3 TO 4, WE'RE ADDING ONE MORE!

Yep. We're pregnant again! Apropos that the due date is right before #LaborDay. It's still too early to determine boy vs. girl yet, but we definitely are one of those couples who needs to know. We've found out every time, and as you've probably noticed, we have 3 boys. So maybe #4 is our girl. I've witnessed and been through all three labors, 48hrs, ehmmm 24 hrs, mayyyybe 12hrs... they're like radioactive isotopes I think, with nice neat half lifes. We'll be talking babies popping out in minutes when we get to #7 and 8 at this rate. Got a great labor story, descriptive an all. Wifey will undoubtedly approve.

And no, we don't plan on stopping. While I don't envision us overthrowing the Duggars or Bates family in a throwdown championship to become "20 Kids and Finally Exhausted," I do believe God has a sense of humor, and He's sitting on His big comfy armchair holding a pack of these little prayer notes I voicemailed Him when I was younger. Prayers went something like this: "Dear God, when I grow up I want to be a Dad. I want to have a whole baseball team of kids." Retrospectively, while younger, I must have been equating this to the 9 players on the field, not the 25 on the active roster. Touche, God.

So, on New Year's Day we took our brood honeybell picking. Honeybells are simply big, sweet, juice running down your chin oranges for those non-citrus inclined readers, a.k.a. "Northerners." See picture of brood and bells below. Yes, we've probably got a festival for it too just like we do for practically every other fruit or food we eat in Florida between October and May. Strawberry, Guava, Citrus, Grapefruit, Kumquat, Steak, Seafood, Crawfish, you name it. I mean we have a bona fide, Boca Burger eating festival over on the east coast for crying out loud. Sign me up... I'm sure you're now jealous, sitting at your computer, reading this, wondering why you haven't moved to Florida yet. Betcha.

Yeah, our summers are so hot... yeah... uh huh... tell me again why 6 months of guaranteed warmth is worse than:

Yeah, because you're all out every day in your blizzards like that guy... right... (photo credit to Brian Snyder/Reuters). Meanwhile, somehere in Florida's February... cue Braid Paisley, Kenny Chesney, Blake Shelton song...

I digress. Labor. Right. I had a story. Boo took 48 hours to arrive. One false alarm shortly before the real thing. Then, I recall sitting in our tiny apartment near downtown St. Petersburg, Stephanie raising her body off the sofa in a way I'd never seen before. I'm not quite sure I could describe it as levitation, but it was close. I know she wasn't holding on to anything else because when we arrived at the hospital I about checked myself in for a metacarpal X-ray. Epidural here we come. With all the love and respect in the world, y'all can keep your natural childbirths, exercise balls, water births, home bathtub births. You realize someone has to clean up after that right? You do plan on bathing the next day right? If you have health insurance, you realize it PAYS for the hospital right? Just submit your small deductible for the doctors and drugs. The nurses are usually phenomenal, and they're free too (awesome), they clean your baby for you! Blood doesn't make me squeamish, but have you seen an L&D man? Mad respect baby nurses, mad respect. It's cool though, I still got to cut the cord. I still got to take pictures, with the working hand.

Experience then later dictated a return to hospital one for round two when JMan decided, "My turn!" This time we had the gameplan. Epidural first, pitocin second, lay back relax. Watch some TV, play a few card games. Keep the mental chart of dilation. 5cm? "Oh hunny, good job, you're halfway there, feeling anything?" "No? Greaaaaat!" 10cm? (Nurse pushes red call button.) "Oh doctor, we're ready now." Calm, saxophone music, "I see the head..."

But then we realized something after we got moved from the plush L&D suite to the itty bitty post-partum room. We moved last time too, but the pain and exhaustion masked the situation quite well then. This place was truly a mill, a ward, a crowded, not quite so calm and happy place where you become afraid to walk out into the hallway for fear of tripping over a, what do they call them now, a "transportaiton specialist?" You know who I'm talking about. They are your best friends, dads. The dude who pushes the mom's wheelchair down the hall, because gentleman, regardless of whether that hospital would be sued by some baby dropper, we simply won't have a free hand to get from point A to point B. There's no way you could push the chair. Our hands are filled with wifey's bag, the new baby's bag (yes they'll have a bag - get used to that), your little bag, toiletry bag, the camera bag, the just in case wifey gets cold bag, or if you're just like us, the suitcase.

By the time Squish rolled around, we had found a fabulous Catholic husband and wife OB/GYN combo. Jackpot. We had found a much homier, smaller hospital, where you could actually walk out to your car to get the bag and be back inside in 5 minutes instead of lost in some parking garage. We were prepared like we were for JMan, planned out, relaxed, even blessed with isotope baby #3. So we're not at the whole birthing center, home thing yet, may never be, but for #4 expansion, we're heading back to hospital two, which is like Cheers, where everyone knows your name... and the snacks you just bought out of the vending machine. Or that you snuck out after hours and got Cinnabon... I'm taking orders when #4 comes.

#pregnant #family #LaborDay