Even though his story is normal, it still deserves to be told. Mostly because I have mad momma guilt for not writing it down, since I've written the other five. So though it may be short... it shall be told!
Little six and his pregnancy was a bit of surprise. His older brother had only just turned a year old when we saw that BFP, and since each pregnancy we'd had since 2007 had become slightly farther a part from the last one, I was a smidge shocked to say the very least. But as with every positive, I soon made peace with the new little gift growing in me, though frequently during his gestation, I would exclaim, "Holy Moly, we're having another!"
My favorite memory from early pregnancy this time was when we decided to tell the big kids. It was a pretty spring day and every one was playing joyfully on the backyard swingset. I went to sit on the hammock and I called my first big kid over. I said something like, "Hey... see that freckle on your arm? That's how big your new sibling is!" Once they figured out what I was talking about they were pretty pumped. The oldest even wrote a paper about it for school. The second oldest sat in disbelief for a few weeks because that's just how he rolls. U2 was also the one to blow our family secret when he announced it on a second grade fieldtrip. Apparently some kids were poking fun at him because his fieldtrip lunch didn't seem big enough. He proudly announced, "Well my mom CAN make bigger lunches, but she's pregnant right now so this is what I've got." I got some pretty cute messages from second grade moms after that day.
Overall it was a normal pregnancy. Of course I always worried about every little thing because I'm me... but nothing terribly concerning happened. My OB had been sworn to neither retire nor have a heart attack before the end of October, and things all progressed pretty nicely. Our biggest concern this pregnancy came at about 7 months along when we decided to make our yearly trek to the State Fair. I had packed and prepared everything. I was excited to walk my very pregnant self all over the fair in hope of getting baby well lined up and maybe not having to wait until 40+ weeks to meet him or her. And then... I waddled myself out to our ginourmous newly purchased 12 passenger van after all the kids and the hubs had loaded up. I was three steps from the van when I remembered that I had forgotten something and made a quick about face to head back in. But one step in the opposite direction and my foot landed in a big hole in our yard and twisted and down my pregnant body went. I landed on my leg and side so no worries about the baby... but my ankle was in excruciating pain. I sat crying on the ground when Andrew (who had also gone back in the house to grab something we forgot came out to find me) and the kids started popping their heads out the van door to find out why pregnant mommy was crying on the grass. I had two choices... dissappoint 5 kids and scrap the State Fair trip, or pick my aching giant pregnant body up and hope that the hour drive to the fair would help my ankle not hurt so badly. And off we went.
By the time my parents saw me at breakfast before the fair, we had all determined that there was no way I was going to be able to walk on my ankle all day. So, in normal awesome grandparent fashion, my sweet mom and dad rented a scooter for me and I was good to go. I had no pride... but a sweet ride.
When October rolled around, I really really tried to convince myself NOT to expect an early baby. Other than the fluke of U3... U babies do NOT come before their due date. And frequently they come much much later than their due date. So we waited. At 40 weeks and 4 days pregnant (a Monday), I went in for my regular check up. It was at that appointment that the best OB in the whole world gave me some no-so-pleasant news. He would be leaving for a wedding that out-of-state that following Thursday, so we had to have this baby ASAP. Well I freaked out. Because there is not a doctor in my city who is supportive of me having a vaginal birth besides my doctor. So in my head I'm going "Crap! No! Not again! Dang it!" and lots of other explitives that aren't super appropriate for this blog post. So Best Doc Ever said... "Let's do a membrane sweep, and if it doesn't work today... you can come back and we'll do it again tomorrow." Well, membrane sweeps have never ever worked in the past to send me into labor but I had no choice so that's what we did and DAMN did it hurt.
I left the appointment super discouraged and in wicked uncomfortable pain at about 3 p.m.
Andrew and I picked up the kids from their babysitter, grabbed the bigs from school, and then headed home. The husband had to leave for an appointment but I was in such awful pain that I had no choice but to send my kiddos downstairs to watch PBS because even the slight noise they were making was too much for me. Mind you, I didn't feel like I was contracting... I just felt not well. Achey. Off.
By the time Andrew got home from his appointment, I told him I just needed to go be quiet in our bedroom for a bit and asked if he could handle making supper for kids. It was probably about 5:45 p.m. by then. At some point in the hour and a half that he had been gone, it had started to occur to me that PERHAPS I was having contractions, but I had been experiencing prodromal labor for weeks so I didn't get too excited. I tried laying on my bed in bedroom for a while but I just couldn't get comfortable... and then I thought that maybe I'd better walk around and move because if this WAS labor, perhaps I could speed it up. So I stayed vertical and mobile and by about 6:30 p.m. I sort of realized that I was having a very difficult time walking through the contractions. At that point I knocked on the wall for Andrew to come back and I told him that he better find someone to come watch the kids because I was pretty sure we needed to go to the hospital pretty soon. He didn't, apparently, sense my urgency the first time so 10 minutes later I said... "Seriously... you really really need to call someone now, this is getting concerning!"
One of our church friends came over because she lived close and we had another friend who promised to be over in an hour or two to relieve her if the hosptial confirmed we were actually in labor. At some point in there, we also called my parents but said that they may not want to head our direction until we knew for sure we were having a baby.
I somehow managed to finish packing our stuff by the time our church friend arrived. One of my big boys looked at my wide-eyed because he could see I wasn't feeling great and I think knew we were going to have a baby soon. Since then, he has always included "women in labor" in his nightly prayers. It's super sweet.
Andrew and I got to the hospital around 7:45 p.m. My contractions had slowed down in the car and I was not super positive that I was in labor anymore. They got us hooked up to monitors and checked my progress by 8:15 or 8:30 p.m. Yes! I had made progress from the afternoon and we were moving right along. They also confirmed that baby was sunny-side up which could mean a more difficult labor (definitely not the best news I'd heard all night). The hospital staff was in no major rush to get me to a delivery room. They asked me how long my labors usually lasted and I said around 8-10 hours, but no one (not even I) was thinking that my labor had actually began at the doctor's appointment at 1 p.m. so we all figured we had some time. As the medical staff did their paperwork and called my OB out at the nurse's station, Andrew and I stood in the triage room, swaying back and forth and breathing through contractions. All of the sudden, and much to my surprise, a large gush of water dropped to the floor and for the first time in all 6 of my labors, my waters had broken on their own. I looked at my husband and said, "Um... you need to go tell them to HURRY UP... things don't usually take too long for me once my water breaks." So Andrew rushed out of the room, the nurses came in to verify broken water and check on me. Within 15 minutes, they had us in the laboring room and told us they had called my doc.
It seemed like forever for my doctor to arrive. They had to hook me up to antibiotics and the anethesiologist had to come give me their whole talk even though I had no intention of needing them. I was starting to feel pushy, when my doctor finally walked in the room. I had given birth to U5 on my hands and knees so that was my position of choice for this baby as well. And then came the worst part of the birth of U6. Pushing with your sixth kiddo should really be easy. Two or three pushes and it should be over right?... but U6 had different ideas. Being sunny-side up was working against us and I pushed and pushed and pushed. I had to rest between contractions and I was crying and I was angry and I did not understand why it was taking so dang long. Andrew reported to me later that he was getting nervous and felt like the doctors and staff were also not happy with how long it was taking. Finally, my OB suggested we try a different position so I went back to my back, though propped up, and the nurses and Andrew helped pull my legs up into a squat. About 3 minutes later, out came our sweet little baby and Andrew with tears in his eyes exclaimed, "It's a boy!!" He was 9 pounds even and 21 and a half inches long. Healthy and awesome and a great nurser!
Baby #6 spent the first 30 minutes of his life being called "Ignatius" but the more I looked at him, the less I thought that name fit. So I turned to my husband who was sending texts and making phone calls and said... "He's not Ignatius. He's born in the month of Mary. I think he's Maximilian Kolbe. Can we name him Max?" Andrew was on board and thus after 30 minutes of knowing our little guy, he became Baby Max.
His siblings got to miss their morning classes the following day to come and meet their new brother. They were all very excited except for U5. Xavier was only 21 months old and definitely not thrilled that there was something else getting attention. He was confused and dejected... but he has grown to love him in the months that followed.
We are now, six months later, settling into life as a family of eight. It's been awhile since we've had two in diapers for this long of time so chasing after a todder and caring for an infant keeps things interesting. I find it daunting to go anywhere with all of them in tow if Andrew is not along with us. And I do have a bit of momma guilt that I'm unable to make all of the school events and field trips because I have so many littles to take care of. However, the four bigger kids have been a big help and they all love on their baby brother every chance they get.
And because we get the question all the time, I might as well say something about it here. "Are we done yet?" The truth is that I'm never comfortable giving a definitive YES or NO to that question. I am 100% okay with Max being the last baby. We certainly have been blessed with some great kids and I love the family that we have. Also, I very much dislike being pregnant. I don't like feeling nauseous and tired perpetually, and my body doesn't carry them as efficiently as it used to so I'm still having hip and back pain 6 months postpartum. However, if the Lord needs another U kid in the world, then as I always say, he will bring me to a point of desiring another one. They do say that SEVEN is the perfect number, after all.
By the time my parents saw me at breakfast before the fair, we had all determined that there was no way I was going to be able to walk on my ankle all day. So, in normal awesome grandparent fashion, my sweet mom and dad rented a scooter for me and I was good to go. I had no pride... but a sweet ride.
When October rolled around, I really really tried to convince myself NOT to expect an early baby. Other than the fluke of U3... U babies do NOT come before their due date. And frequently they come much much later than their due date. So we waited. At 40 weeks and 4 days pregnant (a Monday), I went in for my regular check up. It was at that appointment that the best OB in the whole world gave me some no-so-pleasant news. He would be leaving for a wedding that out-of-state that following Thursday, so we had to have this baby ASAP. Well I freaked out. Because there is not a doctor in my city who is supportive of me having a vaginal birth besides my doctor. So in my head I'm going "Crap! No! Not again! Dang it!" and lots of other explitives that aren't super appropriate for this blog post. So Best Doc Ever said... "Let's do a membrane sweep, and if it doesn't work today... you can come back and we'll do it again tomorrow." Well, membrane sweeps have never ever worked in the past to send me into labor but I had no choice so that's what we did and DAMN did it hurt.
I left the appointment super discouraged and in wicked uncomfortable pain at about 3 p.m.
Andrew and I picked up the kids from their babysitter, grabbed the bigs from school, and then headed home. The husband had to leave for an appointment but I was in such awful pain that I had no choice but to send my kiddos downstairs to watch PBS because even the slight noise they were making was too much for me. Mind you, I didn't feel like I was contracting... I just felt not well. Achey. Off.
By the time Andrew got home from his appointment, I told him I just needed to go be quiet in our bedroom for a bit and asked if he could handle making supper for kids. It was probably about 5:45 p.m. by then. At some point in the hour and a half that he had been gone, it had started to occur to me that PERHAPS I was having contractions, but I had been experiencing prodromal labor for weeks so I didn't get too excited. I tried laying on my bed in bedroom for a while but I just couldn't get comfortable... and then I thought that maybe I'd better walk around and move because if this WAS labor, perhaps I could speed it up. So I stayed vertical and mobile and by about 6:30 p.m. I sort of realized that I was having a very difficult time walking through the contractions. At that point I knocked on the wall for Andrew to come back and I told him that he better find someone to come watch the kids because I was pretty sure we needed to go to the hospital pretty soon. He didn't, apparently, sense my urgency the first time so 10 minutes later I said... "Seriously... you really really need to call someone now, this is getting concerning!"
One of our church friends came over because she lived close and we had another friend who promised to be over in an hour or two to relieve her if the hosptial confirmed we were actually in labor. At some point in there, we also called my parents but said that they may not want to head our direction until we knew for sure we were having a baby.
I somehow managed to finish packing our stuff by the time our church friend arrived. One of my big boys looked at my wide-eyed because he could see I wasn't feeling great and I think knew we were going to have a baby soon. Since then, he has always included "women in labor" in his nightly prayers. It's super sweet.
Andrew and I got to the hospital around 7:45 p.m. My contractions had slowed down in the car and I was not super positive that I was in labor anymore. They got us hooked up to monitors and checked my progress by 8:15 or 8:30 p.m. Yes! I had made progress from the afternoon and we were moving right along. They also confirmed that baby was sunny-side up which could mean a more difficult labor (definitely not the best news I'd heard all night). The hospital staff was in no major rush to get me to a delivery room. They asked me how long my labors usually lasted and I said around 8-10 hours, but no one (not even I) was thinking that my labor had actually began at the doctor's appointment at 1 p.m. so we all figured we had some time. As the medical staff did their paperwork and called my OB out at the nurse's station, Andrew and I stood in the triage room, swaying back and forth and breathing through contractions. All of the sudden, and much to my surprise, a large gush of water dropped to the floor and for the first time in all 6 of my labors, my waters had broken on their own. I looked at my husband and said, "Um... you need to go tell them to HURRY UP... things don't usually take too long for me once my water breaks." So Andrew rushed out of the room, the nurses came in to verify broken water and check on me. Within 15 minutes, they had us in the laboring room and told us they had called my doc.
It seemed like forever for my doctor to arrive. They had to hook me up to antibiotics and the anethesiologist had to come give me their whole talk even though I had no intention of needing them. I was starting to feel pushy, when my doctor finally walked in the room. I had given birth to U5 on my hands and knees so that was my position of choice for this baby as well. And then came the worst part of the birth of U6. Pushing with your sixth kiddo should really be easy. Two or three pushes and it should be over right?... but U6 had different ideas. Being sunny-side up was working against us and I pushed and pushed and pushed. I had to rest between contractions and I was crying and I was angry and I did not understand why it was taking so dang long. Andrew reported to me later that he was getting nervous and felt like the doctors and staff were also not happy with how long it was taking. Finally, my OB suggested we try a different position so I went back to my back, though propped up, and the nurses and Andrew helped pull my legs up into a squat. About 3 minutes later, out came our sweet little baby and Andrew with tears in his eyes exclaimed, "It's a boy!!" He was 9 pounds even and 21 and a half inches long. Healthy and awesome and a great nurser!
Baby #6 spent the first 30 minutes of his life being called "Ignatius" but the more I looked at him, the less I thought that name fit. So I turned to my husband who was sending texts and making phone calls and said... "He's not Ignatius. He's born in the month of Mary. I think he's Maximilian Kolbe. Can we name him Max?" Andrew was on board and thus after 30 minutes of knowing our little guy, he became Baby Max.
His siblings got to miss their morning classes the following day to come and meet their new brother. They were all very excited except for U5. Xavier was only 21 months old and definitely not thrilled that there was something else getting attention. He was confused and dejected... but he has grown to love him in the months that followed.
We are now, six months later, settling into life as a family of eight. It's been awhile since we've had two in diapers for this long of time so chasing after a todder and caring for an infant keeps things interesting. I find it daunting to go anywhere with all of them in tow if Andrew is not along with us. And I do have a bit of momma guilt that I'm unable to make all of the school events and field trips because I have so many littles to take care of. However, the four bigger kids have been a big help and they all love on their baby brother every chance they get.
And because we get the question all the time, I might as well say something about it here. "Are we done yet?" The truth is that I'm never comfortable giving a definitive YES or NO to that question. I am 100% okay with Max being the last baby. We certainly have been blessed with some great kids and I love the family that we have. Also, I very much dislike being pregnant. I don't like feeling nauseous and tired perpetually, and my body doesn't carry them as efficiently as it used to so I'm still having hip and back pain 6 months postpartum. However, if the Lord needs another U kid in the world, then as I always say, he will bring me to a point of desiring another one. They do say that SEVEN is the perfect number, after all.
