What a month. 

Certainly world's above the first month with Ella, mostly because I'm a second time Mom. When my newborn sneezes, I search for a piece of blanket fuzz or a hidden booger in his nostrils before I assume he has pneumonia. When he cries for no good reason, I throw him over a shoulder and go about my business. When his sister is screaming bloody murder for attention while he screams bloody murder for food, I watch "30 Rock" and tune one or both of the screams out. He gets his dinner, she forgets while she was crying, I laugh at Liz Lemon and hope that someday Tina Fey realizes that needs to cast me in her next Netflix series. Tina, when you find my blog, call me. I'll work for a hotel room with blackout curtains and a full night's sleep. It'd be fine if you threw in a dinner that I didn't cook... preferably not McDonald's, not because they don't use real beef or chicken or whatever the latest drama is... just because I feel like the food is utterly disgusting and gagworthy. I share the same sentiment about Burger King and Wendy's (with the exception a spicy chicken sandwich... sometimes the line at chick-fil-a is just too much.) Okay? Terms met? Call me. 

By the way, if you haven't watched "The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt," stop reading this blog and go binge watch it the way I did in three days. The best. The very, very best. I'll never say Pinot Noir the same way ever again. MOVING ON.

Our first month was simultaneously everything I expected and nothing I expected. My daughter was a total nightmare for the first two weeks, and I really thought I was going to contact some sort of child psychiatrist because I had clearly scarred her for life and she was permanently damaged. The kicker? The problem wasn't Adam. Homegirl has been in love and obsessed with him since the very first day. Kissing him, patting (read: hitting) him, sitting with (read: on) him, watching his every move, crying when he cried, laughing at his yawns... the whole kit-n-caboodle (aw, nostalgia.) Her problem was with me. I guess Adam was the root of our issues, but I was the blunt of her frustrations. I don't know if she felt like I abandoned her during my hospital stay, or if my Mama Bear instincts to protect his soft spot made her feel like I didn't love her the same way... I don't know. She wouldn't have a single thing to do with me for the first two weeks at home. She cried for me in the hospital, sat with me while Cody held Adam on the other side of the room, I mean, she made me feel like a Queen. But when I got home, the walls caved in on our bond, and things got complicated. Wouldn't let me hold her, play with her, ignored me when I talked to her, it was all a very big drama. At first, I tried to overcompensate for her rejection, and forced my love... which resulted in an explosive fit and running to her Daddy. After a few days, I gave up and figured she would come around when life started calming down a bit. I spent the first week cuddling Adam, napping with Adam, and all of the various newborn things that bonds a Mama to her baby. When Cody went back to work the next week, it was a hysterically awkward morning that I'll never forget. It was like a flashback to junior high, when you were paired with "that guy" that nobody wants to be paired with. Usually because they do things differently than everybody else, like eat Spaghettios or Spam out of the cans at lunch when everybody else brings a "Make Your Own Pizza" lunchable. Or the kid that says "I would vote for John Kerry because that's who my parents are voting for!" during Social Studies when the rest of the republican offspring proudly said "Bush because he's from Midland!" If you're wondering, both of those examples stemmed from the same kid, and he had the same birthday as me, and it was the worst day of my life when we had to stand at the front of class together. I know it's mean. I just really want to convey that Ella and shared these same feelings as we stared at each other that fateful Sunday morning. I text Cody and said "It's totally fine if you want to get chicken pox and come home." Fit after fit, tantrum after tantrum, doing the opposite of what I said just to spite me, throwing bowls of food into the floor... it was a whole thing. And I cried the whole day. I couldn't do it. Two under two was not meant for me. Two children in general wasn't in my wheelhouse. As soon as Cody got home for the evening, I went upstairs and fell into bed and dreaded the rest of this phase. The next day was just as bad, along with most of that week. But eventually Ella realized that I wasn't going anywhere, Cody was going to be gone during the day, and she could live with me or be miserable. I started seeing little peeks of my baby again, and these days things are mostly back to normal. She has permanently morphed into a Daddy's girl... and while at first it hurt my feelings, these days I kick my feet up and grin while I overhear "What do you want from me?!" followed by a frustrated shriek. I remember when it was me trying to figure out what she could POSSIBLY want now, and it's been a great break for me when he gets home. There are still bad days... sometimes terrible days... but for the most part, the Gaines are morphing into a sweet little family of four. We're finding out what works and what doesn't work for us, and it's usually the exact opposite of what our "peer families" are doing... but we have wonderful, non-judgmental friends that rejoice in our victories and say "Do what you gotta do." 

To say that Adam is thriving is an understatement. He wore newborn diapers for exactly one week before transition into a size one, and today I put a size two on him. Two weeks ago, he weighed 9.8 pounds, and these days I can't support him while he nurses for very long. I have to have a pillow under my arms, otherwise they tremble. Does that make me totally out of shape? Definitely. But it also makes me exhilarated because I know my baby is healthy and thriving. Ella was not a chunky baby. I look back at pictures and say "Look how fat you were!" only because she's even skinnier now, but comparing her one month picture to Adam's was like comparing a mouse and a lion. Looking back at her growth charts, I see what the 16th percentile really looks like compared to the 80th percentile Adam is in. I've always wanted a baby with tons of fat rolls, so my fingers are crossed that I've finally got one. He's so healthy. Obviously healthy. And that's been the absolute best thing that could have happened for various reasons. Namely because one of his newborn screens came back abnormal, and while every test so far has confirmed that it was a false positive, we've agreed to make a trip to Ft. Worth to nip all of this in the bud for good. A quick blood test will confirm whether or not Adam is a carrier for this particular condition, and another test (done at the same time) will confirm the condition if the gene is present. From what I understand, the whole thing could have been a false positive, Adam could be a carrier but not have the condition, or something has been off in all of the bloodwork and he has it. Vague, right? Sorry. At this point, we are SO OVER IT ALL, man, and we're so OVER IT that we're going all the way to Ft. Worth so that doctors will just buzz off about it. I would like to clarify that I was a total wreck for the first two weeks at the very thought of it all, but in the midst of it, felt peace. My husband reminded me that Adam isn't ours, and the Lord is running the show, even when we don't see the end result. My Mom reminded me that Adam is fearfully and wonderfully made, and we know that full well. Adam's pediatrician was quick to remind me that he is thriving, and sick babies don't thrive. As a mother, of course I'm anxious about the upcoming trip and what the results may entail... but as a Christ follower, I know what I believe about the Lord, and I believe He is sovereign, and that He is who He says He is. In the words of our wonderful friend Tricia, "If He promises never to leave me or forsake me, then what could come into my life, GOOD OR BAD, that has not first passed through the hand of God?" And in the words of our Pastor from his latest series, "Circumstances are such inadequate measures of God's faithfulness." So, that's really all I'm going to say about it. The condition has no name to me anymore, which is part of the reason I'm not going into excessive detail about it. If it's something we have to deal with, I'm not going to become a spokeswoman or start a blog to offer support to others dealing with it. It'll mean a diet change for our entire family, a few supplements for Adam, and grace to absorb the change for me. And life will go on, sisters, because that's just the circle of life. And it moves us all. Through despair and hope. Through faith and Love. Till we find our place on the path unwinding. In the circle of life. Also, once again, we've never walked alone before now, and the Lord hasn't abandoned ship just because we had two babies in two years and feel like we're going to lose our minds. 

Basically, this entire month has been full of doctors telling us what our baby should be doing, and our baby doing the exact opposite of those things. He's basically just been the description of a newborn, and we've been so thankful. But to repeat, we are over it. I'll be so relieved when this appointment is over next month and we don't have to deal with "false positives" or "errors in lab work" ever again. His second newborn screen came back completely normal, and while Cody and I felt like that should have been the end of it, we're willing to do whatever it takes to put it all behind us and have two healthy babies. So I'm sure there's going to be a few "I can't believe you didn't tell me!" reactions, it's just not something we felt like needed to be shared. But I plan to update the blog with the results next month, so I felt like a brief overview was necessary. And the more I type the more I feel I need to explain, and that's the opposite of what I planned to do here... so I'm just going to stop. Imagine me saluting awkwardly and running out of the room. 

Other than that, it was a month of dealing with twenty month old that cannot possibly fathom the idea of picking up her toys, a hormonal mother throwing every toy she tripped on into the trash angrily, and a tiny baby sucking every calorie she consumed away. I'm so exhausted, but in the best way. Adam has his days and nights mixed up, and they rarely sleep at the same time during the day, but these days are short. Soon I'll be able to throw them both in the backyard and say "Okay see you at lunch buh-byyyyyye!" And they'll have each other, and we'll be so thankful for the serendipitous occasion that this whole "two under two" drama has placed into our laps. We're not there yet, and I think it's totally okay that we're not there yet. I think maybe that anybody that reproduces more than once feels the same way, whether their babies are nineteen months or five years apart. There's a transition required, and it's not always a quick transition. C'iest La Vie. 

Daddy decided Adam needed a Buck for his "socktopus" pictures. Clearly my speech about not shoving redneck traditions on him was a waste of time and effort. But it's okay. It's the only boy we'll ever have, so it's crucial that he learns how to shoot a gun. Anyway! Here's his one month picture!

Adam Jace: The Arrival

We made it! There's a sweet, fat baby in my lap. The pregnancy is OVER. Forever. For-ev-errrr.

Truth be told, we knew he wasn't going to come on his own. From 32 weeks until the day the doctor pulled him out of my uterus, he was breech. And now we know that he was entirely too large to turn himself. I was so hopeful that the doctor was wrong and I would randomly go into labor on my own, but alas, his medical degree proved that he was smarter than me, and I was forced to wait until I was exactly 39 weeks pregnant before we could have a baby. It was a blessing and a curse, especially since I was having tons of contractions and tons of awful other "here comes the baby" symptoms. For three days before the baby was born, I told Cody "this is it, this is it, we're having a baby tonight." And at the exact same time every night, they stopped. It was so frustrating and so disappointing. So all that to say, the day was extremely planned, extremely uneventful, and altogether wonderful. Here we go.

The night before the baby came, I wanted a "Bye-Bye Fatty" dinner, and we went to my favorite mexican food restaurant. It was so sweet, as it was just me and my family. The entire day had been extremely emotional for me, as I knew that this time I was very intentionally laying on a table and saying "Filet me, Doc!" and I was very purposefully saying "Hello, anesthesiologist! Why don't you stick that enormous needle RIGHT HERE in my spine?!" I googled "second c-section recoveries" and worked myself into a panic. It was a bad day... so to sit at a table and watch my baby dip cheetos in her queso made my heart settle a little bit. My husband and I talked back and forth about how crazy life was about to get. Peace kind of settled in. Anxiousness remained, but I knew I wasn't going to die of some freak accident on the operating table, and though pain was unavoidable, I would be back home with them soon.

Of course, there was very little sleep the night before the surgery. We were scheduled for a noon c-section, meaning we didn't have to be at the hospital until ten the following morning. I laid and combated the usual contractions, and around 2:30, dozed off. At 5 A.M. my phone rang three times in a row... I knew it was the hospital, but still found myself annoyed and silencing it. Finally, I called back and a nurse said "Well we were just wondering when you might get here for your c-section at 7:30!" After a slight panic attack, multiple phone calls, and thirty minutes of waiting, a final phone call said "There was a communication error, we'll see you at 10!" GREAT! I trudged back up the stairs, fell into bed and fell into a coma. I even snoozed my alarm three times before I rolled out of bed at 9. I showered, put make-up on, and blow dried my hair. Yes, Make up. I look back at Ella's pictures and appreciate the journey that my face shows (31 hours of labor is brutal, then the c-section swollen face... it's all very prominent), I always wish I had least thrown on mascara. SO I put on a light layer of "welcome to the world," and off we went. I expected to cry the entire way to the hospital, but I inherited this fun trait from my Dad that allows us to kind of shut down when we're on the brink of a major event. We open up when we're ready, but don't expect anything until then. We made it to the hospital and found a parking spot after 3 trips around the lot, and made the trek to labor and delivery. I caught one final glimpse of the basketball hiding under my shirt, cradled it one last time, and then held my husband's hand a little tighter as I fought off the nerves. 

Upon entry into the "surgical prep" area, we were so blessed and fortunate to have the best nurse in America. She is the mother-in-law of one of my favorite people, and she is 110% of the reason I was wheeled into the O.R. room relaxed and not hyperventilating. I ended up calling her Barbs, never asking if she was okay with it or for her permission, but she was kind enough to let me roll with it. She prepped me for surgery, asked all sorts of personal questions for MMH's records, and laughed at our jokes. Most of which were made out of nervous energy and not funny. I could talk about her all day long. All day. But I'll stop before it gets creepy. Anyway, she made Cody wait outside the room while I got my spinal, and as soon as I was wheeled into the frigid O.R., I started feeling the nausea that always accompanies knowing you're about to be sliced in half. The anesthesiologist was probably the best thing about the O.R., as he was very chatty and very distracting. He complimented my beautiful back (it wasn't as awkward as it sounds) and then gave me the first shot, which was intended to distract from the second shot. It wasn't pleasant, but things really got ugly when he couldn't find the "sweet spot" for my spinal. He shoved a needle into my spine four times... FOUR TIMES... I finally started tearing up on shot three when I felt a hand grab mine. Good ole' Barbs to the rescue. I practically broke her thumb during the fourth needle, but then felt immediate warm and tingly feelings in my legs. Finally. The "sweet spot." They rolled me over and prepped my stomach, applied something that had to sit for 5 minutes or I would burst into flames, and then brought Cody in. The doctor started the surgery without discussing it with me, and the chatty anesthesiologist noted that during the spinal, my blood pressure jumped up to 160/100, but during surgery, hung out at 115/60, prompting a snarky remark from my Doctor that I was able to roll my eyes at in the most gracious way possible. The needle man continued to talk me through the surgery, and when the doctor said "Get ready, Kaylea," the anesthesiologist said "Lots of pressure coming." My Lanta. The pressure. There was a lot of it with Ella, but nothing compared to this. I finally shrieked something like "What is happening?!" and the doctor said "Get a camera because here comes your LARGE and hairy baby!" and maybe three seconds later, I heard a boisterous, angry cry come from sweet baby Adam. And the cries never went away. He was unhappy about being on this side of the world, and he wanted everybody to know it. I waited anxiously to hear the weight, as my guess was 7'7, and suddenly Cody started laughing and the pediatrician said "He's 8'9!" Redemption. Sweet redemption. The hip aches, the back ache, the whining, the painful heartburn. Everything. All worth it. A fat, healthy baby entered into our lives at 12:40, and it was the best possible experience that somebody with a C-Section could have asked for. 

To say that things are different with your second baby is just a huge understatement. Honestly, to say that it's anything short of wonderful still wouldn't do it justice. Everything is so much calmer, and you don't sit and watch their breaths. But the feeling that you get when you hold them in your arms for the first times is one of the only things that remains the same. Delivering at this hospital was wonderful, because I got to hold my baby for the first time 20 minutes after I had a major surgery. I was the first one besides his Daddy to hold him, and if we're being honest, they offered to let me do skin to skin WHILE I was being sewn up. "No, Let his Daddy see him first." I said through a yawn while I was still filleted on the table in front of them. Ten minutes later, they wheeled me back to my recovery room and my husband was waiting for me with my baby. The sweetest, chunkiest, funniest looking little thing in the world. He was beautiful in all of the ways that I hoped he would be, but super swollen. Plus, he was 8 1/2 pounds, so he was significantly larger than the barely 6 pound baby I had delivered nineteen months earlier. Cody put him in my arms and I let the sigh of relief I had been holding in for 39 weeks out. The same rush of emotion that I felt with Ella rushed over me, but I didn't cry. I don't really remember crying with Ella either, but I was super drugged, so who knows. All I could do was look at his face and see everything I believed to be true about the Lord reaffirmed. I looked up at my husband and grinned like a school girl, and a snippet from a song we sing at church played through my head. "Come and See, Come and see what God has done. Come and see, Come and see what love has won." I closed my eyes. In the quietest of moments that I would experience for the next two weeks, I thanked God for my husband. And that we chose each other seven years ago, the same way we choose each other now. Over and over, love has won in our relationship, and we have two of the most beautiful babies in the world to show for it. God has been so faithful to us, even when we didn't see it. In some of the slums of the first year of marriage, when you really learn that marriage is a fancy word for added finances. From the struggles of getting pregnant the first time, to the shock of learning you're eight weeks along with a second one, the Lord has been constant. I kissed the nose of a baby that looked just like his Daddy and put my head back on the pillow. Not even a minute later, he was moving his head to and fro across my chest. "Surely not..." I thought to myself as I gave him the opportunity to eat for the first time. No problems at all. Latched immediately. Ate for thirty minutes. The nurses came for him three different times and were sent away each time by the lactation consultant. It was everything I could have asked for. Me, my husband, and my baby. The first hour of his life was spent with the two that made him, and it was so wonderful for me that I wasn't the last person to see him. Ella was three hours old the first time I held her, and while equally wonderful, to hold Adam in the first thirty minutes of his life is something that I'll always cherish. 

Adam was a name that people still kind of tilt their head at. I'm not sure why, because I think it's the cutest. He's always been an Adam for me. It was the very first name I ever suggested and the name I kept coming back to. There's no fancy meaning, it means 'Man' or 'Red Dirt,' just depending on where you look... but I couldn't shake the name. I've never met an Adam that I didn't like, and I can't say that I know very many Adams these days anyway. Cody wasn't always on Team Adam, and so until he was Adam, he was also Hudson, Grayson, and Carson. We obviously liked the "son" names. Grayson was the front runner until Cody said "Gayson Graines" for the umpteenth time, and I was forced to veto it. I was all about naming him Andrew, but Cody was not. I didn't think the baby would ever have a name, and I guess I was about 6 months pregnant when I finally said "I want to revisit Adam and I want the opportunity to make my case." to which Cody calmly said "I like Adam?" like he had been for it the whole time... which is not true. So I took my opportunity and said "If I can have Adam, you can pick his middle name." So in 2 minutes, baby No Name became Adam Jace, and we never looked back. And he is the epitome of Adam. Every time I look at him, Adam is the only name that fits. 

Adam was greeted in our hospital room by his Nani and Ella, and despite our fears, Ella was hooked immediately. She kissed his forehead, said "Hi!" and has loved him ever since. I'll elaborate more on that in a later blog, but it's been wonderful and horrendous at the same time. We suffered through the typical hospital stay. Somebody coming in the room every second, rolling eyes at nurses for saying they're concerned about blood sugar levels because he was such a "large" baby... which, by the way, infuriated me. Apparently if your baby is over seven pounds these days, you had undiagnosed gestational diabetes and so they prick your baby's foot every three hours. I appreciate the concern, but after 3 good readings, Mama Bear came out to play and refused anymore of that nonsense. I was in a great deal of pain for most of day two, and unlike my first go around in recovery, this time I stayed in the bed and cuddled my baby while I kicked back the painkillers. We waited around for most of the day on Friday, because though we were both discharged at 10 A.M., the pediatrician missed a signature and was caught in an emergency that took several hours to remedy. Anxious to get home, we drove as quickly as we could in the snow and ice (it was 70 degrees on the day of his birth, mind you. I hate that groundhog) and came home to our new family of four. After about an hour of incessant screaming from Ella because we wouldn't let her kiss Adam repeatedly, she went home with my mom, and we spent the next two days adjusting to life on this side of post-partum. Again, I feel like my pain levels in this recovery were exponentially worse, but I feel great now, and I'm so proud of the scar my Doctor was able to give me. My last scar was jagged and red and hideous, and I was embarrassed by it. This scar is virtually invisible and noticeably less sensitive than my last one. A petty thing to be excited about, maybe, but also something I'm extremely grateful for.

And I think that mostly covers the "birth." He's already two weeks old, so it won't be long before it's time for an update. It's been a stressful, hectic couple of weeks, but none of it has anything to do with the sweet chunky baby sprawled across my lap. He has the sweetest demeanor, sans bath time and waiting too long to eat. He's tolerant of his sister's affection and his mother's love for a canon. He cuddles closer than any baby I've ever held, and he makes it near impossible to put him down. I'm so thankful that the Lord chose me to raise this baby. He was a shock, and he bruised just about every inch of my torso, but he is the great love of my life. Well, besides Cody... but I am absolutely crazy about this kid. I had to laugh at myself last week when I told him "No woman will ever be good enough for you!" Even though I know it's not true. Ella is the light of my life and he is the love of it. I am completely exhausted and pondering how in the world we're going to get through the next two months, but I'm not letting a single second of his existence escape me. I cuddle both of my babies, usually at the same time, and I'm reminded of the grace of God each time I look at each tiny eyelash. Every hair on their head. Every finger and every toe. Each a perfect design and a perfect reminder that God is faithful, and we've never walked alone. I have to go now, or my hormones will surely destroy us all. This picture is a great example of our life these days, so I'll just leave you with it.