I love our family. Addison is fitting in really well (Garrett calls himself the ‘Baby Whisperer’) and Isaiah has adjusted to life as four. Many things have recently changed in our lives, all were good changes regardless of how difficult they have been (even the freakish unexpected ones). Garrett walks around cooing at Addison and smiling. When Isaiah was a newborn we never got to choose to hold him. We just HAD to. His Demon Colic caused him to scream scream scrrrreeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaam if he wasn’t in someone’s arms. So when we could finally put him down (around 3.5 months old) we let him have A LOT of individual play. Addison doesn’t cry much, once we figured out that oversupply breastfeeding thing and the tied tongue, she is happy as a clam. So we hold her, not because we have to, but because we want to. What a different world that is.

With all the changes in our world, we have been discussing the idea of contraception. When Addison first arrived I told Garrett to schedule a vasectomy before he even thought about touching me. He’d say he wanted another one, I’d say no. Then he’d wake up at three in the morning for a feeding. The next morning I would say I wanted another one, and he’d say no. We flipped and flopped and had a pregnancy scare and then decided maybe we needed to talk about what we really wanted, before nature chose for us.

So Garrett, in all his brilliance, came up with this plan (which I like a lot): No contraception. Just breastfeeding. The side effects of contraception on my reproductive history as well as my anxiety are unfavorable. We didn’t want the risks that I would have to take with all my medical history and Garrett wasn’t ready to accept a vasectomy at 24 years of age.

If we do not get pregnant by the time I stop breastfeeding (about two years) then we are going to fix break Garrett’s man-plumbing.  I don’t know if this plan is very in favor of a third, since I had to have fertility treatments to push the Addison Ova out, but I guess we will see.

I think it is the excessive sun I am getting … but I have never been this loosey goosey with life planning. I don’t like the unplanned, unscheduled, unorganized (when it comes to my body). In both instances with Isaiah and Addison I already had their names picked out BEFORE I knew what/who they were. I always knew I’d have two children, some way somehow. So if I get pregnant a third time- I may not even find out the gender. I may let Garrett name it Alexander Magnus Kopter Pilot the 3rd.  I am just feeling that adventurous about life!

So maybe we’ll have a baby or maybe we won’t. Guess we’ll leave it up to nature

when I actually get some time I will post more.for now enjoy these.

Pregnancy is a lot like life. It hardly ever goes EXACTLY how you plan it. So, rather, you learn to readjust and embrace things as they come. You attempt to understand that control doesn’t always mean security and what matters most is how you deal with disappointment or obsticales.

Listen to me! I sound so mature! I am done with life. I’ve reached my pinnacle *snort*

Addison will be here Tuesday or Wednesday via induction. This is why:

I have been on anti-anxiety meds for a good part of my life due to Generalized Anxiety Disorder and various other things (See previous post about post-partum psychosis). When I became pregnant I talked with my primary care physician about going off my meds (because they are not the BEST for baby), and he advised that during the last two months I could transition off them. I did transition off them successfully…. until last week. Last week I started having panic attacks. My body was getting very tired from the continually uneven contractions and emotionally I was just done being pregnant. Any women who has carried a child to term understands the intense anxiety that comes when you are at the final stage. By nature, I am not a patient person (when it comes to myself) and I am just generally anxious. So when the panic attacks began to hit at random times (like driving home from Target, when I was startled by a bird…) Garrett and I began to re-evaluate the whole home birth choice.

I had a visit with my OB and he talked me through some options. He said, and I agreed, the best thing (ultimately) was to get back on my meds so I would regain composure over my anxiety and to have the baby. Since my body is still contracting (still unevenly and and random times) and my cervix is way more than ready he asked if I felt ok with attempting natural induction (stripping my membranes) and then if that didn’t work medical induction the next day. The date is set for Tuesday (strip membranes), and if that doesn’t fire things up Pitocin induction on Wednesday.

In my journey to obtain a birth experience that was solely mine I have learned several things: The business of babies coming into the world is miraculous, regardless of the process.  Each mother needs a different experiences, even a different experience from her previous pregnancies. Be informed about your body, your rights, and your needs. Take charge of your health! Advocate a process, for yourself, that will set the stage to being a healthy and balanced mother for your children. That last lesson was what made me change my mind about a home birth. The reality is, if I had a panic attack in the middle of labor at home, my husband, midwife, and I would be ill-equipped to handle it. As opposed to some popular opinions severe panic attacks can’t just be “breathed” through my some individuals. Generalized Anxiety Disorder is a medical condition caused by several factors and should be treated with the utmost respect. All that to say, it can’t be conquered with some Lavender oil and chanting (trust me, I’ve tried).

My utmost concern is creating a stable experience that will 1. not push me into the whole psychosis experience and 2. not create more anxiety for myself so I can enjoy  the arrival of my daughter. This brought Garrett and I to the difficult choice of deciding to go to the hospital (with out labor support team) to be just and IV drip away from medication that would help manage a panic attack.

All of the Brokins’ readers have been so supportive about my journey with Addison. I can’t thank you enough. I keep reminding myself, as one of my very best friends told me, that “either way I will have a new life in my arms. Sometimes it matters less HOW they were born, but just that they were BORN.” The end result both directions is the hope of a beautiful baby girl. Do I have reservations that the anxiety of a hospital birth will push me toward the same post-partum depression experience? Hell yes! Am I afraid that I won’t have a panic attack and the birth will be perfect and I will wish I stayed home. Double hell yes! 

What I do know is that I am more educated this time around, better supported, and fully equipped to face this experience. I feel that if I don’t hedge myself in and control my anxiety that it will most certainly negatively impact my chances of developing post-partum depression and taint the arrival of our daughter.

 Listen to me? I sound like I am flying to the moon.

I think this is a blessing. It has uncomplicated the process for me and brought me back to the understanding that life isn’t controllable (though I will be damned if I stop trying to control it!). Facing your giants, in any form, is important. Taking charge and taking care of our bodies is a vital.

Wish me luck folks, I will check in again on Tuesday.

I’ve been unable to write for some time. It is a combination of the weather, more projects than a human should ever have, and being in the process of making some decisions. I am the type of person that when a decision is put in my lap to make I do a heinous amount of research, I poll friends, I read tea leaves, and I stop writing and thinking about anything BUT that decision. I am not compulsive, I Swear. I have been like this since, well… my birth. My mom explained to me that I was a very intentioned little girl. When someone asked me if I wanted a piece of candy… I weighed the options. I just tell myself I bestowed with this damn annoying habit gift to use for something great someday… I will keep holding my breath.

So the decision in question has been about how Addison should arrive into this world. What, you ask, are you saying, “Jasmine! There is one way to have babies… drugged up and in the hospital so you don’t feel pain and if anything goes wrong you have medical professionals around you.” Readers, truly, I thought so too.  IN FACT my refrain used to be, “why in the HELL would someone NOT want drugs… that HURT!!!” However, after my birth experience with Isaiah there was a sneaking suspicion in me that what happened to me at that hospital was NOT how it was supposed to be. I had always been taught, by my beautiful and wise Momma, that birth was something women could do… because we were made that way. She had no strong opinions about meds or no med or where you have the baby, but she always reminded me that women were created capable.  My hospital experience left me feeling like I was broken; pregnancy was to be treated, and that I couldn’t give birth, and my baby had to be delivered. The suspicion that maybe a women’s labor shouldn’t be stopped when it wants to starts urged some seriously uneasy choices in front of me. Here is the quick and dirty birth tale so you can understand (enjoy the run on sentences):

I went into the OB unit after a whole day of back labor. My contractions were 1 min. a part. When I arrived they checked me and saw I was dilated to 4 cms. My doc was out of town and I was only 37.5 weeks and so the attending was not happy about delivering a “premature” baby. So they gave me shots in my belly every four hours to stop the labor until Friday night when my doc arrived. My OB arrived and my labor had stopped and Isaiah’s heart readings were in distress so they decided to induce. I was given pain meds, Pitocin, epidural, Cervidil, and told to hold on tight this baby would be here. I finally was able to push on Saturday. Isaiah was born blue and unresponsive (because of the drugs he had absorbed) until they pinched him really hard. Isaiah was 6 lbs 5oz and CLEARLY not premature. I was hallucinating (from the drugs) and semi-unconscious most of the experience. That delivery followed a long stint with Postpartum Depression and Psychosis. This followed a year of attempted bonding with my son.

*Inhale*

That is the skinny. I don’t want to repeat that experience as anyone, who has given birth under extremely stressful circumstances, could understand why.  I am an emotional introvert and even before the birth of my son the idea of so many people fussing over me or not being in a comfortable environment made me feel all panic stricken and nervous. So I began researching what options I had. This was really difficult because I am a big fan of the medical field (since I will be working in it) and modern technology. Most of the birthing stories I heard where from my crazy Hippy friends, who I was convinced had some sort of Patchouli induced power to withstand pain and stuffing. I was very uneasy about all of it. What I found most interesting during my period of research (6 whole months of it) was that IF you are educated about what ACTUALLY happens during birth and what is SUPPOSED to happen via natural processes, the story changes significantly. I didn’t just watch hyped up pro home/un-medicated birth documentaries and read biased books. I logged on to EBSCO search elite and whipped out my ole researcher hat (hope I make you proud Dr. Froman) and even ran Pearson correlations on medical findings. See… ya’ll think I was joking! Just wait till I have to help my son make a decision. I am going to make the process so damned difficult, I am sure, that I render him emotionally incapable of making a decision.

What yielded after my research and conferring with my OB and my primary care physician was that a home birth (for me: an experienced low risk mom) was extremely safe and favorable. My OB is very close to me and was very sad to see me go, but soon admitted he was excited for me and knew all would be well. My primary care physician joked that his wife would hate having the mess and bustle in her home, but that he felt I was a great candidate and medically, barring freakish emergencies (which I will discuss later), it was a safe choice. So Garrett and I joined hands and made a big decision to have Addison at home, with a midwife, doula, select friends and family, and no meds or interventions. We have chosen our midwife (she has been caring for me for some time now) and we are preparing to meet Addison soon.

Damn those Hippy weirdos! They DO know something about something after all!

Part 2 coming soon……

I am an awesome dichotomy of depth and insightful-ness and pure bitchy rantings and random-ness. The other day deep and insightful felt like taking a trip to the surface, today… well… buckle up! This one is  weird.

My love of carpet cleaning comes in line right before Jesus. If Jesus came down in his glowing fleece diaper and was all, “Hey Jazzy J (cause Jesus is my homeboy) wanna come chill with me, thought I’d show you around heaven all Enoch-style. Wanna hang?” I’d be all, “Well Jesus, sounds awesome but in your all knowing-ness you KNOW it is carpet cleaning day… So NO.” Because I love carpet cleaning THAT much that I would totally turn down Jesus in his glowing fleece diaper. *This is baby Jesus I am referring to, of course. Calm down all you weirdos picturing adult Jesus in a glowing fleece diaper.*

Isaiah’s God-Mother, Tricia, is as bad (if not more) as me about cleaning the carpets. She reserves days off. Like seriously she will be all,”can’t come into work today- gotta clean the carpets.” I REALLY hope she defines that she is ACTUALLY shampooing her carpets, lest her employees believe she has some sort of personal grooming issue that takes a whole day off. I digress.  Garrett and I moved into this awesome house and purchased this awesome house but this awesome house had not so awesome white carpets that don’t look so white.

*Inhale*

So I clean these carpets bi-weekly. I am happy I don’t have a secret camera following my life, and you are too, because you’d think I was ill. The pomp and circumstance that includes the opening ritual of “Carpet Cleaning Day” is something to behold. My poor son? Well, He is just a casualty to the process. I put up a baby gate in our long hall and throw pillows and toys inside. I throw gingerly place Isaiah in the “baby run” and begin my shampooing ritual.  The smell of the shampoo solution and the look of the first strip of gleaming carpet is kind of orgasmic.

Today? Today, folks, is CARPET CLEANING DAY.

YES I DID CLEAN THEM LAST WEEK. Don’t preach at me. It is not an addiction! I can stop whenever I WANT! My super pregnancy nose has lanced out some dog pee (we have a new puppy) behind the couch, so clean I must. What? What is that you ask? Why not SPOT treat the pee stain? Well, because I believe in equality for all carpets. How would the rest of the carpet feel if I didn’t shampoo all of it? Are you freaked out yet? YOU SHOULD BE… because that is how passionate I am about my shampooer. Almost as passionate as I am about cleaning out the fridge- Ask Sadie and Tricia and Connie about that. I kind of go rogue  and determine to clean out other people’s fridge. Never mind if I organize their fridges to fit me….

 Also: Jesus, if you are reading this (which OBVIOUSLY you are- because this blog is THAT hardcore, and you LOVE me that much) I could seriously use a new carpet cleaner. I could *settle* for one of those industrial riding ones. IT doesn’t matter that my front room is less that 700 sq. feet… I will make it work. I can sacrifice- following your example, of course, Jesus.

So right after I post this I am going to turn on Marvin Gaye’s “Lets Get It on”, put up the baby gate, fire up the Bissell, and have a special moment: Just me and my carpet.

Good day Ladies!

You know what is better than having  Bronchitis and being pregnant?

You know what is better than having Pneumonia and being pregnant?

You know what is better that all of that? What is better than that would be having BRONCHITIS, PNEUMONIA, and H1N1…..and being pregnant.

Listen ladies! When I do it, I go big…. or I go home. Okay. Actually my last two and half week experience was a big ole shit storm and as soon as my life falls back into order I promise to blog about it. Until then I will be downing Tamiflu, antibotics, and wondering how I got to be this amazing.

Contagious Smooches!!!

♥Jasmine

Let me just have a moment to shake the dust off my authorship of this blog. I have been terribly (TERRIBLY) absent and for that, I do apologize. If not to all the readers, then to Jasmine who has a full-time job and is pregnant and has a family and still manages to keep things updated and fresh and funny around these parts. She is a wonderful friend, and a wonderful blogger.

Anyway. There are reasons for my absence.

First, for the past few months I have been stuck in this very boring place of uncreativity. My other blog has suffered even more. And my poor grandma is stuck refreshing a page that never changes, just hoping for a new picture of The Norah. But I’m guessing that I’ll have more to say now that I am free to let the cat out of the bag.

This proverbial cat in the proverbial bag has become increasingly hard to hide, not only from the real world but from the blog world as well and I am sure glad that I can spill.

People…I’m pregnant too. (squee!)

We found out in late August, and for the first two weeks I was all happy and bubbly, eating bratwurst and sauerkraut like there was no tomorrow, boasting about how “Oh I don’t feel sick at all. I don’t feel pregnant in the least. Look at my glowy glowy skin! It must be a result of my super-feminine powers! I’m going to go buy my ovaries a present!” And then it was my birthday and I was suddenly shot down this awful dark tunnel filled with queasiness, scary spotting, and evil trolls who smell like beef broth.

It was somewhere between the constant checking for increased spotting, mind numbing nausea, frequent and un-lady-like burping, and crippling heartburn that had to remind myself why in the Freaking World I wanted to get pregnant again. What was I thinking? Clearly I forgot all this misery somewhere in the piles of precious pink baby clothes and squishy bald baby Norahs.

And then, because I was having such a fun time laying in bed and moaning while my precious and helpful husband took care of Norah for me, we decided we would take a trip to the Alabama Coast. Totally reasonable. So we went, and I will not share all of the trip now because it is another story for another time (however, I did spend the night in a haunted house), but we actually had a great time. Greater than I expected.

As it turns out, the beach is a wonderful cure for all my pregnancy discomfort. If only I had known that sooner. But as I told Jasmine, I’m planning on installing a wave pool and sand bar in my guest bathroom so all is well. The beach was grand and filled me with happy beachy thoughts, but the other times, like when Rusty cooked hotdogs on the stove and  I about vomited off the balcony or when I gagged at the mere thought of a balogna sandwich…those times were not fun. In fact, they were pretty miserable times.

However, in the midst of all that urpy barfy goodness, I take solace in these things:

Rusty is very excited about this baby. That makes my heart happy.
Norah will have a playmate all the days of her life.
Gahhh! I get to paint another room in my house!
OMG. I love Taco Bueno.
I also love elastic waistbands.
I get to share not only this time of pregnancy with Jasmine, but also the absolutely incredible power of labor and newborns and breastfeeding in a way that we did not get to experience with Isaiah and Norah. (I don’t know if that sentence makes sense…but y’all be sure to think happy thoughts for our husbands.)

Today was my first official OB appointment and depending on whether you ask my fetus or the sac I am either 8 weeks exactly, or 8 weeks and three days. We saw a heartbeat, flickering on the screen and even though the nausea is still lurking around and the belches keep on coming, that little heartbeat was such an amazing sight.

Oh, and you can all expect to eventually see a masthead with mine and Jasmine’s big ol’ bellies hanging out in their glory.

We are inundated with so much: BUY THIS! GET THAT! IT IS NEW! IT IS IMPROVED!  So I know the last thing you ladies (and gentlemen) need is another blog giving a review of more products… and that isn’t what this is.

When you find something amazing, worth talking about, you are supposed to do just that—talk about it. So here is an, unpaid and unsolicited, review of a great Etsy shop that deserves your attention. I have watched some of these mosaics being constructed and I can say, with confidence, that you get nothing but creativity and quality.

Vanessa Ryerse is a Northwest Arkansas resident who happened upon creating mosaics as a means of channeling her creativity and love for all things forgotten. She is someone whom, from the moment you meet her, strikes you as a being who infuses beauty and creativity in all she does. Her approach comes from a belief that, “too many beautiful things are discarded.” Vanessa has an amazing selection of vintage items as well as handmade mosaics. Please stop by her Etsy Shop and view her selections. You can also find her HERE and HERE

Last night I had a dream that I had sex with Taylor Lautner (that Jacob kid from Twilight). I kind of wish I was kidding, and so do you, because it isn’t a happy visual for anyone. I do need to comment, though, that if one was to have sex with a shape-shifting werewolf boy it could result in hairballs, just sayin’.

Sadie and I have been slacking, haven’t we!  We apologize [Well I apologize and if Sadie doesn't I am saying she apologizes anyway...don't worry, I'll pinch her!]

Here are some updates:

*Baby Addison is kicking. I never got used to Isaiah flipping and flapping around and I don’t think I will with this one either.

*I got an article published in a local magazine “Peekaboo”….as soon as I figure out where they put it, online, I will post a link.

*I’ve watched Twilight eight times in the last week and a half, which accounts for that bizarre dream. It also accounts why Garrett walks around the house when it is on spouting, “what the hell Jasmine, AGAIN!?”

*I started a new job, I am pretty stoked about it.

*Tis the season for Pumpkin Spice Lattes, which means a mouth orgasm for me… another gross visual [you're welcome].

*Living with a husband who has sleep apnea is amazing, By “amazing” I mean, ‘Sweet baby Jesus when you can’t sleep because you are pregnant and uncomfortable and then you have Darth Vader sleeping next to you, you kind of wish that a Jedi would come and silence him with light saber. [okay. I went too far with the Star Wars reference, I know]

Happy Labor Day.

The Browns are headed out for a family vacation… so you won’t hear from us for awhile! In the meantime, take care of our Sadie Perkins, keep your noses clean, and keep blogging.

I will be back soon with what, I am sure, will be amazing tales of motherhood mishaps!