Fertility--again

I had another miscarriage today. That's 3 this year and 6 total, if you're counting (I am). Sometimes people don't write or talk about these things. Some people don't tell even family members they have miscarried or even that they are pregnant until they are showing so much that it's become obvious to anyone. I don't know why that is. Tradition, I guess. In fact, on a lot of online pregnancy sites that follow a pregnancy week by week, they assign you a certain week (usually in the 2nd trimester) during which "you can start telling people that you are pregnant." Pregnancy loss and even infertility seem to continue to be taboo in our modern society. I understand that we shouldn't ask questions about when people will become or if people are pregnant, but it's strange that no one talks about it from a personal perspective.

We're almost 18 months into trying to add to our family. It hasn't been easy to get pregnant, it hasn't been easy to stay pregnant. I've talked about it (a lot, maybe too much) within my circle of friends from the beginning, and very recently with extended family members (whom I've seen a lot more lately because of the deaths of our grandparents). The surprising thing that I've heard from a lot of them is "Me too."

Why do we do this? Why do we keep heartache to ourselves? I understand that it's a private thing, but sharing can also be beneficial to everyone. Finding out what worked for my blood relatives may very easily help me. And even if it doesn't help, it's nice to know that I'm not alone. We share failures and tips for cooking, child-raising, and crafting, so it's funny that we keep this to ourselves. Again, I know it's a deeply personal thing, but I've been so surprised time and time again to hear how much people have struggled with fertility issues, and I never even knew.

Anyway, I'm going to share, because I know it helps me to know that other people are going through the same thing, and maybe it will help someone to read this. Skip it if you want.

I saw an OB this morning. It was shocking to me that they wanted me to come in. Every other time I've had a miscarriage the nurse has just said, "There's nothing you can do. Lie down if you want, but we can't stop it. It's not worth coming in." He saw us immediately after we got there, and after explaining my situation and that this was the 6th loss I've had, each time within ten days of getting a positive pregnancy test, he agreed that I have a problem. I've spoken to a number of doctors about this, and he was the very first one to affirm my belief that something is wrong. Every other doctor and nurse has given me the speech about how "these things happen...it's good that our bodies reject pregnancies that aren't perfect." He did an ultrasound even though there was nothing to see as I'm not even 5 weeks. He took almost 10 vials of blood to test and will take more on Monday. He said his initial guess is that I have a clotting disorder, but he'll call me Wednesday with the results. He was super nice and told me he'd make sure I knew before Thanksgiving so that I'd have answers before seeing everyone for the holiday. He seemed positive that we could find and fix the problem, and made sure we knew that we weren't technically "infertile" because I get pregnant, it's just likely a health problem preventing me from staying pregnant. It's kind of a relief, but makes me nervous to see what they find.

This year has obviously been a hard year for us. We lost a baby in January, grandma and grandpa in February, another grandpa in April, another baby in May, another grandpa in October, and now this. But we are learning a lot too. Our pain and loss has given us cause for some deep soul-searching and faith-finding. Our perspective of life and our priorities have slowly shifted and become more eternally focused. We have hopefully become more grateful, more empathetic, more compassionate, and more humble. Easy? No. Worth it? Painfully so, but Yes.

I find my mind constantly going to the quote I've seen on Pinterest lately that says, "Faith in God includes faith in His timing." I've been a huge proponent of this theory, especially when it comes to the timing of the birth of my other children, but it's hard to apply while in the situation of waiting for more children. But I'm choosing to believe in His timing. At our Regional Conference a few weeks ago Elder Jensen said something like, "We need to weigh out the reasons to believe and the reasons not to believe, then we need to choose to believe. If we do that the Holy Ghost can confirm the belief in our hearts." I'm choosing to believe because I want to believe, and because I'm clinging to that belief with all the hope I have.

In the meantime I've also learned to enjoy my kids even more. Sometimes as we go places or do things; and especially during the long, hot, fun- and roller-coaster-filled days at Lagoon during the summer and fall; I've felt the spirit whispering to me that these moments of pure joy wouldn't be happening in the exact same way if I were pregnant or if we had a newborn. I've been able to enjoy the freedom and fun of having a four- and six-year-old without having to pay attention to a baby. We are nap and diaper free. My kids feed themselves. They put their own pajamas on. They usually sleep through the night. Kyle gets me all to himself while Claire is at school. There are a lot of good things in my life right now without a baby. But still we hope.

Well-child checkup

Sometimes I think it's odd when people blog or facebook about their child's health stats. Like everyone is desperate to know their kid's ranking on the growth chart or something. I'm sure people do it for journaling. Anyway, when I sat down to blog about Kyle's well-child checkup, I had to do a little self check-up to make sure that I actually wanted to write about a boring old doctor visit, but it was a funny visit, so I figured it was worth chronicling.

Kyle had his 4-year-old well-child checkup today. It had highs and lows. It started with an vision check. He had to stand a distance away from a chart of shapes of different sizes and name them. Here is what he said: "heart, flag, moon, star, little earth." What? Little earth? Or one could call it a simple "circle." We got a big kick out of that one. On another line he referred to a circle as, "The whole moon together." Some may say he's creative and was grouping space objects, but me? I know he was probably just improvising because he always forgets the word "circle." Taylor says it's because he's left-handed, and lefties are often more creative but sometimes don't grasp "scholastic smarts" until age 7 or 9. Kyle certainly gets points for creativity though.

Next he had to put on a little tie-in-the-back robe (this was new to me, I've never had my kids in robes for check-ups, but he did look super cute). Kyle was not too sure about the robe. "I feel like my underwear is showing," he complained. "Don't they know that boys don't like nightgowns?" (I have plenty pictures of him dressed up in Claire's princess outfits to declare otherwise.)

The doctor came in and asked him to jump on one foot. He did. She requested the other foot. He started on the other, but immediately switched back to the first foot. She smiled and told him he did great. He snuck over and whispered to me that he had actually jumped on the same foot both times. Yes, Son. She has a PhD, but you sure pulled one over on her.


I told the doctor about Kyle's propensity for putting everything in his mouth and then usually to swallow the item (money, small rocks, small plastic things). She was concerned about his iron and lead levels and wanted them tested. This required a finger poke and a couple miniscule sticks were filled with his blood. This apparently was too much for Kyle. Half-way through the stick-filling he started to gag. As soon as it was over he was really gagging, and both the nurse and I thought he was going to throw up. Then he lost all color and started sweating. He had to lie down with an apple juice for ten minutes before he could sit again. This is certain evidence that Taylor is his father (not that it was in question). Taylor passed out---cold out on the floor---while watching ME get my wisdom teeth out. I was fine, by the way. These funny wimpy boys in my life :)

Our visit concluded with a flu mist inoculation (which went fine) and Kyle's three kindergarten shots (KINDERGARTEN already?!?). During the shots he screamed and cried more than he or Claire ever has during shots. I was sad and teared up a bit for him, but it was a little over-the-top. After the nurse left, Kyle yelled at me, "We shouldn't have come here! It hurts so bad! I told you we shouldn't have come here!" He stopped crying the moment we got to the token reward machine, of course.

This made me so proud of Claire. I really think she was less than 2 the last time she cried for shots. She's super tough. When I told her about Kyle and commented on how brave she is, she said, "Just like you, Mom." Indeed. She and I triumph in having made it through stuff---for her it's her shots, for me it's my two-hour surgery while awake. We made it. These big girls don't cry. Our boys, on the other hand, need a few lessons.

Christmas MUST be accompanied by the piano

So I took an unannounced and unplanned break from blogging. School started, stuff happened, my grandpa died (that's 4 grandparents this year if you're counting), and I didn't blog. I think I was overwhelmed. Anyway, I missed writing, so here I am. And I'm jumping right to a Christmas post. Gotta love that.

Days after (okay, maybe days before) Halloween I pulled out all of my Christmas piano music and began playing it daily. My students have been working on their recital pieces for more than a month, so it was high-time I began enjoying my favorite musical time of the year.

I have stacks of Christmas sheet music. Stacks. I practice and practice Jon Schmidt (LOVE his innovative counting), I do my best with Jim Brickman, I pound out Manheim Steamroller with the best of them (except for my favorite MS book is missing---I'm wondering if a former student has it, but I can't figure out who it would be.) Most of all I go time and time again to my two Jerry Ray Christmas with Style books. I love them. To me, the music in these books IS Christmas. Every year when I begin playing I'm amazed at how easily the music flows from my fingers, just like the alphabet song flows from Claire's mouth---effortlessly and perfectly.

The first collection was printed in 1986. That's about when my mom started playing from them. Every evening in December we drifted to sleep listening to her play Silent Night and What Child is This?  In 4th grade at the age of 9 it was finally MY turn to play one of the songs from the "hard book." None of this baby skill-level stuff, I was going to take on a challenge. In my mind I played perfectly. I would like to see the video tape to verify it though. The next year I played Silent Night which to this day is my favorite arrangement in the books. I'm sure Hark! The Herald Angles Sing was up next. Last year I realized that I'd been playing What child is This? for TWENTY years! I played it at our recital and in church.

Tonight as I was playing through the books I could remember not only playing them myself, but each song is infused with memories of students whose lives I have shared. I've probably had 70-100 students over the past twelve years, and I loved every single one of them. Seeing someone once a week for years on end can do that to you. I miss so many of them. I wonder what their lives are like and if they are happy and if they still play the piano. I'm pretty sure they do for Christmas if nothing else. I'm friends with a bunch of them on facebook, and it's crazy to see them grow up and have kids of their own!

As I play I'm also reminded of all the places I've played these songs. Beyond the recitals, I've played them in church in nearly every ward we have lived in and I've been invited to play in other wards. I've played the background music at holiday parties, in libraries, and during Christmastime tours of the Utah Governor's mansion. I've played for my grandparents, for my parents, for my family, and mostly for myself.

Like I said, I've performed a lot of Christmas songs by a variety of composers in a number of venues, and it's amazing how always get more compliments on these songs than any others. Certainly other music is more technically advanced, and would be more impressive to hear, but I like the simple notes, the moving melodies, and the stillness provoked through each arrangement. I like that my students can play them at a young age and feel very accomplished (if only they would work as hard to master EVERY piece!). Most of all I love how their simplicity calls attention to the words of the song and the feeling of Christmas.

What are your favorite piano solos to play during the Christmas season?

I gave up TV. Me. Really I did.

I met my friend Marisa last summer (although it seems like I've known her family my whole life). I was editing her paperwork for a pageant. She had to list her favorite TV show; the only problem was that she didn't watch TV. "Like, ever?" I asked. "Never." Apparently she doesn't get a TV signal and they don't have cable. So she literally never watches TV. I couldn't believe it. I honestly thought the idea was a little crazy. And I may have wondered how pageant judges would react to hearing the "we don't watch TV" explanation---"Crazy Mormon from Utah" came to mind. As it was, last year at this time Taylor and I were already marking our calendars for the fall TV lineup, and we practically make chains of paper to count down until the beginning of American Idol.

While we haven't had cable since we moved to this house in 2009, we certainly have done our share of TV watching. So we started watching TV in the fall last year, 90210, American Idol, and CSI: Miami being on the top of our list---highlighted by random viewings of feel-good reality shows like Undercover Boss and Secret Millionaire. I wouldn't say we were TV obsessed, but we definitely had a schedule. Over time our interest for CSI: Miami waned (accentuated by our complete lack of a DVR or other reliable TV recording capable machine---go ahead and make fun of us now.) We watched 90210 online in spurts, and while we mostly committed to American Idol tryouts, our watching of the actual show was well below 50%---never including results shows.

And so it occurred to me early this spring that we had, in fact, given up TV entirely. Does that mean that my kids have? No. Does that meant that I can't hear PBS in the background while I type this? No. They watch TV here and there and especially during breakfast, but as for Taylor and me, we're over it.

Is this part of growing up? Part of being 30? Granted we are super busy with church callings and work and other stuff, so maybe that's part of it. And honestly I think a huge part of it is that we don't have a comfortable couch. Our couch is definitely not the type of couch that beckons you, "Come, sit! Watch TV for hours! Bring a snack!" It's one of those "maybe the floor is more comfortable" couches. I could change it, and I could get cable---but both of those definitely cost more than $10, so I guess we're stuck for a while.We do have TV in our bedroom where there is both a comfortable bed and comfortable couch, and sometimes we watch DVDs there. And once every 2-3 months I realize that Days of Our Lives is on while I'm folding laundry, so I watch a few segments to catch up on the plot. And we'll probably watch a few episodes of American Idol next winter.

We haven't thrown the TV out.We're not about to do that, but we do have a more-relaxed schedule now. (Well, I did until Pinterest came along!) We read at night, and I sew. Taylor plays video games, and I scrapbook. We have meetings 2-4 nights a week, so that keeps us busy. I love that we don't have to catch up on episodes and therefore miss sleep. I love that we don't have to hide what we watch from our kids. I love that we're not constantly worried if the VCR (yes, we're that fancy) is recording our shows or if we have blank tapes that work. Taylor doesn't love it as much as I do---he wistfully watches each Comcast van that passes our house. I guess he misses the sports that cable offers---but our friends and family have those channels, so it's not a total loss.

And I guess Marisa really isn't that crazy. Or maybe I've just joined her? Giving up TV was certainly not something I had planned on or ever even consciously tried to do---it just happened. And I'm glad. I just wish it could happen that easily with weight loss!

Back to School Wreath

Claire started Kindergarten today. In honor of that I made this wreath:

The idea has been in my head for a while. I looked all over the internet and couldn’t really find a tutorial on how to make one, so I thought I’d show a quick tutorial on how I made it.

First: Sharpen a hundred pencils. Okay, not a hundred, just 75, but it felt like a hundred because I don’t have an electric sharpener. Some of them ended up way too short, and some were a really dark color, so watch that.

Second: Get your cardboard base ready (cardboard because I already had it, and it’s free when you have a huge pile of moving boxes in your garage). Trace a bowl on a piece of cardboard then cut the circle out with a razor. Then draw a circle a few inches bigger around that and cut it out.

I spray painted the cardboard white (because my door is white).

Then I traced the bowl on a piece of paper and folded the paper in half, then in half, then in half again.

Put the paper inside the bowl cut-out and use a ruler to draw where the lines would extend. This helps you evenly divide the space and make sure the pencils stay straight and don’t end up on an angle.

Third: Glue the pencils on the cardboard. I started by gluing one pencil onto a line, making sure it was set straight on the line. I also left the bowl inside the cut-out to make sure my erasers lined up. I put down as many pencils as would fit in the section.

Then I glued the last pencil of the section on---try to get it straight according to the line, but remember that it probably won’t lie right on top of the line. See how this one ended before the line?

I put hot glue on the bottom of the pencil (opposite the brand name) then pressed it in place. After the first and last pencil of the section was glued on, I just worked from left to right in the section. If you space them all evenly and then carefully remove, glue, then replace the pencil, it comes out pretty evenly spaced.

For the next section all you have to do is glue the last one of the section on, then continue around the wreath.

It took about an hour to glue them all on (maybe less). And guess what? No burns today! A rare happening in my wreath making. I think it needs a bow, but other than that, I really like it!

        

I’m nervous that the pencils are going to write on my door, so I may go over each point with clear nail polish, but I’m still thinking on that. Do you think it needs a bow?

Teach Me Tuesday: The comma in a list

Saw this and thought it taught the lesson very quickly:

Using the comma before "and" in a list is a personal preference. Some people say you should; some say you shouldn't and that using it is old fashioned. Whatever you do, strive to be consistent throughout the entire document. Pick one and go with it.

Me? I use it every time. I just like how it looks, and it just makes sense.

Some days are harder (aka: I'm not Supermom)

My kids are super well-behaved. I see other kids out there, and I really think mine are well above average behavior. Today they were not. And I'm writing about it not to complain, or to say how awful they are, but to admit that I'm not always perfect, and sometimes we all lose our cool.

My kids and I rode Frontrunner from Ogden to Salt Lake today to spend the afternoon school shopping with my mom. We made it on the train (thanks to the help of a stranger), and actually had a really good time during the 50-minute ride. I talked with them almost the whole time. We laughed a lot and talked about how to make friends at school, and they practiced on each other. As we approached our stop I started thinking I was doing a pretty good job at this mothering stuff. (Famous last words...)

We found my mom in the parking lot pretty easy and went to lunch at the Rio Grande. Our waiter actually encouraged my mom and me to share a meal, and showed us a cheaper kids meal than what we originally ordered. What waiter does that?!? We'll definitely be going back. And he definitely got a big tip.

We did some great shopping. We were super nice to the kids. We even bought them Happy Meals (which they didn't eat at all).

We got on the train to go home, and things really started to unravel about half way home. Claire had been assigned to sit by me on the first half, so twenty minutes in I told her it was almost time to let Kyle sit by me. She freaked out and went to another row of benches on the train and sat down with a giant "HUMPH" followed by tinier humphs every twenty seconds (we have her BFF Maya to thank for teaching her to humph). Then she got up, walked over, kicked Kyle, then went back. I explained to her that she'd lost a couple privileges with that choice. She returned minutes later to sit across the aisle from us, but only to reach over and pinch Kyle. More privileges lost.

At this point she pulls the ever powerful "I need to use the bathroom." I was informed that she could not wait. We had about 20 minutes left to ride the train and 5 minutes more to get home, and she insisted. The only available restroom was two cars down. We had booster seats with us (needed them in Salt Lake), so we left those and made the trek on the moving train. I insisted that Kyle hold my hand because he's three, and we were going up and down a number of stairs while moving. He freaked out and did that "I'm just going to hang dead from one arm" thing, so I carried him screaming the whole way. Awesome. Then we got to the bathroom. Claire did her thing and exited. Then Kyle, not to be outdone by his sisters, proclaims his urgent need (although I'd just been to a disgusting park bathroom with him an hour earlier).

This is when it got tricky. The train bathroom is tiny, but I wasn't about to let him go in by himself and attempt to pee standing up on a moving train. I thought he would possibly get hurt from being jostled around, and the attendant and all following passengers would be none-too-pleased with the mess he could create. I couldn't just leave Claire by herself, so we all smashed into the restroom. He starts screaming "No! I don't want you to see my pee-pee! No!" over and over. It was awesome, and I'm sure everyone else within earshot loved that. We agreed that Claire would turn around (BTW, this has never been a problem before, he seems quite proud of his anatomy.) He did his completely unnecessary business, and we set about to wash his hands. He couldn't reach the soap and water, so I went to lift him up, but then he freaked out again (maybe he's just claustrophobic?). He didn't want me to pick him up; he didn't want me to help; he didn't want me to be in there; he didn't want claire to touch the door.

Under the pressure of a tiny, hot, moving compartment with other certainly waiting for the facilities,  I decided it wasn't necessary to wash his hands. So I told him he could choose to have help or not wash. He said he wanted to do it himself. I explained that that wasn't an option. He didn't care. So I picked him up and carried him all the way back to our seats. The whole way he was screaming "I just want to wash my hands! I just have such dirty hands!" Snot was flying. People were staring. He grabbed at every doorway and every seat and every railing and pole along the way for two whole train cars. It was awesome. [He's not OCD about hand washing. Ever. This is a boy who will pick up gum off the road and eat it, so it's not like he cared about the germs at all.]

We sat down, and he screamed for the remaining 10-15 minutes of the ride. I could do nothing to calm him. I felt about as adequate as a ten-year-old babysitter. He cried the entire walk back to the car (which was like two Walmart parking lots away). He cried the whole way home. He cried all the way up to his bathroom until he washed his "dirty, dirty hands." Well, I assume that's when it stopped. I left for a lovely trip to the grocery store while Taylor put them to bed. Then I stopped and chatted with a friend for a while. When I got home they were asleep.

My apologies go out to all who were riding the train and hoping for a peaceful night. [I really think they should have a designated Quiet Cart.] Especially to the man who was right behind us and pretended to be asleep through it all. All night I've been wondering how I could have handled that better. What was I supposed to say? Maybe: "If you guys don't stop, we're going to get off this train!" But then what? All I know is that I'm pretty sure school staring will be a good thing for my kids. They've been together 24/7 since March, and it's time for some alone time. Hopefully that will make some changes at our house.

Guest Post

I was a guest poster on a friend's blog today. Check it out here.

Tears – Six month later

I don’t cry a lot. I’m not known to tear up over just anything. I think Taylor is still upset that I didn’t cry when he proposed or when we got married. I used to think there was something wrong with me until I read Marjorie Pay Hinckley’s book of quotes and one of them was: "The only way to get through life is to laugh your way through it. You either have to laugh or cry. I prefer to laugh. Crying gives me a headache." I feel the exact same way! Crying gives me a headache and makes my makeup run---why would I want either of those?

As I’ve written in my blog previously, we’ve experienced a lot of death lately. Our friends and family have seemingly been called up to heaven by the handfuls since February. With each death I have shed tears, and admittedly sobbed at a couple of the funerals. I think this is to be expected. I’m sure Marjorie would approve.

The sting of death is interesting. Our friends lost a four-month-old baby, and at his funeral a speaker talked about how the pain of death doesn’t go away, it just changes. Next week will mark six months since my grandma and Taylor’s grandpa died. We miss them terribly. I cried on and off during the entire ride to Lehi on our way to Round-up Days. Grandma was always with us during that week, and I was unsure of how we would face it without her. Grandpa had planned to be at our family reunion last week, and it was so hard to look around and not find his smile across the room. Yet most days we do okay.

Some days the sharp, swift pain catches me off guard. I inherited a few things of my grandmother’s. One of which is her couch. The couch is in this picture taken on Christmas Day 2005. (Do you see how Claire spelled JOY with her ribbon? Brilliant child, even at 4 months! It was a complete accident, I found it in the picture days after it happened. Isn’t it cool? The best thing is that I’m sure somewhere there is a picture of Baby Me sitting on MY grandpa’s lap on the same couch.)

Anyway, back to the couch. It’s in our bedroom awaiting a slipcover (while I totally love the retro print, and it’s in perfect condition, it just doesn’t match my room). Sometimes I sit on it to read or put my shoes on or whatever, and sometimes the air moves in just the right way that the deep, sweet smell of Grandma wafts through the air. To me it’s a mixture of earth and lotion and dried roses and cold cream. Whatever it is, my eyes fill with tears the moment it hits my lungs. This stuff is better than onions on my tear ducts. The sting of missing her becomes new again, so sharp and sudden that it takes my breath away. Sometimes I avoid breathing it in because of the feelings it creates, but the only thought more painful than inhaling the scent is realizing that one day the couch will air out, and one day it will smell like me and not her, and that one day I won’t remember that smell. I’ll probably cry then too!

One quote we’ve relied on a lot through the last few months is, “To take the sting out of death is to take the love out of life.” (Who said that? A quick internet search turns up nothing.) And our pain is changing. With each day it become less of pain and more of longing. The love is still there, and will always be there. And we have the certainty that we’ll be together forever someday---and that makes all the difference.

Babies

I babysat a three-month-old yesterday. I haven't been solely responsible for a baby since Kyle was born almost four years ago. I wasn't worried about it until Alison took little Paige out of her seat and handed her to me. It made me wonder how long I would have left her in the chair if given the option. As Ali walked out the door I found myself staring at Paige and asking her what I should do with her. We've never had a baby in this house, and the hard wood floor was not very welcoming to such a small creature. Well, I was already holding her, so I sat down, wondering what else to do with a baby. Where would I lay her down? Is she old enough to play with toys? How much of her bottle would she drink before she needed to be burped? Can she climb or roll out of her seat at this age? These are things I should know, after all it would appear that I have raised two babies myself. But the answers that should come as natural as breathing were not in my head.

Do we forget these things that quickly? In four years could I really have forgotten when babies get teeth, when they can eat solids, how often to feed them, how to entertain them, when they sit up, when they crawl, and a variety of other things that used to occupy my every thought? Have we moved so seamlessly into having preschool kids that I've deleted that information from my brain?

She got hungry pretty quickly, so she sat in her chair and cried a bit while I mixed her bottle up. Claire found a bib in Paige's bag, so we strapped it on and sat in the rocking chair to feed her. Kyle held the bottle for about 20 seconds. "She's taking so long to drink it all, Mom! How could it be that she is taking so long to drink it?" [Kyle has replaced every "why" in his vocabulary with "how could it be"] Claire supplied the answers to him, and both of them quickly lost interest in feeding the baby. Gratefully my body seemed to remember how to hold a baby, and I quickly found myself relaxing around her and relishing the weight and warmth of her tiny body. Her small swallowing sounds, so standard to all babies, quickly brought so many feelings to me.

As you've probably noticed, I've wanted another baby for a couple years. We've been trying to get one for a year now, with two miscarriages since January. I don't know that I'm technically infertile. I do know that this is taking much too long on my own personal timeline. Holding Paige spoke to my heart---warming feelings that I try to keep in the very recesses of my heart---feelings much too tender and dear to feel every day. It was painful and healing at the same time.

As she finished up her bottle I showed Claire how to burp a baby---pleased with the familiarity in holding her tiny chin and chest in one hand. She quickly fell asleep, and I carefully carried her up the stairs to nap in my room. When she woke up we carried her downstairs again. Holding her as we played trains and house, my confidence gaining with every activity.

It was just four hours, but we had fun. My kids are fascinated by babies, and I was fascinated and relieved at how naturally it all came back---how to hold her with one arm, how to comfort her, how to change a tiny diaper. She even spit up on Claire. I panicked because of Claire's strong aversion to vomit, but Claire just giggled, and I laughed until I cried because of how ironic it was that Claire was the lucky one to receive spit up.

And still it was strange. Strange to think that I have raised two babies, one which will start kindergarten this month. (Did I really do that? Could they really be that old? Could they really be mine?) Strange to wonder if we will ever have a full-time baby in our house again. Strange to wonder if Kyle really was the end of it. I hope not.