VBS: Very Busy Schedule

I grew up in a non-denominational church. This church was like a second family to me. Everybody knew everybody. We weren't a small church, per say, we just started out small. For most of my young, formative years, my church hosted Vacation Bible School every summer. It seemed like the entire church took part. From my experience with volunteering at my current church's VBS this year, I'm starting to suspect that volunteering was mandatory for the congregation and all who abstained from assisting in some way was excommunicated or something, because everyone played some part in making it happen. All that to say; the VBS that my old church put on was the bomb.
  I can remember very little from my childhood, due to a crummy memory that I've mentioned before (I think...), but I can clearly recall, with fond memories, many aspects and details of this week-long summer "school" that were crazy-awesome, especially for small children. The theme for many, many years was something along the lines of the 12 tribes of Isreal and life in Jerusalem at the time of Christ. I'm not sure if this theme was concocted entirely by the elders/deacons/pastoral staff, or if, like all Vacation Bible Schools offered nowadays, the theme was selected from some catalog that many other churches ordered from, but I again suspect that it was the former, because I haven't seen another church do anything similar to it.
  The effort, detail, and time put in to making this week-long event happen must have been phenomenal! I remember so clearly feeling like I had traveled back in time when I entered my room at VBS, because each individual room was decorated to look like a Middle Eastern nomad's tent or Jewish home. Each class a tribe, and each group leader went all-out when decorating! Sheets covered the walls, rugs covered the floors, cushions were set around for sitting on, and there was a menorah and mezuzah put in the proper place in each room and used in the proper way to teach children how the Jewish people lived when Jesus was alive. Not only that, but everyone dressed to part, too. Women and men wore long tunics and robes with appropriate head coverings, and little tunics were handed out to each kids attending. We were all given our own little leather money pouches with a set number of pennies in them for us to "spend" or give to the poor at our discretion. Once we were out of pennies, we were out.
   Where did we spend our pennies, you ask? In the marketplace. Our sanctuary would be turned into a noisy, busy bazaar. Stalls lined the walls with crafts to make and wares to buy. And when I say "crafts", I don't mean making a sun out of paper plates, glitter and glue. I mean leather working, candle making, even paper making! I could spend a penny to make a belt, then go next door and watch a potter at his wheel make urns and pitchers and bowls, then I could drop a penny or two to make a couple of functional candles. You had to be careful not to trip over the crippled beggar that would beg for any pennies you could spare. Good, kind children would give the beggar some pennies. You also had to watch out for the wicked tax collector. He would make rounds in the marketplace, dressed in the fanciest robes, demanding your taxes and snatching pennies from careless kids. Once or twice, I even saw the tax collector steal the poor, crippled beggar's stash of pennies! I felt real outrage! Especially that time me dad was the beggar. Oooo, that tax collector had sinned the greatest sin by stealing my poor, crippled daddy's meager begging wages! Yeah, that marketplace was awesome.
  I recall these fun memories now because I have just completed my first night working at my church's VBS. The theme is Climbing Mt. Everest. My church is all decked-out to look like a snow-covered base camp at the foot of Mt. Everest. The classroom that my friend and I are teaching in has a tent and some trees and sleeping bags and lanterns and snowflakes in it. The curriculum we're following is fun, simple, and full of Biblical truths. Many members of the congregation have dedicated a lot of time, effort, and energy in making this VBS a reality, including myself. Here I am, after one evening of co-leading the pre-school class, and I am exhausted!
    I don't want to compare the nostalgic memories of my childhood with the responsibility of this present VBS week, but just thinking about the work that must have been put into setting up, running, tearing down, and cleaning up Jesus' Jerusalem must have been ridiculous! I can only hope and pray that the kids who are attending Sylvania's Mt. Everest VBS will hang onto the memory of the fun they had and the truths they learned with us for years to come. Also, thanks, Bethel Bible Church, for hosting some pretty crazy-awesome Vacation Bible Schools back in the day.
   
  
            

Well, there goes half a year...

It has been six months since my last post.
How on earth does that happen?
A friend of mine shared a quote with me that may be entirely too accurate in describing this strange phenomenon: when parenting, the days last forever, but the years fly by. I believe that is true for life in general.
   In high school, I wished the time away, because it was high school. I lamented the time-suck that was organized education, and the laughably light load of responsibility my part time job(s) put on me. Yet, at the same time, I was having the time of my life. My friends were a tight-knit group of awesome, surprisingly well-behaved (comparatively speaking), kind and supportive kids, and we had lots of care-free fun. I loved being the star and soul of the softball team (my old teammates may disagree as to whether that was my actual role, but deep in their hearts, they know it was true...) I loved singing in the choir, I loved working on the newspaper staff, and I loved the lazy summer days spent at the lake. We got some impressive sunburns there.
  Now, as I look back, those are some sweet "good old days". I thought they would never end, at the time, and yet they went by so fast.
    Stephan proposed to me 6 months into our relationship. We set the date for 6 months later. Those were the longest 6 months of my young life. The planning, the preparations, the tantalizing waiting! I had a countdown going until the big day. My future husband had a countdown going for the start of Cowboys' football. I still married him. In that time of excitement and anxiety and an impressive show of self control, it felt like that special May 12th was years and years away.
  Boy, that day flew by so fast. That was 8 years ago.   
 When I was enduring my stunted stay in the frustrating quagmire that was my college experience, I would sit in a class, staring at the wall, daydreaming of my handsome boyfriend-who-quickly-turned-fiancee-and-then-husband, and think to myself, "Woah, I found the place were time stands still." Everything about collage was annoying to me. I didn't want to be there. I was doing what I had to do because that's what everyone said everyone has to do. The instant I got pregnant and uncomfortable enough to convince Stephan that college was unnecessary for my chosen vocation of home management, I tossed up the deuces to the University of Texas in Tyler and settled in to the life of a stay at home wife and mother.
   I thought my time there would never end. It passed by so quickly. Good riddance, college.
  As I sat on the couch in my quaint, quiet house, my very  new baby nestled on my propped up thighs, I counted his toes and waved his arms and tried my best to get any reaction out of him as he tried his best to go back to sleep. (Baby Wise says it's wake-time right now, kid. Sorry.) I was barely three weeks into my first go as a mother. My newborn son was everything I had dreamed about and prayed for for a long time. I loved him so much! He was perfect! He was healthy and adorable and looked like his daddy. I was living the life that I had always wanted! And I was beating myself up with guilt because I was bored. Noah's days were unending cycles of eat, stare at lights, poo-poo-tee-tee, sleep, repeat. And I was only really needed for the eat/poo-poo-tee-tee part. I tried my best to enjoy every moment, because everybody and their mom (especially their mom) tells you to, but often I found myself willing my baby boy to hurry and reach that next big milestone! I thought those days were going to last forever. Now, I have a five year-old who is going to start Kindergarten this fall.
  Foolish, stupid me, did you really try your hardest to enjoy every moment? Because I can hardly remember that first year, and that makes me far sadder than I like to think about.  
   A few weeks back, Stephan and I were wrapping up a Netflix binge-session with The Office, and something that was said in the finale by the character Andy Bernard really struck me. It was said with the intention of being poignant, yet humorous, a feat few sitcoms on tv can successfully achieve. The Nard-Dog said, after summing up his time at Dunder Mifflin Paper Co., "I wish we could know we were in the 'good old times' before they became the 'good old times'."
  Amen and amen, Nard-Dog.
 After the flash in the pan that was Naoh's infancy, I pledged to do a better job of soaking in every moment with my future children. I can clearly recall the feeling of self-satisfaction I had once when Witten was a small baby. I thought that I was doing it! I was stamping those moments so permanently in my brain that even my goldfish-level memory wouldn't forget what it was like when I was loving on my little baby. Of course, that's the only clear memory of Witten's baby-hood that I can recall.
  So what can I do?
Praise God for the invention of the photograph. Thank goodness I was bored enough to try my hand at blogging that one night 6 years ago. And please, Lord, help me, now and always, to truly, truly relish and live in these fleeting moment. These boys often drive me nuts, and I experience far more parenting fails than I'd like to admit, but I don't want my life to be hurried living, ended by wistful remembering. Be with me in every one of these moments, Lord, so that I can live a life that brings you glory.
   And, as always, please save my children.     

Aren't they precious?

Be safe

When Noah was not even 6 months old yet, his Bebe came to pick him up for an afternoon at his grandparents' house. It was just a few hours of playing with his loving Papa and doting Bebe, and they were going to stay in their house and travel no where else with him, so I felt completely confident my baby boy would be perfectly safe. It was even going to give me a chance to catch up on house work and maybe take a nap. I was ready for this!
  Still, as I handed my mother Noah's diaper bag and then the boy himself, I felt this strange, faint, yet very real sensation in my chest. As corny as it sounds, I felt a tug. A tug in my chest. I watched my mom walk away, and my baby watched me over his Bebe's shoulder. The tugging became undeniable. Then,when my baby disappeared into the back seat of my mom's car, the tug turned into an all-out pull, and I started to cry.
   I pulled myself together by reminding myself that this was my loving mother and not a basket in the Nile river taking my baby away. Also, silly, emotional woman, you'll be picking the kid up in, like, three hours, so stop it! And I did get Noah back, and he was completely fine, and my parents were very happy to have spent an entire evening with their only grandchild. It was a happy and good event. So why the tug?
   Four years ran by way to fast.
Noah wanted to play with his sweet friends Anne and Abby, who live a quick walk down the street from our house. Anne and Abby run over to our house often to play with both my boys, and I have dropped Noah and Witten off at their house several times. Today, however, Witten was napping, so I suggested he go play at the girls' house. He eagerly agreed.
   Stephan was at the gym, Witten asleep in his bed, and I was soon to put Belle down for a nap, too, so I knew me dropping Noah off was out of the question. An idea struck me. Grabbing up my phone, I shot a quick text at Karen, the kind and patient and lovely mother (and fellow blogger) of Noah's friends. Could she maybe send one of her girls to escort Noah to their own house? My answer was a chorus of knocks on our front door an impressively short time later. Anne and Abby skipped through our house and out the garage, where Noah was waiting for them.
     I helped him shrug on his jacket and then sent him off with the girls, then I stood in the doorway of the garage and watched him go. I don't think it was my mind making up stuff when I saw Noah proceed with great trepidation at first. He stood for a while in our driveway, watching the sisters dance around and tell him exciting things about what they'd heard from school or what they were going to do at home. Then, as the girls marched off, taking the short cut through the neighbor's yard, he pulled up the hood to his jacket and got to steppin' after them. By the time they moved out of my sight, Noah was jogging right along with the girls, clearly excited to play.He didn't look back once.
   Again, I knew the place Noah was headed to. I knew the girls and their parents and even their grandparents would be right there, should help be needed. I could even hear their happy playing from my front yard, even if I couldn't see them. Sure, there were a few more risks involved, what with the residential road that separated our neighbor's house from the girls' grandparents' house where they were headed, but I could proceed with confidence, knowing my boy was safe. Yet once again, I felt that tug. And once again, it got harder the farther Noah moved from me.
     I prayed, as I did on that day four years ago, that God would keep my first baby safe. I prayed it as if Noah was headed off to a week long camp an hour away from me. That kid is so disastrously tangled up in my heart strings that he cant leave my side without me feeling it in my chest. It's the same with his brother and sister, too. That over used saying about your children being your heart walking around outside your body is startlingly true. I love these three kids God gave me so much it physically hurts, sometimes, but in a good kind of way.
    I'm glad to see Noah expanding his horizons and testing his limits. I want him to be brave and independent. I love the idea of him and his siblings running over to their friends' houses to spend the day playing outside and using their imaginations. But seeing my big boy, my first baby, walk away like he did today, well, it made me all emotional and inspired, so I wrote a blog post about it.
   The End.

my little, bald-headed baby

Where'd this kid come from?

Du Toit Vacation 2014

The Du Toits went a-travelin', and it was good.
After over two years of working his tail-end off, Stephan decided to venture in a new direction, vocation-wise, and sold the Stand. For weeks before this took place, the man promised, repeatedly, that, as soon as the transaction was completed, we were going to pack up and take off. I was excited, to say the least. This would be our first vacation in over a year, and our first vacation as a family of five.
  The plan: load up the mini van and drive across half the continental United States to the east coast. (I would include pictures of our road trip travels, but I used my old camera instead of my phone, thanks to the camera on my phone having terrible photo quality, and now I can't find my connector cable or any other means of transferring the pictures I took from my camera to my computer. They may be trapped there forever! And there are some beautiful pictures from the aquarium on that stinkin' camera!!)
  Anyways,
The plan included 3 phases. Phase 1: Hit up Atlanta, Georgia, to visit the Robersons. Our dear friends, the Robersons, recently moved from Texas to Georgia. Since we know two other points/peoples of interest we wanted to visit in the area, we decided to make Georgia the focal point of our expedition.
   The drive there was not too bad. The boys were happily distracted with a constant stream of movies, and Belle did as well as could be expected of a 4 month-old confined in a car seat for extended periods of time. We stopped every 3-3 1/2 hours to take potty breaks and so I could feed the baby. I will say this; this road trip made me long for the days of old, when you could take out the back seat of your van or suburban and make a pallet to lay on while you watched movies or snacked or wrestled with your dad, who was taking a break from driving for a while and thereby giving your mom the chance to take a break from quilting to drive for a bit. *Sigh* good times.
   Anyways,
Crisi and I collaborated and decided to surprise Madi. Madi still swears that, one day, she and Noah will be wed, so she has been missing her guy a lot. When we arrived, Crisi had Madi open the door, after I nudged Noah forward so as to be waiting for her on the doormat. Madi's reaction was adorable! I think she may have cried a little bit. And from then until we left her house, Madi was always at Noah's side, whether he liked it or not.

Madi's on cloud nine. Noah could care less. Such a boy.

Noah actually did enjoy her attention, he just didn't want to admit it.

While visiting with John and Crisi, we not only got to experience Atlanta traffic, but we visited the largest aquarium in the world. It. was. AWESOME.

The animals housed in the aquarium we visited ranged form tiny, floating jelly fish, to massive, awe-inspiring whale sharks. (Yes, SharkS, as in four of the things!) There were so many sights to see and displays to gawk at and even a dolphin show that made me tear up a little bit.  The kids loved it! I would love to go back someday.
  Immediately after the aquarium, we headed to the Coca Cola museum that was right next door. We weren't there for long, as it was not all that entertaining for small children, especially children who were missing their naps. We did get to check out this nifty room where coca cola brand flavors from all around the world were available for sampling. Stephan found a South African brand he vaguely remembered called Bibo. It was okay, I guess. Then we tried this brand of drink from Italy called Beverly. It was the most disgusting thing I have ever intentionally ingested. Seriously. If you ever go to the Coca Cola museum in Atlanta, Georgia, keep an eye out for Beverly.
  We spent three days enjoying our dear friends' company.

Witten loved on Annabeth so sweetly!

Then, it was time to move along. We drove 6-ish hours to North Carolina to visit a friend of Stephan's from high school. We spent the weekend with them, during which time we watched The Guardians of the Galaxy. (It's currently my favorite movie) That was Phase 2.
  Phase 3: Visit cousin Cody and cousin-in-law Mary Beth in Pooler, Georgia. Never heard of Pooler, Georgia, you say? Verily, neither had I. But Pooler, Georgia is half an hour away from Savannah, Georgia, which, dear readers, is my new favorite place in America.
    I don't know if you know this about me, dear readers, but I'm a bit of a history buff. I love history. I don't know why, but all through school and into college I hated math and science with a passion and loved learning about the history of not just the United States, but ze VERLD! I tell you this to explain why I enjoyed Savannah so much: It was stuffed full of history!

This little pretend boat was planted on the river walk, surrounded by the original cobblestone street that was built in the late 1700's. I was literally walking on history.

  My cousin, Cody, was quite the tour guide. He lead us on a walk all through historic downtown Savannah and handed out cool facts and tidbits of information here and there for our enjoyment. I tell you, friends, if we had left our kids at home and I had worn more comfortable walking shoes, I could have explored that city all day!
  We lunched in a place called The Pirates' House. This building was, by far, the coolest place I have even been in in my LIFE! It was an authentic tavern from the 1750's that had been refurbished to be a restaurant, but I tell ya, readers, the air was thick with weighty history and the floors creaked with the footsteps of former occupants from centuries past. Sailors were shanghaied from that place! The stuff you read about in history books and nautical novels took place in a deep, dark, now-blocked-off-but-still-creepy tunnel not even six feet from where I sat to eat a super-tasty meal from the buffet! Seriously, I can't talk up enough the wow-factor a place like that had for a history nerd like me. If you want to read more about The Pirates' House, you can easily google it or click *HERE*. 
   Besides The Pirates' House, we toured Fort Pulaski (again, steeped in history and super awesome),

This is my happy face, mid-blink. I looked like this a lot in Savannah.

 ate at a tasty burger joint,

It was such a simple concept for a dining experience, and so, very tasty.

  Visited the beach (a place I have never been to during winter months),

Pier. Neat.

Empty beach. Cool.

Stephan had to pick up Witten, 'cause he kept flopping into the sand. Noah took over the flopping.

The boys loved it!

And lastly, we enjoyed some super tasty ice cream at an ice cream parlor that's been around since 1919 called Leopold's.

Seriously, it was abnormally tasty ice cream.

In between all the fun outings, I got to reconnect with my cousin and really get to know one of the newer members of my swiftly expanding family. All-in-all, phase 3 was a raving success.
   For the trip home, Stephan and I decided not to break the drive into two shorter trips by stopping halfway, as we did on the way there. Though the vacation had been loads of fun and time off well spent, we were homesick, and we just wanted the drive to be over. Friends, it was a long       stinking          drive         home. 16 hours, if I do recall correctly. As we neared familiar territory, we swore, once again, that we would never drive anywhere ever again, if we could help it.
    As I think back on the whole experience, I sigh with contentment. That was a good vacation.
But boy, am I glad to be home.

  A few notable things that has happened within my family during and since the vacation:
During the trip, Belle started to roll front-to-back consistently. She won't stay on her tummy now that she can help it. And today, she started trying in earnest to roll to her tummy from her back. She's also getting really close to sitting up on her own, and she can now take snacks like yogurt melts and those puff things that Stephan likes to eat.
 Also big news- Witten decided that he was potty trained yesterday and wore big boy underwear all day without any accidents at all. I type this with trepidation, as events such as these have a tendency of reverting as soon as I brag about them to the internet or even in person. But if this is the real deal and Witten is done with potty training, I just might go on another vacation to celebrate!

So now we are back to normal life. As I have mention in the above paragraphs, I am so glad to be home in my own bed. Stephan and I did discover, however, that the source of much of our sleep issues and back aches and general body pains is our bed. Every bed we slept on during our trip, event an air mattress, left us feeling rejuvenated and sound of body when we awoke, unlike our own mattress. Therefore, for Christmas, Stephan and I are getting each other the best mattress we can find/afford. I am excited!    
 
Oh my gosh! Christmas is next week! We have to shop so badly!

I hope your Christmas is a blessed one, dear readers!

What a Mess!

My house is a mess.
There's clutter in every room of this building. The mirror in the master bathroom is so flecked with toothpaste spittle on the husband's side that it's obstructing my reflection. The boys' room smells mildly weird and I can't find the source. Of course, there's always laundry to rotate and dishes to round up from throughout the house and gather in the sink, where they will wait patiently for me to get around to loading them in the dishwasher. I haven't thoroughly dusted in far too long and my kitchen floors need to be actually mopped something horrible!
  And yet, I can't be annoyed or perturbed. Instead of a mess, I see the adorably proud smile on my Squish's face as he carefully sets the half-full cup of water he got for himself from the door of the fridge onto the desk in my bedroom. I see my big Boogie Boy carefully sounding out each letter of his name and my name and his brother's and father's and sister's name as he writes them over and over on his pile of construction paper on the living room floor. He's beaming ear-to-ear because he can write words like a big boy! I see my daughter's precious face as she takes another break from eating to look up and smile a big, gummy smile at me, because she loves me. And I see my handsome, hard working husband laid out on our rumpled, unmade bed, snoozing like a champ. He deserves it. He works so hard to provide for this family; I don't mind too much when he leaves a trail of discarded shoes, socks, belt and shorts from the door to the couch upon his return home from work.
   I see the mess, and I'm honestly left overwhelmed and breathless at how blessed I am. Why? Who am I that God would look so kindly upon me? I, a sinner turned saint by the free gift of God and not at all by any effort that I put forth, have done very little to deserve such kindness from such a big God. Oh, it makes me thank God, and praise Him, and need Him all the more!
  So, yeah, my house is a mess. It's a never-ending process to keep it clean. But that process and that mess will have to wait. My kids aren't going to bring me a small stack of books and then crowd around me so I can read to them in silly voices for much longer, and I want to soak up every moment of this snugly goodness that I can.

First Day of School!

No, readers, I do not have pictures of my sons on their (Witten's first) first day of school.
Because I'm a bad mom.
Other people be postin' four to sixteen pictures of their kids posing cutely with their coordinated outfits and combed hair and a hand-made sign and/or their new teacher, desk, and classroom. I'm all like, sweet, we made it to school on time and everyone is dressed and brushed their teeth! I think. (Bonus points to me for remembering their lunches as well as their backpacks).
  But seriously, though, today was a big day for several reasons, all of them revolving around school. For one, it's Noah's last day of pre-k before he starts actual elementary school next year. I actually might cry when that time comes. Secondly, it's Witten's first day of pre-school ever. He was so excited, with his new nap mat in one hand, his lunchbox in the other, and his hand-me-down backpack on his back. That is, until we got to his classroom. Then he seemed to catch on to what I meant by "go to school", and he put on the brakes. The teachers at Colonial hills are champs, though, and I was only a little upset to leave my very upset Squish with his teacher after giving him one last hug and kiss and a few words of encouragement. By the time I left, he was totally composed and checking out the sights, although they had yet to get him to relinquish his hold on his backpack, lunchbox, and nap mat.
  Noah, on the other hand, went to his new class with no fuss or fight. In fact, he had no reaction whatsoever. I was happy to see some of his friends from last year were in his new class, as well as one of his all-time besties, but Noah just looked around like he wasn't sure what to do with himself. No amount of "Oh, look, Noah! There's Madi!", or, "hey, cool, look a what Trace is playing with!", would snap him out of his word-less stare. But I was okay with that. At least he wasn't crying. And he still gave me a kiss and said "love you" before I left. I think he'll be okay.
   So now, I'm experiencing what it's like to once again have only one baby. It's pretty stinking nice! Especially since Belle's still so little. She sleeps or eats or stares at lights and fans while I do dishes, feed and love on her, or maybe even try to sneak in a nap. I love this one-on-one stuff! I love school!
  Check in later, dear readers, and I may upload a few pictures of the boys after their first day of school. If I remember to take pictures.
 Gosh, I'm so bad at that.

The Birth of Belle

I have been battling myself as to whether or not I should share Belle's birth story with you, dear readers, because, quite frankly, it wasn't what I thought it would be. However, as it has been two weeks and the haze of pain-filled memories has been flushed away by the glorious light of sweet time with my new daughter, I can now look back on that particular delivery with mildly rose-colored glasses and laugh a little. So, here it is: my experience with a natural birth:

It all started when I was 39 weeks and 5 days. I looked a little somethin' like this:

Don't be fooled by the face I'm making in that preggie selfie, I was not all that uncomfortable all the time and I did kinda enjoy being that pregnant. I say that because 39-and-then-some weeks is that farthest along I've ever been. And I try not to complain, because I know several strong, impressive ladies who muscled through 40+ weeks of pregnancy. (y'all da real MVP's)
 Anyways,
After enduring two weeks of false labor every night, Wednesday the 23rd came upon us, and things went a little differently. Starting at 11:00-ish, shortly after Jimmy Fallon's monologue, the lazy, lolly-gagging braxton hicks contractions I had grown accustomed to ignoring began to morph into attention-demanding contractions that quickly came to be 5 to 7 minutes apart. I got super excited. Stephan doubted. I convinced him by humming seriously through a few contractions. He relented and took a shower so we could go. During his shower, I called Jojo, my wonderful labor coach, and we decided that it would be wisest for her to met us at the hospital. I'm very glad my parents had previously volunteered to have the boys spend the night with them that night, that way we didn't have to wait for anyone to come over before we could leave.
  We arrived at ETMC, were admitted, and I changed into the table cloth hospital gown they are always so kind to provide. When I was first checked around 12:30 or so, I was already at a 6 and fully effaced. Also, my water was just rarin' to break. Excitedly, I asked Jojo if that meant things were going to progress super fast. She warned me that, while that was true, it also meant contractions would be super intense and effective. That's when I got nervous.
  You see, friends, the contractions I had been enduring up to that point had been very manageable. I could sway and hum or moan softly through them with relative ease. But at the same time, they were very uncomfortable and I was not looking forward to them getting worse. Well, shortly after we got situated, my water did, indeed, break, and things did, indeed, progress quickly. For the next three hours, I alternated between laboring on my knees, bent over the back of the propped up bed, and sitting on the bed, trying my best to relax through the contractions. Either way, the contractions quickly, quickly intensified. I went from humming serenely, to moaning determinedly, to more, well, impressive vocalizations. In truth, towards the end, I felt bad for anybody that might have been inhabiting a neighboring room in the ETMC L&D ward that night.
    The contractions were so intense and so arduous that I would actually drift off a little in between them. I wasn't quite napping, but for a few moments, I would experience peaceful respite, only to regain full awareness to the swift and painful pressure of a new contraction. I dreaded each coming contraction. I wanted it to be over so badly. I prayed that it would be over quickly. And, just when I thought I was about to lose my last, straining grasp on all the labor-management techniques I had read about and practiced for weeks beforehand, I felt that tell-tale pressure, the sign of impending pushing. I got excited.
   Jojo the Marvelous paged my nurse to come check me. She did. I was at a 9-10. She also found another membrane that was preventing baby girl's head from full-on engaging the cervix. With irresponsible flippancy, the nurse suggested she break this new membrane, assuring us that that would cause Belle to make her debut very soon after. So, she did. Boy, she was right.
   I felt that second gush of water, and then all hell broke loose.
You know how labor and delivery is portrayed in every single movie and tv show? With the dramatic flailing and screaming and crying and wailing and gnashing of teeth? Well, friends, as a result of my two previous, drug addled deliveries, I thought all of that to be rubbish and hogwash. Hollywood dramatizing a natural, beautiful process for laughs. I humbly realize now that, yes, some deliveries are just that. Because that's what I did. 
  My water broke a second time, and then, like a sledgehammer to the cervix, the absolute, uncontrolled need to push took over me, and I lost any remaining shred of cool I had. The nurse, realizing her mistake in not coming at this in a more prepared manner, scrambled to page my doctor and have that table covered in medical equipment moved in and set up, all while urging me to *try* to breathe and not push. If I could have laughed, I would have. I couldn't stop that madness. I felt Belle's head right there, ready and wanting to be free. I wanted her to be free. My whole body wanted to be done with this whole pregnancy thing, and it was not going to let up until my tiny occupant was evicted!
   For 7 grueling, blurry minutes, I alternated between yelling through pushes, panting in between pushing, and looking at Stephan and Jojo with tear-filled, beseeching eyes, willing them to read the message I was trying to convey, since my words no quit not work stop then. MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP! Is what my eyes said. At one point, Stephan nearly lost an eyeball when, in my crazed state of no control, I may or may not have lunged for his face with my nails. Good for him, he has ninja reflexes.
   At last, when I thought things could not get any crazier, There was Dr. Willis, suited up and ready to tell me what to do to make it end. She got to the foot of my bed just in time to catch Belle's head. Let me tell you, dear readers, the relief I felt from delivering her head alone was astounding, but I wasn't' done. Dr. Willis looked at me with absolute calm ( while I was yelling mindlessly at no one in particular), and said, "Take a deep breath and push very hard." She spoke with such assured conviction that I managed to gather my wits, gulp down a huge lungful, and push like I had not pushed before. It took two tries, and then, I felt it. With a slippery slurp (ew and wow! Almost worth the whole, painful experience just to feel that sensation), Belle came free.
  I cried tears of joy, no longer tears of pain. Stephan cried tears of joy. Belle cried because that's what healthy newborns do. My body rejoiced in the sudden onset of peace for my weary muscles, for I now experienced complete relief. But then, I no longer cared what my body was doing or feeling. That didn't matter anymore. For soon after the relief set in, Dr. Willis placed my very new daughter on my chest and into my eager, waiting arms. Arms that had been waiting months and months to hold her.
   Oh, readers, she was perfect! She was here and healthy and soft and warm and had hair and that new-baby smell...she was everything I was hoping she would be. For two hours, I nestled her close to me, trying my best to soak it all in and imprint the memories forever in my mind. For all the dramatic, painful, craziness that was her birth, it was worth it. So, very worth it.

And now, dear readers, My home houses a family of five. There's a proud-as-punch daddy, a wildly in love mommy, two excited, loving brothers, and a precious, snuggly little sister. We are all adjusting smoothly to this new change, and I am trying my best to relish the moments. I'm afraid of how quickly time passes when your baby is new. I don't want to miss a thing.
   So, sweet Belle, just like I said to your rebellious brothers soon after their births (rebellious, because they didn't listen to me), take your time growing up, baby. Don't grow so fast. Time moves so quickly and these moments don't last.
   And thank You, Father in heaven, for the blessing that is Belle Meisie Du Toit.