Sinclare's Story

One full year. How much can change in one year? It feels like everything.

On January 6, 2016, 19 days ahead of my baby's due date, I awoke at 12:45 a.m. with contractions and dampness. I went downstairs to let Andy sleep, and I paced the living room a bit, drinking water, trying to get it to stop. Instead it got worse.

I woke Andy up, and he dawdled for a while, until it hit him that it was the middle of the night and I was in labor and oh yeah my labors are fast. We called my dad to meet us at the hospital before waking up Fletcher and Truman and forcing them into the old Ford Escape.

The boys were confused and a bit upset. I was gripping the passenger door and doing my best to turn my screams into something that wouldn't frighten them. I probably didn't succeed.

By the time we hit the freeway, I wasn't sure I would make it to the hospital before our baby girl made her appearance. When I spotted a police car on the side of the freeway with its lights flashing, I considered telling Andy to stop and flag him over. But I was too busy panting and screaming, so on we went, racing against time and icy roads and incomprehensible pain.

It should be noted that Andy had his own obstacles to overcome that night. A mere five days had passed since his vasectomy, and here he was hauling a five-year-old around, and a two-year-old, and our bags. Once the boys were passed off to my dad, and Andy finally joined me in the hospital room, his body was ready to give out.

When I got to the hospital room, I was surprised and disappointed that she didn't immediately fall out of me. While Andy was busy with the car and the boys and the bags, I went through hell several times over, the kind of hell that you're helpless to do anything about -- no position or breathing or even drugs would offer even an inch of relief. As always, it was too late for me for drugs.

But I wasn't fully dilated, so on and on it went.

Andy joined me.

Then we got ready, as ready as we could manage. Impossibly, the pain got worse, and it was time to push.

Push and push and push. It was too much pain. I'll never forget my exact words when I looked up at Andy's strained face.

"I don't think I can do this."

Then the nurses told me I have to push again.

One. Big. Mighty. Push.

...and she was here.

That split second was completely startling. Before I even knew what had happened, the nurse dropped this bloody thing on my torso and my fingers tentatively touched my precious baby girl for the first time.

"I guess I can do this," I said to Andy. Then I laughed one pained, wondrous laugh.

At 3:19 a.m., after just 2.5 hours of conscious labor, Sinclare Alyssa Jane Schultz was born.

It was only a second after the highest high that my emotions crashed low. A recurring thought that I struggled with throughout the pregnancy would hit me the hardest now that it was over.

I'm never going to do this again. 

That was the last time I would ever feel that stunning, overwhelming high. The last time I would hold my just-born baby. I wasn't ready to not be pregnant anymore, to not be pregnant ever again.

But I wasn't going to waste the little time I had. Almost immediately after my emotional crash, I brought myself back to the wonder of the present, and I have cherished every second of my precious girl's life since.

I will never not be sad that it's over. Nothing in my life has been as bittersweet as this.

I will never not be grateful for the blessings -- the miracles -- I have in my babies.

She was a tiny thing, at least compared to my boys, at 6 lbs 15 oz, 19 1/4 inches. In the year since, she has made up for lost time and is now in the 97th percentile compared to other babies. Andy calls her his "full-figured baby." To daddy, she's Clara. And no one makes her smile as big and bright as her daddy.

She smiles a lot, even when she's exhausted or sick, which is often. She has fought RSV, bronchiolitis, endless cold viruses, eczema, an adenoidectomy, egg and other unidentified food allergies, and croup. The illnesses keep coming, and we keep fighting, and she keeps smiling.

One of the scariest moments of my life was when she was one week old. I took her to the doctor because she seemed to have a cold and was having difficulty breathing. The doctor told me to take her to children's hospital. Now. Don't even go home. Go straight to the hospital. That was the longest drive of my entire life, as I begged whoever was listening to help me keep my baby girl with me. It turned into a miserable five-day stay at the hospital, but she survived the bronchiolitis from RSV, and I will keep with me a million memories of tiny moments spent in that hospital room with her, from the daytime visits with my dad to the nighttime visits with my boys to all the silent moments in between that I spent staring at her face just watching her breathe.

It's a year later, and I could still spend a day staring at her and be happy. My baby Clare.

(Hospital announcement still online: https://www.froedtert.com/onlinebabies/BabyDetail.aspx?BabyID=4328&ShowBack=true&ssid=1&sid=1&id=306)

Truman's really late birthday post

My baby turned one year old a while ago.

He keeps getting cuter and cuter. He has developed a sense of humor and makes himself laugh by blowing raspberries. He loves being chased and will crawl away from me giggling every time I want to get his socks and jacket on. He stands and cruises but doesn't walk. He sometimes cries in the night, and if it's a full moon he'll be inconsolable until I take him to the living room and turn on the lights and play the movie Frozen.

His favorite things in the world are his daddy's funny faces, applesauce, Frozen, his brother when he runs and does things he can't do, green beans, being outside, Frozen, throwing things, big splashes in the bathtub, his own voice, and FROZEN. Little toddler Anna is the love of his life.

One year ago, I was just trying to figure out how to be a mother to two little boys and go to work. It was impossibly hard and has not gotten any easier. But I know you now. I know every screeching, ear-shattering scream that you make. I know how strong you are, how loving, how much you change every day from one minute to the next. I will come home tonight and you will be a new person, but you'll still be my Truman, always my Truman. 

Truman's first year...

 

I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living my baby you'll be.

My Four-Year-Old

Dear Fletcher,

One thing parenthood has taught me is that every age is a tough age. On paper, being four sounds easy. You play with toys, eat lots of macaroni and cheese, still get a nap, and don't need a job. But in truth, I know the emotional being you currently are, because you wear those emotions plainly on your sleeve.

This is how we start as humans: feeling everything, completely throwing ourselves out there when we're excited, complaining loudly when we don't like something, pushing and pulling when we're frustrated, screaming and crying when we're hurt or scared or just so confused. It's the height of vulnerability.

In the years ahead, a lot of that exuberance will probably be tamed. You may continue to feel the exhaustive range of emotion, but you'll learn that acting on these emotions is unfavorable.

Sit still. Be quiet. Don't bite. Clean up your mess. I said no. Don't jump off the furniture. Hold my hand. Go to sleep. Eat your chicken. Get in the car. Wipe your own butt.

So much of what I say to you is a command. And much of the rest of what I say is disappointing. I can't right now. I have to make dinner. I'm feeding your brother. I need to do the laundry. I'll be there in a minute.

Play with me, Mommy.

On your fourth birthday, Fletcher, I want you to know that I feel what you feel and I want what you want, even when it sometimes doesn't feel like it. Sitting with you on the living room floor, forcing myself to ignore all the pressure weighing on me, is the best part of the day. I do want to spend all day hearing what you have to say, watching your stubborn and downright sassy side develop, learning what you're confident about today and what intimidates you, shaking my head at your endless supply of energy, and having a part in your rapid learning and growth.

Every day you change. Every day I love you even more.

The first preference you showed was for dinosaurs and trains. I remember when Thomas the Train and Dinosaur Train would light you up. Now you love superheroes and fighting bad guys, running from imaginary bears and dinosaurs, attacking monsters, jumping on people, staging epic battles, always running running running.

Run, Mommy, run! 

Next, I imagine, will be sports. You love soccer balls, basketballs, footballs, baseballs now mainly because it's an activity outside. But the time is coming when you will outrun and outplay us all. You've been a physical creature since birth, after all.

I'm so lucky that I get to be a part of it, that I have these years ahead of me where I can continue to watch and contribute to the great boy you are and will be.

Life is hard. It's not going to get easier. But experiencing it together is a such a gift. Thank you, Fletcher, for being my four-year-old.

Love,
Mommy 

Making his own birthday cake with Grandma Patty.

"Only I can do it."

Happy 2nd Birthday

Step One: Try to light hand on fire

Step Two: Smash cupcake to face

Fletcher, my fearless boy, you have been with us for two brief, life-altering years. You practically flew out to meet us, and have been bringing adventure to our lives ever since.

You may never comprehend what that means to me, what you've given me just by being you.

By being mine.

It isn't something that can be explained. Saying you'd give your life for someone is just words until you become the parent of a bright, demanding, magical child like you. 

Being immersed in your present and future, I have a hard time remembering what you were like in the beginning, or a year ago. You were walking then, but not as fast. You knew what you wanted, but weren't as independent or stubborn. A lot of the things you control and take ownership of now were out of your reach then.

Your reach continues to grow.

Today you begin your third year. This year, I'm determined, you will learn to speak beyond your four words, become potty trained, move out of your crib, move into a new house, have more time with grandparents or daycare, and God willing become a brother.

Big changes.

Nothing you can't handle.

My little boy, you won't always be little. But you will always have someone who will protect you, stand up for you, and hold your hand. You will always have someone who believes in your ability to learn and stand on your own. Someone who will listen. Someone who will let go when that's what's best for you. Someone who will never let go in her heart.

I will always be at your mercy, little man. There's no place else I'd want to be.

ice cream cake

Woody!

his first mp3 player

a little too much partying?

a present saved for his actual birthday

 Happy 2nd Birthday, Baby

Happy Birthday to Daddy

Yesterday was Andy's birthday. Fletcher tried to wake daddy up extra early by babbling and crawling all over him in bed. When that didn't work, he got up close to his face and then proceeded to slap him multiple times in the cheek. I haven't laughed that hard in a while.

Birthdays aren't exciting when you're a parent approaching the start of your fourth decade. There was no surprise party or balloons,  no big pile of presents or even 24 hours of complete relaxation. As someone who doesn't have much affection for cake, he didn't even have candles to blow out.

What he had was us.

And he was happy.

7DPO signs

October 25, 2011

Since 3DPO, I've had nausea on and off. Since 5DPO, I've had that dull, all over cramping that I've associated with pregnancy. All of this is way too early -- like two weeks too early -- to be real. So what's going on here?

All I know is that tomorrow is only 8DPO, but it's my birthday, so dammit I'm peeing on a stick. It's my party and I'll test if I want to.

Yesterday I got a call from the doctor's office reminding me of my prenatal appointment on my birthday, and I had to tell her, "No... that appointment was cancelled... because of a... loss." I didn't want to use the word "miscarriage" while in hearing distance of others. The nurse sounded flustered then, apologetic, and I just felt sad.

Cue the confetti. What a birthday it will be.

Universe, could I please have a baby for my birthday? That would be very nice, thank you.

In which I fit three weeks into one post

It turns out that there's a certain combination of busy and tired that makes it difficult to sit down and write what you want to write into your blog.

Our week of vacation for Fletcher's birthday (and a visit from Uncle Jeremy) went quickly. We didn't take any big trips or "do" anything memorable. Still, it was a turning point for the little person and much has happened for him. Since his birthday...

FIRST:

• Birthday party
• Trip to the zoo
• Seriously walking, even if he looks like a smiling zombie 
• Whole milk and several new foods
• Climbed onto a coffee table
• Played in the McDonald's play area
• Pushed open the screen door and climbed down the concrete steps to get outside
• Went to the pool with Daddy
• Waited until we weren't looking to climb over the barrier to the stairs, which he then climbed and ran around the upstairs hallway by himself with the cats' water dish

 
I'm sure I'm forgetting things; it has all been a blur. I also had a first -- first time I spent all morning making (pureeing) fresh food for Fletcher, which he then refused to eat, and I could swear my mother was out there somewhere smiling as this justice was delivered.

At his doctor appointment he was still underweight at less than 20 pounds, and average for height. In the past week, however, he has shot up like a beanpole.

Since his birthday, he has only nursed once a day. Yesterday, June 10, was my last time breastfeeding. This ending is like cutting off a limb. Also? HORMONES SUCK.

Here comes a crap ton of photos.

BIRTHDAY PARTY:

Checking out Uncle Jeremy

ZOO:

Family photo with elephant ass

RANDOM:

Scrambled eggs make excellent confetti

Wiped out

Climbing onto the diaper box

Climbing the table, finally capturing the iPod

Tuning up the lawn mower

First trip to the pool