And then there were four.

It's been nearly 8 weeks since our trio has become a quad. On the 18th of March, we welcomed little Madeleine Elise to the world. And so begins the story...

Every day around the time she was due (12 March), we wondered if that day would be the day...and as the days kept passing, I began to wonder if she would ever come out! Did she not want to meet us as much as we did her?

We had so many plans in place for who would take care of you when it finally happened...plans for if it happened in the middle of the night; or on a weekend; or (God forbid!) while I was at work...but alas, all the best laid plans aside, it happened about 15 minutes after Daddy had gone to drop you off at school.  On Tuesday the 17th, I'd had a check in with my doc, hoping that she'd just admit me then and there since I was approaching the 41 week mark...but she'd been up all night in surgery, had the next day off, so instead scheduled me for an induction on Thursday...the official start to the 41st week.  Sigh.

Let's just say for the rest of that day, I felt as though things may be happening. I was feeling what I thought might be mild contractions but having not experienced this on my own without induction the first time with you, I just wasn't sure.  Daddy and I went out to lunch, I remember thinking maybe I should be counting these...maybe it's just something else (though seriously, at nearly 41 weeks what ELSE could it be?)...that night, I said to myself, eh, let me just make dinner and then I'll call the doc. No sweat.

I put you to bed that night convinced it was the last as the three of us, and that I'd have to wake you up in the night to shuffle you off to someone's house while we did this.  You assured me you were fine, not scared and knew exactly what would happen if I had to wake you up.  We'd gone over this plan many times.

I did talk to the doc on call who didn't think I was ready to come in yet. At 9 pm, I got into bed and began counting the spaces in between contractions.  At some point I fell asleep because the next thing I knew it was 6 am on Wednesday and there was still no baby.  I packed your lunch, got you up and ready for school, and off you and Daddy went. At 7:30 am on Wednesday, the 18th, my water broke and I remember uttering out loud, WTF just happened? It was time.

Off to the hospital we went...Daddy took this picture of me to commemorate the day and the waiting began.  We weren't going to need to worry about you though, as one of our plans fell into place and you'd go home that night with your buddy Nolan and we'd know you were safe, happy, well-cared for.

As I told the amazing nurses who took care of me, the thing I was really looking forward to the most about my hospital stay was this: The giant mug o' water.  There's just something solid and awesome about it.  I loved it the first time, I loved it again.

The day progressed.  Events were so drastically different from when I had you.  I was not given any pitocin (yippeee!) because I was just doing everything on my own...and things were happening on their own. At some point though I felt like things were getting unbearably intense and by things I mean the contractions.  Let's be real. I wasn't trying to be any kind of rock star here...giving birth no matter how it's done is it's own kind of surreal wonder...whether you choose to be out, fully awake, loaded with meds, or med-free, the fact that a human being is extracted from your body is just miraculous.  So I had no problem flagging my nurse down and saying it's time for the epi.  

And while I received the epidural, it came at a time when things were happening too quickly for it to kick in.  So essentially when it came time to push, and boy, that time came quickly, I felt every last excruciating moment.  I'm pretty sure I've referred to it as torture.   I remember thinking that I couldn't do this...how could I keep going?  It felt impossibly monumental.  I was dimly aware of the stoic doc at the end of the bed flatly encouraging me that yes, in fact I could do this...and the nurses (who by the way really are the rock stars in this story) and Daddy who were also telling me yes I can...of course in my head I'm screeching 'that's what you tell everyone who does this!'.  Am I wrong?

And after what felt like, to my delirious self, hours...(but only happened to be 52 minutes) your little sister finally arrived. I don't remember much from those first few moments except that they were a little bit tense, there wasn't any crying from her, and the nurses were whispering and moving very quickly. Later, when I had the presence of mind to ask my nurse at the 3 am check in what happened, she simply told me that little Madeleine wasn't quite sure how to take her first breath, and so they had to help her along for some seconds...I'm glad I wasn't really aware of that at the time.

Instead, I was aware of how beautiful she was (is!)...and how amazingly she looked exactly like you...exactly. The female version of Garrett.  This is you:

And this is Madeleine:  

So we marveled at the likeness and were quite simply in awe of her as we were with you.

The next day, Grammie and Grampie came to visit...

And then the moment we had been waiting for you...Daddy had gone to pick you up and bring you to the hospital so you could meet her. I couldn't wait to see you, I missed you so much. I think you were a bit undone by the hospital setting, even though we had practiced, even though we were all together...you were a little nervous, and understandably so.  But these were the first few moments captured and they were still just as sweet.

That night, Daddy went home to be with you.  We had agreed that you would probably need him more than I did, since I had a fleet of nurses to take care of me...and it was important that you knew we were thinking of you and loving you as much as ever before.

On Friday it was time to go home.  There is something terribly bittersweet about leaving a maternity ward unlike any other part of a hospital, I would imagine or at least the maternity ward of Midcoast Hospital.  

The nurses--they see you at your most vulnerable (and let's face it, there is nothing private, dignified or graceful about giving birth.  You leave all that at the door the moment you check in)...they hold your hand while you're screaming from the pain and while they probably think you're going to crush their fingers, to you, it's a lifeline of trust; they essentially do everything for the baby and you once he or she is born and they take care of you and the baby throughout the duration; they make you peanut butter toast at 10:30 pm because you're starving, dinner was hours ago, and breastfeeding makes you ravenous; they give you the drugs when you need them; they wheel your baby back to the nursery without judgment, because you know you have only a small window of time before the next feeding or vitals check and you just want to spend it with your eyes closed in the dark and quiet sanctuary of your room, reflecting on the events that had occurred mere hours before as the adrenaline begins to fade. 

And most importantly, at least to me, they make you feel like you're their only patient--the only one they have to take care of. Yet this is their job.  They do this day in and day out for hundreds of women, all the time.  So you're not special, you're just one of many.  But they make you feel special.  And when it's time to say goodbye, or you know that their shift has ended and you won't see them again before you leave, it's bittersweet. You'll likely never run into them again or have the occasion to see them. It's such a weird feeling and one I don't even know I can truly articulate.  But to those nurses, who took such awesome care of me this time around, thank you...it made such a difference.

Going home...

Adjusting to life...

Siblings...

I do so love that every day when you get home from school or when you wake up in the  morning, your first questions are "How's Madeleine? Any poops? Any crying?"  You are always so concerned.  You are such an awesome big brother.

A whole lotta random cuteness...

So there it is...our first eight weeks of our family of four.  Next up...your 5th birthday and kindergarten registration (!!!). 

Mother's Day.

Oh boy.  There's so much to catch up on...so much to say.  So many changes have happened since the last post in February...births, kindergarten practice, birthdays...so many things to say.

But right now, it's Mother's Day.  The day I became a mother to you, Garrett, was the happiest day of my life.  I never could have imagined the joy I have felt the last five years and the love that continues to grow for you, this little person who holds such a gigantic piece of my heart. You are my heart.  

Now your baby sister has arrived and the joy continues to expand, the love continues to grow.  Like I never imagined it could.

So on this day, Mother's Day, I will cherish each moment spent with you and Madeleine and be grateful for the day that made me a mother; your mother.  

The Final Countdown--a love letter to my first born.

It seems only appropriate on this snowy Valentine's Day, and in the final few weeks of being a family of three, to reflect and reassure my littlest Valentine of the enormous amount of love that we have for him.  While changes are a comin', what will never change was how he was first to steal our hearts.

Our dearest Boo,

It goes without saying that from the moment you entered this world after nearly 40 hours of, let's just say 'intense', laboring, you captured our souls and taught us about a kind of love that we had never known existed.  You've been in this life for such a short span of time, and yet we have watched you grow and thrive so quickly...learning how to navigate among others, and be grown up in so many ways.  But, as I like to sometimes tell you, you're still just little.  You're still just my little boo, who loves to snuggle and cuddle and be held.   I cherish these moments knowing that in the distant future, you'll be too embarrassed to give me a kiss when you go into school or run at me full speed when I pick you up at the end of the day.

Big changes are coming...you've been king of our castle for 4 1/2 years.  We've done so many things, gone so many places, and we've weathered many a storm.  It's been just us and soon there'll be another.  Oh sure, we've been preparing you, and talking with you about how important being a big brother is, and how much help you're going to be, and you seem up to the challenge.  But we know there's a little bit of fear in you...fear of the new baby's arrival...what that will mean for our little familial constellation.  Please know this...Daddy and I love you more than anything else on this planet, and because you are such a marvelous, wonderful you, our hearts can only grow bigger to welcome another, who will no doubt bring us the same joy and laughter (and ok, let's be real for a second, frustration and tears!) that you have in such a short amount of time.

Your baby sister is going to need you. She's going to look to you when she needs advice, or needs help solving a puzzle. She's going to look to you to protect her and guide her.  She'll look to you when she's feeling frustrated with us.  You have such a big role to play. So as our hearts grow bigger, so will yours.  It may take her awhile to get into playing with "Green Hulk" et al, but you'll be there to show her.   And you, my sweet, will have to be patient when she wants you to sit and have a tea party with her.  Or when she wants to play dress up with you simply because it'd be funny to see her big brother in whatever princessy garb she throws your way.

As these final few weeks begin to tick away, I admit that I find myself scared too...scared of disrupting the almost perfect world we've created for ourselves with you...scared of the change (change is hard!) and scared of the uncertainty of what lies ahead.  Yet I know we'll weather it like we have everything else...together.  There is nothing more important than family, our family.  (and PLEASE, if you're going to impart any wisdom or habits of yours to your sister, please let it be your sleeping and eating habits...both of which are stellar.)  

Your baby sister is going to love you so much...you are, after all, our sweet boy, and your infectious smile and good nature will make her feel instantly welcomed and loved, because that's what you do, and that's who you are.

Happy Valentine's Day to you, our dear Garrett...now and always.
xo,
Mommy

Home stretch.

5 weeks. 32 more days. The home stretch has begun until we welcome our new arrival...your baby sister. Nursery done? Check. Sibling class done? Check. Tiny baby girl clothes washed and put away? Check. Hospital bag packed? Check. Boxes of diapers and wipes bought? Check. Name picked? Check. For the most part, we are ready.  

We've had an eventful month getting ready. For so long, March seemed very far away...but before you know it, it's right around corner.  And we can't wait to meet her.  You've been so helpful.  You helped set up the nursery...and you love going up every once and awhile to just look around and rearrange things.  And I love how every picture you draw of our family now includes a new little addition.

A few weeks ago, we went to a sibling class at the hospital.  It was an opportunity for you to see and tour the maternity ward, ask questions, and learn all about what it means to be a big brother.  Since we were the only attendees, you got all the one-on-one attention. I was so proud of you! 

Next it was on to the nursery...you were such a big help and I think you're going to be in there a lot...especially since you love to remind us that this used to be your room.

Throughout the past several months, we have amazing support from our friends. Everyone is so excited for your baby sister to arrive and it's been wonderful to feel such love.  At book club last month, our friends surprised us with a lovely shower. Just last week, at work, I was so surprised to find out that a staff meeting was really a baby shower.  How exciting! Not to mention, my work family loves YOU so much, that they included in you in gifties. 

So now we wait...time has flown, and before you know it our little family of three will grow to four. We are ready.