Hello from the other side!

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{I couldn't resist dropping an Adele reference in the title. You understand, right?}

Well, friends:

This post is long overdue.

But here goes.

On April 5th, 2019 our sweet baby girl joined our family.

Clara Margaret Mary 

8 lbs. 4 oz.

I suppose it is fitting that I am so overdue in posting about her arrival, given that she was rather overdue in MAKING said arrival. 7 entire days, as a matter of fact.

Given my previous babies' timely arrival, I was not expecting that.

So I wallowed in self-pity, physical discomfort and tears for each subsequent day post-date.

 I was a de-LIGHT to be around.

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Our parish priest even looked anguished at the sight of me waddling about, huge and strained beyond what I believed to be my body's capacity. He promised prayers.

My parents made dinner and occupied the kids for days on end.

Patrick and I studied spinningbabies.com to implement the proper exercises to move the posterior baby in the right position -- I leaned upside down over the side of my bed or couch and took deep, cleansing breaths while getting dizzy. I popped Evening Primrose oil like it was my job, drank a freakishly strong brew of red raspberry leaf tea (each pot used an entire box of tea bags -- 24 bags in total). I went for painful "power" walks that should be renamed "humble pie walks" when just about everything made me winded and wanting to cry.

Sounds like fun, right?

Well I saw my midwife a few days after my due date and she recommended when I was a full 41 weeks overdue to take castor oil. At exactly 41 weeks, I was scheduled to go in to the hospital for an ultrasound and non-stress test, plus an OB consultation to make sure things were going well. So that seemed like perfect timing! I'd already be at the hospital, so why not load up on castor oil first?

That morning, I chugged the castor oil mixed with fizzy water and cranberry juice and stained my favourite dress when it defied gravity. I mean, it's an ineffable taste.

Then we took off to the hospital, which is an hour away. Did I mention we had driven there the night before, because I thought I was in labour, only to be sent away. Of course I cackled maniacally at myself, because what FIFTH-TIME MOM mistakes herself as in labour?! (And I chose to "cackle maniacally" instead of "sob inconsolably").

After embarrassingly leaving the hospital, we went to Walmart and bought castor oil and Tums. The pharmacist chuckled when she saw me grab them off the shelf with my enormous belly -- how to say "desperate" without even opening your mouth.

But we also snagged a date out of the deal -- we went to Boston Pizza and I ordered a super-spicy shrimp something-or-other and we chatted cheerfully. Our waitress asked if this was our first child and I saw that light overtake Patrick's face that appears every time we get asked this -- "nope, our fifth." It's one of his favourite conversation starters (or killers, depending on the temperament and worldview of the listener).

Anyhoo... we went BACK to the city on Friday morning to do the routine tests. We were there for hours and hours, right over lunch time, so when we were finally able to leave, I desperately needed food.

Fries.
Now.

So dear Patrick took me to Wendy's... I suppose this counts as a second date in as many days. And off we went back home, with him devising grand plans to devote the whole weekend to making me take more walks, more Rebozo, whatever he could do to prevent my scheduled induction for Monday. As he kept talking eagerly about this on the drive home, I wished he would JUST. BE. QUIET.

Of course, in hindsight, this meant I was already in labour. But I had no idea.

We came home, I went to the bathroom... and as soon as I left the bathroom, I started feeling cramp-y. I quietly folded laundry while timing these "cramps" on an app on our phone, and after forty minutes of this, we got back in the car, because my "cramps" were 3.5 minutes apart. We had only been home for under an hour after having driven an hour FROM said hospital but back we went.

My water broke in the car.

My dad's car, I should say. Which he leases.

(I was, however, prepared for this eventuality, because I had an absorbent pad on AND one covering my bucket seat).

We arrived at about 7:20 at the hospital and I skipped triage and went right up to meet my midwife in Labour and Delivery. Patrick stayed downstairs to finish up my registration papers. He basically missed most of my labour, because when he came back, I was pretty near transition.

And so out she came at 8:45.

Crying, healthy, pink and beautiful. Perfect in every way.

And ANOTHER GIRL, people! I pretended I was indifferent about the baby's gender, but no, I really, REALLY wanted a girl. I wanted Anna to have a sister. I wanted the scales to be a little more balanced, even for my sake, because there's a lot of testosterone in my house.

Our God is always a God of kindness AND surprises, because I was still suspecting it would be a boy. So imagine Patrick's delight when he got to tell me we had a girl.

I love her. She is sweet, cuddly and delightful. And dare I say it? She's... an... easy... baby. (I make no predictions about how this will continue to play out as she gets older). I love her name -- like I get excited when people ask what we named her because I love saying it out loud. While she is the first of ours not to have a Biblical name, she DOES have an "ah" sound at the end like the other four.

So, symmetry.

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Our days at home since she was born have been simultaneously full but low-key. Demanding and yet completely unproductive. Joyful and amazing yet draining. The children are adjusting well, because they are madly in love. I am recovering well. And like I said, she is perfect.

"Oh tender Father, You gave me more, much more, than I ever thought to ask for."

St. Catherine of Siena

A beautiful, healthy baby.

Thanks be to God.