3 moves (2 with newborn babies)
5 children (1 preemie)
5 churches (4 as worship minister)
3 casts (2 for Owen)
3 stitches
3 kidney stones (all mine)
1 surgery
3 pets (2 deceased cats and one pain-in-the-rear dog that keeps hangin' on)
1 minivan
3 years of Saxon Math 1 down, 2 to go (lots of counting to 100)
countless tears, budgets, diapers, romantic moments, couch dates, sacrifices...
10 best years of my life. Thank you, Jade. I love you...as ever, Jennifer.
First, I want to say thank-you for all the wonderful well wishes. Every comment makes me feel all warm and gooey inside. I guess that's why the Lord says, "Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones."
Women who have babies must share their labor stories. Their story is their gift and there is an unspoken obligation to listen with the proper amount of awe and respect. Every baby is a miracle and when you hear a birth story, you hear the first-hand account of the performance of that miracle -- not to be taken lightly.
I myself went into "official" labor at 3:00 a.m. on Sunday, August 1st. However, I'm pretty sure that unofficial labor lasted for a good two to three weeks before that. I actually had a fairly large meltdown before I went to bed Saturday night. I was physically unable to go back to the hospital to stay with Blythe. In hindsight, I think it was the Lord's way of getting me to get rid of some stress before the demands of labor and delivery.
Believe it or not, this labor was different from the previous five labors. My contractions stayed right in the front, never moving to the sides or back. On my sixth baby, I wasn't sure whether I was in labor or not! It took a while for me to call my friend, Wendy, to come get me. How horrible would that be to wake up someone at 3:00 a.m. for false labor?
However, the contractions kept coming about six to seven minutes apart. I called Wendy, and she and her daughter, Moriah,and Claire came to pick me up. (Claire was spending the night with them.) Hannah and Abigail, Wendy's other daughters, went to the other hospital to stay with Blythe so Jade could meet us (It takes a village). Jade called my sister, Candice, to come meet us. It seemed to take forever to get to the hospital. We all talked on the way, and I breathed through several contractions. Dr. Lawler's words from the week before kept coming back to me, "I'm afraid if you don't get admitted now, you're going to give birth on Airline Highway."
When I arrived at the hospital, I was a little disappointed that I was only dilated six to seven centimeters. Some of you are saying, "What do you mean ONLY?" I am normally eight centimeters dilated when I arrive at the hospital. Believe me, I know what a blessing that is. On the flip side, I was worried that I wouldn't have time to get in my I.V. antibiotics for Group B Strep. I almost always test positive for this.
Unlike my other laobrs, I noticed that my contractions were really leaving me "winded". They were staying at six to seven minutes apart, but boy, they packed a wallop. I was so tired after every single one, even though I was able to stay calm and breathe through each one. I focused on not clenching my fists, gritting my teeth, or furrowing my eyebrows (O.K., they were a little furrowed)...
"Be nothing, Grasshopper, and you will have everything to give to others." - Master Po (This means nothing except that I thought a reference to Kung Fu would be good here. I used to love that show - mind over matter, brain over brawn, cool kung fu action and all that.)
My contractions stayed at six to seven minutes apart, and this gave me time to think. I thought about whether I would be able to handle the contractions when they got on top of each other. I was already so tired. I suppose the last month just left me out of resources.
I truly believe that God spaced my contractions out long enough to give me time to decide to have an epidural, because in all my other labors I would've had contractions at two minutes apart by that time. I also got both doses of antibiotic in.
That's right. I got the epidural, and I'm so glad I did. I was finally able to truly relax. I talked right through the rest of my contractions. When it was time to push, I was able to look in the mirror and see my sweet baby boy being born. (And I still got the heated blankets!)
Has a woman ever adequately described the sound of her baby's first cry? At that sound, life as she knew it is gone forever. And how blissfully thankful she is! This vernix-coated, nine pound, puffy, red boy makes every bit of nausea, every stretch mark, every bit of exhaustion and inconvenience...instantly worth it. And when a mother first puts her baby to breast in the delivery room, everything and everyone fades away. And the Lord quietly whispers in her ear, "This is your baby. He belongs to you. Raise him for My glory. Happy Birth-Day. I love you."
My labor lasted five and a half hours; not too shabby. By the time Phin and I were settled in our room, it was lunch time. Just in time to order a hamburger, fries, chocolate chip cookies and a Raspberry Daisy. Perfect!
Now I'm left with the aftermath of birth. You know - no sleep, a still-pregnant looking stomach, very sore muscles, et ceterah, et ceterah. Don't even get me started on the pains of breastfeeding. Lansinoh is my best friend. It's too bad I can't rub lidocaine on...never mind.
So, there you have it. The story of Phin's debut into the world. It's quite something that he's really here. What a wonder!
Phinehas James Stanford
August 01, 2010, 8:30 a.m.
Nine pounds
Twenty-one inches
About the name...
Phinehas means "Oracle" or "Prophet". It is a biblical name. Numbers 25 tells the story of Phinehas and how he was zealous for the honor of his God. Because of his desire for justice and for God's holiness, God established a priestly covenant with Phinehas; a covenant of peace.
Our desire for Phinehas, or "Phin", and for all of our children, is that they will...
The Lord has done great things for us and we are filled with joy. To God be the glory.
OK, scratch the last post. (Oh, that's funny - scratching post. Ha!)
Right after I wrote that post last night, my Blythe began complaining of acute pain in her left side. We spent all night last night in the ER without getting a diagnosis.
Today, we've discovered that her kidney is dilated and infected because of an obstruction of some kind. She has been admitted to the hospital. Tomorrow, the urologist will run a test to try to discover the source of the obstruction and decide what needs to be done about it.
Meanwhile, Blythe is really pitiful. Her pain is handled, but she's still battling nausea and vomiting toward the end of her Zofran doses. She will most likely be in the hospital for a couple more days while she receives IV antibiotics.
This could work out several ways:
I have to tell you that this is not a happy time. I am stressed, worried, scared, upset, and altogether a basket case. It is hard enough to prepare for natural childbirth, but if my Blythe is in the hospital, I just don't think I will be able to do it.
The Refiner's fire is burning hot these days. Pray for peace in the flames.
First, let me say that I'm jumping ahead of myself. I've neglected to post for so long that I suppose I'll be doing some back-tracking in the days ahead.
But I wanted to post some pics from our vacation at Orange Beach, Alabama. By the way, there were no oil slicks or tarballs to be seen, but I hear they'll probably be arriving on the Alabama coast very soon. It was interesting to see the large crews out patrolling the beaches for signs of the oil spill. I wonder how much all of that is going to cost. The whole thing is so unfortunate.
Moving on...Jade and I have this discussion every year when we take family beach pictures. That is, aren't they (beach pictures) a little cliche' at this point? Everyone has them, right? Here are the phases of the beach picture...
Everyone wears whatever they have on at the time.
Everyone wears denim. (We skipped this step.)
Everyone wears white.
Everyone wears black. That's us this year...
Almost 10 years and we still look good together. I love me some Jade.
Me playing with the photo editing software. Claire is stunning. Why couldn't I look like that at 13?
Proof that they love each other...whether they like it or not.
My three favorite men in the universe.
Followed by my three favorite girls in the universe. (Is Evelyn playing a flute???)
The fruits of my labor. They take much better pictures together when they're not expected to look at the camera. I like seeing them all standing there together. (My heart is gushing up big, sloppy mama love right now.)
Oh my word. Look at her. Imagine what we would've missed if we'd decided to have just four kids.
Great expectations. Or should I say grande expectations or gorda expectations or ginormous expectations? I will say this; no one tried to shove me back out to sea to save me. Thank goodness. That would've been awkward.
Jade and I complain every time we have to get our kids to leave the pool, get dressed in clothes they don't want to wear, make the hike to the beach, get everyone to stand together and try to get a decent picture. We're about 50/50 on the decent picture part. (Note: There are no pictures above of the entire Stanford Clan. That was a fail this year.) We haven't moved into the "professional photographer" phase yet. Our whole family is too cheap for that.
And yet, we keep doing it. Year after year, we gather everyone (now 18 people) together and take the pictures. It's not quite so cliche' when you put all the pictures from all the years together and see how everyone has changed and grown -- and how we've multiplied!
So here's my disclaimer -- I am super-hip and realize that beach pictures are passe'. However, we will continue to take the "beach pictures" year after year because it's the right thing to do. Maybe we will break out next summer and all stand on our heads or something fantastic like that. I'm open for suggestions.
Do you see what I see?
I see grown-ups...
...and grandchildren.
The world is spinning faster and faster. Isn't it?
...the latest addition to The Stanford Clan. Look at that profile. Gorgeous!
No lack of self-confidence here. Already boasting, "I'm Number One!"
Without further ado,...
...it's Baby Boy Stanford (and the crowd goes wild)!!!
The fine print...
My Dad just started working again after recovering from heart bypass surgery. But for a couple of months, we had coffee together with my sister every Thursday morning, usually at La Madeleine's.
When I was growing up, my Dad worked really hard to support three kids. He was typical of dads during that time. He worked; he ate; he slept. Me and my brother and sister weren't close to him and we were all a little scared of him. Anyway, he's mellowed over the years and, surprise, I grew up! I love spending time with my Dad. I sort of feel like we're making up for lost time.
A couple of weeks ago, he treated my sister, and Evelyn and me, to coffee at La Madeleine's. Evelyn loves her Pop and always wants to check on his "bo-bo" from surgery. Evelyn had her usual chocolate parfait, courtesy of Aunt Candice. I know licking one's fingers is not allowed in all the etiquette books, but don't you think it should be? Doesn't it show how much a person is enjoying the food if they're willing to lick it off of their hands? High praise indeed.
In the same vein, what about loving your food so much that you just want to smear it all over your face to more fully experience it? Just a thought.
Back to my story...A few weeks ago, my Dad happened to mention that he and Gay Nan (my stepmother) go have their toes done together every week. I busted laughing! Seriously? I was trying to picture the dad I grew up with getting a pedicure every week. I said, "I have got to come along next time and blog that!"
Well, I haven't gotten a chance to do that yet, but Dad did take me to get MY toes done after we ate at La Madeleine's. Ya'll, I've gotten a pedicure once in my life -- the day before my wedding. That was almost ten years ago. Can you believe my DAD took me to get a pedicure? That is the most awesome thing ever.
Here he is sitting in front of the nail polish holding the Once Upon A Potty book for Evelyn while I get my toes done. Have you ever seen a man so confident in his manhood? My Dad is the bomb.
Evelyn had a slight problem with her Mama sitting in a big chair and putting her feet in a loud, steamy bath. She was deeply concerned for my safety and did not leave my side for the entire pedicure.
I finally talked her into putting her hands into the whirlpool. We were good from then on. To you ladies who get your feet done on a regular basis, I am jealous! This was so luxurious. The nice lady rubbed my big, fat pregnant legs and tired feet, and my chair vibrated! I could've taken a nice, long nap there.
Voila! Nice, neat, lady feet.
Thanks, Dad. Just so you know, you make me feel like a princess. I love you.
My grandmother passed away. Mrs. Edna Mae Tullier Farlow is no longer here, and I still can't quite believe it. For some reason, I've taken her death harder than any of my other grandparents'. Maybe because she was my last living grandparent and it feels like my childhood is gone for good. I cried the whole week preceding her death. I was mourning not just her, but her home in my memory. Oh, if I could have it all back for just one day.
I can't tell you the whole story of what Grandma means to me. It's just not possible to put a person in a nutshell or even in a really thick book. I will tell you some things about my Grandma that made me love her and made her mine...
She was so tough, so invincible. I kind of thought she would be here forever. Like maybe one day we'd just find her slumped over the tractor in her yard at the age of 150 or something.
Losing her is like losing another part of my mother. When Grandma would tell me stories about my Mama, it was like getting Mama back for a little while.
Good stuff happened at her house, like Christmas, Easter, the smell of coffee in the morning, and going to sleep by a lighted clock with little tinfoil pieces that floated up and down.
She and Grandaddy had a satsuma tree by their house. One Thanksgiving, I skipped lunch and ate satsumas off that tree until I got sick. Those were good satsumas.
My grandma could plant a rock and make it grow. She could grow anything and had the most beautiful flowers and plants I've ever seen.
Once she wrung the neck of a rooster that pecked my sister on the back of the leg. We had chicken and dumplings that night. Don't mess with the Grandma!
Grandma had a pink lamp in her bedroom and a pink bedspread. At night, when the lamp was on, her whole room glowed pink. I can't really explain how that made me feel, except, "Wow!" She was a tough woman with a princess bedroom. It revealed a lot to me about her.
One summer when I visited, she and I went to LeBlanc's grocery store, which made fresh French bread every day. She bought a loaf of that bread and we went home and ate the whole loaf with a big tub of butter for lunch. For that, I am eternally grateful.
When we visited her house from out of town, I got to watch the Buckskin Bill Show on Channel 9.
Because of her and my grandfather, I am a total produce snob. I have no taste for store-bought fruit and vegetables (Yes, that's me in the background with my underwear hanging out).
She really liked old-time gospel music.
Every time I visited her house, I cried when it was time for me to leave. I would always go hide in the back bedroom closet with my cousins, hoping my parents wouldn't find me and would be forced to leave without me.
This time, she left me. But one day...
"When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: 'Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?' The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." --I Corinthians 15:54-57
"In the sweet by and by, we will meet on that beautiful shore."
