vulnerable to their mother's feelings of self worth, I'm certain.

A friend of mine shared this thought: "Your daughter will be her own person. She will probably be very different than you." So simple, but her inspired counsel marked a turning point. My fear completely vanished.  I was so excited to find out who my daughter was and what she had to offer this world.

As we approached the final stretch and I began to panic that she would fall out of me in the van on the way to the hospital, I frequently called the nurses and scheduled extra appointments with my OB. He was wonderfully patient with my neuroses, telling me that this was the same song-and-dance he goes through with any patient pregnant with their fourth or beyond. I just kept praying and praying that I would know when to head to the hospital. I am embarrassed to recall how much I discussed my symptoms and paranoia with friends and family. It was all-consuming. Every day starting in mid-June was an agonizingly slow day.

Sadly, I don't have any pictures from this pregnancy, except for this lovely neck-on-up shot. Baby girl, I was a ripe pregnant momma. I assure you.